Separation of Concerns

I've decided to create a second blog to keep my non-travel related posts in. Don't know (and don't really care, to be honest) whether anyone who reads this actually cares about my thoughts on politics, music or other such nonsense, but from now on you can read about them at poppiestar.blogspot.com.

Back to the regularly scheduled travel commentaries... of which, at the moment, there are none.

I've Changed My Mind

You know what? Yesterday I said I wouldn't start on that Simpsons cartoon thing. Forget it, I'm going to mention it anyway because someone far more eloquent, intelligent and with a lot more personal experience in these matters has commented on it.

You can read his entire blog post about it, but if you don't have the patience (or you're sick enough in the fucking head to actually agree with this idiotic judgment), I'll quote my favourite part:

"The ability to distinguish between fiction and reality is, I think, an important indicator of sanity, perhaps the most important. And it looks like the Australian legal system has failed on that score." - Neil Gaiman

This judgment needs to be struck down. It needs wiping out. It needs eradicating and the fools who upheld it need to be thrown away and disposed of. These people are beyond being out of touch with reality, they appear to be living in some dangerous and crazy fantasy land - and these are the people responsible for our laws!?!

Once again, I'm red-faced with embarrassment for the stupidity that keeps coming from my home. I want it to stop, desperately.

Please. Please. Please. Australia. Stop being so fucking stupid. PLEASE!!

Dear Australian Government

Hi guys.

I know I'm an ex-pat and all, but I still consider myself an Aussie down to the core. Just ask all my friends over here, they won't stop giving me shit about it for a minute - but don't worry, in time honored tradition I do everything in my power to give it back to them.

Here's a tip: if they ever mention the rugby or the Olympic scores, just sit back and say two words. Five. Nil. Then giggle as the excuses start to flow about how the cricket doesn't really matter.

I was really glad to see John go last year. To be fair, he was a bit of a cock and, quite often, he made me feel terribly embarrassed to be Australian. I was in Berlin the night I heard he was voted out and, to celebrate, myself and a bunch of other likeminded Aussies hit the city to celebrate.

We had a great time, by the way.

It wasn't just the news that the sickening old coot had gone, it was also the promise that future news emanating from my country might not cause me to hang my head and cringe - and often apologise for the sickening display of racism, bigotry or other glossed over hate speech that has plagued us over the past couple of decades.

You know how America is currently glowing over its recent election results? I kinda had the same feeling.

The thing is, lately I've been hearing some pretty disturbing stories coming from back home and, to tell you the truth, I'm not sure much has really changed.

Now, I work in the IT industry so I may have a bit of a vested interest, but... c'mon, just give up on the filtering thing. Censorship in any form doesn't work: it hasn't worked in the past, it won't work in the future - stop chasing after the god squad senators you need to pander to in order to pass legislation. Besides, isn't blackmail a criminal offence?

Don't you remember those days when, thanks to the inane, clueless and entirely out of touch actions of Richard Alston, Australia was declared the Global Village Idiot? Isn't it enough to be finally rid of this fool who, as Technology Minister, so breathtakingly misunderstood the Internet that he merely brushed it aside as a breeding ground for terrorists and paedophiles? Remember, this was our Minister for Communications and Information Technology.

And you want to go and do it all again?!?

I thought those days were behind me, but I once again had to hang my head in embarrassment when I heard about this. Oh, don't worry, the UK has had its own little brush with nonsensical censorship in the past couple of days, but that's a drop in the ocean compared to what you're trying to do.

Right now, I'm feeling pretty happy I'm not donating my tax dollars toward your latest waste of government funds and, if things keep going this way, I might just have to stick around over here until you finally come to your senses. Here's hoping the rest of the country will have something to say about it, too (but I'm not holding my breath).

Oh, and don't get me started on the news I heard today about that Simpsons drawing.

Are you deliberately trying to make us look like a bunch of backward hicks in the eyes of the world? Seriously? I mean, you were doing a pretty damn fine job of it while John was in power, but from everything I've heard so far nothing has actually changed a bit. If anything, it's getting worse!

Please. Please. Please. Dear Australian Government. Stop being so fucking stupid. Please.

Yours sincerely,
A concerned citizen

Everything Hurts - But I Wouldn't Change A Thing

Last night was the best gig I've seen all year. For the first time in almost 15 years, the original lineup of Ned's Atomic Dustbin reformed and played for 90 amazing minutes - and I was there, front and centre as another screaming voice in the 1600-strong pogoing army.

It was a bit weird at first, to be honest. Since they reformed in 2000, two of the original members declined to take part so a new guitarist and bass player were recruited. This was the lineup I saw twice last year, so seeing two different guys up on stage this time almost felt wrong. This didn't last long: within moments of the first notes you could see the special bond these five guys had all those years ago and were reliving again, making the entire night all that more special.

Even better, I got to see vile evils again before and, once again, they refused to disappoint. More focused, tighter and with a far, far better sound (and a more active crowed helped), this is easily the best I've seen these guys play. Next year they're releasing their debut album and embarking on their own UK tour, so I'm eager to catch a full length show.

As wonderful as the gig was, it was made even better by the multitude of friends I was able to catch up with there. When I arrived here just over a year and a half ago I left behind my family, my friends, my cat - an entire life I'd built up over 30 years. Thankfully, I still had some friends over here to help me get on my feet, but it was still an uphill struggle to find where I fit in this new life.

Basically, what I'm trying to say is thank you to everyone I've met since I arrived and have welcomed me into their lives so generously - I appreciate it more than I can possibly articulate!

What Do You Do?

I have good and bad news.

The bad news is my pants (or trousers, as the natives insist I call them) no longer fit me.

The good news is that the reason they no longer fit me is because I've lost around 5kgs in the last month and a half - and that included my trip to Italy!

Part of it is from improving my nutrition, I've been pretty good lately about saying no to bad things, but the biggest change has come from the regular visits to the gym. Five times a week, in fact! Most of that time has just been undirected cardio work, but last week I was introduced to interval training which, I'm assured, will make a massive difference in a far shorter time. We'll see...

That's not all I've been doing, of course. Since arriving back a couple of weeks ago I've been to Birmingham for a fantastic night of music, courtesy of vile evils, EMF and Carter USM - followed by another night of EMF and Carter USM in Brixton the next night. This coming weekend is the final gig of the year, this time featuring a fully reunited Ned's Atomic Dustbin and vile evils again.

I also went to see Avenue Q with Lee, Margaret, Ben and a handful of other people. If you can imagine Sesame Street grown up, you can picture what it was like - and I enjoyed it immensely. Although the sex scene between the puppets was funny as hell, it wasn't quite a shock after seeing something similar in Team America. The songs were hilarious and quite catchy, the best one probably being 'The Internet Is For Porn', which I've added below:



Beyond that, life has gone back to normal. Not for long, though - David and I have decided we're going to find a new place to live. I'm a little tired of being stuck in a tiny single bedroom, where you can't even let a pin drop lest the woman who lives downstairs comes banging on the door to yell at us to keep the noise down. This makes it especially difficult when I want to play my guitars.

Until then, it's back to work...

Rome in Record Time

Rushing out the door as quickly as possible, I stopped by the train station to store my bags before jumping on the Metro again for the Colosseum. Despite having arrived early, I was advised not to go straight in and instead head to the Forum first. With barely a soul in sight, I was able to walk right in and, better yet, buying a ticket here allowed me to walk right into the Colosseum afterward.

Having thought about it for a while, it seems almost daft to try to explain what these places are like to visit. They're experiences, and I'm afraid I'm not a capable enough communicator to be able to adequately express what it was like to walk through these ancient areas. I'll see what I can do.

Part of it is humbling, realising that what used to be just plain life for the people who used to live here has now become a historic attraction for myself and the many others. It's easy to let your imagination take you away and see how life might have been back then, but then again I never took ancient history in high school so my frame of reference tends to be movies - which are always horrendously historically inaccurate.

Having seen the Colosseum the night before, it wasn't as big a moment to walk out and have it there in front of me. Not to distill its impressiveness, but it looked very cool with the lights on it. As I only had a short amount of time before having to leave to get my flight, I opted for a guided tour which showed off the highlights as well as giving a very interesting history lesson.

Although I still felt as though I could have twice as long at both places I'd been, my watch reminded me I had a plane to catch and I reluctantly made my way back to the train station. I'm pleased to say there were no incidents on the way to my flight, arriving in plenty of time to check in and, with no delays, touching down in London at 6.15pm.

