Note: Some of the names have been changed.
I am currently sitting in a plane from Dusseldorf to JFK Airport in New York, and am amused that Yesman, the movie which helped start this journey, is playing. When I last left you I was travelling to Berlin. I got into Berlin at midnight having had one of my trains canceled and the other stopped half way through its journey when a passenger became sick and an ambulance was called. I was to stay at a hostel named the Generator which unbeknownst to me was the largest hostel in all of Germany. The hostel can accommodate almost 1,000 people and on the day I was there it was completely booked. It was extremely cheap (10 Euros for one night) and clean. Yet the place annoyed me almost immediately. Replacing the atmosphere of backpacking twenty-somethings communally enjoying the taste of a new land, were rampant 16 year olds taking full advantage of their new found freedom (and alcohol). I left in the morning and had and less than pleasant exchange with a train official.
Every intercity train system is different and I was constantly having to quickly acquaint myself with the new systems. So I unknowingly bought the wrong ticket to the main station and when I was checked by an undercover train official I made a critical error. As a knee jerk reaction I had begun to, when being addressed in German, to say in German “I do not understand German.” This would invariably lead people to believe I could speak German and continue in German. And this is precisely what happened to me at that moment. “Oh so you understand German” said the official. “Well not really” I replied. I believe this killed any chance I had of playing the stupid tourist card. He asked for my passport. “You pay me 40 Euros” he said. I tried to explain that I did not realize that I had purchased the wrong ticket. “You pay now or I get the police” he informed me less than politely in broken English. So now he had my passport and was about to call the police. Great. So I grudgingly paid the 40 Euros ($55 American dollars) and was sent on my marry way.
This put me in a bitter mood which I am sad to say I allowed to get in the way of the beginning of my day in Berlin. To tell the truth at this point the constant travelling, the trains, the sheer fatigue, and more over the odd sense of solitude were starting to catch up with me. I wanted to go to Switzerland. In Switzerland at least I had a friend to visit and a place to sleep that was a neither a train nor a hostel. I left the main train station and decided to just start walking and see what would happen. Apparently I have the ability to get lost whilst walking in one direction on the same street. I walked for about a mile and a half and realized I was in the industrial area or at least the area for those who could not afford central Berlin. The only interesting site I saw was a bridge that had a memorial for the first person to be killed while attempting to cross the Berlin wall. I walked back from where I thought I had come and was surprised to find that nothing looked familiar and the station was nowhere in sight. I went into a gas station and asked the clerk in German if she understood English. “Of course” she said in an American accent. “Could you please tell me how to get to the train station” I asked (having forgotten its name). “Which one?” “The big one” I said. “There are no big ones around here” she informed me. And so I got directions to the metro and made my way back to where I had come (the place was called Habenhoff for interest’s sake). I walked out of the station again, this time in the opposite direction and this time found myself in the heart of Berlin with all its beautiful architecture and obsession (for the tourists I assume) with its Communist past.
I walked in front of a building that looked historic (I really should have purchased some guides) and convinced a passerby to photograph me jumping. Much of the rest of the day was passed in this manner, mainly me wondering and taking in the sights. I was mostly wondering in search of a wireless internet area which proved to be difficult. I was travelling without a cell phone so my laptop had become my only connection with the outside world.
After locating a spot after several miles of walking I went back to the station to wait. Luckily major European train stations usually double as shopping malls so I was able to find entertainment. I walked a little outside and saw a crowd at the park down the street. There was some sort of event going on which I found out was a marathon. So, I widdled away the last couple hours by watching sweating Germans running at high speed.
I got into Switzerland at 8 am to awaking in an almost completely empty train. My train was not supposed to be getting in for another two hours. I was dimly aware of that something had been said in German. I asked one of the leaving passengers what was going on. “Oh, the train is having technical difficulties and they don’t know when they will get it running again” he told me in a perfectly reasonable tone. “Ah” I said “so what are we meant to do?” “Stay here or try your luck on another train.” I glanced at my watch and remembered that I had a connecting train to make and that Karin was to be waiting for me in St. Gallin at 11:00 am. So I vacated the train a made a mad dash to the next train leaving for Zurich.
I actually made it to St. Gallin on time and was greeted with a hug by Karin. It was quite pleasant and slightly odd seeing Karin again. I had actually never been at all close with her in Australia though we seemed to get on okay. But as I had thought about it I realized that we had hardly spoken more than pleasantries when we had been been around each other. This is made it all the more awkward (at least for me) that I had befriended her sisters childhood friend in Israel and then gone to Ireland with her and had that fabled misadventure brining me to Europe, all without having told Karin until I was leaving Ireland. Karin, surprisingly, seemed to think nothing of it. She acted as though this was a common occurrence, and while she felt sad about how it ended, she seemed to think the entire notion was a rather sweet one. The first thing Karin did was to take me to a genuine Swiss espresso shop, taunting me that I had never heard of “Nespresso” and then took me to her flat where she did everything she could to make me feel at home. She introduced me to her flat mate and we went off up the rolling hills of St. Gallin to its lakes. This lakes were beautiful and filled with speedo clad Swiss. Next to was a Swiss folk band in traditional garb who seemed oblivious to the heat.
While Karin and her flat mate studied I occupied myself by walking through the park and taking in the beauty of it. That night we had dinner and talked of the good times back in Joondalup. Karin also told me of the series of unlikely events which led to her going to Australia. They seemed almost equally as unlikely as my own and once again led me to the eerie feeling that the universe was playing silly buggers with me. The next day Karin and her friend Sandy took me to the Santis mountains. This was my first time on top of a mountain and I found the few captivating. As Karin explained to me you could see five countries from the top. We went from a hot summers day bellow to brisk mountain winds and chill, I was happy. In the town bellow I was once again struck be the weird feeling I get when I step into a European town that looks exactly the mental iconic characterture of the country that I have always had in my brain. Every time it is unexpected but always puts a smile on my face. We went into St. Gallin which was almost completely closed because it was a Sunday but we found one open restaurant in town which, like everything in Switzerland, was laughably overpriced. We ate ice-cream and went back home I rested for a couple hours and packed for my trip back to Vienna. I was very happy that things had gone so well with Karin and I felt that this nicely made up for me having not seen Switzerland before.
I got back to Vienna the next morning and had an amusing episode of getting on the wrong train and winding up in a town in the middle of nowhere by the name of Hennersdorf. I had been led to believe up until this point that every town surrounding Vienna was picturesque and beautiful. Hennersdorf shattered this delusion. After two hours of I made it back to Gumpoldskirchen. It was a little odd because when I walked into Georg’s house I felt as though I’d never left. As I walked in his parents warmly greeted me. “Hello world traveler” his father said. I finally was able to relax after my 15 day adventure. I asked Georg’s mom what other sights I should see in Vienna and she introduced me to the artist Hundertwasser.
The next day I went first to the Museum of Modern Art (MUMOK) and then the Hundertwasser Museum. MUMOK really annoyed me. None of the pieces were newer than 30 years old and I really don’t think that anyone, without the aid of pharmaceuticals and a lobotomy, could call them art. It seemed to be an outlet for dead beatniks’ bizarre fetishes. The walls were lined with random scribbling on torn paper and the videos displayed were of close ups of exposed backsides and people covering themselves in tomato sauce. There was one piece of artwork which was obviously meant to be interactive (there was a giant console with buttons) yet when I went to use it I was screamed at. So I left for the Hundertwasser Museum.
Hundertwasser was a very strange artist/architect who believed that art and buildings should imitate nature. He believed this however to the point that many of his designs were functionally unsound. He designed the museum himself and while it was visually interesting, it was trying to walk through. Hundertwasser though it would be a great idea to make the floors mimic the nature so they were not flat. They curved in random and sometime sharp directions, leading one to trip quite frequently. The place was more like a fun house than anything else. But I did enjoy myself. Unlike many artists that paint in his style Hundertwasser was actually talented and could paint realistically if he wanted to, he was just enamored with the abstract.
I spent the next day preparing for Novarock. I really had no idea what I was doing. All I knew was that I had to see Madsen, Gogol Bordello and Die Toten Hosen. I left for Novarock on Thursday (a day early) with Michael and Natascha. The next day we were to be joined by Georg, Susanna and Thomas. The festival was located on a field out in the country and supposedly had 30,000 people attending. When we got there we had to park a mile from the entrance. The day was hot and we had to the colossal amount of items we felt we needed to camp with. The sun was beating down on us as we walked amongst the throng of people making their way to rock n’ roll merriment, many of them were already on in the throes of inebriation. We were meant to join with my old friend from Australia Christoph who was sort of the ring leader of this entire adventure. I phone him. “He Christoph where are you” I asked. “I’m right in front of the entrance” he said. “Oh great we are almost there. Is there going to be space for us to all camp together?” I said. “Yup my friends have already reserved the space we are right by the entrance. Call me when you guys get inside.” We got inside and I called him. Repeatedly. An estimate of 15 times probably wouldn’t be an exaggeration. He didn’t pick up. So we decided to find our own campsite. Despite the fact that we were there a day early the place was already packed.
We walked probably another half a mile and found an open area and set up our tents and collapsed. We were joined by two people who were to be our neighbors for the four days. They were Maria and Toby. They were friendly enough though a little on the odd side. Toby laughed constantly and I soon found it myself waking in the morning to his laughter. Also they claimed to not be there for the music but rather the people yet they just sat at our campsite hanging out with us the whole time. But still I liked them and they were quite helpful.
I could easily write several pages on the festival but instead I will simply sum it up. Austrians are very friendly in their rock festivals. I witnessed no violence what so ever not even in the mosh pit. I got to see Gogol Bordello which was amazing. The second day of the festival it rained and while my tent became cold and damp poor Thomas’s tent flooded completely soaking all his clothing. That night I discovered how hard it is to walk in one foot of mud whilst wearing sneakers. We just had a very good but exhausting time and now I will fast forward in time to the last night.
We were watching the Guano Apes when Natascha and Susanna came back from shopping, they were clad in Die Toten Hosen t-shirts. “I wish I had one of those shirts” I commented. “Then go buy one” said Georg. “I am out of money and you saw how long the line for the ATM is.” “You have to buy one it is part of the experience, just go now while everybody is distracted by the band.” So I went to get in line at the ATM. There was a line of probably 50 people. But I was determined to get my money and I just had to get my t-shirt. I later was told that this one of the only two portable ATM’s in Austria. I ended up standing in line for nearly an hour and a half. When I had gotten in line the sun was still up and by the time I was done it was quite dark out. The real problem with the line was blatant cutting and the fact that half the people were intoxicated. When I did get my money I ran to the merchandise booth and bought the only size they had left (large) and went to find the group. At this point Limp Bizkit was playing with the crowd an endless sea of people and I was without a cell phone, oh and the it was dark out. Yet, within ten minutes I found them. “Hahaha! I win! Thank you universe!” I shouted. They were noticeably surprised to see me. “We thought we wouldn’t see you again” said Michael.
The concert was excellent and culminated with the lead singer (a man of 45) scaling the light tower behind the audience and lighting a flare. The night was also sad in because I was to bid farewell to Georg and my new Austrian friends. At the end of the concert I walked with Georg and Susanna halfway to their car, before freezing to death, and we said our goodbyes. It wasn’t as tragic as many other goodbyes I have had to say for this time I was left with a strong sense that it would not be long before we met again.
I went back to the campground and realized that I had only the foggiest notion where Thomas’s tent site was. Thomas was to give me a ride to Neuss and let me stay at his place for two nights, he also had my backpack with my passport in it, and I had no cell phone. So in the cold dark I wondered in the general area I thought he was and after a half an hour stumbled upon the perpetually bitter Norwegian who was camping with Thomas and whom I had met once before in Australia. “Hey have you been wondering around looking for us” the Norwegian asked. “Yes” I said. “You’ve passed our tents like three times” he said in the manner one would reserve for speaking to a simpleton. I was too tired and relieved point out how irritating this was. So I found Thomas and we spent the night in a random tent that we had discovered quite literally flying around the festival earlier that day.
The next day Thomas, his friend Barbara and David (who I had also met in Australia), and drove to Bavaria. Bavaria was Barbara and David’s home and from there Thomas and I were to take a train to Dusseldorf. This was also my first time on the autobahn. I was freaked out to see Bavaria for real. It is a very beautiful area and I was delighted in by the fact that in the small town that Barbara lived was a tacky American West theme park. On the train to Dusseldorf I was engrossed in a book and ignoring the landscape of endless trees until I took a chance glance out the window and saw a vast stream dotted with ancient castles. It was a riveting sight of beauty and I asked Thomas where we were. “This is the Rhine Valley” he said.
We got into Dusseldorf went to Thomas’s house in his hometown of Neuss. His family was gracious and didn’t seem to take offence to the zombie-like fatigue I was showing. It was a little odd talking to his family because, while his mother and sister could both speak English, they refused to because they were too shy. This led to me conversing with them, they understanding everything I was saying, and them responding in German with Thomas translating. I spent the next day with Thomas going to the town’s museum and looking around and then got packed for my return trip. On Wednesday Thomas took me to the train station to the Airport and we said our goodbyes.
This basically ends my story of my trip to Europe. It was a great experience and I have no regrets. Admittedly it was often trying and on several occasions I did not know how I was going to go on, but I met many old friends and new interesting people and saw a huge amount in a very short period of time. It was definitely an experience. And know I ponder as to what my next trip will be.
Yours truly,
Ryan Messer
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Misirlou
Hi,
I have not exactly written my next post so I will give a brief update. I am in Gumpoldskirchen again. I am leaving today for Nova Rock. And I am roadtripping from there to Dusseldorf where I will be flying home from on Wednesday.
Hope you are well. The next post will be up... soon.
Cheers,
Ryan
I have not exactly written my next post so I will give a brief update. I am in Gumpoldskirchen again. I am leaving today for Nova Rock. And I am roadtripping from there to Dusseldorf where I will be flying home from on Wednesday.
Hope you are well. The next post will be up... soon.
