The Nice Job

First off I would like to let everyone know that blogging is not the easiest thing in the world. Not only do we have the terrible burden of travelling through multiple countries every week; but then we are expected to write about it. This life is anything but easy, so for those of you who have commented on Drew's grammar, I would like you to take a step back and realize that writing about once in a lifetime experiences is far from a simple task. Sometimes it is raw...ipso facto, so is the grammar.

...................We arrived in Nice, France on a train from Milano Centrale relatively late in the afternoon. Alex and Garrett left the hostel finding up to Drew and I, since they had decided to leave early to Paris to meet up with Alex's friend from school (apparently they prefer champagne to one Euro screw-capped Chilean red, our bottle of choice). We found the hostel quite easily after being lost for only 45 minutes. The man who worked the front desk immediately turned off by the fact we were American, and one of us had a serious volume control issue (not naming names). Since Alex was not there to sell us as Canadians, we were forced to deal with this man's freedom-envy.

Either way, we settled in and waited for the boys so we could hit the beach. Unfortunately the beach in Nice is not the type of beach you hit...but rather the type of beach you nearly break your ankles on. It is made up of rocks the size of a softball and is extremely uncomfortable to walk or sleep on. Seeing as how I came to Europe to lay out, my plans were quickly foiled and we needed another source of entertainment. Now what to Garrett and Drew do in this type of situation? What else can you do...rock stacking competition.

We got about all we could've out of this setting and returned to our hostel. The man at the front desk had since warmed up to us and gave us suggestions on where to eat and where to go out. At this point we met our roomates...two Australian girls straight out of high school. While Alex and Garrett brightened up a bit, Drew and I checked our facial hair in the mirror while flex-walking (this is a combination of walking and flexing at the same time). We were actually quite uninterested in our new roomates and more interested in finding food. Garrett asked where we could find "a fat steak and fries." The answer, "We are both vegetarians" was not what we were looking for.

We bid farewell to our new friends and found that steak and fries. It tasted so much better knowing that the cost alone would not allow us to eat the next day. We then made our way to the most touristee bar we could find...Wayne's World. The best part about this place was the 10 dollar beers, closely followed by the tables full of scowling Europeans. I have to say that we Americans were a hit in Nice. After spending all our money for not even enough beer to intoxicate a small child, we trotted back so the boys could catch the early train to Paris.

We awoke the next day on a mission. With the boys gone, Drew and I had some business to take care of...Mo-ped business. Now, if you drive a moped in the US, you park it in between your retainer case and Clay Aiken CDs. But in France, riding a moped is a status symbol...status that we desparately desired. We each rented a scooter from a place across from the train station on recommendation from our friends at the death jump in Interlaken. For the record...we also chose the most ridiculous helmets we could find just to fit in.

We rode along the coastal rode to Monaco which took about an hour. I have to say it was the most fun I have ever had doing something that I was nervous to tell other people about. The Meditteranean views (rapidly approaching corny) were some of the most beautiful I have ever seen. The best part was that, since a moped is always travelling just slow enough to create traffic, everyone else got to share these views with us. Nothing but the sound of the sea and then several car horns and a handful of middle-fingers.

We arrived in Monaco to find that the beach was much nicer than the one in Nice...rather than large rocks or sand, it was composed of small pebbles and the ubiquitous topless European supermodel. This did not interest Drew and I however...all we could do was stare into the sunset.

We sped back to the hostel extremely satisfied. Drew and I then found a supermarket with a special on 26 cent Belgian beer which we naturally took full advantage of. Then, sitting in our room...window open...I heard my name being yelled from outside. I looked out to find my good friend Chuck Flynn, a man entirely too tall and loud to be from anywhere but the American Midwest. I had told him our Nice dates and the hostel name, and he had taken care of the rest.

We had what closely resembled a high school party in our hostel room...replacing natty light with Derheinzenbeerin label and your parents with the hostel manager. He and his travelling partner BJ regailed us with there travel stories while we returned the favor. All that was left to do was to recommend the mopeds and show them the way to Wayne's World. So, what did Drew and I do to finish up Nice, France...hang out with our American buddies in a bar. This trip is all about trying new things.

