It's generally accepted that airline food is incontrovertibly the processed mixed of sawdust, horse fluids and raw protein harvested from the livers of starving Korean orphans. The people who make it have a souls blacker than your aunt Anna's mole (you know, the one on her left check that you could swear is actually sentient), and their idea of fun is to burn down veterinary clinics wearing coats made from baby panda skins, all the while listening to 40 hour long iTunes playlist alternating between Coldplay and LMFAO. These people don't mess around, they'll eat your happiness straight out of your chest as an appetizer for their meal of koalas and the essence of lost souls. Having said that, it was completely understandable, when my dear friend, who I not only shared a room with for the entirety of this trip, but also am sitting next to on the plane, comes down with a severe case of food poisoning and proceeds to spend the next 6 hours with a severe condition involving the removal of all digested materials in the most expedient of manners through whatever orifice is immediately available. Personally, I can't say I feel anything but sorry for him, and as I'm wiping bits of.....ahem.....removed materials....from my tray table, I wish nothing but a speedy recovery for him, 'cause we're over 30,000 feet in the air, and I can only imagine how hellish it must be.
We're gonna touch down in JFK pretty soon, and I can only pray he feels better by then, 'cause lord knows going through customs would suck.
Also, watch the movie Drive, right now. It will change your life.....
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
Days 5, 6, and I've actually lost track......... The interesting thing about shifting time zones is that initial bump forward (or backward) that tends to alter your perception of the solar rotations.When you left it was 3:00 in the afternoon, when you arrive it's 2:00 in the morning and there you are, stepping off a 6 hour flight wondering where on God's green earth 5 hours of your life ran away to. This befuddlement leads to things like jet lag, which consequently leads to a general sense of calendrical confusion and numerous date-related disorders. Having said that, I cannot for sure, tell you how many days I've spent actually touring vs days spent traveling in uncomfortable seats in uncomfortable buses, planes and all manner of devilish transportation, not the least of which the ferry (debatebly spawned from that aforementioned "pit of hell"). It truly is an unfortunate situation, somewhat indicative of either my forgetful nature, or my lazy one, or perhaps the one that says "for the love of God Gabe, if you'd actually spend more time sleeping and less time watching Supernatural reruns with Greek subtitles than maybe you could remember simple things, like the date, or how many souvenirs you bought, or maybe you'd even remember your room key! God wouldn't that be great, having a room key? And not having to walk down to the receptionist who speaks broken English at best and try to explain to her how dropping your key off your 7th story balcony was an accidental circumstance brought on by a simple misunderstanding involving skipping stones and Heineken. Gee, wouldn't that be great?" So here I am now, packing my duffle bag, and realizing that I'm leaving tomorrow, and despite how anxious I've been to get home, now that I'm leaving, there's that part of be that doesn't want to go. It's a strange feeling, because I miss all of you, but this's been fun, the countries I've visited have been amazing, and I honestly don't want to leave yet.However, I don't really have a choice, or the funds, to stay, so I'm grudgingly stuffing all manner of things into my bags, when I realize that I actually have to room left......at all. Unfortunately,the exact souvenir to clothing and important stuff ration was thrown off a bit, and thus I've been forced to make some.......sacrifices. So having said that, you probably won't begetting anything from me (yes, that's right, YOU. Your sister might get something, because she's nice, and doesn't say mean things about me to her friends. YOU'RE not getting anything either, as to the fact that your breath stinks, and I just don't especially like you, but that's just a matter of principle. However YOU on the other hand, will be getting a little something. Consider it payment back for that one time we were doing that one thing at the place with the guy who's name I forget. It meant a lot to me). My apologies, but I've been forced to prioritize, and Alden, my button-downs have priority over your 4 inch bronze statue of Achilles. It's a shame but it's true. Regardless, I'll be back soon, and to be honest, I'm going to be looking forward to being in a place where I don't have to pay 5 euro for an hour and a half of wifi.
That awkward moment when I fit my entire story into the title............with regards to something relevant, ask me about the Greek evening when I get back.
Saturday, January 21, 2012
Days 3 and 4: That awkward moment when a 70 year old Italian man takesyou to a whorehouse, and the summary of a Turkish soap opera fromsomeone who doesn't know what the hell is going on...
