the end of the luggage's adventures

Sept. 13th. 2007


Hi Everyone,

I hope everyone is doing well and enjoying the fall semester. You may
remember that British Airways lost my bags while flying from New York
to Brussels. A traumatic experience, as I was forced to wear Mike
Lashinsky's ill-fitting slacks for a week straight. When I came home
from Europe, I called British Airways every day for about a month
trying to track down my bags. They were in Milan, Paris, on a
Lufthansa flight to Dallas, they spent about 3 days circling the
Carousel at JFK and then back out to Dallas. A really nice summer
vacation for my dress shirts.

BA eventually stopped returning my phone calls and I basically gave up
on the whole thing. I had bought new clothes for work and had almost
forgot how much I enjoyed wearing some of the ties I owned. But this
morning, September 13th, at approximately 5:15 AM, an unmarked white
van stopped outside my house. This woke my step-dad, a light sleeper,
who went to the front door just as the van was pulling away. At his
feet, a crumpled black garment bag. Not immediately recalling my
ordeal with BA, he was nervous about opening it. Was it garbage? A
message from Don Corleone? Terrorists? He finally saw the tags on the
bag and, realizing what it was, brought it inside.

When I woke at 6:30 and shuffled to the kitchen for breakfast, I saw
the bag on the floor. Christmas in September! Tearing open the bag
like there was a Super Nintendo inside, I found all my shirts and ties
were folded into complex origami shapes. No flashy new (old) wardrobe
today. A summer traveling the world can do that to a suit.

For the record, it has been 12 weeks since I left for Brussels. BA
claims that the average turn-around on misplaced baggage is 72 hours.
I'm not a statistician, but I think I may have beat the curve on this
one.

Again, I hope everyone is doing well. I miss you all and I'll always
remember our time together in Brussels.

Best,

Conor

back and safe

hello our readers, of which there are 10, four of which are related to us, three of which are being paid to read, and three of which are bored enough at work to read it:

we are back and safe in the U.S. We landed at JFK, after many delays and airport switches, Friday night. Conor's luggage was unfortunately lost AGAIN, so this weekend was spent rebuilding his wardrobe. We start work today, but in our over-preparedness, woke up far too early, therefore allowing me time to type this short post.

So yes, this is just a quick note to say, we are safe and happy and home, and that we will be updating you all (is it still a cool travel blog if we are in the same country as you?) on Rome and the end of our trip very soon. About the pictures...the cord to transfer them is lost somewhere with Conor's other belongings so those might be long coming.

Thanks for reading so far, and all of the well-wishes we received while we were gone. We hope you come back to check out the posts about our final hurrahs.

love and happy monday, maria

Let's clear up some of these rumors by lanzini

Ah, the language barrier strikes again! Similar to the camera singolo "snafu", camera doppolo is not a word and should read camera doppio, but such is life speaking in a language we only partially know.

Also, regarding the Sicilian's supposed acceptance of us: While some Italians have asked if I am Italian, in Trapani, Conor was stared and glared at much less than I was (by women!). At some points on certain vias, women looked at me as if I had leprosy and at one point, I even looked at my shoes to see if they had toilet paper on them, as their fervent stares warranted a checking-over of myself. One evening, even, as we waited to cross the street, a mother with a stroller not more than a foot or two away from me, stared me up and down for a full thirty seconds. This is something I could not wrap my head around.

FOR THE RECORD, the walk at Favignana was an hour and one half according to the difference in time between the photographs taken at the departure of the first beach and arrival at the second beach. Additionally, on the way back, we hailed a bus, not some manaical driver in a random 1984 Fiat, as Conor would have you believe.

I'm happy I got a chance before we leave Sicily to relieve you all of the lies this crazyman has been spouting.

Baci e Abbracci
mk

P.S. And now, infinite guilt after reading his Tipping Point posting.

One More Thing

I know no one cares, but after we got to the hotel in Palermo yesterday, I turned on Rai Due and just happened to come across the 3000 meter race in Greenwich. Bekele absolutely killed Mottram. That was disturbing. 58, 58, 27 for the last 1000 meters. I mean c'mon! Mottram tried to answer that move but it looked almost pathetic compared to the way Bekele turned it on. I am excited for Osaka. It will be a great meet and hopefully set the stage for 2008 in Beijing.

The Tipping Point

Have you read it? You should. It's largely intuitive, but Gladwell doesn't drive home the point too hard, much unlike my arch-enemy, Thomas Friedman. I hate, hate, hate Thomas Friedman. If he writes about globalization in one more column, I will slay him. We get it. Globalization is the driving force in the 21st century, and corporations and countries that buck this trend are doomed. End of book. End of career. Thanks for your contribution.

But anyway, Gladwell speaks about Connectors, and how there are people on this Earth who simply know more people in different social groups than most others. Maria is one of these people. Her dexterity in social situations has contributed enormously to her personal success, and I mean this as the highest compliment. This trip has been enriched so much by Maria's connections in different cities. If I had planned this trip myself, I would be sitting on a tourist bus in Barcelona after getting my wallet stolen because I was gawking for too long at a human statue. A short list of Maria's connections: Through Maria, I secured a place to stay in Brussels, became great friends with Kyle Taylor and was introduced to Brussels by the De Crops; in Paris, we had dinner with Maria's friend from Kansas City, who is married to a Frenchman and knows the city inside and out, in Barcelona, we had a beer with a former exchange student who was friends with Maria's neighbor. You get the picture. Everywhere we go, Maria has a friend or an acquantaince in the city. I will always be grateful for her Connector status, as it never fails to produce results.

That's the only compliment she gets...ever!

The Internet is in it's infancy in Sicily

The title of my posting comes from a perceptive comment in a guidebook about Sicily. I laughed it off, bein a stupid American and expecting every inch of a city to be lo-fi'ed, hi-fi'ed, wi-fi'ed, high-fived. Sadly, this is not the case in most of Sicily. I am in an internet cafè in Palermo, and to my immediate left, Maria sits typing, and to my immediate right, is the red-hot surface of the sun. Earlier, I thought a pizza was cooking, but it was actually my delicate flesh.