Venice, Walk It Out

Let me just start by saying for those of you who have never been to Venice, it is a beautiful and romantic city. A place where you eat amazing authentic Italian dishes, drink the finest shardonay, and stare deeply into the eyes of the one across from you. Fortunatly or unfortuantly, depending on how you look at it, the eyes I was gaseing into were the blue and hazel ones of Garrett, Sean, and Alex, truley romantic.

Romance and holding hands aside, Venice really was an amazing city. One masive museum, equipt with narrow alleyways, historic buildings on ever corner, and of corse the endless maze of cannals. Upon our arrival we ventured into the city and quickly realized we had no idea where we were, if you know me well I can managed to get lost just about anywhere. Luckly for us you can not really be lost in Venice beacuse everywhere you go there is something special to see. After about an hour or two of wandering we began to get a bit tried, little did we know the next day and a half would consitist of just under a marathon on foot. Our walking continued and we decided to search out some important parts of the city.

Our new mission was to find St Marcos Square. We continued our unoffical walking tour, guided by street signs as old as the buildings they were attached to and soon stumbled into the middle of St Marcos Square. The area was full of tourest, vendors, and Garretts new found enemy, the local Venitian pigeon. This rare breed of bird not only eats food you throw at them, they flock to you like the bird lady from Home Alone 2.

As we all know Garrett has his moments, now picture him armed with two, half empty water bottles tempting these pigeons to try to enter his personal space. If they got close enough he would swing, holding back nothing, in the fight for his life. I am pretty sure the pigeons won the on going war, but if you ask Garrett he may tell a different story.

With the many tourists surrounding St Marcos one group inparticular was a highschool chior. The group was dressed in tradition chior ropes and gave an amazing rendition of Pavarotti's most famous song, Time to Say Goodbye. The chior sang as the sun was setting, and we gazed up at The Palazzo Ducale, it was everthing you would want from Venice.

Turk-E-A

No we are not to Istanbul yet. During our last day in Geneva, we found ourselves presented with a great opportunity. Thousands of Turkish and Czech fans funneled into the viewing fanzone in downtown Geneva. It was here that we would experience all that European culture has to offer, distilled into a two hour span.

European soccer is the greatest invention since the polio vaccine or Saved By The Bell re-runs. Each fan lives and dies by his or her team, a trait that American sports fans don't usually possess. Since the four of us did not have a team playing that evening, we decided to root with the first mob of fans we ran into.

The mighty Turks were the obvious choice, given their stands were right by the entrance (We probably would not have stuck out so badly if we stood with the Czechs though). We stepped right into the thick of the Turkish horde, finding one man inparticular who spoke fantastic English. At this point I would like to sell out Alex because he tried to pass us off as Canadian. We quickly retracted the statement and said we were great Turkish soccer fans from the US.

This man then proceeded to teach us all of the chants so we not look like idiots everytime there was a shot on goal (which apparently is cheer-worthy). At first we were timid, but, after a few pints of Swiss beer, we stopped hesitating and were not only joining, but starting cheers. Anyone who knows Drew understands that his inability to control the volume of his voice only gets worse when he drinks. Fortunately, this is exactly what the Turks were looking for.

The game started out poorly for our new motherland, going down 2-0 by the beginning of the second half. Many Turkish fans began leaving, and our new friend admitted that the Turks could not win the day. I assured him that if anyone could pull it out, it was our boys. Late in the second half they narrowed the margin to 1. This gave new life to the crowd and its small American contingent. Garrett begged us to go over to the check side to celebrate the victory, but we held fast.

With 5 minutes left, the boys in Red tied it up with one of the prettiest goals ever scored by humans. A massive Turkish flag unravelled and was waved opening up a big area in the crowd. At three corners, Alex, Drew, and I waved the colors proudly...and underneath it Garrett danced with an overweight Turkish woman. We were so busy celebrating the tie...that we did not see the last second go ahead victory as time expired.

Fans from our side heckled the exiting Czech fans and then poured into the streets, chanting in unison TURK-E-A, TURK-E-A. Now, I have celebrated sports wins before, but what we experienced in the streets of downtown Geneva was the closest I have ever come to being part of a riot. Alex banged on bus windows taunting the dejected Czech fans while the rest of us stood waving the flag...

