After ten days in Derry we kind of had the feeling that we did everything that was accessible to us without a bike or car. We did some stuff even several times already (Castlerock!). And when we first went to Belfast, the weather was shitty and the city was just too big to be conquered in just one day. So we packed our stuff, said farewell to our host and took the morning train to Belfast, which is nearly as fast as the bus and way more comfortable.
Schlagwort: Trip
This is a short one.
The night before we had our farewell dinner with our host at nice grill box restaurant that served really good Irish steak.
The next day we went to see Coleraine together with Valentina, as it is easy to get there by bus or train from Derry. We strolled around and had a relaxed day looking at the city. And we went to a small forest.
In this forest were the remains of a pre-medieval fort. Basically just a funny shaped hill. We strolled around and went back to the city.
We soon went home, as we had to pack and be excited about our upcoming plans: going to Belfast and being there! Woo!
We went to Ireland.
We just felt like getting too much sun in Berlin. We needed to act fast. So we booked flights to visit our acquaintance Valentina in Derry/Londonderry. But as most of you, unknown readers of this site, know, every trip you’ll ever do has to begin in Amsterdam.
Cops and wooden shoes. Amsterdam!
We went to Ireland.
We just felt like getting too much sun in Berlin. We needed to act fast. So we booked flights to visit our acquaintance Valentina in Derry/Londonderry. But as most of you, unknown readers of this site, know, every trip you’ll ever do has to begin in Amsterdam.
Cops and wooden shoes. Amsterdam!
We left happily in the morning at about fuck-this-is-too-early o’clock. After a nice fligt in the luxury class airliner provided by easyjet, we only felt like enclosed cattle in a transporter for about the time of the flight. But luckily we had a very (very!) funny person giving us the safety instructions.
Die Zeit vergeht ja wie im Flug! – The funny steward.
and
Oh schade, schon gelandet! – The funny steward.
Schiphol is made from estimated 8922376 km of under- and overground tunnels. It takes 1:30 hrs from Berlin to Amsterdam. It takes 2 hrs from the arrival gate to the train station.
We hid our luggage in the luggage hiding cabinets and took the train to the inner city.
The trains were huge. Not this one, though.
More like this one. It’s about the size of an Airbus A380 if it would be the size of an Amsterdam train.
Hah! Signs! My german genes instantly triggered rewarding hormones in my brain-thing. This sign might say:
“Please pick nose!”
“Please sniff your finger two times upstairs!”
“Let’s duel with finger guns upstairs!”
“Airgun suicide cabinet for two on the diagonal to the left.”
As I was unsure, I followed all of these instructions. At once. Just to be sure.
Again, a very clear indication of what to do. Point at the hand sticking to the post with your arm stump.
I know this one. Don’t grope females from the front. Always sneak up from behind.
This grass was impressing. But in hindsight we’ve seen better grass elsewhere.
Young rowdy (sitting).
A coffee shop. I heard they don’t sell coffee but you can inject the Marijohanna inside.
Yum.
Doro pointing at things.
The red light district.
I heard that somewhere someone is planning to put THC synthesis pathways into ordinary veggies. I like that idea. Until then you can buy what you need on a street market in Amsterdam. We didn’t because I am naturally high, as I already introduced the THC synthesis pathway into my pancreas.
English breakfast in Amsterdam on the way to Northern Ireland. How ironic.
These are postcards. They’re like emails on paper. But slower. And you pay money for sending them. Not like in a flatrate. You pay like every single one separately.
Proof that there was weather.
Artsy graffity.
Finally. The giant’s causeway.
Posers.
Not posers.
This is pretty much all you need to know about traffic in Amsterdam. There is just too much of traffic. Helmetless people (and women) on scooters and bikes and in cars all running into each other. On high heels. With dogs.
This is a place. We got really good sandwiches at that specific place.
For my friends from down under.
Look how sunny it was! And we even didn’t have an Apple product to shield our eyes from the blinding light!
A lonely violinist in a street playing violin music on his violin.
This is really deep.
Street gymnast.
Street photographer.
THIS IS THE LUNCH WE BOUGHT! It’s a sandwich (good for eating), lemonade (good for drinking) and cups (good for lemonade)!
Mating sandwiches making baby sandwiches.
Best lemonade that we had at this precise moment (but also afterwards).
Someone told me to go there. I did go there. I did not go in there, because time.
This was our day in Amsterdam. We enjoyed the rest of the day by waiting at the bag drop counter, waiting for security, waiting for security again, waiting for boarding, waiting for taking off, waiting for landing, waiting for unboarding, waiting for the luggage, waiting for the bus and then waiting for Valentina to pick us up from the very cold and rainy Derry/Londonderry.
But more on that later.
Day three of our infamous weekend trip to the danish capital!
We recall: Doro and I flew to Copenhagen to meet Katja to look at a number of buildings conveniently placed together to house a mass of people that live together and proclaim their settlement as a capital of a land mass limited by invisible borders.
The third day started with a nice breakfast provided by the generous Katja. We had fruits. We hade vegetables. We had bread. And stuff.
If this arouses you, you not only have a problem, you’re also lucky to get more food porn later in this post.
Ewww, who let this in?
Off we went, to see some part of the city, that is not that much overrun by tourists. We wanted to be the only tourists, the two to rule them all.
We started in an area that featured several nice large places, each themed differently, but all provided some recreational facilities for the local people. The first place was called “The black Place” which described it pretty well. The only better name would have been “The black place with white lines, a small hill and some barbecue places. Oh and Chess sets”. This is a bit long, but forms the nice acronym TBPWWLASHASBPOACS. Much better.
The next place was red. Fittingly, it had some Cyrillic lettering, a sparring ring, some other sporting sport stuff sports, and swings. It was fairly crowded, so I guess the danish people do not miss any grass, as Doro was pointing out. The whole area was mostly covered in concrete. Good for skating. Not so good for sand castles.
I messed around with this one to edit it to a more russian look. I doubt that I succeeded.
Skate parks!
Katja, hiding from the vicious sun (that is the yellow ball hiding behind the grey clouds, in case you live in Berlin)
They let nature destroy perfectly good concrete. Fools.
During winter it gets so cold, that danish people have to knit protection for trees.
This is so underground.
This was in small street that featured several nice restaurants and small shops. This specific one had about a dozen people in chef outfits sitting and dining. And it smelled incredibly good there.
There is no way a shop window could be better decorated than with a bunch of action man figurines.
A sign in the small street. Everything you could ever want is there.
This is the national flag.
Street art!
Near the center is a nice park, that only at second glance is in fact a graveyard. People are picnicking, walking their dogs and taking sunbaths on top or near the graves. The grave culture is also quite different. Having a set of clay penises on your grave is just as normal as laminated photos of the deceased and large columns. And we saw Hans Christian Anderesen’s grave. It was made of stone.
See? Gulls!
The bike is dead, jim.
Food porn. Finally. I’ll give you a minute.
…
Done? Good.
This was at the place we stayed the day before, the bookshop/library/bar/restaurant/working space. Really good salmon, smorebrod and eating stuff to eat.
We made again some good mileage that day. It was a nice day. It was our last day with Katja as she left for Amsterdam.
Little did I know what happened the next day.