News Flash: Not All German Women are Borderline Male

Guten Tag! Just got back from Berlin after an 8 hour delay due to "a missing pilot." For real, easyJet? At least we got a 4.50 Euro voucher to go mad with at the Duty Free shop aka I bought Milka, the most delicious chocolate in the world, only to find it is in my local Italian supermarket for about a quarter of the price. Stupid, stupid me.

Anyway, Berlin was a great experience. I kept debating about going to Munich or Berlin (because both were way too expensive for a 3 day weekend) and I decided to go with the capital because I figured there would be a lot more history to see. And I was extremely correct. On our free walking tour, we saw the Brandenburg Gate, the new Holocaust Memorial, which was extremely moving, as you are supposed to walk through it and reflect:


The stones are sprayed with anti-graffiti spray from a company that originally manufactured gas to the Nazis- a point of huge controversy for Berliners

We also saw the site of Hitler's suicide, which is now a paved-over parking lot with only a diagram to mark the area. Germans thought it best not to build a potential mecca for Neo-Nazis, and I agree. We also saw Checkpoint Charlie, which was the American checkpoint between East and West Berlin, as well as the remains of the Wall, which were recently re-muraled to celebrate the 20th anniversary of the fall. I can only hope David Hasselhoff was present this time, too.


The Italian artist contribution

That night, we bought some 60 Euro-cent forties of Pilsner, Zubr and Rothbrau and pregamed with our hostel roommates, who were 4 boys studying in London. We went to this crazy club called Maria's which was essentially in an abandoned warehouse. Lots of characters at that one- the dreadlocks and hairy armpits went on for days.

The next day was extremely sobering- pun not intended. We took a train to Orenienburg, a town about an hour outside of Berlin that is the site of the first concentration camp set up by the Soviet Union in Prussia. It was the concentration camp from which all others were modeled. It was extremely haunting to see the housing structures, the pits where people were slaughtered in masses, original ovens, and, the worst part, the tables and medical rooms used for human experiments. I thought that between school and Schindler's List, I had had a grasp of the enormity of suffering that the Holocaust had caused to Jewish, Polish, Czech, and more outcasts of the time, but it was not until I saw the gas chambers themselves and this chilling quote that I finally understood: Upon leading new prisoners into the camp, a Nazi pointed to one of them and said, "See that smoke rising out of the chimney? That's your only way to freedom." Ugh.

To brighten our spirits, we downed some currywurst, took a quick nap, and hopped on the U-Bahn to the Berlin pub crawl. It brought us to some interesting clubs, like abandoned garages-turned-rap venues, Jagermeister pubs, and the best, factories filled with cages of people dancing and smoking rooms. We met a bachelor party, the head of which wore shorts with suspenders and was apparently very anxious to get as much female attention toward his leiderhosen as possible. Lots of pictures that Blogspot would ban are now in my personal Berlin collection, if anyone is interested. The (albeit diluted) Jager shots took their toll on me, and I eventually lost my friends and befriended a lovely German man named Stefan who hailed from Hamburg. The guy barely spoke English, and we all know the only word I appreciate in German is fahrt (translates to trip, but still very giggle-worthy), but we made a good connection and I gave him my email. Because that's what they ask for here.

The next day, we groggily pulled ourselves out of bed and hoofed it to the Jewish Museum, which was probably the best museum I've ever been to. The architect designed it to be uncomfortable for the visitor, what with its unparallel walls, slanted floors, and staircases leading to nowhere. It was three floors full of interactive Jewish history lessons, like a convert your name to Hebrew machine and a "break the glass" wedding game. Zabes- I must be invited to yours. Despite the Holocaust Tower, a sectioned off room with a hugely vaulted ceiling and one tiny window as a source of light to remind you of their isolation- it was a merrier way to celebrate Judaism. Definitely an uplifting morning that I needed to counteract the day before. After that, we wandered around the weird shops (Ass-Store? Schmucks?) and made our way to the Erotik Museum. Ten Euro, but SO WORTH IT. It was INTERACTIVE, as seen below:



After that exciting break from history lessons and depressing excursions, we got a huge meal of potato-shnitzel, brussel sprouts, and dessert, which was pineapple ravioli filled with white chocolate. SO INCREDIBLY DELICIOUS.



