With only a month and three weeks left in Spain I have decided to move onto my third language. Well technically practice my second language because French came before Spanish for me, but no one really cares about technicalities. For example, I once fought five people, by myself, and won, now technically they were all sleeping nursing home patients with heart conditions, but no one needs to hear that part of the story. So French, language of fries and toast, formerly of romance, but then too many creepers with greasy mustaches started speaking it. I have several reasons for relearning this language, some personal, some general. My main personal reason for buffing my french is that I have a great friend who will be bringing his family to visit me this summer in Canada and I can't wait to see him. General reasons, aka why anyone would learn French, one, it is a widely spoken language, and two, the women. I know that I bashed the romanticism of French just a moment ago, but that is just on an overall/worldwide level, for the individual it can be very useful, as long as you don't grow ridiculous facial hair patterns. French is most useful for picking up American girls who think it is beautiful but have no real idea what you're saying. Trying to pick up a French girl with French is significantly more difficult because you're no longer allowed to spout gibberish in her complicated language. I would like to get to a level where I can speak French as well as I speak Spanish because there are some fairly attractive European women, and I hear with just two to three weeks of training they can learn to shave their legs, sit, and roll over. I learned it from a book 'Man's best friend, how to communicate and train,' so I assume I'll be making great friends, also according to this book I'll be able to get all the bitches I've ever dreamed of.
Now just for some random updates and observations of Spain. I have been exercising a fair amount this year, however my routines have not been what a normal person would describe as enjoyable. Running long distance alone, strength and core work outs alone, weeping to myself at night because of how lonely I am, with a spotter. For me exercising alone is not terrible, I just have to imagine I'm training for the zombie apocalypse (It's unavoidable, I've seen the documentaries), but every so often I enjoy utilizing what I worked for. I have not played Ultimate Frisbee in eight months, not only do I miss the adrenaline and competition but I miss how laid back it was. I have played some pick up basketball and pickup soccer here in Spain (not very often but more on this in a later post), and people get intense and people get pissed. I think that was the main reason I quit most team sports, screwing up for the team. So on the other side there is breakdancing, but since my host apartment is not designed for the violent, flailing motions invloved in bboying I have to practice outside, in public. In the U.S I had a crew, basically a group of people who help one another out and ward off haters. Haters are like mosquito with slightly larger brains, they buzz annoyingly, suck what they can, but all it really takes is a good slap to get rid of one. Unfortunately with their advanced brain function they learn to suck at one's back, which isn't a problem if you have a friend to guard you, but all alone I feel vulnerable to the hate. I have tried to find other dancers in Spain but I think learning to dance is too embarrassing for them. So I dance alone, without music, strangers watching as they pass by, sometimes I give one or two a bitch slap, just in case.
During one of my runs recently I came to accept some realities about the United States versus Europe. I passed by a woman on my run who was taking an active interest to help out the global population crisis, by chain smoking cigarettes. But her commitment did not stop there, while smoking she was also sticking her head in a stroller to comfort a baby, reassuring the child that he would be consuming the earth's precious resources for far fewer years than the selfish bastards like me. The only problem I find with smoking as a way to control the population is that it's just too damn sexy, smokers promptly ruin the benefit they're having on the planet by reproducing like rabbits. In America we have far fewer smokers, but our drive to save the planet is no less powerful, in fact I believe we are doing a better job. With fast food we have solved the tobacco conundrum, lower life expectancy and less attractive as a reproduction partner. Unfortunately fast food just doesn't agree with me so I can't do my part to keep the population down because I'm already cursed with extreme sexiness. Were I to start smoking sure I would die a few years earlier but with the added attractiveness, by my calculations, the planet would be unable to support my offspring by the year 2027 with my children making up 12% of the world population. It's a tough life.
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Monday, April 11, 2011
My family
They are coming, again. No warning has yet been issued to the people of Spain because of the wide spread panic such an announcement would cause. Their last spree through San Sebastian, Madrid, and Barcelona caused enough emotional scarring that Spain has seen a triple in the demand of psychiatrists. It is impossible to determine how much damage was caused by the inappropriate jokes or tasteless movie quotes, but the results have been devastating. The second invasion will include two more offspring of the Kingston man (along with two unrelated, but equally insane, counterparts to the spawn) I interviewed average citizens on the streets of Spain, they had the following reactions: 42% demanded the government start evacuations of the areas that would be hardest hit, 23% ran screaming from the scene, 33% had a PTSD flashback and curled into a ball, and the remaining two percent backed away muttering 'No, no, can't be, they're... they're just a myth.'
Yes, my family is coming to Spain and I'm feeling giddy and energized, along with a few other symptoms that come along with high doses of illicit substances. I have been preparing for this visit by buffing up on my Spanish because as far as I know my family's collective Spanish has yet to expand past several key phrases, such as, 'Where is the beer?' 'What types of beer do you have?' 'We would like another round of beer.' 'Yes, the liter glasses please.' 'I have once again clogged your toilet.' Although in theory that is enough Spanish for them to survive one tends to forget that even with all that vocab they would still be unable to purchase gin or rum.
My family's visit is not the only activity I have planned for the second half of April. I will be in Madrid two days before my parents arrive to celebrate the birthday of a friend. Then after my family leaves I come back to San Sebastian to relax for a few days before my host city will be invaded by a gang only slightly less insane than my parents, Rotary exchange students. However these 'students' have been present in Spain for seven months so hopefully a natural defense has had time to develop enough to protect the city from the potent form of insanity that will build exponentially for every exchanger added.
Less than a week separates me from that band of socially taboo lunatics, and I could not be happier. When you grow up in a family where absolutely everything is open to discussion (from political views, to sexuality, to symptoms of a current disease you might have) it becomes the norm. Sure it can lead to some situations of TMI (Too Much Information, for those of you not in the texting generation), but I would rather have that than being left in the dark. Sure my dad doesn't need to know who won the blood donation race between me and mom, just like I don't need to know about the three way battle between his lower intestine, the indoor plumbing, and the Mexican food. However, I've gotten so used to saying whatever come to mind that living any other way is taxing, just all these unused thoughts bouncing around in my head.
