I'm already thinking about the next big trip. I was having dinner with pops and AJ last night up in Northgate, Dad offered to take the family to China (Beijing, Hong Kong, Shanghai) next year...Sounds good to me. AJ wanted to go to the Shaolin temple, I have no idea where that is, other than somewhere in China.
Hmm. 2 weeks in China with my parents and brother. Should be fun, though I learned a couple things when I went with them to Florida earlier this year. 1) Bring earplugs 2) Find some time for myself. Maybe I'll just pay for a separate hotel room, heh heh.
18 August 2005
17 August 2005
A random story...
Here's an exchange I had with one of the hawkers in Budapest (it was dusk and things were quieting down along Vajza Utca, the main tourist gauntlet in the city):
Him: Hello, my friend, can I interest you in some theater tickets?
Me: No, thanks.
Him: Bus tour?
Me: Nope.
Him: Museum discounts?
Me (walking faster): No.
Him (perhaps sensing he's losing me, now in a more conspirational tone): Pussy?
Me (pausing, maybe a little too long): Uhh, no thanks.
Him: Well, let me know if you change your mind...
Me (giving him the "twin six-shooters" hand signal): Ok.
13 August 2005
In Defense of Intelligent Design
Some find that hard to believe, so it may be helpful to tell you a little more about our beliefs. We have evidence that a Flying Spaghetti Monster created the universe. None of us, of course, were around to see it, but we have written accounts of it. We have several lengthy volumes explaining all details of His power. Also, you may be surprised to hear that there are over 10 million of us, and growing. We tend to be very secretive, as many people claim our beliefs are not substantiated by observable evidence. What these people don’t understand is that He built the world to make us think the earth is older than it really is. For example, a scientist may perform a carbon-dating process on an artifact. He finds that approximately 75% of the Carbon-14 has decayed by electron emission to Nitrogen-14, and infers that this artifact is approximately 10,000 years old, as the half-life of Carbon-14 appears to be 5,730 years. But what our scientist does not realize is that every time he makes a measurement, the Flying Spaghetti Monster is there changing the results with His Noodly Appendage. We have numerous texts that describe in detail how this can be possible and the reasons why He does this. He is of course invisible and can pass through normal matter with ease.Yes! It's all starting to make sense for me now...Seriously, if ID becomes part of the public school cirriculum, then they need to teach other creation theories as well (Hindu, Aztec, Native American, Muslim, Scientology et al). At any rate, I like the imagery better than Christianity.
11 August 2005
Thought for the day
Some people are like slinkies
Not really good for anything,
But it would bring a smile to your face
If you could push them down a flight of stairs
(via email, dunno who wrote it)
Not really good for anything,
But it would bring a smile to your face
If you could push them down a flight of stairs
(via email, dunno who wrote it)
09 August 2005
On the way to Warsaw
The day after the accident the plan was for D, C and me to take the train up to Warsaw to meet up with J and K. I was excited, since this would be my first train trip in Europe, though that was tempered somewhat by the events of the previous day and basically of the previous year (I've had a string of transportation related mishaps lately, for some reason). We borrow K's aunt's car for the trip up to Lodz, which is Poland's second largest city and where we would catch the train. K's dad and sister gave us a quick drive thru tour of town- lots of old crumbling factory buildings, a large palace and Europe's longest shopping street. We did stop at the cathedral for a quick walkaround, where we saw a replica of the Shroud of Turin.
We exchange warm goodbyes with Krzystof and Kasia, who make sure that we get on the right train and are comfortable in our compartment, which we share with a lone businessman. About 45 minutes later the train stops, which we've done a couple times already to allow another train to switch tracks and pass. This time, though, was different-I look out the window and see people milling about outside on the tracks. Odd. A few minutes later the conductor comes in, talking rather animatedly to the crowd that's now gathered in the corridor. People are asking questions, and the conductor gives both a shrug and the two palms down "keep calm" gesture; now I'm starting to get concerned. David asks around for someone who speaks English, a woman explains that the train in front of us has derailed and we're heading back to the last station so that we can be taken around the accident via bus. Bus? Okaaayyyy....
A few minutes later the train jerks into motion and once again we're moving, backwards. We stop in Rogow, a town apparently big enough to have an actual station, but not much else. Our businessman companion, who up until now had been completely silent, tells us to get off the train and wait by the station for the bus, which will take us up ahead of the wreck, where we will catch another train that will take us to Warsaw. We thank him, gather our gear, and disembark, following the crowd up a footbridge and over the tracks, gathering around a newsstand across the road from the station.
Since we're going to be late, David and I try to find a phone so that we can call K and let her know we're running late. The phone in the station is out, there aren't any other phones around and we don't know enough Polish to borrow someone's cell (I did bring a phrasebook, but it's from the '50s-curses!). So we wait, hoping our hosts up ahead will find out what's happening. The crowd stirs, and our compartment-mate finds us and tells us to get back on the train; somehow they've found a way around the accident. "I'm going home," he says. "No reason to go to work today." Rather than go back up and over the footbridge, we squeeze through a hole in fence to cross the tracks and get back on the train.* (Here's the station and our buddy)
By now we're probably 2 hours behind schedule, hopefully J and K aren't too worried. I'm wondering if I shouldn't be worried; my transportation karma is coming back to bite me on the ass or something...we eventually pass the train wreck:
It looks like that car full of gravel lost control, plowed into the platform and jumped the track. Kinda cool; I've never seen a derailed car and fortunately no one appeared to be hurt. We finally arrived at Warsaw's main station, found a phone and called K. Apparently news travels a bit slower in Poland: J's first words to us may have been "Where the fuck have you guys been?" He and K had been looking for us, going so far as to buy a ticket ahead one stop, thinking we may have gotten off at the wrong station. We explained what had happened, even showing him the pictures I had snapped of the accident...
