Hello readers, we are finishing up our time in Rome. I am in an internet cafe again, with another foreign keyboard, so I will have to keep this short. Here are some thoughts:
1) Rome is everything people say it is -- beautiful, fantastic, chaotic, and brutal. It is a lot to take in, but nighttime in Rome is really magical. Just finding a small alleyway or square that is away from the roar of the cars and vespas makes everything worth it.
2) While the UK is having record flooding, the record heatwave that is over Eastern and Southeastern Europe continues. It is sort of our luck that we travel in it, but honestly, 95 degrees feels downright pleasant after the 110 degree heat in Budapest.
3) For the Serra High readers: Every time I see a man with white hair, a beard, and a Rick Steves book I think it is Mr. Stankhe. Mr. Stankhe is here in Europe. I can feel it.
4) The one truly cliche Eurotrip moment we have had was at the Vatican Museum yesterday, and it might have been one of the more trying travel experiences I have ever had. Getting off the metro, we see the line and think, it cannot be that bad. Little did we know that the line to get into the Vatican Museum (and the Sistine Chapel) wrapped around TWO of the outer walls of the Vatican. Ok, no big deal. It is like Space Mountain, Todd says. You know it is the best ride at Disneyland and it always has a long line because it is the best ride, and you cannot go to Disneyland and not ride it. So you cannot go to Rome and not see the Sistine Chapel. The really stinky thing is that it is 95 degrees out, you are waiting in the sun for over an hour, and oh yes -- you are wearing pants and short sleeves because the modesty requirements of the Vatican say that you cannot bear your shoulders or show any skin above the calf. Unfortunately all the skirts I brought are knee-length, and they must be below the knee to get into St. Peter's. Needless to say we sweated like pigs. And once we got in, they hearded you in large groups like cattle for the next FOUR miles, with no places to stop and sit or drink water. It's nuts.
5) Ok, God can strike me down if he wants, but I have some beefs with the Catholic Church here. First of all, they charge 13 Euros per person (that's about $16) to go into the Vatican. Once you get there, after you have waited in line for hours, they have no A/C, and no water fountains inside. Tens of thousands of people visit the Vatican everyday. At 13 Euros a pop, they can darn well afford some A/C and water fountains. It is almost a health hazard to allow that many people in. Along those lines (I can feel God striking now), as beautiful as all the churches are, I can for the first time in my life see where Luther was coming from. After the 100th ornate, gold-covered church, I can't help but wonder what good that money could have used towards --feeding parishioners, clothing the needy, etc. If the money had gone to the ground level it could have really done some good. And while it is all so lovely, I just have very mixed feelings about all of it.
6) On a lighter note, there are definite advantages and disadvantages to being a woman in this country. The advantage of being the fairer sex means that I have paid half as much to go into museums as Todd, and have been given free food, and particularly attentive service. The flip side is that Roman men really will follow you. I understand that it is part of the culture, but from where I come from, following someone isn't the way to win a girl's affection. It's a way to get pepper spray in your face.
My time is about to run out, so I have got to go. We leave for Florence tomorrow, and I hope to post then. Let me know how all of you are doing!
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
Saturday, July 21, 2007
The Americans Who Went Up a Hill and Came Down a Mountain
I am sitting in an internet cafe using a Magyar (aka Hungarian) keyboard, which is definitely the most challenging I have used in my life. I am missing most forms of English punctuation, and have s lew of letters I will never use. Oh well.
Continuing our global warming tour of Europe, we are currently in Budapest. While it is a mild 71 degrees in Paris, it is a steamy 106 degrees in Budapest. Thankfully, our hotel does have air-conditioning, but it is the only place that does. Here are some quick observations:
1) While Budapest lacks the fairytale charm of Prague, I find I prefer it as a city. It is much bigger, has great restaurants and nightlife, and the people you interact with are friendly and actually Magyar, or Hungarian. It really feels like a city shedding its communist past. Todd said it best when he said that Budapest has good bones. Like a great fixer-upper, all it needs is a little more time to be as beautiful as some of its neighboring cities.
2) Cabbies here are every stereotype of a thick-necked Eastern European. They are low-level thugs, but apart from them, the city is really safe -- even if a neighborhood does not look like it. It is the decay from 40 years of communism.
3) The title of the post comes from Todd and Iűs experience with the maps they provide tourists. We were trying to go to the famous Gellert Baths, and looking at the map, it appeared to be at the top of a huge hill, and it appeared that the only way we could reach it was by climbing up about 250 stairs in 105 degree heat. We did it, then walked about a mile and a half at the top of the hill and found the street that the baths are on. Unbeknownst to us, this street winds its way from the top to the bottom, and in large circulars. We walked a few more miles down the hill...only to find that the baths are at the bottom of the hill, and we had hiked about four extra miles than we needed to...uphill, in the sweltering heat. Sigh.
4) This really is a great city, and it has a very youthful spirit to it. Again, it might be the change from communism, but there is a great energy here.
5) We met Justinűs doppelganger yesterday. He is from Wisconsin but now living in DC. I swear, it was one of the creepiest things ever.
I am running out of time so I had better get going, but lots of love to you all. We head to Rome tomorrow, and hopefully I can get to a cafe there too.
