I’ve posted my photos of the trip; click here to check them out.

– Pimp

In a weak and failed attempt to remain in Thailand and not face the harsh realities of returning to Australia and work, I decided to flirt with danger and leave my credit card in an ATM, walking off with my cash like the fool I am (yeah I’d do it again, because that’s what a fool does). Note that all blame lies with the ATM itself for spitting out the cash and card at the same time, leaving me wide-eyed at the prospects of spending those crisp notes and sending a rush of blood to my head, causing me to run off with the cash and leave my credit card dangling like a key to consumerist heaven’s gates where you can buy anything you want using some other poor bastard’s money.

Nevertheless the other lads were helpful and generous, sorting me out with enough funds to get home safely and helping me look everywhere for the card etc, thanks a million boys.

To cut out the boring bits (haha you thought these were it didn’t you) I ended up at Bangkok airport. I had already booked a hotel but you go to a little desk at the cab rank to order your taxi and they allocate you a car from one of the thousands waiting eagerly for dumb tourists, and when i went to said desk to get a taxi the lady there looked at my destination and chuckled “ohh hoho” so i started freaking out that it was a dodgy area filled with prostitutes and gangs, or really far away, or something worse.

So then the taxi driver was asking me why i wasn’t staying somewhere closer, and that the place I’d booked (Floraville Serviced Apartments) is 35 mins away, what about these places (note that he was waving his hand towards a big glowing “Novotel” sign on a hotel), they’re only 1000 baht a night? I’m going “errrr dammit i paid 1600 and it’s miles away” and picturing being stuck for hours in the morning in Bangkok’s notorious traffic and missing my flight.

So I make a snap decision (uh-oh…) and decide to ditch my 1600 baht hotel in the sticks for a local 1000 baht one, assuming my friendly taxi man will turn around and deliver me to the shiny, neon-lit Novotel where I will be whisked to a bed of soft feathers and carried to my plane in the morning by beautiful maidens singing like angels.

But actually the taxi dropped me at “Valentine Resort” serviced apartments (”same same” as Floraville, says the taxi driver) which really is close to the airport, you can see (and hear!) the planes thundering up the runway, and it’s a pink building and it is indeed only 1000 Baht for what’s actually a pretty decent room with a great air conditioner, two beds (one is enormous) and a TV.

As if that’s not enough, 5 minutes after I enter my room the doorman who brought up my bag knocks on the door and another gentleman asks if I would like a Thai massage! I panic and slam the door in his face politely decline.

The next morning arrives to my relief and the phone rings at the specified time for my wake up call — things are going swell. I head downstairs to wait for my taxi and the friendly staff sell me a disgusting coffee for 20 baht, then a sleek (ok boxy but clean) Volvo arrives that gently wafts me to the airport on its leather couch seats in under ten minutes for only 100 baht (like three bucks). I’m a happy man until I join the endless Thai check-in queue.

Once on the plane, I realise to my dismay that the flight goes via Sydney and that is the reason for it taking nearly 12 hours, the Sydney leg is only slightly more than 8 hours and then it’s lots of stuffing about to eventually reach Brisbane. But despite the Greek fellas beside me complaining about everything from the food to the other passengers it’s pretty tolerable and I arrive in Brisbane to buy some duty-free grog using my remaining borrowed Thai Baht in the Australian duty-free shop. I’m getting grog, they’re getting paid — how good is this!

End of holiday, you can guess how pumped I am for work tomorrow wheee!

Novice-Seat-of-Pants-Traveller Pimp

Koh Samui is great, it works something like this:

1. Wake up not before 11am
2. Carlos visits tailor for suit measurements and trial fits
3. Feel terrible, stumble to 7/11 in intense sunlight and humidity to get water
4. Carlos visits tailor…
5. Eat something random and unbreakfasty (e.g. Pad Thai and beer)
6. Carlos visits tailor…
7. Feel suss
8. Carlos visits tailor…
9. Activities including beach, mopeds, jetskis (SeaDoos for Canucks)
10. Carlos visits tailor…
11. Beers and dinner on the beach, fending off locals with their monkeys, snakes, lizards, fireworks and Connect4 games
12. Carlos visits tailor…
13. Absolutely killing it on the dance floor at the same club as the night before because the hyped Green Mango actually sucks
14. Burger King

Well, what a great bloody sleep… and hot arse in the kitchen for breakfast to boot! It’s our last day in the city, so we get showered and doll ourselves up before packing. For some reason, some of our bags are getting quite light while others get fatter and heavier: strange goings-on are afoot in the crazy super-village of Istanbul. We check out downstairs with our firend Ismael, and share some fun stories about Georgie boy from Texas before going for a wander.

