Going West

Andy Cunningham, one of Rachel’s friends from Oxford, put it best when he said, “So this is essentially your victory lap through Europe?”

It certainly was. By comparison to most other places I’ve visited, London, Amsterdam, and Paris were very easy to travel through. It was the perfect way to wrap up my 7+ weeks in Europe, with something fun and comfortable. I also got to take my time (relatively speaking), with three nights in Amsterdam and a whopping five nights in Paris. Luxury!

Canals in Amsterdam

My first night in Amsterdam was nice and simple. I went out for dinner and tried some of the things that the Dutch do best: pea soup and fish. The pea soup was particularly good, though it did contain sausage (I pretended it was chicken sausage and opted not to think about it further). Later that evening I polished up my previous blog post, and pushed out yet another round of post-and-pictures.

Friday was my day to do Amsterdam on my own, and I had a couple of sights and to-do items in mind. After sleeping in late, I grabbed lunch and headed to the Anne Frank House. I’ve never read The Diaries of Anne Frank, but the museum does a very good job of giving you the whole picture and an appreciation for how important that house (their hiding place for two years) really is. The house really has a gravity to it, a soul tug. It pulls your heart strings. I guess that’s what they were going for, and, well, they definitely do a good job of it. I was moved.

Unfortunately, after my good (though sobering) time at the Anne Frank House, my day took a turn toward random bad luck. On the way to drop off my clothes at the wasserette (laundromat), my sunglasses broke; after all that angst over losing them in Madrid, they were now garbage =(. Later that day, I took a walk back to the main Amsterdam train station to book my final Eurail pass reservations through to Paris. After taking a number and waiting for about 45 minutes, I realized I’d left the pass back at the hotel – agh! I took another number from the queue, this one very much higher, and headed back to the hotel via the Red Light district; I figured it’d take so long for my number to come up that I could afford a little sightseeing detour.

Plenty of sex shops, straight and gay

The district itself was a real borderline thrill. I did see a handful of women sitting in windows – mostly just staring out at the passers-by and trying to push their boobs up even further – and a ton of sex shops. But otherwise it was pretty tame, lots of cafés and American tourists sitting around sipping coffee. Granted, this was all happening in broad daylight; had I come back later that night I might have seen something else. But to be honest I wasn’t really interested; I’d seen what I needed to see.

When I did finally get back to the train station – Eurail pass in hand – I was surprised to find that my number had passed ages ago! The queue must have started moving twice as fast after I left… grumble. I took a third number, and sat around for yet another 30 minutes. Finally, after all this waiting, I got to a ticket desk. And I found out that all the train reservations to Paris had been sold out for weeks. Crap. My one option, aside from spending over 100 Euros on a 1st class ticket, was to take a series of local trains. I’d leave at 9:30am, change trains in Antwerp, Lille, and Amiens, and finally get to Paris by 7:30pm. Woo. My original plan had been to spend the afternoon sightseeing in Belgium that day, but with this new schedule I’d have a whopping 65 minutes in Antwerp station. So much for that.

That night I made it up to myself by trying the other Dutch specialty for dinner: Indonesian food. Though they don’t still own it, the Dutch have held on to a love for peanut sauce and happily serve it up on everything from traditional Indonesian fare to French fries. That part of the day, at least, went quite well – dinner was delicious =).

Wynand Fockink with Lennard

Saturday was my day to see Amsterdam with friends – a rare (but now increasingly common) treat! I met up with Lennard, a fellow Google intern who lives in The Netherlands, and had the pleasure of getting shown around town by a local. Our first stop was the Rijksmuseum, followed by the giant “I Amsterdam” letters and a lunch featuring French fries dipped in mayonnaise or peanut sauce. That afternoon, as we were taking a breather in the Vondelpark, I got a call from yet another friend: Matt Bush, who I know through both the gay and CS communities at Stanford. Lennard and I grabbed a drink and then met up with Matt at Dam Square. At that point, Lennard told us he had a surprise: he was going to take us to “wine and fokking”. Neither of us had any idea what this meant. Sounded dirty. But of course we had to find out what on earth this was. After a couple minutes of wandering, we ended up at a home-made liqueur shop by the name of Wynand Fockink (“vine-ond fah-kink”). They serve up liqueur samples in elegant little glasses, which are set on the bar and then filled to the brim – literally overflowing at times. The tradition is to then bend over and sip the top off of your glass, until its low enough to pick up without spilling. The three of us shared three rounds, and had a great time enjoying the drinks, company, and location. The place has some definite history and character (the sipping being a key part of it); they’ve been making and serving liqueurs out of that same shop since the 17th century.

The three of us then headed out for dinner, but Matt split off shortly after we sat down – he had to go meet with his hosts in Amsterdam. Lennard and I had yet another peanut sauce-heavy meal – no complaints here – and then said goodbye. I went home and folded laundry, and tried to get some sleep in anticipation of my long upcoming day of local trains.

The journey from Amsterdam to Paris turned out to be even more complicated than expected. My 9:30am train out of Amsterdam was abruptly canceled with 10 minutes notice. A bit frazzled, I asked the conductor on the platform what my other options were for getting to Antwerp (my first stop) as soon as possible. He told me that if I got on “this local train” (pointing to the next platform) and changed at Roosendaal, I could get to Antwerp in about the same time. Great – I hopped on that train and went.

My awesome train buddy

But something wasn’t right; when they announced the train stops, Roosendaal wasn’t one of them. I asked a conductor, and sure enough, that train was not headed to Roosendaal… wonderful. I explained my situation, and we came to the conclusion that my best option was to get off at Rotterdam and wait for the 10:30am train from Amsterdam to Antwerp – the one I could have caught if I’d just stayed in Amsterdam and waited for the subsequent train. The only problem is that I’d get to Antwerp with 5 minutes to make my connection, instead of 65. I swear, someone up there really didn’t want me to spend any time in Belgium on this trip. My time there was ultimately diminished from an afternoon to an hour to five minutes.

There was, however, a silver lining to this grand mess of local trains. On the ride from Rotterdam to Antwerp I sat across the aisle from a cute little five-year-old and his mom. The kid was fascinated with my iPod – he was glued to the screen, watching me play Solitaire of all things. At first it was annoying – I was already pretty annoyed by the train situation – but he started to grow on me. I asked him if he wanted to play a game; oh absolutely, his mother said. We played a two-player round of Tap Tap Revolution (it’s like DDR with your fingers), and he had a great time – even though he never quite figured out how to play. At that point the two of us were hooked on each other, and we spent the rest of the train ride playing various games (he got pretty good at Paper Toss) and listening to music together using my two-way headphone splitter. He’s a huge fan of Michael Jackson and, according to his mother, frequently sings and dances to MJ songs at school. Quite the entertainer.

At one point we were listening to “7 Things” by Miley Cyrus (his mother picked it out, not me, I swear), and since I know all the lyrics by heart, I was mouthing them out as it played. He stared at me slack-jawed. I think he actually believed I was singing, for a moment there – he took out his headphones, realized that the sound wasn’t coming from me, and then put them back in. It was adorable/hilarious.

Arc de Triomphe

The rest of the trip to Paris was relatively uneventful. I did make my five minute connection in Antwerp, and was on my way out of Belgium as quickly as I’d entered it. By dinner time I’d gotten to Paris, checked in, and had a bit of a wander around the area near my hotel.

Paris is a tremendous city, in more ways than one. It’s beautiful, physically large, and has a plethora of things you can see and do. I made a list of just the top few (14 or so) that I wanted to see, and even with four full days at my disposal, struggled to fit it all in. That first morning I took the metro out to the Eiffel Tower, had a nice walk through the Champs de Mars, and took a break to eat a gluten-free Madeleine in the shade. I then crossed over to the Trocadero on the right bank, had lunch at a café, and walked to the Arc de Triomphe. I’d passed on the view from the top of the Eiffel Tower, mainly because I didn’t want to wait over an hour in line, but did opt for the trip up the Arc de Triomphe. I’m biased, certainly, but I think it was the right choice; the Eiffel Tower is such a key part of the Paris skyline, and if you’re in the tower you can’t see it! From the Arc de Triomphe I had a great view of everything from Sacre Coeur to the financial district, the Eiffel Tower and Champs Élysées.

Eiffel Tower by night

I had hoped to then go see the Louvre, but after walking about 2/3 of the way down Champs Élysées, I realized this wasn’t realistic – there weren’t enough hours left before it closed, and I needed to sit down and rest. The city is quite spread out, and the walk down Champs Élysées is no short stroll. I opted to go visit the Centre Pompidou instead. Though the post-1960 art wasn’t my favorite, I really enjoyed the 1900-1960 collection that featured a number of Picasso’s works and some truly bizarre and fun Dada art. The building was an interesting piece of work itself – it’s nothing like every other building in Paris, a solid hunk of brightly colored metal pipes, steel, air ducts, and glass tubes all exposed on the outside.

