Oct. 29, 2008
It is just after 5 a.m. now here in Athens and in a few hours after the sunrises I will board a plane to Bahrain and then on to Delhi. I was going to take some time this morning to write a final entry from Europe, to reflect on my first two months on the road and remember all the places I've been and people I've met.
But that's not going to happen anymore. I sit here now in the common room of the Aphrodite House Hostel traumatized by two Canadian girls who couldn't handle their liquor.
Some time in the night, a British bloke and an American or Canadian guy busted into the dorm room with one of these Canadian girls limp in their arms. She fell into the bottom bunk adjacent my top bunk as another girl offered slurred instructions on how to take care of her. Then the sounds of quiet gagging and whisper-yelling were accompanied by the perfume of ouzo.
"We need a bucket," stage shouted the Brit.
After a short while things settled down. The girl barfed quietly from time to time in the bucket. I covered my head in my sleep sheet and threw on my iPod and fell back to sleep.
Some time passed when suddenly a loud thud sounded against the dorm room door.
"Can someone open the bloody door?" real-shouted the Brit.
Into the room he and the other guy stumbled with the second Canadian between them. She was thrown/placed in the bed beneath me. She then proceeded to puke all over herself and the floor near my shoes.
Everyone was awake at this point. Some of the others in the room seemed worried. I was just plain grossed out. I have no sympathy for people who can't handle their liquor. And as much as this trip has opened my eyes to all the possibilities of this world, of different jobs I could pursue, I know I will never be a nurse.
The room was an effluvium of ouzo and vomit (how do you like that word of the day?). I had to get out of there.
Downstairs I retreated to the computers. The bartender, a thin, tall blond from Australia, leaned languidly against the reception desk counting her tips, puffing on a cigarette.
"My room is a shitshow," I said, jokingly but tinged with real resentment. "This is your doing, isn't it."
The girl gave me an I-didn't-do-it shrug and laughed through an apology. Bitch!
Ugh. So now I sit waiting for daybreak. So long Europe. Right now, I couldn't leave you soon enough.
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Dead islands
Oct. 28, 2008
I thought I had a lot to say about the Greek Islands being dead in October and resembling a post-apocalyptic world, but it's the night before I depart for India and my mind is on other things. So just look at the pictures of arid and empty Mykonos and me along with two other travellers shunning the cold and laughing into the wind.
Children and pigeons
Oct. 28, 2008
A fellow traveller and I stumbled across this square on the Greek port island of Syros the other day. Children are my favorite subjects to photograph because their expressions are so honest. When you combine a camera with children and thousands of hungry pigeons, you get the opportunity to capture something magical.
Fixing the ruins
Oct. 28, 2008
One of the disappointing things about Europe is the scaffolding on everything. The metal and wooden platforms creep up the sides of nearly every cathedral, holy site and ruin like a fungus that attacks healthy trees. Nowhere is it perhaps more apparent than at the Acropolis in Athens.
I went on a walking tour led by a funny, dorky but knowledgeable South Carolinian named Walter. He has spent the better part of the past four years in Athens trying to convince his would-be in-laws to allow him to marry their Greek daughter. Walter's been earning a living giving these walking tours of the sites, a tour so comprehensive you really don't need more than a day in Athens to see it all.
Visiting the Acropolis all covered in construction material was a let down. The Temple of Nike Athena, the goddess of victory, was completely covered. Walter told us it was once a grand temple with a statue of the goddess, her wings chopped off because the Ancient Greeks feared she would fly away from the city. It was hard to picture, beneath all the metal bars and construction zone tape.
The Parthenon itself was buzzing with workers buffing the marble clean.
The Greek government is undertaking a controversial project to fix the temples and ancient theaters at the Acropolis. Workers are digging up fallen columns to re erect in their historic sites. In places where the columns and other pieces of building are missing, the government is just bringing in newly cut marble to resemble the old.
We left the temples on high and descended to the Agora, the ancient market place that was the center of life in Ancient Greece. This I found even more depressing. I didn't take many photos there because there was nothing to take pictures of. There were pieces of cut columns strewn about an overgrown, lumpy yard. There were empty pedestals with writings about the grand statues that they once held. All the statues that actually remained were devoid of limbs and heads. The place reminded me of a neglected and abandoned cemetery.
Walter told us the Greeks are very proud of their ancient history, but still smart from the centuries of war and the decline of their once great civilization.
"Either the Persians destroyed it, the Turks dismantled it, or the British stole it," Walter said.
The reconstruction of the sites is an attempt to bring back the beauty of the old.
But aren't they called ruins for a reason?
Monday, October 27, 2008
Istanbul, dark and light
Oct. 28, 2008
It was a long, hard journey to Istanbul and I arrived in a city that seemed steeped in melancholy. There was a hard edge to the sounds of the city and the streets amplified by a light but steady falling rain. The scowls of the kebap sellers and fruit vendors in the Beyoglu district mirrored my own blue mood.
During the night on the Dostluk/Filia Express from Thessaloniki, I was wrenched out of a dreamy sleep by the sound of banging on the sleeping compartment door.
"Passports, visas," yelled a Turkish border control officer. The young Greek woman in the bunk below me handed over her passport which the officer glanced at and then handed back. She sighed and turned over in bed and back into sleep. I, however, joined all the other Americans and Australians who were marched off the train and onto the tracks in the cold, pre-dawn hours. In pajamas and with sleep in all our eyes, about 20 of us shivered as we waited to pay for our visas into Turkey.
The next morning as the train rumbled through Istanbul's outer limits, through the slums built up against the ruins of a city that was once the center of the Ottoman empire, past herds of wild dogs roaming the streets, and tired buildings that looked abandoned but had laundry strung from the balconies, I was struck by what Turkish author Orhan Pamuk calls the huzun of the city. The word is Turkish for melancholy, but a vast melancholy felt by the individual but shared by an entire people.
