Sunday, October 29, 2006

Follow the Green Fairy

Location: Cesky Krumlov, the Czech Republic
Local Chickens: Numerous

October 24

I'm up early to get out of the hostel of malcontent and find somewhere better. On the other side of town (about a ten minute walk) is a hostel that came highly recommended: The Krumlov House. Upon arriving there I am instantly set at ease by the staff, of whom there are two, a rather introspective Australian cyclist/vagabond named Ian and a wary but good-natured Czech woman named Lutka. This place is tiny and acts as a locus of the positive energy that seems to pervade this entire little town. Hell, the front door itself is carved like a dragon, for crying out loud. I feel at home here.

My first day is taken up by studiously doing nothing. I sit, I read, I play the guitar (which is just lying around the common room). I've been skipping cities and countries so quickly that I need to take a load off, which I accomplish quite handily. Dinner rolls around and several of us head out to dinner. All Americans, for a change. Our party consists of myself, an American Army sergeant named Derek (who is on leave from Iraq), and two Texans, a father and son duo who seem to do more traveling than Marco Polo infused with cocoa roots. The son, Nathan, is academic and soft-spoken, while the father, Steve is loud and speaks with an almost comical Texan drawl. He also happens to be one of the friendliest, most enthusiastic, most well-educated people I've ever met. I like them right from the get-go.

We grab food at a little place called Two Mary's, where the order of the day is roasted rabbit with potatoes and dumplings. De-lish. We then make our way to a local haunt (no pun intended) called the Horor Bar (yes, they spell "horror" with one 'r' here), a basement pub that closelz resembles a cave and has mannequins of the undead draped across the walls. The beer is cheap and tasty, and conversation flows quite well. And that's that until bedtime.

October 25

A few words about the town. Cesky Krumlov (CHESS-kee KROOM-lahv) is a town of about 25,000 people nestled in the hills of the south-western Czech Republic. It is called one of the most beautiful towns in Europe, which I suppose would also make it one of the most beautiful towns in the world. It lives up to the name. The best image that comes to mind is the village in the movie "Chocolat." The everything is closed-in and paved with cobblestones, nestled against a shephard's crook of the Vlatava river. Overlooking the town is the Krumlov Castle, a kind of fairy-tale chateau with the brightly painted tower shooting right up out of the rough-hewn cliffs. It is an interesting phenomenon that immediately after setting foot in town, one is overcome by a sense of peace and well-being, a feeling that it is somehow right to be here. Virtually everyone seems to get this feeling, including myself, despite the fact that I typically am not sensitive to such things.

Today, Derek and I cruise up to the castle to check things out. The grounds are lavish and surprisingly expansive, with a lovely flower and hedge garden. Every other minute reveals yet another breathtaking view of the town. We are quite pleased with it, and after some time head down below the citadel to the river, where we engage in the honored passtime of skipping rocks. This is a very Franz Joseph meets Calvin and Hobbes type moment, with an American soldier as my own personal stuffed tiger. While we're there I flip off the castle. Gotta keep up with my work.

Dinner is yet more delicious Czech food at a place called Satlava, which is built into a kind of cave set-up (typical of local architecture) and adorned with medieval weapons and bear skins on the wall. Very good ambiance to go with my dark beer and four, count 'em four types of meat. We pay yet another visit to the Horor Bar afterwards, then retire.

October 26

Derek bugs out early to head up to Germany, so we say our goodbyes, then Nathan and I take a hike for a while up to an abandoned church overlooking the town. Why is the church abandoned? Who knows? The dark side of me hopes it has something to do with brimstone, or perhaps flying monkeys. At any rate, the hike is lovely, and despite the incline I am reminded of how Nebraska looked hiking there as a child. The view overlooking the town is priceless and we sit and admire it for some time, taking a moment to give it the finger, as well. We climb to yet a higher hill for a picnic of water and cookies while discussing the virtues of "Friends" and "Seinfeld" before heading back.

On the trail up to the church are a number of derelict shrines, fully intact but stripped of carvings and sculptures. I take the opportunity to slither into one and make myself an O-so-pious human statue, no doubt putting great structural fatigue on my plenary indulgence.

After some afternoon chess (which I feel proud at having dominated for the last few days), we're back to Two Mary's for dinner to show some new folks what it's like. Again to the Horor Bar, where I am introduced to The Green Fairy, a.k.a. Absinthe.

Now, Absinthe is a big thing in the Czech Republic. Maybe it was invented here or something. At any rate, Absinthe brewers miss no opportunity to slather their logo feces all over the landscape. Unbeknownst to me, one does not simply shoot Absinthe. Oh, no. There is a highly-ritualized process involving caramelizing sugar and flambaying the whole thing. Upon throwing back the shot, one is informed in no uncertain terms that green is the color of ectoplasm, which tastebuds hate passionately. As bad as the taste is, it does warm your gullet, and 70 proof alcohol plus sugar plus a few miligrams of wormwood (the hallucinagenic ingredient) pack no small kick. I claim success.

Shortly thereafter, and quite understandably, I hit the sack.

October 27

I almost leave today, since most of the people I've been hanging out with are leaving, but I can't bring myself to go just yet. Since my first day here was for meaningless relaxation, I make my last day similar.

I attempt to go see the bears around the castle... oh, yeah, there are bears. They are stationed in a pen that rings the castle, almost as if the people in charge fear Stephen Colbert attacks and wish to frighten him away. There are three of them, big brown bears, prompting me to concoct a scheme involving three bowls of unevenly heated porridge. Unfortunately, come the day, I could neither secure porridge nor find the bears, who seem to have taken the opportunity to start hibernating early. Damn, that would have been funny, too.

Instead I do a little bit of window shopping, spending most of my time in an antique weapons shop. They have some truly sweet merchandise that meets my rather demanding specifications, but sadly it is all way out of my price range. I am amused to find a rack of katanas labeled "Hattori Hanzo," as if "Kill Bill" fanatics are making Cesky Krumlov the destination of their ill-advised pilgrimage in hopes of securing the famous sword.

Some more chess, a nap, and some reading lead up to dinner at a place called Na Louzi, where I have the highly recommended pork steak stuffed with ham and cheese. Pork stuffed with ham? Now that's my kind of twisted animal cruelty. Insult to injury, indeed.

Our after dinner entertainment comes by way of the Gypsy Bar, a tiny hole-in-the-wall place owned and operated by a family of Roma (the local ethnic minority from whom European gypsies spring). I refrain from drinking, being dog tired already after a unwitting caffeine crash, but they have a live band performing that is nothing short of spectacular. There are three Roma on the accordian, string bass, and fiddle, as well as one white boy on the clarinet. They tirelessly crank out energetic Czech folk songs, providing a nice cap to the evening.

We head out to head back, but I and a crazy middle-aged Australian guy named Richard make a slight detour. He has a burning desire to track down some local bud, and I volunteer to keep him company. Sadly, his connection is bad, but we keep spirits up and head back to crash. I'm off to Vienna the next day, and I need my rest.

Progress Thus Far:
Countries Visited: 4
Stupid Tourist Moments: 34
Monuments Flipped Off: 23
Free Food Ganked: 4
Free Booze Ganked: 18


the world isn't so bad if you can just get out in it.
-Bill Watterson, in "Calvin and Hobbes"

The Dark Influence of Hapsburgs

Given the noteworthy zeal with which some people seem to follow this little journal of mine, I feel obligated at least to inform you of an impending delay in several posts. I am currently stranded in the Land of Expensive Internet, normally called Vienna, Austria, so sitting down at a computer for an hour provides problems usually associated with the steaming bogs of Mordor.

Check back on Tuesday.

Tuesday, October 24, 2006

The Power of the Thriller

Location: Prague, the Czech Republic
Amount of LSD Taken: Insufficient

They call Prague the City of a Thousand Spires (by the way, am I the only one who loves all these badass, Lord of the Rings-style titles they give this place?). I'm inclined to believe it. One cannot travel ten feet without tripping over something steepled. I tried counting the pointy parts on just one building, but got bored after I hit fifty. Between all of these conical contraptions and the incredible amount of gothic architecture, it is as if the city is designed to impale the unwary. Yea, for there are buttresses, and lo, they do fly.

October 21

The day dawns grey and a little drizzly. Undaunted, I grab some breakfast and head out to spend my fortune. First stop of the day is an antiques shop I passed by before that was closed. If you wonder why I was interested in an antiques shop, let me say this: it contained blades. There, done. Sadly, this shop of shops is only open Monday-Thursday... how silly of me not to have known that. Why would it be open on any other days? Grrr... Oh, well.

Stop by the Town Hall Tower (that's right, even the friggin' Town Hall is a great, bloody tower) to see the hour chime on the Astronomical Clock. It's kind of cute. Every hour this giant clock parades statues of the 12 Apostles, while the hour is chimed by a mechanical skeleton. Does it make sense? About as much as the rest of Eastern Europe, I suppose.

