Starting at the upper northwest corner of Beijing's major university area, I undertook to ride my friend's bike, bequeathed to me through not so fortuitous circumstances. The bike was a bit run down, a dullish dark blue blending purplish with FOREVER printed on its crossbar. The handlebar was a little crooked, the handle brakes turned in wonky directions. Trying out the brakes, I knew that riding quickly would be riding dangerously, but given traffic here, it wouldn't be that much of an increase in risk.
The night was brisk, and in my hooded jacket with my bag in the bike basket, the journey began with a good-bye to the bike's keeper as it waited patiently for me for 4 months. Crossing across roads major and minor, I passed by other bikers, and they passed me. I sped past standstill cars, and electric bikes crept sneakily past my side. For all too brief moments through my ride, I had those blend in seconds, in which you perfectly insert yourself into your surroundings almost perfectly.
I know some would wonder whether that was good or not, but given that there is no surpassing my minority marked self, they were indeed moments of splendid belonging. Of course, they would follow with the loud honk of the passing taxis that woke me up to my veering into the large vehicle traffic flow. They meant well, they thought I'd rather not get run over by them that evening, so I am grateful for their nudgings.
Riding through Beijing, it could have been a struggle through the seriously polluted air, cutting through the yellowish air-wall. However, that night it was clear for a Beijing evening, and the ride was pleasant despite the frequents bursts of exhaust that I rode through. The ride took 1.5 hours exactly, and by the time I got home, I felt pretty satisfied. It was good exercise, but more than that, I was a part of the city now, the roads were consciously traveled by me, the alleyways I passed now a part of the landscape in my mind. You're never truly a part of some place until you have gone through it consciously, and I had finally connected for those brief moments.
Still, Beijing doesn't hold the same place that Shanghai and Hong Kong hold, but honestly, how could it?
Wednesday, December 5, 2007
Saturday, September 22, 2007
Beijing Re-beginnings
The hazy sun blazes feebly, reaching through layers upon layers of ozone, atmosphere, dust, dirt, and grime. I feel sorry for it as it tries so hard to stretch through, but am at a loss as to how to part the almost tangible pollution that blankets
At some points you feel that something has already happened, that a part of your life is in repeat. Faces may differ and scenery may change, but the déjà vu of it is real, because I have in fact déjà vu this place. The few days of clarity and blue sky are very symbolic of life for me here, those few times when a flood of realization streams through.
The trees are mostly green still, though they too, are layered with dust and dirt. I wonder how many people try to clean off a leaf to see what is really happening underneath the grime, to see the reality that surrounds us. Rather than a surreal environment, I believe it is more of sub-real existence.
Saturday, September 1, 2007
Departing
It's hard for me to actually admit that I will actually miss Florida as tomorrow's flight from this place of my upbringing will seemingly pull me from it for a longer period of time that I would have ever imagined possible. That is to say, I might not be back for a long time coming. That doesn't surprise me in the least. What is surprising is the little twinge of nostalgia that has grown over the past couple of weeks. My friends will always hear me be the first to put Florida down, and I still would probably do that. But the calming ocean breezes in the evening have planted that sparkle of hope for returning to a place that was never mine.
The other day, as the sky deepened into it's night clothing of dark terror, the clouded sky shrouding the moonrise, the alternating warm and chilly breezes showed me the Florida that I hadn't taken the time to notice. As is likely to happen with these late revelations, there sprang the immediate want and need to see more of the beach. Maybe in my suppression of these desires can I come to appreciate it even more, but the flood will break loose eventually, not even the mightiest dams of will-power can cave in true desire.
The other day, as the sky deepened into it's night clothing of dark terror, the clouded sky shrouding the moonrise, the alternating warm and chilly breezes showed me the Florida that I hadn't taken the time to notice. As is likely to happen with these late revelations, there sprang the immediate want and need to see more of the beach. Maybe in my suppression of these desires can I come to appreciate it even more, but the flood will break loose eventually, not even the mightiest dams of will-power can cave in true desire.
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Endings and parting
This past week Monday night I went to the beach armed with the last hundred pages of the seventh book of Harry Potter. Evenings at the beach in Florida are great, the hot humid Florida weather keeps you toasty while ocean breezes cool you off, some gusts what I would even call chilly (you midwesterners keep quiet now!). As I finished up the last pages of the book, my mind raced with excitement at the completion, yet it also dreaded those last few words whence the land of muggles and wizards would close.
I guess that is what I would consider my last days in Europe in London. The English countryside, Stonehenge, flashes of those many places I visited are sweet in my memory, but the bitterness of having to leave stays in my mouth. Although my last post was a little on the down and lonely side, it wasn't an aspect of my trip I didn't expect, not to say it was great fun. Those days of self wandering and discovery are also part of the sugar coated memories. I think sugar-coating memories is great, it helps alleviate the post-bitterness remains of time well-spent, people well met, places well visited, and friends and family well worth it all.
Just as time always seems fastest once it's over, so too now, do I lie expectant every night for the next day that brings me closer to Beijing. There are always different lonelinesses lying in wait, whether space decides to come between a family member, a friend, a place, or even a memory.
I tried with all my brain juices to pump out some poetry during my trip in my journal, but my Chinese is not up to standard still. However, since I did talk of having written, I guess I should show some proof. The following two attempts at something like poetry are here for your pleasure, and if they can make you laugh, at least I can say that I helped you crack a smile. They were both written on my way from Bordeaux to Paris, but I couldn't type Chinese til now.
車上田飛過 湖中游孤鵝 麗景連環處 欲再幾時可
踏進野林採鮮莓 見其夏景惜其雪
隨心渡河跨幾關 看破山崖登高闕
月過尖塔日纔輝 人忙備店車尚缺
佳肴美酒經數地 獨酌孤行望明月
I'll continue to post up here wherever I head, so come by anytime. Give me your blogs as well so I can keep track of all your pursuits as well. Hope all is well. And just as I had to depart the company of Harry, Hermione, and Ron, they'll always be on my shelf waiting for me to visit, so also the many times I've had to say good-bye in more than one way do I hope that one day you'll come visit too.
I guess that is what I would consider my last days in Europe in London. The English countryside, Stonehenge, flashes of those many places I visited are sweet in my memory, but the bitterness of having to leave stays in my mouth. Although my last post was a little on the down and lonely side, it wasn't an aspect of my trip I didn't expect, not to say it was great fun. Those days of self wandering and discovery are also part of the sugar coated memories. I think sugar-coating memories is great, it helps alleviate the post-bitterness remains of time well-spent, people well met, places well visited, and friends and family well worth it all.
Just as time always seems fastest once it's over, so too now, do I lie expectant every night for the next day that brings me closer to Beijing. There are always different lonelinesses lying in wait, whether space decides to come between a family member, a friend, a place, or even a memory.
I tried with all my brain juices to pump out some poetry during my trip in my journal, but my Chinese is not up to standard still. However, since I did talk of having written, I guess I should show some proof. The following two attempts at something like poetry are here for your pleasure, and if they can make you laugh, at least I can say that I helped you crack a smile. They were both written on my way from Bordeaux to Paris, but I couldn't type Chinese til now.
車上田飛過 湖中游孤鵝 麗景連環處 欲再幾時可
踏進野林採鮮莓 見其夏景惜其雪
隨心渡河跨幾關 看破山崖登高闕
月過尖塔日纔輝 人忙備店車尚缺
佳肴美酒經數地 獨酌孤行望明月
I'll continue to post up here wherever I head, so come by anytime. Give me your blogs as well so I can keep track of all your pursuits as well. Hope all is well. And just as I had to depart the company of Harry, Hermione, and Ron, they'll always be on my shelf waiting for me to visit, so also the many times I've had to say good-bye in more than one way do I hope that one day you'll come visit too.
Friday, August 10, 2007
Land of Eternal Clouds...?
The train rolled on to London Waterloo as the clouded French skies saw me off. I like to think that the heavens were weeping for my departure. The posh train service from Paris to London is done up with a full meal service and everything, well, I guess they better have with the price they charge :p
I made random notes in my journal that day, notes on choices we make and places we go to. The paths that we follow and the lines that we draw for ourselves, or that we at least have been taught to draw for ourselves. I hate the linearity of it all. The hills and slopes and loops that the passing countryside and forest were a nice break from it all, as was my great Western Europe circle. The only thing that irked me were the patches of forest that were planned, with neat rows all running down the line, but I wonder what trees are planted like fields for...do they maybe sell them to cities to use?
The skies finally cleared in the oddest of places, as we drove under the tunnel that connects England and France, the skies opened up to a clear British heaven. I was shocked and surprised, and again I like to think that England was welcoming me to her shores, or subterranean pits in my case.
I found my relative at the station, and within all of 2-3 hours, we went on the London Eye, saw all the centrally located attractions, and had time for a coffee before setting off for dinner with more family.
London Chinatown is quite small actually, just one main street and two smaller ones that are nowhere near the crowded dirty Chinatown of New York. The food was real good there, actually, probably something that could vie with Vancouver for good Chinese outside of China. The streets of London are just as well for straggling around and exploring as any other old city in Europe. There is one important lesson for anyone going to London though, never convert pounds into dollars, just think of them as dollars when you're spending, otherwise you'll never enjoy yourself there.
I made random notes in my journal that day, notes on choices we make and places we go to. The paths that we follow and the lines that we draw for ourselves, or that we at least have been taught to draw for ourselves. I hate the linearity of it all. The hills and slopes and loops that the passing countryside and forest were a nice break from it all, as was my great Western Europe circle. The only thing that irked me were the patches of forest that were planned, with neat rows all running down the line, but I wonder what trees are planted like fields for...do they maybe sell them to cities to use?
The skies finally cleared in the oddest of places, as we drove under the tunnel that connects England and France, the skies opened up to a clear British heaven. I was shocked and surprised, and again I like to think that England was welcoming me to her shores, or subterranean pits in my case.
I found my relative at the station, and within all of 2-3 hours, we went on the London Eye, saw all the centrally located attractions, and had time for a coffee before setting off for dinner with more family.
London Chinatown is quite small actually, just one main street and two smaller ones that are nowhere near the crowded dirty Chinatown of New York. The food was real good there, actually, probably something that could vie with Vancouver for good Chinese outside of China. The streets of London are just as well for straggling around and exploring as any other old city in Europe. There is one important lesson for anyone going to London though, never convert pounds into dollars, just think of them as dollars when you're spending, otherwise you'll never enjoy yourself there.
Tuesday, August 7, 2007
Parisian Delights
As the train rolled from Bordeaux to Paris, I wondered how the city of lights would be. Would I see many earthly and carnal delights walking the streets? Or perhaps riots would be flaring all around. Whatever the case, I arrived to see a friend of 6 years, the same amount of years that we had not met up for either.
I guess it is appropriate now to talk of the loneliness of traversing the European continent alone. The people I met were usually nice, and there was no shortage of companionship. But for some reason, meeting compatriots made the trip even more lonely. Communication was one point that I had brought up earlier, but when you can communicate but not appreciate the thoughts being shared, then there really is no sense in trying.
Many backpackers came in search of parties, boozing, and meeting up with other backpackers. I really didn't understand this as I would have stayed right in the US if I wanted to talk to another American. Not to say that all backpackers came from the same place, but if we are all travelling to see and experience Europe, then joining each other as companions sometimes felt detracting from any goal in experiencing. Or maybe it was my goal of relaxation in Europe rather than jumping from tourist spot to tourist spot. Don't get me wrong, I wanted to party and did so, but the drove fashioned pub crawl to meet other foreigners didn't work out for me quite well.
In Paris, I had a local guide, and also it was a place I had been to in the past. All the great sights I had seen before, and this time was to fill in the gaps and add to my degustation. Sacre Coeur was a pretty grand sight, but it's view of Paris was probably my favorite part. There, I sat among friends and had an interesting drink dubbed the 'Monaco.' Part beer, part grenadine, part lemonade, the concoction tasted of grenadine with a slight lemon tartness, finishing with a brief hoppy flourish at the end. Sweet and red, it was a little bit much, but maybe you should try one for yourself and see.
Who would have known that Paris has such great Vietnamese and Cambodian food? Vietnamese crepes, fried rice with beef, and glutinous rice balls roasted to crispy and tender perfection. I won't go into detail, but the flavors delight my tum for a long while. And this is but one meal, Croques-Madames (I cross-dressed), crepes filled with ham, cheese, mushroom, tomatoes, and onions, spring rolls, roast pork, fried beef, and sugar cane shrimp were all part of the smorgasbord. Needless to say that I think I will be back to try some more of these tasty morsels in the future.
I also had the honor of barring and clubbing in Paris. The exclusivity of clubs here are awesome. Gotta have the nice shoes, no t-shirts, and no blue jeans. Of course, when we showed up there, many had those things on, and it really wasn't that spiffed as thought. At least I can say that I've been into a club in Paris, where the scene changes faster than you can blink.
I am indebted to my friend there, and hopefully wasn't too much of a burden. Though I think my untouristy ways confounded them at first, it was all for the greater good of relaxation and taking it easy. I am now, however, a little sick from smoke and fatigue, so relaxing obviously didn't go far enough. Next stop, London.
I guess it is appropriate now to talk of the loneliness of traversing the European continent alone. The people I met were usually nice, and there was no shortage of companionship. But for some reason, meeting compatriots made the trip even more lonely. Communication was one point that I had brought up earlier, but when you can communicate but not appreciate the thoughts being shared, then there really is no sense in trying.
