Encore

For all of my loyal followers, new comers, travelers, foes and everything betwixt, this is my final blog posting. Confusion must be flowing over you like water in a bath(those take forever to fill up). But it will subside if your literacy just hangs on for a few more minutes.

As we all know, I was babying my parents around Italy and Switzerland. Babying might be a wrong term to use here... No, it's the right one. I was self motivated to make sure our caravan got to every destination with as little hassle and distraction as possible. I was often volunteered by my parents to be the asker of questions, orderer of food, and expert negotiator of cheap souvenirs. How much this costs, where that hotel is, why don't I have 5 different kinds of cheeses on my plate. I am not quite sure why they had me do it. Most of the time my italian was so rough that I would soon be forced to just speak english to them. It wasn't just any english that you speak to a foreigner. Most people think english is the universal language of the world. I am here to say NAY, the language of the world is broken english. My mom speaks english very well, but didn't understand that when one speaks to foreigners you don't say "what per say are the circumstances in which a favorable outcome may come to pass?"  In BE(broken english) you say "what I do good times later?"

We were having a smashing time in Italy and Switzerland when we left out of Zurich to get to Istanbul. I had bragged about Turkey so much to my parents that they felt intrigued to see what fuss I was making. We were in the airport going through customs when the dark cloud of ignorance manifested above me and let out its furious monsoon. You are saying, "Brian, I am not even sure what that last sentence means, please explain". Don't interrupt! I was told prior to my visit to Europe that I can only be in Europe for 90 days but, could hop in and out of the EU to renew my travelers visa. This seemed like an awesome idea. I could stay forever with a forced vacation every 3 months. If you recall, my brief stint in Norway was my attempt at jumping through what seemed like a giant loop hole. The loop hole was actually just a large pit with skunks at the bottom ready to stank me up. The law as it stands today is that one can be in Europe for 90 days. But you have 180 days to spend those 90 days. So from the day of entry in January 20 I had 6 months to spend 3 months of time there. It sounds a bit confusing at first, but when one get interrogated by Swiss police you understand very quickly. Luckily for me they believed I was ignorant of my crime and only fined me 400 francs. They informed me that 3 days later I would have been in huge trouble with possible jailing and deportation. I am very lucky that my parents were there to help me keep me calm and to help pay to keep me from having a European record.

We made out way to Istanbul in a three hour flight. Needless to say I was a bit of a debbie downer. We plopped our stuff at our respected hotels/hostels and met up to see what the city was offering. If you have ever been to my parents house, to say they are Persian carpet enthusiasts is a modest description. We were now in the midst of thousands of middle east carpet shops without the guns and danger. They were lured into each shop in Istanbul with the promise of a carpet show and apple tea. Now I am not sure I counted all of them, but in one day I am sure 30 cups of tea were consumed by each of us. I can not say no to the sugar and bitterness that bless my tongue with each burning sip. Three days of site seeing and shopping left my parents wanting more. They were so happy with Istanbul they wanted to prolong their stay. They couldn't, but they wanted too.

After I got into Istanbul my parents did what parents do for children that would be thrown in jail if were caught in Europe. They used their flight miles and found me a ticket back to Tucson. So at the end of the Istanbul insanity we flew to Rome where i left them at the train station. Now it is important for me to reveal a moment of clarity that washed over me like water in a bath(man i just cant get away from that bath water). When I left 22 months ago to Europe the first time I left with a feeling of excitement and shock when I left Phoenix. Upon arrival in Madrid I was scared, freaking out, and question what the heck was wrong with me for doing this. I had found my way to what was a "hostel" the size of a cell block and just as comfortable. Then just a few days ago I was coming back in the same exact order but backwards. Crappy hostel with a flight out of Madrid. But this time when I left Europe I had a different feeling consume me. Instead of the nervous twitches and confusion with life, I had felt I had accomplished something that gave me confidence that would not be attained any other way. I am not much for signs, but when the beginning and end are mirrors to itself it felt like a conclusion was made to my backpacking days. I have gotten what I can out of the meandering world, and now it is my turn to give back for all it has offered to me.

I want to thank everyone that has been reading this blog during my incredible journey. Hearing that I actually had readers inspired me to keep writing. I want to thank my mother and father for their love and support. If not for them I would not have been able to accomplish my traveling dream. Friends that kept me sane whilst in my slumps and laughed with me during my peaks. Lovely Lori for taking a masterful picture of my after picture shown below(not much has changed since the first one except i need to learn how to use an ironing board.

p.s. I said something to my mom in passing off the top of my head that she told me would be great to add in the blog. "When everything is foreign, nothing is."



Moral of the story, get off you butt and have an adventure. There is too much out there to see.