Up to the Old Jewish Quarter, a.k.a. Josefova. The main attraction is exactly what you would expect in a Jewish neighborhood in Eastern Europe: a cemetary. I wish I could offer a chuckling zing on that, but it's really not a joke. The cemetary is neat, even viewed as I have to through a tiny grated hole the wall. Also wander by the stupidly-named Old New Synagogue. Flip this bitch off, because... yeah.

Raining harder now. Upsetting.

Still undaunted, head south to St. Wenceslas Square. Oh, yeah. Wenceslas. You know, the guy from the Christmas Carol? As it turns out, he's Czech (Bohemian, specifically, but now we're just splitting Yuletide hairs), and he's the patron saint of the Czech People. A kind of spiritual ruler, the same niche that Tommy Hilfiger fills in the United States. They love this guy here. Everywhere you go there's Vaclav something or other (Vaclav is Czech for "Wenceslas" ...I feel like something got lost in the translation). Wenceslas Square is dominated by a huge, triumphant statue of the man himself on horseback, sword raised to conquer. The only saint to be depicted in full battle regalia poised for battle? Or just the best? Either way, the finger is what he deserves, so the finger is what he got.

At the end of the square is the National Museum, so I decide to go poke around a bit. Tickets are for pansies, so I managed to sneak my way in by casually sliding around to the back entrance then waiting while the one ticket taker was inundated by an elderly tour group, then slipping up the stairs unnoticed. Daring Commando for Life, baby. The museum is architecturally beautiful, but the actual exhibits leave something to be desired. For a guy who grew up on the Smithsonian, it's a bit lack-luster. Oh, well. At least there was a video display of how to make spears out of trees and rocks, in case I ever become stranded in the Land of No Spears and want to become their god.

By this time the rain is truly a problem, so I head back to the hostel. Grab a pita thingy for lunch and try to wait it out. Meanwhile, some people and I watch "The Italian Job" in the lounge (the new one, sorry Michael Caine). Always entertaining.

The rain ends just in time for dinner. A couple guys that I met and I go out to this restaurant called "U Fleku," recommended for its traditional Czech cuisine. The guys are Tyler, a Canadian, and Hamish, a Kiwi. The restaurant is superb. It's a little wood-and-plaster hole in the wall with about half a dozen long tables and ladder-back chairs. There is live Bohemian music on accordian and tuba, and stewards wander around with trays laden with pints of dark beer. As it turns out, this place is also a microbrewery, where they brew only two types of beer, both of which are famous. Notably so; this is perhaps the best beer I have ever tasted, a hardy, dark Czech lager without any bitterness whatsoever. The food is exactly what you would expect, beef ghoulash with bread and bacon dumplings. This is a very "man" meal.

Fun Czech fact: the town of Plzen is the birthplace of lager beer. I don't mean a type of lager (although the word "Pilsner" comes from the town's name), I mean all lagers. That means that approximately half the beers on Earth can have their roots traced right back here. BoUNCers with your joy of Yeungling... this is home. Consequently, Czech beer is excellent. By this point in my journey, my belief in American beers is steadily waning.

Another fun beer fact: Budweiser was originally a Czech brand, widely reknowned. In fact, "Budweiser" was so synonymous with good beer that the Anheuser-Busch company took it as their brand's name. Ever since (some 150 years), there has been an ongoing legal battle between companies in the United States and the Czech Republic over the name.

After dinner it's back to the hostel for some writing and some bed.

October 22

I have but one goal today: to see the Bone Church.

The Bone Church is the name we have given to a small chapel in the town of Kutna Hora, about 75 km from Prague. It is a notable tourist attraction because, aside from being a quaint little country chapel, the interior is decorated with the bones of 40,000 human beings. I'm... ahem... "dead" serious. The interior of the building is covered with bones. All sorts of bones, every type found in the human body. Skulls, especially. Lots of skulls. They form crosses and chandeliers, alters and candle holders, even the Schwarzenberg coat of arms in a grisly 6-foot tall spectacle on the wall. It was awesome. The only bone's you're now allowed to touch are a couple dozen skulls in glass cases that belong... belonged to warriors killed in the Hussite Wars. You can still see the wounds that killed him, often detailed enough to make out the shape of the swordblade or spearpoint that cleaved their brain in two. I had fun. I can also now say that I have had my finger in the hollow nose socket of a human skull. I feel that if hardcoreness could be quantified, then surely my badassery quotient rises at least a bit from that.

Flipped off an alter while I was there, for good measure.

We had hoped to be able to obtain some sort of illicit drug and spend the night in the Bone Church, fighting off skelton armies rising from the grave to murder us, but sadly we were short on substances and had no contacts in town.

After the Bone Church came the inevitable drinking. Myself, Tyler, and a London-living Aussie named John had gone to the church together, and we immediately sought out a bar. Beer was good and cheap, and we went through several rounds before we had to catch the train home, spinning hilarious conversation the entire time (the bar had a television playing all the greatest rock ballads from the 80s and 90s... why is it that I have to travel halfway around the world just to revist my childhood?). In true Aussie style, John demanded we get a bottle of liquor to suck from to keep our buzz going during the train ride, which we did, in the form of bargain-basement Kentucky Jack bourbon. You know that old saying about "beer before liquor, never sicker?" Yeah, as it turns out that's true even in places where the local language makes nonsense out of the rhyme. Rather plastered, I had to endure John and Tyler's advocations of promiscuity despite my insistance on faithfulness to a certain lovely lady back home all the way back to Prague. Quite sensibly, I declined to go clubbing with them, instead getting some meat in my belly and passing out.

Still, though, fun day.

October 23

I have a 4:23 PM train out to Cesky Krumlov, so anything I do today has got to be fast. That in mind, I jump the subway to the south of town to see Vysehrad, a mostly-intact fortification that doubles as a lookout point/garden/church grounds (of course there's a church... there's a church in every spare open space they've got). The grounds are quite beautiful, with views over looking the Vlatva river and most of Prague. I get some good peaceful wandering around time in.

Metro back into the city center to grab a sandwich from Bohemia Bagel, a tourist-friendly cafe that was recommended. Sandwich... good.

I now have just enough time to grab my stuff at the hostel and hightail it to the train station. This time, I wisely wrote down all the necessary information to get on the train before I even left the hostel, since tickets here don't deign to provide any useful information like train number, the platform it is leaving from, or the time it is leaving. Fantastic. I manage to grab my first train no problem, riding to Cesky Budejovice in something resembling style. At my connection there, I only have to sprint about a hundred meters to get to the correct train, since they had two trains leaving from the same track of the same platform, but decided not to tell anyone that.

When I get into Cesky Krumlov, there's a bit of an episode. The train station is about 20 minutes walk from the town and I have no map, so I hope to grab one of the shuttle buses into town where I can more easily get to my hostel. Upon getting on the bus, however (confused because the driver is not taking money for tickets), the conductor from the train I just got off of gets on the bus and asks me for my ticket. Not anyone else. Just me. Not knowing what else to do, I hand her my train ticket. Upon examining it, she flies into hysterics, running off the bus chattering in Czech and motioning me to follow her. The other 8 people on the bus likewise wave me off urgently. I exit the bus, surprised to find her flagging down the conductor for another train. The new guy looks at me and says "Praha?" I reply, "Yes, I just came from Prague... Praha." They start screaming at me to get on the train. I insist that I just got off the train, and I have successfully arrived at my destination. They continue unabated. Thinking that shouting must be their way of communicating, I shout back, "I'm here! I just came from Prague." Surprisingly, they seem to get that, although they aren't happy about it. I turn around to get back on this bus just in time to see it drive away. The new conductor, somewhat smugly, points the way the bus drove off and says, "Walk, 15 minutes." Thanks, asshole.

I still have no idea what prompted this bizarre need to get me onto a train to the city I just came from, especially since the ticket the conductor examined clearly conveyed this information in her native tongue. At any rate, I hike into town and bed down at Hostel 99, the first place I come to, determined to find my preferred hostel when it is light out and the tourist information bureau is open.

The hostel is very neat, built as it is directly into the city walls. I find out that it actually used to be a 16th century hospital for lepers and the insane. Perfect. Everything is all rough stone and unfinished wooden beams. Quite cool, really, except that the one woman on staff is a bitch. Oh, well. You can't win 'em all.

Progress Thus Far:
Countries Visited: 4
Stupid Tourist Moments: 33
Monuments Flipped Off: 21
Free Food Ganked: 3
Free Booze Ganked: 15


i'll drink enough of anything to make this world look new again.
-Gin Blossoms

Saturday, October 21, 2006

Come with me to the Golden City

Location: Prague, the Czech Republic
City Wall Status: Violated

We've all heard stories about traveling to Prague. The Golden City, Queen of Music. The Paris of the East. Setting of "XXX," starring Vin Diesel. This place has a lot to live up to.

