Our Dumb Blog

I’m sitting at an “Internet Koffeeshop” in Amsterdam drinking at Amstel Gold. I don’t think they serve coffee here, the term seems a be a euphemism for a place to buy weed. Which is cool, I suppose. So I far I haven’t actually smoked any, despite it being legal. I refuse to see why I should have to try it just because it’s legal here.

Amsterdam. Wow. I haven’t seen anything of it yet, but it’s clearly quite a city. At least the keyboards are proper… Standard US 101key. So nice.

Anyway, if I remember right, I left off somewhere near Marseilles.

Robin and I arrived in Marseilles rather late at night with intentions of camping. It was dreary, raining, and night. Marseilles was big and ugly. We started walking where we thought we might get to the place to catch a bus, but without any luck. We were in a really bad spot in town. Robin slipped on the wet pavement at one point which seemed to solicit much laughter from those standing around watching. We felt really uncomfortable and walked into “Hotel D’Athens”. It looked really cheap. It was.

Robin and I have a knack for being on the 4th floor. I should also point out that for those of you that don’t know, the ground floor in Europe is the 0th floor. So the 4th floor is really the 5th. Which is a long walk with a big backpack. We did get lucky in Nice, we were in room 42. I felt a strange connection to Mulder as the hotel made erie sounds during the night…

It was room 48 in Marseilles. There is some really annoying music playing in here. The sole lyrics are “My house is your house and your house is mine.”

We really weren’t having a pleasant experience in Marseilles and really wanted to head north anyway. We were thinking Geneva at first, but then got this wacky idea to do Luxembourg, Brussels and Amsterdam. So we went to Paris.

To get to Paris (in order to get to Luxembourg), we had to go to Lyon first. I used one of the nifty little ticket machines in the train station that spoke flawless English and even gave me a reservation. Robin, however, had to go stand in line for her reservation, which is compulsory on all TGV trains. Her Eurail pass was good on the TGV trains, but she had to pay a supplement/reservation fee. Unfortunately, the nifty machines won’t do it. She got her reservation, and we boarded the train. I was in voiture (car) 2, and she was in 14 which, much to her dismay, was a smoking car. So, I told her I’d just meet her at the front of the train in Paris if nothing else. We both were booked through to Paris, with a short connection in Lyon.

The TGV to Lyon was fast, but stopped frequently. I found Robin in Lyon no problem, and we waited for our train to Paris. In Italy the trains are usually waiting at the station for hours on end and big stations, you board a half hour in advance, and take off. In France, the trains, especially the TGV trains, show up 4 minutes before the departure time, everyone files on, and then as the last person is squeezing on, the doors close and the train takes off.

Our tickets were one car apart, and so we figured finding each other in Paris would be easy. The train was a duplex, or double-decker. There was no room for lougage, and it was absolutely packed. I sat in my seat, crammed between a smelly frenchman and the wall, and wondered what would happen if I couldn’t find Robin.

About then, she came walking through the car with her bag. “Robin!” I said, trying to get her attention. She looked at me, and said through gritted teeth, “They screwed up my resercvations, they’re for the 22 of April, and I don’t have a seat, and the train started moving before I could get off, and so they’re probably going to kick me off.” She didn’t give me much of a chance to respond.

I got out my guide book, and told her to copy down the name of the place we were staying and direction and to meet me there since I didn’t know when she would get to Paris if they kicked her off.

I checked a copy of the timetable which I found in Nice, at the Thomas Cook place I wasn’t looking for, and discovered the TGV from Lyon to Paris doesn’t stop. So they couldn’t kick her off. I looked back to where she was standing in the gangway talking to the conductor. Eventually the conductor made his way into the car and continued checking tickets. Robin came by in a few minutes and said that he was just going to let her sit in the hallway. Which was good.

I looked out the window at the sheep flying by and decided we were going fast. How fast? I tried to figure it out. I got out Cassiopeia, and found out Paris was 244 miles from Lyon. And I checked the timetable and found out the train was 2 hours and 4 minutes. That would be 120 miles an hour. Only it had to be fast, because that would be 120 mph in a straight line, and an average speed. The train track on the map wasn’t direct, but pretty close to it. In any case we were going darned fast.

Once in Paris, we checked into the Hostel we had reservations for. “Young and Happy.” It was so corny sounding I couldn’t resist. They were all out of dorm beds, so we had to settle for the more expensive double. It was a good little hostel, and not far from food.