Looking back, I regret trying to cram too much into such a short amount of time. I made this mistake in Japan, but at the time I didn't really know better – this time, I realised it would've been too much but did it anyway! Despite this, I thoroughly enjoyed the entire trip (well, except for the train strike – but what can you do?) and feel as though I've been given a good taste of Italy. Next time, I won't make the same mistakes!

Walk - As Fast As You Can

Walking out of the hostel this morning, I was greeted with a gorgeous blue sky and a nice warm morning – a wonderful parting gift from a city I have every intention of visiting again at a future date to further unlock its secrets.

With Florence behind me, I sat back in my seat and watched Italy pass by. Not that I ever doubted it, but this morning was a non-stop ride of gorgeous scenery, every moment surpassing the last. From the exquisite emerald hills, the cliff-side towns and other jaw-dropping sights, I once again felt reluctant to have to leave so soon after such a fleeting visit.

However, I still had one last destination to explore and, as the train rolled in to the station by 1pm, I made my way to the hostel as rapidly as my legs could carry me so as not to waste a minute.

When I originally decided to come to Italy, it started as a simple jaunt to visit my friend who I haven't seen in six months. Realising a weekend could easily turn into a week, I began adding places to visit which lead to my current itinerary. As I was starting in Milan, I figured I should work my way south and leave from Rome – although this violated my first rule of travel: leave enough time to see everything comfortably.

With only one night in Rome, leaving me barely two half-days to see the sights, a thought occurred: next time I come to Italy, I'll just have to start from Rome and see the rest then! Problem solved. Having explained all of this to the guy at the hostel, his eyes bulged and he immediately grabbed a map and planned out the optimal route for my remaining time.

The first part of the plan involved catching a bus to the other side of the city to see the Vatican (and its museum). Amazingly enough, as I hopped on the bus I noticed a familiar face, a girl I'd met at the hostel in Venice! She had just arrived in Rome herself, from Florence as well, and was on her way to where she was staying. Somewhat amazed by this coincidence, I bid her farewell and continued on to my destination.

I'll keep my thoughts on organised religion to myself for now (besides, I'm sure I've covered it elsewhere) – but it did occur to me, as I began walking toward the Vatican, that it's pretty easy to see where all of that money goes. It's a very nice looking building, as is the surrounding area, but this still didn't make me want to see inside right now. For starters, the queue was massive and I didn't have enough time spare to wait around.

Instead, I walked around the corner and up the hill to the Vatican Museum and, despite there being no queue here, I decided to save it for another time as well for two reasons: the first being its size, I'd been told to give it at least three hours; next, I just couldn't justify the 14 Euro entry fee!

Following the river a little further I arrived at Castel Sant' Angelo – which I found far more rewarding. As the name suggests, it's a castle now acting as a museum, but it also boasts a rooftop terrace that offers a stunning view of the entire city. Thoroughly enjoying scaling its walls and exploring the different rooms, each with its own artworks and decorations, I was a little disappointed that I had to leave so soon.

Passing over the river via Ponte Sant' Angelo, my next stop was the Piazza Navona – or so I hoped. Instead, I decided to follow a few different interesting looking backstreets to see where they'd lead me. As it turns out, they lead me right back to where I'd started so, after a little bit of backtracking, I went back to the directions laid out by the map and found where I meant to be heading.

As far as Piazzas go this one was even busier than usual, filled with artists offering their wares and services, wonderful architecture (and a splendid statue in the midst of restoration), various street performers and, as to be expected, loads of gelati and pizza shops!

Taking a little bit of time to properly appreciate the area, it was soon time to move on to the next part of my journey – the Pantheon. With darkness rapidly approaching, I made my way inside to take a look, however only moments after I'd made it inside an announcement came over the loudspeaker that visiting hours were now over and we were to make our way out. Made it just in the nick of time!

With the next stop a little bit further away, I was able to take in a bit more of the city's streets. Bustling with activity, unsurprising for a Saturday night, they eventually made way for Fontana di Trevi, a gorgeous and huge fountain that was also bustling with activity. With the night almost upon us, I decided to take a seat in front of it in order to really appreciate this marvel in the heart of the city.

Having appreciated it as much as I felt was required, I wandered off in search of my next stop: Trinita dei Monti, another church, this time dominated by Spanish steps that scale to Piazza di Spagna. At the top was another wonderful view of the city, so I took the opportunity to play with my camera a bit to take some night photos and watch the people go by.

Nearing the end of my whirlwind tour, I walked a little further to find another fountain, Fontana del Tritone, before rounding off my trip to visit to the Piazza della Repubblica. Consulting my map, it turns out I'd walked from one side of the city, zig-zagging across to the other, explaining why I felt completely knackered!

Back at the hostel, I took a break for a little while to rest, as well as prepare for my last day in Italy. While I was chatting to one of my roommates, he mentioned he'd taken some photos of the Colosseum at night and insisted it was a sight not to be missed so, putting my shoes and jacket back on, I headed off to catch the Metro down there!

Tomorrow is my last day and I've already set my alarm for early o'clock. There's still quite a bit left to see and only a very short amount of time to do it, but at least I can come back and see what I missed later on – and, from a quick scan of my map, it looks like I've missed a lot of stuff!

A Matter of Perspective

With only one day left to see Florence, I realised I was never going to see everything there was to see today. With my morning already taken care of, I discovered there was a bus tour that goes around the main sights of the city. Figuring this being my best option, I noted where it was leaving from and hurried off for my morning date.

I entered the museum this morning to see Michaelangelo's David, possibly one of the most famous sculptures in history. Naturally, I've already seen pictures of it so I knew what to expect, but there's a difference between knowing what to expect and actually seeing something for yourself.

Taking in the rest of the art on display, I slowly made my way around the museum until I noticed a sign on the wall pointing to where David was stationed. Once again, like the Tower of Pisa yesterday, it's really not something you can miss. Turning the corner, I looked up and bam, there he was at the end of the corridor.

Rather than rush down immediately, I took my time to appreciate the other carvings and paintings adorning the walls until I was face to toe with the man himself. What I wasn't prepared for, and it's something that the pictures don't give a clear indication of (yet another reason why it's an amazing experience to see things things for myself) is just how huge this statue is! For some reason, I was expecting it to be roughly the same size as a person – how wrong I was.

Even from the back of the room you could tell David was a giant, amusing considering what he's just about to hurl a rock at. At a guess, he looked around 15 feet of chiseled perfection (and, with no fig leaf, he looked about... oh come on, like I'm going to spoil the surprise!). It truly is a magnificent sculpture and, like the best art, offers new interpretations depending on your perspective.

For example, while I was standing to his right I overheard someone mention the look on his face appears to change depending which side you stand on. From my perspective, he seemed ready and determined, eyes steeled ready for his big moment. Moving to the other side, however, his reaction appeared to be almost wariness, a realisation of what's about to come and whether he's made a terribly smart decision.

I'm not entirely sure I was actually looking at the real thing, though. There are two versions that are on display at alternate times, the real one and a copy. Apparently, you can tell the real one as its toes were damaged by a visitor in 1991 and every now and then they swap them in order to keep the real one in perfect condition. Even though the damage was repaired, I'd read you can still see where the fix was made. I didn't notice anything during my inspection, but to be honest it doesn't matter a great deal to me – either way, it was a spectacular start to my morning.

After taking in more of the gallery, including a collection of musical instruments dating back hundreds of years, I made my way outside to find where the bus was leaving. Walking for about 20 minutes, I eventually discovered it was almost exactly at the doorstop of the museum I'd just been at!

Hopping on board, I took the chance to relax a bit and see the sights from the top of a double-decker bus. Winding through the streets into areas I'd not managed to make it to yet, a further appreciation for this beautiful city began to unfold before my very eyes. High on my list of places to visit was the Piazzale Michelangelo that promised an unbeatable panoramic view of the entire city – and, as has been happening a lot recently, lived entirely up to its promise.

After riding the bus for a while I decided to hop off at the Ponte Vecchio, one of the four main bridges that crosses the river – and the only one that survived bombing during WWII. Further walking found me back in the Palazzo Vecchio that I'd stumbled upon the other day and, as luck would have it, was exactly where I wanted to be as it was the location of Galleria degli Uffizi, one of the world's most famous art museums.

Again, rather than the long queues I'd be warned about, I was able to walk right inside and start admiring the masterpieces immediately. Probably the most famous piece on exhibit is Botticelli's The Birth of Venus, but also the massive collection were pieces by Da Vinci, Carravaggio and dozens of other talented Renaissance artists.

Now, here's a bit of trivia for you: did you know there are over 100 documented cases of people experiencing dizziness and fainting from viewing the art at the Uffizi? It's true, it's called Stendahl Syndrome and while I can't claim to have suffered it myself, I can claim that the cumulative effect of everything I've done so far this week has started to take its toll. Having walked through the gallery for almost two hours, my body was ready to collapse from exhaustion.

