Welcome to my Europe travel blog. This is a web journal updated as I travel in Europe. I'll leave Stansted to get to Milan Bergamo (Italy) on 5th August, and return to the UK in mid September from St. Etienne (France). In between, I don't know what I'm doing and where I might be. But from 1st September, I'll be working in a vineyard near Lyon.

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Enjoy, Amit Kothari

I'm growing my hair and will not cut it until just before leaving. At the moment, I'm trying to get some Inter-rail passes and doing some reading.
Look at these nice people giving away free photos ... freefoto.com. That link goes to a pic of Raymond Revue Bar. I like their London photo category the most, so give that a once-over when you are browsing.

I've fiddled all the templates to spruce up the looks of the blog. Today was my last day at work, and I made sure I did a victory lap around Stockley Park before leaving! The great people at BT.com gave me a miniature digital camera. This was a fantastic gift. I was planning to take it with me and also post pictures into this blog. But the camera can't be used on any PC, it needs to have the software installed. And even after I installed the software, the laptop ain't having squat diddle with it, it's not being recognised. So that's tough, I'll keep playing with it.
A new age is coming. I can feel it in the calcium of my bones. It's going to be one helluva ride. So read me from today, as this day marks the beginning of the new age. It's that time - time for travel insurance, rucksacks, inter-rail passes, guidebooks and a glow.

These web pages are hilarious. It's all about a random trip to Mexico, and it brought back fond memories for me. "Travels with Santana" is I believe, also a reference to this book. And browsing for more information, I found hostels where people going Inter-railing can get their milk and cookies.
My old all-time rebel hero Jack Kerouac has cropped up again. Members of the Subterraneans mailing list (thanks Mike!) have pointed to an auction - an intro page at Playboy's 50th Anniversary site and the auction itself at Christies.
I wish I had the money. The auction is December time in NY, so there's time still to plan a bank robbery.

Somebody come and rescue me, I forgot what it feels like to be totally free from commitments. Dawn found me still absorbed in a lush sleep, the kind I only get when the sky starts to shine a greater shade of blue. Thanks to Garrett for a mention on Sunday. On Wednesday I'm performing in Willesden at Westwords a London writer's event.
Life is rolling by. All the usual things like preparing for this and that. And sometimes finding something that needs to be done. It's not long now before the big trip starts on 5th August.
Not much to report, so don't expect anything to be posted here for a few days. I've got my 3 zone 1 month Inter-rail pass and travel insurance. The identity of Ramona Ramos in "comments" remains secret. And yes I know the looks of this place change every day (no every hour) but I shall never settle.
So it's over to you lucky viewers - tell me - what must I take?

Trading has been profitable today and the rest of my work is still sitting there, waiting to be done. Well as most days go, this is just another lazy day and things will get done eventually. But slowly and in good time. There's two hours before the soundcheck at my performance tonight, so I better move sharpish. The good news is that my TINY digital camera seems to work. I downloaded photos last night from it. So that means I'll take some shots every now and again and post them here on Radio Amitistan.

FLIGHT

I stand in grass of railroad earth. red and muddy sky a starry flight to an airport which was painted by brush-strokes as personal as Cezanne's. I look at the clock and I cannot think how I must start, some say, the medley craves a longing peace to begin. - deterrent manes of work unseen, is an ingredient for juice. My camera comes out and my tripod is on a stand so that I can look and film my mind steadily. the poem starts and it is only words at the beginning. but then the words walk out and sit on trees, float on the tea, come alive in the shower. words that dither and make noises or words that smell like muddy cowfields and rough hide. they ask to be considered or to be seen. like a train which keeps on going until I change. waiting for the right train until which destination? I step on, cling on, and sing to a kind of backstreet boys vocality. Sharp and simple. I open my eyes and the world looks fresh. a walk in the purple rain isn't a question. The rich velvet begins to be formed. and I get on to wonder how a new-born baby shambles. Through severed eyes. trying to climb over a hedge of beginnings.

Will start on 5th August! I'll post here again from Milan, Italy. Kwaheri until then!

Yes indeed, I have slapped my ass right in the heart of rolling Lombardy. It is GODDAM HOT and the WOMEN are EVEN HOTTER. I reached without too much fuss on cheap old Ryanair into Bergamo. In flight, I met a lovely Italian girl - Bella/Banalle ... I have forgotten who offered to take me to the city centre of Milan (50km) for free since her friend was coming to pick her up. So I hitched a lift, and her interesting friend (called Suresh and - adopted off Indian parents and raised in Italy) came and took us through city centre driving like a bull in a ring and dropped me. Then I wandered around in the HEAT, spelt H-O-T, to find accomodation. I finally found something right in Duemo in a hotel called Ambassadario, which looks okay, can't expect anything better than 40 euros since Milano is grossly expensive. Italians are so mad, just so utterly insane, and I'm just digging people at the moment, it's a people watching feast, and cor, did I already mention the women? Every soul is full of passion and spice, it is fabulous to be a witness to all of this. My hotel looks like a brothel in this low season, so I may be in for an interesting night. I plan to train it out of here to Florence via the Metro to Stazione Centrale. But Milan is truly wonderful, the plazas and pizzerias are jammed and the beers cold and frothy like a river which really helps in this heat. It took me quite a long time to get one internet cafe, but I thought to tell you that elegant Milan is all around, with all its Italian cobbled streets where I got lost and little Piaggios and lovely ladies willing to attempt English with a loud blood hot passion, and all the time the whole thing feels like a cauldron bubbling tomato soup out of restaurants. The Duemo, financed by Milanese residents for upkeep is ornate like some painting that has been replicated a thousand times, except you know that people had to carve all that! A seller on the street told me he's totally fed up of the heat and there is no rain which is understandable with the recent weather fracas. No danger of me getting Pradafied or Armanied over here since I don't have money. Instead of all the shopping, I am on a people-digging frenzy. It looks like the tourist office is the only help around here, although it is really cool talking to girls on the street.
My trip has started with an ear-popping clang. And a few yells and shouts from drivers and scooters with beautiful ladies driving them - almost running over people every minute. Life is passionate and full of character over here.

