Any Terrain Vanquishing

Alaska is the land of a million wonders. A massive, unspoiled swath of land some 663,00 square miles. Denali National Park is located more or less in the south-central part of the state, two hours south of Fairbanks and somewhere around five hours north of Anchorage. Mile 239, where I have made my home for the past two months is home to two year round human residents, a plethora of animals, and a budding mosquito metropolis. Few people actually live in Mile 239, affectionately called "The Canyon". The Reeves' own three cabins and an airstream trailer behind their shops where all of us non-Alaskans reside.

Working in a gift shop here can be likened to working in the commissary at an assisted living center. 95% of all patrons are collecting Social Security and the 5% that aren't are forcibly dragged here by those who are. Because the median age is skewed so steeply, it comes as no surprise that the most popular activity is not hiking, kayaking, backpacking, or anything one would usually do in a park, but riding an animal stalking bus.

Realizing they are going deep into the depths of a so-called unconquered wilderness, these bus riders come fully equipped. For none of the hiking they end up doing they buy a pair of top-notch Gortex hiking boots. Because a normal pair of jeans just won't cut it, they buy the best lightweight waterproof hiking pants. To protect their bald or balding heads from the sun that peaks through the windows of the bus they buy the latest in floppy, well ventilated hat technology.

Essentially 99.9999% of the tourists that come up here come by train, are deposited at one of the few resort-hotels, bussed to and from various busses, and end up leaving by train again. The only area where the tour leaders trust these specimens to roam free is mile 239, home to several gift shops and tourist traps.

Compiling letters home: April 9 Athens

Dad I love Greece, it is so unbelievably beautiful. Dirty, but beautiful. Our Hotel is really quite great, and at only $16 US a night, it is also a steal. Compared to Paris, everything is a bargain. Gyros are 1,70, wine is cheap, the weather is warm, the people are exceptionally nice. The postcards are also vulgar, I found one with a picture of a krater with two men engaging in rather friendly acts, and another of an exposed, aroused breast in the foreground and Lykavittos Hill with it's whitewashed chapel on the summit in the background. Priceless.

Athens, having been laid out years prior to modern, grid-like urban planning, is quite a maze. We've been turned around several times and end up in places unexpected, which is always quite nice. Yesterday we ended up at a protest. It seems the US media is saying that nothing is really happening here, but as we were sitting on the Areopagus below the Acropolis last night, we heard a massive protest somewhere to the northeast of us. Today as we were walking around, there were police in riot gear on every corner downtown. Near all of the sites we walked by were police or military with sub-machine guns. Lots of tension, it seems like the population here is anything but in favor of the EU bailout. In the last fiscal quarter or year, I'm not sure of the time frame, Greece managed to reduce their national debt by about 40% from what I've been told.

Well, I think we are off to grab a bite to eat and then head to a bar we found today that seems quite nice and friendly.

Compiling letters home: April 14 Athens

I've finally met up with my class, and tomorrow we go to Crete. The plane ride from Paris was pretty uneventful, though it was a bit strange and unnerving hearing the emergency instructions and not knowing a word of what they were saying. Our hotel was in a pretty seedy part of town, but it was about a 20 minute walk to the Acropolis, so at the very least it was convenient.

Athens is an incredibly, incredibly dirty city with graffiti everywhere. It covers every surface, is on every street corner, etc. From a financial standpoint, it is astonishing coming here from Paris. In Paris it was 3 Euro for a day old Baguette without any ham or cheese. Here it is 1,80 Euro for a Gyro. Bargain? Yes. Paris was unbelievably overpriced. I enjoyed myself, but the only money I spent was on cheap food, and cheap there is a four-course meal here in Athens.

Before the class arrived we ended up orbiting the Acropolis quite a bit. At some point every day we would walk to the Areopacis (the rocky outcropping below the Parthenon). I bought a Hugh Laurie book, surprisingly good.

Athens is almost overwhelming. It is a confusing blend of Western Europe and the Middle East. The stoplights act more as suggestions than anything concrete, and thus it is a precarious place to be a pedestrian. One always has to have his wits about him. The food here is amazing. I haven't tasted anything so fresh. I walked into a Gyro shop just as a man on a moped was delivering vegetables fresh from the farmer's market. I never thought you could taste the difference, but you truly can.

Would it be possible to deposit another $250 into my account. I have $60 left and that should last me a few days but I'm apprehensive about pulling only 40 Euros because of the service charges.

Anyways, I think it is time to grab dinner, naturally a Gyro. I don't think I can ever get tired of those things.

