Wednesday, June 3, 2009

Yverdon and Montreux - with picture of Doug

A googled and older Doug. Fuck me, he's looking like an old pensioner! ha ha ha!

The ferry trip across the lake was fine. Nice sunny day, a few settlers to kill off the hangovers and a lot of speculation about the Crazy Belgian. We stopped off on the way to check out a couple of small villages and eventually made it to Yverdon. We already had food and beer so we sauntered along to the hostel and showed the jungendherbergoberfuhrer our Fruhstuck Express (YHA membership) cards and secured a cot for the night. We even took the precaution of memorising bed locations, which room we were in and how far from the front door it was. Doug parked his bicycle somewhere. He was after all, supposedly cycling around Europe.

After checking the place out and having a quick shower we grabbed a few beers and sat outside. A travelling couple from Tasmania came and joined us and were fascinated by the Crazy Belgian, Fruhstuck Express and Doug’s Gorilla Hangover Theory. We ran out of beer so instead of grabbing the emergency six-pack from my pack we headed off to the nearest bar. It was a small and pretty sad looking place with no juke box and nothing in the way of female attractions so we only hung in for a few beers before heading off to the hostel with a couple of “in-flights” (travelling beers) tucked under our arms.

Back at the hostel we cracked open the beers and a bottle of red wine which had been in Doug’s saddle bags and resumed our chat with the Taswegians. When we eventually stumbled into our dorm room the lights were out and we were doing the standard drunk “shhh…quiet” shuffle. That never works and it didn’t this time so I just resumed normal behaviour and proceeded to crash out to much “tsk tsk”- ing from various Teutons trying to get an early kip so they’d be ready for their pre-fruhstuck “Yodel and Hoard Nazi Gold” lessons. Fuck ‘em, they were a boring bunch of titches anyway.

The next morning we got a mess of dark looks and non-speakies from the rest of the dorm crowd which suited us fine. We simply went and demanded our Fruhstucks “mit bacon please” and once again received stale bread rolls and jam with milk coffee.
After we packed up we discussed the future of Doug’s bicycle tour. He was going riding somewhere to try and put a sprinkling of credibility to his Tour de Europe cover story and Dave was off seeing some relatives or something elsewhere in Europe. The three of us had a firm rendezvous in Geneva in a few week’s time. Before that however there was Montreux to be managed and I had a separate RV lined up under the Eiffel Tower with Deb (ex-flatmate), Brian (the bastard who’d nabbed Deb), Mick (he’s a good lad is Mick) and Mick’s cousin, Tim. So Doug and I parted company after arranging to meet in Montreux a few days later.

You’ve all heard of Montreux and the Jazz festival there. I can tell you this much that the main reason we wanted to go there was, well, I dunno really. It just sounded cool at the time.
I’d been flying solo for a couple of days during which I’d managed to recover from my ongoing hangover and find my way to Montreux. I lobbed at Montreux and looked for Doug but he hadn't arrived. I also found that I'd left my Fruhstuck Express Card at the previous night's stop off. Duck me fed if that wasn't one giant hassle with the local Youth Hostel Kommandant. I told the bugger that I'd retrieve it later, just sign me in 'cos I had to meet my Canadian cousin who was mentally feeble and required assistance.

I scoped out the joint, figured that there were enough bars to keep us amused for a couple of days and started checking out a really cute Canadian girl. I then noticed Doug's arrival, bicycle and all. He looked a bit smug and when he learnt of my missing "Fruhstuck Express" he erupted into one of his trademark howls. This brought the attention of the YH Fuhrer who informed me that I would need my card to stay there. He'd seen through my deception. So I sat down and caught up with Doug's doings, all the while ogling the cute Canadian. Bugger it, I went over and said "Hi, you from Montreal?" We chatted for a while and Doug joined in. Then the YH Nazi came over asking me if I was actually staying or did I want a refund. Doug howled again. Bastard. So I loped off to the station and spent the next few hours going back to last night's stop, retrieving my Fruhstuck Express card and returning to Montreux. By this time Doug was weaving all sorts of bullshit and had the lovely Cherrie hooked. Have I mentioned how much of a bastard Doug is? The three of us teamed up with a few Americans and hit the bars. A couple of the American lasses seemed to be intrigued by my accent. Hah! The silly bints were now gonna cop full on Therbs Bullshit with afterburners blazing and lashings of fanciful nonsense, ridiculous Aussie fiction and anything else I could dream up to get over the loss of the beautiful and bumpy Cherrie. Did I mention that Doug's a bastard? Colleen and Anne were the names of these lasses and they were intrigued by whatever it was I pitched at them. It was a combination of truth, exaggeration and utter bullshit but it seemed to amuse them so I just kept at it.

By this stage we'd moved away from the bars and into a park, sipping on various tinctures and enjoying ourselves. I noticed Doug and Cherrie slip away into the night. I did mention Doug was a bastard? He is.

In all of this I hadn't noticed Colleen and Anne saying they were due to catch a train. I then focused and saw that they did in fact have their packs with them and looked all train travelly. I told them they could stay another night, it would be fun. Me, them and the lake at Montreux, we could make our own smoke on the water. Nup, like all U.S. college chicks they were on a strict schedule and had to meet up with Cousin Funkiller somewhjere in Germany the next day. I offered to drive them there. They still wouldn't budge. How I was going to drive them there was another question. Maybe I could find the Crazy Belgian, slot him and take his car. Irrelevant now as we walked through the park to the station, stopping to snog and grope on the way. I got on the train with them and they begged me to go with them. That wasn't really practical so I told them to meet me in Landhsut later that month. Gave them the date, time and everything. Then I sloped off back to the bar and split a few beers with another of the Americans who reassured me I was better off without Colleen and Anne. Easy for him to say, he wasn't getting over the loss of Cherrie to Doug The Bastard.

