May Break III: Don't Panic

I recently finished reading a fine series of books written by a brilliant man named Douglas Adams. In this series, a small, black device plays a semi-trivial role; the device is called The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, and on its cover is inscribed "Don't Panic."

Don't Panic. Maybe that should have been the theme for Pug, Tymona, and my return trip from Greece. The story begins as we get off of a plane that flew from Athens to Stockholm. The next leg of our trip had us getting on a plane that flew from a different airport in Stockholm to Brussels, Belgium, and we had three hours to find this airport. But, as some travels go, things didn't work out as perfectly as we had hoped. In reality, the first airport in Stockholm was not in Stockholm at all. Oh, and neither was the second. We asked two ladies at information about how we could go about getting from Airport A to Airport B — I will continue to refer to them without names because, well, I don't know the names — and she told us that a bus goes between the two, looked at our itinerary, and decided we wouldn't make it. She then proceded to not help us at all. Well, we went about catching a train to Stockholm, which seemed like a better idea than sulking in Airport A about how we would never get home. Once in Stockholm, we asked a few people there about buses and trains that would go to Airport B. The next bus to leave for the airport would leave in an hour or so, but would get us to the airport slightly late. We tried the train station, and the train there would also be just a tad too late. Alright, time for plan, um, something. We had to take a taxi.

Our taxi driver seemed to be quite the incredible type of guy. He kindly told us how much it would cost to get to the airport, and told us it would be a fixed price. He looked at the itinerary, and contrary to certain other people in Sweden, assured us that he could get us to where we wanted to be at least forty-five minutes before our plane left. Okay, that sounded great, but we had no local money. So he even did this for us: he brought us to the ATM in his taxi. Wonderful. The rest of the, oh, hour-or-so long trip I spent listening to oldies Amerian music on the radio and hearing this jolly man chatter about all sorts of random things. Well don't you know it, he even got us to the airport on time!

Fast forward.Now we are in Brussels, Belgium. Getting to the nearest run-down, hardly safe train station turned out to be a bit of a challenge, but we made it, and we eventually arrived in Antwerp, Belgium. However, most trains only travel from 6am to midnight, and it was about midnight — we knew this in advance, but thought we would at least be in the Netherlands before we had to spend the night somewhere — so we were stuck in Antwerp for the night. We found some nice chairs in the train station and started to dose off when some friendly guards came and told us the station was closing, but would open again at 5am. Oh, just great, now we were in Antwerp with no place to sleep. Hostels, hotels, camp sites? Bah, don't need 'em is what I say. So, we started doing the most unsafe thing we could think of, we started roaming the streets, turning around whenever a street looked like it had too many strip-joints or bars for our liking, and eventually coming across an all night fry shop. Perfect, kindof. So, to avoid loittering, I purchased a family size box of fries at around 1am, and we took a seat. Thankfully, they were playing a DVD of Live8, which I don't really know what that is, but it had English music, good enough for me. And we sat, and sat, and ate our fries, and sat. About half way through the fries, Pug decided to patronize — the good way — the owners again by purchasing a few Cokes. That bought us a half an hour more or so, right? Later, another Coke, an ice cream, and it was suddenly 3:15am. We suspected the owners liked us, but we still didn't feel right staying there all night, so we headed off to roam again.

We ended up on a few benches near a big statue. We plopped down, thinking it was a fairly public area, somewhat highly visible, and if the police decided to drop on by and tell us we couldn't stay there, we could play stupid and move somewhere else. A few cops drove by, but none never stopped to tell us to leave; some of the locals weren't so kind. So, here was probably the craziest encounter: it is four in the morning, we were sitting in the middle of a foreign city, and a motorcycle, with no light on, rides up, and stops near us. One guy jumps off the back of the bike and says, um, something. I never know what they say. Usual bit about only knowing English, and he says, "You guys want some Ecstacy?" Of course, I laughed, he smiled, and then he jumped on the bike and rode off again, thankfully without incident. Other than that guy, it was mostly just homeless people wanting money that I was unwilling to give them; most would just walk away upon realizing that I only spoke Spanish, a ploy that probably wouldn't work in places like, um, Spain.

The sun would inevitably rise again, and as it did after we were already on a train back to home. Ah Hattem, it is so good to be home again. I can only imagine the feeling will be ten times better next weekend.

