In January 2011 Marita arrived in Uppsala, Sweden, for a semester of exchange. She enjoyed it. She enjoyed it a lot. She enjoyed it so much she's here for a year now. This is what she gets up to.
More Steve times
Ok, so where are we at now? Monday, Day 10 of the trip, according to my diary.
Oh, yep, more photos.
So anyway, we touch down in Köln/Cologne at some stupidly early hour, like 6am or something, and it is the smoothest landing I have ever experienced. Like, I was willing to applaud the pilot, Ryanair style. Skillz, brah. At the Central Station we’re supposed to be catching a bus to Utrecht in the Netherlands at 6.30 or something, but we haven’t actually got tickets and the office doesn’t open til 7. To add insult to injury, Maccas changes to breakfast menu between Steve and I ordering, and I loathe McDonald’s breakfast. Anyway, thankfully Steve speaks some German and somehow convinces the driver to let us on with no ticket. At the next stop he makes us get off and buy tickets, from another person who speaks zero English. A couple of minutes later the bus driver is shaking my shoulder. Minutes? I mean hours. Hooray for uncomfortable, drool-tastic sleep on buses. Anyway, we mooch around Utrecht’s central station (I think it had a name, but I can’t remember), which is crazy ugly and apparently perpetually under construction, until Steve’s friend Jilke comes to meet us. We’ll be staying with her for a few days. Awesome.
Canals in Amsterdam. Awww yeeaaaah.
So yep, Jilke lives in this really cool three storey terrace with crazy steep stairs. After an amazing nanna nap we ride bikes into town, grab a quick beer and go to the supermarket. I wander up and down the aisles with my jaw dragging on the ground, amazed at how cheap everything is. That night, for the first time in aaaaaaaaaages, television. Loads of tv. Mind numbing, awful, trashy, amazing tv. We watch Jersey Shore. Tuesdee we go tent shopping for Southside, then Steve and I jump on a train for 30 mins and go to Amsterdam. Because you can bloody do that in the Netherlands. So flat, so tiny, everything so goddamn accessible. We power through the super touristy area and go look at some canals, before crashing in a park for a while. Yep, we went to Amsterdam to go lie in a park. But it was so sunny! Seriously, the winter in Sweden turned me into the biggest sun worshipper. And not in the sense that I’m out there trying to get my tan onnnnnnn, but, like, any time there’s sunshine, I get ridiculously happy. Sun brings the happy. So yeah, we wander down to this cool part of town called De Pijp, which has this giant awesome tourist/crap market. I love markets. If I could, I’d probably do alllll my shopping outdoors, out of tents. I nearly buy several dresses, but instead end up with coke. Of course. We find a cool cafe, eat awesome food and drink beer. In the sun. Happy. We cruise back through town, but my formerly broken foot is being a dick, so it’s time to head home. But not before we go to the munt tower. How could I not? I reckon I need to go back to Amsterdam and do it properly, though. Not a single prostitute was seen. That night we meet back up with Jilke and another friend from Steve’s Italy exchange, Lotte. Another example of the Netherlands being incomprehensible to me:
Steve: Yeah, Lotte works in the Hague
Me: Oh, so we won’t see her tonight then?
Steve: What? Of course we will. She lives in Utrecht, but commutes.
Me: …but, hang on, what?
So yeah, beers at some cool bar, then dins at a Belgian beer cafe (not The) in an old church. It’s quite expensive and our food seems to take foreverrrrrr but it’s well worth it. Super yum. And good beers. Solid evening. Next morning, it’s time for a new country.
Faking a munt in front of the Munt Tower. As if you wouldn’t?
Flying into Innsbruck, Austria, is fucking amazing. I’m gobsmacked. Places aren’t supposed to be this pretty, are they? Like, argh, what even? Steve is amusingly nervous as the plane descends into the mountains. I’m just impressed. Once again, to the pilot, skillz, brah. Steve’s friend, Johannes, comes to meet us at the airport and drives us back to his apartment. It feels weird to be back in a car. His apartment is seriously cool and has this sweet closed-in balcony with a view through the garden up to the mountains. I can’t hack the amazing. We walk into town, more crazy prettiness. I’m really struggling to convey how impressive it was. Hmm, maybe a gif will do.
