A Man of Mystery’s Global Adventure
Outward Bound
The personal chronicles of my solo voyage around the world including the delightful characters I met, the sights I photographed and the things I got up to; as well as how I tried to keep a positive outlook despite abandonment, imminent financial ruin, scam artists, conniving taxi drivers and some of the worst weather in living memory.
This volume covers the first half of my amazing journey, spanning 43 cities in 16 countries, and covering in excess of 22,814 km.
Dickon Springate Home Publishing
Gillingham, Kent, England
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A Man of Mystery’s Global Adventure - Outward Bound
Published by Dickon Springate Home Publishing at Smashwords
Copyright © 2011
Cover design by Dickon Springate
Book design by Dickon Springate
Text by Dickon Springate
Photographs and Illustrations by Dickon Springate
Dickon Springate
Visit my blog website at www.DickonSpringate.blogspot.com
First Printing: March 2011
ISBN-13 978-1-4466-2891-1
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
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Table of Contents
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Prologue
Whilst travelling around the world from 1st September 2008 to 11th April 2009 I attempted to keep an up-to-date blog journal of my exploits and wanderings.
On average, at least once a day I would write an entry and post it, often without the time to proof read or even spell check it, eager as I was to get back to the actual travelling, and although it attracted a small and loyal following, it never told the full story.
As I progressed on my travels my writing style became more personal and defined, and I even learned how to include digital photographs in my blog, but it was still a learning curve with no time to go back and correct the mistakes of the past.
Once I got back to the UK I tried several times to rewrite my story from scratch, but time and again I would get bogged down with how best to write it in order to appeal to a certain target audience or to fit into a certain category.
After almost a year of fruitless beginnings I came to the conclusion that, like so much of real life, the story that I was so desperately trying to write did not conform to any template or style and crossed over into multiple genres on more than a few occasions.
I also realised during this time that my blog entries, though riddled with schoolboy errors, were the bulk of the very story that I wanted people to read.
Thus it was that in February 2010 I finally gave up trying to write it from scratch and just began completing it by revising each blog entry, one at a time, and fixing the mistakes of the past through what I have learned along the way.
Or to put it another way, I stopped trying to write it and just wrote it.
Of the original blog entries, all have ended up being reworded and corrected for spelling and grammar mistakes; however I still do feel that there is enough core information and overall sentiment to keep it honest when I say that this is a book based upon my trip and the blog that I wrote while journeying.
That said, having worked hard to represent it here, I hope that you as the reader will find this book far more entertaining and easier to read.
The other change to my initial idea is that this is no longer designed to be a guide book in the normal sense, though at times I have decided to include a few of my top travel tips, though to maintain the flow I have stuck them at the back of the book.
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Pre-Travel Planning
As I am barely a week away from my trip I decided that the time had come to make the long walk to my doctors to get my potentially-life-saving travel vaccinations.
In the end it turned out to be a wholly positive experience as not only was it barely a few minutes from my sisters and the weather was good, but when it was finally my time, I spent more time chatting with the nurse, a delightfully Irish lady with a well travelled daughter by all accounts, than it took her to actually perform the tiny pinprick and push.
In fact the only minor downsides were firstly that I had to purchase two boxes of anti-Malaria tablets and secondly as the yellow fever jab has to come with a certificate, you have to go to a specialist clinic in order to receive one.
The Cambodian Embassy Rocks
If you, like me, ever decide to do some real backpack travelling in the Far East then I really strongly suggest that you do not overlook the country of Cambodia.
Not only does it have some truly picturesque countryside, beautiful and friendly people, the architectural marvel that is Ankor Wat, low prices and religious practices that don't involve declaring jihad's on anyone that have shorter beards than they do, but they also have the little known gem that is their online embassy where you can obtain an Entry Visa.
‘What? An Entry Visa being a good thing, that’s insane!’ I hear you cry, but just hear me out before you throw me out.
You see, aside from the fact that these days far too many countries are freely letting in every Tom, Dick or Harry, but the thing about the Cambodians is that they are streaking ahead, so to speak, by allowing you to process and purchase your very own visa completely online, instead of the usual rigmarole of having to visit an embassy and leave your passport.
The application form was incredibly easy to use, so easy in fact that I only fudged it the first time round through pure giddy eagerness to complete it in record time.
Next you have the superb idea of allowing applicants to use ANY decent head-shot photograph as a jpeg attachment, instead of straight jacketing them into using the bog standard passport booth photographs.
This means that, within limits, you can have a super cool image on your visa instead of the tired looking passport photograph that you had taken at the last minute when your acne was impossible to disguise.
Their Embassy’s final finishing touch of brilliance was that their website has an authentic Cambodian melody set up on its homepage, so that as even before I had packed a thing I had the sounds of Asia drifting through my laptop speakers.
In short, it was a great experience and I'm now back to thinking that a visa is a good idea once again, instead of continuing to liken them to a court ordered subpoena.
So Giddy I Can't Sleep
Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was saying an ‘au revoir’ to my dear friends or maybe it was the thought of yet another injection, but for whatever the reason I really couldn't get any sleep last night.
