Oslo in the wintertime: where everybody can fall asleep and nobody stares at the window from their beds; where at 3 pm the sun is down and sea birds and crows all disappear; the streets are (not so) strangely quiet because everyone is smart enough to stay inside, while I am the only one on holiday. I know, clever huh? By the way, Hissing Fauna, Are You the Destroyer? is a great album.
Unfortunately I didn’t really think about this too much when my Canadian hombre Joey and I set out at three in the morning on our last day of classes, as we had to be in Stansted for a 6:30 am flight just to conserve daylight. Despite being one of the most expensive cities in the world, with a GDP per capita through the roof, Oslo is really just an ugly city. Maybe it’s just the harsh, harsh Norwegian winters. Maybe it’s the disgusting statues everywhere.
After a great dinner at the only place that didn’t charge about 250 NOK for a meal, we set out to explore the town only to find it very quiet and empty. Granted, it was below freezing outside, but these Norwegians should be used to it. We wandered into a bar that advertised karaoke and figured there was nothing wrong with watching Scandinavians try hopelessly to sing awful songs from the 1970s. However, after some deep thinking – the oddly high number of guys, the two affectionate males handling the karaoke machine, and the black guy in the cowboy hat (really, in Oslo?) at the bar made us think that we had accidentally wandered into uncharted territory. After all, Let’s Go tends to advertise a very specific type of nightlife.
Norwegian art is a tricky, ugly thing as we went to the statue garden the next morning and could only think of dirty dead baby jokes and couldn’t figure out why naked males body-slamming little girls was appealing in any way. We walked around and went to the other side of the city while Joey educated me about this Norwegian who so desperately wanted to prove that South Americans populated the islands in the South Pacific that he decided to set out on a small raft just to prove his theory. Well, he succeeded. And he now has a museum. Norwegian art and accomplishments, in a nutshell.
After a night bus we arrived at Stockholm and stayed at one of their fine “Boatels,” basically a hotel on a boat. Which sounds cool, until you realize the bastards were too cheap to spare warm water (the warm water taps in the sink were twisted off completely) and the shower would keep going cold. Which would be fine, except it was about -5 degrees outside. But Stockholm is beautiful, and we watched as hordes and hordes of little kids (on a field trip, maybe?) swarmed the middle island and fought to see who could win the giant candy bars that they were giving away.
Things you learn about Stockholm: in the bathroom at McDonald’s, you can fine more beautiful blonde women than you could find in PiPhi (ah, if only I was a foot taller); if you try to go out on Monday night, everything will be closed (sad but true, their Monday is our Sunday); if you’re planning to walk the streets, wear warm clothing; finally, no matter where you go you can always find classy, ultramodern furniture. All in all, this was probably the best time I’ve ever had in Scandinavia.
About a week ago I went to a birthday party and had names scribbled on my arm when I woke up, along with the word “Amsterdam.” The name alongside it was Jesse, a UCSC transfer who is now parties hard at UCSB – who I found out knew a former asian figure skating prodigy that I have known since middle school. Small world.
Anyway I took two 11 hour bus trips in two days, but maybe because my legs are so short and I always figure out ways to make myself drowsy – they don’t really affect me that much. Jesse and Robin told me (and showed me later) that when they got to their ferry, they decided to buy a 24 pack of Stella’s to make the ride shorter. Personally, I hate getting up and going to the bathroom all the time so I don’t usually try that. An odd thing I found out, to go across the channel, a bus drives onto a train and has the train go across. For some reason that’s really strange to me. My guess is that it has something to do with there maybe not being enough lights underneath, but I’m not sure.
I arrived pretty early in the morning and found out that the coach station and the my hostel were on opposite sides of town and that I was supposed to be right in the middle later. And that the metro is very small in Amsterdam and you really need to go on trams to get anywhere.
After a long check-in process I met up with Zach and Kirsten, a girl from the U that seems to get along and enjoy traveling with Zach, which is impressive I guess. We went to the Van Gogh museum to meet up with Jesse and Robin. They have these video message things that you can e-mail to people (we live in such a hi-tech age) that I thought I would send my parents. Of course, my mother seemed to be angry and quickly asked about everything I did there. Probably a poor decision to send out to my parents.