Pamuk mentions one Turkish scholar, Burton, who in his 1,500 page tome Anatomy of Melancholy accepts it as a positive affliction, "one that paved the way to a happy solitude, because it strengthened his imaginative powers."
I can relate to Pamuk's observation. All my writing here and in my journal is done when I am alone, feeling usually somber and reflective about travelling from friendship to friendship.
"It didn't matter if melancholy was the result of solitude or the cause... solitude is the heart of melancholy," writes Pamuk. Then quoting Burton, he adds "All other pleasures are empty/none are as sweet as melancholy."
I tried to remember and embrace those ideas as I trudged through Beyoglu looking for a place to do laundry. Dirty clothes are definitely a negative affliction.
Don't ever go to Istanbul with dirty laundry. The Turkish people don't have laundromats anywhere. I asked at my hostel where I could get my clothes washed. The young man at reception pointed to an alley across the street that led to a second-hand clothing store. I walked in to the store bewildered to find that it was more like a dusty attic than a proper place of business. Clothes, shoes, costume jewelry was strewn everywhere without reason. Two cats licked each other sitting atop a pile of velvet dresses.
"Uh, I need to do laundry and I was directed here," I said to a hippie-ish looking young man.
"Oh, but it rains today. You can not wash your clothes," he said.
"Oh, but I really need to. Really really," I said.
"They will not dry. We have no dryer," he said. "We hang them on the rooftop to dry."
Exasperated but down to my last pair of clean underwear I said it didn't matter. I'd find my own way to dry them.
I paid the man 10 Turkish Lira and came back an hour later to collect my soggy clothes. Then making no friends in my hostel room, I hung my clothes from every available bar or door corner. Above my bottom bunk, I hung T-shirts and socks and my towel creating what resembled a child's fort around my bed. Listening to the rain and the splashing of cars through the puddles, I fell asleep within the cocoon of clothes awaking later to the sunset call to prayer.
The next day was a different story. It was sunny and bright and warm. I awoke in a better mood knowing I wouldn't be mired in my own solitude much longer. An Aussie friend, the one I visited in London, would be meeting me later that day.
Istanbul is a city of dichotomies. Built on two continents, its people and society are influenced by both. As much as Istanbul may be influenced by Europe and resemble in certain ways more western cities, it is tied to its Middle Eastern and Muslim history.
Everywhere little boys run around selling tissues, pleading with their dark eyes for a couple lira. The young people go out at night in Beyoglu sitting outside cafes and bars down the back alleys of the main streets clapping and singing along to the fiddle and flute-heavy Turkish pop music. Fruit vendors sell fresh, frothy pineapple and pomegranate juices. Cats and dogs laze about, asleep on sidewalks and ship decks, gnawing on fish heads or rummaging through trash cans. Despite the number of strays, the streets are kept clean of their droppings by the Istanbullus who discreetly pick up the waste of the homeless but beloved animals.
In the Egyptian bazaar close to the tourist attractions Topkapi Palace and the Blue Mosque, men sell fresh fish and spices and Turkish Delight. Shoe shiners hold their posts on nearly every random street in the city. Fishermen line the bridges and sell their fresh catches to cooks who fry up the fish and sell sandwiches for four lira along the docks of the Golden Horn.
The blue eye, or evil eye symbol is everywhere. Shopkeepers hang them above their doors and people wear necklaces warding off evil spirits and other general malevolence. When I was very young, a friend of mine who had lived for several of her earliest years in Turkey, had her childhood room filled with the evil eyes hanging from shelves. They used to scare me, especially at night. But now I find them beautiful and haunting and a reminder of that long ago friendship.
The Istanbullus in the markets work hard to make their living. Though there are hawkers among the crowds, most in the markets are good businessmen who will barter and haggle but won't over pressure you to buy anything. And they maintain a light-hearted sense of humor. Robbie and I were so struck by the professionalism of one particular spice seller, we returned the next day to buy tea and meat flavoring.
One of our days in the city, we took the ferry up the Bosphorus to mouth of the Black Sea. The boat docked at the foot of hill atop which stands the ruins of a citadel. As I stepped off the ferry, I realized that it was my first time walking on Asian soil.
Our first few nights, Rob and I struggled to find good cheap food. We asked the receptionist at the hostel for some suggestions and he accompanied us across the street to a small, local kitchen where he spoke a few Turkish words to the owner. I explained to a young man who spoke a little English that we wanted a big, hearty meal for 15 lira. He smiled and told the cook what I'd said.
We were served a brilliant, spicy meal of falafel, skewered meat, peppers and other vegetables and salads that we were never quite able to identify. They also gave us yogurt drinks to temper the fire of the food.
Later we found a cafe where we smoked apple-flavored nargila and sipped thick, delicious Turkish coffee.
There was a lot we didn't do in the city. We missed the Whirling Dervishes and didn't visit a hamam, or Turkish bath. But the city of darkness and light, of poverty and plenty, is a place to which I would like to return. I will remember the sadness and solitude I felt, but I'll also recall the old men sitting on stools and sipping their tea outside cafes, their smiles and their laughter.
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
An emotional journey east
Oct. 22, 2008
It was a long journey east that finally brought me to Istanbul late last week. I left Florence feeling rather melancholy. Part of it had to do with the stress of planning my trip to Turkey from Florence, hundreds of miles away and separated by a country and two seas. But the main thing that started playing in my mind was that as the travel season in Europe winds down, a lot of people aren't heading elsewhere, onward, beyond... they are going home.
