aka, a video of us skating in a circle
aka, a video mostly of steph and yuri skating in a circle with some shots of other people also skating (ME INCLUDED)
song
Fire Eye'd Boy - Broken Social Scene
Monday, November 26, 2007
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
noises in the darkness
OH LOOK: It's Tegan and Sara performing live!
OH LOOK: It's Heidelberg, Germany.
OH LOOK: It's Steph and I traveling!Hmmmm, this all looks vaguely like March 8th.
Get excited - I am.
Get excited - I am.
Monday, November 19, 2007
National Anthem of Nowhere (pt 3)
photo and video blog
AMSTERDAM
I really wanted to get a shot of the canals at night - unfortunately a sandwich affected my ability to do so. It was at this canal that I met the guy from London (I can't for the life of me remember his name, something that starts with a N or a T or a L - or has those letters in it). He joked with me because his camera was quite small, old, and being held together with tape (he asked me to take his photo infront of the canal) while mine is a bit more impressive (comparatively). Like Switzerland (or Geneva) and Milan, bike riding is quite a popular mode of transportation in Amsterdam - hence why I felt the need to include these nifty bike handles in the shot.
Incase I was ever confused as to what the protest in Amsterdam was about, there were these friendly blood-stained bears to give me a visual. Something tells me they wouldn't be caught doing the bear dance for laughs.
Various protesters (and the german rapper) who gathered at this animal rights thing. It was pretty much a gathering of punks and scene kids and hippies - which lead me to believe that something more exciting would happen. It didn't. But I did leave early, so who knows - maybe they all bombarded an animal testing center and threw molotov cocktails and released cats and monkeys onto the streets of Amsterdam. If that happened, I missed it - so all you have to look at is somewhat passive protesters. My apologies for not sticking it out.
PRAGUE
Police and police tanks and protesters etc etc - i.e. all the extra security that was roaming the streets of Prague - you see, when they have a demonstration they expect a bit more antagonizing from participants (versus Amsterdam). It was all pretty intense, with about four of those tanks preceded and followed by multiple police vans charging down the street at one point. Of course, as mentioned, I just stood there thinking 'cool, television has completely altered my sense of reality and the probably violence they are expecting seems incredibly exciting to little ol' sheltered me'. I don't know what is more terrifying.
After breakfast at a Tesco, Steph and I were waiting outside for the boys when I noticed a fire in the garbage can (probably started because of the ash tray sitting atop of it). I tried to put it out with my water bottle. Luckily just as the boys exited the grocery store so did a store manager -- with a bucket of water.
Views from atop the astrological clock tower. It was rather difficult to get a group shot - stupid lighting. But pretty gorgeous to look from it (ps. note the overuse of 'increase saturation')
Steph, Ashley (our American hostel friend) and I at the Jazz bar that made those terrific mojitos.
Pictures from the St Charles bridge. Good view. and stuff. I don't really think this all requires a long caption.
Standard 'Dana traveling' shot
Video of police roaming and running around Prague.
Song: Riot by Dead Kennedy's
AMSTERDAM
I really wanted to get a shot of the canals at night - unfortunately a sandwich affected my ability to do so. It was at this canal that I met the guy from London (I can't for the life of me remember his name, something that starts with a N or a T or a L - or has those letters in it). He joked with me because his camera was quite small, old, and being held together with tape (he asked me to take his photo infront of the canal) while mine is a bit more impressive (comparatively). Like Switzerland (or Geneva) and Milan, bike riding is quite a popular mode of transportation in Amsterdam - hence why I felt the need to include these nifty bike handles in the shot.Incase I was ever confused as to what the protest in Amsterdam was about, there were these friendly blood-stained bears to give me a visual. Something tells me they wouldn't be caught doing the bear dance for laughs.Various protesters (and the german rapper) who gathered at this animal rights thing. It was pretty much a gathering of punks and scene kids and hippies - which lead me to believe that something more exciting would happen. It didn't. But I did leave early, so who knows - maybe they all bombarded an animal testing center and threw molotov cocktails and released cats and monkeys onto the streets of Amsterdam. If that happened, I missed it - so all you have to look at is somewhat passive protesters. My apologies for not sticking it out.PRAGUE
Police and police tanks and protesters etc etc - i.e. all the extra security that was roaming the streets of Prague - you see, when they have a demonstration they expect a bit more antagonizing from participants (versus Amsterdam). It was all pretty intense, with about four of those tanks preceded and followed by multiple police vans charging down the street at one point. Of course, as mentioned, I just stood there thinking 'cool, television has completely altered my sense of reality and the probably violence they are expecting seems incredibly exciting to little ol' sheltered me'. I don't know what is more terrifying.After breakfast at a Tesco, Steph and I were waiting outside for the boys when I noticed a fire in the garbage can (probably started because of the ash tray sitting atop of it). I tried to put it out with my water bottle. Luckily just as the boys exited the grocery store so did a store manager -- with a bucket of water.Views from atop the astrological clock tower. It was rather difficult to get a group shot - stupid lighting. But pretty gorgeous to look from it (ps. note the overuse of 'increase saturation')Steph, Ashley (our American hostel friend) and I at the Jazz bar that made those terrific mojitos.Pictures from the St Charles bridge. Good view. and stuff. I don't really think this all requires a long caption.Standard 'Dana traveling' shotVideo of police roaming and running around Prague.
Song: Riot by Dead Kennedy's
Thursday, November 15, 2007
National Anthem of Nowhere (pt 2)
PRAGUE
After the Amsterdam ordeal (which was a nice followup to the Paris debacle), I only spent a few days back in Geneva until I was scheduled to go on another trip with Steph, Gilberto, and Mattia (Gilberto's friend from Milan). As I prepared travel to Prague, I made a mental list of all the things that I could possibly be afflicted with while traveling the Czech Republic: plague, pink eye, albuminurophobia (fear of kidney disease), SARS, tennis elbow, ear infection, west nile virus, sinus infection, acid reflux, rheumatoid arthritis, hang nail, mumps, alopecia, cold sores, carpel tunnel, tonsillitis, hay fever, avian bird flu, exema, arachnophobia, angina, premature baldness, chicken pox, diabetes, mono, and ptosis. I did what I could to ensure that if cursed with one or more of these diseases I would know all possible symptoms, treatments, cures, and known causes ahead of time.
Gilberto and Steph left on Thursday night, giving them (and Mattia) a full 24 hours in Prague without me. Friday morning, while in a meeting, I received a message from Gilberto - he told me they were having a great time so far and that I shouldn't exchange money in Geneva because they found a really great place to exchange money in Prague. He also said that Mattia had had his wallet stolen and a girl staying in our hostel had had her camera stolen - at that I was pretty happy I hadn't brought my camera but started to get a touch nervous about how safe my belongings would be. Then I figured, that despite the thefts, Gilberto had said they were having a great time nonetheless and I decided instead to get very excited for a fun weekend trip away.
Once I arrived in Prague, about an hour later than anticipated due to a flight delay, I ran into Steph at the hostel* front desk. She told me she had to speak to me, that the trip so far had been interesting. Based on tone and urgency I worried that there had been a fight a blow out a something that had caused a rift. She said no, nothing like that...exactly. She reminded me about Mattia and the girl who's stuff had been stolen. She then told me about how Gilberto's great money exchange place had actually ripped him off. That he created quite an interesting scene at the exchange place. And that he had pretty much done everything short of punching his fist through the glass and stealing his money back. 'shit' - - 'he told me not to exchange money' // 'i know, don't bring it up'. I entered our room to be greeted by Gilberto who was hanging out his top bunk - I laughed pretty much as soon as I saw him and of course got to hear the whole story from his side, which was just as hilarious as Steph's third person account. After some discussion we all realized that we were all up shit creek without a paddle - we had no money. Gilberto couldn't use his credit card because, for the same reason I couldn't, it had been replaced by the credit card company and he didn't have the new one. Mattia's wallet had been stolen. I had 240 Swiss Francs - pretty worthless in Prague without being exchanged - and would remain pretty worthless provided the exchange places were all down with ripping tourists like us off. Steph had her credit card. Saving grace.
