A GARBO'S GUIDE TO BITS OF EUROPE

Gary Frances

This diary of my European trip is as I wrote it down, in the streets, hotels,

hostels and restuarants. Whole sentences in Italics are afterthoughts on returning
to Australia, usually to clarify sketchy, brief or drunken notes.

There are many thoughts that probably should not be here. They're sometimes silly
and off-the-wall comments but to not include them would be dishonest. (I have,
though, excluded a few that even I don't understand!). On my return a few people
asked me what drugs I was on to write the emails I did. I didn't do any. I was
high on the change of air and surrounded by the blood of twenty-year-olds, away
from the dried-up, old cynics who are my normal social cohorts.

The bombing in Bali has just occurred as I write this and my experience in Europe
with the Young Ones have made me feel quite empathetic. I normally regard death
tolls as so many numbers that just fill newspaper columns. You have to keep your
sanity sometimes.

Here I am.

I am 52 years old and for the last 15 years I have worked as a Garbo in Sydney,
Australia.

I am divorced with two children - Michael, 15, and Jessica, 19.

I have never been overseas before.

Here I go.

SYDNEY TO PARIS 7.7.02 SUN to 8.7.02 MON

The twenty-three or four hour journey was uneventful. A good way to start an
overseas trip, really. When we landed at Singapore there was light applause.
Presumably a joke in that Singapore is the only place where Qantas has come close
to ruining its safety record.

I like a drink but was advised against it. And good advice it was. I recommend the
same.

My first close look at Europe was as our plane descended and I saw the patchwork-
quilt
land below very reminiscent with the yellows, browns and oranges of a Van Gogh.
Going down the stairs at the Charles de Gaulle airport I see the train to the city
centre and it's totally covered in graffiti. I turn to the person next to me and
say that I thought our trains back home were bad. She looks at me as though I am
speaking a foreign language. And then, of course, realized I had been. She chose
another carriage to me and, presumably, some people she could understand.
When I got into Paris proper I got off at St.Michel (ND) where I discovered the ND
stood for Notre Dame, an old film set for Charles Laughton that had the smelliest
public toilet I NEVER WENT INTO. With my supreme sense of direction I immediately
got lost and discovered parts of Paris I’ve never seen since. (Apparently, it is
HARD to get your sense of direction when you emerge from a foreign metro, I later
learned).
When I finally got UNLOST and found my hotel I also found my first European object
of lust – a young receptionist, on her first day. She was goddam beautiful. Dark
Latin looks. Perhaps she was more beautiful because she was a little lost. A
damsel in distress always has THAT something extra! I tried to console her with
the fact that it was my first day too. It was about 7am and I wasn’t booked in
till about 11. They let me leave my backpack in a storage room there and I went a-
walking.
That first day in Paris seemed like two (almost like the 10cc song). Did a lot of
walking, in new shoes. (Had not even THOUGHT about how much walking I would be
doing. Did the Place de la Concorde, the Eiffel Tower, the Arch de Triomphe, a
roast beef croissant with chutney and partly-conquered the Paris Metro. At one
point I stuffed up the day ticket I was using but a kindly, dark Parisian Metro
employee let me through the turnstiles and, seeing that I was stressed, said to me
" Welcome to Paris!" with a laugh.
And got blisters. More to come. Unfortunately.

9.7.02. TUES
Got up early to get over to the other side of town. Had a bad time on the Metro
yesterday afternoon and thought that if I fucked up again I could always get a
taxi. I successfully though got over to the Busabout pick-up point in Montmatre in
the crowded peak time. I had been staying on the Left Bank off the Boulevard St.
Michel. As you do.
Walking to the station that morning over the Pont de Neuf I discovered so much
crap (bottles, take-away food packages) on it that it resembled the morning after
a big night of celebrations in Sydney. Have to say I enjoyed Paris in the early
morn much more than later in the day - the traffic is normally nothing short of
Double Hectic.
At the pick-up point for Busabout I met Brandy, from Texas, and an Australian
girl. I suppose I spoke to the Australian girl for less than hour before the bus
took me and Brandy north to Amsterdam while hers took her to the south of France.
Just about one of my shortest relationships on record.

EUROEM #1

The sun came up blood red

behind the Carpathians

bringing back memories

of some darker nights

The fields of France

are below and bright
and, when we land,
I am calm.

For a change.

Lille, France 9.7.02

We broke our journey to Amsterdam with a stop at Vimy Ridge, a Canadian war
memorial and a preserved battlefield. The grass, however, has since grown over the
bomb craters, some 6 to 10 metres deep. No one is allowed beyond the barriers
except for some sheep to keep the grass down. We are told that, every once-in-a-
while, they have a barbecue.

Brandy, a Texan high school teacher, learned of OTHERS participating in WW1 other
than Gary Cooper and Charlie Chaplin. I astonished her further by letting her know
that WE and others were there first. I further added to her knowledge of OTHER
people by letting her know that Aussies were also involved in WW2 (with John
Wayne), Korea (with Alan Alda), Vietnam (with John Wayne again) and Afghanistan
(with George Clooney). Makes you wonder. Or is it obvious? Am I just
optimistically obtuse, by choice?

When we get off the bus at Brugge for a quick stop I discover than I am NOT
automatically booked for the rest of the sector to Ams. Pissed off with Busabout
who did not tell me I needed to confirm destination point, only departure.

EUROEM #2

If it's Tuesday
it must be Belgium.

Anita Eckberg and Bob Hope.

Any old movie buff

could tell you that.

But not being a fan

it's on to Amsterdam.

I've put down my book. The least

I can do is look out the window.

Brugge, Belgium 9.7.02

Always wanted to write poems with a foreign address attached. AND HERE THEY COME!
(When I first had poems published in a mag called Poetry Australia there was some
wanker having his shit published with overseas cities added at the bottom that
SEEMED to have nothing to do with the ACTUAL poem. It pissed me off but made me a
bit jealous. I can see me and Pretension becoming really good friends as long as
she / he pays her / his half of the bills. Especially the overhead light.

10.7.02 WED

Amsterdamage (as the Busabout Guide likes to refer it) is not a straight city, but
not gay either. Everyone, like the promise of the 60s, seems to do their own
thing. Some of this due, I'm told, to cultures absorbed after the collapse of the
Dutch Empire and the resultant backflow.

Bikes, bikes, everywhere. And trams. There would be probably fewer cars in Ams
that there would be in the average Sydney suburb.

I am writing this in a bar adjoining the hostel and I don't feel self-conscious as
nearly every other mother seems to be keeping some sort of travel diary. Except
the yobs.

Someone just rode a bike thru the bar - I think I was the only one who looked.

Haven't -done much today as my feet are one huge blister. They were fucked last
night before I went to Red Light District with Derek the Kiwi who I sat next to on
the bus getting here.

As I was to walk into a live sex show I commented to Derek that I hadn't done this
since my buck's night which was about 6 million beers ago. Young bouncer at the
door heard me and said, " Yeah, I remember you". Yeah right.

EUROEM #3

At the Hans Brinker hostel

I can now understand
what a fire could do
in a friendly maze

Six to a room and

Death at the door.

Amsterdam 10.702

Meet John and Laura. Manly siblings. She’s over here for a visit. He is a plumber,
on leave from work as a barman in London. Had seen them on the bus and around
Amsterdam and had thought they were a couple.

It's 9.25pm and still light.

EUROEM #4

A pre-litigious nail
sticks out of the bench
I'm drinking at.

How retro! How relaxed!

How marvellous! Recherche!

Signs everywhere deny

responsibility with care.

Amsterdam
10.702

There are yobs everywhere I find (to my uneducated surprise). I see some girls
walking along the streets who look like westies but when they go past they're
speaking Dutch or German.

Just had a talk with Brandy (Dallas, Texas) and she's decided that the coffee
shops and the Red Light district makes Ams not her kind of town - "It wasn't how I
was brought up" she declares. She does declare!

Never mind that insular shit - they pour beers here with an overflowing 3-inch
head and then level it off with a plastic scraper!

Hans Brinker Posters -

NOW A DOOR IN EVERY ROOM

EVEN MORE DOGSHIT IN THE FOYER

NOW EVEN LESS SERVICE!

Quite funny until you realize that the one about Service is true. And ALL over
Europe!

11.7.02 THURS

First thing this morning went up to the Internet place to see about e-mails and
booking next leg of journey. There are NO staff. It’s all done with machines and
tokens for the computers. At one point when I had a problem I ended up consulting
the cleaning lady, only human being in the place, beside the other punters, of
course.

Blisters improved a bit. Did the Van Gogh Museum and the Heineken Experience
this morning. Then went to the Anna Frank house in the afternoon with John and
Laura.

After that, a Guinness on the terrace of an Irish pub in wonderful sunlight --

it's been mostly overcast but not cold.

Later that night went to the pub with Brandy and two young Oz guys. We managed to
make her laugh her Texan tits off but by the end of the evening they seem to have
been re-attached.

Rang somebody in Sydney, standing in the middle of a square surrounded by a host

of
ambient alcoholics, just to express the joy of living. Poor bastard on the other
end was just beginning work. Sorry Mr. Ellis!

Didn't get to bed till 2am talking to a New Zealander (who’d lost his accent
working in London.) He recommended Turkey (Gallipoli et al), as do most people.
Headed for Berlin. Still no accommodation booked. NZer was impressed that I knew
the word Mouldy and not Maori. He said most Pakehah (whites) don't even bother.

12.7.02 FRI

Blisters again, still, whatever. Shouldn't really have gone out last night.
Still, you're only old once. Should be right for accommodation. Might be out of
central Berlin though.

EUROEM #5

The absence of unreadable

graffiti on old buildings
makes you wonder
and, as it should,
maybe a distaste for yonder

a distaste for returning home?

Holland
12.7.02

About an hour before when entered Berlin the Busabout Guide, Paul, went into a
talk on the history of Germany – from just before the Unification of Germany to
the tearing down of the Berlin Wall. It was all very informative and something you
don’t get on the train without doing a lot of reading. I found out later that the
said guide was an ex-history teacher.

Just passed a detour to AUSFAHRT! Must ask Dieter what the F it means.

EUROEM #6

From Amsterdam
to Berlin.

The moment we
crossed the border

I lost my sense
of humour

. Germany 12.7.02
And the Above turned out to be true. There was an overflow of about 9 people
who could not fit into the Busabout accom. We trekked individually to the rail
station Oespska (?) to Gesundbrunnen where we were SUPPOSEDLY booked
in. Their English and understanding of out situ was almost nil. Still ironed it
all out but a one point they had me and 4 babes booked into 1 room and a young
bloke called Dave was booked into a 4 bedder all by himself but management
charging us all the same price. No one at Gesundbrunnen station could tells us
where the
hotel was either. And it was only about 200 metres from the station

Much confusion, frustration, which is where I lost the humour.

(Spirits uplifted considerably after FINALLY BOOKING IN when I discovered an

internet bar (alcohol & coffee) that had a huge schweinsnitzel for E4.oo (about
AUS 7) with teeny appetizers to start and a coffee to finish. We got to know, and
have fun with, our Spanish waitress. She was so bubbly she could have been a soft
drink. She has almost completed her BA in Architecture but is staying in Berlin to
improve her German. I asked her where she had learned her English, which was
pretty good, and she replied " Ireland". It's a miracle she can speak at all!

I have never known such a friendly waitress but at one time

she couldn't serve us because she only had 5 menus but 4 Busabout girls were at
another table and we used theirs. We (Me, Dave, Simon and Louise) could only
hope that she had enough plates.

This adventure all happened in a very low-rent district in East Berlin.

Graffiti everywhere. Low lifes etcetera. Bums in the park. No place

like home.

13.7.02 SUN

So, I spend last night in Dave's room, which is only for one night as he
is booked in elsewhere the next night. WILL have to sleep with the 4 girls
tonight. Menage a cinque? Backpacking can be murder! Just ask Ivan.

Blisters forced me to stay at the Bla Bla where I was served a kaffe in a soup
bowl. (I had asked for a large one.)

Spent about 3 hours (stunde) on an email (Approx 600bs) to no avail. Somehow lost
the text like the Mail virgin I am. That's why you are now receiving this in bits

Watched the Love Parade on the Bla Bla big screen. Funny, most pubs do not even
have a TAB or pokies or Keno advertising but they do have beer- a couple of
hundred varieties. What a novel idea.

Have mastered the German language. So: Guten tag. Ein pils bitte. Danka schon. Auf
wediersen.

After the bread and jam brekky at the Hans Brinker, the City Lights had muesli,
oats, a kind of milk syrup, bread rolls, salami and ham. Almost like
a Holiday Inn this place. Not really backpacker. Huge fluffy European pillows.
Huge fluffy European women.
Bloke outside Bla Bla looked like Allawah Les. I even run into him this side of
the world! Must tell him when (?) I return. The guy had black hair but
resemblance remarkable.

East Berlin fashion. Wish I had a camera. No limits. No fashion. Clothes,

sometimes, only an insane person would wear. Not so much fashion
victims as road accidents. Saw a couple of girls wearing shiny leather leggings
similar to the kind you see Lawn Mowing people wear to keep the shit out of
their socks.

E- MAIL ADDRESS

Wherever I go
there I am

Wherever I am
there I go

The new addiction

is another fiction.

Gesundbrunnen
, Berlin 13.7.02

14.7.02 SUN

Walking in Central Berlin to Checkpoint Charlie and what remains of The Pink Floyd
over to the Reichstag and down past the Siegesaulle. About 3 or 4 ks. The city is
under almost total reconstruction. Found out that 80% of all the cranes in Europe
are in Berlin.

What makes this whole Culture Shock thing so interesting is that I am

reading Toffler's " Future Shock “ But, then again, sometimes the book seems
itself
to be stating the obvious and outdated. Oncredible.

In East Berlin they only have a WOOLWORTH. Budget restraints

must have precluded the S.

Travelling on Ring 41/42 on the Metro rail the buildings are almost
Pure Graffiti. The whole ring very industrial. It is, in fact, an ugly work of art
in itself.

Sitting at the Bla Bla last night I came over all un-Australian.

Berlin is not my kind of city except for the pils and lager. But I could live here
with
Maria.

A man gets on the Metro spruiking German. I, of course, do not understand a word
he is saying. Figure is a homeless person selling the deutsch version of the Big
Issue. Reminded me of the Piano Accordion players on the Paris Met.
 EUROEM # 7

Down the 17 Juni

past the Siegessaule
to Tiergarden

walked the whole

damned way

just like every

other nazi before me.

G
esundbrunnen 14.7.02

Saw Maria again today. She was excited to see me and wanted to know what I had
been doing. If she were anyone else I'd say she was coming onto me, bigtime.

Walking down the 17 Juni saw a street worker about to toss a shopping trolley
into the jaws of a bulldozer/crane whatsi. I gave him the thumbs up and hoped it
wasn't rude as it is in some countries. Italy for eg.

15.7.02 MON

Back to the A&O Backpackers with the early morning German commuters to catch up
with the Busabout crowd. Went with Lisa and Simon (who I stayed with and NOT the 4
girls but more of that later) who I was able to show a quicker route on the Metro.
Their way you had to change stations. We still took the wrong train, as did a
local so we did feel too non-combatant.

Said goodbye to Maria, the all-designing multilingual waitress and she said that
she would see me around and that she would be in Berlin for a while yet. Be still
my aching liver.

Stopped off at Maccas just outside of Dresden. I was wearing my McDeath t/shirt
and it proved once again to be a chick magnet, Michael & Jessica. And most of the
European staff think it hilarious.

People who you wouldn't be able to talk to, for various reasons, in Sydney are
within reach. I’ve been sitting next to beautiful blonde on the bus, Danielle from
Chatswood. She's another Arts graduate majoring in Anthropology and maybe is going
to go into Journalism. She'd already done a stint at The Sydney Morning Herald and
we chatted about that for a while, me being a sometime contributor. She hadn't
initially sat next to me. She had an equally gorgeous girlfriend who had sat next
to be but had moved when another seat became vacant. Young things do this.
Two and half hours at the German-Czech border. Entering Prague, a lot of empty
buildings. Some of the outer villages are postcard perfect.

The bus driver told us to remember to eat our greens because when the beer can be
as cheap as 8 kroner ($0.50 AUS), apparently, you tend to forget.

Prague! What a shitfight! But, like everyone other city so far, they seem totally
strange and disorienting when you first roll in. It has been a fairly long day and
I had trek to the station wearing my backpacker to get some kroner. Danielle was
gone and I knew no one else closer to leave my bag with Also had booked myself
into another hostel but no one could tell me where it was and I didn't feel like
trying the Metro this late in the afternoon.

After booking in had a few beers with Casey, the barman from Detroit (Motor City,
MC 5 and the Stooges). He has a penchant for a 60's band called Love. Not big at
all in Oz but biggish in the States. Lead singer/songwriter, Arthur Lee, had a
thing for wrting songs about going to jail where he eventually landed for 10 or so
years after discharging a firearm into the air and hitting the Three Strikes
You're In clause, so popular with fascist societies.

16.7.02 TO EUROEM # 8

16.7.02 TUES

Have to eat more today. Only had a burger all day yesterday. Too much $A 1.30
beer. Been shitting liquid all over toilet & floor. Went to Mac's for breakfast.
Had a McZorba for brekky and the manager wanted to buy my McDeath t-shirt.

At a building near The National Museum (Nadrazi Muzeum) there were soldiers with
rifles and an Armoured Personnel. Was John Howard coming to Prague (Praha) and
they heard about the excitement his speeches have engendered? Even the Parking
Cops have weaponry. No Standing please!!!!!

Feel better this morning. Disorientated last night. New town thing.

Had to pay for toilet paper this morning at the Hlavni Nadrazi rail station this
morning. Do Aussies appreciate their free dunny rolls in public places? I think
not. Obviously not even thought about.
Should have bought an audio phone for the Muzeum as most of the info was in Czech.
Still, a great place, just to look at. Makes the Sydney Museum look like an
outback dunny.

My workmate/friend, Joe, would love this place. Cheap grog everywhere, available
at libraries, petrol stations, hairdressing salons, etc.

Bloke in Wencelaus Square (a main shopping centre, currency changing, cinemas)

wanted to exchange money in the middle of the street. I told him No No No and
walked away. Not that streetwise but he could have grabbed my money once I got it
out of my wallet.

Some of the shops don't open till 10am. Pretty laidback. But I think I noticed
Posts Offices opened till 7pm. Must not like early rises.
Still feels new here but here is a comment on first 3 cities. After a few days
they begin to feel like an old shoe. The trouble is every couple of days of
travelling you need new shoes.

Had lunch at the Credo. It looked like trendy restaurant back home that I would
shun a mile away. Had spinach fettuccine with salmon, lemon juice, blue vein
cheese and mushrooms. Cost about $A 6. A waitress to faint for and a view of old
time Prague to enjoy.

Jana Wendt is but a reasonable example of Czech beauty. They are, most of them,
very beautiful. So many bouncing Czechs, so little cash. I feel like an osteopath
in a minefield of cheekbones.

It began to rain after lunch and headed back to the hostel after first taking
shelter in a shopping mall, refuge of the umbrella and coat-less. No awnings or
underground shopping fantasies to escape to. Most boring little shopping facility
I'd ever seen. Almost went to a food supermarket to kill time. I said rain but it
was a real heavy downpour. Beginning of the flood?

If anything can go wrong when you're holidaying it will. Was that the law of
Thomas Cook? So far - blisters, broken spectacles and diarrhoea. What more,
Elsinore?

EUROEM # 8

She's a horny
young American
in the Czech Republic

Sounds as though
her throat is full of love.

She probably
wishes it was.

And I wouldn't
mind the video.
Prague 16.7.02

EUROEM #8 TO EUROEM # 10

Ah, the cross-pollination. Was having a drink with a couple of Norweigian guys.
Five minutes later I'm talking to a Finnish girl and we are soon joined by her
girlfriend and their two French Canadian beaus.

Rang John Ellis to see how the garbage was going. Picking up, apparently.
Rang Jessica too to tell her to get her arse over here. She could get work easily
in London. Michael too, when he's older.

Very few toilets where you don't have to pay unless your buy a beer, a mac or a
cinema ticket. Paying through the nose and going out the.

EUROEM #9

Advertisements don't
mean that much
in a foreign tongue

did they ever?

Prague 16.7.02

EUROEM # 10

We're sitting, drinking,

laughing in the gutter
of a cobble-stone road
outside the hostel.

The policie drive past.

They keep going
and don't care.
Got better things to do
than hassle people for
having a good time.

Prague 16.7. 02

17.7.02 TO WINE GLASS

17.7.02 WED

Stopped by policie near THAT building again. Must be bigger than John Howard.
Could be an Alexander Downer hernia! Building modern, black and ominous. Or
Omnivorous, the bureaucratic beast that consumes all others. I later read that
this building was built by the Russians and was indeed designed to INTIMIDATE!

Had another look at the Navradzi Muzeum's art section. There are some pictures
(CSSR 68 or POLSKA 70?) showing some trucks used in the invasion/uprising with the
letters VB on the side. A casual glance would make you think we had finally got
off our collective arses and invaded someone using beer delivery trucks.

Rang Carol to see whether she was in Sydney or Nimbin so I could send her a
postcard but she wasn't there. Spoke to Jennifer (rari) and told her I was in
Prague. And that my eyes were opening!

EUROEM # 11
(of the past)
Beautiful faces with
cheeks to burn.

Just dehydrate
and add fire.

Prague 17.7.02

Have decided to call EUROPES EUROEMS. Champagne may be served at the launch. BYOF.

EUROEM # 12

At the Franz Kafka Cafe

it's no questions asked
and nobody talks.

The waitress is a cockroach.

The manager a bedbug.

Prague 17.7.02

Noticed at a moneychanger the Euro is stronger than the US dollar.

Situated next door was the Casino Happy Day. Must have been an Asian consultant.
In the window were 3 big plastic tubes in which money whirled around sporadically.
Tried to turn it into a poem but have written too much already. I'm not Charlie
Dickens. Tired. Must drink beer. Can't go on.

But I do. Leaving the Posta I thought I knew where the Credo was, but I didn't.
Found it somehow anyway. Today, it's Tortellini stuffed with beef in a piquante
tomato sauce, home made olive bread and a dark, malty beer - served in a
wineglass.

Avoided the Credo at lunchtime as the service is a bit slower in Europe and didn’t
want to be there in peakhour. You'd have to wait heaps. Dined about 3pm. Someone
at that restaurace like Chicago style blues. Seems to pretty popular all over
town. And jazz clubs.

EUROEM #13

Outside the Credo

where I'm dining

it four o'clock
a steeple bell rings

This IS
the old country!

Prague 17.702

Overheard the big Czech receptionist to a backpacker: You can't relax. You should
always be horny. Like ME! She's quite funny in an over-bearing way.
Lissa, the Arena bargirl from Arkansas, tells me she likes to go to theatrical
auditions even though she doesn't want to act. Mostly, she gets drunk the night
before and never feels like going. And so, she doesn’t! This makes her feel
artistic. Living here in Prague with all the other artists who could be good if
they tried. I told her she was full of shit and she readily agreed.

Her party trick at the bar is this: When she cracks a bottle of beer (no screw
tops) and the froth flows over the lip of the bottle she says to the customer "
Congratulations! It's a boy!” But only to the males. Most of the gells don't
think it's funny, she says. I tell her she should use it on the Australian girls.
They’d love it.

Been a big night. Drank about 10 pints and topped it off with a plum brandy.
Goodnight Vienna, wherever you are.

There are refugees here all over the place. Mostly from the States. A lot of
people come here for a few days but stay. Greg, a bleach-blonde Negro, has been
here for 5 years. He works at the hostel and is a part-time male model. After I
make a couple of Garyisms he keeps saying, " Who is this guy?”

Lissa’s also overstayed her stay. She’s a cute, little, mousy-brown, shorthaired
girl. Arkansas is my NEW state of mind.

EUROEM #14

Lissa (Snack Bar Girl

at the Hostel Arena

knows that if
she really tried

she could achieve

nothing at all

simply to be an
artist is enough

I'm may be in love

with this girl

but she'll have to

join the queue.
 Prague 18.7.02

18.7.02 TO EUROEM #15

Got up earlyish today to use the hostel's free computers but, unlike yesterday,
were chock a block. You never know and that's what makes life so interesting. Am I
stating the obvious like Alvin Toffler?

I was saying last night (to someone) that I'm having such a good time that I can't
have any more fun (and with 5 and half weeks to go). Dying seems to be the only
option.

Tipped a lady at Nadrazi Holeovice station snack bar for my breakfast roll (not in
the hay, but salad and ham). She said something like " dickhead ". Hope she was
saying thank you.

Had to pay 3kc for toilet paper at Mustek metro. I gave the lady a 5kc and told
her to kipp tha chainch. I am the Legend of Tipping am I not? We're talking about
$AUD O.33 cents here!

Rain again today. It would dampen my spirit anywhere but here.

Rain is a godsend. It's been pretty warm

Went to the Antonin Dvorak museum and the cat wasn't home. He wasn't there either,
not having been in the living room these many years.

A woman just spoke to me at a rail station in German. Jeez Louise, I must look
like a kraut.

The crowds have gathered for the performance of The Stare Mesto Clock. This
timepiece does everything but make a cup of tea. A skeleton rings a bell I don't
know how many times but it probably doesn't matter when you're dead. After the
clock was designed and built the designer/builder was murdered by the Head Honcho
who didn't want anyone else in Europe to have such a chrono. Honcho later threw
himself into the guts and the cogs of the clock and it didn't work for a hundred
years. Bad wages tho.

Always thought about retiring OS. Yugoslavia, south of France had crossed my mind,
but this must be the place.

EUROEM #15

If only Franz
Kafka was here.
Wearing a hat.

It would be about
sixty years ago

and we could
talk all about
18.7.2002.

Prague 18.7.02

EUROEM #15 PLUS TO 18.7.02

18.7.02(still THURS) Rocked into the restaurace Greg the Negro recommended. It
was, like, down a back street and underground. Had some pork medallions covered
with a forest of beans. My favourite meal today. Figured out I could sell my flat
and live here for about 20 years. Or renting it might be an option. I can
ACTUALLY retire. And probably go out of my mind writing. Or dancing, whichever
comes first. Ran into Danielle, arts graduate ex SMH letters, back at the hostel.
She's lost a zit and was wearing make-up, looking even better than when I first
met her. . I'm staying for approx 8 more days and she, 7. She also wasn't wearing
the turtleneck jumper I first met her in. A low-cut affair that leaves everything
to my imagination. Omigod. I made my complaint to her. She pleaded hot weather and
she's a very firm young lass. Miss Hardbody, Prague July 2002.

Lissa is cleaning the bar. Casey is happy to chill with the customers but L is
bored. And she's on the cola today as her liver is playing up. All under the age
of 20. A legend from West Fork, Arkansas, Zipcode 72774.

A young Negro girl has just rocked in with my YHA card. I'd dropped it in Berlin
at the Bla Bla Bar Internet Cafe. Maria had given it to her, hoping she would find
me. It's a small Europe. Ave Maria. I don't know where this diary is heading. But
I like the general direction.

Heading into town to do a few bars with Matt and Anthony, both Aussies
working in London. And when I say doing bars I don't mean gay ones.

Goodnight Vienna, Good morning Vietnam, your children are hungry.

BEFORE LEAVING TO READ ON FURTHER

Before leaving the hostel this morning I tucked my old exercise book
underneath some clothes for safekeeping. Of course, I get down to the Internet
cafe and I don't have anything. I have a second book and I am 65 pages, double-
spaced of Prague already. I could send you new stuff but there is a story line
happening and it would spoil it. Basically got this idea of Writing Actuality
from a movie called The Company of Strangers with Julia Stiles and another actress
I can't remember tho she played Rizzo in Grease. Great actress. Stockard Channing.
In it Stiles tells of writing non-fiction. What kind, the other asks. Short
stories. Life is too interesting to write fiction, according to her.

That's what I'm doing. Except for the Kafka poems, maybe. I have truly found the
muse and will blow your mind as you read on further.

Don't know how true this is for you but, for me, it was!

19 JULY TO BACKSTREETS OF PRAGUE

19.7.02 FRI
Fast becoming the Undead Legend of Prague. Vlad the Impaler, eat your liver out.

Last night Lissa took my photo for Customer of the Month, to be put on a
corkboard in hostel bar.

Kiddies health notice: Excessive consumption of malty alcohol does not, usually,
lead to Fame.

I ended up with Matt & Anthony at the Roxy, dancing to non-stop Techno, if there's
any other kind. When I first got there people on the dance floor were moving like
epileptics on Valium. Decided to show them what it was all about. Building up into
a big sweat a number of people came over to me and shook my hand in honour of
energy used.

. Someone, at some point, was worried that I might be prone to heart attacks.
Another young guy came up and gave me a big hug. They'd probably never see anyone
so old attempting to kill himself with rhythm. A couple of Aussies came up paying
tribute - I've only got one pair of shoes and they are my ubiquitous Australian
Dunlop Volleys. One guy at the end wanted to know if I was doing Ekkies. Or was he
trying to sell? Got to the last tram at about 3.30/4 am. Been grooving for about
2 and half hours. Techno's the greatest to dance to. Just pure beat'n'bass. Joe,
if you ever get your shit together, come over. We could dance up a proverbial.

EUROEM # 16

Only way to die

is with rhythm
and maybe
some bass.

You could lose face

going with grace.

Prague 19.7.02

Matt and Anthony got on to some Danish birds. I ended up, as usual, talking to a
penguin.

If I ever become a local, must go down to the Roxy and die there. Maybe on reggae
night.

The city is fantastic at night. My first night. Unbelievable place. Saw some Real
Estate agency window but couldn't quite understand the menu. At the time it looked
very interesting because I mistook Tourist Rent for Purchasing Price.

T-shirt still soaked in sweat this morning, as I write. No, I'm not wearing it!

Left the hostel at 10.30am. Told Casey I was going out to drink some
more blood. Actually, just going to see Blade 11. Saw young Dave on the way into
town. We both got off at Hvrani Nadrazi and he went his way and I went mine. He's
staying at the Arena now and plans to move on about the 26th. Plan A, for both of
us, is to catch a train to Vienna via Cesky Krumlove. There's been a fuck up with
the Busabout co., an over-booked schedule due to Berlin Love Parade

Blade 11 visuals very good. Nearly every scene a work of art. Great action too,
but, an ordinary movie. I usually remember where I've seen certain movies because
of they're greatness. I'll remember this one simply because I saw it at the KINO
in Vodovica Street, Prague. Exterior scenes shot in the backstreets of P.

EUROEM # 17 TO TRIP OVER

EUROEM # 17

Franz Kafka *
at the Techno Bar
looked lost

like he didn't know

what century
he was in

I thought it'd be all

the same to him.

Roxy Disco, Prague 18.7.02

* He's not wearing his hat here because it's indoors and Kafka is ever the
gentleman. He does not wear it indoors (that I've noticed anyway). Was later to
discover that he was also a bloody perve and a demented fantasist. I think I can
relate!

There are 4 kinds of t-shirts in Prague. Touristy ones, Kafka ones, rude ones and
the omniversal Simpsons. If omniversal is a word, does this mean that Matt
Groening is a know it all?

Thought I'd try the Tequila Sunrise. Haven't eaten Mexican for a while. Is it
genuine? Apparently the stuff dished out in Sydney is not very authentic. The
entree is Garlic Soup, main course, Chili Con. This is the second restaurace I've
eaten in where hey don't have proper soupspoons. Must be an English thing! Soup,
main course and beer, $AUD10. CHEAPER than chips!

EUROEM #18

The Sex Machine Museum

brings back mammaries.

I can hardly now

get up to dance.
Tequila Sunrise, Prague
19.7.02

There are many, many good things in this world that are un-Australian. I hope to,
one day, to never hear that mindless term again. Or wog.

Found an Internet Cafe half the price of the one I've been using. 1kc per minute.
$A 4 per hour. I 'd heard of people paying 8 in Paris so the other Cafe is a
total rip. Also seen blocks of 10 hours for 500 kc. You do the math; I'm on
holidays.