May Break II: The Hellenic Half

A long time ago, well before the invention of trains and airplains, well before the invention of digital cameras and memory cards, well before the invention of the internet and blogging, there lived a man. This man, Homer was his name, liked to sit by the sea and write poems that he concocted with his vibrant imagination. Years later, some of his descendants misinterpreted his fables as history and decided to build temples to the likes of Zeus, Athena, Poseidon, and Nike. Many, many years after that, a young man named Bryan - that's me - visited the land of Homer and his descendents.

The most notable place to find remnants of the great Greek empire is on top of the famed Acropolis. So of course, Pug, Tymona, and I started our sightseeing there. Atop the Acropolis, which is a big stone mesa, stand three temples. The largest is known as the Parthenon, another was built for the gods Athena and Nike, and a third built for Athena and Poseidon. It is amazing how people who lived before the invention of cranes and steel could manage to build such mammoth buildings out of huge slabs of marble, but somehow the Ancient Greeks did it, and I applaud them for that. It is amazing how people who lived after the invention of cranes and steel could manage to put up scaffolding everwhere around such remarkable tourist sites, but the Modern Greeks did it, and I loath them for that. But in all respect to the Modern Greeks, they do it so they can further restore the structures, so I guess it is alright. Maybe my children will get a chance to take a good picture someday.

At this point, it was time to go to a place where there wasn't so much scaffolding, and the Temple of Zeus was a logical choice. Not much of this building remains in tact, supposedly because the scaffolding has not had a chance to repair it yet, but what does remain lets the mind easily imagine what the structure would have been like during it's prime. And my mind did a pretty good job of recreating the structure, I think, because I was impressed, again.

Pause. I decided a break in the story was necessary to point out an important fact: there were about 1/10^th of the amount of people in Athens as there were in Rome, which was a blessing in itself.

Resume. After a couple goes at ancient structure, the team decided to seek something a little more modern, so we headed off to the Greek Parliment Building. On the way though, we had the chance to walk through the National Garden, which was really nice. According to the guidebook, which I actually read for this trip, the beauty of the gardens is not in its colorful flowers, but in its shades of green. That is not an exact quote, unless I suddenly developed photographic memory. Anyway, I can vouch that the guidebook was right on this one, and the garden, made up mostly of just trees, was incredibly beautiful.

The Parliment Buildings has some guards in front of it who wear funny little pomb-pombs atop the toes of their shoes, and every half hour or so they walk around raising their feet really high and doing all sorts of funny looking maneuvors. I have yet to determine the point of this excercise, but I should say that it did make the guards look absolutely ridiculous, which is great for tourists.

Museums are pretty good for tourists to look at as well, and we saw a few interesting ones which were mostly filled with statues and carvings. The Ancient Greeks had some carving skills. I'll leave it at that.

Ancient Greeks have carving skills; Modern Greeks have cooking skills. We went out to eat at an out of the way diner one night, and the food tickled my taste buds in the way I hoped it would. This was a great relief from the incessant bread and chocolate spread diet that pervaded the rest of the trip. Bread and chocolate spread is cheap, but I'm pretty sure a whole week living off of it made me sick.

This adventure finishes with some trouble involving attempts to get home, but I think that story is best left for another blog entry.

May Break I: Florence, Rome, and Vatican City twice

Recently, everybody on N-Spice decided to leave the Netherlands for over a week. This, of course, caused all classes during that week to be unattended, so the N-Spice organizers decided to declare the week "May Break." I'm not sure if I'm completely accurate on the causal relationships of all of the facts, but I'm pretty sure that those are correct.

Well, a little faction comprised of Dustin, Pug, Tymona, and I decided we would go to Italy and Greece for our May Break. But, since a week is a long time to cover in one blog, this entry will only cover the Italian portion of the trip.

Our first stop was Florence for a day. We arrived on a sleeper train early in the morning, and had to cover a lot of ground before we left for Rome at five in the evening. So, we did. The most notable thing about Florence is the original Statue of David, carved by none other than Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni. It tops the replica that is located in near down town Sioux Falls in a few respects: it isn't in Sioux Falls, it was created by Michelangelo, and it is made of marble. Also in Florence I experienced my first taste of truly athentic Italian pizza, which was splendid.

