My uncle told me that at the Hannover airport, there are numerous booths advertising all-inclusive "last-minute" travel deals. He had wanted to find out more and I had a lot of time, so I decided to pack my bag, take the tram to the airport and see where I would end up that night. After being in so many big cities, I was hoping to get to a beach. Visions of Greek islands, the Portuguese coastline, and out of control Turkish soccer fans danced through my head.
At the airport, there were probably 15 different booths advertising these travel packages. There were four star hotels in Istanbul for one week at a cost of 400 euros, flight included. All kinds of trips to the Greek islands. As my heartrate increased, I neared the counter, wondering why I was one of only three people at ANY of the booths. I had a flashback to FerryGate 2k8, and figured that maybe I had to be in an automobile ("but anyone's automobile!") in order to board the plane.
Well, the two polite German gentlemen were shocked when I put my backpack on the floor and asked if they could get me to Greece. "Today??!!!" Yes, I said, today. "You mean right now?" Yes. "This is not possible."
I asked how quickly they could get me somewhere fun. They told me that they could give me a package to Portugal.....in about a month. All the packages sell out well in advance.
They spoke solid English, so I figured I'd make the obvious "Well that's not very last minute!" joke. I guess no one had dropped that comedic atom bomb before, because they laughed, heartily. "This is true. I guess we should call it 'last month travel!!!"
I told them that since they couldn't fly me anywhere today, they should recommend somewhere for me to go on the train. Today.
We settled on Salzburg, Austria.
Ten hours later, I was departing my hostel in Salzburg in search of a good bar. I found one along the river. I also found a marvelous drinking companion, an Austrian named Christian.
Christian bears an uncanny resemblance to my good friend Derek. In appearance, mannerisms, and lovably exasperated demeanor.
Christian sells "very expensive history books. I don't know how you say it in English, but I sell history books for thousands of dollars." Antique books, like very very old books? "No, they are not old, but they are very good. So they cost thousands of dollars." I don't think he was pulling my leg, but who knows.
Then Christian and I came upon the topic which would entertain us for the rest of the evening: Pearl Jam.
I love Pearl Jam. Christian LOVES Pearl Jam. Not in the "Pearl Jam is cool, I can't believe people forget that they're still around!" kind of way, but more of the "Pearl Jam releases all of their concerts on CD and I buy every possible one" kind of way. We quickly progressed from discussing Pearl Jam albums to Pearl Jam songs to Pearl jam b-sides to Pearl Jam tours to specific Pearl Jam concerts in 2000.....we enthusiastically celebrated our Pearl Jam geekness. I think we were both shocked to find another human (in a random bar) who spoke a different language, but who vehemently agreed that No Code is an underappreciated masterpiece.
The real fireworks began when he asked me what I thought of "I Got Id" (a song that was never even released on a proper Pearl Jam album). I told him I knew it, but couldn't think of how it went. Christian immediately did one of the loudest, best Eddie Vedder impersonations since Adam Sandler on Saturday Night Live. It was tremendous. He took it seriously. Very very seriously.
Then he leaned over to me - "Listen. We finish our beer here, then we leave for another bar. Which Pearl Jam song will we sing on the way?" I laughed and said sure, I was ready to go. "But which song will we sing?" I laughed again, but then realized he wasn't kidding -- I was in charge of picking a song to sing. I laughed again.
He downed his beer, we stood up, and outside he asked again which song I would pick. More nervous laughter from me. Finally, I muttered, "Uhhh, how about 'Smile'" ?
Again, without any hesitation, Christian let loose in the middle of the street -- "Don't it make you smile!! Don't it MAKE you smile!!!........I missssssss you alreadyyyyyyyy!!! I miss you alreadyyyyyyyyyy!!!!!"
Over the three days in Salzburg, I saw the Cathedral orchestra perform an evening of Mozart's music in the cathedral; an amazing classical quartet blazing through tunes in the main square; and numerous accordians and water-glass-rubbing street musicians. And not a single one of them came close to Christian's serenade.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
And A Few More
People frantically trying to take a picture of the Mona Lisa. I wonder if they're aware that you can just Google it.