20.7.02 SAT

We had an absinthe party at the hostel last night and a few of the people had
seen me on the dance floor the night before. One suggested, charitably, that I
was trying to break my Volleys in. Another suggested that I was AT IT for about 4
hours. I'm probably only standing because of all the preservatives in Australian
beer. So, was I a fool or a Legend? Who gives a fuck? No one in my vicinity,
anyway.

An Aussie named Andrew is getting really pissed on the absinthe. He is trying to

defend the fact that he is weird. Surfie guys travelling with him just say he just
doesn't know what he's talking about, and, is not therefore weird at all. . He's
getting drunker and drunker.

He seems to like girls but he then starts talking about the cocks he's sucked. I
just look at the other blokes and say, " I didn't hear that ". They agree. We go
back to drinking our beer, the legendary Staropramen.

Generally talking about the experience of seeing Europe, I tell the young ones
that whenever whoever finished whatever at wherever school they would tour here as
an end to their education. Sort of, like, a dessert at the end of their
educational meal. All could see the value of that. And it's good to see such a
mixed bunch of young Vegemites being able to afford the trip over.

HAD VEGETABLE SOUP TO WEARING LIPSTICK

Had vegetable soup today for brunch 25kc. And some bread rolls. I've been eating
too much anyway. Big mistake here and best not written about, or gone into deeply
without me appearing to be a complete whatsy. Was looking at some real state.
Thought it was dirt-cheap but it turned out to be Tourist Rentals for the Centre
of Town. How foolish. Still, can pick up something for less than $A 40,000.
Haven't had a real look. Moving here is probably 6 months away. Only need to
survive till 65 and will get the OZ pension, even tho OZ is the last thing on my
lap, at the moment. Have looked at renting my place in Steak and Kidney and would
come out with about 20,000 kc per month and the average Czech wage is only about
2000 kc weekly. No more work for me, Nostradamus. This all turned out to be
horribly wrong. Should have paid more attention in Maths/ REAL problem though is
being allowed to stay.
Spotted this t-shirt at the Museum of Communism. There's a picture on front of
good solid farm workers. Better looking, too, than their bovine counter-parts.
The script reads: Opening late, Closing soon, Annoyingly long lunch hour. If I
have money leftover I'll buy on the last day. Spotted a couple of girls (just
call me The Old Pigeon) in the Museum who were from Minnesota and asked them if
they were had Czech descendancy. They hadn't but a number of other people had said
sold. It was the highest compliment I could pay them.

Yet another option if I haven't done the math right. Work in OZ for 9 months, here
for summer. It's been 30 here and I have heard a Dutch ex-pat say he is thinking
of moving to either Poland or Granada. I was never really sure if he was serious -
Granada or Poland. They seemed, were, ARE, poles apart. No laughing matter.
There's also been a lot of rain. I have nothing to compare it to and I take his
word for it. And he charges me 5kc for the info anyway, the filthy moneymaker.

4 days and I've only just reached the river, Vltava. It’s fan-fuggen-tastic, mag-
fuggen-nificent. Blown away again.

Seen a lot of dogs in Prague with muzzles. The rest seem to be satisfied with just
wearing lipstick.

THOSE BITS TO STAND UP

Those bits of real estate I was looking at were in the Stare (starra) mesto (mess
toe).

Going to expand this into a book when I get home. There are a few pubic hairs of
information I've left out, including good description of my 1st day in Paris. I am
going to get a camera but I don't need one. I'm can still see me standing under
the Eiffel Tower and down the Champs. Can't write everything down and be a tourist
at the same time.

Antonin Dvorak. Miroslav Holub. Franz Kafka. Gary Frances. * Not in alphabetical
order, but I like it. Dvorak is my fave classical composer. Miroslav, I read
when I was about 19. He was writing stuff like I' m doing now and I was writing my
tommyrot. Threw everything away I did before 25. Including Beverley.

* Also Rainer Maria Rilke, an early favourite of mine, was born in Prague, of
German parents, though.

I think this could sell a million. As long as they don't pay me in slobotniks.
Been hiding my light cup of tea under a Bushell too long.

Diane, you world-weary traveller you, you said of New York that it was just
another city. This isn't. I haven't been this in love since adolescence.

Got to pull back or end up with tears in my QWERTY.

Get yee to a travel agent, or not, or the net - should be some visuals of Prague.
Check out the most beautiful, Mother of Cities, as a booklet claims. Still,
probably only a wee mot of what it's really like, as you can suppose. I saw a
booklet on Prague before I left but it did not prepare me.

Excuse pontification, please.

This is getting annoying. I am wearing a huge backpack having had to take my
shell-covers to the Laundromat. Having to stop every 5 minutes or 100metres to
write in this book. Taking the bag off. Putting it back on again. Taking........
(In the end I worked out that it was easier to carry the notebook NOT in the bag.)

I am imagining the headlines if this goes OK.

GARBO WRITES BOOK.

DOG WRITES WORD.

Architecture here is fantastical not having been bombed during WW11 all these
centuries old buildings are still standing. Unlike poor Dresden, totally wiped
out, citizens and all. Read Slaughterhouse 5 by Kurt Vonnegut Jr. Didn't actually
see Dresden as the bus bypassed it.

Hate to think that they have Maccas or Marks and Spencers there.
Recently saw the Len Riefenstahl film of the 1934 Nazi rally in Nuremburg. There
were aerial views of Frankfurt that were simply magic. Alas, no longer.

But back to the fine erections. Modern buildings here are equally striking. The
Dancing House, or Fred and Ginger, is a good example. Looks like a piece of flat
spaghetti trying to stand up. Or a slug that's been pushed side-ways. Whatever, it
dances. Also, reading recently, only examples of Cubist Architecture in the world
are in Prague.

TALKED TO A SECOND TONGUE

Talked to a young bloke today and told him that I was only 32
but that I had drank a lot. Have actually known people like that. Roscoe, are you
there? He preferred it when I told him I was 52 and that I should be proud to be
doing what I'm doing. Proud isn't the word.

I've been unconsciously calling. Aussies blokes, and the Americans, guys. But
later I seemed to get them all mixed up. That's globalization for you. The girls
are nearly all babes. Not a pubic hair between them.

Fuck me drunk and bugger me mother, I'm thirsty. Back to the hostel via the
Karlova Namesti metro station. As dry as a nun's nasty in the Sahara.

Dumb cunt, I forgot my laundry. I said once to Michael in a poem not to " live in
your head, it's a bad place to be". He's never read it but then I'm not dead yet
and he's not old enough. What I'm trying to say here is that if you don't think
too much you'll never forget your laundry or whatever. So back to side street off
Wencelaus Sq to get my washing.

Back at the Arena Casey forces my to buy another shot of some crap, sort of like a
light absinthe. Like toothpaste.

This is a joke from Lissa: Adam and Eve are kicking back in the Garden of Eden. By
the time God drops by to see how they're going, they're " getting it on". Decides
to come back when they're finished and, when he does, only Adam's there. He asks
Adam where she is and Adam tells God Eve's down at the river washing herself.
God groans says " How am I ever going to get that smell out of the fish!?!? ".

Going into town with Lissa after she's finished work. She wants to go to a Lezzo
bar. She tells me she's not a lesbian, although all her friends are back in
Arkansas, but that she's an anthropologist. Another one. I express my doubts
about the welcome I might receive but she says it's cool, that it's mixed. We
don't end up going because she is not sure where it is * and we can't find anyone
with English. One Czech man at the tram stop offers Espanola as a second tongue.
Which isn't very helpful as my tongue can barely facilitate English at the moment.

* She was so many sheets to the wind and gets the shits because she REALLY wanted
to go, goddammit. Cantankerous little hornswoggler she is.

SPOKE TO A PASSPORT

Spoke to the owner of the Arena and he said he could maybe help me with some
Real Estate if I needed it. Thought he was a Greek but he turns out to be an
Israeli. Spartan Bar at the Arena, and he's NOT Greek.

Explanation: There’s a hockey arena nearby. And, I suppose, Sparta's just to the
south?

It's 1pm back at the Hostel and some guys in The Police room are still sleeping.
It's the surfie guys I realize. They're a bloody 3-man football team! Haven't
mentioned it before? The rooms aren't numbered but named after famous Musos, I'm
in the Mozart, there's an Abba, a Bob Marley, a Jimi Hendrix, and so on and
etcetera.

21.7.02 SUN

Earlier Lissa was worried about the place (Prague) changing with the proposed
coming of the Euro and the EU. I told her that it would never change because it
already has. The Germans. The Russians. Her.

She concludes that I'm being too optimistic for her. She knows SHE'S changed the
place by being here (about 3 months) herself but I tell her to read Doestoevski’s
" Dream of a Queer Fellow". Man dreams of going to Utopia and spoils it. I read
it when I was her age, 19. She notes it down and I wish my shorts were.

Have said to people that I am a writer and, that that, is what I am doing. For the
first time, it feels true.

Hope I don't fuck this up. I wrote about 50 or 60 lines in the bar last night, on
scraps of paper, and I'm not sure if they're in the right order. If things seem a
little out of kilter the next few pages, they probably are.

Question arises in my head yesterday: Will the hero of THIS go back to Berlin to
get Maria, or will he bed Lissa and make her even unhappier. Stay tuned for
developments. One-Hour Express Service.
Lissa gave me her E-mail and her Post Box No in West Fork today. Doesn't want mine
until I send her some of my writing first. Basically, I'll show you mine when you
show me yours. Are we ever that far from the cradle?

Anthony really likes his Danish. Is worried about having to say Goodbye. Why? If
she likes him there is no reason why because I know he likes her. Slept last night
with another 4 girls occupying the bunks. Michael, my son, sharing a 6 bunk bed
room isn't hard. But, parts of me are. Life is a bowl of cherries, nearly all
wearing underpants.

Only had soup again yesterday and 2 bread rolls. Not hungry this morning. The beer
is THAT nutritious!

Lissa told me, yesterday, that I could get a job here teaching English. I couldn't
understand how when I don't know any Czech. Apparently, you only do it with
advanced students at the conversational. It's a four-week course. Will I fall for
the teacher/student adoration?

Horrible thought. What if I lost this diary? So much work. Thought I lost it
yesterday and panicked as tho it was my plastic or my passport.

HAD TO PRONOUNCED FLORUNZ

Had a convo with the huge, fluffy Czech girl at Reception. We talked about the
coming divorce, how she really married me for the money. Much to the delight of
surrounding young gells. Asked her if I could have 5 girls tonight as 4 was barely
(?) enough.

Looks like the grey skies are going to clear up. It’s been overcast mostly since
I've been here. The sun is what made the Vltava look so great yesterday! Going
into town to e-mail Lissa Excerpts from Euroem (her bits). Talked to Rob on the
phone, during MacBreakfast, and told him about the community of ex-pats (Ozzies,
Brits, Septics) all writing and thinking they're the next Franz Kafka, including
moi. But, like Gone With The Wind wasn't Gone With The Wind, I don't think even
Franz could be the next Kafka either. A time gone. Paranoia now seems normal.

Was going into town to read Toffler on one of the islands in the middle of the
Vltava but I forgot the book. When I turned around I somehow got lost and,
somehow, didn't care. It's easy to get lost, especially in the older parts (back
alleys and side streets) and in the nightmare of Paris, barely any 90-degree
corners. Was going to a concert tonight but by the time I get back to the bar at 5
I've usually done 5-10 ks and feeling tired.

EUROEM # 19

Kafka wears
a hat and writes
letters to Milena
I wear
a baseball cap
and send e-mails
to Lissa.

Prague
21.7.02

Good day, temps in the high 20's. Pace of walking / life slower here. Can get into
it sometimes, but then, find myself dropping back and kicking up to speed. I'm
sure I could get used to it. Probably good for the blood pressure.

Hate this town. Can't stop writing.

Just passed an open sewer. Jesus wept and Mary cried. What a smell. New name, for
e-mails anyway. Gazy Florenc. Gazy I got from an advertising billboard and
Florenc is a railway station. Pronounced Florunz.

IF TO THE FIRST EXERCISE BOOK

If this book is a success, maybe I can find publisher for PROFOUND & DEEP, my
seventies / eighties MS. Any takers? Most of it's good, like the curate's unborn
child.

Must thank K 2 for giving me the hostelworld website. It's been invaluable. The
YHA's are nearly all booked out and alcohol free, not free alcohol. I passed it on
to Simon and whatsername. They could have passed it on to me. We could easily have
passed it on to each other. Germination, that's the name of the game, in each
generation they play it the same. Apologies' to whoever wrote that first.

The fluffy Czech girl has just kissed a girl. Adaptable, maybe. Who cares if you
can watch? She has running jokes with nearly all the male travellers - usually
about sex, marriage or, with me, divorce.

Had a can of tuna that I bought in Ams. It had green beans in it. Weird. Followed
by a beer.
Reading Toffler. Last night we all agreed that stating the obvious is a form of
genius. Truth and beauty are always out there. You just have to go out and grab
it.

Going to use Garbo / Sanitation Engineer / Dustman in title of book. Should grab
the publisher's / book buyers attention - A GARBO'S GUIDE TO BITS OF EUROPE.

Poems are snapshots of love. Who needs a camera? The reason for this is obscure
remark is my sister's insistence that I get a camera (after finding out out I had
none). Eventually got one and went beserk, especially in Switzerland.Two rolls in
one day !

Saw Danielle today at the free computer station and had to ask her again to put
the turtle neck sweater back on. Again she says it too hot. Again, I tell her I'm
only worried about my feelings. She still doesn't laugh. When she first rolled
into the Arena I couldn't remember who she was and that I had met too many
georgeous blondes to recall. She said I was sweet. Sweet, my arse, I want to
pillage her plunder, show her some wonder, try not to blunder.

Lissa told me her story the night we were going to go to the Lezzo Club. She's
was conceived, on the side, with her father married to someone else. . Her mother,
a hippy. Younger than the father. At least I'm not old enough to be her father -
he's 63. Father and legal wife still together, so Lissa is a bit of an
embarrassment. She says he doesn't love her. I keep reassuring her that he MUST.
It's hard NOT to love your children, I tell her. Poor Liss, she's really
phuktup. And I love her because she's so unhappy.

Somehow I fucked up the above story. She says it's not right. Probably - I
listened, and she told me, drunk. Have asked her to clarify for publication but as
of " yet" she hasn't.

Young couple at the bar are playing Tonsil Hockey. Darren, from NZ, and her, a
Britney Spears look-a-like from Montana. When they FINALLY stop she looks up and
laughs because I am covering my eyes. In a later conversation, she tells me she
didn't worry about going to Switzerland as it was a lot like Montana. Rome is
her favourite, Prague the second. Not many give their vote to Paris. The young
things are going into town, it's like 11pm. Anthony is meeting his Dane at
midnight. Case asks me to mind the bar but there's no one here. Good job. No pay.
Below average even for Czech Republic.

Have had enough. Been at it (e mailing not drinking) for 4 hours. Nearly
finished the first exercise book.

SUNDAYS ARE PRETTY TO AFFORD THEM

Sundays are pretty quiet here, not ALL of the shops open, but you can get drunk,
have a meal or buy a new dress.

Saw Anthony again today and it was his usual 6.30am finish. He says him and the
Dane (which they're ain't nothin' like) are getting serious but she doesn't want
to leave Copenhagen and he wants to return to Australia after he's finished is
stint in the Old Dart.

I've talked about the beautiful Czech women. Not that I'm interested but here's my
verdict on the men - they all look VERY serious. Very Slav. About all can say.

Went to the local diner near the Arena. Kicked off with a Radegast beer and
ordered the Hungarian Pot Roast and, just hope, I don't get the Mad Cow! 20 kc
for the beer, 90kc for the meal. $AUD 6.

Have noticed the prose is flowing and leaving the poems behind. Still, Diane
reckons the last letter I sent to her in Sydney sounded like a poem amyway. Just a
different shape. Have been writing this way - short, choppy sentences - for so
long that it seems to come naturally.

Sometimes the words come too fast and are unable to read my writing afterwards.
You should see this exercise book - somewhere between sanscrit and a mud puddle.

A new arrival from Busabout walked through the bar just as I was trying to think
of Billy Bob Thornton's last movie. She told me what it was and I said that she
was welcome as any movie buffs are. Literature, for what it's worth of the late
20thC. Another reason why hostels are better than hotels proper, even if you
could afford them. The open exchanges.

SUNDAY'S A QUIET DAY TO SEE HER TOMORROW

Sunday's a quiet day at the Arena bar. There's only me, the manager and Case. The
manager, who is a bit of a fascist, is impressed with my regularity and orders me
up a free beer.

Brazillian guy, who works here, says that Prague is killing him. He says The
Food's too bad, the beers too good and the nights too long. The food is bad,
meaning there's too much of it.

Doing my own drinks at the bar now. In another week I'll be behind it. NOT. It
wouldn't take much to replace Case. If I didn't know he was from goddam Michigan,
I'd swear he was an idle Pommy bastard.

They just turned out the lights while I'm trying to write. They've put the red and
white " mood " lights on. Lissa rushes over with a tiny candle for me. Sarcasm
and illumination in one friendly gesture.

She's not working, she's just here. Both her and Case hang out here on their
off nights, though not always. Liss and I wrote a poem together (she was bored and
I suggested it), alternating lines, which I haven't done with anyone for years.
It's going on the corkboard along with the photo of Customer of the Month.

Early Liss was sitting at the bar having something to eat. She asked me " would
you like some of this? " I replied in the affirmative as well as expressing
an interest in the food. She laughed. I'd show her a scribbly poem I'd
written about how I love her and her mousey-brown hair. Little depressive shit
she is. I'll e-mail her a copy she can read. The poem we did together was OK and
I think we could do some pretty good shit together. Especially, if we had enough
toilet paper.

Lissa's at the bar writing away. I think I've spermed her on. There's a table of
gabblers in between us. I'm writing on this side. Likely to stay that way. I can't
really help her.

Blisters, now totally broken and hardened like sea things crusted on to water
pilings. Going to bed before midnight, first time in about 6 days. The sleep's
too short, the sheep too good looking. Lissa's half asleep at the bar. (The
staff are
allowed to drink!). Told her I'd see her tomorrow.

HAVE TO GET MORE OUT OF LIFE

22.7.02 MON

Have to get a new Metro ticket tomorrow. If I known how long I'd be staying here I
would have bought a bigger one. I paid 250kc for 7 days and you can get a 15 day
one for 280kc.

Saw Britney (but with acne scars) from Montana in the bar last night and she gave
me a smile, which is enough, and all I'm likely to get anyway! She'd intended to
leave yesterday but obviously got lost in the whole tonguey concept with Darren,
the white boy from NZ with the tribal arm band tatt.

Lissa's talking about getting one. She already has anklet ones and one in the
small off her back. Explanation: I've only seen those because her blouse rides up
at the rear and she wears half-mast pants.

POEM 21.7.02

Me He was born in a way

Her leaving the cobble-stone streets
and only the lampost
Me could see how drunk he was
and the size of his underwear
Her looking up at the window he wondered
that this must be what it
felt like the first time

Me but the lampost

had never had real sex
and just couldn't relate
Her so he crawled back
into the gutter, just to abate.

And there, we ran out of paper, having been writing it on a tiny scrap of paper.
It could have been as long as Moby's Dick and twice as thick but…… what are you
going to do? She cheated on the last line. I thought we'd agreed not to rhyme.
HER No Rules are definitely different to mine.

I spoke to one of the girls I've been sleeping with (got a nice ring to it!) and
asked if my snoring was disturbing her. She said No. I said it's hard to tell with
people coming and going all the time, at all hours. She asked if she'd disturbed
me last when her and the others came in. No, I said (But the sight of a young
female shoulder 1 metre away can be.) With some people trudging around like
elephants and, others, walking on feathers, you get used to it. And sometimes
people are partying right outside our window, coming home from activities in town.

Decided to walk into town as I was told there was a stationer on the way. I need
more paper. Dropped into a corner shop to see if they had what I wanted. Very
little English spoken outside of Prague Central. Had to show them my exercise
book and pretend to write in it to let them know what I wanted. A lady tried to
direct me in Czech and also with her fingers. I knew what she was trying to say
but couldn't understand a word she said. I managed to find a place anyway, though
not the place she'd been directing me to. I saw her on the way back, waved, and
expressed thanks. I recognized the word dobra, same as dobro in Yugoslav, and
replied in kind. If I had more Yugoslav from the boys I worked with at LifeSavers
I'd be better off. Apparently Czechs and Yugos can understand each other
reasonably well. And I'd get a " whole lot more out of life “.
CROSSED THE VLTAVA TO SAY GOODBYE

Crossed the Vltava at the Hlarkov most (bridge) and will recross it at the Svermov
most to get to Letna Park. Want to see if I can find a huge Russian monument I've
seen a photo of. It cost a mint I heard an old lady, at the Communist Museum, say
or at least 2 or 3 hospitals. The Czechs blew up a lot of the Russian rigmarole
when they chucked them out.

Was going to use the bridge underpass but I saw a couple of nogoodniks hanging
about, and decided to go across the busy roadway. I almost got killed but, at
least, you don't lose your wallet, plastic or passport that way.

Stumble on the Credo, acciidently. It's a bit cold outside but it's warm where I'm
sitting near a window with the sun streaming in. Go for the fettucine with blue
vein etc again as the tortellini disappointed yesterday. A nice glass of fruity
Riesling, in a delicate tulip-shaped glass, made the perfect brunch, as opposed to
the Maccas and Czech hot dogs I had yesterday. The swedish-looking waitress
remembers me and asks me how I am? It DOES pay to give tips. I'd like to give
her a real tip and I don't mean at the races.

It was good walking down as I now have a better sense of direction.

Travelling on the underground train, you don't know whether you're going north or
south.

Waitress comes. Must eat. Put pen down.

OR SHOULD THAT BE:

Put pen down. Must eat. Waitress comes?

BUDGET Hostel 400kc ($A 25)

Meal 150kc ($A 10)
Beer 150kc ($A 10)
Museums, Activities 200kc ($A 15)

Approx $A 60 compared 80 to 100 elsewhere, esp.the dreaded Paris.

End of old notebook. Say goodbye.

PEOPLE LEAVE THINGS TO THE WORLD OVER

People leave things in these rooms all the time. Bits and pieces - pens, shoes and
undies. Haven't been the least tempted to sniff shoes.

My best-laid plans are to keep this book tidy, free of scribble. It is easier to
write in because it has a hard cover. Will my plans gang aglee? As they often do.
View from Letna Park over the city is great, if, sometimes, obscured by trees.
It's more like a forest than a park. It's on the side of a hill, facing Prague,
and it's very steep. As I walk through Letna I can feel the blood pressure
dropping. There's no one here! Other people would have gotten here in 3 days.
It's taken me 6. I did it the Frank Sinatra way.

On the Vltava, this morning, I've seen A Viking longboat and a paddle steamer. I
thought the Showboat on Sydney Harbour was the only Living Tourist Abortion.

Just walked back up the hill, backtracking to find the monument, but another dead
end. Nil desperandum and Nosferatu. Either couldn't find monument through lack of
trying, or they blew it up. A pity in a way, having cost a lot in labour and
capital. Das Kapital and labour together, oh what a night, late September.......

Just purchased a Prague 2003 calendar and about 10 postcards. They are better than
the photos I could take. Marilyn photos might have to come down, if I stay in
Sydney.

Back over the Chechuv most to find the cheap Internet cafe near the Havni posta
(the main P.O.). Referring to the mapit's a straight line through the Stare Mesto
and turn left. Easy as.

Almost bump into Gwyneth Paltrow walking down Wencelaus Square. Ordinary looking
compared to the rest of the girls. No make up, in the cold, bright light of day;
she is unable to hold a candle to Czech women. And to think, she USED to be my
No1 movie star.
Around the corner I see a guy who looks like I drunk I know at home.

Alcoholics, same the world over.

GOT AROUND TO A COUPLE WITH ME

Got around most of the city today without referring much to the map.

Saw a tabak shop, U Sherlocka Holmese, trafika Cigar and Pipe and the universe-al
bonga. Throw it all down your alimentary canal, dear Watsona....

Chauvinism, I wonder. Are Czech women beautiful because I can't understand what
they are saying - no banalities, no snobberies, no put-downs.

Been checking out some travel brochures - Budapest and and Salzburg seem to have
similar architecture as P.

Walked enough today, caught the train back to Nadrazi Holesovice.

Picked up an old Hunters & Collectors CD, Demon Seed. Never heard of it before,
but it was only 50 kc, less than $A 4. Found it in the Budget Bin. CD Bargains All
Over The World could be my motto. Introduced Lissa to it and she's playing it
at the bar and reading the lyrics. Not a bad album, features the single Holy
Grail.
Apart from opening 10 minutes of Mission Impossible featuring the Charles Bridge,
Blade 11, Kafka and Dune (tv series), Prague was used for Les Miserable (with Liam
Neeson, Claire Danes, Geoffrey Rush) as it was easier than to construct 18th C
Paris, which barely exists now. When Geoffrey Rush is falls into the Seine it is,
in fact, the Vltava. The fact that Prague was used to represent 18thC Paris occurs
later and is a slightly eerie coincidence.

In the melting pot of Europe people lose their accents. big time. From Auckland,
from Arkansas. L's is very soft, no Texan loudness, no southern belle twang.
When she asks someone if they want to have a shot with her she softens the " t "
and customers think she is asking them to have a shower with her. No wonder she
gets into trouble. Thought it was me - but no - several customers agree.

Got to get into town early tomorrow to get rid of some more of this diary. Am
writing more than I'm sending.

L gets into trouble with the manager for sitting on the bar. I go over, wipe it
down with newspaper and tell him she's a friend of mine. Being Customer of the
Month he takes notice. Yes, he has a sense of humour. And, bonus, she gives me a
hug and kiss. How long has this been going on?

L is trying to divide up the last drop of Hungarian Herbal liqeuer (spelled?)

Casey has given her for a farewell present, as she has to get out of here in about
8 or 9 days. Problems at home and she will be back. She has been sharing her
shots - not showers - a couple with me. I would have rather the showers!

WORDS HEARD TO IT WASN'T

Words heard in the bar: Build a bridge, get over it. I like it. It has humour
without the imperitive of " get over it " by itself. Unlike people to lengthen a
saying and improve on it.

Nearly everyone who meets Lissa likes her but she can't seem to see that she is
loved. She just seems to push that concept away. Is there no connection? Too much
emphasis on SEX? She's cute and rootable but she has told me that she has spent
the last 4 nights by herself. Have told Lissa that I love her but not IN love,
which she knows. She’s a good kid but fucked up a bit. Who the mother isn’t?

Great music tonight. Liss likes Bob Dylan's Oh Mercy and Jim Hendrix, which is
fine by me. Went to the local restaurant, GOL, and had the Czech goulash, on
special. Beer arrives with a 4-inch head, BELOW the glass lip. Love the bread
here, crusty on the outside and soft on the in.

Eva (when is the divorce coming through) tells me the reason I couldn't find the
huge Russkie monument in Letna Park is because they pulled it down. Pity really,
as it cost so much. Only found out recently that it was NOT pulled down but
EXPLODED and NOT recently. Happened in 51 or 2. And not by the locals - was done
by Russian agents as Stalin featured prominently and had just fallen out of
favour.

Almost the same as Hitler's bunker in Berlin. It's a carpark now. Only way you can
find it is on a proper guided tour. If you forget the past, a certain condemnation
can occur.
Leave the Czechs alone and forget the stripes. They are a people who have been
trammelled many times but always come good in the end. How will they survive the
coming of the EURO: Apparently, the government wants IN with the European Union.
But do the people? I've been told the Euro has raised the cost of living by 30% in
some countries. Berlin, especially, where some of the burghers just changed their
prices from marks to euros without adjusting the numbers.

Diary looking really sloppy. Must have been the 10 pints. As I retype this diary,
I'm cutting out every second line or paragraph that is just plain silly or
unreadable. It's only 10 pm and I'm totally stuffed but too tired to go to bed.
Try to see the old town square clock early in the morning when there aren't as
many tourists around. Did not get a good look at it yesterday.

Had a bad dream that kept waking up every hour or so and then straight back into
it when fall asleep again.

EUROEM #20

It's 10.30 at night

Lissa's behind
the bar

and I wish
she was standing
in front of mine.

Prague 22.7.02

She keeps telling me she knows I love her but she could take advantage. Don't
worry about it. Chill bitch. I can handle it. After she read the EUROEMS and we
did that poem together, she awoke a 3am and couldn' t get back to sleep. So, she
got up and wrote. Banged away at her old portable for a couple of hours, she tells
me. I don't care how old it is, would love to get a good look at her portable
QWERTY one day.

Andrew, the absinthe drinking fellatist, left today. I told him I'd see him at
the North Pole. Hope he didn’t think that was too Freudian. And I hope it wasn’t!

23.7.02 TUES TO EUROEM #21

23.7 TUES

Got myelf a new 7-day pass for another 250 kc. If I knew how long I d be here I
would have bought a 15 day one for 280 kc.

Lissa admitted, yesterday, to not showering regularly. Need I say that she's my
kind of girl!
Woke up at 3 am this morning with a touch of the Lissas. Did some writing but
nothing on paper. Too dark. Get up, though, and 6 and used the free computers for
a few lines. In town now, going to add to it at Internet Cafe.

Got another roll from lady at Hvatlavni Nadrazi for breakfast. And a tip again. It
wasn t Dickhead, it was something like Beak yew. Thanks, hopefully.
Bit early this morning for fettucine & wine. Not so for the little group of ladies
next to me on the bench. They've omitted the fettucine etc and gone straight for
the beer.

Car tyres on cobblestones are very noisy. Think I 'd prefer a clip clop or two.

Too early at 9 for the inter cafe, so it's down to the river.

Thinking about the number of nationalities you run into at a backbacker's. Why
leave home? Find a hostel in your hometown and stay there. Travelling, on the
cheap. Not an airfare in sight. The rest is just a collection of statues and old
erections. I am only going to get a camera for photos of people I' ve met.

Stopping ever hundred yards or five minutes, whichever comes first, to make notes.
I probably look like a drunk having a writing fit. The Muse lives in Prague at #
42. And # 43. And # 44............. Further reading later on - I discovered that
the original province of which Prague is the centre is the ORIGINAL Bohemia. There
IS defintely something here.

The Municipal House, where classical music is performed, makes the Sydney Opera
House look like some white concrete slabs sitting next to an old dockyard. Have
to do a few dozen meat pies when I return. Getting very un-Australian. On my
return might have to attend a football occasion.

Just passed a bank advert claiming they have Internetove bankovnictvi. Very
modern. Bet they' re the same Golem as elsewhere.

EUROEM # 21

Franz Kafka
wearing a hat
takes if off as the
ladies approach

He loves women.
As do I.

Prague 23.7.02

The Main Post Office where I have just sent some cards is magnificent on the
inside but cannot compare to the old GPO in Martin Place. I hope this makes
amends for Anti-Oz comments re Syd Op House.
EUROEM #22 TO ONE OF THE BUNKS

EUROEM #22

Franz Kafka
wearing a hat *

is trying to
order a meal
but the waitress can
see right through him

She knows he's just

there for her.
Prague 23.7.02

* The hat. Kafka's depiction on t shirts & whatever as walking the streets of
Prague wearing his hat as most were prone to do even before the advent of the
UV/cancer scare.
Franz is wearing a hat at this restaurant because it is an outdoor venue. I could
not imagine Mr. K wearing one inside. A simple, but often overlooked, gesture
nowadays in this age of Riff, Raff and baseball caps.

A young lady has just dropped her light sweater from her shoulders. What a ruse!
And I fell for it. And was rewarded by a smile, which is perfect, and enough!

Visited the Prague Flea Markets. What a rabbit warren! About 400 x 250 metres.
Huge, but, a lot of stuff you'd reject at St. Vincents. Bought some food at a
supermarket. Tomato Juice, tin of Mackerel fillets and two bread rolls. Cost me
about 90 kc, about 40 kc LESS than a restaurant meal with a glass of wine or beer.
Hardly worth it for a tourist.

