The Amsterdam Cram

20th August 2012 (Amsterdam, The Netherlands)

Boff was apologetic about yesterday's botched travel plans so let me decide all the activities today. I managed to show him how to cram a lot into a day without it feeling rushed.

Anne Frank's House: We couldn't buy tickets over the internet or via our hotel so queued
up around the block. I sent Boff out for poffertjes and coffee and orange juice. The experience was excellent, everything a museum should be: preservation, explanation, anecdotes. I got incredibly teary when I saw Anne's room with the pics from magazines she'd glued up on the walls and I don't think I stopped feeling heavy until after I left.

Boff said it was the ultimate tragedy that Mr Frank, obviously a smart man, had put a lot of thought into saving his family. He'd tracked the Allies' movements via radio reports and knew they were on their way before they were ratted out by someone. The most tragic part was that he alone survived while the rest of the family perished in various concentration camps around Europe.

Photo of the day is of the street outside Anne Frank's house, a rather amusing juxtaposition. The thing about Amsterdam is that you have to look out for canals, trams, cars and bikes when crossing the road.

The Tulip Museum: A very different museum explaining the history of tulips, their journey from the Middle East, the Dutch obsession with them, the Tulip Crash, different varieties and current farming techniques. There were a lot of interesting presentation techniques that made this exhibition worth ther 3 euro entry fee despite its small size.

I decided we'd go to Rembrandthuis so we had lunch on the way at a typical cafe (I had croquettes and tomato soup and beer) and then sort of lost each other in a street market. I waited at the corner for 10 minutes then decided to go to Rembrandthuis and just sat in the foyer waiting for Boff to realise that that was the best place to look for me. This is the tragedy of not having working phones overseas. He did eventually find me.

Rembrandthuis: When Rembrandt went bankrupt, the repo people had to do an inventory of everything in his house, which is why the museum has such an accurate record of what it contained. While some of the objects are replicas, a lot of the furniture was actually Rembrandt's and has been preserved in the place where they were kept. Interesting snippet: People in those days used to sleeping sitting up because they believed you would die if too much blood went to your head. That's why all the beds are so small (not because people were 50cm shorter in those days, as I hypothesised).

Apart from containing the painter's domestic artefacts, the museum also held his and his contemporaries' paintings (he was a dealer as well as an artist), a storeroom for his interesting ephemera and, of course, his studio. The studio contained two demos that were also fascinating in themselves: a guy did a paint mixing demo and the lady did an etching demo.

Artis Zoo: We eventually found ourselves at Artis Zoo (what did you expect of 'my day'?!). It had just gone 4.30pm and the staff kept reminding us that they would close at 6pm. We told them it was okay, we would go through quite quickly. It didn't look like Artis had any animals that I hadn't seen before so we just headed for my favourites only to find out that there were a lot of areas where the animals roamed free, for example lemur 'island', which the ruffed lemurs could leave if they wanted to (there were no physical barriers) but were content to stay on.

Artis also had a few humid houses where they kept saki monkeys and iguanas and birds. These tripled-doored enclosures meant that observers could wander through in commune with the animals without accidentally letting them out. We got some great photos. I also saw a hyrax for the first time. Also sat in front of the penguin pool watching one female get chased by a dozen males and constantly escaping but then going back into the fray (crazy chick) and the seal pool where babies were nursing and the mothers barked while feeding them. Eventually a security guard on a bike told us we had to leave in 15 minutes, at 7.30pm; they had let us stay in an extra 90 minutes.

Had dinner at an Indonesian restaurant (this was actually Boff's suggestion but it turned out to be a good one because the banquet was delicious) and then visited the red light district on the way home. There wasn't anything there that I found shocking (no, we didn't go to the live sex show) though we did spend our last 14 euro or so on double entry to The Erotic Museum (see what I did there?). It wasn't as titillating as I'd hoped, but it did have some interesting historic stuff on the lower floors.

We spent a lot of money in Amsterdam, about 300 euro, which was about twice what we were doing in comparable cities. In some ways maybe it was a good thing we were only there for a day.

Meltdown

19th August 2012 (Amsterdam, The Netherlands via Lille, France and Kortrijk & Antwerp, Belgium)

(This entry will be much longer than usual as I have no longhand notes for this day and this will be my only record. Let's face it, I got lazy at the end of the trip and never wrote about it. Plus my travel diary ran out of pages and I was already pushing into the 'addresses' section, which was at the front of the book.)

Today was the day Boff decided to cram as much into as few hours as possible.

It actually began yesterday when at dinner we saw an ad for LAM, which I think stands for Lille Art Moderne. It was the first we'd heard of it. Apparently there were important works by artists such as Picasso there, and they had a sculpture garden, which I thought would be like the one in Hakone which I loved so much (you should go, it's fantastic). Boff had already decided we were going to visit Kortrijk and Antwerp on our way to Amsterdam, which we would get to by 8pm, he promised—ha!—but we couldn't miss LAM either.

