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EUROPE...
Current mood:  contemplative
So I've been back a few days now and have finally mustered up enough strength and thoughts to hit you all with the best possible way to accurately sum up the whole experience. Coupled with the pictures from me, Kevin, and Tom, this will have to do to tell our amazing story as best I can.
I'm going to break it down by places we visited and I'll do my best to make it as least abstract as I can, but no promises.
Leaving home and Chicago:
I was filled with a maze of emotions that I could write a whole article on alone. But that would be boring. Needless to say, the whole experience was mega-surreal. I've been all over this country and into parts of Canada and Mexico, but I had never really left the continent before. Never crossed the Atlantic. So there was a blur of thoughts and feelings that consumed me and made sleep impossible.
Not to mention I had cut myself two days prior to the day that I left and needed three stitches, so that added a little bit to my stress level because I could not let the wound become infected and would have to remove the stitches in five to seven days.
I met up with Tom in Chicago and from there we were off to London. It was good to have a travelling companion for that last part of the trip to Europe. Company was exactly what was needed to soothe my inner beast.
London Part I:
Tommy and I arrived late that night in London, while Kevin had already been there since the morning. We were all supposed to meet at the Hostel we were staying at. Alas, the airport was far from Central London and the Metro was done running for the night. So we cabbed it.
Enter the Pound. Right now, for every Pound, it costs about 2 U.S. dollars. And everything is just about priced the same. Meaning that if you were to buy a meal at Burger King in the States it would cost about 5 dollars and change. So in London, a meal would cost about 5 pounds and change (or pence). And of course, every second we're in the U.K. and buying something, Kevin is there to remind us of this fact.
So the cab ended up costing us each about 60 bucks. BRUTAL. Needless to say we didn't cab it again in the U.K.
We arrive outside the Hostel literally at the same time Kevin wakes up from a nap and enters the lobby. We all head up to our room, climbing something like three floors up and entering a hallway straight out of Animal House and go inside this room with four bunk bed's set-up, with only one currently being used. We square away our luggage and head down to the bar beside the lobby. We have a few beers and talk about our experiences thus far. We then go to bed.
We get up fairly early, meet the Chinese couple who were sharing one bed with us in the room and find out that they are headed to Edinburgh today to the same Hostel that we are. So we all take showers inside the room, in the community shower. We pack up and get ready to go.
Except now I have an extremely fateful decision to make. My thought to have been broken in boots had opened up a large blister on my right foot and had started one on my left. So I pulled out my sandals. The problem was, I had overpacked my bag and now wouldn't be able to fit my boots in while I wore my sandals.
Thus began a staple of the trip: me getting rid of anything and everything I could almost everywhere I went in order to lighten my load.
However, I was now to wear sandals for almost three full weeks.
We said our goodbye's and see you later's, checked-out, and then head for the nearby metro station.
We take a train to Piccadilly Circus.
London's metro is horrid, however, and not only does it feel like it takes an age, but it's hot and overcrowded and noisy. At least the people in England were cool. They seem oddly and coldy disconnected from everything, even each other, but when approached, they are the nicest, coolest, and most helpful people. Also, the most well dressed throughout the entire trip.
We come to Piccadilly Circus which is sort of like London's version of New York's Times Square. We have breakfast at this little cafe' and are introduced to the European value of food, in that, almost all portions are smaller than anything in the U.S. Not to mention, we're in London, so the food is good, not so much.
We walk around, trying to remember which way to look when crossing the street and get a little lost on purpose and then set out for the nearby Big Ben, Houses of Parliament and Buckingham Palace.
Big Ben is pretty impressive and very intricately designed with a lot of either gold plated items or actual gold items. It's really a sight to see. But does anyone really think of it as a clock? I always thought of it as more of a monument. I mean, of course it's a clock, but does it even work? Well, it does.
Over near Buckingham Palace we got to watch the changing of the guard, which is really just more pomp and circumstance than it needs to be. Much of what the English do and how they do it is decidedly different just to be different. Almost like a stubborn insistence that they are more powerful and great than they actually are. I seemed to find this insistence and need in a lot of countries and their respected people. Everyone wants to believe that they are the center of the universe and that they are the top dog.
Finally, we headed to King's Cross Station to see the famous Platform 9 and 3/4's. It was waaaay cool, but that's because I'm a Harry Potter fan. But even Kevin got a kick out of it. Simply seeing King's Cross is impressive. It's this massive, bustling train station with an abundance of traveler's, shops, restaurants, and aromas. Worth checking out.
After our little bit of sight-seeing, we had to head over to Heathrow to fly into Edinburgh. If you can avoid flying into London, do it. Heathrow was the worst Airport we were in on the whole trip. They take their time to do anything and everything over there and never did I feel less secure. Heathrow really is a joke.
Edinburgh, Scotland:
We arrived in Scotland a little after an hours time flying and in no time at all, we were on a bus that would take us closely to where our Hostel's shuttle could pick us up.
Like most places in Europe, the Airport was outside the city, so coming into the city, we got to see all sorts of awesome little sights. The small cars that people drive, the little cottages they live in that are gorgeous, the evergreen countryside, the old part of town with seemingly out of place Gothic architecture, and of course, the enormous castle upon an enormous hill in the center of the city, Edinburgh Castle.
Plus everywhere we go we see, "Scots not Brits" scrawled on buildings.
Once on the shuttle on our way to the Hostel, we got to see even more of the suburban area which was very nice and interesting. We also got to be terrified by the way people drive in the U.K. Which is all-out aggressive but yet seemingly talented. But with the tons of round-abouts and jagged road lines, it's hard to believe anyone really knows exactly what they're doing at any given moment. The young shuttle driver listened to a Scottish radio station which played a ton of great music I had never heard of before from Scottish bands (took plenty of mental notes there, believe me, and actually ended up coming back home and downloading most of the great songs I heard).
Close to the Hostel was a private college which we saw a good amount of and later found out is the sight where they shoot most of the interior scenes from the Harry Potter movies. Basically, it was Hogwart's.
We arrive at the Globetrotter Inn Hostel in Edinburgh and are slowly but surely awed at the wonder of this place. It's secluded around a fancier area of the city with great big houses and mansions all along the lane, the inn itself seemed to have been a mansion at one time but now converted to a hostel. We set up shop in our awesome room and then head to the bar just about fifty feet away. We order dinner and play some chess. We end up having a few drinks and engaging with some of the guests that are mostly Australian (even the bartender was Australian). We meet Mike who is an elderly Scottish fellow that looks a bit like Sean Connery and sounds even more like him. He's an awesome character and over the course of the night we are buying each other drinks and I'm listening to his stories of world travel and money making endeavors.
Early on, there are some teenagers off to the side that apparently have their own liquor and are mixing it at an outside table and just proceeding to get HAMMERED. Their a bit annoying at first because they keep going inside and going outside without using the door even though everyone keeps getting on them about it and they understand English, even though they are also speaking other languages.
One of them approaches me and asks where I'm from?
I say, the U.S.
She asks where in THE STATES?
I say, California.
She then starts to sing the theme song to The O.C. and asks me if I see famous people all the time?
I laugh and say, no. Of course not.
She then asks me where I'm from in the States?
I say, San Diego.
She asks what's my name?
I say, Ryan.
She then starts singing the theme from The O.C. again and I just laugh and start trying to excruciatingly explain to her why that show is terrible and how off it is. But she's drunk and she's happy and could care less about my rationale need to debunk the stereotype that Hollywood has created about Orange County.
