*Whew* I am now done with all final exams and therefore officially finished with Spanish Lit (To be continued next semester), Early European History, and Colonial Latin American History. May the histories rest in peace and never never never plague my semester schedule again. Seriously. How is it that 2 400-level foreign language classes were a breeze while 2 100-level history classes gave me so much trouble? History is no good, I say. But it's over. All I have left is a presentation in my German class (gender roles in the Nibelungenlied) and then I'm home free.
Jay and I are moving into a huge on-campus double apartment next semester, so we have to move all our stuff into the storage facility of that hall. We're pretty much done though, so that's not particularly stressful. While I'll miss having an oven, I will absolutely not miss the women I lived with for the first part of this semester. Guh. In one case especially, I had to deal with pretty much the preppy/immature/spoiled type that I spent all of high school avoiding. And then we lived together. Lovely. Personality clash to the extreme.
On that note, next semester will be the first ever that I've actually selected my roommate. Honestly, I had great luck my first two years, and technically lived without a roommate last year, so a few duds were bound to come my way at some point... The residents of my old room were clearly they. Blah. I am, however, eagerly awaiting my return to Berkeley, especially since my family's new cat is probably the size of a small tiger by this time. Oh, and of course seeing family and friends will be wonderful. I'm also looking forward to a potential mini-road trip to Death Valley with Jules, which would be amazing if we can figure out how to do it.
For the most part, aside from looking forward to vacation, I'm just trying to get a grip on my senioritis and uncertainty for the coming year(s). South Korea is looking like a very attractive (and rather likely) possibility, as both Jay and a good friend of his are interested. This of course serves to re-spark my interest in Asian languages, so I'm back to making flashcards to learn Japanese and Korean. I have to say, Korean is a lot less complicated than the languages of its neighbors. I just wish I'd put in the effort to maintain the small amount of Korean literacy I had after my semester in Chile - after a year and a half of concentrating on other languages, I'll have to start all over by re-learning the alphabet.
Additionally, I'm excited to visit the art store this weekend to prepare for creativity bursts next semester. They're bound to happen... I hope. If not, I may as well try to find an off-campus job, since I have two free days during the week and I should keep myself entertained somehow. Maybe I'll just raid the libraries in the area and try to learn Italian, Korean, French, Japanese, Mandarin, Finnish, and Arabic. Oh, and maybe Greek. ^_^.
Honestly though, I don't quite know how I'm going to do justice to what very well may be my last year in Portland. My time here has gone by so fast... And while I regret that my time abroad precluded my ability to keep strong connections here at LC, the time I spent in Latin America and Europe was invaluable to developing the person I'm still in the process of becoming. At the least, I have some pretty photos. At the best, I have an infinite source of inspiration to keep exploring. And all the while, I haven't even thoroughly explored Portland and what it has to offer. Maybe in the coming months (as the sun begins to reappear), I'll have a chance to run amok through the bridges and streets of Portland as I should have by now.
Much love to everyone, and here's to hoping the holidays and the new year are wonderful. May we not get tangled in Christmas lights (though, if our cat does, I promise I'll pass the pictures along).
16 December 2006
06 November 2006
It's probably that time again...
Portland, Oregon
It has recently come to my attention that I am very bad about updating this during the school year. When I'm traveling, great, but when in school... blah.
So, here's your mid-term update: Portland is rainy. Shocking, I know. Early November and it's constantly drizzling, occasionally throwing in that extra "oomph" to make it actually poor. Fabulous.
Other than the weather change, what else has happened since I last wrote... Well, Carrie visited me for a long weekend during Fall Break (during which we ran to all the touristy places we could in the rain), classes started handing out paper assignments and exam dates, swim season started up (competitions), and I rearranged my room.
So I suppose in all honesty, there's not a whole lot to say. For the most part, I'm burned out and just wanting to graduate. I'm lucky in that, were I not to do any reading nor attend the majority of my history classes, I could almost definitely swing a B in both of them regardless. Which, given the ridiculous amount of classes already on my transcript, would not endanger my GPA or my Honors Thesis. That's pretty much where I'm heading now, as my first impulse is to curl up and sleep most the time and the next best thing is to slide through coursework. German and Spanish are easier, as the material is actually interesting for the most part, and reading it doesn't make my head hurt. I wonder if it is worrisome that reading in English has become a slow chore? Hm...
I'm currently wondering what to do with my life after graduation. Given the above paragraph, graduate school is out for at least a year. Additionally, as I want to travel more than anything else, the idea of going to eastern Asia to teach ESL is extremely appealing. That would take care of money, travel, cultural exploration, and work experience all at once. Right now, Jay and I are looking at South Korea and Japan (though the cost of living in Japan is much higher). Without CELTA or Trinity TESOL certification, Latin America and Europe are pretty much closed off. The Middle East generally demands a Masters, plus a whole lot of teaching experience, which neither of us have right now. Oh, and then there's the minor detail that my country wants to destroy/control all of the countries in the Middle East.... That could be a minor barrier. Who knows. Jay seems intrigued by the possibility of traveling and earning money abroad, it's mainly just a question of safety and reliability.
Strangely, I've been having dreams about Chile - not just when I'm asleep, but sometimes daydreams as well - images and memories flashing by and then I'm back to the here and now... I find it odd that I'm not getting flashbacks of Germany or of my travels, or even of particularly interesting things in Chile. Instead, it's a flash of the micro ride down Cerro Esperanza, a memory of eating at a restaurant near Stephanie's house while helping her to smuggle her empty glass coca cola bottle out, watching dancers at Aché Havana. Sitting in Haydée's Spanish literature class. Waking up in my room. Walking through the school. Getting lost trying to find my way out of the mall by Carrie's house. Riding with Carlos to pick up/deliver avocados, praying that his driving didn't kill us.
Maybe my mind's playing tricks on me, but the primary reaction I'm getting from this is a need to go back, to reassure myself that all these things were real. Will this happen with Germany in a year, too? Why Chile? Why now? I'm being pulled in so many directions, academically, physically, and emotionally... but I can't be bothered with classes, with grades, when what I really want is to go back into explorer mode... to witness the unknown.
For now, though, the closest thing I have is to fantasize - consider where I want to go and how to get there... or to remain in the nostalgia of the last few years - re-organizing photos, re-reading logs...
So much that I want to do and so little time and resources, but I suppose those will come eventually.
Staying in the present can, I suppose, be difficult, though living entirely in the past or the future would make the present cease to matter... and then I won't be able to look back at it when it's the past, right? Right. So. Homework. ...My logic may, on second thought, be flawed.
So, here's your mid-term update: Portland is rainy. Shocking, I know. Early November and it's constantly drizzling, occasionally throwing in that extra "oomph" to make it actually poor. Fabulous.
Other than the weather change, what else has happened since I last wrote... Well, Carrie visited me for a long weekend during Fall Break (during which we ran to all the touristy places we could in the rain), classes started handing out paper assignments and exam dates, swim season started up (competitions), and I rearranged my room.
So I suppose in all honesty, there's not a whole lot to say. For the most part, I'm burned out and just wanting to graduate. I'm lucky in that, were I not to do any reading nor attend the majority of my history classes, I could almost definitely swing a B in both of them regardless. Which, given the ridiculous amount of classes already on my transcript, would not endanger my GPA or my Honors Thesis. That's pretty much where I'm heading now, as my first impulse is to curl up and sleep most the time and the next best thing is to slide through coursework. German and Spanish are easier, as the material is actually interesting for the most part, and reading it doesn't make my head hurt. I wonder if it is worrisome that reading in English has become a slow chore? Hm...
I'm currently wondering what to do with my life after graduation. Given the above paragraph, graduate school is out for at least a year. Additionally, as I want to travel more than anything else, the idea of going to eastern Asia to teach ESL is extremely appealing. That would take care of money, travel, cultural exploration, and work experience all at once. Right now, Jay and I are looking at South Korea and Japan (though the cost of living in Japan is much higher). Without CELTA or Trinity TESOL certification, Latin America and Europe are pretty much closed off. The Middle East generally demands a Masters, plus a whole lot of teaching experience, which neither of us have right now. Oh, and then there's the minor detail that my country wants to destroy/control all of the countries in the Middle East.... That could be a minor barrier. Who knows. Jay seems intrigued by the possibility of traveling and earning money abroad, it's mainly just a question of safety and reliability.
Strangely, I've been having dreams about Chile - not just when I'm asleep, but sometimes daydreams as well - images and memories flashing by and then I'm back to the here and now... I find it odd that I'm not getting flashbacks of Germany or of my travels, or even of particularly interesting things in Chile. Instead, it's a flash of the micro ride down Cerro Esperanza, a memory of eating at a restaurant near Stephanie's house while helping her to smuggle her empty glass coca cola bottle out, watching dancers at Aché Havana. Sitting in Haydée's Spanish literature class. Waking up in my room. Walking through the school. Getting lost trying to find my way out of the mall by Carrie's house. Riding with Carlos to pick up/deliver avocados, praying that his driving didn't kill us.
Maybe my mind's playing tricks on me, but the primary reaction I'm getting from this is a need to go back, to reassure myself that all these things were real. Will this happen with Germany in a year, too? Why Chile? Why now? I'm being pulled in so many directions, academically, physically, and emotionally... but I can't be bothered with classes, with grades, when what I really want is to go back into explorer mode... to witness the unknown.
For now, though, the closest thing I have is to fantasize - consider where I want to go and how to get there... or to remain in the nostalgia of the last few years - re-organizing photos, re-reading logs...
So much that I want to do and so little time and resources, but I suppose those will come eventually.
Staying in the present can, I suppose, be difficult, though living entirely in the past or the future would make the present cease to matter... and then I won't be able to look back at it when it's the past, right? Right. So. Homework. ...My logic may, on second thought, be flawed.
12 September 2006
Senior year - what?
Portland, Oregon
So, I am now back in Portland, attending Lewis and Clark (properly) for the first time in 3 semesters... and they think I'm graduating this year. I mean, it must be a joke - I've only had 3 semesters of real school (by which I mean, on campus), and then 3 semesters of self-development and travel, and now they think I'm a senior. It's simply ludicrous.
But, silly confusion of my school's administrators aside, it's... interesting to be back. I'd say it's good to be here, and that would be true, but only a partial truth. In actuality, it's disorienting and hectic and stressful and exciting and draining and uplifting all at once. First off, unlike 95% of the students here, I had one month of vacation time, instead of the typical four months. Second, schoolwork is a daily actuality here - hundreds of pages of reading per week (200 for just one of my classes), frequent quizzes and papers and homework... quite a difference from the lackadaisical academia of Chile and the paper-based classes in Germany. On top of the schoolwork, I'm working on preserving (or in some cases, probably still developing) literacy in 3 languages, and on preparing myself for a successful entrance into the "real world" in less than eight months.
Less than eight months. That number seems so impossible to me, when eight months ago I was running across Europe with Jay, and eight months before that, getting my heart broken for the first time in Chile. Time is elusive and relative, if not entirely random (or a creative figment of our collective imagination). Regardless of this, they say that at the end of this year, I'm an educated adult and must therefore secure work or go about seeking to find someone to fund my perpetual education. As years of graduate school does not sound like paradise after my experience in Germany, I'm going with the theory that my resume needs some serious work. To this effect, I'm working 13 hours/week in the on-campus cafeteria, volunteer-managing the swim team, leading discussion groups in first- and second-year German classes, (hopefully) tutoring Spanish and German students, and working on developing a nice honors thesis for German.
This is on top of my four other classes. Theoretically, I will have a light class load next semester, allowing me the time to (a) really concentrate on my thesis and (b) finding a local internship related to my desired field of work. In the meantime, I should probably consider what that field is.... For now, it's all I can do to keep up with my schedule of classes and meetings and deadlines and practices, eating and exercising when I have free time. It's pretty crazy, but it's also so very RIGHT. I'm liking my classes again. I'm inspired to work for them, to care about my education.... And it's such a relief to find that I still have the ability to care, that I'm happy to push myself to keep it.
I was thinking today how strongly I've been influenced by my participation on the swim team in my first years here - despite never being one of the true competitors (that is to say, not one of the ones who was breaking records or placing well in meets), I always pushed myself and those around me to do their best... To finish the set, despite being behind, to test our own limits. I'm thrilled to find that I'm doing that now, as second nature, without even trying. And what's more, I'm succeeding. Yes, there are concessions, and times when I have to admit that I'm not up a specific challenge, but I'm constantly pushing myself, refusing to allow that bit of boredom (or in some cases, exhaustion) preclude me from finishing my reading for the next day, refusing to slack off at work, refusing to drop off the swim team completely (though I'm physically not up to the challenge anymore), refusing to do shoddy work when I can do better.
This is where I was going sophomore year. This is where I was afraid I'd never be again after Germany. And this is where I am now. Where I'll be in a week, I couldn't say. Quite possibly burning out just a few weeks into the semester, but very likely still loving it.
Pushing limits - I think my parents used to be upset about my inclinations to do this, but perhaps just because I was pushing theirs and not mine. Expanding my own boundaries, testing my abilities, endurance, and dedication... I love that LC inspires me to do this. And right now, where I am, I'm feeling amazingly content with my life. Despite having no idea where I'll be in eight months, and despite having a very imposing to-do list to still complete tonight, and despite having a lot of research to do this week, every time I pause (be it only for a moment), I'm struck by how really happy I am here.
Admittedly, much of this may have to do with Jay, who is serendipitously living right down the hall, or with the euphoria of being "back in my element" or with my re-discovery of the joys of a free gym/swimming pool, or with the gloriously sunny weather.
...But that doesn't really matter, I don't think. The point is, I'm thrilled to be here, doing what I'm doing. So, yay life. Now to read some German, some Spanish, some history, and to scour some German newspapers.
I leave you, therefore, with a quote that's been running itself through my head recently. And, although the song is in many ways depressing, I find this particular section inspiring and uplifting:
"These things we do to keep the flame burnin
And write our fire in the sky
Another day to see the world turnin
Another avenue to try."
-"Luck of the Draw" by Bonnie Raitt
Much love to everyone (here's to hoping that it's contagious).
But, silly confusion of my school's administrators aside, it's... interesting to be back. I'd say it's good to be here, and that would be true, but only a partial truth. In actuality, it's disorienting and hectic and stressful and exciting and draining and uplifting all at once. First off, unlike 95% of the students here, I had one month of vacation time, instead of the typical four months. Second, schoolwork is a daily actuality here - hundreds of pages of reading per week (200 for just one of my classes), frequent quizzes and papers and homework... quite a difference from the lackadaisical academia of Chile and the paper-based classes in Germany. On top of the schoolwork, I'm working on preserving (or in some cases, probably still developing) literacy in 3 languages, and on preparing myself for a successful entrance into the "real world" in less than eight months.
Less than eight months. That number seems so impossible to me, when eight months ago I was running across Europe with Jay, and eight months before that, getting my heart broken for the first time in Chile. Time is elusive and relative, if not entirely random (or a creative figment of our collective imagination). Regardless of this, they say that at the end of this year, I'm an educated adult and must therefore secure work or go about seeking to find someone to fund my perpetual education. As years of graduate school does not sound like paradise after my experience in Germany, I'm going with the theory that my resume needs some serious work. To this effect, I'm working 13 hours/week in the on-campus cafeteria, volunteer-managing the swim team, leading discussion groups in first- and second-year German classes, (hopefully) tutoring Spanish and German students, and working on developing a nice honors thesis for German.
This is on top of my four other classes. Theoretically, I will have a light class load next semester, allowing me the time to (a) really concentrate on my thesis and (b) finding a local internship related to my desired field of work. In the meantime, I should probably consider what that field is.... For now, it's all I can do to keep up with my schedule of classes and meetings and deadlines and practices, eating and exercising when I have free time. It's pretty crazy, but it's also so very RIGHT. I'm liking my classes again. I'm inspired to work for them, to care about my education.... And it's such a relief to find that I still have the ability to care, that I'm happy to push myself to keep it.
I was thinking today how strongly I've been influenced by my participation on the swim team in my first years here - despite never being one of the true competitors (that is to say, not one of the ones who was breaking records or placing well in meets), I always pushed myself and those around me to do their best... To finish the set, despite being behind, to test our own limits. I'm thrilled to find that I'm doing that now, as second nature, without even trying. And what's more, I'm succeeding. Yes, there are concessions, and times when I have to admit that I'm not up a specific challenge, but I'm constantly pushing myself, refusing to allow that bit of boredom (or in some cases, exhaustion) preclude me from finishing my reading for the next day, refusing to slack off at work, refusing to drop off the swim team completely (though I'm physically not up to the challenge anymore), refusing to do shoddy work when I can do better.
This is where I was going sophomore year. This is where I was afraid I'd never be again after Germany. And this is where I am now. Where I'll be in a week, I couldn't say. Quite possibly burning out just a few weeks into the semester, but very likely still loving it.
Pushing limits - I think my parents used to be upset about my inclinations to do this, but perhaps just because I was pushing theirs and not mine. Expanding my own boundaries, testing my abilities, endurance, and dedication... I love that LC inspires me to do this. And right now, where I am, I'm feeling amazingly content with my life. Despite having no idea where I'll be in eight months, and despite having a very imposing to-do list to still complete tonight, and despite having a lot of research to do this week, every time I pause (be it only for a moment), I'm struck by how really happy I am here.
Admittedly, much of this may have to do with Jay, who is serendipitously living right down the hall, or with the euphoria of being "back in my element" or with my re-discovery of the joys of a free gym/swimming pool, or with the gloriously sunny weather.
...But that doesn't really matter, I don't think. The point is, I'm thrilled to be here, doing what I'm doing. So, yay life. Now to read some German, some Spanish, some history, and to scour some German newspapers.
I leave you, therefore, with a quote that's been running itself through my head recently. And, although the song is in many ways depressing, I find this particular section inspiring and uplifting:
"These things we do to keep the flame burnin
And write our fire in the sky
Another day to see the world turnin
Another avenue to try."
-"Luck of the Draw" by Bonnie Raitt
Much love to everyone (here's to hoping that it's contagious).
