I woke up in pain. This couch needs to be thrown out the window on to a pile of burning coals, it's a death trap! As soon as Pedro woke up I asked If I could sleep in his room, he must have known how bad the couch was because he apologized if it was hard to sleep and happily agreed to sharing his room with me. Pedro left for work and I left at around 2 pm to meet Zane in the city. I waited at the bus stop for about 10 minutes and got on board when it arrived. There wasn't anyway to get a ticket on the bus itself and the driver gave me the precise look one gives a stranger in whom no fucks can be given. I got the message and sat down promptly.Within moments we were at the substation for several bus routes in our area. A young lady attempted to help me but gave me instructions of a complicated nature that involved several transfers. None of which I understood because she barely spoke English at all. Even if I wanted to join her on the bus she was about to board, before our conversation ended a technician came up to the ticket box and started disassembling it before I could buy a ticket. Thus I was left with the only option I had left, take Pedro's advice and board bus 70, and so that is what I did. Along my journey through the barren fields outside of Bratislava, I witnessed the faces of local people from a region of the world half familiar to me from my own heritage and half alien. This being my first time in Eastern Europe I wasn't really sure what to expect, but I immediately Sensed a coldness and sadness to it, unlike that which I've experienced in Germany or Korea, both of which share their own brand of national shame and regret, but this, this is something different. Korea deals with its eternal sadness as it being apart of their cultural identity, a fact easily seen through their everyday lives and also their excellent entertainment of the dramatic variety. While Germany's shame is mitigated through the eternal pursuit of order, and excellence, and all whilst living with constant reminders that they once hailed the banner of earths last great boogie man. In Slovakia though, the sadness and shame are to be found in the attitudes of the people in General. Many seek to be totally separated from anything Slovakian, preferring to call themselves European. The second world war ended with Czechoslovakia becoming two countries, the Czech Republic and Slovakia, Slovakia getting the worst end of the bargain. After that communism came and all semblance of life as they once knew was eradicated through strict and brutal Soviet policies. To top it all off they were quickly dropped into "capitalistic democracy" when the Soviet Union collapsed in the early 90's and are even now slow to meet this new paradigm. After all they've been through I imagine they're reluctant to believe in any new system that is handed to them. Once I reached the station I checked my messages and realized that the last thing I had told Zane was that I'd meet him, but I didn't specify the time. Not one to twiddle my thumbs I went to the nearest pub and got a beer so that I could use their wifi. Which I didn't need to do because the bar tender gave me the password before I even ordered anything, but I felt obliged non the less.Once contact with Zane was made, I stood on the foot bridge waiting for him. Many people came and went, but Zane took a long time to arrive, and since neither of us had cell phones we couldn't contact each other unless we got wifi. It's a throw back to the good old days when no one had cell phones and if we planned to meet somewhere, we damn sure would, or somebody would be waiting and then leaving without ever knowing what happened, until they got home, or talked the next day. I miss those times. Zane arrived 40 minutes late, I met him and smiled as he told me about how he had lost track of time, he couldn't see then that my German blood was boiling from this affront to punctuality, order and reason, because my face was the picture of calm and tranquillity. A skill I have barely learned to use in the last year or so. Usually I just blow up and live up to the title Blake gave me once during a mushroom trip that I told him not to make a scene in, "Daniel Maddox, the KING of making a scene, is telling me not to.. Ahaha!" He said.We found a nice little pub in which to eat and drink, that was darkly lit and furnished with equally dark furniture and giant wooden spool tops hanging from the ceiling. We drank 1.5L of IPA beer, then bought a bottle of Gin and juice to bring to the couch surfing party we were heading to next. We got directions for how to get there from the bar tender but she suggested we just take a sanctioned taxi from their pub. Which would be cheaper, safer, and faster than the unsanctioned kind.We being the rebellious, trail blazing Californians that we are, totally ignored such sound advice and headed out in the parties relative direction. After walking for quite a while, and seeing no point in going on, we hailed a cab, presumably unsanctioned, and then obviously so, when he charged us 17 dollars to drive 7 kilometers... But we made it there safe and sound, thats the important thing. At the door to the apartment building we rang upstairs and a young ladies voice answered, "whats the password?" "Um... We have no idea" "Daniel?" "Yes it's me" "come on up" and the door buzzed open. We started climbing the stairwell when Vierka met us half way. "My names Vierka, pleased to meet you." She