I don’t know what was wrong with my legs today.
The going should have been easy but all the diversions yesterday had exhausted me mentally, it really was quite confusing and stupid.

The going today was flat but into a fierce wind and after half an hour I turned around and headed for a cheap place I had seen sign-posted the night before.

I really should have learnt my lesson from the night before with the signs around here, eventually reaching the place I was delighted to discover it was full, another place across the river was as expensive as it and its proprietor were beautiful, the third was amusing.

Damp, bedraggled and in no great state of mind I opened the door allowing the icy gusts from outside to accompany my entrance. The piano stopped playing, the monkey hid under the piano stool and the bar tender reached under the bar for a shotgun, but by far the most dangerous thing in the room was the look that the clientele gave me, I’m certain there is a regulation here that requires them to hold a license.

This place was full too, so I turned around again and headed in the direction of Bad Koesen without realising that Bad Koesen is a Kur ort, which means its expensive. It does not necessarily imbue the place with anything else, style, beauty, effectiveness. It usually just means some King or Princess once took a bath, had a rather good cup of tea or evacuated their bowels in a particularly cleansing and pleasing way.

That it was a Kur Ort was instantly obvious, there are a number of indicators, the easiest other than old people stumbling around in large groups of frailty in imminent danger of a fracture, is the unnaturally elevated accommodation prices.

So, I passed straight through – there is a joke here but Im not going searching for it. As I was heading out of Bad Koesen,  I saw this sign so I followed it, Grandmas cooking sounded just right.

It was an interesting place, run by a woman who I could only describe as a witch. The place was packed with stuff, herbs hanging from the walls, strange shaped figurines, old paintings, well used children’s toys and a vast expanse of stuff amongst which I found a place for my bike.

I ordered a beer and thought about how I was going to sleep as the railway line was below my window and about why I was so weak. The woman who I had been talking too appeared with a snack for me, she was trying to make me feel better as Id expected to pay 16e and not 25e. I suspect she took pity on me but not enough to drop the price. I couldn’t find the energy or interest to discuss it any further and just accepted the situation.

I spent what remained of the afternoon organising my photo library, it is in a real state with lots of doubles, inaccurate dates and some scans have file sizes in tens of megabytes – oooow.

After a while and a couple of beers I was given the grand tour of the place. You really would not believe what lies behind the building. There is a flower garden bursting with life, her bed is in the middle of it. She told me that she sleeps outside in all weather but as the bed is close to the edge, I think driving rain will send her inside.

There is a roe deer foal she has rescued that now lives in a cage, birds and butterflies everywhere. I tried to change rooms to one that looked onto this garden but she wasn’t having it. Dinner was good even if the portion would have fed two hard working farmers and I was feeling much better the next morning.

Breakfast this morning was quite surreal.

To my surprise there were other guests and I shared the breakfast room with them. While I slowly regained consciousness it struck me that the decor that surrounded or more engulfed us could be attributed to an Italian having taken way too much acid or a similar hallucinogen, then decorated a dining room in a rustic Germanic style. Despite this and the appalling music, breakfast was ok, if a little stingy. I didn’t hang around at breakfast, the music really was ghastly, so I left family fat to bestow adulation on the proprietor on the fabulousness of the decor and breakfast. I suspect they too had imbued some of said hallucinogen.

I headed in my freshly showered and still damp clothes in the general direction of Leipzig. I say general as I didn’t take the most direct route, following the smaller roads to avoid the traffic. It was quite successful and for the first hour and felt as though I had avoided the last century. Sundials on barn walls, stone pillar road markers and a distinct lack of tarmac.

Then passing this solar installation I was fast forwarded back up-to date.

I was very temped to investigate but was already running late for Leipzig and I had said Id be there sometime between 16:00 & 18:00 so I sadly didn’t investigate further.

I did quickly photograph this place, obviously inspired by Hundertwasser.

I passed these two while on a rather short but sweet bike route, Ive named them Paris & Hilton, I think its the mane that did it. Typing this there are now a number of associations now running around my brain and as I consider them they get worse and I am finding no reasonable conclusion or escape route.

