Ready to get out of the unofficially most expensive city in the world, Sean and I jumped on the train for Prague. I quickly passed out on the train as I normally do and was awoken by Sean with a nervous look on his face notifying me that we had to get off the train. Unsure of what was going on we both departed the train to find our train not at a station, but in the belly of a massive ferry surrounded by cars, trucks, and containers. We both had no idea what was going on... Turns out the good people at Eurorail realized it was quicker to go by ferry than train, so they built tracks onto the ferry, it was better than that amphibious car with a 60 hrs power outboard attached to the back.
After 14 hours on everything but a plane we arrived in Prague. Our hostel was the cheapest one we could find, $12 a night, and it was worth every penny. The walls that divided the rooms were the ones that make one large high school class room into four, the beds were mattresses on the ground, and as for the bathroom, Sean and I both agreed that we would rather shower in our old college hair, urine, and sometimes glass filled bathrooms than this one. I woke up one of the mornings to find Sean scratching his face, legs, arms, and back. His body was covered in little bites, he was itching like a stray dog after a run in with a parasite infested trash barrel, we were both pretty sure he had fleas. All of the negatives about the hostel aside the people staying in the hostel are what make it and this place was no different.
Our first night in Prague we set out with two young German guys that we met in our hostel, Milan and Marvin. The two of them had been in the city for a few days and took us through the main square, which was an amazing sight to see at night. They led us to the local hot spot, Chateau, which had cheap beers, foosball, and a solid dance floor located in the basement, a perfect spot for Sean and I.
This bar was also the home to best foosball player we had ever seen in our lives. Sean and I are both experienced foosball players, we have had rich men put their $10,000 Rolex watches on the table, as well as their dignity, and we have come out on top. Tonight we were facing a duo that had already dominated half the bar, we gripped the handles and knew that we would take this tag team as we had done with many in the past. We had a quick wake up call, Europeans are dominate on the table, not only were they better, but the big gun for this team was a girl, and did I happen to mention the best looking girl at the bar, she was the editor and chief of Foosnews Magazine. After several minutes of deliberation I managed to calm Sean down and convince him we had been defeated, and we needed to focus on the positive...a new city and plenty of fun.
We spent the rest of the night tagging along with the Germans who managed to make friends everywhere they went. One had a thing for an attractive girl from Newcastle, England and somehow we ended up at her luxury apartment located in the heart of the city. It turned out the the girl and her sister from Newcastle were completely infatuated with America, the first time we found people that loved America. At one point in the night one of the girls was walking through one of the main streets in Prague chanting, "AMERICA! AMERICA! AMERICA!" We quickly stopped her shouting and informed her that the majority of Europe did not share her passion for the US. We taught our new found USA groupies some American slang and then made our way back to our hostel.
The next day we attacked the sights of Prague as we did in every other city. Prague is a beautiful city with something for everyone. In the main city square there is a world famous astronomic clock that is basically impossible to read, but is a very popular sight. Apparently the guy that designed the clock was going to put one in another city, but the people of Prague thought it was so authentic they forbid him from doing it. Now instead of paying him not to do it, or telling him he couldn't do it, they did the next most logical thing... they burned his eyes out...don't mess with the Czechs and their clocks. The Charles Bridge was very very old and interesting, we ventured up to the main palace and huge cathedral, both had amazing views of the city.
The next day brought some familiar faces back into our lives, BJ and Chuck, who would be in Prague for a few days. That night we got to experience something that I suggest to anyone, a live Wu Tang Clan performance in the Czech Republic. I have been a long time fan of the Wu but have never had the opportunity to see them live, so I insisted that we buy tickets. We arrived to the show and quickly realized this would not be like a rap concert in the US. The crowed was made up of a sea of Malibu's Most Wanted...all white, in any American sports jersey they could find, a few sets of fake corn rows, and even a some imitation gold chains. It had mocumentry written all over it, we are already working on the script. Wu Tang crushed the stage all night long, we ended up three rows from the front and had an absolute blast, it was everything I had imagined and more.
Our last day in Prague Sean and I sampled some of the local food. We had a healthy serving of pork and potatoes with gravy covering every inch of the dish, it was very tasty. That night the fantastic four of Sean, Chuck, Bj, and I took up one of the local "bar crawls." Apparently in Prague this is something that you have to do, there must have been 8 different "crawls" to go on, and each one with a different promoter tying to get you to attend. One in particular gave us one of the best sales pitches we had ever heard in our lives. He started off very friendly in a thick accent with...."you want to F'ing crawl tonight." We have been saying it ever since, and were pretty sure its the best way to get someones attention.
The next day the four of us left Prague for Munich. The first stop in Munich was the legendary Hofbrau House beer hall. We were not really sure what we were getting ourselves into, all we knew was that Sean's grandfather had been there many many years ago and said it was a must see. We walked into the place and discovered heaven...it was well over a thousand people drinking beers in huge liter sized glasses, the waitresses were all in authentic German garb, a German poka band was playing, and everyone there was looking to get loose. We each put down three of these behemoths and soon found ourselves in a cab to the main nightlife spot in Munich. The place was like an amusement park for adults, there must have been 20 bars and clubs in this one area. Unfortunately for us we were all in flip flops and tee shirts, which apparently does not meet most German night club dress codes. We attempted to go into one place, but we were quickly turned away solely due to the fact that we were Americans, but oh well I'll take a little discrimination now and then.
The next day Sean and I parted ways with our second half, BJ and Chuck, and headed for Frankfurt to meet my mom. We got into Frankfurt and immediately ran into Christine. She was so happy to see us, and we were so happy to not only see her, but to have a free clean place to stay. We went out to a delicious dinner together and shared some stories about our travels. The night ended with one more little taste of home. My mom brought us a fresh pack of Double Stuffed Oreos with cold 1% milk on the side, both of which are quite possibly my favorite things in the world. It was a perfect way to bid farewell to not only my mom, but to our month in Europe. Next on the list of places...Moscow, we will be updating shortly.
Monday, July 21, 2008
Saturday, July 12, 2008
So Many Stops, So Little Time
Drew and I would like to take this opportunity to apologize for not keeping up with the blog as frequently as we should. Obviously we have not spent the last two weeks just in Spain...so I am going to give a slightly abridged version of the past few stops to bring everyone up to speed.
