Hello from gay Paree!
Paris is crazy cool. To tell you the absolute truth, I wasn't really that thrilled to go to Paris when we first started working out this whole travel around the world thing. I couldn't tell you why. It was just "meh" in my book. But Lupe really wanted to come here so I figured "what the hell". I would like to officially state that Lupe is, as always, much smarter than me.
Paris is one helluva place. It's a major metropolis like New York with all the history that a place like New York lacks. Unlike Rome, who has so much history crammed into every step you take it's easy to miss it when it's right on top of you, the French got history... and they aren't shy about showing it off.
Yesterday, we walked from the quaint and comfortable Hotel Pavilion Bastille (located across the street from the very modern chrome and glass Bastille Opera House, a short walk to the Metro) to the Louvre (about 30-45 minutes walk away) where we saw all the sights there are to see. The nicest thing about traveling in the "off season" to most of these places we've been to? No lines. No wait. No hassle. The line into the Louvre took us a whole 5 minutes to navigate. The ticket booths are automated so, coat check and pre-exploring bathroom trip aside, getting in to the museum itself took maybe 5 more minutes. We high tailed it to the Mona Lisa as quick as we could, having heard the line can be ridiculous long and that they shuffle you through in 10 second intervals to find, lo and behold: no line, a small, manageable crowd, and all the time in the world to examine that frickin' smile.
It's smaller than you expect it to be. At least, that's what everyone had said to me when telling me of the painting. But, it's really just regular portrait size. The mystery about the painting is a tad overrated since anyone who understands what sort of mastery it takes to produce a work of art that contains within it such dimension that it creates an illusion of depth that produced that smile and those cheekbones (all without the help of photoshop, no less) can tell that Leo pulled out all the stops in creating this masterpiece. It's pretty impressive to see up close. And it requires a close examination. Like Michelangelo's "David", it's nothing like the pictures you've seen and so much more.
We explored the Louvre for as long as our feet could allow, stopping in the room with the Code of the Hammurabi for my own personal edification. That is some slab of rock. When the proverbial 'they' say that something is 'set in stone', they're (knowingly or otherwise) talking about this particular rock. Ever since I was a history student, I have wanted to see that thing. It did not disappoint.
After the Louvre, we walked around some more then went home. So beat. Legs hurt so bad. The cure for this? Why, more walking today of course!
Today was Notre Dame and the Eiffel Tower. Notre Dame was suprisingly small and relatively unimpressive to me. Don't get me wrong, it's still a sight to behold. What's really strange is that the Notre Dame has bravely accepted the future and all the conveniences of technology. Automated offering machines. Coin-op medallion dispensers. All the lighting rigs of a rock concert and the sound system to match. The confessional booths are sound-proof glass rooms where people queue just outside waiting their turn to speak to the priest who sits inside under incandescent fluorescent lights and invites them in for all to see. Talk about 'transparency in the church'. All-in-all, it was definitely a sight to see, disappointment aside. I guess I have just been spoiled with cathedrals since Italy. The duomo in Milan with it's garishly massive Gothic design alone was far more menacing and impressive. But it is Notre Dame... and the bells were ringing while we were there so that was cool.
We made the very long walk along the Seine to the Eiffel Tower and were wiped when we got there. They left a light on for us though... the place went bright the moment we came around the corner to see it in all its glory. That was cool. When the lights flash off and on like a strobe light, the whole city "ooos and ahhs'. They actually turned off the lights for about an hour for Earth Hour to help conservation efforts. Neat.
The lines there were a little excessive and the French are brutal when it comes to ignoring the etiquette of a queue. Worse than Americans at the box office any day. We had also hoped to dine in the restaurant there but the top floor was closed due to stormy weather and we simply didn't plan well enough ahead. That was a bummer. But the sight from the Tower is unlike anything else in the world. Looking down over the city of Paris you can see so many world renowned structures it actually puts Rome to shame. The French are cutting edge when it comes to the importance of their buildings and the history that surrounds them and the sheer space they allow for their growth. Simply breathtaking.
Afterward, we made our way down to a cafe on the corner where the food was so fantastic I could have blown the rest of my cash there. So good. So full now. Teresa got escargot. Like a champ! Apparently they were quite good. I'll take her word for it.
Elvia and Teresa leave us tomorrow: back to Alaska where their lives go back to normal. I know that Elvia really had a great time here. Teresa was really homesick after a few days. She has no idea. Three months is a long time to be away from home. It gets harder and harder every day. It'll be worse now that we've had a taste of home with our family being here for the short time that they were. I'm glad they got to come and experience this though. It was great to live vicariously through their excitement about being somewhere foreign and new.
Elvia, in particular, is fearless. Whereas my wife and I will argue over where to eat for three hours before we finally concede to a place that we both agree looks good enough, Elvia is the food decision queen! Every place she's said, "let's eat here" has been incredible. I guess it can't be that hard to find good food in France. She is also fearless when it comes to meeting people. She will wander up to complete strangers and strike up conversation. Tourists, police in riot gear, street performers, scam artists: she talks to them all, telling them she's from Alaska, giving out postcards from Sitka with her address on it, telling people that if they ever come to Alaska to give her a call and she'll put them up. Like I said... fearless. That, too, is refreshing.
I have yet to experience any of the famed French rudeness first hand. Well... anything rude enough to feel anything less than what you get in America, I guess. There've been a 'tsk' here and a few looks there but, honestly, it's about as bad in rudeness here as it is anywhere in the U.S. Like America, if they don't understand what you are saying, they don't care about you. Kind of like how most America is with anyone who doesn't speak English. Like the Americans, they don't really like foreigners and that's apparent. But it honestly hasn't been anything worse than the kind of rudeness you can get from any American on the street. In most cases, the people have been quite friendly, pretty helpful even if resentfully, and funny funny funny. These folks can take a joke, I'll tell you that much. If they can understand you, that is.
Paris is great. I would still rather go back to Italy if given the choice... but I can see why people like it here so much. Food is amazing, people are pretty, the sights are phenomenal, and the price is not so ridiculous it's unbearable. Sydney still holds as the most expensive place we've been to, in my opinion. Speaking of this: we met a great woman from Atlanta, Georgia who was visiting Paris. She had won a contest from a travel site and was here for a good while, hotel, plane travel, etc: all paid. She told us she had also won a trip to exclusive Australia but couldn't afford the taxes to go there. So they gave her a cash equivalent reward instead. So she bought a house with it. Yeah. We all rubbed her for good luck. Holy crap, what a story she told. Crazy.
It is very late here in Paris and I am totally wiped after the last two days. Time to kick back with some MTV France (where they still play music videos!) and drink some wine.
So sore. So beat. So ready to come home now. A few more days here in Paris then it's off to London. Funny... we started this trip in a place where they still speak English enough for us to get by, went to all these places where they don't speak much English, and now are going to finish up this trip in a place where they speak English again. Weird.
Must go. Photos available on facebook soon.
-d@n
Saturday, March 27, 2010
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Been a while...
I realize that it's been a little while since I last posted about my travels. I'm in Spain right now, having left Madrid and the really nice Hotel Atlantico (located on Gran Via: a trendy shopping district just north of the Plaza Mayor) and arriving in Barcelona yesterday. Our trip in Spain has been much shorter than most of the other places we've been to, therefore, much more hectic. Thus: less bloggy, more sightsee-y.
