Miles today:178
Total miles: 794
Location: Hamburg city centre
Cost of accommodation: 26€
Rations left: 2 Sherbet dibdabs, 2 packets of polos, 3 squares of Dairy Milk, 1 giant drumstick lolly.
Number of Ikeas spotted: Still none
Number of Wigan goals scored while I was in the loo AGAIN: 1
Number of times people have actually assumed I’m a participant in the Eurovision Song Contest: 3

Really nice day again. Woke up to the aged Munster witch and her long white whispy hair, but wearing a set of pink floral pyjamas. We didn’t speak. Honestly, she must be as old as God’s dog. Got all packed up and I sat on the banks of the lake eating my breakfast, which was a pot* of strawberries and quark. Now I’ve only heard of quark because I accidentally made it on Alchemy Android game, and it sounds a bit rank just by the name and so wouldn’t have actually bought it, but I forgot to read the label. But it’s amazing – like a unsweetened unchemicalized version of fromage frais. Anyway, was LOVELY. I also robbed enough stuff from the breakfast buffet to make myself a packed lunch. Had a wander round Munster which was much nicer in daytime and people were actually friendly. The fun police must only control the hostel itself.

 Drive to Hamburg was a long one – it’s a bit grim setting your satnav and seeing that the next turn you need to make is in 146 miles. But I was enjoying my own company, and I found a load of great songs on the mp3 player and blasted them out proper loud and sang away at the top of my voice all the way down the road. Not seen a UK car reg for 3 whole days now. Arrived in Hamburg and found a “Boy Scout” brand hostel.  I hadn’t booked in advance so had to just pitch up and hope they had beds left. I got the last bed in the whole place – was a mixed room, and after Bruges I was a bit scared I’d end up with some rowdy knobhead lads again. Shouldn’t have worried. There were 8 of us, but the only ones I spoke to were Steve, an American guy who’d was going to a green energy convention and then out on a pubcrawl, a very quiet guy called Marios who looked petrified at us all, Dominic from Cologne who was going for an interview as a sports coach, and…..wait for it…….Wolfgang the farmers son who had been sent from the countryside by his parents to see what life in the big city was like.

Dominic was really friendly, and chatty, and was the spitting image of my friend Annie’s husband Adam, so I just felt an affinity with him.  He got us all talking and we compared notes on our travels, home towns and reasons for being in Hamburg. He asked advice on what to wear for his interview and gave us parade of his possible choices. Was a very pleasant couple of hours just chatting and making friends with my roomies. We decided we’d go for drinks and food when he returned,and off he trolled to interview. Thought I’d go for a wander round the city by myself and as I was leaving Wolfgang decided he’d join me. Now Wolfgang has just turned twenty, he grew up on a farm and has never really left, and lived a VERY sheltered life. He looks like a young Leonardo Di Caprio, but taller and with more windswept hair. He’d also travelled from Munster, as he now needs to find a Uni to study at, so his father has sent him off the farm out to find his fortune in the big wide world. Wolfgang didn’t want to come to Hamburg because he thought it was too big a city, and he says that cities made him feel “psychotic”, and he feels very scared and misses life on the farm. (don’t worry Suzanne, he did say he was struggling to find the right word in English, and that “psychotic” wasn’t the right word). Considering he’s a proper CowTown German guy his English was very good,to be honest ha ha ha there was less of a language barrier than with WindMillMan. Mind you, I did go into some bizzare Queens English sort of accent, don’t know how or why, it just came out. Probably for the best though, I wouldn’t want him trotting back to his CowTown hometown speaking English with a Wigan/Dudley twang.

We walked along the river, and he explained a lot about the history of Hamburg and the buildings, and the culture, and trade – obviously all knowledge gained from books, but still a great tour guide. He showed me a little card that he’d been given earlier that day, by a bloke standing at the end of the red light district as Wolfgang passed by. Now Wolfgang, having lived all his life in a Little Town on the Prarie type environment was rather bemused by this card. I’m not sure he’s come across many real life women before, let alone semi naked ones. He was showing me the card, and alternating from disgust to curiosity to excitement. I think he was trying to judge my reaction as to whether it was bad of him to have this card, or VERY bad, and he’d get struck down by lightening for being such a heathern sinner in the big wide world. I explained there was similar places in Amsterdam too,and even in Blackpool they had shops on the seafront that sold rude shaped lollipops. Wolfgang’s eyes were nearly popping out on stalks. Thought we’d stop for a drink and totally unknowingly I chose to stop for a drink at a bar that was directly opposite the where the man who’d given the very same little red card earlier was now stationed. I sat happily drinking my cola while Wolfgang sat sipping his beer gazing out of the window and across the road with a warm readybrek type glow all around him. Too funny. Wolfgang kept saying how big and scary the city was, and he liked Munster better (Munster is a MUCH smaller city) and there was too much traffic and noise. From my point of view Hamburg is a big, but quiet city. The roads are wide, but not much traffic at all. Busy to me is Deansgate, or the M6 between Bryn and the M62, or Castlegate in Dudley, or the road along the river in town in Shrewsbury. It wasn’t anything like that bad. This didn’t however stop Wolfgang being scared of the traffic, and everytime we crossed he would hurtle across at full speed and then stand on the opposite pavement shouting “Faster, faster, FASTER!” at me (in the same kind of petrified voice that can only be equalled by Mrs Gloop doing her “Noooo Augustus” in Charlie and the chocolate factory) as I dawdled across quite safely in my own time. We did a bit more exploring, passed a few tramps in their “houses”, which we both really laughed about, and made our way back to the hostel. Wolfgang still had his ready brek glow from passing the end of the right light district on our walk, and said he wanted to go and sit under a tree and read a book. Yeah right. Anyway he wandered off and I went to get changed. I was hoping Dominic would be back from his job interview as he was good company, very friendly and more my own age, but he wasn’t. Marios the quiet guy was still cowering under his duvet looking scared of these strange people being social and talking to one another. I googled and found an bar showing the Wigan match and set off clutching my little map.

