In Bruges

Bruges was like a nice, slow introduction to Amsterdam.  It has the canals.  The Dutch language.  And the painfully flat terrain.  Belgians make good waffles, but their landscape brings to mind a big pancake.  The city of Bruges is Belgium’s number one tourist destination.  Most of the city is still standing from the 17^th century.  Quaint canals twist through quiet streets and other than the busy town square, most of the area remains asleep for most of the day.  Our hostel was just on the border of being nice.  The reception, which doubled as a bar, welcomed us and even gave us a free ‘upgrade’ to a room with a shower.  The room smelled like the windows hadn’t been opened since autumn and we were informed by the maintenance man after our arrival that the shower had to be unplugged, whatever that meant.  We left him to his duties and got our much needed laundry done nearby.  We saved seeing the town square until later on, after a few Hoegaardens at the reception/bar.

If you haven’t seen the movie ‘In Bruges,’ go watch it.  Ok, now that you understand, there is definitely a parallel between the feeling of Colin Farrell’s character and the feeling I had wandering the streets of Bruges.  It’s like a fairy tale.  The old brick buildings line the serene canals and the belfry overlooks the pretty town square.  Green parks dot the city map.  But there’s something a bit miserable about the whole thing.  First off, we felt like the youngest people in town.  It was as if they just dumped busloads of blue-hairs to roam the streets during the daylight hours, ensuring your speed of two paces every four seconds and clogging every souvenir shop to the point of bursting.  I stood in line for 10 minutes to buy one postcard.  But like I said, it’s nice.

We bit hard on a touristy menu offered by one of the thousand little restaurants surrounding the center.  This was after we were given the gypsy evil-eye curse by a Freddy Mercury look alike owner of a 3 euro spaghetti place.  His glance cost us about 35 euros.  Full on fries, stew, and Belgian beer, we were feeling sleepy in this sleepy town and made it another early night.  In my mind, I’m saving energy (and money) for Iceland.

We went to see the ‘Flemish Primitives’ the next day, a nice gallery of medieval era paintings by ahead of their time painters that would inspire Vermeer and Rembrandt.  No pictures allowed, but don’t worry:  I have mental images.  We had to try a Belgian waffle, and paid 2 euros each to get a little fatter in doing so.  The 366 steps to the top of the belfry burned a bit of that off, I’m sure, and the view was nice enough for some pictures of the scary-flat Belgian countryside.  It would be another four days until we saw any sort of topographical feature.

It’s impossible to get the feel of a country from one city, let alone the feel of a city from two nights.  But the Belgians were after my health, I know it.  And they’re probably after yours, too.  It makes me excited to start eating healthy when I get back.  Well, after the Fourth of July.

Paris: Part Deux

We sorted out the Paris accommodation issue  with a little help from our World Edition Blackberrys.  The power of technology…  We’d already booked our second two nights in Paris, but found a hostel for a reasonable price for the first night.  Tired from the journey and not sure where to walk from the hostel, we made it an early night and tried to make an early morning of it.

My second time in Paris on this trip, Devin’s first.  No way I could persevere the Louvre again so soon, and many of the sites from my first visit would be redundant.  But that’s what’s so great about Paris – there’s always more to do.  We braved the rain that followed us to France and visited the Musee l’Orangerie.  It sounds like an underwear display, but actually has Monet’s original panorama water lily paintings -his last great achievement, performed while debilitating cataracts slowly took over his eyes.  In addition to these ovular rooms was a grand collection of French Impressionist and neo-Impressionist paintings from the likes of Rousseau, Cezanne, Renoir, and Matisse.  Our appetite for art satisfied, we spent the rest of the day wandering around St. Michel and then to the Hotel de Invalides.  Still used as a veteran hospital in some wings, the rest of this palace has been transformed into an elaborate military history museum.  Starting with an astounding collection of armor and arms from the 12^th century onward, the exhibition displays artifacts such as full knight’s armor, pistols, swords, and other crazy weapons.  We moved onto the WWI and WWII sections and were completely overwhelmed (even being history students) by the amount of information thrown at us.  The last stop on our ticket was Napoleon’s tomb.  Commissioned a few years after his death, it looks like a basilica both inside and out and wouldn’t be out of place in the Vatican.  Look at the pictures for a better idea than I can muster with words at this moment.

Our second lodging in Paris was not in the nicest part of town.  Just north of the Gare du Nord station, our hotel seemed to be guarded by the throngs of disreputable characters crowding around the metro exit and blocking each crosswalk.  This was a 24-hour occupation that kept nerves high and hands on wallets.  One night we were even awaken by a Brit screaming obscenities at the men who had just mugged him, with people on both sides holding their friends back.  Point being: wrong part of town.  Our hotel wasn’t too bad… except for being on the 7^th floor of steep winding stairs and the nearest shower being on the 4^th floor.  We spent as much time away from our hotel as possible.  Thank goodness Paris is so beautiful.  We knocked off the one other (well, one of the hundreds of other) museums that I missed my first time in Paris: the Musee d’Orsay.  Another collection of Impressionist masterpieces, the Orsay is set in what looks like a train station – with a large triangular glass ceiling and a giant clock adorning one end.  All the guys were here: Monet, Renoir, Cezanne, Van Gogh, etc.  All in all, it wasn’t my favorite.  BUT!  Before passing judgment I’ll consider the fact that I was tired and maybe a little art museum’d out.

We meet up with my Couchsurfing host Lilas for a few drinks on our last night in Paris.  It was nice to connect with a friend again, especially to have Devin meet someone from earlier in my trip.  We talked about our travels, world peace, and all that good stuff over some delicious sangria near the Odeon.  Glad to leave our hotel’s milieu but never happy to leave Paris, the next morning we skipped Versailles (again) and aimed for Bruges.

The Best and Wurst of Germany

Our train passed many parts of the metropolitan area known as Berlin before we arrived at the main station.  This introduction laid out in front of us one warning:  Berlin is huge.  Arriving from the east, our hostel was at the west end of the metro system (conveniently located next to the stop named ‘Westend’).  It was a long trek from the center – about 20 minutes by metro – but cheap enough to swallow the minor inconvenience.  Berlin is known to be one of the few capitals in Europe in which you can really stretch out each euro.  Despite its cheap reputation, we managed to spend a bit more than we had planned.

First off, we spurned the efficiency of the metro system by purchasing the wrong ticket almost every time: the one day pass on the first day overlapped with a three day pass and stray tickets on each end as well.  Not including the Potsdam travel zone saved us 2 euros up front but cost 10 later on.  We made up for our minor errors by eating as cheaply as possible.  Germany’s famous for its wurst, but on the backpacking circuit, it’s almost as famous for its falafel and kebab.  For 2 euros each we had satisfying, if not wholly unhealthy, meals almost every night.  Coming from Poland, this was the only thing that wasn’t a drastic upshot in prices.  A price map of Europe would be pretty easy to construct.  The further one moves north and west, the more expensive everything gets.  Capitals cost twice as much as surrounding regions and coastal areas cost twice the capitals.  It’s science.

