I caught a train from Berlin to Prague and was able to meet up with my friend Brendan, who I met in Ireland. Brendan had a place in the city where I could crash, which was an immediate bonus. If ever you can find a place to stay for free while traveling, the rest is cream cheese.
Brendan took me around the city at night and showed me all it had to offer on a Tuesday night. I drank cheap beer, ate a greasy sausage, and played a drinking game at a bar where you have to pound a nail into a giant tree stump with the chisel end of a hammer. As I drove the head of my nail home to narrowly avoid a first-time loss, I remembered what my grandfather always told me, "Conor, wherever you go, always leave your mark..."
I spent the next day exploring Prague. I cruised through the Old Town Square, Mala Strana, the Castle District, Charles Bridge, New Town, and Wenceslas Square. That night I was catching the night train to Vienna, so I managed to sneak in a few Pilsner Urquells before leaving to help me sleep on the train.
I got in to Vienna at six and caught the next train to Budapest. I would be back in Vienna later that night, but I wanted to see Budapest and with my Eurail Pass it made sense (I have 10 "travel days" within 2 months when I can catch any train and ride for free). So for one of my travel days I went from Prague to Vienna to Budapest, and then back to Vienna. Three cities in 24 hours. At least I got my money's worth. Backpacking is all about value....
I rushed through Budapest in seven hours but I feel like I did right by it. I walked through Heroes Square, City Park, and then saw Parliament, St. Stephen's Basillica, and the Opera House. Then it was on to Buda. I saw Buda Castle, Matthias Church, and hiked up Gallert Hill to see the Citadell along with a stunning view of both Buda and Pest. After that I rushed back to the train station to catch the 5:10 back to Vienna.
My friend Kyra (who I met in NZ) picked me up at the train station in Vienna and gave me a walking tour of the city after catching up over a beer. Vienna has a perfect blend of old-school architecture, progressive social values, and an unassuming, casual attitude among its people that could only be attained through genuine contentment.
After checking out the typical tourist spots (Stephen's Dom, Hofsburg Palace, Karl's Church, Museum Quarter) I made my way down to the Central Cemetary and visited the graves of Beethoven, Brahms, Schubert, and Strauss. Then I sought out the much smaller St. Marx Cemetary where Mozart was buried somewhere in a mass grave along with other victims of the Black Plague.
I don't have strong feelings for any of those people, nor do I listen to any of their music, but there's something strangely intriguing about discovering someone's final resting place. I think it says a lot about the person. And besides, it's both peaceful and captivating to walk through a plot of land where there are thousands of decomposing bodies under the ground, and as many beautiful flowers and trees protruding from the same soil. There's got to be some metaphor to be gleamed there... a ying and a yang. Growth and decay. But mostly I think that so many artistic geniuses chose to forever reside in Vienna says more about the quality of its earth than it does for those who lie beneath it.
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
whirlwind tourist polka
Oktoberfest. The world's most prolific celebration of consumption. It's basically Coney Island on steroids, plus beer by the liter. There were amusement park rides, a Ferris Wheel, Fun-Houses, carnival games, food vendors, sweet shops, and souvenir huts. But the main draws were the beer halls.
People travel thousands of miles, pay hundreds of dollars, and sometimes wait for hours outside just to sit at a table and drink beer. The beauty is in the simplicity. There is literally nothing else to do in a beer hall but sit, drink, sing, and talk with strangers.
I learned very early that a table is a precious commodity. If you arrive early in the day, or reserve a table, you can walk right in , sit down and order a €10 liter jug of beer. If your table is not already full, it soon will be. It is best to position your bulkiest, most intimidating members at the end of the table to fend off the standing-room crowd when others get up to use the bathroom. When the brass band on stage starts playing the Beer Barrel Polka, or a traditional German song, you stand and shout with everyone else, pretending to know the words. Also important to note: after toasting with everyone at your table, be sure to bang the bottom of your jug against the table before taking a drink or the next round is on you. I learned this technicality very quickly, as a slip-up would have been catastrophic for my Oktoberfest finances.
