I barely remember Vienna. Maybe it was boring. Maybe I was tired, or in a bad mood. I took an overnight train from Bruges. It was my first trip with my Eurail pass! So I looked in the book for anywhere that was an overnight trip. To save a nights accommodation. I picked Wien. Which I immediately pronounced Ween, and gleefully told everyone I'd met in the Bruges hostel that I was going to Ween. It took about a day for me to realize that if you said Wien with a German accent it was Vien...Vienna. Idiot. So I took an overnight train to Vienna.
Met a very nice guy on the train in the dining car. He was eating tomato soup. The train split in two and he went to Italy. He didn't invite me to go, but I bet he wouldn't have argued if I'd asked. I should have asked.
I remember entering the hostel. I remember the church of Charles Borromeo. I remember meeting a Polish guy as I was sitting on the grass. That's about all I remember of Vienna.
My last memory of Vienna is the train station. I met two guys. One from Serbia, one from ... one of the countries Serbia doesn't like. They were DJs from Amsterdam now. On their way to Debrecen to play a festival. I was on my way to Budapest, a few hours before Debrecen. The non-Serb took a liking to me and invited me to come along. He seemed harmless, the other guy seemed morose. So off we go.
Just after Budapest. JUST AFTER, the train is stopped. Men in uniforms get on and take away my new friend. Now in retrospect, at this point, I could have gotten off and gone back to Budapest. I probably should have. But I didn't. I sat in mostly icy silence with the Serb. We continued onto Debrecen.
They set us up in a room with 3 small beds. Got us a tourguide for the day. It was nice weather. Eventually the Serb came out of his shell. He was uneasy about having a girl around when he had a fiancee. He also managed to drop that he hates Americans. We gave his mother a heart attack defending the asshole Albanians don't you know. He told me that he liked to corner American frat boys in the alleys of Amsterdam and threaten to kill them for it. He never went through with his threats, it was just to scare them. But you could see in his eyes, he was capable of it.
We got on well enough, as long as I went down to the cafe downstairs to buy cakes a few times a day. I didn't mind, he paid. I don't know how long I was there for. Maybe 3 days. The day of the festival, it poured and flooded and it was cancelled. So they had him DJ in a club. It was an awful experience. Rave dancers and what have you.
Eventually I went to a travel agent. He wouldn't let me just go to the train station. I bought a ticket to Bucharest, Romania. I got out of there.
I ran into him later in Amsterdam. He owns a record show there. In Deep n' Dance. I didn't ask about our friend.
Thursday, September 8, 2011
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
9/11
We're coming up on the 10th anniversary of the attack on the World Trade Center. I guess everyone has one of "those moments" that you never forget where you were. Kennedy assassination, MLK assassination...are they all assassinations? Maybe as far as global news goes, only bad things are unplanned. Anyway, figure it might be a question I get asked in the old folks home (assuming I'm senile enough to agree to go and not overdose on my pain meds.)
I was at UNC-Greensboro in the Interior Architecture program. I would have been in the program for just a few weeks, so probably still thought I'd make an architect of myself. I had a class with a gentleman that reminded you of Tom Jones had Tom Jones been taller, and a thug, and English. It was an art class. Ugh. So we were outside drawing...trees. Useless art teachers. Show up with a hangover, time to go outside and draw trees.
So I'm sitting there, hating my pencil, because that's whose fault it was that I couldn't draw a tree. An incredibly excited 50-ish black gentleman comes running up, with the look of a man that is excited to tell people first. Excited to see confusion. I've felt like that. I get it.
I don't remember exactly what he said, because I'd never heard of this building. I don't know if he said bomb, I don't know if he said planes hit the Twin Towers or the World Trade Center. All I remember is he had this excited grin and he said, "We're going to war, planes are already in the air".
Our teacher, not quite knowing what was happening, but not wanting to be seen as an English Prick later, said we could leave if we wanted. So we all did.
I went back to the International dorm that I lived in. People there were confused, but looking at it like an American thing, way up North. I watched some footage, and called my boyfriend, or maybe he was my ex at this point. Probably. He was going camping. His reaction was, He can't do anything about it, and if we're getting blown away, he's probably safer in the woods. I couldn't fault him, but I wanted to be agitated and he was too calm.
Eventually Greensboro got listed as something like number 10 in the list of places likely to be attacked. Seemed highly unlikely but there's some sort of chemical factory there or something.
I guess that's about it. I didn't know anyone, I didn't know anyone who knew anyone. I know there was a really sweet girl in my dorm from Iraq, and I know a friend told her to quit publicizing that at some point. It's amazing how fast it became an Iraqi problem.