I bid farewell in Italy to my two Aussie mates, Nat and Naomi, who were heading to Rome and then back home following a short stop in Singapore. Right now, they are either wandering through an Asian market in search of wallets, souvenirs or Bags!, or unpacking and readjusting to life in Mt. Gambier.
On October 11th, I hopped on a quick but crowded train to Bologna where I connected to a sleeper train to Brindisi. The compartment, which I shared with five Italian women, was about as comfortable as sleeping in a vending machine.
At dawn, the train arrived in the port city. Brindisi will remain in my mind as the first place I ever brushed my teeth in a public restroom. Thankfully it was a clean one, and I didn't even have to pay to pee.
In the Let's Go Europe and Lonely Planet guidebooks, they say Brindisi is a place you don't want to linger. It's just a town where you're either coming or going through the port. But I liked the town on that early morning. It had a warm and tropical feel, reminiscent of Florida. Palm trees line the streets and all the buildings are salmon-colored. The waitress at the train station's cafe served me a strong cup of coffee and a croissant with hazelnuts and gave me a nice smile when I attempted some Italian to ask directions to the port.
"Just straight ahead. Follow the signs that say 'This way to Greece'" she said.
The Mediterranean breeze was rejuvenating. The ferry to Igoumenitsa was called the Ionian Sky. Most of the day on deck was filled with reading and listening to music and watching the wake of the boat. I fell asleep for a while lying against my backpack with the afternoon sun on my face. The watercolor sunset that evening uplifted me. But as soon as darkness fell, I sank again into a state of despondence and worry.
The ferry arrived in Greece around 9 p.m. My plan was to find another ferry to Corfu where I would spend two nights before continuing on to Turkey. Luckily, I met two Asian women on board also looking to get to the island that evening. The three of us teamed up to find a boat that would take us back to the island which we passed en route to the main land. During the summer, a ferry from Brindisi connects directly to Corfu everyday, but with fewer visitors, the route is only open every few days.
The three of us found a ferry, one of the last of the evening, and chugged back across part of the water we just sailed landing on Corfu around 11 p.m. I talked the women into splitting a cab with me to the Pink Palace, a famous hostel notorious for its ouzo circles and toga parties, among other extracurricular activities.
When we arrived, we were greeted by Nick, an Italian American guy with a questionable past, and Andy, a one time CPA from London turned DJ/bartender. They greeted us warmly giving us each a welcome shot of pink ouzo.
The Pink Palace provided some relief from my forward movement. During my one full day there, I joined a group of mostly Canadians for a boat cruise along the coast which included cliff diving and bat cave swimming and beach sitting. It also included ouzo. Lots and lots of anise seed-flavored firewater.
The Pink Palace was a lot of fun. Too much fun, maybe. I would've stayed longer, but I had to get to Turkey by the 16th. I didn't sleep the night before I left Corfu because of the booze cruise (or Ouzo Cruizo.. my term, copyright pending) and the subsequent hours of drinking on land. I spent most of the night ignoring a boy from Alberta who inexplicably had an Irish accent. Accountant-turned-barkeep Andy gave me lots of free pineapple vodkas and let me play with the music all night. By daybreak, he offered me a job as his assistant DJ in the high season. It may have just been a drunk offer, but then again you may just see me cutting this trip short so I can return to Greece next March.
That morning, I got a ride from the Palace to the bus station where I fell asleep at a table for several hours before boarding a bus and then a ferry and then another bus along the Albanian border to Thessaloniki. Though the drive was beautiful, through dramatic landscapes of mountains and cliffs and seashores, it was the longest f-ing bus ride of my life.
In Thessaloniki, nine hours later with sunset again approaching, I was frantic. I took a cab to the train station with the hopes of securing a bed on the Dostluk/Filia Express, formerly the Direct Orient Express, to Istanbul. In Greece and Turkey, they haven't yet uncovered the full possibilities of the Internet... or the telephone for that matter. The only way you can book a ferry, or train, or bus in these countries is by showing up at the port, or terminal or station. So I was relying on a cancellation or just some luck that I could still board this train, showing up 30 minutes before it was to leave. Thankfully, there was a free bed for me.
A pretty, red-headed Greek girl with whom I would be sharing the compartment, asked me where I was from. When I told her Connecticut, she seemed concerned.
"You are a long way from home," she said.
It was true. In that moment having covered so many miles over land and sea, I felt suddenly a million miles away. However, once the train started moving and I settled into my top bunk bed I was lulled into a dreamy sleep.
Moving around from place to place, sleeping under different roofs every few nights can make a person realize just how vulnerable she is. But getting in motion, watching the world blur by out the window of a bus, feeling the ground drop away as a plane takes off, or watching the whitewater of the wake of a boat can be exhilarating.
Knowing you will be waking up in your final destination before being rocked to sleep by the rhythm of a train is one of the best feelings in the world.
It was a long journey east that finally brought me to Istanbul late last week. I left Florence feeling rather melancholy. Part of it had to do with the stress of planning my trip to Turkey from Florence, hundreds of miles away and separated by a country and two seas. But the main thing that started playing in my mind was that as the travel season in Europe winds down, a lot of people aren't heading elsewhere, onward, beyond... they are going home.
I bid farewell in Italy to my two Aussie mates, Nat and Naomi, who were heading to Rome and then back home following a short stop in Singapore. Right now, they are either wandering through an Asian market in search of wallets, souvenirs or Bags!, or unpacking and readjusting to life in Mt. Gambier.
On October 11th, I hopped on a quick but crowded train to Bologna where I connected to a sleeper train to Brindisi. The compartment, which I shared with five Italian women, was about as comfortable as sleeping in a vending machine.
At dawn, the train arrived in the port city. Brindisi will remain in my mind as the first place I ever brushed my teeth in a public restroom. Thankfully it was a clean one, and I didn't even have to pay to pee.