Robin and I went wandering and looking for food. We’d stop every few feet and get an egg roll or a Gyro, or something odd. At one point we turned a corner and this HUGE church was in front of us. “Wow,” I said. “We should take a picture of it and tell people its Notre Dame,” Robin said. “It could be Notre Dame for all I know,” I said. We walked toward it and it seemed to get bigger. We then noticed that the street we turned on was Notre Dame. And everything was called Notre Dame. Including the Cathedral.

This shop is closing, so I’m signing off for now. More to come.

Well, the z and y of Luxembourgian kezboards is swaped. Other than that, I seem to be able to tzpe okaz. And zou’ll just have to deal with it.

I am, as zou might have guessed, in Luxemburg, the proper spelling of which seems to vary with the language.

So, I left you as were heading toward Milan. I’m still not really sure just why I decided to go to Milan, something to do with the mountains I’m sure. The train from Rome was long. It left at least a half hour late, and then stopped in some place called Orte at about midnight for a good 45 minutes, during which time they split and rearranged the train. While sitting in the dark because the train cars don’t get electricity when the engine isn’t attached, I had this instant realization that I had not validated my ticket. This is the, count it, third time I’ve had this problem. In Italy, and France too it seems, one purchases a train ticket, then sticks it in this stamping machine to validate it. This game is a game for which I don’t fully understand the necessity. I understand the necessity well enough to realize that I really didn’t want to get thrown off the train at 3am for not having stamped my ticket. So, in Orte, I ran off the train with my ticket, leaving both Robin and my stuff in the compartment. As I was stamping it and re-boarding the train, I realized that I was REALLY lucky they didn’t take off without me, because that would have left Robin with both of our bags heading to Milan, and me in Orte, (No, I hadn’t heard of it either) and not another train to Milan until the morning. Let’s just say I’m quite glad this did not happen. What made this adventure even more exciting is that a few minutes earlier, Robin said something to me about taking our bags if we ever get off the train for some reason. I responded with something like “Of course we would.” However, this problem could have been further complicated by the fact that had I taken my bag, I may have missed the train as I cannot run with a good 35 pounds strapped to my back. Well, I can’t run WITHOUT 35 pounds strapped to my back, but the weight certainly would have slowed me down. Moral of this story? When in Italy (or France), stamp the damn ticket BEFORE you board the train.

Robin and I were lucky on that train for other reasons as well. We had a six person compartment to our selves, which meant we could sleep lengthwise across the seats. With three people, you can pull the seats out and sleep crosswise, but its much shorter, and I don’t fit very well that way. However, at about 530am, I woke up to three loud obnoxious italian girls plowing into our sleepy little compartment. They stretched out, and robin and I sat up. Such is life. We got to Milan at something like seven in the morning. It was cold and rainy, and Robin and I still hadn’t a clue where we were going for ten-day. We decided to look for a Thomas Cook time table because it lists ferries in Europe as well, and we decided there might be ferries from Genoa or Le Spezia to Tunis. A Thomas Cook money change place that sells the time tables is on every street corner, it seems. Except in Milan. Or any place else when you might happen to be LOOKING for one.

Milan was cold and rainy. We talked about heading to Norway, which started sounding like a really good idea, despite the fact that Robin was packed for Tunisia. I was too, but being a guy who brought almost nothing to Europe with me that I don’t have with me right now, I was packed the same for Tunisia as I would be for the Amazon or Alaska. I probably would have brought my sweater if I were heading to Norway though. My jacket doubles as my raincoat, so I had it with me. (This arrangement is fine except when its not hot enough to get wet, but too hot to wear my jacket…)

The first thing we tried to do, was, once again rent a car because I had this urge to drive the Alps, and Robin liked the idea. We talked about it a good bit, sort of thought about where we’d go and so forth. All the cars in Europe are standard transmission (the Europeans are so cool that way), but Robin doesn’t know how to drive a real car. I agreed to teach her if we could find an empty place. Maybe it was a good thing no one will rent a car (or motorcycle) to anyone under 21. At least not in Rome or Milan. They will, however, rent mopeds. I guess they want us young people to die from being run over rather than running over something.