We are only in Palermo for a day, and I do not fancy this city very much. It is frightfully hot, and we are not near enough to the beach to warrant a trip there. The grinding of trucks and squeal of motor scooters seems to make the heat even more oppressive and when it finally cools off at night, one can begin to notice the sweet smell of garbage emanating from the alleys and whirlpools of garbage forming in the piazzas. For my money, I preferred Trapani. We originally chose Trapani because Ryan Air flew there, and I was expecting a dirt landing strip and the baggage carrier to be a wheelbarrow driven by a mule. I was not far off, but this quaintness made Trapani all the more enjoyable. No longer were we surrounded by rude American tourists, now we could delight ourselves with rude Italian tourists! Actually, the spot was very un-touristy, and, because Maria and I are quite proficient in Italian and physically rememble Sicilians (read: skin is dark and noses tremendous) we were accepted from the outset.

There was a slight snafù at our hotel, which was situated right on the ocean. Naively, I thought a room would be let for €55 a night, which I know now is absurd, given the proximity of our hotel to the beach. A €55 room got you a single bed, a hole in the ground for bathing and excreting purposes, and little else. A camera doppolo was what we should have reserved, and was actually big enough for 2 rotund people like myself and Maria. (I've gained 35 pounds on this trip.) Oh well. We paid a handsome sum for the nicest hotel room I've ever been in. It was even better than that hourly-rate hotel I stayed at in Wildwood, NJ.

The next morning, after gulping down cappucinos the Italian way, Maria and I walked to the ferry and took the trip to isola Favignana, which we later learned housed a prison! Oops! Beside the escaped convict borrowing our inflatable raft to escape, it was a perfect day. We relaxed on a beach and when the sun got too hot, we took a dip in the beautiful water. It was like backstroking through an angel's halo. Then, on my suggestion, we decided to circumnavigate the island, and much like Magellan, we were almost killed by the natives (our death came at the hands of suicidal scooter drivers, whereas Magellan was the recipient of a dozen poison-tipped spears). After a 30 minute walk (Maria will hyperbolize this to about 6 hours) we found a stowaway beach tucked in between two natural jetties. Again, the water was perfect and the sun was tamed by the waning afternoon. We watched the Siclian families and their children playing in the waves and I remarked to Maria that we should have spent our entire vacation here. She replied that, as it is my first time in Europe, we were correct in visiting the number of cities we did, and it would have been imprudent to stay 30 days on an island filled with murderous criminals.

At 4:30, we dragged ourselves way from the beach and embarked on the 25 minute (16 hour) walk to the port, but Maria flagged down a bus driven by a chain smoking maniac. Driving perilously close the pedestrians and barrier walls of the farms, our driver nonetheless was able to turn 180° and converse with the other riders. Returning to Trapani that night, we returned to a restaurant we had eaten at the night before (the menu was as long as the Old Testament, but tastier) and were welcomed as regulars by the waiters and proprietor. Everything in Trapani is family-run, including the Mafia. After dinner we got some gelato (i now eat strawberry gelato twice daily, it has 16 essential vitamins and minerals) and strolled in the general direction of our our hotel. Hark! What hath my ears perceived? The strains of a Verdè opera? My discerning ears were correct. In a piazza not far from the hotel, a small concert was being held and the neighborhood families had come out to enjoy. What a strange sight! Throughout Europe, there are buskers on every corner, and now, I see not a busker, but a professional opera singer! She was marvelous, really reaching down for those forceful notes and the over-dramatic piano accompianist complemented her wonderfully. Sated by seafood, gelato fragolo and Verdè, Maria and I ended the night phoning her parents and reading. I am currently reading The Power Broker, about Robert Moses and his authority over public works in New York. Clocking in at 1200 pages, it is a tome, but well worth it.

After we finish blogging today, we're off to Rome, where our trip concludes. I can't believe it's been nearly a month. It feels like yesterday I was doodling in my notebook during an EPAAI presentation and dreaming about Barcelona. Now, Barcelona is behind me and a terrible EPAAI term paper in front of me.

About a thousand pictures to upload and more stories to write.

we were trying to build suspense...

Sorry for the delay in posting. Barcelona was whirlwind and although we had free internet at our hostel, it did not have a desktop for us to upload photos to, nor did it let us sign into blogger.com. Also, we were in Trapani and Favignana, Sicily until yesterday, and those parts are in the "infancy" of accessible internet.

We found out a little bit of shocking news from home our last day in Berlin. Early Sunday night, my father Gerhardt suffered a heart attack. Luckily, he noticed the warning signs and my mum was with him so they went to Research Hospital in Kansas City, where the staff was thankfully and impressively efficient and got him into surgery stat. He felt back to normal, save for the fatigue, within a day or two of his surgery. He is recovering at home right now, and taking it easy this week at work with half days. Please keep him and my mum in your thoughts and prayers as he continues to recover from this unexpected shock to his system and possibly prepare for another surgery.

So a quick few updates:

Barcelona is a beautiful city and it still holds a place in my heart as the best city I have ever visited. Other cities have certain quarters or characteristics that excite me, but Barcelona has a certain je ne sais quoi about it. The small streets with family run stores, the urban landscape lined with beautiful beaches, the delicious paella and made-in-front-of-you-so-you-know-its-the-real-thing sangria. There is nothing quite like it in any other city I have visited. When Katie K and I visited two falls ago, it was less touristy than it is now (La Rambla is crammed pack and the only people that speak Spanish are Brazilian tourists). While the tourists did suffocate some of the flavor on the side streets, Barcelona did not let me down and proved to be the same amazing city it was two years ago.

The three most notable things about this visit to Barcelona were:
1. We found the best tapas place in Barcelona, which is by default the best tapas place in the world. It was shown to us by Coloma Canals, a family friend of the Bumgarner family, my neighbors in Kansas City, MO. We are forever grateful that they gave us her contact information and that another neighbor Uncle Tom Dillon INSISTED that we call her. She met us on our first night and took us around the Barri Gotic, and showed us the tapas place where she and a group of other graphic designers had designed the logo ten years back. We sampled some tapas and returned the next night for a dinner made up of tapas. Similar to conveyer belt sushi in the U.S. and other countries, you stand at a bar and take the tapas as the waiters come around holding them. At the end they count the number of long and short sticks to figure up your total. Delicous.
2. We met some italian ladies, Stefania and Giovanna at a bar in the Barri Gotic on Thursday night. It was a great chance to ease into the Italian language before arriving in Trapani, Sicilia, and also to make international friends. They happened to be in town for a big concert "Summercase" which Conor and I had noticed signs for earlier. It turns out their favorite bands were our favorite bands - Americans and Italians uniting over a band from the UK.
3. Despite our planning and double-checking, we arrived two hours before our flight from Barcelona to Trapani, only to find that we were at the wrong airport. "What do you mean Ryan Air flies out of Girona? I thought this WAS Girona?...Okay, well then where is Girona? An hour and a half away?" After doing some cost-benefit analysis, we took a cab (from the sweetest old Spaniard) instead of the bus to save time and our cheapest flight became our most expensive. In fact, thanks to meters and cheap airlines, our cabride was actually more expensive than our flight...such is Europe. It was all still less than a flight from Kansas City to New York, and that, my friends, is my rationalization.

