Paris

We departed from Amsterdam, bound for Paris in rather a rush, finding out with 6 minutes to spare that we needed to change platforms and catch a train to the airport, and then find our train to Paris. Apparently, no-one in Europe believes that people need to be informed (in a timely fashion or otherwise) when a train is cancelled. Nor do they need to be given a reason. I hate to think what would have happened if we hadn't have been there early, or if we hadn't moved immediately to our platform when it appeared on the board. Thankfully, the remainder of the journey was uneventful.

Day one kicked off with a trip to Trocadero, giving us an amazing view of something called the Eiffel tower, perhaps the most under-rated landmark on the Parisian skyline. They should really market that a bit more - it would do wonders for their ailing tourist numbers.

Anyway, we made our way towards it, only to discover that a ridiculously long line had already been established beneath the tower (at ten in the morning!). We waited our turn, jumped on the first elevator, and headed up to the first floor.

Here of course, the view was already pretty amazing, but we thought it best to wait another hour to ascend to the very top. Neither Zach or I had actually been to the very top floor of the Eiffel tower, so it was a very cool experience.

View from La Tour Eiffel towards North West Paris (Trocadero bottom left, Arc de Triomph upper middle)

We then headed down to the Champs De Mars for a quick photo stop, where we were asked by no fewer than 37 people to take their picture. Unfortunately, in every country we appear to be a very popular photography option. I think it might be because Zach has kind of this David Attenborough look about him. No group was more annoying in terms of asking for their picture taken than the five South Africans teens who insisted Zach get a photo of them jumping in front of the Eiffel tower. Despite 10 minutes of attempts, they still didn't manage to get a photo where they were all actually off the ground. I never realised how difficult it is to jump on "3, 2, 1, JUMP!" before. In any case, we took a couple of pictures and then headed onwards.

Musee de l'Orangerie was our next stop, just off Place de la Concorde. It was a museum full of all the kinds of art Zach and I hate, but we mainly went to see one thing. A collection of eight "water lily" paintings by Monet, who is apparently pretty big. I find this hard to believe, because Zach and I both agree that in 5/8 cases, Theo (the newest addition to the Mansfield family) could produce a more exciting work of art. Three decent paintings out of eight is not a good batting average. Especially when, like Monet, you can't even paint within the lines (he left paint all over the pre-installed frames). I would show you photos, but 10 Euro is not enough to buy the rights to photograph this stuff, apparently.

Picture kindly donated by Wikipedia

After leaving the Musee, we hightailed across town just in time to scale the Arc de Triomph and catch a daylight view of the surrounds. It was breathtaking, but boy is that climb a killer. The worst of the European climbs by far!

View of the Champs-Élysées from atop the Arc

The next day began with a bang in the form of BLUE SKY!!!! I cannot begin to explain my excitement. You don't realise how much you love the colour blue until you suffer through weeks of continuous grey. We headed to the stunning Paris Opera house, and with the weather co-operating, finally managed to get some photographs that don't look like they were taken in grey sepia.

Next stop was Les Invalides, home to the Army museum and Napoleon's tomb. It was a massive tomb for such a small man. The gigantic porphyry coffin sits in a two-storey, round marble room decorated with sculptures, paintings, and more importantly, the name of some of the major battles won by Napoleon. Non-surprisingly, this did not feature the Battle of Waterloo. Despite this, it's still a pretty decent place to have earthly eternal rest, if you ask me.

Speaking of grand tombs, the Parisian Pantheon was our next stop. Like the Pantheon in Rome, it was an exceptionally beautiful building, both inside and out.

It is famous for two things: one, an astronomical pendulum which keeps the time, and two, an outstanding number of famous frogs - French people, not the amphibian. Those of note include Marie Curie (Zach remarked that he hoped they had deradiated her tomb):

Also Alexandre Dumas, Voltaire, Victor Hugo, and Louis Braille (who also has his name written in you guessed it - Braille - outside his tomb. Nice touch - pun intended).

Moving on, it was only a short walk and a long wait in line to the Cathedral at Notre Dame from the Pantheon. Made famous by Victor Hugo and popularised by Disney, Notre Dame is a lovely old Cathedral with a massive bell tower, of which most of the bells are currently non-operational.