With no plan but a guide book, Robin and I plowed into the drizzling rain to see Milan. We stopped by the duomo, expecting to see a fairly boring Gothic church. We climbed out of the metro tunnel, turned around and dropped our jaws. The duomo of Milan is this HUGE, very Gothic cathedral. Turns out it’s the third largest in Europe, after St. Peter’s in the Vatican and something else. We spent a good half hour in the church, watched people file in for daily mass, and we took off.

We also stopped by this really big and cool looking castle, and discovered a large collection of museums inside. We couldn’t find anyone to pay admission to, though the sign said there was some. So we toured it for free. It was rather neat, but nothing terribly exciting. The castle was the neatest part. I suppose I should be excited that it contained Michelangelo’s last work, one of his Pietas, but it was unfinished and very boring looking.

We headed back to the train station and decided to go to Norway, and decided we needed to get to Hamburg to do so. I was all ready to do it until I discovered that the ticket to hamburg was roughly two hundred dollars. Yikes. I couldn’t spend that just getting to HAMBURG then have to get to Norway, then BACK. This depressed me, and Robin and I weren’t at all sure what to do. I felt really bad because Robin had a Eurail pass and so transportation was free for her, and long trains were even merrier for her because she doesn’t have to pay for a place to stay when we sleep on a train. I told her she was free to take off and not to let me stop her, but she didn’t seem too keen on Norway by herself. We talked about heading back south to Palermo (Sicily), but it seemed so stupid to waste the night getting to Milan, turn around and go back south past Rome. Frustrated, depressed, annoyed, and still without a clue we decided to go to Nice. I bought a ticket, and the board in the station said the train left 710am.

We found a hostel for 13 bucks a night per person, breakfast included. Only, breakfast didn’t start until 8am. Oh well. I was assigned bed and locker number 86. Or was it 68? I couldn’t tell because the number was on a key chain. Worse, the key opened both locker 86 and 68. However, 86 had stuff in it and 68 did not. Robin and I agreed to meet outside at 6am to head back to the station. I set my alarm for 515am so I could take a shower and have plenty of time.

I woke up Saturday morning at 615 to Robin shaking me saying “Berck! Wake up! It’s six fifteen!” I’m sure the other three people in the room much appreciated being woken up. I threw my pack on my back, dropped my sheets at the counter and we set off briskly toward the metro. The train took forever to show up. We got to the station at 703am. We boarded the train as the doors were about to close. It wouldn’t have been too big a deal if we missed the train as the next one was in a few hours, but we wanted to sped the day in Nice.

We arrived in Nice and decided to look for a place to spend the night and ditch our bags. Strangely enough, we had a heck of a time finding an ATM in Nice. Both of us needed one as Nice is in France, and the French aren’t too happy about lire. We could have bought francs with it, but you lose a fair amount of money buying and selling it like that, where as you don’t pay a commission on ATM withdrawals.

HOLY FREAKING CRAP. Robin just came over and told me that, guess what, Dr. Pepper is sold here. This just made my week. Oh man. I haven’t had one since I left for Europe. I think it tastes a little different here, but I’ve not had one in so long, I could be wrong. Oh man. This is so good. Wow. I wonder what I payed for it. They gave me a glass with ice too. Geeze. I LIKE luxembourg.

Anyway, as we exited the train station, the first thing we saw was a Thomas Cook exchange place. The trick is the same as that for a locating Pizza Rustica– don’t look for one.

Man, I’m sitting at a keyboard sipping Dr. Pepper. Life is good.

We found an ATM eventually, and started looking for hostels. Every hotel that had dorm beds was booked. We finally found a double with two beds and no bathroom for roughly 28 dollars a night. Not bad split two ways. They didn’t even charge for use of the hall shower like some places do.

After ditching our bags in the hotel room, we set out for the Musea de Beux Arte. Turns out it was quite a collection, lots of important French pieces there. Most notably was Rodin’s “Kiss”. This work didn’t excite me much until I found out it was originally titled “Francesca de Rimini”. For those of you that don’t know, she’s a historical figure that was supposed to marry this guy Paolo’s brother whose name I really should know. The problem was, she really wanted Paolo, but the families had her marrying his brother for political reasons. (why else would you get married?) One day, while reading the story of Lancelot aloud to Francesca, Paolo dropped the book and began passionately kissing Francesca, whereupon the guy she was married to walked in and killed them both. This story, true or not, was immortalized by Dante who places them in the fifth (?) circle of hell where sins of the flesh are punished. Anyway, there was something really neat about having my UD education let me understand a chunk of stone in Nice that otherwise seemed merely to portray a random kiss.

