Socceroos continued part 3

So without any idea as to why there were two copies of each photo I am bouyed by the fact that they were posted in the correct order!!
So.......after finding the highs and lows of the Aussie dress sense it was time to sing away the time waiting for the 2100 hour game. Songs like "you've got a one tonne Ronaldo"; "you are red, you are white, you are going home tonight"; "au.....stra.....li....ya....clap clap clap..."; "stand up for the socceroos, stand up" and so forth soon got everyone in the green and gold up to their feet, with beers raised in pride, as someone else played someone else on the big screen.
As I looked around, it was good to see some of the native wild-life had made the journey from Oz to lend their support although where the infamous Wombat was, I do not know.....
Included in the photo album was a very rude Skippy doing some "not postable" things to a blow up Croatian but send us word and I'll send that one through!!
Amongst the throngs of Aussies, I also managed to find some people who'd escaped from wonderland......deeply schizophrenic and showing their bipolar nature on the outside. Normally we look these people in the "other wing" just left of Siberia but at least half of them had the right idea.
After the first game finished, it was left up to those of us without tickets to keep the spirit going. Needless to say, with tunes like "Land Down Under", "Throw your arms around me" and other classic hits blaring over the speakers, it wasn't a hard task.
Amongst all that was going on, we did manage to find some Croatian supporters shorter than us which was not really comforting since she was only about 6 years old!!
As the time approached, the chorus of "change the channel.........change the channel" was quickly replaced by cheers and one of the most heart-felt "Advance Australia Fair"s I've ever heard in my life.
As the game went on, Australia 0:1 down, all that happened was a rise in volume of the chants and cheers. When we finally equalised, it was like a bolt of electricity hit the "flux capacitor" and stopped time....only to followed by an explosion of celebration. It was like the Mastercard ad........at that point everyone was turning around and hugging anyone wearing the green and gold. Thankfully the beer comes in big glasses so none was spilt during the cheers that preceeded the hugs otherwise we would have been swimming our way back to the bar to fill up during the half time break.
The second half was equally emotional and the climax was awesome. Tables broke as Aussies got up jumping around to.....something. At point it didn't matter!! We had gone further than any Socceroo had gone before. (Mind you we were only the second team to make it and the first never scorred a goal!!)

Given the numbers of Croatians around town, we all quickly departed in an internally ecstatic way. Sly smiles and nods to other Aussies was all that was required to share the joy. Surrounded by an armada of disappointed Croatians was enough to keep the Aussie joy in check.....there aren't that many cultures that appretiate "taking the piss" as a sense of humour.
Anyway, will post the return home with photos later, Go the Socceroos.....it was worth missing Fete to be part of this evening!

Of note, reindeer don't do well when subjected to large bunches of Aussies!!

Socceroos continued

before i continue, i must explain the following regarding the photos:
1. i have no idea how to put them where i want
2. if you click on them they will open up in another screen in a larger size
3. i have no idea how to put them into an order that corresponds to how i want them to appear in the story so some reader participation will be required.

anyway..........as i searched the crowd, low and behold, i ran into one of the physio-terrorists from the stables....Marty. As it turns out, he was there, with tickets, in a large group. Naturally it was off to submerge myself into the green and gold and get a taste of some good german culture.....Photo: Marty on the left, Yours truely on the right.

attempt number two to upload photos!!!!

soon we found ourselves amongst the diggers......those boys and girls in green and gold going against a larger army of Croatian supporter. After first rounds opposite the main public viewing area, it was off to the ?Schlosshaus (beer hall thing) near the main train station. There, we found that some supporters had gone to varying lengths to support the Aussie cause......

We're in the next round......Go the Socceroos

The whole reason this Santa left Paris, and the biggest party of the year, was to lend what ever support was possible to the Socceroos who were playing Croatia in a do or die affair at the stadium in Stuttgart. Unfortunately, they had to do without their secret weapon....No. 8. Anyway, it was off to sit from the sidelines. Volker "Aussie for a day" Meyer and myself caught the train into Stuttgart central from the airport. As the train made it's way toward central, more and more golden tops could be seen getting on the train......however this was far and above out-numbered by the waves of red and white that got on as well.
Upon arrival at central, two things became plainly clear:
1. there was a hell of a lot more red and white than green and gold.....kid you not at least 20:1
2. the average size of the Croatians was about foot tall than most of the Aussies that were around.

