Victims Must Regain Their Dignity at all Costs

I wrote this for my school's newspaper... enjoy!



So listen, it is time we have a talk. There is an issue on campus I feel it is my duty as a concerned member of society to address. There is an epidemic so filthy that has spread itself across this beautiful campus—something grotesque that has marred the students and created an appalling mess in its wake. And no, I am not talking about another round of the Puma Plague.

I’m talking about this repulsive obsession everyone seems to have with Twilight.

That’s right. This is an intervention. I am sick and tired of seeing well-respected individuals reduce themselves to such smutty levels of ignorance. It is time we reclaimed our honour and return our lives to a state of normalcy that has nothing do to with glittery, sparkling vampires and jailbait werewolves.

Don’t try and deny it. On the nineteenth of November, almost the entirety of my facebook live feed consisted of people’s laments that they still had to wait another day to see the newest movie or people’s exclamations of joy because they were going to a midnight showing. It took all I could not to just vomit all over my keyboard. People I know, people I love and people I respect were losing their minds—and their dignity, for that matter—over this awful movie-adaptation of one of the worst book series ever written.

These movies have created a media frenzy and made quite a bit of money from ticket sales. Why, I wonder, when ever single review I have seen has said it is downright awful? For the same reason Miley Cirus has an album that has gone triple platinum. Because corporate monsters live to make money at the expense of naive, gullible and tasteless tweens who can control their parents’ pocketbooks; that’s why.

But wait! To make this sad story even more grotesque, these films have also taken advantage of another appalling demographic—that of the American housewife. A friend of mine recounted her experience at the midnight showing of the film. She said there was a gaggle of older women sitting in front of her speaking quite candidly and explicitly about their feelings for the movie’s star, Taylor Lautner.

Lautner, who plays a topless werewolf in the movie, is an actor of only seventeen. That’s right, seventeen. More proof this Twilight crap has gotten out of hand: a 40-year-old woman approached Lautner and removed her underwear for him to sign. You read that right—removed her underwear! And, if that’s not wildly inappropriate enough, Lautner said that his name was printed on the aforementioned undergarment.

Now, some people will try to defend themselves by claiming a level of awareness that the movies are, in fact, steaming piles of elephant dung. However, they claim to only watch it because the books are so good, and they want to see them come to life.

Fail. That is still not okay. You want to know why these movies are steaming piles of elephant dung? Because the source material they were created from is also a hot mess of pachyderm poop.

In an interview with USA Weekend, prolific writer Stephen King was asked about Stephanie Meyer, the author of the Twilight books, and J.K. Rowling, the author of the Harry Potter series. According to King, “Both Rowling and Meyer, they’re speaking directly to young people… The real difference is that Jo Rowling is a terrific writer and Stephenie Meyer can’t write worth a darn. She’s not very good.”

I personally feel like if one of the most successful fiction writers of our generation says you suck at writing, there’s probably some truth in the statement somewhere. It’s like LeBron James telling you you’re bad at basketball. At that point, it may be advantageous for you to throw in the towel.

I have heard people claim that the books redefine vampire fiction and elevate the archetype to a new generation. Really? So, if you make something sparkle, it then becomes redefining. No, not only do they sparkle, but they all have special and unique superpowers, to boot. I’m sorry. Let’s be real. What Meyer has done is taken something established, and trivialized it to appeal to an entirely inappropriate audience.

Also, from what I can tell, the books are just overindulged pieces of smut you would find on some sleazy fan fiction website written for little tweeny-geeks to get off to. I’m sorry if you find that vulgar, but seriously. Every male character in the story is hyper-exaggerated and superfluously described to be ideal in all physical appearance. The female character is an emotionless snot who obsessively swoons over the aforementioned super males and four annoying books of worthless storytelling later, the vampire eats the baby out of her stomach.

He lay perfectly still in the grass, his shirt open over his sculpted, incandescent chest, his scintillating arms bare. His glistening, pale lavender lids were shut, though of course he didn’t sleep. A perfect statue, carved in some unknown stone, smooth like marble, glittering like crystal.

That is an excerpt from one of the books that I copied from a website—I refuse to even touch one of the miserable books, let alone read enough of it to quote it. However, reread that little passage. Do you remember writing sentences like that? I know I do; except I wrote like that when I was in third grade and discovered what a thesaurus was! There is no need for anyone to use that many adjectives, especially because so many them are ignorantly unnecessary.

I now also need to stop for a minute because I’m going to have people defending it jump down my throat. “What gives you the right to say these things about the book if you’ve never even read them?!” Well, let me just say this. I don’t need to snort a line of cocaine to realize that it’s a bad life decision; I don’t need to put my face into a pot of boiling water to realize that would hurt my face. I have this mental capacity that I’ve been developing all my life—it’s called common sense!

I don’t need a degree in English literature to realize that everything about these Twilight books are nothing but worthless. If it walks like a duck, swims like a duck and quacks like a duck, then it’s a duck.

fin

Today was my last day student teaching.

Surreal...
Seventy days ago, I started and swore it would never end.
Now here I am on the other side, reflecting on the good and the bad.


I complained about student teaching quite a bit over the past few months. I've tried to keep it off the blog because no one wants to hear me whine, but now that it's done, none of it seems important. A couple of bad experiences will make great stories when I sit down to write some more stand-up, but all-in-all, it's been grand. I'm really going to miss some of these kids.



I wish I could say that my semester is done, but there are still three weeks of classes at the College and I'm taking two, so I'm still going to have to be productive. Although, now, I'm going to be able to sleep in. I'm excited, to say the least.

This evening, I'm leaving for Rocky Mount, North Carolina. For the past eleven years, the SJC chapter of Habitat for Humanity has gone to Rocky Mount. We started going because they were hit very hard by a hurricane, and we still go because they always need help. We've developed a great relationship with the affiliate there and they look forward to us coming every year. I went on this trip last year and I'm super excited to be going again. My goal is to write at least one blog (with pictures) about the trip, so check back next Tuesday or Wednesday, and I should have something up.

Right now, I need to go because I've yet to pack for North Carolina and we leave in a few hours.

Admissions Blog

so, like i mentioned before...

i am now officially being paid to write blogs for saint joseph's college as an admissions tool for prospective students.


if you're curious to see what I'm writing there, follow this link...



i guess i could start posting them here as well... but they are designed to be a marketing tool moreso than an honest blog about me and my life, so i don't know...

blogging again

so i've gotten a job on campus as a blogger for admissions...

the blog's not up and running yet, so i can't post a link...

i will as soon as i can, though...

9

so it's 9-9-09

a day i've been waiting for because i really really want to see 9

but apparently rensselaer has decided not to carry the film, at all, so i'm going to have to drive at least 45 minutes to see the film...


i'm a little bitter...


also, note about today: wednesday has 9 letters, september also has 9 letters, and is the 252nd day of the year (2+5+2=9)

fifteen books...

The English major in me couldn't resist doing this:

Don't take too long to think about it.
List 15 books you've read that will always stick with you.
They should be the first 15 you can recall in no more than 15 minutes.


1. Brave New World, by Adolus Huxley
2. The Divine Comedy, by Dante Alighieri
3. Watchmen, by Alan Moore
4. Slaughterhouse-Five, by Kurt Vonnegut
5. The Screwtape Letters, by C.S. Lewis
6. The Hobbit, by J.R.R. Tolkien
7. Fahrenheit 451, by Ray Bradbury
8. Angels & Demons, by Dan Brown
9. Life of Pi, by Yann Martel
10. Paradise Lost, by John Milton
11. Freakonomics, by Steven Levitt and Stephen Dubner
12. The Heart of Darkness, by Joseph Conrad
13. The Handmaid's Tale, by Margaret Atwood
14. Dreamcatcher, by Stephen King
15. The Dante Club, by Matthew Pearl

Tagging:
KittyMarie(read her's, it's who I stole this from), ellolove, If I Were Being Honest, and anyone else reading and should feel so compelled, please leave a comment so that I can track you to your blog and read what comes to your mind in less than 15 minutes...

student teaching...

so...

i start my first day of student teaching tomorrow...

the students start on thursday...

i'd be lying if i said i wasn't completely terrified...

and i was told my students will use all of their internet knowledge to find everything i'm associated--which means they'll find this... if you're one of my students and you've stumbled upon this, kudos... a word to you: be awesome, not miserable... those are really some of the best words to live by...


here goes nothing.

I Saw The Pope

Easter Sunday of this year, while on spring break, I attended mass in the Vatican. It was awesome. This is the song I wrote for it, and by that, I mean anyone who stumbles across this randomly, I wrote this spoof of "I'm on a Boat," transforming it into "I Saw the Pope". It was harder than I thought it would be, but it fits the meter and rhyme scheme, so put the song on and sing along.

Ben-né

Aw, snap. Get your hymnals ready, turn to page two-six-three. Everybody in the church hit the wooden pews, but stand for the opening procession. We singin’ this. Let’s pray.

I saw the Pope; I saw the Pope. Everybody look at me ‘cause I really saw the Pope. I saw the Pope; I saw the Pope. Take a good, hard look at the super holy Pope.

I saw the pope, Mother Teresa, take a look at me. Straight prayin’ wit da pope, head’a da Holy Sea. Bustin’ five pr’yer, words whisp’rin’ full of hope. You can’t stop me, Illuminati, ‘cause I saw the Pope.
Take a picture, Val. I saw the Pope, girl. We drinkin’ Communion Wine ‘cause it’s so fine. I got my head bowed, and my handies folded. I’m sayin’ prayers; you in confession, straight sayin’ sorry.

I’m standin’ in a queue, crackin’ jokes and puns. The jokes aren’t good, no one’s havin’ any fun. But this ain’t com’dy club, the joke’s as fu’ny as I use. I saw the Pope, Easter Sunday, don’t you ever bemuse.

I saw the Pope and he gave a bless-an wearin’ a silver and gold Papal Fanon. He’s leadin’ the free world, on a balcony like Juliet. If he lost a bet, you bet he’d still be Benedict.
F’rget priests, I saw the Pope Easter Sunday. F’rget church, I wenta th’Vatican Easter Sunday. I’m in the chairs with my boys, Easter Sunday. The church bells make noise, Easter Sunday.

Hey Sally, if you could see us shine, up really er’ly to get in the line. Gonna get thru the line to good seats some time. Mark Simmons said, “there’s no bad experiences.”

Yeah. Never thought I’d see the Pope. It’s a big marbl’ St. Peter’s Square. Yeah. Hey Jesus, look at me, oooh. Never thought I’d see the place where Angels and Demons took place. Believe me when I say, I met a sister.

I saw the Pope; I saw the pope. Everybody look at me ‘cause I really saw the Pope. I saw the Pope; I saw the Pope. Take a good, hard look at the super holy Pope.

Ben-né. Ben-né. Yeaaah, yea, yea.

Blogs From My Birthday

Time ticks by.

Camp is half over now. Staff week has come and gone, and weeks one and two of the camp season came and went in a wet, sticky mess.

Time ticks by.

I turned twenty-two on Friday, which means it’s official. I’m old. Facing my senior year, I’ve come to the realisation that I really need to make some decisions in my life. I’ll be student teaching in the fall—so I’m going to have to decide whether or not I want to teach straight out of college. I just don’t know if I’m ready to teach a classroom everyday for the rest of my life at the ripe age of twenty-three. There are so many things I want to do with my life, so now it’s time to decide which things on that list I actually want to pursue and which ones are silly pipedreams. Because of my trip abroad, more of the things that were previously on the “silly pipedream” list have slid over and joined the ranks of pursuable. I blame it on the pyramids.

Time ticks by.

