How Did You Do It?
As some of you know, back in 2012 I did a 3.5 month backpacking trip across Europe by myself. In the nearly two years that have passed since that trip, one of
the most common questions I’ve gotten from other people is “How
did you do it?” This question perplexes me to no end, as to me the answer seems
quite simple, and I thought it might be worthwhile to lay out my thoughts on
this question. So, how did I do it, you ask? The answer is this:
planning and preparation. I had known that I wanted to take this trip for a
long time before I actually departed, so about a year beforehand I started
thinking over where I wanted to go. In my spare time I would ponder what
countries, cities and other things I wanted to see and over time I formed a
mental list, which later became an actual list. I looked online at various
websites for information on how to travel and watched programs on TV and YouTube to help sort out how I would travel and gain more ideas on what to do
overseas. Another valuable resource was a friend of mine who had taken his own
European journey about a year earlier, and he gave me advice based upon his own
experiences overseas. Once I had a general idea of the time period I would be
in Europe, I started looking at plane tickets and bought a rail pass. With the
plane tickets and the rail pass purchased, I had locked in the time frame that
I would be spending in Europe, and then I started making more exact plans of
where I would go, how I would get from place to place and what I would do while
there. Just over a month before departure, I quit my job and made the
arrangements for accommodations in the first few cities I would visit. From
then on I did more studying and acquired the various things I would need to
take with me on my journey. Soon enough, the big day arrived, I went to the
airport, got on a plane and began my assault on the European continent.
That covers how I got to Europe. How I managed the trip once
I arrived is a topic for another time. I had learned a lot before departure,
but I still had a lot to learn once I got to Europe. These days I find myself being
the one giving out the travel advice to others who are looking to take their
own journeys. I certainly don’t mind doing this, as I know my experience can be
a great help to others in planning their trip, but whenever I do this I’m left
with the desire go back myself and do it all over again. When I got back from
my trip I made a promise to myself that I would go back one day, and that’s a
promise I intend to keep.
Showing posts with label Europe 2012. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Europe 2012. Show all posts
Friday, May 2, 2014
Sunday, November 25, 2012
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.
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.
Monday, November 19, 2012
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:
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.
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.
Monday, November 12, 2012
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
http://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLYdtmLXwscI1IEBtM3SCmWoGOSwOcjhsQ
Tuesday, November 6, 2012
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.
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.
Monday, November 5, 2012
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.
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.
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.
Friday, November 2, 2012
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.
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.
Wednesday, October 31, 2012
"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.
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.
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.
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| The stadium and tower, which appeared finished. |
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| 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.
Tuesday, October 30, 2012
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.
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.
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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.
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| Trevi Fountain, with only a small part of the crowd in view. |
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| Trevi Fountain at night. |
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.
Sunday, October 28, 2012
Grom Scoops
Sometimes things just don't live up to the hype surrounding them.
If there's one thing Florence, Italy, is famous for, it is the Renaissance. If there's two things Florence is famous for, it is the Renaissance, and gelato. For those of you who do not know, gelato is similar to ice cream, but generally has less milk fat in it and is churned at a slower rate, making for a denser substance. Less fat often allows for flavors to be a bit more intense, and while ice cream is normally served frozen, gelato is stored at slightly warmer temperatures, so it is not completely frozen when served.
Italy is famous around the world for it's gelato, and Florence is the gelato capital of Italy, with a gelato shop every 100 yards in any given direction. Perhaps the most famous gelato shop in Florence is a place called Grom, which is just south of Florence's great duomo (cathedral). There are actually several Grom shops in Italy (and apparently a few outside Italy in places like Paris, NYC and Tokyo), but the one in Florence is the one people talk about. It seems everyone who talks about gelato in Florence mentions this place. Below is a photo of the Grom shop in Florence, and you can even see the line of customers going out the door.
I had heard of Grom prior to my departure by a friend of mine who had visited Italy a few years ago, and he spoke very highly of it. When I got to Florence I overheard some other people talking about Grom at my hostel. Even my guidebook talked up Grom, so my expectations for this place were very high (in retrospect, absurdly high).
But anyone who knows anything knows that high expectations are meant to be shattered. After doing some sightseeing at the duomo, I went over to Grom, got in line and bought some gelato. Don't get me wrong, it wasn't bad, in fact it was very good, but it was not the world-exploding, record-setting, be-all end-all experience that everyone had made it out to be. It was just good gelato. There actually was one thing that I did not like, however, which was the size of the scoops they gave out. For the money I paid, I felt I should have gotten another half to full scoop, or maybe just larger scoops than what I got. From this experience, I came up with the term "grom scoops" to refer to anything I thought was smaller or less substantial than it should be.
My disappointment with Grom was a result the hype surrounding it, which had reached obscene proportions. The only way I would have walked away 100% satisfied was if the gelato there was in a league all of it's own. Again, Grom is really good, but it is not so far ahead of everything else to warrant the hysteria around it (and it's scoops are too small, grrrrrr). If you're in Florence, I would recommend giving Grom a try, but temper your expectations. Actually, maybe the better thing to do would be to have low expectations, so that you'll instead be pleasantly surprised by how good the gelato is.
If there's one thing Florence, Italy, is famous for, it is the Renaissance. If there's two things Florence is famous for, it is the Renaissance, and gelato. For those of you who do not know, gelato is similar to ice cream, but generally has less milk fat in it and is churned at a slower rate, making for a denser substance. Less fat often allows for flavors to be a bit more intense, and while ice cream is normally served frozen, gelato is stored at slightly warmer temperatures, so it is not completely frozen when served.
Italy is famous around the world for it's gelato, and Florence is the gelato capital of Italy, with a gelato shop every 100 yards in any given direction. Perhaps the most famous gelato shop in Florence is a place called Grom, which is just south of Florence's great duomo (cathedral). There are actually several Grom shops in Italy (and apparently a few outside Italy in places like Paris, NYC and Tokyo), but the one in Florence is the one people talk about. It seems everyone who talks about gelato in Florence mentions this place. Below is a photo of the Grom shop in Florence, and you can even see the line of customers going out the door.
