We are back now.

And jobless, and poor.

Video of us.

Hello reader, i put some videos up on you tube the quality is crummy but oh well. one is of the rain in Krackow and the other is of the bikeride we took in the czech republic. enjoy ill se about getting the quality to be better. they look pretty nice when you play them on the the camera.


http://www.youtube.com/user/Bowman247

and you can alwase see my pictures here;

http://www.flickr.com/photos/13807404@N00/

--
-Spencer

Poland

We are in Poland now, and have been for the past five or so days. Every computer we have thus far encountered, to be fair only two, has been linux, which does not seem to mesh with our cameras. So... no pictures until Lithuania, which will be, God willing, Monday or Tuesday. Our first stop in Poland was Wroclaw, pronounced Roslav. I had taken to pronouncing it phonetically, which amused the cashier who sold us the ticket to Wroclaw from Prague. He gave a little laugh, and then quieted suddenly and stared at me hard. No really, he said without humor, in the first passable english I had heard in two days [from someone other than Spencer]. Where do you want to go?
Spencer called it, and sometimes still does, Warclaw. He is only joking.
Wroclaw was like Prague, that is, dissapointing for various reasons. I won't get into it other than to say that we expected more quaintness and met only sprawl and what looked to me a bit like USSR industrialization. Churches made of brick was a novelty at first, but then made me think of firetrucks leaping out of the great steel double doors, priests blessing them on their way out, each fireman with a cross emblazoned on his hat, the number of his firestation/church [firechurch] in the center of the cross. I laughed about this image before it unsettled me.
I don't know much about the effects of USSR indulstrialization on Polish architeqture though, so it might have been just my imagination. What I do know was that Wroclaw felt much different to me in its design than any other city I have yet been too. I was a bit worried that this feeling would last through my entire stay in Poland. Thankfully, such is not the case.
Krakow.
Krakow is so far a wonderful city. We have only been here two days. I think I have said before that in some pretty important ways, how much I like a city is a pretty random affair, dependent more on the people I meet there than any vagary of the city itself. That said, I have liked some cities, regardless of who I spent them with, much more than others. I had some pretty miserable times in Budapest for instance [ though overall my stay there was pleasing]. But overall, despite the bad times, I found it to be a fantastic city because of something about the city. Its soul, or something. Its own particular cityness. Here, this is it. All the cities that I have come to remember fondly were those that were able to make me wonder what it would be like if I were to live there and my imaginings ended up with me happy.
My point in this anecdote is that Krakow is one of those cities that I find pleasing regardless of, even in despite of, the company I kept there. It is a CLASSY city. The classiest, even, that I have gone to so far. Perhaps it is its close proximity to Auschwitz and Birkenau that sobers it. Whatever the reason, there is no open and rampant prostitution, like there was in Prague [the only city where I was propasitioned to exchange my goods for certain services SEVERAL times in one day]. I did not see any tasteless shirts on display in souvernir store windows announcing how famous for drinking Krakow is, or how loose its women are, or how tremendous the parties are there. Every city I have been in so far has these tasteless shirts, all with the same message and pictures, the only thing changed being the name of the city. I cannot for a fact tell you that there are no such Krakow versions of these shirts. Only that, in my walk through the tourist clogged main square, the second largest in world apparently, I did not see any. This was shocking and refreshing to me myself, who has gotten so used to seeing them in every city I go too.
Sadly, were are only spending about four days here, and this is a pretty concrete fact. We have even gotten our tickets to Warsaw. I hoped to have gotten a ticket straight from Krakow to Vilnius, or next major destination. But alas, I am forced to do what I have become so accustomed to doing on this trip: stumbling to the next destination and hoping that I there will be a way to go further along my ultimate path from there. Its a bit like climbing the next hill knowing only that its upward slope leads in direction you are traveling. Sometimes when we get to the top, theres a plateau we may travel, other times a gentle and pleasant slope downward. Sometimes theres a cliff.
I spent last night with some Irish people, which I have learned is always good for a laugh. Between trying to decipher their accent and also being handed dozens of drinks [truly an enlightened nation, where the girls can drink more and buy for the reluctant boys], its always entertaining. But there have also been some Portugest staying at our hostel, and I have no doubts in saying that they have been so far the sleaziest people we have encountered so far. It is not uncommon to wake up in the morning, stumble to the bathroom, and on the way out pass two or three of them propositioning the hostel receptionist vigorously and repeatedly. Now, I don't mean to say that all Portugese are like this. I know I tend to make a lot of generalizations about peoples and classes and dialects and whatever. Irish do this. Hungarians say this. Croatians girls think this.
But this is because I think stereotypes are funny and revealing in what we think of them, which is much better than just funny, and much much better than just revealing. And anyway, when am I next going to be able to ask a drunk welshman what their national stereotype of the English is? I know its not flattering. But I don't know what it IS.
Pictures in Vilnius, I promise.