Cheers,
Ryan
Saturday, June 13, 2009
Friday, June 12, 2009
A Rambling Guy
I am currently sitting on a train from Amsterdam to Berlin. It has been a long trip and I am now heading towards the end of my adventure. At the end of my train adventure I will have only nine days left in Europe and then home. This is very bittersweet and I will try not to dwell on the fact.
So it probably is a blatant clue that a hostel will be a dive when it is named “The Peace and Love Hostel.” This is in fact the name of the hostel of which I spent my night in Paris. The hostel’s reception was also its bar and the staff were rather distracted by their own conversation which they felt obliged to bring me into. “I am going to call the damn police if she comes here again” exclaimed the proprietor of the establishment as I walked in. A Danish man employed by the hostel leaned over to me “did you hear what happened” he asked. I was curious how I was to know anything that was going on as I had just set foot in the place for the first time. “No” I said. “A couple of the customers here were standing outside the bar last night and this lady who lives next to the place poured bleach on them from her balcony.” This seemed like a good start to my stay. I eventually got the receptionist’s attention “Okay,” she said “ooh, you are going to be in room eighteen.” “That’s a bummer” said the Dane. “What is wrong with room eighteen” I enquired. “Oh nothing is wrong with it. It is just that it is at the top of eight flights of stairs” he said. “I see.” “Okay you are ready to go to your room and there is only one key which you must share with the others in the room. And the water isn’t working right now. We should have it back this afternoon” said the woman. This nixed my personal hygiene plans.
I walked up the eight flights of very narrow winding stairs to my room. And got around to explore Paris and meet my friend Charlotte. I was to meet Charlotte at 5:30 at the Opera so I had plenty of time to kill. I headed to the Arch De Triomphe Etoile, it was nice, and then walked to the Eiffel Tower. I was surprised to find that I actually liked the Eiffel tower. I expected that I would get there and find it to be a giant disappointment, but no I found it very beautiful. The only thing I can say against the tower were the Nigerians and the Gypsies. The Nigerians moved in a horde going up to tourists and trying to force them to by E1.00 Eiffel tower key chains. They were incredibly annoying and relentless. But, as bad as they were the Gypsy women were worse. There must have been twenty of them. They would go up to tourists and they would all do the same exact thing, they would ask “do you speak English” and if you answered “yes” they would give you an elaborate story as to why you need to give them money. If you answered “no” they would give you a piece of paper written in French giving the same story. So I chose to pretend I could only speak German. This led them to desperately use sign language to illustrate how I was to disassociate myself with my hard earned currency. One would come up to me every sixty seconds or so and then suddenly, as one, they all walked away. I saw two cops walking over in the distance. Later I saw the Nigerians show off their sprinting skills as the police came after them.
It is a fact. Paris is a very beautiful city. You cannot escape this. You walk into Paris for the first time and you are confronted with the fact that this place you have seen your whole life in movies and books is real, and even more grand in real life. But I really really wish it didn’t have to be so expensive. € 5.50 is an ungodly price for a glass of coke. Really everything was expensive and I am bad at the backpacker method of eating. My problem is that I do not prepare myself for being hungry in the future, it completely slips my mind. I think to myself “I will just find a grocery store while I am out and by a 60¢beggaite” only to find that I am a half a half hour from the nearest grocery store and starving from just having walked four miles. So I invariably stop in a café to buy what looks like a reasonably priced sandwich and a drink only to find that the sandwich is bite sized and that the reason they didn’t put a price on the drink is because it is more expensive than the sandwich. Okay that is my rant on eating.
I took the longest route through Paris to the Opera because, well I had the time and I want to see some more of the city. I caught up with Charlotte and we went to get a drink and then went to Notre Dame. It was nice seeing Charlotte. We spent most of the time nostalgically talking about seven months before when we had been in Australia. One of Charlotte’s friends joined us and we had dinner at a café (I am going to avoid cafés for the rest of the trip) and spent thirteen Euros on quiche and a soda. They took my map and jotted down where I needed to go the next day. We got to the metro and bid our farewells.
The next day I woke up to find that there was still no water in the hostel. I walked down the stairs to the kitchen only to be told I could not use the kitchen, it was 8:45. They said it was being cleaned. Eventually they told me I could go down stairs but I would have to mind the smell. It is always fun witnessing health code violations. The staff was busy cleaning the bathroom adjacent to the kitchen which had been trashed by the bar goers the night before. But, since they had no water, the staff was using two buckets of water they had brought in and were spreading fecal matter throughout the kitchen floor. I grabbed my bag of food and checked out.
I went and walked down Avenue Des Champs Elysees, a street Charlotte insisted I had to walk so I could say I had been there, and got to the Louvre. I have, I believe, the distinct honor of having been to the Louvre, but have never seen its outside. It was pouring down while I was walking so I took the metro thinking I would just walk out of the metro and cross a street to the Louvre. Instead I got out and found that the Metro actually goes through the Louvre. Amazing! So I was spared any further drenching and walked through the labyrinth which is the museum.
I went and saw all the sites in the Louvre that were expected of me (i.e. The Mona Lisa) and then wondered around looking at relics from the Egyptian era to the Renaissance. I honestly do not have a whole lot to write about the Louvre. It was very big and had quite a lot of paintings in it. To be frank I was tired of Paris and eager to get to my next stop of Amsterdam.
It seemed as though the universe did not want me to go to Amsterdam. My train from Brussels to Amsterdam was canceled and the replacement train (an hour later) was stopped halfway through because one of the passengers became ill and they had to call the ambulance. So waking up from a well deserved nap I rushed to the next replacement train and arrived in Amsterdam at midnight.
I must say I am a little disappointed at the minimal amount of time I had in the city. I did not go to the city for its organic pharmaceutical nor its women of negotiable virtue, but it is a very pleasant and unique city. The city seems to have been founded on the contradictory ideals of socialism and capitalism. The state is welfare oriented and tax driven yet the culture is one of freedom and doing anything for a euro (*cough* hookers*cough*). You really feel the relaxed atmosphere the second you set foot in the city.
I chose to take the New Europe tour of the city. Our tour guide was an incredibly intense Bostonian named Kevin, who had been going to school in Amsterdam for two years. He was a psyche student studying abnormal sexual tendencies (okay I do not remember the exact name of his studies but this was the gist I took from it). We went through the Red Light District (it was daytime so there were no women behind the windows) and Kevin gave us the lamenting statistics of how there were once 480 “coffee shops” and now only 150, and how there use to be 1,200 working women in the Red Light District and now there were only 700. He was passionately bitter about these facts, though with the small size of the city the current numbers still seemed huge. Down one street I walked it seemed as though every other store was a “coffee shop.”
I should be quick to point out that the city does offer much more than just carnal capitalism, it is just that the city planners decided to strategically place these areas immediately outside the main train station, making this is the first thing most visitors to the city see in blaring detail. The city is full of beautiful architecture, with many of the houses leaning forward. The city is built on reclaimed soil so this creates an inherent oddness in the buildings’ designs.
But as I said before my stay in Amsterdam was a short one and so I find myself heading to Berlin. I will most likely spend one day there and then (hopefully) take a night train to Switzerland to finally catch up with Karin and see the country properly.
Hey this post is only 1,751 words!
Okay have fun everyone I will talk to you again soon.
Yours truly,
Ryan Messer
So it probably is a blatant clue that a hostel will be a dive when it is named “The Peace and Love Hostel.” This is in fact the name of the hostel of which I spent my night in Paris. The hostel’s reception was also its bar and the staff were rather distracted by their own conversation which they felt obliged to bring me into. “I am going to call the damn police if she comes here again” exclaimed the proprietor of the establishment as I walked in. A Danish man employed by the hostel leaned over to me “did you hear what happened” he asked. I was curious how I was to know anything that was going on as I had just set foot in the place for the first time. “No” I said. “A couple of the customers here were standing outside the bar last night and this lady who lives next to the place poured bleach on them from her balcony.” This seemed like a good start to my stay. I eventually got the receptionist’s attention “Okay,” she said “ooh, you are going to be in room eighteen.” “That’s a bummer” said the Dane. “What is wrong with room eighteen” I enquired. “Oh nothing is wrong with it. It is just that it is at the top of eight flights of stairs” he said. “I see.” “Okay you are ready to go to your room and there is only one key which you must share with the others in the room. And the water isn’t working right now. We should have it back this afternoon” said the woman. This nixed my personal hygiene plans.
I walked up the eight flights of very narrow winding stairs to my room. And got around to explore Paris and meet my friend Charlotte. I was to meet Charlotte at 5:30 at the Opera so I had plenty of time to kill. I headed to the Arch De Triomphe Etoile, it was nice, and then walked to the Eiffel Tower. I was surprised to find that I actually liked the Eiffel tower. I expected that I would get there and find it to be a giant disappointment, but no I found it very beautiful. The only thing I can say against the tower were the Nigerians and the Gypsies. The Nigerians moved in a horde going up to tourists and trying to force them to by E1.00 Eiffel tower key chains. They were incredibly annoying and relentless. But, as bad as they were the Gypsy women were worse. There must have been twenty of them. They would go up to tourists and they would all do the same exact thing, they would ask “do you speak English” and if you answered “yes” they would give you an elaborate story as to why you need to give them money. If you answered “no” they would give you a piece of paper written in French giving the same story. So I chose to pretend I could only speak German. This led them to desperately use sign language to illustrate how I was to disassociate myself with my hard earned currency. One would come up to me every sixty seconds or so and then suddenly, as one, they all walked away. I saw two cops walking over in the distance. Later I saw the Nigerians show off their sprinting skills as the police came after them.
It is a fact. Paris is a very beautiful city. You cannot escape this. You walk into Paris for the first time and you are confronted with the fact that this place you have seen your whole life in movies and books is real, and even more grand in real life. But I really really wish it didn’t have to be so expensive. € 5.50 is an ungodly price for a glass of coke. Really everything was expensive and I am bad at the backpacker method of eating. My problem is that I do not prepare myself for being hungry in the future, it completely slips my mind. I think to myself “I will just find a grocery store while I am out and by a 60¢beggaite” only to find that I am a half a half hour from the nearest grocery store and starving from just having walked four miles. So I invariably stop in a café to buy what looks like a reasonably priced sandwich and a drink only to find that the sandwich is bite sized and that the reason they didn’t put a price on the drink is because it is more expensive than the sandwich. Okay that is my rant on eating.
I took the longest route through Paris to the Opera because, well I had the time and I want to see some more of the city. I caught up with Charlotte and we went to get a drink and then went to Notre Dame. It was nice seeing Charlotte. We spent most of the time nostalgically talking about seven months before when we had been in Australia. One of Charlotte’s friends joined us and we had dinner at a café (I am going to avoid cafés for the rest of the trip) and spent thirteen Euros on quiche and a soda. They took my map and jotted down where I needed to go the next day. We got to the metro and bid our farewells.
The next day I woke up to find that there was still no water in the hostel. I walked down the stairs to the kitchen only to be told I could not use the kitchen, it was 8:45. They said it was being cleaned. Eventually they told me I could go down stairs but I would have to mind the smell. It is always fun witnessing health code violations. The staff was busy cleaning the bathroom adjacent to the kitchen which had been trashed by the bar goers the night before. But, since they had no water, the staff was using two buckets of water they had brought in and were spreading fecal matter throughout the kitchen floor. I grabbed my bag of food and checked out.
I went and walked down Avenue Des Champs Elysees, a street Charlotte insisted I had to walk so I could say I had been there, and got to the Louvre. I have, I believe, the distinct honor of having been to the Louvre, but have never seen its outside. It was pouring down while I was walking so I took the metro thinking I would just walk out of the metro and cross a street to the Louvre. Instead I got out and found that the Metro actually goes through the Louvre. Amazing! So I was spared any further drenching and walked through the labyrinth which is the museum.
I went and saw all the sites in the Louvre that were expected of me (i.e. The Mona Lisa) and then wondered around looking at relics from the Egyptian era to the Renaissance. I honestly do not have a whole lot to write about the Louvre. It was very big and had quite a lot of paintings in it. To be frank I was tired of Paris and eager to get to my next stop of Amsterdam.
It seemed as though the universe did not want me to go to Amsterdam. My train from Brussels to Amsterdam was canceled and the replacement train (an hour later) was stopped halfway through because one of the passengers became ill and they had to call the ambulance. So waking up from a well deserved nap I rushed to the next replacement train and arrived in Amsterdam at midnight.
I must say I am a little disappointed at the minimal amount of time I had in the city. I did not go to the city for its organic pharmaceutical nor its women of negotiable virtue, but it is a very pleasant and unique city. The city seems to have been founded on the contradictory ideals of socialism and capitalism. The state is welfare oriented and tax driven yet the culture is one of freedom and doing anything for a euro (*cough* hookers*cough*). You really feel the relaxed atmosphere the second you set foot in the city.
I chose to take the New Europe tour of the city. Our tour guide was an incredibly intense Bostonian named Kevin, who had been going to school in Amsterdam for two years. He was a psyche student studying abnormal sexual tendencies (okay I do not remember the exact name of his studies but this was the gist I took from it). We went through the Red Light District (it was daytime so there were no women behind the windows) and Kevin gave us the lamenting statistics of how there were once 480 “coffee shops” and now only 150, and how there use to be 1,200 working women in the Red Light District and now there were only 700. He was passionately bitter about these facts, though with the small size of the city the current numbers still seemed huge. Down one street I walked it seemed as though every other store was a “coffee shop.”
I should be quick to point out that the city does offer much more than just carnal capitalism, it is just that the city planners decided to strategically place these areas immediately outside the main train station, making this is the first thing most visitors to the city see in blaring detail. The city is full of beautiful architecture, with many of the houses leaning forward. The city is built on reclaimed soil so this creates an inherent oddness in the buildings’ designs.
But as I said before my stay in Amsterdam was a short one and so I find myself heading to Berlin. I will most likely spend one day there and then (hopefully) take a night train to Switzerland to finally catch up with Karin and see the country properly.
Hey this post is only 1,751 words!
Okay have fun everyone I will talk to you again soon.
