Does anyone else find it extremely odd that we don't pronounce all countries' names the way that they are spelled in the native tongue? All I'm saying is it took me an extra ten minutes to buy a train ticket to Vienna because Wien was too reminiscent of weekend for my taste.
Anywho, me and two friends traveled to Budapest this weekend and were not disappointed. Well, let me rephrase that. It started off with disappointment, fear, and slowly melded into relief, stress, and relaxation. First things first- we needed to take the train to the airport straight after class to make it to the airport on time. We were cutting it so close that we decided to forego buying tickets and just sneak on the train. Well, what do you know- the one time out of the past three months that I have utilized the public transportation at least 4 times per day happens to be the one that I don't have a ticket for. About halfway through the trip, the ticket man was nice enough to let us off in the middle of nowhere instead of charging us the 50 Euro fine. We tried calling a taxi, which apparently did come to pick us up, but couldn't find us and hung up when we tried to explain that we were near the tracks. My roommate Claire threw back her head and howled at how fucked we were, which grabbed the attention of a nice old lady waddling to her car nearby. She came over to us and asked if we needed help. We said "Noi abbiamo andare al Fiumicino" (We need to go to Fiumicino airport), and she said "My son. My son pilot. I drive you." After a few sideways glances, we shrugged and accepted the ride. No one wearing pantyhose and orthopedic shoes has been arrested for murder as far as I am concerned, and look, we got a free ride to the airport- right on time. Must remember to pay it forward sometime in the near future- but preferably not in the hitchhiking vein.
So blah, blah, blah, we get there in one piece, have a nice dinner (beef stew) and wake up in the morning for the obligatory free walking tour. Saw the quintessential sights- Parliament, Palace, various monuments and viewing points, and then made our way back to the hostel to prepare for one of my favorite moments of my time in Europe. We went spelunking in 200 million+ year old caves in northern Buda. We're talking rented suits with lighted helmets, safety words and army crawls. It was incredible. I saw shell fossils, I pulled myself up from slippery clay slants and at one point, we were in "the ballroom" a giant area with what appeared to be a rock "stage" with "bleachers", we all turned our helmet lights off and were silent for 15 seconds. There is no such thing as silence in your life until you are 250 m underground, your hands keeping you balanced on smoothed rock, knowing that people are with you but not sensing it because their breath mingles with the dusty air. I loved every minute of it, happily scrambling up the ladder that I had shakily descended three hours before. I really hope there are opportunities to do things like that in America, and if so, that they are reachable for weekend trips from Champaign.
The next day, we went onto the next incredible activity. We hit up the Turkish baths, which are pumped with water from nearby thermal springs. They were like huge outdoor jacuzzis, with one filled with cold water, one with temperate water, and one with hot water. That's the one we favored, and where I kept eyeing 8 old men leaning over a concrete table thingy that held their 3 hour chess game. What a life- soaking in natural mineral water and keeping their minds intact. Can't wait to be a senior citizen. Anywho, we dabbled in the saunas and steam rooms inside, only to build up to our- get this- $15 dollar massage. Although my Hungarian masseuse was a bit rough with the whole sideways hand chopping motion, it felt great on my sore sore muscles from spelunking. Little off-putting though- she rolled down my bikini bottoms a little bit so she could get lotion onto the top of my buttcheeks. What do I know about massages, though? I wasn't about to pull them up and get in an awkward tussle situated over my backside, so I just went with it and hustled out of the room, red-faced, once it was over. Besides, the sounds of her hands slapping my less chiseled places had been reverberating over the unfinished massage cubicles in what turned out to be a very acoustic hallway, so I was not about to find myself running into any Budapester pool boys after that.
