That old lady across my slender self keeps nagging away for half an hour now. For some reason my pretty obvious imperfections in taking part in this lively conversation don’t seem to stop her. An exercise in positive thinking only to be adored.
Maybe I am just sitting on her reserved seats, but not understanding a single word of hers keeps me blissfully ignorant to possibly being a collossal dickhead.
Some time to reflect on the last few days in the Carpathian Mountains. This probably won’t update anytime soon as free Wi-Fi never seems to work for me, but at least typing away will kill sometime of the 22h train ride of which I have done about 5 hours so far. After ridiculing the old lady (who probably is actually quite sweet and lovely) in this little post I will fall asleep to the sound of her talking and engage in a snore-fest just to piss everyone off.
Well, the last week was fun. From Tuesday to Thursday it was back to school days – for dad – as he had to earn all the money for the beers I relentlessly chugged down all the time. Tuesday I slept in and rounded the day in Kosice with the noble quest of buying shoelaces for mine had given in just at the start of this journey. Although a pretty industrial and inventive method, involving duct tape, a pin and some wire, held the whole thing together and enchanted the locals I decided I’d rather go for a more clasical shoelace approach. Can’t be that hard to buy some ties, eh? Except, the whole bloddy town seems to buy new shoes whenever their shoelaces snap. Add snarky comment about consumerism and capitalism here. Luckily enough I was able to complete my task with a lot of pointing and gesturing (I only accidently offered a free shagging in the mall toilets once or twice in the process I think.) and wore my new shoelaces with pride to the pub that evening.
On Wednesday I finally got back to school myself and attended two of my dad’s German classes. Let’s put it that way: Despite my rather youthful and boyish looks I will probably not be cast in a Highschool Musical remake (pervert janitor maybe). Naturally, I fled the scene and decided to make beautiful Michalovce my own. To say you can see all of its main attractions in about 5 minutes is an understatement. I will never complain about Brandenburg again. (Who am I kidding? I will.) A dreadful 5 hours later (forgot reading material) and a sixpack later we went back to Kosice into a pub. Thusday was a bit like Tuesday without running around in shoe shops and more dicking around in the sun. A highly relaxing day leaving me to reflect on the area and if I could live there. See, I could. The place has its perks. There is a positivity mixed with a certain melancholy of grey appartment towers basking in a late summer’s day glow. This mixture of boredom, despair and sod it. But this post isn’t about Frankfurt(Oder). No seriously, one could live in Eastern Slovakia if it wasn’t for the huge language barrier. You learn a lot about being humble when your dad has to do the subtle flirting for you while all you can do is uttering “Piwo” and gesturing the quantities (usually you spread your arms like indicating a particularly large whale ….that much beerplease!).
Yesterday, we went hiking. It wasn’t as boring as that might sound like. In fact, I quite enjoyed it. However, I am bad at describing sceneries, so I’ll leave that out. (By popular demand – here’s my attempt: Tree, trees, more trees, wood, hill, upwards, naked couple making babies, piwo, more trees) Needless to state that we ended the night in a pub.
Which was a bad idea considering I can’t sleep in trains and have the first hangover of the whole week.
… because that’s what we did essentially since Saturday. Although I might add that the absence of a major hungover indicates we haven’t exactly been overdoing it (or it’s advanced beer-colismn).
Sunday we planned hicking. To keep with our theme of lads-pretending-to-be-young-again-by-drinking-too-much the destination would have been a lovely drinking shack in the heights of the Carpathian Mountains. Fortunately for the beer reserves of the region the weather decided to fuck this up and we ended up detouring to Presov instead meeting up with one of dad’s colleagues. We put a dent into their beer stock.
Back in Kosice we went for our first jogging run together in which I easily left the old man panting while I strung together a decent run. He was a little upset, but also proud so we declared this a passing of the torch moment. A moment we celebrated with a little more piwo.