Needless to say, as I searched for some green and gold to find support, it became obvious that if we won I needed some numbers. As i searched around the crowd...........where's wally?

at this point, i shall end and keep you in suspense......as i check to see that my photos are up loading as i want!!

Foreign Languages, foreign food and foreign road rules:

The hobble to Paris’ Gare de L’Est train station was far more graceful than the previous rush. As was to be expected, since Murphy’s law effects Santas just as much as everyone else, my carriage was the second: second closest to the engine and therefore the penultimate one on the platform. To further rub my nose in it, Murphy also made sure that the door didn’t remain open for more than 10 seconds and so, after helping: an elderly couple co-ordinate themselves and their luggage onto the train between door closes, and another elderly lady, her luggage and lap-sized dog onto the train, I boarded the train myself.
Again, the God of ticket reservations had given me a seat facing the wrong direction, in a group of four. It was however a window seat, not that this really mattered as, to further dampen the train experience, the lady with the annoying dog (go on Marlowe, eat him!!) was sitting in my supposedly reserved seat, chatting away on her mobile phone, all the time blatantly ignoring all attempts I was making at eye contact. By now my French is “fluent” enough that I could have explained to her that:
1. she was in my seat, and
2. if she was not senile, she might remember that I was the kind young man, resembling a tortoise with a bandaged leg, who graciously assisted her, her luggage and her dog, onto the train before getting on himself.

STILL NO EYE CONTACT.

Now, had this been Christmas, and I still in my Santa uniform, I doubt whether it would have made any difference at all to this lady. Anyway, looking on the bright side as I am often doing, I decided a different tact: screw the reservation, find an unreserved seat that suits your needs and sit there. After turning 65° from my position I found a window seat, facing the correct direction and that was unreserved. Sweet!! Any apprehension about sitting in the wrong seat was quickly dispelled by the conductor who, upon realising that I was in the wrong seat, looked over to where my seat was and gave me a wry smile in response to my shrugged shoulders.
“Est-ce que vous comfortable ici?” (Are you comfortable here?)
“Oui, je prefere ici” (Yes, I prefer here.)
“Bien, bon voyage” (Fine, have a good journey)
“Merci, a toi aussi.” (thankyou, same to you.)

And so it was off to Germany. After a previous attempt, I was finally going to leave the comforts of France; a place with good friends, a language I understood and spoke and a culture I could get used to. Once over the border, everything changed. I knew nothing of the language, had no map or guidebook and pretty much felt like Captain Kirk: going were no man had gone before. Of course things were not that bad since I was being met in Stuttgart by a close friend: Volker, the German. As I travelled along the tracks, it was hard not to imagine the place 70 odd years ago during the War, with soldiers walking through the woods and tanks rolling down the roads. As a result of the war, almost everything has been rebuilt, but whilst still retaining a degree of charm in the style of houses built.
After safely arriving at the main train station, I met Volker and jumped into his car to go to his place, about 30 minutes from Stuttgart. After entering onto one of the freeways Volker asked the question I’d been waiting for:
“would you like to go via the autobahn?”
“um…..no not really?!?!”

