The real highlight of the past couple of weeks was my 6 day trip to Germany with Steve. We left at midnight last Wednesday and arrived in Dresden, Germany around 3 AM. It was almost eerily quiet as we walked 45 minutes through town and across the river to reach our hostel. We spent the next day riding trams (and not paying) and exploring the city. The history of Dresden is pretty incredible -- up until World War II, the city apparently rivaled Prague as a cultural gem and amazing Baroque architecture. It was bombed only lightly throughout the war, then in February 1945, 1300 British and American planes bombed the living shit outta the place. 90 percent of the city center was destroyed and some 40,000 civillians were killed. I don't know, Germany. I guess what goes around comes around? Dresden fell under the Iron Curtain after World War II and stayed Communist until about 20 years ago. It's now a bustling city with most of its infrastructure fully restored. The major historical sites along the river (check out my pics on facebook or myspace) are extremely impressive and apparently weren't too badly damaged by World War II.
The first night in Dresden, Steve and I drank our faces off. I brought vodka along from the Czech Republic, where it is infinitely cheaper, to save money. Beer was less expensive in Germany than I anticipated though, usually only 2 or 3 euros. That equates to 3 or 4 U.S. dollars though. Thanks to George Bush and the Republicans, traveling in Euro countries (pretty much all of Western Europe) is brutally expensive because of the tanking dollar, caused by massive trade and budget deficits... basically, let's spend billions of dollars on a pointless war in Iraq but not actually pay for it. Doesn't work out so well for us tourists in Europe. Anyway, we were intrigued by a little neon sign which said "Lebowski." We went in for a drink -- it was a little pub that had several screens playing "The Big Lebowski", I guess over and over, all night, everyday, with German subtitles. I thought that was pretty amusing. Next, we found ourselves at a "casual sex" club where girls show up all scantily clad looking for... casual sex. This may sound risque and exhilerating, but I wasn't really feeling the vibe. Next, we met some random Irish dudes and went to a karaoke club a few blocks away. Steve and I started chatting with a few Italian girls, but unfortunately I was stuck with the slam pig and Steve was with the cute one. Fuck it, I thought. I'd been having a little more success with girls in Europe than Steve and I figured I'd take one for the team tonight. To make matters worse, though, the Italian girl kept asking me to repeat every phrase I uttered. I realize I'm sort of a fast talker, but no matter how much I dumbed down my vocabulary and spoke in a stilted, monotone, robotic manner, she just couldn't understand me. I have to admit, the language barrier is sometimes the toughest thing to overcome. It's something one doesn't realize until they live in a non-English country. There is so much complexity to American English we sometimes don't realize. Just for a few examples, phrases such as: I'm all set, whatever floats your boat, I'm good, no shit, that's sweet, for sure, and a million other phrases will not be understood. So I usually end up just saying: you are very nice, that is good, what is Italy like?, etc. Speaking with people from Ireland, Scotland, England, Australia is of course much easier, but the slang is sometimes a problem both ways and some of the extremely rural accents can almost be indecipherable. Haha, I can't help but wonder what an "American accent" sounds like to somebody not from America.
Anyway, after a couple hours of tedious conversation, the Italians informed us that they had to leave. I couldn't have been more elated, but Steve somewhat understandably looked as if his dog had just died. Admitedly, the girl he was chillin' with was legitimately attractive and he really must've thought he had his foot in the door. "It's alright, man," I said. "You win some, you lose some. Soldier on!" He didn't seem to be receptive to my message. "What the fuck, man? All of that effort and no results... I don't feel like starting from square one." Pfft, I thought. The night was young and opportunity was endless. We ended up just pounding down more beers and bickering. I remember smoking cigarettes with some Russians later on and commenting on the election of the new president, Medvedev but they didn't even know who he was! Maybe I was pronouncing it wrong or something.
