... And Back Again

In my first post, I promised I'd have a post after returning from Europe titled "... And Back Again." And now that I am back at Georgetown, I believe such an update is fitting. Not quite as many posts in between the two bookends as you may have been expecting. Certainly not as many posts as I had adventures. From skiing in Norway to getting sunburned in Barcelona, it was an amazing time.

All in all, it was an adventure that crossed seven countries. I saw five West End productions. I throughly explored the British Museum on several occasions. I ate reindeer in Norway and haggis in Scotland. I was swept up in the crowd of spectators for the championship game of the Copa del Rey. I saw Gericault's "Raft of the Medusa," my favorite painting of all time. I saw a volcano strand travelers, including my parents. I walked from the Tower Bridge to the BT Tower at two in the morning. I drank Guinness in Dublin and "very cheap" wine in Florence. I made countless trips to the Green Man, and had a month's worth of subs-of-the-day. I walked a terrifying route to the worst bed I've ever slept on in Rome. I took photos, maps, and brochures, because I couldn't afford souvenirs. I toured distilleries, breweries, villas, castles, and prisons. I went on pub crawls, literary and otherwise. I saw monuments, ruins, mummies, and bizarre short films with mattresses falling out of buildings. I met an aspiring writer who hated snooker but loved John Wayne, a drunken Danish farmer headed to Australia, and a student from Mozambique who, having mastered French in France, was working in Ireland to learn English.

There are dozens and dozens of stories to tell, and they mix together in my mind in a stew, rather than a timeline, with different tales floating to the surface at any given moment.

I made memories, I made friends, and I made the grades necessary to receive credit for a semester of fun and adventure.

This may very well be the end of "Wandering Minds," but it is not the end of my writing. I've started a new project called Chronotopography, which will occasionally include fragments of my European adventures. I hope you'll join me there, faithful reader.

Dublin: Day 5 - St. Patrick's and Homeward Bound

After enjoying one final breakfast of toast and cereal, we gathered up our belongings and set off into one more Dublin morning. Though it would seem we'd seen everything in the city by now, there was one item on our checklist that was still evading us. Having found St. Patrick's closed when we attempted to visit it for free under the Dublin Pass, we never got to make it inside. So we had a plan to get there for the Choral Matins and go in to attend the service, thus avoiding an entry fee and maintaining our poor student reputation. Well, when we got to...

St. Patrick's Cathedral

(Sorry, for formatting consistency I had to do that.) We arrived to find that our Dublin Pass guide had listed the service times incorrectly, and we had missed the Matins! Oh no! Well, we decided that a few Euro would not break the bank, especially since we'd done so much free stuff yesterday, and we decided to give to the church and go in. There, we were met by a nice woman who informed us that if we had any questions, we should just let her know, since she was a volunteer historian and tour guide, who didn't work for the Cathedral, but just liked it a lot. We told her we would, and wandered off on our own, seeing the impressive architectural and historical contents, including an old copy of Handel's Messiah, which had received its first performance at St. Patrick's, in a big cooperative event with Christ Church. So there's your neat history fun fact for the day. As we were looking at an old organ console (I think that's the term?) we were once again approached by the (overly?) friendly volunteer, who wanted to know if we had any more questions, and if there was anything in particular that we liked. Ryan mentioned the copy of the Messiah, and it also came up that he played the organ, and from that moment on, our trip became a private tour of the Cathedral, wherein I was ignored, since the moment she realized he was a musician, our 50-something year old guide was in love with Ryan. Unfortunately she couldn't pull strings to get us up in to see the new organ up close, but she still brought us all over and shared lots of great stories. When our tour was concluded, we thanked her profusely and went back toward the center of the city.

With a couple of hours left before we had to get on a bus and head to the airport, we decided to stop by a few touristy shops for some postcards for our families. Then we spent the rest of the time in a little pub in order to enjoy a few more pints of Guinness while still in its home. Eventually, energized by the pub's 80s-heavy playlist, we left our friends at the bar behind to the beat of the Safety Dance, and boarded our bus.

And with that, after a bus ride to the airport and an hour or so waiting outside a nut vendor called "Totally Nuts," which kept a sign prominently displayed warning that "Some Products May Contain Nuts," we were back in the flying mall of RyanAir, heading home to London.

Whew! That's that. Dublin is done. Two and a half months after the trip, I've finally recounted it in incredible detail. Interrupted by other travels, three papers, and an exam, it is now done. As far as Norway, Italy, Paris, and Scotland... Not to mention the day trips to Stratford, Cambridge, and Bath... We'll see if I can even get those up before I get home. I have one more exam on the 17th that I'll be studying for now, and then a trip to Barcelona, and then the flight home on May 24th. So if I don't end up blogging about it, I'm sorry. But it gives you an excuse to find me this summer and let me tell you the tales in person!

Dublin: Day 4 - Art and Writing

In spite of our crawl, we both woke up early Sunday morning, but for different reasons. Ryan wanted to go to church, I wanted to get a bit of work done on my paper before the day was underway. Unfortunately, my morning motivation wasn't as great as I would have liked, and Ryan was more successful in his early morning goal than I was. But, after breakfast, we were off and exploring, regardless of my paper progress.

Remember that we no longer have the privileges of our wonderful Dublin Pass. We were now on our own financially. Which means that if ever there was a day to do free stuff, this was it. So we started by heading to...

The National Gallery of Ireland

But when we got there, it was still closed! On Sundays they don't open up shop until noon. So to pass the time we decided to check out the nearby park and the surrounding area. The park was nice, and had several nice statues in it. A really sort of creepy one of Oscar Wilde sitting on a rock, though. Didn't really like that, though I did like the columns nearby with some of his witty quotes on them. Eventually, though, the museum opened up, and we stormed the entrance along with the other art lovers and parents hoping to raise cultured children. They had some good stuff. Favorites include: Francis Danby's The Opening of the Sixth Seal and Jacob van Ruisdael's The Castle of Bentheim, 1653. After seeing pretty much every painting there we decided to swing by a nearby free museum...

The National Museum of Ireland Archeology

But they were running strange hours that day, so, yet again, we had to kill some time. After a quick stop at a cafe, we were seeing all sorts of artifacts. To be honest, at this point my memory of this museum is extremely vague now. I remember an Egyptian room. And a boat. And the bodies of all sorts of people who had fallen into peat bogs. They had those carefully set off in little alcoves, so you couldn't see them unless you really wanted to. Not for the faint of heart, I suppose. Ultimately, we weren't there for very long before we set off to...

The Irish Museum of Modern Art

I say 'set off to' because the journey to the museum was a struggle. It was way out on the fringe of our map, near where we had visited the Gaol, but our map wasn't clear, and Eunice was really struggling to find us and the museum. Eventually, though, in all our resourcefulness we trekked up the hill where the museum was, checked our bags in their lockers so we wouldn't steal the art, and went in to check it out. As is often the case with modern art, it was strange. We got to watch a film where someone basically destroys a house while dropping mattresses through a hole in the floor. We saw an exhibit that they intend to change every couple of days without telling anyone, to see if repeat visitors will notice the changes and be intrigued by them and wonder how art that isn't there anymore interacts with art that is there now. We got to stand in the middle of a big spinning white piece of fabric. And we got a souvenir from one exhibit that included eight large stacks of paper, each one with a book title on it, the intention being you take the top paper off whatever stack you like. Ryan ended up with Flowers for Hitler. I got The Great Gatsby. And it's still hanging on my bulletin board now.

That Evening

On our way back toward the heart of the city, we stopped off at some really cheap store to see what junk we could find. We ended up getting some ski socks for our Norway trip, which I may someday blog about. And a pack of six Crunchie bars. All for very cheap.