It was difficult to leave San Sebastian knowing that we would spend the next two days on the move. We caught a day train to Madrid to meet up with my friend Mark Ayala who could not have been a better host. Having listened to Drew butcher the language for the better part of a week, it was nice to be following someone who knew Spanish. More importantly, his place provided us with a TV and some much needed couch time. Rather than check out Madrid´s legendary nightlife, we decided to indulge ourselves in the favorite American pastime of sitting around while drinking and talking about sports (Read: Mark and Drew talked about sports).
The next day we woke up early in attempts to see everything Madrid had to offer in a span of only 6 hours. In order to make our night train to Paris we would have to pick and choose the important sights...but not on an empty stomach. Now, Spain is well known for its tapas...but its true hidden gem is the two-person meal bucket at KFC. Being the cultured travelers we are, we chose the later in the interest of time and money. If we didn´t feel American enough already, as soon as we each took a mouthful of extra-crispy, Bruce Springstein´s "Born in the USA" came on over the radio. Watching multiple Spanish men mouth the words made it all the more enjoyable.
Now to business. We toured the Palacio Real and its Cathedral which were both spectacular and unlike any buildings we had yet seen. We next moved to the Palacio de Communicados (spelling?) and the adjoining park which boasted several fountains and approximately 15 kodak moments if you are with a spouse. Drew and I just made faces in front of the nude sculptures. We also took enough pictures to convince anyone that we were in Madrid for 7 days instead of 1. And though we wished we could´ve stayed longer, we could not help but look with great anticipation toward meeting up with Bernard and the boys in France the following day.
The overnight train provided a relatively comfortable sleep on the way to Paris. We met a Columbian student travelling by himself, who caused a tremendous uproar with the rail staff when they caught him sleeping up in the baggage overhead. Other than that we slept swimmingly and rolled into the French capital quite early. After locking our bags at the train station, we set out to do in Paris what we had attempted to do in Madrid, check off all the notables...and take plenty of pictures. We started by having breakast next to Notre Dame which apparently adds heavily to the price. We then went to the Louvre to see da Vinci´s Mona Letdown as the horizon in a sea of Asian tourists. Continuing our walking tour, we climbed the Eiffel Tower and then walked to the Champs Elysées to see the Arc de Triomphe. Strangely enough, in this brief amount of time, we ran into: the Columbian from the train, Janic Noah (French Singer/Joakim Noah´s dad), and the two Australian girls we had stayed with in Nice.
Sadly we could not spend more time in the city because we had to meet Bernard at Orly Airport, who was flying in from his trans-Atlantic sailing trip. At Orly, Drew and I were each given a 25 Euro fine for not buying the proper transfer ticket. We tried to argue but the officer, a short man with tightly slicked-back hair (difficult fine to stomach), took his job entirely too seriously. We gave out the only money left in our wallets and jumped on the tram to the main terminal. Waiting patiently on the ground in baggage claim, I was suddenly kicked by a bearded frenchman hovering over me. It had been a long time since I had been kicked by a bearded frenchman so I was quite startled. Looking closer I realized it was Bernard who typically always looks as if he has just shaven. We greeted him and walked quickly toward the rental-car kiosk.
We drove back into the city and had dinner at L´Entrecote, a restaurant famous because it has no menu and only serves steak and fries with a special sauce. After recounting the first leg of our trip to Bernard and filling up on some decent food for a change, we started the four hour drive to his father´s house in Brittany. Bearded Bernard apparently drives like a maniac because we got there in 2 and a half hours and quickly went to bed. We awoke the next day to join Pierre and Heidi (Bernard´s Dad and Stepmother) and their German family friends. Since we only had one day in Brittany, we decided to have a traditional coastal French meal at a crepe and seafood restaurant. Though the food was excellent, it seemed to have an adverse effect on many stomachs at the table. About halfway through dessert, we noticed that Drew had been missing from the table for about a half hour. Naturally, Alex strolled to the bathroom to see if he was having technical difficulties. He returned quickly and announced to the table that he could not be sure if it was Drew, but there was an American man groaning loudly in the bathroom, as a line was forming out the door.
The group finished, paid the bill, and then waited at the car for Drew to make his glorious return. Looking quite pale and worn out, he squeezed into the car for the ride to a local Casino. First, we took a pit stop in a town called La Croisic where the seafood (and Karma for always passing himself off as Canadian) finally caught up to Alex. He ran into the first restaurant he saw which also happened to be the nicest. There are two things you don´t do in Europe, one is shower, and the other is go into a bathroom at a restaurant where you are not a customer. Nevertheless, he reportedly unloaded on this bathroom just as Drew had done earlier. Unfortunately for him, and whoever the new employee was, he only discovered post-wipe that this toilet would not flush. He was escorted out by the female owner and slowly walked over to the group, as we all laughed hysterically. Laughter quickly turned to fear after the restaurant staff discovered what Alex had done. A large chef came out the door weilding a dough roller which was our cue to begin running. Bernard did not run however...he simply walked over to the car, got in, and drove over to pick us up about 100 yards down the road.
We made it to the casino and all sat down at a blackjack table. Usually this story ends with all of us losing money, but, fortunately for us, it must have been amature dealer night. The poor girl dealing us cards could hardly count or shuffle and in total we each made away with 50€. Despite the metro fine, Drew and I were still able to leave with a leg up on France. We bid farewell to the group the next morning and caught a train to Brussels. From then on out, it would just be Drew and I.
We arrived in Belgium and for the first time had to take a cab because we could not find our hostel. The Germans had told us that all there was to do in Belgium was eat and drink. So, Drew and I decided to take it for what it was and do just that. After a traditional meal of mussels and fries in the city center, we wandered over the the city´s most famous bar, Delerium Café. This bar holds the Guiness record for most beers commercially served with nearly 2800 different types from all over the world. Fortunately for us, they were also pretty cheap and all over 6% alcohol volume. We eventually found our way to the strongest Belgian beer, Bush Ale which had a shocking 12% alcohol volume. Drew and I each had three and were both drunker than a 94-pound high-school female after prom.
