Having set out from Santiago in terrible pain (shoulders, feet, and knees) I was anxiously anticipating a bit of relaxation in Portugal. There was something about Portugal that really attracted me in that it almost seemed untouched by tourism. Of almost everyone I talked to about my trip as I seeked suggestions, I can't recall a single person who had been (or at least recommended) Portugal. I was excited to check it out.
PORTO
My first stop. Most famous for its production of Port wine, a sweeter wine (its red, but they make whites too) to be had after dinner. As I made my way to my hostel I was a bit tentative as downtown was not in sight. Sometimes you roll the dice with online hostel bookings. I pressed a doorbell on what appeared to be an apartment and was greeted by a friendly Portugese man who led me up to his hostel/home. Check in was in the kitchen, as was the common area. As I was checking in his wife was ooking dinner and his two children were doing there homework, all the while guests were enjoying themselves. I immediately liked this place for it's homey feel, not too mention it was extremely clean and affordable. The one drawback was the twenty minute walk to the city, but having knocked out five hours a day (on average) I figured I could handle it. I walked around that night to check out the sites but it proved rather tough as the sites were decentralized.
The next morning I awoke from an amazing nights sleep, which really wasn't hard to accomlish since I had a pillow AND a blanket and also only had 6 (instead of 32) people in my room. I headed back into town and crossed over the massive bridge that seperates the city to make my way to the wineries. After about an hour of searching for the right winery (it was saturday and many were closed) and stumbled upon Croft, which was both open and free. I was limited in time and had to take the Spanish tour (they offer them in german, french, english, and portugese too) and enjoyed one of their whites (an apertif) while I waited. The tour lasted about a half hour and I was actually able t understand a great deal of it, which gave me some confidence in my Spanish abilities. They took us al around the winery (not a vineyard) and explained the history, how it was made, and showed us all the barrels and even the reserves. The tour was capped off with a nice glass of their reserve port. Even though Im not a big fan of sweet wines, this was actually my first port/apertif experience and I must admit that I quite liked it. The tours themselves are great and a tremendous deal (I think the most expensive of the 17 is 3 euros) but just be careful not to drink too much in one sitting as I'd imagine you get quite sick.
I was a bit saddened to leave after only one day, but I had a flight in four days and two more cities to visit so I made my way down to Lisbon.
LISBON
I was also slightly nervous about my hostel in Lisbon because it had a 100% rating, which I figured was either a computer error or someone manipulating data. Although it wasn't 100%, it was damn close. Traveller's House was it's name and it was located in the center of the city and owned and operated by twenty-something travelers. I don't think there's any way they make a profit because for it's quality and location it's a steal. The ameneties were top notch and they provided food and drink for a low cost that was all on the honor system. That night they hosted a get together and provided traditional potugese fare: olives, ham, chorizo, bread, and of course, wine. I managed eat my fill and have three glasses of wine and it only cost me two euros. The atmosphere was very social and I ended up staying in the entire night chatting with other travellers. At first I felt like I should have gone out and seen the city to make the most of my time, but then I realized experiences like that are also part of the backpacking experience. A conglomeration of nationalities sharing stories and recommendations in good humor with people they've only met an hour ago is hard to come by and I cherished every second of it.
The next day, however, I decided to set out and see what needed to be seen. Lisbon is also decentralized, as well as massive so this proved rather tough. I made my way up the main pedestrain thoroughfare to the top of a hill. Here the view was absolutely spectacular but also defeating. It encaptured the entire city while proving to be a reminder that there was no way I was going to be able to see everythig that I wanted to see. I appreciated the city and would go back (if for no other reason than the hostel) but have to admit that I was a bit burnt out of big cities and was ready for something smaller. I caught a bus that afternoon to my next destination: Lagos.
Monday, November 5, 2007
Thursday, November 1, 2007
sorry
terribly sorry to anyone checking my blog, ive been terible as of recent. Though the internet has been a bit splotchy and my schedule has gotten a bit busier. I will have a new post up by monday and should be much more consistent as things are going to slow down a bit.
Sunday, October 21, 2007
Camino de Santiago
So apparently I´ve resurfaced from my blackout. I spent five days walking the Camino de Santiago, a pilgrimage to the Tomb of the Apostle St. James that lies in the Cathedral in Santiago de Compostela. The pilgrimage itself dates back to the 11th century and was immensly popular during the middle ages, so much so that later the Vatican decreed that those who walked the pigrimage would be absolved of their sins. I walked the last 116 km (about 70 miles) of the most known and popular route: the Camino Frances. The actual route starts in France and is 780 km and there are tons of people who do it, over 100,000 last year starting from France or anywhere in between. The suggested walking distance each day is anywhere from 20-25 km. My journey was much smaller and I´m sure much less painful than many of those I walked with, but I did a decent job of handicapping myself by overpacking (I had about 35 lbs of luggage on my back), walking far too long each day, and wearing a worn out pair of tennis shoes. Since this entry covers five days it may be a bit long but I will try to be concise, for those of you limited in time or interest skip to the bottom where I will have my highlights.
DAY 1
I took the overnight bus to Santiago from Madrid, which was a terrible mistake. The amount of sleep I got could be counted in minutes and not hours. Nonetheless, my eyes were jostled open as our bus navigated the windy streets of Santiago. At first I could see nothing, then I clear my eyes and still was lacking in vision. The city was covered in a blanket of fog thick enough to enduce legarthy on even the most energetic, it was really quite amazing. After arriving I made my way into the city trying to figure out how the hell I was going to complete this journey. This was, by far, my most unplanned and (and therefore liberating) experience yet. There is a breadth of information about the camino in books, but I could find none in English and had to rely on the little tidbits I could find online. Through the next 6 hours I attained my credential (like a passport, you get stamps along the way), packed my things, and took another bus out to my starting point. I started my journey at 3:30 pm in Sarria, although I´d say it really started at 4 since I spent a half hour wandering around trying to find the trail. My first leg took me up a great hill and into the countryside. I attained my first stamp at an old Romanesque church in Barbadelo and met Edmon, a Filipino I ended up walking with for the rest of the day. Exisitng along the trail are Alberques, many of which will house you for a donation (a euro or two) but the one we made it to was full that night so we either had to hike back 1.5 km or ahead 9. It was late, we hiked back and stayed at a private hostel. It was only 8 euros and probably one of the best nights sleep I´ve had while in Europe, though it spoiled me for the rest of the trip. Distance covered today: 14 km.
Day 2
I awoke around 8, packed my things, broke my fast and headed out. I enjoyed meeting Edmon and other travelers that evening and sharing stories but wanted a little time to myself. The sun doesn´t rise until around 8:30 or 9 so the morning is really peaceful and I had some time to reflect (on what, I don´t know). After about an hour and a half (7.5 km) I ended up meeting back up with Edmon and another couple we met the previous night, Pedro and Carolina. We spent the rest of the day navigating trails, tending to foot wounds, hydrating, eating, and conversing. At one point we ended up being slowed by a farmer and his cows and bulls. He was walking them to a field and they took up the entire road, I didn´t mind. The fun part was that a bus was actually trying to pass and the farmer made no effort to move his herd to the side of the road, but the bus driver didn´t seem to mind either. The trails took us through many small villages with friendly locals, everyone you see is greeted and if you see a fellow traveler (and you will usually see many) the common phrase is `buen camino,` or good walk, trip, etc. We made it to our stopping point in Palas de Rei around 4pm at a public hostel. My feet were absolutely killing me, but I had to keep walking around the city to keep my muscles from cramping. I prepared for the next day, got some food, read a little, then off to bed around 9:30 pm. Total Distance: 34 km.
DAY 3
The general schedule of a person on the camino is to wake early and start let´s say before 9AM, walk until 1 or 2, then take rest for the night. This is allow for time to wash clothes and still have sun to dry them and it also keeps one from walking in the mid-day heat (which there actually was in October). Today I decided to start my adventure solo again, figuring I´d meet up with Edmon along the way. I was a bit slower due to lactic acid and stiffness in my shoulders, knees, quads, and feet. Edmon, however, was in a similar situationa and I actually ended up walking the entire day by myself which turned out quite nice. I made it to Arzua a little before 3 pm and followed the nightly ritual mentioned above. Edmon actually ended up staying at the same hostel and we spent a good amount of time talking with some Spaniards and Portugese men. The Spaniards had been in our hostel the night before and they made great alarm clocks, once one of them was up, everyone was up. Since the Alberque I stayed in a public, most varied in size in quality. Last night I slept in a room with 10 people and the unisex showers had no doors. This one at least had mens and womens bathrooms but I was sleeping in a room of 32. I also had no sleeping bag and for the past two night was not provided a blanket, so I had to put all of my layers on and huddle in the fetal position for warmth as the nights got pretty cold and there was very little installation. Total Distance: 27 km.
DAY 4
After talking with the Spaniards Edmon and I had set our mind on a goal: Monte de Gozo. From Arzua we were a little more than 40 km from Santiago and are choice was either the aforementioned, which was 5km from Santiago or O Pino, 20km from the city. We wanted to be in the city by noon on Friday for the Pilgrams mass and decided a nice easy 5km stroll would be our best bet, problem being we had to walk 36 km that day to attain it. I taped up my feet, covered my blisters, put on a new pair of socks and hobbled out in hopes of making it there. The journey was brutal, not only on my feet and legs, but also my stomach. We were determined and rpessed on frequently but found ourselves hungry for lunch but without a restaurant, cafe or bar in sight (which are very common along the way). It took us 7km to find our welcome reprieve but boy did we enjoy it. Afterwards we only had 5km to our destination, which were damn tough as they were all uphill and I was pretty sure my feet were going to fall off. Monte de Gozo means ´hill of joy´because its the first place where you can see the Cathedral spires in the city. Although the cathedral is somewhat hard to see, it was certainly joyous for me since I had accomplished my goal. They developed a huge complex there to house thousands of pilgrams on their final night before their descent and it was actually quite nice. On my way up I was passed by a group of 13 yr olds on a field trip and thought how cool it would be to get to do this as part of your formal schooling, WRONG, NOT COOL! Those little shits spent the night running around yelling and screaming while pilgrims were trying to sleep. The security guard wanted nothing to do with them so Teacher Dan came out and started to regulate. At first I asked nicely in spanish, an hour later I asked sternly in spanish, then I started to angry in English and they got the point pretty quick. I´ll continue this aside below as there is more that I want to say but it doesn´t involve the camino. Once the kids were quiet our building could sleep and it was nice since i actually had a blanket this time. Total Distance: 35 km.
DAY 5
There was little that was going to stop me from reaching the city. 5 km downhil pailed in comparison to what I had done on previous days and even though I was stiff and soar, my excitement took over and carried me through. Edmon and I completed the journey down with relative ease and stopped in the Pelegrino (pilgrims) office to get our compostela. The compostela is the certificate saying you completed the walk, although you only have to do a minimum of 100 km, getting at least two stamps each day along the way. When getting your compostela you can either mark religious on non-religious reasons. I embarked on this journey in hopes of gaining a little solitude. Some time away from tv, internet, cell phones, iPods, etc. I would find it hard to believe that someone could complete the camino without feeling somewhat spiritual about it, even for those like me who embark without religious intent. Nonetheless, I couldn´t in good conscience mark religious and was somehwat surprised by their reaction (I think I was the first, and perhaps the only, of the day). I was given a different certificate, my name was written in English instead of Latin, and definitely felt that I was looked at a bit differently. Oh well. We made our way to the cathedral around 11:30 in preparation for the mass. The mass, in Spanish, started at 12 and they actually began by reading the starting points and countries of origin of pilgrims who had finished on that day, it was pretty cool. I was ún pelegrino de Estados Unidos desde Sarria.´ Since the mass was in Spanish most of it was lost on me and it wasn´t as solemn as I had hoped since it was overrun by tourists (those who didn´t do the camino). However, they ended the service by swinging this immense incense burner across the archway over the congregation. I´ve been told it started because the smell of the pilgrims used to be so bad they used incense, but who knows, it was cool either way. Total Distance: 5 km.
HIGHLIGHTS
The most memorable events in my excursion was all my interactions. The list of nationalities is too long to mention but I think my favorite people to talk to were the Brazlians. Most who speak Portugese speak Spanish and since the languages are so close the often take a little more time and speak a little slower, which is more to my spanish level. Edmon was my Filipino travel partner. He had been studying philosphy and religion in Belgium for three years and was on his way back to the Phillipenes, probably to become a priest. It was great hearing about his customs and traditions and it was fun to share cultural stories. Pedro and Caralina were from Toledo and Pedro was a bullfighter, they both only spoke Spanish. Pedro had a very humble perspective but I could tell that he was good at his profession from the fact that he had been in it for 15 years and he fights annually in Madrid, the mecca for bullfighters. I talked a bit with him about Hemingway and was surprised he hadn´t read The Sun Also Rises.
My favorite moment was a morning when I was walking alone. Watching the fog lift and the sun paint the hillside made it almost look as if the earth was waking up, it was a perfect moment frozen in time and I will never forget it.
It´s interesting to hear the reasons why people do the camino. Some have lost a loved one, others are trying to figure out their lives, some do it for religion, and others just because it´s there. I´d say I landed in the later portion but already talked about the spirituality. There is also a grand commroderie amongst walkers. Not only is everyone a visitor away from their home, everyone is also a pilgrim. Everyone is so nice and so friendly and conversations are had even when people don´t speak the same language.
I am definitely putting this on my list of things to do, except next time I want to do the whole thing. Special thanks to Tony Kupersmith who actually did the whole thing awhile back and was a great help in planning my journey.
