I feel a Hungary. It's a Hungary that tries to keep a man awake at night

Sorry (to myself mostly) about the short post about they day before yesterday. It was actually quite a good day. I finally got to taste a lot of the food I had been craving, saw a lot of sights, some amazing art and had a truly "fun" social night for the first time in a while. However, when I got my latest cash advance, I estimated the amount of Hungarian cash I would need for my one remaining day slightly too closely and ended up with very, very little by the time I had paid for my hostel and my fraction of a taxi cab fare from the night before.

But all is well, and unless I am wrong, all just got a lot better. I just arrived in Prague and I Think It Might Be Great.

Yesterday half sucked and was half really good.

The sucky part involved 4-5 hours walking all over Budapest trying to find a bank that would give me a cash advance, metros, buses, all with so little money in my pocket that I was afraid to eat. Super yucky. But...I DID find a bank that would do it, that was super friendly and that was helpful getting me to my next destination. Thing is, I never would have gone to that bank first as it was small and local seeming. While all the big banks were unable to help me, this little one was great.

I next took a "day trip" of a few hours to Szendendre (which means, and whose pronunciation roughly approximates "Saint Andrew's". Little town about 45 minutes by commuter train from Budapest, cobblestone streets, only 25,000 people. I don't know why I felt so compelled to go. The weather was a bit cloudy and drizzled and colder than I had hoped, but I felt that it would be bad to go to Hungary and have no idea of ANYTHING outside of its biggest city. And because the town was small, I was able to do a lot in a little time and with little inconvenience.

For instance, I:

1. Walked up a hill to a Romanesque 13th century church where a service was being conducted (when i later saw the congregation exit, crying, and wearing black I realized it had been a funeral service.) Which is sad, of course, but it was interesting to see.

2. Art museum next door devoted to Hungary's most famous post-impressionist painter. I already forgot his name, but the exhibit was surprisingly good (as has been all the art I have seen in Hungary). A lot of fauvist work in the 1920's and then a lot of nudes in the 1960s that I did not like as much (except for the "Venus of Szenendre" which I just thought was plain funny.)

3. A wine tasting! For only 1500 Fn (abotu 7 dollars 50) I got to try about 7 or 8 of the finest wines from the different regions of Hungary. According to the guy who conducted it (just for me!) the good Hungarian wines are impossible to get outside of Hungary because the small amount actually produced prevents their exportation. I'm not so good at distinguishing wine flavors, but these were some of the most enjoyable wines I've tasted.

4. A marzipan ice cream.

And I took the train back to Budapest. By now, it had started to rain. When I took the metro to one particular area I had spied the night before as a happening spot, I was disappointed. It seems the rain was keeping everybody in, even on a Thursday. I went to the supermarket, bought some snacks and returned to the hostel.

Which was great! I know I've knocked the hostel in Budapest a bit, but it got better and better each night. There was a bigger group, and those that had been there the previous three nights had gotten to know each other better by now. We goofed around, I somehow ended up getting involved in a wrestling match and two arm wrestling matches (all of which I won, and 2 of the three being against a Scotsman!), and some of them played pool. ONe of the guys working at the hostel, Mark, a 41 year old/tattoo covered/KISS loving Englishman and I talked music (X-Ray Specs, Misfits, Beatles, Thirteenth Floor Elevators, Love, etc.)

Because I was catching a 6:10 AM train to Prague, I decided to stay up all night (I knew I could tie the subject heading in somehow!), which the current company made easy. I left the hostel around 5:00 AM, sad that I felt finally settled into Budapest, but less regretful as all the other guests were leaving today as well.

I slept most of the 7 hour train ride, and magically woke up on my own 15 minutes before the Prague station.

quickly...

Not a lot of cash available so quick update...

1. Hero's square.

2. The Fine Art's Museum. Great.

3. Walk through the park.

4. The market. Tried stuffed cabbage finally. Delicious.

5. Drinks at the Francen Lizst ter again. With some Gulash.

6. Going out to a club with my hostel mates. Loads of fun. Ended up punching with a scottish guy in the hostel. All in good fun though. Seems i ended up punching him in the arm where he just got a tattoo. Whoops!

Swimming in a pool of all clear

After about 5 weeks of travelling, yesterday I had one of my most bizarre experiences yet. I took a bus down to the Gellert Baths on the Buda side of Budapest and bathed in a thermal pool along with countless other naked old Hungarian men.

Oh vacation! Such a sweet life to lead!

When travelling, it is easy to fall into a tourist routine, waiting in line in musuems, walking in and out of churches, treading down the "main drags" of unfamiliar cities, checking internet, eating in touristy restaurants and trying to fall asleep on trains. While these experiences are all fine and good, they tend to blend in with each other, especially after a month of them. The tricky part in travelling is to find those experiences which are sufficiently distinct so that upon remembering one cannot help but shake one's head and mutter "I cannot believe I did that."

I've had only a few on this trip so far. Drinking Brennivin shots in the apartment of some strangers in Iceland, singing along to Queen was one. Swimming in the harbor at night in Riomaggiore was another. The live opera peformance I stumbled upon in Naples was one as well.

I think yesterday's Turkish baths definitely qualify as they were both extremely weird and...actually...quite comfortable. Nobody spoke almost any English, so the instructions regarding where I was supposed to take my clothes off, where I was supposed to put them, and how I was supposed to get them back were unclear. Also the instructions about showering, feet sanitizing and waiting in line for massage, quite unclear.

But I figured it all out. I bathed in a heated bath, built in the 16th century {old style architecture and everything!} Actually a beautiful building, high vaulted ceilings, ornate wall decorations. And fantastic prices. 28 bucks for the use of the pool and a half hour massage, which was my first in a very, very long time. Despite the fact that there was no privacy {3 fat naked old Hungarian guys in the same room}, and during I felt that I kept overhearing the word "Amerikai" with a negative tone, I felt relaxed and refreshed when it was all over. Keep in mind how much walking I have been doing, and how much has involved a heavy, heavy pack and you'll appreciate how good it felt to have everything put back in place.

And what ELSE have I done in Hungary???????

WELL....My first night here {two nights ago}

1. Dinner at a place called Cyrano. I walked up and down the touristy boulevard until I found something that looked good enough, accepted credit card, had traditional Hungarian food, and was in my price range. I was very pleased with my choice. I ordered some sort of veal {breaking my only food prohibition} with egg dumplings and a fantastic cabbage salad. And probably the best bottle of wine I have had on this trip. I chatted with the Canadian couple next to me. The wife was not a big fan of Dubrovnik! No fair! They, as all the couples I end up chatting with at dinner were very nice, but also, in a much different age and price range than I. So we said goodbye after dinner.

2. A stop in a supermarket to buy some fried fish, and some sausage. Yum. But Hungarian supermarkets? Tend to be very small, with mirrors everywhere to make them seem bigger. That had a Cold War, starving eastern Europeans feel to it which I did not like. The food selection was also not huge, but the price was right and they took credit cards. Bang, bang!

3. Ferencz Liszt ter {the "happening" street in town} in search of nightlife. I didn't find it. I wasn't really happy with any of the bars or cafes I saw. All just looked a LITTLE too empty for my taste. If the street had half as many bars, with twice as many people in each, it would have been great.

4. Getting lost on the buses, ending up on the wrong side of the beautiful blue danube {actually, it is green and kind of dirty} but finding my way back. I complained recently about the buses in Budapest. But I have to take that back. The buses here are actually much, much easier to navigate than buses anywhere else. Instead of potentially stopping in a million places, and putting the onus on the bus riders to ring the bell when they want to stop, the budapest buses have fewer stops, but ALWAYS stop there. And they have displays announcing what stop is coming up as well as all available connections. Awesome! And they don't seem to check for bus tickets!

5. Getting back to the hostel, very, very tired, but chatting with Henry and Steve from Portsmouth, England and stealing a little bit of their pizza.

And yesterday?

1. The Great Synagogue! The largest synagogue in Europe and the second largest in the world! It's huge but...still smaller than a lot of the churches I've seen. By far the most architecturally attractive synagogue I have seen {with the exception, Ben, if you are reading this, as I doubt, of the one your dad made in Irvine...}. Still, I felt sad to be there. I don't know so much about the details of how the Holocaust went down in Hungary, but I know it wasn't good. As I walked past the English tours that I declined to pay for, I could hear each of the tour guides making apologetic statements about Hungary's treatment of the Jews, about how historically "tolerant" Hungary was, about Hungarians who tried to save Jews, etc. And that's fine and good. But either way, in both Dubrovnik and Budapest I can sense that the Jews have always been an unwelcome presence. But the synagogue was nice. I'm glad I went.

2. Breakfast of veal sausage {yep, broke the rule again}, and espresso. Hungarian woman sitting next me started chatting. Told me how much she hates living here and that she wishes she could move to America. And that she works three jobs. But showed me pictures of her son and daughter. Who both looked good.

3. The Baths. I already talked about that.

4. Streetcar {I am getting SO good at public transport!} to Mammut Plaza for some gyros for lunch. I have been craving gyros lately. And REALLY craving spicy. This was slightly spicy. Much better than nothing.

5. The Buda Castle. Nice view of the city. But it's been destroyed and rebuilt so many times it didn't have the old feeling that castles are supposed to have. But inside it I went to the...

6. Hungarian National Gallery. Which was actually great. Almost all the art was by painters I had never encountered in museums before, but which was exceptional. There was some dreamy stuff from the turn of the century, unlike the impressionism and post-impressionism I am used to.

7. Funicula down the mountain!

8. So so dinner of spicy meat sandwich with some okay wine.

9. Back to Ferencz Liszt ter, which was looking much better last night. Lot more people, looked exciting and happening. Had a GREAT bottle of wine {I am loving the Hungarian wine, by the way, better than anywhere I've been so far} and some oxtail soup. And a bit of Jane Eyre of course. And boy does that plot twist. Unfortunately everybody there was Hungarian, so I didn't get to talk to anybody. Hungarian is a particularly tricky language. No cognates with English {or any Indo-European language} except for a few borrowed words, so I am always completely at the mercy of the English language skills of the person I am talking to. Unlike French or Italian where I can figure out some words, with Hungarian I have nothing. Very socially isolating.

10. Back to the hostel for chatting with three English guys and a Scottish guy. I fell asleep on the couch in the lobby of the hostel.

No matter what I do, I'm still Hungary for you

It hasn't been a full day, so I shouldn't even be updating. And furthermore, almost nothing has happened in that day, so again, I should NOT be updating.

