The Manchester tourist

I’m pretty much over museums and churches and stuff. Or so I keep reckoning. Yet I keep finding myself at one again and again.

Everywhere is by bus. Three pounds and you can go anywhere all day in the region. View from bus...

This time it was the Imperial War Museum North located in Trafford. And it is worth seeing. It covers war issues from World War One to present day. Displays, hands on action, movies, models… everything. This is one of the best museums I have ever entered. Recommended by the Lonely Planet, they did good on this one.

And on the way you can go visit the Manchester football stadium and take a tour if ya want - I'll wait for a real game myself.

Another place they’d said was worth visitng, in fact it was rated a “’not to be missed’ sight, was the MOSI or Museum of Science and Industry. Holy crap this place sucked arse! Not to be missed?! Not to be listed more like. This place covers such fascinating roles as ‘the waste disposal workings of Manchester City’, ‘what a train looks like’, ‘Votes for Women’ (just jokes), models of looms, and a kids activity centre. In fact, if I had been 5 years old it could have been cool. But as I wasn’t 5 years old, it just wasn’t cool. Two brain cells and a serious concussion would help immensely if you plan on making a visit.

Lowry Gallery. This was next to the War Museum. Like next door. But this didn’t stop me from enjoying a 35 minute walk to get there passing around the Quays and over bridges and through the suburbs. In fact I visited a whole new town called Strafford. Yes, I may have been a little disorientated. Eventually I made it though and the coolness of the War Museum had obviously rubbed of on this one. Named after this famous painter LS Lowry, it houses some of his works (awesome!) and a number of other exhibitions. When I was there, the main attraction was a photo exhibition by Harold Riley which was also a cut above. Very cool.

The Beggar and Ann

The Cripples, 1949

Then on the following day I decided I’d take Vic’s advice and go see some non-lonely planet made recommendations. These included the town hall and square (ok), recently opened old school library (ok) and the URBIS Exhibition Centre (superb!). This centre has heaps of stuff going down. When I was there it was a show on Drum and Bass, some uni art stuff and what was for me the main attraction, the D&AD Exhibition: The best advertising and design in the world. That’s right, in the world! Woooohoooow! They made you stop and think They made you snigger, blush, gasp, go goosebumpily, look twice and then go back for thirds. Check out these crap photos of really cool ads I took…

These were cool. Looks like the other persons life is about to become a part of yours…

(pic)

Wars make orphans…

A look into the dangers of selfish human behviours on endangered animals…

Bank sign connected to Solar panels. Actually helping out…

This guy coloured a page of his journal every day showing his thoughts. Then pasted together it was a favorite…

Air postal service. As it says, “The most impressive ideas are the most simple ones”

You either love it or hate it; think vegemite…

Airport to Manchester

The world is full of horror. Just look at the news on any given day. What is sadly, and I think hugely, under represented however is the massive amount of good that is also going on.

I have been in England only 4 days. Not even four full days. Yet I have already witnessed acts of kindness worthy of a place on Channel One news and met dozens of people who I would happily let into my home (If I had one. Ha-ha) or be honored to call a friend.

When I arrived in the Liverpool airport on the 15^th, I was scared penniless of the pound. I planned to hitch to Manchester to met Vic and so I began to approach people to see where they were headed. Sadly none were heading my way and all actually suggested it to be a dangerous idea to hitch in this region.

Young, male, white and in my big puffy tough man down jacket I figured they were being overly cautious but I was new to the country and so figured I’d follow their advice for now and hitch later. So I forked out my 5 pounds for a bus to Manchester and set off wondering what the real English, not just the ones I’d met traveling, were going to be like.

I arrived at Shudehill station and sat down to await Vicky’s arrival. The time was around 5pm and I’d been led to believe she mightn’t make it till just after 7pm. No problem. The life of a backpacker makes for few problems and even less hurry.

(There’s a smokin girl sitting opposite me as I write this on the ferry to Pierre’s. England has quite a few I think)

On went the ipod and I settled down to some G’n’R to pass the time. Watching my breath make small pools of warm air in front of me, I tried to mimic Gandalf and create a ship of smoke passing through a ring. Sadly the best I could manage was a small row boat with two passengers passing under a bridge.

After5 minutes or so, a bus conductor approached, obviously impressed by my smoke blowing skillz. But playing it cool, he instead asked if I was waiting for the bus to the airport. I explained I’d just been dropped off and was waiting on a friend to come get me.

When he came back at half the hour and spotted me still waiting, he laughed as I told him my friend wouldn’t arrive until after seven. Then at seven he was back. And again at 7:30pm. Asking if all was right, I told him how I hadn’t a cell phone, any pounds and that my credit card wasn’t being accepted by the card phone. I also didn’t want to go get some change in case Vic came and went while I was gone. So I was just waiting it out.

But being awesome, he offered me his cell to call Vic. No money in return, no nothing. Just being nice – and I did offer. So I call her up and all good. After deciding I would probably lose my way trying to find her, she came and picked me up from where I was, we grabbed a pint and then headed back to her place.

