its almost over?!?

wow. i cannot believe that this trip will conclude in under 48 hours. i hope to conjure up one last reflective post about this entire journey. but before then, let me tell briefy of two other adventures i had recenty: a trip back to møn and hamburg.

møn began at 5:30am, as Nicole and I wanted to see the cliffs while there was sunlight. because i am hundreds upon hundreds of miles more north than practically everyone reading this, the sun is out for about 6 hours a day. it doesnt rise until sometime after 8, and sets before 4. okay, maybe thats closer to 8 hours...but you know what i mean.

nevertheless the cliffs were (yet again) beautiful. whilst there we met these two older Danish men, and I was even able to speak to them in Danish a little bit (hooray C+ on the oral final!). i learned that they were from southern zealand, and both retired. one even collected old russian military artifacts. i'm not kidding - he gave me his card. the other man gave us 20 kroner for is (ice cream) and we went on our merry way, having a lovely picnic on this large rock a little out from the shore.

it was nice to enjoy møn without having to run 3 miles in under 45 minutes. despite i losing my ticket at nørreport station (which i later found), the trip went off without any major issues.

jump to friday, where i got paid for my work study job. rather than simply blow all of it on booze and other nefarious deeds (just kidding!), i decided to take advantage of this mega sale that dsb (that danish national railway, similar to amtrak) had for hamburg. i remembered that hamburg was a cool city from this german fellow i met two years in montreal, so i decided to take advantage of the deal and go there.

because my so decision was so last minute, i travelled by my lonesome. that however did not the hilarity that ensued there. overall, hamburg was a fascinating city as it doesnt looked like it got bombed to hell sixty years ago. and its a port city that is actually nice - i didnt know such places existed, but hamburg's it! despite having a rather large red light district, the city seemed to be a really safe place. the hostel i stayed at was not great (no kitchen! how can they get away with this!?!), and hardly anyone was there because it was a week or so before christmas. but the location was superb - it was very reminiscent of greenwich village in nyc. lots of (attractive) females, hipsters, punks, hippies, etc dwelled in the area.

but let me summarize the entire trip in small bullet-esque points:

on the train to hamburg i sat across this guy who used to work for dis, so we discussed the program

the hostel i stayed at didnt have a kitchen, but instead this organic restaurant. my waiter there was this rumanian film student studying in hamburg so he gave me his email address and said he wanted "to see my work." we first started talking when he asked where i was from, and upon hearing Boston, he responded "oh, culture there. no cowboys." (i am going to write about this phenomenon on a latter date. its gotten really, really annoying).

in the red light district this old asian couple was having a loud argument and the women was throwing all this clothes off the top floor

some squatters almost puked on me under a bridge i was walking through

i went to this german punk/hc show at this ungdom huset (thats the type of place that had the riots here in copenhagen last saturday. if you havent heard about it, look it up. pretty crazy stuff) where this obviously drugged up dude told me to "f--- off and die" because i didnt speak german or have any rolling papers. needless to say, that pump a damper on the rest of my evening.

at this other bar i went to the bartender was wearing a tshirt of a motorcycle store in worcester (Sheldon's to be exact). i asked him where in the world he got it as i am from worcester, but he just said "second hand store"

sunday morning i went to a fishmarket, where there were lots of festivities going on. later on during the day as i was meandering toward the train station, numerous christmas markets littered the entire downtown of hamburg. and by numerous i mean about 1000. i've been to christmas markets in three different countries, and these were by far the best. but then, the germans did somewhat invent christmas as we know it.

so overall i had a great time. i just wish a was with someone, and/or spoke german. which is something that really bothered me: no one spoke english. now, i dont mean this in an ethnocentrist way (wow, i just actually used that term in an unironic way. i am going to light myself on fire now). but if there is one nation that should theoretically speak english as its second language, it is germany. does the marshall plan ring a bell?

although it may seem i am completely enjoying myself here (which i am) and dont ever want to return home, thats not that case. i actually want to go home. after going to hamburg, i felt ready to return to the states for a multitude of reasons. i'll post these later (hooray cliffhangers!).

as always, photos are here.

eesti

So guess where I went this past weekend? That’s right, Estonia!

Now, I had always wanted to visit a Baltic State. I had no real reason, but I thought it would be really unique to do so. Luckily I met a friend who is second generation Estonian, and her parents owned an apartment in Tallinn (which is the capital). So needless to say, I took her up on her offer.

So jump to this past weekend where I and three other friends visited Estonia. We arrived rather late on Friday night (about 11pm), so we just hung around the apartment. Hillevi’s (whose apartment it was) mom was also there for the weekend, so she made us some Estonian cuisine. The biggest dish they serve is blood sausage, which is exactly as it sounds – sausage with blood. In all actuality, it was extremely delicious.

Saturday we went and visited the Old Town. Because we were about a mile outside of the Old Town we got to walk for a bit through the outskirts of town (Tallinn is really small. I think the population is only about 400k, and the entire Estonian population is a mere 1.2 million or so). It was really a unique sight, as there were old houses from the turn of the previous century, soviet style complexes, and empty lots all strewn together. At first I was abhorred, but then I eventually discovered a certain charm to it – kind of like Baltimore and Worcester.