An initial note - I won't post any poetry or other stories on this travelogue, just news because of lack of time (gawd, you want me to dig the world, not sit there typing do you?)

I'm making a special effort to trype accurately on this keyboard made for spiders. The hotel's name was wrong - it's called The Speronari. It's rooms are fab, designed for complete anal cleanliness with a bidet in each room.
The Milanese don't have big sticks up their asses, which is what it first appears to be. They are (alternatively phrased) ... excessively catered for - most of them anyway. I had a fabulous supper of all mixed olive-oiled pastas and herbed rices with vegetables, it tasted heavenly. There's a lemon soft drink called "Estea" which is by far the most quenching drink I've had. Halfway down Via Torino, a man asks me to do a free Dianetics "personality test" and being an opportunistic chump, I duly follow up, only to walk out five minutes later. No need to waste an hour to get an Italian "assessment" of my personality. "Kiss it man, I don't need a test because you don't have a dick!", and this statement silenced his wails, to leave me walking away muttering British obscenities. I don't do anything for nothing, my simple philosophy. After listening to music on the square in the evening, I retired early for sleep since my eyes were blaring tired.
I noticed that every time I had a shower (I had three), the cleaning ladies seem to be outside the door when I come out, with a big smile, I mean, hands up who'd wanna see me starkers? Exactly. To really send them over the moon, I sang Peter Frampton's "Baby I love your way" as loud as I could, which made them giggle and they bellisimoed away.
And it was an interesting sleep. I dreamed that I was sleeping on the square and somebody kept bringing me ice packs to put under my scrotum! It was a very hot night. The following morning the sun had already gathered pace and slapped on my face like a brick, after I checked out. I grabbed breakfast and cappucino at a bakery, and detoured to my net cafe to write this note. Now I'm going to hop the Metro to Stazione Centrale, for the train to Florence.

I left Milano after much hassle and grovelling from Metro to ticket booths. I had to pay a supplement for the Roma train to Santa Maria Novella in Florence of 8 euros. The reader should be aware that I'm on a month-long Inter-rail pass covering most of Europe, which I hope to take advantage of.

Last night, it struck me that a lot of Milanese corruption was due to the local Mafia. The term Mafia can be used to describe 5 distinct groups of organised criminals - the original Sicilian Mafia (Cosa Nostra), the Calabrian 'ndrageta (known for at least one killing a day in the 90's), the Camorra of Napoli, the Sacra Corona Unita and La Rosa of Puglia. In the early 1990's the estimated combined worth of Italian Mafia groups was 12% of GNP. A journalist once noted that 'the Mafia and the establishment are intertwined' and 'The Mafia is not only omnipotent, it is omnipresent', a remark on how the groups have influence in almost any part of Italy. I suppose that it would not be too silly to try to avoid obvious Mafia activity.

The train rolled out of Milano and soon enough, fields and maize plantations began to appear. The occasional flash of heavy indusry was a reminder that the cash-obsessed North had its claws in rural Lombardy. The train ambled, in bright sunshine, through lazy vineyards and orchards, with strange music filling the void of hearing. Often, I saw trails of dried-up rivers, moss laden and tired looking. Piacenza was a dreary stop, devoid of anything interesting and my thoughts became engaged on the splendour of Florence, as I continued reading about it. And my train lumbered on through deepest Tuscany. The view turned utterly magnificent. Large clusters of olive groves and vividly rich segments of fields passed in the afternoon sun, each trying to outdo the wild flowers in a show of flamboyance. Hills meandered in succession, and the train sometimes went through a hole in the hills which looked like a missing tooth in Dracula's lower mouth. I reached Florence in the evening, a town as mesmerising as all those writers and artists have said - no use trying to describe something which has already had rivers of ink wasted to try to find a superlative. Florence is stunning. The number of tourists is also stunning.

The Lonely Planet said the "HI Florence" was the best hostel in Europe, so I thought to give it a go! I met 2 Scottish girls who were taking a bus back to the hostel so I didn't have to think much to get there. The hostel was jammed to the brim with backpackers and tourists, so I had to make do with a bed in a shared tent. Soon enough, I hooked up with 2 German girls and we had dinner at the hostel. Their German friend brought his guitar and with my bizzare magnetism to the guitar, we had hundreds of people in this place jamming, courtesy the four of us who looked like two couples. Katarina and Heni the two German girls were great fun and we drank all night until the curfew started, when everybody is rounded up like small babies and told to get to sleep! Cheap it may be, but this is the kind of thing you have to put up with! I had an average night's sleep, David (the German guitar guy) took today to go into the mountains. I spent today going around Florence with the girls and will be heading back on the bus soon, since it is too hot and I am tired and need to siesta! We hope (the three Germans and I) to go out tonight for dinner, etc. Michelangelo's David has lifted me to a state that is beyond compare. Tomorrow I plan to take the train to Roma, once the splendid heart of a civilisation that shattered continents in its' wake.

I planned to go to Rome today but the morning was so nice I couldn't be bothered. Last night I met a lovely Dutch girl called Anna. Since David and company were eating watermelons for dinner, Anna and I felt that we needed a more substantial meal so we made our way down the idiot hostel's hill for the umpteenth time. We were technically on a date and the dinner and wine was fabulous! A guy near us looked like Sly Stallone and everybody was yelling and shouting, 100% Italian! We named ourselves Mr. and Mrs. Jones for the night and came back to the hostel and did our usual music thing all night.

