Oh Florence, the city of hope, continued.

Arising early yesterday, I threw on some clothes & headed to the kitchen for the free breakfast.  Sadly, it seemed I wasn't early enough & just about managed to scrape enough fruit together, to fill a bowl.  Afterwards, attempting to get organised, I showered, packed up my things & checked out of the hostel.  I still hadn't actually worked out where I was going after Florence or what the hell I was doing in general, but let's face it, I'm not known for my organisational skills.

Deciding to stay another night in the city, I found a cheaper hostel online, not far from the train station for the night.  Plus Florence, cheap, clean & fully equipped with an indoor pool, gym & rooftop terrace.  Still no sodding cooking facilities though!  In fact, this one doesn't even come with a microwave, you simply have to plump for the in-house restaurant.  Moving my luggage to the new accommodation, I made it my mission to spend the morning laying concrete plans for the next few days.

Despite some initial gut feelings that were putting me off going, I eventually committed myself to heading to Venice next.  My guide books had told me the fast train was going to cost about €45, which, I was nearly sick at the thought of spending, but seemed to tell me it was cheaper on the slower regional train.  However, when I looked online, I could only find the hefty priced version & so, being on the budget that I am, I decided to take the bus, a snip at €24.  However, with the website not being entirely clear where the bus depot was, I spent an hour stressing out, trying to find it.  Eventually, locating it on Via Santa Caterina da Siena, I booked it for 8:55am the next morning.

The bus from Florence to Venice is run by a combination of three bus companies, Baltour, Eurolines & Sena.  There are three departure times a day, 8:55am, 9:30am & 4:15pm, each taking five hours.  The first two require a change in Bologna & the latter is direct.  The first bus leaves from Via Santa Caterina da Siena, whilst the other two go from outside the city center.  Hence why I chose the first.

Feeling smug with myself, I booked up two nights in the Generator Hostel in Venice, through booking.com & went off to enjoy the markets I didn't have time for the previous day.  Firstly I walked to Piazza della Repubblica for the flower market, there every Thursday, 10am - 7pm.  This was a little disappointing.  In my mind I was thinking Chelsea Flower Show, in reality, it was a bad day at Homebase.  Deflated, I popped down the road to Piazza di Mercato Nuovo, for The Piggy & Straw Markets.  Stalls upon stalls, laden with brightly coloured fruit & vegetables, all willing me to photograph them.

Spurred on, I headed back to Piazza dei Ciompi to try to catch the Mercato delle Pulci flea market.  Thankfully, this time it was open, although, not all the hut-like stalls were, which was so disappointing, as I could see through their windows & it seemed as though all the best ones were closed.  Regardless, I still really enjoyed poking around at all the vintage ware & managed to buy a 1966 postcard, originally written & posted to Rome.  Not exactly necessary, but I liked it.

My last market for the day was in Piazza Ghiberti, but this was a bum note, as it was just another leather market & I'd seen it all before in San Lorenzo.  Having exhausted Florence's markets, I headed over to Via Ricasoli, to have a look around Galleria dell'Accademia & gawp at the wonder that is Michelangelo's statue of David.  Gosh, it was magnificent, it truly was.  How any man can carve such wonder out of stone, is beyond me!  Although, I have to say, that penis was very detailed.

Evening looming, I retired to my hostel & ended up making friends with my Mexican roommate.  Sadly he spoke little English & my Spanish is non-existent!  We somehow managed to hobble a conversation together, enough for him to tell me he'd been to the train station & managed to locate the cheap ticket for the train to Venice!  Bastard!  Of course, it was all too late by then, I'd booked the sodding bus.

Leaving him my number whilst he was in the shower, I headed back out to Piazza Duomo & met up with Katie, a very talented illustrator & fellow Brit, currently living in Florence, who I'd been in contact with through Instagram.  Ah social media, how you bring people together.  Katie, myself & her Finnish friend Salla, took a stroll across the river to Piazza San Spirito, for a vino bianco, my first in two months, at a little bar called Volume.  Sat outside, chatting away, the Mexican rang & later came to join us.  Unfortunately, Katie & Salla aren't Spanish speakers either, so poor Mexico got the cold shoulder most of the night, which I felt quite bad about.