Pedal to the metal and off we went, cruising at a comfortable 180 km/hr in the A4 Audi. (unfortunately there was some road works limiting us) If only we had the same laws in Australia. The plan for the following days is Stuttgart central for the Socceroo game against Croatia, Porsche and Mercedes museums and seeing if we can hire a Porsche for a day and go sick.
That evening it was off to my first German beer hall to watch what was essentially a boring game between Argentina and the Netherlands. Tried some of the local cuisine which I won’t even try to spell, let alone pronounce, but was basically the German pizza – pita bread flattened out to the size of two dinner plates and topped with cheese, herbs and meat. It was really tasty although I think that I prefer the thicker base in pizzas. Sampled a few different beers before collapsing into bed for some well earned rest.
Oh Rudolf, it’s just so much better in a car. Sorry but horse-power beats Reindeer-power any day!!
Tips for young drivers:
1. in Germany you accumulate points up to a total of about 18 before your license is threatened....Mr Harris you should move here!! How many points have you go left??
2. the fine for being caught driving 10 km/hr over the speed limit: 20 euro --> about AU$35
3. 38 km/hr over the limit on the highway is 3 points and 100 euro --> about AU$175 (Volker is a pilot and German....clearly speed is no object when flying at 900 km/hr is the norm!!)
4. there are speed limits on the autobahns but only in high accident areas and then these are really only advisory limits
5. people drive on the wrong side of the road here too.
6. seatbelts are irrelevant at 200+ km/hr but do provide a thin sense of security nonetheless.
7. Porsches are faster the A4 Audis
8. Ferraris are faster than Porsches (think it was a Ferrari..looked like a shimmering red blur really)

Limping back to Paris:

What'’s not cool -->‡ a 25kg back-pack, camera bag, day pack and a buggered leg. One might be tempted to whinge and whine but as Forrest Gump said: "Stupid is as Stupid does!!"”. After a quiet week hobbling (looked a little like Arnie towards the end of Terminator 1), not partying and speaking heaps of French it was time to get ready to leave Biarritz. Most of my time was spent with a good bunch of Swiss. Advantageous because we spoke in French most of the time and secondly they were closer to my age than the 17 year old Irish girls from my class.
The final night out ended up being a lot bigger than expected but as Michele said the night before..….."”Connor, you are young. Enjoy because you can sleep on the train."” After a high speed police chase through the streets of Biarritz, without the police, I ended up on the train back to Paris. Up, packed and onto train within 30 minutes. Not bad considering the normal travel time to the station is about 25 minutes!! The train ride, complete with the left over effects of the night before (hence shortly off to the catering cart for the WUB), lunch from Michele and a kind French university student who helped me compose my sms to Michele for a heartfelt "thanks"” for the previous two weeks. I still have a lot of French to learn and my original plan of going to the Alps for a 4 week stint has quickly been changed to a return to Biarritz for the same time or more.
After staggering back to Paris, well it was probably more of a hobbling-stagger, I met Alice to go and house sit a cat at her uncle'’s place in the Marais, a very trendy artisan part of Paris. Many famous artists used to live in the area including Jim Morrison, who used to live in the apartment above where we were staying that night......no shit!!
Next was back to Oberkampf to stay with Rod, the Aussie guy (with so many different degrees of separation to me it wasn't funny) I stayed with in Montmartre last time. Oberkampf was were I ended up last year during the Fete de la musique, one of the best ideas for a government sponsored party in the world....to diverge, the French government decided that their lack of musical culture needed to be amended in order to keep up with their fine culture of fashion, food and wine (etc) and so they decided that , for the summer equinox, every year, there would be no noise restrictions across the entire country between 0800 and 0800. Hydrocoele, eat your heart out!! It must be noted at this stage that I am forgoing this spectacle to provide support to the Socceroos in Stuttgart against Croatia!!..................go the Socceroos.
Anyway, as I was saying, it was back to Obers. Time enough upon arrival to dump the back-pack, cameras and day pack (will get around to learning how to post photos) and then get ready for the days game, particularly Australia vs Brazil. Despite the result, there can be no doubt that the boys played well and after making it home for a house party at Rob’s (no bicycle accidents of course).......as another Shithead used to say:"“once bitten twice shy") it was finally time to get a decent night’s sleep.
Tips for young players:
1. when injuring limbs it is a good idea to give said limb at least more than 48 hours to recuperate;
2. legs take longer to heal than arms;
3. my leg still hurts........probably related to points 1 and 2;
4. booking a train to Germany takes longer than 10 minutes;
5. traffic comes from the other direction in Europe!!

