And on that note ...

Well, the strike hasn't seemed to impact the metro much, as I made it to the monument where the Bastille once stood (I would have stormed it, but it's in the middle of a busy traffic circle with no crosswalks) and then back to Musee Rodin without a hitch (though I may have limped slightly).

Rodin is a different experience when nobody is rioting. I spoke to a couple of the museum workers who were there yesterday. They said they basically were stuck inside the museum all day, and that protestors were tossing firecracker-like explosives into the garden where many of Rodin's sculptures stand (or sit and think, as it may be).

But aside from one floor of the place being closed, no big problems today. Much of Rodin's work is fascinating. He was a master at capturing angst and emotion, and beauty (and I'm told he wasn't too nice a dude). I'm really not sure why this place is relatively downplayed in some guides. It's not a massively overwhelming or entrancing experience like the Louvre or Orsay, but nonetheless plenty worthy.

Some of the sculptures are impressively complicated -- especially one of several city founders being marched to the scaffold. The Thinker overlooks the place while the unfinished Gates of Hell (which, according to several historians, lead to Gary, Ind.) stand almost in his gaze.

There were many other notables, including The Kiss, the two hands and Victor Hugo. Good stuff. I'm in.

After Rodin I headed up to the Gare St. Lazare area to meet Julien for lunch. Then it's back to Pont du Noo-eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee, some souvenir shops somewhere and then the airport.

-----------

Fast forward.... Good lunch, souvenirs surprisingly hard to find, ended up running a bit behind sked, bus to airport running way behind because of strike, shared cab with two other people (didn't this already happen in Venice?) and got there in plenty of time partly b/c my flight time was 50 minutes later than I thought.

On the plane now. Seems like a good time for ...

RANDOM STUFF:
*Woman on the street the other day said, "excuse me."

I said, "yes?"

After hearing me speak, she said, "I'm sorry, you are not French?"

No, but don't be sorry about that.

*Good exchange I didn't witness:
Some chick: "I don't drink white wine, only red. I'm a wine snob."

LN: "That doesn't make you a snob. That makes you stupid."

*Almost dream moment in Dublin:
Guy at club: "Are you playing tonight" before Jess Klein?

Me: "Only if you need me. Just hand me a guitar and I'll be ready to go."

Guy: (laughs) "Ok, we just might."

They didn't. Damn.

*FUN FACT: I actually watched the Champion's League final last night. And got into it. Sorry, Lago -- though y'all could have been down 3-0 in that one.

*By the way, there's been more MSFT-YHOO merger/partnership talk. From an insider's perspective, here's the real scoop:

THIS CONTENT HAS BEEN REMOVED AND MAY NOT UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES BE REPOSTED. THANK YOU FOR YOUR UNDERSTANDING IN THIS MATTER. court order aqsm4u2c-ilkt2000.

*Summing me up:
Me: Laughing at something.

KW: "Are you amusing yourself?"

Me: "Usually."

*This morning at a street market I found giant gummy bears. Yes, I'm lowercasing this time because they were awful. The ones in Germany, however, were the real deal. And pretty much just like in U.S. (in Haribo I trust).

*Cabbie wisdom:
(talking about American views of French folk, and vice-versa)

"Americans from New York are good. From California? Good. But not from places like ... Dallas."

And his thoughts on Paris St. Germain, the local football club?

"A catastrophe. Catastrophe."

Then he asked me which American football (soccer) team is best. I only vaguely remember what I told him because really, who the hell knows? (Sorry Revs and Dynamo ...).

OK, as for my three-week tour ...

Maybe later I'll have some final thoughts to tie this all together (like admitting that I already am pondering another Eurotrip). And I'll post some photos here and/or on Snapfish. But for now...

Thanks to all those who followed along here, commented and emailed, and to everyone who hosted me (David&MJ, and Kathryn) and guided me around these (not terribly) strange places (including old friends I saw and new ones I found) and to those who gave/lent me useful advice stuff. Advice and stuff are good.

Also to all family, friends, coworkers and other miscellaneous mammals who encouraged me to take this trip and didn't call me crazy (at least not because of this). And, of course, to dad for picking me up from airport ... Though I suppose I should wait to see if he actually decides to get me.

Also, thanks to the groovy folks I met throughout the trip (but not the un-groovy ones) for making it more memorable. Good times, good times. And nice job, All-Stars, in surviving three weeks and not quite crippling me.

It goes without saying, but thank you Jess Klein and the Republic of Ireland. Now go kick Wales' ass.

Oh, and Mr. Sarkozy -- that's OK, you can pick up lunch next time.

And with that...

Au revoir, Paris. Ciao, Europa.

Grazie.

Paris: A riot and a wreck

Louvred it up like nobody's business this morning. Followed Rick Steeves for the last (or second-to-last) time on this trip, taking a two-hour tour through just one of the massive museum's three wings.

The place is overwhelmimg. I definitely would recommend a Rick Steeves-type book if you are going. Just ask Laz for his if I ever give it back.

Anyway, Venus di Milo. Winged Victory. Mona Lisa. Alf's quintuple self-portrait. Some giant works of art. Many believe the Mona Lisa is the most over-hyped of the bunch. Maybe, but it still produces an awe factor unsurpassed by almost anything else I've seen on this trip. Both the sculptures were amazing, too -- especially Winged Victory, which probably is in more need of its missing parts than is Venus.

I also saw several works of art here and at Orsay that I already had seen on this trip, not knowing the others were reproductions. Damn _____! (to curse Heathrow, press A. To curse the Welsh, press B. And to curse German efficiency, press C).

The Orsay, in some ways, is more accessible, what with the more contemporary works. But the Louvre has many of the giants (Van Gogh, Michelangelo, Giotto, Strahan ...) and some of the most famous works of art. Easily worth the visit. No diggity, no doubt.

...

So there I am in line at Notre Dame, actually going in this time and getting ready for tons of steps. There's some guy with a creepy mask lurking around and scaring the hell out of people, much to our collective delight. Really seemed like something you'd see on a hidden video show. Or Mr. Bean.

Climbed the towers of Notre Dame (it wasn't authentically moto ... Rather, it was quasi-moto (boooooo) ...), reached a lookout point and took in perhaps the best Eiffel-including views of Paris one can get without a jetpack, a magic carpet or the power of levitation. Then climbed in the bell tower, took one pic of the big hunk of metal and my camera battery (which had lingered valiantly all day) finally crapped out.

Climbed to top of tower for even better views, using the trusty pocketpc to take hopefully worthwhile pics (they were so-so ... oh well). Was more worried about it not getting the job done later at Musee Rodin, but it became sort of moot. More on that shortly.

We begin the long climb down the tower, with me leading the group. One woman was on my tail for the first 50 or so steps, but I sped it up on the unbelievably narrow and somewhat slick staircase just for the sport of it. Blew her away.

I was counting all the steps on the way down, but about the time I got to around 32or so, I decided it would be more fun to make animal noises that would echo back up the staircase and to the other tourists. So that's what I did. There was an owl, a monkey, some other random noises I'm sure they enjoyed it. I know I did.

Looking at the clock and the closing times of various sites, I basically had a choice between a nearby church with what reportedly is some of the most amazing stained glass in the world, or Musee Rodin, home of The Thinker. Line for the church was insane, so Rodin it was.

Took the metro relatively close and then walked it. Kept running into streets barricaded off by police. They told me how to get around and to the museum, but more police were around every corner (not literally). I was thinking some head of state was in town or something.

Nope, just fishermen.

When I got to the museum, I encountered more police than I had seen to that point. They all had riot gear -- shields, barricades, guns, etc. -- and many were right in front of the museum.

Ponder that, The Thinker!

A sign said the museum was closed (sorry, Rick Steeves).

"Will it be open tomorrow?" I asked one officer.

"Yes, tomorrow."

"Why is it closed?"

The officer pointed to all the trash and debris on the ground.

"What happened?"

