I forgot to say the following about Vienna: we explored the massive flea market on Saturday and we attended Mass (all in German, of course) at Stephansdom Cathedral.
ROME
Our bus dropped us off in Rome at an ungodly early hour on Monday 13 April. Thanks to Ryan Air’s decision to cancel our original flight to Sicily, we only had the day to see Rome, and I think we did a pretty good job. The one thing we did not get to do was to go inside the Vatican. If you ever find yourself planning a trip to Rome, do NOT- I repeat, do NOT- go the day after Easter Sunday. The Catholic masses crowd to Rome to receive the pope’s blessing on Easter Sunday, and they are all still in town on Monday, wanting to visit Vatican City. The line was wrapped all around the plaza by the time we got there at 9:30am. When we passed back by after lunch, the line was even longer. We could have seen the Vatican or we could have done everything else in Rome. We did everything else.
To cram in as much as we could, we bought tickets for a sight-seeing bus, and I’m so glad we did. With a combination of the bus route and the metro, we were able to fit it all the major landmarks. Ground covered: the Coliseum, Boca de Verita, Circo Massimo, Pantheon, Trivina Fountain, Spanish steps. We of course had pasta for lunch and gelato for dinner.
SICILY
There is absolutely nothing to do in Sicily. Who knew? Anna and I figured as much, but we planned on spending the day relaxing on the beach. It’s colder in Sicily than in Italy. Who knew? What I did not plan on, however, was having the best time in a place with so little to do!!!
The main town on the island is Palermo, but since Ryan Air flies to Trapani, that’s where we stayed. Anna and I thought we’d do a bit of exploring the day we arrived, but since we had no map (I’m not sure there are maps of Trapani), we weren’t sure which direction to begin our exploration. Standing confused outside our bed and breakfast, two American girls staying in the same place pointed us towards the water. It only took us 20 minutes of walking to realize there’s really not much to explore in Trapani.
That night, we got to talking to the two American girls. Gabby is a sculpture major studying abroad in Florence, and Molly is a ceramics major studying abroad in Sunderland, and they are both students at Cal State Long Beach. They became our good friends for the rest of the trip. If it weren’t for them, we would have been bored out of our minds. Oh, and Gabby speaks a bit of Italian, so she saved our necks on multiple occasions.
Gabby’s 21st birthday was on Thursday, so to celebrate we decided to go to some thermal baths. Terme Gorga (translated as “thermal gorge”) had a brochure in our b&b; it was all in Italian except for two lines: “Cheap Spa!” and “Thermal Baths.” The four of us hopped on a train to Alcamo, a few towns over, to give the spa a visit. We were taken by shock at how small and nonexistent this town with the spa was. The train station was a shack and the only other building in sight was dilapidated. Nevertheless, we followed a sign pointing to Terme Gorga. When we arrived, Gabby did our communicating only to find out that the translations on their brochure are a “miscommunication.” Instead of a thermal bath, they have an outdoor swimming pool.
Not wanting to waste the day and not keen on paying money to swim in a run-of-the-mill pool, we made our way back to the train station to head to Palermo. We come to find, however, that you cannot buy train tickets at this station; the closest place to purchase tickets is a town 15km away. We get on the train to Palermo, and Gabby explains to the conductor that it is not our intention to ride the train without purchasing a proper ticket. He assured us that we would be able to get off after a few stops, purchase tickets, and board the train again. After a few stops, a new conductor comes on board, and we make it all the way to Palermo without purchasing a ticket. Again, it was not our intention, but it worked out nicely.
By the time we reached Palermo, we were starving. Of course we had no map (since our plan was to lounge in some thermal baths), so we picked a direction and started walking. When a group of clearly non-Italian tourists (with a guide book) crossed our path, we asked which direction would take us to some grub. The three guys- Chris, Rob, and Steve- were in town for a wedding, and they offered to walk with us towards their hotel, where we would find sustenance. They ended up having dinner with us, and we found out they were traveling to Trapani the next day. We swapped phone numbers before having to SPRINT to the train station, determined to catch the LAST train back to Trapani…at 6:30pm. We made the train with three minutes to spare.
Thursday morning (April 16) after breakfast served on the b&b owner’s terrace, the four Yanks set out to explore Trapani a bit more. As it turns out, both sets of two girls missed Old Town in their explorations. Old Town really is quite lovely. The buildings all have balconies with rod iron railings, and all the stucco is shades of yellows, oranges, and pinks. We met up with the English guys after lunch and spent the afternoon drinking beer by the port, watching ferries come and go. The guys had to catch a ferry later in the afternoon to the small island where the wedding was to be on Saturday. Steve’s guidebook had 1 paragraph on Trapani but had 3 pages devoted to Favignana, so we decided to meet them there the next day. We had nothing better to do! That night, Gabby, Molly, Anna, and I bought a couple of pizzas (genuine Sicilian pizzas), rented a movie, and laughed and talked till we couldn’t stay awake any longer.
Friday could not have been a better day. We caught a ferry Friday morning out to Favignana. When we met the guys, they were decided how exactly they wanted to tour the island: some favored bikes while others favored scooters (mopeds). I was leaning towards a bit of exercise with a bike (and I was incredibly nervous to drive or ride on a scooter). Apparently I would have jumped off a bridge if they all did because we went with a scooter. I was too chicken to drive, so I agreed on the condition that Anna had to drive and I would ride on the back.
The scooter adventure didn’t kick off with a smooth start. The rental place was on a street just off from the port, and we all had to turn around to set off in the right direction. Gabby was driving with Molly on the back. Gabby barely breaks 100 pounds and wasn’t strong enough for her job. While making their initial turn, the bike skidded and flipped over on the girls. Luckily they had a bit of road rash but were not hurt badly. In all the excitement, Rob forgot to look at what he was doing and crashed his own bike not but 10 seconds later. Molly climbed out from under the wreckage to pick up the bike, but the engine was still running and she twisted the throttle, lurching the bike forward and ultimately crashing down on her again. Locals emerged from the woodworks to see the idiot tourists. The owner of the rental shop helped Gabby, who was the only one with visible blood (though not much), back to the shop and sent her out on a new bike. A nice local (apparently the only one) turn off the scooter and helped Molly up. All of this happened in less than a minute’s time.
Anna was quite a good driver! After the wreckage, I never got the nerve up to drive, but with Anna’s talented scooter skills, I didn’t need to!