I had heard of Grom prior to my departure by a friend of mine who had visited Italy a few years ago, and he spoke very highly of it. When I got to Florence I overheard some other people talking about Grom at my hostel. Even my guidebook talked up Grom, so my expectations for this place were very high (in retrospect, absurdly high).
But anyone who knows anything knows that high expectations are meant to be shattered. After doing some sightseeing at the duomo, I went over to Grom, got in line and bought some gelato. Don't get me wrong, it wasn't bad, in fact it was very good, but it was not the world-exploding, record-setting, be-all end-all experience that everyone had made it out to be. It was just good gelato. There actually was one thing that I did not like, however, which was the size of the scoops they gave out. For the money I paid, I felt I should have gotten another half to full scoop, or maybe just larger scoops than what I got. From this experience, I came up with the term "grom scoops" to refer to anything I thought was smaller or less substantial than it should be.
My disappointment with Grom was a result the hype surrounding it, which had reached obscene proportions. The only way I would have walked away 100% satisfied was if the gelato there was in a league all of it's own. Again, Grom is really good, but it is not so far ahead of everything else to warrant the hysteria around it (and it's scoops are too small, grrrrrr). If you're in Florence, I would recommend giving Grom a try, but temper your expectations. Actually, maybe the better thing to do would be to have low expectations, so that you'll instead be pleasantly surprised by how good the gelato is.
Saturday, October 27, 2012
Czech Zombie Mosquitos
A very brief one for today's story.
After checking into my hostel in Prague (in the Czech Republic), I proceeded to take a walk around the neighborhood and looked for a grocery store to buy some food. I remember it being a humid day, and I couldn't find a large grocery store, so I settled on using some of the smaller convenience stores. But what really stood out from that day was the swarm. A storm of insects was in the air of Prague that day. They were all over my clothes and kept flying directly in my face. At the end of that day I sent a message about the bugs to a friend of mine whose family was Czech and had been to Prague several times. His reply back was "oops, did I forget to tell you about the czech zombie mosquitos?"
After checking into my hostel in Prague (in the Czech Republic), I proceeded to take a walk around the neighborhood and looked for a grocery store to buy some food. I remember it being a humid day, and I couldn't find a large grocery store, so I settled on using some of the smaller convenience stores. But what really stood out from that day was the swarm. A storm of insects was in the air of Prague that day. They were all over my clothes and kept flying directly in my face. At the end of that day I sent a message about the bugs to a friend of mine whose family was Czech and had been to Prague several times. His reply back was "oops, did I forget to tell you about the czech zombie mosquitos?"
Thursday, October 25, 2012
Tower of Light
A few weeks into my Europe trip, while I was in Spain, I developed a tradition of taking a night walk around the town I was in on the final night of my stay in that town. I did this in a number of cities such as Barcelona, Avignon, Florence, Rome, Venice, Budapest, Vienna, Prague and lastly, Berlin.
For my night walk in Berlin, I took the U-Bahn to Alexanderplatz, which is right next to Berlin's famous TV tower. Below is a picture of the tower.
From there I walked westwards in the direction of Brandenburg Gate and the Reichstag. In my various night walks I learned that some cities are better at night than others. Berlin, sadly, was a bit disappointing. I had read that Berlin has some of Europe's best nightlife, but it seems I misinterpreted that to mean that the city looked good at night. Surprisingly, there was hardly anyone walking around town that night and the city felt strangely empty (everyone must have been at the clubs and bars). Museum Island, which has the Berlin Cathedral (aka the Berliner Dom) as well as most of Berlin's most famous museums, was almost completely dark. The various monuments on the street that leads from Museum Island to Brandenburg Gate were also strangely dark, and it looked like my Berlin night walk was going to be a total loss.
But then I arrived at Brandenburg Gate. For those of you who don't know, Brandenburg Gate is one of the few surviving structures of old Prussian Berlin (from back before Germany was a unified nation). During the day the place is pretty crowded with tourists and street performers. While it looks great during the day, as I learned that night, the true magic of Brandenburg Gate comes out when the sun goes down. The tourist crowd leaves, and the gate is set ablaze with an almost golden glow. It is one of those sights that you just stand and stare at for a minute. I took a photo, which I have embedded below, though it does not really capture the splendor.
From Brandenburg Gate I moved on to the nearby Reichstag, (the home of the German parliament) where I finished the walk and got the inspiration for the title of this post. After the reunification of Germany, it was decided that the capital would be returned to Berlin, and the Reichstag had some remodeling done to it. The most notable change was the construction of a large glass dome on the roof. During the day the dome channels sunlight into the main chamber of the German parliament, and at night the light from inside the building is sent skyward, creating a faint tower of light. Below is a photo, though you can't really see the light from the dome.
On the west side of the building, I found myself just staring at the Reichstag. Somewhere in the distance I heard a symphony playing an orchestral song. There was a brief period where a single instrument (I think it was an oboe) played, and I can still remember the tune. I stood there listening for a few minutes listening and looking at the Riechstag before I left. A walk that had started out as a great disappointment had been redeemed at the end of the journey.
For my night walk in Berlin, I took the U-Bahn to Alexanderplatz, which is right next to Berlin's famous TV tower. Below is a picture of the tower.
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| Built during communist times, the tower was meant to symbolize the triumph of the secular state. Unfortunately for the communists, the designers did not realize that the glass on the orb near the top creates a reflection of a cross when the sun is at a particular angle in the sky. Locals came to know this cross as "the pope's revenge." |
From there I walked westwards in the direction of Brandenburg Gate and the Reichstag. In my various night walks I learned that some cities are better at night than others. Berlin, sadly, was a bit disappointing. I had read that Berlin has some of Europe's best nightlife, but it seems I misinterpreted that to mean that the city looked good at night. Surprisingly, there was hardly anyone walking around town that night and the city felt strangely empty (everyone must have been at the clubs and bars). Museum Island, which has the Berlin Cathedral (aka the Berliner Dom) as well as most of Berlin's most famous museums, was almost completely dark. The various monuments on the street that leads from Museum Island to Brandenburg Gate were also strangely dark, and it looked like my Berlin night walk was going to be a total loss.