22 August 2006
Back in the Bay Area
Berkeley, California
Interestingly enough, after returning from Valparaíso, Chile, Berkeley seemed sparkly and clean in comparison. Now, returning from Germany, I’m struggling to come to grips (again) with the homeless population, with the smell of too many cars, and with the considerable decrease in general prettiness (in strictest terms) from shiny Munich.
The other extreme is taken by Palo Alto, the suburb where I grew up. This rich community of Stanford-alumni or Stanford-bound is laid out by an oppressive city ordinance requiring every house to follow the uniform tree regulation of its street (when our house’s oak tree died, the city refused to allow us to plant a willow tree in its stead, as that would have destroyed the unity of Greer St.). The result, of course, is a very lush suburb (especially in comparison to urban Berkeley), further highlighted by the range of shiny expensive cars driven around by the locals (public high school students driving brand new Mustangs and Porsches? You’d better believe it.)
I always feel out of place in Palo Alto now. Partially, this is due to my frustration at having taken this extremely privileged community as the “norm” when I was in high school (I recall temporarily resenting the fact that my parents gave me the used minivan when I turned sixteen, instead of buying me a shiny new car like all the other kids). While I appreciate the education, opportunities, and friendships that growing up in Palo Alto afforded me, I regret that I was drawn into that culture without even knowing it. It saddens me that my parents had to deal with another Palo Alto snob as a child, when all they wanted was to give me a good education.
I now occasionally refer to Palo Alto as the “shiny city” (so named for the spotless streets as well as for the shiny new cars. Karin, our wonderful neighbor in Palo Alto, once said that it was as if there was a little old lady sweeping up after everyone in Palo Alto). So, if I mention it again (which I’m sure to do), you’ll know what I’m talking about.
It’s strange, associating “home” with Berkeley and Valpo and LC and Munich (well, Jay) all at once. Strange, and disconcerting at the same time. I feel as if I’m not really here. I can see my hands in front of me, and they’re cooking something in the Berkeley kitchen, but if I turned around, the Valpo dining room could face me. Or if I pass through that door, Jay could be sitting on the chair playing guitar. Or if I barge into the hallway brandishing a tube of toothpaste, I can wage a playful war with Rigel (my first year roommate at LC). All my memories are trying to coexist, to meld the places into the time that I feel they must have occurred in. In the space of two years, could I really have been in all these places? Plus the traveling with Carrie in Latin America? And with Jay in Europe? And with my dad in London? And with Julia to the coast? Realistically, it doesn’t add up. If everything happened “just yesterday”, then clearly they must all be in one place.
Either that, or I have a wicked-fast method of rocket-based travel.
In the time remaining in CA (about 1.4 weeks), I need to somehow (a) get my knee fixed by a chiropractor (b) get my yearly physical (c) make an appointment and get all four of my wisdom teeth removed (d) get a cellphone (e) somehow get down to Santa Cruz to see Leoni and (f) figure out what I want to write my honor’s thesis on.
Oh, and pack for my final year at LC. You know, seeing as my flight leaves on the first of September. Arg. Maybe I can finish knitting that haltar top and reading the pile of delectable for-fun books in that time too? And sleep? Sure I can. Maybe. Hm.
The other extreme is taken by Palo Alto, the suburb where I grew up. This rich community of Stanford-alumni or Stanford-bound is laid out by an oppressive city ordinance requiring every house to follow the uniform tree regulation of its street (when our house’s oak tree died, the city refused to allow us to plant a willow tree in its stead, as that would have destroyed the unity of Greer St.). The result, of course, is a very lush suburb (especially in comparison to urban Berkeley), further highlighted by the range of shiny expensive cars driven around by the locals (public high school students driving brand new Mustangs and Porsches? You’d better believe it.)
I always feel out of place in Palo Alto now. Partially, this is due to my frustration at having taken this extremely privileged community as the “norm” when I was in high school (I recall temporarily resenting the fact that my parents gave me the used minivan when I turned sixteen, instead of buying me a shiny new car like all the other kids). While I appreciate the education, opportunities, and friendships that growing up in Palo Alto afforded me, I regret that I was drawn into that culture without even knowing it. It saddens me that my parents had to deal with another Palo Alto snob as a child, when all they wanted was to give me a good education.
I now occasionally refer to Palo Alto as the “shiny city” (so named for the spotless streets as well as for the shiny new cars. Karin, our wonderful neighbor in Palo Alto, once said that it was as if there was a little old lady sweeping up after everyone in Palo Alto). So, if I mention it again (which I’m sure to do), you’ll know what I’m talking about.
It’s strange, associating “home” with Berkeley and Valpo and LC and Munich (well, Jay) all at once. Strange, and disconcerting at the same time. I feel as if I’m not really here. I can see my hands in front of me, and they’re cooking something in the Berkeley kitchen, but if I turned around, the Valpo dining room could face me. Or if I pass through that door, Jay could be sitting on the chair playing guitar. Or if I barge into the hallway brandishing a tube of toothpaste, I can wage a playful war with Rigel (my first year roommate at LC). All my memories are trying to coexist, to meld the places into the time that I feel they must have occurred in. In the space of two years, could I really have been in all these places? Plus the traveling with Carrie in Latin America? And with Jay in Europe? And with my dad in London? And with Julia to the coast? Realistically, it doesn’t add up. If everything happened “just yesterday”, then clearly they must all be in one place.
Either that, or I have a wicked-fast method of rocket-based travel.
In the time remaining in CA (about 1.4 weeks), I need to somehow (a) get my knee fixed by a chiropractor (b) get my yearly physical (c) make an appointment and get all four of my wisdom teeth removed (d) get a cellphone (e) somehow get down to Santa Cruz to see Leoni and (f) figure out what I want to write my honor’s thesis on.
Oh, and pack for my final year at LC. You know, seeing as my flight leaves on the first of September. Arg. Maybe I can finish knitting that haltar top and reading the pile of delectable for-fun books in that time too? And sleep? Sure I can. Maybe. Hm.
Desolation Wilderness trek of doom
Desolation Wilderness, California
As we have done every year since… well, since I started college, my mom and I (and Julia as of last year) go on a summer backpacking trip for a long weekend. Two years ago it was to Butano State Park near Pescadero (Californian coast), last year it was to Five Lake Basin within Tahoe National Forest (Northern Lake Tahoe), and this year it was to Desolation Wilderness, in Southern Lake Tahoe. First let me state that “Desolation” refers not to the dearth of people (the trail was in fact a disturbingly popular one), but to the plethora of granite slabs that we had to traverse in our trip. Lovely.
For anyone who knows the area and/or cares, our planned trip was to go from Bayview at Emerald Bay over Maggie’s pass (a horribly steep climb when you’re just getting used to the feel of your equipment and the altitude increase from the Bay Area), and down to Dick’s Lake to camp the first night. We did this without dying, so “Success!”. The next day, we made our way up Dick’s Pass (during which Julia’s feet blistered over and I became increasingly dizzy as we gained altitude), down the “Scenic Route” (to be fair – quite pretty views), and on to Gilmore Lake for lunch, and then to either Heather Lake or neighboring Aloha lake to camp. We decided to push past both lakes, over Mosquito Pass, to Clyde’s Lake for the night instead. This would have been fine, but I had accidentally not moved my Arch support/insoles from my running shoes to my hiking boots, so my feet (and, soon after, my knees) were in intense pain for the later portion of this hike. Additionally, Clyde Lake did not offer much in the way of campsites, and we pitched our tent between a family with 2 cute little girls and 2 llamas (what?!) and a pair of older men who were attempting to fish on the lake. Both of these groups were within 15 feet of our tent.
The next day, tired and sore, but also not enjoying the trip as much as we had in the last year, we decided to do the last two days’ worth of hiking in one day, marching about 10 miles of steady flatland at a fast pace (barring the frequent river crossings, where everyone but me slipped at least once) and then had to climb up for pretty much the rest of the trip, most of which was over granite and in direct sunlight. At the end, we had to go back down from Maggie’s pass (a downward slope that Julia veritably skipped through, while my mom and I leaned on our poles and coaxed our crappy knees to make a snail’s pace). In the end, we finished the hike a day early, got a reward of being able to wash our hair in the closest public bathroom (at the ranger station), massage our miserable feet, and head off towards home, in search of food on the way (and non-iodized water, of course!)
Now, however, two weeks after our trip of some-glory-but-mostly-mosquito-bites, my knee still isn’t properly aligned, but rather clicking at every move (and aching whether or not I move it). Seriously, who decided that a 21-year-old woman should suddenly inherit an 80-year-old body? This is just silly.
For anyone who knows the area and/or cares, our planned trip was to go from Bayview at Emerald Bay over Maggie’s pass (a horribly steep climb when you’re just getting used to the feel of your equipment and the altitude increase from the Bay Area), and down to Dick’s Lake to camp the first night. We did this without dying, so “Success!”. The next day, we made our way up Dick’s Pass (during which Julia’s feet blistered over and I became increasingly dizzy as we gained altitude), down the “Scenic Route” (to be fair – quite pretty views), and on to Gilmore Lake for lunch, and then to either Heather Lake or neighboring Aloha lake to camp. We decided to push past both lakes, over Mosquito Pass, to Clyde’s Lake for the night instead. This would have been fine, but I had accidentally not moved my Arch support/insoles from my running shoes to my hiking boots, so my feet (and, soon after, my knees) were in intense pain for the later portion of this hike. Additionally, Clyde Lake did not offer much in the way of campsites, and we pitched our tent between a family with 2 cute little girls and 2 llamas (what?!) and a pair of older men who were attempting to fish on the lake. Both of these groups were within 15 feet of our tent.
The next day, tired and sore, but also not enjoying the trip as much as we had in the last year, we decided to do the last two days’ worth of hiking in one day, marching about 10 miles of steady flatland at a fast pace (barring the frequent river crossings, where everyone but me slipped at least once) and then had to climb up for pretty much the rest of the trip, most of which was over granite and in direct sunlight. At the end, we had to go back down from Maggie’s pass (a downward slope that Julia veritably skipped through, while my mom and I leaned on our poles and coaxed our crappy knees to make a snail’s pace). In the end, we finished the hike a day early, got a reward of being able to wash our hair in the closest public bathroom (at the ranger station), massage our miserable feet, and head off towards home, in search of food on the way (and non-iodized water, of course!)
Now, however, two weeks after our trip of some-glory-but-mostly-mosquito-bites, my knee still isn’t properly aligned, but rather clicking at every move (and aching whether or not I move it). Seriously, who decided that a 21-year-old woman should suddenly inherit an 80-year-old body? This is just silly.
A slightly-less-biased review of my year in Munich
Berkeley, California
Now that I’ve been in the states for about three weeks, it seems time to re-examine my experience in Munich. I stand by the statement that Bavarians in Munich are simply unkind and not at all patient with foreigners who do not have perfect Bavarian accents, which seems strange for a city that is over 40% comprised of foreigners.
Additionally, I maintain that the quintessential German pastimes of drinking beer, eating processed meat, and smoking do not appeal to me, and cannot possibly be good for their health. Nor can, for that matter, the orangish skin tone that locals are so wont to achieve through their many hours of sunbathing in the English Gardens. I also loved the English Gardens above all other places in Munich, but sun screen is always a requisite for lying in the grass for hours at a time in the summer. It’s a wonder that no one notices when their skin progresses from “healthy tan” (oxymoron though that is) to a strange rubbery orange. Oh well.
Furthermore, the school system really did suck. For a school ranked as one of the best in Europe, it was shocking to note how little work was actually involved in the classes. The grade was based upon a single test or a single paper, following a semester in which the students would lead the class every day by giving a dry, monotonous, memorized presentation for the hour and a half of class. Only the really good professors gave any input at all. Most just sort of checked of days as the semester progressed.
However, to be fair, I gained a lot from my time in Germany. For all the depression and frustration and insecurity that Munich bestowed upon me, my time there also gave me a chance to get to know Jay better. Even to the point of having our relationship develop into one of the closest and most honest friendships I’ve ever had, as well as what has become by far the most loving relationship I’ve experienced (not that there’s a whole lot of room for comparison, but still). Jay alone has far outweighed the negative aspects of my time in Germany, and I really cannot stress enough the fact that, despite how frustrated I may have been with Germans, I do not regret my time spent in Munich.
In addition to my Jay, there was of course the added bonus of being in Europe, and therefore able to travel through various cultures in a relatively short distance and with reasonable ease. Every one of the countries I visited (possibly excepting Swizerland because Geneva was ridiculous) was a unique and treasured experience. From our struggles to purchase food and train tickets in Bulgaria without speaking a word of the native language, to trying snails in Paris, to the eye-opening experiences of pushing my cultural boundaries in Turkey and Morocco, the traveling I was able to do in Europe was simply amazing. And it resulted, of course, in a greater lust for travel – once I discovered that Morocco and Turkey were not the bastions of American-hategroups that our guides had implied, the list of “reasonable/safe travel destinations” increased dramatically.
So despite the depressing winter and the unfriendly locals, despite the detrimental effect on my respect for academia, and despite my personal distaste of the local cuisine (and air), this year in Europe was in many ways a productive experience. Still, were I to move to a German-speaking city again, I would opt for Vienna over Munich.
Additionally, I maintain that the quintessential German pastimes of drinking beer, eating processed meat, and smoking do not appeal to me, and cannot possibly be good for their health. Nor can, for that matter, the orangish skin tone that locals are so wont to achieve through their many hours of sunbathing in the English Gardens. I also loved the English Gardens above all other places in Munich, but sun screen is always a requisite for lying in the grass for hours at a time in the summer. It’s a wonder that no one notices when their skin progresses from “healthy tan” (oxymoron though that is) to a strange rubbery orange. Oh well.
Furthermore, the school system really did suck. For a school ranked as one of the best in Europe, it was shocking to note how little work was actually involved in the classes. The grade was based upon a single test or a single paper, following a semester in which the students would lead the class every day by giving a dry, monotonous, memorized presentation for the hour and a half of class. Only the really good professors gave any input at all. Most just sort of checked of days as the semester progressed.
However, to be fair, I gained a lot from my time in Germany. For all the depression and frustration and insecurity that Munich bestowed upon me, my time there also gave me a chance to get to know Jay better. Even to the point of having our relationship develop into one of the closest and most honest friendships I’ve ever had, as well as what has become by far the most loving relationship I’ve experienced (not that there’s a whole lot of room for comparison, but still). Jay alone has far outweighed the negative aspects of my time in Germany, and I really cannot stress enough the fact that, despite how frustrated I may have been with Germans, I do not regret my time spent in Munich.
In addition to my Jay, there was of course the added bonus of being in Europe, and therefore able to travel through various cultures in a relatively short distance and with reasonable ease. Every one of the countries I visited (possibly excepting Swizerland because Geneva was ridiculous) was a unique and treasured experience. From our struggles to purchase food and train tickets in Bulgaria without speaking a word of the native language, to trying snails in Paris, to the eye-opening experiences of pushing my cultural boundaries in Turkey and Morocco, the traveling I was able to do in Europe was simply amazing. And it resulted, of course, in a greater lust for travel – once I discovered that Morocco and Turkey were not the bastions of American-hategroups that our guides had implied, the list of “reasonable/safe travel destinations” increased dramatically.
So despite the depressing winter and the unfriendly locals, despite the detrimental effect on my respect for academia, and despite my personal distaste of the local cuisine (and air), this year in Europe was in many ways a productive experience. Still, were I to move to a German-speaking city again, I would opt for Vienna over Munich.
31 July 2006
Uuuuugh.
Berkeley, California
Oh my god I'm home.
And jetlagged, after 3 legs of sleepless, stressful flights.
more on this tomorrow.
Californian air is the best thing ever.
And jetlagged, after 3 legs of sleepless, stressful flights.
more on this tomorrow.
Californian air is the best thing ever.
25 July 2006
I wanna go home!
München, Deutschland
Yeah yeah. bitch moan, i know. Still, I have pretty much had it with Germany and all its Germans (and non-Germans). The whole place smells like an ash tray, all of Munich is overpriced (for a relative drop in quality from the rest of the world), technological advances seemed to have passed Bavaria by (cash-register AND a scale in a grocery store? ridiculous! You must weigh all your produce before hand. But only those that are sold by the kilo. some of them are marked. others are not. many are marked incorrectly. BUT, if you weight it and it is pro Stuck (by the piece), the cashier will think you're an idiot. ... S/He will, in fact, also think you're an idiot if you (a) do not have exact change (b) DIDN'T weigh something that you should have, or (c) don't speak with a perfect Bavarian accent. Just the top three, but oh trust me, there's more.)
What else... Oh, the University. That is not an "oh" as in, "oh! i know", nor as in "oh, right", but rather "oh god why". Stuck in the stone age and elite about it, this is a great place for you to test out your language skills if you are a masochistic self-hating freak. The profs care more about the layout of your paper than the content, they don't trust the internet as a source, but their libraries are filled with books so old that many are, under the dust, fading to the point of illegibility. That's for the German department. The Spanish department has a decent selection of literature-related books, but nothing even remotely recent (or objective) regarding the history of Spain. I therefore had to sift through books for my final paper on the Arab rule in Spain, with the only available resources being written either by Nazis or, more likely, members of the Spanish inquisition. Neutrality= nonexistant and the Christian church is (but of course) always in the right. Fabulous. Screw that, I'm using Wikepidia for some VALID information.
That paper is, of course, due on Thursday. 10+ pages, and what have I done? The introduction. I have no motivation other than to go home. I know this because, although it's like pulling teeth to force myself to sit and write even 1/2 a page for a class, I spent the first half hour after I woke up to pack everything but the clothes I will need for the (breathe. say it) 5 more days I'm in this damn country.
5 days in which I have to take my theater final, write that paper for my history class, finish packing, move to Jay's room (we have to move ALL our stuff to do this), clean my room (without the availability of any cleaning supplies. Vaccuum cleaner? But surely you jest), and turn in my key. Oh, and close my bank account and help one of my profs translate some speech thingy into English and not kill my hallmates.