There I am, sat sipping my vino & as I look across, I see Beard's doppelgänger sat at a table in the corner, giving me the eye.  Actually had to double check that it wasn't Beard!  Same face, same facial growth, but no tattoos.  Obviously I was interested & after a couple of hours of subtle glances & wry smiles, I eventually went & introduced myself.  What followed was me discovering my future photographer husband & rolling into my hostel at 5am.  Oh Venice, perhaps you come too soon.

A lost connection.

Leaving Vinciucci was filled with such sweet sorrow.  I had come to feel at home there, I was comfortable & although recent events had left me feeling disgruntled, I was genuinely happy there.  But, I had become too comfortable, sedated in the familiarity of it all.  I knew that, despite my longing to stay, it was the right time to leave.  Saying my farewells, I had to hold back the tears welling in my eyes.  I would miss these people.  They had, in their own unique way, become like a surrogate family to me.

After a final injection of gelato & an hour long wait, I boarded my bus to Catania, leaving Ispica & all those fond memories, from the five weeks spent there, behind.  It was time for the next chapter, for something new.

I had arranged to meet Hawt Italian Guy & stay with him in his rented apartment for a week.  It would be the only opportunity I would have to see him in Italy, before he returned to his home in Madrid.  Our time together at Vinciucci had meant something to me, but coming to the end of my stay there, I worried that perhaps my feelings had evolved from the alien environment, rather than true emotion.

HIG met me at the bus station in Catania & it felt like so much longer than three weeks since I had last seen him, yet nothing had changed.  He took my bag & we walked the short distance back to his apartment, stopping for groceries along the way.  The apartment itself was better than expected.  It was perfect in its imperfect state.  Small, compact, but well formed.  Empty & in need of life.  I loved it & I wanted to stay.  I wanted to be the one to fill it with life, to give its character some love, some affection.

We spent the evening eating & drinking on the terrace, which overlooked the port.  It was nice to be able to relax & have a proper conversation with someone, who actually understood what I was saying!

The next day & every other day after, HIG would leave in the morning for work & not return until late in the evening.  With no WIFI in the apartment, I attempted to entertain myself.  I would walk the five minutes to the fish market everyday, taking in the sights & smells.  It took me a few days to work up the courage to actually buy anything.  My confidence in my ability to speak Italian has somewhat taken a nose dive.

I walked along every street & down every alleyway.  I looked in churches, I strolled in parks.  I eventually found a free WIFI zone in one of the piazzas & so inevitably ended up there everyday, attempting to check my emails & Facebook.  Turned out Facebook was the only thing it would actually load.  There I was, hovering by a fountain, surrounded by tourists snapping away with their cameras, whilst I impatiently glared at my phone, waiting for the floods of messages to come in, only to be disappointed by the lack of red notifications.

On the weekend, HIG & I attempted to venture out on his vespa to the beach.  Alas, the weather had other ideas & both day's attempts were scuppered by the rain.  Instead we took a trip into town & with HIG's help, I finally invested in an Italian sim card!  Unfortunately, I had not had the foresight to call Vodafone at the start of the trip & get my phone unlocked, so I was greatly disgruntled when they told me it would take anywhere from forty eight hours, to seven days to do!  The sim was burning a hole in my bag, dying to be abused.  I sulked mercilessly.

Stuck indoors, with no internet access & our conversation running dry, I realised I had been right to question my feelings.  The attraction I had previously felt for HIG had gone.  Lost to the carob fields.  Yet, I did not regret my visit.  I am at least starting to realise that not everything has to have a happy ending.  It was an experience & now I've let it go.  So perhaps I am learning after all.

x

WWOOFing about Italia!