"Fighting."

I found an English-speaking cameraman who explained that the fishermen were protesting because fuel prices are too high, which hurts their business.

Apparently the ministry of French Fish is right next to the museum. It started as a protest but got ugly.

(Off topic: I had great onion soup yesterday. Thought to myself, "I wonder if this is like French Onion Soup. ... wait, I'm in France. So it's just onion soup here!" I'm very smart.)

After taking in the scene -- which included many lingering protesters and other curious passers-by, I found some food and then took the train back toward the Notre Dame, where nearby sits a Holocaust memorial of sorts. As I was trying to figure out where the site was, a motorcycle accident happened right in front of me. Guy hit or was hit by a car, hit the ground and skidded his bike. He got right up and approached the car(s) that hit him, looking none too pleased. He appeared to be fine -- and police and an ambulance were on the scene in an amazing 30-45 seconds (helped that this happened right next to a hospital).

Protests, riots, harmless motorcycle accidents -- this place rocks! Oh, there's the art and culture stuff too, of course.

Anyway, the memorial, called Memorial de la Deportation, is simple but effective for what it is. Quartz pebbles (based on Jewish tradition) representing all French victims of concentration camps (200,000) are lined up in a hallway with a light at the end.

After that -- and my long but ultimately successful search for a phone that takes coins (I now have a phone card I don't need -- any takers?), I wandered to the metro to head back to Pont de Noo-eeeeeeeeeeeeee. But there was a pep band in my way.

Not sure it was a pep band, but sounded like one. Lots of brass -- they were great. Entertaining a crowd at Place de Chatalet, of which I was part for 20 minutes or so. Good stuff. What fun. Seriously.

Finally made it back here, where MJ helped find me food. And I've been researching this transit strike happening tomorrow, trying to figure out if/how I will get to airport. But before that I have just a little more sightseeing to do. Then, tomorrow evening, I'll be NY-bound ... and back to LA soon after. Crazy.`

The cabby and the hair

After spending much of Tuesday morning depressed in bed after being told that my hair looks like a mullet and my beard makes me look old, I finally got going and hit Musee D'Orsay. But first I needed food, so I got me a banana and chocolate crepe, just like Laurie never could used to make. Yum. And washed it down with a Coke Zero. Of course.

Anyway, the Orsay was grand. Impressionism and post-impressionism were refreshing after seeing so much ancient and classic art on this trip. Van Gogh and Monet, among others, had it going on. It's fascinating to read how some of them were received (or ignored) in their time. For instance, Rodin (I believe) had one of his sculptures roundly booed upon its public unveiling. Good taste or not, how great is it that the public cared that much?

8.1 greats, I believe.

(By the way, the ticket woman at Orsay asked how old I am ... Apparently there's a discount for 25 and under and she thought I might make the cut. Take that, hair haters!)

After the Orsay I went back to Notre Dame. Got there by 6; signs and books say it closes at 6:30. Guy at door says no. It's 5. I point out that sign says 6:30. He just shrugs his shoulders.

So I meander down toward the Latin District (there's a Dan Quayle joke here somewhere that I can't quite put together) and walk by the Pantheon (didn't I already do that in Rome?) -- which was closed, so I didn't go in. Seems to be a common theme here -- I walk by without entering.

"Paris: Come visit and walk by our stuff."

So I walked by Jardin Luxembourg and am reminded, "der, you were here before." There is an amazing large-print gallery of vivid photographs from around the world (a Russian ship stuck on ice, New Orleans, famine in Africa, underwater scenes, 9/11, etc.) outside the jardin, along with that friendly giant head you see atop this blog.

Then grabbed a bear at a cafe in the Latin Quarter and people-watched for a while (clearly I meant "beer" but that typo was too funny to fix). It's a cafe/restaurant-filled area near the Sorbonne, which I also walked by but not it. Lots of people -- good social scene. Fun area.

FUN FACT: The vast majority of Parisians smoke. But probably only about a third of them actually carry a lighter. Still, at least half dispose of their cigarettes by tossing them in the street. Keeps the street-sweeping industry booming.

Fast forward past my mad dash to find a bathroom (found a friendly McDonald's just in time) and eventually I head up to Sacre Coeur, a church at the highest point in Paris. It's night, so I'm looking for a good vista. I trudge up a long, steep staircase and do irreparable harm to my knees (didn't I already d this in Rome?) but finally make it up there. Plenty of tourists being entertained by some guy singing "Mrs. Robinson."

Church had just closed (crap) but the view of the tower is lovely. Unfortunately, must of the rest of the city is obscured by trees, a restaurant and marching German soldiers. But I see the hourly tower glitter show and get a few decent pics.

Run into a few Americans. Some of us head back down, cross the party-filled Pont du Artes, get amazing views/pics of the Seine at night and had to a bridge with an ever more spectacular view of the tower. Had the same "holy crap" feeling I did when first arriving in Venice. Took that view in for a while. Perhaps a little too long, as ...

FUN FACT: The last train leaves at 1 a.m. I got to station at about 1:01 (damn German efficiency). I find a cab driver who is happy to take my green American money (he don't take cards and I'm low on Euros) so off we go. I try to explain where I want to go.

"Pont du Neuilly (noo-ee)."

"Porte Maillot?"

"No, it's past that. Neuilly."

"What? What is address?"

I show him the address on the pocket PC. He tries to put it in his GPS but clearly is struggling. So we drive a bit.

"This is Porte Maillot."

"OK, it's farther -- Pont du Neuilly."

"You know where it is?"

"I can get there from train station."

"What train?"

"Pont du Neuilly."

"OH... Pont du Neuilly (noo-eeeeeeeeee)."

Apparently my slight mispronunciation caused all sorts of problems (didn't this already happen in Rome?).

"It's off Rue de Chateau."

"Your French is very good! I don't speak good English."

"You are doing OK. ... It's the third right. Un, deux, trois."

"HAHA - very good, very good!"

Lucky it wasn't the fourth street -- in French I can only count to three.

"I know a little English ... 'hello ... How are you ... How much? ... Where are you going ... Goto hell.' Not you!"

Thanks for clarifying.

So my Lebanese cab driver named Michael -- who has a brother named Johnny -- dropped me off, happily took my U.S. Dollars and went on his way.

And I took a nap and prepared for the final full day of European craziness.

The ex-girlfriend tour of Europe continues ...

First full day in Paris and I hung out with my old buddy Laurel, who happens to be on her own Eurotrip right now.

But before I get into the details of the day, I must report this:

IT'S ALIVE!

My trusty Samsung mp3 player somehow came out of its Amsterdam fog and has roared back to life. Maybe it noticed me beginning to entertain thoughts of finally breaking down and giving in to the man by getting an iPod. It couldn't allow that. And I thank it for that.

Anyway ...

It was mostly a walking and boating day. I'd like to say we started off at the nearby Jardin du Luxembourg, but I have no recollection of this (space cake finally kicking in?). We then walked to, in and around Notre Dame (but not up a tower -- I may still do that), which asks its visitors to be respectful, quiet, not to use cameras (thought everyone does), and only enter certain areas if you plan to pray (many tourists ignore this) -- all while having souvenir machines placed throughout the impressive cathedral.

Then we hit the mighty Baltobus boat. Basically it's a hop-on/hop-off water shuttle with no tour guide. But still nice/useful. We went around Ile St. Louis and by the Hotel De Ville before getting off the boat at the Louvre and not going to Musee D'Orsay (like other fine salons, it's closed on Mondays).

More walking around ... And noticing that much of this city's architecture has the same "important" feel, as if each building must be some historic landmark.

Eventually we Baltobus it again to the Eiffel Tower, which is more Eiffely in person. Walked under and around the site of one of Superman's most important accomplishments, walked nearby the Paris Hilton (ah, remember the good ol' days when that wouldn't be a joke?) and then to Palais de Chaillot, where we had a snack and chilled with a spectacular view of the tower.

