I apologize for the delay on this post (like anyone really cares), but rather than getting situated in front of a computer the night before I left town, I was pressured into going to the bar. It happens.
One of the more unfortunate side effects of traveling to London was the fact that I actually had to back track my way to Paris before I hopped on a train to Barcelona. This means that I willingly opted for a 24-hour bus-ferry-train-night train trip that left my utterly exhausted. Luckily, I finally got to experience a proper night train, bed and all.
Because the ferry was late, I didn't get to take the train from Calais to Paris that I had hoped, but I managed to hop on another TGV that got me to the Paris train station with plenty of time to spare. The night train itself was interesting to say the least. You enter into a small room, not nearly large enough to comfortably house two, only to find that there are three other full grown men that are going to be sleeping in the space with you that night.
As it turns out, the other people in the cabin were very friendly and I felt a certain camaraderie by the morning. I met a guy named Ryan from Portland who was a graphic artist and we got along quite well. Weird things happen in Europe. Oddly enough, Ryan will be mentioned later in this blog as this was not the last time we saw each other. The train employee came in and laid out our four tiny beds like a mother telling her kids that it was time for bed. We obliged.
The hostel, Sant Jordi Arago Hostel, was located in a fairly ritzy area of Barcelona near many shops with Italian names selling over-priced jackets and watches. It was right down the block from Gaudi´s Casa Batllo and across the street from the Antoni Tapies museum with its crazy wire sculpture adorning its roof. The hostel itself is really nice - the people are friendly, the bathrooms and beds are clean, and there is a common room with a huge TV if that´s what you are into. I shower and put my bag in the room and I take off.
Having taken the night train, I have the whole day ahead of me to do some serious sightseeing. I take a walk down Barcelona´s most famous street, Las Ramblas. It is a pedestrian area that extends from a plaza near my hostel a few kilometers to the ocean. The whole street is packed full of people as far as the eye can see. There are cafes and pet shops and, of course, obligatory street performers dressed in their costume of choice. Interestingly enough, the first thing I see is a man covered in tattoos all over his body. One in particular resembles underwear that fails to cover the genitals, actually drawing attention to his enormous, Dirk Diggler genitals. I did a double take because this is not a typical sight for me. Then I realized he was actually wearing socks and sandals, so he wasn´t completely naked. Barcelona is a weird place.
I walked down to Barceloneta, a seaside neighborhood, and found a cheap seafood place to grab a meal. I end up getting some paella with mussels, scallops, prawns, pork, and some other assorted meats followed by a light-as-air piece of fish. It was exactly the kind of meal I was expecting from Barcelona. Accompanied with an ice cold beer, the whole meal cost me 8 euro. London is missed, but not missed that much.
I hop on the metro to head to Barcelona's most popular landmark, La Sagrada Familia. Whether you love his work or hate it, Antoni Gaudi has laid the plans for something truly amazing in this building. The attention to detail is unparalleled - the designs oozes religious symbolism and references to nature. The most interesting aspect of La Sagrada Familia is that in its present state, it is decades from completion. Construction crews are omnipresent (most of the buiding is a construction site), but the head project coordinator believes they won't finish for at least 20 years, which I think is an underestimate. However impressive as it is now, the size and stature of Gaudi's masterpiece wil increase tenfold when finished. I just hope I am alive to come back and see it.
Back at the hostel, I meet a guy named Tom who is going with a few Korean travelers to a cheap flamenco show later that night. I decide to tag along and I am glad that I did. The show was well worth it: a half hour of musicianship and flamenco tap dancing. Check out my pictures when you get the chance to see the raw emotion expressed in this show.
Excited after the show, the four of us decide to drink some wine and head out on the town. We eventually go to a bar called Dow Jones at which the prices are constantly displays on screens above the bar. Supposedly, the prices fluctuate based on market forces of the bar patrons, such that if whiskey is popular, the price of whiskey will rise and vice versa. I doubt the true free market nature of the system, but I enjoyed the novelty of the periodic "crash" in which all drinks got really cheap for 15 minutes.
Jae and Si Jun had an early bus the next morning, so Tom and I decide that we will stay awake until the morning with them. This proves short-lived as we put on the hilariously bad Hancock and fall asleep almost instantly.
The next morning I head over to the Parc Güell, another one of Gaudi's creations. The walk to the Parc was largely uphill and grueling as hell in the Barcelona heat. The trek was well worth it. The main entrance is marked by two buildings which would fit appropriately in a tripped out Magic Kingdom. The main staircase and pavilion are packed full of Gaudi's famous mosaics, vibrant and sparkling as always. The oddities don't stop here - there are curved asymmetric tunnels and jagged columns and, at the highest point of the hilltop park, three stone crosses atop a monument that offer a 360-degree panoramic view of the city.
After a short stop at the Picasso Museum, I returned to the hostel to find a totally new crew of people who had just checked in. They were mostly Americans from the West Coast and, as often happens when Americans get together in large groups, we all played drinking games until we could barely walk. Let me tell you, cheap gin can do some serious damage when consumed without taking breaths between drinks. I'm just glad I remembered to eat dinner.
After what felt like a fortnight of nonstop alcohol consumption, the entire hostel decided to head to a club nearby. We entered the club around 2 AM, early enough so there wasn't a cover charge (no typo there). I wish I could elaborate further at this point, but all I know is that I was doing quite a bit of dancing, most of which was probably done without a dance partner. I like to keep it simple. Fast forward three hours (because that's how my mind reconstructs the night anyway) and I was asleep in bed, fully clothed and sweaty, ready to awake the next morning in a dull-minded stupor. Dammit, Barcelona is fun!
The next morning I organized a little trip to the beach, a much needed relaxation period after a night of partying. The Oregon crew came, as did a few from L.A., and two brothers from Minnesota (a mechanical engineer my age and a biomedical engineer my brothers age - crazy coincidence). We took a metro down the coast a few stops rather than going to the densely-packed Barcelonetta beach, a popular spot that is notorious for small time pickpockets and thieves.
As we walked on the sand toward the water, I heard a voice call my name. I turned around and saw my buddy Ryan, the travel with whom I shared my sleeper train. As it turns out, Ryan went to school with one of the guys in the hostel; they even worked on the school newspaper together. So Ryan and his girlfriend joined us for a few cold beers on the beach.
I neglected to mention that this beach was a nude beach. I have heard the arguments against this sort of "clothing optional" rules at beaches. They usually go something like this: "Naked people are great and all, but there are some people that just shouldn't be naked in public". I guess that includes the overweight and unattractive - the should nots. Luckily, Spanish people are uncannily attractive in all regards - fit bodies, bronzed skin, sharply defined features. These people look much better than I do, with or without clothes. If they choose to sunbathe nude, there will hear no protest from me.
A beach day was muched needed. The pace at which I have been travelling has been grueling; sun-soaked respite accompanied by a few cervezas frias was a perfect way to end my time in Barcelona. No sights, no hectic metro rides, no exorbitant fee for entry. Just a regenerative, soul-soothing day en la playa.
I leave for Granada in the morning on a train that is entirely too long given the relatively short distance between Granada and Barcelona. The trip is coming to a close and it scares me!
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Ninth Stop: London
I know, I know - I said I wasn't going to go to the UK. The arguments against traveling to London are numerous: my Eurail pass isn't valid, London is the most expensive city in the world, moving North is actually moving the opposite direction from my next destination, I will have less time in Spain, and so on and so on. Now why am I here again?
I just couldn't pass up the opportunity. A trip to Europe without London just seemed incomplete to me. And Wimbledon. It really was just Wimbledon that brought me here and, dammit, I'm glad that it did. Although the last few days have been way over budget, they have been some of my best in Europe.
From Paris, I boarded a train en route to Calais, a seaside port city in France and the closest point to the England. In Calais, I met two girls from Switzerland who were getting ready to board the ferry as I was. There was some down time before the ferry departed, so the Swiss and I joked around and told stories. They were camping all throughout the Southeast coast of Britain and then making their way up to Ireland to do more of the same. I guess you could say they are the outdoorsy type.
The ferry was nothing like I had imagined. My mental picture was a run-down little passenger vessel that chugged along, barely maintaining a crawl as we progressed slowly closer to Dover. I could not have been more wrong. The ferry was state of the art - it had a ritzy restaurant and completely furnished interior. There were duty free shops and casinos and cafes. And it was enormous in size; it reminded me of a cruise liner.
The hour and 15 minutes flew by as I chatted with the Swiss, but when we got close to Dover the real show began. I never understood the song reference, but the Cliffs of Dover are actually the White Cliffs of Dover, an stunning geographical anomaly on the coast of England. The landscape is green until it reaches the ocean at which point the land drops straight down hundreds of feet. The white earth beneath the surface reveals itself as huge porcelain-colored rock. The view was worth the ferry ride.
I parted with the Swiss girls and boarded a bus to London. I notice the "Drive on the Left" signs for international car traffic and I realize that we too are driving on the left. I still haven't got used to it and I really am not convinced that the Brits have either. The bus ride gives me a nice introduction to the landscape, which is verdant and sprawling. It was a clear day, so you could see the hills roll into the horizon.
I arrived in London at Victoria Station as lost as ever. Luckily, speak in this country speak English, enabling me to finally comprehend written language. I find an Underground station that takes me to where I want to go in no time. The hostel at which I stayed is called the Ace Hostel. It's a part hotel, part hostel with a nice garden in the center and a bar/cafe on the first floor. The linens were clean and the showers were hot, so I was content.
The real reason I chose this hostel is its proximity to the All England Club. In reality, it was much closer than I thought. The tube is one block away and it runs directly to Wimbledon. I was tired from my day of travel and recognized the need to go to bed early for the next day, but I decided to go out and grab some food and beer with two Aussie girls in the hostel. After a meat pie and some ale, I went home and hit the hay at around 11 PM.