As I sit and ponder these whinny questions about my future, I’m constantly struggling at camp. I love working at camp with all my heart. I really do. But this year has been really different. It’s just not the same anymore. This summer is my seventh summer on camp staff, and because of that, I’m starting to feel old. I always laugh it off and make jokes about how I refuse to grow up, but seriously, why am I still working at summer camp? There are so many other things I could be doing with my summer. I don’t regret my decision, but it makes me wonder. Pause. That’s not entirely true. I feel a tinge of regret when I look at my wallet and my bank statements and see obscenely low numbers.

Low numbers aren’t only appearing in my bank statements. The number of scouts at Tamarack this summer is lower than it has ever been. Nationally, the number of scouts has been declining annually, but now, due to the dilapidated economy and whatever other citable sources, the numbers at camp are ridiculously low. When you look out at the parade field, it is painfully obvious of the lessened numbers. What concerns me the most about the number of scouts ticking away like minutes on the Doomsday Clock is because the Boy Scouts is such an important and worthwhile organisation. I don’t care what preconceived notions and stereotypes exist about the Boy Scouts; there are so many great things that the BSA does for youth.

Time ticks by.

The day before my birthday I went on a mountain biking expedition. It was pretty gnarly. That idiom about “just like riding a bike” isn’t as accurate as I always thought it would be. I haven’t ridden a bike in quite some time, and it showed. I’ve also collected some war wounds to show for it. I wish I could have taken some pictures because it really was a sight to see, but alas, that would have been supremely awkward.

Nothing terribly mentionable happened on my birthday. However, to mildly contradict that, I did get to spend the evening with Phil and Andy. So nothing eventful, but still delightful.

I wish I had more to say, but I’ve spent the day moving boxes…

some words stuck in rensselaer

Well, I'm officially finished blogging for Central. Everything previous to this was written as my travel blog for my semester abroad and also appears (with their edits) on the Central College website somewhere. The woman in charge of the blog actually called me after I submitted it because it made her cry. I've never felt so much love from a phonecall in my life. It was a genuinely touching experience.


Beyond that, I'm stuck in Rensselaer for another two weeks. This summer class has become a living hell. I hate it. I need to keep writing our final paper. It's due a week from Monday, but I'm going to be gone all of next weekend. I find it so hard to be productive when I'm miserable. Also, while here, I've found myself addicted to facebook. And I don't like it, because I'm not one of those people who clutters up your news feed with useless surveys and crap. I find all of that to be insufferable; although, I was so bored last night that I almost broke down and did a survey. It was: "What Marvel superhero are you?" I was curious; although, if I wouldn't have gotten the superhero I wanted, I would have been sorely disappointed.

Because I refuse to connect coherent thoughts, the other plight of this summer class has become my eating habits. People refuse to acknowledge me when I talk about eating because they think I'm too skinny. I'm not anorexic, nor do I think I have any sort of warped self-image; however, I have a problem with my eating habits because they're just shitty. I don't care how fit someone is, they should eat properly and with restraint. I haven't done that since I arrived in Rensselaer. I eat constantly--I eat crappy junk food constantly. It worries me. But then, last night, I stepped on a scale and it said I weighed 149.5 pounds, which is less than I was expecting it to read. I was expecting a solid 158 to pop up on the digital display. I don't know what to think.

Also, to continue to dump my thoughts into this box of words, I've found myself for the first time questioning my faith. Not in any serious way, mind you, but just something small. For the first time, I've found myself questioning whether or not I'm doing the right thing saving myself for marriage. Well, sometimes it's not even the question of right or wrong, because that's such a subjective thing, but why I'm saving myself. I mean, even with that, I have all of these answers as to why I have, but then I wonder whether or not it's worth it in the end.



Those are all of the useless thoughts that have been stewing in my head for the past week or so. Next time I sit down to write, I'll have more to say; I promise.

a closing...

Wow.

I’m done.

My final days of London behind me, I’m left with longing reflections of the greatest experience that has ever happened to me, and probably ever will. I’m still in disbelief that it has all gone and finished. I can no longer walk down the street and see Buckingham Palace. I’m currently sitting in the lounge of the dormitory where I’m spending my summer semester. I’ve been home and am gone again already. Looking out the window, there’s a torrential downpour; it reminds me of London. And, today in class, a girl came walking in wearing a “LONDON ENGLAND” tourist shirt; one, in fact, that I made fun of Val for buying at one point in the semester.

My final days in London staged themselves as the most incredible grand finale. My days and nights were spent wandering the streets of London or packing and commiserating in the house with everyone—but keep in mind it was a festive and joyful commiserating. Those final days—Wednesday, Thursday and Friday—I only got about ten hours of sleep in total. Thursday was the final Central outing scheduled. They had gotten the class tickets to see Wicked on the West End. I’ve always enjoyed the show, as cute and commercial as it has become, so it was a nice thing to see. It was bizarre, however, to see it with British accents. I just couldn’t get used to it for some reason. There were quite a few obnoxious fan-girls in the audience as well, so that was pretty unfortunate. Thursday night was also really hard because some people were flying out early Friday morning, so that was our last chance to say goodbye.

Friday morning, Andy and I decided it was time to achieve our ultimate London goal. We woke up and got in line at 6:45 a.m. to get day-of rush tickets to see Patrick Stewart and Sir Ian McKellen in Waiting for Godot. We were the second people in line, but the box office didn’t open up until 10 a.m.! We entertained ourselves with a two-hour game of War and eating Easter M&Ms. It was well worth the wait, because as we bought the tickets, we were informed that our seats were in the first row. Yes, you read that right… THE FIRST ROW. We were giddy. The day was spent simply in anticipation of the evening.

The show melted my face off. The caliber of acting I witnessed was beyond human comprehension. It really was something to see. Both men, as well as the rest of the cast, did such epically fantastic jobs that I don’t think I could ever accurately put into words what I saw. However, after the show is when it got really exciting! After the show, we got the idea in our heads that we could find the stage door to the theatre, so we wandered around back and there were a dozen or so people congregated around a certain door. We assumed this was the right spot, but to put an end to our quandary, a man walked out and informed us that they’ll only sign things from Waiting for Godot, they won’t pose for pictures and if we have a harsh flash on our cameras, turn them off. In hindsight, I should have just taken the picture and then apologized if it offended them. Even if I don’t have their pictures, I still have their autographs. YES!!!!! Yes, you read that right! They signed my program and a poster I purchased! Andy and I turned into 14-year-old girls at a Miley Cirus concert.

Patrick Stewart was the first to emerge. He carried himself with such an air of dignity; and what made it more impressive was the fact that he did it without any feeling of hubris. When he got to me, I stuttered out a “thank you,” to which he sort of looked me up and down—like he was giving me a once over. Then, he points at the bowtie I’m wearing and says, “I saw you; you were sitting in the first row.” That Miley Cirus joke is truer than I stressed before. I thought I was going to faint. I stuttered out something before Andy started complimenting him. Obviously, we stick out like sore thumbs because we lack a proper accent, so then Mr. Stewart (it seems blasphemous to call him Patrick) asked where we were from. We told him we were study abroad students and it was out last night in London. He said he was honoured that we chose to spend our last night watching the show he was in. The only thing I could think to say was, “no, really sir, thank you.” After he hopped in his car and left, we stood their, completely star-struck and still reeling from the encounter, as Sir Ian McKellen walks out. In stark contrast, Sir McKellen’s appearance can only be likened to a sweet old grandpa who was happy to see an old friend. He was so gracious to everyone. When he got to my poster, he signed it and noticed there was a pin on my lapel. I had put a pin on my lapel that read “I defy you, stars!” (from Romeo and Juliet at the Globe). He asked me what it read—as my lapel was at a height taller than him, so he was leaning up and toward me to try and read it. When I explained it, he said he heard it was good, to which again, my only response was an annoyingly cheesy one: “well, it was no Waiting for Godot, but it was really good.” When Andy thanked him, like his co-star, he asked us where we were from. After it was all said and done, it was to the point where Andy and I could only make noises—we were far too happy and flabbergasted to form articulate words.
Also, when it was said and done, a guy who’d been standing next to us the entire time stopped us and asked where we were from if we were study abroad students—he’d obviously overheard us stammering to Ian McKellen and Patrick Stewart. Andy said he was from Iowa, to which the man asked if we were studying through the Central College Programme. Much to our shock, he informed us that when he was an undergrad, he studied in Paris through Central. Then, We asked him where he was from. He said he was from Indiana. I couldn’t believe it. I asked him where in Indiana; he explained that he was a poly-sci professor at the University of Evansville who was on some sort of teaching abroad program and it was also his final night in London. As if coincidental serendipity hadn’t slapped us in the face hard enough, I decided to ask him if he’d been a Hoosier all his life. He said yes, and said, “I grew up in a crappy little city that’s really down in the dumps: Elkhart.” I almost squeaked; I couldn’t believe my ears. I burst out laughing. He apparently went to Memorial High School. My last night in London, the world got a little smaller.

My flight home was surprisingly amazing. For whatever reason, they didn’t have a ticket for me, so they put me in a seat in the business class. I flew home with an ample amount of legroom; it was pretty sweet. I watched four films on the flight—Frost/Nixon, Milk, The Wrestler and Taken.

Looking back now, this semester is without a doubt the greatest thing I’ve ever done. Anything bad that happened seems like a joke when put into perspective. I mean, I spent four-ish months living less than a mile from both Big Ben and Buckingham Palace I would like to publically thank everyone who made it possible: my parents for being entirely supportive of my dream; everyone at Central who accepted my application late and still gave me the opportunity to go, especially Mark and Lauren who made London so amazing and put up with me and the rest of us students.

I’ve also collected a few tidbits of advice for any future abroad students who are headed to London. Maybe these quips will aid you in your travels. They’re not much, but they’re things that have been recurring in my head as things I wish someone would have told me.

• When you get to London, don’t waste your money taking a shuttle. It may be a convenience, but it’s an expensive one. The idea of taking public transport may initially be frightening, but within a week and a half of being in London, it won’t anymore; so you may as well get used to it as fast as possible.
• Don’t buy a map unless you really think you’ll really need it. I found that if I was ever even mildly lost, I could find a bus stop because they have local maps printed there.
• Take the bus! Please don’t ride the tube everywhere you go. For my first month or so there, I really didn’t know much of the city, I just knew the area around tube stops. I would just go from tube stop to tube stop without having any idea where I was. The day I started
• Never say no. Experience everything you can. Try everything (food included). Don’t let anything stop you from trying everything humanly possible while abroad. Mark said something to us that I’ve held true the entire semester. “There are no bad experiences, only great travel stories.” Even if bad things happened to me, it was all part of the experience and so I embraced it.
• Don’t be afraid to do things yourself. You’ll make great friends on your trip, one’s you’ll want to share every experience with, but don’t be a dependent. It’s annoying and no fun. I’m as extroverted as the next guy (if not moreso), but some of my best memories of London happened while I was by myself.



Cheers…

Mike at the Lapin Agile

Well, similarly to my spring break blog, I had a wonderful diary-like blog written covering my fantastic weekend in Paris. However, my computer has decided to eat my original blog… So this is my rewrite of a blog. I can’t make any promises as to how this compares, because I’m really really frustrated at this point. Alas…


Friday started with quite a bit of panic. Long story short, there was quite a bit of drama as far as the amount of people going with us to Paris. This was a trip we had planned a long time ago, but people kept adding and dropping themselves. Well, because of this, no one book housing until the last possible minute, which was Friday morning before class. However, it was time to leave, and I didn’t have a place to stay. The hostel I found only had two beds for the night, so I didn’t have a place to stay, but I heard there were some nice benches around the Eiffel Tower, so I wasn’t too worried.