Six scooters set off: one with Anna and me, one with Steve and Molly, and one each for Rob, Chris, Gabby, and the father of the bride. We stuck mainly to the coast, stopping when there was a pretty photo op. We stopped for lunch at a bit of sand, taking a few minutes to play in the ocean. We turned our scooters in with just enough time to catch the 5pm ferry back to Trapani.
Picture it. Sicily. 2009. Four American girls, three English guys, and a German father-of-the bride and six scooters. Priceless.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Monday, April 20, 2009
When Will You Realize Vienna (and Prague) Waits For You?
Praha
There are several ways to tour Europe. Some choose the early to bed and early to rise philosophy, cramming all available sunlit hours with tours, sights, and museums Others choose to view cities through aimless wandering, stumbling across landmarks when they their paths, inevitably getting lost in back streets, and taking pictures when and if the mood strikes. I fall into the first category; a successful day to me starts at 7am and ends shortly after dinner, when it’s time to check email, journal, read, and go to bed.
We got to Prague, Czech Republic, early afternoon on 4 April. A Cali-surfer guy checking into the hostel at the same time as us told us President Obama was to give a speech at the castle the next morning. The gates were to open at 7am, and he was set to go on at 10. With this new priority item added to our morning’s agenda, we set off to find the castle! We spent the afternoon, map in hand, exploring the city.
We left our hostel shortly after 7am the next morning to go hear Obama. We got to the castle before 8am, and we already had to wait in line for over an hour to get through security. We initially pushed our way towards the sage, but we realized quickly that we wouldn’t be able to see a dag-blasted thing, so we opted for front-row spots at one of the big screens. Obama’s speech for the crowd of 20,000+ was impeccable, calling for disarmament of nuclear weapons. How many Americans can say they’ve heard the current president give a speech live? How many Americans can say they’ve heard the current president give a speech live in Europe?? I’ll remember this for the rest of my life.
We took a “Communist tour” (fitting in with our category of touring) that afternoon. Our guide couldn’t have been much older than us, and he remembers living under Communism. Jobs that dealt with tourism were highly coveted for one reason: tips in foreign currency. When our guide asked his mother why one of their neighbors could afford to drive a Mercedes, she explained that it was because this neighbor was a waiter.
Old Town square had an Easter Market spread across the plaza, so we took advantage of the fair food for dinner. Roasted chicken and pork with peppers and onions. Potato pancakes. Crepes. Yum.
The next day (up to 6 April now), we tried the second category of tourism. We met some backpackers in the hostel, and we decided to ramble around the city together the next day. Plan A was to take a push scooter tour of the city. That fell through: the tour was full. Plan B was to take a normal walking tour: the guide was soft-spoken and boring. Plan C was to aimlessly wander, stumbling across landmarks when they crossed our path, inevitably getting lost in back streets, and taking pictures when and if the mood struck. I gave it a shot. I tried something out of the norm for me, but I didn’t like it. I met fun people and enjoyed an afternoon lounging in a park, but I don’t feel satisfied with how and how much I saw of Prague.
Despite my neglectful day of touring, I loved Prague. It’s a gorgeous spot on the map, ornate and elegant. It’s easy to see how people fall in love with the city so easily.
Vienna
I love Vienna. If I absolutely had to rate my top 3 cities of my 2009 Euro-Trip, it would be 1) Amsterdam, 2) Vienna, and 3) Paris. The city is famous for its music and musicians, Mozart and Beethoven to name a few. If you look at a map, large sections of green indicate the numerous parks spread across the city. In fact, a trend in our 6-day stint in Vienna was visiting my favorite park, Staadt Park. I expressed great regret in spending a day merely sitting in a park in Prague; I know this sound hypocritical when I admit that I in fact spent 4 full mornings or afternoons sitting in a park, but the difference is that we had time to do and still had time to see what there is to see in Vienna.
We got to Vienna on Tuesday 7 April and left Easter Sunday. We spent one afternoon on a walking tour, exploring the blocks that make up the Hopsburg Castle. We spent one morning shopping for warm-weather clothes. We explored the vineyard country for several hours. Vienna is known for its music and musicians (Mozart and Beethoven, to name a few), and men dressed in period clothes clutter the streets trying to sell concert tickets to tourists; we did not give in to the pressure. We were, however, cultural and went to the opera one night; the main opera house in Vienna sells standing room tickets for 3€ and 4€, so it wasn’t exactly a splurge. We saw L'elisir D'Amore and didn’t know exactly what happened until I looked it up on Wikipedia back at the hostel. The BEST thing about Vienna really is all the parks. If you look at a map, green squares take up a good portion of the city center. Anna and I found a favorite park, Staadt Park, and we spent hours and hours there. We picked new benches every morning/afternoon, but we would bring our iPods and our journals and our benches and just enjoy being outdoors.
I’m not cutting my blog on Vienna short intentionally. Our main activity really was to enjoy the city by relaxing Viennese style.
Blogs on Rome, Sicily, and Bavaria to come.
There are several ways to tour Europe. Some choose the early to bed and early to rise philosophy, cramming all available sunlit hours with tours, sights, and museums Others choose to view cities through aimless wandering, stumbling across landmarks when they their paths, inevitably getting lost in back streets, and taking pictures when and if the mood strikes. I fall into the first category; a successful day to me starts at 7am and ends shortly after dinner, when it’s time to check email, journal, read, and go to bed.
We got to Prague, Czech Republic, early afternoon on 4 April. A Cali-surfer guy checking into the hostel at the same time as us told us President Obama was to give a speech at the castle the next morning. The gates were to open at 7am, and he was set to go on at 10. With this new priority item added to our morning’s agenda, we set off to find the castle! We spent the afternoon, map in hand, exploring the city.
We left our hostel shortly after 7am the next morning to go hear Obama. We got to the castle before 8am, and we already had to wait in line for over an hour to get through security. We initially pushed our way towards the sage, but we realized quickly that we wouldn’t be able to see a dag-blasted thing, so we opted for front-row spots at one of the big screens. Obama’s speech for the crowd of 20,000+ was impeccable, calling for disarmament of nuclear weapons. How many Americans can say they’ve heard the current president give a speech live? How many Americans can say they’ve heard the current president give a speech live in Europe?? I’ll remember this for the rest of my life.
We took a “Communist tour” (fitting in with our category of touring) that afternoon. Our guide couldn’t have been much older than us, and he remembers living under Communism. Jobs that dealt with tourism were highly coveted for one reason: tips in foreign currency. When our guide asked his mother why one of their neighbors could afford to drive a Mercedes, she explained that it was because this neighbor was a waiter.