Later, we ended up in yet another bar (which are plentyful for such a small place) again pondering all the big and the small questions of life, the universe, it’s meaning and all that. Surprisingly, we came to a somewhat positive answer to all this. An answer we forgot – sorry.
This is not the greatest post in the world – this is a tribute.
Today, we made it to a Slovakian town I forgot the unpronouncable name of. Something with partisan uprisings and stuff. Particularly meek information for a trip that took 10 hours altogether, but the beer was great. Oh, and I ate the possibly tastiest pizza ever.
Once upon a time, I decided that I haven’t seen my old man in about a year and the idea was born to spend a week of my precious late summer time in Slovakia. It really took some convincing, because cheap booze and beautiful East European gals – totally not my thing.
Ventured into the office of Deutsche Bahn and agreed a trip that would always be a lengthy one, but a managable one too. What could possibly go wrong?
Well, it took one connection missed by 7 minutes which meant me waiting for the next train towards my destination. That particular train was due to arrive some sweet nine hours later. What’s the point? So you spent 9 hours in another city…. It was bloody midnight in Prague and my plan was to sleep at least 5 of the 9 hours between the Czech capitol and my destination. It could’ve been so easy. So I missed the train and I already resigned to the reality of spending my night at the train station. If it wasn’t for one pretty eager security guy who thought that bums like me make a midnight gig there a sad scenery.
Thrown out I could only think about how all this could be worse if it would be raining. Have you ever heard about the phrase “it rained cats and dogs”? Look that one up, because that’s what happened. Here I was, in Prague aimlessly wandering about (even made it to the ever famous Karls bridge) trying not to lose heart. Ended up reading a book underneath a badly lit bridge.
Anyways, eventually the train would come and another 9 hours later I reached the promised land in the form of me dad pouring me a fine Slovakian lager. As always we talked and joked and generally enjoyed our time before I finally hit the bed after 36 hours awake and on the road.
I slept like an old dead tree.
Today we had bad luck with the weather which confined our day to grocery shopping, a jogging run and a late trip to a trendy bar. Unfortunately, the weather had put off the local youth and there wasn’t the usual bohay of giddy youthfulness around. We still were able to observe a young couple desperately flirting and almost gave standing ovations when they finally got physical. Dare I say that my humour quite clearly derives from that old fart I dearly love and admire.
Afterwards, we retreated back to the flat and ended the night with more beers and a discussion about pop music behind the Iron Curtain.
Plans for tomorrow are vague as the weather might not play to our favour, but I smell beers anyways. Life’s good.
Folks, you know I live a life full of action and packed with curiosities as well as I like to live dangerous, but please sit back and enjoy a story of how I became the Wet Prince of Münster.
You know, according to Middle European climate a phase of relative hotness has to be followed by a massive thunderstorm. Ours was overdue. Whilst everywhere else the air was cleansed of the density and humidity days ago the rainiest city I ever lived in waited. It had to happen… it was bound to happen and BOYYYYYYYYYYYY did it happen.
At first I wasn’t the slightest bit surprised when it finally kicked off MASSIVELY. I have seen a few storms, but that one was extraordinary. For an hour it didn’t rain cats & dogs – it rained everything. And then it was gone. Like gone. I amused myself watching our little street turning into a stream and then turning into a street again. “Well,” I thought “that was hefty, but okay….”
And here began my downfall. Never! I say NEVER anger the Gods.
I looked outside. The sun came back. The air was fresh and clean. YES! Perfect jogging weather. Got my gear, posted a joke on Facebook about going swimming an off I went.
Seldom has my judgement been so terrifyingly wrong.
5 kilometers I had one of the best runs EVER. I felt good, fit, almost ecstatic. Okayyyyyy…..it started drizzling a little again, but what’s that to me. Damnit, I was on a good run.
BOY, WAS I WRONG!