Upon arriving in Trapani, we had a mix up at a fabulous hotel by the beach, because camera singola in Italian means one room with a bed for one, where as a single room in the U.S. means one room with one versus two double beds. For more on this subject, please refer to the posting by Conor M. Lanz. The hotel was quite possibly the nicest one we have ever stayed at and was run by three generations of the Moncada family. The names "Giovanni" and "Fabrizio" were hollered several times in our presence. A gift of a hotel indeed, and somewhere you should check out if and when you go to Trapani.

Both nights we ate at the same family trattoria, and enjoyed some Sicilian seafood specialities. It was delicious, as was the gelateria nearby. Trapani has many sweet little streets that branch off in different directions and lob you towards the beautiful and many-hued Mediterranean seas. Both nights we were there, immediate and extended families would stroll the streets, enjoying the salty sea air and their children's tricycle antics. It's something that we lack in America, this planned unstructured time with family, roaming with no set destination, practically extinct since the Sunday drive ceased to exist a couple of decades ago, certainly before I was born.

Conor and I traveled on a thirty or so minute ferry to Favignana and we agreed that it was probably the most beautiful place we had ever been (except for, of course, unrivaled Palau). The sand beaches, the partially paved roads, the mountains in the distance. We found out later that Francesco Moncada, the owner of our hotel, Albergo Vittorio, was from the island of Favignana. He told me this excitedly after I told him I was mezzo isolana Pacifica e mezzo americana and compared our skin colors to show that we were, truly, both islanders.

We left Trapani yesterday for hot, sweaty, and busy Palermo and after a twenty-five minute walk with all of our bags hanging off of us, we made it to the hotel. After a fifty minute search for a bancomat (ATM), we finally got to pay for the room and enter the hotel. Needless to say, we vegged out for a couple of hours before we got the largest bottles of water known to mankind and enjoyed some pizza. Then we walked around Palermo for a couple of hours, hoping to find the beauty that people have raved about, but failed completely (save for the gelato), eventually turning in to read on the terrazza of the hotel. I think they may be talking about the outside beaches in Palermo, because I am trying, but failing to see the amazing beauty of Sicily's capitol city. We leave today for Rome.

Sorry for the lack of pictures, even though we do have hundreds more. We left the hotel for the internet cafe without the cord. Hopefully in Rome and if not, then in NY.

love
maria

O Berlin

This will be a quick one as it is almost dinner time and we have been non-stop all day at the Jewish Museum Berlin and the Museum of Checkpoint Charlie. To facilitate a quick post, I will have to resort to bullet points.

-The German Language: I might be biased because the only languages I can pronounce or mumble gramatically incorrect sentences in are Romance languages, but something about German really throws me off. To my ears it lacks melody and the chopped up manner makes it difficult to pin down the intonation. Was that a sentence, a question, an order? It´s hard to say (literally and figuratively). It sounds so harsh, and when said loudly kind of scares me. This might be my American bias of having Germany painted in history books as the home to those who rule with terror, but it definitely is throwing me off and I am looking forward to being surrounded by a more lilting language in Barcelona.

-The Wall: It´s interesting for me to experience Berlin as a young person because it is one of the first places I have been where such a huge and tumultuous part of historz has happened in my lifetime. It amazes me that my parents and I visited Berlin just five short years of the wall falling. I can´t really put this into words, but it is bizarre to walk down the street and know that many of the Germans I pass lived in a city split in two for many years. I can´t help but wonder what side of the wall they were on, where they were the day of the botched GDR press conference and if they ever considered escaping or helping someone to escape.

-Doner Kebab: Delicious thick pita with lamb or chicken, salad, tomatoes, cucumbers and garlic sauce. A perfect pre or post-drinking snack. Reccommended highly to us by our virtual tour guide Chris DeWitt, former study abroad student in Rome.

-Free bike tour and Boozetour bar hop: Was led by a guy named Dave from Overland Park, KS -a KS suburb of my hometown Kansas City, MO. He said he could´ve pegged me as an St. Teresa´s Academy girl before I told him which school in KC I went too. I´ll take that as a compliment. Went on a bar tour last night with an insane amount of people through the same tour company. Imagine fifty plus people rolling in a group, beers in their hands, walking through the streets of Berlin from bar to bar. We left after the third bar because of slow transportation, and because at that point, more than twenty drunk people moving in a pack is a bonafide shitshow.

That´s all for now. Off to get another Doner Kebab or maybe some delicious Thai fare. Traditional German food is not actually served too often, but I promised myself I would find sausage before I leave.

More in Barrrrthelona.

maria

Nice is Nice

A couple hours after our Estimated Time of Arrival, Conor and I arrived to our sweeeeet hotel in Nice, which was convenient both to charming Old Town and to the beach. As we speak, my face is peeling in a similar manner to the paint on the Berlin wall because Conor and I insisted we spend an unhealthy amount on the beach our first day. I blame terrorists and TSA for my burn because it prevented me from bringing the over 3.5 oz bottle of SPF 40 my mum so urgently pressed in my hand pre-departure.