But I am tired and don't want yet to do anything else, so at the price of 10 Hungarian money units per minute this is not a terrible way to spend my time.

As some of you know from email, I just completed about 24 hours of travelling. a 4.5 hour bus ride from Dubrovnik to Split. 4 hours of waiting. An 8 hour train ride from Split to Zagreb (overnight) and then about 7 more hours from Zagreb to Budapest. Yuck. And while as I mentioned before, Croatian trains are wel priced, they are also slow, dirty and generally unpleasant.

Fortunately, my fellow cabin-riders were generally pleasant, good to get to know people. The people sitting across from me on the first train were a Brit and Spanish couple. The Spanish guy was wearing a Cardinal Radzinger fan club t-shirt, which both he and I found hilarious, and he gave me a Pope Benedict pin to atttach to my backpack. I guess he bought these things (ironically of course) from an American website. THe three of us slept uncomfortably on the train, our legs crossed diagonally so as to not hit each other and woke up cold and sore after almost no sleep.

I barely made my next train because the first was very, very late. I took a cabin with a Romanian girl who had actually been in the cabin from the night and the bus from teh day before but assuming she spoke no English I had not spoken to her. This trip to Dubrovnik was her first OUTSIDE ROMANIA, which I found shocking (especially after meeting so many world traveller Australians), but i suppose the 7 hour train ride helped educate me on some of the geography of Romania and we agreed on how nice Dubrovnik was.

So far Budapest has been tiring, as I had trouble figuring out the buses (one of the lessons i have learned travelling is that while Metros are usually more or less manageable, foreign buses are SOOOO difficult, as stops are not announced and ticket validations are ambiguous). Lots of walking to my faraway but very cheap hostel, lunch at a vegetarian Indian restaurant (fair enough as my last real meal almost 20 hours before was a meat plate in Split).

Tomorrow, I am definitely going to be hitting the Hungarian baths to get a massage.

And they said that when we grew up, we'd get married and never Split up

Split.

That's right. Split. The second largest city in Croatia, the former site of Diocletian's palaces. The site of the oldest Catholic Church in the world. And a wonderful bell tower from which all of Split can be viewed from above.

That's where I am.

I liked Dubrovnik better, but when you want to get to Budapest by train, one must first take a four and a half hour bus ride along curvy, windy roads along the Dalmatian coast in order to reach Split, where the train line begins.

But why complain? The road trip was beautiful -- I keep thinking how unexceptional the Big Sur drive is when compared to many of the roads or coastal journeys I have taken. Not that Big Sur is WORSE than these places or that it isn't itself great...Just that it doesn't stand much above. Or at all above. The curvy road down the Dalmatian coast from Dubrovnik to Split was as pretty as any canyon road in California, big white rocky cliffs rising to my right, blue sparkly ocean to my left, sigh!

Not exactly comfortable. Nor easy to sleep on such a journey. I slept a bit, but when jerking back and forth (thank you Devo!) it is hard to be less than completely self conscious about one's bumping into the person sitting to one's left. Who was a perfectly nice and friendly Croatian. But again, I don't want to be trouble!

I overslept, of course, after last night's "wild and crazy partying"/falling asleep at the bar and barely being able to speak from exhaustion. And no, the bus to Split does NOT run every hour as the travel agency informed me. And YES, the earliest available bus was sold out (despite it being "low season"), and YES, I had to wait for 2 hours until the 1 o clock (when I had planned on taking a 9 o'clock bus!), but YES, I made it and YES, I got to Split safely and wonderfully.

And oh, there is a VERY useful and un-Croatianly complete supermarket next to the port, and I bought myself a small piece of Salami, a yogurt and some cookies to feed me along the journey. And took pictures too.

And yes, I finally tried the "Dalmatian Ham" I have been hearing so much about. Much like what in American we call prosciutto. Appropriately delicious!

The journey yes...the arrival in Split...and then convenience!

Mostly on this trip I have become accustomed to bad news, and finding out that things are either 1)more inconvenient or 2) more epensive than expected. In Split, I found neither! I was aware that my Eurail pass would not work in Croatia, so was reluctantly willing to pay whatever ridiculous fee to take the train to the Hungarian border, but when I actually went to purchase my ticket it turned out to be quite reasonable. Only 30 bucks! Consider I had to pay 20 Euro WITH the Eurail pass to get from Naples to stupid Bari, which is only a trip from the west to east coast of Italy. So I was very happy, and even more so because I was allowed to use my credit card.

Dinner (a mixed grill -- good, featured the first "hot sauce" I have tasted since London), and a trip to the top of the Bell Tower and inside the older Catholic Church in the world (once the Palace of Diocletian, Roman Emperor and persecutor of Christians.)

Drinks outside at a cafe listening to an Australian perform Englihs hits (including Leonard Cohen's "So Long Marianne", which was sufficient reason to tip him) (and also a mix up of R.E.M.'s Losing My Religion and Kylie Minogue's Can't Get You Out of My Head (who knew they had the same chords?)).

And now a train to Zagreb and then another to Budapest. I will be travelling for about 14 more hours. I CANNOT WAIT!!!!!!

With no reason to hide these words, I feel, and no reason to talk about the books I read, but still, I do

Why did I not read Jane Eyre before? I know I should be enjoying Dubrovnik (and I am (or was)) but I have been captivated by this book. And I keep on talking about it to people. 2 responded with eyes opened wide and exclaimed "that is my favorite book, don't you love it?" and one girl last night when i asked her where in England she is from, pointed at the book's cover and said "about 10 miles from where the Bronte sisters lived". Hmmmph. I suppose sitting in cafes all day can breed a touch of sentimentality, even in one so hard hearted as myself...

Latino Club Friday night completely wasted me for Saturday morning. My plans to wake up early failed, and I stumbled out of bed and down the long and winding stairs to old town to find that yes, even at 11, there was a ferry to Lopud, another of the Dalmatian islands. And what a deal! 100 Kuna (16 bucks or so?) for a several hour boat tour past while rocky cliffs dotted with abandoned churches and blasted out roadways (some of the only scenery on the trip to rival the Icelandic coastline), a fish lunch, some disgustingly sweet wine and a shot of SOMETHING that the ship's captain passed out to each of the guests on the way back. I had no idea what it was, drank it anyway and then fell asleep. If only I had a picture of the ship's captain (my limited store of appropriate adjectives and similes has once again failed me), I could make you all laugh hard, but instead I will describe him as a fat Croatian man with a thick mustache. Oh, I know who he looks like. Remember the coach in the movie "Major League"? Looks like him but much fatter.

Lopud is a pretty island about an hour away from Dubrovnik. Not much to do there. I read in Let's Go that it contains Croatia's "best" beach, so I walked across the island (over some big hills, lots of steps) twice and back before I found it. I had only about 10 minutes to sit there and check it out before I had to return to the boat. And it wasn't so great of a beach. I think what was unique about it was that it had actual sand instead of just rocks. Which is fine.

I sat around there, didn't do much talking. One of my walks was fantastic though. I walked through half abandoned stone buildings and farms in the island's interior, came face to face with a donkey and brushed past trees and shrubs. I took some good pictures of it. I will show you all someday.

As I said before, I slept on the boat ride back after having barely slept the night before and walked myself to shreds during the day.

Dinner was at Mea Culpa pizza but i had lasagna (no sauce though...just cheese and pasta!), and then went to one of the Irish bars where I read Jane Eyre while drinking cider. Got bothered by some drunk Croatian guys, who then proceeded to bother every other foreigner in the bar, so I didn't feel so bad. I got into a long conversation with a group of English people who were in town for a stop on the cruise ship on which they worked.

While walking to the bathroom I heard a girl somewhere else mention being from Island, and ended up in a long conversation about dancing with the icelandics and 2 luxembourgers, which led into another drink and then a return to Latino Club, where there was actual dancing...

By now I was painfully tired, and around 4 or 5 made my way back home. Planning on just taking a half hour nap and then catching an early bus to Split I put my head down on the pillow...

In the seaside town that they forgot to bomb

Actually..."they" did NOT forget to bomb Dubrovnik. Like many Americans, I know almost nothing about the Serb/Bosnian/Croatian war of the early 90s, but based on a map posted on the Dubrovnik city walls, the old town was extensively damaged by direct missile hits. According to Let's Go, the city went relatively unscathed, and I have noticed no damage.

They cleaned it up well, I suppose.

Two themes lately:

1) weather is getting colder. Days are getting shorter, the nights chillier, more rain. Summmer is clearly over. I look forward to a dark, cold Polish autumn in just a week or two.

2) I am getting lonely. No way around that and it would be silly to pretend it were not so. I still enjoy a lot of the time alone, but I have found myself overly relishing any actual time I spend with people.

And then the places I visited yesterday:

1) The oldest working pharmacy in Europe (14th century?)

2) A museum featuring old art from Croatia, Rennaisance era written music, church pieces.

3) A 15th century Sephardic synagogue. Unlike any synagogue I have seen in the U.S. Small, pews on the perimeter rather than in rows. Made me more seriously consider checking out high holiday services in Budapest or Prague, depending on where I am.

4) A bottle of Croatian wine at a restaurant. It was good. But as I feared, it made me tired later on.

5) Lunch of fish (delicious, but bony), squid, mussels, vegetables and great bread. I asked the waiter what "shto" means in Croatian.

6) Getting really really bored and wandering around the tiny town.

7) Wandering outside the city walls to the "new town", the harbor, some hills, some rain. This was a very long walk.

8) Sitting against a monument in the main plaza with Jane Eyre.

9) Running into Eric and Alex from the night before and invited to join them at a wine bar. Lots of fun. We drank some nice wine, ate bread and cheese, olives and slightly frank discussion for total strangers. Very nice people. Followed this with the local Irish pub, which was quite busy.

10) I went to Club Latino, the one club in town. By myself, I know...but it actually ended up being great. Cover wasn't too bad, I met a few people. Music was terrific (Gwen Stefani, Cure, etc.) and then a band that was even BETTER. Although their music selection was very unusual for a club of mostly young people. "La Bamba"? "Twist and Shout"? "Let's Twist Again"? This old jazz song that I only know from Bjork's cover? Extremely energetic and good voices though.

11) Somehow it became 4 O'clock and I noticed that I was starting to fall asleep standing up (I had had only a handful of hours of sleep the night before) so I went home. The walk home to where I am staying is truly exhausting.