Continuing our global warming tour of Europe, we are currently in Budapest. While it is a mild 71 degrees in Paris, it is a steamy 106 degrees in Budapest. Thankfully, our hotel does have air-conditioning, but it is the only place that does. Here are some quick observations:
1) While Budapest lacks the fairytale charm of Prague, I find I prefer it as a city. It is much bigger, has great restaurants and nightlife, and the people you interact with are friendly and actually Magyar, or Hungarian. It really feels like a city shedding its communist past. Todd said it best when he said that Budapest has good bones. Like a great fixer-upper, all it needs is a little more time to be as beautiful as some of its neighboring cities.
2) Cabbies here are every stereotype of a thick-necked Eastern European. They are low-level thugs, but apart from them, the city is really safe -- even if a neighborhood does not look like it. It is the decay from 40 years of communism.
3) The title of the post comes from Todd and Iűs experience with the maps they provide tourists. We were trying to go to the famous Gellert Baths, and looking at the map, it appeared to be at the top of a huge hill, and it appeared that the only way we could reach it was by climbing up about 250 stairs in 105 degree heat. We did it, then walked about a mile and a half at the top of the hill and found the street that the baths are on. Unbeknownst to us, this street winds its way from the top to the bottom, and in large circulars. We walked a few more miles down the hill...only to find that the baths are at the bottom of the hill, and we had hiked about four extra miles than we needed to...uphill, in the sweltering heat. Sigh.
4) This really is a great city, and it has a very youthful spirit to it. Again, it might be the change from communism, but there is a great energy here.
5) We met Justinűs doppelganger yesterday. He is from Wisconsin but now living in DC. I swear, it was one of the creepiest things ever.
I am running out of time so I had better get going, but lots of love to you all. We head to Rome tomorrow, and hopefully I can get to a cafe there too.
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
An Open Letter to Rick Steves
Dear Rick:
I really like you. Your humor, lovable quirkiness and -- let's be honest -- dorkiness is unbeatable in the travel industry. You know your stuff, and I love your approach to traveling through Europe. You have never led me too far astray on my travels, and I thank you for that. And I am not even ashamed to admit that I Tivo your travel specials, and feel a little bit giddy when I see you have new travel specials to watch.
It is with great sadness then that I must report that you have failed me somewhat on this trip to Prague. The hotel is, of course, fantastic, and everything we are looking for. Hotels are one of the things you really do best. And your thorough, informative descriptions of sights and attractions is absolutely fantastic. But Rick -- dear, sweet Rick -- your food and nightlife recommendations have been so hit-or-miss I'm wondering when was the last time you visited Prague.
On our first night we went to the Czech restaurant you recommended as one of the best examples of Czech food. Now I've learned that Czech isn't always something to write home about, but my 'homemade meatloaf,' which was in fact a lukewarm piece of bologna, and Todd's white bread dumplings in gravy from a can, were almost inedible. That's saying something, because at the end of the day there are few foods I can't stomach. Dinner the next night at the Thai/Burmese/Malaysian restaurant you recommended was fantastic, and I thought you had redeemed yourself. But last night we went to the fish restaurant you recommended, the one with the 300 Kc fixed-price three-course meal with a view on the river. When we arrived, we found they have never had a fixed-price menu, and that you can't find an entree for under 300 Kc, and you have to pay additionally for a side -- unless you want to just eat a piece of fish. Admittedly, my fish was fresh, but it had so many bones in it is was also nearly inedible. And to top it all off, the restaurant would not give free tap water. You had to purchase small bottles of water for over $2 each. It was 98 degrees yesterday Rick. 98 degrees. Do you know how much it hurt to drink $2 worth of water in less than 30 seconds?
In fairness, all this isn't your fault. But I was so surprised, because you have always been so good to me Rick. All of our misadventures culminated when we went to the nightlife/entertainment section you provided on Prague. The place you recommended first for music clubs is a venue called 'The Roxy,' which you describe as 'a lively place with live bands and and experimental DJs.' Todd and I were about to go there when I checked the Prague book my friend and former co-worker Karaliese loaned to me. It describes the Roxy as the following: 'A former cinema stripped to its concrete essentials, and usually playing hard-core techno to match. It styles itself as an 'experimental space,' but largely sticks to raves of the most traditional kind, and due to the absence of adequate air-conditioning, descending onto the dance floor is usually like slamming into a wall of sweat. Popular among early 1990s nostalgists and recreational drug abusers.'
That, ladies and gentleman, is why I always buy two guidebooks for wherever I'm going. And I love you Rick -- I really do -- but I thank my lucky stars we had that other book. Otherwise Todd and I might still be stuck in some sweaty Nirvana haze in a post-communist basement.
Rick, I think you might be getting out of touch with the 'young' traveler, and that's ok. No one expects you to be hanging out in the coolest places. But I propose something to you: hire me to be that person. I'm young, qualified, a reasonably ok writer, and we're kindred dorky souls. Let me be the person to update your guidebooks with great restaurants, clubs, concerts, etc that can appeal to the younger traveler who's upgraded from hostels but still wants to travel on a reasonable budget. Save the hundreds of youths who might be out there right now, stuck in the early 1990s with recreational drug abusers at some club you've recommended. Save them Rick. Save them.
You're soon to have a second chance Rick, as we leave for Budapest tomorrow, and I'll see then if your recommendations improve. Until then, gentle readers, have a wonderful day, and hopefully I'll be able to put in a post before we leave Hungary.
I really like you. Your humor, lovable quirkiness and -- let's be honest -- dorkiness is unbeatable in the travel industry. You know your stuff, and I love your approach to traveling through Europe. You have never led me too far astray on my travels, and I thank you for that. And I am not even ashamed to admit that I Tivo your travel specials, and feel a little bit giddy when I see you have new travel specials to watch.
