Riga / Koln / Rome

Sunday, 9th February 2020 — Bangor to Manchester to Riga (via Storm Ciara)

What a windy night – they're naming wind and rainstorms now. This one was Storm Ciara, and she made her presence well known. I just hoped she wouldn't delay our flight. Maybe they should name the storms after carbon burning companies - This week's storm is sponsored by Esso.

Spent the night listening to three tracks off The International Split which got played on BBC Radio Wales last night — what a buzz! Storm Ciara was battering roads and paths, forcing bus services to close and even the swimming pool at Eirias Park shut to accommodate people flooded out of their homes. Serious stuff - storming actually! Armageddon.

Charlie and I headed to Bangor for a bit of a swim before I dropped him off as I had to leave for Latvia at 2PM, so I met up with Tim, Steve, Mic and Carlos, and we drove down to Manchester for our flight to Riga.

Airport security was horrendous. Packed, slow, stressful for some, although why get angry about it? The flight was only slightly delayed despite the weather chaos — small win. Landed and made our way to a swanky hostel at midnight. Tired but buzzing, hit the town briefly, and had one too many beers. The storms might rage, but so do we.

---

Monday, 10th February 2020 — Riga, Latvia

Woke up groggy, realised I’d belted out "God Save The Queen", "A Little Respect", and "Daydream Believer" at a karaoke gay bar last night (they all loved Carlos!). Too many beers, but a great time nonetheless. We stayed out way too late and only got to sleep around 5AM. Could’ve got up early, but decided against it. Slept until noon.

Enjoyed an excellent full egg, mushroom and tomato omelettey afternoon breakfast in a clay dish at Street Fries Kitchen (in the Old Town) – the perfect antidote. The bracing Latvian air sobered us up fast.

---

St. Peter's Church (Svētā Pētera baznīca), one of the most iconic landmarks in Riga’s Old Town

Tuesday, 11th February 2020 — Riga and Trouble

Wow. That was one hell of a 24 hours. We spent seventeen of them on the beer in Riga, it was one laugh after another that ended... poorly. It WAS big and it WAS grown up.... well, ok... it wasn't... Read on...

The night culminated in graffiti, running from the police, flashing blue lights, and eventually being interrogated at the hostel. Steve phoned me mid-Gestapo museum visit to say the police wanted to see me after they showed him crystal clear footage of the previous night’s antics and my distinctive luminous orange hat. What a disaster. I held my hands up, took the wrap, and got fined €143 by the Latvian police. "Ya fackin' idiot," I muttered to myself (for getting caught). Nice of all the lads to chip in and split the fine... oh...

Flew to Cologne in the evening and made it to the hostel around 10PM. Had a couple of beers out of habit, but my body and mind both realised — that enuff za enuff.

Wednesday 12th – Saturday 15th February 2020 — Cologne to Rome and Back Home

After the chaos in Riga and that much-needed reset in Cologne, things began to mellow… sort of.

Wednesday 12th Feb
A fairly chilled day – did some serious walking through Cologne. Saw a cool record store and bought a badge for no reason other than it looked interesting. Grabbed some food (our eating tendencies between us range from filthy kebabs to lettuce) and got to chatting with a lad from Hull – and shared some funny stories from the road. He told us about a guy called Thierry Jaspart, a Belgian artist best known for his work in street art, conceptual art, and provocative installations. He gained notoriety in the 2000s and 2010s for playful, absurd, and sometimes confrontational pieces—often blending irony, satire, and social commentary. Hence the “FUCK THIERRY JASPART!” posters in Koln that are actually part of his own art practice. It's not vandalism against him—it’s a self-referential stunt. Jaspart has, in the past, plastered cities with these kinds of posters as a tongue-in-cheek way to mock the idea of fame.
There once was a 'Neil Crud Must Die' Facebook page in the pre-PC days. Although, far being self-referential, it was eventually taken down.

Cologne – A Moment to Catch My Breath

Before flying to Rome, we did some serious walking around Cologne (something like 17000 steps) – the towering Kölner Dom casting its long shadow over the city and my own thoughts. It was freezing, but I felt oddly grounded. I stood in front of the cathedral — this dark, jagged monolith of human persistence — in other words; IT'S FUCKING HUGE!!!

Thursday 13th Feb

Took a flight to Rome – the moment we landed, it was clear that something's in the air with all this flu malarkey - we had our temperatures taken as we were leaving the airport. Flu virus or no flu virus, this city is alive. Much warmer, more noise, traffic, ancient chaos. Ate pizza (obviously), wandered the streets, soaked in the atmosphere. Visited the Vatican – utterly surreal, the Pope was out though, so I left him a Spam Javelin sticker on his favourite lantern. It’s hard to believe humans still worship made up shit. The Sistine Chapel, those endless corridors of art – by artists all dead, but still alive, in endless art. Did Tomb of the Unknown Soldier and listened out for echoes of Mussolini's speeches nearby - the gobshite fascist.