Urinal in Amsterdam. On the street.
More Welsh!
Wales is pretty
Boat's eye view of Amsterdam
Wales
I just returned from another trip to the UK to visit Alex. I met up with him at his flat in London, then we drove all over Britain and Wales.
Our trusty British steed. Alex's VW convertible
Our trusty British steed. Alex's VW convertible
Just two dudes in Wales
Just a dude chasing sheep in Wales.
I didn't know that Wales has its own language. It has very few vowels, but many Y's, F's, and D's. "Recycling centre" is English for "Canolfan ailgylchu."
I Realized....
....that there were not really any pictures from London or Berlin in that group. But we went there. And I guess I didn't take many pictures. Or many pictures that were as funny as Ann with a group of tuxedo-ed Germans.
We, however, did visit those places.
We, however, did visit those places.
London, Paris, Berlin, Hannover
For the first two weeks of July, Sanford native and fearless French interpreter Ann came to hit the highest of European highlights, including the Eiffel Tower, the Paris sewer system, and the Hannover summer festival. Only the high high highlights.
Rainbow from the Eiffel Tower
Rainbow from the Eiffel Tower
Ann at Hannover summer festival with German guys
Ann at Hannover summer festival with German beer with raspberries in it
No German festival is complete without a zany painting of Don King
Monday, July 14, 2008
Solomon
Everybody who's done much traveling has a horror story about canceled flights, car breakdowns, vomiting fellow passengers, etc etc. Before last week, my best was a trans-US flight that got mangled into three days of flying, including a night in a chair in the Philadelphia airport.
Last week, a 7 hour train trip from Hannover to see my friend Alex in London turned into a 24-hour affair. Some of the details are not so exciting, but after getting rejected from overbooked trains, buying bus tickets that I ended up canceling, and contemplating a night on the benches of a Brussels train station, I finally ended up in Calais, France to catch a ferry to England. Apparently, the Calais--Dover ferry passage is one of the busiest in the world. Apparently, it's not busy enough to allow foot passengers after 10pm on Sundays.
The woman at the ticket counter told me I needed a car, and that I could just hop into someone's car to get on the last ferry of the day, which was leaving in a few minutes. I began to ask her how this makes any logistical, political, or security sense, but after the 18 hours of travel at that point, I didn't want to press my luck. No customers were in our ticket office, so I ran next door where it looked like people were buying tickets for the competing ferry line.
Here in line there was a varied group of people including an elderly couple, some people I don't remember, and Solomon. I approached Solomon and asked if he spoke English. He said sure. I told him that I was trying to get onto the ferry, but I needed a car. Which I didn't have. No, no, no, I didn't want to obtain his car, I'd just like to get in his car, pass through the gate onto the ferry, then we can go our separately merry ways. He laughed and said absolutely.
That's when I first figured he may be a murderer. He was a wee bit too into the idea of me coming along. But I tried to chalk that feeling up to fatigue-induced delirium and an overly cautious mother.
He asked me what I was doing when I got to Dover. I told him that my friend from London, Alex, was picking me up. (Haha! There's a witness!! Murder plans foiled!)
"Then you going to London?" he asked. I said yes, and he calmly said, "Well that's silly for him to pick you up. I take you to London."
For about 3 seconds I resisted, but then figured what the hell.
At that point, another haggard backpacker entered the ferry office and approached the ticket counter. I was not surprised when I heard the guy groan in heavily-accented English, "WHAT DO YOU MEAN I HAVE TO HAVE A CAR??"
Solomon and I looked at each other, and then Solomon leaned over and said "Hey, you can get in my car."
Our newly acquired companion, Pedro, is a 20 year old Brazilian who had just finished school in Sao Paulo, and had arrived in Europe earlier that day. His first day on the continent, and he can't even get on a boat without having a car.
