Czech dreaming

There's this fantastic website called Hitchhikers.com and we used it to find ourselves a lift to Prague with a Dutch hiker intent on getting us all to Prague in under 3 hours, and thanks to Germany's autobahns, it was completely possible, no over-night bus for us this time thanks!
I found Prague or Praha to the locals as beautiful as I'd been told, as tacky as my Czechs relatives and old as the hills. Even 'new town's' from the 1700's or something.
Winks, who'd been living in the city for the past 8 months, felt the best way for us to start our Czechs section of our trip, was with this horrific example of carnivorous activity. Ladies and Gentlemen, may I introduce... the Port Knuckle, along with its mates Big, big beer and slivovitz, the home-made paint-stripper they call liquor.

...the remaining carcass. How primitive of us.

It was in Prague that I found my 3 favourite pieces of graffiti on my entire trip, and they were all right next to each other on a otherwise blank wall. Language Warning... some people may find one of these offensive but I still thinks its brilliant enough to take that risk!
1: The Dude!

2: Envy

3: ...and for the rude one, but I really do love it!

Trying to imitate angry Czech beer drinkers

Right, here's a view of the city from the top of Prague Castle hill. very terracotta eh.

And here's a view from the top of another hill at a different time of the day!

Spent a bit of time at the Communist Museum and concluded: Starlin was a ... well I shouldn't' use that word in public, but insert dirtiest word you can think of here.
These posters were old Communist paraphernalia expressing the glorious merits of the regime. Ha!


And it was at the Museum, that I read about the peaceful-turned-violent student protests that took place throughout Soviet occupation. One was particularly tragic when a 20 year-old student Jan Palach lit himself on fire at the top of the Opera house steps (where all the major public events took place) and collapsed on the pavement, before dying 3 painful days later. He wrote a note before committing the deed begging for the end to Communism. He also asked that no other young people do what he was about to. Sadly, another young man lit himself alight a week later. I was so moved by the story, that I felt compelled to go and find the monument to him in the pavement where he fell...

An arcade sky-light

The perfect Czech sausage experience


St Ludmila: My Mum's name!


After a few days in town, we decided it was time to head someone where a bit quieter, friendlier and perhaps near a good body of water as the heat was really starting to get to us. This is pensive Winks as the train takes us away from the city she called home for 8 glorious months.


Chesty Kromlov
....or 'Chesty Bonds' as it became fondly known as.

Gorgeous town, fabulous river, ye old vibe and a really great night that marked our 2nd all-nighter for the trip, this time instead of being locked out, we partook in a lock-in with a bar owner and his head chef. Open bar anyone? Anyway, no photos of that fortunately, but here's some pretty ones of the Castle grounds:

This theatre seating revolves 180 degrese. That means, when they're showing Romeo and Juliette, they can face the royal setting to the left, when they're showing Midsummer Night's Dream, they can face the lush gardens to the right. I was impressed!


Some arches on the sweaty walk up to the castle. Note the smidgen of more modern architecture on the top of the arches. Every time a new King took over the castle, he would add something on, resulting in a series of buildings covering architecture spanning many eras and if I knew my architecture, I'd be able to quote actual styles here.... just imagine that I did ok.

Here's a view from the top of the castle hill:

Whilst exploring the grounds, we stumbled upon what turned out to be the most interesting, innovative gallery space I think I've ever seen. Great use for an old dungeon I say, and it was cool too, which was a bonus in the unrelenting heat of our European summer

2 hours sleep, 5 million degrees and 7 modes of transport to get to our next destination.... Krakow, Poland. Buckle up!

Berlin: The 24hour party place of the people.

Beer, beach bars and bery hot Berlin, this place is so much cooler than I'd ever imagined. And so with 5 girls in a 1-bedroom apartment, art galleries, WWII left-overs and bars to explore; we embarked on one of our more hedonistic weeks of our European Adventure!


Eastern Gallery:
Artists were invited from all over the world to decorate this remaining section of the Berlin Wall


Creative Vandalism


This was an artist squat financed by a very forward thinking philanthropist. It's actually in danger of closing down and being turned into jewellery market. What a shame... but glad we saw it before this happened.

Same squat, different view...

And this was one of the bars they had out the back. We loved our barman's get up so I took a secret spy photo, why not!


Monument to fallen Jews. A really innovative idea that basically consisted of a field of slabs of varying sizes that one could walk through. It had an eerie feeling and I don't even know why.


