Before i Tweeted i Traveled

The lost travel journals of @Documentally
 

Europe By Payne (Day 13)

4th September 1991 11:15pm

In my present state of mind, I don’t care if I have to fight my way through the war in Yugoslavia. I’m not going back on that ferry for Love, money or even three kilos of the finest Nepolitania pizza. Eighteen hours of the most uncomfortable, mind numbing, sleeplessness yet. The wind blew a force eight gale continuously the whole night. The drone of the engines ate into my brain. Due to bad packing and in fear of losing everything overboard, I left my sleeping bag compressed at the bottom of my pack. Unused till 4:00am when insane with cold and fatigue, I gave in. As soon as I pulled it out it blew away. As did half the contents of my pack. As soon as I would grab one thing another item would get sucked into a passing vortex. I spent the next fifteen minutes scrambling around deck, tripping over snoring corpses. People who had drunk themselves unconscious in order to sleep, row upon row of lifeless body bags on the boat from hell. 

Finally I managed to retrieve my sleeping bag from the safety rail as it flapped precariously over the ship’s wake. I stared at the dark waters and half thought about jumping in. Just to get some rest.

The night continued to be one nightmare after another. The dawn on the other hand was punctuated with a very interesting encounter in the women’s shower block.   

It was approx. 6:00am and the decks were strewn with travellers packs, travellers sick, and the still dead to the world travellers themselves. The ship was still too-ing and fro-ing and I came to the conclusion that sleep was going to avoid me for at least another day. Apart from the bodies the ship was deserted. There was no better time to take advantage of the equally deserted showers in an attempt to wash away the smell of diesel and sleeping bag sweat.

I stuffed my pockets with my wash kit, leaving my hands free to steady myself and managed to edge my way in the direction of the shower blocks. I tried desperately not to tread on sleeping heads or get annoyed at the sight of all these travelers visiting a dream land no doubt free of this tired itch and nauseous motion.

Finding the little man sign on the metal door, I pushed it open and saw a mini tidal wave of urine heading towards me. I was awake enough to gather my senses and leap out of the way. Pausing for thought I decided to wash elsewhere.

Just around the corner I knew I could rely on the cleanliness of the women’s showers. With no one awake and no one around, I couldn’t see any harm in using the amenities. Besides, I’ve got longish hair.

Inside it was clean but only one shower was working and had no lock. I was dying to remove the thin film of smeg I had acquired so jumped in, stripped off and was soon lathered up and ready to rinse. The hot water made tracks on my grimy feet. Suddenly from behind me came a female voice. I gave a start and dropped the soap. On turning round I squinted through the suds to see a young blonde lady in her early twenties wrapped in a towel. Although understandably shocked, I did take some comfort in the fact that I recognised her.

Earlier on in the night, in between moments of writing and sipping whiskey, we had played a flirtatious staring game across the deck. It continued until the moment her boyfriend cottoned on and gave me a very different type of stare.

Now here she was, in the same shower cubical as a slightly nervous and very naked yours truly. I cannot deny my heart skipped somewhat. I knew she was American. I knew now, she had a body to die for. I knew her boyfriend was outside asleep and I knew that I was still ‘cupping’ myself like a shy little boy.

All she said was, “Can I?” And without sounding like a seedy men’s magazine, all I’ll say is, one thing led to another, few words were spoken and areas of my back were soon cleaner than they have ever been. We left seperately. Just a smile for goodbye.

I’m more than happy that this is the only highlight of the eighteen hours of mental and physical torture. Actually thinking about it, with highlights that high, it’s a little easier to forget the lows.  

Eventually with the sun already up, two hours dozing was had and we prepared our kit unaware that we were not due to dock in Greece until 12:00pm. Greek time was also an hour ahead of Italian and had we known this, we could have stayed longer in our uncomfortable pits. 

Doc, aka Andrew turned out to be a stingy liar. All night we had listened to his sob stories and sad tales of financial ruin and starvation. We didn’t ask him to chip in for the whiskey that he readily partook in and also fed him from our meagre rations throughout the night. You know the sort of things you would normally do for a fellow traveller in distress. 

On packing our kit ready for departure I saw inside Doc’s rucksack. It was half stuffed with food. Not just your normal pack of emergency bickies, but pieces of cheese, bread and salami. I didn’t say anything as my jaw was hanging in disbelief. Lee later told me that he had seen Doc sneakily eating a cheese sarnie using his sleeping bag as cover. 

After disembarking, we walked into town. Richard and Lee looked after the bags and while quelling our desire to tell Doc what we thought of him, we restrained ourselves, said goodbye and took comfort in knowing his karma will most likely catch up with him in the end.

I set off alone on my mini urban expedition in search of a cheep hotel. On the way, I had obviously been influenced by the Doc and selfishly couldn’t resist popping into a small dingy cafe for a hamburger and drink costing £1.50. Lee, if he had known would have been a little peeved as they hadn’t eaten much either . I’d left them sun baking in charge of three heavy packs and rumbling stomachs. I did however return in good time with a cold drink each, having booked three beds at the hotel Astoria costing a total of £17.00.

After dropping our kit off and resisting the temptation to flake out on our clean linen, We shopped and dined on chicken and roast potatoes, although Richard was sure his meal was cat lumps in cat juice. Me and Lee were very contented and patted our full bellies.