Madrid was incredible. The first night we arrived, Lupe and I went out carousing at 12:30 am or so, looking for food and drinks. We found food in the form of a pizza stand right on the strip but decided that the nightlife was wayyyyy too hectic on a Friday night to try and do the drink thing. So, instead, we cracked open the bottle of wine we bought on our last day in Rome and made a night of it in our own way.
The hotel room at the Atlantico was on the 8th floor (top floor for rooms with a veranda lounge on the 9th overlooking the city) and it was real nice. The blankets alone made the room fantastic: soft and warm like no others before it. The staff was friendly and the location was unbeatable. The next day, we awoke well rested and made our way through most of the surrounding area, splitting up to wander the streets in search of shopping (for Lupe) and sightseeing (for me). That night, we dined at a really nice restaurant on Calle de Tre Cruces. On our way back to the hotel, we stumbled upon a great local bar off one of the side streets where Lupe and I proceeded to drink Cuba Libres for many hours. Back at the hotel, we finished off the bottle of wine and stayed up far too late than we should have. I finally hit the hay at about 5:30 am. Lupe's mom and sister joined us the next day and we took the Metro to the airport at around 7:00 am or so to meet them. Wheee, still drunk! They wanted to go see the Museum of the Americas to see an exhibit on Alaskan Native American artifacts "aquired" by the Spanish during their "colonization and exploration" of that area. I opted to head back to the hotel and guard the bed. Y'know... just in case.
The next day was spent sightseeing, eating paella at a neat little off-the-path restaurant, and checking out the Plaza Mayor and the Cathedral. Very, very cool. We headed up the street, passing the Teatro Real and making our way through the boulevards to the Gran Via again. We left the day after and arrived in Barcelona.
Sadly, the hotel in Barcelona has been... well... why mince words? The place is a hole. The HCC Regente is dingy: bleach stains on the carpet, cracked wallpaper, base boards cracked along the floor. In Elvia and teresa's room, I found a blood splatter on their closet. Yeah... Pretty shitty. This might actually be the worst place we've stayed in (sorry, Charles :P). Luckily, we are only here for two nights.
We spent the day exploring Barcelona today, cruising the crowded La Rambla and it's plethora of street performers and artists, stopping off at the end of the street to hit the MareMagnum shopping mall. Then I split off and went exploring. I found the Cathedral de Barcelona and had a peek inside at all the frescoes and the Gothic architecture. Then I also stumbled, quite accidentally, across a collection of Salvador Dali museum which was amazing! What a lucky find. Holy crap, that was cool. We have been eating tapas like it's going out of style. So much good food here!
I know that this blog hasn't been the same since I stopped posting photos on here but the process of uploading onto this site takes for. ev. er. So, please, come and check out all the photos fit to print on my facebook page. Not all of them are there but I try to update it when I have the time. Send me a friend request if you need access. I'm an addict to the book of faces, so I check regularly.
We leave for Paris tomorrow. I am both excited for the sheer fact that we are going to Paris and that this next flight will be the last flight I have to take until the flight home. We take the Chunnel from Paris to London then rent a car for the remainder of our trip to explore the UK on our way to Glasgow. Apparently there's been some volcano chaos in Iceland where we're supposed to grab our flight home so... that'll be interesting.
I'm ready to be home. Don't get me wrong: this experience has been of the utmost spectacularness and I don't regret it for a nanosecond. But I'm tired of travel. It'll be a while before I get on a plane again after this is all over, that's for sure. Every time I look at my backpack before I have to pack it up again, I groan. This life is taxing. It's great. It's exciting. It's something everyone should do. It's also time for it to be over. I miss my dog and my neighborhood. I miss my kick ass job and all my kick ass friends.
I have been remiss to you, dearest friends: I promise we will be spending more time together when I get back. Lupe and I have been planning for our lives together when we return and it's exciting to have options again. School really put a cramp on our lives. Saying that is putting it lightly. I gave up all things so she could pursue her goals. I didn't realize how much that meant taking myself away from all of you. And she is looking forward to the freedom to do the same after three long years away from anything in her life that gave her joy. We have been talking about our life together when we get back and it makes us want to come back right now and get it started. I can't wait.
Soon enough, I suppose.
-d@n
Madrid was incredible. The first night we arrived, Lupe and I went out carousing at 12:30 am or so, looking for food and drinks. We found food in the form of a pizza stand right on the strip but decided that the nightlife was wayyyyy too hectic on a Friday night to try and do the drink thing. So, instead, we cracked open the bottle of wine we bought on our last day in Rome and made a night of it in our own way.
The hotel room at the Atlantico was on the 8th floor (top floor for rooms with a veranda lounge on the 9th overlooking the city) and it was real nice. The blankets alone made the room fantastic: soft and warm like no others before it. The staff was friendly and the location was unbeatable. The next day, we awoke well rested and made our way through most of the surrounding area, splitting up to wander the streets in search of shopping (for Lupe) and sightseeing (for me). That night, we dined at a really nice restaurant on Calle de Tre Cruces. On our way back to the hotel, we stumbled upon a great local bar off one of the side streets where Lupe and I proceeded to drink Cuba Libres for many hours. Back at the hotel, we finished off the bottle of wine and stayed up far too late than we should have. I finally hit the hay at about 5:30 am. Lupe's mom and sister joined us the next day and we took the Metro to the airport at around 7:00 am or so to meet them. Wheee, still drunk! They wanted to go see the Museum of the Americas to see an exhibit on Alaskan Native American artifacts "aquired" by the Spanish during their "colonization and exploration" of that area. I opted to head back to the hotel and guard the bed. Y'know... just in case.
The next day was spent sightseeing, eating paella at a neat little off-the-path restaurant, and checking out the Plaza Mayor and the Cathedral. Very, very cool. We headed up the street, passing the Teatro Real and making our way through the boulevards to the Gran Via again. We left the day after and arrived in Barcelona.
Sadly, the hotel in Barcelona has been... well... why mince words? The place is a hole. The HCC Regente is dingy: bleach stains on the carpet, cracked wallpaper, base boards cracked along the floor. In Elvia and teresa's room, I found a blood splatter on their closet. Yeah... Pretty shitty. This might actually be the worst place we've stayed in (sorry, Charles :P). Luckily, we are only here for two nights.
We spent the day exploring Barcelona today, cruising the crowded La Rambla and it's plethora of street performers and artists, stopping off at the end of the street to hit the MareMagnum shopping mall. Then I split off and went exploring. I found the Cathedral de Barcelona and had a peek inside at all the frescoes and the Gothic architecture. Then I also stumbled, quite accidentally, across a collection of Salvador Dali museum which was amazing! What a lucky find. Holy crap, that was cool. We have been eating tapas like it's going out of style. So much good food here!
I know that this blog hasn't been the same since I stopped posting photos on here but the process of uploading onto this site takes for. ev. er. So, please, come and check out all the photos fit to print on my facebook page. Not all of them are there but I try to update it when I have the time. Send me a friend request if you need access. I'm an addict to the book of faces, so I check regularly.
We leave for Paris tomorrow. I am both excited for the sheer fact that we are going to Paris and that this next flight will be the last flight I have to take until the flight home. We take the Chunnel from Paris to London then rent a car for the remainder of our trip to explore the UK on our way to Glasgow. Apparently there's been some volcano chaos in Iceland where we're supposed to grab our flight home so... that'll be interesting.