But then I arrived at Brandenburg Gate. For those of you who don't know, Brandenburg Gate is one of the few surviving structures of old Prussian Berlin (from back before Germany was a unified nation). During the day the place is pretty crowded with tourists and street performers. While it looks great during the day, as I learned that night, the true magic of Brandenburg Gate comes out when the sun goes down. The tourist crowd leaves, and the gate is set ablaze with an almost golden glow. It is one of those sights that you just stand and stare at for a minute. I took a photo, which I have embedded below, though it does not really capture the splendor.
From Brandenburg Gate I moved on to the nearby Reichstag, (the home of the German parliament) where I finished the walk and got the inspiration for the title of this post. After the reunification of Germany, it was decided that the capital would be returned to Berlin, and the Reichstag had some remodeling done to it. The most notable change was the construction of a large glass dome on the roof. During the day the dome channels sunlight into the main chamber of the German parliament, and at night the light from inside the building is sent skyward, creating a faint tower of light. Below is a photo, though you can't really see the light from the dome.
On the west side of the building, I found myself just staring at the Reichstag. Somewhere in the distance I heard a symphony playing an orchestral song. There was a brief period where a single instrument (I think it was an oboe) played, and I can still remember the tune. I stood there listening for a few minutes listening and looking at the Riechstag before I left. A walk that had started out as a great disappointment had been redeemed at the end of the journey.
Wednesday, October 24, 2012
Defenders of the American Way
When another country's holiday leaves you inconvenienced, you can always count on Team America to have your back.
After a long train ride from Santiago de Compostela, I arrived in Madrid, Spain, on April 30, at night. Normally when I arrived in a new city (assuming the hostel had a place to store food) I would find a nearby grocery store and buy some food to cover me over the duration of my stay in that city. Since I arrived at night, everything was already closed, and I figured I would just go to the store the next morning. The following day, May 1, I located a store just down the street from my hostel. The sign outside stated that they opened at 10:00am, so I determined to come back in a little bit when they were open. At 10:30am I returned to the store to find it still closed. I returned to my hostel and asked the staff if today was some sort of holiday, and was told that May 1 is Labor Day in Spain. "So, what's closed?" I asked. "Everything." was the reply. "NOOOOOO!!!!!!" I thought in my mind.
With all the major sights and stores closed, I made the most of the day by visiting places that were always open, regardless of the occasion. My hostel served a modest breakfast so I wasn't going on an empty stomach, and I just skipped lunch. By the evening however the hunger was setting in and I was looking around for a store or restaurant that might still be open. It was then that I was rescued from minor discomfort by a true American hero, a defender of the American Way. I was rescued by... Burger King! A double cheeseburger with fries and a soda. The world rejoices.
Somewhat related to this, I had fast food a few times while I was overseas, and was surprised to find that McDonald's, Burger King and the like taste better over there than in America.
After a long train ride from Santiago de Compostela, I arrived in Madrid, Spain, on April 30, at night. Normally when I arrived in a new city (assuming the hostel had a place to store food) I would find a nearby grocery store and buy some food to cover me over the duration of my stay in that city. Since I arrived at night, everything was already closed, and I figured I would just go to the store the next morning. The following day, May 1, I located a store just down the street from my hostel. The sign outside stated that they opened at 10:00am, so I determined to come back in a little bit when they were open. At 10:30am I returned to the store to find it still closed. I returned to my hostel and asked the staff if today was some sort of holiday, and was told that May 1 is Labor Day in Spain. "So, what's closed?" I asked. "Everything." was the reply. "NOOOOOO!!!!!!" I thought in my mind.
With all the major sights and stores closed, I made the most of the day by visiting places that were always open, regardless of the occasion. My hostel served a modest breakfast so I wasn't going on an empty stomach, and I just skipped lunch. By the evening however the hunger was setting in and I was looking around for a store or restaurant that might still be open. It was then that I was rescued from minor discomfort by a true American hero, a defender of the American Way. I was rescued by... Burger King! A double cheeseburger with fries and a soda. The world rejoices.
Somewhat related to this, I had fast food a few times while I was overseas, and was surprised to find that McDonald's, Burger King and the like taste better over there than in America.
Tuesday, October 23, 2012
A Time to Dance
Another post with a misnomer title. This one comes from Paris. Enjoy.
On the day I arrived in Paris I decided to hit up the Eiffel Tower as my first sight in town. I went there in the early afternoon and spent a few hours on and around the tower. While that could be a whole story unto itself, it is not today's story. Instead, today's story occurs after I had come down from the tower. By the time I descended the stairs back to ground level, then sun was setting and the Eiffel Tower's lights had turned on. I spent some time getting photos of the tower and then slowly walked through a park that extends (a bit over a mile) from the Eiffel Tower to the French military academy, taking some more photos as I went. When I arrived near the academy it was night and I came across a large group of people who appeared to have had a few drinks. I don't know who they were; many appeared to be other tourists, others looked like they might be students. They were doing group games, and when I got close to them they were doing some variant of Simon Says, with ten or so people in the center, leading, and everyone else in a large ring around them, following. The people in the center would chant and do a gesture, and then the people in the ring repeated it back to them. After this the people in the center did the same thing, but added another gesture to the routine, and the cycle continues. I watched for a short while, and then pulled out my camera and began recording. No, I did not join them (how would I film them otherwise?). After the video finishes the group moved on to wherever their roving party took them. These are moments I refer to as "evanescent encounters," and this certainly would not be the last one on this trip.