Isla de Encanta

How much better are the marble streets and blue waters of Dubrovnik to the filth and inefficiency of Italia! "We accept Mastercard" stickers in the windows of almost every store, cleanliness in the streets and consistently delicious food! Hard to get to, yes. Not connected to any railroads as well. But a fantastic place too!

Ever since arriving in Dubrovnik, I have felt happier, more relaxed and more "on holiday" than anywhere else. I admit that the loneliness of travelling alone has very much caught up with me and I eagerly anticipate encounters with old friends in Poland, Alemania and France. But if alone it is to be, better alone in a place like this!

No longer using my thick copy of Jane Eyre as a potential sword but as a shield, I took a motorboat (3 bucks friends!) to Lokrum, a nearby island, to explore a bit, but much more importantly to relax. Accompanied by only 6 other travellers, I arrived on a beautifully small (have I mentioned my love of small places?) island. The perimeter white, but only moderately difficult to navigate rocks. The interior, cool forest.

My first stop lunch (seafood spagetti and a beer), my second, "the beach." What is named "beach" in Croatia shares only ready ocean access with the beaches with which I am familiar. No sand here, but only white stones upon which to sit. But I was just as pleased. I sat upon the rocks, read and soaked in the sun (now that late September has arrived, along with the autumnal equinox, much less intense). The rocky nature of the beach gives each individual beach-goer much more privacy (and isolation) from the others, which suited me just fine. I took a short, but strenuous walk into the island's interior for a view of the medieval fort, and then the boat back to the Stari Grad.

And the morning? A delicious sandwich Dubrova (a white roll, white asparagus, lettuce and a sliced hard boiled egg), a double espresso and a croissant. The prices in Croatia, much cheaper than those in western Europe (although still pricier than Thailand) although me to live much more luxuriously here, and to indulge my hunger and curiosity.

Followed by a much more strenuous walk along the city walls. Beautiful look down upon the city and the sea but...in my mind it was difficult to ignore that these battlements were constructed primariliy for the purpose of war, protection from invaders. The super neat windows, designed for attack and defense -- I couldn't help but find these elaborate constructions of white marble wasteful. Were it not for the desire of the inhabitants of medieval Dubrovnik to incite the anger of their neighbors, or the desire of the neighbors to slaughter the medieval Dubrovnikers, all this protection would be unnecessary.

Blah. The exhaustion of yesterday's journey is still with me and I am making my point poorly.

Whatever.

I ate a dinner of oysters and bread in a small restaurant. I reluctantly sat down alone, but soon had been engaged in conversation by an Australian couple that I recogniyed from the ferrz ride and an American not-couple that I had never met before. How refreshing to talk to other people! The American not-couple and I followed dinner with some gelato and ran into 3 others that I had met on boats and trains. After a day spent almost entirely alone, I was suddenly surrounded by people I "knew"!

A long walk back up to my residence, but the narrow and steep stairs from Old Town Dubrovnik to the surrounding hills felt much safer than any walk home since Cinqueterre.

Bar(i) Italia

First of all, I just got to Dubrovnik. And unless first impressions deceive me, I think I love it (except I think I may have been suckered into a way too far away accommodation).

I mentioned before that I sort of loved Naples despite its disgustingness. I still do.

But I had to get out of there. After waiting an extra day for my ATM card to arrive and it not arriving, I gave up and left for Dubrovnik. The details of the journey I will later explain. They involve Bari, Italy, thus the entry title.

My last night in Naples was spent almost entirely at the hostel (6 Small Rooms -- run by a 19 year old girl from Santa Cruz and a 24 year old dude from Venice Beach). Have I mentioned being tired and in desperate need for English conversation? How nice it was to sit around in the hostel, chat in English with Americans, Australians and Spanish over a bottle of wine? SO nice. The hostel was small, but clean, and it was easy to move from room to room, sing along with the guys playing Rocky Raccoon on guitar, argue with the Spanish girls in the next whether Venice was beautiful or kind of lame or return to the kitchen to discuss the possibility of actually attending Rosh Hashanah services in Budapest.

While sitting in a hostel gives little insight into the true character of Naples, the opportunity to have an open discussion with like languaged folks allows room for much more meaningful reflection and insight into the experiences of other travellers.

Yesterday morning was a bust though. Lots of waiting in line at the post office only to find that my ATM card had not arrived. However, I learned something new: not to take Italian meanness personally.

They are wonderfully mean not only to me, but to each other. In my short hour at the post office I witnessed:

1. A woman screaming and cursing at a man for cutting in line ("blah blah blah fila blah blah blah!")

2. Another woman screaming and waving her hands at a janitor for carelessly sweeping dirt on her feet.

3. The entire line screaming at an old man for taking too long at the counter.

4. A poney-tailed man SCREAMING (much louder than the others) and furiously pounding on the bulletproof glass because the door wouldn't open for him to pass a package though. This guy was loud enough to get the other normally screamy Italians to look. WOW!

My journey? Safe, mostly pleasant!

1. Crowded, hot bus ride with heavy pack to Garibali Square for the train.

2. Finding out that Second Class to Bari was booked so paying 20 Euro to ride first class (which is really nothing special.)

3. Changing trains in some stupid town (no idea why there is no direct train to Bari, a major port on the east coast).

4. Lots of ipod, some Jane Eyre and a gradual calming of my nerves, excitement to finally leave Italz.

5. Arriving in Bari, but getting off the bus way too early...running about 10 minutes with my full pack on through the yucky streets of Bari to get to the port.

6. Waiting in line, soaked with sweat.

7. Finding out that they don't accept credit card even for a 40 euro ferry purchase (Dubrovnik is across the Adriatic from Bari.)

8. Getting on the ferry. Not particularly dirty, not particularly clean. meeting a Kiwi couple. Having a few drinks with two American women from Florida who later paid me 10 Euro to carry their bags off the boat and bought me a drink.

9. Sleeping on the deck (floor) of the boat with my bag as a pillow and my jacket as a blanket.

10. Arriving safely but ending up in a way too faraway place to stay (but for only 16 euro!).

More later. Running out of time at internet cafe!

Time stands still, all I can feel is the time standing still

Today kind of blew, but last night was excellent.

After I left the internet cafe, I wandered the streets of Naples until I found the Duomo Plaza where in honor of St. Gennaro's festival day (the patron St. of Naples) was a live opera concert! And although I normally don't love opera, this was wonderful! The piazza was full of people, all singing along. The opera-tors were belting their hearts out, but with big smiles on their faces. The night air was pleasant and the stage was framed with light.

I looked to my right, overhearing English and had the pleasure of meeting a girl from Vienna, one from Hungary, one from Finland and a dude from Russia. I hung out with them for the duration of the concert (they were in Naples on a program to learn Italian but all spoke perfect English). I had a glass of wine with the Hungarian and the Finlander on the steps of a church after escaping a torrential downpour that began as soon as the concert ended.

But today sucked. I went to the Post Office to see if my promised package (my ATM card) had arrived, and after about an hour of waiting discovered that it had not. Furthermore, I sensed in the eyes of the guy working there that it would never arrive. I have a new plan for getting money, but it will be expensive and less convenient. Still, for no longer can I let myself be a hostage of the Italian post service and no longer can I allow the scumbag thief in Barcelona ruin my trip.

I spent some considerable time at a travel agency down the street, which was actually quite nice. The travel agent spoke good English and was funny and used me an example to teach her class of about 15 travel agent interns who were in the office. Most of them spoke no English but laughed and giggled at the comments the actual travel agent made as she gave me information about travelling to Dubrovnik.

The next ferry to Dubrovnik was not tonight, see. But tomorrow. Which I suppose is just as well because it gave me the chance to wait one more day for my ATM card to arrive. I truly hope it arrives tomorrow, but if it does not, I'm giving up and going to Dubrovnik. The weather is changing, getting slightly cooler and more rainy. It is time to get to the beach before it is too late and begin part II of my trip: the cold part.

I found a new hostel, this one extremely cheap but with young people to talk to. Oh, how I miss conversation. One dude I talked to today as he was leaving told me that I was the most similar person to himself he had met. I took that as a compliment, although the fact that he just turned 18 years old is telling, isn't it?

But I did nothing much today. Didn't see any of those sights in Naples I keep promising myself I will see. My legs are tired. My body needs a break.

Let it flow like pompeii or herculaneum! (Don't let your lava love flow turn to stone)

I will try to be briefer here, as I hit you all with a big update just a bit ago, but now we talk about today.

I went to Pompei and Mt. Vesuvius, the volcano that like totally destroyed Pompeii and Herculaneum like 2000 years ago when it exploded on them! Those cities got totally wasted! Like so much that they didn't even get like discovered until 500 years ago and not excavated until the 18th century!

Of course getting there was not as easy as I would have liked.

You should all be happy to know that I broke down and got some cash out of my credit card this morning (200 Euro, as, if things go properly, I will be leaving Italy in a day anyway and I will be receiving my cash card in the mail as well). This felt much better, although it took checking out 5-6 banks until I found one that would do a cash advance. The teller girl looked totally annoyed and flustered by the task of advancing cash, which I could understand, as when I was a bank teller I found this to be one of the hardest and my time consuming of activities. And I always looked at the customer suspiciously: "This person is so desperate for cash that he is taking money out of his credit card? Eeek!" But I did NOT appreciate her attitude. The tellers at all the other banks (that were unable to perform the cash advance) were friendly, but this one was super mean and cold!)

[Deleted long and unnecessary rant about Italy, mostly in light of how friendly and helpful the people working at last night's bed and breakfast have been. There is a lot about Italy I don't like, but I feel bad insulting it considering some of the very excellent Italians I have met.]

Oh yeah, Pompeii and Vesuvius' crater.

Beautiful. Really. Saw the crater, steam coming out of it.

Saw the buried and now uncovered city. Amazing. Sun was setting against the ancient columns. Saw the oldest freestanding amphitheatre (from something or another B.C.)

I'm sorry. Paragraphs of complaint about Italy and then 2 lines about some of the world's most famous sights. I'm just a bit exhausted right now, and you can read anything you want about Pompeii in a history book. Or on Wikipedia.

Got back safely to Naples, pushed my tired legs through the streets to a Pizzeria that (according to Let's Go Europe), Bill Clinton once attended. It was delicious. I was so starved from the day of walking up the volcano that I drank a whole Coke and a beer WITH the whole pizza.

Yum.

I like Italy, really! Just certain things about it really get on my nerves. There is no reason for it to be so inefficient. Inefficient is not charming. If I have to spend 2 hours getting money, that means that much less time looking at a Duomo...

