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.
Monday, March 23, 2009
Parisian
I will apologize in advance for my spelling. I know NOTHING about French.
After 16 long hours in the bus, we arrived in Paris on Monday 16 March. Actually, the bus trip was not bad at all. I slept nearly the entire time, and there were few enough people that Anna and I each got our own seats. We stopped every couple of hours for a rest break, and the driver would make an announcement (in Spanish, of course) every time. If I paid attention really hard, occasionally I could make how long the rest break would last. Once we reached what I assume was the French border, two police officers got on the bus and delivered a very bad piece of news: our passports will not get any stamps by driving across borders. Or at least it doesn’t look good. The officer flipped through my passport, compared my incredibly awkward picture to how I looked at 5:00am, and handed it back to me with a “merci.” I will be visiting 11 countries in total with little to no stamps to prove it.
Anna and I were wiped out after our bus trip, so we decided our best option would be to rest, relax, and catch up on email correspondence in order to store up energy for a touristy Tuesday. So that’s what we did. We wandered around our section of Montmartre for dinner, but not much else.
We started Tuesday with the New Europe free walking tour. I swear by New Europe; the company is brilliant. Their free walking tours (the guides work on tips-only) work as advertisements for their other tours. A tour of the city on the first day is also a great way to get your bearings and to help decide what sights you do and do not want to visit. We met at St. Michael’s fountain. We gawked at Notre Dame. We walked along Pont Neuf. (King Henry IV held a masquerade ball celebrating the opening of this new bridge. He had an artist chisel the faces of his guests across the width of the bridge, and by the looks of their faces, the wine was in abundance. This is also the bridge from Bourne Identity.) I took a picture of the fountain where Anne Hathaway threw her phone in The Devil Wears Prada. I got really excited when I saw the bridge where Big kisses Carrie in the last episode of Sex and the City. We walked through the Louvre (where 4 businessmen in power suits ate McDonald’s for lunch…talk about a funny sight) and around the Arc de Triomphe and in the runway gardens.
Our tour guide talked a great deal about World War 2 throughout the tour, but this was my favorite story. Napoleon (the nut-job he was) built himself a tomb. The tomb is positioned so that it is lower than the ground, leaving the observer no choice but to lean over the railing to have a look, inadvertently bowing to Napoleon. Hitler visited Paris only once, and he made a point to visit Napoleon’s tomb. Refusing to bow to the deceased emperor, he arranged for two of his soldiers to hold mirrors so that Hitler could get a look through the reflection; however, the soldiers held the mirrors at the wrong angle. When Hitler took a step backwards in order to get a glimpse of the tomb, he stepped on another soldier’s shoe and stumbled, his hat falling to the ground. Hitler scooped down to pick up his hat just as he realized that not only was he bowing to Napoleon, but he had also removed his hat, a sign of even greater respect. He threw a temper tantrum and ran out, not forgetting to arrange the immediate execution of the two soldiers who held the mirrors.
After the tour, Anna and I took a trip up the Eifel Tower. The top floor was closed, so we could only go to the second (but my fear of heights kept me from being too disappointed about that). The view was breathtaking, but in a way I would not have expected. I’ll get to that in a minute. After our descent back town to ground-level, we celebrated with a nutella crepe. Yum.
On Friday, our last day in Paris, we started off with an art museum. I generally do not enjoy art. I’ve never studied it. I have no talent for it. I have little patience with it. Some people do not like reading or listening to classical music; I do not like art. I did promise Anna, however, that I would visit a few museums with her, and so we visited the Musee d’Orsay. Anna chose the museum because while the Louvre has the most impressive collection of artwork stolen by Napoleon from the edges of the world, the Musee d’Orsay has the best Impressionist collection (Anna’s favorite). I will admit this in writing: I enjoyed the museum! I really like the Van Gogh collections; you cannot tell from pictures of his paintings how elaborate, colorful, and textured they are. An impossible task.
We finished off our last day in Paris with the New Europe tour of Montmartre. Paris used to be made of small, winding streets (like Montmartre is even today); when the inner city was demolished in order to build the long tree-lined boulevards we know today, Montmartre was made a tax-free residential area to encourage people to move there. Two groups took advantage of the tax break: the wealthy bourgeoisies and the starving artists. We saw the Moulin Rouge. We saw Van Gogh’s flat and his favorite restaurant. The owner of the restaurant allowed him to eat for free occasionally, and he purchased the only painting Van Gogh sold during his life. We saw where Picasso lived and his favorite restaurant as well. Picasso used to woo the waitresses with sketches to get free meals. When the owner found out, he told Picasso he could eat there occasionally in exchange for a few canvases a month; when Picasso hit the spotlight, the owner was able to retire to the south of France with his wardrobe full of Picasso originals. We saw the only vineyard left in Paris. We climbed the hill to the Sacre Coeur. GORGEOUS! The cathedral is glistening white! We also saw bits and bobs from the film Amélie, one of my favorites! We saw the café where she works, the market where she shops, and the carousel at the bottom of the hill from the Sacre Coeur from the final scenes.
I wasn’t sure if I was going to like Paris or not. As it turns out, I really did like Paris. It is a gorgeous city, and the buildings are so ornate. From the Eifel Tower, these gorgeous buildings spread as far as the eye could see, specked here and there with lush, green gardens. Paris is beautiful. But…since Edinburgh holds the key to my heart… I compare everything to it. Paris is beautiful because the buildings and the gardens are beautiful. It’s a superficial beauty, I suppose. On the other hand, Edinburgh—or Scotland in general—is beautiful because the land is beautiful. I miss Edinburgh.
We finished the tour and our trip to Paris with a Nutella crepe. Naturally
Pictures to come soon.
After 16 long hours in the bus, we arrived in Paris on Monday 16 March. Actually, the bus trip was not bad at all. I slept nearly the entire time, and there were few enough people that Anna and I each got our own seats. We stopped every couple of hours for a rest break, and the driver would make an announcement (in Spanish, of course) every time. If I paid attention really hard, occasionally I could make how long the rest break would last. Once we reached what I assume was the French border, two police officers got on the bus and delivered a very bad piece of news: our passports will not get any stamps by driving across borders. Or at least it doesn’t look good. The officer flipped through my passport, compared my incredibly awkward picture to how I looked at 5:00am, and handed it back to me with a “merci.” I will be visiting 11 countries in total with little to no stamps to prove it.
Anna and I were wiped out after our bus trip, so we decided our best option would be to rest, relax, and catch up on email correspondence in order to store up energy for a touristy Tuesday. So that’s what we did. We wandered around our section of Montmartre for dinner, but not much else.
We started Tuesday with the New Europe free walking tour. I swear by New Europe; the company is brilliant. Their free walking tours (the guides work on tips-only) work as advertisements for their other tours. A tour of the city on the first day is also a great way to get your bearings and to help decide what sights you do and do not want to visit. We met at St. Michael’s fountain. We gawked at Notre Dame. We walked along Pont Neuf. (King Henry IV held a masquerade ball celebrating the opening of this new bridge. He had an artist chisel the faces of his guests across the width of the bridge, and by the looks of their faces, the wine was in abundance. This is also the bridge from Bourne Identity.) I took a picture of the fountain where Anne Hathaway threw her phone in The Devil Wears Prada. I got really excited when I saw the bridge where Big kisses Carrie in the last episode of Sex and the City. We walked through the Louvre (where 4 businessmen in power suits ate McDonald’s for lunch…talk about a funny sight) and around the Arc de Triomphe and in the runway gardens.
