Time is meaninglessly meaningful…

My apologies for the long entry. One may consider this a novel, actually…

Well, my trip to Milan and Nice, along with the inadvertent visits to Genova, Savona, Antibes, and Cannes, has come to a close. Aside from a few oopsies primarily involving travel planning, it was absolutely wonderful!

First and foremost, a note about my own sanity: I’ve been in Europe for well over two months now, meaning you would think I am used to 24-hour time telling now. Well, I’m not. I bought the tickets to go to and from the Frankfurt Hahn Airport via the shuttle bus AND tickets to and from Milan via RyanAir planes. The problem is, for both the bus ticket to Hahn and the flight to Milan, I failed to notice my ticket said 5:00 to the airport, and 6:45 to Milan… which is problematic, being that I thought they meant “pm” whereas they actually meant “am.” Oops.

So, I literally bought two invalid tickets. Oops. Or, as Kurt Vonnegut says (whose novel Breakfast of Champions I just finished reading), “so it goes.” But, in all actuality it was not a total fail: the bus, whose ticket I had to re-buy upon its arrival at the tune of double the price of the original ticket I bought by mistake [12 Euro for the first, 24 for the one I had to buy on-the-spot],  was almost 45 minutes late. Although my original ticket was for 5 am rather than 5pm, there WAS supposed to be a bus at 5pm too. Because it was so late due to the first rain I’ve seen in a while, I missed the flight I thought I was catching anyway.

So. Yeah. Because the Hahn airport is so small, I couldn’t sleep in it as I planned to as soon as I realized my mammoth mistake. Luckily for me, there was a hotel right across the street, so I bit the bullet and stayed the night there after fighting to buy a last-minute flight to Milan the next morning. Naturally, this ticket cost 4 times as much as the original one I bought, and when all was said and done, I spent $180 on a one-way one-hour flight.

So it goes.

In any event, I found the next morning that I had barely enough time to catch my flight; RyanAir requires a pre-security passport/visa check at the baggage checking counter for all non-EU citizens, and this often takes forever. Although I was in the airport (directly across the street from where I stayed… and keep in mind this airport is literally in the middle of nowhere, a 45 minute drive from Frankfurt itself) an hour early, I barely made the flight. But I did, and Milan I came!

I arrived in Milan around 8am, and without any difficulty got the rental car and was on my way! I got a four-door Fiat, my first ever Italian car! It was perfectly acceptable: good AC (for it was hot in France), acceptable stereo, stick (as every car is here). It did take me a few minutes to figure out how to get it in reverse, but hey… details.

For the first time in my life and in a totally foreign land, I based my traveling solely based on seeing road signs. And, I must say: for the most part, they are impeccable! Sometimes I’d find myself a bit lost, but if you generally trust that you’ll see another sign saying where you want to go, you’re almost always in the clear. It was a bit difficult keeping an eye on the signs and seeing the road, traffic, and beautiful scenery by myself without a navigator, but I somehow managed.

Before I ramble on and on of the wonderfulness of France and Italy, let me just say this: if you ever want to commit suicide, try driving in Milan. Road signs are adequate (albeit within the city, they seemed circular as hell), but the PEOPLE are absolutely psychotic. Remember how I said it was odd that Brussels had no lines on the road? Well, likewise in Milan… except that the drivers made absolutely no attempt whatsoever to keep in any kind of pattern.

Traffic was similar to what I saw in New York City, and, in fact, Milan extremely reminded me of NYC. Similar architecture, similar big-ness… but absolutely a nightmare to drive in. It did not help that it was raining-to-pouring the whole time I was there, but the total lack of respect of any traffic laws made it one of the most nerve racking experiences of my life. And this is someone who typically has no nerves to rack.

It was incredulous: the tram tracks ran straight through the streets with no separation, and cars/scooters (which obeyed laws even less, cutting head of cars any time they could squeeze between them) could ride right over the tram tracks. When a tram started coming, you’d better get out of their way! This didn’t seem to bother the Italians…

Another thing that blew my mind: parking was impossible to find, so the Italians would double-row parallel park. This means out of a potential 3 lanes, two of them would have cars parked in them. How the first row could get out to leave, I have no idea. Wait, yes I do: they hopped the curb and rode along the sidewalk until they could reach the next block. Oh yes. And people, should they not find a place to park, would just park right in the middle of the street for everyone to go around. And there were a LOT of us.

Anyway, due to the rain, I didn’t get to explore the city on foot much, only getting out and exploring the magnificent and gargantuous train station in the center of the city, which was effectively its own city. I did, however, get to see much of the city in the hour or so I spent lost trying to go south to the Mediterranean after I decided Milan was not my cup of tea. Thinking positive here, right?

Unfortunately, Milan is the only city I have visited in Europe thus far that I have not felt safe. Even thinking outside the realm of the insane driving, the city is quite dirty and just gave me the feeling I should watch my back when I walked about for the hour-ish that I did. That is unfortunate, but keep in mind here that this mentality is from someone not so inclined to gravitate towards large, large cities anyway.

So, moving on. After finding my way to the A7 (their toll interstate going south to Genova, the city closest to Milan on the coast of the Mediterranean), I traveled about in peace for a few hours. The landscape in Italy is amazing: after riding for over an hour in the most flat country I’ve seen apart from part of Belgium in Europe, all the sudden I hit mountains. These weren’t Rocky Mountains by any means, but certainly more unpredictable than the Appalachians on the East Coast.