I awoke the next morning in a truly shocking amount of pain. This was not just a hangover. The past few days, I had felt the distinct malaise of an approaching flu. My excesses the previous evening had clearly brought this illness to fruition. Steve was impatient and wanted to hit the road to Berlin, but I literally was bed ridden. Somehow I dragged myself to the shower and down to the hostel lobby, where I quickly fell asleep sitting up. Somehow, I gritted my teeth, pulled myself up by the bootstraps, and continued on. The previous night, the receptionist girl at the hostel had recommended that we hitch hike on the Autobahn to get to Berlin and that we'd score a ride in "15 or 20 minutes." I knew Europe was far safer than America, with much less violent crime, plus the thrill of cruising 120 MPH on the Autobahn (no speed limit!) seemed irresistable. Steve and I found a couple large pieces of cardboard and wrote "B" and "Berlin" on each. We stood by a "petro" stop (or gas station) and watched an endless procession of cars roll by without stopping. We were about to give up after a half hour or so of public humiliation, then a large white van rolled up next to us. "Vwhere do you vwant to go?" A somewhat rotuned middle-aged German guy called over to us. "Ahhh... Berlin," I replied. "I'm going to Hollin," he said. We asked how far "Hollin" was from Berlin but he appeared not to know. In fact, it appeared that he didn't even know where Berlin was -- the capital of Germany and its largest city! "Thanks anyway," we said. We probably thought wisely not to hop in with this guy. It would be the equivalent of an American motorist in Connecticut or New Jersey not knowing where New York City was. That's just weird.
We tried hitching for another twenty minutes or so and finally gave up, very disappointed. We so desperately wanted to return to Prague with tales of a crazy Autobahn hitch hiking odyssey. As we walked to the train station, Steve made a hilarious comment: "Dude, we've been eating nothing but rice for the past few days, now we're trying to thumb it on the Autobahn... what the fuck is this, Into the Wild?" For those of you who haven't read the book or seen the movie (I highly recommend both), it's about a 22 year-old kid named Chris McCandless who graduates from Emory University in the early '90s, donated $15,000 of his savings to charity, cuts up his identification and credit cards, burns his Social Security card, and embarks on an epic journey across the American west. He works random jobs, meets a plethora of amazing people, hitch hikes, and sustains himself on a meager rice diet. His nomadic journey ended a couple of years later in the Alaskan wilderness, where he starved to death in an abandoned bus. Steve and I could only hope that we weren't headed down a similar path.
We arrived at the train station and reluctantly forked over 35 euros ($50) for a train ticket from Dresden to Berlin. Much to our satisfaction, the train was awesome. It had a restaurant and bar, the seats were comfortable and spacious, we could rest our feet on a table in between the seats, and the views of the German countryside were gorgeous. I commented a few times, "I'm diggin' the German countryside" and Steve seemed to be getting irritated that I "dug" it. We sat across from a Canadian ballet dancer who has lived the past few years in Hamburg, Germany. She and Steve had lots in common with their Christian faith. We told her we might take a day trip to Hamburg to visit but later discovered the trip would be too lengthy and expensive.
The Berlin train station was a sensory overload. "Steve, what year is it here? 2057?" I asked. The station was wide open with several different levels of trains whizzing in multiple directions. It took us surprisingly long to find our way out of this futuristic maze. We found our way to the Elbe River which runs through the heart of Berlin. I was initially surprised by the lack of historical architecture along the river. Almost all of it was impressive contemporary designs, which I hadn't seen anywhere in Europe or America. We cut behind the Reichstag (German parliamentary building) and made our way down a bustling trendy avenue leading to our hostel. Literally every establishment was a fine dining restaurant or up-scale pub, with tons of trendy and high rollin' Germans. My first thought about Berlin was that this place was dripping with cash.
Once we arrived at our hostel and stashed all of our belongings in the lockers, we hopped the tram a bunch of stops down the river to this club called Lido to see the band MGMT play for only 10 euros. If you haven't heard MGMT, I highly recommend it. They're from Brooklyn and have this really catchy tune called "Time to Pretend" which I imagine is getting a lot of attention in America. You can listen to it on my myspace page. Anyway, a shitty band from the UK opened. The band was most harmed by their overly theatrical eye shadow sporting singer who seemed unable to stay in key. The crowd could not possibly have been less enthused. People started pouring in between performances and by the time MGMT took the stage, we were standing shoulder to shoulder. Must've been several hundred people. I decided I liked about half of MGMT's songs -- the ones I did like I liked a lot, though. They were definitely air tight and comfortable playing live. I was also psyched that the singer/guitar player used the same effects pedals I use (Ibanez tube screamer and RAT distortion). For the encore, the band sang karaoke to their own song, which was pretty funny. Though it was my first night in Berlin, I decided to not drink so I could recover from my flu. We still ended up meeting a bunch of Americans studying abroad in Berlin and walked around town checking out clubs until 3 AM. I knew that when I went out the next night, I'd drop a decent amount of cash, as almost every club in the city was charging at least a 10 euro cover ($15) to get in.
