Sitting by the dock of The Bay

Tomorrow finally arrived and it is now today. It's 2 am on the west coast, 11 am to Paris, the rest of continental Europe, and my internal clock. I caught about two hours of sleep on the flight from Philly to Vegas and am now in the warm embrace of the fog, sourdough bread, family and friends.

I just got out of a shower I didn't want to ever end. I can't remember the last time I felt the need for that kind of warmth and actually got it. It's like quenching a whole body thirst.

But I had to get out. I've got a queen bed with my name on it, and I can hear the call of the dead geese that gave their feathers for my comfort calling me with their... swan song, I guess.

Over the next week or so I'll post pictures here, as well as links to more pictures elsewhere, so if you're still reading, feel free to waste more time at work while I remember the past 14 weeks of my life.

It's good to be home. Thanks for all your messages.
-zac

"The longest day of my life." - Jack Bauer

Update: No other flights from Philly to the Bay Area so we land at 1 minute to midnight (like the doomsday clock). Ah Phoenix, you're almost California.

In other news, we just ate a really good three course meal, Tor. And it was pretty cheap for Paris. I had Mousse de canard au porto (mousse of duck with porto), echine de porc grillee aux herbes (pork grilled with herbs), and creme de marrons chantilly (chesnut puree with sweet whipped cream).

I think I have gout now.

"Little kids who speak French are adorable"

Last day in Paris. Last day in France. Last day in Europe.

Tomorrow, the Paris Metro strikes, so that sucks. The once €2 trip to Charles de Gaule will now cost €18.

In better news, US Airways got back to me quick and offered me a two-hour stay in scenic Phoenix (airport) on my way home tomorrow night. I asked if there was a direct to San Jose or Oakland, but if not, I'll be off to SFO, via PHX, landing at just before midnight, or 9 am to my body. December 12 will be about 33 hours long.

Not really ready to leave the adventure yet, but I am excited to see people and do things familiar. Parting really is such sweet sorrow.

But, to paraphrase another writer of English words, if you are lucky enough to have visited Paris as a young man, then wherever you go for the rest of your life, it stays with you, for Paris is a movable feast.

See you soon America.

People let me tell you 'bout my best friend...

Soon, I will put you on everything.

We're back in Paris after spending two nights in Saint Marcan, a small village of about 500 people on the northern border of France. We stayed there to go visit Mont St Michel, a tidal island with a medieval town and huge abbey atop it, overlooking the English Channel. It looks like this: but cloudier and rainy.

As soon as we walk through the drawbridge, we run into Nick, an Aussie friend of ours from Lagos and Lisbon. Such random events are common and unsurprising to us anymore, so we just went with it and hung out with him for the entire day.

Last night for dinner, we went to the other restaurant in town (having gone to the first one the night before) and got handed free glasses of brandy by the barman/owner (an expat from Manchester) about halfway through our meal because he was toasting with the other expats in the bar/restaurant and said, "We can't leave out the Americans."

One of the Canadians gave Kate his card and told us to call him if we missed our bus to the train station and needed a ride. We didn't, but should have called anyway to save €3.

Two more days in Paris, including the Louvre tomorrow. You can bet I'll go to the bathroom Langdon threw the bar of soap out of.

The return of AWang

When I was in school, one day a friend instant messaged me. It was a Wednesday night about 11 and I was reading at my computer while he was at the Daily Bruin, getting ready to finish it up. He asked if I'd be interested in seeing Star Wars Episode III, which would be opening at midnight.

I told him that it was for sure sold out, since the theater in Westwood is kind of historic and really nice but he corrected me. He didn't want to see the first showing. He kind of wanted to see the second showing at 3 am.


I said that's crazy. I have class at 10 in the morning and yes let's go. It wasn't that full, and those that were there were more casual fans than the midnight freaks. Andy and I walked up, bought tickets, and sat down. Camping out is for weirdos.

We walked out of the theater as the May sun was coming up and went back to our beds (we lived near each other). He graduated a few weeks later, while I had another year. We saw each other sporadically over the years since, and frequently chatted on IM. He worked with Kate at the Daily News for a while, before they both quit to have lives that weren't made miserable by that place. But now, we are all in Paris at the same time doing Parisian things. Tomorrow, we do them together.



He's an amazing writer, with a dry wit that will make your throat hurt and your lips chapped. He comments frequently on my blog, and you can read his blog here.

Where do I go now?

I broke my compass. Just now, sitting on the stool checking my email. It almost made it.

Also, do you know how long a small, travel-sized can of shaving cream will last? Just a week shy of long enough, that's how long.

And how cool is it that the window from my fifth-floor dorm room has a view of the Eiffel Tower? So cliche cool. And they said it was just a Hollywood fallacy that every window in Paris opens on that huge glowing structure.

I don't know ...

I'm pretty sure I could go to Eastern Europe and buy a kid on the black market, skin him, and make my own gloves for less than €29. Course then I'd need cashmir and a sewing machine so maybe these are worth it.

"Muchas gracias, por todos los memorias"

Or, to use another quote from Bumblebee Man, "Ay, naranjas en la cabeza!"

Thank you Spain, for being wonderful. This has been my favorite country I've been to, and I have now been to all the countries I will be to on this trip. The food, the atmosphere, the people, the lifestyles, the weather even (it's 5 degrees C now in Madrid, but it's OK) have all been fantastic.

My favorite city is still Berlin, my favorite place is still Cinque Terre, but my favorite country as a whole is Espana.

I am off to the airport (or as I keep mistakenly calling it, the plane station) to catch a 5:45 am flight to Paris. Why so early? Cause it's only a penny (well after taxes and fees it's 20 euro, but still).

OK America, I'll see you in a week or so.

Ree-ahl football

Of the four football clubs I know, one is in Madrid - the others being Arsenal and the Manchester teams. So while in Madrid, on a Saturday, I thought it would be cool to catch a Real Madrid game if it was cheap enough. Spanish fans are supposed to go nuts, and I was going to miss the UCLA-USC game (which I now know we lost, ending our streak at 1) and wanted to be around football fans - even if it was soccer.

The home team was set to play Real Racing Club de Santander (just Spanish league, not Champion's), so I checked up on them to see what color I should avoid wearing so as to not look like a Racing fan (which they say as Rah-seeng).

I got a bit worried looking at that Wikipedia page because my new (and now only) sweatshirt is grey with bright green stripes. Here is Racing's away jersey:

It's been cold enough to see your breath all day long in Madrid for the past few days, so even I need to bundle up for a game that starts at 8 pm. "I may get killed at a Real Madrid game tonight," I thought. But I'd die warm.

Friday night I had been chatting with a few Americans who are studying in Spain, visiting here for the weekend, and I mentioned my thoughts on the game. Their faces lit up, because they had been thinking about it all day and we decided right then that it was on.

The four of us (Kate opted out - too cold, uncertain and probably expensive) set off for Estadio Santiago Bernabeu to find that all 80,000+ seats were sold out. But everywhere there were shady guys offering us tickets. Luke was leary, having heard horror stories about fake World Cup tickets, but they looked legit enough to me.

¡¿€30?! (which is the sticker price) No, €10, Robert tells him in Spanish (they all spoke better Spanish than I did, so I just listened and chimed in every so often). The guy, rather indignantly in Spanish, tells us we can go watch the game on TV for €10. Es verdad, so we walk to one of the other dozens of guys frantically trying to sell tickets to a game that started 5 minutes ago.