And it really doesn't matter, because from there on in, we were now the popular people. As soon as all of her friends and pretty much everyone in the Hostel found out we were from the States, everyone wanted to hang out with us. We even came to find out that most people in the U.K. regard Americans very well, saying that we're the nicest, and coolest travelers, which was awesome to hear. It's also something that I believe to be true, after this whole adventure concluded.
They also loved our American ACCENTS. Hahaha.
Come to find out, this group of teenagers are from Norway. They are an amazing group of people and we had the time our lives at that hostel because of them. Most of them could speak three languages, let alone speak English better than folks from Compton or Illegals from Oceanside can. Which was funny because they were so self-concious about if they could speak English well.
But we drank, and partied, danced, and listened to music, and talked and had two wonderful nights with these crazy, awesome individuals from Norway.
Who would of thought, eh?
That night we are regaled with the sound of Tom's ABNORMALLY, abnoxious, terrible sounding snores.
They will haunt my dreams forever. And while in Europe, they kept me up a few nights too.
The next day we were supposed to get up really early and get down to the city center in order to get on a tour bus that would take us to Loch Ness. Needless to say, that didn't happen. We ended up going to the city center and looking at train times that would take us to Inverness (right off of the Loch), but if we did that, we wouldn't have gotten back to the hostel 'till around midnight, and since we all wanted to hang out with the Norweigen's again, we didn't do it. Se' la vie.
Instead, and somewhat thankfully, we toured the old Gothic architecture of the city and made our way up that MASSIVE hill on cobblestoned streets and old roads to Edinburgh Castle.
We were awed by the amazing views, staggered by the huge cannons, and impressed by the crown jewels and Rock of Destiny. Awesome day-trip.
I notice my cut is a little red and may have to remove the stitches soon, but I want to leave them in as soon as possible. I decide to chance it.
Then we head back to our hostel to rest, watch Braveheart in the theatre, and have dinner and drink the night away with our newfound friends.
Again, we have a blast.
The next day we head back to the airport for London and a much needed task to finish.
London Part II:
We get into London in the afternoon. We find our hostel, check-in and stow our stuff on our beds (no lockers) and lock up as best we can. We go to King's Cross station to book our tickets and possibly a ferry to the Netherlands. Come to find out we're at the wrong station and that we have to go to another one that handles Internation travel.
Sigh.
All right. But we have something to do first that is on our way.
Onwards to the East End via the metro. While waiting for the train, I have enough time, so I sit down and remove the stitches on my cut. Tom has video on it.
Enter the old Whitechapel district.
Whitechapel is now known only as the East End of London. It's where the infamous serial killer Jack the Ripper committed his atrocities against women and humanity in general in 1888. I've been studying the case since I was a kid. Getting close to the area on train, my heart started beating fast and I couldn't help but be excited out of my mind. Stepping out of the metro station and onto the streets was one of the greatest experiences of my life. Much of the city is the same. Sure, there's a Burger King there where once was a butcher's shop, but the buildings are still there. The sights, the smells, the sounds are still very much the same. It was amazing.
I had planned to visit all the murder scenes in order and on our own, which meant prior to the trip, taking an old Whitechapel map and comparing it to a modern day East End map and figuring out the names of the streets and the directions. So I didn't always know exactly where we were going, but I knew the viscinity and I knew what the murder locations now looked like. Several haven't changed. To my credit, I only got us lost once, even though it was a nice little walk before we realized this. Even though Kevin and I nearly bit each other's head off over it, we quickly smoothed things out and got back on track. Once I got my bearings we visited the first location and went on from then. I won't go into every detail, because that would take to long.
I will say one thing though that kind of creeped me out at first was that close to the area where the original Goulston Street Graffiti presented itself (a message thought to be from Jack the Ripper scribbled in chalk) was a message very much alike that read: the Juwes still mean something to me. The original message is thought to have said: the Juwes are the men who will not be blamed for nothing. The history and presence of the killer is still alive in this part of the city.
Dark was coming soon and it was taking us too long to bounce around from site to site, so I decided to cut corners by visiting the important sites that were all located around each other before moving on to another area.
One of these sites was the Ten Bell's Pub which is a bar that was around in 1888 and a known location frequented by at least two of the victims.
It's small, filled with people, but noticeably old. It's easy to imagine that not much has changed. We had a few beers and I was allowed to slip into the enormity of what I was doing and how I had wanted to be here in the presence of all these ghosts that have haunted me for so long. From here we went to two murder sites that were very nearby.
One of which was Mary Kelly's.
I have a special connection to Mary Kelly. She's the real reason I started studying this case as seriously as I have. She's unique in so many ways that I can't even begin to explain. But it was the picture of her in her bed in her small barely defined flat taken a few hours after her death that really sucked me in. Most criminologists, profilers, homicide detectives, and inspectors will all tell you the same thing, that this picture, this corpse that was left behind is one of the worst they have ever seen. What's left of Mary Kelly in this picture doesn't look human. And it was in that image that at first struck fear into my childish, little boy heart, but more than that, there was empathy. An interest, a care, a need to find a monster who could do something like that to an innocent person. And so, over the years I've come to think of Mary Kelly as a person and not as a victim or as a corpse. In no small part, she was the reason I was there.
Mary Kelly was murdered in a small apartment complex-like flat that has since been knocked down and replaced with a bunch of shops. Behind these shops there is an entrance designated for loading trucks and such. This is the area you have to go to get to her actual murder site. I remember coming upon it, my heart beating harder than it ever has before (or seemingly so) and seeing the barrier that prevented cars from entering this sort-of back alley and literally thinking that nothing was going to stop me from getting 80 feet further.
Locating the site took a few minutes, but once I had, I was overwhelmed and speechless. I was there where she had died all those years ago. It really was quite powerful and I'll never forget it.
Once we were done with the walk, we headed back to the metro and towards the train station that handled the international stuff. Once there, we found out that it was closed and had closed hours ago. Frustrated, we headed back to our hostel. Tom and I stopped and got food and drinks, but Kevin was exhausted and went immediately to bed.
At the hostel, we ran into two Americans who joined us with some drinks and we all talked about our experiences and adventures. Soon enough, there were some Australians joining us. One of them had just bought three movies from a street vendor: Shrek 3, Hot Fuzz, and Shooter. So most of us voted for Shrek 3, but he really wanted to watch Hot Fuzz, so they put it on, we go out for a smoke, come back and he's propped in the most uncomfortable position I've ever seen anyone sleeping in. We try to wake him up, he won't wake up. He eventually lies down, tips over his beer and sleeps in it. We try to wake him up, he get's angry at us. So we continue drinking get like four warning from the manager to keep it down and eventually just go to bed.
At nearly the break of dawn, we head out to the train station and find out that the cheapest, and best way to get to Amsterdam is to take the Chunnel (tunnel under the English Channel) to Calais, then Brussels, and finally to Amsterdam. So we do that.
Train to Amsterdam Part I:
The English and French countryside was beautiful. Green, rolling hills everywhere with quaint and beautiful cottages and farmhouse liberally spilled about here and there. I slept some of it, but not much. Drank a bit with Kevin. Tom played his videogames.
Brussels, Belgium:
Arriving in Brussels we have a few missions: pull out money, drink some beeer and have a Belgium waffle. We only have like four hours to do all this.
