1600

1600
You are masculine perfection
Genius intellect wrapped within an adonis physique
No riddle that could not be solved
No mountain that could not be moved
But every superman has his kryptonite
And I know yours
For all your wit and might
A lowly burrito is your undoing
Consume one and into deep sleep you fall
Not even the tempest can wake you
Nor my frequent phone calls
(wake up already!)

Today you walk the Windy City
Nearing the end of a long tunnel of academia
This journey has taken a lot out of you
But it fails to take your smile
There’s still a sun behind those clouds
And you still brighten peoples’ days

The world may run on Dunkin
But Chicago runs on you

Ode to the Polish Taxicab

Polish Taxicab, what can I say of thee?
A white Volvo you were
Plain and unsightly
But your dull exterior concealed your true identity:
An old warrior who wasn’t ready just yet
To give up the fight

Your rear seat belts were usually missing
And your brakes didn’t always work
In fact a number of times I was concerned for my own well-being
But your blatant disregard for safety never stopped you from giving us a good time

Do you remember all those beach trips?
Do you remember doing donuts in parking lots?
Do you remember that one time there were so many of us that we could not all fit in the seats and we had to put one guy in the trunk? And when it turned out he was claustrophobic?

But your greatest gift of all was hidden beneath your engine.
A weapon that struck fear into the hearts of the lawless
And helped us dish out vigilante justice when the law had failed
True, it was abused on multiple occasions
But that was all part of the grandeur
Yes, it is true
You had police and ambulance sirens

Do you remember the time we saw some girls make an illegal left hand turn and we made them jump out of their seat and pull over?
Do you remember the time you screamed and those two guys started running like the police were chasing them?
Do you remember the time when you made a quick sound, a guy turned to look at us, and then he walked straight into a light post?
Do you remember the night in the canyon when you called out, and a distance police car answered?
Do you remember the time in the car wash, when we set off your sirens and then an actual police car drove right past us at the exit?

Polish Taxicab, you were the best friend of a slightly deranged Polish guy,
And his friends who were too foolhardy not to join in his madness
Wherever you are
Here’s to the memories

Homecoming

Coming home is usually awkward at first. My father normally picks me up from the airport and then drives me back to the family house. He asks me questions of about how I’m doing and other things in my life, but I find it very difficult to give more than one-word or one-sentence answers. I really should be more conversational but I can never bring myself to anything beyond these basic answers. All that changes after about twenty-five to thirty minutes when we arrive at the house. I breathe in the air – the same air I breathed for about eighteen years. The neighborhood looks the same. The sounds are the same. It even smells the same, though I’ve never been sure what exactly it smells like. The door opens. Yeah, I’m home.

Finest Hour

My friends Wing, Fresh and I share a special bond; a friendship based on the foundations of hatred and distrust. That has nothing to do with today's story; it's just a fact. Today's story is about how a moving trip to Seattle was salvaged in the hour of despair.

Some time ago, Fresh was moving from Boulder to Seattle, and Wing and I agreed to help him with the move. A two day drive was planned out that would take us across the northwest United States. I even rented a car to make packing up Fresh's stuff easier and allow us to more comfortably fit in our respective vehicles. The day of the move everything was loaded up into the two vehicles and we all went out for breakfast to celebrate the start of the journey. After eating, we came back out into the parking lot to do a final check of everything.

Fresh's car (the jeep) and my rental car (the green Toyota) in the parking lot awaiting departure.

Wing, the great sage of materialism, laments Fresh's excess of worldly possessions.

Fresh gives the thumbs up. "What could possibly go wrong?" he thinks.

Before departure we did a brief team huddle. Fresh emphasized that he wanted to get to Seattle safely and without getting pulled over, so he advised going no more than five miles per hour over the speed limit. In retrospect this was ironic, because whenever Fresh was driving the lead vehicle we would be burning rubber down the highway. With the final check done, Fresh and Wing got into Fresh's jeep, which would be the lead vehicle, and I got into the Toyota which would be tailing them.