We all talked a bit more, when Steph remembered that they had got me something. She quickly rifled through her bag and took out three airplane barf bags - just incase. Embarrassed, I laughed, scolded them...then took the bags and put them in my backpack for safe keeping; because hey - if we all wound up eating some bad goulash then you better believe that I wasn't going to be the one barfing all over myself. Been there, done that, time for karma to bite them in the ass. At some point during our conversation I told the others that technically this wasn't my room 'but look - i saved you this bed' (thanks Steph, bottom bunk and all so I don't embarrass myself by being too scared / unable to get to the top) and that I would have to sleep in a different room with 11 strangers versus 8 strangers and 3 friends. Luckily a couple from New York who had been resting near us (ok well technically everyone in the room was near us, they were just a lot closer) piped up and mentioned that they had to book two beds but only ever needed/used one when traveling. That bed Steph saved for me, was actually free.
We stood around chatting for a bit more, and after some convincing, Steph and I got Gilberto and Mattia out of their bunks and into the streets of Prague. Seeing as how I had just come off a flight (re:irrational fears, high stress, intense anxiety) I was fighting with an empty tummy and a limited amount of money. Our bar hopping (not really staying but more so checking out the 'smoke factor') brought us into downtown Prague where I finally quenched my hunger with some keilbasa street meat. The cheapest meal purchased in Prague, and probably my absolute favourite. There's just something about the mustard in Europe too - its like thirteen times better than the yellow crap we have back in North America - its not as acidic, not as brightly colored, and compliments food really well. But, I digress. We randomly wound up in a bar in the basement of a building. The walls were adorned with really cool vector art, it was playing (somewhat quitely) European metal over the speakers (which Gilberto liked), and it lacked the 60-years-worth-of-second-hand-smoke that the other bars possessed. We didn't stay long (the bartender seemed to ignore Gilberto when he went up to get us second rounds) but still seemed to call it in late. We all tumbled into our beds that night and slept well into the morning - ahh sleeping in while traveling, a luxury!
The next day we spent walking through Prague doing touristy things - such as eating Czech pastries for breakfast, checking out the St Charles bridge and 'dancing building', eating at a restaurant that boasted having authentic Czech food, and exploring the old town. We also stopped by an anti-fascist meeting and posed in front of police tanks that were spotted all over the city. Now this, my friends, is out of the ordinary, as is the multitude of police officers we saw in riot gear all over the city (including the large group getting debriefed and going over maps near parliament). Upon seeing all this intense policing I got rather excited and tried to figure out what kind of movie we were in: "an action film!" - "a crime drama! I want to be a detective and get in on this - lets find the fugitive" - "a political movie!" (or you know, a psychological drama about a girl who completely looses touch with reality). Anyhow, seeing as I am not the Truman show, we found some press agents and asked them if they knew what was actually going on with the security beef. They informed us that there was a meeting of fascists(?) and there was worry about riots in response (because, when have you honestly heard of a peaceful fascist meeting 'well today boys, we'll start by having a cup of tea and ice breaker games, move on to accounting and logistics, discuss plans for world domination over crumpets, vote on which social group we will focus on victimizing for the next trimester, and then joe is going to tell us about his tripple bypass surgery and i think we'll call it in early for today and hold tomorrows meeting in the botanical gardens while planting some arugula - sound like a plan?' 'oh yes, yes, but can we move the crumpets to around 2 o clock i can't handle pastry so early in the morning, i have indigestion'). Gilberto asked where they were anticipating activity, we were told, informed to steer clear. We thanked the press dude and headed straight for the action.
We wound up at an anti-neo nazi gathering where people waved flags and posters and wore the star of david on their chest. We hung around for a bit, the gather being much larger than the animal rights protest in Amsterdam, but not as spirited. We decided that maybe there would be no crazy violent protest, and that the police were just over reacting - so we moved on and ate lunch.
Towards the end of the day, Steph and I split up from Gilberto and Mattia. They went to see the communism museum and we went shopping and to a black light show.
NEVER
EVER
IN YOUR LIFE
GO TO A BLACK LIGHT SHOW TITLED FAUST
IN PRAGUE
Seriously
I don't know how to explain this. We went to this Black Light show expecting something along the lines of Famous People Players - you know, really cool props and music and a stunning use of black lights.
Instead we got half a black light show.
YEAH
HALF
you see the people at this theatre decided to use actors throughout the entire show - which also required them to use white light - which obviously made the black light pretty useless since every prop and secret was visible, despite their lame attempts to hide it. There was also a plot.
Apparently.
I didn't quite catch it. Some guy makes a deal with the devil, then he becomes good looking (according to whose standards, I'm not quite sure, the dude could have used a bit more of the 'extreme makeover' if you ask me) then he learns to fly, and winds up hanging out with giant penguins that flap around (dancing maybe? I have no flipping clue, it was so ridiculous, they were just flapping their big fleece arms around like crazy peop...penguins) and sing about loving snow and freezing weather all the while the dude flies around with the devil. and there were cats. or ladies dressed like cats. that did what i assume was a dance choreographed by the local elementary school. and there were dragons. or dragon like creatures. or people dressed like dragons. and i say that because the white light showed their faces in the giant masks they wore. the people dressed like dragons seemed as unimpressed with the show as i was. you see it was only an hour show, and before it began we both were upset that it wouldn't have been longer - because you know, that famous people player black light show, i could handle that for a good 2 hours. of course once this craptastic show began we quickly realized that we couldn't handle much more than 20 minutes - because thats how long it took me to fall asleep (only to be awoken by giant penguins). something happened in the end that concluded this torture...actually...i think it was a torture scene. and the guy gets redeemed. but gets to keep his mediocre...sorry - his good looks. then they bowed and i died inside because it wasn't a joke leading up to the actual black light show... or maybe it was.... a big joke on us tourists, 'haha you paid 400 of our monnies to watch this crap - we make it up as we go along'.
steph and i tried to figure out what we missed
maybe we were supposed to drink absinthe
maybe we missed the tray of acid
how the hell did that work for ANYONE? WHAT DID WE NOT DO?
we got screwed.
DONT GO.
or go but be really freaking wasted.
Exhausted by the agonizing Black Light show Steph and I hurried back to the hostel hoping to beat Gilberto and Mattia so that we could go to sleep and not bothered. However, in our hostel room the American's were awaking from a nap and day out on the town and proposed that we join them for a drink. I told them 'first I have to nap', however, they began a conversation about not having control over your body while in a strange city, and I quickly sat up and launched into the horrid tale of Amsterdam and the sub that nearly killed me. Soon after Gilberto and Mattia arrived and although only partially rested Steph and I joined the group for a night out in Prague.
The 6 of us wound up at a cool jazz bar that happened to make some of the best tasting mojitos i've ever tried. Now I'm not generally one for mohitos, and I think it is because they usually taste too strongly of mint, and for whatever reason, mint plus alcohol just taste like mouthwash to me. These mohitos, we determined, were so good because while they had mint in them, the mint was mostly over powered by lime (probably bar mix). Anyways, the mohitos were flowing and at one point Steph and I (who started sharing drinks as to make it appear that we were being much more responsible than we probably actually were) began to question how the hell we were going to pay for them. ... some thoughts on conversion rate...'can i have another?'. [we split the tab with whatever cash we had then I put it on my debit card - for those who were concerned that I may have dined and dashed]. Suffice to say, while at the jazz club we enjoyed some good conversation - good in that it was friendly and funny and probably offensive to Americans - although, the Americans we were with seemed more entertained than offended. We walked back home and ate the best post-bar food ever - street keilbassa. Seriously people, you must have it. MUST. notice the MUST. it's not just best post-bar food, its best any time food. I swear any time convenience in Hamilton should just sell street meat from now on.