After a few hours kip at the Hotel, We hit the town for a couple of beers and some tacos. After, we enjoyed a seat on the sea front with a cold beer. I had a read of a Punisher comic that I just happened to find on a paper stand. In good traveling tradition tomorrow is not planned but we have an idea to head for Athens.  12:00 am

 

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Posted September 4, 1991
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Europe By Payne (Day 12)

3rd September 1991 9am

After dinner, just before 7pm, I checked I had everything, said my goodbyes, and escaped. I mean left. It was a pleasant sprint to the station. I met a few Italians there who wanted to practice their English on me, that was the most exciting part of an otherwise incredibly boring journey.

At Milan I was being messed around by the trains to Rome and was on my way to see if there were any trains heading north when I noticed two guys sprinting into the station with tennis rackets protruding like aerials from their rucksacks. Ah, English I thought. They were. Lee, small, scruffy and blond and Richard, tall, neat and dark, both from Dartford and at that moment, heading to Bari, southern Italy.

They launched into an interesting story about how they had just got comfortable in what they thought was a local park, and then discovered to their horror, that it was the grounds of Milan’s sanatorium. They had then spent the next hour explaining (or trying to) to the Gatekeeper that they were Interailers and not patients. I imagine the guard may have been confused by the talking of gibberish while armed with tennis rackets. Finally they got him to believe them and ran for their lives to the station.  

They seemed like cool guys, so I decided to skip Rome and head far south where the ferry goes to Greece. After all, with no map and no plan, one place is as good as any other.

The train arrived with strangers and left with us. A cosy six seated cabin for three. I had heard bad things about Italian night trains so as a precaution I tied a recently found bicycle inner tube round the door handles and locked the door. I think for a moment the lads got worried. I told them of my aversion to being robbed and murdered during the night and after suffering a little mocking, all was cool. We reclined our six facing chairs to make three comfy beds and let the gentle rocking motion send us to sleep.

After a black deep sleep I woke up with what felt like a mild hangover. Not with a painful head, just a cloudy one. Someone was banging on our door. I woke the lads and they both looked stoned. Untying the rubber tube I slid the door back to see the ticket inspector and a small crowd. The inspector was talking at me rather urgently but I could make neither head nor tail of it. Then an American girl traveller pushed her way through saying the whole train had been drugged and robbed. I smiled at her but only very briefly before realising she was telling the truth. Me and the lads checked our bumbags and money pouches. Everything was intact. 

The gang of robbers had apparently travelled the length of the train spraying some kind of knockout gas under the doors and unlocking the cabins with a conductor’s square key. They then stole all cash cheques and valuables before casually getting off at the next stop. Ours was the only cabin they couldn’t get into. The crowd of victims left to give statements and report their loss and we, although still a little shocked, celebrated with a game of cards and a bottle of warm beer. I gave the guys the look of a seasoned traveller, wise to the ways of the train thief when in reality it was my paranoia that had saved us.

Soon we will be arriving, fully intact, a little more educated and not forgetting lucky, at Bari. 

7:35pm  on board a ship for Greece.

What a waste of time Bari was. We bimbled around a smelly fish market for three hours, only to find out we needed to carry on to Brindisi to catch a ferry. All this valuable information was acquired from a very nice old guy at the station.

We have now been joined by a new travelling companion, Andrew, a medical student from Wales. A tall, well-spoken, blond guy with glasses. He’s just qualified, (hopefully) as a doctor. We’ve changed our money into Drakmar and expect to leave at 8:30pm.

The ferry looks a little like a European leftover. I’m sure I saw a few patches on the hull. The ship is a tasteful green and beige with two funnels: one port one starboard. If it weren’t for the on deck swimming pool, it would pretty much resemble a cargo ship. Still shouldn’t really complain, as because we have Interail tickets we only have to pay the six pounds booking fee. The only catch is, come rain or shine, we’re only allowed on deck. I suppose that gives us a fighting chance if we should happen to hit an iceberg. We’ve had a few scraps to eat as we wanted to pool together and purchase a bottle of Grants whisky from the tiny overpriced duty-free shop that looked incredibly like the captains private store.

Now we have the sun and Italy on our backs and the open sea before us. I can see the next few hours will be spent huddled on deck discussing medicine, the condition of our health and who’s drinking too much of the whisky. As I scribble this, sheltering from the wind with my back against a warm vibrating funnel, the subject of life (the meaning of) is being discussed. I’d better leave this and continue writing tomorrow as the numbing affect of the whisky is creeping up on me. No more writing, no more talk. Just sleep.

Day Thirteen

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Posted September 3, 1991
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Europe By Payne (Day 11)

2nd September 1991.

11:15 am
Got up at 9am, had a shower and breakfast. Last time I was in Italy, Mavi cooked eggs for a friend and I. They were raw, cold in fact. They were so bad that we threw them off the balcony while her back was turned and pretended we had ate them all, shell as well. This time I took no chances and asked for hard-boiled. As I predicted they arrived perfectly soft.

In town I went to the bank, fantastic. Changed £20 and then decided to change £50 more, then it was time to do some serious shopping, which turned out to be a waste of time. How was I to know that Italians have two Sundays, one called Monday. Everything was closed but after a long search, I managed to get some much-needed deodorant. “Malizia, uomo”. It cost me a small fortune and makes me smell like a gigolo.