To round out our Sunday night, we caught the tail-end of the USA/Canada hockey game (much to the chagrin of our extremely nationalistic hostel staff) and slept on the cold benches in the Schonefeld airport until our flight. Despite how we looked 12 hours later and still without a flight home...



I had an incredible time on the wurst fahrt ever, as was expected. Next up is Amsterdam...Lord help us all.

Ciao ciao!
Cason

The Senate and the People of Rome

So I didn't travel this weekend. In a way, though, I was still very much the tourist. We were scheduled to have a visit to the local TV station, but of course, all forms of transportation went on strike in Rome on Friday so we had the day off. Just another day in Europe- you have to roll with the punches because things don't usually pan out the way I think they will.

On Friday, I enjoyed sleeping in (a luxury here) and then took a walk around Trastevere, the neighborhood I live in. It is the "Lincoln Park" of Rome, and I climbed to the top of the Janiculum Hill and got a great view of Rome from the west. After walking and walking, enjoying the nice weather, I eventually descended again and, oh, what do you know, there's the Vatican City walls. Now I've been to the Vatican before, and every time, it is extremely breathtaking to the point of awe. It's hard to walk down the central nave and not believe, what with the band of gold mosaics, colossal sculptures. Behind the altar, there were pews set up for mass and I checked my watch. 4:55 p.m. I knew that every day after 5 p.m, they have mass in Latin, so I sat by a pew and watched the priest and altar boys walk up the aisle, Swiss Guard closely behind them. I stayed about halfway through. I appreciate the sanctity and reverence of the ceremony, but the Guard is what made me leave. I don't want to get into specifics or huge theological arguments- you can interpret that as you will.

On Saturday, my friends and I woke up and went to the Capitoline Museum, where we saw the original sculpture of the she-wolf with Romulus and Remus as well as the remains of Augustus's statue that was once in his basilica in the Roman Forum. It was absolutely humongous- his foot was easily a person and a half longer than me. Afterwards, we rendez-vous'd to the Circus Maximus (original chariot tracks) and saw the Cappucine Crypt- another all-bone church. This one was made up of only monk bones however, complete with outfits or still-rotting corpses. Delish.

That night, we went to a local club where the dance floor was on par size-wise with the bathroom. Enormous fun- until I gave the bartender 2 Euro and asked for the strongest shot he could make. Thanks for the tequila and limoncello, Fabrizio.

On Sunday, we hiked up to Villa Borghese- the biggest park in Rome. After renting bikes and exploring the gardens, we chilled on a bench and watched dogs playing with each other. Note- Italian dogs are just like American dogs. Minogue- One was named Nina. You know how I feel about animals with people names. After effectively tiring ourselves out, we ate at a pizzeria called Rosso Pomodoro (Red Tomato- wow! I'm learning stuff here!). I got a broccoli and Napoli sausage pizza with fizzy lemonade. Magnifico.

Sorry this wasn't more entertaining- but I really enjoyed spending time in Roma and getting more familiar with the 7 hills. Next up is Berlin.

Aufweidersen! (or something),
Cason

"Walk two blocks that way and then ask someone else. This is Venice, honey."

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Pra-ha-ha-ha-ha

DISCLAIMER--- FOR RELATIVES OR OTHER AUTHORITY TYPES READING THIS ENTRY- SOME THINGS THAT ARE ILLEGAL IN THE STATES ARE QUITE LEGAL IN PRAGUE. PLEASE DO NOT HOLD WHAT YOU MAY DISCOVER BELOW AGAINST ME, NOR BRING IT UP AT FAMILY GATHERINGS. THANK YOU.