Sales Rack

The last time I blogged to you I was in the legendary Cinque Terre region of Italy. Much sun and hiking left us hungry for some cooler weather with a bit of R&R. My parents and I said goodbye to our family friends in Milan and went our separate ways. They went to the seductress city of Venice, we headed north to the wealthy city of Lugano, Switzerland. I had raved about Switzerland so much that they penciled it into their busy schedule. I had never actually heard of any of the places we were going besides Zurich, but I am down for new experiences any time.

Last time I was in Switzerland I remembered that things were a bit expensive, but this time around I really was able to understand the price of luxury. My parents were staying at a 5 star hotel overlooking a beautiful lake. To pull up a cot into their room would have cost 117 US dollars! I thought this was a bit unnecessary to spend such an extravagant amount on me. I would rather sleep on a bench then spend that kind of money. Though the benches were rather comfortable to sit on, to sleep on them would have played mean jokes on my spine. With luck and persistence I found a nice little hostel that overlooked the city for 30 francs a night. Steep, but doable.

The next day my father was considering buying a watch. Where else in the world would you buy a watch besides Switzerland? Swiss cheese, Swiss chocolate, Swiss army knives, and Swiss watches. There is a street called Via Nassa that was dedicated to expensive jewelry and watches. Once in a while we would walk into a place and ask for a watch to be shown to us. Now if you know my parents, my mom is dressed in fancy colors and some nice jewels. My father is dresses equally fancy in basketball shorts and a t-shirt. It wasn’t a surprise when we walked in and they gave us a lil bit of a “what are you doing in here?” look. I felt like we were Pretty Womaning the people with wanting to buy something and them not wanting to serve us. There was a watch that looked especially classy that we asked about. Before we heard their whole spiel about the making of the time piece we asked “How much?” A whopping 31,000 Francs it would cost to be able to tell time. Before he had a chance to say another word we were out the door and on to the next store. I told my dad that it is a watch that if you have to ask how much it costs, you probably can't/don't want to buy it. End of the story, we found a real nice, classy watch that tells the time and everything. Mission successful.

Eventfulness

It has been way to long since my last blog post and honestly could probably be another span of time before I get back to it. The past five days I have been staying with my parents and our family friends in a villa in Tuscany. Needless to say the wifi ability is slightly less than nil.

It was so great seeing my parents again. It was kind of luck that let our paths cross. They told me that they were going to be walking around a few blocks away from the academia at a certain time. They were not aware that there are four cardinal directions and a bunch of directions between those four. I had a possibly 16 or so blocks to roam around to find them. The first street I took to wander was serendipitous street. We met almost instantly and exchange loving hugs and kisses.

The three days we spent in Florence and wine country of Tuscany were filled with sight seeing and major shopping. When in rome, do as the romans. When in Florence, do as the romans, mostly because romans ruled them too at one point. Leather goods consumed our attention along with cashmere scarves and gelato. Let us just say my bag might be going back to Sardinia a little more full then when I started.

One of the toughest parts of the trip was driving around trying to find the towns that we had mapped out. The first part of the problem was “plans”. I am not sure who actually invented that word, but it seems to cause more trouble than helps. Italians try to warn you of that, but then dig it in when driving around. As you drive to a specific small town location there are signs everywhere. The signs are not like the United States where it says Roger st. or MLK Blvd. Instead it will give a large city in a direction. If you are trying to go to a itty bitty town of 200 people it will not be on any street signs or directions. Thus planning becomes difficult. The best way I could deal with it was to stick my head in my book and let the adults discuss and decide.

Wine. It has never been my favorite libation. When I go to a party I might bring root beer or juice boxes. The taste of anything with alcohol just makes my eyes squint, nose crinkle, and mouth make a rather attractive bitter look. My excitement for wine country was on par as if I were to get a coffee enema. It’s just not up my alley. Again my book became my best friend.

Moral of the story, if you cant read, sometimes the letters look like pictures and it looks like reading…

McDonalds Is From Where?

On my way to see my parents from Montpellier. This requires me to take a train ride between 9 to 10 hours total to get to Pisa. Time is loose for me so it was my prerogative to stop off in Torino for a day or two before I make my way. I got on my train around 2 in the afternoon and took my seat next to a scruffy middle aged sleeping man. He was the French version of a American southerner. Midway through the trip he was speaking his gibberish French in his sleep loud enough to gain the attention of everyone in the car. Loud enough to wake himself up and excuse his unknown behavior to the nearby listeners. I ducked my hat low, put my ear buds in and read my book. This disguise did not secure my safety from the awkward interaction that was about to occur.

He focused his gaze on me and began rapping quickly in French with intent on me understanding. I gave the universal look of I don’t understand; pursed lips, squinted eyes, raised eye brows, quick head shakes. He kept talking to me persistently maybe thinking that eventually I would divulged the fact I was actually French. After 20 or so minutes of possible ridicule or compliments he walked to a table just behind me and started talking to a different guy who I assume spoke actual French.

