Berlin, Germany 5/27/08

I forcably removed myself from my bed early this morning. It's really hard to duck out of a hostel quietly from the top bunk of a 30 person dorm room. I redied myself as carefully as possible, and waking as few people as I could, although none of them seemed to mind much because they were all in a thick drug glazed slumber. I checked out of the hostel, once I had gathered my belongings, and began walking the couple blocks across the road to the station. My train was a little late, and the way the station in Amsterdam is set up, it freaked me out a little thinking that it might just blow right past me without my noticing. When the train arrived, I jumped on quickly, worried I might miss my chance. However, everything worked out fine, and I was off on my last trainride through Europe.

This last one seemed also to be my most comfortable, at least since the early part of the trip. There weren't a whole lot of people pilled into this train, and the seats were quite roomy. I didn't have a particularly assigned seat, so I just set myself down on a window seat amongst the really nice middle row which have tables between seats that face eachother. Next to the table, the train car had power outlets so that I could plug in my laptop and iPod to charge them while we were in transit. I havn't seen that sort of thing since the UK. When I was fully charged, I put my seat back and slept a little while watching the trees fly by the window.

When I awoke, we were just about to enter Berlin. I wasn't exacty sure which station I wanted to get off at, so I got so nervous I was going to miss it, I got off at the first station with "Berlin" in the title, ending up in the wrong station. I had to sit on the metro a whole extra hour in order to get back to where I was supposed to be, but I finally made it to the spot were I was supposed to meet Denis, whom I was to be staying with while in Berlin. When I got to the metro station we were scheduled to meet at, I was still an hour and a half early, but just to be sure I was in the right place, I used the extra time, to backtrack through the tunnels and replay my steps. Berlin's underground can be tricky, and I'm not always sure I'm in the right spot. When I was satisfied that this must indeed be the place, I explored around the near area cheking for, in particular, a cash machine to withdrawl some cash. I'd used up the last of the cash I was carrying last night to pay for that beer in the hostel bar. I hadn't even had enough to pay for something to eat this morning getting here, and they wouldn't accept my credit card. In order to get food, I had to first find a cash machine. I asked someone in a local bakery, and they pointed out the direction I needed to go. I walked all over that direction, but couldn't find what I was looking for until I saw someone walk out of a nearby building with cash in their hands. This building was, as it turned out, a huge bank and I'd been walking all around it the whole time unable to see the sign. I finally walked in, and was able to get some cash, and then spend some on a Doner Kabab in a nearby shop by the open food market.

As it was nearing the time when I was supposed to meet Denis, I walked back over to where the metro station stood. In standing there for a couple minutes, I began to get self consious and traveled back down again, into the underground to be truely sure I was standing in the right place. Again my conclusion was the same, and as I exited this time, I heard a voice call my name. "Tyler!" the voice called to my right, and I turned my head to meet it. A young man in a bright yellow shirt with the word "California" blazing over his chest was the one who fit the voice. My mind had somehow tricked me into imagining that this Denis I was supposed to meet was older, in his 40s or 50s and this man seemed barely older than me. I stared at him, trying to allow for a connection in my head to be bridged, and stood there perhaps a couple seconds longer than I should have. He extended out his hand to shake mine, and I met his gesture clumsily with my own. "I wore my California shirt so you'd find me," he pointed to his t-shirt proudly. I smiled and thanked him for meeting me. He asked me if I'd eaten anything. I told him I'd had a Kabab just shortly before he found me. "Oh good!" he said, "I was just going to take you to have one. That's a very common food here in Germany, we eat a lot of Doner Kebabs." On the way to his home, which was just a short walk from the metro station, he picked himself up one to go and pointed out along the street some great German bakeries where I might possibly find breakfast in the morning. As we walked he gave me a quick historical tour of the area, mentioning interesting facts and little tidbits about post war Berlin, and how the neighborhood we were walking through was mostly all surviving buildings from that time.

We hung out at the apartment, he apologised that his girlfriend Nancy wasn't here right now to greed me, but he assured me I'd meet here later in the day. He gave me the grand tour of the place, showing me the brand new couch they'd gotten which folds out into a bed for guests. That was going to be my bed for the next few nights. I was honored that I got to be the first to break it in, and thank him profusely for inviting me to stay. After settling in a bit, and dropping my stuff by the couch, The first thing I did was take a badly needed shower, which was my first since leaving France. It felt wonderful. Afterwards, we went searching online, and found me a flight out to London using easyjet.com which only cost about 45 US dollars with everything included. I now had the final leg of my journey booked and readied, and inside I felt the tension of travel slowly begin to subside. I was more or less on vacation from here on out.

Soon after, we headed out again. Denis explained to me that few people in Berlin have cars. All of Germany is a very eco-friendly country so the way most people get around is by using public transportation, or riding bicycles. He thought it would be better exploring the city, if I was able to see it as I was going through, rather than being stuck in the underground while traveling from place to place, and since Nancy wasn't here at the moment both of their bikes were open to use. He walked me outside and unlatched the two bikes, and handed me Nancy's. I right away decided Nancy must be somewhat taller than I was, because I had a little difficulty reaching my way up to the seat. I struggled like a newbie trying to remaster the technique I'd learned as a child. I hadn't ridden a bike since probably about 8 years ago, and it showed. People always say, "It's like riding a bike," inquiring that the particular skill comes back to you when you pick it up again, but I was waiting for my body memory to kick in and it was having a hard time. I was like a little boy on his first two-wheeler for a long time, pitching and rocking unsteadily. The day was full of close calls and near misses as I tried to rewield my second-nature skill without killing myself.

We rode along the central streets of Berlin, zipping in and out of traffic and dodging crowds as Denis pointed out historical points. I was wonderfully suprised how good of a tourguide Denis was. He was really knowlegable about what everything was and how it all came to be. I think that may be in part to the fact that Denis has lived here in Berlin for a good majority of his life. When the wall came down in the 80s, he was there as a little child chiseling away at it with a hammer. He had lived a lot of the history of the city, and was in close contact with those who lived even more. We rode into the new center of the city, the one which was mainly built up after the Berlin Wall as a united center of both East and West. The main building in this area seems to be the Sony Center which serves a number of different functions including, shopping mall, movie theater (where you can watch American movies in their original English), high class apartment complex, 5 star hotel, and staging arena. It's a massive city square inside one building with basically everything you would ever need for a higher price than it's probably worth. The place I can best compare it to would be The Irvine Spectrum back home, if that were fit into one single structure. All the buildings in the new city center are new and modern looking. Since this center didn't rise up until after the wall, everything there is no more than 15 to 18 years old.

We moved on, and Denis showed me the old center of West Berlin, that famous gateway and plaza where Reagan gave his famous speech and said those ever powerful words, "Mr. Gorbachov, tear down that wall!" Denis also showed me the hotel just inside the plaza and the famous window where Michael Jackson held his baby outside, presenting him to the press like Simba to pride rock. We ventured a little further inward, and saw the big government buildings: That major one, I can't remember the name of, with the huge glass dome that has a spiral walkway that you can go up into and look in on the German "Congress" (would be our equivalent); and then the German "white house" across the way where the president and chancellor work and do their business. We rode on through some beautiful gardens, and past the rivers along where the giant, and in fact largest, rail station in Europe (the station I was supposed to get off at) resides. We crossed along the spot where the Berlin Wall used to be. They still have pieces of it set up throughout the city, often times colored with artistic paintings or given plaques with information about the wall and post war Berlin. Marking the border along where the wall followed, they have two rows of brick lain into the ground which run through the whole city. It's so interesting that you see the border run right through highways, and buildings. People just pass through it on a daily basis without even noticing, and less than 20 years ago they would have been shot for even trying. We passed by, and I got a brief glimpse of Checkpoint Charlie, which was the United States' border checkpoint into Soviet occupied Berlin. They had, set up, old photographs of the checkpoint how it looked then in contrast to how it looks now. It still has border guards, and a special security control booth next to the famous sign which reads "You are now leaving the American Sector," but that all seems to be a little more of a tourism thing now. The museum there though, Denis said, was certainly something I'd have to go see when there was more time. We had to hurry up and get back, because we were meeting Nancy and some friends for dinner, but on our way back Denis showed me the TV tower, which used to be in the city center of East Berlin. It was supposed to be built as a symbol of Soviet power and influence in Berlin. The Soviets hired a special architect which they intrusted with the task of creating something monumental. They told him that his only restraints were that nothing religious could be presented, because the Soviet government was strictly opposed to any type of religion. The architect completed what he thought was a foolproof design with no religious overtone, imposing the power and glory of the Soviet Union. The design was a tower which stretched up taller than any other building in Berlin at that time, with a giant ball covered with reflective surfaces to reflect the sun, and make the structure glorious and unavoidable. However, when the sun came out it reflected onto the ball of the tower, and the light shown in a perfect white cross of light on the massive globe for all to see. The Soviet high officials caught sight of this, and promptly fired the architect the next day. They never took down the structure or anything though, and I'm not sure why, but there it still stands with a giant glowing cross reflected in its middle.

We rode our bikes back to the apartment, where I finally got to meet Nancy. She welcomed me in and gave me a big hug. We met up with Denis' good friend Phillip right outside as we were leaving, and together we all talked about our bike ride and the sights Denis showed me, as we took the metro to the resturant we were all meeting at for dinner. The last person who was meeting there at the resturant was a friend of Nancy's from Russia, who's name I can't remember, but we all debated over the pronounciation of it as we walked.

The place we were going to was this, supposedly amazing Berlin brewery which Denis' grandma's boyfriend spoke very highly of. Apparently he's the expert on just about everything regarding everything. Nancy and Denis joked that no matter what the question was, he knew the answer and would continue to list off all the facts about the subject which you hadn't intended to know. There seemed to be no end to his knowlege of otherwise needless trivia. They'd had sneaking suspicions that perhaps he does it just to be a bit of a smartass, but he and Denis' grandmother seem to be very happy, so niether of them raise any sort of questioning. We met up with the Russian girl, and sat down to dinner. Since it was a brewery (and supposedly a very good one) we deliberated carefully over the beverage for the evening. In the end we bought a pitcher of the special house beer, and then the 3 of us guys all got a tasting platter of the 4 top rated beers brewed fresh right here. May I just say, it was absolutely wonderful. The beer I've had in Berlin is by far the most flavorful I've ever had, and the flavors vary across such a wide variety. When it came time to order a meal, I relied on the rest of the group's local expertise. Denis and Phillip encouraged me to go for a very traditional Berliner dish, one which neither of the ladies even wanted to talk about, but the men seem to enjoy thuroughly. It's a huge leg of pork, adorned with special sauces and spices, but there's not much preparation it seems, other than just hacking it off and cooking it. When I got it, the skin was still covered with hair, and a layer of fat, half an inch thick surrounded it. You have to use your knife like a scauple, surgically cutting through the skin and opening up the layer of fat like an incision in order to get to the meat inside. Once actually getting to the part you could eat though, it was amazing. It was, hands down, the best pork I'd ever had, and I felt so masculine eating it right off the bone with the fat and blood still dripping down onto my plate.