We spent a few hectic days in Italy's capital city, Rome. The first day we were there, we discovered a little secret, that the Vatican Museum, which holds the famous Sistene Chapel, is free on the last Sunday of the month. Turns out that the people in charge of keeping the secret a secret failed miserably, because, as you can expect, there were droves of people waiting in line to get into the museum. As it turns out, the museum closed before we could even get into it, so a morning was wasted. We resolved not to waste the rest of the day, and headed over to St. Peter's Basillica, which, despite more droves of people, did not disappoint. I have previously vowed not to explain cathedrals, but I now feel the need to break my vow of silence. St. Peter's was absolutely the most amazing cathedral I have been in, which is saying quite a bit since I have been in quite a few amazing cathedrals. It was massive, and so very ornate. There were lots of statues of former popes, which surprised me a little bit, but there was also a statue of St. Peter with some lore that is unknown to me about touching the statue's feet. I looked at the feet as I passed, and they are completely worn down from so many people constantly rubbing his feet; the rest of the statue is in pristene condition but his feet are quickly becoming flat, smooth, and unlifelike. After we explored the vast expanses of the lower floor, we jumped in a line to ascend to the cuppola. That trek was also enthralling; we saw the art of the dome much closer, at which point I realized that the pictures of saints and the latin writings were not painted on the dome, but rather made out of tiny glazed tiles arranged to produce the breathtaking effect. Then, we ascended even further and were given the chance to overlook the Vatican City and a large part of Rome.

The next day was conducted in true whirlwind tourist style. Actually, at the very moment I am writing this, I can't even remember where we began. Now, which is taking place mere seconds after you read the previous sentence, but which, as I am writing this, is actually taking place after I wrote the last paragraph of this story, I still don't have a clear chronological order of the things we saw, so I'm just going to start writing things, and the reader should assume they are not in order. The most notable thing I saw in Rome is people. In fact, huge multitudes of people, more than I was able to count. People, everwhere. Our last stop was the Spanish Steps, but I never saw the Spanish Steps, I saw people sitting down on what I could only assume were steps. It was that packed. But I lied, I actually did see, and walk on, the steps. We also saw Trevi Fountain, which was an incredible work of white stone sculptures, water, and people. Oh, no, the people weren't part of the work, there were just massive amounts of people there. Okay, I'll drop the people bit, just so long as you agree to recognize that there were alot of people in Rome. Pantheon - not to be confused with the Parthenon, which will appear in the next blog entry - was one of our sites, and it was impressive, however it was closed. For some reason, May Day (May 1) is an important holiday in Rome, and I really, at this point, have no idea why, but maybe I'll learn some day. Hmm, what else? I can't believe it! It just dawned on me what we saw first, and I can't believe that I forgot it. What would you go see if you went to Rome? The Colliseum, of course, which was our first destination. Waiting in line for the Colliseum, we were approached by a man trying to get us on his tour, and we were wary, but we did finally agree, and despite my incessant feeling that we were going to get hoodwinked, it turned out to be a wonderful deal for us. An eccentric and amusing tour guide showed us around the Colliseum, and then later a kind and very knowledgable woman showed us around the Foro Romano, which doesn't mean Roman Forum, which is what I had guessed, but actually means Roman Marketplace. She included a bit about the part we were walking on was what people in the first century would have walked on. Well, inspired by that, we visited the excavation of where Peter and Paul were imprisoned. That was a very odd feeling indeed, imagining that here was the place where the Holy Spirit inspired Peter and Paul to write parts of the Bible. Incredible. I believe that this writing has hit every important event of the day, even if the events written were not laid down in proper order.