You see, my Kentish friends had all banded round, some at less than an hour’s notice, to make my last weekend in the U.K. go with a bang, and thank to a house a few roads up we even had the odd firework or two wishing me farewell, or at least that what I convinced myself after a couple of pints.
There was much laughter, some good food, a little drink and plenty of conversation that was probably deep and meaningful to start with but ended up like most others with talk of Sci-Fi movies and Monty Python.
I even got to fit in some more practice with my new digital camera, a leaving gift from my former London colleagues.
My Final Day of Work
Departure day, or D-Day for short, may be just the other side of the weekend, but the start of the rest of my life officially starts now.
I have not just left my job, but even the extra spot of temping in the final run up to leaving the UK has now come to an end and all I have left to do is the last minute packing.
I have collected my P45, emptied what was my desk, wiped what was my computer, said all my goodbyes, had one last meal with the faces that I have come to know almost as well as my own and I have signed myself out for the very last time. From now on there will be:-
No more early morning commuter trips to a city miles away, to work for a job that is neither exciting nor inspiring; no more fussing with suits, ties and wondering how I can ever make it to lunchtime without falling asleep; and no more pathetic office one-upmanship contests or office debacles to bore me to tears.
But it was not all bad, or I wouldn’t have willingly put up with it for so long. For example, here are just a few of the things that I will miss dearly:-
No more sharing lunches with my friends in the park; no more free broadband internet and landline calls; and no more regular income, free health care or additional pension contributions.
From now on I have just my forward planning, previous travelling experience, my wits and the occasional guidance from a local pen-pal to navigate me from the safety of my front door to the further reaches on the planet and back again.
It has all the potential to be a truly amazing adventure of epic proportions, one that could rival the epic s stories of Greek legend, and though the idea may have been conceived many years ago it really only became a reality a few months back.
So Long and Farewell
It only feels like yesterday since my first interview,
But through six years I've had to say goodbye to quite a few.
Yet this time round it is my fate to face the curtain call,
And so I say a hugely great farewell to one and all
'Just what on earth now will you do?' I've been asked lots of times.
The truth I’ll here enlighten you, but using different rhymes.
Ohhhhhhhh...
I'm chasing the sun and I'm buggering off,
just as fast as my two legs can run.
I've earned all I can and I've saved lots of dosh,
think I'm long overdue for some fun.
I'm off after women, and burn to a tan,
just as much as my body will stand.
Drinking bottles of vino and catching some waves,
if I'm lucky I'll sing with a band.
With cheap flights and hostels I'll scour the world,
from the Swiss Alps to deepest Peru.
Be it swimming with the dolphins or feeding the sharks,
I'll rinse each single moment right through.
Please don't bug me for postcards or cheap souvenirs,
as a bitch slap will often offend.
And I just won't have time for the posting of mail,
so it’s facebook or nothing my friend.
I'll be back in a year with a head full of jokes,
and a fistful of coins with a note.
I just hope that I make it back all in one piece,
and am not married off to a goat.
I wrote the above poem as a thank you to the co-workers from my former London job upon my leaving party.
Final Night Before the Off
What does the average person do the night before they are about to go off alone into the big wide world and in the process leave all that is familiar and safe far behind?
Well, statistically speaking the average person wouldn't be going in the first place, and a non-average person might do just about anything due to their un-average randomness, so it’s a pretty pointless question, but I can at least answer with what I did on my last night.
First, I took notice of what one of my sisters suggested, which was to write a complete list of everything that I could think that I might possibly want or need and then practiced packing and unpacking my rucksack until I got to know how best to stack it for maximum comfort.
I was also glad to find out that the entire list fitted neatly into a rucksack that weighed less than thirteen kilos, which made it ideal for putting most in the main flight carriage luggage and keeping my laptop and a few essentials with me as hand luggage. #1
Then I checked my forth coming travel documents and ensured that a detailed copy was with my sister in case of emergencies, before doing some very mundane general household chores like washing and paperwork.
And finally I chatted with my sister, had a meal and watched a movie before bed. All in all it was a fairly calm, stress free and unremarkable day.
But did I feeling nervous? No actually, I didn’t, at least no more than normal, and the reason behind this is similar to the logic used that explains why a murderer held on suspicion can fall asleep while two innocent suspects held on the same charge will be up all night fretting.
The fact is, that with as much prep time as I had given myself for this, I had already done every last thing that I could possibly think of and now my body and mind just wanted to get as much rest as they could before things kicked off for real in the morning.
Harwich International Train Station
Waking up for the final time still in the UK I felt ready to tackle the world, but before I did so I begged a last traditional England lunch, and my sister kindly went out and bought all the necessary ingredients.
Thus it was that on a Monday afternoon in September I had a lovely traditional Sunday roast, complete with best beef and Yorkshire pudding, and all topped off with strawberries and cream for dessert.
However as the afternoon drew on, I realised that the longer I hung around the closer to tears we were both becoming, so even though my suggested train did not leave for several more hours I felt it best to get an early start and headed out.