That evening, after a charming dinner along the nearby Place de Igor Stravinsky (whose fountain is littered with oddities like a giant pair of wax lips spurting water), I took the metro back toward the Seine and got on an evening river cruise, just as the sun was setting. It was perfect timing – the night faded to total darkness during the hour-long ride, and I got to see the highlights of Paris all lit-up in their full splendor. It was a great way to cap off a full, successful day of sightseeing.

The next morning I was up bright and early for a bike tour of Versailles. I met up with a handful of other tourists at the Fat Tire Bike Tours shop, got bikes, and then took the train out to Versailles. We then made a stop at a local open-air food market to buy supplies for a picnic lunch, and then headed out toward the Grand Canal.

Picnic lunch on the Grand Canal

Unfortunately, when we first showed up at the station in Versailles, it was raining miserably. I’d brought a rain jacket and was managing just fine, but some of the others were sopping wet in their shorts and t-shirts. Luckily, by the time we biked out to the canal, the rain had stopped. And since most other visitors seemed to be deterred by the bad weather, we ended up having the entire grounds to ourselves! We set up camp on the west end of the canal – a giant cross-shaped lake with the chateau at the east end – and ate our picnic lunches. I’d brought along a loaf of gluten-free bread, and enjoyed it with some roast beef and mayo I’d bought at the market. Delicious view, delicious food!

After lunch, we biked up to the chateau itself and did the standard walk-through of the endless ornate rooms. Room after room after room, each one littered with the likenesses of French nobles. Although this was a “low-traffic” day at the chateau, on account of the rain, the place was still jam-packed with tourists and groups slogging up the works. I was happy to get out of there.

The chateau gardens, on the other hand, were far more enjoyable. They pipe classical music up throughout the grounds, with dancing fountains to match; combined with the well-kept flowers and endless lines of hedges, it made for a very stereotypical and wonderfully French afternoon.

Sainte Chapelle

The next day provided yet another opportunity for me to go hog-wild sightseeing in Paris, running myself ragged (though enjoying it) in the process. I started the morning at Notre Dame, yet another “must-see”, and then visited the nearby Sainte Chapelle. While waiting in line to get in, I met three women from Georgia: two students from a small state school, and their Art Appreciation professor. We all had a good time chatting, and I ended up joining their Art Appreciation tour of both Sainte Chapelle and the nearby Conciergerie. Wonderful! I got to learn so much more about Sainte Chapelle than I ever would have on my own. The chapel is essentially a large stained-glass bible, with hundreds of little windows depicting everything from Moses (horns included) to Jesus and, on the back wall, the apocalypse. They’d brought a pair of binoculars with them, which I got to use as well. You would not believe the level of detail on these windows! Each one is a small masterpiece, with intricate facial expressions and other minutia all tucked into these tiny vignettes.

After the Conciergerie (a rather boring museum showing where prisoners were kept during the French Revolution, before their beheading), the class and I parted ways and I grabbed a quick lunch. Next on my list was the Louvre, which I finally had time to see. I did the usual tourist thing: see the Mona Lisa, see the Venus de Milo, walk through a small handful of other galleries, and leave. The place is just too big to do with any kind of thoroughness. It’s almost more like a very fancy art warehouse than a museum. Maybe it was the massive crowds, maybe it was the steadily-increasing weariness of museums, but either way I’d had enough after about two hours. I can cross that one off the list.

Sacre Coeur

That evening I took the metro out to Sacre Coeur, a charming basilica that crowns the Montmartre district, a hill out on the right bank. After enjoying the view for a few minutes, I realized that I was very close to one of the gluten-free restaurants I’d researched in advance – in fact, this one claimed to be 100% gluten-free! I had to check it out. Fifteen minutes later, I was sitting in Des Si et Des Mets, happily munching on the complementary gluten-free bread. The meal was fantastic, easily the best I had in Paris. It was also the only meal I ate in a bona fide restaurant, with the price tag to match, as opposed to a café. But I enjoyed every bite. I ended up getting a tomato soup, duck with strawberries and potatoes, and a strawberry-banana tart. Add in the suggested wine pairing for the duck, and it was a perfect meal.

That day just so happened to be July 13 – the day before Bastille Day or, as the French call it, Quatorze Juillet (July 14, no surprise). For whatever reason, the French firefighters have a tradition of throwing giant, free parties at firehouses around France on the evening before Quatorze Juillet – perfect timing! I’d already scoped out one particular Bals des Pompiers (Fireman’s Ball), and after dinner I went looking for the party. The line by the Les Halles firehouse was spilling out and around the corner, but moved quickly enough. While I was waiting, I struck up a chat with the two women right behind me: Desiré and Irene. Desiré is Italian, but has been living in Paris since May while doing an internship at UNESCO. Irene is a professor at a local university, and knew Desiré through a UNESCO connection. The three of us hit it off, and ended up spending the rest of the evening together. I thoroughly enjoyed the booze, rowdiness, and music inside the party (they played everything from old French classics to Shania Twain’s “Man, I Feel Like a Woman”). I even started to see one of the firemen do a strip-tease, but he stopped too soon… perhaps if we’d stayed later things would have gotten crazier, but by about 12:30 we were all getting weary and left. Desiré and Irene hadn’t eaten a proper dinner, so we went to a nearby diner (called “Hippopotamus,” of all things) and got food. Yet another great end to a jam-packed day.

At a Bals des Pompiers

At long last, Quatorze Juillet had arrived. I’d purposefully planned my time in Paris so that I’d be in town for Bastille Day, and it also happened to be my last full day in Europe.

My treat to myself was to not do as much sightseeing that day, and instead focus on just being in Paris. I got a late start, sleeping in quite late, but ultimately found my way out to the Seine for lunch at a café. I did a little souvenir shopping, and then spent a good amount of time sitting in the Tuileries gardens in front of the Louvre. Later in the afternoon I took a walk over to the Musee d’Orsay, a smaller and much more manageable museum than the Louvre, which I frankly enjoyed much more. What a great surprise to see some equally famous works of art, including Whistler’s Mother, some of Renoir’s most famous works, and Van Gogh’s self-portrait! The building itself is also quite interesting (maybe you’ve noticed at this point: I’m frankly more interested in the buildings and the architecture than the art inside them) – it used to be the Paris train station, and it has a particularly beautiful decorative barrel roof.

Once I’d made my round through the museum, I came back to the Tuileries and ate dinner at a café in the park. At that point the sun was starting to set, so I made my way over toward the Place de la Concorde and staked out a viewing spot for the upcoming fireworks show.

Fireworks over Paris

About a half hour later, surrounded by French families with picnic dinners, I heard an overwhelming raucous of English-speaking voices. A group of some kind had just sat down behind me, and after a few minutes I decided I’d go join them. They had just arrived in Paris that day; a Top Deck bus tour group, based out of London, most of whom were Australian (par for course, as far as these kinds of tours go). We all got friendly, and watched the fireworks show together. It was a great way to say goodbye to Europe – going out with a “bang”, so to speak. Once the show was over, I made the long walk back to the hotel (forget the metro – I’d been warned against it given the crowds) and slept.

Yesterday was a long day of travel – all the way back to New York! The trip is now very much in its final throes. I really can’t believe I’ve come this far. I’m a bit sad that it’s coming to a close, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t really looking forward to seeing friends and family. There’s no place like home, and your own home country.

Some closing comments on Amsterdam and Paris:

• Like the Swiss, the Dutch make a point of knowing their neighbors’ languages. They all speak Dutch and English fluently, and are also very competent in both French and German.
• The buildings in Amsterdam are cramped. The staircase in my hotel was probably about a 60-degree incline, with the ceiling so low at points that I had to do a bit of a limbo when going down!
• The French were not the… warmest people I met during my travels. They’re very proud when it comes to speaking French – most of them speak English, but they prefer not to use it. One general rule that served me very well was to always start conversations with locals in French. They want to see that you’re trying, even if all you can say is “Bonjour” (which is most of what I knew how to say… that and some numbers). With about 70% of the French I encountered, this was enough to at least get a polite response – if you then start speaking in English, they’ll answer you back. About 10% were genuinely happy to speak to me in English. The other 20% really didn’t want to talk to me, but we made it work regardless… it was one of the more difficult language barriers, at times, surprisingly enough.
• Along those same lines: France was the one country I visited where public announcements and signs were completely devoid of English. Speak French or get lost – literally. Good thing I know some Spanish, which often helped me guess correctly at the meaning of various words.
• Speaking of signs, the French signage – particularly in the metro – is horrible. They’ll have signs pointing you to just one direction of a metro line and not the other, or a single sign that indicates every metro line but takes you on the most roundabout possible path to get there. I definitely got lost in the metro a good handful of times.

Next time in California!!
-Izaak

I’m having a real lazy day today, the first one I’ve had since… Australia? I think. It’s been a while. I slept in late, ate snacks for breakfast, and spent way too much time on Facebook. I realize it’s a gorgeous sunny day outside in Barcelona, but it’ll have to wait until tomorrow – today is my weekend.

