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
Monday, July 23, 2007
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
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.
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!
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 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
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
Monday, July 9, 2007
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
-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.
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.
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.
Sunday, July 8, 2007
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.
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.
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.
Friday, July 6, 2007
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.
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.
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.
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.
Wednesday, July 4, 2007
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
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.
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.
Tuesday, July 3, 2007
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!
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!
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