Our tour guide talked a great deal about World War 2 throughout the tour, but this was my favorite story. Napoleon (the nut-job he was) built himself a tomb. The tomb is positioned so that it is lower than the ground, leaving the observer no choice but to lean over the railing to have a look, inadvertently bowing to Napoleon. Hitler visited Paris only once, and he made a point to visit Napoleon’s tomb. Refusing to bow to the deceased emperor, he arranged for two of his soldiers to hold mirrors so that Hitler could get a look through the reflection; however, the soldiers held the mirrors at the wrong angle. When Hitler took a step backwards in order to get a glimpse of the tomb, he stepped on another soldier’s shoe and stumbled, his hat falling to the ground. Hitler scooped down to pick up his hat just as he realized that not only was he bowing to Napoleon, but he had also removed his hat, a sign of even greater respect. He threw a temper tantrum and ran out, not forgetting to arrange the immediate execution of the two soldiers who held the mirrors.
After the tour, Anna and I took a trip up the Eifel Tower. The top floor was closed, so we could only go to the second (but my fear of heights kept me from being too disappointed about that). The view was breathtaking, but in a way I would not have expected. I’ll get to that in a minute. After our descent back town to ground-level, we celebrated with a nutella crepe. Yum.
On Friday, our last day in Paris, we started off with an art museum. I generally do not enjoy art. I’ve never studied it. I have no talent for it. I have little patience with it. Some people do not like reading or listening to classical music; I do not like art. I did promise Anna, however, that I would visit a few museums with her, and so we visited the Musee d’Orsay. Anna chose the museum because while the Louvre has the most impressive collection of artwork stolen by Napoleon from the edges of the world, the Musee d’Orsay has the best Impressionist collection (Anna’s favorite). I will admit this in writing: I enjoyed the museum! I really like the Van Gogh collections; you cannot tell from pictures of his paintings how elaborate, colorful, and textured they are. An impossible task.
We finished off our last day in Paris with the New Europe tour of Montmartre. Paris used to be made of small, winding streets (like Montmartre is even today); when the inner city was demolished in order to build the long tree-lined boulevards we know today, Montmartre was made a tax-free residential area to encourage people to move there. Two groups took advantage of the tax break: the wealthy bourgeoisies and the starving artists. We saw the Moulin Rouge. We saw Van Gogh’s flat and his favorite restaurant. The owner of the restaurant allowed him to eat for free occasionally, and he purchased the only painting Van Gogh sold during his life. We saw where Picasso lived and his favorite restaurant as well. Picasso used to woo the waitresses with sketches to get free meals. When the owner found out, he told Picasso he could eat there occasionally in exchange for a few canvases a month; when Picasso hit the spotlight, the owner was able to retire to the south of France with his wardrobe full of Picasso originals. We saw the only vineyard left in Paris. We climbed the hill to the Sacre Coeur. GORGEOUS! The cathedral is glistening white! We also saw bits and bobs from the film Amélie, one of my favorites! We saw the café where she works, the market where she shops, and the carousel at the bottom of the hill from the Sacre Coeur from the final scenes.
I wasn’t sure if I was going to like Paris or not. As it turns out, I really did like Paris. It is a gorgeous city, and the buildings are so ornate. From the Eifel Tower, these gorgeous buildings spread as far as the eye could see, specked here and there with lush, green gardens. Paris is beautiful. But…since Edinburgh holds the key to my heart… I compare everything to it. Paris is beautiful because the buildings and the gardens are beautiful. It’s a superficial beauty, I suppose. On the other hand, Edinburgh—or Scotland in general—is beautiful because the land is beautiful. I miss Edinburgh.
We finished the tour and our trip to Paris with a Nutella crepe. Naturally
Pictures to come soon.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Vive Espana
Anna and I went to Spain. We got to Madrid early Saturday afternoon after a very emotional 24 hours. Following a successful Metro navigation from the airport, we arrived at Hostal Yolanda, our abode for the next few days. “Hostel” may not be the best word to describe Hostal Yolanda; guest House Yolanda might be the more appropriate name. Classification aside, it was precious. A Spanish-only-speaking elderly couple runs the joint. They greeted us at the door with a big smile on their faces, and the woman showed us through the winding hallways to our room. The language barrier made checking in and checking out interesting, but we managed. The one and only Mary Kathryn Dykes showed up shortly after we did. Mary Kathryn is a sorority sister and is currently a junior at PC. She is putting her Spanish major into practice by studying abroad in Salamanca this semester. Her boyfriend flew into Madrid on Sunday, so she visited with us (and served as our translator) until then.
We had a late lunch after MK got there. Correction: we had a regular Spanish lunch once MK got there. The Spanish eat lunch around 2-3pm, tapas around 5-6pm, and dinner around 9-10pm. We had traditional “tortillas Espanolas,” kind of like a potato and onion omelet. We leisurely explored the city by foot before a dinner of tapas and vino blanco and then bed.
Sunday morning, we went to Toledo!! Claire Atkins, a friend of Anna’s from Kanuga, has been studying abroad there since September. Over her Christmas break, Claire visited us in Edinburgh, so it was her turn to show us around her neck of the European woods. Toledo is BEAUTIFUL! Claire showed us all around the city. I am not exaggerating in the least when I say we walked ALL DAY LONG. But I’m not complaining; I walked around befuddled at how pretty the city is. The city is very hilly. Our first path was to view all there was to view as we walked down the city. But don’t worry your pretty head about us having to hike back up all the hills because there is an escalator built in the side of the mountain. No joke.
Serving as the religious capital of Spain, the architecture shows the cultural combination of Jewish, Catholic, and Muslim. Since I know next to nothing about architecture—religious or secular—I took Claire’s word for it. We went in the cathedral. I generally stand by the theory that a cathedral is a cathedral is a cathedral. The same goes for this one. It was stunning. It was impressive. It was MASSIVE. The artwork was elaborate (featuring most of Goya’s artwork that is not showcased in the Prado Museum). The statues were everywhere. (The quire featured statues of the lineage of Jesus according to the Gospel of Matthew. Except the women were left out. Figures.) The stained glass windows were colorful. It really was beautiful. But it was just another cathedral.
I should mention that we had authentic Spanish sangria whilst enjoying the breeze at an outdoor café. We went back to Madrid that night.
MK left for the airport early Monday morning, leaving Anna and me to our own defenses in the language department. Yes, I have took 4 years of Spanish in high school and another semester in college, but being able to translate on a 3rd grade level doesn't help much with communication skills. MK did write out a few pointers for us, i.e. how to ask our hostel lady if we could store our bags there for the day. After checking out, Anna and I caught up with New Europe’s free walking tour. We’ve done the tour in Edinburgh (several times), London, and Dublin as well. The company’s guides work on a tips-only basis with the philosophy that everyone can take the tour regardless of budget restrictions. In Madrid, however, there is a law that only licensed guides can charge customers for tours. New Europe has been functioning in the gray area: they do no charge for tours, so they do not have to be licensed guides. The Madrid guides are mad that this company is taking away business, so they are protesting. As a result, our tour was joined by 4 protestors holding up signs that read, “ILLEGAL TOURS!” AND “BLACK MONEY IN MADRID!” Of all the things to protest in the world, they choose a tour company??