So attention Spain, the Kingstons may cure shame, misunderstandings, awkwardness, shyness, and sobriety. Side effects may include, Bridge, Boratism, and spontaneous combustion of your dysfunctional man parts. So prepare yourself, it's gonna be a party.
Yes, my family is coming to Spain and I'm feeling giddy and energized, along with a few other symptoms that come along with high doses of illicit substances. I have been preparing for this visit by buffing up on my Spanish because as far as I know my family's collective Spanish has yet to expand past several key phrases, such as, 'Where is the beer?' 'What types of beer do you have?' 'We would like another round of beer.' 'Yes, the liter glasses please.' 'I have once again clogged your toilet.' Although in theory that is enough Spanish for them to survive one tends to forget that even with all that vocab they would still be unable to purchase gin or rum.
My family's visit is not the only activity I have planned for the second half of April. I will be in Madrid two days before my parents arrive to celebrate the birthday of a friend. Then after my family leaves I come back to San Sebastian to relax for a few days before my host city will be invaded by a gang only slightly less insane than my parents, Rotary exchange students. However these 'students' have been present in Spain for seven months so hopefully a natural defense has had time to develop enough to protect the city from the potent form of insanity that will build exponentially for every exchanger added.
Less than a week separates me from that band of socially taboo lunatics, and I could not be happier. When you grow up in a family where absolutely everything is open to discussion (from political views, to sexuality, to symptoms of a current disease you might have) it becomes the norm. Sure it can lead to some situations of TMI (Too Much Information, for those of you not in the texting generation), but I would rather have that than being left in the dark. Sure my dad doesn't need to know who won the blood donation race between me and mom, just like I don't need to know about the three way battle between his lower intestine, the indoor plumbing, and the Mexican food. However, I've gotten so used to saying whatever come to mind that living any other way is taxing, just all these unused thoughts bouncing around in my head.
So attention Spain, the Kingstons may cure shame, misunderstandings, awkwardness, shyness, and sobriety. Side effects may include, Bridge, Boratism, and spontaneous combustion of your dysfunctional man parts. So prepare yourself, it's gonna be a party.
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Italy pt. 5
I'm cursed with barely being able to control my stream of thoughts and thus end up rambling endlessly about topics that might have very little to do with what I'm actually writing about. So now I'm going to try and cover four days in one post, readers should probably take a break half-way through so as to not become suicidal.
After the camping we visited two villages in Tuscany on our way to Rome. Now things like 'Geography' or 'facts' may prove that there is no possible way we drove through Tuscany on our way to Rome, but I'm just calling it how my fuzzy memory remembers it. My diary isn't much help because the guy writing it is mentally unstable from what I can tell, or just has a serious case of ADD, either way I can't rely on that either. So. Tuscany was nice, although I wanted to experience it differently than most of my friends. I wanted to take the wander around and explore route, while they preferred the sit down and take pictures of attractive strangers route. Seriously, whenever I think I'm the creepiest of creepers someone else takes it to a whole different level. Although I did enjoy listening to the birds and contemplating the landscape I hoped that the Basques would be more active when we got to Rome, and they were, although not by choice. You see in Rome when you sit down the Italians do not understand it as 'I am tired and need to rest,' but rather 'Please harass me.' Do you have half a dozen pamphlets in your hand already? No problem, you don't have this fucking pamphlet, it's so much better than those fucking pamphlets, you can tell the food at this restaurant is of higher quality because of the mother fucking font we use, and if you try and ignore us we'll just swear at you more.
In Rome we stayed in Idea Hotel. It had a beautiful design, comfortable rooms, and a great breakfast buffet (although our standards weren't exactly high after the plain cereal and coffee of the camping). In fact it was so aesthetically pleasing that the owners must have decided that maintenance would just be silly, half the lights were burnt out, several showers had cold water or colder water, and many hairdryers were broken. Luckily I'm a good person so I was not punished with stepping into an ice shower, but one of my roommates must have done something to anger the maintenance staff gods because we had to pass the nights by reading lamp light or bathroom light. Now for a run down of the places we saw. As a group we visited an ancient Roman market. It was a multiple story, open air, well protected, collection of beautiful edifices. If modern farmer's markets were like that one I think they would get a lot more business, there were great views of the city and a comfortable feeling as if the Roman's wanted to say, 'Yeah we built this place because it suits our needs, it was not meant to be extravagant or anything, but it gets the job done,' and they would tell us that in a completely not douchebaggy tone.
The next day we visited the Colosseum. It was impressive, although it is one of the structures that a person sees so many times in their life time before actually visiting it there is a loss of pure shock at the grandeur. It is replaced by shock at all the ways they extort money out of tourists. Besides gift shops and photos with gladiators there are secret rules, like how your entrance fee only allows you to visit two levels of the four floor structure. Some people want to go to the basement, which would be cool, you get to imagine the pants-soiling fear the gladiators faced without actually having to fight a jungle cat with a piece of folded metal. Almost everyone wants to go to the third floor which is where you get the best views, but here's the catch. You enter at ground level, you have no choice, then you climb the stairs, to the second floor, then you encounter the typical working Italian who needs to fill his daily quota of ripping off tourists for the day (Americans count double) and explains even though you did not want to see the ground floor you technically set foot there and therefore have to pay an extra fee to go higher. You then imagine yourself kicking him in the balls and running up the stairs to experience five seconds of great view before getting tazered, Itlaian style (read: Italian taser=baseball bat to knee caps).
Later we went to the Vatican. I'm not a fan of the 'great' classical artists, mainly because they all look the same. Same style, same subjects, same themes, ugh. Also not a fan of religion, I don't mind it, but it's sort of tough to avoid sometimes. Quick side track into why I'm an atheist because I've had to talk about religion a lot while talking about Rome. It's not science, or what can be proven and what can't, or any of that. It's for the morality. Religions all seem to say, be faithful, be a good person, and make lots of babies so they can all be good and faithful whatevers. If the world slowly gets worse and worse don't worry about it there is totally a plan behind everything. Heaven will always be waiting for the faithful. But for me, if I ever want to see heaven I have to make it here on Earth. How will I be comforted as an old man knowing nothing is waiting for me (or some sort of hell/underworld at best), I will be comforted by being able to look at the world and say humanity, and the planet as a whole, is better off because I made some positive changes. There is no plan (according to me, please don't take any offense) so we are making it up as we go, and so far we've made a steaming pile of pollution and war. So that's why I plan on changing the world in a major way. So, in a totally selfish act to ensure my own happiness, I would like to take this opportunity to announce my candidacy for president... in a few years, and as far as I can see I've got a fairly strong base in Fairport NY, Ontario Canada, and San Sebastian Spain. So I can work the international angle. Back on track. In the end I found the Vatican and the Sistine Chapel cliched even though they were probably the originals (I'm not so good with history). The Chapel did not even compare to some of the other huge ass churches I've seen. Anyways time to move towards a subject less likely to get my house firebombed, so basically anything but religion. Dead people. Specifically dead Popes, but I won't be talking about them.