But I've gotten ahead of myself. I spent two full days biking along the Rhine River, stopping at Boppard, St. Goar, Bacharach, Bingen, Rudesheim, and Eltville. The biking trail was easy to follow, as it hugged the riverbank from Koblenz all the way to Mainz. I took my time since my pack was heavy and the scenery was straight out of a classical painting, but also because my bike had probably been around since before the Berlin Wall was built. It might as well have been one of those bikes with the enormous rear wheel and handlebars that wrap around your waist. Nonetheless, I made it into Mainz, grinding gears, bald tires and all. My friend Matthias picked me up and drove me to his house in Trebur.
I stayed with Matthias and his wife, Katja, for three nights. I had met them in Australia while touring the Red Center. They showed me the meaning of German hospitality. I was introduced to proper German beer, authentic Schnitzel, Rhine Valley apple wine, and an unbelievable homemade onion cake. I feel like I learned more about German culture there in three days than in any of the cities I visited. It was difficult to leave, but Oktoberfest beckoned....
I stayed in Munich two nights, spending nearly all my time in the Oktoberfest grounds. I was able to meet up with my friend Evi, who I also met in Australia, and she let me tag along with her group of friends at the festivities.
After Munich I caught a train to Berlin, spending three nights in the nation's capital. With such little time to spend in a playground of tourist attractions, I thought a whilrlwind tour would be appropriate. I visited the Reichstag, seven museums, Brandenburger Tor, Olympic Stadium, Potsdamer Platz, Checkpoint Charlie, the Berlin Wall Memorial, The Jewish Memorial, the Berliner Dom, Gendarme Market, Hitler's bunker (which is now nothing more than a hotel parking lot), and the Tiergarten.
Now I exhale on a train on the way to Prague. Future stops include Budapest, Vienna, and Murren, Switzerland. As I leave Germany after staying only ten nights, I feel like I've only taken the first few sips from a deep, frothy stein. There was so much I missed. But the train doors abruptly close and the carriage rolls forward, inching south along the rails for the former Soviet bloc and another whirlwind sampling.
People travel thousands of miles, pay hundreds of dollars, and sometimes wait for hours outside just to sit at a table and drink beer. The beauty is in the simplicity. There is literally nothing else to do in a beer hall but sit, drink, sing, and talk with strangers.
I learned very early that a table is a precious commodity. If you arrive early in the day, or reserve a table, you can walk right in , sit down and order a €10 liter jug of beer. If your table is not already full, it soon will be. It is best to position your bulkiest, most intimidating members at the end of the table to fend off the standing-room crowd when others get up to use the bathroom. When the brass band on stage starts playing the Beer Barrel Polka, or a traditional German song, you stand and shout with everyone else, pretending to know the words. Also important to note: after toasting with everyone at your table, be sure to bang the bottom of your jug against the table before taking a drink or the next round is on you. I learned this technicality very quickly, as a slip-up would have been catastrophic for my Oktoberfest finances.
But I've gotten ahead of myself. I spent two full days biking along the Rhine River, stopping at Boppard, St. Goar, Bacharach, Bingen, Rudesheim, and Eltville. The biking trail was easy to follow, as it hugged the riverbank from Koblenz all the way to Mainz. I took my time since my pack was heavy and the scenery was straight out of a classical painting, but also because my bike had probably been around since before the Berlin Wall was built. It might as well have been one of those bikes with the enormous rear wheel and handlebars that wrap around your waist. Nonetheless, I made it into Mainz, grinding gears, bald tires and all. My friend Matthias picked me up and drove me to his house in Trebur.
I stayed with Matthias and his wife, Katja, for three nights. I had met them in Australia while touring the Red Center. They showed me the meaning of German hospitality. I was introduced to proper German beer, authentic Schnitzel, Rhine Valley apple wine, and an unbelievable homemade onion cake. I feel like I learned more about German culture there in three days than in any of the cities I visited. It was difficult to leave, but Oktoberfest beckoned....