The pictures are really for Erte a fan of horses not Mzz Hilton and while Im at it, this is for Libby, who told me to stop and look under the flowers. Not really certain what she meant and it did get me in some trouble in Berlin, but I digress.

Sunflower for Libby

I sent Gertje (my host for the evening) an SMS as Id promised with both my location and eta but, she had already jumped on her bike and was heading in my direction – as I was to learn shes not really someone who sits around on her hands.

This did complicate matters a little and I felt quite stressed, so it was head down arse up and heavy pedalling for a while. I got an SMS saying “Im waiting for you at some indefinable point” outside the town that I was approaching. What it really said was “Im waiting for you on the road to Leipzig” but as far as my map was concerned there was more than one way to Leipzig, so I called her and asked her to meet me outside the Rathouse, pictured below.

She had just cycled over 20km and I followed her back to the city, it was dark by the time we arrived. So while I showered she prepared dinner, the chat over which was very entertaining. When Gertjes daughter arrived, she and I spoke in German and Gertje exclaimed “why the hell have you been talking to me in English!” from which point on the converstaion was in German and it was great for my vocabularly, like Hubert her language use is interesting and challenging, to say nothing of her accent, HALLO SAXONY!

When Gertje is not cycling, she is climbing and if she is not doing either of those shes probably demonstrating about something, the last was against the Nazis in Leipzig, she too has a blog, you can read about her antics here.

It was around 18:00 as I headed towards my room or couch for the night and after struggling up another hill, I was rolling down the other side passing the prison and trying to decided if I should take the upcoming left turn or keep going. Both this thought and my progress down the hill were overtaken as I expect you would be in a super man film.

It was neither a bird, a plane or superman, it was Deborah on a child’s bike, with no helmet, exceeding the car speed limit and surprising me in the process.

The decision I was supposed to be making was fuddled and I took the turn, it was another 15min before I returned to the spot and took the correct road and found myself at my destination. Ingolf had yet to arrive from work, but Ute and Deborah “grease lightning” were there as were her grandparents.

They were quite unsure of this Scotsman who had arrived in the kitchen and it took them sometime to warm to me. The grandfather was a little touchy about “who was here first”. Bautzen is in an area where the borders have shifted over time between Germany, Poland and The Czech Republic. I was talking about borders and people movements and how they change, though I think he thought that I saw a narrower perspective involving the last war.

He quite rudely directed questions to Ute about me in German when I was there in the room and I suspect he found me blunt when I told him he could ask me directly. “Oh so you speak some German or some form of German” he said. I paused before answering, not from lack of understanding but I was enjoying the image of repeatedly battering him over the head with the Tupperware that was on the table. He did speak to me in English but it was so ropey he gave up and resorted to German.

He turned out to be rather interesting and I enjoyed listening to his interpretation of how the area had been settled the peoples and so on. The grandmother eventually relaxed too and I was pleased to have relaxed their social barriers which had been rather formidable when I arrived and in the end we had a very pleasant evening together.

Ingolf and Ute were fabulous hosts, very accommodating to the extend that I spent another night. I spent quite some time with Ingolf talking about technical stuff, sour dough bread and making jam, he is both creative and productive. I spent most of the day organising the myriad of things that need done while your on the road, stuff with the flat, route, accommodation etc.

I briefly ventured into town braving the drizzle in my shorts and t-shirt. There is plenty of history in Bautzen and I suspect Ill be back again to discover more of it, perhaps a guided walk with Ingolfs father when there is no Tupperware around to bludgeon him with.

In Brandenburg everyone can hear you scream.

It must have sadly been obvious to her neighbours that she was home alone. They are quite a nosey lot, the curtain twitchers of Brandenburg. If you dont get the joke, look at her surname.

The cycle into Spremberg was great, arriving at the first road carrying a car was less than fun. Manic, impatient and in severe need of being dragged out of the car and thoroughly beaten about the head with a heavy blunt instrument.

