Ah Copenhagen

There is a cathartic pleasure one receives when after weeks of transience, that person finally gets to unpack. I have received such catharsis. I am unpacked and "settled" into my new home in Copenhagen. But I am getting ahead of myself.

This morning, I did laundry, knowing that I had time for the first instance in a week, and also knowing I would not want to do it once I arrived. The morning was a lazy one as I waited to leave the hostel, and while I could have used the time to maybe see something I had missed in London, I found my time much better spent rewatching a recent favorite of mine "Behind the Mask: The Rise of Leslie Vernon." It's a great flick that I recommend to anyone who has at one point or another enjoyed the great slasher flicks of our time.

That being done, it was time for me to gather my bags, say my goodbyes to the now all to familiar hostel workers, and head out. I walked down Queens Gate, in South Kensington, enjoying the repetitive nature of the high-priced domiciles and admiring the variety of luxury cars. Turning down Queens Bridge and the left on Gloucester, I soon found myself at the Gloucester Road underground station. I do not mean to imply in my brevity of the description that this was by any means easy. I had on my back my 50 pound pack and was carrying my computer bag in my arms, crossed over my chest. The Backpack does not provide much more shoulder room for a bag so when I walk at a good clip with both it behooves me to carry the bag as such. In recent days, London has been experiencing a bit of a heat wave, and today was not any different, the peak being 32 degrees centigrade (90 f). I was sweating wuite a bit when I finally got to the station.

The underground uses a card that can be reloaded with money as you use it, and this is by far the easiest (and cheapest) way to use the underground. It is called an Oyster. Well, as it turns out, my oyster was depleated of funds and after cursing the fact, I threw another 5 pound onto it and entered the terminal. 16 stops and one train change later I was at Heathrow. And this time, I was able to check in without a hitch. For today, in fact, was my scheduled day of travel.

Heathrow is an incredibly busy airport and in the international terminal can only be decribed as bastion of capitalistic endeavors. The entire waiting area is organized as a bit of a circus with the outer ring being populated by restaurants and the field being an open form duty free shopstravaganza. I bought a magnet. And a beer.

It wasn't until I got onto the plain to Copenhagen that the reality of my situation settled in. I am going abroad for 6 months. To this point, I have been able to keep so busy that I never worried about what was tomorrow, only what was next but there and then on that flight, I came to face it. By the time we landed, I was feeling a little low. This was exacerbated by the fact that there was no one to meet me at the airport, as there were for all the other travellers in my program, because I arrived too late for them to wait.

I walked through customs, and checked the banal new stamp in my passport book and headed to baggage claim. Once again encumbered with my pack, and my new weight of woe, I headed to get some cash (another woeful experience) and to hail a taxi.

On the brighter side of things, the taxi was relatively cheap but that was mostly due to the fact he drove like I do. At one point, about 30 yards from a yellow traffic light he floored it. We hit the intersection at incredible speed (in no danger, I assure you, the intersection was clear) and the car rose up just the slightest bit. The driver looked into his mirror at me, and I could tell he was looking for a reaction. What he got was a smile.

"You drive like I do." I said.
"I like to get there." Said he.

That was all the conversation until we arrived at the point his GPS said was Kettegard Alle 70, The Hvidovre Hospiktal Kollegium. My heart not so much sank as it free fell into the pit of my stomach. The building, a three story complex, was less than inviting. This was made ever more intense by the fact that what he pointed out as the front door was a big iron door with a keypad. I paid him and got out.

I looked around.

Had I forgotten something? Some detail? The email had told me to go straight to my Kollegium since I missed the ride. Didn't it?

I looked into the window at the darkened hall. I knocked on the iron door. I even tried to randomly punch numbers on the keypad but to no avail. I began to circle the building. In these situations (i.e. breaking and entering) it is best to see the problem from all sides. Thankfully in my meanderings, I ran into a student locking up his bike and he was willing to let me in.

"Is there someone in charge of the building"
"Yes but he only comes in in the mornings" At least English is taught early here. I can only imagine this problem in Rome. Or Paris.

I walked through the hall and found the door for the Inspektor, which I assumed could only be fancy talk for head honcho. The hours were posted stating he was only present in the mornings and my knocking proved it. My mind went to places that all minds go in this situation. I began thinking about how I was going to contact anyone. How could I get to email? Does my program know I am here? But mostly it was just repeating the same cuss word over and over again...the one that rhymes with "luck".

Earlier, when I had written down the address of the kollegium I had thought to write down my room number as well. I think it was this little piece of forsight that really saved me tonight. I found 3103, my supposed room, and saw a name written on the door. A name not mine. I knocked with no answer and just to check I tried the latch and was thrilled when it gave way in my hand opening into a small, sparsely decorated room. I entered feeling a bit the cat burglar but knew I was in the appropriate place, at long last, by the new package of sheets and towels on the bare bed, and the complimentary DIS tote that was waiting on the chair.

Ok...a victory but now what?

Wander down the hall and look for the door with no label. The door with no label is generally the common room. Upon entering the kitchen/common room for my floor I was greeted with the questioning look of five people.

"Hi, um, I'm Tom. And I am a little confused as to what I am doing but are any of you part of DIS?"

It wasn't long before the friendly Danes had shown me down the hall to the far end of the dorm where there was a DIS pizza party going on. I walked in and a girl asked if I was Tom. I said yes. And I hugged her.

All in all it was a trying day. But at least, now I have unpacked, and have received the catharsis that arises from such a simple act of permanence.

Here's my room And lookin the other way



And this is my bathroom. The nozzle hanging right of the sink? Yeah, that's my shower. Drains through the floor. Awesome. But at least it's home for now.

Tomorrow: orientation? I think?

N.B. I just took a shower, and for the life of me I couldn't think of what this squeegee was for that was already in the room. And then after my shower, I realized that I need it to push the bathroom water down the drain! O happy days are here! At least my bathroom floor will always be clean :)

Oopsie :)

Today was a travel day for me. I dropped the rental car off this morning and played the cute blonde route with the attitude of "Oh my, I didn't notice those scratches. Or the hubcap missing. Dear me..." It didn't work. Anyway, I boarded my flight from Dubling to Gatwick in London. Flew that. Then, in order to get throught the airport I spent 40 minutes standing in line at customs only to discover it wasn't necessary when I got to the front (signage would have been nice...I mean signage other than the enormous "Travellers from Ireland this way" sign that I overlooked.) So I ran to baggage claim, confident my bag had been reclaimed and exploded by security for beiung abandoned. Thankfully there it was, slowly revolving on the carousel, crying quietly to itself like that time I was left at soccer practice for like 6 hours.

So I picked up my bag (and in the future, I am getting a suitcase with wheels. This backpacking thing is for the birds) and headed to the ticket counter for a 20 pound ticket for the bus to Heathrow. I was nervous as hell I was going to miss my connection.

An hour or so later I get into Heathrow and hussle to the SAS counter. I put my card in the machine (I've had such good luck with these this trip) and of course they have no record of a ticket for me. I go to the counter. No Mr. Wall, no record of any purchase. And it was infuriating. I was thinking how I was charged for it and about how I am going to have to buy a new ticket day of and get completely taken on the charges. I go to the ticket counter and after a bit of pleading, the man informs me that I have a ticket on the flight tomorrow, and would that be helpful?

So here I am in London, back in South Kensington at the only place I can call home.

I am so ready to unpack...just to have some place of permanence.

Anyway, tomorrow Copenhagen!

The final days of my European Adventure

So sorry to have not updated since I went to sea. It has been an active couple of days. So yesterday morning I got up and checked out of my B&B. It was still a little early so I got some coffee and waited dock side for the time to come to go looking for the boat. I started to think that hey, these guys are being really generous. I should bring something. We are going to be out on the boat all day drinking and fishing, and they're irish cops...so I bought some booze.