I stayed in Munich two nights, spending nearly all my time in the Oktoberfest grounds. I was able to meet up with my friend Evi, who I also met in Australia, and she let me tag along with her group of friends at the festivities.
After Munich I caught a train to Berlin, spending three nights in the nation's capital. With such little time to spend in a playground of tourist attractions, I thought a whilrlwind tour would be appropriate. I visited the Reichstag, seven museums, Brandenburger Tor, Olympic Stadium, Potsdamer Platz, Checkpoint Charlie, the Berlin Wall Memorial, The Jewish Memorial, the Berliner Dom, Gendarme Market, Hitler's bunker (which is now nothing more than a hotel parking lot), and the Tiergarten.
Now I exhale on a train on the way to Prague. Future stops include Budapest, Vienna, and Murren, Switzerland. As I leave Germany after staying only ten nights, I feel like I've only taken the first few sips from a deep, frothy stein. There was so much I missed. But the train doors abruptly close and the carriage rolls forward, inching south along the rails for the former Soviet bloc and another whirlwind sampling.
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
american flyer
Dim are the prospects for a backpacker in Koblenz, Germany. The only hostel in town is closed for renovation. Hotels cater to older travelers looking for a romantic getaway on the Rhine. Winebars far outnumber the pubs. I had as much business there as Bill Murray at Bushwoods. Yet there I was. All because when I was sitting on a beach in Rye I thought it would be fun to bike from Koblenz to Mainz, a route that is considered to be the most scenic in the Rhine Valley. Like most of my hare-brained, half-baked plans, it seemed like a good idea at the time.
At the tourist center I was told there were rooms at an out-of-the-way hotel for 25 euro, but after a 3km hike, I found they were about twice that. The walk back into town felt much longer.
I decided to go back to the train station and see if it was open all night. The man behind the ticket counter squinted back at me and said, "Eez open, ya."
"Is it OK to sleep here?"
He shook his head and said, "Because zee cops..."
My first night in Germany was beginning to look fitful and cold. But it was a Saturday night, and hope springs eternal. "Where's a good pub?"
Sugar Ray's was the kind of place where an ex-pat in Germany might go to feel at home. Boxing promos and posters lined the walls and the bar was adorned with American beer cans. I thought it was as good a place as any to find someone willing to put me up for the night.
I left my backpack with the bouncer and went to get a beer, armed with about four words of German I learned from Indiana Jones movies. The odds weren't with me.
As it turned out the owner of the bar saw me walk in and sit by myself, and somehow pegged me as American. He sent a beer over, on the house. Then another. And another. Soon I was behind the bar, talking to him about Las Vegas, national parks, and German beer. That's how I learned how friendly small-town Germans are. Before I knew it I had more German friends that I knew what to do with. They couldn't have been nicer to me. I ended up following them to a club and staying out until five in the morning. Unfortunately none of them actually lived in Koblenz, and I didn't feel like driving 50km back home with them, so that left me without a place to stay.
So I picked up my bag and headed down to the Rhine. I slept under a tree by the edge of the river. I laid down my poncho because the ground was a little wet and bundled up in several layers. I woke up after only a couple hours from the cold and moved to the train station. The police didn't bother me and I got another couple hours of sleep. It was surprisingly peaceful sleeping among the comings and goings of trains and travellers. Say what you will about passing up a bed for 50 euro, a backpacker's got to have his principles....
I woke up when a bum asked me for a lighter. It was 9:00am. I got four hours of sleep after a long night out, and I desperately needed a bike within the next few hours or my much anticipated journey down the Rhine would be experienced through a train window. This was the definitive low point of my trip. To compound my problems, it was a Sunday, and both bike shops in town were closed. But Goonies never say die.
After walking through the city center for a few hours and propositioning strangers on bikes for an impromptu sale, I decided to hang out at the bike stand at the train station. Within ten minutes I had a bike for 40 euro from an Arab who didn't speak a word of English.
