Day 5: Canals and Chianti

From Munich, we traveled south, out of the Alps and the rain and into Italy, where the weather reminded me of SoCal: Hot, without a cloud in the sky. Ahhh...I had been missing sunshine and was sick of wet sandals. I would've worn shoes, but I fucking HATE shoes. It took us most of the day to get to Venice, but the scenery was goregous, vineyards as far as the eye could see.

Before I left for Europe, I was most excited for Venice. The idea of a city built on water has always intrigued me. And all in all, it's an amazing sight. This was clearly a city that was the center of the world at one point. The place reeks of age, although to be fair, it may have been really dirty water from the canals. It's interesting being in a place where the city itself is the main attraction. Had I been alone, I would've been content wandering around the narrow streets for hours, but were were only there for an evening, and I really didn't want to get so lost that I couldn't find my way back, which would've undoubtedly happened. Instead, a bunch of us tread the beaten path, seeing a few sights and eating copious amounts of gelato. On one of the main bridges that overlooks the Grand Canal, some clever soul had scrawled "ASSFACE" onto an old brick building.

We all reconvened for a evening gondola ride, most of us bearing bottles of wine, myself included. It is my belief that there are some things in life that one must do, and drinking wine on a gondola in Venice is certainly one of them. As romantic as the city is, it was kind of a bummer to be drinking the wine without the company of a lovely woman, but after the bottle was finished, I wasn't too worried about it. The windows of crumbling buildings stared out at us as we floated by, vacant and abandoned, as if imploring us to remember what they looked like in better days. Our gondolier was dressed in the classic striped shirt, but the magic was a little spoilt by his being on a cell phone for the entire time. Venice is eroding, in all senses of the word.

Afterwards, a group of about 5 of us found a affordable restaurant that wasn't too crowded and had a proper Italian dinner while the evening settled around us, taking our time, and enjoying more wine. Kirk had mentioned something during dinner about wanting to buy a suit of armor, and on our way back from dinner we passed by a shop that appeared to sell things of that ilk, so I tried with all the big-brother persuasiveness I could muster to get him to at least buy a sweet medieval helmet, even though it was over 350 dollars. I assured him that he would get plenty of use out of it in college, but his stubbornness (read: cheap) won out in the end. MJ the tourguide had assured us that the boat back to shore would not wait for late people, so we made our way back to the meeting point with plenty of time, although we were slowed down considerably by people hawking fake designer purses. They're everywhere, with their shitty merchandise clogging an already crowded walkway, and although I knew it was the wine, I was severely tempted to kick a couple faux-gucci handbags into the sea.

Looking back, I wouldn't say that Venice lives up to the hype. This isn't to say it's a crappy city, or that I didn't like it, because I did, but I guess I just bought into the overly romanticized reputation it has a little too much. Maybe I'm just hard to please.

Day 4: Prost!

While traveling to Munich, we stopped at one of the side-shop-eatery places that spring up every few hundred miles all through Europe. They're usually fairly big places, made to accommodate large batches of bus travelers during high travel season. There aren't tons of fast food places everywhere like in the states, so instead, all the tourist money goes straight to one place that offers decent food, high prices, long bathroom lines (for the ladies) and tons of souvenirs. This isn't really of any note, but I spent so much time in them over the course of the trip that I felt it deserved mentioning.

Anyway, on our way to Munich, we stopped at one such place, which in addition to the cafeteria had a Burger King. Normally, I wouldn't have even noticed, except that they had a large sign urging everyone to upgrade their meal to a large...which was translated to "MAKE IT MAXI!" for some reason. This, of course, made me laugh, and so as we were leaving to get back on the bus, I snapped a picture. I had made it a few steps out of the place when the Burger King manager ran out and started pointing at me, looking pretty pissed off, saying "You take picture?" I told him yes, and he told me "No, not legal, delete!!" I generally try to avoid being a typical arrogant american, so I immediately complied. However, as I was walking away, I heard the guy mutter "I should have him arrested." It was a beautiful lesson in human nature: no matter your race, color, nationality or creed, if you're a low-level manager at a fast food chain, you're a douchebag.

We arrived in Munich around 6 in the evening, pretty much leaving us enough time to have dinner and then go drink at the HofBrau House, which is apparently the most famous beer hall in Germany. We tried to get a table in HofBrau immediately so as to maximize our drinking time, but it was incredibly full. We were all hungry, and given that HofBrau serves their beer in ONE LITER mugs, I felt it prudent to put something in my stomach to absorb all the beer I was . Instead, I had Wiener Schnitzel, which I ordered simply because I couldn't believe that it was an actual dish, and also because I was kinda hoping that it was a hot dog. It's not. Instead, it's breaded/fried pork, a heart-stopping delight. Full and ready to drink, we went over to HB and, with a little luck, scored a table.