We learned a lot on the tour. We saw a lot. I probably couldn’t recall 25% of it if I tried, so I won’t. The tour took up most of the day, leaving us time to stroll through the Puerta del Sol and the Plaza Mayor once more before hopping on our short 16-hour bus ride to Paris.
This ends my busy, successful, and fabulous trip to Spain.
We had a late lunch after MK got there. Correction: we had a regular Spanish lunch once MK got there. The Spanish eat lunch around 2-3pm, tapas around 5-6pm, and dinner around 9-10pm. We had traditional “tortillas Espanolas,” kind of like a potato and onion omelet. We leisurely explored the city by foot before a dinner of tapas and vino blanco and then bed.
Sunday morning, we went to Toledo!! Claire Atkins, a friend of Anna’s from Kanuga, has been studying abroad there since September. Over her Christmas break, Claire visited us in Edinburgh, so it was her turn to show us around her neck of the European woods. Toledo is BEAUTIFUL! Claire showed us all around the city. I am not exaggerating in the least when I say we walked ALL DAY LONG. But I’m not complaining; I walked around befuddled at how pretty the city is. The city is very hilly. Our first path was to view all there was to view as we walked down the city. But don’t worry your pretty head about us having to hike back up all the hills because there is an escalator built in the side of the mountain. No joke.
Serving as the religious capital of Spain, the architecture shows the cultural combination of Jewish, Catholic, and Muslim. Since I know next to nothing about architecture—religious or secular—I took Claire’s word for it. We went in the cathedral. I generally stand by the theory that a cathedral is a cathedral is a cathedral. The same goes for this one. It was stunning. It was impressive. It was MASSIVE. The artwork was elaborate (featuring most of Goya’s artwork that is not showcased in the Prado Museum). The statues were everywhere. (The quire featured statues of the lineage of Jesus according to the Gospel of Matthew. Except the women were left out. Figures.) The stained glass windows were colorful. It really was beautiful. But it was just another cathedral.
I should mention that we had authentic Spanish sangria whilst enjoying the breeze at an outdoor café. We went back to Madrid that night.
MK left for the airport early Monday morning, leaving Anna and me to our own defenses in the language department. Yes, I have took 4 years of Spanish in high school and another semester in college, but being able to translate on a 3rd grade level doesn't help much with communication skills. MK did write out a few pointers for us, i.e. how to ask our hostel lady if we could store our bags there for the day. After checking out, Anna and I caught up with New Europe’s free walking tour. We’ve done the tour in Edinburgh (several times), London, and Dublin as well. The company’s guides work on a tips-only basis with the philosophy that everyone can take the tour regardless of budget restrictions. In Madrid, however, there is a law that only licensed guides can charge customers for tours. New Europe has been functioning in the gray area: they do no charge for tours, so they do not have to be licensed guides. The Madrid guides are mad that this company is taking away business, so they are protesting. As a result, our tour was joined by 4 protestors holding up signs that read, “ILLEGAL TOURS!” AND “BLACK MONEY IN MADRID!” Of all the things to protest in the world, they choose a tour company??
We learned a lot on the tour. We saw a lot. I probably couldn’t recall 25% of it if I tried, so I won’t. The tour took up most of the day, leaving us time to stroll through the Puerta del Sol and the Plaza Mayor once more before hopping on our short 16-hour bus ride to Paris.
This ends my busy, successful, and fabulous trip to Spain.
Monday, March 16, 2009
Emotionally Drained and Physically Exhausted
This is my attempt to catch up so I can start recording my travels. (Oh yeah… I’m not in Edinburgh anymore.)
Let’s take a trip back in time to two weeks ago. My last day of work was Friday 27 February. Saying goodbye to Mary, Ronnie, Kathleen, Theresa, Ella, and all my other co-workers made me realize that my time in Edinburgh really was coming to an end. I was very excited to have two weeks in the city to do as I pleased, but the end of work meant the end of Edinburgh.
To celebrate our last days as UK tax payers and to end Scotland with a bang, Anna and I went to the most beautiful place on the face of the earth: ISLE OF SKYE!!!!! After our dear friend Erin’s recommendation, we went with the tour group MacBackpakers. If you should find yourself in Scotland (and you should make an effort), you will want to go to Skye. If you are under 30, you should go with MacBackpackers. We easily bonded with our travel buddies (the only Americans again!), and our tour guides could no have been any better. Words cannot describe nor can pictures capture how beautiful this island is. Nothing will do it justice. Here are the links to my picture albums from the trip: album 1, album 2, album 3. I put these up right after we came back, so there are little anecdotes in the captions.
The following Friday (6 March), I had a night on the town with my St. Raphael’s co-workers. Mary, Kathleen, and Theresa all live towards Glasgow and wanting to send me off in a big way and to celebrate their being reinstated in the jobs they never deserved to lose, the girls got a hotel room in Edinburgh. We started the night in Ronnie and Tony’s favorite bar, La Monde on George Street. After dinner, we made our way to Hawk and Hunter, a former townhouse turned private club turned upscale bar. My friends are grungy pub people, and I wouldn’t change that for the world. But it was fun to get gussied up and go to a classy joint. We met for breakfast Saturday morning before the ladies headed back home, giving me one last chance to tell them goodbye and farewell. These women are strong and determined; they fought for their jobs and for what was best for the residents. Although work at St. R’s was not always pleasant, these women (and Ronnie) made it worth while! I am so blessed to have been able to work with them for nearly 4 months!!!
The rest of the week was spent running errands, deciding what to (and not to) pack for my European excursion, and spending time with friends. I went to the Brass Monkey a couple of times. I met friends at the Mosque Kitchen twice. (Yes, the Mosque in Edinburgh serves food, and it is the best – and cheapest – curry available). I pretended like I was JK Rowling at the Elephant House Café. We said goodbye to the gorgeous Italian waiter at Ciao Roma. Finally, it was time to say goodbye. It was also time to do something with our excess luggage; FedEx picked up our bags to be delivered to the US, but the guy wasn’t too sure our forms would suffice with the US customs officers. Keep your fingers crossed for that one… Thursday 12 March was our last night in town. We met our friends at The Globe for the best Snake Bites in town. Everything was smooth sailing…until we had to say goodbye. With every hug, the lump in my throat grew bigger and bigger. With every hug, the haunting fact that I will (more than likely) never live in Edinburgh again grew more and more real. With every hug, the idea that I may never see these people again dangled in front of my face. With every hug, my one-way plane ticket out of Scotland crept closer and closer. Saying goodbye to my friends and to my Edinburgh was one of the hardest things I’ve had to do. Why is it we always take something for granted until it is taken away from us?!?!?!?!
Anna and I woke up long before the sun so we could catch the 7am bus to the airport. At 6:30, our buzzer rang. My heart sank into my stomach. I just knew it was going to be the FedEx guy with our rejected suitcases. I opened the door… and it was Ross and Ron!!!! Ron couldn’t make it to The Globe the night before, so he came by to say farewell. Ross lived with us in our flat during Christmas, and he’s become like my little brother. I love this kid so much, I donated extra kids so I could take home the huge teddy bear he gave me for Christmas. Seeing him at my door immediately made me cry one of those cries where you can’t tell if you’re happy or sad. The guys chatted with us while we finished our packing, walked us to our bus stop, and saw us off.