Suddenly, with two wheels and a pair of pedals, my whole world changed. I left Koblenz behind. The bike trail hugged the river for 70km, cutting through the flat, green vineyards of the Rhine Valley. I pedalled slow. Ahead was open road, unfolding upstream, leading to new places that might have cheap beds, a hot shower, and fully-baked ideas. But maybe not. It just felt good to move again.
At the tourist center I was told there were rooms at an out-of-the-way hotel for 25 euro, but after a 3km hike, I found they were about twice that. The walk back into town felt much longer.
I decided to go back to the train station and see if it was open all night. The man behind the ticket counter squinted back at me and said, "Eez open, ya."
"Is it OK to sleep here?"
He shook his head and said, "Because zee cops..."
My first night in Germany was beginning to look fitful and cold. But it was a Saturday night, and hope springs eternal. "Where's a good pub?"
Sugar Ray's was the kind of place where an ex-pat in Germany might go to feel at home. Boxing promos and posters lined the walls and the bar was adorned with American beer cans. I thought it was as good a place as any to find someone willing to put me up for the night.
I left my backpack with the bouncer and went to get a beer, armed with about four words of German I learned from Indiana Jones movies. The odds weren't with me.
As it turned out the owner of the bar saw me walk in and sit by myself, and somehow pegged me as American. He sent a beer over, on the house. Then another. And another. Soon I was behind the bar, talking to him about Las Vegas, national parks, and German beer. That's how I learned how friendly small-town Germans are. Before I knew it I had more German friends that I knew what to do with. They couldn't have been nicer to me. I ended up following them to a club and staying out until five in the morning. Unfortunately none of them actually lived in Koblenz, and I didn't feel like driving 50km back home with them, so that left me without a place to stay.
So I picked up my bag and headed down to the Rhine. I slept under a tree by the edge of the river. I laid down my poncho because the ground was a little wet and bundled up in several layers. I woke up after only a couple hours from the cold and moved to the train station. The police didn't bother me and I got another couple hours of sleep. It was surprisingly peaceful sleeping among the comings and goings of trains and travellers. Say what you will about passing up a bed for 50 euro, a backpacker's got to have his principles....
I woke up when a bum asked me for a lighter. It was 9:00am. I got four hours of sleep after a long night out, and I desperately needed a bike within the next few hours or my much anticipated journey down the Rhine would be experienced through a train window. This was the definitive low point of my trip. To compound my problems, it was a Sunday, and both bike shops in town were closed. But Goonies never say die.
After walking through the city center for a few hours and propositioning strangers on bikes for an impromptu sale, I decided to hang out at the bike stand at the train station. Within ten minutes I had a bike for 40 euro from an Arab who didn't speak a word of English.
Suddenly, with two wheels and a pair of pedals, my whole world changed. I left Koblenz behind. The bike trail hugged the river for 70km, cutting through the flat, green vineyards of the Rhine Valley. I pedalled slow. Ahead was open road, unfolding upstream, leading to new places that might have cheap beds, a hot shower, and fully-baked ideas. But maybe not. It just felt good to move again.
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
the little things
I'm expecting imminent disaster. Seriously. Things have been going too perfectly. I was worried about how I would get from England to Belgium, but my train ticket from London to Brussels was fairly cheap and allowed one free transfer to any Belgian station. Score.
Brussels was a good first stop. The market square was impressive, and on the day I arrived there was some kind of festival going on and the square was hopping with all sorts of people singing, dancing, drinking, eating and taking pictures. I tried my first Belgian waffle, which quickly resulted in a second. Both smothered in chocolate. Then I tried a Belgian beer, which also necessitated additional samples. And so I quickly learned that Belgians have life pretty well figured out. Enjoy the little things.
While Brussels was nice for a night, Bruges is a dream. The best beers in the world are less than 3 euro. There's free chocolate samples at dozens of shops (I swear Bruges must have the highest number of chocolate shops per capita in the world). The architecture is straight out of a Disney movie. The weather has been great.... If you never hear from me again, you'll know why.