After dinner, we parted ways with Phillip and the Russian girl on the bus home. Nancy and Denis helped me prepare my bed, and made sure I was comfortable and had everything I needed. In no time, I was out like a light.

Amsterdam, Holland 5/26/08

I got up early to catch my train. I tried to catch the very first train out so that I had as much time as possible to explore around Amsterdam before dark. The problem with having only one day in a city (or country for that matter) is that you know that the whole day is going to be a little rushed. I got up, and got down to the trainstation with still about an hour till my train was scheduled to arrive. I huddled, with all my equipment, under the huge Departure sign in the center of the station, looking for my train to come up on the screen so I could know what platform to wait for it on. When the time came when my train suppose to appear up there, the times seemed to skip right over mine, and my train was nowhere to be found. "That's pretty strange," I thought. I took out my ticket and checked it over. I noticed a special text which I hadn't noticed before, written right along side the departure which said, "Nord." I didn't know what that meant, but I figured it must have something to do with this confusion. I looked at the time and grumbled, then immediately took my ticket up to the information counter nearby. The man at the counter couldn't speak much English, but I was proud of him, that he as least tried. Most people in Paris, especially, won't even try to speak to you. They just pass you off back and forth to eachother. He told me I was in the wrong station, which was not what I wanted to hear 30 minutes before my train was due to leave. "Ok," I asked him, "Which station do I need to be in?" He pointed out on my map where I needed to go, and showed me a connecting metro train to get me there. I thanked him, and hurried down the station to find that special connecting train. I followed the signs, but they only took me so far until I had to ask an old man leaning on the railing. He lead me down, and showed me exactly where I needed to get on. Once again, being super early had paid off, because as soon as I made it to this new station, my train began to board. It left just after I climbed on.

As I found my seat, I sat staring out the window. I'll miss Paris. I certainly had some very memorable experiences there. France, in general, has been quite an eventful country for me. There's been so much to do, and so much adventure to be had. I've witnessed, and gotten a chance to do things I never thought I'd get to do. I thought about if I'd like to live there one day. I've been asking myself that throughout several countries I go through, because at some point I'd love to live abroad for a couple years. The question has always been: Where would I go? Paris, I'm sure, would keep me entertained, but it seems like most people I talk to who live there tell me they'd rather not. It is a big city, and I'm sure that would get quite overwhealming sometimes. I myself am not so much a big city kind of guy usually. I enjoy my suburbs, parks and beaches. Nature is always something that rejuvinates me as a person, and keeps me happy and content. Large cities can be depressing, because you feel so insignificant more easily, and the hard, cold concrete structures often can present a very "human dominated" preception; as if the whole world is just run by "the man." Out in the smaller towns, and suburbs I think there's more of a symbiance with nature. The world feels a little more friendly, and it seems like people are happier and healthier. I think I'll always need a good mixture of both, though. I like to be close enough to a big city to be able to find my fill of adventure, but able to come back to the calm of the suburbs.

When I reached Amsterdam's central station, I was relieved to remember that I had already booked a night in a hostel. I didn't have to go out spending my day searching for a bed for the night. I did, however, still have to book my ticket out of here for tomorrow morning, so I found where the tickets were sold and headed that way. the lines didn't seem very long, and I was thrilled, but upon walking up to the booth, a woman stopped me and handed me a ticket with a number on it. This aparently, was another one of those number calling systems like back in Madrid, where I'd end up waiting forever for my chance to get up to the teller. I looked up at the screen, and we were still about 20 numbers behind mine, so I decided to make myself comfortable there because It would probably be a while. I watched the numbers on the screen tick by slowely, surpassed easily by the numbers on the clock. When I became one of the only ones in the room I recognized, I knew my turn was up soon. Finally, the numbers flashed in my favor and I approached the teller. One thing I was immediately, and quite pleasantly struck with, was that everyone here in Holland seemed to speak English very well. In fact, the Dutch accent even sounded almost somewhat Canadian. It wasn't all broken up and incomrehensible like most everywhere else. I had to fight off the earge to speak in short broken sentances, and had to get used to speaking real English. I paid for my ticket to Berlin, and held it tightly between my fingers. This was my final train ticket, and it seemed bittersweet to be coming so close to the end.

I looked up directions to my hostel using my blackberry internet. It told me which tram to get on, and the directions from the stop. I had to go little ways on the tram, but the directions were pretty straightforward and simple. I payed for a bus ticket, and the bus driver gave me a big smile, and spoke to me in English I could understand. As far as I was concerned, this place was heaven on earth. When I got off the tram, I walked by the park to where my hostel stood in a row of neighborhood houses. It was called The Flying Pig Hostel, and had a large sign with a picture of a Pig dressed up in an aviator uniform. The hostel was packed with young men and women all coming and going. It took some time for me to get to the front of the reception. When I got there, I told the woman with pride, that I had a reservation to stay here for tonight. She looked down through her records, and then through them again. My confidence faded a little eachtime, then she looked up and said she couldn't see it here. I gave her a bit of a confused look, and went back over the phone conversation I had yesterday. I looked down, and caught sight of a map of the city, noticing right away that there were two Flying Pig Hostel logos presented on the page. I looked up, "Are there two Flying Pig Hostels here?" I asked. "Yeah!" she said, catching onto what I was thinking, "this is the uptown hostel, and then there's also a downtown one too." I told her I might have booked in the other hostel, and she checked and confirmed that's exactly what I did. She showed me how to get to this other downtown hostel, and as it turns out, it was just a couple blocks from where I was back at the train station. So off I went to catch the tram again back the direction in which I came. But it wasn't so bad. I got to see a lot of the Uptown I probably wouldn't have had time to see otherwise. I wandered around with the receptionist's directions and finally saw that big pig sign off in the distance, and upon entering I noted the differences and knew that this was certainly the right place for a downtown hostel. As I opened the door, a plume of smoke escaped out into the air. The space inside was hazy, and warm with clouds of ash. The air here smelled very strong with marajuana, a smell I was never all that fond of, but it came in such great wafts that I soon became used to it. Strewn about the room were people on pillows with lit joints in their hands, puffing away at the sight of me. The reception was a bar turned opium den, where you could find all that you would need to make the craziest anal-retentive person the most passive lamb in a matter of minutes. Off to one side there was a corner over by the window filled with pillows, and a small table in the center filled with ashtrays. Buried in the pillows were bodies, scattered about attaching themselves to the floor like barnacles, and moving with imaginary tides. After a while, just breathing inside this building made me want to crawl up and join them. The girl at the reception was young and blonde. As she took my reservation, she smiled up at me looking refreshingly pure. I stumbled over the barrier into the hostel half stoned from the air so thick I was drinking it, and being patient, she showed me how the key card worked to get me through.

After settling in my room, I got out into the fresh air again and began my exploration through the city. I casually walked through the streets noting the fantastic amount of cult trinkets and goth fashion wear amongst bars and cheap food stands (usually pizza, Kebabs, or bakeries). The whole city was a giant Hot Topic store; a stoner's paradise. I looked around for something to eat, because I hadn't really eaten all day. I finally found the perfect little traditional Dutch resturant, which I'm sure was set up for tourists, but I only saw locals in there when I walked in. I ordered some type of beef stew in a special sauce with apples. Along with it they brought me a huge plate of mashed potatoes, salad, and a plate of spinach also. It was like a huge homecooked meal, and it was wonderful. I left fat and happy, stumbling back to the hostel.

I sat down at the bar with my pipe, and smoked for a bit with all the rest of them. The smell of my vanilla pipe smoke mixed with exhausted weed made an interesting, and not necissarily unhappy auroma in my nostrils. It was nice to just sit around and enjoy some peace with my pipe in my mouth surrounded by my backpacker comrads. We were unhurried, and contented. In the night I enjoyed the wonderful cheap beer from the bar in the hostle. I thought about going out to find a bar, but the one in the hostel was so cool, and the price was a rare find. I got talking to a frenchman next to the pool table, and we discussed our trips, and what were the great things about Amsterdam. One thing he mentioned was the redlight district, which was just a few blocks from the hostel. The buildings along the river are lined with windows looking out onto the streets, and at night the prostitutes get all dressed up (or down I should say) in trashy lingere, scimpy bikinis, and sometimes nothing but string, and dance around in the windows beconning men inside through the door. When the room is "occupied" you see the girl pull the drapes shut, and the transaction takes place. I'd heard about it all over from peolpe who had come from Amsterdam, and all agreed that if you hadn't been to the redlight district at night, you hadn't experienced Amsterdam. The french traveler I was talking to reccomended it highly, and agreed that it was definately just one of those things to see in Amsterdam. I thought "fine, it's totally gunna be like a row of ugly prostitutes throwing themselves at everyone who walks by. I've gotta just walk through to say I've done it. It is one of those things you can only find in Amsterdam." so I got a little later, and began walking toward the redlight district. As soon as I got there, I knew I was in the right place but it was nothing at all what I expected. There were hundreds, possibly thousands of people crowded into these little streets. Along the strip were the windows as I was told, colored with different color lights and a girl in each one. However, these weren't your average hookers you find in every other big city in the world who look desease ridden, and unatractive wearing the same dirt-soaked dress for months at a time. These girls were absolutely gorgeous, sitting there in their respective windows often more laughing at the drunk men making passes at them, then dancing or enticing the crowd. They looked like normal beautiful girls, like ones that I might back in California, but for the fact they just weren't really wearing anything. I didn't so much stop to look at the girls, because I felt kinda weird and uncomfortable. It was like window shopping in a department store for a human being. I did however, stop to watch the people around me who were shopping with the intention to buy. It was really weird to watch how there was basically no shame, and no recoil for the fact of throwing your sexual needs right out there in front of everyone. It was even stranger to see them get turned down when they didn't have enough money, and so go look for someone cheaper. Some men would talk to the girls, getting friendly and wooing them with an attempt of lowering the price, and some of them were successful. It was like this crazy mixture of buisness and dating. The money mattered, but the girl (since she was high class) had to like the guy too. It was really weird the way it was done there in Amsterdam. When I had walked down to the end of the street, I declined continuing the path back through the other direction, curiously enough, mostly because I felt really attracted to some of these girls. I knew that was a really slippery slope to start down. I wasn't going to allow myself to become infatuated with a woman dancing behind glass. That just raises a number of little red flags. I got out of there as soon as I started feeling for these women, and letting my heart slip into it. I was glad I got to witness that famous part of Amsterdam, but I was also glad I had the sense to know when to leave.