I still didn't get nearly enough sleep because my alarm was set for 5 AM. I showered, grabbed my backpack, and hopped on the tube toward the All England Club. On the ride I met a man named Lester, a Canadian of Singaporean descent. Les and I became acquainted and were Wimbledon buddies for the day. He had been before, to the French, Australian, and U.S. Opens as well. He was a funny little man, always telling jokes and keeping things light-hearted. I needed someone like him, because we were about the find our place in a Wimbledon institution, The Queue.
We reached The Queue at about 5:45 and were promptly given an official queue numbered card. I was number 2383. That means that there were 2382 people in front of me in line. The spectacle was amazing - pitched tents all about and people laying around, eating and chatting. The Wimbledon staff did an fantastic job organizing this event. It was perfectly orchestrated and orderly. I have never seen thousands of people behave in such a ruly manner. I guess the Brits are just used to queuing up.
The Queue took about four hours. Les and I spent this type talking tennis and making our predictions. Les attends the Nick Bollitieri tennis camp, so he had got the opportunity to speak with some of the pros. He had some good stories to tell, but I won't dwell on them here.
At around 10:30 AM we reached the ticket stand. I was fortunate enough to grab a reserved seat for Court 2 in addition to my grounds pass. Because it was labeled as obstructed view, it only cost me an extra £2. The atmosphere at Wimbledon was electric. The grounds were packed full of people although the first match didn't begin until 1 PM. I get the chills just thinking about those first moments at Wimbledon. The grass courts, the vines, the schedule of play, the strawberries and cream, Henman Hill (or Murray Mound) and its large television screen. I had made it.
I had already eaten all of the food I have purchased the day before and I was still starving, so Les and I went right for the fish and chips. I can't turn down fried anything. We wandered about the grounds for a while, taking pictures and hanging out.
Federer was the first match on, but because I didn't camp out 24 hours before, I didn't have tickets. The first match I saw was the next best thing, James Blake and Andreas Seppi. One thing about tennis matches that I didn't know before. People are constantly moving in and out of their seats. Every side change there is 100 people that leave and 100 more that come; no one has any patience. Blake lost, but that didn't come close to ruining my day.
I watched bits of matches here and there, a little doubles, maybe a few qualifiers there. I couldn't believe how close the spectators are to the courts. On the higher numbered courts and even on the show courts, the experience is incredibly intimate. You could see and hear everything that happens. I was like a little kid on Christmas.
I went to my seats at Court 2 to watch Tsonga take out a qualifier. The view was hardly obstructed - I felt like I got the better of the deal on that ticket. Later I watched a little of Dementieva, but women are not nearly as fun to watch as the men, so I made my way over the watch "Doctor" Ivo Karlovic serve his way through the first round.
After a full day of tennis after barely any sleep, I was exhausted. I went to Henman Hill with some tea and Thai noodles to watch the end of his match on the big screen. He pulled through and the Londoners were behind him the whole way.
It was a fantastic day and I didn't want it to ever end. I never thought I would actually attend Wimbledon. It is an experience I will have with me my whole life, even if it did end up costing me an arm and a leg. I'll never forget the smell of the grass...
I returned to the hostel as tired as ever and wanted nothing more than to go to sleep. Jeff, a Canadian who was my dorm mate, had other plans. He was preaching about Canadian whisky and was so adamant that I was willed into drinking some. We passed around that bottle for entirely too long, and eventually I feel right asleep with ease - I really didn't need that nightcap.
Rather than going to Wimbledon again (Murray was playing and the Brits were going nuts), I decided to do a little sight seeing. The two Aussie girls had the same plan, so we went out together to hit the big spots. We saw the Parliament, Big Ben, and went inside Westminster Abbey. Sadly, I lost them somewhere in the abbey and wasn't able to meet up with them again. This was alright, because I wanted to cover a lot of ground anyway and I couldn't do it with stragglers.
I walked about an hour along the Thames to the Tower of London. The walk was beautiful and really gave me a good feel for London. The Crown Jewels and the Tower Bridge were the highlights here, both totally blew me away. All I want for Christmas is the sceptre with the 530.2 karat diamond Star of Africa in it. Not too much to ask I don't think.
I walked back to the Tate Modern, one of London's most beloved museums. The museums are free in London (to make up for the hellishly high prices everywhere else), so I thought this would be easy, cheap option. I was actually blown away by this museum. It had some serious works but some of the world's most widely known contemporary artists from Picasso and Matisse and Dali to Warhol and Koons. For anyone who travels to London, I couldn't recommend this place more.
For dinner I ate some top notch Indian food at a place the Lonely Planet guide recommended. They say the best Indian food is in London and while I am not travelled enough to second the statement, I know my food was delicious.
Tomorrow I back track to Paris along the same multi-step route then hop aboard an overnight train to Barcelona. Talk to everyone from there!
I just couldn't pass up the opportunity. A trip to Europe without London just seemed incomplete to me. And Wimbledon. It really was just Wimbledon that brought me here and, dammit, I'm glad that it did. Although the last few days have been way over budget, they have been some of my best in Europe.
From Paris, I boarded a train en route to Calais, a seaside port city in France and the closest point to the England. In Calais, I met two girls from Switzerland who were getting ready to board the ferry as I was. There was some down time before the ferry departed, so the Swiss and I joked around and told stories. They were camping all throughout the Southeast coast of Britain and then making their way up to Ireland to do more of the same. I guess you could say they are the outdoorsy type.
The ferry was nothing like I had imagined. My mental picture was a run-down little passenger vessel that chugged along, barely maintaining a crawl as we progressed slowly closer to Dover. I could not have been more wrong. The ferry was state of the art - it had a ritzy restaurant and completely furnished interior. There were duty free shops and casinos and cafes. And it was enormous in size; it reminded me of a cruise liner.
The hour and 15 minutes flew by as I chatted with the Swiss, but when we got close to Dover the real show began. I never understood the song reference, but the Cliffs of Dover are actually the White Cliffs of Dover, an stunning geographical anomaly on the coast of England. The landscape is green until it reaches the ocean at which point the land drops straight down hundreds of feet. The white earth beneath the surface reveals itself as huge porcelain-colored rock. The view was worth the ferry ride.
I parted with the Swiss girls and boarded a bus to London. I notice the "Drive on the Left" signs for international car traffic and I realize that we too are driving on the left. I still haven't got used to it and I really am not convinced that the Brits have either. The bus ride gives me a nice introduction to the landscape, which is verdant and sprawling. It was a clear day, so you could see the hills roll into the horizon.
I arrived in London at Victoria Station as lost as ever. Luckily, speak in this country speak English, enabling me to finally comprehend written language. I find an Underground station that takes me to where I want to go in no time. The hostel at which I stayed is called the Ace Hostel. It's a part hotel, part hostel with a nice garden in the center and a bar/cafe on the first floor. The linens were clean and the showers were hot, so I was content.
The real reason I chose this hostel is its proximity to the All England Club. In reality, it was much closer than I thought. The tube is one block away and it runs directly to Wimbledon. I was tired from my day of travel and recognized the need to go to bed early for the next day, but I decided to go out and grab some food and beer with two Aussie girls in the hostel. After a meat pie and some ale, I went home and hit the hay at around 11 PM.
I still didn't get nearly enough sleep because my alarm was set for 5 AM. I showered, grabbed my backpack, and hopped on the tube toward the All England Club. On the ride I met a man named Lester, a Canadian of Singaporean descent. Les and I became acquainted and were Wimbledon buddies for the day. He had been before, to the French, Australian, and U.S. Opens as well. He was a funny little man, always telling jokes and keeping things light-hearted. I needed someone like him, because we were about the find our place in a Wimbledon institution, The Queue.
We reached The Queue at about 5:45 and were promptly given an official queue numbered card. I was number 2383. That means that there were 2382 people in front of me in line. The spectacle was amazing - pitched tents all about and people laying around, eating and chatting. The Wimbledon staff did an fantastic job organizing this event. It was perfectly orchestrated and orderly. I have never seen thousands of people behave in such a ruly manner. I guess the Brits are just used to queuing up.
The Queue took about four hours. Les and I spent this type talking tennis and making our predictions. Les attends the Nick Bollitieri tennis camp, so he had got the opportunity to speak with some of the pros. He had some good stories to tell, but I won't dwell on them here.
At around 10:30 AM we reached the ticket stand. I was fortunate enough to grab a reserved seat for Court 2 in addition to my grounds pass. Because it was labeled as obstructed view, it only cost me an extra £2. The atmosphere at Wimbledon was electric. The grounds were packed full of people although the first match didn't begin until 1 PM. I get the chills just thinking about those first moments at Wimbledon. The grass courts, the vines, the schedule of play, the strawberries and cream, Henman Hill (or Murray Mound) and its large television screen. I had made it.
I had already eaten all of the food I have purchased the day before and I was still starving, so Les and I went right for the fish and chips. I can't turn down fried anything. We wandered about the grounds for a while, taking pictures and hanging out.
Federer was the first match on, but because I didn't camp out 24 hours before, I didn't have tickets. The first match I saw was the next best thing, James Blake and Andreas Seppi. One thing about tennis matches that I didn't know before. People are constantly moving in and out of their seats. Every side change there is 100 people that leave and 100 more that come; no one has any patience. Blake lost, but that didn't come close to ruining my day.
I watched bits of matches here and there, a little doubles, maybe a few qualifiers there. I couldn't believe how close the spectators are to the courts. On the higher numbered courts and even on the show courts, the experience is incredibly intimate. You could see and hear everything that happens. I was like a little kid on Christmas.
