Cycling round Vienna

I fell completely in love with Vienna, with it's beauitiful architecture, and stylish attention to detail. It has a sense of purposeful contentment - it feels a bit like a more civilised and less pretentious Paris, with an overall feeling of calm self-acceptance. Vienna must offer more public transport options than any other city in Europe, with Metro, trams, buses, horses and carts, Segways, and bikes all weaving in and out of each other with a measured and delicate precision, less like the chaos of Cairo or London, than a carefully choreographed waltz. On my second day in the city I made a delightful discovery that in a way quite literally changed how I saw the city for the next few days. Vienna has free bikes. Yup, free as in free beer. Actually, that's not entirely true, - you do have to pay an initial Euro registration fee, and the time consuming registration process is taxing enough to deter all my the most determined cyclists. However, once the process is complete, with a quick swipe of a credit card and the entry of your password onto the touchscreen terminal, you are able to select the ride of your choice from the electronically secured rack, and ride it gratuit for 1 hour, before returning it the another "City Bike" station, where, after a 15 minute rest, you can pick up another brightly coloured bike to continue your tour of the city. Longer sojourns are charged from a very reasonable one Euro, but as long as you watch the time and insure the bike is returned before the free period expires, you can happy explore the entire city for free over as long as you like.

Having logged on, I selected my new steed with some trepidation, no doubt compounded by a slightly foggy head from the night before. Not being a regular cyclist, at first I lurched alarmingly from side so side, as I hesitantly joined the fast moving stream of cyclists on Vienna's extensive but confusing cycle-routes. My lack of control was compounded by the puzzling breaking system, by which the bike could be slowed by pedaling backwards. I found that I had to fight from allowing myself to hang back on the pedals, inadvertently lurching the contraption to a stop at inconvenient moments such as mid junction. However, as I learned the machines idiosyncrasies I gained confidence, and was soon speeding down the leafy boulevards with a wide boyish grin on my face, or panting up narrow side streets, only to freewheel carelessly down the other side, the sights of Vienna whistling past me. In two days I'm confident that I saw more of the city than I would have by any other means, certainly more cheaply, but also felt more engaged with the ebb and flow of city life. I felt a genuine sense of sadness when eventually I left my final bike in the rack, and returned to my hostel to pack for my next adventure.

The weird world of sleeper trains.

I've just arrived in Vienna, and of course I'm hopelessly lost. Last night's train journey was charming and bizarre in equal measure. After spending what seemed like a lifetime hanging around in Strasbourg station until late in the evening, I made my way to the indicated platform, only to find there was some confusion as to the correct carriage, the air conditioning having "gone crazy" in my originally allocated compartment. Re-installed after some debate over the validity of my reservation, I was ushered into a ship-like cabin, with numerous folding devices and contraptions. My co-traveler was a middle-aged gentleman, of hard to determine extraction and limited French, who's primary distinction was his smell. Nevertheless, I presumed that my nostrils would acclimatise, as indeed they did, and he seemed amiable if somewhat quiet.

The train manager brought blankets, pillows and a sort of train-optimised sheet sleeping bag, and with little else to do, I climbed onto my bunk and made preparations to go to sleep. It was here that I learned my first lesson in "couchette etiquette" - don't dangle heavy-booted feet over the edge of bunks, as my traveling companion knocked his head painfully-sounding against them. After profuse embarrassed apologies from me, I carefully removed my footwear, and settled in with my book, read by a small reading light above my head, as the train rumbled into the blackness.

The calm was regularly broken by additions and subtractions to our carriage at various stops, so my sleep was fitful at best, no doubt exacerbated by my sense of excitement at what seemed like the first proper journey of my trip. I eventually woke early as my last remaining companion - the same strong smelling gentleman from the night before, put away his things anticipating our arrival.