We locate an ATM (which will start to prove harder and harder to do as the trip continues) and it takes my card. I go to the bank around the corner and wait in line behind the smelliest son of a bitch on the planet (again, something that will become more and more present as the trip continues). After about twenty minutes of waiting, I get my card back and the chick at the counter can't speak enough English to tell me what happened, but I have a pretty good idea.
I go to a phone, and of course my phone card doesn't work which is also the start of something that will continue on the trip. Most phones in Europe are set-up to be used with their own phone cards that you have to buy from someone nearby in a convenient store or such, so the ones you prepay for hardly ever work.
So I buy a phone card and call my bank, I find out that my account has been frozen because they believe someone has stolen my card since I used it in London and didn't tell them I was leaving the country.
FUCKING EXCUSE ME???
Since when do I need to tell my bank SHIT about what I do? So I yell at the bitch on the phone and she's in the process of reversing it when my minutes are up and I'm done, the call ends. So I borrow Tom's phone card after he's called his family and call my ma, knowing she has all the time in the world to call these fuckers and make sure I can get money.
Meanwhile, we head out to a nearby bar and drink some of the best beers I've had in my life, amongst the strangest of characters. There's a tall, black frenchman who looks like ex-military. There's a short, french bartender who visibly hates us and loves Football. There's a couple of whores that don't look half that bad. And then there's this older, French gentlemen who can speak pretty good English and get's to talk to us about his life, and thoughts, and retirement plans. He buys us several rounds. All things considered, and one of these things being that Brussels feels and looks like a third-world country, we're having a pretty damn good time. But time is soon up and we head to the train station.
I call me mum and find out that everything's squared away, and then we proceed to enjoy a Belgium waffle and head out.
Train to Amsterdam Part II:
We're all fairly drunk and can sit anywhere on this train so we find a pretty empty car and enjoy the quiet. Tom starts sleeping and then snoring, while Kevin and I continue drinking.
There is a couple sitting on the other side of the aisle.
We start talking to them. Come to find out the young girl is from Amsterdam but studied in America and her even younger looking boyfriend is from America and with her on a tour of Europe.
We find out all kinds of interesting things, like that Amsterdam is below sea level and that it's a semi-circle with all the canals and major roads following suit. Or that we have to try this fast food restaurant where everything is served like a vending machine. They are extremely helpful and when we get off the train at the actual station where the Ocean's team waits for a train in Ocean's 12, they decide to help us find our hotel.
Whatever you've heard about Amsterdam, forget it.
There are no people trying to sell you anything when you get off the train, be it shrooms, or night's in hostels. So have you plans made to stay before you go.
We went by the main roads, and we were pointed out places like the Queen's Palace and the entrance to the Red Light District. But the first thing I noticed was that Amsterdam was beautiful. The building are all really tiny and tall, jam-packed together almost as though the semi-circle that is Amsterdam is really just half a can of sardines. But smells better.
Much like Venice, you can get around rather well on gondola's and water taxi's.
But bikes RULE the streets. You can barely step on a roadway before you hear the annoying but sweet sounding "ding" of a bike bell behind you who clearly has the right of way. It's very different and takes getting used to.
We walk a LOT. But we get to our hotel without incident. We check-in, drop our bags off and then head off with our train mates to a nearby coffee shop.
If you don't know what coffee shops are for, I'm not going to explain it to you.
Nevertheless we go there, and have a great time. But Tom doesn't feel so good, so we all part ways and the three Americans eventually go to bed.
The next day we head off for breakfast. But NOTHING is open and it's like 9am. Come to figure out that almost nothing in Amsterdam opens 'till about noon, and the clubs and bars don't really open 'till about 9pm. Weird.
We find this little cafe' where we have to walk through the kitchen in order to get to our tables, and these two little Dutch women whip us up some breakfast. I had these crepes with chicken and this amazing sauce while Tom had some delicious salmon and Kevin had the best omelette any of us had ever tried. Really good.
Once we make it back to the train station and book our tickets for Barcelona by way of Paris, we head out into the city to check out the sites. We see more of the Palace and start to witness another European oddity: the Street Performers.
Our first experience with the street performers was just these people who act like statues and are bizarrely dressed up as anything from the Mask to a Victorian female doll. Weird.
We see the house that Anne Frank stayed in (really close to our hotel) and tour the Heineken Brewery which was pretty cool. And Heineken tastes SO much better in Europe than it does here. And it's kind of like the Budweiser of Europe, which is cool because it's everywhere.
Our second experience with the street performers was this gangly British guy who was obsessed with positive emotion and energy and juggling crystal balls that I suspect were clear rubber made to look like glass. He's even got a headset and speaker set-up. Clearly, the Professional Street Performer here.
Halfway through his act though, these guys across the park by this bar start playing music which was actually pretty cool, but the Brit is so stressed out about this, he cuts the "performance" because he can't concentrate and feel the good energy with them playing in the background. We watch as he sets his stuff down and walks over to the guys with his hands up in the air, shaking his head, and taking his shirt off, I don't know, maybe to look tougher?
That night, we hit the town. We go to a club and proceed to order shot after shot of Absinthe. We eventually leave and decide to go check out the Red Light District. Yeah.
On our way there, we encounter a tipped over car and help the owners tip it right again. Russians who originally suspected us of the foul play. Fucking Russkies...
Kevin and I know the basic way to the Red Light District, but just generally, so we're having a hard time locating it and we're drunk. Suddenly, Tom points down a side alley and says something like, isn't that it?
We look and see red lights, so we head towards it.
Even drunk, I wouldn't do any of these girls. Don't get me wrong, some of them are very hot, especially one, but I'll get to that. Let me paint the picture. Basically the district is just part of a major street following a canal. And on each side of the street, instead of shops, there are windows with red lights over them and girls standing inside pratically naked, usually just standing or sitting there and occassionally showing the fact that they're alive by trying to be "sexy". There are guys/tourists everywhere. So it all feels and looks pretty damn dirty. We walk the whole length of it, with one of the girls even yelling out to Kevin, "come on, fuck me!"
Hahaha.
We leave via a side alley way that is pretty small and on one side has windows with girls in them. An older prostitute who has opened her window grabs Tom by the collar as we are all walking past. He's trying to be nice about getting away from her, but she starts being really forward by whipping him and giving him her version of "sweet talk". Meanwhile, I'm ready for my bed or maybe another drink, but I'm standing there and I'm revisiting combat techniques in my mind and telling Tom to break her hold and demonstrating to him how.
Then the curtain of the window in front of me whips open and the HOTTEST blonde I've ever seen in real life is there waiting for me. Only me.
Time to go.
So now I'm really shouting for Tom, because, honestly, if he took one more minute, I might have paid for it.
Needless to say we got out of there with our cash flow intact.
By the time we make it back home it's like 6 in the morning. We crash.
The next day, Kevin goes out and buys a bottle of Absinthe which was almost impossible for him to do. You see, there are things in America that don't really exist in Europe.
ATM's, convenient stores, banks, phones, bars, liquor stores, grocery stores, etc. All of these things are either extremely hard to find or never open before night time. Everywhere you go in Europe. It's mostly the same. Even in train stations it's almost impossible to find an ATM.
So that day we enjoy our bottle of Absinthe. Kevin enjoyed yelling down to people and calling them whores in different languages. Tom played his videogames. I'm just giddy on Absinthe, which btw, is NOT an hallucigen. It's just another kind of liquor so it's just another kind of drunk. The drinkers out there know what I'm talking about. It makes you feel really happy.
We go out again that night but come home early this time.
The next day we head for Paris.