The next weird situation occurred at the club we went to that night. I was at the bar, being very innocent and typical, trying to buy a drink, when a woman stops talking to the man next to her to start asking me questions. "Where are you from?" "Uh, me? Uh, Chicago." "Oh, that is so far away, what are you doing HERE?!?" this went on for a while, until she asked me how I liked the night life here and if I, too, thought the boys were, "Ooh, how you say...easy? They are sooo too easy, no?" I shrugged and politely turned back to my friends and my mango rum drink. A minute or two later though, I felt some arms draped around me and the word "horny" being whispered into my ear. I looked at the woman in alarm, who said, "Horny was the word I wanted. Don't you think the men here are just too horny?" she said with a smile, backing up into the man next to her. At this point, it dawned on me that I might in fact be being approached for a threesome. The man moved his hand over hers, and I grabbed my friends' to get closer to the stage where some Killers sound-alike band was jamming away. We left soon after, with no other run-ins to speak of. Still though, I am not sure if I should be flattered or offended that I give off whatever vibe it is that seems to scream, "I would like to participate in group sex with you."
The next day, we hopped on a 3 hour train ride to Vienna for the day, where we enjoyed beautiful architecture, Klimt's eclectic painting style, and the best Weinerschnitzel in Austria, which can be found at Figlmuller. Other than that, though, we have started to become a little bored with churches and museums and decided to head back to Budapest to catch some much needed Z's before our flight home. I must sound like a brat complaining about the opportunities to see all of these ancient relics, but after living in Rome for three months, sometimes a church is a church is a church is a church.
Before signing off, I just wanted to include a paragraph about an incredible night I had here in Rome. Some of the friends we have made here (yes, they are all male) invited us to go to their villa by the beach one night. Of course we jumped at the chance. It was an amazing night- we sat around playing cards and drinking wine, sharing stories and learning about each other's young adult ways of life. We wrapped ourselves in flannel blankets (the smell of the beach caught in the fabric is surprisingly similar to that of the Indiana dunes) and walked to the beach where me and my American friends could see, for once, what seemed like all of the stars in the night sky. That's one of the things I remember from travelling to Italy in middle school- I was so shocked to see that the constellations over my head in Illinois were still right smack over my head in Italy. It helped me get a tiiiiny but of a better perception of how vast our universe is. Anyway, after we had all had our fill, we slept wherever we could make a bed and begrudgingly went back to class the next day.
To me and my friends' surprise, we found that other people in our program were considerably shocked to find that we would do such a thing. To many of them, Italian boys should be immediately written off as perverted rapists, and we are naive skanks for getting so close to them. If I have learned anything during this trip, it is that Europeans are there as a foil for us, to learn from and to reach a level of intimacy that can only be found between two people that come from different cultures altogether. I have had the best and most educational nights when I hang out with my Italian friends. And, as petty as it sounds, I am fairly certain that people in my group are jealous that we have reached out and made a connection to someone outside of our typical social realms. Whereas they seem to have transported their Champaign lifestyles to Rome, we have adapted ours to the hilly, poetic landscape. Our footprints are in sand on a beach they will never see, our lips have kissed the cheeks with more "nice to meet you's" than they will ever utter, and our ears are filled with music playing from car speakers that they will never hear.
That is all I need to know that this trip has been worth it.
-Sarah
Monday, April 12, 2010
Monday, March 29, 2010
Spring Break
Well. Well. Well. I have quite a lot of updating to do, don't I? At first, I was thinking of doing a three part entry: one for Spain, one for my two days alone in Paris, and one for the rest of my time in Versailles and Paris with friends. But you know what? That's a heck of a lot of writing and I have a heck of a lot more on my plate, such as the fact that I withdrew over $300 from my banking account and now have the equivalent of 60 Euro to last me until May 22, the fact that I have done little to no homework for my one difficult class this semester, and the fact that gorgeous weather is now here to stay in Rome.
Madrid was eclectic, to say the least. I went to visit my friend Owen, who is studying there and vastly more fluent than any other students I've met. Thank God for that, too, considering that I accidentally booked my hostel at 11:00 pm, forgetting that it was actually at 23:00. Many scolding fingers and helpless shrugs later, he helped me get settled in. Not for too long, though, because the next day I went with his friends to Valencia to celebrate Las Falles, a celebration that somehow involves St. Joseph but mostly involves the creation of humongous and beautiful statues that...get burned down at midnight. Kind of sad, but mostly awesome for the 8 year old boy in me to witness.
