Four hours after I head to bed, I wake up. My throat burns. The thirst is outrageous. The drinking will likely kill me.
Feverish sleep reclaims me. I dream of punching. Punching 900.
Suddenly, Matt is awake. Chaos descends. Next thing I know, my blade is in hand and I am swinging it about my head. TO WAAAR!
After a terrible breakfast of breads and choco-cereals we take to the streets once more. Strong Beer and Maximus Vodka will give us victory this day.
We seek out the feats of strength and we punch. Time and time again we punch. Our hands throb, our wrists ache…and still we punch. We must break 900…
The machine devours our zlotis. We are happy to feed it. Take it! Take it all! 900! 900!!!
Summoning all his mass, Simon punches 907. Lacking mass, I focus my fury…and punch 897. I rage. Oh how I rage.
Eventually, we depart. I am fuming, but we must find our new hostel – the Goodbye Lenin.
The buses are in turmoil. Nobody knows anything! We vow to walk and soon become lost. Even stopping for ice cream doesn’t help us find out way. Ice cream is well known to be the source of wisdom.
Hours later, we are drinking our welcome shots at Goodbye Lenin Hostel. Of course, there is only one thing to do when you’ve spent all morning walking the streets…strap on a sword and climb a mountain.
We aim for the first big-looking thing…and climb it. Along the way, we perform feats of strength; Matt tosses a caber, I deadlift a tree and challenge Simon to a log-chin-up challenge.
A few hours later, we are lost again. Luckily, mountains tend to go upwards – so that’s what we do. When we reach what looks like the top, we stop. Here we bury wax Ed. He was the best of wax men. We mourn him.
For dinner, pizzas. The waitress doesn’t like us. Nobody likes us. Perhaps it is the smell. Or perhaps it is the drinking and bawdy conversation. We consider giving a shit…and decide against it.
On the way back, we buy vodka and beer. At the hostel, we borrow a guitar and sit out in the freezing mountain air, drinking and singing. Soon, the vodka and beer is gone. I panic and seek out the hostel staff.
Am I certain I want all the beer in the hostel? Yes. All of it. And yes, we do sing like sailors. Thank you!
As the night grows colder, the singing gets louder. And louder. Singing beasts.
Come the morning, we will be men again.