Old Town square had an Easter Market spread across the plaza, so we took advantage of the fair food for dinner. Roasted chicken and pork with peppers and onions. Potato pancakes. Crepes. Yum.
The next day (up to 6 April now), we tried the second category of tourism. We met some backpackers in the hostel, and we decided to ramble around the city together the next day. Plan A was to take a push scooter tour of the city. That fell through: the tour was full. Plan B was to take a normal walking tour: the guide was soft-spoken and boring. Plan C was to aimlessly wander, stumbling across landmarks when they crossed our path, inevitably getting lost in back streets, and taking pictures when and if the mood struck. I gave it a shot. I tried something out of the norm for me, but I didn’t like it. I met fun people and enjoyed an afternoon lounging in a park, but I don’t feel satisfied with how and how much I saw of Prague.
Despite my neglectful day of touring, I loved Prague. It’s a gorgeous spot on the map, ornate and elegant. It’s easy to see how people fall in love with the city so easily.
Vienna
I love Vienna. If I absolutely had to rate my top 3 cities of my 2009 Euro-Trip, it would be 1) Amsterdam, 2) Vienna, and 3) Paris. The city is famous for its music and musicians, Mozart and Beethoven to name a few. If you look at a map, large sections of green indicate the numerous parks spread across the city. In fact, a trend in our 6-day stint in Vienna was visiting my favorite park, Staadt Park. I expressed great regret in spending a day merely sitting in a park in Prague; I know this sound hypocritical when I admit that I in fact spent 4 full mornings or afternoons sitting in a park, but the difference is that we had time to do and still had time to see what there is to see in Vienna.
We got to Vienna on Tuesday 7 April and left Easter Sunday. We spent one afternoon on a walking tour, exploring the blocks that make up the Hopsburg Castle. We spent one morning shopping for warm-weather clothes. We explored the vineyard country for several hours. Vienna is known for its music and musicians (Mozart and Beethoven, to name a few), and men dressed in period clothes clutter the streets trying to sell concert tickets to tourists; we did not give in to the pressure. We were, however, cultural and went to the opera one night; the main opera house in Vienna sells standing room tickets for 3€ and 4€, so it wasn’t exactly a splurge. We saw L'elisir D'Amore and didn’t know exactly what happened until I looked it up on Wikipedia back at the hostel. The BEST thing about Vienna really is all the parks. If you look at a map, green squares take up a good portion of the city center. Anna and I found a favorite park, Staadt Park, and we spent hours and hours there. We picked new benches every morning/afternoon, but we would bring our iPods and our journals and our benches and just enjoy being outdoors.
I’m not cutting my blog on Vienna short intentionally. Our main activity really was to enjoy the city by relaxing Viennese style.
Blogs on Rome, Sicily, and Bavaria to come.
Friday, April 10, 2009
Dunkin' Donuts in Berlin
The first words you want to hear at your hostel after a ten hour bus ride are not “We have no heat and no hot water.” We stayed in a thirteen-person dorm room, and nine of our roommates were smelly boys; perhaps the no-hot-water-situation wasn’t exactly motivation for them to bathe. The hostel let guests use the shower at an apartment building just down the road, but a single shower for a hostel that easily sleeps over 100 guests makes for a long wait. The two other girls in our room were from the States, and they were nice and clean. They are studying abroad in Ireland and were traveling during their spring break. We walked to New Europe’s West Berlin meeting spot, which is so cleverly placed right beside a Dunkin’ Donuts, with the other Yanks the next morning (we’re up to 2 April now).
We met one New Europe guide in West Berlin who showed us to the main meeting spot in East Berlin. This guide was precious! He is from Maine, and he’s been living in Germany on an artist visa since he graduated from NYU. He was energetic and enthusiastic, everything a tourist wants her guide to be. Unfortunately, however, he was not our guide. Our guide was just the opposite. He was fidgety and nervous. He had a hard time concentrating and therefore had a hard time keeping the attention of his group. His hair was on the verge of dreadlocks, but he didn’t take enough care to actually twist the strands, leaving it matted in some places, and sticking out in others. He told the story of Berlin—a very exciting one to tell (Nazis and Communists in the same century)—with no enthusiasm. However, one bad tour guide will NOT make me lose my confidence in New Europe!
We spent the rest of the afternoon running errands and trying to make it back to our hostel. I usually have pretty good luck working out public transportation, but this was not the case our first day in Berlin. A single map has metros, trains, buses, and trams. There are two separate metro lines that have nothing to do with each other, and I’m still not sure where the trains go. It took us nearly two hours to find our way back. Such are the woes of traveling. When we finally did arrive at the hostel of hell, our feet and hips ached, and our faces must have looked as exhausted as our spirits. The girl who checked us in the night before had mercy upon us and offered us “all you can eat” from dinner leftovers for a mere €2.50. I sampled the lasagna, but I was excited about the side dishes. We had vegetables!!! Vegetables, while a necessity for a healthy diet, are a rarity to a backpacker.
The next day (3 April), we took the New Europe tour on the Third Reich. Our guide, Collin, made up for everything the previous day’s guide was not. And he was from Scotland!!!! Collin grew up in a small town on Loch Lomond and studied in Edinburgh. He made me “home” sick. The five hour tour rapidly took us through the city and through some of the city’s darkest history. We saw the site of Hitler’s former bunker and several memorials (to the murdered Jews, the murdered homosexuals, the murdered politicians, etc). Germany’s approach after WW2 was to stop history lessons at the beginning of the 20th century. To Germany’s youth, WW1, WW2, the Holocaust, and the Nazi regime never happened. When that generation started laying down the law, Germany’s unused history books were dusted off and the details of the past were brought to the forefront, made widely available to al the public as a memorial and a lesson.
All seriousness aside, one of my highlights from the Berlin trip was a darling girl from North Carolina. The second she opened her mouth, Anna and I perked up at the Southern drawl. It’s not one of those pleasant to the ear accents, but rather one that sounds like a bad actor over-exaggerating the dialect of an uneducated farmhand. More than once did she refer to hunting (pronounce hun’en) as a favorite past time. At one point, the dear was being picked on by her Floridian travel buddy, and she came to her own defense by declaring, “We PRONOUNCIATE it different where I come from.” She is studying for her masters in criminal justice in London, so she must be doing something right. Bless her.
As Heidi Klum would say, AUF WIEDERSEHEN!