I went to my seats at Court 2 to watch Tsonga take out a qualifier. The view was hardly obstructed - I felt like I got the better of the deal on that ticket. Later I watched a little of Dementieva, but women are not nearly as fun to watch as the men, so I made my way over the watch "Doctor" Ivo Karlovic serve his way through the first round.
After a full day of tennis after barely any sleep, I was exhausted. I went to Henman Hill with some tea and Thai noodles to watch the end of his match on the big screen. He pulled through and the Londoners were behind him the whole way.
It was a fantastic day and I didn't want it to ever end. I never thought I would actually attend Wimbledon. It is an experience I will have with me my whole life, even if it did end up costing me an arm and a leg. I'll never forget the smell of the grass...
I returned to the hostel as tired as ever and wanted nothing more than to go to sleep. Jeff, a Canadian who was my dorm mate, had other plans. He was preaching about Canadian whisky and was so adamant that I was willed into drinking some. We passed around that bottle for entirely too long, and eventually I feel right asleep with ease - I really didn't need that nightcap.
Rather than going to Wimbledon again (Murray was playing and the Brits were going nuts), I decided to do a little sight seeing. The two Aussie girls had the same plan, so we went out together to hit the big spots. We saw the Parliament, Big Ben, and went inside Westminster Abbey. Sadly, I lost them somewhere in the abbey and wasn't able to meet up with them again. This was alright, because I wanted to cover a lot of ground anyway and I couldn't do it with stragglers.
I walked about an hour along the Thames to the Tower of London. The walk was beautiful and really gave me a good feel for London. The Crown Jewels and the Tower Bridge were the highlights here, both totally blew me away. All I want for Christmas is the sceptre with the 530.2 karat diamond Star of Africa in it. Not too much to ask I don't think.
I walked back to the Tate Modern, one of London's most beloved museums. The museums are free in London (to make up for the hellishly high prices everywhere else), so I thought this would be easy, cheap option. I was actually blown away by this museum. It had some serious works but some of the world's most widely known contemporary artists from Picasso and Matisse and Dali to Warhol and Koons. For anyone who travels to London, I couldn't recommend this place more.
For dinner I ate some top notch Indian food at a place the Lonely Planet guide recommended. They say the best Indian food is in London and while I am not travelled enough to second the statement, I know my food was delicious.
Tomorrow I back track to Paris along the same multi-step route then hop aboard an overnight train to Barcelona. Talk to everyone from there!
Saturday, June 20, 2009
Eigth Stop: Paris
It is overwhelmingly obvious to me now that three nights in Paris is not nearly enough. The city has so much to offer - some of the world's finest museums, a vibrant night life, and (arguably) the best food to ever grace the palette. Hell, I could have spent the entire three days in the Louvre and I still wouldn't have seen half of the exhibits. Despite the short length of my stay, I managed to pack in the major sites while meeting some great people.
France's train infrastructure is truly top-notch. My train from Amsterdam was a TGV (that's French for really f-ing fast) train to Paris. The train reached 300 kph which to us in America is pushing 200 mph! The countryside flew by before I could even catch a glimpse. I arrived at the station in Paris to screaming Frenchmen and beating drums. I deduced that it was some kind of protest; the military attended with their automatic weapons, which provided yet another hint. Civil unrest was abound - I really was in France.
The hostel I stayed in is called St. Christopher's Inn. Rather than the homey little hostels I have become accustomed to, this hostel is an enormous new building with state-of-the-art facilities. Not only were the rooms immaculately clean, the first floor of the building has a bar, cafe, and club, lest I want to dance the night away without leaving the comfort of my hostel.
I meet some Scottish guys in the bar after I get situated and we have a few drinks. Roy and Craig convince me to join them on a pub crawl that night. Still worn out from Amsterdam, I resist at first, but the Scots question my manhood and I quickly concede. It was going to be a late night.
The pub crawl was a blast and, luckily, we are given deals at bars. Otherwise, there was no way I was going to afford one, let alone many, alcoholic beverages. I don't know if it was the city of Paris affecting the women or if I was spitting my A-game, but I was quite popular on this pub crawl. I won't go into details here, but let it be known that I didn't do so bad with the ladies in Paris.
I awoke the next morning quite a bit later than I would have liked, but ate breakfast and joined some guys I met the night before. They were actually from Illinois and one just graduated from U of I in industrial engineering. What are the odds? We decided to check out the Catacombs first, which had come recommended from another guy at the hostel. Nothing better than thousands of human remains before noon.
The Catacombs began a little dull with winding paths and not much to look at. Then came the bones and they...are...awesome! I had heard stories, but it doesn't compare to thousands of stacked femurs and skulls in the shape of hearts and crosses. The French must enjoy their dark humor or take a light-hearted view of death, because art projects with human bones are not normal. By the way, I was extremely close to taking a skull with me out of the Catacombs. I had the skull in my hand and my backpack open, but I couldn't pull the trigger. That skull would have looked so perfect as a mantlepiece...
The other Chicagoans went back to the hostel to takes naps, so I decided I would walk the city and meet them at the Louvre at 6 PM, the time at which the entry is free on Fridays to people under 26. Paris is a beautful city to walk especially with sunny weather. I see the French Pantheon, Notre Dame (best stained glass I've ever seen), and the Centre Pompidou. I didn't actually get the chance to go inside Centre Pompidou, but if I ever return to Paris, I am going to spend a lot of time there. The comptemporary architecture sucked me in right from the get go.
The Louvre - where do I start? I only spent three and a half hours there, yet I already believe it is the greatest museum I have ever been to. It isn't just the quantity of items (and there is a huge quantity), but it is the diversity, the layout, the showstoppers. It is overwhelming in every sense of the word. You are bombarded with art and history on a giant scale. From Egypt to Persia to the Renaissance, the Louvre has it all.
We went to a nice meal that night at a place recommended by my trust Lonely Planet book. The food was delicious: beet salad, rabbit, and lemon pie for dessert. It was a perfect French meal. The waiter was kind of an ass, though. It ended up taking us 45 minutes to get a check and get out. I tried not to assume his intent was malicious, but with the reputation of the French coupled with the fact that we were clearly American, my suspicion aren't completely unfounded.
The night we drank far too much in the hostel bar. They allow BYOB so we B'ed. I don't exactly know where the night went, but I do recall stumbling to bed around 5 AM. Oops. The night was worth it, though. The Scots now respect us as drinkers. It's funny how alcohol is the one thing, regardless of nationality, that brings us all together. Funny and sad.
The next day I went to Versaille, alone this time. It was an impressive sight to behold. The French monarchs really like gold things (who doesn't?). I pretended I was an Irish citizen and I got in free of charge, which actually isn't the first time I used that little ploy. I tagged along on a private tour and got a little French history lesson as well.
After Versaille I beelined over to the Eiffel Tower. The massive steel structure is an icon if there ever was one; the monument itself seems to get lost in all of the postcards and t-shirts and keychains. This is a shame because the Eiffel Tower is a modern wonder that needs to be seen to be believed. Walking toward it, the maze-like nature of the beams and rivets become all the more complex and impressive. I waited for about 40 minutes for the chance to walk up the equivalent of a 43-story building. At points I doubted my stair-climbing abilities, but I managed to make it to the second tier without too much physical pain. The view was completely worth it - you could see the entire city from the tower. Much picture taking ensued.
I am worn out physically and mentally. Despite all of this, I do not want this trip to end. I have a little over one week remaining, not nearly enough time to do all I want to do and see all I want to see. Tomorrow I travel to London which, as it turns out, is more difficult than one might think. Because my Eurail pass isn't valid in England, I am opting out of the Chunnel train ride and instead talking the rail to Calais, a ferry across the English Channel to Dover, and then a bus to London. Roger Federer is waiting for me at the All England Club, so I musn't be late.
France's train infrastructure is truly top-notch. My train from Amsterdam was a TGV (that's French for really f-ing fast) train to Paris. The train reached 300 kph which to us in America is pushing 200 mph! The countryside flew by before I could even catch a glimpse. I arrived at the station in Paris to screaming Frenchmen and beating drums. I deduced that it was some kind of protest; the military attended with their automatic weapons, which provided yet another hint. Civil unrest was abound - I really was in France.
The hostel I stayed in is called St. Christopher's Inn. Rather than the homey little hostels I have become accustomed to, this hostel is an enormous new building with state-of-the-art facilities. Not only were the rooms immaculately clean, the first floor of the building has a bar, cafe, and club, lest I want to dance the night away without leaving the comfort of my hostel.
I meet some Scottish guys in the bar after I get situated and we have a few drinks. Roy and Craig convince me to join them on a pub crawl that night. Still worn out from Amsterdam, I resist at first, but the Scots question my manhood and I quickly concede. It was going to be a late night.
The pub crawl was a blast and, luckily, we are given deals at bars. Otherwise, there was no way I was going to afford one, let alone many, alcoholic beverages. I don't know if it was the city of Paris affecting the women or if I was spitting my A-game, but I was quite popular on this pub crawl. I won't go into details here, but let it be known that I didn't do so bad with the ladies in Paris.
I awoke the next morning quite a bit later than I would have liked, but ate breakfast and joined some guys I met the night before. They were actually from Illinois and one just graduated from U of I in industrial engineering. What are the odds? We decided to check out the Catacombs first, which had come recommended from another guy at the hostel. Nothing better than thousands of human remains before noon.
The Catacombs began a little dull with winding paths and not much to look at. Then came the bones and they...are...awesome! I had heard stories, but it doesn't compare to thousands of stacked femurs and skulls in the shape of hearts and crosses. The French must enjoy their dark humor or take a light-hearted view of death, because art projects with human bones are not normal. By the way, I was extremely close to taking a skull with me out of the Catacombs. I had the skull in my hand and my backpack open, but I couldn't pull the trigger. That skull would have looked so perfect as a mantlepiece...