On our last day, before going to the airport, we went to a cemetery. Well actually a crypt. Or perhaps it was just a labyrinth of terrors that someone decided to fill with bodies to brighten the place up a little. Normally I'm the exploring type of person, most of the time like breaking away from the group to go explore on my own and get a different perspective than the average tourist receives. However, most of the time my tourist groups do not visit zombie dungeons. Normally I'm all for fighting the living dead, there is no foe with less compassion generating power, but when I imagine myself destroying hoards of zombies I'm not trapped in an underground, under-lit, rock maze. The caverns were amazing and we had a great guide (a chubby Spanish guy), I just had no desire to see anything he did not want us to see. He did tell us stories about kids getting lost and starving to death, but I'm sure those were just made up stories to keep the kids from wandering off and getting torn apart by skeletons.
After the camping we visited two villages in Tuscany on our way to Rome. Now things like 'Geography' or 'facts' may prove that there is no possible way we drove through Tuscany on our way to Rome, but I'm just calling it how my fuzzy memory remembers it. My diary isn't much help because the guy writing it is mentally unstable from what I can tell, or just has a serious case of ADD, either way I can't rely on that either. So. Tuscany was nice, although I wanted to experience it differently than most of my friends. I wanted to take the wander around and explore route, while they preferred the sit down and take pictures of attractive strangers route. Seriously, whenever I think I'm the creepiest of creepers someone else takes it to a whole different level. Although I did enjoy listening to the birds and contemplating the landscape I hoped that the Basques would be more active when we got to Rome, and they were, although not by choice. You see in Rome when you sit down the Italians do not understand it as 'I am tired and need to rest,' but rather 'Please harass me.' Do you have half a dozen pamphlets in your hand already? No problem, you don't have this fucking pamphlet, it's so much better than those fucking pamphlets, you can tell the food at this restaurant is of higher quality because of the mother fucking font we use, and if you try and ignore us we'll just swear at you more.
In Rome we stayed in Idea Hotel. It had a beautiful design, comfortable rooms, and a great breakfast buffet (although our standards weren't exactly high after the plain cereal and coffee of the camping). In fact it was so aesthetically pleasing that the owners must have decided that maintenance would just be silly, half the lights were burnt out, several showers had cold water or colder water, and many hairdryers were broken. Luckily I'm a good person so I was not punished with stepping into an ice shower, but one of my roommates must have done something to anger the maintenance staff gods because we had to pass the nights by reading lamp light or bathroom light. Now for a run down of the places we saw. As a group we visited an ancient Roman market. It was a multiple story, open air, well protected, collection of beautiful edifices. If modern farmer's markets were like that one I think they would get a lot more business, there were great views of the city and a comfortable feeling as if the Roman's wanted to say, 'Yeah we built this place because it suits our needs, it was not meant to be extravagant or anything, but it gets the job done,' and they would tell us that in a completely not douchebaggy tone.
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| Also many more dark corners to play hide the organic hotdog in the whole grain taco shell |
The next day we visited the Colosseum. It was impressive, although it is one of the structures that a person sees so many times in their life time before actually visiting it there is a loss of pure shock at the grandeur. It is replaced by shock at all the ways they extort money out of tourists. Besides gift shops and photos with gladiators there are secret rules, like how your entrance fee only allows you to visit two levels of the four floor structure. Some people want to go to the basement, which would be cool, you get to imagine the pants-soiling fear the gladiators faced without actually having to fight a jungle cat with a piece of folded metal. Almost everyone wants to go to the third floor which is where you get the best views, but here's the catch. You enter at ground level, you have no choice, then you climb the stairs, to the second floor, then you encounter the typical working Italian who needs to fill his daily quota of ripping off tourists for the day (Americans count double) and explains even though you did not want to see the ground floor you technically set foot there and therefore have to pay an extra fee to go higher. You then imagine yourself kicking him in the balls and running up the stairs to experience five seconds of great view before getting tazered, Itlaian style (read: Italian taser=baseball bat to knee caps).
Later we went to the Vatican. I'm not a fan of the 'great' classical artists, mainly because they all look the same. Same style, same subjects, same themes, ugh. Also not a fan of religion, I don't mind it, but it's sort of tough to avoid sometimes. Quick side track into why I'm an atheist because I've had to talk about religion a lot while talking about Rome. It's not science, or what can be proven and what can't, or any of that. It's for the morality. Religions all seem to say, be faithful, be a good person, and make lots of babies so they can all be good and faithful whatevers. If the world slowly gets worse and worse don't worry about it there is totally a plan behind everything. Heaven will always be waiting for the faithful. But for me, if I ever want to see heaven I have to make it here on Earth. How will I be comforted as an old man knowing nothing is waiting for me (or some sort of hell/underworld at best), I will be comforted by being able to look at the world and say humanity, and the planet as a whole, is better off because I made some positive changes. There is no plan (according to me, please don't take any offense) so we are making it up as we go, and so far we've made a steaming pile of pollution and war. So that's why I plan on changing the world in a major way. So, in a totally selfish act to ensure my own happiness, I would like to take this opportunity to announce my candidacy for president... in a few years, and as far as I can see I've got a fairly strong base in Fairport NY, Ontario Canada, and San Sebastian Spain. So I can work the international angle. Back on track. In the end I found the Vatican and the Sistine Chapel cliched even though they were probably the originals (I'm not so good with history). The Chapel did not even compare to some of the other huge ass churches I've seen. Anyways time to move towards a subject less likely to get my house firebombed, so basically anything but religion. Dead people. Specifically dead Popes, but I won't be talking about them.