After taking a 6 am bus home, I forced myself to visit both major art museums, where I saw at least ten pieces that I learned about in Art History class senior year. Seeing that and the Palacio Real and the city park was the extent of my sightseeing- the sangria and paella at night usually tuckered me out. Although I sort of wished I went to Barcelona, the "crazier" city of Spain, Madrid had its own share of shock- such as the prostitutes that lined Gran Via, offering to suck my friend's dick while casually leaning against the window of McDonald's. Gives new meaning to the happy meal, doesn't it?
Anywho, then I was off to Paris. From Monday to Tuesday night, I was alone to wander the streets of the city I was most excited to visit. Surprisingly, I want to go into the least detail here. I did everything, basically- the Louvre, Musee d'Orsay, at least ten churches, a day trip to Versailles (and for fifteen Euro, it really wasn't much better than the Palacio Real in Madrid), climbed the Eiffel Tower, ate crepes in the Jardin du Luxembourg, and, by far the best thing I did, was see a Moulin Rouge show. Complete with champagne and a woman swimming with snakes, it was everything I thought it would be. I don't think my smile left my face the whole time, especially when looking at the outfits. They were gorgeous, and so meticulously crafted to outline the boobs. The boobs, by the way, were all extremely well-shaped and perky, not huge and flouncy like I expected. They really choose the most perfectly shaped women they could find- a fact I faced by eating Italian Oreos in my hostel bed later. It's okay though- I befriended the night bus driver on the way home and he let me drive it around a corner. Girls with 10 tits don't have all the fun.
Travelling by myself for a while was a welcome treat. I learned a bit of French in high school, which took me a long way in this place where, upsettingly, I found the people to mostly match the stereotype of being snooty. At one point, after climbing up the steps of Sacre-Coeur and watching a guy do tricks with a soccer ball that Pele couldn't even do, I realized that I have grown a lot this trip. Not only did I get myself from my Madrid hostel to my Paris hostel by myself, but I genuinely enjoyed sharing my dinner with The Fountainhead and resting with the birds outside St. Sulpice. If I've learned anything so far (beyond how to cook risotto and that I should hate the Italian prime minister), it is that I need to take risks, do the things that I know will truly make me happy, and spend time just simply sitting and enjoying.
It's not like I can afford to do much else now anyway.
-Sarah
Madrid was eclectic, to say the least. I went to visit my friend Owen, who is studying there and vastly more fluent than any other students I've met. Thank God for that, too, considering that I accidentally booked my hostel at 11:00 pm, forgetting that it was actually at 23:00. Many scolding fingers and helpless shrugs later, he helped me get settled in. Not for too long, though, because the next day I went with his friends to Valencia to celebrate Las Falles, a celebration that somehow involves St. Joseph but mostly involves the creation of humongous and beautiful statues that...get burned down at midnight. Kind of sad, but mostly awesome for the 8 year old boy in me to witness.
After taking a 6 am bus home, I forced myself to visit both major art museums, where I saw at least ten pieces that I learned about in Art History class senior year. Seeing that and the Palacio Real and the city park was the extent of my sightseeing- the sangria and paella at night usually tuckered me out. Although I sort of wished I went to Barcelona, the "crazier" city of Spain, Madrid had its own share of shock- such as the prostitutes that lined Gran Via, offering to suck my friend's dick while casually leaning against the window of McDonald's. Gives new meaning to the happy meal, doesn't it?
Anywho, then I was off to Paris. From Monday to Tuesday night, I was alone to wander the streets of the city I was most excited to visit. Surprisingly, I want to go into the least detail here. I did everything, basically- the Louvre, Musee d'Orsay, at least ten churches, a day trip to Versailles (and for fifteen Euro, it really wasn't much better than the Palacio Real in Madrid), climbed the Eiffel Tower, ate crepes in the Jardin du Luxembourg, and, by far the best thing I did, was see a Moulin Rouge show. Complete with champagne and a woman swimming with snakes, it was everything I thought it would be. I don't think my smile left my face the whole time, especially when looking at the outfits. They were gorgeous, and so meticulously crafted to outline the boobs. The boobs, by the way, were all extremely well-shaped and perky, not huge and flouncy like I expected. They really choose the most perfectly shaped women they could find- a fact I faced by eating Italian Oreos in my hostel bed later. It's okay though- I befriended the night bus driver on the way home and he let me drive it around a corner. Girls with 10 tits don't have all the fun.