The last one, I regret to say, will be tricky. I somehow managed to slip under the wire to gain access to a hall that seems to require its residents to be lazy, rude, loud, messy, or stupid. Over-achievers that they are, the rest of my hallmates tend to push themselves that extra mile to achieve excellence in all 5 categories.
Let's just go through the run-down, shall we? And no, I don't know names, so i'm going by ethnicity or appearance.
We have... (1) obnoxious Chinese girl who hocks (don't even know how to spell that) up phlegm at every possible moment (especially while she and/or others are in the kitchen cooking) and who's German is impossible to differenciate from her Chinese, and who seems to be a bit of a shy pisser, as, when she is in one of the TWO hall bathroom stalls and someone uses the other, she will wait until the other is long gone before breathing. Never mind that she uses the one stall with a seat to do this. Jay and I are tempted to bring a novel and just see if she'll pass out. (2) her idiotic blonde roommate, who does not seem to function if the hall TV is not turned on (i swear she lives on the couch in the main room), never cleans up her dishes, and is incapable of distinguishing between a bathtub and a shower. See, the shower is next to the bathtub, in one room. Using one effectively occupies the other as well, as you lock the main door to do so. The shower is tiled, with a slightly raised rim on the floor to prevent flooding. The bathtub has a faucet and a movable showerhead, but no curtain. There is a spot on the wall (about 6+ feet from the ground) upon which you can hang the showerhead. If you are idiotic enough to do this, the water goes straight onto the floor, missing the edge of the tub by a few feet (at least we have good water pressure?). Blondie cannot seem to come to terms with this, and every time she takes a shower, she simply MUST do so in the bathtub, leaving a small lake behind, without using a towel or the provided giant squeegy to clean it up. (3) Loud Asian guy. He sings loudly and out of tune (in English) every time he walks down the hall. He spends most of his time on the balcony immediately next to our room talking (either to himself or to a friend, I don't know) so insanely loudly that it wakes me up in the mornings, and I can hear it well after I've left the building on my way to the U-Bahn. He also has a penchant for high-pitched and piercing laughter. again, loud. (4) our newest gem, man-who-cannot-breathe-if-not-using-a-cigarette. I think he's french, but the cigarette thing beats that out as far as descriptive features go. He smokes non-stop, normally in one of the two balconies on our hall, though leaving the door open so as to share the joy with us all. One of these two balconies is the one immediately adjacent not only to my room, but also to the kitchen's two giant windows. He doesn't bother to shut them before lighting up a pack.
Other than these specific four pains-in-the-ass, general annoyances abound: food stealing (and someone actually stole the TOP to one of my icecube trays. not the tray, just the top), inability to clean dishes (esp. common ones), using can-openers and sieves with meat (the former for cutting, the latter for thawing), inability to go to the bathroom without (a) peeing on the seat (b) stuffing the toilet with paper, or (c) leaving a trail of crap in the bowl, although there's a toilet bowl brush thing in every stall. They leave hair in the shower. they take the time to STUFF IT DOWN THE BATHTUB DRAIN, they're obnoxious, they're dumb, and they just keep on living. Honestly, at this point of filth, I'd expect them to have died off from eboli or siphilis or something, but i think they're pretty much immune to everything by now.
I live with cockroaches.
I have no motivation, and no interest to do anything. I tried distracting myself with video games for a bit, but now i've beaten donkey kong and dungeon master and am sick of frying my brain. I'm sick of germany. i'm sick of feeling so BLAH. I wanna go home.
*sigh*. Just 5 more days. On the plus side, Jay and I went to the zoo on Saturday and it was WONDERFUL and I have tons of lovely pictures to sort through.
...right after I take my last final and write this last paper of course.... which I don't want to do.
Germany has, I realized today, given me total and utter disillusionment regarding academics. I hate the university here. I hate that it makes me hate it. I hate that this year has, instead of broadening my horizons and igniting my will to learn (as my semester in Chile did), killed my morale and made me consider, on various occasions, dropping one or both of my majors, not to mention quelched any and all interest in pursuing graduate study in languages, or at all, for the time being.
Damn.
Is it home yet?
What else... Oh, the University. That is not an "oh" as in, "oh! i know", nor as in "oh, right", but rather "oh god why". Stuck in the stone age and elite about it, this is a great place for you to test out your language skills if you are a masochistic self-hating freak. The profs care more about the layout of your paper than the content, they don't trust the internet as a source, but their libraries are filled with books so old that many are, under the dust, fading to the point of illegibility. That's for the German department. The Spanish department has a decent selection of literature-related books, but nothing even remotely recent (or objective) regarding the history of Spain. I therefore had to sift through books for my final paper on the Arab rule in Spain, with the only available resources being written either by Nazis or, more likely, members of the Spanish inquisition. Neutrality= nonexistant and the Christian church is (but of course) always in the right. Fabulous. Screw that, I'm using Wikepidia for some VALID information.
That paper is, of course, due on Thursday. 10+ pages, and what have I done? The introduction. I have no motivation other than to go home. I know this because, although it's like pulling teeth to force myself to sit and write even 1/2 a page for a class, I spent the first half hour after I woke up to pack everything but the clothes I will need for the (breathe. say it) 5 more days I'm in this damn country.
5 days in which I have to take my theater final, write that paper for my history class, finish packing, move to Jay's room (we have to move ALL our stuff to do this), clean my room (without the availability of any cleaning supplies. Vaccuum cleaner? But surely you jest), and turn in my key. Oh, and close my bank account and help one of my profs translate some speech thingy into English and not kill my hallmates.
The last one, I regret to say, will be tricky. I somehow managed to slip under the wire to gain access to a hall that seems to require its residents to be lazy, rude, loud, messy, or stupid. Over-achievers that they are, the rest of my hallmates tend to push themselves that extra mile to achieve excellence in all 5 categories.
Let's just go through the run-down, shall we? And no, I don't know names, so i'm going by ethnicity or appearance.
We have... (1) obnoxious Chinese girl who hocks (don't even know how to spell that) up phlegm at every possible moment (especially while she and/or others are in the kitchen cooking) and who's German is impossible to differenciate from her Chinese, and who seems to be a bit of a shy pisser, as, when she is in one of the TWO hall bathroom stalls and someone uses the other, she will wait until the other is long gone before breathing. Never mind that she uses the one stall with a seat to do this. Jay and I are tempted to bring a novel and just see if she'll pass out. (2) her idiotic blonde roommate, who does not seem to function if the hall TV is not turned on (i swear she lives on the couch in the main room), never cleans up her dishes, and is incapable of distinguishing between a bathtub and a shower. See, the shower is next to the bathtub, in one room. Using one effectively occupies the other as well, as you lock the main door to do so. The shower is tiled, with a slightly raised rim on the floor to prevent flooding. The bathtub has a faucet and a movable showerhead, but no curtain. There is a spot on the wall (about 6+ feet from the ground) upon which you can hang the showerhead. If you are idiotic enough to do this, the water goes straight onto the floor, missing the edge of the tub by a few feet (at least we have good water pressure?). Blondie cannot seem to come to terms with this, and every time she takes a shower, she simply MUST do so in the bathtub, leaving a small lake behind, without using a towel or the provided giant squeegy to clean it up. (3) Loud Asian guy. He sings loudly and out of tune (in English) every time he walks down the hall. He spends most of his time on the balcony immediately next to our room talking (either to himself or to a friend, I don't know) so insanely loudly that it wakes me up in the mornings, and I can hear it well after I've left the building on my way to the U-Bahn. He also has a penchant for high-pitched and piercing laughter. again, loud. (4) our newest gem, man-who-cannot-breathe-if-not-using-a-cigarette. I think he's french, but the cigarette thing beats that out as far as descriptive features go. He smokes non-stop, normally in one of the two balconies on our hall, though leaving the door open so as to share the joy with us all. One of these two balconies is the one immediately adjacent not only to my room, but also to the kitchen's two giant windows. He doesn't bother to shut them before lighting up a pack.
Other than these specific four pains-in-the-ass, general annoyances abound: food stealing (and someone actually stole the TOP to one of my icecube trays. not the tray, just the top), inability to clean dishes (esp. common ones), using can-openers and sieves with meat (the former for cutting, the latter for thawing), inability to go to the bathroom without (a) peeing on the seat (b) stuffing the toilet with paper, or (c) leaving a trail of crap in the bowl, although there's a toilet bowl brush thing in every stall. They leave hair in the shower. they take the time to STUFF IT DOWN THE BATHTUB DRAIN, they're obnoxious, they're dumb, and they just keep on living. Honestly, at this point of filth, I'd expect them to have died off from eboli or siphilis or something, but i think they're pretty much immune to everything by now.
I live with cockroaches.
I have no motivation, and no interest to do anything. I tried distracting myself with video games for a bit, but now i've beaten donkey kong and dungeon master and am sick of frying my brain. I'm sick of germany. i'm sick of feeling so BLAH. I wanna go home.
*sigh*. Just 5 more days. On the plus side, Jay and I went to the zoo on Saturday and it was WONDERFUL and I have tons of lovely pictures to sort through.
...right after I take my last final and write this last paper of course.... which I don't want to do.
Germany has, I realized today, given me total and utter disillusionment regarding academics. I hate the university here. I hate that it makes me hate it. I hate that this year has, instead of broadening my horizons and igniting my will to learn (as my semester in Chile did), killed my morale and made me consider, on various occasions, dropping one or both of my majors, not to mention quelched any and all interest in pursuing graduate study in languages, or at all, for the time being.
Damn.
Is it home yet?
07 July 2006
As the semester winds down...
München, Deutschland
Right then, updates are, it seems, in order. In recent news, Katja, my German Studies advisor came this week to visit the program and to talk with her advisees that are currently here. Seeing her (after I recognized her - it's been so long that it took me a few minutes) was great, but it made me miss LC a lot. Such is life, I suppose. I am also having recurring dreams about LC - dreaming about moving into my appartment, unpacking, swimming, using the free gym, having real classes... And also very exciting: due to a strange series of events, I will be roomming again with my roommate from freshmen year! Rigel, whom I adore, lives in Portland and so had planned to stay at home instead of shelling out her life savings on the extremely over-priced (and yet oh-so-posh) on-campus appartmemts... But when one of my 3 roommates pulled out in order to take advantage of a chance to travel to Chile (woo-hoo!!), Rigel changed her mind and filled the spot. On top of that, Jay lives pretty much right next door, as does Summer, one of the crazy LC kids I swam with way back when, so I=quite excited. Unfortunately, I don't really know my other two roommates, but shall hope for the best cuz, really, masking-tape barriers would be a little immature at our age. Indeed. Either way, Rigel counts as 2 or three roommates with her personality quirks (i can't wait to live with her again - I need that daily dose of crazy or things just get boring ~_^).
Weather here is weird. One minute it's gorgeous and humid and hot as all hell and then the next there's a thunderstorm. Very strange. I do love the wind and stormy weather though, provided I'm already indoors, of course.
Jay and I are finished with the written part of our final joint paper for Theater, which we turned in to a tutor for language-related correction... Hopefully we'll get it back on Monday, finish up the costume and set designs, and the cd of music, and be essentially done with that class by Wednesday. Hmm. On top of that, I have to turn in my final papers for Toledo y Madrid and for Spanischer Lyrik this week as well, so then the weather needs to shape up and get gorgeous so I can spend my last weeks here lying in the English gardens. Mmmm, sun-napping bliss and the scent of heavy-duty sunscreen. ^_^
In other news, Jay's parents and 2 of their friends are coming to visit on Tuesday. I'm therefore trying to finish up my class presentation asap on that day and then run off early with Jay to meet them at the airport. Maybe there won't be any thunderstorms that day... Silly weather.
Right, as I've successfully wasted a good hour or so writing this, I'm now going to get back to my Seminararbeits. Spanish middle-age history: prepare to be my biatch.
Weather here is weird. One minute it's gorgeous and humid and hot as all hell and then the next there's a thunderstorm. Very strange. I do love the wind and stormy weather though, provided I'm already indoors, of course.
Jay and I are finished with the written part of our final joint paper for Theater, which we turned in to a tutor for language-related correction... Hopefully we'll get it back on Monday, finish up the costume and set designs, and the cd of music, and be essentially done with that class by Wednesday. Hmm. On top of that, I have to turn in my final papers for Toledo y Madrid and for Spanischer Lyrik this week as well, so then the weather needs to shape up and get gorgeous so I can spend my last weeks here lying in the English gardens. Mmmm, sun-napping bliss and the scent of heavy-duty sunscreen. ^_^
In other news, Jay's parents and 2 of their friends are coming to visit on Tuesday. I'm therefore trying to finish up my class presentation asap on that day and then run off early with Jay to meet them at the airport. Maybe there won't be any thunderstorms that day... Silly weather.
Right, as I've successfully wasted a good hour or so writing this, I'm now going to get back to my Seminararbeits. Spanish middle-age history: prepare to be my biatch.
Weltmeisterschaft 2006: a rant
München, Deutschland
That's right: soccer. Or football for the non-Americans. Or hell for anyone who simply wants not to deal with it at all. That would be me, by the way. Out of a strange sort of luck (or perhaps lack thereof) I've been in the hosting city of a soccer world cup three times so far. The first was when we moved to Palo Alto in the mid '90s, the second was when I was at Lewis and Clark in Portland during the '03 Women's cup, and the third is right here, in Germany while the male teams push eachother around and pretend they didn't and the fan effect is so widespread that classes are cancelled and, with doors and windows shut, my room shakes from the cheers and chants that resound through the city.
Truth be told, I may be unfairly biased. As the LC soccer team volunteered to usher at the Portland women's world cup, I was in the unlucky position (and what are the odds, of all the aisles) to get run over by two streakers protesting the Addidas sponsership. Literally run over. So... that was special.
Still, unlucky history aside, spectator sports bore me. I'm all for the sports themselves (minus American football and baseball, as they are just time-wasters), but the obsessive need to watch the games... it elevates these players to godlike celebrity status and that can't be healthy. Note, for instance, the difference between professional women's soccer and professional men's soccer (which of course has far more popularity). The men's league is riddled with cheap stunts: tacky fouls, dives, fakes, fights, what have you. What's the difference in the leagues, besides the hormones? The men get too much attention, and they regress to childish tactics because of it.
Then of course there is the disruption. Not only the obvious problems: Germany is overcrowded with fans, who are often loud, drunk, and obnoxious, packing the U-Bahns and making much racket... The locals and the students living in Studentenstadt are no better, bringing TVs outside into courtyards and congregating into loud, drunk, obnoxious groups for the duration of the game and then for a few hours into the early morning. Watching the darn game is one thing. Making a huge deal out of all of the 50-60-something games is simply absurd. If it were in private, giving me at least the ability to ignore the cultish phenomenon, that would be one thing. But its not, so I'm not happy. On top of this, some of my classes have been cancelled so that the prof (or students - often both) could go see the game instead. ARG!
Fully irritated and rather bitter, my only interest in the game became a wish for Germany to lose, so that the loudest group would lose spirit and shut the hell up. Coincidentally, this apparently happened in the Italy-Germany game... Two goals in two minutes sufficed to break the German spirit good and well... so happy 4th of July to me on that count, the next game was so quiet that, had Jay not left to go watch it, I wouldn't have known it had happened.
Glad for the quiet, I'm also feeling a little bit sad for Ralf, our program director, who took the loss rather hard and is demanding a program-wide (week-long) embargo on such items as pizza, ice cream, and coffee. Just doing my part to spread the word.
I'm sure Italy is regretting that win right now. Yup. They sure are.... any minute...
Truth be told, I may be unfairly biased. As the LC soccer team volunteered to usher at the Portland women's world cup, I was in the unlucky position (and what are the odds, of all the aisles) to get run over by two streakers protesting the Addidas sponsership. Literally run over. So... that was special.
Still, unlucky history aside, spectator sports bore me. I'm all for the sports themselves (minus American football and baseball, as they are just time-wasters), but the obsessive need to watch the games... it elevates these players to godlike celebrity status and that can't be healthy. Note, for instance, the difference between professional women's soccer and professional men's soccer (which of course has far more popularity). The men's league is riddled with cheap stunts: tacky fouls, dives, fakes, fights, what have you. What's the difference in the leagues, besides the hormones? The men get too much attention, and they regress to childish tactics because of it.
Then of course there is the disruption. Not only the obvious problems: Germany is overcrowded with fans, who are often loud, drunk, and obnoxious, packing the U-Bahns and making much racket... The locals and the students living in Studentenstadt are no better, bringing TVs outside into courtyards and congregating into loud, drunk, obnoxious groups for the duration of the game and then for a few hours into the early morning. Watching the darn game is one thing. Making a huge deal out of all of the 50-60-something games is simply absurd. If it were in private, giving me at least the ability to ignore the cultish phenomenon, that would be one thing. But its not, so I'm not happy. On top of this, some of my classes have been cancelled so that the prof (or students - often both) could go see the game instead. ARG!
Fully irritated and rather bitter, my only interest in the game became a wish for Germany to lose, so that the loudest group would lose spirit and shut the hell up. Coincidentally, this apparently happened in the Italy-Germany game... Two goals in two minutes sufficed to break the German spirit good and well... so happy 4th of July to me on that count, the next game was so quiet that, had Jay not left to go watch it, I wouldn't have known it had happened.
Glad for the quiet, I'm also feeling a little bit sad for Ralf, our program director, who took the loss rather hard and is demanding a program-wide (week-long) embargo on such items as pizza, ice cream, and coffee. Just doing my part to spread the word.
I'm sure Italy is regretting that win right now. Yup. They sure are.... any minute...
20 June 2006
15 June 2006
Wir visit Wien
Or Vienna, for those who were confused.
Last weekend the German program up and bussed us all out to Vienna, Austria for a 4-day weekend. The weather was very sunny and hot, and the itenerary was full. On our way there we stopped by Kloster Melk for a tour of the gorgeous, if ridiculously extravagent, Monastery. After arriving in Vienna we went out to dinner at a traditional Austrian restaurant (Read: Wienerschnitzel and Olives) that, rather surprisingly, served wine instead of beer (woo-hoo!).
