Category: Travel

Do You Like Goats Butts?

I am now on the train heading back to Warsaw feeling sick as a dog.  It is something of a normal feeling on this leg of the journey.  The idea of another bohemian evening makes me want to weep like a little girl.

Goats Butts

Poznan has changed in my absence.  Nowadays it somewhat resembles a building site as it gears up to be one of the host cities next summer.  Still we were delighted have lunch in a little place called Canapca, which is very much like a funky inner city version of Subway except that in Canapca the food is actually edible.  And honestly yesterday I ate a Kur-chuck Norris which is almost certainly the coolest lunch any man can possibly eat.(Kurczak pronounced Kur-chack is the Polish word for chicken.)

We were pleased to note that our favourite restaurant in Poznan is still open.  It’s a small Jewish restaurant called Cymes.  It is a wonderful window into a culture which used to be part of the fabric of Poland, aswell as a treat for the stomach.

The fact is that many bars and restaurants have changed, now its noticeable that a trend is emerging.  A few years ago sushi bars were multiplying like bunny rabbits on Viagra.  Now it seems that Poland has found its own niche.  And that style is what can only be described as a mongrel which embraces both a passion for inebriation and for chasers of the gastronomic variety.  I have christened it Fast-vodka.  Literally bars where people can walk in for a shot of vodka and some pickled herring.  It’s almost a tapas bar for an alcoholic, in other words its simply fucking awesome.

Meskalina was as Meskalina always is.  Full of people having fun.  Benek in the style of any great leader, led the festivities from the front.  He never ceases to amaze me.  As he downed shots and danced the night away on his bar I felt as if I was in the presence of a rock and roll god.  In the meantime Frank Turner and the sleeping souls conducted the party with great aplomb.  The enthusiasm and the energy had everyone in the room singing and dancing and completely succeeded in transforming every person in the audience to one living bouncing singing organism.  And breaking my body in the process.

And I am still picking up the pieces.  Round two starts later this evening, and I for one can’t wait.

Doing The Poznan

I am currently speeding through the countryside on an intercity train(incredibly with a digital air conditioning console and plug sockets)on my way to visit Poznan for the fourth time in my life.  For the first time in seven years travelling from Warsaw has been a stress and stench free experience.  It’s almost like Poland is starting to show the early signs of joining the 21st century.

The reason for my trip is a Frank Turner gig in Meskalina, home of the legendary Benek and the near certainty of a night of epic happiness and severe liver poisoning.  And then the party will move to Warsaw where we will do the exact same thing again.

As a hedonist who firmly believes that the liver is truly evil and that it must be punished at every opportunity, I can honestly say that Poznan is something of a spiritual holiday home.

The most notable fact is that in Warsaw people live to work, whereas in Poznan people work to live.  If I was to compare it to a British city I would probably say Manchester as amongst other things it comes alive at night and has a pretty decent football team.  If I was to compare the people to a nationality I would say Irish.  Laid back is something of an understatement.

Doing the Poznan requires more than celebrating a goal during a football match.  It requires celebrating life for no other reason than because it’s happening now.  And that my friends is something to admire.

Postcard From Geneva – The Verdict

Neither old nor new, neither ugly nor beautiful, neither city nor town.  Geneva, what the hell are you?

Geneva’s location is as picturesque as it gets.  Surrounded by mountains on its outskirts and with a stunning crystal clear lake at its centre, there is no doubting its appeal.  However like a lingerie model in the light of day, there is no denying it’s flaws.  Whether it rubbish strewn streets or buildings in disrepair it is a jekyll and hyde city.

The people of Geneva are a cosmopolitan mixture which would make London blush with embarrassment.  As lovely and liberal as the concept is it inevitably leads to people feeling a greater association with the culture of their nationality than any affinity with their city, and that is visible in Geneva’s unkempt appearance.  Generally speaking the people I encountered were a contradiction to normality as there first language is French, yet somehow they have learnt manners and were generally helpful.

I was also surprised to see that they have a national obsession with cheese.  Whether they boil it or fry it or fire it from a rocket, pretty much anything goes with cheese.  I am all for cheese, however after two and a half days in Geneva I suspect my dna is now approximately 38% cheese.

The stereotypes regarding watches, cuckoo clocks, chocolate and lederhosen appear to be massively misplaced when examine Geneva.  There are an impressive number of watch shops and there is even a watch museum however that is it.  I saw 1 cuckoo clock, no yodellers and a lot less chocolate than I expected.