Doug returned and gleefully told me of his sex-in-the-park-with-Cherrie escapade. When I told him about my new loves jumping on a train in a desparate move to get away from me he once again howled. I should have just hauled off and king hit him but there is the Law of the Brotherhood governing such matters and said Law wouldn't support me landing a right hook on the Canuck's cheekbone.

The next morning we avoided the fruhstucks and pigged out on these ham and egg toasted sandwich type things at a local cafe. Much better. Cherrie was looking particularly sparkly so we spent the rest of the morning hanging around the local pool. Cherrie chose not to wear the top bit of her bikini. After splashing about in the pool for a little while she came back and sat down, looked down at her breasts and muttered, "That always happens when the water's cold." She noticed our eyes tracking her gaze so she confirmed what we were seeing, "That's right boys, erect nipples!" or words to that effect. I couldn't take this, so I scowled and jumped into the pool accompanied by howls of Doug's laughter.

The rest of the day degenerated into bouts of playing park potato, bar hopping and working a group of American college kids into a frenzy of Fruhstuck Express partying. It was a blast. That night we worked on turning Mr Feldschlossen into the Richest Brewer In Europe. Doug and Cherrie spent some alone time again but Doug was a bit circumspect upon his return.
"She's fucking off to Spain tomorrow. We've got that rendezvous with Dave in Geneva which I can't back out of, but its a real zoo, having her go like this." It was my turn to howl with laughter and I slept very well that night, thanks very much.

The following morning we packed up after deciding that without Cherrie being around we may as well do our own things until meeting up in Geneva. We continued sorting out our things and Doug's voiced piped up,
"Oh no!" I turned around to Doug and he had a crestfallen look on his face.
"Some asshole has taken my passport!"
We commenced an immediate search of the dorm and started brow beating all and sundry, asking if anyone had seen anything, like filthy passport thieves for example, during the night. It was hopeless. No result. Fortunately he'd stashed his travellers cheques and rail ticket separately. Keep the valuables separate so you don't get completely cleaned out when the thieves hit. We all worked that theory.
We checked the YH office and the grounds, even went on around the bars we'd frequented and the park and the pool. No luck. Cherrie and I accompanied Doug to the Polizei office so he could get a formal report lodged. We were sympathetic but basically happy it hadn't to us. While we were waiting for the forms to come back, Cherrie asked me if I wanted to go with her to Spain.
"Bloody oath!"
"What about Dave's birthday and our promise to meet up in Geneva?" Doug asked
"Bugger him. I'll send him a card. Better still, I'll fill one out here and you can take it to him. Save on the postage. Thanks mate!"

I was loving this. I had him snookered and enjoyed every agonising moment of his torment. I'd sat by and applauded his loyalty to our plans yet at the first opportunity I cut his lunch, big time. So here he was, passportless, now Cherrie-less and soon to be Therbs-less. It was a delicious revenge for me and man, I worked it like one of those sweet songs you occasionally hear, those ones which grab you by the heart, give your soul a shake and leave you feeling spiritually renewed and blissfully happy. Like "Come on Aussie Come On", Slim Dusty's "Redback on the Toilet Seat" or any song from "Warney, The Musical".

To be continued.


  1. Everyone - I'm still blocked from lodging comments on a lot of blogs so you'll only see my crap at a few places.
    U - thanks, more to come yet
    Dr Y - Awww shucks (looks down, kicks imaginary pebble). Thanks for putting in my tips. Haven't yet arranged the Maclean courier. Must be for some crimbo type wanting to hide money somewhere.
    Loved the breaky description at MF.
    You're right. A lot of places don't do it right and often skimp on the bacon. It just ain't right.
    Naut - glad you're liking it.
    Lerm, if you're there. I found a new bourbon last night and fell in love. Elijah Craig (12 y.o.) It comes in a kick-arse bottle with a big old cork and looks and tastes fine. It has the Therbs Seal of Approval.

  2. Here's a review of Elijah Craig bourbon.
    "About as compete as bourbon aroma as you are likely to find…one of the most beautiful noses found anywhere in the world today. A bourbon to keep in the mouth forever… Toffee apples and malt rise above the gentle oaky notes and there is a very late arrival of burnt sugar and rye. The very final notes are extremely complex… near perfection. Perhaps one of my favourite five or six bourbons and certainly the superstar in the Heaven Hill portfolio. It is a bourbon of almost unfathomable depth and has something for everyone. Brilliant."

    Jim Murray
    Classic Bourbon, Tennessee, & Rye Whiskey"

    Sometimes you need pretentious tossers to describe something for you when you couldn't be arsed thinking it up yourself. This is such a time.

  3. Dude in a lot of states it's illegal to declare your love for 12 yr olds called Elijah. To be fair, probably not Alabama.

    Doug, quite appropriately I suspect, resembles a monumental penis.

  4. Dr Y - tell me about it. I'm gonna have to get the 18 y.o. version.
    Bangar - thanks!