Give me an alley, give me a valley, give me a Neapolitan night, let me smell more of the world and gain more insight

When he was 19 years old, (at least according to the song), Jonathan Richman went to Naples by himself and experienced the terror of walking down a dirty, smelly, alley at night, holding his possessions close and cautiously eyeing the locals he passed by.

When I was 25 years old, I went to Naples and had the same experience.

And surprisingly, like Jonathan Richman, I think I actually like Naples!

Now, I say that with !!!!CAUTION!!!!, as after one and a half days here, I have not yet been robbed!!!!! I recognize that it is much harder to like a city after being robbed there, and I recognize the high likelihood that I will be robbed here, as I have no doubts about it being a dangerous place. However, I hold my bags close to my body, I hold my copy of Jane Eyre in my hand like a weapon, poised to hammer in the eye socket of anybody who threatens me, and I walk quickly through the alleyways, quickly overtaking Italian thugs, woman with strollers, and 10 year old children with more proverbial hair on their chests than I have on my toes(is that the right use of the word "proverbial? I'm not sure. Should I have used the world "figurative"? I think you know what I mean.)

I have heard many things about Naples, from "Bellisima!" to "dirty, smelly, ugly." Who should I listen to? Usually the "bellisimas" come from Italians (and one Swiss woman I met on the train from Cerberes to Paris who defensively defended Napoli after I commented to another nearby traveller that I did not want to go there.) They say "be careful! Watch your stuff! But it is beautiful!" And then I have friends, and old ladies in gelaterias who tell me to avoid it, often adding a cautionary tale of being robbed.

I understand now both perspectives. The city is dirty. Piles of garbage everywhere, trash in the streets, old run down buildings, decaying ruins of Naples' glory days. Many of the locals appear unsavory, preparing to stare me down if I let my gaze unfocus for more than a moment. The air smells unclean, the roads are dark, the cars dart around each other with even less caution than in Rome.

And I don't feel safe, really. I put up a much stronger guard here, don't listen to my iPod when I walk, hold my backpack in the front despite looking incredibly uncool and hold a mean expression on my face.

Contrarily, I think coming to Naples has made my trip to Italy feel complete in a way that I would have not felt it to be had I not come. Cinqueterre was beautiful and relaxing, Venice was a bit irritating, but beautiful in its own way, Rome was cosmopolitan, and educational. But all were swarming with tourists. I could barely glimpse the Italians, grumpily serving food, gossipping behind the backs of the Americans. But little sense of what it actually felt like to be an Italian in Italy (although I found Rome's "motorcycling businessman in silk suit" or "motorcycling woman in high heels and designer outfit" to be most likely authentic.)

Naples has far fewer tourists. I've seen a few groups of American teenagers, some of what appear to be Italians from other parts and of course my share of Australians (they're everywhere!), but mostly I have witnessed southern Italians, eating gelato on Via Toleda, making out by the waterfront, kicking a soccer ball in one of the many Piazzas or chilling in front of a pizzeria.

I'm ready to leave Italy now. I did not fall in love it as many seem to. But I am glad I came to Naples. Perhaps my mid-twenties appreciation for grime and grittiness will fade as I enter my 30's and I will long more heartily for resort vacation. But for now, I enjoyed wandering amongst Naples' old buildings, covered in graffiti.

And the day's chronology.

Began horribly. After a pleasant train ride (though much, much later than I had planned because of oversleeping by 2 hours and the next 2 scheduled trains being full), I got to Naples, only to find that the directions to my hotel, given to me by the travel agent at Touring Club Italia were completely useless. I got on the bus she suggested, showed my stop (Via Battisti) to the driver, and he shrugged and moved on. I showed it to other passengers who were equally unhelpful even when they tried to help. How come no one in Italy speaks English? Or Spanish? I will come back to this point later.

After a very long, and very miserable serious of bus rides (I returned to the bus station in order to get better directions), my back breaking, I finally arrived at my hotel at 3 o'clock, after having awoken at EIGHT. You'd think that an early start like that would have done me more good, but no.

My Bed and Breakfast is much more expensive than anywhere else I've been (60 Euro, instead of 20), but I think it is worth it. Not only have I recieved breakfast, but a clean room and shower of my own and EXCELLENT service. The father (it is run by a family of 4) WALKED me to a pizzeria after checking me in, as he could see I was famished. Unfortunately, he also spoke no English at all, and my Spanish/pantomime was less charming after my dizzying journey to the hotel.

After getting some food in my stomach, I explored the streets. Navigating in a city where the best advice is probably "stay out of the dark, narrow alleys" is difficult when almost every road is a "dark, narrow, alley."

I entered a beautiful church interior (although the exterior was plain), explored the graffiti covered piazzas, searched for an internet cafe (I found one, eventually), met two dudes from Seattle, walked past some dirty alley dwellings where families prepared dinner. With almost no cash, I walked from cafe to cafe until I found one that accepted credit cards (naturally, it was much more expensive), and had an espresso and a cream pastry. Walked to the waterfront, and pretended not to watch the couples kiss.

And an aside: call me strange, but in a way, I almost feel like Naples is a more romantic city than Venice. Sure Venice is much prettier, but everything there is such a scam, all the services prepared to take advantage of travellers on romantic journeys. Naples doesn't care about providing romance; the Neapolitan teenagers just can't take their hands off each other!

Night began to fall and I craved the company of Americans and to speak English (having given up on finding Spanish speakers in Italy). I walked all over part of town, sat in a cafe for hours reading Milan Kundera's Ignorance (I finished it last night too -- what a perfect book, huh? Not to mention Northanger Abbey being fantastic as well), but met nobody. Oh, just to talk to someone who understood me without pantomime!

Came back to the hotel, where the parents and the daughter were waiting for me. Chatted with me in Spanish/Italian/English mix, gave me a delicious lemon liquor drink, and some good advice about the next day. The son came home too, with his girlfriend. We sat outside, talked about Hunter S. Thompson, said goodnight and I had a wonderful sleep.

Oh, the streets of Rome are filled with rubble, Ancient footprints are everywhere.

But yesterday I spent much more time with modern Rome than with ancient Rome.

I walked up and down Via Condotti, stepping inside all the high fashion stores. I must have entered at least three Prada stores before I found the one that sells men's clothing, a big Gucci store with tons of jewelry, etc. There may have been a period that lasted for about 5 minutes a few years ago where I thought I knew a tiny bit about fashion, but after my experience yesterday, I confirmed that it is long ago and passed. I was as confused and uncomfortable in these stores as I felt in a museum before taking any Art History classes. I had no idea what I was looking at, what I liked, what was too gaudy, what was actually kind of cool. No idea. And I felt the salespeople were hounding me, either trying to answer questions, or maybe to make sure I wasn't about to try anything on without their assistance.

Given the continuing cash flow problem, I chose an activity that, like window shopping, costs nothing. I walked up a hill to a huge park north of the Spagna stop. Not quite as impressive Central Park, say, but pleasant for sitting, for walking around, for watching the couples and the youth lounging on the grass.

A brief stop at a book store, as I was soon to finish Northanger Abbey (got Jane Eyre and Ignorance by Milan Kundera), bought some groceries for dinner...

Ate dinner and called it an early night. I must have gone to bed at around 8. So exhausted from walking all day, and the day before and without the ability to buy anything, I figured I might as well go to sleep. Unfortunately, I woke up around 2, and couldn't fall asleep for a long time. Even worse, I overslept by 2 hours, which messed up my trip today to Naples.

Last night in Rome was a once a year event called White Nights, where everybody stays up all night enjoying events on the street. I was curious, but I wanted to collect my key deposit for the morning, and i was tired and it was raining so I went to sleep instead.

I heard it wasn't that great, but I am still upset I didn't go.

The thought of the catacombs left my soul at home

Without planning on doing so, I toured the ancient Roman catacombs where early Christians buried their dead, deep, deep underground. A wise to decision to finally do something that cost money, but more on this later...

Rome has been hard on my feet and legs, with ancient rocky roads, cars and vespas swerving from all directions, narrow highways, darting around branches and treks up stairs, but I like it. Unlike many cities that require a bit of searching to find "the good stuff," in Rome, ancient or Rennaissance ruins are everywhere! For this reason, it is difficult to not spend one's time gawking upwards at the monuments for the first half of the day, and being much less easily impressed the second half.

I began the day with a search for a cheap breakfast near my hostel so I wouldn't have to spend any cash, found a 70 cent croissant.

Then a walk down Via Corso, which conveniently led me to many of the sights I wanted to see such as:

The Pantheon

Wow! I'm like totally impressed! The thing is 2000 years old, it's a perfect half sphere of poured concrete. I wish I know how far it spanned horizontally, but it is a LOT. I think it might be 43 meters. I entered through a grand facade of columns, and entered the largest enclosed space I've experienced since the Ontario Convention center where I took the bar exam. Space everywhere. I mostly ignored the decorations, where were mostly added later when it was converted into a medieval church, but the ceiling and the light that comes in were what made the Pantheon special. I totally dug it.

Palazzo Venezia

So, I guess I saw this thing the previous night around the time I was lying on the grass and had no idea what it was. Great big Rennaissance palace. According to the Guide book Mussolini used to give speechs from there. Big and white with an equestrian statue in the front.

Piazza Navonna

Actually, I saw this the day before. I didn't look at it too closely, but is used to host wrestling matches. Now it is full of touristy attractions like people who pretend to be statues or guys selling cheap jewelry. The best part of it was Bernini's Fountain of the Four Rivers, which if I were only slightly dishonest I would have claimed to identified from my Art History studies.

The Ancient Roman Ruins

Yes, I am giving all of the ancient Roman ruins one section here because I was too tired to figure out what each thing was and had no map of the area and my Let's Go Europe was useless. I know I had to climb up and down a hill to get there. i know the "roads" were rocky. I know I saw words like "curia" and "fori" around, Latin inscriptions carved into stone. I could tell that the ruins were in a mixed state, some of it very ancient, some from the early centuries A.D., columns and concrete mixed with brick and mortar. I liked it a lot, but after a while it all looked the same. If only I remembered my Roman history slightly better, so when I saw the Arch of Titus or the Arch of Constantine, I could remember much anything they did. Wait, did Titus sack Palestine? I vaguely remember that...

The Palantine Hill

Only saw it from the outside. No way was I going to pay an entrance fee to walk up a hill that I could see from the outside.