We went to a coffee shop afterwards and ate at Maoz, which must have been the best falafel I have ever had. Ever. The long bus ride and the fact that most European cities don’t offer tap water – combined with my current efforts of drinking 2 liters of water a day – made my mouth really dry. Like cobwebs in my mouth, it was weird. Afterward I had a desert. I’ve been thinking that when I go back and I have an oven, I am going to make myself brownies and cookies more often. I don’t really eat desert very much, except when I get around to buying fruit.
At night we walked around the red light district and did some window shopping. Not really. It’s weird how short some of them are (fun sized!), and how big and black some of the other ones are. If it’s true that it is around 100 euros a day to rent a window, do these people actually make money? I mean I know it’s usually eastern european women who have no other choice, but many don’t seem to be profitable – some are downright hideous women who don’t even try. After some chinese food, we later found ourselves sitting in a bar looking out the window and cheering whenever a curtain closed and someone was getting paid. We’re supportive people.
We walked around a little more and did a tour of the Erotic Museum, which because of the pornographic cartoons alone was worthwhile. I think. I’m not that sure. After returning to Zach and Kirsten’s hostel, I tried out this thing called the Amsterdam Maximator, which to this point has to have been the worst thing I have ever tasted. Wow.
Somewhere during this time somebody figured out a club that we could get into for free, but I must have been very tired because everybody told me that I was dancing as if I was in slow motion, completely out of it. Must have been the long bus ride that got me all knackered. But because of that I left a little bit early and it took me way too long to get back and find the night bus (I have no idea how much time passed). I believe I left the club at around 1 and I got back at about 3. There were bags that other people left on my bed but I just decided to spoon them because I had no energy to move them.
On Sunday it was raining and miserable so we went to the Anne Frank house. It’s kind of depressing. There was nothing to do so we went to a coffee house to warm up, because none of us really wanted to spend more money going through the hundreds of museums in Amsterdam. And the Heineken Experience was closed so I didn’t get to take the obligatory picture of me playing the drums. Too bad. That’s it I guess, I spent the last of my euros on a cake and a muffin for the bus ride home. You know, in case I got hungry.
Filed under: Travel
Before I begin I have to mention that Ray missed his Eurostar train. He forgot his passport and didn’t realize until we arrived at King’s Cross. So there’s a blurry photo of Platform 9 3/4 because I was holding both bags without anything to do for 40 minutes. But he got on the next train. That wasn’t even that bad – on the way back from Paris he left his Eurostar ticket in our hotel room and had to buy another ticket. His parents promptly lectured him to get better at planning ahead. And eat vegetables. He stopped eating with us and just eats a ham sandwich and pasta with sausages every night.
Joining me this trip were Steph, Julie, and Eric from WashU who go to SOAS and King’s College. Can you believe there’s a School of Oriental and Asian Studies? Yeah, me neither. I was recommended to go to Le Refuge des Fondues right on the bottom of Montmartre for dinner the first night. I’ve never had fondue before, and I’m not sure if I was supposed to eat those “appetizers” before the cheese arrived. We should also have asked for a pot of the meaty stuff. Too bad. I liked that they gave us Kir Cassis (although the sugar was the best part) and served us wine in a baby bottle. It was cute.
Ended up rushing to the Eiffel Tower – but ended up being about five minutes late and we weren’t allowed on top. We saw plenty of drunk Americans walking around to compensate. The Metro was on strike that week so it was confusing getting around, but at least the first day we didn’t have to pay for anything.
The next morning we woke up early and went to eat breakfast near the Louvre at a fairly cheap place. Except fairly cheap is very expensive in Paris when you want to sit down. Our French was so poor, despite the fact that Julie took years of it, that they just didn’t serve Eric his omelette. We asked the waitress several times, but she just nodded and said it was coming. Then we asked for our check and it wasn’t on there. How rude. Despite the fact that meals were expensive, I think I ate better in Paris than I had on any vacation (except I also spent a lot more money) – but the pastries are ridiculous there. Every little shop you’re tempted to buy something.
We walked to Ile de la Cite and saw Notre Dame. Ray and Eric decided it was okay to donate about a euro to take a five euro candle that you were supposed to leave in the church and light as a prayer? Or something, I really have no idea how Christianity works. It’s not like they’re stealing from God. It was raining that morning so we rushed to the Musee D’Orsay. It’s a former train station renovated with all the impressionist crap they kicked out of the Louvre. Ray met up with his friend Olivia from high school who was studying in Paris and we walked around. I didn’t know that you could take photos in Museums like that. Really cool place though.