Four for €80? Yeah, alright. As we hand over the cash, two Spaniards walk by and one laughs and says, in Spanish, "You won't be able to get in." We don't get too worried (Erica did a little) and head up to the gate. We have to go in Gate D, which is half way around the stadium. The guy who tells us this starts to close Gate B.

Oh. I get it now. The tickets are real, but they won't let us in this late. We sprint and despite losing a KitKat from my pocket (give me a break, pocket), make it in as they're closing up.

We find our seats (well not really, we gave up when we found our section and just sat on the steps in the isle with the three guys dressed as Santa) and as I look around worry leaves me. I'm in a sea of green (but there was no sky of blue or a yellow submarine). We were in the Racing section. I fit in. Was welcomed and hi-fived as I sat on the cold cement for most of the first, and all of the second half.

Unlike the Bruins in the Rose Bowl yesterday, the home team won. It was a shootout of sorts, 3-1, with a lot of saves by both goalies and I was not at all surprised how much more enjoyable it was live compared with on TV. The hits were harder, the passes more impressive, and the shots more nerve-racking. But that's every sport, which is why I did it here. That and, come on, when's the next time I can see a Real Madrid game?

"You have now a second, or fifteen mother in Portugal. Is me."

I first met Fernanda getting on the first leg of our bipedal night train from Porto to Madrid. She was hauling a large suitcase and I helped her store it above her head in the luggage storage area by the entrance of the train, then continued on my way to my seat. I stored my bag over my seat and she happened to sit across the isle from me.

When I got up to ask the conductor a question, he kind of blew me off because he was busy (the most common responses Portuguese train employees give when you ask, "Fala Engliesh" are "Of course," and "No. Portuguese." To which I can't help but think, yeah, I know that, we're in Portugal). She overheard, then asked if I spoke English and what I needed to know. We didn't know when we should get off to catch our connection to Madrid, and after looking at my ticket, she told me it was one stop before hers, so she would let us know. We thanked her and all three of us went back to our books.

But then she asked me where I was from and I was intrigued when, after hearing that I am American, she said I speak English very well. Having never been complemented on my aptitude for using my native tongue in a foreign land, I asked her what she meant. Usually, she has a hard time understanding American accents, but I told her that I'm from California, so every American movie has actors using my accent (except for "The Godfather," of course, but she got what I meant).

When she asked if i was born in California I told her yes, but I knew what she was asking so I told her, in Spanish, that my grandmother was from Mexico (Fernanda speaks Spanish because, growing up in a villiage on the border of Spain, all the TV was in Spanish). She said I am "something like ice cream." Muy guapo. You can't really tell me something like that because I'll basically love it. This was all the more fun to hear because of the language barrier. Her Spanish was better than her English, but that was still better than my Spanish.

Fernanda, 46 with two children, 24 and 18, both in university, was on her way to a town just outside of Lisboa (Lisbon) to visit her boyfriend for the weekend. They met at a thermal bath a few months ago and while he is approximately the same age as, he is much better looking than, Harrison Ford, her favorite actor. I told her Indiana Jones is my hero and she swooned and said it was a pity he had to age. She sees all his movies the day they come out, but I can't help but think that she didn't make it to "Hollywood Homicide."

After chatting about her kids (both good boys - an architect and chemical engineer in training), my job, her job at EVA (the Portuguese equivalent of the IRS), my travels, and life in general for two hours, she gave me her address and phone number (I totally got the digits). "If you need something from Portugal call me or if you like to visit again," she wrote. I can stay at her place on my next visit, which, even if it's in a few years, is OK.

It's good to know that, should I suddenly and unexpectedly feel the need to run away from home at the age of 24, I have a place to go. Of course, it would be several hours and several hundred dollars away. But I bet the food would be great.

Of course, nothing can beat the food at my parents' house. And I'll eat that 12 nights from now. Unless I get stuck in Philly, that is.

My kitchen will be so cool

Cause I will have this butcher block. Also, Andrew (pictured here wth long hair) will be over all the time, despite being from Australia, and he will scream about necks and ducks and only three people in the world will laugh.

US Airways, probable retard

So I check the time my flight is arriving in San Francisco yesterday. At the top of the page it says, "your flight has changed," which isn't surprising since it has changed at least four times since I bought the thing.

First of all, thanks for telling me this time, US Airways. Second of all, I'm pretty sure my itinerary is impossible.

Take off from Paris at 1:10 local time, and land in Philly at 3:50 local time. My second flight was set to take off for SF at 5:55 and land at 8:55 local time. No problem there at all.

The new schedule has us into Philly at the same time, but has us set to leave town at 4:10. That's 20 minutes. That would be close on a reliable airline, which past experience tells me, this one ain't. Also, I'm coming in from a foreign country so I'd imagine there will be customs and things to declare ("Yeah, don't go to England").

Hopefully, all that will wait until our final destination, otherwise, I would bet money that I'm staying a night in the city of Brotherly Love, and you can bet money that I will go to Geno's for a cheesesteak if I do.

*Note: There are only two people I know who would fully appreciate the title of this post and neither of them read my blog. It's what the French trains are labeled with if they're running late, i.e. Paris TGV 14:25 probable retard 5 minutes. That means your 2:25pm TGV train to Paris is going to be 5 minutes late.

Rolex? Marijuana?

No. Stop trying to sell me stuff, guys on the street in Lisbon. I know I look scruffy, but I don't want your drugs. And I know I look cheap, but I don't want your knock-off watch.

Though this does remind me of a great story from Madrid. A friend wanted to find a bar where he knew almost the whole staff because he and his girlfriend stayed with one of the waitresses last year (couch surfing sounds so cool), but he couldn't remember where it was. So we go to the gay neighborhood (it was a lesbian bar), see someone walking by, and I am elected to ask directions.

I ask him if he knows where the bar is, and he doesn't but he knows where it would be. This is word for word what he said to me without pause: "Go up this street and go left into the plaza then cross it and go right you want weed?"

One of the funniest things I've ever heard, and it took me half a second to register what happened. Again, the answer was no, but thanks for the directions.

Yesterday, in Porto, we were booking a night train back to Madrid for tomorrow night. The guy at the ticket counter spoke perfect English, and as we debated among ourselves the merits of getting beds vs seats for the 10 hour trip (€35 vs €10), the man asked us where we were from.

United States, I say.

Where from? he says.

California, I say.

Then, with furrowed brow, squinted eyes, and a slower tone of voice he says again, "Where from?"

We both instantly know the right answer to that question. San Francisco, we say. Oh, OK, he says cheerily. Why, I ask, knowing what he wouldn't have liked to hear. "It's OK. You're from San Francisco."

Oh, LA. So hated worldwide.

No sign, you're supposed to tell me

You're the Hard Rock Cafe in Rome. You clearly cater to tourists who don't yet know the city. Why would you just tell me I know where to go, as if it's in the middle of the Colluseum? It's not there, I saw that. You are the worst sign in the world, and I've seen some bad signs (tune in here for photos in a few weeks of some awesomely bad signs). Never did figure out "where to go" and I could have really used a burger then. I've recently had a few, including one with bacon and pineapple at Nah Nah Bah bar in Lagos.

Surprises in Lisbon

Go figure, it's really nice here.