Well chickadees, I had one of the best weekends ever. It all started with Thursday afternoon, when we had our first wine tasting lesson. Cramped up in a cellar in the basement of our cooking school, we all learned how to A) open a bottle of wine B) read/understand the label and C) the reasoning behind swishing it around, the smell, the color, the taste, and the aftertaste. Giuseppe, our sommelier, turned off the lights so we could utilize our senses as best as we could to discern the different layers of the wine. We would all be silent, inhaling the smells of our wine, sipping silently and thoughtfully, until he would yell out, "OH-KAI?!? Is very good, no?!?", effectively making us drop our glasses.

Then, about half the study abroad group jumped on WizzAir to Prague for the weekend. After a good night's sleep in the hostel, we woke up to do a walking tour, where we saw the astronomical clock, the New and Old Town Squares, the Prague Castle and cathedral, St. Charles bridge, the Lennon Wall, and much much more. I fell in love with the Lennon Wall, where young Czechs/people in general go to write down their messages of peace and love.



After all this, we went out to dinner at Kozicka, where we all shared dumplings, goulash, and spatzle washed down with hot wine. We didn't leave without stealing a steaknife, however, because of a weird girl we met in the tour group. She was travelling by herself, getting oddjobs in different cities around Europe and living with her on and off Irish boyfriend at the ripe age of 19. One of the girls in our group mistakenly told her what hostel we were saying at, and she said she'd love to switch and stay with us. Considering the security at our hostel consisted of one locked door, we pushed the armoire in front of ours before falling asleep, steaknife at the ready.

Before crashing, we went on the Clock Tower Pub Crawl, where we went to three different clubs and met people from all over the world. Absinthe shots stowed away in our stomachs, the second stop on the crawl led us to Chapeau Rouge- an underground club with more concentrated marijuana haze than Cheech's van. Drugs were openly being bought and sold, so I took a few hits with a Jack and Leo from London. It was pretty weak stuff, but the thrill of such an open exchange of pot made my buzz that much more intense. All I could think about was that movie Reefer Madness and how insanely difficult it would be to ever change drug laws in America. You are allowed to possess and purchase small quantities in Prague starting this past January 1, but Americans are expected to mow through mounds of cocaine like nasal skiiers if given any amount of privilege in the drug exchange. Whatever. The next bar was more posh and clubby, like the ones I expected to find in Europe. When trying to buy some beers, I confused Coronas with Korona, the national currency. After walking away from the bar, my friend and I were hunted down by bodyguards and yanked over to the side of the bar, where the manly female bartender furiously shouted "WHY YOU NO PAY ME! WHY YOU NO PAY!", I tried explaining myself, but considering that they spoke no English, they confined me to the wall until I threw some more change at them and melted back into the crowd.

On the second day, my friends and I figured out the train and travelled to Kutna Hora, where there is a bone church. Made out of the bodies of Black Plague victims, the place was like walking on the set of the Goonies, except everything was made out of skeletons, not just the organ.




A really lively place. Once we got back to the city center, we managed to visit the Dancing House, designed by Frank Gehry (Milennium Park). It was awesome looking and made me even more jealous of their architecture. We then saw the astronomical clock ring, and hightailed it to the metro to visit a friend of a friend who is studying there for a semester. He took us to an authentic restaurant where I ate more dumplings and goulash and tried just a tiiiiny bit of rabbit. Couldn't get images of Thumper out of my head to venture further.