Compiling letters home: May 8 Florence

Hey!

Sorry its taken me so long to write anything, we’ve been rather busy and Florence is a city that doesn’t lend itself to staying cooped up!

We flew from Athens to Rome and immediately took a bus North to Florence. Everyone in the class is spread out all over the medieval town, our (Ole, Henry, Henning, and I) are a half block from the back side of the Duomo and can see everything from the bedroom windows. Our schedule has been significantly more relaxed than when we were in Greece. Generally we meet at a museum around noontime and take our time going through it, we then have the afternoon off. As a class we’ve been to San Marco, the Duomo Museum, the Museum of Science (not to be missed), and a handful of churches. We went to the Church of San Marco where Savonarola preached his fiery sermons and Cosimo Medici was once a monk. Angelico’s paintings in the cells ranged from superb to fairly average. On the hall towards Savonarola’s cell the scenes were fairly repetitive and I’m sure if you ran down the hallway looking into each cell it would have an effect similar to that of a flipbook. Afterwards I walked across the Arno and up to the Belvedere Fortress. Along the way it decided to rain half an ocean and I was stranded under a small six inch overhang over a gate on the side of the road. I made it up there and alas, it was closed! I walked around and tried to get into the Boboli Gardens, but it was ten Euros and I wasn’t about to pay that much to wander around in the sequel to Noah’s flood.

I walked down the hill and headed East up the Arno until I reached the bottom of another hill, from which I could see a medieval castle on the far hill. I naturally had to see if I could get to this castle and so I set off on a bit of a mad goose chase which ended in the gates being locked. On my way out I passed the Church of San Minato, so I naturally had to pay a visit to the nearly millennia old church. I think I can say without any kind of trepidation that San Minato is far and above the most gorgeous church I have ever been in. The woodwork of the roof and the stonework of the walls a phenomenal and the acoustics are beyond comprehension.

The second day was spent at the Duomo museum, home of the eerie statue of Mary Magdalene and Brunaleschi’s model of the dome. Afterwards I took a nap and headed back up to San Minato to catch Vespers. You cannot, cannot, cannot, visit Florence without attending vespers or mass at San Minato. The service was conducted with liberal amounts of Gregorian chanting emanating from the crypt. Henry and I went down into the crypt to watch. It was one of the most powerful things I have ever witnessed. Four monks were singing but it sounded like the heavens were alive with the sound of muuuussiiiiiccc.

Yesterday we went to the science museum and the Academia. The science museum in Florence is beyond bizarre. It was is if all of these animals used to be a part of an amazing zoo, and the zoo keepers got lazy and decided to stuff them all. There were huge crabs nearly 3 feet from leg to leg, 4 huge rooms of every bird ever thought of, and the famous wax anatomical models of humans. Whoever made these models was awfully sadistic as they were often bursting intestines, veins, and arteries in ways one would like to not write about. Their stomachs were slashed open revealing the mutilated remains of their innards and their faces betrayed nary a trace of sorrow at said action. As one cannot visit Florence without visiting the Academia, we naturally had to make our way there. The centerpiece of the collection there is Michelangelo's David; the bizarrely proportioned, slightly apprehensive David contemplating whether he actually wants to throw this tiny rock at Goliath. He looks like the jury is still out on it. The proportions are skewed because he was to be placed on top of the town hall, but naturally, as with most of Michelangelo's work it was found to be in poor taste to send the statue to the birds.

Anyways, I must go, we have a day off today and I bought Farenheit 451 and am intent on getting back into my book. Hopefully if the weather permits I can browse under the gaze of the Duomo with a nice glass of Florentine vino in hand!

Compiling letters home: May 17 Genoa

Florence was great. It rained often enough to where I always had my raincoat on my person. I was growing tired of my classmates and so I did a lot of wandering on my own. I think I've already told you but I went up to San Minato, Sienna, etc.

I left Florence early on the 13th and took the train to Ravenna, with stops in Faenza and Lugo. When I first arrived in Ravenna it was raining. But I slogged my way to my hostel, about 15 minutes outside of the old town. Once I checked in, the weather cleared up, and I made my way to the old city, stopping to get shat on by a Pigeon (I nearly wiped out every Pigeon after that, Ornicide). Anyways I wandered around, went into the free churches, and then walked through the Venetian fortress to Theodoric's mausoleum where I spent the remainder of the afternoon.