It is with great sadness then that I must report that you have failed me somewhat on this trip to Prague. The hotel is, of course, fantastic, and everything we are looking for. Hotels are one of the things you really do best. And your thorough, informative descriptions of sights and attractions is absolutely fantastic. But Rick -- dear, sweet Rick -- your food and nightlife recommendations have been so hit-or-miss I'm wondering when was the last time you visited Prague.
On our first night we went to the Czech restaurant you recommended as one of the best examples of Czech food. Now I've learned that Czech isn't always something to write home about, but my 'homemade meatloaf,' which was in fact a lukewarm piece of bologna, and Todd's white bread dumplings in gravy from a can, were almost inedible. That's saying something, because at the end of the day there are few foods I can't stomach. Dinner the next night at the Thai/Burmese/Malaysian restaurant you recommended was fantastic, and I thought you had redeemed yourself. But last night we went to the fish restaurant you recommended, the one with the 300 Kc fixed-price three-course meal with a view on the river. When we arrived, we found they have never had a fixed-price menu, and that you can't find an entree for under 300 Kc, and you have to pay additionally for a side -- unless you want to just eat a piece of fish. Admittedly, my fish was fresh, but it had so many bones in it is was also nearly inedible. And to top it all off, the restaurant would not give free tap water. You had to purchase small bottles of water for over $2 each. It was 98 degrees yesterday Rick. 98 degrees. Do you know how much it hurt to drink $2 worth of water in less than 30 seconds?
In fairness, all this isn't your fault. But I was so surprised, because you have always been so good to me Rick. All of our misadventures culminated when we went to the nightlife/entertainment section you provided on Prague. The place you recommended first for music clubs is a venue called 'The Roxy,' which you describe as 'a lively place with live bands and and experimental DJs.' Todd and I were about to go there when I checked the Prague book my friend and former co-worker Karaliese loaned to me. It describes the Roxy as the following: 'A former cinema stripped to its concrete essentials, and usually playing hard-core techno to match. It styles itself as an 'experimental space,' but largely sticks to raves of the most traditional kind, and due to the absence of adequate air-conditioning, descending onto the dance floor is usually like slamming into a wall of sweat. Popular among early 1990s nostalgists and recreational drug abusers.'
That, ladies and gentleman, is why I always buy two guidebooks for wherever I'm going. And I love you Rick -- I really do -- but I thank my lucky stars we had that other book. Otherwise Todd and I might still be stuck in some sweaty Nirvana haze in a post-communist basement.
Rick, I think you might be getting out of touch with the 'young' traveler, and that's ok. No one expects you to be hanging out in the coolest places. But I propose something to you: hire me to be that person. I'm young, qualified, a reasonably ok writer, and we're kindred dorky souls. Let me be the person to update your guidebooks with great restaurants, clubs, concerts, etc that can appeal to the younger traveler who's upgraded from hostels but still wants to travel on a reasonable budget. Save the hundreds of youths who might be out there right now, stuck in the early 1990s with recreational drug abusers at some club you've recommended. Save them Rick. Save them.
You're soon to have a second chance Rick, as we leave for Budapest tomorrow, and I'll see then if your recommendations improve. Until then, gentle readers, have a wonderful day, and hopefully I'll be able to put in a post before we leave Hungary.
Sunday, July 15, 2007
Greetings from Praha
As it happens, our hotel in Prague has a free computer with internet for guest. So while I'm taking a break I thought I would include a quick post on observations on Prague:
1) Prague really is the jewel of Eastern Europe. It's absolutely beautiful in a picture postcard, almost Disneyland sort of way. It hardly seems real.
2) With that being said, Prague in summer reminds me a bit of the Las Vegas strip. No one you meet here is from here, and everyone is involved -- in some form or another -- in an outfit or scheme to take your money. All the locals who don't have to be here have fled.
3) Prague is no longer the inexpensive city of Europe. With the current exchange rate, 1 dollar buys you 20 Koruna, and as a result, most things are just as expensive here as they are in the US. Now, given the general ass-kicking the dollar is getting against the pound and the Euro, I guess it is less expensive, but I wouldn't call it a bargain by any means.
4) People here are very friendly -- much more so than in Vienna. Also, everything is in both Czech and English, but very few people speak Czech. It's nice, but also takes away from the 'local' experience.
5) The beer here is great, and by far the cheapest and best value. A half-liter of Pilsner will cost you about a dollar and twenty cents. It's awesome.
6) Holy moley is it hot here right now. Today it's been about 95 degrees, and no escape anywhere. I know I won't get much sympathy from the folks back home, because the news says it is pretty brutal over there too. Sorry guys, I feel your pain.
7) Cobblestones are pretty and romantic, but man they can make your body ache after walking on them all day long. My feet hurt, and even my lower back is a mess. But it's totally worth it!
8) For an interesting set of contrasts, today we went to the Prague Castle (incredible views over Prague), and the St. Vitus Cathedral (don't tell the Viennese, but I find it more impressive than Stephansdom), the Mucha museum (lovely graphic art), and finished it off with a visit to the Museum of Communism in Prague. Surprisingly interesting and informative -- it was recommended by a friend. As a big f-you to Lenin, it's housed above a McDonalds, which they proudly proclaim in their advertising. We're finishing our day with a walking tour of Haunted Prague tonight.
9) Speaking of McDonald's, I have seen more Mickey D's and KFC's in the Old and New Town of Prague than anywhere else in Europe in my life. And they are always packed. I saw that KFC now has a 'Quirrito,' which looks a cross between a quesadilla and burrito with fried chicken inside. Eeeeewwww. But man, when they embraced capitalism, they really embraced fast food.
