Ten Years On: Bonjour, et bienvenue à l'Europe

IT WAS one of the greatest thrills of my life - well, one of the greatest you can have on a tour bus.

We'd boarded the bus at Busabout HQ on Vauxhall Bridge Road, London. I'd caused a bit of a drama for the guide by not having my e-ticket printed out, but nothing too major. We'd made it to Dover, saw the White Cliffs, passed through French immigration and chilled out on the ferry across to Calais.

We drove off the ferry and soon afterwards saw a sign - Paris 270. That's when it truly struck me - I was in Europe, was in France, was heading to Paris. It was the first time I'd been somewhere where English wasn't the local language, the first time I'd driven down the right-hand side of the road. We could barely contain our excitement as the kilometres to Paris ticked down, partially because we were getting closer but mostly because Jason and I had foolishly decided to have a beer on the ferry and now both of us were in rather urgent need of a pee. We began a card game to take our minds off increasingly full bladders, only for the guide to come up and tell Jason that she knew him from somewhere. The passages of time have meant I can't remember the exact nature of their previous relationship, other than she was the ex-girlfriend of a guy who's aunt had a worker that once drove through Cooma while blasting Eagle Rock through the windows of his hotted-up kombi-van.

We (and by we I mean me) didn't actually pay that much attention to the guide. She knew all her stuff and gave some good tips (watch out for the guys at the bottom of Montmartre as they'll try and rip you off), but had one of the most annoying voices going around. Imagine trying to listen closely to a drill bit going down a blackboard and you've pretty much got it.

At any rate we made it into the rest stop for blessed bladder relief and Paris itself with no problems, deciding to celebrate by going out for a drink. There was Jason, Cat and myself; we had a random Canadian that was dossing in our room as there were no spare beds in any of the Busabout hotels; and Cat Stas from Perth.

Cat, Jason, me, Cat, Random.

We went for a feed at the La Marmite restaurant at the back of this picture where we all tried snails (they tasted like mushrooms rather than chicken) before going for a drink. I can't remember much of the night other than Jason, Cat Stas and I were the last three standing and that we tried to get some Frenchmen to sing La Marseilles after we'd sung Advance Australia Fair.

Next day we were out and about exploring Paris before joining Cat Stas on the Fat Tire Bike Tour. We hadn't bought our tickets from the guide the day before but were told in no uncertain terms that this would be a highlight. They weren't wrong there - I don't know what else we could have done that compared to sipping red wine on a boat on the Seine while cruising past the Eiffel Tower as it lit up. We'd been up the tower earlier that day and had someone try to pick my pockets (a silly idea as my hands were in them at the time), but this was something else.

Also on the tour were a group of college students from North Carolina, USA. We joined them out for a quick pub crawl afterwards, where once again Jason, Cat Stas and I were the last ones standing. My main memories of the night are drinking Australian beer in a Canadian bar in Paris, producing a perfect French accent as we struggled to explain to the taxi driver where we were staying, as well as getting hosed by a barmaid for singing too loudly. Or off-key. Or just singing at all, it's hard to remember which.

One of these women didn't like my singing. Jason approved, but by this point he approved of most things.

THUS began a trip around Europe that still ranks as one of my favourites to this day. If the opening suggest we enjoyed a drink or thirty-six, then that's because that's exactly what happened. We went Paris-Brugge-Amsterdam-Berlin-Prague-Vienna-Budapest-Vienna-Munich-Venice-Rome-Florence-Cinque Terre-Nice-Barcelona-Madrid-Sevilla-Lagos-Lisbon-Madrid-San Sebastian-Bordeaux-Paris over two months, making friends wherever we went. Most of the guides and drivers were good fun to be around, often joining us for nights out when they didn't have to work the next day. We started to build up a crew in Amsterdam that stayed with us for quite a few stops; many are still friends to this day.

Top to bottom: Jason, Jacqui, Josh, Kylie, Bec, Tash, Bec, JP, Nat. Took this nine times on nine cameras!

Prague was a bit interesting. We stayed at the Busabout hotel which was miles out of town; so far out that they'd organised a short walking tour which in part explained just how to get into town. While out the guide warned us to watch out for old mate who liked to prey on tourists. No worries, eyes are open.

Second night in and we're at the five-storey nightclub in the middle of Prague with the crew from the hotel plus Susan and Yeliz, who were on Busabout but staying in town. Most people headed home relatively early but I kicked on with Susan, Yeliz and and English bloke called Gatley. We all walked out of the club and fell into a conversation with some Danes, only to realise that Gatley and Yeliz had vanished.

This was a drama. It wasn't that we didn't trust Gatley, but moreso that Susan was naturally quite concerned for her mate. Susan and I spent a good couple of hours searching Prague; at one point we went into a casino thinking they'd gone in for a flutter. It was a bit different to any casino either of us had been to though - you could either play the tables or watching naked girls dance around on stage. Or both.

Eventually we decided to call off the search and hope that Yeliz had gone back to their little apartment. Susan offered the spare bed so I could have a sleep and avoid the taxi fare back to the hotel. Yeliz eventually made it back to walk into a massive spray from Susan, who was still relieved to see her friend again. Turned out they'd gone to another bar and had a few more drinks before heading back to their respective hotels.

Back at the Busabout hotel though people were starting to get a bit concerned about me. When Jason woke up to find me not snoring away he began to think the worst, as did Tash, another Queenslander who ended up joining us for most of our trip. Tash went on the rampage, knocking on everyone's door trying to find out what had happened to me. They eventually found Gatley who told them I'd been with him when leaving the nightclub; eventually Cat texted me to see where I was. I've never seen anyone so relieved as Jason was when I finally rocked in mid-morning!


I FINALLY left Jason in San Sebastian. We'd somehow managed to fluke getting there for Running of the Bulls, although that's not what I remember most about our couple of nights there. Jason and Tash by this point were a well-established travel couple, but there'd been whispers of shenanigans in Lagos. Jason had decided that was it - break-up time. When we arrived into San Sebastian Tash was there to greet us, only for Jason to take her aside and explain it was over. Tash went off to Pamplona with Laura (another Busabouter), while Jason, Cat and I found some accommodation and chilled out on the beach.

Later that afternoon Jason began to regret his decision. He asked me for some info and whether I'd seen anything that night; I'd gone home early with sheer exhaustion though. He then thought about things a bit and wondered whether he'd made the wrong decision. We knew Tash and Laura had to come back to San Sebastian on the last bus from Pamplona - when they arrived the scene was pretty much out of a Hollywood movie. Except that I was carrying a formerly-kidnapped soccer ball with me. True story. Had ransom notes and everything.

Jason and Tash stayed in San Sebastian and eventually took the ferry to Portsmouth. Cat and I travelled together to Bordeaux before I left her there, heading back to Paris and London. And Cheltenham. And Scotland. And Ireland.

But that's another story.