As you may have read in the last blog, I have delightful visitors from Austria. I’ve also been finishing my essays and last classes (I’m done!) and getting ready for their arrival. I leave on Tuesday, but aim 100% to have completed my final retrospective blog on the experience by then. Keep an eye out for it!
Cheers, enjoy ze weekend,
Zach
“I should like to spend the whole of my life traveling abroad, if I could anywhere borrow another life to spend afterwards at home.”
-William Hazlitt
What a perfect quote that is. I got my first “have a nice life” the other day - from my barber. I saw the lovely lady I’ve been going to for haircuts this entire year (getting better trims and conversation than almost anywhere at home) for the last time, and it started to hit me how soon I’m leaving. May 6 is the date, ladies and gentlemen. May 6. Yikes.
Shortly after returning from my Easter travels, I figured out when my final classes were, when my essays were due, and if I have any final tests. The classes wrap up next week (my last real class will be on Wednesday, April 30) and I don’t have any finals. Although the essays are due May 9 and May 16, I’m now finished with my whopping 4,000-5,000 worder (the longest I’ve written yet in college), and making progress on the other assignments.
So I purchased my plane ticket, from Manchester Airport this time as it’s several hours closer than London and worth the bit of extra expense for the minimized hassle. I was rearing to go when I made the purchase; super excited for everything about home. Now that a couple weeks have passed and the countdown is at 13 days, the emotions are much more mixed and melancholy. The good news is that since nailing down my departure, I’ve made sure to do something fun or unusual with my flatmate pals every day. We’ve been playing a lot of guitar, going to the pub for a pint and some chat in the evening more frequently than usual, and we watched an excellent film called “L’Auberge Espagnole” (Francais for “The Spanish Inn”). It focuses on a French student who is clueless about what to do with his life, so he decides to do an ERASMUS program in Barcelona. ERASMUS is the European study abroad program that almost all my friends here are partaking in. The student moves into a flat with a hodgepodge of international students, they have to speak in French, English, Spanish, and more to communicate with each other, and adventures commence - just like OUR experience in Wales! It’s pretty funny and interesting to watch the movie as a student abroad, and I definitely recommend it to anyone. It sort of gives insight to what my year has been like.
With under two weeks left, I’m finishing my assignments, trying to enjoy every day with my friends as the weather gets nicer and balmier, and hopefully making it to Penrhyn Castle just outside Bangor, as well as another hike up Mt. Snowdon. Bastian and Anna (from Austria) are coming to visit from April 30 until the day I leave, so I’m psyched to see one of my best friends of the year one more time before leaving.
I don’t really have any new photos except for things like me cooking a pumpkin pie and Indian food for the first time, so I’ll include the links for the full albums from the Easter travels. Enjoy…there are a LOT of photos! I’ll be writing sometime next week, when there’s more to report. Possibly a new video or two, and certainly more pictures.
The British Museum and Kate’s arrival in London/Bangor
Tour de France: Paris
Tour de France: Versailles, Marseilles, and Nice
Czech Republic: Southern Bohemia
Reading football match and London with Dad
Dublin with Dad - coming soon!
Part One
“The worst thing about being a tourist is having other tourists recognize you as a tourist.”
-Russell Baker
My father and I both arrived in London on Friday, March 28. He came from Portland, Maine, I came from Prague, Czech Republic. Escalating hijinks caused us to forfeit almost a full first day, not reuniting until almost 10 p.m. rather than 11 a.m. But with that behind us, we set off to nearby Reading, England for our inaugural English Premiership football match. The setting: Madejski Stadium. The teams (sides, in this vernacular): Reading Royals vs. Blackburn Rovers.
Pops with the Reading mascot. Note the beautiful British weather.
Guys at the game.
Incidentally, dad and I are now Reading supporters by default; we had to buy membership cards to see the match. The pre-match excitement was high, and I now had a greater understanding of my British friends teasing me at UMaine that if I didn’t own an expensive hockey jersey, I wasn’t a real fan. Nearly everyone was wearing the “kit” of their side. When we went into the hotel annexed with the stadium, where the Reading team’s bar and lounge is, dad and I had to have a laugh at how serious the situation gets: the doormen at the hotel warned a young woman to cover up her Blackburn colors if she planned on coming inside. Crazy.
Panoramic of Madejski Stadium.
Kickoff!
The match was a nil-nil draw, but, hey, that’s footie for ya, mate. It was still exciting and definitely a worthy experience to add to my year abroad in Britain, to attend an authentic Premiership match. An interesting note was that both goalkeepers, Marcus Hahnemann and Brad Friedel, were American. After particularly good saves, the stadium was blasting with an enthusiastic “USA” chant. Dad and I were blown away. Totally unexpected. I also took a video of what may have been the most thrilling minute-and-a-half of the game.
Before and after the match, we breezed through the town of Reading, which is a typical, nice English mini-city.
A street in Reading.
Day two was my first official tour of London. Dad and I got the hop-on/hop-off bus tour (the Original Sightseeing Tour, if you’re wondering – there are two major ones in London) and spent the majority of the day cruising around the city, hopping off at spots of interest. The day was a mixture of new sights and showing dad some of my favorites in the city. The staples included Buckingham Palace and the neighboring St. James’s Park, Trafalgar Square, Leicester Square, Piccadilly Circus, Oxford Circus, Big Ben and the House of Parliament, Covent Garden, the list goes on. Of course, I learned tons of great information and fascinating anecdotes about everything we passed from the recording and live tour guides.
This is Westminster Cathedral. I foolishly thought Big Ben was attached last time I saw it and posted a picture. Big Ben is attached to the House of Parliament. This is Westminster. I promise.
View up the impressive tower of the House of Parliament.
Dad and Buckingham Palace. Sorry, dad. I had to post this. I was contractually obligated. Something.
We didn’t see the changing of the guard, but we got to see this cool nutcracker-looking dude marching and swinging his arm super hard.
View of Buckingham Palace from St. James’s Park.
St. Paul’s cathedral. Tremendous.
Big Ben.