The next day I bought the combined ticket to all of the major religious sites and set out from my hostel bright and early at 9 AM to beat the tourists. Before going any further, I'm pretty sure I can use the same words to describe every church: exquisite, amazing, beautiful, awe-inspiring, amusing, gorgeous, etc. First up was the Neon Baptistry, a gorgeous structure whose interior was covered in mosaic from floor to the center of the dome. I sat in one of the chairs on the perimeter of the interior until a school group packed in and I left. Next up was S. Apollinare Nuovo, famous for its tower and the mosaics lining the chapel. I wandered around the chapel for a while before heading to St. Andrew's chapel of which I took a grand picture of before being sternly reprimanded by the gallery attendent. I wandered around a bit before coming across the Bassilica Metropolitana and had another near encounter with pigeon feces. Naturally I left the area in search of greener pastures- The basilica of San Vitale. This was truly an awe inspiring sight. I spent much of an hour lying in the ground in one of the corners staring upwards at the dome, almost as if I was in a trance. The crypt nearby was nearly as gorgeous, its windows made of a translucent amber-clouded stone.

Anyways... Where was I.

So the night of the 14th was the Liars concert. You may laugh at me for going to see an American band while in Italy, but I've been listening to these guys since the beginning of High School and never found the opportunity to see them. I quickly found that the busses stop running at 8:00 and the venue is 6km outside of Ravenna in the middle of nowhere. Did I end up going? Of course I did. I decided on making my way home an adventure. I got to Bronson (concert venue) with a baguette and a salami and set up shop outside the door reading Farenheit 451 and gorging myself on delicious locally produced fare. I had been communicating with the owner (Chris) of Bronson, and I suppose word got around that a crazy American was picnicking outside. Chris came out as the opening band was soundchecking and we chatted for a while before he had to head inside. I sat there for a half hour more before Chris pops his head out the door and invites me inside. Inside there was a long table with none other than Liars sitting around it eating. I was offered a chair next to the guitar player and ended up chatting with them for a bit. I think they were excited to speak to someone not on tour with them who is fluent in English. Anyways, they put on a great show and it was well worth the trip out. Chris got me a ride back into town with two of his friends and all was right with the world.

The next day I resumed my travels and caught the train to Bologna. Naturally with my luck my hostel was situated rather far outside of town in the middle of a field. It also was raining. I spent a good hour or so sitting in my room with a dark cloud over my head before rallying myself to stick my stinky feet into my even more stinky rotting hole-developing shoes (bad choice on footwear, these shoes are toast!). I walked towards town because, like in Ravenna, the buses stop running awfully early, and being in the sticks it becomes difficult to find any food worth digesting. I made it almost to Porta San Domino before finding a Pizzeria where I ate a huge salad and an entire Pizza. The owner stared at me for sometime as I also finished a half liter of wine, but I was in no mood to leave anything incomplete on my table.

The next day the weather, and my attitude had magically cleared and I set out towards the city center, on foot again. I could have caught a bus, but it was too nice. I climbed the Aniselli tower and found myself alone on top of Bologna. I folded myself onto a ledge and read a bit before I heard the grunts of tourists and began my descent. I walked around a bit and made my way to the main plaza where I found a table and resumed my reading, basking in the Sunday morning sunlight. I wandered around the rest of the day, stopping by the churches of San Giacomo Maggiore, San Pietro, San Giovanni in Monte and the Bassilica de Stephano before catching the bus back to the hostel and my well-deserved bed. I should add that there was an attempted detour to the showers, but not having any hot water this detour was quickly aborted.

The next day I caught a series of trains to where I am now, Genoa. I wish I could spend more time here! The city is surrounded on one side by a few large hills, on top of which is situated my hostel. From my window I can see the town unfolding beneath me. I didn't spend a whole lot of time dawdling seeing as I only had less than a day to enjoy the city. The interiors of the churches here are decorated to the nth degree. Every surface is painted or covered in gold leaf. I managed san Lorenzo, Chiesa del Gesu, and Chiessa di San Siro, as well as Piazza de Ferrari before grabbing a kebab and heading back to catch the sunset over the town from my hostel's terrace.

And now, here I am! I have greatly enjoyed the places I have visited, though since about halfway through Florence I was ready to come home, now more than ever. The incessant moving around has really gotten to me, aside from Florence I haven't spent more than 3 nights in one place! Tomorrow I take another series of trains across the French border to Marseille to visit Chateau d'If and the ghost of the Count of Monte Cristo!