SPANISH KIDS
At first I felt a little bad about yelling at those kids. I was a guest in their country after all. Then I started to realize that we were all guests and that guilt went away. The situation is also unique in that the kids were actually operating within the techinal rules of the hostel. Quiet time was at 11pm and the height of their noise was around 10pm when i first asked them nicely to quiet down. The thing is, I wasn´t the first to ask. For those of you who read my description of the typical day, you know pilgrims turn in around nine or ten. Some of these people had walked 780 km and were trying to get a final nights rest before the service the next day. These kids come in, having walked probably about 50km with no packs and they are going to keep everyone up? I don´t think so. I was astonished most at the fact that their teachers were nowhere in sight, it turns out they were at the cafe having a beer or coffee. At this point was completely embarrased for the Spanish education system. All of the cultural experience was lost on these students who spent their time running around with their cell phones screaming instead of talking to pilgrims. They obviously knew nothing of the journey that the Camino entails and decided to make it more of a summer camp, and then their teachers weren´t even there to supervise them? Had I been their princepal heads would have rolled.
DAY 1
I took the overnight bus to Santiago from Madrid, which was a terrible mistake. The amount of sleep I got could be counted in minutes and not hours. Nonetheless, my eyes were jostled open as our bus navigated the windy streets of Santiago. At first I could see nothing, then I clear my eyes and still was lacking in vision. The city was covered in a blanket of fog thick enough to enduce legarthy on even the most energetic, it was really quite amazing. After arriving I made my way into the city trying to figure out how the hell I was going to complete this journey. This was, by far, my most unplanned and (and therefore liberating) experience yet. There is a breadth of information about the camino in books, but I could find none in English and had to rely on the little tidbits I could find online. Through the next 6 hours I attained my credential (like a passport, you get stamps along the way), packed my things, and took another bus out to my starting point. I started my journey at 3:30 pm in Sarria, although I´d say it really started at 4 since I spent a half hour wandering around trying to find the trail. My first leg took me up a great hill and into the countryside. I attained my first stamp at an old Romanesque church in Barbadelo and met Edmon, a Filipino I ended up walking with for the rest of the day. Exisitng along the trail are Alberques, many of which will house you for a donation (a euro or two) but the one we made it to was full that night so we either had to hike back 1.5 km or ahead 9. It was late, we hiked back and stayed at a private hostel. It was only 8 euros and probably one of the best nights sleep I´ve had while in Europe, though it spoiled me for the rest of the trip. Distance covered today: 14 km.
Day 2
I awoke around 8, packed my things, broke my fast and headed out. I enjoyed meeting Edmon and other travelers that evening and sharing stories but wanted a little time to myself. The sun doesn´t rise until around 8:30 or 9 so the morning is really peaceful and I had some time to reflect (on what, I don´t know). After about an hour and a half (7.5 km) I ended up meeting back up with Edmon and another couple we met the previous night, Pedro and Carolina. We spent the rest of the day navigating trails, tending to foot wounds, hydrating, eating, and conversing. At one point we ended up being slowed by a farmer and his cows and bulls. He was walking them to a field and they took up the entire road, I didn´t mind. The fun part was that a bus was actually trying to pass and the farmer made no effort to move his herd to the side of the road, but the bus driver didn´t seem to mind either. The trails took us through many small villages with friendly locals, everyone you see is greeted and if you see a fellow traveler (and you will usually see many) the common phrase is `buen camino,` or good walk, trip, etc. We made it to our stopping point in Palas de Rei around 4pm at a public hostel. My feet were absolutely killing me, but I had to keep walking around the city to keep my muscles from cramping. I prepared for the next day, got some food, read a little, then off to bed around 9:30 pm. Total Distance: 34 km.
DAY 3
The general schedule of a person on the camino is to wake early and start let´s say before 9AM, walk until 1 or 2, then take rest for the night. This is allow for time to wash clothes and still have sun to dry them and it also keeps one from walking in the mid-day heat (which there actually was in October). Today I decided to start my adventure solo again, figuring I´d meet up with Edmon along the way. I was a bit slower due to lactic acid and stiffness in my shoulders, knees, quads, and feet. Edmon, however, was in a similar situationa and I actually ended up walking the entire day by myself which turned out quite nice. I made it to Arzua a little before 3 pm and followed the nightly ritual mentioned above. Edmon actually ended up staying at the same hostel and we spent a good amount of time talking with some Spaniards and Portugese men. The Spaniards had been in our hostel the night before and they made great alarm clocks, once one of them was up, everyone was up. Since the Alberque I stayed in a public, most varied in size in quality. Last night I slept in a room with 10 people and the unisex showers had no doors. This one at least had mens and womens bathrooms but I was sleeping in a room of 32. I also had no sleeping bag and for the past two night was not provided a blanket, so I had to put all of my layers on and huddle in the fetal position for warmth as the nights got pretty cold and there was very little installation. Total Distance: 27 km.
DAY 4
After talking with the Spaniards Edmon and I had set our mind on a goal: Monte de Gozo. From Arzua we were a little more than 40 km from Santiago and are choice was either the aforementioned, which was 5km from Santiago or O Pino, 20km from the city. We wanted to be in the city by noon on Friday for the Pilgrams mass and decided a nice easy 5km stroll would be our best bet, problem being we had to walk 36 km that day to attain it. I taped up my feet, covered my blisters, put on a new pair of socks and hobbled out in hopes of making it there. The journey was brutal, not only on my feet and legs, but also my stomach. We were determined and rpessed on frequently but found ourselves hungry for lunch but without a restaurant, cafe or bar in sight (which are very common along the way). It took us 7km to find our welcome reprieve but boy did we enjoy it. Afterwards we only had 5km to our destination, which were damn tough as they were all uphill and I was pretty sure my feet were going to fall off. Monte de Gozo means ´hill of joy´because its the first place where you can see the Cathedral spires in the city. Although the cathedral is somewhat hard to see, it was certainly joyous for me since I had accomplished my goal. They developed a huge complex there to house thousands of pilgrams on their final night before their descent and it was actually quite nice. On my way up I was passed by a group of 13 yr olds on a field trip and thought how cool it would be to get to do this as part of your formal schooling, WRONG, NOT COOL! Those little shits spent the night running around yelling and screaming while pilgrims were trying to sleep. The security guard wanted nothing to do with them so Teacher Dan came out and started to regulate. At first I asked nicely in spanish, an hour later I asked sternly in spanish, then I started to angry in English and they got the point pretty quick. I´ll continue this aside below as there is more that I want to say but it doesn´t involve the camino. Once the kids were quiet our building could sleep and it was nice since i actually had a blanket this time. Total Distance: 35 km.
DAY 5
There was little that was going to stop me from reaching the city. 5 km downhil pailed in comparison to what I had done on previous days and even though I was stiff and soar, my excitement took over and carried me through. Edmon and I completed the journey down with relative ease and stopped in the Pelegrino (pilgrims) office to get our compostela. The compostela is the certificate saying you completed the walk, although you only have to do a minimum of 100 km, getting at least two stamps each day along the way. When getting your compostela you can either mark religious on non-religious reasons. I embarked on this journey in hopes of gaining a little solitude. Some time away from tv, internet, cell phones, iPods, etc. I would find it hard to believe that someone could complete the camino without feeling somewhat spiritual about it, even for those like me who embark without religious intent. Nonetheless, I couldn´t in good conscience mark religious and was somehwat surprised by their reaction (I think I was the first, and perhaps the only, of the day). I was given a different certificate, my name was written in English instead of Latin, and definitely felt that I was looked at a bit differently. Oh well. We made our way to the cathedral around 11:30 in preparation for the mass. The mass, in Spanish, started at 12 and they actually began by reading the starting points and countries of origin of pilgrims who had finished on that day, it was pretty cool. I was ún pelegrino de Estados Unidos desde Sarria.´ Since the mass was in Spanish most of it was lost on me and it wasn´t as solemn as I had hoped since it was overrun by tourists (those who didn´t do the camino). However, they ended the service by swinging this immense incense burner across the archway over the congregation. I´ve been told it started because the smell of the pilgrims used to be so bad they used incense, but who knows, it was cool either way. Total Distance: 5 km.
HIGHLIGHTS
The most memorable events in my excursion was all my interactions. The list of nationalities is too long to mention but I think my favorite people to talk to were the Brazlians. Most who speak Portugese speak Spanish and since the languages are so close the often take a little more time and speak a little slower, which is more to my spanish level. Edmon was my Filipino travel partner. He had been studying philosphy and religion in Belgium for three years and was on his way back to the Phillipenes, probably to become a priest. It was great hearing about his customs and traditions and it was fun to share cultural stories. Pedro and Caralina were from Toledo and Pedro was a bullfighter, they both only spoke Spanish. Pedro had a very humble perspective but I could tell that he was good at his profession from the fact that he had been in it for 15 years and he fights annually in Madrid, the mecca for bullfighters. I talked a bit with him about Hemingway and was surprised he hadn´t read The Sun Also Rises.
My favorite moment was a morning when I was walking alone. Watching the fog lift and the sun paint the hillside made it almost look as if the earth was waking up, it was a perfect moment frozen in time and I will never forget it.
It´s interesting to hear the reasons why people do the camino. Some have lost a loved one, others are trying to figure out their lives, some do it for religion, and others just because it´s there. I´d say I landed in the later portion but already talked about the spirituality. There is also a grand commroderie amongst walkers. Not only is everyone a visitor away from their home, everyone is also a pilgrim. Everyone is so nice and so friendly and conversations are had even when people don´t speak the same language.
I am definitely putting this on my list of things to do, except next time I want to do the whole thing. Special thanks to Tony Kupersmith who actually did the whole thing awhile back and was a great help in planning my journey.
SPANISH KIDS
At first I felt a little bad about yelling at those kids. I was a guest in their country after all. Then I started to realize that we were all guests and that guilt went away. The situation is also unique in that the kids were actually operating within the techinal rules of the hostel. Quiet time was at 11pm and the height of their noise was around 10pm when i first asked them nicely to quiet down. The thing is, I wasn´t the first to ask. For those of you who read my description of the typical day, you know pilgrims turn in around nine or ten. Some of these people had walked 780 km and were trying to get a final nights rest before the service the next day. These kids come in, having walked probably about 50km with no packs and they are going to keep everyone up? I don´t think so. I was astonished most at the fact that their teachers were nowhere in sight, it turns out they were at the cafe having a beer or coffee. At this point was completely embarrased for the Spanish education system. All of the cultural experience was lost on these students who spent their time running around with their cell phones screaming instead of talking to pilgrims. They obviously knew nothing of the journey that the Camino entails and decided to make it more of a summer camp, and then their teachers weren´t even there to supervise them? Had I been their princepal heads would have rolled.
Saturday, October 20, 2007
Hairlip Dan
In an effort to make myself as unattractive as possible I´ve decided to grow out my facial hair. For those of you that know me and know I only have to shave about once a week, you know that this is truly a daring feat. For those of you that don´t know me, know this: I don´t really have facial hair, stubble doesn´t exist, and what does grow is sparse and only present in the moustache/goatee area of my face. Better but, in the words of Dennis Miller from Joe Dirt `you mean you are so inbred with White Trash DNA that your facial hair actually grows in all white trashy like that?` Not his most poetic work but it gets the point across nicely.
The reasons for my doing so are threefold:
1) I get really lazy when it comes to shaving
2) Frugality - Shaving cream is expensive here and `travel size` doesn´t exist
3) Practicality - Shaving cream is bulky, takes up luggage space, and can´t make it through on a carry on
My previous record for days without shaving was somewhere around 12, leaving me looking slightly more masculine than your local 15 year old backwoods boy who is trying to impress his girlfriend/cousin. Right now I´say I´m somewhere around day 20, and although my manstache has grown in darker and thicker than previous there is one slight problem: very little hair grows below the bridge of my nose. I´m not sure if this is common among men and I just don´t have the fullness or if I am some kind of hairless freak, but I am left with what looks like a cleft between the two sides of my mustache: essentially a hairlip. It´s subtle but beautiful in it´s own oddity and I´ve decided to keep it, so from hear on own just assume that every interaction I talk about people are having to deal with covering up any reaction to my temporary oddity.
The reasons for my doing so are threefold:
1) I get really lazy when it comes to shaving
2) Frugality - Shaving cream is expensive here and `travel size` doesn´t exist
3) Practicality - Shaving cream is bulky, takes up luggage space, and can´t make it through on a carry on
My previous record for days without shaving was somewhere around 12, leaving me looking slightly more masculine than your local 15 year old backwoods boy who is trying to impress his girlfriend/cousin. Right now I´say I´m somewhere around day 20, and although my manstache has grown in darker and thicker than previous there is one slight problem: very little hair grows below the bridge of my nose. I´m not sure if this is common among men and I just don´t have the fullness or if I am some kind of hairless freak, but I am left with what looks like a cleft between the two sides of my mustache: essentially a hairlip. It´s subtle but beautiful in it´s own oddity and I´ve decided to keep it, so from hear on own just assume that every interaction I talk about people are having to deal with covering up any reaction to my temporary oddity.
Madrid
I arrived in Madrid on a Friday ready for an exciting weekend. That Friday was EL DIA DE ESPANA, somewhat similar to our independence day though I´m told it´s in honor of the military. I was supposed to meet a friend of a friend for a drink but those plans fell through at the last minute...oh well. The aforementioned actually serves as a pretty good example of one of the reoccuring themes of this trip: make due. It has been very seldom where what I have actually planned has come to fruition, nonetheless I have adjusted and it has worked out better than fine, just as it did in this case.