The Colosseumù

This time during the day! Impressive work or architecture. But I couldn't help but thinking of all the slaughter that took place inside. While as a teenager I probably would have said "AWESOME!" when reading about all the people who fought to the death in there, now it made me just feel sad. I also felt sad thinking about the miserable people carving all the stonework I saw yesterday. Yeah, it's pretty, but even the ruins of the Roman empire give a sense of what a cruel place it was.

I did not enter the Colosseum, of course, but I could see a lot through the arches.

Lunch in Testaccio again (just like the previous night)

Restaurant called La Cestia (that took credit cards.) So I went wild. Some sort of expensive and delicious fish that I chose out of a display. Potatoes. Beer. An espresso. 26 Euro! But worth it. I was full and energized for my hardest Roman walk so far.

The Catacombs of San Callisto

My guidebook had a section on the "Appian Way". I read it and thought "hmmmm...I've definitely heard of that! And I can see in the lower right hand corner of my map the words 'Appian Way.' It cannot be too far away!" It was too far away. I walked for probably 2 miles down what were at first the busy Roman street I was used to, but which became a narrow road heading out to the Roman countryside. Cars and Vespas speeding past me with only a rocky wall to my right and a 1 foot shoulder to protect me. I only stayed my course because of the signs pointing towards the "Appian Way" and the reasonable looking American couple I encountered taking the same treacherous trip.

After what seemed like forever walking past a grassy field, I came to a sign for these famous catacombs and supposed that after having walked to far, it was in my best interest to check them out, no matter how much they cost.

For only 5 euro, I took a tour underground. I witnessed 3rd Century A.D. frescos in the underground tombs of the Christians and even got to see an early depiction of Christ without a beard. The tour guide's English was funny. She actually finished every word with an exclaimed "-a!" " Here-a! Is-a! the tomb-a! of St. Cecili-a!"

If I had to walk all the way back I probably would have died. Luckily, an older woman in the group started talking to me and mentioned that she was taking a cab back and offered me a ride. I warned her that I had no money and would be unable to pay, but she said "but I am going anyway! It makes no difference."

Her judgment seemed a bit off though, as she took the first cab offer we got, which was clearly a gypsy cab. I had the presence of mind to ask for the price before we started, but she did not have the presence of mind to inform the cabbie that it was twice the price she paid to get there until we had already started on our way. Still, the cabdriver was friendly, and took us safely to central Rome, singing in Italian almost the entire way.

Fontana Di Trevi

Legend says something about throwing a coin over your shoulder into this fountain and ensuring a rapid trip back to Rome. I don't exactly understand how this works, but I found this famous fountain and threw in my 5 cents (which I thought generous considering my cash situation).

The Spanish Steps

It's a bunch of steps. With as many people sitting on them as there are pigeons in San Marco square. I sat with them. And then I left.

Went to the supermarket and bought a bunch of food for dinner and breakfast, took a shower, had nothing to do.

I wanted to go out for the tonight, but ended up talking to three Minnesotans (a daughter, a mother and an aunt) until fairly late in the evening.

Vatican! All I ever wanted! Vatican! Had to get away! Vatican! Meant to be spent alone!

People often tell me that I must go to Rome. Here I am. I think they are correct. Although it is a big, big city with what seems like only two metro lines, and difficult to find places to eat, and expensive entrance fees, it actually IS an attractive, metropolitan city. With lots of super cool looking people on Vespas and motorcycles. Not since that wild ride in London 5 years ago have I so wanted to ride one!

Because my last night in Venice ended quietly, I woke up around 6, and caught a 7:30 train to Roma Termini via Bologna Centrale. I slept, listened to my iPod, read Northanger Abbey the whole way, trying to figure out how I was going to stretch the small amount of cash in my wallet for my projected 3 days in Roma.

I have discovered that while wearing my full backpack, I hate almost any city I am in. My first few hours in Rome I hated. Hopping from hostel to travel agency to metro, to supermarket, my back killing me, sweating, eyeing everyone suspiciously as a potential pickpocket, the big city seems like a miserable, inhospitable place. I sometimes see other packbackers, often younger than me, and they look so at ease! So comfortable with where they are going! Not lost! While I feel like a wreck until!

It did all work out though. I found a hostel for an affordable price (23 Euro) which was actually a bit nicer than anywhere else I have stayed. Well decorated, clean rooms, not over crowded, a nice kitchen, nice bathrooms. Location, near the Vatican City, which is somewhat far from everything else, but who cares, I can walk!

And walk I did.

First to the Vatican City. I amaze myself that I had only half considered visiting it. Seeing such a grand piece of architecture in person is a completely different experience from seeing a picture in a book (which I think is not the case for sculpture -- Michaelangelo's Pieta that is housed inside St. Peter's Basilica was not particularly more impressive to me in person). The ceilings, that obnoxious baldaccino and the artwork all over the walls were though.

It put me slightly ill at ease, though. I was unable to escape being aware of the ugly side of the Catholic church. That is all I will say about that.

While asking a member of the Swiss guard if the Sistine Chapel accepts credit cards, I was spotted by two Canadian girls that had been my roommates in Cinqueterre. In a crowd of billions.

Long, long walk to southern Rome for a restaurant that my Let's Go Guide described as serving tripe. I could not resist, despite it being very far away. I got lost many times, and stopped at a market for a Fanta and a grapefruit.

Dinner was delicious though, and because they accepted credit cards (and I had been conserving cash all day), I splurged. Salad, Roman style tripe (best tripe I have ever tasted, including that at Cactus Taqueria), a bottle of wine, a bottle of mineral water, and an espresso. I felt fantastic and full. Fueled up for the long walk back home.

I walked through the old city, saw the Colliseum lit up at night, the Forum and a number of other Ancient Roman buildings. After purchasing some grapes for a snack, I got tired and lay down on some grass outside one of the ruins and looked up at the sky.

For one of the first times this trip, I started to have some of the types of reflections that I had expected to have from day 1. Something about Rome was better at creating some perspective on all the travels. While the place is a cliche, there was a certain authenticity to the ruins at night that I couldn't escape, despite the other tourists and cars rushing by. Of course, I have no intention of telling you all what I was actually thinking about!

I made it home safely, by following the river back to the area of my hotel. Exhausted, collapsed on my bed, showed my trip photos to my Mexican roommate and went to sleep.

I like Rome, I think. I am getting a slightly late start on the day because of waiting for internet, but I think I am going to try to see some of those ruins during the day time.

So we got married in Venice in June, so what?

I still feel a bit "so what?" about Venice, but after last night I realized that travelling with pleasant other people makes the Venetian experience much better.

I'll get to that later.

And one other important fact I forgot to mention about the night before: I ran into someone else from law school! That makes 4 people in under 36 hours in Italy. The fourth was Roland, from my section. He was with 2 Australian girls with whom he shared a tour. They had to go catch a boat, so our conversation was short, but hooray! Good to run into you Roland!

My second day in Venice began much like the first except that I woke up early (8:00) and did some laundry, for the first time in a long time. It was very expensive (8 euro, maybe?), and the clothes ended up not quite dry, I am very happy to not be washing my clothes in the shower immediately before wearing them.

My plan was to see "all the sights" in Venice, but I only ended up entering San Marco: The biggest tourist attraction in the world! It's a church, guys! A big church, with lots of decorations! Why are you all waiting in line outside? Why is the entire square (the only not claustrophobic spot in Venice) full of people (and pigeons)? San Marco was fine, but I was surprised to see lines almost as long as the ones I saw for Star Tours in Disneyland soon after it came out! (okay, not quite as long as those...)

San Marco was grand, as expected. Mosaic ceilings. Depictions of the story of Joseph (I know this because I joined a French tour group and picked out a few words from the explanation). All the "really good stuff" in San Marco (the "Treasure") was not free and I was not going to waste my precious Euros on that! I did waste my precious Euros on some stamps at the nearby post office and on some delicious gelato in the square.

Much of my time in Venice is spenting looking for a place to sit down and relax. I spent the next hour or two engaged in this very exciting activity. What am I looking for? A place not so expensive. Or at least that takes credit cards (remember, my wallet was stolen and thus i have no bank card for cash). Where the food looks reasonably good. That is crowded, but not too crowded. Where at least a few of the people sitting are under the age of 60 (hard to find in Venice). And in a public enough spot that I can people watch where I sit (those romantic corners with no foot traffic do me no good when by myself.)

I finally decided on a semi-expensive but not so great restaurant on the Grand Canal, mostly because they accepted credit cards without a minimum (the place next door had a 50 Euro Minimum!) I ate some pretty good monk fish and a beer and some stale bread, all of which made me tired.

I made it to Santa Margarita square, where all the students live. Here, I discovered that Venice is NOT only about tourists and there actually are crowds of Italian speakers, all in one place! And there are spots where the average age is below 60! Hooray! Unfortunately, my lunch had made me tired, and after reading a bit of Northanger Abbey I started falling asleep at the cafe.

...a bookstore...checking internet...a mushroom pizza...a long walk around the city and down to the harbor...finding actual streets in Venice for the first time...getting very lost....crossing and recrossing bridges...and back to the hotel to collapse...a bit more of Northanger Abbey (I am loving this book by the way) and then back out again for what I thought would be a doner kebab by myself.

Rather, I ran into those British girls from Cinqueterre coming down the stairs (on the train to Monterrosa they had borrowed my Let's Go Guide to find a place to stay in Venice -- ended up at the same one i was at) and they invited me to join them for dinner.

And what a nice time it was! Suddenly with two companions I was not so annoyed with the sea of couples. I had someone to talk to! I had someone with whom to discuss the previous day! Pizza and wine for dinner. This guy came over trying to get me to buy roses for the girls, which I refused, mostly out of principal. But after pressing me for a few minutes he gave the roses to us. Huh? That's not how the "Rosas" lady in West Hollywood runs her business! We walked around the canals, stopped at a bar for a cocktail (and the Phil Collins concert DVD that was playing on the TV -- excellent!) and said goodbye.

So yes, I guess the bad parts of Venice are only so visible when by oneself. I still have no plans of returning. Despite what everybody says, I don't think it is such a romantic place, but rather more of an amusement park built upon some ancient and authentically picturesque buildings.

Every place I go, I compare to Iceland. Iceland was a difficult place to manage by oneself, but not difficult to enjoy. My time there was more enjoyable when I had companions, partially because it allowed the opportunity to exclaim "my how beautiful that is!" But in Iceland, as in everywhere else I have been, it was not so difficult to meet other people. In Venice, it was near impossible. The only reason I had anyone to hang out with was because I had met them in a previous city.