I experienced a tiny cultural education regarding the writer JJ Rousseau in an audio visual museum charting his life.  Very early in the tour the audio guide proudly recounts a moment when JJ and his dad got drunk with a group of soldiers and his declared ‘that jj would never find any other people like Genevians’.  Obviously his Dad being drunk bared no relation to him believing that the soldiers were his best mates.  Interestingly enough his work was later banned and burned in home town.  It’s a perfect example of this alluring, yet hypocritical melting-pot which is Geneva.

Would I recommend visiting Geneva?  It is certainly worth seeing but it is not worth a standalone trip.  2 days is enough to see what’s worth seeing.  It’s one of those places which you visit just to say you have been.  

Postcard From Geneva – First Impressions

Before I arrived here I already had a picture of Geneva in my head.  It was that of a rich modern super city organised by Germans whilst being culturally styled by the French.  How wrong was I?

In the first 30 mins of arriving I found myself marvelling at the unique beauty of its location,the unique mish mash of cultures which surround you and the bizarre sight of shop signs advertising their wares in both French and English.  However it wears off quick enough.

The first thing which wakes you back into reality is the sheer cost of living.  It isn’t only that everyday things are inordinately expensive its the fact that they try to charge you for anything they can thing of. Whether its the ‘free’ WiFi or wanting to buy take away food to actually take away,they would charge you for the air you are breathing if they thought they could get away with it. 

It set me thinking about why on earth it is so expensive?  As a city its not much to look at.  The streets are dirty and in disrepair.  Many buildings look as if they haven’t had a lick of paint for 500 years.  Then the answer came to me.  The reason life is so expensive here is that they have to pay for a time machine which keeps them trapped in the 1980’s.

Regarding the internationalness of Geneva.  After some time it struck me that I hadn’t seem a swiss restaurant/shop/cafe/bakery/church anywhere.  In fact I hadn’t seen a single sign which advertised any aspect of Swiss culture.  I am seriously starting to wonder if they have any.

The last thing I shall say is that in my hostel I was delighted to note that they sell Swiss army knives.  The reason it made me happy was two fold.  First of all it explains why Switzerland has remained neutral through any conflict.  It’s not that they are pacifists its that they don’t any confidence in an army which goes to war with a knife, a magnifying glass, a nail file, scissors, a bottle opener but no gun.  The second is that it only confirms my theory of the 80’s time machine.  Back when kids used to go out and climb trees, when apple’s were things which people ate and not electronic crack for teenagers, a multi-functional out door tool would have been appreciated by any young boy. 

Perhaps I am missing the bigger picture.  Perhaps the reason I haven’t seen a single teenager in my first few hours here is because they are all up in the mountains practising their yodelling and Swiss armying with their knives.  Perhaps life is better here.  What I have seen is a mere scratch on the surface.  It’s like the star-headed screwdriver on your Swiss army knife.  It’s a comforting thought but it isn’t actually any use out here in the wild 

Apocalyptic Airports

I am writing this from the discomfort of an airport in the early hours of arse o’clock.  It never ceases to amaze me how god fucking awful and depressing airports are, that shiteness literally trebles when you are travelling alone. 

Surrounded by shuffling zombies, none of them rushing but all in a bigger hurry and slightly more important than the next. 

The trendyness of the 21st century traveller is infuriating.  When I was a kid I envisioned airports being full of men in suits and bearded hippies.  Nowadays its trendy people with their trendy haircuts and their trendy clothes making calls on their iphones whilst listening to their ipods whilst mulling over the fact that they don’t have any i-personality. 

You never see children reading anymore.  They sit at the airport playing on little boxes of light and sound shooting fictional aliens from outer space in the face.  If they do read it’s because they are part of a family of four and there name is Tarquin or something modern like Apple or fucking strawberry and their dad wears suede shoes with no socks and their mum went to an all girls school and wears floral print dresses.

The fact that air travel has been common place for so many years yet people still are thoroughly unprepared. Shorts and sandels may well work fine in a tropical climate but in a pressurized air cabin thousands of feet in the sky will inevitably make you feel cold. 

I guess what I am trying to stay is that within the confines of an airport you will come face to face with the fact that the human race is utterly stupid, as there are so many examples around you that you wouldn’t be able to ignore, even if you are an ostrich.