I'm ready to be home. Don't get me wrong: this experience has been of the utmost spectacularness and I don't regret it for a nanosecond. But I'm tired of travel. It'll be a while before I get on a plane again after this is all over, that's for sure. Every time I look at my backpack before I have to pack it up again, I groan. This life is taxing. It's great. It's exciting. It's something everyone should do. It's also time for it to be over. I miss my dog and my neighborhood. I miss my kick ass job and all my kick ass friends.
I have been remiss to you, dearest friends: I promise we will be spending more time together when I get back. Lupe and I have been planning for our lives together when we return and it's exciting to have options again. School really put a cramp on our lives. Saying that is putting it lightly. I gave up all things so she could pursue her goals. I didn't realize how much that meant taking myself away from all of you. And she is looking forward to the freedom to do the same after three long years away from anything in her life that gave her joy. We have been talking about our life together when we get back and it makes us want to come back right now and get it started. I can't wait.
Soon enough, I suppose.
-d@n
Friday, March 19, 2010
Some thoughts on Italy
Italy was very kind to us.
When I used to talk to people who had gone to Italy, I used to get overcome with curiosity as their eyes glazed over with fond nostalgia, their breaths deepened, and yet were still unable to put words to feeling when I asked them what it was like. I understand that now. Italy is... well, there are just no words to describe it. But, that would make for a pretty pointless blog if I left it at that so... here's the best I can do.
Italy is different. And yet, Italy is very much like the stereotypes that cross your mind when you think about Italy. It is a romantic country: from the misty back alley that opens to a small cafe off the beaten path in Venice to the overflowing cobblestone streets of the metropolis' of Milan to the college town feel of Florence where the party goes all night. It's a place that is used to travelers from all over the world: representatives from Japan, the UK, Spain, both Americas, Canada, Israel, and Germany can be found everywhere, all with their camcorders and their cameras and that same amazed look in their eyes.
In particular: it is impossible not to be a tourist in Rome. Every step taken is one underneath or across or within camera focus of an archeological discovery. In our last days in Rome, we crammed every second with the Pantheon, the Sistine Chapel, the Musei Vaticani, St. Peter's Basilica and the Square, the Fontina di Trevi, the Piazza Navona, the back alley churches, and too many randomly stumbled upon sights to name. There's stuff everywhere. Half the time, you don't even realize you're standing right next to it until you look up. The streets are crammed with vacationers, students, class trips, and lovers of all ages. The shopping is insane and the food is fantastic everywhere you go. No one could ever go hungry in Rome as long as they have a few euro in their pockets.
Italy is a place with people who are infused in a sense of self-importance. It's not that they're pretentious (far from it). It's just that they are blatant in their opinion, fiercely haughty, and unafraid to simply be who they are. Women will walk by other women and flat out stop in their tracks to check out the passing person's shoes with a critical eye. Men check out women like each is a trained beauty contest judge. Wine isn't just something to drink with dinner, it's a part of life. (An Italian friend we made was floored at the U.S. attitude towards drinking alcohol. When we told him that the drinking age was 21 in the States and that all alcohol consumption was illegal to those under the legal age, he baffled, "What? Not even wine? That's absurd!") Food is an event that last all night. The Italian culture is rich and beautiful and, although I am not the first person to ever use those words to describe it, this is something that is uniquely theirs. They are graciously kind and patient with foreigners (at least that was my experience). They also drive like they mean it. No kidding.
We left Rome this morning and I already miss it more than I've missed anywhere else we've traveled to on this trip. Lupe and I were both wondering if this means we've peaked. We flew to Madrid, Spain today and, although we haven't experienced much of it, it seems like a pretty cool place. I want to give it a chance, I really do. I know this city is full of life and culture and experiences yet to be had.
Still...
Italy was the best place I've been to so far. This is not an exaggeration. This is not just a fanciful gush. This is me, falling in love with a place so much I actually consider how I can get back there as soon as possible at least once a day. We've been to Venice, Milan, Florence, and finally Rome. It wasn't enough. It wasn't even a fraction of what this country has to offer. We were lucky to give up many conveniences and live like a local for much of this portion of this trip, shopping at the grocery, buying meats and cheeses from the deli, grabbing a slice of pizza at the snack bar. Choosing which bottle of wine we wanted to drink that night over soup. It was great to really get some on me. I think it stuck. I can't wait to go back there.
We are in the Hotel Atlantico in Madrid right now. It's a pretty great hotel. We are on the top floor, overlooking the trendy Gran Via, the major shopping center of Madrid. The view is something else. Speaking of which, the girls here as just as beautiful as the ones in Italy and more varied in color (which is surprising to realize when it hits you that you haven't seen more than a handful of black people in almost two months) but not nearly as stylish. As far as fashion goes? Italy wins hands down. (Australia comes in a close second. Way to go, Aussies! :) )
Lupe's mom and sister are coming to meet us tomorrow and we are both very excited to see familiar faces. It's hard to remember what it's like to know anybody else except for each other any more. We were lucky to have met a man named Lior who was our guide in Florence. I'll tell you more about him later, if I can remember. Other than him, it's just been me and Lupe in a hotel room together for 3 months now. And, while being with each other was hard thing to adjust to at first (considering for the last three years we only saw each other in between class projects), I have Italy to thank for rekindling the romance in my relationship. We are happy and ready to come home now. Just a few more weeks left to go.
See you soon.
-d@n
When I used to talk to people who had gone to Italy, I used to get overcome with curiosity as their eyes glazed over with fond nostalgia, their breaths deepened, and yet were still unable to put words to feeling when I asked them what it was like. I understand that now. Italy is... well, there are just no words to describe it. But, that would make for a pretty pointless blog if I left it at that so... here's the best I can do.
Italy is different. And yet, Italy is very much like the stereotypes that cross your mind when you think about Italy. It is a romantic country: from the misty back alley that opens to a small cafe off the beaten path in Venice to the overflowing cobblestone streets of the metropolis' of Milan to the college town feel of Florence where the party goes all night. It's a place that is used to travelers from all over the world: representatives from Japan, the UK, Spain, both Americas, Canada, Israel, and Germany can be found everywhere, all with their camcorders and their cameras and that same amazed look in their eyes.
In particular: it is impossible not to be a tourist in Rome. Every step taken is one underneath or across or within camera focus of an archeological discovery. In our last days in Rome, we crammed every second with the Pantheon, the Sistine Chapel, the Musei Vaticani, St. Peter's Basilica and the Square, the Fontina di Trevi, the Piazza Navona, the back alley churches, and too many randomly stumbled upon sights to name. There's stuff everywhere. Half the time, you don't even realize you're standing right next to it until you look up. The streets are crammed with vacationers, students, class trips, and lovers of all ages. The shopping is insane and the food is fantastic everywhere you go. No one could ever go hungry in Rome as long as they have a few euro in their pockets.