Louisa kindly made me a packed lunch for the train, and Mavi more or less forced me to take a photo of her so I wont forget her. As if. I decided I could do without a reoccurring nightmare in the form of a photo, so I pressed the flash test button and told her I’d taken one. Besides, her image is forever tattooed onto my brain. Just before dinner I popped out to buy a melon and some farewell flowers for afterwards. I hope she doesn’t eat them both. I’ll see if I can put up with any more crap Italian T.V before we eat.

Day Twelve

 

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Posted September 2, 1991
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Europe By Payne (Day 10)

1st September 1991 5:00pm

I'm surprised to say today was not a bad day at all. And another day without spending a penny. I have been to the toilet, I just haven’t spent any money. As soon as I get my hands on some I’ll be sure to put that right.

I got up around 9:00am and had a nice brekkie. Mavi must have lapsed into an unusual state of sanity as she popped out and bought me some Italian quiz books I needed to take back to my Gran or as I call her, Nonna.

I spent most of the morning trying to feel Italian whilst vegging in front of the T.V. watching the Italian sport channels. I was quickly reminded why I wasn't a fan of sports so I went for a walk and watched the lizards skittering along the walls. I came back at midday for lunch, an omelettey thing and all sorts of breads and nibbles, which were delicious, just spread out as far as the eye could see and I was expected to eat way too much of it. I made the mistake of trying to race Mavi. All that did for me was get me a burnt mouth and indigestion. The highlight of the day was the making of an interesting discovery. A discovery that left me feeling a little guilty, even if only for a moment. I was having a read, when I glanced over the top of the page to see a small white card on the bedside table. What looked like an appointment card. It had Mavi’s name on it and underneath the name of the local sanatorium. I knew I wasn't a bad judge of character but I would rather Mavi was just a little quirky than clinically insane. Now Im not sure what to think about her eccentricities.

After dinner we went out in the car (a Fiat 126), with death wish Louisa as pilot and howling mad Mavi as navigator. As you can guess, that was an adventure and a half. We drove way up into the mountains to walk and take photos. Pretty scary drive as Louisa seemed to think she had race numbers on the doors and was competing against all the other traffic on the narrow mountain track. Still, when I dared open my eyes the scenes were breath taking.

Even though I am aware of her mental state it still really annoys me when Mavi ignores you and just agrees with you when she doesn’t understand. So this morning when she attempted to say “Good morning how are you?” I replied smiling “I was fine until confronted with this drooling clown”. And as always she said, “Ahh goot”. I'm thinking from now on I should really be a little more understanding.

It's 8pm and Yes, I’m going to bed already. I slept from 5:30 to 7pm anyway, but I figure the sooner I sleep, the sooner I’ll have some money, and the sooner I can drag myself and my last shards of sanity away with me. Gurgle..Gurgle..Blah..Blah..Blah.

Another great meal tonight, a sort of noodle soup and egg and cheese dish. Just for a change, Mavi sped to the table first, where she started an argument questioning why I was served before her. I mean how old? She didn’t think I understood. Louisa said it was because I was the guest, then Mavi clicked into a non-stop waffle mode, only stopping when I threw her a funny look. God knows what she was whinging about. Oh how I look forward to my freedom again. I have spent too long off the rails. Like some others round here.
8:10pm

Day Eleven

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Posted September 1, 1991
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Europe By Payne (Day 09)

31st August 1991

11:05am AAAAAAAAAARRRRRRGGGGGHHHHH!!!!!!!!! Was it worth it?! I have been here fifteen minutes and already I fear for my sanity. I’ll explain later, meanwhile the trip.
While I waited at Monte Carlo station, I befriended two girls. One was called Stephanie Smart and I can’t remember her friend’s name.  It was short and sweet as my train came, but Steph gave me her address and phone number and asked me to keep in touch. She lives in her mum’s bed and breakfast on the Scottish coast, cool, free holiday! I also met a few English blokes but didn’t fancy them so I didn’t talk to them for long.

At 11:42pm I boarded my train. I had the luxury of my own sleeping compartment for about two and a half hours, then my privacy was invaded by two African guys that crashed out all over the place. sleeping like starfish. They got off to be immediately replaced by a load of German back packers. They stayed on until Milan, where I was due to get off anyway. The Italian border came and went without anybody noticing. For the whole six hour trip, I slept approx. 30 mins. I have learnt from a previous mistake not to sleep in the company off strangers, you’re pretty vulnerable.

I only had a thirty minute wait at Station Central (Milan). That was cool, but all the money-changing facilities were closed, so I headed for Sondrio penniless. It was a pretty boring trip, too many stops in nowhere. It took about three hours and I would have thoroughly enjoyed the view around Lake Como if I wasn’t forever nodding off and bouncing my head off the glass.

Stepping off the train, it felt good to be back in Sondrio, it brought back many a good memory. Well it was good until I realised what I had let myself in for. I wound my way through the streets across the Piazza De Garibaldi and pressed Auntie Louisa’s bell at the base of her apartments. Luckily, in fact unbelievably, she was in and needless to say very surprised.