On our last day, before going to the airport, we went to a cemetery. Well actually a crypt. Or perhaps it was just a labyrinth of terrors that someone decided to fill with bodies to brighten the place up a little. Normally I'm the exploring type of person, most of the time like breaking away from the group to go explore on my own and get a different perspective than the average tourist receives. However, most of the time my tourist groups do not visit zombie dungeons. Normally I'm all for fighting the living dead, there is no foe with less compassion generating power, but when I imagine myself destroying hoards of zombies I'm not trapped in an underground, under-lit, rock maze. The caverns were amazing and we had a great guide (a chubby Spanish guy), I just had no desire to see anything he did not want us to see. He did tell us stories about kids getting lost and starving to death, but I'm sure those were just made up stories to keep the kids from wandering off and getting torn apart by skeletons.
After we re-surfaced it was off to the airport where we boarded a plane back home. Kind of. It was a strange experience for me, going from a double foreigner to just a regular foreigner again. The calm that comes from returning to normal life, but not exactly. It has me thinking about going back to the U.S, my original home, a land a slushy winters and slushy springs, followed by boiling hot summers before a slushy fall. I've been here for seven months and would be comfortable in saying that I'm at home here, but I'm also at home in Rochester. I'm not going to tear apart security by saying that home doesn't exist, but rather that no matter what differences we try to imagine about different peoples and different cultures, home can be anywhere you want it to be. We owe it to ourselves to not judge people based on color, gender, or religion, or would you rather that your only home be the city you grew up in? I will be using this new philosophy to my advantage. Tell girls, 'You wanna come back to my home baby?' She'll think 'Oh he has a home here, he must be doing well.' Take her to a public park, 'Planet Earth is my home.' 'Oh he's sensitive and sweet.' Then we could sit quietly a foot apart so as to not break any of the Rotary rules. What, you were expecting a different ending? Can't break Rotary rules for another two and a half months, also the girl is imaginary, real ones don't like getting lied to like that.
So that concludes my Italy trip. I left home to return home where I have April, May, and June before I go back home.
Sunday, April 3, 2011
Italy pt. 4
From Venice we traveled to that other Italian city with those things with the people, and that stuff. Yeah, there. The city was actually Florence, although we would not have known because we went to what the Spaniards called a 'camping.' As in, 'Hey Joe, would you like to go do a camping with me,' 'Haha, honestly Mark, I'd rather gauge my eyes out than spend one entire night have to look at your poor man's excuse for a face.' I am not a fan of camping (or doing campings, as it were), you see I love nature but I also think that humans live in houses for a reason. I am perfectly fine with observing animals for an afternoon or taking a full day trek through a forest/mountain, but at the end of said day I like to go home, sleep in a bed, take a hot shower, not contract malaria, eat a non-mac'n'cheese based meal, you know, the benefits of civilization. Now for the other side of the argument. I want forests to stay large and relatively human free, day time excursions and national geographic employees excluded. I personally don't mind having animals in my back yard, but there are some people who would take the offense of intrusion on their land to shoot that creature in the brain cavity. And that's just for wandering around and being lost. Now you want to go and stay on an animal's home turf for weeks at a time with no expected consequences? I'm just saying if you want to go camping you should be ready for a little extra mauling to death with bear claws than you are used to. So now your problem is that both the 'arguements' I presented was that they were both supporting my theory? Well in that case you can set up your own blog talking about all the fun, dysentery-filled, adventures of staying in the wilderness which I won't read because I've already made up my mind.
Admittedly the camp ground in Florence was better than I expected because we stayed in trailer homes, had hot water, and enjoyed a heating system. However, for what the site lacked in 'actual camping' it made up for in 'being creepy as all hell.' The general vibe of the location made me expect expect a mix of killers wearing hockey masks and armed rednecks, but back to the positives, like the heating system. At least 'heating system' was how the owner played it up, I would more describe it as giant, wall mounted, hand dryer that shuts off in the middle of the night. I like going to bed cold and waking up warm, normally I have to compromise, one or the other, this time I got a middle finger and a kick to the balls. We went to bed hot, but after the heat shut off I would have to start putting on clothes, starting with a shirt and ending with a second pair of socks. My petition to set up the cabins boy girl boy girl to make cuddling and preserving body heat less awkward was shot down. The boy I was stuck with did not appreciate my advances either. So we froze through the night and had a breakfast of cold cereal (choice of cornflakes with milk, or cornflakes without milk) and coffee, because all you really need to get the day started is drugs, right? Folgers, keeping your hands from trembling until the last drop. We then took a walk.
And waited for a bus for an hour. But I can firmly say that after catching the bus the day was amazing.
Sure we walked around some streets for a while or did something like that, but then we did this.
I could literally have just filled this page with pictures from the top of the cupola. When we finished with the church there was still half a day before we had to return to Camp Crystal Lake in Deliverance country, so we went to Pisa. Wait how could we cover Pisa, known world wide for its tower, in half a day? Well if you've been to Pisa you've seen how it has the tower. And then maybe you've seen how it has a few restaurants if you were forced to stay for a meal. The Pasta I had was actually quite good, while the tower I saw was slightly puny. What I expected was an Empires State building in a gallant fight against gravity, while in reality it is an over sized column on poor foundation. Most people take pictures of themselves holding it up, in mine I'm pushing it over.
Admittedly the camp ground in Florence was better than I expected because we stayed in trailer homes, had hot water, and enjoyed a heating system. However, for what the site lacked in 'actual camping' it made up for in 'being creepy as all hell.' The general vibe of the location made me expect expect a mix of killers wearing hockey masks and armed rednecks, but back to the positives, like the heating system. At least 'heating system' was how the owner played it up, I would more describe it as giant, wall mounted, hand dryer that shuts off in the middle of the night. I like going to bed cold and waking up warm, normally I have to compromise, one or the other, this time I got a middle finger and a kick to the balls. We went to bed hot, but after the heat shut off I would have to start putting on clothes, starting with a shirt and ending with a second pair of socks. My petition to set up the cabins boy girl boy girl to make cuddling and preserving body heat less awkward was shot down. The boy I was stuck with did not appreciate my advances either. So we froze through the night and had a breakfast of cold cereal (choice of cornflakes with milk, or cornflakes without milk) and coffee, because all you really need to get the day started is drugs, right? Folgers, keeping your hands from trembling until the last drop. We then took a walk.