We are all prone to nervousness and panic attacks. Fresh, however, had a particularly big panic attack when some car trouble jeopardized the whole journey. A few hours into the drive, we were in northern Colorado, not too far from the Fort Collins area. I was in the tail vehicle, listening to an audio book while keeping pace with Fresh and Wing in the lead vehicle. Suddenly, I saw a piece of Fresh's jeep start to flail in the air and we all immediately pulled over. It turned out that the part of Fresh's jeep that covers the wheel well on the front passenger side had become detached from the rest of the car and had almost broken off completely.

The damage.

Northern Colorado, for those of you who've never seen it.

Wing tries to pop the piece back into place.

While Fresh flipped out about how we hadn't even gotten out of Colorado before running into trouble, Wing tried to push the loose piece back into the jeep and I pondered possible solutions. Unfortunately, the piece was not willing to stay in place, so it looked like we might have to break the entire piece off of the jeep to proceed. It was then that I remembered we still had packing tape loaded in my car, which is quite strong and might be able to hold the piece in place. Putting all my engineering skills into action, I got the tape out and went to work. Since we would be driving at high speeds, I knew the front part of the tape would have to be heavily reinforced to deflect wind off of the front of the wheel well area where the piece was most susceptible to coming loose. While Wing held the piece in place, I laid down strip after strip of tape, reattaching it to the rest of the jeep. Further along the well I placed more strips of tape that lay flat along the jeeps surface so as not to catch the wind and create drag that would potentially pull the piece off again. After a few minutes, it was done. When we got to a gas station awhile later I took some photos of my masterpiece.

In all of it's taped glory.

I also taped up the other side of the jeep, which I had noticed was a bit loose.

And thus the trip was saved. We proceeded on and in two days reached Seattle. The whole time the tape never failed and Fresh himself told me that the tape is still holding up to this day, even through Seattle's rain. It truly was the finest hour of that trip.

UPDATE: After a few years in Seattle, the tape finally failed. Still, I think I did a pretty good job.

On Free Checking

Several weeks ago, two friends and I entered a deep conversion on the nature of checking accounts and their analogies to Irish folklore. Every facet of the topic was put under scrutiny and distilled to it's most basic element. Over the course of several minutes, a narrative began to form, which became the basis for the slide show below. Having explained the complexities of the modern banking system, I felt compelled to spread the wisdom we had uncovered. A special thanks to my friends, whose names have been altered for the sake of their anonymity.

Yes, this really happened.

So, you have your money, represented by a pot of gold.

You want someplace to safely store your gold, but also allow you to freely take gold out when you need it.

A bank is like a landowner. A checking account is like a hole in the ground on the owner’s land. The landowner offers to safely store your pot of gold in a hole in the ground, on his land.

If the checking account is free, you can freely take gold out of the hole in the ground and not have to worry about your pot of gold.

However, some banks charge fees for their holes in the ground. Fees are like leprechauns being set loose in the field, and they come and start taking some of your gold.

Many banks that have leprechauns will offer to keep the leprechauns away from your hole in the ground, but you have to do something in exchange for it.

The lesson here is, make sure there are no leprechauns before you put your pot of gold in a hole in the ground.

Also, put your gold in a credit union instead.

In the Company of Heroes

We have arrived at the grand finale of the Europe 2012 stories. This series is going out with a bang, with a very special story about one of the most memorable experiences I had overseas.

While staying in Paris, I really wanted to take a day trip into Normandy to visit the American Cemetery at Omaha Beach. I had originally planned to be in Paris for a week, and during that time I had already taken two trips into the area. The first was a visit to the D-Day Museum in Caen. On the second trip I went to the town of Bayeux with the intention of taking the bus to Omaha Beach from there, however I had arrived too late in the day to be able to take a round trip to and from the beach. It seemed like I had missed my chance, but to make the most of the situation I spent the rest of my time in Bayeux checking out the town and even seeing the famous Bayeux Tapestry. Coming back to Paris, I was feeling bummed about not getting to Omaha. However, on the Friday I was supposed to leave Paris, the train I wanted to be on to get to San Sebastian, in Spain, was booked up, and the next available one going there was not until Sunday, so I suddenly had two more days in Paris. I had one last chance to get to Omaha, and I was not going to miss it.