The finals for British Experience Seminar and Contemporary Britain were simple enough—it was just a bunch of writing, really. It was another time to reflect on everything, which has made the whole experience that much more difficult. There was also a “re-entry seminar” to prepare us for reverse culture shock. I was overwhelmed with quite a bit of conflicting emotions. I’m really afraid that I’m going to suffer from the reverse culture shock quite a bit.

However! That’s not the exciting part of this tale! The part where I fly to Paris is!! After class, we hopped on a plane and fly to the city of love. When we got to the hostel to check the girls in, it turns out they had a bed for me to sleep on, so the crisis was adverted without any pomp and circumstance. After getting settled, we decided to wander the streets a bit. The Moulin Rouge wasn’t too far from our hostel, so we went out there. The road it is on reminded me quite a bit of the French Quarter in New Orleans. Every establishment was selling sex in one way or another, and none of them were ashamed at all to advertise it to the world. I guess if the Moulin Rouge is right down the street, the location is prime for that target audience.

Our hostel had an advert for a free tour of Paris, so that was the first thing we did on Saturday. It was a four-hour walking tour of the city, and it covered quite a bit. It started at the fountain of Saint Michael, which I thought was particularly cool. I may be a bit partial, but Michael’s one of my favourite saints. And that statue in the fountain made him look like a pretty rad dude (if I can bring that phrase back from the Nineties), banishing Lucifer and all. On the tour, we saw all of the serious sites without any particularly super moments: Notre Dame, the Palace of Justice, Tuileries Gardens, the Louvre, the Rose Line (for all of you Da Vinci Code fans), the Royal Palace, the Opera the Grand Palace, the Eiffel Tower, the Arc de Triomphe. Our tour guide was a charming bloke from Edinburgh named Frasier. At the end of the tour, we warned us that when we do go up the Arc de Triomphe, be sure to use the underground pathway there. The roundabout around the Arc is the largest and busiest in the world. He also said that some insurance companies will not cover drivers who get into accidents around the roundabout because it’s so bad. Instead of warning me, Frasier’s words acted as a call to arms; a challenge to get across in grand fashion. I figured after Cairo, I could handle any traffic. I actually lucked out. I had a pretty easy crossing. I didn’t have to even break stride more than once. One car did swerve at me, however, but I was half a car-width from my destination at that point that I wasn’t worried.

The girls I was with were fans of the last National Treasure film, so we then trekked out to find the miniature Statue of Liberty. It wasn’t a terrible walk, and it was really cool to see. Apparently, the girls seem to think that the way it was actually situated in Paris wasn’t the same as they remember in the film. I can’t say because I don’t remember the movie all that well. While out there, I was also challenged into climbing a tree. It was a challenge because there really wasn’t an easy way up, I actually had to pull myself up. Now, if you’ve never seen me before, I have the same amount of upper-body strength a ten-year-old boy has. The girls got quite a few laughs out of watching me try and get up. I was successful in the end, despite their teasing. Then, when I got back to the ground, a small boy came up to me and started speaking a lot of French (keep in mind that this boy is probably as tall as my shin), and his mother than told me (in English) that he wants to know how I did that because he wants to do it too. It was wholly adorable in every way possible.

We watched the sunset through the glass pyramid at the Louvre. It was gorgeous. Sunday then started right where Saturday ended. The first Sunday of every month, there is free entry to the Louvre. A guidebook said, and I quote, “Avoid the Louvre like the plague on this Sunday.” Instead, we just thought we’d beat it to the queue. We showed up about an hour or so before it opened and we beat the majority of the queue, which was pretty sweet. When it opened, we followed the streaming mobs of people directly to the number one destination within the museum—the Mona Lisa. I couldn’t believe I was actually looking at it. Most people are amazed by how small it is, but I knew it wasn’t large, so I just stood there in awe for a bit. In contrast, on the opposing wall was the painting of the Wedding Feast at Cana, which is one of the largest paintings I’ve ever seen in my entire life. If you spent thirty seconds at every piece of art in the Louvre, you’d be in there for over a month. We spent quite a bit of time in there and saw quite a lot of sweet stuff. We made it a point of seeing all of the really really famous stuff. The other piece, which I didn’t know the museum had, was the Code of Hammurabi. For anyone who doesn’t know, Hammurabi was a king/emperor (I’m not sure what the proper title should be) of the Mesopotamian civilization of Babylon. He decided he should write all of the laws down and post them in the city center so there was no question what the law was. This was the first time something like this had ever been done, so it’s really like civilization 2.0 because of Hammurabi. Yeah, I’m kind of a history geek sometimes—don’t judge me. Upon leaving, we took some goofy photos around the inverted pyramid. It was a good time.

We then went back to Notre Dame so we could actually go inside and see it. When we walked in, it was in the middle of mass, so the girls let me go and sit through the last part of it (they knew it was Sunday, and they know how excited I get about Catholic things in general). After the service, walking around was amazing. The stained glass in the church is so incredibly gorgeous that you have to see it to believe it. While on that side of the city, we also wanted to check out the Pantheon. However, much to our dismay, it cost quite a few euros to enter. We decided to forgo it and wander to a church off to the left of the Pantheon that had cool looking exterior architecture. It turned out to be the Church of Saint Genevieve. Saint Genevieve is the patron saint of Paris and, if you were wondering, has a sweet church. There wasn’t a pulpit in the church, but two spiral stairwells built into the walls that lead up to a catwalk-type thing encircling the high altar. However, all incredible beauty aside, I found something in the church that made me so elated I almost squeaked. Within the church was the tomb of Blaise Pascal. I’m going to perpetuate my geekiness here, but he was an incredibly famous French mathematician. So, yeah, I got really excited.

The climax of our Paris adventure, literally and figuratively, came with the ascension of the Eiffel Tower. I was initially disappointed that they wouldn’t let me take the stairs all the way to the top. I took the stairs to the second level (638 steps, if you’re wondering), and wasn’t even breathing heavily. There was no fatigue at that point. I was ready and rearing to go. Alas… However I got to the top, it didn’t matter once I was there. It was so glorious. The weather had been piss-poor all day, but when we got to the second level, the clouds broke and the sun shined down upon our epic ascent. I was amazed that there was a champagne bar at the top of the Tower. I almost wanted to toast the climb, but it was obscenely overpriced, and I don’t like champagne THAT much. We even got to watch the sun set from the tower.

Upon returning to the ground, we reunited with Val (who refused to climb the tower, citing a sever case of acrophobia) and found dinner. This was our one serious splurge of the trip. The place had an entrée and main course for fourteen euro. I ordered the fish of the day, which ended up being a grilled salmon, and a “fisherman’s salad.” I didn’t ask what a fisherman’s salad was, but ordered it on a whim. It ended up being an assortment of greens, tomatoes, onions and shaved tuna. I’ve never eaten tuna—despite my adoration for seafood—because my mom eats it out of a can at home mixed with Miracle Whip, and it always seemed to look and smell awkward, as well as slimy. Well, the tuna on my salad wasn’t slimy, but delicious. The grilled salmon that came with an assortment of assorted vegetables was probably one of the best meals I’ve had my entire semester abroad. Our evening concluded watching the Eiffel tower sparkle and glitter in the night. It was friggin’ beautiful.

We slept in on our last day in Paris. It was much needed and greatly appreciated. Our hostel was in the northern portion of the city, called Montmartre. It is the über-Bohemian, artsy-fartsy portion of the city. We spent the first half of the day wandering around the hilly streets. Also, in the area, is the Basilica of the Sacred Heart—probably the most beautiful church I’ve ever entered, behind St. Peter’s Basilica. When we entered, the bell went off, signifying the start of mass, so I got to sit through a mass at the Basilica. It was so awesome. That church was so incredibly gorgeous. They said no pictures, so I have nothing but my memories, which is cool, I guess. But I would have really liked to have pictures of how absolutely breathtaking the inside of the church was. Also, before departing Montmarte, we stumbled upon the Lapin Agile. It is a cabaret that Picasso spent quite a bit of his life at. Also, Steve Martin wrote a play entitled Picasso at the Lapin Agile that is completely hilarious. So, needless to say I was really excited.

We spent our final afternoon and evening in the grass, relaxing and staring at the Eiffel Tower. I wandered around while the girls napped. The Eiffel Tower is quite the wonderful backdrop. I was even inspired to do a little sketch; Val liked it so much I gave it her. We even bought ourselves a bottle of French wine to enjoy. One of those “when in Rome” moments, you know?

Since all of my Paris adventure has ended, I’ve written this blog twice (I’m still bitter about it). I’ve been relaxing and enjoying London. I’m here for a few more days, and I intend on making them glorious.

I defy you, stars!

So, I feel fantastic right now! And you're never going to believe why...

Today was my last science fiction lit class, right? And so I told myself that I wanted to have my final paper finished to turn in today when I went to class, so I didn't have to go back to LMU after today. Well, I finished my paper at 4:16 this morning! Then, I woke up to get ready for class at 7:45ish. It’s so glorious! I feel like a college student again.

Now, I realise that probably sounds stupid, as I still am a college student, but I haven’t had to stay up late all semester. With only 12 credits this semester, I’ve not had to put in a lot of work at any one time, and so I’ve been to bed at the latest 2 every night since I’ve been in London. This contrasts starkly with my average college schedule. Take for example last semester at SJC. I took 23 credits, with nine of those credits being lit classes, so I never really started a paper before the night it was due; this means I was pulling all-nighters at least once a week. I miss doing that! It makes me feel young again. That probably sounds equally stupid, but so much now, I feel like I’m actually going to have to grow up soon because I’m student teaching next semester and turning 22 this summer. I constantly hear adults say “I can’t run on that little sleep anymore.” So I’ve been afraid of devolving into such a state. But I feel great! And I haven’t even felt like I need to stop and rest.

However, all of that being said, this joy may come and bite me in the butt because I’ve got another paper due tomorrow that I need to write, but I’m completely caught up in doing other things right now. And these other things are making the paper seem not that high on my priority list at this point.

My first priority has been finding a place to stay this weekend while in Paris. I’m spending my last weekend abroad in Paris. I’m incredibly excited, but we’ve encountered quite a few snares concerning the people in the party who are going on this little expedition. Because of that, we’ve not procured a place to stay, yet. As of twenty minutes ago, two people backed out, so now the number will be either three or four. So, instead of waiting any longer, I’ve sent out a few last minute couchsurfing requests. We’ll see. I’m not terribly worried about it, because I’ve decided worrying won’t get me anywhere. And, I’ve always wanted to sleep on a park bench, so if all else fails…

Also, my other priority before writing my paper was to write this blog. We’re flying to Paris Friday after the Contemporary Britain final and won’t be flying home until Tuesday morning, so I wouldn’t want to keep my faithful audience up to speed and not make them wait until I return. Also, I do have quite a few great anecdotes from this week, so I want to share them and not have them become overshadowed by French tales of glory.

Monday I turned in my final paper in Education and gave the presentation. It went well enough. I got into a discussion with the prof about my personal beliefs about why I think mathematics was relevant and worthy of study within the National Curriculum. It was a lively discussion, and we grilled me with a few tough questions, but his reactions to my answers made me feel like he was impressed with what I had to say: great success!