The Shamrock Irish bar had good reviews, but no idea how. There was virtually no electric lighting, mostly lit by candles in bottles and just looked dark and grubby. I can only assume the owners left Ireland during the potato famine and haven’t been back since.They’d be shocked to see how modern techology had moved on. Just grim. The toilet looked like something out of trainspotting. Anyway, sat down with my warm cola and say down infront of the portable telly to watch Arsenal v Wigan. There was just me in the whole pub. A few minutes before kick off a tall American guy walks in and sits down and asks the barmaid to turn up the volume. We got chatting, his name is Jon, he is 28, from Upstate New York but is living here temporarily with work. We talk about our travels and our favorite cities.The match starts and I ask who he’s supporting, as it’s unusual for an American to like “soccer”. He looks at me like I’m nuts, and unzips his jacket to reveal….a Latics away shirt. “Wigan of course. I believe!”.  I couldn’t get over it! Not even a run of the mill home shirt – an away shirt! Turns out his sister married a bloke from Wigan,  and now they all support Latics. He went to Wembley for the semi and is flying back for the Villa match. So Jon and I chatted Wigan, he stays in the Oak hotel when he flies over, really wishes he’d seen a game at the old “stadium” and how we both miss Jimmy Bullard. We’re both confident Martinez with stay for at least a season, not just for their changes in europe, but because we think he’s got the Wigan ethos of loyalty. Lovely chatting, just a bit bizarre when Jon had a proper cartoon American accent and said words like “dee-fence” and “sem-eye final”. After about 20 minutes the door burst open and an spanish girl runs in shouting “Have I missed anything, how are we doing”. Jon tells hes on a mission to turn Hamburg into Wigan fans. Back home in Washington DC there is a little cafe that now opens early on Saturday mornings and Jon had a little band of American faithful that turn up to watch Wigan matches. I explained to Jon that I missed the goal against ManCity because I was in the loo, and how that always happens. He laughs. Just before half time I can’t wait any longer and nip off to the loo. Jon laughs and says he hopes my traditional luck will work. Just as I’m about to unlock the door on my way out of Irelands tribute to Trainspotting I hear Jon, Gill and the barmaid screaming. I genuinely don’t know how I do it. I’ve not seen a England goal in years, Man U always scored when I went for a pie and now Wigan are in on it too. As much as I know it has it’s uses it would be nice to see the goals live, rather from a replay! I went again twice in the second half but no such luck. Quote off Gill was “I hate you Jon, 3 months ago I didn’t even know who Wigan were and now I’m crying at their results, AND I’ve had to learn the offside rule.”. Brilliant! By the end of the match we had the barmaid and 2 other regulars serioysly cheering for Wigan. Dispointing score obviously, and Jon was absolutely gutted. We agree that if we ever see each other out on King Street we will have a beer together. Both of us are still proud of what “Little Wigan” have achieved. Just gutted too.

Wobbled back to the hostel a little worse for wear. Stopped on the way to order food because I’d not eaten since the robbed lunch of breakfast cobs from Munster, and must have found the only place in such a big city that couldn’t speak any English. Everything was foreign, apart from the word pizza, and “kip” and “poulo” didn’t even get me anywhere so I had to draw pictures of what toppings I wanted. Only 5€ for a huge pizza though so not bad. Wobbled about 2 streets before I opened the box under a streetlamp to find….. a brocolli pizza. Yes. I know. Brocolli. on. a pizza. No idea how my drunken artistic scribbles of Chicken and peppers looked like brocolli. Difficult trying to pick toppings off a giant pizza with nothing to rest it on. I lost one slice into a hedge and another into some roadworks when I was trying to rest if a traffic cone. Made it back to the hostel fine (Jon had reassured me that Hamburg was a very safe city else It’s have probably got a taxi back) to find silence and all the rooms lights out. Though I would be decent to not wake them up so I had thoughtfully planned in advance and taken my jimjams out in my handbag with me and  left my bed ready with everything packed away neatly.  Got changed on the landing and sneaked back in silently so as not to wake them. Which worked great til I walked headfirst into a wardrobe door Wolfgang had left open, and then staggered and fell headfirst over a stool. My bunch of keys went flying and my torch smashed so all round the room little bedside wall lamps got quickly flicked on by a room full of bleery eyed roomies looking at me lying full stretch in my pyjamas clutching the remains of a brocolli pizza. Everyone groaned and buried their heads back into their pillows. Apart from the ever cheerful Dominic who with a big smile on his enthusiastic little face said “Hey did you win?”.    No we effing well didn’t.

*potje in foreign 😉