The train was running late, so after tidying my own things and installing myself on the bottom bunk/seat, I went back to my novel. After an hour or so, a bearded man in jeans and casual denim jacket came to the door of our compartment. I took him to be the friend of my co-traveler, until he produced a crested badge from a leather holder, and I realised he was an immigration policeman. He was accompanied by a further male and female colleague, also in plain clothes, and asked to see our passports. He briefly quizzed me in perfect English as to the purpose of my visit, but it was clear that his focus was on the other gentleman, who it transpired (from what little I grasped of the German conversation) was Albanian. The policeman somewhat forcefully began to rifle through the gentleman's bag, whilst his colleagues barked questions and noted details on a laptop. The Albanian looked rather frightened, and nervously emptied the contents of his suitcase, whilst I pretended to read my novel nonchalantly. As the first policeman bent over to examine the case more closely, I noticed the barrel of a handgun poking out from underneath his jacket, the sight of which sent an irrational shiver down me, so utterly foreign are such things to us cosseted British. I felt that the police were being a little pedantic, and was waiting for them to move on to the next carriage, when the policeman produced from the Albanian´s bag a two large metallic slabs, one the size of a paperback book, the other smaller and squarer, wrapped in some sort of tightly fitting fabric. The policeman barked something like "Magnetten?", and the Albanian, angrily grabbed for them, clearly keen that the two pieces be kept apart. The my imagination quickly darted to the cold-war thriller scenario of smuggled plutonium, kept in pieces that must be kept apart to avoid a critical reaction. However, the policemen seemed unconcerned, and it became clear that the pieces were simply very powerful magnets. At this point the Albanian produced a plastic shopping bag which he emptied onto the bench, out of which spilled hundreds of gaming dice, of all shapes sizes and colours. The purpose of the magnets seemed to be to test the magnetism of the dice - presumably to avoid cheating. The police spent some time examining the dice, and placing a number against one or other of the magnets. The first policeman then produced a camera-phone, and after taking a number of pictures of the bounty spread over the compartment, he nodded to his colleagues and they left as suddenly as they had arrived. The Albanian looked across at me and gave me a sheepish grin, which I returned, with a sense that I had witnessed something bizarre slightly beyond my comprehension, but that in such circumstances it is best not to pry too deeply. The Albanian packed up his things, and we arrived in Vienna shortly afterwards to a grey and drizzly day.

Onward

Train number 3, new TGV from Paris to Strasbourg, was probably the poshest I'll see the whole trip. Fastest train in Europe, blah blah blah blah, but I'm sure you don't want to hear about trains. Loos were nice though. And Paris to nearly-Germany in 2.5 hours. Can't be bad.

I've seen the future!

Those weren't actually the photos I wanted to upload at all, but it turns out that blogging from a phone is harder than expected.

Euro Star?

Train number 2

Well, here I am on train number 2 - from London to Paris. This journey is completely familiar to me, and yet today there is an unmistakable sense of the unknown on top of my usual warm feelings about arriving in my favorite city. I have a little Eurostar tradition of buying one of their horesdously overpriced and yet strangely satisfying sandwiches,along with a bottle of extremely strong Duvel beer, which is almost impossible to find in the UK, but relatively common on the continent. However, today, in a bold mood, I varied my habit, and went for a little bottle of Bordaux, and some sort of "thai chicken" concoction, ordered in my best French, of course. I like speaking French on the Eurostar - for some reason all the staff are French, and it makes me feel like I've already arrived a little bit. Any how, the meal was, of course, revolting, and yet I still enjoyed every mouthful. I will no doubt also eat another 3 courses at the Zebra de Montmatre when I arrive. Vive la France!

first train

my first train. Brighton to london. :)

I'm off!

Well this is it - all packed and ready to go. Feeling pretty nervous now, even though the first bit of this trip is something I've done a hundred times before. I think I've got everything - my rucksack weighs a ton, although I've tried to remove as much as I can - and I've shaved off all my hair (well not all)so now I'd better be going. I'll try to update this a little more frequently as I go along.

See you all soon

Laura

Here is Laura, at the end of her 20's, and the begining of her next adventure.

i'm a bit drunk.

I'm a bit drunk. :-)

mobile phone test

Hey people. I'm just testing to see if this works from my new phone! And it does! :-)