Sunday was spent doing 'not so much' - we again split up from Gilberto and Mattia in the morning, and headed to a mall. At this point all of us were in debt, had no money, and were scrounging for coins when having to pay for lunch. Of course, Gilberto and Mattia were much worse off than Steph and I as they were caught riding the metro without a ticket (on their way to church, no less) and had to bribe the officer dude with their loose change in order to get off the hook. Later that day as Gilberto took Mattia back to the hostel and to send him off (flight to Italy earlier than flight to Geneva) Steph and I wandered, and on a whim decided to bust out the credit card so that we could see the Dali and Mucha exhibit. It was the only museum/gallery that we went into, and while we probably missed a lot of history and art in the other museums, I think we were pretty damn well satisfied with all the amazing art work that we met inside this tiny exhibit. It was a very nice way to end our trip in Prague (although technically we ended it in coffee heaven playing some strange paper football game that Gilberto used to play in 5th grade, but that doesn't really count at all). And I think the combination of the two exhibits pretty well summed our time in that wonderful city - a little crazy mixed with a lot of beautiful imagery.
And that my friends, was Prague.
*Entering the hostel took a bit of work. You see first they explain in the instructions to cross the street, turn left and walk 30 meters to the hostel. However, you merely have to turn left as crossing the road brings you to the wrong side of the street - and these instructions are made for those walking - so it was rather confusing to walk for a couple of blocks and realize that you are nowhere near number 52 and that you probably passed it ten minutes ago. Anyways, once arriving to the door its like a freaking scavenger hunt to figure out how to get it. First I pushed the door, repeatedly, then a voice barked at me from the speaker telling me not to push the door. So I stopped. Then it said to push the button so I did. Then I pushed the door. Then I got yelled at not to push the door. So I stopped. Then the door started opening at a pace that would make a snail angrier than a Texan at a Civil Rights protest. Then I was yelled at again - about pushing the door - which I wasn't doing, so I figured I was supposed to, and when I did I was yelled at again for pushing the door open! Dear God man! Decide on what you want me to do to enter this building, sleep on your crummy makeshift bunk bed, and pay you 12 euros! Eventually I got in, but with no direction I walked aimlessly to a court yard and tried to get into another door that had a sign 'hostel' posted above it. When I couldn't enter I asked two guys who were smoking, and they tried to open the door (which I saw them just exit from) and fail. They then asked some other guy (who I later determined was the one who barked at me in that terrifying accent from the speaker box) and he said I had to check in - WELL FREAKING DUH MAN, where the hell do I go to do that? He took me, I checked in, I ran into Steph.
After the Amsterdam ordeal (which was a nice followup to the Paris debacle), I only spent a few days back in Geneva until I was scheduled to go on another trip with Steph, Gilberto, and Mattia (Gilberto's friend from Milan). As I prepared travel to Prague, I made a mental list of all the things that I could possibly be afflicted with while traveling the Czech Republic: plague, pink eye, albuminurophobia (fear of kidney disease), SARS, tennis elbow, ear infection, west nile virus, sinus infection, acid reflux, rheumatoid arthritis, hang nail, mumps, alopecia, cold sores, carpel tunnel, tonsillitis, hay fever, avian bird flu, exema, arachnophobia, angina, premature baldness, chicken pox, diabetes, mono, and ptosis. I did what I could to ensure that if cursed with one or more of these diseases I would know all possible symptoms, treatments, cures, and known causes ahead of time.
Gilberto and Steph left on Thursday night, giving them (and Mattia) a full 24 hours in Prague without me. Friday morning, while in a meeting, I received a message from Gilberto - he told me they were having a great time so far and that I shouldn't exchange money in Geneva because they found a really great place to exchange money in Prague. He also said that Mattia had had his wallet stolen and a girl staying in our hostel had had her camera stolen - at that I was pretty happy I hadn't brought my camera but started to get a touch nervous about how safe my belongings would be. Then I figured, that despite the thefts, Gilberto had said they were having a great time nonetheless and I decided instead to get very excited for a fun weekend trip away.
Once I arrived in Prague, about an hour later than anticipated due to a flight delay, I ran into Steph at the hostel* front desk. She told me she had to speak to me, that the trip so far had been interesting. Based on tone and urgency I worried that there had been a fight a blow out a something that had caused a rift. She said no, nothing like that...exactly. She reminded me about Mattia and the girl who's stuff had been stolen. She then told me about how Gilberto's great money exchange place had actually ripped him off. That he created quite an interesting scene at the exchange place. And that he had pretty much done everything short of punching his fist through the glass and stealing his money back. 'shit' - - 'he told me not to exchange money' // 'i know, don't bring it up'. I entered our room to be greeted by Gilberto who was hanging out his top bunk - I laughed pretty much as soon as I saw him and of course got to hear the whole story from his side, which was just as hilarious as Steph's third person account. After some discussion we all realized that we were all up shit creek without a paddle - we had no money. Gilberto couldn't use his credit card because, for the same reason I couldn't, it had been replaced by the credit card company and he didn't have the new one. Mattia's wallet had been stolen. I had 240 Swiss Francs - pretty worthless in Prague without being exchanged - and would remain pretty worthless provided the exchange places were all down with ripping tourists like us off. Steph had her credit card. Saving grace.
We all talked a bit more, when Steph remembered that they had got me something. She quickly rifled through her bag and took out three airplane barf bags - just incase. Embarrassed, I laughed, scolded them...then took the bags and put them in my backpack for safe keeping; because hey - if we all wound up eating some bad goulash then you better believe that I wasn't going to be the one barfing all over myself. Been there, done that, time for karma to bite them in the ass. At some point during our conversation I told the others that technically this wasn't my room 'but look - i saved you this bed' (thanks Steph, bottom bunk and all so I don't embarrass myself by being too scared / unable to get to the top) and that I would have to sleep in a different room with 11 strangers versus 8 strangers and 3 friends. Luckily a couple from New York who had been resting near us (ok well technically everyone in the room was near us, they were just a lot closer) piped up and mentioned that they had to book two beds but only ever needed/used one when traveling. That bed Steph saved for me, was actually free.
We stood around chatting for a bit more, and after some convincing, Steph and I got Gilberto and Mattia out of their bunks and into the streets of Prague. Seeing as how I had just come off a flight (re:irrational fears, high stress, intense anxiety) I was fighting with an empty tummy and a limited amount of money. Our bar hopping (not really staying but more so checking out the 'smoke factor') brought us into downtown Prague where I finally quenched my hunger with some keilbasa street meat. The cheapest meal purchased in Prague, and probably my absolute favourite. There's just something about the mustard in Europe too - its like thirteen times better than the yellow crap we have back in North America - its not as acidic, not as brightly colored, and compliments food really well. But, I digress. We randomly wound up in a bar in the basement of a building. The walls were adorned with really cool vector art, it was playing (somewhat quitely) European metal over the speakers (which Gilberto liked), and it lacked the 60-years-worth-of-second-hand-smoke that the other bars possessed. We didn't stay long (the bartender seemed to ignore Gilberto when he went up to get us second rounds) but still seemed to call it in late. We all tumbled into our beds that night and slept well into the morning - ahh sleeping in while traveling, a luxury!
