Pompeii

It's rather late, so I physically cannot write much, but I went to Pompeii today. Very cool.

I have to look up the following fact, overheard from the mouth of a tour guide: Vesuvius was ten thousand feet tall before the eruption and three thousand feet after it. That's unbelievable, but I really want to believe it.

Train to Rome tomorrow morning with three girls from London I just met in the hostel. I'm supposed to protect them from predatorial Italians. Do I look tough?

But

Naples looks better at night from a hill overlooking it.

On The Other Hand

Don't bother with Naples. It's dirty and hot. I just walked around for five hours and the difference between this and other large Italian cities is amazing. Falling apart all over the place are buildings, cars, street signs. The roads are somehow falling apart, despite proximity to the ground and consequent inability to fall anywhere, shaken perhaps, or stirred. Could be tremors from nearby Vesuvius (the pretty backdrop to the ugly city). There are some monumental constructions of overlookable beauty—churches, monuments, piazze—overlookable because the disrepair suggests even the locals don't care. The city may have no greater merit than being home to pizza napolitana, which I declare (with a sample size of one) very good. Hopefully, I can bear to leave the hostel to get more.

This hostel is awesome. It has a bar/cafè that looks like (and it turns out may actually be) a nightclub, it's spotless, it has a large common room with a large TV and large beanbags. And ping-pong. And a courtyard. Some things live up to their hype.

Tomorrow I'll probably check out Pompeii and then hit the beach in Sorrento, unless Scot looks at the text message I sent him and recommends I come to Perugia. Scot?

Vittoria

I've been playing a game: Accidentally Run Into People I Know. I may have mentioned this. The last time I won the game was in Copenhagen twelve days ago. This is longer than the average so far, and I was getting anxious. I wasn't holding it against myself because Warsaw is a low-probability location, but I was definitely in withdrawal. As much as I hate the number of tourists in Florence, it does make it easier to win the game. I spend my whole time there walking around expecting to run into somebody. I did: Magali Rowan, Williams '07 and her brother Vincent, Northeastern '10. We had a beer. It was awesome. We might meet up again in Switzerland.

If I haven't run into you randomly yet, get on it!

Down South

I'm at a computer in the basement of the Florence train station knocking of this post before my session expires in nine and half minutes, so forgive me for being brief.

What have I done in Florence. Last time I was here I did most of the "important" stuff, like the Uffizi, the Accademia, and the Bargello. The only thing I hadn't done was climb the hill to Santa Maria al Campo (I don't have time to check the name... it's probably wrong). I had a new personal favorite church experience. It was just before closing and quite dark inside. I felt like I was walking through a Caravaggio painting. There's more to say here, but I need to move on.

I've had the expat experience basically. I've been hanging out with Americans that don't speak Italian, but they're been living here all summer, so they live in apartments and know their way around. I'm not sure if Italians prefer this category of resident to the regular tourists, but it's a new experience for me, so I'm up for it. Returned to the home Acqua al 2, home of the blueberry steak, where I had a fantastic meal last time I was in Florence with John, Scot, Morgan Anderson (Williams '07), and Helen Hatch (Williams '09). I think there may have been someone else there, and I apologize for leaving them out. Memory fades.

This is a beautiful city, whatever else may be wrong with it. If you walk by the Duomo in the middle of the night, you can have some time alone with it. Much better than during the day. The lighting is more mysterious.

I'm going to Naples in two hours, my first new Italian city this time around. I know almost nothing about it. Let me know if you have any recommendations. Ciao.

Haunted Streets

Florence, the first foreign city I visited twice, just became the first I visited thrice. First time, March 2000. Second time, January 2007. Third time, July 2007. It feels like the Louvre here, but without climate control. It's possible I haven't seen any Italians, and English is definitely the official language of Florentine summers. I'm still trying to work out how this makes me feel.

Any level of tourism changes a place. At some point, that level becomes Too High, and so to me Unbearable. One senses a corruption of the place, too concerned with showing itself off than being itself, much as people do. Being here for the third time makes me less susceptible to the city's facade and more interested in its soul. It's not totally soulless—that would be impossible here—but it feels like Florence is a hooker-with-a-heart-of-gold, turning tricks to pay its way through college, where college is our collective consciousness. With all these people milling around here, it looks like Florence is doing well there. The price of high marks though is authenticity.

If we think of the physical structures of the city as its body and the people who live there as its soul, we can find a explanation for this soullesness. The people here are tourists. Their lives are not of the city, are not adapted to its rhythms, its places, its geography. Through sheer force of numbers they possess the body of the city with a maladapted soul. And this is something I find repulsive.