Lingered there for quite a while.

Eventually we met up with Laurel's friend Julien, who brought us to an English pub (never before has English pub food tasted so good -- of course, this had more to do with me being on the verge of passing out from hunger) and then, somewhat accidentally, to the quaint Chez Julien (no relation).

This was an authentic Parisian restaurant -- no chain, just its own decorations. Of course, I was full on pub food, so the other two ate. Good call on my part (not really).

Then trained it back to David & MJ's, where I'm now trying to do laundry. If only I could read French ...

And thus ends an unspectacular recap of Monday's action (I'm tired ... Trying to ramp up for a couple of big days before dodging yet another train/bus strike on Thursday and heading to the airport).

Oh, we almost saw Sarah Jessica Parker. She was in some store on Champs Elysees promoting her new perfume. Big crowd outside the door.

Man, I travel thousands of miles away from LA and still I can't get away from that woman. I feel your pain, Matthew Broderick. Go give Mia Sara a call.

Daffy 1, Bugs 0

A wee bit drowsy, but I've made it to Paris, where David and MJ are serving as my gracious hosts (David being my sister's husband's father, and MJ being my sister's husband's father's wife -- there's got to be a name for that (other than MJ) ... any suggestions?).

Trained it down from Amsterdam (a city which failed to cook my brain but succeeded in frying my mp3 player -- damn Welsh... the people, the jam, the old A's pitcher) and did a quick sightseeing primer before the heavy touristing of the next few days.



Walked by the Louvre (didn't see Mary's corpse), the garden thing nearby, the Seine, the Arc de Triomphe (where a ceremony of sorts was taking place), witnessed a minor car accident (old guy decides not to go at green light, young blond girl behind him does), saw some crazy obelisk-type thing and wandered down Champs Elysees. And took the metro a few times. And made breakfast plans for far too early tomorrow.

FUN FACT: The Louvre is quite large. But it would neither confirm nor deny that it also is in charge.

Also ate rabbit on the train. It wasn't being served -- I just brought my own.

Was tempted to have duck later. But one cute animal per day is plenty. The actual dish can be seen here. On a happier note, the advertised "potato salad" really was roasted potatoes with some other yummy stuff, not that gross mayo-mixed stuff. Go train!

Too tired to write more and worry about formatting. So I won't.

I knew better

In my last post I wrote:

And on that note... My Amsteradventure essentially comes to an end -- assuming the bus doesn't take me back through Haarlem (or Harlem) and leave me there.

That wasn't the original. My first attempt read something like this:

And on that note... My Amsteradventure essentially comes to an end -- assuming the bus doesn't crash.

I didn't want to jinx myself. Good thing.

On our way back, some car -- apparently driving in a lane he shouldn't have been in, and driving very, very fast -- nearly plowed into our bus as it pulled away from a stop. Missed by inches.

On the bus I was confronted with one of today's greatest moral dilemmas. I sat next to someone when I got on, taking the first available open seat. About 10 minutes later, two seats opened up across the aisle. Do I get up and move to give the other person more space? Is it odd if I stay? Would they be offended if I left?

I stood my ground (or sat it, as it may be) and didn't change seats. And I don't regret it. Not for a second.

Also, I saw another Kentucky Fried Chicken. That's three. Way inordinate.

So I get back to the room and nobody is there. But I can predict what will happen.

I just get to bed when everyone storms in, turns on the lights and makes as much noise as possible. Then they start doing bong hits and the entire room fills with smoke. So much for airing out my clothes by hanging them up.

One of the guys decides to leave the room for a while around 2 a.m. but he doesn't bring his key. So later he spends about 15 minutes banging on the door before anyone lets him in. (I'm sure it's hotel security, as drug use here is a no-no, so I wasn't going to get the door ... unless I could have been the turncoat!).

Eventually people do fall asleep, but the dude in the next bunk over is snoring like there's no tomorrow -- which for him almost became a reality.

Not surprisingly, I'm up and out first. They trashed that place beyond belief. They left wrappers on my bed. F'ing Welsh. Is it petty that I'm glad Cardiff lost?

OK, now really I'm on my way out...

Janga jenga

As I finish my pastry and type on this addictive little pocketPC, some people at my table are trying to figure out who I am .. Or who I look like. One told their theory to another, who kept trying to surreptitiously look over. The first finally decides, "yeah, that's who it is."

I sort of hope they ask me, because I'm curious. Really, who wouldn't want to know who they are? This mystery is more engaging than the Rembrandt House, at least.

Wondering how wise it is to blog right now. But maybe it's good to document what I may have forgotten by tomorrow morning. I just hope I can find the bus.

(I'm greatly exaggerating here ... The cake has had virtually no effect.)

"The thought of the guy jiggling his cornpipe out the window...," the person who knows me says in response to someone else in her group.

I hope that ain't who they think I am.

I ordered a vanilla shake here. But they had run out. I said I thought it would be a good combo. The guy here at The Bulldog agreed.

"That's why we're sold out," he said.

Indeed.

They now are playing jenga. I was watching. They invited me to play. I guess whoever I am doesn't come with much on an intimidation factor.

Holy crap -- maybe I am Campbell Scott after all! Or a Ukrainian.

I left without ever finding out.

There are an inordinate number of Kentucky Fried Chickens here (it's not KFC in Holland yet). I've seen two thus far (including on this walk to the bus; no, that wasn't a space cake-induced random thought), which seems inordinate enough.

And on that note... My Amsteradventure essentially comes to an end -- assuming the bus doesn't take me back through Haarlem (or Harlem) and leave me there. It's kinda like Vegas here -- OK in moderation and probably much, much more fun in a group, but no desire to go back anytime soon.

On to Pa-ree.

P.S.: "First generation turbo lighters (something something)," some guy just mumbled to nobody in particular as he ambled on by.

Just seemed like something that should be shared.

So there.

Amsterdamned if you do ...

Made it to Rembrandt House. Not worth the trip. Seeing as how just about everything was a replica and it was more about him dealing art and going bankrupt than his art itself, 20 minutes with Wikipedia might have done the trick (his prints/etchings were a highlight -- possibly the only one).

Of course, I could just pretend it was the torture museum ... In that case, it was perfect!

Then, in this crappy weather, cabbed out to my hostel in the middle of nowhere ad got a room with some frat-like dudes who had torn the place apart (and possibly used my bed, too -- lovely).

Yep, shoulda just stayed in Dublin. Oh well.

OK, after meeting and chatting with my drunken but friendly hostelmates from Wales (they were bummed as Cardiff lost the League Cup final), getting settled, figuring out how/where to take the bus and making my reservation for tomorrow's train to Paris, I've calmed down about being here. Still would rather be in Dublin (or York ...), but this will do.

Also, realizing that I hadn't eaten since a small breakfast explained some of the crankiness. That and the Heineken Experience being closed (one of the reasons I wanted to come back here).

I tried fries and mayo (a local favorite). I don't get it. But a homeless guy did help me buy a bus ticket. Too bad I had no pizza to give him.

Shortly thereafter I saw what can only be described as a drunken mega-bike (well, there are other ways to describe it, but whatever). Basically is was eight guys facing each other -- four on each side -- with one guy in front steering. And they all were pedaling this contraption. And chanting. And drinking. There was room for a few small kegs on there.

Smart money's on that thing joining the many bikes at the bottom of the canal by the end of the night.

And it actually turned out to be a nice night weather-wise. Cool but clear.

And I got to try out one of those outdoor facilities I mentioned a couple of entries back. Too funny.

(I'm typing this as I polish off a pastry of sorts while watching people play jenga.)

FUN FACT: An event known as The Miracle of Amsterdam caused quite a stir for Christians a few centuries back. Many embarked on pilgrimages here to see the miracle. Here's the gist:

Old man is very sick, is given last rites and sacrament. But he's so ill that he can't keep it down, so he pukes it all up. A nun tending to him worries about disease and quickly tosses it all on the fire.

