This month, Billy and I began the fun process of selling our flat. Whilst packing up some of our stuff, I came across a pile of old travel journals that I had written over the past ten years. I decided (to Billy’s annoyance) that a constructive use of my time would be to read them all, starting with my memoirs of a three week backpacking holiday we took in 2004. How we managed to come back from that trip alive still amazes me – we were like a pair of lumbering oafs with literally no concept of budgeting and the survival instinct of a suicidal suicide-bomber lemming kamikaze pilot.
We went to the Czech Republic, Croatia and Italy with nothing but a pair of open train tickets, the backpacks on our backs and a wide-eyed sense of adventure that was soon to be crushed by bouts of crippling diarrhoea, a constant stream of women that were a million times hotter than me and sweat……lots and lots of sweat. I have decided that it is in the public interest to share some excerpts and experiences from my diary to demonstrate what not to do when travelling around Europe.
Czech Republic 4th Aug – 7th Aug 2004
We had big plans for this place. We were thinking museums, boat trips, tours and local restaurants. In reality we got speaking to a bunch of Irish people on our first night and so spent most of our time here either drunk or asleep. On our last day we were so hungover that we slept in for our hotel check-out and after discovering we had 11 hours to wait until our train, slept in a park like a pair of alcoholic stinkers for most of the afternoon.
When we woke up, we decided to at least try to do something cultural by heading to a museum but since we had almost exceeded our Prague ‘budget’, we couldn’t actually afford culture so we went for pizza instead. It was here that my stomach started playing up, something I communicated to Billy with this beautiful sentence: “Whoever goes into that disabled toilet after me is going to come out more disabled than they went in.” I think I could safely cross off the word ‘romantic’ as an adjective to describe this trip and we were only on day three.
Czech Republic to Croatia 7th Aug – 8th Aug 2004
It took us 24 eventful hours on a train to get to Split from Prague. Our first connection was in Budapest where we were squashed into a roasting-hot carriage like sardines. After about an hour the conductor squeezed past and informed us that only the front five carriages went to Zagreb and the trains were separating in ten minutes. Since we were in the very last carriage, there was no way we could have pushed through the entire length of the train in time so our only option was to get off the train at the next stop, run like maniacs towards the front and hope we could make it back onto the right carriage in time.
Well, we got off at the next stop and I was fucking useless. It was sooo hot and my bag was really bloody heavy, I was trying to run but there were people next to me who were actually walking faster (and staring). I tried to drag my bag behind me instead of carrying it on my back, but that didn’t really work either so I was just pathetically stumbling along occasionally shouting “Billlyyyyyyyyyyy……..waiiiiiiittttt for meeeeee”. Billy got so annoyed, it was pretty funny. He had to come back and get my bag and run with both of them – and he was still faster than me! Despite my terrible effort, we made it onto the carriage just in time and, after Billy calmed down, he did not stop laughing at me (for about a week): “Apparently my face was bright red with half of my hair stuck to my face and the other half flapping in the breeze”. I think I could safely cross off the word ‘sexy’ as an adjective to describe this trip and we were only on day four.
Our next connection was in Zagreb where we boarded our sleeper train to Split. I was excited about this, the idea of sleeping in a bed on a moving train blows my tiny mind. As soon as we got into our cabin I got straight into bed (I was seriously fucked from all the athletic prowess I had demonstrated earlier) but Billy needed a pee so off he went in search of a toilet. Because the train was still stopped at the station, all the toilets were locked so he returned to the cabin too worried to leave the train in case it left without him but also too bursting to hold in his pee. There was a sink in the corner of our cabin so I suggested that he just pee down the plug hole and clean it like a bastard afterwards. He didn’t want to do that but at this point it was either piss in the sink or piss all over himself so he had no option really. He got on his tippy-toes and started peeing – except he forgot to lock the door and the conductor walked in. Billy couldn’t put his cock away because he was in mid-flow so he just kind of pretended to clean the sink (he even whistled for added effect), even though the crack of his arse was hanging out the top of his half-pulled-down boxers and you could hear the distinct sound of pee trickling down the plug hole. Needless to say, the conductor knew exactly what Billy was doing and, although he never said anything at the time, he looked at us with utter disgust and was a dick to us for the whole journey. I think I could safely cross off the word ‘classy’ as an adjective to describe this trip and we were still only on day four.
Croatia 8th Aug – 12th Aug 2004
“We arrived in Split at 6.30am and walked to the ferry port in silence (we were not talking to each other because we had left our train tickets in our cabin and were blaming each other – even though we managed to get them back)” but we got on the ferry to Korcula and soon became friends again once we saw how amazing it was.
One of the first things we did was try to find somewhere where we could hire a scooter. We eventually found a place and the guy told us that we would have to do a quick test to make sure we could drive the thing before we could take it away so Billy started the engine and drove on the wrong side of the road with the indicator on the whole time. Upon his return, the scooter guy seemed delighted with Billy’s performance and gave us the keys.
We spent the next day generally swimming and scootering around and that night, after Billy made us dinner, we got engaged (awwwww!). The next day I was hungover to fuck from celebrating but had to hand-wash some of our seriously stinky clothes: “I washed our clothes while Billy watched naked girls feeling themselves up on TV – he assured me that this wasn’t a sign of things to come and I told him he was fucking right it wasn’t.” And so, after a couple of days of literally doing nothing (it was amazing), we had to pack up again for our ferry ride over to Italy.
I say ferry ride, but it was more like a yacht trip for Europe’s Next Top Model. The girls in this part of the world are ridiculously stunning and I literally had to step over the hoards of smoking hot, bikini clad bints who had draped themselves over all the soft furnishings on the boat. We managed to find a seat and I was just settling down to a magazine when one of the girls came and stood near us. She was bent over one of her bags rummaging around with her ass in Billy’s face, so he obviously had to have a little perve. When he realised that I had caught him he rolled his eyes and said: “*tsk* well she’s wearing a g-string”. I responded by glaring at him through my pale, freckly, chubby, sweat-soaked eyes. Just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse, the automatic doors of the lounge opened and in walked the hottest thing I had ever seen. She was wearing a leopard-print bikini and the doors had created a kind of wind-machine effect. I’m pretty sure the slow-motion was just my imagination but it is possible that she lived her entire life in slow-motion, that’s how hot she was. After picking his jaw up from the floor, Billy whispered: “I think my cock just twitched”, to which I replied “so did mine Billy, so did mine”. Eventually, after five long hours, we arrived in Italy and I swore never to get on a boat again, unless it was for a mingers-only/British cruise.
To be continued…….
Join me next time when I convince myself that I am about to be stabbed and possibly raped to death in Naples, Billy unintentionally smokes drugs with a Jew and I smell a homeless man’s feet on yet another train.