Old Town was absolutely beautiful. Essentially, it’s an old medieval fortress on a hill. And what made my appreciation of it even greater was that it was not uber-touristy. Sure there were some tourists (e.g. me), but not a plethora so that things were tacky. We spent the day wandering around, visiting museums and churches and whatever else caught our eyes. We saw this great exhibit on Bernt Notke’s morbid “Dance of Death” at the Niguliste Church, along with this contemporary Estonian painter Navitrolla’s studio. Be sure to check out both artist and work of art, as they are quite unique.

After several more museums and visiting the Christmas Market at the town hall square (which was built in the 1400s!), we decided to kill some time at a cigar lounge. That’s right, I went to a cigar lounge in Tallinn, smoked Cubans (hooray items that aren’t contraband everywhere else!), drank some brandy, and discussed the economy. I felt quite Victorian.

Saturday’s dinner was provided by Hillevi’s mom (as the slang-idiom goes: “we got the hookup!”), and I had more blood sausage. My friend Matt had the pork knuckle (another Estonian staple) that I was too timid to attempt, as I am not barbaric enough.

But the highlight of the entire trip was going to these cellar bars in Tallinn. That’s not to suggest that drinking is my fondest memories, but there was a level of ambience at these places that I had never experienced before. They were essentially speakeasies, as there were no signs demarking them – just a staircase into a basement door. The insides were essentially medieval cellars with electricity. No tacky décor, no loud and obnoxious music, just people sitting around talking. They were listed as “Dive Bars” in this guidebook I had, but that is a clumsy and improper title.

On Sunday Hellevi and Matt flew back to Copenhagen leaving Abbie and I on our own in the city. We went and visited the Open Air Museum, which was the reconstructed Medieval Estonian Village (think Plymouth Plantation, only way less tacky). There were hardly any other visitors there, and it was a really nice day so it was quite enjoyable to walk around open spaces in nice weather.

Because we had to depart Tallinn at 6:30am on Monday, Sunday night was quite uneventful. That did not stop me however from walking around the neighborhood. I saw more of the same three neighborhood elements as I mentioned earlier. All in all, I was kind of disappointed that weren’t many Soviet relics remaining, but given as Estonia was occupied by the USSR for over fifty years, I suppose its not surprising.

So on Monday we both got up, with some help from Hillevi’s mom, at 5:30am and hopped on a cab to the airport. We departed at 6:30am, and got into Copenhagen at 7:30am. To make matters more depressing/frustrating, IT WAS STILL DARK. Nevertheless, I arrived at school just before a class and handed in the big paper that was due. After that class I had to take a culture test in my Danish class. A couple classes later I attended my Danish friends Christmas party, before retiring home and passing out at midnight. I’ve had some long days in my old age, but that ranks up at the top.

Nevertheless, I really enjoyed Tallinn, and want to go back to visit it and the rest of the country. Everyone else should do the same as well. It is really fascinating to see how far they’ve westernized since they became independent fifteen years ago. Oh yea, and it is really cheap there too. So if you want some exotic place to visit that isn’t too heavy on the wallet, I highly recommend Estonia. Personally, it’s been the icing on this entire amazing journey I’ve had in Europe.

as always, photos are here

what i've been up to

since i've gotten back into copenhagen, i've been quite busy. here's a quick rundown of some of the highlights:

the discovery of the film institute.
this is a recent development, that i wish i had taken advantage of awhile back. i knew it existed and visited it, i just never went there to watch movies. well i've gone to two this week, and plan on seeing many more in the future. this place is immaculate, and i think i may do my grad work there.

exploring all the coffee shops this city has to offer.
when i would go into boston, it would be usually to see a film and/or go to a cafe. for some reason, that habit did not carry over to when i got here for the first month or so. well, now my friend kevin and i are on a mission to visit 2 a week. soon i will be able to give a full account of every coffee shop and cafe here in copenhagen. because, you know, knowledge like that is useful.

louisiana art museum
this modern and contemporary art museum is a sight everyone needs to see if they ever visit Denmark. it is built on the edge of the water, and the corridors are all glass, so when passing from exhibit to exhibit you can look out and see water, trees, and other pleasantries. the guide mentioned that nature was supposed to act as a background for all the art.
but what was really interesting there was the huge film still exhibit. each section of the exhibit dealt with a theme, and would supply film stills to display that theme. it was pulled off masterfully, although there were many questionable films in the exhibit (eg. the day after tomorrow. seriously, who allowed that?)
it was also nice to get out of the city, and visit a small town. luckily it was a beautiful day out, so a friend and i were able to see the sunset (which is a rare occurrence as it always cloudy here) at 4pm.

new people i've met
meeting new and amazing people is always enjoyable when school ends in three weeks!

two days of thanksgiving
thats right, i had two feasts to celebrate thanksgiving, of which each were equal in their grandeur and fun. i think i am still full a week later.