It is a two hour train ride from Paris to Caen, a town in about the center of Normandy. From there you stay on the train and ride another twenty minutes to reach Bayeux, a town in the Normandy countryside. Because the bus stop where you get on the bus that goes to Omaha Beach is right next to the train station, some people do not explore Bayeux itself, but I would highly recommend at the very least taking a walk through this charming town. Bayeux only has two real tourist attractions, the Bayeux Tapestry and the town's main church, but the appeal of Bayeux is the feel of the town and the experience of just walking it's calm streets. Sitting beside an old waterwheel and listening to the flow of the stream as the wheel slowly turns was a great respite after many days of full speed tourism in Paris. Bayeux is what I call a "sanctuary city", where one goes not so much to sight-see, but to take a break from the tourist routine (the other two notable towns in this category from my trip were San Sebastian and Halstatt).  Below are a few photos of Bayeux that I took:

From my previous trip to Bayeux, I had the exact train and bus timetables to make sure everything worked out. About 40 minutes after I arrived in Bayeux, the bus to Omaha Beach departed. The bus driver did not speak English, however he understood me when I told him where I was going. In my clearest voice I said "American Cemetery." He nodded his head, told me the fare and everything was set from there. For about 25 minutes the bus worked it's way north, through the Normandy countryside and the small towns in it. I spent the whole bus ride staring out the window as the scenery passed by. About half way there small drops of water started to land and streak across the window.

When the bus reached the entrance to the American Cemetery, the bus driver called out the stop and I got off. Before me stood the gate.

As I walked through the gate and past the parking lot it started to rain, hard. I didn't know where I was going. Two paths extended out through the trees and I couldn't quite see where they went. One was labeled the path to the visitor center, which I decided to go to later. Instead, I went down the path to the memorial and cemetery.

There was hardly any one around as I approached the memorial. The tour buses had not yet shown up, and the heavy rain seemed to be keeping people away. At the memorial a few people were keeping dry underneath one of the overhangs and I joined them to sit out the rain. The cemetery was only about 100 feet away, but with the rain it seemed farther. On the wall was a large map of Normandy marking the invasion sites and routes traveled by the Allied and Axis forces. I stared at it for a few minutes, having nothing better to do, but then the other people nearby left, heading back towards the parking lot. Another minute passed while I considered what to do, but then, when I noticed the rain was slowing down, I resolved to see what I came for and I stepped out into the open.

As I walked into the rows of graves, the size of the cemetery became apparent. 9,387 people are buried there. Most of them died during the invasion or in the months following, though there are some from earlier or later dates. While I had seen pictures of it prior to arrival, I did not quite appreciate how many rows of graves there were until I saw it for myself.

Except for the two or three other people wandering the cemetery, I felt like I was the only one there. Walking the rows of gravestone, I started reading the names as I passed by, as if by the mere act of reading their name I was somehow doing their memory justice. These were men I had never seen or heard of before, and yet I strangely felt as if I knew them. The ones that really stood out to me, though, were the unknowns. Whenever I came to one of those I paused for a second. To be dead is one thing. To be dead and no one knowing who you are is another. The sun started to break through the clouds.

Having spent an hour wandering the graveyard, I decided go down to the beach. Walking along a path familiar to anyone whose seen the opening scene of Saving Private Ryan, I came to the stairs that descended the bluffs to the beach. After taking in the view, I began the descent.

Coming out of the shrubs and vegetation, the beach spread out before me. To the west was Point du Hoc, where the Army Rangers scaled the cliffs, and in the distance to the east would have been the British and Canadian landing zones. The sea was gentle with only small waves and a light breeze was blowing. Nothing about that calm and peaceful place would have made you guess it was once a war zone. Nearly 70 years have wiped away almost all trances of what happened there in 1944. I did come across the remains what I'm guessing was a bunker, but other than that there was nothing on the beach from back then. Today families stroll the beach, people walk their dogs and the occasional jogger passes by.

