Drinking Category
Toga! Toga!
An evening at the Venice camping ground acts as the theatre to a battle between the shining light of busabout and the bitter, weeping dark of Topdeck. Bedsheets and ivy. Expensive beers and Poker Face on repeat. Toga was the call, and toga we resounded. TOGA! TOGA! TOGA!
I am still amazed that toga parties seem to have this magical quality to them where just wrapping a sheet around yourself seems to make even the most hardened teetotalers down shot after shot until all personal dignity and self control is lost. Maybe it has something to do with Animal House. I am starting to think that maybe the directors of the hit 1978 film embedded subliminal messaging into every 163rd frame of the film, driving those who watch it to throw all caution to the wind whenever the word “toga” is uttered by a drunk overweight dude with a beer in his hand. I am very intrigued by an idea put forward by a few canadians of a “Pants Off Party” though. After all from what I’ve been told everything is more fun with your pants off. I’ll see what I can organise when I get home.
Berlin Pub Crawl
Here’s a tip to anyone who thinks being hung over on a bus is a good idea: it isn’t. There is no possible way to have a worse bus trip than fighting off the effects from a blinder the previous night.
With that out the way, the Pub Crawl I stupidly scheduled for the night before I left Berlin turned out to be a Blinder. Populated almost entirely by Busabout adventurers we hit some cool small and large bars around Berlin. Here’s another tip: just because you get a free shot of jager with every drink you buy in most clubs doesn’t mean you have to drink said free jager shots. We finished up at a club under my favourite part of the city and I wandered back through the cold, lost, hungry and alone. Was a fantastic night.
One day I’ll take my own advice, but for now: I am having just too much fun. Check the photos.
Rotter-DAAAAMMMN!
Thanks to my Queen’s Day posse my last night out on the town in Holland ended up being one of the best nights out I have had on the Odyssey. Not only was I surrounded by 6 gorgeous girls all night but they provided entertainment for the whole of Rotterdam. I couldn’t stop smiling.
The girls took me from club to club. We saw a girl fight at ladies only night at the Cinema, burned the dance floor at Vibes and did a ridiculous amount of free shots at some bar I forget the name of, unsuprisingly.
All in all, a great night. For those who adhere to the “fotoz or it didn’t ‘appen” rule: marvel in awe of the beauty of the Queen’s Day Posse!
Queens Day
Just a few photos from Queens Day. I’ll write up a proper article and update this post in a couple of days. For now: I am off to Amsterdam!
UPDATE: Alright now! I am back from a great couple of days in Amsterdam. I hope you’ve all had time to peruse the photo gallery and are probably wondering what the hell was going on. Well let me tell you.
Queen’s Day or “Koninginnedag” in Dutch is (usually) a day of great celebration in the Netherlands. Occuring every April 30 it is one of the countries few national holidays. It celebrates the Queen’s birthday and unites the whole of the country in revelry. While not exactly the current Queen’s birthday (she was born on January 31st, making me and my Aunt Beatrix birthday buddies) it has a bit of history surrounding its position on the calendar. Originally the celebrations were held on August 31st, starting from 1885 in celebration of Princess Wilhelmina’s birth, but was later moved to April 30, the birthday of Queen Julianna. Since then Queen’s day has been on that date, making it more of a celebration of the Royalty than a specific birthday.
The day is full of celebrations. Markets are opened everywhere, turning the country into one massive garage sale. Everyone decks themselves out in orange and the partying begins. This years celebrations were marred by a certain idiot driving a Suzuki Swift through a crowd of people killing himself and six others in an attempt to attack the royal family. Most of the official events were canned although a lot of people still hit parks, clubs and bars not to be dissuaded from partying by the horror of the morning.
Myself, Martine and a few of her friends found ourselves at a big party in Rotterdam, which is where all the photos came from. The girls were full of energy garnering a lot of attention from other party goers. I didn’t drink all that much, had some lunch and Martine and I were back in Waddinxveen by around 9pm. I had a great Queen’s Day and I can throughly recommend checking out Holland around April 30th!
The Church
Religion is one of those things that really isn’t something I can discuss without the conversation getting heated or me just having to shut my trap. The mere idea of it makes me cringe. I am tolerant of those who have beliefs, and I think people should be able practise what ever religion they want as long as they keep themselves. Hell, I support Pastarfarianism, but I’ll never push the teachings of the flying spaghetti monster on anyone even if I was touched by his noodly appendage. That said, religion does have some merits. Like its role in the creation of public holidays.
Easter weekend is one of those holidays we have to thank some of the bigger groups of Invisible Cloud People followers for. It is a great weekend. Some people get chocolates, everyone gets a Holiday and as always, there’s an excuse to get rat shit maggot pissed. Which is what I did this Easter Sunday. I met up with Jessica Cullen, a friend from Perth and, with a few of her mates, we hit “The Church“.
The Church is hard to describe. For three and a half hours, every sunday, it hosts a multitude of yobbo aussies, sleazy south africans, goofy americans and smelly brits as well as a sampling from pretty much all corners of the globe for an afternoon of debauchery. This is real hedonistic stuff. Drink can only be purchased three at a time and are handed to you in a plastic bag to be easily attached to a belt. A preacher delivers a rousing speech, taking the piss out of everyone in the room. Strippers, both male and female strip right down for the heaving crowd and drinks flow into gullets faster than they can be dispensed.