Just blown another pen but found one under one of the bunks.

LAST NIGHT TO 3 OR 4 MORE

Last night I overheard Lissa talking to somone about her drug use - had started at
13 - cannabis, mushies, etc - and that she was OVER it by now - all behind her at
the grand old age of 19. She still regards "shots" as gods, though?

Went to read a book about 2pm, then have an early sleep after lunch. Didn't even
get to the page one. Woke at 5.30 pm to hear Greg and Eva giving the latest
Busabout crew the lowdown on the Metro and where to get cash if they needed it.
Cash only. And there's a Tequilla Night tonight. Will there be lemons & salt as
opposed to the Absinthe Night, free of spoons and sugar? Five minutes later my
question is answered when Greg brings some new recruits into my room. Yes, there
will be the drinking accoutrement! I welcome the new girls and tell them don't
worry - I am the local vampire but I don't drink very much. They ask me how long I
have been here and I say Eternity.Damnation. And Forever. But seriously, I didn't
bite and have been here for 7 days and would be here for at least, 3 or 4 more.

LISSA TO EQUALLY NUDE FLATMATE

Lissa tells her new boyfriend (?) that I'm just like a father to her only I LET
her be bitch. Just like every woman I've ever known.

Case gets hassled by the manager about the Beach Boys he's playing, saying that
people couldn't dance to it. It's 6pm. Dancing? He's actually trying to impress
some people he's talking to. We all know the type. Tonight's brand of tequilla is
Black Death. Greg comes in asking for free shots in exchange for overtime done.

We all agree that Prince's ex-girlfriends all become Christians because it's the
last position you can take when you've been totally fuktover Lissa says she woke
at a decent hour for a change - meaning 11am not 3pm. And that she's a growing
girl. I told her I hoped she'd get taller. But don't go wearing high heals just
for me.

Whole group of us (mostly Yanks) discuss the films of Todd Solandcz (?) ie Welcome
to the Dollhouse, Happiness and Storytelling. Also Gummo and Kids. (Watching
movies and listening to newish music has helped me relate to this people newly
released from Pimple Prison) These are seriously weird movies. Not so much Kids
although it is tense but Gummon gets the Oscar for Being Out There. Also talk
about Nil By Mouth, Basketball Diaries and The War Room.

Greg tells a funny story about being given a g-string for his birthday and how he
woke up in the middle of a disco in the morning, NOT wearing it. Naked, next to
his equally nude flatmate.

LISSA'S FRIEND TO BE

Lissa’s friend reckons you could do a book on pub mythology. I tell him it's
already been done and refer him to David Ireland's " Glass Canoe ". At this point
I was beginning to feel like a Librarian.

Case has offered that I could follow him around and write about his adventures. I
tell him that I am as punctual as boredom and that our schedules would clash. Like
Greg, he is always running late. His first day at work at the Arena he was late .I
also told him his tits were too small. If he's trying to be interesting to be in
the book, it's not working, although he IS in the book.

Lissa tells me she can stay here forever as Yanks don't need a visa. They just
have to cross the border every three months and then re-enter. Could I do the same
but at $77 a pop? She's only leaving because her father is croaking. We joke about
that. It's only natural, him being a frog and all.

Danielle walks in and she too is staying for a while longer. Her father was an
architecture graduate when he visited Europe as a youth and DIDN'T visit Prague!?!
She doesn't sit at my table. Maybe she doesn't like my turtle neck jokes. We talk
anyway.
Dining out. Coming back for some tequilla debauch.

EUROEM # 23

Somone asked me
about my shoes

where are they ?

did I lose them ?

No. I sold them

(tongue in cheek)

I needed the money.

Poor old student

of life that I am

Prague 23.7.02

And tongue in cheek is where I'd like to be right at this moment. A born romantic
is I.

EXPLANATION TO FUKT IN THE HEAD

Explanation for EUROEM # 23.Ever since the Great Blister Visitation I've been
walking around shoeless, wherever possible. The Arena Bar is one of those places.
Getting fresh air to the festering footprints. Helps in the healing. Acres of
skin are beginning to harden and drop off. Disgusting, YES, but it's all good.
Feet are improving now shoes have worn in. Bit late, but, better than never.

Talking about liquor with the crew. I told the younguns the really, really old
joke about how a French woman holds hers. Told them that I had first heard it in
our OZ version of THEIR junior high. Asked how long ago that was I simply replied
Once Upon A Time.Between the Wars. After the Revolution. Between Black & White and
Colour. Between manual & automatic cars. Around the time of sliced bread. Never
you mind how old I am!

CD being played in the bar seems to be sticking. Liss gets up to fix it. But
that's the way the music is. Even the young ones can't tell. I said it wouldn't
happen with Beethoven.

Trans cultural idiom time: Yanks had never heard the term " playing for the other
team" ie Homosexual. They thought it was pretty funny. Educate those goddam North
Americans yet! Sorry, Canada.

There's a huge brunette Australian mountain woman just entered the bar, wearing
huge hiking boots. Dreams of submission happening in daylight. OK, it 9.15 pm, but
the sun's still up and it feels like day.

EUROEM # 24

Danielle is pretty.

And I'm pretty.

Fukt in the head.

Prague 23.7.02

SALT SIP CITRUS TO FINALLY UNDERSTAND

Salt, sip, citrus. Black Death Tequilla, White and Gold. Tequilla Suicide (re?)
invented by Casey. Salt up the nose, vodka down the throat and citrus in the eye.
Case giving a free shot to anyone who does it. I congratulate the young Melburnian
who actually does it. If I don't move to Prague I'll move to Melbourne, in his
honour.

Lissa says she wants a father who isn't dying and loves her. Same age as Jessica.
Or younger by 8 days.

Teqilla night is a huge success. The bar is as crowded as I've seen it.

Girl with a lip piercing to the left of centre - what a rebel! I'm being pushed
closer to the fridge, not the edge. Shouldn't have given up my table, as a polite
gesture. Never be polite again, give those young backpackies an inch and........
Told Case the whole world can go fuck themselves for overtaking my hospitality.
More alcohol will probably NOT help this rambling.

Lissa seems to be working the bar but it's her night off. Case is as lazy as.
She's mostly playing with the CDs though. I think I have finally convinced Lissa
that her Dad loves her. Job's done here, Robin. On to the next city to save
another young American girl.

Lissa tried to read my diary while I was in the john but coudln't due to mud
puddle and sanscrit.

Told her meaning of life story from Procul Harum Live In Edmonton album. Very
briefly - Old Guru says to Young Devotee: Well Life is like an Orange (?), isn't
it?

Told her I 'd send her my diary in E-mail.

She loves me, she loves me not. I told her I loved her and would fuck her, but
don't NEED to. I simply love her. I held her hand and kissed her. That is enough.
 Must escape soon before I............Cesky-Krumlov, I'm heading your way.

Her friend has asked me for her hand in sex. And Lissa has asked for my approval.
I say yes to both of them.

And to him, in answer to another question. That there is no meaning of life. What
YOU DO is the meaning of life! YOU are the meaning of life. I've said it. And I
can't believe I've said it. All these years, to finally understand. Even if you're
three parts pissed.

I think the above is so amazing (and I am so stewed) that I manage to write it

down TWICE!

JESUS TO MR BOWIE

24.7.02 (WED) Jesus, it's 11.05am. Too much tequilla for me. In all my mornings
have never felt so tired.

Out to reception to pay for another night and Case is there. Asked did he spend
the night? Yes, with an Estonian girl who he had met round the corner at the OTHER
Arena Hostel. I congratulate him and ask to smell his hand. A girl is
complaining that every male she meets says he's fantastic and how great he is. I
tell her I'm boring and very ordinary. Case pipes in with the fact that I am
Customer of the Month. She then says she's incredible, not just so so. And I
HAVE to, unfortunately, take her word for it.

I tell Case we'll have to do another Teqilla Night. NEXT year. Never felt this
weird. Have to do notes I made on Staropromen paper at the door to the Internet.
Leaving little time for seeing statues.

It's 10.30 pm and Lissa has had a night with her boyfriend (?) but she seems to
working behind the bar again. Case is very slack. Probably even too slack for the
Czech Republic. I'm told he only got the job by the skin of his Old Fellow.
From memory, I think I was offered his job at one point.

Told Lissa I should have done this (and her) when I was about 20. She tells me I
couldn't have, and she is right. She loves me like an extra-father. I love her
like something else. She likes the fact that I am a writer and that she is
becoming one. A scenario from Silence of the Lambs. Or is that the Red Dragon?

There's a mean pair of shoulders I really like. I'm eating away. Wish I really WAS
a dirty old man! It would be so much easier than actually caring about someone.

Lissa says she knows she loves the father who, she knows, loves her. Breakthrough!
Hope she is convinced. Because it must be true.

I have become so enriched by the European experience. Never to go home again. Too
much broken glass on the floor, too much tomato sauce on the walls. Diane will
know what I mean. I am crying, thinking about it. And that's another book, anyway.

Being a dirty old man would be so much easier. Are there really dirty old men? Or
just broken-hearted OLD teenagers?

Last night Lissa was reading the text of my anti-uranium t-shirt. I grabbed
behind my neck so she coluld read the label but she didn't understand the joke.
You have to read the whole story, I tell her. Only so much you can teach the Young
Americans, Mr Bowie!

OFF TO TOWN TO STAY TUNED

Off to town. Another day in Texas, another day in Prague. Another pen dried up.

Case is outside the hostel when I leave. He is holding hands with his Estonian
girl. I ask him if I can hold the other one. I don't make it clear which hand I
mean.

McCountry breakfast at Nadrazi Holesovice. Only one table left, very crowded. But
the toilet is free. 5 kc in town Maccas. The McCountry is chicken, mayonnaise and
salad (on a sesame seed bun, of course!) A little girl of about 5, with what
looks like a tattoo around her neck, gives me a smile. I smile back. How can
you not smile back at a child? Looking closer, she's wearing a really tight
necklet.

I go to the toilet shitting the |MIssissippi. Couldn't put that in the same para
as the little girl. Probably too much info all up!

Just missed the Metro but it doesn't matter as they come every five minutes. Girl
on the platform gives me a funny look. My fly''s not undone but is my creativity
showing

Rang Diane and telling her how happy I was, I started crying again. 52 years of
crap behind me

Another blister forming. Fortunately I bought some pads in Berlin for just such a
situation.

Lucky. Got a direct line from Mustek to Hradcanska to Hradcarny. (Prague Castle)
Kafka's Castle. He didn't live in it, her wrote about it. Couldn't get passed
page 60, must give it another go.

Escalator out of the Metro was really long, about 100 metres easy. And quite a
slow ride. Some of the escalators go 40 to the dozen. It's a tired part of town.
There're a couple of bums on the street. I wonder, briefly, who they belong to?

Homeless selling their version of The Big Issue. Never been in this part of town
before. Young Dave stayed here when we first arrived in P. It's usually one of
the first places people go to, for the Castle. Retards take 8 days. There's a
great little row of shops on the way to the Hradcarny, selling everything from
fruit, flowers, confectionery, bread, porn and the usual alcohol. Bought a new
baseball cap to replace The Berlin one I lost in Prague that replaced the
Amsterdam one lost in Berlin, that replaced the Coca Cola one (in Paris) I 'd
originally brought with me.

Some pretty good shit coming up. Stay tuned.

IT'S STARTED TO DOWN THE TRACK

It's started to rain. I could have hotelled it but decide to push on. Shelter in a
palace. Nice concept. Shame about the revolution. Try to take cover at important
looking entrance to an important looking building. A soldier warns me away. But
he's friendly and I manage to pronounce Hrardcarny OK and he gives me directions.
I salute. I finally find shelter under a tree. They're not so tough without their
rifles!

Hrardcarny is more like a church than a castle, if you built one over a football
field. The soldiers in the sentry box look like statues. But no, they're just
doing that Buckingham Palace schtick.

There's one thing that stands between me and the Palace, an art gallery. I go in.
An attendant gives me the once over. I'm slightly damp and the Volleys are pretty
dirty by now. When I check my bag in (after being TOLD to) to the cloakroom I
decide that the girl could be a waitress at the restaurant In My Dreams.

The first thing I see is a picture of Adam and Eve shifting their arses out of the
Garden. Eve seems to be carrying a bunch of grapes. Or a Map of Tasmania. Adam
and Eve, the original backpackers. There's a photo sitting on a pedestal of a
couple of Kosovos in a similar pose.

It takes a while for me to work it out, but I do. Very interesting. Old 17,18,19
th C paintings or sketches depicting scenes of exile, dispossession, homelessness.
Brilliant concept. Simply the obvious. In front of Moses discovering the water
source, smiting the rock with his smiting stick, is a picture of some Bangladeshis
lined up at a water tanker in the middle of nowhere. All the black and whites in
front of the old works of art are of 20th C refugees.

The Prime Accountant and his merry band of clerks should visit this exhibtition.
If anyone asks, I’m Austrian.

Rwandans. Kosovos. East Timorese. Afghans. Bangladeshis. Iraqis. Ethiopians.

Indonesians. Cambodians. They're all here. Extremely moving.

Try leaving home, Mr. Howard. I can't see you mother missing you at this late
stage

Have to do Hrardcarny tomorrow. It's supposed to be an overwhelming experience. I

don't think I could cope. Thirst is cutting in too. 4.10pm. Catch the 23 tram
down to I P Pavlova where I can get a direct train to Holesovice. I don't know
where I P Pavlova is but I know it's on the train line to home. Once you know the
Metro in any city you can never get lost for long.

I P Pavlova? I always thought it was a cake.

Going crazy trying to work the math on living here. Renting or selling Bexley
unit.flat.apartment. Can't really plan till I get real estate estimates and
enquire on the pension status if I were to disappear 15 years before retirement
age. I'm told when I get to OZ that providing I don't give up my citizenship it
doesn't really matter where I live. But, then, there are ALWAYS Rule Changes. You
never know.

The soon-to-be manager of The (proposed) Underground disco tells me that as long
as I can prove financial independence I shouldn't have a problem with migration.
Sounds weird doesn't it? Some tightarses in the bar are getting into cheese and
ham rolls.

Case and I talk about the similarities between the Aborgines and the American
Indians. Similar except the A I s have got the Casino licence thing happening. The
money might be an advantage but it does all depend what you do with it. Look at
what happens to po' white trash when they win big money. Simply can't handle it.
End of pot-of-gold story Part 2002.

Amazing calm falls upon me - that I'll soon be able to retire and write NOW. And
NOT 15 years down the track towards Death and Old (er) age.

CASE PLAYING TO A NARROW MARGIN

24.7.02 (still) Case playing Radiohead's OK Computer. Really digging it. Back in
OZ I had to be stoned to enjoy it. Sometime Crank, bald headed bar manager, comes
in and he like the 'Head too.

On to my 60th page of second exercise books. 60 pages in two days is amazing for
me. I've only done about 20 lines a year lately. And I don't mean coke.

Left the bar when I saw a free computer available. Checked e-mails. Got back to
the bar to find Case playing Gin Rummy with another customer. Geez, what a job.
Lousy money tho, apparently his wages just meet his rent. He tells me has has
money set aside elsewhere. Did he work for it?

Finally met an older Busabout person. She 30/40 and doing 4 months travel in
between jobs, in between Melbourne and Sydney. It's basically her first day and we
discuss the Prague Love Affair but she has, yet, to discover it. But, beside me,
she had talked to someone else who too had fallen in love. Probably Danielle!
She's still here too at this point.

Talked to some Swedish guys. They wanted to know of a good place to eat. I said
everywhere, which is pretty true. I plan to dine locally up at the Gol.

A Vancouver girl is playing rummy with an Aussie and two Yanks. She's statuesque.
Wish I was. Hand me that pump, that Viagra, that splint!

Wander up to the Gol and it's closed. A lot of restaurants close at 10/ 10.30 pm.
Strange. Settle for a packet of crisps at the bar. The Bohemian brand.
Seriously. Best tasting potato chips ever I've ever had. They’re bacon flavoured.

Group of people who were playing rummy are now playing a game called SHITHEAD,
apparently similar to ASSHOLE but with different levels. Only citizens of the USA
could delineate bewteen Shitheads and Assholes. God Save the USA. I mean, God
Bless.

Get Case to play the Hunter's " Holy Grail ". NZer Justin races in, it's made
his night again and he says I'm a bewdy! I think he's been hanging around Aussies
too long.

So I'm talking to Nth California about Kafka and Texas joins us, with his backward
cap, and we start talking about the Nazis and WW 11.

Case asks me if I want " Another Gary?" and I reply that one is enough. Texas
thought it was funny.

Case is wearing boxer shorts that keep hanging out of his outer pants. The Aussie
bum crack is a far better look. Probably, though, only by a narrow margin.

25.7 THURS TO THE STATION

25.7.02 (THURS) Been using the showers in The Police room. Naughty. That's an
extra 50 kc per night for en suite. My facilities are two flights up. But it's six
hoses, no waiting. Just like those old Hitler Youth Camps, I suppose.

Have been getting good sleeps. Mostly due to alcohol, moving experiences and tram
rides.

When I pay for another night, Fluffy says she surprised I'm still there. I tell
her the same. And then we go through the whole " when the divorce papers come
through?" schtick I do the whole " I'm only 32 and look at me " routine. Pretty
well fucked over even before the honeymoon. Some young girls laugh. Greg cracks
up. I've made a Negro happy, Wowsers.

I get the # 5 tram into town and see a car with a huge 14 plastered across.
Numerolgy again. I get off at the Namesti Republicky and know where I am because I
can see the entrance to the Stare Metso. Look ma, no map!

Two sisters on the tram are not models but they are beautiful. There is a
vitality in their eyes, on their skin, their lips, that is unmistakably Czech.

Perhaps, unmistakably, they are women.

People, in period costume, are trying to sell tickets to Mozart, playing Don
Giovanni. Not interested. Barely follow the footy at home.

Mexican black bean soup, bread and muller thurgau, a local wine, for brunch.
Wanted to try the Chardonnay Charles de France but only sold by the bottle full.
A bit heavy for what is, essentially, breakfast. The Mexican waitress is a number
too. Must have some Slav in her. Mouth-watering lips, black hair tied back in bun.
Me, tied back in a dream.

The local wine is quite dry. Wish I was a vigneron, so I could describe it better
than that. Should have a cigar for breakfast. Don't think so, but they ARE on the
menu. I wonder if they do laundry here as well?

The soup has corn chips in it, like the garlic soup some days ago. But only sliced
bread, not rolls. Stale bread again. Is this normal? They’re playing Mexican
music. Most unusual, most retaurants here seem to play anything but their native
music.

Ah Bohemia, Bohemia! One could die here of TB and never know the difference. To
die happily ever after.

A fit of coughing has forced this train of thought to pull into the station.

I'VE FORGOTTEN TO COMPARE

 I've forgotten my notebook (AGAIN?) Getting the train back I see the homeless
with their bedrolls and wardrobe stacked up against the wall at the station. This
(Prague) is not a bad place but it certainly is no Utopia.

Said good morning to the Australian girl I was talking to last night. She's a bit
plain and I'm plain 52. Willing to swap.

Saw a very young girl back at the rail station - blonde models of the world, eat
your heart out and give up your day job.

Back down to see my Chinese Internet provider. I get down there and the place
is packed, just a half a mile from the railway track. Those doors flew back.
Chinese guy smiles because he knows I have been there before and now I have to
wait. Might get a coffee and try to slow down. Noticed some bad typos yesterday.

Coffee tastes great. Haven't had any since Berlin. And only had one there. Coffee
tastes better at irregular intervals rather than 2 or 3 cups per day.

Today will be a short one (in the notebook). Spent 4 hours doing e-mails. STILL
the best holiday I've ever had. Didn't get back to the hostel till 6.30 pm. Young
writer I was talking to last night about Kafka and how he would fall in love with
Prague is a slacker tourits than I me. His first day he only got to the
supermarket.

Lissa has just rocked in on her night off, written " I missed you " * and her
Arkansas Uni E-mail upside down in my notebook. I ask her if there was any chance
of pussy. She says no. A likely story.

* She didn't work yesterday either, and we didn't see each other.

Two Busabout employees walk in and read the Gary/Lissa poem and one of them
laughs. The other must be the driver. Or a critic.

Sitting at the table with Lissa and another old guy. She says what could be better
than sitting here with her? Nothing at all. Nothing can compare! But would you
mind not eating those Rusks when we’re in public?

A NEW ARRIVAL TO DARK BOUNCER

A new arrival today who's been on the toilet for 3 days. Something to do with
having eaten Maccas in Hungary. McGoulash? I'm wearing the McDeath t-shirt, so
it's all coming together.

Take photos of Case, Greg and Lissa (and L takes one of her and me and I hope it
turns out.) It does. And she's still as cute as a button, as a bug's ear or a
bee's bottom or......

The other older guy, old Dave (part owner) is putting it on Lissa too. I ask her
if it happens this often and she just smiles. Really needs a father more, I
think.

I tell her when they do a headcount for population in Tasmania (similar jokes
would apply to Arkansas and Louisiana) - they have to divide by two. She likes it.

About 8 of us went to a jazz club. Me, Lissa and Marc sit together. Marc is the
new writer / slack tourist. L calls him The Nth California Buddhist. I don't think
she has much time for Trendsetting / Faddish America. I refused to clap for solos,
as did the Lezzos, according to Marc, next to us. Or the encore.

We have a good time getting there and leaving, laughing a lot. She says she'll
miss me. I find out when her birthday is. 31.3.83. Eight days younger than
Jessica. On our way home she almost vomits, picks her nose, carries on, farts and
wants to scratch herself. I offer to help with the scratching. She is astonished
and can’t believe what I've said. But I can. Obviously hasn't been listening to a
thing I’ve ever said to her.

When we originally leave the club Marc comes out bellowing at his American best
and gets told off by the rather large dark bouncer. To consider others etc etc
etc. He was lucky. If he was in a less civillized country he would have had the
shit beaten out of him.

On the way home Marc and I have her in stitches. It's been a good night.

26.7.02 TO CHECK. AND MATE?

26.7.02 FRI

Got up early this morning in an attempt to use free computers. The Surfie Blokes,
Steve and Andrew, were surfing there again without their boards. They are amazed,
still, to see me here.

Still remember me from the night at the Roxy and the big tequilla night we had
after. One of them is headed for Budapest, the other to the Greek Isles. Andrew
still hasn't had any sex either. Hope that's not WHY he's going to Greece!?! I,
myself and me are not planning to go to Mykonos. Too much self-discovery,
already. Already it’s been too much. If not entirely enough.

Got pissed off last night on way back from the jazz club. We were walking along
when all of a sudden she disappeared across the road with Marc to find a dwarf.
That was their story, anyway. Had heard them talking about it a lot earlier and to
this moment do not know what they were on about.

I waited for them for a while but then kept walking. When she got back to the bar
SHE asks ME where I was? I told her I wasn't going to chase her. Too late for that
statement, probably. Only bad personal moment in trip so far.

She keeps asking me about when I'm leaving and thinks, again, that she will really
miss me. Nice kid but PSYCHOSIS I've seen in other female artists. Or, more
correctly, arty types.

Get to the botton of name. She's actually a Melissa but has always been called
Lissa.

. Have sent her the whole EUROEM book up to the first exercise book.

The local water is OK, NOT Fluoridated, I'm sure It tastes really good. Its's
suggested you try the Local Water as you may end up getting sick, say, from a
salad washed in the local H20.
When I get back to the Mozart room there's a girl just going out and I give her a
good morning. It's the least I could do - she HAS been sleeping on top of me.

Lissa & a Sex Talk: She smugly tells me that sex is better for women. Did she say
WITH? She has already told me that she isn't one but that most of her friends
back in
Fayetteville are. If this is right she's a hetero who has had homo sex, a very
confusing category I've run into before in life's rich knitting pattern. Which, of
course, leads to life's rich tapestry and all sorts of tactile innuendo. Anyway,
I agree, what she says may be right but childbirth is better for men. She gives me
a filthy look. She
teases me that I can't do it all night long. I tell her I don't need to. Check.
And mate?

THE MOMENT TO NOT BITTER

(Still 27.7.) The moment I start talking to the Dutch manager about a business
deal to help me come live here, a table of poms/aussies next to us get really
loud. He says it's usually the Germans. I tell him about the Germs I saw at an
outdoor drinking venue I mistook for an Aussie football team.

Walked into town. Only took 1/2 hour. It can take 15-20 minutes by the time you
walk to the station, wait, etc.

Pizza for breakfast. Proscuitto, tomatoes, mozzarella, ham & olives. And a
Capuccino.

I was going to go to Govindas but when I get there I just couldn't stomach
lentils or yoghurt for breakfast.

It's my first outdoor cafe for breakfast in Prague. It's usually Maccas or a
dungeon. Tried to interest an Australian co in MS. No go. Don't even want to look
at it - not taking unsolicited manuscripts.

After we'd had a night out last night and then gone back to the Arena Lissa
expressed a distaste for going home so late. I thought she was worried about
getting mugged and I offered her the taxi fare. No, she was just feeling lazy.

Read Toffler while waiting for pizza. Haven't read it in about 17 days. Haven't
watched TV in about 2 weeks Last time was in Berlin, the Love Parade and a bit of
CNN. I am getting used to the extremely casual service but THIS pizza feels as
though it is being delivered from Italy. And there's a cold breeze beginning to
blow.

Toffler's going on about how when GNP will stop being the Holy Grail of economics.
Well, it still is, Al, 30 years on. Nothing's changed. That's (not) future shock
for you!

Pizza has a delightfully, thin crust and fresh. But the delivery guy looks at bit
tired. Never tasted one so fine (the pizza!). There's a slight bacony flavour to
the ham. Green, not black, olives used, bitter.

JUST NOTICED TO AMAZE

 Just noticed (27.7 02) have been forgetting blood pressure medication and still
feel OK, for 2 days now. Have felt this way at Doctor's too but hypertension has
been sky-high ref. white coat syndrome, something I read about in Herald Tribune.

IF I had the choice between Maria and Lissa, it would have to be L. even though
she is so much younger.

Maria, though attractive and friendly, I only got to know briefly. And the old
bag was in her mid-twenties! I can't REALLY say I care for L simply as a BONUS
daughter, though, that is the way she sees me. As a BONUS father, I mean.

And call me Mr. Fickle but I just saw a magnificent 13/14-year-old girl, wearing
braces. Elle MacPherson, roll over and die.

But then, on the other hand, just saw a woman that looked like a blue tongue
lizard with mascara. It's just lucky that I am a deep and mature person.

A couple of teenage boys just walked past me, cacking their pants. Mc Death t-
shirt making a lot of people happy. I could probably sell it here for BIG money.

Saw all these cops hanging around a postcard stand and a young girl get taken
away, behind a huge steel door. The cops were counting the post-cards in the
stand. A desperate tourist or a cashless entrepeneur. The cards all cost less
than 10 kc (about A 60cents). Needless to say, I have about 40.

Too busy thinking. I almost get run over by a front row lesbian. I quickly get out
of her way. She looked like she was going for a goal. Having avoided that player
" for the other team”, I manage to walk around in circles and end up where I was
15 minutes ago. In doing so, though, I see parts of the Stare Mesto I've never
seen before. The buildings continue to amaze.

IF YOU THOUGHT TO SHOOT HIM.

If you thought AIDS was bad, the media haven't been paying enough attention to
Irish Pubs. - Paris, Amsterdam, Berlin, here.

And the black liquid death shall spread itself out over the lands. Especially,
the touristy bits. As has been foretold by the wisdom found in the Ancient
Catalogues of the Brewer's Guild.

Stopped in a suspicious part of town: The Redfern end of Prague. Some many drunks
it looks like a convention attached to the above Guild. People walking around
with draught beer in their hands. The drunks leading the drunks searching for the
visually impaired.

It is not illegal to drink in the streets. I knew that when I wrote the poem
about the cops not caring to bother. It was more about the attitude.

I've been taking photos of overhead tram wires. People must think I' m nuts.
Always had fantasy of having photo exhibit entitled SKYLINES. Always educate the
masses first and then let the Protestants sort themselves out.
Lissa tells me she too takes photos of wires in the sky. The bitch is for me,
hanging babe, watchoo doin white boy. Is she lying to me, or just being a suck
up?

There are just so many great tramlines - tomorrow I m going to check out the
drainage systems.

Caught an illegal train back to base. Don t feel too guilty as I' ve forked out
450 kc and a 15 day pass is only 280 kc and I' ve only been here 13 days which, oh
shit, means my visa is nearly up.

Got photo today of Danielle and more photos of Casey, Lissa, Eva and Greg (bitch
male model doesn' t even flinch when I shoot him!)

CATCHING THE METRO TO EUROEM #25

Catching the metro back today I got the right #5 but in the wrong direction. This
I knew as I passed the Fred and Ginger house go dancing by the other way.

On our last night Lissa decides to chill us out with some old jazz, Art Blakey.
Seems like a good come down. Old Dave, the part-owner lecher, is here doing his
best to curry Lissa’s favour. Helping her out loading beers into the fridge. He'
s behind me though. She's now seen all the EUROEMS up to date and seems to
consider them " awesome ". -or OSSOME as she intones. Bitch has got taste. I 'd
like to find out what flavour.

Whole gang of septics are talking about Lord of the Rings and Dungeons & Dragons.
I am totally lost and in all this medieval American gobbledegook. Being half-
pissed doesn' t help.

Lissa Update: She has 4 eyes and, still, totally cute. Love to put her in a candy
wrapper and then the thoughts become too obscene to carry on......

Surfie Steve is still amazed that I do NOT follow sport and am anAussie (maybe I m
not!) Have told him I watch the Grand Final, Bledisloe and Kostya Tzuyu, that's
it!

EUROEM # 25

Lissa is NOT
wearing a hat
because she never
normally does

perhaps
because it' s
our last night
and tradition rules

she loves me
she loves me not

who cares ?
the most ?

That's always
the question.

Prague 26.7.02

HAD A BEER TO NEXT SEASON

27.702 Had a last beer with Eva and Surfie Steve. Eva 's given me her e-mail
-maybe she hopes it will expedite the divorce. A total revelation. I feel
appreciated for a change.

Talked to Eva for the first real time last night. She has six languages. Someone
suggested she learn Balinese and she wanted to know why. Why, holidays in Bali of
course.

We talk about Kafka and the movies. She tells me there was a movie about K. She
is impressed that I have seen KOLYA and that I knew the work of Lars Von Trier
(Breaking The Waves, The Kingdom, The Idiots, etc). I promise to send her the
Kafka euroems. Beneath all the buggerising around, she is very intelligent and we
get on like
a house for sale. Maybe divorce was the way to go now that we have found a new
level of understanding.

The divorce papers are through.

Lissa and I said " see yer later" last night. She wrote something in my diary
which I ll try to get right. The girl from Fayetteville has two heads all right
and handwriting not much better than mine

L s Contribution: A combination of Mr. Bad Music, the Number System, Nth

California buddhists and Mrs Hopeless Romantic (I speak in 6 languages about sex.)
pull tables together to keep away the poor " catch " awake. Send out her "
father" on his journey and appease Hades - worms wood *and bad food keeps us up to
no good!! Enjoy your time away from the Twilight Zone, see you next season ......

*absinthe

WENT TO EUROEM # 26

Went to Nadrazi (International) at about 7.30 am and found out the train doesn t
go till eleven. Trudge back to the Arena with full pack on, with a breadroll and a
coke for breakfast.
Trying to get some info from some Czech ladies in a shop with one of them asking
if I spoke German. I say Nein Nein, Englisch! Have to stop wearing this old
uniform to get out of the place. With 1000 kc leftover I buy some t shirts for
Jess and Mike, a book and two packs of cheap ciggies for the boys back there.

The tears of a clown as I sit here writing, thinking about having to leave. I m
coming back anyway. I at least have to see the Palace and the funicular railway.