Compiling letters home: May 24 CDG

May 24: Charles de Gaulle Airport

Version:1.0 StartHTML:0000000149 EndHTML:0000009666 StartFragment:0000000199 EndFragment:0000009632 StartSelection:0000000199 EndSelection:0000009632 I’m currently in Charles DeGaulle airport. My flight leaves just after rush hour, so I decided to stay the night at the airport and avoid any kind of hassle in the morning. I’m staying up all night so I can sleep all the way across the ocean so I won’t be too bombed when I get back to Olympia.

Where have I left off.... Lets see, I suppose I last wrote in Genoa.

So I left Genoa, and after a series of trains I made it along the French Riviera to Marseille. My hostel was about 6 km south of the downtown, but this wasn’t much of an issue since I wasn’t there to see that part of town specifically. I ended up meeting those two elderly gentlemen and had two beers. I suppose my definition of “a little more alcohol than anticipated” is two beers, because that is all I had. I turned in fairly early that day as the traveling was slowly catching up with me. I ended up talking to Manfred, a former Sales Representative for the top German cigarette company turned anti smoking advocate and cycling enthusiast. He had biked all the way from Berlin to Marseille in 12 days. Not bad for a man pushing 65.

The next day I got up bright and early and took the bus and subway to the old port to catch the ferry to the Frioul Islands. Chateau d’If was closed because the seagull’s had just hatched their eggs and were a little bit (well quite a bit) on the psychotic end of the spectrum. The main islands were still opened with no mention of seagulls so I decided to still head out there. The Friouls are very much what you would expect, they are windswept rocks in the middle of Marseille’s huge harbor. On top of all of the hills and ridges are gun emplacements. The two main islands are connected by a breakwater and a small town lies just inside this inlet. I don’t have any of my maps with me so I can’t be very specific with names, but I started my scrambling on the smaller of the two islands. First stop were the remains of the Carolina Hospital. Not speaking French I couldn’t read many of the sign boards, but I saw leprosy quite a bit so it might have been a treatment center for that disease. Much of the ruins of the hospital were closed for renovation, so I pressed on to the first of the gun emplacements on a hill overlooking the hospital. These were probably small-caliber (maybe 40 mm) anti-aircraft guns as there were few signs of any large-scale concrete emplacements. The emplacements were surrounded by earthworks and there were the remains of pillboxes on the perimeter.

At this point it is worth mentioning the seagulls. As I mentioned before, the seagull eggs had hatched and so the parents were incredibly, incredibly defensive in regards to their nests and surrounding areas. Because the Friouls are so remote and sparsely inhabited the seagulls had taken over almost all of the island, so anywhere you went you were prone to an airborne assault that hadn’t been seen since Pearl Harbor.

The seagulls were getting a little feisty at the Anti-Aircraft battery so I continued on my way up the large fort on the hill overlooking both the anti-aircraft battery and hospital. There was little signage here, and I took a goat path up the seaward side of the hill to the first of a series of shelters dug into the cliff face. These shelters were peculiar because their floors were comprised of small square protrusions in a checkerboard pattern. Either there was originally a wood floor over the cold stone or some kind of machinery was mounted on these.

Upon reaching the top of the hill I found myself in the midst of an amalgam of fortifications. The old portion of the fort probably dates back to the mid 1860’s as it is comprised mostly of brick buildings and open air emplacements. The newer structures probably date to the massive fort-building frenzy the French went through after 1918. There were two of these new emplacements. They were fairly deep pits with several doors leading to an extensive underground (blocked off). In the middle of these pits was a large concrete cylinder about 20 feet across on top of which a large caliber gun would have been mounted. There were several out buildings that I couldn’t give a reasonable date to. There was a fairly deep powder magazine dug about 50 feet down into the rock behind one of the newer emplacements.

I made my way down from this hill and headed down to the seaward side of the island, accessible only by a small goat path. This portion of the island was a long ridge that pointed out into the Mediterranean. The landward portion was dotted by several pillboxes, indicated it was a fairly important site. Beyond the pillboxes were a series of large open gun emplacements, each with a large magazine attached. I didn’t stray too far off of the path for fear of the seagulls, but there were probably five of these emplacements. At the far end of the site there was a star-shaped masonry fort that dated from the early 19th century. I would have loved to have gone in, but it was closed. Between the fort and the more modern gun battery was a large two story fire control bunker. All apertures and entrances were sealed, unfortunately.

