I did a good job at not letting the panic set in, although when I think back it was probably the fatigue of next to no sleep and the comedown and hangover of the night before that had depleted my desires to give a fuck. I sent out a few texts to people back at the house about my lost bank card. All I really needed was the security digits on the back and I’d be set to top up my now empty Travelex card, failing that I also had Al on the line, who gave me his card details to also try and top it up with, an idea which failed immediately due to the T’s and C’s of Travelex. With no sign of my bank card in Berlin, I boarded the now 3 hour late Polski Bus and set off for Poznan, where on the way I would take advantage of the on board Wi-fi and sort my little problem out.
Despite the bus being inexcusably late it was also completely packed, the air con weren’t working, the seats didn’t recline I was sat on the side where the sun was greenhousing through the glass right onto my face and whats worse the on board Wi-Fi also weren’t working. Then it was made apparent that the reason for the bus’ lateness was some huge road works on the road that lead to the border, which was almost bumper to bumper for what seemed like hours. Which meant I wasn’t to be arriving in Poznan until late that night, which meant that I probably wouldn’t get to the hostel until at least midnight, but what this also meant is that I would not be able to at least find a Western Union to withdraw the money that Al had just sent me. Then it also dawned on me that the following day was a Sunday and of course what with Poland being the devout Catholic country that it is, the likelihood would be that everything would be shut.
I didn’t arrive until 11pm, all I had to my name was a few cigarettes and a charged phone, the latter of which would at least help me find the hostel that I had booked and pray that it had a 24 hour reception and that the folks on that particular late shift would be willing to let me pay for my stay the following morning. After over an hour of wondering around the city of Poznan, I eventually found my digs where a very welcoming bloke was to show me to my room for the evening. The following day I awoke early to find where, if any Western Unions would be open to retrieve my Polish pesetas sent to me by Al. Seeing as I hadn’t eaten in the best part of 48 hours I took full advantaged of the basic yet complimentary hostel breakfast. To my horror the WU website was only showing the locations of branches that were all indeed closed on a Sunday. However the bird doing the morning shift was very helpful in looking up potential shops that ran the service, and then marking them out on a map for me. The first shop she suggested couldn’t understand my request, then the machine wasn’t working in the second. By now I was beginning to panic, until I remembered the huge shopping centre to the north of the city where the coach station was. Sure enough there was a branch there and I was able to retrieve enough cash for my entire stay in Poland. Unfortunately this entire hoorah meant that I was unable to truly explore Poznan, even though from what I had experienced it had been a friendly city. Also during this slight ordeal I ended up missing my coach to Warsaw and instead took a train. Too used to British train prices I expected to be taken for the proverbial ride. I considered the £6 ticket for the 3 and a half hour train journey to be the start of some good fortune.
Seeing as all the seats on the train were full I opted to sit in the area just outside the toilets and read for the duration, intermittently staring out the window at the Polish countryside and smiling to myself as different passengers used the facilities to have a crafty fag despite the signs for no smoking.
On the lead up to the trip I had two assumptions as to what the long mundane traveling periods of the trip was going to be like. Either it was going to be where I got my head together and did some writing, or it was going to be where the come downs would set in and I’d spend these particular journeys with my head tucked in silently crying to myself. But in truth neither of these situations came to pass, instead of busting out a masterpiece memoir whilst it was still fresh in my head or wishing that I was dead, I would usually just stare out of the window not really thinking of anything in particular until I reached my destination. Still cant decide whether that was a good thing or not.
