I spent this past weekend on a whirlwind trip back to the alma mater, old Dartmouth College, for Homecoming weekend. For any of you not familiar with the concept, it is a special weekend designated for Alumni to return to campus. Dartmouth has a reputation of creating very involved and attached alumni, for better or for worse, so this weekend is generally a big deal.
I drove up with my friend Stu, with whom I'm staying in New York, and my friend Eric, a recent addition to my list of friends in the Big Apple. We all were in the same fraternity at Dartmouth, Sig Ep; Stu graduated in '08, while the E-Factor was a classmate of mine. We had a bit of an ordeal trying to find Stu's sister's car which was in White Plains (a train and bus ride north of the city) and navigating traffic in Connecticut, but we got to campus in time to get really drunk and go out. The night ended with me, Eric and Will '07 making food in the Sig Ep kitchen. The Factor and Will were frying hotdogs and I made the executive decision to make eggs, in the same pan as the hotdogs, naturally. I now have a new saying: too many drunk cooks make for a hilarious story. Stu however was determined for us not to be able to enjoy our creation, so he took it upon himself to ruin the food with any white, powdery substance he could find: Splenda, flour and salt all found their way onto our plates. Normally I welcome salt on my eggs, but when the salt to egg ratio is anywhere near one, I usually chalk it up in the loss column; however, I was determined, so I tried to offset the taste with parmesan cheese. As one might expect, this failed.
The notable (legitimate) event of the weekend was the banquet celebrating Sig Ep's 100th anniversary as an organization on the Dartmouth Campus. Not really too much to say about this, besides that drinking on someone else's tab is always nice and they had an amazing spread of hors d'oeuvres. I somehow found myself in a conversation with a few younger alumni who were maybe 26, that devolved into a discussion about the hors d'oeuvres at a recent party one of them had thrown. All I could think was that I really hoped I would not be in their shoes in four years time.
While I was having lunch with my friend Numra in London, I had told her about my plans to visit Dartmouth. She assured me that I would be disappointed and would see that the campus had completely moved on without me there and I would feel very strange being there. I agree that it felt strange, but for the opposite reason; I felt as if almost nothing had changed, and I had completely regressed into my old habits. The pattern of sweaty Chi Gam dance party followed by tomfoolery on friday and getting rid of hangover by hanging out at the cross country house only to find a regrettable hook up at Heorot on Saturday has been a tried and true method of wasting a weekend.
One more comment about friendship: I think that there are two moments you can have with your friends that are unbeatable. First is realizing that you have no idea exactly how or when you became friends with someone. The second is constantly being reminded of why you are friends with someone. Both of these happened this weekend, the second repeatedly, and this helped make it a great weekend. Lets just hope I don't over do it by going back next weekend, I kind of have to in order to make it back to Wisconsin as my flight goes out of Boston next Tuesday.
Monday, October 26, 2009
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
And then it ends....
On Monday I flew back to the US. London to Dublin, Dublin to NYC. So far the strangest thing to me is to have people that I know well to talk to on a regular basis (I'm staying with my friends Stu and Mike on the Upper East side for a bit.)
Before I left, I managed to get really smashed, decide I was too lazy to take advantage of my last shot at seeing a soccer match, piss off locals, get my brother so drunk he could barely stay awake on the busride to his friend's place, and be too hungover to go to Cambridge. On the plus side, I got to hang out with Numra, Scott and Tom, who I met in Prague, and introduce them to my brother. I also went to a baller, if not expensive, fish and chips place in London. The fish was so beautfully breaded, tender on the inside, yet crisp on the outside. I'm getting hungry just thinking about it. I've decided I like vinegar with my "chips", but I will approach a "when in Rome" approach to french fry condiments, which means back to good old Heinz 57 here in the states. Vinegar on fried potatoes also applies to our chips, what the Brits call "crisps." Salt and vinegar is now officially my favorite flavor, followed by sour cream and onion, plain salted, and bbq.
Although I only spent a few hours in Dublin, I managed to get aquainted with a time honored Irish tradition - drinking. I made my first duty free purchase, two bottles of Irish Whiskey for 20 euro. They had a woman there with free samples from Ireland's purportedly "last independent distillery", and she convinced me to get two bottles instead of one. It's proven valuable, as drinks here in new york are really expensive, and the whiskey has a pretty good affect on me. I also managed to get a Guiness in the airport bar, I didn't need it, but I felt like it would be a shame not to have one. I got ripped off a little, but I suppose if they hadn't let me give them $9 for a 4.50 euro beer, I wouldn't have had it at all.
If anybody has been accustomed to reading this blog, fear not, I'm still technically travelling for two more weeks in the US, and I'll have a lot of summary kind of stuff when I get back to Wisconsin. Who knows, maybe I'll even keep it going for a bit, Madison can be strange as well.