Pictures from Sweden and Poland
Pictures from Berlin
We met one New Europe guide in West Berlin who showed us to the main meeting spot in East Berlin. This guide was precious! He is from Maine, and he’s been living in Germany on an artist visa since he graduated from NYU. He was energetic and enthusiastic, everything a tourist wants her guide to be. Unfortunately, however, he was not our guide. Our guide was just the opposite. He was fidgety and nervous. He had a hard time concentrating and therefore had a hard time keeping the attention of his group. His hair was on the verge of dreadlocks, but he didn’t take enough care to actually twist the strands, leaving it matted in some places, and sticking out in others. He told the story of Berlin—a very exciting one to tell (Nazis and Communists in the same century)—with no enthusiasm. However, one bad tour guide will NOT make me lose my confidence in New Europe!
We spent the rest of the afternoon running errands and trying to make it back to our hostel. I usually have pretty good luck working out public transportation, but this was not the case our first day in Berlin. A single map has metros, trains, buses, and trams. There are two separate metro lines that have nothing to do with each other, and I’m still not sure where the trains go. It took us nearly two hours to find our way back. Such are the woes of traveling. When we finally did arrive at the hostel of hell, our feet and hips ached, and our faces must have looked as exhausted as our spirits. The girl who checked us in the night before had mercy upon us and offered us “all you can eat” from dinner leftovers for a mere €2.50. I sampled the lasagna, but I was excited about the side dishes. We had vegetables!!! Vegetables, while a necessity for a healthy diet, are a rarity to a backpacker.
The next day (3 April), we took the New Europe tour on the Third Reich. Our guide, Collin, made up for everything the previous day’s guide was not. And he was from Scotland!!!! Collin grew up in a small town on Loch Lomond and studied in Edinburgh. He made me “home” sick. The five hour tour rapidly took us through the city and through some of the city’s darkest history. We saw the site of Hitler’s former bunker and several memorials (to the murdered Jews, the murdered homosexuals, the murdered politicians, etc). Germany’s approach after WW2 was to stop history lessons at the beginning of the 20th century. To Germany’s youth, WW1, WW2, the Holocaust, and the Nazi regime never happened. When that generation started laying down the law, Germany’s unused history books were dusted off and the details of the past were brought to the forefront, made widely available to al the public as a memorial and a lesson.
All seriousness aside, one of my highlights from the Berlin trip was a darling girl from North Carolina. The second she opened her mouth, Anna and I perked up at the Southern drawl. It’s not one of those pleasant to the ear accents, but rather one that sounds like a bad actor over-exaggerating the dialect of an uneducated farmhand. More than once did she refer to hunting (pronounce hun’en) as a favorite past time. At one point, the dear was being picked on by her Floridian travel buddy, and she came to her own defense by declaring, “We PRONOUNCIATE it different where I come from.” She is studying for her masters in criminal justice in London, so she must be doing something right. Bless her.
As Heidi Klum would say, AUF WIEDERSEHEN!
Pictures from Sweden and Poland
Pictures from Berlin
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
Polski
This blog is written, documented proof that I survived the 26-hour marathon bus trip from Stockholm to Krakow, Poland. After three buses (stopping to change in Copenhagen and Berlin) and three ferries, we made it to Poland. It was not by any means a pleasant experience, but it was not as bad as I was expecting. Most of my concentration went to not counting down the hours passed and comparing it with the hours ahead. Instead, I found ways to pass the time. I read an entire novel (The Life of Pi), front to back, cover-to-cover on the first bus. I don’t remember the last time I read an entire book in one sitting. I slept most of the second bus (save for the ferry at 3am). And I listened to the final Twilight book on my iPod on the third and final bus.
We made it to our hostel a little after 4pm on 30 March. This hostel was our best so far! We almost didn’t book it because of its name; the “Mosquito Hostel” didn’t sound appealing to us. Don’t judge a book by its cover and don’t judge a hostel by its name. There wasn’t a spec of dirt in the building. The kitchen was spotless. The lockers were all functioning (a rarity). Notices reminded guests various ways to be as environmentally friendly as possible. And the BEST part was the mattresses. Mosquito’s bed frames were adorned with proper mattresses, springs and all. Most hostels provide some form of over-grown egg crate mattress for guests to lay their heads. In addition to the fabulous sleeping provisions, Anna and I were the only ones in our 10-person dorm. SWEET!
The night we got to Krakow, it had been raining all day. The city was dark and drab, like a watery gray paint had been spilt across the canvass. Nevertheless, we wandered all around the city center, venturing to the market and the cathedral and the castle.
The next day was a busy one. The Eurolines timetable only allowed us 1 full day in the city, so we decided to make the most of it. Following a brilliant night’s sleep on hostelworld’s most comfortable mattresses, we set off for our first destination of the day: Auschwitz. We learned a lot, including that Auschwitz was both a death camp AND a concentration camp. We saw a lot, including the remaining belongings taken from the incoming prisoners. I thought a lot. I hurt a lot. My mind (and perhaps my heart) had a hard time grasping all the massacres that took place on the ground where I was walking. Visiting Auschwitz was difficult. Hard. Not an easy thing to do. But I’m so incredibly glad I did it. My Granddaddy lied about his age so he could serve in the Navy during WW2, and my Grampy fought in the second wave at Normandy. I am proud of them, and I’m glad I got to see a part of what they were fighting against. I made notes in my travel journal of the things I learned, thought, and felt so that I will remember them, and I took numerous pictures; while I strongly believe visiting a concentration/ death camp is something everyone should do if able, I also think it should be a conscious decision. I will not, therefore, reveal what I learned, thought, or felt, and I also will not load my pictures on the internet.
We spent the remainder of the day in a must more uplifting way: at the SALT MINES! Anna Bartlett Wilson LOVES her salt with a little bit of food, and she christened the mine “her Mecca.” There have been miners here for hundreds of years, and the mine didn’t close until 1996 after a devastating flood. It’s obviously been renovated from a working environment to a tourist attraction: wooden stairs, a café, and a lift. However, remnants remain showing us what work in the mines would have been like. The stairs employees had to climb and descend were little more than notches carved into the salt ground. Carved statues showed us how workers had to burn off methane gas before ventilation was installed. A pulley system with mannequin horses showed how they transported the salt before the train was installed. Our guide explained to us that the salt miners were very religious, so various cathedrals were carved and molded from the rock walls to provide a place of worship. They were stunning. However, what really blows your socks off is the salt cathedral! Remember my earlier rule of thumb that a cathedral is a cathedral is a cathedral? I would like to make an amendment to that rule by saying a cathedral is a cathedral is a cathedral UNLESS it is carved 100% out of salt! The floor tiles, communion table, baptismal font, chandeliers, statues, and paintings are all salt creations! And they were all made not by professional artists but by men who worked in the mine!