Below you will find a link to the video I took, which sadly is only the last minute of the whole thing. I tried to upload the video directly to this post, but for some reason Blogger does not like it. Instead, you'll get to check out my modest Youtube channel. I am actually thinking I might upload more videos from Europe to the channel and create a playlist. If so, I will create a post to inform you.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ePXAk8fZ3Es&feature=youtu.be
On the day I arrived in Paris I decided to hit up the Eiffel Tower as my first sight in town. I went there in the early afternoon and spent a few hours on and around the tower. While that could be a whole story unto itself, it is not today's story. Instead, today's story occurs after I had come down from the tower. By the time I descended the stairs back to ground level, then sun was setting and the Eiffel Tower's lights had turned on. I spent some time getting photos of the tower and then slowly walked through a park that extends (a bit over a mile) from the Eiffel Tower to the French military academy, taking some more photos as I went. When I arrived near the academy it was night and I came across a large group of people who appeared to have had a few drinks. I don't know who they were; many appeared to be other tourists, others looked like they might be students. They were doing group games, and when I got close to them they were doing some variant of Simon Says, with ten or so people in the center, leading, and everyone else in a large ring around them, following. The people in the center would chant and do a gesture, and then the people in the ring repeated it back to them. After this the people in the center did the same thing, but added another gesture to the routine, and the cycle continues. I watched for a short while, and then pulled out my camera and began recording. No, I did not join them (how would I film them otherwise?). After the video finishes the group moved on to wherever their roving party took them. These are moments I refer to as "evanescent encounters," and this certainly would not be the last one on this trip.
Below you will find a link to the video I took, which sadly is only the last minute of the whole thing. I tried to upload the video directly to this post, but for some reason Blogger does not like it. Instead, you'll get to check out my modest Youtube channel. I am actually thinking I might upload more videos from Europe to the channel and create a playlist. If so, I will create a post to inform you.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ePXAk8fZ3Es&feature=youtu.be
Sunday, October 21, 2012
Don't Screw This Up
After light of last post's length, I think it is time for a shorter story. This one is for all the romantics out there (myself included).
The city of Venice was my favorite in Italy. True, it is overrun by tourism, but there's just something special about the look and feel of Venice. Near the center of Venice is Piazza San Marco, also called San Marco Square. Bordered by Basilica San Marco, the Doge's Palace, a tall clock tower, and various old buildings from Venice's glory days, the square is must for anyone visiting the city. While great during the day, the real charm of San Marco Square is at night when most of the tourist horde has left. I would even go so far as to say San Marco Square at night is the quintessential Venice experience. The square it lit up by all the buildings around it, and the dueling bands come out to play at several of the restaurants.
With everything it has going for it, San Marco Square at night is normally the romantic equivalent of a grand-slam home run. Unfortunately, today's story is of another guy I saw there who managed to screw it up. While strolling around the square, taking in the sights and sounds, I saw a guy walking around with his lady on his arm. The lady was loving it. He did not seem very interested. A little after I started observing them, the lady looked at the guy and said (with a fair amount of indignity) "why are you so caged?" My immediate thought was "dude, what are you doing? This is not the place to be indifferent." The couple moved on, and so did I, as I walked along, listening to the dueling bands. A little while later I saw the couple again, and nothing had changed, except that the lady was now pissed off. "What is wrong with you?!" she said. Again, no response from the guy. I wonder if he realized that she will never forget this incident and hold it as a grudge against him for the rest of her life.
Maybe this guy was having some deep personal issues, but frankly, it doesn't matter. You do not screw up San Marco Square for ANY reason.
The city of Venice was my favorite in Italy. True, it is overrun by tourism, but there's just something special about the look and feel of Venice. Near the center of Venice is Piazza San Marco, also called San Marco Square. Bordered by Basilica San Marco, the Doge's Palace, a tall clock tower, and various old buildings from Venice's glory days, the square is must for anyone visiting the city. While great during the day, the real charm of San Marco Square is at night when most of the tourist horde has left. I would even go so far as to say San Marco Square at night is the quintessential Venice experience. The square it lit up by all the buildings around it, and the dueling bands come out to play at several of the restaurants.
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| Here is one view of San Marco Square at night. Not the best photo, but hopefully it gives you an idea as to the ambiance of the place. |
With everything it has going for it, San Marco Square at night is normally the romantic equivalent of a grand-slam home run. Unfortunately, today's story is of another guy I saw there who managed to screw it up. While strolling around the square, taking in the sights and sounds, I saw a guy walking around with his lady on his arm. The lady was loving it. He did not seem very interested. A little after I started observing them, the lady looked at the guy and said (with a fair amount of indignity) "why are you so caged?" My immediate thought was "dude, what are you doing? This is not the place to be indifferent." The couple moved on, and so did I, as I walked along, listening to the dueling bands. A little while later I saw the couple again, and nothing had changed, except that the lady was now pissed off. "What is wrong with you?!" she said. Again, no response from the guy. I wonder if he realized that she will never forget this incident and hold it as a grudge against him for the rest of her life.
Maybe this guy was having some deep personal issues, but frankly, it doesn't matter. You do not screw up San Marco Square for ANY reason.
Saturday, October 20, 2012
The Sage
Over the course of my life I have met several individuals to whom I have given the nickname "Sage". These are people who have accumulated much knowledge, wisdom and experience and have valuable lessons for younger persons like myself. While they tend to be older men, there are certainly younger ones as well. You oftentimes do not know you are talking to a sage, but when you do the conversation turns dramatically, and usually you then point the conversation towards a topic of yours or his interest and proceed to let the sage do most of the talking.
While on a train between Berlin and Copenhagen, Denmark, I met another sage. He was an older man, I would guess about 55, and was on his way to girlfriend's family home. Most of the year he works as a salvage and rescue diver in Egypt, but each summer he returns to Denmark (maybe to avoid being burned alive by the Egyptian summer). Our conversation did not start off as much of anything; the first thing that came up was how I had reserved a particular seat, and some girl was sitting in it. Once it did take off, there were a few notable topics, which I have detailed below.