Yours truly,
Ryan Messer
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
The Passenger
When I last left you I was on my way to Nice. I was at a level of fatigue I didn’t even know I was capable of. I was too tired to eat and too hungry to sleep. One thing that I can say as a positive of being so hungry is that when you do eat it feels as though you are on the point of ecstasy. But I digress. I arrived in Nice at five pm and attempted to find some sort of route to Barcelona. I found a route but it was rather off the beaten path and the last train of the trip left only ten minutes after I was to arrive and was fully booked. I was told I should ask the train master if I could get reservation once I got to the train. The next train to Barcelona would be eight hours later and I would essentially lose another day of my trip. So with a mind full of certainties the next two days probably would not be any easier than the last, at nine o’clock I hopped on bored the first train from Nice to Toulouse. I got into Toulouse at five am and had an interesting conversation.
I was sitting in the train station half asleep when a disheveled looking man in his late thirties and a young girl of about sixteen sat next to me. The man proceeded to talk at me in French (he probably spoke English) whilst his daughter/sister/girlfriend (I could not tell) translated poorly. “Where are you from” the man asked in French. “I’m from the USA, I live in Florida” I replied. “Oh California, very nice” the man replied. He then made the astounding intellectual leap of “you look really tired.” “Yes I am. I have been travelling for three days without a place to sleep and have had very little to eat.” He gazed at me with a bemused knowing look on his face. He made some gestures pointing at me with a frown and then pointed at himself making the “I am strong” gesture while still speaking in French. “He says that you are an American so you are weak and he is French so he is strong. He also has been travelling for three days” the girl translated. I nodded my head and tried to figure out how to get out of this conversation. “I am Arab” the man said. “What is your name” the man asked (still in French). “Ryan” I said. “And yours?” “Je ma pal Osama Bin Laden” he said, which seemed to cause him no end of amusement. After taking my snus and running his grubby fingers through it and then dropping several pieces I politely bared my adieux.
After the next train got into the station I was in a bit of a panic knowing that I had just ten minutes to make my train and no reservation. While looking for the train I bumped into two Finnish girls who were also looking for the same train and as it turned out we had been to all the exact same places at the exact same times and had not run into each other until this point. We did make the train and I sat in a seat that I probably had no right to sit in and struck up a conversation with the girls. Their names were Mari and Kati. They were sisters who had taken the summer off from school to do the classic rite of passage of interrailing across Europe. I was happy to meet more Finns as I had made a good friend who was Finnish whilst in Australia and now able to learn even more about this unique nation. They were quite shocked and sympathetic when I related to them all that had brought me to this point. [Okay so I am definitely not over everything that happened to me but even I have to admit that it makes for one hell of a story]
And so after impressing them (at least this was what I believe I did) by knowing all their references to British television and knowing a fair amount about Finnish culture. We went out about Barcelona together and found that it is a real bitch to locate a hostel in Barcelona. They exist but they are few and far between and many of them are actually run down hotels that are far too expensive to ever be considered a hostel. We spent two hours being lost and dragging our worldly possessions across the city and eventually we found a hostel and they went to stay at their friend’s house. We met up later and went to a special effects exhibit featuring original pieces by *Blank* movies. And then we went to the Sagrada Familia Temple. We sat outside the temple and I purchased for 4.50 Euros what was advertised as a delicious Spanish dish bat was instead heated potatoes drizzled with hot sauce. As it turned out the Kati and Mari would be in Amsterdam about the same time as me and we decided that if things worked out we should meet up there.
Barcelona’s main attraction is the work of Gaudi, which the owners charge a premium for tours thereof. The streets are littered with examples his work, each one with its own tour. I found his work captivating though I noticed a running theme. It appeared to me that Gaudi built the models of these buildings out of wax, left them in a warm room for slightly to long, and then said “oh well, let’s just build it like that then.”
I left the next morning to Madrid. I actually got to the train station an hour early so with quite literally one minute to spare I convinced the train attendant to change my reservation and let me hop on the earlier train. I got into Madrid and immediately liked the place. This was like when I went to Killarny in Ireland, I felt as though I had finally arrived in Spain. I got to my hostel with relative ease and went on my mission of tracking down “La Violetta.” La Violetta is a candy store in Madrid that makes all its candies with violets. My mother fell in love with the store when she went to Madrid at the age of sixteen and I was instructed by my father to procure said candies. This actually turned out to be a great place to be sent to because La Violetta is located at the heart of Madrid and by all the major landmarks. So I was more than happy to run such an errand. I spent the rest of the day touring all over the city and sitting in little café’s with warm atmospheres eating reasonably priced meals of which I found delectable. I also went into several guitar shops (no purchases were made) and heard real Spaniards playing real Flamenco music.
That night, while sitting in the hostel lounge, I struck up a conversation with a Swiss guy named Caspar who, when not in school, is a juggler/ magician who had gone to the world juggling championships in Canada. Finally my misspent youth of magic books and apparatus came into use in an intelligent adult conversation. We discussed things that to anyone else would seem nonsense and went on youtube where I showed him Steve Martin’s obnoxiously bad magic performances and he showed me a man eating lit cigarettes.
And yes more travelling. The next morning I headed out six hours to Algeciras to catch a bus to Gibraltar.
You know things are not good when the woman behind the tourist information booth speaks no English. As I had been travelling I had noticed less and less people accustomed with the English language, and it appeared I had hit the high point of this in Algeciras. I was actually initially delighted when stepping out of the train station. I looked around and said to myself “ah this is exactly like Mexico, I have only fond memories of Mexico.” This is true, Algeciras is remarkably similar to Mexico. And being slightly naïve, and having gotten all my sparse information from internet posts I set about walking through Algeciras. I thought it would be just like Mexico and I could find some nifty little street corner restaurant offering delectable home cooking for tuppence. I would then find some hostel (because according to the internet there is only one hostel in Gibraltar and it is a... “not very nice place”) and catch a bus for five minutes into downtown Gibraltar.
Looking back I take great amusement in the innocence begotten in me. Walking up the main street I started to notice no places to eat or at least none that posted any prices, only greasy bars. I also noticed that the state of the architecture was in a state of disrepair past the point that anyone could honestly call “quaint and charming.” In essence I realized that I was in a slum and had no idea where I was and nobody spoke English. This was not the Mexico I loved when I was a child travelling with my parents, this was the Mexico that is the reason it is known as a third world country. But I was too hungry to turn back. I needed to find food. Walking three miles uphill, I eventually came across a grocery store and had a fine meal of a bottle of pineapple juice and sliced ham. I walked back the three miles to the train station and located a train which took me twenty five minutes to a town just outside of Gibraltar. I did not know this. My only big clue that this was not the former English outpost I was seeking was the fact that the signs were still written in Spanish.
I went up to a woman who luckily spoke English. “Okay” I said “this is going to sound like a really stupid question but am I in Gibraltar?” “No. This is the town just outside of Gibraltar. You need to walk down that road a little bit and you get there.” So I walked. I like Gibraltar. I particularly like its laughable customs agency. Walking through they asked to see my passport. I began to pull it out and without looking at it they waved me through. I was carrying a bag of Spanish candy past the “items to declare area” and no one paid me any mind. One thing I will say as a negative of Gibraltar is that is geography does not lend itself to maps. Receiving a map from the Gibraltar Information Center I was comforted that everything I needed was close by and next to each other. The problem with this is that the country has an inherent rising and falling nature to its landscape. And the roads are of a spiralling intertwining sort which, when combined with the fact that one of the roads is basically above the other, means that what one sees on a map bares no correspondence with what is there in reality.
So I walked for an hour getting to the city center and trying to find the only real hostel in Gibraltar. The hostel itself, while devoid of most human comforts, was reasonably priced and liveable. I was now on a mission to meet my long lost cousins. At this point I didn’t even know if they actually wanted to visit me or had known of my arrival based on the odd conversations I had been having with my cousin Jennifer over the past two days. Jennifer is a sweet and charming girl of thirteen and we had chatted quite often over the internet over the past several months. *I just realized that this was my second time this trip meeting people I had only known before on the internet... eerie* Anyway, being short-sighted I neglected to inform her father (also a cousin technically- got to love genealogy) assuming the information would be passed along. I found an internet cafe, contacted Jennifer, and was told that her Dad (Barry) was on the way. The Whenlocks are good people. Despite the fact that up until midnight the evening before Barry was only dimly aware of my existence, they did everything they could to introduce me to their rather unique country and to connect to their distant relative. We hit things off pretty well. The next day they planned to show me around and I was to take it easy. As they said, I had been travel a lot and now that I was in Gibraltar I should enjoy myself. I heartily agreed.
Barry is a really great guy. We spent the night talking about British cultare and the interesting linguistic differences between our two cultures. Really it was the first relaxing night I had had since Vienna and I was grateful.
Gibraltar is a really really weird place. It is a beachside tropical country with a population (known as Gibraltarians) whose official language appears to be Spanglish. The country is very difficult to get to but is a tourist haven for the rich and up until ten years ago it had been a major military base for whoever at any particular moment occupied it for the last several hundred years. Technically Gibraltar is its own sovereign country and the locals identify themselves with other former colonial countries such as Australia and Canada, yet the national currency is the “Gibraltar Pound” which looks exactly like the British pound (with the addition of the word “Gibraltar”) and is worth exactly the same amount as the British pound. It is an incredibly surreal experience to travel six hours by train to an area that appears to be a Mexican ghetto, only to take a train for twenty minutes to an Anglo/Spaniard beachside paradise.
Another unique aspect of the country is that the government seems reluctant to dispose of anything. Most of the buildings have been there in some form or another for several hundred years, and many of the military sites are still present. A great example of this is Casemate. Casemate is where I met the Whenlocks on my first day in Gibraltar. Today Casemate is a trendy two story building used as a shopping center in the center of town. But, up until ten years ago it was a haven for illegal Moroccan immigrants, and was where the ghetto of Gibraltar began. I really could not believe a place like this could exist and I was unaware of it.
I had an amazingly good time in Gibraltar. The Whenlocks really did everything they could to make me feel at home and to show me their fair country. On my second day in Gibraltar they took me all over the country (which can be traversed from beginning to end in an hour or two) and took me to the Rock of Gibraltar. The rock is in fact where Gibraltar gets its name. The name “Gibraltar” comes from the Arabic word for rock. The rock is seriously fun to go up, partially for its view of all of the southern tip of Spain and the northern tip of Morocco, but mostly for the monkeys. These creatures roam all over the rock in packs entertaining tourists for fruit and Doritos. I liked the monkeys. Gibraltarians hate the monkeys. They tend to equate them with rats. “They are vicious and will bite you without warning” Jennifer and Mellissa had informed me. I would have none of this. I was determined to see the monkeys. Like the tourist I am, I went over with Barry, while the rest of the family stayed in the car watching their insane American cousin, and coaxed a baby monkey to climb my back. I was lucky that I did not hack off the parents. Another American tourist got annoyed that one of the baby monkeys would not climb on her back so she grabbed at it, in front of its rather large parents. The parents leapt on the girl to the great sadistic amusement of the rest of us.
That evening we went to a Mexican restaurant run by a Canadian, whose accent sounded Californian to me except for the constant use of “eh.” Jennifer and Mellissa are my two charming young cousins aged thirteen and twelve respectively. I am the oldest of three, two of whom are girls, eight and seven. Eating with Jennifer and Mellissa and answering constant questions of the sort “do they have KFC in America” made me feel like I was back home. I had a good time, but that night I realized that, despite its allure, I should not stay another day. If I were to stay another day it would most likely kill another two days of travel time and as is I was already looking at cutting another country out of the trip. I asked Barry and Deborah what they thought and they agreed. So the next morning (with my alarm clock being twenty minutes slow and leading us to get there with one minute to spare) they drove me to the train station and I bed my farewell.
I have come to hate the European railways system. It was my understanding that the EU was meant to standardize most European public utilities. Obviously trains were not part of it. In some stations, say the Vienna station, I could buy a reservation from Berlin to Poland, but then in the Atocha Madrid station I would need to go to the Chamartin Madrid station to procure a reservation from Chamartin and would not be allowed to buy any from outside of Spain. This is exactly what happened to me. Though, it took me several hours of standing in line to learn this. I was left with the choice of paying eight Euros to get a train from Madrid to Hyden, with ten minutes to get on a train to Paris (being unable to buy the tickets until I got there) and then get in at eleven pm, OR, pay forty seven Euros for a reservation in first class (the only available space) at seven the next night in a superfast sleeper train, get there at eight in the morning, and have another day in Madrid. I chose the supertrain.
I located a hostel in Madrid and rested. I finally had a good night’s sleep without the need to wake up at any particular hour. The next morning I met two Quebecois girls named Christine and Katherine. They asked if I would like to join them on a free tour guide trip through Madrid. At the word “free” I said yes. When we got there we found our tour guide standing alone and looking a little bugged. His name was Juan and he was from Chile, he had about six different accents which he dispersed randomly over sentences, and he looked like a cross between Douglas Adams and Elvis Costello.
“Where did you get your brochures” Juan asked us. “The Musa Hostel” we replied. “Yeah they still have the old one. The tour has been canceled but I am still allowed to give you recommendations of where to go, so I’ll wait for others to show up and give you a rundown of what you should do.” As we learned Spain, who would have thought it, is often very corrupt. The tour guide industry is run by a cartel who makes it, in the words of Juan, statistically easier to become a surgeon than a tour guide in Spain. The franchise known as “New Europe,” was founded on a business concept I found ingenious. They offered free in depth tours of major cities all over the world receiving all their pay in tips. And judging by Juan, they hired charismatic entertaining young people to give the tours. The Spanish government was pressured by the cartel to crack down on the company even though they technically did nothing illegal, and so “New Europe” in Madrid now makes all its money in bar crawls and Tapas tours.
Our group was joined by two Americans who had just finished studying in Sweden. They were first people on my trip who were travelling with kamikaze intent like me, and we compared notes. So, on our own and with the map drawn by Juan, we toured Madrid and made what was supposed to be a thee hour tour last only an hour and a half. I still really liked the idea of the New Europe tours, and as they are set up in almost all my next counties, I will try to go to as many of them as I can.
So this now lead us to me now sitting in the Madrid Chamartin train station waiting for my train at 6 pm on June 8th. I am at the half way point of my train adventure and then will have a week and a half left of the rest of my trip. Take care everybody.
