Last Train Home (Hamburg to Berlin, Germany)

A spoiler alert before you commence reading, my loyal reader, and a disclosure. The photos are all from Hamburg and are purely aesthetic to break up the text. The title today relates to our train dramas in Berlin. Transits are never as easy as they are planned to be.  The Last Train Home by Blink 182, one of their more recent numbers.

Leaving Hamburg went smoothly. As such. We traversed a different route to the station now that we had some local knowledge. It was marginally longer, not noticeably, but easier with the bags on the cobblestones. Hamburg couldn't help itself, however. Despite the dry weather forecast, it just had to drizzle on us one more time, as we trundled towards the station.

There are of course, multiple entrances to a station of this size. After crossing and re-crossing the road, we found the entrance we had used four days earlier. You may recall that initially, the escalator to escape the station was not working and we had to lug our bags up the stairs. Today the down escalator was frozen. I swear it is a conspiracy. We had to drag the bags down the stairs. I am not feeling the love for DB trains.

The old buildings really add character.

Despite this inconvenience, we arrived at platform 8 in plenty of time. I purchased some water, definitely still this time because I asked the shop assistant. Then we used the functioning escalator to get down to the very long platform. The discussion at this point had been about where to stand to board the train (first class, no more screaming children). Eventually this was made clear on the digital noticeboard. We were in the right spot on a very crowded platform.

The train arrived and, despite us being repeatedly pushed in the back by a German lady who obviously felt her reserved seat was going to be stolen if she didn't get to it immediately, I managed to stow the big bag. Not at ground level because that space had been usurped by bags that could have been placed in the overhead rack. I hoisted the suitcase onto the middle shelf, placed our smaller bags overhead and fell into my seat. We then watched our impatient fellow passenger, come all the way back down the carriage, past our seats, to occupy the seats directly behind us. Thankfully today's journey was a mere two and a half hours. It would be over before we knew it.

Even the derelict buildings get a little colour.

As has become the custom, the train was late, but not enough to inconvenience anyone. We disembarked at Berlin central and set about looking for the S Bahn line that would get us to Hackescher Markt, two stops away. At a 40 minute walk, for the first time, it was just a bit too far to attempt through unfamiliar terrain with the bags.

Despite being disgorged in the largest train station we have ever seen - multiple levels with escalators, more stores and restaurants than a typical shopping centre, and scant signage, we managed to locate the platform. Simple. What about tickets? Good question, dear reader. One not easily answered at that point. Jayne suggested they might have the ticket machines on the platforms. Correct. Up we go to the platform that will allow us the longest time period to work out the ticketing machines and still board a train.

Bird boxes are everywhere. 

Excellent theory. Despite Youtube asserting differently, there was no other language offered on the ticket machines. I tried Google translator on my phone with limited success. Jayne decided to ask the young couple that purchased tickets after I had given up. Fortunately they were Irish and while they didn't read German, they knew which buttons to push. Moments later, and €7 poorer, we had our tickets and enough time to get on the next train. Mind you, after all that, we didn't get our tickets validated. No one checked, so at least we didn't fare evade which could potentially have been the case, if not for the Irish couple's assistance.

We alighted at Hackescher Markt and immediately chose the wrong exit. Misdirection rectified, we arrived at our hotel at 1pm, 2 hours before check in. In a stroke of good fortune, our room was unexpectedly ready. Cheers Adina Apartments.

Hamburg Rathaus from the Alster Arcade.

After we settled in, we searched online for the nearest supermarket. The options were weighed and we walked the three minutes to Rewe which was literally in the other side of the same building. Unfamiliar supermarkets are always a challenge. Add to that a foreign language and all you can manage is to keep getting in the way of shoppers who are clearly in a hurry and know their way around.

After our usual deliberation over the procurement of staples such as butter, cheese and ham, we decided to give the limited wine selection a miss in the hope of finding a better range at a specialty liquor store. We did, however, search for a sealed container to store any unused food on our next transit day. We espied a display of, would you believe it, Tupperware just near the only open checkout that was being personned by a rather formidable looking lady. 

Inside the 'no go' zone in the Rathaus.

She was from the 'non-service' regime of which I have spoken previously and appeared to like her job as much as she would a cold water enema. Judging by her face, she could have been having the enema as she attended to us. She waved the Tupperware container at Jayne and sneered something in German. After we made it clear we didn't understand, the words dropped more loudly from her mouth like stones, once again in German. Surely the extra volume would ensure we can understand a foreign language. Thankfully the lady behind us translated the aggressive words of the shop 'assistant'. The Tupperware was a special deal with points accrued at the store, blah blah and would cost way too much without said points.

Jayne bid her an overly cheery danke schön as we made a hasty retreat from the store. We returned home with our goods and consulted Google once more. The short story is, we wandered lonely as a cloud, no, no, that's the daffodil poem. We found the liquor store. Very top end and expensive and continued our search until we stumbled on another, much bigger supermarket, that sold wine and bread. 

Window shopping on the Reeperbahn.

On the way out of the Adina, we had approached reception to inquire about a plug for the kitchen sink so we could wash up and not waste water. We were also missing a wine glass so we asked if housekeeping could supply both.