After spending most of Tuesday relaxing, the evening brought with it one of the things I can honestly say I’ve been looking forward to doing since I knew I was going to be in London. I saw a Shakespearean play performed at the Globe Theatre. As my facebook status later exclaimed: “Mike Koscielny now knows what theatre is supposed to look like.” My own meager attempts to explain how amazing it was have failed; if I may, however, use one of my favourite British colloquialisms—it was bloody brilliant! Everything about it was so incredible. We bought standing tickets—they were only £5!—and were standing only a person away from the stage. There wasn’t a single part in the show that I thought faltered in any way. From the opening fight scene, I knew it was going to be great. They were trained to stage fight so well, with and without swords; it was intense. But then, I knew it was going to be great when Prince came out to stop the fight, as Paris and Mercutio were with him, and Mercutio were with him, and Mercutio went right up to Tybalt (who looked particularly furious) and… let’s say… lewdly “stroked” his sword, making a noise to match such a gesture (if you get my drift). Mercutio is one of my favorite characters in all of literature, so I was so happy when he did that, as inappropriate as it was. His character is so great, and the Queen Mab monologue was amazing.

Other highlights from the show were the party scene. The period dancing was great, but also Tybalt’s scene upon discovering Romeo was intense. Being as close as we were, it was incredible to watch. As Capulet was yelling at Tybalt, he was just shaking; it was the furious shaking that happens when you’re going to explode in a fit of anger. The fight between Romeo and Tybalt, after Mercutio’s death, was amazingly well done. It started with rapiers, then transformed into a physical brawl before the men regained sharper weapons. Again, bloody brilliant. They portrayed Paris to be a flamboyant weakling, which was particularly enjoyable. The other scene that was melt-my-face-off incredible was Capulet’s reprimanding of Juliet when she refuses to wed Paris. I knew it was supposed to an intense moment, but holy crap… I thought a blood vessel was going to explode not only in his forehead, but also on his neck. At the climax of the yelling, his face was a vibrant shade of magenta. The other thing that really really impressed me was the overly emotional scenes where the actors cried. Not once did it seem forced or fake, not once. It was so incredibly natural, not only because the scene was so well done that the emotion flowed, but because the actors were honest about it. Nothing felt fake, hammy or like the audience was being pandered to.

And, to top the night off, I was interviewed for a BBC documentary! Yeah! It happened on my way to the Globe. I was walking along the river and this woman stopped me and asked if I would be willing to be interviewed. I didn’t want to because A, I wanted to get to the Globe as fast as possible and B, because I’m not British, so I thought that might be weird. However, she insisted, saying, “Please, it will only take five minutes and you look absolutely dapper, so you’ll look even better on camera.” I let her sucker me in with flattery. But that’s okay, because I did look dapper. Haha! I was just wearing a collared shirt with my new bowtie, a blue jumper and my white sport coat (although, when I was leaving the Globe, I did get winked at by a girl walking past). Anyway, the woman had me watch an advert from a power company that was promising to reduce your carbon-emissions by 20 percent if you sign up for their special plan. She asked me what my reaction was to the advert and what I interpreted by the message being put forth. Then, she explained to me what the offer actually promised, which was in fact to email participants energy-saving tips and solicited my reaction. I watched the advert again and sure enough, it was in the fine print. I was upset. Her final question was asking for my personal energy-saving tip, so I name-dropped and explained blackle.com! I was really excited about that. The more people who switch, the better (also, that's why this blog has a black background!).

It wasn’t until the end of the interview that she told me it was for a BBC documentary. I kinda wish she would have told me before so I could have tried to sound a bit more eloquent.

Wednesday I took my Differential Equations final. It was decent. It wasn’t a pushover exam like the previous tests, but it wasn’t anything of extreme difficulty. After that, I spent the rest of the day procrastinating and finally writing the SciFi Lit paper.

And on that note, I should do something productive with my life. Who knows…

A Week Back In Jolly Londontown

I can’t even believe where the time has gone. Everything is happening so fast now. Looking back, it seems like my spring break was just a great dream I woke up from. This week back in London has been so startling rapid that I feel like I’m losing control.

Getting back to class after two weeks of vacation was rough, to say the least. I’ve been struggling in my education class because the end of the semester has become a free-for-all. The only mark we’re receiving in the class is a paper that is due at the end of the semester—which is, for me, within the next two weeks, whereas the rest of the class has another month. We are supposed to be giving a presentation (for no credit) that will mirror our paper, and we’re supposed to be doing it in groups. Well, my group is fairly incompetent, and so the presentation we are giving Monday is incoherent and not at all relevant to the assignment. However, my paper is written, and it should get me some good marks when assessed. ::knock on wood::

It was funny. Last Monday, when I was headed home from LMU, I made it a point to walk from the Green Park tube station. Not because it was a beautiful day (although, it was), but because I wanted to see Buckingham Palace. I’ve enjoyed seeing all of the London landmarks this week. After that long week of traveling, I realized that I missed London; after being away for nine days, I did really really miss London. It was such an odd feeling.

I spent most of my free time during the week preparing and writing this paper that’s due for my education class. It hasn’t been fun. I did take my second Differential Equations test on Wednesday. I was so upset at the test. The professors said it was going to be really difficult. It was only two questions and the questions were identical to those on the study guide. IDENTICAL. Sure, it was nice to know that I am going to get another near-perfect score, but I guess I was really hoping for a challenge. I wanted to “flex my mathematics muscles,” for lack of a better term. I was looking forward to having to think. Although, my comprehensive final exam is going to be in that class next Wednesday, so that should promise me some challenge.

Like I said, the week flew by. I was originally going to go to Berlin this weekend, but the girl who was going to go with me backed out, so I never booked a flight. Instead, I spent the weekend here, enjoying everything London has to offer. Thursday was St. George’s Day. (St. George’s Day is the feast day of St. George, the patron saint of England. So it’s comparatively England’s St. Patrick’s Day.) There was a huge concert in Trafalger’s Square on Saturday to celebrate; it was a bunch of ‘native’ music. It was honestly pretty cool. I was out there for most of Saturday afternoon. When I got there, a guy was performing who was like an English Jason Mraz. It was nice guitar-pop type of music, but had a nice ‘English’ twist to it. I debated buying one of his CDs for most of the day. There was a woman who played a thing similar to the bagpipes while her brother played guitar and fiddle and violin. There was the Bollywood Brass Band, which was two trombones, a trumpet, sousaphone and soprano saxophone, accompanied my three drummers. They came weaving through the crowd and ended up playing right where I was standing, so I have some great video of them, actually. There was this woman and her band who were really bizarre. It was like your typical rock band, except she was singing lead vocals playing what I can only describe as ‘rock sitar.’ Yeah! It was unique. I didn’t think they were terrible, but I really didn’t completely enjoy them either. The lyrics to the songs were kind of trite and simple. I really felt like they would have a great CD. I feel like they probably sound great in the studio, but their live show was a bit sub-par. I am going to try and find their myspace to see if my hypothesis is correct.

Friday! Before that delightful concert on Saturday, I had Friday. Okay. I’ve mentioned this a few times, but I’ve had one song that I’ve listened to basically non-stop since arriving in London. It’s called “Yankee in the Chip Shop” and it is by my favorite band, the Matches. Well, in the video for the song (which they filmed here in London) there’s a scene where they run past a collection of tipped over phone booths. It’s a really cool scene. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BLKPN0bpP9Y Watch the video now and you will see what I mean. Anywho, I’ve been looking for these tipped over phone booths since I got to London. I even asked the people in charge of the programme here, hoping they would know, but they were just as clueless as I was. After spending an obscene amount of time with various google searches, I discovered in the comments for the youtube vid, someone talked about where they were located. So I got in touch with him, and he gave me the 411. So Friday morning, Andy and I trekked out to an area of London known as Kingston.

To understand London, you must know that it was a city that was, according to my history geek friends, made up originally of 32 villages, and so the city is still divided into these separate areas, similar to the boroughs of NYC. Well, Kingston is a ways away from the center of the city. It’s not necessarily far to refer to it as a suburb, because the geography of London is more complicated than that, but if you were just dropped there, it would be the easiest association to make in comparison to the “city of London.”

Anywho, so a tube ride and two bus rides later, we arrive in Kingston. It was so beautiful! And we did find the phone booths. I wanted to climb on them, but when the band was shooting the video, they were written a citation for doing just that. It wasn’t overly monumental, but it was something I wanted to do since I got here, so mission accomplished. After exploring the area somewhat extensively, we found an antique shop en route back to the bus stop. Our curiosity peaked, and so we meandered in for just a moment. It was the best thing we’d done all day. Inside of this place was a Polish Café. We decided it was then a great time to stop and eat. I ordered a plate of pierogi and I was in heaven. For six pounds, I got a plate of ten pierogis! They were so good. It basically made my day.

This weekend has been my only real productive part of my past week. I had a list of things to do over the weekend and I’ve successfully done them (except it took ALL weekend to write that miserable paper). Also, Saturday, I went out to Borough Market again. That was my last chance to go, and I wanted to because I love it out there so much. Jenna had never been there before, and she has a love for delicious food, so Andy and I took her out there. It was delightful.

Sunday, however, was an incredibly glorious and eventful day—and my eventful, I mean a single event consumed today. The London Marathon. I’ve always wanted to run a marathon; it’s on my bucketlist. However, after today, I’ve realised that if I’m going to run a marathon, the London one is the one to run. It was so great. I was out and about all day watching different portions of the race. I started the day around Canada Warf (around mile 9), and from there I saw the top runners go by. Then I went to Canary Warf and saw runners at mile 11 and 14. From there, I went to Southwark and followed the race all the way down to Westminster. It was so much fun to just walk along the racing route. I also stopped into a tent that Adidas set up, and I got a free marathon t-shirt! I was super pumped. It really was amazing to see such a huge outpouring of people out and about to support all of the runners. I was out watching the races from 10 until about 2:30. It put me in such a great mood.

Then, for dinner Sunday night, Jenna, Andy and I decided we were going to try and make kushari. Kushari is something I ate while in Cairo (if you read my mammoth spring break blog, you should remember that ;-D) It actually turned out really well! I was so pleased! And it wasn’t terribly difficult to make. Jenna and I tag-teamed it and there was no panicking at all. It went really well and it was really delicious.

I’ve only got two weeks left. I can’t even believe it.

SPRING NINE OH BREAK

So this is the original blog entry I wrote about spring break... they're making me edit things in it to make it more "appropriate" for central's website, as well as breaking it into three separate entries (apparently it's a little long ::shrug::)


Saturday, 11 April, 2009: So, rather than attempting to assemble coherent stories from everything that happened over spring break in a state of total exhaustion Sunday when I return, I’ve decided to lug my heavy laptop around with me over the course of the week and make entries nightly to make more accurate (and hopefully more vivid) recollections of my journeys. Also, the other important reason is to unload pictures from my camera because at the rate I’m going, the camera will be full before the week is half through. I took 128 pictures today. My camera can only hold 334.

Anywho, last night’s airport adventure was a fun one. We flew out of one of those really cheapy flight companies, and so it was nothing like what I was used to flying. It was general admission, so you sat where you could find a seat; nothing was complimentary, no food, no snacks, no water, no anything. That was rough because it was a three-hour flight, so even some pretzels would have been nice. Alas, ‘tis the life of a poor college student I guess. Then, getting from the airport to the hostel was fun. We ended getting off at one of the wrong stops, and it was so late that no more trains were running. However, we called the place and they came to pick us up, so the crisis was averted without much fuss.

Rome, today, was incredible. Period. We woke up bright and early to go pick up the tickets for mass tomorrow (which I’m still unbelievably excited for, but I guess you’ll be reading this after everything’s all said and done… so stay tuned then for my reaction later). We basically did all things touristy, but I’m okay with that. I’m not in London, so I’m totally okay with being the giddy tourist—and believe me, I was giddy ALL DAY. We visited the Vatican, tipped the Trevi Fountian, soared up the Spanish Steps, pored over the Pantheon, hiked up Palatine Hill, roamed around the Roman Forum, and conquered the Coliseum. (Haha! And also, our pun of the day came about because someone asked what the plan was, to which Heather responded, “roam.” We all laughed quite a bit.) But seriously, it was so amazing to see everything that before today I had only ever dreamed about.