My time in Warsaw was humble in the sense that I spent the afternoons just wondering around and looking at things and the evenings making friends and getting drunk in the hostel. The old town district especially was picturesque and pretty. Just by chance I happened to arrive on the anniversary of the Warsaw uprising, which was a month long battle between the Warsaw people and the Nazi’s where with limited supplies and weapons the Polish brought the Nazi’s to the brink and very nearly liberated their city. However the uprising ended in a massacre with the final death toll thought to be about 16,000 with loads more injured. The Nazi’s left most of the city flattened but a lot of the old town has been rebuilt brick by brick in commemoration of how it was pre war. The Uprising museum is well worth a look if you are in town, obviously it was very busy when I visited and there’s so much information on the event available there I couldn’t take it all in. What was especially cool though was at 6pm an air raid siren sounds and all cars stop in the street and sound their horns. By the time I’d got to the main square in the old town I was blinded by red flare smoke and the place was filled with jubilant Poles dancing in the street. There was also traditional music being played on every corner and choirs singing songs that were banned during the occupation. It was an electric atmosphere on a beautiful summers day.
My hostel experience in Warsaw was also one of my favorites. The place had one of those bustiling atmospheres where everybody just chatted away to each other like they’d all known each other for years. On first arriving I tried my luck with a profoundly gorgeous, geeky Parisian girl, who was stopping over in Warsaw for the night before meeting friends for some orchestra concert or something. Despite the libido killing question of asking me where I was from in Australia I thought I’d try my best with this one, there was something about her innocent energy yet clearly well travelled wisdom that really made me take a shine to her. That and of course she had a sexy French accent that spoke English impeccably. Unfortunately though, despite my increasingly less subtle advances she very nonchalantly batted every one of them away. Parisian women are an enigma, wrapped in a riddle printed on a conundrum t-shirt.
Another bird I took a liking too at the hostel was a sexy, chunky and gobby London girl, who’s unmistakable Camden accent made my ears perk up in amongst the cacophony of the platoon of Americans she was playing drinking games with. I joined her for a fag in the smoking room and both felt in good company talking to fellow Londoners again. She took particular interest in me when I lied and said I had my own private room. Then another Australian bird joined the conversation and we decided to go out on the town together. They said they’d be 15 minutes to get ready, knowing women as I do I know to double this time and add another 10 minutes on. 45 minutes later an having drunk my pint and already suitably pissed I decided to just hit the town by myself anyway and get a kebab. Whilst walking the streets I started to think about Deirdre’s platonic tone with me in Berlin and then those 2 chances that never even got off the drawing board with the birds in the hostel. That’s when I conceded that this trip was odds on to be a try one in terms of sex. On the bright side though the kebab was one of the best I’d ever tasted. Mixed wrap with olives and feta cheese. Absolutely inspired.
I was having so much fun wondering around foreign cities and trading travel and culture stories with the person next to me in every hostel that I stopped off in that I started to question whether I should commit to Ozora. The festival was over a week long, I knew nobody else going, I’m not a fan of psy-trance and like I say I was having so much fun just simply traveling around. I was just about to call time on the idea, mug it off and just devise a plan around exploring more of eastern Europe before flying straight to Lisbon. Then I received an email from Arielle, an absolutely wonderful spirit that I had met at Nowhere. A real Canadian babe who unfortunately I didn’t spend enough time with when I was there. Her and some friends were hitchhiking and were due to go to Ozora and upon hearing this I thought fuck it. I’m on a festival odyssey, so I’ll complete a festival odyssey. The psy-trance pilgrimage was an experience I was looking forward to since I first thought of the idea.
On my last night I enjoyed a 3 course meal of dumplings, meat stew and apple pie and ice cream washed down with an ice cold Tyskie straight from the source. Even in the most tourist trap area of the Old Town this meal came to around £9.50 English money. Beers at the hostel were just over a pound a pint, half price at happy hour. My last night I got talking to a very enthusiastic Danish fella who advised to me to visit an area of Ukraine on the Western border. Due to the current conflict everything there is cheap, even the whores. He assured me you could have to most shallow night of your life fucking the most gorgeous hooker you could think of and it would cost the equivalent of €20 for the hour… That’s better then Thai prices. He assured me that Ukranien women were the hottest in Europe also. I’ll have to look into a trip there before the tourist board grows wise to this cut price haven or the conflict starts to resolve itself.