Then, as part of our continuing attempts to eat at "Oldest" places, we went to The Brazen Head, the oldest pub in Dublin. I got fish and chips, Ryan got what he described as one of the best sandwiches he'd ever had, in spite of the fact that it had sauce on it, and Ryan does not like sauces. (This is a frequent point of dinner conversations with Ryan.)

After that, we wandered around Dublin for a while, then headed back to the Hostel. Dedicated readers with excellent memories will recall that I still had to finish my paper on Frank Capra, which was due the following day. So I stayed up and cranked that out, sending it off before going to bed in that room of twelve for the last time.

Dublin: Day 3 - Castles and Closures

After another breakfast in the church (today we will see a lot of non-church churches) we were off to a bus station. We had decided today to venture outside the immediate city in hopes of seeing a castle, a model railway museum, and a museum of childhood. The bus ride was an enjoyable trip as we watched the landscape transition from city to not quite city but not quite rural countryside along with a group of other traveling Americans. The bus dropped us off a bit down the road from our castle destination, so we had to trek back a bit. Lo and behold, the other American students were headed to the same place (though fools that they were, they had not invested in the mighty Dublin Pass), so we walked with them on the treacherous, sidewalk-free terrain, forced to choose between erring to close to the roadway or the deep gully of brambles and rocks. Our roadside voyage brought us to a wooded trail, where we left our American compatriots in the dust and hiked to...

Malahide Castle

On the outside, this place has a very classic castle look to it. The kind of castle you draw in elementary school, and the teacher says, "What a nice castle," without you having to point at it and say, "That is a castle." It was, quite clearly, a castle. Though as Ryan was quick to observe, it was lacking in the moat department. Ah well... The inside, on the other hand, lacked the traditionally imagined castle qualities, seeming a bit more modern in its decor. I would show you pictures, but as I recall, they were not allowed. Not that it would have mattered, because it is at this point, Dear Reader, that my camera battery called it quits for the trip. Alas. But what I recall from the castle is a room with lots of portraits, including one of Oliver Cromwell, and a great deal of lions in the decor, as I believe it was an animal of importance to the family. Oh, and a room that sought to recreate a child's room, and was filled with lots of toys and some pieces of a model railroad. Of course, we saw this as a perfect introduction to the next stops on our visit to the Malahide area, since we were planning to see...

The Fry Model Railway Museum & Tara's Place Museum of Childhood

But what did we find but a sign reading: Closed From Monday 28th September. It seems that they'd be opening up again on April 1st. Now, by post date of this entry, you are probably thinking, "Well, why weren't they open?" But remember, that all these events are taking place on the 20th of February, just about two months ago now. (Boy, I'm really on top of this blogging thing, huh?) So, disappointed that we wouldn't see trains or toys, we headed to the Malahide Castle Cafe (What would a castle be without a cafe?) for an expensive cup of tea and chocolate muffin.

From there, it was back to the bus stop after a walk through the park. One stop after getting on, look who boards with us but the other American students, who boarded, saw us, and said, "Well look who made the bus!" A comment which still sticks in my head as illogical, as it was not the last bus of the day and we were on it before them and in plenty of time. We also got to see the antics of a small child whose neglectful caretakers (kidnappers?) allowed her to repeatedly bang her head against the front window of the bus. These fellow passengers made it difficult to enjoy the semi-country scenery on our return to the heart of Dublin.

Once back, we realized that our time with the Dublin Pass was running short, and we still had a variety of stops to make before the last day was up and our horses turned back into mice and our carriage went back to a pumpkin and all that. So we decided to meander over to...

St. Patrick's Cathedral

But this proved to be strike three of the day! The cathedral turned out to be closed for a graduation that afternoon! Just our luck. The one real church we tried to go to this day was closed to us. The only way to make this up would be to visit two other faux-churches later that day. But first, we had more free stuff to claim at...

The National Gallery of Ireland

Entry here is free, so to draw Dublin Pass users in, they offer a free book to anyone who presents the pass at the Information Desk. Unfortunately, the old guy at the desk who is probably allowed out of the home every Saturday afternoon to work down at the Gallery thought we got them in the gift shop. The ladies in the gift shop were frustrated when we went to them with our request, but gave us the free books and mentioned something about having a talk with whoever was at information. So that's how we may have made some poor old man lose the one thing that got him out into the world every week. Oops. And we didn't even stay to see the museum. We figured we'd just come back on Sunday, when we weren't trying to check things off a list of free stuff and discounts. So we continued museuming to check off...

The Chester Beatty Library

Here we were offered not only free admission, but also a free gift! And we even got our choice of gift from a selection of three books. One about the museum in general, one about a special "Blue" exhibit they'd held recently, and one all about the Rembrandt House. Well, recalling how, due to the lack of Free-Marts in Amsterdam, we'd failed to purchase any souvenirs in Amsterdam, we both decided to take them up on the very nice Rembrandt book. Proudly carrying our free books and tickets, we wandered the "Library" for a while, spending most of our time looking at an impressive collection of art and rare books from the major world religions.

From here we were running out of time in the day and the museums of Dublin would be closing soon, so we hustled over to...

The Guinness Storehouse

Once again, we made our way quickly up to the Gravity Bar to enjoy the view, and our final free pint of Guinness at the source. This liquid nourishment would provide us with the strength to trek over to our dinner at...

The Church Bar & Restaurant

Drawn in under the influence of good reviews and a 10% Dublin Pass discount, we found ourselves in yet another building that used to be a house of worship. This one, it seems, had fallen the farthest. Pews had been replaced with tables, comfortable seating, and a large bar. The wine list was significantly longer than it used to be, and there were lots of beers on tap, and a wide selection of (not so Holy) spirits. As for the food... Well, I wouldn't have it as my last supper or anything, but it was pretty good. The Church fries were especially delicious, seasoned in all sorts of spices. I admit, I was a bit disappointed our meal didn't come with bread.

Dublin Literary Pub Crawl

I had hinted on Day 2 that we would be learning about the lives of Dublin's writers in a more interesting fashion later in the adventure. Well here it is. Dear Reader, if you ever find yourselves in Dublin and enjoy books and good times, do take this tour. It has been rated by the Sunday Times as #4 in a list of the world's 50 best walks, and it does not disappoint. Plus, if you have a Dublin Pass, you get a ticket at a reduced price! And here's what you get with that reduced price ticket: Two actors will take you around to four different pubs (unfortunately, pints not included), recounting all sorts of interesting tidbits about Dublin's famous writers, all while being extremely hilarious as they do so. They will act out scenes from various works, including "Waiting for Godot" (remember, I had seen that on Day Zero!) and one bit will be performed in front of the Dublin Tourist Information center, which is housed in... You guessed, an old church! They will teach you interesting things, like that Oscar Wilde was a heavy-weight boxer when he was a student. And then everything will wrap up with a quiz to test your knowledge and see if you are worthy of a t-shirt. Unfortunately, Ryan and I fell just short of the t-shirt level of knowledge, but we did each manage to get a question right, which was pretty impressive, considering we'd each had a pint at every stop.

Somewhat disappointed to realize that no one had ended up physically crawling on our pub crawl, we decided to head back to the hostel and call it a night.

Thus ends our adventures with the Dublin Pass. Tune in to Day 4, when we try to get around having to actually spend money to do things.

We're Back!

That's right! Like the talking dinosaurs in an animated movie produced by Steven Spielberg, my Wandering Mind has returned from Italy ready to write. And good news for you, most (not all) of that writing is blogging.

First and foremost, I'm ready to finish Ireland and recount the natural beauties of Norway. Then maybe I'll lump together some quick blurb on Warwick, Stratford, and Cambridge. And finally I'll get to Italy.

