Nearing the end of my European sejour, I'm beginning to become a little travel-weary. The trips I've taken and the simple fact that I've been living in Paris for five months have been cause for copious amounts of sight seeing. As I headed to Copenhagen a few weekends ago to visit Alyssa, I was a little tired of sight seeing. Therefore, Copenhagen, as well as my recent trip to Dublin and Barcelona, ended up being comprised mostly of soaking up the vibe of the cities rather than taking pictures in front of large objects.
Copenhagen was a really interesting place. While Denmark is in the EU, its currency is the Danish kroner rather than the Euro. Upon my arrival, I became confused by the exchange rate and accidentally took the equivalent of 200 US dollars out of the ATM for a three day weekend. Unfortunately, due to the general expensiveness of things in Copenhagen, I ended up needing most of it. The most interesting neighborhood in Copenhagen, Christiana, is comprised of little cafes,souvenir stalls, and tables on which vendors spread out large quantities of marijuana of all different types. While this isn't technically legal, it's tolerated, much like in Amsterdam. The locals were very laid back and by and large spoke English.
Dublin is similarly laid back and would be a really fun walking city if not for the weather. We happened to catch a really spectacular day and walked all around the canal and the river. We also took a trip to Dun Leery, the inspiration for James Joyce's Dubliners. We sat on some rocks by the shore and just looked out at the ocean for awhile. It was really beautiful and serene.
My final stop for this semester was in Barcelona, which is definitely one of my top three favorite cities I've visited this year. The architecture is breathtaking, particularly that of the Sagrada Familia, a church that is still in the process of being built. It has really amazing towers and ornate sculptures all along the outside. The only part that left a bad taste in my mouth was the fact that there were a series of vending machines inside. Other than that we made several trips to the beach and ate lots of gelato and listened to street performers. It was the perfect punctuation to my trip.
I'm hanging out in Paris for a few days before I head back home. I enjoyed every second of my time in Europe, but it'll be nice to be in the U.S. again.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
So What?
I was on the metro platform on my way to meet my friends in a pretty famous rose garden on the eastern edge of Paris when I noticed a man staring at a sign on the wall. It was a regular eight and a half by eleven sheet of paper whose bold English typeface declared that the editor in chief of French Vogue is a transsexual, and provided a website that allegedly proved this accusation. The man who stood in front of it was a classic professor type, complete with tweed jacket, thick glasses, and a comb-over. After contemplating the sign for a few minutes, he took a pen out of his pocket and scrawled "so what?" on the sign, returned it to his pocket, and sauntered away.
This man certainly didn't resemble my preconceived image of someone who would deface a metro flier, but he was nonetheless compelled to point out the irrelevance of what was posted. I found it to be a really refreshing display of the French tendency to launch into argument in the face of a personally bothersome phenomenon. Far from the crudely scribbled swear words and disembodied genitalia that usually decorate the posted material in big city public transportation systems, these two simple words stimulated a thought-provoking discourse. Maybe the editor in chief of French Vogue is a transsexual. Maybe there are websites to prove it. But who cares? And why does this information warrant a boldly displayed, albeit homemade, poster in the Parisian metro? Aren't the accomplishments of this highly successful person more notable than his or her gender?
It is nice to see people call out closed-mindedness in a public forum, to see an old man so unsettled by ignorance that he feels the need to mark it as such with two powerful little words. Perhaps the most effective way to become more open-minded is to constantly ask "so what?" and to encourage others to do the same.
This man certainly didn't resemble my preconceived image of someone who would deface a metro flier, but he was nonetheless compelled to point out the irrelevance of what was posted. I found it to be a really refreshing display of the French tendency to launch into argument in the face of a personally bothersome phenomenon. Far from the crudely scribbled swear words and disembodied genitalia that usually decorate the posted material in big city public transportation systems, these two simple words stimulated a thought-provoking discourse. Maybe the editor in chief of French Vogue is a transsexual. Maybe there are websites to prove it. But who cares? And why does this information warrant a boldly displayed, albeit homemade, poster in the Parisian metro? Aren't the accomplishments of this highly successful person more notable than his or her gender?
It is nice to see people call out closed-mindedness in a public forum, to see an old man so unsettled by ignorance that he feels the need to mark it as such with two powerful little words. Perhaps the most effective way to become more open-minded is to constantly ask "so what?" and to encourage others to do the same.
Monday, May 25, 2009
Lost in Thought
After weeks of studying French philosophical thought, I've come to realize that I don't have such a high opinion of critical studies. To be honest, I truly believe that people should stop deconstructing every element of their lives and just live. My semester has led me to the conclusion that people think too much. I did, however, have a little critical studies moment last week in the unlikeliest of places... a Montmartre sex shop.