said enthusiastically as she led us up the stairs to her apartment, which was packed with 8+ couch surfers from the world over. We entered into a kitchen set ablaze with several international dishes at work from a few different chefs. Vierka had set up a cook off between all her couch surfers and we were witness to it. The alcohol driven merriment was also in full swing, as several massive bottles of beer 2.5L each were already empty at the table. Once we added our gin and juice to the mix things really picked up. As usual I was immediately sucked into the most philosophical and political discussion possible, this time with a Turk named Burak, as we heavily debated world politics and religion, the others tuned out and discussed their own lives and travels, this being the usual case, we continued on unabated. Vierka told us of a cool bar in town with live music, so five of us, including Vierka, Zane and I, decided to go. While several others, including Burak remained at her house. We left her apartment, took the city bus and made it to the city center. There we came to Zborjnas bar, where Zuzka was already waiting for us. It's a small little place with a tunnel like shape and feel. Zane left early because Zuzka wasn't happy about us arriving at 11 when we said we would be there by 10 or 11, and she arrived at 10. I stayed with the crew and rocked out to the hip band until near closing, then we took a trolley and then a taxi home since the busses had stopped running. I got to Pedro's and passed out in his bed.
Thanks to Masala
In the morning the ladies make a super big breakfast, but all I can eat is the sliced apples and orange juice. Meanwhile Tal and Peter ravage through the bread, cheese, eggs, meat and butter like starved wolves in a chicken coop. After the slaughter we join the Israelis on a journey through the city. They are on their own mission, I just wanted food and water, so we eventually split up. We may be in the capital city, but that doesn't matter, it's Sunday and this is still Germany, and that means that almost everything is closed. So we walked for what seemed like hours, looking for food and water. Eventually I really slowed down, Zane was always at least 15-20 feet ahead of me, which isn't unusual considering his super long legs and quick speed, but this was ridiculous. It was cold too, and eventually Zane and I made the call to return home. Paying a premium for a little bottle of water in the train station, which Im still happy for regardless.By the time we get back to Annika's I have enough bloating and pain in my stomach to know I'm in for a long couple days running back and forth to the throne room, and I'm pretty damn sure it has everything to do with that sweet and sour slop I ate at Masala, the Indian joint yelp thought so highly of.From dusk till dawn I'm squirting Masala like nobody's business. Getting up so often that at one point I decide to just stand over the sink drinking water to continue the next volley thats sure to come. By morning I'm a zombie, wrecked on so many levels its sad. I need food so bad at this point that I leave the house before anyone is awake and go to the market. I slam my finger in the door jam on the way out, a blood blister from the start, just great.. At the super market I get apples, mixed salads that came with their root ball in the bag, very interesting, and an avocado.I eat alone until Annika comes in the kitchen and makes a few cups of coffee, both of which she drinks to her face before she can muster anything more than "hey"... Apparently she's not a morning person, and today, neither am I. At first Annika was going to meet us somewhere in the city, but this was not going to happen, I knew that much. Fortunately for us she quickly finished what she had to do and we all take the bus to a Russian war memorial in Treptower park on the outskirts of town. The place is a graveyard for 80,0000 Russian soldiers who died taking Berlin, its a fairly large rectangle lined with massive iron gates, emblemed with the classic communist star. The entrance is flanked on either side by huge statues of Russian soldiers baring arms and heavy winter coats, while the sides are unmarked graves lined with depictions of the communist struggle against fascism, all of which leads up to the biggest statue of them all at the back. This statue is of a burly russian commander crushing the nazi swastika under his boots, which towers above the pavilion on a mound. Under which lies a little gated room filled with mosaics. I believe it was the only marked grave there. But I can't be sure, since there was no writing I could understand. Next Annika took us to a Mexican restaurant which I only used for the throne, while Zane had a chicken casadia and a beer. From there Annika brought us to the city gate and left us to take her English exam. We wanted to enter the Reichstag, an impressive parliament building erected after the war to commemorate those in office who were slaughtered by Hitlers men for opposing them, but the next available tickets were for the night time, several hours away and we didn't go for it. Instead we head to check point Charlie, the most famous checkpoint between East and West Germany during the cold war, where so many people were shot and killed trying to escape from the Communist regime, including dozens of West Germans who were aiding them in their escape. Its a pretty interesting place. There were actors there in uniform posing