Here I am, gracing the fields of Mecklenbeck. A young God amongst puny men and within two minutes I realized I am fucked. Like seriously FUCKED. The whole thing starts blowing off again. Imagine this: I am alone IN THE MOTHEFUCKING FIELDS and the holy wrath of Mother Nature unravels around me in the form of another MASSIVE thunderstorm. I knew there was a bus station coming up. Look, I am not a religious man, but for a mile I prayed.
EVEN TO REN & STIMPY!
Incredible. A bus coming. I praise myself for having gotten into the habit of taking my bus ticket with me while jogging and hop in. The bus is going entirely into the wrong direction, but I couldn’t care less.
A very pale man sits in a bus and tries not to weep tears of joy.
The bus driver is considerate and allows me to stay on the bus till he heads the way back into town. I’ll swap at the main station, ride home and so the malaise is over. So I thought.
Turns out busses aren’t going regularly anymore. Okay, I can see that they are not going dead on time, but apparently the only line not running AT ALL is mine. I am stranded at the motherfucking train station. I am cold, I am getting damp, I am miserably cold and fuck you. Fuckyoufuckyoufuckyou.
The storm meanwhile is raging on. In fact, as I am typing this it still does. Insane! (I think it is the 7th or so wave of this madness)
At the bus station – a dude with guitar making the most of it. I usually hate those pricks, but as he intonates “Why does it always rain on me?” several people lose their shit. A moment of utter joy. About 7 dudes, three girls and a dog spontaneously form the performance group “Riders on the Storm” and like anyone gave a damn.
My bus is not coming by the way….
After two hours I lose patience. That fucking storm doesn’t, but I do.
I take another line and decide to jog from the nearest bus station. It was phase were it finally seemed to go away, so I thought that was a good plan.
BOY, WAS I WRONG…..AGAIN!
As soon as I am off the bus it fucking kicks off again. But I am in the middle of the street and just don’t care anymore. It is actually bearable so I jog on. Until….the underpass.
If my jaw could’ve dropped to Australia it would’ve done. I suddenly understand why my bus wasn’t running anymore. The underpass about two stops from my home is…. the eighth sea. I am not kidding you, but I would have had to swim about 300 meters to get across. I probably should’ve done that.
Nope, I opt for the detour via a park. I have to cross the railway somewhere so off I go. Into a pitch dark park knee deep in mudd and water.
I AM IN A THUNDERSTORM KNEE-DEEP IN WATER!!!!!!!
Just how I made it is beyond me. After finally crossing Waterworld I decide to go barefoot. The last mile I jog – barefoot, because at this point I simply don’t care anymore.
Arrived home and upon reaching the house I laugh. Like a bloody madmen.
Only to get scared as another roar from the Gods rips apart the sky.
I am so not tempting these fucks today.
Into the house, here I am. Safe and sound while the storm rages on….
(post header is courtesy of my favourite football banter podcast http://www.thefootballramble.com)
Today marked the first day of the regular season and an eventful afternoon it was. It had everything that makes football beautiful as well as ugly to me – on and off the pitch.
First of all, I was surprised how many people turned up. An half-hour queue is unusual for a third division match which isn’t a derby. I reckon a lot of it was euphoria about the first (home)game of the season, the good weather, euphoria about the world cup title and the fact that the nearby first division teams weren’t playing. Subsequently, I saw the second goal for the opposite side just as I took my usual spot in the ground. Bollocks. But I’ll talk about the game a little later.
Off the pitch.
You know, it’s awesome being back after a few months without your team. Yes, there was a world cup, but supporting your home club is an entirely different beast. My sixth season, by the way. The first thing you hear is that one guy that always yells. It’s like coming home really. Dude annoys the fuck out of me, but he is part of the furniture. The room would be oddly wrong without him. Funny how the last thing I heard of him last season was a hearty “That’s it! I am never coming back!”. Well, this masochism that draws football fans to the ground even if their team is shit. It cannot be explained. Another weird point: How is it always a blatantly fat dude complaining about the players not “moving enough”.
