Friday June 22nd
Awoke at dawn & left Rebekka sleeping – women can be so distracting & I’m supposed to composing an epic poem! With my headspace fully clear’d I took a U-Bahn to Kreuzberg, follow’d by a pleasurable meander thro’ Berlin’s streets. I got a bit lost but a map at every bus-stop help’d matters. It was cool when I stumbl’d on Checkpoint Charlie in a drunken roll. For the rest of the day whenever I’d finish a beer I’d nip in the nearest supermarket & replenish my stock, I got well piss’d.
Next port of call was the Prinz-Albrecht Strasse. I spent a couple of hours with the ruins of the SS HQ. The only features still standing, however, were the cells where they kept the poor prisoners before being tortured. Next I call’d on the site of the old Reichschancell’ry – now just high rise flats but once the poison’d heart of Nazi Germany. While there I had the good fortune to talk to an expert on such matters, who walk’d & talk’d with me up to the great dome of the Reichstag. He fill’d me in on the gaps in my studies & I bought him a coffee to say thanx.
Come sunset I buss’d it back to the campsite, where to my joy the tent was still there after my tryst with Rebekka. It’s been cool hanging out in Berlin – a lot cleaner city than London & set in a pretty pastoral situation (with the lakes). However, there is a certain edginess about the place, but then again, where is not edgy in Germany?
Saturday June 23rd
Did a James Bond sneak out of the campsite & did not have to pay – buzzin! Walk’d along the misty morning lakeside for a couple of K, feeding the ducks en route (bastards ate all my bread). Once I had reach’d Zoo station I found, to my cheer, a train going all the way to Prague. It was gonna be a long jump so I scrapp’d the beer 4 breakfast & got busy. We pass’d thro’ the hills of Dresden (xi), crossing the border to wind thro’ the Elbe’s scenic valley into the lovely Czech Republic!
The hills began to grow larger & the sights prettier as we trundl’d thro’ Czech. I dodg’d the new conductor (9-2), cementin’ the jump & lay back marvelin’ as the Elbe grew more majestic, cutting swathes thro’ carpeted mountains dotted with hundreds of pretty little houses. We then broke out into a wide, hill-fringed plain & the capital city. Ah! The sweet streets of Prague, the city of music, the city of culture, the city of the artist’s soul!
After finding a funky campsite I was suck’d into a swirling vortex of funky vibes & good time feelin’ (via some more of my shrooms). Watch’d a magnificent piece of classical music in a wonderfully ornate church, complete with glittering chandelier. I went about a tryptych, absorbing all the energy & enriching my lines with suave & style. I unwound with a stroll & a hit nice bar where, over red wine, great live tunes & dodgy English language singing, I grinn’d a pretty big grin. The journey back to my tent was a bit messy, as the combination of mushrooms & wandering a big city without a map have never mix’d well & will continue never to do so.
Sunday June 24th
Moved into a room (it’s cheap enough to in Prague) & re-discover’d the bliss of clean sheets. Popp’d my clothes into the cleaner & set off into the city. Bump’d into a couple of Scottish girls & show’d them the way to the centre. They were ‘shoppers’ & show’d me a side of travelling I don’t usually see. I got a bit carried away & ended up being the only one to buy anything – a funky, metal Pegasus for only a couple of quid. We sat down for a quiet drink, but soon a bunch of mad, loutish Mancs sat on the table beside us. I was instantly drawn to them.
The girls soon piss’d off, tuttin’ beneath their breath, but I hung around. They help’d me score some weed (fuck’d immediately – strongest stuff I’ve ever had) & even bought me a meal in a plush Italian. It turns out they were drug dealers & loaded. We hit a dingy bar where I check’d mi karma & gave them the last of mi shrooms. It was funny watchin’ them come up, abusing the Czechs with Northern money antics. One bar even shut down (til we’d gone) because of ‘em.
After open air beers & pizza we hit their very nice hotel (who sez drugs don’t pay) where two of the Mancs had arranged for a prostitute. She was fit as fuck, a very high standard, & she even let the rest of us watch (& take photos). It was even funnier when the lads couldn’t get hard-ons because of the mushrooms, asking me if I wanted to have a go, seeing as they’d paid – but I politely declined their kind offer. After she’d gone, we got stoned then hit another bar, where one of the guys was plied with absinthe. It was even funnier watchin’ him stagger thro’ the streets & collapse in a prostitute-fill’d square. It was at this point I knew it was time to head back to the safety of my bed.