After finally booking the ticket to Stuttgart, it was off to go and meet some Krauts, discuss the wearing of socks and sandals and support the Socceroos!!!!!

School, Sport and Kiwi’s with bikes:

Life in Biarritz was worse than you could imagine. School started at an arduous 09:30 after a breakfast of fresh coffee and vegemite toast and a 20 minute bus trip. Classes were good although the text was better in Nice. In my class there was myself, Jorg (a Swiss) and 7 young Irish girls doing the same thing as Connor and his mates. The girls all thought that I was from Turkey (not Torquay) and questioned me after the first day of school as to why I spoke English so well?!? (my French isn’t that bad god damn it!)
Class went until 13:00 at which point the school reconvened à la Grande Plage….at the beach. The afternoons spend sunbathing , swimming, playing ball games were only slightly hindered by the need to homework. Home for dinner at about 1900 followed by a rendez-vous on the beach for the nightly “study session”. This impossible routine was only made worse by an hour and a half of private tutes twice a week. The private tutes were an excellent addition to learning and would strongly recommend them for anyone planning to take a similar approach to world travel and learning another language.
The weekend was totally different…..i mean there was no school, however not all of the weekend was spent on the beach. On Saturday Biarritz Olympic Pays Basque (know as B.O.), the local team of the rugby-mad region, played in the French grand final. The team had come second only a few weeks earlier in the European Championship.
Sporting our new B.O. jerseys, it was off to the pub to enjoy the atmosphere and watch B.O. dish it out to Toulouse. Once the final whistle blew it was all over…….Biarritz transformed into a massive party with red and white (the team colours) everywhere. Vehicles travelling through the streets, with flags flying and horns blaring, was the norm as the town partied hard into the wee hours of the morning and beyond. All curfews for the younger ones were off as the city struggled to contain the parties that spilled into every street of the town.
The following day, nursing more than just a few hangovers, the team arrived, in an open top double-decker, to a sea of red and white. After the speeches and thankyous it was…..back to partying. As expected, Monday morning class was sluggish at best however there was no time to relax. It was Monday 12th June……..Australia was making it’s long awaited return to the World Cup arena against Japan.
For those that watched the game…wholly hell. Basically after Japan scored the first goal in controversial circumstances and it was not until the last 6 minutes that Australia scored the equaliser and then 2 more!! As prearranged, the 3 Aussies from school, myself, Nichol and Mel, regrouped at the pub to watch the game. Despite all attempts to moderate the evening given the weekend, the combination of tension, a kick-arse win and close proximity to alcohol meant that: resistance truly was futile.
Tips for young players- the following combination does not work:
1. celebratorials after socceroo victory
2. an Australian
3. a Kiwi
4. point to on the handle bars of a bike being ridden by point 3
5. steep hill in the downwards direction
6. pavement

I couldn’t walk very well with my banged up left knee although at this stage (without x-ray) no broken bones on palpation; full ROM left ankle and knee. Abrasions to left elbow, left knee, left ankle and left foot. Able to weight-bear and walk (although slowly)……Luckily the bike was okay.

Go the Socceroos!!!