discovery of a massive church near my apartment.
this place looks like a spaceship. i'm not kidding. here is some proof: and i've also taken advantage of how everything is closed here on sundays, and been going on walks around the beautiful parks and lakes near my apartment. i really enjoy where i live, and will be sad to leave it more than anything else.

bike trips
and lastly, i used the money DIS gave me for a public-transit pass and bought a bicycle as soon as i got back. so whenever its been nice out (which hasnt been too much, sadly) i go on a bike ride to some different part of the city i've never been to. this had been great as its made me feel more a part of the Danish culture AND i get to see new areas whenever i want. its like getting your driving license all over again. although one time i was exploring and both my tires went flat, and it was terrible. but thats another story.

so that is all for know. i'm very ambivalent about returning home, as i feel i've suddenly found my niche here. but then again, that ALWAYS happens. as i always say: "alas".

now if you'll excuse me, i am going to estonia tomorrow. ta-ta!

ireland.

So I went to Ireland a long time ago, and mentioned how amazing it was and how I couldn’t wait to write about it. Remember that? Nah, I don’t either.

Okay, I do. Sorry it took so long to update, but I’ve been really busy with school. These next few weeks are going to destroy me. But hey, I’d rather be doing this than cleaning a meat room (which I return to when I get home. Please, someone shoot me.)

But my travels in Ireland began in Dublin, a city I had high expectations for. As you know already, those expectations were not met – at all. I was fortunate enough to meet some students from Notre Dame at the airport, and we spent Friday night visiting some of the thousand pubs that exist in the city. But my night was brief, as I needed to meet Chris at the airport extremely early.

The only portion of Dublin worth mentioning was when we visited St. Michan’s Church, and took a tour of their crypt. Our tour guide was somewhat crazy, but a priceless raconteur. He showed us some exposed mummies, and even allowed us to touch one that was the skeleton of a Crusading Knight. I thought touching a skeleton would be very creepy, but it was less scary than I imagined. I was amazed how well preserved the bone was, but limestone apparently is good for keeping places dry.

So skip to the next day, when Chris and I had to go out to Dingle. Now, we hadn’t booked a hostel yet and my phone was not working so I was quite worried on the travel over there. But luckily we were able to find a payphone, and procure a place at the Ballintaggart Hostel (which as I mentioned earlier, was the best place we stayed at). We spent that night touring the tiny town, before stumbling upon a pub where traditional Irish music was playing. Unfortunately, this was the only time we heard trad music during our tenure there, as most pubs had places playing American music (this one place in Galway had a BLUES band. They were really good, but I was in Ireland, not Memphis).

Chris and I rented bicycles the next day and biked all around the western portion of the peninsula. It was so pleasant out that we were riding in short sleeves, which for the middle of October is not necessarily commonplace. The landscape was simply beautiful. I wish I could use some more hyperbole, but I think being minimalist in this situation is just as effective. Just visit there – you’ll understand.

Our stint in Dingle ended on Tuesday, when we trekked up in Galway. Keeping with our trend of not booking ahead of time, only to find out we didn’t need to anyway; we stayed at this rather sterile hostel in Dingle. However, we met some really cool and interesting people from the States and Canada. Most notable was this guy from Wyoming, who we spent some time with and would later meet up with in Belfast.

But the nights in Galway are probably the best memories I possess. We found this really large, fun pub called the Black Rose (it was actually in Gaelic, but I don’t remember how it was spelt: Roisen Dubh or something). There we randomly met these Irish Girls, who soon enough introduced their fellow Irish friends, who with their New Zealander “mates”, who were also with these French and German girls. Oh yea, and these two older guys from South Africa and Portugal were involved in this (large) crowd. The pub turned into a dance club after-hours, so needless to say we danced. Luckily, Europeans are terrible at dancing so our buffoonery was not as lame as it would have been stateside.

On Wednesday we attempted to rent a boat and row to this nearby castle, but because it was pouring outside, and being the middle of October, we were unsuccessful. Needless to say, it was a day spent indoors reading, which is always nice from time to time.

We were originally going to leave on Thursday for some unknown location in Northwestern Ireland, but because a) we weren’t in the mood to leave Galway and b) a musician Chris really enjoys was having a free show that night we decided to stick around another day. We made good use of it, and visited the Cliffs of Moher, and passed through the Burren. The two landscapes were entirely different, but both amazingly beautiful. The Cliffs were absolutely massive, and so windy that at some parts you had to walk backwards because the wind gusts were so strong that it blew your breath back into your lungs. The Burren is this large landmass that is covered in limestone. On Thursday night we saw James Yorkston (check him out by the way. Good stuff) and ran into the same people that we met on Tuesday.

So on Friday, with our amazing journey quickly ending, we arrived at our final location: Belfast. I must say that Belfast was probably the most enjoyable place we visited. Perhaps it was the culmination of an already amazing week, or that I was totally unprepared for what and who we were about to meet. It was probably both, but nevertheless it was incredible. From the moment we arrived at our hostel, we felt at home. Everyone, including the staff, was so friendly, that we all went out for drinks. Now, this never happens at hostels, or anyone for that matter.