So I've been lacking in the interwebs, and on account of that, posting things on this blog no one reads has become something of a problem. However, today is special, in that today, I've broken through a 4 foot thick wall of stinginess and misery into a world where 3 euros for 2 hours of Internet is actually a reasonable price. And by reasonable, I mean it's 3 euros more than it should be, but due to situational circumstances and sheer desperation, I've admitted defeat. Having said that, the following post is the post I would've posted if I'd had Internet to post it.
So we went to Pompeii, which, for those of you who either failed european history with a 23% or less, or who've never read The Magic Tree House and consequently never had a childhood,
Pompeii was a city in the roman empire that was completely annihilated by Mt. Vesuvius, a giant volcano that to this day still remains active (next eruption's slated to happen in about 50-ish years, so mark your calendars). However, due to the lava encasing the city, it was almost perfectly preserved, making it possibly the most influential and eye-opening archaeological finds in history. Anyways, the story:
So imagine yourself standing, in the rain, without an umbrella, because, like me, you tend to forget necessities...all the time. So anyways, it's raining something fierce and there are stray dogs everywhere and in their boundless intelligence, members of your group are feeding and playing with them (in case said group members are reading this, know that regardless of that circumstance, I still hold you all in highest regard...........but seriously did you have to feed the dogs?). In the end, it turns out the dogs weren't officially strays, as they all had names, and were kept in generally good care by the tour guides, who let them roam freely around the ruins. Regardless, you'd like to question their necessity, but by god their the cutest things you will ever see, so you let it slide. After standing for a while, you meet your tour guide: an old man with grey hair and a steady tan complimenting a steady stride (which he balance out with a dusty brown umbrella, working as a makeshift cane because he was too badass to worry about silly things like rain). He speaks in a thick Italian accent, and his gravely voice sounds like a bitter cross between wise and judgmental, but his saucy sense of humor tends to even everything out. After walking through the ruins for about an hour, and taking enough pictures to rival the japanese tourist that had invaded your hotel the night before, your guide gives you a colorful tour of the Pompeii red light district, highlighted by a perfectly preserved........office for..........*ahem*......working girls, complete with pictures and diagrams.........
So yeah, that was fun........
Following that, we set sail for Greece by way of ferry, which sounded all well and good at the time, but considering the boat had yet to move, any expectations concerning the coming voyage were indeed both excessively optimistic and premature. It was about midnight in the middle of the sea that my vertigo kicked in (for those of you who don't know, I have benign paraoximital positional vertigo, which essentially means I will, at random points and random times become uncontrollably dizzy, and lose any and all sense of balance. The ferry's constant rocking acted like a trigger event, and now, 24 hours later, I'm still dizzy, and probably will remain so for the entirety of the trip) which made the rest of the time on the ferry living hell. So, without anything much to do, I just sat in the lounge and watched Turkish soap operas. Now, i've never actually seen a soap opera beyond bits and pieces in the states, when I'm flipping through channels during commercial breaks for real television. So watching one in a different language was.......an interesting experience.
The following is a play-by-play analysis of the worst television show I have ever seen.......
So, from what I can understand, there are 5 important characters, who's names I naturally don't know, so I've done my best to liken them to characters and people with whom you should be familiar. First, Dos Equis (the most interesting man in the world), he's old, rich, and a bad guy, then there's Antonio Banderes, who was raised with Dos Equis in a foster home after their parents were killed by..........cancer(?). Anyways, he's not as old, just as rich, but maybe a good guy(?). These two are in a giant hotel room, presumably deciding the the fate of small Turkish cities and toying with the lives of millions over their weekend glass of wine. These games of thrones are presided over by Granny Babushka, whom I'm assuming is the nun who raised these two men together in the poor Turkish orphanage in the middle of nowhere. Judging from the results of an advanced equation I just made up (dramatic pauses/dramatic close ups x dramatic zoom-ins+dramatic scowl effectiveness=moral position character), it's apparent to me that Granny's of neutral nature, while Dos Equis might as well be the devils legal counsel. This leaves Antonio playing the part of the honorable human being, set out to stop the nefarious schemes of his best friend, who was driven mad by...........oh Hell if I know.........cancer, it's probably cancer, someone has to have cancer, so why not this guy? Hell, Dos Equis is terminal for all I know, and he wants to get one last plot in before he dies, and his plot is........to screw with the sickly love child of Sam Worthington and Penelope Cruze (?)
