Tyler's Epic Journey

Who Am I?

2008-06-02T16:43:00.000-07:00

As my adventures draw to a close, the same ever present question remains at the forefront of my mind: Have I accomplished what I'd set out to do? For the first time since I began, I flipped back to the begginning pages of this Epic Journey, and read the opening chapter, "What To Look For." What have I found? In these 3 months, what have I discovered which I can take back with me to California? The question of who I am still alludes me. I'm not sure I'm all that much closer to discovering it now, than I was when I left. I have, however answered a lot of questions about what I believe, and what kind of person I mean to be.

I wanted to be someone who could live up to a challege. I wanted to be honest with myself about even the deepest and toughest issues weighing on my soul. I wanted to be one who sees good in all people, and to be shown that love does tangably exsist. I wanted to gain firsthand knowledge of places I'd otherwise not have seen. I wanted to make an impact on people, and leave my footprints in the sand. I wanted to choose to climb, knowing the cost, and suffer my own mistakes. If I can look back and say I've accomplished these tasks. If I can say of myself that I didn't take the easy way out. If I can see that I held myself together when all hope seemed lost, then I can hold myself high with honor and look at myself in the mirror at last. I'm proud of a lot of things I've done during these 3 months. Though I screwed up several times, I was never looking to pack up and go home. 3 months does not seem long enough to find one's self. If I'd had a choice I would have stayed longer. In the midst of this journey, I've discovered a new passion. In fighting to survive out here on my own, I forgot about the cares and worries of my former life, and all the drama which seemed to saturate it. For a time out here in the chaos of the world, I had goals again. There was purpose pushing me forward, and a need to stay alive. I felt companionship with God, and he seemed to follow me, watching over me as I walked. It's a feeling I can't describe exept to say, It all just felt right, as if God had laid the path for me to walk before I'd even gotten there. He held my hand, and I heard his voice in my head. Though even now, the voice is draining out like water. I fear it will be gone soon, but I know he's still there because I can still feel that presence.

I'm not as I was when I left, but I'm not quite as different as I sometimes think I should be, so who am I? What am I?

I'm a son; I'm a brother; I'm a friend and cousin; I'm a nephew and grandson; I'm a human; I'm a heart patient; I'm a musician and traveler; I'm a writer and singer; I'm an actor and director; I'm a sound engineer; I'm a poet; I'm an amature photographer; I'm a student and philosopher; I'm a Christian; I'm a critic; I'm a man. I drank Guiness in Dublin, and bought a fiddle in Belfast. I've climbed a castle in Scotland, and crossed the London Bridge. I've stood on the Pyramids of Egypt, and desecrated the tomb of a pharoh. I've ridden a Camel through the desert. I've been lost in the Sahara. I've stayed in the home of a Jordanian muslim, and in the morning was served breakfast by his children. I wept at the feet of Jesus on the hill of Golgotha. I sat in prayer in his tomb on Easter Sunday, and left my blood, sweat and tears in the sand. I met a christian family in Bethlehem, and knelt before the manger at the Nativity. I've witness the aftermath of revolution in Cyprus, and the first stages of peace in Nicosia. I felt the stones of the Greecian collumns on the Acropolis. I talked politics with a sailor in Aegina, and shared a round of beers with his comrads. I've had pizza in Naples, and walked the streets of Pompei in the rain. I've climbed the steps of the Colosseum, and smelled the paint of the Sistine Chapel. I spent a full day in solitude within the forests of Tuscany. I've seen the full moon rise from a canal in Venice. I've slept in the same room next to a sweet old, half crazed Croatian lady, and avoided her poisonous cooking. I've been drunk in Budapest. I've walked through the gardens of Vienna. I've been clubbing in Prague. I've hiked up the hills of Salzburg. I've felt the cold of the Swiss snow, and stared in awe at the majestic Matterhorn. I've been wine tasting in Alsace, and explored the WWI trenches. I sat on a beach in the French Riviera. I got mugged after a party in Barcelona. I've seen famous works of art in Madrid, and warded off cougars in Portugal. I've scaled the wall of a Spanish fort in San Sebastian, and shared a kiss in Paris. I've hung out with Bohemians, and stormed the beaches of Normandy. I've seen the redlight district in Amsterdam, and stood on the site of the Berlin Wall. I kept on walking when my legs couldn't carry me, and if I make it home, I'll have witnessed a miracle.

I believe Aaron was right when he told me this was only a scouting trip; that I'd be back soon with more purpose and more questions that need answers. Inside my heart still thirsts, more than ever, for the adventures to come. I've shared my heart as openly as I could these 3 months, and recorded my thoughts within these pages. My hope is that you read it, and know me as I grow. I intended to leave no stone unturned, and lay my whole life out there for all to see. Only through openly and honestly expressing who I really am, can I hope to fix what is broken and find what is lost.

In begginning this journey, I was running away from several things I didn't feel ready to deal with in my life. I felt like I was drowning in monotony, and everyone was slowly passing me by. The shrill laughter of the happiness I felt I could never achieve, echoed in my ears at night. I wanted to be someone else entirely. I was afraid of who I was becomming. But, "Those who fly from their fear often find that they only take a shortcut to meet it"-JRR Tolkien. I met my fear in my solitude and hardships, as I carried my problems with me on my journey. They weighed on my back like a hundred traveler's packs, and I struggled so hard to leave them in the dust of my Epic Quest. However, so many of them had already burrowed themselves into my skin. I pulled at them, and dug them out of my eyes, leaving wounds that were nurtured by the love of strangers. I still carry wounds, but my outlook has changed, and there's hope that they may not be as deep as they were before. I've learned that wisdom can only come from failure, and that love is far more prominent in this world than hate. Good people are not outnumbered, but they often feel like their alone. There's a reason for lonliness, it brings us together, and that's the way we were meant to live. For 3 months, I sat as a spectator of life and watched the world turn. What I saw has filled my eyes with hope, and my heart with wonder. The lessons I've learned will stand firm in my memory for all the rest of my days.

I've seen so many things. My senses have not left me wanting. No person will ever seen what my eyes have seen, nor feel what my hands have touched. No one will hear the sounds my ears have heard or taste what my tougue has tasted. Even those who have stood where I've stood, and walked where I've walked, will never have seen what I saw. This experience of life has been mine alone, and that fills me with the truest sense of pride and joy.

Although this experience has been one which I will always remember, I do very much miss those whom I left back home. In the end it was my friends and family who showed me who I really am. You all encouraged me, lifted me up when I felt tired and weary, and pointed out the way onward. My communication with you through comments and emails was fresh air and water to my soul. I often wonder when I get back, if you'll see something different in me. I've looked for it many times myself, but I remember back to that night in Jerusalem, sitting out on the balcony looking up at the stars. Eric was sitting on the next balcony to my left. I asked him if he thought he'd changed during his travels, and he told me, "You'll never know how you've changed until you see it in the faces of the people you love. Change isn't something you can see in yourself, but others will see it in you." There's a quote from that movie I watched with Andrea in Cyprus, "A Touch Of Spice." It stuck out to me immediately, but I wasn't really sure what it meant until just recently. "There are two types of travelers in this world: those who look at a map, and those who look at a mirror. The ones who look at a map are leaving; and the ones who look at a mirror are coming home." As I stand here staring at my face in the mirror, for the first time, I'm proud of the man looking back. I see in his eyes a journey, which brought him closer to the man that he desires to be. I look in the mirror, and I see in my face a man who is finally ready to come home.

Solo in Berlin/Denis' Birthday 5/29 5/30/08

2008-06-02T07:16:00.000-07:00

I woke up on the morning of the 29th earlier than the previous day. Both Nancy and Denis had things they had to do today, so I was mostly on my own. There was a massive heat wave which swept Sahara winds into Berlin, so outside it felt an awful lot like the middle east again. There was that same dry wind and dust that reaches every crevass just by entering out into it. For the early part of the day I stayed inside and caught up on blogs. It was nice and cool inside Nancy and Denis' apartment, and it felt nice just to relax and take it easy here at the end of my journey. This blistering heat would have probably been terrible had I still been in the midst of traveling, but now life was pretty easy, and water and shade was plentiful. Later however, I did venture out into the city.

I took the metro out to the new city center, over by the Sony Center and walked around a bit. This is the time I took the majority of my pictures. I sauntered through the area, for the first time, hanging out like I was on vacation. It was a strange feeling to not have any major obstacles to face, or routes to plan. I wasn't trying to see anything in particular, because I'd seen what I wanted to see already. From the new center, I walked through East Berlin and the old East center. I passed by several gypsys on the way over. They seem to be all over, here in Berlin esecially. I'm not quite sure why. It seems very sad, because they are a poor people, and oppressed. However, you really can't trust them because they will steal everything you've got if you even get close to them. They walk around holding their children in you face, and asking if you speak English. I used to stop and just say "I'm sorry, I can't help," but now I don't even answer. I pretend I don't speak English and just wave them off. I feel terrible doing it, but it wouldn't help anything for me to get completely cleaned out trying to help them.

After crossing through East Berlin, I followed the wall over to Checkpoint Charlie. I spent some time there, reading all the captions and signs. I walked through the museum, which was indeed very interesting. I read about the different methods East Berliners used to escape to the West, and saw their inventions on display. Several pattents came out of the engenious designs which aided in their escape. The first minisub was invented to help the inventor swim accross the border undetected. Some people specially refitted their cars with smuggling compartments, to smuggle friends and loved ones across the border. One guy smuggled his girlfriend between two surfboards hollowed out and strapped to the roof of the car. It was amazing to see the things people came up with.

The next day was Denis' Birthday, so all 3 of us worked all morning, trying to get the house spick and span. Nancy baked a big beautiful cake, and Denis cooked the meal. I helped stir some things, and slice veggies for the salad. Of course, when company arrived they gave me far more credit than I deserved, saying I helped make dinner. It was such a fun experience, because I got to meet a lot of Denis' family who were all original Berliners. Most of the night, particularly in the begginning, everyone spoke in German so I just smiled and stayed quiet on the couch. As the night went on and the family started getting aclimated to my presence, more people started to approach me and start up conversations with me. Most of Denis's family, save for his grandmother and her boyfriend, could speak some English. However, when they would talk to eachother, or decided not to for one reason or another, Nancy stepped in as my official interpretor. I got to hear some stories from Denis' father about how he and Denis' grandmother escaped East Berlin. It was perfect to go with my visit to Checkpoint Charlie the day before. Denis' father was full of good stories. I especially like the one where for a while in his younger years, he dated in secret, one of the top officials of the Communist Party. Denis, Nancy, the whole family and I talked and laughed for hours. By the end of the night, I was so stuffed I could barely moove, and I was so tired that I fell asleep just as soon as my head hit the pillow. What a wonderful way to end an Epic Journey.

Local Berlin 5/28/08

2008-06-01T03:59:00.000-07:00

I awoke to the sound of Nancy opening the window in the living room. I asked her what time it was. "It's almost noon," she replied looking at her watch, "You slept like a hybernating bear last night." It was so nice to just sleep. I hadn't gotten a lot of sleep the last ouple days, so I suppose as soon as I was finally able to, I just totally rebooted. I felt great though, after getting up. I felt a new swarm of energy fall over by whole body in waves. I felt rested. I joined Nancy in the kitchen for breakfast (well, lunch for her). I had a bowl of this new cereal I've never heard of before which had corn flakes, oats, and bits of chocolate mixed all in together, and it tasted amazing. Everything felt better, the food tasted better, even the weather outside was clear and sunny. It was the start of a wonderful day.

When I'd gotten myself ready, Nancy took me out into the city to go exploring. We travelled by metro into the main center and began walking around through the different parts. We passed by some of the things Denis and I rode passed on our bike ride (which I was still a little sore from), but I got a little more detailed tour of it all this time around. We found the Holocaust Memorial site, and walked through the museum and visitor's center underneath the memorial. The grounds of the memorial are made up of thousands of rectangular blocks of stone. They're varied at different hights, and they allow you to walk through this vast jungle of blocks which becomes more of a maze the further in you go. Niether Nancy nor I could really figure out the symbolizm that the stone blocks represent, but it was interesting that the further in, the ground begins to slope downward and the blocks get higher and higher. Then at the very bottom, buried by the massive stone pillars is the visitor's center. All along the blocks, you see kids hanging out and having picknics sitting up ontop of them. You're not suppose to do that, and they have actual hired security to walk around and tell people not to, but it does seem to me like they should have expected something like that in the designs for the memorial. If you fill a huge area of land with huge stone blocks, and allow people to walk through them, odds are that people will want to sit and climb on them.

Inside the visitor's center were halls you could walk through which were lined with plaques forming a timeline of the beginning of the atrocities, starting in 1939 and ending in 1945. It was a very sollumn sort of walk as you tread through pictures, and recovered letters from victims often executed the next day. In one room they have on display, a history of particular families from all over Europe who were all but desimated by the genocide of the jews. One jewish man in Jerusalem, worked for years (and is still working) trying to collect the history, and stories from all the 6 million jews which were murdered during the holocaust, and they have a database at the end of the center where you can look up any particular individual and read about them, and what happened to them. It was definately eye opening, and quite a sight to see in the midst of Berlin.

Berlin is certainly one of those places which you can tell right away is carrying a lot of guilt and remorse for things done in the past. I talked with nancy a little bit about that, and she agreed with me and told me that it seems to be that way with prettymuch all of Germany. People in Germany don't call themselves Germans. There's no pride for their country anymore. Instead they put their pride in the town that they're from. Here in Berlin they call themselves Berliners, and in Neuemberg they'd call themselves Neumbergers and so on. It's a whole country walking on eggshells, living in daily rememberance of the shame certain individuals brought onto their country time and time again. Because of that, the new government seems to have even overcompensated in making sure none of the same mistakes are revisited. The German government now has both a president and a cancellor who make every dicision together, and either one of them can be voted out of office at anytime by a majority vote of the people. Germany is one of the leading countries of the whole "Green movement" to protect the environment. They've set strict regulations for car manufacturers on the amount of carbons allowed to be exhausted into the atmosphere by the engine. Any car which does not meet their requirements cannot be sold or driven within the city. There are strict laws in advertising making sure the people are not seduced or mislead in anyway. It's become illegal to have any kind of propoganda urging people toward your cause without presenting fact-based arguements. The Nazi party has all but disappeared (or at least reformed themselves. They're now called something completely different). It's illegal to be a part of any Nazi group, or KKK, basically any group which hates another. Rallys and meetings for these groups are not allowed at all in Berlin. They have a Social Democracy in Germany now, similar to Canada which seems to be working out pretty well for them. I've actually become a pretty big supporter of Social Democracy since my travels to Europe. It seems to me to be the most sure way to ensure that everyone gets what they need. It's a lot more beurocratic, and it takes a lot longer to get things approved especially regarding controversial subjects where the lines are split pretty evenly, but that system seems less driven by money and power, and more by integrity and mutual understanding.

When we'd seen some more of the sights of Berlin, I followed Nancy around to do some shopping to restock the kitchen with food. Friday night was Denis' birthday, and they'd planned to have the whole family over for dinner. They needed a lot of food to feed this huge party of relatives whom I've been told are a big crowd of loud, and loving individuals. It seemed like a lot of fun and reminded me of how I describe my family at parties, so I did what I could to help them prepare. We walked over through a couple supermarkets, and a giant mall where, on the top floor, we saw a giant bell (almost as tall as I am) made entirely of solid chocolate. We also picked up a bunch of meat for dinner tonight, so that they could show me how Berliners barbecue their sausage. They don't have shopping bags in Germany, so you have to bring your own from home, or other wise carry everything home yourself. The both of us carried back arms full of groceries onto the subway as we attempted to haul everything back to the apartment.

For dinner, the 3 of us had a feast of German sausages barbecued over a tiny electric grill on their balcony. Nancy, trying to buy some particular sausage that Denis really liked, accidently bought Elk sausage. We deliberated over eating it, wondering what it would taste like, but when we finally tried it we ended up liking it a lot. Denis introduced me to this totally amazing spicy mustard, which was maybe the highlight of the meal for me. It was so spicy it made your eyes water, but had a taste so full and sweet that you couldn't stop eating it. It was to die for, and it came in a tube like toothpaste. I hope to one day return to Berlin with a huge sack and smuggle a whole bunch back with me.

Our conversation by the end of the night turned, once again to sex. I don't know why conversations with young people always head in that direction, but I think the way it started was that I was curious about what their parents thought of them living together without being married. They looked at me like they knew this question was going to come up at some point, me being an american from the suburbs of California. Nancy, being from California herself, lead the discussion with me about what the differences are between the way this arrangement is looked at from back home, and how it looks from here. In Germany, a couple doesn't normally start thinking about marraige until long after the two have been living together. To us back home, that's sort of a new-age sexual revolution sort of thing, and we often call it "living in sin" (some more jokingly than others). However, to Germans (and most other cultures in Europe it seems) it's been that way for ever and ever. They strongly believe that who a person is sexually is a very importaint part of who they are in every other way. When young children in Germany are taught about the birds and the bees, they're taught that living together is part of finding out about the person you're going to be with the rest of your life, and when they look for compatability, sexual compatability is just as importaint as everything else. The talk continued, and Nancy told me about when she met Denis, and at one point told him she was planning to wait until marraige to have sex. Denis looked at her with bewilderment in his eyes, and very confused he said "...why?" She remembered, she had a really hard time coming up with an answer. Why exactly do we wait? I know the easy answers: Because it's what God said to do; because it makes the experience more meaningful; because it connects you more closely as a couple giving yourself fully to the one you'll be with forever. But if you really look into most of those questions, I think you find that the answer really boils down to: That's what we were culturally taught. Our devorce rate is sickeningly high in the US, particularly among christians who wait till marraige to have sex, so the answer is definately not that it draws you closer as a couple. A lot of people get married in the US so that they don't feel bad about having sex. Is that a little silly to anyone else? I don't know, I'm speaking with a bias because I too have felt so pressured NOT to have sex, because I'm so worried about the relationships I may hurt with the people who want me to wait. I'm not saying either that I don't want to wait. Rushing into something like that, cultural or not is never a good idea and I know that very well. Also, religiously, faithfully if that is what God told his followers to do (and I still have a hard time believing that to be true), I know Paul said it and several other men of God professing the truth, but if that is God's will then there is good reason to heed it. I have trouble matching up everything we, as christians, beleive regarding sex though, often due to the amount of times the rules have bent or changed due to the times and curltures that mix. I've never known God to request his people to act against their instincts. Acting against impulses, yes. Fleeting urges, and reactions of fear or anger have their roots in sin. However insticts, specifically designed human traits have always up to this particular topic, been regarded as favorable in the Lord's eyes. This brings me back to intentions. Intentions, I believe are what matter in the eyes of God. Where a person's heart lies in an action is what makes a deed holy or sinful. Those who mean to decieve or take advantage are not doing the right thing. Whereas those who are pure in intention, genuine and honest are blessed. What's left is what is judged by the culture you're a part of. Even a close friend cannot always know your heart, so rules were made to encompass a wide variety of sins, and protect the majority. These rules don't always apply, and can often work as a hinderance to those who are just having trouble finding their place in society. These frustrated people are usually the ones who rebel against the system, and then the system changes again.

In my experience with cultures, the good parts of human nature: Love, compassion, generocity, understanding; are the ones which hold standard throughout different groups of people. The bad ones: Lust, greed, hate; vary dramatically between cultures depending on what is learned and acceptable in a society. When people are taught that something they greatly value (most often something which is ok in a different culture) is "bad", they are more inclined to give into hating those who have what they want. Then they teach their children that those other people are "bad" people because they indulge in an act which is forbidden to you by the ones you care about. Never have I seen a culture of murderers, or of theives or liers. I've seen countries who's moral fiber is intact, but who look at things very differently. I've seen countries where a woman can't show her face because it's sexually immoral, and then another country where buying prostitutes from windows off the street it totally acceptable. So where do you draw the line, really? Who's to say what's right and wrong, especially regarding sex? What does God say about that? Paul is not God, and neither am I. Paul and I are on the same level as human beings and followers of christ. In any case the verdict over here, in my experience seems to be that the rules of sex are much more cultural than religious or anything else. That may not be a fact, but that's the view from my biased standpoint.

The ending conclusion to our conversation left me with the first relieving feeling I've ever had in regards to that topic. The conclusion was this: Let yourself be who you are. Be smart, use common sense, and don't let yourself feel pressured either way. When it's right, you'll know it.

I slept a little less troubled that night.

Berlin, Germany 5/27/08

2008-05-31T05:39:00.000-07:00

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

2008-05-30T03:46:00.000-07:00

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

2008-05-29T03:27:00.000-07:00

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

2008-05-28T10:49:00.000-07:00

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

2008-05-26T14:09:00.000-07:00

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.

2008-05-24T16:49:00.000-07:00

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

2008-05-24T11:39:00.001-07:00

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

2008-05-23T17:03:00.001-07:00

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

2008-05-23T16:59:00.001-07:00

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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San Sebastian 5/19/08

2008-05-23T16:35:00.000-07:00

Eventually, in the early hours of this morning, most of my drunken coach mates had reached their stop, and it was back down a very reasonable me, and two other people. The guy who speaks English was asleep now, so he wasn't babbling out into song every two minutes. This was my opportunity to get a little sleep before my stop. I found a comfortable position, and was able to stretch out a little more with less people in the room, and fell asleep.

I almost missed my stop because I'd fallen asleep too long, but I opened my eyes and read the name San Sebastian on the station we were stopped at. I leaped up, grabbed all my things, and threw myself out the door just as the train moved on. I'm not sure what would have happened if I'd slept through my stop, but nothing good would come of it, that's for sure. Still half asleep, I waddled around the station slowly prioritizing in my head as to what to do now. I looked for an information booth, but it was closed. Fortunately however, it had a map of the city pasted outside the window. I made use of it, studying it carefully, trying to memorize the layout of where I'd want to go. I looked up a couple hostels on my phone, but I couldn't find any of the streets and addresses on the map. I finally decided just to do what I had been doing: walk out into the city center, and look for a hostel there. I checked where exactly city center was, orientated myself with my compass, and then headed off across the river towards city center and the Ocean.

The streets were all but deserted here at about 7am, as I walked across the bridge into town. As I walked, I gazed around at the Architecture of the buildings and the layout of the city. It was indeed a beautiful place. I started thinking I should have planned to stay here longer, but I can't stay too long, because I've still got 4 more cities to get through before the end of the month. I came to the first hostel I saw, right down the street I was walking on, and rang the door bell. A ladies voice was heard over the intercom, and I said hello. "Yes?" She said in a thick accent. "Is there a room available for tonight?" She rambled off something in spanish I didn't understand. "What?" I said trying to be respectful. "All booked," and then she hung up the intercom. "Thank you..." I said to nobody as I walked away. I tried 3 more places along my walk through town; all the same story. However, this is to be expected just walking up the day of. I kept walking, determined to find a place to stay for a night, and I finally made it to the beach where a long row of hotels stretched across the boardwalk. Most of them were all 4 or 5 stars, but I was sure there must be a couple 2 or 3 stars shoved in the back there. As I wandered past the line of Fancy 5 stars, just behind them I saw a 2 star and two 3 stars. I tried the 2 star, which was a hostel with dorms. The man at the front desk said there might be some available beds but he wasn't sure; checkout was at 9. What he wanted for a crappy bed in a dorm room was also way more than I was willing to spend for something like that, so I tried the first 3 star. They wanted twice what a room in a 3 star usually costs. I walked away, but then came back just a few minutes later having looked them up on Hostel world. Their entree there had them at less than half the quoted price, and so I walked back in to show the front desk. "I'm confused," I told him "This site says half of what you quoted me for a room. Is there anyway I might get that deal?" "He looked at it, and chuckled nervously. "That's no our price," he said. "Well that's what you have posted as your price." There was a lot of embarrassment in his posture, as if caught in a lie. "That's just not our price," he repeated, not knowing what to say. I felt like he was raising the price on me because he thought I'd just pay it, or maybe there was some other reason. Regardless, I could tell he wasn't giving me the full story. "Maybe someone should change what's posted here," I told him "someone might get confused." I nodded to him knowingly, and he nodded back. I didn't want to get on his case about it. I was just a little grumpy still, from the train ride. I just hate getting screwed over while you're sitting there watching it happen. In traveling, I've found that you mostly just have to accept that people are going to try to get more money out of you whenever they can. It's nothing to get overly upset about, it's just a matter of not being used to an area, and people capitalize on it.

I tried that last hotel, which was sitting right there next to the big 4 stars, looking a little out of place. I walked in and asked if they had a room for the night. They said they had one available and they quoted me a price which was just right around what I expected to be paying. "It's a small room, though," they told me. "That's perfect." I answered them with a smile. When I got up to the room, it was indeed small, but it wasn't at all the size that bothered me. I opened the window, and looked out into the elevator shaft. My little window didn't even lead outside. This allowed for basically no ventilation, and made the room stuffy and uncomfortable. Besides all that, I get to hear the sounds of the service elevator slide past my window every couple of minutes. But I didn't care so much once I finally had a bed to sleep in, and my own shower and toilet. Wasting no time, I crawled into bed and watched The Pink Panther on my colorless TV until I fell asleep.

I woke up a couple hours later, and decided I needed to get out and explore the city. Outside the streets were a great deal more exuberant than they were before. The sun shone through the clouds, but barely, and I could see some ominous storm clouds on the horizon. I walked first, back through where I'd walked to get here, getting a view of where I'd been in the light. I made my way along the walkway to the pier, and through the old city. I checked the map which the front desk had given me, and saw that there was a whole other part of town and a whole other beach on the opposite end of where I was from my hotel. I thought I should go check it out and see what's over there, so I began walking that direction.

San Sebastian is one of the most beautiful cities I've seen on this trip. It's beautiful yellow crescent beaches lay out around a bay with a tiny island in the center. Back in the 11th century it was just a tiny fishing village, and soon became an important military outpost. The city has so much history, and the old structures are all intermixed and blended with the new, so often times you feel like every step down certain roads are leading you further back in time. Walking through the old town is like walking through a scene of Pirates of the Caribbean. Bars and taverns riddle the streets, and are stuffed full of sailors and fishermen gathered around the bar. Looking off across the sea, Islands and cliffs raise up out of the water, colored green with vegetation. The sky (when it comes out) is as blue as the sea, and the sand is a white yellow color and soft as cotton.

I made it over the boardwalk to the little village I was trying to get to, and walked around for a while. I bought a fresh pastry from a bakery in a nearby street, and later had one of the best Eclairs I'd ever enjoyed. When I was tired from walking, I laid out on the sand and thought of what I wanted to do next. I walked around some of the Cathedrals seated there in the heart of the old town, and poked around in a couple bars retrieving the vibe of the city.

As I walked through the docks of the old town, I wandered into an aquarium at the sea's edge. This aquarium was unique because it was, itself just a huge fish tank where glass tunnels pasted throughout, which you could walk through. I spent a lot of time just walking through the tunnels in and amongst thousands of fish, and other sea creatures as they swam all around me.

Upon exiting the aquarium, I found climbing the stairs a little more difficult this time than had been before. My body felt sluggish, as if the pull of gravity had just increased a little. Inside my ribs, my pacemaker began to tick like a clock, pushing up my skin as it throbbed. It was a baby in my chest, kicking and pulling on the strings inside me. It was painful for a moment, but subsided, and left me feeling uncomfortably weak. I've felt this way in small variations for some time now. I think it started when I entered Spain. I wonder if it has to with the magnet in the compass I wear around my neck. I wouldn't think a magnet small enough for a compass would be strong enough to affect my pacemaker, but I took of the compass from around my neck and put it in my pocket just to see if it gets any better.

I walked back to the hotel, passing through the beach on the way, and asked the lady at the front desk where a good place to get seafood was. She listed off a couple places in the old city and showed me where they were on the map. I thanked her, and then went upstairs to my room for a nap and a shower.

That night, I walked into the old city to find dinner. I look for a bit, and finally found one of the restaurants I'd been shown. As I'd looked I noticed that it's actually a lot harder to find restaurants here than in most other places. It seems that most people don't eat at restaurants in Spain. There are bars all over the place, and you can order some food there, but it's not very good food at all. They have a couple restaurant type places built into, or near the large hotels, which are put there for tourists. However, I wouldn't consider that actual Spanish cuisine. This place I found tonight, was a tiny little restaurant buried in the basement of a bar. The menu was one page long and consisted of about 10 items. I ordered an appetizer (as is custom in Spain) and a main course. You're supposed to also order a dessert (Spanish meals are 3 courses, always), but to save some money I always only order 2 courses. I ordered a seafood soup for my appetizer, and then Spider Crab for the main course. It was all very good. I expected for the Spider Crab, that they'd bring out the legs, and you crack them open and eat the meat that way. That's how it's usually served back home. Here however, the just brought me the head, and had the top cracked off it, and just gave me a spoon and said, "Go get em." The look of it was a little unsavory, but it tasted quite good.

After dinner, I got some gelato from a nearby gelateria, and walked along the beach before bed.
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The Train to San Sebastian 5/18/08

2008-05-20T04:32:00.000-07:00

I got up in the morning to the sounds of, what seemed like hundreds of people shuffling around the dormroom. They were all packing and getting ready, and making as much noise as they possibly could doing so. Still half asleep, I lifted my head and took a gander around the room. I seemed to be the only one still in bed, and it looked as if everyone else was leaving in one huge exodus. Its always a bad experience to get up early, and get ready to leave from a dorm room. I thank God for night trains because I don't have to get up with the crazy crowd of individuals, stressing and hurrying to catch their train. I waited till the carvival was over, and then got up and readied myself for breakfast. As I enjoyed the wonderful feast which this hostel provided, I wondered what I should do today. I had until 4pm to hang around Lisbon before my train would leave from the station, and factured in that it might take me about an hour to actually get to me train. So leaving at around 3pm would be just fine.

After breakfast, I did some blogging and finished putting up my pictures. I went out walking around the main square, avoiding the hoards of people trying to sell me drugs. I've had more people try to sell me drugs in the two days I've been in Lisbon than ever in all my life. I sat on a bench in the square for 15 minutes and had 4 different people aproach me with weed and cocaine. When the 4th guy walked up to me and pulled out his stash, I lost my patience, looked up at him and said "look buddy, I already told 3 of your friends no. Get the hell outta here!" No one else approached me after that. I came back to the hostel, and watched Uncle Buck on an American movie channel, and then went off walking again in the other direction.

This side of town, I've always liked a little better. It's much more of the picturesque Portugal, with the pretty houses and neighborhoods, white gazebos wrapped in blooming vines, and gorgeous views of the ocean. I wandered aroud the cliffside cafes and leaned over a railing with a view of tugboats in the harbor and the big famous bridge in the distance. I thought about what little time I have left here before I'll have to get going back home; back to reality. I don't really want to end this trip. I still feel like there's so much to learn and see, which I won't have time for. Calls like yesterday make me miss a lot of things about home, though. I miss my family, and friends I left in California. I miss the Pacific Ocean and sitting out on the deck of the beach house watching the stars. I've seen those same stars from the other side of the world, and I wonder how that will change my perception when I see them in a couple weeks. I looked around now at where I was now, and felt proud of how far I'd come, not even just as a traveler, but as a person; as a man. I gained some insite into what kind of person I am. I've seen my relationships with people expand from across the globe. I still don't have a lot of answers to many of my questions, and I wish I had more time to figure them out. This trip has so far exceeded my expectations. I knew it would be an adventure, I didn't know to what extent.