We stumbled back to our hostel and passed out at 6 only to be awoken by our new roomate around 8. Taylor, a Canadian guy our age that had been travelling for the better part of a year, quickly befriended us and invited us to go watch the Eurocup Final with him and this Scottish guy he had met earlier in the day. I don´t know what it is about Scottish guys, but the one we later met up with was absolutely insane. We walked into a giant sea of Spanish supporters as he screamed Deutschland, after which he proceeded to rip off his shirt and climb a nearby streetlight for a better view. After watching the most anticlimatic final match in the history of the Eurocup, he somehow stole Drew´s shirt and left. Drew then took my shirt to try and go buy another shirt. In typical Drew fashion however, he came back 45 minutes later, still wearing my shirt, having been at a bar the whole time. "I got sidetracked."
We all woke up the next day with healthy hangovers and set out to see the city. Brussels is famous for having a statue of a kid peeing and having a church with a urinal on its side. Both were the most anticlimatic sights we had ever seen...So, Drew, Taylor, and I just decided to grab a quick Belgian waffle and head back to Delerium. While there we ran into Drew´s next door neighbor from school and her boyfriend who happened to be from Annapolis. We talked to them for a bit and continued drinking the strong beer...same outcome. We all went back to the hostel and passed out hoping to wake up for the late night scene. We all awoke just in time for checkout the next morning.
It was clearly time for a change of scenery. Drew and I had planned on going to Brugge for the day...so Taylor decided that he would just tag along. We all took a short train to this medieval town and quickly found a hostel. After putting our bags away, we took a must-see tourist map and started walking. This is supposedly the town where French fries were invented so we had no problem sampling the local cuisine. Afterward we spent multiple hours wandering through the cities many side roads and canals, looking at castle after castle. Brugge was the most interesting looking city we had been to up to that point. Unfotunately, this city is also primarily famous for its romantic spots...and now we were not just two guys, we were three. We left the following morning for Amsterdam and bid farewell to Taylor. We actually just said bye but bid farewell sounds better in writing.
Amsterdam......................was fun.
We left for Copenhagen four days later on an overnight train and arrived on a Sunday morning. We spent the day walking around the city, stopping at the royal palace, the royal observatory, the Tivoli amusement park, and the main shopping strip. We returned to our room to find that our roomates were four beautiful Swedish girls in a room for 6 people. They invited us to go to a jazz club with them, whic we gladly agreed to. Now, if you like jazz, you are lying to yourself...but we had nothing better to do. To make matters worse, we later found out that all these Swedish girls wanted to do was hate on America. Try listening to jazz while people with strange accents bash your country two days after the 4th...its lamer than a Chinese Symbol ankle tattoo. We quickly got wise and left these women to terrorize other men.
The next day we luckily found an opening to stay for another night, which gave us renewed energy to see Copenhagen. One thing about both Amsterdam and Copenhagen that we were astonished by was the amount of people on bikes. So, we took a page out of our Nice book and rented some. These bikes were nothing like your 5th grade Huffy...we´re talking basket up front multiple gears, handle and pedal brakes. We first rode to the Carlsberg Brewery which was about 5 miles outside of town. After talking to the recptionist for a bit, we were given free entry to the brewery tour and received two free beers at the end. The brewery tour was like any other but the free beers at the end were delightful. Drew and I then cycled back to the center square where we paid entirley too much for a small meal. This did not stop us from continuing our unofficial bike tour for another couple of hours. After returning our hogs to the rental place, we attempted to go out but the Monday night club scene was just not happening, especially with the outrageous cover charges at every place. Instead, we walked back to our hostel and fell asleep, anxious for the long trek to Prague the following day.
That is the Cliff´s Notes for the past two weeks...Prague blog soon to follow.
It was difficult to leave San Sebastian knowing that we would spend the next two days on the move. We caught a day train to Madrid to meet up with my friend Mark Ayala who could not have been a better host. Having listened to Drew butcher the language for the better part of a week, it was nice to be following someone who knew Spanish. More importantly, his place provided us with a TV and some much needed couch time. Rather than check out Madrid´s legendary nightlife, we decided to indulge ourselves in the favorite American pastime of sitting around while drinking and talking about sports (Read: Mark and Drew talked about sports).
The next day we woke up early in attempts to see everything Madrid had to offer in a span of only 6 hours. In order to make our night train to Paris we would have to pick and choose the important sights...but not on an empty stomach. Now, Spain is well known for its tapas...but its true hidden gem is the two-person meal bucket at KFC. Being the cultured travelers we are, we chose the later in the interest of time and money. If we didn´t feel American enough already, as soon as we each took a mouthful of extra-crispy, Bruce Springstein´s "Born in the USA" came on over the radio. Watching multiple Spanish men mouth the words made it all the more enjoyable.
Now to business. We toured the Palacio Real and its Cathedral which were both spectacular and unlike any buildings we had yet seen. We next moved to the Palacio de Communicados (spelling?) and the adjoining park which boasted several fountains and approximately 15 kodak moments if you are with a spouse. Drew and I just made faces in front of the nude sculptures. We also took enough pictures to convince anyone that we were in Madrid for 7 days instead of 1. And though we wished we could´ve stayed longer, we could not help but look with great anticipation toward meeting up with Bernard and the boys in France the following day.
The overnight train provided a relatively comfortable sleep on the way to Paris. We met a Columbian student travelling by himself, who caused a tremendous uproar with the rail staff when they caught him sleeping up in the baggage overhead. Other than that we slept swimmingly and rolled into the French capital quite early. After locking our bags at the train station, we set out to do in Paris what we had attempted to do in Madrid, check off all the notables...and take plenty of pictures. We started by having breakast next to Notre Dame which apparently adds heavily to the price. We then went to the Louvre to see da Vinci´s Mona Letdown as the horizon in a sea of Asian tourists. Continuing our walking tour, we climbed the Eiffel Tower and then walked to the Champs Elysées to see the Arc de Triomphe. Strangely enough, in this brief amount of time, we ran into: the Columbian from the train, Janic Noah (French Singer/Joakim Noah´s dad), and the two Australian girls we had stayed with in Nice.