We ate what I judge as my best dish in Europe so far that night at a sweet restaurant in the old section of Nice. It was a salad nicoise, which has a salad with a light vinegarette surrounded by small-brownie size squares of Nice specialities - one made of a flaky pastry dough and spinach, one with egg, and another with eggplant. Then there was a small glass of ratatouille as well, which I had been dying to try, partially because I like to try new things and local specialties, but mostly because of the new Disney movie. It was wonderful, and apparently easy to make, so I will have to get on that. Our dining neighbors were a wonderful couple about our parents ages, Joey and Glenda. They enjoyed the youthful dynamic between Conor and I and we enjoyed their stories, Joey´s hearty laugh, and Glenda´s insistence that we visit Wales. Naive travel mistake number 1 of the trip: we were too sheepish to get their information (even an email address) that would have allowed us to meet up with them again for a meal if we came to their area. Conor and I pledged after watching them walk away, that the next time we would make a concerted effort to overcome our shyness (on that front at least) and get their contact info. We also pledged to find an international detective upon our arrival in NY to track them down.

We took a day trip to Monaco, which was interesting, because it is always entertaining to speculate why people would need a Mercedes Benz, three boats, and two wave runners with a crew of 10 on a yacht. We strolled on the wide streets, dodged tourists, and enjoyed more local food, the sights from the highest point in Nice and the sun before heading to rainy Berlin.

GARRGGH!!!!!!!! I was trying to copy something and having no knowledge of the German language, I pressed Zuruck instead which means Back so I erased the post I had previously written. BAH to language barriers of this sort!

Playing catchup (and mustard) finally:

Paris continued:
Day 2: After Les Jardins des Tuileries, we walked down the Avenue du NY before hitting up the Eiffel Tower. It is a sight to behold, especially for me up close, when you get a chance to look at the interlaced metalwork up close. We had a nap on the lawn facing the tower and then ate a delicious banana and nutella crepe. When my parents and I travelled to Europe in 1993, they had a difficult time convincing me to eat anything but crepes d´hazelnut or drink anything but Orangina. Fourteen years later, this true Parisian crepe did not let me down, nor did the second or third.
Day 3: We suffered some obstacles as a result of selected museums in Paris being closed on Mondays. After some confusion as to where the line was at the Pompidou we found out it wasn´t open and when we went to the Musee d´Orsay, the line was ridiculously long because everyone from the closed Louvre went there instead. So after a rainy ride on the Ferris wheel overlooking dreary and deserted fairgrounds, Conor and I went back to Les Invalides, which houses French military artifacts from the early 900s i want to say, as well as Napolean´s tomb. What really struck me was how twisted Napolean was and how similar his tomb and burial area resembles that of the Roman emporers. It was evident that he wanted to be viewed as a deity through his placing of GrecoRoman gods and goddesses around his tomb, a similar tactic used by the Greek emporers to legitimize their rule and to seal their legacy. That night after a fancy french dinner of quick Chinese food, we went to the Sacre Coeur and admired the beauty of the Cathedral and the night lights of Paris.
Day 4 - We went to the Pompidou, Paris´MOMA equivalent. We got a huge dose of modern art set up chronologically. I enjoy older art (i.e. Louvre and many parts of the Musee d´Orsay) when I have a good chunk of data about the period in which it was created, the aim of the artist and/or biographical information about the artist, but I appreciate newer art (i.e. Pompidou) for its aesthetics. So after reading sign after sign at the aforementioned museums, it was nice to just walk around and appreciate the art for its strokes, colors, or innovation of a medium. We then flew to Nice, which you probably read about in Conor´s post. Considering his lost suit luggage, my lost box of wine, packing into one carry on bag to get to Europe, and two delayed flights, I have to say we are definitely taking it in stride and not letting it weigh us down.

slogger

That is what they call a slacking blogger. My plan is to sit down and just plain blog before we leave Berlin - about those last two days in Paris, Nice and Berlin. I am not entirely lazy, however. The photos are my domain and the last time we had internet in Nice, I spent the entirety of the time uploading the photos, and this time have spent some time trying to organize them so I don´t forget which fantastic pieces of art were where, and in which city we ate the most delicious food.

So if you´d like to see my handiwork, click on the badge on the right pane of the blog. Or entertain yourselves with Conor´s postings which are delightful and cackle-inducing even though he is talking about an event I personally experienced.

Berlin

Maria and I just finished a FREE bicycle tour of Berlin. Our tour guide, Dave from Kansas, was uber friendly and knowledgeable and should definitely take up the professorial career he dreams of pursuing. We met a lot of good folks on the tour, including Ben from Warwick, R.I., who was high school teammates with a friend of mine from William & Mary´s cross country team. He also knows a friend of ours from BC who is dating Maria´s close friend, Holly. Very small world. We are going to go out drinking with them tonight on what´s considered the second leg of our Berlin tour. We´ll upload pictures soon, but we hit all the classic sites in Berlin, including the Reichstag, Checkpoint Charlie, the Holocaust Memorial, and even detoured into a beer garden for a refreshing beverage. That .5 liter beverage would come back to haunt me somewhere during hour three of the tour, as Dave feverishly described the atmosphere in Berlin as the wall was coming down. I was worried that my pants would have to come down in a similarly frenzied matter as a steady stream of democracy was about to pour forth from my Checkpoint Carlie.

Also, we visited Monaco a few days ago, and I learned a great deal about what wealth actually means. At school, wealth is three packs of ramen and a fake ID. At home, wealth is the privilege of shoveling snow off a cement path leading from your mailbox to your front door. In America, wealth is as tacky and temporary as Kevin Federline. In Monaco, wealth is a private helicoptor docked on your private yacht parked in a private slip in an exclusive marina. There, wealth is a private beach with man-made shade. (I couldn´t quite put my finger on what was amiss after Maria and I stepped from the sun-soaked boardwalk onto the cool pebble beach. Aha! It was a living recreation of Mr. Burn´s plan to block out the sun in Springfield.) In Monaco, wealth is associated with regality. In the U.S., wealth is a free pass to drink and drive without consequence. I am not saying that Monaco´s wealth isn´t ostentatious, it is--very much so, but unlike in the U.S., the people with money conduct themselves with a certain degree of class. Money in America, for the most part, is a race to the bottom of the norms of social etiquette.

Photos

Use this link, www.flickr.com/photos/mkkb, to view our pictures from the trip, or click the flickr badge to the right of this post.

We apologize for their being unnamed and in a slew of different directions.