In the Let's Go Europe and Lonely Planet guidebooks, they say Brindisi is a place you don't want to linger. It's just a town where you're either coming or going through the port. But I liked the town on that early morning. It had a warm and tropical feel, reminiscent of Florida. Palm trees line the streets and all the buildings are salmon-colored. The waitress at the train station's cafe served me a strong cup of coffee and a croissant with hazelnuts and gave me a nice smile when I attempted some Italian to ask directions to the port.
"Just straight ahead. Follow the signs that say 'This way to Greece'" she said.
The Mediterranean breeze was rejuvenating. The ferry to Igoumenitsa was called the Ionian Sky. Most of the day on deck was filled with reading and listening to music and watching the wake of the boat. I fell asleep for a while lying against my backpack with the afternoon sun on my face. The watercolor sunset that evening uplifted me. But as soon as darkness fell, I sank again into a state of despondence and worry.
The ferry arrived in Greece around 9 p.m. My plan was to find another ferry to Corfu where I would spend two nights before continuing on to Turkey. Luckily, I met two Asian women on board also looking to get to the island that evening. The three of us teamed up to find a boat that would take us back to the island which we passed en route to the main land. During the summer, a ferry from Brindisi connects directly to Corfu everyday, but with fewer visitors, the route is only open every few days.
The three of us found a ferry, one of the last of the evening, and chugged back across part of the water we just sailed landing on Corfu around 11 p.m. I talked the women into splitting a cab with me to the Pink Palace, a famous hostel notorious for its ouzo circles and toga parties, among other extracurricular activities.
When we arrived, we were greeted by Nick, an Italian American guy with a questionable past, and Andy, a one time CPA from London turned DJ/bartender. They greeted us warmly giving us each a welcome shot of pink ouzo.
The Pink Palace provided some relief from my forward movement. During my one full day there, I joined a group of mostly Canadians for a boat cruise along the coast which included cliff diving and bat cave swimming and beach sitting. It also included ouzo. Lots and lots of anise seed-flavored firewater.
The Pink Palace was a lot of fun. Too much fun, maybe. I would've stayed longer, but I had to get to Turkey by the 16th. I didn't sleep the night before I left Corfu because of the booze cruise (or Ouzo Cruizo.. my term, copyright pending) and the subsequent hours of drinking on land. I spent most of the night ignoring a boy from Alberta who inexplicably had an Irish accent. Accountant-turned-barkeep Andy gave me lots of free pineapple vodkas and let me play with the music all night. By daybreak, he offered me a job as his assistant DJ in the high season. It may have just been a drunk offer, but then again you may just see me cutting this trip short so I can return to Greece next March.
That morning, I got a ride from the Palace to the bus station where I fell asleep at a table for several hours before boarding a bus and then a ferry and then another bus along the Albanian border to Thessaloniki. Though the drive was beautiful, through dramatic landscapes of mountains and cliffs and seashores, it was the longest f-ing bus ride of my life.
In Thessaloniki, nine hours later with sunset again approaching, I was frantic. I took a cab to the train station with the hopes of securing a bed on the Dostluk/Filia Express, formerly the Direct Orient Express, to Istanbul. In Greece and Turkey, they haven't yet uncovered the full possibilities of the Internet... or the telephone for that matter. The only way you can book a ferry, or train, or bus in these countries is by showing up at the port, or terminal or station. So I was relying on a cancellation or just some luck that I could still board this train, showing up 30 minutes before it was to leave. Thankfully, there was a free bed for me.
A pretty, red-headed Greek girl with whom I would be sharing the compartment, asked me where I was from. When I told her Connecticut, she seemed concerned.
"You are a long way from home," she said.
It was true. In that moment having covered so many miles over land and sea, I felt suddenly a million miles away. However, once the train started moving and I settled into my top bunk bed I was lulled into a dreamy sleep.
Moving around from place to place, sleeping under different roofs every few nights can make a person realize just how vulnerable she is. But getting in motion, watching the world blur by out the window of a bus, feeling the ground drop away as a plane takes off, or watching the whitewater of the wake of a boat can be exhilarating.
Knowing you will be waking up in your final destination before being rocked to sleep by the rhythm of a train is one of the best feelings in the world.
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Running errands in the shadows of monuments
Oct. 21, 2008
Sometimes when you start travelling too quickly from place to place you stop taking in the sights of a place and start running errands. Visiting the monuments, cathedrals and battlegrounds can become chores in and of themselves when in the back of your mind you know that you have to figure out how to get to the next place, keep all your belongings in order and decide where to stay.
Even eating becomes a hassle. Especially alone.
Eating out is expensive. Many people told me, you go to Italy to eat. Besides one pizza in Rome after visiting Vatican City, the only Italian food I ate was some crusty bread and Nutella.
Cooking is the cheapest way to eat on the road, but it's a pain to buy food and cook for one. Most of the places I've stayed, I've been lucky enough to meet people who will join up to cook a meal. But not always.
In several of the places I've visited in the past few weeks, I found that I spent more of my time running errands than enjoying myself. Finding cheap Internet can be difficult (hence the prolonged gaps in keeping this sucker updated). In Prague the errands began with laundry and catching up on the blog. In Florence, I decided I really needed a haircut and found a place in the basement of the train station where they did a damn good job for only €15.
Planning how I was going to get to Istanbul from Florence to meet up with a friend took days of Internet searching, reading, and futilely asking for help at travel agencies. When I booked my train from Florence to get to the port in Brindisi, I told the ticket agent that I needed to get to Greece and wanted to make use of my Eurail ticket.
"There is no way to get to Greece," said the woman. "It is impossible."