Today, I just walked around the town, digging the "vibe" of the city. It feels a lot like San Francisco actually. There are hills, cable cars, a bay/wide river, and a long bridge that is like a larger version of the Golden Gate Bridge. This isn't my picture (I didn't get in a boat), but I've got a bunch from the shore.



Down in Belem, one of the many neighborhoods I visited, there were a lot of castles and stuff actually in the river. There is cheap food galore and great coffee to be had at every turn. The weather is getting cool, but still warm in the midday. I love traveling in the fall. It is by far my favorite season.

The people here are incredibly friendly, especially considering the fact that all I can say is "do you speak English," "hello," and "thank you."

The next stop is Porto, then Madrid, then a cheap flight to Paris for the end of the trip. Sadness. And yet, joy. Hhmmm.

Don't fear the reaper

This is one of many photos from the bone church in Kunta Hora, about an hour outside of Prague. The building has the bones of 40,000 people on the walls and ceiling and in piles. The chandelier has at least one of every bone from the human body. The strangest room in the world.

I know I was in Prague a long time ago, but I had free Internet a while ago and uploaded a bunch of pictures (mostly silly or funny), so for the next 18 days I will write up a little story about them and upload them when I can, a little at a time. Then, I'll post a lot cause I'll be home.

Oh, Mama

On top of Thanksgiving dinner, Mama makes breakfast every morning. All the crepes you can eat, smothered with chocolate spread, jam and if you hate yourself, Vegimite (though Mama is quick to tell you that it is no good and she doesn't approve of its use on her crepes. Some Aussie must have left it out she said). Just now, after my shower, she actually walked into my room to see if anyone was still sleeping. They need to get up and eat because there are too many crepes (it is noon, after all).

There is a large movie library and a lot of people who like to watch "Entourage," "Harold & Kumar," and other awesome things on the TV.

Yesterday, I went for a swim in the Atlantic on a beach nestled in a cove of high cliffs. It was sunny, but not warm as the rain started to come down. I figured I was going to get wet either way, so I jumped in. Head bobbing in the gently rising and falling ocean, the surface was speckled with rings from the drops falling all around me.

Someone from the shore yelled to me, "How is it?" I replied with my typical answer to that question people always ask me when I swim in the sea. "It's not warm."

This area was believed to be, centuries ago, the edge of the earth. Three years ago, a young guy from Massachusetts of Portuguese decent came to Lisbon to visit his family. His brother told him he should go down to Lagos while he was there, and he did. The two of them, without ever having stayed in a hostel, soon after opened The Rising Cock hostel (named after a Portuguese legend and, well... you know). Now his mom cooks, his dad cooks (both are native to Portugal), and they all do whatever needs to be done here and at the bar/restaurant/cafe across the street. Such a cool family.

Turkey for you, and turkey for me...

I found Thanksgiving! In Lagos, Portugal, of all places. My hostel had, for 15 euro, all you can eat and drink dinner. The owner's mom, Mama, made turkey stewed with mushrooms, tomatoes, and linguisa (yes Narges, my first Portuguese meal, and it includes the world's best sausage), as well as mashed potatoes, rice with veggies, Portuguese pork, and a spicy stuffing that was fantastic.

There wasn't any pumpkin pie, but there was pretty good homemade tiramissu as well as other European sounding foodstuffs for dessert.

I must say that this is better than what I was planning on eating. I thought the best I could do would be KFC chicken and mashed potatoes (which, don't get me wrong, would have been pretty good).

For me, it is now Friday, the first day of the Christmas shopping season, but you all should have about seven hours to feel thankful as well as full. Live it up, Americans. The Aussies don't understand what it's all about.

Spain was amazing, and I will go back in a few days, but until then, I'll try my best to speak the local language here. It may rain tomorrow, but that shouldn't deter my trips to the beach or the end of the world (in ancient times, the south western tip of Portugal, as the farthest west point in Europe, was thought to be the end of the world).

Cheers to all. See most soon, and others soonish (or never, if we've never met).

More pictures

More from Dr Dillon:
For much of the 14th and 17th centuries, the photography of Kate caused quite a bit of debate in art circles around Europe. Some said her pictures were too tame. Others said they were too graphic, even sacrilegious. Still others said cameras weren't invented nor Kate born. But whatever you feel about the politics of the artist, you can't deny the tremendous impact of her portfolio and the beauty of many of her compositions.

Rather than start my own Shutterfly account to post inane comments that only about 4 people in the world would get (none of whom would actually care) I posted some comments here. They're in order, but not every photo has a comment. Don't bother trying to make sense of anything I say. Ever.

Justin is awesome I reckon.
So are Derek and the ice caves.
That's what she said.
Kaboom!
You used that caption twice.
I don't remember going to Oakland.
He really did spot me in the crowd. Best €1 souvenir ever.
Such a lame, cold, rainy Monday. Good thing we had cards.
How's your neck?!
It really did look like a dome though.
She was a Ducati Hottie.
I look great in that jacket. I should have bought it even though it's like two week's budget.
Sue la pon Avingnon (or some such French spelling).
Also, Rock Lobster!
She looked so pissed.
It's spelled "Laocoon and Sons." Wow. That was a first. Me knowing how to spell and you not.
But men in pink clothes are OK.
So much is wrong with it.
I agree.
No time for love Dr Jones.
I didn't know you took that picture of Jullian and I. I like it.
Spain is retardo too!
You ruined my first Paris Blog! (Also, what'd they call a Whopper?)

Photos

Where have you gone Joe DiMaggio Pablo Picasso?

Here's an art history lesson from professor Dillon, PhD in European museum visiting.

In 1937, the Spanish Republican government (not the fascists) commissioned Pablo Picasso to do a painting for the Spanish Pavilion at the World's Fair in Paris. He painted this:

which depicts the Spanish town of Guernica after Franco asked Nazi Germany to bomb it - a request that resulted in the killing and maiming of thousands of innocent Spaniards. The bombing took place on April 26, and this painting hung in Paris in July of the same year.

After Franco won the Spanish Civil War, Picasso let the painting hang in the Museum of Modern Art in New York with two stipulations: It would only be lent to them until the Spanish people had a democracy again, and at that time it would return to Madrid and hang in the Prado along with the other great Spanish artists' work.

Franco died in 1975, and MOMA gave up the piece in 1981 (Picasso died in 73) and it was hung in the Prado as promised (though MOMA was reluctant to get rid of such a high profile painting).

In 1992 it was moved to el Museo Nacional Centro de Arte Reina Sofía, a new museum that would focus on Spanish modern art located just down the street from the one Picasso specified.

The display is amazing, and includes photos of the work in progress and the small sample canvases the artist painted while thinking about what the final version would be. I was glad to see that unlike many other famous paintings, this one is not behind glass, which may be because there exists no piece of glass large enough to cover the whole thing. From the right side, where one of the two guards sits, I could take 12 full steps until I reached the left side by the other guard (Wikipedia will tell you it's 23 feet wide) and if I jumped I wouldn't come close to touching the top, which Wikipedia says is 11 feet away from the ground.

There is a rope placed to keep you about three steps away from the painting which I was happy to do since, as I leaned over the rope a little (it's only about a foot off the ground) I heard the buzzing of an alarm. I pointed at myself, looked at one of the guards flanking it and he just nodded as I smiled and backed away.

I was also glad to see the painting in a room free from the usual hoards clamoring to get a glimpse of famous art. For whatever reason, it wasn't crowded during my visit and I was able to stand at the back wall and see the entire thing unobstructed as well as get (almost a little too) close to see it completely.