Rather than admit defeat, though, I decided to take another two hour stroll around the city to take in the street-level sights one last time before I move on to the next, and final, destination of my trip: Rome.

One Moment of Perfect Beauty

I awoke this morning to the pitter patter of raindrops outside, a nice sound to go to sleep to but not the greatest start to the day at the best of times, made less pleasant due to my plans for the day. This didn't deter me a single bit, though, and I was out the door and on the train bound for Pisa before 9am.

There are moments in your life when realisation suddenly strikes, when you suddenly become acutely aware of your surroundings and the moment becomes enshrined in your mind. Sometimes they're called moments of clarity, other times an epiphany. Whatever they are, they often turn out to be a crystal clear memory of wonder that often turns your life around – generally, for the better.

I've had a few of these moments over the last couple of years. Probably the most important was the realisation that I had to remove myself from a relationship that was slowly destroying me, the result of which was the decision to move half a world away and start a new life – a by-product being this journal you're reading now.

Then there are the moments that aren't life-changing, but are still monumental and tend to leave a big ol' smile on your face for a good long time. I tend to get these quite often, generally when I stop and look around and realise, wow, I live in London! However, these moments occur most while I'm traveling, and this week they've been coming thick and fast.

I bring all of this up now because today I saw the Leaning Tower of Pisa – and it was awesome!!

After arriving at the train station around 10am, I started wandering in a direction that looked promising and hoped for the best. I was only here for the day and there didn't appear to be too much to see, so I figured it was worth taking my time and not rushing myself.

As I continued walking I noticed some signs pointing out where the Tower was, so I looked up – and there really didn't need to be a sign. Peeking over the top of a row of buildings, there it was. Instantly a smile came to my face; I was really here.

Coming to the end of the street the entire area became visible: there was the Tower to the right, the Duomo bang in the centre dominating the area, with the Baptistry at the other end – but right now it was the Tower dominating my view. Apparently it was raining, but I didn't really notice; I was standing at the base of the Leaning Tower of Pisa, something I've seen in books, movies, photos, on teevee ever since I was a kid. Here it was, mere metres in front of me. It was beautiful.

I'd read that you needed to book a time in order to climb it, so I found the ticket booth and expected to have to wait several hours for my turn. Instead – I guess it was the time of the year, or the weather – there was plenty of room on the next tour just five minutes away. Incredible, I'd only just found it 10 minutes earlier and now I was going to be climbing it – all by 11am!

I have no idea how many steps there were, but it was a lot of fun to climb. As you can imagine, the lean gives each step slope a different angle, so on one side they're pointing up, the next sloping to the right, next slightly pointed down, then sloping back to the left... all the way to the top. As the tower isn't very tall, it didn't take long to reach the summit – and it still didn't stop me from getting giddy when I made it there.

From the top the view was spectacular: right up close was the immediate area of the Duomo, Baptistry and Campo Santo Monumentale (a cemetery), while slightly further out was the top of Pisa itself, and further out beyond the city lie the hills of Tuscany. Although today they were shrouded in fog, it was still a sight to behold.

With only 20 minutes allotted to the visit, my time at the summit of the Tower soon came to an end. Heading back down the narrow, slippery steps, I paused for one last time to marvel at my current predicament: half way across the world from where I grew up, half way up one of the most famous landmarks in history – this is a moment I'm never going to forget.

Back to reality, I took a walk around the area and into the Duomo (because it was free). Inside this time were paintings, carvings, statues and other artworks from hundreds of years ago – and this time, no stairs! After admiring these stunning, intricate pieces of art, my stomache decided it'd had enough of my brain being fed and now was its turn.

Having been warned not to eat anywhere near the Tower, I took off for a walk through the rest of the town – making sure I passed through the Piazza dei Cavalieri on the way. Although it's not that big, there are quite a few interesting sights to see around the area, but with the grumbling in my belly growing louder I found the closest pizza place. Ordering a slice of one of the best tasting pieces of pizza I've ever eaten, I took a break to check my travel notes to see what else was around I could see.

As it turns out, I'd skipped something big – the Baptistry! Having already seen two of the four major sights in the area, I figured I'd give it a miss as my wallet has been feeling the pressure quite badly the last few days and I wasn't sure it would be worth it. However, revisiting my notes and seeing the words 'a must see' changed my mind, so back I headed to purchase a ticket for it and the Campo Santo Monumentale.

While it doesn't have the same allure as the Tower or the Duomo, the Baptistry has one feature that beats them both, hands down. Essentially it's just a dome, but so carefully crafted that it produces the most stunning natural reverberation I've ever heard: just one whisper will echo around the room for an unbelievable amount of time (you could go and get a bite to eat and it'd still be going!). Every 30 minutes one of the door staff comes in to demonstrate and, eager not to miss out, I took a seat and waited.

Not two minutes later, a fairly surly looking guy entered the room, closed the doors and walked to the centre of the room... and produced the most beautiful sound I've ever heard in my life. Each note he sang out echoed throughout the room, and as he continued to sing, each note blended together to form chords – all generated by his voice. He continued with this for only a minute or two, but it was enough to make my jaw drop to the floor, my heart jump – and yet another massive smile take over my face.

Outside, I found this amazing singer by the door smoking a cigar, so I thanked him profusely and continued on to the Cemetery. This modest building (in comparison to the others, to be fair) houses dozens of ancient Roman sarcophagi, artworks and some impressive frescoes. Much of the restoration still in progress (there were quite a few people working on the walls while I was there), however it was still obvious to see how much skill went into creating these ancient pieces.

Having exhausted the sights of this area, I took a walk back to through the town, in particular along the river that divides the city in two before heading back to the train station. Although this day jaunt didn't last as long as I was expecting, I felt more than satisfied by what I'd seen – and I'm still smiling like a loon as I write this.

Who Needs the Gym, Anyway?

Guess how many stairs I climbed today! I'll give you a hint: it was a lot. The answer will arrive soon...

Before I get to today's activities, I'll just add one footnote to Venice. As my train this morning was at 8.43am, I thought it would be a good idea to get up a bit earlier in order to give myself enough time to get back to the train station. From experience trying to find my hostel on the first night, I knew it wasn't an entirely straightforward path. In fact, I thought it'd be safer just to catch the vaporetto that leaves almost at the doorstep of the hostel.

Rather than take the first one that arrived (which was all stops to the station), I decided to wait for the next one that assured me it would take only 10 minutes. Little did I know that it ended at the next stop, so I now had to navigate the streets to Rialto – the next stop on the way.

Now, as much fun as it is wandering the streets with no particular direction in mind, it can be extremely bloody annoying when you do have a direction in mind and you can't manage to find it! With time ticking away and no clear idea how to get where I needed to go, it was with extreme relief that I finally walked out on the canal at exactly the right place – and just in time to catch the vaporetto.

Another three hour train ride and I was deposited in Florence, epicentre of the Italian Renaissance and my temporary home for the next few days. Finding my hostel fairly quickly, I promptly dumped my bags and headed out to see a bit of the city before the night descended.

Initially, I started by wandering the streets as yesterday, but this time I had a target in mind that was quite easy to spot: Santa Maria del Fiore, the giant cathedral that dominates the city. Rather than go in right away, I spotted Giotto's Tower adjacent and decided to tackle its 414 stairs first.

Maybe it's maturity (ha!), maybe it's age, or maybe it was the massive steel cage enclosing the area, but I didn't have a problem with the height from here. Okay, there was a bit of giddiness when I looked down, but nothing compared to the heart-stopping fear I've had at other, much lower heights. From up here you could see far off into the distance, showcasing the city rooftops and the far hills I plan to visit in the next couple of days, with the only structure taller being the Duomo itself. It would've been nice if the sun was out but, as a consolation, the dark foreboding clouds gave an almost equally exciting backdrop.

Back on the ground, I took a stroll around the Duomo to take in its size before entering – and it really is absolutely huge. I'm not sure how big a football field is, but I think this thing might need to suck in at the sides a bit in order to fit inside one. Inside was tastefully ornate, far from the overwhelming vivacity of Venice's Basilico, and for once there was nobody stopping photos from being taken! The most impressive display was the roof of the dome, a full 360 degree mural that, for the moment, wasn't entirely clear.

While I was on top of the tower I could see people on top of the Duomo's dome, so that was my next stop – this time, 463 steps to the top. Seeing as I'd just finished a similar climb, this one was a bit trickier to get through but, eventually, I made it to the top – and once again, that old friend vertigo came back with full force. Unlike the Tower (and uncannily similar to the top of St. Paul's), this time the only thing between me and plummeting to a messy splat on the ground was a short fence. I'm still not sure of the logic behind this.