In the morning I met 2 English girls and we walked up the massive hill to Fiosole. The view was magnificent and we worked really hard in the beating sun to get up there. We had lunch near the monastery and Leonardo da Vinci's aeroplane model, a fab pasta and so so, and got the bus back down to town. I am staying in the hostel and sleeping in my hammock until the evening. It might well be another wonderful night of music and people and beer, who knows? The truth is that life is beautiful.

I decided not to go to Rome at all, and stay a while in the Cinque Terre, a set of 5 villages on the Liguria Coast, described as the "finest countryside in Italy". The last night in the Firenze hostel was fab - David, Anna and I met a gaggle of Norwegian girls and we had dinner at the usual place down the hill. The "waitress of the moment" this time was a little gorgeous Italian with curly hair whose eyes darted around like a lizard's. I talked about the Cinque Terre with David, and said goodbye to him and Anna at breakfast. I hitchhiked a lift to the station with an Indian couple on holiday. The male half was from Goa, but the female half was shocking to me - she was a white lady brought up in India who spoke Indian languages and also English with an Indian accent. Since I am of Indian descent, this was a shocker to me, I've never met anyone like her.

The train to Pisa was packed, and I talked at length to a bunch of snazzy Brazilian girls from Rio. They all loved the backpacking in the Cinque Terre, calling it the "lost and real" Italy. At Pisa, I changed after some more haggling and confusion (now becoming common!) to a train to La Spezia. Everything was dropping in scale, the towns gettnig smaller, the countryside fields yellow and golden. I thought to take my chance staying at one of the villages themselves, a long shot since it was high season. I met a strong-minded girl travelling alone from New York called Adrienne. We immediately got on and realised we wanted the same thing for teh next few days in the Cinque Terre - accomodation, serenity and hiking (and beach!). So far it's been a few nights with her, beacuse it makes sense for accomodation. We got to Monterosso on the local trains and to our dismay found nowhere cheap to stay. Fortunately, there was just one apartment for hire, the old landlady this night came to be known as "the beast" due to her assumption that we were all stupid. We both waited hours to find 2 people to share that apartment for 4 with. After a long time, and a few-minutes before the office-closing time, three people turn up at once! The American guy Jeff said that he'd sleep at the beach, so we moved into the apartment with Jesse and Brooke (a couple from Melbourne). Adrienne and I went out that night and had a fabulous dinner in this pretty village and checked out the bars afterwards. The next day we had a cold shower and said our goodbyes to the Australians and moved to Manorola, another village. The youth hostel here is a real trek up the hill and even though we made it, there was no spaces. After some poking around in bars, etc. we found a private apartment with a double and took it. We then went on an afternoon trek on Via Dell'Amore. This half hour walk along the cliff edge to Riamaggiore was Italy at it's most beautiful. Terraced vineyards extended to the top of mountains and the coast was so majestic that I almost cried. Waves crashed into bays and great headland cliffs and when we reached Riomaggiore the village was just as quaint as Manorola. We had lunch (on Adrienne) at a Manorola restaurant, where I learned that Grappa in expresso after a heavy meal gives you a 90% neat shockwave that smacks you awake. Old Robert de Niro brought us free drinks and food on the house with a chunky smile and enthusiastic eyes, that lovely devil schmuck! While walking around the town, we met a couple that had just arrived from Firenze and Adrienne and I tried to sneak them into ours to spread the cost. Our landlady wasn't a moron though, but luckily she knew someone who knew someone in the village, and soon enough - Luke, a big easy going Australian (now a teacher in England) and Monica (Mexican) had found a place to stay. We four dined by the moonlit piazza and listened to village life and the San Lorenzo festivities of the Cinque Terre. Great fanfares and bandwagons passed the main village thoroughfare, and we all went to walk the the Via Dell'Amore at midnight. The result for me was sleeping on the rocks and watching the moon throw glitter at the sea, its dynamic forms being shaped like fractals. The scene and sounds were utterly rustic and we all had a lush sleep that was textured like dessert wine. Outside my window, Manorola looked like the old town of Mombasa. A little tortoise is munching leaves in the patio below and the church bells ringing something joyous.

Italian ladies are working outside, stressing their words and lazing them before they end - beLLISIM...mmm o. Luke and Monica are such earthy people that I must mention them here. Both are simple and wonderful, Luke is solid as rock and a great person to travel with, we found out last night he has no sense of smell. Monica is sweet as pie, a hardy Mexican from the city that likes to smile and laugh. Life in the Cinque Terre grows slowly and now I'm visiting my favourite Italian girl at the tourist office. We four need breakfast and an apartment in Riomaggiore, we found one for two nights. I remember the last two days - lazing with hundreds of others on the blue Mediterranean gulf of Liguria, and got soaked and bathed by choppy waves. I've been sleeping in my hammock on the terrace in our apartment and we've been cooking meals together to save restaurant costs. I found a cave yesterday with Luke along the coast and the waves crashed so hard we heard the echoes and shuddered. The local produce is delicious, Monica's iPod has Bob Marley and our picnics are lovely. We plan to to hike up the mountains today. Last night we took a swim until the early morning when we had full moon, this was magic.

I'm here another night and then plan to go to Venice.

Hope everyone is keeping cool, because I'm finding it hard. I'm in Rome, Italy and it's back 2 the big city and it's twathead people! It's two nights here at the hostel then I'm gone, it's too hot and I don't like the atmosphere. Rome is magical, but the occupants are not.

I write on day 2 from near the MAGNIFICENT Piazza del San Pietro, close to the walled borders of Vatican City, which is almost like a different country sitting inside Rome.