So we went to LAM, but we got off at the wrong metro station. We ended up talking to a bus driver who said she would drop us off where we needed to be; half an hour later we ended up at the previous metro station, which would've taken all of 4 minutes (and no money because our metro tickets hadn't expired) to return to. By the time we got to LAM we were behind schedule by an hour.

LAM contained three main sections in addition to the sculpture garden: modern art, contemporary art and art brut. The first two were mainly quite good and we were able to see a lot in a short amount of time due to the clean layout of the gallery. The art brut collection contained works almost half of which looked like something kindergarteners would create, almost half of which you'd find in a tribal craft shop and the remaining 2% absolutely stunning (loved Willem Van Genk and Augustin Lesage). The garden was actually a disappointment. Let's not talk about it.

We returned to town and picked up our bags from the hotel and hopped straight on a train to Kortrijk, which is where we had to change for Antwerp, which is where we had to change for Amsterdam. The trains from Kortrijk to Antwerp go once an hour so Boff had devised a plan to visit a museum centred on a famous battle and get back within an hour. I declined to go with him, mostly because I hate feeling rushed, and instead took it easy in the waiting area at the station minding the bags. The temperature was an unusually high 35C.

Long story short, Boff was supposed to be at the station, luggage in hand, by 2.45pm but he'd gotten lost on the way back from the museum. We hotfooted it to the platform anyway, only to see the tail end of the train disappear. We'd missed it, so we had to wait another hour for the next train. I wasn't mad with him, just annoyed that I had to wait in that boring station for another hour and disappointed that he hadn't kept his promise. He kept insisting that I was actually angry, though, which made me angrier than I was at the initial event.

We eventually made it to Antwerp. I remember The Chocolate Line, where we bought one of almost everything and then had to protect the box from the warm afternoon, its Grote Markt and something about a giant's hand, and a castle. Photo of the day is a statue mime drawing a portrait of a young girl next to one of the Grote Markt buildings, I forget which.

I was too tired to insist that we catch the 5pm train to Amsterdam as planned. All I wanted was to check into the hotel and go to bed so it didn't really matter which city we spent more time in, Antwerp or Amsterdam. I was just sad that spending all that time in Antwerp happened so late in the day so we didn't get a chance to go to its famous zoo.

We ended up getting into Amsterdam at 10pm. Our hotel was a funkatronic venue located in the World Trade Center office building next to Station Zuid. Convenient, but a little too cool for school. At least it had air conditioning.

The Swimming Pool Gallery

18th August 2012 (Lille, France)

Alan Hollinghurst once wrote a book about a library in a swimming pool. I don't remember a lot about the book, not even the metaphor, except that I liked it. I went to a museum of art in a swimming pool today. The musee was pretty much the only thing open in Roubaix. It had a lot of 19th and 20th century sculpture, drawing and painting—even fabric and fashion.

Around the pool the art tried to be water-themed; all the nudes were bathers and all the tigers were fighting lions next to the river.

The photo of the day is a silhouette of a sculpture backlit by the Art Nouveau stained glass window on one end. It took me ages to get the shot right.

Outside, the temperature had hiked above 30C so I was grateful for the coolness of the museum and probably stayed there half an hour longer than I would've otherwise. As I left the Musee de la Piscine, a father and his sons had tumbled out of their van, towels in hands.

(This next conversation take place in French.) The father asked the way to the entrance to the pool and I had to explain to him that it wasn't actually a pool. Then as I reached the street I spotted a local map and called him over to point out where the actual pool was located. He was trying to memorise the turns and I suggested that he take a photo with his phone. He looked at me like I was the smartest person he'd ever known.

I walked to Roubaix, which is a largish town in the Lille metropolitan area. Everything was shut because it was the weekend and even the town hall was unavailable for gawking at, covered in scaffolding due to renovations. I caught the metro back to Lille proper and confirmed my suspicions: the metro trains are driverless, which is why they come so often and travel so fast.

I popped into old Lille for a big pot of oolong at Unami, a teahouse I passed a few days earlier (which was closed during the public holiday) then visited L'Hospice de Comtesse, which the Lonely Planet led me to believe was a lot of horrible religious art stuffed in a Flemish style abbey but it was actually a cool old abbey that happened to have some boring religious paintings in it.

Boff and I met up in old Lille and had tarts for dinner. Not a euphemism.

Pissed off

17th August 2012 (Brussels, Belgium)

I wanted to take an express train to Paris, just one hour from Lille. The TGV, in association with Eurail, had other ideas. Apparently you need to book 24 hours in advance on a Eurail pass and you can't do it at the station, you have to call the Eurail line. I called for the 18th but was told I could only pick up the reservation from Paris Nord or Germany, or they could send it to me by post, which could take "one or two weeks".

I can't figure out what's more stupid:

• Having to book 24 hours in advance, whether or not the train is full.
• Having to book via telephone when one's hotel is 50 metres from a train station.
• Needing a physical manifestation of this reservation that mysteriously can't be emailed, faxed or sent by carrier pigeon.
• Needing to use a postal service that could take "one or two weeks" when you bloody well operate a network of fast trains.

Paris' loss was Belgium's gain, however. As I sat brooding in my room it occurred to me that Boff had been to Brussels and I had not, plus they had some kind of big deal flower thing that I would see but he would not. I hopped on a train. It was supposed to take two hours. There was some delay and it took three...