"Yes, I know, by train, there isn't a way, at least not through Italy, but by ferry I mean," I stammered. "I want to use my Eurail. I've been told it works on the ferries."
"No, there is no way to get to Greece," she said.
She was wrong of course. I knew she didn't understand what I was asking. But still her words echoed in my head.
I made it though, to Turkey, with a brief stopover in Corfu. I'll tell more about all that soon. But let me tell you one thing. Never attempt to do laundry in Istanbul. Especially when it's raining.
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
Pisa, Siena, Florence
Oct. 15, 2008
After spendıng a day ın Venıce, I hopped a traın rıde to Florence to meet up wıth two gırls who I'd met a week earlıer ın Swıtzerland. Naomı and Natalıe of Mountgambıer, Australıa have been travellıng through Europe for the past three months. We booked a hostel together ın a place that ended up to be more lıke a flat wıth rooms to rent. Our fırst nıght there, an Arab guy clogged up the shower and accıdentally flooded the place. My room was spared, but the gırls bags and clothes were soaked after the water seeped from one end of the apartment ınto theır room.
Wıth all the extra towels soaked, the Arab asked bewıldered, "Do you thınk openıng the wındows mıght help?"
The next few days, we three gırls wandered the cıty spendıng much of our tıme at the bıg outdoor market near the Duomo. Nearıng the end of theır trıp, the gırls are stockıng up on presents for theır famılıes back home. Wıth several more months of travel ahead of me (and much cheaper shoppıng optıons approachıng ın Indıa and Nepal) I refraıned from buyıng much.
We also dıd the normal tourıst stuff you do when you head to central Italy, vısıt The Davıd (He's huge... and hot), walk around the cıty, make daytrıps to Pısa and Sıena, and get talked ınto dancıng wıth Italıan men.
I bıd the gırls farewell on Saturday boardıng a traın to Bologna and then on to Brındısı where I would catch a ferry to Igoumenıtsa and then another ferry to Corfu. Twenty-four hours of travel, but the beaches and some free shots of Ouzo were callıng my name.
Saturday, October 11, 2008
Paying to pee
Oct. 11, 2008
All over Europe there are places that charge you to use the bathroom. At nearly every train station, you have to drop €.80, or 100 Crowns, or a half Franc into a machine to get through the turn style to use the facilties. It reminds me of that awful Broadway musical Urinetown that I saw with my A.P. English class in high school.
Not to be vulgar or anything, but when I have to pay to pee, I want to make the most of my visit. I take my time in there revelling in this service I've paid for. And then I wash my hands at least twice and use as many paper towels as I can grab.
What pisses me off is water closets, or loos, or toilettes that you pay to use that are filthy, or that have broken toilets, or that are squatters. Yes, I've visited a squat toilet already, in France! I wasn't expecting to hit one until India. In these times of economic crisis, I want my every pence to be spent in a worthwhile fashion. Some soap in the dispenser would be nice.
Venezia
Oct. 11, 2008
I left Prague just as I was starting to fall in love with the city. The Internet cafe/sex shops, the world weary men and women sucking on their cigarettes, the swans preening beside the river, everything in that dark, Gothic city started working its charm. But Italy was calling. I needed to get south, follow the sun.
I took an overnight train from the Czech Republic and woke up in Venice on Oct. 7. I spent the day walking down the twisting alleyways and over countless bridges straddling the canals. The only map I had was in an art book that had only monuments and places of interest marked with no street names. I doubt street names would've helped. Venice is an intricate series of narrow walking streets along the waterways. Most of the morning I just followed signs that said Per Rialto, Per San Marco trying to find Saint Mark's Square.
Every second shop sells Carnival masks or Pinnochio wooden puppets. Laundry hangs from clothes lines over the milky, blue canals. What struck me most about Venice were the sounds of the city. Because there are no cars, trucks or buses, you hear more clearly the sounds of everyday life, of silverware clinking in restaurant kitchens, of Italian voices, of children laughing.
It's a beautiful place, and I'd like to go back again someday, with a companion and more money.
Monday, October 6, 2008
Sunday, October 5, 2008
Munich to Prague, tail between my legs
Oct. 6, 2008
Two days at Oktoberfest was plenty. I am somewhat ashamed to admit I learned nothing about Munich except how much zee Germans love zere beer.
I left town on Friday by train to Prague. The Czech Republic just seemed like a nice place to see next. It's really in the opposite direction that I need to be heading. I have a Eurail that covers Italy and Greece and eleven days from now, I'm supposed to meet a friend in Istanbul. So what am I doing heading north? I need a geography lesson, or at least a map of Europe.
I wrote off my first evening in Prague to recover from all the steins of beer and the pretzels and the sausage. Ugh. Heartburn. Actually that's been plaguing me since Rome. All the pizza and 3 Euro wine didn't help much in Italy, nor did the 3 Franc wine (that's $3 U.S.!) in Interlaken.
After an early night's sleep, I spent my first morning in search of a laundromat. All my clothes reeked of beer and cigarettes. When entering a new city, the best thing in the world is to feel clean and have a fresh set of clothes.
Whoever was in charge of Prague's city planning must have had an identity crisis or something because all the streets end at odd angles and pick up new names every other block or just end at a giant Gothic tower. Despite directions and a map, much of Saturday morning I spent tromping past the crystal shops over the cobblestones with a bag of my dirty laundry on my back.
The laundromat turned out to be inside a mall. Don't people go to malls to buy new clothes?
So wash done, 1,000 Crown in my pocket (about $55), I set off to explore the city with a French engineering student named Thibaut. We took a free tour of the city which taught me nothing about Prague except that it is famous for its glass and its Pilsner beer, there are giant statues of babies climbing up the giant TV tower at the edge of town, and it's quite cold in October.