Dr. Pepper is such good stuff.

Robin and I decided to head to Monaco in the morning, then back to Nice in the afternoon to catch a train for Geneva. We did in fact go to Monaco which is worth seeing just because it drips of wealth. I really wanted to see the Prince of Monaco’s collection of “110 of the sexiest classic cars” (according to my guide book), but Robin wasn’t too interested and I’m nice enough not to drag her. In addition, we couldn’t find it and admission was supposedly pricey, like everything else. Most things in Monaco were closed on Sunday, and there weren’t as many cool cars on the street as I’d been lead to believe there were. There was, however, the coolest square rigged sail boat sitting in the harbor that I’ve ever seen. The weather was quite windy, and the spray that leaped over the boats was impressive.

We ate pizza for lunch, and headed back to Nice, but Geneva wasn’t easy to get to. Instead, we decided to go to Luxemburg. In order to do so, we decided to send the night in Marsaille and then the night in Paris. This we did, and will be featured in the next chapter of Berck’s Ten Day which sees Berck wandering the streets with a three foot baguette trying both not roll around on the ground laughing at himself or kill anybody with it.

Au revoir.

I just figured out how to switch a French keyboard to an English one, which works just fine as long as I don’t look down, which I don’t do anyway…

This is necessary because, unlike an Italian keyboard which merely has the symbols in strange places, a French keyboard has all the letters in the wrong place. I have no idea where the french keyboard layout came from, but it seems even less intuitive than Qwerty, which I never thought possible.

So, now, I suppose, I can actually compose something. It sucks, because I just spent 45 minutes reading e-mail and composing a few sentences to you guys on the French keyboard before Robin was nice enough to come over and tell me that some of the computers have switchable keyboards. The computer I was at didn’t.

Since I’m using a French keyboard, I suppose it you’ve gathered by now that I’m in France. Though, I wouldn’t be surprised if they used French keyboards in Tunisia, and I could be writing from there.

The possibility of my sending email from Tunisia is not necessarily as far fetched as it may sound. I spent our 5-day break in Sardenia, and I’ve not gotten to a keyboard to write you guys about it. I went by myself to Sardegna, and discovered that I was quite lonely all by myself in a place where NO ONE spoke ANY English, and there weren’t even any fellow travelers. It seems that most Sardenian tourists are German, and they only travel in July-Aug. At the end of March, I was the only tourist I came across. (Even if calling myself a tourist sends chills down my spine…) Anyway, I was traveling by myself in Sardegna, and got quite lonely, and began thinking that my plan of heading to Sicily and then Tunisia all by myself for 10day break was stupid. I tried to think of other places to go that I wouldn’t later travel to with a Eurail pass, thus defeating the purpose of waiting to buy a pass until after the semester.

I was running out of options when, on the night before break, I tagged along with other UD students to The Old Pub across the street for some beer. This was exciting for some, because the Old Pub, a three minutes walk from campus, had closed shortly after our arrival in Due Santi.

(Random note, I’m hurried, and quite annoyed this e-mail is of inferior quality as compared to previous e-mails you’ve gotten from me. Sorry.)

So, I was sitting next to Robin Kniskern who, though she’s not a smoker, asked me for a light. I carry around a lighter, even though I don’t smoke. This has something to do with the fact I really like to be able to make fire at will. I lit her cigarette (is that spelled right?) and informed her she was going to hell for smoking. This is a fun thing to tell the average UD student, because they occasionally believe me. “If I knew WHERE I was going it would be much better,” she muttered. “You don’t know where you’re going for ten day?” I asked in astonishment. “Nope.” I was shocked. Every UD student has been planning since arrival in Rome, or before, where he would go on our ten day vacation in early April. Except me. I figured I’d figure it out even though I still hadn’t a clue, and the stein of not-so-good but really cheap Italian beer wasn’t helping any. So, I found myself quite surprised that Robin didn’t know either. “I HAD plans until yesterday,” she said, which made things make a bit more sense. The people she was traveling with had plans to stay with friends who didn’t have enough room for her. “Want to go to Tunisia with me?” I inquired with little aspiration toward a positive answer on her part.
“What’s in Tunisia?” she asked.
“Carthage.”
“Yeah, what else?”
“I dunno, you wanna find out?”
“Maybe, I’ll let you know tomorrow.”