The city of Berlin is crawling with history, almost too much so – I’ll touch on that a bit later.  Unlike Rome, which has ancient treasures around every corner, Berlin has not-so-ancient ‘reminders’ at every turn.  True, most of the city was destroyed in the war by Allied bombing.  The post-war city planners voted to quickly resurrect the center as opposed to waiting for anything more aesthetic to produce itself, so most of the city resembles a morgue.  Only a few Nazi era architecture structures remain, most notably the old Luftwaffe headquarters.  Hitler’s bunker is nothing more than an apartment complex’s parking lot – with one information sign in the corner.  (We were told that this area is a favorite among locals to bring their dogs to do their business)  The 20 million dollar Holocaust Memorial (technically: Memorial to the Murdered European Jews) was designed specifically as an obtuse reminder to not-so-bygone atrocities.  The Berlin wall is all but deleted from the city, save a few remnants here and there.  The longest section still standing is protected by cement half-walls and runs along the front of the future site of a museum (former site of S.S. headquarters).  Checkpoint Charlie is nothing more than a tourist trap, the checkpoint itself a replica from the ‘60s and nothing like its most recent incarnation up until ’89.  The free walking tour we took was uber-informational and provided us with bits of history as we trudged through the downpour that plagued Berlin for most of the time we were there.  Stories of gallant boyfriends saving their girls from East Berlin with customized low-rider Aston Martins give the scene a bit of a romantic air, but like I said, it must be a bit much for the locals to endure.

The new generation of Germans doesn’t need to be reminded of what happened seventy, eighty years ago.  They learn about it from the time they are born.  Not just in history class, the stories of their forefathers’ brutality seeps into literature and other studies as well, not to mention the memorials and reminders on every street in the city.  Germans born as the Berlin wall was coming down do not need to provide excuses for the atrocities performed by its country almost a century earlier, and they feel as if this is still their duty.  The next twenty years should see an entire generation (or two, if we’re lucky) shrug off the regret and blame that is deserved of their grandparents, but no longer warranted of Germans today.

The city of Potsdam is a quick 45 minute S-Bahn ride out of Berlin.  Virtually untouched by the war, the city retains is 18th century palaces surrounded by lush gardens and architectural landscapes.  We did what everyone else does here on daytrips: rent bikes.  Now, I’ve been told by a handful of people that the Germans don’t tolerate much, and crossing when the light is red at a crosswalk could get you 100 dirty looks or worse, a ticket.  Well, navigating the horrible map given to us by the bike rental shop while riding this bike set up for Andre the Giant, I wasn’t too concerned with the red and green lights.  I looked for cars, just didn’t look for the lights to allow me to cross.  Someone was watching me the whole time, though.  Waved down by sirens, an outstretched arm, and a whole bunch of German yelling coming from a German police riot van, I was maybe a little too nonchalant.  I thought he was giving me a quick wave: a warning.  When he asked f or my passport I thought things were getting more serious.  Then he asked for 45 euros.  Upon learning that I had no cash to back up my million dollar smile, they urged us with fingers and grunts to leave our bikes behind and hop into the armored vehicle.  Something didn’t register in my head that this was a potentially bad situation, and I just couldn’t stop smiling.  Devin shared my disposition and had to stifle laughs of her own.  While one cop drove, the other eyed us carefully from 2 feet away on the bench across  from us in the back.  He was making sure that we would blow through no more red lights on his watch.  We arrived at the nearest ATM, about a 5 minute drive away, and were escorted to the machine inside a bank lobby.  Passersby and lookers-on must have sensed a huge withdrawal about to happen.  Instead, I sensed an extra 5 euro fee and complained to the officer that this would be unfair; that he should lower our fine to 40 euros for this to equal out.  My explanation of international banking fees went by flawlessly with zero understanding on his part.  But soon enough we were back in the car searching for a DeutscheBank – an affiliate of my Bank of America which waives all foreign transaction fees.  We drove for another 10 minutes, passing by Dresdenbank and countless others with a “nah”.  Finally they realized our demands and told us there was no DeutscheBank in Potsdam.  We repeated the armed accompaniment withdrawal and were soon back on our bikes, 45 euros lighter than before.  I found it funny that Devin was never even glanced at during the entire fiasco, the two German cops dumping all their punishment on me.  Thankfully we only had to pay for one offense, narrowly avoiding the other that could have resulted from my cheekiness in the face of misunderstanding.

We spent our evenings wandering around Berlin, trying to find the life of one of its many neighborhoods.  Big mistake.  Berlin is so spread out and it’s really quite easy to get lost when walking between districts.  It’s even easy to get lost if you take the metro.  Metro is a loose term here: they have the S-Bahn and the U-Bahn.  The S varietal stays above ground while the U species goes….. you get the picture.  The result is a very efficient public transportation system, but if you don’t know where you’re headed, you’re in trouble.  After two nights running into nocturnal dead-ends, we heeded the advice of a friend we met in Poland and headed to Warschauerstrasse in what used to be East Berlin.  Somewhat of an alternative scene, mohawks and piercings dominated the style around the station.  These ‘punks,’ as they’re known in Germany, are for the most part phony.  Many are out on the street begging for coins before heading back to a warm bed prepared by mom and dad.  The bars near Warschauerstrasse were the coolest we found in Berlin.  This finally felt like the city that so many people we’d met had totally fallen in love with.  Too bad it was our last night.

We had friends and a bed waiting for us in Leipzig, a quick hour train ride south of Berlin.  Another example of direct Couchsurfing reciprocation (the first of which was staying with the girls in St. Etienne), our first ever Couchsurfer Toni hooked us up with his friend Stefan in Leipzig.  Toni is currently in Australia studying international law, but was sure to help us out in his hometown.  Stefan was a great host and for two nights we had a nice bed and a nice breakfast as well.  Another Leipzig connection on my trip proved beneficial as well.  The girls I hiked with in Ireland to the Cliffs of Moher were from Germany, too, and Pia was more than willing to hang out with us when we came to her city of Leipzig.  So we stayed at one place, partied at the other.  We felt like locals speeding through the streets on bicycles in a pack of twenty.  Our destination was an old East German housing complex that, though relatively abandoned and in a low traffic area, was the home of a weekly underground reggae party.  We had to catch an early train the next day, so we didn’t stay too long.  But how cool is that.  Leipzig was much more touristy than I expected, maybe made more full by the week-long Bach Festival that had just kicked off.  Open air performances, markets, and a colorful zoo kept us busy during the day.  The primate house was especially entertaining – we divided an hour between watching the chimp and orangutan families.  Before we said goodbye to our Leipzig friends and our informal Couchsurfing host, we managed to rope ourselves another connection for the road.  Leaving eastern Germany for the west, our goal was to find somewhere about halfway in between Leipzig and Paris, our next main stop.  Heidelberg seemed the perfect fit, and Pia’s friend from the Cliffs of Moher resides there as well.  But alas, she was unavailable for the night we were arriving….  Imagine our surprise when a girl sitting next to us at a party volunteered her friend to host us in Heidelberg.  After a one minute phone conversation with Annika in Heidelberg, we were set for one more night.