Keep in mind it still rains from time to time here. That plus among the winding roads made it a bit dangerous, but the interstate was very well maintained with ample warning signs making the trip easy. The hardest part, actually, was keeping watch on the road; the scenery was spectacular!

By the time I reached Genova, which I chose solely due to the fact that I wanted to go to the Mediterranean for the first time, the weather had cleared somewhat, and was totally clear by the time I left. My first sighting of the Mediterranean was magnificent! It is absolutely spectacular! I never thought the water would be as blue as it is in the Carribbean, but it is!

After stopping in a huge mall on accident, I found the city center and parked right by the harbor. What a good call and change in pace from Milan! It is a far smaller city, situated on the mountains touching the sea. It reminded me a bit of California in its mountains-meet-ocean feel, but far older obviously. Apparently, Christopher Columbus sailed from Genova at one point!

During various wars, it was bombed to bits according to the information signs denoting the city’s history. You could never guess, though; it was quite beautifully restored. 

Randomly, as I was walking up towards a huge mountain just a bit away from the harbor (I wanted a good view), a bird fell out of the sky inches from my next step. That was a bit odd. Random dead bird falling out of the sky…

The walk up the hill liked to have killed me, but it was so worth it for the view; you could see most of Genova overlooking the Mediterranean Sea. Words can’t describe the view, so I’ll just have to leave it at this: breath-taking.

I enjoyed an Italian beer and true Italian pizza (thin crust, just like the way my Grandmother cooks it) overlooking the harbor as the sun set afterwards, just as though I were in some kind of larger-than-life movie, before heading off toward Nice. 

As an aside, I must say: I am extremely thankful to have been born in an English-speaking country. While not everyone speaks English, most speak enough to at least help you get by. My Italian is lacking, albeit it is similar to Spanish so I can figure out a bit… but still, having menus at restaurants almost always available in English is awesome! The Italians, I’ve noticed, speak far less English than Germany though. But then again, I think EVERY country speaks less English than Germans do.

Another aside: I amused myself as I caught myself trying to speak German in Italy and France. It’s not like I can speak German in any proficiency, but I’m used to trying to speak it now it seems. The Italians were not so amused.

The Italians also love oldies. Restaurants and the radio was full of it, including Italian partial-remakes of American oldies. Seriously, some songs would have the verses in Italian with the chorus of an American song in the original English. Funny!

Speaking of restaurants, while I’m in my aside mode, if you come to Europe keep this in mind: when you dine at a restaurant, it is meant to be an experience, not service-oriented get your food and go as we have in America. When you get a table, the server will take your order and that is about it. When you need something, you must politely signal to them that you are in need.

Another thing about restaurants: drinks are not endless refills. So, if you order a Coke, you get a Coke. Then you can order another. Likewise with water in most places: you get a glass bottle of water. Make sure you order still water, too, else many places will automatically upcharge you to sparkling water, which… sucks.

After leaving Genova, I got lost (surprise). I assumed I would see a sign for Nice at some point, but I was wrong. Luckily I knew what direction it was in, and followed the signs to Savona literally right along the Mediterranean  until I got there. However, being that it was dark and the road was winding along constantly in deadly bottlenecks, it was slow going. I did try to reach the interstate again (called Autostrasse or something, although that would be German for street…), but after Savona, the signs pointing to which directions the interstate went had names on them  (not cardinal directions) that I didn’t recognize, so I guessed and eventually stopped at a rest area on the interstate and slept in the car.

Rest stops in Italy and France seem to be state-controlled. Although they have different gas stations and whatnot, the only access to them is similar to the way the Florida Turnpike operates: you can only access via the toll-paying interstate. Luckily, they let you park overnight, so that’s what I did. 

Just for kicks and giggles, I wanted to see if I could sleep in the Fiat’s trunk. I could! After a few hours, though, I got out again; it was far too hot. Still, though, I can officially say I’ve slept in a car trunk. Why I would want to, I don’t know. But I did!

When I woke up, I realized some random Italian thought it was funny to key the side of my shiny new rental car. How sweet of them.

Speaking of tolls: beware! Taking the interstate in Italy especially is EXPENSIVE. I bet over the course of the trip I paid 60 Euros in tolls! That is almost $100! For tolls! Of course, I must say… the roads were impeccable, even though the terrain was treacherous. Still, $100? That’s ridiculous. Especially considering every half a tank I filled the Fiat up with cost upward of 50 Euros. Luckily, I could go about 400 kilometers on half a tank, but still… the trip got more expensive than I anticipated quickly, especially after my airline issues.

The next morning, I reached France… and Nice! Oh, gorgeous, gorgeous, gorgeous. Nice is everything people have said it is! I got to the beach, and I must say: I was reluctant to explore any more after finding the ocean even more beautiful than in Genova, as if it were going anywhere. 

But, being that I was to explore Nice with my aunt the next day, I moved on. By midday, I had taken a wrong turn (again) and ended up in the city of Antibes. I cannot express how happy I am that I am terrible about getting lost; it allows me to end up in cities like Antibes!

Having never heard of it, yet it being about a 30 minute drive from Nice, I decided I may as well get out and take a look. The harbor I parked by was gorgeous, as one would be on the Mediterranean, and the backdrop on the next poking-out landmass was a large fort-looking building. I didn’t get to explore it, but as I was walking towards the “ramparts” to get a view of the ocean, I discovered the city center.

Wow!