In the morning, floating above the fire, is one piece of bread. Uncharred.

Holy vomit, Batman.

Christians see this as proof of Christ, as the sacrament is supposed to be his body. And it survived fire (and stomach acid). So they took the bread and displayed it in a nice box for all to see. But the place burned down.

Yet the bread survived again.

Only to have some guy steal the next nice box it was in and toss the bread into a canal, never to be seen again.

So there ya go. The Miracle of Amsterdam.

Meanwhile...
Earlier in the day at the Dublin airport I heard someone say, "He's probably going to Hartford."

Yep, I was wearing my UConn shirt again. It was a Quinnipiac student and her family (she asked if I go to UConn ... Now I look 22?).

Not going to Hartford. Yet.

When the Whale comes back, my friends. When the Whale comes back.

Zito. Or in this case, Zalapski.

Record the new song in Dublin

A few miscellaneous thoughts as I leave Dublin:

* The guy at the post office this morning thinks Bush is a f---ing idiot, but that most folks think Americans are fine. It's just their president ...

I totally dig this place.

Oh, Dad and Joanie, I shipped myself a box of stuff to your house. But no stripper this time. Sorry.

* On the streets there are look left/look right guides to help people avoid getting plowed by a bus. Got to admit, they came in pretty useful.

* Upon further review, Amsterdam's airport is worse than Heathrow. And Dublin kicks both their butts.

* In airport I sat in what I thought was an open seat. I asked the guy sitting next to it if it was open. Hey made some gesture that couldn't definitely be called an affirmative or negative. So I asked again, rephrased and possibly setting up a double negative (I felt like a Bonds prosecutor) and he seemed to indicate that it was OK for me to sit down.

So I did. And he said nothing.

Several minutes later a woman came over and sat across from the man, who shrugged at her as if to say, "dude jacked your seat, beeatch." I thought about offering to switch, but I was having too much fun waiting to see if either of them (I think they were Czech) said anything.

They didn't. Few minutes later they left.

I win.

* The lead opinion piece in today's British Times is headlined, "Woman with organised handbag is a formidable foe."

No wonder we kicked their butts in those wars (that's right, don't forget about 1812).

* It occurred to me that I haven't written much about the weather when the lady my brother somehow convinced to marry him asked me about it. Fortunately, there hasn't been much to report. Some drizzles in Assisi, one rainy day in Florence, and that's about it. Pretty solid otherwise.

* Also occurs to me that I've whined about the cost of things a couple of times. Really, it just comes down to paying for silly stuff, like water in a restaurant, the right to sit in a restaurant, a bag at a convenience store to carry items just purchased at said store.

Many odd examples of stupid little things we take for granted (and for free) in U.S.

Of course, the dollar sucks and our economy is in bad shape, so maybe Italy, Germany and Ireland have it right (the Irish do have free water).

I will come back here ... Maybe when the dollar is stronger.

FUN FACT: All kids in Irish schools are forced to learn Gaelic, and all official signs are in both English and Gaelic. I'd suggest that all Americans should learn Esperanto, but I'm working to make it better with six of Miller High Life.

* Today's agenda: return to Amsterdam, hit the Rembrandt House and possibly a silly torture museum, maybe have some space cake, send some postcards and get ready to roll into Paris on Sunday.

Paris. Last stop on this tour. Crazy.

--------
OK, so just got back to the Netherlands, and it's chilly and rainy. Damnsterdam!

I also missed my train (no biggie, as they run every 10 minutes) because I was fighting with the ticket machines. I even risked putting my credit card in. Rejected, but at least it spit it back out.

Incidentally, I wonder where all these extra vowels came from.

Not so iffy on the Liffey

Lots of travel and walking+four ciders=need for sleep.

Got plenty last night after taking in the Jess Klein show (no, I was not forcibly removed from the premises -- I left of my own accord ... after it was strongly suggested several times that I do so).

Bummed around Temple Bar today, had good ol' Irish Pub food (and some great Bailey's cheesecake). Wandered by the Dublin castle (leeches! i think ...), saw a man fight with a piece of plastic, took my photo on the famous ha'penny bridge, wondering what's so special about it.

Was planning to do a music pub crawl later. And unsuccessfully resist the groovy Irish souvenirs.

And that's about it. And on the 16th day, he rested.

_________

Fast forward to post-nap Friday, and I did manage to unsuccessfully resist groovy Irish souvenirs. Then hit the pub crawl, which was more of a quick jaunt at first and then eventually a stroll rather than a crawl.

Anyway, our guides are musicians who played some tunes, talked some Irish musical history and encouraged audience participation. It was great.

Our first stop, the Ha'Penny Pub (by the bridge ... which decidedly is not the same one I took a picture on earlier in the day), is "the Only pub in Temple Bar not turned into Irish pub," one of our guides said. "Like someone's living room."

Basically, Temple Bar is a young and touristy area. So many of the pubs have been pub-ified. Not this one. But that didn't stop people from talking throughout their first song. Why are you even here, folks?

Among the overheard: "Holy crap. It's thick ... But smooth."

First Guinness.

Our hosts talked about lock-ins, which basically entail a pub owner deciding around midnight that he doesn't think he'll be raided, so he's locking the doors, closing the blinds and staying open. That's when the real music happens.

"They're illegal but fairly common in Ireland," our guide said. "Complete disregard for the law."

Basically, traditional Irish folk music is learned directly from others rather than a class or radio. That's how it's passed on.

So during these lock-ins, there are "noble calls." Anyone in attendance, good voice or no, is invited to bring and share tunes from wherever they are from, in whichever language they speak. People share and learn.

One of our hosts (Larry, I think ... let's just call him that) once heard an American girl sing "Ice, Ice Baby."

So they called on us tonight, saying American Pie and Bohemian Rhapsody are banned. A guy from NY sang "You can't always get what you want," these three sisters from D.C. kicked butt with a three-part harmonized "Ashgrove," some people from some eastern country performed some traditional march which seemed to have something to do with domestic abuse (at least based upon their hand gestures), the guy from N.Y.'s mom (who thought I was from the Ukraine) sang "You've got a friend (in Pennsylvania)" and a Brazilian woman sang "Girl from Ipanema" in Portuguese -- which was far more tolerable than the English version.

After all this, I finally started to get up the courage to do my stupid version of "Leaving on a Jet Plane," but they shut down the audience participation segment at that point. Ah, missed opportunities.

Either way, these songs and the traditional Irish ones often turned into singalongs. Larry and the other guy kept saying music here is about sharing. That came across clearly.

I was totally jazzed by this ("It's the music, stupid," I remind myself), which clearly ranks in the top five in terms of best experiences of this entire trip (right behind the streets and fort of Assisi and the free Gummy Bears). And it's everywhere; any town, almost any pub. Was one of the highlights of previous Ireland trip, too. And most people here are so damn friendly, too.

I head back to the pub where I had lunch and take in a little more traditional music (he sang "Puff the Magic Dragon" -- I thought I had left Amsterdam...) and had a Guinness before calling it a night. On way downstairs to main area of the bar, "Born in the USA" was on.

Outside, a bunch of college-aged kids (who seem to overdress the same everywhere) were belting out, in group, some friggin' Oasis song. Hey, Bruce rocks, but do these kids not understand what they have here?

Anyway, walked back to hostel, capping the evening with a gelato (there's a place by the Promenade I may start frequenting).

Jess Klein, fun Dublin, great Irish music. Good couple of nights.

Oh, almost forgot. I gave a piece of my pizza to a homeless guy, which apparently is becoming my thing.

But I refused to pay 42 cents for a bag. Have to draw the line somewhere. A 52-cent waffle, on the other hand, would have been perfectly acceptable.

Luck o' the Baumish

Had to get out of Amsterdam (and the continent in general). And despite "March of the Belgian Paratroopers" being one of my favorite concert band tunes from high school (I was a drummer, damnit -- that ain't fineable), Brussels just wasn't providing the necessary allure.