She buzzed me in and I met her as the elevator doors opened on her floor. She must have sensed my arrival, or at least the possibility of it, as the first thing she said was “First you shower, then we eat.” I wonder how she knew I needed a shower. Did I smell? All the same, it sounded damn fine to me. My Italian family never fail to treat me as such. It may be years between visits but With my Nonna in the UK being.. well my Nonna (Gran) I always get a warm reception.

The flat hadn't changed much since the last time I had visited a couple of years ago and it wasn’t long before my second cousin Mavi was back in her true weirdness, even scarier than I remember her before. Most of the objects in the flat are painted with weird illustrations, sometimes demons. Sometimes scenes from other worlds or perhaps the bottom of the Sea. I am not sure. Mavi studied Art at French  Uni before losing the plot. Maybe it was acid. Maybe it was just the family Gene. Anyway. She doesn't limit herself to canvas now. Or reality.
She’s thirtysomthing and like many of the women in my family, a sandwich short of a picnic. If this was a film it would be 'Nightmare on the Piazza De Garibaldi', 'The return of the strange thing'. As neither mother and daughter, my second aunt and cousin speak a word of English and I had never paid attention to my Gran and Mum when they talk in Italian to each other. I had to rely on my basic understanding of Italian. ‘Basic’ being the key word here.

Mavi straight away set off on a spree of asking stupid questions. She asks them not once but four times. As soon as she has fired her pointless question at you, she switches to ‘I am not listening mode’ and just stares in the mirror. She hasn’t changed much since the last time I visited, she still stirs her coffee twenty eight times between sips. On yeah, the good old days. Then she started on the “How old are you? My, you are a big lad, are you engaged yet?” I thought, Mavi, if you don't shut up and eat your dinner, I’ll make sure none of it gets stuck in your teeth. I gave up in the end and just told her I was engaged to a small maroon porcupine called Joshua. She nodded understandingly.

I’ve been given Mavi’s room and as I write, I can hear her sneaking up and down the corridor trying to listen at the firmly closed door. So why don’t I just go elsewhere you say? I’ll tell you why, because fate has once again put a well-placed knee in my groin. All the banks are closed and guess what day tomorrow is? Yes another closing day, Sunday.

Hang on, back in a minute, telephone.......That was Nonna, (my Italian Gran)and my Mother calling from England, wanting to see how I’m coping. I wonder if they mean coping with Europe or with Mavi. I can’t move on until I get some cash, so it looks like I’m trapped here until Monday. I know I must sound ungrateful but believe me, this is a strange place. I think I could probably make it, I’ll just be a little less sane.

12:35pm I don’t normally make this many entries in a day, but I feel the need to highlight just how much of a schizo Mavi is. She was entrusted with the dinner arrangements as Louisa was in town. It was made far too early and we sat for fifteen long minutes staring at cold solid spaghetti until Louisa got back. It was still eaten though, and as with everything she eats, Mavi crammed as much as she could into her mouth, then food that wouldn’t fit, she made fit. Then and only then, when the mouth was packed to its full capacity, would she start chewing. It was like watching some weird and wonderful Eastern European animation. I couldn’t help but stare, as the spaghetti mush oozed out of her slow moving mouth, sliding down her chin, slipping off her lap and onto the floor, it’s final resting place.

Then, after mutilating her food in full view while I was still eating, she mutilated my appetite by showing me a small photo album containing what I thought to be family photos of small, clean-shaven Ewok’s. It turned out to be her as a child. More later (as if it can get much worse).

8:00pm. A beautiful meal (only because Louisa made it). That’s three so far. We had boiled chicken and some lumps of what looked like cheese and potato waffles but rounded and much tastier. Not much like a potato waffle at all really. I don’t think Mavi left any chicken bones, I can’t remember seeing any.

All I am able to do at the moment is write, think, and watch MTV in black and white. I’d love to go out to all the old bars I used to haunt but, a) I am on my own and b)I haven’t got any money anyway.

I popped out earlier and met a very pretty girl who couldn’t speak a word of English but despite that we had a good sign language and pointing conversation. I would have liked to have pointed with her a little longer but I was still on my mission to find a bank that defied Saturday closing laws.

Getting back to my sanctuary, I lay on the bed and listened to half a song on my personal stereo before the sound droned itself to a halt. No spare batteries, yet another disaster. I’d sing a song to myself if I didn’t fear Mavi waltzing in and dancing round the room.
I think i'll close my eyes as the warped faces on the paintings in this room all seem to be waiting for me to do something.
Looks like an early night tonight. 8:05pm

Day Ten

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Posted August 31, 1991
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Europe By Payne (Day 08)

30th August 1991 1:25am not a bad night.

We met a couple of people from the other night but most of the jugglers have moved onto Rome in their clapped out Landrover.  Due to my body reminding me of the night before I wasn’t in the drinking mood. Still, we somehow managed two litres of beer each. Our munchies were satisfied by a fillet o’fish from Macky D’s and we got lost again on the way home. We wandered like drunks even though we had not had that much. Walking and talking, talking and walking. Dave is a great guy to travel with. Quiet but smart with it. The lostness was broken up by a brief stop to watch some very impressive roller skaters who were jumping bins again. It’s much better when you’ve had a drink, we both keep willing them to miss. Tomorrow it’s Monte Carlo or bust. If we continue drinking here, we most likely will be bust.