Nice...and the Photos to Prove It

Maria and I are in Nice, and I am feelin very uncomfortable in a comfortable office chair, mostly because we spent the good part of the day yesterday roasting like pheasants on God's rotisserie, southern France. The beach is absolutely splendid here, and there wasn't a cloud in the sky, although I was entranced well enough by the topless women that I probably would not have noticed a space ship crash land into the lifeguard stand. I don't think the lifeguards would have noticed either.

But anyway, Nice is basically paradise. It's hot during the day, hot enough to scald my pale white body into a tomato hue, and cools off considerably at night. We dined last night with some friends we met, Joey and Glenda, from Wales, and we were both grumbling about how it is impossible to eat outside in the summer time in our native cities. In Wales, the weather has been so awful lately (flooding in Yorkshire, general misery elsewhere) that Glenda and Joey are confined to dining inside. In Washington, the humidity is so nasty during the summer months that hot dishes are almost unpalatable from June-September. In Nice, however, we both ate outside comfortably, enjoying the breeze and the fresh air. I had a seafood salad followed by a rabbit stew over ravioli and Maria had a delicious salad and then some fresh fish with vegetables. Also, wine was consumed liberally.

Today, after we leave the internet cafe, we will probably take the short train to Monaco and visit the famed Monte-Carlo casino where I will try to win back the small fortune I spent on booze in Brussels. We may also visit the graves of Prince Rainier and Grace Kelly. Monaco is the second smallest independent nation in the world (Vatican City being the first) so I don't think we will have too much trouble seeing the sights in one afternoon. Tomorrow morning, back to the beach for some swimming and then off to Berlin for a 5-day blitzkreig of the city. That was very tasteless and I'm sorry. I am having a great time so far and this blog is a great exercise for me, because I am usually so bad about jotting down my thougts.

Three Cheers for Airline Companies

I knew it was a bad omen when I bought an edition of The Economist before my trip to Brussels and there was a 14-page section decrying the state of the airline industry in the U.S. and abroad. I scoffed at the magazine's negativity. "Airline travel is the miracle of the 20th century," I said aloud, startling the TSA representative molesting me ever-so-gently in Heathrow's Terminal 4. But, as always my optimism has failed me again (i.e. the Mets 1986-2007). At Charles de Gaulle in Paris on Wednesday evening, we waited for 2 and 1/2 hours for a 1 hour flight to Nice. Our captain apologized, eloquently, I might add, in 3 languages, for the disruption, and said there was a 1/2 hour delay at each airport the plane touched down at that day. Add that up, and voila!, 2 and 1/2 hours tacked on to our short flight to Nice.

Maria and I arrived in Nice about 1:30 AM and after eating shit with a smile (paying 30 euros for a cab ride) found ourselves still a little hungry. We found a kebab joint still open and chowed down. Two drunk Australian dudes approached us and one, picking up on my hint of an American accent, exclaimed "Happy 4th of July, mate! It's your day!" And that completed the least American 4th of July ever celebrated. Me, in enemy territory (France) eating some Turkish kebab and getting clapped on the back by an Australian guy.

simultaneous blogging

Conor and I are sitting across from each other at the two hostel computers, slightly damp from the on-and-off rain that is Paris in July apparently, and hoping that the blog lets us post both of these blogposts at the same time. If it only takes one, I hope it is mine, because of course, it will be better.

Mary Anne: to answer your question, Courtney is my former supervisor and a good friend of mine. She does, in fact, not hate me and actually loves me (to the point of obsession, but don't tell her I said that).

I suspect that Conor is writing long and humorous anecdotes from and descriptions of the favorite places he has been in Paris. He is probably writing about the Pompadou and the Sacre-Coeur. I will write a quick list of the places we have been and if I have time (I have 8 minutes) a brief description of our visit there. At least then, you will know what we have covered. Hopefully I will have time in Nice and Berlin to elaborate more.

Day 1 - July 1st: Hilary Thomas Gaboriau (family friend from 52nd Street neighborhood in Kansas City Missouri) met Conor & I at Charles de Gaulle with little trouble. She took us to our hostel in the Latin Quarter. Conor and I went to the Louvre (free the first Sunday of the month) and took in the enormity that is arguably the world's most famous museum. We then met up with Hilary, her husband Francois-Regis and her friend Jess (a sweet Californian Hilary knew from an abroad program). We ate at a typical French restaurant at the Gambetta metro stop. It was delicious, and Conor scarfed the foie gras, it now being his favorite food group. I gulped the vin rouge, now being my favorite food group.

Day 2 - July 2nd: We started at Places des Vosges, looking for new shoes because as my Mom suspected (Yes, you were right) my flats did not offer support. However, I still stick by my word that I did not and do not want to look like an American in tennis shoes and jeans (Please note in the pictures that Conor is wearing glaringly white Nikes, therefore giving him AND me away, so I might as well have worn bright white Brooks). We then headed up the Rue De Rivoli to the Ile St- Louis (Courtney's favorite part of Paris) and then to the Ile de La Cite where Notre Dame is. It was gorgeous and huge, although I wish our guide book had given me more specifics about history and the architecture. Then we hit up the Place du Palais Royal (my favorite in Paris so far- when we put up pictures you will see why) and then to Jardin des Tuileries (Conor's fav).

time is out, unfortunately. more on day 3 and 4 later. molti baci. mk

I'm at the Pompidou. That's in Paris.

To quote the timeless lyrics of my favorite tongue-in-cheek band, Art Brut, "Modern art...makes me...want to rock out!" Maria and I visited the Pomidou center today, one of the necessary pilgrimages for modern, and post-podern, art enthusiasts. The Pompidou hosts a chronological exhibit of modernism, beginning with the impressionists and moving all the way forward to Jackson Pollock, "action art" and all the rest. The collection is astounding, and Maria remarked that the Picasso's and Matisse's were extensive, as are their exhibits in a number of museums around the world. They were certainly prolific, and every one of their pieces is a masterpiece. There is not a wasted stroke.

Last night, Maria and I visited the Sacre Coure (spelling?...no time for spell check), a basilica dating from the 1870's that overlooks Paris. We got up there just before sunset, and the panoramic views of the city were brilliant. As darkness fell, it become easier to pick out the monuments of Paris. We could see the blue piping of the Pompidou, the gloomy buttresses of the Notre Dame, and the unmistakable Eiffel Tower. It was really beautiful, and there was a festive atmosphere on top of that basilica. Most people there were very young, or in the verbage of the parents reading this blog, "whippersnappers" and snuck sips from their malted beverages as they watched darkness crawl over the city. Maria and I abstained from drinking, partly because an altered state was not necessary to appreciate the view, and partly because we had an early morning at the Musee d'Orsay followed by the aforementioned visit to the Pompidou.