Some things you have to look forward to in Italy, by the numbers:

1 Easter Vigil with the Pope

2 new travel companions

3 church-climbing views

4 crazy characters

5 very different accommodations

6 dining experiences of note

7 gelato flavors

8 cities

9 photos I absolutely love

10 more gelato flavors

11 days of travel

So that's what you've got to look forward to. But first, we return to the Dubliners!

Anticipated Delays and How To Pass the TIme

Pre-entry note: This entry contains a casual review of an R-rated movie with a PG title. Not sure if there are any parents who use the blog as read-aloud material with the family, but you might want to screen this one in advance if you do.

Oh dear.

It looks like once more, I'm off on another adventure, abandoning my blogging and going off to see the world.

For the next eleven days or so, I'm off to Italy where, among other things, I'll be chilling in Rome for Easter. Pretty cool.

But where does that leave you, dear reader? Waiting in Ireland, anticipating Norway, and hoping I might find time to blog about the other events I've mentioned. Yeah, that's pretty much it. But if you're fearing that I'll forget what happened at any of those places, don't worry. I have a pretty good memory. And this blog isn't the only existing record of my travels. So I have notes and souvenirs and brochures to refer to, as well.

But what should you do while you're waiting for my next update? Well, lucky for you, I have some suggestions.

1. Read a book.

Specifically, check out Paul Auster's The New York Trilogy. I'm not quite finished the book myself, but I'm loving every second I spend reading it. Auster weaves three stories of detection, but puts incredible twists on them. At least, he does for the two I've read so far. There is just so much going on in these stories. First of all, they are entertaining and interesting. Second, they comment on the genre conventions of detective fiction. Third, and most importantly and fascinatingly, they investigate the elements of human language and names better than almost anything I've ever read. And I took a linguistics class. If not The New York Trilogy, then consider one of the following: Everything Is Illuminated, The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao, or Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. All are quite different, though they do share impressively unique narrative voices, and all are thoroughly enjoyable. Plus, you'd be sharing in reading experiences I've had in England.

2. Go to the movies.

Again, this needs elaboration. You'll have to wait a while on this one, but go see Kick-Ass. It is only released in the USA on April 16th, but it would be well worth it to be in line that morning waiting for your ticket. I don't know that I've ever enjoyed a movie-theater going experience as much as I enjoyed seeing Kick-Ass earlier this evening. For those of you who haven't heard of it, Kick-Ass is the story of a high school comic book loving nerd who decides to become a super hero and becomes tied to a conflict between the mob and some other vigilantes. I'm being intentionally vague on the summary, because I want you to see it clinging to every wonderful moment in anticipation of what craziness might happen next. Everything about this film was entertaining, from its pop-culture humor to its phenomenal action sequences.

In my anticipation for this film (it ranks #2 on my most anticipated films of the year), a lot of people who know me well pointed out that I would no doubt be disappointed, since the role of "Big Daddy" was being played by Nicolas Cage, whose performances I seldom enjoy. But good news: Here, he is great. Whether he's shooting his own daughter (more on her in a bit) at close range or cleverly mocking Adam West, his performance is a joy to watch. As is the film's title character, played by Aaron Johnson. But the real stand-out is Chloe Moretz (you may have seen her in 500 Days of Summer) playing Hit-Girl. No doubt when you see this movie (and you will see this movie), she is the character you'll be talking about as you leave the theater. Like the rest of the film, she is violent, profane, and hilarious. Mature beyond her eleven years, Hit-Girl is far and away the most shockingly entertaining part of the film.

Along with its performers, the film is skillfully carried by director Matthew Vaughn, who wisely chose to produce the film independently, avoiding studio constraints, which would likely have removed Hit-Girl from the film entirely. The film's pacing is careful, as it alternates between humor and violence, comic book action and teenage drama. The action sequences, especially, are top-notch, including a noteworthy strobe-light shootout. He presents moments of, "He wouldn't do that... No, he couldn't... OH, he did!" with such timing that the temptation to watch wins out over the desire to look away at the last minute, and with great results.

In short, Kick-Ass is at once a parody of and tribute to superhero movies, one which readily disregardsthe PG-13 borders usually enforced on such films by studio heads. The film is bloody, vulgar, shocking, hilarious, and above all else, wildly entertaining. No doubt, the refrain of reviewers and viewers alike will be that this film, quite simply, Kicks Ass.

So, what are you wating for? Well, I suppose April 16th. Let the countdown begin.

And speaking of countdowns, I'll be back and (hopefully) blogging around April 7th. I'm done my classes now, so the only competition remaining is my two exams and two papers. And the many adventures and travels I have ahead of me.

So thanks for bearing with me. Hope you find the wait for future entries as worthwhile as I found the wait for Kick-Ass. And trust me, I was waiting for a long time.

Dublin: Day 2 - Writers, Wax, and Whiskey

Pardon the interruption, dear reader. I got a bit busy with reading for classes and writing something that would actually be graded. (i.e. Not this blog. Unless you are keeping score at home... Am I getting an A? Or did I lose points for tardiness?)

Anyway, early the next morning we awoke in the hostel to find that we had neighbors! We had gone to bed being the only two people in our room of ten, since it was so early, but the room was nearly full when we woke up. Wanting to spend as little time as possible there, we quickly hurried off to...

Breakfast

Not much to note here, I only bring it up so I can introduce a trend in Dublin establishments. Our hostel was built off of an old church, so the dining hall where they served breakfast was once full of pews, and there was once an altar in the kitchen. So I suppose it still gives us this day our daily bread. Another entertaining piece of reconstruction, they put their pay-phones in the confessionals. Very clever. Anyway, keep an eye out for more churches that are not churches as our travels progress.

Writers Museum

In anticipation of this exciting stop on our Dublin Pass checklist, we got here early. So early, in fact, that they weren't open yet. So we wandered around a nearby park for a bit, then made it as two of the first people in the Museum. To be honest, this was a huge disappointment. I mean, I was excited to see all sorts of stuff about famous Irish writers, like Bram Stoker, James Joyce, Oscar Wilde, and Samuel Beckett. Well, they had some things. But not very much on hand from the writers' actual lives. Mostly, it was just old copies of their books in glass display cases. Certainly, there must be some more entertaining way to learn about the literary lives of the Irish. (But more on that later.) Ultimately, the greatest find in the Dublin Writers Museum was upstairs in their children's literature exhibit, where I found a giant re-creation of a scene from "Can't You Sleep, Little Bear?" Classic. But, ultimately disappointed with our experience, we decided to try our luck with another literary site, traveling down the street to...

James Joyce Centre

Before discussing the Center itself, let's make one thing clear: Dublin worships this man. Seriously, he is everywhere. But what's most interesting of all is how dedicated they are to his character, Leopold Bloom, the main character of Ulysses. To give you an idea: There are plaques in the street marking various locations that Bloom stopped at over the course of the novel. There is a holiday celebrating the day that novel takes place. The James Joyce Centre boasts that they have the original door from No. 7 Eccles Street, Bloom's home in the novel. That's right. They have preserved the door of the home of a fictional character. I mean, to be fair, London did the same with turning Sherlock Holmes' house into a museum, but Holmes has actually received mail from fans who believe he truly exists. I don't think the same can be said for Bloom. Anyway, even seeing the factual door that was never opened by a fictional character did not make up for the let down that was the James Joyce Centre. Sure they recreated Joyce's bedroom and had some computers set up with a timeline of Joyce's real life and a breakdown of Ulysses, but other than that, there wasn't much going on. Thank goodness it was included in the Dublin Pass... I would have been upset if I'd paid for this. If I'm going to shell out three Euro, the door you show me better have been opened by someone who actually existed.