It also happened to be one of the hottest days of the summer, something in the vicinity of 35C. By the time I arrived at Bruxelles-Midi I'd run out of water and had to buy some from Carrefour.

On the train I'd pored over the map Boff had given me, so confidently headed north towards the Grand-Place (you need to say that in a French accent). Unsure at a turning, I stopped only to discover that I'd lost the map—probably in Carrefour where I'd been gratefully rehydrated. Nevertheless, I blundered in the right direction and managed to find encouraging signposts that took me to a street of Asian restaurants (Thai, Vietnamese, Chinese) at the end of which was a cafe that served me rabbit and chips with a big cold beer, probably the most delicious meal of the trip.

Then it was just a short way to a giant square surrounded by grand Belgian buildings filled with flowers. The balconies were packed so I avoided them and managed to find myself at a Dali exhibition.

It was around this time I began to feel ill, not quite nauseated, not quite headachey but really very tired all of a sudden. I'm not sure if it was the heat, the beer, the rabbit or all three. I parked myself in front of an air conditioner in the exhibition and napped for 15 minutes and then found a room with sofas for watching a Dali doco, told the attendant I had a headache and napped for another 30 minutes. The exhibition was okay but not as good as Berlin: it had a lot of Dali's commercial work including ads he did for a hosiery company, magazine articles, and some first editions of his books.

Groggily I stepped outside and found myself wandering toward the Manneken Pis. Photo of the day is a waffle shop's tribute to Brussels' favourite son with some tourists beside him for scale. Also managed to catch a large jar of Nutella in the frame—yay Nutella!

So Frenchy, so frilled

16th August 2012 (Calais, France)

Boff had a day off from the tournament, which is to say that it was the day for the semi-finals and finals and he didn't make it, so we went on an excursion to the seaside. Calais is best known for being where the lace industry really took off and for not being Normandy.

As the only building higher than four stories, the town hall dominates the cityscape with its substantial belfry (apparently it's pronounced 'bel-free', not 'bell-fry'). Out the front is Rodin's famous scuplture, The Burghers of Calais. You can take a lift up to the top of the belfry but for some reason it was closed until the afternoon.

We instead spent the morning at the lace museum. It was really Boff's day and he wanted to go because the jacquard cards they use to make lace in a machine is akin to a very early computer program. I thought it'd be boring. Actually, it turned out to be the best thing about Calais. Who knew lace had a history that could weave together design, technology and business so effortlessly? We also saw a demo of a jacquard loom for which I had to translate the Q&A between Boff and the dude but I think I did okay. I like the English word 'lace' better than I like the French word 'dentelle'. I think 'lace' represents it better.

Photo of the day is a floral peacock on Calais' major roundabout. You can only see it like this from the belfry, which we visited after lunch. The belfry guide said it represents the intricacy of the lace for which Calais is renowned.

Boff went and had a look at a bunker museum while I sat in the park and watched people play petanque, then we took a bus to the beach. Alas, it was too hazy to see England, but I ate a violet ice cream and all was well. (No, the ice cream was not as big as my head.)

Mess and noise

15th August 2012 (Lille, France)

Lille has a cute little zoo near the Citadelle with free entry. Considering this, I was quite impressed with the kinds of animals they had, including two white rhinos and a kinkajou, the first time I've seen these, quite a collection of American animals like tapirs, capybara (with babies), mara and macaws, and semi-exotics like red pandas and a fishing cat. I witnessed a small capuchin monkey teasing a baby pelican.

I'd budgeted the morning for the zoo but was struggling after just over one hour so went to the Palais des Beaux Arts. Upstairs they have European paintings from the 16th-20th century (and take particular pride in their Rubens—is the plural of Rubens 'Rubenses'?) but I found a lot of the paintings of religious saints gazing in agony during martyrdom boring compared to the temporary exhibition on Babel.

Photo of the day is a Tower of Babel made with books. No particular books, just lots of them. There were a lot of photo collages done by Chinese artists with tower-like structure showing the end of civilisation which were also striking, plus the original Bruegel, on loan from somewhere or other. I found the sculpture section interesting too.

I emerged from the museum a few hours later only to find that it had been a public holiday the whole time and a lot of the cafes and restaurants were closed. I ended up having a supermarket lunch by the fountain before going to meet Boff, who had won his afternoon game.

He wanted to see the zoo so we ended up walking there despite the fact that he thought I should be conserving energy to fight my lurgy (well, we had no choice as buses and taxis were scarce) and then ate dinner at a restaurant that used to be a porn cinema. It was one of very few open.

We decided to catch the metro back to the hotel and had these horrible children flock around us trying to steal our money without taking it from us. I put money in the ticket machine and a girl pressed the 'cancel' button and a boy shoved his hand in the return slot to grab it. Another girl stood nearby as a lookout, I'm guessing also to provide cover from CCTV. Luckily we were cluey enough to figure out what was happening so Boff covered the buttons so the girl couldn't press them and I guarded the return slot shoving the boy's hands out of the way shouting "ne touchez pas" (don't touch). Oh the irony: I didn't have enough French to swear at them.

