Warsaw
When you're travelling certain conversation topics always come up, no matter who you're talking to. There are the hum-drum topics like recommending good hostels or comparing worst-train stories (particularly popular in Eastern Europe, I think), but there are some more interesting topics as well. Example: Should one go to Warsaw? In this case, the answer is usually a resounding no. Two Poles told I didn't need to go there, in as many words. Daniel from Melbourne said the same thing, but somehow managed to be even more blunt. The nicest thing anyone was prepared to say about Warsaw was that maybe it was worth stopping in for a couple of hours between train journeys. Maybe. Actually, there was one girl who loved Warsaw, said it was better than Krakow, but when I mentioned her opinion to the next person I discussed this with, he gave me an expression partly like he was accusing me of being insane for making up such a ludicrous lie, and partly like I had just crapped in his passport. He was that disgusted by the idea.

So with these high hopes, I ended up staying in Warsaw for a night on my way from Krakow to Copenhagen. I don't see what the fuss was about really. I had quite an enjoyable stroll for a few hours along the nice street up to the old town (earlier in my travels I would've pulled out my guidebook to find their names, but not now), stopping in at the only WWII memorial I've seen in Eastern Europe that doesn't look like it was calling on WWIII. The whole walk was really pleasant, and so I'm prepared to go against the received backpacker's wisdom on Warsaw: your first couple of hours will be really nice. And after that, you could easily catch up on some sleep or read a good book or whatnot. Movies are in English, too, so there's another option.

Love Parade
My route to Copenhagen took me through Berlin for a couple of hours. The second the train pulled Ostbanhof, I knew something was up. There were crowds of young, dressed-up people milling about, purposelessly, everywhere. I stayed on the train until Zoo station, put my bags in left-luggage and walked outside to see what was up. The second the doors out of Zoo station opened, I could hear techno music, coming from everywhere. It was the first day of the Love Parade, Europe's biggest techno party.

People were all around the bombed-out remains of a gothic church just outside the station. Cool, funky, young people. Berlin's entire supply of hair gel had been used, just for today. Guys absently scratched their biceps at recently-applied henna tattoos, wearing sleeveless t-shirts that look so new I expected to see the price tag sticking out the back of the neck. And everywhere in the plazas around the church were make-shift dance venues with DJs blaring out sounds. Most were empty, maybe one or two really-stoned-looking people gyrating close to the professional podium dancers, but one DJ had a few hundred people going nuts in front of him.

Now, I hate techno music. But walking around the different DJs, free beer in my hand, I finally got it. You don't listen to techno music, you feel it. It pusled through me, the bass rattling my clothes when I got closer to speakers. It's not entertainment, it's like a soundtrack to your night. It's so loud you can't talk to anyone, so you just sit or dance or perve, feeling like you're the central character in a music video - you know, one of the new ones that don't make any sense.

After just an hour of hanging out here, I was back in the station, phoning hostels to get accommodation so I could stay in Berlin. Can you imagine? Finding a bed in Berlin on the day of the Love Parade? Of course everywhere was completely full, in fact one hostel receptionist actually laughed at me. I took the hint and booked my ticket to Copenhagen.