Before I left, I managed to get really smashed, decide I was too lazy to take advantage of my last shot at seeing a soccer match, piss off locals, get my brother so drunk he could barely stay awake on the busride to his friend's place, and be too hungover to go to Cambridge. On the plus side, I got to hang out with Numra, Scott and Tom, who I met in Prague, and introduce them to my brother. I also went to a baller, if not expensive, fish and chips place in London. The fish was so beautfully breaded, tender on the inside, yet crisp on the outside. I'm getting hungry just thinking about it. I've decided I like vinegar with my "chips", but I will approach a "when in Rome" approach to french fry condiments, which means back to good old Heinz 57 here in the states. Vinegar on fried potatoes also applies to our chips, what the Brits call "crisps." Salt and vinegar is now officially my favorite flavor, followed by sour cream and onion, plain salted, and bbq.
Although I only spent a few hours in Dublin, I managed to get aquainted with a time honored Irish tradition - drinking. I made my first duty free purchase, two bottles of Irish Whiskey for 20 euro. They had a woman there with free samples from Ireland's purportedly "last independent distillery", and she convinced me to get two bottles instead of one. It's proven valuable, as drinks here in new york are really expensive, and the whiskey has a pretty good affect on me. I also managed to get a Guiness in the airport bar, I didn't need it, but I felt like it would be a shame not to have one. I got ripped off a little, but I suppose if they hadn't let me give them $9 for a 4.50 euro beer, I wouldn't have had it at all.
If anybody has been accustomed to reading this blog, fear not, I'm still technically travelling for two more weeks in the US, and I'll have a lot of summary kind of stuff when I get back to Wisconsin. Who knows, maybe I'll even keep it going for a bit, Madison can be strange as well.
Saturday, October 17, 2009
Love it
I arrived in London a few days ago. The whole "it's really going to end soon" feeling is coming on full force. I've spent two days just lounging around my friend Prue's house, as I've spent almost the last 10 days just walking around European cities. Couple that with bad drinking habits and it was only about time before exhaustion and maybe even a little bug set in.
But thankfully I have a nice warm bed and more healthy food than I can eat. Prue works with food professionally and when I showed up she had already cooked two lasagnes, a plate of English sausages and had bought beer, juice and other food for me. Since I've been here, she's also cooked me several additional meals including a real English breakfast.
Back to beer: so the thing here in Britain is to go to a pub and drink "real" ale. Usually this is "bitters," and traditionally is cooled by keeping it in the cellar. It is then brought up to the bar by means of a hand pump (not electric or a tap). I learned this from a book and kept it in mind. Apparently the "British Pub" is dying out, being replaced by chain pubs that serve refrigerated lager and have huge plasma tv screens for watching soccer. So for a "real" pub experience, these are a big N-O. While I was out yesterday I went by this place called "The Salisbury", which advertised itself as a "sports free pub" and mandates that nobody can wear soccer jerseys inside. It also advertised hand-pumped ale, so I decided that this would be my first foray into drinking in London. If it didn't have good beer, it would at least have character. It was beautiful inside, with elaborate windows and carvings. It looked trendy - had lots of young, good-looking people - but the beers looked legit and I ordered a "Bombardier" bitter. The bartender even helped me out with my important decision by giving me a few samples. Bombardier was a bit darker, more flavorful than the other, so I went with it. Really good, smooth all the way down, nice color, looking forward for some more good ales tonight.
But thankfully I have a nice warm bed and more healthy food than I can eat. Prue works with food professionally and when I showed up she had already cooked two lasagnes, a plate of English sausages and had bought beer, juice and other food for me. Since I've been here, she's also cooked me several additional meals including a real English breakfast.
Back to beer: so the thing here in Britain is to go to a pub and drink "real" ale. Usually this is "bitters," and traditionally is cooled by keeping it in the cellar. It is then brought up to the bar by means of a hand pump (not electric or a tap). I learned this from a book and kept it in mind. Apparently the "British Pub" is dying out, being replaced by chain pubs that serve refrigerated lager and have huge plasma tv screens for watching soccer. So for a "real" pub experience, these are a big N-O. While I was out yesterday I went by this place called "The Salisbury", which advertised itself as a "sports free pub" and mandates that nobody can wear soccer jerseys inside. It also advertised hand-pumped ale, so I decided that this would be my first foray into drinking in London. If it didn't have good beer, it would at least have character. It was beautiful inside, with elaborate windows and carvings. It looked trendy - had lots of young, good-looking people - but the beers looked legit and I ordered a "Bombardier" bitter. The bartender even helped me out with my important decision by giving me a few samples. Bombardier was a bit darker, more flavorful than the other, so I went with it. Really good, smooth all the way down, nice color, looking forward for some more good ales tonight.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Beer and Love in Munich
Having just graduated from College, I still strongly remember how important beer and love are to one another. In a vicious cycle, beer allows for love and the thirst for love brings about the thirst for beer. While I like to think that I realized pong does not constitute a real date before I ended my senior year, there were many a night where I would partake in the partay so that I might be a little more inclined to approach a total stranger, either be funnier or willingly let her grind my junk into a pulp with her rear end in a sweaty dance party, and have the night end in disaster either there or a few hours later the morning after. In a bigger picture, beer was more than social lubricant between the sexes, it served as bonding agent among friends - wether you drank or even if you strongly opposed it, social stratifier (where else is your social position based on how well you hit a one-inch ball into a plastic cup?), and an outlet for the competitive side of once glorious high school athletes who were only big fish in a small pond.