We went to this pub that was once a communist printing press, until it was bombed during The Troubles. Now it houses a HUGE variety of whiskeys, and that night was host to a Halloween party. It was humorous to see the different costumes, the best being a girl dressed as a Rubik’s cube. Personally, the funniest moment for me that night was in the bathroom, where a man dressed up as Robin Hood stumbled in, shouted something completely incoherent, was then immediately picked up by a bouncer, and brought outside. It was surreal.

Saturday Chris and I went for a walk to the Protestant and Catholic neighborhoods to see the murals. I had really wanted to take a Black Cab Tour around the neighborhoods, as they provide a personal account of what it was like living, or growing up, during that period. However, we were really short on funds so we decided to do it on our own. When I go back to Belfast, I am going to make sure to have enough pounds take the tour.

I think wandering around on our owns was more beneficial anyway, as we stumbled upon really interesting things: the Sinn Fein headquarters; a massive wall that still divides the two neighborhoods; an old checkpoint gate; an array of Protestant and Catholic murals; and a pleasant park. I’m not going to give an account of the conflict that occurred in Northern Ireland, as it would take awhile and I am unsure of my accuracy. But you should read about it though. It’s amazing that a conflict of that ferocity and magnitude (from a civilian perspective) occurred within Western culture since the Second World War. It is also appalling that I knew very little about it, other than it being some religious conflict, which is really only the tip of the iceberg (and not necessarily correct).

So there you go. Sorry it took so long to post it, and I must admit I don’t think I recapped it well. But alas. Photos are here and here.

Chris – if you have any additional comments or stories, feel free to post them.

visiting d-day

[I decided to break the posts into two, because as one it would be too long]

So ANYWAY, the next day I toured Normandy. Unfortunately I had to leave the really amazing hostel at 7am, because I had to walk to the train station and be there by 8am for my tour started then. Around 8am, a young man stepped out of the van and asked if I was Tim, and told me that I would be the only one of the morning tour. From that moment, I knew that the day was going to be amazing.

My guide, Patrice, first drove me to Utah Beach and showed me around. Luckily it was sunny, so I got to see a lot of the beach and surrounding area. It was high tide however, so the beach was drastically smaller than it would have been. I got to roam around the beach and the remaining bunkers that weren’t filled in with sand (their filling wasn’t intentional, but just natural. I mean, D-DAY was sixty years ago).


After Utah Beach we went to Ste-Mere-Eglise, were the 82nd Airborne was supposed to land and capture the town. As we all know, the droppings didn’t go to plan and they (and the 101st) were scattered practically everywhere. Nevertheless this one paratrooper, John Steele, landed on the Church and to commemorate him being there for the amount of time he was (several hours), a dummy paratrooper is still hanging from the spire. There was a museum in town that I went to, which was interesting but the manikins dressed in army gear was extremely tacky. What was most fascinating about the museum was a film that was shown about the battle to liberate the town. In it, it discussed the total deaths of D-Day. My numbers may be a bit off, and I don’t know if it was accurate/how they got these figures, but I remember it stating that 80,000 Allied Soldiers died compared to 200,000 German. That immense discrepancy impacted me, for I never considered the amount of German lives the battle took. Later when I visited the German cemetery, I would discover that a majority of those killed were younger than I was (and I’m only 21…)

After Ste. Mere Eglise, Patrice showed me these small villages where battles took place that I had never heard of. As we drove through the country side, it was powerful to imagine the chaos that must have been going on during the initial hours, and that some random soldier was walking the roads I was travelling on, not fully knowing where he was or who was around him. One of the places we went to was Graingers where a massacre occured (more on it here), and the other was St. Côme-du-Mont, where this man Joseph Beyrle began his amazing story throughout World War II. I would explain, but it would honestly take awhile. More info is here. I also noticed the plethora of American flags and paraphernalia both in the town around Normandy. I mean, the US did liberate France...but its also France. It really was an odd sight to see and then attempt to rationalize.

The morning session drew to a close, and the afternoon one began with a new tour guide and group. I was kind of annoyed at first, because I really enjoyed traveling around with my own personal guide, but I eventually enjoyed the new one, Oliver who was born in Normandy and whose father fought in the French resistance. The group however…well I’ll just say this: young kids, and people my age from California. Get the point? Okay, let’s move on…

We toured Pointe du Hoc, which was stilled cratered from the intense bombing and battle that occurred there. After which we went to Omaha Beach, which was interesting on two levels: first, it was HUGE. It was low tide by this time in the afternoon, so the beach extended for a quarter mile or so (I don’t know really, it was just really long); and there were also houses built on the beach. Now, I am quite ambivalent about this and don’t necessarily feel like sharing on this because this post is already ridiculously long.

Finally we visited the American Cemetery, which really put the entire battle into perspective. There were bells that occasionally playing “God Bless America,” which obviously triggered an emotional response (along with the row upon row of crosses and Stars of David.

Before long I was back in Paris, where I completed my travel break. I didn’t do too much there, save for wandering around and seeing the sights. The last night there Katie’s cousin took us out for dinner at this great streak house, where I had the rawest meat I’ve eaten and it was delicious (oh, and some nice French wine).