So far it's doing a pretty damn good job.

Prague is to cities what New Zealand is to countryside; it's virtually impossible to look around you without seeing something that deserves to be on a postcard. As soon as you think you've found the most picturesque view of the city, quaint fishermen on the river overlooked by a magnificent cathedral, homegrown jazz band faintly playing on the bustling Charles Bridge just at the edge of your vision, red tiled roofs climbing above white stone walls to halo the old castle walls, shining in the sun... then you turn the corner and find something even better. It's enough to make your head spin.

What's more, Prague is not only pretty, it knows it's pretty, like the head cheerleader in a bad teen movie so convinced that she deserves all the adoration thrown at her. On one hand that's a very good thing. After all, embracing the arts often leads to exponentially greater mastery of those same arts. On the other hand, it makes the city a little bitchy about how great it is. It's so vain, it almost certainly thinks this song is about it.

October 19

Up early because I've got a 12:27 train to Prague. I head out for a bit to poke around Krakow's Jewish quarter. It's much like the rest of the city, which is to say very beautiful, dotted with synagogues instead of churches, and littered with parks and tiny little mom-and-pop restaurants. One notable inclusion is are the tiny shrivled only ladies that one can occasionally find sitting on street corners, gummily sucking their lower lips as they gaze hopefully at passing traffic. Quite lovely, but it's time to move on.

The trip from Krakow to Prague is long, eight hours by train, including two changes of train. Changing trains in these countries is friggin' scary. Scenario: It get off the train in Katowice (which, by the way, is far from labeled properly). I have 20 minutes to get to my new platform to catch my connection to Ostrava. Plenty of time. Checking the schedules, I find that there are no trains to Ostrava. There is a train to Vienna at the same time (it takes me five minutes to figure out that "Wien" is the Polish word for "Vienna"), and after checking at the information desk, I find out that my train leaves from the same platform, so I'm guessing that Vienna is just the final destination for my train, while I'm supposed to jump off at Ostrava (none of which is noted on my ticked, mind you). When it comes time for the train to come, it's not there. Oh, other trains are coming and going from the same platform, and I launch into full-out Tasmanian Devil mode trying to figure out if any of those are my train and are improperly labeled. The oh-so-helpful conductors wandering the platform seem to have a universal policy of pointing where I should go and shouting "No!" Thankfully, a nice German man sees my plight and, after a brief exchange of information, assures me that he is on the same train and it is simply late. Mind you, that was one out of my three connections.

I did have a pleasant trip from Katawice to Ostrava, though, sitting in the compartment with an elderly couple from Idaho. Yeah, I didn't know people from Idaho traveled, either. For some reason they asked if I was "LDS," their way of saying "Mormon." Do I come across as Mormon? Maybe I'm not cursing and taking the Lord's name in vain enough.

Finally arriving in Prague on the tail end of a rather exhausting train journey, I metro and hike from the train station to a recommended hostel, only to find that it is full that night. Note to self: book ahead. They direct me to another youth hostel a scant 200 meters away, which I hump over to wearily. This place is a complete dump, but it has beds, which is really all I want at the moment. Grab a very cheap wrap at a falafel place next door and hit the sack.

October 20

In the morning I'm up and head to another, hopefully better hostel. It is, indeed, better. And cheaper. Rock on. Check in, drop my stuff off, and I'm off to see the city.

It's a beautiful, sunny day, perfect for walking around. I make my way west, much like early pioneers would have done, checking out the town square, the Tyn Church, the Vltava River, Charles Bridge, and Prague Castle in one long sequence. I did this on foot, toting my day pack, working through throngs of other tourists. There were no warp whistles involved, nor did I sport a racoon tail and ears. This was old school urban hiking.

Charles Bridge, the main pedestrian river crossing and one of 11 bridges spanning the river, is a smorgasbord of culture, a sort of miniature Prague in and of itself, condensed to fit on this slender stone span. The whole thing is lined with dozens of statues dating back to before the invention of hair, or some such, all of the same sooty black stone. Portrait artists, local craftspeople, and musicians crowd in cheek by jowl, each trying to throw little bits of traditional Czech materiel at you like so many cultural tomahawks. It is excellent, even if I was unaware that "traditional Czech" anything included jazz music.

The castle is on a hill. A big hill. A big, steep hill. The only way to get up there (without detouring around half the west bank) is via the Old Castle Stairs, a bit of architecture that reminds me of the Buddist temple at the beginning of "Ace Ventura II." There are a lot of stairs. Of course, being the long-legged, egomaniacal jackass that I am, I was determined to take them two at a time the entire way. Upon reaching the top, I was tired. Nigh collapsing, one might even say. Fortunately, the view of the rest of the city from the top of the stairs is nothing short of spectacular, and well-worth a few minutes of breathless wonderment.

Prague Castle itself was a bit of a letdown. It is not so much a castle as it is a walled church. To be fair, the cathedral itself is mighty, featuring all the carving and gilding you could ever want, suspended under a vaulted ceiling to make Kurt Wagner weap furry little blue tears of joy. Of particular note is the stained glass, which is in sufficient quantity and garish color to resemble a Pokemon's feared power attack.

Side note: at the entrance to the Castle are two Czech soldiers standing guard, the kind that can't move or talk or smile while standing at rigid attention. People got pictures with them, so I figured I should as well. Of course I had to give the guy the bird during the picture. Otherwise it just wouldn't have been right.

The history buff in me did get a little Christmas-in-October: the castle is the site of the famed Defenestration of Prague, the funniest war-starting event ever, and I got to stand on the exact spot the poor saps landed on, saved from death by the legendary Prague Castle Manure Pile. I also flipped off the site for good measure. Rock and roll.

The History of Prague Castle tour I went on wasn't worth the time or the money, and I exacted vengeance by given the finger to the St. Wenceslas Crown. Charge me 20 Krona for a stupid walking tour, will ya?...

Leaving the Castle, I continued west to find an Indonesian resaurant that had been recommended to me, where I obtained a delicious and reasonably priced pork steak with cheese and mushrooms. Suitably fueled up, we continue.

The south-west part of the city is dominated by an enormous green space, which I hesitate to call 'park' or 'forest' because it is both and neither. There are also elements of orchard mixed in. It is a very pretty place to wander around. Part of it is bordered by remains of the old city wall, called The Hunger Wall, and I did get a little Daring Commando thrill by scrambling up a steep embankment at one point to get to the wall, then squeezing myself through a tiny viewport in the wall to gain access to what I believed to be a forbidden orchard. It may well have been that, at least at the part I so stealthily entered. There was an excellent view of the city through a gap in the trees, greenery framing a distant view of the Castle.

By this time I had been walking for about 5 hours and I was starting to get tired, so I decided to head back to the hostel for some well-earned rest, which I achieved after another hour and a half of walking. Dinner came via frozen pizza gobbled down in the hostel, and my aching body took to bed early.

Progress Thus Far:
Countries Visited: 4
Stupid Tourist Moments: 32
Monuments Flipped Off: 18
Free Food Ganked: 3
Free Booze Ganked: 12


i don't know, but I've been told
you never slow down, you never grow old.
-Tom Petty

Friday, October 20, 2006

I cut you so bad!

Location: Krakow, Poland
Sausage Status: Hot, smoky, and dripping


Now this is what I'm talking about. Right here.

As beautiful as Warsaw was, it is easily the ugly stepsister of the major Polish cities. Stacked up next to Krakow, it is a wonder that it doesn't constantly watch "The Notebook" over and over while developing an eating disorder. I mean to suggest that there are self-esteem issues involved.

Whereas Warsaw was quite literally leveled during World War II and then rebuilt due to prior specifications, Krakow escaped relatively unscathed, which is fortunate considering the distribution of awesome historical sights, roughly as dense as bananas in Donkey Kong Country.

October 16

I'm up and at 'em in time to catch the noon train to Krakow. Trains in Europe can either be government-run or privately owned. I was fortunate enough to get on one of the latter, a company called ICC. I'm talking six-seater compartments with curtains and padded seats, complimentary tea and coffee, etc. It was nice. Made nicer by the quite lovely Polish lady sharing my compartment. We talked about business and traveling and the battle of the sexes. When she expressed and interest in film I showed her as much of Capture the Flag as we could get through on the remainder of our two and a half hour journey, which was met with a near-constant grin. I've gotten to the point where good conversation is like my first cigarette after being rescued from a desert island. Oh, man... that's good.

Pull into Krakow early afternoon and I hump across town with my whole pack laden on top of me, a rather pleasant 3 km walk. The difference between here and Warsaw is immediately apparent. There isn't a glass-walled building to be seen. Everything is carved and molded from hundreds of years ago, and they're barely even thought about rennovating anything beyond the modest needs of running water and electricity.