Back at the end of December, after several months of trying to find somewhere habitable to live in London, for the few pennies I was earning & failing miserably, I decided that perhaps this wasn't it for me.  Perhaps I wasn't meant to be perpetually miserable, working all the hours God sent, at a job I had entirely lost enthusiasm for & struggling to pay rent on a crappy apartment, I would no doubt be sharing with several other lost souls.

No, it was time to stop trying so hard at things that didn't fit.  It was time to go traveling again, but this time, to go alone & finish what I started with La Grande Aventure.

Speaking to my friends about my decision, my friend Lucy informed me about an organisation called WWOOF.  An agricultural voluntary exchange.  There is a WWOOF organisation in most countries, ranging from Italy to Australia.  The basic premise is, you offer your services for free & in exchange, you are provided with food & accommodation.

In order to join this organisation, you must first choose the country you'd like to visit.  I chose Italy.  Check that there is a host organisation in that country & then pay a small membership fee (mine was €25), which covers you for one whole year & which also provides you with insurance whilst you are on the farms.  WWOOF then provide you with the extensive contact list of all the farms they work with.  The list is available for download & online & you can search through it via area, accommodation ect.

Each farm provides you with a description of the type of work they do, how many hours of labour they expect from WWOOFers, what accommodation they provide, what languages they speak, when they want help & their contact details.  All you have to do is pick one, contact them & arrange to go visit.

Most want help for a minimum of a week & often you can stay for up to a month or more, depending on what you are looking for.

All the farms are different & therefore provide you with different experiences.  Some are vineyards, where you will pick grapes & learn about the processes of wine making.  Some are olive groves, where you will harvest the olives & learn how to turn them into oil.  Every one is different & what you do will also depend on the time of year.

I wanted to experience everything.  I emailed a lot of different farms & initially not all got back to me.  I started to panic that I would have no where to go once I left England, but thankfully, one farm, Vinciucci, did eventually offer me a space, although, it was to start three weeks after my departure.

Vinciucci is a farm in the south of Sicily, in a town called Ispica.  There is a four room bed & breakfast, which is full during the summer months & provides the farm with its main income.  A vegetable garden, full of all manor of growth, from tomatoes to pumpkins to melons.  Several olive & almond trees & two acres of land, which houses over a thousand carob trees!

My job, harvest the carobs.  This involves large bamboo canes & some arm muscle.  Every tree needs to be cleared of carob.  Branches upon branches, laden with carob, hanging precariously, waiting to drop.  Once down, all must be collected.  First into buckets, then into large sacks.

Every few weeks, once the sacks have begun to build up, they are taken down to a nearby factory, where they are sold, for a very small amount of money.  The carob seeds are turned into flour & the shells turned into food for livestock.

It is not particularly hard work, but under the Sicilian sun, which is over thirty degrees almost daily & well into September, it can be tiring.  We usually wake reasonably early & start work around eight o'clock.  The heat starts to really sear by midday & at one o'clock we usually stop for lunch.

The food provided here at Vinciucci is exemplary.  Often pasta is served for lunch & always accompanied by bread, which is made here.  There is always wine on the table & cheese served afterwards.  I have gained a ghastly amount of weight since arriving here, but it is simply impossible to diet!

After lunch, everyone retires to their beds for their afternoon nap.  I have tried to restrain from doing this though, as my naps began to creep into several hours of sleep, mostly ending in me waking for dinner & feeling awfully groggy & regretful.

Once everyone has resurfaced, we usually take a trip to the beach, or we often go into the town of Modica or Scicli in the evening, where I get overly excited at the prospect of getting my hands on some much loved gelato.  As I say, it is impossible to diet here!

Dinner is served very late in the evening, anywhere between eight & ten o'clock.  This alone is most likely adding the inches to my...well everything.  Dinner is often another dose of pasta, usually followed by another course, often vegetable based.  Again, there is always homemade bread, wine & cheese on offer & we always have something sweet after, such as melon, gelato or cake, if one has been made.