I probably should give Paris more justice, but because it was the end of the tour I was practically broke, and very weary of traveling. I had seen sights that I will probably never see again, although I hope I can one more time. I had been on the road, a nomad for three weeks and was ready to return to a place that I called “home” whereupon I could do laundry for cheap and sleep in my own bed. And come morning, not worry about having to catch a bus, train, or airplane; or that breakfast was ending soon and I would have to check out shortly thereafter. Once you begin traveling, you are infected with some desire to see and do everything that you can. But its also nice to have a place you can return to and see people that experienced different, yet similar experiences – which I think is the greatest facet I will take out of my tenure here. When people think of traveling to different continents, it is made to seem that they are traveling to outer space (well, I suppose Tokyo is like that). I know that before I came to Denmark I was told of/envisioned some socialist utopia where everyone is tall, blond, and beautiful. What I discovered is that wasn’t really the case (except for the beautiful part). Yet despite the language and cultural differences, everyone is still human. Everything that ranges from their leisure time, to emotions, to architecture, to the public transit systems are essentially the same. Some claim that this is the product of “globalization,” but its so much more basic than that. It’s about the current that runs in between each human - our souls perhaps?

Wow, sorry I kinda got carried away with that. I hope that I covered every topic during these few days, although I probably forgot some really funny and interesting things. But whatever, I’ll add them when I remember. Photos of my adventure are here.

prelude to normandy

Sorry for the delay with updating – I had a rather busy week and weekend. I was going to enjoy a quiet Saturday by a) refining what I already wrote by adding some facets I forgot; and b) write about Paris and Normandy. However I was awoken early on Saturday morning by a phone call from my friend Zack, asking if I wanted to play at this nearby indoor Frisbee tournament for this coed Norwegian Team. [Quick note – in Frisbee there are two groups: open and girls. Girls can play on guys teams (thus making it “open”) but guys cannot play on girls team. Most “open” teams are usually just guys though.] I obviously accepted and have been since playing ultimate. Needless to say I am very sore, as I haven’t had any real physical activity in three weeks; and our team only had two subs, two girls, and one dude with a bad toe. But here goes (warning, its VERY long):

Mariah and I got into Paris sometime on Tuesday night and checked into the (bad) hostel. I had a horrible time trying to make a phone call to the hostel in Bayeux as my international sim card, which hadn’t worked AT ALL yet, wasn’t working either. In Ireland I was able to survive because their phones used change. In France however, you need to purchase a seven-fifty euro phone card – which also didn’t work. It’s been two weeks and I am still angry about that. Nevertheless I/we met some of Mariah’s friends from her school in Italy, and we spent Halloween night wandering around Paris.

I was quite worried when I first got to Paris, as I was supposed to go to Bayeux the next day but I had not: contacted the hostel to see if there was any vacancy; purchased a train ticket; or spoken with my other friend whom I was meeting in the city as both of our phones weren’t working. Luckily Katie gave me the address of the Hotel her mother and she were staying at, so I quickly left the hostel and went to the hotel at around 11am (which is when most places require you to check out). When I got into the hotel, I pretended that I was someone really important and that I needed to know whether the two of them had checked out or not. The lady at the desk offered me a telephone to call the room. I did, and discovered that they were in fact still there. I met them in the lobby, whereupon Katie’s cousin, who was living in Paris, also arrived to meet them. I told Katie my situation with Bayeux, and her cousin offered his cell phone to me to make the call. I did, and found out that there was in fact vacancy so I could sleep there at the hostel, and not have to cancel my reservation for touring Normandy the next day.

With the heavy burden off my shoulders, the three of us (Katie’s mom having flew home) went to a friend of Katie’s cousin, where he cooked us French toast. The rest of the afternoon was spent with us lounging around until I had to leave for the train station. Needless to say with all the traveling and the near disaster I managed to avoid, doing nothing for a few hours and watching television while someone cooks you food was WONDERFUL.

So in Europe, you need to validate your train ticket before boarding the train – otherwise you’ll get scolded and/or fined. When the train for Bayeux departed, I realized that I had in fact forgotten to validate my ticket. Luckily a rather cute gal was sitting across from me and I was able to ask her (in French that is) if she spoke English, and if not validating your ticket was a big deal. In a very friendly manner she said yes to both. I was worried that I would infuriate a French conductor (already did it in Italy and its not enjoyable) and then get fined, more so than an attractive and seemingly kind French gal, that was willing to speak English, was sitting across from me. Luckily my anxiety subsided when she reassured me that it wasn’t too big a deal, but I should notify a conductor when they walked by. She even told me how to say it in French! (No conductor however ever came by to check, so that crisis was avoided). Before long we were engaged in a conversation for the entire train ride about all sorts of things. Among which are: she thinking I was English (why does this keep happening!?); my lack of “American” (i.e. Texan) accent; her being an art student at Toulouse; the French Rivera and Provence; her laughing/reveling at the European-language phrasebook and guidebook I had on me; and how she was from Normandy. Not to get sappy but I think I fell in love that night, and by the way she said goodbye and how nice it was to meet me I think the emotions were mutual. Alas.