My hostel is another branch of Nathan's Villa Hostel, where I stayed in Warsaw. This place is amazing. If you're ever traveling in Eastern Europe, it's the place to stay. I get settled in and do as much wandering as I can, but by this time daylight is almost gone and I settle in for a night of chilling around the hostel. I meet a number of neat people, mainly Australians, who for some reason get around like the friggin' flu epidemic of World War I. They're good people, though, and one beer, four BBQ sandwiches, and three cups of tea later, it's time for bed.

October 17

Bounding out of bed with castles on the mind, I'm out into Krakow. First stop is Wawel Hill, the main attraction on the south side of town. Topping Wawel Hill are the uncreatively named Wawel Castle and Wawel Cathedral. The fantasy and history buffs in me now begin a near-constant orgasm for about the next four hours. The grounds are gorgeous, laid out with all the consideration to curves and open space that you would expect from any swimsuit model. I just wander around with a slack-jawed Slingblade look on my face for a while, then decide to poke my head in somewhere.

There are a number of tours covering different parts of the castle and cathedral, but most are too expensive. One, however, I just can't pass up: The Royal Treasury and Armory, where I hope to find tools of burninating the countryside. I am not disappointed. The treasury is great, golden plates and clocks and chess sets and... I don't know, tampons. The important thing to remember here is 'gold.' Everything is gold. Gold is neat and very pretty, but I'm more interested in the royal tools of taking life from a fellow human being. Sweet.

I gotta hand it to the Poles: they know how to ruin a bitch's day. I've been to medieval museums. I've read books and seen movies. I've done research. I've written theses. I know about weaponry. But some of this stuff, I ain't never seen. It's like they came up with a good weapon, then said "I wonder how many extra spikes and hooks we can throw on this thing before it gets precocious?" I was amazed. Racks and racks and swords and halbards and crossbows. My heart went out to every guy I've ever played D&D with. It was like coming home. I couldn't help but wonder if, in some ghetto-Renaissance movie, these are the weapons Samuel L. Jackson would wield. "Which big spiky mace is yours?" "It's the one that says 'Bad Motherfucker' on it.'"

There was one sword in particular that was a Royal Gift from some guy to some other important guy, at least one of whom I assume was bedecked in finery. This sword was enormous. The hilt was solid gold, and the three-inch wide blade, by itself, was taller than I am. This was completely unwieldable in combat. It deserved to be flipped off. It has now reaped the whirlwind.

I did want to get a little religion, but it was too expensive to go inside the cathedral. Solution: attach myself to a tour group full of old British guys and walk around like I own the place. Worked pretty well, too. I got to see the Cathedral nave and various chapels and the Royal Tombs before they kicked me out of the tour group. It was pretty much exactly what you think it would be: big caverns filled with sarcophogi. My favorite was the tomb of Kasimierz the Great. How hard is it to be a Great Polish King, anyway? I just had to flip him off. Oh, and there were statues.

I then wandered around the remainder of the Old Town, which is essentially one giant, pigeon-infested park, partly adorned with eye-catching structures. The Market Square was by far the highlight. I am led to believe it is the biggest such square in Europe, and I believe it. The place was a mess of street performers, children feeding pigeons, pigeons feeding off of children, cafes, shops, towers, and one very large cathedral that had a sign on the door announcing it was "only for praying." Damn, because I was hoping it would be the sight of the next "Iron Chef" competition. Spicy.

There was an accordian quartet there that was very good. Next to them was a man who had spraypainted his entire body (and clothes; he was dressed as a medieval peasant) bronze, and stood on a pedastal like a statue, only moving in a robotic fashion when someone dropped some money into his hat. He was out there for at least 6 hours, by my count, not moving. That's dedication, right there.

Met some guys in a local bar and played some cards. Nothing really eventful, there. They were not particularly talkative.

Grabbed dinner at a kebab shop, sadly the worst kebab shop I've ever seen, then went back to the hostel. Did some writing while listening to a group of Americans and Canadians recount childhood misdeeds, which was quite entertaining. Then off to bed.

October 18

My plan for today was to go see these Salt Mines that are outside the city. Apparently they're quite beautiful. I wouldn't know. I found the bus that I was directed to, but it never went to the Salt Mines. I was told that outside the bus I would see signs for Wielcznik and signs - in English! - announcing "Salt Mines." At best, these signs could be considered myth, much like cheerleaders who love computer engineers, or the minotaur. As it was, the bus just kept going with me sitting on it wondering how long it would take to get to this place. I ended up going on what amounted to an hour and a half-long ride around the Polish countryside and then back to Krakow. Really, Polish farming country is quite beautiful, though it was dulled somewhat by my panicked thoughts that perhaps we were not going back to Krakow. I even checked my map and realized that, on our present course, we would soon end up in the Ukraine. This is a new fear: in a land where I do not speak the language, with almost nothing in my possession, taken across a foreign border with no idea how to get back and a rash of ex-communist, figure-skating mafiosos lining up to take advantage of my virgin anus.

Thankfully, we made it back to Krakow.

I wandered around the Old Town some more, grabbing a quick bite to eat, then headed to the hostel to drop some stuff off and get directions. See, nearby there is an old rock quarry turned artificial lake, and the hostel staff claimed it was quite lovely at sunset. Grabbing a couple of ne'er-do-well Colorado men from the common room, we head off on a twenty-minute walk to the lake. It is just as beautiful as promised, and the hike up is quite brisk and refreshing. I was surprised to find this wilderness a stone's throw from downtown Krakow, but who am I to complain? The view of the city from the peak of the hill above the lake was "give the bird" quality, and the three of us sat talking and chucking rocks into the lake while we watched the sunset. The water was so clear you could actually see the rocks we threw in sink for at least a hundred feet, and we got to jeer at several Polish people nearby getting their SCUBA certification. And really, what's a sunset without a little heckling of foreigners trying to better themselves? With daylight failing, we make our way back to the hostel.

Barbeque for dinner again tonight, and it's delicious. The conversation is brisk and cutting, although the banter is a little lopsided in my favor. Missing Dan and Bryson. I go down to the movie room to find some guys watching "The Pianist." .... honestly? "The Pianist?" In Poland? These guys are serious gluttons for punishment, and when I come back later we put on "Collateral" to lighten the mood. At least that's some violent death I can get behind.

Try a Mad Dog shot because it's free. The vodka element is quite tasty, but shooting Tabasco sauce is not exactly my thing.

And I'm off to bed. Gotta head to Prague tomorrow.

Progress Thus Far:
Countries Visited: 3
Stupid Tourist Moments: 26
Monuments Flipped Off: 15
Free Food Ganked: 3
Free Booze Ganked: 12


burning bright, a fire blows the signal to the sky
i sit here wondering, does the message get to you?
-Baltimora


Sunday, October 15, 2006

A Simple Use of Idiom

Location: Warsaw, Poland
Liver Status: Creaking Under Strain


October 12

Night spent in the Helsinki airport. Had to book flights separately due to schedule uncertainty. Flew Rovaniemi to Helsinki around 7:00 PM on the 11th, but flight to Warsaw isn't until around 9:00 AM. Fortunately, airport very quiet and cosy, with chairs in easy-to-sleep layout. Manage a full 3 hours of sleep. Getting through check-in, security, and customs during "rush-hour" takes a long time, but gets done. Yet another security problem... these guys can't seem to get enough of rifling through my carry-on bag and making me empty my pockets completely. Do I look scarier than I had previously believed? Simply must stop twisting mustache and cackling while proceeding through security. Also should get rid of turban.

Flight to Warsaw very pleasant. First impression of Poles is not. Group of guys on same flight are very macho intimidating types. Have to stare them down quite a bit. Not exactly sure of their nationality, to be fair. Did catch derisive talk of "Amerikanner," or some such, for whatever that is worth. In any case, not the best of first impressions to have of a country. Second impression is even worse. Reading bus schedules at the airport is incredibly difficult if you are both in Poland and completely ignorant of the Polish language. Handy-dandy Lonely Planet guide gives me a good bus number to find, but there are giant signs warning of roadwork proceeding and detoured busses, so I want to confirm. Inside airport is large kiosk labeled "Tourist Information." Surely they will be helpful. And they might be helpful in some situations, I suppose. Like if you need a curling iron stabbed into your eye. With matters relating to tourist information, however, they are less friendly. The woman running the booth treated my very polite, simple request for knowledge of bus routes as a fucking Inquisition, as if I, bedecked in oily goatee and shiny red robes, was claiming that my three weapons are fear, surprise, and a fantical devotion to the Pope. Armed with only frustration, I take a chance and hop on the bus. My powers of awesomeness overcome, and I make it to the correct stop without incident.