Travelling by myself for a while was a welcome treat. I learned a bit of French in high school, which took me a long way in this place where, upsettingly, I found the people to mostly match the stereotype of being snooty. At one point, after climbing up the steps of Sacre-Coeur and watching a guy do tricks with a soccer ball that Pele couldn't even do, I realized that I have grown a lot this trip. Not only did I get myself from my Madrid hostel to my Paris hostel by myself, but I genuinely enjoyed sharing my dinner with The Fountainhead and resting with the birds outside St. Sulpice. If I've learned anything so far (beyond how to cook risotto and that I should hate the Italian prime minister), it is that I need to take risks, do the things that I know will truly make me happy, and spend time just simply sitting and enjoying.
It's not like I can afford to do much else now anyway.
-Sarah
Monday, March 15, 2010
Rome-ing
It's finally happened. For a few weeks, I had the notion that this semester I would get my fill of Rome, that I would probably never return. This past weekend was a proverbial slap in the face- "This is ROME, Sarah. Cities don't get much more beautiful than this, more ancient, more dysfunctional and surprising. You will never see it all". And I'm listening.
A week ago, some Italian boys that we met invited us over for dinner. They (and not their mama, I asked) made a huge vat of pasta with porchetta (pig meat), slices of horse meat, mozzarella di bufala, eggplant, jugs of wine...it was perfetto. At the beginning of the trip, I never would have done such a thing. Go to an Italian's apartment? That is asking for a reverse-Amanda Knox-murder-trial scenario. However, after drunkenly accepting rides home from discotecas (oops) and establishing a very sturdy text relationship, we decided it would be alright.
And it was. We all ate and laughed around a giant table and I learned more things about the Italian youth than I have in all of my classes combined. They all live with their mothers until they are about thirty because school takes that long- and a school year is measured in tests, not weeks or semesters. If they want to bring a girl home, "if you are at one end of house, and your parents are at other, is okay!" We learned that they don't trouble themselves with politics, mainly because the Prime Minister is a complete and total slimeball.
We taught them how to play beer pong and Connections, and they taught us "Limone", an Italian variant of Zumay Zumay. So fun. One of them is turning 25 this Wednesday, and we've been invited over for the celebration. You can bet your balls that invite was accepted.
This past weekend, I relaxed a little and visited the catacombs of San Sebastian, a network of over 7 miles of 100,000 tombs built because Ancient Roman law prohibited the burial of bodies inside the city walls. Christians hid there when being persecuted, and had to eat, pray, and generally live amongst the dead. Creepy. After that, we strolled along the Appian Way, which was the original road leading to Rome. It was beautiful and filled with dog poop.
After failing miserably at finding a pub with the Illini/Wisconsin game on, we called it a night. The next day, we meandered around Trastevere market, where I almost, but did not quite, buy a ton of crap. Followed by a day of studying on a park bench on the Juniculum hill and playing with some bambinos that creeped up to us, I would say that this was a successful day of Roman living. By far, though, the best experience so far has been that night with the Italian guys. That, as far as I'm concerned, is what studying abroad is all about.
Next up: spring break in Spain and France. Oh Dios Mio!
-Cason
A week ago, some Italian boys that we met invited us over for dinner. They (and not their mama, I asked) made a huge vat of pasta with porchetta (pig meat), slices of horse meat, mozzarella di bufala, eggplant, jugs of wine...it was perfetto. At the beginning of the trip, I never would have done such a thing. Go to an Italian's apartment? That is asking for a reverse-Amanda Knox-murder-trial scenario. However, after drunkenly accepting rides home from discotecas (oops) and establishing a very sturdy text relationship, we decided it would be alright.
And it was. We all ate and laughed around a giant table and I learned more things about the Italian youth than I have in all of my classes combined. They all live with their mothers until they are about thirty because school takes that long- and a school year is measured in tests, not weeks or semesters. If they want to bring a girl home, "if you are at one end of house, and your parents are at other, is okay!" We learned that they don't trouble themselves with politics, mainly because the Prime Minister is a complete and total slimeball.