I was at UNC-Greensboro in the Interior Architecture program. I would have been in the program for just a few weeks, so probably still thought I'd make an architect of myself. I had a class with a gentleman that reminded you of Tom Jones had Tom Jones been taller, and a thug, and English. It was an art class. Ugh. So we were outside drawing...trees. Useless art teachers. Show up with a hangover, time to go outside and draw trees.
So I'm sitting there, hating my pencil, because that's whose fault it was that I couldn't draw a tree. An incredibly excited 50-ish black gentleman comes running up, with the look of a man that is excited to tell people first. Excited to see confusion. I've felt like that. I get it.
I don't remember exactly what he said, because I'd never heard of this building. I don't know if he said bomb, I don't know if he said planes hit the Twin Towers or the World Trade Center. All I remember is he had this excited grin and he said, "We're going to war, planes are already in the air".
Our teacher, not quite knowing what was happening, but not wanting to be seen as an English Prick later, said we could leave if we wanted. So we all did.
I went back to the International dorm that I lived in. People there were confused, but looking at it like an American thing, way up North. I watched some footage, and called my boyfriend, or maybe he was my ex at this point. Probably. He was going camping. His reaction was, He can't do anything about it, and if we're getting blown away, he's probably safer in the woods. I couldn't fault him, but I wanted to be agitated and he was too calm.
Eventually Greensboro got listed as something like number 10 in the list of places likely to be attacked. Seemed highly unlikely but there's some sort of chemical factory there or something.
I guess that's about it. I didn't know anyone, I didn't know anyone who knew anyone. I know there was a really sweet girl in my dorm from Iraq, and I know a friend told her to quit publicizing that at some point. It's amazing how fast it became an Iraqi problem.
Friday, August 12, 2011
Novgorod
While in Russia, Isabel and I made a few random trips outside of Piter.
It started with my unattainable goal of viewing Dom Sutyagina. A house created/built illegally, 13 stories high, out of wood. By one man, rumoured to have killed someone. I mentioned it around some Russians, and they thought I was crazy. They didn't want me to go because it was ugly and made Russians look bad. I wanted to go. I looked into flights and trains and buses. Information is not easy to come by in Russia. I brought up this idea in class one day and a small Spanish girl said she wanted to go. I thought she must have misunderstood me. It's just a big old pile of wood. But she understood and wanted to go. Then I came across a news article. The government had torn it down. I was devastated.
But we had forged a friendship based on larks already.
On Valentine's Day (for no real reason), we went to Novgorod. Novgorod is an amazing place. It has an old kremlin, complete with church and walls and what not. It also has a huge "wooden museum". These are places where they have collected old examples of wooden Russian architecture. As we were there during the snow (probably a foot on the ground), it was quite gorgeous. There was a cross country skiing race we called into on the way.
Off the bus we headed into town to find a place to stay. We wanted coffee and finally stopped somewhere that looked promising. It cost about 50 cents... That should have been a sign. It tasted like oatmeal water. I quite enjoyed it, but Isa was less than impressed. We found a real coffee shop, like a REAL one. Organic and free trade and all that nonsense. We had better coffee there and stuck some pins in the map on the wall.
At the Kremlin, we saw a pile of junk and some construction workers piling it on in the snow. On closer inspection, it seemed to be a music school. There were old chairs and a couple busted up pianos. Also some neat canvases with basic paintings of accordions. I had to have those. We chatted with some cute workers and made our way.
Not really anywhere to eat in Novgorod. We found one place and had a satisfactory meal and a beer. The next day we had to walk in the snow to the train station, me carrying these canvases...with no gloves. We got lost, and I was in quite the temperament. We made it, I did not get frostbite. Isa did not hate me.
We lived to see Staraya Ladoga and somewhere else I can't place right now.
(side story: met this guy in a batch of new americans that came in right before i left. just now remembering that we hooked up. anyway, idiot. a group was going to Novgorod, but there is Veliky Novgorod and Nizhny Novgorod.... he went by himself....to the wrong one...hours and hours past the right one.)
It started with my unattainable goal of viewing Dom Sutyagina. A house created/built illegally, 13 stories high, out of wood. By one man, rumoured to have killed someone. I mentioned it around some Russians, and they thought I was crazy. They didn't want me to go because it was ugly and made Russians look bad. I wanted to go. I looked into flights and trains and buses. Information is not easy to come by in Russia. I brought up this idea in class one day and a small Spanish girl said she wanted to go. I thought she must have misunderstood me. It's just a big old pile of wood. But she understood and wanted to go. Then I came across a news article. The government had torn it down. I was devastated.
But we had forged a friendship based on larks already.