So that’s the end. No more 26 Gardner’s Crescent, snake bites, Visas, Lothian buses, council tax, etc.
But it’s also the beginning of my 6-week trek across Europe!!! I’m in Spain now, but more to come on that later.
Hasta luego.
Let’s take a trip back in time to two weeks ago. My last day of work was Friday 27 February. Saying goodbye to Mary, Ronnie, Kathleen, Theresa, Ella, and all my other co-workers made me realize that my time in Edinburgh really was coming to an end. I was very excited to have two weeks in the city to do as I pleased, but the end of work meant the end of Edinburgh.
To celebrate our last days as UK tax payers and to end Scotland with a bang, Anna and I went to the most beautiful place on the face of the earth: ISLE OF SKYE!!!!! After our dear friend Erin’s recommendation, we went with the tour group MacBackpakers. If you should find yourself in Scotland (and you should make an effort), you will want to go to Skye. If you are under 30, you should go with MacBackpackers. We easily bonded with our travel buddies (the only Americans again!), and our tour guides could no have been any better. Words cannot describe nor can pictures capture how beautiful this island is. Nothing will do it justice. Here are the links to my picture albums from the trip: album 1, album 2, album 3. I put these up right after we came back, so there are little anecdotes in the captions.
The following Friday (6 March), I had a night on the town with my St. Raphael’s co-workers. Mary, Kathleen, and Theresa all live towards Glasgow and wanting to send me off in a big way and to celebrate their being reinstated in the jobs they never deserved to lose, the girls got a hotel room in Edinburgh. We started the night in Ronnie and Tony’s favorite bar, La Monde on George Street. After dinner, we made our way to Hawk and Hunter, a former townhouse turned private club turned upscale bar. My friends are grungy pub people, and I wouldn’t change that for the world. But it was fun to get gussied up and go to a classy joint. We met for breakfast Saturday morning before the ladies headed back home, giving me one last chance to tell them goodbye and farewell. These women are strong and determined; they fought for their jobs and for what was best for the residents. Although work at St. R’s was not always pleasant, these women (and Ronnie) made it worth while! I am so blessed to have been able to work with them for nearly 4 months!!!
The rest of the week was spent running errands, deciding what to (and not to) pack for my European excursion, and spending time with friends. I went to the Brass Monkey a couple of times. I met friends at the Mosque Kitchen twice. (Yes, the Mosque in Edinburgh serves food, and it is the best – and cheapest – curry available). I pretended like I was JK Rowling at the Elephant House Café. We said goodbye to the gorgeous Italian waiter at Ciao Roma. Finally, it was time to say goodbye. It was also time to do something with our excess luggage; FedEx picked up our bags to be delivered to the US, but the guy wasn’t too sure our forms would suffice with the US customs officers. Keep your fingers crossed for that one… Thursday 12 March was our last night in town. We met our friends at The Globe for the best Snake Bites in town. Everything was smooth sailing…until we had to say goodbye. With every hug, the lump in my throat grew bigger and bigger. With every hug, the haunting fact that I will (more than likely) never live in Edinburgh again grew more and more real. With every hug, the idea that I may never see these people again dangled in front of my face. With every hug, my one-way plane ticket out of Scotland crept closer and closer. Saying goodbye to my friends and to my Edinburgh was one of the hardest things I’ve had to do. Why is it we always take something for granted until it is taken away from us?!?!?!?!
Anna and I woke up long before the sun so we could catch the 7am bus to the airport. At 6:30, our buzzer rang. My heart sank into my stomach. I just knew it was going to be the FedEx guy with our rejected suitcases. I opened the door… and it was Ross and Ron!!!! Ron couldn’t make it to The Globe the night before, so he came by to say farewell. Ross lived with us in our flat during Christmas, and he’s become like my little brother. I love this kid so much, I donated extra kids so I could take home the huge teddy bear he gave me for Christmas. Seeing him at my door immediately made me cry one of those cries where you can’t tell if you’re happy or sad. The guys chatted with us while we finished our packing, walked us to our bus stop, and saw us off.
So that’s the end. No more 26 Gardner’s Crescent, snake bites, Visas, Lothian buses, council tax, etc.
But it’s also the beginning of my 6-week trek across Europe!!! I’m in Spain now, but more to come on that later.
Hasta luego.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Nothing Like Friends, Family, and a Ghost Tour to Remind You How Cool Edinburgh Is...
I have forgotten how incredibly lucky/ blessed/ fortunate I am to be living in Scotland. I hate to endorse a cliche, but I have taken Edinburgh and what has become day-to-day life for granted.
Anna's mom and dad-- possibly the two sweetest Rock Thrill Southerners you will ever meet-- came in to town for several days last week. My family, Kate's family, and Anna's brothers came for the Christmas holidays, and of course we wowed them with our independence/ knowledge/ bravery, but Mr. and Mrs. Wilson reminded us of how (please forgive the "French"...it is needed for emphasis) bad-ass we are. The timing was perfect: with only a month left in the country, sensible parents reminded us of how invaluable our experience has been and will be.
I would say I'm done tooting my how-blessed-I-am horn... but did I mention we had friends come to visit??? One of Kate's friends from high school, Kacie, is studying for her masters in Anglo-Irish literature at Trinity College in Dublin, Ireland. Kacie and her friend Colleen flew into town on 19 February and stayed for a long weekend, leaving in the wee morning hours on the 23rd with barely enough time for Kacie to catch her Monday morning class. It's funny how quickly travelers bond. Vagabonds always find things in common to talk about...
I'm still not done. We had MORE visitors at the same time as Kacie and Colleen! The lovely Lindsey Williams Bauler came to visit!!!! Lindsey and Anna went to high school together, and Anna was a bridesmaid in her wedding this summer; Lindsey and I worked on summer staff in Montreat in 2007. Lindsey brought along with her Halli, whom we affectionately call "H" in honor of CSI Miami (and she motions to take off her aviator sunglasses whilst giving witty one-liners). She's freaking awesome! Yet again, vagabonds bond instantly! Their stories: Lindsey (College of Charleston grad) and Tim (Citadel grad) married in June and immediately moved to Germany, where Tim was stationed in the army. Halli and Cameron are from Oregon, and they married in September and moved to Germany as well. The boys left for Iraq in November (keep the two couples in your prayers), so the girls treated themselves to a mini-break to the UK. Halli and Lindsey flew into London, rented a car, and arrived in Edinburgh on 19 February. With seven girls, three beds, 2 couches, and one bathroom, 26 Gardner's Crescent turned into a (very fab) hostel; I wouldn't change it for the world. What good is having a flat in Edinburgh if our friends can't reap the benefits?!?
I've had such a blast revisiting the tourist attractions with the girls. I took the walking tour again, frolicked around Calton Hill Cemetery, climbed up Calton Hill, and popped in and out of vintage shops. We also took a GHOST TOUR!!!