On our final day in Rome, in which Pug, Tymona, and I would leave Rome at 1:30 in the afternoon, we gave the Vatican Museum another try. This time, we learned our lesson about the lines at this place and arrived early, before the museum even opened, so we only had to stand in line for one half of one hour. There was much to see in the Vatican, and much that I didn't understand. There was an Egyptian exhibit, which I spent much of just staring and the thing people have found, amazed that things can be, um, a couple hundred times older than I am. There were other things to see, but they didn't catch my attention, because I was only waiting until the rest of my company was good and prepared to move on to the proverbial crown jewels, the Sistene Chapel (painted by the same Michelangelo that was mentioned earlier in this passage). Before getting to the chapel, a visitor must pass through long rooms painted by other painters, like Raphael. Who's that guy? Judging by my knowledge of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, he must have been about as famous as Michelangelo. Well, if he wasn't, he certainly should have been, because his work was absolutely amazing; if forced to choose I might strongly consider rating the Raphael Rooms in the Vatican Museum higher than the Sistene Chapel, but I feel no need to make such claims. Finally, we arrived at the Sistene Chapel, which turned out to be everything people had told me: hundreds of people taking pictures from their waists because pictures are not allowed, and the occassional guard grabbing a camera, probably just for effect, knowing that he can't really do anything about it. Oh, and there's some art, too, but you have seen pictures of those before, I'm sure. Actually, it hurt the neck to look at them painted on the ceiling, so you may be better off just looking at pictures of them. Actually, I heard reports that Michelangelo's neck actually never recovered from a permenant krink in the neck from painting the Sistene for four years. There, now all of my readers think I am completely irreverant with regard to such an amazing work of art, so I'll add that I really did find it jaw-dropping.

Budapest: Good work, black cat.

It was a bright, sunny day as Dustin, Jen, Tymona, Nicole, and I walked alongside the Hungarian Parliment building. Dustin noticed a black cat walking on the far side of a fence, and conversation followed with something about glitches in matrices and all sorts of crazy things. There was also a pack of pigeons nearby, and since the pigeons had been relentlessly annoying me earlier in the day regardless of how many rocks I threw at them, I was a bit bitter toward these unintelligent feathered curses. So, I said, "it would make my day if that cat attacked one of those pigeons." Almost on cue, the cat snuck up behind a bush and settled into what looked like attack mode. This can't be happening! we whispered amongst ourselves. Suddenly the black cat pounced, the rat-of-the-sky flapped its wings frantically and tried to fly, but the cat caught it about a foot, maybe thirty centimeters for my European or Canadian readers, off the ground. The black hunter then ran away with the filthy meat in its mouth. The words I spoke before the event happened were indeed true, because that sight made my day, and it made my weekend. Budapest: what a great place!

A cat having the courage to do what I desire to do to pigeons is not the only reason we rode fifteen hours in trains, travelling well over a megameter, to get to Budapest. Saturday we went about exploring the city, seeing things like "Hero's Square," which was a square with a bunch of statues of Hungarian heros; the Cave Church, which is a church built into the side of a mountain; the Parliment Building, which I can only assume is where the Hungarian Parliment meets; a nice church or two; and the original bridge that linked the former cities of Buda and Pest.

Sunday we decided we would try to find an English church. The endevour was rather simple on the Internet, and we easily located the church. The endevour was not so easy in real life, and eventually we gave up and settled for a Hungarian Lutheran church. It was swell and I'm pretty sure they had a good choir, but I really would have liked to attend an Easter Sunday in English. Later in the day, we trekked out to who knows where, gambling on the public transit system with our time. Lady Luck was smiling at us as we beat the proverbial casino and arrived at our intended destination a quarter hour before the last tour. The destination was a cave, which was pretty interesting. At this point I wonder, during the course of this blog, how many things I've described as "interesting" without any further explanation. Well, add one more I suppose.

Terschelling, Netherlands: Class Excursion to a Dutch Island

So here it is: my account of Terschelling.

We, as a whole N-Spice group, all twenty of us, took a train past Leeuwarden and hopped on a boat to one of the Dutch Islands called Terschelling. We arrived on Friday mid-morning, and we had the afternoon to do whatever we wanted. Dustin and I wondered off in search of adventure, and found it in the form of a large natural trail that eventually ended up at a string of large sand dunes. After hour upon hour of fighting our ways through thistlebushes and fording small rivers, we arrived at the sand dunes that lined the coast. It was quite the sight.

Friday night we were given the okay to build a fire on the beach. It was quite a night. We roasted marshmallows, tackled people, played freeze-tag, and told stories. On the way home, Aloisa, the program director, had something go wrong on her bike, so she had to ride on Dustin's and my tandem bike. Three people on one bike, now that is an adventure!