There were two places (well, three if you count Spain, which I'll hit someday) I was wanting to get to during this trip that just didn't quite fit on the itinerary. The first was the island of Corsica. For those who understand that one, c'mon, how great would that have been?!

The second? Dublin.

So here I am in Ireland for the first time since Laurie, Owen and I tore it up here for New Years '99 (what ARE we talking about?). Weather is crisp but clear, people are friendly (the folks working at my hostel totally rock), pubs are plentiful, and here I am taking a break from Europe by eating at a Johnny Rocket's-type place.

It's called Eddie Rocket's. Yeah.

They took my order right away and served me my above-mediocre food quickly. With a vanilla shake. I needed this.

OK, so there is a significant ulterior motive here. Back in blog entry No. 1 I mentioned the slight possibility of seeing one of my favorite singer/songwriters. Well, just so happens that she (Jess Klein) is playing here tonight.

I think.

Her website says yes. The venue's website says no.

Local listings say yes. Other local listings say she played there already.

A person from her own website says yes, she absolutely is playing. The guy at the ticket office had no idea what I was talking about.

Oye.

After wandering through energetic Dublin to the ticket office, I talk to the same guy I spoke with over the phone. He does more research, finds out that Ms. Klein is playing in their upstairs venue tonight, tix available at door.

Phew.

Don't get me wrong -- there's plenty to do here without seeing the same singer for the (insert scary-high number here)st time, but I would have been pretty annoyed had the show not gone off -- especially since a) I've made an art form out of finding ways to miss her shows, and b) I already was a little testy, what with Amsterdam's airport making a serious run at Heathrow's level of suckiness earlier in the day (they're bagging check-in system blew them right past Heathrow, but their security line format offered some redemption).

By the way, I ordered another glass of water about 10 minutes ago. Nothing. Typical Eddie Rocket's.

Before the airport I managed to hit the Vincent Van Gogh museum. Good stuff. They also had a Rodin, some Monets and a Picasso. Will try to see what Rembrandt has to offer upon my brief return to Amsterdam before heading to Paris.

Oh, and I might have left my shades in a taxi. And still no water. But once again "Manic Monday" is on.

Maybe Jess will cover that one tonight. And maybe a restraining order will be waiting.

Amsterthoughts

Wednesday in Amsterdam...

Took a walking tour of the town, learned a bit about its history. The gist? If it makes money, it's cool with the town. Also, the Dutch traded Manhattan (new Amsterdam ... why they changed it I can't say...) for Suriname. So there ya go.

Nice to get the history, as I knew precious little about Amsterdam (they dammed the Amstel river, hence the name -- not to be confused with Heineken damning Amstel Light). Also had a local brew -- a white beer, but I forgot its name. But it was good.

Also hit the Anne Frank house (yes, my Holocaust tour continues ...). Very digestible, good setup, some interactives, good history ... well done.

And if it seems as if this blog is losing a little steam, that's because it's author is losing a little steam (as evidenced by that inexcusable misuse of an apostrophe back there). Long trip. All great, but long. Not sure if the coffeehouse visit last night helped or hurt.

FUN FACT: A little less than 10 percent of the Dutch smoke weed. Gotta love tourism.

Looking to rebound big today with a (mostly) unplanned side trip. More on that later. But for now, some musings...

* I wonder if the EU currency deliberately looks like play money.

* I wonder if I could knock a biker over with a well-timed foam rocket.

* I wonder how original New York pizza can be served here (yeah, with utensils, but that's not what I mean). Though I guess with the whole New Amsterdam thing, maybe it works somehow.

* I try not to wonder what could be on Porno Supermarket's much-advertised demonstration video.

* I wonder if I actually look like a cokehead, or whether the folks on the street looking to score some just ask everyone. Let's go with the latter.

* I wonder if I have a stress fracture in my foot.

* I wonder if any other cities have had to take specific measures to stop guys from pissing on buildings.

* I wonder if any other cities have had to deal with women protesting outdoor facilities being made available only to men by pissing on a bridge.

* I wonder if any other cities had to shut down the new female facilities because heroin addicts were shooting up in them.

* I wonder where all these cuts on my hands are coming from.

* I wonder if I too can save Holland.

* I wonder how many bikes are at the bottom of the canal (our tour guide says tons of 'em).

* I wonder which hostelmate took my room key (I eventually found it -- my guess was right).

* I wonder how many times I can lose and then find my sunglasses (in another city).

* I wonder if I should go to Dublin.

* I wonder why everyone thinks I look like I'm 26. Not that I'm complaining ...

* I wonder if the key-thieving hostelmate in the bunk beneath me would be offended if I gave him a breathe-right strip.

* I wonder if that psycho tourist from the walking tour yesterday still is stalking me.

* I wonder if covering the tennis tourneys in Rome and Berlin -- and maybe some soccer -- would have allowed me to expense all this.

* I wonder if Joe Girardi has been fired yet.

* I wonder if I will start walking all around Santa Monica when I get back, or whether I never will walk anywhere again. Ever.

* I wonder where the hell I am right now (I since have figured it out, but I'm sure I'll wonder off again).

* I wonder about Pandora.

* I wonder whether those kids will be convicted in the Natalee Holloway case.

* I wonder which country's currency is weakest against the dollar, and whether I should vacation there next.

* I wonder if Zenit Yobs are going crazy.

* I wonder if my other hostelmates actually do have meningitis to go with their throat infections, or if they were just kidding. Or being paranoid.

* I wonder why Charlie Brown never kicked Lucy.

* I wonder if anyone watches the NASCAR reruns Amsterdam apparently shows at night.

* I wonder if any other three weeks of my life will compare to these.

Going Dutch

Made it to Amsterdam, where the rules are scarce and the internet is down (as I compose this, anyway) .

Got here late last night and did some exploring ... And let me get this out of the way now: the red-light district is odd, hilarious and creepy all at the same time. And I, without objection, am following my mother's instructions: window shopping is fine, but don't go in. Not even all that sure about making eye contact as they tap the window, trying to get your attention.

I did see a very attractive young woman in a doorway this morning, but she was fully clothed and without red luminescence -- though she did work for a street marketing firm. Pretty much the same thing, no?

"Coffee house" is the official slang for marijuana cafe, which is fine unless it's morning and one is looking for an actual coffee house with unadultered pastries.

I did find a standard cafe and ordered an Amsterdam classic: banana pancakes. A bit different. See the pic above.

There also was a cat hanging around in the restaurant. Do they serve cats here? As in, provide them with food (To Serve Man is a cookbook!). Found out she (Pluke) lives there. Found out later that many restaurants have cats to help with the mice problem.

Incidentally, considering how much time I've spent in NYC and LA, I'm a little surprised today was the first time anyone tried to sell me coke. I asked if he had Coke Zero. Confused, he walked away.

Today holds in store a walking tour, some sightseeing/tourist destinations (hello, Van Gogh) and just maybe some local pastries. We'll see. Could help with the internet withdrawal.

By airplane to the rocket

Tried to cram one last trip into the Berlin portion of my itinerary. Might cause me to miss my train to Amsterdam, but there are more trains later ... I think.

Anyway, made a quick (as in time spent there, not time it took to get there; after issues with lines and trains, I'm no longer buying this German efficiency stuff) visit to the Saschenhausen concentration camp.

There were barracks, guard towers, signs of awful conditions, mass graves, memorials, an execution ditch, an autopsy lab ... Basically, most of what you'd expect.

There were moments when I pictured the prisoners being rounded up in the freezing rain for roll call or shoved by the dozens into small showers. But because I knew I had to cruise through in order to have any hope of catching my train, I didn't let myself linger ... And therefore didn't let myself ponder too deeply. Which, after the Topography of Terror, might have been the best approach. I'll reflect later and take it all in when looking back at pictures. This place certainly deserves a great deal of reflection.

So now my train to the train is rolling. I've got a slight chance of making it ...