I have no clue if there is anything that could be done about this. I'm just pointing it out as Too Bad and recommending off-peak travel to the wise.

The gelato still tastes good though. And the language is still beautiful; none of the foreigners speak it.

Adversity Bonds

Arrived in Munich this morning from Prague. I was on my own for about 30 minutes after I left Magda, Agata, and Marketa in the station, but I got on the train and started talking with the two girls to my right. They're going to Florence too, so we're together for the long haul (about 22 hours). I haven't randomly run into somebody I know in more than a week, so I was getting a bit anxious, but one of the girls went to school with Ali Cohen (shout out to her, wherever she is), so I'm declaring partial victory.

The train was basically empty from Prague to Dresden, but a trainload loaded there, complicating things. A man smelling offensively of cigarettes and beer, and dressed offensively in demin, showed up with a reservation for the same seat as me. Hmm. He sat down in an empty seat behind me (I had three hours' seat-seniority on him). Then he took off his shoes. DEAR GOD. It took a few seconds to figure out where the smell was coming from. I checked my armpits. Nope. The girls and I started discussing the problem in Chinese. Other people started to notice, including the Austrian cellist that had taken the seat to my left. She expressed her preference of my presence in the seat to the alternative. We tried to MacGuyver some solutions to the problem. Scarves came out. I tried pouring mouthwash on the armrest. No success, but we were all instant friends.

Then the train got fuller. Someone came for the seat The Offensiveness was over-filling, which meant he came for my seat. The conductor said our double-bookingwas not possible; no mistakes on Die Bahn. Upon consultation, my reservation failed to be for the correct day. The ticket office in Prague on Monday must have heard 'tomorrow' when I said 'today'. The crowd goes wild, with distress. The conductor kindly lets me take a seat further back in the train at no charge, but I was literally fearing for the life of this Austrian girl, Magdalena (two in one day!).

Uneventful from there, for me. I came back and visited in the morning after he got off the train. I lost my glasses case somewhere on the train and should go buy a new one before the train. I arrive in Florence at 5:56 pm after crossing the Alps. I hope we don't spend too much time in tunnels. Hasta Italia, todos.

Praha

The falling dollar has forced me east, first Warsaw, and now Prague, where I arrived yesterday morning. A full day of sun and walking brought me to Hradčany, a massive castle complex sitting on a hill on the west bank of the Vltava river and looking out over the entire city. A gorgeous late-Gothic cathedral stands in the middle of the complex. You can climb the 287 steps to the top of the south tower for breathtaking views of the city. The entire complex is illuminated at night and forms a priceless backdrop for evening strolls on the opposite bank of the river. I give you a picture, but you should just see it:


For me, Prague was immediately comfortable and comforting. Except for the train station. The station is awful, the worst I have yet seen. All future visitors should prostrate themselves in submission to whatever god is responsible for the renovation. I was terrified that the city would in any way resemble the station, which is not the case. Magda's friend Marketa (not quite sure on the spelling) met us at the train station at 7 am and gave us a mini-tour before heading to class. We ended up at the Old Town Square, which is exactly what its name implies. One of the churches in the square has an awesome astronomical clock:


I have no clue what it Signifies, but it does it really well. We stuck around to watch the clock strike eight, because apparently there is an animatronic spectacle on the hour every hour. Little doors open and the Apostles come out. I think they dance, or something. For some reason it didn't happen, leaving me and the rest of the small crowd merely under-caffeinated and not excited as well.

My frustrating utter inability to choose the music I listen to continues. I could have put my computer to good, relevant use last night. We were leaning on the railing on the east bank of the river in front of a statue of Bedřich Smetana, Prague's hometown hero-composer, looking out over the river to the castle. The relevant music was Smetana's piece named after the river (called The Moldau in English). I didn't know the piece was about Prague and the river until yesterday, but I started thinking about it right after we arrived, because the little jingle announcing announcements in the train station is a bit of the theme. Yay small countries.

I need to end this post because the woman behind me in this café is suffocating me with her perfume. I'll hopefully be back online tomorrow morning in Munich.

Exercise!

I brought shoes and clothing to run in on this trip, thinking I would. I got off to a strong start in Ireland. John and I ran the first day (at the track with the 15-year-old daughter of our hosts). Then I took 22 days off. Two days ago Leipzig, I ran again. That night, as I have mentioned, we went dancing for at least two hours straight. I realized the next day that the exercise marathon gave me a widdle bwister on my toe and made my most of me somewhat sore. When I make it rain, I make it pour.