We got back to Krakow with enough time to explore the city a bit more before the sun began to set. All the gray and drab from the previous night had been washed away with the sunshine. The city was colorful! It was vibrant! People crowded the streets, and street performers crowded the square! Cafes and restaurants were busy with people sitting outside. The surrounding garden had bright green grass. Krakow is a beautiful city! Just not in the rain…
We made it to our hostel a little after 4pm on 30 March. This hostel was our best so far! We almost didn’t book it because of its name; the “Mosquito Hostel” didn’t sound appealing to us. Don’t judge a book by its cover and don’t judge a hostel by its name. There wasn’t a spec of dirt in the building. The kitchen was spotless. The lockers were all functioning (a rarity). Notices reminded guests various ways to be as environmentally friendly as possible. And the BEST part was the mattresses. Mosquito’s bed frames were adorned with proper mattresses, springs and all. Most hostels provide some form of over-grown egg crate mattress for guests to lay their heads. In addition to the fabulous sleeping provisions, Anna and I were the only ones in our 10-person dorm. SWEET!
The night we got to Krakow, it had been raining all day. The city was dark and drab, like a watery gray paint had been spilt across the canvass. Nevertheless, we wandered all around the city center, venturing to the market and the cathedral and the castle.
The next day was a busy one. The Eurolines timetable only allowed us 1 full day in the city, so we decided to make the most of it. Following a brilliant night’s sleep on hostelworld’s most comfortable mattresses, we set off for our first destination of the day: Auschwitz. We learned a lot, including that Auschwitz was both a death camp AND a concentration camp. We saw a lot, including the remaining belongings taken from the incoming prisoners. I thought a lot. I hurt a lot. My mind (and perhaps my heart) had a hard time grasping all the massacres that took place on the ground where I was walking. Visiting Auschwitz was difficult. Hard. Not an easy thing to do. But I’m so incredibly glad I did it. My Granddaddy lied about his age so he could serve in the Navy during WW2, and my Grampy fought in the second wave at Normandy. I am proud of them, and I’m glad I got to see a part of what they were fighting against. I made notes in my travel journal of the things I learned, thought, and felt so that I will remember them, and I took numerous pictures; while I strongly believe visiting a concentration/ death camp is something everyone should do if able, I also think it should be a conscious decision. I will not, therefore, reveal what I learned, thought, or felt, and I also will not load my pictures on the internet.
We spent the remainder of the day in a must more uplifting way: at the SALT MINES! Anna Bartlett Wilson LOVES her salt with a little bit of food, and she christened the mine “her Mecca.” There have been miners here for hundreds of years, and the mine didn’t close until 1996 after a devastating flood. It’s obviously been renovated from a working environment to a tourist attraction: wooden stairs, a café, and a lift. However, remnants remain showing us what work in the mines would have been like. The stairs employees had to climb and descend were little more than notches carved into the salt ground. Carved statues showed us how workers had to burn off methane gas before ventilation was installed. A pulley system with mannequin horses showed how they transported the salt before the train was installed. Our guide explained to us that the salt miners were very religious, so various cathedrals were carved and molded from the rock walls to provide a place of worship. They were stunning. However, what really blows your socks off is the salt cathedral! Remember my earlier rule of thumb that a cathedral is a cathedral is a cathedral? I would like to make an amendment to that rule by saying a cathedral is a cathedral is a cathedral UNLESS it is carved 100% out of salt! The floor tiles, communion table, baptismal font, chandeliers, statues, and paintings are all salt creations! And they were all made not by professional artists but by men who worked in the mine!
We got back to Krakow with enough time to explore the city a bit more before the sun began to set. All the gray and drab from the previous night had been washed away with the sunshine. The city was colorful! It was vibrant! People crowded the streets, and street performers crowded the square! Cafes and restaurants were busy with people sitting outside. The surrounding garden had bright green grass. Krakow is a beautiful city! Just not in the rain…
Friday, April 3, 2009
Claire Does Scandanavia
Our bus from Amsterdam drove through the night, depositing us in Copenhagen at 5:45am on Tues 24 March. We drug ourselves into Sleep-In-Heaven Hostel, hopeful that it would live up to its name, around 6:30am. We couldn’t get access to our rooms until 1:00pm, so we did the next best thing: we slept like we were in heaven on the couches in the common room. Couches are much more comfortable than motor coaches. The first couple of hours went by smoothly and quietly, but when backpackers started getting up to eat their breakfast (served in the same room), I heard a few concerned comments about the two girls passed out on the couches. I didn’t stir. Too tired. Once we finally peeled our tired bodies off the common room furniture, we made our way into the city. We wandered a bit and strolled a bit more, stopping for a coffee and a Danish (because we were in Denmark…) at the Hans Christian Anderson pastry shop. We grabbed a kebab for dinner that night with Phoebe, a girl we met in our hostel. She’s from Washington, D.C., and she goes to school at Sarah Lawrence.
After a good night’s sleep, we set off to have a proper touristy day. The hostel’s breakfast was sorely disappointing after the banquet at The Shelter. The walk to the city center was just under 30 minutes, and we took our time, pausing for the ATM and the necessary picture with the larger-than-life Hans Christian Anderson statue. We then took the canal cruise tour. How can I put this nicely? I have been spoiled by the New Europe tour company. The cruise was ok. Our guide was boring (aside from saying every tidbit in 3 languages), but the boat was heated and the ride gave our tired legs a break. You also have to be physically in the canal to get a view of the city from the canal, so the cruise was worth it in the end. Plus the cruise took us by the Little Mermaid statue, saving us quite a long walk in the blistering cold. Some of the buildings are gorgeous! Exactly what you think of when you imagine European architecture. And then there are modern monstrosities only 15 or so years old, some actual extensions to the old beauties. My mom, who has been to Copenhagen, put it best: it is a big, modern city with some old buildings.
After the cruise, Anna and I strolled along Stroget, the longest pedestrian street in the world, according to our Lonely Planet travel guide. It’s a massive shopping street. We admired the expensive labels from afar, wandered into some of the cheaper shops, and purchased an even cheaper ice cream sundae from McDonald’s.