I must say, even now that the trip is over, Antibes was probably my favorite of the cities I visited on this trip. It didn’t necessarily have different magnificent views than Nice, Genova, Cannes, or Monaco, but the way in which the historic city center was situated on a cliff directly above the beautiful sea, along with the small-ness of the city compared to the larger others I just mentioned, made it simply lovely to me. I excitedly explored the quaint beach, taking in the light breeze as though it were some form of drug, and made my way up the hill to the old cathedral. 

Many European cities have a design like this, whereby the church is abreast a hill to dominate over the city. In this case, though, part of the church (as best as I could discern) had been converted into a series of museums, with Pablo Picasso’s central to them all. I did not go into them, but the view from the outside was wonderful!

The city itself, as to be expected, was a bit touristy, but not nearly to the degree that any of the other cities I visited were. I did find a new “old man” hat to temporarily replace the one I lost in England several weeks ago, and am quite happy with it. The Asian lady inside said I looked just like her son in it, too… so I figure that’s a good sign.

Although I hated to leave Antibes, I am not one of those people to go into every shop and building I see; to me, a shop is a shop regardless of the city it’s in. The views and the feeling of the cities I visit are what matter to me, and Antibes got the gold star award from me. So, after spending a few hours, I decided to move on to Cannes, which was only another 30 minutes down the road or so.

This time, I didn’t get lost, so I was in Cannes by 4pm or so. What can I say… Cannes is beautiful too! I got the feeling it was of similar size and statute of Nice (which, keep in mind, I had not yet really explored), but its beaches were sand rather than rock. I’m pretty sure they brought in sand from Egypt for this feature, but hey… it’s still a sand beach!

Two cruise ships were docked outside the city, giving a lovely emphasis against the sea beyond to gaze upon. To enjoy this, I decided eventually to rest at a little eatery overlooking this view and have a French beer. Noticing a theme here? I want to have tried a beer from every country I’ve visited. The Germans still reign true, needless to say.

Here, though, is time for one of those momentous occasions: I took my first walk on a Mediterranean beach in the sea itself! Cold, yes, but not terribly so. It’s so clear! And blue! I just can’t get over it; I was expecting pretty, but not Caribbean-pretty!

I only stayed in Cannes a few hours, and after dining I drove up to the top of a mountain just behind the city (again, on accident) and got to see spectacular views of the city and ocean from the top. I love getting lost, and luckily for me, I’m damn good at doing so.

Just to make sure I’d be on time to pick up my aunt at Nice Cote d’Azur Airport(the Blue Coast), I decided to head back to Nice. When I realized there was nowhere I could think to park overnight (as I was too broke to buy a hotel again after my airline mishap), I decided to just park in the airport parking. Unfortunately, there aren’t places like Wal-Mart parking lots to spend nights in as in America. I could have again at one of the interstate rest stops, but then I’d of had to pay the toll again and risk getting the car keyed again. So, airport it was.

Having nothing better to do in the night, I went into the airport, pretending I was waiting on someone, and charged my phone while reading the rest of my Vonnegut novel. So, around midnight, I popped back into the parking garage to snooze, and snooze I did! Luckily for me, I can sleep anywhere.

Naturally, I had to choose the one parking garage in the world that blasts classical music and announcements all night… but I sleep like a rock, so no problem there.

I used the morning hours waiting for my aunt in the airport filling out postcards that I had backlogged on. It was good I did so, because the flight my aunt was on from Madrid was delayed an hour, but upon her arrival we hit up the city of Nice!

Parking, as everywhere, was a pain… but we managed to find somewhere after checking in at the Hotel Beau Rivage (classical French name there). With just a slight peak out of the right side of our window, we could see the sea! I’ll attach Facebook links for pictures toward the end of this entry.

The next few days we dined, drank, walked, and otherwise explored the beautiful city of Nice. I must say, by the end of our stay there, we had a pretty good handle on the city! One of the days we actually hiked up a small mountain overlooking the city, and just like in Genova, it was spectacular! Seeing history (the mountain hosted the ruins of a 1500s castle/fortress) mixed with the beauty of the French Rivera is one of those things even I could never forget.

Food in France? Fantastic. Although, just as everywhere I’ve been, the most popular food appears to be Italian. No problem there! Still, we dined in style, with many views of the Mediterranean and lovely shopping districts in Nice throughout our 3-ish day stay. 

Naturally, we had to also try the Champagne. I must say… I don’t typically like champagne, but having it in France just makes it good plain and simple. We tried several wines too, but I must say… German beer is far better than French wine to me. But I’m not classy, so my opinion is moot.

We also hit up a few Irish pubs on several of the nights, and considered ourselves “regulars” after visiting more than once. I’d say we were! We even found a pup with Desperados on tap, a French beer I may have mentioned before that tastes like a slightly sweet Corona. It says it’s flavored with tequila, but you can’t really taste it… still, it’s awesome!

Aside time again: France truly surprised me. I was expecting it to be beautiful, but not as beautiful as it actually was. I was expecting the French language to be beautiful with its speakers snobby. In fact, though, the language was beautiful and those speaking it were nothing but pleasant anywhere I went! Of all the places I have visited thus, I think France, at least Southern France, is a place I could live; the weather, scenery, and people are all simply gorgeous.

Speaking of gorgeous, I cannot emphasize this point enough: the French people, as a whole, are the most beautiful people I have ever seen. In all of the places I went, the French I saw (excluding those not speaking French, of course) looked, on the whole, like a collection of magazine models. I rarely become speechless, as it is against my very essence of being, but on a trip down the elevator at our hotel one morning a lovely lady joined me, and I could not even say “Bonjour!”