I met yet another Australian and two Canucks on the walk. Following the tour, the five of us agreed to really dive into Czech culture and go find a warm bar somewhere. Not to bring up stereotypes or anything, but guess what the Canadians wanted to do. Watch hockey.
The NY Rangers were playing their opening NHL game against Tampa Bay in Prague of all places. So we had to find a local place to watch the local game.
After the Rangers' victory, we tromped along the winding streets to a bar called U Sudu, recommended to me by a friend from home who studied here (Thanks Travis!).
The place was wild. When we walked in, I thought we were in the wrong spot. It looked like a tiny local dive on street level. But in the back of the front room was a set of stairs that led down into a series of caverns, each room with different music and a different atmosphere.
I prodded the others to all order shots of absinthe with me. When our drinks arrived, none of had any idea how to take the shot. We each got a box of matches and a spoon and some sugar.
"You have to light the sugar on fire and drop it into the shot," suggested the Canadian guy. But the sugar wouldn't catch or melt or whatever it was supposed to do. So we all resigned to mixing the sugar in and just knocking back the glass.
Fire water. Whiz bang. That definitely did not help my heartburn.
After the shot, the Canadian girl got the hiccups and pulled the waitress over to ask if there was really wormwood in the drink.
"Are we going to start hallucinating?" she asked, glassy-eyed. The Aussie started play-slapping our faces to see if we had "drunk face." That was enough for me. I just wanted bed.
The next day, I skipped a chance to meet up with the others to check out some museums. Instead I took some time catching up on my blog and figuring out my next steps in the trip. I'm sort of happily lonesome. A break was needed from the intense two day friendships.
After running my own errands, the plan was to walk around much of the old part of the city and maybe check out some museums. Instead I wandered into a mall. The warmth and glow lured me in.
Later I wandered to another warm and glowing place: the Museum of Sex (Thanks to Karen Terry for that suggestion!). The place mostly scared me. There were lots of extremely painful looking devices on display. I admit though that I did enjoy watching a 1920s silent Spanish film that featured fleshy, older prostitutes "mingling" with members of the ruling class to jaunty piano music. The film was shot upon personal order of King Alphons XIII (we should call him King XXX). According to film historians, the king and his subjects indulged in these "pastimes on joyous rainy evenings."
Today I leave Prague. I'm pretty tired and kind of sick and need to head to a warmer climate. Everyone in this country seems to have a runny nose.
Tonight I take a 15 hour train ride south and will wake up in Venice. Then later in the afternoon, I take another train to Florence where I'll meet up with two Australians Natalie and Naomi whom I met in Interlaken.
I have a few hours now to kill in Prague. Perhaps I'll go to a real museum. I like the city more than I did before, knowing that I'll be leaving it behind in a few hours.
See you in Italy.
Two days at Oktoberfest was plenty. I am somewhat ashamed to admit I learned nothing about Munich except how much zee Germans love zere beer.
I left town on Friday by train to Prague. The Czech Republic just seemed like a nice place to see next. It's really in the opposite direction that I need to be heading. I have a Eurail that covers Italy and Greece and eleven days from now, I'm supposed to meet a friend in Istanbul. So what am I doing heading north? I need a geography lesson, or at least a map of Europe.
I wrote off my first evening in Prague to recover from all the steins of beer and the pretzels and the sausage. Ugh. Heartburn. Actually that's been plaguing me since Rome. All the pizza and 3 Euro wine didn't help much in Italy, nor did the 3 Franc wine (that's $3 U.S.!) in Interlaken.
After an early night's sleep, I spent my first morning in search of a laundromat. All my clothes reeked of beer and cigarettes. When entering a new city, the best thing in the world is to feel clean and have a fresh set of clothes.
Whoever was in charge of Prague's city planning must have had an identity crisis or something because all the streets end at odd angles and pick up new names every other block or just end at a giant Gothic tower. Despite directions and a map, much of Saturday morning I spent tromping past the crystal shops over the cobblestones with a bag of my dirty laundry on my back.
The laundromat turned out to be inside a mall. Don't people go to malls to buy new clothes?
So wash done, 1,000 Crown in my pocket (about $55), I set off to explore the city with a French engineering student named Thibaut. We took a free tour of the city which taught me nothing about Prague except that it is famous for its glass and its Pilsner beer, there are giant statues of babies climbing up the giant TV tower at the edge of town, and it's quite cold in October.
I met yet another Australian and two Canucks on the walk. Following the tour, the five of us agreed to really dive into Czech culture and go find a warm bar somewhere. Not to bring up stereotypes or anything, but guess what the Canadians wanted to do. Watch hockey.
The NY Rangers were playing their opening NHL game against Tampa Bay in Prague of all places. So we had to find a local place to watch the local game.
After the Rangers' victory, we tromped along the winding streets to a bar called U Sudu, recommended to me by a friend from home who studied here (Thanks Travis!).
The place was wild. When we walked in, I thought we were in the wrong spot. It looked like a tiny local dive on street level. But in the back of the front room was a set of stairs that led down into a series of caverns, each room with different music and a different atmosphere.
I prodded the others to all order shots of absinthe with me. When our drinks arrived, none of had any idea how to take the shot. We each got a box of matches and a spoon and some sugar.
"You have to light the sugar on fire and drop it into the shot," suggested the Canadian guy. But the sugar wouldn't catch or melt or whatever it was supposed to do. So we all resigned to mixing the sugar in and just knocking back the glass.
Fire water. Whiz bang. That definitely did not help my heartburn.
After the shot, the Canadian girl got the hiccups and pulled the waitress over to ask if there was really wormwood in the drink.
"Are we going to start hallucinating?" she asked, glassy-eyed. The Aussie started play-slapping our faces to see if we had "drunk face." That was enough for me. I just wanted bed.