Eva comes in and gives me a big hug and tells me she feels so bad. She means the
alcohol we consumed. It was a big one. She wrote this is my notebook: His name is
Gary and he s the BEST! I love you Gary, Eva.

EUROEM # 26

Eva is NOT
wearing a hat
but she is
wearing clothes
that are distinctly
not Russian

She is young
but old enough to
remember, with dread,
the USSR label.
Prague
27.7.02

SAY GOODBYE TO LONDON

Say goodbye to Greg at the desk.

See you next time.
Take it easy, he says.
Use lots of lubricant, I say.
Greg smiles. The girls crack up.

As they say in the Czech Republic " Mimo dopravri obsluba. "

I don t know what it means either. It s a roadsign I had to pass on my way to the
station, to Vienna. Has Vienna waited for me?

Young beautiful cop at the rail station with pistol and baton. O nights tied to
the bedpost... the third degree in my dreams.

On the train there’s an old American couple (yeh, my age!) who are piss-farting
around and carrying on like, well, an old American couple. So different from the
young I ve met who are, admittedly, well travelled. Maybe this couple are new to
all this. There s some question about whether their seats are reserved or not.
A Japanese group gets on the train and there is more confusion about whether or
not there are reservations. Someone moves to appease them. They DO stand their
ground!

No one seems to want my seat yet, with a couple of minutes to go. Some poms are
mixed up too. Good.

Travelling can be so easy. Never thought it could be. That s me, always
anticipating difficulties. More prevalent use of English and a single currency
makes it easier. That’s why the Japs go around in groups, it seems, only 1 or 2 in
a group speak English.

Churches in the country similar to ones in town, pointy onion shape steeples, only
smaller over all.

Thought: Once I become a local can zip into another country for $AU 40. About 200
to London.

PEOPLE BEHIND ME TO AN HOUR

North American Couple behind me, on the train, are playing a kind of sit-down
charades, chattering incessantly (They have no book? No chess game? No
meditation?) Do people really have to talk all the time? It s like a competition.
Are they afraid their mouths will rust over? They, and she in particular, never
stop.

No wonder this country feels old. The origins of Czech Rep goes back to BC and
Prague itself has origins going back to the 8th C. I ve only just learned this
reading a booklet I ve bought the kids along with the t shirts. Should have done
some more walkling tours and less drinking and dancing nights. Population of 1
and a 1/2 million, size of Adelaide.

The people behind have stopped talking and, now, they ' re shuffling cards, Vegas-
style, flicking, without actually playing. Anyway, at some point her male friend
actually tells her to be quiet and consider those sleeping. I wish I was. She has
had too much coffee this morning. Now, she is telling HIM to shut up.

Still in the Czech countryside. As when coming in, the villages are again picture
postcard perfect.

The train is starting to climb a mountain. I think I can see Julie Andrews in the
distance. And, isn' t that Christopher Plummer pumping away at a posey of
Edelweiss. While the mountain goats look on, chewing their cud.

Oh God. When you have someone behind you like the two behind me you can understand
MORE anti-American feeling worldwide. SHE wants her friend to open the window for
her, as she can t, and she starts hitting the window like a two year old. They are
both about mid-twenties. She states that she is going to die of suffocation. I
cheer up almost immediately.

Think we are going through Slovakia at the moment - hard to tell.

Some pass port guys get on and only check every second passport. Three Japanese
girls though WANT their passports stamped. As does some overweight ovary owner
from Oklahoma, Give me a fuckin break.

The Austrians get on and stamp EVERY passport. Even the rats. Very thorough. With
their very efficient blonde haircuts. One guy is cradling to his chest a lap top
computer.
The shuffling behind me goes on. Irrespective of anything/anyone. At one stage I
look back over my shoulder. He' s still doing it minutes later.

I ask the guy would he mind stopping.

He says he ll do his best.
He's got attitude.
NO, you won t. You ll stop.
He says he ll do his best
NO YOU WON T. You ll stop.
He says he ll do his best
NO YOU WON T YOU LL STOP
He says he ll do his best
I glare at him. I am wild.
But he doesn t shuffle anymore.

Blood pressure s right up. Have to be doing 200 over 199. I m shaking 15 minutes
later.
Quick, get me back to Letna Park.

She starts going on about paying the same fare* for the journey as me and that she
didn t think she needed my permission to do anything. I turn around and say do
what you like.

* I would have liked to get into conversation re currency exchanges but it REALLY
would have been beside the point.

She said she would IF I stopped smelling. I didn' t shower this morning and had
two hikes back and forward to the station with my full backpack. Then, this in a
nutshell - refusal to take responsibilities for your actions. Travel the world and
leave your manners behind. Did Osama travel with these people?

I finally calm down, but it takes about half to 3/4 of an hour.

JUST TO PICK OFF THE STRIPES

Just saw a stork's nest on top of a chimney, just like in Walt Disney cartoons
etc.

Austria has so far seemed really flat, not Alp country at all.

Hopefully I can clear this diary in the Greek Isles, doing my best George Johnston
impression.

Get to Sudbahnhof, get on the #18 (bus, not euroem) and it goes in the wrong
direction but fortunately, all these trams go around in circles. So I just go for
a ride and get off at Westbahnhof for theWestend Hotel.

Welcome to the world of Metro Confusion where the fun never begins and the
sentences never en

On the tram I travelled there was a man sitting behind me with a baby in a pram.
His partner, for some reason, was sitting a few seats away from him. An argument I
presume? I didn't see exactly what happened but when they got off the bus her
somehow managhed to drop the baby. And der fraulein goes beserk! A black African
woman, sitting, talking English, with her partner a few seats in front of me, asks
me in German, what happened.

Nein, Nein, Nein. Ich bin ein Australien. I love the jacket and boots but I have
to get a needle somewhere and pick off the stripes.

WHEN I GET TO ANYWAY

When I get to the hostel I try to speak as much

German as I can just to be polite (and the Herr at reception has to tell me they
don't serve beer!). (Wrong question again!) Most people seem to appreciate you
putting in the effort. Citizens of the US are particularely bad at simply rocking
up and asking for shit in their hometown drawl. Anyway, I get rewarded by being
given a 7 day Public Transport pass which still has two days left on.

I say danke schoen and remind him about the war but I think he's a semi-amputee
working over here on a student pass and unable to carry his fair share of the load
as a brickie's labourer and the joke seems to go over his head. As does the
ceiling. As a matter of fact, the joke has gone over MY head.

. Doing e-mails tonight. See Vienna tomorrow. Only got one day so I'll try to
avoid the modern bits to save time.

At the hostel I've actually got a lock with a key, no extra charge. And they've
got big fluffy European pillows. The room's got 8 beds, but ensuite, and very
clean looking. Even the windowsills look efficient and guilt free. And here I am,
once again, mixing up my Austrian with my Germans.

Shouldn't need to wear my small backpack out. But then, again, I'll look even more
like a local ( well, until I say "owyergoingmate" anyway}.

ACTUALLY GOT TO AMSTERDAM

27.7.02 Actually got a locker with a key, for free (usually have to pay).

The room's got 8 bunks (but ensuite) clean and they have breakfast, for a change.
The Arena didn't have breakfast, free or not. (But, they told me, were working on
it).

Mr Stinky has to have a shower first and ,then, maybe a Stein Lager.

Dumpkopf. I walk into an Internet Cafe and ask for ein pils bitte and NOT a
maschine. Again.

No beer at this cafe -get back to where you once belonged. No beer today will be
the go for me, just to make up for the E6 ($A12) I've just paid for the net. I was
told it (meaning Everything) was expensive here. I need the break anyway.

Went down the main street after escaping from the Net Cafe. Had a veg Lebanese
take away meal but on a hamburger bun, not Leb bread. Instead of meat there was
some disgusting hot cheese/fetta deal. Followed that up with an icecream thing at
Maccas.
 A book on Maccas in Europe could be a book in itself. (The toilets of the
Continent would, indeed, bne another tome). Had to have their Broccoli Cheese
Nuggets just to round out my knowledge of the Mc Crokers, Mac Zorbas and
McEtcteras experienced MacElswhere. Also they have got something called a
Thunfisch Salat. Maybe Sunfish? Closest I can work out. Have seen tins of it in
supermarkets. Tuna, you dumb ass! Did the whole McTransaction in German.

Have traveled for 13 or 14 days. It can be tiring or stressful, deoending on who

you're sitting next to. Where's Danielle when you need her? Lissa who?

Back at the hostel it's big fluffy European pillows again, unlike the wafer-thin
oners at the Arena. (Never, ever, said Prague was perfect).

Blister on heel and busted flat, like in Baton Rouge.

EUROEM # 27

Freud has views

on the wearing
of hattery.

And held different

opinions regularly.

So, some days

he'd wear one
and on others
he wouldn't !
Vienna 27.7.02

Just passed a shop called SCHMUCK, the whole window display full of bongs. Who, or
what, is a schmuck? Someone who smokes the shit, all the time?

Westbahnhof's main street is a bloody long one, and I can't get to the end of it
without getting into redlight/low rent district (and don't know the town that well
to go adventuring!) So, it's back to the Western Hostel to read a book and
relax.Today has been a good break as I haven't stopped drinking since Amsterdam.

EUROEM # 28 TO HRADCANY

EUROEM # 28

Breakfast is bread
rolls, jam and another
cup of black tea

when I get back

I'm throwing out
the skim milk and t.v.
 Westbahnhof, Vienna
28.7.02

Sunday morning, I'm going down to the Inter Cafe to do some lines. In the main
street I am when the bells, the Sunday bells, start ringing for me and my god. But
the byte place* is not open till 2pm. Off to be a tourist.

* Name for an Internet Cafe/ Restaurant?

On the way up to the station I see a guy lying upside down in a telephone booth,
reading a letter, surround by litter. Almost buried in about half a metre of it.
He appears to be comfortable as though he has been there all night. (At first I
thought he was a backpacker but later appears to be a permanent bum.

Rats undt Himmel! Just missed the train to Stephenplatz by the closing of a door.
Stephenplatz is the Central Tourist District and all I have time for (going to
Salzburg tomorrow).

There's always a lot to see, a lot to miss. Even in Prague I managed to miss heaps
even though I was there for quite a few (!) days - a great little village in the
middle of the Vlatva river, the human-bones chandelier at Kutna Hora and most of
the Hradcany.

U3 TO EXTRAORDINARY

U3 is the line I've taken and the destination board tells me that
it ends at Simmering. It must be pretty warm there, it's 30 degrees here!

When I get to Stephenplatz and emerge from the underground there

are two impressive buildings - one from the 17thC (?) and the other a modern
beauty of steel and glass.

First time I've used a metro and not got lost. Wonders will never.
Beginning to feel like an old pro. But will she feel like me? And for the first
time I feel as though I'm walking slower than everybody else. Is life in Prague
slower than Vienna or am I just
(finally) kicking into holiday mode?

Like Westbahhof the main street is all Modern Architecture

while the buildings off to either side are of the older variety. Did they only
bomb the main streets in WW2 or do people, everywhere, just like replacing older
buildings for the fun of it?

There is a rectangular shaped street barricade set up in the

main square covered with hundreds of little bits of paper which turn out to be
poems, attached by sticky tape, take-away literature. Also is the universal sign
of a man digging up a road. Or just " digging it “?

A bum approaches me to hit me for a few coins, in his own

lingo, of course. I give him the old nein, nein routine, of course not, mein Herr.
The sooner I buy that new party dress the better off we'll all be!
 Prices, prices, prices. Saw a book on Vienna for E18 ($A 36)
very similar to one I bought on Prague for only $A 6. Postcards also about $A1
compared to 30 or 40 cents in Prague. You can jam that up your post box and
airmail your local Member of Parliament!

Saw a man pull his horse to a stop and reverse park his cart
behind a car. Wouldn't be that amazing at a circus but to see it done on an
ordinary street is, to my eyes
anyway, extraordinary.

THREE OBELISKS TO EUROEM # 29

Three obelisks in a small square. Rough oblong stone about 4 metres high with
objects partly emerging - bodies, body parts, gas masks, knives, weapons, etc.
Reminds me of the one that used to be (is still?) outside Sydney Art Gallery only
with babies. I later read that this is a memorial to war in general but
particularly to Nazi atrocities. That said, it's also erected on the site of a
huge building containing civilians that was bombed by the Allies during WW2,
killing an undetermined # of relatively innocent people. Americans? British ?
Russians ? Australians ? Where are your troubles now? But you'll get yours yet!
Never leave home without an apology in your backpocket. You'll never know when
you'll need one! Do people who live in these cities that have been bombed whinge
about the price of ciggies and beer? I suppose they do but it seems they also
think about other things, at least.

I've been walking on a hot day in Vienna and not wearing a hat. And neither does
anyone else, seemingly. Would Mr. Kakfa have felt uncomfortable and alone here?
Silly question! It seems the locals haven't been inundated with Sunscreen 1000
ads. The main reason I'm doing it because I've lost yet another baseball cap. I'm
doing advance work on my Mediterranean tan anyway.

Newspapers sold here on the honesty system - papers in a plastic bag with a locked
moneybox on top. The money box not exactly high tech - you could steal the papers
and the money, if you wanted the papers ie.

Pictures outside a restaurant of people inside the said diners enjoying

themselves, looking just like regular people having a good time. Not Austrians at
all.

I find a magnificent old church with a mosaic design on its roof. Part of the main
tower is being worked on. The whole structure's pretty dirty, almost black. A
spring clean perhaps? This building is the equal of anything in Prague except the
Castle

EUROEM # 29

Mozart tried to
keep his talent
under his hat

at least anyway
until about
age eight

der scheize
der fuken
der musik

Stephenplatz, Vienna 28.7.02

YOU CAN SAY TO BACK HOME

You can say what you like about MacDonald's (I do!) but it can be a cheaper and
less risky alternative to some of the suspect street vendors. Just like at home
really. Families travelling up the Pacific Highway would rather stop at Macca's
than Slimey Sid's Hamburger Joint and FlyTrap. I write this at a rather grungy bus
stop just above the Danube. Not even close to a Strauss waltz.

(Blue? More like a pale watercolour green that does not inspire me to hum a waltz
by any of the Strauss mafia.) ?

Crossed over the Danube, whistling while I walk. How long has the Danube been this
pale watercolour green? Blue indeed! Crossed back over because buildings are
getting too tall and modern.

More take-away poems on the bridge of the Danube (no less!) Found some steps down
to the river and dipped my hand in for an autograph. Intend to go on a Danube
River cruise, der Donauruntfahrten, if you like. The next trip is two hours away
and when the young ticket seller tells me the trip is 3 1/2 hours long I utter
Scheize, and he laughs. He knew by my enquiries that I was a foreigner and
probably why he thought it was funny.

I manage to kill another pen just as a derro, above me on the bridge, starts
yelling at me in Cherman. I go through the Nein Nein routine with him and he
fukensy off.

I find another runtfahrten that leaves at 2 pm and set my

controls for the heart of the sun. It's a bloody hot day and I set my mobile phone
alarm for 1.30 pm so I can make it back to the riverbank on time. Public clocks
are not happening in this part of town.

I see a piece of dried up piece of pizza sitting on a

wall as I leave after buying my ticket. It looks less than lugubrious. It's not
the first orphaned pizza I've seen this morning.
Are pizza eaters the messiest food litterers in the world, next to Macca street-
art decorators, of course?

I note that the cruise operators also have twilight special

called Endliche Tanzfahrten. I'll be at the Internet Cafe by then and, anyway, I
left my Gene Kelly taps on a Prague filmset somewhere. German is similar to
English. Tanz = Dance. Endliche = Endlight= Evening. End of language class, please
be seated.

On my way back up to street level I tread in some dog shit

and I still call Australia home. Sorry, but that's the way it came out. I left
Australia feeling pretty pissed off with the Powers (That Are Arseholes) over the
whole Refugee situation and seeing a more cosmopolitan kind of life wasn't doing
anything to change my opinion much about the small-mindedness back home).

A MAN TO VEGEMITE

A man has just pulled up next to me on his bicycle and asks

me if I speak English, wants to find his way back to Westbahnhof Rail Station. And
I can actually help him.
I even give him my map as I'm confident I can get back to the rail station at
Stephenplatz (I’ve virtually only walked in a straight line from it to where I am)
We basically work it out together, how he can get back. Yes, he thought I was a
local as I didn't have a backpack and was only carrying a notebook. I tell him
about the whole German thing from Amsterdam to here. And, of course, he's an
Aussie too, and he laughs, and I tell him I'll see him back in the land of MMM.

Five minutes later I see a nice looking black haired girl. She knows I'm looking
and, just slightly, turns her head away. Not smiling or offended but she is aware.
I've yet to run into the " what are you looking at " attitude. Joyous.

Five minutes after that it's a blonde with that dried-up sour look of loss. Not so
joyous.

Not long after that it's an obvious lunatic stalking down the street crying and
swearing at the top of his voice. The cast of characters just goes on. No studio
axings in real life.

I find the restaurant Gutenburg in a back alley somewhere behind the riverbank.
It’s a great, light filled square I'm eatin in and have managed to whole thing -
hello, the meal and drink, thank you and good-bye - completely in German.

Blown another pen - using a red one I found in a room somewhere. (Later this turns
out to be a nuisance, as my writing is bad enough in black or blue.)

Was expecting conventional pasta but the spinach noodle I've ordered actually has
the shape and look of a meatball - in a light cream sauce with herbs. It's really
only a light meal but I fill up on the bread supplied which has rock salt embedded
in it. Very different but I probably need it (the salt) as I've been getting leg
cramps at night. I don't normally have much salt so maybe it's a lack of Vegemite.

GET BACK TO PERSPIRATION

Get back to the Danube all right and manage to buy a ticket almost all in the
language of the day. Nervously I try to get away from the ticket seller before she
can give me the ticket, let alone the change, and she comments, in English, that
all men are the same. A female co-conspirator and her have a laugh at my expensive
(and several other million testosterone-challenged idiots). Jahr, ich bin ein
dumpkopf! It's best to agree when they are women AND German.

It's all very pleasant cruising down the Danube while a recording pretending to be
the Captain gives us the rundown on which monolith from which century built what
building. We have been in what's known as the Little Danube or Canal (?) which is
artificially lowered to keep the cellars of Vienna a bit drier than they would be
otherwise. We have to enter a lock (my first) to get into the main part of the
river. There’s a four-metre difference between the two sections of river. I'm a
bit disappointed that the raising and lowering of the water is really slow. I was
expecting something like an adventure park ride!) Hopefully the bigger river will
be bluer. It isn't. Must have been called that by a colour blind Tourist Officer
from a previous eon. All the rivers in Europe (that I've seen) have this similar
hue and are definitely an improvement on rivers that seems to flow upside down ie.
brown.

Some minutes before we entered the lock there is some turbulence during which I
began to ruminate on my name (s) and my most likely European bloodline. My name
firstly is Frances. On my father's mother's side the surname is Hough, an
anglicizing of the German Hoff. On my mother's side there is the name Holland, who
was actually my grandmother's boarder (but that's another story! Probably a whole
book in fact!) No wonder I kept getting mistaken for The Invader.

Just going past a huge chimney stack that was once a rubbish burner but which, no
longer in use, has been turned into a work of art, all sorts of colours and gold
trim. Can only be compared to a garbage bin I saw at the Parthenon in Greece
shaped like a Grecian urn. Maybe next year I could do this trip next year on some
sort of Arts grant junket partly subsidized by the Waste Board of NSW.

It's pretty hot. I'm just sitting doing nothing but watching the scenery waltz by
and my t-shirt's soaked from perspiration.

ON THE WAY TO POSING

On the way back to the Lower Danube the water in the lock takes us down and I am
able to write that it's the first time I've gone down in a boat and it hasn't
sunk. With barely a sexual innuendo in sight.

Overall it was a pretty relaxing journey but short with the time in the lock
taking up about 1/2 hour all up. We got to see a couple of small hills that are
actually the beginning of the Alps, the United Nations building and a really long,
moored ferry/ship that is actually a school.

There is a real sense of history in Europe. We pass what looks like a 15 or 16th C
church that was actually only built in the early 2oth C. It's built on a spot
called Mexico Plaza.Mexico was the only League of Nations member to protest
against. Hitler’s Annexation of Austria in 1938.

Getting to work on my Mediterranean tan as I have forgotten (or lost) my baseball

cap.
The heat gets to me and I order a bier. It's a Kaiser and reminds me of the taste
of my first Resch's in Oz when we made proper beer. Oz beer all seemed so
tasteless to me even before I got to try the wunder bier of Europe.

Tried to pick up a Finnish woman on the boat. She had been moving all over the
deck trying to get exposure to as much of her body as possible, in her very short,
shoulderless dress. She was quite good looking with a great body and, in the last
1/2 hour of our jouney was sitting almost opposite me She seemed to be looking in
my directions (behind sunnies) and to my surprise, somehow, a mongrel dog had
smuggled itself on board and was causing me some distress. As we got off boat I
asked her if she'd like a drink and, possibly, take the dog for a walk. I'm not
very good at pick-ups and when your first line is " Do you speak English?" it's
quite embarrassing. She replied that a drink would be nice but she had to connect
of with her family who were off somewhere else. At this point the tail stopped
wagging the dog. Quite quickly.

Got caught short for Mr Poo Poo on the way back to my room. There's only one
person in the room and, yes, he's just gone to the bathroom. But it's not a big
deal as now I've stopped walking I can hang on a bit longer. Too much
information.

When we're both finished our business I get to talking to him. He's a Yank who's
just come up from Salzburg. He gives some lowdown and I tell him about Prague and
flips out over the prices as he, obviously, is on US dollars and for him it's half
as cheap as it was for me.

In the evening I laze on down to the Internet Cafe where the girl who works behind
the bar there seems to think I'm German. She asks me if I want a drink in German
all because I've spoken a few simple lines in basic Viennese. This pretending to
understand to local lingo was sometimes expensive. It cost me, I learned, when I
found out that I had paid for a return ticket from Prague when all I wanted was a
single. The Cost of Posing!)

27 .7.02 MON TO ACHING IMAGINATION

27.7.02 MON

Hot as hell last night. I had to reverse the bedding, sleeping on top of the doona
and using the bottom sheet for a cover. Never thought of this part of Europe
getting particularly warm.

Turned out one of my bedmates was an Aussie on the Busabout circuit and we walk
over to the pick up point together. His name is Leon and at some point during his
travels he knew Chris (Ed Norton) and Brandy. We had a good laugh about Brandy.
They apparently gave her a very hard time over US foreign policy. (I’m sure, on
Chris' part, it was because she would give him a "soft" time. He seemed pretty
keen in Amsterdam!) Nearly everyone has had, it seems has had an experience with
Brandy, lovable Texan that she was.

Leon is trying to do the "whole thing" (Europe) in two months and his day is
totally taken up with statues and old buildings. Funny thing though, he didn't
really like Prague because it had too many old buildings. He much prefers Vienna,
which has a mix of old, and modern. He also thought Prague was a bit dirty. It is
really hard to get rid of that centuries old grime. Could be a good TV commercial.
A bit sad - he said he hardly spoke to anyone. He's a bit of a motormouth and
often seems to talk without putting his brain in gear. If he had a Yankee accent
you probably wouldn't notice. Sorry, USA. Especially sorry, Arkansas.

When the Busabout stopped for brunch it was at a food/petrol stop overlooking
Austrian farmland/ valley. Great countryside. Picturesque, beautiful - nothing
clever to say.
There's a nice light breeze blowing and it's good to be out of the stuffy bus.

Blonde NZ Bus guide talks to me about my Wallace & Gromit t shirt and wants to
know what I'm reading. No chance of a relationship beyond this, unfortunately, as
I am leaving the bus at Salzburg and she and the bus are off to Venice. Be still,
my aching imagination.

WOULD DEARLY LOVE TO WHISTLE

Would dearly love to say that I slept with this young woman but that she kept
waking me up for sex. But it's unlikely to happen. And it didn’t. But that has
never stopped me slipping the odd puncline in!

Beginning to see beginning of the Austrian Alps. Looking good. Here I was going to
say The Lord Alps Those Who Alps Themselves but it doesn't seem to fit, and
anyway, I can't remember what joke it comes from. Groucho? Probably The Bible.
One could get religious here! Believe me!

There’s a blonde North Shore nurse on board the bus who doesn’t seem to want to
know me. She looks mid-thirties and maybe she doesn't want to be stigmatized with
the older passenger. I'd seen her on the bus since Amsterdam but she later denied
knowing me until Vienna. She claimed to be in her mid-twenties. Nursing must be a
rough game, taking its toll. Having said that, Cheryl (I said I'd use everybody’s
real name!), you were a very attractive woman.

Serving girl at a rest stop/ meal break speaks to me in that language. I give up.
And I'm not changing my clothes for anyone, anyway. Besides, when I get back to
Sydney and I'm hassled by street beggars I'll just throw them a few lines full of
the Germanic brogue. Nein sprechen.

Window boxes full of red flowers everywhere in Austria.

Just came into view of Salzburg, a town set against huge mountain Alps next to a
great lake that looks like a harbour! Birthplace of Mozart. Lived here till he was
7.
He then went Waltzing Matilda. Or some such tune he was wont to whistle.

BEFORE WE GET TO EUROEM # 30

Before we get to the hostel we stop at a campsite out of town. Busabout use two
places for accomadation in Salzburg. On reflection, the campsite was more scenic
but I think transport wasn't as good as in town. I sit under the green calm of a
tree and have to ring someone as I do when I am overcome by the sheer beauty of it
all. I ring JH and ask for her E-mail address so I can share some of this with
her. I actually want to share it with everybody. How long have I needed this
holiday / change for? I've only ever taken holidays in 2 or 3 week breaks.

I'm speaking to Leon and he's moaning about getting stuck here. Haven't mentioned
it before (?) but there have been troubles getting around with Busabout. Instead
of two days notice, it's more like four or five. Not quite the " hop on - hop off"
concept their brochure puts across. Nice place to get stuck in just the same.
Personally, I'm glad I only stayed 2 days in Vienna. Salzburg's looking heaps
better. Heaps better?
Been hanging around with too many under-fifty something people! More of a light
breeze here. Not so in Vienna.

Economics. At the Salzburg hostel it's extra if you want two showers a day.
Unlikely - I've been lucky to have one. Even with that admission, I'm been
fortunate in not getting some disease through my blister-damaged feet. And, if
you pay 3 nights worth you get a free 3 Euro breakfast.

The dorms are mixed again and, so, are the toilets. The antechambers anyway.
Mums and Dads of clean young Aussie girls, please avert your imaginations. It all
seems a bit grotty but I've only heard of a couple of gross stories and they have
nothing to do, much, with shared facilities. And crisp, white sheets - ASS you
would expect from the Austrians! You have to keep your bum clean around Hitler.
(Not that it helps in the long run).

EUROEM # 30

Mozart was born

a tourist in Salzburg

and quickly, first

left at year 7 to

Vienna. Prague. Berlin. Paris.

Milan. Budapest and London.

It seems he
would never stop

Constanzi would
have had
to agree.
They had six
children.
Two lived.

Salzburg 29.7.02

STOPPED WALKING TO A BAD ONE

Stopped walking up to the Salzburg Fortress at about 1/2 way. It would have to be
a walk of about 1 k at an angle of 45 degrees. I counted 1,000 steps going down.
At the bottom I saw an ambulance on its way up. Fair dinkum. There are no signs
warning about possible hardship on the climb / walk. . Somewhere, deep down, they
don't like tourists (WHO DOES?}. This is prevalent all over Europe. There are NONE
of the signs you associate with a litigious society.

The Salzak (?) river runs really fast through the town - almost like a flood. At
this point I was unaware of the flood disaster in Prague. Watching The Tube was a
low prioity even for the news. At this point all I cared about was the world not
ending so I would be able to see more of it. There is something beautiful about a
healthy body of water flowing through the middle of a town. I could sit on the
bank, just watching the river flow, Bob,
and that would be a holiday.

Finally found cheap beer. Am sitting in a real beer garden in a park situated in
the old town square, sipping suds under the old town clock. And the old town wench
is, by European standards, certainly a bit of OK. It's been a long day and with
that climb up to the fortress I'm totally shagged and could fall asleep right
here. Totally totally relaxed.

Busabout Guide's advice: Get insect repellent and toilet paper for camping ground
in Venice as they do not supply. Or too expensive? Can't remember.

Too late for the supermarket. Only 1 computer at hostel and it's being used. Went
for a beer at hostel bar. Happy hour only E1.50 ($AUS 3) for a pint. Drink em up.

Busabout seem to only use hostels that have bars attached, or nearby. Stiegels,
the local Salzburg drop, is not a bad one.

THE HOSTEL MEAL IS TO MONOTONY

The hostel meal is good value. E 5,50 for a basic hotel meal and an all-you-can-
eat-salad bar. My first meal here is a Potato gnostti (?) which is a fried mashed
potato thingy with bacon and other animal body parts in it. Had something similar
in Switzerland later and its actually grated potato fried with whatever you
desire, except loved ones.

30.7.02 TUES

Went to bed last night around 8pm. Quite a change from the post- midnight memories
of Prague. Asleep almost immediately, mostly due to the Fortress climb, 4 steins
of bier and a good unheathy meal.

Finally, woke this morning at 9am, the sun streaming in, smoke coming from me,
fleshy parts beginning to disintegrate........

Had woken earlier before dawn to hear some rough gutteral shouting in German.
Sounded mostly like Alcohol and Marital Discord. I'm not sure. Maybe someone had
acquired the rights to, and was filming, Mein Kampf.
BACKPACKER NOTE: Do not pack jammies. No one else seems to. Whatver you've worn
that day seems to do for bedclothes, if the temperature requires.

The music in the bar is largely Australian, as is most of the bar staff.
Apparently silverchair is to have breakfast by. Pass me the Coco Pops and that
pair of earmuffs.

You could settle in a lot worse places than Salzburg - a population of only
145,000 in Austria where there is only a total of 8 million. Bottles of beer on
the wall, perhaps?

My "free" breakfast (for having paid 3 nights in advance) is a bowl of muesli, 2

bread rolls with honey/jam and endless cups of tea.

At breakfast was joined by Cheryl first, finally, and later Eric. Eric is a
Mexican hailing from Canada. Some mixture. We are all going to a beer garden
tonight. Oh, the monotony.

WATCH SOUND OF MUSIC TO SEX CHANGE

Watch Sound of Music with Cheryl and 4 other girls in the " back stalls" of the
video room. This is a prelude to The Sound of Music guided tour that takes you to
spots where the movie was made and, also, to genuine Von Trapp sites. I'm not
going on the tour. Eric is doing neither. Can't be a music or movie fan. He says
he is happy just do be in Salzburg doing nothing rather than seeing every statue
or climbing every mountain.

We come to a point in the movie where Maria expresses the felicitous / difficult
qualities of women *, in general, and I say " Right On!". The girls smile at me.
It seems as though I have said the right thing. It is sometimes very hard to tell.
But women will always be beautiful while they are women. Yeah, it's an old
fashioned statement.

* She's an angel
she's a headache
she's a girl !

There is a SOM drinking game - you have to take a swig or a shot everytime someone
says Captain, Maria or starts singing. Could be fun.

The 19/20-year-olds are really enjoying this movie. It's not that corny. It was
the first time I had seen it. It had been recommended to me by my mother some
thirty years ago. And promptly ignored. Julie Andrews when you're a young twenty-
something male? I don't think so!

A slightly built Spanish-looking girl has just spoiled the video by sitting next
to me. Her profile is one with a very ample bosom. She has forced my eyes from
screen. Get away from me, you saucy siren.

Have decided that Marilyn Monroe, in her dotage, would have made a good Baroness.
Attention Casting Office People: Unable to fill that difficult spot? Simple - Just
Bring Out the Dead!
Eventually I am out-numbered 9 - 1. Where are you the men? Testostorone idiots!
11 - 1 and counting. At this point I can feel my period coming on. This is not a
boy's movie but it should be. As the movie comes to a close I can feel the
oestrogen closing in and .................aaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrggggggghhhhhhh !

Everyone should see The Sound of Music in Salzburg. If only for the sex change.