Yesterday, Monica cooked Mexican scrambled eggs, then we cleared out of our apartment. I said my goodbyes to Luke, Monica and Adrienne and reverted back to being Indiana Jones again. Now, imagine standing several hours on a boiling hot tube - that's what the railroad earth from La Spezia to Roma Termini was like. Like any big city, there is a huge diversity of people in Rome. I went through a confused palaver of Metro and bus to get to the HI Ostello Foro Italico, which is near the football stadium Stadio Olimpico (home turf to Lazio and AS Roma). There was a match on that night and I wandered around for a few hours after dinner, taking in the awesome atmosphere. There were so many motorbikes everywhere it was surreal. My dorm is basically a prison cell for 6 which remains hot no matter what, but I can't complain since this is the big city. A lot of people in this splendid city look stressed all the time and their looks were eternally crooked. I feel sorry for people stuck in big cities, they are really small-minded and sad. Last night was a tired one, I talked until the small hours to a girl from San Francisco and played cards and really enjoyed our excellent conversations. Today, I'm trying to let rip on this magnificent concentration of history, legends and monuments which is Roma. It was home to the entire Roman Empire and Christian Church. The Vatican City has its' own currency, stamps (much more efficient postal service than Italy!) and government. It all looks fabulous, and I plan to hit the Colosseum and other Piazzas in the afternoon. I know that I need a week to digest Rome, but it's too hot here and I don't care. I'm soaking like a roast duck (yummy!) and will post again before or after leaving Rome.

Tomorrow it's some train to Switzerland I feel, I've had enough of cities. I want the country. And I need a pizzeria now. So goodbye just for now my dears.

I have booked the overnight carriage from Rome to Munchen in Germany to meet my friend Jochen tomorrow morning. I went on a SCUBA diving course in Mexico with Jochen.
As expected, my night,s sleep was batty, I was sweating. I cleared out early in the morning to reach Rome,s spankingly modern "Termini" station. Only overnight trains to Stuttgart existed via Bern, so I phoned Jochen in Stuttgart, and he said "not to worry" (I can imagine him grinning!) and he,ll pick me up in Munich tomorrow before he goes to a football match. On Sunday I hope to meet Sybren and Vanessa (from the Mexico suntrek - see my Mexico travelogue) and when phoning yesterday, he was smoked up and telling me about this fairytale wedding they went to in a castle, etc and it was black tie and he drove in with Vanessa in a white BMW, etc. Lol!! Sybren rocks,it,ll be great to see him. So the world is about to turn German which is cooler and a welcome relief from the dirty gypsies of Rome,s metro and sodding endless road-pounding. I visited the Colloseum this morning and dreamed about gladiators (since I had the whole day to kill) and left the goodies in the luggage store at the station.

I then employed the afternoon doing some risque business which only those I have spoken to will know about. It has to remain a secret otherwise I,m done for by the Italian cops. See you in Munich, Bavaria after sleeping on me ickle choo-cho train on the railroad earth.

The France grape-picking work date has moved - harvest now begins on the 23rd which annoyingly shortens my European trip.

================
While waiting for the train to Munich, I began reading into a writer's magazine that John Waddell gave me at the Harrow Writer's workshop. Jon writes in Scots and his book of prose is available at Corbett's bookshop in Pinner. Siobhan Curham, another good friend is doing a signing at the same Pinner bookshop - I hope you can check her novel out ladies - it's a stormer.
Back to the subject. An article on the Petra Kenney awards mentioned two personalities. Josephine Austin, she's published some of my work in a magazine (OR Ive seen her work) and Dr. Leo Aylen. When I set up the CreativeWritingSociety at the University of Bath, Leo took an honorary role as writer-in-residence. He affiliated with me and my society, but a competition and a (now forgotten) set of misbelieved conclusions made me (and my committee) launch an opposing position, and in his place arrived a new writer-in-residence. I mention him because I was thinking about his striking self - a deep, intellectual and passionate demeanour, it's engine driven from strong coffee fed to the metaphoric horse. Thanks Leo, you left a mark!
If you ever read this Leo - "Wide Closed Spaces" didn't do too well - you were in some ways right, and I annulled the loan obtained from my university. Nevertheless when I am back to university in October, I shall restart the society with an experienced outlook and make readings loud and alcoholic. At the time of noting these thoughts, it is head-up time for me to look up my choo-choo noise machine to Munich.
================

Sorry about these late posts! A lot has happened here in Munich which I'll post on the next entry. The next post will continue narrating my travelogue so far in usual madman stylee.

The train journey from Rome was a goner. Night fell in purple haze and I heard rhythmic, reliable grinds of the railroad earth. My sleeping compartment had 4 and sharing my airspace were 3 others - a Ukrainian student and a Japanese couple, all of whom departed at Innsbruck in the early morning. My brain was aptly phased into railway motion, it´s ulterior nature subtracted from the whole. When I raised the blind, the view splashed me with splendid alma-mater! There were dreaming Alpine villages, glittering lakes, lands as robustly green as green can get. Snow-capped promontories jutting out of a rolling fairy-tale kingdom. It was a showcase of epic proportions. I sat and made sure I wasn´t still asleep. The train was taking me through a fantastic kingdom.