I spent three days in Bruges. I walked along cobble stone streets and canals by day, and medicated my weary legs at the pubs by night. I think what I liked most about Bruges was that there was literally nothing to do but eat, drink, and walk around. It was a little touristy, but since I only added to the problem I couldn't complain. To get a good feel for what Bruges is like, check out In Bruges, not a bad movie.
It was tough to leave, but I was looking forward to Ghent. I have two friends living in Ghent, Mieke and Lien, who I met in New Zealand. They were very generous in showing me around the city and letting me crash at their place for the night. They took me out to dinner, walked me around the city at night, and introduced me to a Belgian late-night delicacy: french fries with gravy and mayonnaise. It might not sound appetizing but man, it beat the hell out of salt and ketchup.
After Belgium, I took a train up to the Netherlands where I spent two nights. I was fortunate enough that my friend Sabrina was able to put me up for a night, and afterwards I toured Amsterdam. But that, as they say, is a different story all together.
One thing about Belgium and the Netherlands is that the area is completely overrun with bicycles. It's out of control. Scads of frantic peddlers descend upon the streets like biblical locusts. They recklessly whip past pedestrians with inches to spare. Walking along sidewalks sometimes feels like driving on the intersate with a vespa.
Next up is Germany, just in time for Oktoberfest. First stop is Cologne, then I'll swing through the Rhine Valley on my way to Frankfurt before my two longest stops in Munich and Berlin. Very glad to hear from some of you guys. Check back in next week....
Brussels was a good first stop. The market square was impressive, and on the day I arrived there was some kind of festival going on and the square was hopping with all sorts of people singing, dancing, drinking, eating and taking pictures. I tried my first Belgian waffle, which quickly resulted in a second. Both smothered in chocolate. Then I tried a Belgian beer, which also necessitated additional samples. And so I quickly learned that Belgians have life pretty well figured out. Enjoy the little things.
While Brussels was nice for a night, Bruges is a dream. The best beers in the world are less than 3 euro. There's free chocolate samples at dozens of shops (I swear Bruges must have the highest number of chocolate shops per capita in the world). The architecture is straight out of a Disney movie. The weather has been great.... If you never hear from me again, you'll know why.
I spent three days in Bruges. I walked along cobble stone streets and canals by day, and medicated my weary legs at the pubs by night. I think what I liked most about Bruges was that there was literally nothing to do but eat, drink, and walk around. It was a little touristy, but since I only added to the problem I couldn't complain. To get a good feel for what Bruges is like, check out In Bruges, not a bad movie.
It was tough to leave, but I was looking forward to Ghent. I have two friends living in Ghent, Mieke and Lien, who I met in New Zealand. They were very generous in showing me around the city and letting me crash at their place for the night. They took me out to dinner, walked me around the city at night, and introduced me to a Belgian late-night delicacy: french fries with gravy and mayonnaise. It might not sound appetizing but man, it beat the hell out of salt and ketchup.
After Belgium, I took a train up to the Netherlands where I spent two nights. I was fortunate enough that my friend Sabrina was able to put me up for a night, and afterwards I toured Amsterdam. But that, as they say, is a different story all together.
One thing about Belgium and the Netherlands is that the area is completely overrun with bicycles. It's out of control. Scads of frantic peddlers descend upon the streets like biblical locusts. They recklessly whip past pedestrians with inches to spare. Walking along sidewalks sometimes feels like driving on the intersate with a vespa.
Next up is Germany, just in time for Oktoberfest. First stop is Cologne, then I'll swing through the Rhine Valley on my way to Frankfurt before my two longest stops in Munich and Berlin. Very glad to hear from some of you guys. Check back in next week....
Thursday, September 23, 2010
london calling
London. The bookend of my trip. An inconvenient place to start, really, since travel to and from the UK isn't covered by my Eurail Pass (or cheap). But this is where I know the most people and I've been lucky enough to stay with my friends Mindy and Jay.