Solomon apologized profusely for not having more room for all of our stuff in his small sedan. As we loaded in, he let me use his cell phone to call Alex. My murder fears, slowly dissipating for the last 25 minutes, were now completely gone. Well, maybe not completely gone, but I had solace in the fact that if Solomon did drive off and kill me, Alex would help the police get a good start on him. And Pedro would be there with me in my final moments. Unless Pedro was somehow an accomplice in an elaborate scheme.....I had to tell the mother in my head (God bless her) to quiet down once again.
I have no idea what the security guard thought as we drove onto the ferry. As I handed him our passports from the passenger seat, I told him that "We are family, returning from holiday." He told us to have a nice trip.
Like most people you initially peg as murderers, Solomon is an incredibly kind, caring man. You can't be too cautious, especially in a foreign country, but I feel guilty for ever doubting Solomon. He was born in Lebanon and now sells cars in London. He was on his way from Lebanon to Miami 17 years ago, when a cute woman at customs in London told him that London was more fun than Miami, and he should try it. Never wanting to displease a cute woman, he said yes. Now married (unfortunately not to the customs agent), he likes London, but loves Lebanon, where people have more freedom and "are not being video-taped all day." His kids feel the same way. "In London they can't even walk across the street to the park because of the laws and bad people. When we are in Lebanon, they wake up at 5am because they are excited about being outside all day, playing with the other kids."
He was returning from a visit to a friend in Aachen, Germany when I met him. I chuckled and told him that I had been in Aachen about 11 hours earlier that day. "Ah! Too bad. I could give you ride from Aachen!"
Pedro explained that his family was flying into London very late that night, and Pedro was going to take the train from London to the airport to meet them there, since his parents spoke absolutely no English. Solomon insisted that he would drive Pedro to the airport after taking me to Alex's house. Solomon was now entering sainthood territory.
On the ferry, he also told me and Pedro that he always drives the best cars that he is trying to sell, so he can usually "get them up to about 150." I laughed, doing a quick kilometers to miles conversion. "But that's miles per hour," he said. I guess he saw the look on my face because he roared with laughter and said, "Uh oh, now Richard wants to find a different car. My friend Richard, I will not go this fast for you. Also, I have this Nissan, it's not so fast."
Finally on the highway after the ferry crossing, Solomon insisted that we not pay for gas. He was adament about sharing his beverages, chewing gum, and cigarettes in the car. I don't know if he got up to 150, but we pushed the limits of safety and arrived in London about 2:30 AM.
Solomon, Pedro, and I didn't exchange information as I left. We knew that we'd never see each other again and part of me didn't want to ruin the evening by asking all of us to pose for some silly photo.
The two of them waited for Alex to let me into his apartment, then they drove off.
Last week, a 7 hour train trip from Hannover to see my friend Alex in London turned into a 24-hour affair. Some of the details are not so exciting, but after getting rejected from overbooked trains, buying bus tickets that I ended up canceling, and contemplating a night on the benches of a Brussels train station, I finally ended up in Calais, France to catch a ferry to England. Apparently, the Calais--Dover ferry passage is one of the busiest in the world. Apparently, it's not busy enough to allow foot passengers after 10pm on Sundays.
The woman at the ticket counter told me I needed a car, and that I could just hop into someone's car to get on the last ferry of the day, which was leaving in a few minutes. I began to ask her how this makes any logistical, political, or security sense, but after the 18 hours of travel at that point, I didn't want to press my luck. No customers were in our ticket office, so I ran next door where it looked like people were buying tickets for the competing ferry line.
Here in line there was a varied group of people including an elderly couple, some people I don't remember, and Solomon. I approached Solomon and asked if he spoke English. He said sure. I told him that I was trying to get onto the ferry, but I needed a car. Which I didn't have. No, no, no, I didn't want to obtain his car, I'd just like to get in his car, pass through the gate onto the ferry, then we can go our separately merry ways. He laughed and said absolutely.