I was a little off in my assumptions. The boat was not the pleasure crafts I am used to seeing floating around the lakes in the US. Oh no. This was a massive sailing vessle. It was amazing. We (me and Dan, Jarleth, Brian and Brendon) sailed out of the bay and around the peninsula to a small island called Blasket Moor. Sailing the boat was constant work. Pulling up sails, releasing lines, etc... Once we arrived on the Island, which up till the potato famine was populated, we hiked up to the top of it with simply stunning views.

Arriving home at 8:00 I said my thank yous and headed up the hill to find a place to stay. All of the B&B's were closed and I couldn't find anyone to answer the door so I finally found one, a little inconveniently located, that would give me a room for the night. The room smelled, was small and hungered for charm. And it was 55 euros a night. I took it out of lack of options.

After settling in I promptly headed back to the boat and the wonderful cops fed me. It was great. Sausages, burgers, wine, etc... all grilled and eaten on the boat. Then, after Jarleth made some amazing gin and tonics, we headed to the bars.

Good times were had

At 3:30 in the morning, and just a few sheets to far into the wind, I decided that I didn't want to spend the night at that B&B. So I snuck in, got my stuff and put my key on the abandoned clerk's desk. I sat down to try to use the internet, when this gruff eastern european came out and confronted me about being in there. He asked if I put the key on the desk. I don't like gruff eastern europeans, so I lied, I said no. He then told me he had seen me and pointed at the camera? I looked at him quizzicly and asked why he was watching a camera monitor at 3:30 in the morning. He again asked if I was staying and I told him that no I wasn't.

"Then no internet"

Throwing my stuff back into the car I headed back, once more to the marina, to spend times with my new friends. Now I am not sure but I think we went to bed around 5:30. But the sun was coming up.

I awoke around 12 and said my goodbyes, once more. Now, at 8:00 I am in a hotel room in Dublin having decided to splurge and treat myself to a nice, big, hotel room.

Ahhhhh pamper me!

Tomorrow Copenhagen

Well, overall, an interesting day

Let me begin with where I left off roughly 26 hours ago. The last you heard of me, I had eaten dinner and was heading out yes? So last night, while in that small town Glengarriff, I went to the local pub. My god what a time was had. It started slow but by the end the place was packed. I did the math and for a town of 600, there are six pubs which means, everyone together, that's right. A pub for every 100 persons.

So I was in the pub that was recommended, and they had live music going on. Traditional Irish music. A guitar, a flute, a fiddle and a drum. It was a joy to listen to. It was all well and good until once I was outside and found myself alone with the guitarist that he insisted I perform in some capacity. Well needless to say, I was not in any position to perform, but he was firm.

I did. And to my own horror I found myself singing Tom Petty's Free Falling, not only in front of a whole town of locals but with an Irish back up band to boot! And I did it terribly. I had to rectify the situation. How can I entertain these musical people? Then finally it occurs to me. Jokes! I know any number of jokes!

Well, in my infinite wisdom, I laid down one of my Irish jokes on them. You know the ones...where I use the accent? Well, there was definitely a brief moment of silence after the first, but thankfully it was broken by the 80 year old women sitting next to me cackling and smacking my ass. That led to two more jokes. What an incredibly welcoming community.

So this morning I woke up and headed to breakfast. This is just as good a time as any to let you know that yes, I have been eating the traditional Irish breakfasts every day, and yes I've been eating both the white and black sausages, and o course no, I didn't know what black sausage was. But now I do. And I'm still gonna eat it!

So after breaky, I hit the road. Well, that's not all true. I bought some CD's of traditional music and then hit the road. I decided to avoid the Ring of Kerry on the insistence of every towns person I met and instead navigated the ring of Bearan. I am glad I did. There was not another soul in sight. Not until I completed the ring in Kenmare.

Kenmare is a horrible place. I drove in, parked in this charming little town, and was immediately affronted with what can only be described as the worst sort of American. The tour bus breed. I couldn't wait to get out of there. I skirted the ring of Kerry, cut through Killarney, and found my way to the Dingle Ring. I know, I can't say it enough. Dingle ring. Anyway, tonight I am in Dingle. This town reminds me vaguely of Nantucket at high season: a port town packed with Americans.

However tonight was not a total wash. I made friends with a group of Irish cops on holiday who, by the way, are far more educated that American cops (they were quoting Wilde to me about architecture while challenging me to stump them) and they invited me out for a day trip on their boat tomorrow.

How can I resist?

Tomorrow the sea!

Day two of the emerald isle

Ireland plays host to some of the most beautiful scenery in the world. That is a given and well known fact. A lesser know fact is that Ireland also plays host to some of the narrowest and precarious roads in a tax paying country. I've had some adventures today. Nothing too disastrous but I will be giving Hertz some money at the end of the trip. What's a plastic hubcup and touchup pain go for anyway?

So this morning I left Cashel around 9:30 and pointed my european toyota southward towards Cork. I did have some intention of visiting Cork for a bit, but after circling their streets for a bit, being lost, and asking for directions from numerous people (they are so willing to help!) I decided to bypass it. It was kind of big anyhow, and this trip for me is all about the small hamlets dotting the landscape. So having made the decision to skip it, I drove on to Blarney.

Blarney castle can be read about here. The stone has a long history of bestowing upon those whi kiss it the gift of eloquence. It has numerous sources as to this legend but the truth is that no one really knows where it came from. I spent about two hours in the castle and surrounding park, mostly because my timing sucked and I was stuck behind a couple busses worth of people.

Upon leaving, and with the desire to bypass Cork, I asked some cabbies how to get to a specific highway. They proceeded to give me incredibly detailed instructions that took forever. They took a long time due to the fact that every detail went like this:

Tom: So then what
Cabbie: Yew take the tall diggs
Tom: Tall diggs?
Cabbie: Turd Diggs
Tom: Heh heh...what?
Cabbie: Terd degsit. Furst, tsecund, terd dexit.
Tom: Oh third exit got it.

And so on.

So found my way to the highway and headed southwest to the Drombeg Stone Circle. A random little spot, near nothing but farms, that I found on the map having had no information or prior knowledge of it. But damnit after Blarney I wanted some honest to goodness druid shit (sorry Glenda.) It was interesting archaelogical site. And kind of right up my alley in the "lets do magic in dark robes and control nature" kind of way. Druids are cool. There were only like 4 people there so it made it all the more special. Just like I had found it on my own. That was neat. What was not neat was the drive there. These roads are out of control! I mean the paving is pristine. It is incredibly well maintained. The problem is that the roads are so damn narrow that when a truck is coming your way all you can do is get over as much as possible, which puts you in the reeds more times than not. There was one precarious moment where a very larger truck, which in fact took up more than a lane and a half, was backing up at me swerving. Not fun at all.

Hopefull tomorrow's drive will be better.

So after Drombeg, I pointed my car north and headed towards the Ring of Kelly. Stopping a short distance before it in a town called Glengarriff to stay the night. It is really a wonderful little town. I am sleeping above the bar/restaurant and took a wonderful walk this afternoon in the woods and around the bay. It is the kind of place you imagine finding fairies and leprochauns in the woods.

Anyway, that's all for now.

Tomorrow the Ring of Kerry.

Tata
TW

I love it here

Generally, I am never the drunkest person in the bar. It has occurred but for the most part, I am never the drunkest. However, here, in Ireland, a new situation has occurred. After drinking for a bit, say, since 7 o'clock, I was still the most sober! Seriously. This is a totally new situation for me. And I am fascinated!

This town is wonderful. After leaving Thomas the Builder, I went to have dinner at the Palace Hotel. It was expensive but was the closest I could get to traditional fair here in Cashel. Without crashing someone's home that is. For dinner I had beef and Guinness stew with a glass of Guinness and Guinness ice cream. Okay I made up the ice cream but c'mon GUINNESS!!!!