Wax Museum

Here we crossed paths with writers yet again! The first room in the Dublin-Pass-Included Wax Museum Plus featured wax figures of many of the writers we'd encountered earlier that morning. This was much more fun, though, but still not the most exciting way we would get to engage with Ireland's literary history. (The Irish writers may acknowledge that what I am doing here is creating suspense and anticipation for a future event.) This was actually an extremely fun way to engage with all of Ireland's history. From lamenting the potato famine to shaking hands with the great Eamon de Valera, we interacted with all sorts of historic Irish incidents. We also got to check out the miniature Chamber of Horrors, where Ryan killed Dracula and I chilled with Gollum, along with the Children's Area, where we saw Bob the Builder, the Simpsons, and the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. The final stop was a room full of Irish entertainment and sports icons, where we were able to successfully identify zero of the fourteen figures on display. Sorry, Ireland. But our time here left us craving something a little more mature, so we headed over to the...

Jameson Distillery

Now, our Dublin Pass map was not very good, so on the way here we got a little bit confused. Looking at our map we were approached by someone who asked us if we needed any help. In Amsterdam, we had received this same question. However, there we had ignored the gentleman who we assumed would probably rob us and kept walking. In Dublin, though, charmed by the overwhelming friendliness of everyone we'd crossed paths with thus far, I was quick to say, "Yes, we're looking for the Jameson Distillery." With his help we made it there robbery free. Unlike the Guinness Storehouse, the Jameson Distillery is a guided tour, which was a nice change of pace after our day of self-guiding. But like the Guinness Storehouse, it too ends with a sample of the product. Now, I'm not much of a whiskey fan, perhaps because my exposure up until this point has been limited to cheap bad whiskey. That said, I really liked the Jameson, even if I had a limited number of things to compare it to. Ryan had a better comparison experience, since he volunteered to be a taster at the end, and got to compare the Jameson to a scotch (Johnny Walker) and an American whiskey (Jack Daniels). He has the diploma to prove his taste testing skills, and we also learned that Whiskey and Ginger Ale with a lime is an excellent drink. But, with our thirsts not quite totally quenched, we decided to return to the...

Guinness Storehouse

Perhaps the greatest perk of the Dublin Pass: We were able to return to places we'd already been. Which means that each day of the Pass, we could return to the Guinness Storehouse for a free pint. This time, we just made our way straight up to the Gravity Bar, foolishly forgetting the small sample that we passed up in the tasting room by doing so. We planned to return the next day to correct our error.

City Hall

With a few minutes before most of the Dublin Pass sites closed, we decided to swing over to the City Hall exhibit. There was nothing much to see here, which is why we went so late in the day. Actually, the only Blog-worthy point to make is that, although the exhibit was technically closed when we arrived, the extremely friendly Irish ladies running the show let us in to browse around for a few minutes.

From there we explored the very interesting Temple Bar area for a bit, then headed for dinner at the Kingfisher near our hostel. Basically the Irish equivalent of a diner with a fun variation on a club sandwich. Though I do not remember the variation anymore, I remember it was good. We called it an early night once more, figuring we'd get up early to take full advantage of the Dublin Pass one last day. But before we could, we met one of our bunk-neighbors, who had perhaps failed to hear that this was a Youth hostel, since he boosted the average age in the room by a good fifty years. He told us to close the door quietly when we returned later. We pointed out that we were in for the night, and he looked at us kind of funny, then left.

So, with thoughts of the next day's adventures (which would, we hoped, include a castle, model trains, and free stuff) we brought the second day of Dublin to a close.

Dublin: Day 1 - And So Begins Our Odyssey

Where does the time go, Dear Reader? What ever happened to my promised real-time, one-week delayed series of Dublin updates? It looks like life got in the way yet again. But life has never gotten in the way in a more exciting and epic way. And it's given me loads of new material to (eventually) blog about. So really, I was only thinking about you...

Before we begin Dublin, Day 1, here's a preview of some of the things you have to look forward to:

- Knights from the Town of George & Beers By the Bard: Warwick Castle & Stratford Day Trip

- Extremely Cool & Incredibly Awesome: In Which I Meet Jonathan Safran Foer

- Norway? Yeah Way!: A Tale of Skiing, Bears, and New Friends

All titles are subject to change though, if I come up with something more awesome.

But now, back to our regularly scheduled, though much delayed, Dublintertainment.

So, where were we? Oh, yes. Day 0 had just blended into Day 1, and I was outside of Ramsay Hall with my trusty travel companion Ryan.

Departure:

Off we went to catch our early bus to our early flight. For the record, RyanAir is very liberal with what they mean when they pair a city with an airport. Stansted-London is quite a long drive outside of London. But, we made it in time for our flight, and soon we were Up In the Air. I was disappointed to find they don't carry any copies of SkyMall on the plane, but soon found out why... RyanAir IS a SkyMall. They tried to sell us everything during the flight, from cheeseburgers and candy (mind you, this is like 8:00 AM) to smokeless cigarettes (read: nicotine inhalers) and scratch tickets. Being poor college students, we declined their offer.

Getting off the plane we went through Customs, which was a breeze. Flying between EU countries as Americans is nice, since all the Europeans get filtered off to one section, while everyone else goes to another, and the line for the rest of us is even shorter. From Customs we went to procure our Dublin Passes.

Dublin Pass

Okay, this was Ryan's idea, and it was a great one. Basically, for €55, we got three days of free access to a whole bunch of places we wanted to visit, plus free gifts at certain places, discounts at others, and a few other perks. If ever you travel to Dublin with the intentions of doing all of the touristy things in a short period of time, get the Dublin pass! It even gave us a free bus ride from the airport that dropped us off at...

Trinity College

They had a lovely campus, and several neat statues. It's also home to the Book of Kells, which we did not get to see (unfortunately, one of the few things not included on the Dublin Pass). But the real reason I bring it up is the library we saw. Trinity's campus has lots of old buildings, much like Georgetown, done in beautiful architectural style. Except, one of the libraries we saw was nearly as much of an architectural train-wreck as Club Lau. Seriously, I don't know what it is about books that makes people think "Oh, let's build something ugly to put those in." Anyway, along with not having slept, I hadn't eaten since the night before either, so we decided to get some energy on the go, and pick up some delicious smoothies while we had Eunice take us to our first Dublin-Pass Destination.

Dublin Castle

Not really a castle in the traditional sense, this is where all sorts of state functions happen in Ireland. Lots of fancy things, weird ceiling decorations, and a wonderful tour guide who absolutely adored Bill Clinton. (This is not the first time I have encountered a Clinton-loving Irish person. Jon and I spent two hours in a pub in London chatting film, politics, and literature with an Irishman working on publishing his first novel.) Also learned some fun facts about the Presidency in Ireland. Their past two Presidents have been women named Mary, so the tour guide claims that school children come in thinking that in Ireland, you have to be a woman to be President, and it helps if your name is Mary. It was also here that we encountered a name that would follow us from site to site in Dublin: Eamon de Valera, born in the U.S. to an Irish mother and Spanish father, he was sent back to Ireland for his education and then rose to greatness. This is not the last time you will see this name, dear reader, so remember it well.

Christ Church Cathedral

From the Castle we headed to the oldest building in Dublin, the Christ Church Cathedral, founded in 1030. Lots of cool stuff here, including the burial place of the Norman invader (and cider namesake) Strongbow. Also, in the crypt there is a mummified Cat and Rat that were found stuck in an organ pipe. After getting caught in the photograph of a couple outside, who proceeded to actually try to photograph us intentionally, we headed next door to...