08 August 2005
The dirty joke thread
Ok, I'll start:
A tourist was strolling through a small seaside village when he happened upon an old man, sitting on the edge of a dock, sobbing quietly to himself. Concerned, the tourist asked what was wrong. The old man looked up, his eyes red and moist, and pointed to a fishing boat tied up at the end of the dock. "See that boat? Every day for 28 years, I made my living on that boat, no matter what the weather or sea conditions. But do they call me George the Fisherman? No!"
"See that house on the hill behind you? I built that all by myself, and 40 years later, it's still standing, without a single leak or crack in the plaster. But do they call me George the Carpenter? No!"
"And that vineyard over there? I started it from just a few scraggly, half-dead plants, now my wines are famous all over the world, sampled by presidents and celebrities. But do they call me George the Winemaker? NO!" He was back to crying at this point. "But fuck one goat..."
Now it's your turn...
A tourist was strolling through a small seaside village when he happened upon an old man, sitting on the edge of a dock, sobbing quietly to himself. Concerned, the tourist asked what was wrong. The old man looked up, his eyes red and moist, and pointed to a fishing boat tied up at the end of the dock. "See that boat? Every day for 28 years, I made my living on that boat, no matter what the weather or sea conditions. But do they call me George the Fisherman? No!"
"See that house on the hill behind you? I built that all by myself, and 40 years later, it's still standing, without a single leak or crack in the plaster. But do they call me George the Carpenter? No!"
"And that vineyard over there? I started it from just a few scraggly, half-dead plants, now my wines are famous all over the world, sampled by presidents and celebrities. But do they call me George the Winemaker? NO!" He was back to crying at this point. "But fuck one goat..."
Now it's your turn...
07 August 2005
Oh, the day's not over yet...
The last thing I wanted to do after the accident was get into another car, but Kasia wanted to show us around some more, so after a little nap David, Cheri and I squeezed into her car, a yellow Fiat (Gulp!) and drove down to Lask (my keyboard doesn't render the characters properly, but is pronounced "wask"), about 10 minutes from Kolumna. It's about 20:00 now, dusk just starting to fall as the town settles down for the evening. Most places were already closed, so we just wandered around, first stopping by the main church in the center of town then walked through town square. There's a second, smaller church in town, whose name escapes me, but was originally Protestant before being converted to Catholic some time ago, and now serves the armed forces community (I believe there's an air base nearby).
Anyhoo, what's remarkable about this church is that it's made entirely of wood, probably the only such structure within miles of here (I think the forests had disappeared many moons ago, so almost all structures here are masonry). The dark exterior stain smelled suspiciously of creosote...that's a photo of it up top (not mine-taken from this site). We walked around the outside a little and were just about to move on when the front door opened and an older lady stepped out, presumably the caretaker. Kasia wanted to show us the inside so she talked to the lady a little and we were allowed in. We dropped a few zloty in the collection box and wandered around the main floor. It was kind of like being in a log cabin, with big timbers and logs used as the primary structure (we later learn the wood used was larch), the lectern was decorated with seashells and stones, and there were beautiful vibrant paintings scattered throughout. We learn that they are struggling with upkeep, not suprising as we're standing in a wood structure that's several centuries old; we can see water stains in the ceiling above us. The caretaker points a finger upwards: do you want to see?
Sure, we nod, thinking we'll get to hang out in the choir balcony and get closer to the ceiling (maybe she's thinking these "rich" Americans will donate to the cause). We climb the narrow stairs to find the caretaker in the far corner, fishing around for something; it's a string, which she yanks on and a tiny trap door swings open, some 12 feet above our heads. Wait, what? Next thing you know this lady's swinging around a 15' aluminum ladder and sets it in the opening, climbing up like she does this every day. I look up and see a hand beckoning; we look at each other, shrug "what the hell," and follow her up (though it took a little convincing for Kasia).
The attic is dark and everything you touch leaves you sooty. The caretaker points out some of the temporary fixes for the roof, ranging from plastic sheeting to expandable foam spray for the bigger gaps. After the tour, we climb back down, wash up and thank the caretaker. We walk around town a little more, then head back home for dinner with the parents. Not wanting to make K's mom cook after a long day, we head out for pizza. If I remember correctly, it was ham, cheese and corn pizza, which was a bit strange, but not bad. After dinner, they insisted that we stay with them rather than go back to the hotel. That was mighty nice of them, though at the time I was hoping for some Fred time to decompress (plus I was needing to drop a big deuce and didn't want to do that at someone's house). But, we couldn't refuse their hospitality and so we bed down for the night, wondering how much more excitement we could take in one trip.
Accident at the Manhatan
The day after the wedding, K's folks held a BBQ at the house, where a small but lively crowd showed up for sausages, glabki (which D and I helped make), cake and vodka, natch. I wasn't feeling too bad physically, though I was still embarassed about my earlier escapades, though that didn't keep me from sampling the Zubrowka. Everyone assured me that it was fine, so I just let the whole thing drop. That evening we (J, K, K's parents and grandmother, J's mom, D, C and myself) head off to Uniejow, which I mentioned earlier. We had a quick late dinner and settled in for the night.