Sadly we could not spend more time in the city because we had to meet Bernard at Orly Airport, who was flying in from his trans-Atlantic sailing trip. At Orly, Drew and I were each given a 25 Euro fine for not buying the proper transfer ticket. We tried to argue but the officer, a short man with tightly slicked-back hair (difficult fine to stomach), took his job entirely too seriously. We gave out the only money left in our wallets and jumped on the tram to the main terminal. Waiting patiently on the ground in baggage claim, I was suddenly kicked by a bearded frenchman hovering over me. It had been a long time since I had been kicked by a bearded frenchman so I was quite startled. Looking closer I realized it was Bernard who typically always looks as if he has just shaven. We greeted him and walked quickly toward the rental-car kiosk.
We drove back into the city and had dinner at L´Entrecote, a restaurant famous because it has no menu and only serves steak and fries with a special sauce. After recounting the first leg of our trip to Bernard and filling up on some decent food for a change, we started the four hour drive to his father´s house in Brittany. Bearded Bernard apparently drives like a maniac because we got there in 2 and a half hours and quickly went to bed. We awoke the next day to join Pierre and Heidi (Bernard´s Dad and Stepmother) and their German family friends. Since we only had one day in Brittany, we decided to have a traditional coastal French meal at a crepe and seafood restaurant. Though the food was excellent, it seemed to have an adverse effect on many stomachs at the table. About halfway through dessert, we noticed that Drew had been missing from the table for about a half hour. Naturally, Alex strolled to the bathroom to see if he was having technical difficulties. He returned quickly and announced to the table that he could not be sure if it was Drew, but there was an American man groaning loudly in the bathroom, as a line was forming out the door.
The group finished, paid the bill, and then waited at the car for Drew to make his glorious return. Looking quite pale and worn out, he squeezed into the car for the ride to a local Casino. First, we took a pit stop in a town called La Croisic where the seafood (and Karma for always passing himself off as Canadian) finally caught up to Alex. He ran into the first restaurant he saw which also happened to be the nicest. There are two things you don´t do in Europe, one is shower, and the other is go into a bathroom at a restaurant where you are not a customer. Nevertheless, he reportedly unloaded on this bathroom just as Drew had done earlier. Unfortunately for him, and whoever the new employee was, he only discovered post-wipe that this toilet would not flush. He was escorted out by the female owner and slowly walked over to the group, as we all laughed hysterically. Laughter quickly turned to fear after the restaurant staff discovered what Alex had done. A large chef came out the door weilding a dough roller which was our cue to begin running. Bernard did not run however...he simply walked over to the car, got in, and drove over to pick us up about 100 yards down the road.
We made it to the casino and all sat down at a blackjack table. Usually this story ends with all of us losing money, but, fortunately for us, it must have been amature dealer night. The poor girl dealing us cards could hardly count or shuffle and in total we each made away with 50€. Despite the metro fine, Drew and I were still able to leave with a leg up on France. We bid farewell to the group the next morning and caught a train to Brussels. From then on out, it would just be Drew and I.
We arrived in Belgium and for the first time had to take a cab because we could not find our hostel. The Germans had told us that all there was to do in Belgium was eat and drink. So, Drew and I decided to take it for what it was and do just that. After a traditional meal of mussels and fries in the city center, we wandered over the the city´s most famous bar, Delerium Café. This bar holds the Guiness record for most beers commercially served with nearly 2800 different types from all over the world. Fortunately for us, they were also pretty cheap and all over 6% alcohol volume. We eventually found our way to the strongest Belgian beer, Bush Ale which had a shocking 12% alcohol volume. Drew and I each had three and were both drunker than a 94-pound high-school female after prom.
We stumbled back to our hostel and passed out at 6 only to be awoken by our new roomate around 8. Taylor, a Canadian guy our age that had been travelling for the better part of a year, quickly befriended us and invited us to go watch the Eurocup Final with him and this Scottish guy he had met earlier in the day. I don´t know what it is about Scottish guys, but the one we later met up with was absolutely insane. We walked into a giant sea of Spanish supporters as he screamed Deutschland, after which he proceeded to rip off his shirt and climb a nearby streetlight for a better view. After watching the most anticlimatic final match in the history of the Eurocup, he somehow stole Drew´s shirt and left. Drew then took my shirt to try and go buy another shirt. In typical Drew fashion however, he came back 45 minutes later, still wearing my shirt, having been at a bar the whole time. "I got sidetracked."
We all woke up the next day with healthy hangovers and set out to see the city. Brussels is famous for having a statue of a kid peeing and having a church with a urinal on its side. Both were the most anticlimatic sights we had ever seen...So, Drew, Taylor, and I just decided to grab a quick Belgian waffle and head back to Delerium. While there we ran into Drew´s next door neighbor from school and her boyfriend who happened to be from Annapolis. We talked to them for a bit and continued drinking the strong beer...same outcome. We all went back to the hostel and passed out hoping to wake up for the late night scene. We all awoke just in time for checkout the next morning.
It was clearly time for a change of scenery. Drew and I had planned on going to Brugge for the day...so Taylor decided that he would just tag along. We all took a short train to this medieval town and quickly found a hostel. After putting our bags away, we took a must-see tourist map and started walking. This is supposedly the town where French fries were invented so we had no problem sampling the local cuisine. Afterward we spent multiple hours wandering through the cities many side roads and canals, looking at castle after castle. Brugge was the most interesting looking city we had been to up to that point. Unfotunately, this city is also primarily famous for its romantic spots...and now we were not just two guys, we were three. We left the following morning for Amsterdam and bid farewell to Taylor. We actually just said bye but bid farewell sounds better in writing.
Amsterdam......................was fun.
We left for Copenhagen four days later on an overnight train and arrived on a Sunday morning. We spent the day walking around the city, stopping at the royal palace, the royal observatory, the Tivoli amusement park, and the main shopping strip. We returned to our room to find that our roomates were four beautiful Swedish girls in a room for 6 people. They invited us to go to a jazz club with them, whic we gladly agreed to. Now, if you like jazz, you are lying to yourself...but we had nothing better to do. To make matters worse, we later found out that all these Swedish girls wanted to do was hate on America. Try listening to jazz while people with strange accents bash your country two days after the 4th...its lamer than a Chinese Symbol ankle tattoo. We quickly got wise and left these women to terrorize other men.