10) UPDATED: For the past four days Todd has been singing the 'Good King Wenceslas' Christmas carol every day because it came from Prague. It's been fantastic.
11) Prague is officially the place for British men to come to have their bachelor party. They're all here, and none of them wear shirts -- or sometimes -- pants.
I've got to get going, but love to you all, and hopefully I'll have a chance to post more in the future!
1) Prague really is the jewel of Eastern Europe. It's absolutely beautiful in a picture postcard, almost Disneyland sort of way. It hardly seems real.
2) With that being said, Prague in summer reminds me a bit of the Las Vegas strip. No one you meet here is from here, and everyone is involved -- in some form or another -- in an outfit or scheme to take your money. All the locals who don't have to be here have fled.
3) Prague is no longer the inexpensive city of Europe. With the current exchange rate, 1 dollar buys you 20 Koruna, and as a result, most things are just as expensive here as they are in the US. Now, given the general ass-kicking the dollar is getting against the pound and the Euro, I guess it is less expensive, but I wouldn't call it a bargain by any means.
4) People here are very friendly -- much more so than in Vienna. Also, everything is in both Czech and English, but very few people speak Czech. It's nice, but also takes away from the 'local' experience.
5) The beer here is great, and by far the cheapest and best value. A half-liter of Pilsner will cost you about a dollar and twenty cents. It's awesome.
6) Holy moley is it hot here right now. Today it's been about 95 degrees, and no escape anywhere. I know I won't get much sympathy from the folks back home, because the news says it is pretty brutal over there too. Sorry guys, I feel your pain.
7) Cobblestones are pretty and romantic, but man they can make your body ache after walking on them all day long. My feet hurt, and even my lower back is a mess. But it's totally worth it!
8) For an interesting set of contrasts, today we went to the Prague Castle (incredible views over Prague), and the St. Vitus Cathedral (don't tell the Viennese, but I find it more impressive than Stephansdom), the Mucha museum (lovely graphic art), and finished it off with a visit to the Museum of Communism in Prague. Surprisingly interesting and informative -- it was recommended by a friend. As a big f-you to Lenin, it's housed above a McDonalds, which they proudly proclaim in their advertising. We're finishing our day with a walking tour of Haunted Prague tonight.
9) Speaking of McDonald's, I have seen more Mickey D's and KFC's in the Old and New Town of Prague than anywhere else in Europe in my life. And they are always packed. I saw that KFC now has a 'Quirrito,' which looks a cross between a quesadilla and burrito with fried chicken inside. Eeeeewwww. But man, when they embraced capitalism, they really embraced fast food.
10) UPDATED: For the past four days Todd has been singing the 'Good King Wenceslas' Christmas carol every day because it came from Prague. It's been fantastic.
11) Prague is officially the place for British men to come to have their bachelor party. They're all here, and none of them wear shirts -- or sometimes -- pants.
I've got to get going, but love to you all, and hopefully I'll have a chance to post more in the future!
Friday, July 13, 2007
State of Grace
For this, my final post from Vienna, I thought I would dedicate some time to two things I love: walking and footwear. Anyone who knows me knows that I love to walk, and I love fabulous shoes even more (thanks for that addiction Mom). Unfortunately, fabulous footwear and walking often don’t mix, and nowhere has this become more apparent to me than in the cobblestone streets of Vienna. The streets are quaint, romantic, and evocative of a time long gone by – and also utter hell to anyone walking in anything other than a tennis shoes.
I’ve gotten in the habit of packing my heels in my book bag and changing my shoes in the office, but even my dressy flats are a bit of a chore on the cobblestone streets because they have a narrower frame than your practical walking shoe. This often results in the “Whooooaaa wobble” where your ankle buckles and you have to catch yourself quickly before you face plant into the lovely stones on the road. Todd has a moderate amount of patience with this, but since he’s not the heel-wearing type, he just can’t entirely sympathize with the great pains we women make in the name of fashion. I also worry about taking a nosedive because it could mean I have to go to the “krankenhaus,” or hospital, and if there is one thing that scares me, it is having to utilize my already exorbitant individual Kaiser health plan while “out of network.” I might as well just sign away my first-born child. Here’s hoping that I make my way through the cobblestone streets of Prague, Budapest, and Italy without any trips to the hospital along the way.
My lack of grace culminated in an incident two weeks ago, when I lost my sandal in the subway. Yes, I lost my sandal in the six-inch gap between the train and the platform. I’ll pause for a moment for you to laugh and make whatever jokes you need to about my “not minding the gap.” Now that you’ve had your moment, let me explain what happened.
First, I should mention that there is absolutely no subway etiquette in this country. Unlike New York, San Francisco, or DC, where people line up for a train in a semi-orderly fashion, and most importantly, wait for the passengers departing the train to get OFF before cramming into the train, Vienna is a veritable public transit free-for-all. You’ll be shoved, pushed, and stepped upon each and every day as you try to get on and off the train. It is in this atmosphere that my poor Reef sandal fell victim to a ruthless public transit user who couldn’t wait to get on the train.