The next morning after breakfast we toured the castle and grounds, including the town across the river. It was a beautiful sunny day, and the plan later was to head to Lodz, which at one time was the primary textile center for Europe. We were scooting back home, conversation ranging from the scenery to Polish driving habits when one of us spied a gas station named "Manhatan", which we thought kind of funny, a bit of America here in the middle of Poland. Suddenly I heard a commotion up front; coupled with a jerk left, then right, of the van, I realized quickly that something was wrong. I look to the front (D, C and I were in the very back of the minivan) and saw a little Fiat stopped in the road, presumably to turn left into the Manhatan. It was apparent that we couldn't go around, due to the lack of shoulder, and also that we weren't going to stop in time, given the speed and the fact that this van was carrying 9 people at the time. We dive under hard braking, and I hear the tires squeal as I brace myself against the seat in front of me. I would like to say that I had some profound insight into life's mysteries at that moment, but all I had time for was "Oh shit, we're gonna..."
BAM! We hit the Fiat's back right corner, sending it spinning counterclockwise, towards the culvert that went under the gas station's driveway. That it did not end up in the ditch is a miracle, but I think it did catch the driveway curb, which caused the car to barrel roll once, landing upright. Now the Fiat is almost facing us directly, and I remember looking through the opening where the windshield used to be, into the eyes of the Fiat's occupants, which were wide open in shock at what just happened. A few seconds of complete silence passed (though to me it felt like minutes) as everyone seemed to do a mental inventory of their physical selves. Am I still alive? Ok, good. What's next?
Suddenly the quiet broke into angry Polish, and people poured from their vehicles, gathering into a group in front of the battered Fiat. All except for D, C and myself, still sitting in the back of the van, wondering what else could happen. I heard "Uh, Fred, let's get the fuck outta here," realizing then that we're sitting ducks if we stay in the van, which had basically traded places with the Fiat. Safely on the side of the road, I saw the Poles were still engaged in a tense exchange with each other. We Americans removed ourselves to a shady spot far from the action to begin the decompression process. K's mom received a bump on the leg, and it looked like the driver of the Fiat banged his arm a little bit, but otherwise everyone was fine physically. My next thought was to grab the camera and snap a few pictures, but I thought better of it, it just seemed wrong at the time.
We were now killing time, waiting for the police to show up. A few locals gathered to survey the scene. D and I grabbed some Cokes (sweet-in glass bottles!). The police arrived about an hour later, administering breathalyzer tests to both drivers (both coming up .00); after a quick check of the van, we were back on our way. I have to admit, during the ride back my ass was puckered up tighter than a sheep's during WSU frat rush week, each bump and shimmy adding to my already nervous state. We finally pulled into the driveway at home, my main thought being "I could really use a nap right now." The plan to go to Lodz that day was shelved, since we got back a little late and J and K had to take J's mom to Warsaw so she could head back to the states. Instead K's sister, Kasia, took D, C and me to Lask to wander around. But that's another story.
The next morning after breakfast we toured the castle and grounds, including the town across the river. It was a beautiful sunny day, and the plan later was to head to Lodz, which at one time was the primary textile center for Europe. We were scooting back home, conversation ranging from the scenery to Polish driving habits when one of us spied a gas station named "Manhatan", which we thought kind of funny, a bit of America here in the middle of Poland. Suddenly I heard a commotion up front; coupled with a jerk left, then right, of the van, I realized quickly that something was wrong. I look to the front (D, C and I were in the very back of the minivan) and saw a little Fiat stopped in the road, presumably to turn left into the Manhatan. It was apparent that we couldn't go around, due to the lack of shoulder, and also that we weren't going to stop in time, given the speed and the fact that this van was carrying 9 people at the time. We dive under hard braking, and I hear the tires squeal as I brace myself against the seat in front of me. I would like to say that I had some profound insight into life's mysteries at that moment, but all I had time for was "Oh shit, we're gonna..."
BAM! We hit the Fiat's back right corner, sending it spinning counterclockwise, towards the culvert that went under the gas station's driveway. That it did not end up in the ditch is a miracle, but I think it did catch the driveway curb, which caused the car to barrel roll once, landing upright. Now the Fiat is almost facing us directly, and I remember looking through the opening where the windshield used to be, into the eyes of the Fiat's occupants, which were wide open in shock at what just happened. A few seconds of complete silence passed (though to me it felt like minutes) as everyone seemed to do a mental inventory of their physical selves. Am I still alive? Ok, good. What's next?
Suddenly the quiet broke into angry Polish, and people poured from their vehicles, gathering into a group in front of the battered Fiat. All except for D, C and myself, still sitting in the back of the van, wondering what else could happen. I heard "Uh, Fred, let's get the fuck outta here," realizing then that we're sitting ducks if we stay in the van, which had basically traded places with the Fiat. Safely on the side of the road, I saw the Poles were still engaged in a tense exchange with each other. We Americans removed ourselves to a shady spot far from the action to begin the decompression process. K's mom received a bump on the leg, and it looked like the driver of the Fiat banged his arm a little bit, but otherwise everyone was fine physically. My next thought was to grab the camera and snap a few pictures, but I thought better of it, it just seemed wrong at the time.
We were now killing time, waiting for the police to show up. A few locals gathered to survey the scene. D and I grabbed some Cokes (sweet-in glass bottles!). The police arrived about an hour later, administering breathalyzer tests to both drivers (both coming up .00); after a quick check of the van, we were back on our way. I have to admit, during the ride back my ass was puckered up tighter than a sheep's during WSU frat rush week, each bump and shimmy adding to my already nervous state. We finally pulled into the driveway at home, my main thought being "I could really use a nap right now." The plan to go to Lodz that day was shelved, since we got back a little late and J and K had to take J's mom to Warsaw so she could head back to the states. Instead K's sister, Kasia, took D, C and me to Lask to wander around. But that's another story.