My hostel (Nathan's Villa Hostel) is absolutely swank. It has a gate and a courtyard and everything. Free internet, free laundry, wonderful facilities, free tea and coffee, complementary toast breakfast, the works. And for a very, very good price. Hands down the best hostel I've ever stayed at. Things are looking up. I get settled and go to meet the guys.

Before coming to Warsaw, I had contacted, through the L5R community, a couple of guys in the city, who graciously offered to show me the city and teach me about Poland. This was the full-on open arms treatment. These guys went way above and beyond the call of duty to make sure that I had a good time in Warsaw, and they deserve every bit of credit I can give them. One of the, Maciek, is a shy, willowy 5th year diplomacy student at the local university who has yet to blossom into everything he could be, but already has a good heart and a soft-spoken conversational manner that's quite nice to experience. Jeske is the exact opposite, a giant round beast of an Austrian-born Polish intellectual, a little out of his head and very outgoing. Both of them have an incredibly good command of English, with Maciek taking the lead in a desire to learn more. Jeske's bad-B-movie stereotypical Eastern-European accent and idiom are hilarious, as I discovered in about five minutes.

The three of us spent the afternoon sightseeing in Warsaw's Old Town, which is absolutely beautiful. Jeske, as it turns out, has a master's degree in history, and is very talkative, and between him and Maciek I get an incredible earful of Polish culture and history in a very short period of time. I'm eating it up. This is exactly the kind of thing that I wanted from traveling Europe. These guys are awesome. We see the Royal Castle (closed so we couldn't take a tour of the interior), the Barbican, various cathedrals and squares, parks, the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier (the Polish version, guarded by very shifty-eyed soldiers), etc. Really great stuff.

Warsaw, like other towns in Europe, is absolutely littered with statues. Everywhere. The fun thing here is that virtually all of them depict someone bearing a scimitar or sabre. Even the mermaid statue. The mermaid has a scimitar. I do love the imagry of Ariel, upon regaining her voice from Ursula's clutches, leading aquatic Saracen armies to holy conquest in the world's most trout-laded jihad.

After the sightseeing and a delicious kebab (even cheaper than in Brussels), the three of us head to a local favorite bar called Paradox. It's near the US Embassy, just a couple blocks from the hostel. It's a real cellar pub, full of books and board games, rough wooden tables and a great atmosphere. We grab a few rounds of proper Polish beers, all of which are just as good as the Poles would claim, hang out, and play some cards. By the time we call it a night, I am very pleasantly exhausted.

October 13

The Polish language, as it turns out, is extremely easy to understand. All you have to do is take any word in English, replace every other vowel with a Z, every other consonant with a C, and add seven extra R's at random. You have now created the Polish word that means the exact opposite of the word you started with. You should, however, under no circumstances, actually pronounce any of these extra letters. To do so would be a heinous act of linguistic sedition. To correctly pronounce everything, first drink three liters of beer and speak with your mouth full of potatoes. Oh, and the letter W is apparently a servant of some dark, Western conspiracy, so treat all of them as V's. This is the only country where reading a street sign can make you sweat blood.

Today doesn't go exactly as planned. Maciek and I planned on doing some sightseeing, which were kind of able to do, but there was stuff that needed transplanting from various apartments to various dorms, which cut into our plans. We did manage to see a good bit of south-central Warsaw, which is veritably festooned with parks. Beautiful parks, full of rose bushes and statues. One of them is a tribute to the composer Chopin, with an enormous statue of him surrounded by a reflecting pool and rows of rose bushes. I hear tell that they hold piano concerts here in summer, and I can see why. I give the statue the finger and move on.

Lunch at a local Thai place. Apparently Poles call all Asian food "Chinese Food," so I take the opportunity to educate Maciek on the particulars of distinguishing different types. I am not the best at this, lacking the California citizenship that allows me to pinpoint East-Central Viatnamese food and comment, nose held high, about how much better it is at the place I normally go to. But I try regardless. In any case, the food is very good, cheap, plentiful, and different from what I have been existing on.

We hang out a bit at Maciek's dorm, which is built like a friggin' prison. I don't mean that it is squat, concret, and ugly, even though it is. I mean that they treat visitors and guests alike with a disdain usually reserved for Shawshank Penitentiary. To crash on his spare bed for the night, we are actually charged 8 zlotys. WTF? Upon questioning, I find that this policy is indeed universal; if one meets a girl at a bar and decides to bring her home to show her your 'Warsaw Uprising,' one must register and pay for her to stay at the front desk. Do these people not understand that this is the students' home? Why this system has been allowed to continue escapes me.

Later, we head out to the aptly named Rock and Roll Cafe, a local basement bar loaded down with classic and metal rock posters, with a musical selection piped through that is absolutely second to none. Maciek and I have a couple rounds of beers and people watch. I have now had 4 types of Polish beer, all of which are stellar. We then head back to Maciek's place to catch some shut-eye.

Maciek's tiny dorm room is home to three guys, one of whom is out of town, leaving me his bed. The second is a guy named Peter, who is about as standoffish as a guy can get. Maciek theorizes that he is embarrassed at being the only one in the room who doesn't speak English? So? I'm the only guy in the room who doesn't speak Polish, and I can at least look him in the eye and smile politely. I get the feeling that Peter is much like Rich, my ex-roomate from hell, a roughly anti-socialite whose only friends are drinking buddies. I feel bad for Maciek having to live with him. He deserves better.

October 14

There used to be Jews here. Now there aren't. Simple as that.

I've learned quite a lot over the years about World War II and the Holocaust. Facts, figures, pictures, videos, testimonials, autobiographies, everything. But one thing I had never considered was a simple truth that Jeske pointed out: They're just not there anymore. One simply doesn't see Jews on the streets of Warsaw these days. Out in the countryside, whole towns have been reclaimed by the earth after their complete depopulation. It is a very interesting and very horrible thing to think of such atrocities in terms of "they used to be here, now they're just gone." It is amazing that after over 50 years, Polish society is still reeling from the surgical removal of one of it's most important elements.

Today is tournament day. Jeske, Maciek, myself, and a friend of theirs took a drive down to the town of Czestochowa for an L5R tournament. By this time, I'm a big believer in using this game, this hobby of mine, as a tool for meeting and interacting with new people. It's an excellent utensil for the job. The tournament is fun as always, and amazingly enough, I win, going undefeated in 8 straight games. The Poles are universally amazed, expressing shock and awe at my ability to build and play a deck typically considered crap. It's a very good ego day. Plus it was an excuse for a road trip, which is always fun.

By the time we get back into town, there is barely enough time to retrieve my stuff from Maciek's dorm and call Jen before heading to Jeske's parents' apartment, where he has graciously extended the invite to sleep for the night. The trek out there involves a tram, a subway, and about 30 minutes of walking, all while toting everything I own, but we got there eventually. An added challenge was actually finding Jeske to let us into the building, who decided to wait for us lurking in the bushes instead of out in the open.

Oh, and along the way I flip off the Palace of Culture and Science.

We spend the night drinking heavily, beer and vodka, and talking of life and love. As it turns out, a good, manly Polish vodka shot is 100 mL, which is bloody enormous. Never to be outdone, I threw back with the guys, and by the time bed rolled around, I was feeling fantastic. Maciek is in the middle of a crisis of the heart, so Jeske and I spent the night trying to revive his belief in romance, which made my little heart positively glow with thoughts and talk of Jenny.

Even the best must eventually hit the sack, and so I do.

October 15

Up at ten and out by noon, which is later than we had thought. Jeske had to go to work early, but he went in late so that we would have the opportunity to sleep in. That's a good friend, right there. Maciek went to his place to get yet more sleep, and I struck out on my own for further sightseeing.

Took a tour of the Royal Castle, since I found out that admission is free on Sundays. When I get there, I'm just in time to slip in with a tour group of university professors from all over Europe who are in town for a conference. This is a special tour organized especially for them, but I exercised my favorite policy of "If you pretend like you have a right to be there, people will let you in." It works perfectly. The tour is fantastic, with a great guide and some truly crazy-shit professors who practically sweat enthusiasm. The castle, completely destroyed during WWII and then rebuilt exactly as it had been, is beautiful, all gold and marble. I got to see an entire wing of the castle not normally open to tours that they opened just for these professors, so I felt very badass. Flipped off the Senatorial Chamber for good measure.

When leave, there is an open air contemporary Christian concert in the square. Hilariously stereotypical, even if it is in Polish. Watch for a minute, flip off the outside of the Castle, and I'm on my way.

Some weird religious service at a giant cathedral nearby. Public communion? People packed in cheek-by-jowl and spilling out onto the street. Don't know what's going on, but give a couple zlotys to a girl collecting money for some good cause. She gives me a lapel sticker that I can't read and I move on.

In another cathedral a rehearsal for some sort of rock orchestra is underway. Very fun to watch. I stay for a minute and check it out. Cathedrals around here are gorgeous and the acoustics are awesome, as one might expect.