Whilst the majority of people here do speak English, Italian is mostly spoken around the dinner table.  Despite my previous naivety about my ability to learn Italian, it would seem that I am failing spectacularly to pick it up.  Which often leads to a great feeling of isolation at times.

When living in a community based environment, it is very important to strike the right balance.  Upon first arriving, I shared a room with a young, energetic girl from Palermo, who had been here several months already. Then there was the French, who'd been here since the beginning of the year & of course, there was Hawt Italian Guy, who arrived the same day as me.

It was a nice, happy balanced environment, within which I felt comfortable & so enquired into staying longer than the month I had arranged.  Then Hawt Italian Guy left after just less than two weeks & another few weeks later Palermo went back home.  At first I mourned their departures, but then French & I got to know each other better & I didn't feel so sad.

Soon the Spaniard arrived & whilst I did not like him initially, after getting to know him, he soon became one of my favourites.  After a short while, French, the Spaniard & I became good friends & I once again felt happy & content.

But, as with every thing, nothing lasts forever & soon the balance was upset again, this time with the arrival of a German friend of French & a young teacher from Switzerland.  I will admit that I did not take to either initially & the German has failed to appeal to me at all.

This break in the familiar has greatly disgruntled me & now, after a month of carob harvesting, I am ready to move on.  The good thing about WWOOFing is, you are free to leave when you want.  Obviously, once you have verbally committed to giving your time to someone, it is important that you are sensitive to their needs too.  These are not large corporate farms.  They are small holdings, built & run by couples & families, who rely on WWOOFers to help them.  If you have made arrangements & can no longer fulfil them, it is important to give fair notice or at least a valid reason.

Overall, WWOOFing is a great way to travel on a budget.  You get to explore the country of your choice, learn some new skills, meet new people, engross yourself in the real culture of the country & not have to spend too much money doing it.

My next stop is a wine vineyard near Mount Etna, where I will stay until the end of October.  Unfortunately, the vineyard can only offer me a tent for accommodation, which I am not greatly looking forward to.  One month of camping is like my idea of hell.  But alas, I suppose one should be open minded.  Thankfully, I have some time in Catania with Hawt Italian guy to look forward to first, before I throw myself back into the fields.

If you have any questions, just let me know.

x

The disconcerting reality.

It's funny how when you're young, life just seems so simple & you truly live on a day-to-day basis.  There's no worrying about the future, or living up to your potential.  It's just eating cereal & looking forward to bike rides.  At what point did all the other bullshit start to creep in & take over & dilute the happiness?

I can blame my misery & uncertainty in life on many different factors.  I can rake over the past, until, there is nothing there.  But I know my own mistakes.  The issue is, I don't seem to be learning from them.

If your one ambition in life is to be happy, how do you work out exactly how to achieve this.  Because, as basic a need as it sounds, it is seemingly harder to obtain.  I mean, I finally left a job I despised, I'm living in glorious Sicily, I have endless supplies of gelato, I should be happy, right?  But I'm not.

How can you truly be happy, if in fact, you don't know what it is that makes you happy.  As to whether I have spent too much time over-thinking my emotions & questioning over & over again, what I should be doing with my life, I feel I may have reached a point where all my thoughts have lost meaning.  Like when you repeat a word thirty times & suddenly the word seems alien to you.

My life has, in itself, lost all meaning.  I have no direction.  I have coasted through the best part of six years & now, I am merely coasting my way around Italy.  Aimlessly adrift.

To further prove my point; I met a very handsomely rugged Italian man, here on my carob farm.  I was instantly attracted to him & thankful that he spoke English.  (Sicilians do not do English.  French, oui.  Spanish, sí.  English, no!)  We spent a week working together, just the two of us.  He was funny & intelligent enough to bring out my insecurities about not attending school.

Finally, things came to a head on the eve of his birthday.  As it happened to fall on the same day as the Ferragosto, the farm held a party, complete with this ridiculous ten course feast & a huge bonfire.  The two of us stayed in each others company all night, got drunk on red wine & then he kissed me under the stars.  Yes, it was clichéd & romantic.