After dinner, I walked back to the pub I had previously left Thomas at. Pat...O...something or another. Thomas was no longer there but that does not mean there were a shortage of entertaining celts around. Seriously, I hate to admit it but I get a great deal of pleasure when a entire group of people represents a stereotype so perfectly and tonight, it happened. Old men were talking in Gaelic and singing old tunes about rivers and losing things. Boys were picking fights. Everything was just so completely...irish. And in the midst of it all, everyone was so completely friendly as to make me feel totally welcome.

I love it here.

Sorry Glenda, sorry mom, it may happen that we live here.

Anyway, tomorrow I move further towards the coast.

Love to all
TW

Cashel, Ireland

Okay, so I decided at the last minute I was really sick of cities, so instead of staying in Dublin tonight and tomorrow, I rented a car and hit the road. This was an interesting experience. Not only for me personally, but also for the 7 other people I've nearly killed today whilst trying to adapt to the whole "wrong side of the road" thing. This is not to say that there haven't been entertaining moments, like the three times I've gotten in the car and not been able to find the steering wheel, but none-the-less, frightening.

So I left Dublin, having purchased a road map at the airport and pointed southwest towards my destination of Cashel. This is a truly magnificent country. It is so beautiful. Amazing greenery is punctuated by ruinous castles everywhere. It is everything I ever dreamed it could be.

I arrived in Cashel around 5 and proceeded to the abby immediately. Took the tour, which was interesting, and took many photos. Since then, I have found a wonderful B&B, of which there are many, and have just returned from drinking with a new friend named Thomas the Builder. Well, the builder part is just his occupation, but a nice enough guy none the less. The only problem is that I only catch about every 5th word he says. That was of course during the first pint. As we progressed through 2 more, I began to understand him. Now I don't know if it was just my earrs adjusting to the gaelic accent or if it is just a language better understood with a buzz, but regardless, he was a very nice man.

I am about to head out and get some dinner. Hopefully something identifiable. But all is well, and I am excited to be on the emerald isle.

And no, I am not going to use my accent here.

Love to all
TW

Waiting for Godot

Written last night...

So I've just returned from seeing Samuel Beckett's "Waiting for Godot" and it was spectacular. I had been years since I read the play. In fact the last rime was for Dan Piquet's existentialism class in my junior year. Needless to say I did not absorb much of it then, merely read through it, said a few brilliant things about it and promptly forgot it. This viewing of the production, starring Sir Ian McKellin and Patrick Stuart in the respective roles of Gogo and Didi, opened the play up to me in so many ways. There were so many brilliant minds at work on this production. For starters, the set design was spot on. I am not sure of Beckett's set direction for the stage, but I seem to remember it only mentioning a stone and a tree. The set designer has designed a scene where Gogo and Didi appear to be in a decrepit theatre. The lighting truss droops down from above and the remnants of luxury boxes frame the stage. The stage proper is built on a rise in the classical fashion while the stone mentioned in tthe text is in fact the crumbling remains of a stylized column's pedastal. And the ever present tree has burst up through the floorboords pulling up the wooden timbers with it. Without getting to mired down in my own semi-formed analytical ramblings, I think much can be derived from this imagery. Especially with the number of times that Beckett makes reference of the audience in any number of ways. On the back wall of the set rises the remnants of a back stage in the form of a crumbling stone wall by which Sir Ian makes his two entrances. In this wall, the designer has placeda worn out gate that you hardly notice until "Boy's" entrances. At this point, the lighting director shows off a bit, changing the feel of the set by lighting the rear of this gate so as to turn it into a glowing portal, ever just barely out of reach.

It was truly a spectacular and entertaining play. Stuart and McKellin have a wonderful chemistry together that can only come from years of working with one another. They brought a lightness to the work that I had here-to-for overlooked. They banter on stage as the characters in the way that an old married couple would. Knowing what is good for the other, caring for one another, and missing one another.

I wish I could see it again. It reminded me of the many great works I saw at the Tate Modern. Multi-layered, making any number of statements that are open to the interpretation and experience of the viewer. Truly one of the great plays of our time.

N.B. Stuart and McKellin pronounced it God-oh instead of gu-doe...I found that interesting

Always look on the bright side of life!

Today was actually a pretty entertaining day. After yesterday's speed-tourism, I was going to take things relatively easy. I got up around 7:30, ate another light breakfast of ham, cheese and toast and headed to the Royal Theatre Haymarket to get in line in order to purchase tickets to tonight's showing of Godot.

I showed up at right around 9:00 a.m. and was surprised to see a line already beginning to form. I was number 14 or so while we waited for the ticket office to open. The double metaphor is not lost on me in waiting for waiting for godot. Apparently it is a popular show. I stood and watched the crowd for a bit, talked with my line-mates.

At one point, a man walked his dogs past us whereupon one of his dogs took a poop. When the man stooped to pick up the mess and clean off the sidewalk, it sparked a lengthy discussion between us on the roles of master/pet and how the defining factor of a relationship of inequality should depend on whom is cleaning up whose poop.

I managed to get a pretty good sit in the second row of the Royal Circle, which, I believe is the mezzanine level. It set me back 30 quid but I am trying to get rid of all my pounds anyway so I wasn't too heart-broken. Also, I am happy to pay to see Patrick Stuart and Sir Ian in Beckett's classic existential play.

After getting out of line I high-tailed it to Buckingham Palace in order to catch the changing of the guard. This was a long, and miserable process as it was akin to being in the first few rows of a concert that only annoying tourists attend. It was a little peculiar, however, when the Royal Guard band struck up and played a few songs. Most noticeably was the song choice. They opened with New York, New York and proceeded to play an entire Sinatra set. They then merged into various songs from movies including The Lion King and others. But the peak was when they started playing the final song from Monty Python's Life of Brian. I was cracking up remembering the men on the crosses singing "Always look on the bright side of life."

After the palace I walked back towards my hostel. En route, I found myself a little lost which is always a great way to find new things. I wandered around and stumbled upon a great building by Foster and Partners. I am a big fan of their work, as well as ARUP who did the structural engineering. I continued on and walked past the Royal College of Music. This was wonderful. Beautiful music from cellos, diaphragms, pianos, etc... floated out of every window. I may just go back and sit outside the practice rooms. It's a pretty cheap concert.

Well I must get ready for Godot.

I am sure it will be great.

Tomorrow: Dublin

Ok...seen London, what's next?

I woke up early this morning. There are very good reasons why I woke so early. The first being my general anxieties, and the second reason was due to the large eastern European guy who has the unique skill of snoring in consistent matter that would seemingly only be possible by never exhaling.

So up I got. I showered, got dressed, ate a light breakfast in the kitchen of the Hostel and then hit the town heading north to Kensington Road. This road led me along Hyde park which would eventually feed me right to Buckingham Palace. Little did I know that this would be the beginning of a marathon of tourism. It was as if I just was trying to get as much done as possible leaving no stone unturned. I would pick points on the map that I wanted to see, walk to them, then pick another. Utilizing this technique I managed to see the majority of London!

I went from Buckingham to Westminster to Parliament and the London Eye. I managed to go down south bank, through the arts center where I paused for coffee and then progressed to the Tate Modern museum. This was the jewel of my day. Housed in a converted turbine factory, Herzog & de Meuron (pritzger laureates) have designed an amazing building. And if the architecture was not enough, the art inside is amazing. They have a wonderful collection of surrealism as well as all the big names in modernism. Sculpture by Kapoor (one of my favorites) and art from picasso to warhol. I was in heaven. Unfortunately you are not allowed to take photos so I had to be sly about it...but it was worth it.

After the Tate, I wandered around across the river looking at churches and squares. Made my way to Piccadilly and at this point was more or less interested in just getting home. So I made my path home as fruitful as possible hitting some beautiful parks etc...

It was an arduous day...but I feel good about all I got done.