Why could anyone from this strange and unusual little town ever EVER be in a rush? Its small, its dead and not very interesting. Yet everyone drives like a lunaic on Speed and Acid who thinks the Devil in the form of Margaret Thatcher is chasing them and the petrol tank  is empty.

I circled the metripole twice in search of an iNet cafe. The younger elements of the population were happy to tell me there was one but it had closed. The town council probably decided it was too exciting and would be worried the younger people would learn about things like women’s right to vote.

I had a couchsurfing contact here and knew there were two good chances of places to stay, so giving in I headed to the Tourist Info. The woman was great and could not have been more helpful. Not only did she tell me where the iNet cafe was but put my bike under lock and key while I headed there.

It was in the third level of hell, I should probably check with Dante but Im close enough.
I went into the shopping center – the sun disappeared.
Heading towards the down escalator the piped music started and all motion in the known universe stopped – briefly.
Approaching the escalator it juddered to a start and as I descended, I pictured Morlocks sucking the marrow from previous visitors bones.

Alighting from the escalator I crossed a vast grey barren sea of concrete, my mouth dry.

Entering the Casino, all the local mafiosi playing pool stopped and looked up.
After a brief discussion with the beautifully breasted, decidedly dumb bar maid, I waded through a soundtrack of assorted beeps, whirls, gongs and whoops of the various automated games, laid skillfully over blaring daytime tv, my soul shuddered and began to shrivel.

Eventually reaching the only working computer with broken keyboard, I found money had to be inserted in the slot. Having given the ferryman a euro I was allowed some brief time in purgatory. It seems the connection between Purgatory and Speemberg is a distant and slow one.

I managed to send an email to a young lad Id already had some contact with, but I knew he was heading out of town, so gave him an hour to respond and would then act on the info from the very helpful Tourist info woman.

I killed the time by chatting to the nice woman in the Tourist Information office.
Did you know they have a boulder that traveled from Sweden to Spreemberg on a glacier and it now stands with plaque behind the Tourist info office?

This riveting conversation exhausted the highlights of Spreemberg and its lump of Swedish Granite so I had an all too necessary beer, perused the bike shop and bought an ice-cream.

The hour was up and I headed to the Spree-Pension. I had a cheeky welcome from the owners son, husband and friends. The woman herself is very helpful and the whole experience very good value for money. What lets the place down is the rest of the family who appear to be bums, drunks and generally no good. They were a little noisy, the father being angry for some undefinable reason.

Luckily he soon fell asleep and I spent a very pleasant couple of hours chatting to another couch-surfing contact who wanted some background on various towns in Scotland and the relative merits of their universities.

She is very smart and self aware, I doubt I was so focused when I was 18, actually I’m not certain I’m that focused now.
Breakfast was good and as there was an iNet connection  I spent the morning preparing some more couchsurfing dates and it was nearly lunch before I left.

Another good day on the SpreeRadweg, today I passed through probably my most favourite area that I remember. Lets see what Spereemberg is like, Ive forgotten.

The small town of Lehe that time and tourists have only just remembered, with its many bridges lack of signposts is a place I’m quite fond of. I wouldn’t mind coming back and spending a week here…

Burg is another place I like, its also quite annoying. A bridge was out, there were plenty of signs saying it was out but no indication how to get around it. I asked a couple who lived there “How do I get to Burg”, “You are Already there they answered” The woman was much more help, she understood how confusing or difficult ten different places in close proximity called Burg could be. Burg it seems is an area – sort of. There is Burg “Commune”, By Burg , Burg “we were here first”, Burg “No you were not we were”, Burg “by the wold” and finally completing the ever-present Black Adder references Burg “the elder”.

Anyway, I eventually got to Burg and then promptly got lost.
I ate one of Herbert’s apples while trying to decide whether to take the direct 12km to Cotbuss route or go via Peitz. I chose to go via Peitz as it followed the Spree and I had slept there before, which indicated cheap lodging.

I think the young men in the video (will upload later) were the distraction, they were jumping in at a weir just after a confluence, there was sadly no Haven. Anyone understanding this last reference should really leave me a note. Anyway I took one branch and should have taken the other, I realised it quite quickly and made it to Cotbuss just not via Peitz.

