Trip over

Warsaw station: tinsel and tramps

We have now arrived safe and sound in Budapest, and are ensconced in our new amazing flat. The only way we could be living in more opulence is if we had our own servant, who used fresh swans wings instead of jay cloths, and our curtains were hand sewn from the fur of rare dormice. Sorry to sound smug, but I am. It is that posh.

So, I think that a better way to tell you all about our trip is to do a kid of faux awards ceremony, featuring the best and worst of Northern Europe, so here it is:

*Oddest smell*: Warsaw station. Difficult to describe, but sort of like the smell you get after someone is car sick, and it's then cleaned up with Dettol. Might have something to do with the tramps. Or the despair.

*Best toilets*: Berlin, by a country mile. Don't go to your grave without making use of the facilities next to the Europa Centre.

*Best hotel*: Brussels. It makes me a little wistful and sad to think that the Sheraton Four Points may have been the zenith of my life's hotel experiences, and I didn't really appreciate it at the time. If only I hadn't taken it for granted.

*Worst hotel*: Tempting to say the dorm room we had in Amsterdam. Actually they were the worst, but it wasn't really that bad, except for the fact that you were forced to listen to Sandstorm by Darude, and other europop of the 90s, at ear splitting levels if you wanted to go to the bar.

*Worst nights sleep*: the night train to Warsaw. It was like trying to sleep in one of those flight simulators they sometimes have in shopping centres. It was made worse by knowing that we had to get off the train at 550 am.

*Most aggressive person[s]*: Obviously not the men in Brussels who tried to rob us, because they ran away after a girl [Sarah] told them to f*ck off. I think the award has to go to the elderly Jewish lavatory attendant in Amsterdam station, who, in the manner of an old woman chastising and impudent grandchild, and in front of the rest of the queuing patrons, demanded to know which function I was about to perform ['you pee pee?!!??!!!, PEE PEE!!??']

*Nicest person[s]*: There were so many. The helpful Flemish lady in Ypres who told us [in a comedy Dutch accent] about all the attractions in her fair town or the Polish couple in Warsaw station who saw that we were confused by the platform numbering, and went to the information desk to ask for us. I have a soft spot for the receptionist in our hotel in Brussels, who was not only very helpful, but also looked like a white, French, version of Carlton from the Fresh Prince of Bel Air.

*Nicest touch*: Warsaw station. For some reason, there was tinsel around the huge train timetable board in the main hall. Although t didn't improve the general crapness of the place, it was kind of sweet that someone had tried.

*Nicest afternoon*: Biking around Amsterdam, trying to remember that they drive on the other side of the road, but generally having a lovely time.

*The biggest bastard award*: The Warsaw 'Taxi driver' who charged what turned out to be £30 for a five minute journey. Hopefully he died in a fire shortly afterwards.

*Most esoteric Frenchman*: The guy in our cabin en route to Warsaw, whose mere presence on the train immediately made me feel ugly, uninteresting and inadequate.

*Special mentions*: The market stall owner in Amsterdam, who made everything on his stall €20, despite most of it looking like it had been recovered from a hoover bag; the drunk man in Budapest station laughing at an old woman who had just fallen down the stairs, and was being tended to by paramedics [I later saw him attempting to lie at the feet of a bemused backpacker, like a faithful old dog]; the combined fish tank and mouse enclosure we saw in a gallery in Berlin [part of the mouse run was submerged beneath in the fish tank. Way cool] and having time to listen to whole albums on my iPod.