Also saw The Book of Mormon in Italian, of all things! Didn’t understand a fucking word but still laughed my tits off, although this was after Steve had taken us to an Irish bar.

Friday 14th Feb
Valentine’s Day in Rome – which somehow felt perfect, as the Famous Five of us love each very much. Spent most of the day in Trastevere, drinking espresso and writing postcards - Ha! If you believe that bollocks then you obviously don't know me!. Reflected on the madness of the last week – the running, the drinking, the fines, the highs, the beautiful chaos of it all. Found peace in a quiet restaurant and raised a glass to servitude. Then went on the piss.

Saturday 15th Feb
Caught an early flight out, and as you can see from the pic below, we were still firing on all 4 and raring to go. Said farewell to Italy. Landed in Manchester, then headed west, eventually rocking back in Colwyn Bay with Charlie. Even squeezed in a swim at Eirias Park. Always weird coming back home, back to mundanity of existence, the contrast to the whirlwind of travelling always makes me feel like I’ve returned from another dimension.

Day 77: Ancona - Innsbruck - Bad Kissengen

 

After crawling through customs at the port of Ancona, I found myself once again at a crossroads — quite literally. With no onward ticket, no plan other than to head to Paris, and no real idea which direction to walk, my first task was to find north. The hope, as always, was to hitch a lift. I gave it a long hour by the roadside, standing in the Italian dust watching indifferent Fiats and overloaded lorries fly past. Just as I was ready to admit defeat and trudge back to the station in search of a train, fate intervened.

A VW campervan pulled up beside me. Inside were Roland and his girlfriend, Jutla — total strangers — who saw me stranded and took pity. Not just a short ride up the road, but all the way to Bad Kissengen in North Bavaria.

I climbed in, grateful and slightly dazed, and off we went — up the spine of Italy, across the Alps, and into Germany.

---

☁️ The Road North: Ravioli, Radios and the Return of Cold Air

We lunched on ravioli, shared stories, and cruised to a soundtrack of decent music. As the day wore on, we approached the Italian–Austrian border, stopping briefly to change money — where, for the first time in nearly three months, I felt the cold.

After a Greek summer of sweat, sun, and dust, that crisp alpine air was almost a shock. We passed through Brenner Pass, the mountains folding up around us, and caught sight of the massive Europabrücke (Europe Bridge) just before Innsbruck — an epic, sky-slicing piece of engineering, stretched above valleys and treetops. Roland pointed out a castle nestled at the foot of the mountains: once the only access through the Alps during winter, before motorways and flyovers came along.

---

🍺 A Bavarian Detour and a Pub Full of Cowboys

By 9 pm we reached a junction, and Roland turned to me and asked, “Left or right?” I shrugged and said left, and off we went — a spontaneous detour to Nusdorf, deep in southern Bavaria.

We parked up and headed into a local pub. It was packed with loud, beer-throated Bavarians — and when we walked in, it was like a Western: everyone stopped talking and stared at us. Roland leaned over and muttered, "That’s just how Bavarians are..."

The place was brilliant. Proper food, deep wooden booths, and best of all — real beer. Not the bottled Amstel I’d been drinking in Kythera for the past three months, but deep, earthy Bavarian lager. The kind that tastes like someone actually cares about it.

“More beer?” Roland asked after our first pint, and it didn’t take much convincing. Four pints later, I fell asleep in the back of the van, full, warm, and happily worn out.

---

🌧️ Nuremberg, Rain & a Midnight Rescue

We made a brief stop in Nuremberg, then continued north as night fell and the rain came down. Sometime in the early hours, Roland and Jutla gently woke me. We’d reached Bad Kissingen, a spa town in northern Bavaria. They didn’t want to leave me on the side of a motorway in the cold and dark, so they put me up at their flat, insisting I sleep properly.

We arrived at 4:30 in the morning, the kind of hour where streets are empty and the world feels paused. I crawled onto their comfy couch, grateful beyond words.

---

🧭 From Coastline to Castles

In a single day and night, I’d gone from Mediterranean coastline to alpine valleys, from staring hopelessly at a road in Ancona to sipping Bavarian beer in a pub where the walls practically smelled of history.

It’s the kind of journey you can’t plan — the kind that only happens when you’re travelling light, saying yes, and following strangers into the next story.

---

📍 Route:

Italy: Ancona → Bologna → Brenner Pass

Austria: Innsbruck

Germany: Nusdorf → Nuremberg → Bad Kissingen