I’ve wanted this break more and more since writing my last blog post. This really came to a head on my birthday, this past Wednesday: I sat down and honestly realized that what I wanted for my birthday was to see some friends and family, not to go see St. Mark’s Square in Venice. Of course, I did go see St. Mark’s Square – it was our one full day in Venice, and Haruki and I got an early start so we could see the square, the basilica, the campanile, and the Palazzo Ducale. But by about 3pm I couldn’t do it anymore, and I went back to my room and watched two movies on my netbook. It was a real treat for me to just take a couple hours off.

Photobomb at Pisa

I know this all sounds glum, but let me qualify it by saying that I’m still having a fantastic time on this trip. I’m just starting to feel the strain of this amount and pace of travel – to put it in perspective, I’ve averaged less than 2 nights in any one place, for the past 11 weeks. At this point, it isn’t so much a lack-of-sleep tiredness as a bones-are-weary tiredness. I love what I’m doing and am incredibly thankful for it – and I wouldn’t dream of quitting for a moment – but I’ll also be happy to have some rest and stability once it’s all over.

Anyway, this “weekend” of mine (which happens to be a Monday) is also a good opportunity to write this next blog post =). So I’ll rewind a bit, and start back on June 19, when Haruki and I packed up and rolled out of Cinque Terre. After a quick lunch, we discovered that our regional train to nearby La Spezia had been canceled. We ended up waiting over an hour for the next train, and missed our connection – oh well. We still got to Pisa by about 5pm, and did what every good tourist does when they arrive in Pisa: walk over to the leaning tower, take some silly pictures, and leave. After about 20 minutes at the tower, we felt like we’d seen enough. On the way back to the station, however, we got drawn into a restaurant advertising gluten-free pasta and pizza; although we were keen to make like the rest of the tourists and scram (Pisa has sadly little of note besides the tower), it was already 6pm, so we went for it. By 8pm, we were already back on the train headed for Florence.

The Duomo

We got a later start the next morning, and met up just before lunch at Mercato Centrale, one of Florence’s bigger street markets. Florence is known for its leather products, so I bought myself a new leather wallet as an early birthday present; Haruki shopped for leather jackets, but didn’t ultimately buy one. After shopping we ate lunch at a little mom-and-pop eatery advertising gluten-free pasta =). I’m loving all this pasta! They even had a gluten-free beer, which I enjoyed for the first time since I left home.

Haruki decided he was too tired to do sightseeing that afternoon, so he went back to his hotel while I wandered around the city. My first stop was the Duomo; designed by Brunelleschi, its dome is completely supported by the walls (no extra supports or beams), making it a major architectural achievement for its time. It’s also yet another building I studied during my history of architecture class, of course. =)

I could have waited in the long line to go up into the dome or the campanile, but opted to see more of the smaller nearby attractions. I first visited the Duomo’s counter-part museum, which houses its most famous relics and artwork; its main claim-to-fame is Michelangelo’s The Deposition. Next, I visited a small, dark little church where Dante was married. After that I made a trip to a local supermarket, where for the first time in months I found gluten-free breakfast bars! I got so excited that I bought 12. You can never have too much snack food when you’re traveling.

View of Ponte Vecchio from the Uffizi

I finally reached the other main tourist center of Florence: the Piazza della Signora and the Palazzo Vecchio. I would have gone to see the Uffizi as well, which is right next door, but our timing in Florence was bad – our one full day there, a Monday, was the one day of the week that most of the town’s famous museums are closed! Rats. I moved on, and found my way to the Ponte Vecchio, a famous old Florentine bridge (and modern-day shopping center). After a quick walk along the south bank of the river and a few moments to scope out a nearby gluten-free-friendly restaurant, I made my way back towards the hotels and met up with Haruki for dinner. We ended up coming back to the same GF-friendly restaurant I’d just discovered, enjoying some particularly good food and wine, and then calling it a night.

Determined to see the Uffizi, Haruki and I woke up early the next morning and got to the entrance before the museum even opened. We’d heard that the lines were long, and it was no exaggeration. Even after arriving so early, we had to wait 45 minutes to get in. But at least we did it! The Uffizi is certainly a world-class museum, and I particularly enjoyed seeing its most famous piece – and my brother’s favorite work of art – Botticelli’s The Birth of Venus. What a treat! Once we’d taken our time wandering through the whole museum, we had just a couple hours left to eat, grab our bags, and head for Venice. By dinner time, we’d already had a stroll through Venice and found our way to yet another GF-friendly eatery along the canals.

Dairy danger on my birthday =)

The next day was my birthday, and I felt obligated to make it a fun day. But with my bones feeling wearier than ever, I ultimately treated myself to a couple hours off in the middle of the afternoon. That night Haruki and I met up for dinner, and I opted to break my dairy-free diet with a panna cotta for dessert. It was exceptionally delicious… even Haruki, who’s had the dish many times before, said it was the best he’d ever had. Given that I was already being “bad”, I figured I’d keep going and order some with-dairy gelato – a big bowl with four scoops =). I’d previously been ordering the without-dairy flavors, like strawberry and dark chocolate; this time I went for caramel, mint chip, milk chocolate… sinfully delicious. I paid the price for it that night and the next day, but no regrets. I loved every bite.

As I packed up the next morning, I made a horrible realization. At dinner on our first night in Venice, I’d tried to use my GPS to add another marker to the Where are we now map. I’d set it down on the ground next to the table, so it could finish transmitting, and forgot to pick it up. That morning, before heading back to the train station, I ran back to the restaurant and left a note with my email and phone number underneath their closed door. I haven’t heard back from them, so I’m assuming it’s gone for good.

Next stop: Switzerland!

Bummed, Haruki and I boarded the train for Milan and set off once again. I started to realize that, although it sucked that I’d lost the GPS, it didn’t have to mean the end of the map; I can manually add markers to it if I know the time and location (and I’ve already done this a handful of times before, when the GPS failed to transmit). So now, instead of pulling out the GPS device, I’ll pull out my iPod and write down the exact time and some notes about where I happen to be. Later, once I’ve got an internet connection, I find the latitude/longitude of the place on a map, and add a marker with the right time and location. So far it’s been working pretty well – you can’t tell the difference.

It was time to leave Italy and the GPS behind; after a quick lunch at the Milan train station, we boarded a sleek Swiss train and headed north.

The differences between Italy and Switzerland are… many. And very apparent. From the get-go, our train out of Milan – the one Swiss train in the station – looked noticeably newer and cleaner than its Italian counterparts. And of course it ran exactly on-time… it’s the Swiss, after all. But more drastic than the difference in trains was the difference in landscape. Once we got out of Milan, we started going through northern Italy, which was much more hilly but still very lush and Italian-looking: just a little scuffed, but with character. Then, after our last stop in Italy, the train ducked into a tunnel in the side of a mountain and zipped away. Swiss border control agents came through with dogs to sniff everyone’s stuff (no passport control, though – even though Switzerland is not part of the EU, they are part of the Schengen Area). Fifteen minutes later, we suddenly emerged in Brig: steep snow-covered mountains, alpine trees, clean, smoothly-paved roads, and lots of Volvo station wagons. Not quite as much light or warmth either. After a couple more hours and trains, we rolled up to our new home in Lauterbrunnen, at the base of the Swiss Alps just south of Interlaken.

Lauterbrunnen in all its glory

Lauterbrunnen, and the entire surrounding Jungfrau region, is about as cute as they come. Very, very stereotypically Swiss. I won’t even bother trying to describe it; just do an image search for Lauterbrunnen and you’ll know what I mean. Everything from the landscape to the buildings to the Swiss watch shops… it’s like it came out of a story-book. Lauterbrunnen, and that whole part of Switzerland, is also very German – yet another big contrast from Italy. Forget gluten-free pasta and wine, for the next three days it was a combination of rosti (a potato dish that lies somewhere between a latke and hash browns) and bratwurst. And beer, of course… but no beer for me. Welcome to the land of hearty Germanic mountain food.

I had a somewhat-surprise waiting for me when we checked in at the hostel: a birthday package from my parents! I knew they were sending me something, but I wasn’t sure what. Much to my delight it turned out to be an assortment of gluten-free dairy-free food: cookies, crostini, biscotti, and granola. YUM! Thanks Mom and Dad! I’ve been slowly nibbling away at it all; what’s left is still sitting here with me in Barcelona =).