Okay......I give up..........I just give up...........
God I'm sick.........
So we went to Pompeii, which, for those of you who either failed european history with a 23% or less, or who've never read The Magic Tree House and consequently never had a childhood,
Little Jack and Annie out ran lava down this very street...true story
Pompeii was a city in the roman empire that was completely annihilated by Mt. Vesuvius, a giant volcano that to this day still remains active (next eruption's slated to happen in about 50-ish years, so mark your calendars). However, due to the lava encasing the city, it was almost perfectly preserved, making it possibly the most influential and eye-opening archaeological finds in history. Anyways, the story:
So imagine yourself standing, in the rain, without an umbrella, because, like me, you tend to forget necessities...all the time. So anyways, it's raining something fierce and there are stray dogs everywhere and in their boundless intelligence, members of your group are feeding and playing with them (in case said group members are reading this, know that regardless of that circumstance, I still hold you all in highest regard...........but seriously did you have to feed the dogs?). In the end, it turns out the dogs weren't officially strays, as they all had names, and were kept in generally good care by the tour guides, who let them roam freely around the ruins. Regardless, you'd like to question their necessity, but by god their the cutest things you will ever see, so you let it slide. After standing for a while, you meet your tour guide: an old man with grey hair and a steady tan complimenting a steady stride (which he balance out with a dusty brown umbrella, working as a makeshift cane because he was too badass to worry about silly things like rain). He speaks in a thick Italian accent, and his gravely voice sounds like a bitter cross between wise and judgmental, but his saucy sense of humor tends to even everything out. After walking through the ruins for about an hour, and taking enough pictures to rival the japanese tourist that had invaded your hotel the night before, your guide gives you a colorful tour of the Pompeii red light district, highlighted by a perfectly preserved........office for..........*ahem*......working girls, complete with pictures and diagrams.........
You thought I was going to post pictures.......dude, children read this blog.......maybe.......
So yeah, that was fun........
Following that, we set sail for Greece by way of ferry, which sounded all well and good at the time, but considering the boat had yet to move, any expectations concerning the coming voyage were indeed both excessively optimistic and premature. It was about midnight in the middle of the sea that my vertigo kicked in (for those of you who don't know, I have benign paraoximital positional vertigo, which essentially means I will, at random points and random times become uncontrollably dizzy, and lose any and all sense of balance. The ferry's constant rocking acted like a trigger event, and now, 24 hours later, I'm still dizzy, and probably will remain so for the entirety of the trip) which made the rest of the time on the ferry living hell. So, without anything much to do, I just sat in the lounge and watched Turkish soap operas. Now, i've never actually seen a soap opera beyond bits and pieces in the states, when I'm flipping through channels during commercial breaks for real television. So watching one in a different language was.......an interesting experience.
The following is a play-by-play analysis of the worst television show I have ever seen.......
So, from what I can understand, there are 5 important characters, who's names I naturally don't know, so I've done my best to liken them to characters and people with whom you should be familiar. First, Dos Equis (the most interesting man in the world), he's old, rich, and a bad guy, then there's Antonio Banderes, who was raised with Dos Equis in a foster home after their parents were killed by..........cancer(?). Anyways, he's not as old, just as rich, but maybe a good guy(?). These two are in a giant hotel room, presumably deciding the the fate of small Turkish cities and toying with the lives of millions over their weekend glass of wine. These games of thrones are presided over by Granny Babushka, whom I'm assuming is the nun who raised these two men together in the poor Turkish orphanage in the middle of nowhere. Judging from the results of an advanced equation I just made up (dramatic pauses/dramatic close ups x dramatic zoom-ins+dramatic scowl effectiveness=moral position character), it's apparent to me that Granny's of neutral nature, while Dos Equis might as well be the devils legal counsel. This leaves Antonio playing the part of the honorable human being, set out to stop the nefarious schemes of his best friend, who was driven mad by...........oh Hell if I know.........cancer, it's probably cancer, someone has to have cancer, so why not this guy? Hell, Dos Equis is terminal for all I know, and he wants to get one last plot in before he dies, and his plot is........to screw with the sickly love child of Sam Worthington and Penelope Cruze (?)