Annika was our extremely friendly host in Heidelberg.  She brought us down to the local students’ hangout – the park by the river – where we had ourselves a little German BBQ (and convinced many Germans that we have good bread in America, not just ‘toast’).  Heidelberg may not be a household name in America, but it sure is a tourist destination for people from all over the world.  It’s a main stop for many of the trans-Europe buses carting Nikon-toting Asians from sight to sight.  The castle is the main attraction, and honestly looks more like a castle than most I’ve seen so far.  The philosopher’s walk along the opposite bank is a medium-grade hike that tired us out just enough for our train ride to Paris.  We parted ways with Annika after exchanging email addresses (so funny that we were 100% strangers only 24 hours earlier) and got on the westbound to Paris.

This is when informal Couchsurfing breaks down.  Our host in Warsaw, Bea, had set us up to stay with her friend in Paris.  We found out via email while we were on the train to Paris that he would no longer be willing to host us.  Great….

Solidarity

The train ride from Budapest to Krakow takes about 10 hours, so we decided to take a night train.  It’s always quite economical – travel while you sleep.  However, our 33 euro reservations (the Eurail pass   covers most, but not all trains.  Extra fees apply to sleeper compartments) was doubled when the conductor wanted us to pay for the Slovakia leg of the trip.  See, our pass works in Hungary and Poland…but not Slovakia, which we went through.  We coughed up the additional fee and retired to our semi-luxurious train compartment.  It really was nice.  We had our two bunked beds, free facial towels and soap, and a sink.  Ok not luxurious, but compared to the Marrakech Express…..  We got into Krakow around 6am.  It’s not fun wandering around a town at 6am not being able to find your hostel.  By 7:30, we found the reception of the hostel and were told we had to wait until 1 pm for our room to be ready.  So we scarfed down as much of the free breakfast as we could handle and explored the town for a few hours to kill time.  We came back to the hostel at 12:30 in hopes of having our room ready a bit early… but instead had to wait until almost 2:30.  But it was worth the wait.  Our room, a $60 private double, was the least hostel-like experience of all the hostels I’ve seen.  We were guided across town to an apartment overlooking the town’s main square and shared a 2 bedroom suite (probably 2000 square feet) with another couple, who were just as stunned as we were.  Check out the pictures to see our “hostel room.”  One thing I forgot to mention is my reservation mix up.  They told me on arrival that we were expected the night before…and upon checking my email confirmation I realized that I’d booked the wrong nights, starting one night too early!  Of course, they were nice enough to charge us for our mistake.  I’m actually quite surprised this is the first time I did something like this…

Krakow is a destination in itself, not just a jumping off point for Auschwitz.  The medieval square is one of the best preserved in Europe – lined with cafes and bars and full of action day and night.  Conveniently, we were perched right above the square.  Like all of these cities, it seems, there is a big castle that is a must-see.  We got that out of the way without paying entrance fees (most areas accessible for free) and paid only for the “dragon’s lair” – a lamestone cave that was given the dragon moniker to draw families with seven year old boys.  We spent one day hiking to the Kosziusko Mound.  A couple miles uphill, the juice was hardly worth the squeeze.  A cone shaped landmass surrounded by modern castle-walls is supposed to be the burial mound for a famous Pole.  Everyone attending the funeral threw a handful of dirt on the grave and thus, the mound (the story is as tall as tall tales come: no way has a 200 foot mound appeared in that way).

These were really just time-fillers in a town where there’s not all that much to do – but believe me it’s still a great place.  Underground side street bars and unbelievably cheap pierogi spots are enough to bring me back, but the town has such a charm that it’s hard to say anything negative about it.  Even the Jewish Quarter, an up and coming end of town that now is only home to a few hundred Jews, turned itself around in the time between our two visits.  On first examination, it was old and boring.  When we went back the next night to give it a shot at redemption, the galleries, bars, and restaurants that spilled out into the streets was a unique atmosphere – and that’s saying a lot after all the places we’ve been.

But to the reason most people go to Krakow: Auschwitz.  We opted for the 30 euro/person tour that included transportation instead of making our own way, as originally planned.  The tour was definitely the right choice.  Though our tour guide was just slightly lacking in the intimate knowledge department, she presented the experience in a way that was acceptable for everyone and, looking back, in a way that wouldn’t have upset anyone, had there been members of certain groups in our group.   Adding to the general motif of the place, there was a light drizzle that barely let up during the 5 hours of our trip.  The pictures can’t do justice.  My words can’t do justice.  This place needs to be seen.  You’ve seen the pictures in textbooks, you’ve seen Schindler’s List.  But seeing is believing, and although it is a grim truth, it definitely feels like a culmination of everything you’ve seen and learned; a materialization of the evil.  The camp is divided into two parts: Auschwitz I and Auschwitz II – Birkenau.  The first part is where the headquarters were, the barracks, and many inhumane testing facilities.  The superficial beauty of the area clashes violently with the history you are learning with every step.  Each building is now a museum to a particular group or aspect of the crimes – Tribute to the Hungarian Jews (of whom more than any other was brought to Auschwitz), Tribute to Greece, Czechoslovakia, etc….. A glass case full of all the human hair that was used to make a sort of burlap.  Another case of the shoes extricated from the victims.  Another case of only children’s shoes.  The hairbrushes.  The suitcases.  The dehumanization is the overwhelming lesson learned by the memorial that exists at Auschwitz I.    Birkenau was erected entirely as an extermination camp.  Beyond the reconstructed barracks are hundreds more, stretching to the horizon past guard towers and barbed-wire fences.  The train station is a chilling reminder of the hundreds of thousands that came through.  You walk where they walked from the train to their doom.  Every sliver and pebble flies in the face of anyone willing to deny the Holocaust.

After a few more nights in our hostel-suite, we trained it up toward Warsaw, where we had a Couchsurfing host waiting for us.  Everyone had either told us not to go to Warsaw or just asked “Why there?”  Many of their accusations against the city were true: just another bustling city made of gray cement.  But they forgot to mention its high points.  Warsaw is a very green city.  Parks dot the city along both banks of the river.  We sat and listened to a free Chopin performance situated around a lake and a Chopin sculpture.  Palace mansions hide in the trees that resemble the foliage of my hometown. Peacocks roam free.  The old town (actually, a well done reconstruction) has pedestrian streets full of ice cream shops and bistros that make you think of Paris.  But most of all in Warsaw, we were reminded how great Couchsurfing is.