 A quick walk through the front garden at the Topaki palace reveals that, alas, the castle is huge and really old… ’nuff said. Next step is to return to a previous haunt for some turkish coffees and sweets before walking around aimlessly for shops etc. Very eager salesmen approach, one bloke even offers to “help us spend our money”. Such a giving bunch the Turkish peoples. The boys consider buying a water pipe to share with the crewz back in Aussie land, however it’s too exxy and difficult to carry. Pimpus does buy a nice bowl for his mum however, making the other boys realise they’ll need to pick up their a-game to show their old girls how much they love them… duty-free piss doesn’t count unfortunately (or does it!?). Being cheap bastards, we decide to buy gifts in Thailand instead where the Baht is much nicer to the Aussie Dollar

 With time running out, lunch is on the cards… and to only 1/10th of our surprise, we are ripped off; given the wrong meals and overcharged accordingly. It is now obvious this is customary practice in the big bul’. However, they did make our stomachs happy indeed.

 Final stop in Istanbul is to the Hostel to chill on the rooftop terrace for a final few quiet ones. Our new friend Jess joins us, a seasoned globe-trotting veteran; where hasn’t this guy lived!? We’re all inspired to become better individuals by this guy… Glenn is going salsa dancing, Mattchu’s going to traverse South America solo whilst Carlos and Craigy are intent on becoming serious golfers, pokers and midnight tokers. Thanks Jess for your inspiration (even though you have a girly name!).

 Suddently it’s time to depart… taxis, security, boarding etc. And he we are, writing this blog on a flight to Bangkok (via fucking Frankfurt, 3 hrs in the wrong direction. Silly, innit!?!?). One shudders to think what debaunchery lies ahead for the boys in the land of ping pong balls and lady-boys.

Carl, Paul, Glenn, Matt (insert wackyworldtour theme names here).

Matty was absolutely not keen to get out of bed at 6am after the boys’ night in Istanbul, but after standing upright and then hitting the mattress again for an extra 15 minute power nap he was ready and on the street with us by 6:29.

Luckily for us, the bus was late to pick us up and we realised that we were starving and thirsty like wild dogs and we had no food or drinks, and Pimp panicked at the thought of being hungry for four to five hours on the bus.  Even more luckily the shop next door opened at 6:30am so Pimp barged in and stocked up on the basics — a massive block of goats’ cheese (how good is cheese!), some devon, some black olives and a big unsliced loaf of bread.  Carlos also bought some “negro” biscuits that were a hit with the kids (Carlos is that really appropriate?)

A giant coach somehow squeezed down our street and the boys wearily climbed in, assuming foetal positions and doing Noddy impressions.  The coach was filled with Australians, with a few New Zealanders, a couple of English people and two Turks plus our driver and guide.  The bus trip from there was long and slow, with the bus loping along like we had all day (ok we sort of did have all day).

Driving along the shore of the Dardanelles was interesting, with heaps of huge boats using the channel to get to the Black Sea via Istanbul and the Sea of Marmara, apparently 60,000 ships a year!  And the Dardanelles are the reason for the entire Gallipoli campaign in WWI, with hundreds of thousands of people dying to get or protect access to a skinny bit of water.

We stopped for a tasty Turkish style meal at a town near Gallipoli, it was weird to be eating in a room full of Australians and felt almost like being at home.  After lunch we hit the road again to start our tour.

Not to detract from the gravity, seriousness and the moving experience that we had whilst at Gallipoli, there really isn’t much to write home about here.  Although seeing the harshness of the landscape, feeling the heat of the Turkish summer sun and walking amongst the trenches on the battlefields was an amazing and intense experience that won’t be forgotten.  But in the end, we’re strapping young lads with a sparkle in our eyes, so spending many hours gazing at monuments and cogitating on years past wears thin after many hours, especially after a big night on the Turkish town.

We should mention that did our Gallipoli tour with Anzac House tours and our guide was excellent, and he knew an incredible number of facts and stories about the Gallipoli campaign and the area where it took place.  It was also eye opening to hear more of the Turkish side of the story.