I ended up eating a nice lunch down at the town before walking across the causeway to the large island. On top of the largest hill is a large 19th century fort. I set out up the road to the peak, and I made it as far as the walls of the fort before the seagulls became too much and I fled down to the bottom of the hill. Admitting defeat, I set off towards the far end of the island. The road to the far battery wraps around the top of a long rocky ridge. Aside from a lone lighthouse and lookout tower on the middle of the island it was devoid of any human structures. Upon reaching the lighthouse it becomes very clear why. The wind is nearly unbearable. There were points where the gusts were funneled up from the rocky inlets below and hit the crest of the ridge at speeds upwards of 50 miles an hour. I nearly was blown off of the island!

I finally made it to the far end of the island and the site of the largest battery. The older portion of the battery was erected at some point around the turn of the 20th century. The front of this battery was comprised of a large man made bluff. Behind this were the concrete emplacements built on top of all of the support infrastructure, much like the Endicott-period fortifications in America. Hitler’s Organization Todt erected several large caliber gun batteries just forward of the old French fortifications. These were covered batteries spread out over the tip of the island and looked to contain guns as small as 5” or as large as 10”. My exploration of this site was curbed by the seagull insanity factor. I caught the ferry back to Marseille and enjoyed a nice Kebab on the beach by my hostel before passing out in my bed.

The next day I caught the TGV to Nice, passing by the mega yachts parked off of Cannes for the film festival. I met up with Robert and a few of his classmates and spent the rest of the day lying sublimely on the beach. My first day of complete relaxation in 2 months! We met up with Adam and had a delicious dinner before taking a bottle of wine down to the beach and watching the sunset. (side note: have you ever opened a bottle of wine with your shoe?)

The next day was my birthday and Adam and I walked up into the ritzy part of Nice to view the old Roman ruins. There was a small arena and a large bath complex. They were quite interesting, but nothing is going to compare to the desolate tourist-free sites we saw in the Peloponnese and on Crete. We made our way back down to the beach and spent another sublime afternoon among the semi-nude and nude French sunbathers. That night we went to a terrible bar, left said terrible bar, had a bottle of wine, and turned in. A tame 21st birthday to say the least.

The next morning I caught the TGV to Paris, arriving just after dinner time. I met up with my friend Eliza and we wandered around a bit before I bid her adieu and returned to my hostel. Upon finding my bed I was aghast at the linen selection. I suppose they must have a problem with guests pilfering their sheets and have resorted to using flimsy almost paper-like fare. At this point I was so exhausted from the 2 month odyssey behind me that it didn’t matter. I was out like a light.

Today I woke up and took the subway into the Latin Quarter and wandered around before going to the small island in the middle of the Seine where the mini-Statue of Liberty rests. I found a nice grassy spot and lay down and enjoyed the company of Professor Arronax, Conseil, Ned Land, and Captain Nemo for the afternoon. Towards the end of the afternoon I resumed a bit of wandering before returning to my hostel to collect my belongings and catch the last RER train to the airport, which is where I am now. My plan to combat jet lag is to stay up all night here so that I will sleep the entire way across. I hope it works. I would have fallen asleep at my hostel so I checked out early in favor of the uncomfortable airport seats that will surely haunt my back and keep me awake for the duration.

Crete

Crete, where to begin. Surely first impressions at 6 AM with only a few hours of sleep under your belt is not the way to start things out! Upon disembarking from the ferry in Iraklion I was struck by the quality of light and the amazing blues and purples of the Aegean. After dropping our things at the Hotel, we struck out via tour bus (ugh) to the Minoan site of Tylissos, a 20-30 minute ride outside of the town. Tylissos is a 2nd palatial period settlement consisting of three Minoan houses arranged in an L shape. The Myceneans built a Megaron over house C sometime in the post-palatial period. With no tourists in sight it was pure bliss to wander through the maze of ruins, all in remarkably good condition (not tampered with by Arthur Evans). There were reconstructed pots sitting in the odd corner throughout the site.

Afterwards our guide took us the venetian walls and the grave of Kazantakis on top of one of the huge bastions. The Venetial fortifications are certainly impressive, though as gunpowder became more and more common it is hard to believe that they would have lasted very long.

We walked up the August 25 street, named after the day when the occupying Turks slaughtered 800 locals and a handful of Brits in 1898. This was the beginning of the end of the Turkish occupation and they withdrew after the inevitable international outcry.

After we checked into our rooms I went down to the Venetian fortress at the breakwater. This was a particularly interesting structure with cavernous chambers inside and marvelous views of the town from the top. The reverb in some of the gun galleries was astonishing. If I ever had the money I would hire out the fort and record drums and guitar there. It sounded like a much more focused cathedral-type reverb.