Cotbuss has been on my mind today. Most of the time if not all of the time I have been in Berlin, I have not been that far from Kotbuser Tor, Xberg`s main transport hub, where the U8, U1 and every drug lord in east and western europe meet. Now again Im passing through Cotbuss itself. The reason its been on my mind is that the road signs around here are in both German and CZ.

Its not that far from the CZ and Polish borders and although East German women tend to be more fun than their West German counterparts, Czech & Polish women are another level up the spicy scale.

This may appear a shallow and superficial way to determine where one is in the world and it perhaps is. But it is immediately apparent to me. The clogs, socks, sandals ,Birkenstock, hairy legs and atrocious colour choices play a lesser role and painted toenails, skirts, heels and more frequent crashes play a greater role. Their is something quite ethereal about how and why women from eastern europe are. Its utterly indefinable they just are and its delightful to be amongst them, despite the crashes.

As I head towards the source of the Spree that so beneficially feeds the Spreewald, swells the gherkins and carries the fish, frogs, canoeists and many others along its path. There is something fundamental here as indefinable as the women but somehow linked, connected with life. A counterpart not born in, but living in the 60s would be using words like energy life-force and vibe about now.

Its always difficult for me to mention places like the Spreewald. The first time I mentioned a place to many people, two years later it was full of tourists. Im not saying I was the reason for its sudden and meteoric rise in tourism, as it was just after then that the Italians finally got some trains running and opened a road but it was rather coincidental and Id rather keep places like this to myself.

It does seem though as I type, that this particular horse has left the barn and is currently galloping towards notoriety, the rider on its back whooping and wildly firing a six gun into the air.

“25e bei uns” Schlepzig, shmeklig.

This a wonderful section of the Spreeradweg, probably the best. Small towns, few cars when you stay away from the larger roads and plenty to see.

I arrived in Schlepzig and decided that I had gone far enough for the day. Its a pretty looking place with plenty of lodging opportunities. The first place I called at had a phone number posted that I duly called. 40e they wanted for one night, I said no, one person one night. Anyway, I thanked him for the opportunity to use up my phone credit and hung up. The next place I tried was full, but the woman there suggested a similar price.

I decided the third time woud be lucky and indeed the old dear greeted me warmly, pouncing on me as I approached the door. Good I thought. Well its 25e “bei uns” without breakfast. “Bei uns”, is a phrase I loathe. Its the war cry of the narrow minded. Its not really, but its the phrase I regularly hear from the serving person/ owner who Im dealing with. Usually when they are looking to fleece me.

Well, her welcome congealed somewhat when she realised I was not the person who had booked and in a very uninterested, eager to have me off her property wished me luck. I really had the feeling that if she had the energy, a little more collagen and stronger bones, she would have physically aided my departure.

I headed out of the town, Ive no idea why it is so expensive there and it seems to be beloved of the rich and retired. I was happy to leave and wondering what the reception would be like in Lubben, when I saw this sign.

Im a sucker for such signs, or less trodden offshoot paths. Imagine my surprise as after narrowing considerably, the path opened out to a fabulous place. People eating and drinking by the river. Locals arriving by boat, small groups leaving on evening trips, tents pitched beside the river and men sitting there fishing it.

After drinking in the scene I asked the chap who was serving if they had a room for me and what it cost. 25e with breakfast was very easily sold, I looked at the room anyway, but this was just a formality. I never agree to a room without first seeing it.

Showered and the bike safely locked in my room, I joined the pleasant atmosphere and ate. Ive no idea why I didn’t have fish, but dinner was good as was the beer. The woman who also served me wasn’t great, but the bloke made up for her. I had three beers and as the insects took over, I retired to my room and slept like a log.

Breakfast was pretty good and I had a wonderful mornings cycle.

It was a good day today, but was difficult towards the end. This was to be my first German couchsurfing experience and I was tiered when I reached Beeskow. No breakfast didn’t help I suppose. I found may way to Tauche easily enough, but still didn’t have an address, so I called and asked for an SMS with the address, which I duly received. From Beeskow on it always seemed to be another 3km, then another 3km, then another.