Back at the hotel,  we opened our door to find the hotel handyman with our dishwasher in pieces all over the floor. Clearly something had been lost in translation and we tried to explain that the dishwasher was fine, as far as we knew. What we were after was a sink plug. He then started to investigate the tap workings so Google came to the rescue once again and we learnt the German word for plug, "stecker." He indicated he would try to obtain one through housekeeping, put our dishwasher back together and cheerily departed the scene. Eventually the plug and three wine glasses arrived.

Davidwache (police) on the Reeperbahn.

The next discussion was dinner. Not that either of us was hungry, but after a long transit day, it's always good to finish with a meal. Finally we settled on the Japanese restaurant next door. An easy choice for two reasons. One, Jayne was indulging my love of sushi. Two, it was raining intermittently and we didn't want to chance the weather.

Another day navigated safely, it was back to the hotel to check out German TV. There wasn't much of interest until we discovered Eurosport and the World Curling Championship. I'll let that sit with you.

Until next time.

On a Clear Day (Hamburg, Germany, part 2)

The dry day promised, dear reader, did not eventuate. The new forecast was for rain. All day. Not heavy, but enough to be annoying. Had we been at home we would not have ventured out. We are not at home and who knows if we'll pass this way again. It was a case of dress for the conditions. My waterproof snow jacket has been vacuumed sealed and packed since we left Norway but I did not succumb to resurrecting it, even though it is Easter. It is wet but not really cold, so a cap and and umbrella would suffice for me. Jayne has been living in her snow jacket. No change required.

Flowers were doing their bit in the rain.

It is Easter Monday and Jayne noticed a change in the time difference between Europe and Australia. We didn't understand what had happened, nor could we explain it. Perhaps daylight saving had ended back home. A quick check with someone on WhatsApp proved otherwise. The next message was a screenshot of daylight saving in Copenhagen where we had just been, but it applied to most of Western Europe. Daylight saving had commenced here! We didn't know, although I did feel a bit more tired on Sunday morning. Fortunately we had nothing booked but, with computerised phones and watches, they all switched over automatically and secretly stolen one hour of my sleep.

Kunsthalle. Another view destroyed.

Suitably embarrassed, we dressed appropriately for the weather and set out on our self-guided tour of Álstadt (old town). First stop today was the Kunsthalle Art Gallery. We sheltered under a portico of a building on the opposite side of the road. It was closed, it's Monday, but there seemed to be a lot of people walking around the building and the lights were on. Despite this we stayed where we were, neither of us felt like a gallery viewing  but the exterior of the original portion of the building was worth seeing.

There were six lanes of main road separating us from the Kunsthalle and the incessant rain and wet surface did little to slow down the traffic. They drive fast over here. Unnecessarily so.

Nothing but ducks.

A little further along was Alster Lake. We continued our walk down one side and along the other. There was no sight of people with sailing boats today. Even the canal cruises were few and far between. It was great weather for ducks and they seemed to be enjoying it. The dreary day was brightened by a host of golden daffodils, planted the entire length of one bank. 

Wordsworth would approve.

Three sides of the lake were surrounded by high-end boutiques, designer brand stores and hotels. The other was a divider between the small and large lake. It was where the train services and vehicle traffic crossed the water. As the rain lightened a little, we encountered more people but it was deathly quiet for a major tourist area.

Alster Arcade. Hamburg, not Venice.

Not far from the lake is the Alster Arcade. It is a series of shops, mostly cafés, with a walkway that fronts onto one of the canals. The walkway itself is covered and a series of white arches frame the view of the canal and the Rathaus (townhall) with its markt. The tourist books and websites talk it up but it could do with a coat of paint. It looks a little jaded and faded.

Hammonia, the city's patron goddess sits over the entrance.

Past the shops where we can't afford to buy anything and not just because of the exchange rate, we ended up in the Rathaus Markt square. The rain had eased again and we decided to head inside the Rathaus. The foyer area is interesting in itself and we would have joined a tour but there were none in English. We contented ourselves with what was available. 

You can tell he's important by the pose.

The 16 columns in the foyer have the faces of important Hamburg residents carved into them. I didn't check every pillar but I'm a betting man and I bet there was not one woman among them. Above the windows to the courtyard were depictions of Roman gods in stained glass. In the courtyard itself was a large fountain adorned by statues, but we weren't permitted into that area.

All rather grand.

The Rathaus is still in use and there were certain areas locked off by black iron gates. All rather striking against the red carpets, marble and gold decorations.

The Roman god Mars, a scorpio of course.

We were around half way through our Alstradt tour. It was time for coffee somewhere near our next stop, but indoors and not crowded. St Peter's church was close by and we had passed the other side of it on our way to the Kunsthalle. Fortunately there was a coffee shop on the way. It was time for a break. Jayne's coat was getting heavy with water from the persistent rain.

A water fountain in the Rathaus foyer.