Hofbrauhaus is exactly what you'd think an old German beer hall is-- long, wooden tables, hot women selling large pretzels, and that great German drinking music that makes you feel more inebriated than you actually are. There are only three types of beer there: Lager, Dark, and another concoction that's half beer-half lemonade, which I guess is the German equivalent of a chick drink. I don't often feel a part of any ethnicity, but here I felt more like I was coming home than visiting for the first time.

There are a few rules for drinking at the Hofbrauhaus, and none of them are posted, so just in case, here's what you never do: Yell or sing loudly. MJ the tourguide informed us of this, which made it really fun to watch as a bunch of Aussies broke into some Australian song, only to have a very large, very scary looking German man who was dressed like a Secret Service agent walk over to their table, put a catchers mitt sized paw on the loudest, drunkest one, forcing him to sit down. Mr. Beer Security then put one finger to his lips and walked away. Germans are fucking serious about their beer. So much so that they have stringent laws regarding brewing, which include the outlawing of preservatives. This is great, because that's what causes hangovers. To toast, simply raise your glass (which can be difficult--a liter of beer is heavy) say "Prost!" and then maintain eye contact as you drink. Breaking eye contract or not toasting back is very rude. I could only put down 2 mugs worth of beer (schnitzel is very, very filling) which, by the way, was absolutely delicious, probably the best lager i've ever had.

Day 3: Steins and Wine on the Rhine

The Rhine Valley is absolutely gorgeous. Populated by pine trees and grapevines heavily terraced into the hillsides, lined by castles. I highly suggest driving into the Rhine Valley when the sun is just barely setting over a rainy day. The light turns bright yellow, reflecting the snowy peaks of the Alps off the broad Rhine river...it's quite nice. We stayed in a family hotel which had about 3 staircases too many for a 3 story building. I assume it had something to do with the river flooding every so often. Outside, it was beautifully quiet. We ate dinner and then headed off to a wine tasting, which took place in a straight up 17th century wine cellar. It was cold, the tables were wooden, and it was awesome. I could see a bunch of bearded germans wearing those awesome felt caps and big jackets toasting "High Prossit" (which I think means "to your health"). There were 5 wines in all, i think--mostly of the Riesling variety which is specially suited to the region, but also an icewine, which sounds rad, and it is: its wine made out of grapes that have been frozen solid for 2 weeks on the vine. Its a desert wine, very sweet, almost honeylike in flavor.

Afterwards, we all drank in the hotel bar, where the beer was cheap. I ducked out early to sit on a bench underneath a willow tree and watch the river. From my vantage point I could see three well lit castles, and just sat quietly, the air smelling in that way that only cold, clean air can, very happy that I was here.

I went to bed a little earlier, feeling a little sleepy from all that tasty German wine. In the morning, we walked to a small store that was lined wall to wall with Steins. It was here that I believed that yes, there clearly was German blood running through me--i was entranced with the work that went into crafting these ornate mugs. I was intent on getting one for me and my Dad. Kirk picked out a couple great shot glasses for Mom, and then we proceeded to debate over the perfect fireman themed stein, which I'm happy to report was a big hit back home. I settled on a classic blue painted stein with a crest of some kind on it.

And that was it for St. Goar, the sleepy riverside town. We were onto Munich, where I narrowly escaped getting arrested by a Burger King manager. But more on that next time.

Harry Potter Is Wordcrack

I enjoy reading a lot, maybe not as much as the Word Baron, but still. One of my favorite authors from my childhood is Roald Dahl, who wrote "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory" and a bunch of other rad stuff. One of my personal favorites is "The BFG." In it, a giant eared giant acts as a sort of Sandman, collecting dreams and distributing them to kids at night. One of the bottled dreams is about an author who writes a book so good that anyone who begins it cannot put it down until they have finished it. Society effectively grinds to a halt as everyone tries to spend all day reading and driving/teaching/playing football at the same time. I always felt that this was, out of all the dreams that appear in the book, probably the best.

I think J.K. Rowlings got that dream. Because I could not do anything until I finished Book 7. I even (for a second) tried to read while driving. Haha, only kidding...Perhaps it's just the cumulative effect of delayed gratification for an ending over a decade long in the making, or maybe it's a terrifying clue into the true power of marketing, but frankly, Harry Potter was the only thing I really cared about from when I opened it till I closed it with a sigh.