Chilled Lille

14th August 2012 (Lille, France)

Pretty much spent the whole day in bed exhausted by whatever illness I caught in Poland. I'd visited a pharmacy the day before and with what French I had managed to convey to the pharmacist that I had had a sore throat and now I had a cough. She sold me cough medicine. I can't read medicine bottles at the best of times so when it's in French it's even more difficult, but I managed to figure out the dosage.

At 5 o'clock I went to meet Boff at the Grand Palais following his afternoon game, which he'd won. We walked into town and then around the Citadelle, which is a five-point fortress designed by a famous fortress designer (is there a proper word for that? Defence architect, or something?), Vauban. Vauban's work can be seen all around the northern borders of France and some towns in Belgium and The Netherlands.

The Citadelle, I'd found out the day before, is only open on Sunday to a limited number of people on a tour conducted by the tourism office. One needs to sign up by the Thursday prior: I tried but the Sunday tour was full and we'd be in Amsterdam the following week.

We then had galettes (pancakes) and crepes at a creperie downtown in rue des debris St Etienne. Yes, two types of pancakes for dinner.

Photo of the day is of a guy who stands near the central fountain making large bubbles for donations. He only gets one out of 10 going and most of the time those are popped by voracious kids but I managed to catch this photo.

Pret-a-manger

13th August 2012 (Lille, France)

I may not have explained this spontaneous trip to those I haven't seen in a while. Basically, Boff was invited to play for the Australian go team at the 2nd World Mind Sports Games in Lille, France. At the time he was invited, he had already planned a trip to Greece with his sister and Greek brother-in-law—both former modern Greek lecturers at UNE—and a couple of weeks of wandering around Eastern Europe. By extending his trip it turned out he could see more of Eastern Europe and attend the Games. As you can imagine, I was not at all happy about spending two months alone at home by myself so I decided to tag along for the last month.

The Lille posts may not be very interesting for a couple of reasons. One is that because I didn't do it in 'intense' mode, not as many interesting things happened on each day; the other is that I capitulated to the malady I acquired in Poland.

Photo of the day is from my 'blitz' tour of the town centre. This is the Eglise Saint-Maurice. The girl sitting on the steps was begging for money. I ignored her and went into the church to have a look. While in there I started to feel bad that I'd ignored her so I went back out and asked if she wanted something to eat. I have passable French but it turned out she had a severe speech impediment which meant she couldn't speak, but seemed to understand me. I went and bought her a vegie baguette from a nearby boulangerie. She gestured a lot, then she wrote something illegible in my notebook. I played a game of charades with her: she seemed to say I had seen the light or seen god... or something.

A Flemish fling

12th August 2012 (Ghent, Belgium)

Ghent is a lovely Belgian town that isn't as busy as Bruges but, according to Boff, "shits all over it" (a phrase he had to translate for the lovely lady who checked us into Hotel Flandria. Gotta love Australian idioms).

We spent a typical day there: took a canal tour with a guide that spoke five languages (Flemish, French, English, German and Spanish—the Italians on the boat had to content themselves with written guides) then visited the Gravensteen, a proper medieval castle with proper gap-toothed parapets and proper slitty-windowed turrets.

Photo of the day is of one of the busier squares from the top of the castle. You can see the steep pitch of Belgian roofs and a tram for good measure.

We also visited STAM, a museum on the history of Ghent that was interesting in some respects but baffling in others. For example, they spent a couple of rooms explaining the theft of a panel of The Adoration of the Mystic Lamb and about the same amount of room explaining Ghent's role in the Industrial Revolution.

We finished up at Citadelpark where there was an art installation with headstones of famous art museums (The Museum Graveyard project by Leo Copers, apparently) before we caught the last train to Lille at 8pm. A short, satisfying Flemish fling.

Evidence of someone else's good time

11th August 2012 (Cologne, Germany & Ghent, Belgium)

Had a bad time of it on the train. There were no sleeper cars so I set myself to sleep in a seat, which is usually very easy for me except I was surrounded by this family who then proceeded to eat pungent oniony burgers (at 3am) and pass serviettes, drinks and rubbish over me. Imagine a 4-seat arrangement in which the father and son are in A and B, I'm in C and the mother is in D. I didn't want to swap with the mother because my seat had my destination on it so I would be woken up at the appropriate time. It then turned out they were in the right seats but wrong carriage but when they departed they left their pungent oniony rubbish behind. Then someone's phone kept ringing. It's 3am dude, you're on a train—who the hell is calling you?!

So I stopped over in Cologne for a few hours. Unfortunately, the hours were 8.30-11.30am on a Saturday, which meant all the things that I might have wanted to see were open at 11am instead of 10am, i.e. not enough time to see and then catch a train.

The main hit is the Dom. Let's just say they don't hide it in some back alley; it is the first thing you see when you exit the main station and I can tell you, you don't see much else for a moment. I might have thought of it like how Sydney visitors always see the Harbour Bridge and Opera House from Circular Quay Station except that I've been to Rome and there's a much more impressive analogy with the metro station next to the Colosseum. Cologne and the Dom are somewhere in the middle.