I actually ended up meeting up with a couple of Aussies and an American that night and we drank and talked until the wee hours. Although I would have preferred some spanish, after several weeks of immersion I was ready for some reprieve. The Aussies were great, the American not so much. He wasn´t one of those obnoxious over the top americans who embarass our country, but I could point him out as a fraud. He failed what I like to call the Shitmus test (supposed to rhyme litmus test, clever huh?), as in he´s full of shit. The general trend among travelers is to share stories and experiences and, if at all possible, a few recommendations; however, he would always try to one up everyone with his stories so I put him to the test. We were talking about Octoberfest as he had been too and obviously had a much more amazing time than me, so I put it to him asking him what he thought of the german´s playing John Denver all the time. He got up to give me a high five saying `hell yeah, leaving on a jet plane right!?!` WRONG! Could you imagine Germans swilling lager, holding hands and singing leaving on a jet plane? Might as well grab a guitar and bust out a rendition of Kum-By-Yah (spelling anyone?) he song is THANK GOD IM A COUNTRY BOY and anyone who has set foot in a beer tent knows it because they cram it down your throat with all sorts of versions, including a techno remix. He had been beaten, and though I chose not to share with the rest of group, he knew. Sorry, I had to get that off my chest, I had falsity.
Madrid itself is kind of cool. I´d compare it to a Philly (sorry Matt) in that it´s historical and cultural but you don´t really ever need to visit it more than once. I checked out the museo de Prado , Spain´s most famous art museum with works from all the Spanish greats (de Gama, Velasquez, etc.), pretty nice though my eye for art is not what it should be. I also enjoyed the museo de jamon (literally the museum of ham) which is a local restaurant that serves up E 1.20 ham sandwhiches that I pretty much lived off of while I was there as it´s an expensive city. On Sunday I got to check out the ATP Masters event that came to Madrid. I was with my Aussie friend and we went early and got to see Federer playing a practice match with a popular spanish player whose name escapes me right now. That alone was worth the 6 euro, but we also got to see five more hours of competitive tennis with some mid-level names...not bad. That night I headed off to Santiago de Compostela.
TERRORISM
I doubt many of you heard about this as I had to check on BBC.com for the international scoop, but the previous Tuesday, el dia de Valencia, a car bomb went off in Bilbao. This was in response to the day even though it was nowhere near valencia, Basque seperatists were trying to assasinate a mayor but felled. Nonetheless Madrid was on high alert for Friday as it has been a common target. I didn´t mention this previous as the common targets are usually mass transport, though in all fairness Spain´s high alert really just means police gaurds at stations, it´s not quite like in America. Spain is one of the few unfortunate countries that continually suffers from international and national terrorism. As many of you rememeber a few years back Al Quieda hit madrid in a parking lot at the train station, and for several decades Basque seperatists (the northern region) have targeted Spanish authorities and public areas in hopes of gaining there independence. It´s quite sad really but it was unable to quell the spanish thirst for celebration and the weekend went off without a hitch.
I actually ended up meeting up with a couple of Aussies and an American that night and we drank and talked until the wee hours. Although I would have preferred some spanish, after several weeks of immersion I was ready for some reprieve. The Aussies were great, the American not so much. He wasn´t one of those obnoxious over the top americans who embarass our country, but I could point him out as a fraud. He failed what I like to call the Shitmus test (supposed to rhyme litmus test, clever huh?), as in he´s full of shit. The general trend among travelers is to share stories and experiences and, if at all possible, a few recommendations; however, he would always try to one up everyone with his stories so I put him to the test. We were talking about Octoberfest as he had been too and obviously had a much more amazing time than me, so I put it to him asking him what he thought of the german´s playing John Denver all the time. He got up to give me a high five saying `hell yeah, leaving on a jet plane right!?!` WRONG! Could you imagine Germans swilling lager, holding hands and singing leaving on a jet plane? Might as well grab a guitar and bust out a rendition of Kum-By-Yah (spelling anyone?) he song is THANK GOD IM A COUNTRY BOY and anyone who has set foot in a beer tent knows it because they cram it down your throat with all sorts of versions, including a techno remix. He had been beaten, and though I chose not to share with the rest of group, he knew. Sorry, I had to get that off my chest, I had falsity.
Madrid itself is kind of cool. I´d compare it to a Philly (sorry Matt) in that it´s historical and cultural but you don´t really ever need to visit it more than once. I checked out the museo de Prado , Spain´s most famous art museum with works from all the Spanish greats (de Gama, Velasquez, etc.), pretty nice though my eye for art is not what it should be. I also enjoyed the museo de jamon (literally the museum of ham) which is a local restaurant that serves up E 1.20 ham sandwhiches that I pretty much lived off of while I was there as it´s an expensive city. On Sunday I got to check out the ATP Masters event that came to Madrid. I was with my Aussie friend and we went early and got to see Federer playing a practice match with a popular spanish player whose name escapes me right now. That alone was worth the 6 euro, but we also got to see five more hours of competitive tennis with some mid-level names...not bad. That night I headed off to Santiago de Compostela.
TERRORISM
I doubt many of you heard about this as I had to check on BBC.com for the international scoop, but the previous Tuesday, el dia de Valencia, a car bomb went off in Bilbao. This was in response to the day even though it was nowhere near valencia, Basque seperatists were trying to assasinate a mayor but felled. Nonetheless Madrid was on high alert for Friday as it has been a common target. I didn´t mention this previous as the common targets are usually mass transport, though in all fairness Spain´s high alert really just means police gaurds at stations, it´s not quite like in America. Spain is one of the few unfortunate countries that continually suffers from international and national terrorism. As many of you rememeber a few years back Al Quieda hit madrid in a parking lot at the train station, and for several decades Basque seperatists (the northern region) have targeted Spanish authorities and public areas in hopes of gaining there independence. It´s quite sad really but it was unable to quell the spanish thirst for celebration and the weekend went off without a hitch.
Saturday, October 13, 2007
Alicante
My first thought when our bus pulled into the city was "I made a mistake, I should have lived here." My first sight was the beach, which spanned the city and was absolutely gorgeous. There was also a port with a multitude of sail boats and it helped that it was a maginificent day. This was my first trip without booking a hostel ahead of time so I was a bit tentative but also proud of my new nomadic tendency. Finding a hostel was no problem and after settling in I headed straight for the beach (a block away). I never would have thought I'd be spending time on the beach in mid-october so it was a welcome surprise. I decided to hold off on the picture taking until the next day as I was so exited to just ramble about the city.
That night I went out to two bars, el coscorron and coyote ugly. The first claims to be the oldest bar in the city. Dating back to 1936, it gets its name from the bump on your head you're likely to get from walkin in under the 4ft door. It's made even smaller by the fact that you have to step down immediately after, I swear it was meant for hobbits! Cool bar though. Although it sounds like a cop-out, my trip to Coyote Ugly afterwards actually was somewhat cultural. I'd never been to one before and although I'd imagine the ones in the states are a bit wilder, this still had value. The port in Alicante juts a few hundred meters out into the water and a string of restaurants and bars line it, Coyote Ugly is one of them. A midnight beer while gazing upon calm waters and beautiful boats isn't a bad way to spend a night.
I'd have to say the most memorable part of the evening happened during my trip to the port. There's only one way in and as I wandered along I was acosted by some very upfront prostitutes, shouting "you want sexy" and "sexy time." Fortunately I was able to contain my laughter until after I had passed them. On my way back I tried to be stealth and walk on the other side and literally had one of them chasing me down shouting various sexual propositions to me...no more port.
DAY 2
I awoke to the sound of rain...not good. After a quick breakfast and a walk through the rain I decided I was going to hike up to this castle that is situated 200 meters up on a hill along the water. It seems very out of place but is really quite a spectacle. I made it about a fourth of the way of when lightening split the sky, this was not the time to test fate. I headed back down, kicking myself for assuming the weather was going to be as good as the previous day. I filled sometime by planning future excursions, reading, and doing a bit of writing. In the afternoon the rain continued but the storm has subsided so I made my journey up to the castle. The scenes were spectacular (city, ocean, coast, etc.) but culturally, the castle wasn't much.
I started my evening with some more reading as the weather poured down. As I was heading back from the port to grab some dinner I noticed the rain had increased substantially (especially for someone who only had a poncho). The silver lining, however, is that I saw the most vivrent rainbow of my life stretching across the port. I snapped what was probably the most amazing picure I've ever taken and noticed an added bonus- the castle in the background actually had a second (though somewhat faded) rainbow coming out of the top.
That night I went out to a disco for "happy hour" which was from midnight until 2am, I felt embarrased leaving before it ended. In the end, I decided Alicante is nice for a weekend but I'm glad I didn't live there, it's a bit too small and the beach is too much of a distraction.
CAMINO
I'm starting my walk on the camino tomorrow so I'll be 'going dark'for about a week. Look for another update around next sunday.
That night I went out to two bars, el coscorron and coyote ugly. The first claims to be the oldest bar in the city. Dating back to 1936, it gets its name from the bump on your head you're likely to get from walkin in under the 4ft door. It's made even smaller by the fact that you have to step down immediately after, I swear it was meant for hobbits! Cool bar though. Although it sounds like a cop-out, my trip to Coyote Ugly afterwards actually was somewhat cultural. I'd never been to one before and although I'd imagine the ones in the states are a bit wilder, this still had value. The port in Alicante juts a few hundred meters out into the water and a string of restaurants and bars line it, Coyote Ugly is one of them. A midnight beer while gazing upon calm waters and beautiful boats isn't a bad way to spend a night.
I'd have to say the most memorable part of the evening happened during my trip to the port. There's only one way in and as I wandered along I was acosted by some very upfront prostitutes, shouting "you want sexy" and "sexy time." Fortunately I was able to contain my laughter until after I had passed them. On my way back I tried to be stealth and walk on the other side and literally had one of them chasing me down shouting various sexual propositions to me...no more port.
DAY 2
I awoke to the sound of rain...not good. After a quick breakfast and a walk through the rain I decided I was going to hike up to this castle that is situated 200 meters up on a hill along the water. It seems very out of place but is really quite a spectacle. I made it about a fourth of the way of when lightening split the sky, this was not the time to test fate. I headed back down, kicking myself for assuming the weather was going to be as good as the previous day. I filled sometime by planning future excursions, reading, and doing a bit of writing. In the afternoon the rain continued but the storm has subsided so I made my journey up to the castle. The scenes were spectacular (city, ocean, coast, etc.) but culturally, the castle wasn't much.
I started my evening with some more reading as the weather poured down. As I was heading back from the port to grab some dinner I noticed the rain had increased substantially (especially for someone who only had a poncho). The silver lining, however, is that I saw the most vivrent rainbow of my life stretching across the port. I snapped what was probably the most amazing picure I've ever taken and noticed an added bonus- the castle in the background actually had a second (though somewhat faded) rainbow coming out of the top.
That night I went out to a disco for "happy hour" which was from midnight until 2am, I felt embarrased leaving before it ended. In the end, I decided Alicante is nice for a weekend but I'm glad I didn't live there, it's a bit too small and the beach is too much of a distraction.
CAMINO
I'm starting my walk on the camino tomorrow so I'll be 'going dark'for about a week. Look for another update around next sunday.
Thursday, October 11, 2007
El Dia de Valenica
So I left Valencia on October 10th, but fortunately for me El Dia de Valencia was on October 9th. The day is a celebration that would equal a combination of our valentine´s day and 4th of july. It´s actually in honor of King Jaime´s expulsion of the Moors (or is it Moops?) from the city in the mid-thirteenth century. As the celebrations began hundreds of year ago, the use of fire was prohibited. In order to stick it to the man, bakers made pastries in the form of fireworks and those were based around. This eventually transformed into scarves that are wrapped in the form of rockets (think conical) and filled with sweets, the tradional gift on this day. I wish I could have partaken in this cultural treat, but as many of you know I gave up eating desserts for new years (and what many of you don´t know is that I also gave up eating scarves).
The night before ´the big day´ I was at my spanish-english conversations at a local bar and ended up meeting up with some locals and a few of their german friends. We made our way to the fireworks in the Rio (as desribed in an earlier entry) around 11:30 as they were to start around Midnight. I have to admit my bias that I had a feeling these were going to be the best fireworks I had ever seen...they didn´t disappoint. I was taken aback by a 45 minute show that literally made my teeth shake in my mouth. Adding to the effect was the booming echo that could be heard (and felt) reverberating through the city. I kid you not, someone who was both deaf and blind could have enjoyed this show. It took place in three acts, with the final act being the Grand Finale, which also had three parts. The first two were simulatenous burts of fire from both bottom and top, in white and orange colors that made it look as if it was raining fire on an erupting volcano. The last was a similar display in a variety of colors that almost induced an epileptic seizure. The show ended a little before one but my newly acquired mates and I were lacking in our search for the next thing to do. I had expected the Valencians to make this a raucous night but left around 2AM slightly disappointed.
I made my way downtown the next day for the parade and it was unlike´any I´d ever seen. The procession itself is not that long, but it stops frequently and acts are performed. Dances, fireworks (they love fire), and reinactments of Christians cahsing out the Moors all unfolded in front of my eyes. It was quite a site. That evening I made my way back to the Rio where I had seen them setting up a stage the day before. It was to the left side of one of the main fountains, placed in a pool that is equal to about the size of your standard swimming pool. All around the pool were tents setup for children to play, etc. Just before the event ended there was a procession. First came the nights, who looked very Christian and rode horses to the sound of trumpets. Next came a group a joksters that I would equate to Ken Kesey´s merry meddlers they held oversized plastic mallets and would prank people by tapping them on the head. I´m not sure of the significance of them, nor the following act, but it was incredible. Men wearing flame retardant suits started in one corner and were doing incredible things with fireworks. By incredible, I mean insanely stupid. All of them had lit fireworks in their hands and even though they had gloves and suits, no masks were worn. Some would push exploding carts and others would jump in and out of explosions. Then they proceded around the pool, fireworks in hand, and began to spray the crown with sparks. They had no boundaries or concern for safety as they would run directly at you, spraying the sparks on the ground. The crowd didn´t seem to mind and I didn´t either. I even noticed one guy who decided to use his firework as a fallacy. I´d chastise him, but there´s a distinct possibility that I would have done the same. What a way to leave Valencia huh?