As I carefully made my way around the circumference, those feelings of height-induced dread were almost entirely pushed out of my mind by the sheer beauty of the view. From here I could see where I'd been on the tower just moments before, and the view from here was even better. Not wanting to leave too soon, I sat down near the edge, tried not to look down and just sat to marvel at the view.

I guess it was around 20 minutes later I started to notice the spatterings of rain hitting me, so taking this as a cue I headed down the stairs and back again to terra firma. It was on the way up (and down) that the mural on the roof of the dome could be seen – and it was a beauty. Horrendous scenes of hell: torture, misery, fire and brimstone, while above were the pure and chaste in heaven. Trust those wacky Catholics to come up with such a heavenly display.

With a handful of sights already checked off my list, I decided to track down the next one – Michaelangelo's David. While I was in Milan I missed the opportunity to see Da Vinci's The Last Supper and, truthfully, this would be the only reason I'd ever go back there again. This time, I have no intention on missing out on what is considered one of the finest sculptures ever created. Like The Last Supper, though, you need to make reservations in order to get in – though, thankfully, I managed to get in two days in advance rather than the months suggested for the Da Vinci.

I also happened upon a nice piazza containing more statues and, mercifully, some shelter from the rain. Taking refuge for a few minutes until it calmed down, I started back the way I came and headed back to the hostel.

Without counting the ones in the hostel, today I climbed 877 stairs. Tomorrow I intend to catch the train to Pisa and take a look around, particularly at its famous leaning tower. Friday is Florence day, starting with David in the morning, followed by as much of the rest of the city as I can possibly fit in, before heading to Rome on Saturday morning to complete my trip.

I hope you'll excuse me while I take the rest of the night off – I'm absolutely knackered!

I am Become Drew, Destroyer of Good Weather

Douglas Adams once wrote about a Rain god, an ordinary man who was so adored by rain clouds that they followed him wherever he went. I'm starting to wonder if I have a similar power.

The evidence is starting to stack up. First, we have two successive London summers infamous for their complete suckiness. Next we have the inexplicable cold in Spain while I was there – right in the middle of summer. Finally, we have this trip to Italy where, after one and a half days of sun and blue skies, the grey clouds and rain have arrived bang on schedule – and it's forecast to be awful for the rest of the week.

Seriously, though, the reason I bring up the bad weather is because it is the only negative aspect I can think of about today. I think it's fair to say that Venice is probably the most thoroughly enjoyable city I have ever visited in my life, and it's going to take something pretty spectacular in order to knock it off the top spot.

I know hundreds have tried and failed to describe Venice, but I may as well add my voice to the choir.

Imagine if M.C. Escher had designed a city. Now, picture the city builders taking a look at these plans, scratching their heads and deciding it wasn't quite complicated enough! This is the best way I can think of to describe the wonderful labyrinth of passages, streets, paths, bridges and, of course, canals that make up the entirety of this amazing place.

Another way to think of it is as the world's biggest theme park, built strictly for adults. It doesn't feel that far off the mark: there are no cars, for starters – instead, they are relegated to parking on the outskirts of the city. Everywhere is within walking distance (depending on what your definition of walking distance is), while there are boats, ferries, water taxis and gondolas to help get you where you're going much quicker, or if you're feeling weary - and, in certain cases, it's loads more stylish.

My initial entrance was last night from the train station, adding further to the feeling of an alternate Disneyland, with my first sight being the great canal that snakes throughout the main islands and the curious mix of architecture – and inevitable giant billboard. It is just so utterly unlike anywhere else I've ever been it's impossible to not want to just jump on a ferry and start exploring right away.

Which is pretty much what I did this morning!

Unlike most places I go, I had nothing in mind that I wanted to see while I was here – the main attraction, for me, was the city itself. Having seen pictures, movies and stories about Venice for most of my life, it has always been high on my list of places to visit just to find out for myself exactly what it's like. I'm sure there are hundreds of amazing sights to see here, but to me just the thought of exploring the maze of streets was my only plan for the day.

With no agenda set for the day except to explore, I embraced the chance to lose myself among the streets – and it took approximately one minute to find myself hopelessly and utterly lost! Wandering the streets alone, I decided I should leave any plans to fate and just see what happened. If one street looked more interesting than another, I took it. If I was hungry, I'd find the closest snack bar and grab something to eat. I had no idea where I was, where I was going, what I was going to do or what I was going to see – and it was the most liberating feeling I've had in years.

Although I'd done a tiny bit of research into the area, my main goal was simply to discover new areas of the city as they came to me. As it turned out, one of the best ways to do this is by water ferry (or vaporetto). I'd bought a day pass earlier, and as I walked past one of the stops a ferry arrived. Not knowing where it was going (except somewhere new), I hopped aboard and followed it to its end.

As it turned out, this one finished its journey at San Marco – possibly one of the most recognisable areas of Venice (at least, I recognised it). The piazza is one of the largest I've seen and, consequently, was the busiest around. Also here was a giant bell tower that I was tempted to climb, but dwindling finances caused a rethink on this idea. Instead, I wandered into the Basilica, the cathedral.

Inside was one of the most extravagant shrines I've ever seen, with a vast mosaic covering the entire roof – made almost entirely of gold. As usual, photos weren't allowed to be taken inside but, for once, I think I can work out why: if just one flash were to go off inside, it would likely blind everyone as the reflections bounced off everything inside.

More aimless wandering commenced from here, passing by dozens of small shops selling everything from fashion, masks, food to Murano glass. As chance would have it, I was passing by another vaporetto on its way to Murano – so I hopped on.

Murano is an island slightly further away from the rest of the mainland of Venice, famous for its amazing glassworks. In fact, the entire island seems to be dedicated entirely to glass – after walking around for an hour or so, about the only places around were shops selling their amazing works or art, or workshops dedicated to making them.

Back on the vaporetto, I returned to the mainland for another wander around – and a bite to eat. This time, the only clue I had to where I was came from the train station, so I was somewhere north. Not wanting to tempt fate, I continued north for a while until I ended up back at the water and another vaporetto stop! This one was heading out to another island, Lido, which sounded good to me!

As I mentioned earlier, I didn't do the greatest amount of research into Venice and had no idea what to expect at this new island. If I did, I most likely wouldn't have gone. Its claim to fame is its beaches which, considering the weather, wasn't likely to be the most exciting thing to see. Surprisingly, there were cars on the island as well, which came as a bit of a shock after not having to deal with them all day.

Returning to San Marco, I took a different path through a different set of backstreets and found myself at Rialto, home of the famous Rialto bridge. With darkness approaching, the lights around the city were starting to turn on bringing an entirely new perspective to the city. It also gave me an extra incentive to continue on, so once again I hopped aboard a vaporetto to see where it would take me...

If I sound a little vague about where I was throughout the day, it's because most of the time I genuinely had no idea where I was! I'm sure there are also loads of places I went to that I didn't write about, simply because I either don't know what they were or where they were. With so much to see, I know for a fact I missed out on seeing so much. It's the sort of place you could spend literally months in order to see everything on offer – and even then you'd probably still only be scratching the surface.

I'd always hoped to visit Venice with someone else, it seems the perfect place for a shared exploration. At the very least, I know for a fact I will be back to visit again – hopefully for longer than just one day. For now, though, I'm content to know I've seen one of the most amazing cities on the planet – so, after an evening's walk out of the way, culminating in a visit to the Rialto bridge to see it lit up, I headed back to my hostel for an early night in preparation for my 8.45am train to Florence.

I'm with Garfield on this one

Not the Monday I was expecting. It started out quite promising, sleeping in a little bit but still up and ready to go at 9am. After checking out I wandered up to the train station ready for the next leg of my trip, taking a few pictures of the building while I was at it.

Making my way toward the ticket office, I noticed a rather long queue coming out of thee door which I joined. Not really in any rush. While waiting, I struck up a conversation with an Aussie couple in front of me - and it was they who dropped the bombshell.

Today there was a country-wide train strike.

Unbelievable! Not really panicking, but concerned about what I was going to do about getting to Venice, I was directed toward one of the workers who was able to help me. The good news was there _was_ a train going to Venice. The bad news was it was at 4pm - more than six hours away.

With no other choice, I bought a ticket and tried to think of ways to spend my time. More Milan sightseeing, obviously - so I headed to the closest Metro station and... oh no, you must be joking. They're on strike too! With my options limited to walking distance around the train station, my first port of call was an Internet cafe to email tonight's hostel to let them know I was going to be a little late.