Addendum and Harmony

The pictures I wanted to put up before but was unable.

This is Mira, our guide in Brno, discussing... something with Spencer. It looks very important, doesn't it? To those who have met Kat Bula, Mira reminds me of a czech speaking Kat who shaves her hair less, but also plays less music.


The jewish graveyard I mentioned.

Brno. Spencer thinks this church looks very dark. I am inclined to agree with him. He has shots of it at night that look downright menacing.

This was by far the worst of the wounds suffered during our paintball bout last sunday. The victim´s name, I believe, was Stephen. Looking at this picture makes me miss Austria.

This is a restruant we saw in Prague. Perhaps twenty years ago this would have been okay, but... don't the owners keep up with current events?

I am not all that pleased with Prague. It is as touristy as we heard it would be, but not nearly as awe-inspiring. Not so memorable. Hopefully Wroclaw, our next step, will be more fulfilling.

This month of vacationing feels different. It feels like the trip is slowing down in pace, even though the days are passing with greater rapidity. Does that make any sense? Spence and I have both decided that we are now enjoying the lazy tempo that small towns have to offer, where the suprised awe that big cities once brought us now bores us. Are we bored of big-city europe?

If we are, there isn't a better time for it. All of the Baltic nations have tiny populations, and, of the 4 major cities that we intend to visit, Krakow is the largest by far. But Wroclaw, Rig, Vilnius, and Tallin all have pretty modest populations. Wikipedia put Tallinn at a modest 300,000 people, which can't be right. Even still, we are beggining a portion of the trip the promises to be more relaxed, peaceful. We want bike rides in the country, long conversations in coffee shops, parks. Also, I have noticed in myself (I can't speak for Spence), less of an interest in making friends than I used to be. I feel more like keeping the friends I already have than making new ones. But perhaps I am just being lazy.

We sent a package home today, August 3rd, containing all our un-needed things, so, Mom and Dad, you should be getting that soonish, I hope.

Hello Jules! Nice to hear from you again. We miss you all too. Have you ever had Kofola before?

Oh, harmony, right! I wanted to mention this. My dad will be pleased by it. In Brno, we hung out with Mira's Canadian college friends, one of whom was a fantastic guitar player. There were about seven of us, all sitting around, singing what we knew, drinking cokes, doing other completely legal and responsible things. I suggested to him that we sing Elie the Barrow-Boy, by the Decembrists, and he knew it, even though no one else did. He and I sang together and, low and behold, I could carry a tune well enough to harmonize with him. I was so pleased! We sounded so good that a couple considered us pleasing enough to use as make out music. They were about ten feet away. That was pretty weird...

They thanked us for the tunes when we were done though, so that was nice...

Yellow Badge of Courage

I was going to write this earlier, but due to many and sundry reasons I did not feel much like writing. Now, for many and sundry reasons, I feel very much like writing.

I considered calling this entry Strenuous Physical Activity, but decided finnally on the Yellow Badge of Courage because I do not think I will ever ever get the chance to title something that again, but many things can be titled Strenuous Physical activity. Also, I was going to have pictures, but the computer where we are staying at, in Brno (look it up!), does not work with my camera.

On Sunday, I went paintballing with my new Austrian friends. I have had a lot of fulfilling experiences during my trip, a lot of memorable ones, a lot of enlightening ones. There have been plenty of fun ones too. But if I were forced by the confines of some stupid game, or maybe by some sort of demon, to describe my trip in one word the word I would choose would not be Fun. I am not here for Fun. I can have fun playing Odin Sphere at home, or hanging out with my friends and doing nerd stuff.

That said, paintballing on Sunday was probably the funnest thing that I have done, despite the fact that paintballing makes me vicious, and I am now very very sore. I was only shot out twice, and had to go out once for being out of paintballs. There was even a time when I was scared that I would not get hit at all, making it impossible to join the club of laughing, high fiving Austrians who were comparing their wounds. So I charged a bunker and got well and good blasted, and earned a big, fat, yellow paintball splat right over my heart (as well as several bruises that don't hurt now. Why don't they hurt?) My yellow badge of courage.

The soreness is the worst pain though. I am hobbling up and down stairs. I am now terrified of becoming old, because this must be what it is like, only I can hope to repair myself in a few days (I'm almost healed now), but when your old it just gets worse. Regardless of the creeping fear of my own mortality, paintballing was tough. We have been traveling for two months, and, as you might guess, travelling is not the most strenuous thing you can do. I have never felt so out of shape in my entire life. We get on a train, or a bus, and sit for 2 to 12 hours, and then we get off the bus and take another bus to the hostel to dump our packs, then walk around the old town for 4 hours, stopping every fifteen minutes to eat or stare. Sometimes we drink. That is not excersise unless you drink like Finns.