On Valentine's Day (for no real reason), we went to Novgorod. Novgorod is an amazing place. It has an old kremlin, complete with church and walls and what not. It also has a huge "wooden museum". These are places where they have collected old examples of wooden Russian architecture. As we were there during the snow (probably a foot on the ground), it was quite gorgeous. There was a cross country skiing race we called into on the way.
Off the bus we headed into town to find a place to stay. We wanted coffee and finally stopped somewhere that looked promising. It cost about 50 cents... That should have been a sign. It tasted like oatmeal water. I quite enjoyed it, but Isa was less than impressed. We found a real coffee shop, like a REAL one. Organic and free trade and all that nonsense. We had better coffee there and stuck some pins in the map on the wall.
At the Kremlin, we saw a pile of junk and some construction workers piling it on in the snow. On closer inspection, it seemed to be a music school. There were old chairs and a couple busted up pianos. Also some neat canvases with basic paintings of accordions. I had to have those. We chatted with some cute workers and made our way.
Not really anywhere to eat in Novgorod. We found one place and had a satisfactory meal and a beer. The next day we had to walk in the snow to the train station, me carrying these canvases...with no gloves. We got lost, and I was in quite the temperament. We made it, I did not get frostbite. Isa did not hate me.
We lived to see Staraya Ladoga and somewhere else I can't place right now.
(side story: met this guy in a batch of new americans that came in right before i left. just now remembering that we hooked up. anyway, idiot. a group was going to Novgorod, but there is Veliky Novgorod and Nizhny Novgorod.... he went by himself....to the wrong one...hours and hours past the right one.)
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Kennedy Center Honors
The 2010 Kennedy Honors were in October. My feet are the most sore they have ever been, I can barely stay awake, but it was worth it.
Friday I received an email from a friend requesting some volunteers to direct guests to the White House before the event. I said I'd love to and she gave me a phone number to call to trade information. When I told the guy in charge that I work in a government contractor office by day and a music club by night, he asked me to come in the day before the event to get the skinny and then direct the other volunteers the next day. Sure!
So I get down to the Kennedy Center for my quick briefing. It took longer than I thought and in the process found out that I had to have a gown... I haven't had a gown since prom so I went into a panic. My contact at the KC was excellent though. He stopped a lady in the hall to ask where I could buy a dress. Of course she suggested Macy's but in my excitement and simultaneous anxiety, I hadn't thought about there. So I hightail it over, find a dress that is basically perfect, long, and layered. I was going to be standing outside for a few hours after all! Was talked into buying a fake fur shrug too. Total? Close to 200 dollars. But I couldn't find shoes, so then it was a rush to DSW to find anything that would work, which ended up being open toed...
Rush back home to go to the club to work a show there.
Rush to Best Buy the next morning for a new camera.
Rush home...to find my roommate not there and now I"m on my own with my hair. Which I decided to just leave to chance and hope someone would help me when I got to the Kennedy Center. On the way, I receive a call that the tuxes for 2 of my guys are MIA. Sort that out. Then my volunteers start arriving. I ask one of them to help with my hair, but one of the wardrobe girls pipes up that I should ask Hair and Makeup to help. She takes us down there, but none of the KC H&M staff are there, only the ones that came in from New York. So I just ask if anyone will take pity on me and help my hair! A lady waiting for Caroline Kennedy says she'll help. Because Caroline won't be coming in for another 30 minutes. As soon as I sit down, Caroline Kennedy walks in. The hairdresser just had her go do makeup first instead. I bumped Caroline Kennedy for hair!
Meeting with my guys, get on the bus, head to the White House. First gate, IDs. Second gate, IDs. Third gate, escort. Then they decide we don't need an escort and leave us to do our job. I post up by the NW gate to await our arrivals. Meanwhile, the Social Office walks up, includingKal Penn (real name Kalpen Modi), walks up. Forgot he works in the White House. He seemed pretty nervous, it was kind of endearing. Alec Baldwin wasn't terribly sure of himself either, but I imagine it had to do with his guest forgetting her ID (can't get in the White House w/out it!) or the fact that he showed up to a reception at the White House with coffee all over his tuxedo shirt.
Edward Albee, Willie Nelson, Julia Roberts, John Lithgow. The first car was actually Billy Cruddup escorting Suzanne Farrell. Diana Ross, Jayce Norman. I was escorting Sidney Poitier and his wife to the door, very slowly, one on each arm. I guess we held up a few arrivals, because as soon as I got them to the door, I turn around and nearly took out Angela Lansbury; who was strikingly elegant I must add. And just behind her, was the bestained Baldwin, who motioned for me to go in ahead of him. I unfortunately had to inform him, that I would not be going inside. Claire Danes came through and then Chris Rock and his wife. Kelsey Grammar and his pacemaker, Itzhak Perlman. Of course Caroline Kennedy.