At about 2:00pm my time was up and I started making my way back to the entrance of the cemetery to catch the bus back to Bayeux. The tour buses had now arrived and more and more people were coming into the cemetery. The sun was shining and the place seemed much more pleasant (for lack of a better term) than the gray, wet and cold morning when I had walked the grounds. And yet, looking back I don't think I would have had it any other way. A place like that is not for fun or curious spectacle, but for somber reflection on the sacrifice that was demanded of these men. May that sacrifice never be forgotten.

The Other Side of Amsterdam

After a bit of a break, I am now back to writing. I am closing in on the end of this series of stories from Europe, with only one more to go after this one. This second to last story is a reflection on my two trips to Amsterdam and the different experiences of each.

Amsterdam was the first city I came to on the continent, and the second city I visited on my European trip, after London. I knew some people that really liked Amsterdam, and had overheard plenty of people singing it's praises, (many relating to it's looser social policies) but on my fist time in the city I was not all that enamored with it. The hostel that I stayed at was near the train station, just outside the famous/infamous red light district. In retrospect this obvious colored my entire first experience in Amsterdam, since I had to pass through or near that part of town to get to and from where I was staying. As I'm guessing all of you know, prostitution and weed are both decriminalized in Amsterdam, making them regular businesses that exist right alongside more traditional ones in the red light district. Going through that area of town was always something of a strange experience, as it felt like the capitalist system unleashed to run to it's amoral conclusion. Coffee (read: weed) shops right next to fry shops and just down the street from a prostitution house was a "novel" experience to my American sensibilities. Moving beyond this area, crossing the canals and checking out other parts of town, I was feeling a bit jaded about Amsterdam. Outside some nice attractions like the Rijksmuseum and the Van Gogh Museum, there wasn't too much to the city that appealed to me. It was also cold and wet (being early April) the whole time, so maybe the weather had me down too. Throughout my time there I felt almost perpetually lost, despite having a map. When I left Amsterdam on my first visit, I really did not see what people liked about the place, except for those who loved it for nontraditional offerings.

Near the end of my trip I returned to Amsterdam for a brief stay before crossing the channel back to London, from where my flight back to America would depart. It was then that I saw what I call the other side of Amsterdam. Whereas the first time was interesting, but not very flattering, my second time in Amsterdam was really quite pleasant. Looking back, I wonder if it was because I was not so busy like my first visit. I also stayed in a different part of town, farther south, very close to Vondel Park, and it was sunny part of the time I was there. Sitting in Vondel Park, away from much of the tourist horde, eating cereal straight out of the box (just let that image sink in) and watching the bicycles go by, I gained a new appreciation for the city. Unlike the northern part of Amsterdam, around the red light district, this southern part seemed like a place one could actually live. Below are a pair of photos to help illustrate:

Vondel Park

Along one of the canals.

The population was much more locals than tourists, and everyone seemed much more relaxed. Whereas the tourists (like myself on my first visit) were always on the move, (except when getting stoned) the locals had an appreciation for slowing down and enjoying life. Unlike my first visit, where I never seemed to know where I was, on my second time in Amsterdam I hardly used my map at all and felt like I knew the city well. Even the swarm of bicyclists that roam the streets seemed strangely friendlier.

My second time in Amsterdam was definitely much better than the first. While I do not approve of some of the activities that go on in the city, I think I now have a better appreciation for the feel and vibe of Amsterdam.

Youtube Playlist

I am pleased to announce that I have finally gotten around to posting videos from the Europe trip to my Youtube channel and have gathered them together in a single playlist for anyone who is interested in viewing them. Most of them are short panorama videos of the various cities I visited, but if you're interested in seeing bits of the places I explored, check out the link below to the playlist.

http://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLYdtmLXwscI1IEBtM3SCmWoGOSwOcjhsQ

Pei Wei Strategy

Hostel breakfasts are usually very basic and might not worth the extra euro per night you pay for them. A bowl of cereal or some bread with juice is the common standard. While there's usually nothing particularly great about these meals, I believe that one can use them to his/her advantage, if you employ the proper strategy.