The night before ´the big day´ I was at my spanish-english conversations at a local bar and ended up meeting up with some locals and a few of their german friends. We made our way to the fireworks in the Rio (as desribed in an earlier entry) around 11:30 as they were to start around Midnight. I have to admit my bias that I had a feeling these were going to be the best fireworks I had ever seen...they didn´t disappoint. I was taken aback by a 45 minute show that literally made my teeth shake in my mouth. Adding to the effect was the booming echo that could be heard (and felt) reverberating through the city. I kid you not, someone who was both deaf and blind could have enjoyed this show. It took place in three acts, with the final act being the Grand Finale, which also had three parts. The first two were simulatenous burts of fire from both bottom and top, in white and orange colors that made it look as if it was raining fire on an erupting volcano. The last was a similar display in a variety of colors that almost induced an epileptic seizure. The show ended a little before one but my newly acquired mates and I were lacking in our search for the next thing to do. I had expected the Valencians to make this a raucous night but left around 2AM slightly disappointed.
I made my way downtown the next day for the parade and it was unlike´any I´d ever seen. The procession itself is not that long, but it stops frequently and acts are performed. Dances, fireworks (they love fire), and reinactments of Christians cahsing out the Moors all unfolded in front of my eyes. It was quite a site. That evening I made my way back to the Rio where I had seen them setting up a stage the day before. It was to the left side of one of the main fountains, placed in a pool that is equal to about the size of your standard swimming pool. All around the pool were tents setup for children to play, etc. Just before the event ended there was a procession. First came the nights, who looked very Christian and rode horses to the sound of trumpets. Next came a group a joksters that I would equate to Ken Kesey´s merry meddlers they held oversized plastic mallets and would prank people by tapping them on the head. I´m not sure of the significance of them, nor the following act, but it was incredible. Men wearing flame retardant suits started in one corner and were doing incredible things with fireworks. By incredible, I mean insanely stupid. All of them had lit fireworks in their hands and even though they had gloves and suits, no masks were worn. Some would push exploding carts and others would jump in and out of explosions. Then they proceded around the pool, fireworks in hand, and began to spray the crown with sparks. They had no boundaries or concern for safety as they would run directly at you, spraying the sparks on the ground. The crowd didn´t seem to mind and I didn´t either. I even noticed one guy who decided to use his firework as a fallacy. I´d chastise him, but there´s a distinct possibility that I would have done the same. What a way to leave Valencia huh?
Monday, October 8, 2007
DAMN YOU STEVEN SEAGAL
For you´re smooth one-liners and sweet karate moves. One of the things I was most looking forward too during my time here in Valencia was trying my hand at touch rugby. I´ve never played before but like the concept (sacrificing your body then drinking the pain away). The ´team,´ and I use that word in the loosest or terms, meets every sunday at 10:30 AM. Saturday night wasn´t even a big night for me as I was getting over my ailment/still hurting from Octoberfest. I was home by midnight and turned on the tele to relax a bit and what comes on but ¨Under Seige.¨ It turns out that BADASS is an international language and I stayed up all night watching it, overslept, and missed my Rugby.
The Rugby is held in El Rio, which is spanish for The Rio. It´s a river that surrounds the city that the spanish drained. Although this sounds like a terrible idea, it actually worked out quite well form them. Now, in its place, is a stretch of about 8km of park/greenery that has football, baseball, and rugby field, in addition to fountains, playgrounds, bike trails etc. Quite magniicent really and I live about a block away from it.
I went to the Botanical gardens on Sunday to make up for feeling so lazy. Although they have over 80,000 different types of plants, they were all green and there was little color. Still pretty nice though. On my way back I got on a bus. As I sat down the bus driver got off, threw his beer away, lit up a cigarette and started talking to his girlfriend outside the bus. Everyone in the bus kinda questioned it...but not really. For 10 minutes I watched him smoke, flirt, and joke with his gf´s illegitimate child. At one point the kid ran on the bus, behind the drivers seat and hit a bunch of buttons. He activated the hydraulics (used to raise and lower for passengers) and the bus lifted up. Did he reprimand the kid? Nope, just rubbed his hair in a rapscallion manner. I probably could have walked by the time this all finished transpiring, but I stayed on the bus and made it home safe. Welcome to spain.
The Rugby is held in El Rio, which is spanish for The Rio. It´s a river that surrounds the city that the spanish drained. Although this sounds like a terrible idea, it actually worked out quite well form them. Now, in its place, is a stretch of about 8km of park/greenery that has football, baseball, and rugby field, in addition to fountains, playgrounds, bike trails etc. Quite magniicent really and I live about a block away from it.
I went to the Botanical gardens on Sunday to make up for feeling so lazy. Although they have over 80,000 different types of plants, they were all green and there was little color. Still pretty nice though. On my way back I got on a bus. As I sat down the bus driver got off, threw his beer away, lit up a cigarette and started talking to his girlfriend outside the bus. Everyone in the bus kinda questioned it...but not really. For 10 minutes I watched him smoke, flirt, and joke with his gf´s illegitimate child. At one point the kid ran on the bus, behind the drivers seat and hit a bunch of buttons. He activated the hydraulics (used to raise and lower for passengers) and the bus lifted up. Did he reprimand the kid? Nope, just rubbed his hair in a rapscallion manner. I probably could have walked by the time this all finished transpiring, but I stayed on the bus and made it home safe. Welcome to spain.
Friday, October 5, 2007
Florence/Valencia
GERMANY UPDATES
So apparently there were things I forgot to mention/tried to nlack out about Germany:
1) the PROST- it´s said if you don´t do this correctly then you are doomed to seven years bad sex. When I told our table this the common response was ¨bad sex is better than my no sex so who cares!¨ ...classy
2)Lederhosen is amazing. All the German dudes wear it and I want a pair, even if just to weat around the house. I don´t know what the women wear but its great also. Revealing...but not in a trashy way. I´m not a perv, it´s their heritage!
3) Ok, so maybe I am a perv
4) Earlier I called the white powdery substance snooze, that´s incorrect, it´s called snuff. Snooze is the Swedish equivalent to our dip and it comes in packets and you put it between your gums. Very socially exceptable there and also worth a try for those of you who can stomach it.
5) Overall I found the Germans very agreeable (surprisingly). Most loved america and I got yelled out very little (again, surprisingly). Though when they did yell, especially the women, it was scary as hell.
FLORENCE
I arrived in florence hungover as hell around nine am. I was probably working off of 1.5 hours of broken sleep and stunk to high hell as I hadn´t showered in a day )due to the night train) and alcohol was leaking out of my pores. In other words, I wasn´t worthy of such a beautiful city. Nonetheless, I had a little over a day to kill before my flight so I tried to make the best of it. I dropped my bags at the hostel and joined an english tour and probably made them all sick. I´ve already been to Florence and seen the galleries, the David, the tombs of all the great italian artists (Dante, et al) so I decided to take the day to appreciate the city as much as I could, considering my state. I walked up to the Plaza de Michaelangelo where you have an amazing view. The Plaza itself is about as touristy as it gets, but its worth the sacrfice to view the skyline (with the duomo), the river, and the tuscan hillside all in one. It´ll make your heart skip a beat. That night I decided I could stomach an italian meal and set down for a traditional one, it did not disappoint. Salad, pasta, meat, bread, all the best. The only thing missing was wine (for obvious reasons). I wandered around a bit and checked out the Ponte Vecchio, the only bridge the germans left standing. Back then bridges were built with houses jutting out on them, but now they are jewelry stores. It´s quite a sight.
When I returned to the hostel I decided to plan out some future travels in order to improve my mood and ended up meeting a fellow traveler from madrid. We spoke in Spanish for a little over an hour then I met another traveler from Argentina who I spoke to for about another hour. Although I struggled at some point they did make me feel a little bit better about my language abilities, as well as being a total waste of space.
VALENCIA
Since I´ve been sick/hungover for the past four days and spending most of my time in my spanish books, I´ll share some Valencian cultural things with you that I´ve noticed:
-they LOVE cigarettes: everyone, even mothers with babies. It´s so wrong yet they have the longest life expectancy in Europe and beat out americans, who knows!
-They also love the lotto! They don´t sell them in stores but there´s usually a little stand on just about every street corner.
-The spanish people are really friendly and Im starting to make passing jokes with some of my neighbors. I usually can´t understand what they say to me, but we have a laugh. I swear valencians speak faster than anyone else in spain.
-LOVE the mullet, then again, so does the rest of western europe
So apparently there were things I forgot to mention/tried to nlack out about Germany:
1) the PROST- it´s said if you don´t do this correctly then you are doomed to seven years bad sex. When I told our table this the common response was ¨bad sex is better than my no sex so who cares!¨ ...classy
2)Lederhosen is amazing. All the German dudes wear it and I want a pair, even if just to weat around the house. I don´t know what the women wear but its great also. Revealing...but not in a trashy way. I´m not a perv, it´s their heritage!
3) Ok, so maybe I am a perv
4) Earlier I called the white powdery substance snooze, that´s incorrect, it´s called snuff. Snooze is the Swedish equivalent to our dip and it comes in packets and you put it between your gums. Very socially exceptable there and also worth a try for those of you who can stomach it.
5) Overall I found the Germans very agreeable (surprisingly). Most loved america and I got yelled out very little (again, surprisingly). Though when they did yell, especially the women, it was scary as hell.
FLORENCE
I arrived in florence hungover as hell around nine am. I was probably working off of 1.5 hours of broken sleep and stunk to high hell as I hadn´t showered in a day )due to the night train) and alcohol was leaking out of my pores. In other words, I wasn´t worthy of such a beautiful city. Nonetheless, I had a little over a day to kill before my flight so I tried to make the best of it. I dropped my bags at the hostel and joined an english tour and probably made them all sick. I´ve already been to Florence and seen the galleries, the David, the tombs of all the great italian artists (Dante, et al) so I decided to take the day to appreciate the city as much as I could, considering my state. I walked up to the Plaza de Michaelangelo where you have an amazing view. The Plaza itself is about as touristy as it gets, but its worth the sacrfice to view the skyline (with the duomo), the river, and the tuscan hillside all in one. It´ll make your heart skip a beat. That night I decided I could stomach an italian meal and set down for a traditional one, it did not disappoint. Salad, pasta, meat, bread, all the best. The only thing missing was wine (for obvious reasons). I wandered around a bit and checked out the Ponte Vecchio, the only bridge the germans left standing. Back then bridges were built with houses jutting out on them, but now they are jewelry stores. It´s quite a sight.
When I returned to the hostel I decided to plan out some future travels in order to improve my mood and ended up meeting a fellow traveler from madrid. We spoke in Spanish for a little over an hour then I met another traveler from Argentina who I spoke to for about another hour. Although I struggled at some point they did make me feel a little bit better about my language abilities, as well as being a total waste of space.
VALENCIA
Since I´ve been sick/hungover for the past four days and spending most of my time in my spanish books, I´ll share some Valencian cultural things with you that I´ve noticed:
-they LOVE cigarettes: everyone, even mothers with babies. It´s so wrong yet they have the longest life expectancy in Europe and beat out americans, who knows!
-They also love the lotto! They don´t sell them in stores but there´s usually a little stand on just about every street corner.
-The spanish people are really friendly and Im starting to make passing jokes with some of my neighbors. I usually can´t understand what they say to me, but we have a laugh. I swear valencians speak faster than anyone else in spain.
-LOVE the mullet, then again, so does the rest of western europe
Tuesday, October 2, 2007
Octoberfest
For those of you who read my last entry you probably realized how bad a shape I was in. Today isn´t much better, but I´m going to get this over with in fear that I may actually never do it since I´m trying to block those memories out. I´ve created subtitles for each day and toned down the stories a bit since my parents are reading this. If you´ve met my parents that wouldn´t make sense, except for the fact that this past weekend was THAT outrageous.
DAY 1- HELL
Leading up to our adventure Mike and I had decided to meet in Munich, but that was about all we had planned. Frantically emailing him at the last minute I outlined the plan, along with two other backup plans in case the former fell through. This was a constant source of preoccupation during my entire train ride. It didn´t help that my train was late and therefore we were going to have to check to plan b (if he even got the email at all). However, as I walked up to the hotel I had a sudden sense of ease because I saw that they had a bar. I skipped over every plan and walked straight up to the bar to see one Michael John with a shit eating grin on his face and a beer in his hand. After meeting a few others of the motley crew and a quick shower, we decided to head to Octoberfest. It was a wednesday night at 8pm and raining so we thought ¨no problem.¨ Wrong, big problem. The rules of octoberfest are as follows:
1 If you want beer, you need to be seated at a table
2 If you are seated at a table, you must be drinking beer
Well, every table was full and absolutely no one wanted to help us. After running around from tent to tent trying to find seats and being surrounded by people who werent only drinking, but having the time of their lives, we decided to cut our losses. Since, after all, when all you want is a beer and you are surrounded by tons that you can´t have is my definition of hell. We hit the streets, but apparently all the beer drinking was going on in the tents cause a bar was hard to find. After an hour of wondering and being mislead, AJ yells at some german ´HEY! Do you speak english?!¨ Surprisingly he did, and even more surprisingly he didnt walk away. Peter was his name and he was not only kind enough to lead these four horses to our proverbial water, he actually joined us for a round or two.