The coffee was good and it was nice to sit down. The guy running the place was absolutely lovely. Sometime in an earlier blog I talked about service or the lack of genuine service. This was the opposite. He was friendly and offered for us to move to a window seat which we attempted and gave up because of our wet clothes. Unconcerned, he was happy for us to make a mess of his café. This is probably the most attentive café/shop worker we've come across on this trip. It doesn't take much. Most of the time I feel as if I'm inconveniencing the shop assistants.

Impressive. They know how to build big.

It was a few minutes to St Peter's. Another impressive spire. Hamburg has thing about spires poking up through the clouds. I wonder what Freud would make of that. We went inside the church after photographing the brass door knockers made in 1342. Inside was pretty well what you would expect, rows of pews and spectacular stained glass windows behind the altar. There were some paintings of significance on the walls, but they were typically the dark hues of their genre and were difficult to shoot in the dark interior. The most interesting feature was a homeless man sheltering from the cold and rain.

The simple altar contrasts with the windows.

You keep knocking but ...

Next stop on our itinerary was Chilehaus. It is so named because it was originally a warehouse for spices and chili. It is a landmark building because of its shape. It comes to a point, much like the Flatiron building in New York, and resembles the prow of a ship. The balconies replete with balustrades, resemble the decks on a cruise liner. I'm sure it looks more impressive on a sunny day.

Come on, you can see it.

Around the corner was the Chocoversum. I'm not sure that translates into English, but it's like a chocolate factory that does tours explaining the process, blah blah blah. At some point you get to create your own chocolate bar. Really? What is the point? Perfection was reached when the Cherry Ripe was created and heaven attained when Cadbury bought MacRobertsons so the Flake and Cherry Ripe lived under one roof. So, at €21 per person, to spend the day with a bunch of uncontrolled ankle biters, the answer was no. €42 buys a lot of anything, let alone chocolate.

They did have chocolate Harry Potter wands on sale. I may have purchased one for my favourite child who will be identified because they respond to this part of the post. Imagine crunching that straight from the fridge? Accio!

Only €10 or $16.40 AUD. Bargain.

Moving on, we went in search of St Nikolai, a remnant church. That's probably an overstatement. It is a steeple and some crumbling walls, although the crypt also survives. This all that remains of the landmark that was once used for navigation purposes during World War II. It stood out amid all of surrounding Hamburg and guided the allied bombers to their target. 

The spire of St Nikolai which can be accessed by elevator is 147m tall. Thankfully the lift only goes about half way. I'm sure the view would be spectacular on a clear day, but, yeah, you know. Hence the title today, On a Clear Day. There were many options for this song but I chose one of the best to share with you. Click on the link and enjoy.

The spire of St Nikolai still stands.

Up to the viewing platform, pictures taken, it's time to go back down. Then Jayne noticed this guy who was looking extremely uncomfortable. His partner was enjoying the view and his unease and filmed him. He never moved far from the elevator and constantly pushed the button trying to summon his chariot of rescue. We joined in his journey to the ground and safety. During our descent, Jayne asked him if he was ok, given the lack of empathy his partner was exhibiting. "No, I am not. I am terrified of heights," which made his partner laugh even more.

Back on the ground the conversation continued during which we found out that they are Albanians who have moved to Hamburg to work in the medical system. Our acrophobic new friend spoke longingly about Albania, saying that he did not feel comfortable in Germany because he finds the people too cold. He was certainly keen to talk to us after we made the initial inquiry. Anyway, we were swapping travel tales about how great we had found Sweden and Scandinavia in general, when another passerby injected herself into the conversation to tell us she is Swedish and had come to Germany to enjoy the spring weather! Gross misjudgement, in our view, given the persistence of the precipitation since we have arrived. 

The Rathaus from the viewing platform of St Nikolai.

Anyway pleasantries exchanged, suggestions were made by us to try out our warmer, drier climate, to which they all agreed, "It would be lovely but it is too far to go and don't you have poisonous spiders and snakes everywhere?" Except the Albanian, "I don't fly. I even drive home to Albania". After this, we all went separate ways as we descended into the crypt, to view an exhibition on the WWII events that led to the destruction of St Nikolai and in fact, most of Hamburg. 

The crypt is an exhibition of wartime photographs, eye witness accounts and a graphic video presentation that documents Operation Gomorrah, the Allied forces bombing of Hamburg in 1943 in which 60% of the city was destroyed and over 200,000 people were killed or wounded during the firestorm. The attack was partly in response to the German attack on Coventry. 

The exhibition was extremely poignant and the scale of destruction depicted was mind boggling. We both commented on how similar we found the understated tone of the presentation was, to what we experienced in the Hiroshima Peace Memorial. This was in stark contrast to the Ground Zero exhibition in New York. 

After that sobering exhibition we returned to ground level and the drizzle and plotted a course for home.

Thank you for staying with me until the end, dear reader. It was a big day. We covered over 10 km on foot in the rain and weren't uncomfortable. Good clothing choices.

Until next time.

What is Life (Hamburg, Germany, part 1)

And a happy Easter Sunday to you, dear reader. Yes, our days are not aligned.