As I walked back, I felt my heart start to race a little. I had the feeling like I just met some cute girl who liked me. I began thinking, "That's probably not a healthy reaction, is it?" Sex is a big button for me. I've been torn over it my whole life, and my heart gives it a lot of emphasis. It's not like I delve over it, or am even thinking about it a whole lot. I think it probably comes to my mind even less often than most of the guys I know. I'm pretty conservative and private when it comes to that, but when I'm faced with some sort of sexuality, my heart goes to a weird place. It causes problems for me, emotionally. I'm conflicted in a profound way, but I'm not yet sure exactly why.

When I got back to the hostel, I explored the basement area which is set up like a lounge with couches, chairs, giant screen TV, and even less ventallation for the massive plumes of smoke engulfing everyone down there like a thick morning fog. I sat down there with a room full of my new roommates, smoked and watched Superbad on the massive TV. Later, some of my roommates got up saying they were heading out to the redlight district, and they asked if I wanted to come along. I told them no thanks, I'd been there already, and now I was content. I spent the night relaxing in a fog.

Normandy 5/25/08

I got up to catch my train at around 9am. I was still a little tired from my adventure last night, and didn't sleep really all that well as it turned out, so I tried to catch a nap while having some time to kill on my two hour trainride. Unfortunately, the 4 teenage girls who sat next to me wouldn't allow for much sleep. They gabbed on and on, laughing loudly and speaking in screeching tones. The older lady across from me didn't seem so happy about it either, and together we made faces at eachother, conspiring to kill them all and finally get some rest. Soon enough however, we arrived at the station in Deuville. It was a very small Norman town, like the Villas in Alsace. It seems like there are a lot of little towns like that in France. When I entered the station, I was looking for something resembling tourist information, but that was nowhere to be seen. I looked around to find some kind of tour, or at least an advertisement of the Normandy Beaches, but still nothing. This seemed strange to me, because I'd figured that the Beaches of Normandy would be a major tourist stop along this area, and so would thusly be posted and advertised on everything. On the wall of the train station was a huge, old looking map which covered it. In the center it had the town where we were, Deuville. My eyes dragged up the coastline looking for that famous hump of land jetting out into the English Channel. That's where I knew the big landing site was, but I couldn't find that place on the map. "That's strange," I said to myself, and began wandering outside the station to find some place which may have someone who speaks English, to tell me where I need to be. A little ways down the road was a hotel sitting just across the street from the french coastline. I walked inside and found the reception. The receptionist was busy talking to some customers, checking them in or out, I don't know which, but i found a large laminated book of "Things to do in Deuville" and began flipping through it to find the beach landings. I still hadn't found anything when it was finally my turn to speak. I asked the receptionist how I could get to the famous WW2 beaches, and listed them off, Omaha, Utah, Gold, Sword, Juno. She paused for a moment and her eyes dropped, as they sometimes do when someone is delivering bad news. "That's a long way from here," she said being careful. "How far?" I asked, not really wanting to know the answer. "At least another hour and a half." Well that wasn't so bad, I suppose. It was still pretty early, and I had some time. "How can I get there?" I asked back. "Do you have a car?" "No" I answered. "Oh," her eyes sunk again, "Then you'll have to take the bus." I inquired as to how exactly I do that and she didn't know. She just told me where the bus station was, and that I'd probably have to take that into a closer city, and then take some sort of local transport bus to the actual site. It seemed like a little bit of a process, but I was here now, there was no turning back.

I walked back to the trainstation, where the bus station resided on the back side. The actual building where you buy tickets and get information was closed today because it was sunday, however thankfully the buses were still running. Since traveling, Sunday has become the most hated day of the week. It's a traveler's friday the 13th. Nothing works, and everything's closed. There's no one avaliable to help, and all the rooms in the city are fully booked. Sunday can be the unholiest of days when you're lost and just looking for a little grace. A lady bus driver was sitting in her bus parked on the corner with the door open, so I walked over there hoping to possibly get some sort of information out of her. She spoke very little, almost no English at all, so it became very difficult to exlain to her exactly what I wanted to know. I tried to dumb down my words as much as I could, but how exactly do you explain that you want to know the schedules to get to the Normandy beaches without using English? I couldn't really aid myself with hand gestures. I would have had to reenact the landing right there on the curb, and she would have thought I was a lunatic. thankfully, she was very nice and tried to be as helpful as she could. I decided I'd better just pick a specific beach and just go with that, because it'd be way easier to ask how to get to, and I probably now only just had time for one beach anyway. I picked, arguably the most famous one, the one I was most interested in, Omaha beach. "I'm trying to get to Omaha Beach," I said as slowely and clearly as I could, being careful not to say it loudly or talk down to her rudely, as many American tourists have a habit of doing. She seemed to understand Omaha, and she got up out of her bus, and lead me over to where a list of bus schedules was posted. "Caen," she said and pointed to the number of the bus I was waiting for, and then to the spot she wanted me to wait in. I thanked her. "Once in Caen, where do I go?" She shrugged, and when the bus came to take me to Caen, I asked the bus driver the same question, and he gave the same response. "Ok well it looks like I'm going to Caen," I thought to myself.

Along the bus ride to Caen, I passed through several small towns and Villas I knew the names of through watching the history channel and playing WW2 themed video games. These farmlands and friendly looking villages were once, not so long ago, wartorn battlefields. So many of the fields where cattle sat grazing, looked exactly like the fields portrayed in Saving Private Ryan, and were actually those same fields, but here I was seeing them for real. I tried to imagine what it must have looked like back then. It seemed like it was probably almost about the same as it was now. It didn't seem like these little Villas had seen change in hundreds of years. Sure, most of the ruined buildings bombed during the war had been rebuilt, but this landscape I was seeing was more or less probably the same landscape my grandfather's generation fought and died on. It was humbling to think that I may right now be looking at the same sight my Great Uncle Wally looked at when he was exactly my age wandering around with his batalian looking for the Nazi army. I might have just passed a spot where Uncle Wally walked, or fought in one of the countless gun battles he told me stories about. Although, as I found out later, Caen was really more the area where the Brits and Canadians fought after landing in Normandy. The US armies took the road further west to Saint Lo (which I unfortunately didn't get a chance to see this trip). When I entered Caen, the busdriver tried to help me figure out where to go next, but he wasn't exactly sure either. I wandered into the nearby train station and asked an attendant there how to get from here to Omaha Beach, and he told me I actually need to take the train in a little ways to Bayeux. Then from there, I learned that only the taxis were availiable (because it was Sunday) to take people up to Omaha Beach and the American Cemetery. At the station in Bayeux I traded in my ticket coming back from Deuville, for one which goes right out of here. Amazingly, the switch was pretty easy. I just had to pay a couple euros extra for a little extra distance. Outside, I waited forever for a taxi to finally make it this far out. I waited with two other tourists who were traveling to the same place. The one woman was a rather boistrous Texas woman, which I actually very much apprechiated because her southern outgoing adittude made up for my lack of things to say after having taken the very long route through Normandy. The man with her, was a middle-aged Native American man from Arizona. Together the 3 of us shared the one taxi which finally pulled into the station, and so we split the fair 3 ways.

By the time I finally made it to Omaha Beach I had taken 2 trains, a bus, and a taxi. I'd gotten to see 3 other towns in Normandy along the route to Omaha beach, essentially taking the route the allys took, but in the opposite direction. When we exited the taxi, we decided on a time for us all to meet back at this spot which would give us time enough to catch our trains home. We said goodbye until later that evening, and then parted to go exploring our separate ways. The first thing I did, was head straight ahead to the visitor's center. Inside there's a small museum-like exibition of a complete history of D-Day, artifacts retrieved from the beach, as well as recorded stories given by some of the veterans who were there. It was incredibly emotional, it was so right there in your face. I've heard the story so many times before, and listened to people talk about their experience there, but to be right there looking at the uniforms, equipment, bullet casings, and seeing pictures of the faces of the people being talked about was almost overwhelming. My favorite area, which I spent a great deal of time in, was a little room with a bench and speakers all around. In the center was a small computer console which had a touch screen menu of buttons on it. Everytime you pushed a button, the voice of a D-Day veteran would come over the speakers and talk about their story of surviving D-Day. On the screen a picture of what they looked like during the war would pop up on the screen. There were probably about 50 buttons, each one with an amazing story of survival. So many of them were incredibly sad, though. According to the museum's tally, about 3,500 Allied soldiers died on just Omaha Beach alone. Every veteran had a story of a close friend they saw killed. One man told the story of how as soon as the landing vehical opened it's front hatch, he watched two friends in front of him completely decapitated by German bullets. Another talked about how as soon as it was time, he ran out the front hatch only to realize he was the only one in his whole craft who exited. No one else even made it to the sand. Story after story of these tragic and grousome experiences. I can't even imagine the utter hopelessness it must have looked like on the ground. Behind the beach, parachuting in, the airborn wasn't doing much better. They were missdropped, and lost. Some of them drowned in fields flooded by the Germans, others were just shot from the sky like clay pidgeons. For that one entire day, it was absolute pandemonium. At the end of the museum, is a long hallway to the exit. Over the loudspeakers they list off the names of the soldiers who died that day, on a constant loop.

Walking away from the museum, I caught my first glimpse of that famous coastline. I was star struck, to be honest. I felt so excited that I was here seeing the site of what I always thought was the most interesting battle of WW2. My excitement was mixed with a terrible solumn feeling in the pit of my stomach, as my mind reenacted scenes of D-day using the backdrop of the actual battlefield. I imagined, from up here, the German perspective and what it must have looked like seeing tens of thousands of soldiers pile out onto the beach, and slowely eek their way up closer, and closer. What would have been my reaction to the sight of hundreds of battleships, and landing craft lined up on the Ocean? How would it be to see nothing but young men being torn to pieces on a beach all day, and hear nothing but their screams mixed with explosions and gun shots? What do you even think about during something like that? These questions are ones I had asked myself before, but right here they came to life before my eyes. I wandered up to the American Cemetery, and as I entered I put on my headphones and played "Hym to the Fallen," which is the theme song to Saving Private Ryan, on my iPod. The little white crosses were layed out along the green grass. They were so many, you couldn't see where the end was. Stuck in the ground next to each one was a small American flag, along side a French one. I wandered aimlessly, looking through thousands of grave stones, reading the names, and trying to piece together (judging by job, rank, and date of death) how and where he might have possibly met his end.