Saturday afternoon we could once again do whatever we pleased. A group of us went to some Cranberry Wine store where we could taste the wine, and of course buy it. I wasn't too impressed, so I came back empty handed. The next place we went was a cheese store where the owners made their own cheese. The lady was a bit unfriendly in my opinion, so I easily justified my "Dutch" urge to not buy anything.

Sunday after our ad hoc church service, I spent my day like at least one day of every good vacation should be spent: doing absolutely nothing. I read a little bit, I napped a little bit, I meandered around and talked to people a little bit, and it was a wonderful afternoon. We tried to have another camp fire Sunday evening, but the wind was blowing hard and all of the fire wood was damp, so the fire never grew very large, which made a very cold excursion. We eventually gave up and settled for the heat of the hostel.

And Monday we trekked home.

Copenhagen: Isn't that close to Sweden?

Copenhagen is like a very old king. One can still sense that at one time he was proud and majestic, commanding respect from everybody that set eyes upon him; but now he has lost his splendor, only a remnant remains of what he once was. You can see this in his buildings: all of the great buildings all had great domes or wonderful spires that are now all green and ugly. When I was looking at them, I could imagine that the now green adorments used to gleam and reflect the sun in a brilliant copper shade. (Think about the Statue of Liberty: currently it is a dull green, but when it was constructed it was a brilliant copper.)

Maybe I missed something big, but Copenhagen doesn't have much to offer. While we walked around the city, we saw the changing of the guard in which their guards wear big, black, fuzzy hats which are in themselves amusing, and apparently the guards think so too - or are just very unprofessional - because almost every guard I observed frequently cracked smiles, and one didn't even try to surpress his constant smile. Later, we saw what was a more impressive part of the changing: a small band of guards playing instruments and walking down the street. It was like a mini parade! After we witnessed the guards, we walked around the center and witnessed the old buildings I mentioned in the opening paragraph. Also, they have a statue in Copenhagen called "The Little Mermaid." It was about the calliber of the "Mannekin Piss." Okay, maybe you haven't been reading my past posts, or don't remember my thoughts on the little peeing statue, so I'll make my Little Mermaid statue thoughts explicit: it was just a small statue of a mermaid sitting on a rock in their harbor; nothing too impressive but blown way out of proportion. If one were to judge by the souvenier shops and post cards rather than seeing it in person, one would be led to think it is amazing.

Because of this apparent lack of interest in the city and the cold, dry weather that comes with travelling north, we were done sight-seeing a little bit too early in the day. We needed an alternate plan, so we decided on seeing if we could get to Sweden. So that is exactly what we did: we took the ten-minute stroll down to Copenhagen's central train station and took a look at the schedule boards. It turns out that there is a train that is destined for Malmo, Sweden every twenty minutes, so we hopped aboard. Malmo was less impressive than Copenhagen, but the fact that I can say I was in Sweden made the mini-adventure worth it.

In the evening, we went to the local Irish Pub. Of course Copenhagen has an Irish Pub, because as mentioned in a previous post it is the calling and mission of the Irish to create an Irish haven in the midst of every major and semi-major city in Europe. Before you start thinking I'm a drunk, we went to the Irish Pub because we noticed that they were showing "El Classico," a soccer game between two big-name Spanish Teams: Real Madrid and Barcelona. It was quite fun, and there were a few fans that started to get excited, which made it even better.

The Drapeau of Saint Germain

"Maybe, in a later post I will pose as a protagonist on a mission to retrieve a treasure of great importance." I never meant this statement from my previous post to be a empty promise, and now here is the foreshadowed, embellished story of my mission to purchase a Paris Saint Germain flag. (PSG is a European football - or soccer - club located in Paris.)

I know a secret. This secret has been passed down through the ages in remote monestaries where speechless monks broke their vows for the sole purpose of ensuring that the secret would live on. As the story, or myth as some would say, goes, sometime during the middle ages a small group of alchemists and apothecaries stumbled upon the secret to great power. Fearful for their lives and the lives of their families, they chose not to wield the power themselves but instead wove the power into a handful of colorful, powerful tapestries. Many of these tapestries have not survived to this day, but there are a select few that have.