Like any small town in Europe, Bayeux was extremely old and beautiful. I had to walk through it to get from the train station to the hostel, and felt (surprisingly) at home. It was so quiet and serene, and it was really nice to be alone for an extended period of time. The cathedral was light up so beautifully that I was just totally in awe – on my list of favorite places I visited, it is one of the best. And the hostel there was equally as amazing. It was in an extremely old building that wasn’t a house or a mansion – it was really quite unique. The woman running it didn’t really speak any English, as she just gave me my key and asked for 20 euros. I had my entire room to myself, which was quite a relief as the night prior in Paris was tumultuous because of these two German girls stumbling in around 3am and making lots of noise (but that’s another story for another time). Once of the best memories of my trip was as I waited for my dinner to cook, I stood outside and reveled in how peaceful it was. The weather was also wonderful - just brisk enough that a sweatshirt suffices. There weren’t very many people in the hostel (I would say 5 total), but I was able to bump into this girl from the States who recently graduated college and was currently teaching English south of Lyon, and we watched a soccer blooper tape from the 1980s – in French. There was also this other guy in the room, but he never spoke so I don’t have anything to say about him.

Venice was nice. Nice was nice too.

So I figure that until I receive the photos of Ireland from Chris, I am going to write about the third week of my adventures. I don’t really need the photos, but they would assist in creating a better narrative of the trip (plus they look better than mine).
My trip to Venice and France really began on a Saturday Night (the 28th of October to be exact) in Belfast. Because I had a 6:30am flight from Dublin to Venice on Sunday Morning, I decided to take a 1am bus out of Belfast to Dublin, rather than be in the airport for six plus hours. This may sound illogical, but I had no intention on sleeping anyway.
As Chris and I were waiting for the bus to arrive, a fight broke out at the nightclub next to the bus stop. Being as it was Halloween weekend, this just wasn’t any fight – it was a fight involving a kid dressed up as a priest, another as a woman, and others as lamer costumes. I don’t really know how it started, but I do remember bottles being chucked against the side of the club, a fire hose being used on the said kids, and someone getting punched and kicked in the face. Oddly enough, I wasn’t afraid. Not to be crass or macabre, but it was actually comical. Perhaps because one of the assailants was wearing an exposed fake breast set that flopped out of a torn flower decor dress, and the other kept shouting “I’m a priest!!” It was surreal.
Anyway, I was able to get on the bus and avoid the fight. I slept the entire two-hour bus ride, and arrived to the airport at 2:30am. I remember it was now daylight savings time, so I had another hour to kill at the airport. So I made the best of it and slept on the floor. After an hour of sleep, I found a gal that had been at the hostel in Belfast with me, and we went to the check in gate at 4:00am. You’d be surprised how busy airports are at such ungodly hours; it is almost disturbing.
So I arrived in Venice (or Treviso, which wasn’t close to Venice. Again, these budget airlines really get you with baggage fees and airports nowhere near your destination. Thank God Southwest and jetBlue do not pull that crap) at 9:30 after sleeping the entire plane ride. I met Mariah at the train station in Mestre; checked into the hostel in Fusina; took a ferry to Venice; and began our adventures.
Venice was scenic in a unique way, and the weather was just perfect. The canals weaved their way through the city and created a complete maze. It was however, immensely touristed. I didn’t mind, because it was just so cool. Yet our patience soon subsided as we discovered two things: there were way too many people to really enjoy the city; and there wasn’t much to do in the Venice anyway – San Marco is about it. Thus we looked for a less touristy spot. Luckily, because I had been just reading Death In Venice I remembered the Lido as being quite tranquil. So we took another water taxi and headed there.
The Lido lived up it is hype, and then some. It was so quiet and beautiful, being as we arrived in the late afternoon on a Sunday. We wandered along the endless beaches until the sun was beginning to set, and we decided we should slowly head back to Venice, and then the hostel. And that I should get some sleep.
My only comment to those going to Venice and trying to leave at night is this: buy some gelato, relax, and don’t worry about getting lost – it’s inevitable. Even if you think you know where you’re going, you don’t. All the canals and alleys are so complicated that even a taxi driver would get hopelessly lost. Plus, getting lost and then finding your way, only to repeat the steps six thousand more times is actually fun.
The next morning (after actually getting a nights sleep) we took a train from Venice to Nice via Milan, Genoa, Monaco and Cannes. I don’t have much to say about that because it was immensely long and uneventful. Although the countryside was quite nice.
Speaking of Nice…we arrived on Monday night. It seemed a lively city, and it retrospect I wish we could have spent another day. I finally got to see palm trees in a (seemingly) native habitat; and, not that I ever had any intention to, I no longer need to go to Miami for I visited the French version. The only really complaint I had with our tenure there was that the entire main drag and square was under construction. I don’t understand who/how this was allowed to happen. It would be like if Boston suddenly decided to close down and do construction on Mass Ave and the Common. And that the hostel we stayed at didn’t have a stove. I mean…how is that possible? I didn’t book the hostel, but I feel that if I did, I would hope to see that as a MAJOR disclaimer about that. If anyone is wondering, spaghetti is possible in a microwave. It just doesn’t taste good.
On Tuesday the weather was 21.5 degrees Celsius, which is about 70-75 Fahrenheit. Needless to say, we had a picnic and I saw in the MEDITERANEAN SEA! Okay, I didn’t really swim – but I did get a third of my body wet. The only issue was that the beach we were at, like all beaches in Nice, was topless. I got to admit, I never really got used to the public nudity. It wasn’t that it was totally omnipresent, but it was enough to make two outsiders feel very awkward after awhile.
After browsing the lovely MAMAC (Musee d’Art Moderne et d’Art Contemporain), we discovered that the bus line to the airport was on strike. Luckily, a German couple was also experiencing the same problem (they kept saying “catastrophe!”) so we decided to split a cab to the airport. They mentioned that they had visited and really enjoyed Miami, which I found humorous because we basically were in Miami; albeit the French version. I probably shouldn’t be writing this, but what the heck – security at the airport there was a joke. Nevertheless it was one less hassle to endure, and before long we were on a plane to Paris!