It was a bit out of Tauche but when I arrived at the address, I was greeted with a street full of barking dogs some masquerading as ponies and a rundown shack playing the role of my destination address, for added colour and authenticity there was a goat tied up outside – I jest ye not. I headed to a neighbour and asked if I had the address was correct, Yes! they said. So calling again on my mobile, I told my hosts I was there, they looked outside but could not see me!

Correct address wrong town, well approximately. Wolfsdorf is a satellite town of Tauche which is an annex of Beeskow which isn’t exactly a metropole. It unquestionably fulfils all criteria required by my brother in laws definition of a BF town.

Luckily there was a shortcut across the fields which I took. Unluckily no-one bothered to tell me what I should do at the junction in the fields. Being such a heavily used thoroughfare there was a wide selection of wildlife to ask which way. The rabbit didn’t know, neither did the flies that had mistaken me for a shite. The cows replied to my moo but Ive no idea what that meant. There were no sheep, many an Aberdonian would find this a tragic circumstance, but I dont understand them anyway. The Sheep I mean.

I decided to head up the hill, sods law is best dealt with head on I find. I passed the bench with the wonderful view, through all the trees laden with various fruit which in my flagging state were just a nuisance beneath my wheels. Cresting the hill, knee deep in quince, apple, pears and flies I saw that indeed Wolfsdorf was this way and in short order arrived at the address and man, was the welcome worth it.

I was later to discover, repeatedly, that Herbert had taken the family to Scotland not long after the wall. The wall or its fall is a reference that is ever present in conversation in the east, or former DDR.

They had a wonderful experience, arriving with a postcard map of Scotland that had effectively no detail in an East German car that the police who stopped to ask them why they were stationary on the hard shoulder didn’t recognise. The police then gave them a road atlas of the UK to help improve their holiday experience. How thankful I am to this police officer. Im certain I would have had a good experience without his generosity but it added a certain flavour.

Herberts daughter Juliana and her husband Marco hosted me in their home. Where I immediately had a shower and then in Herbert and Gisela’s house we all ate together, which was fabulous. Dinner was fun, stories and tales traded over a tower of pot roasted Rabbit, a field of floury potatoes (literally) and Spreewald of Gherkins.

The next morning while I was still recovering from dinner the night before, we had breakfast together and then went for a walk, to the church and for a short circuit of the area. At the Church I was introduced to a new berry that grows on a tree, pictures below.

Herbert was eager for me to stay and it was very tempting, but I decided I was leaving and managed to resist his attempts at getting me to stay “at least to lunch”. My stomach had already sent up a flag of truce after dinner and breakfast and I got off easily, I suspect with two kilograms of apples, half a rabbit from the night before, home grown tomatoes, some buttered bread and the of-course Gisela’s home pickled gherkins.

Greetings all.

Finally.

A Tough day started with saying good bye to the prettiest flower girl in Berlin as she left for Kita (spelling corrections welcome) at some ungodly, pre lunchtime hour. No pictures – hope you are reading Nicole…  feeling better, and didn’t murder Nico in preparation for the patio concrete.

UPDATED: Pictures arrived

Hand Cameo - Varinia

More picture of the duo can be found here

I was less than at my best having packed again till 2am so went back to doze amongst the tales, travels and writings of magicians, kings, conquerors and Winnie the Pooh. Till Nico returned with rolls and unintentionally took part in a re-run of “The war of the Roses” – 1989, Michael Douglas & Kathleen Turner.

UPDATE: Love won the day, neither of them is wearing concrete galoshes and there isnt a chandelier to worry about. Though Im still dealing with the fallout:

NICOLE: “War of the Roses! You ain’t seen nuffin yet, mista”

“I did not kill Nicolas, was feeling too woozy from the
antibiotics and too weak to drag him to basement
in order to  keep him fresh for the concrete mixer. So no
worries, won’t  be in jail next time you drop in.”

Please click on the following “Save Nico” link all donations welcome.