Oh, I almost forgot. Yesterday, after a few false starts because of the rain and long lines, Maria and I made a consensus agreement to visit the inside of Les Invalides, as I mentioned yesterday, has a Napolean's tomb and a war museum. After looking at the exhibits, the only thought I had was that mankind has been very, very good at killing for a very long time. The advancement of our species has been almost dependent on advances in war, and it was interesting to compare, philosophically, the beautiful works of art we've seen thus far at the Louvre, Musee d'Orsay and the Pompidou with the equally beautiful weapons we saw at Les Invalides. Which has advanced mankind further? The Renaissance or the rifle?

After deep thoughts like these, I'll probably drink too much when we get to Nice tonight. Our flight gets in at 10:30, so if we hurry, I'll pass out by 12:30. Just kidding. The trip has been great so far, and I'm going to sun burn myself into unrecognizibility very soon.

Paris

I have 4 minutes and 9 seconds to post about Paris before my internet connection at the Young and Happy hostel runs out. We are staying in the Latin Quarter, which is short-hand for hipster central (a term Maria is proud that I've included) and we've been walking all over the city to take it in. Paris is the most beautiful city I've ever been to, besides, of course, Trenton. The Eifell tower, I've always thought of as a cliche, but it is absolutely breathtaking. Les Invalides, a hospital for veterans of France's many, many (surrendered) wars, is now a tragic monument to Napolean and the history of armed warfare.

Too much to write about, hopefully we will upload some pictures to tell the story. Headed (fingers crossed) to the Sacre Couer tonight and then Nice tomorrow evening. Love!

Amsterdam

So everyone (well, mostly potheads and prostitution afficiandos) say "You've got to go to Amsterdam, man. You can smoke marijuana out of a mushroom while being whipped by a leather-clad dominatrix." Well, I don't smoke marijuana, I don't do mushrooms, and I don't have sex, so I think I may have missed out on the full Amsterdam experience. Nevertheless, travelling to the city was a remarkable experience.

Amsterdam is a bit of a train ride from Brussels so I spent most of the morning reading on the train and gazing out the window. (In 30 minutes, I saw more sources of alternative energy in the Netherlands countryside than a lifetime in the States.) After arriving; the first thing I noticed was the flood of bicycles in the city. The train station has a parking lot for them! It is completely unlike the U.S., but I attribute this more to the physical layout of our country than to our wanton laziness and spectacular obesity. Like a true pervy American male, I made a bee-line for the Red Light District. Besides the nude beach at Robert Moses State Park, this may be the least sexy place in the entire world. I imagined gorgeous women pressing themselves against the windows, beckoning me for a snog. The reality: very ugly, very fat, very disinterested women slumped in a folding chair completely indifferent to my presence. One harlot, chatting on her cellphone in tarp-sized lingerie, looked in my general direction when I passed, but that was the closest I came to being solicited. Granted, it was the 11am shift on a Saturday, but Amsterdam's hypersexual image was still largely deflated. The wares being sold by creepy merchants weren't sexy, either. I'm really not tempted to buy a silicone replica of a woman's genitals just because a middle-aged Middle Eastern man says "It's just like the real thing!" I'll pass.

On the other hand; the drugs in Amsterdam of the finest quality. I do not have any moral opposition to marijuana, and have actually tried the banned substance on occasion, so my abstinence on this trip was based more on practical concerns. I begin my new job at the Port Authority in less than a month and I don't want to do anything that would jeaporidize (no chance I spelled that correctly) that beautiful, beautiful salary. But, I must say, the puffs of smoke coming from the cafés smelled delicious and I was seriously tempted to roll a joint and contemplate my arm. Mushrooms were also tempting, and I had read up on the subject before going to Amsterdam, but the idea of tripping alone in a foreign city was about as appealing as the prostitutes in the Red Light District, which is to say, very, very tempting.

The effects of drugs on a person were readily apparent as I meandered dozn the main drag (no pun intended) in Amsterdam. A British guy, about my age, was hanging out a hotel window, speaking in tongues and covered in blood. He was obviously tripping, and I watched in astonishment as firemen inflated a huge cushion (think The Blob from the Ben Stiller classic, Heavyweights) and then used the ladder from the firetruck to barricade our refined British gentleman in his hotel room, preventing the much-anticipated plummet to his death. Have you ever seen a guy jump from a building? Have you ever seen a guy jump from a building on weeeeed? Mindblowing.

Lunch time. More later.

Brussels Part Two

I'll begin with two apologies. First, for the long time in between posts. Second, I am using a Belgian keyboard, which is slightly different than an American one, so this post may contain more than a few typographical errors.

Where do I begin? I am at the De Crop's home, resting after a long week studying lobbying in the European Union. As I mentioned earlier, our group has met with some very powerful players--and to add to that list, we spoke with a member of the European Parliament, Bill Newton Dunn; the public affairs representative for Microsoft in Europe; and a real-life tobacco lobbyist who must unfortunately remain nameless. (Direct quote: The only addiction that is evil is the government's addiction to the excise tax on cigarettes.) I won't bore anyone with the minutiae of our meetings, but I will discuss some conclusions I've drawn about the European Union.

First, contrary to the criticisms by the popular media and the Euro-skeptics, the EU is undoubtedly successful and will continue to rise in power this century. The quabbles and disagreements that came to the forefront last week in Brussels are an inherent part of the institution, and we should remember that the continent was at war 60 years ago, and marred by Communism for the latter half of the 20th century. The EU is not perfect, but neither is the American system of government, and the bold experiment to meld together 27 disparate nations for the common good is one that will be remembered in history.

Second, the lobbying apparatus in the EU is not better or worse (from an ethical standpoint) than the United States, it is merely different. In the U.S. lobbyist money plays a far greater role in influencing Congress and parts of the executive branch, however $$ does not tell the whole story. Constituent pressure, demonstrated through the popular election of representatives and Senators, plays an important role in influencing the government. This leverage is essential to lobbying in the U.S. and determines the tactics used and the targets selected. This leverage is largely missing in the EU and leads to a very different type of lobbying. Because members of the European Commission and the Parliament are often unanswerable to the public (because of apathy, the democratic deficit and bare-bones media coverage) many in the EU do not react to the same stimulants which drive members of Congress. Lobbying in the EU relies far more on information and education than on re-election financing and arm-twisting.