Yours truly,
Ryan Messer
I was sitting in the train station half asleep when a disheveled looking man in his late thirties and a young girl of about sixteen sat next to me. The man proceeded to talk at me in French (he probably spoke English) whilst his daughter/sister/girlfriend (I could not tell) translated poorly. “Where are you from” the man asked in French. “I’m from the USA, I live in Florida” I replied. “Oh California, very nice” the man replied. He then made the astounding intellectual leap of “you look really tired.” “Yes I am. I have been travelling for three days without a place to sleep and have had very little to eat.” He gazed at me with a bemused knowing look on his face. He made some gestures pointing at me with a frown and then pointed at himself making the “I am strong” gesture while still speaking in French. “He says that you are an American so you are weak and he is French so he is strong. He also has been travelling for three days” the girl translated. I nodded my head and tried to figure out how to get out of this conversation. “I am Arab” the man said. “What is your name” the man asked (still in French). “Ryan” I said. “And yours?” “Je ma pal Osama Bin Laden” he said, which seemed to cause him no end of amusement. After taking my snus and running his grubby fingers through it and then dropping several pieces I politely bared my adieux.
After the next train got into the station I was in a bit of a panic knowing that I had just ten minutes to make my train and no reservation. While looking for the train I bumped into two Finnish girls who were also looking for the same train and as it turned out we had been to all the exact same places at the exact same times and had not run into each other until this point. We did make the train and I sat in a seat that I probably had no right to sit in and struck up a conversation with the girls. Their names were Mari and Kati. They were sisters who had taken the summer off from school to do the classic rite of passage of interrailing across Europe. I was happy to meet more Finns as I had made a good friend who was Finnish whilst in Australia and now able to learn even more about this unique nation. They were quite shocked and sympathetic when I related to them all that had brought me to this point. [Okay so I am definitely not over everything that happened to me but even I have to admit that it makes for one hell of a story]
And so after impressing them (at least this was what I believe I did) by knowing all their references to British television and knowing a fair amount about Finnish culture. We went out about Barcelona together and found that it is a real bitch to locate a hostel in Barcelona. They exist but they are few and far between and many of them are actually run down hotels that are far too expensive to ever be considered a hostel. We spent two hours being lost and dragging our worldly possessions across the city and eventually we found a hostel and they went to stay at their friend’s house. We met up later and went to a special effects exhibit featuring original pieces by *Blank* movies. And then we went to the Sagrada Familia Temple. We sat outside the temple and I purchased for 4.50 Euros what was advertised as a delicious Spanish dish bat was instead heated potatoes drizzled with hot sauce. As it turned out the Kati and Mari would be in Amsterdam about the same time as me and we decided that if things worked out we should meet up there.
Barcelona’s main attraction is the work of Gaudi, which the owners charge a premium for tours thereof. The streets are littered with examples his work, each one with its own tour. I found his work captivating though I noticed a running theme. It appeared to me that Gaudi built the models of these buildings out of wax, left them in a warm room for slightly to long, and then said “oh well, let’s just build it like that then.”
I left the next morning to Madrid. I actually got to the train station an hour early so with quite literally one minute to spare I convinced the train attendant to change my reservation and let me hop on the earlier train. I got into Madrid and immediately liked the place. This was like when I went to Killarny in Ireland, I felt as though I had finally arrived in Spain. I got to my hostel with relative ease and went on my mission of tracking down “La Violetta.” La Violetta is a candy store in Madrid that makes all its candies with violets. My mother fell in love with the store when she went to Madrid at the age of sixteen and I was instructed by my father to procure said candies. This actually turned out to be a great place to be sent to because La Violetta is located at the heart of Madrid and by all the major landmarks. So I was more than happy to run such an errand. I spent the rest of the day touring all over the city and sitting in little café’s with warm atmospheres eating reasonably priced meals of which I found delectable. I also went into several guitar shops (no purchases were made) and heard real Spaniards playing real Flamenco music.
That night, while sitting in the hostel lounge, I struck up a conversation with a Swiss guy named Caspar who, when not in school, is a juggler/ magician who had gone to the world juggling championships in Canada. Finally my misspent youth of magic books and apparatus came into use in an intelligent adult conversation. We discussed things that to anyone else would seem nonsense and went on youtube where I showed him Steve Martin’s obnoxiously bad magic performances and he showed me a man eating lit cigarettes.
And yes more travelling. The next morning I headed out six hours to Algeciras to catch a bus to Gibraltar.
You know things are not good when the woman behind the tourist information booth speaks no English. As I had been travelling I had noticed less and less people accustomed with the English language, and it appeared I had hit the high point of this in Algeciras. I was actually initially delighted when stepping out of the train station. I looked around and said to myself “ah this is exactly like Mexico, I have only fond memories of Mexico.” This is true, Algeciras is remarkably similar to Mexico. And being slightly naïve, and having gotten all my sparse information from internet posts I set about walking through Algeciras. I thought it would be just like Mexico and I could find some nifty little street corner restaurant offering delectable home cooking for tuppence. I would then find some hostel (because according to the internet there is only one hostel in Gibraltar and it is a... “not very nice place”) and catch a bus for five minutes into downtown Gibraltar.
Looking back I take great amusement in the innocence begotten in me. Walking up the main street I started to notice no places to eat or at least none that posted any prices, only greasy bars. I also noticed that the state of the architecture was in a state of disrepair past the point that anyone could honestly call “quaint and charming.” In essence I realized that I was in a slum and had no idea where I was and nobody spoke English. This was not the Mexico I loved when I was a child travelling with my parents, this was the Mexico that is the reason it is known as a third world country. But I was too hungry to turn back. I needed to find food. Walking three miles uphill, I eventually came across a grocery store and had a fine meal of a bottle of pineapple juice and sliced ham. I walked back the three miles to the train station and located a train which took me twenty five minutes to a town just outside of Gibraltar. I did not know this. My only big clue that this was not the former English outpost I was seeking was the fact that the signs were still written in Spanish.
I went up to a woman who luckily spoke English. “Okay” I said “this is going to sound like a really stupid question but am I in Gibraltar?” “No. This is the town just outside of Gibraltar. You need to walk down that road a little bit and you get there.” So I walked. I like Gibraltar. I particularly like its laughable customs agency. Walking through they asked to see my passport. I began to pull it out and without looking at it they waved me through. I was carrying a bag of Spanish candy past the “items to declare area” and no one paid me any mind. One thing I will say as a negative of Gibraltar is that is geography does not lend itself to maps. Receiving a map from the Gibraltar Information Center I was comforted that everything I needed was close by and next to each other. The problem with this is that the country has an inherent rising and falling nature to its landscape. And the roads are of a spiralling intertwining sort which, when combined with the fact that one of the roads is basically above the other, means that what one sees on a map bares no correspondence with what is there in reality.
So I walked for an hour getting to the city center and trying to find the only real hostel in Gibraltar. The hostel itself, while devoid of most human comforts, was reasonably priced and liveable. I was now on a mission to meet my long lost cousins. At this point I didn’t even know if they actually wanted to visit me or had known of my arrival based on the odd conversations I had been having with my cousin Jennifer over the past two days. Jennifer is a sweet and charming girl of thirteen and we had chatted quite often over the internet over the past several months. *I just realized that this was my second time this trip meeting people I had only known before on the internet... eerie* Anyway, being short-sighted I neglected to inform her father (also a cousin technically- got to love genealogy) assuming the information would be passed along. I found an internet cafe, contacted Jennifer, and was told that her Dad (Barry) was on the way. The Whenlocks are good people. Despite the fact that up until midnight the evening before Barry was only dimly aware of my existence, they did everything they could to introduce me to their rather unique country and to connect to their distant relative. We hit things off pretty well. The next day they planned to show me around and I was to take it easy. As they said, I had been travel a lot and now that I was in Gibraltar I should enjoy myself. I heartily agreed.
Barry is a really great guy. We spent the night talking about British cultare and the interesting linguistic differences between our two cultures. Really it was the first relaxing night I had had since Vienna and I was grateful.
Gibraltar is a really really weird place. It is a beachside tropical country with a population (known as Gibraltarians) whose official language appears to be Spanglish. The country is very difficult to get to but is a tourist haven for the rich and up until ten years ago it had been a major military base for whoever at any particular moment occupied it for the last several hundred years. Technically Gibraltar is its own sovereign country and the locals identify themselves with other former colonial countries such as Australia and Canada, yet the national currency is the “Gibraltar Pound” which looks exactly like the British pound (with the addition of the word “Gibraltar”) and is worth exactly the same amount as the British pound. It is an incredibly surreal experience to travel six hours by train to an area that appears to be a Mexican ghetto, only to take a train for twenty minutes to an Anglo/Spaniard beachside paradise.
Another unique aspect of the country is that the government seems reluctant to dispose of anything. Most of the buildings have been there in some form or another for several hundred years, and many of the military sites are still present. A great example of this is Casemate. Casemate is where I met the Whenlocks on my first day in Gibraltar. Today Casemate is a trendy two story building used as a shopping center in the center of town. But, up until ten years ago it was a haven for illegal Moroccan immigrants, and was where the ghetto of Gibraltar began. I really could not believe a place like this could exist and I was unaware of it.
I had an amazingly good time in Gibraltar. The Whenlocks really did everything they could to make me feel at home and to show me their fair country. On my second day in Gibraltar they took me all over the country (which can be traversed from beginning to end in an hour or two) and took me to the Rock of Gibraltar. The rock is in fact where Gibraltar gets its name. The name “Gibraltar” comes from the Arabic word for rock. The rock is seriously fun to go up, partially for its view of all of the southern tip of Spain and the northern tip of Morocco, but mostly for the monkeys. These creatures roam all over the rock in packs entertaining tourists for fruit and Doritos. I liked the monkeys. Gibraltarians hate the monkeys. They tend to equate them with rats. “They are vicious and will bite you without warning” Jennifer and Mellissa had informed me. I would have none of this. I was determined to see the monkeys. Like the tourist I am, I went over with Barry, while the rest of the family stayed in the car watching their insane American cousin, and coaxed a baby monkey to climb my back. I was lucky that I did not hack off the parents. Another American tourist got annoyed that one of the baby monkeys would not climb on her back so she grabbed at it, in front of its rather large parents. The parents leapt on the girl to the great sadistic amusement of the rest of us.
That evening we went to a Mexican restaurant run by a Canadian, whose accent sounded Californian to me except for the constant use of “eh.” Jennifer and Mellissa are my two charming young cousins aged thirteen and twelve respectively. I am the oldest of three, two of whom are girls, eight and seven. Eating with Jennifer and Mellissa and answering constant questions of the sort “do they have KFC in America” made me feel like I was back home. I had a good time, but that night I realized that, despite its allure, I should not stay another day. If I were to stay another day it would most likely kill another two days of travel time and as is I was already looking at cutting another country out of the trip. I asked Barry and Deborah what they thought and they agreed. So the next morning (with my alarm clock being twenty minutes slow and leading us to get there with one minute to spare) they drove me to the train station and I bed my farewell.
I have come to hate the European railways system. It was my understanding that the EU was meant to standardize most European public utilities. Obviously trains were not part of it. In some stations, say the Vienna station, I could buy a reservation from Berlin to Poland, but then in the Atocha Madrid station I would need to go to the Chamartin Madrid station to procure a reservation from Chamartin and would not be allowed to buy any from outside of Spain. This is exactly what happened to me. Though, it took me several hours of standing in line to learn this. I was left with the choice of paying eight Euros to get a train from Madrid to Hyden, with ten minutes to get on a train to Paris (being unable to buy the tickets until I got there) and then get in at eleven pm, OR, pay forty seven Euros for a reservation in first class (the only available space) at seven the next night in a superfast sleeper train, get there at eight in the morning, and have another day in Madrid. I chose the supertrain.
I located a hostel in Madrid and rested. I finally had a good night’s sleep without the need to wake up at any particular hour. The next morning I met two Quebecois girls named Christine and Katherine. They asked if I would like to join them on a free tour guide trip through Madrid. At the word “free” I said yes. When we got there we found our tour guide standing alone and looking a little bugged. His name was Juan and he was from Chile, he had about six different accents which he dispersed randomly over sentences, and he looked like a cross between Douglas Adams and Elvis Costello.
“Where did you get your brochures” Juan asked us. “The Musa Hostel” we replied. “Yeah they still have the old one. The tour has been canceled but I am still allowed to give you recommendations of where to go, so I’ll wait for others to show up and give you a rundown of what you should do.” As we learned Spain, who would have thought it, is often very corrupt. The tour guide industry is run by a cartel who makes it, in the words of Juan, statistically easier to become a surgeon than a tour guide in Spain. The franchise known as “New Europe,” was founded on a business concept I found ingenious. They offered free in depth tours of major cities all over the world receiving all their pay in tips. And judging by Juan, they hired charismatic entertaining young people to give the tours. The Spanish government was pressured by the cartel to crack down on the company even though they technically did nothing illegal, and so “New Europe” in Madrid now makes all its money in bar crawls and Tapas tours.
Our group was joined by two Americans who had just finished studying in Sweden. They were first people on my trip who were travelling with kamikaze intent like me, and we compared notes. So, on our own and with the map drawn by Juan, we toured Madrid and made what was supposed to be a thee hour tour last only an hour and a half. I still really liked the idea of the New Europe tours, and as they are set up in almost all my next counties, I will try to go to as many of them as I can.
So this now lead us to me now sitting in the Madrid Chamartin train station waiting for my train at 6 pm on June 8th. I am at the half way point of my train adventure and then will have a week and a half left of the rest of my trip. Take care everybody.
Yours truly,
Ryan Messer
Sunday, June 7, 2009
Gratitude
I am in Madrid right now (again). Leaving for Paris tomorrow night. Should be good :)
Untill I upload my next giant post I leave you with photos!
Yay
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
Satellite of Love
Okay so I may be completely out of my mind. With another three weeks till the Novarock festival I have been kicking around ideas as to how to fritter and waste my hours in an offhand way (thank you Pink Floyd). So like many tourists I have chosen to purchase a eurorail pass which allows me unlimited travel. But being a person who has a slightly kamikaze mindset as it comes to travel I have chosen to test myself. I will attempt to go to eleven countries in fifteen days. Yes! I am a loon. This should be interesting.