The other Chicagoans went back to the hostel to takes naps, so I decided I would walk the city and meet them at the Louvre at 6 PM, the time at which the entry is free on Fridays to people under 26. Paris is a beautful city to walk especially with sunny weather. I see the French Pantheon, Notre Dame (best stained glass I've ever seen), and the Centre Pompidou. I didn't actually get the chance to go inside Centre Pompidou, but if I ever return to Paris, I am going to spend a lot of time there. The comptemporary architecture sucked me in right from the get go.
The Louvre - where do I start? I only spent three and a half hours there, yet I already believe it is the greatest museum I have ever been to. It isn't just the quantity of items (and there is a huge quantity), but it is the diversity, the layout, the showstoppers. It is overwhelming in every sense of the word. You are bombarded with art and history on a giant scale. From Egypt to Persia to the Renaissance, the Louvre has it all.
We went to a nice meal that night at a place recommended by my trust Lonely Planet book. The food was delicious: beet salad, rabbit, and lemon pie for dessert. It was a perfect French meal. The waiter was kind of an ass, though. It ended up taking us 45 minutes to get a check and get out. I tried not to assume his intent was malicious, but with the reputation of the French coupled with the fact that we were clearly American, my suspicion aren't completely unfounded.
The night we drank far too much in the hostel bar. They allow BYOB so we B'ed. I don't exactly know where the night went, but I do recall stumbling to bed around 5 AM. Oops. The night was worth it, though. The Scots now respect us as drinkers. It's funny how alcohol is the one thing, regardless of nationality, that brings us all together. Funny and sad.
The next day I went to Versaille, alone this time. It was an impressive sight to behold. The French monarchs really like gold things (who doesn't?). I pretended I was an Irish citizen and I got in free of charge, which actually isn't the first time I used that little ploy. I tagged along on a private tour and got a little French history lesson as well.
After Versaille I beelined over to the Eiffel Tower. The massive steel structure is an icon if there ever was one; the monument itself seems to get lost in all of the postcards and t-shirts and keychains. This is a shame because the Eiffel Tower is a modern wonder that needs to be seen to be believed. Walking toward it, the maze-like nature of the beams and rivets become all the more complex and impressive. I waited for about 40 minutes for the chance to walk up the equivalent of a 43-story building. At points I doubted my stair-climbing abilities, but I managed to make it to the second tier without too much physical pain. The view was completely worth it - you could see the entire city from the tower. Much picture taking ensued.
I am worn out physically and mentally. Despite all of this, I do not want this trip to end. I have a little over one week remaining, not nearly enough time to do all I want to do and see all I want to see. Tomorrow I travel to London which, as it turns out, is more difficult than one might think. Because my Eurail pass isn't valid in England, I am opting out of the Chunnel train ride and instead talking the rail to Calais, a ferry across the English Channel to Dover, and then a bus to London. Roger Federer is waiting for me at the All England Club, so I musn't be late.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Seventh Stop: Amsterdam
I think Amsterdam gets a bad rap. Maybe its super-liberal policies and laid-back political philosophy have something to do with it. I believe it is not these ideologies, but a unwavering adherence to them when addressing tough issues (hard drug use, prostitution), that leads to image problems. In a place where almost everything that could possibly be legal is legal, you'd expect dingy streets, packed with degenerates and misfits with raging erections, high on every drug in the drug encyclopedia.
In reality, the city is painfully charming. The Dutch people are some of the friendliest I have encountered. It is really challenging for me to say anything negative (and mean it) about my time in Amsterdam. Sure it has its blemishes, but don't we all?
I arrived by train at Central Station on Monday evening, just in time for the last metro ride. The directions to the hostel were easy enough, a few blocks and I was there: City Shelter Christian Hostel. Patrick, you say, what possessed you to stay at a Christian hostel? What the hell were you thinking? No, I wasn't there to pick fights. No, I wasn't there to spread the seed of non-religion among the patrons. I just needed a place and places were scare. And this one had free hot breakfast.
In hindsight, I probably wouldn't have stayed at this certain hostel again because you couldn't even drink inside, but it turned out not to be as big of an issue as I thought. That said, the first three people I spoke to seemed nice, but the conversations always somehow led to Jesus. Jesus guides me, one said. Jesus loves me, said another. Yet another: my car runs on Jesus (I didn't make that up). On top of all this J-man talk, there were many strange folk in the hostel - lots of grey beards and shifty eyes. As I sat on a computer to check my e-mail, one lady sang softly to herself, passionate, eyes closed, not ten feet from the computer in a common area chair. Creep-city.
Fortunately the tides turned and I started meeting some people who weren't so overwhelmingly frightening. I started talking to two girls from Sweden who agreed (or succumbed to my irresistible charm, depending on who you ask) to join me for a few drinks. We went to a few spots they had been to earlier. I found out that 80% of the Swedish population is atheist or agnostic and that they were staying at the hostel for the same reasons I was, which was reassuring.
The next day I set out to get my laundry done, joining forces with a roommate named John. I thought it would take all morning, but it turned out that Amsterdam is fantastic laundry services that, for 8 euro, wash and fold your entire load. I was expecting to pay that much to slave over dirty clothes myself, so I was all for this. With laundry away, John and I walked around the city a bit.
It was still early for the people here at 11 AM, so the streets were pretty dull. However, we made our way toward the newly built public library for some free Internet. Little did we know, we were about to enter the most amazing library space I have ever laid eyes upon. The building's architecture is Amsterdam-typical contemporary, with lots of big windows and very clean lines. If the inside resembles anything, it is an Apple store. Expansive open spaces, everything white, while computers or books or paintings contrast with the backdrop. There are seven total floors, four of which actually contain books, others house multimedia like DVDs and CDs or magazines and periodicals. Each floor has more computer workstations than you'd ever think could be used. Many have huge Macs near leather couches or oddly shaped chairs. In the childrens section, there are little nooks with bean bags and pillows. There are even restaurants, cafes, and bars as well. A piano player fills the area with classic music. This is the urban library-goer's paradise.
After the neo-library, we walked around a little more, popping in and out of weird little record shops and stores that sell knick-knacks. By this time is was late in the afternoon, the sun was shining, and Amsterdam had come to life. Once empty streets were full of people, cafes burst out into the street while the street seemed to extend into the buildings, blurring the lines between public and private space. The Dutch are a social people and this was prime socializing weather.
John and I took a seat at a cafe, ordered some coffee and sandwiches, and looked around. It has been said that Amsterdam is one of the world's best places to people-watch. I quickly began to understand why. First, let me explain something. Amsterdam is a city of canals - think Venice without the gondolas. The streets run along and over these canals, but the room left for each individual street is miniscule. Cars can barely squeeze by in most cases and that goes without even mentioning the bicycles.
Did I forget about the bicycles? Well, they have a lot of them. I bet you would probably say they have too many. Not only do they have the hardware, but the city has undertaken an astounding infrastructure project so that cyclers have lanes, signals, and signage, much like motor vehicles. Everyone rides them, young and old, rich and poor.
Back to the point here. The beauty of the people-watching situation is this: I sit at the cafe table, my island of calm amidst constant movement. The movement isn't loud or unsettling, but it is interesting enough to grab your attention. People stay long enough to grab your attention but they are off again before you get too attached. There are plenty of people following behind anyway. It would be easy partake in that pasttime all day...
Side note: I picked up my laundry. It was folded by the high sensei of laundry. I wish my mother could fold like this. Don't be alarmed, Mom, you do my laundry with far more love. But love doesn't fit perfectly in my bag, so I was glad to have the masterful folding here.
That night I went with some other people from the hostel to a free jazz (free in form and admission) show at the music conservatory. The girl who brought us all there attended Cal Arts in LA, so she had some fascinating stories for me, one of which included her roommate who was Nic Cage's son's "life coach". Next.
The show was great and the beer was cheap so we stayed for a while, until about 1AM. On the way back, I thought this was a good time to check out the red light district. Thankfully (to God, maybe), our Christian hostel is located IN the red light district - there are red lights just 10 meters away. It must be tempting for all of those god-fearing people who stay at the hostel; sin is literally burning holes in their eyes.
The red light district is an interesting place. There are women in glass boxes, or at least they look like glass boxes. They stand there with skimpy clothing and attempt to coax you into their areas. These aren't your neighborhood hookers here - the women are tall, beautiful, curvy in the right places and never in the wrong ones. I guess with legitimacy comes high standards. Anyway, they try to lure you in with calls of affections and seductive looks. Many succeed.
The whole strip is filled with men, joking, smoking cigarettes, and having fun. It seemed to me that most of the people there were just there to witness the spectacle than to actually pay for sex. The red light district has to be seen to be believed. It is shrouded in mystery, but when you are actually there, it feels like there are no secrets left when all its secrets are shared from behind glass windows.
The next day a guy from Canada named Henry, after we both ate our breakfasts of eggs, ham, cheese, and toast, joined me for the day. I had met him the night before at the jazz show and he seemed like a nice fellow, so we decided we would rent bikes for the day. It was 6 euro for the day, which was not bad at all. Henry and I took a ferry across the river and rode into the countryside a while. We stopped at a market and had a traditional Dutch snack: herring. Just raw herring, onions, pickles. The texture was questionable, as was our choice of eating herring straight from the sea before a day-long bike ride.
The bike ride was soothing at its best times and grueling at its worst. Henry couldn't take the heat, so he left me at around 4 to head back to the hostel (this is a kid who is supposedly hiking the 30 days through France and Spain). I rode to the Van Gogh museum to get a daily dose of old important art stuff. The paintings were beautiful. They were made even more impressive by the fact that Van Gogh really get into painting until he was 26 after encouragement from his brother.