I was booked on an overnight ferry from Harwich to the Hook of Holland, but in order to reach Harwich I had to head into and then cross London before heading out again Essex way.
After a train journey, a half hour walk, a tube journey and another two train journeys I made it dark but early to Harwich International train station.
Finding the port entrance from inside the train station was a doddle, so was check in and I even found a place where I could use the Internet prior to boarding, which for the departure that was only a few minutes shy of midnight was no earlier than after the watershed.
Ferry across the Channel
In the waiting lobby to get on the ferry I met a Danish lady with her New Zealand Border Collie and a Geordie biker who sadly was on his way to play the Organ at a relative’s funeral.
We exchanged pleasantries for quite a few minutes before we were allowed on board and although throughout the night I bumped into them a few times, because of the lateness of the hour not a lot of socialising went on.
I did plan on visiting the ferry’s onboard casino, but being the off-season the entire ship was mostly deserted and that meant there was not enough call for a dedicated croupier, and as I didn’t feel like keeping myself awake for the midnight showing of Hancock in their miniature cinema, I just grabbed a quick bite and then retired to my room.
The ferry’s interior cabin that was mine for the night was actually quite well decked out with features and accessories, but sadly the ships Wi-Fi signal was restricted to the main lounges so surfing the net was one luxury it didn’t have.
Just before I closed my eyes I had fleeting paranoid thoughts of a Titanic nature, so I decided that I had better pack my rucksack for a fast exit should any disaster befall the ferry during the night.
It seemed like prudent and sound logic at the time, but I soon regretted it in the morning when everything was packed away tight and I awoke much later than planned. #2
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Holland
Amsterdam (Capital City) - Arrived on 2nd September 2008.
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Arrival in Amsterdam, Capital of Holland
I chose to arrive in catch a ferry to Holland instead of France because I had been made redundant a month earlier than planned and so it was either tour some of Europe or sit at home bored for a month doing nothing but worry.
Needless to say, despite it being financially a dubious decision, I chose to leave early.
I am so glad that I did not bother staying up for the midnight movie, as I woke up not fully with it and barely had an hour to get up, dressed, showered, fed and all ready for the off.
As proof of my sleepiness and disorientation, I ordered a very modest breakfast and not only did I fail to spot that the one I was served was not the one I ordered, but I also forgot that I had already paid for it when I made my booking, thus all I had to do was shown them the compliment slip and I would not have had to pay a second time.
On the early train to Amsterdam I began to feel a bit of a head cold and it was only after I was fully awake that realisation dawned on me.
This was the flu-like side effects of taking the yellow fever jab that the kindly Irish nurse warned me about.
Thinking back, I remember her saying that if anything was going to happen then I would start to suffer slightly by Friday, so I guess that I am a late flourisher is all.
The train ride passed quickly and the only thing worth mentioning was that I shared the carriage with four university students from Ipswich who were talking about visiting the Ann Franks Museum.
Around mid morning, the light grey sky turned dark and before I knew it I was diving from cover to cover to escape the worsening downpour.
What I didn’t know at the time was that Loki, having seen that I was travelling alone, had mischievously tricked Thor into granting me my own personal thunder cloud to keep me company on the long road ahead.
The Cycles and Streets of Amsterdam
Having already visited quite a few foreign cities, I have occasionally lectured that if you can walk the streets of London then you can walk anywhere, but after just one afternoon in Amsterdam I am thinking that London is not as exclusive in this as I once thought.
Walking along the canal side as I made my way to my first hostel on my route, I soon deduced that in general cyclists do not have a fair deal in Amsterdam, Indeed far from fair, they seem to have the very best deal on the market.
No matter how carefully I tread, or which directions I looked there did not seem anywhere that I went where I wasn’t being constantly buzzed by a speeding cyclist or two. It was not just the frequency of them that was unsettling, neither was it that along every canal or boulevard you can see dozen of the things all lined up and hogging the pavement.
No it’s far worse for you see they are silent, they are fast, they can fit through even the tiniest of walkways and there appears to be no law or reason that dictate in which direction they have to travel!
The Amsterdam I met was like a very proud aging lady, wearing her best dress despite it being out of style, moth eaten and frayed at the edges. I have never figured out why people think of places as feminine, but it just seems to work better than the other way!
Her canals and waterways seemed to wind betwixt its roads and avenues without rhyme or reason, and although free of litter, she was far from tidy with her beggars in doorways and her wooden painted façade that was faded and flaking off before my very eyes.
Restoring Amsterdam
What I found lovely was that the locals all seemed to be very proud of her age and history, so much so that they shunned modern technology and materials and did their level best to keep her overall age much the same.
For instance, I passed a carpenter who was repairing a warped doorway and instead of replacing a section of wood, he was painstakingly trying to chip away the old bits and then replaces it with an equally old bit of timbre and then glued it all together.
Like much of Europe these days, smoking in public places has been banned in most of Holland, and so despite the rain, many an aged covered doorway had a couple of smokers doing their very best to shorten their lives by another few minutes.