So paintballing, coupled with the short bike trip I took on Tuesday, has left me sore as a... a... immensly sore thing. It has seriously been the most strenuous 4 days I have had on the trip. I loved it.

We caught a short train out of Brno to a little town called... uh, well I can't remember. The rented bikes at the train station, so we got three. Three, making two for Spence and I, and one for Mira, our guide. We met Mira in Sarajevo. She is from Chicago, but is studying in Brno, and speaks fluent Czech. It was a good thing we had Mira along, because Brno wins the award, so far, for town with least English speakers. I don't know why this is. Mira suspects it is the poor quality of czech english teachers, as even the young people, who are the ones we rely on, speak poor english at best. They spoke better in Albania...

Anyway, the farmland and small town we biked through were very beautiful. I have a bike route in Bellingham that takes me through farmland, and I find agricultural one of the most fulfilling of vistas. It is the happy median, I think, between nature and man made. But most awesome of all was the small jewish graveyard we found, easily the most dilapidated, but, for all the majestic graveyards I've seen, probably one of my favorites. I have pictures that I will upload once I find a better computer. Those will explain it.

But even beyond that, it was nice to get on a bike again. Spencer and I have both lamented that, of all the things we ought to miss the most about home, Our Bikes are on the top of the list. I miss my bike so much. I dream about riding down Dayton under the caress of a gentle breeze, a dicks hamburger in one hand, a bowl of Pho in another, an xbox controller in another, my own music playing in my ears, and the street lined with girls in bathing suits and skirts cheering my triumphant return. Also all my enemies would be staggering behind me under the weight of the traditional, Welcome Home to Seattle Orca Whale I recieved in Seatac airport. Giant robots would whip them when they got tired.

But, uh, its mostly my bike. My mind's eye pans over it, sweeping to a fro, stopping and then speeding up, like one of the fancified car-porn commerials where a man with a reasonable, masculine voice decrees 'Its the Soul of the Road.'

It was good to have Mira in Brno also because she is a friend that I met almost a whole month ago. I met Tobias two months ago, and then met him again. I will have met my Finns two months before I started living with them too. I am happy when I meet people and then, after a long period of time passes, remeet them. It suggests that perhaps I will continue to know some of them after I come home and that, maybe, if I am diligent at emailing and so are they, I might someday hope to visit my many european friends again, or my have one of them show up at my doorstep. After staying with BG's family for two weeks, I now dream of giving one of my european friends, any of them, hospitality in the States. I plan our adventures. I imagine them.

We are headed off to Prague, Praha, whatever, where Mira tells us there are more tourists than residents (we have heard this before), and where the pickpockets coalesce. They hold conventions in Prague. Pockcon 2007 was a resounding success. I feel safe, as I have recently sprayed my money belt with that deadly poison that works on contact with human skin. That, with the knife trap and the bodyguard I hired ought to be enough to keep me safe.

I recently read a book called the curious incident of the dog in the night-time. Has anyone read it?

Wien... er, Vienna

I´ve been thinking a lot about how I got here. Not too much, now. I´ve been thinking a lot in general. But much of that pensive space is occupied by what it took to get me here, keep me here, and make here worth getting to and staying in. Money is big. Money money money, all the time, everyday, everything. When I spending it I´m thinking about how much I have, how much I have spent, and what my present purchase will prevent me from buying in the future. When I´m not spending it, I rejoice. My body eases, my mind ceases its restless quivering, I delight. If any of this sounds vaguely avaricious and worrying too you, you aren´t alone. My preoccupation with my finances during my holiday has been a source of constant anguish. I feel dirty every time I pinch a penny, but foolish and vapid every time I let one go. Does anyone else have this problem? When you travel, do you worry more about money than when you don´t?

I think all this financial worry is caused because, in the end, it has been money and the saving of money that has gotten me here, and the saving of money is a hard habit to quit. I have only recently kicked it, and only with the help of some individuals whom I thank and will thank profusely. Ahem: Thank you profusely. I no longer think of money, and am free to focus on that which money acquires me. Strangely, I am spending much less. Perhaps it has to do with my current surroundings.

Oh yes, I can´t forget that. Let me get to it, then.

Behold, the majesty of Wien!!

Er... Vienna. Whatever.