See, this painting is a political protest. These days, it seems like artists are content to rub feces on themselves to protest the war or sit in a tree for a year because of CO2 output. Why has no one made Guernica again? There are so many Guernicas to be created.

Sounds de la calle

While walking toward the used English bookstore this morning I noticed once again that regardless of language, children playing sounds like children playing. I first noticed it when I walked by a playground in Berlin, and again in Italy and France. I also realized today that the siesta is recess for adults.

While standing in Maoz about an hour ago, eating possibly the world's best falafel, I heard a man say something to his wife in English. I looked over and saw an American flag on the side of his baseball hat and decided I had to talk to them. I coached them through the process of ordering and how to dish up on the salad bar (deep fried cauliflower, cucumber and tomato on my falafel? yes please) and we chatted about our trips. They're finishing two weeks in Spain tomorrow and can't believe how much more expensive Europe has gotten in the past 45 years. But they liked Valencia, which is where my train is going, so that's good news.

Hello worker bees

Happy Monday morning. Yesterday was Rememberance Day in Australia and Canada (11th minute of the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month = 1 minute of silence), so I assume you all are coming off a three day weekend for Veteran's Day. Good on ya.

I awoke this morning still in Barcelona with 30 nights left until I leave Paris for San Francisco, Mexican food, and all the sleep and hot showers I want. There's quite a bit more of Spain to see (and Spanish to practice/learn), maybe a week worth of Portugal to see and at least a week in Paris (I'm thinking a night train from Madrid, as unappealing as another night train sounds).

The weather is cooling off again. I've seen the first week of fall in three or four countries now and the forecast calls for cooling days on the Iberian Peninsula, but nothing like the cold we had in Italy. (it was 22 or as we Americans say, 71 degrees on Saturday. As the guy at our hostel said, he couldn't believe he saw someone wearing just a shirt in that weather). Ten days from now, Paris will be about 50. I can only imagine what it will be 20 days from now when I hop off the train.

Luckily, there is still more of the warm Mediterranean coast to see and tapas to eat before I have to pull the jacket and long sleeve shirts out of the bottom of my bag.

Mucho gusto, espana

Estoy en Barcelona, and I am surprised how much Spanish I know. Yesterday I was able to ask a woman why the Miracle Magic Fountain wasn't working. I am certain that what I asked could be translated as, "The fountain, is you turn it off?" She only laughed a little, but knew what I meant and told me that it is on at 8pm. I'll have to see it tonight.

Another Spanish couple asked me where this thing was. I asked, this thing? They said si, and I told them that I hablo solo un poco de espanol, I'm not from here, and I don't know what this thing is of which they are speaking.

Then at the market, a Spaniard asked me what that is, as he pointed to a piece of animal. I told him, cabeza. He asked of what animal and I told him "cabra." He laughed and baaaed like a sheep. Oh yeah, I saw a pile of goat heads at the market.

The Picasso museum is incredibly interesting and totally worth the €4. Most of the art is from 1896, which is only impressive when you realize that he was born in 1881.

I honestly think I could learn this language if I were immersed in it for a few weeks, which is somewhat what I'll be doing in the next few weeks. Athena, let's learn Spanish, then we can take on Spain or South America as bilingual siblings.

Mangez frais

We arrived in Nice at about 8 at night. We walked around in search of some nice, traditional Niçois cuisine (but still in our budget of course).

We saw some restaurants, but weren't that hungry really. Kebab didn't sound good, and neitherdid, after coming from Italy for three weeks, pizza.

So where did we end up eating dinner on ourfirst night in France - in the French Riviera, no less? Why, le Subway, of course.

Dear Santa...

... WANT! It's a Ducati Hypermotard. It is so choice. If you have the means, I highly suggest picking one up. I first saw it on the streets of Florence, then a few days later in the Ducati factory, which was super pimp. I saw them hand assembling the bikes one at a time! When I see you in person, ask me about the racist jokes our tour guide made. All the guides were Italian (of course) women; ours we affectionately dubbed, "The Ducati Hottie."

I don't get it

After subjecting ourselves to the lines to get in, damnation to save money, and the crowd herding over there, I stared at the floor of the Sistine Chapel for like, an hour and didn't see what all the fuss has been about.

I don't know, maybe we missed it.

And they say no photos, which I'd respect if I hadn't learned that the reason is Nikon paid for the resoration and now owns the copyright on the images. Taste it, Nikon. Besides, I don't see the big deal. I guess the floor is nice.

[note: credit to Kate for the joke here, but I egged her on as she formulated it]

Why I blog

Some people blog for the attention (I do it for that a little too), some for the glory (again, that would be nice), and others for the money (yes please). But when we met up with Kate's mom on her first night of her own European trip (10 days in Italy, first 2 in Rome), not only did she let us crash in her fancy hotel room (the floor was great, and free - complete with free awesome breakfast in the hotel we did not belong in), but she brought me a bag of the world's greatest chips. Mmmm... salty, spicy and sweet.

I'm huge in Austria ... and red

God speed little strudel

So, in case you didn't know, Kate and I led pretty boring lives for the past several months in anticipation of needing money saved up to come here and do what we're now doing. This entailed sitting on a couch fairly often, watching TV - including "Passport to Europe with Sam Brown."

On one episode, Sam found herself in Prague, as so many of us do from time to time, and visited what one of her guides called 'the best strudel in Prague/Europe.' Kate, ever the finder of things, found the place, which is nowhere near the tourist area ( it's in Žižkov, if you know the area. Sam didn't even bother telling viewers where it was, but someone emailed her and then posted it on some fan site).

So we walked there, in the rain to get a strudel. It was pretty good. I'd been looking forward to it for about four or five months.

A Nice day

So I've been in Nice. It's a place I have always had a faint idea about, but no real knowledge of beyond sunbathers and sandy beaches. I found out it's actually a pebbly beach a while ago, but just found out yesterday that it's actually not pebbles, but stones the size of river rocks. When laying on the rocks, it feels like a massage on your back but when walking over them it can be a painful experience.

When you listen to the waves here, it sounds different from every other beach I've been to (which admittedly is only in SoCal, Tahoe, and the Bay Area). After the soft thunder of the wave hitting the shore there was the applause sound of the stones lightly raining into the sea; which would be followed by another wave of light thunder seconds later. There was a French kid (I say kid like I'm incredibly old - he was only a little younger than me) playing his guitar nearby as the sun set to the right of the unbelievable view I was looking at ( or if you're a stickler for grammar rules like I'm not, the view at which I was looking).

We picked up a friend here, and she'll be coming along with us to Provence for a few days before heading to Barcelona. We may have to stop by and meet up with another great person we met here just a few hours ago, Bevan, who's living in Pou for a semester.

Here comes the sun

And I say, it's alright...

After rain for a long time, the sun came out for me on what would end up being the best day of my travels so far. Cinque Terre, and specifically Riomaggore (one of the 5 towns connected by the trail), is perhaps the greatest place in the world.

You wake up feeling great, make a quick breakfast and some sandwiches for the trail and set out on what would end up being a 4 hour hike. The sky is blue, and the wind is drawing wisps along the Mediterranean sea as you hike up and down the 9km of coastline that connects the 5 towns (and for fans of Entourage, yes, all along the way I kept saying to myself, "not in any of my five towns").