I enjoy this kind of stuff, so bare with me while I tell this tale. The "ghost and torture tour" started above ground with a glimpse of what streets in old Edinburgh would have looked like and a brief explanation (and reenactment) of the witch trials. From there, we crammed into the torture museum, where we saw original thumb screws, jaw breakers, chastity belts, flesh hooks, and ball-breakers (no explanation needed there). We then descended to explore the Niddry Street Vaults, vaults that were built to be storage space but were quickly abandoned. (The vaults were built with volcanic rock, which is very porous; a few hours after it rains in Edinburgh, it rains in the vaults!) Edinburgh has been dubbed by paranormal experts as the most haunted city in the world, and these vaults have been dubbed the most haunted spot in the most haunted city. If you have seen the TV show "Most Haunted," they spent the night in the Niddry Vaults whilst in Edinburgh. In fact, they were attacked, but I'll get to that later.
There are 3 levels of paranormal activity, and all three are represented in the Niddry Vaults. Level 1, the "watchman" ghost, is like a program on repeat. The guard casually strolls up and down the corridor, like he would have done during his lifetime. People occasionally see him and hear his footsteps, but he is unaware we exist. Level 2 is a poltergeist, translated as "noisy ghost." The room with a level 2 is where the Most Haunted paranormal team was attacked (you can watch it on YouTube). The room was converted into a Wiccan Temple in the 90s, and the circle in the middle of the room, used in Wicca to prevent evil spirits from entering, now contains all it once warded off. The priest, however, made a mistake; he bought a used mirror that used to hang inside a wardrobe. The mirror acted as a door, luring spirits into the room but giving them no way to escape. As a result, the temple moved several vaults down, and the circle was deactivated, leaving the aggressive spirits trapped inside. Bad things are said to happen to anyone who enters the circle; I could think of no logical reason to test this theory. A level 3 is a poltergeist that is bent on causing harm. The Niddry Vault's level 3 was a misogynist while he was alive and is said to be a misogynist even after death. After the vaults were abandoned, the rooms were used in all kinds of creative ways, and this particular vault-- the largest vault-- was used as a brothel (more room for beds??). This man enjoyed torturing and killing his prostitutes. When we visited the chamber, our guide split the sexes, instructing the men to go to the left and the women to the right. She said couples were more vulnerable to attack and that most reported attacks were on women on the left side of the room... hence the particular arrangement. Interesting, hmm??? Another story about this vault... In one of the city's great fires (there have been a few), hundreds of people fled underground to the vaults to escape the flames. What they were not expecting, however, was for the structure of rocks to heat up like an oven. After the fires subsided, the the largest vault was full of victims who had literally been cooked to death. As our guide described it, their meat and flesh were falling off their bones just like a roasted chicken. Ok I'm done with the gruesome now.
Today is Lindsey and Halli's last day in the city. Anna and I will be staying with them for several days towards the end of our excursion. They have a Taco Bell on the base, and I would be lying if I said I wasn't already looking forward to a nacho supreme and cinnamon twists.
This is my last week at work, but the good news is the three previously sacked good guys have come back to St. R's and the two bad guys who did the sacking are now suspended. Yay!
Anna and I are going to the Isle of Skye on Monday for 3 days.
All for now.
Anna's mom and dad-- possibly the two sweetest Rock Thrill Southerners you will ever meet-- came in to town for several days last week. My family, Kate's family, and Anna's brothers came for the Christmas holidays, and of course we wowed them with our independence/ knowledge/ bravery, but Mr. and Mrs. Wilson reminded us of how (please forgive the "French"...it is needed for emphasis) bad-ass we are. The timing was perfect: with only a month left in the country, sensible parents reminded us of how invaluable our experience has been and will be.
I would say I'm done tooting my how-blessed-I-am horn... but did I mention we had friends come to visit??? One of Kate's friends from high school, Kacie, is studying for her masters in Anglo-Irish literature at Trinity College in Dublin, Ireland. Kacie and her friend Colleen flew into town on 19 February and stayed for a long weekend, leaving in the wee morning hours on the 23rd with barely enough time for Kacie to catch her Monday morning class. It's funny how quickly travelers bond. Vagabonds always find things in common to talk about...
I'm still not done. We had MORE visitors at the same time as Kacie and Colleen! The lovely Lindsey Williams Bauler came to visit!!!! Lindsey and Anna went to high school together, and Anna was a bridesmaid in her wedding this summer; Lindsey and I worked on summer staff in Montreat in 2007. Lindsey brought along with her Halli, whom we affectionately call "H" in honor of CSI Miami (and she motions to take off her aviator sunglasses whilst giving witty one-liners). She's freaking awesome! Yet again, vagabonds bond instantly! Their stories: Lindsey (College of Charleston grad) and Tim (Citadel grad) married in June and immediately moved to Germany, where Tim was stationed in the army. Halli and Cameron are from Oregon, and they married in September and moved to Germany as well. The boys left for Iraq in November (keep the two couples in your prayers), so the girls treated themselves to a mini-break to the UK. Halli and Lindsey flew into London, rented a car, and arrived in Edinburgh on 19 February. With seven girls, three beds, 2 couches, and one bathroom, 26 Gardner's Crescent turned into a (very fab) hostel; I wouldn't change it for the world. What good is having a flat in Edinburgh if our friends can't reap the benefits?!?
I've had such a blast revisiting the tourist attractions with the girls. I took the walking tour again, frolicked around Calton Hill Cemetery, climbed up Calton Hill, and popped in and out of vintage shops. We also took a GHOST TOUR!!!
I enjoy this kind of stuff, so bare with me while I tell this tale. The "ghost and torture tour" started above ground with a glimpse of what streets in old Edinburgh would have looked like and a brief explanation (and reenactment) of the witch trials. From there, we crammed into the torture museum, where we saw original thumb screws, jaw breakers, chastity belts, flesh hooks, and ball-breakers (no explanation needed there). We then descended to explore the Niddry Street Vaults, vaults that were built to be storage space but were quickly abandoned. (The vaults were built with volcanic rock, which is very porous; a few hours after it rains in Edinburgh, it rains in the vaults!) Edinburgh has been dubbed by paranormal experts as the most haunted city in the world, and these vaults have been dubbed the most haunted spot in the most haunted city. If you have seen the TV show "Most Haunted," they spent the night in the Niddry Vaults whilst in Edinburgh. In fact, they were attacked, but I'll get to that later.
There are 3 levels of paranormal activity, and all three are represented in the Niddry Vaults. Level 1, the "watchman" ghost, is like a program on repeat. The guard casually strolls up and down the corridor, like he would have done during his lifetime. People occasionally see him and hear his footsteps, but he is unaware we exist. Level 2 is a poltergeist, translated as "noisy ghost." The room with a level 2 is where the Most Haunted paranormal team was attacked (you can watch it on YouTube). The room was converted into a Wiccan Temple in the 90s, and the circle in the middle of the room, used in Wicca to prevent evil spirits from entering, now contains all it once warded off. The priest, however, made a mistake; he bought a used mirror that used to hang inside a wardrobe. The mirror acted as a door, luring spirits into the room but giving them no way to escape. As a result, the temple moved several vaults down, and the circle was deactivated, leaving the aggressive spirits trapped inside. Bad things are said to happen to anyone who enters the circle; I could think of no logical reason to test this theory. A level 3 is a poltergeist that is bent on causing harm. The Niddry Vault's level 3 was a misogynist while he was alive and is said to be a misogynist even after death. After the vaults were abandoned, the rooms were used in all kinds of creative ways, and this particular vault-- the largest vault-- was used as a brothel (more room for beds??). This man enjoyed torturing and killing his prostitutes. When we visited the chamber, our guide split the sexes, instructing the men to go to the left and the women to the right. She said couples were more vulnerable to attack and that most reported attacks were on women on the left side of the room... hence the particular arrangement. Interesting, hmm??? Another story about this vault... In one of the city's great fires (there have been a few), hundreds of people fled underground to the vaults to escape the flames. What they were not expecting, however, was for the structure of rocks to heat up like an oven. After the fires subsided, the the largest vault was full of victims who had literally been cooked to death. As our guide described it, their meat and flesh were falling off their bones just like a roasted chicken. Ok I'm done with the gruesome now.