We all threw money into the Trevi Fountain, which is supposed to mean that we’ll come back and visit Rome again some day; so hopefully that will come true. When we were at the Spanish Steps, all I could think about was the Everybody Loves Raymond episode where they’re in Rome and he asks where the Spanish Escalator is. I have no idea why that little memory decided to lodge itself into my memory, but it resurfaced and I laughed. The steps weren’t even that big. In the Pantheon, we found the tomb of Raphael.

We paid a bit of money to receive a tour of the Forum and the Coliseum. It was so amazing. The Coliseum was great. My history major friends may make fun of me for not knowing this, but I wasn’t aware that they had a canopy for it. The guide explained and showed us where they would put up a canopy to shield the Roman people from the hot sun. Also, he informed us that before they made the antechambers below the floor of the Coliseum, they would flood it to have naval battles. In the Coliseum, there’s also a giant cross to commemorate all of the Christians who were killed within the walls as entertainment for the Romans. Later, seeing the top of Palatine Hill where so many of the Emperor’s palaces stood, as well as seeing the other excavated sites where Romulus and Reamus founded the city was incredible. Then, to go down and see the Roman Forum was even more breathtaking. To walk around and see the ruins of where the Senate was in session and the portions of the city really make me feel so awed. Civilization has been happening in that spot for quite some time, and to get to see it with my own eyes was an absolute dream. We saw so much today; it was incredible.

While I was outside the Coliseum, I came across quite the moral dilemma. There were tons of vendors out there trying to sell crap to people; one of the most popular items on sale was sunglasses. I didn’t bring the sunglasses I bought in London because I wanted to pick up another pair. This particular salesman knew what he was doing because he walked right up, put the glasses on my face and put a mirror in my hand. It was successful. I liked the pair (which happened to be aviators). So as I’m standing there, figuring out if I want to pay ten euro for these cheap aviators while he continues to try and sell pairs to others, a police vehicle rolls up. When the salesman sees the officer, he panics, grabs his glasses from people and runs. However, he ran away without removing the aviators from my face. Insert moral dilemma here. At this point, I could have just been given a free pair of sunglasses; I could have just walked away and disappeared with a sweet (but cheap) pair of shades. There was no way I was going to pay ten for them. My question was would what I have done really been stealing, because he was obviously doing something he wasn’t supposed to? The guy flocked back to me as I stood there, torn about my options. I eventually offered him five euro, and he agreed.

Also, I had my first real gelato today! This was almost as momentous as seeing the Coliseum. Okay, that’s not necessarily true, but I can honestly say that I was blown away by how delicious it was. Nothing I’ve ever tried in the States has ever compared to the gelato I had today. We’ve joked about only eating gelato tomorrow—and I can honestly say that I’d be okay with that… Okay, that’s not necessarily true either because the other food I’ve had was also incredibly delicious. I had a pruschutto and mozzarella panini for lunch that made my mouth water, and the pizza for dinner was equally delish—it was covered in tomatoes, basil and zucchini.

Without blabbering on and on and on about how great everything was—although, by the end of this, I’m sure that’ll be the prevailing motif—I’m going to cut it short tonight because we’re waking up at the crack of dawn to see if we can get good seats for mass. I really, REALLY want to see Benedict from as close of a seat as I can.


Sunday, 12 April, 2009: I saw the Pope! (an aside to start, the group of us at mass have actually started writing a spoof of The Lonely Island’s “I’m on a Boat,” with the title “I saw the Pope.”) We woke up at the butt-crack of dawn to get on the first train into the city to stand in line to hope for a good seat at mass. Our seats ended up not being ideal, but it’s because we were given some misinformation. We were told that Benedict was going to roll through the crowd in his Popemobile, so we stationed ourselves along an aisle to see that rather than getting as close as possible; however, unfortunately, he didn’t end up taking a ride, so our seat “strategery” backfired. Alas… However, that didn’t stop mass from being one of the most epic things I’ve ever done in my life! I mean, even if I only saw him from afar, they had massive televisions set up, that I dubbed Papalvision, to show what was going on up at the altar. AJ put it best when he said, “It was amazing! I couldn’t stop smiling through mass!!” We were Catholic geeks to the max. The mass was mostly in Latin, but then random other portions were in various languages; for example, the first reading was in Spanish and the second in English. Then, later on, other portions were in Portuguese, Arabic and other world languages. It really was amazing. There were so many people.

After mass, we were dismayed to learn that the Sistine Chapel was closed. Yeah, I was really really disappointed. However, as it was then suggested, now I have an excuse to go back. I did some shopping and then we found a place to stop and eat. Can I just say I love Italian food? It’s fantastic. We ate at a street-side cafe and were entertained first by a violinist, which was so perfect—it was straight out of a movie. But then, things got more exciting as two drunken men decided to interrupt some people’s lunches. He was farther down the sidewalk from us, so we met no interruption, but after arguing with a waiter (who, for the record, looked like he could have ripped them in half), the two men decided they wanted the bottle of wine that was on a woman’s table. There was quite a bit of angry yelling—all in Italian, so I can’t give a better play by play—and they were forced out into the street. The aforementioned angry waiter squared off with them in the street. However, the police showed up before the altercation escalated past yelling and forceful shoving. It was outrageous.

After lunch and a show, we went back into the Vatican to get in line for St. Peter’s Basilica. Following mass hours before, the line extended all the way around the square, and there was no way we were going to wait in a line that long. So when we went back, it was shorter and moving rather quickly. I do have a funny anecdote about the Basilica—at least I thought it was funny. However, when my dad reads this, he probably won’t be as amused, but I found it funny nonetheless (sorry Dad!). As I was climbing the final steps to enter the church proper (from the first vestibule area), I peered in and was completely in awe—completely and totally. Well, as I entered—still in total awe—the only thing that I could mutter (keep in mind it was an unconscious utterance, I didn’t mean to) was “holy s***.” Don’t ask me why, I’m not proud of it, but I can say I was honestly that blown away. However, as the nasty little words begin to escape my lips, I notice the body next to me ascending the stairs was a sweet little nun. So I immediately try and abort speaking with my lips pinched shut after “holy.” Needless to say, it was one of my finer moments. ::hangs head:: I don’t know why I wanted to say it either, because part of my Lenten vows was to stop swearing, and I’d been doing a really good job of keeping my mouth clean, and I’d refrained from cursing all morning. It just came out. But I guess that goes to further cement how completely astonished I was when I walked in to the Basilica.

I saw the entire church with my jaw on the floor. Any words I could describe it with would fail to really capture how grand and immaculate it all is. It was entirely monstrous in size and grandeur. I saw as much as was open to the public, as there were sections closed for various reasons. However, it was really nice because there was a small mass or something going on in the front section of the church, so there was a lot of wonderful chamber church choir music to accompany my stroll. It really was just incredible. THEN! To make it an even better visit, I noticed that there were some booths open for confession, and a couple of them had English signs on them. I got to go to confession on Easter Sunday in St. Peter’s Basilica!!! Oh man! It was amazing! My apologies if that’s too much Catholic geekitude, I’m trying to keep it to a minimum, but it was just so wonderful. The priest was surprisingly funny, actually. I don’t think English was his first language, though, because he had a thick, theological-looking text he was reading that was clearly in Spanish.

Anywho, it was awesome to the max. I could have taken a picture of every single surface of that building because they were all incredible, immaculate and beautiful. After that, some of my companions were getting tired, so they headed back to the hostel while I went south again because I never saw the Circus Maximus on the previous day. I was told that it was just a lame field, but I didn’t care. I really wanted to see it. And they were kind of right. It wasn’t anything impressive like the Forum the day before. However, I can proudly say that I ran around the same track that chariot races took place on 2000 years ago. I was really excited. My friends made fun of me a bit, but I guess that comes with the territory. We took our last looks at the city, bought a final round of gelato (our second of the day), and headed back to the hostel.

Let me just say that after that gelato, I never want normal ice cream again. The stuff is so good. I tried three different flavours with each order I made, so in all, I tried nine flavours—and I must say that they were all to die for. Also, as a closing remark for the day, I’m really glad I brought my laptop because after two days, I’ve taken 230 photos, so there’d be no way that I’d fit this entire spring break on my single memory card.


Monday, 13 April, 2009: Our shuttle left for the airport at 4:45 this morning. The first twelve hours of my day were a blur of sleeping, reading, and some napping. We flew from Rome to Milan, then from Milan to Athens. Our Rome to Milan flight left somewhere in the 6 a.m. range, but I honestly couldn’t tell you. Then, our Milan flight left noonish, if I remember correctly, so we had quite a bit of time in the Milan airport as well. And, as I previously mentioned, I was either sleeping or reading. I’m reading this delightful book Kelsey let me borrow; it’s called The Alternative Hero and it was written by a bloke named Tim Thorton. It’s about this 30-something guy who is basically a failure at life but is still obsessed with his favourite band from when he was 17. There’s considerably more to it, but there are two real appeals for me. First is the narrator, the life failure, has a pretentious indie-mentality about the music he likes and has stark opinions about the bands he doesn’t. I can relate to that quite well. The other thing is that the author is British, and so the narrator lives in London; for me then, I could have never appreciated this book before this semester. It’s very culturally British, and specifically London, that because of how fortunate I’ve been this semester, I understand a lot of the humour that I wouldn’t have otherwise.

Anywho, the flight from Rome to Milan was only an hour, so it wasn’t terrible. However, the second flight was three hours. I usually have trouble sitting for that length of time, but I spent two-thirds of the flight in various stages of comatose. I’d wake up randomly and realise that I was completely uncomfortable and needed to shift my weight somehow. These were both EasyJet flights as well, so there was no snack, and I swear the chairs are slimmer, because even I was feeling a bit cramped.

Alas, none of that mattered when we landed. After making a couple of terrible Grease jokes in relation to our location, I practically skipped out of the airport. We were supposed to be able to just take the Metro from the airport to our hostel (which is really more of a hotel), but apparently the tube line we needed is under construction—which meant we had to take a bus past the construction, then get on the Metro and go the rest of the way. The bus ride was one of the most terrifying experiences of my life. The bus driver was a maniac. I believe I’ve commented on London bus drivers being fearless, but they were really good at what they did. The guy driving our bus was suffering from a bout of road rage, and in my humble opinion, a lack of depth perception. It was a rough ride, to say the least. We made it safe and sound (although, I think I have a bruise from losing my balance and falling into one of the poles one of the numerous times that the driver slammed on the braked for no apparent reason).

Our hostel/hotel is right in the centre of the city, which is great at only 20 euro a night. Overall, that is a bit pricey, but considering its location, I have no complaints. My companions booked this place without my consent, but that’s okay. It’s better than originally planned. There are five of us now, and so we booked a double and a triple, however they didn’t have a triple available, so they gave us two doubles and then a single with a twin bed, and somehow, I’m lucky enough to get the twin bed to myself. It’s pretty lovely, especially in comparison to the tiny bed at the hostel in Rome. I’m excited to be able to sleep without curling or bending my legs at all. It’s the little things in life…

With the long flights and time differences, it was early evening when we finally got settled into our rooms. We went wandering outside, and we can see the Acropolis from the front door of the hotel! We wandered through this area labelled a flea market and found this small restaurant to have some traditional Greek food for dinner (most of us hadn’t had much to eat today—personally, I’d only had a half of a baguette sandwich at 9 a.m. in the Milan airport).