Paris:
First, there is grafitti EVERYWHERE in Paris. From the train station to a random bus stop. I'm not a fan of graffiti and I think even the most "well done" work is still garbage. I've heard that the French and other nationalities view it as "art", but frankly, the amount of the stuff that they let exist is ridiculous.
When we got into Paris, it was raining. Pouring, actually. Kevin had no jacket and was forced to walk around in a T-Shirt. I give him a lot of credit for actually doing that and not complaining about it.
We walked to the Eiffel Tower which is truly incredible. But no fun with sandals in the rain. My feet begin to look horrible after Paris, the black of the sole blending in with my foot.
The structure of the tower seems so delicate but so large and detailed. And it's rather brown in real life. Almost rust-colored.
Next we walked to the Louvre and ended up seeing all sorts of sights on the way. From historical to royal, we saw it all, baby.
We got to the Louvre and it was just closing up, but at least I got to take my picture in front of the pyramid, which is all I really wanted to do anyway.
Between the people on the street, our waiters where we ate, and the French that we met on the train and in the train station, more of what I had already thought of the French was confirmed. They're assholes. Arrogant, ignorant, pretentious dickheads. Most of them can speak English, but none of them will. It's the one country in Europe where English is not present anywhere. Not on ANY signs, nor spoken between any Frenchmen. They are the LEAST progressive country I went to and I have no respect for them at all. Here they are, one of the only countries in the world that speaks French and they act like it's the only language in the world. Again, it's that European arrogance that they are the center of the universe.
Oh well, as I've always said, God hates the French.
Sleeper train to Barcelona:
We had to get a sleeper train for our ride from Paris to Barcelona and let me tell you these things are small. Kevin could barely fit on his bed. But pretty much once we hit our beds we were out like lights.
The next day we woke up, switched trains and then rode for an hour or two to Barcelona. Tom played his videogames. Kevin and I went to the bar and started drinking, are you surprised?
I go to the bathroom at one point and when I come back, a guy about all of our ages is sitting down with Kevin drinking with him.
Come to find out, this is Carl from Canada. He's been all over the world (literally) and just finished staying a year in Korea teaching English. From his point of view, he saw me and Kevin drinking early in the morning on a train and figured we'd be good company. He ended up staying with us for the entire time we were in Barcelona.
Barcelona, Spain:
Once off the train (by this time all the trains are blurring into one because they all look the same), we all pitch in for a taxi to get to our hostel figuring it won't be that bad split four ways (especially because now we're on the Euro) and needing to cab it up because we have no idea where the hostel is but we know that it was highly rated in terms of location on all the sites we looked at.
So everything's cool and then the cab driver starts taking us out of the city, which is bustling everywhere we go. He starts taking us into the hills above Barcelona, technically not even in Barcelona anymore. We start stressing, but our driver finds the hostel and we get there in one piece just shaking our heads and cursing the internet. I feel bad for Carl who's decided to check out this hostel with us and now we're all fucked.
We check-in and go to our rooms. The hostel is nice. The rooms are properly locked and have lockers, there are two showers and two toilets in the room (everywhere you go, bathrooms are referred to as toilets). The beds are comfortable and cleaned every day. Can't complain about comfort. There is a restaurant up the hill, so we go up there and have some great pasta and sausage and enjoy the view which is really something. The area reminded me of Bonsall, Fallbrook, and/or the Sleeping Indian area of Oceanside. Really beautiful. Made me miss home a bit.
We ask around and find out that there's a train station just down the hill which will take us right to Las Ramblas, which is a main street in Barcelona. So we walk down the hill and take the ten minute train to Las Ramblas.
We walk down the street just like everyone else and discover a place filled with vendors, restaurants with out-door access, street performers (really weird ones and the worst one ever who thought he was Michael Jackson and thought that he should be paid PRIOR to his performance), hot girls, not-so hot gay guys in really short shorts, and tons of shops and stores.
We keep our eyes out for hostels and check out three or four of them, but everything is booked. So we resort to stopping at one of these outdoor restaurants and have dinner along with giant beers and sangria.
We head into the Gothic Quarter. We find this Restaurant that has a bar but no seats so the waitress tells us we can sit downstairs in the basement area and have drinks, she takes us downstairs in this wine cellar, which was really cool looking and we proceed to have more beer. But our waiter is really snooty and wants us to leave because you can tell he wants "real customers" who are going to eat. So we ask for the bill (something that takes forever to get in Europe) and find that our supposedly cheap beers had been jacked up in price because we sat down at a table, even though our host told us we could do so. We act like a bunch of badasses and pretty much stop short of making every employee in the restaurant come down to try and explain it to us and talk us down. We pay our bill and leave.
This would be the beginning of a trend. And let me explain it by this: have you ever seen The Princess Bride? Remember the scene where Wesley is climbing up the face of the cliff and Inigo asks him if he'd trust the word of a Spainard. What does Wesley say?
No good, I've known to many Spainards.
Let's just say I know what he means.
But it was funny to see all of these little Spainard waiters trying to act tough in the face of three Americans and one Canadian.
We then go around looking for a bar in the Gothic Quarter. Oh there are tons of Tapas Bars (I'll explain later), but no real bars except off the beaten path.
Kevin just starts talking to these, I believe they were two Danish girls who say they are headed to a bar, so we follow them and they lead us down alleyway after alleyway of these amazing stone buildings that have no windows, no signs, just doors to restaurants and bars and apartments. Really non-commercialized and truly Gothic. We finally make it to this really cool bar that looks to have been carved out of stone. There are cool little dens inside the place that are filled with pillows where you can sit and chill. It's split between a restaurant and a bar, so we find a table and pull up some stools, order some drinks and some nachos (which end up tasting just like ours) and kick back. Then Lincoln Burrows walks by. Just kidding. But it was this dude who looked a lot like Lincoln Burrows, and of course we told him that, which he said he got a lot. If you don't know who Lincoln is, watch PB or don't ask stupid questions.
Next we walk down a little ways and find another bar, more my kind of flavor. It's basically a hole in the wall, almost literally, with this underground cave section where they store kegs and stuff. We drink some more and play pool, taking pictures on these steps that lead NOWHERE.
We go back to the first bar and the Danish girls are gone, so we go looking for another bar.
On the street, we get stopped by this shady American girl who claims that her friend is having a party at this club and she's passing out invites. Kevin immediately calls it on her that she's working for the club, but we got nothing to do, so we go to the club which is dead. We have some drinks (I guzzle down two gin and tonics) and I get talking to the chica and she seems pretty cool, but she still probably worked for the club. Carl's getting anxious because he's losing his buzz, so we leave and find a tapas bar.
OK, so in case you don't know tapas are basically like little appetizers. A tapas bar will set up all sorts of little tapas all over the place on plates and such with toothpicks stuck inside them which you keep to pay for later. An actual tapas consists usually of a piece of toasted bread with various cheeses, meats, vegetables, and spreads on it. I wasn't digging them, so I didn't stay inside for long, just long enough to get some beers that I never paid for because the chick left me as soon as she delivered them. Meanwhile Kevin and Tom had some tapas that nearly made them throw up.
Outside, sitting down we meet this German family that is touring Spain. They were really a lot of fun and the Dad was the only European I met on my trip who was pro-Bush. Pretty cool family, and they suggested we stay at their hostel which was really close to Las Ramblas but still within the Gothic Quarter and had openings.