On my way to the ground I met a few supporters of the away team and boyyyyy… I have a personal and very strong dislike of this team as I used to live in their area and virtually never met anyone supporting this team who wasn’t a jerk. Not saying they all are, but the percentage is certainly high. Especially the sporting of nationalistic and plain racist symbols is a trend all too visible among them. Doesn’t make them very likeable, no? After the game one of these cavemen shouted at me something along the lines how men from the Baltic Sea are superior (how?) and how they are very potent when it comes to shagging my mom. Upon which I looked him dead in the eye and said: “I know – for I was born there!”. Off he went.
To be fair though, our own fans aren’t always the cream of the crop. The amount of times I have to tell a bloke standing nearby that “gay” isn’t a synonym for “bad” and that a player’s game has nothing to do with the colour of his skin. It’s sickening how common that bull still is and how little people act against it. He would later berate me for politely asking his son to get off the fence, because he was blocking my view. Our Ultras are a thing for themselves too. Idiots – all of them. Today, they actually kept quiet all game long which was supposedly a protest against new measurements by the club which are only in place, because they can’t accept a simple single rule. They wanted to show how “shallow” the support is without them. To their dismay, it was actually by the sound of it the most football-y atmosphere in a long while. By the sounds in the stadium you could actually decipher what the score and the game was like. Everything was a bit less loud than usual, but the feel to it was way more organic than banging a drum in ONE stupid pattern and singing ONE stupid song all game long no matter what the score. I’d say NO ONE missed these sorry fucks. Some of them wandered into our block this time and the amount of vile idiocy out of their mouths reminded me on everything about the Ultra-culture I despise. Another proof by the way that stupid people are everywhere. Every club has them. It’s nothing to do with football, or a region, or a club. When there is a lot of people, then there will be fools.
Still, there is many a lovely people in the stands too. That old chap I had a lovely footie-tactics chat with. The guys that for the past three years had occupied that area of the ground with me. We rarely talk to each other, but we recognize one another. In a weird way, these people are family and friends too. Well, in a weird way.
On the pitch.
Tsss. As I said we were two behind when I actually made it into the stands. A bad day in the office. Sluggish, slow. Just as if they were still in their holidays. First half was shit and subsequently the score was 1:4 at halftime. What a start into the season. I feared the worst. Second half, the away team took their foot off the gas (and never got it back on) and we managed to get back into it 3:4 around the 70th minute. As they completely lost their rhythm they reverted to the most frustrating tactic in football. All men behind the ball – time-wasting. It’s sickening and annoying, however understandable. Didn’t help that the ref was rather picky and inconsistent. There should have been a pen and a draw would have been a fair result.
Still, what can you do. No way I will draw a conclusion on the season after just a day. I just hope they get the defense sorted. Everything else looked quite coherent and we’ll see what this years has in store.
Football’s back and that’s a good thing.
Wow. If you came across this article via any of my social media streams (mainly Facebook and Twitter) then congratulations. It basically means you are part of that group of people who are the unicorn-flavoured popsicles of my life. I sort of like you.
What happened? I decided to send a flood of “unfriends” to wipe away dead wood.
In an attempt to simplify my social media I got rid of loads and loads of contacts by measuring whether or not I actually still care for these people or anything they do. 90% of that algorithm (which is purely based on feelings, hence making it anything but an algorithm) was simply based on little factoids like “Do I speak to this person regularly?” or “Do I meet them regularly?” …..basically … do I care? And if I didn’t you went.
By no means was this meant as a judgement of character of these folks. Some of them are and will forever be awesome. It’s just….I don’t care. They are not part of my life – hence they were cast down river. And who is to say some of them can’t come back in a way. I am not ruling that out. However, for the time being – gone.
Now, there had been hard-cases too. And here I used “kickers” which I admit are far from objective and blatantly unfair. One was checking if you disgraced yourself getting stupid about “Schland” WITHOUT being someone I remember as football fan - if you did; off you went. And sometimes I merely checked if I think you’re hot. Basically, if you haven’t talked to me in ages, haven’t posted about football and still find yourself in my friends list – you either still belong to my world in my mind or you are a hottie.