I’m going to write about Paris and Normandy at a later date for this post is already long enough, and those two locations (especially Normandy) had enough stories to warrant a novella, let alone a silly blog post. Photos from Venice and Nice are here.

i just got back from travelling europe and boy is my but tired..

So I had this witty recap post that somehow got deleted. Nevertheless here is what I can remember from it:

Thousands of miles crossed, eight cities, seven different airports, six countries, five beaches, four national transit lines, three languages “learned”, two seas, two battlefields, one channel, one ocean, one French beauty, and an empty bank account.

Overall, it was amazing. I’m going to write about each consecutive week in a separate post, although the week in Ireland may take a bit because I am waiting for the photos from Chris. But here is a list to recap what went down.

Best Country: Ireland
Everyone needs to visit this place. Doesn’t really matter where you go as there is so much there. Just stay away from Dublin.

Best City: Galway
An Irish college town! Why wouldn’t it be the best?

Most Touristy Spot: Venice
Although it was really beautiful and interesting, the amount of tourists was appalling. No wonder the city is losing population in droves. That, and its sinking into the sea.

Biggest Disappointment: Dublin
Speaking of touristy spots, Dublin was way too crowded to be enjoyable. It was like some simulacra of Irish Culture. Yuck.

Best Pub: Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese, London.
The BEST eating and drinking establishment I have ever been to. If you're ever in London, visit this place. You wont regret it.

Best Scenery: Dingle
Okay, the whole of Western Ireland could fit into this category with the Cliffs of Moher, the Burren, the Ring of Kerry, and the entire northwestern part (which we didn’t have time to explore). But with the quietness and isolation of Dingle, and the view from our hostel, it was the best.

Best Hostel: the Ballintaggart Hostel, Dingle
The murdered wife of the Earl of Cork allegedly haunts this old manor house. But unfortunately, she did not visit Chris and I. Instead, we paid a bargain 15 euro a night for our own private room with shower. (We should have had roommates, but late October isn’t necessarily tourist season). And the view in the morning was simply amazing.

I want to add an appendix to this title, as the hostel in Belfast is well worth mentioning. If ever there, stay at Arnie’s Backpackers as they had wonderful people, a great vibe, and the kindest hostess ever. This place is what being a hostel is all about.

Best Beach: Nice
And it wasn’t because it was topless (which Mariah and I discovered to our chagrin). The weather was 21.5˚ Celsius, which is about 70+ degrees Fahrenheit, and the Mediterranean Sea was this bright blue, almost turquoise. Best beach picnic ever too.

Most Powerful Sight: The Murals in Belfast.
The American Cemetery at Normandy should normally be #1. But I think because I hardly knew anything about the intense, crazed conflict that occurred in Northern Ireland that it takes the top spot. To learn how there was an actual war going on thirty years ago, to view how each side commemorated their involvement with hauntingly beautiful murals, and see the walls that still exist to segregate the Loyalist and Republican neighborhoods was probably the highlight of the entire trip. I wish we had more time and money to take a tour of the battlegrounds and learn more contexts. Everyone needs to learn about this clash, as it’s a shame that my generation (myself included) only know of it as some conflict between Catholics and Protestants, which is a gross inaccuracy.

Worst Bank: Bank of America.
When I get Stateside, I am switching banks. No more outrageous user and conversion fees for Timmy!