Many backpackers came in search of parties, boozing, and meeting up with other backpackers. I really didn't understand this as I would have stayed right in the US if I wanted to talk to another American. Not to say that all backpackers came from the same place, but if we are all travelling to see and experience Europe, then joining each other as companions sometimes felt detracting from any goal in experiencing. Or maybe it was my goal of relaxation in Europe rather than jumping from tourist spot to tourist spot. Don't get me wrong, I wanted to party and did so, but the drove fashioned pub crawl to meet other foreigners didn't work out for me quite well.
In Paris, I had a local guide, and also it was a place I had been to in the past. All the great sights I had seen before, and this time was to fill in the gaps and add to my degustation. Sacre Coeur was a pretty grand sight, but it's view of Paris was probably my favorite part. There, I sat among friends and had an interesting drink dubbed the 'Monaco.' Part beer, part grenadine, part lemonade, the concoction tasted of grenadine with a slight lemon tartness, finishing with a brief hoppy flourish at the end. Sweet and red, it was a little bit much, but maybe you should try one for yourself and see.
Who would have known that Paris has such great Vietnamese and Cambodian food? Vietnamese crepes, fried rice with beef, and glutinous rice balls roasted to crispy and tender perfection. I won't go into detail, but the flavors delight my tum for a long while. And this is but one meal, Croques-Madames (I cross-dressed), crepes filled with ham, cheese, mushroom, tomatoes, and onions, spring rolls, roast pork, fried beef, and sugar cane shrimp were all part of the smorgasbord. Needless to say that I think I will be back to try some more of these tasty morsels in the future.
I also had the honor of barring and clubbing in Paris. The exclusivity of clubs here are awesome. Gotta have the nice shoes, no t-shirts, and no blue jeans. Of course, when we showed up there, many had those things on, and it really wasn't that spiffed as thought. At least I can say that I've been into a club in Paris, where the scene changes faster than you can blink.
I am indebted to my friend there, and hopefully wasn't too much of a burden. Though I think my untouristy ways confounded them at first, it was all for the greater good of relaxation and taking it easy. I am now, however, a little sick from smoke and fatigue, so relaxing obviously didn't go far enough. Next stop, London.
Monday, August 6, 2007
Bourdelais(e?), The Frenchies are here
The train hopped into Hendaye from Donostia, and their I bought a quiche for my journey onwards to Bordeaux. I spoke to the lady in Spanish which she understood well, but replied in French. After asking which country I was in, I found that it was time to switch on the Frenchy Jason that makes no sense.
I was desolated that I could not speak French better, and my mood was a little down since my body felt like it should be hosed down with an extinctor. However, that I was on to a new journey perked me up a bit.
Though I say perked, I was quite unhappy that I would be reduced to a semi mute once again. In Spain, being able to speak to anyone and understand most of what was going on was quite refreshing compared to most of my trip thus far. Communication is such an important and dear part of life that it does leave one stranded among the thickest crowds.
Arriving into Bordeaux, I waited to exit the train, and an older French lady with a bonnet like hat, flowered dress and did up hair and a husband stepped in front briefly, paused, then jumped back and gave me the Frenchiest hand-to-mouth “Pardon!” and please go first gesture. I knew I was definitely in the Frenchy France now.
The wine tour was the one and only goal here, so I will go into it briefly though there is not much to say. We went to two Chateaux (wineries, not castles) that were classified Grand Cru Classe. They were of the 5 level, which is the lowest. However, in Bordeaux, this classification was given to only 61 out of 800 wineries, so that should say alot about the quality... Unfortunately I was disappointed by both of them. They both started you off with a young vine grape which is in any case going to be less tasty. The second wine they both let us taste was of decidedly better quality, though my taste buds aren’t the best, I knew it was better. However, the young vine wine cost 11, and the better one cost 31. Now, for the quality of the young vine in the US, I wouldn’t pay anything more than 2 or 3 USD, and the better one might get at most 10 or a little more. The prices they asked for what they were putting up were a little bit scandalous to me, so I’ve been thinking about the situation.
Could it be that Bordelais wine can be put away and aged to better perfection, and for that reason it costs more? Or perhaps there are subtle flavors that I’m missing? If anyone has any idea I’m all ears. Whatever the case, that night I had a heavy dinner of foie gras and toast, sauteed duck breast with pasta a l’Italienne, and creme brulee, all for 16 (I forgot to ask for tap water and got a 3 euro bottle of evian :P). It wasn’t the top place, but the duck and foie gras pleased me well enough. The creme brulee gets thumbs down for being a jello concoction that was not creamy or smooth, but like consistency of slightly softer jello. I was glad to have a lighter creme brulee though, since a real one would have downed me flat after all the other heavy food I had.
I was desolated that I could not speak French better, and my mood was a little down since my body felt like it should be hosed down with an extinctor. However, that I was on to a new journey perked me up a bit.
Though I say perked, I was quite unhappy that I would be reduced to a semi mute once again. In Spain, being able to speak to anyone and understand most of what was going on was quite refreshing compared to most of my trip thus far. Communication is such an important and dear part of life that it does leave one stranded among the thickest crowds.
Arriving into Bordeaux, I waited to exit the train, and an older French lady with a bonnet like hat, flowered dress and did up hair and a husband stepped in front briefly, paused, then jumped back and gave me the Frenchiest hand-to-mouth “Pardon!” and please go first gesture. I knew I was definitely in the Frenchy France now.
The wine tour was the one and only goal here, so I will go into it briefly though there is not much to say. We went to two Chateaux (wineries, not castles) that were classified Grand Cru Classe. They were of the 5 level, which is the lowest. However, in Bordeaux, this classification was given to only 61 out of 800 wineries, so that should say alot about the quality... Unfortunately I was disappointed by both of them. They both started you off with a young vine grape which is in any case going to be less tasty. The second wine they both let us taste was of decidedly better quality, though my taste buds aren’t the best, I knew it was better. However, the young vine wine cost 11, and the better one cost 31. Now, for the quality of the young vine in the US, I wouldn’t pay anything more than 2 or 3 USD, and the better one might get at most 10 or a little more. The prices they asked for what they were putting up were a little bit scandalous to me, so I’ve been thinking about the situation.
Could it be that Bordelais wine can be put away and aged to better perfection, and for that reason it costs more? Or perhaps there are subtle flavors that I’m missing? If anyone has any idea I’m all ears. Whatever the case, that night I had a heavy dinner of foie gras and toast, sauteed duck breast with pasta a l’Italienne, and creme brulee, all for 16 (I forgot to ask for tap water and got a 3 euro bottle of evian :P). It wasn’t the top place, but the duck and foie gras pleased me well enough. The creme brulee gets thumbs down for being a jello concoction that was not creamy or smooth, but like consistency of slightly softer jello. I was glad to have a lighter creme brulee though, since a real one would have downed me flat after all the other heavy food I had.
Friday, August 3, 2007
Basque Roast Chicken
I fell asleep quickly on the night train over to Donostia (San Sebastian in Basque), the day at the Prado and the park having worn me out sufficiently. The sun had just risen in the slumbering city, most likely everyone had just gone home from partying not 2 hours before. 8 in the morning was too early for the hostal to answer the door, so I walked to a cafe that had just opened and had a coffee and Napolitan (chocolate filled croissant), kind of sweet for the morning but balanced off alright with the small but rightly bitter and saltylike coffee.
Whiling my time away with journal writing and looking at whoever else was up at such an ungodly hour, I finally made it to 9. At the hostal, I dropped off my bag, changed into trunks, and went off to the beach, my one and only goal. I laid in the sun with my mat from Nice at the larger beach. The tide comes in rather far, so sand was hard and packed, not really conducive to form fitting comfort on the beach, but going to sleep is never a problem. Actually, the hardness was an advantage. Once it woke me up, I could turn over to be sure I didn’t cook one side too well-done.
After having done this for most of the morning, the clouds began to roll in. I hadn’t seen clouds since Switzerland, and they were quite a welcome sight for nostalgia’s sake. At about 3 I decided that if I didn’t go to the other beach, it would be too late or too cold. The transition to San Sebastian also brought cooler weather that contrasted from my home in the old world. At the surfer beach, the sand was much softer and I almost felt like kicking myself for not coming here first. But I made good use of time and slept another couple of hours there, a much more restful sleep. The waves pounded in far into the sand, and surfers rose and fell like history. The lifeguard at this side was equipped with about 4 to 5 people, and they even had a amphibian machine to carouse the beach and surf. I wondered briefly about how many surfers have been carried out to sea, beamed by their own board, or smashed against the far side of the beach where a rock wall stood.
When it was about time to head back to the hostal, it was already early evening. At this time, I looked at my tumtum and legs, and found them a glowing red color. I seem to have misplaced my faith in my melanin count and gotten what I’ve heard so many complain about, something called a sunburn or whatever. At the hostal, the aches had begun so I just slept more to recuperate some.
At night I went out to dinner with five other friendly folks from my hostal, but alas my faith in fellow travelers is misplaced. I gave up a night of supposedly some of the best Spanish cuisine to go to a fast food paella joint, eating my dinner with gusto since I was hungry, but plotting my return at some future date already. The charm of smaller towns in any place really catch me, and this was no exception. Plus, how could I not come back for food after the fast food paella wasn’t horrible, though nothing compared with a proper one, as if I knew what a proper one would be like.
That evening, most places were closed after 2, the clubs giving their clientele a well deserved break in order to juice up for the rest of the week. I went to sleep at an early 3, only to have to wake at 6 for my continuing journey to my wine destination, Bourdeaux.
Whiling my time away with journal writing and looking at whoever else was up at such an ungodly hour, I finally made it to 9. At the hostal, I dropped off my bag, changed into trunks, and went off to the beach, my one and only goal. I laid in the sun with my mat from Nice at the larger beach. The tide comes in rather far, so sand was hard and packed, not really conducive to form fitting comfort on the beach, but going to sleep is never a problem. Actually, the hardness was an advantage. Once it woke me up, I could turn over to be sure I didn’t cook one side too well-done.
After having done this for most of the morning, the clouds began to roll in. I hadn’t seen clouds since Switzerland, and they were quite a welcome sight for nostalgia’s sake. At about 3 I decided that if I didn’t go to the other beach, it would be too late or too cold. The transition to San Sebastian also brought cooler weather that contrasted from my home in the old world. At the surfer beach, the sand was much softer and I almost felt like kicking myself for not coming here first. But I made good use of time and slept another couple of hours there, a much more restful sleep. The waves pounded in far into the sand, and surfers rose and fell like history. The lifeguard at this side was equipped with about 4 to 5 people, and they even had a amphibian machine to carouse the beach and surf. I wondered briefly about how many surfers have been carried out to sea, beamed by their own board, or smashed against the far side of the beach where a rock wall stood.
When it was about time to head back to the hostal, it was already early evening. At this time, I looked at my tumtum and legs, and found them a glowing red color. I seem to have misplaced my faith in my melanin count and gotten what I’ve heard so many complain about, something called a sunburn or whatever. At the hostal, the aches had begun so I just slept more to recuperate some.
At night I went out to dinner with five other friendly folks from my hostal, but alas my faith in fellow travelers is misplaced. I gave up a night of supposedly some of the best Spanish cuisine to go to a fast food paella joint, eating my dinner with gusto since I was hungry, but plotting my return at some future date already. The charm of smaller towns in any place really catch me, and this was no exception. Plus, how could I not come back for food after the fast food paella wasn’t horrible, though nothing compared with a proper one, as if I knew what a proper one would be like.
That evening, most places were closed after 2, the clubs giving their clientele a well deserved break in order to juice up for the rest of the week. I went to sleep at an early 3, only to have to wake at 6 for my continuing journey to my wine destination, Bourdeaux.
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
Horrored and Trippy Art
Partying hardy for the past week or so, I feel pretty worn out right about now, but the idea that it will end soon keeps the batteries on full for me. Whatever the case, tomorrow in San Sebastian I´m only going to sleep on the beach the whole day and continue my party at night. They´re supposed to have real world class food there, so I look forward to it, just wish I could share it with you all as well.
Last night I figured out the wonder of doing tapas in Spain. It´s a great idea and works well for me. Unfortunately, the schedules are a bit different here than in Rome, so going out at 10 is a bit late to do the eating thing. I went into a couple of places, and they told me food was over! Luckily I found a Mexican place that was still serving so I had enchiladas. I figure that Mexican food is related to Spanish food, so I really haven´t strayed from eating locally. I try my best to try local dishes, but sometimes it´s not possible to eat alone. For one thing the atmosphere is different, and for another people stare! Hahaha, actually, I notice people stare at me no matter what is going on, so it doesn´t really make a difference in the end.
Madrid at night is really great, the weather is alot more relenting. Even until 8 at night, the stones and concrete that make up the city breathe out a stifling heat. While walking home in the morning, as has been my habit the last week or so, the clear sky was starting to shine a little, and the air was actually cool and comfortable. The train ride into Madrid really was what you imagine of a Spanish countryside, rolling hills that were desertlike. I´ve noticed alot of differences in the pines of the world. In China, there are the wind-wrangled pines that grow from mountain sides, adding to the austerity of the big rocky formations. For Scandinavia, the pines are tall and straight, dispersed throughout the forests and giving the long winter a homy cozy feeling. In Spain, the pines have been short and stout, with needles that seem to be in bigger tufts than other places, the kind of growth I expect in a desert.