BAD DAY TO THOSE TWO

Bad day at the e-mails.

Here there are some totally illegible notes. Had a great deal of trouble with
computers. Being a novice is a problem but when the keyboards keep changing
characters and the computers keep crashing and you don't why, it's a big problem.
A lot of these computers have seen a lot of mileage and it's hard for a new-bod to
work out whether it's himself or the rancid workstation.

Anyway, I totally fuck up trying to book a bus out of here and decide I am going
to train it or I won't be seeing much of the Greek Isles.

A note I CAN read on this page is that I express the opinion that a bad day in
Salzburg is probably on a par with a good day anywhere else. So, it has had an
upbeat ending. Salzburg is pretty scenic and relaxed.

31.7.02 WED

Forgot my notebook when we went to the beer hall last night but managed to get the
following on copious amounts of coasters.

The gang of four,I go to the beer hall with, are:

1. Beautiful Cheryl, a nurse from Sydney, working in London.

2. Eric, a Mexican from Edmonton, Canada, bumming around Europe, probabably more
leisurely than most of us. Bloody Mexicans!

3 Andriana, from Tuscon, Arizona, living currently in Switzerland. Father left the
family home when she was 2 to work as a freelance journo. So she gets to spend
half the year in Swizzy Land and the other half in New York. Lucky bitch. (And
this was BEFORE I got to see the Country of Chocolate Cows!)

4. Nicole, working in London. She comes from Melbourne but her parents have now
moved to Brisbane. She doesn't now know where to call home. Except, maybe, a
Qantas advertising agency

We have a good drink. I consume 1-litre steins of bier while the pussies
(including Eric) drink 1/2 litres. The beer hall (actually an outdoor garden) is
great. I regularly shock Arizona Adriana with my rude comments and gestures (such
a putting my hands up my loose shorts for some forgotten reason). The young are
easy to shock despite their apparent worldliness. And Americans twice as easy as
that.
The whole beer garden scene reminds me of that Renoir that depicts a whole throng
of poeple gathered in a giant square sipping on wine, supping on frog's legs and
generally acting the goose in their gay 19th C Parisian apparel.

At one point, after being grilled by Cheryl on his relationships, Eric turns the
tables on Cheryl and asks about hers. She doesn't really talk to him for the rest
of the night. Yes, said Clarice Starling to Hannibal, but have you ever tried to
turn that fine analytical mind onto yourself?

We get back to the hostel and Eric decides we should go back to the river with his
one bottle of red. It's me, him, Adriana and the French Merlot (after we have
searched high and low for a corkscrew.) On our way back to the river we are
hungry and all buy a strudel-fungel-banger-thingy on a bread roll which, as it
turned out, was suitably revolting but filling. Adriana goes the extra with
cheese, mustard and onions. And ends up paying for it. Twice!

Down on the river we have a really good conversation. I'm almost sure of it. We
were actually talking really softly but, at one point, some person pokes his head
out of a window and tells us to SHUT UP. When he tells us in English, we do, and
so we move down a couple of benches. And talk like we're in a cinema.

I end up drinking all the Merlot. Adriana and Eric learn of the diary and want to
be in it. They are. Adriana loves the story about Maria in Berlin.

Adriana says it's one of the funniest nights she 's ever had. She's obviously
never been married.

We get back to the hostel about 1.30am (after dodging some cops who aren't really
interested in us, anyway) and we all say goodnight. Well, I did. I don't know
about those two hornbags.

ERIC TOO LIKES TO BE DIFFERENT THIS TIME

Eric too likes the concept of having slept with twelve girls over the past couple
of days / weeks. That, he says, makes anything possible. This he tells me after I
express my comic delight at the concept. It's really less funny for a thirty-
something but I let him enjoy it.

Breakfast I have with Adriana, Cheryl and Eric. Nicole is on a budget, apparently,
and not doing breakfast. C & E still aren't talking, so it's a bit strained. This
Adriana has to tell me because I do not understand normal human interaction -
whatever that is!

Nicole makes it for the showing of Sound of Music. Well, it is free. She's done it
in reverse - went on the tour yesterday and seeing the movie today. When she sees
me up for my second viewing she accuses me of being a SNAG. I don't really mind
and just ask her where she keeps the handcuffs. And then we setlle down to watch
Chris & Julie and all is forgotten and forgiven. Unfortunately.

Am going on the Mitch's Ice Cave Tour. Costing $AUD 100. It's a lot for me, being
a tight-arse, for a one-day outing. I pay up the money, grudgingly.
What I get from S. O.M. is that, try as you might, you cannot have NO political
connections or opinions, as The Captain tries to drum it into the Max the Clinger-
On. It's a pretty amazing conclusion to to come to from a mushy Julie Andrews
menu.

Nicole, myself and girl I've-met-before and never-see-again discuss how underated
the role of the Baroness is.

Adriana asks me if I'm staying one more night and I have to tell her I'm getting
out of here by train tomorrow. She suggests that I might try the Busabout Standy-
By.
I get the impression she wouldn't mind sitting next to me. Afraid she wouldn't get
too many jokes as I am usually too hung up on the scenery. I, of course, drift off
into sexual fanrasy, which is Ok because I get to say hello to Franz K who is in
the same lala lulu land. *

* Have been reading the complete Diaries of FK and there are similarities between
him and self, especially relating to women. Some of his thoughts a frightening.
Suppession is the answer Dear Franz. He couldn't have known his diaries would be
published. Or?

Before I embark on the tour I pay a visit to the graffitti in the toilets and
notice the bond between Australians, New Zealanders and Canadians.Did we bond that
well in WW 1? It's largely anti-USA stuff mostly concerning 11-9. Especially the
Canadians who DO NOT want to be mistaken for any other kind of Northern Americans.
Standard of graffitti very high - not too much of LEBS RULE or GEORGE SUX (here
Friday nights 6.30) variety. (It’s pretty easy to see the graffitti is from the
young as it is pretty LEARNED or LEARNING, as the case may be.)

I have to leave S.O.M. at intermission and I ask Nicole to tell me if the ending
is any different this time.

WHILE I'M WAITING TO LAUGH

While I'm waiting for the Tour Guide to pick me up I see people come and go saying
hello, and saying good bye, to each other from each Busabout arrival / departure.

I also talk briefly to a girl eating some Camembert on some-sort-of bread and she
tells me that it's cheaper than cheddar. Mickey Mouse would have loved this place!

Also, I read a copy of the International Herald Tribune and there's the Kafkaesque
report of an arrest of about 46 people (mostly black) in a tiny town in Texas,
Tulia. Petty drug crimes with little, or no, evidence. Mostly just association.
And I thought my sightings of FK were imaginary!

There's still a lot truth and beauty - it's just that, sometimes the bullshit you
have to wade or, depending the depth, swim through to get to it!

I see Eric and say Goodbye. It happens two or three times before the bus finally
picks me up and I'm sure I'll see Eric down in the Greek Isles. I never do.
When I do get picked up I discover that Mitch *, of Mitch's Ice Cave Tours, is an
Australian and one of the things he tells us (he is very informative!) is of the
gypsy-like nature of Wolfgang. It is exactly the theme I have chosen for one of
the Euroems. It seems like an amazing coincidence. When I tell him he just smiles
at me as though I am some 52-year-old backpacking tourist. Who writes poems. You
sometimes wonder WHY you don't keep your mouth closed? Am I a closet Septic Tank?

* He's been in Austria for 10 years and gets back, usually for Xmas, once a year.

We are heading into the Austrian Alps and Mitch's mere description of what we are
to experience is breathtaking. This is going to be money well spent. (Mitch hasn't
paid me to say any of this! Honest.)

And the - Jesus, the Alps! Can barely be described. Tears. Again and again.

Mitch is going through the bus collecting the money for tickets, adult or child. I
ask for a Child's because that's how I feel. It gets a laugh.

COME TO EUROPE TO COST A LOT LESS

Come to Europe and blow your mind. That's just what a vision of the Austrian Alps
made me feel. After seeing umpteen pics of the Eiffel Tower, etc, you can get
blase about ACTUALLY seeing certain tourist icons. A thousand hours looking at
photos of the Alps could never prapare you.

We pass through Werfel to get to the Ice Caves Tour. There is a castle there
sitting on top of a small mount that was used in the film Where Eagles Dare. Very
fairytale-like.

I had imagined that the Ice Caves Tour was underground as per the Jenolan Caves in
the Blue Mountains, west of Sydney. NOT SO. These caves are approximately 1800
metres above sea level. When we get there the bus takes us about 900 m up the
mountain. We have two fairly steep walks totalling about 200 metres VERTICAL. One
before and one after the steepest cable car in the world that takes us up about
500 metres *. Once INSIDE the mountains there are 700 steps up and 700 steps down
through the inside of the mountain (about 140 metres) to actually see the Ice
Caves.

* Mitch keeps hammering it into us that it (the cable car) WAS built as LONG AGO
as the1950's. I, unfortunately, remember the technology then and I am suitably
unsettled. He then goes on FURTHER to tell us that it was not built by experienced
construction workers but by anyone they could find - butchers, bakers and, maybe,
even Garbos. ....... who knows? I don't mind the laconic OZ sense of humour but I
doubt I would find any comedians that funny this far above sea level.

Got talking with three Canadian people on the ascension. Husband and wife and
mother-in-law of which one I'm-not-sure. We relate well and make delightful
comments about the journeys we've all made and LOTS of anti-Americans-south-of-
their-border jokes. I wonder if citizens of the US could ever really realize just
how badly their PR has let them down?

One of the conversations we have is that they are travelling on a train with some
LOUD MOUTH GODDAMS behind them but, after some detective work, figured out that
their Back Seat Nememises must have been from another State of the Union than
mine.

It's a pretty tough walk but what I see that is most amazing is a 40-something
woman push a 70-something woman, in a wheelchair, up the entire mountain to a
restaurant that is just below the actual Ice Cave destination, where the track is
so rough, not just really steep, that it would be impossible for them to almost
even consider. The pusher deserves a few medals as it is.

A VERY brave British couple I encounter IN the Ice Caves Tour. They have taken 3
young children - 2, 4 & 6 - on this humoungous walk up and inside this mountain.
Of course, the kids are whingeing. They (the Brit family) are not with Mitch but
were they warned by their guide, if they had one? At one point I have to hold on
to one of the kids. They are all incredibly fatigued, even on the downward 700
steps!

We have had our cable car tickets checked on the way UP and for some inexplicable
reason they are checked on the way DOWN. As if you're going to climb up a mountain
THIS size to get a free steepest-in-the-world-cable-car ride. Mitch says - well,
they're Austrians. You MUST have a ticket to ride. No disrespect. Nothing like
that. They are just being Austrians.

Just over the ridge from where we are is Hitler's old hang out, The Eagle's Nest.
It's now a restaurant called the .......aaaummmm......Eagle's Nest. Hmmm.
They might have lost their memories in Berlin but here in the clear mountain air
.........
.
On the way down we HAVE to have a couple of beers at the restaurant that is
almost-all-the-way-to-the-top while we wait for the cable car and enjoy a billion-
dollar view that has cost us a lot less!

HAVE TO GET THE TRAIN TO TASMANIA

Have to get the train out of here tomorrow. Not even time for another viewing of
The Sound of Mucus.OK, Mum, I like the movie. Are you happy now?

I go to a free concert in the Town Park. There's quite a crowd. And it's a crowd,
except for me, that would have been here 80-100 years ago - casually dressed folk
out for a pleasant summer evening to listen to a bit of music in their local city
park. It's a brass band that does a few light classical numbers and they finish
off with some crowd-pleasing ABBA. Well, except for those few people I saw
vomiting into compost heaps. What's really strange is that no one sits on the
grass, except for me. On the benches, on stone walls or on chain barriers. But not
on the grass. And there are no signs saying so. I sort of expect the Lawn Police
to come and get me but, alas, nothing happens.

(New notebook. Roll out the perspiration and roll on the deodorant.)

Footnote #144. The graffiti here is good you could pick a doctorate just reading
it. Most of the travellers I've met are either just out of high school or are uni
grads.
Despite the 2 star rated surroundings of the hostel the girls all manage to look
good, wear presentedable clothes, etc. The blokes, on the hand, always manage to
look slightly dishabille.

Tonight's a bit lonely. Cheryl's with a bunch. Adriana's with a bunch. Nicole's no
where to be seen. Getting lucky somewhere?

Some Aussie bloke, across from me, is telling a Mexican girl that there are more
people in her capital city than there are in the entire continent of Australia.
She is, of course, amazed.

This is about the 4th or 5th Mexican I have encountered. They don't look rich but
must be by Mexican standards to be able to afford the trip. I actually ran into
more Mexicans than people from Tasmania.

BREAKFAST TO LUNCH BREAK IS OK

Breakfast in the Amadeus Room is not as fancy as it sounds. Just you’re basic ham
and eggs, some tired old wood panelling & CNN. It's good to see the world is still
getting on with what it does well without any help from me. About now was when I
first heard of the Prague floods.

Have started shedding clothes. I read it in some travel hints before I left. You
take unwanted and/or worn-out clothes that you are happy to dispense with for,
perhaps, overseas purchases, souvenirs or clothes. In my case, I've been wearing
them till they smell. Saves rooting around with laundry. Had about 6 old white
shirts and some company-issued track pants and shorts. Gradually losing them. And
backpack getting appreciably lighter.

Ein fahrkarten for Venezia (EU47.60) and I'm on my way. I see nobody I know to say
goodbye to, although I know Cheryl is still lurking about somewhere, trying to
avoid me. I later realized that I stopped seeing her after I told her I'd hoped to
get this diary published and that I was using real names. I think she had PRIVACY
issues. She couldn't quite understand until I told her that I hadn't met anyone I
really disliked. (That comes later!). Anyway, I didn't see her again - except
briefly (she was washing her underwear at the campsite in Venice!)

On the railway platform I see the Canadian couple (with mother-in-law) I met on
the Ice Caves tour and the wife comes over to say hello. We exchange pleasantries
and half a kilo of hash. She finally drags herself away from me. I wonder what I
am going to do with all this potato and I, eventually, return to Reality ie. Where
is this fuckin' train? And is it the right one? I had a hard time deciphering the
Destinations of various trains that kept arriving and departing within minutes of
each other.

There's a barbershop on the railway
an hour to kill. The barber asks me
ich bin ein Australien. Thanks JFK.
old magazines while-you're-waiting?
piece.
station. I need a haircut and have got roughly
what I want in the local inquisitive. Nein,
Number One, thanks mate. Do they have smelly
No, a bookshelf with tomes for hire at EUR1 a
LATE NOTE: When I first arrived in Westbahnhof, Vienna, I saw two middle-aged
couples meeting in the street. First, the two women kissed the other's husband
and, then, the two men kiss. This is all on " the lips ". Holy Oxford Street! But
only local custom, I presume?

Travelling through the south of Austria it is impossible to read - can't take eyes
away from majesty of the mountains and the view in general. At one point we are
travelling along a ridge that would have to be 1k above the plain giving a giant
Ant's view of the scurrying traffic below.

Passed through Werfel where the Eisehole (Ice Caves Tour) was and am, again,
impressed with the sight of the mountain I have half-climbed and, more
importantly, entered.

A couple of local boys are sitting infront of me, farting about, carrying on like
young Australian teens. It doesn't matter what country they're from, young teenage
boys are dickheads!

I see some Austrian railway track workers having a break. Beer for lunch break is
OK.

A TRIO OF YOUNG BOYS TO ALL SAID " WHY NOT!?! "

A trio of young boys who have just joined the carriage are wearing some dinkydi
Aussie baseball caps (?) featuring kangaroos and such. But they are speaking
German. Have they visited the New Country? As long as they haven't brought back
any Social Diseases.

Sorry, comrades of The Republic, but the Austrian countryside is more beautiful
than that of my beloved Czech environs. A wonderland of hills, Alps, brown & white
chalets covered with red and white flowers. Brown bungalows bordered by bright
bouquets.

Just as we are about to leave Austria, I spy Julie & Christopher, lying in a lush
green paddock, sharing a cigarette.

End up sitting next to a couple of English upper-class twits, Mark and Simon.
Well, they don't speak Cockney anyway. Mark and I have a pretty good chat about
different aspects of touring Europe. They're over here for a quick month having
some break in their courses at Uni. Simon, another writer, muddles along mostly
reading a book We discover a similar alarm at the fashion victims of Berlin.
Apparently, these two actually had the gall to take photos of the Apparelly
Injured. I wouldn't have been game. You could get the Living Guccis belted out of
you with Size 10 Frederica strapless boots.

We all go one too many stops, as they're are 2 Venezias, the island and the
mainland. While I'm sitting waiting for the train to return me to the mainland,
Mark and Simon, who were so sure they knew where they were going, join me,
sheepishly, and we all laugh. The laugh of the lost, and relief, when you find
your way again. After a look at their booking we find we are staying at the same
campsite.

Peak hour bus*to the campsite is a pretty ordinary excursion. It's a hot, trip and
we are, of course, all lugging backpacks travelling through the largest industrial
wastescape I have ever seen. Have to be 5 sq kilometres. Venice waits for you - a
job in every filthy shed.

* At least we got it cheap. We all just hopped on the bus without paying. It's the
honesty system as on most public transport in Europe. Crime is rampant in
Euroville and the biggest crims are the backpacker vermin. I always bought a
ticket after this knowing how the system worked. As did most. Of course, a few
would take the risk. Wouldn't they, Lissa?

All up, my view of Italy has been fairly lacklustre. I've lurched past, in buses
and trains, ugly outer suburbs, industrial shed to inner-city housing commision
rabbit warrens, all for the desperate. The rest of Italy must be incredible to
make up for all of this horror. Rome and Florence must be incredible jewels as
they are both up there in the Top 5 of anyone's list of fave European cites.

We're at this huge campsite on the wrong side of the river. I'm booked into a
cabin and have to make do, again, with only 5 young girls. I hate it. The sooner I
get home the better. Wherever home is?

Mark and Simon are camping down by the river. That's the rumour anyway.

(They later told me it was all they could afford. They must have been skint; as
the cabins were as cheap as anywhere else I stayed.)

Told my new bed buddies about my intention of returning to STAY in Prague and they
all said " Why not!?!"

THE INTERNET HERE TO THAT HE WAS HOPING FOR

The Internet here is a silver-painted double decker bus. Abandoned, and recycled?
And they have no qualms about charging for machines where the keyboard letters
have been worn away by a few thousand home-hungry fingers. At least, at the Prague
Arena, the machines were gratis.

KEYBOARD NOTE: Have run into some weird keyboards all over Europe and these are
further examples. X where Y should be a vice versa To access the @ you have be
press ALT and the " key. Unable to read keyboard letters as they are worn away AND
at EUR 10 per hour.

Ran into Leon again. He's done ALL of the streets of Venice Island in 1 day. He is
the legend of Speed Tourism. I'd like to tease him and ask him if he's really sure
he’s seen everything there is to see. But I don't. I must be human after all.

And he's out of here tomorrow - apparently there are 7,596 objects of interest at
his next stop. Should take him at least 47 hours. Without sleep.

There must be something else here = a nubile bedmate tells me she has been here
for 4 days. She does admit, though, that she has just been mostly chilling.

There's a beer garden here and I'm soaking up the last rays of the sun as it
slowly sinks into the sky over northern Italy. And already the Mozzies are trying
to make friends. It should be easier for them as they're not far from home - the
campsite is situated between two water channels. Hence the insect repellent
advice.

I'm starting to feel like an anthropologist. As long as she's a graduate is all

that matters, really. * Been intently studying the young people I meet. After
Generation X, is this Gen WHY? Hopefully. Too much hedonism can be boring. Or too
much boring can be hedonism? Whatever. Take your socks off. **

*Yes.I'm not ashamed - I am Generation Groucho!

**Etcetera.

Young DJ / organizer is going around the garden trying to get someone to sing to
test sound levels for the coming Karaoke tonight. He doesn't stop at my table. He
goes for all the girls, instead. Typical male chavinism.

Along the trip we've been advised to drink the local H2O but I'm not too sure
about Venice water - a bit ironic. There's just recently been some deaths, and
consequent quarantining, reported on a Contiki tour. I'm not even that keen to
swim in it. As it turned out the campsite water is "potable" and I drank it. But
NEVER on the island.

I encountert a hot looking blonde staying in my room. I sincerely, as ever, hope

she finds old men attractive. She can come up to my bunk and see me anytime. She's
not a uni grad but, then, neither am I! She glumly says she can always get work
behind a bar. She's a bit like me except for the blonde hair, tits and lipstick.
No punchline here - draw your own conclusions.

I have had to share my women with another bloke, a Canadian. 6 - 2, still, musn't
grumble.

Talking to yet another bedmate and the buttinsky Canadian

Eric walks in, having heard my basso profundo. He couldn't get the accomadation
on Venezia Island that he was hoping for.

THE GIRLS TRIED NOT TO IN ATHENS

2.8.02 THURS ? ( PREVIOUS DATE 31.7.02 WED?)

The girls tried not to wake me as they left but I was awake. Just as they were
leaving they debated whether I might have WANTED to be woken ie. Catch the bus,
not necessarily with them as the Busabout here goes 3 different ways: Florence,
Ancona or Interlaken.

Mozzies were OK last night. Glad I spent well on mosquito repellent. Usually being
a tight-arse lands me in trouble.

Breakfast is bacon & eggs, tomato, toast and tea. Tomato is served on a small bed
of purple cabbage. Nice touch.

It's going to be a warm day for my journey to Venice Island.

.......................................................................

And here I am on a ferry in, or on, the famous canals of Venezia. What would my
mother have said? She was always worried about the Eye-talians moving in next
door, a big concern in the 50s. And here I am, in the midst of the enemy. My love
life, from late teens to midde-age, was potted with more Italians (and one
Maltese) than Anglos. My unconscious rebellion? What was that old joke about
everyone being the same in the dark? I can remember it but can the people in the
light?

I think I got fucked around by some ferry employees. They'd sent me to the right
station but the long way around. Perhaps it was their laughing as I walked away
with the advice that caused this paranoia. Or not. Have found Italians less
helpful than anyone - even if you try to speak the local dictionary!

This didn't help when I got stressed trying to buy a ferry ticket. I almost walked
away leaving EUR 90 ($AUD 180) change. The ticket seller and the other customers
called me back. So much for the famous Italian dishonesty!

It's very pleasant on the ferries / canals once the peak hour crowds have
disappeared. It's a pretty steamy day today but there's a great breeze coming off
the water that makes it all very bearable, very joyable.

I spend about 2 to 3 hours trying to find the Minoan Lines office and, when I
finally do, I am told to come back tomorrow, a hour or so before the shit sets
sale. That spelling is how I feel as I had been told on numerous occasions to book
the DAY BEFORE. Having done this has spoiled some time I could have spent up the
canals of Venezia, whatever her mother says.

A strangie-ish thing occured while I was lined up for tickets - myself and another
Anglo-appearing person got called to the front of the queue that appeared to be a
total shitfight
and Greek free-for-all. * Perhaps we looked pale and lost and they took pity on us
- anyway, despite later whinges by self I have to admit this WAS a bonus.

* Funny really. The concept of the civillized queue is not recognized in the
ancient igloos of Italy and Greece, supposed birthplaces of democracy. Nothing
would seem to be further from the truth.

Walking the un-glamorous back streets of Venice was fun. It's a fairly small area
and not that hard to get UN-lost once you are. A security guard helps me find my
way to the Minoan Lines depot through his ability to undertstand my pre-toddler
Italian. Uno Dua Tre Mattrimata pars favore. There are two Mattrimatas (one
local, one international) and no one bothers to point this out to tourists, such
as myself. And they are at least 1 kilometre apart.

Ferry stops on maps don't seem to co-ordinate with route plan on walls of the
ferries themselves - very confusing. No doubt could get used to the system after a
couple of days - 1/2 day not enough to conquer ANY public transport system. Some
streets unlabelled. Have they not yet re-labelled streets from the practice in WW2
of removing street signs to confuse the enemy. Noticed this too in Athens.

OVERALL, AT THE MOMENT TO MORE LIKE POSING

Overall, at the moment, I feel as though Minoan Lines & Venice can go and fuck
themselves. Ended up having two (expensive) beers at the port / terminal bar - so
pissed off (and thirsty) was I!

Jeez. I am so frazzledenfukt. This is the exact opposite of the German expression

Schaudenfraude (?), the enjoyment of other people's misfortune. I feel so pissed
off that I feel just like going back to the campsite and reading a book Only will
miss out on a few more old buildings, more or less of the same I have already
seen. And it's not just me - no one I have talked to is particularly impressed
with Venice.

I finally get over this bad mood. I walked for about 2 hours, then grabbed a few
ferries and finally did the Grand Canal back to home, the major ferry / bus
station, Anywhere is home if you're happy. And now, wishing everybody was here.

Tried to get lost but I couldn't. It can be a real buzz to be lost in a foreign
city - an adventure in itself and great when you find yourself again - usually at
the nearest metro or ferry you manage to recognize.

It's not a bad campsite where I'm staying despite the fact that you have to get
two buses to reach the island. I'm at the first bust stop now and tonguing for a
beer. It's been a long day and just the idea of the bus trips seems interminable.
What makes matters worse - they ARE
The whole concept of Venice finally gets to me - the whole thing being built on
water bit - and I decide it IS worth having a look at. The whole place does,
though, need a lick of paint. This sounds like an older female friend of mine who
visited Europe some years ago and decided that most of it was " dirty ". She was,
perhaps, expecting Postcard Clean. It IS a bit of a worry here - plastic drink
bottles floating everywhere in the water-ways - hard to believe it's either the
tourists or the locals. Could only be Aliens, I decide?

There's a Busabout tour just got in. Must be from Florence. Some of the girls look
smaller than their backpacks. This Generation Y is going to pack punch. Or kick
arse, whichever comes first.

There seem to be NO Euroems from Venice, Italy. All I can think of is a pile of
old water related jokes.

Haven't worn the t-shirt McDeath in Venice, as the jest would be too obvious.
There doesn't seem to be one here. Not on the island anyway.

Crust of pizza definitely fresher than what passes for base back in OZ. Black
olives very mild. Anchovies very something? Looks like direct! Direct anchovies?
May be sweet.

Speaking to some girls I knew * - but not the names of - when Cheryl and Nicole
rolled in without Adriana (gone back to Switzerland? Or News York perhaps?).

* I think I / they know them / me from the Arena, Prague. There's a cute little
nerd girl with glasses. But not THAT girl!
I think everyone here hopes the prices are cheaper in Greece - they're ridiculous
here at the campsite. We're out of town and, obviously, a captive audience.

Talk again with nerdy Emma & her friend. They're fresh from the HSC (last year, I
expect) and tell me they've been working in the UK. They tell me with so much
insistence as though they don't want to be associated with those OTHER North
Shorers whos parents have paid the way. I actually haven't met any. Probably a
myth. I personally couldn't care less - it's all grist to the mill.

See Nicole & Cheryl as we are heading for our respective WCs - different
directions, as it should be!

Sean, the UK barman, gives me my fifth wine & bottle of water for free - another
Customer of the Month coming up?

Someone has a go at me for wearing a pen on the neck of my t-shirt. A young girl
defends the fact for me. I used to wear one all the time in my late teens. Was I
writing then? Dunno. More like posing.

3.8.02 SUN TO ANYWAY

3.8.02 SUN

A girl in my room this morning complained about the boy who crawled into her bed
last night and smelled. An unlikely story or scenario anyway. But then, that sort
of non-event did happen even in the supposed Swinging Sixties. There will always
be variations from the stereotypical beings whether they be Baby Boomers, Gen Yers
or Gen Y-not-ers. All these tags are media- invented and a refuge for the
Chattering Classes.

Emma, the ex-HSC girl working in London, was telling me last night that she'd
told her family via Email that she'd done some dope in Amsterdam. Apparently, Dad
is ropable. But he'll be glad to have her home, just the same. She and her friend,
Naomi, tell me again, that they are NOT spoiled Nth. Shore girls. Defence
mechanism kicking in again. They didn't seem to be that drunk. Or perhaps it was a
fool such I, Elvis?

Blonde German Girl wants some of my water bottle. According to my unreadable

notes. And according to memory that's all she gets. She is extremely healthy and
about twice the size of Ally McBeal - more like Alley McBeast. She has the blonde
hair Adolf wished he'd had. Thick but well-shaped brown legs that stick out of
cut-down shorts (that barely cover her crotch) that lead down to Rinso-white socks
hanging out of hiking boots. And her tight blouse bulging with a tight bosom
....... She’s extremely hot AND she knows it BUT without being full-of-herself!
Simply unrestrained. A Gen-Xer with Y-not potential.

Breakfast is just fried eggs on toast. Hold that bacon! Too much is sometimes
enough. Prices here for breakky aren’t too bad but was NOT tempted by the Vegemite
toast at EUR 3.

Can't get the ferry till 16 bells and I have to check out of here ar 10. The
Internet bus is closed for most of the morning. There is HOWEVER a rugby union
match (the Bledisloe) being shown in the shown on t.v. - only problem is NOT to
get too pissed.
Two blokes are seated at the breakfast bar (9 am) "staying put" so they can have
good seats for when the game starts at 11. Their choice, I guess
A girl I met on my first day is still here chilling - a bit like my extended Czech
stay. I can't see the comparison myself. She must like mosquitos and/or swamps.

Am booked onto a ferry to Greece. It's just very (very) basic. Unless you want to
pay extra for "airline-style" accomadation or a cabin it's sleeping on the deck
for you, me buckos.

At the showers this morning ran into Mark. Asked him why he wasn't at the bar last
night? Apparently him and Simon just sat down by the river and cracked a bottle of
wine. It's cheap if you can afford the insects. Ah yes, Chardonnay, Champagne or
Citronella, sir? (I myself have been using repellent for deodarant. When in Rome,
do as the Venetians do. And it's not a bad smelling deodarant, either!)
God.Pulled over by the German blonde, built like a beautiful brick shit-house and
fantasy #63, who asked me where I was going? The Greek Islands. Oh me too. I never
saw her down there. There are a few islands to choose from - and she may have gone
the other way to avoid my Appreciative Glances, anyway.

RAN INTO THE FACT

Ran into Mark and Simon again. They're doing Greece from Ancona or Brindisi which
means they won't be on my boat. At least, there'll be fewer rumours.

God closes a window and opens up a door. According to Sister Maria and the book of
Hammerstein. Make friends with Sean and Kelly by being able to direct them to the
right Stazione Mattimata. Someone had directed them to the wrong one. This saved
them considerable effort as they intended go grocery shopping for the trip and
would have had to lug their tucker about 2ks to the port.

They're off shopping and I'm having a REAL Heineken and the Bledisloe is about to
kick off. AND The BLONDE is in the bar (surrounded by boys, of course!). She's
solid a very real. A very healthy country-girl -whichever one she comes from. In
walks another two-legged dog. Quick, call the RSPCA. Put me out of its misery!

Australia 5 - NZ 0. The crowd goes wild.

I see a bloke dressed so weirdly (even for a footie fan far from home) that I ask
him if his tailor is from Berlin. I can tell by his reaction that he's been there
and observed the local costumes.

There is a beautiful, tiny, who I've spoken to (friend of friends) who is at the
bar writing her diary. Couldn't quite pick it but I think she has (has had?) some
sort of spinal problems. Spina bifida? Anyway, a beautiful young girl with a
lovely smile and disposition. I can just imagine her on the end of my - er -
imagination. The guy she's with is built like a basketballer and she'd be lucky to
be 4ft tall.

Musn't get distracted from my other fantasies though. A blonde OZ girl is walking
around the bar wearing a lifesaver's cap, the familiar, homesick red-and-yellow.
Suddenly I feel in need of resuscitation.

Missed the bus I wanted to catch AND the last 10 minutes of the game. We won. When
I walked out of the bar we had been losing and, so, I missed the turn-around.
Bugger.