Examples of knowledge acquired on this expedition: the British system of driving on the left-hand side of the road came from the need to do battle while riding in carriages. Most people were right-handed, meaning they’d be better off to swing swords and such with their right hands, justifying driving on the left-hand side and having your enemy accessible on the right. The French did the opposite of this system solely because Napoleon was left-handed, and the US adopted the French way in the midst of becoming a free nation simply to reject the British way. I also learned that the “Tower” of London is actually a big castle. I’d always envisioned it as an actual tower, but in reality it stems from the White Tower in the center of the castle, which was then fortified and built around over and over through the centuries.
These two buildings were done by the same architect. They are both clearly awesome. The one on the right is called “The Gherkin” by the Brits. Gherkin as in pickle.
The Tower Bridge, which the tour repeatedly and adamantly states is “the most famous bridge in the world.” Dad was – and maybe you will be, too – stunned that this isn’t the London Bridge, and that the London Bridge is far less iconic.
The London Eye. Add this to the Tower of London and St. Paul’s Cathedral on the list of London sights I wasn’t able to make it to this year. Someday…
Panoramic of the Tower of London.
One of the last bits of the day was a river cruise on the Thames, complimentary with the bus tour. The guide was brilliant and the sights were solid. Dad and I agreed that this was one of the most fun and interesting parts of the day. Overall, the tour was extremely worth it – we saw just about every major sight in the city and learned a lot. For me, it was the perfect culmination of a handful of trips to London over the year.
Big Ben and the House of Parliament from the river cruise, toward the end of the day. Cheers, London.
We took the train to Bangor from London the following day and I gave Dad the quick, comprehensive tour of my nook of north Wales. Later that afternoon we went to Holyhead (on Anglesey, the north tip of Wales) - Dad got the abbreviated experience of passing through the town of Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch (the town with the long name, if that wasn’t evident) on train - and boarded the ferry to Dublin, Ireland.
Part Two
“A good puzzle would be to cross Dublin without passing a pub.”
-Irish author James Joyce in “Ulysses”
We had difficulties getting to the hotel in Dublin. Fortunately my Dubliner flatmate Lorraine was also heading home that day and was there to help us out. By the time we were sorted with the room, we just had time to dine at an excellent pub (The Bank on College Green) and stroll through Temple Bar, a popular section of pedestrianized, cobblestone side streets full of pubs, shops, and street performers. It was certainly atmospheric and I was already beginning to be a big fan of the city. Enjoy the video of the terrific street performers we saw here. Keep your eye on the violinist in the first segment, he’s unbelievable. As you’ll see in the video, Temple Bar is a hotspot for tourist groups doing pub crawls.
Guinness and Guinness beef stew? Yup, we’re in Ireland.
Gogartys, a two-floor Temple Bar pub with traditional Irish music.
On our only full day in the city, we pulled a repeat of London with another hop-on/hop-off bus tour. This company featured completely live guides on every bus, with varying degrees of Irish accents. The information, history, wit, and, on one bus, singing, was superb. Favorite spots were Trinity College – which I fantasized about attending as we walked the gorgeous campus, the massive park that is over twice the size of New York’s Central Park, full of free-roaming deer, the Irish President’s house, and the third largest obelisk monument in the world.
Our main “hop-off” of the tour was the Guinness Storehouse. We spent a whopping three hours taking in the amazing Guinness Experience. Some rapid-fire facts for you: Guinness operates on 55 acres in the city of Dublin, employees receive two bottles per day to take home, and a bottle of Guinness is offered as a traditional way to recoup after donating blood.
Guinness guys.
Tons of great old advertisements like this.
The experience takes you through the making of Guinness (just four simple ingredients: barley, hops, malt, and water), the history of the brewery, the charming advertising campaigns, and every other imaginable facet of Guinness. It all wraps up with the perfect pint at the circular, glass-walled bar at the top, where you can peacefully sip your Guinness and take in the most elevated view of Dublin.
Pints at the circular bar at the top of the Guinness Storehouse.
The rest of the bus tour was equally enlightening as the London tour, taking us by all the major sights and allowing us to get a game plan of what we wanted to see more in depth later. Included in the later sights we saw on foot later in the afternoon and in our half-day that followed were the oldest pub in Dublin, a castle and piece of the old city wall, O’Connell Street (Dublin’s main “turroughfare” in Dublinese – as in thoroughfare, as in major street), and various churches, gardens, and monuments.
The city of Dublin was once poorly lit and very smoky. Thus, various colored doors so residents could find their homes more easily.
I now have been to England and Ireland’s oldest pubs. Woohoo!
The Millennium Spire, also known by locals as the Pole in the Hole, the Stiletto in the Ghetto, and simply The Spike. It begins at 15 meters wide and rises 120 meters (390 feet) high.
One of a handful of bullet holes in a monument at the beginning of O’Connell Street. The marks came from the revolution in Dublin in the early 1900s.
O’Connell Street is full of monuments and history.
Another cool monument in a beautiful garden at the end of O’Connell Street.
Dad and I spent a considerable amount of time in St. Patrick’s Cathedral on our final day. Jonathan Swift, the author of “Gulliver’s Travels,” was a dean here for most of his life. The cathedral is full of Irish history, and we got to learn just who the heck this St. Patrick fellow is that we celebrate every March. St. Patrick’s Cathedral was also the spot that Handel’s “Messiah” had its inaugural performance in 1742.
A handwritten, centuries-old copy of Handel’s “Messiah,” flipped to the “Hallelujah Chorus” section.
St. Patrick’s Cathedral.
I really, really liked Dublin. I can’t say the stay felt too short, as we were able to see and experience quite a lot. I’d been traveling for three weeks straight - closer to four-to-five weeks nonstop, including the time with Kate - and I was pleased to head home for Bangor. I did indeed love Dublin and anxiously await the day I can see more of Ireland’s famous green countryside and possibly return to Dublin for a pint of Guinness.
Onward and homeward!
The final route: London to Bangor to Holyhead to Dublin.
So Easter break triumphantly concluded. It was an unbelievable three weeks of travel with old friends, family, and new places, and easily takes a top spot as one of the best times of my study abroad experience.
“Like all great travelers, I have seen more than I remember, and remember more than I have seen.”