Then comes the best part of the trip. We went to this bar called Cross Club. The only way to describe the layout is that it matches what I can only assume is the inside of WALL-E. Light up moving mechanical objects covered the walls and it was laid out like a maze, with different shaped rooms and lowered ceilings so we had to crouch down to sit at a table. We found a dance floor with a DJ and plenty of people tripping to some electronic jam band music mish mash mayhem. We decided to get a little more inebriated before making out way back, and I started to talk to a young and old man in one of the chiller rooms. The younger was a 28 year old electrician who loved the "adrenaline" feeling of his dangerous job and grew pot to chill out when he wasn't on the clock. The older man, however, stole my heart. He is around 60 years old and a self-proclaimed hippie without a cause. We talked about Woodstock, his attempts at yogic practice in India, life in China, LSD trips in Amsterdam cafes, and how he would never want to be my age today. The man is probably a con artist and pathological liar, but I accepted the marijuana he offered and we bonded some more. He has the life I lack the balls to try, so I gave him my email address to learn more about how he came to be the couch surfing, virtually penniless but spiritually wealthy person he is today. I've already gotten to read a rundown of his life (burning draft cards, losing his virginity with a man in a protest outside the Pentagon, living with a candle crafter in Denmark, visits to his mother in America with his heavily tattooed 50 year old girlfriend) and I can't wait to learn more. Call me gullible, but I can't ignore a guy who met Wavy Gravy at Woodstock.

Anywho, after some dancing and drinking, we found our way back to the hostel to prepare for day 3. We visited the Jewish cemetery, where about 12,000 graves are stacked on top of each other in order to avoid desecrating the others around it in a space confined to them by the Nazis.



Really moving. Even more so was the museum, where they had drawings made by children detained in concentration camps. It was a very sobering experience and I want to learn more about Jewish-European struggles when I go to Berlin in a few weeks and possibly Poland.

After some shopping, we all exhaustedly went back to the airport. Now, when 30 Rock joked that "nothing makes sense, it's like an Italian airport", they were clearly mistaken, in that it should have been a Czech airport. Since my friend and I checked in online, we had blew through security and went to the gate, while my other friends had to check in and get stickers on their luggage confirming it was the right size to go on the plane. I got stopped before boarding, and they made me put my backpack in the bin, which, to no surprise, fit perfectly. The flight attendants on board, however, stopped my two friends, who had THE SAME BACKPACK, one of which was tagged as being the right size, and made them stow their bags under the plane. What. the. hell. I had to laugh- especially because they were then asked to sit in the emergency exit rows because they speak English. Oh, the inconsistencies of Europa.

Well, I must rest up. I have an excursion to a vineyard on Friday and am going to Venice for Carnivale (European Halloween) on Friday. My life is so hard.

Buona notte,
Cason

Assimilation Nation

Sometimes I feel like I could update this thing every night, considering how packed my days are. Here are some of the weekend highlights...

A group of us went out on Thursday night to a discoteca-ish place called Coyote. It's a little alarming how accustomed I've come to pregaming a night out with a bottle of wine to myself. It's only a euro here, and hilariously, it comes in juice box form, which I have taken quite a liking to. When I have my first wine seminar next week, it will be a hard adjustment to go from rating chugabillity to potency and age. Anyway, if I've noticed anything about the nightlife here it's that Americans make their presence known and the men who frequent these discotecas are always in their late twenties. I met a friendly fellow named Allesandro who invited me on a motorcycle ride to his flat where we could "do hashish or something else you like". While I always like a good date with a drug lord, I politely declined in favor of passing out on my couch with Nutella smeared on my face.

On Saturday morning, my roommate and I walked to the fresh market in Testacchio, one of the "few Roman neighborhoods not overrun with tourists". Under a huge spanning tent, we walked amidst stands full of fruits, vegetables, AS Roma (soccer team) paraphernalia and kooky trinkets. Among the highlights were slabs of equina, or horse meat, that we are planning on finding recipes for and finding cookware suitable for simmering the thigh of a stallion. Then, we stopped at a fish stand and began talking to the 77 year old man who had woken up at 1 am that day to haul in fish from his boat. We told him we were from Canada, as that usually reaps a more positive response, and upon noticing that we were English speaking, said hold on and went to the back of the shop. We were afraid he was going to come out with some type of hideous sea creature or ancient Toronto maple leaf, but instead he showed us an international newspaper upon which he graced the front cover. The article was about how the fresh markets are still relatively unspoiled by foreigners and that Lucciano, our new friend, had worked at the same stand since 1941 during WWII. He had never gone to school, but loved his work and never wanted to change it. We plan on revisiting this place every weekend to load up on some goodies.