10:10am

We are both up, showered and virtually packed. In the early hours of this morning we were woken by the most torrential downpour I have ever witnessed. I think it must be what a monsoon is meant to be like, incredible. I guess the kind of rain you only see when travelling. Unless you live in a place that people travel to. I stood at the window, taking in the incredible scene and breathing in the cool fresh air. I now know why that guy waters the pavements at dawn, it must keep the dust down.

I have just popped out to get some supplies but the local shop is shut. They seem to have gone on holiday, it’s obviously not just holiday season for us.

8:35pm

I am at this moment sat in Monte Carlo station, all on my lonesome. Dave had been in a quiet mood these last few days but denied anything was up. Today he opened up and said he missed his girlfriend terribly. So as I write this, after one week into his month long ticket, he is on his way home. We talked for a good long time about it but his mind was already made up. That’s love for you. I wouldn’t know, I’ve never caught that train. Dave is a good friend and has been a great travelling companion. We didn’t argue once, just looked after each other. I hope it works out for him.

We had got to Monte earlier, had a good look around, ran around a section of the racetrack making car noises, had a few farewell beers and took loads of photos. It was late afternoon when Dave finally decided to leave. I chose to take the last train onward, so that I virtually had no waiting at Milan station. Last year I spent a very scary night there and swore never again. Too many hookers, junkies and muggers live in 'Station Central' at night. The most beautiful station I've seen. Yet at the same time the one I would least like to spend another night in. I should get there at approx. 5:40am. Maybe I can get some kip on the train. We bumped into the Liverpool girls on the station just before Dave left. They had popped over from Nice for the day. My journal is looking so messy as I am writing on my knee. Well actually on my book, on my knee.
I’m sat in a red plastic moulded chair in the station and Hendrix has just said on my personal stereo that there is one train just before midnight, freaky as that just so happens to be true. Jimi is now my travelling companion.

Day Nine

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Posted August 30, 1991
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Europe By Payne (Day 07)

29th August 1991 6:50pm


All in all, last night was pretty good. Still it had its share of ups and downs. We walked up and down the prom and visited some fountains where a disco was being set up. We then bought two cans of bud costing us five pounds, I’m not sure whether we were ripped off or that's the going rate. Either way I sure made mine last. One sip a minute.

Whilst sat at the fountains we were approached by a big or should I say massive guy, he introduced himself as an African and was waffling on about how much he liked the British. He talked about his wife and the fact that he was studying medicine (I use the term fact very loosely as he gave me the creeps and I didn’t trust him much. He didn't look the casually friendly type.) As we looked quite obviously like backpackers I was half expecting at any moment for him to either mug us or con us in some way. Needless to say the surprise hit me pretty hard when he said he had to go and wished us both farewell. I momentarily felt a little guilty for being so untrusting.

As he left he shook our hands. It was a firm shake, and when I looked down, he had placed a heavy gold ring in my palm. He did exactly the same to Dave, equally as sneaky. He said they were souvenirs for us from Africa, as the gold there is very cheap. My ring had a coin in it and Dave’s had what he called a ‘diamond’ in the centre. From the off I was suspicious as to why a poor medical student would just give away four hundred pounds worth of rings. He then insisted on having his photo taken with us, strange guy. Still, it’s the least we could do I thought.

On departing he asked if we could give him a token of friendship, ‘here we go’ I thought. I tried to be smart and give him a twenty franc note but before I knew it, he had taken a fifty franc note from my hand that I had accidentally pulled out of my pocket. Dave gave him about the same in change, so we ended up paying five pounds each for what were obviously fake gold rings.  They even feel as heavy as gold and have hallmarks. After leaving us we could see him head over to pounce on other unsuspecting travellers. We weren’t too fussed as it was worth paying five pounds for the experience of being conned and the overall lesson.

Later that night whilst passing a window, I took Dave’s ring and funnily enough it scratched like a real diamond. We both know it’s just pretty tough glass though. 


Along the main street we stopped to watch some British jugglers, fire breathers, and broken glass walkers. We got chatting to them and arranged to meet them later that night. I got talked into letting one guy stand on my chest while I lay half-naked upon a pile of broken glass. The drink helped me trust him when he said, “Don’t worry a pile of broken glass acts just like a pile of sand”. I stood up to a round of applause unscathed.

We also bumped into two Swedish blokes in a look-a-like British pub who were really funny, both in looks and manor. Guinness in the pub cost five pounds a pint, but the guys bought the round so I wasn’t too bothered. The alcohol seemed to be getting more and more expensive, so I suggested we change our angle and buy a bottle of white wine from an off licence for a pound.

All this alcohol purchasing had a side affect. We were getting a little shit faced. In a momentary relapse, we forgot ourselves and bought two large whiskeys (Johnny Walker and J.D) costing another five pounds each. If anything, that sobered me up slightly. What’s happening to the budget? 

We said goodbye to the Swedes and headed for the beach where we had arranged to meet the British jugglers. We bought yet more beer from the local off license and whilst sat on the stony slope, a heated discussion on religion sprung up from the drunken mass. There were a million and one different opinions flying around. I was very gone at this point and couldn’t be bothered with it all so I decided to go back to the hotel. It was only ten minutes away but due to the total derangement of my senses, I walked the wrong way up the beach, and kept walking until I sobered up. I got to see loads of Nice. It was blurred.