We then walked around for a bit looking for a club. I was HAMMERED. We run into these obnoxious Americans or Canadians, I forget. Their all law school fucks and the girls with these guys are flat-out bitches, and of course, I'm drunk, so my attitude towards them doesn't help my rememberance of them either. But they know of a club. So we go with them, walk forever to it, and get in, mostly because of these annoying girls.
I hate clubs. I hate the dancing. I hate the music. I hate the vanity of it. I hate the lust of it. I hate the girls' idea that it's only dancing, like guys actually would ever dance if girls were not on the planet. I hate the high cost of drinks. I hate the crowdedness of it all.
I feel a bit like Blade in Blade II whenever I go to a club. Not in the sense that I'm going to shoot everyone because they're vampires but in the sense that there's that one scene where he's just standing there watching everyone and everyone is literally dancing or moving all around him. That sense of stillness in the chaos.
I don't last long there, and besides, me and Tom lose Kevin and Carl. So I head out and Tom goes with me. We can't possibly get back in because the line to get in is now wrapped around the building.
Me and Tom give it about ten minutes, then we find a cab and head home. I pass out in the cab feeling a bit sick. I'm woken up by Tom in what feels like an hour later and told that we're here, even though here doesn't look like our hostel. Tom tells me it's the train station, but the train station doesn't look like our train station.
The cab is gone, and I realize that we are not where we are supposed to be.
MOTHER FUCKER, Tom!
He's sorry, and I know he is, and I know that he's drunk too and has no idea where we are, so I'm forgiveable and reason out that we're farther North or whatever direction the line goes than we need to be. So I reason that if we follow the tracks backwards, we'll hit our train station and thus our hostel.
Tom thinks we need to go the other way. Thus begins sort of a continuing philosophy and aspect of our relationship, in which, Tom's instincts which are acknowledged as bad always go against my instincts which on this trip, always happen to be right.
We go my way, walking on a dirt trail through the woods in the dark, past the middle of the night. Dog's are barking, and wolves are howling and I'm not sure if the dog's are barking at us or something that's coming towards us.
It all feels just a little bit like the scene at the beginning of An American Werewolf in London. So I'm thinking we're about to be American werewolves in Barcelona.
Did I mention I was drunk?
But seriously, it was a bit scary and we walked for at least a mile and a half before we found our train station that led to our hostel. I was out by the time I hit my bed, only pausing to take note that Carl and Kevin hadn't gotten home yet.
The next morning we find out that Carl and Kevin had a similar experience. They didn't stay that much longer at the club than me and Tom, but when they got into their taxi and the driver told Carl he knew where he was going, a pact was made and later broken much to the driver's horror when Carl found out that the driver DIDN'T know where he was going, Carl yelled and brought the fear of mutilation by Canadian into this poor, sad, little, shady Spanish driver. The guy ended up shutting off his meter and apologizing to Carl who frequently, in telling us this story just yelled back at the guy, I want to go home.
Don't we all, sometimes?
The next day we ate the worst breakfast of all time at the restaurant at the hostel and headed back to town and the beach.
After a very long walk to the beach we made it.
The random toplessness aside, it's not like you would imagine. The sand was extremely dusty, the water calm, blue, and beautiful, but cold. We chilled there for a couple hours and then headed back. This time we took one of those gondola's in the sky back to Las Ramblas which provided us with amazing views of Barcelona. Once grounded, we went looking for dinner, hopefully the expensive, lobster kind that Kevin and I were looking for.
And we found it. We ordered a pitcher of sangria and ate ritzy food in a ritzy restaurant that would have had us wearing jackets and ties if we had been in the States.
Then we went looking for a grocery store. Carl kept talking about getting some sandwich materials since we met him. Come to find out, since he'd been in Korea for a year, he hadn't had a sandwich. So we bought a buttload of sandwich materials, ice, containers, and beer and headed back home.
Let me tell you, carrying the groceries up the hill from the train station to the hostel was a bitch and a half.
But we made it back in one piece and proceeded to have some drinks. We watched some TV, and were stoked on the VHS collection until we found out that there was NOTHING in English. Se la vie.
I was not to be daunted, I grabbed Willow and put it on, watching the whole thing in Spanish. People joined us watching in, and anytime anyone was lost, and even then, just for the Hell of it, I quoted practically the whole movie. Got better the more I drank. Surprised? Not me.
I walk outside after the movie and Tom's talking to these three chicks, two of which were cute. So we start talking to all of them and proceed to have a pretty damn good time.
The next day was a work day for most of us. None of us really wanted to do anything, and the guidebook that I was one day away from tossing out (to make my bag lighter, remember) said that we'd done everything we needed to do besides the beach in the first night, so we were set.
Me and Tom headed out to the train station so that we could book our tickets to Venice. Come to find out, we could only book as far as Nice, and then from there had to book a sleeper to Venice. And like everything, it was going to be close. Oh well.
We get back later in the afternoon and surf the net for hostels, and such. Watch TV, by this time I had figured out how to change some channels from Spanish to English so we could understand movies like Friday Night Lights.
Later, Kevin and I went for dinner down by the metro station at this really cool restaurant which served cold beer, warm bourbon, and great pizza. We had some interesting conversations and then Tommy joined us in the middle and then we went back up to do some more drinking.
One thing we always found when we partied at hostels was that the next night after the first, there would always be more people. What can I say, showin' people a good time no matter what continent I'm on?
So there was a grip of people this time, more girls, too. We're drinking beers at first. Which was 1 Euro, then 2 Euro, then 1 Euro (shady Spainards), then all out. So I bought a liter of sangria for like 3 Euro's and man, oh man, I was soon hearing my bed call. But Tom was pimpin' it with these two girls. One of which he literally stayed up with all night talking.
Morning comes, Tom's been up all night, Kevin's gone, and Carl's passed out. We get ready to go, say goodbye to Carl and it's a race to the train station.
We literally get on the train and it starts moving.
Train to Venice:
The train to Nice is a blur of bad smelling people, sleep, a real annoying blind man in our car, and Tom's snoring.
Plus one less companion to make things interesting. It was a little sad to see Kevin go, but we managed.
Once we got to Nice which isn't NICE, we wait an hour or so and get on our sleeper train to Venice.
We end up bunking with an Asian Frenchwoman and I'm of course, anal about locking the doors.
And up to this point, we've all been very good of either holding our bags while we sleep on the trains or keeping one person up to keep an eye on them. But in the sleeper cabins you can lock the doors.
What I think happened: the woman went to the bathroom while I was asleep and didn't lock the door behind her.
What I know happened: I locked the door before I went to bed. I'm woken up partly by the woman speaking french, partly by her turning on the lights, and partly by the feeling of a presence in the cabin. I can barely see, but I see a guy holding one of Tom's bags (his daypack). He quickly looks up at me and mutters something like, is this your's? I still have no idea what's going on but I'm like, yeah, what are you doing? Meanwhile, the Frenchie is practically screaming at him and he suddenly drops the bag and races into the hall. I still don't get that Tom was almost robbed, but I shut the door and lock it, while the Frenchie is pointing at the lock, like I don't know what I'm doing. I then proceed to pass back out. The next day, Tom looks through his pack and everything is still there, thank God.
Yet, I wish I had been just bit more awake...because I would have FUCKED that guy up. This Danish guy named Lars who I met in Athens asked me what I would have done to that guy, and I told him, I would have literally thrown him off the train, turned around and said, no ticket.
Venice, Italy:
We arrive in the morning and it's sprinkling. We book our tickets to Florence and head out into the city.