The next day we spent walking through Prague doing touristy things - such as eating Czech pastries for breakfast, checking out the St Charles bridge and 'dancing building', eating at a restaurant that boasted having authentic Czech food, and exploring the old town. We also stopped by an anti-fascist meeting and posed in front of police tanks that were spotted all over the city. Now this, my friends, is out of the ordinary, as is the multitude of police officers we saw in riot gear all over the city (including the large group getting debriefed and going over maps near parliament). Upon seeing all this intense policing I got rather excited and tried to figure out what kind of movie we were in: "an action film!" - "a crime drama! I want to be a detective and get in on this - lets find the fugitive" - "a political movie!" (or you know, a psychological drama about a girl who completely looses touch with reality). Anyhow, seeing as I am not the Truman show, we found some press agents and asked them if they knew what was actually going on with the security beef. They informed us that there was a meeting of fascists(?) and there was worry about riots in response (because, when have you honestly heard of a peaceful fascist meeting 'well today boys, we'll start by having a cup of tea and ice breaker games, move on to accounting and logistics, discuss plans for world domination over crumpets, vote on which social group we will focus on victimizing for the next trimester, and then joe is going to tell us about his tripple bypass surgery and i think we'll call it in early for today and hold tomorrows meeting in the botanical gardens while planting some arugula - sound like a plan?' 'oh yes, yes, but can we move the crumpets to around 2 o clock i can't handle pastry so early in the morning, i have indigestion'). Gilberto asked where they were anticipating activity, we were told, informed to steer clear. We thanked the press dude and headed straight for the action.
We wound up at an anti-neo nazi gathering where people waved flags and posters and wore the star of david on their chest. We hung around for a bit, the gather being much larger than the animal rights protest in Amsterdam, but not as spirited. We decided that maybe there would be no crazy violent protest, and that the police were just over reacting - so we moved on and ate lunch.
Towards the end of the day, Steph and I split up from Gilberto and Mattia. They went to see the communism museum and we went shopping and to a black light show.
NEVER
EVER
IN YOUR LIFE
GO TO A BLACK LIGHT SHOW TITLED FAUST
IN PRAGUE
Seriously
I don't know how to explain this. We went to this Black Light show expecting something along the lines of Famous People Players - you know, really cool props and music and a stunning use of black lights.
Instead we got half a black light show.
YEAH
HALF
you see the people at this theatre decided to use actors throughout the entire show - which also required them to use white light - which obviously made the black light pretty useless since every prop and secret was visible, despite their lame attempts to hide it. There was also a plot.
Apparently.
I didn't quite catch it. Some guy makes a deal with the devil, then he becomes good looking (according to whose standards, I'm not quite sure, the dude could have used a bit more of the 'extreme makeover' if you ask me) then he learns to fly, and winds up hanging out with giant penguins that flap around (dancing maybe? I have no flipping clue, it was so ridiculous, they were just flapping their big fleece arms around like crazy peop...penguins) and sing about loving snow and freezing weather all the while the dude flies around with the devil. and there were cats. or ladies dressed like cats. that did what i assume was a dance choreographed by the local elementary school. and there were dragons. or dragon like creatures. or people dressed like dragons. and i say that because the white light showed their faces in the giant masks they wore. the people dressed like dragons seemed as unimpressed with the show as i was. you see it was only an hour show, and before it began we both were upset that it wouldn't have been longer - because you know, that famous people player black light show, i could handle that for a good 2 hours. of course once this craptastic show began we quickly realized that we couldn't handle much more than 20 minutes - because thats how long it took me to fall asleep (only to be awoken by giant penguins). something happened in the end that concluded this torture...actually...i think it was a torture scene. and the guy gets redeemed. but gets to keep his mediocre...sorry - his good looks. then they bowed and i died inside because it wasn't a joke leading up to the actual black light show... or maybe it was.... a big joke on us tourists, 'haha you paid 400 of our monnies to watch this crap - we make it up as we go along'.
steph and i tried to figure out what we missed
maybe we were supposed to drink absinthe
maybe we missed the tray of acid
how the hell did that work for ANYONE? WHAT DID WE NOT DO?
we got screwed.
DONT GO.
or go but be really freaking wasted.
Exhausted by the agonizing Black Light show Steph and I hurried back to the hostel hoping to beat Gilberto and Mattia so that we could go to sleep and not bothered. However, in our hostel room the American's were awaking from a nap and day out on the town and proposed that we join them for a drink. I told them 'first I have to nap', however, they began a conversation about not having control over your body while in a strange city, and I quickly sat up and launched into the horrid tale of Amsterdam and the sub that nearly killed me. Soon after Gilberto and Mattia arrived and although only partially rested Steph and I joined the group for a night out in Prague.
The 6 of us wound up at a cool jazz bar that happened to make some of the best tasting mojitos i've ever tried. Now I'm not generally one for mohitos, and I think it is because they usually taste too strongly of mint, and for whatever reason, mint plus alcohol just taste like mouthwash to me. These mohitos, we determined, were so good because while they had mint in them, the mint was mostly over powered by lime (probably bar mix). Anyways, the mohitos were flowing and at one point Steph and I (who started sharing drinks as to make it appear that we were being much more responsible than we probably actually were) began to question how the hell we were going to pay for them. ... some thoughts on conversion rate...'can i have another?'. [we split the tab with whatever cash we had then I put it on my debit card - for those who were concerned that I may have dined and dashed]. Suffice to say, while at the jazz club we enjoyed some good conversation - good in that it was friendly and funny and probably offensive to Americans - although, the Americans we were with seemed more entertained than offended. We walked back home and ate the best post-bar food ever - street keilbassa. Seriously people, you must have it. MUST. notice the MUST. it's not just best post-bar food, its best any time food. I swear any time convenience in Hamilton should just sell street meat from now on.
Sunday was spent doing 'not so much' - we again split up from Gilberto and Mattia in the morning, and headed to a mall. At this point all of us were in debt, had no money, and were scrounging for coins when having to pay for lunch. Of course, Gilberto and Mattia were much worse off than Steph and I as they were caught riding the metro without a ticket (on their way to church, no less) and had to bribe the officer dude with their loose change in order to get off the hook. Later that day as Gilberto took Mattia back to the hostel and to send him off (flight to Italy earlier than flight to Geneva) Steph and I wandered, and on a whim decided to bust out the credit card so that we could see the Dali and Mucha exhibit. It was the only museum/gallery that we went into, and while we probably missed a lot of history and art in the other museums, I think we were pretty damn well satisfied with all the amazing art work that we met inside this tiny exhibit. It was a very nice way to end our trip in Prague (although technically we ended it in coffee heaven playing some strange paper football game that Gilberto used to play in 5th grade, but that doesn't really count at all). And I think the combination of the two exhibits pretty well summed our time in that wonderful city - a little crazy mixed with a lot of beautiful imagery.
And that my friends, was Prague.
*Entering the hostel took a bit of work. You see first they explain in the instructions to cross the street, turn left and walk 30 meters to the hostel. However, you merely have to turn left as crossing the road brings you to the wrong side of the street - and these instructions are made for those walking - so it was rather confusing to walk for a couple of blocks and realize that you are nowhere near number 52 and that you probably passed it ten minutes ago. Anyways, once arriving to the door its like a freaking scavenger hunt to figure out how to get it. First I pushed the door, repeatedly, then a voice barked at me from the speaker telling me not to push the door. So I stopped. Then it said to push the button so I did. Then I pushed the door. Then I got yelled at not to push the door. So I stopped. Then the door started opening at a pace that would make a snail angrier than a Texan at a Civil Rights protest. Then I was yelled at again - about pushing the door - which I wasn't doing, so I figured I was supposed to, and when I did I was yelled at again for pushing the door open! Dear God man! Decide on what you want me to do to enter this building, sleep on your crummy makeshift bunk bed, and pay you 12 euros! Eventually I got in, but with no direction I walked aimlessly to a court yard and tried to get into another door that had a sign 'hostel' posted above it. When I couldn't enter I asked two guys who were smoking, and they tried to open the door (which I saw them just exit from) and fail. They then asked some other guy (who I later determined was the one who barked at me in that terrifying accent from the speaker box) and he said I had to check in - WELL FREAKING DUH MAN, where the hell do I go to do that? He took me, I checked in, I ran into Steph.