This is where I enter the story. Crazy things happen in Amsterdam, and by one crazy chance accident, I became privileged to discover this secret. Immediately I acted, and after a return trip to Amsterdam, I had aquired one of the lost tapestries, the Vlaggetje of the Mokum. Since that fateful day, I have also discovered two of the Lesser Tapestries of the Land of the Gauls.

Recently, I discovered the hidden location of another of the Greater Tapestries, so under the pretense of a common tourist I grabbed a handful of companions and embarked on a trip to Paris, France, to retrieve the Drapeau of Saint Germain. Due to the rise of an elite, power-hungry group known only as The G14 who would do anything to possess the information I have, I knew I had to move fast. After a day of scouring the city and all of its famous clues, I finally came across what I was looking for: a small, non-descript building that housed the treasure that I sought.

The store was a shrine of sorts, and hung on all of the plain white walls were signs and symbols of the various lost tapestries. On one wall hung an indication of the White Tapestry of the Real Crown; on another hung the dark armor of Munich. Across the building hung the contrasting red and blue of the Milano Brace Tapestries. I knew I was in a place of vast significance; a place that I could never reveal to anyone for fear that they might be spies for the infamous G14. And finally, like a sight to sore eyes I saw what I was looking for. More beautiful than gold, more stunning than silver, the Red and Navy of Saint Germain drew me to the far wall, covered in brilliant adornments.

I searched every inch of the wall, in and out of the runes of Saint Germain, but there was no sign of my treasure. As far as I knew, the G14 had discovered the secrets that I had previously held in solitude, and had nabbed the Drapeau of Saint Germain before I had the chance. Devistated, I slumped off of the hallowed ground knowing that I had failed my mission.

The next day I knew there was no point in staying in Paris since my trip had been a failure. Since it was Paris, though, I enjoyed the great sights one more time before heading home. But then a new hope arose in me. Just one hour before I was scheduled to leave, I decided to give one last effort to finding the sacred tapestry. So I asked a humble souvenier shop worker who surprisingly gave me hope. "The object of your quest is located on the Shawnsa Leezay." The name sounded familiar, but I couldn't quite place it until suddenly, like a beam of sun breaking through the clouds, it hit me. Champs Elysées. Apparently I don't know my French pronunciation very well, but I suddenly realized what he was talking about and took off on a dead sprint toward the Arc de Triomphe. I had no time to lose; I sprinted past the vast, proud structure onto a large, busy street. Frantically I searched for some sign of my quarry. There, across the street, stood another souvenier stand; it was my only hope. I raced across the perilous avenue, knowing that the future of all things good was in my hands, and I didn't have a moment to spare. Out of breath I asked the worker there for any information he could give me. "You're too late," he claimed, "but I can sell you this scarf."

Once again, my heart sank. There were two logical explanations: either the man was completely unaware of the power of the Drapeau of Saint Germain, or he was a conniver for the G14. But my mind, in it's frantic state, had settled on a third thought: I was too late. Once again, I came to grips with the fact that I had failed my quest. Slowly, I walked down the great street in search of a metro station that would bring me back to the train station.

My two faithful companions until this point have gone unmentioned, but they play an important part in this tale. As we reached the metro, one companion happened, most likely by something beyond mere chance, to notice a building across the street covered in navy and red. My heart for the third time bubbled with hope as she pointed this out to me, so we darted across the busy Champs Elysées once more and rushed into the building. And there, upon the top floor, my other companion spotted the Greater Tapestry. It was beautiful! The Drapeau of Saint Germain! Quickly, I grabbed the treasure and ran knowing that I was now in great peril, and that I needed to catch my train back to the Netherlands.

Paris

When we last left our hero, he was teetering perilously over the Thymes River in a glass prison at the peak of the ominous London Eye...

Okay, I thought about writing this blog in third person about some valient hero who travels from famous European city to famous European city, but I decided I'd spare you from that and, as usual, just give my account of Paris, France. Maybe, in a later post I will pose as a protagonist on a mission to retrieve a treasure of great importance.

So, Friday I travelled with a handful of young women to Paris, France. As usual, the mode of transportation was a train, which arrived at Gare Nord. Our first mission was to get to the Louvre by way of the metro.

The Louvre was far too big for me (or anyone in my company) to see in the hour and a half we had to spend there before it closed, so I concentrated my efforts on two main sections: Italian Paintings and Greek/Roman Statues. I also felt obliged to view the Mona Lisa; she must have really liked me because she would not frown no matter where I looked, only smiles she gave me (if only all women were so kind).