I'll save you the suspense, we did NOT take a gondola ride. It was better just walking around the city. I mean, it is pretty amazing that it's right on the water.
We looked for a place to eat, and ate. Then we just walked around. I saw the library/church that was used in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade and we just kind of got purposely lost within the city.
There's not really tons to see. It is what it is, but there's not a lot to do in Venice. I would take a romantic vacation there, but I wouldn't plan for much, partly because there's not much to plan for, but you get the rest.
We then went to about fifteen to twenty shops looking for the right murano glass ring that could replace the one my friend, Michelle broke right in front of me only days before I left for London. I found something similar, but not exact. Se la vie.
By now my feet look like they've been through a Die Hard movie. Well, maybe just the first one.
We then headed back to the train station and left for Florence.
Ah, Venice...
Florence, Italy:
We learned our lesson well from Barcelona. From there in, Tom and I didn't book a hostel without knowing exactly where it was and making sure it was really close to the train station we were arriving in.
The budget hotel we stayed at in Florence is literally right around the corner from the station. So that was awesome. Unfortunately, it had paper thin walls and no bar.
Florence is unlike any expectation I had. From what everyone had told me, I kind of imagined this small, almost village-like city that was just a nice place to see historical sites, eat, sleep, and rest-up. Which was kind of why I was looking forward to it. All the travelling had me tired.
Now don't get me wrong. Florence IS rather small, and it IS historical. But it's also crowded, busy, and the streets are INSANE. Worst drivers in Europe? Italians. But you get used to just walking out in front of them, and they sort of stop for you. Sort of.
But the architecture of the entire city seemed, by-far, the oldest and most interesting on a whole compared to the rest of the cities thus far. However, here to, everything was covered with grafitti, and trash.
Which is another European thing which is kind of an overall thing. They don't keep things up. They don't paint over graffiti and they don't pick up trash. It's gross and un-inspiring.
Our first day, we spent seeing the Duomo, a very impressive church and kind of the center of the city, and locating a place to eat. We found a great little pizzeria (they're everywhere in Italy) and stayed there for an hour or so. But we then walked looking for two things, a bar, and an internet cafe'. No luck on either.
Hold on here. This is where things get strange. When walking around Florence, you see TONS of signs for bars, but in Florence, a bar is a gelatto shop. Essentially, an ice cream shop. Shopey-shop. YEAH.
We finally settled for an outdoor restaurant, had a beer or two, then went looking for another bar.
We FINALLY found one down a back alleyway and proceeded to have a few drinks. We ran into this thirty-something American couple who were really cool. The wife was SMASHED and was very flagrant in her hatred for Europe and Italy, specifically (which I'll be honest, I came to understand by the time we were leaving the country). Her husband was even cooler though, obviously money, buying us drink after drink and telling us about the private tour they got within Vatican City. But eventually they left us because the wife could barely walk.
We left the bar, and headed back to our hotel getting a little lost on the way, but like always, I got us there in one piece and no worse for wear. Sometimes it's hard trying to figure out a map when you're drunk. Especially when the streets are hardly ever labeled, which is another European thing. No street signs. Occasional street signs attached to buildings. But those are few and far between.
The next day we went all out. What's thought to be Da Vinci's workshop was close so we went there first and found an internet cafe' along the way so we could book our next hostels and see if Kevin made it home alive. Of course, he did, and we saw that he'd put up pictures, which were awesome to see.
We get to the plaza where there is a church, and within the church was Da Vinci's workshop, only we can't go up to see it. So instead, we head to Michalangelo's home, only to find that it's just a building, nothing really to see. So, next up, we walk to Dante's home/museum and check it out, kinda cool, not to much to see, it was just badass to walk through (his dig's were pretty impressive), but nothing to stay and check out. Although, we did see a badass restaurant from one of his windows, so we went there and started to tell our order to the waitress who first started talking Italian but quickly stepped into English with an American accent and all. She was a student or something but she led us to where we next wanted to go which was the museum holding the David. Along the way, we found a Da Vinci Museum with real working stuff that you could mess around with that was pretty cool, then we were off to the musuem.
Massive line to see the David.
Tom and I were basically like, eh, nevermind.
On our way back to the hotel, we picked up some gelatto that was bomb then found our beds and took a nap. Well, I took a nap, Tom played his videogames.
But before the nap, there is a little story to be told. We were watching CNN and BBC News on the TV in our hotel room (the only English speaking channels besides MTV) when a story came on about Global Warming and how Hurricane Katrina and the "fires in California" have no finally forced George W. Bush into believing that Global Warming is real...
LMFAO...What?
Fires in California? I shit you not. Come to find out, you think that CNN is Liberal in the States???
Go over to Europe. It's fucking INSANE. Talk about low morality and ethics in reporting the news faithfully. The Liberal SLANT on CNN and the BBC in these countries is ridiculous. It's only helping to continue to misinform and mislead uninformed and uneducated people. It truly is criminal.
Later that night we went back out on the town. We ate at another outdoor's restaurant, I ordered the biggest calzone I've ever seen, and Tom scared off some American chicks that we might have gotten to know otherwise. He'll never live that one down. But to his credit, he tried to make nice, but they weren't having any of it. Even called him rude. Hahaha.
The next day we were off for Rome.
Rome, Italy:
Coming into Rome, I think I noticed the MOST grafitti that I'd seen thus far. It's just terrible. And a lot of it is done on old buildings.
Beyond that, the first thing you notice is that most of Rome is comprised of these horrid-looking apartment buildings that are old and unkept with no taste or flavor built into them.
By far, Rome and Athens were the UGLIEST cities on this trip besides Naples, which, in all fairness at least has some pretty skyscrapers.
Rome has some AMAZING architectural feats and some ANCIENT buildings, but everything else is either new or old CRAP buildings. Just ugly, ugly, ugly.
We locate our hostel and I am continually reminded that Italians are the worst drivers on our way there. Once again, ATM's and such are not around.
And the situation get's worse, the only good thing I can say about our hostel is that the bar downstairs is pretty amazing. But I'm leery of taking a shower in a three by three foot stall in which the toilet peaks in. Yeah.
We get into Rome late and just want to chill. We find a place to eat and then go back to the bar and get our drink on at the bar, first inside the nicely furnished place and then outside on the sidewalk. We end up meeting two groups of pretty cool people.
First group, the American Frat consisting of like ten guys. Some of them were complete morons, but the cool guys were fun. We talked about our shared experiences and such.
Second group, the Australians. There were like four or five of them, but they were really awesome, at least one of them was ex-military but didn't act like it. He kept telling me about his girlfriend whom he hadn't seen in months and was going to meet up in a couple days in Paris. He was a nice guy.
We all sat around, drinking and sharing war stories, or so to speak.
Started talking to these two Canadian chicks. Actually, Jewish Canadian chicks. One of which was obviously and extreme Liberal, and unfortunately for me, the one that was talking to me the most and the most interested.
She rattled off stuff about her sister who spent a year in China or whatever and how about they are so poor there but so cool and that America is useless because we don't do anything to help them and that we are fat and waste food, and blah, blah, blah. This was something I was beginning to realize, even with Carl:
Canadians HATE us. And they are over there in Europe and all over the world continuing to feed anti-American ideas to misinformed, uninformed, ignorant people who already WANT to hate America.
So it was somewhere around hearing about how she could never marry anyone that wasn't Jewish or was willing to convert to Judaism that I decided I needed to stomp her out.
It COULD have been the drinks that helped me out with that conclusion, but we will never know.