Walked through the Tulleries and after pronouncing it har-DEEN for so long, I completely forgot that the French actually use their “j” properly. Strolled down the Champs Elysees and noticed a sizable group of asian tourists in front of the Arc de Triomphe. There were about eight peace signs in their collective hands. My one regret is not trying to jump into that photo. Afterwards, we strolled into the huge Louis Vuitton store and watched as more asian tourists would sit there and drop down hundrd euro bills like it was some sort of drug deal. Scary sight.
We unfortunately had to pay for the Metro at this point, and rode to the Louvre because it was free for students Friday night. I tried to reenact a photo of me sleeping with my mom carrying me in the Louvre, so I forced Ray to pick me up on one arm. Twice. By the way this really has to be the most ridiculous museum in the world.
Woke up early to climb up Montmartre – not after engaging in a mini black friday with a bunch of poor Parisians in the area, basically because Steph had to buy a new pair of shoes because well, she brings one pair of small slip on flats that really don’t hold up well in the rain.
The girls really wanted Long Champ bags so we went to the store. I was considering getting something, I mean – it’s a Parisian brand, and I was in Paris (meaning an incredible gift) – but honestly, they are notable because they make a bag out of parachute material. I guess they expand, but you can’t put anything in it when it’s small, so what’s the point. I specifically asked this question and the person really did not have a good answer.
Julie left to meet her friend, so we went to meet up with Olivia again and went to the Latin quarter. This was really confusing because I thought this was something like a latin-american/spanish quarter, not just something that had to do with the Sorbonne. wow. So confusing. I guess it has to do with the French Quarter in NOLA? I don’t know. I was so confused. We met up with some of Olivia’s friends in Paris as we rescued Kate from a creepy French guy with black leather serial killer gloves.
We concluded the trip with a trip up to the Eiffel Tower despite the best efforts of the Parisian students to get us to go clubbing some 30 minutes outside of the city. I suppose you don’t really get to go to the Eiffel Tower that much. Unless you’re Julie. It’s her fifth time in Paris.
Filed under: Travel
Once upon a time we all traveled together to Italy. Unfortunately, since everybody had a little trouble getting along, three separate groups were formed. Zach went to Barcelona on Thursday early. Austin, Mark, Preeyanka, and Monty (short for Montserrat) coincidentally enough ended up having the same flights to Barcelona and back from Madrid, so we went together. Again. Due to near mishaps and paranoid travelers, a decision was made to go to the airport four and a half hours early. It takes about an hour and a half to get there. Right. Anyway, I decided to stay up all night and ended up cooking for myself at 4 a.m. and didn’t even need to eat until 7 p.m. the next day.
I should mention that Ray and Zach had an issue with their computer science professor, affectionately known as Max due to students showing no respect whatsoever for any teacher at this “uni.” Essentially, he had given them an exam during reading week and let them know only three weeks before. Originally they planned to just skip the exam, but found out the weight was going to be 40% of their grade. This pretty much forced them to change their plans as the professor proved to be unreasonable. So, Zach had to fly back from Barcelona early and Ray had to cancel the Barcelona trip altogether and pay really expensive flights. Thus, they kept making the “Max face,” consisting of an awkward combination of gritting teeth and a protruding chin – with eyeballs going around the room and making a loud “uhhhh” sound that sounds close to Scooby Doo. Jinkies.
Anyway, with my Moroccan roommate Yassine, some of us set out to Barcelona. Fortunately he spoke Spanish, French, and Arabic and could translate for us most of the time – except in Barcelona, they actually speak Catalan. Annoying. We had to fly into Girona and after plenty of delays, we finally got to Barcelona at about 5:00 p.m., 11 hours after we set out. We went around La Rambla that night and vastly overpaid for one of the worst meals I’ve ever had, then went around and saw the shops and the street entertainers. One showed off his ventriloquism by making his Kermit the Frog puppet play the piano. Later we walked around the port and enjoyed a bucket of cotton candy while jazz music played as there was a concert for the Barcelona Regatta race. It’s weird hearing people sing so well in English then revert right back to speaking Catalan after applause.