Biarritz - where life is so hard you want to end it all

It is such an amazing thing to see the ocean. An expanse of nothingness until the horizon with an energy like no other. Having the ocean with in view is a very important thing for me; hearing the waves, smelling the salt air, swimming in the fish piss…it’s all part of my spirit. Donc (Therefore) Biarritz. Where the hell do I start?!?!
Biarritz is a town in the South West of France on the Atlantic coast, just near the Spanish/French border. It stands within the Basque region, an area that encompasses both sides of the border and well known for the antics of E.T.A. (if you don’t know them then Google) over recent decades. The French side of the region has enjoyed relative peace and harmony compared to their Spanish neighbours. As a result…..picture a man, going on a journey beyond sight and sound. He’s left Torquay and entered……..Biarritz!! It has all of the vibe of Torquay but with amazing architecture, European sunbathing the norm and surf….not the first week but the swell picked up during the second.
My host mother was this awesome (although a little senile…..she would call me Connor, the other student’s name, more often than my own but we could generally work out who she was talking too!) widower named Michele. A 63 year old artist who moved the area after the death of her husband four years ago. Unlike many of the host families who accept students because they need the money, often displacing family members to couches or the hallway in order to provide a room for the students, Michele did it for the company. The house was an awesome two-storey place with two studio apartments on the ground floor and her place on the first. The entire place was renovated by Michele with a Moroccan theme, high wooden ceilings , white walls and leafy green plants everywhere. Connor and I shared one of the downstairs studios (the other rented to a former student of the school, a cool Kiwi named Rob). Complete with our own shower, toilet, kitchenette, fridge, microwave and television we were more than comfortable. Being separate from the house also afforded us a lot of freedom and there were no concerns of waking Michele late at night after returning home from….the library?!!
Connor was a 17 year old Irish lad preparing with his two other mates (collectively the Three Musketeers) for their final year at school. Naturally this preparation involved the purchase of items not legally available to a 17 y.o. in Ireland…….Beer!!
As part of the whole “Host Family” deal with school was breakfast and dinner everyday. It’s been a very long time since I’ve got home from anywhere to have home cooked meals ready on arrival. Unlike some of school mates who struggled through something resembling a nutritious meal, Connor and I ate in luxury with some amazing traditional Basque meals, all which came with garden fresh vegetables and included seafood, duck and steaks.
It was clear to me from the first meal when I arrived on the Sunday, an awesome Paella with super fresh seafood and salad, that this was going to be a very difficult 2 weeks. Sometime one must sacrifice certain comforts in order to appreciate life to it’s fullest!!!

Paris to Bordeaux and beyond

It didn’t take long for this Santa to get itchy feet. Although I love Paris, I was happy to get on my way. First stop was Bordeaux, famous for it’s wine making amongst other things. As one can imagine, after being stuck on a diet of milk and cookies, getting stuck into some nice French wine was a real challenge.
Unfortunately travelling through the wine district is not like home. You generally have to make a booking to get into any wineries, and many don’t have cellar doors anyway. Therefore the only way to get to wineries is to do a formal wine-tour which doesn’t happen on the weekends. Doh!!
A further disappointment was to realise that I had left the North Pole without Vegemite. After a week of solid withdrawals one finds that the withdrawals still don’t stop. Particularly heightened by times of post Bordeaux wine tasting from the local bottle-boutique.
Walkabout in Bordeaux revealed an awesome city with a sort of clash between funky shops and random old French architecture. A lot of this is due to the large university population which is settled here….including quite a few students staying at the hostel!!
I went into the Jean Moulin (the leader of the French resistance during WWII) museum and said “Allo, Allo”. They didn’t seem to get it……come on, think about it?! Also found the time to climb up to the top of a tower a get a great panoramic view over the entire city.
Talking about people at the hostel, met a cool couple of Aussie who, as always happens, knew someone I know….in this case one of the girls went to school with my sister!?! All was not lost once this information was discovered, Cath kindly donated her jar of vegemite.
Finally I decided, whilst sitting in a one of the Squares, staring at the people walking by, to make a few comments about what’s cool and what’s not:

1. driving on the right hand side of the road in any city ‡ not cool just scary
2. dog shit ‡ not cool
3. je suis photographe d’Australie ‡ apparently very cool
4. any vehicle with <125cc motor being driven through streets at full REVs ‡ not cool
5. driver of number 4 ‡ not cool
6. sandals and socks ‡ not cool (it’s just German)
7. Nickel-Chromè ‡ apparently the new phrase in French meaning “it’s cool”
8. African people walking around ‡ cool
9. Riding a bike with your cello on your back ‡ cool
10. Matty Ho with a mo ‡ just fucking wrong!!!!
11. yellow strings on a double bass ‡ cool
12. jeans tucked into socks ‡ so not cool
13. being given a piece of chewing-gum with your expresso ‡ cool
14. grapefruit chewing gum ‡ NOT COOL

After 2 days of soaking up the sights, sounds and wine of Bordeaux, it was back onto the train for the trip to Biarritz and back to French school.