I was with Todd and our friend Marlena, and as we stepped onto the train, someone stepped on the back of my sandal, and I walked right out of it. I turned around, expecting to find my sandal, and instead found nothing. Oh no no no, I thought to myself. The gap is six-inches wide. There’s no way it could have fallen down there. I stepped off the train, glanced down the gap, and saw my poor sandal below. We stepped off the train and Todd looked at me, still in a state of disbelief that I could be this clumsy (and in my defense, it wasn’t MY fault), and I got him to go up to the station agent window and ask them to help retrieve my sandal. If this had been any other city, I simply would have said auf wiedersehn to my sandal, but as I mentioned before, Vienna is a very clean city, and frankly, it was my beloved Reef sandal. I’ve never owned a more comfortable pair of flip-flops, and with our travels only weeks away, I need a good pair of walking sandals. And with the dollar continuing to tank, I don’t want to have to buy one more thing than I absolutely have to.
Like a knight in shining armor, an orange-vested station agent came to the platform with a long hook and retrieved my sandal. Apparently this happens more often than one would realize. I never thought I would be so grateful to see something come out of a subway. After a good cleaning, my foot and sandal were reunited – and I am even more paranoid about my shoes on the subway.
Well dear readers, Todd and I leave tomorrow for our travels – a “Pickpockets Tour of Europe,” as one friend called it. We’re off to Prague, Budapest, Rome, Florence, Siena, the Cinque Terre, Venice, and a day at Marlena’s parent’s retirement home outside of Florence. We’ll do our best to mind our belongings – and the gap. I hope to post about my continuing travels, but I can’t make any promises since we won’t have a computer and my access to a computer for a prolonged period of time may be scarce. I may try to post when we return though, as I’ll be writing in a good old-fashioned journal during our trip. Then it’s back home to California, and to so many of you. Lots of love to you all, and please comment or email and let me know how you are doing!
I’ve gotten in the habit of packing my heels in my book bag and changing my shoes in the office, but even my dressy flats are a bit of a chore on the cobblestone streets because they have a narrower frame than your practical walking shoe. This often results in the “Whooooaaa wobble” where your ankle buckles and you have to catch yourself quickly before you face plant into the lovely stones on the road. Todd has a moderate amount of patience with this, but since he’s not the heel-wearing type, he just can’t entirely sympathize with the great pains we women make in the name of fashion. I also worry about taking a nosedive because it could mean I have to go to the “krankenhaus,” or hospital, and if there is one thing that scares me, it is having to utilize my already exorbitant individual Kaiser health plan while “out of network.” I might as well just sign away my first-born child. Here’s hoping that I make my way through the cobblestone streets of Prague, Budapest, and Italy without any trips to the hospital along the way.
My lack of grace culminated in an incident two weeks ago, when I lost my sandal in the subway. Yes, I lost my sandal in the six-inch gap between the train and the platform. I’ll pause for a moment for you to laugh and make whatever jokes you need to about my “not minding the gap.” Now that you’ve had your moment, let me explain what happened.
First, I should mention that there is absolutely no subway etiquette in this country. Unlike New York, San Francisco, or DC, where people line up for a train in a semi-orderly fashion, and most importantly, wait for the passengers departing the train to get OFF before cramming into the train, Vienna is a veritable public transit free-for-all. You’ll be shoved, pushed, and stepped upon each and every day as you try to get on and off the train. It is in this atmosphere that my poor Reef sandal fell victim to a ruthless public transit user who couldn’t wait to get on the train.
I was with Todd and our friend Marlena, and as we stepped onto the train, someone stepped on the back of my sandal, and I walked right out of it. I turned around, expecting to find my sandal, and instead found nothing. Oh no no no, I thought to myself. The gap is six-inches wide. There’s no way it could have fallen down there. I stepped off the train, glanced down the gap, and saw my poor sandal below. We stepped off the train and Todd looked at me, still in a state of disbelief that I could be this clumsy (and in my defense, it wasn’t MY fault), and I got him to go up to the station agent window and ask them to help retrieve my sandal. If this had been any other city, I simply would have said auf wiedersehn to my sandal, but as I mentioned before, Vienna is a very clean city, and frankly, it was my beloved Reef sandal. I’ve never owned a more comfortable pair of flip-flops, and with our travels only weeks away, I need a good pair of walking sandals. And with the dollar continuing to tank, I don’t want to have to buy one more thing than I absolutely have to.
Like a knight in shining armor, an orange-vested station agent came to the platform with a long hook and retrieved my sandal. Apparently this happens more often than one would realize. I never thought I would be so grateful to see something come out of a subway. After a good cleaning, my foot and sandal were reunited – and I am even more paranoid about my shoes on the subway.
Well dear readers, Todd and I leave tomorrow for our travels – a “Pickpockets Tour of Europe,” as one friend called it. We’re off to Prague, Budapest, Rome, Florence, Siena, the Cinque Terre, Venice, and a day at Marlena’s parent’s retirement home outside of Florence. We’ll do our best to mind our belongings – and the gap. I hope to post about my continuing travels, but I can’t make any promises since we won’t have a computer and my access to a computer for a prolonged period of time may be scarce. I may try to post when we return though, as I’ll be writing in a good old-fashioned journal during our trip. Then it’s back home to California, and to so many of you. Lots of love to you all, and please comment or email and let me know how you are doing!
Friday, July 6, 2007
Killing Me Softly (Or: Where there’s smoke, there’s Vienna)
Above everything else, there is one thing that is without question my least favorite thing about Vienna: the smoking. Earlier this year I read an article that called Austria “the last smoking haven of Europe,” and it’s certainly true. While places like Ireland, Scotland, Madrid, and even Paris are going smoke-free in public places, Austria stands resolute as a country that has no intention on changing its smoking regulations, despite the fact that with socialized medicine the government foots the bill for the country’s habit. So on the heels of this week’s announcement by the World Health Organization that an estimated one billion (yes, I said billion) people will lose their lives to tobacco-related deaths in this century, I thought I would dedicate a post to my observations as an ardent non-smoker in a country where I am the clear minority.