Our host Bea lived in one of the few buildings that survived the war, built in 1938.  A testament to Warsaw’s magnetism, Bea grew up in Paris but returned to her hometown of Warsaw.  An aspiring artist and a student as well, she showed us places in Warsaw that will no doubt be missed by most tourists.  Adding to the atmosphere was another colorful Couchsurfer, Rosie from Leeds.  The first night, we were welcomed the traditional Polish way: with vodka.  Then, Bea and her boyfriend Voitek led us to a concert with a local band playing.  The Warsaw Village Band is an amalgam of traditional and modern.  They actually went to the small villages of Poland to learn instruments that haven’t been played in popular music for centuries, and then adapted them to their own style and song.  Four girls harmonized vocals while a standup bass and fiddles filled in the rest.  The cello and xylophone-type thing were the secret ingredients and soon everyone was dancing.  It was like a Polish version of The Arcade Fire, if you know who they are.  Our night finished off with a stop at “The Bistro”, where everything is 4 Euros – food and drink.  A little crowded and the smoke was overwhelming (ya, they still smoke inside here, too), but it was nice irony to know that we were directly across the street from the Presidential Palace.

Somehow, we missed the Ghetto Uprising Museum.  It only gives us a reason to return, I guess.  Either that or the great people we met.  Having a local show you around is more valuable than any GPS you can buy.  The GPS can’t tell you to walk PAST this row of bars and BEHIND these doors, then turn the corner and find the local hangout – communist-era row houses converted into bars.  Bars with no signs.  Bars that all have the same identical space to work with, but have managed to be individualistic with their themes.  Oh, and cheap.

Devin and I had a disagreement over whether Poland is in Central Europe of Eastern Europe.  Many have discussed this before, and no answer is correct, but I wanted to know what the Poles themselves thought.  Across the board: Central Europe.  And for one reason.  “East looking west.”  It’s the reason Poland has been able to emerge with a thriving economy and how even recently there is a reverse migration of workers back east, from places who have seen an end to their boom like Ireland and Spain.  Rather than looking west and only hoping, as many former Eastern bloc countries are stuck doing, Poland is standing straight faced toward the rest of the world with lots to offer.

The Danube Ain’t Even Blue

Most people don’t know that Budapest actually consists of two cities, conveniently named Buda and Pest.  They were united late in the 19th century when they looked at each other across the river and thought…why not?  As different from each other as NYC and Lake Placid, the unity lies in the people and the history.  Buda is the natural, suburban, hilly side of the city.  The caves and hot springs are prevalent on this side of the Danube.  Pest is the sprawling urban colossus that has seen exponential growth since the fall of the Iron Curtain in ’89.  It is called the “Paris of Eastern Europe,” both for its beauty and its action.

 

We stayed in what felt like someone’s flat who felt like renting out a few of his rooms.  But what better way to do it?   I really wish  had taken pictures of the room, because it was quite wacky.  The bed structure was slipped under a sort of floating dance floor – maybe an attempt at a sleeping bag area or something.  It just made it awkward and dimly lit.  But that’s Budapest for ya.  It’s the only place we’ve been that still considers itself Eastern Europe, euphemisms aside (When I get to the Poland post, you’ll see it’s a much different mentality there).  They embrace the fact that they are a shining light for most of their half of the continent.  Like everywhere in Europe though, the youth are quickly forgetting their history – for better or for worse.

 

But enough of the psychological geography lesson.  You want to know what the city’s like: is it as beautiful as everyone says? As cheap? How does it feel being behind the Curtain?  It’s cheap, beautiful, and, like Prague, a shame it was not unveiled to the world sooner.  Beers run the equivalent of $2 for a half liter and the historical architecture on both sides of the river makes you wonder how the Communists were  ever able to allow themselves to walk amongst the beauty.  Naturally, tourism is fluorishing – with the standard camera-slinging Asian tour group at every corner.  The city’s size enables one to sneak away from the bustle, though.  Even the aforementioned bustle is efficiently spread out over the city.  It’s no surprise the city’s tram system is the longest in the world.  Surprisingly modern and efficient city transportation is one of my first impressions of Budapest. 

 

Our day’s were split between trying to get a grasp on the topography of the area and trying to figure out what there is to see.  One problem (?) with traveling at this pace is the inability to really know the cities into which you are endlessly immersing yourself before arrival.  Too busy in Rome to know what you want to see in Greece, too busy in Greece to understand the sigghts of Prague, etc.  So it turns into a neverending loop of learning on the go.  In cities like Paris and Rome, it’s easy.  The Eiffel Tower, the Louvre, Notre Dame….the Colosseum, the Pantheon, St. Peter’s.  These former eastern bloc cities (I think I mentioned this about Prague) don’t have the in your face ‘sights’ that we grow up seeing in books and  in movies.  Plus Budapest is huuuge.  It’s not a city to be figured out by wandering.  Nothing is too close, you can walk past entire villagey areas and not even realize, and when you do find places, you have to make sure it’s not a 5 euro a beer touristy place.  One thing the Hungarians were able to do with incredible skill is to set up the main parts of the city in a way that a family can travel there for a weekend and never realize they’re paying 5x as much  for everything on these streets, compared with one street over. 

 

But let’s hear about the time Devin and Colin had in the ‘Pest.  We made the mistake of just wondering for the first day, but after smartening up and locking down the sights of interest, we devised what I reluctantly might call a plan, in retrospect.  But because this was over a week ago and I’m itching to go see more of Berlin (another city in which it is not recommended to discover by wandering), I’ll describe our 4 days in Budapest anachronistically and without too much detail – I have to save something for when I get home, right? 

 

So, we went to the Terror House, a remnant of both Nazi and Communist occupation right on Budapest’s equivalent of 5th Ave.  It housed the Nazi SS and later the Communist Terror Squad, was used as a prison, a court, and a propaganda office.  The museum, only about 4 years old, is very well orchestrated.  It takes you from WWII right through the fall of the Soviet Union – harping in particular on the difficult transition it was to switch from being Nazi Supporters to die hard Communists, only in order to keep their families safe and fed.  The statue park outside of Budapest is a collection of statues from all over Hungary that once stood overlooking town squares and city markets – reminders than and now of the power of the Communist system (not , however, its merit).  Lenin, Engels, and Stalin peer with stone eyes across the dirt courtyard done in true Communist aesthetic style, with nothing more than brick walls and pillars of cement.  The rain we experienced there added to the gloomy experience of remembering such oppression.  This leg of the journey, from Prague through Poland and to Berlin, is chock full of reminders of how evil man can be.