We stayed in a hostel close to La Sagrada Familia, otherwise known as the most popular construction site in the world. There’s this place called Montjuic, loosely translated to “Mount Jew” that houses a fortress and the 1992 Olympic games which we trekked up to the next day. Pretty cool. Those Jews get everything. Unfortunately coming down the castle one of the cable cars shut down before it was even 1:30 p.m. and we had to walk quite a bit. But we finally found a subway stop and made it to the beach. I haven’t been there since I was a naked little boy (there’s photographic evidence). We finished the day with the Picasso museum. Despite being in his native city, there really wasn’t much there from his cubist phase except for Las Meninas, which we also saw later in Madrid. I think I’m beginning to understand more and more modern art. Maybe.
The next morning we left for Casablanca and the long ride to Tangier. Despite the fears from some that felt I was going to a third world country, I thought it was a fairly metropolitan city in constant construction like many developing cities in China, except Tangier is in an incredible location on a double peninsula with an amazing bay. So no pollution. We stayed with Yassine’s family and he showed us his room, or “studio” where he used to record stuff. We listened to his demo and other music. He told us that he had an opportunity to play for over 500,000 people but was unable to find a band as he usually plays most of the instruments by himself.
Ray and Zach then arrived at midnight right after their exam, and we went out to the Tangerine, a bar nearby. Seriously, Tangier is “Tanger” in French. And they can definitely grow oranges and orange-like substances. I don’t know why I never put this together. Anyway, there we randomly found a few people from Yassine’s high school. Two twins were also celebrating their birthday on the same day and due to a close relationship with the bartender, they ended up paying for our drinks.
We woke up and registered for classes. We’re good kids. After some terrible paella in Barcelona, we finally had the home-made huge pan style paella that only seems right, and we went out to the beach on the Atlantic side. There are no maps of the city of Tangier available because well, the government is afraid of bombs I think. But anyway, I’m pretty sure we went to the beach by Cap Spartal because that’s what I read from the easyJet inflight magazine. Can’t go wrong there. There was a lighthouse. But yeah, the beach was ridiculous because there was so much wind that every few minutes the sand particles would just rush at us like a sandstorm. But the weather in London makes any beach seem amazing. Later that night we went out to celebrate Ray’s birthday with his favorite food, hamburgers. Seriously. So we went to this place called Eric’s where they made their burgers with really sweet bread, an egg on top, and some cheese and grilled onions. Not bad. We went out to another bar and hung out for a bit before heading home.
For the last day in Tangier, we woke up early and all got haircuts for basically the first time since the summer. We had authentic Moroccan couscous for lunch, and then went out to see the Kasbah and shop at the Medina. Annoyingly, everybody kept saying “konichiwa” or “arrigato” as I walked by because Japanese media filters well to Africa apparently. Unfortunately, this did not help me negotiate. Even though so many of them were so hospitable. We walked further downtown and saw a lot of the sights that were used in the Bourne Ultimatum, including the café and the location of the rooftop chase scene (I haven’t seen it yet, but I made Tai download for me). Yassine told us that Paul Greengrass actually went to his high school and they had a talk about using Final Cut Pro. That’s one degree right there.
We went to Madrid the next day. Shortly after we arrived, we had to go on the metro to the city center and our hostel and due to it being so crowded, someone tried to steal my wallet out of my back pocket (didn’t think to put it anywhere safer since I just got out of the plane) and when I quickly spun around he elbowed me in the face and ran off of the train. Anyway, I told my little story to Kassity and she feels inside her bag and realizes that her wallet was actually stolen. Awful. So after we got to our hostel she immediately has to call and e-mail her parents about canceling all her stuff. We ate dinner at Museo de Jamon, which was pretty exciting until we realized it was just a chain restaurant.
At our hostel bar we met two girls from Villanova, one of whom dated our suspended “star” quarterback in middle school apparently, and somehow the conversation went to a guy named Joe Costello, who Ray knew from high school. Of course drunk Ray was a big fan of Joe Costello’s and kept on talking and talking about him, with intimate details about his hairy arms and how it seemed like how the hair would transfer if he touched someone. Naturally the girls asked us if he would be okay later. We walked around Madrid for a little and then went to this club that was free, including free drinks for girls.