Italy is a place with people who are infused in a sense of self-importance. It's not that they're pretentious (far from it). It's just that they are blatant in their opinion, fiercely haughty, and unafraid to simply be who they are. Women will walk by other women and flat out stop in their tracks to check out the passing person's shoes with a critical eye. Men check out women like each is a trained beauty contest judge. Wine isn't just something to drink with dinner, it's a part of life. (An Italian friend we made was floored at the U.S. attitude towards drinking alcohol. When we told him that the drinking age was 21 in the States and that all alcohol consumption was illegal to those under the legal age, he baffled, "What? Not even wine? That's absurd!") Food is an event that last all night. The Italian culture is rich and beautiful and, although I am not the first person to ever use those words to describe it, this is something that is uniquely theirs. They are graciously kind and patient with foreigners (at least that was my experience). They also drive like they mean it. No kidding.
We left Rome this morning and I already miss it more than I've missed anywhere else we've traveled to on this trip. Lupe and I were both wondering if this means we've peaked. We flew to Madrid, Spain today and, although we haven't experienced much of it, it seems like a pretty cool place. I want to give it a chance, I really do. I know this city is full of life and culture and experiences yet to be had.
Still...
Italy was the best place I've been to so far. This is not an exaggeration. This is not just a fanciful gush. This is me, falling in love with a place so much I actually consider how I can get back there as soon as possible at least once a day. We've been to Venice, Milan, Florence, and finally Rome. It wasn't enough. It wasn't even a fraction of what this country has to offer. We were lucky to give up many conveniences and live like a local for much of this portion of this trip, shopping at the grocery, buying meats and cheeses from the deli, grabbing a slice of pizza at the snack bar. Choosing which bottle of wine we wanted to drink that night over soup. It was great to really get some on me. I think it stuck. I can't wait to go back there.
We are in the Hotel Atlantico in Madrid right now. It's a pretty great hotel. We are on the top floor, overlooking the trendy Gran Via, the major shopping center of Madrid. The view is something else. Speaking of which, the girls here as just as beautiful as the ones in Italy and more varied in color (which is surprising to realize when it hits you that you haven't seen more than a handful of black people in almost two months) but not nearly as stylish. As far as fashion goes? Italy wins hands down. (Australia comes in a close second. Way to go, Aussies! :) )
Lupe's mom and sister are coming to meet us tomorrow and we are both very excited to see familiar faces. It's hard to remember what it's like to know anybody else except for each other any more. We were lucky to have met a man named Lior who was our guide in Florence. I'll tell you more about him later, if I can remember. Other than him, it's just been me and Lupe in a hotel room together for 3 months now. And, while being with each other was hard thing to adjust to at first (considering for the last three years we only saw each other in between class projects), I have Italy to thank for rekindling the romance in my relationship. We are happy and ready to come home now. Just a few more weeks left to go.
See you soon.
-d@n
Sunday, March 14, 2010
It wasn't built in a day, I can tell you that much.
As for the last time I blogged, it should ease your very worried mind that all things worked out in the end. The hotel relocated us to a room around the other side of the building, away from the construction and the loud old lady across the hall. The room we have now is larger than the last and at the end of the hall, away from the rest of the rooms. So, hooray for complaining to the hotel staff!
We spent a few days lounging around, to tell the truth. Rome is a big city with a lot to see and we have a very long time here so we thought we'd skip the immediate rush into the city to see what it's all about. Yesterday we finally did some wandering. And what to our wandering eyes should appear? Oh, just the Colosseum sittin' there at the end of the road. Yeah. Kinda breathtaking.
We also took in one of those attractions where the seats move all around while you watch stuff on the screen. You know the kind. This one was called "The Time Elevator" which neither went up or down through time but did sort of jostled around while bad actors read bad lines and we attempted to learn stuff. Lupe and I try to take in these rides as much as possible, having been on the one in OMSI a ton of times. But this time, Lupe got a little motion sick and so it was a hard one to bear through. To tell the truth, it was kinda the suck. And not in that kitchy way where it's kinda cool by sucking. And if you can't find childhood joy at cheesy motion rides then they're doing it wrong. After it was over, we got some waters in front of the Victor Emmanuel Memorial and caught our breath. It was from there we saw old Rome and the Colosseum beckoning us.
There is so much history represented on the streets of Rome. But it is also a major modern metropolis. So what happens is a strange combination of the old and the new; of the ancient and the present. Next to ruins of columns and ancient brickwork sits a Starbucks. Scaffolding hides structures under renovation which have stood for 2000 years. Unlike the majority of Italy I've seen, Rome doesn't suffer from the graffiti that plagues most of the European world. But there are a lot of police everywhere you go. So, yeah.
Last night, after seeing downtown Rome, we ate dinner at a small restaurant called "La Lampada" and had a nice bottle of white wine to go with it. Gnocci in a gorgonzola cream sauce for me and an insalata mista and minestrone for the wife. Wonderful atmosphere and friendly staff. Apple pie and tiramisu for dessert.
We made our way back to the hotel and decided to get a drink at the bar downstairs where we met a lovely couple of people: two east Germans (well, just "Germans" sans direction now... but you get the idea), a Scot, and a Brit. The Scot, Aiden, is a flight crew member for British Airways on vacation with his friend Bea (the Brit) for a few days here in Rome for the hell of it. We've met a few Brits down in Rome for the weekend. It's a strange feeling to know that the European world is so much smaller than all the space we have in the States. We had a wonderful time comparing notes on politics, health care, Doctor Who, and the Brit's uncanny ability to queue like pros over one too many drinks. They were quite lovely. We agreed to meet up for breakfast and a visit to the Vatican for Sunday Mass to see the Pope the next morning but the last Cosmopolitan of the night completely did us in. So, when we finally crawled out of bed at 1 pm or so, we were in no shape to see anyone. Turns out Bea and Aiden did make it out to the Vatican that day and got a wave from the Pope from his Pope-mobile by pure happenstance of location. Jealous.
For our hangover, I did the most touristy thing I could think of and took us to the Hard Rock Cafe where we watched music videos and ate greasy American food to our hearts' content. I did not realize just how much I had missed nachos and burgers. Yum. I even got myself a t-shirt. Yes, I'm that kind of sucker. Worth it in every way.
Tomorrow we hit Vatican City and some chapel that some Italian painter painted once a long, long time ago. Should be neat. I've posted some new photos on facebook from Florence and Milan. I'm working on the pictures from today's Rome excursion but uploading is taking forever. I'll have them soon. Thanks for your patience.
Talk soon. Sleep now.
-d@n
We spent a few days lounging around, to tell the truth. Rome is a big city with a lot to see and we have a very long time here so we thought we'd skip the immediate rush into the city to see what it's all about. Yesterday we finally did some wandering. And what to our wandering eyes should appear? Oh, just the Colosseum sittin' there at the end of the road. Yeah. Kinda breathtaking.
We also took in one of those attractions where the seats move all around while you watch stuff on the screen. You know the kind. This one was called "The Time Elevator" which neither went up or down through time but did sort of jostled around while bad actors read bad lines and we attempted to learn stuff. Lupe and I try to take in these rides as much as possible, having been on the one in OMSI a ton of times. But this time, Lupe got a little motion sick and so it was a hard one to bear through. To tell the truth, it was kinda the suck. And not in that kitchy way where it's kinda cool by sucking. And if you can't find childhood joy at cheesy motion rides then they're doing it wrong. After it was over, we got some waters in front of the Victor Emmanuel Memorial and caught our breath. It was from there we saw old Rome and the Colosseum beckoning us.
