Carl Nilsson-Polias

I should have mentioned in my previous email the joy of travelling by train from Cesky Krumlov to Dorfen. After my encounter with the siren of Kaplice, we had another very quick stop in the city of Linz. Now, you should know by this point that i´m doing the entire trip without a Lonely Planet and, indeed, without a map of Europe. So, it was to my surpise and delight (and Anna´s too) that Linz is in Austria. I mean, it sounded German enough and we didn’t realise how close to Austria Cesky Krumlov was so, yeah, suddenly we’ve got a bonus country under our belt. From Linz we had to go via Salzburg to get to Munich and it was at that point that we realised we weren´t in Kansas anymore, if you know what i mean. In Salzburg we had about ten minutes between trains, which was enough time for me to walk out of the train station, look around, spot a big hotel next door, go into the hotel (while donning my best tourist look … eyes gleaming with enterprise and camera slung over a shoulder), get into the elevator, press the top floor, get off at said floor, take photo of big eff off mountain that overlooks the town, get back on elevator and get on next train. So, now i can say i´ve been to Salzburg (in the same way that every package toruist has) and if that doesn´t earn me bragging rights at the next meeting of the Moresby Street Mozart Appreciation Association, then i don´t know what will. However, the most brilliantest part of the trip was the scenery we passed by on our way. Mountains, which swept up out of the emerald green fields and forests, raked the equally large and remarkable bodies of cotton-ball clouds in the azure sky … aw god, that has to be the most cliched bit of prose i´ve ever spurted forth! Anyway, you know what i mean. Anna did her best to spoil my meditative contemplation out the window by singing or whistling tunes from The Sound of Music (Hannah, you would have been proud of her) but i just reminded myself i was almost through travelling with her … just kidding … i wasn´t that subtle, i told her to shut the hell up with that goddamn vonn trapp shite (Carl clears throat awkwardly and looks sheepish).

Dorfen is a Bavarian village really, a small place. So, it wasn’t with complete shock that i found myself attending a party for the graduating students of the local high school. The usual formalities had gone on before we arrived but there were still huddles of delighted parents and grandparents as well as the girls and boys in their Sunday best. There was some free (sickly sweet) bubbly on arrival and it took about three minutes before i found myself in a photo with a rather freaky American guy and his girlfriend who had just graduated (the photo was taken by her mum). Whether the last two facts (bubbly and photo) are related, i will leave to the excellent detective nouse of you, my dear readers. Well, after a buffet of salads and cold meat i wasn’t really feeling sated but i’d forgotten where i was … the dessert buffet was larger than the savoury one … just what a poorly nourished and undervitamined backpacker who´s been travelling through Eastern Europe really needs! Whatever! Or should i say, Whatevs! … so sorry Kiri.

I haven’t spent time in Germany before and there will be one memory of this nation that will stay with me for a while (at least until next Tuesday) … men wearing pastel coloured blazers with black shirts and cinos. Maybe i’ve just missed the boat on this craze (has Carson recommended it or something?) but personally i think it ranks up there with short-sleeved suit jackets and piano-key ties as a fashion disgrace that should involve short-to-medium gaol terms. For those of you familiar with the Swedish way of life … det ser precis ut som om dem var i en dansband. Ew, i feel dirty just thinking about it.

Totally unnecessary sideline … listening to a CD (Talking Mbira) of African music by a mbira (thumb-piano) player that i bought in Latvia (as you do) and it is so good i need to pause for a moment so that i can enjoy it (Svenska: jag njutar!).

Right, that was actually a very long pause … I’m now in Paris. The train ride was pleasant enough with lots to look at out the window. i think i was the only one who went all the long way from Munich to Paris because whenever i woke up from a snooze or looked up from my book, there were new people around though i did have the company of some kamikaze toddlers for quite some time … it’s brilliant how their heads can survive a one metre fall to the floor, including a smack on an armrest along the way!

John met me at the train station and i had to hit him before he stopped laughing at my beard. Anyhoo, we walked back to our hotel, which was nice. It’s so nice to be back in a city where the phrase “non-Caucasian” isn’t just found in museums. It’s also really nice to be in a big city where you don’t feel like it’s a theme park for tourists (ie Prague) … within two minutes of me being here we passed a demonstration by supporters of the Kurdish Liberation Front and a few groups of trannies coming from a gay pride event … all these people actually LIVE in this city and don’t sell souvenirs for a living.

After watching Sweden lose to the Dutch on penalties last night, we awoke early this morning and went for the kind of run you can only do in Paris. Down one block to the Seine, up one block to the Rue de Rivoli, down two blocks to the Louvre, through it’s courtyards (just getting splashed with the amber sunrise), past the glass pyramid, through the Tuileries to Place de la Concorde, on to the Champs Elysees, up to the Arc de Triomphe, then back via the streets lined with shops for Hermes, D&G, Chanel, Cartier, Salvatore Ferragamo, etc etc etc. Gorgeous! The only people we passed were the council workers washing down the pavements, the stragglers from the clubs and some gendarmes who made sure us woggy types didn’t run on the pavement next to the US embassy in case we were hiding bombs under our hats. Returned to a buffet breakfast where i justifiably stuffed my face with all sorts of yummy goodness … i don’t think i’ve ever eaten artery-clogging amounts of brie, prosciutto or chevre for breakfast before but, hey, it’s all about new experiences. After going for a run, does it count as reverse-bulimia?