Waking up after only four hours of rest, the day looked to be challenging. Luckily I have my own room with great a/c, so I mozied about and left in no hurry which translates importantly as no sweating. I headed to have a splurge meal today, and it was quite a hefty sum of 40€ roughly, but I had Spanish style cochinillo, roast suckling pig, and for those of you that know, ruzhu!!! It was very delicious to say the least, so money well spent. It came with a bottle of mineral water (I could have gotten wine or beer, but on my previous nights romp and little sleep, I felt it better not to), bread, some potatoes, a big bowl of gazpacho, and ice cream to top it all off. I ate slowly and savored every bite, making sure the bones were clean. Actually, I wasn´t able to dig in as down home-like as I wanted to, I didn´t wanna attract unneeded attention to the Chinese boy sucking the bones dry!
Afterwards, I had a headache/hangover still, and it was high heat time, so I headed over to the Parque del Buen Retiro, looked around briefly, found a nice shaded spot, and slept on the grass for a couple of hours. Grass in a shaded area is surprisingly cooling, the slight moisture helping to absorb the heat I was producing from taking in the sun and digesting the (part of a) baby pig in my tummy. I woke up refreshed and went to the Museo del Prado.
I can´t say I enjoy art as consciously or as wittingly as many of you all, but I found two painters very interesting. El Bosco was definitely tripping on something when he painted, and his Jardin de Delicias (or something like that) had some pictures that looked disney cinderella castle-ish and a little Shanghai pearl towerish, kinda freaky wacky. I was very entertained by his painting so that´s why he´s on my list of likes. The other painter that I found inspiring, depressing, and morbid is Goya. You get chills by looking at the paintings up close, the unclear images dancing in different ways when you look at them from different angles. The Pinturas Negras did that anyways, but even his earlier works were quite dismal in subtle ways. And yes, I did say inspiring because it really was well planned and you can make what you will from it, but like El Bosco, there was definitely social critique abundant in the paintings.
I found a third painter that I enjoyed also, El Greco. The way he does eyes is so great, they really follow you around as you look from left and right and back again. I don´t know if that´s what one should look for, but that´s what came out at me so vividly. His noses were a bit funky, but sometimes that also moved with you. I leave it to all my artist and art historian and art knowledgeable friends to enlighten me more about it.
Now it is time to get my bags and move on. I am sad to leave Madrid, it has given me many fond memories and a great impression of how a city should be. With hope and luck and maybe some hard work, maybe I´ll be able to make it here again someday. Madrid is a definite winner for places to go to, not touristy, not boring, and not fake. Let´s see what San Sebastian has in store for me, though I don´t plan on doing much more than resting. If I don´t write from there, I´ll be heading to Bordeaux afterwards, and from there onto Paris and London. Wine tasting here I come.
Last night I figured out the wonder of doing tapas in Spain. It´s a great idea and works well for me. Unfortunately, the schedules are a bit different here than in Rome, so going out at 10 is a bit late to do the eating thing. I went into a couple of places, and they told me food was over! Luckily I found a Mexican place that was still serving so I had enchiladas. I figure that Mexican food is related to Spanish food, so I really haven´t strayed from eating locally. I try my best to try local dishes, but sometimes it´s not possible to eat alone. For one thing the atmosphere is different, and for another people stare! Hahaha, actually, I notice people stare at me no matter what is going on, so it doesn´t really make a difference in the end.
Madrid at night is really great, the weather is alot more relenting. Even until 8 at night, the stones and concrete that make up the city breathe out a stifling heat. While walking home in the morning, as has been my habit the last week or so, the clear sky was starting to shine a little, and the air was actually cool and comfortable. The train ride into Madrid really was what you imagine of a Spanish countryside, rolling hills that were desertlike. I´ve noticed alot of differences in the pines of the world. In China, there are the wind-wrangled pines that grow from mountain sides, adding to the austerity of the big rocky formations. For Scandinavia, the pines are tall and straight, dispersed throughout the forests and giving the long winter a homy cozy feeling. In Spain, the pines have been short and stout, with needles that seem to be in bigger tufts than other places, the kind of growth I expect in a desert.
Waking up after only four hours of rest, the day looked to be challenging. Luckily I have my own room with great a/c, so I mozied about and left in no hurry which translates importantly as no sweating. I headed to have a splurge meal today, and it was quite a hefty sum of 40€ roughly, but I had Spanish style cochinillo, roast suckling pig, and for those of you that know, ruzhu!!! It was very delicious to say the least, so money well spent. It came with a bottle of mineral water (I could have gotten wine or beer, but on my previous nights romp and little sleep, I felt it better not to), bread, some potatoes, a big bowl of gazpacho, and ice cream to top it all off. I ate slowly and savored every bite, making sure the bones were clean. Actually, I wasn´t able to dig in as down home-like as I wanted to, I didn´t wanna attract unneeded attention to the Chinese boy sucking the bones dry!
Afterwards, I had a headache/hangover still, and it was high heat time, so I headed over to the Parque del Buen Retiro, looked around briefly, found a nice shaded spot, and slept on the grass for a couple of hours. Grass in a shaded area is surprisingly cooling, the slight moisture helping to absorb the heat I was producing from taking in the sun and digesting the (part of a) baby pig in my tummy. I woke up refreshed and went to the Museo del Prado.
I can´t say I enjoy art as consciously or as wittingly as many of you all, but I found two painters very interesting. El Bosco was definitely tripping on something when he painted, and his Jardin de Delicias (or something like that) had some pictures that looked disney cinderella castle-ish and a little Shanghai pearl towerish, kinda freaky wacky. I was very entertained by his painting so that´s why he´s on my list of likes. The other painter that I found inspiring, depressing, and morbid is Goya. You get chills by looking at the paintings up close, the unclear images dancing in different ways when you look at them from different angles. The Pinturas Negras did that anyways, but even his earlier works were quite dismal in subtle ways. And yes, I did say inspiring because it really was well planned and you can make what you will from it, but like El Bosco, there was definitely social critique abundant in the paintings.
I found a third painter that I enjoyed also, El Greco. The way he does eyes is so great, they really follow you around as you look from left and right and back again. I don´t know if that´s what one should look for, but that´s what came out at me so vividly. His noses were a bit funky, but sometimes that also moved with you. I leave it to all my artist and art historian and art knowledgeable friends to enlighten me more about it.
Now it is time to get my bags and move on. I am sad to leave Madrid, it has given me many fond memories and a great impression of how a city should be. With hope and luck and maybe some hard work, maybe I´ll be able to make it here again someday. Madrid is a definite winner for places to go to, not touristy, not boring, and not fake. Let´s see what San Sebastian has in store for me, though I don´t plan on doing much more than resting. If I don´t write from there, I´ll be heading to Bordeaux afterwards, and from there onto Paris and London. Wine tasting here I come.
Monday, July 30, 2007
Madrid Sleeps
Last night, despite better judgement I decided to go out again for another evening. As with most clubs in Europe, the host music pumped on throughout the evening, and little change in beat or tune transpired. What was funny was the immense cheer and joy when the flashing lights changed their speed or the ultra-pulsating blinding lights flashed more rapidly. Hoes and asses were out and about, and I saw some interesting sights in my little rounds around the dance floor. I saw people doing the coke thing while there, and that turned me right around and going the other way.
It wasn´t actually that interesting, so in respect to my tired out body, I left at an early 3 am to go home and sleep, only to wake at 7:30 am to shower and leave without waking up the rest of the 7 people in my room. I think I did alright, only making a few bumps and clomps, I had packed everything up that I could the night before I went out to keep the rustling minimal.
Before the club, I went to an area that restored some of my faith in the ultra-planned and coordinated city layout of Barcelona, I went to the Parc Güell. The planning of this park is reminiscent of the Jiangnan style gardens that attempt to mimic nature and provide novel views from any of many different vantage points. Of course, the Barcelona was put back into the park with the gaudy Gaudi buildings and structures interspersed throughout. An awesome panoramic view of all of Barcelona waits at the top. As I walked back down, the beat of steady drums by a group of what seemed to be wannabe Bohemians thudded noisily, interrupting everyone´s walk in the park. I passed by them, some Europeans with dreadlocks and dirtied clothes that just sat looking stoned perhaps. I can´t say I´ll really miss Barcelona´s planned layout full of façaded buildings. I can see how it´s interesting for architecture as something new, but I don´t see how it adds much to anything. I guess I just don´t like the showy stuff.
This afternoon I arrived into Madrid, Puerta Atocha. I made my way through the metro to my `hostal´ which is more like a hotel without provided shampoo and stuff. It´s nice to finally have my own room for one night, and the air con blasts beautifully. I was reluctant to leave my room since Madrid is a steamy 34 celsius, that´s in the 90´s I believe. Outside I got ripped off for food when I sat at the outside terrace of a restaurant, a 4€ beer and 6.50€ for a small bocadillo fileld with a meager few slices of Iberian sausage. For those dang prices you could at least slice some tomato or something onto the sandwich :p Actually, the price is the price, but what really took me aback was that the menu had prices listed as bar, table, and terrace, and the terrace was always 1€ more than the bar. Luckily I found a small shop owned by Chinese that sold cheap sandwiches and big bottles of water, one of each was 2€.
Oh yes, I forgot to say that after more than two weeks without chinese food, I broke down in Barcelona and had a lunch of what was probably the worst fried-rice ever that tasted so great. Of course, I followed with a dinner of paella and sangria for 11.50€, one of the better deals I could search out.
Monday seems to be the official day of rest for most of Europe, so everything is closed today in Madrid, so I won´t be doing much exploring this afternoon. I do know that I really like Madrid already though. The chaotic design of the city, randomness around the corners, and a not so touristy feel really make this a nice break from Barcelona. It feels very Spanish here, and I know most people go to Barcelona for the un-Spanish Spain, but I rather like the comfort of a Spanish Spain. I wonder if the heat is what is making everything so empty though, but I read and heard that this is a comparitively tourist empty city.
Tonight I´ll be frequenting the tapas bars that supposedly offer generous tapas with a beer or wine, which only costs about 1.25€. I will definitely have to rest up a little before that, and you´ll be sure to hear what comes of this adventure. Hopefully I can find some bars or clubs open tonight, seems like most of Madrid is asleep for the moment though.
It wasn´t actually that interesting, so in respect to my tired out body, I left at an early 3 am to go home and sleep, only to wake at 7:30 am to shower and leave without waking up the rest of the 7 people in my room. I think I did alright, only making a few bumps and clomps, I had packed everything up that I could the night before I went out to keep the rustling minimal.
Before the club, I went to an area that restored some of my faith in the ultra-planned and coordinated city layout of Barcelona, I went to the Parc Güell. The planning of this park is reminiscent of the Jiangnan style gardens that attempt to mimic nature and provide novel views from any of many different vantage points. Of course, the Barcelona was put back into the park with the gaudy Gaudi buildings and structures interspersed throughout. An awesome panoramic view of all of Barcelona waits at the top. As I walked back down, the beat of steady drums by a group of what seemed to be wannabe Bohemians thudded noisily, interrupting everyone´s walk in the park. I passed by them, some Europeans with dreadlocks and dirtied clothes that just sat looking stoned perhaps. I can´t say I´ll really miss Barcelona´s planned layout full of façaded buildings. I can see how it´s interesting for architecture as something new, but I don´t see how it adds much to anything. I guess I just don´t like the showy stuff.
This afternoon I arrived into Madrid, Puerta Atocha. I made my way through the metro to my `hostal´ which is more like a hotel without provided shampoo and stuff. It´s nice to finally have my own room for one night, and the air con blasts beautifully. I was reluctant to leave my room since Madrid is a steamy 34 celsius, that´s in the 90´s I believe. Outside I got ripped off for food when I sat at the outside terrace of a restaurant, a 4€ beer and 6.50€ for a small bocadillo fileld with a meager few slices of Iberian sausage. For those dang prices you could at least slice some tomato or something onto the sandwich :p Actually, the price is the price, but what really took me aback was that the menu had prices listed as bar, table, and terrace, and the terrace was always 1€ more than the bar. Luckily I found a small shop owned by Chinese that sold cheap sandwiches and big bottles of water, one of each was 2€.
Oh yes, I forgot to say that after more than two weeks without chinese food, I broke down in Barcelona and had a lunch of what was probably the worst fried-rice ever that tasted so great. Of course, I followed with a dinner of paella and sangria for 11.50€, one of the better deals I could search out.
Monday seems to be the official day of rest for most of Europe, so everything is closed today in Madrid, so I won´t be doing much exploring this afternoon. I do know that I really like Madrid already though. The chaotic design of the city, randomness around the corners, and a not so touristy feel really make this a nice break from Barcelona. It feels very Spanish here, and I know most people go to Barcelona for the un-Spanish Spain, but I rather like the comfort of a Spanish Spain. I wonder if the heat is what is making everything so empty though, but I read and heard that this is a comparitively tourist empty city.
Tonight I´ll be frequenting the tapas bars that supposedly offer generous tapas with a beer or wine, which only costs about 1.25€. I will definitely have to rest up a little before that, and you´ll be sure to hear what comes of this adventure. Hopefully I can find some bars or clubs open tonight, seems like most of Madrid is asleep for the moment though.
Saturday, July 28, 2007
Catalonian Chicano
Last night on the train over to Barcelona I met an elderly couple that thought I was chicano because I spoke Spanish but didn't look European I guess. It was funny, I've been taken for everything but European now :P
The train ride over revealed some mountainous villages in Southern France that looked like they might be interesting for some exploring some day. After the shocks of Nice I didn't expect anything to be too frightening in Barcelona, though I've been warned twice about the gypsies, pick-pockets, and terrorists in Spain.
I took an hour nap as soon as I checked into the hostel today to recharge. After that I headed out to the Las Ramblas area, the main tourist attraction in Barcelona. My impression of Barcelona so far is that it is ultra-modernist with Gaudi buildings all over, a flare for Gothic and neo-Gothic architecture, and museums dedicated to contemporary/modernist art and Picasso. I was tempted to go inside the main one to explore, but for some reason I felt it would be completely lost to me. So instead I went for some quiche and a cold drink in an out of the way shaded plaza.