There is so much history represented on the streets of Rome. But it is also a major modern metropolis. So what happens is a strange combination of the old and the new; of the ancient and the present. Next to ruins of columns and ancient brickwork sits a Starbucks. Scaffolding hides structures under renovation which have stood for 2000 years. Unlike the majority of Italy I've seen, Rome doesn't suffer from the graffiti that plagues most of the European world. But there are a lot of police everywhere you go. So, yeah.
Last night, after seeing downtown Rome, we ate dinner at a small restaurant called "La Lampada" and had a nice bottle of white wine to go with it. Gnocci in a gorgonzola cream sauce for me and an insalata mista and minestrone for the wife. Wonderful atmosphere and friendly staff. Apple pie and tiramisu for dessert.
We made our way back to the hotel and decided to get a drink at the bar downstairs where we met a lovely couple of people: two east Germans (well, just "Germans" sans direction now... but you get the idea), a Scot, and a Brit. The Scot, Aiden, is a flight crew member for British Airways on vacation with his friend Bea (the Brit) for a few days here in Rome for the hell of it. We've met a few Brits down in Rome for the weekend. It's a strange feeling to know that the European world is so much smaller than all the space we have in the States. We had a wonderful time comparing notes on politics, health care, Doctor Who, and the Brit's uncanny ability to queue like pros over one too many drinks. They were quite lovely. We agreed to meet up for breakfast and a visit to the Vatican for Sunday Mass to see the Pope the next morning but the last Cosmopolitan of the night completely did us in. So, when we finally crawled out of bed at 1 pm or so, we were in no shape to see anyone. Turns out Bea and Aiden did make it out to the Vatican that day and got a wave from the Pope from his Pope-mobile by pure happenstance of location. Jealous.
For our hangover, I did the most touristy thing I could think of and took us to the Hard Rock Cafe where we watched music videos and ate greasy American food to our hearts' content. I did not realize just how much I had missed nachos and burgers. Yum. I even got myself a t-shirt. Yes, I'm that kind of sucker. Worth it in every way.
Tomorrow we hit Vatican City and some chapel that some Italian painter painted once a long, long time ago. Should be neat. I've posted some new photos on facebook from Florence and Milan. I'm working on the pictures from today's Rome excursion but uploading is taking forever. I'll have them soon. Thanks for your patience.
Talk soon. Sleep now.
-d@n
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Rude Awakening
We are staying in a 4 star hotel called "The Hotel Oxford". We arrived yesterday during a heavy rainfall which was uncharacteristic for the week, considering it was 18 C degrees and sunny the day before. We were happy for the cozy room with its hardwood floors and its firm yet comfortable bed. Like most European hotels we've frequented on this trip, the room itself is relatively small, its bathroom even smaller.
We had been spoiled in Florence at the J & J Historic House: a spacious room that stretched out into a space similar to the living room in my last apartment but, y'know... with a bed in it. The room was warm, low lit, and a general joy to stay in. The service was staffed with what seemed to be one house boy and a few front desk men and very little else. Lupe and I, weary of travel and seeing things, gave our last two days there over to the contentment of sitting on the bed and watching movies on the one English speaking movie channel in existence. It was grand.
Lupe and I have rediscovered our common love of movies in the last few days. While she was in school, we never really had the time nor inclination to go and see movies at the theater let alone the time allotted for us to watch movies in the comfort of our own home. With her overly hectic schedule, taking two hours to slow her pace down enough to sit through even the shortest of films was just not happening. We watched a lot of episodic television because a) it was episodic and b) it was at least something. During these last three years I had somehow mistaken her inability to watch movies as an unwillingness to do so. As a film kinda guy, I actually thought this sucked quite a lot. But, as it so turns out, she never stopped wanting to watch movies with me, she just couldn't. There are many things she is rediscovering for herself now that the ominous oppression of education is finally at an end.
So we wanted to watch movies again. We decided that since we have so long a stay in Rome (10 days!), we would spend the first two continuing our habit of trying to reestablish a sense of normalcy in our lives by foregoing the usual touristy sightseeing and stay up late watching movies. The special offer here at the Hotel Oxford is 12 euro for 24 unlimited access to all the movies, internet, and programs you can muster, mister. Since single movies cost 7 euro a piece, we figured, "Here's a chance to make some of our money back, baby!" We plugged in and vegged out.
The first night, we designated "bad movie" night. Appropriate, sadly, considering we found out that Corey Haim had died of an overdose at the age of 38 later that evening. G.I. Joe, Transformers 2, and X-men Origins: Wolverine.
Dan's Quick Capsule Review:
- G.I. Joe was very bad but was, at least, consistent in its awfulness. It was very C-list, but almost with a sort of Corman-esque flair to it.
- Transformers 2 was god awful. I will dare to say it: it was actually worse than G.I. Joe. A 2 and a half hour testosterone-fueled masturbation fest by Michael Bay. Words cannot describe how fucking god awful this movie was.
- Wolverine was actually a lot better than I had been told. If I knew nothing about the character or the story of Weapon X, I would find this movie pretty fun to watch. I think that most people who didn't like it were mainly upset because their fanboy crush on Deadpool was sorely misrepresented. But still, as far as a movie about mutant killing machines goes, I actually quite liked it. Not a great movie, not horrible. But fun. And cohesive. Which is more than I can say about Transformers 2. Did I mention that movie was a total piece of shite? It was, it was.
Now, you may be asking yourself, "What the heck is this guy who is on this amazing world trip, staying in Rome, ancient capitol of the world, doing watching movies and blogging about them rather than blogging about all the cool shit he should be seeing right now instead?"
Well, Dear Reader... the point of all this was that, like we do, we stayed up wayyyyyyy too late that first night. 4 am or so. It was great. We figured we'd sleep in, catch another full day of movies after we hit the supermarket for some groceries, and call it good. At 9 am, the construction in the condominium above our room began in earnest. A good solid two hours of intense hammering and metal sawing. Then our neighbors across the hall decided it would be best to air their grievances with each other in the hallway right in front of our door in loud, biting, rapid fire Italian at the top of their lungs. It was like a convention was going on right outside our door. I finally yelled out for them to stop and they got a little quieter... but not by much. By this time, we were awake and decided to get out and get groceries. When we returned, it was more of the same until it finally tapered off sometime around 7 pm or so. It was brutal but we figured, "Hey, that's life, right?" Wrong.
So we spent the night watching more movies. Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince (totally pointless movie unless you are a big enough geek that you want to see if the movie really does follow the books faithfully... in which case you really need to get a life), I Love You Beth Cooper (Chris Colombus is no John Hughes), 500 Days of Summer (a brilliant film if for nothing but the intro alone. Amazing), and Julie and Julia (again. Yeah, that makes it twice now).
Again, a long night that we capped off by talking in the dark together for at least another hour afterward. 5 am? Sure, why not.
This morning, I awoke to the sound of heavy drilling. Like the sound metal slugs make as they grind their way into concrete, slow and pulsating. They teased me our of sleep at first: short bursts of trepidatious drilling followed by loooooong, heavy, muscle laden attempts to drill that fucker home. Palin and McCain would've been proud. Then the neighbor starts up again with her daughter. I furiously get ready, slam open my door, barrel past the feuding neighbors who are, in fact, RIGHT in front of my door when I open it, and go downstairs to find out what the fuck is going on. Turns out, there's nothing the hotel can do. They offer to move us. I say yes, dear god, yes. They tell me to go upstairs, wake my slumbering wife (who can sleep through a nuclear bomb detonation), and pack all my shit up. I do just that. Then they tell me it will be another hour before the room is ready. So glad I woke my wife up for the packing then. So glad. Yay!