The next day we luckily found an opening to stay for another night, which gave us renewed energy to see Copenhagen. One thing about both Amsterdam and Copenhagen that we were astonished by was the amount of people on bikes. So, we took a page out of our Nice book and rented some. These bikes were nothing like your 5th grade Huffy...we´re talking basket up front multiple gears, handle and pedal brakes. We first rode to the Carlsberg Brewery which was about 5 miles outside of town. After talking to the recptionist for a bit, we were given free entry to the brewery tour and received two free beers at the end. The brewery tour was like any other but the free beers at the end were delightful. Drew and I then cycled back to the center square where we paid entirley too much for a small meal. This did not stop us from continuing our unofficial bike tour for another couple of hours. After returning our hogs to the rental place, we attempted to go out but the Monday night club scene was just not happening, especially with the outrageous cover charges at every place. Instead, we walked back to our hostel and fell asleep, anxious for the long trek to Prague the following day.
That is the Cliff´s Notes for the past two weeks...Prague blog soon to follow.
Thursday, July 10, 2008
"I Got Here Nine Weeks Ago and Just Never Left"
After a long night of glowsticks, heavy bass and solid dance moves Sean and I had one last day in Barcelona. We were forced out of our hostel at 10 am with spliting headaches and little to no money in our pockets. We ventured into the city square looking for the Picasso Museum and realized that once again we had no clue where we were. Running on only a few hours of sleep and a half bottle of water we decide we needed to rest and regroup. So we made our first attempt of the trip to find a place in public to "rest." We found some shade in a small little park and with all of our lugage on hand and we made ourselves some "beds." Now im not sure what the official bylaws are when it comes to being homeless but im pretty sure Sean and I were doing a pretty decent job at it. With backpacks as pillows and jackets as blankets we slept for a few hours and woke up refreshed and ready for our train to San Sebastian.
Now Sean and I both knew very little about this particualr stop, all we knew was that is was on the northwest coast of Spain and that apparently the surfing was pretty good. The only reason we were even going was beacuse a friend of mine, Alexis, had raved about how great of a place it was. We arrived at the train station and realized that this town may be the smallest of all the place we had been. There was no metro system, only 20 people at the train station, and very few big buildings. We quickly found our hostel, Olgas Place, which as the name says is owned and run by a Russian woman named Olga. She was blond, tall, and looked as if she had just finished a tall glass of Russian vodka. She showed us our room speaking in broken English with a think Russian accent and we were both immediatly huge fans of her.
Typically our hostels have been down a dark alley and have rooms with no windows, or sometimes if your lucky a view of a brick building. Not at Olgas Place, we did not just have windows we had a huge outdoor deck conected to our room. I opened the door to our deck to see a huge beach no more then a block from us and about 50 people in the water surfing. Now Sean is your typical surfing hater, he didnt want to try because there were too many people in the water and because the water was too cold, he had an endless supply of excuess. So I was forced to leave him at the hostel and go searching for a place to rent a board. I quickly found a nice little surf shop and grabed a board. I got to spend the rest of the day catching waves, chatting with people in the water, and getting some good sun. The water was pretty warm and the waves were only about waist high, but they were breaking nicley. The beach was a little cove with big cliffs of rock on one end and an inlet on the other. The majority of the people in the water were local and you could tell, they all spoke spanish and could absolutly rip on these small little waves. It was so strange surfing in a foreign contry, surrounded by people speaking a differet language, but all having such a great time out in the water, it was really special. I spent the better part of 5 hours having a blast in the water and could have stayed till sun down but wanted to see what Sean was up to.
After my full day of surfing I came back to our hostel to find Sean ready to go searching for some dinner. We asked the guy working the front counter of our hostel for a good and cheap place to eat, without hesitation he told us to go get the pallela from a little place called San Fransico. We got to the resturant and it seemed a bit more like a locals bar then a resturant seeing as there was no one eatting and only three people in the place. We were greated by the owner, he sat us down at a table outside, gave us no menu and two empty glasses. Sean and I were both a bit puzzeled, but we sat patiently wondering what was going on. The guy comes back with a full pitcher of beer and asks if we want pallela. We both nod and he runs off. We sat drinking our beers expecting the owner to come back out in 30 seconds with a plate of some old pallea that had been sitting around all day waiting to either be served or thrown out. But then 20 minutes go by and we start smelling something delicious coming out of the bar. The owner comes out with two empty plates and a fresh skilit of the most amazing spread of seafood and rice I had ever seen. Sean and I both immediately took turns serving oursleves the biggest plates of pallela we could imagine. The towering plates of rice, musscels, clams, conch, calamari, fish, and shrimp were quickly devowered. We were both in a sever food coma when the owner comes out with another fresh pithcer of beer, one that I am positive neither one of us ordered. We finished the other pitcher and were just looking to get our check, but at this resturant the customer has no say, its up to the owner when you can leave. This was no joke we went to ask for it and he told us he would let us leave when he was ready to lets us go. It has now been close to two hours and we were ready to get back to our hostel, but of course the meal is not over yet. This guy comes out now with a big bottle of some green stuff and three shot glasses. He serves the two of a shot and pours himself one. Sean and I take down the sweet liquor with the onwer like champs and we talk with him for a bit about how unbelievable the food was. At this point I am wondering if we will ever get out of this place, but the owner finally tells us it is time to pay. We were expeting the bill to be a serious dent to our budgets but the owner must have liked us because the total was only 30 euros. It has to be my personal favorite meal of the trip so far.
We got bak to our hostel equiped with a six pack of 9% beers and another bottle of 1 euro white wine. Olgas place was already rocking when we got back, there must have been 20 kids from all over drinking on the front porch and in the comon room. We walked in and were quickly thrown into some drinking game that I am pretty sure was created that night. It was a mixture of Australians, Canadians, South Africans, and Americans, all looking to have a great time. One of the Americans in partiualr was looking to have a good night and was making sure everyone knew about it. He was the quintessential highschool hero. After every drink he would finish he would scream something along hte lines of, thats number 5 for me or something like Im getting so wasted tonight. Sean and I had to hold our breath to prevent from uncontrolable laughter, the kid was kiling us.