By the time of last orders a group of us from Finland, Norway, Sweden, Holland and Northern Island were all sat round a table getting on famously, they tried to coerce me out for a pub crawl but I had to get a coach to Budapest the following day at 6am, meaning I had to be up at 5.
The trip to Budapest was another grueling affair that took almost 15 hours, I hadn’t eaten anything and couldn’t get comfortable enough to sleep. Again I thought I may be able to find the head space to write or read but just couldn’t. My mind just went into a weird restless trance like state. I did spend the whole trip sat next to a rather queer fella from Turkmenistan, he told me that he’d never met anyone from the UK in Poland before. I told him that I don’t think I’d ever met anyone from Turkmenistan before and I live in London the most multi cultural city in the world. He was pleasant company for a long drive. What I was surprised by was how beautiful Slovakia is. Gorgeous mountains and picturesque little villages. At almost 23:00 we were dropped on the outskirts of Budapest and I some how made my way to the city centre where I was to learn that Hungarian taxi drivers are probably some of the highest earners in the country as a journey that lasts less then 10 minutes cost about 15 quid. Considering my hostel was £8 a night this really puts things into perspective.
Unfortunately I didn’t see much of Budapest. I popped out for a drink and something to eat but got too embarrassed by the the hordes of loud and obnoxious British people parading through the streets singing stupid variations of football chants and kicking things over and just generally being rude and disrespectful in someone else’s city. We really our the worst travellers in the world. Must be a colonial thing.
The next day I set off for Ozora, but if you want to read about that it has it’s own blog post. My next destination was Lisbon, which was to the precursor to the jewel in the crown of the Summer. I had planned to meet up with Phil and offered him the spare room in our Air BNB in return for his impeccable hosting in Berlin. Also arriving was my main man Paya flying in from London and the man, the myth & living legend Chris was detouring on his way back from almost a year in New Zealand.
For some reason I’d planned to leave Ozora a day early and put myself up in a hostel in Lisbon before the lads showed up. Again this was the start of yet another ordeal when I found myself waiting in despair at the empty luggage carousel at Lisbon airport wondering where the fuck my bag could possibly be. I had visions of the baggage reclaim people telling me that my luggage had inadvertently been sent to India and that I’d have to wait 3 days for it’s return. Luckily though after about an hour low and behold my bag appeared. I was then offered hash from my first of many Lisbon drug dealers in the airport departure lounge, decided against the lengthy que for the taxis and tried my luck with the subway which took almost 40 minutes for my intial train to arrive. Once I hit the sea front of Lisbon it was then another hours walk. If I hadn’t grown tired of lugging around 20kilo’s of weight on my back in hot and humid conditions this was probably the moment that I had.
The following day I found an even more exhausted looking Phil carrying 2 heavy bags of kit under both arms. He himself had had quite the mission down. 3 days in a car with no sleep and only a big bag of ketamine to help pass the time. We found our Air BNB down a pretty little cobble street not far from the sea front and waited for the others to arrive. As he hadn’t slept in 3 days, had barely eaten and managed to get through the best part of 10 grams of ketamine Phil was in quite the state. The sleep depravation was making him paranoid over the slightest thing and when Christo finally arrived he struggled to understand a word we was saying…. Although to be fair to the guy many people from Britain cant understand me and Christo once we get going.
We went for a walk around the alleys of Lisbon and instantly I was charmed by the beauty of the historic city, it’s a capital city that’s beauty is equal to that of its people, as the Portuguese are a very good looking breed. Even the girls that would probably be considered plain are stunning and I noticed that the police looked like they could be cat walk models.