We taught them how to play beer pong and Connections, and they taught us "Limone", an Italian variant of Zumay Zumay. So fun. One of them is turning 25 this Wednesday, and we've been invited over for the celebration. You can bet your balls that invite was accepted.
This past weekend, I relaxed a little and visited the catacombs of San Sebastian, a network of over 7 miles of 100,000 tombs built because Ancient Roman law prohibited the burial of bodies inside the city walls. Christians hid there when being persecuted, and had to eat, pray, and generally live amongst the dead. Creepy. After that, we strolled along the Appian Way, which was the original road leading to Rome. It was beautiful and filled with dog poop.
After failing miserably at finding a pub with the Illini/Wisconsin game on, we called it a night. The next day, we meandered around Trastevere market, where I almost, but did not quite, buy a ton of crap. Followed by a day of studying on a park bench on the Juniculum hill and playing with some bambinos that creeped up to us, I would say that this was a successful day of Roman living. By far, though, the best experience so far has been that night with the Italian guys. That, as far as I'm concerned, is what studying abroad is all about.
Next up: spring break in Spain and France. Oh Dios Mio!
-Cason
Monday, March 8, 2010
Amsterdamned if You Do, Amsterdamned if You Don't
Assuming my brain is on the mend, I will try and let you all know as explicitly as possible what went down this weekend. Two days was quite enough debauchery and shock for me, and I feel like boarding the plane back to Rome this morning was a definite and solid goodbye to a city that is so magically open-minded and free that I want to relish this trip as an incredible voyage to realms of human pleasure that need to be experienced in relative modesty in order to retain the spectacle for life.
That being said, I feel like shit today. After puking in a potted plant in the Amsterdam airport and sleeping on the ground for about 2 hours total, I was Dam tired. But I am getting ahead of myself. On Friday, we hopped on a night plane to Amsterdam. Upon landing, I was all prepared to tram our way to the hostel, until we met our first Dutch man. He stared at us as we huddled in the kiosk, and started to call us assholes for not accepting the candy he was holding out. After trying to take our picture and laughing maniacally in what I can only assume was the voice of the devil possessing him, he said "fuck you black devils" and walked away. To be cautious, and because we realized we were waiting for the tram going in the wrong direction, we walked a few blocks away to the correct kiosk. What do you know--- the man showed up soon after. He had been following us. Luckily, there was another group of girls in the same waiting area that he decided to bug instead. When they walked away, he followed- our cue to hop in a taxi to our hostel. Wonder if they are alright...
But I'm alive, so it doesn't matter. After dropping our shit off, we wandered around to buy some marijuana brownies so we could have a good night's sleep. Too bad so sad- the coffeeshops where weed is legally sold all close after about 10 pm :( We got entertained in a different way, though- our extremely hairy Indian hostelmate stumbled into the room at about 5 am and ate chips two feet away from my face. Love roughing it.
The next morning, we went on a free walking tour (that's how I see so much on my trips, Aunt Mary!) and saw the beautiful and kooky architecture of Amsterdam. The land taxes you pay are based on the surface area of your house, so many of the buildings are smaller on the bottom and grow up and out, thus causing them to all lean onto each other. Makes for some great pictures. More so than that, however, are the prostitutes beckoning to you from windows at noon. According to our tour guide, the current Dutch government is looking to essentially shut the Red Light District down by 2013. What does that mean for us? Pack in everything we can.
Monument in the ground symbolizing the open-mindedness of Holland...
Therefore, we headed to a nearby coffeeshop to indulge. While one of my friends had a space cake (pot brownie), me and three other girls decided to purchase a pre-rolled joint. Conveniently, coffee shops (and the smart shops, which sell more hallucinogenic drugs and amphetamines), outline each type of drug with the intensity, length of influence, and bodily effect. We chose a spliff with Northern Lights and gaily smoked it in the shop, the other customers rolling their eyes at our excitement. Whatevs. After getting a pretty good high going, we bought tickets to the Van Gogh museum. iPod and journal in hand, I must say I was disappointed by the exhibit. Out of the approximate 200 self-portraits Van Gogh completed in his lifetime due to a lack of funds to get models, the museum had about 3, none of which showcased his insanity. Also, the famous bedroom painting was on loan to another museum. Would have liked to have known that ahead of time before shelling out 14 Euro for the experience, but I am glad I got to see paintings from his flower still-life stage. So beautiful, so decorating my walls when I have money and...well, walls that are not also housing my beer posters.