La Vie en France à Paris

It’s surprising how quickly one falls into an old life. Whilst testing the waters of unemployment, I was fortunate enough to spend a decent amount of time in Paris and make some very good friends at the same time. Even after 11 months, it is though I never left. The French are still the same, the Metro still rocks, croissants still taste better and the wine is still awesome.
One of the beautiful things about Paris is just walking around the area you are living in. My current abode is 500m from the Eiffel Tower. A magnificent structure built originally with the plan to deconstruct it after the World Fair for which it was built in the first place. Thankfully it was decided to that it should stay and it is certainly one of the most well-known structures in the world, even though it does resemble a huge penis! Despite a fair degree of fatigue, I nonetheless ventured from the Eiffel Tower to the Latin Quarter, soaking up the sounds and sights of Paris. Luckily part of that experience was not stepping on any of the dog shit that litters the streets. It seems my radar for “Les Petits Mins” (The little mines) was straight back into working order.
Finally managed to catch up with Alice again which was certainly a bit weird after 11 months but we soon got right back to where we left things. Later that night we caught up with Rod, his Uncle Charles and a couple of his friends from South Australia. The best thing about partying until dawn is that you can catch the Metro home: cheaper than a taxi and a damn sight quicker than walking. It was funny how quickly one can get into the groove of doing nothing!

Leaving Hong Kong

The last day in Hong Kong was spent suffering the same weather as the previous two. I managed to catch up with an old friend who took me to the best roast duck on Hong Kong Island which was fantastic. Apparently it is actually roast goose (because the meat is better) but I guess it just doesn’t have the same ring. After sweating like a pig all day it was time to jump onto the aeroplane and head for Paris. Unfortunately the plane was chock-a-block full and all that I could manage was a seat in the middle, at the back……however, thank goodness for being a santa. On arrival at the gate I was presented with my new boarding pass, on the aisle at the front. Unfortunately not an upgrade but the combination of the better seat, a glass of red wine and of course 15mg of zolideprate (Stillnox) ensured a blissful cruise at 30,000 ft.
I arrived in Paris to get my damn passport stamped (doh…will have to do something about that……is it illegal to rip a page out of your passport?!?!) and collect my bag in the carnage that is Charles de Gaulle airport. Next was to find the airport shuttle bus which whisks people from CDG to L’Opéra in the heart of Paris. Unfortunately, it seemed to have moved from last time or I was a still a little Stillnoxed. What I did manage to find was a guy offering his “cab” for a €20 transfer to the same place. I was instructed, in the event that the cops pulled us over, to say that I was a friend whom he picked up from the airport. You see the thing was his “cab” was just his normal car and it’s he wasn’t a cabbie at all. He was however less than half the price of an actual cab for the same distance so off I went.
Unfortunately for this cabbie being the well travelled Santa,that I am, including places like India, meant that I was a step ahead of this guy:
Tips for young players when travelling on illegitimate/legitimate forms of transport in foreign countries:
1. negotiate and confirm the price at least 3 times before getting into said mode of transport;
2. talk continually with the driver about any and all possible topics, using your worst attempts at their language, even if it is English. This tends to get you places quicker as they want to get you out of their vehicle just to shut you up;
3. tell them nothing actually about yourself, where you are going or what you are looking for;
4. even f you’ve never been to the place you’re at, pretend you know exactly where you are, i.e. landmarks in order to reassure yourself and reaffirm to the to driver that you are on to him, but done with such finesse that you don’t ruin all of your hard work from point 2;
5. get all of your luggage out of the car before handing over any cash. (I can’t believed he tried to ask for an extra €5 for my luggage?!?)
6. smile the entire time like you’ve just received a few heavy doses of bo-tox.
7. even if you actually do take drugs, don’t be tempted to buy the hashish he offers on the drive, just after getting out of the airport!

Anyway, have arrived safely back on Australian land (the embassy with my dear Genevieve) ready to get back into the life of an unemployed Santa.

C’est la vie.