After an hour or so in the National Museum, we spent the remainder of the afternoon in a launderette, trying to make sense of the Danish instructions. A gentle soul felt pity on us, and he helped us figure out how to work the machines. We had a bit of trouble figuring out how to wash clothes in Paris as well, but no kind French person (are there any?) offered any assistance. I like to believe there is a special place in heaven for those who show mercy upon weary (and/or clueless) travelers. I wonder… in how many more languages will we have to conquer such instructions?
So far I have caught up to 25 March. There’s not much to report from the 26th. We spent the majority of the day on the bus traveling to Sweden. It was pretty crowded, so Anna and I didn’t have our own seats. Much harder to sleep that way… For the first bit of our journey, Anna sat next to an old man who kept farting, so she swapped to sit next to me at our first bathroom break. We made it to Stockholm in the late afternoon and found our hostel in record time!
The next morning, we set off to the tourist center. Once again, we were in a city with no New Europe tours, and Rick Steves didn’t have much to offer for Stockholm. The weather was absolutely Baltic! It was a piercing cold that makes your skin burn and your eardrums feel like they could explode. I would hate to be there in the dead of winter. In light of the chill, we figured being outside all day wasn’t the best idea. We bought tickets for a double-decker sight-seeing bus so that we would get to see parts of the city we wouldn’t be able to otherwise. After the tour, we braved the walk to Old Town and explored a bit. We saw the royal palace and cathedral and wandered down a pedestrian shopping street. Then the cold got to us again. We went back to the hostel when the snow started to fall. It wasn’t pretty, fluffy snow, but rather was wet snot that stings your face in the wind. We had scrambled eggs for supper and then ran to the 7-11 around the corner for a sweetie. In the couple of hours we were in the hostel, the grass became covered with the wintry mix, and the sidewalks were steadily turning to slush.
The next morning (we’re caught up to 28 March now), we were not in a hurry to brave the weather. We planned to go to a photography museum, but since it didn’t open until noon, we took our sweet time getting ready. The weather had warmed up a bit, and the wind had calmed down significantly. The photography museum turned out to be less of a museum and more of a single exhibit. It was not at all what we were expecting. The little advertisement in the tourist office made it seem like we would see Annie Lebovitz and the likes. The gallery was two small rooms, and the photographs were all of true murder/serial killer cases. The artist worked in the archives to do research and dig up material. She used copies of journal entries and original crime scene photos in her works, layering them to show the murderers’ psyches. The rooms’ lighting kept changing—from white lights to black lights to pitch black. The layering in the pieces appeared when the black lights came on. The exhibit was really interesting! There wasn’t much traffic, so the lady working had the time to devote to us her undivided attention, explaining each of the murder cases.
We met Rod Withers, a friend from Edinburgh, that night for dinner. Rod is a wonderful guy. He’s from Australia (though he hasn’t lived there in a while), and we helped him celebrate his 30th birthday in Edinburgh. He met us at our hostel, and we walked down the road to a pizza place. We were far enough away from the center of the city that the restaurant didn’t have any menus translated in English. I ordered the Hawaiin pizza (“Hawaii” is the same in Swedish!), but much to my surprise, it had BANANAS on it! I wasn’t expecting that! The hot, mushy bananas on my pineapple and ham pizza weren’t bad, but they weren’t good either. But it WAS funny. We had a great time with Rod. We shared funny travel stories and talked about the possibility of meeting up again. Maybe Rod will visit the South? Maybe we’ll take a trip to Australia?
Before Rod got to the hostel, I played on Facebook long enough to get rather homesick. I read updates on the Montreat website. One of my dearest friends has been dating a girl for months now, and I haven’t met her! I had suspicions that a PC friend and a Montreat friend were dating, but I’d heard nothing of it. People were wishing my sister good luck at something, and I didn’t know what she was doing to need luck wished her way! I snapped myself out of my momentary slump pretty quickly, reminding myself that my chances of having this opportunity again are slim to none. Wishing away my time traveling or even wishing it would pass quickly is not smart on my part, and is, quite frankly, the dismissal and abuse of a blessing. I’m having the time of my life. How many people can pinpoint a “time of their life”? Mine has been the past six months, leading up to these 6 weeks of travel.
And so ends my adventures in Scandanavia.
After a good night’s sleep, we set off to have a proper touristy day. The hostel’s breakfast was sorely disappointing after the banquet at The Shelter. The walk to the city center was just under 30 minutes, and we took our time, pausing for the ATM and the necessary picture with the larger-than-life Hans Christian Anderson statue. We then took the canal cruise tour. How can I put this nicely? I have been spoiled by the New Europe tour company. The cruise was ok. Our guide was boring (aside from saying every tidbit in 3 languages), but the boat was heated and the ride gave our tired legs a break. You also have to be physically in the canal to get a view of the city from the canal, so the cruise was worth it in the end. Plus the cruise took us by the Little Mermaid statue, saving us quite a long walk in the blistering cold. Some of the buildings are gorgeous! Exactly what you think of when you imagine European architecture. And then there are modern monstrosities only 15 or so years old, some actual extensions to the old beauties. My mom, who has been to Copenhagen, put it best: it is a big, modern city with some old buildings.
After the cruise, Anna and I strolled along Stroget, the longest pedestrian street in the world, according to our Lonely Planet travel guide. It’s a massive shopping street. We admired the expensive labels from afar, wandered into some of the cheaper shops, and purchased an even cheaper ice cream sundae from McDonald’s.
After an hour or so in the National Museum, we spent the remainder of the afternoon in a launderette, trying to make sense of the Danish instructions. A gentle soul felt pity on us, and he helped us figure out how to work the machines. We had a bit of trouble figuring out how to wash clothes in Paris as well, but no kind French person (are there any?) offered any assistance. I like to believe there is a special place in heaven for those who show mercy upon weary (and/or clueless) travelers. I wonder… in how many more languages will we have to conquer such instructions?
So far I have caught up to 25 March. There’s not much to report from the 26th. We spent the majority of the day on the bus traveling to Sweden. It was pretty crowded, so Anna and I didn’t have our own seats. Much harder to sleep that way… For the first bit of our journey, Anna sat next to an old man who kept farting, so she swapped to sit next to me at our first bathroom break. We made it to Stockholm in the late afternoon and found our hostel in record time!