So anyway, I've remembered that marathon dancing is great exercise, and I've now done that as many times as I've run in Europe. My big mistake though, with respect to dancing, is thinking I can do it comfortably in anything but head-to-toe Dri-Fit. I have yet to meet an climate-control system that can keep up with me in a club, and until I do, normal clothing is unacceptably bad at wicking away sweat. Yeah, gross. At least (or unfortunately), I wasn't the only one.

There are a bunch of ice bars, bars carved out of ice in refridgerated rooms, in Europe. I wonder if there are any ice clubs. I would go. In fact, I would go exclusively. It would save me expense of commissioning Dri-Fit dress clothes.

Polski Smak

After John and I arrived in Limerick, Ireland by bus on June 26 and ate fish & chips, we started walking toward the center of town. Along the way we passed a store called "Polski Smak". I recognized Polski as a Slavic adjective meaning "Polish", but I had no idea what "smak" could be, other than the slang word for heroin. I was surprised that a store selling heroin—and Polish heroin at that—would advertise it so openly.

One of the advantages I've always noticed about being in Poland, is that if you need somebody to interpret Polish, you don't have to look very far. Magda, my hostess here, has corrected my pharmacological interpretation of the store's name. It means "Polish Taste". Far less interesting. Learning other languages increases understanding and cooperation, but it totally kills hilarity...

Dutch, for instance. If you understand Dutch, you don't get the sublime experience of reading it as an English speaker.

Poland

Yo I'm all up in Poland right now. I did not expect to get this far east! I'm staying with Magda, a friend from my program in Beijing last summer. I'm here with her, her sister, her two cousins from San Diego, and her grandmother. The latter just cooked us some deliciousness. Right now is the furthest I've ever been from understanding the language of the country I'm in.

Craziness in Leipzig last night. Kyra and I met up at Sol Y Luna, a mediterranean restuarant. They win top honors for decor and atmosphere from me. Seating options include standard sidewalk-side Rihanna-style (under the umbrella) tables, big wicker chairs with bar tables, couches with coffee tables, and circular lounge-beds with lap tables.

We had drinks there afterwards with a friend of Kyra and his Ukrainian girlfriend (native Russian speaker, Jon where were you!?). Moved to an establishment two doors down with a friendly host and good drinks, and were joined by some other guys from the company. All English-speaking and pleasant. As German-speakers joined the table though I felt increasingly self-conscious about forcing English conversation with my presence. Then a bachelor party showed up.

Apparently the local custom is to dress up the groom-to-be in a paper jumpsuit, draw random (possibly obscene) things on it, and send him out wasted and entourage'd onto the streets to hawk pieces of his jumpsuit and random crap. They came over to our table drunk and hilarious. I have no idea what they were bantering about, but everybody who did enjoyed it, and I had a blast guessing.

From there, Kyra and I were kidnapped by her friend Claudia and her two friends, Matse and Peleas. They brought us to a bar with billiards. Team America and Team Germany split two games. The place was dead though, so we left there to go back to the guys they had kidnapped us from, throw down some grappa, and finda dance club.

I don't have a clue what the timing of all this was, but we must have been dancing for two hours nonstop. The place had my favorite music setup: a hip-hop room and a house room. Ventilation was lacking. I realized that the awesome thing about being a white American boy dancing to American hip-hop in a Germany club is that it's my music. When I do the same thing in the states, I always feel at least partially silly dancing along and singing the words, because white boys look and sound ridiculous doing that. In Germany, however, I have the strongest claim to the music. It's my language, my country, and even though my flow needs work, the Germans sound more ridiculous than I do rapping along.

I'm looking forward to more experiences like that one. Perhaps on nights when I don't have to wake up at eight to catch a train.

It's A Small World After All...

John and I ran into Judi Pena (USC '08) in the Barcelona metro back on June 29. She was rolling with a friend of hers and a friend of her friend, and we hit up La Pedrera and first fantastic meal (at Sukur in the Barrio Gotico). We met up with E Dill (Williams '07) and her friend outside the Hard Rock Cafe and then hit up an Irish pub (embassy of the English-speaking world).

Hung out with Tosin Adeyanju (Williams '08) in Amsterdam July 7&8. She's working outside Amsterdam for the summer and played Sober Foil to John and my Amsterdam Tourist. That was a crazy weekend. Best line: while waiting forever for food in an almost empty Thai restaurant, "Sorry it took so long. There was a problem in the kitchen: your food got cold."