I wandered back to the hostel just in time to check out and put together my things. I made the long hike to the trainstation, carrying the load of my backpack which seems to have gotten heavier since I last lifted it. I walked into the station and found my train there on platform #2. I was early, as I like to be when catching a train, and carried my things into my assigned car. I had an assigned seat as well, but I couldn't figure out where the seat number was located on the ticket which was written in Portugese. I decided I'd just find an open seat somewhere and sit down, then if someone wanted to sit there I'd move. I found an open compartment, and chose a seat next to the window and waited for the train to begin moving. Shortly after I'd sat down, an elderly couple came in and sat across from me. They seemed confused as to the arrangement of seat numbers as well, but I offered up my seat, and then motioned for me to sit down. They spoke portugese, but also some kind of Italian. I couldn't understand any of it though. We tried to communicate to eachother using a mixture of Spanish, English, Italian, and sign language. Throughout one of those languages we were bound to understand something. With some difficulty, I told them a little about my journey, and they told me that they were originally born in Portugal, but live now in Florence, Italy. On the cover sleeve of my ticket was a map of Europe, and so I routed out my course on the map with my pen. The train began moving, and the ticket taker eventually came by to collect. I handed him my ticket and he told me I was in the wrong seat. He made me move to the compartment next door, which I was actually ok with because it was empty and I could stretch out and perhaps get some sleep. I layed sprawled out on the seats, and slept for about an hour before we stopped at the magical stop which flooded my compartment with people. Everyone seated my my compartment were guys around their early 30s it seemed. That might have made the trip a lot of fun to talk and get to know them, but half of them were already tipsy, bringing onboard their own large stash of beer, and the other half were just as loud and obnoxious sober, as the rest of them were drunk. As I sat there staring out the window, the rest of my cabin liqured themselves into a stuper. One man across from me began trying to communicate with me. If he looked like anyone it was George Clooney. He had the same haircut and bone structure, but with at least 5 times the vanity. You could tell by proud, half sagging smile that he thought very highly of himself. He beconed my attention and mumbled something which would be cohearent even if I could understand the language. "He wants to buy you a drink," the one who could speak english said. "Sure, why not?" I wasn't going to turn down a free beer, especially in this situation. A little alcohol might help me relax enough to get some sleep tonight. I walked, while the other half of us stumbled to the onboard bar, and he bought us two beers. It was really cheap quality beer, but I didn't really care. throughout the night, the grou of them actually bought me 2 beers, and then I just layed low in the corner so that I wouldn't have to explain to them why I didn't want another one and be "jolly" like them.

Periodically throughout the night, the one who spoke english would burst out singing whatever was playing on his headphones. At one point, I kicked him and made a shushing motion with my hand. He looked at me with drunked distain and then preceded to sing even louder. It was like riding a 14 hour trainride with 6 four year olds. I didn't get any sleep

Lisboa 5/17/08

2008-05-18T18:20:00.001-07:00

I woke up in the morning, and walked over to where breakfast was being served. Breakfast in this hostel is above and beyond any other hostels or even most of the hotels I've encountered. They serve actual quality cereals ( not just corn flakes and oats), fresh juice, ham, cheese, and several different types of bread and pastries. The even better part about breakfast at this hostel is that when the meal hour is over, the food doesn't get put away, or thrown away. The left overs get wrapped up and set aside for people to pick at throughout the day. This gives me the opportunity to have my free breakfast, and then leftover bread and pastries for lunch, killing two birds with one stone.

After I'd finished breakfast, I sat down on the couch with my laptop to catch up on blogs. Peter and Kyle showed up a couple minutes later, still shaking off the final drinks from the pub last night. They sat down to breakfast and noticed me sitting over in the corner. After enjoying a quality meal, they sat down next to me, and we spent the next couple of hours exchanging funny youtube videos. We finally ended up watching a full comedy segment of a comedian (who's name I can't remember) who was by far the most offensive person I'd ever heard in all my life. He was funny, there's no doubt, but utterly offensive. His whole crowd (these were people who paid to see this guy specifically) actually fell silent during several occasions because of the things he had to say. I wouldn't recommend him if you're just looking for a good laugh, but in terms of pushing the limits of comedy, I've seen no one to match him.

When the show was over, I took a shower, and Kyle and Peter checked out of the hostel. They'd reserved a room at a different hostel for tonight, probably thinking there wouldn't be any room here on a saturday night, but when it turned out there was, it was too late to cancel the reservation. The good news was that they'd still be in town for a while, but of course, they wouldn't be at this hostel anymore. After saying goodbye, I figured I'd better get down to the train station today and figure out my exit strategy out of here. I wasn't sure how hard it was going to be to find a train going from here to San Sebastian. I figured, it's not exactly a main city in Spain, at least in terms of train routes, so I may have to figure out a route all the way through Madrid and then up to San Sebastian.

I began walking the long walk back to the train station. I hadn't realized just how far away from it I'd walked to find my hostel, when I'd originally come in from Madrid. It took quite a while, but I finally made it, and looked for where I might find information for international travels. One of the workers pointed me to a small room across the other end of one of the terminals, and so I headed in that direction to check it out. It was certainly the right spot. I noticed some form of the word "International" over one of the desks, and a cue of people waiting up front. I got in line and it began moving fairly quickly, and just as it got to the little old man directly in front of me, it stopped. This old man took forever! The two of them jabbered on and on for hours, it seemed, neither one of them apparently able to resolve the conflict. They each also moved maddeningly slow, which was positively frustrating. I was the last one in line, so after about half an hour of this, I finally just sat down at a bench nearby. I waited there for several more minutes, debating whether or not I should go and just come back later, but I was next in line, so it was hard to give that up after having waited here this long already. Even the old man looked flustered, and checked his watch often, and wiped his forehead. Finally, the issue was resolved and it was my turn at bat. I stepped up, and said "I need a ticket to San Sebastian for tomorrow." Immediately, the man at the desk went to work on his computer, and his old question was, "First, or second class?" "Second class," I told him, and he printed me out a ticket. "What?" I examined the ticket. It was direct from here to San Sebastian. The only train which left tomorrow, and it was a night train just like I wanted. It was all perfect, and It was so simple I was stunned. I didn't know traveling through countries could be as easy as all that. Most of my encounters with transportation on this trip have been hellish and complicated. I just naturally expected that's just how things work. I never imagined I could just say what I needed and get it. I had to check the ticket over a second and third time before it finally clicked it my mind that it was right. "Oh," I said baffled, "ok, well I guess that's it then." I then thanked him and walked away.

My whole ticket ordeal had worked out a lot quicker than I expected, so I found myself with extra time. I walked a different route back to the hostel, and explored some more regions I didn't get to yesterday. The city was having some kind of bicycle race, and particular roads were sectioned off to make the track. I stood with a crowd of people at one turn in the road and watched as the bikers came hauling past. I walked through the homes and backstreets, following the race track back to where it neared the hostel. I sat for a while more in the hostel catching up on blogs and loading pictures.

Later in the evening, my sister called me from back home. She and my whole family were sitting together, hiding on a cliff across some California beach, watching through binoculars as my cousin Abie was being proposed to by her boyfriend, Aaron. I heard the whole clan in the background excitedly clamoring, shushing, and laughing as they watched intently waiting for the moment to happen. I was bummed that I had to miss this monumental, and undoubtedly fun occasion, but I was glad I at least got to be there via telephone. When they called me, they assumed it would only be a couple minutes, but apparently Aaron took his sweet time doing it (I can hassle him because he's family now), so they had to call me back several minutes later. When they did call me back, it was just in time as Aaron got down on his knee and proposed. I made sure to have the whole moment fed to me in a play-by-play manner, although my sister and mother are not evidently as gifted in creative imagery, so I had to ask a whole lot of questions and fill in the gaps for myself. After the fact, I got to talk to Abie and Aaron, and congratulate them on their engagement. It was nice to have a chance to talk to Aaron, since I'd never actually met him before. He'd only just been dating Abie (I believe) since I've been away, and with such a short dating period I was astounded when the whole family accepted this news of proposal with such open arms.

I won't go too far into the interworkings of my family, because that would fill a whole other book in itself, perhaps several. However, believe me when I tell you that my family does not take relationships, and new entering members, lightly. We're a family deeply rooted in tradition, even to the point of being almost bureaucratic. Each new member must be tested and tried before even being allowed to seriously court a member of our family. However, this guy Aaron somehow bypassed all that. No, one's ever, in all the history of my family, ever bypassed the rigorous tests and judgements before being consented to propose. Although, I've talked to a lot of my family who all think he's absolutely wonderful. It's all a little strange to me, how he managed to escape all that, or at least delay it. He must really be an amazing guy to win over my entire family so quickly, It's rare that someone gains so much favor in my family after so little a time. It usually takes us a while of questioning before we decide it's ok to marry one of us. The little bit I got to talk to him, however, I liked him a lot too. He seemed confident, and passionate which is something I respond to. He also seemed like he had a sense of humor about him, which is wonderful for Abie because she's such a happy, fun-loving person. I truly wish the best for them. Although I still want to meet him, and know him a little better, I love my family very much, and will love the new members just the same. Welcome to the family Aaron.

After hanging up the phone, I decided to go out for a drink. I headed towards the pub Kyle, Peter and I went to last night, hoping I might run into them again, but I saw a couple other bars on the way and thought I might try something new (and a little more Portuguese).

I walked into a bar on a street around the corner. There were a couple of bouncers standing outside the front entrance. They were older than I was expecting; a little more worn in. I tipped my hat as I passed them on the way in, and none of them even moved. I got to the bottom of the stairs, and immediately wanted to leave. This was the sorriest excuse for a club I'd ever seen. It was a small room, with a tiny dance floor and two worn out old couples dancing to 90s hits while the colored disco ball spun polka dots all over the room. One man lay half dead in the corner, while another laid next to him not moving at all. Flies buzzed around the bar, and the floor still stank of last night's vomit. I strolled up to the bar, because now that everyone was looking at me, I couldn't just turn around a leave. So I played it off like I meant to walk in here, as if this were a crazy hip new club, and not an old retired crazy club for people with hip replacements. I bobbed my head to a song which was still not all that cool when I was 4, and sat down at the bar. Literally as soon as my butt hit the chair, I was approached by a 50-something wearing a low cut, short skirt dress, sweeping and swaying as she made eyes at me from across the room. She sat down on the seat beside me, and turned her chair so that she straddled mine between her leathery, overtanned legs. "Hi," she said in a low-toned voice, which almost sounded quite mannish, and I had to look her over real quick to make sure she wasn't; I immediately regretted that decision. "Hey," I said back, and then turned my body forward. I called the bartender over, and ordered a very large drink of the first thing I saw on tap. I avoided eye contact, but still she persisted. She caressed my leg with hers, and then made lip gestures to catch my attention. I looked over my shoulder, and she opened her mouth and slowly dragged her cracked tongue over her top lip. Her saliva made strings like a harp each time she mouthed a sexy gesture, and her eyes held large bags, which she tried to cover with makeup, but the excess makeup now dripped in globs down her face. Without a word, I slowly turned my head back forward, and drew my body inward. My beer came, and I took a king sized gulp. "Nice beard," she tried again, and made a hand gesture mimicking a beard. "Thank you," I looked for the bar tender. "Could I pay for this now?" I handed over the bill in exact change, and grabbed my beer. "It was nice to meet you," I told her as I untangled myself from her legs, and hurried out the door. On the way out, the bouncers stopped me, and wouldn't let me leave with my beer in my hand. I looked back at the door, and the horror which awaited me inside, and then I turned back to the bouncer. "Is there any way I could just drink it right here?" The bouncer shook his head, and running to save me came another bartender out of the doorway carrying a plastic cup I could take with me. He poured the beer into the cup, and I took it, thanked him sincerely, and then raised it to the bouncer as I passed by.

I went right from there, over to the pub where I knew it was safe. I sat down on a bar stool, and listened to some live Irish music as I drank my beer. A nice half-portugese couple pulled up the two seats on my right, and we all got talking. They were both living in San Francisco finishing up law school there, but were here visiting her family for a couple days. They told me of a couple bars on the opposite end of my hostel which play Fado music at night. Fado is the traditional Portuguese style of music, and they told me that if you want the true Portuguese experience, then you have to go to a Fado bar. They borrowed a map from the bartender, and showed me the area where they were all playing, but they warned me that they usually close pretty early, so they didn't know how much longer they'd be open. I thanked them for the advice, and then hurried over to that area as fast as I could. Unfortunately by the time I got there, all the places were just closing up. I walked around that neighborhood for a little bit hoping to find something still going, but then gave up and headed back to the hostel. I wished I would have known about that earlier, but I guess that's something I'll have to experience another time.

Tomorrow my train to San Sebastian leaves at 4:00pm and doesn't get in until 6:30 the next morning. It'll be a long trip, but I'm ready to get moving again.
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Lisbon, Portugal 5/16/08

2008-05-17T11:35:00.000-07:00

I slept very little throughout the long, and painful trainride to Lisbon. When I finally arrived, I stopped to figure out where I was going. there wasn't an information booth that I could see, or anything where I could get a map, so I wandered around aimlessly just looking to see what was here that I could use to figure out where to go next. An old man approached me, offering me a room for 20 euro a night and told me he'd drive me to his place. He handed me a printed card with a small map of the city on the back. The old man and the place where he wanted me to stay was a little scetchier than what I figured it was worth, but I kept the card with the map on the back. Now that I had a map, I could figure out where I was in relation to the city center. I decided that if I journeyed into city center, I was sure I could find a hostel somewhere to stay in. I with my knowlege of where I was in relation to where I wanted to go, I pulled out my compass and found a heading.

I walked on through old Portugese streets, and curving allyways. Lisbon is built on rolling hills, similar to San Francisco, so it makes walking even short distances a very tiring ordeal. I was looking for something labeled "Hostel" or "bed and breakfast", or anything similar, but the more I walked, the more I decided that wasn't going to happen. I caved in and finally pulled up Hostelworld.com on my phone. I found a hostel which I figured (by the discription) must be very near to where I was. I wasn't sure where the street was that I was heading to, it wasn't on my map, but at least I had an address now to go off of. I asked several people on the street if they knew where the place was that I was looking for, and they pointed me all over the place. I finally found it about an hour later, only about 2 blocks from where I'd gotten lost. The hostel was called "Smile", and it seemed like a nice place to stay for a coule days in Lisbon. The "Free internet Access" on the discription caught my eye in particular.

I rang the door bell on the huge old wooden doors, and the front desk buzzed me in. I climbed up 3 more flights of stairs looking for the reception, and when I found it, the owner was there waiting for me. She was an intreaging woman, with very short brown hair and very defining makeup. She stood at the top of the stairs with striking posture, like a dancer or a governess, gazing down at me with a plastered on smile. The smile was what stood out most to me. It was slightly off, feigning sincerity, or sincere but overexaggerated; sort of the way an alien from outerspace might mimic a smile. She beconed me to come in, and checked me in to the hostel with the same over the top excitement you might expect from a primadonna. Above her at the front desk was a big blue sign with the word "Smile" in large letters. Directly underneath was a smiley face like one that a child would fingerpaint, and below that, the woman looked up with the exact same smile to match the one on the wall. She was very nice, though; I couldn't complain about the service. I arrived at a little after 10, and breakfast was laid out in the dinning area. Technically, you're not supposed to have breakfast in a hostel unless you've stayed there that night, but she invited me to sit down and help myself to anything on the table, even though I hadn't been there the night before. However, I still walk on edge with this woman lurking in the shadows. She's always around, and will suddenly show up right behind you. She won't allow anyone to lift a finger. I tried to wash my dishes in the sink after I'd used them at breakfast, and she came out of nowhere behind me yelling at me to put them down. It was as if I'd taken her child from her. She grabbed the dishes from me, and her voice came back to a cooing tone. She smiled again that smile which I'm sure she though was comforting, and faked a laugh under her breath. "No," she said "I'll do that, thank you." I agreed, and backed away slowely. She also changes the sheets like 3 times a day, and tucks the covers in so tightly that I have to struggle them free before entering them. She keeps the hostel very neat and tidy, like you'd imagine a 5 star hotel, but not a 20 euro hostel. It's nice, but it worries me to touch anything, that I might dirty it and then God knows what would happen. This "smile" hostel does have a bit of a Deliverance vibe to it. I wouldn't be suprised if maybe some of these guests "checked out" sometime before they meant to. For the time being however, my stay here has been wonderful. If I don't end up in tiny pieces in the freezer by the end of my stay, then I'd say this is quite a steal.

I took a nap right after breakfast before going out exploring, because I was exhausted from my 11 hour trainride, and now that I had a nice comfortable bed to sleep in, I made good use of it. Really the rest of the day was marked by periods of walking around the city, and then back to the hostel for little naps before going out again. There wasn't a lot in particular that I really wanted to see in Lisbon, just the fact of going to Portugal. I did do some exploring, and a whole lot of walking. I saw some of the major sights, and walked through the major markets and streets. However the city of Lisbon is probably not the most exciting of cities in Portugal, and I don't have time to get down anywhere else. The lounge of this hostel is a lot of fun to just hang out in though, and is sort of my favorite place here. It's inside a really old Portugese building where some of the ancient walls still show through. It has satallite TV (with some American channels), a PS2 video game console, and refrigerator full of food.

I was trying to work the TV, just changing the channel, and I couldn't figure out what I was doing. I was drowning in remote controls, and pressing every button only to become more and more lost in TV controls. I looked around to see two guys my age playing a football (soccer) game on the PS2. "Do any of you have any idea what I did?" I asked them, and then laughed and just told me to leave it. I sat over on the couch and watched their football match unfold. They had no idea what they were doing either. The game was designed so intricately, that there were a million different buttons to do a million different actions, and they sat there trying to make sense of it all. When we finally got some grasp of what button controls what, we all played a tournament against eachother, and got talking. Peter was from the eastern coast of Canada, and Kyle was from just outside of Boston. the two of them had been traveling around Europe and came in on the same train that I had from Madrid, but just the next car over. I remembered I had seen them during one occasion when I got up to find the bathroom, and wandered into their car. We got talking about things to see here in Lisbon, and they said the Castle was definately something worth stopping at. After our intense match, I told them I was going to go out and find the Castle, but we all planned to head out and find a bar or club later.

It wasn't hard to find the Castle. It's at the very top of the tallest hill, and all you have to do it just keep walking up. However, it is kind of a climb to the top, but I was used to walking up hills by this point in my journey. The Castle was certainly something to go see, as they said. It was beautiful, and still captured the essence of a medieval castle. I hadn't seen a really good Castle since Salzburg. From the towers and walls, you could catch an absolutely breathtaking view of the city. I especially loved the courtyards, where you could walk around the gardens and sit down on old medieval benches and ruins while looking out onto the city below.

Later that night I met up with Kyle and Peter, and we went out looking for some sort of nightife in the city. We'd been told that Lisbon's night life was actually quite good, and so we were aching to get out and find a good club or bar to hang out in. The woman who runs the hostel appeared behind us, and pointed out on the map, the area where all the clubs might be. We all agreed that the way that woman can just show up and disappear was the creepiest thing ever, and were wary of her directions, fearing it might be a way to lure us to our untimely demise. However, as we walked we found that her directions weren't plots to destroy us, just bad directions. We walked forever and found nothing but small cafeterias and clusteres of high school kids. We figured maybe she just decided that we were all kids, and pointed us to where the kids hang out, disregarding the fact that we were at least 5 years older than anyone here. In a group huddle, we finally motioned to ditch the crazy woman's directions and go our own route to finding some kind of nightlife among people our own age. As we walked, we talked about our travels and where our favorite places had been. We shared clubbing stories, although Kyle did most of the talking in that area. Peter and I had a story or two by now, but nothing held a candle to Kyle's clubbing escapades. Kyle was someone most guys my age crave to be like. He was well spoken, attractive and could walk into a room, seek out the prettiest girl, and seduce her from across the hall. He talked of writing a book on how to do things with a woman in public and not get caught. Peter had been traveling with Kyle for some time now, and the two of them told me some stories, and all I could do was shake my head and say "wow."

We walked on, through dark and dirty backstreets. I was the self appointed navigator of the group, being the only one with a map, and periodically pulling out my compass to check if we were headed in the right direction. I asked Kyle a lot of questions regarding his thoughts on having so much casual sex, and as respectfully as I could, how his morals fit into the whole thing. He told me that he views women very highly. He'd grown up with a very strong female influence, and just really enjoys their company. he explained that he keeps his moral fiber by being entirely upfront and honest with a woman as soon as he meets her. "I don't want a relationship, just a good time" he'd say to each woman before anything happens. Most of the time, he said, they're completely ok with that, and if their not then then nothing happens and he moves on. "I also," he explained "would never pay for sex, and I won't even bother with club rats and huge sluts because that's just absolutely meaningless." He looked at me with direction, and I couldn't see his sincerity when he talked about morals. Admitantly, I've always felt a little threatened by men who sleep with women, and then move on like it's nothing. The reason not so much being that I've felt morally apposed to it, but that I wished my own morals would grant me that privilage. I fall attached to women easily, and I feel a strong obligation to follow anything physical with loyalty and love. I too, very much enjoy a woman's company, and I'm empowered when I sense a woman's interest. However the thought of anything longterm scares me, because I'm paranoid in my inability to maintain any kind of lasting relationship. I've tried the longterm route, and failed miserably several times. I can't hold a woman's interest, or I find the wrong woman, or I try too hard to make things work. Whatever the reason, my relationships fall apart as soon as the "honeymoon period" is over. I desperately want the ability to disconnect my heart from the action. I want to be able to enjoy a woman, and never think of her again. I've tried and failed at that several times as well, because I just can't allow myself to detatch. Along with that are the values I've grown up with which limit me from indulging where indulgence can be necissary to detach ones self from the weight of it. If I start something, I know I can't fully finish it, or I compromise something I feel is keeping me connected with God and family. I often feel trapped in that middle ground where I can't allow myself to take a full step in either direction, for fear of compromising my image and regretting it later, and fear of holding myself back from something amazing for what may be no reason at all. Beacuse of this, I suppose those who indulge and keep themselves to indulge again, make me feel like less of a man. I often hide that behind a front of chivalry, as if I don't like what they do because it's disrespectful to women. I do have a strong sense of chivalry, but that's probably not why, or all the reason why that issue bothers me. I have nothing to say when the woman consents willingly. However, these feelings of anger and betrayal are still previllant.

I mentioned a tiny bit of that to Kyle, and he expressed his strong respect for those who abstain. He said that having casual sex doesn't make you any more of a man, it's keeping some kind of morality and respect whether you're having sex or not. He told me, he's a believer in free love. If he could have been born in the 60s he would have been. What's valuable to him is that respect and honor is given in any circumstance where "free love" exists. If what is valuable to me is maintaining a promise to keep myself pure, then that's just as respectable.

We finally settled in an Irish Pub which was the best, most friendly bar we could find and each bought a round of beers. We talked some more about our particular stories and things which will not be told here. One thing to remember is that what is said with a pint of beer in their hand is not to be repeated outside the bar. When we finally decided we didn't want to make the woman who runs the hostel get up too late to open the door for us, we headed back. We said goodnight, and I slept soundly.

Leaving Madrid 5/15/08

2008-05-16T11:52:00.000-07:00

My alarm didn't go off, or failed to wake me or something which caused me to sleep in till almost 11 this morning. I got up and walked out the door of the guest room to take a shower, and discovered one of the Wallace's little boys staring up at me with wide eyes. "who are you!?" he inquired, stunned to see a large bed-headed man whom he'd never seen before, stumble out of a room in his house. "I'm Tyler," I introduced myself as non-threateningly as I could. He looked up at me with distrust and slight perplexity in his eyes, and ran down the stairs. Richard's wife, Riekje met me halfway down to the bathroom as she held one little girl in her arms, and hearded another two boys down to the kitchen. There were four kids all together (I believe), 3 boys and a girl all seemingly under the age of 10. The boys chased eachother up and down the hallways, and the little girl clung tightly to her mother; most likely shy because of the strange man standing in front of her. I introduced myself to Riekje, and she welcomed me and asked if I would like some breakfast. I told her I'd just be content with a shower at the moment, but thanked her for the offer.

When I'd finished getting ready for the day, I talked a little bit with Richard about how the day was going to go. He and his family had some things planned which they had to do today, so unfortunately they had little more time to get to know me than just to see me off to the local train station. I told him I understood, and tried to be as helpful as I could be, respecting their previous plans. I'd already bought my train reservation to Lisbon for tonight at 10:45pm, so we decided it'd be best for them to take me with them in the car when they leave in just few minutes, drop me off at the local station, then I take the local train to the main train station. I'd check in my bags at a locker like I did yesterday, and then I'd have the rest of the day to walk around the city before getting back to the main train station to catch my train out.

So as planned, we all loaded up into the car, which was a bit of a tight squeeze with my backpack, all of us, and everything they were taking with them. We talked a little bit on the way over. They asked me about my journey, and a little about my life back home. Then when we arrived to the station they let me out and we said goodbye. They said they were sorry that they had to just run off like this, but I told them I totally understood and we agreed that next time I'd give them a little more notice, and we'd be able to plan a little batter around things. It was so wonderful of the Wallace's though, to allow me to stay with them even just the one night with virtually no notice ahead of time.

I walked over to the station, and caught the same train into town that I arrived on going the opposite direction. The ride coming up here was fairly long, and for some reason seemed even longer coming back. When I finally got to the station, I found the luggage lockers and checked my backack in for the day. I decided, since I'd walked all up and down the east side of down yesterday, that I'd start over on the west side of town today. I looked through the train station and found the metro to take it to the main Plaza in the center. As the escalator carried me deep down underground I began to see that this was no ordinary metro system. Along with having the most complex metro system I've ever come across, it also has by far the most impressive stations. This particular one, went at least 4 stories underground with moving sidewalks, escelators, and glass elevators going every which way. The modern design of chrome and steel interlaced with neon and glass made the whole area look like something out of a scifi movie. on one end of a giant hall, going up all 4 stories, was an enormous wall of blue light running through a steel frame, making a very control console-type of effect like the lines of code in The Matrix. I'd forgotten for a moment that I was in a metro station, and was busy running up and down the structure admiring the architecture. It look me a while to find where I was going on the map of so many colored lines, it looked like one giant tangled plate of colored spagetti. When I finally found where i was going, the metro train had just pulled up. I took it to the middle of Del Sol Plaza, and with my compass, found my heading west. I walked through the city past the Opera house and Madrid Palace. It was another holliday in Spain today, so everyone was all dressed up in traditional dress and out on the streets dancing to accordians and barrel organs being played in corners. It seems, for some reason that the whole month of May is just one holliday after the next in Europe. Don't people ever have to work this month? I don't understand how people here make a living when they only work 5 hours a day, and then close up for the majority of a month. Why can't we do that in the States? It was fun to walk by and see half the city's population dressed like 1901, though. It was like I'd traveled back in time to see Madrid in its hay day.

I walked through the palace gardens, around mazes of hedges with the beautiful white palace in the backdrop. Street musicians were lined up on the walkways adding ambiance to the setting, while I made my way through to the large Cathedral at the foot of the Palace. It was certainly one of the better Cathedrals I've seen around here, although I'm spoiled having already seen some of the more ornate and intricate Cathedrals in the world. I quickly remenissed over the beautiful churches I'd seen on my trip thus far. I'd have to say that the Sagrada Familia is my favorite, however of course, St. Peter's basillica and St. Paul's Cathedral follow closely. Then there's the Church of the Nativity and The Holy Seplechre which follow sort of a different pattern of artistry, and belong in a whole seperate catagory. The churches in the middle east have a very different feel to them. San Marco Cathedral in Venice sort of attempted to imitate that feel, which is probably why most travelers in Europe are so impressed with it, and why I really wasn't. I'd seen the originals, and San Marco was dwarfed by comparision. I still wish I'd gotten a chance to walk into the Dome of the Rock, but what can you do? I'll get my chance one day.

I sat in the cool quiet of the church for a moment, and walked up to the altar to pray for my safe passage onward, and for my friends and family back home. The altar had a very familiar Cathedral smell, like aged wood and paint. It was the same smell which filled the halls of my Gradma Marji's old house when Amy and I used to play there as kids. There was a very old statue of a monk under a painting (I can't remember what it was of), and we were so afraid of it. It was dark and sullen looking. It's eyes were concave impressions, hidden under a cloak which draped onto the floor and made dark stone pools at its feet. In it'd hands it held a bible, wielding it like a sword and gazing upon it as if looking for something specific. At night when Amy and I would get up for a glass of water, we would run quickly by it, trying not to look at it for fear it might come alive and run after us. I was relieved when it was finally gone, but the smell of it always remained.

When I continued on, i walked down and back across the center. I made sure to take side streets avoiding areas I had already been. I bought some ice cream, and ended up back at the main road where all the museums were. there was another art museum listed on my map which looked interesting to me, so I headed over there to check it out. I walked around in there for several more hours, again staying until the museum closed. I walked through seemingly endless galleries of masterpieces and saw works by Rubens, Matisse, Derain, Monet, Renior, Modigliani, Van Gogh, and Toulouse-Lautrec. There were also several more paintings by Picasso, and Van Dyck which added to the ones I saw yesterday. I was star struck by the names on the plaques next to the art only a few inches from my face. I tried to look at them through the eyes of the particular artists, gathering what little knowledge I had of the life of each painter to piece together what they were feeling while creating these famous masterpieces. I looked closely at each brush stroke, and the mixture of colors creating shades of even new colors on the canvas. The paint lay in thick, caked-on globs in Van Gogh's art which all ran together to form a burry image which appeared sharper the further back you stood. In Derain's and some works by Matisse, tiny splotches and dots added texture to a landscape, making it almost appear in constant motion as I stood and watched it. I felt accomplished, knowing I'd witnessed something few get the chance to, and left feeling filled.

I sat at a park across the road for a bit, and then made my way into Plaza Mayor where I hundreds of people gathered for some kind of event which was to take place later that night. A stage was being built in the center of the Plaza, with seats layed out for special guests to sit and enjoy the show. I hung around the Plaza for a while, watching the workers set up for the performance and painters on the walkways creating amazing works using spray paint. It was getting close to the time I had to leave to catch my train, but I was hoping the stage would be set and readied so I might be able to catch, at least the first part of this show in Plaza Mayor. However, time ticked on and there was still work to be done before the opening of the show. I was slightly dredding the 11 hour train ride I had ahead of me to Libon, Portugal, and especially because I had chosen to sit in a seat rather than sleep in a bed the whole way there. I saw an Irish Pub down a street nearby and figured it might be a good idea to have a drink to relax me before getting on the train. Maybe I'd be able to far right to sleep. I walked in, and immeadiately made friends with the bar tender when I ordered my drink, looked at my watch and said, "You think I could drink this in 3 minutes?" He laughed and said, "Is that a challenge?" I didn't try to chugg it down in 3 minutes, but I tried to hurry it up a little in order to give myself enough time to pick up my backpack and find my platform. Irish Pubs always feel like home to me. The people are so friendly there and everyone speaks english. I'd walked in, in the midst of a heated football game which was being broadcast on a huge screen right next to me, so the whole place was screaming and hollering at every play made on the field. When groups of Irishmen watch a football match, they're always entertaining to be around. A player missed the goal and the whole place was in an uproar. "Jesus!" one man shouted at the screen, "He's not Jesus, he's a very notty boy!" shouted another back, and the bar burst out in laughter. When I finished my drink, I checked my watch again and regretably had to leave. On my way out i got to see a bit of before-show rehearsal for the production in the Plaza, and then caught the metro back to the train station.