You get to the end and swim in the sea with a few friends for a while, then head back to make dinner with everyone in the apartment (that's where you stay when you come here, just an apartment).

But wait, it's Halloween, so you decide to celebrate, and Jullian, a guy from Tasmania, has never celebrated before so you go all out. All 6 of you dress up in whatever you can find (towels and bedsheets-I was Ceasar, complete with laurels in my hair) and go to the one bar in town (that's where everyone goes because in that little village with no TV and no trains after 9pm there are two choices, go hang out in the bar/cafe, or don't go hang out in the bar/cafe) and all the other Americans are there, dressed up for the occasion in similar costumes. There was a mummy, me, a Sheik, a ghost, and a girl in a towel (I tried to tell her to say that she was "getting ready," but refused) at first, but a few minutes later, more of the same showed up. So did a few pirate girls and a ghost bride.

H&M, solved

I just got my credit card bill and it took me a minute to realize that HENNES & MAURITZ is H&M. Go figure.

How to stay under budget

-Wake up early in Ravenna and eat the hostel's free breakfast of lunch meat, bread, spreadable cheese, hard boiled eggs and jam. Consider making a sandwich in secret to eat later, but reconsider because in the whole dining room it's just you and Kate. €0

-Take the train, which your pass covers, to Bologna. You walk to the train station. €0

-Hop on a bus to the Ducati factory. Italy never checks for bus tickets, so you don't buy one. €0

-Take the free tour of the museum at the Ducati factory. Touch/pose with the bikes, ignoring the bilingual signs saying not to. Hop back on the bus to the town center. Don't pay again. €0

-Walk the streets, and go in the basilica. Wait for someone else to put 20 cents in the machine to light up the fresco depicting Dante's "Inferno." €0

-Go to crowded pizza place and get two slices of cheese pizza and a can of Pepsi. Ask for Pepsi Light, but shake your heah when the woman says something while rubbing her thumb and forefinger together. Watch Kate eat her artichoke and zucchini slice. €5 total

-Find a gelateria. Have a few tastes of Kate's but let her eat most of it since A) You had twice the pizza she did, and B) You don't feel like gelato. €2

-Go in the first Italian H&M you've seen, but leave because women's clothes won't replace your increasingly hole-y jeans. €0

-Stop at random tent celebrating 100 yeas of Baci candy. Nod and simle as they speak to you in Italian. Take the free sample. €0

-Train it back to Ravenna. €0

-Go to gro sto for sandwich stuff for dinner. €9 total

-With leftover olive oil potato chips and Edam cheese, make world's weirdest nachos. (included with dinner)

-Go to bed. €15

The end is nigh

Today marks the halfway point of our European travels. There will be an extravagant celebration, consisting of a meal that isn't surrounded by bread and hand-held.

We're heading to a small medieval village today, so I don't expect there will be any Internet for a while.

There are, once again, a million people queued up behind me for the computers.

Highway to Hell

All the guide books tell you, 'line up for the Vatican museum early.' So what do we do, like the sheep we are? We line up early (also, we were up early and had nothing else to do).

We wait from about 9 am, get in the place at 11. We ask the guy selling tickets if there is a student discount. There is, but you have to be from the EU, or under 18.
Ticket Guy: How old are you?
Me (lying): 20.
Ticket Guy: 18?
Me (lying more): Yes, her too. Two please.

So we lied to the Vatican to save €5 each. That, apparently, is the price I've put on my soul.

And the worst part, as we leave the museum at about 1 pm, we pass the entrance. There was one guy walking in.

No line.

Under the Tuscan rain

Sigh. We walked about 4 miles through the rain. Then took the bus back (which we totally didn't pay for - suck it Florence train system) only to find that the sun came out 5 minutes later. Sundays suck in Europe because everything is either closed or closes early. Tomorrow, museums are closed, so David will have to wait until Tuesday.

Rome was great. More on that when people aren't queued up behind me giving me dirty looks. I can feel their looks.

Buon giornio

Italia!

After a week of not having Internet, I have Internet (as you may have gleaned from these words), though it is slow and crowded so don't expect much. Budapest was fantastically cheap and a very lovely city. Salzburg was a'ight. Then came Venice, which was a lot of fun except for when I got eaten alive by mozzies (that's what my Aussie friend called mosquitoes). I heard one buzzing around in my room, and no matter how much I thrashed about in the dark, I could not hit her, so I ducked my head under the covers to avoid having her see me.

One problem... I get hot easily and breathing under the covers makes me even hotter. So I tucked the sheet over my ears but just below my mouth. I shaved the next night to reveal about a dozen bites all over my cheeks, which explains the itching. Or is this just an elaborate story to hide the truth about my horrible acne? It's not. She got fat off eating my face.

I saw glass blowers on Merona, lace on Burona, and of course gondolas and tourists on Venice proper. At night, Venice is very nice and empty. Four of us walked the streets, getting lost, and seeing the sights devoid of the throngs that feed the flying rats in St Mark's Square.

So now I'm in Rome (doing as the Romans do). We'll be seeing Kate's mom tomorrow, which is very exciting. I really love meeting up with people. I've done it a lot in the past couple of weeks as fellow travelers happen to be in the same places I am at the same time. I may even see Kerryn (the Aussie who called my bites "mozzy bites") for a third time in Barcelona.

I'm so continental.

(Happy late bday Lisa. Sorry I didn't have Internet and/or wasn't in LA. Hope it was a grand affair.)

D'oh, a deer

So I can no longer say I haven't seen "The Sound of Music." At our hostel in Salzburg, Austria, they played it every night at 8. I stayed away the first two nights, but on the third, Derek was with us and it was always on when he was a kid because of his older sister (much like "Little House on the Prairie," Athena!). So when we came back from the Chinese buffet (quite a deal after a day of no food in the ice caves... that's right... ice caves) at 8:15, we wandered over to where the movie was played and sat near the front.

We didn't mock it exactly, but we managed to make inappropriate comments fairly regularly (it's hard not to... that's what she said). So I sat for 3 hours, watching Julie Andrews prance around Salzburg, singing songs that were vaguely familiar with children who apparently learned to sing in all of 2 minutes and a man who looked a lot like Kevin Klien. Then we returned other people's beer steins to the reception and collected the deposit they had paid. I made €2 just for picking up empty glasses after the movie. See, in Germany and Austria, they charge a deposit for drinks since you can walk anywhere with them (it's like Vegas). At the hostel, it was 30 cents, and a lot of the old people there (and there were a lot) didn't know or care that they could get a refund. I knew. And I cared.

Soak it!

Today, Justin, Kate and I went to one of the famous baths here. It was superfantastic. For weeks I've been sore, tired and ache-y. After a soak in a mineral bath, a 38 degree (all temps are in Celcius on this blog post) tub complete with massaging waterfall, normal swimming pool and 30 degree bubble/whirlpool swimming pool, 80 degree sauna followed by a dunk in a 16 degree pool (which feels ice-cold after sweating in a sauna for 5 minutes), I feel pretty good. That chain was then reversed before a shower and kebab.

Justin (a Kiwi who is currently on a night train to Transylvania) and I (Kate was outside getting sun because it hurt her to breathe in the sauna) met a guy from Budapest (a rotund man with excellent English who teaches at the local university) in the 16-degree pool who told us we had to jump in all the way under twice, then stand with our hands under the water line before going back into the sauna for 5 more minutes then plunging back into the icy deep (it was about waist high actually, but bear with me).