After waiting for seven years to be allowed to climb to the top of the spire, we finally were allowed through into a narrow spiral staircase. With no platforms on the way up, we passed many people who had decided to stand and catch their breath before proceeding. This included (and was limited to) numerous fat Americans. They were difficult to pass due to basic physics - one fat American blockade on one skinny French staircase = major traffic jam. Zach was forced into crawling like a jooule (dog) on all fours for part of the way. In spite of this, the view from the top was fantastic, especially on the lower level (the one surrounded by the gargoyles).

Though late in the day, we decided to make a stop at Hotel de Ville, famous due a picture of two amorous youths getting their mack on in front of it. It is a VERY beautiful old building, made more so by the night lighting around it.

The massive ice-skating rink somewhat detracts from its beauty, but not-so-secretly laughing at victims with two left skates does not. From there it was back to the Arc de Triomphe to get some night photos of the surrounds. This of course meant another gruelling climb up the Arc, made worse by the fact that we were attempting to reach the top before the hourly Eiffel light show kicked into gear. Now, I won't give exact times, but I will say that the time in which we reached the Arc roof from Hotel de Ville defies multiple laws of physics. A fact that all four of our legs (having already scaled Notre Dame) will attest to. Protip: Do not attempt to run up the Arc de Triomphe. You will die in the legs. Anyway, the view was breathtaking, and Eiffel sparkled away magnificently as expected.

Funny moment from this night - when we had climbed down the Arc and were about to leave, we noticed that a crowd of veterans and young soldiers had gathered near the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier underneath the Arc for some sort of ceremony.

 
We stood aside and watched for a while. All of a sudden, the band burst into song. I listened intently - why, they had begun playing the Brisbane Lions club song! "Hey Zach", I enquired, "Why are they playing the Brisbane Lions song?"
Zach: "Uhm, that's the French National Anthem".
...
Epic laughter.

We awoke SUPER early the next day with two things in mind - the Louvre and Musee d'Orsay. I was informed by Zachary that one or two people like to visit the Louvre, and that just to be safe, we should arrive over an hour early to beat the lines. Two problems: It was rather cold/wet AND there were already people in the line, making our early rise moot. We lined up nonetheless, and waited in misery for the opening. During our wait, Zach hatched our game plan - we were going to run for the Mona Lisa and hog her. Incredulous, I declared that there was no way I would run to the Mona Lisa. How silly, I thought. I don't care if other people are in my pictures, and I don't want to make myself look desperate. However, when those doors opened, boy did I put the pace on. All of a sudden, I felt competitive - cloak rooming the umbrella was an annoyance, as was slow people on one-wide escalators. We raced past corridors of the most important artwork in history, and into Mona's rather unhumble abode. Seriously, she is tiny, but she has her own wall in a ridiculously large room. It's actually rather amusing. There is something special about that painting though… you just want to stare and stare, though you are unsure why.

After getting some great one-on-one photographs, we set about seeing all of the amazing things we missed on the way to Mona. Favourites included:
- The Big Three: Paintings of the Wedding feast at Cana, Coronation of Napoleon, and Liberty Leading the People (amazing in sheer size and detail)

- Anything Raphael touched
- David and Goliath by Daniele da Volterra (An incredible double sided painting which allows you to see the battle from the front and the rear)
- A quad of paintings by Giuseppe Arcimboldo (See Australian government's 2+5 ad campaign for more [plagiarised] information)
- Antonio Campi's "Les Mysteres de la Passion du Christ"
- Apollon et Daphne (Francesco Albani - this one is a favourite of mine)

- Some absolutely incredible "painting within a painting" works by a man named Pannini
- Psyche and Cupid (my favourite sculpture of all time), and "The Dying Slave" by Michelangelo. We only wish there had been more Bernini - number one fans right here!
We also checked out some really cool Egyptian relics - Sphinxes, Sarcophagi, Hieroglyphics and such. Incredible.