As I stood on the metro, I noticed a young British couple standing next to me. They were talking to eachother, casually getting to know the other one. I assesed from experience that this was the last leg of a first date which must have taken place earlier today. The girl was doing most of the talking, asking about his particular interests in books and movies. She tried to pursuade him to the type of humor she liked, and I could tell, standing there watching them that this guy seemed uninterested. She wasn't unattractive, but she wasn't all together beautiful either. She was short and stalky with character on her face. She had very much a British bone structure, and her eyes, nose, and chin all strived toward the center. She wore modest makeup, nothing flashy, with small dangling earrings and a smile which was warm and friendly. She looked into his eyes trying to read his thoughts, and her inability to do so showed up on her crinkled forhead and flushed cheeks. They traded conversation like goods in the market, and the girl gave far more than she was recieving. The guy made little response to her bouncing personality and shy humor, and answered in single word phrases. It was clear that both were a little unsure about the situation in front of them, the guy was quiet, possibly shy and didn't have the wherewithall to hide it behind pleasant conversation like she did. When the train reached his stop, there was the inevitable silence followed by akward glances. Both of them wanted to say something, but neither of them said anything except, "bye." The guy turned and walked off in a straight line, not looking back. The girl watched his back as he left, waiting for something which wasn't happening. When the doors closed, I watched the walls drop from behind her eyes and I could see every thought as clear as if it had been my own. In those next seconds, I saw a masterpiece more unique and more beautiful than anything I'd seen in any painting or sculpture; one which not even Van Gogh, or Picasso, Matisse, Michaelangelo, or any of the best of them could capture. It was the recounting of the day flashing through her mind, the things that worked and didn't. She praised herself for the witty comments, and scolded herself for the babbling, studdering, and things she wished she hadn't said or wished she had. She wondered if he was going to call. Maybe she'd done enough right to merit one more chance. What would she do if she hadn't? How long does she wait to find out? thoughts I had relayed in my own mind so many times before. I watched the stages fall across her eyes, and manifest themselves in her posture. First the regret, then congratulations, hope, anger, sorrow, and acceptance. She chewed on her nails and stared straight ahead at the door where he left from. When her stop had arrived, she took in a breath and walked with determination out onto the platform and disappeared from my sight.

When i got to the train station, I went searching for the luggage room and got lost trying to find it. When I finally did, I had misplaced my ticket to retreave my backpack. I explained myself to the man at the front counter, who was very helpful and understanding, and then he called his supervisor to see what they could do. I waited there nervously for a couple more minutes, and then had to list off some contents of my backpack and prove that it was mine. once I finally got my backpack and fiddle, I wondered if I'd make my train ontime. I hurried down the station, but didn't have much trouble finding the platform, so I ended up making my train with still time to spare.

I pulled out some of the groceries I'd bought before, and made myself a sandwhich. A good majority of the rest of the passengers in my train car were also backpackers, many of them from the US. They offered me some mustard for my sandwhich, and I shared with them my cheese. My whole train car began passing around and offering up their groceries, and together we all had a big feast right there on the train. kinship amongst fellow backpackers is amazing. We share eachothers hardships, rooms, and often times food. We all know what it's like to be in difficult situations, tired, hungry, and lost (we all have stories) so we try to help eachother out whenever possible. When the ticket taker came by, he looked at my Eurail pass, and since this was a night train (going throughout the night), he made me write in both today and tomorrow's spots which now has filled up my pass. I was bummed because no other ticket taker made me do that before, and I was really hoping to be able to use it on at least one more trip. So now I have to go buy my train tickets like a normal person.

I tried to find a comfortable position in my seat, and went through a bunch, but finally just settled on one which was enough to allow me to get, at least a little sleep. this train will go for 11 hours, so we'll see how much of that I can actually sleep through.

Madrid 5/14/08

2008-05-15T11:03:00.001-07:00

I woke up in the morning early enough to get over to the station to catch my train. Liz and Xavi told me of an easier way to get the main station than the way I'd originally planned on, so I was able to sleep an extra half hour and still be waiting at the platform with plenty of time to spare. After I took a shower and got ready, I said goodbye to Liz and Xavi, and headed out. I found the metro station they told me to look for, and got off at all the right stops, relying on some direction from people passing on the street and my compass, once I got into the general vicinity.

The main train station in Barcelona was built like an airport, and had people checking luggage, sitting in terminals, and a bunch of bureaucratic crap you're not supposed to have to do in a train station. The whole thing really just made the whole situation more complicated. I had to buy a special reservation to sit in a particular seat which I had to book at the ticket office, then get a boarding pass before they would let me through security. The greatest thing about train stations has always been that you just find where your train is and hop on. They're not supposed to be turned into little wannabe airports.

When I finally did get down to the platforms (which were just normal platforms without all the fancy makeup upstairs) and onto the train, I found my seat, and stored my carry-ons neatly in the overhead compartment. A stewardess walked down the aisle handing out headphones for the "in-rail" movie, and my seat had all the gadgets of an airline cockpit. At least it was comfortable here on this airline train, although I kinda wished this sort of treatment was saved for a longer train ride. This whole trip was only going to take a little over 3 hours. Where was this on my 12 or 16 hour trip? I know I've got a long trip ahead of me going to Portugal. I'm probably going to end up on another dilapidated "retire me now" rusty excuse for a train.

The ride ended too fast. I slept through most of it, and the rest of the way I watched pieces of "Hairspray" in Spanish. The dreams created from the mixture were, I'm sure you can imagine, interesting. I got off the train, and talked to the Wallace's whom I was going to be spending this night with, and then leaving for Portugal tomorrow. They'd be out of town for most of the day, but they said they'd still be happy to accommodate me for the night. We decided that I could check in my luggage at a locker here at the train station, and then later that night when they were home, I'd catch the city train to their house out in the suburbs. So the first thing I did was store my luggage in a train station locker for the day, and then while I was here, I figured right now would be a good time to figure out how I was getting to Portugal tomorrow. I found the ticket counter, and took a number to wait in a line which was so long and frustrating that I don't even want to talk about it. Then when it was finally my turn to speak, I booked a reservation on a night train going to Lisbon tomorrow night at 10:45, ending up in Lisbon station at around 9 in the morning. They asked me if I wanted to book a seat for 6 euros, or a bed for 30 euros. I toiled over this for a moment, and then picked the cheaper one. I might regret that decision later, but depending on how nice the train is, I might actually be ok in a seat.

It was now around 1:30pm and I was free to explore the city for the rest of the day. I got myself a map from the tourist information window, and then set out to explore Madrid. I walked for a little bit through the streets, and around a few very beautiful squares. However most of my time I spent in art museums. Madrid has some of the most famous art museums in the world. I visited 2 of them, The Museo Reina Sofia and The Museo Del Prado, and that's pretty much where I spent most of the day. You could literally spend several days in each of those museums, especially The Del Prado which is enormous. All day I walked from room to room gazing at original works by Picasso, Rembrant, Rafael, Rubens, Van Dyck, and several others I can't remember the names of. In each room I came across so many famous works of art. Even though I couldn't remember the names of the artists or what they were called, I remembered seeing them in textbooks and on pages of art books, and t-shirts. It was awesome to think that here I was staring at the originals, seeing the brush strokes and imperfections on them. It was interesting to see the Picasso paintings especially. You can see that as time went on, his paintings just got weirder and weirder. That guy was amazing though, because he could paint the same picture on a piece of canvas the size of a saltine cracker, that he could on one the size of a whole wall, and they would look exactly the same.

I stayed in the Del Prado walking around every which way, looking at priceless works of art until the museum closed. I hadn't even realized what time it was until one of the attendants ushered me out, and I discovered that I was one of only like 5 other people still wandering the building. From there I went back to the train station, picked up my bags, and tried to figure out how to get to where the Wallace's lived. I wasn't used to this whole intricate transportation system that Madrid uses. There's a metro (like in most major cities), but there are 10 different lines (most cities have 3 or 4) going in all different directions. There's also a special city train that moves similar to the metro but goes out to the suburbs and surrounding areas, and there are at least 5 other lines of those. Then finally you have the intercity trains which are what I came here on. I thought, when Richard Wallace told me to take the train to his street, that he meant to take the metro, so I got a map of the metro system, and spent forever trying to find the street he was talking about. I got the ticket manager involved as well who was assured that I was entirely crazy. It wasn't anywhere on the metro map. I called Richard back, and he told me about the special city trains. So then I had another fun time trying to explain to that ticket office where I wanted to go, and which train I should take to get there. The ticket counters all have maps with them of the stops the train makes throughout its route. However, they refuse to give any of them out, so I can't figure out where I am, and which train to take to get off at the right stop. Finally, the woman at the desk wrote down on my ticket which train to take, and sent me off down the platform. Eventually I did make it where I was supposed to, and Richard came to pick me up. He showed me the guest room where I was to stay that night, and told me to help myself to what I needed. I thanked him, and he went off to bed. I filled up my water jug in the kitchen downstairs. I heard from Xavi that Madrid has the best tap water in Spain. After enjoying some quality tap, I too went upstairs and got to sleep.
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Treasure Hunting 5/13/08

2008-05-14T17:32:00.000-07:00

When morning came, I slept in until everyone had used the bathroom to get ready for school and work. I didn't want to make anyone late for anything because they were waiting on me to get out of the bathroom. Plus, I didn't have any kind of deadline to meet today or anything. After everyone had gotten themselves ready for the day, then I too got ready. I decided the first thing I should do is make use of the internet here, and upload some pictures. I got to doing this, however the internet was just unusually slow, so I figured I'd just do like I did in Hungary and leave the camera there to keep loading pictures till the battery runs out.

Xavi showed me some great places on the map to look for cool shops, and antique stores. Liz pointed out a museum she thought was pretty amazing, but she couldn't find it on my really crappy map. She gave me sort of a general area, and I told her I'd find it. Liz invited me to make myself a bowl of cereal and then headed off to work. Havi had pulled out his laptop, and seemed to be working from there, but I'm not sure because I didn't want to disturb him. Once I finished breakfast, I too headed out into the city.

Because of last night, I became overly paranoid about everything in my pockets when I got out onto the street. Every 5 seconds or so, I felt around inside them, and went over a quick checklist in my mind. I didn't stop to say hello to anyone, nor answer anyone calling to me on the street regardless of knowing very well that what happened the night before was not going to repeat itself out here in broad daylight. The worst you get in these crowded city streets in the day, are the sticky finger types. So I maintained to stay away from large crowds, and close quarters.

Throughout the day I went cruising through the shops. Barcelona has some amazing places to look through. Everything from All Natural jewelry shops to Sword and Gun replica stores. There's pretty much a whole back alley dedicated to Antique shops as well. There are so many little treasures lying around in a Barcelona Antique shop. One day I want to come back here with lots of money and a giant suitcase, and start a museum back home. I found old medieval swords and conquistador helmets, metals from basically every war in history, old music boxes, sewing machines, and telephones. There were stores with old clothes dating all the way back to like the 17th century, and furniture dating back even farther than that.

In each one I asked if they had that special compass I was looking for, and for hours every place I asked said they had no idea where to find something like that, and then passing by one store off the beaten path, I found it! It was the perfect size and shape that I was looking for. It looked old and warn, as if it's been used for decades, centuries even. I made sure it worked, and it did, perfectly. I looked at the price, and even that was just about what I was looking for, and I was even able to haggle it down a little more. I finally have a compass to tell me where I'm headed. I felt relieved, and like I'd completed some huge task set before me. I found another little shop and bought a cheap silver (not real silver) chain and hung the compass around my neck. The rest of the day I used my compass to figure out where I was going, and I felt a little less lost in a giant world.

Periodically throughout the day, I checked back at the apartment to see how far along the pictures were, but they were moving slower than Molasses. I also looked for that museum Liz told me about, but I couldn't seem to find it. I found some other museums, but I didn't go through them because I didn't want to pay admission if I wasn't really interested in Barcelona's Naval history, or patron Artist; and as far as archeological museums go, the really good ones are the Royal British Museum in London, the Cairo Museum in Egypt, and perhaps the Athens Museum in Greece. I didn't really feel Barcelona would much compete with any of those. However, I didn't really seem to need the big attractions. I had such a great time today just discovering places I'd never been, and even going back through some of the places I had, but hanging around a little longer and enjoying my time there differently.

That night, Liz told me about a local bar where she said all the backpackers go to hang out and unwind. It's called L'Ovella Negra (The Black Sheep). It's near the main road, but off through some backstreets and winding alleys. It took me a little while to find it, but I was so glad I did. It's really a cool place. It looks like an old Spanish bar, like one they might have had in the middle ages, but it has modern things too like a pool table, darts, pinball, and a smoking lounge. I bought a pint of San Miguel and relaxed at a big old wooden table.

After I'd finished my pint, I found my way back to the apartment ready for a good sleep.

In the morning I planned to catch a train to Madrid. The train I want arrives there at just after 12 noon. So tomorrow I'll be in Madrid.
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Crazy Barcelona Cont. 5/12/08

2008-05-14T10:47:00.001-07:00

I eventually struggled free, but thinking about it, even doing that, they're bound to end up with something. And then regardless of all that, he gave it back to me! I called Katherine and told her the story. She thought that maybe they thought that the big bulge in my pocket was a wallet, and when they finally got it they realized what it actually was. Getting a wallet means they might get cash, or credit cards, or something they can use right away. However my iPod was something they couldn't use, and since I hadn't been a huge dick to them (actually stopping to try to help them), maybe they figured they'd return it. It was still a little odd, but that made sense. Maybe that is what happened, but I may never know for sure.

I finally found the place where I was supposed to be, and put the key in the lock at the front gate. To my dismay, I had some trouble turning the key, but jiggling it around a bit, I eventually got the door open. I walked upstairs trying to find my room, noticing that in the dark, the place looked a lot different than I remembered. I got to where I thought the front door to the apartment was, and realized that sign which now read "Principal" in large bold letters wasn't there before. This key also didn't fit in the lock, no matter how hard I tried. Suddenly all at once it hit me, I'm in the wrong apartment building, trying to get into someone's apartment. I quickly rushed down the stairs and tried the next door over, in which the key fit a lot better. I finally got to the right apartment, and found my room. I wondered if the key I was given, just worked for both locks, or if I'd somehow just inadvertently picked the lock on the apartment building next door. Either way, I figured I'd just keep quiet about it. (That is, until I tell everyone in the world in this public blog.)
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Crazy Barcelona 5/12/08

2008-05-14T10:38:00.000-07:00

I got up in the morning and readied myself for check out at 11. I was supposed to switch over from here to Liz's today, but I still wasn't sure exactly how to do that. Until this point, Liz and I had been communicating through email, and hadn't exchanged numbers or even confirmed where in the city she lived. I packed up, and walked downstairs to the lobby to check out. Then I sat outside the hotel and scrolled through my phone until I found an earlier forwarded email with her phone number on it. I called it, and was so happy to hear Liz pick up on the other end. I asked her how I could get to her place from where I was, and she told me to follow the street I was on, back to Rambla Street and wait for her at the corner between the KFC and McDonalds. I followed her directions and waited for her to come find me. I began to wonder how she was going to know it was me, but I suppose the huge backpack would add some clue.

As I sat there, leaned up against the wall of McDonalds, I watched the people go by on the street. There were so many different types of people, from everywhere in the world, it seemed. They spoke all different languages, although mostly Spanish, but only every so often did I hear anything I could understand. It all just sounded like noises when I really stepped back to listen. The only way I could really tell what people were talking about was by watching their body language and reactions to hearing others. It was really quite fascinating when I began to separate the words spoken from the action taken. If the world was muted for a moment, I probably never would have noticed that I was in a whole other country. Soon enough, however, I caught a few words in English through the cacophony. "Hey, Tyler?" I looked up from the brim of my hat, and saw a woman bearing 2 and a half kids, smiling back at me. "Yea, Liz?" I asked back, and we shook hands. She introduced me to her 2 kids Marc (7) and Gemma (4), the one in The oven I didn't meet, but I was amazed that she had walked all the way here, watching two small children and carrying another at the same time. Although as suppose, as with everything, after some time you just get used to it.

We walked slowly back to her apartment, minding the children, and making conversation about the area. I told her, briefly what I had seen so far, and she told me some more things I could see. The Temple de la Sagrada Familia she talked especially highly of, and said it was a must-see on a trip to Barcelona. When we got to the house, she introduced me to her husband, Xavi and showed me the room I'd be sleeping in. Xavi cooked us lunch, and explained to us what a good Spanish meal consisted of. Xavi was trained as a chef here in Spain when he was 16, so he knew all about Spanish cuisine. He said that Spaniards eat mostly salads, fish and vegetables. They're actually not very fond of spicy foods, contrary to popular myth. They eat lots of Cod fish, scallops, red meat, and special assortments of vegetables. The lunch he made us, was of course, absolutely wonderful, and came in 3 parts, the appetizer, main course, and dessert; as all real Spanish meals do.

After lunch, I began to make my way over to the Temple de la Sagrada Familia, because Liz seemed so excited about it and I'd also heard from some of the guys in my hostel in Nice that it was definitely something to see. Liz told me of a way to take the metro right to it, but I kinda like to walk whenever I feel I can, so I walked. It was a long way, probably about the same distance from my hostel in Rome to the Sistine Chapel. I was also a little surprised that it was so out in the middle of nowhere; at least a 15 minute walk from any of the other sites in the city. You'd think they'd want to build it where people could come see it easily, and not where you have to trek out a ways to no place in particular, an hour away from where you were originally. However, as soon as I got there I knew it was well worth the trip.

Just seeing it from a distance is pretty spectacular, and for most huge cathedrals, the first impression of the outside is all there is. This Cathedral, however was the most intricately designed thing I'd ever seen in my life. From far back, it looks like a giant beautiful cathedral, then as you get a little closer, you start to see something else, and then closer and something else pops out. When you get right up close enough to see everything, you could spend several days just looking at the decorations on the front entrance. Everything, from the most massive towers, to the tiniest door latch is a work of art. Some decorations even have decorations on or within them. It's just over stimulating at times. This is just the outside of the front entrance I've been talking about, I hadn't even gone inside yet.

The architect for this building is the world renowned Spanish Architect, Gaudi. He's designed several other buildings and sculptures in Barcelona, as well as Madrid and France (I think). He began working on this building in the later part of the 19th century, and construction on it still isn't complete! Over 100 years, and they still estimate construction will take about 10 more years or so. Hearing that, you wonder "How could that be, with modern means of construction? Not to mention the hundreds of people still working there around the clock." But when you're looking at it, and walking through it, you totally understand. On some parts of the main tower, slivers of stone thinner than a sheet of paper were used to decorate the top. Throughout the main hall, Gaudi's design was to have the cathedral resemble nature, and all of God's creation. So the pillars are shaped like modernized-looking trees with tiny nooks, branches, and vines carved into them. At the top is a giant stone canopy all chiseled to perfection in blazing white stone with skylights where breaks in the leaves would be. Gaudi was also very fascinated with the way stone looks under a microscope, so the mineral-like colors, and designs make up the murals on the floors and windows of the Cathedral. If you look around carefully as you walk through several corridors, animals like lizards, turtles, and birds are also represented in statutes peeking out of pillars and towers.

The back side is made up of huge, intricate scenes of what must be hundreds of different bible stories carved into the 3 arches that make up the back entrance, and all the way up to the 12 towers representing the apostles and then the one main tower in the center representing Jesus Christ. To the right side, there's also a smaller tower representing the Virgin Mary, and then a square building next to it (I don't know who that one's for) with a roof like a fallen leaf. The more I stood there to look at it, the more dizzy and tired I got. I couldn't even think anymore, there was so much going on, and so many things to look at which were all so beautiful. My mind was just simply blown. I felt spent.

At the lower floor of the Cathedral was a museum dedicated to Gaudi, and the Cathedral. I walked through that for about another hour, and got to see a lot of the process that went in to building this structure, as well as the inspirations and sketches for the decorations. At one section of the museum, they had pictures of nature, and then next to them they had pictures of decorations or structures in the Cathedral that were inspired my them. It was so cool to see the amazing resemblance between the real nature, and the artistic architectural representation.

After forcing myself to exit the Cathedral, I walked back down closer to the city center, over by where the Arc de triumph stood. It was quieter there, and everything was spread out, it was a good place to rest my brain for a moment. I sat down on a bench, and stared at the Arch, and then walked down the long concrete road to that huge park at the other end. I'd learned that there was a zoo somewhere in the park. I figured it'd probably be closed by now, but I thought I might go have a look anyway. I walked down through some beautiful gardens which glistened in the setting sun. When the sun sets in Barcelona, the whole world takes on a sort of purple and gold shimmer. The sky is dotted with clouds, and rays of yellow light shoot out towards earth. The sun peaks out from behind a cloud and then sinks like a small child lost in a waterbed. Every time it hides itself, the blue sky appears in its stead. It was really piercing blue tonight, the color I love but can't describe in any other word than "piercing". Greens and blues are my favorite colors, and greens and blues were the predominant shades of that moment, in Barcelona.

I walked on, and found another park within the park, this one seemed a part of the zoo. There were life-sized statues of Elephants for children to climb on, and a huge green lake in the center where people rented row boats. At the far end, across the lake, I heard music. It was old swing, big band music near a gazebo full of people dancing. I stood nearby and watched the people dance, and wished I had someone here to dance with too. It was such a fun moment. They danced into the night, and were still dancing when I left them.

From there, I walked to the beach to find dinner. However, before getting there, I heard more music coming from an alleyway right along the shops and cafes. It wasn't swing music though, it was drums and horns like a huge parade, and I saw crowds of people stuffed between buildings, clamoring and screaming phrases in Spanish I couldn't understand. People carried huge banners, and threw confetti into the air. Colored lights were strung in several of these back alleys, and people drank and cheered. When I got down there, I saw that it was a parade, in fact, several parades down almost every side street. I had no idea what all the celebration was about, but I joined in from the sidelines, laughing and dancing to the music. Fireworks went off, and some carried sparklers. The kids waved flags, and everyone together sang songs in a single voice. The Parades marched through the streets, and at every intersection they stopped and the party commenced again. Each parade was dressed differently, and carried different colors with usually different flags. Some of the spectators were dressed up as well, wearing masks or costumes, and dressing in the respective colors, while drinking and hollering with the rest of them. I had so much fun, and it was awesome that when one band moved on, I just walked down to the next intersection, and found another one. On my way through the alleys I found a local bar/cafe and had some dinner, and then sat out on the beach listening to the mixture of the waves, and the distant drums.

I walked from the beach across the bridge to the peninsula where the docks, and the long wooden deck reside. I sat down on a stone block, and caught up some of my blogs. The sky was pretty clear, and a crescent moon shone in the sky. I was more or less by myself on the docks, save for the occasional passerby, or wandering couple. It was quite peaceful. I listened to the sounds of fireworks bursting from the other end of the beach, and watched the light flicker from nearby parties. When I got walking back to Liz's house it was late, and there were still people everywhere. I was a long way from Liz's, out here on the docks so I hurried back, trying not to get in and wake everyone up at a really unforgiving hour.

Down Rambla Street, I passed bar hoppers, clubbers, drunks, and the occasional Spaniard selling 6 packs on the street at "discounted prices". I turned onto the street I was mostly sure was the one I was looking for, and wandered through the part of town which was semi sketchy. Fortunately, there were still several people on it, so I felt assured that I wouldn't be mugged. As I passed two guys staring at a map, they called out to me, but I kept on going. I figured they were trying to sell me something like pretty much everyone else on the street. They persisted after me asking for help, so I stopped and looked. They asked me something in Spanish that I could only discern a couple words of, but they wanted to know something about a specific club they were pointing to on the map. I said, I was sorry, and then I put my hand on my chest and said, "English". They said they were from Portugal, and were new here too. I looked at their map, and tried to find where they were pointing to to at least give them a direction, but couldn't figure out where they wanted to go. I apologized, and began to walk away. They thanked me, shook my hand gladly, and patted me on the back. One of them started getting uncomfortably close, and massaged my arm a little too friendly. I started to get the feeling they were drunk, because their actions were all over exaggerated, and when they shook my hand and leaned closer into me, they seemed to rely on me for support. Immediately as a reaction, my hands went into my pockets. As soon as I did this, they moved in a little closer, and one of them became fascinated with my belt buckle. He complimented me, and grabbed it for a closer look. I took my hands out of my pockets to shove him off me, and then the other one grabbed my arm, and I tried to pull away and suddenly realized that they weren't letting me go. I pulled back and shoved myself free, and just kept walking away. I put my hands in my pockets, and felt an emptiness which surprised me. My iPod was missing. I cursed under my breath, and then suddenly felt a tap on my shoulder. I wheeled around to find one of the guys standing there behind me with my iPod. He politely handed it back to me, and then just turned and casually walked away.

I stood their in stunned silence, holding my iPod in the palm of my hand. I was so confused. I quickly checked everything in my pockets, counted all my money, and checked every credit card. Everything was there, and now counting my iPod, accounted for. I couldn't figure out why they jacked my iPod, and then followed me down the street to hand it back. I opened up the iPod and thumbed through the song lists, knowing full well that there was no way in the 25 seconds my iPod was missing, they could have changed or erased anything. However, something different would at least make the moment a little less weird, but no; nothing was different.

As I continued walking onward, I was embarrassed that I couldn't figure it out, and even more so that I'd fallen into that trap in the first place. I'm always really good at identifying and dealing with pickpocket's and muggers. Several times on this trip people have tried both, and been unsuccessful. I learned techniques, and figured out general traits of people who want my money, and I've done well staying away from them. In crowded squares, I can see the guys going through the crowd with "sticky fingers", and when I notice them over my shoulder "casually" bumping into me, or letting their hands wander at their sides, my hands (even just without thinking now) go right into my front pockets (where anything valuable is), I make sure I'm actually touching the things a pickpocket might want, and then I look him/her in the eye as if to say "I know what you're doing" almost immediately, there's always a response, and they back off. For muggers (firstly I try not to even get into a situation where I might be mugged), If I notice someone following me down a street and there's no shop open or anything with people to duck into. I let him follow me to a spot where there is MORE THAN ONE other person, and then I turn to them and let them know that I see them. The confrontation, first of all, scares the hell out of them, and they can't do anything with people around. A mugger doesn't want you to know he's there, he wants to be able to make himself known on his own terms. If you let him know that he's not invisible, and there's people around, he'll bugger off. However if you do that when there's no one around, it'll just pressure him into mugging you right now. These are things I've gotten to know, walking around big cities by myself.

However I've never come across this sort of "gang bang pick pocketing." There wasn't much I could have really done about it once I'd fallen into it. They just kinda pinned me up against each other and had their way with my pockets.
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Barcelone uhh... 5/10/08 (I'm entitled to my bad puns)

2008-05-13T04:34:00.000-07:00

Morning came quickly, and Mark and I woke up to catch our train. Unfortunately, in waking up, we woke everyone else up too, and now we had to wait in line for our turns in the shower. Fortunately, the hostel was only around 2 or 3 blocks from the train station, and we'd given ourselves plenty of time to get ready, so we didn't have to hurry too much. We each packed up our stuff, and walked across the street to the station, making it to the platform just as our train pulled up. The whole trip to Barcelona would be almost 12 hours. This first train ride would be about 4 hours, with a 3 hour lay over in Montpellier, and then 4 hours and 45 minutes on the second train. It went pretty much as full day train rides go.

When we reached Montpellier we were both starving because we hadn't eaten anything before catching the train. We rushed in to a McDonalds across the street, and even though neither of us wanted to succumb to eating American fast food in France, we enjoyed a full stomach. Afterward, we decided to go exploring around Montpellier for a while because neither of us knew anything about this city, and neither of us wanted to sit around on a train platform for 3 hours anyway. The streets were filled with people. I hadn't realized Montpellier to be such a popular tourist spot. As in every big city in France, there were performers in the streets, and beautiful French architecture. The two of us wandered through the winding streets through back alleys and crowded squares until we finally found a beautiful park to rest in. It was wonderful too, because during this particular time, there was a huge market set up, and crowds of people gathered nearby to watch a volleyball matches. Several over people were clustered around two other people playing a giant sized game of chess on the floor with huge (almost life sized) plastic chess pieces. While they played, a DJ played club techno in the background. Mark and I laughed at the contrast of the music, and the timidity of the game of chess, made into a contact sport by the giant pieces.

We found a huge grassy knoll around a little pond with ducks. Around it, children were playing football (soccer), and young people sat and read books while drinking coffee. Mark and I found a small tree by the lake, so we perched our backpacks up against the tree, and rested in the shade. We talked a little, and both periodically fell asleep listening to the sounds of the beautiful park. We got up to make our way back to the station to catch our last leg of the journey, and again caught our train right on time.

In our bags we'd stuffed some fresh fruit and sandwiches from the little market in the park at Montpellier. We figured we'd probably be hungry again on the train, and would need dinner because our train wasn't expected in until 9:45 that night. The last train ride seemed a lot longer. It was of course, by about 45 minutes, but it seemed several hours longer than the first. This train wasn't quite as nice as the last one. It's walls were rusted and dilapidated, the seats were old and uncomfortable, and there was no real central cooling system in the tiny train car with all those people. You couldn't even put the window down. We did very little talking on this last train ride to Barcelona, we just each sat with our iPods and tried to bear it.

When we got there, the first thing we did was find a map in the tourist office of the train station. We looked for the hotel Mark had booked online in Nice, and found some type of general area the hotel could be in. Mark told me I could tag along, and see if there was another room open that I might stay in, if I wanted. I didn't have a place to stay yet in Barcelona, and I still couldn't get in contact with the person I was supposed to meet here, so I took him up on his offer to find this hotel in hopes they had another room. It was raining a little bit, although fortunately, it wasn't all that cold. We guessed as best we could which street was which, as we jumped puddles, and stumbled down soaked streets. On every hotel we passed, the sickening phrase "No Vacancy" shown in the window. The bars were all packed solid with backpackers, and tourists from everywhere in the world. It's now definitely the tourist season.

We finally got to where it said the hotel was supposed to be, and searched the surrounding area for another 20 minutes before finally finding it. As we entered I got a bad feeling about availability, seeing how small the place seemed to be. Mark stepped up to the old unkempt front desk, and began to talk to the old unkempt front desk attendant. The old man didn't speak a single word of English, and as Mark painstakingly played a hopeless game of charades, you could tell we were getting absolutely nowhere. Mark told him in as few words as possible that he'd made a reservation, and wanted a room for the night. The old man nodded like he understood part of what he was saying, and pointed to a spot on the map, completely opposite of where we were. "No, no no," Mark interrupted. "I have a reservation for HERE," and pointed to where we were right now. The conversation went back and forth for some time, until we got the notion that perhaps he's trying to point us to another hotel under the same owner who keep under the same booking system. We finally gave up the fight, and followed the man's directions all the way across town to another crappy rusted, worn-in hotel. We walked inside, and climbed 6 flights of stairs to the reception, where they finally did have Marks reservation. We asked if they had any other rooms available for me to stay in, but they said they're all book up tonight. I left Mark my email address, and then we shook hands goodbye, as I went off to find a free room somewhere in Barcelona.