The next day, I skipped a chance to meet up with the others to check out some museums. Instead I took some time catching up on my blog and figuring out my next steps in the trip. I'm sort of happily lonesome. A break was needed from the intense two day friendships.
After running my own errands, the plan was to walk around much of the old part of the city and maybe check out some museums. Instead I wandered into a mall. The warmth and glow lured me in.
Later I wandered to another warm and glowing place: the Museum of Sex (Thanks to Karen Terry for that suggestion!). The place mostly scared me. There were lots of extremely painful looking devices on display. I admit though that I did enjoy watching a 1920s silent Spanish film that featured fleshy, older prostitutes "mingling" with members of the ruling class to jaunty piano music. The film was shot upon personal order of King Alphons XIII (we should call him King XXX). According to film historians, the king and his subjects indulged in these "pastimes on joyous rainy evenings."
Today I leave Prague. I'm pretty tired and kind of sick and need to head to a warmer climate. Everyone in this country seems to have a runny nose.
Tonight I take a 15 hour train ride south and will wake up in Venice. Then later in the afternoon, I take another train to Florence where I'll meet up with two Australians Natalie and Naomi whom I met in Interlaken.
I have a few hours now to kill in Prague. Perhaps I'll go to a real museum. I like the city more than I did before, knowing that I'll be leaving it behind in a few hours.
See you in Italy.
Oktoberfest
Oct. 6, 2008
What can I say about Oktoberfest? Ummmm. I'll just let the pictures speak for themselves. All I know is most of the photos I found on my camera the next day are of me, meaning I drunkenly passed my camera around the Hofbrau Tent and posed for hours. "Look how much fun I'm having!" What an idiot. It was fun though. At least it looks like it was. I don't remember most of the people I'm hanging onto.
Prost!
Wonderful Interlaken
Oct. 5, 2008
I never thought I would repeat the overused, tired Will Ferrell, Christopher Walkin Saturday Night Live joke, but one visit to Switzerland has convinced me that the world really could use more cowbell.
I arrived in Interlaken on Sept. 25th or 26th, I can't remember now. Several days and nights bled into one in the quest to get to the mountains. After three uncomfortable train rides following an all-night romp through Rome, I, along with Americans Ian and Justin and Aussie Luke, arrived at the foothills of the Alps.
The town of Interlaken is located in the heart of the Alps situated between the Lakes of Thun and Brienz and at the foot the Eiger, the Mönch and the Jungfrau peaks. The lakes are an icy, green-blue color and look fresher than any water I've ever seen. The town is known for its adventure sports and many backpackers on tight budgets blow apart their wallets to go canyoning, sky diving, rafting, or participate in other high adreniline sports. The sky over the town is filled with paragliders drifting down from the peaks.
As I have to live off two years of savings for the next eight months, I shied away from the more expensive activities. Instead, the boys and I headed into the forest one day to do a high ropes course.
It was a little frightening how little training we received to do the courses which took us into trees at heights upwards of 50 feet. A Canadian girl gave us a five minute lesson in how to attach and reattach our click clacking carabeaners as we made our way from obstacle to obstacle.
"Don't remove both your carabeaners at once," she warned me as I dangled a dangerous four feet above the ground on the training course. But that little warning was it and we were off.
"Have fun," she said.
And we did.
The four of us spent seven hours hanging out in the trees, climbing and swinging and ziplining through the canopy. It was a playground high above the rocky forest floor. The jangle of bells from the cows grazing in a nearby field was occasionally drowned out by a "Wahhhooo" or "Weeeeeeee" as we flew through the trees.
After conquering our fear of heights, several of us spent the next few days hiking through the mountains. I would say goodbye first to Luke, who was returning to Melbourne, and then to the American boys who were heading to Nice and then Cinque Terra. I made new friends though in Intelaken, all Australians. They really are everywhere in the world those Ozzies. One wonders how the country keeps functioning when most of their population seems to be away from home.
I went on a seven hour hike one day with Matt from Melbourne, and Butch from Perth. We took a train up to Lauterbrunnen, village of waterfalls, and then hiked all day. We played categories and 20 questions for most of the hike. I think the high altitude had some effect on our minds because Butch stumped us with "iron" as a thing. How boring and obvious is iron?
On the walk down from the peaks, a kindly old Swiss woman gave us each an apple she picked right from the tree.
I left Interlaken sooner than I probably should have. Our hostel, Balmers, is the best at which I have yet stayed and all the people I met were all fun and down-to-earth. I plan to meet two girls Natalie and Naomi in Florence in a few days. I didn't want to say goodbye to everyone, but I really just couldn't pass up a free ride to Oktoberfest.
Friday, October 3, 2008
Roma
Oct. 3, 2008
I've come across some interesting characters on this trip around Europe. In Rome in particular, I hung out with several cool but kind of weirdo guys. On my first night in town, I joined three Americans, Ian, Justin and Rome (of all names), and an Australian named Luke, on a stroll/bar crawl around the city. I stopped to take a photo of the building nicknamed the Birthday Cake when all four guys started dancing and harmonizing to the Backstreet Boys. It was both fabulous and frightening. I had befriended a boy band.
Rome (short for Jerome) told me he is polyamorous, whatever the hell that means. "Maybe you're not secure enough for that type of relationship," he said.
I said, ewww, that's gross, dude. The other guys agreed.
I spent the next day with Luke, Ian and Justin at Vatican City. I had no idea how big art hawkers the popes all were. As I said before, all of the Renaissance paintings feature mostly naked, muscly figures. You'd think they'd make the pope blush.