If you didn't Google it, 80 is "rest of the world" code for 176 degrees Fahrenheit and 16 is 65, which, after 176 feels like negative infinity.

It was a nice afternoon of pampering, which will be immediately followed by more abusing of feet, backs, minds and patience while on the seven-hour train ride to Salzburg.

Beauty

I found myself in Europe's largest synagogue today, which makes it the second largest one in the world. After going through the metal detector and bag search I've grown accustomed to when visiting Jewish sights, I heard something seeping out from inside.

Just past the door, standing in the back of this massive room there was an old woman singing. After a few seconds I realized she was just a visitor like me, but her singing filled the hall so that even the tour groups sitting down near the front were turned around looking in our direction. Her song was in Italian. Maybe. I'm sure it wasn't Hebrew and I don't think it was Hungarian, and after a few minutes a woman I imagine was her daughter, who was not dissimilar looking from my mom, led her slowly away.

But her song wasn't finished, and as she walked to the door she continued, in a slightly softer voice and met my eye through the crowd from 20 feet away. She sang to me. For me. I was holding my left elbow with my right hand and my chin with my left as she continued for more than 30 seconds.

Her song lasted for a few minutes and she got applause she didn't want when she left the room, which even with the clapping and resumed conversations was oddly silent without her voice. Her face is already fading from my memory, and I never knew what she was singing or why, but I can't imagine ever forgetting it.

10% 15% of Kate's pictures

[Note: Kate added more pictures since I posted this. If you didn't see me with the bones, check it again]

Seriously, there's free Internet and no one here to kick us off. I've been on for about three hours. Kate uploaded a lot of pictures from her camera. By the end of the trip, combined, we'll have about 7000 pictures. Mostly of funny signs and weird European products. Like Snickers Spread. It's peanut butter, chocolate and caramel swirls. Here's pictures from her lens, some of which were taken by me, most of which are of her. Flickr pictures

New Best Chip Ever

(I wrote this months ago, didn't post it, and just found it cause there's free Internet and literally no one here to kick me off the computer. So here it is. Unrelated to travel in every way. My life 6 months ago.)


Move over Nachos. Step aside Frito Honey Barbecue Twists. Good bye memories of Salsa Rios. There's a new king of the flavored chips in the form of Kettle Chips' new flavor, Spicy Thai.

The sweet combination of ginger paired with a spicy red pepper had chip fan Zac Dillon calling them, "ridiculously delicious." Dillon went on to question the chips' location his whole life.

The offbeat taste came about when Kettle Chips, the company known for almost stale- tasting, thick, crunchy potato chips, were dared to take on the flavors of "Thai cuisine's complex balance of flavor.

The chip is already a hit in the Los Angeles- based Allied division of Ascend Media, having been introduced to the company by the third- floor café early Wednesday.

It's availability in places that sell Kettle Chips has it poised to take back a share of the market that had been giving way to healthy, less flavorful snacks.

(Now I kind of want these chips. Sigh. I've been doing that to myself a lot lately. Mostly with ranch dressing and free refills of soda. And Mexican food. Double sigh.)

Zac: Now with 50% more pants

After a week or so of having two pairs of hole-y pants (both in the same, not great place for holes) I went to an H&M in Vienna for some new duds. They're gray, kind of plain, but now I have three pairs of pants and one of them only has the leg and waist holes. Sweet. I still can't part with my jeans though.

I used these new, holeless pants to go to the Opera in Vienna because I'm classy like that. When we went to the ticket counter on Friday, I asked the guy (after asking if he sprecken sie English) if there were tickets for the Saturday show. He said, "There are tickets for 157 euro, 127 euro, and 9 euro partially obstructed."

I immediately, and with the class only a man with a hole in his pants can muster (I had yet to purchase them), asked "How obstructed."

We'd be able to see more than half the stage he said, which is a lot more than half the opera I'd seen in the first 24.5 years of my life, so we did it. By coincidence, the photo from Wikipedia is practically from our seat. Had the photographer looked right, you'd be able to see the stage. Or at least, more than half of it.

The opera was by Puccini, and tomorrow night is La Boheme, but we couldn't justify staying in an expensive town with little to do for an extra two nights just so I could see the opera that we'd heard of (if only because it was the basis of "RENT").

"Manon Lescault" is about a girl who falls in love with a student but then leaves him (between acts, creating a jarring scene change) for a rich man. She then wants the poor kid and the rich man, has them concurrently for a short time (5 minutes probably) then gets arrested and banished to the deserts of Louisiana where she and the kid (who like a whipped moron followed her into exile) die.

Actually, he lives. But the moral of the story is: women should die in the desert? I don't really know. It was cool though because each seat had little screens the size of an iPod that displayed subtitles in German or English on the rail in front of them. I opted for English.

In Budapest now. For dinner I had pork with bacon and croquettes. So good. And cheap. I feel like a millionaire. My dinner was 1590ft (not long, that's their money). I also just bought a bottle of wine that cost 257! I bet it's a really good.

It gets dark early here because we're so far east, but still in the same time zone. It's strange, and since it's Sunday pretty much everything is closing down. Luckily, they have free Internet here and satellite TV.

For more information on the opera house where Mozart debuted "Don Giovanni," click the following link. The Wiener Staatsoper

Freebies!

In Austria, the going rate for Internet is €2 for a half an hour. Yesterday I found myself in the Austrian equivalent of a Best Buy and saw a display of Macs. Goodie for me, I thought, I finally get to touch a Mac again. Then I thought, this may have the Internet. It does. Sweetness.

So this blog is brought to you by the letters F R E E. We also just booked our hostel in Budapest and found out what time the train will take us there (11:52 seems like a good choice).

I'd also like to ask how much people think I look like this man:


I'm not being super arrogant or anything, and I don't really agree, but in the last 2 months I've had three (3) people tell me I look like Colin Farrell. First was the wonderful Frank Long, or FLong to his fans. But I blew him off because Frank always says nice things to people. Then in Raleigh, one of the groomsmen's girlfriend's, apropos of nothing, asked if I was Irish because I look like Colin Farrell. Finally, yesterday (or zesterdaz since the Austrian kezboard is like the German one) this British guy, Sam, we were hanging out with, leaned to his friend and asked "doesn't he look like Colin Farrell?" His friend thought so too.

Country Roads, Take Me Home

David is shocked that the band is playing a John Denver song. "To a place, I belong." West Virginia? How do they know this song? Those blond kids in the back. Gorgeous German people. They're all 15. They told me I was old. I mean, I know I am, but ouch German kids. Ouch.

Wanted: Beer drinker

Must be able to drink several of these, talk to locals, Prost to everything (including once to USC - if only to hear a Trojan give a hearty "Go Bruins"), tip too much, and sing along to all songs, in English and German. Basically, Zac found his calling.

Someone wants a new job

Beer maid wanted. Must be able to carry 17 of these steins at once, speak German, and not mind drunk people when you are sober. Basically, Kate need not apply.

Your town's name here-er

In Berlin we drank Berliner Kindl. A great beer that cost 65 cents for a half liter bottle at the gro sto. We went to Dresden with a friend from Berlin and at first joked, then actually found and drank, Dresdener. Munich of course has Muchener, so we were looking for Fussener. Neuschwansteiner is the closest thing, and assuming it doesn't break in my bag, I can show you the bottle in December. Or in two weeks since I'll be seeing you in Italy, Merryl.