I walked all over, down dreary streets looking for something, anything with a bed for the night. However, nothing I walked into had any beds, nor knew anywhere I might find a bed for tonight. They all just shrugged their arms and said "It's saturday night!" As if that was somewhat helpful. "Oh it's saturday night, I hadn't realized. Well then I'll just do something else!" I'm not sure it occurred to them that I was a couple thousand miles from home, and "No Vacancy" tonight might mean I'll have to sleep out on the street in the rain tonight. I passed hundreds of hotels, disregarding the star rating at this point, but I got the same answer from each one. With all the hotels and hostels in Barcelona, there seemed not to be a single one with an open room. How could that be? I had a brief conversation with God, asking what in the hell was I supposed to do now. God had provided before, and I trusted he'd provide for me now, but what was I supposed to do if there was no answer to my prayer? I decided I'd just keep walking until my legs could go no further. When my legs would give up, I would sit where I was and wait for God to respond. I'd walked the circle all the way back to about where the first hotel with the old man was, and saw a row of 3 hotels. I walked into each one right down the line, and not until the last one did they have 1 single room left. It was a 3 star hotel, and all they wanted for the room was 40 euros a night. Mark had paid 60 euros a night for the one star hotel he was staying at, and other 3 stars wanted at least 125 euros a night (had rooms been open). The room wasn't anything flashy, It was tiny. Only the bed and a small TV fit in the main part, while the bathroom was fairly small as well, but it was just absolutely perfect.

That night I had a hot bath, and watched CNN on the one English channel. I thanked God for providing for me, once again. Somehow all of my needs were met just at the moment I let my own fate fall out of my hands. I was so thankful to be in out of the rain, and I slept well.

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Barcelona, Spain 5/11/08

2008-05-12T17:01:00.000-07:00

In the morning, the first thing I did was try to find the famous Barcelona Coast. When I found the ocean, I followed the water down one direction, looking for the beach. I walked for a while and found no beach, although I did pass a lot of cool architecture and giant sculptures the size of tall buildings. When I got to the industrial port area, I decided I was heading the wrong way and turned back around the way I came. Going the other direction, I passed through a smaller harbor area with beautiful boats, and tall replicas of spanish galleons. I bought a chocolate fudge covered waffle from a waffle stand, and ate it sitting on the docks. People were all over walking, shopping, and riding bikes down the boardwalk. The sun shone through cracks in the gloom to reveal a bright blue sky behind thick grey clouds. As I began to see the beautiful beach, the wind picked up substantially, blowing little dust devils in the sand. Because of the high wind, and last night's rain, the waves were choppy and the tides were strong. No swimmers were allowed in the water, but surfers were out in large numbers. Wind surfers were having a field day with the high gusts, and choppy surf. They could ride all day, zig-zagging through surfers and catching air on waves like they were ramps.

I noticed bunch of lounge chairs stacked up all down the beach. Many of them were all set up, dotting the sand, completely vacant. I waited to see someone else come and sit on one to give me confirmation that it was ok, and when someone finally did, I found one for myself, and stretched out on it, watching the surfers and the waves. I just about nearly fell asleep, when a beach attendant came over collecting tickets to use the beach chairs. Apparently you have to pay to use these chairs, so I got up and kept walking. I walked down the boardwalk, stopping periodically to admire the ocean. Every so often it'd start drizzling again, but it wouldn't last long and the sun would be out shining again.

At the end of the boardwalk, I wandered up through a small park adorned with massive modern art sculptures, similar to the Art Garden I saw in Israel, although more functional. One blue pyramid sculpture doubled as a slide for a couple spanish 4 year olds. A spiral-shaped garden became a place for hide and go seek.

As I began to worry that I'd strayed out too far into the local area, where there wasn't a lot more than apartments on a grid line, and local grocery stores, I started to pull myself back toward the center. As I walked inward, back toward the larger buildings and hotels, I suddenly discovered a giant arch similar to the Arch of Constantine in Rome, except this arch was a fiery red color. On it was an inscription I couldn't read (as is the trend with most foreign relics), and behind it, a walking road stretched on to seemingly no end. I stood and marveled at it for a moment, and then crossed under it following the road on down to nowhere. The road did eventually end, and then started again across the street heading into another giant park. I didn't enter into the park, however, instead I followed the street back into the center. I continued on out the other side, ending up in a huge square where again, more children played, and more street performers enticed flocks of babbling tourists. Off to one side, a stage was set up for a group of young girls with all different types of drums, hammering out beats and teasing the crowd by starting out simple and gradually getting more and more complex until the sound was like orchestrated noise.

I looked to my left, and saw a street at least 3 times as wide as any other, liked with palm trees like Hollywood Blvrd, and masses of people came like waves on the beach. You couldn't see the ground, there were so many people. This was the main street of Barcelona, Rambla Street. I started down it, but found myself lost in churning seas of people, and worried for the contents of my pockets. I know this is an absolute feeding zone for pickpockets. There's probably thousands of them that make a comfortable living just walking up and down this street all day. I turned off into the next available alleyway, where there were fewer people, and could look after myself a little better.

I sauntered out to the docks again, and this time walked up over to a small peninsula where I saw several others going. In the center of it was a huge Imax theater, and a replica of an early submarine. Another boardwalk took me around the other side of the docks, leading to what seemed to be some kind of a shopping mall floating there on the edge of the peninsula. On the way leading up to it was a wooden deck lined with really artsy looking lamp posts, and along the center local artists set up a gallery of their works for people to buy. I browsed through the local art, stopping to stare at some I found which were pretty cool. Sometimes the local art found in the markets and docks is better than the professional art found in expensive galleries. Walking along near the boats, I called my mom to wish her a happy mothers day.

On the way back over the bridge to the peninsula, there was a group of 4 or 5 dogs chasing a remote controlled car on a grassy field in front of me. The dogs were barking like mad, running after this little machine unable to figure out what the heck it was. Hearing the noise the dogs were making at this thing, people began to crowd around and chuckle as some took pictures of this amazingly entertaining situation. I took a couple pictures myself, and laughed as the poor bewildered dogs frustratedly took on the little RC car. In the end, the car ran low on batteries, and the dogs took it as a sure victory. They gloated, proudly panting as they trotted back to their owners.

I gathered some groceries from a nearby market, hoping to illuminate having to buy a couple meals later on. I also picked up something cheap for dinner, and splurged on an ice cream cone which was calling to me. I finally got in contact with that girl who I'd met in Italy on the train back from Pompeii. She was supposed to meet me here in Barcelona, but she and her friends decided to stay in Paris through the end of the month. It wasn't great news, but it was ok. I'll still get to meet up with her in Paris later on. I also, thankfully got in contact with a friend of Jan Francis', Liz, whom I was hoping I might stay with for a couple days while I'm here. She said I'm welcome to stay with her. I told her I'm paid in my hotel through tonight, but tomorrow night I'd love a bed to sleep in. She said that'd be great, and we planned for me to switch over my stuff to her place tomorrow night.

That night, I sat in my hotel room in my underwear, eating pringles I bought from the store, and watched The Daily Show (which remarkably was on CNN). It was wonderful. I called my brother in law, Paul, and wished him a happy birthday, and then debated about going out to find a club to hang out in. But honestly, I didn't really want to go out to a club at the moment. I didn't really have the energy to go make new friends right now. I didn't have the cash to burn for entrance fees and drinks, and I kinda felt like I'd done my whole clubbing thing in Prague. That's not to say I won't do it anymore, but I'm not gunna pressure myself into doing it because I'm in Barcelona. I already did it in Prague. I was happy and content sitting in my hotel for a bit, eating my American chips, and watching my American television. That won't always be the case, but for now it was certainly satisfying.
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2008-05-12T14:09:00.001-07:00

Nice, France 5/9/08

2008-05-12T14:09:00.000-07:00

In the morning, I said goodbye to some of my roommates who all had to leave early to catch their trains to the next cities on their trip. One roommate was left from the original 7 I met last night; Mark from England. Mark was 19, and started his journey from Thailand, dropping down to Australia, and then up to some countries in Europe. Like me, his trip will last a total of 3 months with this being his last month, although he stopped home for a couple of days before entering Europe which is a luxury I never got. Also like me, his next city was Barcelona, and he'd found a train leaving tomorrow at 10:08am to take him their. I'd done some searching yesterday to find some sort of train coming out of France, but France seems not to like to do international trains, and so all I could find was the speculation of a train which leaves to another big city along the way which I might find a connecting train to the next, and so on. However, Mark found a train that only switches over once, and goes right through to Barcelona. I asked if he'd mind if I hopped on that train with him tomorrow, and he told me he didn't mind at all, so we set our alarms to go off at 8:30am tomorrow (to make sure we had enough time to get ready and across the street to the station).

It was pretty much business as usual out on the streets of Nice. I tried to hold off eating for as long as I could get away with it, as I did yesterday. I walked along the road, around the side of the big touristy hill to where the docks were. I'd seen several cool antique shops around there which were closed yesterday which I figured I'd go explore through now that the holiday was over. However, once I got there it was just passed noon. At noon in most places in Europe, everywhere shuts down for about 3 hours so that Europeans can go home, eat lunch, and catch a little nap before getting back to work for another 2 or 3 hours till it's time to close shop. The whole European work day seems to be about 5 hours long. It seems like a pretty good gig when compared to the 8 hour, overtime, and often double shifts we're accustomed to back in America. When I worked at Guitar Center, I would have loved to close shop for 3 hours in the middle of the day to go home and nap. Anyway, now I had about 3 hours to kill before I could continue my search.

I walked down to the harbor where I'd never seen so many yachts in all my life. The average boat seen sitting in the Nice docks had more net worth than a fully furnished Laguna Beach home. Some of these boats looked more like small cruise liners than personal sea faring vessels. They came equipped with all the usual bells and whistles: Deck chairs out on their newly finished deck, satellite TV with special home theater installation, full gym and exercise areas, built in bar with 24 hour staff, and a full-time crew waiting on your every command. You could sail the seas without ever leaving the comfort of your mansion.

If I had the kind of money these guys had to throw into their floating palaces, I don't think I'd buy something so modern. I'd buy a huge pirate ship, or a whole fleet of them, with several decks, and hidden compartments to hide treasures in. Each one of ships in my fleet would be fully equipped with an arsenal of cannons, which would be fired to signal the hour. Whenever my ships happened to pass each other in our quests for adventure, my crews would be forced to reenact epic sea battles and the winning side gets a bonus in their paycheck; a "spoils of war bonus". My home on the beach would be specially equipped with its own docks designed to house each ship, and crews of carpenters and craftsmen would go to work repairing the damage done from open sea combat, whenever my ships made port. I'd be the talk of every port I docked at. During special events, I'd lend my ships out to reenactment groups, or kids who just want to pretend to be pirates for a day. I think that's what I'd do if I had that kind of money.

When I'd circled around the harbor back to the beach, I decided to take my sister's advice and buy a mixed drink and sit out on the beach. I bought a super expensive margarita from a beachside cafe, and settled out in a place amongst the rocks. I asked two French girls in front of me what the night life situation was in Nice, and they told me of a night club just down around the corner from one of the big hotels. When 3pm rolled around, I headed back to some of the antique shops, and poked around for a bit. There wasn't much in terms of small trinkets, and compasses. Nice, it seems, is more into antique furniture and costly jewelry, which makes sense because it's certainly more of what the rich tourists around here would be looking for. Regardless, I love just walking through antique shops in foreign countries. Often times you find even cooler things there than in the museums, and it's free to browse. I also love the search for hidden treasures you're on when looking through a good antique shop. The barter system is always in full use, and when you find something spectacular, you know there's nothing else like it any place else. It's a museum where you can touch, and try and even take home the inventory.

When I could find no more shops, I hung around the gardens, and parks. I called some of my friends, just to talk to someone familiar, and gain some encouragement. I caught Brandon in the middle of class, but he still stepped outside and talked with me for a little bit which made me feel special. Then I walked back down to the beach, and called Jordan. The two of us had a good long conversation, and after having talked to some of my best friends, I felt so much better.

That night, Mark and I greeted our new roommates. There were 3 from Canada, an American from Chicago, and an Australian from Melbourne. A couple of them went down, and bought us a couple beers and we talked, and told stories until late into the night. At one point I felt the need to make the connection, just after VE-Day, that we were all the Allies sitting here in France having beers, just like our grandparents probably all did over 60 years ago. I thought it was an interesting coincidence, but the rest of them just stopped for a second and laughed at me.

Mark and I made sure our alarms were set, and told each other to make sure the other was awake and ready in time to catch our train tomorrow to Barcelona.
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The French Riviera 5/8/08

2008-05-10T07:46:00.001-07:00

There was no breakfast being served in the morning to the hostel I was in, so there was really no point to getting up too early. I slept in till a comfortable hour, and then casually made my way to our tiny bathroom to shower. When I was finally ready to greet the day, it was around noon, and I headed out the door onto the main street.

The city looked a lot different in the light, although not any less spectacular. People were everywhere, piled into shops, and clustered around street vendors like gulls after a bread crust. The prices, even on the tiny vendors, were grossly overpriced. Everyone was here to for the sole purpose of spending lots of money, and lounging on the beach. As I walked, my nostrils were filled with that comforting smell of sea salt and sunscreen, which I'd come to love back home. To me it always smelled like summer, and good friends. I stopped and closed my eyes and pretend I was back home for a while, which was not hard. The architecture in Southern California is all based on that French Riviera style. The houses adorned with clay shingles are all like those in San Juan Capistrano, and Santa Barbara. The plant arrangements, and coastline back home are all a part of that Medditerranean feel. Often I forgot I was even in France, because none of it looked at all like Colmar or other images I'd had in my mind of France. The beach itself however, doesn't look anything like back home. The sand is not really sand at all, but rocks. It's not even like the beach is rocky. At home me have Doheny Beach which is full of rocks, and after walking around in the sand for a while your feet'll start to bleed. However the rocks here are all smoothe like the hot stones they use for spa treatments. It's strange to see the coastline covered with these perfectly smoothe stones, as of someone individually laid them there.

Today was an interesting day to be in France, also because it was VE Day. VE Day (Victory in Europe) was the day of the Nazi surrender in WW2, and so the whole town, and I can only assume the whole country, was alive and partying. There were streamers, and musicians playing in the streets. All of the privately owned shops in the city were closed, however all the stores on the main strip stayed open. Around near the pier, there stood a huge memorial to all the French soldiers. Massive crowds gathered around for most of the day while heads of state stopped by periodically to pay their respects, and get their photo ops with other country officials.

Because food was so expensive here, I tried to hold off for lunch as long as I could. I discovered though, that the cheapest places to eat were all right around my hostel, which was still a little way from the beach. The further down, closer to the beach you got, the more expensive the food was. So if I was going to eat something, I needed to do it while I was still near my hostel, otherwise wait until I headed back in that direction.

For the rest of the day, all I prettymuch did was walk around, and lay out on the beach. It was nice to just lounge around. It seems I've been having a lot of time lately, to just hang around. The beginning of my trip was almost non stop action, and constant motion, but now I think I've hit a lull in my trip where things seem to be slowing down a little. However with all this time to just sit around, the boredom and loneliness starts to set in.

You can really only walk through so many places, and the beautiful places to see in Nice are all right there on the coast and down the strip. After you've covered that, you just find a relaxing place to lay down, and bake under the sun. There aren't really any cool little shops here like there are in other cities in Europe, everything's part of a massive chain, and all the stores along the strip sell clothes, and souveniers you can prettymuch buy anywhere for half the price. On the other side of the big touristy hill, there are a bunch of cool antique shops near the harbor, but they were all closed today for the holliday. I sat, and I people watched for a lot of the day.

In terms of beautiful people, the French Riviera is certainly full of them. Walking along the beach here can be torture on any man with moral fiber. Women lay topless, sunbathing shamelessly sprawled out on the rocks. However, I'm somewhat desensitized to nudity since I've been in Europe. This whole area just about got over the whole nakedness thing long ago. It's portrayed in their paintings, statues and architecture. On billboards and every commercial women are very seldom ever clothed, and as long as the women's nether regions aren't shown (or she sits in a way to cover it up), it's all fair game. On primetime TV you've got cartoons and sesame street and topless women on adjacent channels. It's just a different culture. In the Middle East you couldn't even show a woman's neck on regular TV. Back in America, we have sort of the middle ground, but here in Europe it's all very acceptable. In a way I think that's pretty cool. From the time these people are little kids they see nudity all over the place, and they start not to associate it at purely sexual. It's just another human body, and as a result of seeing it that way, they're much more comfortable with themselves. I wish I had half the confidence in my own body to walk out there on the beach wearing the banana hammocks so treasured by old, fat French men. It is true what they say, that 90 percent of the naked people on beaches in France are not the sort you want to see naked. The good looking ones are few and far between.

When the sun finally went down, I watched the sunset sitting on the rocks near the shore. Behind me, a group of guys from South America had gotten a fire going, and sat in a circle around it playing a wide assortment of drums. A couple of them cast lines into the ocean, hoping to catch something they could cook over their open fire. They played on well into the night, and the little French town took on, again that tropical feel. A little ways further down the beach I called my sister, Amy. I started to miss home a little, and needed someone familiar to talk to.

It's hard meeting people, knowing you'll probably never see them again. I long for a friend here that'll know who I am the next day. For the past 2 months I've lived a life of single-serving friends, leaving again to meet all new ones who I'll eventually have to leave also. After a while of that, you start to feel removable. It's as if the world turns, and you're standing above watching. I pop in and out of people's lives everyday, but it's importaint to feel anchored to something, or more specifically, someone. I love the people I've met, and I love that I continue to meet new people, but I miss my friends and family who know me. These people I've spent time learning about, and getting to know are really the only things that keep me from fading out of existance altogether. I have identity because I have people who know me. My name is just a label, and my image, just a face; but who I am resides in the hearts of those who miss me when I'm gone.

I felt much better after connecting with my sister. She told me to go walk around and buy myself a lavish drink, on her. That night I met, and talked and laughed with some of my roommates who were mostly all leaving in the morning. It was good to meet them, but it was sad to see them go.

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Too Nice 5/7/08

2008-05-08T12:09:00.000-07:00

That morning I woke up early with the rest of the crew who were leaving this morning. The night before, Randy and I had found me a train in the morning going to Nice. Janelle, Amanda, and Daniel had to catch a train to Paris at 10:01, and my train was at 10:45, so the plan was for me to catch a ride in the morning down to the train station with Randy and all the rest of them so that Jan and Randy would only have to take one trip to get all of us to the train station. We all got ready, and said goodbye to Jan as she left. She had somewhere she had to be in the morning as well, so all hugged her goodbye before we all loaded up into the car to head off.

When we got to the train station, the other kids all bought their train tickets, and we all got situated out on the platform waiting for the first train to arrive, which was theirs to Paris. When we were all situated, we said goodbye to Randy, and thanked him for his amazing hospitality. He asked me to write down my parent's emails and phone number for him, because he said he'd love to get back in contact with my parents after all these years. He hugged me goodbye, and said we were all welcome back anytime.

Shortly after, the train to Paris arrived, and so I said goodbye to Janelle, Amanda and Daniel, and then walked across to the next platform to wait for my train. As their train pulled away, I just caught a glimpse of Daniel's hair in the window, and laughed a bit to myself.

For the rest of the day, I rode the trains. My trip was 10 and a half hours from Colmar to Nice. On the way, I changed trains twice. I didn't really have any issue changing trains. I do it a lot now, so I've gotten the hang of it; it doesn't matter what language it's in. On one of the trains, I sat next to a really nice French kid my age. His name was Aubey, and he asked me why I'd decided to travel to such a random place as Aixen. I told him I was changing trains to get to Nice. In his very best English, he explained to me which he thought the best areas in Nice were, and we talked about Nice, and school for pretty much the next 2 hours until we finally arrived at the station. He quickly jotted down the spots to see on the back of his bookmark with the naked cartoon woman on it, and handed it to me. I thanked him, and shook his hand goodbye.

Throughout the day, I kept telling myself that now would be the best time, since I had nothing to do for 10 hours, to catch up on the blogs I missed. However, I just didn't want to do them right now. Every time I tried, I just couldn't seem to put the words down, and I couldn't keep myself focused. I eventually just put my phone away, and figured that if I really wasn't into writing these blogs right now, forcing myself would only make them crappy blogs, and that doesn't help anyone. I finally just succumbed to sit and stare out the window. I didn't really think about anything at all, to my surprise. My mind was blank. I was bored like I've ever been, but I didn't want to do anything but sit there, and stare.

When I got to Nice, I had little trouble finding a hostel right near the train station at 20 euros a night. After I'd checked into my room. I decided to go out and explore the city. It was just about 10:00 at night, but still the whole city was alive and partying like it was noon. All the shops, and restaurants were still open. All the street performers were still out performing, and tourists were still out walking. This city seriously doesn't sleep at all.

I walked down the main street, which was covered in festive blue lights to a huge square painted like a checkerboard. In the square, the lamps were shaped like some kind of meditating buddhist monk in various poses, and lighted up different colors. I made my way through all this to a giant fountain just past a beautiful park. This whole area is the real nice touristy part with street performers and nice restaurants everywhere, and it's like this all the way up to the beach. The hillside next to the sea, is all lit up at night as well, and gives it very much of a luau in Hawaii sort of feel. The weather's too warm for jackets even at night, and the air smells sweet and almost tropical.

When I got down to the beach, the whole coastline was filled with people gathered around in large groups, drinking, laughing and burning bonfires on the beach. The air smelled like home in the summer, and surfaced cherished memories in my mind. I walked along the beach through group after group, watching them as I went by, and thinking about how I'm catching a glimpse of what will one day be a highly cherished memory to them too. I walked until I got to a group of people my age speaking words only Americans say. I stopped, and walked over to them. I told them I was so glad to hear some people down here speaking American, all I'd heard so far was French. I introduced myself, and asked where they were all from. They said they were from all over, but mainly east coast. They were on some kind of French field trip for students trying to learn French. They asked where I was from and what I was doing here, and so I told them a little about my adventures. I got talking to really 2 of them specifically, Lisa and Spencer. Lisa was from Ohio, and I can't remember where Spencer was from, but sort of befriended them a little bit, and they invited me to sit with them. I told them I wanted to go explore around a bit more, but I'd probably be back. In these sort of situations, you don't want to just show up and overstay your welcome. I've found that you can only just show up uninvited to a group if you have something to offer that's worth their while, like an interesting story or something to keep the group entertained. Once you run out of stories, and interesting things to talk about, you need to move on and not just linger around like dead weight. If you leave at the right time, you'll most likely be invited back. Then when you're invited, you don't have to try so hard to entertain them.

So I walked down the beach a ways further, and found several other Americans who must have been in high school, or just entering college. They were all blind drunk, and acting as teenagers do when drunk. I walked right past them, not stopping to say hello, they wouldn't remember me if I did anyway. On my way back, I found the original group of Americans again, and by that time they were just leaving. They wished me good luck in my travels, and I said it was nice to meet them, and I continued walking down the beach. I felt good about that group, they seemed to like me, and I did good about not seeming clingy or creepy walking up to them and randomly starting conversation. I'm sure that if I end up seeing them again while I'm here, they'll be happy to see me.

I'm learning more and more about being social. It's a very hard skill to get the hang of, especially when you have to go find people and start up conversations for no real good reason. It's a lot easier being introduced, or being put in a scenario where you're forced to communicate. However it's important, especially when traveling, to be able to just be sociable and seek out the groups and conversations worth talking about. That's how you meet the really interesting people. That's also really the best way to ward off loneliness too, when you're in an unfamiliar place where no one knows you. Usually around here, people aren't going to just introduce themselves and invite me in to their inner circles (however that has happened). I usually have to approach them, and see to it myself that a connection's made. That's where I'm trying to learn how to develop my social skills, and get over this innate fear of people that most Americans have. In the long run, I'm sure I'll be much happier knowing that I can make friends anywhere, and talk to people I really want to talk to.
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Germany and Trenches 5/6/08

2008-05-08T09:02:00.000-07:00

Steve and the rest of the sports missionaries had left early in the morning, so by the time I got up, It was just me and Daniel in the room. I climbed the stairs in the attic down to breakfast, where Jan had laid out an assortment of cereals, baked goods, and juice. I had some cereal and a jelly filled donut (with real Alsace jam), and then waited my turn for the shower. There was only one shower upstairs for the 4 of us to share. Luckily in this house, the toilet was in a completely separate room from the bath and shower, so this helped elevate some of the congestion. When we were all showered and ready, Randy loaded us up in the car to take us across the border to Germany and The Black Forest.

In the car, Randy showed us his special affinity for Brian Adams, playing us a few of his greatest hits. I've always, personally, found Brian Adams to be a little cheesy. However, I've never seen anyone so passionate about him as Randy. He was giddy to show us his favorite songs, and made sure we were listening to lyrics very carefully. As we listened, he talked a little about what it takes to love someone completely, the way Brian Adams sang about. Both Randy, and Jan still talk about each other like they're newlyweds. I find that extraordinary. It's not even just when they're both in the room together, but anytime we're driving, or talking alone with one of them and the conversation leads to love, they still talk about eachothering with longing. I hope I have that with whomever I end up with, 20 some years after. All of us in the back were laughing, and having a good time playing car games, like the one where you let your body weight squish the one on the end during sharp corners. I was in the center, and at one point, Janelle put a little extra squish into my shoulder during the turn, so we teased her saying that Brian Adams must have had some kind of an affect on her. The rest of the day, that was our inside joke.

We crossed the border, and drove through Neuenburg, Germany to a little Villa called Kandern, near the Black Forest. In Kandern, We visited a middle school/high school in the center of town for MKs. Randy used to teach Biology, and coach Basketball here years ago, when he and his family lived just down the street. He showed us his old classroom, and introduced us to his old class, and some of the faculty there. He had all the kids go down the line, and list off what counties their parents were missionaries in, in order to show us the huge scope of diversity they had in this little school. There were kids from, literally, everywhere in the world, who's parents were all serving in everywhere from France to Serbia, and Indonesia to China. Everywhere in Western Europe, and Eastern Europe, Asia and the Middle East, South America and Africa. Kids with all different experiences, cultures and backgrounds gathered here in one small classroom. All the teachers and Faculty were volunteers. None of them were being payed to be there, they all just decided there was nothing they'd rather be doing right now, than teaching these kids. It was stunning to me. I didn't realize it could work that way. I asked Randy how they survive here without any sort of payment? He said that they're all paid through donations from churches back home that they got to sponsor them before they left. Also, here in this small town community, the majority of the population are all missionaries. So they all pitch in and help each other out when someone needs help. It's kind of the way the ideal world should work. I'd never seen a community work together with such good intentions, harboring all people from all nations with every background and culture, and it seems to be working fairly smoothly. No one has to lock their doors within the town. No one worries about going out at night, and everyone says hello to you on the streets. Randy knew just about everyone, and they all knew him. I felt bad after a while, because there were so many of us, and he tried to introduce us all to practically everyone in the town.

We walked through the center of town, as Randy pointed out what everything was. He showed us his old house, and the street he lived on. For lunch, he bought us all Kebabs, and we ate them out on a bench near a little babbling brook, in the shade of a tree. As we ate, he talked to us about missionaries, and preached to us a little about God's love, and how we show that to other people. I had struggled earlier about the idea of evangelism, and so I brought that up, and talked with him a little bit about what that means, and what, if anything, the responsibility of a christian is. He talked for a while about his ideas and understandings of this was, relaying passages in the bible to support his views. However, I've come to find that most Pastors/Preachers have a habit of talking, and not leaving enough room for discussion of the topic. Growing up with my father having been a pastor, I know this to be true. Randy had a lot great points, and a lot things he said confirmed what I'd found on this trip. However, I wanted to talk to him more about the things that bothered me with evangelism. I feel I do more for a person by just listening, and being their friend than I seem to with talking. I don't necessarily, or never have before considered that evangelism. Evangelism, to me, is like what the spanish did to the South Americans, and the American Settlers did to the Native Americans, and what the British did to Everyone else. This idea of evangelism seems hostile to me. It feels like telling someone their way is no good. Like removing the speck from someone's eye, while having a plank in your own. This is why I'd rather stick to what I know, what I've experienced. I'd rather tell someone who's lost everything that once I had nothing too, and share that pain, rather than tell them a God whom they can't see, understands and read them a bible verse out of context. Maybe something which says "God has a plan for you", in which he's clearly talking to someone specific who lived and died thousands of years before you ever existed. I'm not saying I don't believe God does have a plan for my life (because clearly I do), but looking at it from someone who hasn't experienced what I have, in terms of feeling close to God. I wouldn't know how to explain away that doubt. I wouldn't even know where to begin. You can't prove God exists. Anyone who does convert someone through convincing them that God exists was withholding quite a few facts. It's misleading, in my eyes, to sit down and tell someone about God. The reason being that you yourself don't know everything, perhaps even anything about that topic. It'd be like if I tried to sit here and tell you about horses. I've ridden one before, I know what one looks like, but I don't know anything really about them. Anything I'd tell you would be speculation, or bullshitting. I love bible studies because it's a bunch of people who admit to know little or nothing, trying to come together and figure out something as a group. It's not one person telling another that I'm right and your wrong. Good pastors like Randy, and my pastor back home, Todd, and my father, will tell you that they're still just figuring it out too. So I've had trouble with the idea of conversion, or Evangelism because of that big mountain, which is: I don't know any more than you do about God. I know what I've felt, and until you've felt it too, I don't know what to say that you haven't already heard. Randy made a good point though that, ask anyone who shrugs off Jesus who they think Jesus is, and they're almost always completely misinformed regarding biblical text.

After lunch, Randy took us to some more of the homes in the area, and we got to walk in and see what the beautiful German Villa homes looked like. We got some ice cream at little Gelatoria nearby, and we each had some amazing ice cream cration. Some were shaped like dishes of Spaghetti, others like eggs sunny-side-up. They were all made of various ice creams, but disguised as other foods. It was really interesting. After that, Randy took us to see a Stork farm, and then we stopped through one of the MK dorms nearby, and got to see what living as an MK was like. It was all very similar to what I'd seen in various other college dorms. There were usually 3 or 4 to a room, shared bathroom, one per floor, a lot like a hostel. This was a girls dorm, and they were getting ready for a high school dance which was coming up soon, so all their different dresses were hung up and laid out. Randy explained to us that here, they pretty much share everything. When girls move away, they usually leave their old winterformal/homecoming dress there in the dorm for someone else to wear the next year. There's a strong sense of community in this area, and it made us back home just seem so selfish and vain. The dorm RAs and Faculty were all volunteers as well, the same as the teachers, and it seems as if (probably because of that) teachers and students, dorm RAs and live-ins are all much better friends, and actually hang out outside of the workplace.