That's when I first figured he may be a murderer. He was a wee bit too into the idea of me coming along. But I tried to chalk that feeling up to fatigue-induced delirium and an overly cautious mother.
He asked me what I was doing when I got to Dover. I told him that my friend from London, Alex, was picking me up. (Haha! There's a witness!! Murder plans foiled!)
"Then you going to London?" he asked. I said yes, and he calmly said, "Well that's silly for him to pick you up. I take you to London."
For about 3 seconds I resisted, but then figured what the hell.
At that point, another haggard backpacker entered the ferry office and approached the ticket counter. I was not surprised when I heard the guy groan in heavily-accented English, "WHAT DO YOU MEAN I HAVE TO HAVE A CAR??"
Solomon and I looked at each other, and then Solomon leaned over and said "Hey, you can get in my car."
Our newly acquired companion, Pedro, is a 20 year old Brazilian who had just finished school in Sao Paulo, and had arrived in Europe earlier that day. His first day on the continent, and he can't even get on a boat without having a car.
Solomon apologized profusely for not having more room for all of our stuff in his small sedan. As we loaded in, he let me use his cell phone to call Alex. My murder fears, slowly dissipating for the last 25 minutes, were now completely gone. Well, maybe not completely gone, but I had solace in the fact that if Solomon did drive off and kill me, Alex would help the police get a good start on him. And Pedro would be there with me in my final moments. Unless Pedro was somehow an accomplice in an elaborate scheme.....I had to tell the mother in my head (God bless her) to quiet down once again.
I have no idea what the security guard thought as we drove onto the ferry. As I handed him our passports from the passenger seat, I told him that "We are family, returning from holiday." He told us to have a nice trip.
Like most people you initially peg as murderers, Solomon is an incredibly kind, caring man. You can't be too cautious, especially in a foreign country, but I feel guilty for ever doubting Solomon. He was born in Lebanon and now sells cars in London. He was on his way from Lebanon to Miami 17 years ago, when a cute woman at customs in London told him that London was more fun than Miami, and he should try it. Never wanting to displease a cute woman, he said yes. Now married (unfortunately not to the customs agent), he likes London, but loves Lebanon, where people have more freedom and "are not being video-taped all day." His kids feel the same way. "In London they can't even walk across the street to the park because of the laws and bad people. When we are in Lebanon, they wake up at 5am because they are excited about being outside all day, playing with the other kids."
He was returning from a visit to a friend in Aachen, Germany when I met him. I chuckled and told him that I had been in Aachen about 11 hours earlier that day. "Ah! Too bad. I could give you ride from Aachen!"
Pedro explained that his family was flying into London very late that night, and Pedro was going to take the train from London to the airport to meet them there, since his parents spoke absolutely no English. Solomon insisted that he would drive Pedro to the airport after taking me to Alex's house. Solomon was now entering sainthood territory.
On the ferry, he also told me and Pedro that he always drives the best cars that he is trying to sell, so he can usually "get them up to about 150." I laughed, doing a quick kilometers to miles conversion. "But that's miles per hour," he said. I guess he saw the look on my face because he roared with laughter and said, "Uh oh, now Richard wants to find a different car. My friend Richard, I will not go this fast for you. Also, I have this Nissan, it's not so fast."
Finally on the highway after the ferry crossing, Solomon insisted that we not pay for gas. He was adament about sharing his beverages, chewing gum, and cigarettes in the car. I don't know if he got up to 150, but we pushed the limits of safety and arrived in London about 2:30 AM.
Solomon, Pedro, and I didn't exchange information as I left. We knew that we'd never see each other again and part of me didn't want to ruin the evening by asking all of us to pose for some silly photo.
The two of them waited for Alex to let me into his apartment, then they drove off.
Friday, July 4, 2008
Amsterdam And Hitchhiking Across The English Channel
My best friend in Amsterdam is named Ken. He is from Osaka, checked into our hostel on the same day I did, plays the classical guitar, and speaks very very minimal English. He rules.