Alas, Van Gogh went crazy and I still have one night to do the same. I leave for Paris tomorrow, not on a high-speed train, but on four slower trains. Four. Oddly enough, my trip only takes 3 hours longers than the direct train and I get a little downtime during transfers to see a couple more sights. Yipee!
One final word on Amsterdam - the fact that this country operates the way it does with the policies that it has enacted should show the rest of the world that this type of open society can exist. We don't have to make laws against every little action or piece of contraband. We need to cultivate meaningful communities and social bonds that can become far more powerful tools to combat crime and poverty than strong-armed government enforcement. We could all take a lesson from The Netherlands.
I want to keep preaching, but I am getting hungry and you don't want to hear that. See you from Paris!
In reality, the city is painfully charming. The Dutch people are some of the friendliest I have encountered. It is really challenging for me to say anything negative (and mean it) about my time in Amsterdam. Sure it has its blemishes, but don't we all?
I arrived by train at Central Station on Monday evening, just in time for the last metro ride. The directions to the hostel were easy enough, a few blocks and I was there: City Shelter Christian Hostel. Patrick, you say, what possessed you to stay at a Christian hostel? What the hell were you thinking? No, I wasn't there to pick fights. No, I wasn't there to spread the seed of non-religion among the patrons. I just needed a place and places were scare. And this one had free hot breakfast.
In hindsight, I probably wouldn't have stayed at this certain hostel again because you couldn't even drink inside, but it turned out not to be as big of an issue as I thought. That said, the first three people I spoke to seemed nice, but the conversations always somehow led to Jesus. Jesus guides me, one said. Jesus loves me, said another. Yet another: my car runs on Jesus (I didn't make that up). On top of all this J-man talk, there were many strange folk in the hostel - lots of grey beards and shifty eyes. As I sat on a computer to check my e-mail, one lady sang softly to herself, passionate, eyes closed, not ten feet from the computer in a common area chair. Creep-city.
Fortunately the tides turned and I started meeting some people who weren't so overwhelmingly frightening. I started talking to two girls from Sweden who agreed (or succumbed to my irresistible charm, depending on who you ask) to join me for a few drinks. We went to a few spots they had been to earlier. I found out that 80% of the Swedish population is atheist or agnostic and that they were staying at the hostel for the same reasons I was, which was reassuring.
The next day I set out to get my laundry done, joining forces with a roommate named John. I thought it would take all morning, but it turned out that Amsterdam is fantastic laundry services that, for 8 euro, wash and fold your entire load. I was expecting to pay that much to slave over dirty clothes myself, so I was all for this. With laundry away, John and I walked around the city a bit.
It was still early for the people here at 11 AM, so the streets were pretty dull. However, we made our way toward the newly built public library for some free Internet. Little did we know, we were about to enter the most amazing library space I have ever laid eyes upon. The building's architecture is Amsterdam-typical contemporary, with lots of big windows and very clean lines. If the inside resembles anything, it is an Apple store. Expansive open spaces, everything white, while computers or books or paintings contrast with the backdrop. There are seven total floors, four of which actually contain books, others house multimedia like DVDs and CDs or magazines and periodicals. Each floor has more computer workstations than you'd ever think could be used. Many have huge Macs near leather couches or oddly shaped chairs. In the childrens section, there are little nooks with bean bags and pillows. There are even restaurants, cafes, and bars as well. A piano player fills the area with classic music. This is the urban library-goer's paradise.
After the neo-library, we walked around a little more, popping in and out of weird little record shops and stores that sell knick-knacks. By this time is was late in the afternoon, the sun was shining, and Amsterdam had come to life. Once empty streets were full of people, cafes burst out into the street while the street seemed to extend into the buildings, blurring the lines between public and private space. The Dutch are a social people and this was prime socializing weather.
John and I took a seat at a cafe, ordered some coffee and sandwiches, and looked around. It has been said that Amsterdam is one of the world's best places to people-watch. I quickly began to understand why. First, let me explain something. Amsterdam is a city of canals - think Venice without the gondolas. The streets run along and over these canals, but the room left for each individual street is miniscule. Cars can barely squeeze by in most cases and that goes without even mentioning the bicycles.
Did I forget about the bicycles? Well, they have a lot of them. I bet you would probably say they have too many. Not only do they have the hardware, but the city has undertaken an astounding infrastructure project so that cyclers have lanes, signals, and signage, much like motor vehicles. Everyone rides them, young and old, rich and poor.
Back to the point here. The beauty of the people-watching situation is this: I sit at the cafe table, my island of calm amidst constant movement. The movement isn't loud or unsettling, but it is interesting enough to grab your attention. People stay long enough to grab your attention but they are off again before you get too attached. There are plenty of people following behind anyway. It would be easy partake in that pasttime all day...
Side note: I picked up my laundry. It was folded by the high sensei of laundry. I wish my mother could fold like this. Don't be alarmed, Mom, you do my laundry with far more love. But love doesn't fit perfectly in my bag, so I was glad to have the masterful folding here.
That night I went with some other people from the hostel to a free jazz (free in form and admission) show at the music conservatory. The girl who brought us all there attended Cal Arts in LA, so she had some fascinating stories for me, one of which included her roommate who was Nic Cage's son's "life coach". Next.
The show was great and the beer was cheap so we stayed for a while, until about 1AM. On the way back, I thought this was a good time to check out the red light district. Thankfully (to God, maybe), our Christian hostel is located IN the red light district - there are red lights just 10 meters away. It must be tempting for all of those god-fearing people who stay at the hostel; sin is literally burning holes in their eyes.
The red light district is an interesting place. There are women in glass boxes, or at least they look like glass boxes. They stand there with skimpy clothing and attempt to coax you into their areas. These aren't your neighborhood hookers here - the women are tall, beautiful, curvy in the right places and never in the wrong ones. I guess with legitimacy comes high standards. Anyway, they try to lure you in with calls of affections and seductive looks. Many succeed.
The whole strip is filled with men, joking, smoking cigarettes, and having fun. It seemed to me that most of the people there were just there to witness the spectacle than to actually pay for sex. The red light district has to be seen to be believed. It is shrouded in mystery, but when you are actually there, it feels like there are no secrets left when all its secrets are shared from behind glass windows.
The next day a guy from Canada named Henry, after we both ate our breakfasts of eggs, ham, cheese, and toast, joined me for the day. I had met him the night before at the jazz show and he seemed like a nice fellow, so we decided we would rent bikes for the day. It was 6 euro for the day, which was not bad at all. Henry and I took a ferry across the river and rode into the countryside a while. We stopped at a market and had a traditional Dutch snack: herring. Just raw herring, onions, pickles. The texture was questionable, as was our choice of eating herring straight from the sea before a day-long bike ride.
The bike ride was soothing at its best times and grueling at its worst. Henry couldn't take the heat, so he left me at around 4 to head back to the hostel (this is a kid who is supposedly hiking the 30 days through France and Spain). I rode to the Van Gogh museum to get a daily dose of old important art stuff. The paintings were beautiful. They were made even more impressive by the fact that Van Gogh really get into painting until he was 26 after encouragement from his brother.
Alas, Van Gogh went crazy and I still have one night to do the same. I leave for Paris tomorrow, not on a high-speed train, but on four slower trains. Four. Oddly enough, my trip only takes 3 hours longers than the direct train and I get a little downtime during transfers to see a couple more sights. Yipee!
One final word on Amsterdam - the fact that this country operates the way it does with the policies that it has enacted should show the rest of the world that this type of open society can exist. We don't have to make laws against every little action or piece of contraband. We need to cultivate meaningful communities and social bonds that can become far more powerful tools to combat crime and poverty than strong-armed government enforcement. We could all take a lesson from The Netherlands.
I want to keep preaching, but I am getting hungry and you don't want to hear that. See you from Paris!
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Sixth Stop: Interlaken
Now I truly see the fruits of my flexible Europe trip. The big cities were always high on priorities, but after the unfortunate illness in Prague, I had to slow things down a bit. Take in the scenery. Cherish the fresh air in my lungs. If ever I found a perfect place where I could do all these things, Interlaken, Switzerland is the place.
Interlaken is a small town located in the middle of the Swiss Alps. The town is situated between two glacier-fed lakes, hence the name. The beauty it astounding. I arrived in the dark of night, not getting the opportunity to take in the landscape until the next morning. In hindsight, this is the best way to experience it. Stomach still feeling a bit quesy and tired after a full day of rail travel, I went to my dorm and fell asleep almost instantly.
When I awoke, I was greeted by one of the most awesome views I have had in my entire life. Massive green peaks tower over a blue lake, a blue that, even after days of comtemplating its description, I cannot find words to define to my content. It is not as light as Caribbean blue and is it far from the dreary blue of the oceans; it has almost an artificial quality to it as if Willy Wonka himself might have had his hand in its formation. Though the first view may not have been the most spectacular of my time here, is it defintely the one that stuck with me the most.
My hostel is called the Lake Lodge Hostel, resting peacefully on the larger of the aforementioned glacier lakes. It is actually a 20-minute bus ride outside of Interlaken. Because of its unique geographical location, Interlaken is a magnet for adventurists of all kinds: hikers, skydivers, bikers, base jumpers, and water skiiers in the summer, skiiers and snowboards in the winter. Switzerland is known for its serene beauty and Interlaken is a prime example.
The first morning I actually had an odd time mix-up. I thought I slept late like a lazy bastard, but it turned out later in the day I was fooled by the early sunset. At this point I had misplaced my watch and was running on internal time. I took the bus into town and purchased a ticket to one of the small mountain towns in the area called Mürren. Even with the Eurorail pass and a 25% discount, the ticket cost my around 70 bucks. My first encounter with outlandish Swiss prices.