Saturday was the "big day," the day we had set to see all of the most important Parisian sights, and see the sights we did! We started at Volontaires Station, the famous station that - nevermind, it is not famous, it was merely the metro station that was nearest to our hostel, and the place where we purchased metro day passes, which ended up coming very much in handy.

The first sight was the La Basilique du Sacré Coeur de Montmartre, which most people (including me) refer to simply as the Sacré Coeur. It is this really massive cathedral. I found it amazing, but once again, I refuse to describe cathedrals, so you're out of luck. After seeing the cathedral, we moseyed around in search of the Artist's Market. Here, people were painting and drawing and doing all sorts of artsy things. It was impressive; I watched a father commission a charcoal and chalk work of his daughter; I saw an old man splatter blue and white paint on a canvas which eventually became a monochromatic image of the Eiffel Tower.

Apparently, there is a movie named "Moulin Rouge" which takes place in Paris, and apparently the women I was travelling with enjoy this movie, so I saw the big red windmill. Impressive? Not to me; maybe I needed to see the movie.

After a bit of lunch, we went to the other famous Parisian cathedral, Notre Dame. Once again, if you're waiting for a description, you are waiting in vain because one won't appear here. I enjoyed it enough to return on Sunday, but I'm getting ahead of myself.

By this time, it was about two in the afternoon, or fourteen o'clock if you are like my esteemed mother and sister, and we were in a bit of a problem. The only things left on our list were the Arc de Triomphe and some tower that Eiffel built, and we had planned to arrive at this aforementioned brown tower around six in the evening. We needed to improvise: we needed to find something to do to fill some of our time. I had heard of this landmark called The Bastille but I did not know too much about it. I thought it was this big fortress slash prison (yes, since I'm the author, I can use the word slash instead of denoting it as a fortress/prison), so that is what I was expecting to see. History had something else in mind, however, because at some point people tore down the Bastille and constructed a pillar in its place, which is what I observed.

After the Bastille, we hopped on the metropolitan once again and travelled to the Arc de Triomphe. When most people plan to go to Paris, the impression I get is that they want to see the Eiffel Tower, but when I planned to go to Paris, number one on my (hypothetical) list was the Arc de Triomphe. I am not really quite sure why that is. So, we went to this massive structure that stands stoicly on the the Champs Elysées. It was incredible and it lived up to my expectations, it was the best sight I saw in Paris.

Finally, we arrived at the Eiffel Tower around six in the evening. The reason we had a specific time to arrive is because one travelling mate was told that we should go up the tower before the sun sets so we can see Paris both during the day and at night. Good advice it was, and I'm glad we heeded it; the view from the top was stunning both in the light and in the dark.

Sunday morning, some of us went to mass at Notre Dame. It was touted as an "International Service" but it was mostly in French. An alter boy read out of the bible in English maybe twice, but the sermon, if there was one, was given in French. Since Catholics seem to have so many symbolic actions my mind started to wander, wondring about what would happen if something like one of the symbolic candles would go out, or if the young boy swinging the incense would accidentally hit somebody with the large incense ball, or something else crazy like that. But my digression (both during the service and in this writing) stoped at the end of the service.

After Notre Dame, our seven person group suffered a schism (but not quite as monumental as any of the catholic church's schisms), and two companions and I trekked back to the Eiffel Tower. We had purchased some wine, some very cheap wine (€2.60) because we had been given the advice that all wine in France was splendid, even the cheapest fermented grape juice one can find. The advice turned out to be correct, and we spent much of the rest of our trip to Paris sitting in front of the Eiffel Tower sipping cheap, tasty white wine out of cheap plastic cups.

London: England = English

It is said that you can not really appreciate something until it is gone. Well, the ease of being surrounded in English is something that, for me, is gone. (Although it is incredible how much English is used in the Netherlands.) So, as you can imagine, I was pumped to go to London, where one can correctly assume that the since the name of the country is "England," they speak "English."

If you know your geography then you might know that England is not connected to the European continent, so instead of taking the train we decided to take an airplane across the channel. The airplane ride from Amsterdam Schiphol to London Luton Airport took less than one hour. The bus ride from London Luton to the good stuff in the heart of London took more than one hour: longer than the airplane ride.