View over Mürren

After a nice big rosti for dinner (topped with a fried egg), we took advantage of the free in-room wifi and went to bed. The next morning, I got to work on a few pieces of business (“its business time”, anyone?): doing my laundry at the local laundromat/café, and mailing a massive 8.25lb package of souvenirs back to California. Unlike the last time I mailed a package home, way back in Bangkok, this process was quick, easy, and expensive. The Swiss postal system is the best in Europe (no surprise), and even their cheapest shipping guaranteed to deliver my package in 2 weeks. Talk about a difference from Thailand, where the cheapest option will hopefully get your package delivered in the next 4 months…

Once I’d taken care of business, Haruki and I took a quick stroll through the Lauterbrunnen Valley and ate lunch. That afternoon we took a cable car up to the town of Grütschalp (way up on one of the cliffs overlooking Lauterbrunnen) and then a little train to the town of Mürren. We walked over to a hill just outside of town, where we had a stunning view of the Alps and the Lauterbrunnen Valley. Amazing! As we passed some cows, clanging their cowbells out in the field, I suddenly had an “omg” moment and burst out laughing. There we were, in this beautiful alpine setting, with these happy healthy cows eating grass. And I realized that just 5 weeks earlier, I’d been looking at starving cows eating garbage, on the arid plains of India in the sweltering heat. In that moment, I suddenly felt like I’d seen so much of the world. What a trip, literally and figuratively!

Out on a glacier

After my little existential moment, Haruki and I started our hike down the mountain and back to Lauterbrunnen. Two hours later, we’d finished the 2800ft descent and were ready for dinner. I was quickly getting tired of the all-bratwurst-and-potato diet, so I opted for a sausage salad instead… at least this way I got some vegetables…

Once we got ourselves out of bed the next morning, Haruki and I headed for the train station and bought two tickets to the Jungfraujoch: the highest train station in Europe, way up in the Alps. It’s also a notorious tourist trap; my round-trip ticket, even with the Eurail Pass discount, cost a whopping $150US. Yikes!! Switzerland is a very expensive place – so far, at least, it’s done more wallet damage per day than any other country I’ve visited. After gritting our teeth and swiping our credit cards, we headed for the mountains. I’d seen a weather forecast projecting sun at the top of the mountain, but boy was it wrong – two hours later when we got to the top, the only view we had was of blazing-white cloud cover. Aagh! We ate lunch and still at least enjoyed the available tourist attractions, including an Ice Palace and a walk out onto a glacier (where the ferocious freezing-cold winds made me think I might literally blow away). After a few hours we’d done what there was to do, and took the train back down the mountain. We made the most of it, though, and got off at various stops along the way down. At Kleine Sheidegg, a tiny outpost at a saddle-point in the mountains, we took a stroll in a field of wildflowers. And at Wengen, an adorable little tourist town on the cliffs overlooking Lauterbrunnen, we bought some chocolate and just enjoyed the view. We took our time and didn’t get back until dinner, at which point we were ready for a warm meal.

A field of flowers at Kleine Sheidegg

And, just like clockwork, our time in Switzerland had come to a close. It went by too quickly. We got up early the next morning and headed for Interlaken, where we spent an hour doing some last-minute souvenir shopping, and wandering around the town where my parents got engaged (yep – way back in 1983!). From there we took the train to the Geneva Airport, where Haruki and I parted ways after almost two weeks of traveling together. His next stop: Poland, where he started his first day at Google today. My next stop, of course, was Barcelona. I got here yesterday evening, wandered around the area near my hotel (Poble Sec), and had ribs for dinner. And today, as you know, was my wonderful “weekend” =). Aside from a brief outing to get some paella for lunch, I’ve thoroughly enjoyed my lazy time here in the hotel room, nibbling on my birthday present food and writing up this post.

A few last notes:

• I don’t know Italian, but my knowledge of Spanish was occasionally very useful in Italy. At one point I was in a supermarket and tried explaining to someone that I was looking for gluten-free food. When English didn’t work, I tried Spanish – and suddenly we could more or less understand each other. Of course, now that I’m in Spain, my day-to-day interactions are that much easier. Unfortunately, I’ve realized how much vocabulary I’ve forgotten; my more ambitious attempts at conversation have gotten muddled with English.
• Florence itself is more or less an art town, but it also has a much bigger youth presence than anywhere else we visited in Italy. I’m sure this is because so many US colleges send their kids there for study-abroad programs – Stanford included – and as such the bar and club infrastructure is much more substantial.
• Venice, on the other hand, is a complete tourist trap. Everything costs money (even different rooms within St. Mark’s Basilica), and the souvenir shops are endless. To give you an idea, the instructions for how to get to my hotel included “turn right at the Disney store”…
• There were a huge number of Indian and Japanese tourists in Switzerland. I was really surprised! There was even an Indian restaurant at the top of the Jungfraujoch…

Until next time!

-Izaak

I thought I’d get better about putting up blog posts once I left Nepal; turns out I’m still as busy as ever, and only getting lazier as the trip goes on. But with a 5 hour ferry ride back to Athens ahead of me, I’ve finally got some time to sit and do this justice… so here it goes.

It’s hard to believe it’s been less than two weeks since Abdulla left! Time – and the trip – has really moved on. So far, I’ve had no trouble doing Europe on my own. I also haven’t had too much trouble with loneliness – at least not yet. I’m discovering that buses and ticket lines are great places to meet strangers, even if just for a quick chat. I’ve also been doing more chatting with family and friends from home, which is a big help. That, combined with the fact that I’m moving around so much, leaves me little time to actually get lonely at all. Too much to see and do!

The Giant Teapot in Abu Dhabi

This whole next “chapter” of the trip – the post-Abdulla era – started off with a great little western culture shock on the way to the hotel in Abu Dhabi. I got out of the airport and right into a taxi, and headed toward town. All the taxis in Abu Dhabi are very nice: they’re luxury sedans, with everything from a sunroof to screens mounted into the headrests. Talk about an upgrade from a rickshaw. Then, as we’re breezing down an empty 4-lane highway in the artificially-greened outskirts of town, the taxi driver turns on the radio and “OMG” by Usher starts to play. I almost burst out laughing. The whole thing was just too ridiculous! Here I was, out in an absurd green city in the desert built by oil money, rocking out to Usher and having a ball. The whole other world of India and Nepal had vanished in an instant.

My time in Abu Dhabi was too short, and too poorly planned. I’d come with the false impression that, during my one full day there, I could walk around town and see some of the sights. I vastly underestimated the size and scale of the city. The next morning I set off on what I thought would be a five-minute stroll down the road to a cultural center; 45 minutes later, after walking around the entire city block, I came to the conclusion that it was either closed or didn’t exist anymore. Given that it was already almost noon, and the 108F heat was starting to take its toll on me, I decided I’d try to find a restaurant. But in Abu Dhabi, they’re harder to come by than I’d anticipated. All I could find were furniture stores, jewelry stores, and offices. Finally, after another half hour of wandering, I found a single restaurant dropped in the middle of a park near the waterfront. The Tiara café; looked pricey. But I wasn’t about to pass on what seemed to be the one restaurant in town. I ordered lamb (spelled “lamp”) – my first meat dish in weeks, since I’d been avoiding meat in India/Nepal – and it was phenomenal. Expensive, but worth it. With that and another bottle of water, I set out for more wandering.

I only got so far before exhaustion hit again. After lunch, I saw Abu Dhabi’s little collection of gigantic statues: a canon, a teapot, and a few other mysterious objects, each of them blazing white and about 40 feet tall. Clearly the grand idea of some oil sheikh. After getting a picture with the teapot, I walked back to the waterfront and looked for a beach. I finally found one (after another hour of walking), dipped my feet, and came to the conclusion that what I was doing was silly. I could have taken a taxi to another part of town, but I just didn’t have the energy for more exploring. So I walked back to the hotel, and rested for what was left of the day. In retrospect, I would have been better off coughing up the money for an over-priced bus tour of the town, and sparing myself from the heat and the walking. Oh well, live and learn.

The Hagia Sophia

The next morning I was up bright and early for the flight to Istanbul. I accidentally slept an hour late, but still scrambled to the airport with enough time. Once I’d made it to the hotel in Istanbul, I started off walking – yet again – but this time with a fantastic 72F breeze. What a relief! I walked down to Sultanahmet, home to Istanbul’s famous architectural sites, and got a peek at the Hagia Sophia (called “Aya Sofia” in Turkish) from the outside. I couldn’t wait to go inside the next day; I’d studied the Hagia Sophia during a “History of Architecture” course I’d taken as an undergrad, and was jazzed to see it in person. After a dinner of kebabs (spelled “kebaps” in Turkish), it was time for bed.

The next day I set out with an ambitious plan to see Topkapi Palace, the Hagia Sophia, and the Blue Mosque all in a single day. After a quick breakfast, I spent three hours wandering around the Topkapi Palace and Topkapi Harem with the help of an audio guide. There it was, the Turkish/Muslim take on the 5 wives / 400 concubines story of kingdoms come and gone, just like India. The palace was beautiful, and had stunning views of the Bosphorus and the Asia side of Istanbul. It had a decidedly European flavor to it too, with French-inspired tower gates and cobblestone pathways for the horses. The reality of being in Europe was still sinking in.

The Blue Mosque

After lunch at a cute little restaurant nearby, I went for my much-anticipated walk through the Hagia Sophia. It was great to just sit there, admire the artwork and the grandeur, and rest. Even though it’s almost 1500 years old, it’s still an impressively large space. The combination of Christian and Muslim artwork adds a lot of interesting depth as well; it was a church for about 1000 years, before the Ottomans took over and converted it into a Mosque.