After a quick break for exterior photography, it was on to the Musee d'Orsay. Before we entered the museum, we saw the infamous gold ring scam be attempted by a filthy French scammer (where the scammer drops a ring in front of an unsuspecting person, acts like the ring belongs to the person so as to play upon the person's greed when he offers it to them, and then ask for money after the greedy target has accepted the ring). The two targets bluntly told him to "F*ck off", which we both found amusing.

Upon entry to the Musee, I was informed that absolutely no photography was allowed. Completely sick of paying a small fortune to get into these establishments, I proceeded to spend the next few hours taking photos of anything I bloody well felt like. This included paintings by Monet, Degas, and Van Gough to name a few.

The next day we travelled to the Palace at Versailles. Versailles is not far outside of Paris and was easy to walk to from its closest train station.

 
It didn't take long to clear security before being let into the main part of the Palace, the State Apartments. The French really knew how to decorate a room. Lavish rooms gilded with all kinds of precious metals, different painting styles, amazing furniture. We spent a couple of hours walking through the King's bedrooms, official staterooms, and the apartments of Marie Antoinette. We were disappointed that we couldn't get into the Dauphin's apartments, but oh well - you win some, you lose some. We walked through the famous "Hall of Mirrors", which is lined with - you guessed it - mirrors! The king must have been pretty vain. Even so, it was very lovely to see.

Leaving the main part of the Palace, we headed out into the vast expanses of garden to seek Marie Antoinette's estate at the rear of the palace grounds. It was a bit of a hike, and Zach was disappointed when I was not keen to hire a golf cart with him to drive from the Palace to the Estate.

It took just over half an hour before we arrived at the Grand Trianon, the recreation quarters for the Royal family, and the Petite Trianon, where Marie Antoinette spent much of her time. It's hard to find a space that isn't elaborately decorated on the walls and ceilings.

We left Versailles and headed back into Paris, up to Sacre Coeur and Montmartre where the Basilica of the Sacred Heart of Paris sits. It's a beautifully designed church which becomes even more beautiful at twilight.

 
We walked to the Moulin Rouge and took some pictures with its facade, before finally heading home for the night.

The next day was our last morning in Paris. We headed to the famous Parisian Catacombs which open near Denfert Rochereau metro station in the South of Paris. Inside the catacombs are the bones of up to six million Parisians who died after contagious diseases such as the plague spread throughout the city hundreds of years ago. Because this was our last day in Paris and we had to catch the Eurostar at 2pm, Zach had the bright idea that we should turn up to the entrance an hour before it opened (as apparently the lines for the catacombs can stretch around the block). We woke up exceedingly early, made our way to Denfert metro station, and lo and behold -

- there was nobody at the catacombs when we arrived. It was another twenty minutes before the second person in line showed up.

The catacombs are about 100 steps underground, and apparently span hundreds of kilometres (though there are only two kilometres open to the public). The bones have been arranged in patterns, most of which make up the walls that line the catacombs, but some are designed in elaborate vaselike formations, or are incorporated into the designs for bone altars for worship and such.

Spooky. It was dark and wet down there, but I'm very glad we did it. It's definitely not for those who are claustrophobic.

London next!

Amschterdamm

Amsterdam: Vice City. Good boys go to Heaven, bad boys go to Amsterdam. Or so it was written on one of the many tourist shirts around the place. But before we arrived in Amsterdam, we had to leave Berlin. Our train was planned for 12:30am (overnight sleeper train), due to arrive in Amsterdam at 10:00am. We arrived at the station at a quarter to twelve to ensure that there would be no holdups. We took our place on the freezing hauptbahnhof platform, with snow literally blizzarding in at the end of the platform. Twelve thirty came around, and here comes the train! Except that it wasn't the train. It was a different train - same destination, half the carriages. You guessed it - our carriage wasn't one of the included ones, which we learned from a monumentally energetic sprint from one end of the platform to the other. Twice. On overnight trains, reservations are a must - and I had reserved us seats weeks earlier. The krauts, however, had decided that they'd not sold enough seats on the regular train, and had thus cut off half of the train, without telling us before the train arrived. Filthy bastards. Needless to say, I was -fuming- at this point, as I was directed to the Customer Service desk five floors below the platforms. We waited in line for half an hour (Deutschbahn had obviously screwed over many more than just the two of us that night), and at 1:00am finally got to the desk to be officially informed by the attendant that "Zis train ist cancelled, ya?" He told us that the next train would be in five hours time. He said "Vill you require accommodations?" - I'm not going to write down exactly what my reply was, but suffice it to say that it involved at least one racial stereotype and a whole lot of sarcasm. Or maybe just sarcasm. Never let the truth get in the way of a good story, right? We ended up staying in the hotel across the road for the few hours until our next train, which was surprisingly cosy for a two star European hotel. The bald man behind the desk looked a lot like Matt Lucas from Little Britain fame, and he happily announced that most of their hotel's business was from Deutschbahn failure.