 

On the brighter side, the Turkish Baths….ahhhh……  After paying 15 euros each for entrance, we were at first a bit disappointed by what appeared to be just an indoor, ornate swimming pool with a hot tub on the side.  We skipped the nude sunbathing decks on the roof, since it was a bit chilly, and instead chilled out in another rooftop hot tub.  Cool, but still…is this it?  Far from it.  We had not yet experienced the separate male and female thermal baths.  Unfortunately, for all you lovers of hairy naked Hungarian men, no cameras were allowed.  It felt like I was consciously following a recipe in which I was the main ingredient.  One pool said 36 celsius.  Another, 38 celsius.  My skin isn’t sensitive  enough to tell the difference here, but it could feel the extreme differences between the different corners of the steam room!  And the three tiered dry – sauna rooms.  And the ice cold plunge that followed.  It was like a self-blanching… but it felt good.  The water is very mineral rich, with many supposedly healing properties – but at least it smelled nice.  The steam was amazing, and when I closed my eyes the medley of herbs and spices in which I was cooking made me think I could be quite delicious.  Our respective hides refreshed, renewed, and rejuvenated, Devin and I agreed Buffalo needs one of these.

 

I saw an advertisement for a cave spellunking adventure in which they gave you overalls and a headlamp, then threw you down a hole.  Our experience was different, starting with the throng of second graders we were waddling behind deep in the hills of Buda.  Must have chosen the wrong cave…  But it was actually kinda cool.  I’ve never been in a cave before, and the new surroundings were at the very least refreshing.  But I still want to get down and dirty in a cave sometime, Journey to the Center of the Earth style (sans Brendan Fraser).

 

If you can fit it into your trip – Budapest is a top destination.  It’s unfortunately a bit out of the way, and doesn’t make sense in manny Western Europe itineraries.  Nowhere near as alien as I imagined it would be,  Budapest is a downright cosmopolitan city, with history you can’t ignore in its beautiful streets.

 

 

Bohemian Rhapsody

Na zdravi!

It’s one of the easier ways to say cheers in another language I’ve heard so far on my trip, and using it as much  as we did…it gets a little ingrained.  Now I know there are some of you out there that believe this trip to be nothing more than a string of hazy nights filled with delicious beer and headaches in the morning…  But this beer didn’t give any headaches.  The Czechs are famous for their beer – they invented lager, which they named Pilsener, and enabled cold beer to be drank on hot days – no more thick sticky Ale.  Did I mention how cheap the stuff is here?  Anything over 30 Czech kronur was extortionist (~$1.57) for a half liter.  Once more, Na Zdravi!

But there is more to Prague than beer.  There’s a castle.  And a clock.  And some beautiful buildings.  Cool art.  Delicious food.  And a beautiful landscape surrounding.  Deep in the heart of Bohemia, Prague stands alone as a gem.  Many of you grew up with the mantra spoken by your teachers – “There is nothing good behind the Iron Curtain.”  Thank again.  Since 1989, the cities of central and eastern Europe have risen to their deserved statuses of elegance and beauty.  Prague, Budapest, Bratislava, and many more are now top tourist destinations.  It’s funny to think that they had barely heard of rock music until only 20 years ago.  The rapid ascent of the tourism industry has made sure you don’t feel like a stranger here, and it’s amazing the prices still stay dirt cheap.

Our couchsurfing  host in Prague was Adam, a cool 25 year old semi-vegetarian social worker guy who knew his way around the pubs and art scenes of Prague.  The art in Prague is something that is pretty unique, in my opinion.  It’s been said that here there is pessimism without cynicism, an ability to laugh at oneself and accept the laughter of others.  Hence, artists like David Cerny and authors like Franz Kafka have risen to prominence in this town, albeit 100 years apart from each other.  Cerny’s stamp is everywhere – from zipper-faced babies to bright pink military tanks.  He embodies the newer generation of Czech art; more of a guerilla warfare against the establishment by way of sarcasm.  Kafka’s legacy is felt around every corner as well.  He described his city, specifically the old town (Stare
Mesto), as claustrophobic – a place you get spun around at each corner and have the feeling of over-famiiliarity with one’s surroundings.  I definitely felt this, being sucked into proverbially black holes only meters away from our true destination, but finding ourselves ten minutes later saying…… we were RIGHT THERE.  At one point, Devin and I were just trying to find the old square.  She pointed out the top of the church in the square, but I dissented, sure that the square was the opposite direction.  One of my few navigational gaffes, I must admit, but a nearly fatal one.  My bladder was going to decide the bar we snuck into, and this one was a tourist trap in all disguises – ~$5 for a beer!  When nature calls…

Prague is overshadowed by it’s beautiful castle to the northwest of the center.  I read somewhere that it is the largest castle complex in the world, which I believed at the time but have since second-guessed this hyperbole.  It IS ginormous, though.  After paying entrance to the castle and walking in and out of the magnificent buildings dripping with Gothic architecture for over two hours, I was still wondering where the ‘castle’ was.  Turns out, the whole thing is just one big stretched out castle, it’s just impossible to really see it while you’re inside the walls.  Picture yourself standing on the moon, and asking “Where the hell is the moon?!?”

After a gut busting street sausage for about 40 czk, we usually found ourselves just wandering the streets in Mala Strana, the equivalent of the Left Bank in Prague.  Old style cafes and pubs spilled out onto the streets with their picnic-style tables and old beer halls called you with the accordion oompah.  U Fleku, Prague’s oldest beerhall, felt like Oktoberfest. The nightlife consisted of dodging British stags and squeezing through pub crawling 18 yr olds (sneaking a free ‘welcome shot’ or two).

Prague is somewhere I’ll definitely  remember.  Before heading there I thought, “Well, there aren’t too many things to SEE.”  And it’s true – it’s not Paris.  You don’t find yourself running from sight to sight and missing the smell of the street.  But sometimes when traveling this is advantageous.  It’s a kind of stop and smell the roses moment.  And when lit up at night, the bridges across the Vltava look like they’re holding the earth together.

But before I get any more sentimental, I can’t forget our other stop in Czech Republic:  Cesky Krumlov.  The town looks like you took Prague castle and blew it up, sending pieces of rampart, tower, and stained glass across a 3 square mile valley that happens to have a river sepentining through it.  The natural moats of the castle spawned tower-bridges and are even home to the famous Krumlov bears, a tradition passed opn from the 16th century.  A relaxing few days spent at the Merlin hostel, which I could not stand up straight in at any point, Cesky Krumlov is like a little fairy tale town without too much bustle.  We checked out the Egon Schiele art centrum and then went to lunch (maybe should have done that the other way around) and wandered through the cobblestone streets at night.  Originally only planning a one night stay, we re-upped for one more and basked in the Czech air before our eight hour train journey further east – to Budapest.