Monday, November 12, 2007
National Anthem of Nowhere (pt 1)
I spent the first two weekends in November traveling and both trips, while event-filled, were very very different.
Consider this the first of a three part blog (AMSTERDAM / PRAGUE / PHOTO)
AMSTERDAM
The beginning of November, the 1-5, was spent in Amsterdam, where I became very familiar with the toilets in the Netherlands. And no, not because I 'lived it up' and got 'totally shmammered' (by the way, phrases like 'shmamered' or any other strange mashup of words used to describe being drunk, really really irk me - never say them around me, I'll probably hit you in the back of the head for sounding like a 20 year old football player who wears polo shirts and a tattered baseball cap and drinks crap beer ). Anyways, it wasn't because I 'lived it up' in Amsterdam like most kids my age are supposed to. It was because I got food poisoning, from a Subway no less.
Before I launch into this disgusting tale of my amazing display of digestive pyrotechnics, I should preface by saying that unfortunately my Aunt had said to me weeks earlier that you will never forget what it was like seeing these cities for the first time. To which I replied 'well that pisses me off, I nearly killed my self walking through Paris when I had shin splints!' and she laughed and said that when I do Paris again in a chauffeured car (because you know, us webmasters make the big dough!) I would look back and laugh and say 'remember when I nearly killed myself walking through the Champs Ilysse with shin splints! lookitmenow!'.
If I ever wind up in Amsterdam again, I'll have a laugh. Thats for sure. 'remember when I threw up here? and there? and THERE?' oh yes, to the story then.
I went to the Netherlands because I wanted to see Amsterdam (what person in their early twenties doesn't?) and because my friend Anthony - one of the first people I ever met in University - had recently moved there. Anthony lives just 20 minutes outside Amsterdam and so it is necessary to train it down to the city to see where all the action is. I arrived Thursday night and we called it in early as flying usually wears me down (yes even one hour flights - its called irrational fear, high stress, and nerves). Friday I was shown around Anthony's little village which was quite beautiful, complete with a gorgeous bending river lined with quaint shops and trees. We also went to a neighboring city which was small but busy, stayed indoors and watched plenty of MTV and Discovery channel as an attempt to stay dry while it was raining, and then made our way to Amsterdam at night to check out a bar that Anthony really liked and wanted to show me and to wander the red light district. Now my mom warned me before I traveled 'don't go to the red light district' - but it was something I wanted to see and honestly you can't go to Amsterdam and ignore such a large part of their culture and history. And so, as we walked by the prostitutes in the window Anthony said 'I really hope you don't feel objectified'. And quite honestly I didn't, I didn't even think very much of it. In fact for the most part I couldn't understand why these women would invest in black lights if they were just going to wear black. It seemed rather counterintuitive. I suppose though, that I didn't have the 'shocked' reaction anticipated because quite frankly, I expected to see exactly what I saw. And I imagine the hundreds of other tourists walking the district with us were having the same feelings of detachment and apathy. And perhaps that is because there we were, all together, being tourists, wandering the streets of one city's red light district, and not paying too much mind to what was actually happening. We were all tourists outright, the spectacle was expected and we absorbed it - said 'isn't that interesting' and went on to find the next thing to entertain us in the town. And actually, initially we were going to check out this - allegedly - great jazz club, but after our night walk we decided against it and figured we would just do it Saturday night. And so after having a couple of beers and walking the city we called it in, and I looked forward to a whole day of seeing the city in the day light, when I would be armed with my camera and a renewed sense of adventure!
Now, that day - saturday - Anthony, who is very interested in pursuing a career in beer brewing, went to a local brewery to watch a team brew. I decided that rather than wait around until 6, that I would go to Amsterdam on my own. Anthony and I made plans to ensure we had a way in the apartment so that whoever got there first wouldn't be hanging around waiting for the other, and so that morning I was off to explore. My first stops in Amsterdam were the H&M's - searching for a sweater I had seen in Geneva but had never been able to find in my size. A similar problem occured in Amsterdam. After my failed shopping, I continued to wander and take photos every so often, and suddenly as the rumble in my tummy got louder I started keeping my eye out for a place to eat. And suddenly I saw, a Subway sandwich shop tucked away nicely on a little street. Just days earlier I had said to Gilberto 'I really miss Subway' - it was my homebase for a while, my main source of nutrition for nearly a month while working on my thesis. I decided that I would eat a sandwich, check out the Van Gogh museum, get hungry again and go to the pancake bakery suggested to me by another intern. Excitedly I ordered my turkey sub, ate it quickly, and was on my way. I wandered Amsterdam a bit more, making my way back to the main train station so that I could catch the tram to Van Gogh. I stumbled upon an animal rights protest, and hung around taking pictures of the punks that gathered to speak out about exploitation of animals (I assume that this is what the protest about based on the people dressed as blood soaked animals and the various Dutch paraphernalia being distributed with animals all over them). There was a German rapper, and a speaker, and kids holding signs and banners and while it looked like something big was going to be underway, no major crazy Dutch protest ever happened and as it started to rain I decided I had had enough of pretending to participate in something I didn't understand anyways.
I finally made it onto the tram about 2 hours after my lunch at the aforementioned subway. The tram offered quite a shaky ride and I started feeling like I was getting some sort of intense motion sickness. I started getting the chills followed by a fever like sweat, and I assumed that once outdoors and off the tram-of-death I would feel much better. However, upon entering the Van Gogh museum the fever like symptoms remained and the nausea got progressively worse and worse. I checked my bag and jacket and decided I was just hot, and continued my way into the gallery. I saw about ten paintings and read one little biographical tidbit before deciding to sit down so I could gather myself. Suddenly people started surrounding me, I became overwhelmed and more feverish and that nauseous feeling decided to hit me in one big wave and soon I was booting it to the bathroom downstairs. Of course the line up to the ladies washroom was eleven people long, so without of a baby, and without even being pregnant, I burst into the baby change station and threw up all over it.
After cleaning myself up, and the toilet, I decided to attempt to see some more Van Gogh. I walked somewhat unevenly back to the same spot I stood before I had left the gallery, and I tried to rush myself to a second room in an attempt to see another series of paintings..rushing because I knew it was mere moments before I would need to book it back to the bathroom. I suppose I underestimated because as I crooked my neck to see what possible masterpieces might lurk behind the corner, I felt the familiar convulsions of involuntary vomiting, and had to quickly 180 and tumble down the stairs to the bathroom - where this time I waited patiently in line, swallowing what I could until I made it into the stall whose floor and toilet I would be acquainted with for the next ten minutes.
After picking myself up off the floor I decided against making a third attempt to see any Van Gough and figured it was probably time to go home. I walked to the tram, shivering and feverish, hoping for a quick ride back to the train station followed by a quick ride home.
The tram, although quick, was packed with people, full to its fullest extent. Luckily I was able to grab a seat before the influx of commuters. And as I sat there as more and more people got on, I started to feel that familiar feeling - the one where a simple cough can result in you barfing in your hand. I tried to fight it, but soon enough my body gave up and out of nowhere I threw up in mouth. I struggled and swallowed it, my face probably beat red and sweating profusely. And just as someone hovering over me said 'this is the wrong place to be if your claustrophobic' i threw up again, this time into my hand. On one hand I was lucky to have completely emptied my stomach at the Van Gogh museum because all I had to deal with was sticky bile and not orange chunks of semi digested turkey meat on parmesan oregano bread. On the other hand, I just barfed in my hand and completely grossed out the girl beside me (who promptly got up and off at the next stop). I tried to wipe my hand off on my bag and wipe my face on my sleeve - none of which I think mattered at all because covered in barf or not, I was feeling sick as a dog and probably looked like it.