Spain is just as warm as Italy, so I've been taken everything slow minus 100 so that sweat on top of filth can be taken to a minimum. (I just learned what those arched walkways in Bern are called formally, arcades.) I got lost in the old Gothic neighborhood and walked around til I found the Arc d' Triomf (I think that's how it's spelled). Some of the streets are as shady as others have said, but in general it still has that feel of European safety, but who knows what the night will bring.
I thought I might comment on some of the people I have been eavesdropping on throughout. For some reason I hear many an air-headed comment from fellow Americans, myself included :P As far as others go, I don't understand them so I wouldn't know what to say about their conversations. Actually, on the train into Barcelona from Portbou today, I sat with some Spaniards. Kinda youngish, maybe 22-24 or so. One of them was adamant about his friend holding his pack in his lap so that he could stretch out his legs. It got kinda heated in a friendly way until he finally switched seats with me. Strange boy.
At many points of my trip I've had to test my language abilities in languages in which I have no ability at all. Sometimes I get the snootiest remarks mimicking my attempts and I'm just wondering what they hell would happen if I did that to someone trying to speak English :P They're in the minority though.
I've noticed that most chairs in the hostels have holes where one's bum is situated, well, more specifically the anus. I was musing that maybe it's for the better release of gaseous stomachs so that the fart would not ferment as one sat in one spot. But I know that it's for water to go through easily and not collect.
I had high expectations for Barcelona to be an awesome wandering city, but so far I'm not as rapt by its small alleys and such. I did wander through an open air market with meat and vegetables and stuff, but it was not that interesting. On Las Ramblas there were some performers that I found in Nice 10 years back, they must have moved here while the construction continues on Nice's tramways. I think all of Europe is in rennovation right now, the last few cities I've visited have been so uprooted that some of the prettiness is missing. Preparations for France's Olympics?
Though today was interesting in wandering, I hope tomorrow turns up some more interestings places. Cafes and shady plazas are my favorite so far. Luckily I can take a day train to Madrid so that I don't have to do a train rush tomorrow night. A good nights rest tomorrow night, so tonight it's off to see what there is to see.
The train ride over revealed some mountainous villages in Southern France that looked like they might be interesting for some exploring some day. After the shocks of Nice I didn't expect anything to be too frightening in Barcelona, though I've been warned twice about the gypsies, pick-pockets, and terrorists in Spain.
I took an hour nap as soon as I checked into the hostel today to recharge. After that I headed out to the Las Ramblas area, the main tourist attraction in Barcelona. My impression of Barcelona so far is that it is ultra-modernist with Gaudi buildings all over, a flare for Gothic and neo-Gothic architecture, and museums dedicated to contemporary/modernist art and Picasso. I was tempted to go inside the main one to explore, but for some reason I felt it would be completely lost to me. So instead I went for some quiche and a cold drink in an out of the way shaded plaza.
Spain is just as warm as Italy, so I've been taken everything slow minus 100 so that sweat on top of filth can be taken to a minimum. (I just learned what those arched walkways in Bern are called formally, arcades.) I got lost in the old Gothic neighborhood and walked around til I found the Arc d' Triomf (I think that's how it's spelled). Some of the streets are as shady as others have said, but in general it still has that feel of European safety, but who knows what the night will bring.
I thought I might comment on some of the people I have been eavesdropping on throughout. For some reason I hear many an air-headed comment from fellow Americans, myself included :P As far as others go, I don't understand them so I wouldn't know what to say about their conversations. Actually, on the train into Barcelona from Portbou today, I sat with some Spaniards. Kinda youngish, maybe 22-24 or so. One of them was adamant about his friend holding his pack in his lap so that he could stretch out his legs. It got kinda heated in a friendly way until he finally switched seats with me. Strange boy.
At many points of my trip I've had to test my language abilities in languages in which I have no ability at all. Sometimes I get the snootiest remarks mimicking my attempts and I'm just wondering what they hell would happen if I did that to someone trying to speak English :P They're in the minority though.
I've noticed that most chairs in the hostels have holes where one's bum is situated, well, more specifically the anus. I was musing that maybe it's for the better release of gaseous stomachs so that the fart would not ferment as one sat in one spot. But I know that it's for water to go through easily and not collect.
I had high expectations for Barcelona to be an awesome wandering city, but so far I'm not as rapt by its small alleys and such. I did wander through an open air market with meat and vegetables and stuff, but it was not that interesting. On Las Ramblas there were some performers that I found in Nice 10 years back, they must have moved here while the construction continues on Nice's tramways. I think all of Europe is in rennovation right now, the last few cities I've visited have been so uprooted that some of the prettiness is missing. Preparations for France's Olympics?
Though today was interesting in wandering, I hope tomorrow turns up some more interestings places. Cafes and shady plazas are my favorite so far. Luckily I can take a day train to Madrid so that I don't have to do a train rush tomorrow night. A good nights rest tomorrow night, so tonight it's off to see what there is to see.
Friday, July 27, 2007
Nicoise Tsunami
My last day in Nice was relatively quiet. I climbed lazily up to the ruins of the old Castle that overlooks Old Nice and the coastline and snapped some pics. There was even a man made waterfall up there, but nothing like the real thing if you know what I mean.
After that I worked my way ever so slowly to the Beua Rivage section of the beaches, set up camp, and stayed there for 4 hours. Towards the lqst couple of hours, I was lying on my stomach reading my book when I heard, 'Alors! Alors! Alors!' I turned around, quickly grabbed my bag and watched as the tide washed in tsunami style. The mat that I bought today for 2.50 was half wet, but it dried up enough for me to reroll it and take it on to Spain before I discharge it.
I was planning to take a shower at the public beach showers for 1.50, but it was closed by the time I walked over to it. I was NOT looking forward to another nasty night on the train. Luckily, my hostel has a handicap bathroom with a shower, so I showered there while people cooked and ate their dinners outside. Now I am so fresh and so clean, ready for whatever more will come my way. Hopefully more pleasant surprises after such a string of craziness that the last few days have been. Time for dinner!!!
After that I worked my way ever so slowly to the Beua Rivage section of the beaches, set up camp, and stayed there for 4 hours. Towards the lqst couple of hours, I was lying on my stomach reading my book when I heard, 'Alors! Alors! Alors!' I turned around, quickly grabbed my bag and watched as the tide washed in tsunami style. The mat that I bought today for 2.50 was half wet, but it dried up enough for me to reroll it and take it on to Spain before I discharge it.
I was planning to take a shower at the public beach showers for 1.50, but it was closed by the time I walked over to it. I was NOT looking forward to another nasty night on the train. Luckily, my hostel has a handicap bathroom with a shower, so I showered there while people cooked and ate their dinners outside. Now I am so fresh and so clean, ready for whatever more will come my way. Hopefully more pleasant surprises after such a string of craziness that the last few days have been. Time for dinner!!!
Nicoise Druggie Jason, Britney Speares shrugs me off
The crytalline blue water strikes against the 
rocky shores, and people sizzle underneath the Mediterranean sun. Calming breezes blow in from across the sea, carrying hints of the salty deserts of Africa. At least I'd imagine that they're salty, maybe rocky flavored?
My first and only night in Nice, I was stopped by cops while sitting and enjoying ocean breezes. Now, I've asked a few of you what impression you had of me when you first met me, and this is why. Do I look like druggie?! Patted down, questioned, and stared over!!! Crazy fools.
This brings me to my point, is it illegal to be alone? I see couples and everything sitting
contentedly and wonder why the law found fault with my time without an arm around someone else. They moved on to search some boys a little further off, which you cqn kind of see from the picture. My relaxing dinner of fried and stuffed Nicoise delicacies (not super impressed actually) was put to an end. I walked back home, getting lost in the dark brightly lit streets of nighttime Nice.
The previous night I was happy with my bottle of Italian wine swimming in my belly, and I actually felt a little lonesome in my cabin since no one else got in at Rome. In Florence I was joined by two
Indians that tried to tell me I wasn't supposed to be in the cabin (misunderstanding only). I was not pleased to have the guy snore loudly throughout the night, and then in the morning they opened the blinds to the hallway so that I woke to their talking as if I wasn't there, followed by lifting my head a bit and seeing people pass by in the hall and stare at my assumedly monkeylike face in my train cage.
I dropped off luggage at the hostel and wandered the great little old part of town. It was hot so I went to a cafe for some espresso to pass the day. There I saw a Britney Speares look alike waitress. I looked of course, but she gave me this snobby shrug off as if I were admiring. Little did she know that I'm into the Britney look, so I decided to let her think I was enjoying my view, rather than let her in on the secret that it was kinda disgusted. Sorry to all you Britney fans, I know how many of my friends really love her ;)
I didn't spend any time baking today because I will have to check out in the morning and have the whole day to even out my tan. I really like the look and feel of Nice naturally, but I wonder if my treatment and experience has turned my opinion. It really hasn't, but I just like that I've been taken for a drug salesperson. (Might I add I was clean shaven so maybe I need to fatten up or something). Anyways, I'm open to any and all suggestions to not look druggy-like.
I've been responding to your comments if you haven't seen. Thanks for reading, and hope you enjoy the pix so far.
rocky shores, and people sizzle underneath the Mediterranean sun. Calming breezes blow in from across the sea, carrying hints of the salty deserts of Africa. At least I'd imagine that they're salty, maybe rocky flavored?My first and only night in Nice, I was stopped by cops while sitting and enjoying ocean breezes. Now, I've asked a few of you what impression you had of me when you first met me, and this is why. Do I look like druggie?! Patted down, questioned, and stared over!!! Crazy fools.
This brings me to my point, is it illegal to be alone? I see couples and everything sitting
contentedly and wonder why the law found fault with my time without an arm around someone else. They moved on to search some boys a little further off, which you cqn kind of see from the picture. My relaxing dinner of fried and stuffed Nicoise delicacies (not super impressed actually) was put to an end. I walked back home, getting lost in the dark brightly lit streets of nighttime Nice.The previous night I was happy with my bottle of Italian wine swimming in my belly, and I actually felt a little lonesome in my cabin since no one else got in at Rome. In Florence I was joined by two
Indians that tried to tell me I wasn't supposed to be in the cabin (misunderstanding only). I was not pleased to have the guy snore loudly throughout the night, and then in the morning they opened the blinds to the hallway so that I woke to their talking as if I wasn't there, followed by lifting my head a bit and seeing people pass by in the hall and stare at my assumedly monkeylike face in my train cage.I dropped off luggage at the hostel and wandered the great little old part of town. It was hot so I went to a cafe for some espresso to pass the day. There I saw a Britney Speares look alike waitress. I looked of course, but she gave me this snobby shrug off as if I were admiring. Little did she know that I'm into the Britney look, so I decided to let her think I was enjoying my view, rather than let her in on the secret that it was kinda disgusted. Sorry to all you Britney fans, I know how many of my friends really love her ;)
I didn't spend any time baking today because I will have to check out in the morning and have the whole day to even out my tan. I really like the look and feel of Nice naturally, but I wonder if my treatment and experience has turned my opinion. It really hasn't, but I just like that I've been taken for a drug salesperson. (Might I add I was clean shaven so maybe I need to fatten up or something). Anyways, I'm open to any and all suggestions to not look druggy-like.
I've been responding to your comments if you haven't seen. Thanks for reading, and hope you enjoy the pix so far.
Thursday, July 26, 2007
Fountains of Rome, Large 'glass' of wine
The morning started early, and unlike the day before, I went out right after I woke up. The morning is considerably cooler and more inviting for exploration. My destination was the Pantheon.
I rounded a corner from some small street and the Pantheon appeared right in front of me, that's how it works in Rome. I was in the rear so I walked lazily to the entrance, taking my time to absorb any antiquity that it might exude...I don't know if I did get anything in the end.
Inside I expected statues of Roman gods, at least one or two to betray it's roots. I didn't find any, instead seeing busts and paintings of Maries and Jesi. While not enrapt by the innards, the entranceway was quite the place to be, a cool breeze came off and on, and the great columns offered a seat, if a hard one still. I sat and was relaxed, watching passerbys mozying or drifting, eating or talking, watching or waiting. A man, I assumed Italian from his lack of baggage of any sort, sat across from me, and I had a great time imagining he was one of the famed pickpockets of Rome, well, he might really have been but I didn't bother to ask.
Altogether I stared and osmozed for almost 3 or 4 hours; if
anything I was trying to keep fro, sweating since tonight would be a nighttrain sans proper shower (yum!). Eventually I walked up to go get a capuccino from Caffé Sant-Eustachio; really good! I then wandered back to the Pantheon for more sitting action. By this time I had already hit all the places I had wanted to. I stared at the moldy-white beams above and got lost in the pidgeon action. One of them puffed himself up and chased others away, but he couldn't get at the big piece of bread. He actually kept dropping the crumbs and not seeing, pieces which were deftly snatched up by the others.
I finally got up to go see another sight that was in the area since I didn't have much to do. This was the
Trevi Fountain. Wowsers! just about sums it up. I tossed in my coin, and the next time I come back, I want to see it at night. The architecture didn't wow me, rather, it was the fresh spring water flying all over and gathering into a crystal clear pool. The sun had gotten to me a little bit, so I washed my arms and face in its waters like so many others around there. In the direct sunlight, I couldn't stay long so I headed to the Piazza di Spagna.