DAY 2 NOSE CANDY
I decided to not put the end of the night in the previous chapter since it was getting too long. Oh yeah, and the four of us had a collective blackout. The problem with German beer is that its so smooth. Smoother than light beer, yet about twice as alcoholic. We also had trouble with the liter conversition, and by trouble I mean we each drank four of them. I awoke to a splitting headache to meet (or shall I say re-meet since I actually met them the night before) the other five joining us. We rallied and made it to the tents a little before noon to ensure a table. This is a thursday by the way. About two liters into the day I noticed a table next to us sharing in nose fulls of white powder. Let me preface this by saying that Ive NEVER done coke, and don´t even think Ive even seen the stuff. But we were at the biggest party in the world so who knows. It looked like they were being a little to liberal with it, so to settle our tables debate I went up and asked them. Instead of giving me an answer they requested I try it, to which I refused...twice. My manhood was questioned, but hell, thats happened before. An american told me its their equivalent to tobacco, but I decided to err on the side of caution until I saw it being sold by a tabacconist. I bought some, but this stuff was brown. Brought it back to the table and got some very questionable looks from our table. As the hours and days of drinking went on everybody eventually loosened up to it and we had a ton of fun with it on the last day. The truth about it is that its powdered mint, not even tabacco, it is literally nose candy. Im sure half of you reading this now think Im a coke addict, but just wait til you go, you´ll see. I digress. For some reason I decided to race everyone and drink my beers faster than them. After four I was apparently passing out at the table, so Mike, being the good friend that he is, took me out. Did he take me home? Nay I tell you, the ass took me on roller coaster rides. Surprisingly I held my lunch and it actually worked, but who thinks of that? I mean honestly.
DAY 3 PROST!
I would say with each day our cultural experiences grew and grew. This day we decided to go on a four hour bike tour around the city, with the only problem being that it was pouring down rain. In all our hungover misery we headed to the meeting point telling each other how dumb we were for doing this. It literally took the guide to tell us no before we got it through our think skulls that it wasn´t happening. Check to plan b: OCTOBERFEST! Since it was a friday and afternoon, we knew we wouldnt be able to sit all nine together so we divided and quasi-conquered. The four in my ´team´ almost started an international conflict. Our waited demanded we sit in these certains seats (the only ones for four) yet the other six HUGE germans demanded we didn´t. After much arguing between waiter and patrons, we sat with the utmost angst. Im afraid of very few people in my life, yet I was afraid of all of these guys. The one hitch was: they were all sucking on Chupa Chups (lollipops for those of you who never had a childhood) that made it ultra weird. After the most uncomfortable beer in my life Lindsey arranged a deal where we would swap with the four other people where TEAM B was seated. During the transition, however, four german old dudes sat in our place. Not willing to relinquish our seats that easy, we then crammed nine into a space where 5 should fit. Needless to say I wont be having children. The situation proved quite hilarious though as one old dude kept hitting on one of the girls, despite several refutes from her and all of the guys pretending to be her boyfriend. The older men ended up being quite nice however, even though they spoke very little english. Whenever there was a communication breakdown all we did was shout PROST! Which is essentially CHEERS. In germany though they are very particular about their PROST:
-You have to wait until every one has their glass
-You touch glasses with everyone AND look everyone in the eye (shoutout for Chew)
-You clink your glass down on the table and take a swig
Any deviation can reult in some angy germans. Also, about every 30 minutes the band would play a song that just went LA PROSTE, LA PROSTE over and over again and you had to stand and toast for that. I think it was after about 3 liters that I decided I was going to stand on the table (which is pretty common) and chug an entire liter (which I thought was common). The former ensued and I was applauded by many. I then had enough liquid courage to meet the germans next to us, a group of twenty year olds that spoke a bit better english and were quite nice. I think I had one more drink after that but perhaps it was two, I cant remember.
DAY 4 WHO THE HELL DID WE THINK WE WERE
We arrived at the tents around 830, an hour before they opened. I would say there was already a crowd of a thousand or so waiting, the problem being on the weekends (we finally made it to saturday) most of the table were reserved. We wedged our way into the crowd and by the time the doors opened we were so crammed in that people were literally lifted off their feet and moved by the pack. We decided to abandon hope of the inside tent and took a table outside. This is where the nose candy comes back in, and its called snoose by the way. We decided to got ahead and embrace it and at least take pictures like we were rockstars. We also made random people, including forty plus year old parents indulge. At high noon, after two liters, I decided it was time to chug again. It went down too easy. I then get the brilliant idea that this is how I should drink the rest of my beers. After the third chug I felt like Landfill from Beerfest and had random Germans come up to take pictures with me. They were astounded I was still standing. I actually put down a fourth, which was to stop a fight between more random germans I met and the next table. Im not sure how I thought chugging a beer would calm tempers, but it did. I think I had one more (nonchug) but it gets a little hazy. Im not sure how or why we split up to return to the hotel, but we did and I was in charge of a group of three. Right, me in charge! I led us straight for the biggest roller coaster, then took us home.
DAY 4 ROUND 2
We were all so happy we all made it home that we decided to have a drink to celebrate, good idea right? I want to say this was around 10 and I was alternating with water by then as I started feeling actually pretty good. As the minutes passed so did members of the group (we were up to thirteen by then). Once we were down to five or six I actually happened upon another group of americans (and one swed). We got to talking, hit it off, and decided to drink some more beers. We then met up with an irishman and decided to take shots, and drink some more beers. I want to say we stopped around 5am but that´s a rough estimate. That seriously was the craziest day of my life.
DAY 5 WHO THE HELL DID WE THINK WERE, PT 2
Never felt physically worse. Every ounce of my energy was being concentrated on not throwing up. Its been three days and Im still hungover, and its bad. That night I had to take a midnight train from Munich to Florence. Perfect thing for a hangover right? A nine hour train ride in an upright position? Im sure the people hated me to cause I probably smelled like booze as Im sure it was leaking through my pores.
AFTERTHOUGHTS
-Adam Pollock and Colin Young should never go to this event, you won´t make it out alive.
-There may actually be such a thing as too much fun and I think I had it
-If I didnt paint a good enough picture imagine this:
Take all the craziness that is Las Vegas, but instead of 52 weeks in the year, cram it all into 3 weeks.
fin
DAY 1- HELL
Leading up to our adventure Mike and I had decided to meet in Munich, but that was about all we had planned. Frantically emailing him at the last minute I outlined the plan, along with two other backup plans in case the former fell through. This was a constant source of preoccupation during my entire train ride. It didn´t help that my train was late and therefore we were going to have to check to plan b (if he even got the email at all). However, as I walked up to the hotel I had a sudden sense of ease because I saw that they had a bar. I skipped over every plan and walked straight up to the bar to see one Michael John with a shit eating grin on his face and a beer in his hand. After meeting a few others of the motley crew and a quick shower, we decided to head to Octoberfest. It was a wednesday night at 8pm and raining so we thought ¨no problem.¨ Wrong, big problem. The rules of octoberfest are as follows:
1 If you want beer, you need to be seated at a table
2 If you are seated at a table, you must be drinking beer
Well, every table was full and absolutely no one wanted to help us. After running around from tent to tent trying to find seats and being surrounded by people who werent only drinking, but having the time of their lives, we decided to cut our losses. Since, after all, when all you want is a beer and you are surrounded by tons that you can´t have is my definition of hell. We hit the streets, but apparently all the beer drinking was going on in the tents cause a bar was hard to find. After an hour of wondering and being mislead, AJ yells at some german ´HEY! Do you speak english?!¨ Surprisingly he did, and even more surprisingly he didnt walk away. Peter was his name and he was not only kind enough to lead these four horses to our proverbial water, he actually joined us for a round or two.
DAY 2 NOSE CANDY
I decided to not put the end of the night in the previous chapter since it was getting too long. Oh yeah, and the four of us had a collective blackout. The problem with German beer is that its so smooth. Smoother than light beer, yet about twice as alcoholic. We also had trouble with the liter conversition, and by trouble I mean we each drank four of them. I awoke to a splitting headache to meet (or shall I say re-meet since I actually met them the night before) the other five joining us. We rallied and made it to the tents a little before noon to ensure a table. This is a thursday by the way. About two liters into the day I noticed a table next to us sharing in nose fulls of white powder. Let me preface this by saying that Ive NEVER done coke, and don´t even think Ive even seen the stuff. But we were at the biggest party in the world so who knows. It looked like they were being a little to liberal with it, so to settle our tables debate I went up and asked them. Instead of giving me an answer they requested I try it, to which I refused...twice. My manhood was questioned, but hell, thats happened before. An american told me its their equivalent to tobacco, but I decided to err on the side of caution until I saw it being sold by a tabacconist. I bought some, but this stuff was brown. Brought it back to the table and got some very questionable looks from our table. As the hours and days of drinking went on everybody eventually loosened up to it and we had a ton of fun with it on the last day. The truth about it is that its powdered mint, not even tabacco, it is literally nose candy. Im sure half of you reading this now think Im a coke addict, but just wait til you go, you´ll see. I digress. For some reason I decided to race everyone and drink my beers faster than them. After four I was apparently passing out at the table, so Mike, being the good friend that he is, took me out. Did he take me home? Nay I tell you, the ass took me on roller coaster rides. Surprisingly I held my lunch and it actually worked, but who thinks of that? I mean honestly.
DAY 3 PROST!
I would say with each day our cultural experiences grew and grew. This day we decided to go on a four hour bike tour around the city, with the only problem being that it was pouring down rain. In all our hungover misery we headed to the meeting point telling each other how dumb we were for doing this. It literally took the guide to tell us no before we got it through our think skulls that it wasn´t happening. Check to plan b: OCTOBERFEST! Since it was a friday and afternoon, we knew we wouldnt be able to sit all nine together so we divided and quasi-conquered. The four in my ´team´ almost started an international conflict. Our waited demanded we sit in these certains seats (the only ones for four) yet the other six HUGE germans demanded we didn´t. After much arguing between waiter and patrons, we sat with the utmost angst. Im afraid of very few people in my life, yet I was afraid of all of these guys. The one hitch was: they were all sucking on Chupa Chups (lollipops for those of you who never had a childhood) that made it ultra weird. After the most uncomfortable beer in my life Lindsey arranged a deal where we would swap with the four other people where TEAM B was seated. During the transition, however, four german old dudes sat in our place. Not willing to relinquish our seats that easy, we then crammed nine into a space where 5 should fit. Needless to say I wont be having children. The situation proved quite hilarious though as one old dude kept hitting on one of the girls, despite several refutes from her and all of the guys pretending to be her boyfriend. The older men ended up being quite nice however, even though they spoke very little english. Whenever there was a communication breakdown all we did was shout PROST! Which is essentially CHEERS. In germany though they are very particular about their PROST:
-You have to wait until every one has their glass
-You touch glasses with everyone AND look everyone in the eye (shoutout for Chew)
-You clink your glass down on the table and take a swig
Any deviation can reult in some angy germans. Also, about every 30 minutes the band would play a song that just went LA PROSTE, LA PROSTE over and over again and you had to stand and toast for that. I think it was after about 3 liters that I decided I was going to stand on the table (which is pretty common) and chug an entire liter (which I thought was common). The former ensued and I was applauded by many. I then had enough liquid courage to meet the germans next to us, a group of twenty year olds that spoke a bit better english and were quite nice. I think I had one more drink after that but perhaps it was two, I cant remember.
DAY 4 WHO THE HELL DID WE THINK WE WERE
We arrived at the tents around 830, an hour before they opened. I would say there was already a crowd of a thousand or so waiting, the problem being on the weekends (we finally made it to saturday) most of the table were reserved. We wedged our way into the crowd and by the time the doors opened we were so crammed in that people were literally lifted off their feet and moved by the pack. We decided to abandon hope of the inside tent and took a table outside. This is where the nose candy comes back in, and its called snoose by the way. We decided to got ahead and embrace it and at least take pictures like we were rockstars. We also made random people, including forty plus year old parents indulge. At high noon, after two liters, I decided it was time to chug again. It went down too easy. I then get the brilliant idea that this is how I should drink the rest of my beers. After the third chug I felt like Landfill from Beerfest and had random Germans come up to take pictures with me. They were astounded I was still standing. I actually put down a fourth, which was to stop a fight between more random germans I met and the next table. Im not sure how I thought chugging a beer would calm tempers, but it did. I think I had one more (nonchug) but it gets a little hazy. Im not sure how or why we split up to return to the hotel, but we did and I was in charge of a group of three. Right, me in charge! I led us straight for the biggest roller coaster, then took us home.
DAY 4 ROUND 2
We were all so happy we all made it home that we decided to have a drink to celebrate, good idea right? I want to say this was around 10 and I was alternating with water by then as I started feeling actually pretty good. As the minutes passed so did members of the group (we were up to thirteen by then). Once we were down to five or six I actually happened upon another group of americans (and one swed). We got to talking, hit it off, and decided to drink some more beers. We then met up with an irishman and decided to take shots, and drink some more beers. I want to say we stopped around 5am but that´s a rough estimate. That seriously was the craziest day of my life.
DAY 5 WHO THE HELL DID WE THINK WERE, PT 2
Never felt physically worse. Every ounce of my energy was being concentrated on not throwing up. Its been three days and Im still hungover, and its bad. That night I had to take a midnight train from Munich to Florence. Perfect thing for a hangover right? A nine hour train ride in an upright position? Im sure the people hated me to cause I probably smelled like booze as Im sure it was leaking through my pores.
AFTERTHOUGHTS
-Adam Pollock and Colin Young should never go to this event, you won´t make it out alive.