– Benjamin Disraeli
Pozdravy (welcome) to the Česká Republika. Echoing the just-passed travels in Austria, my Czech trip was more of a personal visit than traditional tourism – the occasion, a six-day reunion with the exchange student, George, who lived in my home for a full school year almost a decade ago – when he was 17 and I was 11. George hails from Budweis, in the south (where we visited first), and now runs a business in Prague, the nation’s splendid capital.
George’s name is a translation. His Czech name is Jiří, but that little guy over the “r” is a sound we don’t have in English and renders it ϋber-tough to say. Fortunately George (and Jorge, when we’re joking around) is acceptable – it’s what my family and I knew him as from the start – and I was pleased to actually learn a handful of the Czech language during my visit. The nature of the trip, with lots of catching up and spending time with George and his family, led to an experience that doesn’t exactly conform to my usual storytelling blog style. Without much more reason, I present you a top ten list of my experiences in the Czech Republic. Okay, I’m a list maniac. There’s one more reason.
10) Trdelnik
I had the fresh, warm, cylindrical pastry called trdelnik on my first day out in Czech and fell in love. This, like the bread and crêpes in France, the stroopwafels of Amsterdam, the gelato in Italy, will tastily haunt my dreams until I one day return. The customary treat is made before your eyes, a simple, soft, piping delight with a cinnamon or almond accent, and was the perfect thing for the chilly weather.
Yum!
9) Prague Dance Clubs
We went to two, and they had three and four completely individual dance floors, respectively. This was one of my few tastes of real international nightlife outside Wales and I soaked it up like maple syrup with French toast. Although I saw more tourists and Americans than usual in Europe (Easter break, remember), everyone was friendly and sociable – each of our nights out was a blast. A funny note, the first club night was preceded by bowling, which is seeing a surge in popularity in Prague. Although the alley we went to was in a shopping mall and only had four lanes since it’s relatively new, it was a fun taste of home mixed with being in a foreign country. And yes, bowling shoes are ugly in Czech, too.
Hi all!
Just offering a quick update. I had a blast in the Czech Republic, met up with my Dad and had a blast again in London, Bangor, and Dublin. I really loved Dublin, and my six or so days in Czech was excellent. The blog is finished, but is super long and won’t be up until Monday. Feel free to take it in a couple sittings when you see it - it’s divided in a way that should make doing so easy. I hope everyone enjoyed reading about the Austrian adventure, because the Czech one is just as great! The blog on the trip with Dad in the UK will be up late next week.
Cheers, thanks, as always, for reading 
Zach
“I wanna hang a map of the world in my house and put pins into all the locations that I’ve traveled to. But first, I’m gonna have to travel to the top two corners of the map so it won’t fall down.”
-American stand-up comedian, Mitch Hedberg, RIP
Guten tag, eager readers and vicarious travelers. To avoid stagnation after those lengthy French adventures, I cooked up a non-chronological breakdown of my trip to Austria. But first, there were a couple more London events with Kate that need tending to. We went to the “Lord of the Rings” musical show in the West End. It was ultra cool, with some Hobbit-licious songs, big time special effects, and a wild 18-piece stage that spun, lifted, and rose in segments. On Sunday we took a Jack the Ripper walking tour, which was superb, thanks largely to the knowledgable, friendly guide, who studies the subject academically. The relentless rain held off long enough for us to finish the three-hour tour in one dry piece and learn a lot about history’s most infamous serial killer.
Pictures aren’t allowed in the theater at the “Lord of the Rings,” which is a shame as it was fully transformed to look like a viney forest. Check out this one I lifted from Google, it’s a scene with the Orcs.
What We Did and Saw in Austria
My three-week Easter break began with a short flight (it seems they’re all short in Europe, eh?) from London to Innsbruck, Austria. The small airport’s runways lie directly at the feet of some towering mountains - I was immediately wowed. In my near-week in Austria, being totally surrounded by the snowy Alps never lost a smidge of majesty.
The five-day stay in Innsbruck was part tourism, part University of Wales, Bangor reunion. Bastian, my old study-abroad-flatmate-turned-great-friend, was our host. From the moment we left the airport together, I could feel the noticeable difference from normal traveling (most recently France with Kate) to mixing a visit with seeing a new place: it’s like tourism on rails. Seeing a new place through the eyes of a native is a very interesting, different sensation after seeing so much on my own or with other newbies. It was also great to be with Bastian as I felt helpless with everything in German. My German is worse than my French, which nears nonexistence itself.
The reunion was good, but posing in these traditional Austrian hats was even better.
Each day took us through much of Innsbruck via foot. The city of roughly 100,000 is full of character. Home to a university, cheerfully speckled with colorful buildings, bisected by a greenish-blue river, every inch under the serene gaze of the Alps. The old city center was especially charming with a traditional Easter market and one of Innsbruck’s main attractions, the Golden Roof (Goldenes Dachl in Deutsch). Most of the buildings in this area dated as old 500 years.
The Golden Roof.
The Alps are visible from almost everywhere in the city. Enjoy the next few pictures of the snowy peaks. If you’re not a mountain enthusiast, feel free to skip past.
I know this one is shabby - it was really hard to get a good shot separating the white peaks and sky most of the time - but it gives a good impression just how much the mountains tower over the city.
One of my favorite pictures of the trip: Alps, colorful buildings and their reflection in the water, and a bold fella fly fishing.
We were lucky with the weather as far as snow and rain - just a few flurries and drops - but had to adjust to a near-wintry climate. We beat the cold one day by having a mountain adventure, termed appropriately as such rather than “hike” since it featured so many cool individual aspects. Early on, we were granted a great view of the city, followed by some hiking remiscent of Maine, which led us to a small mountain church. We rested at a waterfall surrounded by caves. The day culminated with a picnic in a meadow on the way down. It was a terrific day and a wonderful way to experience the natural side of Innsbruck, which is as appealing as the city itself.
Hiking beneath the Alps.
Waterfall rest. Yes, it was perilous.