I desperately wish I had something else to say I did today, but all I did was walk up and down various streets around the station - and they were all dull and boring. I wasn't in the mood for trying some new food (especially after last night) so I found a Burger King and ate there. It's somewhat reassuring to know that these fast food places are disgusting the world over.

After another trip to the Internet cafe, my train was finally ready to leave - so I sat in one seat listening to music for three hours, not really able to see anything out the window as it had become dark. The best thing I can say is the train was kept warm and was quite comfortable.

When I finally arrived I was feeling a little cross, quite sore and a lot tired (it always amazes me how tired you can get doing so little). I was really looking forward to seeing the approach to Venice on the train, but the strike had robbed me of that so I wasn't in the best of moods.

That all changed as soon as I stepped out of the station.

Last year I visited Portmeirion in North Wales, which was one of the highlights of that trip. My first sight of Venice threw me back to that time, but on a much grander scale. I wasn't really able to see much in the dark, but I can already tell I'm going to love it here.

Although my original plan was to spend most of today getting lost in the streets here, it turns out I didn't lose out on this - after arriving I spent the next 45 minutes desperately trying to find my hostel, to no avail! In the end I had to the ring the guy to help me out, and now I'm here ready to crash for a big day tomorrow.

Stuck in Milan

Just a quick one - expect a better post about yesterday once I get a decent Internet connection.

Right now I am sitting in an Internet caffe in Milan, just outside Stazione Centrale. My plan this morning was to get up early and catch the train to Venice. What I wasn't planning on was to get to the station to find a massive country-wide train strike!

The only train out is at 4pm, which has given me six hours to see more of the city... which would be easy if the metro wasn't closed as well! And the buses are out too, so I'm stuck within walking distance to the station.

Oh well, these are the exciting parts of traveling - you can never guess what's going to happen next!

Oh, and did I mention the guy sitting next to me is looking up porn?

You'd Think I'd Learn

I mentioned I was tired, didn't I? Well, last night I crashed at 10pm – completely zonked out, dead to the world. I wanted to have a good rest before today, so I set the alarm for 8am in the hope I could be out the door before 9am.

At 9.30am, alarm long past, I finally decided it was time to get up. I felt a teeny bit guilty for such a crazy sleep in, but heck, I'm on holiday – and isn't this what holidays are for?

Anyway, after a leisurely hot shower, I eventually made my way out of the hotel by 10.30am and made my way back to Duomo for a proper day's sightseeing.

Something I forgot to mention yesterday was the weather: it's so nice here at the moment! I brought along one of my jackets with me as I was expecting it to be quite cold – this is what living in London will do to you. Instead, I've been able to wander around most of the time just in a tee-shirt, although I have needed to don my hoodie at nights.

The reason I bring this up is, despite the warmth, the sky had decided to follow me from London. It's been miserable and grey for the last few weeks (months? I can't keep track any more!), yet when I landed yesterday it was blue with only a smattering of clouds. Today, on the other hand, was grey and not so pleasant – a grim reminder of what I'd left behind for a week.

Rather than fret about it, I started snapping pictures of Duomo – despite the less than flattering light being cast. It's a fascinating looking building, with hundreds of spires along the roof covered in statues and other intricate carvings. I'd read that there were stairs up to the roof that offered stunning views of the city, so I set off to find the way up – and accidentally stumbled upon them first go.

There were only 160 or so steps (a piece of cake after St. Pauls!) and I'm pleased to say the views lived up to their reputation – although not in the way I think they were intended. Possibly because the sun wasn't out, or maybe it was the layer of haze sitting over the city, but the panorama wasn't quite as amazing as I'd hoped. Don't get me wrong, it's a very nice looking city, but the better views were much closer – being right up there with the stone carvings.

The walkways gave almost full access to the entire roof, including the very top where you could almost see 360 degrees around. While I was admiring the view, the sun finally poked its way through the clouds and, on the roof, provided some very striking lighting for the spires.

Having marked probably the biggest attraction on my list early, I took some time to decide where to head to next – the Castello Sforzesco, a giant red-brick castle in the heart of the city. I started walking up a road that looked like it went there, but after 15 minutes of walking it dawned on me I was going the wrong way. Confirming with my map, I headed back to where I started – stopping off at a local caffè for lunch.

Now heading in the right direction (evidenced by the fact I could see it in the distance), I took my time to enjoy the walk and take in the sights of the streets. Milan is, as you're probably aware, a super-trendy city – I think the locals can tell I'm not one of them from my clothes before I even open my mouth.

Arriving to an almost perfectly blue sky, I worked my way around the castle interior before buying a ticket to the museums that are housed there. Loads more statues, some amazing tapestries and even Michaelangelo's final, incomplete work were all on show, as well as a collection of Egyptian pieces. Annoyingly, I couldn't find the musical instrument museum, and by now it was around 5pm and not only was everything starting to close, but my legs were about to drop off.

After a couple hours rest back in the hotel, I was ready and hungry to hit the town again. Rather than stick to the same areas I'd already seen, I thought it'd be a good idea to head further out of the city centre for my meal. One of the guides mentioned Marghera street for a good pizza, so after a short underground ride I was wandering the streets deciding where to eat.

Despite stumbling into one place before it was open, I found a rather nice little place and ordered – and it was, I must admit, very good. Not the best pizza I've had in my life (and I've had quite a few!) but definitely up in the excellent category. With mains out of the way, it was finally time to sample some gelato!

The closest place was directly across the road, so I wandered in and bought a chocolate and white chocolate cone. As I brought it close to my mouth I took a smell – and recognised a familiar nutty smell. Oh crap, did I just order something with peanuts?

Given my recent near miss (and especially after I'd just finished documenting it two nights earlier), the very intelligent part of my brain decided I should have a tiny taste just to see what would happen. After waiting a minute or two to see if I had a reaction (all the while dripping chocolate on the ground), nothing had happened so I cautiously started into it. As amazing as it tasted, the smell was really off-putting as every bite reminded me of my brush with luck in Pamplona. As much as it killed me to do so, I decided not to risk it any more and dumped it in the bin.

Although I'd been keeping track of my breathing for the 20 minutes or so since I'd had my first taste with good results, it wasn't until I was sitting in the underground waiting for the train that I felt a bit of a tickle in my throat. Unbelievable, I can't believe I could be so stupid that this could happen to me again! Once again, I took every breath carefully to make sure my throat wasn't constricting, and so far so good – although I was feeling a bit of gunk in the back of my throat that wasn't there before. Nor did I need to cough. Oh good, here comes the panic right on time...

Now stuck on the train, I was at least relieved that my breathing didn't appear to be affected in any way, but it still took me no time at all to get back to my hotel room in close reach of my Epipen. Thankfully, by this time my throat had gone back to normal – the only thing I can think that happened is poor quality air in the underground, a reaction to the dairy in the gelato (I've been steering clear of dairy for a few weeks on advice from my personal trainer) and, the most likely culprit, an overactive imagination!

Still alive, I'm glad to say.

Tomorrow I'm catching the train to Venice and staying two nights there. I'm really looking forward to this, I've been eager to see this city for years – although I'd always hoped I wouldn't be on my own.

Sleepy in Milan

At around 2pm today (local time) my plane touched down in Milan, first stop in my whirlwind tour of north Italy. Nothing of note to report until this point, fairly standard routine by now: get up, shower and dress, finalise packing, get the train to the airport and make sure I'm on the plane in time.

Despite how much preparation, I still manage to cock up somewhere along the way. The next part was easy, a fairly quick bus ride into the city and I was at Central Station. According to my directions, I was close to where I was staying - or so I thought. To be truthful, the directions were a little vague and I was a bit confused to where I was going.

I figured it'd be worth asking the information centre in the station, but the only directions he could give me were I had to ride the underground rail. Still confused, I bought a map and tried to figure out where I was and where I had to go.

For some reason, the street I was looking for didn't appear to be in the street directory, so I found the closest match and set off on my way. As the information guy had said, it was three stops away on the underground. Only problem was, the closest station was a bit of a hike, but at least it gave me a chance to explore a bit of the city.

Three stops later I emerged into the light again to find my hotel - but I quickly got the impression I was in the wrong place. I hadn't gotten off at the wrong stop, it was the area - the amount I was paying didn't appear to match what I was seeing, a very rich, busy and ultra-trendy part of the city. Still, I wandered into where I was hoping to be staying... and found no hotel. Thoroughly confused by now, I ventured into a book shop to ask for help.

As it turns out, where I'd arrived at the station was only a five minute walk from where I was staying! My street was in the directory, I was just looking in the wrong place. Back I went on the underground, and within 30 minutes I was crashed out on my bed, quite exhausted.