I picked up some of but no all of the stuff Im still missing at Globetrotter, its really time I worked there/ owned it/  bought shares. Apoplexy, would be only the first stop in a long and varied journey my father would make along a road of psychological and physical reactions had he any idea how much I spend there.

I met up with Hubert at the office sometime after lunch and he did some paper work while I got the bike ready. Sanja wasn’t there, she is Hubert’s latest employee and quite, eh, mm special. I hope the two of them manage to get along as he needs the help and she is quite capable, when he lets her and she isn’t trying to distract the drivers with her womanly wiles. I suppose it wouldn’t be that bad if her womanly wiles hadnt jumped on the same southern bound locomotive other parts had, but who am I to talk.

I was lucky enough to see all but one of the guys at the rad-spannerei.de to say thanks before I left, I just missed Tomma who made some essential and annoyingly involved  changes to the drive train.  Jorg managed some last minute work adding a stand to my low rider, which makes quite some difference – thanks Neils.

Anyway, I got on the road around 16:00 and stopped briefly in Köpenick for my first wheat beer of the trip, enjoying the sun glinting on the lake, watching the boats, swimmers etc. having fun and trying not to spend too much time admiring the legs of the serving wench.

I was a very warm day.

“I like girls in shorts skirts I do”. This has to be said honestly, directly and in a Manchurian accent. Sorry for the in-joke, but it will make someone special  laugh.

Ok, now that some of you have had a mention, some of you are confused and some are at this very moment  writing to their M.P. to complain, Im off o bed as Im bushed, Ill add pictures to this entry when I’ve a good iNet connection.

Today Ive been on a ferry, met some very odd folks in Erkner, the least said about that the better I think. I even managed to video some w****r / rich tourist in a helmet and on a Segway today, I hope the video looks good. The Spreeradweg is a breeze and Im really glad to be following it again, it is a good and easy start for me post illness and my rather surprising and more distressing Miraculous Conception.

To the faction thats annoyed with me post Tuesdays email, you have my number.

Thanks to you all mentioned and not for your help and support through a very difficult year.

love,

PJ

Berlin is a nightmare to get away from.

Someone once told me it gets in your blood and at the time I thought yeah, right I cant stand this city.

That thought and feeling had more to do with me not doing anything constructive at the time and the dawning of realisation that the girl who I had gone to Berlin to be with wasnt really in love with me (big dramatic sigh) thanks, but that water has long past beneath Admirale Brücke.

It has been ineresting donning my XBERG mantle, enjoying the street food and atmosphre of this quarter  that makes a friend of mine who is actually from Berlin, feel as though he has teleported out of Germany all together. Best not mention the upper middle classes I suppose.

Its been good seeing my friends, taking part in the cool stuff that goes on here and despite Berlin being far from the other areas of Germany that I love in the south, especially with good access to Austria, Hungary, France, Italy, Switzerland etc, etc I’m still fond of Berlin.

My stomach was quite upset for a week or more, “What ill again” I hear you say. Well yes, so piss off with your indirect criticism, the mess I’m in is not desired or fair, considering my healthy lifestyle, well healthy lifestyle  minus the  booze , “the odd cigar”,  late nights, early mornings and other unprintable indulgences.(Hi Mum, Dad, uncles, aunts and other associated relatives who’s eyes Ive been unsuccessful pulling the wool over for the last 20 years. Yes, yes, Im really a nice boy at  heart, “what, boy?” I hear you cry)

Anyway, Ive left the WG (shared flat) the noise in the courtyard that my room faced was indescribable. It was like having a window onto a busy street in Bombay, Istanbul, Madrid, Dublin, Caracas and Calcutta all at once, with the odd cameo from Marrakesh and Palestine thrown on for a distressing change.

Thankfully I’m now out in the wilds of Brandenburg at Huberts place and hope to sort out my packing etc tomorrow and head off on Tuesday. Just don’t be surprised if its Wednesday before I leave as I might squeeze in a last minute visit to the prettiest flower girl in Berlin – pictures may follow.

Peter