for the tourists. By the time we get home Im a gas bomb ready to blow, and I do, just as I sit down on the throne. It was like having several balloons in my body all releasing at different times, the human body really is an amazing thing... Im so exhausted and weak that when Zane talks about going out to the club I half laugh out loud, but mostly cry a little to myself at the thought of actually attempting it. Luckily for me Annika returns from her test and nurses me back to health. She gives me some black Chinese medicine balls, much like those I had in India during our Sk-23 adventure, only those were white. Then she puts a hot water bag on my belly because I'm shivering and feeds me those little pre toasted pieces of bread that my German Grandma (Oma) used to dip in her coffee, only I dip it in peppermint tea, since I don't drink caffeine. I've got to eat something to fill the gaps that are now expanding exponentially inside me, and this fits the bill nicely since I can hardly stand the sight of food right now. I pass out in Annika's room for a power nap, wake up to a bowl of mushed bananas which I slam down. Pack my bags for our bus to Oma's tomorrow and now Zane is leaving with Annika to the clubs, which although was the impetus for our trip to Berlin, I have absolutely no intention of going to, thanks to Masala..
The Roommate
Since arriving at our hostel we have enjoyed the beds and the rooms, the staff and the price to stay here, but one thing sticks out as the prime example of a bad hostel experience, and that is a terrible roommate. This guy was a virus. First and foremost he's an obsessive compulsive liar, and egotist. He never left the room and was always watching Italian soap operas or listening to Italian screeching hate music at full volume for all to be subjected too. The first time I met him was when he was in the shower with the water on for 45 minutes, that I knew off, while I was waiting to use it. We only had one shower and one toilet for a 12 person room so you can imagine the rudeness of this. I knocked and asked him when he'd be done and he told me he was washing, I told him I already knew that, when would he finish? He told me 5 minutes and took another 20. He got out and turned to tell me something I wasn't interested in hearing and I got in, finishing in about 8 minutes total. Not my usual time of 12 but I did it to make a point for our friend, whom I imagine didn't notice, even in the slightest. The next incident he was in the toilet for 40 minutes, I knocked and he cursed at me in Italian. Telling me to wait 5 minutes, after 10 I knocked again, "Can I go to the bathroom now? 11 minutes again "Can I go to the bathroom now?" Wait! And again, "Can I go to the bathroom now?" OK Ok! Che casso?! Another Italian came over and told me he was smoking in the toilet, which is immediate grounds for being kicked out of the hostel. He came out and after talking to the other Italian he rushed over to me to explain how he wasn't smoking, how he had intestinal problems for a long time now and it was hard for him to go to the bathroom. A cunning deception but irrelevant, or patently false take your pick. He always went in the bathroom with his backpack which we saw him keep his bong in, and it always reeked of drugs covered up by the bathroom disinfectant spray when he came out. "I don't care that your smoking in there I told him, I want to be able to use the bathroom, if you have intestinal issues change your diet, I had the problems before as well, now they're all gone." He asked me how long Ive been on my diet and I told him 4 months, he was shocked at this, and walked away. From this period on he always smoked the bong at the window in plain sight, with the shower and the toilet free from his clutches. Everyone in the dorm room told us flatly that they couldn't believe his behavior, even before we had met or said a single word to each other, the first response was inevitably, "what an asshole." Only then did we get to know each other, funny how strangers come together isn't it. The best part was when he realized how fucked he was when some conservative young girls from somewhere walked in as our new roommates and there was no one on his side even remotely. He then proceeded to sulk over to me in a perfect slinky fashion that looked like it belonged in an early 1990's Saturday night live skit, which he hid with what he thought was no doubt sincere confessional grace. "My friend, I am a good man, I think of everyone, before myself, you know?" If I wasn't so extremely interested in his current line of thinking I would have exercised extreme prejudice and destroyed him then and there myself, but alas my interest was peeked, and I didn't interrupt. "I come here to have good time and make friends, just want peace, you know?" I put my hand on his shoulder and nodded my head, and in that nodding head I was thinking "ohh yes, I know. I know how exactly.. Just how twisted you are right now, how no matter who or what you thought you were, the drugs got ahold of the show now." Then, with my voice I told him that I did understand and it was all good, which was all true. Hugged him and smiled. To this he seemed as though a great weight had been lifted. Another friend in his vacant lot of garbage and dirty clothes piled in the corner. Zane and I walked out of the room and a day later he was no longer in the hostel, Somebody finally called him out I guess, can't imagine why...