On my way I stopped for some honey sorbet, also a great Italian snack. At the steps there is another fountain of much smaller scale, but partially in the shade. I made a round around the block and sat down and plunged my feet into the super cool spring water for 5 minutes before people on the opposite side were shooed to take their stank feet out of the water so I followed suit, not needing a direct berating.
The shade slowly crept away as the sun headed west, so I emptied my water bottle and washed it out a little before refilling it with the Roman spring water. It tastes better than any Fiji/Evian I've ever had
. I later added tea leaves to the cool water and the flavor of real spring water with good tea is something you must try first hand to taste the true sweetness of an excellent tea (yes, it was not brewed perse, but it was still great!).
After that I headed back to the hostel to while away sometime. I had to go to N's recommended restaurant tonight, but nothing opens earlier than 6. I finally made my way down Urbana to see that the ristorante was closed. Bugger. N will just have to show me there herself someday when we take a day trip from our French Riviera condos in the future.
I went to another restaurant and ordered tripe and some chicory on the side. It was good. I also wanted wine, so when I asked the waiter about the prices, he said the lower price was for a small glass. I thought, what the hell, lemme splurge for my last night in Rome and get a large glass. I came back from the restroom to a normal sized bottle of wine and eyes wide open, suck it up Jason! I finished the whole bottle and spoke with an Australian girl also dining alone. I made her promise to go see the Trevi fountain later on that night, and she was more than happy to oblige since that was also her main reason for coming back to Rome. I left Rome happy and high, and also with a deeper understanding of what 750 ml really means... :)
I rounded a corner from some small street and the Pantheon appeared right in front of me, that's how it works in Rome. I was in the rear so I walked lazily to the entrance, taking my time to absorb any antiquity that it might exude...I don't know if I did get anything in the end.
Inside I expected statues of Roman gods, at least one or two to betray it's roots. I didn't find any, instead seeing busts and paintings of Maries and Jesi. While not enrapt by the innards, the entranceway was quite the place to be, a cool breeze came off and on, and the great columns offered a seat, if a hard one still. I sat and was relaxed, watching passerbys mozying or drifting, eating or talking, watching or waiting. A man, I assumed Italian from his lack of baggage of any sort, sat across from me, and I had a great time imagining he was one of the famed pickpockets of Rome, well, he might really have been but I didn't bother to ask.
Altogether I stared and osmozed for almost 3 or 4 hours; if
anything I was trying to keep fro, sweating since tonight would be a nighttrain sans proper shower (yum!). Eventually I walked up to go get a capuccino from Caffé Sant-Eustachio; really good! I then wandered back to the Pantheon for more sitting action. By this time I had already hit all the places I had wanted to. I stared at the moldy-white beams above and got lost in the pidgeon action. One of them puffed himself up and chased others away, but he couldn't get at the big piece of bread. He actually kept dropping the crumbs and not seeing, pieces which were deftly snatched up by the others.I finally got up to go see another sight that was in the area since I didn't have much to do. This was the
Trevi Fountain. Wowsers! just about sums it up. I tossed in my coin, and the next time I come back, I want to see it at night. The architecture didn't wow me, rather, it was the fresh spring water flying all over and gathering into a crystal clear pool. The sun had gotten to me a little bit, so I washed my arms and face in its waters like so many others around there. In the direct sunlight, I couldn't stay long so I headed to the Piazza di Spagna.On my way I stopped for some honey sorbet, also a great Italian snack. At the steps there is another fountain of much smaller scale, but partially in the shade. I made a round around the block and sat down and plunged my feet into the super cool spring water for 5 minutes before people on the opposite side were shooed to take their stank feet out of the water so I followed suit, not needing a direct berating.
The shade slowly crept away as the sun headed west, so I emptied my water bottle and washed it out a little before refilling it with the Roman spring water. It tastes better than any Fiji/Evian I've ever had
. I later added tea leaves to the cool water and the flavor of real spring water with good tea is something you must try first hand to taste the true sweetness of an excellent tea (yes, it was not brewed perse, but it was still great!).After that I headed back to the hostel to while away sometime. I had to go to N's recommended restaurant tonight, but nothing opens earlier than 6. I finally made my way down Urbana to see that the ristorante was closed. Bugger. N will just have to show me there herself someday when we take a day trip from our French Riviera condos in the future.
I went to another restaurant and ordered tripe and some chicory on the side. It was good. I also wanted wine, so when I asked the waiter about the prices, he said the lower price was for a small glass. I thought, what the hell, lemme splurge for my last night in Rome and get a large glass. I came back from the restroom to a normal sized bottle of wine and eyes wide open, suck it up Jason! I finished the whole bottle and spoke with an Australian girl also dining alone. I made her promise to go see the Trevi fountain later on that night, and she was more than happy to oblige since that was also her main reason for coming back to Rome. I left Rome happy and high, and also with a deeper understanding of what 750 ml really means... :)
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
Appia Antica and My Destruction of Rome
I spent my second day in the catacombs of San Callisto, thinking that another 5 euro for another catacomb would probably yield the same results. The underground is really nice and cool though, I enjoyed the natural airconditioning.
Appia Antica is the road where a bunch of people were crucified after Spartacus' revolt a loooong long time ago. It is very narrow and walking along it is dangerous as cars brush up right against you. Luckily, it wasn't very scary compared with walking the streets in many Asian cities. I went back to a bus stop that would take me to a metro because it was time for my siesta. The heat was again beyond blistering today, so I did what I could to stay in the shade. I got on the wrong side of the bus stop maybe three times today, so I really wasn't right in the mind or something.
At the bus stop I waited on one side and on the other a girl/woman waited. I think we were there for at least half an hour before we were picked up. During my wait in the lucky shade of an oversized poplar (bo shu?), I chipped away at the wall on my side while playing with the concrete holding the wall together. I am an undercover Carthiginian, seeking the destruction of Rome!
One of the greatest parts of Rome are the coiffeured (sp?) pines all over the place. They're old and well kept, but their pruned highness only adds to the desert like heat of the place. Like the day before, I was quite dirty after a day of wandering. I went home, showered, and went to sleep. At night I walked around looking for a happening night, but I think as in most places, Tuesday nights are still early for any nighttime outings. Better that way though, because the next day I had to check out.
Appia Antica is the road where a bunch of people were crucified after Spartacus' revolt a loooong long time ago. It is very narrow and walking along it is dangerous as cars brush up right against you. Luckily, it wasn't very scary compared with walking the streets in many Asian cities. I went back to a bus stop that would take me to a metro because it was time for my siesta. The heat was again beyond blistering today, so I did what I could to stay in the shade. I got on the wrong side of the bus stop maybe three times today, so I really wasn't right in the mind or something.
At the bus stop I waited on one side and on the other a girl/woman waited. I think we were there for at least half an hour before we were picked up. During my wait in the lucky shade of an oversized poplar (bo shu?), I chipped away at the wall on my side while playing with the concrete holding the wall together. I am an undercover Carthiginian, seeking the destruction of Rome!
One of the greatest parts of Rome are the coiffeured (sp?) pines all over the place. They're old and well kept, but their pruned highness only adds to the desert like heat of the place. Like the day before, I was quite dirty after a day of wandering. I went home, showered, and went to sleep. At night I walked around looking for a happening night, but I think as in most places, Tuesday nights are still early for any nighttime outings. Better that way though, because the next day I had to check out.
Rome Crawl
Starts at St. Peter's and ends in a pub crawl.
My first day in Rome I had the joy of experiencing the Roman summer, and sweltering doesn't half describe it. Since I couldn't check into my hostel til 3, I had 6 hours to blow. So just to get it out of the way, I decided to do the Vatican and St. Peter's Basilica. I meant to only look at St. Peter's and get some more time in for the museum, but I was duped by the Catholic church into paying to go up to the Cupola of St. Peter's Basilica. If the heat wasn't enough, I had to walk up 500 plus steps to go see the dagnammed cupola. Not to say I don't have some great shots of the view of all around Rome from up there, but I would have liked to not sweat like an ogre my first day there. I was also hoping to shower after a night train ride, so you can imagine how nasty ass nasty I felt.
After that it was a one kilometer walk from there to the Vatican museum to see Michelangelo's work of art. On the way I stopped off for a panini and cool down, but the winds were not happy that day, so even the shade was disturbingly warm. I was walking along the road and two big tourist groups suddenly stopped in front of me, so I decided to walk around them, seeing as they were regrouping or something. As I walked forward on though, I began to see my error in that they were stopping for the line. So I begrudgingly walked back to further behind as the line had grown a bit by then. The wait wasn't bad as I met some folks from Missouri and had a somewhat intelligent conversation that restored my faith in the other Missourians that had condemned my 'Asian sense of humour.'
After getting inside, the first thought was how great the a/c was. The next thing seemed like some kind of cruel joke from the Vatican, two statues from the first century AD were placed along the way to the bathrooms inside. Is this to show how powerful they are?! :p I should be careful, they might send one of the colorful Swiss guards after me since I'm still in Rome. The art and relics inside were interesting, but I didn't splurge for the audio tour, which meant I just looked at untitled pieces of art that could be god knows who, but I eavesdropped on some tour guide explanations so it all works out I guess. My main goal was to see the Sistine Chapel so eventually I worked my way around the big groups and crowds there. I almost missed the Stanze di Rafaello, but luckily I asked and was surprised when the guard pointed around the room. It really is a fleeting gallery, but I looked and saw.
After that I felt it was time to work my way back home and clean up since by then I was probably one really nastified sweat ball. I got back at 2, checked in, took a shower, and slept...until 9! I got up and one of my roommates asked if I wanted to go drinking, so I was like why not? We met two other girls and they were headed to a pub crawl which apparently is a great way to meet people. So I paid 20 euros and got a t-shirt, two small juiced up shots, and two beers and a pizza, I had to pay for other beers I had along the way, I couldn't drink fast enough when they were free :P I was walking along with the crowd and couldn't help thinking that it really wasn't the best way for me to spend the night. At the last stop, a club, I briefly danced and then took my leave. I thought I remembered where I could catch a bus back to Termini, but I guess not so I walked along trying to figure my way through the streets of Rome at 3/4 in the morning. After stumbling along, I figured out finally that I was walking along the Fora Romano where I ran into some others who had been in on the crawl. I asked if I might walk with them since they had a better map. We reached the Colosseum and sat under it, to our right was the Arch of Constantine.
Apparently, in the next major earthquake the rest of it will collapse, so come see while you still can. They people I walked with were going to sit there and take it in some more, but I was tired so I split off and continued to find my way. I asked a Bengali guy selling fruit for the way, and ended up in quite a long conversation that I couldn't navigate myself out of until I finally said I needed to move on. Got home at 4 am, and slept well.
The next morning I woke at 8:45 to put my stuff in the luggage room before 10 because I am so used to one night stop overs. I had breakfast and found out I could stay in my room since I wasn't checking out til the next day. Needless to say I'm a fool, but I'm a happy one nonetheless :P Then I went back up and slept until 1 in the afternoon.
My first day in Rome I had the joy of experiencing the Roman summer, and sweltering doesn't half describe it. Since I couldn't check into my hostel til 3, I had 6 hours to blow. So just to get it out of the way, I decided to do the Vatican and St. Peter's Basilica. I meant to only look at St. Peter's and get some more time in for the museum, but I was duped by the Catholic church into paying to go up to the Cupola of St. Peter's Basilica. If the heat wasn't enough, I had to walk up 500 plus steps to go see the dagnammed cupola. Not to say I don't have some great shots of the view of all around Rome from up there, but I would have liked to not sweat like an ogre my first day there. I was also hoping to shower after a night train ride, so you can imagine how nasty ass nasty I felt.
After that it was a one kilometer walk from there to the Vatican museum to see Michelangelo's work of art. On the way I stopped off for a panini and cool down, but the winds were not happy that day, so even the shade was disturbingly warm. I was walking along the road and two big tourist groups suddenly stopped in front of me, so I decided to walk around them, seeing as they were regrouping or something. As I walked forward on though, I began to see my error in that they were stopping for the line. So I begrudgingly walked back to further behind as the line had grown a bit by then. The wait wasn't bad as I met some folks from Missouri and had a somewhat intelligent conversation that restored my faith in the other Missourians that had condemned my 'Asian sense of humour.'
After getting inside, the first thought was how great the a/c was. The next thing seemed like some kind of cruel joke from the Vatican, two statues from the first century AD were placed along the way to the bathrooms inside. Is this to show how powerful they are?! :p I should be careful, they might send one of the colorful Swiss guards after me since I'm still in Rome. The art and relics inside were interesting, but I didn't splurge for the audio tour, which meant I just looked at untitled pieces of art that could be god knows who, but I eavesdropped on some tour guide explanations so it all works out I guess. My main goal was to see the Sistine Chapel so eventually I worked my way around the big groups and crowds there. I almost missed the Stanze di Rafaello, but luckily I asked and was surprised when the guard pointed around the room. It really is a fleeting gallery, but I looked and saw.
After that I felt it was time to work my way back home and clean up since by then I was probably one really nastified sweat ball. I got back at 2, checked in, took a shower, and slept...until 9! I got up and one of my roommates asked if I wanted to go drinking, so I was like why not? We met two other girls and they were headed to a pub crawl which apparently is a great way to meet people. So I paid 20 euros and got a t-shirt, two small juiced up shots, and two beers and a pizza, I had to pay for other beers I had along the way, I couldn't drink fast enough when they were free :P I was walking along with the crowd and couldn't help thinking that it really wasn't the best way for me to spend the night. At the last stop, a club, I briefly danced and then took my leave. I thought I remembered where I could catch a bus back to Termini, but I guess not so I walked along trying to figure my way through the streets of Rome at 3/4 in the morning. After stumbling along, I figured out finally that I was walking along the Fora Romano where I ran into some others who had been in on the crawl. I asked if I might walk with them since they had a better map. We reached the Colosseum and sat under it, to our right was the Arch of Constantine.