I was astonished. _I_ might have someone to travel with? Wow. What a thought. The night progressed with much merriment which progressed with the very cheap and increasingly enjoyable Italian beer. (By cheap, I mean a litre for $5. Which is, well, cheap. Especially for Europe.)

The morning found much excitement and hustling and bustling of people preparing to go places. I found, in my mail box, a little slip of paper with some of the most exciting words I’d seen all semester. “You have a package in the office, pay �4.000 to pick it up.” The package contained a pair of black army pants and some socks my mommy sent me, just in time to head out for ten day, perfect timing. This was good, because it was a bit chilly to be running about campus in my bathing suit, which is basically my only choice when I decide to wash my two pairs of pants. I didn’t intentionally take a bathing suit to Europe, it happened quite by accident, but I’m glad I did, because otherwise I’d be doing laundry in my boxers, which might upset the campus a bit. They tend to get worried enough about my bathing suit.

I went to lunch, still in my bathing suit, and downed the compulsory pasta and potatoes when Robin showed up at my table. “Okay, fine, I’ll go,” she says. “Really?” “Yup.” We decided that we’d be ready in an hour or so to head to the train station. I retrieved my laundry from the dryer which is as lazy as everything else Italian and packed them in my bag still damp. I closed the shutters, tossed my stolen cafeteria items into the dorm lounge in case they did room inspection, and locked the door.

Robin and I then checked the time table for the Ferry from Trapani (Sicily) to Tunis. In 1999, they left and returned on Mondays only. Which sucked, because it was Thursday, and we had to be back not on the next Monday, but the Monday ten days following. We were unsure about additional ferries, but decided to head to Sicily, and find out there.

While waiting for the bus to Rome, the first of which didn’t stop, someone mentioned that I’d locked my roommate out of the room. To begin with, he should have his key. In addition, I thought he was on his way to wherever. Regardless, no one with a master key could be located, and so I had to let him in. Sure enough, as I start walking back toward campus, the bus pulls up. “Meet you in Termini?” I ask Robin. “At the McDonald’s. Downstairs.” There are three McDonald’s in Termini, quite disgusting really. I let my roommate in, caught the next bus to Termini, and found Robin standing in line at McDonald’s. By this point, it’s at least 6 in the evening. Robin has a Eurail pass, which means she doesn’t need tickets, but still has to get reservations for trains with compulsory reservations. Turns out the train from Rome to Palermo, Sicily was one such train. No problem, we take a number, and talk to a ticket person. Problem. You have to make reservations 5 hours in advance in Italy. And the train leaves at 8pm, in less than two. So, not wanting to spend another night at campus, we think of other options. We tried renting a car, but they won’t rent to anyone under 21. Robin just turned 20, and I’m 19. So, for the hell of it, we decided just to head north. I bought an overnight train ticket for Milan.

It’s midnight in Paris, and the metro stops running at 0030, so I’ve got head back to the hostel. More to follow. Sorry for the rushed composition.

I’m headed to Luxembourg city tomorrow morning, I’ll send more later…

Ciao!

Nothing too exciting happened in Athens that I haven’t mentioned. From Athens, we headed to Nafplion, a small beach town. Here many UD’ers felt compelled to swim in the Aegean regardless of the fact that the water was quite cold. I happen to know what cold water feels like, and wasn’t persuaded to jump in just because it was Greece. (I didn’t stick more than my feet in Lake Superior either when I was there this summer.) We were all warned upon entering Nafplion that the rocky ocean bottom was covered in Sea Urchins… This didn’t stop at least 5 swimmers from stepping on them, which led to Joe Weinpel, the student life coordinator, spending the better part of an evening and night with a needle, a magnifying glass, and my flashlight with me holding it. Two of the victims were my roomates, so I had the choice of trying to sleep with the sounds of “YOW!” as Joe poked around with his needle, or assist by holding the flashlight. In addition, another girl got out of the water, said something about the fact that she was freezing, and proceeded to pass out on the rocks shivering. She ended up being just fine, in spite of the Greeks saying “This is not America, the water is still very cold even though the air is warm.” They were a helpful lot anyway, and I believe they assisted in transporting the hypothermic girl back to the hotel.

In addition to Nafplion we also stopped at Corinth and Mycenae to look at a whole bunch of old rocks which I had a hard time finding too fascinating, even if I managed to grasp the importance of some of them.