On Sunday, everyone in my program went to the AS Roma futbol game at Stadio Olimpico. We played against AS Siena and beat them silly. The crowd was crazy- everytime we scored a goal they would cheer and hug and push each other like mad and a few of the guys on our trip took a tumble down the bleacher rows. There was one tiny section of Siena fans who all sat in one section with Roma polizia officers at the end of every row. Two years ago, a West Side Story-ish struggle broke out after a particularly heated match and someone got stabbed, so there is ultra high security around the opposing team's fans. The fans spent more time heckling Senia and singing offensive songs than actually watching the game, but seeing as we were ranked much higher than Senia, their passion could be directed elsewhere.



Some other highlights:

Went to a bank to exchange some leftover francs from Switzerland into Euros. To get inside, you have to press a button that opens a clear glass door. Then you walk inside and the door shuts behind you. A very pleasant woman says some rubbish in Italian and a thumbpad glowed down next to my hip. After scanning your thumbprint, another door opens to let you inside. Doesn't matter though, because it was 1:30 pm and thus it was lunch time for all of the employees.

Old Italian ladies rule this place. They shove past you with no mercy on the trams, they yell at you when you are in front of them to get in line on the bus, and they walk whenever and wherever on the street, letting vespas and smartcars pile up behind their sashaying mink coats and Italian loafers.

On the way home from the AS Roma game, my friend and I got on a bus that was supposed to go to Termini, the train station where we catch a bus to go home. This bus, however, went down some long and winding roads into a giant Italian cemetary. At this point, it was nighttime and we were the only ones on the bus. The area was what I can only describe as ethereal. There were long cement building type things that were like graves stacked on top of each other, a light shining in front of every person's name. Through the window, it looked like big fireflies floating over fields. The whole graveyard was probably the size of Champaign-Urbana, and the bus driver had to get out to ask directions twice. This was about the fifth or sixth brush with death I've had since coming here, and I really need to settle down on my urges to wander and test my navigational skills.

Okay, time for some studying for Italian and beddy-bye. Buona notte!

Dampenfahrt-ing

Guten Tag! I hope you've all had a great weekend like I did. First, on Thursday, our Layers of Rome professor took a picture of our whole class, telling us to "say lesbian" before the click. My kind of fellow. Then me, one of my roommates, and two other girls on the program hopped on a double-decker autobus to go to the Alps.

First off, Switzerland is just plain queer. It is primarily a German-speaking country, but the translations were so off it was comical. For instance, a sign in one of the store windows said, "Due scratches on window I please you not sit on windowboard. Nice meet you tomorrow". They still use the franc, which is much weaker than the Euro, so we would always buy things in cash and have a lot more change to spend.

On Friday and Saturday, the girls and I took a train up to the top of a mountain to the stop Kleinshaidegg to tear up some powder. Now, I have been skiing about 5 times, and I thought I was decent. Not in Europe. Every single person there was better than me. In Colorado, I'm used to avoiding ten lazy snowboarders parked in the middle of a mountain or laughing gaily as other people tumble into trees. Here, though, I would timidly follow a German family as they skiied from sign to sign, slowly trailing behind their 6 month old that didn't even need poles. In America, the trails are all clearly marked and people stay within the lines to avoid things like death. In the Alps, a number or color might be posted on some tree, and people view the entire mountain as fair terrain. Whenever I was on a chairlift (or a standing lift, which I fell off of and the whole machine stopped so the man could lift me up and say "STAND!"), I would notice the curlicues of trails going every which way, going from one run to the other. Moreover, there were no nets or fences keeping you from tumbling to your death. We're not talking falling onto a soft powdery pile of fluff, we're talking head over heels down the cliff edge of a mountain. Needless to say, I would make myself fall before I got too close to an edge. The others had enough skill to maneuver around me.