Yep, there you go. That was pretty much me every time my eyes were open in Innsbruck. We stroll around the city, check out the ridiculously, retardedly blue river, eat awesome pizza, then hit the supermarket. I just about have a heart attack when I see how cheap alcohol is. I buy a terrible, terrible bottle of wine because it’s $2. That night we run through most of the drinking games in my repertoire (difficult with only three people, but entertaining nonetheless), engage in gratuitous amounts of burping (I think up ‘til then I’d made a pretty good show of having some sort of class), and end up stumbling to an Irish pub. Morning. I wake up completely disoriented and then look out the window and my brain explodes again. We check out more of the town, but the rain sets in, so we watch movies at Johannes’s. I nearly kill myself laughing watching Despicable Me. No hyperbole. Ask Steve. The rain clears and we go to a lake. It’s man made, but it still is awesome. We swim, play table tennis and generally have mad fun. Not swimming in salt water is weird. Looking at mountains instead of an endless ocean whilst swimming is reaaallly weird. That night Johannes’s sister is in town so we go to a club called Aftershave. Apparently it’s where you go after you’ve been at the bar called Moustache. Ohhh you crazy Austrians.
The lake where we swam. Argh, PHOTOS DON’T DO IT JUSTICE (hmm anger is totally blunted when something’s written in italics)
So yeah, up early to catch a 9am train to Tuttlingen, Germany. Southside is here. I should be sleeping after what turned into a surprisingly late night, but again the scenery is causing me amaze-trauma. Instead I pump the tunes and engage in a little train-raving. I’m disappointed that crossing the border is not a big deal. We change trains in Freidrichschafen (rather nice) and again somewhere else. The third train is packed with obvious festival goers and we chat with some Belgian dudes. Steve and I feel remarkably underpacked. We squish onto a bus out to the festival site, grab our wrist bands and meet up with Lloyd and his sister, Jess. The festival is held at an airport, out on the runway, and has an audience of around 40 000, I thiiiiiiink. Anyway, after we get the tent set up, we explore. The first thing that hits us is how cheap booze is. We were expecting festival prices. Instead we find beer and tetrapack goon for 2 euros. Well, there’s our booze sorted (even if it is Beck’s, bleurgh). Then we focus on the people and their stuff. So. Much. Stuff. I’m used to Australian festivals, where you’re all but strip searched and security are super tight about what you can and can’t bring into festivals. Southside was virtually a free-for-all. People were carting trolleys loaaaaaded with kegs and slabs and enough tinned food for a year of camping. Steve and I were almost apologetic when we came through the gates with no booze. Lloyd points out and explains this German drinking game that involves throwing something at something and finishing drinks and teamwork(!). We’ll be taking that one back to Uppsala. The sun is shining, the Germans are drunk and the festival has a cool vibe. Shereen (another friend from Uppsala) arrives and we hit the main festival area. You know, the bit with the music. Someone offers me a poncho, but I decline. I am a fucking moron. Some biiiiig, black clouds have rolled in and have decided now is the best time to start pissing down. Crap. Mud city. Crap crap. We shelter in the tent with the electro music, watching some cool circus arts-type stuff, but then it’s time. Time for The m.f.’ing Hives. Lloyd and I sprint across the mud (skillz) and get amongst the crowd. The Germans around us are shit at being a crowd. Get into it! I hate the phrase “rock out” (unless it’s followed by, “with your cock out” ahaaaaa), but that’s what we do. It’s a really good set, playing a decent mix of stuff from all their albums plus new stuff, so I’m not overly bothered that I am completely saturated. Later in the evening we catch The Subways and Lykke Li, both awesome, as well as Bright Eyes, who I find underwhelming. Actually, by the time we saw Bright Eyes, I was a walking, super muddy icicle (still wearing shorts, dickhead), so that wouldn’t have helped.