When I felt ready, I finally walked the trail down to the beach. When I stepped into the sand, I was caught off guard at just how soft the samd was. Most of the beaches I'd been to in France were rocky, and coarse. This sand was like flower; piles and piles of it. I stepped out onto the beach, and took my first panoramic look around. Right on the spot where I was standing, was where thousands of kids my age lay dying "screaming for their mother" as several accounts said. This water washing up at my feet was at one time mostly blood. My Uncle Wally may have bled right here in this water, and hauled himself up on this sand. It was surreal to me. As I walked around, I did some more imaginary reenactment. The thoughts came like memories. I felt like I'd been there, only like a fly on the wall, experiencing it from a distance. I pictured the faces of my friends on the ghost images around me, and saw them fall like fine china on a tile floor. I stood still and heard the explosions and gunfire. I wondered when it was my turn. It was low tide by the time I walked along the beach, the same as it was that day, so I got to see a very unique view of the whole stretch of sand that they ran in open fire to reach the sea wall on the other end. It was an amazingly long distance from the water to the sea wall, I hadn't realized it was so far. As an experiment, I walked down to the edge of the water, so that my feet were just slightly submerged. I turned toward the sea wall where the safe cover would be on the beach, and I timed myself running as fast as I could to that sea wall. When I made it to the end where a soldier would have had some kind of chance at cover, I had been running for just about 20 seconds. This meant that an average soldier probably had about 20 seconds from when the landing craft opened, where he was completely out in the open to be shot as he ran to the cover of the sea wall. That's also assuming that the soldier had a perfect exit, and didn't get hung up on the way (which probably didn't happen often). 20 seconds is more than enough time to be shot running. It's only by the grace of God that any of them survived at all, let alone went on to win the battle.

After spending a day in Omaha Beach, my soul was in awe. There were so many questions, and not enough answers. I couldn't fathom the moment, or dipict it correctly in my mind. I felt pathetic trying. The closest I've ever seen of real war has been hollywood special effects. When you see it in a movie and then you walk where it actually happened, you start to sense the disconnect, that no matter how accurate the movie may be, it would never be anything close to the real thing. Before I left, I walked one last time through the field of white crosses, and thanked them for their sacrifice.

I caught my train back to Paris, and just as I stepped onto my platform, I got a call from Kyle and Peter who wanted to meet up with me for a drink. I met them down in Saint Michel, and we hung out at a pub and had a round of beers. We talked and laughed until the early hours of the morning. I'm glad I got to run into them again, and I may run into them also in London, when I'm there for my flight home. I've started really developing a friendship with those guys, it'd be awesome to keep that friendship going.

Bohemia 5/24/08

This morning when I woke up, I looked outside into a thick or fog and rain. I wanted to go to Normandy today, but I had to switch hotels again this morning, and this new one wasn't ready with my room till after 1pm. By that time it was probably not worth it to go all the way out to Normandy just to come back like 2 hours later. Plus it was raining pretty heavily today, and I had little idea how I was going to get there. I really didn't want to be stuck walking around strange Norman towns in the rain all day, or worse, miss a train back and be stuck there all night. It's really probably better to go tomorrow when I can go early, and stay all day. As for today, I decided I'd use it to go down to the train station and figure out how to get to Normandy, as well as my exit strategy out of Paris.

When I was all settled into my hotel finally, I walked down to one of the trainstations which was just down the way from where my hotel was. I waited in line at the ticket office, and was finally called forward by a friendly young french woman around my age. I told her that I wanted to get to Normandy tomorrow, and asked how I would go about doing that. "Well Normandy's a big place. Where exactly do you want to go?" she looked at me confused. It hadn't actually occured to me that Normandy is like a full region, and the WW2 landing zone was just one tiny part of it. It'd be like if someone came to me and asked how they could get a ticket to Orange County. "The beaches," I said trying to be breif so she could understand me "Beaches of Normandy." I figured that phrase would trigger something, because I was sure that's what thousands of tourists say when they want to visit the WW2 beach landing sites. She asked the teller next to her something in French, he said something back. She nodded like she knew exactly what she was doing now, and I felt pretty confident that they had landed on a town which they could send me to. "Deauville!" she said finally, and printed me up a ticket for the earliest train out, and another for the last train back. Killing two birds with one stone, I also booked a ticket for early monday morning going to Amsterdam. Walking back from the train station, I used my blackberry to help me book a hostel for a night in Amsterdam as well. I didn't want to be left searching for one, having only a day there, and I've learned by now that there aren't going to be any places anymore just by showing up. In no time at all, I had my next couple of adventures booked and ready.

The next order of business once all that was done, was to figure out what I was going to spend the rest of my time doing. I'd seen the sites I wanted to see, and so for the rest of the day all of Paris was free domain. Unfortunately, the weather was consistantly unreasonable. The wind and rain but a gray haze over the city, and turned the dark buildings and even darker muddy color. The more I got walking however, the more I was glad I got to see Paris in the rain. It's really such a beautiful city, and when it's wet the old stones turn into sponges and the streets are bloated and bleeding. In the redlight district, the neon signs all run together, and blur with the black and whites of the old buildings. All what my eyes could see looked like a painting left out in the rain. I crossed through the redlight district, past the Moulin Rouge which was all but abandoned in the daylight, and found myself again in the midst of Bohemia. I traveled down the narrow streets, over hills and through gardens. I walked up hill taking my way around the long way towards the spot I went to my first night with Cara and Carolyn. On the way, I stopped into a French cafe. I sat out on the little tables and watched the rain fall. Later, I heard some wonderful jazz music floating out of the window of one of the tiny french flats. I suppose it must have been a local band practiceing for a gig at a bohemian club. I stood underneath the balcony, my arms curled up in my chest, and listened while they played. When the music finally stopped, I continued up the hill. Between the buildings, I saw glimpses of the view from the top. Beautiful old buildings rose up into the fog like trees into the canopy. I encircled the peak of the hill, wandering in spiral form all the way up to the top. When I finally reached the place I'd been that night with the girls, I found it very different in the light. I hadn't realized it to be such a popular tourist destination. There were people all over the place! Following the road to the front, I found a huge mass of young 20 somethings strewn about the stairs. The view was as I remembered it from a few nights before. It was still just as breathtaking and more could be seen which was hidden by the night. However, the view was secondary to what the young 20 somethings were looking at. The true focus was on one man with a guitar about halfway down the main step. He looked quite bohemian, they all did in fact. Shaggy hair cuts, tight jeans and fearlesness; they listened with ideals on their faces. Every smoke of their menthol cigarettes was a new step toward revolution. The notion of world change colored their clothing, and their skin etched with taboo phrases and polotical parody. Over the heads of these young and restless hung lyrics like fruit from the tree of knowlege. "...speaking words of wisdom: Let it Be." The whole crowd in congregation, joined in while this man with the guitar sung famous Beatle hyms. I sat in the background taking note, and watching peace take root and bloom in Paris. It's so funny how these simple songs by 4 guys who called themselves Beatles have spanned the globe to become a staple for peace, and a posterchild for the confused, and idealistic. When he was finished he took suggestions from the audience. Bohemian Rhapsody was then called upon in great enthusiasm. As he began even just the first few pluckings of the intro, I think we all in one syncronization of thought, stopped time enough to realize where we were. Before he'd begun, he'd asked around where people had come from. I think I heard every country in Europe mentioned as well as Canada, the US, China, and parts of South America. We were all an assortment of a United post adolescent world, here together singing at the top of our lungs in Bohemia, to a song which made it ok to be bohemian. It was a beautiful moment. Then the inevitable rain came again, and washed us off our spots on the staircase. The man with his guitar, soaked and chilled, played on as the rain came down and there was no one left to play to. I too eventually wandered down the stairs with the rest of them, however making a point not to run for shelter. I felt inspired, and welcomed the rain to keep falling.

I spent some time back in the redlight district, having some dinner and a fresh pastry for dessert. When the sun began to set, the rain had stopped and the world began to dry. I walked back up the endless staircase, and rejoined the bohemians at the top of the hill for the night view. There were still more people than the last time I was there at night, but less than earlier today. The man with the guitar had been replaced with fire eaters, dancers, and fiddle players. At the upper end of the steps a sterio played hip hop while a couple kids breakdanced for a crowd of drunken college kids. Every so often a girl from one of the inibreate groups would bounce her way onto the floor and add herself to the show. Even the breakdancers laughed and danced around her as if she was originally part of the act. On the lower end were the fire eaters, and fire dancers. They were all several years younger than me, but put on a show which people back home pay cirque du salet hundreds of dollars for. The best part was that it didn't even seem as if they were performing. No one was paying them, and no one expected their entertainment. When they got tired they stopped, and then later they picked right back up again. It seemed like fun, and they were totally pumping up the crowd and putting on a show. In the lulls between shows, their was always the scenery which would have been enough anyway.