This seems like a good thing, but it is coupled with a very apparent shortcoming in the EU's lobbying apparatus. There is no registry for lobbyists in Brussels. This means that all information about lobbyists is not readily available to the public. (This reality makes our research here very, very difficult.) European citizens do not know much is being spent on lobbying efforts in Brussels, or even for who and what is money being spent. The system in the U.S. is admittedly imperfect, as the Abramoff scandal shows, but we are farther along in identifying illegal and unethical lobbying tactics than the Europeans. There have been no Abramoff-type scandals in the EU; is this because lobbying is cleaner in the EU, as all the lobbyists we met with claim, or are there no mechanisms to identify and deal with perpetrators? This is a question our research aims to answer, but I do not think an answer will be forthcoming.

Finally, I believe that trans-atlanticism, (the trade policy,not the Death Cab album) is embraced, obviously, by multi-national corporations like GE, but is not tolerated by politicians in the U.S. and Europe, and is especially loathed by citiens on both continents. Harmonization of standards and improved trade policies are beneficial to both of us in the long run, but trans-atlanticism is not without its hardships. Politicians and the public are unwilling or unable to see the big picture (mainly that India and China will loom even larger 50 years from now), but a firm, steady economic partnership with Europe is essential to the economic success of the U.S. this century.

I'm sure this topic isn't as fun to read about as my debauched nights in Brussels, but I think it's important to show that my trip does have an academic purpose and that my classmates and I are peering through the clouds of our hangovers and to make some important insights about the relationship between the U.S. and the EU.

Brussels Part Two

Greetings from Brussels! I don't have much time to write, as I am on break from a seminar on lobbying at the European Union, but I wanted to publish a quick update on what's been going on. The seminar, the European Public Affairs and Advocacy Institute (EPAAI), is going very well. We've met with representatives from the European Union, Pfizer, the Financial Times, NATO, and a ton of other organizations involved in lobbying in Brussels. Their insights are helping me develop a thesis for my independent study, which contrasts lobbying efforts in the U.S. and the EU, with a focus on drug safety.

EPAAI is enjoyable on another level as well. Many of my friends from graduate school, with whom I have spent hours and hours poring over material, studying for exams and preparing briefings, are here, and we are taking advantage of the Brussels nightlife. Last night, we spent 4 hours at a small tavern not far from the Gran Place, and drank beer that isn't usually available at the touristy bars around town. With our limited French, and sophisticated gesticulating techniques, we were able to converse with the bar tender about his favorite types of Belgian beer. The cultural barrier, however, did arise when I followed him into the kitchen to pursue the topic further.

I am returning to our seminar so I will have to fill you all in on some more details (and bawdier anecdotes) a little later. I still must cover a trip to Amsterdam and a night of barhopping in Brussels (all within 24 hours) as well as my reflections on the city of Brussels. I hope everyone is well and I miss you all.

First Photos - Conor in Brussels

Kyle Taylor (friend of maria & conor and host extraordinnaire), Clemence De Crop, Conor, Phillipe

blatantly stolen from: http://www.flickr.com/people/kyletaylor/

Brussels Part One

My baggage debacle aside, Brussels has been a great trip thus far. One Day One, Kyle Taylor and Anne De Crop met me at the airport. Kyle stayed with the De Crop's when he studied in Brussels a few years ago, and visits them every so often. Coincidentally, he was in Brussels to meet me. Anne is married to Marc, a banker, and they have two daughters, Clemence and Astrid. Their home is absolutely beautiful. It is a row house in a great neighborhood and is 5 floors with beautiful architecture and handsomely decorated. The De Crops are currently co-habiting with a house painter who pads around all day using the tiniest of brushes on the largest of surfaces.

After dropping my things at home and showering, Kyle took me on a tour of the city. We hit all the essentials, including Mannekin Pis (I will upload a picture later) a statue of a nude boy urinating. Legend has it that the little boy saved Brussels from a great fire using only his penis and a deftly aimed stream of urine. After a quick nap, (I awoke shouting "Those are false accusations" to Kyle), we met Clemence and her boyfriend Phillipe for some Thai food in Brussels' Congolese corner. (Globalization at its finest). We went for drinks at Delirium, which boasts 2000 beers. It was mostly Americans, so we lickety-split over to Celtica, an irish pub with 1 Euro beers until midnight. We did not stay out very late, as I was pretty jet-lagged from my flight.

After breakfast on Thursday, Kyle left for South Africa and I wandered Brussels for a good portion of the day. I read outside a sandwich shop and perused some shops, failing once more in my search for a leather satchel. I had dinner with Anne and Marc, and Marc and I discussed his job as well as my studies in Brussels. He said that lobbying is very peculiar in Brussels and a friend of his is currently lobbying to keep a loophole in a Belgian tax law that benefits large companies. I met Clemence and her two friends, Charlotte and Celine, and we drove to La Terrasse, an outdoor bar that is only open for one month every summer. It is one a man-made beach in the forest, and it is completely wild. (Picture the Georgetown waterfront with beach volleyball, a pool, young men and women who are not snobs, a live band and cheap booze).
Even though it rained intermittently, La Terrasse was excellent and I met a lot of new friends. With my limited French and most everybody's limited English, we were still able to find some common ground. When I say I am from New York, almost everyone is starstruck. I met a Belgian guy named Conor, a guy studying at Columbia, every new person insisted I try a new beer. My personal favorite is Duvel, because it tastes great and has an 8.5% alcohol volume.

After La Terrasse, we went to a disco and danced, literally, until the sun came up. It does not get dark in Brussels until 11:30 PM and the sunrises at around 5 AM. The disco, Clemence assured me, was the most exclusive in Brussels, but it was not filled with the types of people one would expect to find at similar clubs in the U.S. Everyone was very friendly and accommodating of my non-existent French. (Clemence says the Belgians are just like the French, except they are not assholes.) There was 1 American in the entire club, and she heard my lovely accent and we got to talking. She is a junior at South Carolina and finishing up a semester in Brussels. She told me that the club is where all young people in Brussels go and that it was a real treat to be here. We parted ways, but I left our conversation knowing that I was experiencing the real Brussels and was lucky to bypass the touristy bars and clubs.