Everything ran smoothly, except for the tardiness of some of the guests. Jennifer Hudson arrived last and James Taylor not at all. When Jennifer Hudson walked up she just stared open mouthed at my open-toed shoes. I felt like saying, "If you'd been on time, it wouldn't be such a big deal!"
When we got word that James Taylor wasn't coming, I grabbed my crew from the front and just walked right up to the door of the White House and asked if we could come in. It was freezing and windy and we just wanted to warm up. The doors had just been locked (they have to be when the POTUS is on the floor) but they let us in. I am not familiar with the floor plan of the White House. I expected to walk into a foyer. Well, I suppose we did, except the White House foyer is huge, and we essentially walked right into the party and Steven Tyler. and Forest Whitaker and Kris Kristofferson and Brad Paisley and Sheryl Crow. Those were just the people I saw in my line of sight. But there were about 300 people there scattered in other rooms.
I managed to back into Willie Nelson at some point. He seemed ok with it....
At some point, I was sent back outside to watch the guests leave and radio ahead for their car. I was joined by Kid Rock who wanted to smoke his cigar. When he saw my feet, he offered me his socks. At which point I pulled up my dress to show him my long johns. To which he replied, "But that's not going to help your pretty little toes!" I deflected his sock offer and then offered to take he and his friends picture. This done, he proceeded to kiss my hand, and I proceeded to look for sanitizer.
We get everyone to their cars and then head back in to scavenge for food. Success! It was excellent, as was the champagne.
But then...Red Team Go Red Team Go!! Apparently all the gates shut down when the president leaves, so we were trying to get out before he did. Everyone is scrambling, running very unlady like for cars. We're not even sure we got everyone. I find out when we get in the car, the gates are only locked for 20 minutes. Would it have been such a big deal? But I think we had some of the lighting and camera crew with us, so maybe.
Back to headquarters...with all the elderly volunteers, to watch the stream. That got boring in about...4 minutes. Thankfully, one of my crew snuck us backstage where I watched about half the show. Couldn't hear shit, but was nice to be a part of things.
Then with another volunteer, we snuck to the back of the theatre to watch the last segment. Pretty great!!
Then we snuck into the party.
EVERYONE was there. Well except for the POTUS, but Nancy Pelosie was there... Everyone was just hanging out, eating. I could have harassed a fair number of people, had I been that guy. As it was, I had too stiff scotches, and had to excuse myself. I didn't want to end up in the Post the next day because I fell into Sir Paul McCartney's lap...
Hopefully it all goes down again this year, but better!!
Friday I received an email from a friend requesting some volunteers to direct guests to the White House before the event. I said I'd love to and she gave me a phone number to call to trade information. When I told the guy in charge that I work in a government contractor office by day and a music club by night, he asked me to come in the day before the event to get the skinny and then direct the other volunteers the next day. Sure!
So I get down to the Kennedy Center for my quick briefing. It took longer than I thought and in the process found out that I had to have a gown... I haven't had a gown since prom so I went into a panic. My contact at the KC was excellent though. He stopped a lady in the hall to ask where I could buy a dress. Of course she suggested Macy's but in my excitement and simultaneous anxiety, I hadn't thought about there. So I hightail it over, find a dress that is basically perfect, long, and layered. I was going to be standing outside for a few hours after all! Was talked into buying a fake fur shrug too. Total? Close to 200 dollars. But I couldn't find shoes, so then it was a rush to DSW to find anything that would work, which ended up being open toed...
Rush back home to go to the club to work a show there.
Rush to Best Buy the next morning for a new camera.
Rush home...to find my roommate not there and now I"m on my own with my hair. Which I decided to just leave to chance and hope someone would help me when I got to the Kennedy Center. On the way, I receive a call that the tuxes for 2 of my guys are MIA. Sort that out. Then my volunteers start arriving. I ask one of them to help with my hair, but one of the wardrobe girls pipes up that I should ask Hair and Makeup to help. She takes us down there, but none of the KC H&M staff are there, only the ones that came in from New York. So I just ask if anyone will take pity on me and help my hair! A lady waiting for Caroline Kennedy says she'll help. Because Caroline won't be coming in for another 30 minutes. As soon as I sit down, Caroline Kennedy walks in. The hairdresser just had her go do makeup first instead. I bumped Caroline Kennedy for hair!