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| Italy's nature walk |
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| Yeah, they build houses on their bridges. Just because. |
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| Inside a Cupola |
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| On top of the Cupola |
I could literally have just filled this page with pictures from the top of the cupola. When we finished with the church there was still half a day before we had to return to Camp Crystal Lake in Deliverance country, so we went to Pisa. Wait how could we cover Pisa, known world wide for its tower, in half a day? Well if you've been to Pisa you've seen how it has the tower. And then maybe you've seen how it has a few restaurants if you were forced to stay for a meal. The Pasta I had was actually quite good, while the tower I saw was slightly puny. What I expected was an Empires State building in a gallant fight against gravity, while in reality it is an over sized column on poor foundation. Most people take pictures of themselves holding it up, in mine I'm pushing it over.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Italy pt. 3
So after a heaping helping of rain and lunacy we headed to our hotel where we were informed that we were to be in our rooms by midnight. They decided to enforce this rule by patrolling the halls after 11:30 and ordering anyone who was out of their room back inside. You see the teachers believed the trip was intended to be educational and fun, kids know that this combination is rare and has been achieved only a few times in history (Bill Nye the Science Guy and Dr. Suess being some notable examples). So our opinion of the trip was that we were supposed to have fun by doing whatever the hell we felt like, and that meant hanging out with friends in other rooms after midnight. So what's the solution? Talk to the teachers? Wait till the next day? Run across the roof while smoking cigarettes and jumping into second story windows? If you answered number three, you're right! The teachers however thought that this was uncalled for and had a meeting with us in the morning to reasonably lay out the rules and tell us that our action was a little over the top, but somewhere along the planning stage and the delivery stage something went wrong, 'What the fuck do you think you guys were doing last night?! I caught a girl running across the roof and I have a good mind to send her home! You're all a bunch of god damn hypocrites! You want to be treated like adults but you act like fucking children!' Yeah, they're a little more liberal with curse words here. Indeed the teachers almost elected to go the 'third-world dictator route,' if people disobey your rules don't reconsider policy, eliminate the infidels. Luckily it turned out that he simply had not had his coffee that morning, the rest of the trip the teachers were relatively calm (and no one got sent home).
That day we went to Venice, an entire city designed on the Italian dream, take money from people who don't speak Italian. Not there is anything wrong with that, everyone was incredibly happy to be ripped off at every corner because it was freaking Venice. This city fulfilled all my misconceptions about Italy while being incredibly beautiful. We visited a royal palace where paintings covered walls and ceilings to the point where you could not look anywhere without being bombarded by the royal family involved in Jesus-y scenes. Our teacher explained that it was old school propaganda, they did not have the fast talking, beautiful bearded, Billy Mayes types back then, so they had to rely on artists. The artists then painted members of the royal family in classic religious scenes proving once and for all that the king was divinely selected. No way to argue with that logic. If you can't trust an ad man, being paid in gold, who fears for his life if he disobeys orders... I forgot where I was going with that, but anyways the view was that they were pretty darn reliable. The only problem I saw with this form of brainwashing your collective subjects was that unless there were guided tours of the palace (Royalty usually isn't too keen on that idea), then you only get to screw with your children's world view, and sure they might believe they're divinity but for some reason that doesn't help public opinion.
The rest of the day we were free to walk around the river community, that I still think should be inhabited by elves, and find dinner while getting completely lost. We also took a Gondola ride around the rivers that traverse the city during which our driver (gondolier? boat dude?) spouted off a few facts about the city while singing, no joke, Katy Perry. The only fact I remember is that there were 152 churches in Venice and could not help but wondering if that automatically cancelled out sin on a city wide scale. On our little circle around the block we came to many buildings that appeared to only be accessible from water illustrating one of approximately two benefits of a city built around rivers. Don't get me wrong I loved Venice, it was beautiful and very few motorboats made it incredibly peaceful, it was nice having a break from automobiles for a while.
However, water is a substance amazingly easy to pollute and hard to clean. Getting around was inefficient and slow. Every vehicle was in a continual state of rot or rust due to constant exposure to water.
On the plus side, many stupid tourists to take money from. The Basques did not seem to go into the situation with the same mindset I did. I knew the people of Venice were going to have no respect for us, we're like prostitutes to them, we get what we pay for, then we get the hell out of the way. So I, in turn, set my standards to low. For example, while my friends were complaining that a certain waiter was impolite I was just happy he did not stab me in the temple with an ice pick. It's all about perspective.
The next day we went back to Venice this time we took a boat bus all around the city and saw every water side neighbor hood for all its beauty. I know I'm sounding a little repetitive with my adjective choice but there really isn't another word to describe it.
But it really is worth it, if you're a world traveler Venice is one city you can't pass by.
That day we went to Venice, an entire city designed on the Italian dream, take money from people who don't speak Italian. Not there is anything wrong with that, everyone was incredibly happy to be ripped off at every corner because it was freaking Venice. This city fulfilled all my misconceptions about Italy while being incredibly beautiful. We visited a royal palace where paintings covered walls and ceilings to the point where you could not look anywhere without being bombarded by the royal family involved in Jesus-y scenes. Our teacher explained that it was old school propaganda, they did not have the fast talking, beautiful bearded, Billy Mayes types back then, so they had to rely on artists. The artists then painted members of the royal family in classic religious scenes proving once and for all that the king was divinely selected. No way to argue with that logic. If you can't trust an ad man, being paid in gold, who fears for his life if he disobeys orders... I forgot where I was going with that, but anyways the view was that they were pretty darn reliable. The only problem I saw with this form of brainwashing your collective subjects was that unless there were guided tours of the palace (Royalty usually isn't too keen on that idea), then you only get to screw with your children's world view, and sure they might believe they're divinity but for some reason that doesn't help public opinion.