Possibly due of the constant downpour but I felt that Amsterdam was not only old, but also fairly empty. Despite the sudden and unexpected dash of a passing cyclist I often found myself being the only person walking along a side road.
My Amsterdam Hostel
The hostel I had booked ended up being about a ten minute walk as the crow flies from the centre of town, but I challenge even the fittest crow to be able to walk the distance in less than twenty as the streets were forever winding and looping away from my desired direction.
The entrance to the hostel was down a side street that looked like it had suffered a very tidy apocalypse, as all the houses and cars looked old and all the shrubs and vines had grown completely out of control, yet there were no litter or bone carcasses on the ground.
What I found a little bizarre is that the hostel was owned and run by a Christian organisation, one that also ran a second hostel smack in the middle of the cities red light district, yet their website clearly states that these hostels are not for anyone who would want to come to Amsterdam for sex or drugs.
Christian Irony
But it was not their stance on drugs or prostitution that shocked me, no it was that even with the pounding rain outside, the receptionist would neither let me check in nor shelter from the storm until the afternoon, all because the hostel guidelines said no early check ins.
As that left me with several hours to kill I had no choice but to leave, though as a small mercy the receptionist allowed me to leave my rucksack and said that they would keep an eye on it for me. #3
Considering their nativity story is dripping with scorn for the inn-keepers who turned Mary and Joseph away, I thought they could have shown just a little more compassion for a tired overseas traveller who only wanted a bed for the night, especially one who had a reservation.
A Rain Soaked Evening in Amsterdam
By the early afternoon I felt that I had walked a marathon, my feet felt achy, my clothes were saturated and all I could think of was me lying on a warm dry bunk. Trying to ignore the fake warm smile that the receptionist gave, I handed over my passport and paid the balance of my reservation.
Finally able to check in, I headed on up to my room and found that I was sharing it with a couple of guys, one seemingly a local and the other was clearly Australian. I didn’t feel like chatting very much, exhausted and wet as I was, but I did find out that the Aussie was from Melbourne and that I had been pronouncing Cairns wrong all this time.
After I had dried out a bit, I headed on down to the hostel restaurant, where I found the prices were all pretty respectable and the menu fairly varied.
Though I doubt any Italian would have recognised their offering of a lukewarm spaghetti bolognaise, the fact that mine came with free fries and they had a large stock of chilled Doctor Pepper more than made up for it.
Uneventful Night in Amsterdam
Though I am far from perfect, I have never been into the whole drugs scene, so the cities coffee shops where I could buy a joint with my cappuccino held no particular lure for me.
Having said that though, it would have been a shame to visit here and totally reject such a unique experience out of hand, so I made mental plans that if the weather dried out tomorrow then I might well venture out and spend a turn in their Hemp Museum.
Sitting in the cafe, with my laptop and music blaring through my headphones I was still able to spot a friendly group of guests, and I almost got myself involved with them before I deduced that without it being part of a drinking or forfeit game, Jenga just isn’t that fun for adults.
As part of my travel itinerary I had also previously booked a night time tour of the red light district with a private guide called Randy Rod, but as I was knackered and it was still raining I decided that what I wanted more than a soaking strip club crawl was a good night’s sleep.
Canadian Travellers
However before I did retire for the night, I managed to strike up a conversation with a friendly female Canadian called Suzy, who was just coming to the end of her own extended travels.
As she was on her way home after a year away I was curious to hear what she planned on doing next, to which she replied that the first thing she was going to do when she got home was burn all of her clothes as she had been forced to wear the same ones for months on end.
After I left the Amsterdam I managed to get a few emails off Suzy, however she was quite the determined good Samaritan and although I don’t think she ever did burn her clothes, from reading her blog I did find that she soon got bored of home life and travelled to Uganda where she worked with the local children as a volunteer nurse.
A Dark New Dawn in Amsterdam
The next morning I woke to a sky that was grey and overcast, that complete with a forecast of more rain mid afternoon pretty much quenched my desire to visit the Ann Franks museum or anywhere else that involved long outdoor queues.
Instead I made my mind up early that after the briefest of walking city tours, and a bite to eat, I would see what the situation was about catching an early train to Dusseldorf, Germany.
Amsterdam’s Hemp and Red Light District
Although the area is actually rather small and easy to overlook, I found the red light district fairly easily and only a five minute or so walk south from the main train station.
I am not sure whether it was originally planned by design or just grew through mutual association, but Amsterdam’s main region for exotic coffee shops turns out to be right up the road from its very own red light district, with the hemp museum and the erotic museum being almost within spitting distance of each other.
Having long heard the rumours of Amsterdam I was expecting the place to feel very sleazy and seedy, but in truth at this time in the morning the place looked mostly respectable and apart from the buildings having far too many windows for normal use, you could almost pass right through it while deep in thought and not be distracted.
I was surprised to notice that there were very few giant neon lit signs, and though the women in the red curtained windows wore next to nothing and were constantly tapping and beckoning to passersby, all in all I got the impression that the place was far less tacky and in-your-face than I had imagined.