Monday the 9th in Paris, we ran into Katherine McAllister (Williams '07) on the street in Montmartre. She was having dinner with two friends and we were looking for a place to eat. She recommended I stick around for Bastille Day, July 14th, which I ended up doing, and she took me to her favorite creperie from when she studied abroad here.

Met up with Ben Isaac (Williams '07) in Copenhagen. We spent the first night working our way through massive beers, which a blast until, like so many things, the next day. During the first blurry, nauseous minutes of that next day, I ran into Allison Prevatt (Williams '09) in my hostel. She's been rolling through Scandinavia with her friend Deborah Perl (UVA '09). We ended up chilling with them for most of the day, which included a stroll through Christiania, a semi-self-governing neighborhood that Ben described as a sort of post-Apocalyptic Amsterdam. Later in the hostel, I met Dave Bogaty (Cornell '07), friend from home of Dan Wollin (Williams '07). Whirlwind of connections in that town. Got my first (metaphorical) taste of Scandinavian beauty there too...

Now I'm in Leipzig crashing with Kyra Ferber (Williams '10), who coincidentally just hosted the aforementioned Allison and Deborah.

Tomorrow I'm training east to Warsaw, where I'm meeting up with Magda Wierzbicka (Hamilton '08), a friend from last summer in Beijing. We'll be travelling to Prague together.

Future encounters may include Scot Murray, Charles Howard, Ren Wei (Williams '07s), Lauren Taub (Hampshire '08), and almost certainly some other people I know.

Speaking of which, why aren't you traveling with me right now?

Cameras Ruin Museums

I went to the Louvre yesterday and didn't have a great time. I had feared that would be the case. John can vouch for me when I say that I strongly disprefer crowds, and the crowds at the Louvre... terrifying. My complaints are several:

1) There are straight-up too many people there. Vast crowds of them. You can't move but into someone else. Perhaps I was there on the wrong day, but Thursday seems as good (bad?) a day as any other.

2) It is very loud. All I want at art museums is peace, quiet, and something to look at, walk around. At the Louvre, objets d'art abound, but I found neither peace nor quiet (except for about sixty seconds in one of the Islamic art rooms).

3) Cameras. Are they banned there? They must be right? Maybe not... I mentioned in my previous post my distate for the documentation fetish—yes I realize it's ironic to write about that—and I've never felt it stronger than watching thousands of people doing nothing but run from painting to painting, whatever they recognized, snapping snapshots (in the most pejorative sense), for what? So you can go home and say your friends, "Look! I was there! Aren't I cool?" As if your poorly lit, poorly framed, poorly executed photograph captures anything more than a Google Image search?

Of course, just taking a picture of the work isn't proof you were there. For that you'd have to be in the picture with it. My favorite (most painful) moment came shortly after I happened upon Canova's "Cupid and Psyche," pictured here:



Few crowded around. The emotion in the work is so powerful, so palpable, so perfect, and despite my frustrations I managed a smile, shivering as I circled it. Inevitably the crowd returned. Tour groups and randoms, armed to the teeth with audioguides and cameras. Here I noticed a major problem with cameras in museums: framing anxiety: you feel guilty for getting in the way of someone's precious "shot."

I backed away and got to watch several people pose in front of the statue for pictures. I was livid (and I shouldn't have contained myself). Aside from the fact that you're wasting your time with the statue looking away from it, documenting an experience that is not actually happening, you further ruin your already worthless 2-D image of this 3-D masterpiece by appearing in it. What remains is a photograph of nothing but your vanity, you reduced to "your deep slavering need to stand jowl to cheek with perfection" (in the words of David Foster Wallace).

And "people" don't really "know" Canova. If you haven't seen it, just imagine the absurdity surrounding the Mona Lisa or the Venus de Milo, two images that are ruined by their popularity.

L'Europe

I've been in Europe now for 15 days and of all the people I promised to keep updated about my travels, I've satisfied none of them. To them, the unsatisfied, I offer a promise—no, a warning:

Prepare for partial satisfaction.

Yes, I'm going to be writing on this blog, at least one more time (this time not included). With any luck, I will post once a day. Try to contain your excitement. The only thing that would stop me is if I get too hung up writing in my journal to let friends and family in on the secrets.

If there's something you want me to write about, send me an email, and I'll give you a shout out in the response.

I have a new haircut. Ask Chatlos.