At around 4:30am I hijacked a news paper deliverer in his van and due to my lack of French vocabulary, had to make train sounds so that he would take me to the station. I knew my way from there and arrived back at around 4:45am. I couldn’t believe I had walked so far out of the way. I don’t know whether it was due to the serious lack of sleep I’ve been getting, but I was totally zonked and slept until 5:30pm. It must be my longest lie-in ever. Even though Dave got back in good time, he slept almost as long. It’s now 8:10pm and we’re going out. Again.

Day Eight

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Posted August 29, 1991
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Europe By Payne (Day 06)

28th August 1991 4:15pm

Yesterday morning, while Dave showered, I popped out and posted our post cards. Remembering our promise to testify we set about in escaping the country as fast as we could. We caught the metro to the main train station arriving there at midday. As ever, we had no pre-set plans but thought Nice sounded nice. Anyway us vigilantes can’t be too picky. On the way to the station, everyone looked like they knew our plan. I was expecting a hand on the shoulder at any moment. We had to catch the 13:10 at Barcelona to get to Cerbere at 16:06. There we changed at 16:32 to get to Narbonne for 18:05. Then, we changed at 18:33 for Marseilles and arrived there at 21:06. Leaving Marseilles at 22:03 we arrived at our final destination at 00:25 this morning.

As you can see it was a lot of hassle and don’t worry, I don’t intend to sound like a timetable again, it’s just so you get the general idea. Hassle or no Hassle we were glad to be out of Spain, whether or not we can go back is another question.

At Cerbere, the France/Spain border check, I befriended two girls from Liverpool, Bev and Racheal. They were going to Marseilles until I told them how crap it was, so they shared a cabin with us to Nice. I forgot to tell them we only really saw the station. Still, we enjoyed each others company and had a few laughs on the way.

We got to Nice at silly o’clock in the morning, sort of a limbo as far as hostels go. If we booked in we’d be paying full rate for only a few hours. Whereas if we slept somewhere for a short while and booked in at six we would get two sleeps for the price of one. Clever eh? Normally we would kip in the station until things opened but for some strange reason this station was closing and wouldn’t open until 5:30am. This was a bit of a downer as we were hoping for a little security.

The girls, who incidentally had been here before, took us down to the very stony beach where there were some benches we could kip on. We talked for a while and at 2:00am, whether affected by sleep deprivation or simple boredom, I for some reason decided a swim in the Mediterranean would be nice. So wearing denim shorts and a sleeveless T-shirt, which I suppose should by rights be called an I-shirt, I waded into the black mass. It wasn’t bad at all, not even cold. A bit scary though, what with not knowing what lies below. To top it off I went to one of the cold showers on the sea front and washed off the salt. That on the other hand was cold. I had nipples like nails till dawn.

One by one Dave and the girl’s dozed off. I stayed awake and watched our bags as numerous locals on mopeds zipped up and down and skaters jumped dustbins. I wondered if people round here ever slept and thought of their lovely soft beds going to waste as they faffed around showing off to each other. At 4:00am they finally left and at 5:00am I woke everyone up so we could take a slow walk to the station. Half an hour later we were all in the safe surrounds of Nice railway station. I waited an agonising two hours before the toilets opened so as I could spend 30p. After I was relieved, Dave and I went to the exchange and cashed some cheques, again. We said cheerio to the girls, and went our separate ways. They wanted a hostel where we thought a hotel would be just as cheep. Do it in style I say.

We shopped around, knocking doors in the empty waking streets. The only person we saw was one of those strange people that get a kick from hosing down the pavements. We settled for what we thought was a good deal. We saw a hotel advertise an en-suit two person room for FF150 per night (approx. £15.70 ). We booked in for two nights. We wound our way up the narrow stairs past some of those reflective pictures of a lake in winter and finally found our room. It was clean spacious but had only one bed. Much as I liked Dave as one of my newest friends, I hadn’t slept with another guy since I was five and that was my brother. Luckily, through the kindness of Dave’s heart and the fact that he had the double bed last time, he said he'd sleep on the floor. Anyway, it may do his back some good. He’s been having a few pangs. No sooner had our bags hit the floor, my head hit the pillow. Oh joy of comfortable joys.

I awoke at about 3:00pm and Dave had already showered. He went to the launderette and the shop while I washed and started cooking dinner with the Trangia (methylated spirit cooker). One of the rules of the hotel was no eating in the room. I assumed this meant cooking as well and moved the cooker closer the window. The smell of steaming rice drifted through our window and out to sea.

When Dave came back not only did we have a bag of clean clothes, but he also bought two litres of beer and a fresh baguette. A perfect accompaniment to our family size paella with onions, spices, mushrooms and green peppers.