Couldn't find the Supermarket I was directed to. (More helpful Italian
directions). Or an ATM. Had to change $AUD 60 I had in my pocket for some EUROS.
Girl in the exchange booth was very helpful but I was in a hurry and didn't even
time to get to the imaginary flowers and chocolates. All this fantasy rubbish is
leading somewhere, but probably not where you think. Or, as usual, where I would
have liked it to

What I find at the port is not even a proper supermarket. I end up with 2 packets
of crisps, some crackers, a KIt Kat, a small can of Coke and a bottle of Mateus
Rose. I don't know if any of that will fight off the dreaded Scurvy. Maybe I can
swab the decks in exchange for a bottle of rum, with added Vitamin C.

So, when I finally get on the ferry I find Sean & Co who are easy to find as they
are spread on the deck like everyone else. Yes, they've saved a bit of space for
me. Some people have thought ahead and brought blow-up mattresses. They again
thank me for heading them in the right direction.

Venice is certainly bigger than I imagined it. The ferry's motor's been going for
what seems like an hour and we've just got out of the main canal.

The world is small. Sean and Kelly for the past 18 months have been living down at
Brighton-le-sands, where I work sometimes. Yes, I tell them, I have at some point
picked up their garbage and/or recycling.

Slept on deck for about 2 hours. Not going to get a cabin. Mainly because part of
the Co are three wonderful young girls, one of whom looks like Sandra Bullock.
Women do make the unbearable bearable, for me anyway. But then there's the fact
that we are all saving 1 night's accomadation and that this will make for some
dinner-part conversation.

I tell the group about throwing out the tube when I get home. I haven't missed it.
And then, maybe after this, the mattress. That doesn't happen, of course. Must
have been the salt air.

Went up on a higher deck and had coffee with Sean & Kelly. This "decking " is not
as bad as thought it would be. If you get too uncomfortable you can always get a
soft seat for the cost of a beer, wine or a coffee. *
* Had heard some horror stories re access to shelter, cost and availabiltity of
food. Told it was absolutely necessary to bring your own food on board. Bollocks.
It wasn't cheap but no more that expensive than anywhere else in Tourist Town.

Had a good coffee chat with Sean and Kelly, covering heaps of subjects including
everything from travelling to banking to the personal. We didn't stopping talking
for about 1 1/2 hours.

Someone's dog has just started barking. # It's somewhere around 2 am. Owners must
be sleeping or pretending to be. Owners not popular. Shouts coming from other side
of the deck to Shut UP.

# There is an area for dogs on board but some people are just ignoring the fact.

4.8.02 TO RENT FREE

4.8.02 SUN

Don't know why I bothered with noting the day as they all seemed the same, except
for Sundays in Europe where there is more reverence for the traditional day of
rest, even if it is a secular one, than at home.

Woke up feeling not too bad for somone who has slept on a slab of steel.

I had a swim rather than a shower. Very salty. Ham and cheese rolls for breakfast
and a good strong black cup of coffee. A good start to the day.

EUROEM # 31

Down the coast

to Greece, attacked
by a Roman galley.

But we are a huge

modern ferry-ship
and the Romans fail
to make an impression
on our voyage.

Some passengers
don't even notice!

Adriatic Sea 4.8.02

Sean and Kelly are going on to Athens when we land. The 3 girls have bookings in
Patra and tell me there are spare rooms. I'll stick with the girls.

Bookings are being made on the Net via Mobile Phones. S & K have friends in
England doing the bookings for them. It must have been harder it non-Techno times.
Apart from the fact that I like girls I don't really want to be in Athens after
midnight without a booking. The accomadation I have booked is not till 11am that
morning.

Going down the Greek coastline we are finally able to get a clear view at about
2pm.It's a very rocky barren landscape and gets a bit boring after the first
million rocks. There's been a smoke haze all morning. I can't see what there is to
burn. .

21 hours up - 8 or 9 to go. Once you're over the hump, it's a breeze. Slower than
the entire flight from Sydney but at least you can get out of your seat (or off
your deck, as the case may be) and go for a relaxing walk, swim, drink or sit and
read in the sun.

Just off-loading passenger for Corfu. It looked, for one frightening moment, as
though we were back in Venice. I can't remember whether this means the buildings
were impressive or that they were a bit run down as some, indeed, were in Venice.
Someone suggested to me that it was probably too hard to keep the buildings'
paintwork up to scratch due to the prescence of all that water.

PLAN B: Sean & Kelly have convinced the girls and 2 others (a Mexican couple) to
go on to Athens. Well, I'm just following the girls. We'll be landing in Patras at
midnight and catching a bus to Athens, a 2-hour journey. I haven't mentioned it
before but S & K are both experienced back-packers and we have been tending to
follow their advice. Sean's woman, Kelly, could strip paint just by whinging. It's
easier to let her be the leader, which she seems to enjoy, than to listen to the
difference.

They're a good fit - she organizes what they are going to do and he consults his
notebook to see whether they can afford it or not. Most people keeps diaries, Sean
keeps a ledger. For all that, he's the happiest-go-lucky Pom I've ever met. Always
a smile, expecially if the budget balances.

While the 3 girls, S & K and the Mexican couple have been socializing with each
other, playing games * and such, I have been reading, writing or walking the deck
and have now just noticed how " marginalized " I've become. My own fault, of
course. The girls tease me a bit about it and I join in, Social Burglar-cum-
Dracula that I am.

* One game I did play was a Movie Trivia game where I thought I'd do pretty good
but the Sandra Bullock look-alike won easily - she had spent a couple of years
working in a video store. Nuff said.

Only 3 hours to go. Manly was NEVER this far away. And then there's the 2-hour
trip to Athens. I have been awake now since 5am this morning. All I can think of
is maybe getting away with another night - rent-free.

5.8.02 TO WE DROVE THROUGH THE DARKNESS

5.8.02 (MON) We ended up at 2.30am in the middle of nowhere the bus having dropped
us there, the site of Minoan's Athens head office.

The 8 of us were not Robinson Crusoes - there were about 20 of us, stranded, all
together. No one - not Busabout or the Ferry Cos - seeed to think it was important
enough to let anyone know they would end up in Athens at this time of the morning.
A couple trekked off to find a hotel somewhere. Sean, myself, and one of the 3
girls, went off to find a 24-hour Maccas. We figured for the cost of a couple of
burgers and/or coffees we could save ourselves another night's accomadation

We discovered a 24-hour cafe up the road. And also that we were in the middle of
the Red Light district.

Along the way we 8 managed to pick up a couple of South African girls and their
brother.
One of the South African girls sitting behind me looked familiar and when she
opened her mouth I knew who she was. Or rather, who she looked like. And her voice
was almost identical, completing the picture. Goldie Hawn. Yes, she told me, she'd
been copping it since she was 3 years old. Dead spit at some angles. So there I
am with Goldie Hawn and a waiter that looked like John Cusack according to Sandra
Bullock, anyway, whose real name was Annabel. And I was looking pretty tired. No
energy for an identity change - 21 hours since my last shut eye. (One of the girls
managed a snooze on my shoulder in the bus but most of us did not!)

We had cokes, a huge variety of dips and heaps of free bread. Annabel swore she
was never going to eat bread again. (She DID though not much later. I SAW her. I
lot of swearing goes on when you're backpacking and no seems to hold it against
you when you break your oath.)*

* Egs. I'm never going to a French village toilet ever again. NO WAY am I going to
sleep with someone just because they're good-looking, ad nauseum.

We did have a small problem. As I said the cafe was in the middle of a Red Light
area.
The table next to us was taken up by 3 pimps who regularly got visits from their
female outworkers - a couple of whom only LOOKED like females. At one point one
of the pimps was trying to get Annabel's attention but she ignored him,
successfully.

He then settled his attentions on one of the South African girls - he kept
hassling her about going out with him to some nightspot for some partying. She
eventually got upset over this and, fortunately, our Mexican companion was able to
speak to the cafe owner, who spoke Spanish, and let him know what was happening. I
was a bit doubtful over the outcome - thinking that the pimps were most likely
regular customers. Anyway they were told to stop. And they did but there was
still a bit of tension in the air and they WERE still hanging around outside some
hours later when we left

(This section is being written mostly at home because a) I was too tired to write
many notes at the time and b) it was such a memorable night I thought I'd be able
to remember most of it. I do not have THAT bad a memory considering the amount of
brain cells I've tried to downsize over the years. I do manage to forget what I
want to though!)

At about 6am we decided to go for a walk. (At this point I have been awake for 25
hours.) The Spanish-speaking manager has allowed us to leave our packs underneath
a stairwell, so we go for a short stroll around the Parthenon, which is only just
around the corner.

The Parthenon is not that impressive, even in the early morning light, and to get
a proper photo of it you have to pay EUR 12 (to get through the gate and closer)
which no one is really interested in.

There's a rock we all climb on for a view of the city of Athens. And it's a pretty
ordinary looking city. What's worth noting is the rock that seems to be made of a
marble-like substance. Years of people climbing it have caused sections of it to
be extremely slippery, even the cutout steps have to managed slowly.

We ended up having to walk about 3 ks to find the Minoan agent's office to redeem
our Busabout coupons for tickets. They're cheap (about 1/2 price) but you can't
just cash them in at any agent. You have to find THE right agent at THE right
address in the whole of Athens.

We do finally find it up a road that never seems to end. And it's obvious already
that it's going to be a warm day. The agent is not yet opened - it 8.30am and I
haven't slept now for 27 hours. Most of the gang just crash on the lawn outside
the agent's office. Sean says he doesn't want to close his eyes, as he will be too
difficult to wake up. And he was, as I had to wake him. I just sat there like the
good shepherd, trying to read and making scatty notes.

That afternoon we became 8 again as the South African girls were headed to Mykonos
and we to Sanotorini. After doing some grocery shopping we got down to Piraeus
where the ferry terminals, all in 40 degree-plus heat, full-back-packs and peak
hour on the Metro. We managed to find some shade to sit in while we waited for the
ferry to open its doors

Santorini is only a 9-hour hour journey. Piece of fuckin' piss.

By the time we board the ferry it's about 3pm. The 8 of us find some comfortable
seats. Sandra Bullock and I sleep next to each other, sitting upright, our heads
resting on the table. It's not how I ever imagined it. But after 35 hours I'll
sleep with anyone in any position. I think I managed about 5 hours sleep over the
9-hour trip.

Went walking with Sean later and ran into Ed Norton (Chris from Amsterdam) and we
talk about Old Times. (You know, 3 or 4 weeks ago). Apparently Leon has crossed
his path in Athens and was, of course, trying to see as many destroyed buildings
as possible.

On our walk around the deck we see an island that is shaped like a wedge of
cheese.

EUROEM # 32

Kafka * is caught
on a boat headed
to a Greek Isle.

Good or bad.
He doesn't know.

He's let himself

be carried away.
For a change.
................

Maybe, on the beach

he'll come out
of his shell #

He'll definitely need

Sunblock 2002.

Aegean Sea 5.8.02

* Poor cunt's been living in the 20th C for the last 100 years.
# Born 3 July. Him and I are Cancers.

Started reading his diaries on the way down on the ferry Patra. Some of his
thoughts are as dangerously internalized as mine are.

50 hours or so after leaving Venice I am finally deposited on the docks at

Santorini. I go with the first person who wants to kidnap me. It's about 3 am and
I don't care about the Abducter’s EUR 35 bed as long as it's comfortable. I am his
only victim and it's a silent ride to the other side of the island in his serial
killer's van. I was actually too tired to be this paranoid but these were just the
thoughts that went through my head as we drove through the darkness.
6.8.02 TO NATIONAL COLOURS

6.8.02 TUES

Woke up this morning which is always a good thing in my very own bedroom. It's the
first time in a month that I've slept alone. It felt great NOT to have to talk to
anyone. Have I been suffering from sensory overload? Even though I copped some
criticism for a being a bit of a loner on the ferry I was a lot more open and
sociable than I normally am.

I wasn't really worried last night about being murdered or whatever. After he put
me in his vehicle he went back to the ship to secure another customer. I thought
it less likely he'd want to murder two people - and on such a small island.

Only staying here for first two nights, already paid for. If I stay a 3rd night
I'll move somewhere cheaper, half the price at least. Just great to have some
privacy even for a short time. It's basically a rip-off - I thought maybe it would
include free breakfast or laundry for the price. There is a swimming pool though.

There's a tavern nearby where I go for a bacon and egg breakfast. It's 11am so I
have had a good long sleep. At a nearby table I hear someone talking about
Charlie's Angels, the movie. * It seems way out of place in this place on a hot,
clear morning, a long way from Hollywood. No traditional Greek food seems to be on
offer unless it is the B & E, which is huge. View from the brekky table is a huge
barren mountain with a radio/signal tower on top.

* International language is not necessarily English. But maybe, movie talk is!

Going to be a hot day. I'm just sitting here under shade and I'm dripping
perspiration. The 40 degree celsius temperature predicted made the news of Greek
TV last night. Beats being back home where it's winter.

Hired a scooter this morning for EUR 18. You can get them for 10 but who wants to
shop around all day. And the hire place is just down from where I'm staying. The
lady who rented the bike to me was surprised that I was licensed to ride. Is
unlicensed the norm?

Riding on the other / wrong side of the ride is a holiday in itself. Huge near-
vertical drops to the ocean add to the thrill. Are there any Greek words for
safety barriers? If so, they can't use them very often.

After doing most of the island about 3 times I finally find the port - have to
organize a ticket to the next island - Ios. I see the car park where I was
kidnapped. The agent is not yet open. Will kill time here rather than go somewhere
else. I'd be lucky to find this place again which IS how I found it anyway! Not
enough signs and if there are they're not in English. I'm going to kill time with
a Double Greek coffee and a swim somewhere.

The lady who serves me tells me where I can go for a swim but then spoils the
whole thing by asking me if I spechensie deutsche. In all the coffee joints in all
the world I have to walk into hers. The Double Greek comes with a cold glass of
water. The water is necessary as the coffee is only a few ccs of liquid off being
straight mud. And then, there's the after-taste.....
Almost had two accidents this morning. Lost grip cornering on off-road bike tyres
that I'm not used to. And coming down the mountain toward the port I naturally
veered to the side of the road I normally use and nearly went head-on into a car.
But only a small one. Don’t make that mistake when there are plenty of cars about
but when I enter an empty road it's a different story.

After a hot, steamy ride this morning and getting hot-under-the-collar lost, the
swim is magic - the water refereshing and clean but not cold. No waves - just a
simple washing over and the water as clear as a cliche.

Kafka would have loved this place. Maybe it would have got him away from the
interior monologues that possessed him in Prague. And Berlin. And elsewhere I
suppose. Maybe, like email addresses, they are wherever you go.

Love the architecture. Just simple white blocks of salt sitting in the sun.
Favourite trimming for doors and windows - blue. Blue and white being the national
colours.

NO WONDER TO BED

No wonder we* win so many swimming events at the Olympic Games and such. Have been
observing some of the local and their relationship with water. They are very
tentative about getting into what is, almost, as warm as bath water. One, I see,
has to get pushed in. I couldn't see them EVER training on a slightly cold Summer
Sydney morning.

*Aussies

Have to even out the budget this hotel I'm staying at has ruined. Maybe I'll buy a
can of mace. There's a story S & K told me of a German who approached them and
asked if he could share their tent. In the ensuing conversation he told them of
how he would stay in parks, wearing his backpack, with a can of mace clutched in
his hands in case of muggers and/or buggers. I can't remember if they said they
ended up sharing with him. I would think not. Kelly was a pretty tough little
individual and Sean was well-built AND over 6 ft tall.

Was going for a swim at Piressa but the volcanic-ash-coloured sand turned me off.
Poor little spoiled Sydney beach boy that I am .I even went to the trouble of
buying a mat to be keep myself clean. I never used it. Went to Fira, the main
village, to shop, stop and have a beer. And watch the incessant motor scooters
pass by in group-waves of four and five.

One common thread with traffic in Europe - all modes of transported are respected,
even pedestrianism to a certain extent, except maybe Paris where you even take
your life into your hands at oifficial crossings! It's a bit like Dodgen Cars
sometimes but it's OK. But you have to be firm, no hesitation. But even then - too
firm on a motor scooter (and on the wrong side of the road) can get your firmness
squashed.

As I went through a pass this morning at the edge of a cliff, I spied a couple of
small isles. The sheer beauty of the sight made my face crack into a smile and
caused a whooping noise to come from my mouth. What was I doing before all this?
Tried to say thank you in Greek today and it came out Errafisto, not Effaristo.
Hope they didn't think I was asking for a date! Not as familiar with Greek as with
French, German or Italian. This familiarity being, of course, from TV and films
and, maybe, some reading.

Had a great feeling this morning, just riding along on the scooter on Santorini
(just before he fell into the ocean), thinking what a great epitaph it would be;
rather than just plain Ratshit or Run Over in Rockdale, Sydney, Australia.

Am having a good time despite the hotel ripoff (?) I think about this later and
decide that I am a dickhead - Sure $AUD 70 for a room but look at where you are!
You could be in Downtown Smogville for the same price. I’ve been used to paying 20
to 30 for shared rooms.

Trip to Ios leaving at 10 am tomorrow. Should be there by noon. Will definitely be

hiring a scooter again. If I'd had to travel around by bus in the search for the
ferry tickets it would have spoiled the day. As it was I was never THAT impressed
with Santorini.

My ankle's getting a bit stiff from this morning's near spill (my foot helped
steady the bike. I still don't know how I controlled it. Just pure instinct I
suppose. Heaven help anyone who hasn't had much riding experience. I never saw
that many anywhere I went but was told that YES, there were cripples in bandages
everywhere.

Reading Kafka's diaries I seemed to have hit the nail, or the hat, on the head. He
twice makes unusual references to his hat. On a visit to Rudolf Steiner he claims
to be " seeking a ridiculous place for my hat ".

Pure Synchronicity? Like reading Future Shock as I am experiencing Culture Shock

and deciding to read K's diaries while I am writing mine. Deciding does take the
edge off the coincidence but NOT from my point of view where I can see the
similarities in the way his mind works to mine.

Kafka did publish during his lifetime. I always thought he hadn't. All his major
work, though, after he died. I’m already 10 years older than he was when he passed
away. I'll have to stay on the right side of the road. Hopefully I'll get
something solid published gravestone notwithstanding.

When I get back to the Pig I have a swim in the hotel pool. Very refreshing.

Packed the bags and went down to the local taverna, planning to give their
Moussaka a bash.

Saw Cathy, Annabel's friend, in the main street and beeped my horn but she did not
notice. Lots of beeping going on. Cathy is one of the 3 girls from the boat and
her and Annabel were not friends. They had seemed really close (but not lesbianic)
and I just assumed. Wrongly.

A quick look at the menu - the House White is about half the size of the Retsina
at the same price. Go the Retsina. Had earlier decided that the Rets was too
expensive at TWICE the cost of the meal. Tightarse.

My Volleys really stink from the blister secretions. Revolting, but where do you
buy Volleys in Europe? Yes, they were still with me but such contant travelling
companions that......I still had the scars months later.

Kafka's diary for 24-8-1911. He's perving at someone's full-bosomed wife in a

restaurant. I know the feeling.

The Retsina's a lot smoother than the stuff I drank in Sydney circa 1970. I was
going through a Greek phrase due to George Johnston and Henry Miller, who wrote an
excellent travel book on Greece called The Colossus of Maroussi. I read somewhere
years ago (or recently) that the manufacturers were trying to tone down the
flavour to help market it overseas. It is/was a very strong dry white.

Once again I could die. Sitting here writing, having had a glass and a half of
Rets, waiting for the Moussaka to arrive. It would seem perfect. Perhaps when the
music's over.

Retsina is a drop daring to be enjoyed. Ok...I'm on my third. The waiter initially

was surprised that I ordered a whole bottle for myself. Probably even more
surprised that I'm getting through it. But I'm from Australia as I told the woman
who did my laundry this morning. Ah yes, she said, it's very cold there now! She
tells me she has relatives in Melbourne.

Have just read the Retsina label - It IS like drinking wood, not just AGED in it.

If the price was right, I could probably settle here. Australia is a beautiful
country. It's no wonder though that many writers blossom here - not tied by the
by-laws pettiness. Just play the game for God's sake.

This has been one of the finest meals of my life. There're tears beneath a veil of
smiles when I think this.

A kid next to me is eating chips. Would they have got chips 50-100 years ago? Or
squid like it or not? Bloody Anglos. You can't them anywhere.

It's been a top day.

Home to bed.

7.8.02 WED

Woke up at about 6.30 before the dawn. Spoke to the manager last night and he
promised to give me a lift to the boat but he's nowhere to be seen.

Shedding some more clothes - 1 t-shirt per island should do.

Bus to the port, Athines, really crowded, as there was not much room for a lot of
the backpacks in storage bay. Goodbye Santorini.

There's a young dreadlocked guy sitting on the bus with what looks like a screw
hamging out of his lip. Can only hope it's a deliberate piercing.

Best ferry journey of the lot. Read a bit, slept a lot, even though it was only a
2-hour trip.

Ios appears to be smaller than Santorini. I head straight for the Purple Pig
person on the dock. Recommended by Busabout. Knowing where you're going and in
sunlight is certainly better than the uncertainty of the 2.30 am arrival and being
tired.
The Purple Pig is impressive. Clean. And the bright Greek light much the same as
in Australia. Must blow people away from the darker parts of Europe. I could just
about dive into the swimming pool from the bar and there's a beach about 100
metres away. They even have an Aussie-style BBQ. The Kanga Bar, as it's called, is
a little bit of Oz plonked right down next to a Greek beach.

There's no one here I know. They (whoever!) have moved on. Maybe someone will
catch up or I'll see someone coming the other way from Mykonos.

Beyond the beach there's a dirt track leading up into the mountains. There's a
come-hither quality to it as I see bikes and buses regularly disappear up the
incline, into the bare mountains. Have people ever grown food here? Hard to
imagine - very desolate, barren.

Couple a Greek guys at the poolside have got the full Yanni/mullet thing
happening. Only way to swim and drown.

First been on the island is an Amstel. Second, a Corona with slice of lemon. Good
stuff (the lemon) as I have tried it at home with local brew. But it's too
expensive and I end up settling on Heineken. On my LAST day, unfortunately, I
discovered a good Greek beer, MYTHOS, which was even cheaper.

Jessica and Michael would love this bar - they have Kahlua milkshakes!

Just a quick dip in the pool after I have a few beers. It's almost perverse
reading Kafka's diaries here. So far removed from his dark musings of Central
Europe. Had tried to avoid reading him down in the Greek Isles. He's NOT that
depressing - just hopelessly hopeful sometimes, esp. re. Women.

EUROEM # 33

Kafka's in the Cyclades

working on his tan.

When he's on holidays

he is The Man.

Ios, Cyclades
Islands 7.8.02

The Yanni/mullet boys have no concept of " swimmers ". They wear 3/4 length pants
(to match their hair?) I can only presume they aren't members of the Athens
Olympic 2004 Swim Team.

A good-looking blonde at the pool has a tattoo on her upper crotch. Oh dear. I
don't like tatts on men - how can I like them on women? All these young women, all
these tattoos. Yes, even the lovely Lissa! All I know is that there will many
regrets in years to come. I have already heard regrets enough from the Unfair Sex
over the ink-stained years to know there will be PLENTY from the Illustrated Women

Good description of the view from this hostel bar - like a being at a Queensland
tropical island but surrounded by the rugged mountain ranges of the Central
Australian desert. It's so good that I have already decided to stay here - forget
the rest of the islands. It's what I tell the boys I have booked in with - they
have just been in for a swim while I am STILL chilling out in a deck chair and
just soaking up the scenery.

A young Dawn Fraser, but a Northern American, has just popped out of the pool. Is
there anyone in the world who doesn't have a double? I could do without one -
having been arrested a number of times in his place.

This IS a party island. The music starts about 6.30-7pm. Happy Hour at 8 - 9pm.
25% off which isn't bad. No worries.

Only had 5 beers this arvo but they knocked me to Kingdom Come. Did fuck-all
emails. Tucked the propellors beaneath my under-carriage and crashed instead.

There are some young blonde kids (& their mother) at the bar. They're so cute-
esp. sitting at the bar their faces are barely showing -that I'd love to take
their photos. Welcome to the Paedophile Saloon, pardners!

Meet a young Tassie girl - with a Queensland/Meditteranean tan - who works here on
the island. She's another one who has come for a few days and remained for years!

This is the place to chill out and catch up on some emails.

Years of listening to music has paid off. I get a free shot of plum brandy for
being able to name a Neil Young song from his Buffalo Springfield period. Trivia
indeed! FUCK YOU! I'm from the 60’s! I'm not just that smart-arse over there as
the Questioner refers to me.

The Questioner/singer tells me to get out of the pool as they are cleaning it.
Yeah right - it's 9.30 at night. But then maybe he's right. Maybe I'm tight.
Maybe? Probably. Because here I have written down the Neil Young trivia notes
again.

Spoke to the singer later on and asks if he knows any Leonard Cohen. He answers in
the negative. Would have loved to hear some of his early stuff where most of it
was presumably written.

8.8.02 THURS

Got up too early for the breakfast bar menu at the Kanga. I go down to the grocery
store and end up having crackers, baked beans and V8 vegetable juice for breakast
on the beach. I've had better brekky's but the view's pretty good! The crackers
were left over from the ferry trip and I was determined to use them despite the
fact that they were pretty shattered.

It's now 11 am and I'm on my second Heineken. The day is beaut. Going to hire and
scooter and/or do some emails. It'll be hard to write about Prague here but I have
to get it down before I am unable to read what I've written. Did some in the late
hours last night and can barely understand it this morning. What chance next week?
Most probably better left out anywho!

The recorded music by the pool is great - a mix of folk, techno and Greek. Hard to
describe but easy to listen to. I never actually got around to finding out what it
was, which is unusual for me.
Tell the girl behind the bar that I've had breakfast (2 Heinekens) and that now
I'm going for a drink. She laughs. With me and not at me, I hope. I have not let
her know that I HAVE already eaten, properly. Trying to play the intrepid
Australian/alcoholic/tourist!

Down at the Aqua Paradiso, my chosen Internet spot, the computers aren't ready
yet. You are normally looking at noon if not, actually, closer to 2pm.

I can feel myself slowing down. Who the fuck cares when they serve me? And I walk
away from the bar, like a tortoise on dope. More good music happening and I just
sit there looking out into the sea. I definitely won't be doing the other 5
islands on the plan.
Maybe Paros, as it is well recommended. A smile simply breaks into my face. This
is good, relaxing.

I find it very liberating to be surrounded by people speaking another language.

Not to HAVE to hear the daily banalities. Yet another holiday in itself. Can you
feel the
serenity ? When I returned home I did, all too briefly, find it strange to be able
to understand what everyone said. Mostly.

When the girl comes to tell me the Net is open I am totally lost in reverie. I
was, maybe, hoping she said she was open! I certainly am!

Botanical note: Near the Purple Pig someone has planted blue gum trees. They never
looked so good. Almost tears again. What a short memory I have. Just a week ago
was listening to some people talking on Radio National about the emotional value
of seeing gummies overseas and thinking it was a lot of old piffle. How wrong can
you be about yourself!?!

Observed watching the lads and lasses take off on the mountain track - face
scarves are de rigeur. It must get pretty dusty as ancient buses also use the
track.

I end up hiring an off-road bike as all the scooters are taken.

Walk into a bar and buy a Guinness, don't I? Because it's another mother-huggin '
Irish pub, isn't it? * I need directions to the ONLY petrol station on the island
and to a place that sells electrical, as I left my converter in Vienna and am
currently unable to charge my phone. The barmaid is a Maori New Zealander.....

...But the man at the Hardware Store is a dinky-di gen-ew-ine Greek. We talk about
all the Greeks in Australia, esp. Melbourne, and how some of them would like to
come back home but have too many ties in Australia. I tell him about what I want
to do and he understands when I say I'd be more comfortable here.

* I have referred already to the Guiness plague - in Prague, I think. It's only a
small island but there are two ACTUAL Irish pubs and two others (that I know of!)
who serve the Black Disease.

IMPORTANT TOURIST ADVICE: Do not expect to have 5 or 6 Heinekens (and 1 Guinness)

and ride a bike around a Greek Isle and expect NOT to come off! I'd like to say
these thoughts ran through my head as the bike and I slide along the roadway, and
almost, off the edge, but I can't because my mind was a blank.
When I get back to the Kanga bar the Greek girl looks after my scraped knee, elbow
and finger with some antiseptic she says won't sting. She laughs. It does.

She also tells me that when I left the bar this morning somebody mistakes me for a
terrorist that has almost been captured between Naxos and Paros. Something about
November 17. Obviously last year but I have never heard of it.

Falling off a motor bike, getting taken care of by a lovely Greek mermaid and
being mistaken for a terrorist is probably some person's idea of fun - it
certainly is mine!

Will I survive the holiday? Can you be arrested for something you'd LIKE to do?
Is there any real nutrition in Kellogg's Corn Flakes? Is my moustache on straight?

This diary is beginning to read like Fyodor's short story, The Double. Yet another
story based on identity. Or lack of, more importantly.

I see a couple at the bar who were friends of Sean & Kelly I met briefly in Athens
at the ferry agent. They seem to be barely enjoying themselves, traveling on a
budget. I've hardly ever seen either of them smile. They are engaged to be
married. Nuff said. Still, it's not my holiday. I have avoided them anyway.
Haven’t been the least tempted to say " do you remember me from when........?"

I have a sleep and when I awake I am confronted by new roomies. They mention my
elbow - it's the size of a tennis ball.

EUROEM # 34

Did Mozart make

it to Ios
and fall off
his motor bike ?

Probably.

He could barely
control himself
at the piano
or the penis.

Ios 8.8.02

Breathing is painful. Could be a broken rib. Best holiday I've ever had. Haven't
dropped a bike in years.

Jody, the NZ barmaid, who looks like JH, tells me she is a mind reader and hands
me a Heineken. She is.
9.8.02 FRI

Reflections. If this were a novel about " identity " you'd think I was making it
up. (Well, it wouldn’t be a novel if you didn't make it up, would it?) Gwyneth
Paltrow.Britney Spears. Sandra Bullock. John Cusack.Dawn Fraser. Franz Kafka. Jody
who looks like JH.The man in Berlin who looks like Les from Allawah. *And me who
looks like the November 17 terrorist! Identity theme very strong and the total
truth. And if I didn't actually see Gwyneth in Wencelaus Square, would it really
matter? If I had sex with someone who looked like a movie star would it be any
good? Or maybe even better? Yes, all right I'm a Hollywood junkie!

* This one is funny in particular. Les is someone I know who I just keep bumping
into
nearly everywhere I go - shopping, club, the city centre, wherever - sometimes so
frequently it appears to beyond mere Randomness - and then to see his double
10,000 miles away. He and I both amazed at our " meetings " - it's not just inside
my noodle.

Have the Full breakfast at the bar. Bacon, eggs, tomatoes, mushrooms, onions,
toast and baked beans. Andrea, the Greek girl behind the bar, is glad to see me,
alive at least!

After the accident yesterday my shoes are all but ruined after only about 4 weeks.
The laces are nearly worn through from having been dragged along the road. Good
thing I was wearing a helmet. Most people don't bother. I've only been bothering
to keep the sun off my head. The tan's coming along quite well without any help.

In the diaries Kafka is empathizing with Napoleon when he was still only a mere
lieutenant. Does he dream someday of becoming the Emperor of Literature? Does the
young Bonaparte frequent the same places as Kafka frequents mine? I certainly
don't want to become the Emperor of Posthumous Writings.

Time to get back on the bike, as bruised and abraded as I've ever been. John Wayne
would be proud of me. As would Liberace.

So I take off up the dirt track that has been drawing me from the first time I saw
it. There are some spectacular views and I use the camera a couple of times. After
about 15 ks and 1 1/2 hours I discover the other end of the island - a beach
called Manganari. I have a quick swim in water than couldn't be any clearer if it
was distilled.

On the way here two buses almost run me and two other bikers off the road. Lucky
we weren't near any edges. They covered us with dust and we were unable to see
where we were going. We wished their grandparents well and truly and saluted their
indifference with 3 raised fingers. And coughed a lot.