Smoking is deeply embedded in the cultural of Vienna. You often see images of the Viennese intelligentsia smoking their cares away at the multitude of cafés that cover this city. But in fairness, smoking was a part of life in nearly every culture on the globe during the past century, so I always feel like this is a bit of a weak argument. Smoking is also completely pervasive. Even at the UN – which ironically the World Health Organization is a part of – you can smoke in your office, and purchase cigarettes at any hour from the handy cigarette vending machines that are on every other floor, as well as on every corner of the city.
To give you a sense of perspective on smoking, let me share some statistics with you. In California, where there are some of the most stringent regulations on smoking in the United States, the average smoking rate is 14%. Nationwide, the average smoking rate is 23% of the population. In Austria, the average smoking rate of ‘dedicated’ smokers is 43%. When you include the individuals who consider themselves ‘casual smokers’ (i.e. people who only smoke when they have a drink, go to a party, etc), the smoking rate jumps to a whopping 60%. And while I wasn’t able to find a precise statistic, I am told that Vienna has far more smokers than any other place in Austria, with somewhere around 60% of the Viennese being regular smokers.
So you can imagine how a California girl who spent the past five years working at the American Cancer Society feels when two-thirds of the people around her are constantly lighting up. Even some of my closest friends in Vienna, who are smart enough to know better, are regular or casual smokers. And while they are always very courteous -- making sure to blow their smoke away, go outside, etc – it still makes me a little sad, because I imagine they just have no idea what lung cancer looks like, or they feel young and invincible, or they just plain don’t care. And at the end of the day it’s their life, and they have all the information in the world, and they’ve simply made their choice. I may not agree with it, but I am resigned and have to accept their decision. But if there is one thing I’ve learned from my time at ACS and simple life experience, it’s that lung cancer is an ugly, awful, painful way to die. Of all the cancers to get, it just might be the most brutal – and that’s saying something.
I’ve recently come to wonder if the Viennese love of smoking has anything to do with the city’s obsession with death. If you open up any guidebook on Vienna you’re likely to find a section on the macabre nature of this city, which seems to revere death as much as life. For instance, last week Todd and I met with a lovely man named Niko, a Viennese historian who happens to be writing a book about Todd’s ancestor Sigmund Bosel (that’s a whole looong story I can tell you about another time). Niko told us that Vienna has its own “Death Club,” to which every Viennese person is invited to join when they turn twenty years of age. The purpose of the club is to help you to start preparing for your eventual demise, which apparently should begin when you’ve just come out of your teens. Nice. And yet another example comes from the grand ol’ Hapsburgs, who decided that every member of the royal family should be buried in above ground, often elaborate tombs in the Kaisergruft. It is a strange enough sensation to be in a crypt surrounded by the embalmed remains of a family that used to rule over half of Europe. It’s even weirder when you discover that you are in fact surrounded by the headless, heartless bodies of the Hapsburg family, as the Hapsburgs decided to have their hearts stored in the crypt of yet another church, and I can’t even remember where their heads are stored. Let’s all take a moment for a collective “Eeeeeewwww.”
So perhaps it is this race to your eventual end that drives the Viennese to smoke with such a passion. I recall that when I first arrived, I saw an ad for cigarettes in English whose slogan proudly said, “Life’s a journey…” I remember laughing to myself, wondering if it was a bad translation or if what they really meant to say was, “Life’s a journey. End it faster with our cigarettes.” But now I think the cigarette company knew their target audience all too well, and indeed what they wanted to say is that they will be there all along the way to ensure that they can help shorten that journey for you with each and every drag.
I’ll never entirely understand the love of smoking here, but the good thing is that we leave Vienna in just one week. And while I’m pretty confident Prague and Budapest will be worse, I look forward to Italy, and ultimately the fresh air off the glorious Pacific. Oh wait, I mean the Atlantic. Is the air fresh off the Atlantic? Damn if I know. Well I’ll leave you now, what few blog readers I have left, as I ponder the quality of air in our new home of New Haven, and dream of the salty smell of the sea. Lots of love to you all!
Smoking is deeply embedded in the cultural of Vienna. You often see images of the Viennese intelligentsia smoking their cares away at the multitude of cafés that cover this city. But in fairness, smoking was a part of life in nearly every culture on the globe during the past century, so I always feel like this is a bit of a weak argument. Smoking is also completely pervasive. Even at the UN – which ironically the World Health Organization is a part of – you can smoke in your office, and purchase cigarettes at any hour from the handy cigarette vending machines that are on every other floor, as well as on every corner of the city.
To give you a sense of perspective on smoking, let me share some statistics with you. In California, where there are some of the most stringent regulations on smoking in the United States, the average smoking rate is 14%. Nationwide, the average smoking rate is 23% of the population. In Austria, the average smoking rate of ‘dedicated’ smokers is 43%. When you include the individuals who consider themselves ‘casual smokers’ (i.e. people who only smoke when they have a drink, go to a party, etc), the smoking rate jumps to a whopping 60%. And while I wasn’t able to find a precise statistic, I am told that Vienna has far more smokers than any other place in Austria, with somewhere around 60% of the Viennese being regular smokers.