We also made a stop in Epidaraus where I got to read in the enormous theatre on the site. It was an amazing feeling to stand on the “alter” in the middle of the orchestra and read the part of Pentheus in the Bachae while a classmate read Dionysus. With the theatre mostly empty, its natural amplification due to its shape was phenomenal. Standing the center, it felt like I was talking with a microphone. It’s no where near as lound in the audience, but even at the very top of the top section, one could still here quite clearly. I really wonder what its like when the theatre is full. The reading was only a few minutes, but still, it was in incredible experience.

Our last stop was Olympia where we toured the original Olympic site and those athletic ran the length of the stadium. The professors competed in a relay event and managed to win through a clever bit of cheating–all in the original Greek spirit, they claimed. The UD’ers have a knack for finding a disco club wherever they go, and somehow they managed to convince several of the professors to join them. I didn’t attend, but heard it was quite a sight.

During our last meal together in Greece, Lunch in Olympia, Joe Weinpel presented the award for the most Gyros eaten in Greece. There were two awards, one for the girls and one for the guys. He had all the girls stand up and sit down when the number of Gyros they’d eaten was surpassed by the number Joe called out. By the time he hit 14 or so, Claire Nerbun was the only one left standing. For the guys, he started at ten, and at 24, Brian Potts, Jon Bird, and myself were left standing. Potts sat down at 25. Joe called out numbers with a look of disbelief until I finally sat down at number 36. Bird managed 38. However, the contest was officially between the students, so I won the prize: a box of Tums wrapped in what should have been laurel leaves. It was quite an accomplishment, but I’m not sure it’s necessarily something to be proud of :)

The bus ride to Patros and the subsequent return on the Superfast ferry, specifically the “Superfast II”, was rather uneventful. Dustin decided he didn’t want his couchette because he planned to stay awake all night for some reason, so he gave it to me. (Dustin, my first roommate at UD, stayed up many nights, whereas I only attempted that feat once and failed miserably.) I, once again, slept quite well.

In the evening, as the ferry was just pulling off, there was quite a strong wind on the water. Once we started moving about 20 knots, the wind on deck was incredible. I stood on deck and could lean back into the wind and it supported me as if I were leaning on a wall. At one point though, it ripped my glasses from my face, and hurdled them at least 20 feet in the air, and I, with a feeling of horror, watched them land on the fan tail where someone, thankfully, stopped them from blowing off the boat entirely.

The bus ride wasn’t really too eventful either, save the fact that I was actually awake for a good bit of the trip having slept the night before. The Italian Autostrade was fascinating. The buses cruised at fairly slow 100 km/hr, while I witnessed motorcycles and fast cars fly by at what had to be their top speed. Three lanes per side of a fast divided highway, and I never saw an Italian have to pass ANYONE on the right side. They all stay to the right except to pass. Furthermore, its not like there isn’t a wide variety of speed, there are little scooters that can’t be traveling faster than 50 km/hr, to cars and motorcycles traveling 200 km/hr or faster. And somehow it all seemed to work. They all use their turn indicators to change lanes as well, but they’re used in a manner completely different from how I’m accustomed. To pass someone in front of you, you turn on your left turn signal, pull into left lane, leaving your left turn signal on, then pull back into the right lane, all the time with the left turn signal on. [It’s starting to warm up in Italy, and Italians don’t seem to shower. Ever. Ugh.] Furthermore, if you’re in the left lane and want the person in front of you to let you by, you just flip on your left turn signal. There are all sorts of other times they use the turn signals as well, but those are the only two uses I’ve managed to decode. The Italians get really scared when they drive in the US, because of all the passing on the right and unpredictability of American drivers.

I’ve got two more midterms on Tuesday, Philosophy and Literature. I tried reading on the metro on the way over here. It seems to require a skill I don’t have. You’ve got to make sure no one is trying to do something to you (i.e. pickpocket you, etc.), make sure you don’t miss your stop, keep from being thrown about, and READ at the same time? Maybe I’ll get it down eventually.

Anyway, I’m hungry and am going to go find a nice Pizza Rustica (It’s been almost two weeks since I’ve had Pizza!) and head back to campus and study, perhaps paint as well.

Until next time.