I arrived in Muchen and immediately liked it. At breakfast, I realised people were drinking beer for breakfast and this first glimpse was to prove a recurring way of life in Munich. Beer is God, cutting off beer would be like cutting off water and electricity at once. Jochen picked me up near the station and we enjoyed a second breakfast (including a white wurst) near the university of Munich. We took a walk around pleasant "Englischgarten" (like their Regent´s Park) and began, yes, drinking beer in a PROPER beer garden. I met Jochen´s friend, also called Jochen and his girlfriend Babs at Marionplatz after we sorted out Jochen´s wasp sting, and they all went to their football match and I diverted to my Hostel Munchen. A damn fine hostel it was too! Totally new, thoroughly clean, totally efficient, there was such German-ness about it! The toilet flush was supremely controlled to provide exactly as much flush volume as one required. In the evening we met again (Jochen, myself and Jochen) promptly deciding to the go to the biggest beergarden of them all for a boys night. The glasses were 1 litre each, the atmosphere and people and families homely and cheerful, I really loved it with the 2 guys. We staggered home late, obviously very worse for wear.

A loudspeaker blaring out German doodles woke me up in the morning in my double bedroom, probably asking me to checkout, so I rolled my life into a single ball, organised laundry and made my way on the metro to Marionplatz where I am having a very pleasant English breakfast while writing this account. Everyboy in the square is watching the doll shows on the cathedral and it´s exterior facade. At midday we meet again in Hauptbahnhof (Central Station) to drive to swim at the lakes around here. I will be staying with Jochen near Stuttgart tonight. Please raise your 1 litre beer glasses to another sweet day in Bavaria! The Munich policy is to NOT head for the Ausgang (exit) until you are about to puke!

(End transmission, Sunday 11:15 in central square)
(Begin transmission just after midnight from Jochen's house in Wendlingen)

Today was just fab, a really German Sunday. It turned out starting late at Hauptbahnhof, I had to reserve a Berlin to Lyon overnight ticket then got the S2 to near Dachau to meet Jochen (the other one) in their flat, where we took the mick out of German asses on a pop-idol type show. Babs took her time to come and we got some inflatable lilos and a boat and set off in Jochen´s (my dive buddy now reffered to as Joch) A class Merc, both Jochen´s work at a subsidiary of Daimler-Chrysler and love their Mercedes Benz know-how. We found a lake and it was very busy. The day was spent in the fresh water of the lake, having a fantastic slow time, chicken and beer for lunch, listening to some Elvis impersonator go on all day and it ended in the evening. The blokes there had HUGE bellies, and came with the finest gear like chairs with footrests and holes for beer cans. "Ze Germans go swimming" I thought to myself, their each detail meticulously planned! We drove back and I said my goodbyes to Jochen and Babs. Both are really great people and I hope that they can visit me in England some time. Jochen is a go-getter and a mischevious git (worked in Hong Kong) while lovely Babs is the cool smoocher that keeps things afloat. Joch and I had a fabulous drive back to Stuttgart for a couple of hours in the autobahn, playing Mana really loud with the windows wide open, admiring the hugely powered SL´s and Porsches powering their way through the Swabian Alb. We got to near Stuttgart and decided to go to a proper German restaurant and beergarden for dinner. Having got there just after 9, very few people were dining. One of them was a Richard, a British aviator who gave us an interesting conversation and voiced his food connoisseurship. The cook bought us all schnapps on the house, of the best type, chosen from a variety of different bottles. My meal was excellent, the pork was tender, the potatoes roasted and excellent and the salad delicately presented and flavoured. We goodbyed Richard and the cook and made our way to Joch´s neighbourhood and met his mum and dad. They were lovely!! Jochen laid me a bed, I typed all this up on his PC and now I´m heading for noddyland. Tomorrow I will wake up early with Jochen and go to Stuttgart. I plan to see it during the day, maybe visit Vanessa and Sybren in the afternoon, and then get the overnight train to Berlin.

(End transmission)
(Begin transmission in Stuttgart)

Jochen´s mum gave us a heraty breakfast and I said a fond goodbye to the old man Jochen! I am very pleased he helped me experience what I did. I phoned Sybren and Vanessa and today I´ll spent it with Sybren in Stuttgart and go to the Porsche museum since the Mercedes museum is closed. My overnight train to Berlin is around 8, so I have the whole day to play. I absolutely love Stuttgart. The people even in the city centre are really chilled out and easy going. The whole place is prosperous and happy, one of the nicest German cities, but without many historical monuments. It is of course, home to the three pointed star, Mercedes Benz so you don´t have to walk far to see a top of the range SL AMG. Unfortunately on Monday, the workd famous Mercedes Benz/DaimlerChrysler/Maybach museum is closed. Next time I come to Stuttgart, Jochen has promised me a tour of the factory of DaimlerChrysler, which he could arrange (wow!) since he works for MBTechnology. Hey gotta go meet Sybren at HbF now, will post next in Berlin probably.

Hey fellow crazy mystics! I met Sybren/Vanessa in Stuttgart yesterday - did the PORSCHE museum (small but mega-delicious with a showroom next door). We then plodded into where Vanessa works at a Hausbrauerie and beer garden and the always charming Vanessa served us "house" pizzas and beer to our heart´s content. After her shift finished, we three had a good tram ride to the TV tower, at the top of which you can view all of Stuttgart, etc. all alpine and foresty. Following a traditional city centre snack, I said goodbye to them and boarded my excellent overnight DieBahn train carriage to Berlin Zoogarden. It was a joy to see Sybren and Vanessa and I wish them top luck.

Berlin is a fabulous cosmopolitan city, majestic with history and fame. The people are very free in their values, it seems like they are entire world´s think tank for all international violence, the pacifist view looks way strong here. Young Berliners (major hippy tribes) seem extremely well-read and intelligent. As a result, they have been interacting like great people - easily approached and intelligently analytical. Sounds perfect doesn´t it? Well I don´t know properly yet, it´s only been a day of being local here! lol! But so far - it looks like that - the changing, moulding city reacting to world affairs with individual opinions, in that fine German tradition of meticulous detail and foresight.