As I was heading home, I knew I'd be heading back through a pretty iffy redlight district at midnight. I didn't have the security of a large group like I did before. I wasn't so much worried about getting mugged or anything. There were still, and always are so many people on the streets that you're never alone enough for someone to hold you at ransom. However pickpockets, pimps, and drug dealers run these streets at night. I put on my headphones blasting a mix of heavy metal, put on my "don't mess with me" vibe, and began walking briskly. My hat, I turned down covering the tops of my eyes. it's my eyes which give me away to those who would otherwise think me dangerous. I still have very soft, honest eyes. With my music fueling my vibe, I stared at the pavement and walked the long walk through. At around halfway, just about the run of strip clubs near the Moulin Rouge, I accidently caught eyes with a largely built man catching people off the street to come in and see the show. I've hated these guys since I've been here. They're so persistant, and won't leave you alone or take a hint. Often times they'll grab your arm as you walk away, or follow you a couple steps and taunt you. This guy decided (probably because I was smaller than him) to throw himself in front of me. In the last second, between the mixture of heavy metal music and the vibe I was creating, my body decided, without my minds consent, to throw him back into the wall. It went in a split second that seemed like hours. In the moment that it happened, I leaped out of my body and a chill ran up my spine. I grabbed the man by the arm suprisingly fearcely, and shoved him up into the wall of the club. I'd shoved him so hard, his feet left the ground, and rebounding off the wall he almost fell to the floor. He was as suprised as I was, but I didn't show it. I never even stopped walking. His friends all came over and held him up straight. In a split second of bewilderment, and embarrassment they all stood silent. Then all at once they yelled curses at me in french. The one guy followed me more than three city blocks before I finally lost him in the crowd. I couldn't believe what I'd just done. Where did I get the gall to pull off something like that? Those guys would have killed me! I had no chance what so ever, I'd of been pounded into the ground by 4 men twice my size. Where the hell did I get that strength from? I litterally launched that guy across the sidewalk, and he was easily two of me. It felt like nothing, like when you hit the perfect golf shot, or make the perfect "nothing but net" basket. It was effortless. He was weightless in my hands. My body was shaking and my pulse was racing, but I stayed cool until I reached my hotel room. Then peaking out the window, I confirmed that he was no longer following. Somehow I got away with it. Inside, my mind was freaking out. It took a while of watching by the window to convince myself it was really over, and then even longer to convince myself it actually happened. I slept that night feeling truely badass.

The Louvre 5/23/08

In the morning I got up and took the metro down to the park area around the Louvre. It was friday so it was free tonight after 6pm for students under 26. This being the case, I decided that this was going to be the day I spent at the Louvre. However, It wasn't free till 6, so I still had a bunch of time to hang out in the city. I walked through the park, and made my way up towards the Arc du Triomphe.

The Louvre and the famous Arch are connected by a giant pedestrian street which goes right through the center of the city. It takes forever to walk it, but it's certainly worth the walk if you've got the time. Along the first stretch of it is just a dirt path, through parks, gardens, and fountains. Every couple of meters, it seems, there are gelato and crepe stands. There's no shortage of people walking their dogs, jogging, letting their kids play at the swing sets and just pain old walking just to walk. The mood of the day was peaceful. The sun was rearing through strategically placed clouds, and a gentle brease was cooling as I walked. I stopped often, to sit down on a bench in the shade of the trees and check my map for things I still wanted to do. I felt I'd mostly done (or was already planning to do today) what I'd wanted to do in Paris. So it seemed I had the privilege just to walk.

When the dirt path ends, it turns back into a street, but a huge bustling one. This is what seems to be the main street of Paris. Several lanes of cars fill up the center with walkways on either side, lined with shops and cafes of all sorts. I stopped for a crepe at a stand somewhere around this are (because I'm addicted to them now) and scoped out the merchandise set up in the windows of the shops. As I looked on ahead to see the Arch in the distance, I was reminded of the old WW2 photos of thousands of Hitler's stormtroopers parading down the very street I was looking at, after they'd conquered Paris. Back then, the Arch was draped with a Nazi Banner, which must have been just absolutely enormous. In the pictures, it looked like the Arch of Constantine, and this Arch were about the same size. However, this Arch in actuality is several time larger. There's an area where you can go up on top of the Arch and get an awesome panoramic view of the city. Looking at the people up there standing at the top, they looked like tiny ants. Just the presence of the Arch was astounding, and it was placed like an art exhibit, in the center of I don't know how many lanes of a giant roundabout.

I wanted to go up and walk under the Arch, but I couldn't seem to find a way over. It seemed secluded out there in the middle of a sea of passing cars. I didn't see any sort of bridge or crosswalk. How did all those other people get over there? Maybe you just have to go out and sort of "frogger" your way over, but I looked at the road in the roundabout several lanes deep, and I didn't see anyone else trying to get over there that way. I finally noticed, on the other side, there were people coming out of what seemed to be a metro exit. I looked around, and noticed that there were several metro exits lined up all around outside the Arch. "That must be it!" I thought, so I walked down into one of the stations. Once inside, I looked for any sort of clue, or sign pointing to the Arch, but couldn't see anything like that right off the bat, so I chose a tunnel in the supposed direction of the Arch and followed it. Underneath the earth, I wandered through tunnels for what seemed like days, and still had gotten no closer to the Arch. Everytime I poked my head out of a new exit, I just ended up on another side of the same outside circle I was in. I felt like a mouse in a maze, looking desperately for the cheese, but failing miserably. I kept on until I'd gone through and out of every combination of tunnels down there. Finally, at the surface after I'd finished exiting my last tunnel, I saw a separate entrance off to the side, pointing towards the Arch and saying: Arc du Triomphe. "Well that's probably it," I said to myself. I felt a little silly for going through all the trouble of the mazes, when it was just right here the whole time. I entered the underground entrance, and walked through the massive hallway, but was stopped midway through by a line of people. I looked over top of people's heads and saw a ticket booth at the front. Evidently, you have to pay an entrance fee, and wait in a big line just to get up to that little island and walk around. I just wanted to wander around the Arch a bit, but it wasn't worth an entrance fee to me, so I just passed by and came back up through the other side. I looked back one last time to see if I was making the right choice, or if this was one of those things you just have to do when visiting Paris. Then I looked up at the people hanging out on the island. They didn't really look like they were having all that much fun. In fact, they looked a little like prisoners trapped out there trying to make the most of the money they spent trying to get there. It didn't feel like something I really wanted to do all that badly, so I moved on.

I headed down in the direction towards the Eiffel Tower. I'd seen it already on my first day here, but my mind was as much on the tower as it was trying to figure out where I was going to stay. Upon reaching the Eiffel Tower this time, I made sure to hang around and look at it from all different angles. It really is a beautiful structure. It's one of those things you can't believe you're actually standing next to. I felt that way with the Pyramids of Egypt and The Roman Colosseum. There was also, right below it, a ticket booth where you could pay to take a lift up to the top. I really probably would have payed the money to do that (I get a discount anyway because of my student I'd card), but the line was unbelievable. It was twisted all the way around the Tower and then some. It was like, "is it worth it to wait here in line all the rest of the day, or do I just forget about it." Honestly, if one of my life goals was to sit at the top of the Eiffel Tower, I probably would have spent a day waiting in line. However, I really wasn't all that excited about it. There's much more I'd rather see and do in Paris than waste a day standing it line to take an elevator to the top of the Eiffel Tower. I continued walking.

As I was crossing the street, a little boy stumbled over someone's wedding ring on the ground. He picked it up and showed it to me, asking if it was mine. I said no, and we looked around to see who's it might be. No one was really around, who seemed like they may have dropped a ring. The kid shrugged, and then dropped the ring in my hand, "good luck to you," he said. I stood there with my palm open, and the ring sitting in the center. I didn't know what to do with it, and I didn't want to take it. The little boy, before he left, turned around and pointed to my pocket, and then touched his mouth asking for food. I was still standing with the ring in the center of my palm, dividing a glance between it and the little boy. Something seemed very wrong, but I couldn't figure it out. Finally, backing out of the whole situation, I opened the little boy's palm, placed the ring in it and closed his fist. "Here, sell that." I walked away wondering where the hell I got the nerve to say something like that. That was pretty cold of me, but I tried to figure out what I could have done as an alternative and nothing came to mind. It wasn't as if I could go on searching for the owner of the ring, and from experience I know that pulling out my own money to pay a beggar in a big city is just a bad idea. Sometimes it's the kids who call in the most trouble when they find out someone has cash in their pockets. Still, I felt weird about brushing a little kid aside, and sticking him with a stolen ring. I thought about it and debated going back until all of the sudden a man stumbled over something in front of me. "Is this yours?" He held a gold ring in the palm of his hand. I stared as him with a confused look, and slowly turned my head to one side. "Well good luck to you," he said as he offered me the ring. This was all vaguely familiar, and immediately my hands shot into my pockets. "No, no no" I said as I backed away, and just kept on walking. I checked the contents of my pockets to make sure everything was accounted for, and it was. "I don't get it," I thought to myself. It was apparently a scam, but how does it work? They didn't touch me. I totally fell for that little kid's act, but nothing in my pockets is missing. What happens if I take the ring? See, I would think that the ring is a distraction, so that while you're fixated figuring out what to do with it, they go through your pockets. However, nothing was taken, and the little boy never even came within pick pocketing distance. Maybe I was lucky and the kid screwed up, and forgot to close the deal while my head was turned. That's a pick pocketing technique I hadn't come across yet. However, in the course of the next 5 minutes, I saw it done 3 times.

I passed this poor tourist woman who was sitting there as I was just a couple minutes before with a gold ring in her hand, and a bewildered look on her face. The man was trying to persuade her to take it, and bless her heart, she was trying to figure out who dropped it. I stopped a little ways off, and watched the man's hands carefully, looking for a moment when he'd make the pick up. He didn't seem to do anything, but then I'm sure he realized I was watching him, and was waiting for me to leave. Instead, I walked around the other side of him so that his back was to me, and I could see the woman's face over the man's shoulder. I signaled to the woman with my face to look over here. I shook my head, and motioned for her to get out of there. With my lips, I mouthed "It's a scam," and cocked my head for her to leave now. When the man looked over at me, I stood silent. I could see he was now getting distracted with me standing there, and the lady began to notice it too. She handed him back the ring, told him no, and walked away. When he saw that she left, the man looked over to me. I gave a small shrug and began walking away too. I kept an eye over my shoulder though, because I'm not always sure what kind of fire I'm playing with.

I walked on, following the river back toward the Louvre, but on the opposite side. I remembered Carolyn had talked about the Pantheon being a pretty cool and interesting site. Apparently that's where Victor Hugo was buried, as well as several other famous french men. It was off in the direction I was headed, so I figured that might be a cool place to go. It was a lot longer a walk than I anticipated, and I got lost once or twice. However, I love getting lost in Saint Michel. There are so many cool little things in that part of town. It's truly the hidden jewel of Paris. Once I finally made it to The Pantheon, I knew it right away. Whenever you find a huge historical structure, you can usually tell. It just stands out completely from everything else. Apart from being another massive structure, the Pantheon in Paris is also extremely beautiful. However, it doesn't so much look like something that should be in Paris, but Washington DC. It's got that whole Romanesque, capital-city sort of look. Unless I'm mistaken, it also looks very similar to our House of Representatives. Maybe ours was designed after theirs. I unfortunately didn't get to go inside, because it was closed by the time I got there, but I walked around it, and saw it from the outside. I wasn't really all that bummed for not being able to see the inside though, because by this point, I kinda feel like I could guess what it might look like inside.