The bus ride back into Istanbul was less fun than the trip out, replete with a whiny baby boomer Grandma wearing a terrible visor, a semi-successful baby boomer man (whose boat, iPod and everything else except what matters is bigger than yours, and knows everything about everything), an amazing sliding minibus door that closes automatically but actually doesn’t.

Well, after midnight we hit our hostel once more, and we were keen to get up to the rooftop terrace for some beers and a laugh but alas it was crowded with sausage, so our motivation waned and we pretty much just hit the hay after a solid 18 hour day.

CPL Craig, PTE Kentwell, TPR Varley, SGT McIntyre

After waking for the 1st time due to muslim prayer, we wake again at 8.30am to a mediterrean breakfast with tomatoes, cucumber, watermelon, olives and feta (how good is cheese?!). Different yet tasty. Heading off, we went to see a few spots including the Blue Mosque, Hagia Sophia and other temples.

Craving Turkish Coffee, we head off to a dessert cafe and tuck into some treats and turkish coffee. We start heading towards the docks, when a group of friendly locals invite us for some free tea (tell me you know where this is going!). On arriving in the dodgy alley way, we are served a round of delicious tea and enjoy the conversation with our new found Turk mates. Our friendly exchange of words sooned turned into a sales pitch from the Turks wanting us to come for a 5 minute walk to see “Turkish Baths”. This invitation coincided with one of the Turks offering us “Lovely Ladies”. Not being too keen, we decline their offer. They try the invitation again, but this time the trip seems to be in 2 taxi’s and 10 minutes away (*****). After declining for the 2nd time, we decide to pay for our teas and leave. Paul received the bill verbally through a whisper in his ear…50 Lira (AUD$50) for 4 teas. This should of come to around AUD$8. After some tense moments and fast negotiating, we depart the alley paying $10 Lira - obviously because we are all on double figures with our pushups weekly now! We have been getting huge!

Our mission today was to walk to Taksim (a hot tip from Jesse in the hostel). Walking down to the water, we are stunned by hundreds of locals fishing off the bridge and pondered how their lines were not getting tangled and why they all continued to fish when it appeared none of them were catching anything. After a further 45 minute walk, 1 massive hill and a giant stair case, we arrive at Taksim (think Queen Street Mall * 10). Shops, restaurants, clubs, 1000 music instrument stores and generally a good vibe.

Heading back to the hostel, we stopped at a tower (around 12 stories high) which had awesome views of Instanbul and its sheer size (10 million population). Back at the hotel, we kicked back with a few beers on the rooftop and then wandered the town again, and find ourselves back at the same restaurant from last night, only this time with a 15% discount and round of Turkish coffee.

Itching to see the Istanbul nightlife, the boys head out on the town, catching the craziest taxi of all time. Think Michael Schumacher meets a Club DJ. With the music blaring Turkish Trance, and our taxi driver travelling over 120kph in narrow, crowded cobblestone streets, we said our prayers and 2 minutes later we arrived at the clubs. None of us knew what to expect, but the energy and amount of people out clubbing and having a great time was amazing. After a good stint out, we head home for bed at 4am for our 6am start the same day on our Gallopi tour.

Mahmut, Peroz, Günter, Cahid

We wake up pretty early, get some much needed internets out of the way and head to our hotel breakfeast. Being at our quite suave accomodation, we all look and sound pretty out of place but it doesnt stop us from downing a great feed which even included cheese (how good is cheese?).

With a great breaky under our belts, we head up to our 5 hour day tour (which went as long and dragged out as it sounds). Time on the tour was mainly spent in Prague Castle with us waiting on Carlos to catch up to the group and getting in trouble for taking photos of eachother mimicing statues and paintings in areas which were prohibit as seen below:
(will insert picture when we find a internet cafe computer pimp can hack)

The tour was quite interesting but heated up near the end when Pimp started chatting up an Aussie girl who was on the tour with her mum. Granted, he had to listen to her life story on her having to look after her large lolli eating grandmother all trip, but he was pulling out all the moves including the golden line in response to her statement about her new haircut being terrible - “Yeah, well it is a windy day.” At the end of the tour, she lets him know she is going on a beer tour later but unsure of the eticate when tuning a girl when her mother is present, the boys ditch the idea and go for lunch instead.