Getting to their place from the train station remains the biggest challenge of the trip so far. I forgot to print out a Google map before I left and had to rely on public city maps and support from locals. Neither were all that helpful. The street I was looking for, Sandwich Street, wasn't really a street but one of a million tiny alleys in London. I even approached an elderly couple who claimed to be lifelong neighborhood locals and they never heard of the place. The old woman squinted up at me and repeated what she had heard with trepidation, "The... Sandwich House... on... Sandwich Street?" She turned to her husband, who shrugged, and looked back at me as if I were trying to sell her magic beans. "Is this some sort of joke, love?" I don't know what she thought I might do. There aren't too many punchlines I can think of, but the British are terribly wary of being embarrassed. Maybe she thought any sort of response would trigger me to pull a foot-long grinder out of my backpack, whack her across the jaw with it, and yell, "You just got SANDWICH HOUSED!!!" I don't know. I think it would have to really be toasted well to be effective.
Anyway, I made it. I stayed at Mindy and Jay's flat for four nights. They had just moved from Portsmouth a couple weeks ago, so I slept on the floor among empty suitcases and unpacked coats. It was perfect. I felt bad intruding for so long, but I was out walking around the majority of the time. I didn't want to waste money on public transportation since I had enough time to see all the tourist attractions, so I took to London on foot. After three full days, my legs are singing....
On the first day I walked through Regent's Park, Hyde Park, SoHo, Piccadilly Circus, and The Mall, and saw Royal Albert Hall, The Albert Memorial, and Buckingham Palace. Day Two was Big Ben, Parliament, Westminster Abbey, Covent Gardens, The National Gallery, and Trafalgar Square. On my last full day I spent five hours in the British Museum, then walked along the Thames for a few miles, crossed the Tower Bridge as it was getting dark, and on the way back I passed by St. Paul's Cathedral, The Bank of England, and The London Tower.
A trip highlight was on Friday. On my way back from the National Gallery I saw dozens of policemen (in their funny tophats and reflector vests) closing down city streets and setting up metal barricades. Turns out the Pope was in town. Probably stopping by for fish and chips and a warm beer, maybe saying a prayer or two.
So I hung around Westminster Abbey for a couple hours waiting for the Popemobile to roll in. The Popemobile, I soon discovered, is nothing more than a European SUV with a glass, bazooka-proof shower stall attached to the back. Only the Pope and his select entourage are privilidged to ride in there. I have to imagine that farting in the back of the Popemobile must be seriously frowned upon. Can you imagine letting one rip in front of the pope while you're sitting in a tiny air-tight cubicle? The remainder of the unpleasant trip will most likely be your last ride with the Pope, bazookas be damned. Excommunication has got to be a very real possibility.
When he arrived the Pope got out, waved his hands, and shuffled his way up the steps of Westminster Abbey as only an 83 year old man can. Most people cheered. Others booed and waved a sign that quoted some fanatical Bible passage. The Pope certainly can bring out the crazies. But some people, like me, just smiled because they were in London and had seen the Pope instead of walking home.
On Sunday I take a train into Brussels. After one night, I go to Bruges for two nights, then I visit my friends Mieke and Lien in Ghent (which is where I post this from a very difficult keyboard). Four nights in Belgium, proud purveyor of the best beer in the world. Do I plan on enjoying myself? Well... after all, the Pope is Catholic.
Getting to their place from the train station remains the biggest challenge of the trip so far. I forgot to print out a Google map before I left and had to rely on public city maps and support from locals. Neither were all that helpful. The street I was looking for, Sandwich Street, wasn't really a street but one of a million tiny alleys in London. I even approached an elderly couple who claimed to be lifelong neighborhood locals and they never heard of the place. The old woman squinted up at me and repeated what she had heard with trepidation, "The... Sandwich House... on... Sandwich Street?" She turned to her husband, who shrugged, and looked back at me as if I were trying to sell her magic beans. "Is this some sort of joke, love?" I don't know what she thought I might do. There aren't too many punchlines I can think of, but the British are terribly wary of being embarrassed. Maybe she thought any sort of response would trigger me to pull a foot-long grinder out of my backpack, whack her across the jaw with it, and yell, "You just got SANDWICH HOUSED!!!" I don't know. I think it would have to really be toasted well to be effective.