After a bit of a rest, I decided I should take advantage of my day-long travel pass so I headed back into the centre of the city to Duomo. As I was a bit peckish by now, my first priority was to find something to eat. Both guides I've been reading have warned to stay away from eating anywhere around Duomo, so I began to wander up a busy looking road in search of food.

Passing quite a few tempting places, one small pastry shop caught my eye and within minutes I was munching into a pizza-style pastry. And it was really, really good. Now on a roll, I figured I may as well continue on the same path - which I did. Almost 45 minutes later I finally hit the end of the way, so not wanting to stray too far from where I started I retraced my steps and took a break just outside Duomo.

Now, the reason I'd decided to come to Italy in the first place was a chance to catch up with my ex-flatmate Elena, who had returned here almost six months ago and was now living in Milan. All was looking good until a few days ago when she got in touch to let me know she wasn't going to be in Milan this weekend after all!

As I contemplated this turn of events while I was resting, my eyes slowly started to droop and I started to drift off. Right in the middle of the city. I guess the four hours sleep is finally starting to catch up with me, so rather than collapse somewhere in a strange place I've decided to have a nice early night, get up bright and early and start to properly investigate this new city properly - and in the light.

Goodnight!

Ha, I did it!

Right, now I've finally finished writing about Pamplona - Lee, you can get off my back now!!

I'm getting up in a couple of hours for my trip to Italy, I can't wait. My itinerary for the next week involves Milan, Venice, Florence, Pisa and Rome. This time I'll try to keep the posts coming as I go along.

In the meantime, I need to get some sleep!

The Plan

So last time I mentioned things on the travel front were going to change, starting this month - and here's where I get to tell you the good news! I've just finished booking my trip away to Italy, starting this coming Saturday and returning a week later on Sunday.

It wasn't a tough choice to decide where to go this time - I wanted to visit my ex-flatmate Elena, who moved back to Italy a few months ago and is now working in Milan. It has to be next week, too, as I've got gigs booked the following weekend, the one after and then December is a bit of a write-off. So keep an eye out, the travel tales will be returning soon! (And I've almost finished writing the Pamplona post, I swear!)

This one trip isn't all, though. Despite not appearing to have done a huge amount of anything this year, I've actually been working toward a few goals that have kept me busy. The most important one was making sure I had a solid foundation for the rest of my time in the UK: I've been working toward a savings target and I've started a new job that's putting me on a more secure (and potentially lucrative) path for employment. The downside has been a lack of time actually getting out to see the world, but now I have some good news.

The best part is I reached my savings target three months early, which means either my goal was too conservative or I can actually afford to start hitting the road again. I've chosen to believe it's the latter, so I now have a plan for the months to come.

From this month on, I intend to make at least one trip away per month, be it overseas or somewhere in the UK - even if it's only just for the weekend. I figure I can make two extended holidays away throughout the year, as well. I also intend to do at least one new thing in London each month, be it an exhibition, a tour - whatever. Just, something to get me out to see more of the city!

As I mentioned earlier, I've already made my first steps to make this happen: next week I'm off to Italy, which satisfies my monthly trip quota. And today, I satisfied the London part by visiting the Doctor Who Exhibition at Earl's Court!

Faithful readers should remember I visited a similar exhibition last year while I was in Cardiff. This one was much closer - in fact, the bus that goes past my flat goes directly to Earl's Court where it was held which worked out perfectly (especially considering my local tube line was closed for the weekend).

I'd actually intended to go yesterday, but my insanely busy schedule during the week meant I was completely knackered on Saturday morning and my legs were begging for a rest.

On Monday I'd gone to see my friend's band again, in what I can only describe as the most hilarious gig I've ever been to. Not because of his band, but the band on before them - they were a group of kids no older than 16. They were pretty talented musically (hell, they were miles better than me - but that's not saying a lot), but it became cringeworthy after they'd finished and the next band failed to show up. Rather than leave the stage empty, three of the kiddies jumped up and started messing around on stage... for 45 minutes. We decided to leave after 10, but outside we could still hear them at it until it was time for Dave's band to start.

Tuesday night I did very little, but Wednesday was another gig - this time, Jesus Jones! Yet another band I've been dying to see for years, I found out they were supporting The Wonder Stuff at two gigs that were on this week and they'd decided to do their own show as well - so I booked tickets for all three. Even better, the venue was just around the corner from my flat. It was a brilliant gig, they sounded amazing and I was totally exhausted after a good hour or so of dancing and jumping around.

Although I'd bought a ticket to see Jesus Jones and The Wonder Stuff on Thursday night, it dawned on me a week earlier that I wouldn't be able to make it that night as it was a long way away in Birmingham! Rather than worry about trying to make it there and back in time for work the next day, I reluctantly decided to sell my ticket to a friend - so instead of seeing the gig, Lee had bought tickets for us to go and see French and Saunders live!

On Friday night I headed back to Shepherd's Bush to see Jesus Jones and The Wonder Stuff, which turned out to be one of the best gigs I've seen all year. Jesus Jones were fantastic again, but I was amazed at how tight and energetic the Stuffies were - not to mention how great they sounded. They played for almost two hours all up, but after three songs I was completely worn out (to be fair, I wore myself out jumping around to Jesus Jones) so I moved to the side and enjoyed it away from the heaving crowd.

Oh, something I forgot to mention - I've been going to the gym again. Five times a week, in fact. There's three of us in my team who go during lunch, which has helped me actually keep at it. I've lost a little bit of weight so far, but nothing drastic. I do have a goal, though... I'll let you know if I reached it when the time comes.

A Minor Catch Up

I'll get Pamplona finished soon, I promise. It's taking a while because it is really long.

In the meantime, here's the latest:

Last night was the first of two Killing Joke gigs, and it was unbelievably good. After the gig I was wandering around and saw someone who looked familiar - so I asked him if he was Guy Pratt. And he was! So I had a chat to him, he seemed quite surprised that I'd read his book (of course I had, it was Pink Floyd related!) and we talked about Floyd, Rick Wright, Roger Waters's band and heard the final truth about the reunion. I would've loved to have talked for a bit longer but he had to go (as did I, stupid tube), but that was a nice surprise ending to a brilliant night. Even better, I'm going to tonight's gig as well - this time it's an entirely different set, part two of one long show if you will.

I'm no longer on probation for my new job, which means I'm a fully-fledged member of the company now. Enjoying it a lot, and not just because of the extra money (although it definitely helps). I'm learning new things all the time, which is exactly what I wanted as I feel I've been stagnating skills-wise for the last couple of years.

My guitar is coming on in leaps and bounds, I've definitely made a lot of improvements in the last six months. The problem is I hate my guitar! Warning, guitar nerd talk coming up: I will never, ever buy another guitar with a floating tremolo, they're just too much of a pain to deal with for something I don't even use! I snapped a string on Sunday, so I bought new ones and restrung it. The problem is the new strings were slightly heavier, so it threw the tremolo out a mile. After a lot of tinkering I finally got it almost right, but now the springs in the back are stretched to their limit so I've had to buy new ones to compensate. I've had my eye on a new guitar for a while now, I just need to find one to play before I order it. You'd think in a city like London it'd be easy...

I've not done any other travel since Pamplona (aside from a pleasant journey to Heathrow Terminal 5, as documented previously), but now I've set myself up fairly well I've been thinking about how to change this. I realise this blog was supposed to be about my travels over here, and aside from the first couple of months it's been a bit bare, but I think I've worked out a plan that should see this change - starting next month. Watch this space...

It's been a bit quiet for gigs up until now, too. Aside from some London bands I've been seeing (I'll get to that in a minute), the list has been a bit short - but definitely quality. One of the most enjoyable was Ladytron, which was interesting in its own way as the first night was cancelled half-way through the show! Apparently the front of stage lost all power and there was no backup, so they had to postpone the rest of the show for a couple of months.

A few weeks later was the reformed My Bloody Valentine, a band I'd heard loads about over the years but have never actually listened to - something I rectified quickly and instantly kicked myself for not doing sooner. I was very lucky for this one, a friend of mine had managed to score an extra ticket for this very sold out event and I was very pleased when he offered to me. This is the only gig I've ever been to where earplugs were handed out at the door, and believe me they were needed. Even with them in it was easily the loudest gig I've ever been to - and you could tell the ones who opted out of the free earplugs. During the last song, they stopped half way through and just played one chord constantly, letting it build up slowly and gradually - over about 15 minutes. After five minutes it was loud, really loud - you could see people starting to feel uncomfortable. After ten minutes, dotted around the crowd people were clamping their hands over their ears. By the time they went back into the ending of the song, the only thing you could hear was the carefully constructed cacophony they'd been generating - it was still going long after they put their instruments down and walked off stage. And it kept going for another ten minutes or so while we waited to see if they'd come back (they didn't). Very, very glad I took the earplugs after that!