I call Jen, then head back to the hostel to meet Maciek for dinner. I have now realized that I left my bushman's hat at Jeske's parents' place. Not sure what to do about that.

Maciek and I grab a kebab then hang out having tea for a while. We say our goodbyes and I hit the sack. Gotta catch the train early tomorrow.

Progress Thus Far:
Countries Visited: 3
Stupid Tourist Moments: 17
Monuments Flipped Off: 12
Free Food Ganked: 3
Free Booze Ganked: 11


if you've never stared off into the distance than your life is a shame.
-Counting Crows


Thursday, October 12, 2006

Maybe I should slit 'em to see color

Location: Rovaniemi, Finland
Status of Santa: Mildly Poignant


October 10

What a shithole.

I do not mean that literally. It is unlikely that at any time, chaos theory will manifest itself in making the 'Heart of Lapland' into the butthole of the Earth, from which poopy magma might flow forth. Be that as it may, it is not the greatest of places.

Rovaniemi is the gateway to Lapland, the northernmost region of Scandanavia, reaching above the Arctic Circle. And by 'gateway' I mean 'tourist trap.' The city itself barely qualifies at as a city at all in population, only reaching that halcyon title by Finnish standards.

The entire place is gray. Rain gray. Sleet gray, rain gray, sleet. Snow gray. The inhabitants shuffle along, responding to even the warmest smile with indifference or even scorn. The city vibrates with a sort of emptiness, the sort of feeling that their livelihood depends on a steady flow of tourists with more money than sense. Which is, indeed, the case.

Now, to be fair, this is the lowest trough of the tourist season, between the summer fun peak and the winter sports peak. I imagine that during those, the most fortuitous of times, the city is positively bumpin'. I would also probably appreciate the cutesy kitsch of the city more had I a traveling companion to share bad jokes with. Sadly, this is not to be.

The main draw for the town is packaged together as Santa's Village and the Arctic Circle Marker. This is, as the name suggests, the where the official Santa Claus resides, with his official post office. Ever written a letter to Santa and stuck it in the mailbox? This is where it goes. Northern Finland. On the whole the village is deliciously cute, although right now it has the feel of a ghost town, the only sounds being the poppy Christmas tunes being eerily piped through the omnipresent sound system. This place needs actual people to feel welcoming.

Santa Claus himself is quite neat, however. I got to spend a few minutes talking with the jolly old elf, who never actually breaks character. We talked about what a good boy I had supposedly been (I didn't have the heart to tell him I had spent the last 10 minutes giving the finger to him and everything in his little village), and I got a sticker to certify the fact. Since I have now officially been north of the Arctic Circle, I think I get a medal or something. Or maybe just a little more ice to wrap around my already cold, merciless heart. After all, I am an American.

One neat thing about the town I almost forgot about: the Finnish language. See, Caj and Malin live in the part of Finland that is predominantly Swedish-speaking, so this is my first immersion into Finnish. The language is insane. It is such that one can't so much as as what day of the week it is without sounding like a grizzled oracle muttering incoherently over the bones. Take the word 'matkustajakoti,' for instance (to pronounce properly, consume 7 beers before reading). Incantation to summon the restless dead? No, that's the word for "guesthouse." It only gets better from there.

Took a walk around a forest nearby, which was enjoyable as always. A bit surreal as well. About a kilometer into the hike, I start hearing the baying of wolves off the trail, not too far in the distance. Arming myself with a fallen tree branch and fantasies of smiting a pack of rabid wolves single-handedly, I go to investigate. What I find is utterly bizarre. It is what appears to be a wolf farm. Scores, perhaps hundreds of wolves are held in pens and by chains inside a partially-fenced compound, all barking and jumping like mad for no particular reason. I couldn't help but stare in fascination at these majestic, powerful animals, left with nothing to do but strain against chains and hope that today is not the day for their pelt to be needed. Very sad.

Way too cloudy for the aurora borealis to be visible, like I was hoping for, so it's time to head back into the city.

Stopped by to see Santa again before hitching a ride back into the city center. Interesting exchange. He was dealing quite well with a cute little girl, bring me to chuckles. As he let her into his 'office,' I commented on how well he handled the kid's enthusiasm. "Good man," I said. "I do my best," he replied. "I'm sure you do, too." He then tailed the kid into the building, leaving me wondering if he knew exactly what I was thinking.

October 11

Very lonely day. Do nothing, waiting to get out of this pissant town and down to Poland. Sun comes out, but can do little to improve my mood.

Guesthouse is well-run, but small, without opportunities to meet other travelers.

All in all, Rovaniemi is the currently low ebb of my travels. Things promise to be better in Poland.


Progress Thus Far:
Countries Visited: 2
Stupid Tourist Moments: 12
Monuments Flipped Off: 8
Free Food Ganked: 2
Free Booze Ganked: 5


some people say the sky is just the sky
but i say
why deny the obvious, child?
-Paul Simon

Monday, October 09, 2006

Brrraaaaiinnnnsss......

Location: Purmo, Finland
Local Youth: Successfully Corrupted

Let me tell you a little bit about Finland.

Upon hearing of the national leisure activities of Finland, one can't help but react as an evil fantasy sorceress would upon hearing that the Child, the Chosen One Who Bears the Mark has been born, and has escaped from her clutches due to the bumbling of an incompetant lackey. "You did what?"

There is a Wife-Carrying Competition. By this I mean a footrace in which the men competing are forced to tote their wives from starting line to finish, making stark reality out of the old 'ball-and-chain' metaphor. On top of that, the positions they use to carry her in the most efficient way possible are such that the Kama Sutra would balk for fear of upsetting the cosmic balance. Yea, and take heed, for such abominations shall surely meet with bunyons and global jeering.

Oh, and they have a plowing competition, as well. It's to see how well someone can drive a tractor. I was unaware that this took a lot of skill, but surely even the most jaded Olympics official must sit up and be made aware. Medals must be awarded and airtime must be devoted as we attempt to see who can make ditches the fastest and straightest.

Do these events represent only a tiny fraction of the population? Perhaps. But I can pass nonsensical judgement on the country as a whole anyway. I'm pretty sure that's one of my unalienable rights as an American Citizen (i.e. deity).

There's also ice hockey and soccer, but they're not as funny.

October 6

Today was largely uneventful - a rest day - until dinnertime, when we drove to the nearby town of SomethingFinnish to have dinner with Malin's parents. They were simply a lovely couple, old and wrinkled and nice as you please. The ladies prepared a kind of cheesy meat pie (very good) while the men watched old John Cleese sketches and talked about nuclear fallout (like you do). Malin's dad had a surprising amount to say about nuclear fallout. As it turns out, he went to Chernobyl some time back, doing charity work. What kind of charity? Cancer charity. Let me make this clear: this man drove into Chernobyl carting a busload of irradiated, cancerous children. If that doesn't take a noble sense of irony and dispassionate good heart, I don't know what does. He was very enthusiastic on the subject and quite well-spoken. And there were pictures. I learned a lot. He also expressed disdain for the per capita population of alcoholics in Eastern Europe and Russia. I'm inclined to believe him. After all, this is like Saladin lecturing you on sand. There's expertise involved.

October 7

Lazy morning. Early afternoon we walk about 2 km down the road (getting chilly in Finland about this time) to a village fair.

Oh, right... villages. They have villages here. I didn't know villages still existed. Cities, towns, municipalities, even a hamlet here and there, but villages? Didn't they die off during the friggin' Industrial Revolution? The only time I'd ever heard the word used before coming to Finland was in conjunction with the word 'Ewok,' or the like. But that's what they live in around here. Villages.

As 'village' implies small, so was the village fair. Pretty much just a handful of local merchants hawking furs and cakes surrounding a surprisingly good all-you-can-eat buffet. There were ponies as well, for the kiddies to ride. The best part about the ponies was that Caj is allergic to them. That sounds malicious, but it's not. Remember the first time you saw a cartoon of an elephant running from a mouse? That's what it's like to see this dynamic adventurer turn tail at the sight of a precious little Shetland pony.

There was also a nice creek running along the back of the fair area. Took a walk there. Woot.

October 8

Up earlier than usual this morning. Went into Jakobstad, the nearby 'big city' of 25,000 people, to have lunch at Caj's grandparents' apartment. Malin claims that Jakobstad is a lovely town, but I just don't see it. Everything seems potholed and almost falling down. Not the kind of place I'd like to live. Much prefer Purmo, as Finland's strength definitely seems to lie in its countryside.

Given that, the grandparents' apartment is quite cozy. They are still friendly as all get out, in their non-English speaking sort of way. I have to admit, I took a sick kind of pleasure in talking about them right in front of their faces, knowing they had no idea what I was saying. I'm sure that bilingual people do it to me all the time, so it's only right that I get a stab at it. They serve us a five-course lunch of fish, fruit, pea soup, cheese, crackers, and such. All quite good, but they are heavy into the grandparently instinct of "Must feed young people... MORE! MORE!" Leave stuffed but happy.