My photo of the day shows its two towers on the left. It was one of the few things open early that I didn't actually care to see (I was really hoping to visit the chocolate museum...). Instead, I took a walk over to the other side of the river where I found evidence that Germans may sometimes have a good time.

I arrived in Ghent intact but desperately needing a shower and a nap. Boff and I took it easy in the evening just walking around the canals. I've never been in Europe in summer before so I didn't realise that when 'sunset' is at 8.38pm, it actually means it gets dark at 10pm. Slow dusk! What will they think of next?

Knots

10th August 2012 (Munich, Germany)

Somehow Boff and I managed to get our dates mixed up. As a result, he thought I'd be in Bruges (it's in Belgium) today to meet him, while I was still pestering him for the address of where we were supposed to be tomorrow. This was not helped by the fact that our prime method of contact is WhatsApp, which we can only use when we both have wifi.

The best train to Belgium left at 3am in the morning via Cologne. The ticket attendant told me the train from Cologne to Belgium was full so I just booked the first leg to Cologne and hoped for the best. Once Boff and I got our wires uncrossed he decided we should sojourn in Ghent instead "because Bruges is full of tourists and I've taken my hypocrisy pills". I returned to the station. The train (the connection from Cologne to Brussels) wasn't any less full, so I took the option of waiting in Cologne for three hours. Sorted. Ish.

I went to Munich Zoo in the morning. It was a lovely zoo and I saw capybara for the first time. There were also a lot of animals play-fighting—sea lions, gazelles, siamangs—some of which I caught on short videos and will put up in due course.

Photo of the day is a pretzel bigger than my head. I had reserved a packet of crackers and a small tub of not-Nutella from the breakfast spread for snacks but was still hungry, then saw this beast and had to conquer it. It was 3.50 euro. It was a lot of carbs. But I ate it.

Under construction

9th August 2012 (Munich, Germany)

After the 'pinakothek' conundrum, I set out to find out what 'fahrt' meant. I have a rather juvenile view of the word 'fahrt', so suddenly einfahrt means 'one fart' and ausfahrt means 'a fart from down under' (as opposed to blowing raspberries, for example). Turns out it just means 'ride', hence fahrkarten = 'ride card' = ticket.

Spent a great deal of the morning in the Residenz sector, which is where some Bavarian royalty used to live. The touristy bits are the Treasury, the Palace and the Theatre, which I did in that order. The Treasury, as you might expect, was full of bling including stuff that you kind of go 'why the hell would you encrust that in jewels?', like plates and prayer books. It was not as interesting as I'd hoped.

The Palace was a lot better, although a lot of the rooms had been destroyed in World War II and have since been rebuilt and then redecorated in the style of the curator's choosing from the millennium or so that the Ludwigs have lived there rather than the latest use of the room. So there were a number of offices that suddenly became bedrooms again, for example. There was a lot of gilt as well, and a fair number of portraits of people I forget now.

The Theatre was lovely, but a very disappointing 'tour'. Basically, you went in, you came out, no behind-the-scenes action or view from the boxes, for example. Photo of the day comes from that venue, though: it was being cleaned at the time. The red drapes aren't really drapes, you see, but some kind of plaster imitation, Rococo style. The guy in the photo uses a brush to dislodge dust and a nozzled vacuum cleaner to suck up the dust. I thought it represented Munich quite well. The city is mostly under construction, after all.

After Residenz I paid a visit to the Viktualienmarkt, which is a food market area just south of the city centre. I met a guy called Klaus at a cafe table and argued with him about smoking (he is pro, I am anti). Then had to find a nice way to ditch him so I could go to the Englischer Garten, which is a massive green area in the north.

The Lonely Planet recommended the beer garden near the Chinese Turm, so I headed there. It was big but not that exciting, so I changed course and aimed for the Japanese Teehaus only to find, when I arrived, that it's only open one weekend a month and you have to book ahead for sittings.

For dinner I tried another Lonely Planet recommendation, the Baader Cafe, which happened to be in an area similar to Newtown, except the street was less King Street and more... Wilson Street. The waitress didn't treat me as a dumb tourist so I ordered my random dinner with false confidence. I ended up with duck, couscous and zucchini for my main and a crepe with berries for dessert. Only the crepe was filled with, wait for it, sauerkraut. WTF?!

All the painted ladies

8th August 2012 (Munich, Germany)

I don't know what the word 'pinakothek' translates to*, but I went to two—the Moderne and the Neue—the afternoon I arrived in Munich. There is also the Alte (old) Pinakothek nearby. I don't think it helps that I keep thinking of it as 'pinkotheque', like a discotheque for socialists.

Anyway, the Moderne (Modern) is a contemporary gallery for design, art and architecture of the 20th Century until now. I quite enjoyed it despite the fact the venue had a very confusing layout with some hallways curling back on themselves and others leading nowhere. Quite post post post modern They had some Warhols, and the photography and design section was particularly good.