There’s a fast food place back in my home town that sells gyros and a few other fast-food imitations of Greek food. Comparing that to what I had for dinner would be like comparing a McDonald’s cheeseburger to something Bobby Flay cooks up on one of his Food Network specials. We saw that there was an Applebee’s down the street from our hotel, and the girls wanted to go there, but I played the “stubborn jerk” card and refused, demanding we sample some authentic cuisine. At the end of dinner, they were grateful I had talked some sense into them. My four friends all ordered chicken gyros. I ordered a chicken bacon sandwich that had a Greek name, beginning with an S. I cannot for the life of me remember the name of the thing. I’ll look it up and include it tomorrow. However, the name notwithstanding, I’ll never forget how good it was. There were big, juicy hunks of chicken wrapped up in slices of savoury bacon. And it was real bacon, too! which I do really miss, because bacon in Britain is like Canadian bacon in the States—glorified ham. I like British bacon—don’t get me wrong—but I miss real bacon. As I sit in my large bed and type this, I can still taste its flavour in my mouth (I’m prolonging brushing my teeth until I’m ready to fall asleep…don’t judge me). So on top of the matrimony of meat, there was lettuce, tomatoes, shreds of carrots, some French fries (or chips if you prefer the British terminology) and some bizarre sauce. It’s also important to note there was a seasoning on the chips and in the sauce that I want to think could have been similar to a Lauwry’s seasoning (I have NO IDEA how to spell that, Lourey’s maybe?). My parents are probably scratching their heads right now because I’m notorious for hating tomatoes and avoiding them like the smelly kid on the playground. Tomatoes included, I’ve found myself eating quite a bit of stuff that I’d always said I didn’t like—it’s almost like I’m growing up a bit, because I rarely ever meet “grown-ups” who claim to not like certain foods; they may prefer things, but never to “grown-ups” refuse food on the grounds that they don’t like it.

Okay, sorry about that little tangent, but it was something I thought about today after eating the tomatoes on my sandwich and also realising that I’ve eaten avocados and guacamole and quite a few other things that I wouldn’t ever eat back home. Anywho, the other thing that made the meal absolutely fantastic was my choice beverage. I also gave up soda for Lent, so today at the Greek restaurant, I decided to order a Sprite. It was delicious. I miss the sugary-sweet goodness of carbonated sodas.

Val and Amanda just came bursting into my room (while I write this at 11-ish at night); apparently they broke their door and cannot get into their room. They’ve been given the keys to another room, so their going to sleep there, but the locksmith isn’t coming until after 11, so the girl’s won’t get their things back until morning (they’re going to bed now because we’re waking up early in the morning and taking Athens by storm).

I feel like this is a pretty good place to wrap up for the night. Oh! The other sweet thing about dinner was that one of the gentlemen working there cleaning tables was born in New Jersey. He said his parents immigrated there and he was born and raised in the U.S., but he chose to move back to Greece. He was a really nice guy who talked to use quite a bit before and after our meal.

Haha! So I just turned my computer off and went to the bathroom to brush my teeth and realised that there’s another issue that I meant to discuss that completely slipped my mind. In the bathroom, there are a couple signs regarding the plumbing, and their completely written in Greek. That’s terrifying. I can no longer fake it like I know the language. It’s not like Spanish, French or Italian, where I know a little and can make up the rest based on some linguistical skills. No pun intended, but the language is Greek to me. I mean, I recognize most of the Greek letters, but that’s only because I use them as variables in some of my math calculations. I know sigma, theta, lambda, mew, pi, but I don’t know how they are actually spoken or used. That was the most terrifying part of today. Not only was the bus driver crazy, but we had only a Greek word to identify which bus stop we wanted. We were squinting out the window and every stop, desperately trying to identify it before it was too late. Listening to people speak it is equally disheartening. Although, to be honest, I think it’s all really fascinating, so hopefully I might be able to learn a bit by the time I leave and actually pronounce a few words properly.

Here’s to hoping…


Tuesday, 14 April, 2009: Quote of the day: “That wasn’t a lick; licks have movement. Lick is a verb!” That’s what I replied when accused of licking Amanda’s face this evening right before a nightcap of elegant desserts. We were taking a picture and we decided it should be a “goofy” photo. So I waited until right before the shutter and I pressed the fat side of my tongue to Amanda’s temple. The look captured on her face is priceless!

We started the morning bright and early—carpe diem, you know? The hotel had a complimentary breakfast that started at 7:30, so that’s what time we were ready by. We immediately ascended up to the Acropolis. We stopped momentarily to peer down into the ruins of the Agora. Oh man, I almost died. There’s no exciting story, but I just couldn’t handle everything I saw. We then found the Theatre of Dionysus and my head almost exploded. In ancient Greece, there was a huge festival in Athens that celebrated Dionysus in all of his drunken glory, and the culmination of this week-long festival was three straight days of dramatic, which—if you couldn’t guess—took place in the very theatre I saw today. That’s where drama started! The first plays were just a single person, then a chorus of people to join the one actor, then two and three thespians to entertain the Greek masses. I blame this obsession on Dr. Garrity, an English prof at SJC. He basically knows everything about ancient Greek drama, and in my assorted classes with him, I’ve heard everything he knows at least twice.

As epic as it felt to lay eyes on the ancient theatre, climbing the rest of the way up to the top of the Acropolis was even more amazing. The Parthenon was magnificent. Holy cow, to see it in person was incredible; pictures do not do it justice. It’s so big. However, the postcard version isn’t covered in scaffolding. They’re constantly doing renovation and restoration on the structure, and so there was almost half of it that had scaffolding erected around it. However, that really didn’t take away from the magnitude of it, it was just different. The one dynamic to the visit that was interesting was to observe peoples’ sentiments to the British Museum. For anyone who is unaware, the British Museum owns quite a bit of the sculpture that once adorned the Parthenon and they refuse to return it to Greece. The average person only sees the British Museum as a greedy antiquities collector that won’t let go, but the Museum does have honest and justifiable reasons behind their refusal. It was removed and taken from Greece by a private collector a long time ago because he saw it was being used inappropriately (for target practice!) by the Ottoman Army (who was in control of Greece at the time). The collector offered the government a sum of money and they sold him the pieces. The Greeks argue that no one consulted them about it, just a tyrannical government in power at the time. The British Museum argues that if it wasn’t for this collector (who later donated the pieces to the Museum), the stuff would have been completely destroyed. Also, the British Museum argues that more people will be able to see it if it’s in London. Anywho, long tangent cut short, it’s an interesting debate—and it’s one of personally haven’t picked a side to support. However, AJ has an internship at the British Museum this semester (he provided most of the information I explained above) and decided to take a photo wearing his museum identification card just to be goofy and cheeky. He was a bit afraid, so we did it when no one would notice and then he promptly returned the badge to it’s hiding spot, because we didn’t want any incidents.

After we spent time up at the Parthenon, the beautiful weather disappeared behind some angry looking rain clouds. We visited the ruins of the Temple to Zeus under dreary grey skies. It was unfortunate. However, something glorious did happen that I forgot to mention earlier, but must be told because it basically made my day. It costs twelve euro to but a ticket that will get you into six historical spots around Athens. However, we learned that EU students do not have to pay anything; that means because I had my LMU student ID card, I got into all of the places for free. It was friggin’ amazing! I was totally pumped for that. We wanted to beat the rain back to our hostel, at least for a bit, but we first stopped at the old Olympic stadium. It’s not from the 2004 Olympics, but from the time previous that Athens hosted the games. We weren’t sure how long ago that was, but the stadium was pretty neat. It paled in comparison to the stadiums of the recent games, but it was still really cool to see. I wanted to run a lap around the track, but it was all fenced off. I was really disappointed.

After letting the rain run its course (and eating lunch), I headed out to the 2004 Olympic site, which was a 30 minute Metro ride out into the outskirts of Athens. That was really bizarre. First because the Greek Metro is just different in comparison to London. I feel like I’ve been spoiled by the wonderful way London does things, however, some of it isn’t even anyone’s fault. The Greek people just don’t have the same etiquette on the Metro that is expected in London. The Greeks were far pushier and more impatient. They also don’t wait for people to exit the train before entering, which is a pet peeve of mine in London. Alas, it was just part of the experience. However, finally arriving at the site added a sense of delusion. I’ve always wondered what happens to huge buildings that are not being used after the games. It was really pretty close to what I imagine a ghost town to be like. We did see people using the outdoor pools. There were swimmers and water polo players. So it made me a little happy to see that some of it was still being used, but most of the stuff was just fenced off and closed up tight. It just seemed so wrong. It cost so much to build and use all of the different facilities that just lie dormant and vacant. I dunno, it just seems like such a waste to me. However, that being said, it was really cool to out there and see all of it.

There was a TV in the kitchen that was stuck on CNN, so I got to see Barack’s speech. We watched that and then went out for dinner. The place we went wasn’t as good as the first place from yesterday, but it was still pretty good. I got a chicken gyro. However, after dinner, we went walking around and found this place to get a delicious dessert as a nightcap. We ordered these two elaborate sounding dishes, one being a heavenly chocolate cake with ice cream, the other being something more Greek, with a caramelised banana and some other pastry and ice cream. However, the funniest thing happened during our stint in the restaurant that made all of us almost pee ourselves laughing. While discussing what we wanted to order, AJ—with all the confidence in the world—said “If you want something traditionally Greek, look no further than this.” We all look and see that he is, in fact, pointing to the crém brûlè option on the menu. He apparently didn’t know what I t was, but because it has so many different accents on the letters, he just assumed it was Greek. We all got a good kick out of it. He probably won’t ever live it down.

I’m kind of exhausted, so I’m going to try and get some sleep. The awkward thing is, even though I’m in love with the fact that the bed is large enough for me, it’s also very loud. The wood frame makes quite a bit of noise with the littlest of movements, so the bed wakes me up every time I shift my weight or try and roll over. However, if that’s the biggest complaint I have about my stay here in Athens, so be it.


Wednesday, 15 April, 2009: Right now, I’m on a plane (luckily, there haven’t been any snakes), flying from Athens to Cairo. Today has been quite the day. Our supergroup of awesome parted ways after breakfast this morning; the rest of them ferrying off to Greek Isles. Val and I decided to try and hit up a few more sites in Athens after she bought some sandals in the market. We took quite a bit of time in the morning exploring the Agora properly. It was so delightful. It’s almost set up like a park the way there are so many various trails and such. The Temple of Hephaestus was by far the coolest thing to see. It is the most complete temple structure still standing—its construction is similar (if not identical) to that of the Parthenon, it’s just smaller. It was funny because there were a number of the sculpture stones adorning the temple still in place and in a fairly decent condition, and they were depicting a battle between centaurs and some other mythical race. AJ and I were discussing the day previous whether or not centaurs appeared in Greek mythology, because neither of us could remember. It was serendipitous; I was just sad he wasn’t there to see it. Also, one of the structures had been restored, renovated and turned into a pseudo-museum. They had quite a few wonderful artefacts on display—very cool indeed. The other incredibly exciting moment of the Agora expedition was realising that the vantage point that we looked down into the Agora from yesterday was in fact Aeropagus. Aeropagus was famously where St. Paul spoke to the Greek people and worked to evangelise them. My dad was the one who pointed it out to me, but I cannot remember which book of the Bible it appears in. However, AJ and I looked for it the day before without any luck, so I was going to be really disappointed if I couldn’t find it.