Tomorrow I am going to see the changing of the guard and if I can I am going to try to get tickets to see Ian McKellen and Patrick Stuart in Waiting for Godot!

Love to all
TW

In London! The land of fancy cars

After dropping Megan off at security for CDG I hightailed it through 2 terminals to get to the train section of the airport. I went through the better part of one terminal at a pretty good clip, smiling to myself as I passed a McDonalds, before I found a luggage cart. I threw my bags on and since I was then released of the burden of the pack, I was able to run, if not faster than at least more comfortably, to the depot.

Upon arrival, I looked around frantically with no idea where to go or how to handle the transition from CDG to Gare Nord (my departure point for the highspeed train to England.) The process would most likely have been obvious however when I am frantic like that, I tend not to see anything but my watch. I got in line at the information booth and proceeded to panic and watch the line move slowly forward. Everything was taking far too long. I was never going to be able to get to Gare Nord in time for my train at 1:30.

When after 20 minutes of panic I reached the front of the line, the attendant directed me to the automated ticket kiosks to purchase a ticket for the train. Noticing that they looked an awful lot like the metro tickets I previously bought for the Paris Metro I thought I was finally having a little bit of luck. Turns out, not so much. I walked back to the kiosks and bought myself a pass for the train.

Now there are two trains that run from CDG to Paris nord. One is a regional train and the other, an express. The regional train makes many stops and takes about an hour to reach Nord. The express only makes two stops before nord and takes about 30-40 minutes. Seeing as how the time had just sped past 12:30, I was getting pretty concerned I would miss my train to London. The decision on which train to take was easy enough to decide, however, on reading the display, the express was delayed: no explanation, no estimate of arrival, just delayed. I shrugged my pack, steeled myself, got onto the regional train and hoped for the best.

It didn't take long for me to become ever more concerned in my situation, but after sitting on the regional train for about five minutes, waiting for departure, I saw the express pull up and I jumped off as the doors were closing and managed to get myself onto the express. It turned out that this was a good thing to do.

At 1:15 I arrived at Paris Nord. And yes, I was still frantic. My frantic nature was easily identifiable if not by the look in my eyes than by the way that I walked into a wall while trying to figure out which way to go. Today became the day of the information booth. They have served me well and I used them again twice in this station alone. Finally working my way up through the station, I found where my departure gate was. But you know me, and you know that it was not going to be just that easy. I had, at this point, failed to receive any sort of ticket for my Paris-London voyage. I had reserved one months ago but not been issued a paper ticket. I asked another information desk and as usual he pointed me to a kiosk. Now we've all seen these. In airports, train stations, etc... You put in a major credit card and out pops a ticket. However, on these in the station, it has to be the credit card you bought the ticket with. Well, I don't have that card anymore, it is probably in a landfill somewhere in tiny little strips refusing to decompose. Time for information again and time was running out.

Well I got my ticket, I got through French Customs, I got through British customs (two new stamps in the book!) and ran to the train. Needless to say that I made it on in time, this would have a much different tone otherwise. I was, however, the last one on board and had to get in a few cars before mine in order to actually make the train. But I got on. It was a small but important victory. So in the future, I plan on being more prescient in my travels. I've enough grey hair as it is.

So here I am, on the jet train to London. We've just come out of the chunnel and are barreling through the english countryside.

It's weird being here alone but I find myself more than happy to talk to strangers. Some have even offered me cookies!

---5:30 P.M.

So I arrived at Saint Pancreas station without much of a problem. My Hostel, the Aster Hyde Park, is located in South Kensington. This is an incredibly wealthy section of London and one can tell easily. Once you walk out of the station the first thing you see is a Lambourghini dealership...by appointment only no less. Every other car here is something to dream of: Maserati, Lambourghini, Ferrari, Porsche, Mercedes, etc...and the neighborhood is absolutely adorable. I haven't taken any pictures as of yet because, frankly, I feel like taking a day off of being a tourist.

My walk from the station to Astor Hyde Park was a long one. But it was enjoyable due to the amazing setting. It is everything you would think of a fancy London suberb to be. I'll take loads of pictures tomorrow. It did take me a while to figure out the weird street numbering system out here. I don't know if it is just the area or all of London but it is not odd on one side and even on the other as it is in the states. Instead it is numbered going up in one direction from 100-199 and down in the other direction from 99-1. I definately got turned around for a bit.

The Hostel is a charming old building and is as much as I could expect. I am only payin 56 pounds for three nights stay and I am in a room with 9 other people. There are no lockers but there are these cages under the bed that allow you to lock up your stuff (for a fee of course.) I had a bit of a moment when I locked up my stuff and then lost the key immediately. It took me about ten minutes to find it under the cage but I got it back so all is good.

So the train ride from the Pancreas to South Kensington, one way ticket, was 6 pounds, which is a might bit high. I just got back from exchanging Euros and buying what is called an Oyster. It is a refillable transit card that allows you to bounce around on the trains for about 1.60 pounds. Still expensive but a better deal at least.

Anyway, I am sitting in the lounge here, using the internet and I must say that I was surprised to see it full of people watching braveheart. I guess not everyone wants to see everything :)

I may join them.

Tonight there is a group going to a pub for drinks that I may latch onto. It is organized by the Hostel as a nightly outing. If nothing else it will keep me from being lonely and allow me to meet people...should I need to.

Tomorrow, I'll be sightseeing.

TW

Paris, the second day

So this morning Megan and I hit the streets with our usual zeal for attacking a new city. Or I should say, my usual zeal and a sleepy eyed Megan. But we had heard it was necessary to get to the Louvre early in order to avoid the large crowds. And we almost did! I mean we got there relatively early but it wasn't long before the place was swarming with tour groups. This coupled with the fact that we were feeling particularly goofy made for an interesting day.

We spent the former part of the morning looking at all the artwork for peculiarities. It is interesting to note, that while, yes, many of these artists are skilled beyond my abilities, it would almost seem that they (the curators of the Louvre) were just trying to fill the place with art, no matter what quality it took. And I imagine that it is difficult finding pieces to hang in the Louvre, but in all honesty, some of the stuff was not that great! I took a couple pictures of the peculiar elements, mostly saints and Jesus flying around the scenery in odd ways.

As we progressed further and further through the museum, and time continued to pass, the crowds of people turned into throngs. We decided the best technique would be to stay in front of the groups as best as possible which pretty much made us move at their pace. I described this as "body surfing on a wave of asians."

We finally felt we had seen the Louvre as much as we were willing to and pointed ourselves through the Arch du Carrousel and through the Jardin de Toulleries onto the Champs Elysee where we had lunch at MonteCristo. Boy, was that expensive! I think after conversion it was near 100 bucks for pizza, pasta and two drinks. Oh, I forgot the 12 dollar bruschetta. I thought it couldn't possiby be any more expensive until we stopped for a soda and it cost us $3.50 for a 12 ounce bottle! I think I can leave Paris behind until I have more money.

After snapping a few photos of the Arc du Triomphe, we headed over to the Eiffel tower where we eschewed the prospect of waiting for over an hour to go up to the top and satisfied ourselves by sitting in front of it and people watching.

We had a good morning of touristy stuff but by day's end we were pooped and we both were jonesing for Mexican for some odd reason (perhaps we were tired of bread and cheese in all its varieties?). We managed to find a pretty decent french-mexican restaurant! We were so excited! It wasn't the best mexican food but it was as good as one can expect from the French. The margheritas were spot on but Megan's burrito had swiss cheese in it and the salsa was a little vinegary for my taste. Still, it was Mexican and we were glad to have it. In addition, we seemed to be the only tourists amongst a packed house of Parisians in large groups (seemingly for birthdays and divorce parties)-- which was only made more interesting by the "house" band and its frontman, who gave shout-outs to "Tomas and Meget from Kansas City" several times. He also took requests; "La Bamba" was a no-go, but he certainly knew "La Cucharacha," which made Tomas incredibly happy (despite the guy not knowing all of the lyrics and singing the same line over and over again). It was definitely a fun night.