The countries I will be going to (in theory): I will be going from Vienna to Venice Italy (so I can say I have been to both Venices), through France to Barcelona to Gibraltar (to visit my long lost family) and then Madrid, Paris (where I will hopefully be catching up with my old friend Charlotte) Amsterdam (where I will refrain from becoming a junkie), Berlin to Poland (this might be my subconscious way of dealing with being burnt by an Israeli girl- okay bad taste), the Czech Republic, to Zurich (visiting Karin) , to Budapest, and back to Austria where I will be staying in Linz and visiting Christoph.
Whether or not this plan will come to fruition we shall soon see. But judging from my misadventure yesterday of getting to the wrong station completely and having to hop on a train to Innsbruck to get to Venice this should be an interesting journey.
And now for what I have been doing for the past week. My first day in Austria was an exhausting one to say the least. Even though I slept on the train ride it did not feel like it. I was haggard. I got into Vienna at 8:20. I had roughly eighty pounds of luggage I was carrying around in the form of three bags. A large part of the aforementioned fatigue may have been due to the fact that I was not eating. When under duress I find it impossible to work up an appetite, and if you have been following my blog so far you will see that I was indeed under a fair amount of stress.
Okay so my loyal readers will know that I was in a state that could be called more than a little depressed at this point. And my physical fatigue was not helping the matter. So after meandering about Vienna for a little while I went back to Starbucks and watched Harold and Maude on my laptop. After a fun filled eleven hours of trying to keep myself distracted I waited in front of the Stephen Cathedral for Georg. And it was such a surreal experience seeing my old pal again. I had been lost in my own world of gloom and here came a person I realized I had begun to put into that place in my head reserved for sentimental memories.
That night Georg took me out on the town. We went to a night club with a group of is friends and I was able to demonstrate with ease and charm my complete and utter ignorance of German.
This was all incredibly healthy for me. I believe Georg’s goal was to keep me constantly distracted. Of this he was pretty successful. The next day he took me on a tour of Vienna taking me to a plethora of Austrian landmarks. We saw the town hall, the emperor’s palace, introduced me to proper Kabaps (some of the best food I have ever had), and St. Stephen’s Cathedral. His main goal of the day, however, was to get me an interrail pass allowing me unlimited train travel in Europe. I actually had voiced no interest in the matter but Georg it seemed had decided this for me. So after dealing with the excruciating process that is the Austrian railway system I eventually bought the pass and set about planning the trip.
The next day I went on a tour of Vienna again, but this time with Georg’s best friend Dominic. I must say that Georg has what I always thought of as an eclectic personality, and when I knew him in Australia I always thought he was incredibly unique. Now this is not by any means a slite on Georg, but having come to Austria and meeting his large group of friends and his siblings, I felt as though I was in Georg-World. Chatting with his mates and hearing them go “it’s gonna be legendary” and constant quotes from Lost was a little unnerving. But of them Georg still acts like this in the most extreme. Dominic also has many of these attributes. I enjoyed hanging out with him. Dominic is a cool guy. If ever there was a person who embodied my mental image of the young modern European Dominic would come pretty close.
Back to the story: I am a big fan of the painter Gustav Klimt. So it was quite the treat for me going to the Belvedere with Dominic. For you see the Belvedere holds within its walls a huge body of Klimt’s works including the famous “The Kiss” but more important to me “Judith.” Okay I am a pretty big fan of Klimt and I felt a little like the proverbial kid in the candy store. But the Belvedere was just a generally fascinating place for me the place is a bastion of classical paintings which had for years been drilled into my head via history books. Like many of the giant architectural wonders of Vienna the Belvedere had once been a palace of the Austro-Hungarian Empire.
I am an avid and die hard capitalist but there is a certain absurd coolness to Vienna directly derived from its socialism. One example which comes irresistibly to mind is the Museum Quarter, which, despite what the name would imply, is a giant outdoor lounge for young adults and the center of the Vienna art and night club scene. Dominic took me to there and we lounged about the bright yellow cinderblock shaped foam latex cushions, relaxing after a long day of walking.
The rest of the week was marked by me meandering around Vienna and Georg’s hometown of Gumpoldskarchen aimlessly, enjoying the oral extravaganza which is Austrian cooking and attempting to get my trip together. I eventually gave up and decided to use an outline of where I wanted to go with three distinct places I am determined to go to, those being Gibraltar, Paris, and Switzerland.
For the last three days of my time in Vienna I was dragged to a plethora of nightclubs and parties. Georg had finished a major exam and wished to live it up. It was during this time I was introduced to the rest of the Strasser brothers (minus the Strasser sister). Georg’s older brother Thomas is a medical student and an avid partygoer whose catch phrase when meeting friends is “what the fuck?” He is a really nice guy and looks exactly like Heath Ledger. Georg’s oldest sibling Michael is a snus using theology student whom I immediately clicked with. For my first night of partying Georg left me with a group of his friends who seemed to embrace me as part of the group without hesitation. We went to play pool (of which I am hopelessly bad at) and somehow I managed to make all the balls do exactly what I told them. From there we went to a night club and had a rather pleasant night.
The next night Georg joined the group and we went to the “Flex” nightclub. The club was everything I had always imagined in European nightclubs and is home to Mr. Flex. Mr. Flex is a man in his sixties with an Andy Warhol haircut who every night from open to close, stands on the main dancing area and without any expression moves his hands about wildly completely out of sync with the music.
The next night the brothers Strasser and Georg’s large clan of friends took me to a nightclub in the Museum Quarter which was even more European than the last club. Georg’s friend Bernard came up to me in the club. “You should stay here!” here announced. “It is very tempting” I said earnestly.
I thoroughly enjoyed myself that night and at one point had a strange out of body experience. Whilst dancing with several of Georg’s attractive female friends I stood back and looked at myself. I thought “okay, who the hell meets a female Israeli soldier on the internet whilst in Australia, goes to Ireland to meet her where he gets his heart broken, is left for dead in Switzerland, goes to Austria to stay with his friend from Australia and ends up in a hip Vienna nightclub about to go on a Eurotrip alone when he is suppose to be in Florida studying?” I burst out laughing and was asked if I was drunk.
We got home at the crack of dawn and a couple hours later we went to a Strasser family get-together. I was amused at how uncomfortable Georg was as he was convinced all his family members would think he was gay since he brought a male friend.
I got home and packed [note: Georg’s amazingly beyond belief kind and caring parents completely kitted me out with backpacking gear for my trip of which I am eternally grateful] and at three in the morning took the train to the main station. When I got there I was informed that my ticket was for a different station and that I had no time to get there so I got on a train to Innsbruck and from Innsbruck to Venice. This caused me to get there four hours later and to miss my connection to Barcelona.
I have discovered that I really don’t like Venice. Okay I don’t like either of them but the one in Italy annoys me as well. This might be due to the fact that the place eerily reminds me the European Pavilions in Epcot Disney. It is probably also due to the fact that the place serves no purpose except to be Venice. I quite liked Vienna because, while it was filled with beautiful sites and history it was also a fully functional city where people got on with their lives. Venice is a place where foreigners go to sell things manufactured in China to foreigners at a premium.
I quite possibly am being harsh on Venice, which might partially be for the fact that when I got there I was unable to locate any place to sleep and so had to sleep in the train station surrounded by other people in the same situation only to be kicked out at one in the morning to sit outside where the homeless dwelt.
At seven this morning I caught the train to Mallon and now am on a train to Nice France hoping that when I get there there will be a train to Barcelona.
Things are interesting for me. I am trying hard to keep my faith be a yesman and continue to take advantage of the situation. Also I have get some amazing reactions when people ask me to explain what I am doing here. I either give them the whole story or just say "it involved a female Israeli soldier, Ireland, and being left for dead in Zurich."
I hope this post finds you all in good cheer.
Yours truly,
Ryan Messer
The countries I will be going to (in theory): I will be going from Vienna to Venice Italy (so I can say I have been to both Venices), through France to Barcelona to Gibraltar (to visit my long lost family) and then Madrid, Paris (where I will hopefully be catching up with my old friend Charlotte) Amsterdam (where I will refrain from becoming a junkie), Berlin to Poland (this might be my subconscious way of dealing with being burnt by an Israeli girl- okay bad taste), the Czech Republic, to Zurich (visiting Karin) , to Budapest, and back to Austria where I will be staying in Linz and visiting Christoph.
Whether or not this plan will come to fruition we shall soon see. But judging from my misadventure yesterday of getting to the wrong station completely and having to hop on a train to Innsbruck to get to Venice this should be an interesting journey.
And now for what I have been doing for the past week. My first day in Austria was an exhausting one to say the least. Even though I slept on the train ride it did not feel like it. I was haggard. I got into Vienna at 8:20. I had roughly eighty pounds of luggage I was carrying around in the form of three bags. A large part of the aforementioned fatigue may have been due to the fact that I was not eating. When under duress I find it impossible to work up an appetite, and if you have been following my blog so far you will see that I was indeed under a fair amount of stress.
Okay so my loyal readers will know that I was in a state that could be called more than a little depressed at this point. And my physical fatigue was not helping the matter. So after meandering about Vienna for a little while I went back to Starbucks and watched Harold and Maude on my laptop. After a fun filled eleven hours of trying to keep myself distracted I waited in front of the Stephen Cathedral for Georg. And it was such a surreal experience seeing my old pal again. I had been lost in my own world of gloom and here came a person I realized I had begun to put into that place in my head reserved for sentimental memories.
That night Georg took me out on the town. We went to a night club with a group of is friends and I was able to demonstrate with ease and charm my complete and utter ignorance of German.
This was all incredibly healthy for me. I believe Georg’s goal was to keep me constantly distracted. Of this he was pretty successful. The next day he took me on a tour of Vienna taking me to a plethora of Austrian landmarks. We saw the town hall, the emperor’s palace, introduced me to proper Kabaps (some of the best food I have ever had), and St. Stephen’s Cathedral. His main goal of the day, however, was to get me an interrail pass allowing me unlimited train travel in Europe. I actually had voiced no interest in the matter but Georg it seemed had decided this for me. So after dealing with the excruciating process that is the Austrian railway system I eventually bought the pass and set about planning the trip.
The next day I went on a tour of Vienna again, but this time with Georg’s best friend Dominic. I must say that Georg has what I always thought of as an eclectic personality, and when I knew him in Australia I always thought he was incredibly unique. Now this is not by any means a slite on Georg, but having come to Austria and meeting his large group of friends and his siblings, I felt as though I was in Georg-World. Chatting with his mates and hearing them go “it’s gonna be legendary” and constant quotes from Lost was a little unnerving. But of them Georg still acts like this in the most extreme. Dominic also has many of these attributes. I enjoyed hanging out with him. Dominic is a cool guy. If ever there was a person who embodied my mental image of the young modern European Dominic would come pretty close.
Back to the story: I am a big fan of the painter Gustav Klimt. So it was quite the treat for me going to the Belvedere with Dominic. For you see the Belvedere holds within its walls a huge body of Klimt’s works including the famous “The Kiss” but more important to me “Judith.” Okay I am a pretty big fan of Klimt and I felt a little like the proverbial kid in the candy store. But the Belvedere was just a generally fascinating place for me the place is a bastion of classical paintings which had for years been drilled into my head via history books. Like many of the giant architectural wonders of Vienna the Belvedere had once been a palace of the Austro-Hungarian Empire.
I am an avid and die hard capitalist but there is a certain absurd coolness to Vienna directly derived from its socialism. One example which comes irresistibly to mind is the Museum Quarter, which, despite what the name would imply, is a giant outdoor lounge for young adults and the center of the Vienna art and night club scene. Dominic took me to there and we lounged about the bright yellow cinderblock shaped foam latex cushions, relaxing after a long day of walking.
The rest of the week was marked by me meandering around Vienna and Georg’s hometown of Gumpoldskarchen aimlessly, enjoying the oral extravaganza which is Austrian cooking and attempting to get my trip together. I eventually gave up and decided to use an outline of where I wanted to go with three distinct places I am determined to go to, those being Gibraltar, Paris, and Switzerland.
For the last three days of my time in Vienna I was dragged to a plethora of nightclubs and parties. Georg had finished a major exam and wished to live it up. It was during this time I was introduced to the rest of the Strasser brothers (minus the Strasser sister). Georg’s older brother Thomas is a medical student and an avid partygoer whose catch phrase when meeting friends is “what the fuck?” He is a really nice guy and looks exactly like Heath Ledger. Georg’s oldest sibling Michael is a snus using theology student whom I immediately clicked with. For my first night of partying Georg left me with a group of his friends who seemed to embrace me as part of the group without hesitation. We went to play pool (of which I am hopelessly bad at) and somehow I managed to make all the balls do exactly what I told them. From there we went to a night club and had a rather pleasant night.
The next night Georg joined the group and we went to the “Flex” nightclub. The club was everything I had always imagined in European nightclubs and is home to Mr. Flex. Mr. Flex is a man in his sixties with an Andy Warhol haircut who every night from open to close, stands on the main dancing area and without any expression moves his hands about wildly completely out of sync with the music.
The next night the brothers Strasser and Georg’s large clan of friends took me to a nightclub in the Museum Quarter which was even more European than the last club. Georg’s friend Bernard came up to me in the club. “You should stay here!” here announced. “It is very tempting” I said earnestly.
I thoroughly enjoyed myself that night and at one point had a strange out of body experience. Whilst dancing with several of Georg’s attractive female friends I stood back and looked at myself. I thought “okay, who the hell meets a female Israeli soldier on the internet whilst in Australia, goes to Ireland to meet her where he gets his heart broken, is left for dead in Switzerland, goes to Austria to stay with his friend from Australia and ends up in a hip Vienna nightclub about to go on a Eurotrip alone when he is suppose to be in Florida studying?” I burst out laughing and was asked if I was drunk.
We got home at the crack of dawn and a couple hours later we went to a Strasser family get-together. I was amused at how uncomfortable Georg was as he was convinced all his family members would think he was gay since he brought a male friend.