And it was worth it. Really, really, worth it. It's a great book, and I think a fitting ending to a series that will likely be read hundreds of years from now, long after everyone has forgotten who Harold Bloom is (he's a dick). So congrads to Ms. Rowlings--she's inspired a lot of writing, which is something to be proud of, and brought a wonderful story into a world that is far better off for it.

That being said, that's mostly why i'm behind on the travelogues. Sorry, Mike!

Also: I think Transformers is eyecrack.

It's a Pun-off!!

Shar, of Shar Blarg! and I occasionally get into Pun-off's, and they're the best. This is one from some who knows when o'clock is Hulk themed and pretty great. I'm the blue text.

SharBlarg:
we should over-dup a documentary about penguins
it'd be a smash hit
a HULK SMASH hit

Steinblogger:
it would make a lot of GREEN I bet

SharBlarg:
it would be a MARVEL

Steinblogger:
It'd probably BREAK lots of records

SharBlarg:
even my grandpa and GAMMA would enjoy it

Steinblogger:
yeah it can be even enjoyed by those of the WORLD WAR generation

SharBlarg:
we would have to ERICt a BANA proclaiming its awesome

Steinblogger:
If everyone CONNOLLY understand that the hulk is just very angry!

SharBlarg:
i'm [purple] SHORTS just a matter of time

Steinblogger:
I wonder if his shorts give him ARRAAAAAAAAASSSSHHH?

SharBlarg:
hahahaha
damn
you win

Steinblogger:
WOOOT
i may have post that

SharBlarg:
pretty frickin awesome
everyone would be jealous
they'd turn GREEN with envy!!!
ahem

Steinblogger:
i'm sure some would ROAR with delight

SharBlarg:
it would be INCREDIBLE
hulk
he he he
incredible hulk
mike says that he's sorry he forgot to give you the decembies thing
he hopes you forgive him. if not, tho, it's your [betty] ROSS

Steinblogger:
hahahahahhah
ITS A TIE

Day 2: What...Is This Place?

Kirk and I woke up around four, mostly by accident. We stopped by a 24 hour 7-11 type place for food. The British really like a sandwich. There's about 40 different kinds all premade and packaged, cheap and mildly filling. Now, if you know anything about me, you know how happy I was made by this. I also made another interesting discovery: Cordial is not the brit way to say "juice," but is instead the bri way of saying "very thick syrup juice concentrate". I discovered this after taking a large swig of my Rasberry Cordial. It didn't mix with the falafel sandwich very well. Kirk passed out as soon as we got on the bus, so I busied myself with more Beatles and watched London go by. Our tour guide, MJ, introduced herself and talked for a bit while I stared at the countryside. I still don't understand how a tiny little island like that can have so many people and still have miles of rolling fields. We made it to the cliffs of Dover, which we would take the ferry over to France. I immediately put on The Decemberists "We Both Go Down Together" and gazed at the Cliffs of Dover, which are indeed so high you can't see over. After we arrived at the hotel outside Amsterdam, unpacked, and ate, then got back on the bus for a 20 minute ride into the city. Most of the group went on a canal cruise while Kirk and I wandered the streets. It is a beautiful city, clean and ornate, 17th century architecture and tall narrow buildings make it feel like San Franciso's cool older cousin. Kirk headed home, still jetlagged, while Bharvin, a indian South African student and I proceeded to indulge in a coffeeshop called The Grasshopper, which would have been fun had I known how to better roll a joint. Regardless, the White Widow, which is a Holland indoor I believe, was so strong that one joint later Bharvin and I were fast friends, marveling at just how otherworldly the Redlight district can be. Especially when you're really, really stoned. Bharvin, not I, wanted to peruse the women of the night, and although I would have been just as happy having another joint at another shop, I'm glad we did. The redlight district and coffee shops are a smoker's paradise--food from every corner of the globe, sex shops, head shops, graffiti, and beautiful women who will have sex with you (for fifty euros). Also, if we hadn't, it's likely we would have had no idea how to take the metro station to the free shuttle to the hotel, because we followed some other people from the tour (who had just got out of a live sex show) back to the hotel, where we fell fitfully asleep for about 4 hours before we had to wake up for breakfast.

How To Be Invisible

It is easier than you think. Live alone. Shun tv, hot water, your stove. Graduate. Become lost, angry at and tired with the world. Keep irregular sleep patterns. Watch the circles under your eyes darken. Drink wine out of the bottle. Nap constantly. Lose your wallet several times in quick succession, creating a paper trail layers thick.