The Neue (New) is full of paintings and sculptures from the late 18th through to the early 20th century. It was comparatively very well set out with a clear path through the displays. The selection showed suprisingly good taste (thanks Ludwig!) and the collection boasted some masters including Van gogh's famous 'Sunflowers' as well as works by Manet, Monet, Rodin, Sisley, Cezanne, Pissarro and, as you can see in my photo of the day, Gaugin.

All galleried out, I walked down to the popular pedestrian area, which is a strip between Karslplatz and Marienplatz in the city surrounded by old buildings that have been overtaken by retailers. I had some kind of pork schnitzel with mushrooms and potato for dinner (my first choice wasn't available so I asked the waiter to recommend something and still have no idea what it was). It was just after I drained my beer that I realised I hadn't eaten properly since the Indian I had in Warsaw so I got tipsy very, very quickly. Fortunately there's almost nothing that a raspberry cake and a pot of tea can't fix.

* I'm guessing 'painting' something. Maybe 'painting gallery'? It took me ages to realise 'kunst' was 'art' because I kept reading it another way.

Off the wall

7th August 2012 (Warsaw, Poland)

Went to the Chopin Museum with Dan and her partner Shane. I have only a passing interest in Chopin but I'd heard the museum was a highlight so I was keen to go. We're in luck: it's the museum's free ticket day. The museum doesn't disappoint. It has a lot of artefacts including score manuscripts, letters, photos and items like the last piano Chopin played, as well as a huge multimedia element where you scan your entry card and swipe through content including short videos and music in your language. Its biggest downfall is that it seems the curators have paid so much attention to the multimedia, they've forgotten to give each area a clear context and tell Chopin's life in a cohesive narrative.

Photo of the day is from the street just outside the museum. I think it captures just was Warsaw is like: they may not have border-to-border grand buildings, but what surfaces they do have they paint a mural on. Berlin has graffiti; Warsaw has murals.

Shane then went to the Copernicus Museum and Dan and I serendipitously caught a bus that went straight to the Museum of Uprising only to find it was closed on Tuesdays. By the time we got to the Copernicus Museum the line was so long I knew I didn't have a chance to see it before I had to catch my train so we ended up walking along the river finding random photography exhibitions and Warsaw's mermaid (how cool is that? Warsaw's mascot is a mermaid with a sword!) before I had to be at the station.

Wash and burn

6th August 2012 (Warsaw, Poland)

I went to Warsaw to see my uni friend Danielle, who now lives in London. We've only seen each other a handful of times in a decade so this trip seemed to be an ideal way to catch up, apart from the fact Boff wasn't interested in Warsaw and decided to go to Belgium instead.

Before meeting her, though, I needed to get my laundry done, which required finding the nearest laundromat and how to get there. Turns out there are very few in Warsaw so I ended up catching the train a number of stations south to an outer suburb and still had to walk a fair way to find it. The train stopped at every station for about three minutes. There were announcements in Polish that caused a bunch of people to get off, but a lot of people stay on and some join the train so I stuck with the original plan.

When I got to the suburb, I ran into trouble because it's so far out my map didn't cover it. I managed to communicate with a newsagent who points me in the right direction. At the laundromat, the boss gets her daughter to translate for me. I've never really wanted to learn Polish before but at this point I feel not knowing the language is actually an imposition on the people. I eat my way out of this dip with 500g of raspberries costing a mere A$2...

Finally met with Dan and went into the Stare Miasto (Old Town) to have lunch. I decided once and for all to try fried camembert, which sounds like a heart attack except for the fact that I hadn't eaten properly for more than a day, so I forgive the kilojoules. We take lots of photos of the architectural and decorative features that make Warsaw a great city to explore, and find odd things everywhere, such as a bench made of pipes next to a statue of some inventor guy. Photo of the day is Dan next to a tiny car we found parked on the street.

We also eat one of those soft serve ice creams that are bigger than your head, which we conclude is probably a joke played on tourists given what it looks like to eat one.

Dinner is Indian. Yes, Indian. Very good Indian. And dessert is a plum vodka (70%) and a sea buckthorn liqueur that are both impossible to quaff because they burn going down.

There is no bunker

5th August 2012 (Berlin, Germany)

Took it easy in the morning and had brunch at a cafe near our hotel. You know it isn't a tourist spot when the menu is only in German. We ordered the big breakfast, which looked like it had some sausages, egg, bread and yogurt and indeed it had all those things except the sausage was sliced as part of a cold meat platter. I really don't understand why people eat cold meat for breakfast, it's gross. It seems to be popular in Central and Eastern Europe. Can't wait until I get to France where it's croissants and brioche territory.

We returned to Checkpoint Charlie to get the souvenirs we missed out on the day before, then on the way to the Stasi Museum dropped in on a couple of hipster souvenir joints where Boff fell into a friendly argument with the proprietor about whether Alexander was a better film than Troy. (Fuck, I can barely remember either of them and in my mind they blend in with that horrible Sam Worthington movie, Clash of the Titans and that other one about Titans and the one about Medusa. Those may all be the same film, who knows.