Malin goes to a 'blog date' (gathering for bloggers in the area, ok) and Caj and I head to his grandparents' cottage on a nearby artificial lake to do some fishing. Very pretty at the lake, even though the pike we're fishing for are nowhere about. It's ok, since we had bought some sausage for dinner in anticipation of that. Caj and I mess around on a pullup bar around the cottage, me feeling depressed at how athletic Caj is and doubly depressed by how much muscle I've apparently lost over the summer, then head home.

End night with a sauna so hot I often couldn't breathe. Apparently that's the "right way" to do it here. Why is it that the "right way" of so many cultural activities takes you just short of the point of death? Maybe that is there way of proving to Lord Thor that they are, indeed, hardcore.

October 9

The day of hilarity. Today I have been asked to attend a local high school as a guest lecturer (never thought that would happen) and talk to a class of Finnish 9th graders about what it is like to be young in America. You might be able to guess what I would be like in front of a classroom of kids with total free reign over what to say. The education I imparted?

-School is completely unimportant. The main purpose of public schooling is to meet people to have sex with. My favorite quote: "If your goal in school is to have sex with as many of your classmates as possible before graduating, you won't be disappointed."
-America is an awful, awful place to visit, particularly Idaho, Utah, and Texas (because of potatoes, religious fanatics, and overenthusiastic cowboys, respectively). Doubly funny to me because I've never actually been to any of those states.
-All Americans are expert zombie hunters.

I'm not kidding. I told them these things. I have some of it on video tape. All told the lecture took about an hour, then we broke into smaller groups so I could talk to them more intimately. Interestingly enough, the teacher loved what I had to say. She kept praising me for such an "original" and "provocative" lecture. Neat.

Oh, by the way... did I mention that this was the "special" class at the school? The reason all these kids were even in this class is because they had displayed a lack of motivation to learn. Oh, sweet, delicious irony.

After having lunch with some of the school's faculty, Caj and I hooked up with a teaching colleague of his named Jan (pronounced YAHN; male), who took us kayaking. This was incredible, a free kayaking trip with an experienced guide. Bonus. We actually went out on the same artificial lake that we had fished on yesterday, which, counting surface area, is the largest artificial lake in the world. Its name is Lars-something unpronouncable. The trip was fun, despite being about 8 degrees Celsius and drizzling. It was very long and my shoulders and arms are killing me from all the paddling, but it was also fun and quite pretty. At one point we went out through a sluicegate into the Baltic Sea. Aside from the coolness of kayaking on the Baltic Sea, the sluicegate was fun for the Death Star trash compactor feel it imparted. Damn you, 3p0! Where could he be?

Back home for a spaghetti dinner. Caj and Malin graciously allow themselves to be interviewed for "The Suitcase Life," then the three of us sit down to watch "Capture the Flag." Always enjoyable.

And now, with a 4:00 AM train ticket, it's off to bed.

Progress Thus Far:
Countries Visited: 3
Stupid Tourist Moments: 9
Monuments Flipped Off: 6
Free Food Ganked: 2
Free Booze Ganked: 5



why don't we tell the children?
-Dostoyevsky, "The Idiot"

Saturday, October 07, 2006

Mechanics in Flux

Have started adding pictures to posts. To some degree, this is retroactive. Feel free to revisit past posts and see for yourself.

Also, upon reading some posts, blog not as funny as originally hoped. Will fix that in future.

Thursday, October 05, 2006

As Kings and Warlords

Location: Purmo, Finland
Forearm Condition: Near Breaking

October 3

Only two hours of sleep last night due to Mike the Snoring American's contribution to the annals of audiographic misconduct, but up and at 'em at 7:00 AM. Flight leaves at 10:15, after all. Bit of a struggle because have to get to post office to airmail home bitchin' fantasy art won at World Championships. Too big and nice to travel will, would be smushed. Hard to use post office when you don't know the language, you're carrying 50 pounds of stuff on your back, it's raining, and you have 10 minutes to get in and out or you'll miss your flight to Finland. Also, clerk very rude. Still, get it done. When get home, have awesome artwork waiting for me. Very good.

Two crowded subways and one very cheap and comfortable express train later, at airport. Check in, no problem. Security, problem. Credit card in money belt sets off metal detector. Who knew? Must submit to body search a.k.a. pat down for guns. Minor humiliation, but man working security has very gentle hands. Ew. As it turns out, I have no weapons. Again, who knew? They let me through grudgingly.

Brussels National Airport enormous. 'A' Terminals span three vertical levels. Didn't know terminals could be stacked like that. Freakin' Belgians. Even so, get to gate with 45 minutes to spare. Go me.

Two-leg journey, Brussels-Stockholm-Vaasa. Very uneventful. Pass out on flights. Very attractive girl sitting next to me on second leg, but very standoffish in stereotypical Finnish way. Hell with her. Jenny prettier anyway.

Customs in Finland even more lax than in Belgium. Hadn't thought that possible. They didn't even stamp my passport. Nobody working customs. Nothing to say that I'm even here. Very messed up.

Greated by Caj in airport! Hooray! First time I've seen him in two years. This is one of my good friends from Australia, mind you. The entire reason I came to Finland. He hasn't changed a bit. Very warm greetings all around, then we make the drive to his house in Purmo.

Let me tell you a little bit about Caj. First off, he's the only cool white guy with dredlocks that I've ever known. Expand that out and you'll understand a little bit about him. This is the guy who learned to play both the digeridoo and the organ just for fun. Sings, plays guitar, rock climbs, cooks, drinks, and laughs with equal expertise. If there was a Finnish equivilent to a rennaissance man, this is it. My time with him is about evenly split between awe at his ability to wrangle the world and a deep feeling of being around a kindred spirit in his general attitude. And believe me, in this last I greatly compliment myself.

Caj lives with his wife, Malin (whom I also know from her time visiting Caj in Australia), and his 4-month old daughter Lovis (pronounced LOO-vis) in the tiny Ostrobothnian village of Purmo. And by tiny, I mean there is no one here.

See, Finland (at least this part, the farming countryside that virtually no tourists ever see), is much like the American image of it, if with slightly less tundra and polar bears. There is a very grim beauty around, with literally miles of farmland broken by misty forests in every direction, filled with ramshackle hay barns that are half-collapsed under their own weight. Tell you what... go watch the movie "The 13th Warrior." That's the kind of landscape we're dealing with. The additions of running water and electricity have barely altered a thing.

As it turns out, Caj and Malin are the perfect people to visit. On top of being good old friends, they are also just wonderfully hospitable people who love food, drink, and music, making me feel delightfully at home, physically and spiritually. Not only that, but they are seasoned world travelers, far more so than myself, and thus know what a backpacker wants and needs, and are absolutely determined to show me Finland in all it's native glory. Quite frankly, I couldn't be happier with the arrangement.



I get my first taste of Finnish food on the way home, something called a karjalanpiirakka, essentially bread with cold potato porridge and eggs on top. Quite good, surprisingly. The drive is about an hour and a half long out into the middle of nowhere. Since Finland is already in the middle of nowhere on the world scale, and Vaasa is already in the middle of nowhere on the Finnish scale, then the middle of nowhere on the Vaasa scale should say something.

We arrive at Caj's house and immediately go for a berry- and mushroom-picking excursion, one of the family's favorite activities. As it turns out, the countryside around the house is absolutely littered with berry bushes and edible mushrooms, even as close to winter as it is. We manage to gather a few before Malin gets home with Lovis. We get our greeting ya-yas out, then settle in for dinner. Dinner is homemade pizza, and when I say homemade, I mean from the dough on up, which they mix and back from scratch. This is real folksy stuff, right up the mushroom toppings that they picked themselves. And I'll tell you, it may just have been the best pizza I ever had. Things looking up in the food department, if this is any indication of what things will be like.

After dinner Caj and I head downstairs for a sauna. Oh, important Finland fact: they invented the sauna, and they are very proud of it. Every house in Finland has its own sauna. Seriously. All of them. Government employees have it as part of their contracts that they have the right to at least a weekly sauna. These people are sauna crazy. As it turns out, that means they also know how to do it right. Travel-worn muscles relax in mere minutes in the 165 degree, moist heat, especially combined with good company and an ice-cold Finnish beer (the local beer is delicious). A quick shower and it's bedtime, on a mattress in a spare room. I sleep like a baby.

October 4

Up in the morning to be greeted with porridge for breakfast. Basically hot, plain oatmeal. At first this looks upsetting. However, it's surprising how much a touch of jam, a few raisins, and a splash of milk can improve the taste of oatmeal. Delicious. I eat two huge bowls, and I'm ready to attack the day.