In Bavaria, over the centuries beer has been woven a bit more subtly into the patchwork quilt of daily life. With one notable exception, beer becomes the flavoring of traditions, rather than the tradition itself. For example, most Barvarian villages have a may pole. Instead of dancing around it with ribbons (not sweet), the young men have a free for all king-of-the-mountain competition to see who can reach the top first. He who does is rewarded with beer. Also involving the maypole is the tradition of stealing another villages pole. Should you successfully do so, you can ransom it; you get to party and the village to which it belongs must pick up your tab.
Love is no exception; beer culture in Munich colors this aspect of life as well. Another tradition involving both a pole and beer is a courtship ritual, where a young man gets to show his affections for a young lady. This young man would cut down a tree, carve it into a pole and decorate it with colors and symbols that he thought would indicate he had made it and, in the dead of night, would erect it in the yard of whomever he fancied. The guy would then wait in the bushes until the girl came out and noticed the pole. If she recognized who had put it there (from the markings) and she had similar feelings for the guy, she would come out and dance around it. However, if the feeling was not mutual, she would quietly place a case of beer next to it. For me, it's a win-win for the guy.
As I said in a previous post, Oktoberfest started out as a wedding celebration for the heir to the Bavarian throne. They partied for two weeks and liked doing it so much, they had another party the next year (presumably for the anniversary). By the third year they just said "fuck it, lets make it a beer-drinking festival," so now, for two weeks every year in Munich, everybody just gets drunk.
Of course, Oktoberfest is the exception I mentioned, where it's really all about the beer. The Munich breweries all make special Oktoberfest brews, which come only in one liter mugs and are about twice as strong as normal beer. You can only get beer if you're in a tent; you must be sitting down and the tent you're in determines which beer you're drinking.
Though it's not really about love anymore, it's hard not to notice that raging hormones abound at Oktoberfest. Copious amounts of booze is always a good way to get the libido going and the dresses the women wear are probably the next best thing to a viagra for German men. The name for these dresses is approximately pronounced "durndle." As Frank, a Municher who I met in the tent, says, "every girl looks good in a durndle," which, while great for the present-tense of checking girls out, could be trouble for the morning after, when the durndle is lying on the floor. These wonderful garments have magical effects, beautifully emphasizing the right areas and even come with their own system signaling the girl's availability, God bless 'em. The dresses have a sash that goes around the middle and the placement of the knot on the waist pretty much determines how receptive they will be to one's advances. A knot on the right means "I'm taken," where a knot on the left means "I'm single." Additionally a knot in the back means "widower" and right in the front and center means "virgin." So basically, Oktoberfest is the world's biggest "red light green light party."
I think the best part of Oktoberfest is that the Bavarians don't keep it all to themselves. If you're respectful, fun, and can handle your liquor, they'll invite you to party with them with open arms.
And as I learned, thanks to a durndle-clad lass, even foreigners can enjoy more than the beer at Oktoberfest.
In Bavaria, over the centuries beer has been woven a bit more subtly into the patchwork quilt of daily life. With one notable exception, beer becomes the flavoring of traditions, rather than the tradition itself. For example, most Barvarian villages have a may pole. Instead of dancing around it with ribbons (not sweet), the young men have a free for all king-of-the-mountain competition to see who can reach the top first. He who does is rewarded with beer. Also involving the maypole is the tradition of stealing another villages pole. Should you successfully do so, you can ransom it; you get to party and the village to which it belongs must pick up your tab.
Love is no exception; beer culture in Munich colors this aspect of life as well. Another tradition involving both a pole and beer is a courtship ritual, where a young man gets to show his affections for a young lady. This young man would cut down a tree, carve it into a pole and decorate it with colors and symbols that he thought would indicate he had made it and, in the dead of night, would erect it in the yard of whomever he fancied. The guy would then wait in the bushes until the girl came out and noticed the pole. If she recognized who had put it there (from the markings) and she had similar feelings for the guy, she would come out and dance around it. However, if the feeling was not mutual, she would quietly place a case of beer next to it. For me, it's a win-win for the guy.
As I said in a previous post, Oktoberfest started out as a wedding celebration for the heir to the Bavarian throne. They partied for two weeks and liked doing it so much, they had another party the next year (presumably for the anniversary). By the third year they just said "fuck it, lets make it a beer-drinking festival," so now, for two weeks every year in Munich, everybody just gets drunk.