On the Aegean

When we were planning our foray to Greece, we stepped back and thought…. we plan on going to Crete anyway…. so why not fly there and then make our way through the islands and out of Athens??  On the map, it looks brilliant.  It’s a shame we had to fly from Rome to Athens, sit out a two and a half hour layover, and then puddle jump out to Crete.  The main airport on Crete (a huge island!) is at Heraklion.  This centrally located urban center around the ruins of the ancient Minoan civilization is a total transportation mess.  They literally built this city, roads included, AROUND all the ancient stuff they figured was kind of important.  We finally found the bus stop, which would emit our three hour no bathroom greyhound toward our Cretan destination: Chania (pronounced Han-ya). After a twelve hour travel day, not including the hour we lost jumping yet another time zone, we met up with our Couchsurfing host for the weekend: George.  George is a native Cretan, a nature-loving English teacher whose family happens to own a hotel a quarter mile from the beach.  He informed us that we would have to stay in our own private hotel room for free for the weekend, and we trudged off to the nicest ‘couch’ I’ve encountered yet.

I thought Italy was hot.  In Greece, the gods held open the clouds and allowed the sun to lick your shoulders with its fiery tongue  all day.  Devin got the worst of the lashing on day one (I’m not one to skimp on the SPF) and had to cover up the next day.  Our time in Chania consisted of hanging out at the beach, exploring the harbor around the Venetian port, and listening to stories from George and the other CSers staying in the rooms that flanked ours at the hotel.  Vadims was born in Latvia, grew up in Hamburg, Germany, and is of Polish descent.  His EU passport is an interesting one – it commits him to no home country, but  allows the same liberties as all EU citizens.  And this is one lucky sonofagun too.  Within a week in Chania, he had wrangled himself a girlfriend, a scooter, a potential apartment, and a job at the dock selling tickets for excursions on Captain Nick’s Glass Bottom Boat Tours.  The other Couchsurfer was Murillo from Brazil, the kid you think of when you think of CSing – vegetarian nomad type who’s always willing to share a good story about drugs.  But he was a real good guy and the late night conversation had with the Brazilian hippie, the 7 foot Greek and the Latvian/Polish/German half-alien felt almost magical in the cool air blowing off the Sea of Crete and was one I’m not going to soon be able to forget.

We stopped in Heraklion for one night on the way out of Crete.  Heraklion, as previously mentioned, is no jewel of the Mediterranean.  It is worth mentioning for two reasons, though.  First is the palace at Knossos.  This ancient Minoan palace was the site of an advanced civilization as early as 5000 BC.  That’s right.  Not a typo.  Most of the palace was destroyed by what some believe to have been an earthquake around 1500 BC (some equate the destruction with the story about Santorini, see below).  Take a look at the pictures and tell me if that looks like anything you’d imagine man to be building over 4000 years ago.  Astounding.  The other reason for mentioning Heraklion isn’t quite as academic:  we watched Angels and Demons in an assigned seating theater at a shopping mall there.  BUT, the point here is, we had just been in Rome the week before and were totally blown away by being able to say WE WERE THERE.  Ok, low-brow…. But still….. it was cool.

My parents were awaiting us in the Cyclades, and we eventually rendezvoused at Santorini – a very mountainous, ex-volcanic island that was a two hour ferry from Crete.  The island is shaped like a C with a little dot island in the middle.  Many thousand years ago, it was intact – before a seismic blast shot most of the island out to see and left it a network of sheer cliffs shooting out of the bluest sea.  This blast has many imagining a tidal wave that could have wiped out the Minoans on Crete.  The cataclysmic eruption is dated to right around the same time, and some believe that the mythical city of Atlantis may lie somewhere beneath the sea, between Santorini and Crete (others still think Atlantis was ON one of the two).  The beaches here are a far cry from places you could find in Florida or even along Lake Erie (as in, there are no vast expanses of white sand).  However, the geological attitude of the island produced some very interesting nooks and crannies, such as Red Beach.  The ‘sand’ is clay red, overshadowed by two hundred foot cliffs of the same color.  As you can imagine, the ground was skin-peeling hot – so my dad and I played Frisbee in/along the water.  I can’t forget to mention “The Best.”  Though slightly pretentiously named, it really was the best place along the strip at Perissa Beach near our hotel.  Santorini can give you a sort of “this is it?” feeling if you don’t find the right spots.  Fira and Oia are the towns where the postcard pictures are made.  After a day and a half driving the rental rice burner around the rural, desert insides of the island, we finally happened upon the postcard picture setting of Oia.  People were nesting along the cement walls that jutted out of the west tip of the island, readying their cameras for the epic sunset.  Above us, a couple who either just got married or are putting on one hell of a photo shoot danced around an archaic windmill as the sun’s rays changed from gold to orange.  Then the sun disappeared behind a cloud.  We finished our beers and headed back uptown, much less disappointed than everyone else, it seemed, with their heads hung and their fingers still on the shutter of their camera.  I was happy with my pre-setting sun photos.  Another notable dinner was had at 1800 in Oia, where the waitresses speak with the tongue of the gods and the food ain’t bad either: our balsamic ice cream with strawberries and olive oil syrup capped off a truly gourmet experience, however non-Greek it was.  I love having the parents around.

Our plans the next day were to take the first ferry off to Mykonos, where my parents had just come from and apparently couldn’t get enough of (excuse the preposition-ended sentence).  Our plans were thwarted by the tempest seas that had kicked up over night, and we weren’t notified of the ferry cancellation until we were about to get in line.  So instead, we jumped on the afternoon excursion to Paros and killed time by careening up scary-narrow roads to a monastery that wasn’t.  The view was worth the tension in the car.  We boarded the ferry to Paros well-prepared: with snacks and vodka to last.  Playing cards made the time fly by and soon enough we had reached our destination of Paros, a sort of forgotten gem of the Cyclades.  Outside the business of the port of Parikia, the island seemed almost deserted.  The Kalypso Hotel at Naoussa was a perfect little spot for us, though, and we made the best of our detour by exploring the small town and dining on its finest tzatziki and olives, the staples of our Greek diets.  We were able to circumnavigate the entire island in about 5 hours the next day, and that’s including the stops.  Beaches that seem to have been uninhabited since the 19^th century dotted the coastline along the southern, wind-protected points.  The feeling of desertion even spread to Punda – an advertised crazy sexy all night long dance club on the beach that had to have been a false Mecca for many a broken man.  Maybe in the summer Paros is hopping, but for these couple days, the island was all to ourselves.

Athens takes about 5 hours from Paros, with no options for an overnight trip.  The seas hadn’t exactly calmed down since earlier in the week, but the bigger boat was supposedly able to cut right through.  We spent the first 2 hours on the top deck (what we dubbed the immigration deck due to the seedy constituents creeping about), getting splashed by waves broken by the ship’s massive hull and trying to hold onto all our possessions – most importantly the wine.  Gale force winds slid plastic chairs in every direction on the deck, and after we were done with soaking up the sun, we slipped downstairs to the more comfortable settings of the airplane-type atmosphere.   My parents had booked a hotel near the airport that night for their 6:40 am flight, while Devin and I were staying closer to the center so that we could explore for at least half a day before catching our 4 pm flight to Prague.  We were a little TOO close to the center… a dodgy part of town that had the blood pumping through our veins a little more quickly than was comfortable at certain moments.  After climbing the Areopagus, a rockpile overlooking the city and in the shadow of the Acropolis, we watched the sun go down over the urban sprawl and found our last Greek dinner.  Moussaka, check.  Pastitsio, check.  Raki, check.  Ouzo, check.  (Every meal in Greece is accompanied by a complimentary drink or dessert at the end, sometimes to your dismay.) Jamas!