Bastian was a perfect tour guide, taking us to the cathedral, the Swarovski store (a world-famous Austrian decorative crystal company), through the parks - where we played a game of chess on a huge outdoor board. We also played Austrian Monopoly (called DKT for a reason I can’t remember), where the currency is the old Austrian schilling and the regions are all Austrian - Vienna (Wien in German), Innsbruck, Salzburg, etc.
My favorite feature of Domkirche zu St. Jakob (Innsbruck’s cathedral) - the beautiful organ.
This dragon runs for 6,100 Euro at Swarovski. Yikes.
A countdown to the 2008 UEFA European Football Championship, to be held this summer in Austria and Switzerland.
Life-size chess. Bastian was a knight, I was…a queen.
This statue, on one of Innsbruck’s main streets, is on a ridiculous amount of postcards and magnets.
Check out this foosball table - 11 vs. 11 players!
One of tons of cool, colorful buildings gracing Innsbruck.
We spent the better part of a day at the Schloss Ambras, or Ambras Castle, appreciating the galleries of art, medieval armor and weapons and strolling and snacking around the sizable grounds.
A section of the castle. Check out the peacock and rad hedges.
Dancing armor. Doing the robot, maybe?
Courtesy of the “Curiosities” gallery. Wild!
The view from a hill we climbed behind the castle. That’s the Olympic City, constructed when the Olympics were held in Austria in the ’70s. And you can’t tell me it doesn’t look like it’s made of Legos.
One of the most memorable, fun and authentic Austrian activities was our trip to Butzihütte - an extraordinary restaurant nestled in the woods on a mountain above Innsbruck. The intimate dining areas are completely candelit, the food is, in the immortal words of Bastian, “real typical Austrian” and the atmosphere was unbeatable. We were with about a dozen of Bastian’s friends, making us 17 or 18 in all, sharing the Austrian food and having conversation by the warm flicker of candlelight. We had one of the most in-depth, yet friendly and positive, politcal conversations in my time abroad, covering the US elections and Austria’s social system. Completely contrasting to this, we busted out one of the Butzihütte’s house acoustic guitars and had a booming marathon singalong for the rest of the night. Included (and funniest/loudest) were Bob Marley’s “No Woman, No Cry,” and “Zombie” by The Cranberries.
Blurry, but nonetheless indicative of the dinner at Butzihütte.
Something tells me this particular tune was a little more raucous than the Bob Dylan selections.
What We Ate in Austria
To combat the feeling that I’m derailing every entry’s train of thought with what some might see as digressions into the culinary aspects of places I’m traveling, I’m presenting a solitary category for the chow we had.
The Butzihütte meal was one of the best I’ve had in Europe (note: remember this, as I’m writing a week in retrospect and have since had another amazing, list-topping meal in Prague). I had eiterbeule, a sort of super-fried cordon bleu item with cheese, ham, and schitnzel. It was unspeakably mouthwatering. Also popular around the table was käspätzle, a delicious, cheesy pasta/dough dish.
Bastian’s brother, Florian, thoroughly enjoying his käspätzle.
Breakfast generally consisted of dark bread and rolls, both “real typical Austrian,” with jams, butter, Nutella, and coffee. Bastian also took us to the Hotel Central one day for an even more traditional Austrian breakfast of - well, rolls and brown bread - with ham, cheese, jams, soft-boiled eggs, and coffee. Basically a more professional version of what we were eating at Bastian’s flat each morning - tasty, though.
Breaking fast at the Hotel Central.
The last meal worth discussing was the Chinese buffet. It came on a conveyor belt in the center of the room and you were free to snatch items off as quickly and plentifully as you chose. It was really something special, considering the amount of Chinese buffets everywhere you go. We ate a ton and were beyond satisfied.
Bastian, ready to capture some grub.
What We Drank in Austria
Bastian, knowing I am obsessed with trying as many European beers as possible, had a slew of brews - German and Austrian - ready to try on arrival. Between the five of us, we conquered somewhere in the neighborhood of 15 different beers. My personal favorite was the Edelweiss - Eddie pointed out that it, and most hefeweizens like it, has an intrinsic banana taste. Very nice. Schnapps is also an Austrian tradition, so shots were interspersed throughout the trip.
Welcome to Austria - let’s try these beers!
Since the European Championship is being held partly in Austria, a certain Austrian brewery is capping their bottles with flags of the participating nations. Über cool!
Overall, Innsbruck was a brilliant time and I would love to come back to Austria and even the city itself.
London to Innsbruck.
The top finger is Innsbruck. Check out all the mountains around. The bottom left finger is Milan, Italy; the right is Padova, Italy, near Venice.
Auf wiedersehn, Innsbruck. Danke schön for a great time. (Thank you, too, Bastian, Anna, Eddie, Sylvain, and Stephane. I think you had something to do with it)
“I have an infallible remedy to suggest to you, a remedy that has been successful with me each time I’ve met with some annoyance.”
“What is it?”
“Travel.”
-The Count of Monte Cristo to Albert de Morcerf in Alexandre Dumas’ “The Count of Monte Cristo,” 1844
Day Four - Saturday, March 8 - Versailles and Final Night in Paris
Although slightly alarm-clock-thwarted once again, we set off to Versailles (about 30 minutes out of Paris) early enough. The €16 “passport” to the chateau of Louis XIV and the French kings who followed (until the Revolution of 1789) included the palace and gardens and was plenty of bang for the buck (note: actively seeking any European slang for Euro equivalent to American “buck” or British “quid” for pound).
Panoramic of the Palace of Versailles from the front.
Touring the elegant chambers of the palace was fascinating. Many are stuffed only with 17th- and 18th-century portraits, the kind that tend to melt into each other in your consciousness after seeing a few dozen, but some rooms, including the separate chambers of the King and Queen, are accurately restored with original furnishings or spot-on reproductions. Thankfully the Hall of Mirrors, which is where the king’s throne once resided and where the Treaty of Versailles was signed to end World War I, was completely reopened after a long period of restoration.
The chapel – inside the palace.
The Hall of Mirrors.
The King’s truly king-size bed.