Anyway, sorry for the late post, we're great and moving to a Hotel in about an hour. Yay!

Smallest room EVER!

IT is definitely difficult to return to the Hostel life after Collioure was so good to us. As fate would have it, we managed to get a good deal of freebies while we were there. Whether intentionally given to us or not we wound up with one free nights stay at the hotel, one free bottle of wine and our favorite ice cream vendor who we saw at least once a day gave us free ice cream today! Truly this is the home of the gods. A perfect place full of perfect scenery. When we return one day, we will spend the whole week there and bring a car because the surrounding areas are ripe for touring.

It was difficult to leave, but alas we did. And we finally used our eurorail passes. That's right, at long last, the strike ended and we were able to use these exorbitantly expensive items for one train ticket each...needless to say, I am coaxing Megan to try to get Visa to issue a refund due to being misled regarding the ferry as well as the strike in France.

But all that negativity aside, WE ARE IN PARIS!!! And the city of lights is beautiful. We arrived at Gare Lyon (train station) at roughly 10:45. After much debate as to how to get to the hotel, I voted taxi, we found the nearest metro station and dove into the nether regions of the City of Lights.

We succesfully reached our Hostel, named Oops! at about 11:45 and are glad to be here. Despite the fact that this is the smallest room I have been in since Circe used to put me in the dryer, it is charmingly decorated in the haute coutoure with wall paper Megan loves. Did I mention it's small?

Anyway, that's all the update for now. The train was fast and comfy, the views wonderful, and right now, Megan is trying to figure out how to make the bed (seriously, they don't use anything but strips of cloth...hostels phooey.)

"I'm not sure these are clean...I just found a hair in it." -Megan re: the sheets

We may move to a hotel tomorrow.

Love to all
TW

Final night in Collioure

Okay, so we haven't yet left Collioure. We were not planning on doing so until tomorrow anyway, but we have worked some things out. It seems that the railway is up and running again and we are hopefully going to be boarding a train to Paris around 1:00 tomorrow that would get us in in the early evening.

Here's hoping it works!

Somewhere in Spain

So, there was a bit of confusion today when I offered a local money to drive us to Paris. It all started out fine. The communication was broken but I thought we got our ideas expressed clearly enough. I give you 100 Euros and we get a ride to Paris with another 100 when we get there. He nodded, and said "oui, Paris." Which I thought was clear.

That was 7 hours ago.

I am not sure where we are now but we appeared to have backtracked quite a bit and find ourselves deep in spain somewhere between Madrid and Barcelona. No one speaks a word of English and at best I can figure, we are a good 3 hours from the closest train.

I'll keep you posted on what happens just as soon as I can find Megan.

Wish me luck...the farmers carry guns here

Last full day in Collioure

Every wednesday, and I believe saturday as well, collioure plays host to a farmer's market. I is full of everything you could imagine. So after about ten hours of sleep Megan and I headed out to peruse the wares. Nothing in Collioure is far away and we literally were around the corner from the market.

After grabbing a couple of chocolate croissants, and discussing how in our current state we really could use a Denny's, we began walking and looking at the various things for sale. Everything was available. One vendor would sell t-shirts while the next is selling toys. Another vendor would have artwork and yet another selling hats. The real fun came when we crossed the street into the food section of the market! Yummy! There was bread and cheese vendors, fresh produce, etc. We grabbed a carton of amazing olives, two types of tapinade, a loaf of bread, salami and fresh strawberries and headed to the beach! What perfection!

We spent the latter part of the morning and early afternoon sunning on the rocky beach of Collioure.

It is now such time for a nap and we are going to take advantage. We are still unsure as to whether or not we are going to be able to leave Collioure, not so much that we want to stay--we do, but more because we don't know if the strike is still ongoing or if we can in fact catch a train tomorrow (7 hours ride to paris...yuck.)

I am investigating rental car options.

Anyway that's it for now
TW

Mom is soooo jealous!

So, this is going to be a relatively short post. We walked, we talked, we took pictures and we ate and drank wine. It was a wonderful day of nothing but relaxation. We have deserved this. Maybe tomorrow we will try to tour one of the three castles in the area but as for now, se fini. It is done.

Love to all
T&M

Awwww Rat Balls!

I cannot believe I did something so incredible absent minded. I missed seeing my favorite building in the world! I mean how can I do that? It is so feeble minded of me. I have had dreams about the German Pavilion in Barcelona by Mies van der Rohe, nightmares even where I am touring the pavilion and somehow my camera gets wet or breaks in some manner. I am usually naked as well which adds to the horror, but I cannot believe I missed it!

I realized this while I was in that special place in between napping and alert and scared the buhjesus out of Megan when I sat bolt upright in bed, smacked my forehead and yelled "Awwww Rat Balls!" (Sorry Glenda)

As I mulled over my vacuousness and stared into my dinner (of which is a whole other story best told through photographs) Megan suggested a number of options including going back. Since I am not wiling to go backwards for one building (as much as I am DYING to see it) the best option seems to be another trip at another time. It is very unfortunate that it happened this way and I feel incomplete somehow, but I am hoping that in the future, sometime, we can all do a tour of Spain: fly into Madrid, travel to Seville, Grenada, etc...and fly out of Barcelona. Pretty Please?

In the meantime, enjoy pictures of Collioure at night and me eating a very interesting dinner!

2009-06-15 Barcelona to Collioure

Today went just about as well as can be expected when travelling by rail during a rail strike. We got up this morning, both a little hung over from too much Spanish wine, and got our things packed and ready to go. After checking out of the hostel, we begin to walk to the closest metro stop when we thought, "Hey, this is the beginning of our vacation! We should splurge on a cab!" and we did!

We arrived at Barcelona Sant station in time to catch the 11:15 to Portbau. This is the closest we were able to get to our destination. Portbau is the last stop on the Spanish side before you cross into France and is a cute little burg. We were only in it momentarily as we hitched a ride in a cab with another stranded tourist named Shandre or something of the sort. She spoke no English and my French is fooey. But she was able to get a car for us all and we rode together.

The drive in was spectacular. There is nothing quite like the south of France. It seems every free inch is covered in vines, despite the rocky and steep terrain. The tenants have built up terraces in order to allow a somewhat horizontal surface in which to grow grapes. The drive gave us one great view after another.

30 minutes and 50 Euros later we were in Collioure. This is the cutest little town ever. It truly exemplifies everything you would expect from the south of france. Furthermore, Collioure has an inordinate amount of artists! You can't walk ten feet without coming to an atelier or gallery of some sort. Some good, some bad, but it all lends to the atmosphere.

There are some things I'd like to do while here but I promised Megan we could take a break. We deserve it. But there is no way I'm missing the castle on the hill :)

But as for now, a brief nap, some dinner, and then tomorrow, The Beach!

Woohoo!

Woohoo! Cerbere is only 19 km from Collioure! We could WALK it! I mean we're not going to but WOOHOO...or as the french say "que l'ennui..."

ok the day is saved.

'night
buenos noches
bon nuit
guten abend
etc...

2009-06-14 Barcelona

Apologies for that tirade I just posted. I was venting a little and have had a couple Estrella Damm despite my steadfast European rule of drinking nothing that wasn't created before my fraternity (Estrella est. 1876, Alpha Delt est. 1832.)

So on to today's activities (aside from aforementioned Estrella consumption.) Today was a little more low key than those previous and frankly I think we were both okay with that. This has been a harried and aggressive journey to this point. And to top it all off I am pretty sure my pinky toe and my ring toe of my right foot have fused to become one uber-toe. So like I said, we took it a little easy.

That doesn't mean we didn't see a lot however!

Let me actually begin with last night.