Anyway, I attacked her, and verbally berrate her and proudly defended America and basically chased her away. Se la vie.
The next day we headed off to Vatican City.
I'm not a Catholic. I could really care less about the Pope. To me, he's just another guy. As he should be to everyone, in my opinion. So I just wanted to go to St. Peter's Square, see the sights, and leave. I had no interest in waiting in line to go into the city or see the Sistine Chapel. The line was at least a two hour wait (confirmed later by people who actually waited), and that was just to get into the museum, which you have to go through first before you see anything else.
But Tom, a Catholic, was way into the whole thing. So part of me entertained the idea of waiting in line, even though I didn't want to.
We walked around the city, mostly so we could say we have walked around a whole country, no problem.
Back in the Square, I thought about it and finally told Tom that if he really wanted to go in, he should, but that I was going to sit in the shade and wait for him, but the idea of waiting in line didn't really appeal to him either, so we left to stop in at our hostel.
There we met Anna. A Londoner loner who had just quit her job and decided on some travelling. She decided to have a small bite to eat with us at lunch and together we kind of all decided that even though the Colossuem was about a mile away, we'd hoof it. Which was a brilliant decision, that I don't think Tom and I would have made, had it not been for Anna.
Along the way we ran into a Basilica created by Michaelangelo with extrordanarily high ceilings, intricate carvings, and detailed paintings. It was awe-inspiring. How they built these things back then, I have no idea? We eventually left the beauty of the Basilica and entered the beauty of ancient Rome, encountering ruins and the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier which was vast and gorgeous. With the Colossuem in the distance, we headed for it.
Tom was on seventh Heaven. These kind of ancient sites were what really hit the spot for him. Me too, actually. But Tom was just a bit more amazed. It was kind of funny, because he was almost like someone with A.D.D. Let's go over there, no wait, let's go there, hey, what's that?
The Colossuem was AWESOME. But much of it has been rebuilt over the centuries and they are currently in the process of rebuilding the whole thing which sucks. It was quite an experience to stand there where people had thrilled to see other people live or die. Have we come that far, I wonder?
We slowly made our way back, had some coffee in the shadows of all these monuments. I enjoyed the best cup of Cappuccino I have ever had, and ordered another. The first was better. Anna found out that I was a Bush-supporter, and because I liked her, I declined to get into the topic. No politics, I said. Let's just stay friends.
Once again at the hostel, we dropped some stuff off, then headed back to the bar for some drinks. Anna still had something like five more days in Rome, while we were leaving tomorrow, so even though she was dead tired, she decided to help us tie one on that night.
More Austrailian and American fun. But eventually the Americans and most of the Austrailians left for a pub crawl while we all stayed behind.
Eventually, sleep caught up with Anna and she went to bed. Tom shortly thereafter followed her. I stayed up and drank, of course, right?
Met an angry Canadian ex-soldier who had all sorts of depressing, cynical stores about Aghanistan and Iraq (Canada has an army?) who's demeanor seemed more like an IRA ex-soldier with a wannabe but less hardcore swagger than he wanted. Anti-Bush, anti-American, and yes, there was a point there where I was about to beat the shit out of him, but the nice guy Austrailian ex-soldier intervened and did his best to relieve the tension. Eventually the Canadian took the hint to split and we finished out our night.
The next morning we where on our way to Naples.
The Exodus of Italy:
Travelling the Italian countryside is awesome, even by train. Maybe especially by train, if not for the smelly, warm surroundings and people.
If I go back to Italy, it will be to the countryside.
We arrived in Naples thinking we could maybe make it to Pompeii and back in time, but I didn't have a good feeling about it. We probably could have, but I did NOT have a good feeling about it.
So instead we went out to eat, but I was tired of pizza and pasta. Italian food is great, but REAL Italian food is RICH, and heavy. And I needed something different. We found a Chinese restaurant and Tom's worst experience began.
From the second we walked in, our "waitress" had decided she hated us. For whatever reason. She was rude, annoying, slow, and I think she left the shrimp on Tom's plate unshelled and uncleaned, fresh with the head on deliberately. And she even took forever to drop the check, even by European standards.
It was bad.
Nonetheless we shouldered on, and thank God. Naples is an ugly city. Disgustingly unclean, trash and grafitti EVERYWHERE. And I had to bear witness to the worst sight I have EVER seen. Two OBVIOUS ugly men dressed up as women, trying to look like women.
Ugh. Horrible. I get the shakes just thinking about them.
We headed from Naples to the coast, Bari, to be precise. We clumsily and quickly get off the train and figure out where the port is and how to get there by taking a bus. We have about an hour to get there and book our board on a ferry that will take us to Greece. We're stressing.
We get to the port and along with a ton of other traveler's, we head to the line to get our tickets, hoping there's room. We get our tickets, thank God and the lady actually tells us to hurry on board.
We get on board this massive ship, and about fifteen minutes later, we're moving.
It was quite something to watch Italy fade behind us with the setting sun. I had looked forward to going to Italy FOREVER. Now I think that I will never go back. It isn't what it pretends to be, and many people and sources like movies and books present a screwed up version of it, partly because there is that Liberal philosophy of not wanting to hurt anyone's feelings or a country's feelings for that matter. I don't know. It's obviously a lot of things. But it's just not what you think it is. And I was ECSTATIC to be leaving that country. Partly because I didn't really enjoy my stay there, but also partly because Greece represented my way home, and by this time, I was ready to go home.
We ate, then had a few beers at the bar at the back of the boat, just talking amongst ourselves.
But Tom loves clubs, and most of these ships have clubs.
We find the club and also a group of mostly guys and like two girls TRYING to dance on the small dance floor. We sit down with our drinks in these cushy, plush seats in this dark place that reminds you of Vegas and the Rat Pack and watched the ugly scene ahead of us.
Guys dancing with guys, but not gay. Just a ton of guys and a few girls dancing. Europeans like to dance.
But I don't see no profit in it.
After a few more drinks, I head off to bed.
All right, so bed on the free ticket we get because of our Eurail pass on a ferrry:
Sleep on the floor, kids!
You walk into this area called the Deck. It's just like a small auditorium-like place with people all along the walls sleeping on the floor with their packs as pillows.
Oh, and they don't turn off the lights.
Sounds pretty bad. But honestly, it was one of the best nights of sleep I got during the whole trip. Why? Because Kevin wasn't there to wake me up early, and Tom couldn't get to sleep, so therefore, couldn't snore.
Hahaha...
Right around here I develop a cut in my right heel that just sort of splits open because of the callous that IS my heel. It's deep too. Oh well. Se la vie.
In the morning we arrive in Patras, Greece.
We book our tickets to Athens, and grab a bite to eat in a nice restaurant with the coolest waiter we've had thus far.
When we finally get on the train, and are headed towards Athens, I'm struck by how much stucco is used in the architecture in modern building within Greece. The train was using a coastal route, so we got to see lots of beach homes and beach cities that looked a lot like certain areas of La Jolla and Del Mar. Very pretty.
Although, then we get into Athens and things start getting ugly.
Athens, Greece:
First impression of Athens:
The hottest girls I've seen on the trip are here and in the most abundance.
Second impression of Athens:
The metro is the cleanest.
And that's about the best parts of Athens.
Here the people were the smelliest, the city was VAST and almost as ugly as Rome, the food was the most mismashed, and more horrible drivers.
First night, we just wanted to get to the hostel and it's raining. I of course say it's this way and Tom thinks it's that way, but since he admits his instincts are bad, we head my way and of course, find the hostel.