As I continued down the entire length of the street I noticed that the further south I got, the more mature and less attractive the women became, or at least that is how it appeared to me, so perhaps the properties nearer the top charged higher rent and thus only the most youthful and desirable women could afford the prices.
Being unable to resist the temptation of talking to one of the girls first hand, I finally plucked up the courage to return back to the top of the street and then, as casually as I could muster, I allowed my eye to be caught and the entered within.
For the price of a pair of inexpensive trainers I was offered a quick rub, tug and a bit of the other, however though I had managed to get up the nerve to go in, I had neither the time nor the budget to go through with the full act.
Furthermore, even if I had been inclined to do so before, once I saw the state of the room and of the girl up close any fleeting thoughts of intimacy fled from my mind and now my only desire was to get the hell out as quickly as possible.
Mexican Eatery in Amsterdam
Once outside again, I left the shadowy world of the illicit sex and following my instincts and nose I headed north to try and find something to eat.
I was still trying to decide what to have when I came across a bizarre Mexican cowboy style restaurant and upon seeing their menu the answer became clear.
The place really went all out with its western theme, right down to the uniforms and thick leather place mats, but what made me chuckle was that you could have anything from the menu as long as you had the steak.
With only a stray ginger tomcat for company, I had the place almost all to myself, but only wanting a light meal before the journey ahead I skipped the huge T-bone selection and chose a hearty burger with fries and a cola.
Leaving Amsterdam, Holland
Then, with the sky still clouded over and threatening more heavy rain at any moment I concurred with my initial assessment of the day and returned to my hostel to collect my rucksack.
On my way to the station I spotted a store that I thought was much more the Amsterdam of my imagination, being that it was a condomery, a store that specialised in selling condoms.
Even carrying my full rucksack, I reckoned that I could spare a few minutes in order to find out why anyone needed a whole shop just to sell condoms, however my curiosity was to remain unsatisfied as it was closed and too dark inside to see anything.
Amsterdam Train Station
Arriving at the station I knew that I was still very early but as my ticket was for a reserved seat on a much later train I was unsure if I could use it without paying extra.
So, with time to spare, I decided that the best choice of action was to go ask someone at the central stations main service centre, but this is where things got tricky. What I found appeared to be a warped hybrid of Argos, a nightclub and an airport check in desk.
Staring at the number C203 on the tiny blue queuing ticket I had taken off the dispenser, I was disheartened to find out that there were more than fifty people ahead of me in the queue, and this fact became worse when despite the place being huge after ten minutes they had only processed a few queries.
After another ten minutes of painfully slow progress I calculated that there would be a good chance I would still be here queuing by the time my original train was due to leave, so I thought to hell with it and just made my way down to the platform where the next train for Dusseldorf was due to pull in shortly.
My revised plan was now to quietly slip on board moments before it actually left, remove the earlier train reservation attachment and then if any guard queried it I would show them small blue queuing slip and play on the polite but stupid English tourist act to carry the day.
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Federal Republic of Germany
Dusseldorf - Arrived on 3rd September 2008.
Wegberg - Arrived on 3rd September 2008.
Roermond - Visited on 6th September 2008.
Berlin (Capital City) - Arrived on 8th September 2008.
Dresden - Arrived on 11th September 2008.
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Crossing the Border into Germany
I have known Karrie for a good many years, as she and I used to hang around the same biker pubs when we were still teenagers, but about a decade ago she had got married to an old sweetheart who was a serving British soldier and as his military career moved on, his current posting was overseas here in Germany.
As it turned out, I needn’t have worried as not only had I guessed right that my ticket would be valid on any outgoing train, but apart from a brief ticket inspecting shortly after I left Amsterdam nobody cared, and likewise no one bothered to ask for my passport either as I crossed over into Germany or even when I got off at the other end.
After this ridiculously simple border crossing I thought that I had got the efficient German train system sussed, how little did I know.
With unexpected changes to the timetable, technical difficulties, delays and long periods stuck on platforms waiting for trains to arrive all combined to somehow leave me an hour behind schedule even though I left more than an hour early and the actual travelling journey time was meant to be less than three hours long.
Pulling into Monchengladbach, or MG, on a later train than planned, I discovered that its delay had caused me to miss my onward connection by less than five minutes, and when I then learned that on that route the trains only ran once every hour, I am afraid to say that I totally lost the plot and instantly turned the air blue with rich profanities.
Once my wits began to return I frantically called my friend Karrie, who was living with her husband in the nearby town of Wegberg, to explain the situation.
Of course, to cap it all off, my mobile phone battery was already hazardously close to empty, so I barely managed a minute’s conversation before it cut out.
Thankfully, Karrie is a bright spark and having got the gist early she sent a text to say that rescue was on its way and that I should wait for them outside the train stations main entrance. #4
When they arrived a little while later, I could see that they were all laughing like hyenas, and upon climbing in the back of the car I found out that I was the source of their amusement.