The next character from San Sebastian could be one of our favorite people from the whole trip. As we are all drinking and sharing stories in the common room in comes a big dark Australian guy named Terik. Terik was the same guy that recomended San Fransico and the pallela to us so we knew that he was legit. We got to talking with him and he said that he would be off desk duty in 20 minutes and he would shows us the good spots to go out. Just as he promised right at 11 he was ready to show us a good time. Now all 20 slightly inebriated tourist from all over the world are following our main man Terki. He leads us to a great little bar with good music and the best drink specials weve had since we got to Europe. For one euro we were getting massive glasses of san gria or beer. Sean and I opted for the san gria and were throwing them back like water. We got to talking to Terki and he was telling us about how he eneded up in San Sebastian. We have learned over the trip that no one in the world travels like the Aussies do and Terki was no diferent. He came to San Sebastian three months ago to do some surfing with his friends. Apparently he missed his train that his friends got on and instead of buying a new ticket or changing his reservation he decied that he liked the place so why not just stay. So now three months later he is working the front desk of a hostel that he lives in, surfing when the waves are good, and of course being a party liaison for the tourists, what a life.
After a few too many san grias Sean and I found ourselves on the dance floor throwing down moves like we were auditioning for the next You Got Served movie. Everything we had we were putting down, and I would like to think that we were the best dancers there. By we I mean Sean, he was starting dance offs with anyone that would take him on and everyone was loving it. The night ended with me searching out some late night food, only to find that nothing was open so I was forced to purchase some chips from a vending machine. I thought they were just your typical Lays potato chips, not in Europe. I opened the bag and stuffed some chips in my mouth and quickly learned that these were not plain chips, they were Ham flavored. It was one of the strangest things I have had so far on the trip, litterally it feels like a regular potato chip, but them bam you have got four slices of deli style ham in your mouth. Sean tried one and immeditaly spit them all over our porch, I guess our taste buds just couldnt hanlde the ham.
I woke up the next morining feeling a little rough due to the san grias but it was nothing a little morning surf couldnt fix. So I went down the block and got a couple more hours of surfing in before we had to check out of our hostel. Olga was sad to see us leave so soon, she gave us some authentic Olgas Place t shirts and told us to come back next year. We did not want to leave our little paradise, but we had to go, in two days we would be meeting Bernard in his real hometown, Paris.
Now Sean and I both knew very little about this particualr stop, all we knew was that is was on the northwest coast of Spain and that apparently the surfing was pretty good. The only reason we were even going was beacuse a friend of mine, Alexis, had raved about how great of a place it was. We arrived at the train station and realized that this town may be the smallest of all the place we had been. There was no metro system, only 20 people at the train station, and very few big buildings. We quickly found our hostel, Olgas Place, which as the name says is owned and run by a Russian woman named Olga. She was blond, tall, and looked as if she had just finished a tall glass of Russian vodka. She showed us our room speaking in broken English with a think Russian accent and we were both immediatly huge fans of her.
Typically our hostels have been down a dark alley and have rooms with no windows, or sometimes if your lucky a view of a brick building. Not at Olgas Place, we did not just have windows we had a huge outdoor deck conected to our room. I opened the door to our deck to see a huge beach no more then a block from us and about 50 people in the water surfing. Now Sean is your typical surfing hater, he didnt want to try because there were too many people in the water and because the water was too cold, he had an endless supply of excuess. So I was forced to leave him at the hostel and go searching for a place to rent a board. I quickly found a nice little surf shop and grabed a board. I got to spend the rest of the day catching waves, chatting with people in the water, and getting some good sun. The water was pretty warm and the waves were only about waist high, but they were breaking nicley. The beach was a little cove with big cliffs of rock on one end and an inlet on the other. The majority of the people in the water were local and you could tell, they all spoke spanish and could absolutly rip on these small little waves. It was so strange surfing in a foreign contry, surrounded by people speaking a differet language, but all having such a great time out in the water, it was really special. I spent the better part of 5 hours having a blast in the water and could have stayed till sun down but wanted to see what Sean was up to.
After my full day of surfing I came back to our hostel to find Sean ready to go searching for some dinner. We asked the guy working the front counter of our hostel for a good and cheap place to eat, without hesitation he told us to go get the pallela from a little place called San Fransico. We got to the resturant and it seemed a bit more like a locals bar then a resturant seeing as there was no one eatting and only three people in the place. We were greated by the owner, he sat us down at a table outside, gave us no menu and two empty glasses. Sean and I were both a bit puzzeled, but we sat patiently wondering what was going on. The guy comes back with a full pitcher of beer and asks if we want pallela. We both nod and he runs off. We sat drinking our beers expecting the owner to come back out in 30 seconds with a plate of some old pallea that had been sitting around all day waiting to either be served or thrown out. But then 20 minutes go by and we start smelling something delicious coming out of the bar. The owner comes out with two empty plates and a fresh skilit of the most amazing spread of seafood and rice I had ever seen. Sean and I both immediately took turns serving oursleves the biggest plates of pallela we could imagine. The towering plates of rice, musscels, clams, conch, calamari, fish, and shrimp were quickly devowered. We were both in a sever food coma when the owner comes out with another fresh pithcer of beer, one that I am positive neither one of us ordered. We finished the other pitcher and were just looking to get our check, but at this resturant the customer has no say, its up to the owner when you can leave. This was no joke we went to ask for it and he told us he would let us leave when he was ready to lets us go. It has now been close to two hours and we were ready to get back to our hostel, but of course the meal is not over yet. This guy comes out now with a big bottle of some green stuff and three shot glasses. He serves the two of a shot and pours himself one. Sean and I take down the sweet liquor with the onwer like champs and we talk with him for a bit about how unbelievable the food was. At this point I am wondering if we will ever get out of this place, but the owner finally tells us it is time to pay. We were expeting the bill to be a serious dent to our budgets but the owner must have liked us because the total was only 30 euros. It has to be my personal favorite meal of the trip so far.
We got bak to our hostel equiped with a six pack of 9% beers and another bottle of 1 euro white wine. Olgas place was already rocking when we got back, there must have been 20 kids from all over drinking on the front porch and in the comon room. We walked in and were quickly thrown into some drinking game that I am pretty sure was created that night. It was a mixture of Australians, Canadians, South Africans, and Americans, all looking to have a great time. One of the Americans in partiualr was looking to have a good night and was making sure everyone knew about it. He was the quintessential highschool hero. After every drink he would finish he would scream something along hte lines of, thats number 5 for me or something like Im getting so wasted tonight. Sean and I had to hold our breath to prevent from uncontrolable laughter, the kid was kiling us.