I'm in Rome now.

The trouble with this blog is that by the time I got to updating about "yesterday", so much has already happened "today" that I don't have time to talk about.

The Ancient World Was in My Reach, From My Rooming House on Venice Beach

I am going to make an admission:

I don't think Venice is all so special.

Sure, it is exciting to see the canals, and the super old buildings. Of course, San Marco church is very grand, and very large and very fancy. Of course, the weather is pleasant and the city is small enough to not be too overwhelming.

But never, ever, have I seen so many tourists. Never have I been to a city where the tourists so outnumbered the visible natives. Where not a single business or establishment seemed geared towards anything but tourist consumption (except for the 2 markets I saw).

The old buildings are pretty, but aren't there old buildings all over Europe? I'm sure the super expensive food is is excellent, but the reasonably priced food is fairly mediocre, especially compared to the reasonably priced food everywhere else I have been. I ate a sandwich on the street in Paris that was delicious. I ate pizza in Cinqueterra that was some of the best I have ever had. For about 10 Euro, I ate some very special fish and wine in Barcelona. For 23 Euro today, I had a "pretty good" piece of fish, a beer and some stale bread.

Cinqueterre to Venice was a much longer trip than I expected. I woke up early, but later than planned, feeling like death, and got on the first of three trains. After a few hours my iPod battery ran out, and after a few more I finished The Rule of Four (it got better -- I shouldn't complain so much about it, really) and was left with nothing to do. No one to talk to. Not much to look at. And not much to think about. I was lonely and tired and bored.

But I was happy to arrive in Venice. My hotel is a short walk from the train station and while slightly overpriced, is also nicer than most other places I have stayed. No bunk beds, a larger and cleaner bathroom and only 6 people in the room.

I did end up running into those two British girls from the night before, but after greeting them in the lobby, I never saw them again. I spent the next 5 hours exploring the city, getting lost in the narrow and labyrinthine streets. Saw San Marco. And now my internet time is running out.

Being in a city with so much history would be more interesting if I knew anything about Rennaissance Venice. I did see a rat though, and it reminded me that the Black Death first hit Europe around here.

En che mondo viviamo

In Cinqueterre, my life slows down. Everything is simpler. Sometimes easier. When it takes me 3 hours to buy a phone card, call a hotel in Venice to make a reservation and wait an hour to use the internet to email the hotel, I am not bothered.

I see the same people every day, drinking coffee or beer at the Bar Centrale. The same honeymooning couples, holding hands while they wait for a slice of pizza. The same mean bartenderess with the green shirt who gets huffy at me no matter how polite I am. The same old ladies sitting on the benches. The same bald guy at the take out shop with the "Legs are Best!" t-shirt. This is what I looked for in L.A., and to some degree found.

When I rolled into Bar Centrale last night at around 8, after a long day of hiking around Riomaggiore and two other towns, Noah and Garrett were there to greet me, and before long we were joined by the rest of the English speaking 20 somethings in town (except for Sarah and her Romanian, who sat at the next table, gazing deeply into each other's eyes).

The day was perfect. Walking up and down more stairs, down to some rocks to watch the waves crash. A train to the next town for swimming in that rocky cove. Jumping off of a very high up rock to smash into the ocean. Reading by the water. Buying another bottle of wine (on credit card!) Taking the train to Montorossa and having a delicious dinner of bruschetta, lasagna and some white wine.

AND, I ran into THREE people from law school yesterday, all travelling indepenently and without knowledge of each other. And each in a different town in Cinqueterre. Mal I saw with his wife while still in Riomaggiore and ran into again while swimming. Amanda from my Law and Literature class with her husband while I was finding dinner in Montorossa and then Brian from the lounge at a bar later on that night. How many other paths have I crossed without noticing it?

The night involved a big group of English speakers travelling from town to town, picking up more as we went. I had a great time. We met a woman who claimed to have just written a book, and another who was on the trip alone because he husband divorced her instead of coming along. I believe there may have been some singing of Shakira, but a i canàt remember.

The Leaky Tunnel

When travelling, not reading the news, not listening to the radio, one gets out of touch. I spoke to about 5 Americans yesterday, each time asking them, "Hey, you know what day it is today?" All took about 5 seconds until they inhaled quickly and exclaimed "my gosh! It's the 11th, isn't it!"

I have a big gross mosquito bite on my right hand that I have trouble ignoring while I type.

It seemed a good idea to take it slow and relax. I sat on a bench for two hours talking to the people I met the night before, eating some spagetti, and admiring the old Italian people passing by.

Why not take a stroll around town? I did. I walked up some stairs, and noticed that my view of the city was good. I walked up some more stairs and got an even better shot of Riomaggiore. I kept going. Soon, I was climbing hundreds of stairs, out of the town, past a church, past a cemetery. When I hit the highway, Riomaggiore seemed far away (1 km downhill), and I noticed a sign for the next town, only 5 km away, so I started walking down the highway.

Not quite as pretty as the footpaths, but higher up. I crossed a tall bridge spanning a deep gap in the mountains. I walked through a dark tunnel, water dripping on my head. After about an hour of walking, I arrived in the next town, bought a bottle of wine and went swimming in the ocean, which was very refreshing.

Returned to town and had more or less of a repeat of the previous nights. Made myself a gorgonzola and salami sandwich, talked to a Washingtonian girl about the mysterious Romanian who would be visiting her that evening from Rome (from the looks of what I later observed, things went quite well). Met up with Noah and Garrett from the night before, as well as some other youngish travellers. The conversation wasn't as exciting as it had been the night before, but we wandered up the road and spoke to an on Italian man with a dog. Using a strange English/Spanish/Italian/French pidgeon, we were able to identify ourselves, our professions, where we were from, where we were going and list some things we liked. My fellow English speaking travellers were impressed with my ability to communicate without knowing any Italian. There was a certain absurdity in translating back into English a statement which wasn't properly of any language at all.

The recently married couple from wine country passed by, and shouted my name. Here's something funny about travelling alone. You can spend hours and hours in solitude, wishing for just one person to chit chat with, anything to not be alone. But sometimes all the people you met throughout the week all converge in one place and you end up with TOO MANY people to which to talk.

I slept soundly.

I'm a fool there's no doubt, but when the sun comes out (but only when the sun comes out...)

Have I mentioned that my trip gets better and better?

It does get better.

And let me remind you all that I am mostly unable to proofread or edit these posts, as internet is expensive here.

Maybe I can describe yesterday quickly. Besides being wonderful.

I took a train to Montorossa, the first of the 5 towns and walked from there to the next two towns. Steep rocky steps going up, up, up along the Italian coast, through vinyards...

After yesterday, any regret I felt for not going to Peru and exploring the Inca Trail was reduced to very little. Climbing through the rocky hills, green to my left and right, hot vapor rising from the sun soaked plants, the ocean shining to my right...oh, so good.

Because I am alone, I got to walk as quickly or as slowly as I liked. Which ended up being fairly fast. At times I was running uphill! I think I have gotten into much better shape from the walking in Iceland and the other cities, so felt strong even on these fairly difficult walks. I had to eat a lot of food to keep myself energized, but why complain about pizza and olive foccaccia for breakfast?

I met a couple from wine country California on their honeymoon that had met on Match.com. Said good bye to them when we reached the next town, where I had a salad and wine lunch to the sound of a duo playing Italian music in the square.

The next leg of the walk was equally beautiful. Lots of up. Lots of down.

Oh, I think I may be immune to sunburn. After almost 4 hours of walking, most with my shirt off, much in direct sunlight, I barely got a tan. What happened to me? I used to burn.

At the second town, I realized that I was tired, and the my legs were a bit scraped up by the bathing suit I was wearing, ate a gelato, talked to an older couple from Georgia who have been to Italy 10 times in the last 35 years and took a train back home.

Refreshing shower, nice dinner at the one restaurant in town that takes credit card (salmon pasta, so, so good) and some wine and back to Bar Centrale to see who I would meet.

Chatting and drinking with a bunch of folks until late at night, ended up on the beach watching a lightning storm and singing ABBA songs with strangers.

So nice, so relaxing.

The lightning storm in the moonlight was something to see. Come, you really should!

La-la-la-la-lasagna. You want-a some-a lasagna, magnifico!

You know I am having trouble coming up with blog titles when I have to dig into early Weird Al to find anything remotely relevant.

I am in Italy.

It took me until right now (2:35 PM) to realize that today is September 11th. Four years now? Wow! Boy did I mispredict how things would go.

Where was I? That fun night out in Nice, right? Followed by a good night's sleep. Checking out of the Hotel Baccarat. Eating a croissant out of my backpack for breakfast. Buying contact solution.

And catching the first of a series of trains that would eventually take me to Cinqueterre, one of the few places in the world whose beauty rivals that of Iceland.

Since I had finished For For Whom The Bell Tolls, I very cleverly performed a book swap with an Aussie dude in my hostel room. I took The Rule Of Four, a somewhat popular book in the same vein as The Da Vinci Code but which was released afterwards. It was recommended to me by a guy I met on the Golden Circle Tour in Iceland, and I mostly brushed him off. However, when given the choice of nothing or a semi-crappy thriller about college kids solving a very mysterious medieval puzzle, I happily chose the latter. The book is not bad. But there is very little that is good about it. I think the writing is better than that of the Da Vinci Code, which I found to be mostly bad, but moderately entertaining. The Rule of Four is a bit less ambitious in its scope and uses characters that are far less stereotypical. As the authors are just out of college, they seem to have a roughly realistic grasp on what the atmosphere might have been. The book does introduce some fairly ordinary concepts as if they were obscure (one of the main reasons I hated some of the Da Vinci Code). But it moves quickly. I will probably finish soon.

We had a train stop in a town on the Italian border called Vintemigna, which I thought was pleasant and quiet. I stopped at a cafe for some delicious spagetti (and those who know me well know that I am not a huge pasta fan), a beer and an espresso. Because the cafe was crowded, I was joined by a Dutch couple from Maastrict who were, like Joan Perlman that I met in Iceland, both artists. Lovely! I asked them what "stijl" their art was, and felt extremely clever until I realized that I had been mispronouncing the word since high school. They were very kind though. After only an hour of conversation, they invited me to stay with them in Maastrict! Now wouldn't that be something?

I arrived in Riomaggiore, the furthest east of the 5 towns that compose Cinqueterre around 7 in the evening. I have heard much about this place, of the stone paths that connect the five towns, of the beach, of the relaxation. That once I get here, I won't want to leave. I do love it, but I think 4 days will be enough.