The apartment is lovely. It is one bedroom with separate living area, kitchen and bathroom and has views over the Elbe River. It is comfortable, well appointed and it feels like home. Hafencity is an area of Hamburg that is still undergoing redevelopment. It is part of the port area that is being turned into a community. There are walks along the river and canal, parks, museums, galleries, restaurants, shops and the Elphi. It's the sort of thing we could have done in Sydney if the $ wasn't the prime motivation for doing everything. They are building a community, not just apartments to sell off to those who can afford them.

The canal over from us looking back to the Elphi.

The weather hasn't improved a lot, dear reader. It is still grey and drizzly. The air quality is like Sydney post the fire works. One of our hosts has told us the smoke and haze is due to bonfires, a German tradition over the Easter break.

Love the old architecture.

We sat in our picture window on the first floor and watched our host, Chrissy distribute Easter eggs liberally throughout the park area below. It is Easter Sunday and the hunting ground was being prepared. The children were soon there running and squealing, searching for the bounty. We chatted briefly with Chrissy and Stefan before we set out into the unknown, our first full day in Hamburg. There was no guarantee of what would be open on a public holiday. Although we did find a place that served coffee within a couple of hundred metres of the apartment.

Spring is trying to break through.

Since the whole day's plan was a hypothetical, we decided to see if the tourist information centre was open. The location is not far from our apartment but, on approach, it seemed just as we had expected - the building was all in dark. We went to the notice on the door to try to translate the opening hours over the Easter weekend.

While we were busily Googling, the door suddenly opened a young lady, a tourist officer, came out to see if we needed assistance. We expressed our surprise at the place being open on Easter Sunday but she simply said it was normal hours today but would be closed tomorrow, as it is every Monday.

A model of Hafencity focused on our area.

She provided us with a walking map of our Hafencity/Speicherstadt zone and also suggested we join a free guided tour of the area at 3pm. As a new employee, she would also be joining the tour to learn the ropes from an experienced guide. The only catch was the tour was in German, not English.

The tour would not include the Elphi so we decided to visit this local landmark ourselves while we waited for the tour to begin. The Elphi is the shortened version of Elbphilharmonie, a concert hall that has been developed utilising an old warehouse as its base. It rises above the warehouse, resembling a sail or the waves on the Elbe River. It has three concert venues, the Westin Hotel and some luxury apartments.

Looking down our street to the Elphie.

The glass panels of the exterior of the building reflect the surroundings. It looks different depending on what time of day it is and this is obviously influenced by the sun, or in our case, lack thereof. I'm not sure a drab, grey day is showing her in her best light.

Looking from the Elphie down our street.

Entry to observation deck is free, although you need a ticket to scan, and it is accessed by an 82 metre curved escalator, the longest in Europe. Allegedly this is like a golden staircase. Maybe the gold lights were overshadowed by the cloud the day we were there. Despite the inclement weather, the crowd never dissipated and there was a constant stream up the escalator and through the foyer and out around the observation deck. Again the view would have been so much more impressive had the sun deigned to shine.

It's a long way to the top.

Regardless, we walked the viewing deck and took photos from all major compass points before descending to reality. We walked the few minutes back home to wait for the walking tour to commence. It was a 10 minute walk in the other direction.

A city of church spires.

We met Kendra, the tourism officer and walked down to where the tour was to commence. The guide was clearly not thrilled that he would have two people on the tour who could not speak German and made it clear our time would be better spent elsewhere. So we took ourselves off to wander the streets, checking out the juxtaposition of the massive old port warehouses with the modern apartment precinct that is being created as a sustainable community. 

The tourist brochures describe the area as a work in progress, yet to develop its own soul or the  character of the old city. There is construction a plenty, all incorporating open spaces and facilities to sustain the development of the community. The Tourist Office in fact provides a video presentation on this veery topic to highlight the ethos and strategy that are steering the creation of this newest part of Hamburg; its future, as they term it.

Canals are the lifeblood of Hamburg.

Despite it being outside the peak season, or perhaps because of it, we have not been able to book a guided tour. Our experience of Germany thus far, compared to Scandinavia, is that there is far less accommodation for English speakers. We have never been travellers who just assume that every other country should automatically provide all communication, written and oral, in English. But we have found it much harder to get by here than in any of the Nordic countries we have visited on this trip.

In preparation for our Easter Monday excursion to the old town, Aldstadt, we went back to the Tourist Centre to procure a map of the broader city to plan what sights we would seek out, supported by a walking tour app we had downloaded. On the way, we also located an ATM to obtain some Euros as, curiously, Germany for some reason loves cash over cards. Again a stark contrast to Scandinavia. More often than not, we have been able to use a credit card here but we have been told to check and not assume businesses have card readers.

Street art "walls can dance".

The area is clearly a work-in-progress. There are road closures, building sites, a Westfield under construction, but it still has a community feel. There is street art where you would least expect it and bridges criss cross the canal like a bizarre game of cat's cradle. 

The tide is out.

Rainfall became heavier as the day wore on and eventually drove us inside to the warmth of the apartment to plan our next day's attack. Originally Easter Monday was supposed to be dry, but the forecast has changed again, it's like Forrest Gump's box of chocolates, "You never know what you're going to get." I'll know what the weather is when I look out of the window tomorrow morning.