By this point it was well after 6pm, so I made my way back across the river to the Louvre. Not really knowing what the rules were on the free entrance thing, I just held up my student I.D. card and walked through waiting for them to stop me if I did something wrong, but no one did, and I just walked through the entrance to the exhibits. Once inside, I didn't know where to begin. I've been told there are so many exhibits inside this museum that it would take years to see everything. I didn't have years, so I walked through, not wasting time with things that didn't so much catch my attention, or that I'd seen at other museums. I walked through the exhibit they have of the history of the Louvre, which is quite interesting, and they still have the intact base of the original medieval building. Afterwards, I did the Egyptian exhibit (which I mostly breezed right through having been to the Cairo Museum), the art exhibit, and then finally the sculptures. In each exhibit, fearing I might not have the time, I first raced over to the thing I most had to see (I.e. The Mona Lisa, and Venus de Milo), and then leisurely wandered through the rest of it. The Mona Lisa was really hard to find. It's buried in maze after maze of exhibition. It's not put out there right in front like I figured it'd be. I guess they want to encourage you to look through some of the other paintings rather than just running right toward that one, and then leaving. However, once you do find that particular spot, you definitely know you're in the right place. Hundreds of people, it seems, are packed into one tiny exhibition, crowding around the one painting which looks quite small on the full wall that's dedicated to it. Around is a huge glass casing, a roped off section, and a full time guard staff. At the divide, people are clamoring to get to the front, and pictures are being taken from every direction. None of the other paintings in the entire Museum seem to have so much attention as this very humble portrait of some lady. It is, exactly how it looks in every photo, and poster, and advertisement. It's funny because I guess I expected it to look somehow different. It could be just a photo copy from the internet, and It would look just the same. They wouldn't let anyone close enough to see brush strokes, or imperfections. From where I was standing, viewing it from behind glass, it was The Mona Lisa, and looked like I suppose it should. Something I noted when staring at this Masterpiece which holds so much controversy was that when taken in context, it didn't look really any different from anything else which was hanging in that room. In fact, I wouldn't have picked that as my favorite. I probably would have just passed it by. I suppose it's really more the man who painted it, who holds so much appeal. Or perhaps it's the famous enigmatic smile, which I have to agree with Eddie Izzard, really looks quite glum. I guess I'm no art critic. There's, I'm sure a lot of backstory, and symbolism, and of course the question of "what's her special secret that she smiles about?" It was really nice to see the Mona Lisa though, because now I can say that I have. Although as far as DaVinci goes, I think I found more value in walking his tuscan forest.

The Venus de Milo is definitely beautiful. I don't know why I thought she was just sculpted without arms for some reason, but apparently she did once have arms and they were broken off. This is why we're not sure whether it's a sculptor of Venus, or some goddess of the sea. Supposedly whatever she was holding in her arms would have decided that. Again, it was really interesting to see this famous work of art right there in person. However, also again, had it not been famous I probably would have passed right by. I found a lot of cool things in the Michaelangelo area though. I really like Michaelangelo, so far he's my favorite sculpture. He captures actions, and emotions in his sculptures that I think no one else does. You can begin to make character judgements about the figures he sculpted. They look like they have intentions, and thoughts, rather than just glossed over eyes and deadpan faces. Like real life, rather than cold stone.

I wandered around in the Louvre, as I've done in most great museums, until it closed. When it did, I was ushered out by the staff, and just across the way, I sat at a cafe drinking (super expensive, but genuinely french) Perrier, as I watched the sun go down.
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Ahh, Paris... Cont.

We continued kissing for a couple more minutes, and then she jumped up and said it was time. She started walking away and signaled me with her arm to follow. "Where are we going?" I asked, confused. "Over here!" She said. "Are we going right now?" I sat questioning. "Yes, yes It's time! Hurry!" "I can't go right now." I kept still. "Why? What's wrong? Let's go, we gotta hurry!" I looked around, embarrassed, "Umm..." She walked over next to me again, and I quickly looked around to make sure no one else was watching, quickly adjusted myself, and shot up and started walking, "Ok now we can go." She stood in the same spot not moving for a moment, trying to work out what just happened. Then suddenly it clicked in her mind, and she burst out laughing. She was laughing so hard, she could barely keep standing. Needless to say, I was a little bit embarrassed. I defended myself saying, "Well you can't just jump up and walking away after kissing a guy like that! It's not my fault!" But I couldn't finish that sentence without bursting out along with her. She grabbed my hand, and rested her head on my arm as if to comfort me, and continued walking me to the spot she wanted to show me. When we got there, I couldn't see anything particularly special. I waited, staring at a wall for something to happen. Then Vivian pointed in the other direction, telling me to look that way. I turned around, and from this view could see the Eiffel Tower in its entirety. It was lit up, and sparkling with a thousand little strobe lights, looking like a giant sparkler firework. It was the most amazing thing ever! The lights were so bright, the whole tower just looked like a glittering pole. Like sparks shooting like a geyser out of the ground. Absolutely amazing! I wheeled back around to Vivian, who was bubbling with excitement, and she flung herself into my arms and kissed me.

I walked her home that night, and she held my hand. At her door, we said goodnight and then stopped in that inevitable silence. Her lips drew back again into a smile, and she reached out and rubbed my beard, then gave me a small peck on the lips. "Goodnight," She said, and then walked inside. I took the metro back to my hotel, the whole time walking on air. "Ahh, Paris" I said to myself over and over again.
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Ahh, Paris... 5/22/08

In the morning I found myself packing up my stuff again. The hotel I was staying in only had this one night available, and unfortunately had filled up for tonight which meant that once again I was out on the street. That was ok though, because this particular hotel was way too expensive for me to stay in anyway. I tried to get in touch with some of my friends in the area to see if by any chance rooming with any of them was an option. However unfortunately, it wasn't. Again, I continued my search for an open hotel. Thankfully, this time I didn't have to go very far. This area was a goldmine for cheap hotels. They were all over the place, and one of them was bound to be available eventually. The further toward the red light district, the cheaper they got. I soon found another hotel with 2 more nights open at an increasingly lower cost, so I booked the room both nights. Once I'd had the hotel situation figured out again, I opened up my map to decide what to do today. It seemed that most things I wanted to see were all over by the Louvre area. The Notre Dame was only a short walk away, as well as The Place de la Concorde, and all of the streets that Les Miserables took place on. I hopped on the metro and headed down that direction.

I got off just a couple streets away from Notre Dame, and as I walked through the streets surrounding it, I listened to the soundtrack of Les Miserables. At Javert's Suicide, I stood on the bridge where it might have happened. At the song, On My Own, I walked down the silver pavement and along the river she speaks of. I wandered around the slums of St Michel (which aren't so much slums anymore), where Gavroche was from. At Rue De Marche, I looked for where the barricade might have been standing. It was so cool to see the spots that Victor Hugo had mentioned. I'd performed a version of Les Miserables in High School, and the streets I had in my minds eye were these very streets I was walking on now.

I eventually found my way over to Notre Dame, and stood at the entrance. I actually expected it to be a whole lot bigger. It was beautiful, that was for sure, but it didn't look quite as massive as what's perceived in particularly the Disney version of The Hunchback of Notre Dame. In that movie, the place looks gigantic, as if you wouldn't even be able to see the top. However, in reality it's even slightly dwarfed by some of the surrounding buildings. Upon entering, I realized that what the Notre Dame lacks in height, it certainly makes up for in depth. There were several alters, and corridors leading to regions deep inside. It took quite a while just to walk all the way around the ground floor inside. Above were several layers of balconies, riddled with doors and corridors which seem to lead to nothing. I could see how you might loose a hunchback in this Cathedral. There would be many places for him to hide. I sat on the pews and prayed for my journey, as I listened to opera music play through the speakers in the main hall, showing off the amazing acoustics.

After Exiting, I got a message from Vivian (the girl I met in Italy) saying we should meet up at Ponte Neuf near the Notre Dame. I agreed, and we planned to meet there in a hour. During my hour, I made my way towards the Louvre, and bought a Crepe on the way. I walked around the park there until it was time to meet up with Vivian.

I waited for her at Ponte Neuf metro station, and leaned against the bridge. I tried to look as cool and appealing as possible, but the sad truth of the matter is that I look like someone who's been traveling for 3 months, or been cast awayed on an Island. However, I suppose I also looked pretty similar to this when I met her, so I'm sure she expects it. She showed up just a couple minutes after the hour on the wrong side of the street. I noticed her, and called out her name. She looked over, and then crossed the street to meet me. We made small talk, catching up a little since we last met. She doesn't speak very much English, and I don't speak any Chinese nor very much Italian, so it was interesting at first, to try to communicate. She does however, do very well at, at least understanding English. So I found that as long as I keep the words fairly simple we got along fine. We walked over around the other side of the Louvre, near where she was living and stopped at a cafe and ordered some drinks. I just had water, and she had 7up. The waiter was quite confused with our orders, but finally gave in and gave us what we wanted. We talked about each other, asking questions about each of our lives. I was particularly interested to learn about her life in China. We talked about the many differences between China and United States. She's never been to the US, and I've never been to China. She said that she was an only child, and most families in China are only allowed one child per household, so her family is very small. I mentioned in contrast, that my family is the biggest, loudest bunch you'd ever see. I talked about my family some, and she seemed quite interested. We got to talking about professions, and I asked her what her plans were after school. She's already completed her bachelors and is working on her master's in some school in Rome. After all that is done, she wanted to move back home and teach music. She plays the Koto, which is a Chinese stringed instrument, similar to a harp but it's played horizontally rather than vertically. She told me some about her roommates, and mentioned one who speaks fluent English. She wanted to take me to meet them afterwards so that, she said jokingly, I could have a good conversation speaking English.