Anyway, I made it. I stayed at Mindy and Jay's flat for four nights. They had just moved from Portsmouth a couple weeks ago, so I slept on the floor among empty suitcases and unpacked coats. It was perfect. I felt bad intruding for so long, but I was out walking around the majority of the time. I didn't want to waste money on public transportation since I had enough time to see all the tourist attractions, so I took to London on foot. After three full days, my legs are singing....
On the first day I walked through Regent's Park, Hyde Park, SoHo, Piccadilly Circus, and The Mall, and saw Royal Albert Hall, The Albert Memorial, and Buckingham Palace. Day Two was Big Ben, Parliament, Westminster Abbey, Covent Gardens, The National Gallery, and Trafalgar Square. On my last full day I spent five hours in the British Museum, then walked along the Thames for a few miles, crossed the Tower Bridge as it was getting dark, and on the way back I passed by St. Paul's Cathedral, The Bank of England, and The London Tower.
A trip highlight was on Friday. On my way back from the National Gallery I saw dozens of policemen (in their funny tophats and reflector vests) closing down city streets and setting up metal barricades. Turns out the Pope was in town. Probably stopping by for fish and chips and a warm beer, maybe saying a prayer or two.
So I hung around Westminster Abbey for a couple hours waiting for the Popemobile to roll in. The Popemobile, I soon discovered, is nothing more than a European SUV with a glass, bazooka-proof shower stall attached to the back. Only the Pope and his select entourage are privilidged to ride in there. I have to imagine that farting in the back of the Popemobile must be seriously frowned upon. Can you imagine letting one rip in front of the pope while you're sitting in a tiny air-tight cubicle? The remainder of the unpleasant trip will most likely be your last ride with the Pope, bazookas be damned. Excommunication has got to be a very real possibility.
When he arrived the Pope got out, waved his hands, and shuffled his way up the steps of Westminster Abbey as only an 83 year old man can. Most people cheered. Others booed and waved a sign that quoted some fanatical Bible passage. The Pope certainly can bring out the crazies. But some people, like me, just smiled because they were in London and had seen the Pope instead of walking home.
On Sunday I take a train into Brussels. After one night, I go to Bruges for two nights, then I visit my friends Mieke and Lien in Ghent (which is where I post this from a very difficult keyboard). Four nights in Belgium, proud purveyor of the best beer in the world. Do I plan on enjoying myself? Well... after all, the Pope is Catholic.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
park to drive
I leave for London on Tuesday after being home for over three months. It definitely felt good to take a few deep breaths and let life's pulse return to normal. I had a steady dose of family time, good food, and the beach. But the world can only turn so slow until you feel like you have to quicken your pace like a gerbil on a spinning wheel. So I'm leaving again. For the next ten weeks I'll be tramping through Europe like a fat kid cut loose in a chocolate shop.
Here's my itinerary as of today:
London
Amsterdam
Belgium (Brussels, Brugge)
Germany (Cologne, Rhine Valley, Frankfurt, Munich, Berlin)
Prague
Budapest
Vienna
Switzerland (Interlaken, Murren)
Italy (Amalfi Coast, Naples, Rome, Cinque Terra, Florence, Venice)
French Riviera
Spain (Barcelona, Madrid, ?)
Portugal (Lisbon, ?)
London
Home
But who knows. Backpacking trips have a tendency to make unexpected stops and turns. We'll see where this one takes me.
Right now I'm enjoying my last beach day. Early September is prime time for it. The tourists have left and school is back in session. But as summer winds down, the beach slowly loses its allure. The gentle ocean breeze that once gave relief from the summer sun now burrows deep into my skin. The shadow from my beach chair reaches out further across the sand. Tiny waves roll under my chair as the tide creeps in. It's time to leave.