Final Berlin thoughts:

*Nice collection of neighborhoods, very pedestrian friendly. And (mostly) good mass transit.

*Doesn't try to ignore its history, though many believe it needs to do more. Berlin overall seems to have become somewhat progressive.

*Charging for tap water is just silly, but nice job with the spargel.

*Heathrow sucks.

*And many thanks to Katrin for being a lovely host. Go rock Ithaca.

Now pick up the pace, train!

---
FUN FACT: I barely missed my Amsterdam train (apparently it left right on time -- damn German efficiency) but caught another leaving 13 minutes later. Which somehow, through a connection, may have put me on the train I belonged on anyway. Perhaps Einstein can explain. Or Buckaroo Banzai.

Hopefully the train actually is going to Amsterdam ... Either way, the yellow fields are mighty purdy, ma'am.

Local chefs? Give 'em credit

Hit the zoo. Knut got the most attention, but the big cats and seals and sea lions were the real stars. There were some cool monkeys too, Ben. Won't go into too much detail because, well, it was a zoo. But a nice one. Nothing too crazily out of the ordinary, but much fun/relaxing.

And I got to effectively use, in context, one of the few German words (geschlossen) I know. The others include but are not limited to: wilkommen, achtung, verboten and, um... Baum.

Earlier in the day I decided to sample some of the local cuisine. See photo. One tasted like a candy bar. The other? A slightly healthier rice/granola bar. Shocking. Later on, Kathryn, her fire-dancing friend Mimi and I had some spargel soup. There -- I've had something certifiably German to eat, as asparagus is in season here right now.

And it was good. Asparagus to the max. Followed by a dish with the second-biggest chunk of mozzarella I've ever seen (that restaurant back in Florence had the biggest, though Mimi tells me some place on La Cienega also serves enormous cheese ... which just sounds ridiculous).

FUN FACT: It is possible to hop off a train, validate your ticket and get right back on in the span of about 10-12 seconds. It was a bold move to avoid a €50 fine, though I've yet to have my ticket checked on a local bus or train at any point on this trip. I had forgotten to validate it when I bought it b/c I was too busy buying local candy bars. Really, I just wanted to get my ticket validated at Rathaus. So that's what I did.

Speaking of trains... the credit card saga has come to an end -- a happy one! After multiple visits and phone calls, earlier today we were informed that the evil ticket machine mysteriously popped out my card late last night and the same crazy station worker who was there the night it happened was there again tonight to hand the card back to me. I had to sign a ledger with many, many names on it. Apparently a lot of people lose stuff. Or have cards eaten by technology.

So... my German jaunt ends Tuesday with a trip to Sachsenhausen in the morning and then a long train ride to Amsterdam in the afternoon/evening.

Tchuss, Berlin!

Fewer than 76 trombones, but ...

Everyone loves a parade. Especially Berliners.

Sunday we went to the annual Carnival of the Cultures parade, a multicultural event featuring 100 or so floats inching down the street over a sevenish-hour span. Gives the Germans more time to drink beer (this they readily admit). I had a Berliner (I mean the beer). OK, but it was no Midori.

The parade was entertaining, as many African and Pacific communities in Berlin put together floats that included music, dancing and performing. Then there were the somewhat local cities (one native was explaining to me that one float was from a not-so-nice city ... but it -- featuring an astronaut/alien rave of sorts with a few white guys rapping -- might have been my favorite just for the sheer irreverence).

Then came some friendly Germany-US debating. After some good political and cultural discussions, I proclaimed that at least Bill Clinton tried to get Obama. Bush didn't. They looked confused, especially considering how passionate I seemed.

"I said 'Obama,' didn't I?," I laughed. "I meant Osama!"

They cracked up.

Oye. Germans 1, Americans 0.

Today brought me out to Checkpoint Charlie -- or at least a realistic recreation of ... except now there are more tourists. The checkpoint and wall history fascinates me; I try to imagine what it would have been like if, say, folks from Storrs/Mansfield weren't allowed to go to Willimantic or Ashford.

Actually, we wouldn't have cared. (yeah, that was too easy.)

FUN FACT: Germans truly are efficient. For instance, some girl on the train I'm on right now just yelped, fell out of her seat and broke her cell phone all in the span of less than a second. That's Borg-like efficiency. Resistance is futile.

After Checkpoint Charlie I wandered over to the Topography of Terrors. It's a bit of an outdoor museum at the site of the old government and SS headquarters. The remains there mostly are old pieces of basement or old rooms and walls, but there also are many signs, pictures and audio presentations detailing the history of this place.

Most notably, it was where many/most of the nazi strategies were concocted by Hitler, Himmler and Co., including the relocation and extermination of Jews.

Reading these recounts was simultaneously fascinating and sickening. Checkpoint Charlie has little bit of a fun factor. This place clearly does not. Terror is an appropriate, if understated, choice of name.

Next to these grounds stands a relatively long and intact portion of the wall. It's mostly barricaded off to keep it intact, but I may have to drop by tomorrow with a chisel.

On a more fun note, about to hit the zoo. There's a polar bear here that has been all the rage, though some baby bears down near Munich apparently has been stealing Knut's thunder. But Knut was here first, and I'm not going all the way to Munich to see a bear. San Diego will suffice ...

100 percent certifiably fresco- and calorie-free

Religion, oppression, circumcision, soccer, inebriation, cattle and Coke. Typical day.

Began Saturday with a solo trip to the Jewish museum, including a Daniel Libeskind-designed structure. It has three axes: The axis of continuity, the axis of exile and the axis of the holocaust, all telling different stories of Jews' experiences in Europe. The Garden of Exile, the Holocaust tower and, later, the fallen leaves, were the most powerful. The tower was almost haunting, while the garden, much like the memorial the day before, is very disorienting. Libeskind's choices sometimes are effective, sometimes seem a little underdeveloped. But still a compelling experience.

As for the "normal" museum (right down the street from Checkpoint Charlie), which traces 1,000 years of Jewish settlements in Germany (and Europe), one could spend hours upon hours there. Much of the information was surface-level, but there was so much of it and many interactive and novel displays kept the experience fresh. Though I respectfully disagree with their computer's suggested spelling of my name in Hebrew!

FUN FACT: There is no "J" sound in Hebrew. But "CH" is prominent ...

Being reminded of all the persecution -- even far before the holocaust -- is sobering. And the holocaust stories themselves, told with individual/family perspectives rather than broad strokes -- were sad and still unreal.

After a train adventure which included (unsuccessfully) trying to get my credit card back (the people at the station had no idea what I was talking about ... knowing a little German -- maybe around 4-foot-7 -- would've helped), I ventured over to Olympic Stadium, where Kathryn and I took in the Hertha BSC Berlin-Nurnberg match. (Wolfgang Sidka once played for Hertha). It was the final home match of the season for Hertha, which had little on the line other than possibly jumping to mid-pack in the Bundesliga. But Nurnberg is in danger of relegation, so they needed a point here.

The atmosphere was awesome. Fans (many presumably heavily inebriated) going nuts with their chants the entire time, led by one guy with a mic and sound system. It was 0-0 at the half, but Hertha scored off a turnover relatively late in the second half (though they blew a 3-on-1 counterattack that would have sealed it -- weak!) and barely held on as Nurnberg sent everyone up late and had a few good scoring chances. Nurnberg still has a shot next weekend to avoid relegation, but they clearly were dejected after losing this one.

"We clearly are dejected after losing this one," some coach or player may have said. In German.

The refs didn't even call it too tight despite the normal amount of flopping. And there were a couple of questionable calls, but not enough to think that this match was fixed. Though this is the Bundesliga ...

As for Hertha, the players walked around the stadium and then in front of the wild chanting section and hung out for 15-20 minutes, joining in the chants, jumping up and down, etc. -- probably because it was the final home match. It was wild. And a blast.