After that moment of extreme embarrassment and grossness, I got off the tram and entered the main train station. First things first, I thought. There was no way I was going to be caught barfing all over myself again, so I went into a small shop and bought a whack of stroop waffles (for those who had requested them) and a large bottle of evian. At this point I hadn't realized I had food poisoning and that I was going to vomit whenever something entered my stomach, all I knew was I cold and sweaty and shaky and my mouth tasted like barf. I bought the products and asked for some bags, at the counter - I was handed a stack of paper bags, I used one to carry the waffles and the other as my 'just incase' barf bag.
As I walked through the train station, cold, feverish, sweating, and downing as much Evian as possible, I realized that I wasn't positive where my train would be picking me up. I went up on to platform 8b because thats how we got home the night before - but the platform was empty and the sign was blank and I could not fathom sitting and waiting until later that night when the train would be passing through that track so I wandered up and down quickly to see if track 8a was occupied, but gave up quickly as I found myself getting slightly disoriented. I figured I was better off reading the maps downstairs. However, this plan wasn't well thought out (imagine that) and I spent quite a bit of time shuffling between maps and city lists, staring at them blankly as beads of sweat gathered on my brow and dripped down into my line of vision. Fortunately in my poisoned stupor I was able to spot an information desk.
The lady at the information desk seemed somewhat unimpressed with me - and I assume that she was giving me 'that look' not because I couldn't speak the language (main train station at a big tourist city - I'm sure she didn't care) and she wasn't the only giving me 'that look' you know - the look - the 'ooooh great another drunk american wandering our city and vomiting all over themselves'. EXCEPT I WASNT DRUNK, I WAS POISONED! (by an american company, I guess its all karma related). Anyways she informed me that indeed my train would be on track 8a in 30 minutes. I thanked her, stumbled away, as more people lined up at the information desk shot me 'that look'. About 30 meters past the information desk I became incredibly grateful that I had enough presence of mind to be carrying a 'just incase barf bag' as I stopped by a column, trying to hold myself up as another wave of nausea hit. And soon I was projectile barfing into this paper bag nearly half a litre of water. And of course, being a paper bag, it didn't hold long and eventually I was barfing into a leaking bag and surrounded by a puddle of water. I put the bag down, made a move to go, then realized, 'nope, nope, that wasn't all of it' picked up the leaking bag (because at least I could make it SEEM like I was trying not to mess up the Amsterdam train station) and empty the rest of my stomach contents. I wearily placed the bag down, and tried to remember where the hell the information desk lady told me to go as I walked in the general direction of the tracks.
Somehow I wound up on track 8a, only semi disoriented (which surprised me considering how physically sick I was; usually vomiting this much meant I was not only physically out of commission but mentally, yet I still seemed to have my wits about me - somewhat). I got on the train, still getting those 'another american drunk kid' looks and sat with a mother and her young daughter; 'friggin perfect', i thought. This girl is undoubtedly going to see me throw up into this here barf bag, she's going to think I'm drunk out of my ming, she's going to be scared and have some sort of traumatic child hood experience to tell a therapist in about 7 and a half years 'well doctor, the nightmares started just after I watched that drunk American barf all over themselves on the train'. So I thought, well if I'm going to be sick I'm going to be discrete about it. Though I don't know how discrete some chick red, sweating, smelling of vomit, ever is. I mean, talk about the elephant in the living room. Her mother and her, however, merely looked away as I silently coughed and hacked into the barf bag, and didn't really pay any mind when I tried to secretly dispose of the barf bag in the little trash bin located under the window. I just sat there and silently moaned and held my head and waited and waited until my stop. I got off, shivering and sweating and started the long 5 minute tortuous walk back to the apartment - where I barfed another two times while waiting for Anthony to get home.
Anthony was met by a foul smell in his apartment and me exiting the bathroom stating simply 'i'm so fucking sick'. I explained to him my ordeal, the fact that I hadn't eaten anything and was now barfing yellow bile mixed with blood. He told me about how great the brewery was, and twenty minutes later I threw up again, and he got me some advil realizing that I was really sick. My stomach was hurting, intense cramps from the amount I had vomited in 4 hours, my back was killing me from carrying around a backpack all day, and every muscle in my body was ready to detach from my body just to escape. Anthony looked up symptoms and treatments online. I laid on the couch, we watched tv, I threw up a bit more, I sweated, I shivered, I tried to sleep, I drank water.
Repeat for Sunday.
Monday, my last day, I was still feverish, but with a minor appetite and without barfing in 24 hours. Anthony however, got slapped in the face with the flu. I bought him gravol, advil, and we spent the (rainy) day inside watching TV and complaining about how much it sucked to be so sick. A part of me laughed at the sheer ridiculousness of it all. The audacity of our immune systems to make us so violently ill when we hadn't seen each other in 4.5 months! Oh but of course, but of course this would happen. It was Murphy's Law in action, and the best we could do was vomit on it, laugh at it, and blog about it.
Despite it all, it was a good weekend. I got to see and hang out with a good friend (and it doesn't matter how disgusting both of us were, or how sickly we left his apartment smelling with all our combined illness). It was nice to see a familiar face, to have time away from work, and to be able to come back with a killer story about the first time in Amsterdam. And when I return to that city, I will have memories - not just another street, not just another public transit station - but a place where I got as sick as I had ever been, where I fought against the faults of my own body and crapped out immune system and got myself home. And I know that this whole post probably made my mom uneasy - BUT LOOK AT ME MOM, IM ALIVE, IM WELL, IM FINDING THE SILVER LINING...and I'm pretty fucking tough. I'm a survivor. BRING IT ON SUBWAY, INFECT ME AGAIN, I'LL SHOW YOU.
(actually I probably won't ever another sub for like, 7 months)
Another great thing about the trip, was that while I was sick and struggling to find my way home, no one helped me 'another drunk american'. However, while there was that moment where I had to contemplate what the hell is wrong with people today, there were moments on the trip where I was quite pleased with the kindness you find in individuals. I met, for example, while traveling Amsterdam early Saturday morning, a really nice guy who was studying in England and in Amsterdam for a few days on a trip. I took his picture for him and we spoke briefly about what we were doing and that was that. It was one of the most pleasant conversations I had had with a stranger in ages (usually in Geneva dudes who are strangers and talk to you are usually middle aged drunk men slurring words and trying to get you to drink with them - and you know...great). Also while in the airport waiting to go home, I went to buy a bottle of water - however I was 50 cents short and was unable to. So I circled around a bit trying to find a cheaper vendor, but couldn't, and finally sat down at the cafe where I had first attempted to buy water. I was sweating, probably still looking like another drunk american kid, when a british man stopped by my table, handed me a bottle of water, and said 'this is for you'. I was shocked, startled, but managed a sincere thank you as he turned and walked away. It amazed me, because, quite frankly (and not to be patting myself on the back) but usually I'm the one giving strangers an extra ten cents or buying one franc pie tarts for the guy outside Co-Op (grocery store) - I've never really been on the receiving end of such generosity from a stranger - and I guess its because I'm really quite lucky with what I have that I've never needed a handout. But it feels good, when your down and out to have someone, you don't know, with no motive, to just help you out. Suddenly your not so alone, suddenly the water is that much more refreshing, and suddenly you realize that maybe there's hope for all of us yet.
and that my friends, was Amsterdam.
Consider this the first of a three part blog (AMSTERDAM / PRAGUE / PHOTO)
AMSTERDAM
The beginning of November, the 1-5, was spent in Amsterdam, where I became very familiar with the toilets in the Netherlands. And no, not because I 'lived it up' and got 'totally shmammered' (by the way, phrases like 'shmamered' or any other strange mashup of words used to describe being drunk, really really irk me - never say them around me, I'll probably hit you in the back of the head for sounding like a 20 year old football player who wears polo shirts and a tattered baseball cap and drinks crap beer ). Anyways, it wasn't because I 'lived it up' in Amsterdam like most kids my age are supposed to. It was because I got food poisoning, from a Subway no less.