They just knocked at the door to see if we're ready to go. So, here I am... getting ready to go.
The room is prepaid, so leaving isn't really an option. Here's hoping the other room is at least a little bit quieter since it won't be, y'know... right underneath the construction or across the hall from loud Italian lady and her arguing family. Crossing my fingers but not counting on anything. this is the first experience I have ever had of this kind. I hope to God it is my very fucking last.
2 days down. 8 to go. Hooray Rome.
-d@n
We had been spoiled in Florence at the J & J Historic House: a spacious room that stretched out into a space similar to the living room in my last apartment but, y'know... with a bed in it. The room was warm, low lit, and a general joy to stay in. The service was staffed with what seemed to be one house boy and a few front desk men and very little else. Lupe and I, weary of travel and seeing things, gave our last two days there over to the contentment of sitting on the bed and watching movies on the one English speaking movie channel in existence. It was grand.
Lupe and I have rediscovered our common love of movies in the last few days. While she was in school, we never really had the time nor inclination to go and see movies at the theater let alone the time allotted for us to watch movies in the comfort of our own home. With her overly hectic schedule, taking two hours to slow her pace down enough to sit through even the shortest of films was just not happening. We watched a lot of episodic television because a) it was episodic and b) it was at least something. During these last three years I had somehow mistaken her inability to watch movies as an unwillingness to do so. As a film kinda guy, I actually thought this sucked quite a lot. But, as it so turns out, she never stopped wanting to watch movies with me, she just couldn't. There are many things she is rediscovering for herself now that the ominous oppression of education is finally at an end.
So we wanted to watch movies again. We decided that since we have so long a stay in Rome (10 days!), we would spend the first two continuing our habit of trying to reestablish a sense of normalcy in our lives by foregoing the usual touristy sightseeing and stay up late watching movies. The special offer here at the Hotel Oxford is 12 euro for 24 unlimited access to all the movies, internet, and programs you can muster, mister. Since single movies cost 7 euro a piece, we figured, "Here's a chance to make some of our money back, baby!" We plugged in and vegged out.
The first night, we designated "bad movie" night. Appropriate, sadly, considering we found out that Corey Haim had died of an overdose at the age of 38 later that evening. G.I. Joe, Transformers 2, and X-men Origins: Wolverine.
Dan's Quick Capsule Review:
- G.I. Joe was very bad but was, at least, consistent in its awfulness. It was very C-list, but almost with a sort of Corman-esque flair to it.
- Transformers 2 was god awful. I will dare to say it: it was actually worse than G.I. Joe. A 2 and a half hour testosterone-fueled masturbation fest by Michael Bay. Words cannot describe how fucking god awful this movie was.
- Wolverine was actually a lot better than I had been told. If I knew nothing about the character or the story of Weapon X, I would find this movie pretty fun to watch. I think that most people who didn't like it were mainly upset because their fanboy crush on Deadpool was sorely misrepresented. But still, as far as a movie about mutant killing machines goes, I actually quite liked it. Not a great movie, not horrible. But fun. And cohesive. Which is more than I can say about Transformers 2. Did I mention that movie was a total piece of shite? It was, it was.
Now, you may be asking yourself, "What the heck is this guy who is on this amazing world trip, staying in Rome, ancient capitol of the world, doing watching movies and blogging about them rather than blogging about all the cool shit he should be seeing right now instead?"
Well, Dear Reader... the point of all this was that, like we do, we stayed up wayyyyyyy too late that first night. 4 am or so. It was great. We figured we'd sleep in, catch another full day of movies after we hit the supermarket for some groceries, and call it good. At 9 am, the construction in the condominium above our room began in earnest. A good solid two hours of intense hammering and metal sawing. Then our neighbors across the hall decided it would be best to air their grievances with each other in the hallway right in front of our door in loud, biting, rapid fire Italian at the top of their lungs. It was like a convention was going on right outside our door. I finally yelled out for them to stop and they got a little quieter... but not by much. By this time, we were awake and decided to get out and get groceries. When we returned, it was more of the same until it finally tapered off sometime around 7 pm or so. It was brutal but we figured, "Hey, that's life, right?" Wrong.
So we spent the night watching more movies. Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince (totally pointless movie unless you are a big enough geek that you want to see if the movie really does follow the books faithfully... in which case you really need to get a life), I Love You Beth Cooper (Chris Colombus is no John Hughes), 500 Days of Summer (a brilliant film if for nothing but the intro alone. Amazing), and Julie and Julia (again. Yeah, that makes it twice now).
Again, a long night that we capped off by talking in the dark together for at least another hour afterward. 5 am? Sure, why not.
This morning, I awoke to the sound of heavy drilling. Like the sound metal slugs make as they grind their way into concrete, slow and pulsating. They teased me our of sleep at first: short bursts of trepidatious drilling followed by loooooong, heavy, muscle laden attempts to drill that fucker home. Palin and McCain would've been proud. Then the neighbor starts up again with her daughter. I furiously get ready, slam open my door, barrel past the feuding neighbors who are, in fact, RIGHT in front of my door when I open it, and go downstairs to find out what the fuck is going on. Turns out, there's nothing the hotel can do. They offer to move us. I say yes, dear god, yes. They tell me to go upstairs, wake my slumbering wife (who can sleep through a nuclear bomb detonation), and pack all my shit up. I do just that. Then they tell me it will be another hour before the room is ready. So glad I woke my wife up for the packing then. So glad. Yay!
They just knocked at the door to see if we're ready to go. So, here I am... getting ready to go.
The room is prepaid, so leaving isn't really an option. Here's hoping the other room is at least a little bit quieter since it won't be, y'know... right underneath the construction or across the hall from loud Italian lady and her arguing family. Crossing my fingers but not counting on anything. this is the first experience I have ever had of this kind. I hope to God it is my very fucking last.
2 days down. 8 to go. Hooray Rome.
-d@n
Monday, March 8, 2010
Leaving Florence
I don't know how much time I have since my computer is about to die so, I'll try and make this quick.
I dream in Italian. I wake up and it feels like it's just another cold day at home. I think, "I'll wake up Lupe and we'll go get some breakfast at Jam and then maybe hit the comic store" before I realize that those place are thousands of miles away from here. Is it just because I'm homesick that this happens? Maybe it's the fact that there are enough Americans here in Florence that it's easy to get confused. Or is it because, deep down, I'm feeling more at home than ever?
That last one scares me a little.
I have such great friends at home who are just as excited to see me return as I am to see them when I get back. I have a job that kinda kicks ass and a willingness to see what sort of future awaits me now that my wife is no longer burdened with school. Heck, I might even go back for myself. I don't want to give those things up.
But Italy is...
Well, Italy is not home. It lacks the frustrations that come with being in a country whose head is so far up its own ass it can't see a war it's been in for almost 10 years now. It didn't blink when that war went from one enemy to another without so much as a sigh. It refuses to teach its young or venerate its old. It continues to believe that it is the most important thing in the room. It suffers from the "disease" of obesity yet can't feed the homeless. And still, despite all evidence to the contrary, it believes itself better than everyone else.