The next day we went to Arthur Evan's Knossus Crete Disney Land. For the uninformed, Knossus is perhaps the most important of the Minoan palaces. King Minos, creater of the Labyrinth supposedly lived here. It is a massive site, several hundred meters by several hundred meters. A British man by the name of Arthur Evan's began excavating the site at the turn of the century, and instead of simply unearthing the ruins, he decided on reconstructing large portions of the buildings on top of the actual ruins. Naturally one cannot have a completely clear picture of what the palace should have looked like from solely the ruins, and so Arthur Evans, using his powers of imagination, set to work. We have an idea of what Minoan palaces looked like from various coins and carvings scattered throughout the island, but these are not specific archaeological plans, and thus there is a certain level of imprecision that is unnerving at best. Evan's also attempted to reconstruct the various frescoes that would have adorned the walls. This sounds like an even more absurd proposition considering that all that remains of the frescoes are a handful of small chips that give no indication of the composition of the work in its entirety. Once again, Evans used his imagination. We ended up calling it Creten Disneyland. It was disappointing to say the least.

The next day we visited Pharsalos, Gortyn, Agia Triada, and Matala. Pharsalos was a smaller Minoan palace and probably belonged to the brother of King Minos. Matala is the big touristy beach. Tanner cut his foot open on the rocks, I had to clean the sand out with a syringe. The woes of being a certified lifeguard.

The day before yesterday we started our trek to Hania, by route of Falesarna on the extreme west part of the island. Falesarna was a base for pirates during the roman time and in order to curb their effectiveness the Romans dumped tons and tons of rocks into the bay to disuade ship traffic from entering. Ian and I climbed up the neighboring hill and found two shaft tombs dug into the side of the cliff. We then made our way to Hania.

Hania is another Venetian port. It is considerably smaller than Iraklion, but what it lacks in size it makes up in appearance. The old port is surrounded by a 500 year old breakwater interspersed with several gun batteries. The interior is bordered by an old rock jetty and restaurants beyond it. The one night we were there we went out to the mouth of the breakwater where an old Ottoman lighthouse stood and sat and talked, much as one would imagine six American students sitting under a 400 year old lighthouse would do.

Anyways, we were supposed to stay in Chania last night, but the Greek ferry workers decided to spring a strike on everyone and in order to not be stranded on the island we had to catch the last ferry back from Iraklion to Piraeus. The crossing last night was marked by incredibly heavy seas, and after having a glass of wine I was confused as to whether I was actually drunk and my equilibrium was off, or if the ship was potentially sinking. Naturally I did not sleep well.

Down and out in Paris

Blog

So sorry for not keeping the blog updated for the Paris leg of my trip, it is 4 Euros for two hours of internet, so naturally that precious internet time was taken up by communicating with my dear girlfriend and parents.

Anyways… Paris, where to begin?

I arrived via train on the second, a full two days earlier than my original plan. I arrived at St. Lazarre and was promptly utterly confused and dumfounded on the exact function of the Metro system here. It took standing in a line for a full half hour twice to eventually get my five-day pass and proceed on my way to my hostel. I finally got a map of the underground here, and it struck me as rather odd that my hostel, which had advertised itself as being “conveniently located” was not exactly “convenient” and “located” rather poorly in the northwest of town, in what Larkin would call “The Hood.”

So I finally stumbled off of the packed Metro (such timing, I arrived just in time to experience the full force of Parisian rush-hour) at Hoche station and once again became utterly lost. This “conveniently located” hostel had “conveniently” given me incredibly obscure directions and I ended up having to harass a rather aloof kebab salesman to point me in the several directions it would take to find my bunk. Turns out the hostel is rather close to the metro, but as I would find out later, if you have any alcohol in your system, you are guaranteed to find yourself wandering in the opposite direction without ever being aware of it.

My hostel is not what you would call a “Youth Hostel,” rather it appears to be more of a geriatric holding area with space for the grandchildren. I quickly found myself being one of the youngest residents, which was quite a shock and contributed greatly to the alienation I had been feeling since my arrival in Paris.