We got a load of food for the apartment and cracked open my bottle of duty free rum. Before too long Paya had arrived and we were in full swing. Here it was! The big one we had been planning for 2 years. A couple of nights in Lisbon before heading off to absolute paradise for 8 whole days. I remember when booking our apartment that the owner gave a strict ‘no noise after 10pm’ notice. We aint the rowdiest bunch going but as I previously mentioned once you take us Brits out of Britain we are an absolute nightmare. Once the noise complaints came in I was already in drunken prick mode and did my best to wind the neighbors up as much as I could. Usually I wouldn’t be such a cunt but it weren’t like we were screaming and shouting and blaring gabber. We were playing mostly soul, lounge and Stevie Wonder records and talking in a civilized manor. Even the following night when me and Christo stayed up chatting in a whisper we got a bang on the ceiling. I swear at one point I farted and the neighbour kicked off about that too. But it was a night spent in good company. We stuck Phil in bed once he’d cooked us a lovely meal and we all stayed up chatting and joking away, suggesting ideas of how we can one day make our fortune, when Paya chimed in with ‘British Gas offer free electricity on weekends, we take advantage of this offer to cultivate as much cocoa leaf as possible and manufacture the hugest amount of the most pure cocaine possible…. Then we cut it to buggery and sell it on!’
The following day made our way to the big shopping mall to the north of the city to stock up on supplies for BOOM. I had abandoned my piece of shit tent at Ozora and was in need of another one as was Chris. There were also a few other sundries we required that could all be found in this huge shopping emporium. Our plan in the evening was to then go to the historic town of Sintra, get some dinner and watch the sun go down although a ticket machine malfunction and a disgruntled station attended killed the idea dead. Instead we went to find the all you can eat meat buffet that Paya and Chris had eaten at last time they came to BOOM.
Now as you may know Portugal decriminilised drugs back in 2002 and I think it was, making drug use and addiction a health matter rather then a criminal one. The result of this evidently means that the countries capital city is now overflowing with drug dealers trying to shift eggs of hash and coke. We couldn’t walk more then 10 steps at a time without the sound of ‘Hashees? Cocaine? You try?’ I remember my nearest experience to this previously was when I went to Rotterdam and after a while the absurdity of it turned into a bit of a joke. Lisbon however it turned into a bit of a nightmare, it was what I imagine walking through a street market in Marakesh must be like. We were doing so well turning down the offers of devils dandruff at every corner until one chap with an incredible sales pitch worked us into a position where we couldn’t say no. we paid €150 for what was meant to be an eighth but when we got it home it seemed considerably less… It was also no better then your standard pub grub back home and ended up putting me off my dinner. Another case of our own stupidity eclipsing our savyness.
After the meal we went for a walk around the city and it’s just as beautiful at the night as it is in the day. Phil however did the whole thing barefoot as earlier in the evening whilst we were smoking a joint on the sea front he dropped his phone into the water, the site of the sliding phone and the sound of ‘NIIIINNNNEEEE!’ as Phil ran in to retrieve it still makes me smile to this day.
That night Phil and Paya went to sleep first and left me and Christo to have a well over due catch up. We’d known each other for years mainly as rave acquaintances, but it was the last BOOM incidentally where we really became close. So we sat up trading travel stories, drinking rum and snorting shit coke until the neighbors complained some more.
The following day Phil headed out early to catch a train to the nearest town to BOOM where he was hoping to get volunteer work or even a paid position for the festival. We all set off to the airport to catch our BOOM bus. As we reached the front of the line and I handed over my ticket the chap politely smiled and welcomed me by name and then dropped the line ‘Oh sorry we have a problem… Your coach ticket is for tomorrow, we cant get you on a bus now until atleast 10pm tonight’… It wasn’t even lunch time by this point. Then just as I started to rack my brains as to how it was I going to be able to find a way to make the 170km trip to BOOM I started to feel sick, then broke out in a sweat and then puked all over the steps of Lisbon airport arrivals. I’d notice the day before I weren’t feeling too fresh but put it down to a hangover, now I was worried that I may have a virus from the Portuguese… I had taken ill and now had to make a huge journey alone. Just another opponent God had sent for me to knock out….