After I posted, we decided to have a bit of a decadent evening. Megan put on her prettiest dress and I put on my cleanest t-shirt and we headed out! We, after a few false starts and a few trips in the wrong direction, managed to navigate the Barcelona Metro system to Barcelonita, the small port area that houses all of the four star hotels and most expensive, touristy restaurants. After walking back and forth on the prominade for a bit, debating on which restaurant to dine in, and trust me Megan is a master debater, we settled on the very first one we walked past. There were truly only three factors to be considered in our decision: 1) the availability of a table near the ocean, 2) paella and sangria were on the menu, and 3) that it wasn't too heavily lit. This was, after all, a romantic evening.

We had a great meal, a couple great bottles of Sangria, and marveled at the ability of the Nigerians peddlins knock off designer wares and how quickly they were able to scoop all of their inventory at the slightest hint of an official. Seriously, they were gone with the breeze!

It was a very nice night, and at the end we were able to make our way back on the Metro without mishap.

This morning, we headed out after breakfast to see Parc Guell, another Gaudi piece. It was a pretty excessive hike to get to the top of the park but once in the back way (which was unintentional) it was literally all downhill.

the park was typical Gaudi, which is not a negative thing. His attention to detail is mind blowing. I took many photographs of such details: the way a column meets a roof, the way columns are not vertical, they mosaic work (of course), all of them and more are in the photo files.

We then took the opportunity to go through the Gaudi museum which was nice because it afforded us the opportunity to see some of his other works as well, namely his furniture. It was a topic Megan and I had discussed because frankly it didn't make sense as how one could furnish a home designed by Gaudi in contemporary fashions. His furniture, however, fits right in.

After leaving Guell, we hiked to the local Metro (our new favorite mode of transport in Barcelona) and headed down towards the peir again. Our intent was to get a bit to eat, stop by the train station to get tickets for tomorrow's trip to Collioure and to see the famous aquarium here.

We stopped at a local Doner Kabob (a favorite of my last visit to Europe and a reccomendation of Megan's brother) and Megan had her first Doner. I was so proud. Last night she ate onions, today a kebob, tomorrow, I may press her to try cauliflower!

After lunch we walked to the train station where we learned that the French rail workers had gone on strike putting a serious hurdle in front of us. We do however, maintaine a positive attitude about where were going...no matter where it is :)

Oh and if you are wondering about the first photo in today's album, it is from the menu last night...I am just not sure what that last item is.

Tomorrow, I take on the French Unions. Shouldn't be too hard.

TW

Eurorail passes can eat my poo

So, just to put this out there, Eurorail passes can eat my poo! Seriously, these things are a rip-off a scam, a veritable snake oil. There is no reason to buy one...ever. Seriously, I shelled out 400 bones on this thing and as of yet have not had reason or opportunity to use it! At first I was like Eurorail? Sure! I'll use it all the time! I am travelling throughout Europe and what could be better. Well, here is the thing. First off, I was assured by my STA advisor (Adam...thanks) that of course we could use the pass for the 19 hour boat ride across the mediteranian. It's part of the Eurorail network. Well, not so true. It turns out there is a light discount but no free ticket. "Ok fine!" we thought. "We can simply eat this one last fair, and then once in Barcelona we can use it to it's full advantage!" Excitement abounds.

Oops. France is on strike again. I assure, it is not a normal month in France if they are not protesting something but usually it affects no one important but this time its ME. I'm pretty damn important in my book and this is just putting peanut butter in my Archimedes screw! And yes I admit that this is not the fault of the Eurorail network but as it turns out there is some real REAL fine print on the ticket that disallows certain train usage unless you want to pay a premium. It's just not that useful...at least not in my book. I'd say go ahead and either pay as you go or research Ryan Air options. This is a great way to travel and you don't have to sweat your body weight while carrying a pack to an un air-conditioned train.

There is of course the problem of getting to small towns like what we are encountering right now trying to get to Collioure France for the next leg of our trip, when they obviously have no air strip but a regional ticket is a nothing charge. And if you are going from Madrid to Barcelona, Rome to Paris or anything like that flying is definately the best bet. This is the modern era people and while we all find a certain amount of romanticism by training it across Europe and being all granola the fact remains that while we maintain a certain image of Europe, it did grow up with the rest of the world.

Imagine taking an Amtrack from NY to Miami. Not fun.

So that's my rant

Happy birthday Mom!
Happy Birthday Ryan!
Happy Flag Day All!

2009-06-13 Barcelona

Barcelona is not providing the respite from walking I thought it would. I imagined in my exhausted mind that it would be less walking solely because there is less that I desired to see here than there was in Rome. Well, as it turns out, while there is less to see, they tend to be further apart.

So once again I and my soon-to-be-unwilling companion are exhausted. Today was off to a slow start at the beginning. Neither one of us slept very well, so we stayed in bed a little later than usual. After a leisurely breakfast at the hostel (FREE!) Megan and I headed on foot to our first destination. It was a little appreciated bridge designed by Santiago Calatrava called the Bac de Roda Bridge. A minor construct in western Barcelona, it was the easiest visit of the day.

From the bridge the next point of interest was to be The Gaudi church: Sagrada Familia (Sacred Family.) This is the most visited site in Barcelona and in retrospect is what we should have gone to first but I will get to that in a minute. The important piece of information here is that between the bridge and Sagrada Familia there exists, on a little side street a Burberry! Megan was so happy. This place was a total find and inside of it Megan was able to find a gret bag that will serve her well for the rest of the trip and beyond. (ok I wasn't that excited but there it is)

After our furlough in happy plaid bag country, we once again headed towards the Gaudi icon. This is such a fabulous building. The scultpure on the front and rear facades are breathtaking in their brutal simplicity. And on the interior you can begin to see what the building will finally look like when it is completed (2010 is the hopeful date with services by 2030!) A large and heavy space which manages to feel incredibly light. Poured concrete and cinder block construction is manipulated in some amazing ways to create the signature Gaudi biomorphism. The only regret I have in regards to this visit is that we were a bit late getting there and the line to take the elevator to the top was well beyond an hour. So we did not get to go up but instead headed out to go find Casa Mila, another Gaudi building in La Rambla region of Barcelona stopping only to buy some bread, cheese and meat from a supermarket for a picnic in the park (our new favorite type of lunch.)

La Rambla is Barcelona's answer to Champ Elysee in paris. The layout is the same with the broad boulevards however it was interesting to us how the stores are more costly at one end and depreciate as they progress towards the south. And they begin to repeat as well! At the top of La Rambla is Casa Mila, another very popular tourist stop. So popular in fact that after taking pictures outside we made a decision to not go inside. I know I am going to regret that as well but I made the decision based on the fact that Casa Batllo is just down the road and in my opinion a better building, plus less well known. Se we hiked down the road.

Batllo is in fact a very nice building without a single curved line in the design. Gaudi did not even have plans for it and instead sat out front and yelled instructions to the contractors. The whole building is based on being under the sea, the exterior walls reminiscent of sea foam, the interior appears to be the home for some acquatic deity. We took our own way through the house giving up on the audio guide about 20 minutes in. It really was fantastic to be in such a strange and wonderful place.

After Batllo we headed south and through the Gothic quarter. This is a pretty much intact element of medieval Barcelona. And also, this area houses the Picasso Museum, which, in both our minds, was an unavoidabke excursion.

Once we had viewed every piece, we decided it was time to head home. We walked out of the quarter and onto the first major thoroughfair we could find and caught a cab (our dogs were barking.) Tomorrow: Parc Guell.

Until then

2009-06-12 Boat and Barcelona

So we spent the majority of the day on the boat. Relatively uneventful and we spent more effort killing time than using it. So this post may be shorter that previous ones.

The night's sleep was not great. At first we tried to share the single bed in the cabin but after Megan's third or fourth trip to the floor she gave up and moved to the other bed. I, on the other hand, was not woken by so many changes in altitude as I was by the constant rocking. For some reason I kept thinking I was on a plane and that we were beginning our decent. It was not so pleasant. But at least we saved a good 18 hours of travel by using the ferry instead of the train.