I thought I was in the clear, my book and I would be able to become one again. WRONG. A young girl sat across the way from me and started trying to speak broken English to me. Her first words to me was “you have beautiful eyes”. I said thank you and tried to keep reading. She moved on over to where I sat and began asking nearly every question in the world. “Whats you name?”, “Where are you from?”, “Whats your dog’s name?”, “is there McDonalds in America?”. That last one caught me off guard too. True story, she asked my age and I told her 25. I asked hers back as a sign of curtsey and she responded 20. This threw me off guard mostly because she looked 12. I looked for clues that might solve this mystery. Traveling alone, could be 20. Pokemon back pack, could be 12. Rather good English, could be 20. Obsessed with her video games, probably 12. It was nearly an hour of interview questions. I feel that if Opera where to invite me to her last show, I would be thoroughly prepared for anything.

I was received in Torino around 9 at night. As I walked out of the train station I was surrounded by a city of construction. If felt like every block was consumed with rubble and caution tape. Reading directions given by the hostel was particularly interesting. Catching the right busses that don’t pass by me required a large amount of walking. I knew the general location I had to get to so I decided to make an adventure out of it. If I came to a fork in the road I would use my expert Italian skills to ask the local pedestrian “where is Dora Station?” I still can’t comprehend what Italians say so I had to rely on their cultural need to gesture everything they say. It is my true belief that the first interpretive dancers were just average Italians on stage. An hour of walking through a slummy part of town made me tired, cranky, and less inclined to stay an extra day in Torino to discover what gems it possesses. So now I am sharing a train cabin with two nice old ladies to Pisa. I get to see the parents today!!!

Moral of the story, learn how to say “I speak (insert a language here)” in that language to get out of awkward conversations.

Sluggish...

I have been a slug when it has come to writing recently. I have been consumed with walking, seeing, eating, and all that is involved with travels. It has really slipped my mind what it means to go out and experience the town. Massive amounts of time is spent wandering while the other part of the day is full of meeting people and relaxing from the strolls. This is a poor excuse I know. I will try to make it up to you loyal readers with a more regular account of that which is Europe.

I have promised Barcelona round dos but due to the fact that each day is filled with more and more stuff I am going to go ahead and skip all the way to Montpellier.

We left Barcelona at 9 in the morning after a long night hanging out with an ex boxer and an auzzie friend. It was rough like the way you feel when you are the 3^rd wheel and don’t get the inside jokes. You just kind of phase out stare blankly. The 5 hour train ride was full of those. While on the train with Laura she would once in a while grab a piece of paper and jot things down on it. I thought it could have possibly been her initial plot to pull a practical joke on me, but it was just her thoughts about traveling. She shared some with me that I had once felt. She said on the train she had finally been bitten by the travel bug. That nothing in the world is like it and that she HAS to find a way to keep going after college. I couldn’t help but tell her it is dangerous to get the bite. Like Pringles once you pop you just can’t stop. She started quoting proverbs to me and getting mind blowing thoughts that might change her life. I will have to take full credit for this new outlook.

Montpellier is a beautiful French city that definitely is French. Baguettes and people making fart noises with their mouths(the silent but violent ones) all over the place. I had been to Paris before, but I have not experienced true French people interacting with each other. It might be just me, but the French language seems so stuck up that it is like wiping your butt with gold toilet paper. I took French for a couple year in high school and I lost it all. I wasn’t completely thrilled with it when I was in school and I still am not. If I looked past the words, the people seemed very nice and the scene is wonderful. A woman at the train station did some clever maneuvering to be able to get me on the train. A guy in a pastry shop gave us an extra treat just because. I don’t know if I could live her, but I would suggest it as a fun place to walk around in.

At the moment I am riding a train from France to Torino(Turin). I love trains like a fat kid loves cake(pop culture moment). So simple and so grounded. I don’t feel like my day is dedicated to getting ready to fly, waiting to fly, flying, getting home from flying, then jet lag. A couple days in Torino will give me a little Italian refresher so that I can try my hand at leading my tourist group around.

Moral of the story, relaxing can be just as tiring as activities…

Barcelona Part 1

It would be utterly impossible for me to write a blog about every single detail that was observed over the past few days in Barcelona without writing a 6 to 8 page essay. I am going to mark some ups and downs, the people I met and the laughable times that the audience could share in with.