Oh well, our new motto will apply regardless: There is no bad weather, just bad clothing. We will dress accordingly, whatever the view from the window.

What is Life is a rather esoteric title, the reason dear reader is that nothing came instantly to mind. When the universe gives you nothing return to what you love. In this case it's George Harrison (the splitter) post Beatles with a great song from 1970. Enjoy. I do everytime I hear it.

Until next time.

Passenger (Copenhagen, Denmark to Hamburg, Germany)

Today, dear reader, we set out for Hamburg. The route we mapped to Copenhagen Central proved a winner, although it was Easter Saturday and early by some standards (Jayne's). Still, we made the station, alive with bags intact, with 20 minutes to spare. Warning. This entire post (almost the entire post) covers the train trip. The photos are totally unrelated to the text. They have been included because I like them. Oh, come on, it's my blog.

As a result of the blog being almost totally about train travel, Passenger, by Powderfinger, one of Australia's best ever bands, is the title.

There were still necessities to purchase for the trip, like chocolate, I mean water. Water first. This needed to be a careful choice because last time I accidentally purchased sparkling mineral water and the bottle, when opened, well, you know, excitement for everyone else except the person holding the bottle. 

What? It's spring. I'm building a nest.

Down the escalator to platform 5, as designated by our German tickets. Track numbers are now platforms. We look at the indicator to see where our carriage is situated and there is a red line and an explanatory note saying "Do not board here". Sometimes I wonder why life can't be simple and work the way it is supposed to. Our ticket says carriage 9. Where carriage 9 should be pictured, the screen says, "Do not board here".

When the going gets tough, as the expression goes, the tough get going. So I did. Back up the escalator to the convenience store to buy chocolate. I mean water. And see if someone can explain the apparent contradiction between our tickets and the sign.

Competitive churching: I have golden domes, but the real Dome casts a shadow.

Have you been to Copenhagen central, dear reader? It is large, cavernous even, and there was no information or help desk I could see. The stores closest to platform 5 all had long queues so I went further afield and found  a 7-11, yes they are everywhere, with lesser patronage. Chocolate sorted, well it was an easier purchase than water, I located water, changed my mind and opted for another brand. Safety first.

With 10 minutes before the train is due to depart, everything is fine, except whether our carriage exists. Maybe it's like track 9 at Stockholm? As I reach the escalator, I'm looking for Harry Potter. Instead I see our train. Panic stations. Warning Will Robinson! Danger! Danger! The previously crowded platform is emptying quickly. I know the train won't leave, it's not scheduled to, yet. But my fear is finding a storage place for our large suitcase. We are, big breaths, travelling second class! The horror.

I have no idea. Divers quarters?

Jayne is waiting for me. That's a relief. You can never really be sure, can you? It's like that Tim Winton novel, sorry, I digress.

Carriage 9 is down there, she points towards the front of the train and we begin wheeling the bags to where one of the DB (Deutsche Bahn) employees is directing people onto the mythical carriage 9. Up the steps I lug the big bag to find the lower compartment of the luggage rack occupied by small bags and backpacks that could be stowed above the seats. Typical. I shoulder the 23kg suitcase and stow it on the second shelf. Our smaller bags go above our seats and we settle in, listening to the whining children a few rows in front. It's only 4 hours and 40 minutes to Hamburg ...

Everything seems fine. The bags are stowed, we are settled, I have chocolate, I mean water (hydration is important) and the children aren't too loud. The DB fast train feels fast. Finally, a train on time. Trust the Germans.

So we have yellow ducks; in Denmark they have purple.

I'm not sure where things started to fray, dear reader. Perhaps with my, ultra careful, opening of my water to discover it was, once again, sparkling mineral water as it sprayed all over my hand and the table. Seriously. What is wrong with these people? Why can't they drink plain bloody water? They have 70 flavours of sparkling rubbish and I choose the only bottle that states "100% original" and it is still sparkling bloody mineral water. That bit was in fine print on the side of the bottle, in German. Thankfully I had a Kit Kat to cheer me up.

Then the announcements and unscheduled stops began. From, "We are 1 minute late," to "The train in front has a medical emergency, we will now be 10-15 minutes late." The next announcement pronounced that our lack of progress against our lateness was due to a signal failure, maybe 20-30 minutes.

Daffodils were everywhere. Potted. The ground was too cold.

During each stop, the air conditioning stopped functioning. The noise of the train decreased in commensurate proportions to the increase in squawking of the children and the propensity to notice those people too ignorant to purchase headphones for their iPads/computers.

Twenty minutes from Hamburg they announced we were back on time. That saw movement throughout the entire carriage. People started donning their coats, shouldering their backpacks and tying their children down. "It must be a long lead in to the station," I remarked.

 Rosenborg castle grounds.

As we crawled to a slow stop, the station in sight, the next announcement came: "Sorry, we do not have a platform at the station." OK, I get the issue with planes and slots at airports, but trains? We are on a track. Anyway, we sat and waited and finally made Hamburg station 20 minutes late. So much for German scheduling.