It’s only when you step out of the palace at Versailles, into the royalty’s backyard, that you realize what a colossal, extravagant base the French reign had. By the day’s end, I was honestly wondering if any rulers or empires in the world’s entire history possessed an estate so outrageously grand. Just to walk to Marie Antoinette’s personal property given by her husband and fashioned by her own personal taste was a 25-30 minute walk for Kate and I. Once there, the magic of a visit to the chateau multiplies dramatically: Antoinette’s private grounds, including her home, a farm, a large pond, a lighthouse sort of structure, and beautiful, open spaces is dreamlike – and 100% different from the palace itself. Verifiably wonderful.
One area of the palace’s garden. There are many, many this size with completely different schemes.
Marie Antoinette’s domain. Unfortunately, my camera died at a terrible time.
Back in Paris for our final night, we splurged a small amount for dinner: Kate had a bread, chicken, cheese and fried egg item and I had the French specialty of foie gras. It was strange, and I have no idea how they render duck into a spreadable block of paste, but never mind that.
Our Parisian grand finale was a dressed-up night at the Moulin Rouge. The staple Montmartre theater thrives on glitter, sparkle, music and dance with lavish costumes and equally fine sets. It was an enthralling show from start to finish. Between dance numbers, there were various talents on display: a precarious balance act, a hilarious multilingual ventriloquist, miniature horses and the coolest work with percussion and ping-pong balls I’d seen since the Blue Man group. My personal favorite was a dancer hopping into an enormous water tank filled with gargantuan snakes and proceeding to swim around and do fancy tricks and moves with the creatures on loan from “The Jungle Book.”
The Moulin Rouge by night. Electric.
Day Five – Sunday, March 9 – Marseilles
Au revoir, Paris, bonjour Marseilles. We blasted 480 miles south on the super-fast (up to 200 mph) TGV train to France’s Mediterranean coast. Immediately upon arrival, it felt starkly different to the nation’s capital. Warmer, for starters, and with a well-blended fusion of Mediterranean, Spanish, French, and Arab vibes. After checking into another cool hostel (luck striketh thrice) and grabbing a map, we set off for the nearby Vieux Port (Old Port) of Marseilles.
Panoramic of Marseilles’ Vieux Port.
La Cure Gourmande. Mmmm!
We found a tres bien candy shop, La Cure Gourmande, and shortly after discovered we could eat pretty well for cheaper than in Paris. The Chateau d’If adventure was one of the main attractions of Marseilles for both Kate and I; a boat ride just out of the harbor to the rocky island of If, where the fortress-turned-prison was immortalized by Alexandre Dumas in “The Count of Monte Cristo.” The classic’s protagonist, Edmond Dantès, is wrongfully imprisoned at the Chateau d’If and makes a cunning escape after an overlong stay. For those who haven’t read the novel, I highly recommend it, and I’ll not spoil the escape here, although I’ll warn you to skip the captions on photos below. Apparently Dantès and his priest jailmate pal, the Abbe Faria, were actual people and their cells – and the tunnel they created between to establish their friendship – are right there for visitors to see. Über cool!
Gorgeous blue water at the Chateau d’If.
The Chateau d’If awaits.
Wrongfully doomed to the depths of prison!
Looking down into the prison.
The rest of the prison and island featured great views of Marseilles and the surrounding coast, as well as more interesting tie-ins to “Monte Cristo.” To cap off the terrific visit, Kate and I each bought the complete and unabridged version of the book (we’d each read a half-size translation of the French tome before), complete with a neat Chateau d’If stamp on the bottom.
Gotta love prison.
You would not catch me trying to jump to escape.
Another nice Chateau and rocks shot. We took an absurd amount of pictures here.
A massive 13-picture panoramic that had to be scaled down this small to present it here.
That night was our biggest French dining experience. The “Rough Guide to France” does recommend: “Eating and drinking are among the chief delights of Paris, as they are in France as a whole.” We patrolled most of the bay at the Vieux Port before deciding on a place called Hippopotamus. I did what I should have done in Italy: put down a three-course meal (taking my time) of a big French salad with luscious cheese, a tasty piece of tilapia (seafood is Marseilles’ thing) and genuine, French Crème brûlée for dessert. Kate had the mini fondant au chocolat, like Stephane made at the first French dinner in the flat. It was all wonderful; an epic three-hour affair.
Day Six – Monday, March 10 – Marseilles
This was a laid-back day. We slept in, explored the city’s streets, walked along the Vieux Port some more, and had paninis and crêpes for lunch. Crêpes and Orangina were daily fixtures for us in France.
For the afternoon entertainment, we took a cruise to the Calanques, these amazing stone formations that make up the coast from Marseilles to nearby Cassis. We were able to see the luxuriously azure waters that give the Cote d’Azur (Blue Coast) its name, as well as daredevil climbers scaling the rocky faces and coastal villages that even a wild imagination is challenged with wondering how the residents settle, live, and travel to and from such isolated nooks of the world.
It was a marvelous two hours of beauty, and a terrible time for my digital camera to be on the fritz in a serious way. We did find a disposable camera and took a handful of pictures, so if those come out nice enough I’ll post them here later.
The captain cranked the boat to the max for the ride back. I fought as valiantly as I could against the tossing boat in the seething sea and often pouring rain, but eventually lost out and spent too much of the hellish hour-and-a-half return vomiting and trying to stabilize myself against the walls of the bathroom. Blech. Still, I wouldn’t have taken back the cruise – the Calanques were absolutely majestic.
We seized an early night at the hostel as another day tuckered us out even earlier. I appreciated Marseilles within moments of stepping out of the train station, and my fondness only grew in our two days. It is a truly unique, unmistakable seaside city.
Day Seven – Tuesday, March 11 – Nice
Merci beaucoup, EasyJet, for not having a connection directly from Marseilles back to Liverpool. For this reason we had to ride the 126 miles east via train to Nice (pronounced “niece”), also on the Cote d’Azur and the glistening Mediterranean, and experienced possibly the coolest place of entire Tour de France. It was sunny, balmy, and reaching toward downright hot in Nice. In addition to the weather, the flavor of the city was stunningly distinctive from Marseilles, considering how geographically close they lie. Nice exudes a warm mixture of the airs of France, Italy, and what I perceived to be Spain. I have yet to visit the country, so my judgment is only theoretical. Kate and I were literally beaming, all smiles, at our fortune of visiting such a fantastic place.