I don't know if it was the aching hangover or the sun shining, but I woke up this morning completely in love with Brussels. I walked to the store to get a croissant and some juice and everyone was outside, smiling, shopping, chatting. It is a small city that is the capital of a large continent, and this contradiction provides me with a great jumping off point for my first trip abroad.

Tomorrow, I will take a day trip to Amsterdam to see the Van Gogh museum, the Anne Frank house, and, if I have time, the famed Red Light District. I read in my guidebook that is impolite to photograph the prostitutes, so Fennell will just have to settle for a vivid description. And maybe an audio recording.

My luggage may be seeing more of the world than I am

I just got off the phone with Aviapartner for the umpteenth time in the past 4 days. Aviapartner, (check file number BRUBA 32956 to see my bag's wonderful journey), is the company in charge of lost or misplaced baggage from British Airways flights. Because my flight was delayed coming into Heathrow, I almost missed my connection to Brussels. In the rush, my bags did not make it onto that flight. Apparently, my navy blue suit, 4 shirts, and 5 ties (described in excruciating detail to an operator at Aviapartner--the width of the pinstripes on one shirt are considered essential details) had a lovely stay in London, then said "What the hell? When are we going to ever see Milan" and decided to take that trip. After a whirlwind tour of the city, Blue Pinstriped Shirt said to Gold Tie, "We should probably go see what Conor is up to. He may need us." And Gold Tie said, "Screw that! We're in Europe. Let's party!" And party they did. Now, my garments, which I desperately need for my first meeting on Monday, are somewhere between Milan and Brussels and should be arriving tomorrow. I will be in Amsterdam for the day, and will wait with baited breath for the arrival of my clothes. Thankfully, my backpack, which has all of my day-to-day items and wardrobe, arrived safely.

Mad Props to Kyle Taylor for loaning me the essentials while I waited for my backpack to arrive.

a district farewell

I have tried to draft several entries regarding leaving DC and all of them lack that je ne sais quoi that true farewells are made of. In writing about my departure, I find myself overwhelmed with stories to recount, thank yous to make, and wonderful friends to acknowledge. In the breaks between packing, cleaning, and planning, I've met up with a few close friends, either at the apartment or at a favorite restaurant to share a bottle of wine, movie and book recommendations, and belly laughs one last time (for now and in this context). These are the things that farewells are made of that can't be committed fully to paper (or blog).

It's weird to hear myself say phrases like, "The past four years have been great," because I am so used to time and time again leaving- for holidays, abroad adventures, or breaks -but always, always coming back to these people and this place. I, of course will see these people again, and I am not so naive to believe that this is the be all and end all (Note: that doesn't mean I claim to be an full-fledged adult quite yet). Regardless, it's foreign to imagine this novel world where we have to make a concerted effort to phone or e-mail and make solid plans to choose and meet in a city, as opposed to making loose promises to meet at the Davenport cafe sometime after three pm.

I find my self rambling, but only because it's difficult for me to do four years in this gift of a city with my "biffles" justice with just a few paragraphs. I'm sure the clarity I am looking for will come to me my last time on the Metro -luggage all around me, $0.35 left on my SmartTrip card, and notebooks shoved into the smallest of crevices of my suitcase, unable to commit to paper those specific and special words I seek so desperately at this moment.

Breaking News

This just in. Maria just accepted a job from Random House publishers. Hooray for money!

Leaving DC/Leaving U.S.

Today is my last day in DC. With everybody cleared out of the dorms and a lot of my friends gone for the summer (or gone for good), it doesn't feel too much like the end of a chapter. I did see Bob Briggs yesterday, my academic advisor, as I was carrying a huge garbage bag full of running clothes home from AU's campus. He provided the most sentimental moment I've had so far. Pointing to my garbage bag full of shoes and clothes, he said "Wow. That must be sad. End of an era, huh?" Thanks a lot, Bob. Make me feel worse than I already do about retiring. To add to that, Bob says to me, "Well, have a good time in Brussels. I guess I'll never see you again." Real nice of you, Bob.

I will definitely miss Bob, though. He was always available to see me if I was worrying about school or just to shoot the breeze. Bob always loved to talk about track and would follow AU in the papers and on the website, www.aueagles.com. He always pushed me to get my MA and helped steer me through the admissions process and the awful AU bureaucracy. There are a lot of indifferent people at AU, but Bob is not one of them. I encourage anyone thinking about an MA in political science to go see him.

Anyway, I'm out of DC tomorrow morning on the Vamoose Bus. When I get to NY, I'll take a cab to my mom and Ron's house in Astoria. It's being renovated so I'll probably pick up a sledgehammer and bust through a wall for a few hours, and by sledgehammer I mean my karate chop.

I fly out of Kennedy on Tuesday evening and get into Brussels on Wednesday at 11 after a short layover in London. My friend Kyle Taylor, who is really outdoing Magellan at this point, will meet me at the airport and show me his city. (Kyle is working with Youth Venture, helping young people around the world create change, and not al-Qaeda change, good change. Check out his website, here.)

On the 23rd, I'll be travelling to Brugges with my friends from class and Jerry Sheridan, our man on the streets in Brussels. We start our week-long European Public Affairs and Advocacy Institute the next morning, led by Dr. James Thurber. I'm definitely looking forward to that and learning more about the EU and how advocacy differs transatlantically.

Let the blogging begin...

This blogging bit is something I have not yet tried, but I thought it would be the best way for y'all to keep track of us as we travel through Europe. I can't promise anything fantastic, but I will do my best -- I figure it's better than trying to keep up with individual emails during the trip.

We are currently in the planning stages of our trip. We booked our flights for within-Europe two weeks ago, and are booking our hostels this week.

Our plan for the trip is as follows:
June 19-June 30: Conor in Brussels
July 1: Meet in Paris
July 4: Nice
July 7: Berlin
July 11: Barcelona
July 14: Sicily
July 17: Rome
July 20: back to U.S.

If you have any suggestions (must-see monuments, delicious restaurants, perfect-cappucino cafes, etc), get in touch with us.