For my Aussie mate Sue's 40th birthday present to herself, she shouted herself a flight and an apartment for a month in Berlin. We took advantage of the fact that we were due there at the same time, so promptly informed her we were staying. She succumbed, bless her!


Me and my K being cool in Berlin


And then the K-shoot could not be stopped!





Can anyone remind me what the significance of this gate was? I can't remember...


I've also forgotten the name of this section of the Berlin Wall, but as it turns out, the land that I'm standing on to take this shot was the completely demolished site of the SS head quarters. Another eerie feeling.


After finding ourselves locked out of the apartment for the night, we spent our time wisely, in blues, gay and under-ground techno bars hanging out with two Swedes, doing as the Berliners do!


Next stop... Praha!

Hup Holland Hup

After months of careful planning and building anticipation, it was with much enthusiasm that I set off with one sunhat (which I quickly lost at Melbourne airport), one pair of high heals and one wooden K to explore the far off lands of Europe. From bed bug hell in Moscow hostels to our room with French windows in Paris, from 6 squished travellers in a Lada in Lviv to Barb's convertible in Rosmalin From toilets that flush with a button, wave of the hand, vibe of your presence or not at all, and from Pork Knuckle in Prague to clocking up about 100 baguettes in Paris, we did, saw, tasted, danced and drunk it all!
After what seemed like a decade in cattle class hell which left me under slept, with the flu and no voice, I finally touched down in the flat land of bikes, canals and really big... cigarettes. I was absolutely stuffed after 2 days of no-sleep-flying, so it was all I could do to drag my sorry arse along with my heavy heavy back pack to the first bench I could find. It was there, between construction to the right of me, construction to the left and walking tourists all around, that I crashed out until Winks came a few hours later.


The Reunion! As soon as we met, we immediately found the first cheese shop and sat ourselves by a pretty lake to catch up Dutch style.


The best damn mode of transport in the world!!!


Space-Invader, the street artist has Europe covered. This is one of about 50 that we saw all over the continent.


We fell in love with this city very quickly and I started calling it 'My Amsterdam' by about day 2. A large majority of our time was spent sitting by canals like this one and taking in the serenity, scenery and smoke.... Ahhhhh bliss.


Cup fever means crazy Dutch nationalism oozes from every store and every pore in the country, and if you haven't got your own orange insults to fashion, here's where you can pick something up!


....and then you will blend in with these kids. Hup Holland Hup!!


...and you can decorate your streets like this:

Hangin with my Dutch pal Barb in S-Hertenbagoshc (or however one spells it)


Creative rubbish


There had to be at least one pic right....?!


If you look closely at this building, you'll see a cannon ball lodged in the wall that hit its target but didn't quite do what it was meant to do....

Huge in Port!!!

It's amazing where those K's end up!

"This is a special announcement for Andrew Phillips, Uma Vernau and Klara McMurray to make their way to the boarding lounge, your plane is fully boarded and awaiting take off" It's 6-something am and this is the first thing I really remember hearing that day. It takes a tour with Gumpy to finally get my name announced on loud speaker at the airport... turns out it wasn't to be the last time this tour. We made our plane and enjoyed this view until the man who was lucky enough to have the window seat shut it out for all of us. No one will be enjoying sunrise this morning, I want a nap!


We made it to Port Douglas, the place I fondly refer to as my second home via a rickety and smokey Wicked van Gumpy and Uma had picked up in Cairns. It was to prove itself as the dodgiest tour vehicle known to man. I think they named it roadkill.
After coughing and spluttering our way up the Captain Cook Hwy, we made it to Port just in time for me to present my radio show: Miss K's Funk Fiesta #2. Here's my co-host and long-time radio conspirator Mr Nick Swainson



Next mission, dress myself up as Miss K in anticipation of meeting 10 or so other K's. If that's not enough to spin one's self out, then nothing is. Here we all up gearing up to board our Miss K float and parade down main street, fulfilling one of my childhood dreams since Moomba. Go Carnivale!



After what felt like a lifetime of kissing and waving, My Captain Funk stand-in Benny and I just got down to drinking champers and catching up. Not a bad way to spend a Friday. Pity I lost my voice and most of my memory of the night... oops!
Here's my feeble attempt at kissing and waving. I think Ben did a much better job then me, damn him!