But I digress.

As lovely as France was, we obviously had to leave eventually… so the morning after our final night (in which, rather than pub hop, we stayed in our room and DJ’ed classic songs over French champagne… again, just as if we were in a movie), I escorted my aunt back to the airport and headed East towards Italy. 

My intention at first was to head to Savona again to see it in the daylight, as it had been quite pretty. However, I saw a sign for Monaco on the way there and decided to stop for a spell just so see what it was all about.

WOW. That’s all I can say.

First and foremost, I thank myself for my total lack of planning again; you can’t find things this pretty when you plan everything, if for no other reason than the fact that you have no expectations about a place you don’t contemplate beforehand. Monaco is no exception.

Second, I must regretfully admit that I did not realize there was a difference in the country of Monaco and that of Morocco. I fail at geography. Boy, was I wrong.

The city/country itself is, without a doubt, the single richest cities I have ever been in. Everything was absolutely ornate beyond belief, and the city was clean as a whistle. Even construction zones were kept tidy! And, to top it off, the city of Monte Carlo (which I have yet to figure out if it is the Principality of Monaco’s sole city or not… the city’s four districts all run together) sits just above the beauty of the sea. Beautiful!

From what I gathered, the Monaco Grand Prix had just occurred during the last week in Monaco. I confess, even though I am what the Brits call a “petro head,” aka car fanatic, I have no idea what this Grand Prix entails. All I know is, there were temporary bleachers and stands setup alongside massive lighting banks throughout the city, and apparently one week before, massive Formula One series cars blasted through the inner city itself. 

Yes, you heard correct: the world’s fastest cars flew throughout the very heart of Monte Carlo, the city I consider the richest city I’ve ever seen. That means cars with more horsepower than sense flew past Cartier, Louis Vouttion, and Prada establishments like they were convenience stores.

This being said, I finally realized the point of the double-barriers along the major roads throughtout the city and the steel rope extending beyond it. You’d think this would be hideous, but actually it was barely noticeable against the backdrop of the sea and the overly ornate buildings throughout the city!

I probably walked more in Monaco than anywhere else the entire trip, and I had walked a lot. I walked the entire length of the harbor area, which was quite a feat in of itself without considering one side of it was another relatively high mountain. That uphill bit was totally worth it, though; the views from there were probably the best I have seen of the sea thus!

I got to see the Prince’s Palace, as Monaco is truly a Principality, alongside many historic buildings including a cathedral and the city’s famous Casino. It was absolutely nothing to see two Ferrari supercars in a row cruising down the street, followed by several Porches, Audis, and Mercedes supercars. Like you do. 

I even saw the world’s fastest production car put-putting down the road: the Bugatti Veyron. Like you do.

At the Casino, I also got to see several Rolls Royce’s, a Bentley, and several cars I had never even heard of. 

Considering I am a car addict (as I have discussed previously my addiction to Top Gear), this was essentially the 40 virgins in heaven for me.

I again dined on the Mediterranean sea with a view of the whole harbor, but as paradise cannot last forever, I again headed out of Monte Carlo.

The city is truly fantastic: on one side, a mountain complete with among the most ornate buildings I have thus seen. In the harbor’s center, some of the most beautiful yachts I have seen. On the other side, man-made beaches. All of it? Spectacular.

Finding my way out of the city, as usual, was a bit difficult and treacherous; there’s simply no easy way to climb hundreds of feet up mountainous terrain in a really small amount of space. Still, I made it out, and as the sun finally set, headed back to Milan, where I flew out the next morning. The views, again, were so wonderful that it was all I could do to keep up with the French and Italian fast drivers on the very windy roads.

Yes, I had to drive through Milan again when I got near the airport, because apparently there is no bypass around the city that I could find. Yes, I thought I was lost for a while, but somehow managed to figure out that I needed the interstate headed towards Venice (which you should know is Valencia in Italian, just as Milan is Milano in Italian and Mailand in German…). After refueling again and sleeping in my Fiat for the last night, I returned the rental car early in the morning and, after again nearly missing my flight, caught the plane to Frankfurt Hahn.

I should note here, too, that I had to re-buy both my return flight and its accompanying bus shuttle to Trier due to my mistakenly thinking my Aunt was leaving a day earlier than I thought. This one was cheaper than the $180 I paid for the first, but still expensive. And still stupid of me having bought two plane tickets and two bus tickets for nothing. But… “so it goes.”

Naturally, as soon as I was back in Trier by noon, I had classes from 2pm-7pm, so I was beat.

Luckily, actually, today has been relatively overcast (Wednesday June 8), so I’ve been more motivated to sit here and detail my recent travels. I now have many things due in the coming month, including one paper and two presentations, but… there’s always tomorrow, right?

Coming up in the fast European life of Sam: Friday I leave for Poland to visit the Nazi concentration camp I mentioned before, then Barcelona, then Rome, then the three day music festival, then Trier for literally one day, then Paris! All in all, aside from tomorrow, I will be back in Trier for less than two whole days until June 26! They say life is wasted on the young, and again: I disagree.

But: views such as those offered on the Mediterranean coast made me rethink the materialism that, prior to Europe, I had lived by. After seeing this raw beauty, I’ve decided that to be happy, you don’t necessarily need wealth and/or “things.” What you need are moments, and the French Riviera provided those in abundance. It will be hard to top it.