Okay......I give up..........I just give up...........
God I'm sick.........
Thursday, January 19, 2012
Day 2: Basilica and other fun stories (but first, a discourse on tourists......actually, mostly just the discourse on tourists....actually, this probably won't be much of a travel blog at all.....I mean, this really isn't intended to be informative so much as just to let my parents know I'm still alive......)(Editor’s Note: The original text of this post has been altered in accordance with the Final Project Prerequisites as put forth by The Graham School, any blandness in content is purely the result of the author's inherent inability to write about the things he's actually required to write about. Apologies-Gabe)
So today, we went to the Vatican. Now, a lot of people believe that the pope, nuns, monks, and Swiss marine death squads populate the worlds smallest country. This is actually a fact (true or not) that I'd like to dispute. It is my experience that The Vatican is populated by thousands of ancient and priceless statues and crotchety and worthless tourists.
A brutal assessment, I'm aware, however, after watching the parasitical, impulsive and intrusive nature of the tourists that outnumber the Vatican's elite security force 100 to 1 on a bad day, and seeing said nature within myself, I've come to understand that deep down, tourists are just nasty people from possibly the same pit of hell that spat out the crappy €1 souvenir colosseum replicas I bought you all from an Indian street vendor named Babala. See, I'd like to think of myself as a nice, well meaning person, but I'm also, no matter how I may try and hide it, a tourist, and a great one at that. It should be noted here that your respective greatness as a tourist is inversely proportional to you respectability as a human being. Tourist are, in it of themselves, very nasty, self-absorbed, arrogant pin-heads who on a regular basis seem to seek out new ways of ruining the life of well meaning local shop owners. I know this, because in the past 7 hours, I have ruined the lives (or at least weeks) of several poor, innocent shopkeepers with my own arrogance, insistence on avoiding their native language, and complaining about the 24 hour digital clock hanging on their wall, as well as continually ranting on their prefered method of transportation. The most unfortunate part is that, I really am a well meaning person, but like a fish out of water, I'm out of my element, and so it's only natural, and almost expected of me to flop around violently and aimlessly until the 70 year old man selling me my tchotchkes decides to put me out of my misery.
Having said that, despite the previous, I had a wonderful time at the Vatican. The one thing that I'd like to point out though, is that although so many people sing the praises of the sistine (sistine pretty much just meaning 16th) chapel (the chapel itself is famous for the last judgement painting on the far wall, depicting an enthroned Jesus harshly judging mankind and the virgin Mary at his side, looking away, all surrounded by souls in purgatory, heaven, and hell) , the sistine chapel really wasn't the highlight of my day. Don't get me wrong, michaelangelo was an amazing painter, even more so if you realize that he was actually a sculptor by trade (apparently I was the only one who didn't know this, however, what I did know was that good old Mikey was a self-absorbed jerk who said "no" to the pope, an offense punished by death, just because he felt like it), but all the beauty of the chapel pails in comparison to the monumental work within St Peter's Basilica. The first thing I should point out is that there are no paintings inside, only mosaics and sculptures...lots and lots of sculptures. The building itself is gigantic, as are the statues themselves, and the work is breath-taking. I don't know why, but paintings and drawings always've seemed...bland to me. Maybe it's because I can understand the process and the effort it took. But sculpture has always amazed me. There's something about the sheer scale of the statues and carvings that astound me, the amount of work and detail is breathtaking. It ever you go to Rome, you may see the chapel, but St. Peter's outshine that...by a lot.
(by the way, I'm not going to have Internet access for sure tomorrow, so this might be the last you hear of me for a few days.....just FYI)
(also, you're all going to have to trust me when I say that I've been taking pictures, it's just that due to unfortunate circumstances, am unable to upload them :(
......