The track meandered through the valleys of the mountains, following along a bubbling creek with a similar hue to the lakes. The peaks become incredibly imposing at this point. Looking straight up it is difficult even to see the top, much like when you look at a the Sears (Morris) Tower. The next leg of the trip is a legitimate Swiss gondola, 25 x 10 feet, packing in what seemed to be fifty people. The lift ascended with a weightlessness in everyone's bellies and whispered ah...'s. I was in the favorable position of being a full grown man in a group of eldery women, so I had a great view of the town below as it shrunk out of few. Everything became so small so fast...
One more short train ride and I was at my destination. It was only then did I realized that it was around 10 AM, rather than the mid-afternoon that I believed. Happy with myself, I explored Mürren from which there were clear views of every main peak in the greater range. The snow-capped peaks took the shape of a Siberian husky, with the two larger points jutting out into the sky. Despite my physical state, no fully recovered, I hike for about two hours, admiring the views, conversing with locals, trading pictures with odd Asian tourists (side note: I met another Chinese woman traveling alone and we took pictures of each other. I kind of hit on her and, whether she was aware of this fact or not, we exchanged e-mails. I think she wanted to be serious friends. Maybe I will e-mail. Live long friend made in 25 minutes).
I took my time heading back down, relishing the views as I went. After the gondola, I had some time before the train. I explored a bit, finding a gem of a waterfall. The waterfall was so high that the water sprays mists, eventually reaccumulating in the rocks below. I am a sucker for waterfalls, so I probably took 15 pictures from every possible angle. I'll post them when I get the chance.
Back at the hostel I met a few people who I ended up hanging out with the rest of the next day. Me tired from walking, everyone else tired from various other things, we spent the sunny day at the beach, day drinking. The beer sucked, we all got sunburned, but it was a fantastic time. I might meet some of the people I met here in London for the opening day of Wimbledon if everything works out right and oh, how I hope it does.
My next destination is Amsterdam. The über-liberal land of prositution, drugs, and bicycles, I can't wait to arrive.
Interlaken is a small town located in the middle of the Swiss Alps. The town is situated between two glacier-fed lakes, hence the name. The beauty it astounding. I arrived in the dark of night, not getting the opportunity to take in the landscape until the next morning. In hindsight, this is the best way to experience it. Stomach still feeling a bit quesy and tired after a full day of rail travel, I went to my dorm and fell asleep almost instantly.
When I awoke, I was greeted by one of the most awesome views I have had in my entire life. Massive green peaks tower over a blue lake, a blue that, even after days of comtemplating its description, I cannot find words to define to my content. It is not as light as Caribbean blue and is it far from the dreary blue of the oceans; it has almost an artificial quality to it as if Willy Wonka himself might have had his hand in its formation. Though the first view may not have been the most spectacular of my time here, is it defintely the one that stuck with me the most.
My hostel is called the Lake Lodge Hostel, resting peacefully on the larger of the aforementioned glacier lakes. It is actually a 20-minute bus ride outside of Interlaken. Because of its unique geographical location, Interlaken is a magnet for adventurists of all kinds: hikers, skydivers, bikers, base jumpers, and water skiiers in the summer, skiiers and snowboards in the winter. Switzerland is known for its serene beauty and Interlaken is a prime example.
The first morning I actually had an odd time mix-up. I thought I slept late like a lazy bastard, but it turned out later in the day I was fooled by the early sunset. At this point I had misplaced my watch and was running on internal time. I took the bus into town and purchased a ticket to one of the small mountain towns in the area called Mürren. Even with the Eurorail pass and a 25% discount, the ticket cost my around 70 bucks. My first encounter with outlandish Swiss prices.
The track meandered through the valleys of the mountains, following along a bubbling creek with a similar hue to the lakes. The peaks become incredibly imposing at this point. Looking straight up it is difficult even to see the top, much like when you look at a the Sears (Morris) Tower. The next leg of the trip is a legitimate Swiss gondola, 25 x 10 feet, packing in what seemed to be fifty people. The lift ascended with a weightlessness in everyone's bellies and whispered ah...'s. I was in the favorable position of being a full grown man in a group of eldery women, so I had a great view of the town below as it shrunk out of few. Everything became so small so fast...
One more short train ride and I was at my destination. It was only then did I realized that it was around 10 AM, rather than the mid-afternoon that I believed. Happy with myself, I explored Mürren from which there were clear views of every main peak in the greater range. The snow-capped peaks took the shape of a Siberian husky, with the two larger points jutting out into the sky. Despite my physical state, no fully recovered, I hike for about two hours, admiring the views, conversing with locals, trading pictures with odd Asian tourists (side note: I met another Chinese woman traveling alone and we took pictures of each other. I kind of hit on her and, whether she was aware of this fact or not, we exchanged e-mails. I think she wanted to be serious friends. Maybe I will e-mail. Live long friend made in 25 minutes).
I took my time heading back down, relishing the views as I went. After the gondola, I had some time before the train. I explored a bit, finding a gem of a waterfall. The waterfall was so high that the water sprays mists, eventually reaccumulating in the rocks below. I am a sucker for waterfalls, so I probably took 15 pictures from every possible angle. I'll post them when I get the chance.
Back at the hostel I met a few people who I ended up hanging out with the rest of the next day. Me tired from walking, everyone else tired from various other things, we spent the sunny day at the beach, day drinking. The beer sucked, we all got sunburned, but it was a fantastic time. I might meet some of the people I met here in London for the opening day of Wimbledon if everything works out right and oh, how I hope it does.
My next destination is Amsterdam. The über-liberal land of prositution, drugs, and bicycles, I can't wait to arrive.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Fifth Stop: Prague
Though I have been thus far signifying the places in which I spend time as "stops", Prague may be the first which is aptly defined as such. Typically when I arrived at a city I follow a similar procedure. Get settled at the hostel, book the next hostel and train ticket, then take an ambulatory excursion around the city, if only to get a feel for it. Prague was, by all means, an atypical stop, but most certainly was a stop in every sense of the word.
Upon arriving at the train station in Budapest, I realized that I was going to have some issues getting from Budapest to Prague. For one, my Eurorail pass, which has given me no problems up until this point, was not valid in Slovakia, the easiest and most direct route to Prague. I was forced to return to Vienna, waste a few hours, then hop aboard a train to Prague. Unfortunately, the train was a night train traveling all the way through Prague, Dresden, and ultimately arriving in Berlin. This placed Prague rather early on its itinerary, displacing me in the middle of the Czech Republic at around 4 in the morning.
After survining the train ride with a couple of Austrians who, whether they would admit it or not, desperately needed a bath, I found myself in an almost vacant train station. It didn't take much to picture this cold, expansive, gray, utterly depressing building as a bustling transportation hub, but that mental picture even seemed like a stretch at the time. To make matters worse, in my haste to leave Budapest, I neglected to write down directions to the hostel, putting myself in the rather inconvenient position of lone wanderer in a foreign town.
I eventually convinced a nice man from the Radisson hotel to let me use the Internet so I could guide myself to my temporary place of rest. It was 6:30 when I finally made it to the hostel, Prague One Hostel. I rang the bell - once, twice, fifteen times. I even tried different rhythms in hope that these monotone melodies would trigger a reaction in the mind of a sleeping hostel employee, to no avail. At around 7, while I was reading a book on the stoop of the hostel doorway, someone finally let me enter. I was told I couldn't check in for another few hours, but I was free to "relax" in the common room. Well, relax I did, if by relax I mean sleeping gloriously for three hours, surrounded by pillows and blankets and comfty couch cushions.
Okay, so far so good. But here is where the trouble starts. I begin getting the chills. Everyone else seems to be comfortable in their shorts and t-shirts, but me, I feel like it is late January in Chicago. I am no fool, so I sense some form of sickness coming on; the only choice I really had was to fight it and hope that I could overcome the worse of it but staying warm and drinking lots of water. I soon realized that this task will not be as easy as I previously though. At around 5 PM, I am still freezing, sweating like a dog in heat, and, as icing on the cake, my stomach begins to ache something awful and I am feeling unbearably naseous. These, my friends, are not good signs.
Not an hour later, I find myself huddled over the dormitory toliet, cursing myself for drinking so much damn water. (I will spend much more time than I would like to admit with that toliet in the next fews days). No matter what I eat or drink, the substances comes directly out, one way or another. On top of this, my fever has worsened to the point where I begin to hallucinate. I say this candidly. I could not tell the difference between reality and this dreamscape that my perception was constantly drifting in and out. As I explained to some of my roommates, it was real Alice in Wonderland shit. I seem to recall the questionable dish I ate on my last day in Budapest, but I would rather not discuss is no, as it makes me feel ill all over again.
In the end, I survived the first night, although I may have passed out in the bathroom for an extended period of time. The next day I spent in a similar fashion. I wore every warm article of clothing I could find in my bag, I doubled up on the comforters, I tried to drink as much water as possible. To my chagrin, my condition did not improve. My body wanted nothing to do with external inputs, expelling them out within a matter of hours. I spent the entire day in bed, socialized for about two hours to watch Raiders of the Lost Ark with some of the hostel folk - a much needed reconnection with reality.
This went on for another night and into the afternoon and, if you haven't noticed, I hadn't left the hostel since I arrived. In my mind, I believed that if I got some sunlight and a little exercise, it may reinvigorate my body. I packed up my backpack with the fullest intentions of seeing the sights. The first place everyone says to go is Prague Castle, so Prague Castle here I come!
Easier said than done. When your body doesn't take in any food, it does not have the fuel from which to extract energy and power the highly complex machine that is the human body. In other words, I was a sluggish mesh. I was winded after a short walk down the block. I found myself chugging water barely after I left the hostel. But I persevered. I made it all the way to the top of the hill on which Prague Castle stood perched. The first question I asked the employees there? Obviously, "Where is the toliet?".