On Friday morning, we took a tour of the old part of the city, with a very colorful and exuberant Austrian as our guide. We then had a break for lunch before going to see the Hundertwasserhaus, a very interesting building, though it was so touristy that it was hard to explore without bumping into people.
The next day, we had a free morning, so Jay and I went to the Naschmarkt (a sort of farmer's market crossed with a flea market) and walked around until we were lulled in by the book stores, cd store, and comic book store near our hotel. Our whole program then took a (not particularly intriguing, but very long) tour of some of the museums before returning to the hostel to rest and pretty ourselves up for an evening at the Viennese Opera.
On Sunday, we left early for our return trip to Munich, stopping at Schloß Schönbrunn for a bit, which turned out to be a pitstop only, as it was raining and we all wanted to go home before we hit traffic.
I'd have to say, I don't think Vienna's strictly as pretty as many other European cities (Paris, Venice, Munich...), but the extreme friendliness of the people makes up for it. Were I ever to live in a German-speaking city again, Vienna would definitely be my first choice.
Last weekend the German program up and bussed us all out to Vienna, Austria for a 4-day weekend. The weather was very sunny and hot, and the itenerary was full. On our way there we stopped by Kloster Melk for a tour of the gorgeous, if ridiculously extravagent, Monastery. After arriving in Vienna we went out to dinner at a traditional Austrian restaurant (Read: Wienerschnitzel and Olives) that, rather surprisingly, served wine instead of beer (woo-hoo!).
On Friday morning, we took a tour of the old part of the city, with a very colorful and exuberant Austrian as our guide. We then had a break for lunch before going to see the Hundertwasserhaus, a very interesting building, though it was so touristy that it was hard to explore without bumping into people.
The next day, we had a free morning, so Jay and I went to the Naschmarkt (a sort of farmer's market crossed with a flea market) and walked around until we were lulled in by the book stores, cd store, and comic book store near our hotel. Our whole program then took a (not particularly intriguing, but very long) tour of some of the museums before returning to the hostel to rest and pretty ourselves up for an evening at the Viennese Opera.
On Sunday, we left early for our return trip to Munich, stopping at Schloß Schönbrunn for a bit, which turned out to be a pitstop only, as it was raining and we all wanted to go home before we hit traffic.
I'd have to say, I don't think Vienna's strictly as pretty as many other European cities (Paris, Venice, Munich...), but the extreme friendliness of the people makes up for it. Were I ever to live in a German-speaking city again, Vienna would definitely be my first choice.
28 May 2006
Paris with the Parents
Paris, France
Alright, this update is rather late - sorry. In the last weekend of May, Jay and I packed up and marched (er...flew) ourselves to Paris (Operation get the hell out of Munich: Part Two). The weather was not fabulous - mainly rainy and a bit cold, but it was great to be there nonetheless...Though, truth be told, my French could stand some improvement. The evening we arrived, Jay, Kathy (my mom) and I went to the louvre while waiting for Jim (my dad)'s plane to land. My mom and I had been to the Louvre already, but Jay had not, so of course the Mona Lisa was a must see. Unfortunately, however, with The DaVinci Code just recently in theaters, it was also a must-see for a few hundred other people. Not fun.
That evening, Jim's flight was delayed for a few hours (and his phone didn't work, so we had no way of knowing this until Kathy harrassed the Consierge at our hotel for a while until he made contact with an airline representative, as the Airport was already closed). When he arrived, we went out to dinner at a nearby restaurant. I've forgotten the French name... something reffering to the Hen's Pot or similar... Anyway, they provided wonderful food and, more importantly, Jay's first taste of escargot. That's right, snails. And not just that, but DELICIOUS snails. Life in Paris is good.
The following day, we went first to the Musee Rodin (sorry, no accents on the keyboard I'm using right now), which had many amazing sculptures, and then to the Monet Museum, which was beautiful. The first floor was not particularly interesting, but the downstairs area had all of his huge lily-pad paintings and many other gorgeouos works, plus benches all over the room, so we could just sit and stare. Ah, to be artistically talented... Oh well.
We spent that evening walking around Paris, seeing the Seine, Notre Dame, a group of roller bladers being fancy, and the Eiffel Tower from a distance (as we'd all already been). After a rather disappointing dinner at a restaurant that had been wonderful when my parents ate there 2 years ago, we moved on to a lively Spanish restaurant, where drinks were apparently served with a dance and Spanish was an exceptable language of choice (woo-hoo!)
Jay and I had to leave extremely early the next morning to catch our flight back to Munich (awww), so we didn't do anything on that last day. In fact, we were already at the boarding gate by the time daylight actually arrived, but such is life. We returned to Munich in time to go with our Theater class to see a production of Woyzeck. Back to the German life...
That evening, Jim's flight was delayed for a few hours (and his phone didn't work, so we had no way of knowing this until Kathy harrassed the Consierge at our hotel for a while until he made contact with an airline representative, as the Airport was already closed). When he arrived, we went out to dinner at a nearby restaurant. I've forgotten the French name... something reffering to the Hen's Pot or similar... Anyway, they provided wonderful food and, more importantly, Jay's first taste of escargot. That's right, snails. And not just that, but DELICIOUS snails. Life in Paris is good.
The following day, we went first to the Musee Rodin (sorry, no accents on the keyboard I'm using right now), which had many amazing sculptures, and then to the Monet Museum, which was beautiful. The first floor was not particularly interesting, but the downstairs area had all of his huge lily-pad paintings and many other gorgeouos works, plus benches all over the room, so we could just sit and stare. Ah, to be artistically talented... Oh well.
We spent that evening walking around Paris, seeing the Seine, Notre Dame, a group of roller bladers being fancy, and the Eiffel Tower from a distance (as we'd all already been). After a rather disappointing dinner at a restaurant that had been wonderful when my parents ate there 2 years ago, we moved on to a lively Spanish restaurant, where drinks were apparently served with a dance and Spanish was an exceptable language of choice (woo-hoo!)
Jay and I had to leave extremely early the next morning to catch our flight back to Munich (awww), so we didn't do anything on that last day. In fact, we were already at the boarding gate by the time daylight actually arrived, but such is life. We returned to Munich in time to go with our Theater class to see a production of Woyzeck. Back to the German life...
07 April 2006
JJ Packs it Out
Agadir, Morocco
38 days on the road. 33 cities, 11 countries, 2-3 continents (depending on whether you consider Istanbul as part of Asia or Europe), 11 languages, a few thousand photos, and a lot of trains.
For the most part, good food, lovely cities, difficult communication, and good people (excepting the few bastard taxi drivers).
I would have liked to have the time to stay longer in each of these cities -- time to learn the culture, the language, money to explore more of the country, to try more of the foods... Perhaps someday I'll be able to go more into depth in my exploration of these places.
At this moment though, I'm ready to go home. I want to wash my clothes and take a shower without having to fight with my travel-size shampoo bottle to wash my hair. I want to cook my own food while watching a You-tube episode of South Park with Jay. I want to walk around my hall barefoot, to sleep in my own bed, to have free internet access, and to have absolutely no schedule (at least for a few weeks before classes start). I want to speak a language competently enough to be readily understood, and I want to not have to observe everyone around me for fear of committing some egregious social gaffe.
In the long run, however, this trip has only whetted my thirst for travel. My wanderlust remains undiminished. I've found that the people we've encountered are much more friendly and similar to ourselves than some *ahem, Lonely Planet and Rough Guide books* would lead us to believe. Istanbul and Morocco were very comfortable to travel in and I was never once harassed for being a woman or for being non-muslim. Rather, the most friendly and welcoming people have been those we spoke with in those two areas.
I would like to see more of Africa, the Middle East, and Asia. I want to explore eastern Europe and Latin America more thoroughly. And sure, a few trips to Scandinavia, Benelux countries, and Oceania wouldn't hurt. First, however, I want to learn more languages. French, Arabic, Cantonese, and Russian seem a good, all-encompassing start -- you can get around in a lot of places with those. When I'll have time or energy to learn these? No one knows. But I'd like to. I have an urge to go explore the less-known areas, to see the cultures firsthand, thereby obtaining a better idea of how the world IS rather than how we're told to think it is. I want to break out of this fabricated western bubble of safety, see for myself what's really there. That process has started, and I doubt my wanderlust will abate until it's complete.
Watch out world, here I come... soon.
For the most part, good food, lovely cities, difficult communication, and good people (excepting the few bastard taxi drivers).
I would have liked to have the time to stay longer in each of these cities -- time to learn the culture, the language, money to explore more of the country, to try more of the foods... Perhaps someday I'll be able to go more into depth in my exploration of these places.
At this moment though, I'm ready to go home. I want to wash my clothes and take a shower without having to fight with my travel-size shampoo bottle to wash my hair. I want to cook my own food while watching a You-tube episode of South Park with Jay. I want to walk around my hall barefoot, to sleep in my own bed, to have free internet access, and to have absolutely no schedule (at least for a few weeks before classes start). I want to speak a language competently enough to be readily understood, and I want to not have to observe everyone around me for fear of committing some egregious social gaffe.
In the long run, however, this trip has only whetted my thirst for travel. My wanderlust remains undiminished. I've found that the people we've encountered are much more friendly and similar to ourselves than some *ahem, Lonely Planet and Rough Guide books* would lead us to believe. Istanbul and Morocco were very comfortable to travel in and I was never once harassed for being a woman or for being non-muslim. Rather, the most friendly and welcoming people have been those we spoke with in those two areas.
I would like to see more of Africa, the Middle East, and Asia. I want to explore eastern Europe and Latin America more thoroughly. And sure, a few trips to Scandinavia, Benelux countries, and Oceania wouldn't hurt. First, however, I want to learn more languages. French, Arabic, Cantonese, and Russian seem a good, all-encompassing start -- you can get around in a lot of places with those. When I'll have time or energy to learn these? No one knows. But I'd like to. I have an urge to go explore the less-known areas, to see the cultures firsthand, thereby obtaining a better idea of how the world IS rather than how we're told to think it is. I want to break out of this fabricated western bubble of safety, see for myself what's really there. That process has started, and I doubt my wanderlust will abate until it's complete.
Watch out world, here I come... soon.
JJ Conquers Africa Part V
Agadir, Morocco
We arrived in Agadir at 12 at night and checked into a hostel next to the bus station. In the morning we took a 6:30 taxi to the airport and are now sitting here waiting until we can check in at 10:00 for our 13:05 flight.
I'm still sad that we didn't have the chance to explore Marrakech, but most of all am disappointed that our trip in Morocco is ending on such a bad note - frustration with the train/bus situation, disappointment at not seeing Marrakech, and disillusionment at the swindling taxi drivers there... It's really not fair, as the taxi drivers in the other cities were helpful and honest, and the cities we did explore thoroughly were amazing.
We're leaving now, eager to return to Germany, when just two days ago I would have been leaving with a wish that I could stay longer.
I hope to visit Morocco again some day -- to better explore Fes and to give Marrakech another try, as well as to visit Chefchauen and Essauria, about which I've heard great things... As it is, au revoir, Morocco.
I'm still sad that we didn't have the chance to explore Marrakech, but most of all am disappointed that our trip in Morocco is ending on such a bad note - frustration with the train/bus situation, disappointment at not seeing Marrakech, and disillusionment at the swindling taxi drivers there... It's really not fair, as the taxi drivers in the other cities were helpful and honest, and the cities we did explore thoroughly were amazing.
We're leaving now, eager to return to Germany, when just two days ago I would have been leaving with a wish that I could stay longer.
I hope to visit Morocco again some day -- to better explore Fes and to give Marrakech another try, as well as to visit Chefchauen and Essauria, about which I've heard great things... As it is, au revoir, Morocco.
06 April 2006
JJ Conquers Africa Part IV
Marrakech, Morocco
Well, this day sucked. Our train was an hour and a half late getting into Marrakech, and then we had to get tickets to Agadir. As it turned out, ONCF, the train company of Morocco, which lists train schedules online and includes an 11pm train to Agadir, does not run trains to Agadir. In fact, no one does, so our rail pass was useless and we needed to find a bus. Fine. We went to the neighboring Supratours, the bus company affiliated with ONCF which does have an 11 pm bus to Agadir. The office was pretty much hell on Earth. No line, no order, just a cluster of moroccans pushing and shoving and yelling in Arabic. Lovely. This is at 4. At 4:30 we got noticed and the man told us to come back in an hour to get tickets. We ask if the bus is full, and he says no no, come back in an hour or so.
At this point, I'm frustrated -- this is the city about which I was most excited, the sun will set by 7 pm, and I'm told to sit another hour at or near the bus station, when I had expected to have been exploring the city since 2:30. So we start walking towards the main square, but have to stop a few times because Jay was feeling the results of a lack of food and sleep, combined with an access of heat. At 6 pm we were almost to the center, but decided it would be best to go back and buy the tickets in case they sold out. So we went to find an ATM (coincidentally within distant view of the main square I'd wanted to see), then turned around and found a taxi back to the station.
Upon my requesting that he turn on the meter, the taxi driver refused, so we paid twice what the ride was worth. I resolved to refuse to pay over 5 Dh in the future if there was no meter to prove a higher price. We go into the (now sane) bus station, and are told that there is no space in a bus to Agadir until the next evening. Aware that 7 busloads of reservations had not been made in the last 30 minutes, I inquired as to why we had been told to come back if the bus was sold out. Apparently because the man hadn't felt like looking at the computer screen before answering that the bus was not full - although it was.
Ready to either scream or cry (I couldn't decide which), I explained that we had a 1-o-clock flight from Agadir and that waiting for a bus the next day was simply not an option. He told us to try C.T.M. or the city bus station.
We left the station and were immediately descended upon by taxi drivers. Told our destination, they told us the charge would be 20-25 Dh. We refused and caught a taxi that we saw had a working meter. He also quoted 20 Dh, but we ignored that and then insisted upon the meter once he pulled away from the curb. We arrived, paid the 7 Dh that the meter indicated, and went into the C.T.M. station. Their busses were also full, so we repeated this process to get to the main bus station, where we were swept off by one of the touts for the Agadir bus.
Our attempts at explaining that we didn't want to leave yet, but just wanted tickets for a later bus, went ignored and we were ushered onto a very full, very hot buss. We got the last seats - the very back row, behind a chair for which the back was unhinged from the seat, so I spent most of the four-hour ride with the man in front of me lying his weight (and that of his useless chair back) on top of me. The rest of my attention was occupied by the mosquito that I couldn't see (but which feasted happily on my arm), the heated floor burning my feet, the lack of ventilation, and the overhead light that wouldn't turn off above us (no one else seemed to have this difficulty, and Jay fixed it by covering it with duct tape before returning to his don't-throw-up-or-faint position.
So it was that at 7 pm we left Marrakech largely unseen and unappreciated due to an unfortunate series of circumstances.
At this point, I'm frustrated -- this is the city about which I was most excited, the sun will set by 7 pm, and I'm told to sit another hour at or near the bus station, when I had expected to have been exploring the city since 2:30. So we start walking towards the main square, but have to stop a few times because Jay was feeling the results of a lack of food and sleep, combined with an access of heat. At 6 pm we were almost to the center, but decided it would be best to go back and buy the tickets in case they sold out. So we went to find an ATM (coincidentally within distant view of the main square I'd wanted to see), then turned around and found a taxi back to the station.
Upon my requesting that he turn on the meter, the taxi driver refused, so we paid twice what the ride was worth. I resolved to refuse to pay over 5 Dh in the future if there was no meter to prove a higher price. We go into the (now sane) bus station, and are told that there is no space in a bus to Agadir until the next evening. Aware that 7 busloads of reservations had not been made in the last 30 minutes, I inquired as to why we had been told to come back if the bus was sold out. Apparently because the man hadn't felt like looking at the computer screen before answering that the bus was not full - although it was.
Ready to either scream or cry (I couldn't decide which), I explained that we had a 1-o-clock flight from Agadir and that waiting for a bus the next day was simply not an option. He told us to try C.T.M. or the city bus station.
We left the station and were immediately descended upon by taxi drivers. Told our destination, they told us the charge would be 20-25 Dh. We refused and caught a taxi that we saw had a working meter. He also quoted 20 Dh, but we ignored that and then insisted upon the meter once he pulled away from the curb. We arrived, paid the 7 Dh that the meter indicated, and went into the C.T.M. station. Their busses were also full, so we repeated this process to get to the main bus station, where we were swept off by one of the touts for the Agadir bus.
Our attempts at explaining that we didn't want to leave yet, but just wanted tickets for a later bus, went ignored and we were ushered onto a very full, very hot buss. We got the last seats - the very back row, behind a chair for which the back was unhinged from the seat, so I spent most of the four-hour ride with the man in front of me lying his weight (and that of his useless chair back) on top of me. The rest of my attention was occupied by the mosquito that I couldn't see (but which feasted happily on my arm), the heated floor burning my feet, the lack of ventilation, and the overhead light that wouldn't turn off above us (no one else seemed to have this difficulty, and Jay fixed it by covering it with duct tape before returning to his don't-throw-up-or-faint position.
So it was that at 7 pm we left Marrakech largely unseen and unappreciated due to an unfortunate series of circumstances.
05 April 2006
JJ Conquers Africa Part III
Fes, Morocco
Although I was initially warned away from Fes by a fellow traveler (in the women's bathroom of the Algeciras train station), I am glad we came - it's been my favorite city in Morocco so far. We arrived at around 3 pm and, as the train station had no left luggage facilities, wandered off in hopes of stumbling upon one. We were talking to each other (in English) and after a while a kid (about 15 or so) that we were walking behind turned around to us and said "excuse me, my family has a hotel near here if you need to stay the night." We said we were not going to stay overnight in Fes, but rather were just looking for a place to leave our backpack. He responded that we could leave it at the hotel, and that they could provide us with a guide for the Medina as well. We followed him to the hotel, and then decided to inquire about the price of a room, as it would be nicer to stay the night than to wait until 1:0 am for a night train.It was cheap, and the people there were very friendly, so we opted for a room as well as a guide to the medina for a few hours.