Oh, I know... Italy isn't perfect. It, like the whole world, has its fair share of problems and social injustices and poverty and imperfections. I am not naive enough to believe otherwise. And I'm not saying I want to be here more than I want to be home because, dammit, I miss Jam breakfast more than anything right now. But, things don't look so hot from where I'm sitting. If nothing else, we could be doing so much more than we are now. Then again, the only interaction I have with the outside world is through the internets: a place that remains a constant black hole of intelligence and morality. So maybe my judgment isn't the most rationally objective.
(p.s., Arguing on facebook is for lame-os. Do yourself a favor and stop feeding the trolls. Just sayin'.)
I do know this: Italy has been wonderful so far. In my mind, I'm already trying to figure out a way to get back here as soon as possible. Already, I'm wondering if I can take "Italian" for my '2 years of foreign language requirement' at school. Already, I'm deciding out of those same previously aforementioned friends which ones I want to bring over here to visit (psst! Don't worry... you are definitely in the running).
We leave Florence tomorrow to train it to Rome where I am going to have a heart attack at all the sites we want to see. I have already had a taste with Michelangelo's "David" and such amazing paintings as "The Birth of Venus" and the "Primavera". Those are experiences that no book or picture can prepare you for and that my meager words cannot, no matter how hard I try, describe. There comes a point when art transcends words. Seeing the works of masters such as I have seen is beyond verbosity.
I must be on my way. I still have to pack. March will go quicker than I imagine and April is quickly approaching as well. Soon, Portland will be on the horizon and friends long since seen will be embraced once more. And god damn if I won't get that Jam breakfast the first thing when I get back to Southeast Hawthorne and 22nd.
Ciao!
-d@n
I dream in Italian. I wake up and it feels like it's just another cold day at home. I think, "I'll wake up Lupe and we'll go get some breakfast at Jam and then maybe hit the comic store" before I realize that those place are thousands of miles away from here. Is it just because I'm homesick that this happens? Maybe it's the fact that there are enough Americans here in Florence that it's easy to get confused. Or is it because, deep down, I'm feeling more at home than ever?
That last one scares me a little.
I have such great friends at home who are just as excited to see me return as I am to see them when I get back. I have a job that kinda kicks ass and a willingness to see what sort of future awaits me now that my wife is no longer burdened with school. Heck, I might even go back for myself. I don't want to give those things up.
But Italy is...
Well, Italy is not home. It lacks the frustrations that come with being in a country whose head is so far up its own ass it can't see a war it's been in for almost 10 years now. It didn't blink when that war went from one enemy to another without so much as a sigh. It refuses to teach its young or venerate its old. It continues to believe that it is the most important thing in the room. It suffers from the "disease" of obesity yet can't feed the homeless. And still, despite all evidence to the contrary, it believes itself better than everyone else.
Oh, I know... Italy isn't perfect. It, like the whole world, has its fair share of problems and social injustices and poverty and imperfections. I am not naive enough to believe otherwise. And I'm not saying I want to be here more than I want to be home because, dammit, I miss Jam breakfast more than anything right now. But, things don't look so hot from where I'm sitting. If nothing else, we could be doing so much more than we are now. Then again, the only interaction I have with the outside world is through the internets: a place that remains a constant black hole of intelligence and morality. So maybe my judgment isn't the most rationally objective.
(p.s., Arguing on facebook is for lame-os. Do yourself a favor and stop feeding the trolls. Just sayin'.)
I do know this: Italy has been wonderful so far. In my mind, I'm already trying to figure out a way to get back here as soon as possible. Already, I'm wondering if I can take "Italian" for my '2 years of foreign language requirement' at school. Already, I'm deciding out of those same previously aforementioned friends which ones I want to bring over here to visit (psst! Don't worry... you are definitely in the running).
We leave Florence tomorrow to train it to Rome where I am going to have a heart attack at all the sites we want to see. I have already had a taste with Michelangelo's "David" and such amazing paintings as "The Birth of Venus" and the "Primavera". Those are experiences that no book or picture can prepare you for and that my meager words cannot, no matter how hard I try, describe. There comes a point when art transcends words. Seeing the works of masters such as I have seen is beyond verbosity.
I must be on my way. I still have to pack. March will go quicker than I imagine and April is quickly approaching as well. Soon, Portland will be on the horizon and friends long since seen will be embraced once more. And god damn if I won't get that Jam breakfast the first thing when I get back to Southeast Hawthorne and 22nd.
Ciao!
-d@n
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Florence
We got into Florence yesterday afternoon and were pretty wiped so we napped out. At about 8:45 or so, we decided to get some food and walked down the street from our hotel at the J & J Historic House (a full-on room for us to spread out in, located an easy 7 minute walk to the Duomo). We ate some amazing food at a swank restaurant on the corner who had pictures outside of various celebrities who had frequented there over the years. I think the conversation went something along the lines of "If George Lucas can eat here and stand to make that awkward face he makes when he's getting his picture taken, then, by golly! SO CAN I!"
The food was incredible. I'll try and find out the name of the place, but it was wonderful. The best damn minestrone I have ever eaten. No joke.
BUT! As we were sitting there waiting for our pastas, four girls walked in looking oh so lame. They sat and began talking English. East coast Jersey guidettes, if I'm not mistaken. They begin talking about The. Most. Asinine. Shit. Ever. And taking it soooooo seriously, Lupe and I couldn't even laugh at them.
Example:
... ahem...
Lady 1: (dead serious) "She had the most perfect eyebrows I've ever seen"
Lady 2: "I'm wondering if I should wear a skirt or go with, like, more of a casual business look?"
Lady 1: "Well, it is an interview in, like, fashion, so... they're going to be looking at your choices pretty seriously. They already know what they're looking for, so, just, like... be yourself but, y'know... fashionable."
Lady 2: "Well, I did wear the skirt the other day and I walked by this group of guys who really looked at me, y'know. And they were, like, business guys, not just, like, boys so... I mean, they really looked so..."
Lady 3: "Well maybe you should go with that then. But are you wearing that hat?"
Lady 2: "No, of course not. Unless... do you think I can wear this hat to the interview?"
Lady 1: "Absolutely not. You can't be that casual at an interview. You want them to take you seriously, right?"
Lady 4: (to the waiter) "Do you have a something like the pasta with Gorgonzola and pistachios but without the pistachios? Or maybe not penne? I only eat white pasta."
Continue for an hour or so.
Now, I don't mean to be judgmental...
Okay, that's a lie (as you all well know)....
But these ladies were something else. And then, as if that wasn't enough, another group of vapid people came in and at in the restaurant, also loud and empty and ridiculously embarrassing and, lo and behold, American.
We think to ourselves, "Is there a convention going on or something?"
We eat our wonderful food and try to ignore the rest of the very serious conversations about absolutely nothing and leave well satisfied to find a neat little corner bar called Eby's Bar where Eby, the old and grizzled burnout, serves a hundred different rum drinks from all over the world! It was amazing! We had this drink that I will absolutely have to show my friends when we get home: some strange concoction of coffee, kahlua, coke, and dark rum, started with a blood orange slice dipped in raw sugar and coffee grounds, slammed, shot, and finished with a slice of banana sprinkled in poppy seeds. Un. Believable.