Why do I run? Why the hell would you do that to you anyways? Well, except maybe fleeing that monster under your bed.
Actually, the real question is different. It’s the other way round…
Why didn’t I run?
Thinking about this question is weird, because it involves admitting that some jerk-heads from school are probably to blame for this. Yes, a thirty-one-year old admitting that somehow some 12 year old ghosts from his past whom he hasn’t seen in eleven years and did not care about for about 14 years still haunt him somehow. Up till I left elementary school I was an active even very outdoorish kind of kid. I really was. The endless days as a loner sitting in his room would come later. Well, during my first years in school I definitely already met people who were more natural athletes than me, but it didn’t bother me. It was only when I was cast into my new class at the Gymnasium when this went awry. Although I was perfectly capable of doing sports (something I should be eternally grateful for, but seldom really am) it was then when I was “taught” that not only are some people more made for this, but also that somehow being not able to keep up with that was something bad. A PE-teacher who quite openly was always in favour of those bullies didn’t help.
It reminds me of a line in a song: “Meine Leistungen in Sport waren so ungenügend, dass ich beschloß anders zu sein. Ganz klar gekränkte Eitelkeit. Komisch, dass das bis heute wirkt.” (roughly translated: my performance in PE was so bad that I decided to be different. Clearly just wounded vanity. Funny, how that has an effect up till today.)
During those last school years I eventually learned to not give a toss about the opinion of these people. However, even today I can still hear them sometimes like I heard them pretty much all through my twenties. They are in the back of my brain reminding me how I am not worth much just because I am the weird kid, the non-athletic one.
I am creep, I am a weirdo, what am I doing here?
So, why do I run then?
Hmm, the two factors that got the thing going are quickly told. It was for one a 29-year-old looking into a mirror realizing he looks about 40. It’s no good thing to succumb to (unrealistic) beauty standards (which pressures men as much as it does pressure women); yes as long as you feel comfortable in your own skin and with your body – rock it! Anyways, looking at yourself and realizing that you are clearly on an unhealthy path and frankly not be confident with your own body anymore is a good reason to get going. Did I also want to adhere to said beauty standards (be more attractive?) – of course. I’d be a bad liar if this wasn’t somewhere lurking in my mind. However, here’s my work out tip #1 – it will absolutely not work if you do it for anyone BUT yourself. The second reason was a mere practical bet with a friend. She wanted to fit into her dream wedding gown (and she rocked it) and needed some motivation. So we came up with betting who would lose the most weight (compared to body size and starting weight). I can still proudly pronounce I won that one.
Those were the practical factors that spawned the Marathon Man in me, but here is the truth.
I have a history, at least ever since I am considered a grown-up, of not finishing things in my life. I am a guy who ever since he left school hasn’t put that much noteworthy to his curriculum vitae. And the main reasons to this is are a constant directionless aimlessness, depressions, indecisiveness and fears. To sum it up neatly: I am constantly at war with myself. My greatest enemy? Myself. By lengths. If my life was a video game the end boss would be me. And we’d probably never really fight, because none would ever make the first move. In limbo. Forever.
Why I run?
Because it is the only time a day I actively take up a battle against myself. Because it is the only time a day I am actually beating myself, my meager self-esteem and low expectations of myself. I beat the street, I beat the distance, I beat certain times every now and then, I beat my mind, my body. And sometimes for mere seconds, every now and then even minutes I beat this ever running stream in my head. The voices telling me I cannot. I beat my fears.
You know what? I look shit jogging. Even after two years I definitely don’t look like someone doing it regularly. There is no grace. I cough, I gasp, I pant, I realize I am getting old, I am sweaty as fuck, I HATE every step of it. I keep asking myself why I am doing this.
WHY THE HELL ARE YOU DOING THIS TO YOURSELF?!?!?!