Dublinia & The Viking Museum

We may have been the only visitors over twelve here who weren't escorting children. This place is stuck somewhere between historical, children's, and wax museum, giving it an interesting feel. But we made a good time out of it, as we learned that Vikings did not wear horned helmets (but their gift shop will gladly perpetuate the horned helmet myth), got to try on helmets of our own, make rubbings in crayon of a variety of different things, smell and guess the names of spices, and interact with all sorts of wax figures. We also learned about archaeology. Did you know that archaeologists do not use potato peelers on site? (Unless they are peeling potatoes!)

Kilmainham Gaol

That's the Irish word for Jail, and it's where we went next. It was a long walk, and Eunice got lost a bit, which made things tricky, but eventually we made it. A few points of excitement: Along the corridors of the Gaol, above the cells of famous inmates, they put up plaques with their names. Remember that name I asked you to remember? He was on one of them. That's right, American-born Irish President Eamon de Valera spent time in Goal! When our guide mentioned the name, he failed to mention his later Presidency, and I stood for a while wondering where I'd heard that name. But my favorite part of the Gaol was its cinematic history, since both The Italian Job (original) and In the Name of the Father were filmed there, a fact that I am proud to have guessed at before we were told.

Guinness Storehouse

Heading back into the city, we made the stop we'd been waiting for all day. The Guinness Storehouse is set up so incredibly well. First, a tour of the ingredients (Barley, Hops, Yeast, Water), but artfully done, then an explanation of the process, then a lesson in how to taste all of the flavor in Guinness. But then comes the part I was really excited for: Two exhibits devoted to advertising. Everything from the 'My Goodness, My Guinness' Zoo Keeper to the modern brilliance of noitulovE. And a whole presentation of the artwork of John Gilroy, who created the Zoo Keeper ads. I was in advertising heaven. And we closed off our tour with a free pint at the 7th floor Gravity Bar, taking in great views of Dublin and the surrounding area. The pint was delicious, and I was glad I'd held off trying one for weeks in England and waited to get one at the source.

In Search of Sustenance and Sleep

Fueled by our Guinness, we decided to make the trek to our hostel and drop our stuff off before grabbing dinner. So, with tired feed and sore backs (remember, I've got a laptop in the bag), we set off to find Dublin International Youth Hostel. Eunice had a lot of trouble with this one, and we couldn't find the street on the very tiny map we'd been provided with in the Dublin Pass book, so we took a great deal longer to get there than we should have. But eventually we made it, and were able to check-in, buy a lock for our locker, and get our first glimpse and smell of the ten bed room we'd be staying in for the next four nights. Still, the smell wasn't enough to extinguish our appetites, so we checked what deals the Dublin Pass had in store for us.

Captain America's

Yes, that's what we settled on. I'm pretty sure it's because it was closest to the hostel. But you know what, I don't need to defend our decision against your judgements! I know you're thinking, "Why didn't you go to a traditional Irish pub, for some traditional Irish stew or something?" I'll tell you why. Free dessert. That's right. After my burger (which came with a fried egg on it, my favorite non-traditional burger topping) I enjoyed a delicious ice cream sundae. So there, now you are all jealous of the good time we had at Captain America's.

First Night

Once we'd finally gotten the attention of the waitstaff and paid for our food (except for the desserts, which, remember, were FREE) we trekked back across the river to our hostel, where I was quick to climb up into bed and fall asleep for the first time in somewhere around 36 hours.

There you have it, Dublin: Day 1. Just wait until you hear about the shenanigans we get into on Day 2. You can expect writers, drinks, and giant wolves.

Dublin: Day 0 - Prelude to a Trip

I have returned from Dublin with stories galore. So many ticket stubs, brochures, and receipts cover my desk, I hardly know where to begin. Or how to fit it all into one entry. So here's what we're going to do. I'm going to be blogging on each day of my trip one entry at a time. And posting them on the day of the week that they happened (from Wednesday to Monday). So we're gearing up for six entries of Dublinformation & Dublintertainment.

"Six days?" You may be asking yourself. "But Evan, I am such a devoted follower of your travels, that I know you were only in Dublin from Thursday to Monday, and that is five days!" Well, dear reader, to understand certain elements of this multi-day epic, it is necessary to have a prequel of sorts. So consider this entry the "The Hobbit" to the "Lord of the Rings"-esque tale that will unfold over the next several days. Do not worry, though, there will not be any crazy Appendices. And I have not created my own languages, songs, or elaborate mythologies to go along with it. Dublin did all that for me!

So now then, to begin: Wednesday, February 17th.

I woke up early that morning, due to the large to-do list I had laid out the night before. My goal was to finish a paper that was due Monday before I left, so that I would not have to bring my laptop with me, and in-between finishing that, find the time to print my bus and plane tickets, find some shampoo and toothpaste of a carry-on friendly size, pick-up a few things from Jon, do laundry, and pack my bag. It was going to be a full day.

Well, I was intently working on my paper when, after a quick sub of the day break, Jon called me up out of the blue. I was thinking he wanted me to go get my stuff, but instead he told me that his friend Abby had accidentally purchased tickets to see Waiting for Godot on the wrong day, and now she had an extra ticket, and would I like to go with her. So here I was with an opportunity to see a show I'd always wanted to see, starring Sir Ian McKellen no less, on the one day where I'm seriously working under a mildly flexible deadline.

So I thought: Do I go see this show, or do I finish my paper? Then I thought: This show is by Samuel Beckett. He is Irish. We will be hearing about him in Dublin. This would be a wonderful preview to the culture.

And I went.

It was an excellent show. For those of you who know nothing about this show, I suppose a plot summary is in order: Nothing happens. Two men, Vladimir and Estragon, wait for someone named Godot. They instead meet up with a man named Potzo who keeps a man named Lucky tied up on a leash. Potzo and Lucky leave. Godot never comes. This sequence of events is repeated in the second act. So, how could I enjoy such a show? One, it was extremely funny and incredibly tragic. Both at the same time. Also, all four actors gave superb performances. Watching Ian McKellen eat a carrot was the second best actor eating a fruit or vegetable scene I've ever seen. (First place goes to Geoffrey Rush's apple eating at the end of Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest.) The only way I could have enjoyed it more is if I didn't have the thought of paper-writing itching at the back of my brain. It took all of Ian McKellen's acting prowess to keep me from thinking of George Bailey and Jefferson Smith.

After the show, I grabbed a pizza at ICCO, and settled back into work on the paper. Things were going along nicely when I was interrupted by BBC's incredibly thorough online coverage of the Olympics. Specifically, I was watching the Men's Halfpipe Qualifier. More specifically, I was watching to see New Hampshire's own Scotty Lago. Now, I wasn't sure what to expect. I mean, I knew he was good from everything I'd heard, but I'd never seen footage of him boarding. The only time I'd seen him get air we were jumping out of a plane. Well, I watched him place into the semi-finals, which apparently wasn't shown on the NBC coverage back in the states. (Put that on the list with Bob Costas as a strike against NBC coverage.) Didn't get to watch the semis, though, because I had laundry to do. Well, it was a pleasant surprise when I came back from doing laundry around 2:00 or so to find that he had placed into the finals.

At this point, I was far from done my paper, and had resigned to the fact that I would not be finishing before I left. I would be bringing the laptop with me to Dublin. I also decided that at this point, going to sleep would be a bad idea. You see, I had to catch a 5:30 bus to the airport, and I was afraid I would oversleep and miss it at this point. So I decided I would stay up and fly to Dublin on zero hours of sleep. A good idea? Well, you can judge that on your own when you see how Day 1 goes.

But, a result of my sleepless night: I got to watch every boarder of the Men's Halfpipe Final. (Again, more than the NBC viewers. Love that BBC.) Well, after a quiet, yet elated celebration on Scotty's securing Bronze, followed by an even quieter stunned silence when Shaun White unveiled his new trick, I realized I hadn't really packed. So I tossed some stuff in my backpack, and I was ready to go. After a quick shower to wake myself up, I was out the door to meet Ryan for the walk to Baker Street to catch the EasyBus.