I happened to have a bottle of Coca Cola with me that I had bought in Berlin prior to getting on the train, which then launched a discussion about food and health (as a side note, I don't drink soda often, but overseas I had a few occasions where strangely felt "man, I could really go for a Coke about now"). The Sage reminded me of the well known detriments of soda and even told me that scientists were discovering that sugar was toxic to the body (easily the worst news I have ever heard). Shortly after this however, the Sage gave an interesting defense of fast food. His takes issue with people calling it "bad food," though he does not contend it is great food either. "It's just food" I remember him saying.
The irony of this health discussion is that the Sage is a smoker. He has been meaning to quit for decades, but has just given up at this point. When he was younger he told himself that he would quit when the price of a pack of cigarettes hit a certain price. It hit that price and he readjusted the quitting price. After a few years it hit that price too, and the cycle continued for many years until he realized he was never going to stop.
Related to this, the Sage was nearing retirement, and told me about some of his plans. Apparently much of the land in the center of Denmark's peninsula is decent farmland and not very expensive. The Sage was planning on buying a few acres and then growing his own tobacco so that he would not have to buy expensive packs of cigarettes. He even showed me his tobacco roller, and rolled a new cigarette on the table between us to show me how it worked. Later on the train ride, when the train was loaded onto a ferry and we had a 45 minute ferry passage across the sea, the Sage smoked his new cigarette up on the ferry's deck.
The Euro Crisis was bound to come up at some point, and it sure enough did. Although the Sage and I did not discuss it much, I did detect a hint of the resentment that has been growing among Europeans from the central and northern countries regarding all the money that is being sent the perimeter nations (i.e. Greece, Italy, Spain, Portugal, Ireland) to keep them solvent. We have seen this over the past few years particularly in Germany, whose government has been insistent on high levels of austerity being set by recipient nations in exchange for bailout funds. Continuing on from this, the Sage mentioned how he has been watching the budgetary problems in America. This was an opportunity for me to speak up, and I told him how things were going in America, and how we still haven't come to recognize or reconcile the massive gap between the level of service we want from our government and the amount of money we are willing to pay for it.
The Sage also passed on some interesting information about Egypt. Apparently it is very difficult to get property insurance there because insurance fraud is so rampant. On one hand you will never be paying a premium on you car/house/whatever, but on the other hand if something does happen to it, you'll be stuck paying all the expense of replacement or repair.
At another point the Sage echoed what I've been told by a number of people: don't marry. I'm actually from the pro-marriage side of things, but I let him keep talking. I know this line of thinking has been growing over the past few years, and in the past several weeks I've had the opportunity to work through a number thoughtful reads on the topic. While I still think marriage is a wonderful, God-given institution, the marriage critics make a number of valid points.
One last thing stands out that I remember from the conversation (there was certainly much more discussed, but I am giving a record of only certain sections). By the time I was on the train to Copenhagen, my trip across Europe was nearly done. I told the Sage of the various places and things I had seen. The Sage was not impressed. He told me that Europe is like a two sided coin, and I had not even seen one side of it. There is the obvious interpretation of this, but I suspect he meant far more than that for everything I had seen, I had seen hardly seen anything at all.
While on a train between Berlin and Copenhagen, Denmark, I met another sage. He was an older man, I would guess about 55, and was on his way to girlfriend's family home. Most of the year he works as a salvage and rescue diver in Egypt, but each summer he returns to Denmark (maybe to avoid being burned alive by the Egyptian summer). Our conversation did not start off as much of anything; the first thing that came up was how I had reserved a particular seat, and some girl was sitting in it. Once it did take off, there were a few notable topics, which I have detailed below.
I happened to have a bottle of Coca Cola with me that I had bought in Berlin prior to getting on the train, which then launched a discussion about food and health (as a side note, I don't drink soda often, but overseas I had a few occasions where strangely felt "man, I could really go for a Coke about now"). The Sage reminded me of the well known detriments of soda and even told me that scientists were discovering that sugar was toxic to the body (easily the worst news I have ever heard). Shortly after this however, the Sage gave an interesting defense of fast food. His takes issue with people calling it "bad food," though he does not contend it is great food either. "It's just food" I remember him saying.
The irony of this health discussion is that the Sage is a smoker. He has been meaning to quit for decades, but has just given up at this point. When he was younger he told himself that he would quit when the price of a pack of cigarettes hit a certain price. It hit that price and he readjusted the quitting price. After a few years it hit that price too, and the cycle continued for many years until he realized he was never going to stop.
Related to this, the Sage was nearing retirement, and told me about some of his plans. Apparently much of the land in the center of Denmark's peninsula is decent farmland and not very expensive. The Sage was planning on buying a few acres and then growing his own tobacco so that he would not have to buy expensive packs of cigarettes. He even showed me his tobacco roller, and rolled a new cigarette on the table between us to show me how it worked. Later on the train ride, when the train was loaded onto a ferry and we had a 45 minute ferry passage across the sea, the Sage smoked his new cigarette up on the ferry's deck.
The Euro Crisis was bound to come up at some point, and it sure enough did. Although the Sage and I did not discuss it much, I did detect a hint of the resentment that has been growing among Europeans from the central and northern countries regarding all the money that is being sent the perimeter nations (i.e. Greece, Italy, Spain, Portugal, Ireland) to keep them solvent. We have seen this over the past few years particularly in Germany, whose government has been insistent on high levels of austerity being set by recipient nations in exchange for bailout funds. Continuing on from this, the Sage mentioned how he has been watching the budgetary problems in America. This was an opportunity for me to speak up, and I told him how things were going in America, and how we still haven't come to recognize or reconcile the massive gap between the level of service we want from our government and the amount of money we are willing to pay for it.
The Sage also passed on some interesting information about Egypt. Apparently it is very difficult to get property insurance there because insurance fraud is so rampant. On one hand you will never be paying a premium on you car/house/whatever, but on the other hand if something does happen to it, you'll be stuck paying all the expense of replacement or repair.