First day in Barcelona I checked into my hostel and was greeted by a small German girl and a chap from India. I had forgotten how easy it is to start up conversation with a random stranger. After we asked each other the two main questions that all travelers ask each other we were officially friends. The first question is “where are you from?” then “What are you doing in _____(Fill in the blank to the city you are in)?”. Names are really a minor detail that doesn’t usually get discussed or even mentioned sometimes. Everyone knows that 80% of people forget the name as soon as it is said out loud, plus the gaggle of people that you will talk to that day will tell their names and no one can remember 15 names. Arizona peaked her interest due to the fact she knew someone in the hostel that too was from the desert state. With the excitement of a child in a candy store inside an ice cream store surrounded by Disneyland I furiously went searching for my native blood. Words were not even exchange when we embraced in a understanding that kin had united. Then I found out she went to ASU and then the glares and “accidental” tripping took place. Alyssa was really sweat and gave me a dose of Arizona that will hold me over well for quite a while.

Ramblas Boulevard is the main street on in Barcelona that is just flooded with tourists. You can see everyone from the backpacking traveler to the 18 year old student exchange gossip girls to the American family fumbling with the maps and the sun screen thick on the nose with a fisherman’s hat. When massive people are gathered, sprinkles of middle eastern men will be in the crowd selling what goods they can. Tis the season to sell whistles. Every 20 feet there is a man whistling at you with sounds that range from Donald duck to Donald duck blowing his nose. Every kid wants one, every parents is dreading it. The whistles were probably the worst part of the entire Barcelona experience. Considering that is minor in detail, I think I did alright.

My good friend Laura was meeting in Barcelona from Montpellier. She booked the hostel we stayed at just a bit away from Ramblas. After checking into my new hostel with her we noticed about 200 high school kids running around the hostel. There was some kind of program that allowed them to travel in large packs, drink, go out and be supervised by only 2 adults. This hostel was fantastic because after we got our bags all unpacked and ready, we had made friends with all the people in our room. Lisa, Natalie, Brendan, 2 Englishmen, the Brits(9 of them), and a few Canadians. During the day Laura and I would go out in the city and observe everything we could (Gaudi was the main influence that caught our attention). During the day we always found a park that we  could lay in and listen to music. At night though, things went to chaos. Now my drinking habits are to drink a beer or two maybe every couple months. Brian the lush is not a name I would rightfully receive. But here in Barcelona new people would come in and it was our job to taste the city. My taste was cavas. For those who are not familiar with the libation, it is a wonderful sparkling white wine. If you think it is champagne you are wrong. True champagne only comes from the region of France known as Champagne. But the similarities were uncanny. The bubbly and sangria were poured to keep our glasses full. When I would get back into the hostel it would be between 3 and 5 in the morning. As I am on my way to Montpellier I am happily exhausted.

More is to come about my trip from Barcelona.

Moral of the story, if a man thinks he looks good in long hair, make him put on a dress too.

Asian Sensation

If you recall my complaining on an earlier post about directions that Hostel owners give in Norway, I had another similar experience. I took the late flight from Alghero at 10:35 and arrived in Girona just an hour or so later. I didn’t really feel like taking a bus all the way to Barcelona while not sleeping and building up my crankiness. Instead I booked a hostel for cheap in Girona for the night. I got the email with directions to the hostel but did not look at it until I landed. Midnight had fallen upon me when I read the email that said, “it is a 10 minute walk from the bus station. Just follow the signs to the Catalunya plaza”. I got on the bus to the station and kept reading it as if a hiding meaning might pop out from betwixt the words.

After my half an hour drive I got off the bus and looked around for signs. I must have looked like a dog chasing his tail with how many circles I was making. Usually when I am in despair I would just go into the closest shop and tell them the name and start pointing in all directions as if to say which one is right. Most people can understand what I mean when I do this sporadic movement. But at 1 oclock at night on the eve of Easter, not a single person is stirring, only the mice. It was up to me to start walking in random directions to discover any kind of hint. I was extremely lucky to go down the street that would eventually lead me to the hostel.

After I signed into the hostel a little confusion occurred that caused a big fuss. I am not one that likes to make enemies, but when I am tired please don’t mess with me. I got my room and bed assignment for the dorm. I was sleeping in room 6 bed 4. Got it. I go into the pitch black room and close the door. Ahh pitch black, good thing I can’t see the beds or the other peoples luggage. I turn on my itouch to shine some light on the situation and of course what do I do but point it right into someones sleeping face. After much confusion I found my bed and almost threw all my stuff on it when in the silhouette I saw a figure of a person snoozing away in the comfort of my comforts. I didn’t want to play games and I was extremely cranky. So I did what any grown man or 4 year old would do, I went and told on him. I felt guilty for about 30 seconds when the manager busted in the room and woke everyone up wondering who is suppose to be in what bed. Lights went out and I snuck in and took my bed…

Moral of the story, if you are asian, learn 1 through ten so you wont be woken up because you choose the wrong bed.