-There may actually be such a thing as too much fun and I think I had it
-If I didnt paint a good enough picture imagine this:
Take all the craziness that is Las Vegas, but instead of 52 weeks in the year, cram it all into 3 weeks.
fin
Monday, October 1, 2007
Interlaken
I should be writing about both interlaken and octoberfest right now, but its been 48 hours after the big event and the mere mention of booze still brings tears to my eyes and a churn in my stomach. Thats going to have to wait until tomorrow.
As for Interlocken, Im pretty sure thats where they got the idea for Busch Gardens, except this is meant for adults. The city is probably the cleanest Ive traveled too, the scenery is poetic, and the town is very quaint. It also helps because the Swiss Franc looks like a huge game token, but the good kind, not the crappy kind like you'd get at an arcade. For those of you who read my last entry you know that I missed my first train into the city, which rendered me useless in terms of really exploring this outdoor paradise. People flock from all over the world to go canyoning, hang gliding, paragliding, sky diving, and many more extreme adventures that make the X Games look like knitting lessons.
What I really wanted to do was the canyoning, where you start off at the top of a canyoning and pretty much travel down it by repelling off rocks, free diving, etc. Ive been having a bit of knee trouble since my Tri though, so I thought better of it and was just going to rent a mountain bike for the day and hit the trails. Milan's transit, however, had different plans for me. Im trying to look at it on the positive side though, that being that now I have an excuse to come back and the scenery was well worth it. I seriously could have been on the train for a week just looking at the alps and the lakes and been as content as Ive ever been.
As you can probably tell by my rambling, misspellings, and various other errs, my mind isnt really at full capacity. I promise octoberfest entry will be better and Ill probably put that up tomorrow.
As for Interlocken, Im pretty sure thats where they got the idea for Busch Gardens, except this is meant for adults. The city is probably the cleanest Ive traveled too, the scenery is poetic, and the town is very quaint. It also helps because the Swiss Franc looks like a huge game token, but the good kind, not the crappy kind like you'd get at an arcade. For those of you who read my last entry you know that I missed my first train into the city, which rendered me useless in terms of really exploring this outdoor paradise. People flock from all over the world to go canyoning, hang gliding, paragliding, sky diving, and many more extreme adventures that make the X Games look like knitting lessons.
What I really wanted to do was the canyoning, where you start off at the top of a canyoning and pretty much travel down it by repelling off rocks, free diving, etc. Ive been having a bit of knee trouble since my Tri though, so I thought better of it and was just going to rent a mountain bike for the day and hit the trails. Milan's transit, however, had different plans for me. Im trying to look at it on the positive side though, that being that now I have an excuse to come back and the scenery was well worth it. I seriously could have been on the train for a week just looking at the alps and the lakes and been as content as Ive ever been.
As you can probably tell by my rambling, misspellings, and various other errs, my mind isnt really at full capacity. I promise octoberfest entry will be better and Ill probably put that up tomorrow.
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
Italia (Pisa, Cinque Terra, Milan)
PISA:
I arrived at night and realized right away that I wouldnt be spending much time in my room (it was nice, but very small). I was a bit peeved that the most expensive hostel was, by far, in Pisa where I didnt really even want to stay. Nonetheless, the energy from my travel excitement had me ready to go. I got in at night and went out in search of food (and beer). Having found some Pisa that can only compare in greasiness to Chanellos healthy bread I went ahead and wandered around the city a bit. I made my way to the tower and have to say, it was quite serene at night. I revisited it during the morning too as to snap a couple pictures and get a few postcards. Its actually hard to take a picture of because you want to hold your camera at an angle where it appears straight up. Other than the tower, Pisa doesnt really have much to offer, and why do we celebrate the tower anyways? True, its really old, but millions each year flock to see a poorly constructed creation. It left me wondering why my crumbled baking soda volcano from 4th grade isnt in a museum somewhere. Recommendation: stop in Pisa, see the tower, get the heck out.
CINQUE TERRE
The name itself is italian for thats a spicy a meatball or something like that. Kidding of course, scholars actually maintain the translation was lost years ago. For serious though, I would recommend these five town along the italian riviera to anyone who can walk six miles. They are connected along a coastal path with beaches, hiking, marinas, vineyards, and some of the most breathtaking views youve ever seen. This was also my first hostel dorm experience, where you share your room with other random people. It actually went quite well as there were nine of us in an apartment. Four rooms (three bedrooms and a kitchen) and everyone was quite friendly. We spent the evening sharing stories on our balcony in the southernmost town until a neighbor yelled -HEY BLONDIE, WE TRY TO SLEEP, YOU WANT TO SPEAK, YOU GO TO BEACH! Needless to say she wasnt happy. The funny part was: I was probably the only one of the nine not talking at the time, but since I was in the light she chose me. Didnt feel too bad though, it was only eleven, which is rather early in italy.
MILAN
Another city where you can spend about a half day. The Duomo is the third largest church in the world and an absolute feat, both inside an out. Its intricate detail is quite inspiring but you cant help but feel a bit of an eerie goth feeling at the same time. Da Vincis The Last Supper is indescribable, due in large part to the fact that I didnt see it. Turns out you have to make a reservation weeks ahead. Oh well, lesson learned.
I wandered around a bit and found my way into the Navigi (or something like that) district. Here they are known for their happy hours, which are done a bit differently than in the US. You pay anywhere from 5 to 7 euro for a drink and you get a hugh buffet for free. Dinner and a drink in Milan for 7 euro (the more the drink, the better the buffet)? not bat. Also, apparently its fashion week here so there are a bunch of models walking around. Now Im no fashionista but I was able to pick them out as they had five distinguishing characteristics: they were taller, thinner, more attarctive, blonder, and had smaller chests than me. That evening I wandered around the Galleria, an upscale shopping area next to the duomo and happened my way into a Piano Concert. The music was beautiful and in conjunction with the atmosphere it seemed almost Majestic.
Overall, however the experience was pretty negative. I ran into a few kind people, most of whom didnt speak english. Others, however, were quite nasty. My hostel had nine people crammed into a small room with no locked doors, no towels, etc. My train out left at 1025 so I caught a 9AM bus since it took me only about 20 minutes from the train station. Well this time it took me an hour and a half to gett there, just in time to see my train leave. Wouldnt you know the first italian train EVER to leave on time happened to be mine. The next train doesnt leave for another four hours, so Im here updating my blog. Im going to miss any possible outdoor activities n INterlocken, an outdoorsmans paradise, but I guess that means Ill just have to go back.
I arrived at night and realized right away that I wouldnt be spending much time in my room (it was nice, but very small). I was a bit peeved that the most expensive hostel was, by far, in Pisa where I didnt really even want to stay. Nonetheless, the energy from my travel excitement had me ready to go. I got in at night and went out in search of food (and beer). Having found some Pisa that can only compare in greasiness to Chanellos healthy bread I went ahead and wandered around the city a bit. I made my way to the tower and have to say, it was quite serene at night. I revisited it during the morning too as to snap a couple pictures and get a few postcards. Its actually hard to take a picture of because you want to hold your camera at an angle where it appears straight up. Other than the tower, Pisa doesnt really have much to offer, and why do we celebrate the tower anyways? True, its really old, but millions each year flock to see a poorly constructed creation. It left me wondering why my crumbled baking soda volcano from 4th grade isnt in a museum somewhere. Recommendation: stop in Pisa, see the tower, get the heck out.
CINQUE TERRE
The name itself is italian for thats a spicy a meatball or something like that. Kidding of course, scholars actually maintain the translation was lost years ago. For serious though, I would recommend these five town along the italian riviera to anyone who can walk six miles. They are connected along a coastal path with beaches, hiking, marinas, vineyards, and some of the most breathtaking views youve ever seen. This was also my first hostel dorm experience, where you share your room with other random people. It actually went quite well as there were nine of us in an apartment. Four rooms (three bedrooms and a kitchen) and everyone was quite friendly. We spent the evening sharing stories on our balcony in the southernmost town until a neighbor yelled -HEY BLONDIE, WE TRY TO SLEEP, YOU WANT TO SPEAK, YOU GO TO BEACH! Needless to say she wasnt happy. The funny part was: I was probably the only one of the nine not talking at the time, but since I was in the light she chose me. Didnt feel too bad though, it was only eleven, which is rather early in italy.
MILAN
Another city where you can spend about a half day. The Duomo is the third largest church in the world and an absolute feat, both inside an out. Its intricate detail is quite inspiring but you cant help but feel a bit of an eerie goth feeling at the same time. Da Vincis The Last Supper is indescribable, due in large part to the fact that I didnt see it. Turns out you have to make a reservation weeks ahead. Oh well, lesson learned.
I wandered around a bit and found my way into the Navigi (or something like that) district. Here they are known for their happy hours, which are done a bit differently than in the US. You pay anywhere from 5 to 7 euro for a drink and you get a hugh buffet for free. Dinner and a drink in Milan for 7 euro (the more the drink, the better the buffet)? not bat. Also, apparently its fashion week here so there are a bunch of models walking around. Now Im no fashionista but I was able to pick them out as they had five distinguishing characteristics: they were taller, thinner, more attarctive, blonder, and had smaller chests than me. That evening I wandered around the Galleria, an upscale shopping area next to the duomo and happened my way into a Piano Concert. The music was beautiful and in conjunction with the atmosphere it seemed almost Majestic.
Overall, however the experience was pretty negative. I ran into a few kind people, most of whom didnt speak english. Others, however, were quite nasty. My hostel had nine people crammed into a small room with no locked doors, no towels, etc. My train out left at 1025 so I caught a 9AM bus since it took me only about 20 minutes from the train station. Well this time it took me an hour and a half to gett there, just in time to see my train leave. Wouldnt you know the first italian train EVER to leave on time happened to be mine. The next train doesnt leave for another four hours, so Im here updating my blog. Im going to miss any possible outdoor activities n INterlocken, an outdoorsmans paradise, but I guess that means Ill just have to go back.
Saturday, September 22, 2007
Valenica (second go round)
Now that I´ve settled into Valencia and started to make my way things are starting to become a bit routine. Although a routine is nice in the fact that I don´t have to cart luggage around everywhere or worry about having to find transport out of a city, every now and again I have to mix it up a bit to make sure I don´t get bored. I figured I´d share with you the daily Spanish life, as well as my life, and let you compare and contrast on your own.
DAILY SPANISH LIFE
Usually starts around 9 AM, even though work doesn´t start until around 10. Between 9:30 and 10:30 you can find spaniard having almuerzo (which means lunch but is more of a brunch here) with coffee and a pastry. Things shut down EXACTLY at 2PM until EXACTLY 4PM for siesta and lunch. Offices are then open until around 7:30 or 8. Dinner starts around 9 and usually goes until around 11. Spaniards will stay up until around 2 (for the older ones) or even 5 (younger ones, even on weekdays) then start the process all over again.
MY DAILY LIFE
Usually begins in the 10 oclock hour. I awake and do a quick circuit workout just to try to keep in some shape. Shower, breakfast, and out the door around 11. Between 11 and 1:30 is my time, I listen to my music as I walk to my destination, which is usually something cultural (a museum, a plaza, etc.) and will spend some time reading my books. I head back around 1:30 to grab some food before everything closes. I have lunch at 2 and watch an hour of the Simpsons, in spanish, to work on my listening skills. The Simpsons by the way is a great show to watch since it uses so much everyday vocabulary. At 3 I´ll do some word puzzles and brain teasers just to keep my mind sharp, then leave around 3:45 for center city where I will study my spanish. On my walk there I listen to my mp3 spanish lessons and while Im there I spend time studying vocab, verb tenses, and translating a book. This usually takes me just past seven, when I walk back for dinner. I finish up dinner around 830 and usually spend about an hour on the internet planning new trips, updating my blog, and doing my best to keep in contact. After an hour in the locutorio (internet cafe) which is as hot as a sauna, I treat myself to a couple beers. Sometimes I head back into town to an international lounge to speak some english, and sometimes I stay local and talk in Spanish. I usually try to alternate between the two. This takes me up until around 11:30 or midnight when I head home, read for a bit then bed.
MY DILEMMA
My original intention was to settle here for a month ortwo and find a job or at least volunteer to really get involved with the culture. This no longer is a real possibility and I have no one to blame but myself. In London I booked my flat here for two months and decided since I had it for such a long time I could travel intermittently. Thus I booked a trip to the italian coast and munich (which I leave for today) which will last ten days. Well, upon my arrival my flatmate tells me he´s leaving on Oct 10, much earlier than our talked about date of Nov 15. This cuts my time in less than 1/2, making it almost impossible for me to find work or volunteer. I say it´s my fault because I trusted him, and as the saying foes ´possesion is 9/10s of the law.´ Instead I have decided to talk on the role of observer, even though I have conversations with locals I am putting more effort into noting and appreciating Spanish culture, which I will share with you soon. After Oct 10 I am still unsure but think I will stay in Spain through that month, though probably not Valencia.
PINK IS THE NEW DAN
I forgot to mention that in Paris I did my first load of laundry. I had packed a new shirt that my friend gave me from Morocco and didn´t remember to wash it before I left. By the way, it was red, thus now most of my whites and linens are now pink. This wouldn´t be too much of a problem in Paris, or even Italy, but I get the feeling Pink is to Spain as Purple is to Jerry Falwell (there´s an SAT analogy for you). I wore my pink polo the other day and caught some off-color comments and even what I believe was a possible solicitation, much like our recent senator (what happened with him by the way). Anyways, pink is staying in the closet in Spain, for lack of a better term.
KEEP YOUR EYES PEELED
Im doing the italian coast, milan, interlaken (Switz), then munich for Octfest so things could get pretty interesting in the next week and a half!