Lupe and I got our drink on and met two gorgeous Russian girls; one of whom was there studying for a month; the other who worked in the city. The drunker of the two got very cozy with me while complaining in slurred Italian about the stupid, loud Americans who were leaving the bar. I commiserated with her as best I could, considering I couldn't understand a lick of what she was saying and it was obvious to her that I didn't speak any Italian. We laughed. It was grand.
The next morning, Lupe was still recovering from the rum and fruit slices we ordered to end the night and I went in search of some food. I found this great sandwich shop across from Eby's Bar where I stood in line behind a couple of American girls and in front of some American guy who complained the line was taking too long.
All around us, this entire time, I have been surrounded, passed by, and bothered by Americans. I mean, they are fucking everywhere! I keep thinking, "Is it spring break? There can't be these many people on vacation. What. The. Fuck?!" I ask Joe American "Hey, I noticed there are a ton of Americans everywhere I go here. What's up with that?" He tells me that Florence is an exchange student town: that a lot of kids learning Italian or studying abroad come to Florence.
Ohhhhhh! So that's why there are so many young, loud American youth wandering the streets and yelling in their ugly, slurred, rude, obnoxious way! I get it now!
Florence is an amazing city. Already, just casually wandering around, I have seen some amazing architecture and art, some wonderful shops, and eaten some great food. But there are Americans here. Lots of them. There have been more Americans here than anywhere else we have traveled to. And the experience has not been the most pleasant. They are, indeed, loud. They are, indeed, stupid. They are, indeed, a pain to be associated with. By sheer guilt of language, I am lumped in with them and it would be truly hard to bear... if I gave a shit about them. I want to apologize to every single local I meet. I want to say, "We're not all like that" to every shop owner who has to endure their raucous, poor mannered behavior. Not to mention their drunken excess.
Now before you all go running off to tell Keith Urban and Kenny Chesney to get the keel-haulin' lynch ropes ready, hear me out.
People may read this and think that I am ashamed of my country or, worse, not patriotic enough to stand by my country or my fellow citizens. This is simply not true. I just hate it when stereotypes apply. We should all be greater than our perceived inadequacies, don't you think? Shouldn't we all want to be better than the lowest common cultural denominator? I can't stand anything that perpetuates the disparity between people and there is no reason to act like a jackass on your own soil, let alone somewhere where it's expected of you. I think that America is pretty darn great, which is why it makes me sad when people act like such pieces of shit. Or worse, subscribe to ideals that continue to separate us from each other and from other cultures. I'm not a fan of anything that gets in the way of the 24 hour block party we should all be engaging in and enjoying all the time. Things like racism, discrimination, homophobia, and basic no-good ignorance or ignorant behavior make no fucking sense to me. I think 'rudeness' absolutely applies.
To quote MY guardo comino: "I love America. But not in the 'Archie Bunker marching off to war' sort of way. I love America because Miles Davis comes from here. Jimi Hendrix comes from here. Otis Redding comes from here. Let's face it: James Brown could have never come from London, England. No fucking way".
So yeah. Sorry if I seem a little judgmental in this one. Being surrounded by Americans again has worsened my temper.
Gotta run, the internets are about to shut down for the night. More later.
-d@n
The food was incredible. I'll try and find out the name of the place, but it was wonderful. The best damn minestrone I have ever eaten. No joke.
BUT! As we were sitting there waiting for our pastas, four girls walked in looking oh so lame. They sat and began talking English. East coast Jersey guidettes, if I'm not mistaken. They begin talking about The. Most. Asinine. Shit. Ever. And taking it soooooo seriously, Lupe and I couldn't even laugh at them.
Example:
... ahem...
Lady 1: (dead serious) "She had the most perfect eyebrows I've ever seen"
Lady 1: "Well, it is an interview in, like, fashion, so... they're going to be looking at your choices pretty seriously. They already know what they're looking for, so, just, like... be yourself but, y'know... fashionable."
Lady 2: "Well, I did wear the skirt the other day and I walked by this group of guys who really looked at me, y'know. And they were, like, business guys, not just, like, boys so... I mean, they really looked so..."
Lady 3: "Well maybe you should go with that then. But are you wearing that hat?"
Lady 2: "No, of course not. Unless... do you think I can wear this hat to the interview?"
Lady 1:
Lady 4: (to the waiter) "Do you have a something like the pasta with Gorgonzola and pistachios but without the pistachios? Or maybe not penne? I only eat white pasta."
Continue for an hour or so.
Now, I don't mean to be judgmental...
Okay, that's a lie (as you all well know)....
But these ladies were something else. And then, as if that wasn't enough, another group of vapid people came in and at in the restaurant, also loud and empty and ridiculously embarrassing and, lo and behold, American.
We think to ourselves, "Is there a convention going on or something?"
We eat our wonderful food and try to ignore the rest of the very serious conversations about absolutely nothing and leave well satisfied to find a neat little corner bar called Eby's Bar where Eby, the old and grizzled burnout, serves a hundred different rum drinks from all over the world! It was amazing! We had this drink that I will absolutely have to show my friends when we get home: some strange concoction of coffee, kahlua, coke, and dark rum, started with a blood orange slice dipped in raw sugar and coffee grounds, slammed, shot, and finished with a slice of banana sprinkled in poppy seeds. Un. Believable.
Lupe and I got our drink on and met two gorgeous Russian girls; one of whom was there studying for a month; the other who worked in the city. The drunker of the two got very cozy with me while complaining in slurred Italian about the stupid, loud Americans who were leaving the bar. I commiserated with her as best I could, considering I couldn't understand a lick of what she was saying and it was obvious to her that I didn't speak any Italian. We laughed. It was grand.
The next morning, Lupe was still recovering from the rum and fruit slices we ordered to end the night and I went in search of some food. I found this great sandwich shop across from Eby's Bar where I stood in line behind a couple of American girls and in front of some American guy who complained the line was taking too long.
Ohhhhhh! So that's why there are so many young, loud American youth wandering the streets and yelling in their ugly, slurred, rude, obnoxious way! I get it now!
Florence is an amazing city. Already, just casually wandering around, I have seen some amazing architecture and art, some wonderful shops, and eaten some great food. But there are Americans here. Lots of them. There have been more Americans here than anywhere else we have traveled to. And the experience has not been the most pleasant. They are, indeed, loud. They are, indeed, stupid. They are, indeed, a pain to be associated with. By sheer guilt of language, I am lumped in with them and it would be truly hard to bear... if I gave a shit about them. I want to apologize to every single local I meet. I want to say, "We're not all like that" to every shop owner who has to endure their raucous, poor mannered behavior. Not to mention their drunken excess.
Now before you all go running off to tell Keith Urban and Kenny Chesney to get the keel-haulin' lynch ropes ready, hear me out.
To quote MY guardo comino: "I love America. But not in the 'Archie Bunker marching off to war' sort of way. I love America because Miles Davis comes from here. Jimi Hendrix comes from here. Otis Redding comes from here. Let's face it: James Brown could have never come from London, England. No fucking way".
So yeah. Sorry if I seem a little judgmental in this one. Being surrounded by Americans again has worsened my temper.
Gotta run, the internets are about to shut down for the night. More later.
-d@n
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