Meeting with my guys, get on the bus, head to the White House. First gate, IDs. Second gate, IDs. Third gate, escort. Then they decide we don't need an escort and leave us to do our job. I post up by the NW gate to await our arrivals. Meanwhile, the Social Office walks up, includingKal Penn (real name Kalpen Modi), walks up. Forgot he works in the White House. He seemed pretty nervous, it was kind of endearing. Alec Baldwin wasn't terribly sure of himself either, but I imagine it had to do with his guest forgetting her ID (can't get in the White House w/out it!) or the fact that he showed up to a reception at the White House with coffee all over his tuxedo shirt.
Edward Albee, Willie Nelson, Julia Roberts, John Lithgow. The first car was actually Billy Cruddup escorting Suzanne Farrell. Diana Ross, Jayce Norman. I was escorting Sidney Poitier and his wife to the door, very slowly, one on each arm. I guess we held up a few arrivals, because as soon as I got them to the door, I turn around and nearly took out Angela Lansbury; who was strikingly elegant I must add. And just behind her, was the bestained Baldwin, who motioned for me to go in ahead of him. I unfortunately had to inform him, that I would not be going inside. Claire Danes came through and then Chris Rock and his wife. Kelsey Grammar and his pacemaker, Itzhak Perlman. Of course Caroline Kennedy.
Everything ran smoothly, except for the tardiness of some of the guests. Jennifer Hudson arrived last and James Taylor not at all. When Jennifer Hudson walked up she just stared open mouthed at my open-toed shoes. I felt like saying, "If you'd been on time, it wouldn't be such a big deal!"
When we got word that James Taylor wasn't coming, I grabbed my crew from the front and just walked right up to the door of the White House and asked if we could come in. It was freezing and windy and we just wanted to warm up. The doors had just been locked (they have to be when the POTUS is on the floor) but they let us in. I am not familiar with the floor plan of the White House. I expected to walk into a foyer. Well, I suppose we did, except the White House foyer is huge, and we essentially walked right into the party and Steven Tyler. and Forest Whitaker and Kris Kristofferson and Brad Paisley and Sheryl Crow. Those were just the people I saw in my line of sight. But there were about 300 people there scattered in other rooms.
I managed to back into Willie Nelson at some point. He seemed ok with it....
At some point, I was sent back outside to watch the guests leave and radio ahead for their car. I was joined by Kid Rock who wanted to smoke his cigar. When he saw my feet, he offered me his socks. At which point I pulled up my dress to show him my long johns. To which he replied, "But that's not going to help your pretty little toes!" I deflected his sock offer and then offered to take he and his friends picture. This done, he proceeded to kiss my hand, and I proceeded to look for sanitizer.
We get everyone to their cars and then head back in to scavenge for food. Success! It was excellent, as was the champagne.
But then...Red Team Go Red Team Go!! Apparently all the gates shut down when the president leaves, so we were trying to get out before he did. Everyone is scrambling, running very unlady like for cars. We're not even sure we got everyone. I find out when we get in the car, the gates are only locked for 20 minutes. Would it have been such a big deal? But I think we had some of the lighting and camera crew with us, so maybe.
Back to headquarters...with all the elderly volunteers, to watch the stream. That got boring in about...4 minutes. Thankfully, one of my crew snuck us backstage where I watched about half the show. Couldn't hear shit, but was nice to be a part of things.
Then with another volunteer, we snuck to the back of the theatre to watch the last segment. Pretty great!!
Then we snuck into the party.
EVERYONE was there. Well except for the POTUS, but Nancy Pelosie was there... Everyone was just hanging out, eating. I could have harassed a fair number of people, had I been that guy. As it was, I had too stiff scotches, and had to excuse myself. I didn't want to end up in the Post the next day because I fell into Sir Paul McCartney's lap...
Hopefully it all goes down again this year, but better!!
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Karnaval in Koln
While I was in Belgium (2006), a friend connected me with her mutual friend via the short lived Myspace. She didn't know him well, but thought he was a cool guy and he was travelling through Europe, so why not hook up. So we exchanged phone numbers, he tells me that he is going to be in Brussels with two friends. I offer that they can stay at mine, though it will be cramped quarters.
The day they are meant to arrive, by the afternoon, I hear nothing, so take a nap. But of course, am woken up by my phone; they're in the Grande Place. I give some vague description of a corner and say I'll meet them in an hour. My only description of them-3 guys, one in a hideously loud orange coat.
Somehow I manage to guide us to Delirium Tremens. We wander through what I called "Restaurant Alley" to get there. Restaurant Alley is a tight alley, lined with restaurants. Men of Arab decent stand outside and attempt to get you to eat at their restaurant. This isn't to say they are all Arab restaurants, there was French and Italian,etc., but I'd bet that most are Arab owned.
After making it through the gauntlet successfully without purchasing clams or cows tongues, we come to an impasse, in the literal French sense, an alley that doesn't go through to the next street; a dead end. Thankfully it was the right dead end. Delirium Tremens is on the left, across from the Janneken Pis, a small statue of a girl peeing, to mimic the Manneken Pis.