But that's where the line between Day Zero and Day One blurs together, and where I'll draw this post to an end. So, some things to remember:

1. As of the start of Day 1 (5:00 AM) I had not slept for 20 hours.

2. I had just watched Irish playwright Samuel Beckett's most famous work, Waiting for Godot.

3. I was hauling my laptop with me to at some point finish my paper.

What we blog about when we blog about love.

What else could I title a blog post written on Valentine's Day? Okay, so there are lots of options. I could have gone the movie route. ("Blog, Actually." "Punch Drunk Blog." "From London With Blog.") Or the novel route. ("Blog In the Time of Cholera" leaps to mind.) And the music route offers an incredible number of possibilities. ("Can't Blog Me Love." "The Hazards of Blog." "The Greatest Blog of All" sounds a bit boastful. Avenue Q's "You Can Be As Loud As The Hell You Want When You're Making A Blog." And so on, for the other 460 items in my iTunes library that remain when I search 'love').

But in the end, the Raymond Carver short story wins out, and that's the title we're left with.

So, what DO we blog about when we blog about love?

Here's what I'm going to do: Talk about the things I love about London so far. This is, after all, still a travel blog at heart. Sure, I'll be using 'love' a bit hyperbolically. But that's what Valentine's Day is for, right? That and giving Hallmark something to do in February. (Such a pity Presidents' Day Cards didn't take-off.)

Are you ready? Then we'll begin.

The Green Man

I have mentioned this place before. It is a cider house, but not in the John Irving sense (though it does rule). It's more of a pub that specializes in ciders and awesomeness. Lots of different ciders. From ciders so dry it feels like you're drinking a pint of wine (Westons Organic Vintage) to ciders made from pears instead of apples (Gaymers Pear). But the cider of choice: Green Man Special Cellar, a cider made especially for the Green Man. Perfection in a pint. Sweet and strong, you have to be careful if you have more than one. And you'll want to have more than one. But good drinks alone do not a good pub make. This place also has an excellent atmosphere. All sorts of crazy stuff hanging on the walls. And "Room 2" upstairs features a bunch of classic movie posters, like "Forbidden Planet" and "Das Cabinet des Dr. Caligari." And they play all sorts of great music (see below). And they know us there now. For the most part. Well, two of the bartenders do. So I can check that off my London to-do list. Speaking of to-do lists, I'm working my way through trying all the ciders. I will provide more thorough information when I complete my mission.

New Music

From the moment I stepped into Subway (see below) and heard a song I'd never heard before in my life, I realized I'd probably stumble upon some new music in London. This has indeed been the case. Much of this music has been found at the Green Man (see above). They have been so kind as to list a lot of the stuff they are playing at the pub on their website, which has helped me track it down on Grooveshark. Here are some artists I've been listening to from that: Bombay Bicycle Club, Memory Tapes, Fools Gold, We Were Promised Jetpacks. All make for great listening. I've linked to my favorite songs on Grooveshark. But I definitely recommend checking the rest of it out. Especially the Memory Tapes album "Seek Magic" and the We Were Promised Jetpacks album "These Four Walls."

I've also just recently (read: yesterday) seen some live music, as part of HMV's "Next Big Thing" series of concerts highlighting bands and musicians who are, well... the Next Big Thing. Last night at a place called The Borderlines we saw three acts. First was a fellow named Andrew Morris. I think he was good, though we weren't really listening at that point. After him came Matthew P. Very good stuff. He only has two songs up on his Myspace* music page. Unfortunately, my favorite is not up there. Even more unfortunately, his EP "Swimming" is not available in the states, so if you like what you hear (and you're in America), you can't buy it. And I can't even find out if my favorite song he played is on the EP. Though I don't think it is. Anyway, there was a third band that night, too, but they were old and awful, and don't have much time left to become "The Next Big Thing."

Sub of the Day

When you don't have a dollar in your currency, a five dollar footlong is not a possibility, so what is a country to do? England's answer: The Sub of the Day. Every day of the week, you can get a different six inch sub for 1.99. Now, they don't let you decide -- it's a calendar that they appoint. But it's a good calendar. It includes Turkey & Ham, Italian BMT, Tuna, Spicy Italian, and more... My personal favorite: Monday's Chicken Tikka. Perhaps simply because it's something we don't have at home. But more likely because it is incredibly delicious. If you are ever wondering, "Hmm... What is Evan eating for lunch today?" Just check this website, and you will have your answer.

The Senate House Library

My adviser/tutorial leader in the English department recommended I check out this library in addition to UCL's. His argument was built on the fact that they had more film books. He was absolutely correct. I went here on Friday and it blew my mind. First of all, the place is a maze. Separated into two massive wings, each with several floors, rather than just have large, expansive rooms full of books (it does have those), it also features hallways with dorm-room sized rooms coming off of them, each of which is filled with shelves. And the film books (what I was seeking out to find some books by and about Frank Capra) are housed in the same area as all the American Literature section. Now, the maze-like nature of this library would probably annoy a lot of people. But the way I see it, I'll never be in a rush to find a book, by virtue of the fact that I am not in a Dan Brown novel, nor am I Nicolas Cage (THANK GOD). For me, the opportunity to wander invites me to pick up another book that I can use to take breaks from my work-required reading. Which is why Faulkner's "Go Down Moses" is sitting on top of my stack right now. Excellent. Also, in among their Modern American Lit. was a copy of the novelization of E.T. So how can this library get any more amazing? Answer: It could come with me back to Georgetown.

UCL English Lectures

Okay, so not always. But for the most part, I have loved my lectures in the English department. The system they have here is really cool. My class subjects in English are extremely vague, if you don't remember: American Literature to 1890 and Modern Literature. Every week, a different lecturer comes to talk to us about a specific subject. Examples from recent lectures include: Walt Whitman, New York, The American Short Story, and Melville's "Benito Cereno" in American Lit. and Reading Film, Vertigo, J.M. Cotzee, and Post-colonialism in Moderns. The variety in lecturer is really great, as it gives you the feeling that whoever is lecturing on something is doing so because they really know their stuff. Now, whether or not this is the case, I'm not sure. To be fair, I've had a few lectures that didn't seem to interesting, but... They are more than balanced out by entertaining and engaging lectures by Mark Ford and Michael Sayeau, my favorite members of the English department here.

So, that is just a sample of some of the things I'm loving about London. Check back later this week for some potential updates on: My feelings toward the Amazon Kindle, a summary version of my paper on Frank Capra, and a preview of my plans for my trip to Ireland. Oh, and maybe those photos of Amsterdam!

*Dear readers, if you have a Myspace and are not a musician, I kindly request that you de-activate it immediately.

Dames en heren, we gaan beginnen!

Translation: Ladies and gentlemen, let's begin!

As you faithful readers of these adventures and musings may recall, a few posts ago I mentioned a trip to Amsterdam in the near future. Well, that near future is now the past, and the trip was a success. Jon, Ryan, Brett, and I have gone to Amsterdam and returned to tell of our adventures. Here are some highlights:

Ingang (Entrance)

What better way to travel to a city full of canals than by overnight ferry? From London's Liverpool Street Station, we took an evening train to Harwich, where we boarded our StenaLine vessel. After exploring the boat (from deck, to bar, to on-board shop) we decided to go to sleep early, since we'd be getting into Hoek van Holland at 7:45 the next morning. Several hours later we were given a boat-wide wake-up call in Dutch by our captain, to inform us that "Coffee-tea-snacks" would be available for purchase, and that we should get ready to get off das boot. Soon we were down the gangway, passing all sorts of strange Dutch signs and ads (Giorgio says 'Magnifico'!). And an hour or so of train travel later, explaining that yes, our tickets were indeed valid, we were in Amsterdam.