A brutal assessment, I'm aware, however, after watching the parasitical, impulsive and intrusive nature of the tourists that outnumber the Vatican's elite security force 100 to 1 on a bad day, and seeing said nature within myself, I've come to understand that deep down, tourists are just nasty people from possibly the same pit of hell that spat out the crappy €1 souvenir colosseum replicas I bought you all from an Indian street vendor named Babala. See, I'd like to think of myself as a nice, well meaning person, but I'm also, no matter how I may try and hide it, a tourist, and a great one at that. It should be noted here that your respective greatness as a tourist is inversely proportional to you respectability as a human being. Tourist are, in it of themselves, very nasty, self-absorbed, arrogant pin-heads who on a regular basis seem to seek out new ways of ruining the life of well meaning local shop owners. I know this, because in the past 7 hours, I have ruined the lives (or at least weeks) of several poor, innocent shopkeepers with my own arrogance, insistence on avoiding their native language, and complaining about the 24 hour digital clock hanging on their wall, as well as continually ranting on their prefered method of transportation. The most unfortunate part is that, I really am a well meaning person, but like a fish out of water, I'm out of my element, and so it's only natural, and almost expected of me to flop around violently and aimlessly until the 70 year old man selling me my tchotchkes decides to put me out of my misery.
Having said that, despite the previous, I had a wonderful time at the Vatican. The one thing that I'd like to point out though, is that although so many people sing the praises of the sistine (sistine pretty much just meaning 16th) chapel (the chapel itself is famous for the last judgement painting on the far wall, depicting an enthroned Jesus harshly judging mankind and the virgin Mary at his side, looking away, all surrounded by souls in purgatory, heaven, and hell) , the sistine chapel really wasn't the highlight of my day. Don't get me wrong, michaelangelo was an amazing painter, even more so if you realize that he was actually a sculptor by trade (apparently I was the only one who didn't know this, however, what I did know was that good old Mikey was a self-absorbed jerk who said "no" to the pope, an offense punished by death, just because he felt like it), but all the beauty of the chapel pails in comparison to the monumental work within St Peter's Basilica. The first thing I should point out is that there are no paintings inside, only mosaics and sculptures...lots and lots of sculptures. The building itself is gigantic, as are the statues themselves, and the work is breath-taking. I don't know why, but paintings and drawings always've seemed...bland to me. Maybe it's because I can understand the process and the effort it took. But sculpture has always amazed me. There's something about the sheer scale of the statues and carvings that astound me, the amount of work and detail is breathtaking. It ever you go to Rome, you may see the chapel, but St. Peter's outshine that...by a lot.
Those letters are as big as people...beat that Mike....
Another interesting thing about the Vatican is their statue collection. See, they claim to have 6,000 statues in said collection. This however, isn't really true. See, the 6,000 statues actually account towards the Vatican's 6,000 favorite statues. The total number of statues in their collection is in the hundreds of thousands, some complete, others broken, but all of them adding to the already substantial value of what is already the richest country in the world.
This wall is worth more than your soul
(by the way, I'm not going to have Internet access for sure tomorrow, so this might be the last you hear of me for a few days.....just FYI)
(also, you're all going to have to trust me when I say that I've been taking pictures, it's just that due to unfortunate circumstances, am unable to upload them :(
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
Day 1: a concordance on the relationship between Vespas and Honey Badgers (Editors Note: The original text of this post has been altered in accordance with the Final Project Prerequisites as put forth by The Graham School, any blandness in content is purely the result of the author's inherent inability to write about the things he's actually required to write about. Apologies-Gabe)
Hello all, I feel that before I go any further, I should clarify a few things:
I like to travel, but I don't consider myself a traveller. I have virtually no experience doing anything travel related, but judging by my managing to pack 9 days worth of clothes, toiletries, books, etc into two carry-on bags, I'd say I've got either a brilliantly efficient mind for packing...or just a terrible, terrible memory, and those of you who know me are probably banking on the last one.
Having said that, there is something that should be noted about Italy, and many European countries for that matter, and that is Vespas. Yes, Vespas. Now, I know what you might be thinking: "but Gabe, those pint-sized British wannabe mopeds can barely build up enough force to tip a cow, not to mention their drivers are dominantly French." well, I can say with almost 100% certainty that all of those thoughts (with the exception of the last one...maybe) are completely false. Those wannabe mopeds burn serious rubber (or whatever those ultra light, ultra small cycle tires are made of). They will whizz right past you, and they might see you, they might hit you, but they will never stop. Like the infamous honey badger, Vespa don't give a s**t. Those dinky crotch rockets will flatten you into the soles of your converse all stars faster than you can say "ciao" and with less than half the effort.