Of course, Oktoberfest is the exception I mentioned, where it's really all about the beer. The Munich breweries all make special Oktoberfest brews, which come only in one liter mugs and are about twice as strong as normal beer. You can only get beer if you're in a tent; you must be sitting down and the tent you're in determines which beer you're drinking.
Though it's not really about love anymore, it's hard not to notice that raging hormones abound at Oktoberfest. Copious amounts of booze is always a good way to get the libido going and the dresses the women wear are probably the next best thing to a viagra for German men. The name for these dresses is approximately pronounced "durndle." As Frank, a Municher who I met in the tent, says, "every girl looks good in a durndle," which, while great for the present-tense of checking girls out, could be trouble for the morning after, when the durndle is lying on the floor. These wonderful garments have magical effects, beautifully emphasizing the right areas and even come with their own system signaling the girl's availability, God bless 'em. The dresses have a sash that goes around the middle and the placement of the knot on the waist pretty much determines how receptive they will be to one's advances. A knot on the right means "I'm taken," where a knot on the left means "I'm single." Additionally a knot in the back means "widower" and right in the front and center means "virgin." So basically, Oktoberfest is the world's biggest "red light green light party."
I think the best part of Oktoberfest is that the Bavarians don't keep it all to themselves. If you're respectful, fun, and can handle your liquor, they'll invite you to party with them with open arms.
And as I learned, thanks to a durndle-clad lass, even foreigners can enjoy more than the beer at Oktoberfest.
Oktoberfest Panorama
N-eh-bors to the north
Pictures from Nice, Waynes Bar, etc.
Repping Fresh Friday, or "Tie-day Friday" as the Canadian guys called it. Earlier in the night I taught them all to play "sevens elevens or doubles." Obviously it was the perfect start to the evening.
the canadians from right to left: Brittany, Emilie, Jennie, Drew, Poncho and Mark
Fountian dancing at 4 am
Monday, October 12, 2009
Good eats
Food has always been a big part of my travel experience even before coming to Europe and Paris, as expected, is the world headquarters of good eats. Yesterday I got a pain au chocolat, a croissant with chocolate filling, at this bakery that advertised as using pure butter. An unofficial rule I have is to always support places that use pure butter in their baking, like Umplebee's in Hanover, so even though I wasn't really hungry I was able to enjoy and delicious, golden, flaky, soft, buttery treat. Before I got hit with tear gas, I stopped by the mosque near the Jardin des Plantes for a pastry, as suggested by Andrew Lebovich. I'd never really had arab pastries before, although they did seem to have baklava, but everbody in the mediterranean seems to have that. I got a pistachio and honey pastry, which was really dense and sweet. So good.
Lunch today kind of took me by surprise. I wasn't planning on eating in Montmartre, but I walked into a charcuterie (kind of a delicatessen) and got jumped by a visual and olfactory display that only Hellen Keller with a head cold could walk away from. I got their 5€ special, which included a giant slice of chevre (goat cheese) et legumes (vegetables) quiche, a drink, and two cookies. Quiche is not something I usually eat back home, I think the last one I had was from Homeplate brunch my freshman year, when I didn't know any better than to try Dartmouth Dining services attempts and specialties from around the world. This quiche was so good that now I'm not sure any quiche I try back home can do anything but disappoint. We'll have to see, I guess.
For a snack I got some Tunisian pastry as I explored the area inbetween my hostel and the Pere Lachaise cemetary, where famous people are buried if they're not good enough to get into the Pantheon. It was a fried pastry dough shell filled with a mix of honey, almonds, and sesame seeds. Very different even from the pistachio thing I'd had the night before, but very tasty. I'm really glad I got to try these here because I have no idea where to even find Tunisian people in the United States.
My plan for tonight is to get some North African food in the Belleville neighborhood near where my hostel is. The suggestion came from one Robert Joynt, who studied an entire semster in Paris. There is an Algerian restuarant that the hostel clerk suggested, it appears to serve grilled meats and couscous, which sounds good to me.
So I only have a handful of Euros left and I won't take out anymore because I'm headed to London tomorrow, so whatever I don't spend on dinner will go towards wine to bring to Prue. Word of the Day: Plonk, british slang for cheap wine.
so prue, get ready for some sufficiently plonkish times ahead.
Lunch today kind of took me by surprise. I wasn't planning on eating in Montmartre, but I walked into a charcuterie (kind of a delicatessen) and got jumped by a visual and olfactory display that only Hellen Keller with a head cold could walk away from. I got their 5€ special, which included a giant slice of chevre (goat cheese) et legumes (vegetables) quiche, a drink, and two cookies. Quiche is not something I usually eat back home, I think the last one I had was from Homeplate brunch my freshman year, when I didn't know any better than to try Dartmouth Dining services attempts and specialties from around the world. This quiche was so good that now I'm not sure any quiche I try back home can do anything but disappoint. We'll have to see, I guess.