Like many of the other sex shops I've visited in Europe, the one in question was filled with all sorts of crazy things, but its main feature was a large collection of porno dvds organized by fetish. They ranged from the benign to the disturbing, the most unsettling of which being a shelf full of rape fantasy. Next to this shelf was a sign which I thought read "pollué," the French for "polluted." This launched me into a period of internal analysis. I wondered if the French really interpreted rape victims to be in some way "polluted," and if so, what implications this would have for how the act of rape was dealt with in France. I could only imagine that drawing parallels between rape and pollution would have extremely negative effects for the victims. The more I analyzed, the more appalled and angry I became.
After several minutes of deep thought, I reread the sign and found that it didn't say "pollué" at all, but rather "poilule," which translates to "hairy."
Critical studies really is bullshit.
Like many of the other sex shops I've visited in Europe, the one in question was filled with all sorts of crazy things, but its main feature was a large collection of porno dvds organized by fetish. They ranged from the benign to the disturbing, the most unsettling of which being a shelf full of rape fantasy. Next to this shelf was a sign which I thought read "pollué," the French for "polluted." This launched me into a period of internal analysis. I wondered if the French really interpreted rape victims to be in some way "polluted," and if so, what implications this would have for how the act of rape was dealt with in France. I could only imagine that drawing parallels between rape and pollution would have extremely negative effects for the victims. The more I analyzed, the more appalled and angry I became.
After several minutes of deep thought, I reread the sign and found that it didn't say "pollué" at all, but rather "poilule," which translates to "hairy."
Critical studies really is bullshit.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Post Paris
I find myself now in the midst of one of those mythical Parisian springs with which everyone seems to fall head over heels in love. The weather is beyond beautiful, the air is warm, and that fresh springy smell is everywhere and positively intoxicating. But even in the presence of all this, I'm beginning to become a little disenchanted by Paris.
Perhaps the most often discussed Parisian phenomenon is the difficulty to judge distance. I've spoken to many people who've started walking toward the Eifel Tower or the Arc de Triomphe with the belief that the landmark in question is just a short stroll away only to discover thirty minutes later that the destination doesn't seem to be any closer. Interestingly enough, the same is true (in a metaphorical sense) with respect to Paris' citizens. They seem to be hell bent on keeping new acquaintances at a distance. Some of the most ingrained Parisian customs, the institutionalized politeness, the strict adherence to tradition, the general skepticism of the value of non-Parisian ideas and ways of doing things, seem to function as barriers between those who were born and raised in the city and those who were brought up elsewhere. I've come to realize that despite my complete immersion in Parisian culture for the past several months, and despite my French citizenship, I will never be truly be Parisian.
My friends and I have had many a discussion about how uptight we find the Parisians to be, but when I relayed these sentiments to my mom she suggested that perhaps "uptight" was the wrong word. "They're more guarded," she suggested.
She is absolutely right. And having been raised in a society that has little use for guarded as a personality trait, I'm finding it exhausting to try to integrate myself in a society that systematically shuts others out. While I value my independence and am known to relish my "me time," I find that I miss living in a place where it is not only possible but preferable to open up and allow others to be influential in your life. I've learned a lot about myself in the past few months, and one of the most important lessons is that I am by no means an emotional isolationist. For better or for worse, I need to feel connected to people in order to be truly happy. Now more than ever, I deeply appreciate the relationships I have with my family, friends, and even casual acquaintances.
There will always be a place in my heart for Paris, but I'm not going to be entirely devastated to leave it. I never thought I'd feel this way, but it will be nice to come back to the U.S.
Perhaps the most often discussed Parisian phenomenon is the difficulty to judge distance. I've spoken to many people who've started walking toward the Eifel Tower or the Arc de Triomphe with the belief that the landmark in question is just a short stroll away only to discover thirty minutes later that the destination doesn't seem to be any closer. Interestingly enough, the same is true (in a metaphorical sense) with respect to Paris' citizens. They seem to be hell bent on keeping new acquaintances at a distance. Some of the most ingrained Parisian customs, the institutionalized politeness, the strict adherence to tradition, the general skepticism of the value of non-Parisian ideas and ways of doing things, seem to function as barriers between those who were born and raised in the city and those who were brought up elsewhere. I've come to realize that despite my complete immersion in Parisian culture for the past several months, and despite my French citizenship, I will never be truly be Parisian.