The next day, he made it clear that we should keep our dalliance to ourselves, as he didn't want D, the farm's owner, to deem it inappropriate or question our motives, working together.  In essence, I understood his perspective, in reality, I felt used.  Things were probably not made simpler by our consummating the 'relationship' in his tent that evening.

For the following few days I was thrown into an emotional chasm, only I know how to get myself into.  Here I had a man, a fully grown, intelligent, bearded, potential to wear skinny jeans, although does not, man, who I liked, I really really liked, who I could not publicly display my affection for.  Out in the carob field, or alone in the kitchen, it was all hugs & kisses, but then over the dinner table it was awkwardly trying to avoid eye contact, so no one would suspect.  This was not healthy for me.

It reached breaking point when his friend came to visit & it was so unclear who knew what & how I should act.  Was I just a secret?  I broke.  I threw down my tools, stormed off to another field & broke down & cried.  I felt lost.  Not just with this ridiculously complex affair I had found myself entangled in, but with life in general.

When it came to him leaving to continue his travels, I was further embarrassed by my inability to keep a dry eye.  He looked me in the eye & told me, with all sincerity, that it had meant something.  But had it, really?  When I told him I would miss him, he did not reciprocate the sentiment.  Off he rode on his vespa & never looked back.

I'm twenty six years old & I don't know how to have fun.  How to embrace something & let it go.  I read into everything.  I get too emotionally attached.  I always want more than what's on offer, but then should more become available, I don't want it! 

Perhaps Italy will purge me of my insecurities & force me to embrace life, with all the shittiness included.  Like therapy, but with a tan thrown in.

x

Get me the Enna out of here!

Dragging my wretched rucksack down to the port in Naples, I was completely clueless as to where to board my ferry.  Turns out the Italians aren't big on signposting.  Struggling along, attempting not to get crushed by the oncoming lorries, I saw a face I recognised.

It was one of the cute bearded guys from the hostel.  I'd seen him around, but never actually spoken to him, what with my time being absorbed mostly by American men.  I strolled up to him & thankfully, he recognised me.  Turns out he's Argentinian & really rather attractive.  Bonus points were accrued when I found out we were booked onto the same ferry & had both bought a seat.

The two of us boarded the ferry, dumped our bags & went for a stroll around the ship.  I'd been advised to purchase some food from the supermercato before boarding, but, as I'd over indulged on cannolis earlier in the day, my stomach wasn't up for grocery shopping.  Unfortunately, this was now backfiring, as all the vending machines were out-of-order & the food available in the ship's restaurants was über expensive.

Argentina bought me a can of Coke & we stood out on the deck, with nothing but the stars visible.  It certainly made for a romantic setting.  The ferry journey was eleven hours long & for about the first four, Argentina & I talked, non-stop.  A little part of me was, of course, starting to day dream about the possibility of eloping to South America.  Was this what I was meant to find?

When the cold set in, Argentina & I headed inside to our seats.  There was one channel available on the TV & it was showing a Sylvester Stallone film, dubbed in Italian.  Starting to fall asleep with boredom, Argentina went in for the kiss.  This was it...& never have I been so disappointed!  Lets just say, our styles were clashing on an extreme level!  My South American dreams were dashed in one tongue poke.

Now stuck with a guy I no longer had feelings for & couldn't revert to being 'just friends', my night's sleep was awkward to say the least.  These Argentinian guys get very hands on.  I'd never been so grateful to see sunrise!  We then had to wait a painful hour before we could get off the ship & then, once again clueless, I followed Argentina to his hostel.  I felt rather guilty when he carried my bag for me.

The American woman at reception told me that the next bus from where we were in Palermo to my hostel in Enna, wasn't until one pm, which meant I had several hours to wait.  Leaving our bags at the hostel, Argentina & I went for a stroll down to the station to check out buses & then took a stroll through a food market, which trailed round winding back streets.