The next day, I felt significantly better and Steve and I just walked around the city checking out the major sites. Berlin is so enormous that we barely even saw the tip of the iceberg. That night, we went to a club for only 6 euros called Skada. The club was packed and techno was blaring, but it was otherwise pretty uneventful. I devised a simple scheme to save money on the bar tab. The bar tenders would provide free beer for every 3 empty bottles one could return (the Germans are extremely environmentally conscious). So all I'd do was wander over to an abandoned table, snag a few bottles, and be treated to a Berliner Pilsner. Sounded like an acceptable deal to me!
I was very pleased to awake the next day feeling even more refreshed. How counterintuitive. I was still recovering from a flu, had gone out and drank my face off, but continued to feel more healthy. We spent a good portion of the afternoon waiting in line to get into the Reichstag. Huge crowds amass in front of this amazing old and beautiful building to receive free admission and walk up to the modern looking glass dome on top that offers an excellent view of Berlin. The long wait was definitely well worth it. The history of the Reichstag was pretty interesting -- it was used in the early 20th century when Germany was somewhat free. It has always been a symbol of German democracy. When the Nazis came to power, the Reichstag was abandoned and Hitler vowed never to set foot in the building. It is located in the East Berlin sector of the city and was not used by the Communist regime either. In 1999, a decade after Germany united, the parliament voted by a narrow margin to officially move the capital to Berlin and conduct their proceedings in the Reichstag.
Later in the afternoon, we considered going to the top of the TV tower, which I believe is the second highest structure in Europe. They were charging 10 euros, though, so we said fuck it. We were very clever and walked just a couple of blocks to the 40 story Park Inn, paid only 3 euros and enjoyed a superb view of the entire city, including the TV Tower.
That night, we were forced to choose between striking out on our own and trying to find the best clubs, or going on a pub crawl with an admissions price of 11 euros. We decided to head to the meeting place of the pub crawl to see if maybe it was worth it. At first, we saw only 10 excessively drunken and obnoxious American guys and were strongly considering abandoning the idea. Eventually, Steve talked me into forking over the cash. My first conversation was with a guy from Kansas who raved about the Red Light district in Amsterdam and how he fucked a "playboy" caliber hooker for 50 euros. Hmmm, I guess some people leave their dignity back in America. We headed to the first club, Zapata, where we found literally 75 college age kids drinking from a free keg provided by the pub crawl. But shit, we were too late and the keg was tapped. Story of my life. We pounded down a bunch of 1 euro shots of Jagermeister. Surprisingly enough, it was the first time in my life I'd drank the liquor and I've still yet to be treated to the famous "Jager bomb." My last experience with energy drinks and hard liquor didn't end so well, though I'm told it's a lot like being coked up. Cool, I guess? Anyway, we started meeting some cool people back packing around Europe. We bounced around to a few more clubs and the crew was growing increasingly fucked up. We'd meet outside each club and the 2 pub crawl leaders would open back packs full of vodka and orange juice. Crowds would amass around the 2 leaders as they poured the shots one by one. It was a lot like they were Messiahs, with worshipers crowding around to taste the blood of Christ. I was kind of pissed when I took my shot and realized that the OJ and Vodka combo was heavily watered down. Waiting around to drink was pointless, so I just bought big tasty beers from venders on the street and slammed them down.
At the next club, I was talking with someone about the Democratic Primary and rambling on about my love for Obama. "I love Obama!" I heard an Irish female voice chime in. She introduced herself as Fiona Hayden (could that name possibly be more Irish??) and we talked about politics and history for at least a couple hours. We were immersed in conversation, and by the time I looked up to investigate my surroundings, I was pretty drunk and most of the fellow pub crawlers had taken off. Soon I found myself sitting on a couch making out with Fiona and was relieved that she kissed like a normal person. Some of the other European girls I've kissed I think have literally tried to eat my face off. Fiona and I left the club around 4 or 5 and started a long and unsuccessful search for a hotel. Probably wouldn't have been the smartest financial decision. And shit, I realized, where was Steve? We had decided that if the two of us got lost or split up, we'd use facebook as a means for communication and meet at the Brandenburg gate. Fiona and I finally gave up on the hotel search and flagged down a cab. We rode through the heart of Berlin and I nervously eyed the cab meter. It climbed to 10 euros, then to 15, then 20. Though the views of the city from the highway were spectacular, we were cruising for at least 30 or 40 minutes and by the time we arrived at Fiona's hostel in suburban Berlin, the fare was at 37 euros. Ouch. But to my surprise, Fiona paid it all herself and didn't ask me to contribute. Not so classy of me, I guess.