From the station it was the usual trauma. Which exit do we take? Which way do we go? That was after battling up the stairs because the escalator was not working. The down escalator worked fine. Wouldn't you swap it over?

Dans means dance.

Up the stairs, out into the world of daylight and warmth. It was 20°. We haven't experienced temperatures like this since we left Australia. To ensure there were no mistakes this time, I programmed the address into Apple maps and Google. And the winner was ... us. It was a fairly straightforward route from the station to our accommodation, with precious few cobblestones.

Despite my sensible clothing, no thermals, I was still sweating when we reached our destination. It is a beautiful one bedroom apartment in Hafencity with views of the Elbe River. Chrissy, our host was on hand to show us through the apartment and answer any questions. And also to remind us that the next two days are public holidays and if we wanted to shop, it needed to be today.

Seagull, I guess.

Once we were established in the apartment, we walked the few minutes to a choice of stores. Food and wine purchased, we returned to the apartment to stow the food and go wandering. There is a Vietnamese restaurant in the building, dinner is sorted.

What happens if you come home during changing of the guard? You wait.

Transit days are always stressful and eventful. This one was no different. A good Vietnamese meal and a couple of Saigon beers relaxed us. The welcome pack of Kinder Surprise chocolates and a couple of Hamburg specialty ales when we returned home didn't hurt either.

Until next time.

London Calling (Sydney, Australia and the search for the northern lights)

Have you missed me dear reader? Certainly I have missed travelling and it was quite unusual for me to shelter at home during the humid months. I detest Sydney in February, you can break into a sweat just getting out of bed. Now the the time has arrived for us to chase a cooler clime. It's off to the northern hemisphere, this time in search of those elusive northern lights, followed by a meandering wander through Scandinavia, Germany, Czechia, Austria and finally France. Yes, yes I know we've been to France on multiple occasions, but Paris. Swoon. We love it.

Sorry, there are no photos of interest in this post, but I promise to make amends as our journey unfolds.

The more intricate details of where we are going will be revealed as the blog posts are published. Suffice to say this journey begins in earnest in ... wait for it ... London. Ah, the city I most love to hate. I have tried to like it, really I have, but it's just ... without. Without what you ask? Lots of things really. It's just a passive aggressive version of Melbourne with worse weather (the forecast is for rain every day we are there). We begin in London because there was no choice. More on that later.

Qantas

Let's talk flights. My relationship with Qantas has soured and the resentment lingers. It's like a teenage love affair and being dropped by the person you love. Well, so I've been told. I've been stood up but never dropped. As I was putting together this trip, the airfares Qantas wanted for 2 return Business Class seats was well north of $20K. Even my bad back couldn't stomach (see what I did there?) Business Class at those prices.

Not to be deterred, I phoned; as a platinum frequent flyer, I thought I'd request the release of the required seats. After all, they were being discounted for sale on their website. The response, "Sorry sir, we are not releasing any seats on the requested flights." "But, they are on sale," say I. Same response. Cheers Qantas. So what is the point of being a Qantas FF with the lauded platinum status? Three parts of bugger all, I would suggest.

Once again I resorted to Fly Business For Less as I did some years back. Their service is first class. The result is outbound flights with Vietnam Air into my 'beloved' London and inbound with Qatar from Paris - largely to avoid the ridiculous charges applied at Heathrow. And because of London. The price? Around half what Qantas was asking for seats at the pointy end of the aircraft. We have flown internationally with both airlines before without issue, so this was really a no brainer.

Grudgingly. I admit that I will miss the Qantas first class lounge in Sydney. It is unlikely that we will see it again because my platinum status will dissolve at my next anniversary, largely because I've flown with every other airline but them. It is like being a teenager again and I'm just seeing what is out there. On the plus side, our last two international trips will have netted savings around $14k because we chose not to fly with Qantas. That buys a lot of fancy meals and champagne and we still have lounge access with the other airlines.

Packing

Ah, the perennial issue, compounded by the fact that we are cruising with Viking, chasing the northern lights and then travelling by train across Scandinavia and Europe. Space is a premium. We don't want to be lugging huge bags around the train stations. One remedy was to purchase a vacuum pump and a couple of bags to try and reduce bulk. Our -20°c parkas are, unsurprisingly, extremely bulky. This has proven to be quite effective.

It doesn't look like much, but then it's not all there yet. A mixture of packing cells and vacuum bags to make the best use of space. Despite my best effort, another suitcase was required, although it is carry-on size. For two months of travel from the frozen Arctic to Paris in Spring, we have managed to contain all our clothes in one large suitcase, 2 carry-on cases and our backpacks. Pretty happy with that.

My vacuum packed snow jacket. Gloves for size comparison.

All ready to go.

Chasing the lights

The northern lights or Aurora Borealis have been on my list for quite some time. The quandary was how to see them? We spoke with some Swedes we met in Budapest a few years back and they recommended a place in Sweden, naturally. The concept of hanging around the frozen wastelands of anywhere for an indeterminate length of time did not set my heart a flutter. And the cold is most definitely not on Jayne's list of things to get excited about.