Apparently, in the next major earthquake the rest of it will collapse, so come see while you still can. They people I walked with were going to sit there and take it in some more, but I was tired so I split off and continued to find my way. I asked a Bengali guy selling fruit for the way, and ended up in quite a long conversation that I couldn't navigate myself out of until I finally said I needed to move on. Got home at 4 am, and slept well.
The next morning I woke at 8:45 to put my stuff in the luggage room before 10 because I am so used to one night stop overs. I had breakfast and found out I could stay in my room since I wasn't checking out til the next day. Needless to say I'm a fool, but I'm a happy one nonetheless :P Then I went back up and slept until 1 in the afternoon.
Monday, July 23, 2007
Swiss Alps II
I think the only other country that could rival Switzerland in it's scenic beauty would be Austria. There really isn't any town or city or village in Switzerland that does not offer some great view at either a mountain, a snow-capped one, or some glacial lake or glacier.
After getting to the train station in the afternoon, I decided it best to leave the sad place of Interlaken. I headed to Spiez where my train would leave late at night to Rome. Spiez's train station is located higher up, overlooking a glacial lake with a town right on one shore, and a wild mountain plain on the other with a little town in it as well. Though beautiful, I would have to trek downhill and make my way back upwards if I were to try to enjoy the town. Wearied by my emotional swingings with my camera, I decided to make use of my train pass and looked to see what town was near here.
Bern is the capital of Switzerland, and my guide said it was a hidden jewel. I confer. The train station is located in a section of town that is quite modern and concretesque, but I headed down to the old part of town. The typical old town feel was there with cobble stones and all, but they seem to be remaking the tram path, so huge portions of the walk to the old town were blocked off, with cars, bikes, and people carousing along together, luckily it was not congested.
Then I hit the old part of town. With sidewalks located under the buildings, they city was built for people to wander around comfortably. The pathways had arches throughout them, and like in other parts of Switzerland, there were abundant fountains of which seemed to be clean water. It was Sunday so people were a bit sparser, but one main cross-cutting road was lined with restaurants of all sorts, and what better place to people watch from?
I didn't people watch though. First I took a picture of the Giant eating children, the one he was working on only had his bum sticking out from his mouth. Then I headed on down the old road to the bridge that led to the bear caves. This is an attracting in Bern since the mid 19th century, but the bears were a bit worn out after over 150 years of entertainment, so they took the day off.
At the Altes Tramdepot, I had a beer that they brew at the restaurant and some spazli au gratin. It was cheesy and thick so it filled me up nicely. What was even nicer was the view over the river at all the little cottages and buildings right over the river. Layered up and down through the Bern hills, a train bridge showed how high up that the buildings really went, with the glacial river flowing from a pretty steep drop.
This morning the train pulled in Rome, and I was confused with whether the sky was super polluted or just bad weather. As people wait for me to get off the computer I think I will go out now and find out if it was just bad weather. Unfortunately I don't think it was bad weather.
After getting to the train station in the afternoon, I decided it best to leave the sad place of Interlaken. I headed to Spiez where my train would leave late at night to Rome. Spiez's train station is located higher up, overlooking a glacial lake with a town right on one shore, and a wild mountain plain on the other with a little town in it as well. Though beautiful, I would have to trek downhill and make my way back upwards if I were to try to enjoy the town. Wearied by my emotional swingings with my camera, I decided to make use of my train pass and looked to see what town was near here.
Bern is the capital of Switzerland, and my guide said it was a hidden jewel. I confer. The train station is located in a section of town that is quite modern and concretesque, but I headed down to the old part of town. The typical old town feel was there with cobble stones and all, but they seem to be remaking the tram path, so huge portions of the walk to the old town were blocked off, with cars, bikes, and people carousing along together, luckily it was not congested.
Then I hit the old part of town. With sidewalks located under the buildings, they city was built for people to wander around comfortably. The pathways had arches throughout them, and like in other parts of Switzerland, there were abundant fountains of which seemed to be clean water. It was Sunday so people were a bit sparser, but one main cross-cutting road was lined with restaurants of all sorts, and what better place to people watch from?
I didn't people watch though. First I took a picture of the Giant eating children, the one he was working on only had his bum sticking out from his mouth. Then I headed on down the old road to the bridge that led to the bear caves. This is an attracting in Bern since the mid 19th century, but the bears were a bit worn out after over 150 years of entertainment, so they took the day off.
At the Altes Tramdepot, I had a beer that they brew at the restaurant and some spazli au gratin. It was cheesy and thick so it filled me up nicely. What was even nicer was the view over the river at all the little cottages and buildings right over the river. Layered up and down through the Bern hills, a train bridge showed how high up that the buildings really went, with the glacial river flowing from a pretty steep drop.
This morning the train pulled in Rome, and I was confused with whether the sky was super polluted or just bad weather. As people wait for me to get off the computer I think I will go out now and find out if it was just bad weather. Unfortunately I don't think it was bad weather.
Camera Blues
I asked Pete from the Netherlands to help me take a picture of me against the Swiss Alps after I got to the top of Kulma Hard in Interlaken, and he drops my camera, which dislocates the lense of my camera. After losing all my pictures the day before, I didn't think that anything worse could happen, but I guess it did. At the moment I didn't know whether I should cry or laugh or what other options I had. I thought about having him pay me something, but that really would not do much good since I just want to take pictures. So after alot of thought and talking with Hank and Pete, they brought me around to try to find a camera shop, it was closed of course. So I just had them give me a ride from my hostel to the train station and got Pete's info so that what happens with the camera happens. It works a little right now since I forced the lense back in place, but once I zoom all the way out, it can't focus correctly and I must restart it. Whatever the reasons, I'm still enjoying my wandering around, though maybe some good turns would be nice about right now :P
Saturday, July 21, 2007
Swiss Alps and American Asses
This is not for the any ultra-nationalist Americans, and if you don't like people saying bad things about Americans, I suggest you not read further. I would love to say that I take great pride in being American, and that I get along with my fellow nationals, but let's let the following take you through a couple of experiences I've had since coming to Switzerland.
On the train to Switzerland-
(After boarding I met a Bostonian and two Georgians)
B: So where are you guys from?
Gs: Georgia.
B: You aren't Republicans are you?
G: Umm, no, but we're not republicans either... You can't totally put off either side...
B: That's what they'd like you to believe!
M: (Where the hell did this guy come from, and why's he being such an ass right off?! Aren't we all here on vacation to relax?!)
(Later on...)
Gs: Whoa, we totally need some beer or something man... Got any of those shrooms left?!
M: (Okay potheads, stop talking like a pothead and it wouldn't be annoying... :P)
The scenery changed in the morning when I woke up from my beered up sleep. I left the cabin once the train went on a longer run and went to get myself a beer. The smoky dining cabin was filled with all sorts of people, loud and louder than each other. It was especially great hearing the Korean group continually out shout all others there, but I think eventually they saw that it wasn't a shouting match, but that people were just trying to hear each other over them :P. The scenery is definitely great in Switzerland. I could hardly believe that a country could be so beatiful, except that I had just been to Alaska so some points are shared.
The glacial milky blue water flowed through rivers and rushing rapids, and drifted idly within the lakes. The mineral rich liquid might look even radioactive if one didn't know that that's what glacial meltdown makes. The swirls and bubbles hushed and rushed along as the train went on its way. We also passed by smaller streams of cloudy brown water, the result of farming areas is my guess. At least it didn't smell like cow manure (which it does in Eindhoven, Netherlands :P). The landscape also jumped up and down, with random houses and phallic churches shooting straight up, a Swiss phenomenon in church architecture at least, but perhaps extending to other areas...?
I took the long route to Interlaken as I wanted to see the recommended scenic route from Luzern to Interlaken. I wasn't let down at all. Hiking up the mountain, the fields and farms walked off into the distance and the lakes opened up their mouths to swallow more space. The clouds were few so the sun was strong, opening up more sites to view.
As I sat in my seat, a group of people walked in and sat in front of me. They spoke English, and I finally learned that they were from the US. An old couple, and their three grandkids. I dozed off to sleep looking at the great scenery, and was awoken by giggles and a camera pointed at my face. Of course I always fall asleep sitting up with my mouth dropping open, but I can be pretty cranky when awoken so. I eventually got up and shot a picture of the kids, and said, "And Americans wonder why people think they're asses."
Grandma: "Typical Asian sense of humor, hmph!"
Me: silent.
I expected that my accent would have given me away as American already, but I'm sure that any of you reading this would also expect that someone would take my comment as if I was not American. But would you think the same if it was a white person saying that out loud in an American accent? I actually felt bad about the asses comment, but grandma's reaction totally shot down any hope of me going to apologize for calling them asses. Can't the damn Americans just let me enjoy my goddamn trip? Get off the know everything politics, pot headed musings, and racist reactions...
I watched the rain pour as I was stranded in a gazebo type place. Couples danced through the rain, friends talked while running for cover, and birds twitted about. I hugged my backpack to keep my front warm and listened to Jay-Z, Zhou Jie-lun, sappy Chinese loves songs, angry Fuel songs, and depressing tunes mixed with up beat hip hop and soul...it turned out to be a nice quiet evening among the mountains and rivers...
Oh yes, I accidentally erased all my photos from my trip up to this afternoon so you'll have to come see everything for yourself :P
On the train to Switzerland-
(After boarding I met a Bostonian and two Georgians)
B: So where are you guys from?
Gs: Georgia.
B: You aren't Republicans are you?
G: Umm, no, but we're not republicans either... You can't totally put off either side...
B: That's what they'd like you to believe!
M: (Where the hell did this guy come from, and why's he being such an ass right off?! Aren't we all here on vacation to relax?!)
(Later on...)
Gs: Whoa, we totally need some beer or something man... Got any of those shrooms left?!
M: (Okay potheads, stop talking like a pothead and it wouldn't be annoying... :P)
The scenery changed in the morning when I woke up from my beered up sleep. I left the cabin once the train went on a longer run and went to get myself a beer. The smoky dining cabin was filled with all sorts of people, loud and louder than each other. It was especially great hearing the Korean group continually out shout all others there, but I think eventually they saw that it wasn't a shouting match, but that people were just trying to hear each other over them :P. The scenery is definitely great in Switzerland. I could hardly believe that a country could be so beatiful, except that I had just been to Alaska so some points are shared.
The glacial milky blue water flowed through rivers and rushing rapids, and drifted idly within the lakes. The mineral rich liquid might look even radioactive if one didn't know that that's what glacial meltdown makes. The swirls and bubbles hushed and rushed along as the train went on its way. We also passed by smaller streams of cloudy brown water, the result of farming areas is my guess. At least it didn't smell like cow manure (which it does in Eindhoven, Netherlands :P). The landscape also jumped up and down, with random houses and phallic churches shooting straight up, a Swiss phenomenon in church architecture at least, but perhaps extending to other areas...?
I took the long route to Interlaken as I wanted to see the recommended scenic route from Luzern to Interlaken. I wasn't let down at all. Hiking up the mountain, the fields and farms walked off into the distance and the lakes opened up their mouths to swallow more space. The clouds were few so the sun was strong, opening up more sites to view.
As I sat in my seat, a group of people walked in and sat in front of me. They spoke English, and I finally learned that they were from the US. An old couple, and their three grandkids. I dozed off to sleep looking at the great scenery, and was awoken by giggles and a camera pointed at my face. Of course I always fall asleep sitting up with my mouth dropping open, but I can be pretty cranky when awoken so. I eventually got up and shot a picture of the kids, and said, "And Americans wonder why people think they're asses."
Grandma: "Typical Asian sense of humor, hmph!"
Me: silent.
I expected that my accent would have given me away as American already, but I'm sure that any of you reading this would also expect that someone would take my comment as if I was not American. But would you think the same if it was a white person saying that out loud in an American accent? I actually felt bad about the asses comment, but grandma's reaction totally shot down any hope of me going to apologize for calling them asses. Can't the damn Americans just let me enjoy my goddamn trip? Get off the know everything politics, pot headed musings, and racist reactions...
I watched the rain pour as I was stranded in a gazebo type place. Couples danced through the rain, friends talked while running for cover, and birds twitted about. I hugged my backpack to keep my front warm and listened to Jay-Z, Zhou Jie-lun, sappy Chinese loves songs, angry Fuel songs, and depressing tunes mixed with up beat hip hop and soul...it turned out to be a nice quiet evening among the mountains and rivers...
Oh yes, I accidentally erased all my photos from my trip up to this afternoon so you'll have to come see everything for yourself :P
Road to the World's Red Light
The trip to Amsterdam from Oslo took a whopping 30 hours long, so the following is a mix of hallucination resulting from fatigue.
The train from Berlin to Amsterdam was filled with all new sorts of flora and fauna such as sheep and droopy pine like plants. I didn't recognize the landscape anymore, and of course the German and Dutch were exactly that to my ears. The trees were kind of scary actually. A birch like tree that sprouts that typical tree form of the trunk and an ovularesque top lined the railway track most of the way to the Netherlands. They flapped their arms wildly, and it seemed as if they had circular mouths shouting at me. Flying by like banshees, the train's screeching added to the effect quite clearly. I drifted in and out of sleep as any motion full ride will make me.