At another point the Sage echoed what I've been told by a number of people: don't marry. I'm actually from the pro-marriage side of things, but I let him keep talking. I know this line of thinking has been growing over the past few years, and in the past several weeks I've had the opportunity to work through a number thoughtful reads on the topic. While I still think marriage is a wonderful, God-given institution, the marriage critics make a number of valid points.
One last thing stands out that I remember from the conversation (there was certainly much more discussed, but I am giving a record of only certain sections). By the time I was on the train to Copenhagen, my trip across Europe was nearly done. I told the Sage of the various places and things I had seen. The Sage was not impressed. He told me that Europe is like a two sided coin, and I had not even seen one side of it. There is the obvious interpretation of this, but I suspect he meant far more than that for everything I had seen, I had seen hardly seen anything at all.
Tuesday, October 16, 2012
Rules of Engagement
A shorter story today, and sadly, no photos to go with it. I admit that "Rules of Engagement" is a bit of stretch for the name of this post, ("Rules of the Road" would be more accurate) but it's what came to mind when I was thinking of a title.
Anyone who has been to Rome can confirm that traffic there is significantly more chaotic than what you find in the United States, or even most of the rest of Europe. There are few traffic lights, fewer pedestrian crossings and army of scooters that are a law unto themselves. Crossing the street at times requires you to be more assertive than you're used to, and demands a bit of courage. I tried to discern what the rules of engagement (I just did it again; using the spicier term rather than the accurate one) were during my stay in Rome earlier this year, and the only thing I could come up with is that as long as a vehicle does not hit anyone or anything, and likewise a pedestrian is able not to get hit, anything goes.
One of the days I was in Rome I was riding on a bus to get to somewhere (I think it was the Vatican). During the ride I noticed a scooter weaving in and out of traffic. That itself was not memorable, but what was striking was what the motorist was doing while driving. This person was steering the scooter with his right arm, talking on his cell phone (being held to his ear by his right shoulder) and with his left arm was doing the stereotypical Italian hand and arm gestures. No one, in bus or in the other cars on the street, seemed to notice or care. This was not the only time I saw seemingly outrageous things on the streets of Rome, but it was easily the most memorable. I was told that the roads are even crazier in southern Italy. Later on in my trip, when I was in Austria, I told this story to some other people. An Austrian guy said something back to me in garbled English. I'm not sure exactly what it was, but I think it was something along the lines of "yeah, those crazy Italians."
Anyone who has been to Rome can confirm that traffic there is significantly more chaotic than what you find in the United States, or even most of the rest of Europe. There are few traffic lights, fewer pedestrian crossings and army of scooters that are a law unto themselves. Crossing the street at times requires you to be more assertive than you're used to, and demands a bit of courage. I tried to discern what the rules of engagement (I just did it again; using the spicier term rather than the accurate one) were during my stay in Rome earlier this year, and the only thing I could come up with is that as long as a vehicle does not hit anyone or anything, and likewise a pedestrian is able not to get hit, anything goes.
One of the days I was in Rome I was riding on a bus to get to somewhere (I think it was the Vatican). During the ride I noticed a scooter weaving in and out of traffic. That itself was not memorable, but what was striking was what the motorist was doing while driving. This person was steering the scooter with his right arm, talking on his cell phone (being held to his ear by his right shoulder) and with his left arm was doing the stereotypical Italian hand and arm gestures. No one, in bus or in the other cars on the street, seemed to notice or care. This was not the only time I saw seemingly outrageous things on the streets of Rome, but it was easily the most memorable. I was told that the roads are even crazier in southern Italy. Later on in my trip, when I was in Austria, I told this story to some other people. An Austrian guy said something back to me in garbled English. I'm not sure exactly what it was, but I think it was something along the lines of "yeah, those crazy Italians."
Monday, October 15, 2012
The Lost American
Another story from the European campaign. "The Lost American" actually does not refer to me, as you will see in a moment. Though I got lost on several occasions while traveling across Europe, none of them were particularly notable (more annoyance than adventure).
On May 2, 2012, I took a day trip from Madrid in Spain to the town of Toledo, which was the old capital of Spain before it was moved to Madrid in the 16th/17th century (I think it was 1561, but I've been wrong many times before). The old city is built on a hill, so be ready for some uphill hiking if you ever visit. Below is a photo of the old city to give you an idea of what it looks like (from a distance).
I spent most of the day in the old city, hiking up and downhill to see various sights. Towards late afternoon I had started to make my way down the hill towards the main gate of the old city so that I could then walk back to the train station and catch a train back to Madrid. While walking along, another tourist approached me who was a bit lost and asked if I knew where a certain museum was. He was another American with a very distinct New York/New Jersey Italian accent, and was looking for a museum dedicated to torture that occurred during the Spanish Inquisition. This is the sort of museum that isn't advertised, but he knew roughly where it was, so once I helped him find himself on his map, I was able to chart him a course to the part of town where the museum was. He thanked me, and then asked me about myself and I proceeded to tell him about my travels so far. My story must have struck a cord with him, because he went on to tell me about travels he had done when he was younger (he was about 64 years old). Back in the early 70s he had hitch-hiked from Singapore to Cambodia and showed me some old photos from the trip. The black and white photos I saw were of a much younger version of himself in the jungle; some with armed solders, other ones in various villages he passed through. Keep in mind the Vietnam War was still going on at this time (and by then had spilled over to other parts of southeast Asia). He admitted that it wasn't the safest or smartest thing he had ever done, but at the time he thought nothing of it. The photos he showed me he had kept on his person for a long time and had been meaning to show other people but had never gotten a chance, so he thought I was as good a person as any. After a few minutes of talking we parted ways and I proceeded to the train station while he walked off in the direction of the museum. I really should have got a photo of this guy and his pictures.