06 August 2005
I've been published (sort of)
Discovered this as I was Googling myself (don't lie, you do it too) to see where this blog comes up in the search listings. My first attribution. I think that deserves a beer.
The site is 43 Places, which at first blush seems like flickr for travelers (they're run by a local company, so gotta support that). I'll dig around the site a little, maybe start an account, and tell you what it's like once I get a feel for it.
Oh BTW, this page doesn't come up anywhere, in the first 10 pages anyway. Gotta figure out how to change that.
The site is 43 Places, which at first blush seems like flickr for travelers (they're run by a local company, so gotta support that). I'll dig around the site a little, maybe start an account, and tell you what it's like once I get a feel for it.
Oh BTW, this page doesn't come up anywhere, in the first 10 pages anyway. Gotta figure out how to change that.
04 August 2005
Most Interesting?
Flickr says this photo is my most interesting. I have no idea what formula they use to make that determination; I think it's a combination of views, comments and number of times it's "favorited." I don't think it's my most interesting, but that's just me.
In case you're wondering, here's my least interesting photo:
In case you're wondering, here's my least interesting photo:
Jim and Kryzsia's big fat Polish wedding, Epilogue
OK, champ, walk it off. All I can do at this point is laugh at my situation, which must have looked odd, a Flip in the middle of Poland shuffling unsteadily around the block at 3 in the morning, mumbling to himself. Breathe deep. Aaaahhh, that feels better. After my lap*, I step back inside to rejoin the festivities, but without the drinking part. On the way in, I pass the men's bathroom door, which is open for me to see someone with a mop and bucket cleaning up my sadness. Our eyes meet for a split second; does he know it's me? Head down, I quickly enter the reception room.
Big mistake. The sight and smell of food sends my stomach into a violent lurch; I can't go back into the bathroom-they're still cleaning up. I see the outdoor deck and head straight for the rail...God, I hope there isn't anyone down there...and let fly. The splat splat splat from my payload hitting a metal shed down below, plus the sight of me leaning over the guardrail catches the attention of the small group gathered outside. Well, no point in trying to maintain any sense of dignity now, sitting down on the nearest bench to just not cause any further damage, though my preference at the time was to spontaneously combust.
Here's where the warmth and the hospitality of the Polish people will forever be impressed into my memory--I'm barely seated 5 minutes when one of the old guys I was drinking with brings out a cup of hot tea, motioning for me to drink; someone nearby says I need to drink it as fast as I can, which seems to have two benefits: it sobers me up quickly and also gets the taste of puke out of my mouth, since I have no more functioning tastebuds. K's uncle joins us and we "talk," about what I don't remember, but now I've forgotten (temporarily) about the episode, the fog slowly starting to lift. I remember seeing Monika one more time, she came outside to see how I was doing, then she was gone. Goddamn, I'm good.
The rest of the morning went uneventfully, for me anyway, though I spent it helping keep an eye on David, who was still completely sauced, just to make sure he didn't hurt himself. We finally piled into the van as daylight broke, driven home by a young fellow named Janusz, who patiently sat through the entire reception-without drinking, mind you, since he was driving-waiting for us Americans to ask to be taken home (David and I had spent some time the night before with Janusz talking about grunge and, oh, our testicles. Very entertaining). I think it was 7 by the time I finally sank into bed. The final box score:
Days in Poland: 2.25
Weddings attended: 1
Shots of vodka consumed (est.): 15
Bathrooms cleared: 1
Pictures taken (est.): 40
Polish babes successfully picked up: 0
*Though I didn't realize it, I find out later that Adam, K's cousin, was a few yards behind me the entire time, making sure I didn't get mugged. Many thanks.
Big mistake. The sight and smell of food sends my stomach into a violent lurch; I can't go back into the bathroom-they're still cleaning up. I see the outdoor deck and head straight for the rail...God, I hope there isn't anyone down there...and let fly. The splat splat splat from my payload hitting a metal shed down below, plus the sight of me leaning over the guardrail catches the attention of the small group gathered outside. Well, no point in trying to maintain any sense of dignity now, sitting down on the nearest bench to just not cause any further damage, though my preference at the time was to spontaneously combust.
Here's where the warmth and the hospitality of the Polish people will forever be impressed into my memory--I'm barely seated 5 minutes when one of the old guys I was drinking with brings out a cup of hot tea, motioning for me to drink; someone nearby says I need to drink it as fast as I can, which seems to have two benefits: it sobers me up quickly and also gets the taste of puke out of my mouth, since I have no more functioning tastebuds. K's uncle joins us and we "talk," about what I don't remember, but now I've forgotten (temporarily) about the episode, the fog slowly starting to lift. I remember seeing Monika one more time, she came outside to see how I was doing, then she was gone. Goddamn, I'm good.
The rest of the morning went uneventfully, for me anyway, though I spent it helping keep an eye on David, who was still completely sauced, just to make sure he didn't hurt himself. We finally piled into the van as daylight broke, driven home by a young fellow named Janusz, who patiently sat through the entire reception-without drinking, mind you, since he was driving-waiting for us Americans to ask to be taken home (David and I had spent some time the night before with Janusz talking about grunge and, oh, our testicles. Very entertaining). I think it was 7 by the time I finally sank into bed. The final box score:
Days in Poland: 2.25
Weddings attended: 1
Shots of vodka consumed (est.): 15
Bathrooms cleared: 1
Pictures taken (est.): 40
Polish babes successfully picked up: 0
*Though I didn't realize it, I find out later that Adam, K's cousin, was a few yards behind me the entire time, making sure I didn't get mugged. Many thanks.