Soon our plates were empty and we were bloated and contented. The only thing to do now was have another kip and then tuck into our pot caramel desserts. The act of washing up followed much later on. After a long trip it’s amazing how happy the little things can make you feel. Now it’s a quick tidy up and we hit the town. (7:20pm)

Day Seven

Filed under  //   Europe By Payne (Day 06)  
Posted August 28, 1991
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Europe By Payne (Day 05)

27th August 1991 2:00am (Picture some very scrawly handwriting)

We’re back wobbly and tired. Despite three expensive pints and six cheep J.D and cokes each, we are pretty with it. It’s been an ace night. Mingling and telling anyone who will listen our jailbird antics. We’ve both had the Irish girls tie intricate thread patterns into our hair and they look pretty cool. I told her I was skint and she made me pay with a snog. I thought about going back and having my whole head done.

Day Six

Filed under  //   Europe By Payne (Day 05)  
Posted August 27, 1991
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Europe By Payne (Day 04)

26th August 1991 MONDAY MIDDAY (Barcelona)

As you can see we didn’t spend much time at Lyon. We saw it from the train and it looked too much like Birmingham, so as soon as we arrived we got straight on another train, this time, to Marseilles. At least we were heading south. It was a long journey and so we managed to get a little sleep. By hanging dirty socks around our cabin we could ensure a little privacy. Then it’s just a matter of pulling out the couchettes and getting comfy. On arrival we then decided OH NO! MY PEN IS RUNNING OU....

3:15pm New pen

As I was saying, we then decided to head towards Barcelona. At Marseilles we found a vending machine and grabbed a few bites to eat. One thing the machine spewed out was a bag of crisps that looked like Wotsits but were bigger and were called ‘Plops.’ That was the first and the last time I have a ‘Plop.’ After eating this small orange corn type crisp, it felt like someone had borrowed my mouth to eat dry cow dung. So dry in fact that for a short while  my mouth had seized up with it’s sticky paste. I decided to go hungry for a while. 

We popped out of the station to take a few photos. It was pretty dark and we didn’t want to wander far so all we got was a photo of me standing next to a shadowed stone lion. Not very original I know.  

On the train to Barcelona we were lucky enough to get our own cabin again, although it could easily have been mistaken for our own oven. My body was experiencing a new meaning to the word hot. We had just got comfy to get some kip when some French guy (There are lots of them round here) came in and insisted on talking with us. Having a chain smoker witter on at you when you are trying to relax after an abnormally long day, is not my idea of a good time. After about two hours and fifteen cigarettes, we switched off to his Lenny Kravitz appraisal lecture and stared blankly at the walls dreaming of fresh air.

The border came to our rescue and we had to leave the train as passport control now wanted to hassle us. It was very early in the morning and we were all tired, hungry and thirsty. That was when I noticed the small collapsible tables laden with food and cold drinks, manned by three kindly, frail looking elderly women. I bought one croissant, one cheese batch and two cans of Pepsi. Six minutes later I regained consciousness.

These so-called saintly, elderly women had just charged me £7.00 for £1.50's worth of food. Somebody saw us coming. Talk about taking advantage, I thought it was late for these old ladies to be up. I bet they never sleep.

On our next train we shared a cosy cabin with two British nurses who got off a few stops earlier than us. It’s amazing the direction a conversation can go when you know that in a few hours your never likely to see that person again. The conversation took all sorts of personal twists and turns.

The train that took us into Barcelona was an incredibly modern plastic moulded double decker of a beast. Everything was clean and white and the air conditioning made me feel as cool as a cold thing on a chilly day. There was even a digital display that told you how many minutes to the next station and which side of the train to disembark.

Barcelona met us at 8:30am. It was hot, especially after leaving our mobile fridge. We got a map from the information office, and headed for the nearest youth hostel. On the way we met two Irish girls who had just been there and found it fully booked. We decided to join forces and look for some other accommodation.  The girls had been in Europe for around two and a half months, they were earning money by weaving cotton into peoples hair, known as worming or hair raps. Personally I’d rather have a hair rap than be wormed.

After a short search, Dave and I settled for a £7.00 a night hotel. We said see you later to the girls and I rushed in to have a much needed shower. Our room was clean, small and simple but had a sink and overlooked a quaint side street. The owner had made us fill out all sorts of paperwork. For all I know I could have been buying a timeshare. Still, the shower was as refreshing as could be and blasted off a fair few layers of grime. 

Later in town I was sucked into a couple of tourist shops and bought a butterfly knife and leather hat. I don’t know, sometimes I feel the need to waste my money.

It was soon 1:30pm and our hunger pangs directed us to a small restaurant hidden away in an a timeless alley. Not so much a restaurant as a posh cafe owned by an old couple. I thought I’d give old people another chance. I tucked into snails and rabbit which was such a treat to the taste buds they thought they had been hit by some food from the Gods. Snails chew like big bogeys, but the sauce gives them their flavour and boy did they have flavour. Dave settled for a very artistic looking cod which was almost a shame to eat. The meals with beers came to around £6.00 which isn’t bad for two people.

So far we have journeyed up and down Les Rambles, the main street in this area and seen some cool things. Buskers playing instruments from around the world, human statues earning shed loads for standing still and architecture to make the eye’s water.

The only problem we have come across is that every ten paces we are offered hash, grass, marijuana, shit, dope, resin, weed, skunk, black, pot and other names along the same lines. Maybe it’s my appearance, maybe it’s because we’re living in the red light district. It won’t deter us from venturing out later though. Bye for now!