On May 2, 2012, I took a day trip from Madrid in Spain to the town of Toledo, which was the old capital of Spain before it was moved to Madrid in the 16th/17th century (I think it was 1561, but I've been wrong many times before). The old city is built on a hill, so be ready for some uphill hiking if you ever visit. Below is a photo of the old city to give you an idea of what it looks like (from a distance).
I spent most of the day in the old city, hiking up and downhill to see various sights. Towards late afternoon I had started to make my way down the hill towards the main gate of the old city so that I could then walk back to the train station and catch a train back to Madrid. While walking along, another tourist approached me who was a bit lost and asked if I knew where a certain museum was. He was another American with a very distinct New York/New Jersey Italian accent, and was looking for a museum dedicated to torture that occurred during the Spanish Inquisition. This is the sort of museum that isn't advertised, but he knew roughly where it was, so once I helped him find himself on his map, I was able to chart him a course to the part of town where the museum was. He thanked me, and then asked me about myself and I proceeded to tell him about my travels so far. My story must have struck a cord with him, because he went on to tell me about travels he had done when he was younger (he was about 64 years old). Back in the early 70s he had hitch-hiked from Singapore to Cambodia and showed me some old photos from the trip. The black and white photos I saw were of a much younger version of himself in the jungle; some with armed solders, other ones in various villages he passed through. Keep in mind the Vietnam War was still going on at this time (and by then had spilled over to other parts of southeast Asia). He admitted that it wasn't the safest or smartest thing he had ever done, but at the time he thought nothing of it. The photos he showed me he had kept on his person for a long time and had been meaning to show other people but had never gotten a chance, so he thought I was as good a person as any. After a few minutes of talking we parted ways and I proceeded to the train station while he walked off in the direction of the museum. I really should have got a photo of this guy and his pictures.
Thursday, October 11, 2012
"Remember Budapest"
How a trip to a Hungarian bathhouse inspired me to strive for better physical fitness
In my time since returning from Europe I've had a chance to think over a few of stories I acquired overseas but hadn't told to many people. These are stories related to notable encounters with individual persons and somewhat unique experiences I had while exploring the continent.
The first story in this series centers on my time in Budapest, Hungary. On my second day in Budapest I decided to visit to the famous Szechenyi Bathhouse, which is located near Heroes Square. I had heard of this place from the hostel I was staying at, and because it didn't cost very much (the Hungarian currency is not very strong) I decided it was worth a try. It also seemed like a good chance to experience something "European," and I had been told that thermal baths are an old Hungarian tradition (there are several dozen bathhouses across Budapest). I even opted to get a massage package with my entrance fee. Those who know a bit about me know that this was a highly unusual move; I am normally not a fan of massages because they leave me in a fair amount of physical pain. But, I decided that if any place had a chance of changing my mind it would be Budapest's best bathhouse.
To help give some context and give you an idea of what it looks like, below are a few photos of the bathhouse that I took before leaving:
Upon arrival I went to the front desk and spoke with the friendly (and thankfully English speaking) staff, who directed me to the locker room, handed me an appointment card for my scheduled massage and gave me an overview of the facilities.
The massage area was in the back and took a few minutes of exploration to find, but I made it in time for my appointment. In the room were a receptionist and four massage specialists. One of them was a very obese man, and I instantly knew he was the one I was going to get. I gave the receptionist my appointment card, and sure enough, the really fat guy was the one I was assigned to. For the next twenty or so minutes I got worked over by this guy. To his credit he seemed to be very good at what he did, but sadly the outcome was the same as all my previous massage experiences. During the massage he applied some sort of oil, which bonded to my skin. After the massage, before going into the pools, I figured I should wash it off to keep from contaminating the water, but it just would not come off. This lead to one of the strangest feelings I've ever had - having oily skin underwater. (Later I learned that this was supposed to happen; the oil is meant to help your skin retain moisture and not dry out after having been in the water for extended periods)
It was time to hit the pools. The Szechenyi Bathhouse has quite a few indoor and outdoor pools, (along with several saunas, steam rooms and all the amenities you would expect from a major spa) and I tried out nearly all of them. While the outdoor pools are all the same temperature, the indoor ones range from cool to hot, and there are also a pair of really cold ones. For a great sensory experience, spend a few minutes in the hottest pool and then get out and immediately get into the nearby frigid pool. The lazy river in one of the outdoor pools is also a good time.
If you've been reading this far, you may be wondering when I'm going to get the point of this post; how the trip inspired me to strive for better physical fitness. Your patience will now be rewarded (maybe). In between pools, walking the grounds of the bathhouse shirtless and in just my swimsuit, I became increasingly aware of my waistline, especially in comparison to many of the other males of my age group who were there. I've never been fat, but I've never quite been skinny either, with a small bit of blubber budging out of my gut (a result from my well known love of sweets). Feeling conscious of my figure for the first time in my life, I decided it was finally time to make an effort to shed that bit of excess around my center. I certainly didn't want to ever turn into the guy who gave me a massage. If nothing else, I figured there would be some health benefits from working on this goal, and it might even make me slightly less unattractive to the opposite sex.
"Remember Budapest" has become something of a motto that I've been repeating to myself while eating and exercising. My efforts might work, or they might fade into nothingness, but hopefully by writing things like this down they acquire some sort of permanence.
In my time since returning from Europe I've had a chance to think over a few of stories I acquired overseas but hadn't told to many people. These are stories related to notable encounters with individual persons and somewhat unique experiences I had while exploring the continent.
The first story in this series centers on my time in Budapest, Hungary. On my second day in Budapest I decided to visit to the famous Szechenyi Bathhouse, which is located near Heroes Square. I had heard of this place from the hostel I was staying at, and because it didn't cost very much (the Hungarian currency is not very strong) I decided it was worth a try. It also seemed like a good chance to experience something "European," and I had been told that thermal baths are an old Hungarian tradition (there are several dozen bathhouses across Budapest). I even opted to get a massage package with my entrance fee. Those who know a bit about me know that this was a highly unusual move; I am normally not a fan of massages because they leave me in a fair amount of physical pain. But, I decided that if any place had a chance of changing my mind it would be Budapest's best bathhouse.