When we were finished there, Randy took us back across the French border to the old WW1 trenches. At the opening we walked in and got to see the tomb of the unknown soldiers who were never identified, and then at the top of the stairs was the all the gear, bullet casings and bomb shells which were found littered all over the hills and in the trenches. As we walked out through the trail up through the mountains, Randy warned us to stay on the path. Apparently not all the land mines had yet been found. I joked back, how great of a story that'd make to be my age and honestly say I lost my leg in the WW1 trenches. They all disagreed that, that would be any fun at all. We followed the dirt path up to the top of the hill where we began to see bunkers stationed up at various points, hidden in the brush. We crawled into the trenches and explored through endless mazes of underground bunkers, and caverns. Randy had one flashlight which he gave for all 4 of us, so we were huddled together as close to the light as we could get, in order to see our way through often pitch black tunnels. In a lot of these bunkers, they'd build several stories to them, and they build bridges and ladders, and lifting systems to ammunition depots, and war rooms. Sometimes we'd be all forced together, huddling over the light, and not even realize until the light shined round that we were standing on a tiny bridge across a huge cavern 50 ft down. Some caverns dead end, but some of them lead back up to the surface, and came out at an epic view of the whole area. At some points, you could see into 3 different countries (Germany, France, and Switzerland), and then back into bunkers they'd go. Randy told us that what we're doing, and seeing right now is something only about 1 out of 1,000 travelers ever get to do. It was so much fun, and so interesting to see this kind of history right up close. A lot of the original barbed wire still lined many of the trenches, and they zig-zagged all among the country side. It was funny, because if you looked from one side, you couldn't see any trenches, it just looked like rolling hills; but if you looked from the other side, all the trenches became visible. The first thought that popped into my head when seeing the 2 different sides, was that this spot would be absolutely AMAZING for paintball. That would be so rad to just get lost in a bunker, or jump through WW1 trenches looking for the other team. However, it was probably not quite as fun for the men who actually had to fight here. The french were referred to as "The Blue Devils", and you see signs all over dedicated to their memory. We took some pictures near a giant cross of the summit of the hill which you can see all the way from Randy and Jan's house. At night they light it up, and it shines through the darkness in memory of the soldiers of WW1.

Before we turned back, Daniel and the girls found one last bunker which seemed to go on for miles in one direction. The girls wouldn't venture any further past the light, so Daniel called me to go in with him. I was so excited, I ran all the way over, and jumped into the dark hole. Once inside, I found Daniel by following the light from the (now very dim) flashlight. Together we developed a system to make use of one flashlight between two people in absolute darkness. He, holding the flashlight, went first until he got to a stopping point, and then shined the flashlight back where he'd been so that I could follow. Eventually the small cavern opened into a huge room with maybe 20 ft high ceilings, and piles of rubble stacked in the corners. The floor, we noticed, was getting increasingly more damp, until a small, shallow lake stood where a puddle used to be. Water dripped down from the ceiling also, echoing in the vastness of these rooms. Some of the wood and metal supports for the ceiling had fallen down, and so we used them to balance on between scattered rocks to cross the lake in the center. This was extremely difficult in pitch blackness, but it was like Indiana Jones, and I was so excited, I'd forgotten the danger. We wandered further in, until we got to a point where the air was thin, and harder to breathe. Daniel choked on the dust, and murk of the musty cavern, and we decided it might be best to turn back now before we got lost, and couldn't breathe at all. So we turned around, and made our way back until we discovered the bright white light at the opening of the bunker. It was amazing how dark it was in there, and it took a while for our eyes to readjust to the outside world again. I can't imagine what it must have been like for the soldiers trapped down there for months at a time.

When we got home, washed up and ate dinner out on the balcony. The Kents made us chicken, and we had more of that Alsacian white wine. After dinner, all of us college kids watched more Twilight Zone episodes, and ate French Chocolate and popcorn.
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Colmar, and Southern France 5/5/08

2008-05-06T15:52:00.000-07:00

I woke up this morning, and hurried down to breakfast. I met Jan on my way down the stairs, and she shook my hand excitedly, and welcomed me to her home. She told me what was laid out for me in the kitchen for breakfast, and reminded me to help myself to anything. She looked very busy, putting the finishing touches on the house in order to make room for the 14 people who where coming to dinner, at least 6 of whom staying the night.

As I mentioned before, I happened to arrive as 3 different groups of people were expected to stay with Jan and Randy. One of these groups where 3 college kids from California who are studying abroad in Oxford. It was planned that I would travel with Jan down to the train station to pick them up, and then the 5 of us would go exploring Colmar. Randy was, at the same time, going to go pick up the second group who were (I believe) christian missionaries that run basketball camps with which Randy is affiliated. The 3rd group (I think) was to meet us later for dinner, this group mainly seemed to consist of fellow missionary friends of Jan and Randy who've been traveling around Europe, and needed a home to stay in. It was all very confusing, but Jan and Randy looked like they had it down pat.

For breakfast I had a french type of cereal which I'd never had before, and doesn't exist in the states. It was surpassingly amazing; much better than most cereals in the US. Along with it, I had some toast with home made French jam, and orange juice. It was so good to have a real breakfast, and not budget cereal and stale rolls, like in hotels and hostels. After breakfast, I went upstairs to take a shower and get ready for the day. My shower was wonderful, and I came back down to the kitchen fully refreshed. When I returned, we were still just waiting for Randy to get home before we could start off for the train station, and in the meantime, Jan let me play the piano they had sitting in the living room. It had been more than 2 months since I'd played the piano, I felt like I'd almost forgotten how, but soon things began to come back to me. It's just like riding a bike, you never really forget. I felt a little more like me again, letting my fingers remember how to play the songs I used to play, and even remembering where I'd left off on certain songs I was still writing. Sometimes 2 months can seem like years when you're away from something you love.

When Randy got home, he was thrilled to see me, and couldn't wait to show me a home video he'd found which had my dad in it for about 2 seconds while Denny Belese sent them off on their missions trip 20 years ago. My dad was sitting there beside Denny as one of the lead pastors and looking a little like Sonny Bono with his mustache and haircut, which he'd always assured me was very fashionable at the time. After my dad was out of the shot, Randy stopped the video, and said "There's your dad 20 years ago." He was interested to hear what both my parents look like now, and I said "well, they have different haircuts."

Talking for a bit, I told Jan and Randy my plans for staying here and where I was off to next. They said that I was welcome here, of course, but there wasn't enough to see in Colmar to fill up 4 days, and because they'd planned for me to be here earlier, they wouldn't be around for a lot of the time. They thought it might be a little silly to take the huge leap from here to Barcelona, when I could much more easily head down to the French Riviera for a couple days and then take the train from there to Barcelona. That way I could see another beautiful area, and have only half the distance to cover by train. Plus, he told me, you can't see France and not see the French Riviera. I said that might be a really good idea, besides I started to sense that my staying here too long might be imposing a little bit on their plans, and this was maybe a kind hint that I should keep moving. Randy said he'd help me figure out some affordable place to stay down there later.

Jan and I headed off to go pick up the rest of the group, and she pointed out some of the things Randy tried to last night, but were too dark to see. We drove through the gorgeous French vineyards which seemed to have no end, and past tiny villages I couldn't even hope to pronounce the names of. The landscape was all green, and there wasn't a single cloud in the bright blue sky. Wooden supports for grape vines rose from the ground like endless forests of tiny branchless trees. This indeed looked like the wine country.

We arrived at Colmar station, just before their train was due in, and looked for somewhere to park. Neither of us had ever met these kids, all Jan knew about them was that they were friends of her son, Pete's, and that one of them (Daniel) was of Korean decent. We looked for someone fitting this sort of description, and it was almost immediately after we parked that we found them. Daniel was indeed Korean in decent, but all Californian at heart. He wore a t-shirt and jeans, and had crazy dred-like hair. Traveling with him was his fiance, Amanda, and their good friend Janelle. They all seemed very nice, and I found it comforting to be in a car full of people who sounded just like me.

The first thing Jan did was take us to the old part of Colmar to walk around, and see the town. She warned us that the old town is quite touristy, but if you can get past that, it's also the most beautiful part of Colmar. She was certainly right about all of it. There were tourists all over, however the town could not have been more beautiful. I know I've said this several times, but this time it was ridiculous. The town actually did look exactly like something from disneyland. It looks exactly like Belle's town in Beauty and the Beast. As I walked through it, I felt like singing something upbeat and cheesy, but I resisted the urge. Off to one side there was a couple dancing to an accordion being played, and on the other side, several children bought ice cream from a local shop. The houses were colorful, and looked hundreds of years old, and the wood and stone bridges rose over rushing creeks, which bore green trees more vibrant than I'd ever seen. The glass in the windows were cut into beautiful patterns of Diamond shaped sections, and reflected the look of dark glass and steel. A storybook village came to life in this small town, and my eyes had trouble believing it was real.

We walked on further through the storybook village, and we sat down at a restaurant and ordered some kind of French pizza-looking dish, which Jan told us was something we had to try while here in Alsace (the region of France we were in). It was wonderful! It was cheese, onion, and something like bits of French bacon on top of a thin, flakey crust. After dinner, we climbed up to the top of the old village keep where we got a view of the whole city. While climbing up the several stairs to the top, I got to know Janelle, Daniel, and Amanda a little bit. I started talking to Janelle about travel, and she was saying she knew several people in South America, and that I should definitely travel there next. She mentioned that she often travels through South America, and Africa on missions trips, so I told her about my best friend and his family who travel to Malawi a lot on missions trips. She asked who they were, and I hesitated for a second. "What, like they're names" knowing she wouldn't have a clue who they were by name. I said it was my friends, the Gashes. "Jordan Gash?!" She blurted out. I was astounded. "What?! Yeah, do you know him?" "His fiance, Alex and I are good friends, we were roommates!" She said excitedly. She went on to tell me that all 3 of them were APU students studying abroad in Oxford since January. They came down here because their good friend Peter (Randy and Jan's son), has also just graduated from APU, and they thought they'd go see where he grew up while they were over in Europe. I was absolutely stunned. What are the odds that thousands of miles from home, I happen to run into my best friend's fiancé's former roommate. From that moment on, we all became really great friends because we all had such a close common ground with each other. I'm sure, walking through the campus, or hanging out with Jordan at one of the Alpha (bible study group) get togethers, I must have seen them all there at some point. Months later, here I am across the world in France, and I happen to be rooming with them. The world is such an interesting place, we are all so closely connected and we don't even realize it. We talked about Jordan and Alex's upcoming wedding which they were all sorry they wouldn't be able to see, being as how they're living in Oxford now. However, I told them I'd relay their blessings, and we talked about APU, and Janelle attempted to talk me into applying their after getting my AA at Saddleback. Something which Jordan's been trying to talk me into for a while now.

When we'd finished walking through Colmar, Jan took us to another nearby, tiny village where we went wine tasting. I've always been more of a red wine kind of guy back home, that is, until I tried authentic Alsace white wine. It was amazing. We tried all the range from dry dinner wines, to very sweet dessert wines. As we drank, the lady who worked there talked us through exactly what we were drinking, and how it was made, as Jan translated for us. One of my favorites was the Alsace Crement, which was sort of a more classy substitute for Champagne. I bought Jan and Randy a bottle of it to pay back Jan for buying me lunch this afternoon, and Randy served it to us at dinner that night.

By the time we got home, we were all exhausted from our wonderful day in Colmar, and we crashed upstairs in the attic. We kept ourselves entertained until dinner by telling stories, looking at pictures, and I even got them to play a game of "name that tune" using the movie themes I had on my computer. Daniel was amazingly good at it, and rarely misguessed.

When dinner was ready, we gathered downstairs and met the rest of the 14 people who were clustered around the table in the dining hall. They were all very nice people, and I felt very welcome sitting among them. The "college kids" as they referred to the 4 of us as were all seated at one end of the table, and we often had our own conversations going separately from the rest of the table, which talked majority about missions and sports. Steve was one of the sports missionaries who coached basketball for underprivileged kids, or kids of other missionaries (MKs- Missionary Kids). However, he was a lot younger than the rest of them, and sat near to us, so he often became involved in our conversations rather than the "grown up" ones. It was a great dinner, and everyone was so kind and loving sitting around that table. It almost reminded me of my own family sitting around the Thanksgiving table up in Northern California.

After dinner, we all helped to clear the table, and then the grown ups had their meeting, while the kids watched episodes of The Twilight Zone in the other room. We watched old Twilight Zone episodes, and ate popcorn and chips until late in the night. When it was time to go to sleep, Daniel, Steve, and I headed up to the attic and found our respective beds. We stayed up a little while longer talking, and laughing about a huge bug we discovered on the wall which none of us could identify. Eventually Steve killed it with a slipper, but we all told him the mother, and 24 billion cousins were going to get him in the night. He scraped the bug carcass onto the stairs as a reminder to the rest of them to go no further. The whole day was so much fun, and solidly eventful! I'm so glad I got to meet all these new friends!
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To Colmar

2008-05-05T06:25:00.000-07:00

This morning I awoke lazily, and debated about going down to breakfast. I hadn't eaten dinner last night, because somehow I'd managed to hold off on lunch long enough to cover both meals with one fell swoop. It's a travel technique I've very much come to appreciate. So I still had the pasta I'd bought, intended for last nights dinner, in the refrigerator. I argued with myself that I could very well just eat that as breakfast at around lunch time, and sleep in. But the lure of a free meal was just too strong to let slip by. Why have one combined breakfast/lunch, when I can have both breakfast and lunch for free. Plus eating two full meals may mean I can skip tonight's dinner as well, and not have to pay for food all day. I rolled myself out of bed and headed down to breakfast. I ate a large enough breakfast to store up for the day, but tried to leave a little room because I still had to eat lunch in about 2 hours in order to be able to use the kitchen in my room, eat, and be checked out by 1pm. It was a complex sort of dance, but it all seemed logical to me in my head.

I stayed up in my room, enjoying it, and cooking up a storm until the time came when I had to pack up my things and check out. I made sure to relieve the place of any soaps or shampoo, stuffing them into my bag wherever I could fit them.

I checked out, and as she said she would, the nice lady at the front desk let me leave my bags behind the desk with her until it was time to catch my train. Now roomless, but free of baggage, I still had about 4 hours to kill before I had to start looking for my train. I felt I'd pretty much done everything a guy can do in Zermatt if he's not going to ski or go on a huge hike, so all that was left was just to relax. I walked over by the river again, and crossed it by jumping rock to rock. I was much more graceful this time around because of the practice yesterday. I found a lovely place right at the riverbed, under the shade of a rather large bush, and laid right down in the mud. The cool mud felt great on my back, and a rock supported my head. It was a hobo's paradise. As I laid there, I listened to the rhythm of the river, and watched the puffy white clouds overhead. As I rested, I hummed songs and hymns, waiting for my eyes to get heavy enough to sleep. Hikers passed by me on the other side of the river and smiled, I could tell they were envious of my very Tom Sawyer type situation, and content light heartedness. When I noticed them, I just tipped my hat and smiled right back. Life was good.

That lasted about an hour and a half, and then I felt the need to get up again. I started walking back up, trying to find a path I hadn't taken. When I got to one, I noticed it split off into 2 directions. One went up, and one went down. I remembered what I'd taught myself about paths that split off like this: Whenever you can, always take the high road first. The reason for this is that you want to take the road that's going to be a more difficult climb first so that when you get to the top, and you're tired from climbing, you have it all down hill the rest of the way. If you took the low road first, you're tired from walking, and now you have to walk twice the distance, all the way up hill. It's really just a good way to save energy. I took my advice, and climbed up the high path for a ways, but it didn't really lead me anywhere I wanted to go. It seemed to be following the ski slope back up to the top of the mountain where I'd have nothing to do but just walk down again, so I turned around and took the low Road this time. It lead me along a little bit prettier views, and eventually to a bench where I sat for a while and listened to my iPod. When that had eaten up another hour, I walked in large circles, through the town until my time was up.

At just after 5, I picked up my backpack and Mr. Windlehatpee, and caught my train on the first leg of my journey to Visp. In this trip to Colmar, because there's no real direct way, I have to change trains 4 different times; once every hour. It's kind of a pain, but at least it's only a 4 and a half hour train ride all together. It could have been a lot worse. I could have to do the same thing with a 16 hour train ride like the one from Dubrovnik to Budapest. I'd take this train ride over that one any day.

On my way to Visp, I sat next to this awesome Scottish man named Ken. We got to talking while on the train, and eventually became friends. He was just in Zermatt meeting up with some old friends who get together every year, or every other year, I can't remember which. Evidently, they used to all be a folk band together. He noticed my fiddle, and asked me where I'd gotten it. When I told him I'd bought it in Ireland, he frowned and said I should have gotten it in Scotland. I told him I'd figured the fiddle was more of an Irish instrument, and Scotland had the Bagpipe. He was dismayed to hear the fiddle being called an Irish instrument, but granted me that Scotland does merit the Bagpipe. "The thing about the Bagpipe," he said "is that it really only plays at one volume: f**kin loud. The fiddle is a softer, more intimate instrument, which plays at a multitude of different volumes." I said I agreed with him, and that's why I love the fiddle so much. He joked with me that since I'd bought a fiddle in Ireland, I should have bought a Bagpipe in Scotland too. I expressed to him the obvious difficulty that would present, even just beyond the Bagpipe costing at least 3 times as much. He agreed, and we talked about the awkwardness of the bagpipe, and how it's not an easy instrument to play. He said it's not so much in the strength of forcing the air through the mouthpiece, but keeping the bag up and inflated while working the part where your hands go (I can't remember what it's called). He stayed with me through 2 train changes, and then he helped me find my next train, and we said goodbye.

On the last 2 trains, I just sat and listened to my iPod until I'd finally reached Colmar. I wasn't exactly sure how Randy was supposed to find me. He said on the phone that he was just going to be waiting for me at the train station, but it occurred to me that he hasn't seen me since I was 2 years old. I think we can safely assume that I no longer look anything like I did at 2, so I thought there might be an issue. I looked around at everyone at the platform, trying to find someone who looked like they were waiting for someone, but everyone with this look had just found who they were looking for. I remembered that When Mark and Deb picked me up in Naples, they weren't waiting at the platform, but just outside waiting for me to come out of the station. I walked out of the station, and as soon as I got outside, I saw a man get out of his car about 25 meters in front of me. He looked something like the picture of Randy I'd seen, but I couldn't really tell because it was too far to see without sufficient light. He wandered towards me, seemingly wondering the same thing, although neither of us wanted to yell the others name, and be wrong. We moved toward each other, until finally he took the chance. "Tyler?" He asked, "Randy?" I said back. We quickly closed the distance between us, and shook hands. I was relieved it was in fact, him. We caught up a little on the way back to his home. There was a lot of ground to cover for 19 years. He asked about my parents and sister, and I tried to catch him up on a very brief overview of where they all are now, and what they're doing. He told of some things he'd been doing over here, and explained to me what the next couple of days were going to be like. Apparently, I'd arrived just as 3 different groups of college kids were also arriving to stay with them. I apologized for the terrible timing, and assured him I'd be as little trouble as possible, but he told me it was no trouble at all. On the way to the house, he tried to show me some sights as we passed by, but it was too dark to see much of anything, so he said I'd see it all tomorrow in the light. He mentioned some of the history of the area, and pointed out the fields where trenches still stood from WW1 in the time when this particular area was the main battlefield of the eastern front. He said that this land has changed hands 4 different times since the late 1800s, and as of now is officially still controlled by Germany even though its technically part of France. Jan and Randy's home was occupied by the Nazis in WW2. Randy showed me the building next door which was blown to pieces by an Allied air raid. The house absolutely does look like it could have housed Germans in WW2. It looks like the houses you see in old WW2 films, and it carries that feeling of history with it as soon as you walk through the door. The room they've made up for me to sleep in tonight is in the attic, which they've converted into an entertainment/guestroom. The stairs you walk up to this old attic is like something right out of Anne Frank. It's so awesome! Randy gave me a tour of the house, and then since it was already pretty late, we said goodnight. As I was getting ready for bed, Randy popped in real quick with a glass of white wine from this area, which is said to be the best white wine in all the world. It was indeed absolutely delicious. For sure the best white wine I've ever had. I'm so thankful for Randy and Jan (whom I'll get to meet tomorrow). Randy (and I'm sure Jan too) is a wonderful guy, and is so generous to allow me to stay in his beautiful home, even despite the crazy time I've arrived on.
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How To be A Man

2008-05-03T15:59:00.000-07:00

This morning I got up, and went down to break fast. I followed the basic routine I did yesterday, breakfast then back to the room to shower, and off to the grocery store to pickup some food for the day. After dropping off my food, I took a little walk. The clouds had come in a little bit, and the clear blue which had been, was now gone. The clouds were all bright white, but a looming gray over the Matterhorn which completely covered the peak of it. The giant mountain looked ominous, and powerful with its terrible cloak of foreshadow.

I walked along the path I did last night, but I took a different route. Instead of heading up toward the mountain, I went down to the river. When I reached the old wooden bridge, I strayed off the path down to the river bed, and crossed by way of jumping rock to rock. There was still some snow down this far, though most of it in the city had melted away. Even this snow was too icy now to really be called snow. I wandered along the river's edge looking for a place to sit and think, and when I finally found a rock I could perch myself on I let myself sit in deep thought for a while.

Something which has troubled me in the past is the question of what truly makes a man. How am I to know, and take pride in the fact of being a man of worth? I'm not talking, of course, of the gender of man, but more of it's figurative meaning. It seems clear that some men are not worthy of the title, while others are pointed out right away to be "Great Men". In my mind I've always differentiated between a good man, and a good person. Some men are great, but terrible people. While others nice, and interesting to be around, but lack the qualities of a great man. I'd like to consider myself something great, but I'm never convinced I've yet accomplished this. I'm not by any means rich or successful, however I don't believe that's what makes a man great. I feel like there have been many great men who lead very humble lives. Many of them do great things for the world, but I'm also convinced there are several whom history has never recognized. I've heard that a man always stands up for what's right, although every man fails at some point to do the right thing. No one's perfect, so does that mean someone would lose their status until earning it back by doing the right thing? Is it a point system, or a rank of society?

Perhaps being a man is admitting ones faults, and striving to amend them. I've told of several of my faults during the course of this trip, however, some of which are irreversible. I can't make up for things done in my childhood, or lovers taken advantage of. I can't take back the thoughts, and words said in anger. I suppose the most I can do is try to avoid them this time around. But I'm going to screw up again. I'm going to make the same mistakes over and over. I know I'll always be susceptible to anger, and lust which can often feel like love, and I still can't tell the difference.

When I was 18, my father knighted me with a sword he'd had inscribed for my graduation from High School. He told me, now I am a man, and charged me to go forth into the world as such. I was honored, and excited to be accepted by him, who now viewed me as a fellow man, and no longer a child. I think all sons want their fathers to view them as equals, and welcome them into their circle. A father's approval is an important thing in the life of a son. It's where we get a lot of our images of what a man is. I've always thought my father to be a great man. I very much admire his passion. You'll never find a man who works harder, and cares more about what he's set his mind to. In impossible circumstances, and certain defeats, my father brazenly charges forth to meet his adversity with eyes wide open. I've never once looked at my father and thought, "He'll back down." He lays everything on the line at every chance he gets, and loses as often as he wins. However, I've never been left wanting. My family's needs were always met. Somehow, despite always overwhelming odds, he pulls through carrying the same passion and fervor he started out with. That, to me, is a very manly quality. One which I hope, I too, possess.

When I got cold, and cramped from sitting there on the rock, I made my way back the way I came. I passed by the church in the center of town, and wandered through the cemetery next to it. There's a section of it dedicated to those who died climbing the Matterhorn. I was immediately amazed how many headstones there were. I was even more amazed that the majority were less than 30 years old. "Cut down in their prime" some said, "fell to their death." Countless stones recounting the memory of how their loved ones met their end. I walked through briefly reading each one, until I was stopped at a particular headstone which caught my eye. A name and date on it, told of an American from New York who died just 2 months after his 18th birthday. On the inscription read only: "I chose to climb." His pickaxe was bolted to the side of the stone, and rusted from the weather and time. I read the words again, and replayed them in my head. Something inside me was moved by the simplicity of it. There was no explanation, or sobbing lament of death on a lonely mountain at only 18 years old. Just a choice. Should I climb, or not? The decision ultimately ended in his death, but he had decided at 18, where he wanted to face that danger. It may have been an easy decision for him, or it may have been one he struggled with. I'm sure several friends and family members warned against it, perhaps even pleaded with him not to go. I'm sure he was on a quest like mine, to figure out some things about himself, and he thought he'd find his answers on the peak of a mountain. He chose to take up the quest, and fight back the doubt. He chose to do what has hard, even if it cost him his life. He chose to climb.

That's the man I want to be. I want to climb. I want to chose to face my challenge, and hold that line to the end of my life. I want the courage, and passion to risk everything, and the faith to keep looking forward. I think that, more than just doing the right thing, is what being a great man is about.

Tomorrow I leave for Colmar, France. My train's at 5:39pm, and gets in at about 10:13pm. Jan and Randy said they'd meet me at the station, so I'm excited to finally meet them. Keep commenting on my blogs, I really like reading your thoughts and encouragements.

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Living in Zermatt

2008-05-02T14:48:00.000-07:00

I slept very well in my luxurious Swiss apartment. I woke up before my alarm wen off, and just lied in bed until it did, then I got up to go down to breakfast. However, I expected a little bit more from this place in that area. It wasn't terrible, but it wasn't really anything more than I'd already been getting. There was bread, cereal, some assorted fruit slices, lunch meat slices, and Swiss cheese (which I thought was very clever). I guess I was expecting breakfast here to be a little more like their expensive lunch and dinner menus. Maybe some french toast, pancakes, at least a pastry or something. Although, it was free so I had my fill of it happily.

After breakfast, I went back up to my room, showered and got ready for the day. One thing I love about hotels is that they already provide everything you need, so you don't have to use any of your own things like soap, toothpaste, and towels. This place in particular is packed full of little luxuries. I'll have a great time when I leave here, continuing my longstanding tradition of taking everything that isn't bolted to the floor. You can never have enough towels, or soaps, ashtrays, drinking glasses, silverware, tissues, or sheets. I'd take the chairs if I could fit them on my back, but they'd probably notice.

As I was just getting ready to leave, I heard a key slip into the lock on my door. They'd sent up a cleaning lady, who must have assumed I was already out of the room. I hate it when they just enter in without knocking, or doing any sort of check to make sure I'm not naked, or still in bed. Several times during my trip I've been just hanging out either in bed, or just partially clothed when the cleaning lady decides to come strolling in. This time however, I was fully clothed and already out of the showever, although only just. As she fiddled with the key I figured I'd have a little fun, and greet her at the door. Without saying a word, I placed myself right in front of the doorway, and waited for it to open. To her great suprise, there I was smiling down at here when she finally got the door open. She let out a scream, and leaped back dropping all her cleaning equipment all over the hallway. I stood there smiling, and nodded to her as if to say, "I'm still here". She backed up, and appologised profusely, and said she'd go now, and come back another time. I said that'd be great, and slowly closed the door as she gathered her things to leave. I heard her let out an embarrassed laugh from the other side of the door, as she ran to tell another cleaning lady what just happened. I sat there and laughed myself for a while, remembering the look on her face. It was absolutely priceless. I'll bet nothing even remotely like that has ever happened to her. I'm sure from now on she'll knock before entering to clean.

I had a couple arrands to run today, first of which was to figure out where to go from here. I'd talked to the Kents, who were expecting me in Colmar, France, and we worked out that the 4th or 5th would be a good time to come up. So I found a train leaving here on Sunday the 4th in the late afternoon which gets in at 10:13 in Colmar. This means I'm going to be staying here one more day, so I went back to the hotel and reserved my room for one more night. I also explained that on the day I leave, my train doesn't depart until about 5:30, so I asked if I could store my bags somewhere on that day until I leave. The lady at the desk was so nice, and she said I didn't have to check out till 1pm, and then when I did, I could leave my bags behind the desk with her.

The next order of business was to find a grocery store to get some food for today. With the help of that same lady, I found a perfect little food market just around the corner. I spent some time browsing through things, weighing costs, and remembering if I even knew how to cook certain things. I finally settled on a (very easily oven cooked) frozen pizza for lunch, and then cheeze torellini for dinner. I also bought some bananas because I'd been craving them, and some boxed cookies for dessert. I was very proud of myself, that I went down and bought groceries that I was going to cook for myself. I felt all grown up. After grocery shopping I stopped into a few little shops that weren't open yesterday. I went into a book store where they had a couple English books, however nothing I was looking for, it seems. I also looked at some beautiful music boxes I found in another shop. One day I'll have a little daughter I can buy a Swiss music box for, but until then I'll just look.

I tried to work on uploading some pictures today, but that just proved unbelievably frustrating. My laptop just isn't what it used to me. It can't even perform simple tasks anymore at any sort of decent speed. I even tried deleting everything on it that wasn't vitally importaint to free up some space, but still it just won't do it. I worked on it for about an hour and a half before I became so frustrated that I just wanted to chuck it out the window. I have so many photos that have just accumulated from times I've had no internet that any time I try to Upload them onto Flickr, my computer freaks out. After 2 hours, and I'd gotten about 2 photos uploaded, I finally gave up and decided I needed to go take a walk before I exploded. Walking was just what I needed to do.

I felt so much more calm, and peaceful staring up at the Matterhorn, and feeling the chilled wind on my face. I caught the occasional whiff of barbeque as I passed by several steak houses, and that scent mixed with the icy air brought back fond memories of family trips to Mammoth in the winter. I listened to my iPod as I walked full circle around the city. As I reached the end, I noticed a small dirt path I hadn't seen before which lead up away from the city. It headed right towards the Matterhorn, and seemed to curve way up into the mountains, so I followed the path outside the city. It was about dusk when I started off down the path, and it turned into a little "Night Hike" through the Alps. I didn't go really all that far. I followed the path up only about an hour (it went a lot further than that) until the city was far out of sight, and then I turned back. It was nice though, to see the beautiful green hills, and watch as the sun dipped down under the horizon, although coming back was a little creepy in the dark. The dead leafless trees, and winding dirt roads don't look quite as friendly in the dark by yourself when you can't see any civilization around you. But I did make it back safely, and cooked myself dinner. I managed only to destroy the kitchen a little bit, but it tasted good enough. Now I'll just hang out, relax and watch some TV. Perhaps in a bit I'll go out and smoke my pipe on the balcony. It's been so wonderful relaxing here in Zermatt.
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Zermatt, Switzerland

2008-05-01T19:12:00.000-07:00

I woke up after having a surprisingly good night's sleep on the night train. They even served us breakfast. Well, what they called breakfast; it was a bread roll and tea. It was insanely cramped in there with 6 people in a room the size of a small walk-in closet, but we made it work. We were to arrive in Zurich very soon, where I'd be transferring to a different train going to Visp, and then from there, another one to Zermatt. It was a lot of train transfers, but I understood later why they did it that way. Zermatt is a little town right in amongst the Alps. Normal trains can't get there, so you have to transfer to a special, smaller train that can scale the mountains.

When we got to Zurich I stood on the platform and waited for my next train for 40 minutes. I wish I had some sort of eventful story to tell, but sometimes you just sit there and wait for your train. Waiting 40 minutes for my train was pretty much my experience in Zurich. In Visp I had only enough time to walk from the platform where my train stopped, to the platform where my next one was waiting. Before I knew it, I was on my last train to Zermatt. This last train, as I mentioned before, was much smaller, designed to act as a shuttle across the Alps. Needless to say, however, the journey through the Alps was an experience to remember. The views were some of the most beautiful sights I've seen on my trip thus far. Green rolling fields to snow covered masterpieces. I felt like I had fallen into an old painting of Switzerland 100 years ago. The countryside was scattered with tiny cottages exactly like what you see in movies, or old TV shows. I always thought that was sort of a stereotype of Swiss culture, but they actually look exactly like that. The mountains rose so high all around, that I had to strain to see all the way to the top. In certain areas, the melting snow poured off the side in waterfalls, filling river beds with water so cold it looked murky. My train was full of elderly British tourists, who I'm guessing were all on a tour together. This seemed reminiscent of my ferry to Croatia with the old Germans, except this time I actually understood them.