11:15pm 

Be prepared for a bit of a shocker. Have a guess where we have been for the last eight hours. Actually don’t bother you’d never get it. For the last eight hours or so we have been visiting the cells at Barcelona’s police head quarters. Here is a quick recap.  

We were out minding our own business doing a bit of shopping, as you do. I bought a pair of much needed sandals and in between shops we were pestered by the usual hashish dealers. One though, was a little more persistent then the others and insisted on following us everywhere. Through markets, museums, he would even wait outside of shops for us. Understandably we were very unsure about returning to the hotel, especially as it meant navigating the small, dark winding alleyways. At one point he had tried to coax us into a purchase with a sharpened screwdriver.

Now, soft drugs have pretty much been de-criminalised in Barcelona, so we figured that if we spent £3.00 or so to buy some hash, maybe he would stop hassling us. We had a mini conference on the side of the road and decided that as neither of us smoked and didn’t fancy eating any strange substances, we’d buy it and throw it away. What’s three pounds if you’re getting rid of unwanted street scum?

As soon as we bought the little cling-film wrapped lump and were walking towards the bin, we were jumped and arrested by Spain’s equivalent of Miami Vice. Plain clothes of course. Forget the reading of rights and humane handling but picture arms bent behind back and being stuffed into a fast silver Citroen. The only reason I had to assure me we were not being kidnapped was that the guy wrestling Dave had a handcuff pouch on his belt. They kept asking for chocolate, stupidly in my nervousness I offered them half an old mars bar I had in my bum bag. This seemed to anger them somewhat. By chocolate they meant hash. Another word for the same. They found the draw in Dave’s sweaty clenched hand and confiscated our passports. This was serious.

Over the next five minutes, I witnessed a high speed tour of Barcelona with the added bonus of ear piercing sirens. The car had one of those magnetic blue flashing lights on top. On reflection I think that’s pretty cool, at the time I feared for my future freedom whilst trying to hold my pooh in. 

The car took us through a machine gun guarded gateway and into the police headquarters. Two minutes later in very broken English we were charged with drugs trafficking and thrown into a tiny, stinking hot cell. Dave started crying and I found what little comfort I could in fanning myself with my leather hat whilst reading the mass of English graffiti. The scrawled words offered no comfort. Just reports of framing and body cavity searches.

After around three hours of sweaty, stressed out thoughts, I’d managed to calm Dave down and shouted through the little window in the door demands for a telephone call. It was as if they had been waiting for me to do just that, as the door was flung open and I was lead to a pay phone. I am thankful to this day that when it mattered I had the much-needed pesetas that I fed to the phone. God knows you never normally have the change. At first I wasn’t sure whether to phone the Queen or Pizza Hut. It’s not the sort of everyday situation that you get into. All I had visions of, were the two girls in Thailand recently banged away for good.

I managed to get the number of the British consulate and got through to somebody I hoped could help. I am glad that I didn’t mention that we had been charged with drugs trafficking as he later told me he would not have come out. I made the call and was returned to the red-doored cell. A very long hour later the cell door opened once again. We were lead with gripped arms to an dirty interview room where Dave sat head in hands and I attempted to communicate with the so called British representative that didn’t speak English. Great.

Whilst waiting for a translator, I got the basic gist of the situation. The reason for us being charged with drugs trafficking was a technicality that enabled us to be questioned about the dealer. The translator arrived and amazed me with his fantastic fluency in French, German, Spanish, Italian, Portuguese and Klingon. Basically he spoke everything but English. I don’t care, guns or no guns, it was getting hot and I was getting really stressed. Even Dave was beginning to become aware of the situation.

For a short time while the others either conferred or took refreshments, we were left alone. We’d had nothing to eat or drink for a very long time. I made Dave aware of a slightly open window. He pointed out the armed police standing in the compound outside. OK Bad idea.
The door opened and the others filed back in; the translator, the consulate representative and two officers (one man and one woman). I don’t how on Earth it was managed but somehow with my limited foreign vocabulary and the translators mass of linguistic knowledge, I told them what they wanted to know. I even promised to testify against the dealer.

That apparently was all they wanted. All the previous crap we had been put through was so we would give and sign in-depth statements, which by law we would not have had to do. It’s almost as bad, I feel, as actually being planted with drugs and then being forced to testify. As they already had the dealer behind bars there was no need for us to remain in the station. On the way out I asked if it was totally necessary for us to appear at the hearing. One police woman who spoke better English that the translator told me (off the record) that he would get six months whether or not we attended court, the statements were the most important thing.

On exiting the H.Q. past the armed guards, we just could not believe we were free.  We looked at each other in disbelief then looked across the road at a flashing three letter sign. We read the glorious neon glow ‘BAR’ and were gone. Once safely inside we both drank the biggest beers ever. We paid extra to have the barman wash out and fill two massive ornamental German Steins. After eight hot, sticky hours without any liquid intake, we were going all out. The beer gushed in and down filling all the cracks in our parched mouths.

We eventually found our way back to our hotel. The room had been ransacked. It looked as if the police had tried to get us on something else. My big knife was gone, along with a small triangle of spreadable cheese but I may have eaten that. Right now we are about to go out and get absolutely rat arsed, A freedom celebration kind of thing. I'll write more later.  Maybe.

Day Five

Filed under  //   Europe By Payne (Day 04)   
Posted August 26, 1991
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