After we payed our bill, We went back to her apartment where I got to meet her 3 chinese roommates. There was one who spoke French, Vivian spoke Italian, and the other one, Ya-ya (she had me call her), spoke English, and of course they all spoke to each other in Chinese. The last roommate, I met briefly just as she was going out, but she wasn't there for any of the rest of the time I was. I had such a fun time talking and laughing with the 3 of them. Vivian happens to be an excellent cook, and she made us all a very traditional Chinese meal. Afterwards, they argued over who had to do the dishes. They've been playing "rock, paper, scissors" all week, and somehow Ya-Ya was undefeatable. Once again, this proved true but they made her do them anyway because the others were tired of doing them all week. Vivian and I sat on the couch/bed thing in the center of the room and watched a Beyonce concert on her laptop. I wanted to ask her on a date since I first saw her here, but now at the right time, Ya ya was still right there in the room, and I couldn't bring myself to make a complete ass of myself and blurt it out while Ya ya was standing right there. I took out my Blackberry and flipped to a notepad. On the screen I wrote out: "I'm trying to figure out some way to ask you out on a date... How would I do that?" And handed the phone to her. She took the phone, giving me a strange look and then began reading the text. As she read it, her cheeks blushed and she held in a smile. She looked up at me and asked, "What, right now tonight? Or tomorrow?" "Tonight if possible..." I said back. She didn't say anything more, but got up and said something to her friend in Chinese, and then put on a jacket. "You ready?" she beckoned me up. I got up, and followed her out the door.

We decided to go walking towards a museum which Cara and Carolyn told me was free tonight, however I couldn't remember the name of it. We made our best guess, and decided it was probably the one very close to here. As we walked, we talked a bit more. "You're very smart (clever)," she said to me regarding the way I asked her out, and then she'd smile and blush again. She inquired into my life a bit more, seeing as how we were now on a date. The museum we came to was closed, so instead we picked a direction and just started walking. Along the way, we found a gelatoria and bought ice cream. The lady giving the gelato shaped mine into a rose, which was pretty amazing, so we took pictures of it. Continuing on, wandered into the courtyard of a big beautiful church. The church was famous, but I can't think of the name of it. Then in the gardens we stopped, and sat down on some concrete steps around a massive sculpture near a trickling fountain. We ate our gelato and talked some more, and when we'd finished off our gelato, we got walking again.

In the gardens, she asked me if I had a girlfriend back home. I told her no. "How could that be?" She said with a smile. "That's a very long story," I replied back. She let loose a shy laugh. "It's probably a mixture of several things," I added. Then I changed the subject to her. "What about you? Is there a special someone back home in China?" I don't know why I expected the answer to be no, but she hesitated and then said to the floor, "I met someone here in Paris; a Chinese boy." "Oh..." I said trying to sound encouraging, but I must have let slip my surprise. "Don't be sad!" She said patting me on the back. "He's the chinese boy with the motorcycle I told you about earlier." I hadn't remembered anything about that. There was a long silence, and then I broke it. "Well so are you and this Chinese boy 'together' then?" "Well, no" she said hesitating again, "he's not my boyfriend." Then she went on, "I told him I'd have to think about it for a while. We barely know each other, we just met here in Paris. We have to be friends for a long time first, otherwise it won't last, there'll be a big painful breakup, and we can't even be friends anymore." "I see..." I told her. Then a thought occurred to me. "What if there was a guy who was just traveling around, and only had a certain number of days to be here in Paris." "A guy from China?" She said confused. "No, well...ok, sure" I stammered. "Anyway, this guy from 'China'," I mimicked quotations with my fingers, "and you, could be together for the time being because there would be no messy breakup. In the end, the guy lives way on the other side of the world, so you wouldn't have to see him everyday, or keep a relationship." "But he lives in China..." She interrupted, still not getting it. "No, he lives in America." "What?" Now lost and thoroughly confused. "No no, look" I stopped and tried to start again, but instead I looked at her and said, "Look, I guess what I'm trying to say is..." I paused for a long time, trying to figure out how to say it. Finally I just blurted it out in plain form. "Can I kiss you?" The words sank deeply into the moment, and saturated it. She was visually somewhat taken aback, and she looked down at her feet and bit her bottom lip. "That's a very hard question," she finally said. "You're absolutely right! That's a hard question, but I put it out there, and now it's out there." I was nervously rambling and I knew it, but at this point I just figured I had to go for it. Sometimes just saying what's on your mind bluntly is the best way to go, and this was as blunt as I could make it. "That's a terrible question," she said, looking up at me with playful distain. "You're right, I totally agree! Bad question, it's one which has no answer." We were playing back and forth now, listing all the ways we could attack that question. The playful banter broke the tension, and she commented, "It must be very different in America. In China we never ask 'Can I kiss you', we just find the right time and do it." "Actually," I replied, "we don't usually ask in America either. I just was hearing you're little shbeil earlier, and thought I'd better ask before trying anything or I might just get a clear cut slap in the face." She laughed. "I'm not going to slap you!" "Good to know," I made a mental note, taking a hint. We walked a little further under one of the arches of the Louvre. I grabbed her by the hand, and pulled her gently towards me, then began leaning into her. She laughed, and pulled away leaving me in a very awkward pose, halfway into a kiss. "I didn't ask this time!" I said in playful frustration. "Let me think about it a while," reenacting what she told the other guy. "Ok." I replied cooly, and smiled as she waited for me to catch up. She lead me around the courtyard of the Louvre, giving me the grand tour of the place. She was noticeably gitty, and I was happy that she was happy. She walked me through the fountains in the spaces between the big glass pyramids out in front, and had me get up with her on the base of the main pyramid. We talked about some unrelated things, and eventually moved over to a bench across the way. We sat down there and made small talk until the sun started to go down, and the lights of the Pyramids, and of the Eiffel tower, began to shine. We sat in the dusk, talking about this and that. At one point, while I was in the middle of a sentence, she just reached out and stroked my beard. I stopped whatever I was saying. "You having fun?" "Yeah" she replied. She asked me several questions about my beard, and asked if I had a picture of me without it. I didn't, but I told her that it used to be just a small goatee, and then I grew it into a travel beard. She laughed, like she does often, with a simple coyishness, and said she wasn't all that fond of it, but she understood that one had to have a beard for a journey such as this. She told me I was certainly something interesting with my long beard, asking for kisses. "I'll tell you what," I said "Let's play a game." I pulled out my compass, and turned it face down in my hand. "I want you to guess which direction we're facing right now, and if you're wrong, I get to give you a little kiss." Her face lit up like she wanted to laugh again, and she stared at me like "are you serious?" She didn't say anything though, instead she looked forward and searched the sky for some signs of which way North was. "It's still dusk," I told her "There aren't any stars out yet." I grinned proudly, and she looked back at me in disbelief. "What's it gonna be?" I continued, knowingly. I wasn't worried. What I didn't explain to her was that compasses don't point to true North, just magnetic north, and magnetic north is somewhere over Canada. You have to subtract the number of degrees depending on what part of the world you're in, in order to get an accurate reading. Here in France the dial is off by about 30 to 45 degrees. Even if she got it right on, which she didn't anyway, the dial on the compass would still show something different. "South!," she said finally after much deliberation. "South? Are you sure? Not south east, or east by south east, but due south." I gave her a grin and was about to turn the compass over. "East!" She said at the last second. I stopped, "East? You sure? Final answer?" "Yes," she said confidently. I flipped over the compass. The needle spun and turned, and finally settled North East.

"So sorry," I said in a quiet voice, with a friendly smile. "She turned to me, looked up and bit her bottom lip again. "Ok" She stared straight ahead. "Ok?" I confirmed in almost a whisper. Her lips drew up into a small, half smile and she raised he chin slightly. I slid in a little closer, and held her gently against me. As I leaned in, I halted for a second hovering my lips just above hers, and then touched them down softly. Pulling back again, I checked her face for a reaction. She opened her eyes, and took in a long deep breath. "That's a good game," she finally concluded. I cracked a smile and leaned in again, this time she met me halfway.

We kissed as the sun finished its decent into the earth, and the only light came from French street lamps and illuminated monuments. Behind us, the Eiffel Tower shone brightly in the distance. A choir from in the side the halls of the Louvre was performing, and completed the beautiful ambiance of the moment. A while later, she pulled back and looked at her watch. "In a couple minutes, I want to show you something." She said excitedly. I reacted as any man reacts when a woman he's kissing wants to "show him something," I said, "Ok!" And did a little dance in my head. However, of course, it didn't turn out to be that.
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To Paris 5/21/08

I got up at 5am to catch my first train to the border of France. There isn't a train, unfortunately, that goes all the way. I caught a small local train leaving every 20 minutes to a little border town in Spain. Then from there, I was able to secure a seat on a train directly bound for Paris. The whole ride only took about 6 and a half hours, mostly thanks to France's high speed TGV trains.

When I finally arrived, I walked through the train station trying to learn everything I could about the layout of Paris. I found some bus maps, and a map of metro lines, and studied them carefully. I couldn't find any map of the city, but there were special orientation maps which showed the small area where around the station. I pointed myself in the direction of the most populated street and began walking toward what I'd gathered was the center.

I found a couple hotels right near the station, and despite the fact that I didn't really like the location of them, I knew it was going to be difficult to find an open hotel in Paris at this time, so I asked in each of them if there were any available rooms. None of them had any, however I was able to score a map from one, and a brochure of tourist sites. I sat there outside on the steps and opened my map. I found where I was, and studied the landscape. There was a large street heading up right to the Eiffel Tower, and like any tourist coming to Paris, that was the first place I wanted to go. I loaded up, and decided I'd head that direction looking for a hotel.

On the map, The Eiffel Tower didn't seem so far away, in fact even when I first began to see it poking up over the buildings, I thought I was almost there. However, the closer I thought I was getting, the bigger it just seemed to get, and I was getting no closer. Each hotel I came to along the way I entered, and each one told me they had no more room. So on I hauled, my whole life on my back, until I finally came to the spot where the base of the Eiffel Tower met firmly in the ground.

There was a beautiful park right there under the Eiffel Tower, and many people were having picnics and resting in the shade of tall trees. I joined them, pulling my backpack up against a tree in the shade of the Tower, and rested there for a while as I marveled at the structure before me.

I kept walking all the way down the river to where the Louvre stands, and still found no hotel to accommodate me. Once again, I found myself contemplating the idea of sleeping in the streets for a night. However, sleeping on the streets of Paris may not be the smartest move when it comes to safety. I know a lot of people back home who would kill me (If a crazy Frenchman didn't first) if they found that I put my life at such unnecessary risk. I'm sure somewhere in Paris there's a hotel with an open room, even if it has to be a 4 star resort.

A waiter at a french cafe gave me a tip about a certain area further north which has a row of several cheaper hotels, mostly 2 and 3 stars. I followed his lead, and took the metro up to the area he told me to go to. It seemed to be kind of a little Italy. There were Italian restaurants all over, and hotels with Italian names. It took me a while, but I finally found a hotel with one room left. It was a really nice room, and I had to pay 110 euros for it, which is almost double what my hope was, but I was happy to be off the streets for one more night.