The Stasi Museum was free of charge but sparse and we got more value for time going to the Berlin Wall display down the road where a section of the war remains and below, in the old ruined building where the Gestapo used to meet, they have a timeline from pre-World War II to the fall of the wall.

Photo of the day is how I will always think of Berlin, full of trains and graffiti.

Quote of the day from the souvenir store guy: "There is no bunker."

Ich bin kein Berliner

4th August 2012 (Berlin, Germany)

Berlin has two zoos: the oldest one is located in the west (just a couple of train stops from our hotel—merely a coincidence, I protest) and the newer, bigger Tierpark was created after the wall went up in the east. As a result, Berlin has the most zoo animals of any city.

We went to see the original one and were lucky to catch a lot of active animals, in particular the primates, a pacing panda waiting to be fed, and swimming, playing penguins. Photo of the day is some baboons. The little one scrambled down the rocks then turned around, only to lose its footing; luckily there were some helping hands close by.

We found it hard to leave, mostly because we couldn't find the exit but also because we kept seeing animal displays we hadn't seen before.

Headed to Potsdamer Platz and the Dali Museum. I'm still not entirely sure why it's in Berlin as opposed to his native Spain but I'm not complaining. It was the third Dali exhibition I've seen, the others being in Melbourne and Singapore, and different to both of those. The Melbourne exhibition focused a lot on his paintings and some sculpture and objects, while the Singapore exhibition had a lot of sculpture and illustrations. This one consisted of commissioned illustrations in the main, as well as sketches, commercial commissions (medals from the LA Olympic Games, travel ads etc) and a couple of sculpted works. Every time I see his work I'm reminded how much of a genius he is. Have you noticed the way he draws hair?

Boff wanted to see a bombed out church in the Tiergarten but we got to where the map said it was and there was a perfectly intact church in its place. We later found out that they decided to build a church next to the ruins so we "missed it by that much".

Also went up the Victory Monument, which cemented the fact that Berlin just isn't a very interesting city from above, and then went to Checkpoint Charlie where there is a vast museum that the owner started after World War II, even before the wall went up.

We arrived a touch under 80 minutes before closing and had to convince the cashier to sell us tickets because she was adamant it would take 90 minutes to do the whole thing. Well, after doing what ended up being a cursory tour of the place, you could spend three days there and still not see everything. My favourite part was all the escape stories (I don't care much for the politics) and even they were hard to single out among the collage of stuff in the place unless they had an artefact attached (e.g. cars in which people smuggled other people).

After the museum closed (the cash register closed, giving us no warning while we were browsing the souvenir shop) we went out to take photos of Checkpoint Charlie then, in true Berlin style, had a kebab for dinner.

P.S: The title of this post is a reference to JFK's speech in which he utters the words "Ich bin ein Berliner"—I am a Berliner—whereas mine says I am not a Berliner.

Pergamon, I choose you

3rd August 2012 (Berlin, Germany)

We arrived in Berlin in a couchette, which, if you've never been in one, is a train carriage that gets converted into two rows of triple bunks. As you can imagine, space is tight and no one gets to sit up in bed. Boff and I thought, since we'd arrived at the station early, we'd get dibs on the biggest luggage space. Unfortunately the carriage already had four people in it from a previous stop so we were forced to take up what little floorspace there was with Boff's suitcase and my bag.

The good thing about couchettes: sleeping flat and a croissant and hot chocolate for breakfast.

We checked into Hotel Amadeus, which is a modest 2-star place in Charlottenburg, which happens to be right around the corner from a large erotic retail store (with kino!) but very handy to Charlottenburg Station.

We then wandered into town to see the Brandenburg Tor (gate) before heading to the Pergamon Museum. The Pergamon was on Boff's must-see list. I had no idea what it was but tagged along anyway. It turned out to be an awesome thing made of stuff, by which I mean, an archaeologist excavated at Pergamon, an ancient Greek city located in modern day Turkey, and then brought all the artefacts to Germany. Then he recreated the bloody thing in the museum so there is a scale re-creation (with real pieces from the original) of various ancient structures.

Photo of the day is the Ishtar Gate, which is actually from Babylon but whatevs, it's still a thing made of stuff.

We then had German tapas at a place called Zum Schwarzen Hasen (Black Hare) nearby. The food was really well presented and delicious and not too expensive—recommended, especially if you're not too keen on German food but want to try lots of different things without rolling home.

Finding ourselves at Alexanderplatz, we decided to take the lift up the TV tower to see Berlin by night. I can tell you now, it's not a very interesting view so don't bother going late. I did read all the corresponding info about the monuments and special buildings, though, even though I couldn't see them.

[I'm typing this on the day I'm to leave Warsaw. I had a bad night—some idiot in my room woke up at two-hourly intervals for a smoke out the window, which of course drifted into the room. In the middle of the night I think he also had a puff in the bathroom because when I went in shortly after, instead of just the after-smell of a smoker in the cubicle, there was actual smoke clinging to my hair when I left. Yuck, yuck, yuck.]