Passing through mountains, tiny villages and cattle, we finally entered Zermatt. Exiting the train, I saw an assortment of backpackers, hikers, skiers, and European families on vacation. The whole place was a huge ski resort. I was so enamored with the beautiful fresh powder snow covering everything, and the absolutely amazing white hills, I almost didn't know what to do first. I walked into the tourist information center, and got a map, making sure to have the front desk attendant point out where we were right now. Then I asked about hostels in the area. The woman told me there was one, but she didn't know if it'd be all filled up already. She seemed to think it was going to be pretty hard to come across a decent room here without a previous reservation, in fact most people keep warning me of that as we're now entering the big tourist season. She gave me the number for the front desk of the hostel, but the reception was closed. I looked at my map, and figured there's gotta be some kind of cheaper hotel here that I walk to which has some room; the city's not very big at all. So I gathered my stuff, and decided I'd just start walking down the main road stopping at wherever I could find to ask for a room. As soon as I looked down main street, I was very surprised to see that there were hotels absolutely everywhere! I passed by some 4 star hotels, and wandered into a 3 star. I asked the front desk in there was anything available. Again to my surprise there was in fact, a room open. It was 90 Swiss Frank a night (60 euros), which is exactly what I paid for my crappy hotel in Venice, so I figured that's a pretty standard 3 star hotel price, and I didn't think I was going to get much better than that here. Out of all the hotels I found, most of them were 4 and 5 star. Things are very expensive here, centrally because it's a big ski resort for Europeans. One nice thing about it though, is that each Swiss Frank is roughly worth one US Dollar. I think the dollar still gets the benefit of the doubt, but it's pretty much right on. So I don't have to do any sort of conversion in my head, to see what things cost in my budget. The other nice things, is that everywhere here (because of their European tourists) takes credit cards, and also accepts Euros so I don't have to change out all my cash.

I reserved 2 nights in the hotel to start with, the front desk called it a studio, but I just figured that's what they were calling it to make it sound bigger, so I'd pay for it. However, entering the room I saw that it actually is a studio apartment. I have my own full bathroom, kitchen, and balcony. I was ecstatic! This was the coolest thing ever, in the coolest place ever with a view that made me never want to leave. As soon I could tear myself away from my awesome room, I went back down to the front desk to get some information about where things were in the city. I asked where I might find grocery store because now that I have a kitchen, I thought it'd be fun as well as more cost effective to go get a bunch of stuff from the market, and make myself meals. However she told me that most things, including the market, are closed today because it's Sunday. I said ok, and didn't think much of it until I checked my phone and realized that it's actually Thursday, then I was thoroughly confused. As she said, most things have been closed all day, and I can't figure out why. It's definitely not Sunday, but maybe it has something to do with the first of the month. People tell me that things will be open again tomorrow, but it's been difficult to find decently priced food within the city. The only restaurants open today are the the ones inside the 4 and 5 star hotels in which I'd end up paying 20 bucks for a plate of spaghetti. I decided to hold out as long as I could in terms eating, and make give my meals more mileage. Instead I went exploring the city.

Zermatt is a really tiny city. You can walk around the whole thing in less than an hour, but it's absolutely gorgeous. You walk out onto the street and all around you are these amazing mountains. A small river divides Zermatt in two, and on the far end, old Swiss homes crawl up the hill side. There's a modest church in the center of town, with a small cemetery around it. Up the side of the hill, there's a single ski lift leading up the mountain. However, perhaps the most beautiful, and certainly most famous site is the Matterhorn towering up over all other mountains. It's one of the most beautiful things I have yet seen. It's an absolute symbol of majesty. I thought, before I arrived here, that the Matterhorn would be off in the distance somewhere, blending into the rest of the Alps. I thought I might have to have someone point it out to me so I'd know what I was looking at. However, as soon as I turned the corner onto the main street I was struck with awe. It's so close I feel like I could just go walking up it, and it looks just how I've seen it in pictures, covered with snow, jetting out into the clear blue sky. It almost looks out of place standing there miles taller than anything else. I couldn't take my eyes off it. I still can't every time I look at it. I just can't believe what I'm seeing. People pass by me, making no notice of it, as if it's just some normal thing. I can't even grasp that. I've wanted to see this mountain my entire life. When I was a little kid, I used to play a game with myself whenever I went to Disneyland, to find the top of the Matterhorn, because that meant we were finally there. Here I am staring at the REAL Matterhorn, and I'm in awe. When I was finally able to tear myself away from staring at it, and after I'd taken a couple thousand pictures of it, I decided to find something to tide me over till dinner. After some searching, I actually found a pretty cool bakery, which also sold freshly made sandwiches (odd paring I thought, but it worked well). It was certainly a whole lot cheaper, and the sandwiches were pretty good quality. I bought one sandwich, and some Almond brittle, and it was all together only about 7 bucks. I also found a sporting goods store (because there are thousands of them here), and bought a thermos to hold water I can purify from the tap, so I won't have to keep paying for water bottles.

When dinner time came around I debated with myself about what to do. I'd seen a steak house just around the corner from where my apartment was, and it sounded really good, but it was starting at 30 dollars a plate. I looked for some cheaper options, but like I said before, just about everywhere else was closed till tomorrow. Luckily earlier today Jamie had sent me exactly 30 dollars, so I figured I'd use that to have myself a nice steak dinner tonight, and then tomorrow I'd grab some stuff from the grocery store and cook. So I went to the Steak House, and ordered myself a sirloin steak, country fries, and some beer from Denmark. I felt full and happy afterwards. It was fantastic! Thanks for dinner, Jamie!

After dinner, I saw the sun set over the Matterhorn, and watched a Genesis concert on TV via my awesome apartment. It's wonderful here. People are friendly, the scenery's gorgeous, and there's lots of snow to play in. I'm excited to play more tomorrow.
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The Hills

2008-05-01T13:37:00.000-07:00

I slept through breakfast this morning because I felt the little extra sleep might do me some good, plus the morning breakfast here in this hostel isn't complementary. You have to pay 3 euro for the breakfast buffet. I decided, as long as I'm paying for it, I'd rather pick something up on the street that's a little more quality.

I still had to get up before 10, however, because that's when check out time was, and I still had to take a shower (which is extremely important since I'll be traveling all night long tonight). I took a very quick shower, which was unfortunate because I discovered that this was one of the few hostels with a decent shower situation. I would have liked to sit there a while and soak up the nice hot water from the shower head which actually dispensed water at a normal volume, rather than just trickling out or shooting it at you like riot control. I got myself ready for the day, and then hurried down stairs to check out. I had to pack up my backpack and pull it out of the because I needed to hand back my key. However, because my train wasn't leaving till after midnight, they let me store my stuff in their luggage room for the day at no extra charge.

So now I went out to explore again, stopping by the open food market to pick up some breakfast. I bought a chocolate covered banana on some kind of breading which was delicious. Not exactly the most wholesome breakfast, but when I saw it I had to have it, because it just looked like something you should buy in Salzburg. I also picked up some water because I knew I'd need it for my hike today. I'd decided that I was going to go check out the hills outside the main city, and sit out on the grass for a while. There were hiking trails all over the hills, which I could see on my map, so I planned to just wander around in the forest and grassy fields for the majority of the day.

The hills themselves looked a whole lot closer from inside the city. Once I got walking, it took me about an hour and a half just to reach them. However, I got to walk through some of the surrounding suburbs which are beautiful. The sun was out and shining. There wasn't a cloud in the sky today, and the weather was mild enough to where I didn't even need my jacket for most of the time. The Alps were leaping out of the horizon, bright white. They jumped as if making sure you noticed them at all times. The people I past by were all as friendly as I've ever known people to be. They smiled at me, and said hello as they walked by. I followed the road in the direction of one of the walking trails which took me right through a giant field bursting with little yellow and white flowers growing all over. Through the middle was a little creek running along a very old wooden fence. It was like something out of a dream, or movie. I didn't expect this place to look exactly like it does in the movies, but it definitely does, and looks even more wonderful in person.

The trail lead me up to a forest which throughout it had more open fields which poked holes in the wooded ceiling to let the beautiful white light in. Some places I passed by looked so much like pictures I'd seen of battle fields in WW2, and I'm sure used to be just that. I climbed up higher in to denser forest, often straying from the main path to find smaller, lesser traveled paths. Eventually I got myself lost and disoriented from where I knew I was. I still followed the path, so I knew that eventually it'd spit me out somewhere, so I wasn't at all worried, in fact I was utterly thrilled to be wandering through unfamiliar forests. I found several places with breathtaking views of the city, and of the Alps, still shining clearly in the distance. I got another email from Jordan, sharing his thoughts about my views on evangelism, and I had time to just sit in solitude for a while on top of this beautiful mountain overlooking the Alps, and meditate on that question. His words, as they usually do, stirred up conversation inside me, and I wrote him back a long email regarding everything I thought about. It's wonderful to be able to sit in thought, staring at God's beautiful creation and philosophize about the way the world works. If you ever have the opportunity to just get yourself lost in the wilderness for a day, I highly recommend it, especially if it's somewhere like this. Hours went by, and I trudged on through dense trees, thick mud, and tall grass. Over bridges and streams (which I had to cross by means of balancing over a fallen tree), and past waterfalls cascading over perfectly chiseled cliff faces. I finally found a place to where the trail opened up into another giant field of tall grass and flowers. It looked exactly like the field in The Sound of Music, with an amazing view of the mountains just over the tops of the trees. I found myself starting to hum songs from The Sound of Music, but people walking by began to chuckle as they heard me, so I stopped (but secretly began again after they left). I walked into the center of it, and laid down in the tall grass. I rested there for another hour, watching people walk by on the paths on either side of the field, while children played with their dogs in the tall grass. I wished I could stay there forever, but I decided eventually it was time to find my way back.

I had a little bit of a hard time finding a way back to the main road, because I'd gotten myself so well lost in the forest. However, eventually I did find the main road, and walked back into the city and met up with Chris at the hostel.

He went out shopping with me for refills on my toiletries, showing me the places I could buy things like that in Europe. Then we went out to dinner. We first tried this place he was raving about which you have to take an elevator to, because it's right at the top of the mountain between The Castle, and an old medieval monastery. The restaurant over looks the whole city, and we got there right at six, when all the bell towers in all the city rang in the end of the day all at once. Unfortunately the restaurant was closed. Everything closes insanely early here, and apparently we had just missed it. However, we did sit outside on the railing overlooking the city, watched the sun begin to set, and talked travel stories. After a while we both started getting hungry, so we got back down to the bottom of the mountain and ate at an Italian restaurant near the lift. After dinner, we walked back to the hostel and sat for hours and talked about everything from books to politics. He recommended this author named Emilio Eco, who apparently writes these amazing mystery novels unlike any other he's ever read before. A lot of what he told me about them sounds really interesting, so I'll be looking for something written by him if I pass by a book store with books written in English. We talked politics, and philosophized everything in the world from human behavior to wold events. Our conversations gathered crowds around us who wanted to listen to what we had to say. Chris has an amazing perspective on the world, and brought to light some things I'd never even thought about before. I mostly just played the devils advocate, trying to come up with loopholes and reasons why his ideas couldn't work. However, I found myself, nearly everytime unable to combat his ideas, and instead simply shaped them with ideas of my own. Together within the span of about 3 and a half hours, we solved all the worlds problems. We joked about the fact that we just have to figure out now how to convince everyone else. At about midnight, I said goodbye to Chris, and went off to catch my train.

I boarded my train at around 12:45, and had a hell of a time trying to find my seat which had been reserved. I'd never had a reservation on a train before, I'd always (because of my Eurail pass) just found an empty seat, and sat down. However this was much more strenuous. I ended up walking down 5 cars in the wrong direction, and had to make my way back through tiny isles packed with people, until I finally found my spot. To my surpass, the ticket I booked was for a sleeping car. I'd told the woman at the counter when I made my reservation to book me in the six person compartment car, and not the sleeping car because it was more expensive. However, once I got in there, it was nice to be able to stretch out and get a good night's sleep, so maybe it was a blessing after all.
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Salzburg, Austria

2008-04-29T15:37:00.000-07:00

I arrived at the train station in Salzburg at about half past midnight. Unfortunately, I didn't get very much sleep on the train, partly because I'd stayed up writing last night's blog, and partly because this particular train's breaks were just awful, and screeched an ear shattering tone at every stop, which was loud enough to drown out even my iPod.

Exiting the train, I was absolutely delighted at the sight of the station. It was a big station, full of people and trains departing and arriving all night long. There were open park benches, guards and even a couple cafes still open. It was well lit, and everyone seemed pretty level headed and friendly. I set my stuff down at a park bench near the tracks. I was a little hungry, because I'd skipped dinner, but all I had on me were Czech Crowns, and there weren't any currency exchange places open this late. Fortunately, there was a vending machine right next to me, and since most currency exchanges won't exchange coins, I still had a little bit of change in euros. I found what seemed to be the most filling meal, which turned out to be some kind of apple tart (actually quite good), and bought that. I set up, laying along the bench in the way I've learned works best for sleeping, and tryed to get some sleep. I couldn't seem to get any though, because now it started to rain, and the wind grew colder. I bundled up with what I could find in my backpack to put on, and as I'd done before, tried to wrap my blanket around my legs. However, still I lay shivering. I tried hard, to look past the cold and just fall asleep, but everytime I began to nod off, a train would come roaring past and wake me up, and then it was too cold to go back to sleep. I decided to get up and see if I could find myself a place which was a little warmer and quieter. I hauled around the station until I found a little tunnel leading to the ticket office and waiting room for departure. There were already several backpackers sprawled out along the benches sound asleep, so it seemed like it might be a good place to stay the night. It was quieter than the platforms upstairs, and substantially warmer because it was inside, out of the rain. However, it had high ceilings over a tile floor which made it still uncomfortably cold. Also, all of the benches were already full of people, so I had to find a spot in the corner laying on the cold hard floor. With my blanket, I made kind of a mattress by folding it a couple times and laying on top of it. This helped keep part of my body off the cold ground, but now I had no blanket to cover my legs. I tried a couple different setups, until I finally found one comfortable enough to at least nod off for a bit. Later, one of the benches opened up, so I moved myself there, and got about an hour of sleep. I was still inexplicably cold though, everytime I'd wake up, and I couldn't get back to sleep even though I was utterly exhausted from my 7 hour train ride. I stared at the clock, and counted down the hours till someone would be at the information booth. I paced when I got too cold, and it helped, but as soon as I stopped moving, the cold came back. The rain outside had still not let up, and I began thinking about how miserable I was in Rejig, trying to walk through the city all day in the rain without a hotel or hostel to thaw out in. I started toying with the notion that I might just find a cheap hotel for this next night, and then I could take a nap in a warm bed, walk around all day, and then worry about getting a train ticket to Zermatt at my leisure. It certainly seemed like a good plan, and as the clock ticked on, It began to seem like the right thing to do. I'd seen a map of the city near one of the platforms, so I figured out roughly which way I needed to go to find the center. Then from there I was sure there would be some hotels I could afford. I got walking at about 5:30am out in the rain, trying to make sure I ducked under every shelter so that I didn't get myself soaked before I could find a warm place to stay. I asked a petrol station for directions to some hotels, and they pointed me down the right road. I passed by a couple hotels I knew would be way out of my price range (The Crowne Plaza for instance) and continued of to find a more moderately priced one. Unfortunately, they were all booked full, but the front desk clerk pointed me to a youth hostel which was just down the street. It was just the place I wanted to be, it was friendly, warm, and cheap. Unfortunately, when I got there the front desk said I had to wait till checkout at 11 before I could get my room assignment. However, he must have noticed that I was cold and now sopping wet, because he let me stay in the lounge and get some rest, and watch a little TV till checkout. I was so relieved to be in a nice warm place, and I curled up on a bench next to a table and fell asleep. When I woke up, only a couple hours had passed, and I heard breakfast being made in the next room. I waited for some others in the hostel to get down for their breakfast, then I got some of my own. Someone put on The Sound of Music on the TV in the lounge, so I watched that while I ate.

After I finally got my room key, I went up to my room and met my new roommate, Chris. Chris is from Arizona and travels around fairly often. He's on what he calls sort of a "best of" trip of his favorite places in Europe and Salzburg happens to be one of them. We talked about places we'd been and swapped travel stories, and then he showed me some cool places to see on the map. He favored heavily his right leg, because he said he somehow did something terrible to his left leg a couple weeks ago, and now he could barely even stand on it. He'd been keeping off it mostly, for the last couple days, hoping the pain would subside, but he says it's not getting any better. I suggested switching ice and heat to keep the blood flowing, and keep any swelling down, and he said he'd try that, but he figures he'd just bear it for the next month and a half he's got left on his trip, then deal with it when he gets home.

After settling into the hostel, I went out and explored. Immediately when I'd gotten here, I'd noticed that people were extremely friendly. People said hello, and smiled at me as I walked by, and when I asked for directions, I always got their best attempts to help me. It's like I'd felt of the people in Ireland, it's a very helpful community vibe that just makes you feel welcome. However I was also stunned when I entered the center area, and saw the absolute beauty of this place. The hills are a deep green color, and fall off into jagged cliffs which vale themselves partially behind the fog. Flowers are in bloom, and dripping beads of freshly fallen rain. The whole city smells of roses, and wet stone. I walked through some of the areas featured in The Sound of Music. The little park they road bikes through in "Doe a Dear", and the Abby where Maria was from. I also walked past where Mozart was born, and a house that he'd lived in. I walked through the old town on the other side of the river, and bought a huge chocolate covered pretzel at a vendor near a huge cathedral. I wandered all the way through the city through a tunnel carved out of the mountain side which lead to a little local suburb behind the mountain. I got myself lost among the amazingly cool houses, and beautiful gardens. Finally, The clouds opened up slightly, and I turned a corner and stopped in my tracks as the Alps slowly emerged from behind the clouds. They were snow-capped and majestic, exactly how I pictured them to look, but far more beautiful seeing them with my own eyes. When I found my way back to the city, I took a tram up to the Castle on top of the mountain. There I got a spectacular view of the whole city, and the Alps in the background. I explored the castle and walked through a Marionette Museum inside one of the towers, which was a lot creepier than I anticipated. When I got off the mountain, I walked past an old Goldsmith's shop, and then into the huge church where Maria was married to Captain Von Trappe.

When I got back to the hostel, I took a long nap, while letting my phone and camera charge. Then in the night, I walked along the river and bought a huge sausage with melted cheese and spicy mustard from a city hot dog vendor. By nightfall, the sky had been cleared, and stars shown all over. The city was lit up, and reflected in the water. I sat and admired the beauty of it all, and took in long deep breaths of the cold cleansing air from the nearby Alps.

Tomorrow there's a night train to Zermatt which I've reserved a seat for, so I'll check out from the hostel in the morning, and leave my bags in their luggage room. I can hang out a little more in the city till midnight when I have to catch my 9 hour train to Zermatt, Switzerland.
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The Road to Salzburg

2008-04-28T13:51:00.000-07:00

This morning the dining hall was closed, I must have missed the signs that said breakfast was being served next door, I just thought maybe they weren't doing breakfast. It was fine anyway, because it gave me a chance to try to look for a nice pastry shop of some sort. India and Nerida had gotten up earlier to go to work. They'd recently both gotten jobs in the city teaching English. I said goodbye to them before they left, and Nerida gave me her email address to stay in touch. She said if I was ever in Australia, I'd have to look her up.

I'd bought my ticket yesterday for my trip to Salzburg today at 5, so I figured I had till about 4 for one last stroll around the city. I took the metro to city center as I usually do, and first went looking for food. I found a couple things that looked somewhat appetizing, but I like to cover as much ground as possible and see everything before deciding what to eat. Suddenly, in passing I noticed a store that had on it a big sign that said "Supermarket." I thought, this has to be where I'll find toothpaste and a thurmos. I entered the store and looked around for a while, but did find anything like it. It seemed this particular supermarket on sold food items, and not toiletries things of that sort like every supermarket back home. At last my hunger got the best of me, so I bought a pastry at the supermarket pastry counter. It really wasn't all that good, and it didn't do much to filling me up, so I mostly regarded that as a bad decision. I walked around, and waited for lunch before buying my last Czech hotdog which was much more satisfying. I worked a little on last night's blog, and sat at a bench in old town square before deciding it was time I should get back. Then I packed up the rest of my things, and left for the train station.

I didn't have a lot of trouble finding where I needed to go. I was there a little early, and I'd done this enough times to sort of know how things are supposed to work. My train left promptly at just after 5, and isn't scheduled to arrive in Salzburg till midnight. I had tried to get a more accommodating trip, but this was the only train going to Salzburg today. I figure I can sleep on the train (It's 7 hours anyway), then I'll have to wait in the station at Salzburg till things start opening up. I'll find a train or bus leaving to Zermat Switzerland later in the afternoon, or a night train perhaps, then spend the day in Salzburg. I doubt that Salzburg is going to be somewhere I'll want to stay. I keep hearing it's really expensive and touristy because of the whole Sound of Music thing. I just want to see the green hills, and the little town like in the movie, which I'm sure they'll have kept (at least part of it) exactly the same as it was for all the tourists. Zermat I hear is very pretty, and worth staying in. Plus I'm excited to see the Matterhorn in real life, and not just the Disneyland attraction we have back home. This is gonna be another rushed through sort of couple days, but I'm prepared for it. I don't even know how exactly I can get to Zermat from Salzburg, it's not on my Eurail map. As for staying in the rail station for another night, I think I'm ok with it. If I sleep on the train, I won't need to sleep so much there. I'm only going to be waiting 4 or 5 hours till the morning staff comes to work, and then just like an hour or two after that to when shops and things start opening up, and I can begin exploring the city. In terms of safety, I'm pretty sure the rail station in Salzburg's going to be a lot friendlier than Gyor, Hungary. It's a popular enough place that there should be a fairly big station, and people around all the time. Regardless, this is what I do. I jump head first into the situation and figure it out as I go. It's an adventure.

My greatest comfort always harps back to my adventure to Jerusalem. God didn't leave me in the sands of the desert, or even stranded in Jordan. He provided for me. He gave me transportation and shelter. Even in Gyor, God allowed that train to get there just when I needed it. It's my guess that God figures I do more good alive, so I worry little about provisions. That's not to say I don't prepare at all. God's not going to intervene every time. Sometimes it's up to me to make the right decisions. I can't think of God like an over protective mother, doing everything for me; but more as a guide telling me which way to go.

I think my story has become somewhat valuable in reminding people what it's like to be a lonely, confused kid looking for answers. The God I've come to know seems to delight in making my story worth talking about. I'm not just talking about the epic journey anymore. The life that God has allowed me to live is worth talking about. It's often hard for me to do, but it's more because I don't know how to tell it, than that I don't want to. I'm still in the middle of it. I don't know where this story leads to, or if it has a happy ending. Parts of it, I can't even remember. How am I supposed to tell a story that's not finished yet; which has pieces missing all over the place? How are the jottings of my random though processes going to help anyone? Or lead anyone in to the right direction? I don't even know which direction I'm headed right now, I have no compass!

I'm really pressured by the idea that I have to enter this journey as a representative of christ. I've been told all the eyes of my church are upon me, as well as my family and friends. I feel some pressure of disappointment were I to go through this journey and not change someone's life. The truth is simply that I'm not a saint, or missionary or Jesus Christ. I'm just some kid who's looking for some certain things to learn from life. I'm a terrible preacher, and I hate doing it. It's awkward for me to sit down with someone and talk about Jesus. I feel like I'm selling something, and I was never any good at that anyway. I'm much more comfortable just talking about my experience. What I've seen and heard, and felt in this world is all I know. I wasn't at the birth of christ, I wasn't at the crucifixion. I wasn't there. But I was in Jerusalem and I met an amazing Jewish couple who made me dinner, and talked and laughed with me. I was in Bethlehem and met my tour guide's family who brought me into their home and made me feel welcome. I know that there are some people in this world who hurt like I do, and sound like me when they complain about things, and who find the same things funny who don't even speak a word of my language. I don't know how to be an example of christ. I just know how to be me, and I have faith that that's enough for God to work with how he pleases. If it wasn't, I think my journeyed be over a long time ago.
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Laundry Day

2008-04-28T06:32:00.000-07:00

I got up, trying to sleep in as long as I could without missing breakfast. I'd gotten to sleep just after 4am when my Polish brothers decided to take a late night/early morning stroll through the city. I was glad they left, otherwise I might not have slept at all.

After breakfast, I decided I'd try to be responsible and do some of the things I needed to get done. My dirty laundry had piled up in my backpack, and I was down to one clean change of clothes. The clothes I was wearing, I'd been wearing for the past week. Jeans are great though, because you can wear them forever and they don't smell or look dirty. I've changed my pants only once this whole trip. Everything else though, starts to look and smell lived in after a couple days.

I took a shower and changed into all new clean clothes. When I got out, I felt like a whole new person. Then I gathered up all my clothes, and put them into a bag I borrowed from the front desk upstairs. At breakfast I asked the hostel tenant how much it costs to use the washing machines, and she told me I could just pay them 99 crowns (about 5 bucks) and hand them my laundry, and they'd wash it and dry it for me. It sounded like a pretty sweet deal, so I handed over my bag of dirty laundry. At 3pm they said I could come pick it up, so I had some time to wait around for it. While I was waiting for my laundry, I thought I'd go into town and see if I could find a place to get toothpaste, I was running low on that as well. I also needed to find some pipe tobacco, pipe cleaners, matches, and some kind of thermos so I didn't have to keep buying water bottles everywhere I went. So I had my little shopping list, and I took the metro into City Center to see if I could take care of some of it.

Literally right around the corner from the metro station, I found a smoke shop specialized in pipes and cigars. It was pretty cool, and I found everything I needed for my pipe right away. There was a whole wall of all different selections of pipe tobacco, but I didn't see the kind I usually get at home, Captain Black. So I asked the man who owned the shop which was his favorite. He pointed me to Black Vanilla, so I figured I'd give it a shot. I walked a little ways through old town and sat down on a bench near a park in the square, and tried out this new tobacco with my new antique pipe. It was glorious. This new pipe, smokes like a dream and the aroma of the tobacco was wonderful. I always get interesting reactions from people walking by as I smoke my pipe. Everyone seems to love it, it's a lot more pleasant than the wafts of cigarette smoke you usually get in a city, and I think it reminds most people of a happy child hood hearing stories and playing games with their grandfather. They're usually surprised to see my face behind the smoke rings, because I'm a bit younger than the average pipe smoker, but they all so far give me their nod of approval for being cultured and bringing back the traditional. It's much more classy than a cigar or cigarette, and smoking a pipe is really an art form. Plus it goes perfectly with my whole look right now, with the long scraggly beard, Scottish hat and my fiddle, Mr. Windlehatpee. My Grandma Sutliff suggested the name.

I kept on walking towards the river, looking for some kind of Supermarket/Wallmart equivalent, but couldn't find anything. I know there must be somewhere that people buy the things I'm looking for, but they probably don't look like they do back home, so I don't know what to look for. When I arrived near Charles Bridge, I noticed a stage being set up in the park. Several people laid out on the grass in front of it, and I noticed crew members tuning instruments, and hooking up sound equipment. Obviously these were the makings of some kind of concert in the park. I found a nice place up front and sat down on the grass next to two Irish guys. I heard them talking with some excitement about waiting for the concert to start, and so I asked them who was playing. Lenny Cravitz, they told me. They'd heard that Lenny Cravitz was giving some sort of secret free concert here in Prague, so they'd been sitting out here for a while waiting to see him. James was the one sitting on the far side of me, and Nole was his friend next to him. James looked like someone you might meet at a concert. He had long dark brown hair which he was constantly pulling out of his face, and he wore a well lived in black Linkin Park t-shirt, and jeans. He asked where I'm from and I told him California, and then I guess correctly that he was from Southern Ireland. He asked how I knew, and I said it's the accent which is slightly different from the Northern Irish. It's not as Germanic, I guess; a little less harsh sounding. We talked for a while, as the stage was being set up, and the mics sound tested. He said he wanted to study to be a director, and so we talked about good schools in California to do that, and about the film industry. I looked at my phone a little later and noticed that it was after 3 and I had to go pick up my laundry. I didn't want to leave my spot because people were already starting to figure out what was going on, and in a couple minutes the place would be swarming with people. When an experienced concert goer finds a free concert, he waits there all day, and doesn't move from his spot. I've been to enough outdoor concerts to know that up front can get brutal for people who leave and try to come back. However I figured I had still a good couple hours before the concert began. I saw them set up some lights, which meant they're planning on the concert either starting at, or going into the night. Night here doesn't fall until probably 7:30 or 8:30, so I gathered I still have some time, if I hurry, to go back and sort my laundry, and then get back here and still get a good spot.

I powered it to the metro, which took me forever to find. It seems, just walking around, I pass a metro station every couple of blocks, and here I was frantically looking for one and couldn't find it anywhere. I walked all the way back to the City Center where I was sure where one was, and took it back to my hostel, picked up my laundry, and sorted it. I packed up my backpack, so it was all together, clean and ready to go, then I raced back down to the metro station again. I tried to remember, once I got out, which way I'd gone to get to where the concert was. It took a little while to find my tracks again, but I eventually found the spot. There were a lot more people now than when I'd left, and it looked like security had cleared, and taped off the whole front area where I was sitting. I pushed through to the tape barrier, and asked someone near me if they were going to take the tape down when the concert started. The guys next to me looked at me disappointedly. "Naw" they said, "apparently it's not even a concert, there're shooting some kind of music video." I looked around, and did notice a whole lot of film crew. Soon after, Lenny Cravitz walked by me with the rest of his band, and a small crowd of producers and makeup artists. He seemed pretty nice, talking and laughing with the band, and giving a little wave to the crowd. I tried to take a couple pictures, but they kept him pretty well hidden, and I felt bad because I was acting like the paparazzi, trying to get a clean shot.

For a long time, we all just stood there and stared at Lenny, who was also just standing there, until the stage was set, and they were finally ready for him. They'd hired some people to act as the crowd in front of the stage, which was what that area was sectioned off for, and then they played the song (Love Revolution) through the speakers while the band sang along into dummy mics and the crowd pretended to go wild. It was interesting to see how a music video was made, and it was pretty fun to get to see Lenny Cravitz, but I stuck around hoping that maybe at the end of the shooting, they'd do a little concert for the fans waiting around. I still remembered those light's I saw them put up, and they did sound check the instruments. Why would they do that if they were just going to lip sync to a track? I sat nearby, and waited watched them till the end of the shoot, but after they were finished, they just tore everything down and left. It was kinda disappointing, but it was still cool to see a Lenny Cravitz video being shot in Prague. Now I can look up that video when I get home and say I was right there just out of frame while that was being filmed. I sat and watched the sun set by Charles Bridge, then I went off to find food.

I found an amazing Italian restaurant with priced which were decent, but a little more than what I was paying for a hotdog on the street, but I decided to splurge a little since it was my last night in Prague. The pizza was absolutely amazing at this restaurant. Better actually, than most I'd had in Italy even! Then for dessert I had a big gelato sunday, which was indescribably delicious. I've said before, that ice cream over here is so much better than in the states, and it's true.