I have been in or near Vienna for the last week, staying with the Reitmeier´s in a suburb called Gablitz. I met their son Tobias, who is the boy in the foreground below, in Dublin about two months ago. We were both staying in the strangest hostel I have yet been, strange because so many people used it as an actual home, staying there in Dublin for 3 month work periods. All other hostels have been for tourists. Spencer and I struck up and conversation with Tobias, BG to his friends, and his friend Thomas, Bomel to his friends, and we spent a night drinking in Dublin with an Australian named Mark. The conversation was my second favorite subject, comparative politics, school systems, political bodies, taxes, health care, etc. etc. Maintaining contact with BG, I finally arrived in the greater Vienna area where I was greeted by my one time friend, who promptly took me back to his family´s house where I have been staying gratis for the last week and a half. Er, sorry, haven´t given you that picture yet. Here is BG -

He is the boy. The girl is his younger sister, Ines, whom I will regard in a moment. The happy domestic shot after is the Reitmeiers in totum. I have come to regard the man in the far left seat as my Austrian father, the woman sitting across as my Austrian mother, the two wonderful children as my Austrian brother and sister, and there in the front is my Austrian grandma. These do not, of course, replace my American family members in any way. The next shot is their horrible cat Felix, and their yard and garden. The last shot is the small house they have given me to live in. Yeah, you read right. The small house.

This is only the start of their immense, world smashing hospitality. I am, I believe I have told you, been reading the bible. Inside the old testament especially is a plethora of advice about guest/host relations, the rewards of proper hospitality and punishments for the shirking of this job. I also know that the Greeks to were big on proper hospitality. Zeus was known to call upon houses in the night as a poor smelly beggar. Proper reception would result in riches and happiness. You can guess what a cruel send off would result in (ends in -ightning). My ancient history proffesor went on and on and on about why guest/host rights were so important in the ancient world. I am well versed in its many customs, reasons for being, etc.

My point being: This family would pass the guest/host test with flying friggin colors.

I feel like a king. A freeloading, useless, non-working king. I am brought gourmet food three times a day. I am given clean linen, my clothes washed, my many and sundry needs attended to. Coffee is given proffered to me WHENEVER I enter the kitchen. My tourists fares are all paid for. My head, I am sure, would be annointed in fragrant oils daily if such were the modern custom. Just now as I was writing, the house matron brought me, unasked, a giant cup of pudding. Pudding! This is after her son prepared me coffee and their daughter hung a hammock for me. Last night I was cooked delicious wienerschnitzel. The previous was homemade zucchini soup, zucchini from their family garden. Lunches are the finest salamis and austrian cheeses. Desserts are exquisitly prepared tiramisus, apple strudels, sugared baked apricots so fragrant and delicious that even their vicious, unpredictable cat Felix must investigate.

Oh Reitmeiers! How can I even begin to thank your immense hospitality? How can I begin to thank any of the many people who have subtly and beautifully influenced my vacation, or caused it to be possible, or lengthened it, or by a mere few words or a whispered nocturnal conversation made it fine and memorable? Its all too much for me. So many people have come together, Conspired! Conspired! to make my three months possible and good. I am feeling grateful. I wish this were the old days when I could just sacrifice a bull or five in thanks. As it stands, my work to repay my cosmic good fortune and those blessed agents of it will be much more... tricky.

Anyway, Vienna. Where to begin?

If the Reitmeiers constitute my Austrian family, then these are my Austrian friends. Normally, in any one place, I have small party of friends, but they are often disconnected, one from Australia and one from Hungary. Also, sadly, they are almost never from the area I am in. I meet french in Hungary, Hungarians in Croatia, Finnish in Slovenia, Australians EVERYWHERE. These friends, though, truly are a cohesive group, and truly local. They have grown up together. They have shared references and inside jokes. They are attached by shared interests and likes. Also, they, collectively, have invited me to be, for a short time, one of them. I even occupy my own place: I am the goofy foreign guy. I am... The American. Lets talk about comparative culture.

Vicki, above, is demonstrating a popular sign among the youth of Austrian: The throwing up of the horns. Common uses are during rock concerts, good times,and immediately following any type of shennanigan. I am, apparently, amused. Next, Ines demonstrates an example of intercultural communication. I have taken my American knowledge of this popular international hand signal and added my own, American, flavor to it. Behold, cultural exchange at its finest-

Too Much Rock for One Hand.

My Austrian friends seem to love this new gesture. I am hoping that, two months after my return, I will watch some broadcast of an international show in Austria and seem all the crazy cool kids doing this. Additionally, liking dark humor, they love dead baby jokes, and I am delighted too learn that my three in-poor-taste pick-up lines are also in favor. Alas, I have it seems struck again. There are so many girls here whose shirts are cough cough becoming on them.

But it hasn´t all been hanging out with my new friends in Gablitz. There has been Wien proper. Below is Saint Stephen´s Cathedral. I am not sure if this is the same Saint Stephen as Saint Stephen´s Basillica in Budapest. But anyway, here you have it. I would show you the inside of it as well, but for some reason pictures indoors almost always end up grainy and unfocused. If the indoor area is small enough, the flash solves this problem (though causes many others), but for an indoor as large as one of these immense european cathedrals I run into problems my little flash can´t solve.

The tower, next to the cathedral, goes up about 167 meters, and I climbed... most of it. You can see by the scaffolding that they´re doing some work. Whatever. Inside, the cathedral is probably one of the most imposing that I´ve been in. The Basillica in Budapest was much warmer, softly lit, but this one was hard stone, dark colors. I don´t think I like it as much. The church in Zagreb remains my favorite.