After eating our weight in tapas, because Italy lacks ethnic food that I have been craving, we went on the Red Light District barcrawl. At night, the district is a completely different place. Obviously, red lights still outline the prostitute's windows, but they reflect off the canals and multiply by 1000. Sex shops light up too-advertising Real Couples! Teen Sex! Animal Show! AHHHHHHHH. Even I couldn't stomach that one, but for 25 Euro, I would lie if I was saying I didn't consider it. Anywho, the bars we went to were actually pretty tame, and with my one friend passed out from the space cake and the other forced to take her home, I was left with a Brit named Adam who actually told me that I have "the cutest accent". Damn English bloke definitely knows how to twist things into his favor. Might have brought him back to the hostel...thank goodness the Indian was gone and he dropped Euro on the floor when he left. Sometimes, bad decisions can be good decisions.
Sober enough, we woke up and went to the Anne Frank house, where we got to see the annex she lived in with 7 other people before being ratted out by a still unknown informant and dying in a concentration camp a month before its liberation. Very poignant- the pictures she pasted on the walls were still intact, as were the markings of she and her sister's height and the bookcase hiding their stairwell. The only survivor of the 8 was her father, who eventually found and read the diary that she had already begun revising in the hopes of publishing her story, The Secret Annex. It was very moving and I highly suggest you visit if ever in the Dam.
To uplift our spirits, we went to the Heineken Experience shortly afterwards to learn a little more about my favorite beverage. I tasted wort, or barley and water (blech) saw the horses, and tried out a "See How Well of a Bartender You Are" game, which I of course passed with flying colors.
Come to Mama
After getting a little buzzed, we decided to do the ultimate. Friends and family- please pass no judgment- we were too cheap to book a hostel, needed some energy, and needed to do something extraordinary while it is still legal. We headed into a smartshop and purchased some herbal...let's say...energy helpers- 8 pills of which that were supposed to give us a body high in 90 minutes from the intial ingestion. After eating some delish Chinese food, we grabbed our backpacks from the hostel, took the first of what we were instructed to be 4 doses of the good stuff, and wandered around the district. Drunkenly the night before, we decided we needed to talk to a whore, which, by the way, is a PC term there. We decided 15 euro was a good price to talk to her for five minutes. Us innocent little Americans just wanted to know a few things, such as does she get tired of sex at the end of the day, what do her parents think, and did she aspire to be a prostitute, or is this job a necessity for surviving? Despite the gawking (and, might I add, almost all male) tourists, we knocked on a few windows, only to find that it is a flat rate of 50 Euro to even enter the room with her. Even when we lowered our standards from blonde, natural, and attractive, to non-transvestite, the rate would not change.
Oh well, at least we gave it a shot. Noticing that the first pill hadn't really affected us, we popped another and made our way to a club. It was alright at first, just a DJ playing some beats and a few people dancing, but we were excited to get our dance on. After checking our backpacks and heading to the stage, we realized that these pills were really doing nothing to make us happy or, in our minds, better dancers. We went to the bathroom and opened the next pack of four pills, only to discover that these were filled with powder, whereas the first pack had pellets inside of the capsules. At this point, we were pretty sure we had been conned, especially because when we were counting the last of our Euro coins in front of the smart shop man, he said "Oh my god, just take the second pack for free". We were determined to stay awake until heading for the airport, so we broke the capsules, licked up the powder (by far the shadiest thing I have ever done, and in a bathroom no less), and went back the dance floor.