Before I launch into this disgusting tale of my amazing display of digestive pyrotechnics, I should preface by saying that unfortunately my Aunt had said to me weeks earlier that you will never forget what it was like seeing these cities for the first time. To which I replied 'well that pisses me off, I nearly killed my self walking through Paris when I had shin splints!' and she laughed and said that when I do Paris again in a chauffeured car (because you know, us webmasters make the big dough!) I would look back and laugh and say 'remember when I nearly killed myself walking through the Champs Ilysse with shin splints! lookitmenow!'.
If I ever wind up in Amsterdam again, I'll have a laugh. Thats for sure. 'remember when I threw up here? and there? and THERE?' oh yes, to the story then.
I went to the Netherlands because I wanted to see Amsterdam (what person in their early twenties doesn't?) and because my friend Anthony - one of the first people I ever met in University - had recently moved there. Anthony lives just 20 minutes outside Amsterdam and so it is necessary to train it down to the city to see where all the action is. I arrived Thursday night and we called it in early as flying usually wears me down (yes even one hour flights - its called irrational fear, high stress, and nerves). Friday I was shown around Anthony's little village which was quite beautiful, complete with a gorgeous bending river lined with quaint shops and trees. We also went to a neighboring city which was small but busy, stayed indoors and watched plenty of MTV and Discovery channel as an attempt to stay dry while it was raining, and then made our way to Amsterdam at night to check out a bar that Anthony really liked and wanted to show me and to wander the red light district. Now my mom warned me before I traveled 'don't go to the red light district' - but it was something I wanted to see and honestly you can't go to Amsterdam and ignore such a large part of their culture and history. And so, as we walked by the prostitutes in the window Anthony said 'I really hope you don't feel objectified'. And quite honestly I didn't, I didn't even think very much of it. In fact for the most part I couldn't understand why these women would invest in black lights if they were just going to wear black. It seemed rather counterintuitive. I suppose though, that I didn't have the 'shocked' reaction anticipated because quite frankly, I expected to see exactly what I saw. And I imagine the hundreds of other tourists walking the district with us were having the same feelings of detachment and apathy. And perhaps that is because there we were, all together, being tourists, wandering the streets of one city's red light district, and not paying too much mind to what was actually happening. We were all tourists outright, the spectacle was expected and we absorbed it - said 'isn't that interesting' and went on to find the next thing to entertain us in the town. And actually, initially we were going to check out this - allegedly - great jazz club, but after our night walk we decided against it and figured we would just do it Saturday night. And so after having a couple of beers and walking the city we called it in, and I looked forward to a whole day of seeing the city in the day light, when I would be armed with my camera and a renewed sense of adventure!
Now, that day - saturday - Anthony, who is very interested in pursuing a career in beer brewing, went to a local brewery to watch a team brew. I decided that rather than wait around until 6, that I would go to Amsterdam on my own. Anthony and I made plans to ensure we had a way in the apartment so that whoever got there first wouldn't be hanging around waiting for the other, and so that morning I was off to explore. My first stops in Amsterdam were the H&M's - searching for a sweater I had seen in Geneva but had never been able to find in my size. A similar problem occured in Amsterdam. After my failed shopping, I continued to wander and take photos every so often, and suddenly as the rumble in my tummy got louder I started keeping my eye out for a place to eat. And suddenly I saw, a Subway sandwich shop tucked away nicely on a little street. Just days earlier I had said to Gilberto 'I really miss Subway' - it was my homebase for a while, my main source of nutrition for nearly a month while working on my thesis. I decided that I would eat a sandwich, check out the Van Gogh museum, get hungry again and go to the pancake bakery suggested to me by another intern. Excitedly I ordered my turkey sub, ate it quickly, and was on my way. I wandered Amsterdam a bit more, making my way back to the main train station so that I could catch the tram to Van Gogh. I stumbled upon an animal rights protest, and hung around taking pictures of the punks that gathered to speak out about exploitation of animals (I assume that this is what the protest about based on the people dressed as blood soaked animals and the various Dutch paraphernalia being distributed with animals all over them). There was a German rapper, and a speaker, and kids holding signs and banners and while it looked like something big was going to be underway, no major crazy Dutch protest ever happened and as it started to rain I decided I had had enough of pretending to participate in something I didn't understand anyways.
I finally made it onto the tram about 2 hours after my lunch at the aforementioned subway. The tram offered quite a shaky ride and I started feeling like I was getting some sort of intense motion sickness. I started getting the chills followed by a fever like sweat, and I assumed that once outdoors and off the tram-of-death I would feel much better. However, upon entering the Van Gogh museum the fever like symptoms remained and the nausea got progressively worse and worse. I checked my bag and jacket and decided I was just hot, and continued my way into the gallery. I saw about ten paintings and read one little biographical tidbit before deciding to sit down so I could gather myself. Suddenly people started surrounding me, I became overwhelmed and more feverish and that nauseous feeling decided to hit me in one big wave and soon I was booting it to the bathroom downstairs. Of course the line up to the ladies washroom was eleven people long, so without of a baby, and without even being pregnant, I burst into the baby change station and threw up all over it.
After cleaning myself up, and the toilet, I decided to attempt to see some more Van Gogh. I walked somewhat unevenly back to the same spot I stood before I had left the gallery, and I tried to rush myself to a second room in an attempt to see another series of paintings..rushing because I knew it was mere moments before I would need to book it back to the bathroom. I suppose I underestimated because as I crooked my neck to see what possible masterpieces might lurk behind the corner, I felt the familiar convulsions of involuntary vomiting, and had to quickly 180 and tumble down the stairs to the bathroom - where this time I waited patiently in line, swallowing what I could until I made it into the stall whose floor and toilet I would be acquainted with for the next ten minutes.
After picking myself up off the floor I decided against making a third attempt to see any Van Gough and figured it was probably time to go home. I walked to the tram, shivering and feverish, hoping for a quick ride back to the train station followed by a quick ride home.
The tram, although quick, was packed with people, full to its fullest extent. Luckily I was able to grab a seat before the influx of commuters. And as I sat there as more and more people got on, I started to feel that familiar feeling - the one where a simple cough can result in you barfing in your hand. I tried to fight it, but soon enough my body gave up and out of nowhere I threw up in mouth. I struggled and swallowed it, my face probably beat red and sweating profusely. And just as someone hovering over me said 'this is the wrong place to be if your claustrophobic' i threw up again, this time into my hand. On one hand I was lucky to have completely emptied my stomach at the Van Gogh museum because all I had to deal with was sticky bile and not orange chunks of semi digested turkey meat on parmesan oregano bread. On the other hand, I just barfed in my hand and completely grossed out the girl beside me (who promptly got up and off at the next stop). I tried to wipe my hand off on my bag and wipe my face on my sleeve - none of which I think mattered at all because covered in barf or not, I was feeling sick as a dog and probably looked like it.
After that moment of extreme embarrassment and grossness, I got off the tram and entered the main train station. First things first, I thought. There was no way I was going to be caught barfing all over myself again, so I went into a small shop and bought a whack of stroop waffles (for those who had requested them) and a large bottle of evian. At this point I hadn't realized I had food poisoning and that I was going to vomit whenever something entered my stomach, all I knew was I cold and sweaty and shaky and my mouth tasted like barf. I bought the products and asked for some bags, at the counter - I was handed a stack of paper bags, I used one to carry the waffles and the other as my 'just incase' barf bag.
As I walked through the train station, cold, feverish, sweating, and downing as much Evian as possible, I realized that I wasn't positive where my train would be picking me up. I went up on to platform 8b because thats how we got home the night before - but the platform was empty and the sign was blank and I could not fathom sitting and waiting until later that night when the train would be passing through that track so I wandered up and down quickly to see if track 8a was occupied, but gave up quickly as I found myself getting slightly disoriented. I figured I was better off reading the maps downstairs. However, this plan wasn't well thought out (imagine that) and I spent quite a bit of time shuffling between maps and city lists, staring at them blankly as beads of sweat gathered on my brow and dripped down into my line of vision. Fortunately in my poisoned stupor I was able to spot an information desk.