When I got back to the hostel, I'd had to change rooms for this night because the other room was booked full for tonight, so my new room mates were India, and Nerida. India was from England, and Nerida from Australia. I told them about seeing Lenny Cravitz, and showed them my pictures and we were all a little star struck together. They told me about our other roommate, who wasn't back yet, who snores like mad. I said it couldn't be any worse than Vietnam flashbacks, but it was. We stayed up talking and laughing, and telling stories. We had a great night.
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Prague, Czech Republic

2008-04-27T15:56:00.001-07:00

I woke up even before my alarm went off, so I just decided to get up and get an early breakfast. I walked upstairs to where breakfast was served, and checked out the selection. It was a modest meal; a bowl of cereal, ham with a slice of cheese, and a bread roll with jam. I ate it happily, trying to get as much a fill of it as I could (you have to take advantage of every free meal). When I headed out for the day it was around 10am. I began walking along the bridge across the train tracks, the way I had gone the night before. Perhaps the way looked different in the light. Although easier to see where I was going, the light made little difference. It still looked pretty sketchy. My roommate Tom, who's also a music student from New Jersey, told me that just a little ways from where I was last night, there's a little dirt path that takes you up the bridge and over into the main city. I looked for the little path he was talking about, and eventually found it, but it took my walking like 4 blocks through backstreets to find it. I would not have done that at night on my first night out. Down the path took me right along the river where several old men were fishing, and then as he said, up to the bridge across to the city.

I was really interested to see what so many people in the states were raving about Prague. It seemed to me just like pretty much any other city in Europe, only a lot filthier. When I got across to the other side of the bridge, my impression of the city hadn't changed any. This side seemed just as dirty, and sketchy as the other. On my way through to City Center, I passed a number of smoke shops and what seemed like thousands of bars, and besides an occasional clothing store, that was about it. After an hour of this same old thing, I was wondering to myself what the big deal of this city is. It had a couple beautiful churches, I'll grant you that, but so does everywhere else here. If the appeal is that this city is a place to get wasted and high, and hang around in clubs, you have Amsterdam for that.

Back home, Prague was like the city everyone wanted to study in. It's the hip, trendy place in America to say you were going to. It seems every American, even over here, says it was their favorite stop on their trip. "It's such and interesting city" they all said. "So cultured, and beautiful" I'd hear them say over and over again. Was I in the right Prague? All I saw so far was a homeless population that seemed even slightly larger than the normal population, some grafitti, and a whole lot of concrete. I might as well be in downtown LA. As I kept walking, I eventually found City Center next to the National Museum, and things started to get a little better.

The main street in City Center is quite beautiful, and there are lots of things to do there. There are clubs all over the place, and shops with little interesting trinkets. Food stands are everywhere in the Center, and they're really nice and cheap too. It seems the further up north and closer to the river you get, the better Prague gets. I came out of the Center and just grazed by the old town on my way to Charles Bridge. Across that is the beautiful Castle Gardens, and a little winding path leading into a small medieval-looking town at the foot of Prague Castle. Walking through the town was a whole lot of fun. Antique shops are everywhere. It seems people in Prague don't throw anything away, they just sell it to tourists. I went in, looking for a cool antique compass. In fact, I'd been looking for one since Venice. I can't seem to find one that fits my journey yet though. Everything I've found (if they even have a compass, which most places don't) is really big and bulky. I need something I can haul around, and maybe wear on my neck, like locket sized. There's a wide variety of old pocket watches, which are pretty cool, and I did manage to buy myself an old antique pipe I really loved, but no compass anywhere.

Up the Castle steps, the walls opened up into a lively city square. There were street musicians all over, playing classical masterpieces or a little bit of traditional Czech folk music. The guards at the Castle gate stood motionless as endless tourists tormented them. Food here was overpriced, and it all seemed like you might imagine a tourist attraction to be. I'm not complaining though, I love walking through beautiful places, watching street performers and listening to musicians. It's nice that the Czech people try to give us tourists a little of an adventure into the traditional culture, even if it is just for show. Also along the way, were several of these handmade marionette shops, which were amazing to look through. It's baffling to me how people can control these little puppets to do the things they can do, and some of these controls were so intricate! I walked all over the city for hours, trying to make sure I got a fair look at Prague so I could judge honestly how the city really compares to the others. I headed back to the hostel before dark because I'd decided I had to try the nightlife of Prague, and go clubbing. So I had some time before dark to take a quick nap, and a shower before heading out for a night on the town.

Before I left, I asked the lady at the front desk of the hostel which clubs were really worth seeing. She gave me a list of 4, which she thought were the best in Prague, and showed me where they were on the map. Two of them were right across the street from each other, so I thought I'd start there, and see what I liked. I took the metro to right near where the two clubs were.

The first was called The Rock Cafe, and I figured that might be close to my sort of scene, so I walked in smiling like you're always supposed to walk into a new place. I did a quick stroll around the place, figure out where everything is, and seeing all the sorts of people. There's a club technique I learned in which you're supposed to mentally mark how many in each group clustered together, and how many of them are men and how many women. You're supposed to look for groups of girls together, never a single one sitting alone. Girls alone are either waiting for someone, or want to be left alone. So I did my walk around the club, and then realized there were stairs leading down to a lower level, but there was a bouncer selling tickets to go down. I asked a group of people what was down there, and they said it was some kind of battle of the bands. It sounded pretty cool, so I paid the entrance fee to go down and have a look. As soon as I got down there I noticed something interesting. Everyone all of the sudden Seemed really young. In fact, I think I was probably the oldest guy in the room other than the few 40 somethings who sat in the corner. I found a nice group of kids to talk to, and asked what the average age is of people who go here, and they said somewhere around 16 or 17. Ok...well that changes some things. I'm not gonna hang around and be THAT guy. Although, I already payed for the entrance fee down here, so I might as well listen to some Czech high school rock bands. I ordered a drink from the bar, and stayed through the first band. They were actually really good, I thought. They weren't quite great yet, but they were definitely good. As I stood there I thought about how proud Brandon Hughes would be of me right now, and how much fun we'd be having if he were here.

After about an hour, I left there to go try the one across the street. However, as soon as I entered, I noticed everyone in this club was twice my age. I thought to myself, this must be where all the parents of the kids across the street are. I left there abruptly, and started over to the next one on the list, The Duplex. This club was located right on the Main Street of City Center, right on top of a huge hotel. The entrance was at the bottom, and you had to take the lift up to the top floor. It was perfect! It was just what I expected from a Prague night club. There were lights, and loud music, and even hired dancers on platforms in the center of the dance floor. The club was 2 stories, with a bar and lounge area on the bottom floor, and the dance floor up above it. There was also a balcony on the lower floor with a couple tables and a view of the whole city. I started slow, doing my rounds, and figuring out who was with whom sitting where, as well as first making sure there were people my age (which there were). When finally deciding I was going to stay, I checked in my jacket and ordered a drink. Hanging by the bar is never a good idea in a party event. You have to keep moving, and mingling. When people see you talking to other people, they assume you must be worth talking to, as apposed to the random guy in the corner who just watches everyone have a good time.

The first thing I notice after ordering my drink is a huge group of really, really good looking girls sitting at a table, and not a single guy present. At first I thought, this must be a trap, maybe all their guys are somewhere else or something. How could all those beautiful girls even get in here without (it seems) even being approached. Well why not, I decided, I might as well go over and say hello. I'll most likely be eaten alive, but it's a good learning scenerio, and I can't sit here all night. I grabbed my drink, and smiling confidently, I asked if they were all here together. I knew they were, but it didn't matter what I said as long as I said it confidently and started the conversation. They had some trouble understanding me, as it often happens, but rather than fall back and start again, I went with something simpler. "Are you from here?" They understood that, and all answered no. "We're from Sicilly" the one of them said who could speak some amount of English. "We're here on holiday." What a coincidence, I thought, and did a little dance in side my head. I now had something to talk about. I told the one girl, who acted as my interpreter, about my journey, why I was now here in a Prague night club. They were delighted by the concept that tried so hard to dumb down my english for them to understand, and in some cases tried to speak what little Italian I could. However, they were even more delighted by the fact that I was from America, and California at that. They were all over me as if I were some kind of celebrity right from Hollywood, and they about peed themselves when I mentioned my profession as a Cinema Composer. There were 8, (trust me, I counted very carefully several times), 8 gorgeous Sicilian women huddled around me all night long inviting me to dance with them, and making eyes at me whenever I entered their sight. Every other guy in that whole club hated my guts, because when I walked onto the dance floor, I had 8 beautiful Sicilian women with me. It was amazing. One of them in particular I really took a liking to. Her name was Julliana, and she was gorgeous, of course, but she also had this very feisty flirty air about her. She barely spoke any English, but somewhat more than most of them, so I could have very small conversations with her, and she understood me. I had an absolute blast hanging out with the girls, and then towards the end of the night they introduced me to the professors of their all girls school who were traveling with them, and whom had apparently been sitting just off to the side all night making sure the girls were ok. That was a litte awkward (and perhaps answered the riddle as to why no one else had approached them before I did). However, I sat down with the professors too, and we all talked for about an hour more, and they all really liked me. One of them said I had really kind, honest eyes which made her sure I was a good person. They said they'd love to one day travel to California and made it seem like such a glamorous place. I told them next time I go to Italy, I'd have to make sure to go to Sicilly, because truly from what they told me, it sounds amazing.

At about 1am we all had left the club. They went off back to their hotel, and I started walking back to my hostel. The metro lines stopped running some time around midnight, so I had to walk. Walking was much more fun though anyway. I walked along the river, and felt like a million bucks. I had so much fun being the American celebrity in a Prague night club. I'm glad I got to go clubbing in Prague, it's definitely one of those must-do things when traveling Europe. Mostly Prague locals aren't really all that friendly, but find yourself some Sicilians, and you'll be all set.

When I finally got back, I was surprised to find some new roommates. That is, if you can say surprised; I heard them from 3 blocks away. My 5 new Polish roommates had gone through 3 bottles of Vodka, and a bottle of Rum, and were sitting on the couch drunk off their asses. When I came through the door, they all greeted me excitedly with a loud yell as if we'd been old friends for years. Then they introduced themselves, one at a time, and then the first one would go again because he forgot he already went, and so the whole thing would start over again. We went through that a couple of times, and then they insisted I sit down with them and have a drink. Needless to say, I already knew where this road was headed, so I respectfully declined. Still they insisted, not taking no for an answer, they poured me a glass of Vodka. I pushed the glass away, and said I'd take a rein check, and promised to sit down with them and drink all night tomorrow, knowing they'd forget all about that tomorrow. I entered the room where the beds were, and tried to get some sleep. However, my new Polish friends drank and sang Tina Turner songs at the top of their lungs till 4 in the morning.

Prague's a pretty nice city. It's beautiful as long as you stay in city center, or near the river on the northern side (which are all the big tourist areas). Both me and Tom were a bit disappointed with the music scene here, though. I did see some interesting teenage Prague rock music, and there are several jazz clubs which put out decent sounds, but I was expecting the vibe to be a whole lot more bohemian than it is. I didn't see the culture here that I did in Greece, Italy, or Austria. I couldn't find any sort of Artsy village area that wasn't made to look that way for tourists. I also didn't find the people to be all that friendly. There are a couple of exceptions, of course, but most people I met who I liked came from elsewhere.

On the upside, This city does have some absolutely beautiful sights. The whole city is all lit up at night, and the Castle looks like right out of Cinderella. The little shops are very charming, and things (even in the tourist places) are usually reasonably priced. The Club scene is great here, and you can find a tobacco shop on just about every corner. I think Prague's a great city to stop into every so often, but frankly, if I were going to live somewhere abroad, I'd much prefer Belfast, Florence, Athens, or Cairo.
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To Prague

2008-04-25T18:39:00.000-07:00

Last night Carolyn and I were up till late talking. She couldn't sleep because Charlie snored like a banshee in between frequent outbursts of Vietnam flashbacks, and I was still up writing last night's blog. She's a great girl, she reminds me somewhat of Ellen Paige. She's got a little tomboy in her, but she pulls it off with a lot of feminine wit. She's (as Janene would say) full of piss and vinegar. She asked about Budapest, being as I'd just come from there and that's where she and Kara were off to next. I told her about the hostel I really loved over there, and Buda where all the beautiful sites and parks were. She gave me some tips for Prague and Paris.

I asked when she and Kara would be getting back to Paris, and she said sometime around May 14th. I told her I'd probably be getting to Paris sometime soon after that, so she offered to show me around the city when I get there. Charlie was suddenly back in Vietnam again, kicking around and yelling out incoherent sentence fragments, so we turned our attention back on him. I told her to try and roll him over somehow, but she refused. I mentioned the technique Ryan and I always use on each other when either of us is snoring. You make a huge movement real quick and then lie perfectly still. The snoring person is alarmed half awake by the sudden movement (or sound), and rolls over, thus ending the snoring. She tried waving her hand over his face and then reeling it back quickly, but nothing happened. Then she tried pushing the bed, but still he kept on snoring all the louder. Finally, just as we gave up, he choked on a bit of saliva and rolled over. We took advantage of the silence to say goodnight and get to sleep as fast as possible.

In the morning we all awoke and said goodbye to Charlie, who was leaving Vienna early that morning. We were all leaving today at different times toward different directions. I had breakfast downstairs with the girls, and we all exchanged emails so that I could find them again when I get in to Paris. Then after breakfast, I packed up the last of my stuff and checked out. I tried the train station just across the street first, for a train to Prague. However, they told me only the southern station goes to Prague, which is what I figured to begin with (it's the larger station). So I took the local bus to the southern station and asked the information desk for the time of the first available train to Prague. Unfortunately, the soonest departure to Prague was at a 1:30pm, which was still 3 hours away. The good thing about just showing up at a train station is that you're never late for your train. You're very often sickeningly early, but never late. I had nothing else I could really accomplish in this part of town, so I found my platform and an open bench, and sat in the station for 3 hours.

The train finally came, and I boarded it. It was a lot nicer than the trains I'd been used to coming up through lower eastern Europe. It really resembled more of a commercial airliner than a train. I sat next to a really nice guy from Columbia who's living right now in Vienna. He wasn't much a fan of Vienna though, he said it was too perfect. He wanted to find somewhere that was a little more unusual, and he'd heard Prague was pretty unusual. I'd not seen Prague yet, but if it was anything like this guy described his "ideal town", I was in for some kind of adventure.

My Eurail pass, as it turns out, doesn't work in The Czech Republic, so as soon as we crossed the border they made me pay for the rest of my transit to Prague. Thankfully I had just exactly enough cash to cover the ticket, and two nights in the hostel I booked. However, this meant that when I got there, I was virtually broke. Like the majority of Eastern Europe (and most places I've been, in fact) no one takes credit cards, so all my dealings have to be in cash. As soon as I pulled into the station in Prague, I had the distinct feeling of being an outsider. It just looked like everyone wanted to rob me. I'd been warned that Prague is one of the pick-pocket centers of the world, and it certainly looked that way. I kept a careful watch over both my front pockets. Everything worth stealing was in those two pockets. Fortunately, I had no cash to speak of, but I still had my iPod, phone, passport, and credit cards still up for grabs. Whenever I could I kept my hands in my pockets, however this was a lot more difficult when carrying my fiddle in one hand. It left one pocket always vulnerable. I developed a crick in my neck trying to keep my eyes on the open pocket. In the metro, especially this was tough, but somehow I made it through without losing anything.

My first impression of the city is actually somewhat disappointing. It seems like kind of a crappy city. It's dirty, and rat infested. There are beggars and pickpockets on every corner. The streets are marred with graffiti, and the smell is terrible. My hostel is over across the train tracks on the lower west side, which is not really a great part of town. The hostel itself is rather nice, but outside seems pretty sketchy. After I took advantage of the free internet to upload my new pictures, I realized I hadn't eaten since breakfast. I asked the front desk lady if there was a quick cheap fast food place nearby. I didn't really want to wander around too far here after dark, at least not until I knew the place well enough in the daylight. She showed me where there was a McDonalds just down the road, so I went there. I had to pick up some money from an ATM also on the way, and the only bank machine I could find was buried down in the metro tunnel. It's increasingly sketchy pulling out money from a bank machine at 9 at night in the ghetto of Prague, but I did it. I just have to try not to look lost or naive, keep my hands in my pockets and my head down. That's how you avoid attention. I tried to eat something somewhat healthy at McDonalds, but that's pretty near impossible. That's the thing about McDonalds, it never changes no matter where in the world. Other American fast food places are different in Europe. KFC and Pizza Hut are qualified as decent sit-down restaurants here. They're not super nice restaurants, but the kind of place you might have a birthday party, sort of on par with like TGI Friday's. Definitely worthy of a business function. However McDonalds is cheap, crappy food no matter where in the world it resides, and it does reside absolutely everywhere. Even in the Middle East where they don't even have their own crappy fast food places, there's still a McDonalds on every corner. However, I can't complain too much. McDonalds and Starbucks act as the American embassy when you're far away from home for so long. It's a comfort to be somewhere familiar, and you usually see a lot of other Americans doing the same thing, hiding out from the often overwhelming foreign lands. So thank you McDonalds for providing weary homesick travelers with the same crappy food and mediocre service we're accustomed to getting back home. It's good to know everything doesn't have to change.

Tomorrow I'll explore the city a lot more. I'll get out of the ghetto, and hang around the City Center. I'll see some sights, and figure out if this place brightens up any. Perhaps first impressions can be decieving.

Vienna, Austria

2008-04-24T16:12:00.000-07:00

This morning I got up for breakfast at 9am, which I figured was a nice compromise to sleeping in a bit. I'm going to start trying to get up a little earlier now if I can. In the UK I used to wake up at dawn every morning and watch the sun rise, but since London, I got back into my old habit of sleeping in. Plus this seemed the right time anyway being as everyone else in the room was getting up at that time. Breakfast was very simple, just a bowl of cornflakes and a bread roll. Like prison, only what's needed to survive the day.

I decided to take the metro up to a cool looking ferris wheel I'd seen on the map, and a couple guys in my hostel said it was a nice area. I took the U3 underground to the U4 which took me out of the main city across the river. When I emerged from the metro station, I looked around to orientate my self to where I was. It didn't take long to figure out which direction I was pointing thanks to the giant ferris wheel I quickly found off in the distance, so I decided to head in that direction. I walked through a beautiful little suburban park where children played on a nearby playground, and snaked my way down a dirt path to where the giant wheel stood. It wasn't nearly as big as the London Eye, of course. In fact, you could probably fit about 10 of these in the London Eye, but it was big enough to be a spectacle worthy of a place on the map. Around it, a whole bunch of construction took place, as it seemed the people here were getting set up for some sort of fair that was to take place later, and all the final touches were being put on. I walked around the side of the construction to where I saw a fountain surrounded by beautiful blooming flowers. It seemed all of Vienna was in full bloom today, in fact. The sun shone brightly today, and saturated the landscape with flowers of every color. The breeze carried the seeds of dandy lions in huge streams like snow on a winter wind. I walked on down a main road lined with trees and little old men on park benches. The street lead me off to a smaller path where people jogged and couples walked their babies in strollers. The roads seemed endless at either side, but vast amounts of vegetation seemed to grow right out of from them. Every so often I'd pass by an arrangement of flowers set near an old looking fountain, or playground. There were so many flowers, honestly I felt a little overwhelmed at times. Whole fields of them, and all types. Scattered throughout them I spotted small clusters of Edelweiss which were shining white within bouquets of yellow, green, red, orange, and blue. Further down the little path I found a small lake with swans floating along the surface. I stopped and thought for a second, you've gotta be kidding me. Swans on a beautiful lake, flowers all over the place in perfect bloom, children playing off in the distance. Am I still in Vienna, or did I somehow wander into a 5 year old girl's fantasy world?

I took some pictures of the swans on the lake, and beautiful flowers, because I figured no one's gonna believe me. Then I continued on the path over the little wooden bridge into the woods lined on either side by patches of Edelweiss. The woods ended in a huge clearing where some were stretched out on the grass, reading or sleeping, and soaking in the sun. I stood and admired the clearing, and beautiful sun for a couple minutes, then I walked through to the other side and found myself in the woods by the main road again. Somehow wandering from there I ended up back at the fair, which was now alive with people. I spend another part of my day walking around the fair, watching the attractions and seeing the different carnival rides. I bought an ice cream bar, and sat down at a bench.

I wondered about how my life was like before the days when I use to just get up and go on a nature walk to a little carnival in Vienna, or visit a famous art museum in Florence. I still have dreams where I'm in my own bed back home, and in the mornings I wake up in Rome, or in Venice, or Egypt, or Austria. I've been living my dreams. How am I going to go back to life as I knew it before? I am excited to see my friends and family back home, though. I want to tell them all I've seen, and show them what I've learned of the world. I was telling my mom earlier in an email how it's so interesting seeing the progression in myself and my experience. I already have the best travel stories in my hostel, and I'm very quickly becoming the most well traveled. In the beginning of this trip I used to listen to the stories of where people had been, and wish that I could one day be that travel savvy. I've found myself talking the way those people used to talk, and seeing others listen to my stories the way I used to listen only months ago.

After the fair, I took the metro back into the old town, and walked all through the little parks there which were full of people throwing Frisbees, laughing and having a good time. In Sigmund Freud park, there was a live band playing while people watched and some danced. I walked through, covering the areas I missed yesterday, and eventually decided to stop into Vienna's art museum. I got to see some beautiful paintings, a couple I recognized from coffee table art books I'd looked at. After seeing all I needed to see, I walked back to my hostel and took a nice hot shower and a nap.

That night I stayed up talking with my roommates Charlie, who's a retired Vietnam Veteran from Florida; Kara from Ohio, and Carolyn from Long Island who are both studying in Paris; and Chinyow from Korea who we also learned, studies in Paris. They're an interesting bunch of people, but a lot of fun.

Tomorrow I'll go down to the train station and catch a train to Prague, so pray for a safe journey!
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To Vienna

2008-04-23T22:19:00.000-07:00

I arrived in the station at Gyor at about 11:45pm. To my dismay, the station was a tiny little local station as I feared it might be, as opposed to a main city station which might have trains running all night. There was a small office next to the tracks where I assumed tickets were sold, so I thought I might get some information on when I might possibly be able to continue on. Being a small town station, and not a big city station, I expected there might be a little communication issue. I did my best to sign out what I wanted to know, and we even got to writing out city names on a piece of paper, however all efforts proved fruitless because it seemed the train I was on was the last of the night. I'd have to wait till 4:45am to catch the first train out. To make matters worse, as I got outside it began to rain. Luckily the station's ticket office had an overhang which provided a little bit of shelter, and a couple wooden benches. It was well lit, and I felt safe enough there that I might just set up camp right there on the bench till morning.

I grabbed my heavier jacket out of my backpack, and put it on over my sweatshirt. Then I put on my gloves, and pulled my hood over my hat. The small Delta Airlines blanket was only large enough to cover my legs, so I tucked them in tightly, and held my arms to my chest as I set up my backpack as a back rest and rested my head on my tiny pillow. I saw the train workers and desk clerks lock up and leave for the night, and the last of the engineers caught his train home. I had not been alone at the station but 10 minutes when a homeless man wandered by. I watched him carefully as he sat down on the bench next to mine rummaging through a department store bag. He looked as if he was of Arab decent. A thick black beard covered his face, and he wore a black beanie with a black hood pulled over that. His shirt was a sort of turtle green and ripped at each sleeve. He wore two pairs of jeans, the ones on the outside were white, and he'd had to rip them slightly at the seam in order to fit them over the other ones. He was young, no older than 30 and every once in a while he noticed me staring at him and gave me a menacing glare and mumbled something inaudible to himself. I was very uncomfortable at first, so I kept one eye on him at all times, hoping he'd eventually just move on. After some time, he was still very much there and I was getting tired and wanted to shut my eyes. He lifted his legs up onto his bench and laid down as if trying to go to sleep. I felt a little better, because this gesture communicated to me that he had no intention of hurting me, but like me, just wanted a safe dry place to sleep. That was totally ok by me. I convinced myself that even if he wanted to do anything to me, or steal something while I was sleeping, he'd have to move out of that position which would undoubtedly wake me up, being as I'm surly not going to be sleeping very heavily on a wooden bench next to a train station.

I started to dose off when I heard another rustling of his bag. I shot up, and noticed he'd moved right back to his original position and was thumbing through things in his bag again, this time talking loudly to himself in some other language. It didn't sound Arabic, nor Hungarian. I began to believe this was just some gibberish he'd devised himself, and he began a full conversation with himself which didn't sound happy at all. Every so often, as before, he would catch me watching him, and turn his back to me a little bit and glare over his shoulder. He spoke at me slightly aggressively as if asking what the hell I was looking at, and challenging me to do something about it. This guy was obviously not stable, and not someone I wanted to sleep next to on a bench for 5 hours. I surrendered my spot, gathering my things and walking a ways further down the platform until I was out of sight. I found another wooden bench under an over hang from a neighboring building. This one was a little less lit, and the bench was much more comfortable than the last, so I was really glad I moved away from that guy and could now get some sleep.

I closed my eyes, and began to drift off again when suddenly I was disturbed by the sound of footsteps. I opened my eyes, and there was the homeless man walking down the platform carrying his treasured bag. He looked up and suddenly noticed me, and a glint of betrayal shown in his eyes as he shook his head at me. He walked past me, and again sat himself down on the bench just next to mine, and began the same routine of rummaging through his bag. I was shocked and disturbed, but my anger by the fact that this man would not leave me alone surpassed all other emotion at the moment. I glared back at him with a hateful stare, hoping to make him uncomfortable enough to leave. However, this had no effect, and he chattered away at himself referring over to me with a challenging disposition. My anger began to turn into fear as I noticed the situation escalating. I had no idea what was in that bag he'd been playing with. I had to prepare for the idea that he could have a knife or gun waiting for me at the bottom, fingering it until his rage overwhelmed him because of my betrayal. I started looking for safe options. I looked around the dark station and found it completely empty, there was no one else here, every window was dark, and every door locked. If I got up to move again, this would undoubtedly only anger him further and he would continue to follow me. Leaving the station occurred to me, but I quickly dismissed it due to the realization that I don't even know where I am. It's the middle of the night, and wandering through back alleyways of a strange city in Hungary is the last thing I should do. Besides, he would still undoubtedly follow me, and if I ran he would probably run after me, and I was on his turf. I thought about things I might have on me to defend myself, but because of traveling on planes I had nothing, no pocket knife or anything with a sharp edge. I had a pen in my pocket, and that was the only thing I could arm myself with should he come at me. If he had a knife, I had a chance. It would at least give me an opportunity to try to wrestle it away from him. If he had a gun however, It would be over. I was too far away from him to point the gun away, and close enough to be out of hope of dodging the first bullet. I sat stuck in locked eye contact with him as he fingered through his white plastic bag. He looked upset with me, and I knew I must be running out of time. I ran every program in my head of what to do in a situation like this. This is just one of those scenarios you're just not supposed to get into in the first place, but what choice did I have? I was here now, and I wanted out.

A train rolled on the tracks in the distance, and brakes screeched. This was the most welcome sound I'd heard in a long time. "Please stop here" I repeated in my head over and over. The train rolled up to the platform down a ways back where I'd been, and halted. It wasn't my train, it was here showing up early for work to begin maintenance, but It meant there was someone else here. I pulled my backpack over my shoulders, and grabbed the rest in my arms, and started walking toward the train. Behind me the homeless man had gotten up again to follow, and I felt him closing in behind me. I quickened my pace, trying not to set off a chase. I felt him quicken his. I made it to the front end of the train where I saw the engineer looking through some paper work. I signaled for him to roll down the window, and he understood. I knew he wouldn't be able to understand much so I tried to simplify my language as much as I could getting right to the point. "The man behind me is following me," I tried to say quietly so the homeless man wouldn't hear. The engineer made a shrug like he didn't understand. "The man is following me!" I said louder, not caring anymore who heard. He looked at the man who was looming a couple meters behind, and then he looked at me. He shook his head and shrugged like he didn't know what to do, and then said "I don't know what to tell you, I don't understand" in more broken words. He closed the window and began to go back to his paperwork. I banged somewhat frantically on the window, and he opened it again. "Please help!" I said, and put my hand on my chest. "Please help me." I repeated, and it seemed he understood that. He looked again at the main, and said to me "Would you like to sleep in the back?" I nodded excitedly, "Yes please, if I could." The engineer opened up the door in the next car, but the homeless man got in before me. The engineer entered the car, and yelled at the man in Hungarian and then kicked him out, and signaled me in. Once inside, he locked the doors behind me, and shut off the lights in the cabin allowing me to curl up on the seats and sleep for a bit. I was so grateful for that engineer. God bless him. I don't know what would have happen had he not been there when he was. From his driver's seat he called someone to get rid of the homeless man, and when my train arrived, he showed me where to go to get on.

About an hour later, I arrived at the next little city. This station was a little bit bigger, and trains were running now, so I decided to skip my round about journey through another tiny Hungarian city, and find a direct line to Vienna. That turned out easier than I thought. The first guy I asked pointed me to a direct train to Vienna already boarding on the next platform. I tried to sleep a little more on the train to Vienna, but it was only about 2 hours, and I think I got an hour out of it. I arrived in Vienna and took my time orientating myself. I transferred all my Hungarian Forints to Euros, studied the maps of the city and metro rails, and found a map for myself. I picked out a hostel on my phone which seemed reasonable, and asked the man at the information desk to mark it on my map. He rolled his eyes, as if it wasn't his job to help tourists, and disdainfully circled where I wanted to be, and where we are. I asked how to get there and he said "18 tram" in a very impatient tone, which I shook off. The number 18 tram was the wrong tram as I later found out, and took me in the complete opposite direction than where I wanted to be. I finally stopped into a couple hotels (which were all booked up) and the front desk helped me find my way to the metro where I could take right to where I wanted to be. I've begun to like the metro now, because I'm realizing how much easier it makes things. I got to where I needed to be, and with only a little difficulty, found the hostel. To my great satisfaction, there was some room, and I booked two nights there. After settling, I explored the city a little, as I do when I enter a new city. My hostel sits right outside Vienna's equivalent to Hollywood Blv. The place is lined with department stores, and shops of all kinds. There are cafes and restaurants and little food vendors everywhere. Flashing neon lights illuminate the street, and there's a hotel and Mcdonalds on every corner. They even have the hand and footprints of Austrian Celebrities laid into the sidewalk. That street eventually leads to the beautiful old part of town, where the museums and old monuments reside in beautiful parks filled with flowers and Grecian columns. I walked around and bought a braughtworst and slice of fresh bread from meat and bread vendors in a little open food market. I walked for several hours, and then went back to the hostel to finally get a little sleep. When I woke up, I took a hot shower, and went out walking again to find some dinner. It was a pretty interesting day.

Tomorrow I'm going to take the metro to the other side of the old town by the river, and explore around there. That's pretty much all I have planned for now. There's a movie theater right near my hostel which plays American movies, so I was debating whether to go see a movie, but I kinda got my movie fix from the hostel in Budapest so I dunno. Plus, I don't really want to go to a movie by myself, I usually hate doing that. We'll see what I decide to do tomorrow.
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Trains and Hangovers

2008-04-22T21:39:00.000-07:00

I awoke myself and my entire dorm room at 7am when I rolled over and puked into the bowl Steph had given me. I apologized as best I could to the people around me, I can imagine no one wants to wake up early to the sound of someone hurling into a bowl. However, it was no picnic for me either. I was no longer dizzy to the point of falling down, but I still had trouble walking because every time I sat up I felt nauseous. I hurried out of my dorm room, trying not to subject them to any more of this terrible show. I relocated myself to the bathroom, and continued there. This was a very strange sort of feeling, usually after I throw up I feel better, but now each time, the feeling only seemed to get worse. I finally got that famous headache I'd always heard about, although that didn't bother me nearly as much as my upset stomach. Still I took some belladonna my doctor had given me for migraines, which worked out better than aspirin anyway because it desolves on your tongue, and I didn't need to worry about throwing it back up.