And speaking English is like a breath of fresh air after the past few months of sucking in foreign fumes (o:

Denied

Crossing into England, I head up to the Liverpool airport passport check in. Molding into the non-national cue, I fill out a quick form stating my name, occupation and nationality. Being a kiwi and part of the common wealth, I figure no problems and before long I find myself at the desk handing my form to a smiling blonde woman with perfect teeth. The kind of lady you want to trust. The kind you’d liketo get to know.

“Where have you come from today?” she asks.
“Vienna, oops, I mean Florence. But I flew out from Pisa airport” I reply
“And what is your reason for visiting the UK?”
“I’ve come over for a friend’s birthday on the Isle of Man”
“How long do you intend to stay for?”
“Um, not sure really. We’ll say 30 days but it won’t be that long”
“Do you have a flight out?”
“No. I might get a lift out from London with a trucky driver I know who does weekly trips to Holland”
“So after England you are heading to Holland?”
“Um, not sure. Might go to Holland or maybe Germany or I might go visit Ireland or Scotland while I’m in this neck of the woods. Hard to say. My travel is pretty spontaneous at the moment. I’m doing my big O.E”
“And who’s paying for all this travel?”
“Myself mostly, I’ve saved all my life”

At this point she outright laughs at me! And most of my answers have been followed by her looking at me with big questioning eyes. So to make her feel better I offer up…

“Oh, I will work a bit at some stage. Maybe in Norway or Germany.”
“You have a visa?”
“No but my dad is a British citizen and so I’m hoping to get a British passport. Then I can work in the EU without issue”
“And when do you plan to do this?”
“What?”
“Get a passport”
“Oh, I’m doing it now”

New tack…

“And where will you stay while you are here?”
“The ferry to the Isle leaves at 2pm and only goes from Heysham, so I’ll go stay in Manchester tonight with a girl I know and then head to the Isle tomorrow”
“How long have you known this girl?”
“I met her in Laos for 3 days”
“Oh”

This said with a very, “Oh, that kind of knowing a girl” voice. Then it was back to playing 20 questions…

“How old is your friend turning”
“23 I think”
“When is his birthday?”
“His birthday is the 16^th but the party is on the 19^th”
“And he’s British?”
“No, he’s from New Zealand and he’s also French I think”
“French and New Zealand?”
“Yeah?”
“How long has he been here for?”
“Dunno, maybe a year or so? Not to sure really”

I honestly expected her to ask me what colour underwear he had on next! But instead she kindly asks me to go and sit down on the other side of the room. So I go and join three Chinese people who were also questioned at length and it is about now that I finally realize that this is like on T.V. Only it’s real. It actually happens. And I might not actually be allowed into the country! Jeeebus!

So I sit for like 20 minutes, watching her talk with all these officials and security guys. I’m just blown away at this point. I’ve just come through 6 European countries without a passport needing to be shown and now this! So I get out my friend’s numbers in case that will help sway her and then I look up to see her approaching.

“Ok”, she says, “We’re gonna let you in but next time don’t mention anything about working anywhere. Ok?”
“Um, ok? Laters”

Then I was through and off to find my ‘3 day, “oh” Laos girl friend’.

Pisa

There was a tower…

I helped hold it up...

It was next to some other big buildings...




That was all

Sienna

I woke up today with my own body clock. Glorious! It was maybe 9:45 so not too shabby either. After a piece of toast and an egg, Eve and I set off to meet Lisa at the train station as today we had planned on sightseeing round Sienna.

Train down showed some amazing country side, oh and I met a really cool Irish homeless man with a dog at the station too.

Anyway, we got to Sienna and started walking. Not knowing the way to the city center, I asked the nearest person who happened to be a guy from Pisa who was visiting Sienna for a soccer match. Milano was playing Sienna.

We walked with him to the center and when we arrived there was a crowd standing outside of a nearby hotel. Jaws on the ground, pools of drawl at their feet, cameras clutched tightly in their fists, bodies half way up light posts, on garden walls and atop car roofs. They were all waiting to see the Milan team leave from the hotel. We waited with the crowd for a bit but as the Milano team were being girls and taking ages to get ready, and as we knew no one on the team anyway, we cruised off to leave the crowd to their pointless hero worshipping.

The girls visited a museum while I opted to wander the town. The town, I think, is Sienna. It is crazy to see.

(pic of town)

After I remet up with the girls, we went and toured some churches and the Duomo. The Duomo was... I am getting sick of writing that everything is amazing. Of course they all look cool, that is why weveryone comes here! A picture tells a thousand words...

(pic of Duomo)

Church was the same. Oh, no. Actually it was better for two reasons.

1) It has in it the shrunken head of Saint Elizabeth. That was cool. Just stuck up on the wall in this little aclove with paintings all around it.