Just like the hostel before, the best thing about this place is the bar in the basement, which is the only part of the hostel that is air conditioned. SOME rooms have air conditioning, but ours was busted, so it was hot and sweaty nights, if you could sleep.
We meet up with these two guys from Denmark. One has an American Southern accent, too which I query, and he tells me he spent a year and a half in Missouri. So we all set out to find something to eat and have a few drinks. We have a pretty good time, and afterwards, we head back to the hostel and get our drink on. But our Danish friends aren't much for drinking so they head for bed. We end up meeting some cool people down there that night. There's the couple moving to New Zealand that are from Mammoth, one's an American dude from Orange County and his future wifey is from New Zealand. Both cool people, who eventually leave us to as they put it so mildly, get lucky. The bartender, Steve is from Australia and is constantly trying to get laid. But he's cool and supplies us with beers, so who cares? Then there's the other Austrailian who works there but is off. He looked like Clive Owen, but could drink.
The next day, Tom and I head out to see the Acropolis. And let me tell you, it is a HIKE to get up there. We stopped halfway to get some drinks and something to eat, we were that tired (I had the best sandwich, feta cheese, tomato, spinach leaves, and mashed up olives as almost a spread). How they built this stuff and then, even, built it on a massive hill never ceases to be awe-inspiring?
However, just like lots of stuff we've seen, they're trying to rebuild it, and it's a damn shame.
In the end though, one of the unexpected pleasures of seeing the Acropolis is seeing all of Athens, which, even though it's ugly and not very creative, is MASSIVE. All around it just goes on and on. It's an amazingly huge city, but full of uninspiring six story buildings and that's about it.
That night we were back in the bar. Having seen what I wanted to see in Athens, I was all about staying in the hostel and just waiting out the time before I could go home.
Steve, the bartender came up with the BRILLIANT choice of playing King's. So we played King's. Two HOT Brazillian girls joined us and we had a gay-old time.
No I mean it, parts of it were really gay.
I'll explain.
Steve had previously told me of how last week they had played Kings and everyone eventually got naked due to the Dare Card and there were naked girls giving guys lap dances and such. I should have seen this as foreshadowing...but missed it.
The first two games (rules all made by Steve, which were surprisingly the same as some American versions I've played) we played without the "Dare Card", but by the third game, we had removed Waterfalls and inserted the Dare Card. A hot Canadian picks up the card and dares all the guys to take their shirts off. So we all take our shirts off. Someone dares Steve to take his pants off, not only does he do that, but he takes his boxers off. Yeah.
FINALLY, a guy get's the card and tells the girls to take off their shirts. Only one of them does it, so we heckle them and then put our shirts back on.
BTW, we're all HAMMERED by now.
Someone get's the wise/un-wise decision to dare Steve to switch bottoms with one of the Brazillian hotties, Steve happily obliges, she puts on his boxers, and he puts on her tight jeans. He's very excited about all of this, while still trying to hook up with all the girls.
Oops, there goes the jeans and now Steve is bottomless again, tucking his junk, if you know what I mean.
BTW, the girls are getting a huge kick out of all of this. We guys, me, Tom, the Australian dude, Lars, a British kid, and a Russian kid are all weirded out but laughing at the same time at the sight of all this.
Finally Steve is fully clothed, in his own clothes and is pointing out where his penis had been inside the girl's jeans. Yeah.
By the fourth game of Kings, everyone starts to head to bed.
The next day, Steve remembers nothing and no one feels like drinking.
We spend our last day in Athens just lounging around and Tom desperately tries to make plans to get home.
The next day, we get up very early, making sure to make tons of noise to bother our roommate who had woken us up late in the night getting ready for bed and head out for the airport.
The metro is full of disgusting, smelly Greeks, but Hell, I'm almost home so I try and ignore it. Except for one car, that was do-able. But in that one car, if I had been there one more minute, I would have thrown up. Keep in mind, I don't even have a good sense of smell.
We get to the terminals and Tom and I for the first time in three weeks part ways. It was a little weird being on my own again, but it felt good too. No offense, Tom.
I remember as I walked into the terminal I was reminded of the end of the Shawshank Redemption where Morgan Freeman talks about how he hopes the Pacific is a blue as it has been in his dreams and just about all of his hopes about where he is going, and I remember feeling exactly what he was trying to express. It was pretty cool. I was going home.
I flew into London and then into New York, and even though I had never been to New York, just landing in the United States made me incredibly happy and relieved. I was home. Even if I wasn't.
New York to San Diego, the flight was intolerable but I made it home in one piece and will never forget the relief and amazing feeling of seeing the skyline of San Diego, all those familiar buildings.
And then of course, as I saw my parents in the distance waiting to pick me up, and finally feeling like I was home again.
Don't get me wrong, the trip was amazingly epic. And worth every penny and second. But Dorothy was right, there is no place like home. And I've been saying that America is the best country in the world but believing and now KNOWING it are two very different things.
God bless my home.
And my feet which are now OK.
But I'm framing those sandals, dammit.
Note on Europeans: For anyone wanting to know more about cultures over there or just preparing a trip and wondering what it's like. I'll save you some suspense. Europeans are really just PRIMITIVES. Everywhere you go, it's a primitive culture. And I'm talking about Belgium, France, Spain, Italy, and Greece here. The U.K. is a different story. They don't pick up the trash, they don't paint over the grafitti, they don't keep up on any of their homes or buildings (unless they are historic monuments, go figure), they don't wear freaking deoderant, and they can't walk to save their lives (they will straight up stop right in front of you, or walk right into you, and their not even pick-pockets). They are openly rude and hostile to each other and tourists, especially American tourists, and they can't drive unless it's recklessly. They are backwards people who don't seem to want to better themselves or their way of life. They have no interest in moving forward as a culture. They think they are better than everyone because they're cities and cultures have been around forever. They seem to think that for this reason they don't need to change. They are dirty, ignorant, arrogant people, with primitive ways of doing everything and anything from treating women properly to taking care of themselves. It's the fucking 21st century, wear some goddamn deoderant, for God sakes. By Greece, I was getting to be openly hostile about the B.O. issues. It's frankly intolerable. They may think they are special because they have these things and sites, but they do nothing with them and practically mistreat them what, with all the rebuilding and shit. But in truth they are slow to change, practically live in third-world conditions and are uneducated and stubborn as all Hell. It's really disgusting and sad. Most Europeans have a distaste for us or at least our culture or current politics. But guess what, I have a vast distaste for Europeans.
Note on relying on hostel reviews: Don't. Find out where the place is, and just make sure it's close to where ever you need or want to be.
Note on pickpocketing: Don't listen to all the hype. Wear a money belt or whatever, and just be aware of your surroundings. As long as your aware of what's going on around you, you'll be fine. Simple tactics, like looking for the scumbags around you and making eye contact with them. Keep your bag close and your hand in your pockets closer. Keep looking behind you, notice people that follow in step with you either behind or on the side. Just notice things and see things, keep your eyes open and your golden. In my opinion, you'd have to be a moron to get pick-pocketed, even in Rome. Maybe I'm biased, because as one Canadian said, your a big American, no one's gonna mess with you.
Music:
"Ole Black and Blue Eyes" by The Fratellis
"New Shoes" by Paolo Nutini
"Same Jeans" by The View
Check 'em out.
Final Note: It took roughly about seven straight hours to write this, kudos to anyone who finished it.
10:11 PM
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