The Berlin Diaries – 5th October

Yesterday was my first full day in Berlin, and it still hasn’t sunk in that I’m here to stay. It feels like I’m visiting a friend or something. I still haven’t been hit with the full understanding that I’ve left my home country and am now jobless and homeless in a country whose language I don’t speak. You’d think that sentiment would be unnerving, but I feel calm. I’m sure full realisation will hit at some point this weekend, most likely when I’m staggering into a 16 person dorm room at 11am having been awake since 8am the previous day, and the full existential horror of how doomed I am will hit me. Oh well.

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The Berlin Diaries – 4th October

Right, before we begin, shut up. I am well aware that ‘The Berlin Diaries’ is a precocious and self-important title to give to what will more than likely be a brief series of inarticulate drunken ramblings until I drop off the radar into the bass-soaked alcohol-warped wormhole that is Berlin. Nonetheless, I’m going to have a jolly good pop at documenting my time in this most unorthodox of cities. Whether anything in ‘The Berlin Diaries’ will be even remotely un-shit remains to be seen. You’re as much a spectator as I am. Stick around, let’s see what happens.

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Reading is Traveling is Reading

Oi. You. You with the eyebrows. Yeah, you.

You’re reading a travelling blog, aren’t you? T’would be futile to protest otherwise, my friend. Well, since you are here, perusing my site, I do believe it is safe to assume that you have at least a passing interest in travelling. Hey, me too! OMG we have so much in common.

I’ve been grounded here in rainy England for a while due to the fact that I have that tedious and tiresome constraint called a job. But I’ve found a way to feel free, to learn and live, albeit vicariously through others, and that is through an oft maligned practise called reading. Reading is cool.

Wait, come back!

Reading is cool, and if you sneer at those three words you can go and boil your head, oaf. If you’ve time to sit here and read me insulting you, you great mucky Philistine, you can bloody well sit and read a book. A book, I’ve found, offers the same level of worldview-altering, mind-expanding goodness that travelling does. I wouldn’t advocate one over the other, though. In fact they go together pretty well, like cookies and milk, or a bottle of wine and another bottle of wine.

So, because I’ve spent a, for lack of a better word, fuckload of time searching for decent books to read this year, I’ve decided to gift you, dear sweet reader, with the list of books I’ve read these past twelve months. These books have a similar theme – that is, they’re pretty view-altering. You’ll read these and find yourself thinking a little differently. Whether their words stay glowing within you forever or haunt your dreams for a week, these are books that are worth every second you invest in them.

 

The Old Man and the Sea by Ernest Hemingway

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A tale of a big tough man and a bigger tougher fish.

 

On The Road by Jack Kerouac

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Jack Kerouac races around North America and Mexico with the incorrigible Neal Cassady stealing cars and raving to jazz and falling in and out of love and being generally brilliant.

 

Dharma Bums by Jack Kerouac

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Jack Kerouac explores Buddhism with his friend Gary Snyder, climbs a few mountains, meditates a lot, has wild parties, reads poetry, partakes in a few orgies and whatnot, all in the name of the search for enlightenment.

 

Lonesome Traveller by Jack Kerouac

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He’s my favourite author, okay?

Jack Kerouac roams from North America to Mexico via New Orleans, crosses the ocean, meditates in Tangiers, crosses French countryside to Paris, and finally arrives in London.

 

Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas by Hunter S Thompson

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Hunter S. Thompson and his attorney head to Vegas to write an article for Rolling Stone on a motorbike race, spend their budget instead on an absolute fuck ton of drugs and get very wild and very, very weird. Bad craziness!

 

The Motorcycle Diaires by Che Guevara

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Ernesto Guevara, before he was Che, was a 23 year old Argentinian doctor who just wanted to see the world, drink wine and get laid. And that’s essentially what he did on this nine month tour of South America by motorbike – until he witnessed the abject poverty that was rampant in Chile and Peru, and took the first steps on his journey as a revolutionary.

 

Dubliners by James Joyce

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Fifteen short stories tracing the lives of priests, nuns, maids, undertakers, alcoholics, politicians, sailors, schoolboys, fathers, daughters, mothers and sons, all set in early twentieth century Dublin. Sounds bleak as hell and, not gunna lie, it is, but it’s spectacularly vivid.

 

Diary of a Young Girl by Anne Frank

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Anne Frank was a 15 year old Jewish girl killed in the Holocaust in 1945.  She was also a fantastic writer, an incredibly complex and inspiring person, and her diary is the most stomach-punchingly heavy testament to the horrors of racism and hatred I’ve ever read. Read her diary and you’ll feel like her friend. You’ll understand and relate to this fierce, brave and intelligent girl. This book should be mandatory reading for every single person in the world.