With Saturday night being our scheduled Cairns show, I was in a bit of a health-orientated pickle. I had the flu, was most definitely hung-over and I'd lost my voice. Off to Vibe bar to meet camp-as-a-row-of-tents Dave who's version of a sound check was to randomly move and turn all possible nobs on the sound desk before throwing his camp hands in the air and announcing he knew nothing about sound. My lost voice turned out to be the least of our problems. The fact that they had completely failed to actually advertise the show and he spent the lead-up hours calling all his gay mates to come was somewhat disconcerting. With out modest audience of about 15, 4 actually paying, we decided to start after waiting but never getting the green light from the organisers. Here are our only paying fans with their 3-tiered tapas. I was impressed.



It took a painful 10 minutes for Gumpy who was by no means supposed to be the sound man to get our mics actually on and another painful 10 minutes of show to get them right but we got through. It was our most unprofessional show to date with more hiccups than that man on the simpsons who had hiccups for 15 years, but miraculously, the audience loved it. Phwew!



The next 3.5 days were filled with my usual social appointments and radio spots all of which I love doing. I did have to say no to a lot as I'd given myself a pep-talk about being there for a show, not for fun and re-gaining my voice before Wednesday's opening was my top priority. I even had bouts of loneliness as I'd never actually spent any time alone in Port before, but that was all part of my great sacrifice and by Wednesday, it had paid off. I was with voice, with health and with energy. Light the lights, crank the sound, Miss K is back!



The shows kicked arse: our best to date. Ironically the highlighting moment that everyone keeps talking about was when some poor fool's phone made a loud texting noise and I decided to seek revenge for all live performers everywhere, grabbing his phone, calling the texter and humiliating both them and the phone's owner in front of the packed house of delighted on-lookers. Most people thought the moment was rigged it went so well, honestly, I wonder why I bother spending half a year writing a script when all anyone talks about are the improv moments...
So support acts were well received, door takings were happily pocketed, merch wasn't moved as much as I'd have liked but they have obviously forgotten the power of those underpants and the curtain fell on a beautifully successful show. What better way to celebrate all that is Port by making our way to Muso's at 'The Central' where Danny Ross (one of the support acts) and I embarked on an autograph-off and we all did what one does best in Port: Got Drunk!



Home the next day via one more airport announcement, this time it was just for me and the toy gun I was carrying in my luggage. I was both thrilled and humiliated at the ordeal, but ultimately amused as the FNQ security guards had no idea what to do with it and eventually gave it back in a flurry of confusion and dead brain cells. I was picked up at the airport and whisked away to Daylsford where I was to perform the now roles of Bridesmaid and MC for my mate's wedding. Both roles went off without a hitch.



It's cold, foggy and the days are very, very short back here in Melbourne town, however the leaves are decorating the streets everywhere and I cannot help but think, its nice to be HUGE in Port, but I'll always call Melbourne.... home!

Tattooed Maoris, Tiger airways and the Coast of Gold

Rocco and the K over the Brisbane River

So one would think that a weekend in the Gold Coast as Melbourne winter has well and truly proven that it's not going anywhere for a while would be a good thing and a trip worth looking forward to. If only we'd known the dramas, near fights, hang-overs, expenses and dodgy riff raff we'd come across, I think we would have cut our losses, stayed home and turned on the heater for the weekend. Unfortunately, Captain Funk is still refining his psychic skills and failed to see the nightmare that the trip would become; so off we all set, with luggage in hands and the sun in our sights.
Night #1 involved catching up with my two favourite Brisbane men Andy and Elton and what was supposed to be a tour of all the most fabulous venues Brisbane has to offer. Unfortunately Elton and I got too noodled before Andy, Captain Funk and his lady rocked up and what ensured was a night in seedy pubs, smelly bars and diffusing fights between drunken bogans and our very own Captain Funk. Who would have thought he had it in him. None of us remember a lot, but we do have a couple of shots to prove we were there....


Now that's art!!!



Captain Funk, Andy and Elton make friends...awwww

Next day I awoke in Elton's lounge and the first thing I saw was a table full of toys... this could only be bad when combined with the hangover that was already showing signs of existence. Little Rocco was a bit weary of the thing that had taken over his play space and experienced what I imagine was his first taste of falling asleep alone and waking up with a chick on his carpet. He's only young, many more of those opportunities await him as he matures past 2. Anyway, we made tentative friends later and Elton and I worked our way through the 7 steps to hangover cure, choosing to spend that time, at a random school fete. Here's Rocco getting acquainted...




And since we're at the fete, you've got to check these out...