Eventually the time passed, the temperatures began to sear & Argentina walked the ten minutes down to the station with me, to see me off.  I felt rather guilty when he selflessly took my rucksack once again & carried all two tonnes of it on his back, all the way down there.  Once there he waited the hour for my bus, kissed me goodbye when it arrived & then left.  To think, if it wasn't for his erratic tongue actions, we could have been a thing.  [sigh]

I slept the hour & a half on the bus & when I woke, nearly didn't get off at my stop, as once again, Italy's lack of signposting really doesn't make things very clear.  Once off the bus, I started to question whether I'd landed myself in the middle of nowhere.  All that surrounded me was a bar, a petrol station & residential houses.  Things weren't looking great.

I headed for the bar & the proprietors told me to go back to the bus stop & wait for the next bus to the top of Enna.  Off I went, dragging my bag back to the shelter.  I'm not one for buses in the UK, so I can't say that I have great skills when it comes to bus timetables, but the Italian timetables are even less clear, not least because they are in a language I lack the skills to understand.

After waiting & waiting & some further waiting, I eventually found a ticket office open & thankfully the guy working there spoke English.  He Google mapped my hostel & told me which bus to get & where to get off.  Off I went, hopped on the bus & held on for dear life, as it sped round the road's bends with the door wide open!

Getting off at one of the piazzas, I dragged my bag up the cobbled hill, aimlessly trying to find my hostel.  I came across a guy in his fifties & tried to extract some directions from him.  He kept pointing up the hill & going 'bella bella'.  Off I trod up this hill, getting hot & bothered & losing patience.  Suddenly I realised this guy was following me.  Naively I presumed he was leading me to the hostel, but no, he led me to his car.

Being incredibly stupid, tired & just plain lazy, I actually made the error of accepting a lift with him.  This man did not speak one word of English & once off up the hill, I realised this was fatal, when he started to touch my leg.  'This is it, I'm going to be raped & murdered' I thought.  He pulled up outside a large castle & I was pretty sure this wasn't the hostel.  Getting out of the car, he indicated he wanted a kiss of gratitude.  I leaned in & gave him a peck on the cheek.  Nope, he wanted a kiss on the lips.  Yeah, I don't think so sunshine.  I grabbed my bag from the backseat & ran off back down the hill mentally slapping myself!  Never again!

After an eternity, I eventually found my hostel & low & behold, it happened to be two minutes away from where I got off the bus!  I checked in & found that the hostel was seemingly empty of people.  Enna is clearly not a great tourist attraction.  Definitely thinking I'd made a fatal error in picking this location, I headed out & grabbed some gelato.  After which I went straight to the only supermercato that was open & stocked up on junk food.  I needed comforting.

The next day an English guy & a very excitable Chinese woman arrived.  Both were staying in the mixed dorm across the hall from me.  The English guy was a teacher, currently living in Dubai.  The two of us went off to explore all the wonders that Enna had to offer.  Which unfortunately, wasn't very much.  There was a castle, which was more of a ruin & took two minutes to view & a giant rock, with views of the whole town, which we sat atop of & watched as the sunset went down.  It was pretty beautiful.  We later went for dinner together at this tiny cave like place, which was seemingly someone's house-turned-restaurant.  The food was, unfortunately, pretty mediocre.

The next day the Teacher & I took a bus to the next town, in order to avoid complete boredom.  We arrived about one or two in the afternoon & the entire town was desolate.   In Sicily & most likely any non-touristic part of Italy, everything shuts down until about four o'clock.  Everyone retires to their homes to cook, nap, generally relax & avoid the heat.

The Teacher & I strolled around, attempting to find points of interest.  There was a beautiful church, which had been locked up & abandoned.  A nunnery, which unfortunately, we couldn't go into, so we walked around the graveyard instead.  (Something very odd about taking an interest in the graves of deceased strangers.)  There was a cave.  I started to think we were better off in Enna.