Most of our bissness is from Deutschbahn failure, yah! Vee luff Deutschbahn!

Never again will I be convinced that the Germans are efficient.

Our next train at 6:30am was without incident and we arrived in Amsterdam in the early afternoon. We checked into our hotel and walked to Dam Square, one of the main public areas in the city centre.
 

It was there that we met up with Batesy, Tim and Michael for a few pints o' Amstel. It was good to swap travel stories with the guys, and drinks turned into Chinese at a restaurant located near the main train station. We ate quickly as we'd signed up to do a Red Light District walking tour later in the evening. The tour was pretty fascinating. Amsterdam is renowned for being a city of vice, and in the Red Light District, girls hire small glass rooms to show off their goods to eager males for a negotiable price.

We'd read earlier that taking pictures of the girls putting themselves on show is extremely taboo, and taking a picture can lead to attacks, both physical and verbal. We abided by this advice (the picture above is not ours and was sourced from Google), however, another girl on our tour decided it'd be a great idea to take pictures of a girl skimpily dressed as a policewoman. I don't know how she avoided attack, but the policewoman wasn't happy. In any case, it was easy to see that the girls were getting a lot of business - many of the glass booths had their curtains drawn, which meant that the girls were with clients. In older times, most of the girls were Dutch, however, as time went on, this became less appealing to Dutch girls and much more appealing to Eastern European girls who were looking to earn some serious coin in a hurry. After walking the streets for a while, the tour group went to the Prostitute Information Centre to have a Q&A with a former prostitute. Really interesting stuff.

I should mention: joining us on the tour were an aging British man, and his considerably younger but still highly unattractive Asian girlfriend. About fifteen seconds into the tour, the girlfriend sprained her ankle on a gutter, rendering them 80% slower than the rest of the group. So, when the time came for us to enter the PIC for the Q&A, the bizarre couple were about fifteen minutes late. The guide made a display of "Ohh, I was looking for you!" while throwing down a Heineken and finishing his cigarette. And the aging British man was very obviously quite irate that the guide had let them slip so far behind the rest of the group (I smell a bad Viator review from him!) He then proceeded to ask the former prostitute such questions as "So how much would I.. er.. somebody pay to visit one of these ladies" and "Is it okay if I.. er.. somebody brings their injured Asian girlfriend" and so on. Alright, he wasn't that specific, but he did inquire as to whether the girls accepted couples (they apparently do, by negotiation) and whether the few transvestite prostitutes only serviced males or females. Suss British men for the win.

Amsterdam's other main vice is cannabis. Now, cannabis isn't strictly speaking legal in the Netherlands, but the law isn't enforced - meaning that, as long as you're smoking your weed in one of the so-named "coffee shops" or not causing a great deal of trouble, the authorities will leave you alone to smoke your cones.

The result is that Amsterdam smells a lot like weed most of the places you go. Shannon and I aren't into drugs in any way, and decided to leave smoking and space cakes to other, braver tourists. Avoiding the shops themselves was not enough, however. The sheer number means that simply walking the streets, leaves one's clothes (and hair, in Shan's case) reeking of marijuana. We look forward to our next contact with airport drug detector dogs.

The next day, we set off for Anne Frank's house. The house is set up as a permanent exhibition for people to see where the Frank family hid during World War II, and documents the tragic end of most of the family members throughout the war. It is a beautiful tribute, and far more interesting than we had imagined. Shan and I both couldn't believe they had been able to hide for so long. Especially given how creaky (and steep!) the stair cases were. I'm sure the workers below probably heard them fall many times. The most touching aspect was an interview with Anne's dad Otto, in which he reflected on the loss of his entire family, and how little he really knew about the depth of Anne's thoughts, even though they were quite close. We spent an hour at the house, before moving on to the Flower Markets.