This part is important: There will be moments, no matter how hard you try to avoid them, of human connection. A lady who smiles genuinely at you, an old man who says hello on the street, children. You must be vigilant, and resist the need to reciprocate. They’ll be hurt, but the alternative is far worse. The more you reject these moments the more you sever the things which truly make you who you are.

Pay in cash. Get a cellphone. Never answer it, and let the voicemail box get full. Drop and break it. Have your email account frozen for violating homeland security codes. Let the electricity go off in your apartment. Eat at the Cambodian deli and get sick. Avoid eye contact. If you must converse with others, stick to scripted responses. The attached scripts are for reference. Meditate on becoming an optical illusion. Try to position yourself in people’s peripheral vision.

You may also feel the need to understand what you are doing. Wrong.

Doing so means you think about yourself as existing, and this is a clear violation of the whole process. While you still labor under the illusion of your own tangibility, you will never achieve it. Ignore your neighbors. Stop dreaming. Curl up into a ball, slowly. Let yourself slowly rot from the inside. Take all mirrors out of your apartment; try to forget what you look like. If your hand becomes translucent, if your feet are suddenly see-through, it is working.

Keep friends at a distance, become horribly undependable. Fall in love, end it abruptly. Get a puppy, give her up for adoption. You must become numb to all emotions, to forget they are even there. If you cannot see them they cannot see you. Alienate your parents, old friends. Project such a terrible energy that strangers become visibly uncomfortable near you. Soon, all phone calls will cease. This is good.

You are becoming invisible because you are a poison, radioactive and deadly. It is not your fault, but you secrete it from your pores. Medical science can’t detect this creeping blackness that seeps from you, but nevertheless, it is lethal in high doses. The courteous thing to do is to quarantine yourself as you begin to fade away, as you cannibalize your own lymph nodes, cells, and organs. If you wish to save those you love, you must never ever let them see what you are now.

Day 1: Please Mind The Gap

I slept for about 90 percent of the plane ride to London, where we'd leave from. We pondered our way out of Heathrow, and were on the right metro to our hotel. I decided that listening to The Beatles was the only appropriate thing to do, so Lennon was reminding me that nothing is real while row after row of brick buildings sped by us. There wasn't a stucco building in sight, a very strange thing indeed for two LA kids. British signs are very wordy, "Way Out" instead of Exit, "Please Mind the Gap" in white and blue all over the inside of the car and on the loudspeaker. I liked them, and the fact that there were signs, big signs(!), for books! People were readining in their spare time! It warmed my heart, it did. My blood went cold when we got off and saw the plaque commemorating the victims of the July bomb attacks in 2005. In retrospect, it might not have been my blood, but it was definetly my toes. I was dressed in sandals, jeans, and a tee shirt--which might have been fine had it not been raining the coldest rain I've ever been rained on by.The streets make spiderwebs and rhombuses from the air, but we managed to get to the hotel, to our tiny room with the most broken down mattress i've ever slept on. Thankfully, I was too tired to give a shit. We were to be up and at the Contiki departure site at 6 in the morning, then it was several hours on a bus and a ferry to France. Kirk conked out fully clothed, jet lagged as all hell, but I, having survived a collegiate sleep schedule, went to bed a few episodes of Supernanny later.

Europe! Exactly Two weeks late!

I wanted to blog while I bus-toured around Europe, but for lots of reasons, I couldn't. But I did write it down! I'm going to post a blog for each day of the trip, roughly two weeks late but in chronological order. Should be fun, especially when I get pictures. I think i'll start tomorrow...i've been up for 36 hours and i'm starting to crash. Oh jet lag, you're the best!

This is a has a lot of things you want to know in it. For Reals.

Here are some things you wanted to know, and their answers:

She doesn't.

He thinks you should, but won't say.

Don't even think about it.

That's your responsibility, not his.

Sorry if you don't like it, but that's how it is! Anyways....

Hi there! I'm back from Europe. It was a good trip, top to bottom. Kirk and I took something like 800 pictures, drank and fought and laughed a lot. But that's for later. During this trip (which was by bus) I had lots of time to think, which was nice, but not to write, which wasn't so great. But: I have decided what I want to do with this blog (with other stuff too, just that it's not relevant here). I haven't posted much because I feel like something has to be of a certain level of quality for it to be public, which this blog is. However, that's a high standard. So instead, I'm just going to post things as I write them and then edit them the next day or so. I'm putting this in the about section because there is now a bit of a flood of things to be posted and you might not have believed the title of this blog.

Here is the scoop:

I need a place vent more publicly, and this blog is it. I think you'll like it, but still, I feel that I should warn you. Also, leave comments on people's posts. Not just mine, but everyone's! They are are nice to read.

Thanks!