It turned out that due to the traffic jam they could see me long before they reached me, and that upon catching sight of me standing there in the rain with my rucksack slung awkwardly looking pathetic, wet and pissed off they found the whole thing hysterical.
Arriving at a Base in Wildenrath, Germany
As the next few days were basically chilling out with Karrie and Les, watching quite a few movies, getting drunk and playing either guitar hero or first person shoot-em-ups on the Xbox 360, I won’t bore everyone with including repetitive entries.
However I will say that I even with the rain I enjoyed my stay a lot, and equally that it was a great way to casually ease myself into a more disjointed travelling lifestyle.
The drive from MG’s train station to Les’s place in Wildenrath took us through field upon field of corn, and it was my impression that as we had passed so many fields that there could be no need for any other such fields throughout the rest of Europe.
I was never quite sure of my official status there in the base, but the place seemed very friendly and easy going, and being completely honest once I looked past the barbed wire and machine gun posts, with its layout and everyone speaking English it was not that hard for me to imagine that I was in a university campus back home someplace.
In fact, the only dead giveaways to serve as constant reminders of my real location were the fact that everything was either in Euros or US dollars and that every third person I met was wearing combat fatigues.
The base had almost everything a normal town would have, everything except a cinema, and when Karrie took me shopping at the local NAAFI I could not help but crack a smile to spot groceries and DVD’s on the shelves right next to hunting blades, night vision goggles and combat fatigues.
One thing that I certainly wasn’t expecting was that in order to buy strong alcohol you had to produce a rations card.
Sleeping on a Sofa
As an impromptu guest in Karrie and Les’s place I didn’t have the luxury of a private bedroom, but they did have a very comfortable L-shaped settee and an ample supply of extra duvets and throws, so as long as their dog stayed in their room I was fairly certain that I could get some sleep between our drinking sessions.
The place also had a couple of old school British pubs, complete with beer garden and pool table, and though I was feeling a bit rusty I did enjoy bashing the balls around a bit while the others sat at the bar drumming me up some competition and choosing random songs on the jukebox.
I had always planned on this stop over as a way of breaking up the travelling and to help ease me into the whole epic voyage sort of thing, and in this fashion it worked a charm.
In fact, the only episode of any real action of a personal nature was on taking a short shopping trip across the border back into Holland to do a little shopping in Roermond, when as we queued to pull into a multi-story car park we somehow triggered the road rage of a crazed Eastern European crone who got out of her car and tried to attack the four of us.
The fracas ended as fast as it began once she realised that even with sticking her arm partly through an open window she couldn’t really hurt us, and as we showed no signs of getting out the car to start a fistfight, she just threw us a final hateful glare and then storming off back to her own car.
With that as the prelude, it was almost an anticlimax to go shopping, but the fact that the Dutch superstore thought it perfectly acceptable to include vibrators, porn movies and things that go buzz in the night on the opposite aisle to the frying pans and toasters made us all chuckle.
Though I doubt anyone would call Karrie a prude, I could not help but share a giggle with Les as we watched her try to keep a straight face while she attempted to distract her daughter’s attention away at the same time.
Drinking With Heroes
I have never been a big drinker, but when it’s raining outside and you are miles away from the nearest town and spending lots of quality time swapping stories with a bunch of soldiers on R & R away from the front lines of the Middle East, I found it was surprising easily to slip into the habit.
As it turned out, one of Les’s closest army buddies was a guy called Dave, who was also posted there with his wife and kids, and over the course of the week we ended up spending most evenings together drinking and chatting away like old friends, and never once did I feel unwelcome or even a stranger to their little band.
We also spent a lot of time making each other laugh, and one of the lighter moments was when the boys showed me an internet clip called ‘Amarillo’ by the Royal Dragoon Guards.
It was quite a good spoof made all the funnier for them as between Les and Dave they could name over half the guys who were performing silly walks in the background.
Another light moment was when I used my digital camera to make the first video recording of my trip, being that of Les and then Carrie playing tug of war with the family dog.
News from the Front Lines
However, life in Germany was not all beer and skittles and there were plenty of serious moments to reflect and look back on.
Being on a military base we spent a considerable amount of time watching the news for the latest updates of how things were going in Afghanistan, and each bit of bad news cut everyone deeply.
In a way, it was very revealing to spend time with people who knew that it was not only their job to put themselves in harm’s way, but having spent time on the front lines at Afghanistan, they knew that when violence suddenly sparked up, which it frequently did, they and their comrades were the most likely to be among the first casualties.
Quite often even a neutral news report would spark off a story from one of the lads about how a soldier they knew had lost their lives in one way or another, and hearing their stories first hand really brought it all home to me, especially when those who had died were barely out of their teens.
The most chilling story for me was a young turret top machine gunner of an armoured car who was killed from a moving car bomb, as although he spotted it early and turned the driver and vehicle into Swiss cheese with an entire belt of ammunition, the cars momentum was hardly reduced and it continued on and exploded.