For a snack I got some Tunisian pastry as I explored the area inbetween my hostel and the Pere Lachaise cemetary, where famous people are buried if they're not good enough to get into the Pantheon. It was a fried pastry dough shell filled with a mix of honey, almonds, and sesame seeds. Very different even from the pistachio thing I'd had the night before, but very tasty. I'm really glad I got to try these here because I have no idea where to even find Tunisian people in the United States.
My plan for tonight is to get some North African food in the Belleville neighborhood near where my hostel is. The suggestion came from one Robert Joynt, who studied an entire semster in Paris. There is an Algerian restuarant that the hostel clerk suggested, it appears to serve grilled meats and couscous, which sounds good to me.
So I only have a handful of Euros left and I won't take out anymore because I'm headed to London tomorrow, so whatever I don't spend on dinner will go towards wine to bring to Prue. Word of the Day: Plonk, british slang for cheap wine.
so prue, get ready for some sufficiently plonkish times ahead.
Sunday, October 11, 2009
Hey Andy, remember your encounter with the Paris riot police?
Yeah, this is how it went down.
I had left the hostel to go check out this science film festival that was at the Natural History Museum. I would love to be able to say that I went and it was great and I was offered the job of my dreams after speaking to one of the filmmakers, but the truth is that I found out about the thing at the same time that the last films were ending. I felt obligated to go and just see if there was anything left, but it was all dead. The thing that pisses me off is I was basically AT the place earlier today, at the Jardin des Plantes (Botanical Gardens), yet I failed to see the posters advertising the thing.
Anyways, on my way back, I decided to check out the view from Sacre Coeur in Montmartre, so I got off the subway at the stop before the one for the hostel, only to find out that the subway tunnel was filled with smoke. I initially thought there was a fire, so I ran up the stairs just to get away. Then I saw police running down the steps in the opposite way and I was afraid there had been like a terrorist attack with nerve gas or something, so I really started moving. I covered my mouth and to my surprise there was even smoke on the street level. I saw flares burning bright red, a chorus of car horns, people on top of vans and everyone around was shouting and yelling. Needless to say, I was a bit worried that I'd gotten off at the wrong subway stop. I'd heard about youth riots in Paris from a few years ago, and that coupled with the fact everyone around me was arab-looking made me wonder if I'd stepped into some sort of race-riots a la Rodney King. However, I found out from some other lookers-on that this was mostly a celebratory gathering, as Algeria had just qualified for the World Cup 2010 this evening. Relieved to hear this, I decided to check it out.
I started out on the fringes of the people and started working my way through the poeple in the direction of Sacre Coeur. Flag waving, drum beating, dancing, whooping, hugging, the revelers seemed to grow in number every second. And then, a whole mass of people started moving my direction. So I stopped. And then, the people started coming towards me covering their mouths, breathing through their shirts. And then I got hit with a whiff of tear gas. It was not sweet, stung my throat and my eyes like really bad campfire smoke. Everyone around me was coughing and rushing in the oppostite direction I had been heading, so I made like a tree and got the fuck out.
So before I said that the gathering was mostly celebratory, but there were dozens of riot police visible, and the tear gas indicated that there was a little more going on. The police had sealed off one of the streets, so I had to go all the way around the block to get to the other side of the police line. Especially as the French team is experiencing difficulty qualifying for the World Cup (they may have to go into a one-game playoff for it), it seemed a little bit more than a citizenry-authority clash. The Algerians were shouting and looked to be taunting the police, even going so far as to throw glass bottles at them. That was about the time I decided I'd had enough.
But yeah, holy shit.
I had left the hostel to go check out this science film festival that was at the Natural History Museum. I would love to be able to say that I went and it was great and I was offered the job of my dreams after speaking to one of the filmmakers, but the truth is that I found out about the thing at the same time that the last films were ending. I felt obligated to go and just see if there was anything left, but it was all dead. The thing that pisses me off is I was basically AT the place earlier today, at the Jardin des Plantes (Botanical Gardens), yet I failed to see the posters advertising the thing.
Anyways, on my way back, I decided to check out the view from Sacre Coeur in Montmartre, so I got off the subway at the stop before the one for the hostel, only to find out that the subway tunnel was filled with smoke. I initially thought there was a fire, so I ran up the stairs just to get away. Then I saw police running down the steps in the opposite way and I was afraid there had been like a terrorist attack with nerve gas or something, so I really started moving. I covered my mouth and to my surprise there was even smoke on the street level. I saw flares burning bright red, a chorus of car horns, people on top of vans and everyone around was shouting and yelling. Needless to say, I was a bit worried that I'd gotten off at the wrong subway stop. I'd heard about youth riots in Paris from a few years ago, and that coupled with the fact everyone around me was arab-looking made me wonder if I'd stepped into some sort of race-riots a la Rodney King. However, I found out from some other lookers-on that this was mostly a celebratory gathering, as Algeria had just qualified for the World Cup 2010 this evening. Relieved to hear this, I decided to check it out.