Ray awoke from passing out on top of his sheets and left for Toledo the next morning to meet his friend Casey and we walked around Madrid. It was nice because there was a Spanish holiday and thousands of people were gathered for mass outdoors. We went walking out past the palace to a park and rowed boats and road the cable cars before we got back. Then we met a really nice Australian girl who was an au pair in Milan and told us stories about randoms spraining her knee from behind and hospitalizing her and her travels through Europe. We ate some bocadillos for dinner, loaded up on sangria, received some complimentary shooters, and then went back to our hostel where there was a John McEnroe look-alike DJ sporting a tennis racket so we decided to get Crazy in Love like Funk Soul brothers. We met up with some of Zach’s friends from high school and they went to some crazy five-story club called Teatro Kapital, but I ended up coming back and talking to this guy from East Carolina about his adventures in Interlaken, Switzerland doing the high roping courses and swinging from ropes while being thousands of feet away from the ground in the alps. Something for the future, perhaps.
Due to the late night (the Spanish really do spend time partying until 5am pretty regularly), we slowly woke up and went to the Museo Nacional del Prado and saw the Goya exhibits – who is pretty crazy in his own right – as well as the non-Picasso Las Meninas. Walking around the nice park I saw some Spanish wedding photographs taking place with bridesmaids clad in bright orange and noticed how the Spanish love to lisp their “c’s” and “z’s,” just because a king used to do it. Strange stuff. We went to the airport later and Ray came back extremely excited about spending 87 eurocents to go out the previous night and get free drinks through theft and the occasional homosexual who offered him shots. Maybe it was just the lisping though. It’s confusing overseas.
Filed under: Travel
I bought new cereal at the ASDA the other day, a painful ordeal that consisted of a long bus ride in the rain listening to idiotic kids with fake guns (seriously, they would have been jumped by security in America but no one actually owns a gun here so they were obviously fake) quoting Borat the entire time and making obnoxious comments. Anyway, I bring this up because instead of going to Victoria station nice and early, we decided to sit down and eat the new cereal. Tai even decided to bring the leftover milk and a bag of leftover cereal with him on the Underground. He poured some of the cereal into the milk carton. It was awkward. Once again, we had to run to make sure we caught our coach.
After an all night bus ride, we stayed with Isaac Wang. If you don’t know this guy, then you have to imagine a very fobby-looking (he hadn’t shaved his wispy little Asian mustache since arriving in Glasgow), “PrYd3ful ChIna bOi” (he actually types like that), who embodies conservative and christian ideals like no other – and despite growing up in a sketchy Houston area he unfortunately learned how to talk. He is extremely homophobic and likes to sound educated by bringing up biased examples of conservative superiority, and really supports America.”
So while most studying in Glasgow, including two of my former editors, would revel in the amazing independent scene that has dominated the area, Isaac prefers to play Tekken five hours a day and deludes himself into thinking that he is the best Tekken player ever. In the past week, Glasgow was home to concerts from bands such as the White Stripes, Cold War Kids, and the Arcade Fire – Isaac knows nothing of this and prefers listening to Ne-Yo and watching comedies with laugh tracks because he doesn’t know when to laugh at the ones without them.
Needless to say, we only walked around Glasgow for a morning. However, somehow outside of Tekken he has found time to travel and we went to Edinburgh and Stirling where we saw castles and bagpipes and kilts and giant swords! Some things I figured out:
- Kilts are really expensive, especially the good ones. They’re basically formal wear similar to Tuxedos and you’re unlikely to get the whole ensemble for less than 100 pounds.
- Braveheart is ridiculously, ridiculously historically inaccurate. I hate Mel Gibson. For the very famous “Battle of Stirling Bridge,” Mel Gibson got rid of the bridge! When asked by a local why the Battle of Stirling Bridge was filmed on an open plain, Gibson answered that “the bridge got in the way.” “Aye,” the local answered. “That’s what the English found.”
- A scottish accent is incredibly difficult to understand sometimes, especially when it comes from a drunkard on a bus.
- Daylight savings time is terrible because it’s dark in Scotland at around 4 p.m.
- It rains a lot in Scotland. A lot. I forgot my umbrella and still have yet to use it.
So I totally had to watch Braveheart when I got back, and I think it’s ridiculous how old Mel Gibson looks and I can’t figure out what movies he has been in when he was young. What was he famous for? Mad Max? Lethal Weapon? Women actually find him good looking? It’s very confusing to me. The Wallace Monument does have a statue of him in the front though. Very strange.