I found a hostel a bit off the "plaza" (the town is tiny, tiny, tiny) and grabbed the most delicious pesto lasagna I have ever tasted. Thus the title for the blog post, eh? Get it? Lasagna?

I then crossed the street to Bar Centrale, the only bar in town, where I heard all the hostellers and young folk in town meet. I bought a bottle of wine after being yelled at by the woman behind the counter because I didn't hear her after she told me the price three times. She is the meanest person I have met on this trip. Yells and screams at almost everybody.

Drinking the bottle of wine I met a very nice couple from North Hollywood (the husband carries around a bottle of Tapatio sauce with him) and reconnected with Madison and Annie, two girls I met getting off the train. We all stayed at the bar for a while longer, and at some point I know I ended up swimming in the harbor. That is, I swam in the ocean under the stars, in small Italian town. Like a dream, eh?

I woke up yesterday morning still cold and wet.

Monte, this seems strange to me

I am in CinqueTerre right now, on the Italian Riviera, but I am a few days behind in my updating, so you probably won't hear about my adventures here until I am in Venice.

More importantly, TWO days ago (Thursday) ended up being QUITE good. Didn' t I tell you all that things were getting better? Weren't you all a bit worried about me, worried that I wasn't having enough fun?

But I will be brief. I me this guy Jannes in the hostel, from the Frisian Islands of Germany, but speaks about 4 languages, plays in a band, is friends with the Notwist, likes a lot of the same music that I like ("Do you like the Magnetic Fields?" "Of course!" "Do you like the Cocteau Twins?" "Of course! Do you like Blonde Redhead?" "Of course, I saw them play within the last year!) It has been fairly easy to meet people on the trip, slightly harder to meet nice people, but MUCH harder to meet interesting people. Not to worry, any former travel companions of mine who might possibly be reading this! I liked you! But I actually like SO few of the people that I encounter! Anyway, this guy was fun and spoke good English.

He was heading to Monaco that day for an interview with a yacht design company. I decided to come along for sightseeing during the day.

What a ridiculous place! Carved into a cliff, only about 7,000 permanant inhabitants, very few roads, lots of rules and TONS of money. Fancy cars and yachts everywhere. We passed by the local real estate office and noticed some listings for houses selling for 80 million Euros! We had cheeseburgers and espresso by the harbor, wandered through the city gardens (decorated with bulls?) and hiked up to the "rock", where the Prince's palace is. We admired the expensive lunches that the more appropriately dressed tourists were enjoying and descended the mountain for a 2 Euro beer snack that we purchased from a snack shack. And drank under an awning. Not quite the glamour one might expect from Monaco, but one must do with what one has, correct? Smile.

We split up here, because he had the interview and I was planning on having dinner with those Nicois I met the day before. Unfortunately, I got very lost, even in the small country of Monaco trying to get back to the train station. It was raining, harder and harder, and I became soaked and soaked, and I ended up in a tunnel construction sight, lost and confused. A construction worker led me out a secret door which led me quickly to the train station, and I safely made it back to Nice.

Monaco is lovely in its way, even if it is much too posh for my taste. This was the first place I had been that made Iceland look impoverished, but I loved the curving stairs that connect the low streets to the high streets, and the underground passages and elevators for those not inclined to climb.

I showered and got ready for the Nice people to pick me up for dinner. And the rain began to pour hard. So hard that traffic seemed to stop, and everybody paused under the nearest overhang to avoid drowning. I stood for 10 minutes next to two backpackers, a chasidic Jew and a vendor of some sort waiting for the rain to stop.

It did, but my friends from Nice did not arrive. I was half relieved. When I thought about it, dinner at the house of two total strangers might not have been the funnest, especially if they lived far from the city center.

Why didn't they come? Possibly they decided it would be too much trouble. Possibly a a language miscommunication caused me to show up at the wrong time. Perhaps the rain delayed them by more than 30 minutes. Maybe they decided that I would flake because of the rain.

Regardless, I found my own dinner, a delicious tuna sandwich (even the cheap food in France is delicious. I am amazed) and took a long walk through Nice in the rain, enjoying the music on my iPod (rapidly walking through a storm, listening to the Dead Kennedys' "Holiday in Cambodia"). I checked my internet and returned the hostel.

Jannes came back from his interview. We split a bottle of Spanish wine I had purchased in...Spain, which I was glad to get rid of because it was weighing down my bag. And we decided to "go out" for the night.

It took us a long time until we found something open, but in Old Nice we discovered a small bar, which appeared to be inhabited by all locals. A DJ was playing reasonably listenable music, we had a few beers, people watched at laughed at the absurdity of the scene.

We tired of this, and after a few false starts found Wayne's, the popular foreigner bar. The experience of which was directly opposite to what we enjoyed at Trappa, the first bar. Here, the bar more or less resembled any American college bar, except everything multiplied by 10. EVERYBODY dancing on tables, beer and champagne flying through the air, bottles breaking, Bon Jovi blaring out of the speakers, college aged students grinding on each other, relishing the fact that no one would ever see another again. We stood by the side, drinking yet another beer, both still amused. What a thing to come to Nice and find a caricature of America, performed by Americans.

Walked home, stopped for a Doner Kebab (probably one of the best ideas of the trip. I had been hungry all evening, and to finally eat this spicy lamb delight was an A+ experience.)

And that was the night.

I liked Nice. It was nothing special. But it was a good place to get my bearings back, buy some things I needed (like contact solution), serve as a base for the daytrip to Monaco and enjoy a bit of French food.

The weather prevented any suntanning on the French Fiviera, but since when am I in to the beach?

Wouldn't it Be Nice?

I suspected yesterday, after the series of misfortunes that I suffered, that things would likely get better. I suspected that I had merely encountered a bad spot in the trip, and that while travelling alone would remain a difficult task, I would soon be having much more fun.

I was correct. (However, please ignore the tone of this message if it seems irritable; I am typing from a French Keyboard where the letters a, q, w, m, z and much of the punctuation are misplaced; typing is slow, and making corrections even slower.) Things got much better. After my last update, I washed the 24 hours of train grime off of my body, replaced my smelly clothes with much less smelly clothes, drank water, got away from those horrible Aussie kids and prepared to explore a new city: Nice, on the French Riviera.

As my brother recently emailed me: "Nice isn't that Nice." True. So far it appears unexceptional, yet for now I think it will do. It is a good base for the rest of the Cote D'Azure, my hotel is extremely close to the train station and I am only 2 hours away from my next destination, which I hear is a very special place.

I spent about half an hour wandering throughout the Old City of Nice, looking for a restaurant that Let's Go described as "well priced" "good" and "Nicoise". Ended up being a perfect choice. I ordered some sort of thickish zuchinni quiche and some wine (cold! refreshing!), both good and well priced! Two very drunk French men sat down next to me and after about 15 minutes of hugging each other and commenting on the women that passed by, started to speak to me. Unlike many people I have met on the road, they spoke neither English, nor Spanish. Our "conversation" consisted of my bad spanish, the few words of Italian they knew, lots of repeated French and lots of pantomime. I gathered that they were brothers ("Mon Frer!!!!" and pointing at the other) and that one of them wanted to do something to me with his heart ("mon couer!!!" and a scooping and gathering motion). Without my prodding, they bought me a beer and were soon kicked out of the patio.

Then the restaurant let me purchase a 7 Euro plate of super delicious spagetti for only 5 Euros after I mentioned that I had just been robbed.

The speed and gusto with which I consumed the pasta created laughter and a thumbs up by a couple sitting at the next table, both French, the man about 40 and the woman about 65. They communicated that they were fluent in English and invited me to their table. We talked for a long time, they bought me a chick pea pancake. The woman had lived in the United States for 30 years, and had married the man 5 years ago although 25 years his senior. Halfway through the conversation they invited me to dinner at their house, and I agreed to go. Thierry said he would pick me up at 5:30 the next day at my hostel.

Though it was early, I was still extremely tired from the train ride, and from so much walking, so took the dark and dangerous solo walk home back to the red light district where my hostel is (I did not realize it was the red light district when I checked in.) I walked quickly, and imagined what I would do to any would be mugger if I encountered one. Most of these imaginations involved a solid punch to the face with my "Let's Go Europe" Guide.

Back at the hostel I met the others in the room, one of the best bunches so far. 3 more Australians and a German named Jannes, with whom I hung out today. I told the story of my train fiasco and my dinner invitation and Jannes told the story of a gang fight right outside of our hostel when he stepped outside to make a phone call. All of these stories got big laughs.

And thus was another night on the road. Another night in a hostel bunk bed, clutching my backpack to my chest while I slept. Another night of bizarre dreams.

I am amazed that so many people do this and with so much ease.

Strangely, the more difficult this trip becomes (lately it has been getting easier), the more I am glad I came. I am enjoying a lot that I see and love meeting so many new people, but I also like knowing that "I can do this." I'm tired of hearing about others taking long solo trips and thinking "man...I wonder if I could handle that."

And sometimes, when I get in a bad spot, I think, "Sure would be nice to have someone here with me", but I also see how dependant I become whenever I DO have someone to help me. I like getting myself unlost rather than relying on someone else's better sense of direction. I like eating where I want to eat. Being cheap when I want to be cheap and splurging when I feel like splurging.

...and here in spain i am a spaniard. i will be buried with my marionettes

After nearly four days in Spain, I finally had a glass of cava. It was good. It was reasonably cheap. It was near the Picasso museum. I met a German dude from Berlin while I drank it. I also ate a tapa. That's right, "a" tapa. If only I wasn't half worried about making my train to Nice that evening, I would have enjoyed these things oh so very much.

The day began slow. Pastry breakfast with the Israeli girls. Again alternating between bad Spanish and English. They informed me how bad American coffee is. I attempted to explain the difference between a "cafe Americano" and an "American cup of coffee." Due to the language barrier and uncertainty over whether or not I properly conveyed the concept "drip" using hand motions, I'm not sure if I got the point across. I also was unsure whether they were trying to tell me that Americans use inferior coffee beans of if they merely do not know how to properly brew it. Oh travelling! Oh how much one learns!

I spent a few hours at the internet cafe emailing, and talking to the credit card company, this time getting them to agree to send me the new credit card to Nice, rather than Barcelona as I was itching to get out of town.

Long walk to the place wehre I drank the cava.