03 August 2005
Jim and Kryzsia's big fat Polish wedding, Part 3
(This one's a little gross, if only implicitly.) 5-6 hours into the reception and things are starting to get fuzzy. The old guys seem to have taken an interest in David and I, maybe to test the Americans to see how they can handle their vodka. More likely, they're just being friendly. At any rate, I regularly find myself over at the pickle/snack table with a shot in my increasingly unsteady hand, with someone trying to tell me something very interesting in Polish. I'm having a lot of fun; I find that the more I drink, the easier it is to communicate with them-perhaps it's that I avoid abstract concepts altogether and go right to the vulgar. There's more dancing and other traditions that I see but unfortunately don't fully register (appreciate some help filling in the details here...), I remember someone drinking vodka out of a shoe, a sort of can-can line dance that seemed more Greek than Polish, and more singing.
We sit down for the 2 am course, I think it was stroganoff. Anyway, I'm 3 bites into it and my bowels start to rebel, a result of the excessive travel, pork, potatoes and various forms of cabbage over the last 3 days catching up to me. I excuse myself and shuffle off to the bathroom. As I'm sitting there, it becomes apparent that my alcohol consumption had reached the point of violent returns. Now, I haven't finished my initial project, yet this new one had been dropped into the inbox with "urgent" stamped on it, a head-scratching dilemma if ever there was one. Given my drunken state, the choice was pretty simple: I multitasked (kinda reminds me of this [ warning: funny but gross] story though the results weren't nearly as catastrophic). Miraculously, I managed to keep my suit free of flying chunks, so I cleaned up as best I could, washed up and exited the bathroom, thinking I was home free.
I needed some air, and I had two choices: back through the reception hall to the outdoor terrace or the main entrance and street downstairs. I chose street, wanting to keep a low profile with a mild embarrassment starting to set in. I picked my way down the steps slowly, mustering up the full capacity of every neuron not yet saturated with vodka. I made it down to the second to last step, proud of my pending accomplishment-suddenly I'm on my ass, looking into the shocked faces of the group gathered in the lobby, including Jim, Krzysia, and, to my horror, Monika. Goddamn these dress shoes and tiled floors! I mumbled something halfway intelligible about being fine and nearly ran out the front door, my head feeling like it was the size of a baseball.
We sit down for the 2 am course, I think it was stroganoff. Anyway, I'm 3 bites into it and my bowels start to rebel, a result of the excessive travel, pork, potatoes and various forms of cabbage over the last 3 days catching up to me. I excuse myself and shuffle off to the bathroom. As I'm sitting there, it becomes apparent that my alcohol consumption had reached the point of violent returns. Now, I haven't finished my initial project, yet this new one had been dropped into the inbox with "urgent" stamped on it, a head-scratching dilemma if ever there was one. Given my drunken state, the choice was pretty simple: I multitasked (kinda reminds me of this [ warning: funny but gross] story though the results weren't nearly as catastrophic). Miraculously, I managed to keep my suit free of flying chunks, so I cleaned up as best I could, washed up and exited the bathroom, thinking I was home free.
I needed some air, and I had two choices: back through the reception hall to the outdoor terrace or the main entrance and street downstairs. I chose street, wanting to keep a low profile with a mild embarrassment starting to set in. I picked my way down the steps slowly, mustering up the full capacity of every neuron not yet saturated with vodka. I made it down to the second to last step, proud of my pending accomplishment-suddenly I'm on my ass, looking into the shocked faces of the group gathered in the lobby, including Jim, Krzysia, and, to my horror, Monika. Goddamn these dress shoes and tiled floors! I mumbled something halfway intelligible about being fine and nearly ran out the front door, my head feeling like it was the size of a baseball.
02 August 2005
Jim and Kryzsia's big fat Polish wedding, Part 2
Pabianice feels like a holdover from the old days-lots of big gray plain apartment blocks with dour, glum people milling around. No matter, I was there to party. Now, prior to the trip, Jim had said to me earlier that one of K’s friends, Monika, would be there and they wanted to have us seated next to each other-maybe...well, just maybe. At the time I was thinking, what’s the worst that could happen? Some interesting conversation, a little dancing…at best, well, I wouldn’t dare go there. We arrive at the reception venue, a restaurant with a large room upstairs, both of which looked to have been newly remodeled. We were immediately handed a glass of champagne and waited for the newlyweds to arrive.
J carried K across the threshold, then met by K’s parents who presented them with bread and salt, symbolizing that the couple would never be without life’s necessities. We toasted, then found our seats. I ended up at the head table, next to the best man, thinking maybe there was a mistake in the seating arrangement. I was doublechecking my place card when my peripheral vision caught brown hair and blue chiffon settling into the seat next to me. Must be Monika. I introduced myself, she introduced herself. And her friend. Robert. Crap, well, no pressure now, just relax and have fun.
We were being served our first course by now, and I noticed that the little shot glass at my seat was already full of wodka, and soon after that we were on our feet for another toast. This early, people were only taking sips of their vodka, so I did likewise, immediately chasing it with a little water, or juice, whatever was on hand. Generally, food courses appeared every half hour or so,between which were toasts or some dancing or songs or encouragements to get J and K to smooch. As time went on, my sips turned into gulps turned into bottoms up, the catering staff always making sure you had a full glass.