2) While I sat in the church pews admiring the stain glass windows, the roar of the Italian soccer match going on next door could be heard all around. And what a noise! Wow! They are fanatic. it suited too. The Italian religion is soccer and so I figure the noise of the crowd is their version of church music.

Oh, and the pigeons in the town square (meant to be why everyone sees Sienna but it wasn't thaaat great) were cool!

(pic with pigeons)

The flat

So I am sitting here in the flat writing out blog entries on Eve’s laptop listening to the conversations going on around me.

Eve is sitting here saying she wants an open relationship with her boyfriend. He has a female friend coming over this weekend (He’s in Germany, she is presently in Italy) and she is sitting here, telling us, she kind of hopes he sleeps with her! In one way, what an awesome girlfriend! “Go sleep with other girls” she is saying. On the other hand, if you were sitting here, it kind of sounds like he is just crap in bed… Ana is jumping around, being late for work, and making it worse by explaining to me how she is always late to work and the reasons why. I think I might have an idea of why myself… Cecile is sitting here in the middle of it all, studying Pharhahaha. Sure. And there is this French guy sitting here who everyone thinks is gay and he is flinging his hands around, standing all tilted and making me think maybe he is as well.

I am sitting here, dying for, weird I know, but a bottle of wine. Not to get drunk. Just to get happy. Was that kind of a day…

The love room, Four roses girls and a tour through Tuscany…

Shall I even write anything here or just let your imagination run wild??

The day began with a move from Dörte’s house, into her friends flat. Two French and a German girl share an apartment and they had invited me to stay a couple of nights while Dörte visited the beach with her boyfriend. They had a spare room they called the ‘love room’ that I was welcome to use (they share one bedroom so the name, I think, is self explanatory). Cool room too.

So after ditching my gear, Lisa, Eve, Cecile and myself headed off for our tour of Tuscany. Eve had rented a small car in which the four of us were to explore the country side, visiting Colle Val d’Elsa, Monteriggioni Castle, Montepulciano, Greve and some small surrounding villages.

Eve and the beast:

Monteriggioni Castle: Lisa: Cecile: Eve:



With 4 hours sleep the day before and a long day of touring behind us, I was pretty knackered when we arrived back home around 7 or so. After getting a delicious home cooked dinner into my belly, I was pretty set for bed. But two of the French girls who ate with us had different ideas…

Pointing out that we were young and fit and travelling and so had nowhere to be the following morning, they suggested I join them for a few drinks at a nearby friend’s place. I soon found myself walking through town with Cecile and her French friend, carrying a couple of bottles of red wine and so, I guess, a decision had been made.

Ten minutes later and there I was, in Florence Italy, drinking Tuscan red wine, listening to conversations of Italian going on around me, stomach full of al dent pasta, and thinking to myself, this is true Italia! This is what it is all about. A few introductions later though and I found myself re-evaluating the situation… Who did the group compose of? Five German girls, 1 German guy, 4 French girls, 3 French guys, 2 Swiss girls, 2 Austrian girls, 1 Spanish guy and myself. Ha ha, not a single Italian (o:

So with most of the conversations going on being spoken in French and Italian, I began the night sitting quietly sipping away at my wine not really doing much. But as the night wore on, and the contents of the bottles reduced, English soon ventured out and I found myself with an invitation to some invite party wrapped around my wrist.

One of the german girls, Lisa, I had met had invited me along and she had had a spare invite back in her flat that she went and grabbed for me. So seeing as I wouldn’t have to pay and that this girl was cute, I figured and why not? Leaving my escorts behind and not having a clue on how I intended to make my way back home at the end of the night, I left the party with Lisa, two Austrian girls, two Swiss girls and one gay Spanish guy (maybe now you get an idea of why I wasn’t caring too much about getting home, haha).

We arrived at the bar and there’s this bouncer standing there checking tickets. A quick look around reveals the obvious; we don’t belong here. After checking I have indeed somehow acquired myself a ticket, the bouncer begins to tug at my clothing and say stuff in Italian that indicates he is probably not too happy with my choice of garb. I mumble back in English with a big dopey grin on my face and he soon waves me in with the slow release of breath, characteristic of a sigh and a “What’s this world coming too?” comment resting on the edge of his lips.

So we cruise in (get checked a couple of times inside the bar but, yes, we do indeed have tickets) and yeah, this place was chic. Everyone is looking hot in tight black clothes and prissy, pissy attitudes. We hit the dance floor pretty quick and rocked to some bad house trance music pretending we were drunk cause everyone else is dancing like they have a pole stuck half way up their, um, derriere.

Then I look up at one stage and see Cecile and co had come to ‘rescue’ me. They pulled me out and showed me some awesome tickets they had made back home out of paper and colouring in pencils that had fooled the security and told me they had come to save me. Save me? That German girl was hot and I wasn’t so sure if I actually wanted to leave (music aside).

But leave we did and after a bit, headed home. I know. Sad aye.

Four year old stole my camera...

The culprit...

The photo evidence...

Aha, gottcha!