On my journey across Europe, I developed what I call the "Pei Wei Strategy". Pei Wei is a Chinese Restaurant chain you can find across America, and I once heard it described as a fast food version of P. F. Chang's. It has the typical food selection you would expect from a Chinese restaurant, but it also has (or at least the Boulder outlet has) a large basket full of fortune cookies, from which you can take as much as you like. I only go to Pei Wei a few times a year, but whenever I do, I always order something small and cheap, and then gorge myself on twenty or so fortune cookies (my current record in a single sitting is 35). So, while the order I paid for was small, I always leave full, and thus for very little money I got a very filling meal. I knew business school would pay off one day.

About midway through my journey across Europe, I began employing a strategy loosely based off my habits at Pei Wei, and thus the Pei Wei Strategy was born. Whenever the hostel I was staying at served a free breakfast, I would eat as much as possible, which would allow me to skip lunch (and possibly dinner) and thus save some money. If the hostel charged for breakfast I would usually skip it, unless it was an all-you-can-eat breakfast. In that case (unless I thought it cost too much) the Pei Wei Strategy would be executed and sometimes I would be set for the rest of the day. The most memorable instance of this was in Salzburg, Austria, where I remember eating until I got to the point of just staring at a bowl of cereal. Needless to say, a two Euro meal supplied my body with sufficient fuel to operate for 24 hours.

The Pei Wei strategy is not for everyone. But if you're like me and you are concerned with efficiency and maximizing value on your travels, you might consider giving it a try. The main weakness of the Pei Wei Strategy is that it may leave you with a badly imbalanced diet, as hostel breakfasts are normally heavily based on grains. I was able to avoid any health issues by taking multivitamins, so it certainly is a problem that can be overcome. I also drank the Elixir of Life (aka orange juice) whenever possible.

Memories of SD

On my second day in Valencia, Spain, I decided I would spend much of the day at the beach. A short ride on the metro and then a tram took me from my hostel in Valencia's old town, down to the Mediterranean. That trip took me back to the old days when I lived in San Diego, (SD, as I refer to it) and summer visits to the beach.

It was a warm day; warm enough to be wearing the sandals I had brought along for the trip. Before going along the beach I walked out on a long pier that had the city's yacht fleet next to it. Out at the end were some people jumping off the pier into the water, as well as teenagers messing around (it really is the same all over the world). I came back to the beach after this, and then started walking north along the boardwalk. Below is a photo of it.

I took a seat on one of the benches to eat lunch. There was row of restaurants behind me, and one of them was playing music from Maroon 5's album Songs About Jane. For those of you who don't know, this album came out back in 2002, and I distinctly remember this album back when I was in high school.

I kept walking along the boardwalk after I finished eating. After a mile or so I went onto the beach and down to the water's edge. Valencia has a fairly nice beach, and there were not many people at the section I was at. On the down side the waves in the water are almost nonexistent (boooo!). Below are some photos.

Looking north along the beach. Most of the people were crowded in the southern part of the beach.

Yours truly.

Looking back south. For whatever reason, most people prefer to be at the southern end of the beach.

I slowly walked south along the beach back towards where I had started. As I did I was thinking about those old days at La Jolla, Del Mar and other places in SD where I would go to the beach with some of my old friends from high school. Those were simpler times.

I was in no hurry to get anywhere, and at several times I just stopped and gazed out at the sea. Because I did not have my swimwear on me I didn't go further than knee depth into the water, but it was still nice. I would have stayed at the beach longer, but I had other places in Valencia I wanted to see before leaving the city. Nostalgia can only last so long.

High as a Kite

When you live in a city like Boulder, your definition of weird is forever changed, to the point where there's very little a person can do that will actually creep you out.

Near the end of my Europe trip I paid a short visit to the city of Cologne, in Germany, which I will forevermore refer to as "the Denver of Germany", to use the terminology of a friend of mine. The main attraction of Cologne is it's massive cathedral, which used to be the tallest building in Europe until the Eiffel Tower was constructed. Today's story has nothing to do with that, but rather a guy I met at the hostel I stayed at.