Bienvenue!
See? Beaming.
Adding to the surreal quality was our hostel, the Villa Saint-Exupery. They pick you up at a tram stop not far from the city center. They drive you and your luggage up to their isolated villa – truly a villa, no presumptuous dress-up name here – and give you a tour. They’ll do your laundry for 5 Euros. They have perfect maps with suggestions of what to see in Nice - although the fluent English staff (and English comes first, you get to skip the awkward “I don’t speak French” bit) will have already asked what you’re interested in doing and given customized recommendations. There is free internet and at least a dozen computers. Most hostels sport just two to four computers and charge extortionate usage fees. To top it all of, the Villa Saint-Exupery is a renovated old monastery, and quality dinner is served for €6.50 maximum in the chapel, complete with lovely stained glass catching the late afternoon sun. And – I sound like an infomercial here – but it all comes starting at €16 per person per night for a dormitory-style room – about $25. Totally unbeatable in Europe when considering the price, quality, and location. There’s a reason half the guests extend their stays, why it’s been voted the number one hostel in France for 2007 and in endless Top Five and Top Ten lists for Europe and the world, and why I just spent so long yammerin’ about it. If you’re interested in seeing France, going somewhere warm or just plain awesome, go to Nice. With the combination of the city’s allure and the dizzying number of things to do, it’s a must.
Cathedral in Nice.
Tomato basil, thyme, and BEER gelato. What the hey?!
For our last afternoon and evening in France, Kate and I moseyed to the beach and marveled at the blue water. We were briefly yanked from the dreamlike quality of the day when a crashing wave soaked us, but it was a laugh. We took in the sunset at the beach (the water stays remarkably blue even as night comes) and meandered around the cozy city streets. A highlight of the night was finding the first great gelato place since Rome. Walking in Nice, with my petit ami and a heavenly cone of gelato, I came to full realization that I haven’t wanted to return to a place so badly since Italy’s glorious capital. I love Nice. I felt robbed that I only had one day to enjoy it with Kate. I wanted to stay for a lifetime. I’ll now commence dreams of one day spending at least week or more in this incredible place…
Sunset in Nice.
Totally content after a week in France. And look at how blue the water stays even as it becomes dark!
The bottom line: It was an amazing week with Kate in France. We were able to experience four totally different areas of the most popular tourist destination in the world (75 million visitors per year) and soaked it all in with absolutely no obligations or stresses except for getting to the next sight. Here’s hoping the next three weeks of travel in Austria, Czech, Ireland and England go as wonderfully!
This is the entire map of our journey: Bangor, Liverpool, Paris, Versailles, Marseilles and Nice. Wow.
“How can you govern a country that has 245 kinds of cheese?”
-Charles de Gaulle
Day Two (Day One was Liverpool) - Thursday, March 6 - Paris
“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Paris,” said one of a pair of cheerful musicians on the train into the city as they broke into a perfectly Parisian accordion duet. Ah, c’est bon. After a smooth trip from Liverpool (a breeze of a flight at just over one hour), we arrived in the City of Lights.
Our first experience was some light lunchtime dining. Kate speaks some French, I speak next to none, but we managed fine. I had bread, a salad, and a spread of four fromages (cheeses) – all very tasty.
We set off to sightseeing immediately, as our newly revamped travel plans left us about only two full days and three nights in the city. The first stop was the Basilique du Sacre-Coeur, near our hostel in Montmartre. It’s a magnificent, white, unusual structure; beautiful inside and terrific views outside.
Basilique du Sacre-Coeur – likely my favorite cathedral in our time in France.
Sacre view!
Kate and I in front of Sacre-Coeur.
After this, we were the victims of some neo-guerilla begging. Two dudes almost hauled us aside in the street and said they wanted to draw us. We kindly tried to refuse and they persisted, muttering things about traditions and such. We both wasted 5-10 minutes while they drew us, then presented lame caricatures, then casually said the price was normally 80 Euros, but just €50 for students – as they were rolling them up and forcibly handing them to us. What followed was an exchanged that quickly heated from awkward to frustrating to very tense and kind of scary as they swore and paced angrily like we hadn’t held up our end of some unspoken agreement. I was able to give my drawing back and Kate threw hers away. I gave them €10 because I was freaking out and just wanted to get away. It was really lame and I’m only embarrassingly recounting it here to warn any future travelers of situations like this.
Kate and I on the Seine. This was about the kind of weather we had the whole time in Paris.
Next was the cathedral of Notre Dame. It’s a huge, surrounded by some nice places to sit and admire, and the gargoyles are an exciting sight. The massive arches and front doors of the cathedral are wildly intricate. This was the first of many stops on our tour de France which made me want to re-watch a movie when I’m home to compare or just reflect on the experience (this time it was – duh – Disney’s “Hunchback of Notre Dame”). The tower pass, which would have given us splendid views of Paris and brought us up close to some ghoulish gargoyles, was a little too expensive to be worth it.
Kate, demonstrating how gargoyles do it.
Grrrr-goyles.
Panoramic of Notre Dame from top to bottom.
We stopped and relaxed in the Jardin du Luxembourg (jardin = garden) for a while, but not long as the weather was so-so and occasionally dripping some rain. Dinner was a simple deal; one baguette, a quarter wheel of cheese (chosen almost at random in an overwhelming – both by smell and choice – cheese shop) and we were rolling. Each country in Europe seems to have their own popular food staple that manifests itself all over the streets and is usually the one thing you can plan on being open till late at night. In England, it’s chip shops. In Rome, gelaterias. In Amsterdam, a type of pastry/dessert shop. In France, it’s cafés on nearly every corner of every plaza where streets meet, carts and windows for fresh made crêpes, and an innumerable stock of patisseries (bakeries). This combination rivals and sometimes tops what the other countries offer, especially for a bread lover like myself. Also, being in complete absence of all the pubs made me realize just how British they are.
Crêpe with Nutella and banana: before and after. Yum!
Pool and statue in a jardin.