The next morning, we set off to the tourist center. Once again, we were in a city with no New Europe tours, and Rick Steves didn’t have much to offer for Stockholm. The weather was absolutely Baltic! It was a piercing cold that makes your skin burn and your eardrums feel like they could explode. I would hate to be there in the dead of winter. In light of the chill, we figured being outside all day wasn’t the best idea. We bought tickets for a double-decker sight-seeing bus so that we would get to see parts of the city we wouldn’t be able to otherwise. After the tour, we braved the walk to Old Town and explored a bit. We saw the royal palace and cathedral and wandered down a pedestrian shopping street. Then the cold got to us again. We went back to the hostel when the snow started to fall. It wasn’t pretty, fluffy snow, but rather was wet snot that stings your face in the wind. We had scrambled eggs for supper and then ran to the 7-11 around the corner for a sweetie. In the couple of hours we were in the hostel, the grass became covered with the wintry mix, and the sidewalks were steadily turning to slush.
The next morning (we’re caught up to 28 March now), we were not in a hurry to brave the weather. We planned to go to a photography museum, but since it didn’t open until noon, we took our sweet time getting ready. The weather had warmed up a bit, and the wind had calmed down significantly. The photography museum turned out to be less of a museum and more of a single exhibit. It was not at all what we were expecting. The little advertisement in the tourist office made it seem like we would see Annie Lebovitz and the likes. The gallery was two small rooms, and the photographs were all of true murder/serial killer cases. The artist worked in the archives to do research and dig up material. She used copies of journal entries and original crime scene photos in her works, layering them to show the murderers’ psyches. The rooms’ lighting kept changing—from white lights to black lights to pitch black. The layering in the pieces appeared when the black lights came on. The exhibit was really interesting! There wasn’t much traffic, so the lady working had the time to devote to us her undivided attention, explaining each of the murder cases.
We met Rod Withers, a friend from Edinburgh, that night for dinner. Rod is a wonderful guy. He’s from Australia (though he hasn’t lived there in a while), and we helped him celebrate his 30th birthday in Edinburgh. He met us at our hostel, and we walked down the road to a pizza place. We were far enough away from the center of the city that the restaurant didn’t have any menus translated in English. I ordered the Hawaiin pizza (“Hawaii” is the same in Swedish!), but much to my surprise, it had BANANAS on it! I wasn’t expecting that! The hot, mushy bananas on my pineapple and ham pizza weren’t bad, but they weren’t good either. But it WAS funny. We had a great time with Rod. We shared funny travel stories and talked about the possibility of meeting up again. Maybe Rod will visit the South? Maybe we’ll take a trip to Australia?
Before Rod got to the hostel, I played on Facebook long enough to get rather homesick. I read updates on the Montreat website. One of my dearest friends has been dating a girl for months now, and I haven’t met her! I had suspicions that a PC friend and a Montreat friend were dating, but I’d heard nothing of it. People were wishing my sister good luck at something, and I didn’t know what she was doing to need luck wished her way! I snapped myself out of my momentary slump pretty quickly, reminding myself that my chances of having this opportunity again are slim to none. Wishing away my time traveling or even wishing it would pass quickly is not smart on my part, and is, quite frankly, the dismissal and abuse of a blessing. I’m having the time of my life. How many people can pinpoint a “time of their life”? Mine has been the past six months, leading up to these 6 weeks of travel.
And so ends my adventures in Scandanavia.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Two More Countries and No Stamps to Show for It
We left Paris for Brussels on Thursday 19 March; with the way the bus schedule worked out, we were only going to have the afternoon there before catching the red eye bus to Amsterdam on Friday morning. With the way our apparently slow bus driver drove, we got into Brussels 2 hours late. Add that on top of the terrible directions our hostel sent us, we didn’t get to our hostel until late afternoon. We wandered around (lost) long enough realize that Brussels is ugly. A girl in our Paris hostel gave us a map of Brussels; the map claimed that the city was ugly, but I was still caught off-guard. Modern apartment buildings stand tall over neon Burger King and McDonald’s signs, which are across the street from demolition site after demolition site. By the time Anna and I reached the Van Gogh Youth Hostel (Van Gogh apparently worked in the building back in the day), we were hungry, tired, in desperate need of bathing, and we did not have the stamina to cram a day’s worth of sight-seeing into a short afternoon. We therefore forfeited, settling on getting our rest and venturing out for dinner. “What did you find to eat?” you may ask. Why a Belgian waffle, of course! Fat and happy, we resigned to watching The Notebook on Anna’s computer (my guilty pleasure movie… don’t judge) before catching some zzz’s before our 5:30am bus to Amsterdam.
Amsterdam makes up in aesthetics everything Brussels lacks. People tend to associate the city simply with the progressive lifestyle, but the city is absolutely breath-taking! In fact, I would say it’s my favorite city so far (not counting Edinburgh, of course). Amsterdam (other than the Jewish quarter) wasn’t touched during WW2, leaving the 17th century buildings intact. People get huffy when the city is called the “Venice of the North,” but the canals that stripe the city would make it tempting to do so.
We stayed in the Shelter Jordan Christian Hostel. I wasn’t quite sure what we’d gotten ourselves into; in a city that is known for drug tolerance and legal prostitution, I could just visualize the aggressive hostel workers we could potentially face. This was not the case. Instead, it was a nice, clean hostel in a prime location. We were not allowed, however, to bring drugs or alcohol onto the premises. Anna and I barely managed to follow these commandments. (To be read with sarcasm.) “The Shelter” is worth staying in merely for their phenomenal breakfast. Many hostels across Europe boast that breakfast is included in the hostel price, but this usually consists of cereal and toast (or baguettes in France). At The Shelter, you have a choice of a cold breakfast (cheese, rolls, and jam), a granola breakfast (with yoghurt and fruit) or a hot breakfast (changed every day—French toast, pancakes, etc.). Yumm-o.
We continued to be patrons of the New Europe tours, taking the free walking tour during the day on Saturday and the Red Light District tour that night. Our walking tour guide, Kevin, was an incredibly energetic, overly animated Boston native with shaggy red hair and a goatee. He sported a straw hat and blue blazer the entire tour, effectively turning himself into Vincent Van Gogh. After the tour, a group of us from the tour went out for authentic Dutch cuisine for lunch. Delectable.