Not really laughing...

More like scoffing in the face of danger. At least I think it said danger. I don't really speak German.

No dragons though

Castle Neuschwanstein (Lisa, translate that please) just outside Fussen. This was the inspiration for Sleeping Beauty's castle at Disneyland. Ludwig, the king who commissioned it, was crazy, but he had a nice house and was king, so that's more than I've got going. We met someone at our hostel and hiked about an hour up the Alps to get views of the valley below. We were incredibly lucky because the next day was raining like no one's business.


T

Freedom

These are some shots of the East Side Gallery, the longest stretch of the Berlin Wall still standing. For nearly 20 years local artists have been decorating it with murals, messages and whatever else they feel like. This is the side of the wall that faced the east and amazingly,the locals just walk by it without looking up. Notice your world people, it's the place to be.

Aussie Aussie Ozzy!

Hanging out with Aussies in Berlin, they took us to see an Australian rap group they heard about. Once at the club, they found out it was the Hilltop Hoods, the biggest rap group in Australia. On stage with them, they had a string quartet, which gave them an amazing sound. All the Aussies I've met since (which is a lot) are jealous that we saw them in a small venue for only 6 euro. I really love Berlin.

He's still cute, Colbert

Despite warnings from the Colbert Report, Knut is still cute. You may recall his story from last Christmas at the Berlin zoo. He's such a ham.

Berliner Kindls!

This was us on the pub crawl in Berlin, waiting for the U Bahn train, which we would ride but never pay for. On the right is Nicolas, a guy we met on our bike tour. With ruffled hair is Rachael (original Rachael from Melbourne) then with Kate are the Irish boys from Cork, aka, the boys-aka, the lads. Tall in blue is Chris, in white is Jon, and in Orange, I'm not lying, is Paddy O'Conner. The boys were great times, and the reason that I had an Irish accent at the end of the night. The four of us were planning on clubbing until 6 am. I think we only made it till about 2. Not pictured: New Rachael, David, Liz, Lawrence, Kylie and others.

Happy Anniversary Ma and Pa

I can be the first to say this since I'm 9 hours ahead of everyone else we know. The sun is shining here through one of those brisk clear mornings that reminds me of camping in the Sierras as a boy. It's 8:45 on Sunday, and for the past 15 minutes the monestary next door has been pleasantly chiming its bells, I can only assume in celebration of your 29 years of marriage. I can remember when you first told me that you were getting married, I never thought that 29 years later I'd be preparing to move back in with you.

I hope you two are enjoying your holiday. I hear it's clear and cold, but hopefully that made for great views of the valley and the sights. Thanks for everything, and I'd wish you another 29 years, but then I have to think about being 53, which I'm not really ready to do yet.

Here's a picture of where I am. Though this computer doesn't have USB, so it's not one of mine.

Theres so much that we share, that its time we're aware

Here's a Friday story to freak you all out.

So I'm in Prague (pictures of various things to come soon) and one of my dorm mates is from Ireland. She's moved here to do a year of law school and is staying in the hostel while she and her friend (who is down to the mannerisms an Irish version of Jed) find a place. She mentioned in conversation that she lived in San Diego this past summer, then today said something about when she was working at a surf school. So I ask, having partaken of and researched into a lot of San Diego surf schools, which one she worked at. Pacific Surf School she tells me and if I was being overly dramatic, I'd say I froze at the kitchen sink and dropped, in slow motion of course, the cup I was washing.

Really I say ef off (I swear a lot around the Irish) and tell her to log onto the web site real quick, cause I'm sure that's the one I went to (she has her laptop since she now lives here for a year). As she logs in, I tell her that I remember an Irish girl checking me in. I remember because she wasn't an Aussie, like I would have expected, and as many of you know I love and often adopt the Irish accent. Before the page loads I remember in vivid detail that she was the girl who checked in people, down that little street, two doors from the beach. I can almost picture the T-shirt she wore. The orange page comes up and it's confirmed. That's the page I used to book my lesson. She asks me who my instructor was, a Brazilian I say, then in unison we both say, 'Freddy.'

And the cup is now spinning on the ground and the camera zooms in on the manufacturer. Kobayashi. Kobayashi. Kobayashi. After which Chaz Palmentari chases after me and I get into a really nice Jaguar.

Does that not just blow your mind?

I reallz hate this computer

It's expensive (€3.50 an hour), the kezboard is German so it switches the y and z, and I got pictures on the computer, but can't open them to post for zou to enjoz. Oh well. Thez'll get up eventuallz.

I'm in Fussen and it's great. I hiked up and around Neuschwanstein Castle for some great pictures, which zou can't see.

Berlin was fantastic. I met some great people and had a lot of fun, and would post picutures of them and I, having fun, but I can't.

Sigh. More later. Oktoberfest tomorrow. I went zesterdaz, but had no beer.

"What do you think of the wall?"

I can't believe how much I love Berlin. We're leaving tomorrow and while I'm ready for the next place (Munich and Fussen!) this is the first place I've been that I said to myself 'I could live here.' Even though I don't speak the language. Though I do know the word for cheese.

I just GChated with Jared and told him that it's so cheap here, yet so rich in culture. I've seen live music here almost every night, been to museums and sights that chronicle the history of the world in the 20th century, and ate so much good, cheap food. I'll take a picture of the €1.19 bottle of German wine we bought at Aldi, the world's cheapest gro sto.

I don't know if I'll be online anytime soon because I'm going to rural Fussen till Tuesday, then I'll be busy drinking liters of beer in Munich with some of my new friends I've met in Berlin. I may post in the morning if I can't sleep. Have a nice Friday everyone, mine's almost over.

It's a start, Germany

This picture is boring. But every day, in front of Humboldt University they sell books. This is the sight (or rather over my shoulder from where this image was taken is the sight) where the students of the university decided one night to enforce the Nazi banning of certain books. It is commonly seen as the start of the Holocaust, as they were trying to stop people from thinking. The memorial in the square is very powerful in person, but I won't post it here. It is underground, through glass and hard to see, but there are rows of empty book shelves.

So this is a step in the right direction. Especially since it's a, you know, school.

No beating around the bush in Europe

I also grabbed someone's discarded carton from Amsterdam. It says 'smoking kills' but in Dutch so there are way too many Js and Rs.

Biking Berlin

We took the free bike tour in Berlin after we had a great time on the Free New Amsterdam Tour (same company). The guides work on tips (and actually have to pay the company €2 for every person on the tour) so they really have to sell the tour and can't phone it in like so many UCLA tour guides do (myself occasionally included).

The dude (and he was a dude, not a guy) in Amsterdam was great. Kind of a Mike Stephenson tour crossed with a Jed Levine tour. The girl in Berlin was also good, but I was less impressed with her. But she's not a native English speaker, so she wasn't able to pull off the clever wordplay. Either way, still a great tour that I highly recommend. And I know good tours, I used to give them.

That's what she said about waffles

If you get the title of this blog, congratulations, you've seen the Pumaman episode of MST3K. This is a true Belgian Waffle. We stopped in Brussles for about 2 hours en route to Amsterdam and had to partake. They're sweeter than the US version of the Belgian Waffle, and oh so much better. On Lisa's recommendation, we also had some fries, which were also fantastic. The best I've had in Europe so far.