We arrived in Barcelona at around 6 in the evening. It has a much more modern feel already than Rome could have. It is nice to see a modern metropolis, bustling and alive with all levels of development and decay. Kind of relieving actually. It is also nice to be able to speak some assemblance of the language. I was often frustrated in Rome trying to communicate having only rudimentary latin and spanish to fall back on in the attempt at communication. Here in Spain, at least I have a chance.

All right, that's all for now.

I'll update more as it happens.

2009-6-11 Last Day of Rome

I woke up around 6:30 out of anxiety of oversleeping on our last day. We had to be out of our room by ten and since neither one of us brought a travel alarm, it becomes a little difficult to wake up on time. I took the opportunity to catch up on some reading and begin packing before Megan got up for the day. We had a relatively late night, it being our last one in Rome and all, and had taken the opportunity to splurge on good food and good wine. It was worth it. We never made it into the districts commonly known for the best dining or nightlife. This was primarily due to their distance from the hostel and our relative exhaustion at the end of the day. After our daily afternoon nap, we almost always wanted to walk as little as possible which afforded us the opportunity to try everything in our neighborhood. The standard of breakfast being a croissant and cappucino at the local pastry bar, lunch something light on the road and at night, a sidewalk café or bistro. If you’re doing Rome on a budget this is the best way to go.

After Megan got up and we had finished packing we headed back out for one more half day of site seeing. This was not planned but there were a few more things I wanted to see that we had missed either by accident or by choice on previous days. The first stop was to view the Forum from the Campidoglio. This was recommended to me by one of my professors as being the best view of the sunset in Rome. We were, unfortunately, on the wrong end of the earths rotation for that, but the views were spectacular. From the Campidoglio you can see the entire Forum and it is away from the throngs of tourists that seem to be ubiquitous to all of Rome. From this vantage point it is possible to see from the Temple of Vespasian and Titus to the Arch of Titus (one end to the other.) It is completely worth seeking out this perspective at any time of day.

After snapping a number of photographs from the Campidoglio, we continued on our way to the Piazza Bocca della Verita which houses none other than the Bocca della Verita (mouth of truth.) This piece of antiquity is a Roman testing grounds for a person’s conscience. Located in the portico of the church of Santa Maria in Cosmedin, the legend dictates that the mouth will consume the hand of liars. This particular piece was sealed as an icon through Gregory Peck and Audrey Hepburn in the film Roman Holiday where Gregory Peck pretends to have lost his hand in the mouth. It was hard not to have fun with the bocca della verita.

Since it was our last day, we decided to have a nice big lunch and eat everything we had here-to-for negelcted to. We found a wonderful little street side café on Via Panispera. Panispera is a bit of a side road (still on the map) but afforded any number of cute restaurants, stores and businesses. It was nice to get off the major roads for a bit and I am glad we did. We were able to enjoy a huge lunch in the shadow of Santa Maria Maggiore before saying our goodbyes to Rome and heading to the Termini.

Our first train ride:
Upon hustling to the Termini with packs astride our backs, we headed to the closest ticket machine. We stumbled a bit through the menu which provided the local gypsies ample time to provide us their services: namely showing me what button to push and then asking for money. When I declined to give the woman anything and showed her instead my empty wallet she began to point at her stomach and beg that it was for her baby. Now I didn’t look closely but I am relatively sure she wasn’t pregnant. I was however impressed that the begger at the train station had a better grasp of English than most of the service industry claimed to.

Megan and I got our tickets for the next outbound train to Civitavecchia, the port town that services Rome. Seeing our train left in ten minutes we began to walk briskly towards our platform. Seeing that our platform was the farthest possible one, we began to run. By the time we got situated in a remotely air-conditioned train, we were sweaty messes, and more than happy by this point to leave Rome behind. Now don’t get me wrong, I am very happy I went and saw as much as I could. I just don’t think I would ever go back to Rome…at least not as a tourist. Megan and I had an ongoing joke regarding the presence of antiquity. It is so prominent and omnipresent that anytime we turned a corner and saw a fallen column or Roman foundation one of us would exclaim “Man that shit is everywhere.” It truly is. So much in fact that after three days of walking, it no longer holds the same mystique that it held upon arrival. I look forward to the modernism that Barcelona will provide.

Civitavecchia is not a great city to be lost in…or at least to feel lost in. We left the train station and wandered about trying to find our way to the port. After a bit of walking, a lot of sweating, and a little cursing we managed to find a port station. We bought some water and sodas and found out that there is a bus that would take us to the terminal to buy tickets. We caught the bus and proceeded to ride around a marina. A very big marina. At this point I had finished cursing my inability to speak the language and withdrawn into relying on my observation to try to figure out where to go. We found ourselves eventually brought to the terminal we seeked and happily got into the air conditioned space. A space that became our home for the next 5 hours. We bought our tickets to Barcelona on the Grimaldi Ferry, which to my delight turned out to be more of a cruise ship than anything else, and began our wait until we could board at 9. I should note here that the Europass has not even been used once. The tickets to Civitavecchia were only 9 euros for both of us and the ferry lines does not accept eurorail pass except for a minor discount. I am beginning to think it would have been better just to buy our tickets as we needed them.

Megan and I decided, based on the advice of a friend, to get a cabin on the ferry. We had heard stories about the individual seats that represent the cheapest fair. Think of the stearage scene in Titanic minus the fun loving and musical irish and instead substitute italians, cologne and body odor. And no showers. We made the right choice and in my mind it was worth the added expense.

The boat provides interesting opportunities for entertainment. I have, in my possesion a video of not only the world’s worst lounge act ever but also a video of the discotech, entirely populated by 15 year olds on a field trip for school. Needless to say this has been an interesting trip. But being on a boat has completed the travel trifecta for us as we have now traveled by land, sea and air.

Tomorrow we arrive in Barcelona at roughly 6:00. I cannot wait! Hopefully I’ll be able to upload pictures then.

6/10/09 Rome

For our last full day in Rome, we dedicated our time to the older side of things. Today was spent looking back into antiquity (for the most part.) This morning, after a brief breakfast of rolls and cappucinos (free with stay) we headed down towards the Colosseum. En route, we stopped at a beautiful church called Santa Maria Maggiori. At first it appeared closed because there were no tourists (or french people) but mostly it was because we approached from the back. I have to admit, the rear of the building would have given any contemporary a run for it's money but the front was a sight to behold. Collonades and sculptures, campaniles and obelisk. It was striking. Upon entering the church you are struck by the gilding in the ceiling coffers. Everywhere all you can see is gold. This church built somewhere in the mid 300s ad is coated in gold taken solely from Peru...some of the first gold to leave Peru in fact. It was an enormous and open interior space. The gold was nice however it is the mosaics that this building is known for. Just below the clerestory there isnt't a regimented square that doesn't play host to an image made of individual chips of stone to create a variety of biblical scenes. And not just the popular scenes, stories of minutia are dipicted in the multitude of images.

After leaving S. Maria Maggiore (one of only four churches in Rome to get the title of Maggiore) we headed to the Colosseum. This was an exciting outing. It is hard not to be excited about a building that you have known by sight since you were little. Through story, myth, legend and poem I have been inundated with the image of the Roman Colosseum as a construct of imense import. I aws not disappointed. While I could fit the stadium in my camera frame with a 28 mm lens the vastness of the space is ill represented by what we see in photo and drawing. Once inside, you begin to picture what it would be like to sit in these seats. You can see the layout of the building take form in front of your eyes and imagine where the seats would have been located. You can picture a ctrowd of people and hear their unified roar in appeasment. The experience would have been one of epic proportions. Seeing the building alone in its time must have been an intimidation of sorts. Structural excellence far surpassing the architects standard. Needless to say I loved being there.