These things dodge in an out of the lane-less, unmarked streets like the ninjas (or incredibly annoying line ditchers in Starbucks) of the motorway. They will clip your car, knock off your mirror, and Hell, they might even hitch a ride on the back of your car for a few blocks. It's like it's these "motorists" (believe me, I use that term as loosely as possible) jobs to take basic traffic laws out back and do them like Old Yeller (which is to say painfully, quickly, and traumatically). Clearly the rules are either different, or just straight up don't apply to those pretentious assholes too cool to drive a car, or too sadistic to worry about striking blood-freezing fear into the hearts of poor, victimized pedestrians across Europe, or both.
Having said that, by the grace of god, I'm still alive, but it should be noted that Europeans can't drive...that's just a fact of life. But regardless, I've had fun, we visited the pantheon.
So the interesting thing about the Pantheon (Pan=all, every, Theo=God, Pantheon=figure it out) is that, not only is it still standing (a miracle in it of itself), but, since being remodeled into a church, it still holds active services every week. This serves a prime example of the amazing preservation of architecture found throughout Italy, but more specifically it's integration into the modern design, or vica versa, of the city. Anyways, the Pantheon itself, a project headed by Marcus Agrippa, was, as the name states, a temple for all gods, hence the interior, which is decorated with statues of several major figures of Greek mythology, all in their own little corners of the giant building. It was an amazing structure.
Gabe
Sent from my iPod
I like to travel, but I don't consider myself a traveller. I have virtually no experience doing anything travel related, but judging by my managing to pack 9 days worth of clothes, toiletries, books, etc into two carry-on bags, I'd say I've got either a brilliantly efficient mind for packing...or just a terrible, terrible memory, and those of you who know me are probably banking on the last one.
Having said that, there is something that should be noted about Italy, and many European countries for that matter, and that is Vespas. Yes, Vespas. Now, I know what you might be thinking: "but Gabe, those pint-sized British wannabe mopeds can barely build up enough force to tip a cow, not to mention their drivers are dominantly French." well, I can say with almost 100% certainty that all of those thoughts (with the exception of the last one...maybe) are completely false. Those wannabe mopeds burn serious rubber (or whatever those ultra light, ultra small cycle tires are made of). They will whizz right past you, and they might see you, they might hit you, but they will never stop. Like the infamous honey badger, Vespa don't give a s**t. Those dinky crotch rockets will flatten you into the soles of your converse all stars faster than you can say "ciao" and with less than half the effort.
The predator, top of the food chain, quietly relaxes in the sun, waiting for the work day to end before going on the prowl for fresh victims
Having said that, by the grace of god, I'm still alive, but it should be noted that Europeans can't drive...that's just a fact of life. But regardless, I've had fun, we visited the pantheon.
proof
So the interesting thing about the Pantheon (Pan=all, every, Theo=God, Pantheon=figure it out) is that, not only is it still standing (a miracle in it of itself), but, since being remodeled into a church, it still holds active services every week. This serves a prime example of the amazing preservation of architecture found throughout Italy, but more specifically it's integration into the modern design, or vica versa, of the city. Anyways, the Pantheon itself, a project headed by Marcus Agrippa, was, as the name states, a temple for all gods, hence the interior, which is decorated with statues of several major figures of Greek mythology, all in their own little corners of the giant building. It was an amazing structure.
Gabe
Sent from my iPod
We're Going On A Grand Adventure
Hi all,
I'll be posting at the strangest hours of the night, so you might not read these until way after they've been posted, but that's......kinda your problem :p
Having said that, this is more or less my travel blog, and I'll be doing my best to post daily, but I'm not sure how well that'll work out, but we'll see how it goes.
And yes Catherine, that is the title, because this is indeed a grand adventure, albeit, not quite the same as moving pianos 4 blocks, but a grand adventure none the less :p
Gabe
I'll be posting at the strangest hours of the night, so you might not read these until way after they've been posted, but that's......kinda your problem :p
Having said that, this is more or less my travel blog, and I'll be doing my best to post daily, but I'm not sure how well that'll work out, but we'll see how it goes.
And yes Catherine, that is the title, because this is indeed a grand adventure, albeit, not quite the same as moving pianos 4 blocks, but a grand adventure none the less :p
Gabe
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)