Shit. I don't speak German

Don't get me wrong, I knew that before I came here, but I never realized how much I don't speak German until we got off the train in Hannover (a non-tourist area that was our first stop in the country). We stayed the night there in a super cheap hotel with pretty sweet bunk beds, but it was a humbling and frightening experience getting to the hotel, which was about 18 km away from the train station in a very poorly lit area. And by poorly lit, I mean pitch black in the woods, with only a hint of a McDonalds sign peaking through the leaves.

Sure, all the signs in Holland are written in Dutch (which is why I got us lost while on our bike ride) but EVERYONE speaks English. It was foregin language lite. Luckily, here in Berlin, when I ask, "Sprecken sie English?" people say "Not so good," which I feel is similar to when a Spanish speaker asks me if I habla Espanol and I tell them, "mas o menos." They at least know that I want change for a 5€ note, which is more than I can say for all the employees at the main train station in Hannover.

But it's nice to be stationary for a week here in Berlin. I unpacked a little, and actually went to the gro sto just now so I'm able to get my first home cooked meal in a few weeks.

(Special note: The keyboard here is way different. For starters the y and z are switched. Also thez have ö ä ß µ and §. I know what ß is; it's an ess tset, and it sounds like a double s. So Straße is pronounced Strass-eh, and means street to you and I. Look at me, Eich bin ein Berliner.)

God built the world: The Dutch built Holland

And they did it well. Though they lose points because all the buildings are leaning a bit sideways. Spell check says I spelled every word wrong. It thinks I'm Dutch.

Me, getting political

Me: Shouldn't there be something on top of the Parthenon here?
British Museum: NO. They belong here. Not in Greece.

I love England!

This is a traditional English breakfast, otherwise known as a lazy fry up. There is a fried egg, baked beans, sausage, bacon (more like Canadian bacon really) a grilled tomato that was halved before grilling, and grilled mushrooms. I got about halfway through with this one when I realized I hadn't taken a picture of it. Kate said "I was surprised you didn't."

It's pretty much the best part of the trip so far. I've had two now, this was my first and it was the best. I didn't think I'd like the mushrooms, or the beans, but I did. There was never anything left on my plate. Family, I will make this first weekend I get back to the states. I already miss it, more than I miss some of you. My true love. So delicious. Does want!

Me, respecting history

At Dover Castle. A 12th century castle that was converted into a WWII stronghold. It's as close as you can get to continental Europe without swimming. Or, I suppose, getting in a boat.

Drinks: a photo essay in three images

This is me drinking Bath water. 114 degrees, out of the hot spring that supplied the Roman bathhouse for thousands of years. It tastes like blood (cause of the iron).

This is me drinking a Coca-Cola with Orange. The soda is colored like Coke. It tastes like you combined Coke and orange soda. Or, pretty much like you'd assume Coke with Orange would taste.

This is Kate and I, in a pub in Finsbury (London neighborhood). The cask ale is good. I prefer it to the other two drinks on this page. Not pictured, my pint of ale.

Stonehenge: Pretty much rocks

Gaelic signs

I know what this sign is going for - same message in two languages. But doesn't it seem like it says "something something except trams"? Oh Dublin. Just speak English.

Splish splash

I'm staying in Bath. This morning at about 7 we hopped a train from Waterloo (in London) to Salsbury (an hour and 45 minutes away). This was my first train ride that I can recall, and I quite liked it. You know how on BART (or whatever your local mass transit subway system is) when two trains pass in opposite directions there's that boom? It didn't happen as we passed another train. Probably because we were outside in the English countryside and not in a tube under the San Francisco Bay.

The train was a Southwest Train, which amused me to no end. It's almost like a Mel Brooks joke, cause it's the cheapest possible train, and also the cheapest possible airline.

From Salsbury, we took a 20 minute bus ride to Stonehenge, which, of all the piles of rocks I've seen in my life (and that's a lot given my experience in construction) this one is certainly the most orderly. So British. The freeway is literally feet away from one of the stones. That's so L.A.

After that we mozied around Salsubury for a few hours - a very cool town. It's Saturday, so there was a farmers' market and a lot of cool stuff to see and eat for free. The bus ride to Bath was surprisingly fun. I got to ride through the English countryside (on the wrong side of the road no less) for two hours, sitting amazed at the Robin Hood-esque buildings and empty fields. Also, the Moby/Depeche Mode soundtrack made it like a music video. I'm trying to stick to artists from the UK or popular in the UK. The other day in Dublin, I heard a Mika song in a grocery store.

Tomorrow I'm going to go see some old Roman baths (thus the city name) and then hop a bus back to London for a few nights. The YMCA I'm staying at tonight (it's not all that much fun) doesn't allow USB hookups, but the Internet cafe aught to by my London hotel so there should be some art soon.

It's weird to be in a place so old. We saw one of four surviving copies of the Magna Carta today (hand written on lamb skin in 1215) in Salsbury Cathedral and realized that it's 4 times as old as our country. So, there's that.

I'll send emails and hopefully pictures from London tomorrow night (and I bet you all only ever read this at work anyway).

Beer Answers for Gwynne

Yes, the beer is a little bit warmer here than in the States (though not quite room temperature, just a few degrees warmer) and the cask style ales are pumped out, so they're a little flatter than typical American beer.

Honestly, I prefer the flatter, and because of that, I don't mind the warmer. It's pretty delicious.

First buzzed (drunk?) blog

It's 11 pm. I'm on about 2 hours of sleep for the second time in a few days and am now blogging after having a few pints (only like 3) at the bar next door to our hostel. I like Dublin. It's a pretty small city, so you can walk everywhere (at least we did today) the people are pretty nice (one guy gave us directions to the place we were going without even asking us if we needed directions). Also, Tor, I'm going to try to post a picture of Mr George Bernard Shaw's birthplace tomorrow at some point, but I don't know if I can a) find it; and b) post the image (though I'm pretty sure I can).

I'm going to take a little walking tour tomorrow (self guided) of an area I haven't been yet, and then that's it for me in the land of my people (or, my father's father's people) as I fly out in the evening for London. I am for sure going to one of those heraldry places, cause why not? How often am I in Ireland (so far 1 out of over 8,760 days of my life).

As for those of you who want a postcard from everywhere, despite my seemingly infinite resources, I don't know if I can swing that. Pick one. Or two. I'll see what I can do.

I've continued to jaywalk, which I hope will help me blend in with the locals. And let me tell you about the Guinness in Dublin. It's good. Though I think I can spot the reason why. In L.A., a bartender will pour you a "slow pour" Guinness for like, $12. That's where they pour a little more than half of a beer, wait a few minutes (not moments) and then pour the rest. Every bartender (including the one at Gravity Bar at the top of the factory) in Dublin pours it that way. They just know. I may have found the secret. Though, in all honesty, I didn't think the first Guinness I tasted was better than U.S. Guinness. It was good, and different, but not normal. Then I saw it wasn't normal Guinness. It was some new-fangled type (image to follow soon). Then at Gravity Bar, I had the best Guinness of my life. I didn't believe the hype, but it still got me.

The hostel is pretty nice. The neighborhood it's in is a cross between Chinatown and 3rd Street. We'll see how well I can sleep I guess before I make any final judgements on it.

So you guys are all at work (except Rima, who left about 30 minutes ago) and I'm about to go to bed. The roundness of the world kind of freaks me out. Every hour one of us mentions how weird it is that our friends are "just waking up," or "just getting to work," or "eating lunch," while we're already yawning and falling asleep during historical AV presentations.

Peace out.