Meanwhile, conversation with Monika went well (and admittedly with Robert also. Suppposedly he was just a "friend," and we had an interesting chat about progressive guitar rock), I learned she was living in London and, well, I was going to be passing thru London, how about that? She said I'll give you my number later and maybe show you around. He shoots, he scores! Wait, Frank, let's see the instant replay...yep, he doesn't get the number as soon as it's offered, that may come back to bite him...
J carried K across the threshold, then met by K’s parents who presented them with bread and salt, symbolizing that the couple would never be without life’s necessities. We toasted, then found our seats. I ended up at the head table, next to the best man, thinking maybe there was a mistake in the seating arrangement. I was doublechecking my place card when my peripheral vision caught brown hair and blue chiffon settling into the seat next to me. Must be Monika. I introduced myself, she introduced herself. And her friend. Robert. Crap, well, no pressure now, just relax and have fun.
We were being served our first course by now, and I noticed that the little shot glass at my seat was already full of wodka, and soon after that we were on our feet for another toast. This early, people were only taking sips of their vodka, so I did likewise, immediately chasing it with a little water, or juice, whatever was on hand. Generally, food courses appeared every half hour or so,between which were toasts or some dancing or songs or encouragements to get J and K to smooch. As time went on, my sips turned into gulps turned into bottoms up, the catering staff always making sure you had a full glass.
Meanwhile, conversation with Monika went well (and admittedly with Robert also. Suppposedly he was just a "friend," and we had an interesting chat about progressive guitar rock), I learned she was living in London and, well, I was going to be passing thru London, how about that? She said I'll give you my number later and maybe show you around. He shoots, he scores! Wait, Frank, let's see the instant replay...yep, he doesn't get the number as soon as it's offered, that may come back to bite him...
Jim and Kryzsia's big fat Polish wedding, Part 1
A thunderstorm rolled through the area just minutes before the ceremony was about to start, sending the guests scurrying to the church’s front door. J and K arrived last; their journey from home had been interrupted several times by “roadblocks” put up by the locals. This was one of the traditions-neighbors who were not attending the wedding block the bride and groom’s caravan, their free passage to the church in exchange for some vodka (most Polish traditions seem to involve vodka in some fashion-gotta love it). The ceremony itself was not all that different than the Catholic weddings I’ve attended here, which made it easy to follow along, even though I couldn’t understand what exactly was being said all the time.
01 August 2005
Monster Engine
Dave Devries is an artist who takes children's artwork and fleshes them out a bit...does he capture the exact spirit of the kids' imaginations or does his interpretations become something else entirely? I tend to think the latter, in the sense that his art is probably not as vivid as the picture the original artist had in mind. In any case, I like it.
Old and New Europe
Up early, damn this jet lag--this article from the NYT talks about Ljubljana's transformation from sleepy Central European hideaway to emerging destination for travelers. FWIW, my experiences there were similar; there was an accommodation/recognition of the tourist industry (e.g. the cheesy "train" that shuttles people from Preseren Square up to the castle), yet I saw tons of locals going about their daily business, living their lives. It's a fine balance between maintaining a tradition/civic identity while also becoming a "modern" city. Something that most cities struggle with, I imagine.
It will be interesting to visit again in maybe 10 years, to see how things have changed, or not. It seems to me that the Slovenes will cope better than their neighbors; they seem to be a pragmatic people, and have a strong economy that already puts them in an advantageous position, despite only having joined the EU in the last couple of years.
It will be interesting to visit again in maybe 10 years, to see how things have changed, or not. It seems to me that the Slovenes will cope better than their neighbors; they seem to be a pragmatic people, and have a strong economy that already puts them in an advantageous position, despite only having joined the EU in the last couple of years.
31 July 2005
One final souvenir...
So I get home and there's a message on my machine about a car accident...I figure it's old or a followup to one of the ones (yes that's plural) from a few months back. I get up this morning and find this. Any post-vacation buzz is completely gone, and I haven't even been in town 24 hours.
Fuck fuck fuckety fuck-more insurance hell.
Edit/Update 8.12.05: Got a call back from Progressive; the repair estimate came in at about $4200. Whoa!
Fuck fuck fuckety fuck-more insurance hell.
Edit/Update 8.12.05: Got a call back from Progressive; the repair estimate came in at about $4200. Whoa!
30 July 2005
I'm back, biatches!
I've returned to the land of Wal-Mart and man-boobs, a little worse for wear after a long day flying. Looking forward to some real sleep.
Even though my trip is over, I'll keep adding to this, some stories that I wanted to tell but didn't have the time, observations, questions, etc...
Even though my trip is over, I'll keep adding to this, some stories that I wanted to tell but didn't have the time, observations, questions, etc...
28 July 2005
London
a quickie, at a free teminal at my hotel just off piccadilly
circus...even after being in central europe for the last 3 weeks, i
have never feared for my life as much as i have in the last 3 hours
here...keep forgetting abour the driving on the left side thing,
nearly run over by several taxis on more than one occassion...noticed
they paint 'look left' and 'look right' in the crosswalks for idiots
like me...i'll buzz thru the main sights tomorrow and call it a
july...see you back home.
27 July 2005
Dubrovnik
Woke up yesterday morning early, there was already someone waiting for my room, plus a couple more on the way from the train station. So I settle my bill, gather my stuff and head to the bus station to hang out. 5 hot, crowded, sweaty hours later, we pull into the bus station just outside of Dubrovnik. (An aside: theres a discontinuity of about 10 miles of Croatian mainland, where Bosnia & Herzegovina claims a sliver of coastline, so technically, thats another country Ive been to-hopefully its not under dispute). I haggle (ok, not really-more like look like Im thinking about it, but end up agreeing to the initial price) for a sobe and we catch a ride up to the hills above the coast. This one is one of the licensed ones, and is more like a small 6 room motel with shared bathrooms. Accommodations are veeeerrrryyyy basic, but works. Its a little further away from the Old Town than I hoped, and its all downhill (which means all uphill coming back) but I eventually find my way there.