The lady at the information desk seemed somewhat unimpressed with me - and I assume that she was giving me 'that look' not because I couldn't speak the language (main train station at a big tourist city - I'm sure she didn't care) and she wasn't the only giving me 'that look' you know - the look - the 'ooooh great another drunk american wandering our city and vomiting all over themselves'. EXCEPT I WASNT DRUNK, I WAS POISONED! (by an american company, I guess its all karma related). Anyways she informed me that indeed my train would be on track 8a in 30 minutes. I thanked her, stumbled away, as more people lined up at the information desk shot me 'that look'. About 30 meters past the information desk I became incredibly grateful that I had enough presence of mind to be carrying a 'just incase barf bag' as I stopped by a column, trying to hold myself up as another wave of nausea hit. And soon I was projectile barfing into this paper bag nearly half a litre of water. And of course, being a paper bag, it didn't hold long and eventually I was barfing into a leaking bag and surrounded by a puddle of water. I put the bag down, made a move to go, then realized, 'nope, nope, that wasn't all of it' picked up the leaking bag (because at least I could make it SEEM like I was trying not to mess up the Amsterdam train station) and empty the rest of my stomach contents. I wearily placed the bag down, and tried to remember where the hell the information desk lady told me to go as I walked in the general direction of the tracks.
Somehow I wound up on track 8a, only semi disoriented (which surprised me considering how physically sick I was; usually vomiting this much meant I was not only physically out of commission but mentally, yet I still seemed to have my wits about me - somewhat). I got on the train, still getting those 'another american drunk kid' looks and sat with a mother and her young daughter; 'friggin perfect', i thought. This girl is undoubtedly going to see me throw up into this here barf bag, she's going to think I'm drunk out of my ming, she's going to be scared and have some sort of traumatic child hood experience to tell a therapist in about 7 and a half years 'well doctor, the nightmares started just after I watched that drunk American barf all over themselves on the train'. So I thought, well if I'm going to be sick I'm going to be discrete about it. Though I don't know how discrete some chick red, sweating, smelling of vomit, ever is. I mean, talk about the elephant in the living room. Her mother and her, however, merely looked away as I silently coughed and hacked into the barf bag, and didn't really pay any mind when I tried to secretly dispose of the barf bag in the little trash bin located under the window. I just sat there and silently moaned and held my head and waited and waited until my stop. I got off, shivering and sweating and started the long 5 minute tortuous walk back to the apartment - where I barfed another two times while waiting for Anthony to get home.
Anthony was met by a foul smell in his apartment and me exiting the bathroom stating simply 'i'm so fucking sick'. I explained to him my ordeal, the fact that I hadn't eaten anything and was now barfing yellow bile mixed with blood. He told me about how great the brewery was, and twenty minutes later I threw up again, and he got me some advil realizing that I was really sick. My stomach was hurting, intense cramps from the amount I had vomited in 4 hours, my back was killing me from carrying around a backpack all day, and every muscle in my body was ready to detach from my body just to escape. Anthony looked up symptoms and treatments online. I laid on the couch, we watched tv, I threw up a bit more, I sweated, I shivered, I tried to sleep, I drank water.
Repeat for Sunday.
Monday, my last day, I was still feverish, but with a minor appetite and without barfing in 24 hours. Anthony however, got slapped in the face with the flu. I bought him gravol, advil, and we spent the (rainy) day inside watching TV and complaining about how much it sucked to be so sick. A part of me laughed at the sheer ridiculousness of it all. The audacity of our immune systems to make us so violently ill when we hadn't seen each other in 4.5 months! Oh but of course, but of course this would happen. It was Murphy's Law in action, and the best we could do was vomit on it, laugh at it, and blog about it.
Despite it all, it was a good weekend. I got to see and hang out with a good friend (and it doesn't matter how disgusting both of us were, or how sickly we left his apartment smelling with all our combined illness). It was nice to see a familiar face, to have time away from work, and to be able to come back with a killer story about the first time in Amsterdam. And when I return to that city, I will have memories - not just another street, not just another public transit station - but a place where I got as sick as I had ever been, where I fought against the faults of my own body and crapped out immune system and got myself home. And I know that this whole post probably made my mom uneasy - BUT LOOK AT ME MOM, IM ALIVE, IM WELL, IM FINDING THE SILVER LINING...and I'm pretty fucking tough. I'm a survivor. BRING IT ON SUBWAY, INFECT ME AGAIN, I'LL SHOW YOU.
(actually I probably won't ever another sub for like, 7 months)
Another great thing about the trip, was that while I was sick and struggling to find my way home, no one helped me 'another drunk american'. However, while there was that moment where I had to contemplate what the hell is wrong with people today, there were moments on the trip where I was quite pleased with the kindness you find in individuals. I met, for example, while traveling Amsterdam early Saturday morning, a really nice guy who was studying in England and in Amsterdam for a few days on a trip. I took his picture for him and we spoke briefly about what we were doing and that was that. It was one of the most pleasant conversations I had had with a stranger in ages (usually in Geneva dudes who are strangers and talk to you are usually middle aged drunk men slurring words and trying to get you to drink with them - and you know...great). Also while in the airport waiting to go home, I went to buy a bottle of water - however I was 50 cents short and was unable to. So I circled around a bit trying to find a cheaper vendor, but couldn't, and finally sat down at the cafe where I had first attempted to buy water. I was sweating, probably still looking like another drunk american kid, when a british man stopped by my table, handed me a bottle of water, and said 'this is for you'. I was shocked, startled, but managed a sincere thank you as he turned and walked away. It amazed me, because, quite frankly (and not to be patting myself on the back) but usually I'm the one giving strangers an extra ten cents or buying one franc pie tarts for the guy outside Co-Op (grocery store) - I've never really been on the receiving end of such generosity from a stranger - and I guess its because I'm really quite lucky with what I have that I've never needed a handout. But it feels good, when your down and out to have someone, you don't know, with no motive, to just help you out. Suddenly your not so alone, suddenly the water is that much more refreshing, and suddenly you realize that maybe there's hope for all of us yet.
and that my friends, was Amsterdam.
Thursday, November 8, 2007
judy is a punk
to be added to: random crap found in geneva and surrounding areas as captured on my camera phone.
except this was captured on steph's camera phone.
backstory:
we got off the bus at cornavin (main train station) and saw these two punks in such perfect punk get up, better than the majority of punks you see around here - steph pointed them out and we frantically attempted to take a photo. however, we failed miserably and started following them attempting to get a picture. but camera phones are not made to take photos while moving. so i decided, screw it, lets get a video. except camera phones aren't that great at video either. so we chased these guys around for a couple of blocks trying to get a good shot of them. we failed miserably. but the results are hillarious.....we think...probably not.
we did this for justin and laura.
song: Rock and Roll High School The Ramones
anyways. they pretty much looked like replicas of Felix from Laura and I's thesis project:
except this was captured on steph's camera phone.
backstory:
we got off the bus at cornavin (main train station) and saw these two punks in such perfect punk get up, better than the majority of punks you see around here - steph pointed them out and we frantically attempted to take a photo. however, we failed miserably and started following them attempting to get a picture. but camera phones are not made to take photos while moving. so i decided, screw it, lets get a video. except camera phones aren't that great at video either. so we chased these guys around for a couple of blocks trying to get a good shot of them. we failed miserably. but the results are hillarious.....we think...probably not.
we did this for justin and laura.
song: Rock and Roll High School The Ramones
anyways. they pretty much looked like replicas of Felix from Laura and I's thesis project:
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