We make our way into the DT and find a menu that is no less than 2 inches thick. I knew immediately what I wanted, Westvleteren. The boys were at a loss, and I was too after already making my choice, so we did the stupidest thing possible and ordered based on names. One was called Pee Klak, and when poured in a glass, it did look like a urine sample, though I don't think that was the basis of the name. Another was called Mortal Kool. It tasted like purple drink. We also had a grapefruit beer that wasn't awful.
Then back to LLN for more drinks. We managed to go to a party, held by the crazy Danish girl. She did not care for our company, nor we for hers, so we went to a bar.
Here is where the boys bring up the fact that they are going to Carnival in Cologne (Koln), Germany the next day, and I should go. Oh, come now! I can't just take off to Germany tomorrow! Oh wait, I can. So with minimal resistance, I packed up some things and we planned to head to Germany the next day for Carnival. Sleeping that night was interesting. The cute one shared my bed, the big one the other bed, and the weird one the floor. The concrete floor.
Now the only thing I know about Carnival is what I've heard and seen regarding Carnival in Brazil. Half naked girls and a lot of color. This is not Koln. Koln was cold and wet and snowy. You are meant to wear costumes, we only found some terrible wigs to wear. There are parades for the kids with lots of candy. There are parades for the adults...with lots of candy. The only thing that differentiated the two were the political themes in the the adults parade. These parades were rather dangerous, in that they threw entire bars of chocolate out. Augustus Gloop, eat your heart out! Since it was so cold, it was actually dangerous to try to catch these things, as they were like bricks. One woman got her arm broken. I also ended up with little toys and some hair gel.
We stayed at a nice hotel outside of town. Gorgeous room, excellent spread at breakfast. However, once again, 4 people, one room. Three of us shared the bed, the weird kid got the cot.
It really was a great hotel, and I'm glad we didn't stay in the city proper. There was a tiny bar down the street where locals were celebrating Carnival and we became honorary Germans, dancing and drinking Kolsch. It was a blast.
(a word on Kolsch. this is schwill. i generally don't like german beers. kolsch is the poster child for bland german beer. during carnival, this is the only thing for sale. tall boys of various breweries kolsch everywhere. it's awful. inside the bars, these small glasses that fit into what looks like a poker chip caddy, probably about 8 glasses a caddy. cute presentation, awful beer.)
Here we learned the "Who the Fuck is Alice" song. Which is not in German, nor is it written by Germans, but it was played in every bar and on the street, at lest 12 times a day. And everyone shouts, "Alice! Who the fuck is Alice!?" A good time.
The cute guy was quite the charmer. He managed to snag a snog from more than a few girls including myself. I hate that I fell for it, but a good snog was needed after being locked up in Belgium celibate for 4 months.
When it was time to part ways, we headed to the train station and everyone bought a Becks tall boy in honor of my departure. Halfway back to Belgium, I found out I didn't have the right train pass, and was booted off to buy a new ticket. No worries.
If you find yourself in Koln during Carnival, drink fast, learn the words to "Living Next Door to Alice" and watch for flying chocolate bricks.
The day they are meant to arrive, by the afternoon, I hear nothing, so take a nap. But of course, am woken up by my phone; they're in the Grande Place. I give some vague description of a corner and say I'll meet them in an hour. My only description of them-3 guys, one in a hideously loud orange coat.
Somehow I manage to guide us to Delirium Tremens. We wander through what I called "Restaurant Alley" to get there. Restaurant Alley is a tight alley, lined with restaurants. Men of Arab decent stand outside and attempt to get you to eat at their restaurant. This isn't to say they are all Arab restaurants, there was French and Italian,etc., but I'd bet that most are Arab owned.
After making it through the gauntlet successfully without purchasing clams or cows tongues, we come to an impasse, in the literal French sense, an alley that doesn't go through to the next street; a dead end. Thankfully it was the right dead end. Delirium Tremens is on the left, across from the Janneken Pis, a small statue of a girl peeing, to mimic the Manneken Pis.
We make our way into the DT and find a menu that is no less than 2 inches thick. I knew immediately what I wanted, Westvleteren. The boys were at a loss, and I was too after already making my choice, so we did the stupidest thing possible and ordered based on names. One was called Pee Klak, and when poured in a glass, it did look like a urine sample, though I don't think that was the basis of the name. Another was called Mortal Kool. It tasted like purple drink. We also had a grapefruit beer that wasn't awful.
Then back to LLN for more drinks. We managed to go to a party, held by the crazy Danish girl. She did not care for our company, nor we for hers, so we went to a bar.