Generations

2nd August 2012 (Prague, Czech Republic)

Boff and I did Prague Castle, and when I said 'did' I mean we bought the 'long visit' tickets, which suggested the various attractions would take about three hours to see. Five hours later we'd seen The Princely Collections, St Vitus Cathedral, Old Royal Palace, The Story of Prague Castle museum, St George's Basilica, Golden Lane with Daliborka Tower, Prague Castle Picture Gallery, Powder Tower, and Rosenberg Palace.

I liked Golden Lane, which showed how people used to live on the castle grounds, including a tavern, a goldsmith's workshop and the houses of a fortune-teller and a film buff.

The rest was all worthwhile to varying degrees. I found The Princely Collections of great interest. It traces the family tree of the Lobkowicz branch who owned the castle, which they then lost to nationalism during Russian occupation, and then which they later regained after the Velvet Revolution. The audio tour was narrated by the American descendant of the Lobkowiczes, who now lives in Prague to look after the collection. His father used to live in the palace and had to flee the country during the Russian occupation, hence junior's upbringing in the States.

The influence of the Lobkowiczes can't be understated. Lobkowicz VII paid Beethoven an annuity, which allowed the composer to create his own works rather than under the patronage system where he would have had to take commissions from said patron. This meant that Beethoven had the freedom to do whatever he liked, which in some ways you could say revolutionised music. 'Eroica', originally written for Napoleon, was thus dedicated to Lobkowicz VII.

Photo of the day is one of the rooms in the Old Royal Palace decorated in the heraldry of the castle's previous owners. I suspect one of them started doing it and the rest felt compelled to add their own generation's mark.

After leaving the castle we wandered down to the Old Town square and saw the Astronomical Clock (it does stuff on the hour and when I say 'does stuff', I mean a bunch of figurines roll around on a lazy susan above the clock—quite an anti-climax, actually).

There was a gallery with a Mucha and a Dali exhibition. The ticket seller wouldn't sell us tickets because, she said, it would take us one hour to see each exhibition. Not to worry, we assured her, we have 45 minutes until close, we will just see (local boy) Mucha and go through quickly. But apparently that wasn't good enough and we couldn't convince her to let us in. Honestly, bureacracy has a lot to answer for.

We took a walk through Old Town past the colourful synagogue, which was lovely in the dusky light. All the synagogues I've seen thus far in my life, admittedly not many but certainly more than 10, have been pretty drab so this was a welcome aesthetic addition to my understanding.

Our dinner waiter tried to rip us off by claiming we owed 1000kr, when the bill actually came to 750kr, then when he didn't accept card he suggested that we pay him 48 euro, which was way over the going rate. Instead I darted across the street in the rain to the exchange bureau and swapped some AUD for a really poor rate (if you change $50, the rate is 25% lower than if you change $300 apparently—ergh) but still better than 48 euro. We put 750kr on the table and left.

Then there was a lot of waiting around for our 4.29am train to Berlin, which was marred by the fact that the train station closed until 3.15am and then the train came in 45 mins late. I've never tried sleeping outside a train station before, but managed to grab 30 minutes sleep. Not quite vagrancy but a tiny taste of what it must be like.

Tour de tower

1st August 2012
(Cesky Krumlov, Czech Republic)

Cesky Krumlov (chess-key croom-lov) sounds enough like a character from Harry Potter, or at least the slutty sister of a character from Harry Potter—maybe the Bulgarian quidditch player, yes?—that I still giggle a little every time I say it. It's a town in the Bohemian region of the Czech Republic, which meant Boff and I had to leave our Prague hotel at 4.30am for the 5.16am train. We arrived just after 9am due to a 'buses replace trains' incident.

It's a dignified place with a castle as its central feature and more modern outskirts. The castle is the tourist magnet, though, and that's where we headed, down cobblestone streets into the old town. I'm starting to think no pair of shoes I own really deals with cobblestones all that well: the soles keep catching on the edges of the stones. It seems I didn't learn any lessons from visiting Edinburgh.

We take a self-guided look at the castle tower, then a couple of the guide-only castle tours, one that takes us through some of the rooms, which have been set up as they would have been back in the day, and another that shows us the Baroque Theatre, including under the backstage area where stagehands would've changed scenery etc.

The deal is that there have been three main families who have owned the castle, the Rosenbergs, Eggenbergs, then the Schwarzenbergs, and three main types of architecture: Gothic, Renaissance and Baroque. The weird part is that despite the wealth of these families, none of them seemed to have very much taste in painting. There's a lot of bad trompe l'oeil (the Castle Tower and the courtyards surrounding it) and a helluva lot of portraits of male and female children who all look like old men.

And they have a moat! With bears in it!

Photo of the day is of a statue just on the bridge above the bear moat. In the background you can see part of the the Castle Tower and its bad tromp l'oeil.

When we returned to Prague we passed through Wenceslas Square so I was compelled to stop and sing the song to the statue of the Good King (except I could only remember two verses of the five, which greatly annoyed Boff who didn't want me to sing to the statue at all. Carol crusher). Of course, now whenever I think of Prague I get a Good King Wenceslas earworm.

(Also, whenever I think of Cesky Krumlov I sing it to the tune of U2's One: "Krumlov, we get to share it..." Just thought you should know.)