Then my travel agent (yes, dear reader, I do use one sporadically) suggested a Viking cruise up the coast of Norway. I had already checked out Hurtigruten but the level of comfort and cabin space did not live up to Jayne's exacting standards. So Viking it is. Tragically, the cruise leaves from London. Hence the title, that 1980 classic from the Clash. You can relive your memories here. The only plus side to this is that we get spend to spend some time with Zoë before we sail away on our quest.

Traps for young players

Ok, Ok, I'm not young, nor am I an inexperienced traveller, but that didn't stop me making a rookie error. Accommodation, as you will discover in subsequent posts, is a mixture of hotel and AirBnB. In London I opted for a hotel that was in proximity to Fenchurch Street Station because that is where we board the train for Tilbury which is where the ship departs.

Ever mindful that London is ridiculously expensive, I decided to use some accrued Accor points to defray the cost of our stay. There is a Novotel within walking distance of Fenchurch Street Station. Excellent. I had multiple tabs open in my attempt to find the best accommodation. I jumped from maps to the hotel sites to the Accor site to make the booking. No Booking.Com problems for this traveller.

Hotel booked. The spreadsheet that covers the trip, our accommodation, mode of travel, places of interest has been slowly populated over the months preceding our departure. As February 24 drew closer, I explored how to get from the despised Heathrow to our hotel. And that is when I discovered it.

The Novotel near Fenchurch Street Station is Novotel London Tower Bridge and the hotel I booked is the Novotel London Bridge. What's in a word? About 2km in distance, 20 minutes on a bus or 30 minutes on foot and a river crossing. The names are so similar. Ah well. We still have a bed.

Sydney to London

The usual quandary of how to get to the airport was solved when Uber sent me a 50% off your next ride voucher. Pick up booked for 11:30am, for a 3:15pm flight. From our door to the SkyTeam Lounge in a under an hour.

We arrived at our hotel in London after over 30 hours in transit. Vietnam Airlines weren't faultless, but they were very good. The staff were lovely and attentive, the food was excellent, the flights were on time and (as a tier 2 airline as I've seen them described) Business still comes with a lie flat bed. The down side? Well, first world problems. The Lounge in Sydney is pretty average, the one in Hà Nôi is better. There is a limited selection of wine available in the lounge or on the aircraft. And the staff don't offer re-fills as attentively as say Singapore or Qantas. A small price to pay for a flat bed that allows me to walk pain-free after a long flight.

Heathrow. Really what is there to say? If you know, you know. It's like covid. Best avoided. The disembarkation process and baggage collection went quickly and smoothly. Surprisingly. No doubt the e-passports have streamlined the process. The baggage collection area was a seething, heaving mass of humanity. And their over-sized bags and squealing, crying children. All that was required to create hell was the sound of leaf blower in the background. 

The signage to get to the train was inadequate, at one point we were directed into a blank wall. The staff, posted at regular intervals to be of assistance, weren't really. Unless you cornered them. Despite it all we made the train.

And then London. The city I love to hate. Where to start today? In an attempt to make us feel at home, there was track work on the Underground and the line we had decided to use to get to the hotel was closed. It wasn't a huge inconvenience except to use the Elizabeth line cost almost 3 times as much. Almost £14 compared to just over £5. The benefit? None really. It's 10 minutes faster than the Piccadilly line. However, it does beat the estimated $400 + for a cab! Does anyone actually catch A cab to London from Heathrow?

The good bit? It's not raining so the 10 minute walk to the hotel from the tube was easily negotiated. We had arranged for an early check-in at the hotel because we landed at 7:30am. However, the hotel has a midday check-out time and was fully booked. Why would you offer an early check-in, for a fee, if you can't deliver?

The result: we are sitting in the hotel bar drinking very bad coffee, well it is London, charging our phones, sorting the e-sim and finishing this blog before we finally get to shower, change and go hang with Zoë.

And so we are back. I will blog frequently but I'm not guaranteeing a daily dose.

Until next time.

Spill the Wine (Amsterdam - final)

This is my final post for this Odyssey, dear reader. As such, there may be photos dropped in from anywhere on the trip.

As Sunday clawed its way into the conscious of Amsterdammers, the street cleaners were once again hard at work. The piles of detritus on a Sunday morning were larger than those from yesterday. It also appeared that some sort of bike-hating monster had ranged the streets, pushing bikes over and stacking them in doorways to stop people leaving their apartments.

The off-limits rotunda in Vondelpark

Amsterdam is not pretty in the early morning, dear reader. The fact that streets are so dirty is probably the only aspect of the city that we dislike. And so, to breakfast. Today we found a café up near the flower market. Once again the coffee was very good. I don't get what was going on with the coffee in Hungary, Austria and Germany. Lift your game. Today's food fare was toasties - an Americano for me (bacon, tomato and cheese - not sure why this is American but anyway) and a Hawaiian for Jayne (ham, cheese and pineapple) which she requested, without the Hawaiian component, eliciting a second look and a slight smirk from the server and a shake of the head from me. 

We briefly entertained the thought of sending some tulip bulbs home to the (current) favourite child who lives in the Southern Highlands. Only to be informed that export to Australia is not permitted. Indeed, the flower seller we spoke with said, "Absolutely not. I can send nothing to Australia". No Dutch tulips.