The stupid Cameron Crazies got nothing on these guys. The chants and jumping continued on the train, though many of the fans realized they should save the more wild chants for when the train isn't moving.

FUN FACT: A week or two ago a German train was derailed after colliding with a flock of sheep. No passengers were seriously hurt, but 20 sheep were killed.

If only the train had run over Flock of Seagulls instead ...

FUN QUOTE: "No sheep willingly walks through a tunnel," a representative for sheep farmers told Reuters on Monday. (Not making this one up.)

Days later, a German train plowed into a herd of cattle.

WTF!!

Anyway ... did I forget to mention the Coke Zero girls at the match? Berlin is rolling out all the stops.

Part of the culture shock... English and German are closer relatives, but I was able to understand far more Italian than German. Maybe my HS Spanish (close relative of Italian) is paying off ...

The craziest thing? It's not Bert and Ernie here. It's Ernie and Bert.

That's right, Bert. You might have the more German-sounding name, but Die Ernsters (that's what Ernie supporters are called here ... so I've just decided) have a more organized grassroots and lobbying effort.

The big campaign difference? Bert is for trains, Ernie is for cattle and sheep. Which clearly gives Bert an advantage, unless Ernie can, um, derail Bert's campaign.

Oh my... need to stop typing now.

Wallingford, Meriden, Berlin, Hartford, Windsor, Windsor Locks, Springfield

Adios Italy, hola Germany.

It’s a bit disorienting to be in a completely different culture after having spent the previous eight days becoming accustomed to Italy. Adding to it is the contrast between Italy’s winding streets and intimate vistas and Germany’s enormous, imposing structures.

I repeatedly had to stop myself from saying “scusi” and “grazie.”

Made it to Berlin on Friday and managed to hit a few sites right off the bat. With my old buddy Kathryn serving as tour guide, we strolled the Unter den Linden leading up to the massive, majestic Brandenburg Gate.

FUN FACT: The gate is where Ronnie said, “Be my little baby… oh my darling. Whoa, oh-oh-oh-ohhh.”

Hold on… wrong Ronnie.

“General Secretary Gorbachev, if you seek peace, if you seek prosperity for the Soviet Union and Eastern Europe, if you seek liberalization: Come here to this gate! Mr. Gorbachev, open this gate! Mr. Gorbachev, tear down this wall!”

There are also different types of bricks signifying where the wall used to be (some parts of it still stand … more later).

Then to the nearby (and relatively new) Holocaust Memorial (AKA Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe). In and of itself, it was solemn, imposing and effective – and, architecturally, not what I expected. But adding to the experience was a concert of sorts being played from within the massive, almost maze-like memorial. It was brass and percussion, producing dark and moving music to commemorate the opening of the memorial. It was powerful.

And logistically impressive. There isn’t a lot of room among the concrete slabs for a small orchestra, so each instrument was set up apart from the others, with the musicians watching the conductor via camera/video.

The memorial itself – which for me felt like countless, nameless tombstones -- was powerful. The music deepened the experience.

Then a German TV station interviewed us for our reaction to the concert. No idea if it aired, but I’ll pay a quarter…

We also visited Bebelplatz, the site of Berlin’s book burning, which happened 75 years ago today. That monument also is impressive – a glass floor through which one can see a while room with empty bookshelves.

On the way to Potsdamer Platz, we passed a motorcade. Clearly the government was ready for my arrival. Once there, I got to see/touch remains of the wall. Kathryn tells me of friends from both sides who talk about the effects the wall coming down has had. In addition to the obviously positive, many West Berliners gobbled up property in East Berlin, affecting the housing markets, while the government has put so much time and resources into developing the east that some parts of West Berlin now pale in comparison.
The segments of the wall are completely covered in graffiti (and, in some places, gum), making even more vivid the scenes of it coming down … which, really, didn’t happen all that long ago.

But all of this completely paled in comparison to what was to come. After eating at an Italian restaurant (I know, I know), on the way out they provide you with…

Free. Gummy. Bears.

I am in the home of Gummy Bears?! My god – it’s like a coffee addict venturing to Colombia (I passed on the harder drug references here. You are welcome).

My host doesn’t know of any Gummy Bear attraction or theme park (though apparently Germans love the circus … no, really), but I shall search. And yes, damnit, Gummy Bears are capitalized!

FUN FACT: Gummy Bears are awesome.

And then the ticket machine at the train station ate my credit card.

Jonathan, son of Susan ...

All in the family

No, I don't mean the mob -- I didn't venture that far south.

Years ago, my mother was traveling somewhere in Europe -- I want so say Italy or Germany (well, I don't want to, but facts is facts) and she had to get out of the country early (and quickly) because of some looming strike.

This morning I get to Piazzale di Roma (bus station) by 9:30. Bus takes 20 min to airport, flight isn't until 12:45. Plenty of time.

Expect that all the busses are on strike. From 9 to 12. Had I not wandered through the Jewish Ghetto in the morning ... Well, I would have slept more, actually, and still gotten to bus at same time.

(Incidentally, Jewish Ghetto has interesting history ... including origin of the word "ghetto." Look it up.)

Nobody at ticket counter or bus company seems to want to offer up any alternative. Finally I ask, "taxi?" Bus agent begrudgingly agrees that yes, a taxi is capable of transporting me to the airport.

So we (me and this French couple in same predicament, but with slightly earlier flight) run around looking for taxis. We see a taxi sign pointing down an alley. We follow it. It leads to water.

Wrong kind of taxi.

Eventually we find the correct line, but taxis are few and far between (they probably are busy not striking).

After about 20 min we finally get a taxi. And it took about five minutes for fare to reach €15-20. After the hotel credit card machine crapped out, I don't have a ton of cash left. And at this rate, this will be the most expensive 20-minute taxi ride since the Scranton incident of '89.

Fortunately, the fare was weighted early and its meteoric rise slowed dramatically as we went. So after splitting it with the French folk, wasn't so bad.

And my plane is an hour late. So I had plenty of time. Probably could have taken the bus at noon.

--

A few more thoughts on Italy ...

• If you as someone to take your pic, don't ask them to retake it six times because it's no lined up exactly perfect with the previous picture of whatever we were in front of (a picture that was better for not having you in it). And don't ask, "you need help?" unless you want me to reply, "how sturdy is your camera in relation to your skull?" Then don't ask where I'm staying. Far away from you, psycho...

• Hey post office lady, I'm sorry I apparently ruined your day by not having exact change for stamps this morning. What? You need to give me change? The horror ...

• Hey Venice ... You rock.

• This morning I saw a guy wheeling a lawnmower down some steps over a canal. Odd in and of itself, but even more so considering I saw all of maybe three lawns in Venice.

Maybe it was his day to have the mower.

Might go get an espresso now. Just to say I had one in Italy. Or I could lie about it and grab one at Tully's. Either way ...

BeanMan: Vote for water

My one full day in Venice...

Did a couple of sights (another galleria academia, San Marco's, another bell tower), saw some good art (Titan ...) and views (from tower, though you couldn't see canals from up there) and a nice ceiling (honestly, I've had enough of frescos ... So it was just lovely that St. Mark's had an amazing gold mosaic ceiling. Very impressive. Lots of gold on the exterior of this multi-domed basilica).

Also chilled in a piazza by the basilica and Doge's Palace, listening to live music and watching pigeons climb on people and chase each other around. Really was kind of amusing.

But today was mostly about wandering. Went by a couple of big areas, but mostly kept the map in my pocket and just picked a direction (in Venice, one must constantly pick directions ... And you try to vary it up so no one direction consistently feels left out by being picked last). Found a university, some folks playing hoops (sometimes they looked European, what with good passing, decent shooting and no defense or rebounding ...) and kept the map in my pocket until I reached a choice between boat bus (no ticket) or cruiseliner (no ticket).

FUN FACT: The last supper, according to one formerly prominent (dead now) eventually Venetian artist's interpretation (Veronese), took place here in Venice. Florence artists might disagree. As do Roman artists. But not those from Secaucus -- they pretty much know they've got no claim here.