Today is Lindsey and Halli's last day in the city. Anna and I will be staying with them for several days towards the end of our excursion. They have a Taco Bell on the base, and I would be lying if I said I wasn't already looking forward to a nacho supreme and cinnamon twists.
This is my last week at work, but the good news is the three previously sacked good guys have come back to St. R's and the two bad guys who did the sacking are now suspended. Yay!
Anna and I are going to the Isle of Skye on Monday for 3 days.
All for now.
Sunday, February 15, 2009
An Ode to Brass Monkey
On this the early morning of my 5 month anniversary in Edinburgh, I have decided to write about one of my favorite places in the city: Brass Monkey.
Brass Monkey is located on Drummond Street just off of South Bridge, a stone’s throw from the National Museum and the Royal High School. It looks like it is just a normal Edinburgh pub: a dark wooden bar as you walk inside, tall stools, and a few tables at the back. You might think it’s a bit quirky if you visit the uni-sex toilets, but the real reason Brass Monkey is a special place is because of its cinema room. The side room has a 2-foot raised platform that is- I would guess- 10 x 15 feet, and it is covered in futon mattresses. The edges are lined with pillows, turning the room into a giant bed. Every day at 3:00pm, they play a “cult movie” on the projector. The movie is chosen by the viewers, so if you are lucky enough to get there first, you can have a say in which movie gets played that day.
I frequent Brass Monkey on the weekends. Kate and I went today and were surrounded by snuggling couples, and the movie to celebrate Valentine’s Day was True Romance: a shoot-em-up Christian Slater movie. I loved it.
Other movies played there: Dirty Dancing, Good Will Hunting, The Professional, Seven, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, A Clockwork Orange, Breakfast at Tiffany’s, Amelie, etc. Love it.
Since today does mark five months in Edinburgh, it simultaneously marks only one month remaining. Am currently in the process of planning European excursions. Will post an itinerary… when Anna and I finally decide what exactly we are doing.
I have 10 days left at work. Yes, I am counting. Yes, it is that bad. I won’t post on it now because people who speak honestly about the horrid situations going on at St. Raphael’s Care Home are mysteriously disappearing, not in a mafia disappearance act, but in a sacked and escorted off the premises kind of way. Not kidding. Here’s an article written about it.
Another update to come soon.
Peace, love, and Edinburgh.
Brass Monkey is located on Drummond Street just off of South Bridge, a stone’s throw from the National Museum and the Royal High School. It looks like it is just a normal Edinburgh pub: a dark wooden bar as you walk inside, tall stools, and a few tables at the back. You might think it’s a bit quirky if you visit the uni-sex toilets, but the real reason Brass Monkey is a special place is because of its cinema room. The side room has a 2-foot raised platform that is- I would guess- 10 x 15 feet, and it is covered in futon mattresses. The edges are lined with pillows, turning the room into a giant bed. Every day at 3:00pm, they play a “cult movie” on the projector. The movie is chosen by the viewers, so if you are lucky enough to get there first, you can have a say in which movie gets played that day.
I frequent Brass Monkey on the weekends. Kate and I went today and were surrounded by snuggling couples, and the movie to celebrate Valentine’s Day was True Romance: a shoot-em-up Christian Slater movie. I loved it.
Other movies played there: Dirty Dancing, Good Will Hunting, The Professional, Seven, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, A Clockwork Orange, Breakfast at Tiffany’s, Amelie, etc. Love it.
Since today does mark five months in Edinburgh, it simultaneously marks only one month remaining. Am currently in the process of planning European excursions. Will post an itinerary… when Anna and I finally decide what exactly we are doing.
I have 10 days left at work. Yes, I am counting. Yes, it is that bad. I won’t post on it now because people who speak honestly about the horrid situations going on at St. Raphael’s Care Home are mysteriously disappearing, not in a mafia disappearance act, but in a sacked and escorted off the premises kind of way. Not kidding. Here’s an article written about it.
Another update to come soon.
Peace, love, and Edinburgh.
Friday, January 30, 2009
Winds, Fairies, and Sheep
I went to Ireland. Have I mentioned that? I did. Pictures. More pictures. The lovely Anna and I flew into Dublin on 14 January, and we arrived back “home” in Edinburgh on the 18th.
I’ll just tell the highlights; a detailed description of our 5 days in Ireland would be quite lengthy.
The weather was horrific. Terrible. No matter how descriptive my language is when recalling the weather, it will not do it justice. Our tour guide Danny, a life-long Dubliner, said he had never seen weather like this. Rain, hail, and sleet were a constant. The winds got up to 105mph one night. You know how crazy news anchors will stand in the middle of a hurricane? They can stand still. When we got off the bus, we literally had to hold on to each other. Despite the weather, the trip was great! It couldn’t have been better!!
We spent the first 2 nights in Dublin in Abigail’s Hostel… very nice accommodation for anyone who is looking into Ireland. We walked around the city for hours on end until finally our weary legs took us to an open-top tour bus. The Guiness Store House was one bus stop, so that was our “splurge” of the day. I do love me some Guiness. The museum takes you through the history of the Guiness family, growing the hops, the specific water, fermentation, the wooden barrels, and advertising. Finally, you get to enjoy a pint on the top floor with a panoramic view. Anna even got a lesson on how to pull the perfect pint: the carbon dioxide, the nitrogen, and the 119.5 seconds it takes for the gases to settle. She even has a certificate to prove her accreditation.
Our Shamrocker Southern Rocker tour left on Friday morning. The 19 of us included our Irish tour guide, our Slovakian bus drive, 15 Aussies, and the token 2 Americans. We stopped briefly at the Rock of Cashel (our first of many castles) and then explored the Mitchelstown Caves with a tour guide who lived her life for stalactites and stalagmites. The best part of Friday was our trip to Blarney Castle. The grounds are gorgeous: green grass, tall trees, and a meandering stream. The castle was dates back to the 13th century, but what it is really know for is the BLARNEY STONE. The Stone of Destiny was cut in two, one half going to Scotland and 1 half being built into the structure of Blarney Castle. Now known as the Blarney Stone, kissing it will give you the “gift of the gab.” Kissing it, however, is no easy task. The floor of the 2nd story has a hole about 1 foot from the wall and 2 feet long. You have to lay on your back with your head positioned over the hole. Two iron rods have been installed for you to grab while you lower your upper body, head first and upside down, towards the ground to reach the Blarney Stone. If you are limber enough to clear it with your chin, you give it a kiss and pull yourself back up. An old man sits next to the hole, day in and day out, whose job is to support your back and help you earn the gift of the gab. He has one joke: don’t use tongue. He either 1) thought I was a precious American, 2) thought I desperately needed eloquent speech, or 3) felt bad for the girl shaking from her fear of heights because he let me kiss the stone TWICE. Anyone who is anyone kisses the stone, included Brad, Angelina, and Bill Clinton. I’m in their ranks now.