As four o'clock came, people started to emerge from their houses & the two of us went to one of the two bars in the town & got some much needed gelato!  Soon after we got the bus back to Enna & I started to wonder if I should have left Naples after all.

Back at the hostel the Teacher & I made some pasta together for dinner & then afterwards we went & had some vino on the balcony with the Chinese woman.  The Teacher, looking a little glazed over, began to be a little too friendly with me.  Rubbing my back when he thought I was cold & staring at me intently.  This was not a good sign.  I am well known for my dislike of people touching me & he was making me feel rather uncomfortable.

I made my excuses & headed for bed, only to have him follow me!  Panicking that he may go in for a kiss, I started cleaning my teeth in the doorway.  Thankfully, he eventually left, unfortunately, I had made plans to go to the beach with him the next morning.  This was obviously pre-vino!

Come the morning I ignored my phone & slept through my alarm.  Sadly he came into my room to wake me up, so I was forced to make my excuses & managed to get out of going.  He seemed annoyed.  I was relieved he would be gone for the day.  I spent my day eating gelato in the piazza & attempting to learn Italian.  There were precisely two people in Enna that spoke English, which meant I had to consult my phrase book every time I went to buy a slice of pizza.

The next day I was determined to leave Enna, so I packed up my rucksack, checked out of the hostel & headed up the hill to the bus station.  Unfortunately, it was a Sunday & there were limited buses.  I'd been emailing the farm, I was heading to, all day & hadn't received a response.  Eventually, I managed to pull over a cyclist, who pulled over a bus & the bus driver, who spoke no English whatsoever, managed to inform me that the buses were running regularly the next day & gave me a timetable.

So, off I went, back down the bloody hill, back to the hostel & checked in for another night.  The Chinese woman had had a friend arrive earlier in the day & the two of them were also aiming to leave the next day, so they insisted on me eating dinner with them, as they wanted to cook up the rest of the food they had in the fridge.  They were both very good cooks & managed to whip up some really nice Chinese food.  Just before serving, The Teacher arrived back from his day out cycling & he too joined us for dinner.  It was mildly awkward between us.

The next day, I was finally ready to leave Enna, for good this time!  The Chinese woman had left early in the morning, but her friend, The Teacher & I all headed to the bus station, to get the bus together, as we were all going to Catania.  The three of us boarded the bus & as it trundled on through the town, I was really happy to be leaving.

x

Berlin - Day Two

Awakening after a good night's sleep, Charlotte & I made our way to the communal shower room & attempted not to die of embarrassment, as we stripped off in our frosted glass showers.  Having made it through the experience, we got dressed & ready for the day & headed to the cafe for some breakfast.

The cafe is mostly vegetarian, with the menu being very European.  Lots of bread, egg & yoghurt.  I ended up opting for a lunchtime offering of homemade quiche, with an egg custard tart for afterwards & a Fritz-Kola (German Coca Cola, actually very nice) to wash it all down.

Over breakfast, Charlotte & I planned our day's itinerary.  Initially, we booked our mini adventure, because we had scored some heavily sought after HAIM gig tickets.  The girls were set to perform at the Lido that evening, however, those Californian cool kids, went & cancelled on us, but we decided to go anyway & make the most of Berlin.

So to fill what would have been our awesome gig day, we decided to head back to Kreuzberg & go see The Berlin Wall.  I'd brought with me my Diana camera, which Sir Fleming had given me for my birthday last year.  I'd not yet used it, as I didn't know how & didn't want to waste the film.  But, Berlin seemed like as good a place as any to start using it.  A YouTube video later, we were up & running & on our way to Kreuzberg.

The Berlin Wall is incredibly long, with an eclectic mix of art all the way along it.  It was mesmerizing, seeing the images I'd seen in books & online, finally in front of me.

After spending several hours snapping up every inch of the wall, we headed in the direction of Burgermeister, to finally see if the burgers were worth the effort we'd gone to, to find them.