I'm restless and only have a quick dip.

And.

Great. On the way back up the hill
I must have lost some coolant when
plenty of drinking water and, once
back at the Rental place says it's
Mangers is 4 k and pretty steep.
from Manganari the bike overheats and I figure
I dropped the bike yesterday. Luckily I've got
the engine cools down, I use that. The person
understandable as the climb back up from

Volleys now covered in brown dust from Manganari, blood from Paris and bitumen
from Ios. These sandshoes could write their own diary.
Went back to the scene of my disgrace (vehicular) yesterday to check out the
condition of the road - as I didn't think I'd been going that fast - looking for
some probable cause.
The road was worn a bit shiny but I finally put it down to consumption of alcohol.

Memo: Never represent yourself in court!

From Kafka's diary 20.11.1911: " Yesterday evening I simultaneously held out both
my hands to my sisters-in-law on Mariengasse with a degree of adroitness as if
they were two right hands and I a double person." Is this guy up himself or what?
What, most likely!

I do some emails at the Aqua Paradiso. When I get there the guy behind the bar
already knows what I want - Machine #1 and a Heiney - without asking. At least he
doesn't presume I'm German.

The pub I got directions at yesterday has videos showing nearly all day from about
11am.
I decide it might make for a relaxing afternoon. The Maori girl behind the bar
remembers me and asks if I get the electric current converter. Yes, I did and I
tell her about my conversation with the hardware man and so on.

The video this arvo is Con Air with Nick Cage, Johnny Cusack (or a Greek waiter
that looks like him!), Johnno Malkovich and little Stevie Buscemi. These actors
obviously did this movie for money.

Some youngish girls have just walked in. I'd be surprised if they were old enough
to get into an MA (15+) movie let alone a pub. One of the girls, Mariah Carey's
younger sister, sits next to me. Well, at least, it's not Michael Jackson's
younger brother.

After the movie it's back to the Pig, pissed, but unscathed.

This Kanga Bar is SSOOO modern - they've got Hendrix happening and I go in for a
swim.

I finally get out of the pool, dripping wet, and shake myself all over the dog
that is a regular at the bar. And that goes for all you other canines in the
world, too! Fuck you, dog, gets a laugh.

10.8.02 SAT

Woke up fairly late this morning for me, around 8, to find my roomies have
disappeared. And so too was one of my water bottles. I'm pretty pissed off till I
see their note of thanks and a EUR 1 coin. Bargain. I only paid just over EUR 2
for the whole six-pack.

This is definitely a party place. I stirred in my sleep earlier this morning to

the sound of revellers still happening at 6.30am. The good side of this is that
it's now 9.10am and the beach before me is deserted, except for the Robinson
Crusoe umbrellas. No bacon and eggs today. This morning I am Mister Fruit Yoghurt
and V8 Veggie Juice.

Went to explore the other end of the island. First stop was a dead end but
couldn't resist the crystal-cliched water and went for a quick swim in Aegean.
I find another beach, accessible only by a donkey trail. It is totally deserted,
so Mr Silly gets naked and goes for another swim. But I've seen myself before so I
get bored and within 5 minutes of NOT exposing myself to anyone else I'm out of
there.

If Kafka had got every woman he desired would he have wanted, or needed, to be a
writer? I don't think he would have had the time. Who, or how many, was he always
trying to impress? According to his diaries he seems to obsess about every woman
he meets. Know the feeling, Zorro!

Am growing to appreciate the beauty of the Greek bar girl - she has a really great
smile!
Also, there is a new blonde arrival who looks like Bridget Fonda. Well, actually,
Bridget Fonda looks like her because she IS here and Bridget is NOT!

Did about 2 hours worth of emails. I know this sounds boring but YOU should have
SEEN the view I had to put up with - an eyeful of sandy beach, brazen hills and
bouncing babies.

Back at the Kanga Bar got talking to Frank from Holland. I was a bit embarrased as
I could remember where / when I'd known him from. Amsterdam, Berlin, Prague,
Vienna, Salzburg, Venice? OR MAYBE LAST NIGHT, DICKHEAD! Apparently we'd been
drinking together just before my pizza & sleep arrived.

Told him I was going to check out SHREK in town and that I'd see him back here
about 7pm.

I caught the bus into the village. Not as macho as the bike but not as slippery on
the corners either! It's hard NOT to get some sense as you get get older. I have
resisted but some sense seems inevitable.

I end up walking back to the Pig. It's not that far and there are always the
things you see walking you see on no other mode of transport. Getting out of the
pool some plays Nat King Cole's " Nature Boy" but NOT by Cole. It's about the same
vintage as Mona Lisa -the song my mother sang to put me to sleep - and it takes me
back and, then, back again. Surprisingly, no tears. It's just great music and an
UNdoubted influence on my life.

I have a quick snooze before I get back to the Kanga Bar and have a beer with
Frank.
The singer rules me ineligible for the song trivia quiz, having won 2 nights ago.
I didn't know any of the answers and for some reason, the WHOLE bar gets a free
shot, anyway. So who's complaining?

I zip (or zop) around the corner to a restaurant where they have stuffed tomatoes
I have been wanting to try. I find them guilty and execute them, post haste. This
is probably not actually very funny. I later found out they were, in fact,
innocent. Apparently they'd been " set up " by the restaurateur. Ipso facto, de
facto tomato.

Get back to the bar. Have a drink. Have a swim. Have a . Goodnight.
11.8.02 SUN

EUROEM #35

Dear Franz
have slept again
with young girls.
My god, man.
YOU would
be dizzy!

And, your
diary, so full.

Ios 11.8.02

Two garlic pitas for breakfast (well, after all, I'm not REALLY sleeping with
young girls) And a nice ice coffee.

Kafka's diaries again. He is amazing, beats me hands down - he falls in love with
their shadows.

On 9.11.1911 he talks about a play he has seen in a dream - the story " was
probably greater than anything that ever took place in Prague; they had apparently
located it in Prague only because of the set, although it really belonged in
Paris". Doesn't seem to make sense unless you are talking about a film. Pre-echoes
of Les Miserable film, with Liam Neeson? Spooky. *

* This goes back to the email GOT AROUND TO A COUPLE WITH ME from Prague.

There are echoes and coincidences all over the world. One only has to be aware of
them. Is it meaning? Or meaningless? I know from my encounters with Numerology
that you can be too aware! Kafka goes to plays, I go to films. My objects of
desire, though, tend to a lot further away than the footlights.

I have well and truly finished breakfast but Andrea the Greek has not bothered me
for the money. I get the impression she is letting me have a freebie. I even
remind her of the fact. I actually leave the money on the counter when I got back
to my room for a towel and my notebook. When I come back my plate and glass have
gone but the money is still there. She does finally take my money when I order a
Bloody Mary to which she replies WHAT!?!?! OK, it's only 10.45 am but I'm not
riding today although I have some emails to do. To my disgust she puts Lemonade in
my Mary. But it's not bad, takes the bitterness away.

A girl comes up to me and the bar and says Hi. And I think WHO ARE YOU? (So many
fantasies to remember, so little memory!) Not since NOT remembering Danielle have
I felt so El Stupido. I have spent two days (and one night) with this girl - Cathy
from the voyage down from Venice, and her on my shoulder, mostly, on the midnight
bus from Patras to Athens. No, I haven't seen the others I tell her. We figure
they must be REALLY enjoying Santorini. She actually preferred Santorini. This is
much too much of a party island for her. We have a few quick words and she joins
her new travelling pal, a young Negro girl.

Cathy is a deceptively beautiful girl, not so obvious. I didn't notice it until I

saw here face asleep on the deck of the Ikarus Palace - her face absolutely
sublime in slumber. And eyes that need to be looked into.

An American girl comments that I am sitting reading a book, and what am I

drinking, and is there anyone serving at the bar? I ask her if she isn't used to
the slowness of the European service yet? She actually gives up and walks away. I
think she MAY be one of my new roomies. Out with old, in with the new. All that
young skin just seems to roll into one. Danielle, Lissa, Maria? Where are you?
Disappeared for a while to do emails and when I return I drink with Frank. Thought
he'd be gone. Not tiill 4. And it's only 3. He's not a bad bloke but he likes to
talk and talk. Problem is his English is so-so and my Dutch is a non-event.

Sunday arvo at the Kanga Bar. A jam session and and drinks at a discount. Recipe
for a hot afternoon. Not many other musos turn up a few DO get up and sing.

Jody, the no- accent NZ bar person, says hello and remInds me even more of JH but
she's as thin and as tall as a streak of duckshit.

There's a Greek guy sitting opposite me who looks like he'd be happier at a
Funeral Parlour Exposition. Maybe we could dig up a few old customers for him.
There's bound to a be a few buried around here.

It's a pretty relaxed jam session. A few people are reading books (not me, I'm
making notes) and a couple are playing chess. Andrea, the Greek goddess, JH and
Bridget Fonda are behind the bar, serving purposes.

Even with the above staff (usually only 2) I have to call out " ella" to get some
service. Andrea seems to think it's funny that I have mastered the Greek language.
Well, get the fuck over here DOES have its many uses.

Three Irish girls, separately, get up to sing. Where is the rest of the world?
Most of the singers opt for early sixties/ R&B numbers, songs nearly everyone
knows.

The American girl I spoke to this morning WAS the girl from my toom buit she has
now moved to a tent - 1/2 the price. After a brief conversation she tells me
she'll see me later - in your tent? I ask. No, she's going on a pub-crawl. Well,
roomies comed and go, go and come but never with me, it seems! She accuses me of
being fickle and that she is offended. Can't remember what her point was but it
may have had something to do with the fact that - I tell her I try, sometimes,
NOT to look in the morning. Upon waking in a room full of fems, ie.
.............

She is back and says it's a test if I can remember her name. I don't think I ever
knew it and, therefore, failed the test. Whatever the test was for? Reading this
NOW I am unsure of whether this girl was teasing me or TEASING me. The
disadvantage of alcohol.

As a part of the afternoon's entertainment there's a crude, mock marriage ceremony

*.The couple involved were genuinely engaged, I think. Shane, the supposed best
man, got up and did a take on Oasis' Wonderwall, entitled Wonderballs. All I can
remember of the vow is this - he promises to come in her mouth and she promises to
"obey".

*If somebody had only had a video camera they would have made a fortune. It was
hilarious.

Had a 11/2-hour sleep. I'm back down at the pool, ready for pizza. I have a swim
and another beer. I'm totally relaxed and ready to sleep, again. I don't need to
keep up with the allniters. No could I!

It's been a long afternoon at the Pig and there aren’t many survivors. It's just
after sunset now and in the distance I can see the lights coming down the mountain
from Managanari - the headlights like giant fireflies. Glad it's not me -it's
really dark and it's a rough dirt road.

Bridget Fonda brings my pizza to me but JH has to get me my cutlery. Great

service. A twosome, how original!

Later, Bridge goes to get me a beer but JH beats her to the punch. Please girls,
no fighting, I can probably manage it over a couple of nights.

Graham, the nazi Singer/Announcer*, tells me to get my feet off the tables. I have
another swim and another beer and head off into the Canvas Night hoping to find my
ex-roomies' tent on the way home.

* I was always amazed at the difference between him on stage and when he was "
managing" the place, whatever his title was. On stage he was relaxed, offstage a
bit of a pig, maybe even a purple one. To be fair though - if you ever get to
Ios, go to the Pig where, when I was there, he performed an original song,
nightly, which was quite good. Some of the lyrics, I remember, spoke of " shaking
hands with Yanks and dirty girls with no thanks".

12.8.02 MON

Woke up this morning in a room full of exposed eletrical wiring. Have forgotten to
mention this till now. Greece may be the birthplace of democracy but it is also
the probable birthplace of the Loophole.In Greece you have to pay taxes on the
house that you own UNLESS the building is incomplete. *# Ergo, the country is
littered with unfinished buildings - wiring, lights, whole rooms and, in some
cases, missing staircases (leading to nowhere, of course). Also, have seen sights
of walls having fallen down into streets and have, obviously, been simply left. I
don't know why. Maybe it's another tax lurk. Or just that the Greeks are a pretty
relaxed people and don't care about the odd bit of rubble.

* This is as true as has been told to me. I know there is a similar scheme in
Italy I read of years ago. Home ownership is not encouraged. Australian Dreamers:
Do not have a heart attack. There IS more to life than owning your own grave.

# It's a little known fact that the Acropolis is NOT actually a ruin - it is
simply an incomplete infrastructure awaiting repeal of an old BC Tax Concession.

Sweating big time in bed at only 6am. It's going to be a hot day - the last two
days have been in the lower 30s, Celsius.

Say goodbye again to Cathy. She's headed for Naxos (sure to pick up some cheap
classical CDs there!) and then back to work in London. I express my sympathy.
Never been to the Old Dart but it sounds like it might be depressing after
spending some much time here in the sun.

A negative response from Sydney depressed me badly - losing confidence in what I

have done so far. Sorry to have clogged up your InBox, mate. Do you know where the
Delete button is? I'll see if I can do the same for you one day

Got the sardine-city bus into the village and watched Lock, Stock and Two Smoking
Barrels. It's a good walk back, mostly downhill, sharply towards the end - I’d
never consider walking into the village as the first couple of hundred metres are
very steep.
When I get back Bridget Fonda wants to know how much longer I'll be there for and
how long have I been travelling. JH has started calling me The Colonel. Whatever
it all means, I'm moving on. Basically, I have to, as I don't want to cut getting
to Paris for my flight home too finely. I'm a bit tired of travelling but I am
looking forward to Switzerland. I was going to go through the south of France
(next year) but have heard so much about Lauterbrunnen from EVERYBODY that I have
put aside 3 nights/ 2 days to spend there.

13.8.02 TUES

Finally get over dispiriting, downer dispatch from down-under. It hasn't

necessarily inspired me to return.

Spinach & Fetta omelette with tomato juice for breakfast and a view of a busy
Mylopotas Beach.

Words of inspiration from K.'s diaries.25.2.1912 - " Hold fast to the diary from
today on! Write regularly! Don't surrender!” Doubting Dylan Thomas, go fuck
yourself!

There's a breakdown at the emails today. A problem just with Ios, she says, being
an island. We have a few spare moments and the girl asks me if I German. Without
blinking an eye I tell her about the family tree, mostly the stray roots. Aaah,
she says, she can understand why I might be more comfortable here. I'm certainly
not from the Pitjinjarra tribe!

Wasn't that thirsty this morning, possibly due to the fact that I drank about 1
1/2 litres of water last night before going to bed, instead of beer? The alcohol
and the heat usually have me waking thirsty regularly at about 3am.

Waves happening for only the second time in just over a week (it’s normally pretty
flat) but too close to the beach to do anything with - except get stoned when they
crash onto the sand which is mostly pebbles where the sand meets the water.

Went into town and saw Dogma at the ersatz Irish pub. Only another lesbian and me
seem to get most of the jokes. Is no one trained anymore in Theology? Think of all
the laughs they're missing out on.

Here is another tirade against my Ex-friend in Sydney who had been far from
supportive. Boy, I must have been pissed. Off, that is.

A Canadian girl working here as a waitress, has just told me she has been offered
work in Melbourne (!), and is taking it!!! Needlessly told her about the weather
not being as good as Sydney's as - I realized later -her coming from Canada, the
cold weather in Melbourne would be a piece of cake. When she first sat down next
to me at the restaurant I thought she was somebody I knew ie. She wasn't dressed
as a waitress! Her sitting down was just her relaxed way of serving. Perhaps she'd
been on her feet all day All I knew was she was sitting next to me and cute.
Aren't they all?

I'm NOT putting down the young employed at home, or elsewhere, but there seems to
be so much work on the Tourist Trail that it's not funny. Sometimes not well paid
though, I know. I tried here, and for the next couple of days, to get in touch
with Jessica and try to enthuse her about coming over here to work. She was only
in a fairly ORDINARY job at the time and might as well have been doing it overseas
where she would, at least, enjoy some experiences she would not at home. However,
there was trouble with the Mobile network and was unable to speak to her till I
returned. As it was I ended up with a HUGE phone bill.

A senior waitress has to tell some jerk-offs that although this is a casual island
restaurant there is still a minimum code of behaviour. NOT behaving like members
of a victorious football team is one of them! Yes, buffoons, of any language,
still behave like buffoons.

The Canadian girl is efficient. She's checked to see if I'm waiting for my change.
One thing I hate about dining out is that sometimes you have to wait a long time
for the bill and, then, even longer for your change. Good stuff, so she gets an
EUR 2 tip on a EUR 12 bill.

NOTE: When you first order your meal you are almost immediately presented with a
temnporary bill. It's a Tax thing. Apparently the Tax Fuzz are pretty tough in
Greece. If they come to your table and there is no evidence of an invoice
presented, the restaurant is in trouble. Seems kind of fasciste for the easygoing
nature of most Greeks. May be why.
They are probably too casusal with cash.

Back to the Pig for a few drinks. And it's......

EUROEM # 36

for melissa rebecca nash

" How can you NOT

love someone like me ?"

A question
from her lips -

how can you NOT

love some women ?

Goddesses *
in the gloom.

Night lights
at Midnight.

Delights at dawn,
always warm.

Ios 13.8.02

* Stole this line from Mrs. Cohen's little boy, Lenny. But, I was drunk at the
time, your honour. Every line an original work of theft.

14.7.02 WED

Wrote that last Euroem in response to JH's call from the bar (“ How can you not
love someone like me?") To a customer across the courtyard of the Kanga last
night it was about 11.30pm and me, ten parts pissed. Gave her a copy as I was
leaving the bar. She's leaving today for drizzly London - poor girl -and it was my
way of saying bye-byes. She gave me a couple of kisses for it - one on each side
of the cheeks. Of my face. Who cares about royalties? The Tax Dept will never
catch me in Love.Confused her BIG TIME when I had to tell her that Melissa was NOT
the one that she, Jody, reminded me of! I dedicated it to Lissa because " how can
you NOT love etc" is what I would say to her with regards to parents & their
children.

Tinned tuna, yoghurt, (still more) broken crackers and V8 Vegetable juice for the
morning meal. A EUR 4 repast with a million dollar (US) view from the Delphini
restaurant of Mypolotas beach & headland on a glorious god-given morning, replete
with a salt spray stinging the air. In other words, a fuckin' beauty.

Feel a bit emotional on the bus. A bit strange considering this island has simply
been a good rest, except for the bike accident, nothing particularly significant.
Perhaps, because I'm headed for Paris and it's the downhill run? Just because I'm
going home, even though it is through Northern Italy and Switzerland. Pretty sad,
anyway.

Ferry back to Piraeus uneventful, via Paros and Naxos, sea a bit rougher than I
have experienced it so far. Both islands look equally barren but could have held
some small delights. If only I hadn't spent so much time in Prague, Ios. If only I
didn't have to go back to work. If only I'd been born 30 years later. If only I
brushed my teeth more regularly. If only, if only.

(As we get closer to Paros, it actually looks quite green - even featuring a huge,
shady park in the middle of the Town Square.)

Arrived in Athens about 8.15pm. Can't see getting to Patras by midnight, so I

don't bother. As it turns out, no buses to Patras till following morn. anyway.
Get a room for EUR 35. I don't worry about the extra 5 for TV & air con. There's
plenty of Greek tragedy at home on TV. And it's not that hot a night! Most
importantly though - TOILET PAPER IS SUPPLIED! (It appear though to be b.y.o. soap
but it's hard to tell as there is no light (and I mean NO light) in the bathroom.
Might be a tax thing.

Moussaka at a greasy spoon cafe is a prepared slab plonked down in front of me and
is just about as good as any I've have tried anywhere else. Mythos beer good too.
Wished I'd drunk more of it on Ios- just as good as Heiney but cheaper!

On the way back to the hotel I saw 3 girl-backpackers still looking for
accomadation. I'm settled and eaten. Would hate to be on a budget. Still, it'll be
something to annoy their kids about when they become over-protective parents.

All those ocean miles of salt air, a good cheap meal and only a couple of beers,
for a change, will get me off to sleep fairly quickly. Goodnight, Athens.

15.8.02 THURS

Much confusion at the railway station to get a ticket for Patras. I end up with 2
tickets on the local rail for a suburb that sounds like Patras. Not a good
representation of English language for a major port / railway station. Not looking
good for the 2004 Olympic Games even though most people will probably come via the
airport. Only silly people take the ferry.

Ran into two girls also trying to get to Patras. They had found someone who spoke
English (but not a ticket seller, just another customer). One of the girls was
from Mortdale, NSW. She was the person I met who lived the closest to my local
geography -and we only shared about 1/2 hour all up. The other girl was a Canadian
whose nationality I picked NOT because her accent but her attitude, decidedly
softer than the South of the Borderees.

The quickest, easiest way to the bus terminal (all trains full) was by taxi. We
thought we were going to be ripped off. The girls had been told not to pay anymore
than 6 euros. They tried to haggle with the driver over this before we even got
into the cab. Much confusion much to do with language etc. At the end of the
journey I ended up shouting the whole ride - only EUR 4 for the whole 20 minute
trip. The girls had been prepared for EUR 6 EACH! They could have ripped
themselves off. And, probably, a less scrupulous cabbie with a better
understanding of our English might have!

Athens from the bus didn't look any better than the city I saw from the Parthenon.
It's seems to be a city that is half-demolition, half-erection. Will they be ready
for Olympics? NOT from my observation. The whole place has an Unfinished Look
about it (not that I am Mr. Tidy).
EUROEM # 37

Greece:

Olive trees.

Unfinished buildings.

Democracy and

mountains that

look like they're

going to fall

into the sea. *

On the bus from Athens to

Patras 15.8.02

* First, a borrowing from Leonard Cohen - now a loan from Hendrix. Originality is
over-rated! (And so HARD to understand sometimes!)

After walking up and down, but mostly sideways, I finally manage find the Minoan
Lines office. Yet again I have to find a specific address and not just any agent
for my ticket. Apart from partly demolished aspect of Greece it also seemed as
though they didn't worry much about street signage, making it difficult to find
your way around. So I get my ticket all right but it's 13 hours until the ship
leaves. I try an Internet shop but it's closed. It seems as though it's some sort
of public holiday and I'm really stuck for something to do.
I find a cinema but, not only is it not open, it appears to be all in Greek. I can
barely understand most Greeks speaking English. I cannot even go to a pub and get
drunk as who knows where I'd end up!

Went into a place for a hot coffee but all they had was frappe with a glass of
water thrown in. Can't remember if the frappe was THAT strong but most of the
coffees I had in Greece REALLY needed that glass of water as they were mostly very
strong and had a suitably heavy after-taste.

Killed three hours walking, walking and sitting down on the dock where the Ikarus
Palace just sat there with me, just waiting.
Back to the Internet Cafe and it appears to be a Private Club. They seem to think
it's funny to see me come back at regular intervals, banging on their door. Fuck
'em.
On to a park I've discovered in the middle of town. Same as in Salzburg (and
elsewhere?) - no one seems to sit on the grass. The park benches look too
uncomfortable so I find a patch of green and rest myself up against a tree. Baked
beans, tinned tuna, and crackers for lunch. Shortly after a dessert of sleep
happens. (No one bothers me - they're probably too afraid to step on the lawn).
At some point some coppers come into the par and I half-expect to get hassled. But
I don't. They must be used to foreigners abusing their parks.

Back down at the docks a young German comes up asks me where the check-in is, all
in the gutteral language of his hometown beer garden. I didn't know there was one!
Turns out that there wasn't. He has approached me, he says, because I am reading
Kafka and a lot of people seem to be under the impression that K.was German, as
this was the language he was first widely published in. I can, maybe, understand
what K. might have thought of that!

Back to the diary, though. Poor Kafka. If he had NOT been a writer, not physically
unwell, and more out-going person he may well have been either a serial killer or
rapist, or both. No, this is NOT a confession!

I cannot help but feel that the reader will think comparing myself to Franz Kafka
is a wank. It is, of course. I do, though, feel the links and also the opposites,
as though I have learned from this previous mistake. K. found trying to link his
dreams and fantasies into a coherent short story or novel extremely torturous. I
don't even bother. I'm quite happy with my short poems, sketches, as they are and
feel quite happy with the story they tell without being connected by bridges of
storyline and boring patches of prose. I am certainly less tortured and luckier in
love, than poor K.

There is a large proportion of middle-easterners hanging about the docks. My first

thought was that they were a bunch of pickpockets and/or muggers which, I'm sure,
some of them were. But now that the car and semis are being driven onto the boat
they have increased in number and seem fascinated with the process. Boredom I
suppose? Occasionally, one or two of them seem to get taken on board. To work as
deckhands?
Maybe. But probably not Top Dollar. Ah, the Wheel of Fortune - what international
currency.

On the docks I have my best-ever meal in Greece, and simplest. A barbecued corncob
covered liberally with a rough salt (sea?). No butter but the tastiest piece of
corn I have ever had. Thoroughly recommended: Itinerant Gentleman standing over a
Weber just inside Gate #5, Patras Docks. Be there. Or be shaped similar to a
rectangle.

We get on board at 9.30pm even though the ships not set to sail (?) till midnight.
It's been a long day, hanging about the park and the docks like an old rummy. I
see the old bedroom in the middle of the deck. It is covered. Part of the
misconception I had of the ferry trip was that we would be exposed to the
elements. I fully intend to get a cabin. I think one trip down on the deck is
enough for any dinner conversation. It's 2 night's accomadation anyway you look at
it.

I see someone grab a body-length plastic deck chair and I realize this is the GO!
I headfor one that I see a woman has her eye on but she sees the marks on my neck
left by the old SS insignia emblems and she relents. You have to be really tough
to get on here - the place is full of foreigners!

Cancel that stateroom! The plastic patio chair RULES. I intend to spend the EUR 50
on more exotic food and beverage.

Tiredness hits me. I try to fight back but IT keeps ducking and weaving and I can
feel myself going down for the count.

And floating somewhere on the Adriatic, I fall asleep. How poetic!

16.8.02 FRI

Spend the morning on deck reading Kafka in the sun.

On 31.7.1917 Kafka muses about the fact that travelling reduces one to a child,
and child-like wonder. Couldn't agree more. Already have stated so earlier.

And on the 17.10.1921 he moans that no one else can possibly have the same " inner
plight" as he. To imagine, he says, is impossible.

Stuffed tomatoes and Greek Salad for lunch with a tart little Rose. Should have
been with a tart called Rose but no. View of the Adriatic and the coastline of
Greece through the dining room porthole. No Roman galleys spotted, only a lost
Chinese junk and two people on a raft who have probably escaped from a Jules Verne
novel.

Finished K.'s diaries. Supplements to the main diaries are his Travel Diaries. I
tried to read them but found them too full of minutae* and gave up about halfway.

* At one point, in 1916, he describes a serious motor accident that ALMOST occurs!
Such was the early fascination, and fear (perhaps justified), of motor vehicles.
The accident results in nothing more than a child's bent tricycle.

Go down to have dinner at the bistro and it is chockers. I come and go a few times
but each time the queue gets longer, not shorter. I eventually give up and join
the line.

Mr. Piggy has Catch of the Day with Rice, Proscuitto with HoneyDew Melon. And a
half-bottle of Blanc sec. All up it costs me about $AUD 50! I had thought the
Proscuitto was an entree but it wasn't. Was I ever full!?!

Sat up on the deck having a beer with no one else there, as it was pretty cold -
mostly the wind factor. I was OK though - I was wearing my Pacific Wear Outdoor
Trail vest from Big W. Send all cheques deemed appropriate to the correct address.

Must be one of the shortest entries in the diary. There's not much to write about
READING or simply walking-the-deck. Must have hit the patio chair early as I
managed to wake fairly early the following morn.

If I HAD to do this trip again I would organize to fly out of Athens and only have
to endure a one-way ferry journey. I DID enjoy most of it but all up it was 60
hours long - 2 1/2 days of nothing but travel.

17.8.02 SAT
It's about 6am and waiting for dawn. Have been awake since about 4. Got so bored I
managed to read the rest of the Travel Diaries. Hoping to get a good picture of
the rising sun. A few they people beginning to gather on deck.

At one stage I get transfixed looking over the railing into the black sea and
.......

EUROEM # 38

Kafka's diary talks

about breaking
and jumping
through windows.

I look and feel

the sea invite me

Under a carpet
of water there
is a floor

but no window.

Adriatic Sea 17.8.02

Amazingly I see Kafka on board. He's sitting with his back to me, a figure in a
black suit, no hat. It's my first impression and when I see his profile that
confirms it. I did take a photo but - in the UFO tradition - I had been
experimenting with film speeds and light and the photo is a mere shadow of a
shadow. (NOR DO I BELIEVE IT REALLY WAS KAFKA. It was just eerie.)

As we enter Venice harbour there's a Greek woman who has stolen Berlin Maria's
mouth. It gets me thinking again. Should I email her when I get back? Will she
remember? Am I blowing in the wind, Bob? At this point, I have still decided
against it - had once heard Maria talking about the # of children she would like
to have. Sorry, out of my league.

I get another chance to enjoy Venice as we enter the main channel. It's 7/7.30am
and in the early morning light it's pretty impressive.

As we get closer to the docks though I begin to worry. There are cops everywhere.
Are they looking for the November 17 terrorist? Is it me? Am I he? I manage to
sneak ashore though, cunningly disguised as Gary Frances, and I am free, once
again, to terrorize the hearts of women. And children. And really small dogs.
Waiting, desperately, for a toilet cubicle a young bloke in front of me is wearing
an Aussie brand t-shirt. I smile at him, simply because we are waiting together,
and he says something to me in a language I know well by now. It isn't English
though. I say nothing to spoil his illusion.

When I do finally get in to do my business there is no toilet paper. Goodbye spare

t-shirt #7.

The main bus station is only a short walk from the dock. It feels funny to an
unworldy traveller to go into a strange city only for the 2nd time and know which
bus to catch. It gives me quite a buzz. Talk about an under-achiever!

There's a girl on the bus - isn't there always - who has the same backpack as me.
She's a bloody Big W cheapskate like me! Everyone else seems to have Katmandus or
Kickapoos or some expensive name brand. I couldn't see the point of possibly
losing a $300 pack when a $100 one would do the job. It did do the job. I did
break a strap on the small daypack but that was due to bike spill on Ios.

When I get to the hostel campsite I have a quick beer and do about 1 1/2 hours of
emails. Bloody dear at about $AUD 20 per hour.

Tucked into a few more beers and watch the Tri-State (rugby union) game on TV.
Australia versus South Africa.

The game hasn't even started yet but the Aussie boys are carrying on a treat and
then - to my surprise - all shut up when Nelson Mandela puts in an appearance to
kick the game off.

NON-SPORTS PERSONS NOTE: Everyone gets carried away at these events so far from
home. MY old friend Cheryl, who I saw reluctantly sit down at the last Union game,
became an almost hysterical mess by the time the last ball was bounced. I was
fairly excited myself.

There are about 8 South African's rooting for their team against about 15 or 20
Aussies, so it's a fairly lively crowd.

I thought I'd never say this, but - there's nothing like watching your team when
you're 10,000 miles from home. The Oz team makes a tremendous comeback from 26-9,
at half-time, to almost winning with a few minutes to closing but the S.A.'s get
up and win by a point or two. But it doesn't matter. It was a great game and a
great atmosphere.

I go for a sleep, which I deserve after a couple of beers and having woken up so
early this morning on the good ship Ikarus.

..........................

Do ½ hour emails. Get back into the beer. And a pizza. The pizza here is really
basic, but good, just no gourmet toppings, snail-flavoured mozzarella or pastry
kneaded by 5-star kitchen hands. DIET NOTE: I certainly haven't lost weight on
this trip. The first day I thought that maybe I would, as I barely ate and just
drank heaps of water. I have to think about an exercise/diet regimen when I get
back. I'm still thinking.

Topped off the pizza with another beer and a good, red wine And then..........

IMPOSSIBLE WOMEN
Have breasts that don't need bras.
Lips as pink as a first kiss
or a red lash from the sun.