Dubrovnik feels more Italian than anything, even the Serbo-Croatian has a bit of Italian lilt to it. Its fun to stroll the strada in the evening just people watching, or catch some live music in one of the many outdoor cafes. Whats great is that the locals mix with the tourists, and the whole place becomes a sort of giant outdoor night club. Very romantic, I guess. Today, Ill catch a few more sights and try to stay out of the sun (got a nice burn in Split), then its off to London tomorrow before coming home Saturday. I think Im ready to come home; its been fun, but im tired and missing Seattle.
Dubrovnik feels more Italian than anything, even the Serbo-Croatian has a bit of Italian lilt to it. Its fun to stroll the strada in the evening just people watching, or catch some live music in one of the many outdoor cafes. Whats great is that the locals mix with the tourists, and the whole place becomes a sort of giant outdoor night club. Very romantic, I guess. Today, Ill catch a few more sights and try to stay out of the sun (got a nice burn in Split), then its off to London tomorrow before coming home Saturday. I think Im ready to come home; its been fun, but im tired and missing Seattle.
25 July 2005
Split
Split is a coastal city about 100 miles north of Dubrovnik, a nice stop and jumping off point for exploring the Dalmatian coast. Unfortunately, boats to Dubrovnik run only on Sundays and Mondays, so I have to shitcan that idea and just take the bus. Hopefully I'll have a nice window seat with a view of the water.
I took the night train from Zagreb, my last train leg for this trip. I had high hopes of fulfilling my fantasy of sharing a compartment with 5 cute coeds (boom chick-a bow-wow!) in search of themselves; instead, I get 3 sweaty Croats (dudes, of course). It didn't take long before that compartment started smelling like B.O., bad breath and moldy dog ass, my contribution to which being more than I care to imagine. We arrive in Split at 6 this morning, so I stow my bag and hit the sights before the city wakes up. The main attraction of the city, besides being on the Adriatic, is the Roman Emperor Diocletian's retirement home, a 600x600' palace right in the middle of the city.
Here in Croatia people don't greet you with "Hello." Instead, they say "Sobe?" which means "room." An underground industry of renting out private rooms to backpackers seems to flourish here, so I decide what the hell. I talk to an old lady, we agree on a price (160 kuna, about 25 bucks) and follow her home, about 5 minutes outside of the town center. I thought it was her home, but I think she's just a runner, because the owners of the home have already prepared their living room for me. Just like staying at grandma's house.
I took the night train from Zagreb, my last train leg for this trip. I had high hopes of fulfilling my fantasy of sharing a compartment with 5 cute coeds (boom chick-a bow-wow!) in search of themselves; instead, I get 3 sweaty Croats (dudes, of course). It didn't take long before that compartment started smelling like B.O., bad breath and moldy dog ass, my contribution to which being more than I care to imagine. We arrive in Split at 6 this morning, so I stow my bag and hit the sights before the city wakes up. The main attraction of the city, besides being on the Adriatic, is the Roman Emperor Diocletian's retirement home, a 600x600' palace right in the middle of the city.
Here in Croatia people don't greet you with "Hello." Instead, they say "Sobe?" which means "room." An underground industry of renting out private rooms to backpackers seems to flourish here, so I decide what the hell. I talk to an old lady, we agree on a price (160 kuna, about 25 bucks) and follow her home, about 5 minutes outside of the town center. I thought it was her home, but I think she's just a runner, because the owners of the home have already prepared their living room for me. Just like staying at grandma's house.
24 July 2005
Ljubljana
Until I met Tracy (the receptionist at the office), I had never even heard of Slovenia; of course, it didnt really exist (in its current form) until 1991, when it seceded from the Yugoslav republic. Everything has been a bit of a suprise, from the old world charm of its capital, Ljubljana, to the modern and sleek transportation infrastructure. So, Ive been living la dolce vita here in Ljubljana for the last 24 hours and while it has plenty of the old, theres a remarkable dose of modern. Most of that comes from Joze Plecnik, sort of the Gaudi of Ljubljana. Ive covered the sights (castle, some squares, bridges, market) in just a few hours; the rest of the time is spent sitting in some riverside cafe just people-watching, or strolling down the promenade, gelato in hand.
Tonight, Ill take the train back to Zagreb, then connect with the night train to Split. Beaches, here I come!
Tonight, Ill take the train back to Zagreb, then connect with the night train to Split. Beaches, here I come!
Budapest
Now heres a city that I would like to know better. Forget about that earlier post that claims Krakow is the next Paris; I think that crown belongs to Budapest. That said, Im gonna stop trying to compare cities like this-for one thing, I havent even been to Paris and every city has its own character that gets lost in those comparisons. Budapest is complex and subtle, cosmopolitan, conscious of its history yet forward looking, basically everything you expect of a world capital. I hope to return sooner than later.