So, we hopped off the bus in the heart of London on Friday afternoon. We had the address of the Central College of Pella, Iowa owned hotel called the Vandon House, where my friend Travis Gibbons is spending the semester. We also knew that this place was just a tad bit south of Buckingham Palace. So of course on our little trek to our weekend residence, we did the true tourist thing and stopped at the palace to snap a dozen pictures. My take on Buckingham Palace, after seeing hundreds of other gorgeous buildings since arriving in Europe, is that it is not really a standout building. It is impressive, but it is average compared to the other impressive buildings I have seen. Since Travis was a bit busy doing some sort of R.A. work, he pointed us in the direction of some major sights and bid us fairwell.

We walked all over London and saw quite a few sights that afternoon. We saw Westminister Abbey, Big Ben, the London Eye, St. Paul's Cathedral, and a recreation of the Globe Theatre. I was most impressed with Big Ben; I figured it was just going to be a clock tower and wouldn't really be that much of a sight, but I found it fascinating.

The Irish among my readers will know well that Friday was a special day. The Irish have a patron saint, and his name is Patrick. Apparently, he is so important that he gets his own day. If you knew the previous geography fact about the location of England, then you probably will also know that Ireland is really close to England, and so there are a few Irish Pubs in London. (And even if it weren't, the Irish have a mission to place at least one Irish Pub in every city in Europe. I'm not kidding, either, I think every city I have visited so far has had at least one Irish Pub.) Travis took us to one of these pubs, the most impessive in London, called Maxy O'Conner's. The pub is five stories high and pretty deep, but even with its massive capacity we still had to stand outside in what the English call a "queue," or what North Americans usually refer to as a "line," for over an hour. But it was worth it: once inside we were in a green world. Everybody was wearing green, and the atmosphere was incredibly festive. It was quite the experince. I couldn't help but think of my fellow soccer players, Sean and Ryan, or my former roomate Lucky, and how much they would love to be where I was at that moment. They may have described it as "Irish Heaven."

Saturday, Travis put on his hypothetical tour-guide hat and took us around the city. He was basically a wizard of the Tube, he was hopping from train to train in the subway and I had no idea where we were going, ever. Somehow, we ended up at Kew Gardens, which was something of an Arboritum. Then, we saw some park near St. Paul's Cathedral. It's in a movie that Dustin really likes, so that was pretty cool for him. Then we went to London's art museum. It probably has a name like "National Art Gallery" or something, but I do not remember it. That place was incredible, and incredibly it was free. I thought it was the most impressive gallery I have been to so far (topping the Rijksmuseum and some podunk museum in Leeuwarden). Oddly enough, I'm beginning to identify the type of art that I actually like, and the other art that I am not so impressed with. Maybe some art enthusiasts would punch me in the stomach, or hang trash from trees in protest, but I have found that I can be completely content walking right past "masterpieces" that I know I won't find as impressive to get to some lesser known paintings in the style I like.

Saturday night we went up the London Eye. The London Eye is the biggest ferris wheel in the world. I read on an information packet that it is the largest "Observation Wheel" in the world, so maybe people are trying to distance the Eye from the fact that it is just a gigantic ferris wheel. Well, despite their efforts to disguise that fact, I knew it was a ferris wheel, so I wondered in the back of my mind if it would really be that cool. I have been on ferris wheels before and have been disappointed, but the thing about the London Eye is: it doesn't overlook the Sioux Empire Fair. No, it overlooks London, and it was really cool. It is one of the coolest things I have experienced since coming to Europe, actually.

Going to Extremes

So I was in London this weekend, but that has little bearing on this blog entry. Well, since I've been in Europe, I haven't found a suitable haircutter (nor have I looked), so my hair had grown to be quite long. Actually, I'm pretty sure it's the longest it has ever been (Extreme 1). I decided last week that I was going to try to shave it (#4 setting, if you care). My reasoning was simple: if it looks bad, it will grow back again by the time I set foot on United States soil again. So, I did it. And now, my hair is the shortest it has been since I started growing hair as a baby (Extreme 2).

I think before, during, and after pictures would be appropriate.