When I wasn't falling and sliding down the intermediates, which we originally had thought were the easy slopes, my friends and I would get bratwurst at the restaurants and order Jagers from the ice bars. At night, we went to a club at the bottom of our hostel that reminded me of a very diverse CO's. Make that the basement of CO's. It cost $4.50 for a Rugenbrau, which was the cheapest drink available and I heard the Black Eyed Peas and the Fresh Prince theme song about 6 times a night. The hostel in general was decent and definitely what I expected- cabin style rooms (even coed...I was surprised), buffet-style breakfast and plenty of chocolate to buy.

On Sunday, we went for a hike through the woods and found the Rugenbrau brewery and what I can only assume is the house from the Shining. That, after a 96 franc Swiss cheese fondue meal was enough of Swiss life for me. The skiing was incredible and the town looks like a gingerbread wonderland, but I am still far too intensely involved in my affair with Roma to make any other commitments.

Stay tuned, lovies. Prague and Carnivale await.

Piacere,
Cason

Broadcasting from the Boot

Buongiorno a tutti!

Well, I've been in the Land of Wine for 4 days now and I couldn't be more in amore. Every turn of the corner is a new beautiful sight, every interaction with an Italian is a new lesson learned, and every street stepped onto is a death sentence what with the lack of any rules of the road and Vespas tearing in between the Smartcars and trams.

I don't even know where to start. Well, I guess I'll start with school. I have it every day but some Fridays off, and I take Italian language, Layers of Rome, Food and Media, Italian Culture and Society, and Food and Culture. I know, right? I am getting graded on stuff I actually want to know more about. Some of my classes are at the Scuola Leonardo da Vinci, and some take us to the actual sites and monuments that we are studying. Our cooking classes are in the GustoLab, which is attached to the school and served us an amazing welcome dinner, complete with fried pizza (which is how it was originally made), pasta carbonara, eggplant parmesan, tiramisu, and, of course, vino. Did you know that the thought of spaghetti and meatballs makes Italians want to vomit, and that they have penis shaped pasta? Because they do.



But anyway, what I have taken away the most is what our program director, Sonia, has said to describe the country and people. It's a nation of organization and anarchy right next to each other. When another director, Leonardo, clicked out of his introductory powerpoint, every student was quick to tell him how easy it was to get back to the current page. He, however, chose to close and reopen the whole program, clicking through every page and link to get to the right one. That's how the people do things here- close down a pizzeria because they want a long lunch, but get furious when you give them a Euro bill over 10. They always suggest taking a ten minute break in the middle of class or bring you your food right away at a restaurant, but you must do everything short of throwing your empty bottle of wine at the waiter's head if you want to be given the check.

What's given me the most perspective on the differences between Italian people and Americans is the nightlife. Here, public drinking is allowed and utilized, mostly in the form of sipping vino in a piazza and people watching. However, a tour guide I met one night at an American bar said that this summer, the Prime Minister banned the sale of food from 2 am to 6 am. In protest, street vendors set their carts up outside of the government building and sold all that they could, leaving their trash on the front steps in their wake. Me and my roommates tend to side with these types of Romans, chugging vino on the bus to the bar and giggling endlessly at the beer called Splugen. In the bars themselves, there are always signs written clearly in English, not Italian, saying to keep our voices down. It's hard to gauge how to act appropriately, because some are genuinely enthused by our atrocious behavior. Our taxi driver last night, for example, sped through the streets at our request, proclaiming that he was "NASCAR driver, si?"

All in all, the first four days have been incredibly eye-opening and breathtaking. Right now, though, I need some friggin sleep because I am waking up at 8 am to get to an island in the Tiber river for class and then hopping on a bus at night to go to Interlaken, Switzerland to shred some foreign powder.

Speaking of shredding foreigners, I have made some more goals for this semester. Renting bikes and riding in Villa Borghese, attending a futbol game, seeing the Queen cover orchestra band, and visiting a Latin mass at the Vatican, among others. Because that, among other sites such as this ancient royal castle, are my current neighbors:



Jealous much? Also, note how the use of totes is embraced:



Probably the only thing they do that makes their appearances unattractive. Welp, I need to go finish up packing and do some Italian language homework.

Arrivederci!
Cason