My friends and I have had many a discussion about how uptight we find the Parisians to be, but when I relayed these sentiments to my mom she suggested that perhaps "uptight" was the wrong word. "They're more guarded," she suggested.
She is absolutely right. And having been raised in a society that has little use for guarded as a personality trait, I'm finding it exhausting to try to integrate myself in a society that systematically shuts others out. While I value my independence and am known to relish my "me time," I find that I miss living in a place where it is not only possible but preferable to open up and allow others to be influential in your life. I've learned a lot about myself in the past few months, and one of the most important lessons is that I am by no means an emotional isolationist. For better or for worse, I need to feel connected to people in order to be truly happy. Now more than ever, I deeply appreciate the relationships I have with my family, friends, and even casual acquaintances.
There will always be a place in my heart for Paris, but I'm not going to be entirely devastated to leave it. I never thought I'd feel this way, but it will be nice to come back to the U.S.
Monday, May 4, 2009
You Can Have This Coffee With The Gourmand But Only For Today
Our last stop was Budapest – a city in which I would definitely live if anyone there spoke English. After buying a ticket using almost exclusively hand signals as communication, we navigated the metro and began to search for the street on which our hostel was located. We eventually became hopelessly lost. The first people we asked for directions were two old ladies walking arm in arm down the street. They didn’t speak a word of English so we pointed at a map. Yelling slowly in Hungarian, they tried to explain why they couldn’t help us. When one of them mimed putting on a pair of glasses, we discerned that they couldn’t see the map. The next pair of women we stopped was slightly younger than we are and were wearing quite possibly the two most trashy outfits one could ever put together. They didn’t speak any English either, but they could see the map and walked us to the street. The hostel was located behind a huge wooden gate and was right next to a really unsettlingly sketchy construction site. Having had some bad experiences with the other hostels on the trip, I wasn’t expecting much from this one, particularly because it was the least expensive. I was pleasantly surprised.
The hostel had just opened two weeks before and was in a breathtaking historical building. The terraces were lined with candles and paper lanterns, the rooms were freshly painted, and the showers and linens were brand new. Since we were the only three people staying in the hostel for those three nights, the staff doted on us, giving us a free shot of a traditional Hungarian liqueur as a welcome drink and serving us delicious breakfasts in the mornings.
During our stay, we met up with my friend Justin and saw all sorts of sites such as Buda Castle, Parliament, Heroes Square, St. Steven’s Basilica, and this really cool museum called the House of Terror, which chronicled the history of Hungary during the reign of the Nazis and then that of the Communists.
I returned to Paris exhausted with a suitcase full of dirty clothes and an empty wallet, but I’ve never had such an amazing experience. I’m so grateful that I had the opportunity to see so many places, meet so many new people, and learn so much about countries with which I had no familiarity previously. But aside from enlightening me of the existence of truly incredible places in the world, my trip also reminded me how much I love the states. While these cities were certainly amazing, none of them really felt like home. I miss the homey feeling that New York, and to some extent D.C., gives me. I’m pumped to visit Copenhagen next weekend, and maybe a few more cities before I bid farewell to Europe, but I think I’m going to be really happy to be home when the time comes.
The hostel had just opened two weeks before and was in a breathtaking historical building. The terraces were lined with candles and paper lanterns, the rooms were freshly painted, and the showers and linens were brand new. Since we were the only three people staying in the hostel for those three nights, the staff doted on us, giving us a free shot of a traditional Hungarian liqueur as a welcome drink and serving us delicious breakfasts in the mornings.
During our stay, we met up with my friend Justin and saw all sorts of sites such as Buda Castle, Parliament, Heroes Square, St. Steven’s Basilica, and this really cool museum called the House of Terror, which chronicled the history of Hungary during the reign of the Nazis and then that of the Communists.
I returned to Paris exhausted with a suitcase full of dirty clothes and an empty wallet, but I’ve never had such an amazing experience. I’m so grateful that I had the opportunity to see so many places, meet so many new people, and learn so much about countries with which I had no familiarity previously. But aside from enlightening me of the existence of truly incredible places in the world, my trip also reminded me how much I love the states. While these cities were certainly amazing, none of them really felt like home. I miss the homey feeling that New York, and to some extent D.C., gives me. I’m pumped to visit Copenhagen next weekend, and maybe a few more cities before I bid farewell to Europe, but I think I’m going to be really happy to be home when the time comes.
Is This Real Life?
