Day Seven: In Which We are Caught by the Long Arm of Murphey's Law

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Day Seven was not an easy day. One of the tents got broken into in the night and a handbag (containing, among other things, passports) was stolen and the finger of blame pointed at the squatters some of the group argued with last night (about not wiping the table of all things). Things got more dramatic when some people looked in their (now abandoned) caravan and found a suitcase full of cameras and a handgun. I swear I am not making this up.

We had a whip round for the couple in question to replace their stuff and somehow we ended up filling the envelope with receipts and ticket stubs, then condoms, a lighter, sweets, chewing gum, mini deoderant, a cheap ring to replace a stolen engagement one and tonnes of cheerful messages. I was a little worried at the receipts point that they wouldn't be in the mood after being robbed and having to go to the police and embassies but they were admirably calm when they got back. Thank god we didn't have to go to another city.

Since I've always identified with gypsies (which the squatters almost certainly were), that day was hard, because the group was united against them and I felt like in a way I was outside it, because some of the remarks where making me uncomfortable by blurring the line between that particular family and all gypsies. And, like most setbacks, this also made me very, very homesick.

And then came the traffic jam. We were hardly moving for several hours and when we did get moving it wasn't long before our driver needed his designated 45 minute break (apparently it's a legal requirement and could have landed us with a massive fine). So we ended up cooking dinner in the drizzle in a service station carpark with a playground so old a tree had actually grown in the middle of the path since it had been laid down. I knew that area quite well because I badly needed some alone-time by the time I got off the bus.

At dinner (which was great, because one of the passengers is a chef) I felt better, because being cold and hungry is never good for one's mood. And by the end of dinner I was learning some (presumably Spanish) folk dance off Clara, the Spaniard. (Clara is amazing; we were walkng through this park ion Vienna and she randomly got us all singing If You're Happy And You Know It as we walked. Which is a definite benifit of not being in the same city for more than a day or two.) And then I was failing very badly at the Macarena and teaching everyone the Time Warp. Probably should have chosen a spot out of view of the bus but Paul and Nichola (the couple who got robbed) spent the money on some alcohol for everyone, so they were all being just as bad themselves.

The bus ride after that was fun, despite the prospect of either pitching tents in the dark or sleeping on the bus. Paul and Wade (resident commedian) were using the whip round condoms as balloons, people were telling jokes I won't repeat for the sake of my parents with the microphone at the front and cans of beer were being passed around in the back. That was when I discovered I actually like beer, because I never have before; either my tastes are changing or Austrian beer is nicer than English stuff.

I shared a can with somebody because I had to pitch my tent in the dark and the toilets at the campsite were pretty basic. It was dry though, and for once I remembered to close the thing on my inflatable thermorest before lying on it, so I was nice and comfy. And so day seven ended, considerably better than it had begun.

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Comments

[Mum]

Mum is going to try type :D HAHHA! I KNOW!
Hi , Its good to know you have worked out how to use the thermorest after just a week. Dont forget you have to get inside your sleepingbag! good blog so far!

[Ariadne]

And I can't even tease you about your inability to use a computer. It's great to hear from you, can't wait to meet you all in NZ.