A Rare Interview
One of the things that I had packed and been carrying with me was a digital Dictaphone, and after just a few hours with Les and his army buddies I knew that it would be a really great idea to get a couple of their true life stories on record, assuming that they didn’t mind of course.
Thankfully they didn’t and I ended up with a couple of really good interviews, ones that came over quite genuine and friendly, and although I had scripted the questions I was pleased with how they went.
One of the answers that surprised me was that Karrie said she didn’t feel like she missed anything in the UK except her family and a few close friends and could easily imagine herself never going back.
Regrettably, the recorder was such a cheap and cheerful one that it was next to useless and I gave up using it when its limited memory became full less than two weeks later and despite uploading the data to my laptop I was unable to clear or reset the memory to take further recordings.
The Legality of Sex
During one of our more drunken conversations I learning that there was a quite infamous brothel just a few miles down the road, which used to be called Thirty Five’s but recently has changed its name, and just for laughs Karrie offered to take me along when with her and together we could see what it was like.
I can’t remember exactly how we got onto the subject but it probably stemmed from me talking about Amsterdam and how prostitution is viewed and treated quite differently in various countries around Europe.
Thankfully, come the following morning after a bacon breakfast and some strong coffee, more sober thinking returned and the subject was not mentioned again.
A Farewell Parting in Wegberg
On our final night together the lads suggested that as a group we all go out to a fancy restaurant just off base, and so it was that as a leaving gift from them all I was treated to one of the best Chinese meals that their little part of Germany could boast.
It was a nice restaurant which the gang had been to several times before. It had a large fish tank and for some reason sold Chinese souvenir placemats.
Thinking that they might make a good present for someone back home I bought them then left them at Les and Karrie’s, and as fate would have it, it was the first thing I bought on my travels but the last thing I got back.
Although I was only there for about a week I really felt that I fitted in well with my friends and their lives, which is strange as outside family I rarely feel that I truly belong anywhere.
There are not that many people, outside of family, who would pick you up at a train station, bring you back to their house, water and feed you for a week, do your laundry, entertain you and introduce you to their best friends as an equal, but that is exactly what they did and I will be forever grateful to them for it.
As it turned out, in this I was pleasantly mistaken as a number of times I was taken in by an overseas friend and treated like a true lifelong friend.
Leaving Dusseldorf
As Les had official military duties to attend to on the morning of my flight to Berlin, he was unable to drive me back at the train station so I was very thankful to accept Dave’s offer of a lift, and doubly so when he said that he was happy to take me all the way into Dusseldorf, or Duss as we all called it, and drop me off right at the airport.
So it was that with fond hugs all round, and Karrie insisting that I send her my dirty socks whenever they got dirty, that a potential nightmare of a train journey back to Duss became a delightful cruise with a friend. #5
Just for a change, the sun was out and shining its brilliance down upon us as we drove and the good weather remained with me in Dusseldorf all throughout the day.
However, contrary to the image that everything in Germany is super efficient, my flights gate number was changed at the last hour and didn’t begin to board until it almost half an hour later than first notified. Thankfully we still left and arrived in Berlin all according to schedule.
All in all, although Wegberg is far from my ideal choice of a perfect holiday location, it hardly seemed to stop raining and I didn't have any extraordinary adventures, I had an amazing time and if I could go back and do it all again I wouldn’t hesitate for a second.
In fact, I had such a good time that even before I left I was already planned to vary my route back through Europe on my way home to visit them all again.
Sadly though it was not to be, as a few months after I left Germany I received an email from Karrie to say that she was splitting up with Les and was returning to the UK.
Not only that, but less than a month after that I heard from Dave that he had received his latest orders and was being posted to Cyprus with his wife and family, so the chance for a fond and happy reunion in Germany had slipped away faster than my life savings.
~~ **** ~~
Arrival in Berlin, Capital of Germany
Central Berlin from the air seemed both eerie and beautiful, with rows upon rows of neat and identical houses everywhere, all with lush green trees and gardens, so much so that I was not sure if it was real or some fantastic advert for Legoland.
This is mainly due to the fact that Berlin had to be almost completely rebuilt after the end of the second World War, but from a purely architectural point of view this was not such a bad thing, as it gave the city elders the chance to start again, without having to worry about trying to keep old and decrepit structures safe and solid.
Considering the last time one of my flights was switched gate entry at the last minute was also the time that I lost my luggage, I was a bit fearful that the same thing might happen again, but thankfully the landing and unloading went smoothly and they started to send the luggage up within ten minutes of touch down.
An Airport Hotel near Berlin
Having just spent a week on a settee, I had decided to go treat myself to an unplanned luxury and so broke with my original itinerary and booked myself a hotel nearby the airport though I soon regretted this decision.
Firstly the hotel I found that although it was closer to the airport that my hostel, it was also in the opposite direction to the city centre, which meant an even longer journey tomorrow morning.
Next was that once I arrived and had checked it that I found that the whole area was almost dead after dark, and as I had dozed on the flight over I was wide awake but with nothing to do.