My next stop was the Blue Mosque, built around the start of the Ottoman era (well after the Hagia Sophia), in a competitive attempt to create an even more beautiful structure. On the surface, the Blue Mosque definitely succeeded – its beautiful domes and perfect symmetry far outshine the Hagia Sophia, which looks a bit dumpy and squat on the surface. On the inside, however, the Blue Mosque pales in comparison. The construction of the main dome was far less ambitious than that of the Hagia Sophia; while the central space of the Hagia Sophia feels weightless, seemingly suspended by nothing, the Blue Mosque has four gigantic “elephant columns” that support the dome and break up the space. The Blue Mosque is also covered in decorative tiles – excessively so, almost every single surface – to the point where they apparently had to commission less-skilled craftsmen to help fill the huge demand. It was just too much.

That night I met up with Gabby for dinner; Gabby was on our India/Nepal tour, and just happened to also be in Istanbul at the same time. It was great to see her! We had a nice meal down by the waterfront, and then wandered back up to Sultanahmet for some Turkish Delight and coffee. Always fun to see a familiar face in an unfamiliar setting =).

Dinner with Gabby

The next morning I’d planned a full-day tour of Dolmabahce Palace and the Bosphorus; unfortunately, when I woke up, I felt sick to the point that I could barely bring myself to leave the room. The food poisoning had returned. I’m not sure whether it was a relapse of the case I’d had in Nepal, or an entirely different instance, but either way I felt horribly sick and couldn’t go 10 minutes without a toilet. I got myself downstairs, canceled the tour, and crawled back up into bed. I spent the next 2 whole days – the rest of my time in Istanbul – sitting in the hotel room and using the bathroom. When I needed food, I wandered down the road to the local market, where I got bananas, apples, and water, or to the restaurant next door where I ordered steamed rice to-go.

My health steadily improved, and the two days of rest in Istanbul were necessary and worthwhile. I was a bit bummed to have missed out on the other activities in town, but at least I’d gotten to see the Hagia Sophia – if that was all I’d seen, it would have still been enough.

By the time Sunday rolled around, I had just enough energy to pack myself up and head to the airport. I flew to Athens, and started off in yet another country. My first taste of Greece was, unfortunately, a bit sour. Too exhausted to brave the metro, I opted for a taxi to the hotel: 35 Euros, a flat rate to anywhere in central Athens, guaranteed (according to the sign at the airport). I got in a taxi, confirmed the price and the address, and headed off. About half way there, the driver turns to me and explains: there are political protests going on in Athens that are blocking off certain roads. He can still take me to the hotel, but he’ll have to drive an extra 7km to get there and he’ll charge me more. Or, he said, he can drop me off somewhere “nearby” the hotel and point me in the right direction, for the agreed-on 35 Euros.

No way, buster. I told him we’d made a deal: 35 Euros, to the hotel, flat rate, agreed on when I got into the car. He started to yell, so I did in turn; before I knew it we were in a full-on heated argument over the taxi fare. Fine, the taxi driver said, call the hotel and ask the receptionist; they’ll confirm the story. I called his bluff, borrowed his phone, and called the hotel. To no surprise, the receptionist agreed with me and not him: he did confirm that there were protests going on in town, but said they were 1.5km away from the hotel and shouldn’t affect our ability to get there. I explained this to the taxi driver, and handed the phone over to him. The two of them proceeded to yell at each other over the phone, in Greek, for the next five minutes. When he finally hung up, the taxi driver explained the situation to me one last time. And I just gave him an ultimatum: either he’ll take me to the hotel for 35 Euros, or I’ll get out of the car right there and now and pay him nothing. That finally did the trick; he backed down, agreed to the 35 Euros, and we continued on in silence. I won!

The Parthenon

That evening, after paying my 35 Euros (and not a cent more – no tip for that jerk), I headed south of the hotel and found a nice restaurant, with a view of the Acropolis, that served a simple chicken soup. My appetite was starting to pick up, and I could now stomach a bowl of soup and a plate of rice in a single sitting. I did a little walking around town, and then went home for some much needed rest.

The next day was my one chance to go visit the Acropolis, and I wasn’t about to miss it. After breakfast I wandered up the hill, waited in the long line for my ticket, and befriended some cruise ship tourists along the way. I spent the late-morning/early-afternoon seeing the Parthenon and the Erectheon – both very impressive. Of course I’d studied both structures during that same architecture course, so it was fun to see them in the flesh as well. No doubt this will be a continuing trend; the Coliseum, the Vatican, the Alhambra… anyway, after getting my fill of Doric and Ionic columns, it was time for lunch. After another bowl of chicken soup, I took a walk around Ancient Agora, the old heart of Athens, and then did a little more exploring around town in search of a pharmacy and a health food store (I needed a few supplies). After a quick dinner, I tucked in for an early sleep.

Thira and the Santorini Caldera

By 4:30am the next morning, I was up, packing, and rolling out the door for an early-morning ferry to Santorini. It took me a while to find the ferry company’s office down at the port, but once I finally had a ticket in hand, I settled onto the boat and rested for the five-hour ride. These Greek ferries, or at least the ones I’ve taken, are more like airplanes than anything else. Everyone has assigned seats (though no seatbelts), and the boat whizzes across the water so fast that you can’t – and wouldn’t want to – go outside. It’s certainly the fastest option for getting out to the isles, aside from flying; the slower ferries take about twice as long, and often consume an entire day (or night).

By noon, I’d reached Santorini and was already in a bus on my way up to the main town of Thira (sometimes spelled Fira). I made the mistake of walking from the bus station to the hotel – a 10-minute up-hill walk, with my 50-pound behemoth of a bag – but managed to find my way just fine. That afternoon I wandered around Thira, and took in some of the charm of Santorini. There’s something about the alleyways of the little towns, especially at night. They look like they’ve come straight out of a story book about a quaint little village near an old castle. The only difference is that all the little shops are either selling souvenirs or expensive jewelry (clearly intended for the countless couples having romantic vacations). Still, the towns have an undeniable charm that can’t quite be explained.

I sealed off the evening with a sunset view over dinner; although it was a bit cloudy, and the sunset wasn’t much more than the sun disappearing behind some clouds, the quality of the light and the view of Thira still made it a special sight.

Blue-domed church at Imerovigli

The next day I tried to see as much of Santorini as I could, while still not draining myself too much. I took the bus up to the small town of Imerovigli, in the hopes of seeing its famous blue-domed church and the one in nearby Firostefani. After a half hour of fruitless searching, I finally found an American woman who pointed me in the right direction. I spent the next hour walking down the coast, taking in the incredible views of the blue-trimmed gleaming white villas, and admiring the blue-domed churches that were literally straight out of the postcards. I ended up walking all the way back to Thira, grabbing a quick lunch, and then resting in the hotel room for a couple of hours.

There was still too much of Santorini I hadn’t seen; I couldn’t stop so soon. By 3pm I was out again, this time headed south on the bus to Akrotiri and Red Beach (supposedly the best beach on the island). I got off the bus and started walking along the shore. I had no idea where I was going, but luckily I started talking to an American family who knew the way. On the 15 minute walk to Red Beach, I started to befriend their eldest daughter, Anna, who had just graduated from Concordia College in Minnesota. An Art History major with a super-religious bent: she works as a counselor at a bible camp, and enjoys giving sermons… needless to say I wasn’t keen on sharing too many personal details with her. Once we got to the beach, we went separate ways and I got some time to swim, sunbathe, and enjoy being on the Mediterranean.

Both Anna’s family and I had independently decided to catch the same bus back to Thira, and a while later we all found ourselves walking back to the bus stop together. Anna was telling me that Oia (pronounced “eeya”), at the far north end of the island, is by far the most beautiful town on Santorini and has the best sunsets (it also happened to be where she and her family were staying). I figured I might as well get dinner and watch the sunset from there, so we all continued on together toward Oia.

Sunset at Oia

A few minutes before we got to Oia, Anna asked me if I wanted to get coffee with her. Eek. I hadn’t told her that I was gay (obviously), and now it seemed like I was being asked on a date. Not knowing what to do, and with her father sitting right next to us, I said okay. When we got off the bus, I pulled her aside and explained the situation. She understood, and didn’t seem too phased by my being gay (surprisingly), so we split off from her parents and got coffee, just as friends. And we had a great time! It was nice to have a little chat with another person my age, even if we had absolutely nothing in common. After an hour or so, Anna went off to go find her parents, and I wandered west to get a view of the sunset.

Just as Anna said, Oia does have the best sunsets. Although it was still cloudy, like the day before, the way the sun peeked out of the clouds and illuminated the town was sight worth seeing. After the sun disappeared, I did a little wandering through Oia and saw the blue-domed churches that make the town famous. I ate dinner on a rooftop overlooking the island, and had a great time watching the daylight fade away. By the time I caught the bus back to Thira, it was completely dark; aside from the light in the shop windows, the whole island seemed to have gone to sleep.