I moved my goodies into the main Berlin hostel and did laundry, showering, mosquito-bite checking, nose-picking, etc. Having a big hunger, I roamed around for late lunch and ate the apple that Jochen´s mummy gave me yesterday! I called David, whom I met in Florence not so long ago (see my journal entry from Florence - David is the German guitar man!) and he said to come down for dinner tonight at his place in Berlin - since he was baking pizza for his sisters. Anna Pusch (from Mexico) featured today - I got in touch with her at last through Vanessa´s mobile for her in Stuttgart! I shall meet her for a Berlin afternoon sight-seeing trek tomorrow. Tomorrow evening, I take the overnight train to Karlsruhe and then Lyon. My grape-picking job will start there for one or two weeks, and I hope to meet my brother, Gaz and Mark there to head to the farm that same day arriving in Lyon. So, it´s going to be away from the travelogue and into some serious manual labour for yours truly! But until then I´ll post. After the grape-picking, I plan to visit Sandrine in France and then stay in Amsterdam a few days and try 2 meet Anna the Dutch from Florence!

The evening was spent with David, in a flat at a majorly rundown area of East Berlin. I always enjoy cities up close and personal and this was it - a far cry for the Berlin that tourists would see. He met me at the stairs of the U-Bahn Neukolln and went to his place up many dark stairs. The place was hippy and VERY tastefully decorated. Now I forgot the names of David's two sisters - Jennifer and ? But the tall "waitress" character was the craziest hippy in Deutscheland and a really tall guy (Torsten?) reminded me of Sybren from Stuttgart. We made pizza and put it to bake one by one in the gas oven and then sat down, ate it, talked like nuts, opened my wine and mellowed out. I said goodbye for a totally cool hippy evening in old East Berlin, dodged the Persian rugs and candles and David's guitars and went out a happy man. Getting home was an adventure since a couple of U-bahn lines were closed, so making friends quickly was a helpful skill to have to get from road to bus to road again in homeward direction. The Turkish population here is very high, and unlike England, kebabs are eaten while people are still sane! lol!

The day begins again in Berlin youth hostel. I thought I had to leave for Lyon tonight but its actually tomorrow, bumhole me! Having got over this palaver, metro rides were had to Checkpoint Charlie. Reponsible for the quote:

You are now leaving the American zone

The legendary Checkpoint Charlie museum was very touching and explored how people tried to sneak out of Soviet East Berlin using almost every concievable method possible - there were model old Volkswagens on display with hidden compartments to hide people, diving gear made from a tip, makeshift tunnelling equipment, someone even got through in the stomach of a pantomime cow - if people are desperate then necessity is the mother of invention. Border soldiers who didn't kill people who tried to escape (missed the shot on purpose for example) were themselves "removed from service". The monumental struggles that occured resulted in a day of great hope in 1989 for German and world history. In 1989, the Berlin wall fell and the world gasped as East and West Berliners met on the wall and cried and celebrated the end of conflicts that were without parallel in the Western World. TV pictures and photos of the Reichstag, the graffitied wall, the Brandenburg Gate flashed that day across people's minds and the lyrics of "Imagine" found an eternal place in history. And it was just in 1989! I felt privileged as a visitor - able to breathe an air of unity and marvel at this unique and complex city that has set an example to freedom-loving people.

In the afternoon I met the two Stefi's, Anne and Tina and we all went to some totally "out of the way" places like a music and art school (where I thiefed a poster) and to the edge of the presently standing Berlin wall. There exists a bar with sand and all next to the river - the locals knew it as "the beach". The girls and I spent all the rest of the afternoon here and I dozed off into a lush sleep on my deckchair, which must've lasted hours. Before sleeping Anna had bought me a special green Berlin beer. Anna shook me awake and I was lost for a minute before it sank in where I was - at a beach bar next to part of the Berlin wall that still stands. Wouldn't that be simply unthinkable just 15 years ago? The beach bar - Princess (Birke) mailed me from the States about this - is it the same one?
I rode a really old Dutch bicycle that belonged to one of the girls and had a hilarious ride over a U-bahn bridge to an Indian restaurant, where we all had a great dinner finishing with lassi. It is fairly scary to have dinner with so many girls (one more came later). Anna and her friend from Hamburg went home tired (Anna personal note - thanks for meeting me with all your friends, it was appreciated a lot!) and a handful of us headed for the bars of Kreuzberg. There I met Marcus, a boyfriend role and architect and generally great chap who gave me a cool red and white jacket to wear since I didn't have any and I told his girlfriend I was getting cold! We went for COCKTAILS in East Berlin, which was all wierd and quiet and looked Communist. Marcus and I shared POWER cocktails (quoting from the menu) and discussed linguistics, differences and arse jokes (with the ladies of course!). I didn't stagger to bed this time, but it was darn late, same replacement bus service confusion ...

At breakfast having spicy steamed beans - my mojo wanted to be a tourist so I packed out and dumped my rucksack in a paid locker at Berlin Zoo Station. Then feeling light, had a big bratwurst sausage dog on the street and mineral water for lunch while admiring the magnificent Reichstag. The bus tour was okay, and like the old story about the English and German rivalry at the beach (nicking each other's sunbeds every morning), many seats had purses and food on them to indicate "get lost from this seat". I really hate tourists, even though today, I am one! Lol! Back at the square in the afternoon, I dozed off on a bench looking at a mesmerising fountain of Zeus and his children, which I haven't found in my Rough Guide. The fountain is centred with Zeus sitting on a shell, his children accidentally gliding into the pool and lobsters, crabs and serpents waiting to devour them below. And water gushes everywhere on green curves.