Below, one of my new friends, Dominic, showed me one example of his humble collection of old cars. He even let me drive it for awhile, which was very... interesting. It did not have all the much power, and the clutch was built into the dashboard. Furthermore, reverse came first in the order of gear changes, which means that every other gear was on the opposite side that I am used too. Very confusing, but now I can say that I´ve driven around the Austrian countryside in a 1930s car. I´m like Indiana Jones! Spencer, who likes this stuff more than I did, got a kick out of this. Perhaps he will write about it. Oh, here´s another interesting thing I learned about Austria, that has to do with cars. All the driving schools in Austria are private, unlike ours, where I believe some are private and some are public. I learned to drive after school as part of my high school for instance. How much did we pay for that? Its been such a long time, I can´t remember. Regardless, it take about 1500 euros for an Austrian to get his or her drivers license. About 2000 dollars. And there are people out there that think privatization is a good thing.

It doesn´t really matter to me though, because, in Wien, I learned to levitate. Yeah, anyway... art!

The first picture is me, before the Belvedere, one time residence of the great Prince Eugen, general of the Hapsburg emperors, slayer of Turks, descendant of the Roman hero-generals, etc. etc., now spacious art museum housing Wien´s most impressive art collection (which is saying a lot. This isn´t Seattle with one big art museum. There are many other hefty art collections in Wien). The second picture is the entry foyer for the Belvedere and Ines, including because I found it to be a pleasing picture. I was not so interested in seeing many art museums, but my hostess mentioned, in passing, that Gustav Klimt was from Austria and had many of his works hanging in the Belvedere. Including, I asked, excitement rising, "The Kiss?" I think so, was the reply. "The Kiss" is one of my favorite paintings, and to stumble across it here was fantastic. For it alone my entire vacation is made worthwhile. And I didn´t know even it was in Wien. So now I have seen one of my favorite paintings, and picked up a few more that I really enjoyed. "Hunting on the Nile," "The Evil Mothers," "The Exile of Hagar," and a landscape called "Sea Storm on the something something coast." Whatever, I have written all my favorites down and emailed the names to myself, so maybe I can find them again on the Internet. And unlike girls I have met, I won´t expect them to email me back, and so will not be disappointed by an empty inbox. But lets see, what else did I do? Oh yes, opera.

These are pictures of the annual Rathaus (city hall) film festival, where they set up an enormous screen outside the city hall, shut down its municipal functions, and show for free movies, filmed operas, and other such things. The day I saw it, they were playing a film recording of Tosca, an opera which I will add to my list of operas that I really like. The music, especially. Though it had a lot of rather forgettable musical sections, those that were memorable I don´t think I´ll forget soon. I have been humming them as I meander, awe-struck by my good fortune, around the greater Wien area. The film festival also have a section with food and drink from all over the world, which people partake of liberally, sampling here and there, but which I neglected because I had already been fed by my hosts and was stuffed to bursting. The tall building is the city hall itself, which I found to be an engaging and impressive structure, not the biggest or most awe-inspiring that I´ve seen, but somehow I liked it almost more than any other secular building I´ve yet seen. It perhaps had something to do with what a good mood I was in. Speaking of impressive -

While the Belvedere was large, having been the residence of Prince Eugen, beloved general of the Hapsburg emperors, conqueror of the Turks, descendant of the Roman hero-generals, blah blah blah, Shurnbrun castle, pictured above, was the residence of the Hapsburg emperors themselves, including Maria Theresa, who was famous for some reason... yeah. The first picture is a view from the base of the castle, looking up at the Gloriette. The second picture is from the top of the Gloriette, looking down on the castle. The grounds between are filled with sights, and the surrounds are a massive park. Everything is so large, and there are so many different things to see, that even though Shurnbrun is a major tourist attraction, there is enough space so that one may be consumed, accidentally, by of a chattering pack of Japanese tourists, cameras flashing, only to be roughly expelled five minutes later into a haunted, lost garden utterly empty of human life. A mossy statue of a greek hero stands in the corner, a dove perched on his sword. The wind sweeps the trees, a light misty rain cools the air, and suddenly you are in a forbidden land, silent and austere. A moment later, a child runs laughing across your view, and you smile and continue on your way.