…..because it is the only time of day when running from myself actually works.
Well, my last two days in Munich were simply just chilling out in the sun. After two days of chasing sights my mind was simply way too full with impressions to digest so I couldn’t possibly look at any more stuff. Anyways, my first impression of Munich was a good one of a vibrant, lively and very modern city. My goal of getting to know the place a little was certainly accomplished.
What did I do? Beergardens, English Gardens and any other place you could happily get drunk while having the sun shine on your stupid face. Munich has about a million of these outdoorish places which is a fact I really like about it. Even in the middle of town you’ll always find a place to relax cleverly incorporated into the madness of urban life. Yes, other bigger cities have and try that too, but I don’t think I ever saw it executed so well. Munich brings the term “inner city oasis” to a whole new level. Dear Berlin, please take note….it is possible without dog-poo everywhere.
However, I miss a bit of dirt. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mean having piles of trash lying around (and hey Berlin, NO…no dog-poo), but I do miss edges, rough places, imperfect places. Overall, Munich is way too posh, way to clean in a way. (Way too boring? Maybe.)
That’s something Berlin has (and to some extend Hamburg). That look and feel of an old punk. A dirty street-cat. Just put it that way – Peter Fox wouldn’t have written a song like “Schwarz zu Blau” about Munich. However: Dear Berlin, seriously….what’s with the dog-poo everywhere?
Bottom line: I liked Munich more than I thought I would, but I am not quite sure if I could live there.
Monday saw another very relaxed start in the day which might be due to Corn sleeping in tilll god knows how late. Excuse me, wasn’t that me being the lazy arse?
Anyways, we moved into town bathing in sunlight. The rest of Monday was spent an a chilled crash-ride through the city basically giving me a ground to work on for my own exploring. Best place was Fräulein Grüneis, a snackbar build into an old public ladies toilet. No creeping intended though. It’s just off the Eisbach in the English Gardens where the surfers are. Yes, inner-city surfers. Check it out.
On Tuesday I was left to my own devices. With the help of a good book (“111 things you need to see in Munich”) and no further plan I engaged in conquering Munich. A few graveyards (found Erich Kästner’s final resting place) and minor sights later I got lost in the English Gardens. Not lost as in not knowing where I am, but simply lost in just wandering about for hours. I have to say I was deeply impressed. So much to see in and around the place. Absolutely stunning and lovely. A true oasis right in the middle of the city. If you happen to be in Munich and got the time. Take yourself a day, disconnect and slow right down. Given my rather long stay there I wasn’t quite in the mood for any more sightseeing. Went back to base camp and “enjoyed” the last England game of this year’s World Cup. Abysmal to say the least.
Today? The big day. I was celebrating the birthday of George Orwell.
Did so by basically having a closer look at everything remotely interesting Munich’s centre has to offer. You run into something artsy or remotely historical about every 500 steps which on the other hand is normal for any bigger town in Europe I guess (Sorry America!). Trying to name all the sights would take forever. Open any travel guide about the town and check the sights in the city center. I reckon I’ve seen all of them.
My plans for the rest of the day are easy. I am quite simply celebrating myself and thus I am off for now.
Finally, my well-deserved holiday. Did my last week of slaving away and now I’m off.
By the way, it’s part of my awesomeness how I can pack for a 8-day-trip in just under 15 minutes. That surprised me as well. I guess all these years of getting this done under time-pressure really shaped a luggage-genius in me. So far, I haven’t missed anything.
Had to get up early though on Saturday. It actually felt like a workday at first, but this feeling could be shaken off easily by the delight of 10 days off the dreaded phone. I might have been dancing naked in my appartment, but this shall remain a misery. Also, I do appologize for any typing and spelling mistakes in advance. Posting on a tablet is not that easy.