Our hostel, though hardly worthy of any credit on any star-rating system anywhere, was run by two guys that were good for a couple laughs.  One guy was wearing a wig that actually looked like an animal, with big black wisps covering half his aged face and the rest betraying the direction of the others.  His partner was a man from Guam who told me 4 or 5 stories while we were checking in, then another 7 while we were checking out.  All I absorbed was that his sister may be running a restaurant somewhere in Greece.  (When we got in around 11:00pm after dinner, we found him sleeping with no more than a sheet on the floor behind the reception guest.)

Devin and I got up early to see the Acropolis the right way, hiking for an hour or so around and then up the giant crag that rests in the middle of Athens.  Everything about the hike was worth it (we even saw a turtle).  The Parthenon, though veiled on two sides by scaffolding, is an architectural wonder, while the ancient theaters and cave temples seen on the way up are amazing in their own right.  It’s hard to imagine that the ruins in Greece pre-date those in Rome by almost thousands of years.

It took an hour by bus to get to the airport.  A flight attendant friend of ours always tells us that if you want to get on the good side of the stewards, (i.e. free drinks…an upgrade to first class…) bring them chocolates.  SkyEurope must be outside the loop.  She hesitatingly took the 15 euro box of chocolates with scarcely a smile, and when it came time for the drink cart, the water she offered us would have set us back 3 Euros.  Should have taken Swiss Air: wouldn’t have been such a bumpy ride, and they gave my dad pajamas.

 

Leftovers

(written on May 24th)
Somehow forgot the Vatican in my Rome pictures… so here they are.

I’ll also take the opportunity to let you know what’s going on over here. I know I know…. almost four weeks since an update. But it’s been busy! Like I said, for a bit there, I was vacationing, not traveling. Now that I’m back on course though, I’ll keep the updates coming much more quickly, as long as there is ample WiFi. Hope I didn’t lose too many of ya, still have over a month left! In Prague now, still working on the Greece pictures, which I should have up soon. To Vienna on Tuesday and Budapest this weekend before heading north to Poland. Check ya later.

Colin

 

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Just testing WordPress’s new “post by email” function. (It may prompt me to update yall more quickly)

Even sound clips! (Coming soon)

Greece pics soon.. Checkin out Cesky Krumlov castle today

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That’s Amore

If you look at a map of France and Italy, this next leg of my journey will appear counterintuitive:  I flew from Nice to Rome, met up with Devin there, then took a train to Vernazza in Cinque Terre.  It’s kind of like flying from Buffalo to DC and then taking a train to Rochester.  But boy was Cinque Terre worth it…

After rendezvousing with my girlfriend Devin in Rome for a night, we took the four hour train to Italy’s northwest coast, in particular the area known as Cinque Terre (Italian for Five Lands). The train ride along the coast was incredible, especially when it began darting in and out of  seaside mountain tunnels as we neared our destination: Vernazza.  It is often called the gem of the Cinque Terre, with a very small town feel.  We basked in the sunset with our total tourist trap dinner on the pier and finished up our travel day with delicious gelato as our feet dipped in the water off the pier.  THIS IS WHEN VACATION STARTED AND TRAVELING TOOK A BACK SEAT.  The next day (our only full day in Vernazza), we took to the hiking path between the five towns.  There are no motor vehicles allowed anywhere near these towns, only connected by train and rocky paths.  Even at 10am, the first leg of our hike between Vernazza and Corniglia – which turned out to be the hardest, steepest terrain – was an uphill battle  versus a very hot, rising sun.  Each town was a small refuge from the heat and difficult paths, but we were still burned out by the sun and barelly able to move our legs whe we finished out circuit around 4pm – naptime.  We did as the locals did for dinner – skipping the seaside “restaurants” and just grabbing a bottle of wine from one of the many Inotecas (think takeout liquor store, complete with opening  the bottle for you and providing plastic cups) and snagging a couple pizzas as well.  Much more rewarding (and tasty), the sunset would be our last before returning to the borderling third world hubbub that is Rome.  Overall, Cinque Terre is an amazing place with a local feel, complete with the fisherman pulling their 10 foot boats out to sea each night into the shimmering Tyrrhenian Sea. (Only word of advice – avoid the European equivalent of Labor Day if you want to avoid Disney World-like crowds during the day.  Maybe even skip weekends in general…)

Our first taste of Rome was only airport – city center – walk around a few hours – take the train out in the morning.  This time we were in for a week.  Devin’s parents rented an apartment in the nice part of town near the Colosseum (and overlooking ruins of its own) and we had a perfect headquarters for all our Rome adventures.  After getting our much needed nap, we set out to attain our proverbial bearings.  For dinner we ended up at what seemed to be the opposite of the Olive Garden – an American themed restaurant full of locals after searching for the nighborhood gem as recommended by previous guests at our hotel.  I can’t remember the name, but the food drastically outshined the service. The first day was an easy tour of the quick-hitters:  Trevi fountain, Pantheon, Spanish Steps.  The Trevi is an impressive 18th century marble facade/fountain that attracts all types of folks – we had to ditch a skeevy looking guy that was conspicuously following Devin around the square.  The Pantheon, an ancient temple to all the Roman gods which later was converted into the city’s first Catholic Church, is a treat and actually wasn’t as full of tourists as it could have been.  That night, we found the aforementioned neighborhood gem (Taverna de Fiori Imperiali), and boy was it worth the wait.  A simple father/son/daughter operation, it was the epitome of authentic Italian cooking.  Their renowned eggplant appetizer was delectable, a no frills olive oil and light spice dressing rendering it out of this world.  But when it came to our dining experiences in Rome, nothing trumps the Jewish ghetto…..

Highly recommended for its authentic Jewish-Italian fare at reasonable prices, the old Jewish ghetto (though skyrocketing housing pricces in this Tiber-side area are forcing many Jews to emigrate to other parts of the city) is a world within Rome.  The little old ladies are gathered on benches along relatively quiet streets as the men mingle in the  streets.  Our destination was a restaurant with no visible sign that didn’t open until 8pm.  We sat down and during the whirlwind of order-taking (if that’s what you want to call it), our heads were spinning and we were trying to understand the semi-English spoken by the server.  We never even saw a menu, but before we knew it there were course after course being hurled at the table from the kitchen five feet away.  After the onslaught of eight waves of food in an hour, we had scarcely an idea what we had just eaten and could hardly move we’d eaten so much.  It was delicious, but expeditious.