The oldest zoo, I am told, in the world is in this immense lawn, built before the founding of the Republic by one of the emperors because of his wife´s love of animals. Also one of two zoos in europe with pandas. Go figure. And there is a hedge maze, not so big or tall, with one of the best and coolest playgrounds I have ever seen in my life. Each piece of play equiptment is built with some facet of human imagination in mind. The bird that Spence and I are perched on at the beggining of this entry, for instance, is one of the best. Would that we had had this playground when I was a kid in Seattle. I would never have forgotten it, though I guess I remember my own, humble Seattle playgrounds well enough. Enough about Vienna. The last thing-

I was going to tell you about Ines. More precisely, that she does side saddle riding, and her school had an exhibition of the pasttime while I was here. Above is Ines and her friend, whose name slips my mind but whose uniform I prefer. I won´t say that the exhibition was the most exciting thing that I´ve seen in Europe, but it was definently illuminating. I never really got the... the... art direction of the victorian era. I never understood what was so compelling about the setting of Pride and Predjudice, and Wuthering Heights, and Vanity Fair, and all that crap. But, just like my trip to a good old southern plantation manor left me with an understanding of how a people could have fought, died, and ultimately lost for a way of life, so too did Ines´sidesaddle riding leave me with an understanding of what was so damn compelling about Victorian era refinement and dignity. Its that girls´riding uniforms are pretty damn hot!

Anyway, this has been a long entry, but I hope it will make up for my lack of posting all this week. I have been meaning to get back to making smaller posts more often, but it is a little difficult to do so and I have found that making large posts less often is easier on my creativity. Still, though, I think we can all agree that small posts more often is probably more enjoyable. I will try to do so in the future.

Miss you all.

But I am staying in Europe for 11 extra days, until the 17th.

Shrug.

the other guy. who does not blog as often.

Hi, remember me i'm Spencer. the other guy on the otherside of europe, watching grown men in spandex ride bikes in france. and oh what fun it was. I put some pictures on my flickr page but i took alot more that i will be adding later. As you know rhys and i split up in slovenia i went through northern italy, padova-venice-bologna: then i make a detour to switzerland to see the alps before i die. then to lyon, france- Marsielle to whittnes le tour coming through the town, which ian sure glad i did, i met paul a bike messenger that was there doing the same thing i was, who filled me in on what was going on, its hard to follow when you are mostly stayin in hostels and you dont have a tv, and everything is in german or french, also he said some rider hit a dog? anyways, im in hamburg germany right now and tommarow iam heading to vienna to meet up with rhys hopefully. Hamburg reminds me a bit of seattle in a way, il take some pictures. Thanks chuck for that comment, i didnt know i still had that innocent aroma.

For Shame

I will write more about Wien later, when I have collected more pictures. But seriously guys, are the only people who want postcards Ian, Mineko, the Dejnekas, Marti and Charlie, my parents, and my Gramma, whose address I still need. Is that all? For shame! I will have to write about more interesting vacation things to hold attention and garner interest. Next stop:
The Strip Club at the Center of the Earth!

In Budapest, I was attacked by a tiger

See? That´s my leg, there in his (her?) terrible maw. I now have a robot M16 leg, like that girl from grindhouse. Sorry its been so long, but it has been very hot here, and anyway I have been spending most of my net time coordinating with my new friends Tobias and Mira about staying au gratis in Vienna and Brno, Brno being a small city outside of Prague. I met Mira in Sarajevo, and liked her because she wanted to reenact the murder of Franz Ferdinand for camera at the bridge there where Ferdinand was actually killed. Alas, we did not get to do this. Tobias is the first friend I made in Europe, in Dublin. I have been, actually, getting a lot of offers to stay with people, a fact by which I am delighted. Chris, Colin and Freddy offered me accomodation in London, for instance. More recently, 3 traveling french nurses (!) offered me rooming and food (they love to cook!) in Basque, which would be wonderful since it was the location of much of my 499 thesis. An interesting bit about Emilie, Lucie, and Stephanie later.




Now, comedy in Budapest. Welcome At Our ATM was my initial pecuniary greeting in Budapest. A sound financial institution. You expect poor grammar and spelling on children´s toys. I wonder why they even bother, considering kids can´t read that well anyway. But, with a bank, such things make you wonder about the nature of those handling your, as Phill would say, fat precious loots. FURTHERMORE! For those who think that America is more shallow than Europe, I give you:





Boo, I say. Shame on you Europe. This is worse than Axe, which by the way you seem to love. BoomChickaWahWah indeed. Below you can see me demoralized by this crass assault on the purity, dignity and humanity of women. I am declare myself one sad panda.




Gathered here is the meat of Budapest. Of special note is the Hungarian National Opera house, where I decided not to go for a show as it is not cheap and in Vienna, the heart of international opera, it apparently is. Five euro! Also, my favorite european statue thus far, the Scribe. Beyond that, Budapest has had the best statues so far in all of Europe in my opinion, but mostly because they like to stress their Magyar warrior heritage and craft statues accordingly. Look up Herceg Tere on google image for examples. Don´t worry, I took pictures too. The last picture is St. Stephens Bascilla, easily the largest church I have been too. There was a wedding taking place inside the day I was there, and they had the organ going and an opera singer singing... man, what was that song? It filled the church, calling all the tourists into a gaggle to take pictures and wonder. A spectacle. I felt sorry for the betrothed, but then realized that I wasn´t.