The medina (old city) is a sprawling maze of 9000+ narrow alleyways filled with tanneries, restaurants, shops, bakeries, weaving houses, butchers, candy shops, grills, and wood-carvers. The streets are wide enough to allow a few people through (side by side) at a time. Our guide showed us the main mosque and pointed out a lot of architecture within the palaces/city walls, and he also led us to specific shops. The first was a weaver's shop, hidden upstairs, where our host explained the different items and gave us sweet mint tea while he tried to convince us to buy one of their beautiful blankets. Unfortunately, our budget did not allow for such extravagance, but it was an educating experience. We got a similar tour in a tannery, with an explanation of how the leathers are dyed and a shorter visit to shops selling work of wood, silver, silk, and embroidery. After the carpet-weaver's shop, most of the shop keepers were less aggressive and more respectful of our wish to just look.
All these shops crammed together, the alleys filled with people and distinct sounds and smells - the medina was amazing and overwhelming. Afterwards, we went to find a taxi to take us back to the hotel. The road was apparently once a mule-road, and the mules and donkeys still felt they owned the place, walking down the street (without an owner), forcing cars to drive around them.
Our taxi took us up the hill for an overview of the city before returning to the hotel.
All in all, I would have liked more time to explore Fes on my own -- days to lose myself in the maze of the medina -- but time was limited. Perhaps I will return here someday to better acquaint myself with the city I've only just met.
The medina (old city) is a sprawling maze of 9000+ narrow alleyways filled with tanneries, restaurants, shops, bakeries, weaving houses, butchers, candy shops, grills, and wood-carvers. The streets are wide enough to allow a few people through (side by side) at a time. Our guide showed us the main mosque and pointed out a lot of architecture within the palaces/city walls, and he also led us to specific shops. The first was a weaver's shop, hidden upstairs, where our host explained the different items and gave us sweet mint tea while he tried to convince us to buy one of their beautiful blankets. Unfortunately, our budget did not allow for such extravagance, but it was an educating experience. We got a similar tour in a tannery, with an explanation of how the leathers are dyed and a shorter visit to shops selling work of wood, silver, silk, and embroidery. After the carpet-weaver's shop, most of the shop keepers were less aggressive and more respectful of our wish to just look.
All these shops crammed together, the alleys filled with people and distinct sounds and smells - the medina was amazing and overwhelming. Afterwards, we went to find a taxi to take us back to the hotel. The road was apparently once a mule-road, and the mules and donkeys still felt they owned the place, walking down the street (without an owner), forcing cars to drive around them.
Our taxi took us up the hill for an overview of the city before returning to the hotel.
All in all, I would have liked more time to explore Fes on my own -- days to lose myself in the maze of the medina -- but time was limited. Perhaps I will return here someday to better acquaint myself with the city I've only just met.
04 April 2006
JJ Conquers Africa Part II
Asilah, Morocco
Asilah, though not quite as bright as Tangier, was warm and humid, but also relatively quiet and tranquil, as most of the students were still in class when we arrived.
We found a hotel, dropped off our bags, and proceeded to explore the city in search of food. The Moroccan exposure to Western culture, especially in Asilah, provides for an interesting mix in the streets and signs. Some people are dressed traditionally in muslim cloaks or in an otherwise conservative manner, while others wear jeans and miniskirts and high heels (not all at once). Although i should have expected this globalization, especially after our time in Istanbul, I had been led to imagine a more cut-off Eastern culture. Additionally, although English was rather uncommon, many Moroccans speak Spanish in addition to French and Moroccan Arabic. Arabic is, I have to add, a gorgeous and at the same time terrifying language, as the alphabet is so different from our own. I would like to learn to read and speak it, though. Another addition to the list of languages I want to know.
We found a restaurant near the water where the menu was in Spanish and the restaurant specialized in seafood. Not only was the waiter we spoke with extremely friendly, but as we stood there, two other chefs/waiters walked through carrying a giant bucket of fresh shellfish straight from the ocean (only meters away). They weren't ready to open yet, so we wandered along the beach for an hour. We saw other men collecting seafood (presumably for the other nearby restaurants), as well as two children beating a plastic bucket, 3 men knocking old glass shards out of an intact window frame, and an old man throwing rocks (and yelling) at the waves. To each his own.
When we returned to the restaurant at noon, we ordered fish soup, paella and a cheese tortilla (omelet). We were also served bread as a complimentary appetizer, along with small, mild fish in an oil-garlic sauce. Together with the bread, this was delicious and the paella was amazingly full of seafood - prawns, clams, calamari, and other fish meat that I couldn't identify, along with freshly roasted peppers... delicious.
After eating, we had to nap for a few hours to allow all that food to digest, but returned outside in time to view the gorgeous (if short) sunset before finding an internet cafe and a small dinner.
The next morning we set out to catch the 9:40 train to Fes (we'd vetoed the 6:40 train at 5:00 am -- pre-dawn is no time for decision-making), and are now on the second leg of said train. The landscape here is gorgeous -- plenty of lush vegetation, and in places where earth was cut away to make room for the train tracks, red-orange dirt contrasts with the bright green bushes and yellow flowers on top of it. We've passed streams and farmlands with goats and donkeys, and cities baking in the sun, with children running happily through the streets.
In the change-station (Sidi something), we met a very nice Moroccan man who spoke English. He introduced himself by making the ever-popular commentary that Jay looks local and I look German or Irish or otherwise very foreign (gee, I love this conversation starter) and proceeded to chat with Jay as I silently fumed a wee bit. They spoke about the Arabic language (read from right to left, apparently), and he wrote both our names for us in Arabic. He had apparently learned English at an American school in southern Africa, and his accent was amazing. He spoke highly of Fes, but cautioned that it is easy to get lost in the Medina. He suggested that we find a guide when exploring that part of the city. Our train came a few minutes later, and we will be in Fes in about an hour - then we can see how the situation looks.
We found a hotel, dropped off our bags, and proceeded to explore the city in search of food. The Moroccan exposure to Western culture, especially in Asilah, provides for an interesting mix in the streets and signs. Some people are dressed traditionally in muslim cloaks or in an otherwise conservative manner, while others wear jeans and miniskirts and high heels (not all at once). Although i should have expected this globalization, especially after our time in Istanbul, I had been led to imagine a more cut-off Eastern culture. Additionally, although English was rather uncommon, many Moroccans speak Spanish in addition to French and Moroccan Arabic. Arabic is, I have to add, a gorgeous and at the same time terrifying language, as the alphabet is so different from our own. I would like to learn to read and speak it, though. Another addition to the list of languages I want to know.
We found a restaurant near the water where the menu was in Spanish and the restaurant specialized in seafood. Not only was the waiter we spoke with extremely friendly, but as we stood there, two other chefs/waiters walked through carrying a giant bucket of fresh shellfish straight from the ocean (only meters away). They weren't ready to open yet, so we wandered along the beach for an hour. We saw other men collecting seafood (presumably for the other nearby restaurants), as well as two children beating a plastic bucket, 3 men knocking old glass shards out of an intact window frame, and an old man throwing rocks (and yelling) at the waves. To each his own.
When we returned to the restaurant at noon, we ordered fish soup, paella and a cheese tortilla (omelet). We were also served bread as a complimentary appetizer, along with small, mild fish in an oil-garlic sauce. Together with the bread, this was delicious and the paella was amazingly full of seafood - prawns, clams, calamari, and other fish meat that I couldn't identify, along with freshly roasted peppers... delicious.
After eating, we had to nap for a few hours to allow all that food to digest, but returned outside in time to view the gorgeous (if short) sunset before finding an internet cafe and a small dinner.
The next morning we set out to catch the 9:40 train to Fes (we'd vetoed the 6:40 train at 5:00 am -- pre-dawn is no time for decision-making), and are now on the second leg of said train. The landscape here is gorgeous -- plenty of lush vegetation, and in places where earth was cut away to make room for the train tracks, red-orange dirt contrasts with the bright green bushes and yellow flowers on top of it. We've passed streams and farmlands with goats and donkeys, and cities baking in the sun, with children running happily through the streets.
In the change-station (Sidi something), we met a very nice Moroccan man who spoke English. He introduced himself by making the ever-popular commentary that Jay looks local and I look German or Irish or otherwise very foreign (gee, I love this conversation starter) and proceeded to chat with Jay as I silently fumed a wee bit. They spoke about the Arabic language (read from right to left, apparently), and he wrote both our names for us in Arabic. He had apparently learned English at an American school in southern Africa, and his accent was amazing. He spoke highly of Fes, but cautioned that it is easy to get lost in the Medina. He suggested that we find a guide when exploring that part of the city. Our train came a few minutes later, and we will be in Fes in about an hour - then we can see how the situation looks.
03 April 2006
JJ Conquers Africa Part I
Algeciras, Spain and Tangier, Morocco
Algeciras was bright, warm, and humid - an introduction to the continent we were about to enter. We booked tickets for a ferry that was supposed to leave at 4 pm and arrive in Tangier 2.5 hours later. This was, unfortunately, not the case. The ferry didn't actually leave until around 7 pm Spanish time and arrived around 8 pm Moroccan time. Arg.
It was already dark when we arrived, so we changed money and found a hotel for the evening.
After settling in, we went to a nearby cafe to purchase food (1/4 chicken and a soda) and had to wait for about 20 minutes while the various waiters ran around trying to get change for 100Dh (the equivalent of about $12). Food and change in hand, we returned to our hotel room and ate dinner before getting ready to depart early in the morning for Asilah.
In the morning, we walked along the main street by the beach for a ways, before asking directions to be sure of whether we'd passed the station or not. As designated sort-of-French-getter-by-er, I asked a group of women where the station was. There seemed to be some discrepancy regarding the best way of getting there and one of the women nearly fell over from tripping over herself in her excitement/exuberance while trying to explain the route to us. We understood enough to be at the station in a few minutes though, thanks to the sweet women, and all was well.
It was already dark when we arrived, so we changed money and found a hotel for the evening.
After settling in, we went to a nearby cafe to purchase food (1/4 chicken and a soda) and had to wait for about 20 minutes while the various waiters ran around trying to get change for 100Dh (the equivalent of about $12). Food and change in hand, we returned to our hotel room and ate dinner before getting ready to depart early in the morning for Asilah.
In the morning, we walked along the main street by the beach for a ways, before asking directions to be sure of whether we'd passed the station or not. As designated sort-of-French-getter-by-er, I asked a group of women where the station was. There seemed to be some discrepancy regarding the best way of getting there and one of the women nearly fell over from tripping over herself in her excitement/exuberance while trying to explain the route to us. We understood enough to be at the station in a few minutes though, thanks to the sweet women, and all was well.
02 April 2006
JJ Conquers Europe Part XXII
Sevilla, Spain
Upon arrival in Sevilla, we asked the lady at the train station about hostels, and she found us a cheap nearby hostel and provided a map to help us get there. The door of the hostel was opened by an older man whose mother owns the hostel, and whose old, tiny dog (with a bow in its hair) seems to run the place. They were all very friendly and welcoming, and after dropping our junk off, we set out to explore the city.
Sevilla was, for the most part, hot, touristy, and over-priced. We walked around for most of the day, pausing for meals, and sitting in a park by the water for a while. We watched the people in a plaza near our hostel, next to the cathedral, for a few hours until sunset. After that, we had Chinese food (yes, again - it's cheap) for dinner and returned to our hostel.
Sevilla was, for the most part, hot, touristy, and over-priced. We walked around for most of the day, pausing for meals, and sitting in a park by the water for a while. We watched the people in a plaza near our hostel, next to the cathedral, for a few hours until sunset. After that, we had Chinese food (yes, again - it's cheap) for dinner and returned to our hostel.
01 April 2006
JJ Conquers Europe Part XXI
Valencia, Spain
Valencia presented us with many lovely churches and pretty plazas from the moment we left the station. Some of the plazas had huge trees with root systems so complicated and large as to form miniature caves within them.
In one of the plazas, after we'd been sitting on a bench for a while, a homeless man came up and started talking to Jay. He got angry that Jay wasn't responding, and I explained that he didn't understand Spanish. The man asked what he spoke and I replied by asking why it mattered. He said he wanted to talk to him and then went off on a rant that Jay was a racist bastard (plus a couple of choice words I suspect I only know the Chilean equivalent to) and marched off spitting. Friendly.
In a restaurant in Valencia we tried arroz negro - a type of Paella (a classic Spanish rice dish) cooked with squid meat and dyed black with the ink of the squid. Dark and scary-looking at first glance, but absolutely delicious. Although it must be said, the dish has an unfortunate tendency to dye your teeth, tongue and lips black. But oh, it is so worth it.
In one of the plazas, after we'd been sitting on a bench for a while, a homeless man came up and started talking to Jay. He got angry that Jay wasn't responding, and I explained that he didn't understand Spanish. The man asked what he spoke and I replied by asking why it mattered. He said he wanted to talk to him and then went off on a rant that Jay was a racist bastard (plus a couple of choice words I suspect I only know the Chilean equivalent to) and marched off spitting. Friendly.
In a restaurant in Valencia we tried arroz negro - a type of Paella (a classic Spanish rice dish) cooked with squid meat and dyed black with the ink of the squid. Dark and scary-looking at first glance, but absolutely delicious. Although it must be said, the dish has an unfortunate tendency to dye your teeth, tongue and lips black. But oh, it is so worth it.
31 March 2006
JJ Conquers Europe Part XX
Córdoba, Spain
We arrived in Córdoba at around 5 in the morning and sat in the uncomfortable station chairs to wait for the locker service to be available. In the meantime, we slept as best as we could (not well). After a few hours, the rest of the stations seemed operational, but the lockers were still roped off, so I asked the security guard about it. He told me that we had to scan our luggage (as if going onto the train at gate 1 - no other gates required a scan) and then he'd open the lockers for us. The lockers were all numbered 2 or 5 (nice) and did not provide a key, but rather a 5-digit code to open them with. Room for confusion? Oh yes.
After locking up our larger bag, we made our way into the city center, along a boulevard of fountains that culminated in a metal (bronze?) statue labeled"Viento de cambio" (winds of change). The statue was a giant leading a small child, as a guide. Jay liked the statue a lot.
We were tempted into one of the many candy stores (Tutti Frutti, I believe) in our walk through town - It's surprisingly common to see these shops filled with bins of gummy candies and hard candies. Unfortunately, the ropes of color filled with white, though identical in appearance, tasted nothing like the delicious Fiesta candy I found in Austria. Live and learn, I suppose.
The city of Córdoba is split between the old city and the new city. The whole place was hot and dusty and seemed strongly influenced by muslim architecture. I took a nap in a plaza by a fountain while Jay read. Apparently someone mistook him for a local Spaniard and started asking him for directions, at which point I had to wake up and translate.
A random note: Most of the pigeons here were white. One of the larger parks we walked through (decorated with lush vegetation) was filled with white pigeons sleeping in the grass - cute.
After a delicious meal of Chinese food, we made our way back to the station for a night train to Valencia. Now, we have to question the competence of the security system when, if boarding a train from gate 1, you must scan your luggage, but all other gates have free access to the tracks. Once at the tracks, you can easily cross to any other track without returning to the gates where they scanned luggage. So basically, you would have to be very, very stupid to get caught with a weapon in Córdoba.
After locking up our larger bag, we made our way into the city center, along a boulevard of fountains that culminated in a metal (bronze?) statue labeled"Viento de cambio" (winds of change). The statue was a giant leading a small child, as a guide. Jay liked the statue a lot.
We were tempted into one of the many candy stores (Tutti Frutti, I believe) in our walk through town - It's surprisingly common to see these shops filled with bins of gummy candies and hard candies. Unfortunately, the ropes of color filled with white, though identical in appearance, tasted nothing like the delicious Fiesta candy I found in Austria. Live and learn, I suppose.
The city of Córdoba is split between the old city and the new city. The whole place was hot and dusty and seemed strongly influenced by muslim architecture. I took a nap in a plaza by a fountain while Jay read. Apparently someone mistook him for a local Spaniard and started asking him for directions, at which point I had to wake up and translate.
A random note: Most of the pigeons here were white. One of the larger parks we walked through (decorated with lush vegetation) was filled with white pigeons sleeping in the grass - cute.
After a delicious meal of Chinese food, we made our way back to the station for a night train to Valencia. Now, we have to question the competence of the security system when, if boarding a train from gate 1, you must scan your luggage, but all other gates have free access to the tracks. Once at the tracks, you can easily cross to any other track without returning to the gates where they scanned luggage. So basically, you would have to be very, very stupid to get caught with a weapon in Córdoba.
30 March 2006
JJ Conquers Europe Part XIX
Toledo, Spain
Although the Toledo train station is a beautiful building decorated with stained glass and tiles, it lacks a left-luggage facility. To locate a suitable replacement, we had to lug our large backpack (well, Jay had to) up a large hill to the tourist information center, whereupon we were told to go down the hill to the bus station (neighboring the train station) to find lockers. Should the train station personnel have told this to us when I asked? Probably. A hike is a nice way to start the morning, though.
Once we returned to the top of the hill, luggage safely stowed at the bottom, we purchased bread and cheese (and fanta and aquarius - a watery orange soda that I thought was wonderful) for a mini-picnic in the park just outside the castle/city walls. Proceeding into the city proper, we were met with many winding streets, narrow enough that pedestrians had to cling to the walls at any time a car wanted to pass.
In our journey through these streets, we found bad gazpacho, pretty residential alleyways barely large enough to walk through, many churches, and far more tourists than strictly necessary. For the midday heat, I napped on a bench near a church as Jay transcribed music. After a bit, I was awoken and displaced by a large group of disinterested Spanish students visiting, whose group leader seemed determine that if she yelled and clapped loud enough, her high school students would suddenly take interest in the unique history of the third statue carved into the western facade of such-and-such church, rather than talking amongst themselves. We didn't stay to see if it worked.
The sun was setting as we returned to the station, and it was quite beautiful -- many people waited outside the train station to watch it, and others (we'll call him Jason Gutiérrez Marrone) felt the inexplicable need to go running as the sun set.
Sun down, running-urges satisfied, we made our way to Córdoba.