When I woke up the next morning, there was an Irish kid sitting on me and claiming that I was in Dublin. I was very disoriented. Fiona and I and a few of her fellow Irish travelers decided to walk to the bus stop and head to the Brandenburg for a "free" tour of Berlin. I was kind of skeptical, as I've never encountered a service anywhere in the world that is actually free. I was relieved to meet at the Gate and find Steve waiting for me. He gave me a semi-disappointed but unsurprised look, which said, "you getting lost has happened before, and it'll happen again." I was glad that he was at least somewhat accepting of my antics.
The tour was nothing short of spectacular. The guide was this English guy probably in his early '30s. He single handedly made me reconsider my prejudice toward British people. All the other Brits I've met in Prague have been ignorant, combative, drunken assholes with their stupid, annoying accents. This guy, however, was one of the most charismatic and well informed speakers I've ever heard (not quite Obama caliber, though). He was entertaining, charming, hilarious. By the end of it, Steve and I were lamenting on how we'd never be as cool or intelligent as this guy. My favorite part of the tour was "Hitler's bunker" -- where Hitler committed suicide as Soviet troops invaded Berlin. The funny thing about visiting Hitler's bunker is that it is probably superficially the most unremarkable site in Europe. In fact, walking by it or over it, you'd never know it was even there. Only five years ago did Berlin agree to put a small sign up marking where it was located. Apparently, the bunker is still fairly intact, but contemporary Germany did not want to recognize it in any way. They feared that weirdos and Neo-Nazis might visit the bunker and spray paint pro-Hitler graffiti which would attract unpleasant media attention and hurt the image of contemporary Germany. Somewhat understandable, I guess. Must be hard for the rest of the world to fully trust you when an entire generation of your grandfathers murdered 6 million Jews and started a world war. The tour guide offered a pretty funny anecdote -- just one block to the left was an amazing solemn memorial to the murdered Jews of Europe, straight ahead was a gay sauna, and the block to the left had a multi-ethnic kindergarten. The grass above Hitler's bunker was smeared with dirt and dog shit. Surrounding Hitler's final dwelling was everything he hated and wanted to wipe off the face of the world. Good riddance, Hitler.
After the tour, Steve and I had to split with Fiona to get our stuff at our hostel but promised we'd meet her at the Brandenburg gate at 8:30 PM. Unfortunately, I'm the least punctual person on the planet and didn't arrive at the Gate until about 9 PM, by which point Fiona had obviously left. Now I looked like the kid whose dog had just died. To make matters worse, Steve chided me for my lack of punctuality and carelessness. "Girls don't like guys who don't even show up on time." Jeeze, Steve. Way to pour salt on the wound. I was pretty bummed the rest of the night but then on the way back to Prague, Fiona texted me and apologized thinking she had somehow screwed things up. The next day in Prague, I called her and told her I'd meet up with her in Dublin in late April. Steve and I plus our friend Tom found airline tickets for $90 roundtrip! We're going to check out these other places Fiona recommended -- the cities of Galway and Cork -- plus the western Irish coast. It should be spectacular.
The coming month is going to be absolute madness. On March 20, a few of us are going to Italy for spring break and we plan on visiting Milan and Rome and maybe Florence and Venice. From April 4-8 the entire group is visiting Vienna, Austria; Budapest, Hungary; and Bratislava, Slovakia. On April 11, we all go to Kutna Hora, Czech Republic. April 17-22 is my Ireland trip and the 23-27 is Brussels, Belgium and Amsterdam! It's crazy to think of how much I'm going to experience in the coming weeks.
Wow, this was a long entry. For the few of you who read this blog, I'll keep you updated on my upcoming travels. I hope all is well back in America.