I started out on the fringes of the people and started working my way through the poeple in the direction of Sacre Coeur. Flag waving, drum beating, dancing, whooping, hugging, the revelers seemed to grow in number every second. And then, a whole mass of people started moving my direction. So I stopped. And then, the people started coming towards me covering their mouths, breathing through their shirts. And then I got hit with a whiff of tear gas. It was not sweet, stung my throat and my eyes like really bad campfire smoke. Everyone around me was coughing and rushing in the oppostite direction I had been heading, so I made like a tree and got the fuck out.
So before I said that the gathering was mostly celebratory, but there were dozens of riot police visible, and the tear gas indicated that there was a little more going on. The police had sealed off one of the streets, so I had to go all the way around the block to get to the other side of the police line. Especially as the French team is experiencing difficulty qualifying for the World Cup (they may have to go into a one-game playoff for it), it seemed a little bit more than a citizenry-authority clash. The Algerians were shouting and looked to be taunting the police, even going so far as to throw glass bottles at them. That was about the time I decided I'd had enough.
But yeah, holy shit.
Saturday, October 10, 2009
Reflecting on the Past few days
So to try and compare Nice to Paris is very difficult. In terms of jaw-droppage, Paris hits you so hard that you just walk around for the entire trip with your mouth hanging open, where as Nice is a little more coquettish, giving you just enough time for the amazement to wear off before getting you again with something to be in awe of.
Nice also has a kind of sensory overload effect. You can immediately get the sense that there have been a lot of influences on Nice's culture from throughout the Mediterranean, especially Italy, whereas Paris is almost "pure, concentrated France." Nice is very bustle-y, teeming with people, vehicles, shops. The people are all dressed differently, some in a "high-fashion" Paris kind of look, others in Italian Guido, while one can also see Muslim women in more traditional dress (head coverings, etc).
I've enjoyed it here because I've felt I got a little more of a raw experience. There aren't really a ton of sights to see and all, so I've gotten the chance to pretend I'm just a Nicois, going about his daily business. At the beach I saw students just doing there reading while catching some sun; going shopping a fair ways away from the beach and old town has given me a chance to go where the locals go for wine, bread, etc. I also don't stand out so much in my jeans, t-shirt, and sandals.
The hostel experience here has been awesome. The Villa St. Exupery is one of "Europe's Famous Hostels," a marketing ploy that has given me mixed results. I stayed at the "famous hostel" in Salzburg and while it was nice, I was not really impressed. These places seem to run at least $30, so I've usually been at cheaper places, but both here and in Salzburg there weren't a lot of really cheap options. Not that I've been looking for a famous hostel, I've just ended up at two of them for other reasons. But it's really big, has a great common room/internet/kitchen/bar area with a stained glass window. One of my biggest regrets this whole trip was not going on their "Canyoning" day trip to the french Alps. The Canadians who have befriended me all went and though it was 50 euros, it sounded like it was well worth it.
There are six canadians, two groups of three. Mark, Drew and "Poncho" are from the Toronto area while Jennie, Brittany and Emilie are from British Columbia. I started playing cards with the girls the first night, then we joined the guys game of quarters and we've been hanging out intermittently since then. I ran into the girls at a beach on the day I went to Monaco and this afternoon I'm going to go try to find the guys on the Nice beach to play some volleyball. Through quarters, Asshole, 7-11-doubles and a night out at Wayne's bar, I've begun to grow accustomed to their company; these next few nights in Paris are probably going to be a bit lonely.
There have been a few weirdos here too. The girls were having a small bit of trouble with a guy from the hostel who had either stalked them or ran into them at a beach and took pictures of them in their bathing suits. He sat down at our table the first night we played cards and I unknowingly invited their least favorite person to join our game. There was also this one girl who was a runner and is currently in a one-month break from training because her body fat percentage had gotten too low. She didn't say it, but from years of experience I know that this also means she stopped having her period (when the body senses it can't support a child, the reproductive system kind of shuts off). This is one of the biggest red-flags in my book for "hot issues". Lots of brow wipes on this one. Also, within 15 minutes she started telling Poncho about her friend who was pregnant and trying to leave her boyfriend by going to another country, but hadn't told him about this. From this girls account, it seemed like the guy had been a saint with all the parents-to-be stuff, but still this girl was intent on packing up and leaving South Africa. Issues, baby, issues.
On a happier note, this little trip to the Rivera has worked out swimmingly. I didn't expect to see the Cote d'Azur, but I've fallen in love with this sunny paradise. Definitely put it on your itinerary if you're going to France, unless you don't like fun, sun or life in general.
A night train to Paris, two days, and a Eurostar trip are all that are left before I hit my last stop and get to see a collection of both my oldest and newest friends!