The next morning it was time to move again; I had a big breakfast and rolled back down to the bus station, got to the port, and headed for Mykonos. Mykonos, unlike Santorini, is a bit more geared toward single people; not only is it known as one of the major party islands, it’s also known as the gay clubbing destination of Greece. I could tell I was headed for Mykonos as soon as I sat down on the ferry. I quickly discovered that the two guys sitting next to me were a couple; they couldn’t keep their hands off each other for the entire two-hour ride. Not something you see in public every day!

Windmills of Mykonos

Somehow, when I got off at Mykonos, my energy level took a dip. It was noticeably hotter than Santorini, and maybe I’d run around too much the previous day… given that I was still recovering from food poisoning, I might have pushed it a bit. Regardless, I found myself sitting at the port, giant rolling bag in hand, and I knew there was no way I could get myself up the hill to the hotel without help. Mykonos has hardly any taxis, so unfortunately that wasn’t an option. I decided I’d head over to the ferry company office, pick up my return ticket to Athens, and ask them what I could do. They were incredibly helpful, thank goodness. After calling the one taxi company (only to find out that they were completely busy), they called my hotel and got them to come pick me up. Phew! It turns out the hotel was quite far up the hill from Mykonos, to the point where it’d have taken me hours to roll my bag up the long winding road. Although it’s only a half-mile walk from town it’s a very steep half-mile of stairways; I’m glad I never had to make the trip with my luggage.

Still exhausted, I rested in the room for quite a while. I made a trip to town in the late afternoon, saw Mykonos’ famous windmills, had a very expensive fruit juice (with a view of the ocean and the windmills), and stocked up on bananas and water at the local market. That evening, still running on low energy, I stumbled back down to town and got dinner. I had dressed up in anticipation of possibly going to some of the clubs, but after taking a look at them, I just couldn’t motivate myself to commit and do it. All the ones I saw seemed to be full of older guys – not exactly my crowd – and I also got the sense that the party wouldn’t really pick up until quite late. I didn’t have the energy for it, so I went back to the hotel and slept.

This morning, my energy was noticeably better – phew! I walked down to town for a quick lunch, then checked out and got driven back to the port. And now, here I am, sitting on the five-hour ferry back to Athens; a good opportunity to do a little writing. Tomorrow I’ll be up and out early in the morning, this time for an overnight tour to Delphi and Meteora in northern Greece. The movement never stops, but neither does the excitement – so far so good! Despite getting sick and losing my travel partner, I’m continuing to have a great time =).

I’ll close with my usual notes:

• In the US, every hotel room comes with a bible in the nightstand drawer. In the UAE, every hotel room comes with an arrow on the roof that points toward Mecca.
• Maybe it was unusual luck, or maybe it’s a common misspelling, but wherever I went in Abu Dhabi and Istanbul I saw the word “lamb” spelled “lamp”. I ate lamp on a few occasions.
• Apparently there is no European equivalent of Pepto Bismol. I’ve searched, in pharmacies and online, and it just doesn’t exist.
• The receptionist at the hotel in Athens taught me the “Greek way” of doing things. At one point I asked her to call the ferry company for me, and they put her on hold. So she said, “watch, this is how we do things in Greece”: she hung up, called back, and yelled at the guy on the other end. He didn’t put her on hold this time, and just answered our question straight-out. So remember, if at first you don’t succeed, yell yell again! Hey, it worked with the taxi driver too.

Χαιρετε! (Be happy!)
-Izaak

Alright, time for part #2 in the posts-about-India series. I’m assuming you’ve already read my thoughts on what it was like to just be in India; now I’ll talk about what we actually did when we were there!

We got our first taste of India on the plane ride to Delhi. A large group of Indian men across the aisle from us got thoroughly wasted during the 3-hour flight, got rowdy, and even started taking random pictures of passengers in the plane. One guy was so drunk that he couldn’t fill in his arrival card; I ended up having to help him. In India, it doesn’t matter if you’re bothering other people – do as you please.

I’d already arranged an airport pickup, so we got out of customs and straight into a private car with no problems. The driver got lost on the way to the hotel, but after driving through a few crowded alleyways, we finally got there. The hotel itself was a bit disappointing. I think it was clean by local standards, but to our eyes, things looked pretty bad. To top it off, the hotel initially put us in a double room (i.e. one double bed instead of two single beds). I complained, and the manager finally gave in and switched our room. It was the reality of being in India, and I wasn’t altogether surprised; Abdulla was miserable.

India Gate

With the help of a hotel attendant, we set out in search of an ATM, a money changer, and dinner. We ended up finding all three, though Abdulla got thoroughly ripped off by the money changer, and dinner didn’t sit well with us (we had a minor case of “Delhi Belly”: food poisoning). That evening’s walk around town was also our first real glimpse of an Indian city: the rubble and trash, and the sleeping men and dogs tucked into corners. If you’ve read my first post, you’ll know what I’m talking about.

The next morning we checked out ASAP, and headed to the first hotel/starting point of our two-week Delhi to Kathmandu tour. This hotel was decidedly nicer and cleaner, much to our relief. We met up with our group after lunch, and then set off for a quick tour around Delhi. We took the metro to India Gate, then rickshaws to Connaught Place. Most of us ate dinner together at Connaught Place, and then found our own ways back to the hotel.

Our hotel in Jaipur

By about 5am the next morning, we were all up and out the door. The first of many early starts on this tour :-/. We caught a 6am train to Jaipur, home of Bollywood, and arrived just before lunch. Our new hotel was pretty luxurious: swimming pool, comfortable rooms, ornately decorated buildings, and good food. It was a real sharp contrast to the true Jaipur sitting right outside the hotel gates. Out of all the cities we visited in India, Jaipur stands out in my mind as the dirtiest. This might have also been influenced by the market just around the corner from the hotel: it was especially filthy, with livestock both dead and alive, and smells to match.

After a tasty hotel lunch, we came back to reality by walking out of the hotel gates and all around town. We visited City Palace, belonging to the Maharaja (king) of Jaipur, and then took rickshaws out to MI road for dinner. Although the group initially got split (a long story involving a rickshaw and some bad bargaining), we all eventually found each other at a nice restaurant. After dinner, some people took rickshaws back to the hotel, while I and some others opted to walk back and see the city. I’m happy I did; that evening I saw my first street wedding party, replete with trumpeters and fireworks. Later that evening, we all hung out by the pool, chatted, and drank. After our first full (and long) day together, the group was starting to coalesce.

Kristal, Janie, Ryan, Karen, Megan, and Elana

On that note, I’ll pause and give a brief overview of the other thirteen people on our tour. Abdulla ultimately ended up befriending the “younger” (18-25) set of travelers: Gabby from Sydney, Jane from Wales, and Emma, Lucy, and Jamie from England. Oddly enough, I ended up bonding more with the “older” (26 – 42) set: Elana and Chris from southern CA, Karen, Kristal, and Ryan from Toronto, Megan from Tucson, and Janie from England. These two groups only really formed after about a week; we all still got along really well throughout the trip, but as in any bigger group, clumps tend to form – this was just the natural separation.

Of course I’ve forgotten one of the most important people: Varun, our tour guide, from Delhi. Unsurprisingly, he was invaluable when it came to translating, communicating, and keeping us organized – thank goodness for that.

Varun had us up bright and early for our first full day in Jaipur. We drove out to the Amber Palace, just outside of Jaipur, for a tour of another gorgeous, endless, excessive Indian fort/palace. On our way back, we got a glimpse of the Floating Palace (which completely covers a small island in a nearby lake) and ate lunch. We had the afternoon to ourselves (the girls and I went shopping), and later met up to go see a Bollywood movie. We took rickshaws out to Raj Mandir, the famous Bollywood movie house, and saw “Love U… Mr. Kalakaar”. It was actually a bit disappointing – not nearly as much Bollywood dancing as we were expecting! It tried too hard to be a Hollywood movie. It was also so simple that, even in Hindi with no subtitles, we were all easily able to follow the cliché rich-girl-poor-guy-embittered-father storyline.

At the Taj Mahal

We left Jaipur early the next day on another 6am train, this time headed for Agra (home of the Taj Mahal). That afternoon we visited Agra Fort, another gigantic fort/palace complex, and then Taj Mahal just before sunset. Gorgeous! We all had a fantastic time wandering the grounds and just being in its presence. The inside of the Taj is actually sparer than you might think. Everything is elegant and marble-white, but the carvings and inlay work don’t really compare to what we’d seen in the many other forts/palaces. You can tell it’s meant to be a tomb; there’s a solemnity to it. It was actually a refreshing change.

That night we all went out for a nice dinner overlooking a street near our hotel. I started getting to know Megan, Elana, Kristal, and Ryan a bit better, while Abdulla spent time with Gabby and Emma. We all got to witness yet another street wedding party, which was really neat to see from above. Afterward, I went back to the room and slept (too many early mornings!) while Abdulla and the others went out for drinks.