Once we returned to the top of the hill, luggage safely stowed at the bottom, we purchased bread and cheese (and fanta and aquarius - a watery orange soda that I thought was wonderful) for a mini-picnic in the park just outside the castle/city walls. Proceeding into the city proper, we were met with many winding streets, narrow enough that pedestrians had to cling to the walls at any time a car wanted to pass.
In our journey through these streets, we found bad gazpacho, pretty residential alleyways barely large enough to walk through, many churches, and far more tourists than strictly necessary. For the midday heat, I napped on a bench near a church as Jay transcribed music. After a bit, I was awoken and displaced by a large group of disinterested Spanish students visiting, whose group leader seemed determine that if she yelled and clapped loud enough, her high school students would suddenly take interest in the unique history of the third statue carved into the western facade of such-and-such church, rather than talking amongst themselves. We didn't stay to see if it worked.
The sun was setting as we returned to the station, and it was quite beautiful -- many people waited outside the train station to watch it, and others (we'll call him Jason Gutiérrez Marrone) felt the inexplicable need to go running as the sun set.
Sun down, running-urges satisfied, we made our way to Córdoba.
29 March 2006
JJ Conquers Europe Part XVIII
Barcelona, Spain
I had reserved a hostel bed for the evening I arrived in Barcelona - INOUT Hostal, quoted on Hostelworld as being a 5-minute walk from Plaça Catalonia. However, when I asked for directions at a tourist office in the train station, I received a different story. The hostel was off the map, and a 20-minute walk from the nearest metro station, up a huge hill, to get there. Perhaps with a jet plane I could have made it there from the Plaza in 5 minutes, but as I was provided no such mode of transportation, it was a 40-minute metro ride. The unpleasant surprises didn't end there. The "10-bed dorm" housed in actuality 16-20 people in one room, and although the door was locked, the electronic key opens it with a loud and abrasive buzz, to which I woke up at all hours as new-comers came in and then shone flashlights in the faces of the sleepers in their search for a bed. Pleasant. I guess that 10-pm curfew was inaccurate as well.
So I got nearly no sleep on the hard, thin mattress, woken often by the door and then the noise of the newcomers, and I had to leave at 6:40 in the morning to try to intercept Jay on what I hoped to find him on -- the 8:24 train from Paris. I had asked the night before whether I could check out at any time, specifically at 6:30 AM, and they said yes. This is not to pay, mind you, but to return the key in exchange for my 10-euro deposit; I'd paid for the room already. Given that I'd already paid and was owed money back, it is perhaps not surprising that there was no one to be found at 6:30 in the morning. Frustrated, furious, and out of time, I was forced to leave the key and a furious Spanish note expressing my displeasure at the situation and requesting that they send me my deposit. We'll see how that goes.... Frankly, I've no such expectations.
Getting to Estacio França was a mini-adventure in itself. Upon exiting the metro station, I saw no obvious indication of the train station, so I asked a man walking nearby. He gave some complicated and detailed instructions, but after following them for a few minutes I realized I didn't feel like it was the correct way to the station. I asked again, to a woman this time, who gave completely different directions, but thought it was cute that I'd trusted a male in such matters (I now remember being told in Chile that a latino will lie and send you halfway to Timbuktu before admitting that he doesn't know where something is. Ah, machismo).
The sweet woman walked most of the way there with me, chatting like crazy. Cute. With her help, I successfully found the station from her directions and Jay was on the train I'd guessed, so much relief and rejoicing ensued. See, I'd run out of minutes on my German cell phone and couldn't add minutes from Spain. As Jay and I had planned to meet up by using my phone, I was a little worried. I'd not been able to e-mail him in time to confirm which train (or station, for that matter) he would be coming in on, so... I was a bit worried that we wouldn't be able to find each other.
We walked around for a bit, ate Paella (amazing food), and settled under a few palm trees to read/write in the sun there.
While walking around, we noticed a lot of interesting graffiti and murals, as well as an intriguing boulevard aimed (presumably) at tourists, with stands selling portraits, statue-performers, flower/jewelry/souvenir shops, and, rather inappropriately, pet stores. Just in case, on your trip to Barcelona you decide you just cannot do without a terrified caged squirrel.
So I got nearly no sleep on the hard, thin mattress, woken often by the door and then the noise of the newcomers, and I had to leave at 6:40 in the morning to try to intercept Jay on what I hoped to find him on -- the 8:24 train from Paris. I had asked the night before whether I could check out at any time, specifically at 6:30 AM, and they said yes. This is not to pay, mind you, but to return the key in exchange for my 10-euro deposit; I'd paid for the room already. Given that I'd already paid and was owed money back, it is perhaps not surprising that there was no one to be found at 6:30 in the morning. Frustrated, furious, and out of time, I was forced to leave the key and a furious Spanish note expressing my displeasure at the situation and requesting that they send me my deposit. We'll see how that goes.... Frankly, I've no such expectations.
Getting to Estacio França was a mini-adventure in itself. Upon exiting the metro station, I saw no obvious indication of the train station, so I asked a man walking nearby. He gave some complicated and detailed instructions, but after following them for a few minutes I realized I didn't feel like it was the correct way to the station. I asked again, to a woman this time, who gave completely different directions, but thought it was cute that I'd trusted a male in such matters (I now remember being told in Chile that a latino will lie and send you halfway to Timbuktu before admitting that he doesn't know where something is. Ah, machismo).
The sweet woman walked most of the way there with me, chatting like crazy. Cute. With her help, I successfully found the station from her directions and Jay was on the train I'd guessed, so much relief and rejoicing ensued. See, I'd run out of minutes on my German cell phone and couldn't add minutes from Spain. As Jay and I had planned to meet up by using my phone, I was a little worried. I'd not been able to e-mail him in time to confirm which train (or station, for that matter) he would be coming in on, so... I was a bit worried that we wouldn't be able to find each other.
We walked around for a bit, ate Paella (amazing food), and settled under a few palm trees to read/write in the sun there.
While walking around, we noticed a lot of interesting graffiti and murals, as well as an intriguing boulevard aimed (presumably) at tourists, with stands selling portraits, statue-performers, flower/jewelry/souvenir shops, and, rather inappropriately, pet stores. Just in case, on your trip to Barcelona you decide you just cannot do without a terrified caged squirrel.
28 March 2006
GJEE Part VI
Mérida, Spain
I'll admit right now: I didn't really read much about Mérida before arriving, so I was more than a bit surprised to see a statue of Romulus and Remus feeding from the mother she-wolf on our way into town.
Mérida, part of the old Roman Empire, it seems, holds many ruins from this time - a Roman amphitheater and famous temples. There are also various comfortable plazas, with fountains and benches to relax at.
Our hotel was gorgeous - it reminded me of the hotel my family stayed at in Guadalajara, Mexico -- they both had colorful, open-air tiled patios in the center. This one served gazpacho too. (Finally, a taste of the real thing! Still though, I prefer my dad's version - the hotel put sausage on top of the soup.)
Mérida, part of the old Roman Empire, it seems, holds many ruins from this time - a Roman amphitheater and famous temples. There are also various comfortable plazas, with fountains and benches to relax at.
Our hotel was gorgeous - it reminded me of the hotel my family stayed at in Guadalajara, Mexico -- they both had colorful, open-air tiled patios in the center. This one served gazpacho too. (Finally, a taste of the real thing! Still though, I prefer my dad's version - the hotel put sausage on top of the soup.)
26 March 2006
GJEE Part V
Segovia, Spain
Segovia is a beautiful town, with gorgeous buildings (especially churches), weather, and an impressive Roman aqueduct. It's small enough to be easily experienced on foot, yet large enough to demand that it take more than a few hours to do so. If you look in the right direction, you can see beautiful, snow-capped mountains, but I'm not sure which range they belong to.
Segovia is the site of two of my failures with Spanish: first, I missed out on gazpacho (not my fault, they were just out of it) and second, i had the lovely experience of describing bumps as "erm... como cerritos muy pequeños... no, mas bien, puntos elevados." Ah, how my Chileans would respond if they could see me now.
Segovia is the site of two of my failures with Spanish: first, I missed out on gazpacho (not my fault, they were just out of it) and second, i had the lovely experience of describing bumps as "erm... como cerritos muy pequeños... no, mas bien, puntos elevados." Ah, how my Chileans would respond if they could see me now.
23 March 2006
GJEE part IV
La Rochelle, France
I'm afraid there's not a whole lot I can say about La Rochelle, as I got sick on the train ride there and spent most of the time in bed. It is a port town, with 3 landmark towers (we saw one, but didn't go up), and a lovely aquarium where I took more photos than by any account could be construed as reasonable. Ah well. Frustratingly, there was a couple (French) who kept using flash, even thought it was posted all over that flash was not allowed, as it is dangerous to the fish. I got it. The much-too-loud group of German students got it. Any 2-year-old with the ability to recognize pictures should have gotten it. What is the excuse of a native speaker, I wonder... Illiteracy and an inexplicable inability to decode explicit signs? Bah. I did glare at them disapprovingly though, so I'm sure that showed them.
Getting to Segovia was yet another unwanted adventure - the train to Irún was delayed by over two hours, guaranteeing that we would miss the only connection to Madrid. THey ended up changing that train's route and then adding/rerouting another train to take people to Madrid - free upgrade to beds, so I'm not complaining. After arriving in Madrid, it was just a short train ride to Segovia, but what a hassle.
Getting to Segovia was yet another unwanted adventure - the train to Irún was delayed by over two hours, guaranteeing that we would miss the only connection to Madrid. THey ended up changing that train's route and then adding/rerouting another train to take people to Madrid - free upgrade to beds, so I'm not complaining. After arriving in Madrid, it was just a short train ride to Segovia, but what a hassle.
21 March 2006
GJEE Part III
Bayeux, France
Our primary reaction to Bayeux could be most easily summed up as "that's it?" It is a city of approximately 4 non-residential blocks, and very few residential homes as well. The cathedral, the center of the town, can be seen from anywhere within Bayeux, and we crossed most of the town in our 15-minute walk from the train station to the hotel.
Located near the northern coast of France, Bayeux was a very cold and rather foggy. It also seemed to be filled with elderly American tourists who spoke no French, but who worked under the theory that as long as you raise your voice loudly enough, French people will understand English. Ugh.
There are, however, some impressive and historical sights in and around Bayeux. The Bayeux Tapestry is, of course, one of the first to spring to mind. 70 meters of embroidery, narrating the history of William the Conqueror, focusing on Harold's betrayal to him, leading to the Norman Invasion. This stitched narration is amazingly intricate, both in handiwork and in the story it tells, and an audio guide (provided) explains the work part-by-part, drawing attention to some of the smaller, easier-to-miss details (i.e."you can tell Harold was caught by surprise when he came off the boat because he hasn't had time to put his shoes on yet"). Oh, of course.
Another well-known draw to the area is the group of D-Day beaches and cemeteries to soldiers of WWII. We visited the American cemetery and the Omaha Beach, though nearly knocked over by the wind in the latter. It's hard to imagine an army (or many in this case) trying to mobilize itself here, let alone fight the decisive battle of a war.
Located near the northern coast of France, Bayeux was a very cold and rather foggy. It also seemed to be filled with elderly American tourists who spoke no French, but who worked under the theory that as long as you raise your voice loudly enough, French people will understand English. Ugh.
There are, however, some impressive and historical sights in and around Bayeux. The Bayeux Tapestry is, of course, one of the first to spring to mind. 70 meters of embroidery, narrating the history of William the Conqueror, focusing on Harold's betrayal to him, leading to the Norman Invasion. This stitched narration is amazingly intricate, both in handiwork and in the story it tells, and an audio guide (provided) explains the work part-by-part, drawing attention to some of the smaller, easier-to-miss details (i.e."you can tell Harold was caught by surprise when he came off the boat because he hasn't had time to put his shoes on yet"). Oh, of course.
Another well-known draw to the area is the group of D-Day beaches and cemeteries to soldiers of WWII. We visited the American cemetery and the Omaha Beach, though nearly knocked over by the wind in the latter. It's hard to imagine an army (or many in this case) trying to mobilize itself here, let alone fight the decisive battle of a war.
19 March 2006
GJEE Part II
Strasbourg, France
After settling into our room in Strasbourg, we walked to Eglese St. Paul, a gorgeous church viewable from our hotel room. We couldn't get in, but we walked around it and then wandered for a bit, seeing another church and the small botanic gardens on our way. Strasbourg is very similar to Palo Alto in many ways - the weather, the general calm and seemingly small size of the city (though Strasbourg is in fact one of the larger cities in France), and the kids roller-blading or biking around...
We went to a cafe for dinner, in which the waitress did not speak English, so we had a difficult time communicating until I finally thought to ask if she spoke German (which she did). It turns out that the restaurant was technically closing, but they'd let us order anyway. Once we were able to communicate, the waitress was really sweet and talkative, so that was nice.
The next day we saw the cathedral and an unexpected parade -- on our way to Petit France we were blocked by a Carnival celebration (two weeks late by regular Carnival/Fasching standards, but oh well), so we sat by the river and watched the floats and crowds pass on the other side, leaving much confetti in their wake.
We went to three museums in the Palais Rohan as well, and archeological museum, a painting museum, and an interior tour of the palace.
That evening, as we had a 7:54 train departure the next morning, Grandma slept nervously. At 0:23, I awoke to her shaking my knee frantically, saying "We have to get up!" I informed her of the time, rolled over, and went back to sleep. An hour or so later, the same thing again, and then I woke up multiple times in the night to see her slip into the lit bathroom to check the time.
We got to the train with time to spare, but just as we were scheduled to leave, and announcement was played in French and everyone started getting back off the train. Unsure of what was going on, I leaned across to the man sitting across from me, "Parlez-vous Aleman, Espagnol, o Anglais?"
"Whichever you want."
"Do you understand what just happened? I'm confused..."
"Everyone has to leave the station while they search for a bomb."
"...Ah."
What?! Well, that's new. We filed out of the train and down from the platform, moving extremely slowly due to all the people in the corridor. Our train platform was furthest from the main station building, so we were at the back. Just as we started to see the main building, another announcement was made and everyone started returning to the trains. All was settled, apparently.
When we returned to our seats, the man across from me asked if I was English, "Yes - American," I amended, and the woman sitting across the aisle voiced her surprise. I repressed the urge to apologize for my nationality, and in a bit we were on our way, just under an hour behind schedule.
Around the midway-stop of Nancy, a woman got on and displaced the nice old man (who'd explained the announcement to me) to a seat across the aisle, just before taking up all my foot room and talking on her cell phone for the duration of the trip (sighing loudly and exaggeratedly at the delay when she was not occupied with the phone). It's nice to be reminded that other countries pump out their share of inconsiderate travelers too, but must they be in my immediate vicinity? Oh well; c'est la vie.
On the second train, from Paris to La Rochelle, we were in a crowded compartment of 8 seats, four of us had filled most of the overhead storage space, and then 2 more people came in, both with very large suitcases. The other three immediately jumped up to move stuff around, often relocating their own luggage to the space under the seats in order to provide space to the newcomers. This was a shocking difference from the behavior Jay and I encountered in Italy, where a group of 4 had filled the overhead storage with small bags and made not the slightest move to accommodate our large backpack (which we then had to struggle to affix to the rack in the aisle, which, though perfectly suited to the handbags of the other 4, was far too narrow to comfortably hold the backpack.
And people complain that the French are unfriendly?
We went to a cafe for dinner, in which the waitress did not speak English, so we had a difficult time communicating until I finally thought to ask if she spoke German (which she did). It turns out that the restaurant was technically closing, but they'd let us order anyway. Once we were able to communicate, the waitress was really sweet and talkative, so that was nice.
The next day we saw the cathedral and an unexpected parade -- on our way to Petit France we were blocked by a Carnival celebration (two weeks late by regular Carnival/Fasching standards, but oh well), so we sat by the river and watched the floats and crowds pass on the other side, leaving much confetti in their wake.
We went to three museums in the Palais Rohan as well, and archeological museum, a painting museum, and an interior tour of the palace.
That evening, as we had a 7:54 train departure the next morning, Grandma slept nervously. At 0:23, I awoke to her shaking my knee frantically, saying "We have to get up!" I informed her of the time, rolled over, and went back to sleep. An hour or so later, the same thing again, and then I woke up multiple times in the night to see her slip into the lit bathroom to check the time.
We got to the train with time to spare, but just as we were scheduled to leave, and announcement was played in French and everyone started getting back off the train. Unsure of what was going on, I leaned across to the man sitting across from me, "Parlez-vous Aleman, Espagnol, o Anglais?"
"Whichever you want."
"Do you understand what just happened? I'm confused..."
"Everyone has to leave the station while they search for a bomb."
"...Ah."
What?! Well, that's new. We filed out of the train and down from the platform, moving extremely slowly due to all the people in the corridor. Our train platform was furthest from the main station building, so we were at the back. Just as we started to see the main building, another announcement was made and everyone started returning to the trains. All was settled, apparently.
When we returned to our seats, the man across from me asked if I was English, "Yes - American," I amended, and the woman sitting across the aisle voiced her surprise. I repressed the urge to apologize for my nationality, and in a bit we were on our way, just under an hour behind schedule.
Around the midway-stop of Nancy, a woman got on and displaced the nice old man (who'd explained the announcement to me) to a seat across the aisle, just before taking up all my foot room and talking on her cell phone for the duration of the trip (sighing loudly and exaggeratedly at the delay when she was not occupied with the phone). It's nice to be reminded that other countries pump out their share of inconsiderate travelers too, but must they be in my immediate vicinity? Oh well; c'est la vie.
On the second train, from Paris to La Rochelle, we were in a crowded compartment of 8 seats, four of us had filled most of the overhead storage space, and then 2 more people came in, both with very large suitcases. The other three immediately jumped up to move stuff around, often relocating their own luggage to the space under the seats in order to provide space to the newcomers. This was a shocking difference from the behavior Jay and I encountered in Italy, where a group of 4 had filled the overhead storage with small bags and made not the slightest move to accommodate our large backpack (which we then had to struggle to affix to the rack in the aisle, which, though perfectly suited to the handbags of the other 4, was far too narrow to comfortably hold the backpack.