NOTE TO ALL BERLIN NEWCOMERS - go round it! It is located directly opposite Berlin's TV tower, and made me sleep fresh as a daisy. Often, I see Rennaisance and Baroque sculptures (or any at all!) and I struggle to understand their artistic context, their reasons for being so, but in this case, I studied Zeus and it's curvatures and detail, imagining scenes of a God ruling a violent sea, his children prone to dangers. Good yes.

Tomorrow evening, my lifestyle changes and I meet my brother, Mark and later Gaz, and we settle down to work in a vineyard in Villefranche-sur-Saone in Beaujoulais a while. Vive la France!

I love you all, and updates will be infrequent while I'm on the farm! Please promise me that you'll drink lots of water, drive really fast, and take care of yourselves! Bye for now, I got an overnight train. And see you in Lyon in lovely wine-powered France.

I think I was born to ride the railroad earth.

Usually I don't mention my transportation details but this time it's worth it. I spent the whole night on the train with a little kid jumping everywhere like a monkey and his fully moustached French daddy was jumping all over with him. So our cabin of 6 lost our minds but found our soul, as the kid just refused to settle. And I woke up at just after 5 a.m. when the ticket lady murmured something in formal German DIRECT into my ear - to change at Karlsruhe. So I spent the day getting to Lyon and the scenery panorama from my window was maginifico. Back to the point - I wrote this transportation passage simply to mention the shower. I wanted to have a shower, so when I reached Lyon Part Dieu, my shower cost me - 6 euros. I find my daily shower SOMEWHERE, but this time there was no option but to pay their sodding dues. And a darn good "shower" it was too - I spent ages having an excellent shave, had the longest poo in living memory and a monumentally long shower - so I made my money's worth! At the beginning, I almost charmed the lady at reception to accepting 3 euros, she was lovely, but her boss walks in like a frowning Trevor McDonald and they both laugh while I continue moaning about the inflated price of 6 euros. Darn, for that much, I would expect her to come in and scrub me personally!

The surrounds of Lyon Perrache are not that nice, the surroundings are overgrown with a lot of dodgy teenagers, mostly of North African origin. I say they are dodgy because asking directions to a different bunch on 4 different occassions - ended up in a blabberation of useless junk, talking without flair or flavour. Probably city centre victims like in other major cities? The whole afternoon was spent in a cafe and in the parks, dozing away and reading. I met Mark and Kunal in the evening and a great, memorable job began.

Tomorrow is our last day, Gaz had his first yesterday.

**** ME! We are living in an ancient house about 300 years old, and at the farmhouse we get meals. Pierre Blanche (the farm) is maintained by Jean Trouche, almost retired and working on the farm since the age of 10. There is about 12-15 of us, all kinds of people. A few days ago, I caught a cold and I've been put on an antibiotic and a wierd steroid and feeling like a zombie, my knees are in pain and my hands are cut up everywhere. This hard manual labour has taught me the hard way the qualities of persistence and humility. The work is to cut grapes using the aid of secateurs into a bucket, all day. We all sing and talk on the fields to pass the time, but is very hard labour. My lower back and hamstrings were first to be in agonising pain. And the damn drugs I was taking didn't help the situation at all.

The working day starts at 5:30am. when Vincent claps us all awake. I have to say Vincent was always the most good-humored and cheerful man I ever met, even at 5:30am in the morning. Sometimes I also pick up the guitar at this time and sing Abu awake with the ABU song really loud since he never wakes up. We are bundled into a van, smelling like pants, secateurs ready, I wear the same clothes since they are so filthy there's no reason to change. Breakfast is rudimentary - coffee or tea and bread, then we're off in the cool of the dark morning. Buckets in hand, going on and on and on. By lunchtime we are dead, and lunch comes, the biggest meal of 3 courses, usually very filling. Then it's a quick nap and we're back to work in the vineyards until 6 p.m. in the evening. In high spirits at the end of the day, all the boys attack the front door to try and get to the shower, it's a daily battle. 2 days ago our toilet broke and leaked everywhere (so we have no toilet) and during a lightning storm, bits of plaster fell into our room off the roof. About the toilet, there is a picture of Mark pooing outside and unfortunately some of me pooing outside also. For fear of the roof collapsing, we rapidly moved our beds out. I remember how utterly incredible the storm was.

Massive lightning sparks would light the sky every few seconds. We (me, Jeremy, Kunal, Gaz and Mark) went to the top of a hill to see them. The wine is nice and the grapes are not for eating but still tasty to nibble. People:

- Abu - clearly the coolest grape picker in France. A thin, wiry, laid back and very silly man from the Comoros Islands. Many a time we have screamed "ABOOOOOO" while working just for the hell of it. But the one phrase which us English will remember him for - "Don't problem, Happy Birthday!" LOLOLOLOLOL!!!!!!
- Mark, Gaz, Kunal - My two friends from university and my brother, whom I convinced to share this nightmare with me. The language barrier is an annoying problem, and I often felt isolated since I didn't speak French.
- Fred and Jean-Luc - two Frenchmen, Fred hyper-intellectually studying sculpture in Milan and Jean-Luc a rugged horse from Normandy whose hair put David Bowie and other front wavy-hair exhibitors to shame. Jean-Luc's car had his whole house packed inside and I used to drive up to a church with him lunchtimes and his music was very random.
- Mummy Maud, Xavier the troll, Rashid, David the weed. Xavier was usually the suspect when it came to antics like emptying Abu's shaving cream bottle onto Mark's bed. We told David the meaning of gay properly and then called him gay all the time. The inside of Xavier's mouth was a war zone, as teeth battled with other teeth and grew from everywhere, even from under his tongue.
- Jeremy - French, black, American? English speaking. His firm belief that everything was down to Jesus Christ formed the bulk of our conversations. Even asking him for the time went off into a Jesus tangent. Jeremy was reliable, friendly and straightforward, and I admired him much. And cool - a former rap lover converted to Christianity 6 years ago.
- There was a girl on the last day who was very interesting since she was exactly like the central character in the book I'm trying to write at the moment. She taught circus skills, was fairly hippy and a calm serene kind that must have had some amazing things to say if given the chance.