For some reason, Paris is some divine meeting spot for many people I've met on my journey so far. Cara and Carolyn, the girls from the Vienna hostel, go to school here; Vivian, the girl from China whom I met on the train back from Pompeii in Naples, is living with some friends here for the month; and Peter and Kyle from the hostel in Portugal, are now here traveling in Paris. It's great that I'll be able to see them all again. I've kept in contact with them since I've left them, and so now we've all been trying to arrange this time in Paris to meet and hang out again.

Tonight Cara and Carolyn wanted to meet up, and show me a little of Paris life. I met them at Villier metro station. They said they lived just a couple blocks from there. They introduced me right away, to some of their friends and together the 6 of us headed out down the street. They brought with them, a bottle of cheap french wine and 6 plastic cups, and we picked up one more bottle on the way. For dinner we stopped at a Crepe stand and I was introduced to my first ham and cheese Crepe. We walked down through the classy red-light district past the Moulin Rouge, carrying our Crepes and cheap wine. We couldn't have been more French. I say "classy" red-light district because it was certainly nothing like any other red-light district I've been in. It was a really clean and nice part of town. Tourists and rich people (mostly men), swarmed the streets. There were hookers and pimps on the corners, but they were the cleanest and best looking I'd seen in Europe. They were really more like show girls rather than prostitutes. It was a lot like the strip in Las Vegas. Everything was a spectacle, but with a strong overtone of sex. I had thought I might go see a show at the Moulin Rouge just to say I'd done it, but at 100 euros minimum per ticket I'll sit that one out.

We walked on to the bohemian area, where the famous artists and writers used to hang out, and still do. The cafes were cheap, and loaded with artistic looking college kids gathered around tables, smoking and philosophizing. That area looked exactly how I imagined the bohemian part of Paris would look. We continued on through Bohemia and walked up the endless stairs of Montmartre till we finally reached the top and the foot of Sacre Coeur. It was already a party by the time we got there. There were young people sprawled out, scattered all over the stairs. Some of them had guitars and everyone had a drink. The girls explained to me that this is the big hang out point for the youth of Paris, largely because of the amazing panoramic view of the city lit up at night, from the top of the stairs. It was indeed amazing. I couldn't believe I was here right now in Bohemia sitting with the locals, drinking crappy wine and watching the famous monuments all lit up like a garden of christmas trees. We drank, and talked and told stories. As we descended the stairs later that night, I told them of my adventures since they'd last seen me. I came back to the hotel with a surreal feeling, and overwhelming joy of one great night in Paris.
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Pirate's Life 5/20/08

In the morning when I woke up, I'd decided today I was going to go hike to the top of the two hills where the two giant Spanish forts stand watching over the city. San Sebastian is guarded by these two keeps on hills at each side of the bay. There's a hiking trail up the one on the right, and then for the one on the left, you have to take a little train that takes you up the side of the mountain. I dressed, and made myself ready for the day. However, when I got outside I walked right into the pouring rain. Had it been just slightly drizzling, I would have just ignored it and gone up anyway, but it was absolutely pouring in huge marble-sized drops.

I was somewhat distressed at first, because this does put a slight damper on things. I'd pretty much done everything I could do on a rainy day yesterday when It happened to be sunny, and here today I wanted to do all the things which require sun. I decided however, that even so, I wouldn't let a little rain ruin the day. It very seldomly ever rains all day anyway. Eventually the skies were bound to break through long enough for the sun to peak out. I began walking into old town and over by the pier, just enjoying the rain and looking out over the ocean.

As I'd predicted, the sun did soon come poke out, and before long, the whole sky was brightly blue again. I began climbing the side of the hill on the right side, near old town. The paths were often steep, and difficult to climb just after a downpour such as this morning, but with careful steps I kept climbing up. The air in the densely green hillside was heavy, and smelt tropical, like entering a rainforest. It was rather humid under the treeline, but through the trees were the most miraculous views of the ocean and hills. I got to a point where the western battery once stood for the fortress. Old cannons still stood in their places, corroded by time and the salty brease. When I reached the summit, I climbed the steps into the Spanish fortress, and felt like I had strayed into a Pirate movie again. Scenes from Pirates of the Caribbean, and The Count of Monte Cristo flooded my mind. I wanted to leap across towers, waving my cutlass as the cannons fired on ships below. I found a favorite spot in a guard post overlooking the sea, and stayed there for a while and let the sea brease lap at my face. I wandered inside the main structure, which had been turned into a miniature museum, and read (what little I could) about the history of San Sebastian, and of the fort guarding it. Napoleon's army was stationed here for much of it's military history, until driven out by the English and Porugese. Privateers used to sail to and from here with orders to capture and loot the ships of neighboring countries. This city was a key station for Pirates, and merchant sailors. It was awesome to be sitting up at the top of the keep, imagining what it must have looked like at that time.

I worked my way off the mountain, and over to the other one. Unfortunately, there's not an easier way to walk to the other hill without going all the way round the bay, but at least it's a pretty walk. As I made my way, slowly over to the other side, I stopped periodically to relax in the sand.

At one point, while walking, I noticed I was being trailed by what had to have been the worst pickpocketer I've ever come across. First of all, he was dressed in a brightly colored, Tye-dye t-shirt. It was very easy to spot him in a crowd, and recognize I was being followed. Secondly, he was really bad at looking inconspicuous. When I'd stop somewhere and admire the scenery for a while, he'd stop a little ways behind, and not knowing what to do, he'd mimic what I was doing. When I looked at him, he'd look away, trying not to catch my glance. It was so blatantly obvious, I felt bad for him. For a little while I let him follow me, pretending I had no idea. I kept him a safe distance behind me, and when he moved in closer, I stopped and leaned against the railing "admiring the view." He'd stop, wait for me to continue, and the game began all over again. I strung him along for the good majority of the way to the other side, watching the frustration on his face grow every time I ruined his opportunity to reach inside my pockets. I eventually widened the gap between us by ducking in and out of people quickly, and then turned a corner, on the other side of the corner, I waited on a railing pointed his direction. He came around the corner walking faster, looking for me. When he found me, I looked him in the eye, and nodded to him as he passed.

I walked around and found the train leading up to the top. When I got off the train, I surveyed the area. From where I was, I looked out over the beach and surrounding city. The sand was a pale gold color between green and blue. The shallow spots could be seen like shadows in the water. The fort just across from me stood at eye level, with a blue ocean and a tiny green island between us. Out to the horizon were a couple of sailboats and then a vast emptiness. The sun was also at about eye level, drifting in and out of clouds as it began it's decent into the sea. All around me, the old fort had been turned into a huge hotel with a carnival at the bottom. By the time I'd gotten there, the carnival was closing up, but I still walked through it. As the sun began to set, I watched it leaning against a part of the old walls of the keep. I stood on the lip of the lower wall, and let the wind fill my clothes like sails on a ship. The sun sank deeper and deeper into the clouds, glowing bright red, and filling the sky up with yellow streams of light. From behind a cloud, the sun told of its glory, sending bright colors out onto the sea and into the sky. It was like an explosion behind a vail. When the it finally peeked out one last time, it glowed blood red and immersed itself in the ocean, taking the light with it.

After seeing all of this, I figured I'd better get down the hill before too much dark set in. I returned to the lift which took me up here, but no one was there anymore. The train had stopped running, and all doors had been locked. The hallways were chained off, and the place was deserted. I realized what time it was, and figured that they must have just closed. I'd now have to find another way down the mountain. I wandered around through the old fort, and the closed carnival. All gates were sealed, and all doors were locked. Every entrance or exit had been chained up, bolted and sectioned off, and I was locked inside. I wandered around and around, trying to find a door left unlocked or a gate small enough to climb. I finally found in one area, a wall which was a short climb on my side, but a long drop on the other. I figured this was my best chance. I climbed up my side of the wall, and lowered my body over the side, gripping the top with my hands. I struggled, and found a foothold, and began scaling down the wall of the keep. My footing slipped once or twice, but my hands held tightly to the wall, and when I reached the end I jumped down.

Once out of the keep, I was still up on the hill with no where to go. I remembered an area I saw from the wall which had a parking lot, and a street leading away from it. I decided that the street must be one leading down the mountain, so I headed toward that direction, and began following it down. The streets we're winding, and became darker and darker. However, the road seemed all downhill so I thought at least I was getting down the mountain. I lost sight of the town below, and all that was in front of me was a dark road and the next turn. I passed a couple really strange, creepy looking homes with small winding walkways to match their small winding roads. Occasionally a car passed, but I tried not to look like I needed a ride. The last thing I wanted was for someone to pick me up.

As I walked on, the road got silent and the air was still. Even the creatures of the forest seemed to hush themselves away. There was a rustle in the bushes behind me, and I turned to see no one there. I kept walking, and felt several eyes upon me. I quickened my pace. When I stopped again, my breath began to show in the night air, but it wasn't at all cold out. I puffed out plumes of smoke, and still and panting in the darkness. My eyes twitched to each side, and my body tensed. What little I knew about ghosts surfaced in my mind. I'd heard accounts on TV and magazine articles about certain signs of a ghost. Often times the air will be still as it was now, and the temperature may drop unusually to the point where one can see their own breath. I don't know if ghosts do or do not exist, but I do know that if they do exist, this city is packed full of spirits who would have died unhappily. The history of violence in this city spans through almost 10 centuries of wars, fires, pirates, and inquisitions. I decided that if in fact they happen to exist, I do not want to meet one here. I darted off, running down the street as fast as my legs could carry me. I felt like I must have hit 50 miles an hour, I've never run so fast my whole life. I think my feet only hit the ground twice the whole time I ran. When I was finally down the mountain, and back into civilization, I stopped running. My breath was no longer seen, and the air no longer still. The crickets were chirping, waves were crashing, and people were chattering. I felt much relieved.

As I walked back a little more towards where my hotel was, I decided to stop for dinner. However, rather than having "real Spanish food" I decided to try a ritzy tourist cafe, and see if it was actually better. I ordered cod fish in asparagus sauce. It was absolutely amazing. For dessert I had chocolate cake filled with chocolate fudge and vanilla ice cream. It was sooo much better than the "real" food I had last night. My theory is that when people told me that I absolutely had to try the amazing spanish restaurants in Spain, they meant the touristy restaurants, not the real ones. In real Spain, people cook. They don't seem to go out to restaurants.
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