Facebook Links:

Genova:

http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.2026774639704.2120076.1554191092&l=2e86c50e14

Nice:

http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.2026804160442.2120078.1554191092&l=971c3d8c0f

Monaco:

http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.2026869762082.2120081.1554191092&l=707a611f1c

The newest Olympic sport: Drinking.

In the spirit of remembering better than our recent Beer Olympics, I figured I may add a sub entry to cover the past few days.

To start with, now that my computer is alive… again… one of the American girls from West Virginia and I have decided to undertake a trans-European adventure during the week of Pentecost, the week that I was originally slated to road trip to Prague, Vienna, and Munich. Well, if I hadn’t already said, those plans fell through and I thus have gone to plan B.

We’re flying out of Frankfurt Hahn on June 10 to Poland, the city of which escapes me. All I know is it is roughly an hour out of Auschwitz, the infamous Nazi concentration camp. I confess that this is not exactly high on my priority list of places to go in Europe due to its depressing history, but I think it will be a good experience. That, and my friend is a psychology major who cites it as one of her must-go places before leaving Europe.

The fact that plane tickets to and from Poland are dirt cheap doesn’t hurt either. Search me as to why this is… everyone I’ve spoken to that has visited Poland says it’s a beautiful country, so I’m not sure why airlines are bribing people with low prices to go there. For example: flying to Barcelona from Frankfurt Hahn costs roughly 100 Euros. From Poland? 12. That’s worth the flight to Poland as it is, being that flights into Poland are only 22 Euros right now. Two cities for the price of one! (Technically, far more… but you get the idea)

Speaking of Barcelona: that’s where we fly to from Poland on June 12, two days after our Polish arrival. I just watched a movie about Barcelona at an event the university’s international organization put on [Spanish Abend (night)], and the shots were beautiful. Penelope Cruz being in it was certainly not hurting the movie’s case either. Not that it is particularly a surprise in either case… when one thinks Barcelona, one thinks beauty. Likewise for Penelope. But maybe that’s just me… I’ll be able to say for sure in about 2 weeks! Probably not so much for the Penelope bit, but hey… one can hope.

From Barcelona, we fly to Rome on June 14. Yes, these are relatively short stints in each city, but there’s so much to see and so little to see it in! My poor camera is going to be raped for the better part of a week before I fly back into Frankfurt Hahn Trier-bound on June 16. From there, I will literally stop by my dorm to gather a few things before catching a train for Stuttgart to see the Southside Music Festival from June 17-19. Epic win.

Yes yes, it will be an action packed week-plus. Funny thing is, after Southside, I’ll be in Trier for a day and some change to attend the Monday and Tuesday classes I have that week, then head out Tuesday night again train-bound for Paris until the 25^th, at which point we will literally go straight into class from the train for a two day seminar that counts for a semester class. June is likely to make my head spin a bit, but hey… people always say youth is wasted on the young, and I intend to set that mentality astray.

All this traveling (at least, the flights to Poland, Barcelona, and Rome) only cost about 120 Euros… not bad! I think the initial week’s traveling will cost less than 500 Euros when it’s all said and done, which is not too bad for the money I’d say.

What is money for if not to be spent anyway, right? Money is replaceable. Memories are not. Now, someone write a book titled that please.

In other news, the past few days have been epic to say the least. Friday, I was so ridiculously productive that I scared myself. I somehow managed to roll out of bed prior to noon, and over the course of the day managed to get two projects done! Well, mostly done anyway… not much more to do. Two separate presentations that I have been putting off are not in the rear view mirror, so I am quite happy. I did, though, look like a bit of a nerd sitting in the Menza (cafeteria) stealing internet until around 7 in the evening, though.

After that, the friend I will traipse across Europe with in the coming weeks invited me to Spanish Abend (as mentioned earlier), where we met some interesting people over a few homemade Spanish dishes and watched the movie about Barcelona. Quite enjoyable.

Then, Saturday came. Oh, was it epic. The Erasmus Beer Olympics, thoroughly organized by one of the rugby-playing Brits. It was quite an undertaking, too; roughly ten teams of four joined the events, which included beer pong, quarters, flip cup, chug race, handless beer-chug suicides, and something involving tearing up a cereal box with nothing but your teeth… before chugging a beer. Quite entertaining, really, although I must admit I don’t really remember the last bit of it; when I woke up on my floor this morning, I had to look through the 600 some-odd pictures I had taken. See, there are those memories again!

Each team represented some nation that typically has little recognition. I seriously had not heard of several of the countries represented, but I was on the team for Sweden. If you have Facebook, do feel free to see those epic pictures. Needless to say, body paint was involved, and flags were proudly worn. Literally.

The team for Belgium had the most original costume in my opinion. Custom made shirts said (in French or Flemish, I’m not sure which) ‘Beer in, beer out’ with arrows pointing up and down. Clever. Then, panties were worn on the outside of tights with the word “Belgi-b-um” with lovely hand-crafted drawings of different specialty waxes for that region of the female body. They were truly hilarious.

Each team was required to bring two half-liter beer kistes as entry fees. A kiste contains 20 beers, and a half liter is roughly the equivalent of a “40” in America. As of this morning, I saw very few left. I’ve no idea what happened to the used kistes; you technically get paid to return them, as you must pay a deposit for every bottle you buy in Germany, with money being given upon the bottles’ return.

Winners were put on pedestals made from varying numbers of empty kistes placed on a picnic table in the courtyard of Martinskloster (where the event conveniently took place—my residence). Once announced (through the drunken screaming, of course), the Brit organizer played the winning team’s country’s national anthem… quite a lot of thought went into the planning of this event, to say the least!