Our main event for the first night was the Musée d’Orsay, open late on Thursdays and free to students coming in the evening. It’s an old converted railway station, and the foyer is as impressive as much of the art itself. Kate and I were able to see a fair amount of the huge collection considering how much we had walked that day. The d’Orsay’s collection contains a ton of impressionist material, most notably, Monet, Manet, Renoir, Toulousse-Lautrec, Renoir, and one of my favorites, Vincent van Gogh.
Not “Starry Night,” but pretty close.
Plenty of famous Monet works here.
The Musée d’Orsay.
We gratefully collapsed in our hostel, the Le Montclair Montmartre, which receives another stamp of approval as a nice, cheap, friendly place to stay on any Euro trip.
Day Three - Friday, March 7 - Paris
So exhausted from the travel and endless walking of the day before, we accidentally turned off the alarm and ended up sleeping a bit longer than planned. This seems to infallibly happen to me at least once on any trip. We hustled and snagged some crumble-liciously good crossaints on our way to stake out the Moulin Rouge and Paris’s red-light district, Pigalle, by day.
The famous Le Chat Noir café in Pigalle.
Moulin Rouge by day.
At this point I’d made two solid observations in my notebook: they love their graffiti in Paris to an insane extent, and you can always see people trotting around with huge baguettes. Once you’ve enjoyed the superb quality of one for the absurdly cheap price of one Euro or less, you understand why.
The Musée Picasso was first on our ambitious French Friday. Seeing the largest collection of his works in the world was a must for me while in Paris. Touring chronologically through Picasso’s life and work is awe-inspiring. He was a master of so many art-forms: sculpture, painting and drawing – realism, cubism, abstract, impressionism, even crayons, you name it – flat and three-dimensional collages, and photography, amongst many often impossible-to-classify others. The museum really shows how prolific a genius Pablo Picasso was – he must have been up to his ears in projects, working on ten at a time to complete so many. The museum seemed to lack a large number of his most well-known works, but I had no real qualm with this as I still received a profound, lasting impression and am sure his most popular pieces are either always traveling or displayed as one-offs in less astounding museums. For anyone keen on getting behind the artist with background info, photos and such (moi), there is a cool area of Picasso fliers for exhibitions throughout his life, as well as a variety of photos of the man, working, with his work and just smiling and relaxing like a normal guy.
To break up the museum-age, we toured the Pantheon next. This substantial structure was modeled after the original in Rome (although it’s quite different and only the front somewhat resembles the Roman masterpiece), but the inside is more cathedral-esque. Foucault’s Pendulum, proving the Earth’s rotation, resides in the center. Underneath is the crypt, where we saw the tombs of Madame Curie, Voltaire, and Victor Hugo and Alexandre Dumas – in the same room!
aris’s Pantheon, its majesty somewhat marred by this annoying display.
The joint tomb of two of France’s most timeless writers.
The Pantheon’s pricey entry was one of many times Kate and I were fortunate to receive student discounts, knocking off a few Euros. Through most of Paris, under-25s in general and students especially receive a decent reduction on admission.
We skipped the Eiffel Tower. Never saw it, the whole time in Paris. Okay, only kidding. You caught me. We saw the behemoth, obsessively snapped pics, had another couple take our picture and then swapped (a great tactic in Paris), and did the standard perspective play shots with the tower on the walk away. We opted not to go up as it was expensive with a long line and we’d already gotten a great (free) view from the Sacre-Coeur. For about ten seconds, we considered taking the stairs up ol’ Eiffel (“Why not, I’ve done it up the Statue of Liberty?”) and wisely opted out. We were dead on our feet by about 7:30 on our second night – a trip by foot up the tower likely would’ve lopped two hours or so off that.
Finally we saw the Eiffel Tower.
The lovers with the Tower.
Chomp chomp.
On the way to the Louvre (free for students on open-late Fridays), we snatched a scrumptious baguette for €1, a container of dippable-but-still-legitimate-and-delectable bleu cheese for €2.50 and, voila, dinner for insanely cheap.
Speaking of insane, the Louvre: so ridiculously spacious. This was the most ruthless art and sculpture space-filling I had seen since the Vatican’s infinite collection adorning every speck of free space in their museums. Our barely-functioning legs and feet were able to take our equally blasted brains and eyes to the major sights: the Venus de Milo, The Winged Victory of Samothrace, and, of course, the “Mona Lisa.” Da Vinci’s portrait-turned-most-famous-painting-ever is an interesting case: the mysterious, complacently smiling lass gets an entire enormous wall to herself, crowded rabidly by – no, not admirers – people anxious to snap a picture, prove they saw it, and get out of there. There is certainly little time or space to appreciate the classic among the thronging crowd, but what’s worse is the strong vibe I got that there was no interest in admiring the “Mona Lisa.”
I am of the belief that the more photos while traveling, the better – if the photos are for memories, a sense of the place, and similar purposes – pictures need to supplement the travel experience, not replace it. Particularly now, in 2008, when everyone from our grandparents to five-year-old children and certainly every tourist has a digital camera ready to click away without even pausing to enjoy something, it’s increasingly important to avoid the dulling of magical experiences. My last note on the interesting (or sad?) irony of the “Mona Lisa” is how the gigantic painting directly opposite it in the same room (“The Raft of the Medusa”) is at least 10 times the size, exquisite with intricacies, probably took years longer to complete than Da Vinci’s own rightful masterpiece, but still receives a fraction of the attention. C’est la vie.
A blurry Venus de Milo. I have issues with using flash on timeless works of art, sorry.
Hallway of Italian paintings. Take a gander at how suicidally crowded it is.
The “Mona Lisa” and the crowd you have to fight through to see it before being shoved aside.
The Louuuvre!
We enjoyed two floors of Egyptian exhibits before saying au revoir to the Louvre. In our exhausted state, Kate accurately summed up the museum’s collection, which would take many, many visits to even comprehend, much less fully appreciate: “Seriously, how could anyone look at all this stuff?”
“Escape familiar home.”