Burgermeister is so subtle in its surroundings, it is easy to see why it can be so hard to find.  Tucked away under the U-Bahn tracks, in a converted public toilet, it doesn't really shout eatery.  However, it is never without customers, to such a degree, that once you've ordered, you are given a ticket with a number on it & told to go wait, until your number flashes up on the sign above the counter.

Seating options are small plastic crates, converted into tiny childlike chairs or old metal bike rails, set aside wooden bar tops to rest your food upon.  Charlotte & I opted for the bike rails.  Ten numbers later, our burgers were finally ready.  I opted for a BBQ version & I have to say, it was definitely worth the wait.  Plus, with a burger & fries coming in at just €5, it was exceptionally 

good value for money.

With our bellies full, we decided to go for a stroll around the Botanischer Garten Und Botanisches Museum.  As it was too far to walk, we hopped on the nearest U-Bahn.  At one stop, a very good looking guy got on & sat opposite us.  Tussled blonde hair, lightly tanned skin, generally pretty dreamy.  We caught each others eye & smiled at each other.  It was looking promising.

As I glanced away, I spotted another guy further down the carriage.  He was dressed in a suit & scribbling into an A4 sized diary.  I thought this was quite funny & whispered to Charlotte to have a look.  We giggled to ourselves & then had to look away embarrassed, when the guy caught us staring at him.

Not two minutes later, the train stopped at a station & a brash message boomed out of the train's speakers & everyone proceeded to leave the train.  Oblivious, as the message was in German, which neither of us know a word of, we got off with everyone else.

Before I knew it, the A4 diary guy appeared in front of us, asking if we wanted to share a cab!  We declined his invitation & he then proceeded to tell me he had just graduated from Harvard, was setting up his own business & wanted my phone number.  I couldn't help but nervously chuckle.

Unfortunately, whilst this exchange was occurring, the ever so good looking blonde guy walked off, out of the station, never to be seen again.  Lesson learnt, don't mock people on trains!

Having finally shaken my admirer, Charlotte & I left the U-Bahn station & walked the long stretch to the Botanischer Garten.  Once there, we were automatically given reduced price tickets.  Clearly our childlike faces speak for themselves!  Adult tickets are normally €6 & reduced tickets are €3.

We headed straight for the giant conservatory, which was incredible & just brimming with colourful & fragrant blooms.

I think in order to fully get the most of your time at the Botanischer Garten, you really need to devote an entire day to it.  The conservatory took a couple of hours & by the time we were done, it was already quite late & our energy level had dropped below the power of sugar.  We therefore didn't go around the outside gardens, which are huge, but I would definitely go again to see them.

We left the Botanischer Garten in search of food.  Walking the long walk back to the U-Bahn, we headed back to Kreuzberg to try out Markthalle.  A large indoor food market, open daily until midnight.

Markthalle was probably my favourite place in Berlin.  It was enthralling.  There was a plethora of food options available, from pork belly rolls, to Jamaican rice & peas, to cheese & wine.  I gazed around attempting to take everything in & then, the indecisiveness set in.  Suddenly, I couldn't commit to anything, I wanted everything!

 
Charlotte & I wandered round & round, taking in the sights & smells.  There were two different live bands playing & people laughing, eating & drinking everywhere.  I also have to say, that the one thing Berlin does very well is, exceptionally good looking men.  All bearded, brown eyed, often bespectacled, although, always with terribly bad shoes.  These specimens were everywhere I looked!  I was in heaven, good food & gorgeous guys.

As it was getting late & Charlotte & I had spent so much time trying to decide what to have, that a few stalls were actually packing up, we ended up with an Italian rice ball each.  It wasn't the best thing I'd ever eaten & it was incredibly messy!  Another lesson learnt, don't hesitate!

To console ourselves we had a cocktail & a waffle, which went down better than the rice ball.

Full & tired, we left the Markthalle & headed back to Hüttenpalast, back to our cabins & passed out.

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