A photo without people in Vondelpark is not easy.

Sunday is a quiet day and many shops were not open. We walked around an area near the hotel where we had not previously been but there wasn't much to see. Aside from the Rijksmuseum and Rembrandt's House we have covered just about all the major attractions and it was a deliberate decision not to visit these two places.

In reality, we were just burning time until we met friends from home. They arrived yesterday to do the reverse of our trip, Amsterdam to Budapest, although with a different company. We had arranged to meet at Café Luxembourg for drinks at 4pm which was peak pedestrian time in the hospitality areas of Leidseplein and Spui. 

Flowers in Durnstein

As we wove our way towards our rendez-vous, a car pushed its way across the crowded footpath to try to enter the main street. There was oncoming traffic which included a tram. The driver astutely decided that the nose of his car was in danger so he did what any Amsterdammer would do; without any indication, he put his car into reverse and started to retreat onto the footpath he had just crossed, paying absolutely no attention to the fact that there were numerous pedestrians behind him, Jayne and me included. After the initial collision with my arm, a lightening fast assessment of the situation resulted in me drawing the attention of the driver to my presence by belting the back of his car. I also let him know bluntly, that I was not impressed with his cavalier disregard for pedestrians. As a memento of this encounter, I now sport a bruise on my arm and the driver is currently searching for a job involving sex and travel.

Having survived the near-death experience, we made it to Cafe Luxembourg which was crowded, as expected, but we nabbed a table, collected chairs and took up residence. We did not recognise any of the wait staff and were generally ignored until Jayne lassoed a passing waiter. Shortly thereafter, a beer and a bottle of 'room temperature' chablis arrived. Unconcerned, we chatted with Dave and Vikki and enjoyed the afternoon.

Don't I look fabulous?

Then on to dinner back at Peppinos, that restaurant we so enjoyed the night before last. The restaurant quadrant was filling up with all sorts of interesting people. There was the ubiquitous hen's party from the UK. Each of the girls was wearing a T-shirt with a number, handwritten on the back. Except one, ah, young lady. Her t-shirt said PTO. I'll just leave that there, in case my speculation gets me into trouble.

Our table under the awning provided an excellent view of the passing parade. We ordered some wine and sat chatting as we waited for the first of the meals to arrive. In a brave show of daring and imagination, we had the same entrees as last time. 

Canal life

The title today, dear reader, is somewhat misleading because we didn't spill any wine. (A classic song by Eric Burdon and the Animals, 1970). Neither did our waiter. However, he spilled our entire dinner. All four of them. Somebody had clearly moved a chair by the door to the restaurant, the one that the wait staff use to access the kitchen. Out comes our waiter, tray held high, obscuring his view and then he was gone from sight. Risotto and pasta went flying across the street as our waiter was sent sprawling to the ground. He was clearly shaken and hurt but appeared at our table, still wearing our food on his clothes and in his beard, to apologise for the delay. We were more concerned about him than we were about a delay in our food arriving at the table.

We chatted with him later in the evening. He was still very apologetic but had changed clothes by this time and his injured hand was in a glove with some ice to keep the swelling down.

Sculpture in the garden of the Rijksmuseum

After a very enjoyable evening, we farewelled Dave and Vikki and dawdled back to the hotel for our last night in Amsterdam.

There is not much to report from that point. We were picked up next morning and dropped at the airport. Jayne witnessed an unusual sight in the lounge: a woman, clearly the indecisive type, conducting her own wine tasting at the bar, prior to selecting what she wanted to drink. That was new.

The quintessential Dutch view.

The plane was late leaving which truncated our time at Dubai Airport. We arrived back in Australia on time at 10pm, Sydney time. Europe is such a long way from home and we were in transit for around 28 hours. Despite the discomfort of long distance travel, we are planning our next European assault.

European Reflections

1. The triple US cancers of McDonalds, Burger King and Starbucks are everywhere. Sadly.

2. Cigarettes. Everyone still smokes. Surprisingly. In Amsterdam their smoke smells sweet and strangely reminds me of my undergraduate days at uni.

3. Service. The further east you travel across Europe, the less enthusiastic the service becomes. In fact, many wait staff were afflicted by RBF - not all, of course, some were delightful, but there were many who clearly did not enjoy their work.

4. Sheets. What is it with Europeans and doonas? The doonas are arctic rated and there is no sheet between the doona and you. It is either melt or freeze.

5. Hotel housekeeping can be 'a choose our own adventure' experience: depending who is on duty, you might get your towels changed but not your bed made, you might get your bed made but not your cups and glasses cleaned, you might not get the room attended to at all ...

6. Language #1. A very important Dutch word, 'ongezouten'. It means 'unsalted'. Ignore it at your peril.

7. Language #2. Some of the European languages are seriously taking the piss. In Dutch for instance, the menu is tagged "Eten and Drinkenen". Really? Eating and drinking?

8. COVID. COVID is referred to as "the corona". No one wears a mask, ever, anywhere. If you see a mask it is probably covering the face of an Australian.

Until next time ... November ... Vanuatu.