Here, lots of growers come to sell bulbs for tulips and the flowers themselves. I would have brought some to take home, but you know… customs wouldn't have really liked it. That, plus with our clothes smelling of weed, it probably wasn't the best idea.

After this, we headed towards the Heineken Factory, and then the outside of the Rijksmuseum so we could take some photos with the giant "IAMSTERDAM" letters.

All in all, Amsterdam was a nice place to visit. Or, nicer than we expected it to be!

Next stop, Paris!

Berlin

We left Prague with a sigh, for two reasons. One, we had both really enjoyed being there - the people were nice, the food was cheap, and the sights were beautiful. Two, it was ridiculously early when we got up to catch our train to Berlin. We arrived in Berlin around 1pm, eager to return to Germany after our earlier escapades in Munich. The train trip was without incident, and upon arrival at Berlin Hauptbahnhof, we found an underground metro map in order to find our way to the hotel. Deciding that the S-Bahn was the best way to get there, we walked up to the S-Bahn platform on the top of the station. We were stopped by a German man in a DB (Deutschbahn, the train network) uniform, who kind of looked a little like Joseph Goebells. He said to us, in broken English (which we weren't used to hearing from Germans): "The train… not driving". There was no reason given, and I dared not ask for one in case he was actually Goebells reincarnated. The platform was deserted, and the underground (U-Bahn) platform was just as deserted. We decided to jump in a cab, and this cost just nine euros to take us to our hotel (ten after the required 10% "tip"). Upon arriving at our hotel, we checked the news to discover:

So much for German efficiency.

We also read online (or rather, Shannon read online) that the Pergamon Museum, along with all the other national museums in Berlin, would allow free entry on Thursday nights after six pm. The Pergamon Museum is one of Berlin's most important museums (musea?) and features a Greek marble altar and a gate from the Hanging Gardens of Babylon. We only had a couple of hours to kill before nightfall (thus the good photo taking opportunities become limited), so we decided to head for Museum Island to check out the Pergamon. As we were still before the 6pm "free" cutoff time, we walked around the island for a bit, taking in all the sights and smells, and had a brief stroll on Friedrichstraße, one of the main city streets in Berlin. Hunger then plagued us, so we headed to the nearest fine dining establishment for a good meal. This turned out to be, incidentally, a restaurant named "Corroboree", an Australian restaurant. I had no idea "Australian" was even a food type, so were both interested to see what would be on the menu. There was a "Toowoomba" burger, which looked tempting. They also had only the finest Newcastle beer, along with the obvious Fosters. I decided against drinking Australian beer in Germany, as this is a sin that not even God could forgive.

Leaving the restaurant satisfied, we headed for the Pergamon. We were told upon entering that this free entry after 6pm on Thursdays no longer applies, and is "old informations". Thanks a lot, Shannon! So we bailed, as we didn't feel like paying the exorbitant entry fee to see some old Greek marble (Let's face it, after seeing the Parthenon, no other Greek marble compares anyway) and headed home for an early night's sleep.

The next day, we set out for Zoo Station (on the U2 line, the laughs will never end) for our Berlin Walking Tour. The guide's name was Carlos, authentic German for sure. He was friendly and very knowledgable, and we set off on the now operational S-Bahn for Hackescher Markt. On the way, we went past Bellevue Palace (home of the President of Germany) and we also went past Angela Merkel's Chancellery, which is an ugly building in the shape of a Washing Machine. We also briefly saw the Reichstag (now called Bundestag) and the victory column, which was pretty grand looking.

After getting off the train, Carlos detailed 800 years of Germanic history for us in about ten minutes. Then, it was on to the sightseeing! We saw the museums on Museum Island (this time during the daylight, which was nice) and the guide pointed out to us the museum where the famous bust of Nefertiti is domiciled (Neues Museum). He told us that the Germans refer to this bust as "the most beautiful woman in Berlin". We then went to the Lustgarten (great name, literally translated to pleasure garden) where Hitler would address the troops standing at attention. Lusty!