All the while, there was a random group of Germans who had decided that Saturday was Monk day, and ten or so of those living in Martinskloster came out dressed in full monk and priest garb (gaudy crucifix necklaces included). They took a little blow-up raft to the Mosel and put putted about for a while before coming back to Martinskloster to bathe in a blow-up kiddy pool while drinking with the best of the Erasmus students. I think they were highly amused with the coincidence of our Erasmus (et all) Olympics, just as we were highly amused at their religious sentiments. Or lack thereof.

All in all, I must just say that life is good. Where else can you go to play beer Olympics at a student dormitory?

This morning, when I went down to survey the damage, I was pleasantly surprised to see that someone had already cleaned up the place. I was going to help, but I guess some others beat me to the point… a 50 plus person beer Olympics naturally generated quite a mess! I was a bit unnerved when I walked into the hall leading to the “party room” and saw a blow-up sex doll chilling with a beer propping her up. The religious Germans had christened her the day before, and decided she was destined to an existence of beer guarding. Hilarity. Once again, the politically correct world I am used to in America dissolves before my eyes!

Today I’ve been quite lazy, lounging in the sun on the bank of the Mosel river catching a tan and reading a good deal of Robinson Crusoe. Random, I know, but ever since I read Kurt Vonnegut’s Slaughterhouse 5 in one sitting en route to my friend in England’s place a few weeks ago, I’ve gotten back into the reading kick. Unlike me, I know. I’m pretty sure I read this book back in 4^th grade or so (my more intellectual days), but obviously can’t remember. New to me!

Thanks to Skype and a coffee shop whose internet I have been stealing all afternoon, I got to talk to a friend of mine and some family. Skype allows you to call regular phones for a marginal price… something like 5 cents a minute or something. This comes in handy considering none of my family thinks to log onto Skype for the free-ness that exists… figures.

So, I bid adieu for now, as I sit in the calm afternoon of pleasantry that is Trier, all the while looking straight at the ancient Roman gate Porta Negra. 

Life is grand.

Which language do you want today?

First of all, let me just express the edited version of my feelings towards this brand new laptop: I’m going to kill it. If I were home, I would have already reformatted it and sold it on eBay to buy a Sony Viao like I should have done in the first place.

The entire entry to follow, which, prior to my computer crashing for the THIRD TIME since I’ve had it for just over a month, consisted of over 8 pages, is all retyped today, less than 24 hours later. Words cannot express my anger here. I have no idea how I keep getting whatever virus it is that causes my laptop to turn off and not turn back on, with the only remedy being to reinstall Windows. I wasn’t even surfing the internet! I wish I had been downloading porn or something to make me at least aware of why this keeps happening, but I wasn’t. 

Autosave in Word works great when your computer will START UP again, but without it… well, just make sure you hit “Ctrl + S” to save your documents every ten seconds or so. For now, I have just learned that I cannot trust this computer for one minute, and am continually backing everything up until I get home and can sell this… well, I won’t say the names I have for it now.

Luckily, I have a lot of experiences with computers, and am able to salvage files when my computer crashes for the most part. In fact, the only thing I lost this go around was this document. Go figure. Here’s my advice for the day: BACK EVERYTHING UP OFTEN.

Yesterday, prior to writing this blog, I spent several hours sorting through the 800 plus pictures I took of Belgium during this past weekend’s trip, as well as several more re-doing an intern listing for the Trier Center for American Studies, the department I am interning with this semester. I had already done this list, but due to my computer’s LAST dying incident, I could not for the life of me find the original Word document with the list to edit, so I just had to start over… much as I am doing now. Ever heard the expression “spinning your wheels?” That’s me.

ANYWAY.

I have just recalled that I offered to post links for pictures of England last week, which I will list at the end of this entry alongside those photos from Belgium.

So: as I mentioned last week, I decided at the last minute to join a group of two Americans, a Brit, and an Italian on a road trip to Belgium for a “Weekend by the Sea.” I must say, it being my first European road trip, I made the right decision; it was a blast!

Because I am shaking in anger that I must retype this entire journey, I’m going to just give the abridged version; my mind can only focus on throwing this laptop in a lake, causing the details of our trip to escape me. 

I digress.

We left Trier around noon in a Hertz rental car which, although it cost around 150 Euros for the 4 day trip, is not too expensive considering it was split 5 ways between us all. Hertz only in the last two weeks has even opened up renting cars to those under 25; I tried renting one for my trip to Milan next week, but they would not even consider it. Now, they just add a 20 Euro per day surcharge or something to rent between ages 21 and 25. However they can make a dollar, I suppose.

The car itself was a little Hyundai hatchback, just large enough to fit the three ladies’ and the two of us lads’ luggage and not want to kill ourselves… well, not right away, anyway. The trip to Nieuwpoort, the town on the North Sea in Belgium where our apartment was reserved for the weekend, took roughly 4 hours and some change, including the several stops to let the ladies smoke. Once again, here’s that lovely smoking habit that I won’t miss.

After hitting traffic on the outskirts of Brussels, we realized we were going to miss the 5pm deadline to pick up the keys from the rental office and needed to call the rental agent. This, luckily, was somewhat less of a problem being that the British girl speaks both German and French, so all we had to do was figure out the area code for Belgium in the car. Here, the Italian girl came to the rescue with her smartphone.