The rest of the day we were free to walk around the river community, that I still think should be inhabited by elves, and find dinner while getting completely lost. We also took a Gondola ride around the rivers that traverse the city during which our driver (gondolier? boat dude?) spouted off a few facts about the city while singing, no joke, Katy Perry. The only fact I remember is that there were 152 churches in Venice and could not help but wondering if that automatically cancelled out sin on a city wide scale. On our little circle around the block we came to many buildings that appeared to only be accessible from water illustrating one of approximately two benefits of a city built around rivers. Don't get me wrong I loved Venice, it was beautiful and very few motorboats made it incredibly peaceful, it was nice having a break from automobiles for a while.
 |
| Did I mention really really beautiful |
However, water is a substance amazingly easy to pollute and hard to clean. Getting around was inefficient and slow. Every vehicle was in a continual state of rot or rust due to constant exposure to water.
 |
| Or at least 36% water, urine levels unknown |
On the plus side, many stupid tourists to take money from. The Basques did not seem to go into the situation with the same mindset I did. I knew the people of Venice were going to have no respect for us, we're like prostitutes to them, we get what we pay for, then we get the hell out of the way. So I, in turn, set my standards to low. For example, while my friends were complaining that a certain waiter was impolite I was just happy he did not stab me in the temple with an ice pick. It's all about perspective.
The next day we went back to Venice this time we took a boat bus all around the city and saw every water side neighbor hood for all its beauty. I know I'm sounding a little repetitive with my adjective choice but there really isn't another word to describe it.
 |
| Lovely, doesn't that just sound too British and sarcastic? |
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Italy pt. 2
Okay, so we did not start the trip by going directly to Italy, instead we started in France. Well actually we started in the school parking lot at seven in the morning before piling onto a bus where I witnessed, once again, one of the most annoying traits Basque people have. The Separation. Boys lined up at the second door, girls at the first, the bus was perfectly divided into front and back based on gender. The only reasoning I received for this phenomenon was, 'But dude, they're like, girls.' Yes, anonymous surfer talking boy, they happen to have different parts than you and me, but last I heard one of those parts was not a cooties gland or a stinger or six inch claws. I'm pretty sure we can sit next to them and talk. The other boys were not so sure, besides one couple (who sat right on the 38th parallel) the boys sang and shouted from the back of the bus while the girls sat in the front and most likely worked on ways to import enough Australian men to go around. Later in the trip when the buses became progressively more cramped some were forced to sit away from their genders a fact which I exploited early on by intentionally not getting a seat in the back. That may sound a little creepy at first, me trying to get forced to sit next to a girl, but sometimes it takes a little creeping to change a social norm, or at least to get to know some new god damn people. Unfortunately the girls had planned for this eventuality and closed their ranks. I got a seat next to one of the teachers, when the teacher saw me he promptly filled the chair next to mine with a bag and jackets before going to sit on a little pull out seat next to the driver. On the plus side I could cut my wrists without interruption. On later bus rides I did manage to sit next to a variety of people and tried my hardest to get to know them, but how tempting is it to sit next to and presumably talk with a stupid American who can't even conjugate hypotheticals correctly? The answer is slightly more than being strapped to the back of the bus by the wrists. So I got to sit next to people! although there were some who clearly considered the concrete skiing alternative.
When we descended the bus stairs we were in Bordeaux, a beautiful French city with numerous enjoyable locations to visit. Like that street we were walking down. Also a McDonalds. Local artwork manifested itself in the form of graffiti, and a strict plan to preserve the past by steadfastly refusing to fix potholes in historic ten year old asphalt and concrete. However our time was limited and we couldn't experience the natural wonders of the approximately eight trees the city cared for and we were soon off to the airport to really begin our adventure in Italy. We started in Milan, a city that struck me as European but not entirely Italian. Although that's probably because I assumed most Italian cities were full of rivers and gladiators, unfortunately they are not. On the other hand we saw an amazing church, the second largest one in Europe, when I asked if the architect was compensating for anything no one understood what I meant and I died a little inside as my penis joke when unappreciated. Although not being a Christian (or anything else for that matter) I estimate I have seen around eight quadrillion churches in my life time, just because they're freaking everywhere. So I found another building much more interesting, it was sort of like a combination of a modern mall and the great columned structures of ancient times. As an added benefit it was also covered in Christmas colors, red, snow, and green.
That night I had a great meal, one third of a pizza and a calzone that I'm sure weighed more than some infants. The pizza was covered in spicysalami (pepperoni) which brought a nostalgic tear to my eye and a tear of searing pain to my friends' eyes. They can't even handle slightly spiced pig here, I'm not sure how I've survived for so long, but I do know that when back in the states we have family friends from all over the spice loving world, and I will be paying them a visit. The next morning we walked around Milan some more before loading onto the bus, this was the day I sat up front with the teachers as well as the day I was able to observe the bus driver in action. When a human being is talking while driving the danger is drastically increased. When an Italian is talking while driving you should have your will prepared. You see, when a normal person talks they move their lips, tongues, and voice cords or some internal gross thing like that. Italians need to make eye contact and hand motions, they will swivel their head (away from the road) to face you while making elaborate gestures (the steering wheel can handle itself), and here's the kicker, this is for a normal conversation. I'm not talking about during rush hour or in a road rage induced fury or even when they're so hammered/hyped on jeagerbombs that pulling a wheelie in a crowded rotunda seems like not such a bad idea, because Italians would not need the alcohol or the caffeine.