Next on the list: Getting to the train station to get….a bus. Here’s a tip. Should you find yourself in the dire straits moneywise and time is not an issue then DO use the embryonic inter-city-bus-travel that currently develops in Germany. Every kick up the Deutsche Bahn’s arse is necessary and the prices are unbeatable. The whole ride went smoothly. They even managed something unheard of with German rail services. The bus driver caught up with a 40 minutes delay almost making it on time. Used the system twice so far and they have a 100% Dan-Approval-Rate up to this point.
Finally, after a 12 hour journey, my first glimpse of Munich that mainly consisted of a pretty ugly bus station and the underground. I sat with my host and friend Cornelius in his flat watching a rather uninspired draw between Germany and Ghana. After this a few quick rounds of FIFA14.
What do you do after England won a world cup match? You switch off the playstation and go to sleep.
Sunday in Munich. First thing I did to myself. A healthy round of 11km jogging. Believe this or not, but it is relaxing enough to fit into my holidays. It was my first bit of sightseeing too. Rounded Schloß Nymphenburg doing so. Later, we had a relaxed brunch-like meal. It was time for lunch, but we ate breakfast keeping it ultra-relaxed. Afterwards, a quick trip to Corn’s office. I am a bit jealous as I could see myself working in such environment. I’d be lazy on that sunroof forever though.
Next up, the Olympiapark. One has to say that so far Munich strikes me as pretty green and very tidy. In Olympiapark you can actually walk up a hill and find the Olympia-Alm. So far my hot spot to recommend. Nice view over Munich. Awesome on a hot summer’s day as there still is a constant breeze. Bring your own booze though. Buying stuff at the kiosk/restaurant/beergarden (?) is rather pricey.
Last deed of the day was watching Corn and his mates playing football. The glorious FC Monaco Royal (named after a beloved Munich-based film character called Monaco Franz) got a 3:5 bashing, but I am sure this will only a little hold-up on their quest to footballing world domination.
Today is gonna be a relaxing one again. The plan is the English Gardens later. Don’t worry, the trip will get more sight-heavy from Tuesday on as host McMinnmick will have to return to work then leaving me to my own devices. That said: I do take recommendations what to see and what not.
See ya around.
Note: As I am writing this my liver is probably filling a complaint with the OFAIO (Office for abused inner organs).
Finally, the eagerly awaited day had come. Finally, five days of fun JUST ahead. Finally, off to Vienna. Well, had to pack first. Packing a toothbrush, pants and loads of alcohol neatly into my travelling bag (which I s’pose could really do with a washing) I was on my way. Many ways lead to Vienna – mine went through Leverkusen. It sounds odd, but I had to get to the party-bus first. Lemme tell ya: you see a lot of cities the world doesn’t need between Münster and Leverkusen. Arriving there I helped folks to get packed as well – mainly by making the odd fun comment and drinking beers. The first of many to come.
There isn’t much use talking about the bus ride. You can imagine the drill. A lot of sense talked, a lot of bullshit talked, a lot of beers annihilated, fighting the urge to pee every 50km and sleep. It was a bus ride I enjoyed a lot, thus being able to cross off a token on my wishlist for this year. We arrived in Vienna at 7am on Friday if I remember correctly.
First thing to do? Food. We were greeted with traditional Austrian food – Gulasch. “Odd!” I thought at first as I had this down as a Hungarian speciality, but then I remembered the two countries used to be one. I emptied a can of beer with much smugness. The next bit was separating the company into their designated sleeping areas to catch up on sleep.
The rest of the day was killed by enjoying the sun, entertaining other tourists with a festival of (beer)sport, watching the glorious Wiener Sport Club play an Austrian third division match and rounding it off with beers at a local pub. We rounded each of these bits off with beer, but you might’ve guessed that already.
Saturday morning I decided to part with the sensory and head off through the city on my own. My directions where to always walk on the sunny side of the street and see where this would lead me. Admittedly, I have this tendency to wander anyway. Without having a clue where to head to and without any pressure to actually head anywhere I did see a fair bit of town. Immensely enjoyed that. I would later reunite with the gang by passing Schönbrunn and after the long climb to the top of the hill. I was compensated for the effort by a beautiful view over the city…. and beers.