The headache went away fairly quickly, but all morning I could stop throwing up. I puked so much that soon I had nothing left in me. I couldn't even keep water down. Every time I'd take a sip, 10 minutes later it came right back up. My face and hands were pale as a ghost, and I had dark circles under my eyes. My whole body shook wildly from a lack of nutrients. I was pathetic, curled up on the couch in the lounge shaking and throwing up into a bowl. All my hostelmates felt really guilty, and partly responsible for encouraging me to keep drinking. I told them it was my own fault, because I knowingly consented to it all. Still though, they all took care of me, and stayed by me. Carl went out and bought me some soup and a big 1.5 liter bottle of carbonated water. He said to keep sipping the water all day till my stomach's settled enough to keep down the soup. Steph and Logan (two of the staff who run the hostel) sat with me on the couch and we watched Scrubs. When my stomach was settled enough, Steph made me the soup, and a piece of bread, saying it'll help soak up the alcohol. When I was a little more stable, she made bannana bread. I had planned to travel to Austria that day, but as of now I was in no way fit to travel. I decided I should probably try to catch a night train to Vienna later, and just spend the day here on the couch. Logan offered to keep a bed open for me tonight just incase I didn't feel up to it by then. The whole day I spent sitting in the hostel watching movies and drinking carbonated water. However, it was good timing, because it rained most of the day today, and I was also able to finish uploading my pictures.

I did eventually start feeling a lot better once I was able to hold down solid foods. The color came back to my face, and the shivering stopped. My stomach still felt a little fragile all day, and for some reason when I eat, the back of my hard pallet gets really sore. However, I was relieved to be up walking around and eating little things. I checked online at the times for trains leaving Budapest to Vienna, and I found a train leaving at 21:30 getting in at 6:30, and if I missed that, there was another one an hour later.

When the time came to get going, I packed up my stuff, and said goodbye. Few people were in the hostel when I left, but those who were, I thanked and told them I'd probably be back sometime in the future. I caught the metro over to the train station I originally arrived at, but couldn't find any sort of departure schedule (and even if I had, I don't think I could read it). None of the information places seemed like they were open, and none of the train workers could understand me, or didn't know the train I was trying to catch. I walked along the platforms for about half an hour before I finally found an information booth that was open. I asked which platform is the train at 21:30 to Vienna coming in at. The lady looked puzzled (which is always the sign that something terrible's about to happen), and then said the last train to Vienna was at 20:45. I told her that can't be true, I looked online and saw a schedule for the trains leaving at 21:30 and another at 22:30. She told me to wait there a second and then disappeared into the back. When she came back, she had a printed schedule with the times I'd mentioned on it. She said, "this is the train you're looking for, but that train leaves from the other train station. You're in the wrong station." She said there's no way I'd make it to the 21:30, but if I hurried I might make the next one an hour later, then she showed me how to use the metro to get to the other station. At last, she handed me the schedule for the train and stops along the way. Apparently, it only takes about 3 hours to get to Vienna, but in trying to choose a night train, I chose one which changes trains 3 times making the trip take all night. During the first change of trains I have to wait in the train station from 23:45 to 4:45 (5 hours) because the trains don't run all night. In order to try to get out of paying for lodging for another night, I've accidently made my life more difficult by putting myself in a position where I won't be able to sleep because I'll be looking for my stop to change trains, and if I do sleep it'll have to be for 5 hours in a train station. I'm hoping though, that when I get to the first station to change trains, maybe I can get on a more direct route going right to Vienna rather than changing trains 2 more times. We'll see what happens. It's all part of the adventure.

I'm on the first train right now. I'll probably get into the first station within the next couple of minutes, so I'll get my baring and figure out my options. If I can find a train traveling this late that would be great, but if I have to sleep there till morning that may be what I have to do.
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Buda 4/21/08

2008-04-22T11:26:00.000-07:00

In the morning it was business as usual. I got up, and tried to get more of my pictures online. While I was waiting for things to upload, I walked down the street and got some food from that awesome place I found the day before. With my amazing food, I walked back to the hostel to check up on my picture uploading, but it was still no where near completed, so I decided I'd just go out exploring for a bit and leave the camera there to continue uploading till the battery just ran out. I normally wouldn't just leave my camera sitting out like that, but we're all pretty much like family here, and everyone seems to leave stuff sitting around. Also just to make sure, I asked the guys running the hostel to keep any eye on it, which they did very well.

I'd been told that a lot of the really cool stuff to see was on the Buda side of the Danube, so I walked over the bridge to that side. I hiked up the huge hill to the Citadel first, thinking I'd see Buda starting in the south and heading up north. The hill was long and steep, but the trails and little roads wound through beautiful areas. Every couple of meters was a little park and open field area where children played on the playgrounds, and people walked their dogs or just laid out basking in the sun. The weather was once again gorgeous, and the wind blew a fresh cool breeze which felt good after walking up many flights of stairs, and giant hills. I finally made it to the top of the hill, and walked around the Citadel. I didn't go in because they charged an entree fee, and it didn't seem like such an important experience to pay to go see inside the Budapest Citadel. Right near the Citadel was a really cool antique shop that sold old Soviet Military equipment. I saw a lot of really awesome stuff, but I didn't want to buy anything because I figured later I might find a bunch of other antique shops with similar stuff, but cheaper because I assumed since this shop was placed at a big tourist attraction, the prices might be higher and the stock limited. I continued down the other side of the hill into the town, and walked though it. Buda seems to be much more of a local area than Pest. In Pest the shops are all really close together, and there are thousands of little cafe's and places to eat, but it looks like a big city. Buda's beautiful and there are lots of trees and parks, but things seem a whole lot more spread out. It takes a lot longer to walk between shops and restaurants. I walked through the town and the old castle, but I couldn't find any other antique shops anywhere I went. I found a lot of 2nd hand clothing shops, but nothing I thought was really worth walking into. When I got to the northern part of the town, I decided I really wanted to go back to that shop at the Citadel, and look around a bit longer because it was a pretty amazing place. I walked around the other side of Buda, making a loop, and up the giant hill again to the Citadel. In the shop I looked through all the old Soviet uniforms, helmets, and metals, and eventually bought an old WW2 medal, and a belt off of a Soviet soldier's uniform. The medal was really cool, it had Stalin's face on it and was awarded to soldiers for fighting in a battle on the western front. The belt, I believe was worn during the cold war era, and the buckle is gold and bears the Soviet star with the hammer and sicle in the center. After my Soviet Union shopping excursion, I walked back to the hostel and hung out with the guys.

I met a new friend who just got to the hostel named Carl. He's from New York, but living in Scandinavia. He went out and brought us back a whole bunch of beer and wine. We drank and talked a lot about politics. My new belt stirred up a debate about Democracy vs Communism, and Capitalism vs Socialism. It was a whole lot of fun talking about that sort of thing with people from all over the world, all with various backgrounds and experiences. It was a really good discussion. We started talking about the different politics of the world, and we got onto Northern vs Southern Ireland. It somehow came up that I told them I had just recently turned 21 and so learned to drink in Ireland. They poured me another drink, and we started talking about my drinking experiences. I had told them I'd been more than tipsy on this trip but never pissed drunk. I told them about the number of drinks I had in Cyprus and still wasn't any more than tipsy.

I was totally stupid and totally over estimated my tolerance for alcohol, because I figured I must have built it way up during the course of this trip (and I have built it up a lot). In everything so far, I could handle myself really well, and never found that line where I couldn't handle it. So, being admittingly stupid and trying to fit in, I kept drinking (and I kept up with the best of them). They were all excited to see me drink, because I was just 21, and thus the shots kept coming. I should have and very easily could have declined at the nice tipsy point, but I guess I was a little curious to see how far I could go, and by the time I'd realized I was in too deep it was too late.

I still remember everything from that night (unfortunately), but I don't even know how much I had to drink. The beginning part was ok, I stopped drinking, and started downing water. The world was spinning like I'd never felt before, but my speech was only slightly slurred at times. I wasn't saying anything stupid, in fact I didn't really say a lot. The guys asked me about how I felt, and made sure no one else passed me a drink. I had to pee like every 10 minutes, and it started getting increasingly harder to walk to the bathroom. At a certain point, it started not to be so fun. I started getting a little queazy, and wished everything would stop spinning for a minute. Carl sat with me and talked with me, making sure I was still ok. In a couple slurred words, I said "I think I'm not doing so great." Carl knew exactly what that meant, gave me a knowing "ok"an and threw my arm over his shoulder helping me to the bathroom. Not a minute too soon did he lift the lid of the toilet than everything inside me came out. I apologized that he had to see this, and he just laughed and assured me he'd done this a thousand times as he helped me clean myself up. I must have thrown up 10 times that night, thankfully not on anyone or anything. Later, while the others were in conversation, I felt the urge again, and waddled my way back to the bathroom. After again turning my stomach inside out, I washed myself in the sink. I was so dizzy, I had to clasp my hands onto the sides of the sink, as if I were riding the worlds largest roller coaster, to keep from falling onto the floor. Finally, I just gave up and lied down on the bathroom floor. I felt a little better down there, my head on the cold tile. I felt like my whole body was out of my control. I couldn't tell my arms to move, or my legs to lift me up, so I just laid there for about an hour. Eventually the group noticed I was missing, and came looking for me. Stephanie, who's on the staff who runs the hostel, found me and helped me to my bed. She gave me a bowl to throw up into (which I put to use just after she left) and a bottle of water. I passed out there in my bed with all my clothes on. It was not a fun experience. Although it's a good thing I had it at some time because now I know what it's like, and so I can avoid it in the future. I don't feel like I'm going to be drinking again for a little while.

I think I'm going to get a lot of concerned/angry emails from my family about this situation, but I had to write about it because it was an important learning experience on this journey. I also felt so safe and loved within my hostel and with those people, so I felt like I at least did it in a safe and secure environment. However, I never want to be in that situation ever again. It was terrible to feel that sick and helpless, and even the sight of alcohol right now makes me a little queazy.

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Budapest

2008-04-20T17:19:00.000-07:00

I slept in this morning till a comfortable hour, and then I sauntered out into the lounge. There was no hot water, as is what happens from time to time in a hostel, so showering was not in the cards. Instead I took a bath in deodorant (European Style), and trusted that last night's shower would suffice. I hooked up my camera to the computer to try to get some more pictures online now that my battery was fully charged. However, just the same, I only got about 40 percent through before this battery finally went out. With my camera once again charging, I went out to explore the city and see if I could hunt down something cheap to eat.

I found an awesome place near a huge, beautiful church which sold something resembling a shwarma for 500 forin (Hungarian dollars), which is amazing considering what I mentioned earlier with the average dinner costing 2000 forin. It wasn't exactly like a middle eastern swarma, but it was really good. I walked over to the church, and ate sitting in the shade under a park bench in the courtyard. The day was absolutely beautiful. I was excited, as I always am, to see the sun and it made walking through the city quite an enjoyable experience. As I walked, I walked by some really cool antique shops, but none of them were open because its Sunday. So tomorrow I've gotta go looking through some of them because there seemed to be some really awesome stuff in some of them. Back at my hostel Emily had showed me an old Soviet military beret, and a metal with Lenin's face on it that she bought at one of these cool antique shops. I got myself lost in the city, which is really the best way to find cool stuff, and ended up over at the bridges near the Danube River. I learned something I didn't know before. Apparently a long time ago, Budapest was 2 different cities. On the west side of the Danube was the city Buda, and then on the right side was Pest. Then when they built the bridge, they combined the two cities to make Budapest. They still refer to each side as the Buda side or Pest side.

I walked by a poster set up in the square which advertised Mozart's Requiem playing tonight at St. Stephen's Basilica. I thought that might be a pretty fun thing to do tonight, so I walked over to St. Stephen's Basilica and bought a cheap ticket, then I walked back to the hostel and watched The Gods Must Be Crazy in the lounge while trying to upload more photos. Later in the afternoon I made my way back to the Basilica a little early to make sure I got a good seat, which I did, and I got to sit in the amazingly stunning St. Stephen's Basilica (which still houses St. Stephen's mummified right hand) and listen to Mozart's Requiem. The performance was perfect. I've never heard Mozart's Requiem sound like that. I'm not usually a huge fan on Mozart, but hearing it played live in a huge Basilica in Budapest was a whole new experience. You could feel the reverberations of the choir and orchestra coming off the walls. During the climax of Lachrymose Sequenzia I felt my arms tense up. My whole body seemed filled with the music.

Afterwards, on my way back I found a club that was swarming with people my age, so I walked in and bought a drink. After last night I figured I needed to work on my woman mingling skills, so I tried working the room a little. I met some fun people, and actually had a really good time. I think I'm gonna stay here one extra night mostly because I really love the hostel I'm in, and I'd love to take one more day to see the city. I met some new roommates who just arrived today from America who are awesome. I can't remember the girl's name, but she's from San Francisco, and then Frank is from Scranton Pennsylvania. We made fun of him because he's from where the show The Office takes place. I don't know what it is about all these people in this hostel who come from places which have their own shows.
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Hungary

2008-04-20T08:30:00.001-07:00

Morning came, and I had surprisingly gotten a decent amount of sleep. I was sprawled out over 4 seats, using my backpack as back supports, and my pillow on top. By now I've learned a technique of making a very comfortable bed out of positioning my backpack a particular way, and using the pillow I'd stolen from my first flight over. Every once in a while a voice would blast over the loudspeaker speaking our progress, which I wouldn't be able to understand anyway, but I checked my watch, and the reaction of the lady next to me who was also taking this train to Zagreb in order to gauge when the time comes to get off.

I watched the sun rise over the hills, and began to see the vast Croatian countryside. It was indeed beautiful as I'd been told it would be. Little houses spotted the open fields, and interjected themselves through tall grass. As the sun rose higher, it met with the scattered clouds, and highlighted their edges painting the sky all different shades of yellows and pinks. The smell of the air was sweet, and the breeze gave relief to the small stuffy room. I watched the view outside my window until the morning was absolutely full, and then at about 6:30 we reached Zagreb. I walked off the train, and first I thought I'd try asking the nearest employee if he knew where my next train to Budapest was. To my surprise he knew exactly where I needed to go, and pointed me to the next platform where my train lay waiting. I got on, and asked someone walking by if this train does, in fact, go to Budapest. I felt I had to make sure, because there was no way it was just that easy. However, I got confirmation from another passenger heading that direction, and sat relieved and amazed that I'd found the way with such ease, and didn't have to fight my way to the next city. I began to make myself comfortable for this next 10 hour leg of the journey, and a young girl came in and sat across from me. She was a college student studying in Zagreb, but heading home for a couple days to see her family who lived just before the Hungarian border. We got talking, and she kept me company for a large part of the trip, sharing some of her favorite music from her MP3 player and teaching me a few words in Croatian. I commented on how well she spoke English, and she said that most of the younger generation speak some English because all their favorite shows and movies come from America. Through watching TV they learned to pick it up.

Unfortunately, soon enough we reached her stop, and we had to say goodbye. As she went I attempted to use what she taught me, and said goodbye in my best Croatian. She laughed, because I had butchered it so badly, and said it back the way it was supposed to sound. The train pulled away, and I sat alone in the seating compartment until we reached the Hungarian border. Several border guards checked through each passenger, requiring them to show their passports. I showed mine to 3 different guards before one of them finally stamped it, and let me go. Going through to the Hungarian countryside, the open fields turned bright yellow with mustard flowers. The hills were covered with them, and the whole landscape was bright yellow and green. Hungary's country is one of the most beautiful I've seen yet on this trip. At times we past through dense forest, and then opened up all of the sudden to miles and miles of flowers in full bloom. The rain had cleared over head since Croatia, and the sky was a bright blue. The wind was still cool and crisp, and filled the train with hundreds of wonderful floral scents. I sat glued to my window for the majority of the trip, and listened to my iPod as I waited for Budapest.

I finally arrived in Budapest, and the floral scents from the country were replaced by the familiar scent of the city. I got off the train, and gathered as much information as I could about my surroundings from the nearby information center. I'd picked out a cheap hostel using my phone while I was on the train, and the lady at the information desk was very helpful in pointing out where it was on the map. In order to get there I'd have to navigate the metro through 2 lines, but by this point I've become somewhat of a pro at navigating the metro, and wasn't worried. I was, however, worried about the money situation which I'd thought that Hungary was on the euro, so I'd readied with me a couple euros to get me through to the hostel. However, when I got down into the metro station, I learned that Hungary uses its own form of currency still, so now I needed to find some place to convert my money. I went back to the bus station and looked around the whole building, and couldn't find a currency exchange place anywhere. I thought, there must be some place to exchange currency nearby the bus station, but I didn't see anything. I asked some people, and they all knew where it was but I couldn't figure out where they were telling me to go. At last I found it hidden off somewhere in the corner, and was able to change my euros and extra kuna into the hungarian currency. The whole hungarian economy is so screwed up that everyone carries around millions in their pockets, because their money's grown just about worthless. An average meal in Hungary is about 2,000 hungarian dollars. A one time metro pass is 260, and my hostel cost about 7,500 hungarian dollars for the two nights I booked, which actually only comes out to about 15 euros a night. It's ridiculous looking at any sort of price listing here, things look astronomical which are only just like 10 euros.

Once I finally had some money, I went back to the metro and fairly easily found my way to the street I needed to get to. I got lost, going the wrong direction down the street for a minute, but realized it and turned myself around before I had gotten too far off. Entering the hostel, I immediately fell in love with it. Everyone was so young and relaxed. There were pictures all over the walls, of travelers my age doing stupid stuff and acting like kids. Everyone was so friendly, there was just an automatic vibe that we were all just good friends hanging out. It was like a huge party of people I felt I'd known all my life. I was immediately thrilled to find that they had free internet access, which is AWESOME to find in a hostel. They also had a huge TV in the lounge room with all kinds of American DVDs and seasons of Scrubs and The Office. I was in heaven. I put my stuff down next to my bed, and first of all, took a nice hot shower and changed into some clean clothes. Afterwards I went right upstairs and hooked my camera into the computer and downloaded some of my pictures online. Of course though, I have over 200 pictures I needed to download, and I only got a couple of them before my camera's battery died, so I'll try again tomorrow when I refuel my battery. As I waited for my pictures to load, I sat in the lounge room and watched Scrubs. It felt so good to be watching American TV, I can't even describe to you.

In the night I went out to dinner with 2 roommates I'd met, Emily from Canada, and Steven from New Zealand. Steven was ecstatic that I come from Laguna Beach, he says he loves that show, and jokingly I told him that I loved Lord of the Rings. We walked around the city a bit until we found a nice cheap restaurant, and sat down. We talked over dinner about women, oddly enough. I told them about my friend Garrett back home who's a professional pickup artist, and how I thought it was really fascinating the way there's a whole psychology behind it, and how one interacts with the opposite sex. I told them some of the things Garrett taught me, and Steven expressed his excitement to try them out. Emily laughed at us, but admitted some of the techniques were pretty smooth. After dinner we decided to go out for a cocktail, and Steven insisted we find a bar or club where we could try out some of the new things I told him. We couldn't find much in terms of clubs in the part of town we were at, but we eventually found a little bar/cafe where two young Hungarian girls were having a glass of wine. He told me to go over and show him how it's done, so I told him I'd give it a shot. Something to take into account is that I have very little trouble talking to women, however I'm by no means any good at picking them up. I walked over confident enough, but there was a problem I hadn't anticipated in the language barrier between us, and even if what I said was the smoothest things ever to be said by a man to a woman (which it most certainly was not), they could barely understand any of it. Needless to say, I crashed and burned, but Steve had a good laugh. At the bar, we met up with some of Steve's friends whom he'd met in previous travels. Lucy was from Germany originally, but had also lived in Texas for a lot of her life. I can't remember the other one's name, but she was from England, and the two of them were traveling through Europe together. We all sat, talked, and drank till late in the evening, and then we said goodnight. On our way back, Steve and I talked about the show Flight of the Concords, and laughed. He said tomorrow we'd go out again, and I reminded him it was his turn to attempt picking up the girls. When I got back to the hostel, I slumped into my bed. I was exhausted from all the travel, and great night of bar hopping in Budapest.
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Split

2008-04-18T14:35:00.000-07:00

In the morning, I got up bright and early and hurried out the door to make sure I got to the bus station on time. I left the key in the mail slot like Mile instructed several times over the night before, waving her hands in all different directions and talking loudly so I would understand her. I understood perfectly what she wanted me to do the first time she said it in a quieter conversational voice, but yelling loudly just seemed to her like it might drive the point home.

It was raining pretty hard when I got out the door, and I totally ate it down the stairs, I was soaked, but I was glad no one was around to see it. It would have added insult to injury to have to try to play off like I didn't just take a nosedive down a flight of stairs, to a bunch of kids who's language I can't speak. Despite the setback, I made it just fine to the bus, and boarded. It took almost 6 hours to finally make it to Split, but we did finally get there. The bus driver had taken more rest stops than my mother on the drive to Chico. He must have had the bladder the size of a walnut, or maybe he'd just been saving it up since grade school. Whatever the case, it didn't matter because I was happy to finally be off the bus. I've noticed that I do pretty well sitting in one place for such a long time, but as soon as I get off the bus is when I have trouble. I find my legs won't do anything I tell them for the first few minutes, they do whatever they seem to want to do, and I'm just along for the ride. I try to walk normally, but it takes a second to remember how, and my hip joints click and rattle inside me. I play it off, making it seem as if that's just how Americans walk, it's a John Wayne sort of thing.

I "walked" to the train station, which was just about 100 meters away, and asked when I could get on the next train to Zagreb. I explained to them that I was trying to get to Budapest, and needed to catch a train through Zagreb. The woman at the counter was very helpful. She told me there was a train leaving very soon, however she said I'd probably want the next one leaving at 10pm because if I took the day train, I'd be stuck in Zagreb because there's no night train to Budapest from Zagreb. She said if I take the night train from here, I won't have to pay for a hotel for the night, and I can just go right from here where there's another train from Zagreb to Budapest leaving 50 minutes after the night train arrives tomorrow morning. From there it'll take till about 5pm to get into Budapest. I thanked her, and said I'd take her advice. I'd rather hang around here in Split till 10 tonight, then try to find a hotel for the night in Zagreb. As we had arrived here earlier in the bus, the sky cleared up beautifully, and the sun was shining, so this would be the place to spend the day before heading off to Zagreb.

I left my backpack with the luggage room at the bus station, and went out exploring Split. The day the absolutely beautiful! The wind had blown all the clouds out of the sky, and the sun was warm and comforting. I first walked through the downtown area passing by the little shops and open markets. I found a cool park, with a fountain in the center, and walked through it admiring its beauty. I also very much admired the fact that women in Split seemed a whole lot cuter than elsewhere in Croatia, and I often times almost forgot I wasn't back in Laguna Beach. The streets looked a lot like Laguna Beach, and the layout of the city seemed similar as well. The main road, and downtown area was right along the sea, and then further inland, up the hills was where all the residential areas were. I wondered through a couple residential streets, just to see what they were like, and they seemed friendly enough, kids were playing on the streets, and people were out walking their dogs. I tried to look friendly myself, but of course, I still looked quite haggardly. I've been wearing the same clothes for the past week, I haven't had a shower in 3 days, and I've been sitting on a bus for the past 6 hours. I looked utterly homeless.

Eventually, I made my way down to the harbor area, and walked around it looking for some kind of beach that maybe I relax on. Eventually I found something similar to what I was looking for. There was a little shore with a walkway and park benches right along the sand. I was exhausted from the bus ride, so I felt this was a perfect time to take a nap. I crawled onto one of the park benches under the shade of a tree, and using my sweater as a pillow, I fell asleep to the sound of the waves.

When I awoke only about an hour later, I decided to keep walking, and see how far the little walking trail went. I followed it around, finding all sorts of little cafe's, and white pebbled beaches. At times when I found these little places I sat down next to the water and tossed pebbles into the tiny waves. I was amazed at how clear the water was. It looked like molten glass. It was almost as If I touched it, it would be a hard surface I could walk on. When I threw in a pebble it made a soft "Thwunk" sound and sank slowly to the bottom, and I could see it fall all the way down. I found another little harbor further on full of salty old men playing Botchi Ball. I felt that looking and smelling as I did, this is where I fit in the best. I stayed a while and watched their game, and walked through the forest of boats docked up in the harbor. I want a boat someday. I'd love to just pack up, and sail off to wherever the wind takes me. I'd rather not have a big showy speed boat, although any boat would probably do, but I want a crusty old sail boat with rotting wood, and lots of character. I saw some boats in Dubrovnik which were amazing! They were sailboats all made up to look like old fashioned tall ships, with a crow's nest on the mast, and a captain's quarters, and even a mermaid sculpture on the bow. I would love a little ship like that. Maybe someday I'll get myself one.

For dinner, I ate at one of the little cafe's near the harbor, and for dessert I found a pastry shop, and bought some fruit filled pastries, and watched the sun set over the hills. It was a great day.

I found my way back to the bus station and picked up my bags, and then sat out on the platform waiting for my train. As I waited, I wrote in my music journal Amy made for me, and smoked my pipe. I talked to a homeless woman sitting next to me. We were laughing because every time I tried to light a match to light my pipe, the wind came up and blew it out. I went through like 5 matches before I finally could keep one lit. I finished my pipe just as the train arrived, and climbed on. I'm on the train right now. I'll be in Zagreb in the morning, I think some time around 6 or 7am, and then I catch the next train to Budapest, which should arrive at 5pm. It'll be a heck of a long train excursion. But I had a wonderful day in Split, so I feel ready for it.
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A Little Fall of Rain

2008-04-17T13:12:00.000-07:00

This morning I woke up, and answered some emails I'd gotten during the night. Katherine had done some research, and figured out another way to Hungary, which didn't involve driving through Bosnia. She said that Split (which is a city just next to this one) has a train station in it which goes to Budapest through Zagreb (Croatia's Capital city). I can buy a cheap bus ticket here to get me to Split, and then use my Eurail Pass to go by train the rest of the way to Budapest. Going by train will also shorten the travel time substantially, so I won't be spending 20 hours in transit. I felt like this was a good plan, so immediately, I walked down to the bus station and ordered a ticket to Split for tomorrow at 8am.

After insuring my seat on the bus tomorrow, I decided to walk around the direction from the bus station that I hadn't gone yet, just to see what was over there. I walked along the road some distance, and found some cool little houses, a couple dirt roads, and a beautiful river running through the center. However, when I reached the city limit, I figured it was probably not a good idea to leave the city to keep walking, so I turned back.

The weather from Rijeka eventually caught up with me, and had covered the beautiful skies with looming clouds during the night, and by now it began to pour down that icy rain I'd known from earlier. Still, I walked on into the old city holding myself in my arms. I've grown so fond of the hat I've been wearing throughout this journey, which I'd bought in Edinburgh. It's been so good to me during the hard times of my trip. It provides perfect shade from the hot sun, and in the rain I've found that pointing my head slightly downward blocks the rain from my face like a shield. My head always seems to stay warm and dry since I've bought it, and that's proved to be so important. I've gone back and forth as to the fashion sense of it, but I like it, and I think it looks better on me than the beanie.

As I walked, I thought about how I was really actually enjoying myself being cold and wet, and nearly blown off the hill at times by the wind. I welcome a little turmoil. I think I've stated before how I tend to be a little masochistic when it comes to emotional hardships. I think its important to embrace the hard times as well as the easy. I honestly don't count myself a masochist. I think I'm someone who appreciates the value of pain. Pain is an entirely unique feeling, it's the ultimate priority sorter. When you're in pain, your animal instincts kick in and everything suddenly becomes very clear and simple. If you're cold enough, you will find some way to get warm; if you're hungry enough, you'll find something to eat. Your mind automatically prioritizes your life to what you need to survive. I think this is the reason masochists do what they do. I think they feel like every thing's so complicated, and they can't prioritize they're life. They put themselves in situations that are very simple to resolve (I.e. "Put down the knife"). Their brain puts everything together for them, leaving out the complicated, or extremely simplifying it. If it hurts, stop. Very simple. However, I also think that pain in the physical sense, or emotional makes it very easy to see the bright side of things. When everything seems bad, the good stands out especially. Pain falls into 3 different categories: Physical, Emotional, and Spiritual. Some people (we call them masochists) use physical pain to help them to feel something dramatic when their lives feel numb. There are a couple things that make a person truly "feel", Love is one of them, and pain is the other. Pain is the easiest to get to, because you can control it, you can inflict it. Love takes time to build, but usually lasts a lot longer. However, love is also very fragile at times. You can build it for years, and it may fall apart, and what are you left with? Pain. This is why, I think, pain is the preferred method of feeling. Not all people choose physical pain to heighten their sense of feeling, in fact it's not even the majority, not by a long shot. Emotional pain is what most people crave. Everyone who's ever sabotaged a relationship, or even just enjoyed a sad movie inflicts themselves with emotional pain in order to heighten their sense of reality. It's not always a bad thing. Pain is something that was meant to be embraced. When we feel pain, we bond ourselves to each other, because like it or not we all suffer sometimes. Like alcohol, it should be used as a social lubricant. We're able to relate to each other's pain, and share it, like sharing a drink. When you use it correctly, it humbles you, and allows you to see the world from a birds eye view. When you suffer, you learn to seek out compassion, and when you find someone who shows it to you, you learn to trust, and in trusting you learn to love. However, also like alcohol, it can easily be abused. When you lock yourself up, and focus only on the pain, all you will see is pain. Even though you may look for compassion, if you focus too much on the pain itself, you'll miss the love that someone may be trying to show you. I appreciate this pain I've often gone through because I've seen the compassion it leads me to. Trust me when I say, that doesn't mean I don't complain when I find myself in painful situations. In fact, I quite often lament these difficult times, but every time I find the littlest bit of relief; shelter from the rain, or someone to sit and talk with for a bit. I find myself feeling more connected to life, and seeking out the love that's so much more visible in the midst of suffering. We're pessimistic creatures by habit, but there's so much love out there if you look past your own pain, and use it relate to others who also suffer with you.

I walked all around the old city, and through the castle, taking shelter under the scaffolding in the alleyways, or in churches. As I was on my way back, I ran in Mile in the marketplace. She was carrying an umbrella, and noticing I was soaked from head to toe, she chattered something in a language I didn't understand, and gave me her umbrella. umbrella"No, no" I tried to tell her at first, and handed back the umbrella. She insisted and forced the umbrella back into my hands, and them pulled her jacket over her head. I accepted her gift, and thanked her kindly. She spent the rest of the time shopping with only her jacket pulled over her head, and came home sopping wet. When I'd gotten back to the room she had again made me dinner. She gave me a loaf of bread, dates, and a stick of meat which seemed to be some kind of jerky with a side of raw chives. I ate the bread and dates, and a little of the meat, but it was really fatty, so I had trouble getting it down. Mile's been amazingly decent to me these couple days, I'm almost sad I'm leaving in the morning.

Tomorrow I'll begin my journey to Budapest, Hungary. Hopefully it may take all day and night, so we'll see what kind of adventure it turns into. Leave me comments, emails, I love hearing from you all, and it's encouraging to read them and know I'm not doing this alone.
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