Alex congrulated all of our countrymen in perfect French and we all followed suit. As the wave of Turkish fans moved towards the pubs, a large brawny Turkish man grabbed Alex by the nape of the neck. Before we had enough time to be nervous, the man pressed his forehead against Alex's...looked straight into his eyes...and in the gentlest voice I have ever heard said..."How much do you love Turkey?" No response was needed...we all understood.

We stumbled over to the Turkish kebab shop near the train station, still cheering as if the game had just ended. After polishing off our food, we parted ways with our momentary countrymen and caught the bus home. Simon and Micky could not believe our stories, and we could not believe that this was only day two.

Inter(pop)laken

Our first full day in Switzerland promised to be legendary despite our jet lag and rugged appearance. Drew, Garrett, Alex, and I set out to do the world's highest bungee jump at a dam in Interlaken, a town about two hours north of Geneva. Drew had not stopped talking about Interlaken and the bungee since the car ride to the airport. He had researched this extreme adventure to the T and it was time to start our trip off right.

An hour into the train ride, Drew discovered that the dam was actually located in Locarno, a town about 4 hours in the opposite direction. He had heard there was a bungee jump in Interlaken and merely assumed that it had to be the one. We would have to settle for a 150 meter bungee out of a gondola. Unfortunately, this one was closed and required reservations many days in advance.

Feeling entirely too safe, we convinced an extreme sports company to take us canyon swinging (for you skeptics...there is a video coming soon and this stuff is absolutely terrifying). We walked around Interlaken for about an hour and met our bus at the local Hooters...yes, Interlaken has a Hooters. We were not there for the wings however, but for the adrenaline rush of a lifetime.

Two New Zealanders drove us and six other Americans up to a canyon overlooking the Swiss Alps. Apparently people from the US are the only ones crazy or stupid enough to try this. After strapping in and signing an indemnity, it was time to go. Garrett, the second youngest, and most attractive of the group was chosen to go first. We all watched with anticipation as he dove off the platform... But he did not swing...he just went straight down. Of the 250 ft. fall, you only really swung the last 50. The other group of guys had gone skydiving the same day and said the fear did not even compare.

Unfortunately, we all made it and, after a celebratory beer, caught the bus back to Interlaken to find a train home. Three hours later, we were celebrating in Les Brasseurs Pub, where they serve 5 liter tubes of beer per table. We all joked about the local Swiss bar hoppers, but in the back of our minds we all thought the same thing..."Our first day was a tough act to follow."

COMMENTARY FROM DREW:

Well for all of you who have been wondering when you would hear from me (drew) i thought now might be appropriate. Since the day trip to Interlaken was due mostly in part to my research and some advice from a friend, i figured i have to give my own accounts on one of the most spectacular towns i had ever been to.

Okay so sean has given all of you a brief understanding of our first day abroad. i must say he has painted quite the picture and for the most part he has been accurate in every way. some parts to the story are missing though.

First off the whole worlds tallest bungee jump was more then just something i had been talking about, it was all i had been talking about. I first saw the 750ft plummet on youtube and had not stop thinking about it. So as we took a series of trains up to interlaken i decided to take out my latest tool, the world edition blackberry, (thanks george), to do a bit of research. As i soon learned the bungee jump was no where near interlaken, i was not only upset, but i also felt as if i had let down sean, garret, and alex.

This feeling of guilt quickly vanished as we stepped off the train. The town we stepped into was like nothing i had ever seen. My previous experience with mountain towns consisted of places like aspen and vail, interlaken blew each one of them out of the water. The town sits in a valley in the Swiss alps and is surrounded by two seperate lakes. The streets are filled with mazeraties, ferraries, and porsches, and the buildings lining the narrow streets all share a simmilar small town style. There are chains of cannals that run throughout the town and series of bridges and circles that tie the city together beautifully.

So enough about how pretty the area was, the real question that needs answering is how teriffiying the rope swing of death really was. The trip up to the gorge was full of scenic views and photo opportunties, but nothing was going to prepare us for what had signed up for.