Later that night there was a birthday party to be had. We did our silly bits, we drank, we sang and I would tell you more about the party hadn’t I been utterly intoxicated by say 1am and therefore missed a large chunk of the shenanigans by falling asleep peacefully.
It’s weird how I called this weeks ago. Damn, I am getting old. Up to this point however I had already seen a penis combined with a glow stick.
Sunday was passed in a rather relaxed fashion. The big Schnitzel-carnage was held (supported by beers), we visited Falco’s grave (as that was around the corner), sun was enjoyed and the whole day rounded off again by beers and a pub quiz.
Yesterday, we said our goodbye (sadly), drank a few more beers (fondly) and headed back.
‘Twas a blast.
- stay weird in progress
- jog an average of 20km a week in progress
- come up with the best baby names Done, although no one takes them. Do I really have to spawn my own offsprings? D’ya want that? Really?
- pee on a Mercedes Benz singing Janis Joplin in progress
- trade in gym membership for swimming half done at least, public pool is too far off
- keep breathing in progress
- participate in an amateur half marathon in progress
- travel to at least one new place you haven’t seen yet this year in progress
- write about one song/record/artist EVERY BLOODY day pretty much in progress (click here for more)
- perform something on a real stage with a real audience; maybe start a performance art group called “the Awkward Collective” bit lost for ideas
- paint a still life that rivals Vincent van Gogh to be honest – I cannot really paint
- time travel to explain this “Don’t do drugs”-thing to pre-coke-Lindsay-Lohan and have sex with pre-coke-Lindsay-Lohan DAMN PHYSICS!
- enjoy a bus ride Done. Watch this space for more. - like a Mumford & Sons song That was so never gonna happen.
- give my life some new direction finally It never sounded easy….. it fucking isn’t.
– try being more like Ghandi rather than Malcolm X (aka. be less angry) Meh, I am trying.
Okay. I am not one for the big German guilt trip. Just don’t really see the point of being sorry for a crime I never took part in. Never killed a man. Still, being German confronts you with the biggest atrocity ever to have been commited against humanity regularly. My stance is pretty much in the middle. I refuse to apologise for being German (for I was simply never given a choice). I do not care about people’s nationality anyways, so why should mine matter. On the other hand, we simply should never forget….
Then you walk through Vienna and something catches your eye. Almost every building here has some plate telling about when it was erected and bits and pieces. You glance over them and learn that Josef Kaminsky lived here, got deported and perished around 1944 far from home in Auschwitz.
Two ways of trying to scale the horror. Think about the millions of lives lost and lose your mind in despair. Or think about Josef. In his twenties. All he wanted probably was to be happy during his time on this spinning rock of ours. Deported, perished. Think about that and you lose your mind in despair.
I am sorry, Josef.
Shoot! I should seriously blog a lot more over here again. So, here’s a “state of the union”.
I am sort of fine. Last week spring had a first reach around. Awesome. The transition from temp agency to full-employe at my company worked leaving a bit of extra-dough in my pockets. A lot of the money will be spent in Vienna, some of it used for some professional job application photos and the rest is to treat myself with stuff I don’t need, but want anyway. Like going to a gig. I am weirdly stuck up on my applications anyways, but I am battling on. The tiniest of baby steps, but steps.
Bear with me.
We erect loads of buildings to spend our days in. And by all means, they are quite useful when we need shelter. So, hooray for having a home – yeahhhh!
Still, after months of winter (even the oddly mild one this years) we flee into the open as soon as the first genuinely sunny day rolls around.
Abandon your cubicles, leave your neatly designed IKEA living-rooms and join people outside.
Hell, if you must give it the old vanity fair down at the lake.Today, I don’t mind. I am finally freed from the indoors again.
Sitting here. Beer in hand. Face in the sun. At ease.