Semi long walk to Barcelona's Arc de Triumph, where I rested. A dude walked up to me, and I immediately assumed he was trying to rob me, but it turned out that he wanted to ask me psychological questions for some sort of survey that his daughter was conducting. Even after he told me this, I still doubted him, but felt too tired to stand up so took the survey. The survey was written in Catalan, so the guy translated it for me into Castillian. I'm pretty sure he didn't rob me or get me to buy anything, so I feel good about the interaction.

The next 24 hours were mostly terrible. I caught a train in Barcelona to Cerberes, a disgusting town on the French border. Horrible train station. Dark, dirty, felt unsafe. I made the mistake of using the bathroom. I took a shower an hour ago and still feel unclean from the experience.

Not only this, my connection to Nice was cancelled because of a storm in southern France. It took waiting in line for 45 minutes to find this out. Instead I was sent to Nice through Paris. Thus, instead of a 8 hour overnight train in a sleeper car (to which I WAS LOOKING FORWARD), I got to sit in a crowded 2nd Class car to Paris, along with all the other diverted travellers for about 10 hours. After an unsuccessful attempt at sleeping on this train, I got to wait in the Paris train station for an hour and a half where I got to pay 3 dollars for a small bottle of water (water never seems to be free in Europe unless it comes from the bathroom sink -- any many of these have signs saying explicitly not to drink from them).

The highlight of the train station experience was an old French man smiling at me and telling me that I was good for giving up my seat for another old French couple even though I was clearly tired.

Then, a 7 hour train back down south to Nice where I enjoyed the constant screaming and shrieking of 4 Australian brothers age approximately 1-6. Normally, I have a high tolerance for screaming children. You may remember that I found the occasionally crying Chinese baby on the flight from L.A. to N.Y. to be cute. These children were terrors. For some reason they were very good at screaming, but not at actually speaking. Most of their communication was in the form of simulated laser beams, guns and fart sounds and almost none of it as word.

I wanted to kill them.

Up by I hope where the King of Spain don´t care

I don´t think I have given enough attention in this blog to the weather in Europe. Both London and Barcelona have been VERY hot and humid. I know that I sometimes criticize those that complain about hot weather and that I still insist that hot weather is better than cold. Still, August and September in Europe are brutal! I´ve started wetting my shirts in the sink with water before I go out, just to stay cool for an hour or so.

Given the "wallet theft" fiasco, I had to take yesterday and today slow. Without money, there isn´t much one can do when travelling. I had planned yesterday to take a day trip to Figueres to see the Dali museum, but there was no way I was going to use up any of my precious Euros on a train that was not absolutely necessary.

Things got better though. After waiting around for a few hours, Western Union opened and I received the small amount of money that my credit card company was able to wire me. I wandered up and down Las Ramblas. Admired the animal vendors. All sorts of birds, turtles, lizards. Kind of disgusting actually to see all these creatures screaming inside cages, but I told myself "at least they aren´t in Thailand or China, so they really shouldn´t be complaining about the conditions, should they be?"

What is there to do in a city that is fun, relaxing and free? I remembered around noon that Barcelona has a beach. Only a 30-40 minute walk from my hostel, so I gave it a go. Most who know me are familiar with my lack of beachiness. I awkwardly walked up and down the beach in my sneakers, until I found a spot I found satisfactory. The Barcelona beach is moderately pretty, not stunning, but also not disgusting like some of the beaches in L.A. The sand was a bit more like dirt than like sand, and it contained a healthy share of cigarette butts, but the water was calm, I heard music coming from a nearby cafe (including R.E.M.´s "Daysleeper" and 10,000 Maniac´s "Like the Weather"), and the people watching was excellent. The benefits of a mostly topless beach are obvious, but the abundance of very old, fat and sun-leathered folks takes a bit away.

I read more of Hemingway´s For Whom the Bell Tolls, which just won´t seem to end. I don´t hate the book, and I find the philosophical musings intriguing. And it gives me a much better sense of what it felt like to be a guerrilla fighter in the Spanish Civil War. But the scenes between the male protagonist Robert Jordan and his love interest Maria consistently make me want to vomit. I have no gripe with sexuality and romance in novels; often I like it. What I can´t stand is overly romanticized mushy talk. And I have near zero tolerance for the the pet name "rabbit" that Jordan uses to address Maria. Yuck. These scenes alone make me dislike Hemingway and make it harder for me to enjoy the rest of the book, which is much better written.

Despite an hour and a half with no sunscreen, I escaped sunburn. I ate a hot dog on the way home. And took a nap with my iPod. Oh how nice!

Woke up refreshed, walked around Las Ramblas with Tony. Bought myself a cheap bottle of wine, found myself the bodega where I had my first dinner in Barcelona (after half an hour of searching through the Barri Gotic), and enjoyed a feast of bacalao and sheep´s foot. Yes, "sheep´s foot." I ordered by pointing at the display case, not exactly understanding the rapid Spanish explanation I was given by the owner. After about 15 minutes of picking through small bones and trying to find an efficient method for not wasting the tasty meat and sauce I asked him again what I was eating. I had figured it was rabbit. "Pie de ternera" he says. Go figure. I´m glad I tried it.

Now, feeling much, much better, I returned to the hostel. Since I had spent 10 Euros already on dinner, I figured it would be wise to stay in for the night. I chit chatted with 2 Israeli girls who were in the same hostel room, alternating between English and Spanish (as I know probably fewer than 20 words in Hebrew), and went to sleep early.

And had the strangest dreams I have had in years.

Then she bumped into purses, stole a credit card, writing Chris Michaels, no it wasn´t hard

Yes, after only just over 2 weeks on the road, I got robbed.

"Fortunately", it was only my wallet that was stolen and not either of my backpacks or my passport, but I cannot say that I am pleased. Now, with only the 260 that was wired me from Citibank, no credit cards and no ATM I am in Barcelona in a bit of a fix. Also wisely, I paid for last night and tonight´s hostel stay in advance so I don´t owe any extra money on that. Last night was a bit of a disaster after I realized that my wallet was gone and I frantically made phone calls to the credit card company, to the bank, and of course to Mom and Dad.

To look on the bright side: I only had about 40 Euros in my wallet. Because I had no money, I didn´t spend the probably 20-30 euros that I would have been planning on spending that night, and I was given 10 euros by two nice girls from Oregon I met in the hostel (and who were actually WITH me when my stuff was snatched). With their 10, I was able to buy myself a decent breakfast and coffee this morning, which was enough to hold me over until I got the money from Western Union.

Before the theft, I had a nice day!

First of all, I changed hostels. The hostel at which I stayed the first night had no room for last night, so I wandered around Caller Ferran until I found something at Pension Fernando, which turned out to be both slightly nicer and slightly cheaper, which when combined comes out to "a lot better". I paid for my two nights in advance, and went back to the old hostel to inform Tony that there was room for him too.

I then headed out by myself to explore Barcelona. I do enjoy my time alone in these cities, as long as I have some substantial time with other people for at least part of the day.

I took the metro to the train station (oh yes, my metro card was another of my stolen items) and purchased for 1 Euro 50 (with my Eurail pass) a trip to Nice which should be leaving tomorrow. I will only take it if my credit card arrives. If my card does not arrive, I guess it is another night in Barcelona (already one too many I think). I suspect that my exchange with the ticket vendor had a bit of an Abbott and Costello sense to it as I attempted to clarify whether he meant "mañana" as in "tomorrow" or as in that I would be arriving in the "morning." Hopefully he meant the latter.

Despues, I took the metro to another part of town where I wandered until I found a little restaurant. I ate some delicious chicken and sangria while I wrote a postcard (probably won´t be sent for a few days, because I don´t plan on wasting my precious funds on stamps) and then cautiously poked around some extremely old buildings until I found the Picasso museum, where entry was free that day.

I like Picasso, I do! Despite his unnatural fame, I genuinely think he deserves it. His art from any particular time period tends to look more or less the same (especially much of the cubism) but from one artistic period to another his style varies almost as much as from one artist to another. The Picasso museum was strange to me because rather than containing a complete chronology of his work, some major periods were completely absent, while some more unusual ones were well represented. For instance, there was nothing from the cubist period, and none of those great death masks from his final years. There were rooms full of early work that he made during his teenage years (before the Blue Period) that were mostly representational. The Museum also featured several rooms worth of Picasso´s take on Velazquez´s Las Meninas. I had not even know that Picasso had performed such a project. Picasso dissected Las Meninas and in his bright and broad late 1960´s style painted amusing and somewhat grosteque versions of most of the characters in the original Velazquez. I enjoyed them, but I still was upset not to see more of the death paintings. Those are my favorite.

After Picasso, I viewed the Santa Maria cathedral. I think it derives its fame from having the greatest distance between support columns in Europe. So it stretches the limit of load bearing. Afterwards I ate a gelato. Strawberry. So good. Maybe even more enjoyable than looking at the cathedral.

Next, took the metro to see Gaudi´s La Sagrada Familia. I didn´t pay much attention to the plaques on the wall explaining it, but it seems to me to be an unusually large and gaudy cathedral designed by Gaudi in the 19th century which with the assistance of many architects over the century is still under construction. Thus, there is scaffolding on both the inside and the outside. This unfinished state doesn´t stop crowds of tourist from wandering through, admiring the stained glass windows, intricately curvy facade and tiled towers.

Instead of paying the 2 Euros to take an elevator to the top, I followed another long line of fit tourists along a narrow, narrow staircase. After about 330 stairs, we overlooked the city of Barcelona. I was stunned, while I caught my breath. Clearly not for the claustrophobic, but I think this journey is a must for anybody visiting Barcelona who is neither afraid of heights or closed spaces. I took pictures. Maybe I´ll post them someday.

I checked my internet for an hour, made it back to the hostel, took a shower and met two girls in my room who later invited me to join them for Paella Valenciana and sangria. The former of which I had not yet tried and the latter of which I had tried much. They wanted to stop again at the internet cafe (where I now am) to check their email to find the name of a restaurant, and I, always a fan of checking email agreed.

While we sat along the row of computers, separated by small dividers, somebody must have snatched my wallet from the table right in front of me. I did notice somebody try to grab my backpack, but I stopped him. It is possible that this was a distraction that was used to take the wallet.

Obviously, I had to cancel on the dinner, and spent the next few hours dealing with the problem.

I spent the final few hours of the evening joking and laughing with the others in my hostel room (after I had done everything that I could do for myself) and went to sleep fairly early. It was good to laugh a bit. Much better than crying would have been.