After suffering a minor heart attack on the bus we disembarked in Verona where we encountered pouring rain. Walking from store to store looking for a good place to grab some dinner we eventually found a little shop with some nice menus (menus are when you pay a set price for a meal, side dish, and drink). We were thinking about moving on when a man sitting outside smoking heard us speaking Spanish and jumped into the conversation. He was thin and tall, with a face styled off of a movie villian who spends all his time underground, a scarf over his head and some rotten teeth nicely complimented the vibe he already had going on. When he heard we were from Basque country he started speaking some Basque. Not just Basque, but the Basque that was from San Sebastian. For an American equivalent that would be like telling someone your from the States and he/she starts speaking English, then you tell him your Native American and he starts speaking your tribes language. He invited us in for something to eat and a chess game, we were cautious at first given that his appearce told us he was after the stage of losing his hair and before the stage of calling a ring 'precious' and eating raw fish. But then he told us he was Polish, to which we all breathed a sigh of relief, snapped our fingers in recognition, and nodded our heads knowingly, he was not Golum, he was Polish. We went inside and commenced a five on one game of chess against a man who spoke four languages and rattled off facts and opinions about Basque Country and Spain that I think some of my friends were not even aware of. Although to be fair, given what we learned later, he might have just been rambling off bullshit, although he did say that it was horrible how some people thought that anyone from Basque Country was a terrorist. Clearly expressing an opinion against racistly(yeah I made that word up) judging people. When it finally came out that I was American he directed me to his girlfriend who spoke English who was sitting in the outside room and suggested I keep her company. I obliged and had a wonderful conversation that included stories of when she used play music as a street performer and her old husband was a love interest of Arte Garfunkel. It is a complicated story and not my own, so I will not tell it. What I will say is that when I tried to rejoin the chess game, because the woman had gone outside to smoke (and presumably for some privacy), her boyfriend told me to join her and stop bugging them. I took it as a joke (wrong) but went outside anyways and talked more about how the couple has two kids, speaks five languages between them, and are still street performers. I was confused, but when the chess game finished and it was time to leave my friends taught me why they were not higher up in the establishment. Namely, the man was crazier than a coked up gorilla in heat. He had participated in multiple rallies supporting terrorist organizations, told my friends that I was a terrorist because I came from the U.S, and had been deported from his home country. The lesson, it doesn't matter how smart a person is, they can still be insane. Insert picture of Dick Cheney here.
When we descended the bus stairs we were in Bordeaux, a beautiful French city with numerous enjoyable locations to visit. Like that street we were walking down. Also a McDonalds. Local artwork manifested itself in the form of graffiti, and a strict plan to preserve the past by steadfastly refusing to fix potholes in historic ten year old asphalt and concrete. However our time was limited and we couldn't experience the natural wonders of the approximately eight trees the city cared for and we were soon off to the airport to really begin our adventure in Italy. We started in Milan, a city that struck me as European but not entirely Italian. Although that's probably because I assumed most Italian cities were full of rivers and gladiators, unfortunately they are not. On the other hand we saw an amazing church, the second largest one in Europe, when I asked if the architect was compensating for anything no one understood what I meant and I died a little inside as my penis joke when unappreciated. Although not being a Christian (or anything else for that matter) I estimate I have seen around eight quadrillion churches in my life time, just because they're freaking everywhere. So I found another building much more interesting, it was sort of like a combination of a modern mall and the great columned structures of ancient times. As an added benefit it was also covered in Christmas colors, red, snow, and green.
That night I had a great meal, one third of a pizza and a calzone that I'm sure weighed more than some infants. The pizza was covered in spicysalami (pepperoni) which brought a nostalgic tear to my eye and a tear of searing pain to my friends' eyes. They can't even handle slightly spiced pig here, I'm not sure how I've survived for so long, but I do know that when back in the states we have family friends from all over the spice loving world, and I will be paying them a visit. The next morning we walked around Milan some more before loading onto the bus, this was the day I sat up front with the teachers as well as the day I was able to observe the bus driver in action. When a human being is talking while driving the danger is drastically increased. When an Italian is talking while driving you should have your will prepared. You see, when a normal person talks they move their lips, tongues, and voice cords or some internal gross thing like that. Italians need to make eye contact and hand motions, they will swivel their head (away from the road) to face you while making elaborate gestures (the steering wheel can handle itself), and here's the kicker, this is for a normal conversation. I'm not talking about during rush hour or in a road rage induced fury or even when they're so hammered/hyped on jeagerbombs that pulling a wheelie in a crowded rotunda seems like not such a bad idea, because Italians would not need the alcohol or the caffeine.
After suffering a minor heart attack on the bus we disembarked in Verona where we encountered pouring rain. Walking from store to store looking for a good place to grab some dinner we eventually found a little shop with some nice menus (menus are when you pay a set price for a meal, side dish, and drink). We were thinking about moving on when a man sitting outside smoking heard us speaking Spanish and jumped into the conversation. He was thin and tall, with a face styled off of a movie villian who spends all his time underground, a scarf over his head and some rotten teeth nicely complimented the vibe he already had going on. When he heard we were from Basque country he started speaking some Basque. Not just Basque, but the Basque that was from San Sebastian. For an American equivalent that would be like telling someone your from the States and he/she starts speaking English, then you tell him your Native American and he starts speaking your tribes language. He invited us in for something to eat and a chess game, we were cautious at first given that his appearce told us he was after the stage of losing his hair and before the stage of calling a ring 'precious' and eating raw fish. But then he told us he was Polish, to which we all breathed a sigh of relief, snapped our fingers in recognition, and nodded our heads knowingly, he was not Golum, he was Polish. We went inside and commenced a five on one game of chess against a man who spoke four languages and rattled off facts and opinions about Basque Country and Spain that I think some of my friends were not even aware of. Although to be fair, given what we learned later, he might have just been rambling off bullshit, although he did say that it was horrible how some people thought that anyone from Basque Country was a terrorist. Clearly expressing an opinion against racistly(yeah I made that word up) judging people. When it finally came out that I was American he directed me to his girlfriend who spoke English who was sitting in the outside room and suggested I keep her company. I obliged and had a wonderful conversation that included stories of when she used play music as a street performer and her old husband was a love interest of Arte Garfunkel. It is a complicated story and not my own, so I will not tell it. What I will say is that when I tried to rejoin the chess game, because the woman had gone outside to smoke (and presumably for some privacy), her boyfriend told me to join her and stop bugging them. I took it as a joke (wrong) but went outside anyways and talked more about how the couple has two kids, speaks five languages between them, and are still street performers. I was confused, but when the chess game finished and it was time to leave my friends taught me why they were not higher up in the establishment. Namely, the man was crazier than a coked up gorilla in heat. He had participated in multiple rallies supporting terrorist organizations, told my friends that I was a terrorist because I came from the U.S, and had been deported from his home country. The lesson, it doesn't matter how smart a person is, they can still be insane. Insert picture of Dick Cheney here.