Europeans have really got to figure out that a fast connection does not entail a 14.4 modem line. (Actually, I have no idea what it is, but it isn’t fast. In spite of the fact that its advertised as being such.) Luckily, a Greek keyboard seems to consist of an American keyboard with Greek superimposed on top and a method of toggling between characters. So, I can type. I’m in Athens at the moment…. My feet were REALLY hurting when I came across this net cafe… So, instead of stopping for a beer as I was thinking about doing, I stopped to e-mail.

Last Tuesday was “Greek day” on campus. Greek olympics with bedsheet-togas ended up being more enjoyable than it might sound. I think I won style points for a full backwards somersault during the backwards race and simply picking up my partner in the 3-legged race. The night before we left we built a fire out in the vineyard and those with talent played guitar for the rest of us. A fun night.

The trip over here was a bit rough: an all-day bus ride followed by a 15 hour boat ride. The “Superfast Ferry” was, however, rather comfortable. I was one of those lucky enough to get a couchette instead of an airline seat and got some sleep. The couchettes are basically catacombs, but they are (usually) horizontal. The Greeks on the ship spoke English for the most part, but it sounded as if they learned from some television show full of idiomatic speech which they haven’t quite grasped, making things quite humorous. For instance, a waiter said to me in reference to my empty plate, “Hey, my man, you finished?” “Yes.” “Very good, I take it now, so far so good, I catch you later, my man.”

We arrived in Patros (I’d try to type the Greek stuff in Greek, but it probably wouldn’t wind up right on your screen) a small port in the middle of the afternoon on Thursday. We boarded two double-decker Greek buses for our ride to Delphi, the navel of the world. The Greek bus drivers supposedly smoke twice as much as the Italians and drive twice as fast. Ours simply smoked twice as much and drove half as slow. So slow, in fact, I thought we were going to have to get out and push. Delphi was good, I had my first 5 Gyros at at a Taverna… It was a good night, we sat in this Taverna from 5pm to 1am (there just isn’t that much to do in Delphi when you’ve got the sanctuary of Apollo and the sanctuary of Athena down… Plus the really boring archaeological museum…) Anyway, we drank about as many Amstels as we ate Gyros — and they’re about the same price. In just about all of Greece, beer comes in three flavors, Amstel, Heineken and Mythos. Mythos is actually a Greek beer. It’s also really nasty and smells something like a cross between a skunk, a latrine, and sulfur dioxide. The Greeks generally drink Ouzo, which is this hell-liquor that is similar to Sambuca, but quite a bit stronger. No American I’ve talked to, even those who like Sambuca, are too thrilled with Ouzo. Its usually consumed at a Kafeneneo or something like that, only written in Greek, and I can’t remember what the last half is. This institution is funny in that it hasn’t faded in the least with the advent of feminism. No women are alowed inside. Men go in, sip Ouzo, and smoke these water pipe things. I’ve not yet gone in one myself as they look rather scary. Anyway, Saturday morning we left for Athens, land of the best Gyros in Greece. (Gyro is a fun word. I just can’t get it quite right. The pronunciation is the middle ground between Hero and Euro.) Jon Bird is captain of the Gyro brigade, of which I seem to be a member. Its our mission to eat more of them in Athens than the record last semester, which is 24. So far I’ve eaten 19, and I’ve got tonight left. It’s gonna be tough. For those of oyu that don’t know, Gyros are pita bread (freshly made and then dropped onto a skillet to make them hot) with some sort of meat (Lamb, Beef, Chicken, Pork. Pork and Lamb are the most popular.) The meat is roasted on a rotisserie devicer, and they shave off the outside bit and put it in your Gyro. Then comes onions and tomatoes (I’m not much of a tomato fan). On top are chips (french fries) and a yogurt-cucumber sauce. Then they sprinkle this really good seasoning on top, wrap it up and stick it in a little paper wrapper. All of this takes about 14 seconds. They cost 400 Drachma pretty much everywhere. Its funny that while Gyros have a set price, beer ranges from 200-1400 drachma for .5 liter. It’s nuts.

On to more educational things in Athens. There is, of course, the Acropolis, or as my art and arch professor refers to it, Athena-land. Wow. I wasn’t really impressed with it from pictures, but it becomes obvious why Athena belongs there once you see it looming over the city. The Parthenon itself isn’t that exciting, but it looks really neat from Lekapito (something like that) a pointy mountain-hill right next to it, from which you can actually look down on the Parthenon and see across the water to the Mountains on the Peloponese. Most of yesterday was spent on the Acropolis and then down in the Agora where we soaked up all sorts of fun stuff. Our professors aren’t licensed tour guides, so they get harassed by people occasionally–usually in Greek. Such an occurrence is usually great fodder for amusement on our part, especially since Dr. Hatlie, our Western Civ professor, is fluent in Modern Greek and yells back at them.