Ian and Justin, who are traveling together, convinced Luke and myself to stay up all night, see the sights of Rome and then catch an early train to Switzerland. It seemed like a brilliant idea. Spanish Steps, Trevi Fountain, Coliseum all by night were amazing. Getting on three different trains starting at 6:30 a.m. after staying up all night was not so much.
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
Whirlwind through Europe
Oct. 1, 2008
OK. Wow. I need to take a second to catch up. In the past seven days I have gone from London to Rome to Interlacken, Switzerland to Munich where I now write from a crowded hostel filled with drunken Oktoberfest kiddies. I have lots to say about all the places I´ve seen in the past week, but the constant forward movement and the thrill of meeting new people and seeing new places has kept me from my writing responsibilities. I apologize to you, my loyal readers (hi Mom and Dad!). But I´m also disappointed myself because keeping this up has allowed me to process everything I´ve seen and done.
Wow, traveling is awesome. But none of you wants to read about me bragging. Just to get on top of things, I´ll give a brief recap of the past week with photos and perhaps more elaboration to follow in the coming days.
London: The trip was more a chance to hang out in a comfortable place with a friend then go sightseeing and do the tourist thing. Did see all the sights but also spent lots of time playing Uno and drinking beer on a couch. It was hard to leave something that felt very close to home. But I guess the main point of travel is to get away from what is comfortable and familiar.
Rome: I came, I saw, I conquered in two days. Lots of beautiful old things to see. The thing which struck me most about all the artwork at the Vatican and within the Sistine Chapel is that all the Renaissance artists loved painting huge, bulbous muscles on every human figure. Men, women, babies, everyone. They were all fleshy, beer-bellied, bohemoths back in the day. Visited the Colleseum, Spasnish Steps and Trevoli Fountain all at night. Had tons of fun with two Americans and an Aussie I met walking the streets singing That´s amore. But Rome doesn't have much of a nightlife at all.
Interlacken: The two American guys I met in Rome talked me and a guy from Melbourne into ditching Italy and heading to the Swiss Alps. Such a good decision. Ended up spending more time in Interlacken then the guys who told me to go there. The water from the mountains is so fresh you can drink out of puddles. Interlacken, a small town between two lakes in the Jungfrau Mountains is known for its outdoor sports. People spend heeps to go bungee jumping, canyoning, sky diving, and partake in all sorts of other high adreniline activities. Met a guy from California who was "so stoked" to be hanging out in the "Swiss-fucking-Alps". I skipped all the expensive stuff and did my own adventuring with two Aussies yesterday. We took a train to Lauterbrunnen, a small town in the hills known for its waterfalls, and then embarked on a seven hour hike. Saw mountain goats, mountain cows and mountain children. Also saw some pretty spectacular mountains. Would´ve stayed longer in Switzerland but couldn´t pass up a free ride today to Munich and Oktoberfest. Totally rad!
Oktoberfest, night one: Went to Haufbrauhouse. Drank a liter of beer. Started too late to enter the tents. Still sore from seven hour hike through the mountains. But starting bright and early tomorrow. Should be a good day. Will write more when the hangover fades.
OK. Wow. I need to take a second to catch up. In the past seven days I have gone from London to Rome to Interlacken, Switzerland to Munich where I now write from a crowded hostel filled with drunken Oktoberfest kiddies. I have lots to say about all the places I´ve seen in the past week, but the constant forward movement and the thrill of meeting new people and seeing new places has kept me from my writing responsibilities. I apologize to you, my loyal readers (hi Mom and Dad!). But I´m also disappointed myself because keeping this up has allowed me to process everything I´ve seen and done.
Wow, traveling is awesome. But none of you wants to read about me bragging. Just to get on top of things, I´ll give a brief recap of the past week with photos and perhaps more elaboration to follow in the coming days.
London: The trip was more a chance to hang out in a comfortable place with a friend then go sightseeing and do the tourist thing. Did see all the sights but also spent lots of time playing Uno and drinking beer on a couch. It was hard to leave something that felt very close to home. But I guess the main point of travel is to get away from what is comfortable and familiar.
Rome: I came, I saw, I conquered in two days. Lots of beautiful old things to see. The thing which struck me most about all the artwork at the Vatican and within the Sistine Chapel is that all the Renaissance artists loved painting huge, bulbous muscles on every human figure. Men, women, babies, everyone. They were all fleshy, beer-bellied, bohemoths back in the day. Visited the Colleseum, Spasnish Steps and Trevoli Fountain all at night. Had tons of fun with two Americans and an Aussie I met walking the streets singing That´s amore. But Rome doesn't have much of a nightlife at all.
Interlacken: The two American guys I met in Rome talked me and a guy from Melbourne into ditching Italy and heading to the Swiss Alps. Such a good decision. Ended up spending more time in Interlacken then the guys who told me to go there. The water from the mountains is so fresh you can drink out of puddles. Interlacken, a small town between two lakes in the Jungfrau Mountains is known for its outdoor sports. People spend heeps to go bungee jumping, canyoning, sky diving, and partake in all sorts of other high adreniline activities. Met a guy from California who was "so stoked" to be hanging out in the "Swiss-fucking-Alps". I skipped all the expensive stuff and did my own adventuring with two Aussies yesterday. We took a train to Lauterbrunnen, a small town in the hills known for its waterfalls, and then embarked on a seven hour hike. Saw mountain goats, mountain cows and mountain children. Also saw some pretty spectacular mountains. Would´ve stayed longer in Switzerland but couldn´t pass up a free ride today to Munich and Oktoberfest. Totally rad!
Oktoberfest, night one: Went to Haufbrauhouse. Drank a liter of beer. Started too late to enter the tents. Still sore from seven hour hike through the mountains. But starting bright and early tomorrow. Should be a good day. Will write more when the hangover fades.
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