Then it was on to the National War Memorial, where visiting foreign dignitaries come to lay wreaths for fallen soldiers. The guide told us that the statue inside was sculpted by the mother of a German soldier. This mother was a pacifist and hated the idea of war, however she reluctantly signed the papers saying that her underage son could join the military. Her son was quickly killed, and as a coping mechanism for the anguish she felt, she sculpted the statue of a mother holding her dying son. Underneath, an inscription dedicates the statue to the victims of war. Above the statue, the roof is open, so that the elements can have an impact on the way the statue looks at all different times of the year (when it is dry, or raining as it was today).

We then went to the square where the infamous book burnings took place prior to the outbreak of war. To mark the spot where the fire burned, a quote from Heinrich Heine from 1820 (one hundred years prior to the Nazi book burnings) was inscribed. I forget the exact translation, but it was something like "When you start burning books, you finish by burning people". An eerie prediction.

The brass plate marks the spot where the books were burned

Near this brass plate & quote, the square holds a second monument constructed in a typical German style. The Germans have an interesting way of acknowledging the events of the second world war. Rarely do they provide information regarding what their monuments mean, or why they designed them as they did. They have a very simplistic aesthetic, and then they let you make your own mind up about what meaning to draw from their monument. The second monument was an Empty Library (as seen below) under the floor of the square. Ways that this could be interpreted: as the library cannot be entered, neither can you enter the past - you can only reflect upon it. The library is always lit - the obvious fire reference, but could also signify the light of humanity. The empty shelves - probably the most obvious of all. Or is it? You decide.

After this, we went to the Brandenburg gate, one of the old city gates that overlooks the "Death Strip", the no-mans-land that separated the Soviet controlled East Berlin and the American occupied West Berlin after World War II.

It was named the Death Strip, as any East Berlin citizen attempting to defect into West Berlin would be shot on sight by the Soviets. Also near the Brandenburg Gate was the Hotel Adlon, famed for Michael Jackson hanging his baby outside the balcony some years ago. So, the tour covered pretty much all bases.

Oh, I can't forget to note the guy in the Darth Vader costume posing for photos with tourists near the gate as well.

After a quick stop for a snack, we headed to the Jewish Holocaust Memorial, a stones throw from the Brandenburg gate. It's an interesting memorial with no formal interpretation or meaning noted at the site itself - (as is the German way). It was built on uneven ground, and takes the shape of thousands of concrete pillars of differing heights and angles, in a grid formation. The guide suggested that this may be to symbolise a graveyard. Also, once inside the uneven labyrinth of concrete pillars, one becomes quickly disoriented, an intentional characteristic designed to put you in the shoes of the victims of the Holocaust.

The tour then took us to the site of Hitler's Bunker, the Fuhrerbunker.

Well, on top of it anyway. It wouldn't be a very good bunker if you could see it, would it? This is the bunker where Hitler married his mistress Eva Braun a day before he completed suicide via cyanide tablet. Worst. Honeymoon. Everrr. We couldn't go inside because apparently the Ruskies tore it apart when they occupied this part of town. I believe this to be a conspiracy, and believe that Hitler is still alive in the bunker to this very day.

We then went to the "Topography of Terror", where the former headquarters of the Gestapo and the SS were located in Berlin. A section of Berlin Wall near this location was preserved.

Then it was on to Checkpoint Charlie, the point where foreign diplomats and the like were admitted from East Berlin to West, or vice versa. A few actors at the Checkpoint still dress in US Army uniforms to the delight of tourists willing to shell out their hard earned coin for some satirical photographs. By this point it was snowing heavily, and thus Shannon and I both look like drowned rats.

The tour then finished, and Shan and I decided to go to the East Side Gallery, a section of Berlin Wall preserved with political artwork regarding the separation of Germany, and the terror caused by Communism and Fascism. There was some highly thought provoking art work there, however the snow had yet to let up and thus we now looked like drenched, iced rats.

As it was getting dark, we headed for our hotel, to await our midnight train to Amsterdam.