Here is where the boys bring up the fact that they are going to Carnival in Cologne (Koln), Germany the next day, and I should go. Oh, come now! I can't just take off to Germany tomorrow! Oh wait, I can. So with minimal resistance, I packed up some things and we planned to head to Germany the next day for Carnival. Sleeping that night was interesting. The cute one shared my bed, the big one the other bed, and the weird one the floor. The concrete floor.
Now the only thing I know about Carnival is what I've heard and seen regarding Carnival in Brazil. Half naked girls and a lot of color. This is not Koln. Koln was cold and wet and snowy. You are meant to wear costumes, we only found some terrible wigs to wear. There are parades for the kids with lots of candy. There are parades for the adults...with lots of candy. The only thing that differentiated the two were the political themes in the the adults parade. These parades were rather dangerous, in that they threw entire bars of chocolate out. Augustus Gloop, eat your heart out! Since it was so cold, it was actually dangerous to try to catch these things, as they were like bricks. One woman got her arm broken. I also ended up with little toys and some hair gel.
We stayed at a nice hotel outside of town. Gorgeous room, excellent spread at breakfast. However, once again, 4 people, one room. Three of us shared the bed, the weird kid got the cot.
It really was a great hotel, and I'm glad we didn't stay in the city proper. There was a tiny bar down the street where locals were celebrating Carnival and we became honorary Germans, dancing and drinking Kolsch. It was a blast.
(a word on Kolsch. this is schwill. i generally don't like german beers. kolsch is the poster child for bland german beer. during carnival, this is the only thing for sale. tall boys of various breweries kolsch everywhere. it's awful. inside the bars, these small glasses that fit into what looks like a poker chip caddy, probably about 8 glasses a caddy. cute presentation, awful beer.)
Here we learned the "Who the Fuck is Alice" song. Which is not in German, nor is it written by Germans, but it was played in every bar and on the street, at lest 12 times a day. And everyone shouts, "Alice! Who the fuck is Alice!?" A good time.
The cute guy was quite the charmer. He managed to snag a snog from more than a few girls including myself. I hate that I fell for it, but a good snog was needed after being locked up in Belgium celibate for 4 months.
When it was time to part ways, we headed to the train station and everyone bought a Becks tall boy in honor of my departure. Halfway back to Belgium, I found out I didn't have the right train pass, and was booted off to buy a new ticket. No worries.
If you find yourself in Koln during Carnival, drink fast, learn the words to "Living Next Door to Alice" and watch for flying chocolate bricks.
Friday, January 28, 2011
My Last trip to Italy
Italy is full of thieves. I've been there 3 times. Third times a charm I suppose, because that's when I fell victim.
I had been staying on Corfu at the Pink Palace. Two months into a 3.5 month European trip. The Pink Palace is essentially STD Headquarters. It's a hostel with toga parties, free condoms, flowing booze, and bad plumbing. When you arrive, regardless of the time, they give you a shot of Ouzo. Ouzo is foul. It's liquorice flavoured and they dye it pink to be cute. They had booked all the beds in the dorm rooms, so I was given my own room, for better or worse.
The checkout policy at the Pink Palace is quite ingenious. In order to leave, you must "Pre-check" out the evening before. Then you have to be up and out early the next morning. Due to the copious amounts of booze, this is nearly impossible. You arrive, with the intent of it just being a one night stopover on your way to Athens or Rome, and you leave 2 weeks later.
So I get sucked in by the Chase the Ouzo games, everyone in a circle, people with buckets run around and pour it in your mouth. If you've played before, you know you can get up and run ahead, squeeze in and get another ladle full. I dance, which is only due to the Ouzo, and I sleep on the beach. One night, I get so smashed that when I go back to my room, I strip down completely and fall asleep spread eagle on the bed. Housekeeping knocks the next morning...and comes right on it. I was so near to death though, I couldn't move to protest.
My knee had swollen up while on my journey and staying on a little longer wasn't a terrible idea. But after a few days, the swelling wasn't going down, probably something to do with the ridiculous amount of stairs. So I manage to maneuver through the checkout process and get out. A few of us were going the same way and got tickets for the overnight boat to Brindisi, Italy.
The tickets we bought were for passage, not berth. After wandering for a few hours, I realize I have nowhere to go and take out some extra clothes to use as blankets and attempt to sleep on the deck of the ship. It was cold and wet. Worst night of sleep ever.