DAILY SPANISH LIFE
Usually starts around 9 AM, even though work doesn´t start until around 10. Between 9:30 and 10:30 you can find spaniard having almuerzo (which means lunch but is more of a brunch here) with coffee and a pastry. Things shut down EXACTLY at 2PM until EXACTLY 4PM for siesta and lunch. Offices are then open until around 7:30 or 8. Dinner starts around 9 and usually goes until around 11. Spaniards will stay up until around 2 (for the older ones) or even 5 (younger ones, even on weekdays) then start the process all over again.
MY DAILY LIFE
Usually begins in the 10 oclock hour. I awake and do a quick circuit workout just to try to keep in some shape. Shower, breakfast, and out the door around 11. Between 11 and 1:30 is my time, I listen to my music as I walk to my destination, which is usually something cultural (a museum, a plaza, etc.) and will spend some time reading my books. I head back around 1:30 to grab some food before everything closes. I have lunch at 2 and watch an hour of the Simpsons, in spanish, to work on my listening skills. The Simpsons by the way is a great show to watch since it uses so much everyday vocabulary. At 3 I´ll do some word puzzles and brain teasers just to keep my mind sharp, then leave around 3:45 for center city where I will study my spanish. On my walk there I listen to my mp3 spanish lessons and while Im there I spend time studying vocab, verb tenses, and translating a book. This usually takes me just past seven, when I walk back for dinner. I finish up dinner around 830 and usually spend about an hour on the internet planning new trips, updating my blog, and doing my best to keep in contact. After an hour in the locutorio (internet cafe) which is as hot as a sauna, I treat myself to a couple beers. Sometimes I head back into town to an international lounge to speak some english, and sometimes I stay local and talk in Spanish. I usually try to alternate between the two. This takes me up until around 11:30 or midnight when I head home, read for a bit then bed.
MY DILEMMA
My original intention was to settle here for a month ortwo and find a job or at least volunteer to really get involved with the culture. This no longer is a real possibility and I have no one to blame but myself. In London I booked my flat here for two months and decided since I had it for such a long time I could travel intermittently. Thus I booked a trip to the italian coast and munich (which I leave for today) which will last ten days. Well, upon my arrival my flatmate tells me he´s leaving on Oct 10, much earlier than our talked about date of Nov 15. This cuts my time in less than 1/2, making it almost impossible for me to find work or volunteer. I say it´s my fault because I trusted him, and as the saying foes ´possesion is 9/10s of the law.´ Instead I have decided to talk on the role of observer, even though I have conversations with locals I am putting more effort into noting and appreciating Spanish culture, which I will share with you soon. After Oct 10 I am still unsure but think I will stay in Spain through that month, though probably not Valencia.
PINK IS THE NEW DAN
I forgot to mention that in Paris I did my first load of laundry. I had packed a new shirt that my friend gave me from Morocco and didn´t remember to wash it before I left. By the way, it was red, thus now most of my whites and linens are now pink. This wouldn´t be too much of a problem in Paris, or even Italy, but I get the feeling Pink is to Spain as Purple is to Jerry Falwell (there´s an SAT analogy for you). I wore my pink polo the other day and caught some off-color comments and even what I believe was a possible solicitation, much like our recent senator (what happened with him by the way). Anyways, pink is staying in the closet in Spain, for lack of a better term.
KEEP YOUR EYES PEELED
Im doing the italian coast, milan, interlaken (Switz), then munich for Octfest so things could get pretty interesting in the next week and a half!
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Valencia at Last
OMISSIONS FROM FRANCE:
Fun Facts about Paris
1) The arc de Triumph (12 lanes of traffic in a roundabout) is the only pace where French car insurance isn´t valid, too high risk. Although I didn´t see it, and my reference is from London, I couldn´t help but think everytime I heard about it: look kids big ben, parlaiment.
2) If you spent one minute looking at each piece in the Louvre consecutive, it would take you 250 straight days, no sleep, no food, nada.
3) The grand hotel (i forget its name) houses the winner of the tour de france for the weekend in their suite (about 10,000 Euro a night). They also fly the winner´s home country´s flag for a week instead of the French flag. So that´s right, for seven consecutive years there was one week where the TEXAS flag flew instead of the french. Bit of a technicality actually since Texas was its own country for a brief period.
MY FIRST FEW DAYS IN ESPANA
Although I was quite relieved to not be living out of a suit case for the next month, I have to admit I was a bit let down upon my arrival in Valencia. It doesn´t help that I was coming from Paris, which could make city might look like a nursing home compared to a fraternity house, but I happened to arrive at the exact wrong time. 8pm on Saturday is a quite hour as things don´t start going until around 1130pm here. I was too tired to stay awake, but Sunday wasn´t much better since that´s truly their day of rest: everything is shut down.
When I picked Valencia was looking for something off the beaten bath: big but not touristy. You asked for it, you got it! There are really almost no americans here, but a few other types of Europeans that frequent here since the beaches are so nice.
I´ve been doing a lot of adventuring around the city and it seems pretty cool: very historic. I got a chance to see the port which was awesome since Valencia just got done hosting the Americas Cup. It´s the big yacht races and those ships are amazing. One other really cool cultural thing I just happened upon is something called CAPOEIRA. I heard this drum beat and saw these people congregated and decided to just sit down and watch. It´s kind of a combination of music, singing, dancing and martial arts. People form a circle and take turns ´fighting´and playing instruments while everyone sings. Although the fights aren´t too fast and there is little to no contact, the motion is very fluid and some of the moves are incredible. There´s no set chain of events, it seems one person áttacks while the other defends then counters. If the person opposite reads the attack from then there is contact or just awkwardness, but if they do it right it looks like a fight scene rehearsal for the movies...pretty neat.
Ive met a few local: a bar owner and his regular, Jose and Roberto respectively. They´re nice enough and I´ll usualy stop by for a beer. I also found a bar that does english and spanish conversations on monday nights so I met a few more people there. In the mean time I´m just trying to soak up as much cultural knowledge as possible, in addition to my spanish of course.
Fun Facts about Paris
1) The arc de Triumph (12 lanes of traffic in a roundabout) is the only pace where French car insurance isn´t valid, too high risk. Although I didn´t see it, and my reference is from London, I couldn´t help but think everytime I heard about it: look kids big ben, parlaiment.
2) If you spent one minute looking at each piece in the Louvre consecutive, it would take you 250 straight days, no sleep, no food, nada.
3) The grand hotel (i forget its name) houses the winner of the tour de france for the weekend in their suite (about 10,000 Euro a night). They also fly the winner´s home country´s flag for a week instead of the French flag. So that´s right, for seven consecutive years there was one week where the TEXAS flag flew instead of the french. Bit of a technicality actually since Texas was its own country for a brief period.
MY FIRST FEW DAYS IN ESPANA
Although I was quite relieved to not be living out of a suit case for the next month, I have to admit I was a bit let down upon my arrival in Valencia. It doesn´t help that I was coming from Paris, which could make city might look like a nursing home compared to a fraternity house, but I happened to arrive at the exact wrong time. 8pm on Saturday is a quite hour as things don´t start going until around 1130pm here. I was too tired to stay awake, but Sunday wasn´t much better since that´s truly their day of rest: everything is shut down.
When I picked Valencia was looking for something off the beaten bath: big but not touristy. You asked for it, you got it! There are really almost no americans here, but a few other types of Europeans that frequent here since the beaches are so nice.
I´ve been doing a lot of adventuring around the city and it seems pretty cool: very historic. I got a chance to see the port which was awesome since Valencia just got done hosting the Americas Cup. It´s the big yacht races and those ships are amazing. One other really cool cultural thing I just happened upon is something called CAPOEIRA. I heard this drum beat and saw these people congregated and decided to just sit down and watch. It´s kind of a combination of music, singing, dancing and martial arts. People form a circle and take turns ´fighting´and playing instruments while everyone sings. Although the fights aren´t too fast and there is little to no contact, the motion is very fluid and some of the moves are incredible. There´s no set chain of events, it seems one person áttacks while the other defends then counters. If the person opposite reads the attack from then there is contact or just awkwardness, but if they do it right it looks like a fight scene rehearsal for the movies...pretty neat.
Ive met a few local: a bar owner and his regular, Jose and Roberto respectively. They´re nice enough and I´ll usualy stop by for a beer. I also found a bar that does english and spanish conversations on monday nights so I met a few more people there. In the mean time I´m just trying to soak up as much cultural knowledge as possible, in addition to my spanish of course.
Monday, September 17, 2007
The Trip From Hell
PARIS TO VALENCIA
So apparently I booked my train ticket too late and couldn´t get a direct from Paris to Barcelona. I blame the website, which was malfunctioning, but the good news is I saved about 30 bucks. The bad news is I wouldn´t wish that trip on the worst of my enemies. I left Carolyn´s apt around 8:30 pm to metro to the train station. I caught the overnight from Paris to ´la tour de carol´ in the southwest most point of France. I then waited two and a half hours for the train to Barcelona. Little did I know that the train only took me to the border (which I probably could have walked in half the time) where I was then bused to a new train station. I get on the next train which is a commuter rail that turns into a metro. Some minor miracle occured where I happened to get off at the exact right spot as the barcelona train station. I´m so exhausted I book my ticket to Valencia but forget to ask for the youth discount (which is under 25). I arrive in Valencia around 7:30 pm, making it a 23 hour trek. Im ready for bed.
One side note, if you´ve never riden an overnight train its something you should do once in your life, and NEVER DO AGAIN. There were six of us: a couple, two single males,a dog, myself, and an empty bed in a box about half the size of a dorm room. Between the beds being too small, the lights being left on, and the woman coughing, there was little room for sleep. It builds character I guess.
So apparently I booked my train ticket too late and couldn´t get a direct from Paris to Barcelona. I blame the website, which was malfunctioning, but the good news is I saved about 30 bucks. The bad news is I wouldn´t wish that trip on the worst of my enemies. I left Carolyn´s apt around 8:30 pm to metro to the train station. I caught the overnight from Paris to ´la tour de carol´ in the southwest most point of France. I then waited two and a half hours for the train to Barcelona. Little did I know that the train only took me to the border (which I probably could have walked in half the time) where I was then bused to a new train station. I get on the next train which is a commuter rail that turns into a metro. Some minor miracle occured where I happened to get off at the exact right spot as the barcelona train station. I´m so exhausted I book my ticket to Valencia but forget to ask for the youth discount (which is under 25). I arrive in Valencia around 7:30 pm, making it a 23 hour trek. Im ready for bed.
One side note, if you´ve never riden an overnight train its something you should do once in your life, and NEVER DO AGAIN. There were six of us: a couple, two single males,a dog, myself, and an empty bed in a box about half the size of a dorm room. Between the beds being too small, the lights being left on, and the woman coughing, there was little room for sleep. It builds character I guess.
Saturday, September 15, 2007
Paris
Information: I felt it necessary to give an update on how Im treating my blog as this is my first one. I´m still working out how I want to format it and will be experimenting here and there, so feel free to leave comments. Also, I´m hoping to update it around twice a week but that may not be feasible at times.
PARIS
THE FOOD: Is, of course, magnificent. Some of the freshest food I´ve ever eaten. I get the impression that most Parisions (Sp?) shop every day, or at most, once every two days. I really got into it too, by the end of the five days it was simple for me to tell the difference between a fresh baguette and one cooked that morning, let´s not even mention day old baguettes. Most of the dinners are served in a Price fix menu, meaning you pay a lump sum and get to choose an appetizer, entree, and dessert. In my first French meal I had a shark steak, which was great. All of the portions are smaller too, surprise surprise huh? My favorite meal, however, was grabbing some fresh everything (produce, bread, meat) from a local market and eating in the champ (essentially a field) in front of the golden dome that houses Napoleans body.
THE CITY: Is divided into twenty districts almost in the form of a spiral (think the inside of a ho ho). This makes finding your way rather difficult sinces roads aren´t straight and changes names, etc. Fortunately I had an excellent tour guide in the most literal sense. All twenty districts are mandated to have two markets a week, which is amazing. As for the people, I actually found them rather pleasant. Although I didn´t interact with too many locals, as I watched them interact among themselves or with other foreigners, I saw a general level of friendliness I hadn´t expected.
THE SITES: Notre Dame- Saw but didn´t go in
Saint Chapel- Used to house the supposed cross of thorns of christ, now it has one of the most beautiful stained glass murals I´ve ever seen
Louvre- HUGE! People talk about how massive it is and it doesn´t do it justice, we´re talking multiple (more than five) football field of museum, a William and Mary kids dream!
Musee Dórsey: Really cool, a converted train station. I only had time for the impressionist wing, but it was very impressive.
Eiffel Tower: Oddly enough, didn´t go up. Rugby world cup was in town, along with a massive football (soccer) match between Scotland and France so the lines were unreal. The bottom half of it was green in honor of the Cup though, so that was kind of cool
FAT TIRE BIKE TOURS: As I eluded to before, my hostess actually works for a bike tour company. The first full day I was in town we took the afternoon tour...what a great way to see the city. You ride through most of the city and the guide stops at major points and explains history and interesting stories. We liked it so much we went back for the night tour, which was more riding than stories, but we also made our way onto a boat that cruises up and down the Seine (pronounced Sin) that splits the city. Almost surreal.
THE SCOTS: Like I said before, the Scots were in town for the football match. Although there were only about 25,000 of them (only?) they made their presense known. In the Champ du Mars (field in front of the eiffele tower) they congregated and sang, drank, and played football. Im sure they made france re-think their open container laws as they left a huge mess. Nonetheless, on our way into the Rugby World Cup HQ Carolyn and I just stopped to observe this raucous mess and ended up talking with a Scotsman for over an hour. Such a jovial people: bag pipes were played, jokes were non-stop, everyone was friendly, and about every twenty minutes they´d erupt in song about how great Scotland and the Scots are. I really wish we had something like that.