The call to the rental agent was somewhat funny; although our Brit speaks French, it is not as fluent as she would like it to be, and after her saying the French equivalent of “there are cars on the road” [literally—not moving, just cars exist on the road], the agent asked her if she would like to switch to German, which she speaks better. We all found this highly amusing, especially considering we were sure the agent also spoke English but preferred to bask in the amusement of our trying to fluently speak in other languages.

[Saving every paragraph now]

In any event, we finally arrived at our apartment [which we fancied calling cabin] just after 6pm, and the day was yet young. The apartment was a quaint loft-style abode with a strangely steep Spanish tiled roof reaching almost to the ground. The Italian naturally had to sit on it and have her picture taken first thing.

We paid roughly the same for the apartment rental as the car for the same time, which again was made quite cheap by there being five of us. So, we made off to get groceries for the weekend… far cheaper than eating out every night. That didn’t take too terribly long, and after we bought everything under the sun and had unpacked it, we made off to watch all of our first sunset over the North Sea.

Our apartment was only about a 15 minute walk from the beach, and we got to walk along a river-turned-intercostal waterway complete with a lovely boardwalk and marinas all the way to the beach. Because of our northern latitude, the sun literally did not set before 9:40pm any day we were there, so we had plenty of time between our 6pm arrival and the sunset to enjoy.

Upon arriving at the beach, the girls could not resist the urge to head straight for the water. Keep in mind, here, that the temperature outside was somewhere in the lower 60s (Fahrenheit) not counting the steady blowing wind chill. But, I sometimes forget that I am lucky in my close proximity to the beach on Tybee Island, Georgia; next to me, the next closest person to the beach was the British girl, and even she had an hour drive. The two Americans live in Salt Lake City and Minneapolis, and the Italian lives in Milan, so a jaunt to the beach isn’t exactly easy for any of us save me.

After getting thoroughly soaked, two of the girls didn’t even make it for the sunset; they walked their popsicle selves back to the apartment while the remaining three of us stayed for the beautiful sunset. Naturally, I took a multitude of pictures to document the occasion, and I think it was moving for us all. Sunsets have a habit of doing that to people.

Once back to the apartment, the Italian girl elected herself to cook an Italian dish for us all. Win! It was quite delicious, and after partaking in it we moved on to activities coinciding with a group of college students renting a cabin for the weekend at the beach. Let’s just say for the sake of political correctness that the makers of any given college-centered film would be proud of us.

The next morning, having awoken surprisingly early (i.e., before ten), we noticed the weather outside was surprisingly warm compared to the day before, and after making delicious omelets (I haven’t had breakfast since I arrived in Europe… it was a treat) we made for the beach. Oh, it was nice! Again, I probably wasn’t as surprised with my enjoyment of it as the other four were, but I must say that I was equally exuberant at the chance to enjoy the beach for the day.

Towards the evening, we decided to go back to clean up and head to the nearby city of Brugge, Belgium, for a light dinner. Naturally, due to being an imbecile, I had not worn sunscreen, so I was a nice shade of pain… but hey, that’s what happens when you play with the largest bit of fire in our solar system.

Brugge is only a 30 minute drive from Nieuwpoort, so it was a relatively painless journey in our little cramped Hyundai. We realized, as before, that passing people on the interstate was a fruitless endeavor even more than before, though; as it was Saturday, many were trekking into the city for the night life, and what with the only power we could muster from the Hyundai derived from turning off the AC, it was easier just to… well, not pass people.

After arriving and eating in a quaint, delicious, and somewhat expensive little sidewalk café, we had to play on our childhoods and visit the fair that was happening in the city center right across the street from where we were. Being twelve again, we all opted to go on the scariest ride around. This ride, called the Virus, was one of those kamikaze-styled basket-on-an-extremely-long-arm deals where, at the top, you could see the entire city… and probably the entire country. Of course, being upside down at the top didn’t exactly make this easy, but we rode it all the same. It was well worth the 6 Euros a head we paid to get on.

After the girls rode another ride, we decided to head back to Nieuwport, being that we planned to return to Brugge the next day (Sunday). So, we returned well after dark and played it easy for the night; the previous evening counted for at least two.

As soon as breakfast was over the next morning, we made for Brugge again. It really is a beautiful city; I wouldn’t go so far as to say magnificent, but it did hold that typical European old and historical feel to it, all the while containing Venice-like canals throughout much of the city. The city itself smelled of nothing but Belgian waffles and chocolate, something I had always heard of but never actually tried within the boundaries of Belgium. It’s rather difficult to do that when you’ve never been to Belgium…

Most of the day, the girls shopped (surprise) and the American dude and myself wandered about the city acting as though we worked for some travel magazine with the number of photos we each took. We, naturally, partook in a Belgian waffle and some chocolate, and eventually met back up with the girls for a light lunch at a Belgian café before deciding to return back to Nieuwpoort by mid-afternoon.

As soon as we returned, two of the girls decided to stay in our humble abode to rest for a while, leaving three of us to make a special trip to Dunkerque, France, to see the historic WWII site. Apparently, this [former] city was the site of the largest retreat by Allied forces in the entire second world war. It was only a 20 minute drive, so we made it in no time.

Now, I can officially say I’ve been to France. The city itself was actually a bit depressing as one would expect of a city with such a history; due to heavy destruction in the war, all of the buildings reflected a typical shoddy building style of the 1960s and 70s. 