We bum around for the rest of the day and despite the 5am kick off tomorrow, the threads (which are due for a good cleaning or prehaps burning) are thrown on and out we head. As the old saying goes, “When in Rome, eat Italian’ so we all snack on some quite ordinary Italian dinner in Czech Republic, who would have thought? The hour walk through the rain begins as we head off looking for a pub/club.

Despite offers of sex with women, monkeys, midgets or all three at the same time, we settle on an Irish pub. After a few overpriced drinks we hit a dance club where double shots of 70% Absinth are thrown back.Last recollections of the night are those of burning throats, very certain thoughts of throwing up the magical green medicine of torture and a radiculous call to the barman to bring us another round of these bastards as a double.

God knows our arrival time home and chosen method of transport, all we know is that Carlos managed to pass out in his and Pimps room and sure as hell wasn’t opening the door for anyone. Paul, Pimp and Matt fall asleep next to each other in a double bed… Crazy Czechs!

Potato Pancakes Paul, Goulash Glenn, Light Carl, Dark Matt

7am Wednesday morning in Dublin, not feeling so good. Free breakfast was terrible but edible, then we had to walk 1km with our bags to the car park. Fiddli fucken dee. Even dropping off the hire car becomes a mission as we can’t fill up the cars remaining two bucks fifty worth of fuel and Avis wants a piece of us for it. Situtation is helped though as the Avis ladies are hotties.

Craigy finds an erotic lighter in his baggage (thanks Ryan in New York) and is none too impressed that he has gone through customs in three countries with it in his bag. Good to see security is doing their job. He tries to attach it to Carlos without his knowledge but Carlos foils the evil plot however when he touches his own arse. We board the plane and give Ireland a fond farewell.

Heading to Prague we stop over in Frankfurt jah, not much happens although Glenn greatly admires the internal infrastructure of the airport (omg the train drives itself wo00t!) and we have time for one stein of German lager.

Two hours later the city of Prague greets us. Could say more but we went to bed for some kipper after Czeching out the town and having a hearty local meal and some big mugs of dark beer.

We collectively decide that Prague is bloody hot — and the temperature isn’t too bad either. Gonna be a mad niggerish one tomorrow night.

Pimpovich, Craigovsky, Mattrova, Carloszvyyttyichimnskz

Disclaimer: we tzped this in Germanz at a dodgz terminal so good luck trzing to read it

Up earlz for a great breakfast of sausages, eggs, baked beans AND püdding (black and white!) it was a cracking start to a daz of stuffing around.

We got on the internets for a while and then hit the road on the waz back to dublin. We decided to mix it up and go along the coast for a little bit, but before we could, the traffic totallz stopped about 500m back from a roundabout. People started getting out of their cars and a taxi driver behind us lamented that”onlz in Ireland would thez do this during the daz.” he was probablz right…in the other direction there were cars banked up for about 5 km. It was as if Paddy the road worker woke up that morning and decided “Im going to fix the rounadabout todaz” and didnt tell anzone else. We almost had a smash trzing to follow the Dublin signs painted in the wrong direction but we scraped through with onlz minor injuries.

We were fanging for a Guinness pie so with our coastal travel plans we headed for a town called Wicklow where thez have an awesome seaside golf course which we werent allowed to eat lunch at because of our scruffiness, thez have bozs in little turbo cars cruising about and thez have amaying sandwichess with “salad” (read: coleslaw, lots of mazo)

Pimp tried to take out a local in the process of roll-starting the car down a hill, but a friendlz toot and a longing gaye from a local was the end of that. Fiddlidee!

Now. The Guinness brewerz tour is great because zou get beer. The Guinness in Ireland is spectacular, its like drinking a cloud of dark hopsy love, a pure, full mouth sensation that continues giving long after the fine ale has passed. The brewerz itself is great and the tour is fun and zou learn lots about beer, and as we alll know, beer = fun. But we couldnt fluff about too long because Pimps old friend from school, Belinda, was waiting for us in a rip-off touristz bar in the Temple Bar area of Dublin spending all her monez on some horrible cider.

Being the organised zoung lads that we are, we decided that organising a bed for the night a solid few hours before we needed it is a good idea. Ginger and Matchu go on the hunt while Paul and Pimp make great use of time goingg around the same part of town again and again (still angrz thinking about it now). Appears some tourists to Ireland are a lilttle more organised than us but the bozs eventuallz find us all a bed through some cool site called Wotif, and we are in the mix readz to partz.