Venkel
I was hung over In the am, by mid-day we strolled out the doors heading for the tram station, stopping at the store for water.The tram we took was supposedly going to get us pretty close to this place I read up on online named Venkel, the reviews said that they made wonderful, locally sourced salads, so I was keen to try it. Although I had picked the right train number, It was going in the opposite direction, and so, before realizing this, we came to the end of the line on the other end of the city. Zane was apt to point out my failing, especially since I had been poring through my map and the transit system grid lines the whole time without once being able to definitively tell us where we were, or where we were going.The large, red hair dyed Italian conductress was not the least bit enthusiastic about her job. As she sat there behind tempered shatterproof glass, absentmindedly handing out the tickets customers requested, she was filing her already ridiculously sharp fake nails, which were much the same color as her dyed hair. When I asked her how to get to where we had intended to go she told us to go back to Bos en lomnerweg. I tried to clarify further and her response was that of unbridled annoyance, "You didn't understand me?! You go back!" She snapped, and that concluded our foray into the conductresses world. Once we figured out where to go, from a much more approachable conductress, they all seem to be women on the trams in Amsterdam, we got off on the outskirts of city center and walked to Venkel. We got the first two items on the menu and were very pleased with our choices. The establishment was run by a woman, and she had two young ladies helping her out. It was peaceful, clean, and very nourishing. Once recharged, we set off into the heart of the city, yet again walking every avenue that drew us in, looking for a Coffee Shop that would suit us. Which in our case meant quite, clean and in possession of a bong. For those of you who think this is an easy list to satisfy, think again, we went into several places and none of them had a bong, were all packed and loud as hell. Eventually though we ended up on the same street we took the night of our arrival in Amsterdam. There was a neat place there that had upstairs and downstairs seating, with a central floor area for eating food they made behind a small kitchen and a place for buying the strains you wanted from the desk in front. It was quite, in that there was no music blasting over us, so we could hear each other, and they had a wall of perfectly clean bongs. Before I knew this for a fact and before we even ordered anything I went in back to ask if they had one, as I had in the other establishments that met the other two requirements, being clean and quiet, and the lady disappeared, came back with a bong, still with a carb, filled it with ice, to cool down the smoke for a more enjoyable experience, and handed it to me. Zane saw this and ordered a gram of something, while I went upstairs and found us a spot at a long dark table placed to the left of a wall surrounded by comfy padded seating build into the wall. We smoked there until we were both twisted, leaving in a haze and coming out somehow worse for wear into the busy streets of Amsterdam. I say worse for wear because somehow Zane's foot was in a lot of pain and my stomach was cramping tight like my fists were during my Sapo (frog poison immunity) experiences in Peru. It was as if I was having a panic attack, in truth I think I was... Marijuana does this to me sometimes, especially when my tolerance is low and Im in unfamiliar circumstances. Within a minutes of really painful cramps I finally got my breathing right and they vanished, just like that. Zane wasn't so lucky, his problem was getting worse. Not wanting to drag him around for a place to eat that suited my diet, which he has insisted on, I chose a place with nice decor and a warm atmosphere nearby. We both had the coconut tomato soup and I ordered veggie spring rolls with a greek salad. We took the bus home and decided on a game of pool in the lobby before bed. Zane was sweeping the floor with me until he missed the 3rd to last ball, then I sunk 5 in a row and missed the 6th. He sunk his next shot but missed the next and I finished with the 8 ball corner pocket shot. Another fun day in the this wild city.