So you can imagine how a California girl who spent the past five years working at the American Cancer Society feels when two-thirds of the people around her are constantly lighting up. Even some of my closest friends in Vienna, who are smart enough to know better, are regular or casual smokers. And while they are always very courteous -- making sure to blow their smoke away, go outside, etc – it still makes me a little sad, because I imagine they just have no idea what lung cancer looks like, or they feel young and invincible, or they just plain don’t care. And at the end of the day it’s their life, and they have all the information in the world, and they’ve simply made their choice. I may not agree with it, but I am resigned and have to accept their decision. But if there is one thing I’ve learned from my time at ACS and simple life experience, it’s that lung cancer is an ugly, awful, painful way to die. Of all the cancers to get, it just might be the most brutal – and that’s saying something.
I’ve recently come to wonder if the Viennese love of smoking has anything to do with the city’s obsession with death. If you open up any guidebook on Vienna you’re likely to find a section on the macabre nature of this city, which seems to revere death as much as life. For instance, last week Todd and I met with a lovely man named Niko, a Viennese historian who happens to be writing a book about Todd’s ancestor Sigmund Bosel (that’s a whole looong story I can tell you about another time). Niko told us that Vienna has its own “Death Club,” to which every Viennese person is invited to join when they turn twenty years of age. The purpose of the club is to help you to start preparing for your eventual demise, which apparently should begin when you’ve just come out of your teens. Nice. And yet another example comes from the grand ol’ Hapsburgs, who decided that every member of the royal family should be buried in above ground, often elaborate tombs in the Kaisergruft. It is a strange enough sensation to be in a crypt surrounded by the embalmed remains of a family that used to rule over half of Europe. It’s even weirder when you discover that you are in fact surrounded by the headless, heartless bodies of the Hapsburg family, as the Hapsburgs decided to have their hearts stored in the crypt of yet another church, and I can’t even remember where their heads are stored. Let’s all take a moment for a collective “Eeeeeewwww.”
So perhaps it is this race to your eventual end that drives the Viennese to smoke with such a passion. I recall that when I first arrived, I saw an ad for cigarettes in English whose slogan proudly said, “Life’s a journey…” I remember laughing to myself, wondering if it was a bad translation or if what they really meant to say was, “Life’s a journey. End it faster with our cigarettes.” But now I think the cigarette company knew their target audience all too well, and indeed what they wanted to say is that they will be there all along the way to ensure that they can help shorten that journey for you with each and every drag.
I’ll never entirely understand the love of smoking here, but the good thing is that we leave Vienna in just one week. And while I’m pretty confident Prague and Budapest will be worse, I look forward to Italy, and ultimately the fresh air off the glorious Pacific. Oh wait, I mean the Atlantic. Is the air fresh off the Atlantic? Damn if I know. Well I’ll leave you now, what few blog readers I have left, as I ponder the quality of air in our new home of New Haven, and dream of the salty smell of the sea. Lots of love to you all!
Monday, July 2, 2007
Me Be Funny One Day
In our nearly three months here, there is something very grave that Todd and I have discovered. It disturbs us to our core. It’s not the Austrian love of garish red hair dye, or Engrisch shirts, or even the dreaded manpri pant. It’s that Vienna sucks the funny out of you.
Perhaps it’s because of Vienna’s proximity to the stoic former Soviet bloc. Or maybe it’s the cold winters and the generally cool demeanor of its people. But for whatever reason, Todd and I frequently remark that we’ve lost our funny here, and as time goes by, it only gets worse. I’m hoping it’s only a temporary thing, but as we leave Vienna in 12 days, I’ll just have to wait it out, and hope that by the time we reach Rome I’ll have reclaimed some of my former (albeit not great) wit.
In truth, a lot of it comes down to the language barrier. It’s not something I fault anyone on. If anything, I’m embarrassed and appalled at the fact that I only speak one and half languages, when everyone I interact with speaks a minimum of three. So I can’t blame people for not understanding humor when it’s in their non-native language. If you told me a joke in Spanish, there’s only a 50% shot that I would understand it. But nonetheless, it can be a bit deflating. It’s one of the reasons I have been remiss in posting to the blog for the past two weeks. I feel like Linus without his blanket.
A recent example comes from a hike we took with a group of friends through the Vienna woods. The day had been posed to all of us as more of a casual walk through the woods, where we would stop at several heurigen, or wine taverns, along the way. And while we did stop a one heurigen, our walk in the woods turned into an arduous, eleven-mile hike complete with extremely steep hills. As we made our way up one sharp incline, Todd turns to me and says, “I certainly feel like we’re climbing every mountain.” I respond to him, saying, “Yeah, all you need are some lederhosen made from old curtains and you’ll be all set.” Crickets. The Sound of Music references are completely lost on everyone else. While to everyone outside of this continent Austria is the home of The Sound of Music, for most people here it will only illicit blank stares. They’ve perhaps heard of the movie, but few have ever seen it. In short, we lack the same pop cultural building blocks, so most references to film or television don’t translate – in fact, we may not even have the same name for a show. This happened when I tried to describe who Adam Brody is to some German friends (my Mom and Adam’s Dad are friends, and she told me he would be in Vienna for the Life Ball). When I tried to describe The OC, they had no idea what it was. After a while my friend said, “Oh! Here the show is called Teenage Life by the Beach. Case in point.