We meet up with Belinda, all grab a heartz Irish stew and get back into the irish beers. Belinda tells us of the ways the Irish love their potatoes and will serve a potato on a plate on its own beside your meal. From there you can choose to mix your potato with your meal or eat it on its own — “what you do with your potato is your own business” from there on.

After pub crawling and trying to find the bars Michelle from New York recommended to us, we fail to find them and get bored out of our minds before stumbling across a niteclub called Club M. Theres hardlz anzone there but we down 40 apple shots to buz some time amd suddenlz the club is packed and pumping. We all get amongst it out on the dance floor and its blatantlz obvious all the ladies there were after our potatoes. Zet again though, the lights come on, the music stops and we are taken back off our godlike pedestals and return to being 4 maggot blokes.

We find the onlz club left open in Dublin, apparentlz colin farrell is there but whatever, the place sucks, we leave, find the onlz pies and sausage rolls in Ireland and get into bed bz 4.30 am. We are all reallz looking forward to waking up in two hours with hangovers for our flight to Prague. Damn zou little green apple shots — whzs zouse gots to be so tastz?

Pint Paul, Guinness Glenn, Clover Carlos and Mattz the Magical Leprechaun

Matt and Pimp both got up early this morning and in Matt’s usual hungover fashion decides that a run through Hyde Park is the best cure, Paul and Carlos decide to take the sleeping-in spooning approach. When the boys get back we all trot on down to get a great Pommy breakfast somehow making our way through the maze like passageways that stench of the body odor of 5 young seamen that have been on the open seas for 16 months and lonliness has gotten the better of them. After a hearty pommy breakfeast we are out on the Tube making our way back out to Brick Lane again for Matty to catch up with the Wotif UK crew. Due to us being hungover and useless, by the time we get out to Brick Lane, Matty is left with 15 minutes to catch up with them before we have to get our cab out to the airport.

On the flight over to Dublin, Pimp and Paul get chatting to an Irish girl who tells us that Kilkenny is the new Ibiza - that was pretty much all the convincing we needed, it was decided from that point that we will be hiring a car and driving to Kilkenny for the night with hope that kilkenny the beer is actually brewed there (it is, and so is Budweiser!).

Pimp and Paul get off the plane and fill the other boys in on the new plan of attack - Red Renault hired, car packed up, Pimp Schumacher in the front, Navigator Paul to his left and the kids in the back, it was set to be a massive one. A lot of traffic, a few wrong turns on the way, some dodgy chicken burgers that tasted like fish and some great power naps by all involved (except Pimp as that could have been a slight issue).

We arrive in Kilkenny and every second establishment is a pub or club, gee willikers yeah! We find a great little bed and breakfeast and hit the town early thinking it is a monday night and won’t be that pumping for too long (we were definately wrong about that). We get down to Matt the Millers about 8 and have a pub meal and the place is looking pretty dead.

We smash a Kilkenny and it is a big call but we all agree it is the damn finest drop of ale we have ever tasted. We chase it down with a Guiness and all agree it is the second best drop of ale we have ever tasted. When people say that Guiness and Kilkenny taste better in Ireland than they do anywhere else in the world they are wrong - these beers are like the ducks nuts of anything you have ever drunk before EVER!  Carlos was so happy with the quality that he did a jig:

We went for a wander to see if any place besides Matt The Miller’s was fun, but they weren’t, so back to Matt’s it was — and the place was going off! A band started playing and the boys got mad niggerish with a group of 5 local sisters…you can see by the corner of her head here that they had hair (at least one anyway):

Finding something to munch when you’re maggot in Kilkenny isn’t easy, the only place you can go is a big warehouse Big-W shop that literally sells everything except pies and sausage rolls or anything you would want to eat when you’ve had a few. You can get 50kg bags of fertilizer, kids clothing, adults clothing, toys, pastries, bread, fruit and veg, frozen goods, alcohol and sundry other items.  We got water and Pringles and then were accosted by some cute girls on the way home, unfortunately they only wanted money and not our…personalities (huge!).

That was about it for ye olde Kilkenny, the trip back to Dublin the next day is another story to be told another day…fiddlidee potatoes.

Potato Bake Pimp, Mash Matt, Jacket Potato Paul, Gnocchi Ginger