There are quite a few characters that seem to live here. There is a presumably French male, aged unknown with dental work that would make a grown man cry. His voice is rather high pitched (I mean really high-pitched) and he appears to never leave the confines of the hostel unless he is getting food. I wake up, he is here doing nothing-in-particular. I come back around dinnertime and he is here, continuing the nothing-in-particular. One of his favorite pastimes appears to be the pursuit of unsuspecting young women. His game plan is based around the cheap 2 Euro bottles of wine he buys in bulk and the subsequent consumption by the victim of said wine. At one end of the spectrum it is incredibly amusing to watch, on the other it is rather horrifying. The fact that his voice is quite possibly higher in pitch than any of his targets is amusing to no end. I would write more about the others (such as the old man from the Czech Republic I am sharing a room with, but I doubt anyone reading this would care).

So I dropped my bag off at the hostel and set about getting a feel for the neighborhood. It is a predominantly lower-class area where the Turks are in the majority. There are many kebab houses and Turkish tea-houses and grocers. English, or French for that matter, is seldom spoken here. It is not the type of area you would feel completely comfortable wandering around late at night. I took dinner at a kebab house and returned to the hostel for the night.
The next day I awoke, and made my way downstairs for one of the most sub-par breakfasts I have ever had. The coffee was wretched, the milk for the cornflakes was room temperature, and the bread was rock hard. I sat down, and the girl across from me immediately tagged me as American. Her name was Eliza, and we ended up talking for quite a while about art, American tourists, the French, etc.

So anyways, I left the hostel around eleven and made my way to the center of the city. The object for the day was to see the Palais de Tokyo and the Modern Art Museum. The Modern Art Museum had acquired nearly all of the paintings from Malevich’s installation in the Last Futurist Exhibition. They had arranged the paintings just as they had been nearly a century before. I ended up sitting on the floor staring up at Black Square for nearly an hour.

The weather was pretty iffy that day, but I still managed to walk up and down the Seine a few times, taking the generic tourist picture of the Eiffel Tower. After the museum I think I only really did walk around for several hours. Oh yeah, I went to the Musee de Rodin and lounged about in the gardens. I made it back to the hostel just after dinner and went looking for a cool bar in St. Michel.

The next day… what did I do… Oh yes, this would be Sunday.

I ended up meeting Eliza again at breakfast and we took the Metro to the area just East of the Champ d’Ellyses and wandered around that area. The weather started to run rather sour and the Easter service at Notre Dame I was going to catch wasn’t until 6:00, so we ended up going to see Shutter Island. It was quite a strange movie, and when it was over we had to rush to get over to Notre Dame where, magically as if by an act of God, the weather had become quite nice. The pews were reserved for members of the congregation, so us proles were funneled into the cathedral and, just as quickly, out. Then we walked around the Latin Quarter, ate at a Mexican restaurant, and met Eliza’s Libyan friends from the night before at an Irish Pub.

The next day (Monday) I caught the train to Luxembourg Gardens and sat on the terrace overlooking the pond and read. The bookshelf at the hostel conveniently had 1984 as the only English book, and so instead of lugging my huge D-Day book around, I grabbed the paperback Orwell book. As the day wore on I ended up wandering around the Latin Quarter and then to the garden outside of the Lourve. I ended up sitting in a square watching Frenchmen on rollerskates trying to jump over a plastic chord. It was quite spectacular.

Tuesday… I tried to que for the Lourve, but the line was unbelievably long and it didn’t look like I would be any closer to the famed glass pyramid in a hour. So, as the weather was quite nice again, I made my way back to the Latin Quarter and resumed my wondering. I eventually found William Shakespeare & Co, a British bookstore near Notre Dame and spent a bit of time in there. Then, as with the trend I have been following in regards to the pleasant weather, I made my way to Luxembourg Gardens and enjoyed the sun and my newly purchased book.

Today I tried to get a decent spot in the line for the Lourve, but as with yesterday, it did not seem like it would happen. I made my way across the Seine and visited the Musee d’Orsay instead. At this point it is worth noting that I have gotten into nearly every museum for free or for a reduced fair by putting on my terrible quasi-English accent and claiming to be from the UK. Today was a double-whammy, both Musee d’Orsay and the Musee de Armee. Anyways, so I wandered the galleries of the Musee d’Orsay for a good half day before making my way to the Museum of the Army and Napoleon’s Tomb. It is rather shocking to see the astonishing proportions of Bonaparte’s sarcophagus in person. For such a small guy, he has quite a huge coffin.

So from this report it would appear that I had not really been to too many huge, touristy sites. As with London, I have found that getting incredibly lost is much more satisfying and interesting than hitting all of the big-box tourist sites. Once I got into the older, less visited portions of the city, I found myself enjoying myself infinitely more than if I tried to navigate the masses of humanity at the Eiffel Tower, Arch du Triumph, and so on.