Wednesday: I always have about an hour of frustration when arriving in a new city-getting my bearings, getting money (and getting small bills), figuring out transportation, etc. Budapest is no exception. So again, I find myself humping my stuff over to my hotel, which is just off Andrassy Ut, one of the main drags thru town, in the diplomatic section of Budapest (the Chinese embassy is a few buildings away). Its also 2 blocks from a metro stop-Budapests underground metro system is, well, charming. Its pretty shallow, the stations are small, tiled and clean, and the trains run about every 3 minutes. I explore the downtown reaches of Andrassy, head down Vajza Utca-the tourist shop gauntlet and stop in the Great Market Hall at the southern end. The hall is a giant arcade with ground floor produce, meat and bread vendors, with souvenir stalls and a few street food joints up above. Sounds a little like Pike Place, but not really. There dont seem to be any of the individual producers and doesnt have the street fair vibe of Seattle. I got a big plate of goulash and a coke for about $4-great place for a quick lunch. For dinner, I hang out with my fellow yuppies at one of the trendy eateries along Franz Liszt square.
Thursday: Ride the funicular to the top of Castle Hill. Nothing too remarkable, except that theyre excavating what was a former Jewish settlement. I grab a burger at TGI Fridays-western restaurants are everywhere and I hear thats what people around here do. Besides, Im in the mood for a burger.
Friday: Visit the House of Terror, which documents the reign of two separate, yet equally harsh regimes-the Arrowcross (sort of like a Hungarian Gestapo), and the AVO, which was the Communist secret police. The museum is in their former HQ, and features a Soviet tank atop a reflecting pool, with pictures of victims lining the walls of the atrium. Powerful. Later, I toured the Hungarian Parliament building and strolled along the Danube.
Wednesday: I always have about an hour of frustration when arriving in a new city-getting my bearings, getting money (and getting small bills), figuring out transportation, etc. Budapest is no exception. So again, I find myself humping my stuff over to my hotel, which is just off Andrassy Ut, one of the main drags thru town, in the diplomatic section of Budapest (the Chinese embassy is a few buildings away). Its also 2 blocks from a metro stop-Budapests underground metro system is, well, charming. Its pretty shallow, the stations are small, tiled and clean, and the trains run about every 3 minutes. I explore the downtown reaches of Andrassy, head down Vajza Utca-the tourist shop gauntlet and stop in the Great Market Hall at the southern end. The hall is a giant arcade with ground floor produce, meat and bread vendors, with souvenir stalls and a few street food joints up above. Sounds a little like Pike Place, but not really. There dont seem to be any of the individual producers and doesnt have the street fair vibe of Seattle. I got a big plate of goulash and a coke for about $4-great place for a quick lunch. For dinner, I hang out with my fellow yuppies at one of the trendy eateries along Franz Liszt square.
Thursday: Ride the funicular to the top of Castle Hill. Nothing too remarkable, except that theyre excavating what was a former Jewish settlement. I grab a burger at TGI Fridays-western restaurants are everywhere and I hear thats what people around here do. Besides, Im in the mood for a burger.
Friday: Visit the House of Terror, which documents the reign of two separate, yet equally harsh regimes-the Arrowcross (sort of like a Hungarian Gestapo), and the AVO, which was the Communist secret police. The museum is in their former HQ, and features a Soviet tank atop a reflecting pool, with pictures of victims lining the walls of the atrium. Powerful. Later, I toured the Hungarian Parliament building and strolled along the Danube.
Prague
I wanted to like it more than I did; dont get me wrong-its a wonderful city and I will return someday, but I think the focus on tourism got to me after awhile. I know, Im a tourist, but that machine works a little too well, I couldnt really get a feel for what the city is really like. Despite the horror stories of naive tourists getting ripped off left and right, I think I came out relatively ok. The highlights:
Saturday: I was >< that close to selling my body just to get 80 crowns to buy a transit ticket-the bankomats (ATMs) only give out big bills and the small vendors around here freak out when you try to buy a coke with a 10,000 crown bill. So I walked to the Old Town and took in the sights: Wenceslas Square, Kings Walk, Charles Bridge, Town Square. One interesting sight off the beaten path is the Mucha Museum-featuring works of the Art Deco artist famous for his Parisian posters. The hotel is way out of the way in one of the neighborhoods, but right on a tram line so getting there wasnt too bad.
Sunday: More wandering around...
Monday: Hiked up the hill to Prague Castle. A lot of the major sights in Prague are being restored, which is good, but didnt make for good photos.
Tuesday: Side trip to Cesky Krumlov, a little town about 4 hours south by train. Toured the Castle grounds (what self-respecting medieval town doesnt have a castle?) and watched tourists float down the Vltva river. Theres one little section with some rapids where the kayakers and rafters try to make it through; some did, most didnt. Then back to Prague for the night train to Budapest.
Saturday: I was >< that close to selling my body just to get 80 crowns to buy a transit ticket-the bankomats (ATMs) only give out big bills and the small vendors around here freak out when you try to buy a coke with a 10,000 crown bill. So I walked to the Old Town and took in the sights: Wenceslas Square, Kings Walk, Charles Bridge, Town Square. One interesting sight off the beaten path is the Mucha Museum-featuring works of the Art Deco artist famous for his Parisian posters. The hotel is way out of the way in one of the neighborhoods, but right on a tram line so getting there wasnt too bad.
Sunday: More wandering around...
Monday: Hiked up the hill to Prague Castle. A lot of the major sights in Prague are being restored, which is good, but didnt make for good photos.
Tuesday: Side trip to Cesky Krumlov, a little town about 4 hours south by train. Toured the Castle grounds (what self-respecting medieval town doesnt have a castle?) and watched tourists float down the Vltva river. Theres one little section with some rapids where the kayakers and rafters try to make it through; some did, most didnt. Then back to Prague for the night train to Budapest.
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