Once we'd figured out how to exit the train station (a more complicated procedure than you may think), we were off and exploring. Sort of. More wandering, really, since we had no idea where we were going. Or where we were. Everything was extremely foggy for our entire stay. You couldn't really forecast your route more than a block, because from there, you couldn't see a thing. But we let our wallets and our stomachs be our maps, finding first an ATM, then a nice bakery called the "Special Dutch Bakery." We also dropped a few collective Euro on a large and confusing map of the city, failing to notice the many -ijds, -ijks, and double-vowels that would have clued us in to the fact that was exclusively in Dutch. But thankfully we had Eunice the Garmin GPS on hand to guide us to our first destination.

Het Rembrandt-Huis

Here, for 6 Euro, we were able to see the home of famous painter and etcher, Rembrandt Harmenszoon van Rijn (whose full name was not mentioned at any point on our tour). The home was filled with items that would have been there when he lived there from 1639 to 1656. Not one to braggingly display his own work, Rembrandt's house was frustratingly devoid of any Rembrandts. But he did have a fantastic room of curiosities, including various sculptures and stuffed animals (I was particularly fond of the two armadillos, though one stood next to an armadillo-shell basket, making for a disconcerting juxtaposition). They also had a nice display of his etchings, and some goofy demonstrations of paint making and etching printing.

But it was shortly after this that we realized something (other than us) was...

Lost in Amsterdam

Let's face it. It wouldn't be a complete blog entry about Amsterdam if we didn't reference Guster at least once! So, what was lost, you ask?

You may have noticed that there is no photo link for pictures of Amsterdam. Nor are there any photos in this post. That's because sometime between the train into Amsterdam and the Rembrandt House, my camera vanished. Thankfully, I hadn't taken any pictures, so no memories were lost. But it was (and is) extremely frustrating. But we had to persevere... So we set ourselves a new destination and charted a course for...

The Van Gogh Museum

But there was a huge line there, and it seemed somewhat expensive. So we didn't go in. Instead, we walked back over to...

The RijksMuseum

Initially, we'd passed this up because of the line, too, but under the impression that it was free (we had not yet learned that few things are free in the Netherlands, more on that later...), we waited. Here, we would encounter our first bouts with Dutch people who clearly wanted us to Uitgang (Exit) their country. After one member of our Fellowship was called an idiot by museum security for no reason at all, confusion with a revolving door resulted in further scoffing. Then, when Jon couldn't produce exact change for our 12.50 entry, and instead tried to pay with 15, the cashier exclaimed "You do not have exact change? Is this not possible?!" Clearly we were inadvertently upsetting these people.

The museum itself was interesting, though. The ground floor consisted of mostly historic Dutch artifacts from their time as "A World Power" (Remember New Amsterdam? Imagine how different the rhythm of this song would be if that had stuck...). On the first floor (upstairs), there were all sorts of paintings, including the Rembrandts we had secretly been expecting to find at his house. And some very nice Vermeers, and an exhibit on "The Little Ice Age" art of Hendrick Avercamp. After picking up the bags we'd had to check (a fact which we learned when one of us walked in with his in hand), we were back to the cold, foggy streets of Amsterdam, ready to make the long trek to...

Hotel Flipper

Our stately accommodations for the evening, maintaining the nautical theme of our journey with a dolphin on the sign. The theme isn't consistent throughout, as the decorations on the inside were mainly framed jigsaw puzzles of babies dressed up as flowers. Here we would encounter our first and only language barrier, as the housekeeper mistook our request for a bar of soap in the hall bathroom as one for every bar of soap and bottle of shampoo she could find. After setting down the bags and resting our feet for a few minutes, we were off and back into the city.

Wandering the Streets I

Bracing ourselves against the cold and fog, we walked around Amsterdam taking in the evening sights. One interesting detail in the Hotel Flipper neighborhood, is that for a city built so much on canals and waterways, boat maintenance is not a priority for most people. Coatings of algae are common decor on many of the boats, and dozens of boats have simply given up on floating, choosing instead to rot and sink, half submerged in murky water. Lovely.

So how do people get around, then? Cars? No. Walking? Only the foolish tourists. The natives prefer the bicycle. On the boatride over, Ryan mentioned that there are more bicycles than people in Amsterdam. We all had a good laugh about this. That couldn't possibly be the case, because people only need one bike. It's not like sheep in Ireland, where a farmer could have several hundred. And bikes don't occur in the wild, so that's not a factor. But lo-and-behold, it appears to be true, at least from observation. From the train you can see massive bicycle-only parking lots. And bike paths are more heavily trafficked than roadways. But even with all this traffic, no one wears a helmet. So for anyone in helmets looking to corner the market... A few well-placed ads featuring brutal head-injuries and statistics, plus one centralized helmet store... Just a thought.

Anyway, shortly after we set out, we realized we hadn't eaten since our stop at the Special Dutch Bakery, so we decided to stop in at the next reasonably placed restaurant we found. As a result, we did not enjoy any authentic Dutch cuisine, and instead had Italian. The most interesting feature of their menu? The choice of small, medium, or large beer. We all got medium, and then asked what kind it was. The response we got sounded like "Any kind," but before we could specify our kind of choice, the waiter quickly walked away, perhaps afraid we would infect him with our Americanness. We would soon learn that what we heard as "Any kind" was actually his Dutched-up pronunciation of Heineken, which we probably should have realized earlier, having walked by the Heineken factory four times that day.

Fueled by our pizzas, our medium beers, and the lukewarm hospitality we received at the restaurant, we were on the streets again for more exploring. After being accosted by a multi-lingual crutch-wielding homeless lady, who we would later run into again when we ducked into a souvenir shop to warm-up, we realized exactly how strange this place was. Between the bikes, the sunken boats, and the pretty lax legal system, it was like nowhere we'd ever been. We continued to wander, until the exhaustion of a night of poor-pillowed boat sleep and a day of city-walking hit us. But rather than call it a night all-together, we decided to stop off for a late-night snack, where we would learn a very important lesson.

The adventurous travelers that we are, we decided to grab some McDonalds. Here, there were certain difficulties with our orders. Specifically, miscommunication with one cashier led to a price that was way too high. That was corrected, but then when we expressed surprise at the additional cost of a pack of ketchup, an employee set us straight, reminding us that "This is not Free-mart!" True, sir, true. But we just want some dipping sauce. We found ourselves repeating the words that had been so rudely presented to us earlier in the day: "Is this not possible?" It turns out it was. It just cost us money.

That was our last stop of the night. We returned to Hotel Flipper somewhat early that night, planning on getting up early the next day to see the Sunday sights.

Sunday Morning

After a pretty expansive breakfast at Hotel Flipper, we checked-uit faster than lightning, leaving that world full of wonder to find ourselves once again wandering the Amsterdam streets with our backpacks. But this time, we had a destination in mind, so as we bid farewell to the sunken boat neighbors of Hotel Flipper, we asked Eunice to guide the way to...

The Anne Frank Huis

We arrived to find there was no line, but it still took us a little while to get in, since they, too, had a backpack-related request. Unlike the Rijksmuseum, which made us check our bags, though, the Anne Frank Huis, simply requested that we where them as frontpacks. So, tickets in hand and backpacks simulating pregnancy, we entered the "Museum with a Story." As the only member of our Fellowship who had not read her Diary, I was a little bit behind on what the story was, but the museum does a lovely job presenting it for those who somehow missed that part of the required reading list in their younger years. Quotes from the diary, along with historical artifacts and more general description fill the house from the office area to the secret annex. The story is presented not only architecturally, taking you through the house, but also chronologically. Overall, quite well-done; definitely a powerful and moving experience, though it was somewhat frustrating when the route through the house ends at the Anne Frank Cafe and Gift Shop.