Up the next morning and in my rush to make sure I get off, I just throw my clothes into my day bag, throw on my pack, and head off the boat. A torrent of backpacks flow off the boat, down the street, and to the tiny train station. Probably 50 of us. A few of us make plans to go for pizza. We pile our packs in a pile in the center of the small room. We take turns watching the pile. I buy a ticket to Naples. I come back to the pile. I grab my bag. I pull it away from the pile, set it next to me. I look over at my acquaintances sitting along the wall about 7 feet away. I say, "Ready to go?". They say yes. I go for my bag. My bag is gone.
Gone.
It was next to me. At least 5 people were looking at me when I said Ready to go. It was gone.
Bright red. No one saw it. Locals are obviously not backpackers. It's not hard to tell the difference. If anyone had seen a small brown guy take my bag, they would have said something.
David Blaine. That's the only thing I can think of. I'll ask him if I ever meet him.
I filed a ridiculous police report in a tiny police station where no one spoke English. I ate some pizza. And I cried all the way to Naples. I cried because I felt vulnerable. I cried because they got nothing of value. I cried because they took at least 30 rolls of exposed film.
When I got to Naples, I called my best friend at the time. I didn't know what to do. I had my cameras, my wallet, my passport. I had that extra set of clothes that I'd used as blankets. I had 2 nights booked in Naples. That's all. My friend told me to come home. And I knew then what I was going to do. I was going to keep going. And so I battled Naples traffic, through some miracle got on the right bus and found the hostel. I visited Pompeii, had some gelato, took a bus ride down the Amalfi coast and had some pasta.
And then I got the fuck out of Italy.
I had been staying on Corfu at the Pink Palace. Two months into a 3.5 month European trip. The Pink Palace is essentially STD Headquarters. It's a hostel with toga parties, free condoms, flowing booze, and bad plumbing. When you arrive, regardless of the time, they give you a shot of Ouzo. Ouzo is foul. It's liquorice flavoured and they dye it pink to be cute. They had booked all the beds in the dorm rooms, so I was given my own room, for better or worse.
The checkout policy at the Pink Palace is quite ingenious. In order to leave, you must "Pre-check" out the evening before. Then you have to be up and out early the next morning. Due to the copious amounts of booze, this is nearly impossible. You arrive, with the intent of it just being a one night stopover on your way to Athens or Rome, and you leave 2 weeks later.
So I get sucked in by the Chase the Ouzo games, everyone in a circle, people with buckets run around and pour it in your mouth. If you've played before, you know you can get up and run ahead, squeeze in and get another ladle full. I dance, which is only due to the Ouzo, and I sleep on the beach. One night, I get so smashed that when I go back to my room, I strip down completely and fall asleep spread eagle on the bed. Housekeeping knocks the next morning...and comes right on it. I was so near to death though, I couldn't move to protest.
My knee had swollen up while on my journey and staying on a little longer wasn't a terrible idea. But after a few days, the swelling wasn't going down, probably something to do with the ridiculous amount of stairs. So I manage to maneuver through the checkout process and get out. A few of us were going the same way and got tickets for the overnight boat to Brindisi, Italy.
The tickets we bought were for passage, not berth. After wandering for a few hours, I realize I have nowhere to go and take out some extra clothes to use as blankets and attempt to sleep on the deck of the ship. It was cold and wet. Worst night of sleep ever.
Up the next morning and in my rush to make sure I get off, I just throw my clothes into my day bag, throw on my pack, and head off the boat. A torrent of backpacks flow off the boat, down the street, and to the tiny train station. Probably 50 of us. A few of us make plans to go for pizza. We pile our packs in a pile in the center of the small room. We take turns watching the pile. I buy a ticket to Naples. I come back to the pile. I grab my bag. I pull it away from the pile, set it next to me. I look over at my acquaintances sitting along the wall about 7 feet away. I say, "Ready to go?". They say yes. I go for my bag. My bag is gone.
Gone.
It was next to me. At least 5 people were looking at me when I said Ready to go. It was gone.
Bright red. No one saw it. Locals are obviously not backpackers. It's not hard to tell the difference. If anyone had seen a small brown guy take my bag, they would have said something.
David Blaine. That's the only thing I can think of. I'll ask him if I ever meet him.
I filed a ridiculous police report in a tiny police station where no one spoke English. I ate some pizza. And I cried all the way to Naples. I cried because I felt vulnerable. I cried because they got nothing of value. I cried because they took at least 30 rolls of exposed film.
When I got to Naples, I called my best friend at the time. I didn't know what to do. I had my cameras, my wallet, my passport. I had that extra set of clothes that I'd used as blankets. I had 2 nights booked in Naples. That's all. My friend told me to come home. And I knew then what I was going to do. I was going to keep going. And so I battled Naples traffic, through some miracle got on the right bus and found the hostel. I visited Pompeii, had some gelato, took a bus ride down the Amalfi coast and had some pasta.
And then I got the fuck out of Italy.
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