Steve with some poncho-declining idiot. (Thanks to Jess for the photo)
After an uncomfortable, largely sleepless night (special mention to the climaxing Germans in the tent 2ft away from my head), the morning is spent trying to stay warm in our tent, downing breakfast beers and junk food. Aww yeah. Picking at the mud on my legs pulls skin off. Fabulous. Jonas (another exchange friendo) drops in, actually dressed appropriately for the cold and mud. Goddamn. Music time! We catch Tame Impala. I’ve seen them a few times now and they’re always seriously good, although they didn’t play Sundown Syndrome, so boo-urns to that. I then step out of my shoes, traipsing through the mud. Some days I am a walking joke. Over the arvo/evening I catch bits of different sets, namely Portugal the Man, Darwin Deez and Elbow. They’re not shit. There’s also a little DJ stage that keeps playing aaaaaaaaaaawesome music so we put in a little rave time there. Finally, Arcade Fire. We squish up close to the stage and bliss out. They is some talented folk. When they finish with Wake Up I can’t wipe the smile of my face. Good job, Canadians. Although, Lloyd, Jonas and I agree that it would have been cool if they’d played My Body Is A Cage. Just sayin’. Afterwards, the others go to bed, but I run off to catch the rest of the Chemical Brothers. I’m not disappointed, especially when they play a mix of a bunch of their old classics, then finish with Block Rockin’ Beats.
Steve and Lloyd exhibiting the beautiful oompa loompa glow the tent created
Sunday, the festival has a distinct third world vibe. The wind has destroyed many a campsite and idiots are pushing over portaloos. Gross. Any time the sun comes out everyone cheers for the sky. Anyway, music. British Sea Power: alright. Friendly Fires: lead singer is a douchebag and they don’t play In The Hospital, so they can piss off. Two Door Cinema Club: rather good. Gogol Bordello: seriously entertaining, would have been better if I was drunk, though. Kasabian: background music, whilst Steve, Jess and I chatted. Kaiser Chiefs: fun. Digitalism: I got mah rave on so I was happy. Although, I wish they’d played Zdarlight in full because 4.40-4.45 always makes me want to lose my shit and dance my arse off. Sunday I saw a lot of music, which was cool, but I was pretty sick of being disgustingly muddy and cold. Monday is home time, thankfully. Lloyd and Jess have to leave really early, so Shereen, Steve and I pack up and finally decide to leave the tent before. We should have decided faster. The line for the bus back into town is massive and it takes us around two hours, time enough for us to miss our train. Ugh, crap. Steve and I train up to Stuttgart then fly to Berlin.
Berlin: ugly, but awesome
We make our way into the city and find our hostel. It’s a difficult city to navigate and there’s no real centre, and goddamn it looks ugly, but, wow, I’m in Berlin! At the hostel, I’m straight into the shower. So. Much. Mud. I still have little bits of it stuck on my leg after much scrubbing. We explore the neighbourhood and walk down to Alexanderplatz to try and find food. We end up getting fish and chips, which are deep fried in goooooodness. Back at the hostel I chat with the two Finnish guys in our room (who sound like the Dudesons, which makes me laugh) and they’re a little shocked that Steve and I aren’t hitting the town. Can they not see that I’m virtually falling asleep whilst talking to them? Tuesday I’m forced to buy new, non-mud covered clothes, then we go do a walking tour of the city. The chick knows her stuff so it’s really fascinating and I regret that I’m not spending more time in the city. So much history. I find the Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europ to be particularly interesting and really eerie to walk through. Afterwards, Steve and I lie around in the grass on Museum Island (sun. happy.), then go to a Vietnamese restaurant for dinner. We decide an evening of sinking beers is called for, although I never make it out of the hostel bar. We meet some American boys who are about to start college and they are kinda nerdy and adorable, then I chat to an Australian guy (one of the 40 000 staying at the hostel) and we discuss how in high school we were both high achievers and leaders and now are both completely lost with no idea about what to do with our lives. It sounds depressing, but was actually highly amusing. Hooray for the clueless youth of today. I get up super early to catch my flight back to Sweden and end up being at the airport 3 hours early. I’m hungover, there’s a guy who looks like a rabid dog who keeps staring at me and my flight is delayed. Ughhh. I bid Steve farewell via text (he’ll be back in Sweden the next week), pump the tunes and look forward to getting home… to the home I don’t have yet. We touch down in Sweden, the sun is shining and there are attractive people everywhere. After two and a half weeks on the road, it’s good to be back.
Steve in the Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe
So, yeah. That was the time I got off my arse and saw some of the world.