The hotel’s restaurant, bowling alley and beauty parlour were all closed for the night, they would not take any laundry for single night reservations and it was only thanks to the main hotel bar being open twenty four hours a day that meant I was able to salvage anything from the experience.
As all the satellite channels were in German, without even a movie or music channel to speak of, I found the whole affair to be a wasted of effort and the final insult was that the advertised Wi-Fi was nothing more than a T-Mobile hotspot that cost almost as much as the room itself.
First Night in Berlin
Determined to make the most of the luxury of having a private room, and because I had just spend that last week on Karrie’s couch, I asked the hotel receptionist if they had a masseuse on staff.
Unfortunately for me although they had a spa and wellness centre but it was only open during the day, so they suggested that instead I try going through the phone directory.
Flicking through the rooms phone book I managed to find one that did late night calls, a Polish lady, and so I booked her and a short while later she arrived.
The good news was that she was younger than I expected and fairly pretty, but the bad news was that she did not have her own massage table and also knew next to nothing about giving a firm deep massage.
I wouldn’t say that her visit was a complete waste of time, as by the time she left I was definite feeling more relaxed and ready to sleep, but apart from rubbing in some scented oil she had done little to ease the stiffening to my shoulder blades, which was my main reason for booking her after all.
A New Dawn in Berlin
Waking early I felt that I had slightly failed in my attempt at enjoying some luxury, though I did at least eat a filling breakfast before I checked out of the hotel.
With the sun high in the sky, I felt that the time was right for me to go for a proper stroll and risk getting lost for the first time since I left home.
I had never really appreciated how big Berlin was, so considering I had decided that half an hour with a backpack was adequate to tire me out, I felt that I needed to break up the walk by making some pit-stops, so to speak.
The getting lost part was almost guaranteed as I had decided to shun public transport and the hotel reception had only an inner city map on sale, however the sudden attack of Berlin Belly was totally unexpected and I was so glad that I was carrying plenty of changes of clothes on my back at the time.
Benefits of Carrying Spare Clothes
In order to facilitate my own quick change routine, I dived in a medium sized cinema complex thinking that I could get to the toilets easy enough, but I ended up having to buy a ticket for a movie.
Thus it was that I got to see the movie “You don’t mess with the Zohan”, the latest Adam Sandler flick; as it was the only film that I thought I would understand even thought it was in German.
I had hoped that it would either still be in English or at least have subtitles, but I got unlucky and had to suffer it all in German.
That said and being brutally honest, I have never been one of his biggest fans and so to me, especially unable to get into the dialogue properly, it just seemed like one long string of unfunny dick jokes.
For the second pit stop I treated myself to a lovely meal overlooking the River Spree, just past the Marx-Engels Forum statue, but not really knowing what my belly was going to do next I played safe and ordered the pasta.
Although the centre of Berlin looks all bright lights and free of graffiti is it not long before you start seeing signs of urbanisation and real life seeping into even the most pristine districts.
My Berlin Hostel
I almost gave up on my hostel several times, however the price of the hotels that I came across combined with an inability to find a taxi meant that I was destined to just continue until I found it or die in the attempt.
Luckily for me it was the former, though even discounting the time I spent on my pit stops it still took me a good two hours of walking.
By the time I finally reached my hostel I was ready to drop, but instead of my rucksack it was my jaw that hit the floor, as the state of road that my hostel was in harked back to something out of the middle ages.
Thankfully the door I had spotted was not the hostels main entrance, only a disused front facade, and the normal entrance that everyone used was through the slightly more modern side entrance.
I had a few grumbles about the hostels interior, in that the internet connection signal was forever dropping out, the tiny bunk beds were too shallow to sit up in and for some reason there were only four tiny lockers in a six bunk room, but generally the conditions were not unbearable and the price was reasonable. #6
A Friendly Italian Roommate
Being as bushed as I was I had intended on doing nothing more energetic for the rest of the evening, however once I met my new roommate, a lively blonde Italian woman, I felt my spirits perk up.
What is more is that after she introduced herself and found out that I was staying here alone, she invited me out for a drink and a meal.
The promise of good food and attractive female company had their usual effect of instantly rejuvenating my mind and body and within moments I felt ready to take on the world once more.
Thus it was that for the next few hours we took in the upper east side of Berlin together, swapping stories, grabbing a bite to eat and supping a few drinks along the way.
Once we got chatting I found her to be both open and talkative, and also more than a little Bohemian, catching me unawares by lighting up a joint without even a seconds thought for what I might say or think.
The only real downer on the night was that she first she professed to being camera shy and then she informed me that she was only staying in my dorm for one night as in the morning she was meeting up with a friend and they were going to share a private room between them.
However, with the rain holding off for the rest of the night, it was still a delightful and unexpected evening in Berlin, and if only I had thought to have asked for her email address then I am sure that we would have kept in touch for at least a little while longer.
A Second Dawn in Berlin
Despite having had plenty of time to prepare, I don’t think I was quite ready to tackle Berlin, and certainly looking back I didn’t make the best use of my time or see even half of the things that I should have.