What do you know- my legs felt like jelly and I danced a little more. I waited and waited- still no euphoria. Still no feelings of intense comraderie with my fellow drug abusers. Still no onset of disabling horniness. What I did happen to feel was intense fatigue and nausea. After sitting on the stage edge and passing out, the dreadlocked bartender nudged me awake and told me I need to go home. The other girls weren't feeling the best either, so we got our bags and trudged to the airport to pass out on the floor.
What I was hoping to experience, but didn't
Although I vomited, tried a drug I never have (even though it was probably just flour, paprika, and a tiny bit of MDMA), and talked to a prostitute, I still didn't get to trip on shrooms (no time in 2 days for a 4 hour trip). However, I pushed my boundaries and for that I am proud. For now, I need to continue nursing my hangover and think back wistfully to the craziest 2 nights of my existence. That is, if my brain isn't too full of holes, or at least that's what I think ecstasy does to you. You know, if that is what I actually took.
Alive but Dead-
Cason
That being said, I feel like shit today. After puking in a potted plant in the Amsterdam airport and sleeping on the ground for about 2 hours total, I was Dam tired. But I am getting ahead of myself. On Friday, we hopped on a night plane to Amsterdam. Upon landing, I was all prepared to tram our way to the hostel, until we met our first Dutch man. He stared at us as we huddled in the kiosk, and started to call us assholes for not accepting the candy he was holding out. After trying to take our picture and laughing maniacally in what I can only assume was the voice of the devil possessing him, he said "fuck you black devils" and walked away. To be cautious, and because we realized we were waiting for the tram going in the wrong direction, we walked a few blocks away to the correct kiosk. What do you know--- the man showed up soon after. He had been following us. Luckily, there was another group of girls in the same waiting area that he decided to bug instead. When they walked away, he followed- our cue to hop in a taxi to our hostel. Wonder if they are alright...
But I'm alive, so it doesn't matter. After dropping our shit off, we wandered around to buy some marijuana brownies so we could have a good night's sleep. Too bad so sad- the coffeeshops where weed is legally sold all close after about 10 pm :( We got entertained in a different way, though- our extremely hairy Indian hostelmate stumbled into the room at about 5 am and ate chips two feet away from my face. Love roughing it.
The next morning, we went on a free walking tour (that's how I see so much on my trips, Aunt Mary!) and saw the beautiful and kooky architecture of Amsterdam. The land taxes you pay are based on the surface area of your house, so many of the buildings are smaller on the bottom and grow up and out, thus causing them to all lean onto each other. Makes for some great pictures. More so than that, however, are the prostitutes beckoning to you from windows at noon. According to our tour guide, the current Dutch government is looking to essentially shut the Red Light District down by 2013. What does that mean for us? Pack in everything we can.
Monument in the ground symbolizing the open-mindedness of Holland...
Therefore, we headed to a nearby coffeeshop to indulge. While one of my friends had a space cake (pot brownie), me and three other girls decided to purchase a pre-rolled joint. Conveniently, coffee shops (and the smart shops, which sell more hallucinogenic drugs and amphetamines), outline each type of drug with the intensity, length of influence, and bodily effect. We chose a spliff with Northern Lights and gaily smoked it in the shop, the other customers rolling their eyes at our excitement. Whatevs. After getting a pretty good high going, we bought tickets to the Van Gogh museum. iPod and journal in hand, I must say I was disappointed by the exhibit. Out of the approximate 200 self-portraits Van Gogh completed in his lifetime due to a lack of funds to get models, the museum had about 3, none of which showcased his insanity. Also, the famous bedroom painting was on loan to another museum. Would have liked to have known that ahead of time before shelling out 14 Euro for the experience, but I am glad I got to see paintings from his flower still-life stage. So beautiful, so decorating my walls when I have money and...well, walls that are not also housing my beer posters.
After eating our weight in tapas, because Italy lacks ethnic food that I have been craving, we went on the Red Light District barcrawl. At night, the district is a completely different place. Obviously, red lights still outline the prostitute's windows, but they reflect off the canals and multiply by 1000. Sex shops light up too-advertising Real Couples! Teen Sex! Animal Show! AHHHHHHHH. Even I couldn't stomach that one, but for 25 Euro, I would lie if I was saying I didn't consider it. Anywho, the bars we went to were actually pretty tame, and with my one friend passed out from the space cake and the other forced to take her home, I was left with a Brit named Adam who actually told me that I have "the cutest accent". Damn English bloke definitely knows how to twist things into his favor. Might have brought him back to the hostel...thank goodness the Indian was gone and he dropped Euro on the floor when he left. Sometimes, bad decisions can be good decisions.