Coming soon is three nights of Jesus Jones, two of them with The Wonder Stuff. Carter USM, EMF, vileevils and Ned's Atomic Dustbin are all up again soon, as well as a probable repeat of Ladytron. I'm also strongly considering a trip to Glasgow to see Slayer, as both nights they're playing in London I'm busy! Mixing travel with music always seems like a good idea to me.

I'm also off to see two bands this week, both with guys I know from bands I've played with since I got here. I've seen one of them three times so far, I like them a lot.

As for my own music, it's not been the best of times. Of the two bands I was in at the beginning of the year, I'm now in none. The first one I decided to leave for various reasons, the other one split up rather unexpectedly a couple of weeks after our first gig. This really bummed me out for quite a while as I genuinely loved that band and we were coming up with some fantastic music, but it wasn't meant to be. I've been on the lookout for something similar since, but so far nothing has really grabbed me. I'm auditioning for a new band in a few weeks, we'll see how that goes.

I can't really think of much else now, to be honest. I'm sure there's loads more I've been doing, but I think that covers most bases. See you again in nine months for the next update!

I'm not even supposed to be here today!

Right now, I should be drinking German beer from gigantic mugs. I should be singing along to oom-pah music and dancing on tables. I should be admiring the ladies in their fancy dresses. I should be at Oktoberfest, dammit!!

Instead, I'm still in London.

What happened?

On Thursday afternoon I turned up at Heathrow Terminal 5, checked in my bags and made it through security in record time. Then waited for my gate number to appear on the board. And waited. And waited. Then waited. Eventually it came - but not what I was expecting: 'Enquire Airline'. This doesn't look good.

As it turns out, at 4pm a massive computer glitch shut down air traffic control throughout England. The knock-on effect being that all flights in and out of the country were cancelled - including mine.

After meeting up with Ben and realising we weren't going to make it there any time soon, and considering how much our tickets cost versus the amount of time we'd be there, we decided to cancel the tickets and take the refund. Oktoberfest will have to wait for next year.

I'm not sure if it's karma, fate or a curse, but this trip was just not supposed to happen. First, Margaret didn't receive her passport in time to come, then Lee had to pull out, before finally Ben and I were thwarted at the last minute.

The worst part is I was supposed to be meeting someone over there...

The Stupidest Thing I've Ever Done In My Entire Life

Well I guess I should write about my trip to Spain before it disappears into the hazy fog that is my long-term memory. I've been back a couple of weeks and I'm still trying to process parts of it, to be honest.

In order to alleviate the stress that the title may evoke, I'll get the main details out of the way first.

1. No, I didn't do the run. Yes, I almost did.
2. No, I didn't go to a bull fight.
3. Yes, I almost died. And this is no exaggeration.

(BTW here's Lee's side of the story.)

As I mentioned in my last post, I started at a new job recently. Having been there about two hours, I felt a bit strange asking for three days off during my third week, but this didn't turn out to be a problem at all. Lucky, seeing as how we'd booked it quite a few months ago!

Lee and I had decided to fly out on the Saturday morning, so rather than try to make it to Stansted Airport independently, I elected to sleep over at his place and take a mini-cab together. The only downside to this plan was that Friday night was my new work's Summer party, so only three weeks in and I've already missed the biggest party of the year (so far). Then again, I was about to spend five days in Spain, which seemed like a fair compromise.

Waking up at 3.30am, I hopped into the shower quickly, then we both set off to Liverpool Street Station to catch the Stansted Express, possibly the most rubbish express train in history. We eventually arrived at the airport, only to discover our cunning plan of catching the earliest flight possible to Bilbao was also the same cunning plan being put into action by hundreds of other travelers. Even though we arrived with plenty of time to spare, thanks to the queues and other hold-ups, we only just made it to the gate in time.

The flight itself was fairly uneventful; it was pretty obvious that 99.99% of the people on the plane were heading to Pamplona like we were and the party mood had obviously already started to kick in. Being early and not having had much sleep I nodded off for most of it, waking near landing with enough time to witness the black storm clouds perched above the Spanish city we were entering.



After making it through customs and being thwarted by a lack of cash machines/shops/anything at the arrivals gate, we hopped on a bus into Bilbao for the next leg of the journey, on to Pamplona itself. Rather than just wait around at the bus station for our ride, Lee and I decided to take a quick look around the city. After a short walk we decided to pop into a cafe where, after a bit of confusion with the nice ladies working there, we successfully managed to order something. In particular, I had an amazing hot chocolate that appeared to be little more than a mug of melted chocolate!



Back at the bus station we met up with Ben, another friend joining us for the weekend, and finally boarded the two hour bus ride to Pamplona itself.

I'll admit, I didn't do a huge amount of research into this trip. For some reason, I was expecting Pamplona to be not much more than a big village; instead, it's another big city! We arrived at the city's brand new bus station and tried to find the shuttle bus to our campsite, but quickly gave up and caught a taxi instead.



On arrival we checked in and found our tent, one of several hundred identical green and gold tents, organised into 'streets' named after familiar Aussie icons (Summer Bay, Ramsay Street, etc.). After dropping our bags and blowing up our air mattresses, we all headed down to the main area for some lunch - and some Sangria.

The rest of the afternoon is a bit of a blur (primarily due to the Sangria), but it generally involved sitting in the sun, drinking and just general relaxing. By the time night had rolled around, we'd even made some new friends: Michelle, Jacinta and Nicole. After a wicked rainstorm, a bit of nudity (not mine, honest) and some games of pool, I somehow ended up back at the tent - but I honestly don't remember how or when. Curse you, Sangria!

Regrettably, the next morning was an early one - and after the previous night's frivolities I wasn't exactly in the best shape. However, crawl out of bed I did in time to have a freezing cold shower and catch the bus in to the city centre in time for the San Fermin Festival's Opening Ceremony. As is customary, we were all resplendent in our fresh white (and, importantly, disposable) clothes, and we arrived outside the Town Hall around 9.30am with plenty of time until kick off at midday.



We'd already been warned what to expect, which was to leave the area dripping wet from champagne, wine, water and Sangria. Another tip we were given was not to take any valuables with us as this part of the festival is notorious for pickpockets. Not surprising, as an hour later the square was jam packed with people. I'll do my best to describe what it was like:

Imagine the biggest mosh pit you can think of. Now imagine almost every one of these people drunk out of their skulls. Picture them spraying bottles of champagne and Sangria everywhere, then dumping the empty glass to shatter on the ground. Visualise them jumping from fences in order to crowd surf, all of this while the crowd is holding you tight, unable to move while it surges in all directions. You can't go anywhere, you're fighting every second to keep your footing while at the same to not to be crushed.

That was just the first hour. After this, things started to get a bit wild.

That was how we spent the next two hours, up until the glorious moment when the rockets were fired to signal the start of the festival! It sounds awful, and at moments it was, but it was also loads of fun getting into the spirit of everything, although I did feel sorry for the girls who were being crushed quite badly - and not quite so bad for the fools who didn't wear decent shoes (remember the shattered glass I mentioned earlier?).



It didn't take long for the crowds to disperse, so Lee, Ben, Michelle, Nicole, Jacinta and myself wandered the streets taking in the festivities. We declined to visit the Muscle Bar, an Australian-born tradition (you have to be proud) that involves idiots jumping from the top of a statue near the town centre in order for the crowds to catch you. This is not a traditional part of the festival, in fact the locals understandably hate it and often try to prevent people from climbing it. This is also the most dangerous part of the festival, with more injuries and fatalities than the bull runs.



After a while we caught the bus back to the camp site, cleaned up (we were all literally dripping wet) and spent the rest of the day chilling out in the sun - but this time, we were drinking only water. As the next few days involved 5am mornings, we all decided it was better not to have to face them with a hangover so kept the booze to a minimum.

Our first 5am morning was the first day of the bull runs. At this point I hadn't decided whether or not I was going to run, and the others wanted to watch a race first before before making their final decision. Our first instinct was to hop on a fence along the path, but by the time we arrived into the city all the best spots had already been taken so we darted off to the stadium, where the race ends.



After a nice long wait of almost two hours (and shivering like crazy until the sun finally hit us), the rockets were fired and the first race began. It didn't take long for runners to start making their way into the stadium, however this first batch were loudly booed by the crowd as it was obvious they'd started the run toward the end of the track and weren't even close to seeing any bulls. It didn't take long for the more adventurous runners to arrive - and by the increasing pace of the runners, it became apparent the bulls weren't far behind.