While a little crazier than most night clubs I have been to, it was just like being at home. Sweaty dudes with their shirts off, chicks that couldn’t handle their drinks, the same songs you’ve heard in every pub, every weekend. Booze covered chicks and strippers is pretty much the only way you could ever get me into a Church. Pure-fucking-gold.
Attached is a gallery of the usual “Simon’s been out drinking” photos I take, most of which are of me looking pissed. Majority were taken at the Church, some at the Shepard’s Bush Walkabout later in the day. Enjoy.
New Edinburgh Pub Crawl
I’ve been doing a lot of drinking in Scotland. When in Rome and all that. Last night in an effort to satiate this alcohol fueled demon that seems to inhabit me whenever I stay in a hostel I joined the New Edinburgh pub crawl. The tour, organised by the same company that ran the walking tour I went on earlier in the day, took in about 5 pubs and a night club. Starting the tour at the Bank Bar, 70 people gathered together in the cold and fog and drink tokens in hand trudged the streets.
I made a few new friends, dominated the video pub quiz (scoring a share of the 10 pound payout), and drank, drank, drank. It was a great night, but I lost everyone at the Hive. I hit up another club, and headed home about 2am. For anyone looking for a great tour group to explore Edinburgh with, I don’t think you can really go past the Sandeman’s New Edinburgh group. Fantastic stuff.
In other news I managed to score a room at St. Christopher’s, the hostel I’ve been at the last two nights, even though I left the booking until this morning. Pretty lucky, as the interwebs were telling me the whole of Scotland is booked solid.
Belushi’s
I’ve arrived in Scotland. Nine hours on a bus sure builds a thirst. I quenched said thirst pretty hard at the bar below my backpackers. Belushi’s. For the first night in a new city it proved pretty fun, however the loud Americans in the common room this morning are a bit tiresome. Their voices are piercing. Obnoxious. I want to tear out their tracheas.
Bit harsh? You wouldn’t think so if you were here, nursing a killer hangover.
Club Pure, Shibuya
Saturday night saw my first night out on the town for this visit to Japan. Finally getting a few of my new friends together in the same place at the same time we headed into Shibuya, Tokyo’s ‘younger’ part of town. A couple of the girls had a friend, Greg, who had been living in Japan for 6 years, and we met him at the station. He took us to an awesome japanese style private restaurant which was great fun, but left us to continue on our night unaided.
We were looking for Club Pure, a place that had been recommended to me by a few people, including the manager of the hostel I am staying at. It is a hip hop club, typically american styled. The main benefit of this club was the cover charge, 3500yen (about 55 Australian dollars) which may sound steep, but included all you can drink from 11.30 till 5am. Boy did I get my money’s worth. Shots at the bar were never passed up, beer flowed freely. We danced all night to cheesy R&B and Gansta rap, people watched and had an all round great time.
Catching the first train home we all managed to fall asleep, missing our stop and having to navigate our way back through the labyrinthine collection of train stops and subways till we got back. Not something that is easy to accomplish while trashed. I flopped onto bed at about 7am, head spinning, reeking of cigarette smoke and booze. The new day was calling, but I needed a few hours sleep before I could face its fury.
Anyone looking for a cheap, cheerful and most importantly FUN night in Japan, head over to Shibuya and search out Club Pure. You wont be disappointed.
In the Drink
Ok, I know I said I was going to try and limit my “I’ve been out drinking” posts, but this particular night calls for a special mention.
On Friday I caught up with my old mates John and Brett, starting the night with a fantastic dumpling dinner in what has to be the smallest and dingiest restaurant in China Town (you want the truth? YOU CAN’T HANDLE THE TRUTH!”). Following that we had a couple of quiet drinks at a pub in Darlinghurst. John jumped on his train, and at about this point the night got off the hook.
We attempted to get into Sidebar, so I could show Brett the hottest bar chick in the world, but he was refused entry because he had no ID, so we resorted to the last resort: Scubar. We sat in the corner, drank too much Jager then met up with some of the crew from my Hostel. Sick of Scubar we formulated a new plan.
Jumping in a taxi we headed out to a club on Darling Harbor. Dancing ensued, as well as much drinking and debauchery and things got hazy. They only really get clear again when Brett and I stripped off and jumped in the harbor out the front of the club. We were quickly moved along, then got grabbed by Rangers who attempted to a) tell us we couldn’t swim in the harbor (which I called shenanigans on because there was no signs saying we couldn’t) and b) tried to bust us for indecent exposure as we were walking around in our undies. We had to get dressed while still soaked. Smelling like wet dogs we wandered the streets causing a ruckus and tooling about in general.
I got home at about 4am, smelling of harbor water and booze. It was a great night and, seeing as I’m still around to write this: proof that swimming in the Harbor isn’t as dangerous as it may seem.
Alcohol Free Days
I’ve hit the point where I need another AFD. I’ve been drinking too much. Way too much, as shown by the multitude of nights out photos that have graced the blog. It’s hard not to go out all the time when you’re surrounded by like minded people, and it’s kinda my tradition that whenever someone new comes into a dorm, we have to take them out on the town. People come into our dorm a lot. I think if it weren’t for my insistence on AFD’s at least once a week I think the entire blog would be just a series of blurred drunken photos of the interior of clubs.
I promise that from now on I’ll be limiting my “I’ve been out drinking” posts but for now: here’s a series of blurred drunken photos from the interior of a club.