And people complain that the French are unfriendly?
18 March 2006
Reflections
Train to Strasbourg, France
As luck would (and did) have it, my car on the train was filled by a high school group of Germans, who were loud, and my seat was only two rows away from the smoking section, with 2 panels of glass between the seats as separation, but an entirely open aisle way (not even the option of a glass door) -- how this keeps smoke out from the non-smoking seats with no windows that can be opened, you ask? Oh, it doesn't. Not remotely. Thanks, team. The German students took frequent trips past me to the smoking section to lighten their suitcases a pack or two at a time, and I wrapped my scarf around my nose and eyes, and tried to go to sleep.
..."Tried" being the operative word. The students had decided to play Taboo - across the entire car, so it was a loud game. Although it was the German version, many of the words thrown out were in English - it always surprised me how English words have been assimilated into other languages. It also made me start considering my German: namely, that it's not good enough.
If we had host families instead of single rooms, it would be easier to learn German, but there are always drawbacks to that as well -- namely privacy, personal freedom, and the chance that you don't get along with your family.
Regardless, I find myself considering changes for the remaining semester - reading in German, taking more LMU courses, not speaking English... I'm sure Jay'd be happy with the last one, he's probably just as frustrated as I am. But whether I actually follow through is another matter entirely. We shall see.
On a different note, I love French. I loved Paris. French came more easily than I thought it would (sort of like Spanish with a German "r", except not quite), and I didn't get the same responses as I do when I ask for directions (or food in a bakery) in Munich (What? I can't understand you... indications of my horrid accent), so that is encouraging. As the metro to the Eiffel Tower went above ground and we were afforded views of the city, I felt an attachment to the city - a pull, a longing. I could love this place, given the time to know it better. I wonder if this reaction was a result, in part, of my dad's love for Paris. Regardless, i want to learn French - maybe I can find time to audit a class at some point. And Italian. And Greek and Russian and Chinese and Japanese and Arabic... Really I just need a way to retain these languages at the same time as I learn more. Despite the strong urge I have to learn more and more languages, I know the frustration involved with the more advanced study (past the introductory grammar stages), and the ease with which languages can slip away.
..."Tried" being the operative word. The students had decided to play Taboo - across the entire car, so it was a loud game. Although it was the German version, many of the words thrown out were in English - it always surprised me how English words have been assimilated into other languages. It also made me start considering my German: namely, that it's not good enough.
If we had host families instead of single rooms, it would be easier to learn German, but there are always drawbacks to that as well -- namely privacy, personal freedom, and the chance that you don't get along with your family.
Regardless, I find myself considering changes for the remaining semester - reading in German, taking more LMU courses, not speaking English... I'm sure Jay'd be happy with the last one, he's probably just as frustrated as I am. But whether I actually follow through is another matter entirely. We shall see.
On a different note, I love French. I loved Paris. French came more easily than I thought it would (sort of like Spanish with a German "r", except not quite), and I didn't get the same responses as I do when I ask for directions (or food in a bakery) in Munich (What? I can't understand you... indications of my horrid accent), so that is encouraging. As the metro to the Eiffel Tower went above ground and we were afforded views of the city, I felt an attachment to the city - a pull, a longing. I could love this place, given the time to know it better. I wonder if this reaction was a result, in part, of my dad's love for Paris. Regardless, i want to learn French - maybe I can find time to audit a class at some point. And Italian. And Greek and Russian and Chinese and Japanese and Arabic... Really I just need a way to retain these languages at the same time as I learn more. Despite the strong urge I have to learn more and more languages, I know the frustration involved with the more advanced study (past the introductory grammar stages), and the ease with which languages can slip away.
17 March 2006
Grandma and Jessie Explore Europe Part I
Paris, France
The evening that Grandma arrived, we took the metro to the Arc de Triomphe and walked back from there along the Avenue des Champs Elysees. We ate at a small cafe (Jessie had snails! Delicious!) and then returned home, owing the short day to Grandma's delayed flight and Jessie's small nap.
The next day we'd intended to see the palaces in daylight (we'd seen them during our walk the night before), but ended up devoting a considerable amount of time to a last-minute scramble, on my part, to secure a location in the on-campus apartments for senior year, an endeavor that involved much internet, faxing, printing, and fare too much money expended in order to do so. At least it worked (I don't know any of my 3 roommates very well, but hey - we've got a year).
After that hassle, we went to the Louvre, starting from the bottom floor at a leisurely pace, viewing all the displays, but soon getting tired partway through the 2nd floor, changing course to hit the Venus d'Milo, the Mona Lisa, and then hurrying up, away from the crowds.
Having no interest in the portraits upstairs (and feeling a strong urge to write and rest my feet), I sat and wrote while Grandma saw a few rooms in this section.
After the Louvre, we ate at a restaurant near our hotel, and I received a phone call from my parents. Although I had to yell over the noise of traffic (I'd left the restaurant to take the call), it was nice to chat with them. It also made me a bit homesick... But hey, nothing half a day on a train through the French countryside won't cure, right?
Before that though, we had one more night to sleep in Paris. Apparently we had neighbors who came home late and then ordered room service, because I woke up in the middle of the night to Grandma sitting straight up and calling "Who is it?! Who's there?!" before turning to me and asking if I'd heard the knocking - someone was trying to get in! In actuality, the knocking was at our neighbor's door, but it sounded like it was at ours. I don't remember my half-awake response; I believe it was something along the lines of mfmslflllmsl. Apparently it happened again an hour later (waiter coming to pick up the tray?), but that time I slept through it.
The next day we'd intended to see the palaces in daylight (we'd seen them during our walk the night before), but ended up devoting a considerable amount of time to a last-minute scramble, on my part, to secure a location in the on-campus apartments for senior year, an endeavor that involved much internet, faxing, printing, and fare too much money expended in order to do so. At least it worked (I don't know any of my 3 roommates very well, but hey - we've got a year).
After that hassle, we went to the Louvre, starting from the bottom floor at a leisurely pace, viewing all the displays, but soon getting tired partway through the 2nd floor, changing course to hit the Venus d'Milo, the Mona Lisa, and then hurrying up, away from the crowds.
Having no interest in the portraits upstairs (and feeling a strong urge to write and rest my feet), I sat and wrote while Grandma saw a few rooms in this section.
After the Louvre, we ate at a restaurant near our hotel, and I received a phone call from my parents. Although I had to yell over the noise of traffic (I'd left the restaurant to take the call), it was nice to chat with them. It also made me a bit homesick... But hey, nothing half a day on a train through the French countryside won't cure, right?
Before that though, we had one more night to sleep in Paris. Apparently we had neighbors who came home late and then ordered room service, because I woke up in the middle of the night to Grandma sitting straight up and calling "Who is it?! Who's there?!" before turning to me and asking if I'd heard the knocking - someone was trying to get in! In actuality, the knocking was at our neighbor's door, but it sounded like it was at ours. I don't remember my half-awake response; I believe it was something along the lines of mfmslflllmsl. Apparently it happened again an hour later (waiter coming to pick up the tray?), but that time I slept through it.
15 March 2006
JJ Conquers Europe Part XVII
Paris, France
Contrary to the train schedules provided by DeutscheBahn, the ride from Geneva to Paris is 3 hours long and only offered during the day (hence our short stay in Geneva). We therefore booked a last-minute hostel from Geneva and arrived in Paris at around 8 pm. We figured out the metro system (not without some confusion as to which giant posted map displayed the metro system). En route, we picked up 2 samosas and 2 plastic mini-bottles of wine (one red, one white) and made our way to our very temporary home.
Thankfully, we not only had a clean room, but also a heater and, best of all, a private bathroom/shower. After showering, Jay ran off in search of more food for dinner, and I washed clothes and my hair (both the first time in nearly a week).
Jay returned with Adana Kebabs (go figure) and we ate dinner. The plastic-enclosed wine was not a huge success - although the white was drinkable, the red most closely resembled rancid vinegar. Oh well, it happens. Serves us right for being cheap.
We slept nearly all the way to check-out time, then left to relocated to our previously-reserved room for the next night. Although the new location (Young and Happy Hostel - terrible, I know) had no private bathroom or shower, it was on Mouffetard Blvd. in the middle of a long string of cafes and affordable restaurants in easy walking distance from Notre Dame and the Pantheon.
After dropping off our stuff, we made our way to the Pantheon, viewing St. Etienne du Mont on the way. There was a large group of protesters near the Pantheon, with the sign "Lassaiz-nous en cours" (I apologize if I butchered that spelling), so we assumed it was a student protest. Jay looked up information on this later, from London, though. Apparently it was a protest against a new job contract by the government, and included 120,000 students in Paris and 250,000 total in France.
We then walked along the river Seine to Notre Dame before returning to the hostel to find food (crêpes avec nutella et banane? Mais oui) and unpack/start charging our camera batteries and cell phone, now that our room was accessible.
That evening was devoted to Jay's primary interest in France: the Eiffel Tower. Getting there, however, proved a formidable task. Intending to walk, we went for about 30 minutes until we realized that (A) it was getting dark and (B) we'd been walking in the wrong direction. Deciding that it would be best to just take the metro, we checked its nearest stop on our map (only a block or so away) and proceeded in that direction. After doubling back a few times and still no metro, I decided to ask *gasp* a Parisian. She was very nice, understood (surprisingly) my attempt at French (Perdón, ou est le metro?) and pointed us in the correct direction. We walked for 2 blocks, asked again, and soon were on our way to the Tour Eiffel.
It was easy enough to find, just follow the tourists. Or, hey, maybe that big lit up thing? Yeah, that would be it. Appropriately, we made it our biatch, photographically speaking, and then went to the summit (only 11 euros on the elevator, but I would have preferred the availability of stairs to allow more vantage points).
Jay's French tourist needs satisfied, we returned to the area around our hostel and had dinner - it was a lovely restaurant with a really sweet, adorable waitress, and we had the place entirely to ourselves for the whole 2 hours we were there. The food was delicious too - a greek salad, with the freshest feta cheese I've ever tasted, veal with pasta and roasted veggies, pasta and a cheese cream sauce and salmon for Jay, fabulous fresh bread, and a delicious white wine. As mentioned before, a lovely dinner.
The next morning, Jay accompanied me to the hotel my dad reserved for my grandma and me for the next two nights, the Normandy Hotel. Jay was going to leave that evening to meet Katy in London. The Normandy Hotel is about 500 steps above the hostels that Jay and I had been using. I wonder what went through the receptionist's well-groomed head when 2 somewhat scruffy-looking college students marched in wearing jeans, fleece, and backpacks - probably that we needed directions.
But no, I marched up, introduced myself, and stated that I had a reservation. Receptionist guy (we'll call him Michel; anyone who has watched Gilmore Girls should appreciate the reference - any who spoke with this receptionist would believe him to be the character's inspiration) looked me up and down, pursed his lips a bit, then checked for my name on his list. Finding it (to his surprise, I'm sure), he replied "Oui, but I'm afraid we could only book you for the one night."
"Mm. We received an e-mail confirmation for the two nights."
"Two nights were requested, but I'm afraid we are full."
"We have an e-mail confirmation from the hotel for both nights."
(He checks the folder) "Mm. But of course." And hands over the room key. i bid farewell and good train-sailing (the Eurostar train under the channel) to Jay, then make my way to my room to nap until Grandma arrives.
This was interrupted only when the TV turned itself on to greet me, "Mr/Ms. JESSICA BLACK, we would like to welcome you to the Normandy Hotel..." displayed in a dark menu-style square on top of the program running at the same time - a Spanish woman with fake neon pink nails and a pink apron, and eye shadow from her eyelashes to well into her forehead, telling us how to make spring rolls. I went back to sleep, but I'm sure my dreams were unpleasantly effected.
So ends the first part of JJCE. To be continued in Barcelona. Until then, Jessie and Grandma Explore Europe...
Thankfully, we not only had a clean room, but also a heater and, best of all, a private bathroom/shower. After showering, Jay ran off in search of more food for dinner, and I washed clothes and my hair (both the first time in nearly a week).
Jay returned with Adana Kebabs (go figure) and we ate dinner. The plastic-enclosed wine was not a huge success - although the white was drinkable, the red most closely resembled rancid vinegar. Oh well, it happens. Serves us right for being cheap.
We slept nearly all the way to check-out time, then left to relocated to our previously-reserved room for the next night. Although the new location (Young and Happy Hostel - terrible, I know) had no private bathroom or shower, it was on Mouffetard Blvd. in the middle of a long string of cafes and affordable restaurants in easy walking distance from Notre Dame and the Pantheon.
After dropping off our stuff, we made our way to the Pantheon, viewing St. Etienne du Mont on the way. There was a large group of protesters near the Pantheon, with the sign "Lassaiz-nous en cours" (I apologize if I butchered that spelling), so we assumed it was a student protest. Jay looked up information on this later, from London, though. Apparently it was a protest against a new job contract by the government, and included 120,000 students in Paris and 250,000 total in France.
We then walked along the river Seine to Notre Dame before returning to the hostel to find food (crêpes avec nutella et banane? Mais oui) and unpack/start charging our camera batteries and cell phone, now that our room was accessible.
That evening was devoted to Jay's primary interest in France: the Eiffel Tower. Getting there, however, proved a formidable task. Intending to walk, we went for about 30 minutes until we realized that (A) it was getting dark and (B) we'd been walking in the wrong direction. Deciding that it would be best to just take the metro, we checked its nearest stop on our map (only a block or so away) and proceeded in that direction. After doubling back a few times and still no metro, I decided to ask *gasp* a Parisian. She was very nice, understood (surprisingly) my attempt at French (Perdón, ou est le metro?) and pointed us in the correct direction. We walked for 2 blocks, asked again, and soon were on our way to the Tour Eiffel.
It was easy enough to find, just follow the tourists. Or, hey, maybe that big lit up thing? Yeah, that would be it. Appropriately, we made it our biatch, photographically speaking, and then went to the summit (only 11 euros on the elevator, but I would have preferred the availability of stairs to allow more vantage points).
Jay's French tourist needs satisfied, we returned to the area around our hostel and had dinner - it was a lovely restaurant with a really sweet, adorable waitress, and we had the place entirely to ourselves for the whole 2 hours we were there. The food was delicious too - a greek salad, with the freshest feta cheese I've ever tasted, veal with pasta and roasted veggies, pasta and a cheese cream sauce and salmon for Jay, fabulous fresh bread, and a delicious white wine. As mentioned before, a lovely dinner.
The next morning, Jay accompanied me to the hotel my dad reserved for my grandma and me for the next two nights, the Normandy Hotel. Jay was going to leave that evening to meet Katy in London. The Normandy Hotel is about 500 steps above the hostels that Jay and I had been using. I wonder what went through the receptionist's well-groomed head when 2 somewhat scruffy-looking college students marched in wearing jeans, fleece, and backpacks - probably that we needed directions.
But no, I marched up, introduced myself, and stated that I had a reservation. Receptionist guy (we'll call him Michel; anyone who has watched Gilmore Girls should appreciate the reference - any who spoke with this receptionist would believe him to be the character's inspiration) looked me up and down, pursed his lips a bit, then checked for my name on his list. Finding it (to his surprise, I'm sure), he replied "Oui, but I'm afraid we could only book you for the one night."
"Mm. We received an e-mail confirmation for the two nights."
"Two nights were requested, but I'm afraid we are full."
"We have an e-mail confirmation from the hotel for both nights."
(He checks the folder) "Mm. But of course." And hands over the room key. i bid farewell and good train-sailing (the Eurostar train under the channel) to Jay, then make my way to my room to nap until Grandma arrives.
This was interrupted only when the TV turned itself on to greet me, "Mr/Ms. JESSICA BLACK, we would like to welcome you to the Normandy Hotel..." displayed in a dark menu-style square on top of the program running at the same time - a Spanish woman with fake neon pink nails and a pink apron, and eye shadow from her eyelashes to well into her forehead, telling us how to make spring rolls. I went back to sleep, but I'm sure my dreams were unpleasantly effected.
So ends the first part of JJCE. To be continued in Barcelona. Until then, Jessie and Grandma Explore Europe...
14 March 2006
JJ Conquers Europe Part XVI
Geneva, Switzerland
Oh Geneva... E.U. and yet not, lovely and yet unaffordable, Switzerland and yet French... Whatever will we do with you?
Well, the answer for any traveler on any sort of a budget is RUN. Run away and don't look back, this place will rob your wallet, mortgage your home, and slap you in the ass with a wet towel on the way out. Geneva is dangerous.
The Swiss Franc is the currency, as the Swiss prefer it to the weaker Euro, so you lose money by exchanging between currencies right off the bat. Then, restrooms cost 2 SwFr (about 1.4 euros for those keeping score, twice what Greece or Italy could get away with), internet use is 2 SwFr for 20 minutes (again, more than Switzerland's neighbors), and our lunch of cheese, a small baguette, some salami, and cheap wine cost the equivalent of 20 Euros, when the same items cost less than 8 euros in France and Italy. Mailing a small package took almost all of the money we had after converting 20 euros, the rest was drained by *gasp* a whopping 30 minutes of internet use.
But yes, Geneva is pretty. We took our mini-picnic (the one that cost more than most of our sit-down meals) down to the water and sat on a bench in the park there, in the sun, until we became too cold and had to run back to the train station, Italian-weather-spoiled tails between our legs.
Well, the answer for any traveler on any sort of a budget is RUN. Run away and don't look back, this place will rob your wallet, mortgage your home, and slap you in the ass with a wet towel on the way out. Geneva is dangerous.
The Swiss Franc is the currency, as the Swiss prefer it to the weaker Euro, so you lose money by exchanging between currencies right off the bat. Then, restrooms cost 2 SwFr (about 1.4 euros for those keeping score, twice what Greece or Italy could get away with), internet use is 2 SwFr for 20 minutes (again, more than Switzerland's neighbors), and our lunch of cheese, a small baguette, some salami, and cheap wine cost the equivalent of 20 Euros, when the same items cost less than 8 euros in France and Italy. Mailing a small package took almost all of the money we had after converting 20 euros, the rest was drained by *gasp* a whopping 30 minutes of internet use.