Sure enough, the first batch of bulls burst into the stadium sending runners scrambling for the safety of the walls - or any other place out of the way of the stampeding herd. Once the last one was in the stadium, the gates were shut and the next part began. This time, baby bulls were sent out to join the runners - one at a time. This part was far more entertaining, especially whenever one of the bulls managed to knock someone out of their way or, better yet, send them flying into the air!



Once the last of the bulls had returned to its pen it was time to leave. Having seen how fairly sedate the last part of the run appeared to be, courage took over and I announced to the others I was ready to run. To prepare, we wandered down to the start of the course and started walking the track, making notes of where not to get trapped, where best to start and other crucial details. This was when my first pang of realisation hit me - the course was a lot longer than I was expecting.

With these preparations complete, we returned to the campsite for lunch, sun and relaxation. As the afternoon wore on, more people started arriving - as did the stories. Quite a few of our fellow campers had decided to run that morning and, according to quite a few, the run wasn't quite as sedate as I'd been imagining. One story in particular kept recurring, involving a man many people had run past who'd been crumpled up on the ground with his eyes in the back of his head. Later, more people began to talk of at least one person who had been killed that day, with plenty more injuries witnessed and on display.



Having heard all of this, and already realising my fitness level was not up to the task of making even half the length of the course, I grudgingly had to admit that I wasn't going to join the others in the run the next morning. With that decision out of the way, we headed back into the city for a meal and to take a better look at the city itself. After meeting up with the Fanatics crew for a party within the city, we headed back for an early night.

As we were staying in a tent - one among hundreds - I'd come prepared for the nights, in particular having a handy pair of ear plugs. Still, I wasn't expecting it to be so cold at night, seeing how it was the middle of summer and we were in Spain. Still, experience had taught me to come prepared for any situation so at least I was rugged up fairly warm. This wasn't a great consolation when the 5am alarm sounded.



With roughly 15 minutes or so to get ready in time to catch the bus, we all quickly threw our clothes on and made it down the meeting point. As I'd already decided to opt out of the run I felt perfectly calm, if a little (okay, a lot) tired - but Lee and Ben both seemed to be a little more excited than usual.



Arriving back in the city, we made our way over to the chosen starting point in order to claim a choice spot, right outside the town hall - roughly half way through the course (and only a short distance from dead man's corner). While Jacinta, Michelle and I hung back behind the fence (as it was being constructed), Lee, Ben and Chris waited within the track with the rapidly growing crowd of fellow runners.



There is very little to talk about between this point and the start of the race, except the three of us held our places on the fence for the two cold hours we were waiting.

At 8am, the rockets fired once more - and the race was on.

As the police had been systematically clearing large groups of runners before the start of the race, we'd already lost sight of Lee, Ben and Chris, but we were sure they hadn't been culled from the pack. By this time, they were certainly running, literally, for their lives up the long straight of Estafeta and, hopefully, into the stadium before the last of the bulls.

With the bulls passing us by in no time at all, loads of onlookers (include the three of us) ventured on to the track to follow the runners up to the stadium. Now the race was over we were able to walk straight in without paying, so we found a suitable spot inside and started searching for one of our friends.

Just as it looked like they hadn't made it, someone spotted a familiar face - it was Lee! Looking very pleased with himself (or maybe it was relief he made it one piece?), we called out to him and, amazingly, he found us in the crowd! No sign of Ben or Chris though.



With the baby bulls back in their pen and the stadium gates open again, we headed out to meet up with our victorious runners. All three had made the run and, while Lee wasn't the only one who'd made it to the stadium, Chris left before the baby bulls arrived in the hope of finding someone else.



Again, with the main mission of the day accomplished by 9am, we headed back to the campsite to grab some breakfast and more sun - and to the plan the festivities for the night. With the necessarily sober mornings out of the way, we now had only one night left to party in the city and there was every intention of making it a big one.

After lunch, we all once again headed back into the city in the hopes of finding some photos featuring the guys. Lee came out on top again as we found a whole series with him just as the bulls were passing close by, but no sign of any with the other guys.



With this out of the way, we made our way to a restaurant for a meal and a drink or two, followed by a a trip to the first bar we could find for another. Following Jacinta's advice, our order became vodka and whichever soft drink took our fancy. Not paying attention to them being poured, I didn't take Lee's warning that they were a bit strong too seriously.

He was not kidding.

When the next round arrived, I made sure to check just how strong they were. In a pint glass, rather than measuring out shots as usual, they were simply half-filling them up. Strong was possibly not the right word...

Still, it certainly helped make the night a memorable one! As you can expect, our last night became a blur with too many tales to tell, but for me the highlight was the three French girls we spent a while chatting to - and in particular, the kiss two of them gave me on each cheek. Learning to speak French has now become a high priority in life...




As the night wore on and we realised it was time to head back to the camp, our efforts to find an available taxi came to naught - instead, a guy stopped at a red light offered to give us a lift. For &euro25. Despite being &euro10 more than a taxi, we took him up on the offer anyway.

Remember that bit above where I mentioned I almost died? Well, this isn't it. Although I was a little worried he wasn't taking us where we wanted to go (I'd been paying attention during the bus rides so I knew how to get back), none of the roads were familiar and I was starting to get a bit nervous... until it became apparent he was above board and had just approached the camp from a different way.

Waking in the morning to a rather unpleasant headache, we had a couple of hours before we had to catch the bus back to Bilbao. With our bags packed and our tent dismantled, we said goodbye to Summer Bay and headed back to the Pamplona bus station to wait.

As there were seats in the KFC and we were hungry, we bought lunch and tried to pass the time constructively. Periodically, either myself, Ben or Lee would wander off to have a look around, but bus stations are barely as interesting as airports, we tended not to stray too far. Still, on one of my sojourns I found a shop selling ice creams. Figuring it might help my sore stomache, I bought a Monaco bar and proceeded to devour it.

Remember that bit earlier where I said I almost died? We're finally there.

Just in case someone reads this who doesn't know me, I have a severe allergy to peanuts. Yes, it can be a pain in the arse at times, but as long as I'm careful it doesn't tend to cause me any problems. Still, I am supposed to carry an Epipen with me at all times just in case the worst happens. The problem is, my last one had passed its expiry date and I hadn't gotten around to picking up a new one.

Which was a great pity, as having just bitten into (and swallowed) my ice cream I noticed it was covered in nuts, and not the biscuit pieces that I was expecting (like the ones back home).

Panicking slightly (and spitting out whatever was left in my mouth), I raced back to Lee and handed it over, asking him to try it and tell me if it was a peanut. He quickly assured me it wasn't, which calmed me down considerably. Not wanting to risk it, I let him have the rest!

Knowing enough about my allergy, I know what the first signs of trouble are: a scratchy throat, followed by a tightening throat, wheezing and then difficulty breathing. Wanting to be absolutely sure I was safe, I monitored every single intake of breathe to ensure none of the signs were showing. Although it was looking good so far, my heart was still pumping at a million miles and I was doing everything I could to stay calm and not have a panic attack.

After an hour, it was starting to look like I'd dodged a bullet and was finally able to calm down and relax. By now our bus was ready to leave, so we headed over to where it was leaving - and my worst fear came true, my throat had developed an itch. Panic quickly returning, I went back to monitoring my breathing - but it was too late to do anything, the bus was on its way and I was stuck on it for two hours.

By now I was trying to figure out how I'd be able to communicate to the driver that I was about to choke to death and how I desperately needed to get to a hospital as soon as possible, but thankfully my breathing didn't appear to be getting any worse so I decided to keep quiet for the time being. This didn't stop my heart from beating like crazy, nor did the cold sweat and nervousness dissipate.

Despite the massive surge of adrenaline running through my body, the lack of sleep the previous night was starting to catch up with me and, miraculously, I managed to fall asleep. The next thing I knew I was bolt upright in my seat, my mouth dry and my heart in my throat - what was happening?!

Rationality slowly returning to me, I checked my breathing again and it was fine. My sore throat and dry mouth were merely symptoms of the air conditioning. With three hours having passed since the fateful bite, it looked like it was a false alarm and I finally managed to relax and truly calm down.

The rest of the journey seemed a little uneventful after this, which is surprising considering the taxi driver who took us to the airport appeared to be in training for the Formula 1. Oh, and the flight that was delayed for several hours. Funnily enough, I actually enjoyed both of these things just for the simple fact I was still alive for them!

Needless to say, I now have a brand new Epipen and carry it with me at all times.