Nice also has a kind of sensory overload effect. You can immediately get the sense that there have been a lot of influences on Nice's culture from throughout the Mediterranean, especially Italy, whereas Paris is almost "pure, concentrated France." Nice is very bustle-y, teeming with people, vehicles, shops. The people are all dressed differently, some in a "high-fashion" Paris kind of look, others in Italian Guido, while one can also see Muslim women in more traditional dress (head coverings, etc).
I've enjoyed it here because I've felt I got a little more of a raw experience. There aren't really a ton of sights to see and all, so I've gotten the chance to pretend I'm just a Nicois, going about his daily business. At the beach I saw students just doing there reading while catching some sun; going shopping a fair ways away from the beach and old town has given me a chance to go where the locals go for wine, bread, etc. I also don't stand out so much in my jeans, t-shirt, and sandals.
The hostel experience here has been awesome. The Villa St. Exupery is one of "Europe's Famous Hostels," a marketing ploy that has given me mixed results. I stayed at the "famous hostel" in Salzburg and while it was nice, I was not really impressed. These places seem to run at least $30, so I've usually been at cheaper places, but both here and in Salzburg there weren't a lot of really cheap options. Not that I've been looking for a famous hostel, I've just ended up at two of them for other reasons. But it's really big, has a great common room/internet/kitchen/bar area with a stained glass window. One of my biggest regrets this whole trip was not going on their "Canyoning" day trip to the french Alps. The Canadians who have befriended me all went and though it was 50 euros, it sounded like it was well worth it.
There are six canadians, two groups of three. Mark, Drew and "Poncho" are from the Toronto area while Jennie, Brittany and Emilie are from British Columbia. I started playing cards with the girls the first night, then we joined the guys game of quarters and we've been hanging out intermittently since then. I ran into the girls at a beach on the day I went to Monaco and this afternoon I'm going to go try to find the guys on the Nice beach to play some volleyball. Through quarters, Asshole, 7-11-doubles and a night out at Wayne's bar, I've begun to grow accustomed to their company; these next few nights in Paris are probably going to be a bit lonely.
There have been a few weirdos here too. The girls were having a small bit of trouble with a guy from the hostel who had either stalked them or ran into them at a beach and took pictures of them in their bathing suits. He sat down at our table the first night we played cards and I unknowingly invited their least favorite person to join our game. There was also this one girl who was a runner and is currently in a one-month break from training because her body fat percentage had gotten too low. She didn't say it, but from years of experience I know that this also means she stopped having her period (when the body senses it can't support a child, the reproductive system kind of shuts off). This is one of the biggest red-flags in my book for "hot issues". Lots of brow wipes on this one. Also, within 15 minutes she started telling Poncho about her friend who was pregnant and trying to leave her boyfriend by going to another country, but hadn't told him about this. From this girls account, it seemed like the guy had been a saint with all the parents-to-be stuff, but still this girl was intent on packing up and leaving South Africa. Issues, baby, issues.
On a happier note, this little trip to the Rivera has worked out swimmingly. I didn't expect to see the Cote d'Azur, but I've fallen in love with this sunny paradise. Definitely put it on your itinerary if you're going to France, unless you don't like fun, sun or life in general.
A night train to Paris, two days, and a Eurostar trip are all that are left before I hit my last stop and get to see a collection of both my oldest and newest friends!
Friday, October 9, 2009
Moules frites, or, a Nice Day
Yesterday, while I was walking around in Monaco, I got the idea to make "moules frites", or, mussels with fries back at the hostel kitchen. This is an old favorite of mine from the Canoe Club in Hanover, although pretty much anything served with their fries will be tasty. So, while I was out on the town in Nice today I bought up the various ingredients. One of the main attractions is the flower market in the old town. It consists of flower and produce vendors and is open every morning. I picked up some violet garlic from Provence (the French Departement where Nice is) and some green onions there. After a day of sightseeing, panoramic views of the city, and lots of sun on the beach, I picked up some white wine and fresh mussels on the way home. The wine I got from a wine shop, where I used my steadily improving French skills to explain that I needed a wine that I could use for both cooking and for drinking. The woman working there gave me a suggestion of what looked to be a local wine that she explained was good for my purposes because it was a little less dry than some of the others. It was only three euros, awesome! The mussels I picked up from a place that appeared to be a restaurant that also sold seafood out in front.
Making the moules frites was actually more work than I anticipated. You have to clean the mussels before hand, but other than that it went very smoothly, so while everybody else was eating the house pizzas for the third night in a row, I treated myself to delicous seafood.
But the Canoe Club ones are still better.
Now I just have to find the Canadians I've been hanging out with, who went out to dinner and probably aren't coming back. We've hung out at the hostel together the last two nights, but not out in the town. I know the guys are looking to get smashed and the girls might be as well. This will be my last night in Nice, so I want to make sure I see the city at night, some of the things around town look to be fitted with flood lights and I bet the place looks amazing at night as well as in the day.
Making the moules frites was actually more work than I anticipated. You have to clean the mussels before hand, but other than that it went very smoothly, so while everybody else was eating the house pizzas for the third night in a row, I treated myself to delicous seafood.