I got home and packed [note: Georg’s amazingly beyond belief kind and caring parents completely kitted me out with backpacking gear for my trip of which I am eternally grateful] and at three in the morning took the train to the main station. When I got there I was informed that my ticket was for a different station and that I had no time to get there so I got on a train to Innsbruck and from Innsbruck to Venice. This caused me to get there four hours later and to miss my connection to Barcelona.
I have discovered that I really don’t like Venice. Okay I don’t like either of them but the one in Italy annoys me as well. This might be due to the fact that the place eerily reminds me the European Pavilions in Epcot Disney. It is probably also due to the fact that the place serves no purpose except to be Venice. I quite liked Vienna because, while it was filled with beautiful sites and history it was also a fully functional city where people got on with their lives. Venice is a place where foreigners go to sell things manufactured in China to foreigners at a premium.
I quite possibly am being harsh on Venice, which might partially be for the fact that when I got there I was unable to locate any place to sleep and so had to sleep in the train station surrounded by other people in the same situation only to be kicked out at one in the morning to sit outside where the homeless dwelt.
At seven this morning I caught the train to Mallon and now am on a train to Nice France hoping that when I get there there will be a train to Barcelona.
Things are interesting for me. I am trying hard to keep my faith be a yesman and continue to take advantage of the situation. Also I have get some amazing reactions when people ask me to explain what I am doing here. I either give them the whole story or just say "it involved a female Israeli soldier, Ireland, and being left for dead in Zurich."
I hope this post finds you all in good cheer.
Yours truly,
Ryan Messer
Sunday, May 31, 2009
B.J. Don't Cry
So I have been living it up here in Austria as of late and am about to make my way on a trip to as many countries as I can physically visit in fifteen days. I have been too busy to finish my current blog post that will be epic (okay admitedly they have all been rather on the epic side). And I will be in Venice tomorrow. Fun Fun Fun.
Take care my dear readers.
Yours truly,
Ryan Messer
Take care my dear readers.
Yours truly,
Ryan Messer
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Good Riddance
These was reposted in light of some information and because the writer is of a slightly vindictive personality type.
[Note: the names have been changed as a courtesy to those in question]
It is a funny old world. Sometimes you just have to step back and laugh. I will apologize in advance for the fact that this post will seem of a gloomy nature and it may appear that I am wallowing in my own self pity at certain points. For this I am sorry.
I was sitting in the arrival area of the Dublin Airport at 10:25 on a very rainy Sunday, waiting for the girl who had brought a new and unique meaning to my life in the last several months. An hour later Sadie still wasn’t there and I was beginning to wonder if this whole things was an elaborate hoax and I had come to Dublin for not when I heard it from behind me; “Cough.” And there she was, Sadie, standing there with a shy but bright smile. I leapt and embraced her. This was the moment I had dreamt of for a long time and I made the most of it I squeezed her as tight as I could. “Okay! Okay!” She said with a smile. We sat in front of the Airport laughing and randomly hugging each other and holding each other and touched each other’s faces to take in the fact that we were both real. It was a moment of true happiness and excitement for both of us.
On the bus ride we just kept smiling. She pulled out a ton of Israeli candy for me to try and I gave her snus, my Swedish snuff. “It burns!” she said. “”Ack!” and spit it out. We checked into the Hostel and walk around Dublin. I was so excited about Sadie that I had trouble even paying attention to the fact that I was in Europe for the first time. As we walked she held my hand so tight that her finger nails actually broke the skin. In the center of the city we embraced each other with a hug that made everything feel right. We were happy.
This was exactly how it had been in my imagination and I was ecstatic that things were going so well. We walked around Dublin for about an hour and a half but were so exhausted from our flights that we decided to go back to the hostel and sleep. I couldn’t sleep. We held each other and even though she was able to fall asleep soundly I was so happy to finally be able to hold her and look at her that that was all I did.
We walked around Dublin some more looking for a place to eat. “This place looks just like Amsterdam,” Sadie said with slight disappointment in her voice. “Why do all European cities look the same?”
I was beyond exhausted having not slept in over twenty six hours and was starving to boot. We found a little Cantonese restaurant and enjoyed what was essentially our first date. Now my dear reader I know that so far the post has been basically comprised of our emotions and what I we were feeling, but that is truly all I was aware of at that point.
Now I must admit I was very romantically interested in Sadie. She was very romantically interested in me to. We had both bared our souls to each other and knew every little detail of each other’s lives. That being said I knew it would be a strain for us to make something really work in such a short period of time and I was content to just be good friends if things worked out that way.
Saying Sadie is a heavy sleeper is an understatement. Sadie is a cat. She needs five to six naps a day or else she will not have enough energy for her mid day snooze. So it was my job to start the day every day. But I was unable to the next morning. When our alarm clock went off Sadie turned it off and immediately put her arms around me and went to back sleep. I couldn’t turn down this so we stayed in bed for another hour and a half.
When we did finally get around we made our way to Trinity College to see the book of Kells. The book of Kells is an ancient Irish biblical manuscript that is lauded for its beautiful imagery. So after paying the nine euro entrance fee we made our way in and took glee in all the Irish artifacts around us. But what captivated us more was the Long Room. This is the historical library of Trinity College that is now serves as a tourist attraction. The place is huge. I mean really really big. To say the walls are lined with books is like saying that Scotland is a couple stones in it. Every inch of the library has a book and the walk way is full of busts of influential Irish and English writers. Sadie was noticeably moved. “It is so big” she said. “I know.”
We then traversed the vast winding streets of Dublin in search of St. Patrick’s Cathedral. The Irish for some reason do not believe in street signs and seem to assume that if you are in Ireland you will know where you are. So we got a little lost. When we did get to St. Patrick’s Cathedral were slightly shocked. The entire historical religious landmark had been turned into a giant gift shop with an entrance fee. This is not an exaggeration where people once prayed to various saints now stood shelves of “Irish Pride” t-shirts. But Sadie still seemed moved to be in a church. It is a very funny thing about Sadie that even though she is Jewish she gets very quiet and in awe of churches.
We ate lunch and made our way to the Guinness Brewery which was on the other side of the city. We asked a group of Americans, which as Sadie later comment were very homosexual and I could not fault her observation, for directions. “Hmm that is a bit of a walk from here, but we have these tour tickets that we are done with you can use,” said one of the Americans. “It is expired but the drivers never look at the tickets.” He was right and we got on the bus sat in the back listening to the sound of a prerecording telling us the history of every building we passed.
Sadie was acting a little moody and I understood. It would have been ignorant of me to assume that she was going to just be walking on sunshine the whole trip. We all go through emotional phases which come and go without and real rhyme nor reason and Sadie had just undergone an emotional overload. So I gave her her space and we explored the obnoxiously Willie Wonka like Guinness tour.
We went back to the bus which had a different driver. I flashed him my ticket and attempted to walk to the back when he stopped me. “Show me your ticket again,” he said. I obliged. “This ticket is expired. You’ll need to pay fifteen Euros for another. The shocked look on Sadie’s face was priceless. So instead we walked a half an hour in the rain to the hostel. As we walked I attempted to hold Sadie’s hand. She jerked her hand back as though I had just offered her veal (Sadie is a vegetarian). “I just don’t like physical contact,” she said. This was a bit of a blow to me, not that she didn’t want to hold my hand, but her excuse. Judging by how she had been up until that point and all she had had told me, the evidence pointed to the contrary.
Okay so I was a little shaken by this. I have an odd knack of picking up on people’s moods. Not their obvious moods but what they are really feeling. And I could tell something was really not right. So we walk in uncomfortable silence. I was lost in my thought wondering what was going on with Sadie and became the expressionless entity I always become whilst dealing with gloom. Sadie went off to shop and I went back to the hostel. When Sadie got back she acted exactly as she had done the day before and I was naively relieved that that was just a momentarily fluke and everything was good with us. We sat in the hostel and watched the British comedy Black Books. Even though she said she didn’t like it she kept laughing out loud.
We went to a sushi restaurant to eat. Sadie tried Saki for the first time and I was appalled that it was served cold. Towards the end Sadie went outside to smoke and I went with her. “I’d hold your hand,” I said half sarcastically, “but I know you don’t like physical contact.” “It isn’t that,” she said. “I would feel bad because of Zeb.” I felt like someone had slapped me in the face. Zeb was Sadie’s friend back home who she use to date but he cut it off when he found out she was going to Ireland with an American she had never met. They stayed good friends but I always felt uncomfortable about it because I knew he was trying desperately hard to rekindle things with them, and hated me. He would do childish things like make ultimatums that it was either the trip to Ireland or him. Being told that they were back together in such a sudden cold and indirect way shocked me to the very bone.
I politely excused myself to the restroom and silently screamed. I came back and tried desperately to act as though nothing had just happened and that I was still the same old happy go luck Ryan but failed miserably. We went to a bar and Sadie asked me what was wrong. “Why didn’t you tell me you were dating Zeb?” I asked. “I did” she replied. “No you didn’t,” I retorted “I would remember that.” “Well I am not putting a label on it because I want to see where things go here.” So I was given back brief glimpse of false hope.
Sadie and I had played a game online where we would post back and forth things we were thankful for until we got to one hundred. Our goal was to be as thankful for life as possible. On her last thanks, and the final thanks, Sadie posted “Falling in love with you.” I told her how moved I was but that we should avoid that subject until Ireland, because things that I might say would lose all their meaning if not said face to face. I printed out the “thanks” posts having ornately decorated the pages, framed it and wrote “I love you Sadie” on the back.
“Sadie” I said, “I love you.” She smiled at me. “Would you like your gift?” I asked. “I have been dying to see it” she said. As she opened it the guitarist in the bar started playing Wonderwall. She opened, put her hand over her mouth, looked at me, and gave me the biggest hug. “This gift is perfect!” she proclaimed. “I have never seen anything that is so me. Haha I seriously considered doing the same for you” she said with a look of genuine joy. “Thank you Ryan.”
We walked to the Ha’ Penny bridge and then went to another pub. As we walked I stopped her. “Watch your step, condom” I said pointing it out. She laughed so hard, and made the comment the running joke for the rest of the trip. As we sat in the pub she drank two shots and I sipped on an orange juice and vodka. “List me off all the fifty states” she said. “Can you?” “It is really hard. I mean I know them all, but it is difficult to remember all of them,” I said. And so she filmed me getting to thirty three states before giving up.
On the way back to the hostel she was a little drunk. The city center was completely disserted except for us and a couple walking past us. The woman was wearing a tiny red clubbing dress. “She must be so cold!” Sadie exclaimed. “Sadie!” I said trying to stop her from making any serious faux pas. “No look at it, it is soooo tiny. In Israel we call those baby dolls.” I took her back to the hostel which was also home to a nightclub. “Ryan do you want to go to the nightclub,” Sadie asked in a slightly intoxicated state. I explained that we needed to wake up early in the morning to go to Killarney and that she would hate me in the morning. I tucked her in and went to sleep.
In the morning I woke up an hour before the alarm clock. I went out and made her a cup of coffee (rather badly). As I came back she began to stir. “I smell coffee.” “Yes” I replied. “I thought you could use a pick me up.” She sipped it and then went and made her own but told me how touched she was that I was taking care of her.
We had a misadventure getting to the train station. Online it said that Calleny and Heuston station had trains to Killarney. We took a taxi to Calleny, when we got there and asked for our tickets we received a look of condescension and were informed that a train to Killarney was only at the Hueston Station. Everybody knew that. So we took a tram to Heuston and spent three and a half hours on the train talking taking picture and playing games. Sadie has the unusual talent of being able to be given any list of fifty objects read it for five minutes and recite it back word for word backwards and forwards. The hardest part of the exercise was thinking of fifty objects to write down.
Killarney is a beautiful city. Dublin is a tourist haven and looks just like ny other city but when you arrive in Killarney you arrive in Ireland. The second we got off the train we commented on this. We went to the new hostel which had a cozy atmosphere and was far nicer than the last. I was starving and we walked around trying to find a restaurant and a Claddagh ring for Sadie who fell in love with the Claddagh when I first introduced it to her and told her of its meaning. We looked at some overpriced rings and I then took her to a pub restaurant. She was quite and miserable the whole time because I brought her to a restraunt without consulting her that had no food for her. This made eating an excruciating experience. We then went and I bought her a pizza (a meal was part of my forfeit for her being able to recite fifty words front to back), and ate in the hostel. We spent the night in a little pub and truly enjoyed ourselves. Sadie asked me to tell her what I thought of her so I described everything I had percieved of her nature. "Close friends who have known me for years don't even pick up on those things you said" she said. Then she did the same for me and I was startled by the level of insite she had in me. She picked up on levels of detail that only I was ever aware of. It was a good night.
This being said I still kept noticing since the second day an oddness in her. She kept getting really quiet and acting like she was silently annoyed by me. Like an odd coldness and distance which stung as we had contacted so much up until Ireland. The next day we got thoroughly lost trying to find Killarney national park in the rain while carrying picnic supplies in the rain. So we went back to the hostel. I had asked her in a playful “oh comfort me” kind of way on one of the times she had been acting distant towards me “Will you miss me when this is over?” She replied “I don’t know.” This was a complete one eighty from before when she told me that she just knew she would be an emotional wreck when I left.
So as we ate I asked her if I was different than she expected me to be. She told me that basically I was exactly the same except that I have a slightly feminine personality. This is a fact that I am well aware of and had accepted so that bugged me little. I asked her if I was different in real life than on the phone and she said no, that I was exactly the same. We got to the root of the matter and she explained that her coldness towards me was because she could not mentally connect the real me to the internet me. As she talked I came to the realization that nothing would happen between us and spent an hour lying on the bed being depressed. She was noticeably annoyed and became gloomy herself. We decided to spend some time apart and went shopping on our own.
I was personally crushed by this revelation. I had just known that things would workout between us and now she was acting towards me, as she said, like I was a completely new person in her life whom she didn’t know. In a fit of frustration I turned to the one thing that always gets me through personal grief and entered a musical instrument store. On a whim I bought a guitar and an Irish flute which I later found out was not a wise move.