The next character from San Sebastian could be one of our favorite people from the whole trip. As we are all drinking and sharing stories in the common room in comes a big dark Australian guy named Terik. Terik was the same guy that recomended San Fransico and the pallela to us so we knew that he was legit. We got to talking with him and he said that he would be off desk duty in 20 minutes and he would shows us the good spots to go out. Just as he promised right at 11 he was ready to show us a good time. Now all 20 slightly inebriated tourist from all over the world are following our main man Terki. He leads us to a great little bar with good music and the best drink specials weve had since we got to Europe. For one euro we were getting massive glasses of san gria or beer. Sean and I opted for the san gria and were throwing them back like water. We got to talking to Terki and he was telling us about how he eneded up in San Sebastian. We have learned over the trip that no one in the world travels like the Aussies do and Terki was no diferent. He came to San Sebastian three months ago to do some surfing with his friends. Apparently he missed his train that his friends got on and instead of buying a new ticket or changing his reservation he decied that he liked the place so why not just stay. So now three months later he is working the front desk of a hostel that he lives in, surfing when the waves are good, and of course being a party liaison for the tourists, what a life.
After a few too many san grias Sean and I found ourselves on the dance floor throwing down moves like we were auditioning for the next You Got Served movie. Everything we had we were putting down, and I would like to think that we were the best dancers there. By we I mean Sean, he was starting dance offs with anyone that would take him on and everyone was loving it. The night ended with me searching out some late night food, only to find that nothing was open so I was forced to purchase some chips from a vending machine. I thought they were just your typical Lays potato chips, not in Europe. I opened the bag and stuffed some chips in my mouth and quickly learned that these were not plain chips, they were Ham flavored. It was one of the strangest things I have had so far on the trip, litterally it feels like a regular potato chip, but them bam you have got four slices of deli style ham in your mouth. Sean tried one and immeditaly spit them all over our porch, I guess our taste buds just couldnt hanlde the ham.
I woke up the next morining feeling a little rough due to the san grias but it was nothing a little morning surf couldnt fix. So I went down the block and got a couple more hours of surfing in before we had to check out of our hostel. Olga was sad to see us leave so soon, she gave us some authentic Olgas Place t shirts and told us to come back next year. We did not want to leave our little paradise, but we had to go, in two days we would be meeting Bernard in his real hometown, Paris.
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
Growing Up Gaudi
After a late night in Nice with Chuck and BJ, Sean and I opted to stay up till 6 am to catch the morning train to Barcelona. Prior to our trip I was in contact with my cousion, Caitlin, who had spent a simester in Barcelona last year. She gave Sean and I a detailed desciption of everything we needed to see in Barcelona. For the majority of our stops we had gotten advice from people on places to see, but Caitlin took it to another level. She gave us a complete lonely planet worthy 10 page essay on the ins and outs of Barcelona, so we were expecting alot out from the city.
We got into Barcelona around 11 at night and checked into our hostel. While waiting to go out and see the city we got the oppotruntiy to watch our Turks spoil yet another certain victory in the Eurocup. They were down 1-0 to Croatia with a minute to go in the match and with a second left one of their strikers put a shot right in the top corner. Sean and I were jumping up and down, screaming TURK-E-A TURK-E-A. After our celebration we looked around to see stares from all the guest staying at our hostel, a little akward for a first impression. We told them our Turkey futbol story and then left to see the Barcelona night life.
Now the main drag in Barcelona is called La Rambla. Its a pretty unique places, there is a mixture of nice resturants, night clubs, bars, and shops. Oh and did I happen to mention the plethora of prostitutes and shady drug dealers. Being from Annapolis Md Sean and I are not all that familar with how to deal with these kinds of things. Litteraly ever ten steps there was a different guy coming up to us, all with the same line, "cervezia, marijuana, hashi, cocaine." This went on for a solid hour untill we finally decided we had had enough, we bought a six pack of beers and continued or walk through Barcelona. Drinking in the streets is a new thing for the both of us and I have to say it makes seeing a city a bit more entertaining. We finished our drinks and then called it a night.
Earlier in the trip we had talked about possibly going to Ibiza for a few days. Well the next morning we dedicaded some time to try and make this a realtiy. With the ferry right next to our hostel we thought it would be as easy as simply walking over, paying for a ferry ticket and then catching an overnight ferry the next day. We got up to the counter and quickly realized that our dreams of dancing with glow sticks to techno till 9 in the morning may not be an option. It turns out that most ferry companies do not run ferries to Ibiza on Sundays. We tried every ferry company in the area, checked out plane tickets online, and even thought we could ask some local Spaniard fishermen to motor us over on their morning fish. So now 3 hours later we had accepted deffeat and slowly began our tour through Barcelona.
Armed with our detailed outline of what to see, thanks to Caitlin, we headed for Sagrada Familia. Sean and I had both have been to cathedrals in the past, but this one was like nothing either of us had ever seen. The building of the cathedral started in 1882 and still continues to this day. The main arechtect was a man named Antoni Gaudi. Gaudi saw designing and building in a very different way then anyone prior to him. His idea was to have a cathedral that would be passed down from genertaion to generation, with each group contributing to their own part of the cathedral. At first we were puzzeled by this because when you look at the structer half of it looks over a 100 years old and the another part looks like its brand new. Either way, still to this day the builders are following the designs left by Gaudi and it is currently under construction. We paied the 2 euro to go the the top of the cathedral to get a better view of the city. The views were great, as well as the view of the cathedral. There are large colorful porcilan scupltures at the top of each tower and unbelievable stain glass windows everywhere. The journey down was also pretty interesting. From what I understand the hallways and stair cases are not designed for a burrly man like Sean. Walking through these cramped hallways and terrifingly steep spyrail stair cases really got our hearts racing. We were shaking and had sweaty palms when we finally got to the bottom. The cathedral was amazing, it was visually stunning as well as fun to venture to the top. We both agreed that we would hope to come back when the cathedral is done in its interty.