Sober enough, we woke up and went to the Anne Frank house, where we got to see the annex she lived in with 7 other people before being ratted out by a still unknown informant and dying in a concentration camp a month before its liberation. Very poignant- the pictures she pasted on the walls were still intact, as were the markings of she and her sister's height and the bookcase hiding their stairwell. The only survivor of the 8 was her father, who eventually found and read the diary that she had already begun revising in the hopes of publishing her story, The Secret Annex. It was very moving and I highly suggest you visit if ever in the Dam.
To uplift our spirits, we went to the Heineken Experience shortly afterwards to learn a little more about my favorite beverage. I tasted wort, or barley and water (blech) saw the horses, and tried out a "See How Well of a Bartender You Are" game, which I of course passed with flying colors.
Come to Mama
After getting a little buzzed, we decided to do the ultimate. Friends and family- please pass no judgment- we were too cheap to book a hostel, needed some energy, and needed to do something extraordinary while it is still legal. We headed into a smartshop and purchased some herbal...let's say...energy helpers- 8 pills of which that were supposed to give us a body high in 90 minutes from the intial ingestion. After eating some delish Chinese food, we grabbed our backpacks from the hostel, took the first of what we were instructed to be 4 doses of the good stuff, and wandered around the district. Drunkenly the night before, we decided we needed to talk to a whore, which, by the way, is a PC term there. We decided 15 euro was a good price to talk to her for five minutes. Us innocent little Americans just wanted to know a few things, such as does she get tired of sex at the end of the day, what do her parents think, and did she aspire to be a prostitute, or is this job a necessity for surviving? Despite the gawking (and, might I add, almost all male) tourists, we knocked on a few windows, only to find that it is a flat rate of 50 Euro to even enter the room with her. Even when we lowered our standards from blonde, natural, and attractive, to non-transvestite, the rate would not change.
Oh well, at least we gave it a shot. Noticing that the first pill hadn't really affected us, we popped another and made our way to a club. It was alright at first, just a DJ playing some beats and a few people dancing, but we were excited to get our dance on. After checking our backpacks and heading to the stage, we realized that these pills were really doing nothing to make us happy or, in our minds, better dancers. We went to the bathroom and opened the next pack of four pills, only to discover that these were filled with powder, whereas the first pack had pellets inside of the capsules. At this point, we were pretty sure we had been conned, especially because when we were counting the last of our Euro coins in front of the smart shop man, he said "Oh my god, just take the second pack for free". We were determined to stay awake until heading for the airport, so we broke the capsules, licked up the powder (by far the shadiest thing I have ever done, and in a bathroom no less), and went back the dance floor.
What do you know- my legs felt like jelly and I danced a little more. I waited and waited- still no euphoria. Still no feelings of intense comraderie with my fellow drug abusers. Still no onset of disabling horniness. What I did happen to feel was intense fatigue and nausea. After sitting on the stage edge and passing out, the dreadlocked bartender nudged me awake and told me I need to go home. The other girls weren't feeling the best either, so we got our bags and trudged to the airport to pass out on the floor.
What I was hoping to experience, but didn't
Although I vomited, tried a drug I never have (even though it was probably just flour, paprika, and a tiny bit of MDMA), and talked to a prostitute, I still didn't get to trip on shrooms (no time in 2 days for a 4 hour trip). However, I pushed my boundaries and for that I am proud. For now, I need to continue nursing my hangover and think back wistfully to the craziest 2 nights of my existence. That is, if my brain isn't too full of holes, or at least that's what I think ecstasy does to you. You know, if that is what I actually took.
Alive but Dead-
Cason
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
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
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
Sunday, February 21, 2010
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
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
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
"Walk two blocks that way and then ask someone else. This is Venice, honey."
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