As we reached our destination the travel guides gave us a form to fill out which they gave to garret to read aloud to the group. Garret spoke clearly, he told us all about how the company was not responsible if we were to fall and die and that signing this form kept them out of the clear. After a few signitures and putting on a harness we were escorted to the jump platform.

Now as sean told you before, garret, of course, was the first to jump. Now i was under the impression that this was a swing, i was very very wrong. Garret took two huge steps and then jumped from the platform, unfortunaly for everyone jumping after him, he did not swing, he fell like a cinderblock. He just kept falling and falling, it made me want to turn around and get my 100 franks back.

Next up were sean and alex, both had spectacular jump. Now it was my turn, as sean said before you will see a video of the jump eventually, but untill then you have to deal with my lousy description. So let me walk you through this, i have a strange european man telling me in broken english that i am okay to jump, i have a rope attachted to me that is so heavy i am bracing myslef so as to not be pulled off this cliff, and i have 250 feet between me and a pit of death. So i do what any other normal 22 year old would do, i run and jump. Now i consider myself a pretty courages guy, but i tell you what, i jumped and just started falling, as i fell i began uncontrollably screaming lilke a nancy, and thouhgt that this was the end of the road for me. But then, thankfully the rope caught me just a few feet from certain death, i dismounted from the rope and the kind new zelander asked me if i was okay, my only response was yes, but i cant feel my hands or bottom lip.

The day ended with a round of beers at this great little bar in geneva, we were drinking to not only a day filled with near death experiences, we were drinking to our first day abroad.

Throw It In Neuteral: Welcome to Switzerland

The thought of travelling is much more glamorous than the actual trip itself. The beginning of our three-month journey was no different. Alex, Garrett, Drew, and I arrived at Dulles International and had trouble almost immediatley. First, we could not get electronic tags for our backpacks because of our paper tickets (Thanks Bernard). Already, the likelihood that our bags would make it to Frankfurt was quite low.

After some fancy footwork, Christine was able to get us through the staff security checkpoint and right onto the plane. It was at this point that I decided I would most likely marry a flight attendant...the perks are unbelievable.

Stepping on board we encountered our second problem...this one was a bit larger. Drew and I were assigned to the same row but not next to eachother. Realizing that having someone sit between us might be cause for suicide, we decided to ask the third person to either take the aisle or window. Now, we consider ourselves blessed to have such a wonderful trip handed to us...but the massive Indian woman who insisted on taking the aisle seat was certainly a bump in the road.

Since man is, by nature, selfish, I asked Drew to sit next to her which he did without complaint. The only problem for Drew was that she refused to get up during the flight and had a loose interpretation of what was considered her personal space. This meant that every time Drew and I wished to go to the bathroom or get something from our bags, we needed to jump over her. She also had more drapery on her than (can't think of a comparison). Worst of all, she frequently disobeyed the unwritten airplane rule of keeping your shoes on, and keeping your feet from touching other passengers. Drew was frequently forced to lean closer to me than expected due to not only the exsesive drapery but also the moldy crusted feet that would rub aggresivly agaisnt his legs.

The only saving grace on this flight was Marc the flight attendant (on steroids). Christine had emailed the crew and told them to take care of us boys (reason #2 for marrying a flight attendant). Drew ran into Mark on the way to the bathroom and introduced himself. Mark's only response was, "what are you drinking?" The rest of the flight consisted of him handing off barf bags full of mini bottles of Absolute vodka. As we drank, we became less concerned with the Indian woman damming up the aisle and more concerned with getting excited about the trip.

We landed in Frankfurt after what seemed like a short 8 hour flight and immediately turned to finding the main train station. After a few short subway stops, we were there with time to spare before our series of trains to Geneva. The four of us found the trains extremely easy to navigate (Bernard would not send us on anything that wasn't idiot-proof). After about four hours of trains, we arrived in Geneva and took the bus straight to the house of Simon and Micky, our extremely generous hosts during our stay in Switzerland.

We all needed rest and woke up to a tremendous dinner prepared by Micky's mother. Having been in Geneva for only a few hours, we had already had a tremendous culinary experience (one we won't be able to recreate soon given our budget). We then spent the rest of the evening watching the Euro Cup match of France vs. The Netherlands in Simon's home theater. We dozed off early, as we had big plans for our first full day in Europe.