The next stop for us was the Parc Guell, yet another Gaudi original. Gaudi was litteraly the one designer and archetect behind most of Barcelona, everywhere you look you see things that resemble his unique style. He is one of the only reason why Barcelona is such a visually amazing palce, it is the only city of its kind that I can think of. We walked through the park and saw some more interesting designs of Gaudi. In the center point of the park there is a series of benches, all of which have porcelin designs on them. Each one hand made by none other than Gaudi. Underneither this center area there is a massive room full of coloums and a ceiling that is all blue procilin. It was like nothing I had ever seen.
After a full day of sight seeing Sean and I finished off our day with a dip at the beach. The beaches in Barcelona were a mix between the jean shorts and blowouts of WildWood NJ and the boardwalk in OC Maryland. Once again there were vendors everywhere walking around trying to sell just about anything. We got ourselves a few beers and relaxed in the fading hours of the day.
After a full day in Barcelona we had one thing on our minds, enjoying the legendary night life of Barcelona. We walked the main drag again and asked a few club promoters what a good place for two young Americans would be. Everyone we spoke to had the same response, "honestly I would not come to our place tonight because everyone is going to be at Sonar." We quickly asked around and found out that Sonar is not just another club, it is a music festival that happens ever year in Barcelona and has been going on for the past 15 years. We just so happened to be there the weekend of it. We did some quick research and found out that it was a techno dj festival that close to 60000 people travel into the city to come see, a mecca for techno fans. Knowning not a single dj or band that was playing we decided that it was yet another opportunity to get a real taste of European culture.
We got into Barcelona around 11 at night and checked into our hostel. While waiting to go out and see the city we got the oppotruntiy to watch our Turks spoil yet another certain victory in the Eurocup. They were down 1-0 to Croatia with a minute to go in the match and with a second left one of their strikers put a shot right in the top corner. Sean and I were jumping up and down, screaming TURK-E-A TURK-E-A. After our celebration we looked around to see stares from all the guest staying at our hostel, a little akward for a first impression. We told them our Turkey futbol story and then left to see the Barcelona night life.
Now the main drag in Barcelona is called La Rambla. Its a pretty unique places, there is a mixture of nice resturants, night clubs, bars, and shops. Oh and did I happen to mention the plethora of prostitutes and shady drug dealers. Being from Annapolis Md Sean and I are not all that familar with how to deal with these kinds of things. Litteraly ever ten steps there was a different guy coming up to us, all with the same line, "cervezia, marijuana, hashi, cocaine." This went on for a solid hour untill we finally decided we had had enough, we bought a six pack of beers and continued or walk through Barcelona. Drinking in the streets is a new thing for the both of us and I have to say it makes seeing a city a bit more entertaining. We finished our drinks and then called it a night.
Earlier in the trip we had talked about possibly going to Ibiza for a few days. Well the next morning we dedicaded some time to try and make this a realtiy. With the ferry right next to our hostel we thought it would be as easy as simply walking over, paying for a ferry ticket and then catching an overnight ferry the next day. We got up to the counter and quickly realized that our dreams of dancing with glow sticks to techno till 9 in the morning may not be an option. It turns out that most ferry companies do not run ferries to Ibiza on Sundays. We tried every ferry company in the area, checked out plane tickets online, and even thought we could ask some local Spaniard fishermen to motor us over on their morning fish. So now 3 hours later we had accepted deffeat and slowly began our tour through Barcelona.
Armed with our detailed outline of what to see, thanks to Caitlin, we headed for Sagrada Familia. Sean and I had both have been to cathedrals in the past, but this one was like nothing either of us had ever seen. The building of the cathedral started in 1882 and still continues to this day. The main arechtect was a man named Antoni Gaudi. Gaudi saw designing and building in a very different way then anyone prior to him. His idea was to have a cathedral that would be passed down from genertaion to generation, with each group contributing to their own part of the cathedral. At first we were puzzeled by this because when you look at the structer half of it looks over a 100 years old and the another part looks like its brand new. Either way, still to this day the builders are following the designs left by Gaudi and it is currently under construction. We paied the 2 euro to go the the top of the cathedral to get a better view of the city. The views were great, as well as the view of the cathedral. There are large colorful porcilan scupltures at the top of each tower and unbelievable stain glass windows everywhere. The journey down was also pretty interesting. From what I understand the hallways and stair cases are not designed for a burrly man like Sean. Walking through these cramped hallways and terrifingly steep spyrail stair cases really got our hearts racing. We were shaking and had sweaty palms when we finally got to the bottom. The cathedral was amazing, it was visually stunning as well as fun to venture to the top. We both agreed that we would hope to come back when the cathedral is done in its interty.
The next stop for us was the Parc Guell, yet another Gaudi original. Gaudi was litteraly the one designer and archetect behind most of Barcelona, everywhere you look you see things that resemble his unique style. He is one of the only reason why Barcelona is such a visually amazing palce, it is the only city of its kind that I can think of. We walked through the park and saw some more interesting designs of Gaudi. In the center point of the park there is a series of benches, all of which have porcelin designs on them. Each one hand made by none other than Gaudi. Underneither this center area there is a massive room full of coloums and a ceiling that is all blue procilin. It was like nothing I had ever seen.
After a full day of sight seeing Sean and I finished off our day with a dip at the beach. The beaches in Barcelona were a mix between the jean shorts and blowouts of WildWood NJ and the boardwalk in OC Maryland. Once again there were vendors everywhere walking around trying to sell just about anything. We got ourselves a few beers and relaxed in the fading hours of the day.
After a full day in Barcelona we had one thing on our minds, enjoying the legendary night life of Barcelona. We walked the main drag again and asked a few club promoters what a good place for two young Americans would be. Everyone we spoke to had the same response, "honestly I would not come to our place tonight because everyone is going to be at Sonar." We quickly asked around and found out that Sonar is not just another club, it is a music festival that happens ever year in Barcelona and has been going on for the past 15 years. We just so happened to be there the weekend of it. We did some quick research and found out that it was a techno dj festival that close to 60000 people travel into the city to come see, a mecca for techno fans. Knowning not a single dj or band that was playing we decided that it was yet another opportunity to get a real taste of European culture.
Friday, June 27, 2008
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.
...................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.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
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.
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.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
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.
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.
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