Last night and the night before held an unprecedented sort of amusement no one was prepared for. We were (un?)lucky, and managed to catch Carnevale twice. In Italy, it’s celebrated on Mardi Gras and the week or so before. People dress up like Halloween and go into the streets and throw confetti and drink. The Greek Orthodox calender is different, and they celebrated Carnevale yesterday and the week or so before. Today is the first day of their lenten season. So, we left Italy on Wednesday, and get to greece in time for more celebration. The Athenians celebrate Carnevale much in the same way, only on a much larger scale with one addition. They not only throw confetti and streamers and things around, they also purchase plastic clubs and club people. They mull about the Plaka and just pummel each other with these plastic clubs. It doesn’t really hurt for the most part, although some blows smart a bit. Well, you can imagine that this cause much confusion amongst an unsuspecting group of Americans. So what did we do? Bought a bunch of clubs and whacked ’em right back. It’s really pretty fun when you think about it, you walk by and just whack random strangers. In the states I’m sure it would turn into deadly gang wars instantly. They’re pretty good about it here, though some of the groups get together and fight each other pretty viciously. They line up on each side of the street then charge at each other, and whoever gives up first loses. I wonder if anyone ends up seriously hurt or not, I didn’t see anything worse than the occasional bloody nose. For the casual clubbist, its not much of a problem, you just don’t take on vicious groups. Anyway, after two nights of that mania, the city is pretty much dead today, save the tourists. In fact, I was quite surprised to find this place open.

After climbing the hill this afternoon, I stopped to rest on the steps of some important looking building when a guy with an uzzi in his hand comes out and starts talking to me in Greek. I naturally get up and start walking the other direction but he says “No, no, please, please,” and points to the steps. So I set back down, he smiles, jabbers some more in greek and walks off. I’ve never been accosted by anyone with an automatic weapon before–I suppose there’s a first time for everything. The police all carry them, and you get used to people carrying large firearms, but I’ve never had anyone say anything to me. I’ve wanted to take a picture of one of them, but they really don’t look too thrilled about that idea, so I haven’t tried.

Tomorrow morning, its on to Corinth and Mycinae and the Nafplion where we spend a day or so. The beaches are supposedly nice.

So far, I really like Greece. Athens is big, noisy, dirty, and not as easy-going as Rome. Otherwise, I really like the country I’ve seen so far. The land is just amazing. It seems to be almost entirely mountains with the sea surrounding it. Where else can you get so much sea and so many mountains? My two favorite places…

The weather is spring. I’ve never really been in a place with much of a spring before. Greece is much hotter than Rome was when we left it, it’s about 75-80 here in the afternoon, whereas greece was about 70. I have a feeling that once May rolls around I’m really going to want to be headed North.

One last interesting event:

After acquiring some gyros, a small group of us were looking for a curb to sit on and eat them when some old fat greeks, 3 guys and one woman, motion us into this alleyway where they’ve got a table set up that has some extra chairs. It looked like it was sort of their yard they were eating in. We decided to be daring and join them, but none of us knew any Greek and they knew no English. Actually, Mark knows classical Greek, but it doesn’t help him with spoken, modern Greek at all. He can read most of the signs though which is more than the rest of us can manage. So they sit us down and offer us some wine-looking stuff out of a Fanta bottle. After a couple others try it and don’t die, I have a little cup. WHOA. I don’t know what it was, it tasted like homemade wine with some really hard alcohol mixed in. We sat around and drank with them for a good hour. They fed us octopus and stinky cheese and olives and other unidentifiable stuff. They seemed to just really enjoy having us to laugh at. We were able to make minimal conversation, and overall, there was something fun about mingling with the locals. After we thanked them and were walking down the street, a couple of the guys who’d had a bit more of the wine concoction than others noted that they were feeling quite tipsy and muttered something about hoping it wasn’t laced with anything too bad. I was just fine, having had no more than my little plastic cupful.

Those of you who wrote me, thanks a bunch for the e-mail, but I’m having difficulty with this Greek connection, so I don’t think I’ll be able to respond until I get to Rome…