Tomorrow morning I head to Athens! I need to do laundry, I smell rancid.

The French can resist you, but you can't resist the French

So I'm not updating this as frequently as I should... Oh well..

Anyways, so I've been in Normandy for a day and some change now and I can safely say that it is perhaps one of the most idyllic, beautiful places I've been to thus far. Because I 1) loathe tourists and 2) have no money, I have decided not to shell out the 50+ Euros for a guided tour. Instead I have been using the sporadic-at-best public buses from Bayeux to the beaches.

The major, major drawback to this is that 1) No easily accessible bus line passes through the Utah Beach areas and 2) the 70-ligne bus that I've been using will take you as far as Colleville-sur-Mer at 07:40, then as far as Granville-Sur-Mer around noontime, but then after that it only goes as far as Colleville-sur-Mer. Not realizing this I got off just before C-s-M and walked the mile or so to the American cemetery at Omaha Beach.

At this point I should mention that the weather is absolutely unequivocally fucked. Nearly immediately after getting off of the bus the rain picks up and wind begins to gust somewhere upwards of 30-40 mph, against the direction that I was heading in. Then about 20 minutes later it cleared up and was absolutely gorgeous and sunny before descending into absolute madness later.

Anyways... where was I yesterday... Ah yes.

So I began my Normandy excursion at the American Cemetary at Omaha Beach. It truly is a sight to behold, I think around 10,000 men are buried there. From the cemetary you can follow a quick, albeit steep trail down to the beach proper. My first impression upon reaching the beach is how unbeleivably peaceful it actually is. If one were dropped onto the beach without knowing the exact location, you would never guess that the brunt of the largest seaborne invasion in history was focused against these bluffs. I soon found a few bunkers and headed back to the road for the long trek to Pointe du Hoc.

Much of this walk was not too bad, the weather decided to cooperate nicely and once I got to Pointe du Hoc the sun came out. Pointe du Hoc was never farmed or inhabited after the invasion, and it is very clear why. The landscape essentially resembles the moon with grass. Shell craters are every where and getting from point A to point B becomes incredibly difficult and requires deft navigation. Every German structure on the point had been bombed to hell. Huge fragments of concrete and rebar were strewn across the landscape. I cannot imagine what the German troops went through during the naval bombardment, from the damage done it would appear that no one survived unscathed.

Initially the plan was to get picked up by the last bus at Pointe du Hoc. However, upon checking the schedule, it became clear that the only remaining bus back to Bayeux went as far as Colleville-sur-mer, and in two hours. I thus had to walk the entire distance that I had covered throughout the entire day in two hours, basically completely impossible. I began walking back and attempted to thumb a ride. After about a half hour, a nice man in a beat up green sedan stopped and drove me the distance to the bus stop.

As we were driving, the man, who spoke fairly good English, told me about his father's experience in the war. Evidently his father attended school in Caen and was there on the day of the invasion. Part of the Allied master plan was to obliterate Caen, which was seen as a major German strong point. As the naval bombardment began, bombers began swarming overhead disposing of their ordinance over the town. This man's father had dug himself a hole in the basement of the house, and was one of the few survivors from that area. He was so traumatized by the bombing that he did not speak for 10 years.

London

My apologies for not writing quite as regularly as I had intended, my days generally have consisted of getting up, taking the Tube to locations unknown and wandering for hours until meeting up with Daniel and getting Dinner.

I've been doing a bit of the usual tourist-thing, but I've also been enjoying getting willfully lost. Yesterday instead of taking the Tube, I walked, took buses to places unknown, and it ended up being as much, if not more interesting than following the mobs of tourists around town.

I've been doing an immense amount walking needless to say. My left knee has been bothering me today, but hopefully it'll be at least a bit more comfortable tomorrow.

Daniel and Lori had a few friends over last night and we had a spirited poker game, I thankfully won and took a 20 pound prize.

Day 1: London/Imperial War Museum, Buckingham Palace, Thames River...

Today marks the beginning of the European oddessey...

Landed at Heathrow in the morning and met Daniel, drove back to his apartment.

I Took the Tube to Green Park, walked to Buckingham Palace and caught the end of the changing of the guards.

















On to Westminster Abbey and the Parliament building...


Then I meandered across the Thames to the Imperial War Museum and spent a good portion of the afternoon there.

















Afterwards I followed the Thames down past the Globe Theatre (Shakespeare) to the Tower Bridge and across to the Tower of London. I didn't go in, I'll save that for another day.

It Works

If this appears, it works!