I finally arrived in Amsterdam Zuid/South, only to find out that I needed to make a trip to Amerstam Central. By the time I reached central station, I had to find a locker, try to call my friend, book the next leg's tickets, and find out how to walk to the Rijksmuseum (note it's pronounced like 'rikes,' my 'rakes' threw all the Dutch people off quite efficiently). Of course, I did everything except go to the museum because the hour plus wait at the ticketing center drained any time I could have hoped for. Luckily, I found my friend and was able to have such a relaxing dinner and sleep that night.
The dinner lasted for over two hours, and apparently this is typical. I loved just sitting, chatting, and eating slowly as if the sunlight would miss our early departure from it's warmth. Furthermore, I had had nothing to eat until that night, everything else was basically snacking and so forth on my speedway through the trains and all. There's alot to learn about good eating from Europe, or at least the Netherlands.
The following day I visited the Rijksmuseum myself, and met up with my friend at about 4 pm. We strolled Amsterdam's central innard-lanes and sat for an afternoon beer (at least I had one :P) to people watch on a busier pass in Leidenplats (I think that's what it was called :P). Some performer was bouncing balls and climbing lamposts to attract attention, and he even got the police to take notice.
Walking through Amsterdam can be quite hazardous since the streets, bike paths, and tram ways are not always distinguishable right away, and most of the time they just come together. It was definitely a great place for wandering. After dinner, we had to head to the train station for the next leg of my trip, Switzerland. On the way to the station, we passed through the red light district, chinatown, and what looked like the homosexual (can I just say gay?) ward what with all the rainbow flags flowing in the wind. Most of the prosties were out for dinner at that time, though we saw a few pudgy ones around. Chinatown was small but right behind the Red Light district, easy access maybe? There seemed to be a pretty steady amount of business in the restaurants there, good enough that even the rain didn't kill the clientele there.
As I headed on board, I met up with some fellow Americans...
The train from Berlin to Amsterdam was filled with all new sorts of flora and fauna such as sheep and droopy pine like plants. I didn't recognize the landscape anymore, and of course the German and Dutch were exactly that to my ears. The trees were kind of scary actually. A birch like tree that sprouts that typical tree form of the trunk and an ovularesque top lined the railway track most of the way to the Netherlands. They flapped their arms wildly, and it seemed as if they had circular mouths shouting at me. Flying by like banshees, the train's screeching added to the effect quite clearly. I drifted in and out of sleep as any motion full ride will make me.
I finally arrived in Amsterdam Zuid/South, only to find out that I needed to make a trip to Amerstam Central. By the time I reached central station, I had to find a locker, try to call my friend, book the next leg's tickets, and find out how to walk to the Rijksmuseum (note it's pronounced like 'rikes,' my 'rakes' threw all the Dutch people off quite efficiently). Of course, I did everything except go to the museum because the hour plus wait at the ticketing center drained any time I could have hoped for. Luckily, I found my friend and was able to have such a relaxing dinner and sleep that night.
The dinner lasted for over two hours, and apparently this is typical. I loved just sitting, chatting, and eating slowly as if the sunlight would miss our early departure from it's warmth. Furthermore, I had had nothing to eat until that night, everything else was basically snacking and so forth on my speedway through the trains and all. There's alot to learn about good eating from Europe, or at least the Netherlands.
The following day I visited the Rijksmuseum myself, and met up with my friend at about 4 pm. We strolled Amsterdam's central innard-lanes and sat for an afternoon beer (at least I had one :P) to people watch on a busier pass in Leidenplats (I think that's what it was called :P). Some performer was bouncing balls and climbing lamposts to attract attention, and he even got the police to take notice.
Walking through Amsterdam can be quite hazardous since the streets, bike paths, and tram ways are not always distinguishable right away, and most of the time they just come together. It was definitely a great place for wandering. After dinner, we had to head to the train station for the next leg of my trip, Switzerland. On the way to the station, we passed through the red light district, chinatown, and what looked like the homosexual (can I just say gay?) ward what with all the rainbow flags flowing in the wind. Most of the prosties were out for dinner at that time, though we saw a few pudgy ones around. Chinatown was small but right behind the Red Light district, easy access maybe? There seemed to be a pretty steady amount of business in the restaurants there, good enough that even the rain didn't kill the clientele there.
As I headed on board, I met up with some fellow Americans...
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Scandinavian Eats
What would a blog from me be without some yummies in there as well. I arrived in Malmö at about 8:30 pm, so I went looking around for some cheap eats. Now, in Finland the best cheap eat for me was usually a kebab on rice, so that's what my mind was set on tonight. I went out the station and walked towards the old town (gamle stan), looking for yummy lamb on rice. Unfortunately I didn't find any, and it was superbly disconcerting that I could not find my kebab in Scandinavia.
So walking sadly back towards the station, I was readying my stomach to take the bad news that tonight would be a sandwich night. But 'huang tian bu fu you xin ren' I saw a kebab stand right outside the canal in front of the train station. Though they didn't have my favorite on rice, I got one wrapped in a pita with falafel. The lamb and onions and sauce dripped greedily through the oiled wax paper that kept most of the juices from getting all over my hand. The raw onion giving it just the right amound of sting that was immediately drowned out by the creamy white sauce that always comes with it. The falafel was a little bit dry, but nothing that some water couldn't help. Satisfied, I took a couple of shots from the picnic table I sat at and looked around a little before heading back to the train station to get some snacks and wait for my train to get in. Tonight the train will traverse the sea somehow, though exactly in what manner remains to be seen. Stay tuned for how the train will swim...
So walking sadly back towards the station, I was readying my stomach to take the bad news that tonight would be a sandwich night. But 'huang tian bu fu you xin ren' I saw a kebab stand right outside the canal in front of the train station. Though they didn't have my favorite on rice, I got one wrapped in a pita with falafel. The lamb and onions and sauce dripped greedily through the oiled wax paper that kept most of the juices from getting all over my hand. The raw onion giving it just the right amound of sting that was immediately drowned out by the creamy white sauce that always comes with it. The falafel was a little bit dry, but nothing that some water couldn't help. Satisfied, I took a couple of shots from the picnic table I sat at and looked around a little before heading back to the train station to get some snacks and wait for my train to get in. Tonight the train will traverse the sea somehow, though exactly in what manner remains to be seen. Stay tuned for how the train will swim...
Oslo Rains
It wouldn't be an adventure if everything went as planned. My poor friend had a family emergency and left me stranded in this grand capital city. Attempts to escape my marooning failed when the seats were completely booked for that same day, but as luck would have it, my guide brought me to a place that seemed relatively quiet for a summer day in Scandinavia.
I walked through the crowded walking street of Karl Johans Gate, lugging an unwieldy green sausage to the hostal. As my shoulders strove to keep my bags coming with me, I remembered my arrival into Huashida in the fall of 2000 and taking my extra large green sausage through the main gates, all the back to the secluded foreign students' dorm. Luckily I found the hostal and set to taking a relaxing shower before heading out to the streets for exploration. On my way to the hostal, people gathered around the entrance to a hotel, apparently a well known Bollywood star was about to make an exit. I didn't stay as I thought my time better spent in exploration of the local sites.
Oslo was rainy, the gray skies present for most of the time. On my walk to the Akershus Festning, it started to downpour for a while, reminding me why I had brought my rain coat with me. I stopped off in a music store to escape the rain, and when it died down to a drizzle I went on to the old fortress. I decided to just do my own walking tour around the place, saving money and brain space. The paths were cobbled, and my sandals walked clumsily onwards. Some views of Oslo harbor and the city itself were found along the way. It was 3 pm by the time I had finished the Akershus, so I headed on out to try to find Cafe Blitx, a place known for radicals and against-the-grain people. As luck would have it, it was closed for my one day in Oslo, so I headed off to find another cafe to eat at.
I finally found a small off the road cafe where I had a double americano and a turkey wrap for about 15 USD. The wrap was pretty good, it was ground turkey with a lightly tangy sauce and fresh yellow peppers and greens. A light salad of alfalfa and dandelion leaves topped the wrap, and the meal was a welcome one after the long and wet trip of the day. Afterwards I headed back to my hostal for an afternoon nap. It was about 6 pm when I got back, and after my nap and some lazing around it was already about 8. I read for a while, my book being Hemmingway's "The Sun Also Rises." After getting into the book for a while, I went for a 7-11 light dinner of ham and cheese calzone before resting again, prepping myself for some Oslo pubbing.
It was a fun night watching the locals dance and sing. The beer a pilsner that was good enough. I left when the pub finally closed, satisfied with my romp through Oslo. In the morning it will be time to pack up and move on to Amsterdam, time to leave the lilting tongue of Oslo and head on towards the softer 'German.'
I walked through the crowded walking street of Karl Johans Gate, lugging an unwieldy green sausage to the hostal. As my shoulders strove to keep my bags coming with me, I remembered my arrival into Huashida in the fall of 2000 and taking my extra large green sausage through the main gates, all the back to the secluded foreign students' dorm. Luckily I found the hostal and set to taking a relaxing shower before heading out to the streets for exploration. On my way to the hostal, people gathered around the entrance to a hotel, apparently a well known Bollywood star was about to make an exit. I didn't stay as I thought my time better spent in exploration of the local sites.
Oslo was rainy, the gray skies present for most of the time. On my walk to the Akershus Festning, it started to downpour for a while, reminding me why I had brought my rain coat with me. I stopped off in a music store to escape the rain, and when it died down to a drizzle I went on to the old fortress. I decided to just do my own walking tour around the place, saving money and brain space. The paths were cobbled, and my sandals walked clumsily onwards. Some views of Oslo harbor and the city itself were found along the way. It was 3 pm by the time I had finished the Akershus, so I headed on out to try to find Cafe Blitx, a place known for radicals and against-the-grain people. As luck would have it, it was closed for my one day in Oslo, so I headed off to find another cafe to eat at.
I finally found a small off the road cafe where I had a double americano and a turkey wrap for about 15 USD. The wrap was pretty good, it was ground turkey with a lightly tangy sauce and fresh yellow peppers and greens. A light salad of alfalfa and dandelion leaves topped the wrap, and the meal was a welcome one after the long and wet trip of the day. Afterwards I headed back to my hostal for an afternoon nap. It was about 6 pm when I got back, and after my nap and some lazing around it was already about 8. I read for a while, my book being Hemmingway's "The Sun Also Rises." After getting into the book for a while, I went for a 7-11 light dinner of ham and cheese calzone before resting again, prepping myself for some Oslo pubbing.
It was a fun night watching the locals dance and sing. The beer a pilsner that was good enough. I left when the pub finally closed, satisfied with my romp through Oslo. In the morning it will be time to pack up and move on to Amsterdam, time to leave the lilting tongue of Oslo and head on towards the softer 'German.'
The Finnish Woods
The wind blows smoothly over the quilted fields of Pertteli. The blue-green oats shivered loosely, the yellow ripened hops shone brightly like a spring buck. The tubular wheat beat upon each other as the summer rains came drifting in from the Baltic. Passing through the fields on our way to the summer cottage, the sky gradually grayed as a new bought of showers came to quench the ever-thirsty fields.
After entering a small side road into the fields, the scenery changed into the hardy Finnish forests. The birch, pine, and spruce stood hardily up, protecting the undergrowth of wild strawberries, blueberries, and the soon to be lingonberries. We drove up-rock at first, climbing steadily before dipping back down towards the seashore cottage.
While Paavo, my host father, readied the sauna, Maija, my host mother, brought me on a trek through the forest for some blueberry picking. We climbed back up the rock to get the grand view of the inlet that led to the sea. All along the way we stopped to pick the tiny blueberries, smaller than the store bought ones we see in North America, but sweet and delicious nonetheless. There are actually two kinds, one similar to what we are used to, and another darker one that is blacker and ruddier. I guess that the second one is what the Finnish have named blueberries after, mustikka (musta = black). Heading up the rock slowly, Maija continued to teach me the names of all the types of moss and growth around us, the bear's moss (karhun sammal), the prickly juniper that you know from trying to grab a handful only to be stung by its sharp tiny needles, unlike the softer spruce that is soft and gives way to one's hold on it.
After that stroll the sauna was lit and ready for use. Throwing a few scoops of water to moisten the air, the temperature seemingly rises immediately, a welcome stuffiness in comparison to the cool Finnish summer air. The steam smells fragrantly of the freshly burned birch. It's seven o'clock at night, and the sun shines stongly after the showers pass. Now that we have been sufficiently warmed by the sauna, we walk down the stone steps that lead to a little dock. Unable to walk steadily into the creamy green colored sea, I plunge directly into the 20 degree (Celsius) water. The shock is great, but after a little movement, the cold passes into a light warmth almost. Treading water and making my way around the dock, I take a couple of swallows of the sea water. The mixed solution is a light saltiness that has a thick flavor, and I spit it out as I accustom myself to swimming. This is done three times in order to reap the benefits of saunaing, though one can feel free to continue for as long as you wish.
Lethargic from the constant shocks of cool and heat, we sit down to a beer and a lonkero (gin long drink). The lazy wind shuffles by, cooling the last rewarming in the sauna. We chat sporadically, giving some time to listen to the quiet as well. Looking out from the sauna porch, the leaves rustle quietly, and wafts of birch and pine drift past. The sea is calm, and only randomly do we hear the singing of some guys on the opposite shore, singing their drinking songs that come timely.
Maija calls us over for dinner eventually, and we sit down to the typical fare of potatoes, Finnish rye bread, cheese, salads, and meatballs (the Finnish kind of course, though how they differ from Swedish ones I've never ventured to think about). Full and sated, my stomach calls me to sleep, lulling me to take a nap before we head to the local pub for some dancing and fun when my host sister, Kirsi, her husband, Jarno, and their neighbors come over in their motorboat to pick us up.