I have many vista pictures as well, but for those who know my shutter tendencies, remember how little I like the personless vista picture. One vista is much the same as another to me. Without people, they are devoid of life. On that note, here is Emilie, Lucie, and Stephanie, my Hungarian friend Robbi, and a life lesson:



Under no circumstances should the casual reveler spend Bastille day with French girls. It is potentially lethal. Bastille Day was the 14th of July. I´m sorry I did not get this picture to ya´ll before. I had... a stomache ache. Yeah. The other picture is Emilie and I on Castle Hill. We both found it a pleasing photograph and I hope you do to. These were actually the first French people I have really met on my holiday. There are many english, driven south by high british cost of living and the most valuable currency in the world (worth over 300 time the poor Hungarian Forent!). Many Australians, driven vagabond by, I theorize, boredom and isolation. There are Irish out for Cracks (means fun in gaelic), Americans out for girls/boys/history, Spanish out for general purpose reverlry, and Canadians because... damn Canadians. But of the French, I have seen precious little. Or maybe it is that they, and the Italians I believe, travel in large groups and need not talk to other travelers. I have seen them traveling. They exist. But they have, for company, all they need. They have brought it with them, the fools, overpacking as usual. Why lug around what you can pick up there?

The 3 French I have met, which will have to suffice as a representative sample, can best be described as Bohemian. It makes me wonder what real Bohemians will be like. I will be in Bohemia within the month.


Gah! There are so many pictures I want to show you, so many things I want to tell. Would you believe I have been at this entry for almost an hour? Not expensive at 300 forents, but I was meant to be taking a nap. The french are cooking for me tonight, since I am leaving tommorow. I will post more later. To those of you keeping up, and new readers, thanks for being patient. To those who posted their addresses, I am sending some from Budapest, but others from Austria and Czech Republic. I leave you with this picture. Comedic, but with a point. Can any of you guess the material that makes up this hilarious hat?







I´ll give you a hint. Starts with M, ends with M.

Hostel proprietors

Why do hostel proprietors want me to have sex? Why?!
The latest hostel I checked into, at 12 last night after a thrilling and lonely train ride from Zagreb, is coated with signs, the contents of which I will give some examples of-
Shirt and Shoes required. Bra and Panties optional.
Good girls go to heaven. Bad girls go everywhere.
(Handwritten) Cold at night? Why not share your bed with someone?

I am aware that some hostels are specifically for this type of thing. I met a woman from the States who was travelling with her kid, who said that she had a hard time getting a hostel in Amsterdam because most did not allow children. Oh, yeah, I guess kids are pretty messy, I said, my eyes alight with innocence. Noooo, not quite, she replied with a laugh, her daughters head on her lap. The woman leaned in close-
The hostels are for getting laid, was the whispered response.

But this is not that kind of hostel! It booked itself as a non-party hostel. It description said, please keep it down after hours, we have neighbors. Yet here I am. Already I have been asked by the hostel owner, so, where did you come from? Croatia? How are the girls there? I hear, in the summer, they do not wear many clothings. Is this truth?

This is not an isolated incident either. I have been to at least a few other hostels where the owners have seemed to have some secret, foreboding interest in my love life. They waltz up to me, nonchalanty. ˝See those girls, they say, pointing at some hostel guests. Those girls are very pretty, arent they? They are from sweden *wink wink (WTF?)*.˝ Or, ˝hello hello, sir! Welcome back from the beach. Was it a topless beach? Did you rub any of the oils or lotions on the backs of any sexy girls? Did you maybe drink any alcohol and go skinzy (thats verbatim folks) dipping? Tell me all about it.˝

I suspect some sort of demonic pact with an incubbi, wherein every tryst conducted under their roof garners them a bit of currency to use in purchasing cthonic horrors or secret powers which subvert the humanity of the wielder.

Anyway, its my first day in Budapest. I am alone now, but Ive been enjoying the time to think, and write. Now... whats in Budapest?

My first european train

And so it is with a heavy heart that I say goodbye to my Finns. They have gone to Prague. I...

to Budapest!

I have made it pretty clear that people are the primary focus of my trip, whilst tourist ˝sights˝ are secondary. This is doubly so now that ruins have lost their shattered grandeur, towering spires their awe, monumentous monuments their... uh, monumenity...ness. I have discovered that I'm not alone in my sentiment. In fact, very few people are here to see sights. Old folks are. Some young people express hearty interest. Truthfully, I have a hearty interest as well. But, from what I've experienced so far, it seems as if MOST people are in it for the people. Which is good. We are all extremely ready to bond. We are all paying gobs of money, in fact, to do so.

There is something a little weird about paying a teenager's fortune to have brief flash friends, whose sole virtue seems to be that they are from different places. Were we all so upset with our friends from home?