But back to our hike. As we reach the top of the highest hill around mile nine (all of us breathing heavily, muscles aching) we finally reach the crest and the incredible view. I bend down momentarily to place my hands on my knees and catch a breath, look up at the skyline and quip, “Whew! I think I see Switzerland.” One of the members of our group turns to me and says, “Oh no, that’s just the mountain by Modling. Switzerland is several hundred kilometres from here.” Great, I think to myself. Not only am I not even a tiny bit funny, but they think I am your typical geographically challenged American who can’t place Canada on a map. As with any joke, the very explanation of it kills any potential for humor, so as I try to explain that I was being sarcastic about the sheer amount of walking we had done in one day, I realize it’s lost. From this point forward I accept that even mild sarcasm isn’t going to work well in this country.
As a result, we’ve had to be very literal here, which isn’t all bad, but I find I have to be very careful with my words. Doing this has made me realize how many colloquialisms I use, and how many of them have a Midwest origin (thank you Wisconsin roots). Even the simple phrase “Good grief,” when broken down on a literal level, doesn’t make sense to people. But I know the same thing would happen to me if I were speaking my non-native language and someone used local phrases with me. It just comes with the territory.
I will say that I have a deep and newfound respect for people who can be funny in their non-native language. Of course on a basic level, physical humor, making faces, and slapstick seems to work well amongst all of our friends because of its easy translation. But more specifically, I respect and appreciate people like our friend Alex, who is genuinely funny in just about every language he tries. I swear, this kid could do stand up comedy in Arabic and he’d still be funny. To develop a sense of humor in multiple languages -- playing on words, making pop cultural references, etc – now that is damn impressive.
So for the next week or so we’ll try to reclaim a bit of our funny, and I’ll make a more concerted effort to post to the blog more regularly until we leave. And I apologize in advance if it stinks, but know that I’m trying, gentle readers. I am.
Perhaps it’s because of Vienna’s proximity to the stoic former Soviet bloc. Or maybe it’s the cold winters and the generally cool demeanor of its people. But for whatever reason, Todd and I frequently remark that we’ve lost our funny here, and as time goes by, it only gets worse. I’m hoping it’s only a temporary thing, but as we leave Vienna in 12 days, I’ll just have to wait it out, and hope that by the time we reach Rome I’ll have reclaimed some of my former (albeit not great) wit.
In truth, a lot of it comes down to the language barrier. It’s not something I fault anyone on. If anything, I’m embarrassed and appalled at the fact that I only speak one and half languages, when everyone I interact with speaks a minimum of three. So I can’t blame people for not understanding humor when it’s in their non-native language. If you told me a joke in Spanish, there’s only a 50% shot that I would understand it. But nonetheless, it can be a bit deflating. It’s one of the reasons I have been remiss in posting to the blog for the past two weeks. I feel like Linus without his blanket.
A recent example comes from a hike we took with a group of friends through the Vienna woods. The day had been posed to all of us as more of a casual walk through the woods, where we would stop at several heurigen, or wine taverns, along the way. And while we did stop a one heurigen, our walk in the woods turned into an arduous, eleven-mile hike complete with extremely steep hills. As we made our way up one sharp incline, Todd turns to me and says, “I certainly feel like we’re climbing every mountain.” I respond to him, saying, “Yeah, all you need are some lederhosen made from old curtains and you’ll be all set.” Crickets. The Sound of Music references are completely lost on everyone else. While to everyone outside of this continent Austria is the home of The Sound of Music, for most people here it will only illicit blank stares. They’ve perhaps heard of the movie, but few have ever seen it. In short, we lack the same pop cultural building blocks, so most references to film or television don’t translate – in fact, we may not even have the same name for a show. This happened when I tried to describe who Adam Brody is to some German friends (my Mom and Adam’s Dad are friends, and she told me he would be in Vienna for the Life Ball). When I tried to describe The OC, they had no idea what it was. After a while my friend said, “Oh! Here the show is called Teenage Life by the Beach. Case in point.
But back to our hike. As we reach the top of the highest hill around mile nine (all of us breathing heavily, muscles aching) we finally reach the crest and the incredible view. I bend down momentarily to place my hands on my knees and catch a breath, look up at the skyline and quip, “Whew! I think I see Switzerland.” One of the members of our group turns to me and says, “Oh no, that’s just the mountain by Modling. Switzerland is several hundred kilometres from here.” Great, I think to myself. Not only am I not even a tiny bit funny, but they think I am your typical geographically challenged American who can’t place Canada on a map. As with any joke, the very explanation of it kills any potential for humor, so as I try to explain that I was being sarcastic about the sheer amount of walking we had done in one day, I realize it’s lost. From this point forward I accept that even mild sarcasm isn’t going to work well in this country.
As a result, we’ve had to be very literal here, which isn’t all bad, but I find I have to be very careful with my words. Doing this has made me realize how many colloquialisms I use, and how many of them have a Midwest origin (thank you Wisconsin roots). Even the simple phrase “Good grief,” when broken down on a literal level, doesn’t make sense to people. But I know the same thing would happen to me if I were speaking my non-native language and someone used local phrases with me. It just comes with the territory.
I will say that I have a deep and newfound respect for people who can be funny in their non-native language. Of course on a basic level, physical humor, making faces, and slapstick seems to work well amongst all of our friends because of its easy translation. But more specifically, I respect and appreciate people like our friend Alex, who is genuinely funny in just about every language he tries. I swear, this kid could do stand up comedy in Arabic and he’d still be funny. To develop a sense of humor in multiple languages -- playing on words, making pop cultural references, etc – now that is damn impressive.
So for the next week or so we’ll try to reclaim a bit of our funny, and I’ll make a more concerted effort to post to the blog more regularly until we leave. And I apologize in advance if it stinks, but know that I’m trying, gentle readers. I am.
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