It seems that the quintessential difference between QLD community choirs and Melbourne community choirs is the colours they wear... the sound, I assure you, is very much the same.







The skipping kids who were more than happy to get all K'd up.

And so we leave Brisvegas and head for the coast, where things go from seedy to down-right dodgy. The show was awful and the crowd failed to laugh; even when the banana lounge I'd borrowed collapsed half way through the show and Captain Funk pulled out the greatest 1-liner I'd ever heard him mutter: 'banana split!' We were forced to head back to our hostel and make our plans for a memory-drowning night on the town.
Don't ask me how or more importantly why we ended up hanging out with a facially tattooed Maori called 'Choice' and his side-Kick 'Mick' who claimed to live in a penthouse, shag 5 chicks a week and get us any drug we so desired... but we did and what's worse, we ended up at Choice's house drinking beers and wondering what had led us to this point in our lives.
The next morning CF and his lady friend headed back to Brisbane to perform and I got my stuff together to fly home... that was until I discovered I was no longer in possession of my wallet. I had $10 key deposit to my name, no wallet, no mates and no real plan. After power-walking through re-traced steps with no sign of it re-appearing, I found myself amongst society's lowest of the lows in line at the police station. I was hoping to report the thing gone and that they'd help get me to the airport to catch my fast disappearing flight and also sort me out with some kind of ID, of which I was now significantly lacking...
The police woman gave me a business card with my name and a number on it and $20 from her own wallet and sent me back out into the increasingly scary world to deal with my nightmare. I convinced the backpacker who drove the shuttle bus at the backpackers to drive me to the airport for $30 and we were on our way...
I had no idea how far Coolangatta was, especially as my new dread-locked friend tried to talk to me about song writing whilst cruising his way down the highway at a very Rastafarian speed. We found the tiger terminal, 2 mins past check in time and I ran to the counter, flinging my bags on the conveyor belt and ...... at the lady my whole sordid tale up to that point. She merely smiled and continued with her paperwork and once I'd finished, smiled thinly at me and begun her much to be repeated phrase: 'I'm sorry but unfortunately there's nothing I can do'. She told me she not only wouldn't let me on the flight that was still half an hour from leaving, but that it would cost me $70 to catch the next one, even though she now knew I didn't have a wallet or any money to my name.
I began to panic and cry, of which I almost never do, tears usually don't come easily to me, but I think I used up about 2 year's quota in one day once it was all over. She told me to take a seat and she would attend to me in 30 minutes. I was so lost and upset that I just stood at the counter and cried, unable to move for a good 10 minutes. I eventually made my way to the plastic seats reserved for bored, frustrated, tired, hungry victims of Tiger Airways and cried my way through a phone call to my blessed brother who assured me he'd pay the $70 over the phone and all would be well again. Well, he too underestimated the cold-hearted inflexible policies of Tiger and I was made to cry, once again by the stony faced lady as she told me in a recorded message like tone that they don't accept credit card payments over the phone and unfortunately, there was nothing they could do.....
I picked up my extremely heavy bags, turned and walked away from her without saying bye... that showed her!
I found myself sitting on the bench outside, yes, crying... what can I say, its a running theme... and about to experience the kindness of strangers when a lady came over, listened to my sad tale and patted my back saying repeatedly, 'that's no good dear'. I asked her for a lift to the main terminal as I knew if I had to drag my suitcases (that I insist on being groovy vintage rather then ugly roller) all the way from the back blocks of Tiger to the main terminal my spirit would break to irreparable proportions. I walked into Virgin, the cute man at the counter let me on the next flight with the police business card as my ID and his sympathetic ear as my turning point. $300 later, i had myself what I had been fighting all day to have in my hand: a boarding pass. It was over an hour until take off. I was starving having not eaten all day and no money to rectify that, exhausted from 3 nights of almost no sleep and enough adrenalin pumped through my blood to keep an Olympic team running for a week and I was not letting go of that boarding pass. I put it in my bag for 1 minute, but panicked and grabbed it back out. I was like a first time traveller with their passport.
And when I saw the skyscrapers of Melbourne, I would have shed a tear had I any left for the city I had fought so hard to get to and my family who got me home and were waiting for me at a restaurant to celebrate mothers day and as it turns out, my return from the evil clutches of the Gold Coast.
As a result of this tour: I will never take my wallet out when planning on hanging out with dodgy types after bad shows, I will never take gigs with such slim profit margains and most importantly: I will never, ever fly Tiger Airways again and I strongly suggest, you don't either.