Ken and I ate breakfast together each morning in the hostel. While trying hard to communicate with each other at the breakfast table, I watched Ken eat sandwiches of ham/cheese/peanut butter on toast. I think he created that recipe.
On our third night in Amsterdam, Ken and I walked down the street of our Turkish neighborhood to find a place to watch Turkey play Germany in the Euro 2008 soccer tournament. While getting something to eat (some kind of Turkish sandwich I couldn't pronounce), a large man wearing a Turkish flag as a cape and another Turkish flag as a bandana suddenly appeared and told us to come watch the game next door.
The caped Turk led us into a tiny Turkish coffeehouse packed with about 40 Turkish men watching the game on a flat-screen TV.
Grown men screamed and (presumably) cursed at the television for the entire match. If Turkey had the ball anywhere near their offensive zone, they all stood up and shouted at the screen.
Turkey scored with about 8 minutes left and I honestly thought they were going to tear down the building. Men jumped up and down on tables. Men threw chairs. Men openly embraced and cried tears of joy. One old man turned around to me and Ken and did a hilarious hip-shaking dance of ecstasy. For the next few minutes, guys would come up to us, hug us, and point to the screen and shake their fists. We became enormous Turkey fans. I would've paid $10000 for the opportunity to celebrate a Turkish victory with this group of distinguished gentlemen, but Germany scored very late to win, and I felt like I had been kicked in the groin. Ken and I filed out and kept saying "Awesome." Partly because it was very awesome, and partly because that was one of the four words we could say to each other.
The rest of the time in Amsterdam was spent on a boat ride through the canals, bike rides through the city, and walking through the markets and bars.
The next few days were spent in London....after a 22-hour day of travel, that included a frantic plea to the patrons of a car ferry service in Calais, France, to let me get in their car so I could cross the channel to England. The only ferries running were car ferries, so you had to have a car. Thank goodness for Solomon, a Lebanese man returning home to England. He was kind enough to let me hop into his Nissan, so I could pass through the gate onto the ferry.
Ken and I ate breakfast together each morning in the hostel. While trying hard to communicate with each other at the breakfast table, I watched Ken eat sandwiches of ham/cheese/peanut butter on toast. I think he created that recipe.
On our third night in Amsterdam, Ken and I walked down the street of our Turkish neighborhood to find a place to watch Turkey play Germany in the Euro 2008 soccer tournament. While getting something to eat (some kind of Turkish sandwich I couldn't pronounce), a large man wearing a Turkish flag as a cape and another Turkish flag as a bandana suddenly appeared and told us to come watch the game next door.
The caped Turk led us into a tiny Turkish coffeehouse packed with about 40 Turkish men watching the game on a flat-screen TV.
Grown men screamed and (presumably) cursed at the television for the entire match. If Turkey had the ball anywhere near their offensive zone, they all stood up and shouted at the screen.
Turkey scored with about 8 minutes left and I honestly thought they were going to tear down the building. Men jumped up and down on tables. Men threw chairs. Men openly embraced and cried tears of joy. One old man turned around to me and Ken and did a hilarious hip-shaking dance of ecstasy. For the next few minutes, guys would come up to us, hug us, and point to the screen and shake their fists. We became enormous Turkey fans. I would've paid $10000 for the opportunity to celebrate a Turkish victory with this group of distinguished gentlemen, but Germany scored very late to win, and I felt like I had been kicked in the groin. Ken and I filed out and kept saying "Awesome." Partly because it was very awesome, and partly because that was one of the four words we could say to each other.
The rest of the time in Amsterdam was spent on a boat ride through the canals, bike rides through the city, and walking through the markets and bars.
The next few days were spent in London....after a 22-hour day of travel, that included a frantic plea to the patrons of a car ferry service in Calais, France, to let me get in their car so I could cross the channel to England. The only ferries running were car ferries, so you had to have a car. Thank goodness for Solomon, a Lebanese man returning home to England. He was kind enough to let me hop into his Nissan, so I could pass through the gate onto the ferry.
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