Somebody relevant once said something vaguely like "A journey of 1327.6 furlongs, starts with but a single drunken stumble". Or something like that.
More pertinently perhaps, journeys must also end the same way. Although financial constraints often mean that the stumble is due to dodgy paving rather than alcoholic inducement.
I left Liechtenstein as early as i could manage after such a night, re-acquainted myself with one of my favourite Durum (Shwarma type kebab) sellers in the world, a couple of hundred metres away from Feldkirk station - astonishingly, they still remembered me, and were delighted to see me. I haven't been there in about 16months - and then started the trek back. And thus after Innsbruck, Seefeld im Tirol (illogically, i had decided to delay myself by about 2hours by going via Garmisch again, albeit without stopping), Munich, Hamburg, broken train at Neumunster, Kolding, Roskilde festival ending induced chaos, Copenhagen (the train from which was enlivened by the conductor singing Monty Python songs over the P.A) and finally Malmö, about 36hours later I arrive in Kristianstad. With the same humour and stunning timing that I have come to expect, I got off the train to Joe Jackson's "Home Town", followed fittingly enough by "Homeless" by Paul Simon. With that in mind, I walked to Markeys apartment in the hope of crashing for a couple of nights, and that was it. Just like that, the trip was over.
And other useless three letter notes including Gpw and Qdl.
In a nicely if oddly circular (and slightly freaky) ending to my trip, on the night train between Munich and Hamburg, i got talking to an Aussie (who else?) whilst having a beer. He started telling me tales about a 'really good Welsh friend of his' who had been travelling for years. I was possibly less surprised than I should have been to then be recounted a tale of how his friend had got strip searched and arrested entering Korea because he had some liquorice, and had also barely managed to avoid getting married to a crazy girl in Japan after knowing her barely a week... Like a good boy, I played the "wow, that's amazing, what a story" role, not letting on that It was actually me and was a tad bemused at being described as a very good friend to this guy who I'd never seen before. I accept that It's theoretically possible that a similar set of things happened to another Welsh traveller, but I would guess that the odds are against it...
I wonder if Kiki knows my impersonator as well?
I've always known that the world is small. You meet people over and over again in strange situations, and often come across people who know people that you know. In fact for me, if i go more than 2 or 3 weeks without it happening, it's very unusual. But I've never before been had my own stories retold to me by somebody either doing it in the first person, or pretending that they know me. It seemed a very fitting way to end. Somehow, I've seemed to leave my mark on people and the world in the last year or so, and logically, it's now time to go and hide from all the angry people I have insulted/wronged in the last year.
There will be a couple more entries (WooHoo! Town Festival. Semi naked and mostly drunk Swedish beauties everwhere!), plus a kind of overview which I've done etc solely for my own purposes but will probably share with you, and some of the many long promised photos. And then for at least a month or two, I have to pretend to work.
And the brilliant Couchsurfing has risen, Phoenix like. Couchsurfing 2.0 is here already!