I snapped a few photos, puked, snapped a few more, number two, snapped some more photos, tried not a puke. I decided that it would be best for my health, and the cleanliness of the shoes of Czechs everywhere, if I would return to the hostel and my well-established illness-coping methodology.
That night, more of the same. I decided that I should stay another night in Prague, although I hadn't originally intended to do so. Why taint another leg of my journey when I could lengthen one that has already been tainted? I was completely optimistic that my health would improve and I would be ready to go the next morning. Today, on my final day here, I feel significantly better. I ate yogurt this morning that I managed to keep down. I made chicken soup that hit the spot for dinner. Fantastic.
There are some side effects of this illness that will be felt later in my trip. Most notably, I am going to skip Germany and instead travel to Interlaken, Switzerland for a relaxing, scenic few days. The Swiss Alps is just what my body needs to recover, not excess beer drinking. I will write again from there. Goodbye!
P.S. As I wrote this post, the Indian man next to me in the computer room has been looking at hardcore pornography. It has been extremely distracting, but I hope that it didn't rub off (no pun intended) on my clear retelling of my experiences.
Upon arriving at the train station in Budapest, I realized that I was going to have some issues getting from Budapest to Prague. For one, my Eurorail pass, which has given me no problems up until this point, was not valid in Slovakia, the easiest and most direct route to Prague. I was forced to return to Vienna, waste a few hours, then hop aboard a train to Prague. Unfortunately, the train was a night train traveling all the way through Prague, Dresden, and ultimately arriving in Berlin. This placed Prague rather early on its itinerary, displacing me in the middle of the Czech Republic at around 4 in the morning.
After survining the train ride with a couple of Austrians who, whether they would admit it or not, desperately needed a bath, I found myself in an almost vacant train station. It didn't take much to picture this cold, expansive, gray, utterly depressing building as a bustling transportation hub, but that mental picture even seemed like a stretch at the time. To make matters worse, in my haste to leave Budapest, I neglected to write down directions to the hostel, putting myself in the rather inconvenient position of lone wanderer in a foreign town.
I eventually convinced a nice man from the Radisson hotel to let me use the Internet so I could guide myself to my temporary place of rest. It was 6:30 when I finally made it to the hostel, Prague One Hostel. I rang the bell - once, twice, fifteen times. I even tried different rhythms in hope that these monotone melodies would trigger a reaction in the mind of a sleeping hostel employee, to no avail. At around 7, while I was reading a book on the stoop of the hostel doorway, someone finally let me enter. I was told I couldn't check in for another few hours, but I was free to "relax" in the common room. Well, relax I did, if by relax I mean sleeping gloriously for three hours, surrounded by pillows and blankets and comfty couch cushions.
Okay, so far so good. But here is where the trouble starts. I begin getting the chills. Everyone else seems to be comfortable in their shorts and t-shirts, but me, I feel like it is late January in Chicago. I am no fool, so I sense some form of sickness coming on; the only choice I really had was to fight it and hope that I could overcome the worse of it but staying warm and drinking lots of water. I soon realized that this task will not be as easy as I previously though. At around 5 PM, I am still freezing, sweating like a dog in heat, and, as icing on the cake, my stomach begins to ache something awful and I am feeling unbearably naseous. These, my friends, are not good signs.
Not an hour later, I find myself huddled over the dormitory toliet, cursing myself for drinking so much damn water. (I will spend much more time than I would like to admit with that toliet in the next fews days). No matter what I eat or drink, the substances comes directly out, one way or another. On top of this, my fever has worsened to the point where I begin to hallucinate. I say this candidly. I could not tell the difference between reality and this dreamscape that my perception was constantly drifting in and out. As I explained to some of my roommates, it was real Alice in Wonderland shit. I seem to recall the questionable dish I ate on my last day in Budapest, but I would rather not discuss is no, as it makes me feel ill all over again.
In the end, I survived the first night, although I may have passed out in the bathroom for an extended period of time. The next day I spent in a similar fashion. I wore every warm article of clothing I could find in my bag, I doubled up on the comforters, I tried to drink as much water as possible. To my chagrin, my condition did not improve. My body wanted nothing to do with external inputs, expelling them out within a matter of hours. I spent the entire day in bed, socialized for about two hours to watch Raiders of the Lost Ark with some of the hostel folk - a much needed reconnection with reality.
This went on for another night and into the afternoon and, if you haven't noticed, I hadn't left the hostel since I arrived. In my mind, I believed that if I got some sunlight and a little exercise, it may reinvigorate my body. I packed up my backpack with the fullest intentions of seeing the sights. The first place everyone says to go is Prague Castle, so Prague Castle here I come!
Easier said than done. When your body doesn't take in any food, it does not have the fuel from which to extract energy and power the highly complex machine that is the human body. In other words, I was a sluggish mesh. I was winded after a short walk down the block. I found myself chugging water barely after I left the hostel. But I persevered. I made it all the way to the top of the hill on which Prague Castle stood perched. The first question I asked the employees there? Obviously, "Where is the toliet?".
I snapped a few photos, puked, snapped a few more, number two, snapped some more photos, tried not a puke. I decided that it would be best for my health, and the cleanliness of the shoes of Czechs everywhere, if I would return to the hostel and my well-established illness-coping methodology.
That night, more of the same. I decided that I should stay another night in Prague, although I hadn't originally intended to do so. Why taint another leg of my journey when I could lengthen one that has already been tainted? I was completely optimistic that my health would improve and I would be ready to go the next morning. Today, on my final day here, I feel significantly better. I ate yogurt this morning that I managed to keep down. I made chicken soup that hit the spot for dinner. Fantastic.
There are some side effects of this illness that will be felt later in my trip. Most notably, I am going to skip Germany and instead travel to Interlaken, Switzerland for a relaxing, scenic few days. The Swiss Alps is just what my body needs to recover, not excess beer drinking. I will write again from there. Goodbye!
P.S. As I wrote this post, the Indian man next to me in the computer room has been looking at hardcore pornography. It has been extremely distracting, but I hope that it didn't rub off (no pun intended) on my clear retelling of my experiences.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
Fourth Stop: Budapest
Wow. It has been a crazy four days in Budapest. I apologize to anyone who actually reads my blog posts (Hi Mom!), but this is going to be longer than usual. I guess the length would correspond to the time I've spent here, considering I have stayed in Budapest longer than anyone else thus far. But I digress. Time to talk about Hungary.
Traveling through Europe is always about seeing the sights, except when it isn't. The one thing that I've learned in Budapest is that the people truly make time spent in another city fun and interesting. Sharing stories over a few beers and good food can be much more satisfying than strolling around a museum and art gallery. Don't get me wrong, I thoroughly enjoy both of those activities, but there needs to be balance while traveling, especially on longer trips.
From the moment I arrived at the hostel in Budapest, I knew I was in for a treat. The hostel is located atop a old-fashioned residential building just off the Danube River. The first elevator ride up was a frightening experience; it rattles and creaks, seeming to struggle without even bearing my weight. Luckily, I survived this ride and many rides to come. The hostel owner named Tom led me into the hostel and gave me the usual schpeel that was not at all the usual schpeel. I was treated more like a buddy who has been away for a while rather than a customer.
All of the employees are genuinely kind people who to me seemed to treat the whole hostel business as less of a business and more of a way to make friends. There were about ten people staying here when I checked in and many of them had been here for months. Most were from the UK or Austrailia and had all become close after staying at the Loft Hostel for so long. They tell me that when people come to the hostel they always end up putting off traveling elsewhere for at least a few days. I now understand why.
Almost directly after I arrived, Tom's younger brother, Sam, asked me if I wanted to go a Hungarian-style teahouse. Intrigued, I accepted his invitation. The teahouse is called Sirius and is situated in an unassuming block on an unassuming street. If I hadn't be led in, I would never have seen the joint. The initial room is simple enough. It has a feel of an artsy cafe like something like you'd see in an artsy neighboor in New York in the 1960's. The real surprise lay a little deeper in the building. Making my way through a curtain door, I walked into a room that is covered in tapestries and carpets on every surface. There are bean bags and cushions all around, most with groups of people or couples lounging around them, smoking shisha, drinking tea, getting to second base in public, or a combination of all three. Removing my shoes, I followed Sam toward a cupboard at the corner of the room. He opened the cupboard, ducked down, and entered à la Alice in Wonderland. I did the same soon after to find myself in a room full of mirrors in a broken, mosaic sort of style. The next room was where we ended up staying; it was underneath a huge wooden board that extended the length of the room on which other people sat in their comfy areas. I don't think if my explanation is adequate to convey the place fully, but needless to say, I loved it.
I stuck with the same crowd and celebrated the 20th birthday of Beth, who was one of the girls that had been living there for a while. We went to a pub and drank fifty cent drafts, then made our way to the wackiest bar I have ever set foot. I have encounted a few places like this in Budapest, so although the explanation may not seem typical, this style of bar is surprisingly common. It is obvious that building which houses this certain drinking establishment was once an large apartment building. There is a courtyard in the center which serves as the main room. It has a large bar in the corner and tables and chairs all over - normal enough. The real surprise is when I started to explore a bit. Walking through small corridors and tight staircases, I make my way to other parts of the huge building. Every room acts as different piece of contemporary art. There is on room that is black and full of paper-mâché butterflies. Another a series of concentric metal circles from the light in the center, creating the illusion that the sun shines down into the room. Yet another is an upside-down room in which a furniture set, complete with knick-knacks and personal belongings, is nailed to the ceiling. Wild.