When Sadie got back things seemed better, but alas they were far from it. We went to get dinner and once again silence… a cold quietness with no eye contact. The most irritating part was that her phone kept getting text messages and I was left feeling like there were many other people she would rather be talking to at that moment. I once again got depressed and this time on our way home when she asked me what was wrong I told her.
“Sadie, I can accept the fact that you have no romantic feelings for me but I get the sense that you only kind of like me as a friend.” This led into a long painful conversation with her explaining to me that I will never see her again after this trip and that we will essential be strangers… but at least we have a story to tell people. Emotional wreck. Yes that nicely sums up what this did to me. Especially when she said, “well at least we only have two more days of this.” I was suddenly taken aback. “But I’m still going to Switzerland with you?” Her look said it all. “Can I just have one day with you so I can get my bearings?” No. “Will you wait for me after my flight?” No. I was to be alone in a country I had never been to with no plan and a broken heart. She seemed to take it all well and really didn’t show any emotions other than a friendly smile, while I bawled.
I went to drown my sorrows in the sound of my guitar, sitting alone outside the hostel. As I played Hallelujah a drunk Irishman came out smoking a fag. With the cigarette in his mouth he started to dance. The man told me that Hallelujah was the song to be put on his grave. He was drunk out of his mind. He was a forty two year old former dentist who looked like he was fifty five and had just gotten out of rehab and ranted about how he hated alcoholics who do not admit that they are alcoholics. He told me how money never brought him happiness and how he had achieved all he wanted in life. He brought me inside and made me play for everyone until we were told to stop than he made me play for him and a young Check dancer named Nadia. He explained to Nadia how much he hated the Polish.
The most painful part of the night was what he said as I was going to bed for no explained reason. “Brian, you’re nineteen. You’re at your sexual peak. At your age if you fall in love with a girl and lose her you will compare all the girls that come after to her for the rest of your life. So when you find that girl you love, don’t let her go.” I tried to go to sleep but had a panic attack. Sadie held my hand and comforted me. I thought maybe she was having a change of heart but I was soon to enter hell.
I had hoped that despite everything she would realize that I did truly care for her and would try to make our last day a happy one. Instead I got the coldness in an extreme that I didn’t even no possible. Our entire trip to the Ring of Kerry she said nothing and wouldn’t look at me. I felt like someone was stabbing me in the chest. We hid our emotions in polite conversation with Nadia and a Kiwi named Yuna. The four hour trip back to Dublin was marked by her saying literally nothing to me and walking to the other side of the train. I sat listening to Hallelujah and heard a deeper meaning in its words than I had ever known. When we finally got off the train she still said nothing to me. “Sadie, why are you doing this?” “Why am I doing what?!” she replied. “Just tell me what is wrong!” “Stop it,” she retorted. “Sadie you are killing me. What is the problem?” “I hate this trip” she said. “It is not healthy for me. I want it to be over.” I felt like I had just been kicked again. “Okay I don’t hate this trip that wasn’t right to say” she said. “Is it because of me” I asked. “Yes” she said. Okay if there were any moment in my life I really felt like ending my misery that was it. “I mean no… erg. I don’t hate you Ryan.” "After everything we have been through it is going to end like this" I asked. "Shit happens" she said.
Later that night I freaked out even more when I went to use my computer and found that I had spent far more than I had expected and the guitar didn’t help. Then I found out my mom had health problems and that they had just spent three grand on new transmission for the car. So I had to ask my grandparents for money. For which I am truly thankful.
The next morning Sadie told me that she wanted to leave in a taxi on her own. I voiced once again how scared and upset I was about being stuck in Zurich with no plan and no contacts. “It will be an experience,” she said. “Getting shot is an experience. Being raped is an experience” I replied. “Sadie, even though I am bitter about this I still do care about you.” She said nothing. I took her to the taxi and gave her a hug. “Have a good life” I said. She said nothing and without looking back went into the taxi and walked out of my life. I made my way an hour later to the airport.
Getting off the plane I thought “you know what this might work out.” I found out that Zurich station has no general shuttle service, taxi drivers don’t know what hostels are, all the hostels were booked, and that nobody travelling to Zurich goes their without a plan. This is not a backpacker’s town. So biting the bullet I bought a ticket to Vienna and am now sitting in a Starbucks waiting for my train and hoping tomorrow is a better day.
Yours truly,
Ryan Messer
[Note: the names have been changed as a courtesy to those in question]
It is a funny old world. Sometimes you just have to step back and laugh. I will apologize in advance for the fact that this post will seem of a gloomy nature and it may appear that I am wallowing in my own self pity at certain points. For this I am sorry.
I was sitting in the arrival area of the Dublin Airport at 10:25 on a very rainy Sunday, waiting for the girl who had brought a new and unique meaning to my life in the last several months. An hour later Sadie still wasn’t there and I was beginning to wonder if this whole things was an elaborate hoax and I had come to Dublin for not when I heard it from behind me; “Cough.” And there she was, Sadie, standing there with a shy but bright smile. I leapt and embraced her. This was the moment I had dreamt of for a long time and I made the most of it I squeezed her as tight as I could. “Okay! Okay!” She said with a smile. We sat in front of the Airport laughing and randomly hugging each other and holding each other and touched each other’s faces to take in the fact that we were both real. It was a moment of true happiness and excitement for both of us.
On the bus ride we just kept smiling. She pulled out a ton of Israeli candy for me to try and I gave her snus, my Swedish snuff. “It burns!” she said. “”Ack!” and spit it out. We checked into the Hostel and walk around Dublin. I was so excited about Sadie that I had trouble even paying attention to the fact that I was in Europe for the first time. As we walked she held my hand so tight that her finger nails actually broke the skin. In the center of the city we embraced each other with a hug that made everything feel right. We were happy.
This was exactly how it had been in my imagination and I was ecstatic that things were going so well. We walked around Dublin for about an hour and a half but were so exhausted from our flights that we decided to go back to the hostel and sleep. I couldn’t sleep. We held each other and even though she was able to fall asleep soundly I was so happy to finally be able to hold her and look at her that that was all I did.
We walked around Dublin some more looking for a place to eat. “This place looks just like Amsterdam,” Sadie said with slight disappointment in her voice. “Why do all European cities look the same?”
I was beyond exhausted having not slept in over twenty six hours and was starving to boot. We found a little Cantonese restaurant and enjoyed what was essentially our first date. Now my dear reader I know that so far the post has been basically comprised of our emotions and what I we were feeling, but that is truly all I was aware of at that point.
Now I must admit I was very romantically interested in Sadie. She was very romantically interested in me to. We had both bared our souls to each other and knew every little detail of each other’s lives. That being said I knew it would be a strain for us to make something really work in such a short period of time and I was content to just be good friends if things worked out that way.
Saying Sadie is a heavy sleeper is an understatement. Sadie is a cat. She needs five to six naps a day or else she will not have enough energy for her mid day snooze. So it was my job to start the day every day. But I was unable to the next morning. When our alarm clock went off Sadie turned it off and immediately put her arms around me and went to back sleep. I couldn’t turn down this so we stayed in bed for another hour and a half.
When we did finally get around we made our way to Trinity College to see the book of Kells. The book of Kells is an ancient Irish biblical manuscript that is lauded for its beautiful imagery. So after paying the nine euro entrance fee we made our way in and took glee in all the Irish artifacts around us. But what captivated us more was the Long Room. This is the historical library of Trinity College that is now serves as a tourist attraction. The place is huge. I mean really really big. To say the walls are lined with books is like saying that Scotland is a couple stones in it. Every inch of the library has a book and the walk way is full of busts of influential Irish and English writers. Sadie was noticeably moved. “It is so big” she said. “I know.”
We then traversed the vast winding streets of Dublin in search of St. Patrick’s Cathedral. The Irish for some reason do not believe in street signs and seem to assume that if you are in Ireland you will know where you are. So we got a little lost. When we did get to St. Patrick’s Cathedral were slightly shocked. The entire historical religious landmark had been turned into a giant gift shop with an entrance fee. This is not an exaggeration where people once prayed to various saints now stood shelves of “Irish Pride” t-shirts. But Sadie still seemed moved to be in a church. It is a very funny thing about Sadie that even though she is Jewish she gets very quiet and in awe of churches.
We ate lunch and made our way to the Guinness Brewery which was on the other side of the city. We asked a group of Americans, which as Sadie later comment were very homosexual and I could not fault her observation, for directions. “Hmm that is a bit of a walk from here, but we have these tour tickets that we are done with you can use,” said one of the Americans. “It is expired but the drivers never look at the tickets.” He was right and we got on the bus sat in the back listening to the sound of a prerecording telling us the history of every building we passed.
Sadie was acting a little moody and I understood. It would have been ignorant of me to assume that she was going to just be walking on sunshine the whole trip. We all go through emotional phases which come and go without and real rhyme nor reason and Sadie had just undergone an emotional overload. So I gave her her space and we explored the obnoxiously Willie Wonka like Guinness tour.
We went back to the bus which had a different driver. I flashed him my ticket and attempted to walk to the back when he stopped me. “Show me your ticket again,” he said. I obliged. “This ticket is expired. You’ll need to pay fifteen Euros for another. The shocked look on Sadie’s face was priceless. So instead we walked a half an hour in the rain to the hostel. As we walked I attempted to hold Sadie’s hand. She jerked her hand back as though I had just offered her veal (Sadie is a vegetarian). “I just don’t like physical contact,” she said. This was a bit of a blow to me, not that she didn’t want to hold my hand, but her excuse. Judging by how she had been up until that point and all she had had told me, the evidence pointed to the contrary.
Okay so I was a little shaken by this. I have an odd knack of picking up on people’s moods. Not their obvious moods but what they are really feeling. And I could tell something was really not right. So we walk in uncomfortable silence. I was lost in my thought wondering what was going on with Sadie and became the expressionless entity I always become whilst dealing with gloom. Sadie went off to shop and I went back to the hostel. When Sadie got back she acted exactly as she had done the day before and I was naively relieved that that was just a momentarily fluke and everything was good with us. We sat in the hostel and watched the British comedy Black Books. Even though she said she didn’t like it she kept laughing out loud.
We went to a sushi restaurant to eat. Sadie tried Saki for the first time and I was appalled that it was served cold. Towards the end Sadie went outside to smoke and I went with her. “I’d hold your hand,” I said half sarcastically, “but I know you don’t like physical contact.” “It isn’t that,” she said. “I would feel bad because of Zeb.” I felt like someone had slapped me in the face. Zeb was Sadie’s friend back home who she use to date but he cut it off when he found out she was going to Ireland with an American she had never met. They stayed good friends but I always felt uncomfortable about it because I knew he was trying desperately hard to rekindle things with them, and hated me. He would do childish things like make ultimatums that it was either the trip to Ireland or him. Being told that they were back together in such a sudden cold and indirect way shocked me to the very bone.
I politely excused myself to the restroom and silently screamed. I came back and tried desperately to act as though nothing had just happened and that I was still the same old happy go luck Ryan but failed miserably. We went to a bar and Sadie asked me what was wrong. “Why didn’t you tell me you were dating Zeb?” I asked. “I did” she replied. “No you didn’t,” I retorted “I would remember that.” “Well I am not putting a label on it because I want to see where things go here.” So I was given back brief glimpse of false hope.
Sadie and I had played a game online where we would post back and forth things we were thankful for until we got to one hundred. Our goal was to be as thankful for life as possible. On her last thanks, and the final thanks, Sadie posted “Falling in love with you.” I told her how moved I was but that we should avoid that subject until Ireland, because things that I might say would lose all their meaning if not said face to face. I printed out the “thanks” posts having ornately decorated the pages, framed it and wrote “I love you Sadie” on the back.
“Sadie” I said, “I love you.” She smiled at me. “Would you like your gift?” I asked. “I have been dying to see it” she said. As she opened it the guitarist in the bar started playing Wonderwall. She opened, put her hand over her mouth, looked at me, and gave me the biggest hug. “This gift is perfect!” she proclaimed. “I have never seen anything that is so me. Haha I seriously considered doing the same for you” she said with a look of genuine joy. “Thank you Ryan.”
We walked to the Ha’ Penny bridge and then went to another pub. As we walked I stopped her. “Watch your step, condom” I said pointing it out. She laughed so hard, and made the comment the running joke for the rest of the trip. As we sat in the pub she drank two shots and I sipped on an orange juice and vodka. “List me off all the fifty states” she said. “Can you?” “It is really hard. I mean I know them all, but it is difficult to remember all of them,” I said. And so she filmed me getting to thirty three states before giving up.
On the way back to the hostel she was a little drunk. The city center was completely disserted except for us and a couple walking past us. The woman was wearing a tiny red clubbing dress. “She must be so cold!” Sadie exclaimed. “Sadie!” I said trying to stop her from making any serious faux pas. “No look at it, it is soooo tiny. In Israel we call those baby dolls.” I took her back to the hostel which was also home to a nightclub. “Ryan do you want to go to the nightclub,” Sadie asked in a slightly intoxicated state. I explained that we needed to wake up early in the morning to go to Killarney and that she would hate me in the morning. I tucked her in and went to sleep.
In the morning I woke up an hour before the alarm clock. I went out and made her a cup of coffee (rather badly). As I came back she began to stir. “I smell coffee.” “Yes” I replied. “I thought you could use a pick me up.” She sipped it and then went and made her own but told me how touched she was that I was taking care of her.
We had a misadventure getting to the train station. Online it said that Calleny and Heuston station had trains to Killarney. We took a taxi to Calleny, when we got there and asked for our tickets we received a look of condescension and were informed that a train to Killarney was only at the Hueston Station. Everybody knew that. So we took a tram to Heuston and spent three and a half hours on the train talking taking picture and playing games. Sadie has the unusual talent of being able to be given any list of fifty objects read it for five minutes and recite it back word for word backwards and forwards. The hardest part of the exercise was thinking of fifty objects to write down.