After checking in, I met one of the other people who was staying in the room that I was in. It was mid-afternoon and he was shirtless, in his underwear, with a yoga mat on the floor, doing some stretches. I asked him if he was doing an afternoon workout, and he replied it was actually his morning routine. His speech was fast but irregular, and at one point he told me then he felt like doing some push-ups and asked if he should do any on my behalf. For the next few minutes we continued the conversation like this with him spouting stuff seemingly out of nowhere. Was I weirded out? Not in the slightest. I've encountered his type several times in the past and just went along with the conversation. Later in the day I saw him doing an interview via Skype for some sort of IT job and I noted that his face was constantly twitching and he seemed to be having trouble focusing.

The next day when I was leaving he confirmed what I had suspected. "Hey, sorry about yesterday, I was high as a kite" he told me. I replied that I already knew that, and reassured him that he had not offended me in any way. I do not know what he was on at the time, but cocaine comes to mind. Now that I think of it, he actually reminded me a bit of the character Tyrone Biggums, from Chappelle's Show. If you don't know who that is, consult YouTube.

"I hope they finish in time"

Although there were a few hiccups, I think this year London pulled off a very solid Summer Olympics. But it wasn't always looking that way.

The very first city I came to in Europe was London. My line of thinking was that it would be a good introductory place to visit on my first overseas journey, given that English is the official language and the culture is not far off from what you find in America. During my first time in London (I would come back to London again at the end of my trip) it was early April and Olympic preparations were well underway across the city. On my last full day in London I was trying decide what to visit, as it had become clear I was not going to be able to get to everything I wanted to see in London. When it was getting late in the afternoon I decided to go over to the site of the Olympic stadium and village to see how construction was coming along. When I got to the overlook area by the stadium I was a bit surprised by what I found. While the stadium appeared to be largely finished, (at least, from the outside) the rest of the place seemed like it still had a long way to go before it would be ready to host the Olympics. Below are a pair of photos I took while there.

The stadium and tower, which appeared finished.

Walking along the surrounding area. The structure on the left is a makeshift museum showing progress on construction and some local artwork.

Trailers, construction equipment and piles of dirt littered the area, which at least showed that work was being done, but at that moment I had some doubts as to whether construction would finish in time. True, there was still four months left to go before the Olympics got started, but anyone familiar with the construction industry knows it's propensity for delays and going over budget. "I hope they finish in time" was the thought in my head.

Thankfully, I was proven wrong and London went on to host a stellar Olympics. I would have liked to stay in Britain longer and been there for the games, but two weeks before they started my time was up.

Cruel Altruism

* Just as a note, this post would have gone up sooner, but Blogger inexplicably deleted the entire thing so I had to rewrite the post. What you have now is my best memory of the text I had written earlier, and I'm disappointed to say that my first draft was probably better than what you're about to read.

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Ok, so maybe I was the American jerk on a few occasions while I was overseas.

On my third day in Rome I spent the afternoon visiting a few sights that I had missed in the previous two days. Some of the places I visited included Capitol Hill, the Pantheon and the supremely disappointing Circus Maximus. One of the last places I visited that day was Trevi Fountain. The fountain is an extremely popular tourist spot and has a large crowd around it, even at night. Below are a pair of pictures of the fountain that I took while I was in Rome.

Trevi Fountain, with only a small part of the crowd in view.

Trevi Fountain at night.

From the photos I think you can see why Trevi Fountain is a popular spot for tourists and couples. Sadly, the crowds around the fountain also attract local thieves, and pickpocketing is common. If you visit, keep your valuables close.

Tourist crowds also attract people who are selling products or services to said tourists. After getting a few photos of the fountain, I worked my way through the crowd down to the rim of the fountain, and was able to grab a seat when one of the persons sitting there got up and left. Directly on my left was a couple who were trying to take a photo of themselves. Moving through the crowd was a camera guy who was offering to take peoples' photos (and then of course sell them the photo). When he approached the couple on my left and offered to take their photo, I immediately turned to them and said "Or, I could do same thing for free." I then proceeded to take several photos of the couple with their own camera, all the while the camera guy was watching and saying things like "uh-huh" and "very nice." After I took the photos I gave the couple their camera back, they left and both the camera guy and I moved on.

The whole thing was over in less than 30 seconds. Later that day I emailed a friend of mine about the incident. He replied back that the only way I could possibly have redeemed that moment of generosity was if I (after having taken their photo) had run off and stolen the couple's camera.