But yes, Geneva is pretty. We took our mini-picnic (the one that cost more than most of our sit-down meals) down to the water and sat on a bench in the park there, in the sun, until we became too cold and had to run back to the train station, Italian-weather-spoiled tails between our legs.
13 March 2006
An Evaluation of Italian Cioccolata
Italy
After being informed by a Stansted Airport cafe (expert on Italian cuisine) that the Italian style of hot chocolate is bland, watery, and tastes vaguely of dirt (See old entry here), I decided to investigate the matter myself. following somewhat extensive field research in Rome, Naples, Venice, and Florence, I am prepared to reveal my findings.
In Rome I sampled a type of hot chocolate that must be eaten (not drank) with a spoon. With numerous varieties ranging form the basic milk chocolate to dark chocolate-chili pepper to white chocolate with lemon and pine nuts, served in a large mug, this chocolate was way too thick to drink -- the consistency resembled pudding more closely than it resembled a drink. This thick consistency, along with the strong flavors allow this cioccolata to stand far apart from its Stansted representatives.
In Naples, the hot chocolate returned to a more familiar liquid form, though very hot and quite rich in chocolate. Venetian chocolate held true to this form - drinkable straight from the cup, yet very flavorful (that flavor being of chocolate, not of mud).
Florence was an interesting new style, and quite possibly my favorite. The hot chocolate was melted pure dark chocolate, with no more than the tiniest possible amount of milk to allow it to keep a semi-liquid form as it cooled. Still, the liquid thickly coated the spoon, and did harden somewhat upon cooling. The color was the same as one would see upon unwrapping a good bar of chocolate - rich, dark brown.
In summary, italian-style chocolate is being misrepresented in Stansted Airport. Lawyers should be dispatched to London to clear up this misunderstanding (nay - slander) as soon as possible. Also, to any mothers who argue that a shade of chocolate milk darker than the standard milk-carton version is too chocolaty -- take a trip to Italy and see how the masters do it!
In Rome I sampled a type of hot chocolate that must be eaten (not drank) with a spoon. With numerous varieties ranging form the basic milk chocolate to dark chocolate-chili pepper to white chocolate with lemon and pine nuts, served in a large mug, this chocolate was way too thick to drink -- the consistency resembled pudding more closely than it resembled a drink. This thick consistency, along with the strong flavors allow this cioccolata to stand far apart from its Stansted representatives.
In Naples, the hot chocolate returned to a more familiar liquid form, though very hot and quite rich in chocolate. Venetian chocolate held true to this form - drinkable straight from the cup, yet very flavorful (that flavor being of chocolate, not of mud).
Florence was an interesting new style, and quite possibly my favorite. The hot chocolate was melted pure dark chocolate, with no more than the tiniest possible amount of milk to allow it to keep a semi-liquid form as it cooled. Still, the liquid thickly coated the spoon, and did harden somewhat upon cooling. The color was the same as one would see upon unwrapping a good bar of chocolate - rich, dark brown.
In summary, italian-style chocolate is being misrepresented in Stansted Airport. Lawyers should be dispatched to London to clear up this misunderstanding (nay - slander) as soon as possible. Also, to any mothers who argue that a shade of chocolate milk darker than the standard milk-carton version is too chocolaty -- take a trip to Italy and see how the masters do it!
JJ Conquers Europe Part XV
Firenze, Italy
Our train arrived at 6:17 and the first order of business was to reserve seats for the overnight train to Geneva, which turned out to have a supplement charge (on top of our InterRail passes) of 25 euros apiece! Gah! Not a good way to start the day, but we walked around the city and soon felt less shocked, as our surroundings were rather distracting. I'm sure Florence has lovely museums and churches -- Uffizi Gallery, the Duomo... - these are two items that would be first on most visitors' itineraries. I hope I don't unduly appall anyone by saying we weren't particularly interested in entering either (but yes, the Duomo is very... unique looking from the outside).
After wandering around the center a bit, we headed for the river, buying sandwiches and miniature wine bottles on the way. In this manner we had a lovely picnic in the grass by the river, with the sun warm and bright overhead. Afterwards, we strolled along the river, pausing to observe pigeons, an impromptu soccer game, and a crew team practicing on the Arno.
In a rather unhurried search for a new sunny spot or a cafe to sit and read in, we ran across an English-language used bookstore, or rather, the remains of one. The one that had been there had moved in December, but left up a map of how to walk to its new location. We wasted no time in making a confused-ADD-beeline there (lots of turns and little side streets). When we arrived... Wow. Used, cheap English-language books lined shelf upon shelf... we were in heaven. We stayed for over an hour, finally emerging with just under 10 books. Had i not limited myself to books under 3.50 euros, it would have been much worse.
Toting our valuable finds, we made our way to a nice looking cafe (with, surprisingly, no smokers) and sat down. The English-speaking waiter, though very friendly, seemed as though he'd had far too much coffee. We ordered a bit of food (pasta and a salad), and a bottle of water. I also ventured to try a floral tea, which was incredibly good. We stayed there for a few hours, trying a few teas and reading, and finally ordered a piece of chocolate cake to split, which was covered in chili powder! Interesting, but yummy. When the cafe started to fill up, we went back to the train station to wait for our train to Geneva.
After wandering around the center a bit, we headed for the river, buying sandwiches and miniature wine bottles on the way. In this manner we had a lovely picnic in the grass by the river, with the sun warm and bright overhead. Afterwards, we strolled along the river, pausing to observe pigeons, an impromptu soccer game, and a crew team practicing on the Arno.
In a rather unhurried search for a new sunny spot or a cafe to sit and read in, we ran across an English-language used bookstore, or rather, the remains of one. The one that had been there had moved in December, but left up a map of how to walk to its new location. We wasted no time in making a confused-ADD-beeline there (lots of turns and little side streets). When we arrived... Wow. Used, cheap English-language books lined shelf upon shelf... we were in heaven. We stayed for over an hour, finally emerging with just under 10 books. Had i not limited myself to books under 3.50 euros, it would have been much worse.
Toting our valuable finds, we made our way to a nice looking cafe (with, surprisingly, no smokers) and sat down. The English-speaking waiter, though very friendly, seemed as though he'd had far too much coffee. We ordered a bit of food (pasta and a salad), and a bottle of water. I also ventured to try a floral tea, which was incredibly good. We stayed there for a few hours, trying a few teas and reading, and finally ordered a piece of chocolate cake to split, which was covered in chili powder! Interesting, but yummy. When the cafe started to fill up, we went back to the train station to wait for our train to Geneva.
12 March 2006
JJ Conquers Europe Part XIV
Ljubljana, Slovenia
Upon our arrival in Ljubljana (Slovenia, if you were lost), we were greeted by a cold and snow-covered city, a rather surprising change after so many days in Italy, Greece, and Turkey in the sun.
Another regional... let's call it a quirk, that we'd become unaccustomed to after leaving Germany was that all the stores are closed on Sundays. In Germany, this is indeed the case, but all restaurants are still open (this is also the case in Austria). Not so in Slovenia. After 30 minutes or so of strolling through the snowy, empty streets, we started to get hungry.
Every cafe, it seemed, was closed. Signs pointed to a restaurant "200 meters away", but when we followed these signs, there was not only no open restaurant, but no establishment by that name at all. Stranger still was a sign for a restaurant on a small building, but no door through which to enter. We started to wonder if this wasn't a prank played on tourists by the locals -- fabricating names of cafes and moving the signs around. "Döner kebab, just 30 meters down this block..." Maybe they had a tally for how many we'd follow before getting wise to the system; a pool amongst the locals (how many steps out of her way will that one go? 300? No, at least 500 meters - just look at that determination!).
We did give up, pulling out my map and info from a guidebook and making a beeline for the one restaurant it listed as being open on Sundays -- a pleasant surprise, this shop not only existed and was open, but served delicious sandwiches and hot chocolate.
From there, the center of the town near the river, we were able to orient ourselves as well as find a block of cafes/restaurants open on Sundays (for later reference). Warm, fed, and less frustrated, we made our way up the big hill leading to the castle.
As castles in this region go, it wasn't particularly impressive. It's location, however, afforded a lovely view of the city and of the Ljubljanian Alps in the background. it was also a nice walk to stretch out legs that had spent too much time on trains. On our way back down we passed a beautiful black cat who, upon sighting us, ran over and, purring, proceeded to climb into my lap and lay down. I love the animals here!
We spent the rest of the day cafe-hopping as it was rather cold to try to sit still outside. We had drinks (hot cocoa, orangina, white wine) and snacks (calamari, gelato, and gyros), spread along a 5-hour time period as we read, wrote and people-watched and switched locations when we got bored. Al in all, a good day once we found the food.
Another regional... let's call it a quirk, that we'd become unaccustomed to after leaving Germany was that all the stores are closed on Sundays. In Germany, this is indeed the case, but all restaurants are still open (this is also the case in Austria). Not so in Slovenia. After 30 minutes or so of strolling through the snowy, empty streets, we started to get hungry.
Every cafe, it seemed, was closed. Signs pointed to a restaurant "200 meters away", but when we followed these signs, there was not only no open restaurant, but no establishment by that name at all. Stranger still was a sign for a restaurant on a small building, but no door through which to enter. We started to wonder if this wasn't a prank played on tourists by the locals -- fabricating names of cafes and moving the signs around. "Döner kebab, just 30 meters down this block..." Maybe they had a tally for how many we'd follow before getting wise to the system; a pool amongst the locals (how many steps out of her way will that one go? 300? No, at least 500 meters - just look at that determination!).
We did give up, pulling out my map and info from a guidebook and making a beeline for the one restaurant it listed as being open on Sundays -- a pleasant surprise, this shop not only existed and was open, but served delicious sandwiches and hot chocolate.
From there, the center of the town near the river, we were able to orient ourselves as well as find a block of cafes/restaurants open on Sundays (for later reference). Warm, fed, and less frustrated, we made our way up the big hill leading to the castle.
As castles in this region go, it wasn't particularly impressive. It's location, however, afforded a lovely view of the city and of the Ljubljanian Alps in the background. it was also a nice walk to stretch out legs that had spent too much time on trains. On our way back down we passed a beautiful black cat who, upon sighting us, ran over and, purring, proceeded to climb into my lap and lay down. I love the animals here!
We spent the rest of the day cafe-hopping as it was rather cold to try to sit still outside. We had drinks (hot cocoa, orangina, white wine) and snacks (calamari, gelato, and gyros), spread along a 5-hour time period as we read, wrote and people-watched and switched locations when we got bored. Al in all, a good day once we found the food.
JJ Conquers Europe Part XIII
Way to Ljubljana, Slovenia
Our trip to Slovenia had a bad start, as our tickets had been scheduled (mistakenly) for the previous evening and we had not caught the mistake while we were still at the Deutsche Bahn office. Luckily, we were able to ride anyway to Villach, the Austrian station in which we were to switch trains, and the trip from there to Ljubljana was in fact free with our InterRail passes (although Deutsche Bahn had sold us reservations for both legs of the trip under the pretense that they were required).
The wait in Austria sucked - the waiting room was comfortable, warm, and quiet until other people came in. First, a rather sketchy character who kept making beepy noises while playing with his cellphone (a beep for every keystroke seemed to be the setup. Why any cellphone owner would do this to his fellow human beings is beyond me). Then an older man that was drunk and talking to himself, and then, worst of all, a group of local teens (obviously not waiting for a train), came in and started talking - nay, closer to yelling - amongst each other... This was around 2 in the morning! We just wanted to sleep and stay warm for the two hours between our trains! We ended up spending the remainder of the night in the women's bathroom, which was heated, clean, and empty. Additionally, we could brush our teeth and charge our camera batteries.
Also, on the way out, I bought "sour apple" candy, made by Fiesta, a Spanish company - delicious!! It pretty much redeemed the entire two hours in Villach. On to the next train.
The wait in Austria sucked - the waiting room was comfortable, warm, and quiet until other people came in. First, a rather sketchy character who kept making beepy noises while playing with his cellphone (a beep for every keystroke seemed to be the setup. Why any cellphone owner would do this to his fellow human beings is beyond me). Then an older man that was drunk and talking to himself, and then, worst of all, a group of local teens (obviously not waiting for a train), came in and started talking - nay, closer to yelling - amongst each other... This was around 2 in the morning! We just wanted to sleep and stay warm for the two hours between our trains! We ended up spending the remainder of the night in the women's bathroom, which was heated, clean, and empty. Additionally, we could brush our teeth and charge our camera batteries.
Also, on the way out, I bought "sour apple" candy, made by Fiesta, a Spanish company - delicious!! It pretty much redeemed the entire two hours in Villach. On to the next train.
11 March 2006
JJ Conquers Europe Part XII
Venezia, Italy
Venice, upon first leaving the train station, is surprisingly touristy as compared to Rome. For a while we explored the streets near the station - filled with mask shops and other souvenir stands. We also went into a lot of the (many) churches, which were gorgeous.
After a few hours though, all the shops and churches started to close -- apparently it was time for siesta. Hungry at this point, we stopped at a restaurant bordering one of the many rivers. As we were not extremely hungry at that point and the prices were rather outrageous, we ordered a plate of pasta and clams to split, as we'd seen a couple do at another table. At this request the waiter informed us that it could not be done; we must order two separate dishes. As the other table in the same restaurant was doing this, we were pretty sure that the waiter's response was not a result of the request, but of our attire. That is to say, he knew we were not going to spend as much money as other, richer tourists would given the newly freed table. Irritated at this attitude, we left.
We continued to wander, waiting for the city to come off of break so we could visit more of the many lovely churches. In the meantime, we found a nice cafe to sit at, drink hot chocolate, and read for a bit before proceeding to San Marco Basilica, where Jay and I fed pigeons with a bag of corn kernels purchased for 1 euro. They ate right out of our hands, landing on our arms, and one or two confused newbies landing on our heads (presumably our hats look like food). Afterwards we walked to a nearby port and I read my book while Jay people-watched and tried to read over my shoulder. (He's now reading that book, "The Blind Assassin", now that I've finished it -- no way to get a boy to read a book than to sit and read it in front of him while telling him not to read ahead).
After a restful hour or so spent in this manner, we walked along the coast, through another touristy area, and purchased gelato. We were apprehensive since the prices were higher here than in the outskirts of the city, so I was the only one willing to buy some... at first. The woman working there was so sweet and amazingly adorable, I told Jay that he had to go buy one too. He did, and then agreed. We pretty much wanted to adopt that sweetie, but oh well. We turned inwards towards the less-crowded streets and were met with the labyrinth of tiny, winding side streets and rivers. Clothes lines crisscrossed all the miniature streets - too small for cars, as they didn't exist in Venice... just boats (and gondolas) and the occasional bike.
We saw a couple of friendly cats along our way, as well as a dog that was just chilling out in a tied-up boat. As the sun started to set, we ran back to the dock, chasing the setting sun for a gorgeous view over the water. For dinner we found a lovely Chinese food restaurant (still irritated by the snooty, expensive Italian restaurant from that afternoon), and then made our way slowly back to the train station. Just outside, we got some more gelato and sat outside in an enclave of the station building, me reading, Jay watching the tourists and passing boats.
Venice was, all-in-all, lovely. Jay and I have difficulty deciding on the best single descriptive word, but "sexy", "alluring", "enchanting", and "seductive" are all candidates. Given that our pass to get into the churches is valid for a year, we may try to return for a weekend during the summer semester.
After a few hours though, all the shops and churches started to close -- apparently it was time for siesta. Hungry at this point, we stopped at a restaurant bordering one of the many rivers. As we were not extremely hungry at that point and the prices were rather outrageous, we ordered a plate of pasta and clams to split, as we'd seen a couple do at another table. At this request the waiter informed us that it could not be done; we must order two separate dishes. As the other table in the same restaurant was doing this, we were pretty sure that the waiter's response was not a result of the request, but of our attire. That is to say, he knew we were not going to spend as much money as other, richer tourists would given the newly freed table. Irritated at this attitude, we left.
We continued to wander, waiting for the city to come off of break so we could visit more of the many lovely churches. In the meantime, we found a nice cafe to sit at, drink hot chocolate, and read for a bit before proceeding to San Marco Basilica, where Jay and I fed pigeons with a bag of corn kernels purchased for 1 euro. They ate right out of our hands, landing on our arms, and one or two confused newbies landing on our heads (presumably our hats look like food). Afterwards we walked to a nearby port and I read my book while Jay people-watched and tried to read over my shoulder. (He's now reading that book, "The Blind Assassin", now that I've finished it -- no way to get a boy to read a book than to sit and read it in front of him while telling him not to read ahead).
After a restful hour or so spent in this manner, we walked along the coast, through another touristy area, and purchased gelato. We were apprehensive since the prices were higher here than in the outskirts of the city, so I was the only one willing to buy some... at first. The woman working there was so sweet and amazingly adorable, I told Jay that he had to go buy one too. He did, and then agreed. We pretty much wanted to adopt that sweetie, but oh well. We turned inwards towards the less-crowded streets and were met with the labyrinth of tiny, winding side streets and rivers. Clothes lines crisscrossed all the miniature streets - too small for cars, as they didn't exist in Venice... just boats (and gondolas) and the occasional bike.
We saw a couple of friendly cats along our way, as well as a dog that was just chilling out in a tied-up boat. As the sun started to set, we ran back to the dock, chasing the setting sun for a gorgeous view over the water. For dinner we found a lovely Chinese food restaurant (still irritated by the snooty, expensive Italian restaurant from that afternoon), and then made our way slowly back to the train station. Just outside, we got some more gelato and sat outside in an enclave of the station building, me reading, Jay watching the tourists and passing boats.
Venice was, all-in-all, lovely. Jay and I have difficulty deciding on the best single descriptive word, but "sexy", "alluring", "enchanting", and "seductive" are all candidates. Given that our pass to get into the churches is valid for a year, we may try to return for a weekend during the summer semester.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)