Welcome to Amsterdam
For the first leg of my journey to Amsterdam I had to transfer from Stockholm to Oslo and then Oslo to Amsterdam, altogether it was only a few hours and mostly painless. When I arrived I took the train into the city for 5.90 Euros, and then a bus at the central station to what I hoped was the correct area of our hostel.I told the bus driver where I needed to go, Boss en lommerweg its called, and when we passed it I asked if that was my stop, he asked me, “where you want to go?” Wow hostel I replied, and he opened the doors at the next stop and said, “that way, and after some time to the left” while pointing straight at the face of a building, after asking 3 more people for directions I found the place. It’s a 4 story building, probably not designed as a hostel to begin with but converted for such a purpose after the fact.I checked in, paid the 96 Euros that remained over after the online deposit and then had to wait several hours before I could check in. The first person I meet after sitting down in the lobby was a chap from North Whales named Maff, who runs a homeless rehabilitation center there. Before, during and after our conversation he asked if I knew where to Get Marijuana nearby and left me with the impression that smoking it was all that was really on his mind.After searching online for a raw vegan place within walking distance I found the Alchemist Garden, a sweet little place with a wide selection of choices. As much as I would have liked to walk in ready to look through the menu and choose carefully, I had business to attend to in the bathroom, so I ordered 2 random things on the menu, asked where the bathroom was and flew downstairs, passing the owner and his working desk in a flash and quickly landing on the throne.When I came back upstairs my food was already ready, a trademark of Raw food indeed. I had a sandwich made with dehydrated flax seeds and filled with onion, tomato, lettuce, avocado and a light chili sauce. And to finish it off I had a cold African soup. The man behind the counter was originally from Sicily, moved to London in the early 80’s and then in the 90’s moved to Amsterdam where he’s been ever since. I actually really liked him, he was very funny and well informed about a great many things.The owner came up a few moments later and introduced himself, he was very cool as well, and was very interested in speaking with me when I told him I managed an Organic Raw juice and food bar. I suppose that’s how all business is, networking and learning from other companies is pivotal for an infusion of new ideas.When I got back to the hostel it was ok to check in and so I did. The first thing I did when getting into our room was to accidentally cut my head on the lockbox metal flap, I thought it might bleed but wasn’t too worried about it, so I took a shower, and then a nap. When I woke up there were stains on my pillow and a patch of dried blood in my hair, it only bothered me because It was such an easily avoidable injury, and that I looked rather beat up. The jet lag at this point was still causing me a good deal of grief in the energy and healthy look department, a situation I hope to rectify via some newly acquired skill sooner or later.The time came to meet Zane at the airport, and so I left for the main station and bought a 3 day all public transport card for 25 Euros, a great deal if you’re there that long. Zanes flight was an hour late, having to circle the city due to windy conditions. So I found myself a seat and continued to read Tropic of Cancer.Zane came through the gate and we greeted each other with a solid hug and pat on the back, “welcome to Holland,” I said. “good to be here” he replied. I showed him where to buy a three-day transport ticket and then we rode the train and then bus to our hostel. He checked in, put his stuff away and by this time it was already 11:30pm. Zane wanted to see the town, get some water, beer or both, so we took the last bus into the city, walked around for hours, everything was mostly closed, it was a Monday night after all. We did get some water, but no Beer. We also saw the half-naked ladies standing in their red lighted windows beckoning in anyone they chose to spend time with. Some of the more beautiful ladies were quite picky, we saw a few men that had approached the windows be rejected, for being too drunk or not their type, who knows.Finally, I told Zane I was tired and we should really get home. There were supposedly night busses that ran until morning but we couldn’t find them. So, not having any idea how far we really needed to walk, we walked the whole way home. Which was something like 2 hours from 1am to 3pm. This, and It had already been a long day. By the time we got back to the hostel the doors were locked and we stood their dumb founded watching the doors immovable and lifeless. Until they opened as if by magic and we flooded in to the warmth of the temperature controlled building, it was freezing outside after all, literally 32 degrees. We were greeted by the night desk guy who informed us that our keycards would have let us in, to which we shook our collective heads in acceptance and went to bed after splitting the pear and apple I got from my USA to Sweden flight.First impressions of Amsterdam are good in that it’s one of the most unique places I’ve ever been too. But the real test, as always, lies in the many days ahead of us…