Wandering the Streets II

Once again, we found ourselves out on the streets with no real destination in mind. We stopped to right our backpacks, and those of us with cameras (everyone but me), took pictures of the outside of the house, and the large line that had now queued up outside. Heading back toward the city, we passed a bridge with a Pan (of Pan's Labyrinth) like carving on it. I stopped to get my picture taken as the Pale-Man. Hopefully the rest of the Fellowship will upload their photos soon, so that I may compile and post a few of theirs (giving proper credits, of course) so you faithful readers can see them. Pan was just the first of many bizarre decorations and statues we walked by that day. We also saw Anne Frank and Multatuli, both done in a similar style, making them appear to be melting after already having been hastily created. We also stumbled upon some very impressive graffiti and building art, including the Lichtenstein-esque explosion featured 7-seconds into the Amstel Light video you should have watched at the beginning of this post. Very cool. It made me sad to be missing my camera.

With no destination in mind, we couldn't have Eunice guide us, but managed to stumble upon one of the sights we had intended to visit all along. Walking along the water at one point, I looked at the windows of the buildings we were passing, and noticed that some of them were framed in red light. We had stumbled upon the outskirts of the famed Red Light District. Walking a block away from the water, we found ourselves in the heart of the District on a Sunday morning. Now, as you can imagine, a Sunday morning is a pretty quiet time in the Red Light District. Perhaps people are in church, praying away their latest stop on the road we were now on. (Though it's more likely they were at some brunch buffet, enjoying the Skip's Scramble or some other ungodly culinary creation.) Basically, we were the only people on the streets, which made an already bizarre, somewhat awkward place, even more bizarre and awkward.

We continued our window shopping at a few other shops selling interesting oddities. First, a collection of Socialist Art and Memorabilia, including an interesting collection of busts of Stalin, Lenin and the gang, along with a collection of paintings of Lenin doing non-government things like having a picnic. They also had a banknote for ten-trillion Zimbabwe dollars. And a little walk away from there we found a liquor store with a window full of absinthe. We considered buying some, but weren't sure what transport laws would be like, and didn't want to spend any more time dealing with customs officials the next morning than we needed to.

We decided to return to the main square in Amsterdam, to see a few of the major monuments and sights in that area, or what we could see of them through the fog. But on our way there, I shouted at two passing bikers, because... They were Georgetown's own Dan Finnegan and Andrew Dubbins! They had come up for a weekend away from Georgetown's posh Villa le Balze. Unfortunately, they were on their way to return their rental bikes (more bikes that contribute to the inflated bike-to-person ratio), so we couldn't spend more time than a quick hello, and some shared remarks on crazy random happenstances and small worlds.

After a bit more wandering and some lunch, it was time to head back to the train station and back to Hoek van Holland.

Uitgang (Exit)

After yet another round of confusion on the train, as the ticket-taker wondered what this ticket that promised us transport from "Any Dutch Station" meant, we reached the Stena Line port with time to spare before we would be allowed on the boat at 7:00. So we finished the last of the snacks we'd purchased while watching CNN and learning of the massive snow storm we were missing in D.C. Soon it was time to board the boat, and after yet another bout of ticket confusion (really now, isn't this the type of ticket the boat people should be used to seeing?) we bid farewell to Giorgio and his advertising friends, and boarded to head back to Harwich. Since we were on the boat earlier this time, we decided to grab a few drinks on the on-board bar and have dinner at "Food City" one of two restaurants on the boat. Unfortunately, Food City wasn't Free-Mart either, and we were charged for condiments here, too, with the exception of soy sauce, which apparently translates as "Catjip" in Dutch, so you can see how that might be misleading.

Following another night of boat-sleep, we were awoken by our captain at 5:30, got off the boat around 6:30, breezed through Customs with surprising ease, and were sleepily riding the train back to London shortly thereafter. And I was back in Ramsay Hall in time for breakfast!

Overall, a worthwhile trip, and an exciting first adventure out of London. But after two days, we were ready to uitgang... perhaps because it was so cold. And I think the Dutch folks we met were ready for us to uitgang, too, back to our land of Free-Marts, any kinds, and things that are possible.

Review: Harry Brown

The first film I saw at the Prince Charles Cinema was an early matinee of Harry Brown, the first film of director Daniel Barber.

Harry Brown is a dark, gritty story of vigilante justice exacted by an aging man (Michael Caine, aka why I went to see this movie) against the drug dealing hoodlums who terrorize his neighborhood and have just murdered his close friend (David Bradley, aka Hogwarts' Mr. Filch). Caine's story is interwoven with the official police investigation of the murder, led by Detective Inspector Frampton (Emily Mortimer, who 30 Rock fans will recognize as the hollow-boned Phoebe*).

Now, when I say gritty, I don't mean things get a little dirty, like when you skin your knee on the playground and some sand sticks to it. I mean turn your eyes from the screen because you can't believe this is actually happening and that you're seeing it. But you know what your getting right from the start. The opening two shots, which appear to be made on a camera-phone (a well-executed stylistic decision relevant to later plot details) are as follows: (1) As a gang initiation a boy freebases cocaine (?) out of a lightbulb, and (2) a young mother is gunned-down in a park by two boys on a moped (?), which is quickly hit by a truck. And this is all before the opening credits tell us "Michael Caine is Harry Brown."

And indeed, he is. One has to wonder, as Jon and I did on our walk home, what drew Caine to this role. Perhaps it was the complex loneliness of Harry, or the invitation to play an (almost) action hero. We may never know. But it's a good thing he did. I can imagine no one else in the role. Emily Mortimer is similarly wonderful to watch.

But what makes the movie so gut-wrenchingly difficult to watch without grimacing, shuddering, or turning your eyes down from the screen, are the performances of the film's hoodlums. These characters were portrayed so realistically by the cast that it is difficult to believe they are not, in real life, gang members, drug dealers, or addicts. They are, for the most part, thoroughly unlikable, contributing to the viewer's unwavering support for Harry's vigilantism. It is in the creation of the details of these characters that the film really thrills. Tension rises brilliantly in an interrogation montage, and in one sequence in the basement of a completely terrifying dealer and addict, my heart raced and my breathing slowed, forming one of the strongest physical reactions I've ever had to a film. Much of this is due to the quickly established fact that when tension is formed in this film, it won't be broken, so much as shattered; the violence will be swift and brutal, and Daniel Barber isn't going to dampen the impact by cutting away.

As far as films like it, I really can't think of any. Comparisons to Eastwood's "Gran Torino" are easy to jump to, but the film hardly feels the same. For one thing, the supporting cast in this one does a good job (even if the writing leaves their characters a bit flat, as some reviewers complain), unlike the often laughable performance of the minor characters in "Torino." Furthermore, whereas Eastwood's aging ex-military man seeks to keep his past life closed, Caine's literally re-opens the box of his Marine days. And the violence here leaves "Torino," and any other violent film I've seen, feeling relatively tame. But perhaps my tolerance is low or my exposure to cinematic violence too limited.

Ultimately, Jon and I concluded that we cannot really recommend this film to anyone, as much as we both liked it. Neither of us would seek it out to view again. It was simply that unsettling. One of those films that you avoid recommending, for fear that it might color you a violent sociopath in the eyes of others. Or worse yet, that a conversation may ensue, wherein a new viewer asks, "Do you remember that scene when...?"

Yes, I do remember that scene. In wide-screen, surround-sound, squirming, flinching, heart-racing detail.

*"I'm Phoebe, we've met before. Jack proposed to me outside your office?... I have hollow bones like a bird?..."