We spent Friday night in Killarney, my favorite town we visited. The streets are narrow cobblestone, and they’re lined with pubs and small businesses. We (the Irish tour guide, 15 Aussies, and token 2 Americans) heard an Irish story teller at one of the pubs. I was rolling on the floor laughing. He told stories of pub regulars (the policeman, the bum, the man who died with a glass of Bush Mills in his hand, and the nun) as if he owned the bar.
On Saturday, we headed towards the Dingle Peninsula. Danny said normally it would take 3 hours to drive the route, stopping every few miles for 30-minutes or so; however, this was the day the winds started to pick up. Our stops were less often, and our time off the buss was very time-efficient. If it looks like I’m in pain in my pictures, it’s because I was. The tour would have been even shorter, but we were stuck behind a herd of sheep for a good 30 minutes. No joke. The farmer and his 2 dogs moved the herd of sheep from one pasture to another. We had lunch in a local pub before the winds took out all the power. We stayed in the very Irish town of Doolin on Saturday night. The town only has one hostel, and I wouldn’t be surprised to hear if their only business was from the Shamrocker tours. Saturday night was when the winds blew over 100mph. The hostel wasn’t well-heated, so we all crammed around the fire in the living room with our books and journals. In such a quaint Irish town, delivery is not an option. As one of the Aussie girls put it, when in Doolin, do as the Dooliners do. We bundled up and braved the hail and high speed winds. Note: running a quarter of a mile with high winds and hail is not a good combination. On top of all this, the bridge that runs over the river is supposed to have a resident fairy. Irish fairies are not Tinkerbells, but rather are nasty creatures capable of serious harm. If this fairy catches you, it will hoist you over its should and carry you away, never to be seen again.
First thing Sunday morning, we visited the Cliffs of Moher. If you are a Princess Bride fan, which I am not, you would recognize the landscape as the “Cliffs of Insanity.” If you have been there before, you will know that the winds and the waves create a constant mist rising up from the ocean 400 feet below. With the abnormally strong winds, the top observation plateau looked like an upside-down waterfall. The Cliffs ended up being yet another time-efficient photo opportunity. Next we went to the Burren plateau. The plateau is a limestone landscape, like it’s straight out of Wuthering Heights. The weather miraculously cleared up enough for us to enjoy an old monastery. Clonmacnoise is right on the shore. The masonry work in its Celtic crosses is world-famous. Modern-day stone masons have tried to replicate the crosses but have failed. The chapel, various stone buildings, and the graves of all of Ireland’s 70-something saints stand in your line-of-sight while looking out to the water. Beautiful.
Then we went back to Dublin and then back to Edinburgh.
The 3 most popular sites in Ireland: The Guiness Store House (check), the Blarney Castle (check), and the Cliffs of Moher (check). A successful holiday.
I’ll just tell the highlights; a detailed description of our 5 days in Ireland would be quite lengthy.
The weather was horrific. Terrible. No matter how descriptive my language is when recalling the weather, it will not do it justice. Our tour guide Danny, a life-long Dubliner, said he had never seen weather like this. Rain, hail, and sleet were a constant. The winds got up to 105mph one night. You know how crazy news anchors will stand in the middle of a hurricane? They can stand still. When we got off the bus, we literally had to hold on to each other. Despite the weather, the trip was great! It couldn’t have been better!!
We spent the first 2 nights in Dublin in Abigail’s Hostel… very nice accommodation for anyone who is looking into Ireland. We walked around the city for hours on end until finally our weary legs took us to an open-top tour bus. The Guiness Store House was one bus stop, so that was our “splurge” of the day. I do love me some Guiness. The museum takes you through the history of the Guiness family, growing the hops, the specific water, fermentation, the wooden barrels, and advertising. Finally, you get to enjoy a pint on the top floor with a panoramic view. Anna even got a lesson on how to pull the perfect pint: the carbon dioxide, the nitrogen, and the 119.5 seconds it takes for the gases to settle. She even has a certificate to prove her accreditation.
Our Shamrocker Southern Rocker tour left on Friday morning. The 19 of us included our Irish tour guide, our Slovakian bus drive, 15 Aussies, and the token 2 Americans. We stopped briefly at the Rock of Cashel (our first of many castles) and then explored the Mitchelstown Caves with a tour guide who lived her life for stalactites and stalagmites. The best part of Friday was our trip to Blarney Castle. The grounds are gorgeous: green grass, tall trees, and a meandering stream. The castle was dates back to the 13th century, but what it is really know for is the BLARNEY STONE. The Stone of Destiny was cut in two, one half going to Scotland and 1 half being built into the structure of Blarney Castle. Now known as the Blarney Stone, kissing it will give you the “gift of the gab.” Kissing it, however, is no easy task. The floor of the 2nd story has a hole about 1 foot from the wall and 2 feet long. You have to lay on your back with your head positioned over the hole. Two iron rods have been installed for you to grab while you lower your upper body, head first and upside down, towards the ground to reach the Blarney Stone. If you are limber enough to clear it with your chin, you give it a kiss and pull yourself back up. An old man sits next to the hole, day in and day out, whose job is to support your back and help you earn the gift of the gab. He has one joke: don’t use tongue. He either 1) thought I was a precious American, 2) thought I desperately needed eloquent speech, or 3) felt bad for the girl shaking from her fear of heights because he let me kiss the stone TWICE. Anyone who is anyone kisses the stone, included Brad, Angelina, and Bill Clinton. I’m in their ranks now.
We spent Friday night in Killarney, my favorite town we visited. The streets are narrow cobblestone, and they’re lined with pubs and small businesses. We (the Irish tour guide, 15 Aussies, and token 2 Americans) heard an Irish story teller at one of the pubs. I was rolling on the floor laughing. He told stories of pub regulars (the policeman, the bum, the man who died with a glass of Bush Mills in his hand, and the nun) as if he owned the bar.
On Saturday, we headed towards the Dingle Peninsula. Danny said normally it would take 3 hours to drive the route, stopping every few miles for 30-minutes or so; however, this was the day the winds started to pick up. Our stops were less often, and our time off the buss was very time-efficient. If it looks like I’m in pain in my pictures, it’s because I was. The tour would have been even shorter, but we were stuck behind a herd of sheep for a good 30 minutes. No joke. The farmer and his 2 dogs moved the herd of sheep from one pasture to another. We had lunch in a local pub before the winds took out all the power. We stayed in the very Irish town of Doolin on Saturday night. The town only has one hostel, and I wouldn’t be surprised to hear if their only business was from the Shamrocker tours. Saturday night was when the winds blew over 100mph. The hostel wasn’t well-heated, so we all crammed around the fire in the living room with our books and journals. In such a quaint Irish town, delivery is not an option. As one of the Aussie girls put it, when in Doolin, do as the Dooliners do. We bundled up and braved the hail and high speed winds. Note: running a quarter of a mile with high winds and hail is not a good combination. On top of all this, the bridge that runs over the river is supposed to have a resident fairy. Irish fairies are not Tinkerbells, but rather are nasty creatures capable of serious harm. If this fairy catches you, it will hoist you over its should and carry you away, never to be seen again.