Another painless flight later, Cally and I arrived in Brussels. We slept off the exhaustion caused by the pub-crawl and awoke the next day fresh and ready to see the sights. During the day, we visited the chocolate museum and the Mannekin Pis, a statue about 2 feet high that pees into a fountain. It is for some reason wildly famous in Brussels; I’m still not quite sure why. That evening we bought a cone of Belgian French fries from a cart and then headed off to a bar called Delirium, which is famous for offering 2,004 different kinds of beer. Overwhelmed, I requested the cheapest one, which was still good.
More highlights of Brussels include a few more markets, a really beautiful church, and the EU Parliament. But perhaps the most interesting discovery we made was just beside the Atomium – a large metal structure that was built for the World’s Fair and is located on the very outskirts of the city. While searching for the best way to approach the monument, we stumbled upon an area that somewhat resembled EPCOT but was about 1/100th of the size. There was a street filled with all different kinds of restaurants and two themed cocktail bars. There weren’t many people there, but they ranged from young couples to dirty old men to leering guido types. Nearby was the entrance to “Mini-Europe,” which we didn’t go in to in light of the fact that the admission fee was 12 euro. According to a brightly colored sign, the area was called BRUPARCK! It remains the most ridiculous waste of money I’ve ever seen.
More highlights of Brussels include a few more markets, a really beautiful church, and the EU Parliament. But perhaps the most interesting discovery we made was just beside the Atomium – a large metal structure that was built for the World’s Fair and is located on the very outskirts of the city. While searching for the best way to approach the monument, we stumbled upon an area that somewhat resembled EPCOT but was about 1/100th of the size. There was a street filled with all different kinds of restaurants and two themed cocktail bars. There weren’t many people there, but they ranged from young couples to dirty old men to leering guido types. Nearby was the entrance to “Mini-Europe,” which we didn’t go in to in light of the fact that the admission fee was 12 euro. According to a brightly colored sign, the area was called BRUPARCK! It remains the most ridiculous waste of money I’ve ever seen.
I Have 10 Rules: 1 Through 10 Let's Go Get Fucked Up!
After a relatively easy flight and a quick bus ride, Cally and I found ourselves in the Prague metro, armed with the address of the hostel but not, unfortunately, with a map of the metro system. Sensing our distress and hearing our accents, a guy in his late 20s asked us, in perfect Californian English, where we were looking to go. He happened to be going somewhere in the vicinity and offered to walk us to our hostel. His name was Isaac and he was just returning from a trip to Madagascar. He had been living in Prague for the past seven years and owned a company that ran pub-crawls and gave free walking tours of the city. He gave us some fliers and told us where to meet him the next day for a tour.
The first two-thirds of the tour were fascinating. We learned all sorts of interesting facts about the city that wouldn’t have made the cut on a traditional tour. After crossing the river, Isaac bought everyone on the tour a beer. Not having eaten in several hours and given my own deplorable tolerance for alcohol, Cally and I ended up a little buzzed. This may have contributed to our subsequent inability to find the tour group after we took a quick bathroom break. After looking for about thirty minutes, we gave up and hiked up to Prague castle.
Later that evening, we went on one of the pub-crawls Isaac’s company ran. It started in an Irish pub where we were given unlimited beer and wine. At some point, one of the organizers came around with a bottle of absinthe and asked if we wanted shots. I found it weird that I didn’t see any shot glasses, but I agreed nonetheless. The shot glasses never materialized. The organizer went from person to person pouring shots directly from the bottle into everyone’s open mouth. It was not exactly classy but resulting in a good time had by all, particularly Cally and a random Swiss German boy who both got to witness me rap the entirety of Gettin’ Jiggy With It. It was quite an interesting end to my Czech Republic romp.
The first two-thirds of the tour were fascinating. We learned all sorts of interesting facts about the city that wouldn’t have made the cut on a traditional tour. After crossing the river, Isaac bought everyone on the tour a beer. Not having eaten in several hours and given my own deplorable tolerance for alcohol, Cally and I ended up a little buzzed. This may have contributed to our subsequent inability to find the tour group after we took a quick bathroom break. After looking for about thirty minutes, we gave up and hiked up to Prague castle.
Later that evening, we went on one of the pub-crawls Isaac’s company ran. It started in an Irish pub where we were given unlimited beer and wine. At some point, one of the organizers came around with a bottle of absinthe and asked if we wanted shots. I found it weird that I didn’t see any shot glasses, but I agreed nonetheless. The shot glasses never materialized. The organizer went from person to person pouring shots directly from the bottle into everyone’s open mouth. It was not exactly classy but resulting in a good time had by all, particularly Cally and a random Swiss German boy who both got to witness me rap the entirety of Gettin’ Jiggy With It. It was quite an interesting end to my Czech Republic romp.
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