THIRSTY THURSDAYS: Carolyn, who is good friends with my old roommate Chris Grammar, was kind enough to host me. She lives with five others who work for the same company and are all a hoot. Imagine the type of person who is willing to put their career or education on pause to move to europe and work as a tour guide, then put six of them together and something interesting is always happening. Thursday nights are apparently the ´big night´which has become somewhat of a tradition. This thursday, as hyped as it was, did not disappoint. Carolyn, Eliza (another roommate) and I went out to the Refuge, an all you can eat and drink fondue restaurant. Eliza had met a couple Aussies on her tour and they joined us. When we walked in you had to literally setp over the table to sit on the other side. Oh yeah, and the wine was served out of baby bottles. It´s takes about one bottle to get through the awkwardness then hilarity ensues. We then made our way to a Karoake Bar where the girls and the Aussies sang up a storm and I settled in with some Englishmen to share a pint. I woke up the next morning missing my camera and passport. After far too long of a time searching (and by seraching I mean Carolyn since I was worthless) I actually found the two nestled at the foot of one of the roommates bed. Had no idea how or why I put them there, but lesson learned: if you´re going to go big, don´t bring out valuables.
HOBO VS GYPSIES: So Paris is famous for the gypsies around the Eiffel Tower, they ask you if you speak English and if you say yes they try to swindel you for money with some sob story. It´s sort of funny to see experienced people deal with them and respond with things like ´no I dont speak any english at all.´ It´s also kind of sad because who knows what kind of crap they were promised upon coming here and who knows what theyre dealing with. All that aside, the day after the Scots stormed the Champ, a war zone of cans and bottles was left for all to wallow in. Gypsies made the best of the situation by trying to collect cans and bottles for recycling but may have tried to hard when they wandered into the area of a very territorial (and very drunk) hobo. He had built a tower paying homage to his life-giving booze that stood about five stories of beer bottles tall, resting on the top was his wine (still full). He chased the herd of gypsies off with a rock, and if you´ve never seen a flock of gypsies fleeing a rock-wielding hobo, all pity aside it´s one of the funniest things you´ve ever seen. Point one for the hobo. However, as I made my way to the bike tour I noticed the tower had been destroyed and the wine spilt, the gypsies got their furtive revenge. I´ll call it a draw.
QUESTION: I ended up in a discussion with a Englishman one night about the US vs. the EU. He had traveled the states frequently and pointed out how different cultures and mindsets were state to state, region to region. He then asked an interesting question: if the people are so different, east to west, what makes the states united? I´d love to hear people´s personal opinions on what makes our great country united states (other than the obvious historical context). Feel free to post.
PARIS
THE FOOD: Is, of course, magnificent. Some of the freshest food I´ve ever eaten. I get the impression that most Parisions (Sp?) shop every day, or at most, once every two days. I really got into it too, by the end of the five days it was simple for me to tell the difference between a fresh baguette and one cooked that morning, let´s not even mention day old baguettes. Most of the dinners are served in a Price fix menu, meaning you pay a lump sum and get to choose an appetizer, entree, and dessert. In my first French meal I had a shark steak, which was great. All of the portions are smaller too, surprise surprise huh? My favorite meal, however, was grabbing some fresh everything (produce, bread, meat) from a local market and eating in the champ (essentially a field) in front of the golden dome that houses Napoleans body.
THE CITY: Is divided into twenty districts almost in the form of a spiral (think the inside of a ho ho). This makes finding your way rather difficult sinces roads aren´t straight and changes names, etc. Fortunately I had an excellent tour guide in the most literal sense. All twenty districts are mandated to have two markets a week, which is amazing. As for the people, I actually found them rather pleasant. Although I didn´t interact with too many locals, as I watched them interact among themselves or with other foreigners, I saw a general level of friendliness I hadn´t expected.
THE SITES: Notre Dame- Saw but didn´t go in
Saint Chapel- Used to house the supposed cross of thorns of christ, now it has one of the most beautiful stained glass murals I´ve ever seen
Louvre- HUGE! People talk about how massive it is and it doesn´t do it justice, we´re talking multiple (more than five) football field of museum, a William and Mary kids dream!
Musee Dórsey: Really cool, a converted train station. I only had time for the impressionist wing, but it was very impressive.
Eiffel Tower: Oddly enough, didn´t go up. Rugby world cup was in town, along with a massive football (soccer) match between Scotland and France so the lines were unreal. The bottom half of it was green in honor of the Cup though, so that was kind of cool
FAT TIRE BIKE TOURS: As I eluded to before, my hostess actually works for a bike tour company. The first full day I was in town we took the afternoon tour...what a great way to see the city. You ride through most of the city and the guide stops at major points and explains history and interesting stories. We liked it so much we went back for the night tour, which was more riding than stories, but we also made our way onto a boat that cruises up and down the Seine (pronounced Sin) that splits the city. Almost surreal.
THE SCOTS: Like I said before, the Scots were in town for the football match. Although there were only about 25,000 of them (only?) they made their presense known. In the Champ du Mars (field in front of the eiffele tower) they congregated and sang, drank, and played football. Im sure they made france re-think their open container laws as they left a huge mess. Nonetheless, on our way into the Rugby World Cup HQ Carolyn and I just stopped to observe this raucous mess and ended up talking with a Scotsman for over an hour. Such a jovial people: bag pipes were played, jokes were non-stop, everyone was friendly, and about every twenty minutes they´d erupt in song about how great Scotland and the Scots are. I really wish we had something like that.
THIRSTY THURSDAYS: Carolyn, who is good friends with my old roommate Chris Grammar, was kind enough to host me. She lives with five others who work for the same company and are all a hoot. Imagine the type of person who is willing to put their career or education on pause to move to europe and work as a tour guide, then put six of them together and something interesting is always happening. Thursday nights are apparently the ´big night´which has become somewhat of a tradition. This thursday, as hyped as it was, did not disappoint. Carolyn, Eliza (another roommate) and I went out to the Refuge, an all you can eat and drink fondue restaurant. Eliza had met a couple Aussies on her tour and they joined us. When we walked in you had to literally setp over the table to sit on the other side. Oh yeah, and the wine was served out of baby bottles. It´s takes about one bottle to get through the awkwardness then hilarity ensues. We then made our way to a Karoake Bar where the girls and the Aussies sang up a storm and I settled in with some Englishmen to share a pint. I woke up the next morning missing my camera and passport. After far too long of a time searching (and by seraching I mean Carolyn since I was worthless) I actually found the two nestled at the foot of one of the roommates bed. Had no idea how or why I put them there, but lesson learned: if you´re going to go big, don´t bring out valuables.
HOBO VS GYPSIES: So Paris is famous for the gypsies around the Eiffel Tower, they ask you if you speak English and if you say yes they try to swindel you for money with some sob story. It´s sort of funny to see experienced people deal with them and respond with things like ´no I dont speak any english at all.´ It´s also kind of sad because who knows what kind of crap they were promised upon coming here and who knows what theyre dealing with. All that aside, the day after the Scots stormed the Champ, a war zone of cans and bottles was left for all to wallow in. Gypsies made the best of the situation by trying to collect cans and bottles for recycling but may have tried to hard when they wandered into the area of a very territorial (and very drunk) hobo. He had built a tower paying homage to his life-giving booze that stood about five stories of beer bottles tall, resting on the top was his wine (still full). He chased the herd of gypsies off with a rock, and if you´ve never seen a flock of gypsies fleeing a rock-wielding hobo, all pity aside it´s one of the funniest things you´ve ever seen. Point one for the hobo. However, as I made my way to the bike tour I noticed the tower had been destroyed and the wine spilt, the gypsies got their furtive revenge. I´ll call it a draw.
QUESTION: I ended up in a discussion with a Englishman one night about the US vs. the EU. He had traveled the states frequently and pointed out how different cultures and mindsets were state to state, region to region. He then asked an interesting question: if the people are so different, east to west, what makes the states united? I´d love to hear people´s personal opinions on what makes our great country united states (other than the obvious historical context). Feel free to post.
Monday, September 10, 2007
London and Sweden
LONDON: Although Im working hard on developing a "European mentality" I quickly realized this easy-going mindset doesn't actually work for everything in Europe. At passport control in Heathrow I was threatened with being kicked out of the UK since I neglected to put an address where I would be staying. I figured I was catching a flight to Sweden the next day so why did it matter? It just does, and after producing an address and several minutes of being questioned I was allowed to pass through. Apparently not everyone in London is jolly. My friend's flat is in Westminster and is rather accomodating in comparison with most big city dwellings. Although I've spent two nights and three days here, I decided against touring since Ive done so twice before and it can be pricey (especially with the pound). Most time was spent appreciating london in the form of eating, walking through the city, enjoying the parks, and of course, having a pint or two (or ten).
SWEDEN: My first travel experience with Ryanair went quite well, much to my surprise actually. The flight certainly wouldn't qualify as comfortable and the service wasn't great either, but I didn't get hit with any excess fees and made both flights without any hassle. The concept behind the discount airlines is that you pay for anything other than a seat (checked luggage, drinks, snacks, early boarding, etc) and they save costs by flying into cheaper airports. I had to take a 45 minute train from London to Stansted and in Sweden my bus from Svatska to Stockholm was an hour twenty. Although what equated to an extra five hours of travel time seems excessive, it was still worth the $100 I saved. As my bus arrived just before midnight in Stockholm I started to doubt my plan of meeting Jp at the bus station. For those of you unaware, my plan was my friend and I would meet at the bus station, the bvious flaw being that we are two tall blond men in a Scandanavian country and I had no idea how crowded this station would be. As it turns out: not that crowded and we found each other with relative ease and headed out for a drink or two. The Sky bar is about 9 stories high and overlooks the city; although the view isn't nearly as good at night (so I'm told) it was still pretty amazing. After a couple drinks we went back as he had to work the next day.
While JP worked I decided to do a walking tour of the city. Learning rather quickly the Swedish Crown doesn't go nearly as far as you think, my predominant source of food was Kebob (pretty much a gyro) as they were cheap and easy. I seriously think three of my four meals in Sweden were a kebob, does that border on addiction? Stockholm is setup almost like Venice: a collection of small islands. Its actually much bigger than Venice, which is nice as there is a lot to see. Yet it is also manageable and, if you have the time, it can all be done on foot. I check out some of the central city and shopping where they have a main drag that reminds me of the promenade in Santa Monica. I also toured the ritzy area and wandered my way onto a Steven Bloom outdoor art exhibit. For those of you unaware of Mr. Bloom, he's a photographer that photographs animals in nature. The only peice of his I'd seen before I thought was a hoax: awhile back someone sent me a picture of a huge great white shark leaping out of the water to eat a fish that was also mid-air. Knowing that sharks don't jump that frequently and calculating the odds of someone being there, ready to take a pictures for that two second event, I was sure the picture was a product of photoshop. I was wrong. It turns out he spent sixteen days on ship in shark infested waters, crouched for up to twleve hours a day ready to take a pic. Amazing sacrifice that paid off. This picture is, literally, unbelievable. (Click on the question mark next to the top of the blog and that will link you to the picture to see for yourself)
I met up with Jp after work and we went out for a nice dinner and a night on the town with his work friends, half of whom were Swedish. It was nice to interact with some locals. The Swedish people are polite and could be considered friendly, but it's not really a place where you can expect to meet locals. We made a night of it and individuals would drop as each hour passed, leaving Jp and I in a desolate bar around 3AM. On our way back we stopped off at a Kebob place as it was time to feed my addiction. In the window we noticed they sold 3.5 beer (which 18 year olds can buy, you have to be 21 for anything over that) and decided to get a couple. The guy came back with a six pack and we were too stupid to turn it down. After downing our delicious Kebobs we headed back to Jp's flat, beer in hand (no open container laws). This six pack turned out to be our demise and we stayed up all night to finish it. Jp caught his flight and I slept til 2.
Still hurting from the night/morning before I tried my best to get the most out of the city. I toured the older part of the city (almost like Old towne Alexandria) and made my way to the Vasa Museum. The Vasa is an old ship from the early 1600 that was supposed to symbolize the brilliance of Swedish shipmaking and the Swedish navy: the only problem being it sank 300 meters off port on its maiden voyage. The brackish waters preserved the ship and it was pulled up around 1960 and a museum was built around it. It was all really quite amazing. That night I headed into town to catch the Sweden/Denmark (big rivalry) football game. It was great being able to observe some of the local culture, and despite the game ending nil-nil, it was actually very exciting (a few pints help that). Even though most of the crowd was quite into the game, the actions/re-actions paled in comparison to a similar experience I had with English fans.
Monday, September 3, 2007
Departure
Ladies and Gents,
I've created this blog in case anyone wants to check in and see how/what I am doing without me boring you with a mass email.
This is really just a test to see how everything works but figured I'd fill you in on my departure information:
It's a little after 2 AM and I'm nowhere near done packing, but all of the important stuff has made it's way into luggage. Wednesday (the 5th) morning I will be heading from dulles to Heathrow with only a suitcase, a pack, and one kick ass euro mullet. Thursday I'll fly to Stockholm for the weekend then back across the pond on Sunday. from there I'll chunnel to the mainland and see what kind of devastation I can cause.
I've created this blog in case anyone wants to check in and see how/what I am doing without me boring you with a mass email.
This is really just a test to see how everything works but figured I'd fill you in on my departure information:
It's a little after 2 AM and I'm nowhere near done packing, but all of the important stuff has made it's way into luggage. Wednesday (the 5th) morning I will be heading from dulles to Heathrow with only a suitcase, a pack, and one kick ass euro mullet. Thursday I'll fly to Stockholm for the weekend then back across the pond on Sunday. from there I'll chunnel to the mainland and see what kind of devastation I can cause.
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