The Colosseum also provided a number of views of surrounding areas which provide me with a segue into my next topic: triumphic arches.

The Arch of Constantine (Arco di Trionfo di Constantino) and the Arch of Titus (Arco di Trionfo di Tito) are both visible from the Colosseum. As far as self egrandizing pieces go, the triumpic arch is the thing to do. Emperors would build these to themselves in congratulation of their most epic victories (read current victories.) This does not, however, mean that the design of said arches are to be dismissed. They are beautiful and poetic. Every relief, every sculpture aids in telling the story of the emperor's victory. Many many pictures were taken of this as well.

In the more ruinous places, the Palatine hill, the Forum etc...it is hard to truly imagine what it may have been like. There is little left in some places save for the foundations of an ancient temple. But one can begin to walk through the place and think of themselves amidst betoga'd (its a word) people discussing philosophies and politics. The house of the vestal virgins, the forum, antiquity is everywhere...and accesible. It is not strange to see shattered columns sitting on the ground or the remains of some statue exposed to the elements. It brings to mind interesting questions: do we preserve antiquity or leave it as it stands? Do we rebuild on it as previous popes have done or is it our duty to maintane the status quo? Human nature has changed in relation to antiquity, I am curious to see where it goes.

After leaving the Palatine hill we made our last stop at San Pietro en Vincoli (St. Peter in Chains.) This is the church that holds the chains that were used in turn to bind St. Peter. Most importantly (for me at least) this church holds Michaelangelo's statue of Moses. While spectacular in its nature, this sculpture differs from the Pieta that we saw yesterday. The Pieta has a perfect human proportion while Michaelangelo has played with the scale of the hands and head in the statue of Moses, much like he did with David. This by no means depreciates the piece as the master's strokes are evident simply by comparing it to the surrounding sculpture.

I am sorry this has been a bit long winded...I ran out of time. Tomorrow we travel via ferry to Barcelona so it may be short but with any luck the hostel there will allow me to update photos which at this point number over 300.

Until then.

June 9, The Vatican and Friends

Catholicism was the focus of most of today's events. In all honesty this is Rome, the seat of catholicism. You cannot really escape it. However, today was the day we went to Vatican City and surrounding areas. This was not a day trip for the weak of heart or foot. There was a ton of walking, a ton of waiting and a ton of climbing (if done as cheaply as possible.)

We started the day bright and early in an attempt to beat the crowds (this proved wise.) We went first to the Vatican Museum since we had heard that this fills up first and yields the longest lines. The Vatican as it turns outm houses not only the largest collection of stolen Egyptian artifacts but also a good percentage of irrationally rude French people. Maybe it was just today but man oh man, I got sick of the French. Thankfully I realized that if I just made the sound of a german tank that they all ran for the nearest border. However, the noise does something weird to the Italians, but I digress.

After looking through the antiquities for a while, we moved on to the Sistine Chapel having accidentally missed the Raphael Room. A mistake I regret. The Sistine Chapel was very different than I ever imagined it. It was much smaller than I had previously pictured and their weren't flights of angels singing to me as I gazed upon it. For ever bit that I was overwhelmed by the Pantheon, I was taken aback by the Sistine Chapel. It was beautiful and without a doubt a master work, don't get me wrong. I just, for some reason, expected more.

Upon leaving the Vatican Museum and Sistine chapel we walked south around the ramparts of the Vatican City to the back entrance of the Basilica San Pietro. Honestly not the ideal approach but it did provide and bit of a "behind the scenes" view of the colloonade and once again, as with the Pantheon, chills ran up and down my arms. The arms of San Pietro are breathtaking and exciting, welcoming and intmiidating at the same time. The Collonade rises high above you with faces of the dead leader and thinkers looking down upon you. They draw you in, these arms, to the masterpiece that is St. Peter's Basilica: a building that took generations to complete, not to mention going through ten architects.

Megan and I made our way inside and our first goal was to climb the dome to the cupola at the top. This is the best view of the city that Rome can provide. But it us not easily achieved. More than once we had to stop our ascent due to the curved walls, cramped passages and extreme exertion causing us to lose our bearings. It was, however, completely worth it. Once atop the Basilica you can see everything for miles. You cn only imagine the feeling of power that one would have felt 500 years ago standing atop the building and surveying the land. Godlike would suffice.

Once back at ground level, we explored the Basilica proper. Most interesting to me was a sculpture Michaelangelo carved in 1499 (when he was 25 years old) called the Pietà. This sculpture was magnificent to behold in true sight. I had seen it many times in history books, art texts, slides etc. but the photographs could not bring it justice. The subtle detailing of the human anatomy, the proportions of it, just the harmonious way the whole composition worked withing itself was enough to humble me (and I imagine many many others.) I could not even bring myself to photograph it.

The next stop was the Tomb of Saint Peter. A lavishly decorated resting place for the Saint himself.

After leaving the Vatican and Basilica, we made our way east to the Piazza Navona to view in particular the three Bernini fountains there. Fontana de Moro, Fontana do Fiumi and Fontana de Nettuno were beautiful but at this point I could focus on little else that my feet so I was not able to give them the credence they deserved.

We left Navona to go into San Luigi Francesi to view the Caravaggio frescos housed within. The paintings of St. Matthew and the Angel, The Calling of St. Matthew and the Martyrdom of St. Matthew were amazing pieces. I was once again appalled by some french tourists and their capacity for being rude but I was quick to forgive.

It was a long day and at this point, Megan and I went home for our well deserved rest.

Tomorrow: Ancient Rome!

6/08/09: Travel to and in Roma!

Today actually began for us a good 48 hours ago in St. Louis. We traveled from STL to Chicago and then boarded our plane to Roma! We were initally excited as we got called to the fron the be bumped into first class but then were immediately disappointed when they only bumped one of us. Needless to say we had to pass but they were kind enough to move us up a good 30 rows so we could sit in row 10. SAo all in all a win. This was made even more satisfying as, since we were not able to be directly next to one another, it fell to me to ask a stranger to swap seats. This would have been just another annoying thing that I do in a daily basis, however, the stranger I asked to move turned out to be Tory from Mythbusters...a personal hero. So that was nice. And so was he as he willingly moved back a good dozen rows away from his friend so not only could Megan and I sit together but so could this elderly couple. Good man.

Upon arriving in Rome, at about 9:30 a.m. we cabbed it to our hostel: The Funny Palace Hostel. All in all not a bad place. The rooms are clean and secure and the staff incredibly helpful. Mabri, the "concierge" laid out three days worth of tours for us to accomplish so on our combined 6 hours of sleep, we headed out for Roma!

Our first stop was the Piazza della Republica. (And forgive me for not having pictures posted yet, they will have to come later due to the inability to upload as of now.) After the Republica, we continued on to the Triton Fountain, Spanish Steps, Villa Medici (closed today) and then collapsed exhausted on a beautiful park bench in the gardens attached to the Vila. We had had very little sleep so it was hard to take everything in.

After lounging in the shade for a bit, we recouped our strength and we headed to the Piazza del Poppolo then down to the Trevi Fountain to finish up at the Pantheon. I must admit, that this was the best way to cap off the day of tourism. The Pantheon, a building I have studied over the years in any number of classes is so much more extraordinary in person. The details and beauty and simple elegance of the place brought goose bumps to my arms. I sat on the fountain in front of it and just looked for a good while before we even headed in. The oculus in the ceiling, larger than expected, the coffered ceiling, just breathtaking. And again, I am sorry to not have the accompanying photos but look for them soon.

After this, I started getting grumpy. No sleep and no food make Tommy something something. So it was time for Megan and I to figure out the Roman mass tranist system. And after a few false starts we made it onto an incredibly crowded (and smelly) commuter bus and found our way home for a brisk nap before a dinner of Peroni, Bruschetta and Diavolo pizza.


Day one...fini!