Venice 17.8.02

IMPOSSIBLE WOMEN #2

Have heroes named G.I. Joe.

You were never to know.
You could only be described
as impossibly in love

Venice 17.8.02

AN AGREEMENT WITH F.K.

One cannot simply be

if one is to see.*

Venice 17.8.02

* In his diaries Kafka was sure it would lead him the madhouse.

Yes, this is what I do when I'm full of alcohol and pizza and have nothing to read

In the next room, another bar, they're partying full on and playing The
Cranberries "Zombie". The Irish, in particular, are going OFF!

It's goodbye to them and goodnight from me. May all your Christmases come at once
and your orgasms spread evenly. If that isn't a contradiction in terms.

18.8.02 SUN

A young girl (yes, yet another one!) who I had noticed on the ferry from Greece
and seen around the Venice campsite is NOW on the bus to Lauterbrunnen,
Switzerland. She and Denise Richards, the actress (!!!), look like each other and
we would make a great threesome but for the moment.........(The amount of times I
bump into her until I leave Swizterland is incredible and it seems as though Fate
has something in store for us, which it does - DISAPPOINTMENT: I never even speak
to her!)

Driving through Northern Italy past various signs to various Italian cities
-Trieste, Verona, Etcetera (would have like to at least spend some time in
Etcetera, having seen it in nearly every book I have ever read) - I feel as though
I have missed out as I had planned to do a lot more of Italy than I have done. It
just didn't turn out that way. Next year! With Spain!

At out first stop for breakfast we are told that here (and in most of Italy, I
understand) there is no such thing as a queue. Glad I had breakfast back at the
camp. Don't think I could handle the jostling/jockeying.

Paid EUR40c for a dunny and couldn’t find a book to read in English (or German,
for that matter!) Not my favourite truckstop.
.

Fantastic view just before the Swiss border of a place called Lake Como - a large
beautiful body of water sheltered by some high mountains (ah yes, they call them
The Alps).

Stopped just over the border and had a very civilized lunch in Switzerland. A
combination delicatessen/bistro/supermarket set up. It was the closet I have EVER
come to a home-cooked meal anywhere, except home, but better 'cause I didn't have
to cook it. And heaps to choose from! And a view over a valley far greener and
deeper than any Westfields.A lot better than the no queue, far queue, anywhere
else.

Entering the 17k tunnel (longest in the world) where there was an accident, a fire
and a lot of deaths last year. If any tunnel's going to make you feel
claustraphobic it's this one. The authorities don't allow trucks to pass each
other in it anymore, so there's a huge delay getting in there. The wait can be up
to 3 or 4 hours long but there's really only one way to get into Switz from where
we've come, so......Until they rectify the situation, which they plan to, I'd
catch the TRAIN to Interlaken.Lauterbrunnen if I were you until they do.

We stop at Lucerne for a 1/2-hour break. It's a Sunday afternoon and nearly
everything is closed, as it should be.

The Busabout guide is REALLY informative about Switzerland. They may be a neutral
country and have never been to war * but they are PREPARED. National Service is
universal and you remain in the reserves till about age 40 (?). Every house has a
bomb shelter. Every second house has to have a firearm. It used to be EVERY house
but this rule was amended. They have an air force. They even have a NAVY. That
sounds ridiculous until you see the size of the lakes there. All public
buildings/utilitites/ hospitals
(whatever} has identical " twins" underground and are maintained regularly for
use. Hospitals, for example, are ready for use tomorrow, but they are not used
currently for patients. (They musn't have our waiting lists!). A lot of public and
private buildings have their roofs covered with grass, making them difficult to
spot. And, in the event of a land-based attack, all the tunnels into Swizzyland
are wired to explode. Sounds pretty radical to me and I wonder if the Guide is
serious. She seems to be. Her voice is full of admiration.

* Lately, anyway. I don't know how far back that goes.

Swizterland is great but I still feel as though I'm on the Downward Slide. I was
even feeling a bit down back in Venice. But then, that's understandable, just ask
Dirk Bogarde or Henry James.

Southern Austria was beautiful, yes, but Switzerland is magnificent. I could not
have chosen a better place for my last real stop. Paris, not withstanding.
Our bus stops at Interlaken to let a couple of people off who have chosen to do
so. It doesn't look that interesting to me. My destination, Lauterbrunnen, if
another 500 metres up into the foothills of the Alps. The bus driver has to turn
the motor off, and therefore the air con, or the Environmental Fascists will be on
the phone to the Dept. of Niceness.Seems a bit radical but the place is spotless
and the air very breathable. Go you Good Nazis.

The Lauterbrunnen Campsite is set in a deep green valley with 3 or 4 waterfalls to

photograph and enjoy. And 2 or 3 huge white Alps beyond them to do likewise with.

I pass a group of people who are drinking by a small stream running through the
camp. They are sober. But not very. I accuse them, jokingly, of being Contiki
pisspots. Naw, says one girl, defiantly, we're Fuckabout. When I join them we
discuss the merits of calling Busabout Fuckabout and that one of the real
nicknames for Busabout is, in fact, Girlabout. I hadn't noticed it, as such, but
yes, the Busabout percentage of girls is around the 80 % mark.

The beauty of this drinking spot was that the stream was so cold there was no need
for any other means of keeping the beer cold. You simply left them in the water.

Again, here at the camp, I keep running into the girl that Denise Richards looks
like. I can't help but think something is going to happen. If she's my
Doppelganger (?) I couldn't have picked a prettier one. Luckily I can edit some of
my more romantic notions out of this text. Put down that Reality, I'm not going to
harm you.

My new roomate is not pleased that there is only one key and when I suggest simply
leaving the cabin door open he is even less pleased. Apparently he was in Rome
where the whole campsite was burglarized by " gypsies ". He is not a happy camper.
We finally get another key and we agree to leave them at reception if we are not
actually going to be in the cabin. Or, in my case, down by the ice-cold stream
having a beer with my newfound friends.

Newfound friends - Bill, travelling with his daughter. Bill has been doing
Busabout, all but once of the last 7 or 8 years, since its inception. He makes me
feel like a baby, relatively. I have been too polite to ask him his age but he is
easily in his late 60s. Two fun-filled nurses from Western Australia who have been
working in SouthWest Queensland aborginal communities. They are on their way to
London for work. And Hamish, a spitting image of one of my nephews, Andrew, except
he has black hair and about 10 years older than said nephew. Hamish, it turns out,
is also staying in my cabin.

Try Rosti. It is Switzerland's national food next to the dreaded fondue (which I
never get to try!). It's grated potatoe fried with whatever - bacon, ham, onions,
eggs - even green things I suppose.

Still running into Denise Richards. She is sitting, almost opposite me, with her
two friends* while I have the above meal. Is it just pure torment? From Above? Or
Within? Or wherever Heaven is?

* She has been travelling with these two who are, shall we say, plain. It gives
her the appearance of being The Jewel in the Crown. And it doesn't do any of us
any good.

I've heard a few people grumble about the price of the food. I haven't got any
complaints because the food is Excellent and I'm on holidays. Also, the prices are
in Swiss francs which is very similar to $AUDs so it's pretty easy to work out the
price of anything.
I get some bottles of fine Swiss brown water with bubbles and head down to the
stream for a chat with the other drunks.

19.8.02 MON

I make notes here about the Ice Stream Beer Gang which I have reported fully
above,
except for the fact that Hamish and I made plans to go to Jungfrau*on Tuesday
morning with Ruben. Ruben is the other flat mate whose bad experience in Rome made
him and little wary and jaded. Turns out he's from Wagga Wagga. A university
graduate. His father's a truck driver and he, Ruben, has red hair. I'd also seen
him on the bus getting his ear bent by some female chatterbox. He just kept
nodding silently in agreement. He's had some bad luck, all up. He probably could
have done without those ginger locks.

* The local tourism board refers to Jungfrau as The Top of Europe, inferring that
it is the highest peak in Europe. Somehow Mt.Blanc in France, which is higher,
doesn't seem to count.

This must be a wonderful place. I can't remember what I had for breakfast. And so,
for once, I will not bore you with my boiled eggs and sausage.

Decide to go for a stroll. Walking up the valley toward the white peaks, beside
extremely steep cliffs and the wondrous waterfalls I am extremely blown away and
have to share with someone. I phone Michael and tell him that THIS IS THE PLACE!
And is, in fact, the real Disneyland.

A two-hour walk only gets me NEAR the base of the Alps And it's 2 in the
afternoon. Luckily, I also fint a villich mit 1 litre jugs of bier. Ein. Sfy. Try.
Der bier ist goodt! Over the legal driving limit in one lift. And what a beer
garden. Flowers, Swiss flags. Trees. Mountains and, nearby, a noisy mountain
stream, just enough to break the silence but NOT ruin it. Big difference from the
concrete gardens of my ill-spent youth If there's a Uptopia, it's in a beer garden
in Swiss mountains.

Wouldn't it be wonderful if the whole world was neutral? Like this seemingly
utopian place? This, I know, from someone who has seen only a very small portion
of the world, but it would be hard to imagine anywhere else being so idyllic.
Maybe one of the Nordic states? Maybe sleeping next to a flea-infested, but
peaceful, yak somewhere in The Himalayas? Nepal? In the arms of Arkansas? Mummy?
Daddy? John Lennon?

On the way back I get questioned by a lady who asks me if I have seen any base-
jumpers.
I tell her I'm not sure. I'd seen something but had just thought they were hang-
gliders. There have been a couple of deaths in the previous week and base-jumping
has since been unofficially banned in Lauterbrunnen. The locals are still getting
over the tragic white-water deaths from last year and are not happy with any
adverse publicity. I told her I didn't think they were English as I had overheard
them talking. She said it was probably those damned Belgians. They can't, or
won't, read, she says. So, even the "wogs" have "wogs". Initially, of course, she
speaks to me as though I have spent time in the company of one the Germanic tribes
up north.
So, I end up down by the Stream of Unconsciousness again and have a few beers with
Bill, the legend. We are joined by Hamish, Ruben and someone else* I vaguely don't
remember from last night (also staying in the same cabin). P.S. I had woken up
this morning in a bed that was so comfortable I didn't even know I was in Europe.
Backpacker Europe, I mean, I'm sure the ordinary beds in most of the EU are OK,
UC?
I am drinking something called Rugen Brau. Subtitled Lager Hell. Do tell
youngWilliam!

* Seamus. He is Irish or Welsh or something whose late-morning farts have "

follow-through" quality, if you catch my drift. You are just lucky you didn't
catch HIS drifts! They are extremely smelly but also acoustically, disturbing.

There for 2 or 3 hours drinking and talking to people I can't remember about
things I any longer recall. I do remember though talking to a young Indian from
downtown Woolgoolga, on the Northern NSW coast, about not feeling VERY Australian.
He understood completely because he was REALLY confused about what he was ie.
Living in an Indian community (Woolgoolga) in downtown Australia. He didn't know
if he should throw a boomerang or cook a curry, or both. Nice bloke though. Except
for his skin, he could fit in anywhere.

I love me. I love Australia. I love Europe. These thoughts aren't mutually
exclusive. Especially if you're as drunk as a skunk.

20.8.02 TUES

Here I am sitting on a train headed up into the hills toward Jungfrau, 4158 metres
above sea level. Lauterbrunnen is 796 metres above, so it's just a hop, step and a
bloody long jump to go. Our destination, however, is Jungfraujoch, a slightly
lower mountaintop that serves as an observation deck/platform about 700 metres
short of Jungfrau itself. (Really wish it was the Mitterhorn, a nearby mountain
familiar to me from a Walt Disney movie I had seen when I was a kid).

On the way to the train we stopped off at a bakey where Ruben picked up a
croissant. I tried to get away with No English by simply pointing to a croissant
and saying " Sfy bitte " but had to break into the Old Tongue when the burgher
points out to me that what I thought was a coffee-flavoured milk is some kind of
coffee additive, too strong to drink as is.

Initially it's me, Ruben, Hamish and a bloke called Jeff. At one point we lose
Jeff, who has a limp and is slow, and no one seems to mind. I had thought he was a
close friend of Ruben's. Just another example of how people can seem to be good
friends even after only a short time travelling together.

Chugging* up the mountainside towards the peaks this thought comes to me - I wish
everybody was here. I do mean EVERYBODY! The sheer beauty of the place is such
that you feel guilty about not being able to share it with more people. Later
Ruben and I discuss this and we decide that although the expression is a cliche
and the subject of jokes, it is indeed a fine sentiment.
*It's a steep, long and slow climb.

The last part of the journey is through a tunnel that took about 16 years to
construct - 1896 to 1912. It's about 5 k long and takes about 3/4 hour to get
through.

EUROEM # 40

Tourists. Japs.
Austrians. Australians.
Strangers are laughing
at shared jokes but
no common language.
It's that easy.

Is this what happens?

Is this what it's like
just before a crash?
Lauterbrunnen 20.8.02

Up at the top it is magic. I have only ever since really small amounts of snow.
Up here it's everywhere. From the observation decks there are snow-covered peaks
to the left and the right, a huge glacier that has to be seen and all the Rinso
whiteness you could wish for.

I took so many photos of the surrounding mountains that I could not tell you which
was which. Even up there, we were uncertain as to which one was actually Jungfrau!

We decide to go for a walk out on the snow. The trail is wide and well marked so
you don't fall down any crevasses, of which there are plenty, apparently. At one
point I step slightly off the trail only to sink down a couple of feet. It scares
me. The boys* laugh. We walk for about a mile, a medium grade up-hill. I have to
stop about 3/4 the way up. I have always had a small bronchial problem but up here
the air is quite thin and my shortness of breath is very noticeable.

* They are both in their late 20s.

On the way back down on the train the conductor has to move about 20 " locals"
(tourists probably, but Swiss) off the train as they are on the wrong one. Once
again, it doesn't feel so bad being a dumb visitor.

Hamish and Ruben have decided to walk down. About a 3 or 4 hour journey. They've
saved very little on their ticket. It's beginning to rain. They can have it.
Anyway, they'll sleep well tonight, especially Ruben (he didn't have sunglasses on
while we were walking on the snow and his eyes are like bloodied road maps).

Back at Lauterbrunnen I stop in at the Horner pub, recommended for its relatively
cheap Internet. The computers I've encountered here are weird. The mouses are
balls "set" into a table and the " click" button is a separate switch. And there
is the non-standard keyboard. A Qwertz maybe, from memory. Neither the one in the
Horner nor the one back at the camp have chairs supplied. I suppose it helps keep
waiting time down.

I complain to the barmaid, who I think is Irish, about the price of the beer.
There's a misunderstanding here, on my part. The prices are in Swiss francs and I
was thinking in Euros. She asks me have I been to England and, ergo, experienced
the prices there? I tell her that recently, for about 4 years, I lived with a
Bradford lass and had no great desire to visit Angleterre. But of course, the
barmaid just happens to be a Bradford lass who has been here for so long (9 years)
that she has lost her accent. I apologize and say that I am mostly joking, say
goodbye, and agree that it's a small world. And never forget it - it IS a small
world, despite what you may think on the plane over from the Antipodes.

Here I could have written an overly sentimental discourse so idealistic it would

have made Sting, Bob Geldorf or Bono reach for respective guns or buckets. But I
didn't. I just thought about.

Back at the camp I talk to a guy who is doing the gardening chores. I had presumed
he was a local. But no, just another backpacker (nationality irrelevent) working
his way around the world. The job possibilites, once again, seem endless for the
young and willing. Back home, some years ago, I took a breather from the Garbage
Industry and worked for a Temp agency, working almost exclusively with young
English, Irish and Scottish back-packers. And again, as I've noted before, some
backpackers will work for lower rates of pay than “locals” will. I'm not trying to
make out that the world is a worker's paradise. Or that real unemployment doesn't
exist.

I'm down at the Stream of Life bar when an innocent passer-by asks me if he can
use my " refrigerator". I've had a few beers and, suddenly, turn into an uncouth
Aussie. I tell him to fuck off. But, he can see I'm acting (pretty badly), and he
joins me.

I decide to have a meal rather than get totally petrified. Some people next to me
at the camp restaurant are doing the Rosti I recommended while I am enjoying a
pizza, red salmon and Camembert.

Here is a sort of closure to the whole trip - on the way back to the stream I see
Surfie Steve (from Prague). I had half-expected to see him in the Greek Isles.
After a brief chat we decide to go the Bomb Shelter. It's the local disco where I
went with Hamish and the two West Australian girls on Monday night. I didn't make
a note of it earlier because it didn't seem very important. We just got drunker,
laughed and had a good time.

I go into the communal kitchen where Hamish is cooking a dead chicken. And there's
about 1/2 dozen people seated at tables, looking at me. They are with Surfie Steve
who I finally find out is actually Surfie Andrew. The final (?) confusion over
identity. Yes, they looked alike.

We finally get down to the Bomb Shelter, only it's empty. It's me, Andrew, two
other pisspots and the bartender. It looks like a gay venue. Well, except for the
clothes.

Hamish has given me his email address earlier and Andrew wants me to give him
mine, without a pen or paper. He says he's a genius and that'll he remember it. He
pissed. And I haven’t heard from him yet.

And the reason the 1/2 dozen people were loking at me in the kitchen was that
Andrew had been regaling them with stories about the Undead Legend of Prague. * He
tells me I am famous on the Busabout circuit. Thanks Andrew. If I want a publicity
agent, I’ll call you. Or you could email me.

But what am I famous as? Andrew refers to me, 9 times out of 10, as McDeath, after
my t-shirt.

We finish about 1am. Andrew wants to carry on in town but I have to be up about
6.30 am for the 8am bus out of here. I say goodbye to Andrew and thank him for his
company.
I don't know if I'll ever see him again. Never mind the emails; I can't even
remember which part of Australia he was from.

Footnote: Andrew has pulled in here just as the bad weather has set in. Not
pissing down rain but just very overcast and misty. We (me, Hamish and Ruben) have
been really lucky with the weather and our photographs.

21.8.02 WED

I say goodbye to Hamish this morning. But NOT to Ruben. Ruben is travelling on the
bus with me to Paris. It is unexpected but I'm not complaining. Ruben is a good
companion. Just someone I would not have chosen. Just shows how wrong you can be.
Or me.

Have Toblerone chocolate for breakfast. Way to leave Switzerland! Rolls/sandwiches

were 7-8 swiss franncs and I only had 5! It hasn't killed me yet but I wouldn't
advise it on a regular basis.

....................

The Busabout Guide is asking if she can book a room for anyone who has not yet
booked. Busabout get accomadation for you but seem to do so reluctantly. There is
a rumour that they are going to cut this service next season. I have actually got
my shit together and have already booked (a room to myself!). A couple of girls
say that they are booked into a Novotel. This gets a big laugh all through the
bus, it NOT being what your average backpacker can afford.

We get news on the Prague front. Buses are still being diverted because of the
flood. It must be a real mess, a disaster for the local economy - it's close to a
month since the first waters hit. Wrong again. As I have said, I was mostly out of
contact with the news media. The bulk of the flood occurred between the 7th and
the 17th August, according to the online Prague Past. Yes, I’ve regularly checking
on what's happening there!

The route we are taking back to Paris is NOT on the expressway. We are taking the
Tour de France route. Should be great scenery. I don't know if it's company-
approved but it got us into Paris about 5/5.30pm instead of 8pm.

We go through the Swiss/French border without our passports being checked. It's a
pity because there was a French Border Patrol Officer I wouldn't have being
frisked by. She was, of course, a She. As far as the French Government is
concerned, I have never been inside their borders ie. I didn't get stamped IN or
OUT, either time. Has it only been this lax since the European Union?

We are about 20 or 30 k into France and you'd think we were still in Switzerland
by the architecture, flowers in window boxes, etc. Culture, obviously, doesn’t
stop at that imaginary line on the map.

The French countryside is pretty nice. There are quaint villages, villas, castles,
fortresses and farms, etc. What isn't quaint are the toilets. We stopped at a
village for a pitstop and nobody could enter the "facility" without gagging. I had
heard some pretty bad reports about rustic dunnies and they are TRUE - they are
simply " holes in the ground" surrounded by walls. Go Maccas everytime, if
possible.

Later, after our lunch stop, someone has snuck food onto the bus. It is a big NO
NO. She's chosen hot potato chips with VINEGAR. And, by some miracle, no one
(official) down the front of the bus smells it.

Some people are going to Paris to do a couple of days. Most seem to be heading for
London. And some, myself included, back where they came from. Same journey,
really.

A couple of girls directly in front of me are discussing the ins and outs of
travelling - mostly the mozzie and bedbug visitations. They are even sounding a
bit sentimental about their bacteria/germ bearing bedmates, swapping notes and
horror stories -so, yes, they too are headed HOME.

We are back in French take-away territory now and I'm back on the Evian water. The
water in Switzerland was fantastic - straight from the creek or river. I'm told my
eau paranoia in France was unwarranted.

INSURANCE NOTE: If you going driving in the city centre of Paris - you CANNOT
be insured on the roundabout immediately beneath the Arch d'Triomphe. No one is,
according to the Busabout Guide. It's that HAIRY! (Six or seven streets running
into 1 circuit with NO marked lanes!)

22.8.02 (THURS, PARIS TIME) TO 24.8.02 (SAT, SYDNEY TIME)

I'm sitting here writing this in Montmartre - home of Sydney Poitier, Denzell
Washington and a lot of other people who look like jazz musicians. It is an area
populated by Negroes (at least 3 out of 4) and something I had disputed some years
ago with my ex-wife. For which, I now apologize. About the Negroes NOT that she is
my ex!

After we had settled at out respective hotels I met up with Ruben as we had
planned to see Paris by night.

Tagging along with Ruben was Robert. Ah, Robert - not Bob, Bobby or Rob, but
Robert.
He was an Australian but worked as an Accountant in the Public Service in London.
That would ordinarily be enough to describe someone but not so! A second cousin in
appearance to, and a haircut like, the Kennedy brothers, JFK and RK. A collared
shirt, trousers that could only be described as slacks and very comfortable-
looking white shoes.
At one point I had to check a calendar to make sure we had not drifted in Time.

One of his most annoying traits was that he knew everything about everything.eg.
Upon observing the traffic problem around the Arch d'Trimphe after only a few
minutes he decided he knew how to solve the proble - something the French have
been unable to do since the invention of the motor car. Also, he had what I now
call a McDonald's brain - if you made a statement about something he immediately
would want to Upsize it. You know the type. Or they could have got it for you
wholesale!

Irksome for me, in particular, was his name. It happens to be that of my closest
friend in Australia and it just has to be the first person I've met I've really
disliked and it has to be on my last night. Paris never had a chance of winning
any awards with me - on my first day or my last night!

When Ruben and I told him how good the opening ceremony of the Sydney 2002 Games
was (he hadn't seen it) we made the mistake of telling him about the slight hitch
with the lighting of the Olympic Torch. Unforgivable was his verdict. You'd think
They would have tested it first. Well, Robert, they probably did. Still, it was
unforgivable and typical of the country he had left. Such was his attitude. I
never heard a harsh word about the "hiccup" back home and found it extraordinary
coming from an ex-pat.

Ten minutes later we are looking at the Eiffel Tower, all lit up and magnificent.
Somehow the failure of the Millenium Clock comes up. It had refused to co-operate
with the tick-over into 2001. I made the comment that they must have had
Australian technicians on the job. He, Robert, looked at me and said he thought my
comment was a bit rough. Uncalled for, old boy, don't you see? He has missed the
joke and I just blew my stack - " Well, you started it!" I said. I stormed off and
Ruben, who had understood what I was getting at, had to explain to him.

......................

Am enjoying Paris this morning, now that I am not feeling so foreign in a foreign
city.
And last night too, believe it or not, despite Robert and the blandest Indian
food I have ever tasted. Can't the French handle their curry?

We had all agreed to meet this morning and take one of the open-top bus tours but
I when I see Ruben at out meeting spot I tell him I couldn't spend another minute
The Legend from Accounting.He agrees but is that polite kind of person who.......
I dunno, but I wish him well and tell him I have enjoyed his company, which I
have, and have a good time and all that stuff that old friends (3 days) say. I
have my own agenda, anyway. I plan to visit Pere Lachaise where Jim Morrison was
buried. I haven't got time for the Louvre and fuck the Mona Lisa anyway. I have a
perfectly good copy at home.

A young French guy asks me for directions and I am able to help, in English. It's
just as well I'm out of here before I start being mistaken for a Frog and begin
belching VIN de rouge and farting escargot.

Spoke to a supermarket delivery person. I give him the Pardonez moi bit and then
hit him with my best Quelle heure a tille. He can obviously tell I'm not French
and instead of responding a francaise he shows me his watch. Merci is all I can
manage. It's enough. He smiles.

The service is slow in Paris, even for romance. I go into a supermarket this
morning to get some goodies to take home. Only half of it survives Customs at
Sydney Airport. I am in love with the checkout chick almost straight away but by
the time I have to pay her the money our relationship is down le sewer, and almost
to the Seine, by the time I have walked out the door.

On the way down to Pere Lachaise I buy my daughter, Jessica, a blouse that I think
she will like (after much consultation re the size over my mobile phone).

It's a good walk there, 3 ks (?) either way, and I enjoy it much more than doing
the Metro jive. And it's a beautiful, sunny day to boot.

I do and I don't find Jim Morrison's grave. There's a vacant block of concrete
where it looks like it was but it's hard to tell. One story I heard was that the
cemetery officials had his body moved as the site was much affected by grafitti. I
would say he's still there, just no headstone. I stumble across Colette's grave by
chance. Never do find Sarah Berhardt's as I am more concerned with finding Oscar
Wilde's, which I do. Far more important, to me, than Mr. Mojo Risin anyway.

.........................

One of the first things I saw in the train on my to Paris were the accordion
player-buskers. And just about the last. I give him all the coins I have and take
his photo in exchange. Not long after a female beggar gets on the train with a
child. I have to say no, repeatedly. She is the most persistent I have ever seen
but I have no money to give, regardless. I think if I had given her money she
would have wanted MORE 1 I finally give her the " allez vous, sil vous plait " but
she still hangs about, pointing up to the sky, to God and to the child. She ends
up cursing me and walking away.

..................................

Slugged at the airport for a beer. EUR 6.30 = AUD 12.60. Lucky it was for beer,
otherwise I wouldn’t have paid It.*

* I may not have even done that if I hadn't been so stressed. I have a hard enough
time at airports when the directions are in English.

After I check my bags in I go to a Mini Market to buy some water and there -
there, on a refrigerated shelf - are cans and bottles of my old friend, Mr.
Heineken, only EUR 1.75. Bon vivant. And. Get that mother down yer. Like elsewhere
it seemed to OK to drink in public and NOT at a bar. Or at their prices! So, I
didn't.

I must have had too many cheap Heiney's as I manage to lose the book I am reading,
Nick Hornby's High Fidelity. I see another copy but don't feel like buying it
again. I was enjoying it but not THAT much. I'd seen the movie anyway.

I've got about 3 hours to kill with no email facilities and no book. All airport
crap or humour books that are supposed to be funny. Hopefully I will sleep most of
the 13 hours to Singapore. This time I have an aisle seat but still do NOT drink
alcohol. After all, hadn't I had enough?

I'm cracking up a bit that this is my last day in Europe, at least for 2002. I'm
also keen to get home and do a bit of sharing. And, probably, showing off!

Uneventful flight. Again I say, a good way to end a holiday. Managed to sleep
about 6 or 8 hours of the flight to Sinkers. Not bad. I only did 4 before

EUROEM # 41

Franz, on the plane,

hasn't booked a seat,
so he has to stand.

And that is really

okay by him.

But it's touch and go

with the stewardesses
as they squeeze past.

Changi Airport, Singapore 23.8.02

Pass four soldiers at Changi. They look like, and are, kids. And they look scared,
edgy, insecure, you name it. Not very reassuring, at all. I've seen it a few times
but it is still spooky to see rifles in public places.

Another uneventful flight. Again good. But I don't sleep. I think it's mostly
worry about Franz. How will he ever get past our customs?

When we land they play our de facto national anthem, Peter Allen's " I Still Call
Australia Home". It makes me feel a bit sick, but not homesick. Perhaps it would
be our anthem if it weren't written by a gay person. Or it wasn't an advertsing
jingle?

...................

So Kafka and I hop off the plane in Sydney. I think he'll like the chicks. Not so
sure about the beer.

I can see him now - at the football cheering for Souths, still wearing his hat
but this time replete with a red and green scarf.

I can see him lying on the beach trying NOT to look at the girls. I know, though,
that he's going to be hot in that suit. At least he won't need sunblock!

But that's all ahead of him.

For the first time in his life, though, he has a huge grin on his face.
................

I am met by my sister, Diane, and her boyfriend at the airport and we try to find
a decent coffee shop but we can't and end up at Maccas.

This wouldn't happen in Europe, I say.

Heavens, do all sophisticates tell lies?

.............................I

I only manage to sleep 1 hour before I have to go off to a Maori wedding at 5pm
and I've only landed this morning at 5.30am. As Buddy Holly would say, Oh Boy.

As I said, it’s a Maori wedding, so there’s not a lot of bullshit but….

……..one of the toasts is the usual one about Absent Friends

I think about all the people I've met over the last 7 weeks, about an old friend
who died of cancer some years ago and my mother and father.
And I choke up with tears on the dance floor.

In the arms of my best friend's wife. Of course.

EPILOGUE

On returning from OS I find myself becoming more emotional, more easily moved.
Prior to “going over” I seem to have covered myself in emotional armour which I
have now, partially, shed. But, it’s a start.

I am still in contact with Lissa. Of course. It’s a bit of a one way street as she
is a busy little girl- University, upright bass fiddle lessons, an English-
learning Russian student, an internship at a local newspaper, a film (!) AND,
worst of all, a boyfriend! The boyfriend is supposed to be a semi-famous national
slam poetry person. She maintains that as she will never be a writer she may as
well sleep with one. I wanted to point out that she’ll never be an old man either
but…….well, emails are short and there’s only so much you can fit in.

Contact too with Eva, the fluffy Czech receptionist. The last I heard she was
changing jobs and residences. Hope to see her in Prague next year.

Have emailed young Dave from Melbourne who I knew briefly in Berlin and Prague.
He’s been threatening to drop in when he and his mates go around Australia. I have
a spare room and a lounge where they can crash.

……………

I’m writing more than when I left. Even though most of it is about missing Lissa.
Pathetic, I know, but I love the girl.

Having to sit down every day to transcribe it was painful. I have never written on
such a demanding schedule+, even though it was mostly re-writing. * After two
hours or so I would be quite fatigued.

+ I have NEVER written on ANY schedule.

* Whole pages though, particularly Switzerland, had to be written from memory as

the few notes I wrote were, again, barely readable.

I had another motorcycle accident in December that resulted in a fractured

clavicle and, fortunately for the manuscript, gave me about 5 weeks off. I would
have been lucky to finish the book by mid-2003 if the accident hadn’t happened.

………………………………………………………………
Another thought on Home – Australia is a great country. I just don’t belong here.

……………….

QUOTES FROM THE DEAD?

On the gradual disappearance of the old Jewish ghetto Kafka writes “ In us all it
still lives – the dark
corners, the secret alleys, shattered windows, squalid courtyards, noisy bars,and
sinister inns. We walk
through the broad streets of the newly built town. But our steps and our glances
are uncertain. Inside we
tremble just as before in the ancient streets of our misery. Our heart knows
nothing of the asanace (?), the slum clearance which has been achieved. The
unhealthy old Jewish town within us is far more real than the new hygienic town
around us. With our eyes open we walk through a dream: ourselves only a ghost of a
vanished age.”

And Andre Breton visiting Prague, lecturing on the new ism (communism) – “Art
never listens to an order “and on Prague, in general; “Prague, wrapped in its
legendary magic, is truly one of those cities that has been able to fix and retain
the poetic idea that is almost always more or less drifting aimlessly through
space.”

I, maybe, would have liked this quoted at the beginning of the diary or, at least,
somewhere in the Prague parts but, maybe, the boring intellectual bits are best
left for last. Never left philosophy get in the way of a good time.