Our train the next morning was mercifully later, not until 9am, which gave us a bit more sleeping time. We made the short trip to Jhansi, followed by a 30 minute rickshaw ride out to the small town of Orchha. Orchha is definitely a tourist town; it’s composed entirely of Hindu and Buddhist temples, luxury resorts, and “Lonely Planet Recommended” restaurants. I put that in quotes, because every place has a sign claiming that they’re “Lonely Planet Recommended”… That afternoon we didn’t have any planned activities; given that it was 47C (116F) and we had a swimming pool out back, we spent the hours splashing about and desperately throwing on sunscreen.

Temples at Orchha

That evening we went out for a quick walk around the city, followed by a visit to a Hindu temple. We actually got to witness a service; we even went up and got sprinkled with a bit of holy water (which we did not drink… the locals did though)! The shrines were interesting… elaborate little rooms, with giant dolls representing various gods. It’s about as far from Judaism as you can get. After the service, we went out for dinner at a “Lonely Planet Recommended” restaurant. I ate something that set off my stomach… I suspect it was the rice… but by the next morning, I was on the toilet with my second round of “Delhi Belly”. I attempted to go out for a temple tour the next morning, but had to bail after my third desperate trip to a bathroom. I spent the rest of the afternoon sitting around the lobby, and using the toilet, and the surfing the web. I’d hoped that the food poisoning would just pass, as it had the first time, but things continued to get worse: I started having a headache on top of everything else. I took a Homeopathic remedy and some Immodium, in a desperate attempt to fix things before our overnight train that evening; we were about to start a 13-hour ride to Varanasi, and the train toilets aren’t exactly ideal. Luckily the Immodium did the trick and clogged me up just in time. I managed to survive the train ride with only two trips to the toilet! And although the train was packed, and I was wedged into the middle of a 3-high bunk surrounded by coughing old men and mothers with small children, I got 8 hours of sleep! I’ve never been more thankful to have my silk sleep liner, earplugs, and a night mask.

The next morning I felt noticeably better. I was still clogged up from the Immodium, but the headache had passed. We got off the train and into our hotel in Varanasi just in time for lunch. The “old” set went out for lunch at a nice Indian restaurant nearby, while the “young” set went in search of McDonalds. We had some time to rest during the afternoon, before our evening trip out to the Ganges.

Sunset cruise on the Ganges

Seeing the Ganges doesn’t quite hit you in the same way as the Taj Mahal. The experience sets in more gradually, as you walk along the Ghats and actually see some of the things going on around you. The water is filthy – its supposedly some of the dirtiest water in the world, with hundreds of raw sewage outlets pouring right into it – but its considered holy water; locals are bathing in it right and left. The west (Varanasi) bank of the river is packed with the Ghats, people, and cremation pyres, while the east side is an empty, flat sand plane; it makes for an interesting contrast. That evening we took a sunset boat ride out on the Ganges, accompanied by a sitar player and a drummer . From the water, we were able to see the cremation pyres burning along the shore. It’s considered good luck to be cremated by the Ganges, and to have your ashes then scattered into the river. The more famous floating cremation pyres are apparently reserved for the wealthier dead – we didn’t see any during our time there. After the sun set, we also got to witness a huge, nightly ceremony along the shore. A handful of dancers move in unison, each one on their own giant stage along the shore, as thousands of people stand around and sing. The river is also littered with locals and tourists, eager to get a view of the show. The whole event felt a bit other-worldly.

Not to be deprived of the Ganges experience the next day, we were all up early once again and back on the river for a sunrise boat ride. This time, however, things weren’t quite as exciting; the sunrise itself was muddled by the thick smog cloud hanging over the country, and the shores were (relatively speaking) quiet. By 6am we were back on land, with no other plans for the rest of the day. We all got breakfast near the Ghats, and then split into our usual groups: the “young” set went back to the hotel, while the “old” set wandered about Varanasi. At first, nothing was open; after all, it was still only about 8am. We walked back out to the Ganges, and happened to come across the site where the cremations actually take place. The whole process was captivating, and it happened right before our eyes. The dead are wrapped in white muslin, and then draped with colorful fabrics. They’re then carried down to the Ganges on stretchers, and dipped into the water (for good luck). Afterward, they’re carried back up to the cremation pyres, which sit along the shore. The fabrics are removed, and the white wrapped body is placed delicately on the pyre. The wood has been laid such that the head and knees sit slightly elevated, while the seat and feet are slightly lowered. Next, some light kindling is laid on top of the body, followed by a series of spices and incense. Finally, the bottom of the pyre is lit, and the whole stack starts to smoke. At this point, the smoke got so bad that we had to walk away; but presumably, the smoke soon turns to fire, and the whole thing burns.

Cremation pyres

Still in awe of what we’d just seen, we drifted back into town in search of various necessities we needed. Janie wanted to find a post office, and several of us were keen to go shopping, so we all walked around town. Eventually Chris, Kristal, Ryan, and Janie went back to the hotel, while Karen, Megan, and I continued walking until almost 4pm! In that time we walked almost the entire length of the northern Ghats, accidentally walked through a poor Muslim neighborhood, and bought tons of stuff. According to Megan’s pedometer, we walked 11 miles that day. Crazy! We came back to the hotel, and rested for the few hours we had left before dinner.

Meanwhile, back at the hotel, Abdulla had been getting steadily sicker. He’d started to feel ill the day before, but things had intensified. After dinner that night, as I was getting ready for bed, he asked me to find the 24-hour emergency medical consultation number that comes with our travel insurance; he went downstairs and made the call as I fell asleep. About an hour later, Janie came into our room and woke me up. She and Varun were about to take Abdulla to the hospital, but they needed to find his wallet first. We scrambled through his bags and found it. She assured me that they would watch out for him at the hospital, and I collapsed back into bed.

The three of them were out at the hospital the entire night. Abdulla was put on an IV saline solution, and started feeling better. It seems to have been extreme dehydration, set on by food poisoning. He came back the next day feeling a lot better, but still a bit sick. They gave him a series of medications (antibiotics, etc), which he took. For the time being, at least, it seemed like the medical issues were resolving themselves.

With that behind us, the group set off the next morning for the Nepali border. We had a private bus, which struggled with us through the 15-hour, traffic-laden journey north. Meanwhile, the effects of the Immodium on my gut were starting to wear off, and the diarrhea resumed. There were a few unpleasant bathroom breaks along the road, but I managed to make it through without too much trouble.

Once we reached the border, things got complicated. We were supposed to have locals take our luggage across the border in rickshaws, while we sorted out our Indian immigration. Unfortunately, Jamie started harassing the locals from the bus window; despite our best efforts to get him to shut up, he wouldn’t. He ended up pissing them off so badly that we had to drive away, to avoid them damaging our bags. We crossed the border by bus, while Varun took our passports to the Indian immigration office to get things sorted out (apparently you don’t have to be present to get your passport stamped… that’s India I guess). Once we had our passports back, we all bought our Nepali entry visas and set out for Bhairahawa, Nepal.

I know this seems like an unceremonious place to stop, but I’ll save the rest for the post about Nepal – coming soon, I promise. I’ve already covered my various India tidbits in the first post, so I’ll close here by saying that the story of this two-week tour isn’t even nearly over. To be continued…!

Hello again! Another week, another country, and another note – this one coming from Bentota in southern Sri Lanka. It hasn’t been quite as eventful or dirty of a week as the last one, but that’s fine with us. No complaints about a little more lux and a little less sweat =).

World’s largest reclining Buddha

Last I left off, we were just about to start our first full day in Bangkok. It started off with a nice spread at the hotel breakfast – a great mismatched breakfast of custom omelets and Thai curries – followed by a little nap in the room. Afterward we took a tuk tuk out to Wat Pho, one of Bangkok’s largest and most impressive temples, and home to the world’s largest reclining Buddha. After lunch and a long walk around the temple grounds, Abdulla and I treated ourselves to traditional Thai massages at the Wat Pho massage pavilions. Abdulla got a foot massage, while I opted for the full-body treatment. Both of us had a nice, relaxing time. I didn’t really feel that much better or worse afterward, but the massage itself was great – they cracked everything from my fingers to my toes, and twisted/cracked my back in all kinds of amazing ways.

We were so exhausted after our massages that we came back to our hotel and rested, again =P. This would end up being a common theme during our time in Bangkok – after the hilltribe trek, the two of us were more than happy to do a bit of nothing. Abdulla has also been struggling with jet-lag, and until recently has been sleeping at every opportunity. After a nap and a so-so dinner near the hotel, we went back to our favorite internet hotspot: The Fabulous Bar and Dessert Café – the ultimate place to hang out for unique people. I’m not kidding, that’s the name of the place (talk about a name with an attitude). Anyway, they have good drinks and free internet, so we ended up being regular visitors.