It's a day of long walks, first over to see the house that Caj and Malin are trying to buy (they currently rent). It's a lovely little place with separate buildings for the guest rooms, sauna, carpentry workshop, and stables, which they are giddy over for the possibility of raising sheep and goats there. On the way back, I discover a grove of birch trees planted in perfect, straight lines that reminds me a lot of the forest in any given badass Hong Kong Ku movie. After a little Jones Kung Fu, we're on the road again.

We continue on home for a lunch of sandwiches, delicious on their dark, home-baked bread. After chilling for a while, Caj and I decide on another hike, this time down a trail he's never been down. The walk is long and very peaceful. I can't get over the forests here. They're simply begging to be the location for a fantasy film shoot. It's too good. Thick moss grows everywhere, thin pines tower above us, and the undergrowth has been replaced by mist. Very cool. After about an hour we realize that if we don't head back, we'll be lost as the sun goes down. Trouble is, the trail continues on for another 8 km or so, and if we simply go back the way we came, we'll get caught by darkness in the woods. So we hop onto an intersecting paved road (only one or two of those around here) and take a left on a best guess, Mr. Sulu. Thank God we guessed right, otherwise we wouldn't have been able to make it home. We make a small stop to say hi to and pet some cows. Other than the cows trying to eat me, it goes very well.

Back home, some leftover pizza for dinner (still amazingly good), and to bed.

October 5

This morning's breakfast of porridge is augmented by American-style fried eggs, courtesy of me. I'm not sure how much Caj and Malin like them, but they actually complement the porridge quite nicely.

Caj and I head out to see Lostenen (literally "Lynx Rock"), the largest glacial boulder in Scandanavia, which happens to be about 13 km down the road. It's a bit of a hike once we park, but again with the beautiful forests. We get there and it's quite an imposing sight, this 75 foot boulder in the middle of the forest. We climb up the thing and have a picnic of sandwiches and hot chocolate on top of the rock in the drizzle.

Let me tell you... this is the middle of nowhere. We can see all the way to the horizon from on top of this rock, level with the treeline as it is, and as far as you can see in every direction, there is not a sign of human habitation. Nothing. It's easy to imagine, here, what it was like for the first barbarian tribes to settle the land, stalking through these same forests, utterly unchanged, hunting elk and bears. Inspired, I had to let loose with my own viking bellow from atop Lostenen, letting the roar echo off the trees and the clouds alone.

Then we climbed down and I gave Lostenen the finger.

Back to the house for tea and cake with Caj's grandparents, who dropped by to say hi. They don't speak a word of English, but are very friendly just the same, and the strawberry shortcake is simply divine.

As soon as they leave, Caj and I head to a local gym for some rock climbing practice. This was humbling, to say the least. After a couple of tries, I was finally able to reach the top of the easiest route, my fingers and forearms creaking in protest. Meanwhile, Caj and his friend Toffe (also Malin's cousin, on both sides) are clambering around like little Finnish monkeys. Nay, spiders. It's ridiculous. Caj can actually cling by his fingertips to the ceiling of sheer overhangs. I was gaping the entire time. It suddenly snaps into perfect clarity why Caj's body looks like bundles of steel cables covered by a taut layer of skin. Jesus H. Christ in a Chicken Basket... want to get into shape? Go rock climbing on a regular basis.

Like friggin' superheroes, I tell you.

Coming home, there are mashed potatoes and seasoned chicken for dinner, which my aching body gulps down with cheshire cat eagerness. Another sauna takes the edge off the soreness, and after a spirited discussion on Americans' perceptions of the world versus those of Finns, it's off to bed.

Progress Thus Far:
Countries Visited: 2
Stupid Tourist Moments: 7
Monuments Flipped Off: 6
Free Food Ganked: 2
Free Booze Ganked: 5



i sound my barbaric 'Yawp' from the rooftops of the world.
-Walt Whitman

Wednesday, October 04, 2006

Broken Stones

Location: Brussels, Belgium
Leg Strength: Increasing

October 1

Last day of L5R World Championships. Made Top 32 in Kisada's Gift tourney. Starts early. Win in Top 32, but get knocked out in Top 16. Oh, well. Very fun people around, hanging around more with artists and some friends I made. Good times. Win Challenge Booth later on. Very good. Convince story editor Shawn Carmen to write barfight scene for my clan to win. Excellent. Tournament ends around 8:00 PM, everyone goes their separate ways. Sad to see it go, but it was fun, so count as positive.

Go back to hostel. Use internet to check email, then overhear The Simpsons starting up in lobby TV. Must watch. Unfortunately, dubbed in French. Bump that. Go for dinner, get pizza.

The Simpsons may be in French, but CSI: Miami is in English. End up watching while eating pizza topped with oysters and calimari. Delicious. Watch with a British guy named Joe Jackson. I forget to check his feet, but I choose to believe he was not wearing shoes.

Pass out. Very tired from last few days. Want to sleep in tomorrow. Sadly, American man sleeping across room is worst snorer EVER. Like he is screaming in my now-bleeding ear. Attempt to wake him up, but apparently he is such a heavy sleeper that saying his name and poking him and flicking him and squeezing the circulation out of his arm don't wake him up. Wonder how he ever awakens normally.

October 2

Get up about noon. Cleaning lady very angry I'm still in room. What is the point of having a lockout in the middle of the day? I don't need my bed cleaned, just leave me be. Stupid hostel. Don't stay at "Sleep Well" hostel in Brussels. Name is a lie.

Wander around city some more, getting lost in new and exciting ways.

It is weird to see gangs of thugged-out black guys roaming the streets trash talking, only to realize that their gutteral nonsense is in French. French is not a language that one readily thinks of in terms of ebonics. For that matter, I though inner-city black youth with disciplinary problems were exclusive to the United States, or at least mostly exclusive. Not so. What other countries is the problem present in? How many other languages? One imagines a group of Swahili tribesmen in puffy jackets and bling-bling, vaingloriously throat-clicking away with boastful tales of what is surely the Third World equivilent of riding dirty.

Brussels is very different from the reality of most European cities. Like all things of age, it is slowly crumbling and in need of restoration. However, here, unlike most, there seems to be no effort to preserve the historical nature of the city in an architectural context. Rather, as one thing goes, the newest, most contemporary structure possible is built in its place. Building by building, street by street, the city is modernized. This creates a number of odd situations, glass-walled skyscrapers shooting up between two-story 18th century flats. It's disturbing.

The best example I've found of such a thing is on Blvd de l'Empereur, near the city center. This is a major, four-lane boulevard, mind you. Prime real estate. On one side of the street, one sees the dome of a minor cathedral, several office buildings, a 30-year old bowling alley, and then a chunk of the old city walls. I was stunned to see this. This is the remnant of a major medieval fortification, thirty foot high stone walls with a guard tower and portcullis. It stands flush up against the office building beside it, occupying what is otherwise a grassy, vacant lot. I was astounded. There are no signs, no markers on the map. Passerby walk on without giving it a glance. I wanted to scream at them. "Do you not see this!? This incredible, ridiculous thing! A charge-breaking battlement right in the middle of your precious commercial district!" I don't understand how no one can care about this. There's more culture in that one little chunk of wall than in any two of the city's museums.

So, naturally, I had to give it the finger.

Took some pictures of a ridiculous elementary school gym class doing exercises by this great copper statue of a man on horseback. Why by the statue, kids? Realized when the left that in the distance behind them was a state building of some importance. Flipped that off, too. Very good. Found out later that it was partly St. Jaques Cathedral. Oh, well. I'm sure he did something to deserve it at some point.

Speaking of statues, holy crap. There are more statues in this city than they know what to do with. Giant marble sculptures that would be iconic and famous in the States sit in derelict squares. It's kind of sad, but also kind of majestic. There's a lot to see, even if not all of it is celebrated. I guess that's what comes from having actual history.

Had a Belgian waffle covered in Belgian chocolate. Very good. Let me tell you, that thing will keep you on your feet for a couple extra hours.

Back to hostel for dinner. Kebap shop again. I swear, those things are keeping me alive. I sit down and eat with the snoring American man, Mike, who despite being loud in his sleep is quite good company awake. We watch Hitchcock's 'The Birds' dubbed in French and make raucous fun of it the whole time. Anyone else notice what a bad movie that is? Wow, is it hokey. Good 'Mystery Science Theatre 3000' fodder, though, so we had a good time.

Early to bed. Gotta fly to Finland tomorrow.

Progress Thus Far
Countries Visited: 1
Stupid Tourist Moments: 7
Monuments Flipped Off: 5
Free Food Ganked: 2
Free Booze Ganked: 5



i think that we shall never more, at any future time,
delight our souls with talk of knightly deeds,
walking about the gardens and the halls of Camelot,
as in the days that were.

-Tennyson, "Morte d'Arthur"