jolly old england

My trip to London and the rest of the British Isles/Europe began with a heart attack. I had set my alarm to 6:30am, as we needed to be at the airport at 8am. I remember being woken up by my alarm. Then next thing I know I look at my clock and its 8am. I don’t know if I’ve ever sworn as much as I did in the following moments. Luckily my roommate was able to get me a taxi to the airport, at which I arrived at 8:30. That was one experience I never want to endure again.
With that near catastrophe aside, London was similar to a sports team’s preseason or exhibition games: enjoy it as much as possible, but try and get out with the least amount of damage. With the ghastly conversion rate of nearly 2 US Dollars to the British Pound, the zeitgeist of the group was see and do as much as a shoestring budget would allow. I followed this practical ideology, as I usually do anyway, for the entire week. In addition to the touristy stuff (e.g. Westminster Abbey, Parliament, Piccadilly Circus) I went to two evensong services at St Paul’s Cathedral (although I was unable to sit in the quire both times!); A friend and I were able to haggle the price at the Charles Dickens Museum; I also strolled down Oxford Street (that where the cover photo of Oasis’s What’s the Story Morning Glory was shot…not that I’m a fan or anything) and visited the neighborhoods of Brixton and Camden. I really enjoyed Brixton and its immense diversity of people speaking with Jamaican and West Indies accents, and markets with raw chickens hanging from the windows. This took me aback, as I am used to hung cooked chickens in various Chinatowns, but never raw ones. Camden was fun, but I was partially disappointed and perplexed. With the plethora of “vintage” clothing shops and food stands, I felt it was a fusion between consumerism and alternative subcultures, which is totally illogical and impossible. It would be like if Christiania, or other subculture havens went über-capitalist. Other than those facets, it had a great atmosphere and ambience.
From an educational standpoint (which is why we were there), many activities were provided for us: We explored East London and explored the gentrification that is occurring there; We toured the BBC Headquarters; We viewed the Holocaust exhibit at the National War Museum and had a great discussion about how other genocides are seemingly second fiddle to the former. Lastly we visited Tate Britain, which was one of the few art museums that I enjoyed (I mean museums in general, not specific exhibits).
Academia aside, the highlight of my stay in London was attending the Fulham/Charlton match. Not only was I seeing my favorite team play a crappy opponent (a guaranteed home win is always a good time), but also I was getting out of seeing the silly musical Billy Elliott with my group in the process. I couldn’t have been happier.
Before the match, I went into a pub and ate some pie and chips while downing some fine ale. I know it’s a cliché statement but: when in Rome, do as the Romans do! After the meal I strolled to the stadium, and stumbled upon the team store where I bought a home jersey. I’m not going to disclose the price, but it wasn’t cheap. The stadium, or Cottage as its called, was very old and reminiscent of Fenway Park with its turn on the century construction, wooden seats, and giant poles that restrict the view of many seats. After I got my tickets, I proceeded into the stadium where an usher showed me my seats: 8 ROWS UP! I only paid about $30 US Dollars for the seats, and I was closer than I have been to any professional sporting game in my entire life. My euphoria eventually subsided when I discovered that alcoholic beverages were not permitted in the stands at all. Now I had no intention of getting intoxicated, or even purchasing a drink (remember, I’m on a budget!), but the disallowing of any alcohol beverages within sight of the field (or pitch as the called it) blew my mind. I know that some stadiums have passed this measure at their stadiums or ball parks in order to create/sustain a “Family Atmosphere,” but no drinks anywhere is, from an American perspective, completely unfathomable. No team would even think of banning alcohol possession in the stands (if I’m wrong about this, please correct me). Another interesting measure the stadium took was sanctioning Home/Away/Neutral fan sections. A big placard (next to the no alcohol sign) read that any fan wearing an opponent's colors or jersey would be removed from the stadium. Either I was in an inner city public school, or Fulham took their security seriously. But then again, soccer does have its share of hooligans…
Nevertheless, I befriended the group of Fulham fans next to me and upon revealing it was my first match, they told me it was their 2,635 time attending (I cant quote their exact amount, but it was around there). With the exception of the lively fans and their great cheers/songs, the first half was quite lousy. Charlton, who was last in the Premiership rankings, could have easily scored several times but luckily did not. The second half however had both Brian McBride (an American) and Claus Jensen (a Dane) score within a few minutes of another, thus putting the stadium and I into jubilation. I found these goals both fitting and intriguing, as McBride is probably my favorite player (For those who know me and think I am making this up, I’m not. This past summer consisted of working in a meat department; watching European art house films; beginning to follow soccer. I’m not kidding). Charlton got a (cheap) goal late, but too late to be able equalize the score as Fulham went on to win 2-1.
Overall, it ranked very highly on my sporting viewer ship experiences, be it live or on television. Obviously, the Yankees colossal choke and subsequent Red Sox World Series Championship is #1; and the first Patriot Superbowl victory is #2. This event ranked number three, just ahead of my first ever Ice Cats game in 1994.
So that’s about all I have to say about London except for these random, seemingly arbitrary memories: Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese is the best eating and drinking establishment I’ve ever been to, which is somewhat bad because now I think every place sucks in comparison; I asked some older lady for directions once, and before I was finished completing my question she retorted with “NO!”; There are a lot of Chinese students in my group, and one night after going out with them they facetiously dubbed a fellow American “Chairman Geoff.” Personally, I found it absolutely hilarious. But Geoff seemed very wary and not wanting to accept his position.
The trip to London concluded with I witnessing the changing of the guards at Buckingham Palace, which was actually quite long and extravagant. Its cavalcade was completely different than the changing of the guard in the States. After which I began my trip to Ireland by trekking out to Stansted Airport (which is an hour away. How can a “London” airport possibly get away with being that far? Could Providence or Hartford ever claim to be a “Boston” Airport? No!). Per usual, go here for photos