On the Red Light District tour that evening, we explored the central prostitution district. Contrary to what you might think, this area is said to be the safest of the city. “If you don’t see a cop standing next to you,” our guide told us, “that’s probably because you’re standing next to an under-cover one.” Prostitution takes on three forms (all currently legal) in the Netherlands: windows, escorts, and brothels. The windows are what Amsterdam is known for. The girls rent display windows that line the streets, dress in very little clothing, and lure customers to come in for a visit. A new political party is in control of Amsterdam, and the times, they are a-changing. Our guide informed us that the number of windows is being cut every month, and that all windows will be gone by 2015. Prostitution will be illegal. Apparently the same thing is happening with the “coffee shops” that sell marijuana. While marijuana is in fact illegal here, it is tolerated. All coffee shops will also be gone by 2015. Amsterdam’s culture I witnessed in 2009 will be drastically different in 2015.
On Monday, Anna and I woke up early to beat the crowds at the Anne Frank House. The building is Otto Frank’s (Anne’s dad) old business. Well, it was his business until Nazi occupation forced him to put it in someone else’s name—a non-Jewish name. The warehouse is where Anne Frank, her mother, father, sister, and four others hid for two years during the war. Otto, living through the torment of Auschwitz, was the only surviving member of the eight who hid together. At his request, the annex remained unfurnished after they were discovered and everything was confiscated. The room was redecorated long enough to film a video, and models placed through the annex show what the rooms would have looked like furnished. Anne’s room still had the magazine pictures of the Hollywood actresses and English princesses Margaret and Elizabeth she pasted to the walls. One of Otto’s employees who helped hide the Franks also hid Anne’s diary and returned it to Otto after Anne’s death. He made his daughter’s dream of becoming a published author come true. He published her dairy!!! I really want to re-read it now; hopefully I’ll find and English bookstore in the next couple of cities.
We spent our final afternoon in Amsterdam wandering around the ugly art-deco Jewish quarter. I mentioned that this was the only section of Amsterdam damaged during the war, but it was not because of battle. During the exceptionally cold winter of 1944, the food was gone, and the residents of Amsterdam were freezing to death in their own homes. All the trees in the city center were cut down to burn for heat, leaving no choice but to tear down the vacated buildings of the Jewish quarter, using the wooden structures as firewood. The streets have been refurbished with the ugliest modern, brightly colored, and asymmetrical buildings you can imagine. It sticks out like a sore thumb, but I suppose it also sticks out a sore reminder of not-too-distant history.
Summary: Didn’t love Brussels. Loved, loved, loved Amsterdam.
Next stop: Copenhagen, Denmark.
Amsterdam makes up in aesthetics everything Brussels lacks. People tend to associate the city simply with the progressive lifestyle, but the city is absolutely breath-taking! In fact, I would say it’s my favorite city so far (not counting Edinburgh, of course). Amsterdam (other than the Jewish quarter) wasn’t touched during WW2, leaving the 17th century buildings intact. People get huffy when the city is called the “Venice of the North,” but the canals that stripe the city would make it tempting to do so.
We stayed in the Shelter Jordan Christian Hostel. I wasn’t quite sure what we’d gotten ourselves into; in a city that is known for drug tolerance and legal prostitution, I could just visualize the aggressive hostel workers we could potentially face. This was not the case. Instead, it was a nice, clean hostel in a prime location. We were not allowed, however, to bring drugs or alcohol onto the premises. Anna and I barely managed to follow these commandments. (To be read with sarcasm.) “The Shelter” is worth staying in merely for their phenomenal breakfast. Many hostels across Europe boast that breakfast is included in the hostel price, but this usually consists of cereal and toast (or baguettes in France). At The Shelter, you have a choice of a cold breakfast (cheese, rolls, and jam), a granola breakfast (with yoghurt and fruit) or a hot breakfast (changed every day—French toast, pancakes, etc.). Yumm-o.
We continued to be patrons of the New Europe tours, taking the free walking tour during the day on Saturday and the Red Light District tour that night. Our walking tour guide, Kevin, was an incredibly energetic, overly animated Boston native with shaggy red hair and a goatee. He sported a straw hat and blue blazer the entire tour, effectively turning himself into Vincent Van Gogh. After the tour, a group of us from the tour went out for authentic Dutch cuisine for lunch. Delectable.
On the Red Light District tour that evening, we explored the central prostitution district. Contrary to what you might think, this area is said to be the safest of the city. “If you don’t see a cop standing next to you,” our guide told us, “that’s probably because you’re standing next to an under-cover one.” Prostitution takes on three forms (all currently legal) in the Netherlands: windows, escorts, and brothels. The windows are what Amsterdam is known for. The girls rent display windows that line the streets, dress in very little clothing, and lure customers to come in for a visit. A new political party is in control of Amsterdam, and the times, they are a-changing. Our guide informed us that the number of windows is being cut every month, and that all windows will be gone by 2015. Prostitution will be illegal. Apparently the same thing is happening with the “coffee shops” that sell marijuana. While marijuana is in fact illegal here, it is tolerated. All coffee shops will also be gone by 2015. Amsterdam’s culture I witnessed in 2009 will be drastically different in 2015.
On Monday, Anna and I woke up early to beat the crowds at the Anne Frank House. The building is Otto Frank’s (Anne’s dad) old business. Well, it was his business until Nazi occupation forced him to put it in someone else’s name—a non-Jewish name. The warehouse is where Anne Frank, her mother, father, sister, and four others hid for two years during the war. Otto, living through the torment of Auschwitz, was the only surviving member of the eight who hid together. At his request, the annex remained unfurnished after they were discovered and everything was confiscated. The room was redecorated long enough to film a video, and models placed through the annex show what the rooms would have looked like furnished. Anne’s room still had the magazine pictures of the Hollywood actresses and English princesses Margaret and Elizabeth she pasted to the walls. One of Otto’s employees who helped hide the Franks also hid Anne’s diary and returned it to Otto after Anne’s death. He made his daughter’s dream of becoming a published author come true. He published her dairy!!! I really want to re-read it now; hopefully I’ll find and English bookstore in the next couple of cities.
We spent our final afternoon in Amsterdam wandering around the ugly art-deco Jewish quarter. I mentioned that this was the only section of Amsterdam damaged during the war, but it was not because of battle. During the exceptionally cold winter of 1944, the food was gone, and the residents of Amsterdam were freezing to death in their own homes. All the trees in the city center were cut down to burn for heat, leaving no choice but to tear down the vacated buildings of the Jewish quarter, using the wooden structures as firewood. The streets have been refurbished with the ugliest modern, brightly colored, and asymmetrical buildings you can imagine. It sticks out like a sore thumb, but I suppose it also sticks out a sore reminder of not-too-distant history.
Summary: Didn’t love Brussels. Loved, loved, loved Amsterdam.
Next stop: Copenhagen, Denmark.
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