Okay. I need to break from my quasi-narrative for a moment and rant. What kind of unnecessary hubris must a person have to think it’s okay to invade another person’s limited personal space on an airplane? It is my firm belief that reclining seats should be permanently removed from all aircraft. I’m 6’4”; and most of my height is in my legs. If I sit in the seat on an airplane properly (although, the same is true on buses as well), my legs just barely fit between my seat and the one in front of me—barely. So I don’t understand why, then, I have to tolerate someone who is so inconsiderate that they ram their seat into my poor knees because they cannot handle to sit in an upright position with good lumbar support. Are they so slothful that they feel they must sit with an obtuse angle at their waist, and this will help them achieve a greater zen? No, the only thing achieved is my bruised legs, first from the jerk slamming his seat forward, then from anything going up and down the aisles because that is where my leg must end up without room within the confines of my seat. It makes me so angry. Especially because this particular jerk-off is as tall as I am, so he should be more considerate. Plus, he’s teaching his two daughters, both under 5’5”, that it’s completely acceptable, if not encouraged, to recline the seats to make yourself “more comfortable.”

I’m sorry; rant finished. Nope, no it’s not… He just, on top of his fully reclined seat, pushed the seat back even farther. It has a bit of give, which he apparently is going to take full advantage of by pushing it back as he lazes. I’m about to have a neuro-psychotic episode where I daydream I’ve put the blunt end of my pen into his eye and beat on it with a hammer. Haha! With something like that, it's like I'm in my own episode of Scrubs!

I’m sorry; that’s a bit over the top. But honestly, reclining chairs on public transportation is one of my biggest pet peeves ever, right above Rachel Ray’s voice and right below un-perforated toilet paper.

After my delight in finding the Aeropagus, Val and I decided to travel over to one of the other hills we saw yesterday from the Acropolis. At the top was the Temple of the Muses, or it was also called the Temple to Filopapou. At about the time we left the Agora, the beautiful sunshine was attacked by some auspicious-looking cloud cover. We made it about half-way up this hill when the heavens opened and dumped a poop-ton of rain in our general direction. Val and I cowered underneath my little umbrella for probably 15 minutes while this rain poured and poured. I found it appropriate at this point to get my iPod out and listen to All Time Low’s cover of “Umbrella.” It was charming. Then, in the most bipolar of fashions, the sun usurped the sky once more, the rain disappeared and it got hot again. Squishing the rest of the way to the top was glorious (even if our shoes were thoroughly soaked). From this vantage, we could see the water—so beautiful! We then found some random trails to wander down the other side of the hill, weaving through a fantastic amount of beautiful nature.

We made it to the bottom of the hill and out to a collection of cafes before the rain started pouring again. After another huge bout of rain, Val and I went to lunch at the first restaurant we had dinner at. I had a salad called Gyristroula. It was chicken, bacon, lettuce, tomato, carrots and dressing. It was pretty tasty. And, for the record, the sandwich I ate before was called Souvlaki. I really feel like the restaurant deserves to be in guidebooks because it was really delicious, really cheap and tourist friendly.

After our meal, we went on a trek through the city to try and find a place that has baklava. It was a failure in finding what we wanted, however it was a success seeing the city one last time. It was a great way to see things. We dried off back at the hotel for a while and then headed to the airport to meet Jessica, who’s joining us for the Cairo part of our journey. On our transit to the airport, we met a man on the tube who was born in the UK and is a Greek citizen. He overheard us talking about London and we had a delightful conversation on the trip. He told us that this was probably one of the worst times ever to visit Athens because apparently there was a young boy who was killed by the police and when the story broke on the news there were quite a few riots that took place. It’s kind of a scary thought. I wonder now if that had anything to do with the monstrous amount of graffiti that was all over the city; I don’t know if I mentioned that before, but the city looked dirty in that regard. I really didn’t find it to be gross, but the graffiti was unsettling. I just assumed it to be something that culturally wasn’t a big deal, but who knows.

* * *

So we are at our host, Tarek’s, house. He was supposed to pick us up at the airport, but apparently something came up and he had to take care of, so we ended up taking a taxi from the airport to his flat. It was quite the confusing fiasco. There is another couchsurfer here (Ben) at his place who is keeping us company. We may end up crashing before Tarek gets back. We’re totally exhausted.


Thursday, 16 April, 2009: We awoke to a bright, sun-shinny Cairo morning. Tarek didn’t return home until I got out of the shower, which was at nine-something. Tarek and his wife said that the pyramids were something that needed to be seen if one is going to “seize the day.” Instead, Val, Jessica and I (with Ben joining us!) decided to tackle the Egyptian Museum. Wow. I was first really upset because I forgot my student ID, so I had to pay full price to enter the museum—it made me really angry. It was such a bonehead thing to do. It was also disappointing because they don’t allow cameras in the museum at all. The museum houses the largest collection of Egyptian antiquities in the world—as it should. We spend hours in that place; it was massive. I saw more sarcophagi than I ever thought existed. Everything in the museum was amazing; however the crown jewel of the museum was the room housing King Tutankhamen’s personal effects that were collected from Luxor, including the legendary headdress. I reacted similarly to what I did when I saw the Rosetta Stone, only to an extreme degree—because it was the headdress of King Tut, and I was in Cairo.

The museum was amazing. After spending a long time there, we walked down and saw the river… and by the river, I mean the Nile! I basically went nuts because I was standing on the shore of the Nile (don’t judge me). The four of us walked around the downtown area for some time.

I really feel like I need to stop providing a play-by-play and unload about everything I’ve seen. I’ll admit that I was a bit worried about coming to Cairo because there’s something terrifying about being in a completely different culture, even physically another continent. It was something that I started to notice last night that was realised in the morning as well when Tarek gave us a lift into town. There really aren’t any traffic rules—at all. Driving is basically a free-for-all. Most of the roads don’t even have any lines on them. Okay, the more freeway-like roads do, but they’re ignored; and all of the other roads are just open concrete. Then, if that’s not exciting enough, throw pedestrians into the mix, who are also travelling on the roads in a free-for-all-like manner. It’s pure chaos. The only means of communication is honking. You honk to get in front of someone; you honk to let someone know they’re welcome to get in front of you; you honk to let someone know they are in your way. Everyone honks for every reason; it’s pretty nuts.

The four of us decided to take a taxi into the Islamic part of Cairo to see some of the largest mosques. Unfortunately, the citadel closed less than a half an hour before we got there. It was frustrating, however I glowed the entire ride because I successfully bartered with the guy to get a lower price. Unlike in the States, you agree with the driver up front what the ride will cost. I prefer this to the meter-method in the US. We walked down to see some of the other mosques and entered a small one down the road. I’d never been in a mosque before, so I had no idea what to expect. I knew I had to take my shoes off, but other than that, I was ready for anything. It wasn’t terribly busy, but there was a small collection of men praying. Ben and I sat down with a few men and they explained something about the lineage of the mosque. It was hard to understand first because I don’t really know much about Islam, and second because their English was very broken.

After the mosque, we went to find something to eat for dinner. I think I’m going to take this time to just gush about the food. I was really excited to try the local fare; I wanted to eat real Egyptian food. In the morning, before we left, Tarek provided us with three different types of things in pita bread. The first was lettuce, carrots, tomatoes and French fries. The second he called fuul, which was basically fava beans blended together and smashed into a paste form. The third was called falafel. It was this herb paste that was kind of fried and it was in the pita with lettuce and tomato. There was also a plate of sliced carrots on the table, and to my pleasant surprise, when I bit into one, it turns out they were canned and pickled with spicy peppers. (My dad used to can peppers and when he threw a carrot in, my brother and I would always fight over it because it was the spiciest, ergo most delicious.) After our first successful experience with Egyptian food, I was excited when Ben said he wanted us to try something and went in search of an eatery selling it. We found a place selling it, and Ben ordered four bowls for us—it was called Koshari. It was noodles and rice in a bowl with lentil, peppercorns, fried onions and a couple other things I’m still not sure what they were. Then, we poured spicy tomato sauce all over it (as well as some chilli sauce, but that was optional). It was friggin’ delicious. I loved it; I inhaled my bowl of it. Then, I almost collapsed in shock when Ben asked how much we owed and he said eight pounds. Ben paid his eight pounds, then as I got mine out, he shook his hand and head, saying “no, no, no. eight pound for all.” That means that we ate our meal for two Egyptian pounds, which is 35.5 American cents. Yeah!

By the time we were finished with dinner, it was sundown. However, we took a moment and looked in this bakery that was across the street. We peered inside and were welcomed by a nice man who invited us back to see them making some bread. I laughed quite a bit because when he asked us where we were from, and we responded the United States, the next word out of his mouth was “Obama!” The man gave us a sample of a few sweets. We then hopped on a bus to make it back to the city centre. It was a trip trying to figure out which bus would take us in the right direction. We wanted to take a felucca ride on the Nile. There were motorboats and sailboat to choose from. The motorboats were lit up like broken carnival rides and were blasting tons of obnoxious music. We really wanted to ride a sailboat. Ben, being completely fearless, walked up and down the river to find the best price for the four of us to take a ride. We ended up paying ten Egyptian pounds for thirty minutes on the river in a sailboat. It was wonderful.

I should explain Ben. Ben is from the upper peninsula of Michigan. However, he’s spent the last 18 months travelling Asia and Africa. Yeah! After he graduated with an undergraduate degree, he decided he wanted to see the world. He’s been travelling through Asia and India, then flew from India to South Africa and bought a motorcycle that he’s used to tour the continent. Yeah! So he’s pretty much one of the coolest guys I’ve ever met. He’s become a companion to us over our adventures and it’s been great.

After Tarek picked us up when he got off work, we returned to his house to relax, only to go out again. Tarek decided that we had to experience Cairo at night. Tarek and his wife said that Cairo never sleeps, and they weren’t kidding. We kind of noticed it taxi-ing from the airport, but heading back out into the city solidified the notion that it really doesn’t ever sleep. The city looked as alive at eleven at night (when we left for a second dinner) as it did in the afternoon. Tarek took us into city around this mosque that was actually draped in lights. Tarek explained that because of the various holidays (specifically both Easter celebrations), it was almost like a festival. We lead us around a bunch of twists and turns and brought us to this restaurant for one of his favourite meals—pigeon. That’s right, pigeon. For dinner at 11:30 p.m., I had two pigeons. One stuffed with rice and seasoning, baked and the other grilled, on top of a “pigeon soup,” which was a seasoned broth made with pigeon meat. It was outrageous; I still can’t get over the fact that I ate it. I figure I’m not going to turn anything down while here—I’ve got to experience everything I can. There’s not much meat on a pigeon. It didn’t taste bad, honestly. Tarek made fun of me during the meal because I put the pigeon and rice in a pita with the veggies on the table (onion, tomato, cucumber and lettuce) and a bit of the hummus (I’m not terribly keen on the hummus, but I can handle small bits of it with other things—I think it’s the texture). He called me a victim of the American sandwich culture (he also made fun of me for doing it in such a meticulous fashion).

After dinner, Tarek lead us around through some different alleys—making up a ridiculous story about vampire mummies along the way—so we could partake in another traditional Egyptian activity, smoking shisha. We ordered a dessert called Umm Ali and had a tea drink I cannot recall the name of, but trust me, it was delicious. They were both spectacularly delicious. I had always turned down my friends who’d invited me to smoke hookah back home, but I didn’t want to be rude, so I partook on this occasion. It was interesting. It was apple-flavoured. The place we went was really classy! There was even live music. There were two gentlemen with an Eastern-looking string instrument (I don’t know the names of all the different guitars) and a tambourine, and they were singing and they were really great. We didn’t return to Tarek’s until well after two in the morning, and the streets were still alive with activity.