Monday, March 28, 2011
Italy
I am fully rested after the eight day trip around Italy, for which I am embarrassed. When I came back from Portugal my host parents, although being very nice, could not hide the surprise and fear they felt when I first walked back in the door. Over that trip I had walked uncountable kilometers and gotten an average of four or five hours of sleep per night, in short, I lived it up when I was supposed to be living it up. In Italy I don't believe there was a single night when I was asleep for less than seven hours. Bed time was 11:30 every night, so I'll skip over the night life of Italy, because I have no idea what it's like, I did however get a heaping helping of the day to day life that is living in a world full of hit men, con-artists, and other mafia related professions, so just Italians in generally really.
I say hit men because there is absolutely no reason to drive like the Italian people do unless your goal is physical damage inflicted upon whoever happens to be in your path. I thought driving in Spain was crazy, and it is, but if an Italian heard me say that he would laugh and run me over for comparing him to a people who have less crazy in their terrorist organizations than he does under the hood of his Ferrari. Sidewalks are considered legitimate parking spaces, people blow past red lights, and mopeds drive through gaps in pedestrian foot traffic , but that's pretty standard as far as crazy goes. No, I'm talking about details like three lane roads with zero markings on them, cross walk lights that turn green and are red before you reach the other side, and other conflicts on the road that made me feel like I was back in Sri Lanka. Also it would be entirely understandable to assume that fifty percent of all Italian traffic is people in road rage chasing one another, hell we even got yelled and cursed at by drivers, and we were on the sidewalks. Bands of aggressive mopeds roamed the streets which to me seemed incredibly ridiculous. A band of Harelys are threatening because the people on them are covered in tattoos, are most likely armed, and have that 'I don't care if I go back to jail, if you scuff my boot I will stab you' attitude about them. Meanwhile those on scooters, with their perfect posture, might start off with a harsh confrontation if you anger them but would most likely invite you out for vegan coffee before the end of the day.
Another paragraph on something general in Italy before I get down to the specifics. There are people trying to take your money at every corner. I don't mean in a mugger, beat you up, sort of way, more in a sleazy, used-car dealer sort of way. 'You want cheap knock off bags, we got cheap knock off bags, how about balls that splat but reform back into balls, maybe some play dough that you can shape like a certain male organ, none of that, well then how about I just tie this piece of string on your wrist, gift straight from my fatherland, looks good don't it, now you going to pay me mother fucker?' Oh silly locals and or immigrants, please don't stab me when I turn around. On the plus side we were never offered any drugs, except for twice, and even then it was only marijuana except for when it was cocaine.
The food was hit and miss. With such a huge population of tourists who have no idea how to choose a decent restaurant many cheap crap slinging joints are all over the place. I will give myself a little bit of praise (even though I deserve more) on the point of food for where I choose to eat. I'm not saying I chose well, but I took chances, only one time did I eat at a Hard Rock Cafe. This is in comparison with some people who had Hard Rock three times and McDonalds upwards of six times. In Italy. Seriously. I can understand because no of our meals were covered (I spent at least €150 on food alone), but then again, really?
So now you have some background on what will be in the posts to come, I'll try and put them up quickly because April 12th or so I'm off to Madrid. Birthday party followed by a trip with my family, I can hardly wait, San Sebastian just seems to love raining on me, literally. Every time I come back here the storms come in force, but if that's how my city is going to play it fine, I'll just run away, Madrid gives me sun whenever I want, I never liked your stupid beaches anyways... (I know that in a week it will seduce me back with promises that now that winter is over it will leave precipitation for good, for real this time, not another drop will touch these shores, and maybe this time it will be telling the truth)
I say hit men because there is absolutely no reason to drive like the Italian people do unless your goal is physical damage inflicted upon whoever happens to be in your path. I thought driving in Spain was crazy, and it is, but if an Italian heard me say that he would laugh and run me over for comparing him to a people who have less crazy in their terrorist organizations than he does under the hood of his Ferrari. Sidewalks are considered legitimate parking spaces, people blow past red lights, and mopeds drive through gaps in pedestrian foot traffic , but that's pretty standard as far as crazy goes. No, I'm talking about details like three lane roads with zero markings on them, cross walk lights that turn green and are red before you reach the other side, and other conflicts on the road that made me feel like I was back in Sri Lanka. Also it would be entirely understandable to assume that fifty percent of all Italian traffic is people in road rage chasing one another, hell we even got yelled and cursed at by drivers, and we were on the sidewalks. Bands of aggressive mopeds roamed the streets which to me seemed incredibly ridiculous. A band of Harelys are threatening because the people on them are covered in tattoos, are most likely armed, and have that 'I don't care if I go back to jail, if you scuff my boot I will stab you' attitude about them. Meanwhile those on scooters, with their perfect posture, might start off with a harsh confrontation if you anger them but would most likely invite you out for vegan coffee before the end of the day.
Another paragraph on something general in Italy before I get down to the specifics. There are people trying to take your money at every corner. I don't mean in a mugger, beat you up, sort of way, more in a sleazy, used-car dealer sort of way. 'You want cheap knock off bags, we got cheap knock off bags, how about balls that splat but reform back into balls, maybe some play dough that you can shape like a certain male organ, none of that, well then how about I just tie this piece of string on your wrist, gift straight from my fatherland, looks good don't it, now you going to pay me mother fucker?' Oh silly locals and or immigrants, please don't stab me when I turn around. On the plus side we were never offered any drugs, except for twice, and even then it was only marijuana except for when it was cocaine.
The food was hit and miss. With such a huge population of tourists who have no idea how to choose a decent restaurant many cheap crap slinging joints are all over the place. I will give myself a little bit of praise (even though I deserve more) on the point of food for where I choose to eat. I'm not saying I chose well, but I took chances, only one time did I eat at a Hard Rock Cafe. This is in comparison with some people who had Hard Rock three times and McDonalds upwards of six times. In Italy. Seriously. I can understand because no of our meals were covered (I spent at least €150 on food alone), but then again, really?
So now you have some background on what will be in the posts to come, I'll try and put them up quickly because April 12th or so I'm off to Madrid. Birthday party followed by a trip with my family, I can hardly wait, San Sebastian just seems to love raining on me, literally. Every time I come back here the storms come in force, but if that's how my city is going to play it fine, I'll just run away, Madrid gives me sun whenever I want, I never liked your stupid beaches anyways... (I know that in a week it will seduce me back with promises that now that winter is over it will leave precipitation for good, for real this time, not another drop will touch these shores, and maybe this time it will be telling the truth)
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