Mostly ate Pizza, which is much closer to NY style than that in Florence and Rome. Good pizza.

But the real highlight was tonight. Took one of them boat busses (it's like a bus ... That floats! And not upside-down!) down the grand canal for about 20 minutes, enjoying Venice at night from the water. I think I got some great pics, too. After the boat, continued to walk around, and even learned enough of the geography to give reasonably good directions to people from the Czech Republic and Italy.

And followed my dad's advice of asking a pretty girl for directions. And boy did she give me directions, if you know what I mean. I mean she pointed out where we were on the map and instructed me how to reach my destination. Most helpful.

I wandered some more and took it all in (and many more pics), helping keep tourism the No. 1 industry here (not sure about that, but it has to be true -- we are flooding this city ... well, that would be the water, actually).

FUN FACT: Mussolini was a fascist.

So my Italian journey ends in a matter of hours, and my German jaunt begins. So much more to see here, so a little sad to go. But many more cities and much more adventure awaits. Buona serra, Italia!

What Venice holds in Storrs ...

So I get to Venice and begin to make my way along the canal toward my hotel, thinking, "Holy crap, I'm in Venice! This is so cool."

Then I hear someone say, "University of Connecticut."

I was wearing my UConn shirt. A woman in a group passing by noticed.

"Are you from Connecticut?" she asked me.

"Yeah, I'm from Storrs," I say.

(I know -- yesterday I was from Wayne, today I'm from Storrs. Deal with it.)

"So are we!" she says.

She used to teach at my middle school while I was there, though I never had a class with her. But she recognized the name, so maybe another Baum sibling had her.

We chat about Storrs and Italy (pretty much the same) and the like for a few minutes, then their group continues on ... all this thousands of miles from HuskyVille.

Too much.

Either this is an amazing string of coincidences (see prior post) or this stuff happens all the time and I just need to get out of the house (or country) more.

Anyway, I said I would write more about that meal. Appetizer plate was great, as were meal's two courses ... and the complimentary champagne. The dessert, too ... sheesh.

Good suggested eatery, those who suggested it. In fact, they had a newspaper/magazine clipping rating them one of the best 30 restaurants ... in all of Europe.

Kind of the Carl's Jr. Of Italy.

But enough about that; Firenze is so seven hours ago. Gonna wander and wander some more around Venice over the next 1½ days as the Italian portion of my trip winds down.

FUN FACT: Holy crap. I'm in Venice.

And then mom's shoe fell in the water

Tuesday in Florence... Well, after I got over my inability to figure out where I was, I finally found Academia, home of David.

Then I saw the line. Try again tomorrow. Went to Duomo. Line not as bad, but at this point I'm grumpy and impatient and have no desire to wait around. Instead, I'm comfort-fooding with gelato. A lot o' gelato.

Hey, David, Duomo ... it's not as if I was skipping anything major. My limited time here in Firenze was adding to stress level (so much, but so little), though I kept "don't worry about missing stuff" and "you're on vacation" advice in mind. It helped.

Rick Steves says Giotto's tower next to Duomo is easier to access and has better view. So, no line and a brutal 400-plus steps later, I manage to make it up ... barely. And the view is tremendous. I take pictures. Because that's what one does in situations such as these.

Eventually I meander down, feeling a little energized and motivated having finally accomplished something. I make my way down to the Uffizi, planning on getting a reservation for the next day. A friendly security guard tells me reservations already are booked for next day, so I should wait in line in morning ... or right then, but he said wait was 1.5 hours.

Drat.

Person at front of line says she had been waiting only 30 min, so I give it a shot and spend the time writing the previous blog entry. I almost get to front of line, but same friendly security guy ropes it off right in front of me. I ask him what's happening, and he explains there is a limit at a time and we still will get in.

OK, all good.

Few minutes later a woman comes by with an extra reserved ticket. Just one extra, looking for someone visiting Uffizi on his/her own.

Hi.

Advantage to reservations? No lines. But I already am at front of line, and there is actually a small reservation line. Ah, the dilemma. I abandon my people and join the elite reserves (insert political/military propaganda here).

While waiting in reservation line with the friendly family from San Francisco to go through security, our friendly security guard sees me. I already know what's coming.

"You have a reservation?"

"I do," I say, smiling and showing him the ticket.

He looks at the ticket and then back at me.

"That's very strange," he said.

I replied, "I know."

He walked away.

After all is said and done (imagine such a time ...) I get into museo about same time as my buds from other line, but only because I had to check my backpack.

But the San Franciscans refused my offer to pay for the ticket (most kind), so let's call it a win.

Uffizi was very good, very much due to Rick Steeves' guide (call it art for dummies). Only bummer was that one famous Venus painting was out on loan. Otherwise, fun/interesting/not overwhelming or absurdly long tour.

And on the tour, I kept running into the same guy (in addition to SF family) and his family... in line, inside, in the bathroom, on the way out. Granted, we entered at roughly the same time, so it wasn't shocking, but a little sign of what was to come.

I walked by Santa Croce (would return the next day when it and the leather store were open -- also gazed upon Michelango's tomb, and a couple of other famous ones. FUN FACT: Grant is not buried there.) and down to Ponte Vecchio. Some great views from the Old Bridge, especially with sunset coming. I checked the guidebook and was reminded that Piazzale Michelangelo -- way the heck up the hill from Ponte Vecchio -- was the best spot to see the sunset here. I was running out of time, so I high-tailed it up there.

After climbing the tower earlier, this wasn't easy. And the long steps toward the end took exactly three strides each for me -- which was nice, as the excruciating pain was distributed evenly between my two already iffy knees.

But I make it to the top and take in a breathtaking view (after a breathtaking climb) of Firenze below. Plenty of time for sunset. I begin chatting with these two young Americans from NJ who are here on a Rutgers study abroad program. One of them is from Wayne. Hey, I'm from Wayne! We even were born in the same hospital ... though I may have accidentally lied about what hospital I was born in. But let's just say it synced up. "Small world," he said.

They leave, I mess with all my camera settings to try to capture the spectacular sunset -- figuring a few must have come out. Then I head back down the hill, grab dinner near Ponte Vecchio and begin to meander back to the hostel.

Along the way while lingering in some Piazza, a young woman comes up to me and says "Ciao." She and her boyfriend are just staring at me. I'm wondering why these people are talking to me, then it occurs to me that these are my Turkish hostel-mates from Rome! Small world, indeed.

We chat for a minute, they ask where I'm staying. I tell them which hostel. Yep, of course, so are they. Not the same room, though. That would have been stalking. Incidentally, my hostel-mate this time was a former Florence resident -- lots of good tips. Very cool/helpful/friendly.

This morning I finally did make it to Academia and saw David -- very cool. That kid was a badass. Feels like I should write more on the sculpture, but I don't have much to add. It was remarkable to see in person. Stayed there close to 20 minutes.

They also have a small musical instrument section which included a couple of wild instruments I had never even heard of. Peeked in the Duomo, too, and will head back there after eating at the place a couple of people described as being incredible.

"Two different people have told me that this is the best food in Florence," I said to the host (who told me to come back in a little while).

He laughed.

"Well, they aren't wrong," he said.

Nice.

After those stops, going to hit a Piazza where my mother went to school during a study abroad semester in college and see if anything Syracuse still is there. Then it's off to the train and to Venice.

Probably could have spent another day here, as there is plenty more to see. That's OK -- reason to return. The adventure continues.

~~~~
Addendum:
*Food at La Giostra was ridiculous. Amazing. I didn't even know what I was eating some of the time. More on that experience later.

*Saw inside of Duomo. Art on top/inside of dome is great, as it looks like the subjects are hanging/leaning out windows.

*No sign of the 'Cuse -- not even an orange peel -- at the piazza. Sorry, mom.

FUN FACT: I might not miss my train. But then again, I might.