The next day, after another smorgasbord at the hotel breakfast, Abdulla and I went for a “Fish Massage”: you dip your feet in a pool full of little fish that love to eat dead skin. For $5 you get 15 minutes of fish nibbling away at you. It sounds gross, and it tickled at first, but ultimately it was actually quite nice. My feet were apparently quite tasty – poor Abdulla didn’t get nearly as much loving from the fish. Later that day we took a walk down toward the river for lunch at a Thai-Muslim restaurant, and then checked out an old park and fort nearby.

Khao San Road

Before I continue, I have to first talk about Khao San Road. Khao San Road is the tourist hot-spot of Bangkok, a single little street that’s packed solid with markets, salesmen, and smells of all kinds. Our hotel was just one street over from Khao San Road, and the Fabulous Bar was directly on it, so it became an inescapable part of our three days in Bangkok. The first thing that comes to mind about Khao San Road is the smell. First, for about a half second, you smell sweet meats – like a teriyaki sauce with too much sugar. Then it hits you – the smell of that mixed with poo. I think it must be the combination of spoiled meats and strong sauces, all lying around on the endless food stands sitting in the middle of the road. Blech.

The other equally-unappealing part of Khao San Road is the constant badgering from persistent salesmen/scammers. Most of them are Indian men trying to sell you custom suits; it’s all part of the classic Bangkok Suit Scam. The idea is to sell custom-made suits to foreigners for a fraction of what they’d pay at home (though its still a lot of money); the catch is that they purposefully delay delivery until right before you leave the country, so when the shoddily-made suit falls apart two days later, it’s too late for you to do anything about it. Others are just random people who really want to get to know you; they’re likely trying to con you in some other way, perhaps with the Card Scam (where they befriend you, take you to their house to play a gambling game, and then you “accidentally” gamble away someone’s “valuable” family heirloom, forcing you to cough up gobs of cash). Every person on Khao San Road who isn’t a shopkeeper or a tourist, is a con artist. Shoppers beware.

Aside from the smells and the scams, Khao San Road is a vast, one-stop shop for souvenirs and trinkets of all kinds. And that really isn’t so bad. As long as you can work through the “interesting” environment, it’s actually pretty convenient.

Now, you’d think that after all this talk about Khao San Road, Abdulla and I would be pretty scam-proof. We thought so too. But after lunch we made the mistake of falling for a Free Petrol Trick (it really isn’t so much a scam as a trick, so never fear, we lost no money). Supposedly, on certain days there is some government-sponsored export shop that gives free petrol coupons to tuk tuk drivers that bring tourists into the shop. I’m still not sure if this is true or not, but I suspect it isn’t. Either way, at the time we though it was legitimate. So when a tuk tuk driver offered to take us to a handful of temples, then the export shop, then to our hotel, all for 10 baht (35 cents), we weren’t too surprised – sure, we’ll do it.

As promised, the tuk tuk driver first took us to two temples: the Standing Buddha and the Happy Buddha. Both were borderline thrills. Next, it was time for the export shop. But we were pretty surprised when we walked into the supposed export shop and found that it was actually an Indian-run suit store! Uh oh, something was wrong. Abdulla and I knew about the suit scam, so after a few minutes of feigning interest we walked out.

Ditched and tricked

I asked the tuk tuk driver if the next stop was the export shop. Yes, we were promised, the next stop would be the export shop. But no surprise, the next stop was none other than: another Indian-run suit store! We ended up getting roped into a long conversation with some really pushy salesmen. We even got their card (they were pretty surprised when we asked for a card… sign #483 that it was a scam) so we could remember the place and the experience: James Fashion. Once we finally got out of there, the tuk tuk driver took us to the “export shop”, again – this time it was a jewelry store. At this point I got pretty mad with him, and told him he better take us to a few extra temples to make up for all these shops. We should have just refused to get out of the tuk tuk. Instead, we reluctantly went into the store, got shepherded through the showrooms full of $20000 rings, and walked right out. The tuk tuk driver asked us if we’d bought anything; when we said no (duh), I could tell he wasn’t happy. Next, he promised, he’d take us to another temple. Then back to the hotel.

This time he actually told the truth. He dropped us in front of some random not-so-exciting temple and went off to park. When we went to look for him afterward, though, he was nowhere to be found. Gone. Abdulla and I were a bit peeved, but I guess we got our money’s worth: nothing for nothing. Good thing we hadn’t given him the 10 baht up front. In the end we caught a different tuk tuk back to our hotel, and walked away with an interesting bit of first-hand experience in Bangkok trickery.

The rest of our time in Bangkok paled in comparison. That night we walked to a different part of town for dinner, and ate at a restaurant where I’m pretty sure the English menu had higher prices than the Thai menu… The next morning, after breakfast and lunch, Abdulla and I spent a few hours looking for a way for me to send a box full of souvenirs back to the USA. Ultimately I shipped it off with the Thai postal service, which was a third the cost of FedEx. Here’s hoping it actually makes it home. Later that afternoon we grabbed our bags, hopped in a taxi, and headed for the airport. That evening we flew to Colombo, Sri Lanka, and started off a whole new chapter of the trip.

Inside Sri Dalada Maligawa

Abdulla was born in Sri Lanka, and spent his first three years in Colombo before moving to Australia. He also has a lot of family that still lives here, and his uncle Hisham has been incredibly helpful in arranging our drivers and accommodation for the past few days. I first got to meet Hisham when he picked us up from the airport that night – he took us to Lake Lodge, a super-lux hotel in Colombo, where we each had our own private rooms. The next morning he’d arranged for a driver, Brian, to take us out to Kandy for the day. Kandy is a city in central Sri Lanka, about 120km east of Colombo. You wouldn’t think it’d take that long to drive that distance, but in Sri Lanka, that’s easily a three hour journey. The traffic here is horrendous, and the drivers are worse. The highways are really just two-lane roads, packed with giant trucks, cars, tuk tuks, and motorcycles, each one trying desperately to pass the other and narrowly avoiding accidents at every step. I’d be surprised if we went more than five seconds without hearing someone honk their horn. At times it got to be too much for me to watch, and I just sunk into the back seat and closed my eyes.

We didn’t have nearly enough time in Kandy, partially because Brian took us to an Ayurvedic garden and a tea factory on the way there (both of which were not-so-exciting tourist traps). But I am still happy we got a chance to visit. Once we actually reached Kandy, we had just enough time to eat lunch and visit Sri Dalada Maligawa (The Temple of the Tooth Relic), which supposedly housed one of the Buddha’s teeth. The temple itself was beautiful, and had a much more wooden and homey feel to it than the Thai temples we’d visited. After an hour or two there, it was time to make the long return journey to Colombo. Brian dropped us off at Hisham’s house, where we had dinner, met his family, and spent the night. Abdulla was really happy to see his grandparents, whom he hadn’t seen since his last trip to Sri Lanka in 2007.

View from our room in Bentota

The next morning, Brian drove us down to Bentota, a small touristy town on the southwest coast. Since then we’ve been staying at Shangri Lanka Villa, a really nice, quiet bed and breakfast just a short walk from the beach. From our third floor room we have a gorgeous view of a field of palm trees. Aside from going out for lunch and dinner, we spent our first day there lazing about and swimming in the pool. Earlier today, after breakfast on our patio, we went out to a beach-side restaurant for lunch and stayed on the beach afterward for some gorgeous swimming and sun on the Indian Ocean. The water was perfect, warm enough to be comfortable but cool enough to balance the 90-degree heat. I alternated between resting on a beach lounger and swimming around in the sea – it was a perfect afternoon. Earlier tonight we had a room service dinner out on our patio, and afterward I wrote up this note.

All in all it’s been a great, luxurious, relaxing few days here in Sri Lanka. But tomorrow things will change all over again; 24 hours from now we’ll be in Delhi, getting ready to start our two-week tour to Kathmandu. India promises to be anything but relaxing, and the touts will undoubtedly be far worse than anything in Bangkok. It’s going to be an experience, and I’m sure I’ll have a lot to say about it in my next post.

As usual, a few closing tidbits:

• Sri Lanka has two languages: Sinhalese, and Tamil. Sinhalese is the primary language in the south and west (where we’ve been), and I have to say, I think the letters look like pumpkins. Take a look for yourself, somehow they just look like little pumpkins to me.
• Sri Lankans seem to love moody western 70’s music – that’s all we’ve heard on the radio. In particular they really like Leo Sayer, who gave a live performance in Colombo a few days ago.
• Sri Lanka has a few touts, but they’re not nearly as bad as the ones in Thailand. In Thailand, if you tell someone you’re not interested, they’ll hassle you more. In Sri Lanka, they usually take the hint and walk away. Much appreciated.

I can’t make any guarantee about when I’ll upload my next post, since I’m not really sure what to expect with regards to internet in India. Also, the GPS hasn’t been working at all in Sri Lanka, which means it certainly won’t work in India or Nepal. So I may be out of touch for a while… we’ll see what happens.

Nawatha hamu wemu! (“Catch you later”, in Sinhalese)
-Izaak