I got pickpocketed. Or I left my wallet somewhere, or I dropped it. But the romantic in me likes to think that I was pickpocketed. Luckily I didn't have a great deal in there. I've been leaving the really important things locked up, so I lost a credit card (already cancelled), an electrical license (can probably get a new one when I get back), and a couple of other cards and various notes. And about thirty euro. Kinda lame, but stressing about it won't fix anything.
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| Some more gargoyles on the Munster in Frieburg |
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| A kitcheware store in Frieburg, that not only sells pots and pans, but hunting knives and rifles. |
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| And this is without a doubt, the strangest water feature I have ever seen. I mean, it's a boy, riding a snail, shooting water. I just... I just don't really get it. |
Wednesday night we thought we'd just have a quiet one, but like those nights you go out, planning a quiet night, or short, it always, always ends up bigger than you'd planned.
Wednesday night we met an American guy, Wes, who'd spent the last six days trekking 180kms through the black forest with a twenty kilo pack. He's about six months over his visa, and he's starting to run out of cash, so he decided to walk to Freiburg, from Constance. At least, I think it was Constance. He knew Freiburg pretty well, so he took us to a Knieper (May have to check the spelling of that one). Appparently most Germans don't go to the regular bars, but to these small places where you can sit and drink. His words, 'They're a terrible place to meet girls, but if you're after a quiet drink and good conversation with the locals, you can't beat it.'
In there, we got into a great conversation with a Freiburger named Ceasar. Quite old, drunk as I don't know what, and his English was flawless, but seemed devastated that he spoke with a German accent. "NO, I don't WANT a German accent, I want an LA accent."
I didn't have my camera on me, but get this: They pointed to a poster on the wall, and asked "Do you know this place?" And wouldn't you know it, it was an old poster advertising 'Ballarat Bitter.'
Fly twenty thousand kilometers away, and there's a small piece of home, right on the walls.
Unbelievable.
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| View from of the street in Frankfurt where our hostel was situated, from the Hostel main window. |
Yesterday (Thursday), we got up fairly early, and went to Frankfurt. Jordan needed to be at the airport a little sooner than we'd thought, so we had to leave Freiburg a day early. So we booked a hostel, and then went for a beer with a couple of Irish guys, Adam and Blaine.
Heh, 'a beer.'
With the Irish, one drink, as it turns out, is never just one drink. It's a couple at the hostel, followed by hitting up an Australian bar, then to an Irish bar for Arthurs day' (A Guiness thing), where they hand out several free shots to us because both of the Irish guys work there. Then to other pubs, with an Italian girl named Theresa who worked at the hostel, and one club had eleven beers for eleven euros, and the next had one euro shots.
I never did get around to going to the laundromat like I'd planned.
Anyway, today we got up (both still half-cut), and went to the train station, then to the airport, where I said good-bye to Jordan. It's been fun little brother, even the shitty bits had their moments. I will miss you.
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| Mere moments before Jordan leaves. |
So, I'm now on a train on the way to Munich, for the ever popular Oktoberfest. I'll post this the moment I can find an internet cafe, but after that, I'm not sure how long until I can post again.
I'll post as soon as I can, and as ever, you are in my heart, always.
Joshua.
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