Killarney is a beautiful city. Dublin is a tourist haven and looks just like ny other city but when you arrive in Killarney you arrive in Ireland. The second we got off the train we commented on this. We went to the new hostel which had a cozy atmosphere and was far nicer than the last. I was starving and we walked around trying to find a restaurant and a Claddagh ring for Sadie who fell in love with the Claddagh when I first introduced it to her and told her of its meaning. We looked at some overpriced rings and I then took her to a pub restaurant. She was quite and miserable the whole time because I brought her to a restraunt without consulting her that had no food for her. This made eating an excruciating experience. We then went and I bought her a pizza (a meal was part of my forfeit for her being able to recite fifty words front to back), and ate in the hostel. We spent the night in a little pub and truly enjoyed ourselves. Sadie asked me to tell her what I thought of her so I described everything I had percieved of her nature. "Close friends who have known me for years don't even pick up on those things you said" she said. Then she did the same for me and I was startled by the level of insite she had in me. She picked up on levels of detail that only I was ever aware of. It was a good night.
This being said I still kept noticing since the second day an oddness in her. She kept getting really quiet and acting like she was silently annoyed by me. Like an odd coldness and distance which stung as we had contacted so much up until Ireland. The next day we got thoroughly lost trying to find Killarney national park in the rain while carrying picnic supplies in the rain. So we went back to the hostel. I had asked her in a playful “oh comfort me” kind of way on one of the times she had been acting distant towards me “Will you miss me when this is over?” She replied “I don’t know.” This was a complete one eighty from before when she told me that she just knew she would be an emotional wreck when I left.
So as we ate I asked her if I was different than she expected me to be. She told me that basically I was exactly the same except that I have a slightly feminine personality. This is a fact that I am well aware of and had accepted so that bugged me little. I asked her if I was different in real life than on the phone and she said no, that I was exactly the same. We got to the root of the matter and she explained that her coldness towards me was because she could not mentally connect the real me to the internet me. As she talked I came to the realization that nothing would happen between us and spent an hour lying on the bed being depressed. She was noticeably annoyed and became gloomy herself. We decided to spend some time apart and went shopping on our own.
I was personally crushed by this revelation. I had just known that things would workout between us and now she was acting towards me, as she said, like I was a completely new person in her life whom she didn’t know. In a fit of frustration I turned to the one thing that always gets me through personal grief and entered a musical instrument store. On a whim I bought a guitar and an Irish flute which I later found out was not a wise move.
When Sadie got back things seemed better, but alas they were far from it. We went to get dinner and once again silence… a cold quietness with no eye contact. The most irritating part was that her phone kept getting text messages and I was left feeling like there were many other people she would rather be talking to at that moment. I once again got depressed and this time on our way home when she asked me what was wrong I told her.
“Sadie, I can accept the fact that you have no romantic feelings for me but I get the sense that you only kind of like me as a friend.” This led into a long painful conversation with her explaining to me that I will never see her again after this trip and that we will essential be strangers… but at least we have a story to tell people. Emotional wreck. Yes that nicely sums up what this did to me. Especially when she said, “well at least we only have two more days of this.” I was suddenly taken aback. “But I’m still going to Switzerland with you?” Her look said it all. “Can I just have one day with you so I can get my bearings?” No. “Will you wait for me after my flight?” No. I was to be alone in a country I had never been to with no plan and a broken heart. She seemed to take it all well and really didn’t show any emotions other than a friendly smile, while I bawled.
I went to drown my sorrows in the sound of my guitar, sitting alone outside the hostel. As I played Hallelujah a drunk Irishman came out smoking a fag. With the cigarette in his mouth he started to dance. The man told me that Hallelujah was the song to be put on his grave. He was drunk out of his mind. He was a forty two year old former dentist who looked like he was fifty five and had just gotten out of rehab and ranted about how he hated alcoholics who do not admit that they are alcoholics. He told me how money never brought him happiness and how he had achieved all he wanted in life. He brought me inside and made me play for everyone until we were told to stop than he made me play for him and a young Check dancer named Nadia. He explained to Nadia how much he hated the Polish.
The most painful part of the night was what he said as I was going to bed for no explained reason. “Brian, you’re nineteen. You’re at your sexual peak. At your age if you fall in love with a girl and lose her you will compare all the girls that come after to her for the rest of your life. So when you find that girl you love, don’t let her go.” I tried to go to sleep but had a panic attack. Sadie held my hand and comforted me. I thought maybe she was having a change of heart but I was soon to enter hell.
I had hoped that despite everything she would realize that I did truly care for her and would try to make our last day a happy one. Instead I got the coldness in an extreme that I didn’t even no possible. Our entire trip to the Ring of Kerry she said nothing and wouldn’t look at me. I felt like someone was stabbing me in the chest. We hid our emotions in polite conversation with Nadia and a Kiwi named Yuna. The four hour trip back to Dublin was marked by her saying literally nothing to me and walking to the other side of the train. I sat listening to Hallelujah and heard a deeper meaning in its words than I had ever known. When we finally got off the train she still said nothing to me. “Sadie, why are you doing this?” “Why am I doing what?!” she replied. “Just tell me what is wrong!” “Stop it,” she retorted. “Sadie you are killing me. What is the problem?” “I hate this trip” she said. “It is not healthy for me. I want it to be over.” I felt like I had just been kicked again. “Okay I don’t hate this trip that wasn’t right to say” she said. “Is it because of me” I asked. “Yes” she said. Okay if there were any moment in my life I really felt like ending my misery that was it. “I mean no… erg. I don’t hate you Ryan.” "After everything we have been through it is going to end like this" I asked. "Shit happens" she said.
Later that night I freaked out even more when I went to use my computer and found that I had spent far more than I had expected and the guitar didn’t help. Then I found out my mom had health problems and that they had just spent three grand on new transmission for the car. So I had to ask my grandparents for money. For which I am truly thankful.
The next morning Sadie told me that she wanted to leave in a taxi on her own. I voiced once again how scared and upset I was about being stuck in Zurich with no plan and no contacts. “It will be an experience,” she said. “Getting shot is an experience. Being raped is an experience” I replied. “Sadie, even though I am bitter about this I still do care about you.” She said nothing. I took her to the taxi and gave her a hug. “Have a good life” I said. She said nothing and without looking back went into the taxi and walked out of my life. I made my way an hour later to the airport.
Getting off the plane I thought “you know what this might work out.” I found out that Zurich station has no general shuttle service, taxi drivers don’t know what hostels are, all the hostels were booked, and that nobody travelling to Zurich goes their without a plan. This is not a backpacker’s town. So biting the bullet I bought a ticket to Vienna and am now sitting in a Starbucks waiting for my train and hoping tomorrow is a better day.
Yours truly,
Ryan Messer
Monday, May 25, 2009
Bliss
Hey folks!
Okay so things are going a whole lot better now. Georg is a true pal and is making my time here quite pleasant. Also he has the nicest parents and his friend Dominic is great guy. I am planning on buying a Eurorail pass tomorrow but I honestly have no idea where I will be going. Also I will have a giant blog post written soon about what all I have been doing. And please no I am not depressed anymore. My friends have been seeing to that.
About the video:
So I started writing this song about a year ago when I was frustrated about being stuck in Florida and longing to be in Australia. I never really finished it and then today I started humming it to myself and realized that the words were pretty prophetic with what had been going on. Trust me I have ceased to be melancholy but I thought "hey when life goes like this what would Cat Stevens do?" I am so much better now I just happen to like this song and wish to share it. So now I give you the fruit my writing... Bliss
Yours truly,
Take me far away from here
To a land where things are clear
Take me far away
Away from you
Take me from this sodded place
Where I can go hide my face
Everything I knew has disappeared
But my thoughts they are deceiving me
The things I’ve loved are leaving me
And everything I’ve known has come and gone
Yesterday was so damn sad
I cried so much I knew I had
Lost the words that you had said to me
Everything you use to know
Has left you, you no
Now I sing of what we use to be
But my thoughts they are deceiving me
The ones I’ve loved are leaving me
And all I’d ever want has come and gone
Eighteen years ago today
I broke down and I tried to pray
To God to keep me far from this place
Happiness is so unreal
I tried to touch you know I feel
That I am slipping farther from your grace
And my thoughts they are deceiving me
The ones I’ve loved are leaving me
And all I’d ever want has come and gone
Okay so things are going a whole lot better now. Georg is a true pal and is making my time here quite pleasant. Also he has the nicest parents and his friend Dominic is great guy. I am planning on buying a Eurorail pass tomorrow but I honestly have no idea where I will be going. Also I will have a giant blog post written soon about what all I have been doing. And please no I am not depressed anymore. My friends have been seeing to that.
About the video:
So I started writing this song about a year ago when I was frustrated about being stuck in Florida and longing to be in Australia. I never really finished it and then today I started humming it to myself and realized that the words were pretty prophetic with what had been going on. Trust me I have ceased to be melancholy but I thought "hey when life goes like this what would Cat Stevens do?" I am so much better now I just happen to like this song and wish to share it. So now I give you the fruit my writing... Bliss
Yours truly,
Take me far away from here
To a land where things are clear
Take me far away
Away from you
Take me from this sodded place
Where I can go hide my face
Everything I knew has disappeared
But my thoughts they are deceiving me
The things I’ve loved are leaving me
And everything I’ve known has come and gone
Yesterday was so damn sad
I cried so much I knew I had
Lost the words that you had said to me
Everything you use to know
Has left you, you no
Now I sing of what we use to be
But my thoughts they are deceiving me
The ones I’ve loved are leaving me
And all I’d ever want has come and gone
Eighteen years ago today
I broke down and I tried to pray
To God to keep me far from this place
Happiness is so unreal
I tried to touch you know I feel
That I am slipping farther from your grace
And my thoughts they are deceiving me
The ones I’ve loved are leaving me
And all I’d ever want has come and gone
Saturday, May 23, 2009
Miles from Nowhere
I’m sitting on the train to Vienna reflecting on everything that has brought me here. I am thankful to Georg for giving me room and board for a little while, while I get my trip back together. I will be meeting him at seven tonight at the Stephen Cathedral. He is such a good friend. Since I have eleven hours to knock around in Vienna until he picks me up he gave me a list of places to go to keep myself occupied. Karin was also kind enough last night to offer me staying at her place in Switzerland but sadly at that point I had already bought my ticket to Vienna. When I bought the ticket I had no place to sleep and an hour to decide whether to by the ticket and the nearest WiFi connect was down the road so I really had no choice. But at least the train ride gave me a chance to sleep.
Being alone here is an odd experience, especially being woken up every two hours by the bark of the train attendant telling me in German that he needs to see my ticket. I have found that the couple phrases I can say in German seem to be getting me by alright. I need to get out of this slump. I am in Europe and I need to enjoy it. But it is still hard. I keep replaying the last nine months that led up to this in my head and am filled with unpleasant thoughts and realizations. It is funny, last night I kept waken up and thinking that the last week was a bad dream and then looking around and realizing no this is reality. I am still in too much shock to even be really heartbroken. But as I look out my train window I see the beauty of the Austrian landscape and architecture and am comforted.
Yours truly,
Ryan Messer
Being alone here is an odd experience, especially being woken up every two hours by the bark of the train attendant telling me in German that he needs to see my ticket. I have found that the couple phrases I can say in German seem to be getting me by alright. I need to get out of this slump. I am in Europe and I need to enjoy it. But it is still hard. I keep replaying the last nine months that led up to this in my head and am filled with unpleasant thoughts and realizations. It is funny, last night I kept waken up and thinking that the last week was a bad dream and then looking around and realizing no this is reality. I am still in too much shock to even be really heartbroken. But as I look out my train window I see the beauty of the Austrian landscape and architecture and am comforted.
Yours truly,
Ryan Messer
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
Wonderlust King
[Note: Some of the names have been changed as a courtesy to those in question]
Oh we meet again my dear readers. Yes I am off on another adventure and this time into the unknown… okay it is Europe but still this trip is far less planned than any of my past endeavors. Why, you may be asking yourself, would I embark on another trip on the cusp of my last one? Well it boils down to two simple things, a girl and music.
Whilst studying in Australia I was thrown into a singularly unlikely event which has led me, not content with the humdrum life of suburban Florida, to meet new and exciting people abroad. One day, the day before my birthday no less, I received a friend request on the social networking site Facebook. The request came from an attractive young Israeli named Sadie. Sadie as it turned out was the childhood friend of my newly met Swiss friend Karin's sister. As I later found out Sadie had seen a picture of me taken by Karin and thought I just looked strange enough to start a dialogue with. I must admit that my first reaction to seeing her request was to be suspicious. I generally take random friend requests from attractive strangers in foreign lands as spam, but I took the bait and began a long and interesting conversation with her.
Sadie was joining the air force in two days and was not very enthusiastic about the situation. She had grown up in Switzerland till the age of five when she moved to Israel. Over the course of the rest of my time in Australia we occasionally conversed and I found everything she spoke of endlessly fascinating and absorbed it like a sponge. And so the friendship was formed. When I returned to the States it grew stronger and we began talking on the phone and via webcam.
It was on the second or third of these early phone conversations that we hatched out our ludicrous plan to travel to Ireland together. Sade had in passing invited me to a biker tattoo festival which had been canceled due to the unfortunate incarceration of its planners. So that fell to the wayside.
“Hmmm, I wish you could speak another language like me so that we could both not understand each other,” she said later in the conversation. “Yeah it would be cool if I could speak Gaelic like my forefathers,” I replied. “What is Gaelic?” “It is what they speak in Ireland besides English,” I explained. “Let’s go to Ireland!” she suggested. “Okay,” I said never one to miss an opportunity. “When?” I asked. “How about May?”
And so three months later, and after connecting with Sadie at an almost unnervingly deep level, I am preparing to leave. But it was not only her suggestion of Ireland which is bringing me to Europe. Georg had suggested me going to a music festival around the same time so I decided that the universe really wanted me to go to Europe and I would combine the two trips.
So now I am preparing to go to Ireland, than Switzerland to meet Sadie’s father, Austria (where I will go to the Novarock Music Festival), and will be leaving from Dusseldorf Germany. Yes, this is possibly very irresponsible as I am in school and will be blowing the last of my savings on this, BUT; I am young, I am a yesman, this is a once in a life time opportunity, I miss my European friends, and I am dying to meet Sadie, who is the most interesting person I have never met.
Yours truly,
Ryan Messer
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