We are now actually in Berlin - the rhymingness of which does not grow old, staying in a hostel with a very Australian name for no reason except that Australians stay there. As such, we are surrounded, like a person who's being ambushed. (Yes, this is the best analogy we could come up with.)
So far no Australians have spoken to us except for a few in the street; we like to think this is because our proper accents intimidate them, although this is currently unproved. Yet the holiday ("travelling") was kicked off with a bang of a quote overheard by Big Ears C that went along these lines: in reference to a heavily worn t-shirt with frayed edges, an Australian girl was moaning about how trampy she looked; to which her friend replied (insert Aussie accent here:) "shut up, what are you talking about? I mean, I live for that stuff." Yes, she lives for an old t-shirt.
However, Europeans are not faring much better style-wise. Although, upon arriving in Berlin, you may think that the vast majority of Berliners have no fashion sense, the travel guide (yes Lonely Planet, you) will inform you that this is intentional and they have spent hours preparing their chic looks. This is a falsehood and could be termed propaganda (yes, we did go on a Third Reich tour today so we know all about propaganda).
C's favourites include black leather silver diamonteed trainers, and a man in Hawaiian shirt tucked into above the knee shorts, with socks and sandals - clichéd, perhaps, but amazing. Also, he was fat.
We will leave you with this lovely mental picture and promise not to mention fashion or lack of for a while. Auf Weidersehen pet (given our surroundings, this phrase has never been more relevant).
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