-In Flames, “Dial 595-Escape”
Friday, Feb. 29
I had no idea how I would spend this day in London as I was trying to save the city-seeing for two coming occasions: Kate’s visit and my dad’s visit. Fortunately I cracked open my new “Let’s Go: Britan 2007” (a more in-depth traveling look at the UK than the “Let’s Go: Western Europe” – thank you Mandy for being forced to leave it behind before you returned to the US!) and spotted the British Museum. All I knew to expect was mummies, and that was the first and last knowledge required to merit a visit.
I hopped off the train, made the by-now-familiar trip into the London Underground and stolled through the (free – bless you, London) entrance to the British Museum not long after. It is huge and very worth a visit for fellow Egyptphiles and anyone remotely interested in ancient cultures. I began in the Egyptian area (massive and spasmodically arranged), well-chuffed (Britism: pleased) that cameras were acceptable flashing in all directions. Some of the items dated to 2,400 BC and further. Viewing massive sculptures of long-forgotten gods, pulled straight from the sands of Egypt, and running your finger (oops! – no touching! – um, viewing at a very close range) the severely intricate hieroglyphics of over 4,000 years past was remarkable. I also saw the Rosetta Stone, the huge slab that was the original key to translating hieroglyphics.
The Rosetta Stone and a colored panel of Egyptian art/glyphs.
After this foyer of bliss I lounged through the Greek area (also a high-point of my interest) and adored the Athenian black-figure vase paintings, the formidable gallery of sculpted decoration controversially seized from the Parthenon in Greece, and the remains of Lykia, an ancient civilization from what is now southwestern Turkey. This included the Nereid Monument, an oddly large structure to see complete in a museum. But hey, this is the boastful collection of the British Empire. Marvel at their spoils, no q’s a’d.
Athenian vase.
After a spin through the King’s Library and a look at the sample of clocks and watches which will soon be assimilated into a full exhibit, I took one final journey into Egypt. It was another floor, and I was completely caught off guard by dozens of mummies, sarcophagi, and beautifully adorned caskets. The Egyptian burial rites never pale in intrigue, no matter how much you see or learn. Highlights here were a 5,400-year-old body – astonishingly and unsettlingly well-preserved – and the mummy of Cleopatra (comin’ atcha!).
Cleopatra.
Sarcophagus mania!
5,400 years old. Unbelievable.
“What time is it?”
“Time for you to get a huge golden clock.”
This fruitful, lengthy tour was followed by a rabbit following a carrot dangled by a spiteful predator: me, being distracted on my walk to the Tube station by seeing a sign for the Charles Dickens Museum. I love Dickens and took a thorough course on the man in Bangor last semester, so although I’d never heard of the museum, I decided Dickens was from London, so it must be legitimate. The search gained steam as the signs progressed to Charles Dickens’s House Museum. The unfortunate end result was a miserable trek through empty streets, the house only being located once I was far past it and had decided to backtrack the entire way. For the record, Dickens’s house is barely marked, and was closed when I arrived. At least I saw it, but I was too angry and spent to take a picture of the elusive little bugger. Bah, humbug, indeed!
The night was capped off with a stay at a moderately sketchy (Britainese: dodgy) hostel. But you sometimes get what you pay for (usually a little better in my experience), and this was no bank-breaker at £6.50.
Saturday, March 1
My girlfriend, Kate, arrived in the morning for her two-week-plus stay. She was beyond groggy from a sleepless overnight transatlantic flight, so we rested all day and went out to the bustling areas of Oxford Street, Piccadilly Circus, and Leicester Square on an electric London Saturday night. We supped at a pub that was brilliantly monitored by an old Golden Retriever. Beat that!
He does it all! Washes dishes, pours the pints, takes your order, eats what you’ll give him of your order, takes care of unruly customers, barks to be let out!
We also purchased tickets for the “Lord of the Rings” musical, deciding on that particular show since we’re both LOTR fans and figured it was a unique London West End experience that didn’t get imported from Broadway in the Big Apple. The verdict on the show will be set forth in an upcoming blog (we’re returning to London from March 15 – 17.
Over the course of the next few days, Kate and I returned to Wales, had another great French dinner in the flat, I took Kate to see Conwy and the castle (my first in Wales way back when I found the castle cat) and did my best to introduce Kate to the jolly old United Kingdom.
Alas (foreshadowing), time was short as the two lovebirds were to set off for a week’s adventure in France in mere days! But first came Liverpool.
Day One of Trip with Kate - Wednesday, March 5 - Liverpool
“We just missed our stop,” Kate says. She’s nudging me awake. I’m in a disturbingly deep sleep for a train ride. I’m drooling. Someone is staring at me disapprovingly. Now I have no idea where we are. Fortunately, Liverpool Central is only a few blocks from Liverpool Lime Street – all is not lost.
Kate and I came to Liverpool for an afternoon as an essential for our 7:30 flight the next morning. We navigated to the hostel, which was nice, with a great private room for a good price. For those keeping score at home, the Torquay Hostel in London gets a “thumbs down, never visit,” and the Nightingale Lodge in Liverpool gets a “sure thing, book for all your needs in the home of The Beatles.”
The lads.
We sojourned down to Albert Dock, unable to escape the eye of the hulking, intimidating Liverpool Cathedral (Dad, I’m taking notes for what to see on our visit to Livs, no worries) and enjoyed another high-quality, free English museum – the Tate Liverpool. The rooms were organized by theme (windows, light, bathing folk) and filled with traditional sketches and paintings as well as sculpture, abstract art, and – hmm – hospital beds, mattresses being impaled by lamps, etcetera. The strangeness was palpable at points, but a cool Andy Warhol room and a chance to see Picasso’s “Weeping Woman” among a few others was neat. The Jackson Pollock pieces were good, too – he approaches the limit of my abstract appreciation.
A visit to Mathew Street (“Beatle Street” or “Birthplace of The Beatles” depending on which signs you trust) came next, with a pilgrimage to the Cavern Pub, where The Beatles played a whopping 274 shows. Unless that was at the Cavern Club – I was a little confused. This was still a cool taster of the Beatles-ness of Liverpool (someone even walked by me singing “Hard Day’s Night”), but The Beatles Story museum was reserved for my next trip, with Pa.
This it where it started.
The Beatles wanted me to watch their stuff for a while and guard the stage.