Upon reaching the beach (the site of the actual retreat), we felt quite an eerie feeling of desertion; it being a Sunday afternoon with unbelievable constant wind (a typical Spring day on the North Sea, apparently), there was hardly a soul to be seen. The beach, in fact, hade no one else on it save the three of us. It was quite odd, standing on a site where only just over a half a century ago thousands upon thousands of Allied soldiers were scrambling to board waiting vessels near the beach to escape German forces. Silence is the best way to describe our reactions, for lack of a better word.

But, having fulfilled our history for the day, we made back for Nieuwpoort. To top the travel off, we had to listen to the French radio on the way back, finding some odd music sounding like a mix of oldies and Latin music. While this occurred, the British girl made continual mockeries of the Flemish language we kept seeing and hearing; Flemish is literally an odd combination of German and Dutch (not Deutsch—that’s German). The language tends to add random letters into otherwise German or English words to spice things up a bit, hence Nieuwpoort instead of Newport. The Brit, in typical sardonic humor, made her opinion of this uselessness quite clear. Quite entertaining.

Upon our return, we still had a good two hours of daylight before the sun set. Being me, I couldn’t resist going to see the sunset just one more time; we had to leave the next morning, after all, and I wouldn’t get to see the beach for a long time! Well, this technically isn’t true; in exactly a week and a day from today (Wednesday the 25^th), I will be staying at a hotel on the beach in Nice, France. But I digress. Again.

I wondered about casually towards the ocean, taking pictures here and there to document the natural beauty that is native to any waterscape (to me). The beach was absolutely frigid, reflecting the what I have found to be bipolar weather that exists throughout Europe in that the day before was borderline hot, but I feel it was worth the cold to see the sun set. Sunsets have a habit of making [at least] me feel extraordinarily small; they’re always a good scene to put a good perspective on life. Look at me getting all thoughtful.

Anyway, after returning to the apartment for our last night, we decided it would be ridiculous to try to repack the leftover groceries and booze we had bought two days previously; the girls had bought numerous souvenirs in Brugge, and the car was only so big. So, being the economical people that we are, we did our very best to destroy our remaining stocks. And that we did; needless to say, this night ended similarly to the first night. College is great, and strip poker tends to end poorly. Those are words you should remember for future reference from the wise old Sam.

Unfortunately, we needed to be back in Trier by around noon the next day for all of us to go to class. We did manage to drag ourselves up around 8am to clean the apartment, per the terms of our rental, and were on the road less than an hour later than we should have been; not too shabby! 

When running late already, though, fate tends to take a stance that ‘if you’re already late, may as well be really late.’ So that’s what we did… accidently. Rather than go around Brussels again as we had on the way to Nieuwpoort, we somehow managed to go IN to Brussels. No big deal, right?

Wrong. Brussels, in all its beauty and seamless mix of historical buildings with modern high-rises, does not believe in road signs. At all. As in, ever.

Still, it gave us all a chance to see a good deal of the city from the car. The girls, being far less laid-back than I am as I discovered, were not quite so amused. I, though, loved the detour; at one point, as the other American dude went in to ask for directions, I got out of the car and walked up to a river not far from where we parked. On one side of the river, I could see Brugge-like old and distinguished buildings. On the other, modern high-rises fitting of the capital of the European Union.

It being the capital of the EU, though, I would think the traffic would be better. Aside from the total lack of road signs, there were several roads where our British girl may have felt she was back in England and started driving down the left side of the road rather than the right; there were several streets wide enough to have three lanes in them without any lines painted on them… at all. It rather surprised us all; this is something I would expect in an undeveloped country, not the capital of the European Union!

So, we got to see a brief bit of Brussels, and then were on our way back to Trier. This time, due to our detour, we took another way home. I’m so glad we did! The scenery here was beautiful… I felt as though I was on the set of the Sound of Music in Austria with all the rolling hills and gorgeous countryside. Who would have thought that the seemingly tiny countries of Belgium and Luxembourg could be so beautiful!

Needless to say, I ended up missing most of my classes. I did make my last Business English Presentations class, where I sat listening to our eccentric professor literally telling us to bring rum during our upcoming presentations to bribe our classmates (audience) to ask us questions at the end. Without questions being asked, we cannot pass the presentation. And, the professor just coming back from Haiti for a conference, rum was on her mind. As it should be.

All that being said, I think I have finally caught up to where I was yesterday just as my computer died. [Insert profanity here.] I’m realizing my grammar is likely highly off today, being that I am trying to rush through this by quickly typing so that I may go to work on the presentations I was supposed to be working on all day today. I figure, though, that remembering the events of my European adventures are more important than silly presentations, though.

Hopefully this recount is a good as what I had before. Unlike any English teacher who will drill it into your head that revisions are key to a good piece of writing, I feel that spontaneous recounting of the subject you’re writing on results in the best writing. That is probably why many English teachers of late do not get along with me…

Speaking of spontaneity, I’m supposed to be working on a creativity and its influence by spontaneity for my Differential Psychology seminar. I guess I better pack up the laptop and head to Uni or the highly expensive Starbucks equivalent with internet her in Trier; I have no internet in my room, again, after having lost my internet USB stick. No matter; it was out of credit anyway. 

Here are the links to several Facebook albums referencing some of my recent trips, for those of you bored enough to care:

England:

http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.1983230431126.2117733.1554191092&l=edbf17846c

http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.1983050946639.2117712.1554191092&l=66e0fab3d1

http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.1983023985965.2117711.1554191092&l=0df5aefb81

Belgium:

http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.1994497952807.2118267.1554191092&l=ce860dcf33