Friday, 17 April, 2009: I can die a happy man. I fulfilled one of my greatest childhood dreams today. I SAW THE PYRAMIDS OF GIZA!!!!!! Even now, as I reflect to write about it, my heart’s aflutter. It really was sooo amazing. I can’t even believe it. The four of us (Ben joined us again today! He said he was going to sleep in, but changed his mind in the morning) left bright and early, hopped in a taxi and departed for what I can easily call one of the greatest things I’ve ever done in my entire life. Seriously, this is one of those times that if I was in a sentimental mood, I may start to get choked up.

I remembered my student ID today, so everything was half price. I practically pranced through the entrance. I FRIGGIN’ SAW THE PYRAMIDS! Sorry, that’ll be my last outburst of overexcited-ness. We first went over to the Sphinx and took a boatload of pictures. We then walked around to the back side of the pyramids and take a boatload of photos. We paid to enter the Pyramid of Khafre. That is the middle pyramid—the one with the limestone still on top of it. I was so terribly excited to enter the actual pyramid that I didn’t let the obscenely small tunnel nor the unbearably hot temperature bother me. It was honestly like a sauna in there; and I hit my head and back trying to make in through the entrance shaft (I got a headache from the pyramids!). We walked around and touched and took boatloads of pictures of all three of the great pyramids. Then, we made a friend in a man named Sahid. He was one of the many men their selling camel and horse rides around the plateau. However, after Ben and I talked with him for a few minutes, he proved to be totally legit and an honest business man. It was refreshing considering how many people are there to rip you off. For 50 Egyptian pounds, he took us around the plateau to the highest points to take a boatload of great photos and was really helpful. We took two camels and two horses so we could switch half way through (and say that we rode both around the pyramids). Before we started, we went over to where Sahid had the animals, and another man was there (apparently the boss-man of the operation) and he offered us what he endearingly called “Egyptian whiskey.” It turns out this was just chai, but I thought its other name was better. That also delighted me greatly because I’d been wanting to have some real chai while I was here (I love the fake American stuff quite a bit, so I figured genuine chai would be a dream—and it was!). I started out on a camel—I was really excited to ride a camel—and it was delightful. I was on my own, without a guide to drive me, so I really felt awesome. After having a great time on my camel, I got to ride a horse. It was even better because he let me actually ride it a bit and I got it up to a nice gallop. I almost did it once, but the stirrup broke. So he stopped me, collected them both, and let me go a bit again. I felt like a complete badass galloping along, looking to my left and seeing the pyramids.

I condensed most of the great day into those 461 words, but we were at the Giza plateau all day. The four of us had such a blast. At the end of the day, Ben and I were talking and he mentioned that for a while, he developed an obsession for taking mid-air photos, where he would leap off of something to get the most air in the photo. Well, before we left, I decided to take one leaping off of a marble block, with a pyramid in the back ground. When I get back, I will probably change it to my profile picture, because it’s really sweet; I like it a lot, although I’m still fond of my current profile picture quite a bit. After leaving, we found another place to have some Koshari. We retired home early because we’re all rather exhausted and pretty crispy from the sun. That’s another reason I’m excited—I’ve got me some color (even if it’s a nice shade of pink, it’ll turn tan-ish eventually)!

I really like it here; I’m sad I only have one more day in the city. The people here are very nice and polite. Some obviously have ulterior motives in mind, but they’re still delightfully pleasant and I really enjoy talking with people. The little kids are fun, too. It happened today and yesterday in front of the museum as well. I get stared at like I’m a dinosaur. It happened in Guatemala quite a bit, and so it’s not a problem. It’s kind of funny really. They like to practice their English and ask me questions.

Also, another anecdote to reiterate the point that Cairo doesn’t sleep. Tarek got home from work around 9:30 p.m. and then immediately changed and left again because he had a wedding to attend. Then, Asser (Tarek’s wife), ordered dinner at around midnight because Tarek was expected back soon.


Saturday, 18 April, 2009: Our final day in Cairo was a wonderful one. We spend most of the morning at the Citadel. The Citadel was founded in 1176 and is now one of the most popular tourist attractions in Cairo (that bit I lifted from Frommers). It’s a fort-like structure that now has a few mosques and museums inside. I’ve been wanting to go to a mosque since I booked my flight to Cairo, and so I was again giddy. The largest mosque in Cairo, the Mosque of Mohammed Ali, is within the Citadel. The first mosque we entered, however, was called the Mosque of an-Nasr Mohammed. It was unique in that it was more like a marble courtyard (for lack of a better description). There was a square outer wall and a hallway around it, opening into the centre. In fact, the best way I can describe it is by paralleling it with a cloister. The real difference was that the centre was marble, not a nice lawn.

Mohammed Ali Mosque was incredibly beautiful—incredibly incredibly beautiful. The massive domed ceiling was ornate and all of the hanging lights added such an amazing effect to the room. Jessica, Val and I took the time to just sit there and enjoy just how wonderful it was. When I get back to the States, I’m going to read a book about Islam. AJ recommended one to me that I’m going to try and find at my local library. I do want to learn and know more about the faith because it’s so fascinating.

Throughout the Citadel, there were flocks of school children. Today, I decided rather than acknowledging them when they called out to me, I would make any responses to them in Spanish. It was really funny to see some of their reactions; there was a mix of really confused and really excited. The excited kids just yelled “HOLA” right back to me. It was cute nonetheless.

We visited two of the museums within the Citadel, neither with any sort of excited gusto and fervour. We walked through both the military museum, as well as the carriage museum. The military museum was basically a disorganised collection of everything “fighting” Egypt had ever done/participated in. Yes, that was a poorly constructed sentence; in fact, it was completely terrible, so allow me to explain. There were artefacts from not only modern wars and battles that Egypt had fought in (i.e. the World Wars, the conflicts for its independence from Britian), as well as fighting from older times (i.e. weaponry and such from Islamic and XXXXX periods). It lacked real organization, but it was cool to see the inside of the building and think that it used to serve as an amazingly sweet palace. The other museum, the carriage museum, was really just a collection of a dozen or so horse-drawn carriages that had some historical significance.

After our Citadel adventure, we went back to Khan al-Khalili (which, if I didn’t mention before, was the area where the mosque was lit up and we ate pigeon the other night) because there were quite a few shops there and the girls and I wanted to do a bit of souvenir shopping (the girls wanted to do a lot of shopping, I just had a couple of things to pick up). I spent most of the time talking to various shop keepers; when they’re not incessantly trying to peddle their goods to you, they’re actually wonderfully pleasant people—although, that could just be part of the act. The three of us got a kick out of how many of the men told me I was a lucky man to have two ladies with me. On a couple of occasions, I was offered to sell them for some camels; I thought that would have been a pretty sweet deal, but the girls didn’t seem too keen on it. I was also told quite a few times that I had beautiful hair (yes, by the men in these shops). It was a good time to be had by all. The one thing that I sort of wanted to buy, I couldn’t find one up to my obsessive standards—I wanted to purchase an Egyptian chess set. I examined quite a few, but I found something I really didn’t like with all of them. I’m afraid I may be too obsessive compulsive about it, but my justification is that if I’m not completely happy with it, I shouldn’t spend money on it.

Speaking of spending money, with all the time I spent in the market today, as well as all three taxi rides, I feel like I’ve refined my art of negotiation and bartering for a cheaper price. Everything I bought today, I bought for my price without compromise (and it’s not that I’m trying to be arrogant about it, but I am proud). Before we left this morning, Asser gave us a tip that was very successful. She said that one tactic is to have your money out, in your hand, for them to see. Inversely to how buyers are more likely to buy something if they touch it, the merchant will be more likely to accept the price. The hardest bargain to make was for the taxi ride back from Khan al-Khalili to Tarek’s house. We only paid 20 Egyptian pounds to get into the city in the morning, so I (against the wishes of Val and Jessica) wouldn’t accept a taxi unless it would cost 20 again. The first two drivers wouldn’t go lower than thirty—with the second driver even having another driver step in and try to tag-team me into paying a higher price. However, we crossed the street (the direction of traffic then headed in the direction we needed to go) and were immediately successful. I’ve also found that the less the cabbie is being paid, the faster he drives. That makes the ride much more interesting.

We got back to Tarek’s around 4:30, just in time to see history in the making (and make it onto Egyptian national news). Allow me to digress for a minute to properly explain. When we first arrived, Ben explained that Asser was organising a non-violent protest to sexism and sexual assault. She explained later to us that she was harassed by a gang of men one night, and one of the boys assaulted her. She took her assailant to court and the judge immediately threw the case out because she was a woman. That was apparently the catalyst behind the event she was organising. There was a whole slew of media who had turned up for the event. Tarek said that three of the four major news networks appeared and was taking footage and interviews. Admittedly, the presence of Ben, Jessica, Val and I also brought about quite a bit of attention. Ben was interviewed by two different TV stations, three radio stations and two newspaper journalists. Jessica did three television interviews. I’ll admit I was a bit jealous. It would have been so amazingly cool to be interviewed, but I was in the back of most of the shots as they put people holding signs in the background of every single shot. I did have an obscene amount of pictures taken of me, however. One photo, as well, promises to be really amazing. I was wearing my aviators (see 11 April for that story), which are reflective, and one of the photographers took a shot of my face with one of the protest signs reflected in my sunglasses. It was a very cool shot, indeed. This was nowhere near as momentous as the women marching in Afghanistan, but to see so many there to hold signs in protest, and even more press there to document what was going on. Asser was the woman of the hour; it was great! We got a great chuckle thinking about Mark, Central’s London Programme Director, who during G20 adamantly told us to stay away from protesting, turning on CNN and them running something about this and seeing us there.


Sunday, 19 April, 2009: ::big sigh:: it’s 8:58 a.m. in Athens and I’ve been sitting in the Athens International Airport since 5:20 a.m. Our flight left Cairo at 2:45 local time and took an hour and twenty-five minutes to make it to Athens (another time zone east). The cheapest flight we could find from Cairo to London brought us back to Athens first, and it brought us back for a seven and a half hour layover. I wish there was some other way, but this was the most expensive flight of our entire vacation, so we went with what was cheapest. It is Easter Sunday in the Greek Orthodox Church. If the Metro wasn’t closed and the bus such a hassle, Val and I may have considered going back into the city (I personally would have liked to see an Orthodox mass), but instead, we’re sleeping on benches. I wish I could say I did the cool thing and watched the sun rise over the Grecian horizon, but it’s really cloudy out, so I just can barely see the sun through the clouds now. I figure this would give me a good amount of time to finish writing what appears to be the longest word document I’ve ever written.

I also MUST mention one of the most giggleworthy things I’ve ever seen. At the Cairo International Airport, in one the cafes, they had a TV on, and it was playing The Mummy Returns. I got a good chortle out of that.

The flight to Athens was easily one of the most pleasant flights I’ve ever taken. Getting on the plane, I was bitter because I was in a window seat, however the plane was barely half full, and I actually had the entire row of three seats to myself. Also, it was terribly roomy! I hope our next Olympic Air flight is that nice. The row of seats in front of me was far enough away that I could comfortably sit with my left ankle on my right knee. It was a nice flight and the meal was good. Is it bad that I really like airline food? There’s such a stigma of disgusting that follows airline food, but I always find it to be quite tasty. Not all of it is gourmet cuisine, but I rarely eat things that I think taste bad. I guess I’m just odd.

Looking back and rereading everything, I can’t believe I’ve had such an opportunity. This week has been a sprint of epic proportions. I’ve seen more this week than some people will ever as long as they live. Without a doubt, this will be the greatest spring break in the history of all history, but more than that, it’s been fulfilling what, before January when I left for London, was only my wildest dreams. Without any superfluous reflections, I do want to thank anyone who took on the daunting task of reading this mammoth of a post, or even reading only part of it. It does mean a lot to me.

Cheers!