Rain marred our tour inside the Colosseum, but it was still worth every last euro.  Yes, you can see everything yourself  and try to imagine the purposes served by the pillars and arches jutting around you, but having a tour guide point out the little secrets (including the pointing out of a supposedly ancient carved “graffiti” penis) is something I can recommend.  The movie Gladiator comes to life right before your eyes, including the box for the Caesar and his almighty thumbs up/thumbs down decree of fate!

The next day was dedicated to Vatican City.  We walked past some sort of procession in St. Peter’s Square on the way to the Vatican Museum, only to later find out that some guy named THE POPE was there talking.  I’m sure Joe didn’t miss us…  But onto the Vatican – WOW.  The Borghese apartments, which are the maze of rooms on the way to the Sistine Chapel, are adorned with paintings by his friends Raphael and Michelangelo.  Famous paintings like the School of Athens make the 800 square foot room you’re standing in seem downright claustrophobic.  Centuries-old tapestries of biblical scenes and modern saints guide you down dimly light hallways toward the Chapel, only to be followed by another mile-long hallway and then even more breathtaking rooms.  Then you cross the threshold into the Sistine Chapel and you suddenly remember your original destination.  The Chapel is shaped like the Bills fieldhouse (ok, like…. a greenhouse?), with a flat wall at each end and a round, sideways cylindrical, paint slathered ceiling stretching almost 100 meters (I tried… got the image??)  For some reason I always thought the Chapel to be a dome like interior….   But once again…WOW.  Mike’s backaches were not in vain – this place stuns and makes you want to lie on the floor all day admiring the astonishing detail of the ceiling paintings, if only there were no danger of being tramples by the constantly silence-breaking mass around you.  No pictures are allowed………….. yet everyone has a camera pointing skyward.  One man walks around the crowd of one thousand and puts his hand in front of one camera at a time, only to have that person put the finger back on the trigger as soon as he walks away (talk about no job satisfaction).  After probably a half hour in the Chapel, we exited toward the Basilica of St. Peter, where more jaw dropping was taking place.  Michelangelo’s Pieta attracts you on the right as soon as you enter (it’s smaller than I had imagined, but more detailed than any sculpture I’ve seen).  Walking amongst the redwood sized pink marble columns is intimidating….right past the tombs of cardinals and towering sculptures of saints.  Beautiful!  But you have a creeping feeling of being quite diminutive….

Our day trip to Pompeii was marred by a hell of a hangover from meeting up with a traveling couple I had met in Granada, Spain and raising a little hell in Trastevere – but ask me about that little anecdote around the campfire.  Pompeii is a legitimate metropolis, still standing, in the shadow of the volcano that brought its demise millennia ago (Vesuvius).  I could spend days admiring the treasures of this frozen-in-time, city-sized artifact. It literally goes on for kilometers.  The baths were in just the same condition as when the men converged there before the blast, and the streets still have the higher stones crossing the street once every block to enable crossing floods of rain.  The pictures are tough to begin tto describe this amazing place, and all I can say is GO THERE.

One last thing we had to see was the Crypt of the Capuchin monks – a sort of haunted house beneath a church.  These monks (after whom Cappuccinos are named because of their brown robes and white hoods) developed a cult of the skeleton, and manifested it in a series of burial rooms adorned with humman bones.  Skulls stacked on skulls around a burial mound with jawbone chandeliers and femur shelves render the place silent.  No pictures are allowed, and no one dares pull out a camera.  Look it up for yourself, because I had no pictures.  The last room leaves a chilling message for visitors:  WHAT YOU ARE NOW, WE ONCE WERE.  WHAT WE ARE NOW, YOU WILL BE.

We parted with Rome and headed north to Tuscany – Florence to be exact.  Our B&B was outside the historic center, a half hour walk uphill that sure burned off the carbs from all the pasta.  Florence felt like it was sleeping compared to Rome, but it still had a definite pulse.  In the Tuscan tradition, the city was a sea of red roof tiles from above (the view from the belltower of the Duomo was amazing – the walk to  the top of the dome was closed on Sunday, but I think the belltower view is better because you can SEE the dome).  The Duomo is quite amazing, and the basilica’s facade of pink, white, and green marble is something you could never find anywhere else.  We hightailed it to the Accademia to see David first thing in the morning to beat the crowds and only had to wait about 8 minutes.  No pictures allowed at the David! But notice I snuck one….   Unlike the Mona Lisa, whose gist you can get from any textbook photo, the David is something to be beheld in a first peson perspective.  Walking around the seventeen foot monolithic statue allows you to see the detail of Michelangelo’s masterpiece carved from a scrap piece of marble – the oversized hands, feet, and head supposedly made that way to look normal from below.  Don’t skip the David.  Markets dominated any open square in town.  Whether the items and/or vendors were legitimate was another question; we saw entire rows of peddlers sprinting away with their wares as soon as a police car came around the corner, only to return to their exact spot once the danger had passed.  Kinda fishy.  Santa Croce Basilica was the last place I stopped to see, while Devin and her mother did a bit of shopping.  This place was full of importance – the tombs of Michelangelo, Dante, Machiavelli, and Galileo circled the inside of the Baroque structure.  Feeling an overwhelming  sense of unworthiness after realizing I wouldn’t have a seventeen foot marble statue carved by the age of 25 or map the trajectories of planets never known before or construct the largest dome in the world….I retreated to the hills around Florence.  And feasted!

Devin said her goodbyes to her parents as they headed south back to Rome, while we extended our Italian journey northward, to Bologna.  Originally planning to set foot in Venice for a few hours before reeling back to Bologna for the night, we left the canals to another trip and saved a bit of energy and money in the process.  Our hotel in Bologna was cheap… but faaar away from the center.  The porticos in the center were captivating, though – store fronts cushioned by 15 foot arched walkways on both sides of the main streets.  And the restaurant (or osteria) district is set up the same, with the famous Bolognese cuisine taking center stage.  Another feast, then a limp back to Rome the next day to catch out flight to Athens.  But!  On the way, being the good Franciscan gentleman I am, we stopped at Assissi in Umbria.  However…. we weren’t feeling too hot that day (not a hangover, I promise!) and the little time we had there was not able to be effectively utilized.  We saw the basilica, the tomb, the medieval town, and then hopped back on the train, unable to see the small treasures of Assissi like the grotto and sanctuary.  Next time!

Italy leaves you full and warm – whether it’s from the pasta or the sun (or a mixture of both with a little Chianti thrown in) .  Rome is a civilized madness, Florence is Tuscan beauty, Cinque Terre a Mediterranean bungalow, and Bologna a university town smorgasboard. It offers a wide array of experiences and I suggest adding Italy to your To Do List as soon as you can.  I’m talking to you, Pete.