But the Canoe Club ones are still better.
Now I just have to find the Canadians I've been hanging out with, who went out to dinner and probably aren't coming back. We've hung out at the hostel together the last two nights, but not out in the town. I know the guys are looking to get smashed and the girls might be as well. This will be my last night in Nice, so I want to make sure I see the city at night, some of the things around town look to be fitted with flood lights and I bet the place looks amazing at night as well as in the day.
Nice, I like!
As I mentioned earlier, our plans were somewhat jumbled and I found myself with a few days in France by myself before heading to London. I decided to spend two nights in Paris but had some extra days on my rail pass and wanted to see more of France. So, first I made a train reservation to go to Bordeaux, since it was easy to get to from Blois and I'd heard of it before. Then, Kat told me that travel guru Rick Steve's wrote that he would rather clean his refridgerator than take a FREE trip to Bordeaux, saying it was the most boring place ever. Thus, I did the equivalent of putting my finger on the map and going wherever it landed. Which is how I find myself in the French Rivera. I know, poor me, I've already been to the Mediterranean in Croatia.
If you are ever looking for a place to go in France, I highly recommend staying in Nice. Nice is a large city, very vibrant and close to a lot of cool things in the region. The hostel I'm staying in is awesome (Villa St. Exupery), the day trips you can do from here go to places like Cannes and Monaco, and it's even sunny and warm in October. Today I'm going into the city to explore, but yesterday I went to Monaco. Monaco is pretty much the nicest place on Earth. It is the second smallest country on Earth and only has a population of 30,000. But the average income is supposedly over 100,000 USD, you see beemers and benzes more often than not, and the landscaping is gorgeous. Along the harbour you can see 100 ft. yachts and places offering mussels with fries.
The hostel I'm at is an old monastery up on a hill behind Nice. It's kind of far, but they have a shuttle to the tram stop and it's only 1 euro to get to the city if you dont' want to do the very doable walk.
I'm now off to go to the town market and beach, hopefully I'll come back with some seafood and fries.
If you are ever looking for a place to go in France, I highly recommend staying in Nice. Nice is a large city, very vibrant and close to a lot of cool things in the region. The hostel I'm staying in is awesome (Villa St. Exupery), the day trips you can do from here go to places like Cannes and Monaco, and it's even sunny and warm in October. Today I'm going into the city to explore, but yesterday I went to Monaco. Monaco is pretty much the nicest place on Earth. It is the second smallest country on Earth and only has a population of 30,000. But the average income is supposedly over 100,000 USD, you see beemers and benzes more often than not, and the landscaping is gorgeous. Along the harbour you can see 100 ft. yachts and places offering mussels with fries.
The hostel I'm at is an old monastery up on a hill behind Nice. It's kind of far, but they have a shuttle to the tram stop and it's only 1 euro to get to the city if you dont' want to do the very doable walk.
I'm now off to go to the town market and beach, hopefully I'll come back with some seafood and fries.
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Paris is everything ,,,
I expected and more. The food, the lights. Now that I'm in france it's really cool to be able to speak the local language. Seeing the Eiffel Tower at midnight is something special, it lights up like a sparkler for a few minutes.I met up with Kat Rice, my friend from Dartmouth, and we spent a few days in Paris before heading elsewhere in France. Before we left we were able to get in a splurge dinner, a free walking tour, and the Musee D'Orsay (free on the first Sunday of the Month!), among other things. The Parisians certainly have their own way of doing things, we drank wine on the quais of the Seine, watching a fire twirler and some tango dancers who were also out that night.
We originally wanted to go to Colmar, in Alsace-Lorraine, but tried booking a train too late and couldn't go. After some frantic research in the train station's bookstore and a call to our dear friend Prue, we settled on a going to the Chateaux of the Loire Valley. We found a cheap hotel in Blois and it ended up being a very cool trip.
We originally wanted to go to Colmar, in Alsace-Lorraine, but tried booking a train too late and couldn't go. After some frantic research in the train station's bookstore and a call to our dear friend Prue, we settled on a going to the Chateaux of the Loire Valley. We found a cheap hotel in Blois and it ended up being a very cool trip.
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Munich .... is ....
a beer paradise. I just took a walking tour and almost everything can be linked to beer. Right now Im at an internet cafe slash bar and drinking a beer that has was first brewed 1000 years ago. Later, I will be hitting up the big show and trying to get a spot at a beer tent at Oktoberfest. Apparently, Oktoberfest was first started as a two week long wedding celebration and eventually was turned into a folk festival after the Munichers decided they liked partying for two weeks so much; this goes nicely with the theme of love at Oktoberfest. The bar owner told me he never made it home last night and you can tell a girls availability by the way the knot on her traditional dress is tied (Ill be looking for those with knots on the left side).
Lets just hope im not to hungover to make it to the science museum tomorrow.
Lets just hope im not to hungover to make it to the science museum tomorrow.
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