So pack the bag. Park to drive. Climb the crest and ride the swell. My chocolate shop awaits.
Here's my itinerary as of today:
London
Amsterdam
Belgium (Brussels, Brugge)
Germany (Cologne, Rhine Valley, Frankfurt, Munich, Berlin)
Prague
Budapest
Vienna
Switzerland (Interlaken, Murren)
Italy (Amalfi Coast, Naples, Rome, Cinque Terra, Florence, Venice)
French Riviera
Spain (Barcelona, Madrid, ?)
Portugal (Lisbon, ?)
London
Home
But who knows. Backpacking trips have a tendency to make unexpected stops and turns. We'll see where this one takes me.
Right now I'm enjoying my last beach day. Early September is prime time for it. The tourists have left and school is back in session. But as summer winds down, the beach slowly loses its allure. The gentle ocean breeze that once gave relief from the summer sun now burrows deep into my skin. The shadow from my beach chair reaches out further across the sand. Tiny waves roll under my chair as the tide creeps in. It's time to leave.
So pack the bag. Park to drive. Climb the crest and ride the swell. My chocolate shop awaits.
Thursday, June 3, 2010
sing me back home
Well I've been home for two weeks now. Back to seeing SUVs, one-cent coins, and Rascals sputtering under obese butt-cheeks. The jet lag aside, it's taken some time to get acclimated to living at home again. Eating home cooked meals, watching Boston sports, sleeping in my own bed, and catching up with family/friends have been the welcome adjustments. Waking up to the same scenery has been the hard part. Life is more interesting when you don't know what's around the next corner.
My experience in Australia and New Zealand can't really be expressed in a few paragraphs. All the parts of my trip can't be summed up into one grand truth revealed. But I will say that my favorite part of travelling is inevitably linked with my biggest regret. Throughout seven months I got to know hundreds of different people and places, but none of them as well as I would have liked. The faces and places flash before your eyes in an instant, like stains on the pages of a flip-book. Maybe I flipped the pages too fast.
Looking back, I think getting from A to B was a lot more fun than the destination itself. I travelled by foot, car, plane, bus, train, subway, ferry, 4WD, sailboat, 18-wheeler, bicycle, pontoon, RV, catamaran, and motorized rickshaw. By the end, I learned that dependability comes at a premium, and rickshaw travel is underrated.
I want to thank everyone who has taken the time to read my updates and random thoughts. It's definitely been a good experience for me. I'm not going to shut the site down yet. I plan on taking off again in the not-too-distant future. I'd like to spend the summer at home and plan a trip around Europe during the fall. We'll see how that works out.
I'll be making the rounds this summer so give me a shout, I'd love to catch up. Until then, take care, and keep the compass spinning.
My experience in Australia and New Zealand can't really be expressed in a few paragraphs. All the parts of my trip can't be summed up into one grand truth revealed. But I will say that my favorite part of travelling is inevitably linked with my biggest regret. Throughout seven months I got to know hundreds of different people and places, but none of them as well as I would have liked. The faces and places flash before your eyes in an instant, like stains on the pages of a flip-book. Maybe I flipped the pages too fast.
Looking back, I think getting from A to B was a lot more fun than the destination itself. I travelled by foot, car, plane, bus, train, subway, ferry, 4WD, sailboat, 18-wheeler, bicycle, pontoon, RV, catamaran, and motorized rickshaw. By the end, I learned that dependability comes at a premium, and rickshaw travel is underrated.
I want to thank everyone who has taken the time to read my updates and random thoughts. It's definitely been a good experience for me. I'm not going to shut the site down yet. I plan on taking off again in the not-too-distant future. I'd like to spend the summer at home and plan a trip around Europe during the fall. We'll see how that works out.
I'll be making the rounds this summer so give me a shout, I'd love to catch up. Until then, take care, and keep the compass spinning.
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