After some good old happy dancing, they eat some makkara (Finnish sausage) from a stand outside the pub, and we head on back in the boat. It's about 1 am, and the sky is still in its twilight phase. The summer nights are no match for the Arctic summer sun. Happy and tired, I drift off to sleep in the room next to the sauna. It is nicely warmed, and as my mind wanders off, the last memory before the morning comes is a draft of birch and the quiet of the Finnish woods.
After entering a small side road into the fields, the scenery changed into the hardy Finnish forests. The birch, pine, and spruce stood hardily up, protecting the undergrowth of wild strawberries, blueberries, and the soon to be lingonberries. We drove up-rock at first, climbing steadily before dipping back down towards the seashore cottage.
While Paavo, my host father, readied the sauna, Maija, my host mother, brought me on a trek through the forest for some blueberry picking. We climbed back up the rock to get the grand view of the inlet that led to the sea. All along the way we stopped to pick the tiny blueberries, smaller than the store bought ones we see in North America, but sweet and delicious nonetheless. There are actually two kinds, one similar to what we are used to, and another darker one that is blacker and ruddier. I guess that the second one is what the Finnish have named blueberries after, mustikka (musta = black). Heading up the rock slowly, Maija continued to teach me the names of all the types of moss and growth around us, the bear's moss (karhun sammal), the prickly juniper that you know from trying to grab a handful only to be stung by its sharp tiny needles, unlike the softer spruce that is soft and gives way to one's hold on it.
After that stroll the sauna was lit and ready for use. Throwing a few scoops of water to moisten the air, the temperature seemingly rises immediately, a welcome stuffiness in comparison to the cool Finnish summer air. The steam smells fragrantly of the freshly burned birch. It's seven o'clock at night, and the sun shines stongly after the showers pass. Now that we have been sufficiently warmed by the sauna, we walk down the stone steps that lead to a little dock. Unable to walk steadily into the creamy green colored sea, I plunge directly into the 20 degree (Celsius) water. The shock is great, but after a little movement, the cold passes into a light warmth almost. Treading water and making my way around the dock, I take a couple of swallows of the sea water. The mixed solution is a light saltiness that has a thick flavor, and I spit it out as I accustom myself to swimming. This is done three times in order to reap the benefits of saunaing, though one can feel free to continue for as long as you wish.
Lethargic from the constant shocks of cool and heat, we sit down to a beer and a lonkero (gin long drink). The lazy wind shuffles by, cooling the last rewarming in the sauna. We chat sporadically, giving some time to listen to the quiet as well. Looking out from the sauna porch, the leaves rustle quietly, and wafts of birch and pine drift past. The sea is calm, and only randomly do we hear the singing of some guys on the opposite shore, singing their drinking songs that come timely.
Maija calls us over for dinner eventually, and we sit down to the typical fare of potatoes, Finnish rye bread, cheese, salads, and meatballs (the Finnish kind of course, though how they differ from Swedish ones I've never ventured to think about). Full and sated, my stomach calls me to sleep, lulling me to take a nap before we head to the local pub for some dancing and fun when my host sister, Kirsi, her husband, Jarno, and their neighbors come over in their motorboat to pick us up.
After some good old happy dancing, they eat some makkara (Finnish sausage) from a stand outside the pub, and we head on back in the boat. It's about 1 am, and the sky is still in its twilight phase. The summer nights are no match for the Arctic summer sun. Happy and tired, I drift off to sleep in the room next to the sauna. It is nicely warmed, and as my mind wanders off, the last memory before the morning comes is a draft of birch and the quiet of the Finnish woods.
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
To Europe
Dear Friends,
I think I've told all of you about my trip to Europe, upon which I embark tomorrow afternoon. I've done as much planning as I could have, well, think I have, and have plotted as much as I would wish to plot. Mostly I am trying to relax and enjoy nature and people on this trip, that is to say, planning is not of the utmost importance. However, being the serial planner that I am, I have created a route to follow, and a schedule by which to abide. I set off with a backpack and a green hot dog bag. Here I share the schedule with you:
Florida > Ohio > London (6 hours) > Helsinki (overnight)
Train to Salo, my hometown in Finland (3 day stay or so)
Turku > Stockholm > Oslo (to stay with the ebullient and fun Miss Sill-J)
Oslo > Amsterdam (staying at Eindhoven with the funny and HK:y Miss Mona)
Amsterdam > Zurich > Interlaken (Switzerland!)
Interlaken > Rome (3 days)
Rome > Nice (2 days)
Nice > Barcelona (2 days)
Barcelona > Madrid (2 days)
Madrid > San Sebastian (one day)
San Sebastian > Bordeaux (one day)
Bordeaux > Paris (3 days)
Paris > London (3-4 days)
London > JFK > Florida
With that said, I will spend alotta time lounging and coffee shopping, and hopefully journaling and blogging. I can't promise exciting stuff, but who knows? Maybe exploding burritos are only the beginning of a more interesting summer! Take a peek at the blog if you got a moment and ridicule me for my touristy faults and follies.
Someone brought up whether I am off to find myself on a spiritual quest. I hope not, but who knows? Maybe I'll be touched by some miracle, like my laundry won't stink too much :p
I don't think I've sent this to an exhaustive list, and as I should get some sleep before traveling, I hope that if you find I left someone that I should have included, that you might be kind enough to send this on to them with my apologies :P
Good night, and ttyl.
clh/clx/jlc/j
I think I've told all of you about my trip to Europe, upon which I embark tomorrow afternoon. I've done as much planning as I could have, well, think I have, and have plotted as much as I would wish to plot. Mostly I am trying to relax and enjoy nature and people on this trip, that is to say, planning is not of the utmost importance. However, being the serial planner that I am, I have created a route to follow, and a schedule by which to abide. I set off with a backpack and a green hot dog bag. Here I share the schedule with you:
Florida > Ohio > London (6 hours) > Helsinki (overnight)
Train to Salo, my hometown in Finland (3 day stay or so)
Turku > Stockholm > Oslo (to stay with the ebullient and fun Miss Sill-J)
Oslo > Amsterdam (staying at Eindhoven with the funny and HK:y Miss Mona)
Amsterdam > Zurich > Interlaken (Switzerland!)
Interlaken > Rome (3 days)
Rome > Nice (2 days)
Nice > Barcelona (2 days)
Barcelona > Madrid (2 days)
Madrid > San Sebastian (one day)
San Sebastian > Bordeaux (one day)
Bordeaux > Paris (3 days)
Paris > London (3-4 days)
London > JFK > Florida
With that said, I will spend alotta time lounging and coffee shopping, and hopefully journaling and blogging. I can't promise exciting stuff, but who knows? Maybe exploding burritos are only the beginning of a more interesting summer! Take a peek at the blog if you got a moment and ridicule me for my touristy faults and follies.
Someone brought up whether I am off to find myself on a spiritual quest. I hope not, but who knows? Maybe I'll be touched by some miracle, like my laundry won't stink too much :p
I don't think I've sent this to an exhaustive list, and as I should get some sleep before traveling, I hope that if you find I left someone that I should have included, that you might be kind enough to send this on to them with my apologies :P
Good night, and ttyl.
clh/clx/jlc/j
Tuesday, July 3, 2007
Road home from school: Exit Seat Blues
I parked my rear into the exit seat row that was right next to the main loading and unloading door. As all people who have flown know, you know about the talk that one is to get when you decide to sit your butt down in that row. To my right was a tattooed guy, probably around my age. He had on a green gap and had a full beard, kinda chubby. To my left was a blond lady. She had an accent, and at first I thought it was scandinavian or german, but her phone conversation confirmed that she was hispanic. Speaking quite loudly on her cell, the flight attendant obviously knew she was not speaking English.
"Excuse me ma'am, I'm going to have to ask you to listen for a second."
Blah, blah, blah... y no me dices... blah, blah, blah...
Stares at the lady. 5 minutes elapse.
Phone turned off and staring at flight attendant.
So the spiel is given, and the last question she asks is whether we understand, and we all nod. Then she stares at me, so I smile politely.
"Do you understand?"
Nod.
"Say something?"
Confused stare, "What?"
"Ok, I get people smiling and nodding at me all the time, and they don't understand."
Polite smile and think.
Now what the fuck am I supposed to think damn it?! I had to prove my English when the hispanic lady not saying anything in English obviously knows English, but I gots to speak up to prove something.
Ain't that a shame... Delta, this Europe flight best not run the same way!
"Excuse me ma'am, I'm going to have to ask you to listen for a second."
Blah, blah, blah... y no me dices... blah, blah, blah...
Stares at the lady. 5 minutes elapse.
Phone turned off and staring at flight attendant.
So the spiel is given, and the last question she asks is whether we understand, and we all nod. Then she stares at me, so I smile politely.
"Do you understand?"
Nod.
"Say something?"
Confused stare, "What?"
"Ok, I get people smiling and nodding at me all the time, and they don't understand."
Polite smile and think.
Now what the fuck am I supposed to think damn it?! I had to prove my English when the hispanic lady not saying anything in English obviously knows English, but I gots to speak up to prove something.
Ain't that a shame... Delta, this Europe flight best not run the same way!
Monday, July 2, 2007
Road home from school: Exploding Burritos
After dragging three bags around and getting fined for being overweight at the check-in counter, I thought that the rest would be smooth sailing. You wait at the long line where you have to keep a smiling happy face as the TSA scans your face and yells at you because they are trying to protect us. As my carry-on runs through the x-ray I find out I completely forgot about two great big bottles of wine that are liquid (my fault for forgetting! :P) and my backpack gets flagged for searching.
Apparently, there is some property inside of a Chipotle burrito that triggers sensors in an airport x-ray, warning us of the impending explosive potential within. This is surprising for two reasons. First off, I wonder what the people managing the machines are looking for. Is it the liquid properties of the guacamole and sour cream that set off alarms? I watched intently as the man searching my bag wiped some kind of chemical pad around my bag looking for explosive particles or something inside my bag (well, that's what I imagined they were doing, otherwise they were alcohol padding the inside of my bag for an injection :P). After the machine he put the pad in beeped, confirming that my bag was explosive free thus far, the man started poking and prodding around my bag. He took out my chipotle brown bag, opened it up, and was about to stick his fingers and prod my burrito. He unrolled the bag carefully, and stuck his gloved finger in slowly, contact within seconds. At this point I decided I should tell him, "It's a burrito," which I did. "Sure smells like one," was his response, and he wrapped it up without prodding it. Crisis averted, burrito intact unprodded.
The second surprising and perhaps scary thought is, "What the hell are they putting in those burritos!" That it would set off security alerts and call for a bag search seems pretty intense. What kind of atomic beans are they putting in there, and what sort of chemically processed guacamole am I to ingest? I read the label on the Chipotle softdrink cup and see them selling the Chipotle freshness and support for small farmers. Then I take a drink of the soda that is manufactured by Coca-Cola and wonder which small farmer helped to make this soda? If big companies were really out to help out the small time families and local folks, would they need to paste these all over the place? But then again, when is the last time I've bothered to search the background of some company I'm buying from?
These costs of freedom really make one think about what we are truly sacrificing for. What is freedom but a name, and if we must pay for it, is it really something we want? Is happiness purchasable? When did we become so attached to the idea that purchasing material goods is the only way to add to our happiness? Why would a historical background of when this began help us? Rather than blame someone, maybe it's just better to do something, to learn to appreciate some of those nothings that are priceless and enjoy them. Sure I'm saying this now, but how easy is it really to get out of this loop?
Apparently, there is some property inside of a Chipotle burrito that triggers sensors in an airport x-ray, warning us of the impending explosive potential within. This is surprising for two reasons. First off, I wonder what the people managing the machines are looking for. Is it the liquid properties of the guacamole and sour cream that set off alarms? I watched intently as the man searching my bag wiped some kind of chemical pad around my bag looking for explosive particles or something inside my bag (well, that's what I imagined they were doing, otherwise they were alcohol padding the inside of my bag for an injection :P). After the machine he put the pad in beeped, confirming that my bag was explosive free thus far, the man started poking and prodding around my bag. He took out my chipotle brown bag, opened it up, and was about to stick his fingers and prod my burrito. He unrolled the bag carefully, and stuck his gloved finger in slowly, contact within seconds. At this point I decided I should tell him, "It's a burrito," which I did. "Sure smells like one," was his response, and he wrapped it up without prodding it. Crisis averted, burrito intact unprodded.
The second surprising and perhaps scary thought is, "What the hell are they putting in those burritos!" That it would set off security alerts and call for a bag search seems pretty intense. What kind of atomic beans are they putting in there, and what sort of chemically processed guacamole am I to ingest? I read the label on the Chipotle softdrink cup and see them selling the Chipotle freshness and support for small farmers. Then I take a drink of the soda that is manufactured by Coca-Cola and wonder which small farmer helped to make this soda? If big companies were really out to help out the small time families and local folks, would they need to paste these all over the place? But then again, when is the last time I've bothered to search the background of some company I'm buying from?
These costs of freedom really make one think about what we are truly sacrificing for. What is freedom but a name, and if we must pay for it, is it really something we want? Is happiness purchasable? When did we become so attached to the idea that purchasing material goods is the only way to add to our happiness? Why would a historical background of when this began help us? Rather than blame someone, maybe it's just better to do something, to learn to appreciate some of those nothings that are priceless and enjoy them. Sure I'm saying this now, but how easy is it really to get out of this loop?
Sunday, June 10, 2007
Travels and Travails
So this is another blog to track down my travels in life and pleasure to think about where I am and what I'm doing. It might be BS to some, but maybe I can find some similar thoughts from others. Or maybe I really am BS'ing once in a while. Tell me what you think, or maybe something different or new that you find.
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