Yet, as weird as it seems, its extremely satisfying. I figured by now my motor might be running out of steam. I might be missing familiar places, faces, sounds. I do miss them. But such is the weight of the good feeling pushing me UP that the missing is a pleasant buzz. Recollecting my friends conjures a feeling not unlike dreaming a familiar dream. I hope I'm not offending anyone by saying this. I do miss you. I just want to establish: I feel like my sails are filling with a strong, cool wind and have room to fill. I feel like a pod of dolphins has begun to swim alongside me. They make little squeaky dolphin noises and jump and play. My crew loves them. Sometimes, when the rest aren't looking, I stab one in the back with a spear and we all eat it. Its delicious! Life is good.

I'd like to talk about the travel part of my travel today. Specifically trains.

I took my first train recently, since my Finns have the interrail pass and travel that way exclusively. Mostly I have been taking busses. Since I have been offered free rooming in, of all places, Helsinki, I have also been considering planes.

Trains in Europe, at least eastern europe, are different from what I am familiar with in the states. Inside a US train, the seats are set up much in the same way that a plane's are, but for the occasional quadruple seat, two doubles facing each other with a table in the middle. There is an aisle down the center seperating two rows with two chairs each. In european trains, however, there is a long corridor down one side. Along this corridor are rooms, and each room contains six seats, arranged as three seats facing three. The room locks, and my be visually concealed from the hallway. If only three people occupy a room, the seats may be pulled together (ingenious) to make three beds. This is especially useful for night trains, as sleeping in a sitting position for longer than fifty minutes in class, er, anywhere, is not so fun.

That said, my first night train was an exhausting exprience. We shared a cabin with two... interesting Croatian men. After an initial good meeting, shaking hands, complimenting me on my meager croatian (take that tower of babel!), they preceded to smoke the dickens out of our no smoking room, drink up about four huge cans of beer each, and invite their friend from a different room, who had a tribal armband tattoo, a wife beater with the slogan Girls are Sexing on the front, and the meanest rat tail/mullet I have ever seen, to hang out. Sometimes, one of them would go to the next door ˝club car˝ a train car with a strobe light, disco ball, and haggard DJ who lethargically blasted the neighboring trains with bad Croatin techno remixes of American pop. But mostly, they stayed around our room to yell at each other jubilantly (why did you need to be so loud? You were right next to each other!), smoke, drink, and hurl their empties out the open window.

Sleep was... not easy. It was not an easy trip. But, the promise was there, I could feel it. This COULD be an excellent way to travel.

I am reluctant to travel during the day, as I must then both travel and pay for accomodation, which is a lot of money to drop in one day. Night trains have the advantage of netting sleep, travel, and the night's accomodation in one cast. But, then you miss that delicious experience of looking out the window and watching a new place flow across your senses.

I have decided, since my trip is to be focused on people, to spend the majority of my time in the east. It is cheaper, and attracts a more adventurous type. We will see what Spencer says about this. I believe he wants to see France and Germany. We have been talking. More news later.

Oh, the top picture is me with my favorite new breakfast food.

Musli!

Oh, also. Anyone who posts there address here WILL get a postcard from me. I am burning to write them. I see them in stands and wish I had more than four addresses to send to. Keep in mind I may have misplaces yours, and write it down. I'll send to you ASAP.

Well, I can´t title this for some reason. But the title of this post is ˝You obtained: The Camera.˝

Because I obtained a camera. Imagine me in a green suit with white tights and a pointy hat, holding a camera aloft with both hands. Somehow, it floats gently inches above my cupped palm. Be proud of me. Ive been here over a month and that was my first video game reference.

You may have noticed that our posting has been less picturey. There are reasons for this. First, we had two memory cards, and we recently switched out the old one to replace it with the new. The old one has all our pictures from Dubronik and most from Sarajevo. It is also buried somewhere in one of our packs. So all those pictures were effectively lost. Only not really, we will dig them out at some point. The other reason there have been fewer pictures is the reason I mentioned before. We are jaded. Jaded jaded jaded. I used to see a grand palace and need a picture of each of its ballustrades, it high tower, all the gargoyles, each from multiple angles with colorful locals in the foreground. Now... now I take less pictures. But here are some anyway, with my brand new 1300 kuna camera. I havent had it for long and Im in an area that Ive been before (Did I tell you all how much I LOVED Brac), so there arent that many new pictures. But all my post from now on ought to contain SOME.

Most of the pictures are Zagreb. That guy on the horse above. Anybody recognize him. A Dicks Hamburger to anyone who can name that knight. I like the statue because I cant tell if hes a sad dragon slayer or a contemplative one.

Also, to those of you posting and sending email. Patience, Ill get to writing soon. Its expensive and requires time. These have been travel heavy days, and expensive, so in the rare moments that I have to sit down to use the internet my inner accountant freaks out and hits me with and accounting book. It is heavy.