Rising a little late the next morning, I took a pleasure that I have begun to enjoy on my first day in a city, a preliminary walk around. Budapest is a little less walkable than previous cities, but I still was able to cover most of Pest (the part of the city on the East of the Danube). The highlights for the day were the extraordinary Parliament building and the Scéchenyi Baths. Budapest is built above thermal springs which feed many of the cities centuries old bathhouses. The water soothed my tired legs and eased my slightly hungover mind. Old men were playing chess, children were playing, Japanese tourists were taking pictures. It was a great time.
That night I watched one of the hostel employees blues band, although it sounded a lot like toned-down jazz to me. I took it easy that night, but I did end up going to what can only be described as a silent disco. Look it up, I swear it is real. A thousand dancing partygoers in almost compete silence is a eerie sight. Everyone wears wireless headsets that have the ability to pick up different channels that DJs are spinning. You need to sync up with the same channel your dancing partner is for this whole thing to really work. It was quite an experience. If I had more time, I would love to put my minor to use and talk about science and technology in the social sphere, but I'll leave that for another time.
The next day I went to Buda and saw the Buda Castle and a charming residental area. I ate the obligatory goulash, which was actually quite delicious. That afternoon I saw some Hungarian classical music with special accompaniment by a cimbalom player (cool instrument). The conductor was a riot; he turned a traditionally stuffy and uptight orchestral show into an interactive comedy routine. At a time, members of the orchestra would casually walk off stage, eventually leaving only the 1st chair violinist with a confused look on his face. At another point, two violinist moved their chairs and waltzed around during a song. This was the only classic show I've see that the audience was encouraged to clap along to the finale - great stuff.
Not considering going out, I picked up a bottle of dry red wine on the way home which I paid close to nothing for. When I arrived back at the hostel, there were some new faces - a few Irish (Mark and Rand) and some Aussies (Ash and Ben). I chatted it up with them for a while and found that we got along quite well. After some more win, Tom finally convinced me to go to the pub, proving once and for all the I am utterly incapable of withstanding peer pressure even when it is applied softly. We went to a rooftop bar with cheap drinks (see a theme here?). From this point on things get a little hazy upon recollection. I hung out with the hostel folk for a few hours, but I know I ended up convincing people to join me a floor below in the dance area where the DJ was playing Girl Talk-esque mash-ups. Of course everybody loved it and I danced like a fool for hours, which is ultimate proof I was drunk. To those who have seem me dance, they know.
We ended up leaving at about 4 AM while the sky bore traces that the sunset for going to occur all too soon. The next morning I awoke at noon and I was the first one up - tourist fail. After some tea to wake me up, we all went for a light lunch. I left for the sports bar to watch my man Federer make history. And make history he did. In all of my excitement, I almost forgot I had tickets for the ballet that night (cost me all of $4.50 USD). Romeo and Juliet was cool, but the real amazing part was the Opera House. The gold to non-gold ration in that building was the highest I've seen in any building. Supposedly, the chandelier is 2000 pounds of solid gold. I guess everyone else sat on their asses all day watching all three Back to the Future movies. My day was better.
Tomorrow I leave for Prague which I hope will be just as fulfilling as Budapest. If the people I meet there are half as friendly and sociable as the people I have met at the Loft Hostel, I will be a happy man. Budapest will always have a place in my heart, though. Twenty years ago, it would be unheard of to travel to this Communist satelite state, but now the city is flourishing. To anyone who considers traveling to Europe, Budapest is a must-see.
Traveling through Europe is always about seeing the sights, except when it isn't. The one thing that I've learned in Budapest is that the people truly make time spent in another city fun and interesting. Sharing stories over a few beers and good food can be much more satisfying than strolling around a museum and art gallery. Don't get me wrong, I thoroughly enjoy both of those activities, but there needs to be balance while traveling, especially on longer trips.
From the moment I arrived at the hostel in Budapest, I knew I was in for a treat. The hostel is located atop a old-fashioned residential building just off the Danube River. The first elevator ride up was a frightening experience; it rattles and creaks, seeming to struggle without even bearing my weight. Luckily, I survived this ride and many rides to come. The hostel owner named Tom led me into the hostel and gave me the usual schpeel that was not at all the usual schpeel. I was treated more like a buddy who has been away for a while rather than a customer.
All of the employees are genuinely kind people who to me seemed to treat the whole hostel business as less of a business and more of a way to make friends. There were about ten people staying here when I checked in and many of them had been here for months. Most were from the UK or Austrailia and had all become close after staying at the Loft Hostel for so long. They tell me that when people come to the hostel they always end up putting off traveling elsewhere for at least a few days. I now understand why.
Almost directly after I arrived, Tom's younger brother, Sam, asked me if I wanted to go a Hungarian-style teahouse. Intrigued, I accepted his invitation. The teahouse is called Sirius and is situated in an unassuming block on an unassuming street. If I hadn't be led in, I would never have seen the joint. The initial room is simple enough. It has a feel of an artsy cafe like something like you'd see in an artsy neighboor in New York in the 1960's. The real surprise lay a little deeper in the building. Making my way through a curtain door, I walked into a room that is covered in tapestries and carpets on every surface. There are bean bags and cushions all around, most with groups of people or couples lounging around them, smoking shisha, drinking tea, getting to second base in public, or a combination of all three. Removing my shoes, I followed Sam toward a cupboard at the corner of the room. He opened the cupboard, ducked down, and entered à la Alice in Wonderland. I did the same soon after to find myself in a room full of mirrors in a broken, mosaic sort of style. The next room was where we ended up staying; it was underneath a huge wooden board that extended the length of the room on which other people sat in their comfy areas. I don't think if my explanation is adequate to convey the place fully, but needless to say, I loved it.
I stuck with the same crowd and celebrated the 20th birthday of Beth, who was one of the girls that had been living there for a while. We went to a pub and drank fifty cent drafts, then made our way to the wackiest bar I have ever set foot. I have encounted a few places like this in Budapest, so although the explanation may not seem typical, this style of bar is surprisingly common. It is obvious that building which houses this certain drinking establishment was once an large apartment building. There is a courtyard in the center which serves as the main room. It has a large bar in the corner and tables and chairs all over - normal enough. The real surprise is when I started to explore a bit. Walking through small corridors and tight staircases, I make my way to other parts of the huge building. Every room acts as different piece of contemporary art. There is on room that is black and full of paper-mâché butterflies. Another a series of concentric metal circles from the light in the center, creating the illusion that the sun shines down into the room. Yet another is an upside-down room in which a furniture set, complete with knick-knacks and personal belongings, is nailed to the ceiling. Wild.
Rising a little late the next morning, I took a pleasure that I have begun to enjoy on my first day in a city, a preliminary walk around. Budapest is a little less walkable than previous cities, but I still was able to cover most of Pest (the part of the city on the East of the Danube). The highlights for the day were the extraordinary Parliament building and the Scéchenyi Baths. Budapest is built above thermal springs which feed many of the cities centuries old bathhouses. The water soothed my tired legs and eased my slightly hungover mind. Old men were playing chess, children were playing, Japanese tourists were taking pictures. It was a great time.
That night I watched one of the hostel employees blues band, although it sounded a lot like toned-down jazz to me. I took it easy that night, but I did end up going to what can only be described as a silent disco. Look it up, I swear it is real. A thousand dancing partygoers in almost compete silence is a eerie sight. Everyone wears wireless headsets that have the ability to pick up different channels that DJs are spinning. You need to sync up with the same channel your dancing partner is for this whole thing to really work. It was quite an experience. If I had more time, I would love to put my minor to use and talk about science and technology in the social sphere, but I'll leave that for another time.
The next day I went to Buda and saw the Buda Castle and a charming residental area. I ate the obligatory goulash, which was actually quite delicious. That afternoon I saw some Hungarian classical music with special accompaniment by a cimbalom player (cool instrument). The conductor was a riot; he turned a traditionally stuffy and uptight orchestral show into an interactive comedy routine. At a time, members of the orchestra would casually walk off stage, eventually leaving only the 1st chair violinist with a confused look on his face. At another point, two violinist moved their chairs and waltzed around during a song. This was the only classic show I've see that the audience was encouraged to clap along to the finale - great stuff.
Not considering going out, I picked up a bottle of dry red wine on the way home which I paid close to nothing for. When I arrived back at the hostel, there were some new faces - a few Irish (Mark and Rand) and some Aussies (Ash and Ben). I chatted it up with them for a while and found that we got along quite well. After some more win, Tom finally convinced me to go to the pub, proving once and for all the I am utterly incapable of withstanding peer pressure even when it is applied softly. We went to a rooftop bar with cheap drinks (see a theme here?). From this point on things get a little hazy upon recollection. I hung out with the hostel folk for a few hours, but I know I ended up convincing people to join me a floor below in the dance area where the DJ was playing Girl Talk-esque mash-ups. Of course everybody loved it and I danced like a fool for hours, which is ultimate proof I was drunk. To those who have seem me dance, they know.
We ended up leaving at about 4 AM while the sky bore traces that the sunset for going to occur all too soon. The next morning I awoke at noon and I was the first one up - tourist fail. After some tea to wake me up, we all went for a light lunch. I left for the sports bar to watch my man Federer make history. And make history he did. In all of my excitement, I almost forgot I had tickets for the ballet that night (cost me all of $4.50 USD). Romeo and Juliet was cool, but the real amazing part was the Opera House. The gold to non-gold ration in that building was the highest I've seen in any building. Supposedly, the chandelier is 2000 pounds of solid gold. I guess everyone else sat on their asses all day watching all three Back to the Future movies. My day was better.
Tomorrow I leave for Prague which I hope will be just as fulfilling as Budapest. If the people I meet there are half as friendly and sociable as the people I have met at the Loft Hostel, I will be a happy man. Budapest will always have a place in my heart, though. Twenty years ago, it would be unheard of to travel to this Communist satelite state, but now the city is flourishing. To anyone who considers traveling to Europe, Budapest is a must-see.
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