I have never worked harder in my whole life, not that I can remember. I have been taught to bow to the earth in this job, literally. A truly different "holiday".

The last afternoon was jubilant - Abu as usual was just standing around and eating grapes. The most hilarious phrase in existence from Abu "Dont problem, Happy Birthday" will be immortalised on a tshirt that me, Mark, Gaz and Kunal will print and wear in the UK. That night we went to a riverside after dinner near Villefranche (we "tried" a disco the night before which was a little shandypants) and made a giant fire. Vincent's guitar was unfortunately bashed by a couple of people who sat on it in the dark, so my only source of music died. Here we whiled away hours until it got very cold and we went back to our very old house for our last night there on my creaky bed and no toilet. We had to, yes, poo outside which we did. Up late the next morning, the four of us packed up and had a celebration dinner in the farmhouse. Despite other people's opinions, I admire Jean (the farmer) for his general good nature and humanity, he was a Frenchman to the core (can't take that away!) and big-hearted. In the afternoon, tours of a nearby town followed and we sorrowfully did our hugs and goodbyes. I had just been paid, hundreds of euros. Muhahahahaha.

Our plan was simple - get to Lyon on the train and book a classy luxury hotel. We ended up at the Ibis and managed to steal all the towels, I nabbed two mugs and bowls and Mark drew a big horse and cock with "Dont problem, Happy Birthday!" captioned on the bathroom mirror. We had a nice evening at a Chinese restaurant downtown, checked out the youth hostel and retired. In the morning, Gaz casually suggested renting a car instead of taking the train to Calais, and that he could drive on the right hand side (from Texas days). With this understanding, we booked a car and anticipated an awesome 2 day road trip to Calais. Kunal wanted to find an internet cafe, as did I. But get this - WE DID NOT FIND ANY. Are these people ancient? Has the internet not reached France? This annoyed me a lot - no internet cafe near central station in the second largest city in France. The streets and bars were all empty last night. Or have we just chosen a bad time to come to Lyon, maybe it's city holiday time? We returned to get the car. Unfortunately, they told Gaz he hadn't held his UK license for long enough at the last moment. The task fell on me to drive the car. And I had never driven on the right side road system before! What ensued was a Class A adventure for me, and I'm sure - for my 3 passengers!

It took a while getting used to opposite side driving. We lumbered out of urban Lyon, I was getting stressed about how wierd it was, and there must have been a few near misses with cars at the beginning lol!. In our Fiat Punto, Gaz next to me, giving me advice from his American driving days. I drove and drove, gaining confidence through long, beautiful roads, rolling countryside and endless fields and stopped at a random village. Since the autoroutes were toll taxed, we went via smaller roads. Around evening time, I passed a set of traffic lights and saw two vehicles with flashing police style lights pull in front and behind me. People pulled out and I noticed the guns in their belt holsters. They were plain clothes policemen and women, and claimed I jumped a red light and became fairly aggressive. Eventually we lightened up after they took a good look inside (I would say that is the only reason they stopped us, as I know I didnt jump no red light). My mind was briefly jolted by this and then by the fuel gauge descending fast to E. When we finally found a 24h petrol station near Wassy, our bank and credit cards wouldn't validate and we waited for somebody to else to come and paid him cash for filling us up. More small road driving, asking around at hotels and we reached party hip Reims, which was a very cool town. On the way there, a speed camera flashed me, and I expect Hertz to get in touch with me for the punishment if it was a real snapper! The sunset was orange like the outer fire of hell, which we observed while I drove around like a loon in search of a lake that we saw road signs for. We never saw the lake, so Gareth has taken the liberty of naming it "the lost lake of France", an adventure worthy of Indiana Jones.

Mark was annoyed silly by the rudeness of a guy at some hotel reception. We returned to the car, went through to Laon and slept in the car under some railway bridge somewhere. It was uncomfortable, and tough, but we did and my neck muscles died. I woke up again at 6 a.m. and everyone else woke and I began driving again, all bleary-eyes and road-trip happy. The sunrise was glorious through vast cornfields as I stepped on the throttle to reach Le Touquet and Boulougne-sur-mer. At Calais, we parked and walked around, and found an Auchan hypermarket and stocked up on cheap French booze into the car. The car heavy now, I dropped the car at Calais East Terminal and we bought a just in time ferry ticket. The lady in one of the car hire counters was so nice I couldn't help watching her. What a hottie. Mark bought porn. I said goodbye to the Fiat Punto that couldn't manage any more than 140 kph. (I tried!).

It suddenly struck me that I had driven almost one thousand kilometres across France for two days, on the wrong side of the road. And as quietly as I was driving, I smiled when I remembered these two days which didn't really have a day or a night.

The white cliffs of Dover emerged from under the porn I was reading, and I knew home was atop the white cliffs in the green and pleasant land. I presented my British passport in Dover, and I was asked (since I am not white) whether I was British or not, and I laughed "Yes!". My dad brought his big Land Rover down to Dover and picked us all up to spell the end for my trip, and for this Europe travelogue. I thank you for reading and hope that you live the dream and seek the dream. Because we only live once chummy.

Get on the road, open the windows, floor the throttle and let the wind do the talking.

This travelogue is now complete. The following is an index of useful links:

Photo Galleries - Before France and In France
Jump to entries - First entry, Milano to Firenze, The Cinque Terre, Liguria

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