 

Siddhartha by Hermann Hesse

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Siddhartha is a young religious man who sets out to find enlightenment in fourth century India. He finds it in various forms, though never exactly where he’s looking for it.. Everyone will take something different away from this book, but everyone will take something away. It’s stunning.

 

The Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger

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Holden Caulfield is a 17 year old school kid who hates everything and everyone and speaks in a unique youthful vernacular that was considered outrageous at the time and got this book banned everywhere. Caulfield is frustrated and disappointed and shocked by the goddamn ‘phony’ adults he sees all around him. Booted out of goddamn school, he runs away to New York. We have all been Holden Caulfield at some point in our goddamn lives, I really mean it.

 

Slaughterhouse 5 by Kurt Vonnegut

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Between the 13th and 15th February, 1945, Allied forces bombed the German city of Dresden into dust, killing some 25,000 civilians in one night. Kurt Vonnegut was an American soldier held captive in the city at the time, and witnessed the destruction. This book tells the tale with a science fiction spin, through the eyes of accidental time traveller Billy Pilgrim. Okay, I’ve made it sound shit. It’s good. Harrowing and deeply unsettling, but good. Hmm. Good might not be the word. Important.

 

Next up, I want to read:

Kim by Rudyard Kipling

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Not too sure of the story, but from what I’ve read about it, it gives amazingly vivid descriptions of India, which makes me giddy with excitement because I’m dying to travel to India this year or next.

To be honest, there are as many books I want to read as there are countries I want to visit. Hmm. Every book and every country in the world. That should keep me occupied for the time being, at least.

 

People I’ve Met: Lek

Lek was my tour guide through Vietnam. Picture the typical guide you’d expect to be allocated to take a bunch of skint, giddy young people through South East Asia. You’re probably thinking of someone with nice teeth, a fifty million Dong smile, charming crow’s feet around their eyes, adventure-dyed skin, wrists a-jangle with bangles, a faded scar or two, hair free flowing, voluminous and wild, full of stories and quirks and gleeful chaos and, and, and… no. Shovel all that shit out of your head now. That wasn’t Lek. Continue reading

What the Dream Costs

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A few months ago I wrote an article called something like ‘“I can’t afford to travel” Shut up. Yes you can’. It was, as the name suggests, a tongue in cheek little post about how if you really want it, you can always scrape the money together to get yourself out into the world. Well, that was months ago, and since then I’ve discovered whole new depths of scrimping and saving to travel. I got dressed for work today, and was busy rummaging through my wardrobe for something that wasn’t either decrepit beyond salvaging, grossly miss-sized, or simply in spectacularly bad taste. As I rifled, I realised just how bad my clothes have got, in the wake of all my scrounging. Can’t afford nice clothes. Must travel. Continue reading

That Time I Dropped My Phone Off a Cliff in Yosemite

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***You walk into my office. It’s dark, but you can see my outline through the gloom. I’m sitting with my back to you, the slatted blinds casting thin slivers of moonlight over me. My face is lost to shadow. A cigarette smoulders in the ashtray on my desk next to a tumbler of some brown liquor. You say my name and I turn my head. I bring a bottle to my lips and laugh a bitter, gurgling laugh. I ask you what you want. You tell me you want to know what really happened, that summer day in Yosemite. I turn sour, I tell you to get out of my office. I stand up out of my seat and slam the bottle down on the table, spilling liquor over a stack of old newspaper cuttings. Get out, I tell you, but you stand firm. You whisper a name. I pause. I pick up the cigarette and draw it deep into my lungs.

“Samsung S3 Mini?” I murmur, as the smoke curls out of my mouth and the embers reflect in my eyes. “I haven’t heard that name in years…”*** Continue reading

I’m Moving To Berlin. Woo!!!

 

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I’ve an announcement to make, which will no doubt to bring shock and disbelief to the scores of people who read this website, namely my parents and the occasional random Argentinian man who accidentally stumbles across this site while searching for porn. I wish to inform all three of you that, on the 4th of October this year, I will be moving to Berlin. Continue reading

Monument Valley

We were driving through Arizona, although we were passing through states so quickly I found it hard to keep track, especially with all the lack of sleep and the bottles of wine I was putting away at a rate that would draw a lopsided smile and thumbs up from Gerard Depardieu.  Over endless miles of highway we sang songs and played games and drew on the windows with wipe clean pens. We laughed at each other’s gaping mouths when we took naps, and we disagreed on who should get to be in charge of the radio. (Nobody else wanted Meatloaf, dammit) The rocks around us steadily turned red as we headed south. We stopped at a deserted little settlement, some depressing metal huts in the arse end of nowhere. Navajo people sat in the huts, browsing magazines with disinterest, all kinds of Native American bric-a-brac stacked around them. Daggers, bows, arrows, necklaces. I hobbled straight past all of it and found a bathroom; the first we’d had passed in hours. Thank god. Continue reading