First thing Sunday morning, we visited the Cliffs of Moher. If you are a Princess Bride fan, which I am not, you would recognize the landscape as the “Cliffs of Insanity.” If you have been there before, you will know that the winds and the waves create a constant mist rising up from the ocean 400 feet below. With the abnormally strong winds, the top observation plateau looked like an upside-down waterfall. The Cliffs ended up being yet another time-efficient photo opportunity. Next we went to the Burren plateau. The plateau is a limestone landscape, like it’s straight out of Wuthering Heights. The weather miraculously cleared up enough for us to enjoy an old monastery. Clonmacnoise is right on the shore. The masonry work in its Celtic crosses is world-famous. Modern-day stone masons have tried to replicate the crosses but have failed. The chapel, various stone buildings, and the graves of all of Ireland’s 70-something saints stand in your line-of-sight while looking out to the water. Beautiful.
Then we went back to Dublin and then back to Edinburgh.
The 3 most popular sites in Ireland: The Guiness Store House (check), the Blarney Castle (check), and the Cliffs of Moher (check). A successful holiday.
Monday, January 19, 2009
New Years Served up Hogmanay Style
Here is my 20-day overdue New Years account.
Hogmanay is Edinburgh's New Years celebration. The city's population during the holiday triples… or something ridiculous like that. The celebration starts 29 December and lasts through New Years Day.
Monday 29 December 2008
The Torch Procession: the coolest thing I’ve done in Edinburgh. I had a bit of trouble pushing through the crowds to get to my friends, but thanks to my persuasive skills, a security officer let me cut through City Chambers. I caught up with everyone in front of St. Giles Cathedral right as the crowd started moving. If you’ve been to Old Town, picture High Street’s sidewalks and road packed shoulder to shoulder from the City Chambers all the way down to the John Knox House. Now picture a lit torch in everyone’s hand. For fear of sounding like a 12-year-old, it was so cool. We walked west on the Royal Mile, north on The Mound, and turned right to walk east on Princes Street. This is the only time of the year thousands of people could get away with lolly-gagging down the usually traffic-packed Princes Street. We caught up with the bagpipers right about Calton Hill Cemetery and followed them up Calton Hill, where we were greeted by a 20-foot bonfire. Then the fireworks. My family can tell you that I’ve never been one to be amused by fireworks. One display looks like the next, and you’ve seen it all after the first 30 seconds. Maybe it was the view of Old and New Towns behind me, the Shame to my left, Nelson’s Monument to my right, and my friends all around me… but these were hands down the best fireworks I’ve seen. The show went for nearly 20 minutes, and I loved every second of it.
Tuesday 30 December 2008
Dance Festival. Grassmarket was closed from Victoria Street down to Kings Stables Road to make room for two stages. Simultaneously on each stage were a variety of dance performers. We saw tap dancers, break dancers, Scottish folk dancers, swing dancers, salsa dancers, Chinese dragon dancers, and show girls. My favorite was the country western dance troop. All claiming to be siblings (and yet they look nothing alike and are all about the same age) and to be from Texas (with a Hollywood-heavy fake accents), they broke down and taught a line dance to the couple thousand in the crowd. I ate it up. It took me back to my Scuffle Town days of high school. Sigh…
Wednesday 31 December 2008- Thursday 1 January 2009
New Years night was fun, but my favorite parts were the two days leading up. We met our friends at Angela’s flat in the Grassmarket. We then leisurely wandered back up to the top of Calton Hill to watch the firework displays. Yes, plural. Fireworks shot from Calton Hill, the castle, and another location too far away to tell. This was the first year in several years that I wasn’t in Montreat with my beloved summer staff friends, so I must admit I missed the crowded living room in Glen Rock. We saw no ball drop, so there was no count-down. There was no collective, “Happy New Year.” The suckers who paid for the street party tickets collectively sang “Auld Lang Syne” (it is Scotland…), but the economically wary kids on the hill missed out on such. But it was still a great way to bring in the New Year. We moved on then to Scott’s flat and stayed awake until it hurt to hold our eyes open.
So that is how I spent my New Years. With new friends in a foreign land. Couldn't have been better!
Hogmanay is Edinburgh's New Years celebration. The city's population during the holiday triples… or something ridiculous like that. The celebration starts 29 December and lasts through New Years Day.
Monday 29 December 2008
The Torch Procession: the coolest thing I’ve done in Edinburgh. I had a bit of trouble pushing through the crowds to get to my friends, but thanks to my persuasive skills, a security officer let me cut through City Chambers. I caught up with everyone in front of St. Giles Cathedral right as the crowd started moving. If you’ve been to Old Town, picture High Street’s sidewalks and road packed shoulder to shoulder from the City Chambers all the way down to the John Knox House. Now picture a lit torch in everyone’s hand. For fear of sounding like a 12-year-old, it was so cool. We walked west on the Royal Mile, north on The Mound, and turned right to walk east on Princes Street. This is the only time of the year thousands of people could get away with lolly-gagging down the usually traffic-packed Princes Street. We caught up with the bagpipers right about Calton Hill Cemetery and followed them up Calton Hill, where we were greeted by a 20-foot bonfire. Then the fireworks. My family can tell you that I’ve never been one to be amused by fireworks. One display looks like the next, and you’ve seen it all after the first 30 seconds. Maybe it was the view of Old and New Towns behind me, the Shame to my left, Nelson’s Monument to my right, and my friends all around me… but these were hands down the best fireworks I’ve seen. The show went for nearly 20 minutes, and I loved every second of it.
Tuesday 30 December 2008
Dance Festival. Grassmarket was closed from Victoria Street down to Kings Stables Road to make room for two stages. Simultaneously on each stage were a variety of dance performers. We saw tap dancers, break dancers, Scottish folk dancers, swing dancers, salsa dancers, Chinese dragon dancers, and show girls. My favorite was the country western dance troop. All claiming to be siblings (and yet they look nothing alike and are all about the same age) and to be from Texas (with a Hollywood-heavy fake accents), they broke down and taught a line dance to the couple thousand in the crowd. I ate it up. It took me back to my Scuffle Town days of high school. Sigh…
Wednesday 31 December 2008- Thursday 1 January 2009
New Years night was fun, but my favorite parts were the two days leading up. We met our friends at Angela’s flat in the Grassmarket. We then leisurely wandered back up to the top of Calton Hill to watch the firework displays. Yes, plural. Fireworks shot from Calton Hill, the castle, and another location too far away to tell. This was the first year in several years that I wasn’t in Montreat with my beloved summer staff friends, so I must admit I missed the crowded living room in Glen Rock. We saw no ball drop, so there was no count-down. There was no collective, “Happy New Year.” The suckers who paid for the street party tickets collectively sang “Auld Lang Syne” (it is Scotland…), but the economically wary kids on the hill missed out on such. But it was still a great way to bring in the New Year. We moved on then to Scott’s flat and stayed awake until it hurt to hold our eyes open.
So that is how I spent my New Years. With new friends in a foreign land. Couldn't have been better!
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