To help give some context and give you an idea of what it looks like, below are a few photos of the bathhouse that I took before leaving:
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| One end of the outdoor pool area |
 |
| One area of the indoor pools. |
 |
| Another indoor pool. |
 |
The massage area was in the back and took a few minutes of exploration to find, but I made it in time for my appointment. In the room were a receptionist and four massage specialists. One of them was a very obese man, and I instantly knew he was the one I was going to get. I gave the receptionist my appointment card, and sure enough, the really fat guy was the one I was assigned to. For the next twenty or so minutes I got worked over by this guy. To his credit he seemed to be very good at what he did, but sadly the outcome was the same as all my previous massage experiences. During the massage he applied some sort of oil, which bonded to my skin. After the massage, before going into the pools, I figured I should wash it off to keep from contaminating the water, but it just would not come off. This lead to one of the strangest feelings I've ever had - having oily skin underwater. (Later I learned that this was supposed to happen; the oil is meant to help your skin retain moisture and not dry out after having been in the water for extended periods)
It was time to hit the pools. The Szechenyi Bathhouse has quite a few indoor and outdoor pools, (along with several saunas, steam rooms and all the amenities you would expect from a major spa) and I tried out nearly all of them. While the outdoor pools are all the same temperature, the indoor ones range from cool to hot, and there are also a pair of really cold ones. For a great sensory experience, spend a few minutes in the hottest pool and then get out and immediately get into the nearby frigid pool. The lazy river in one of the outdoor pools is also a good time.
If you've been reading this far, you may be wondering when I'm going to get the point of this post; how the trip inspired me to strive for better physical fitness. Your patience will now be rewarded (maybe). In between pools, walking the grounds of the bathhouse shirtless and in just my swimsuit, I became increasingly aware of my waistline, especially in comparison to many of the other males of my age group who were there. I've never been fat, but I've never quite been skinny either, with a small bit of blubber budging out of my gut (a result from my well known love of sweets). Feeling conscious of my figure for the first time in my life, I decided it was finally time to make an effort to shed that bit of excess around my center. I certainly didn't want to ever turn into the guy who gave me a massage. If nothing else, I figured there would be some health benefits from working on this goal, and it might even make me slightly less unattractive to the opposite sex.
"Remember Budapest" has become something of a motto that I've been repeating to myself while eating and exercising. My efforts might work, or they might fade into nothingness, but hopefully by writing things like this down they acquire some sort of permanence.
Tuesday, August 7, 2012
Photos Part 6 (The Finale)
Here it is, the last photo post, and probably the last major post for this blog (at least, for awhile). This last set covers my time in Berlin through the departure from London. Enjoy.
BERLIN
The Brandenburg Gate, one of the few remnants of old Prussian Berlin.
The Victory Column.
Looking back at central Berlin from atop the Victory Column.
Just south of the Brandenburg Gate you can find the Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe.
Across the street from Humboldt University and right next to the university library is the infamous square where the Nazis held their book burnings. In the background on the right you can see a group of people gathered around. They are looking down at the memorial to the book burnings.
The memorial to the victims of war and fascism. The statue of the mother and her dead son is directly under the oculus in the ceiling, so when it rains or snows the weather falls through the roof and onto the statue.
The old world clock at Alexanderplatz. In the background is the Berlin TV Tower.
The Berlin Cathedral, also called the Berliner Dome.
The East Side Gallery, which is a one mile stretch of the Berlin Wall that was kept up. Along it, artists from all around the world have turned it into the world's longest art gallery by painting directly onto the wall.
Checkpoint Charlie. Note the McDonald's in the background. What better to proclaim the victory of capitalism?
The glass dome on top of the Reichstag.
From inside, looking down in the dome. From the windows at the bottom you can look directly into the main chamber of the German parliament.
The Reichstag.
Inside the Pergamon Museum you can find the massive Ishtar Gate of Babylon. There were actually two parts to the gate, but the bigger part couldn't fit in the museum.
Brandenburg Gate at night. Unlike daytime, it's not overrun with tourists at night.
The Reichstag at night.
COPENHAGEN
The royal palace. Denmark still has a royal family, and their palace seemed strangely under guarded.
Walking around Copenhagen. It was really pleasant when I was there in July, but I imagine it's not so nice in the winter.
Copenhagen's former red light district, now a scenic tourist zone.
The Little Mermaid Statue. Like the Mona Lisa, it's actually quite small and you'll never need to see it a second time.
COLOGNE
The Cologne Cathedral, which used to be the tallest building in Europe until the Eiffel Tower got built.
Inside the cathedral.
Along Cologne's rail bridge you can find the most extensive collection of padlocks ever. People put a padlock on the bridge to mark a significant event such as an engagement.
A view of Cologne Cathedral from across the Rhine River.
AMSTERDAM (SECOND VISIT)
Arrival in Amsterdam for the second time, and what's that? It's sunny?
Vondel Park.
Walking around Amsterdam.
I still can't believe the sun's out.
LONDON (SECOND VISIT)
Back in London, and just like last time, it is cloudy and wet.
Westminster Palace and Big Ben.
Another view of Westminster.
Buckingham Palace. No need to see changing of the guard this time.
Inside the British Museum is the famous Rosetta Stone.
The inside of St Paul's Cathedral. Last time I was there I didn't get any photos, but on my second visit I made sure to get some.
Tower Bridge, with the bridge raised for a passing boat. You can see the Olympic rings hanging from the bottom of the upper bridge. It's a bit hard to tell, but this photo was taking in the middle of a massive downpour.
My plane back to America (ok, so this is actually in Dallas, not London).
And that does it! Thanks for following along over the past few months. This blog probably will not see activity again for awhile, but any future trips like this will likely resurrect it.
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