European Rambling

Salzburg

2010-02-21T14:17:00.000-08:00

On our first day in Salzburg we relaxed in our tiny apartment and stocked up on food. It was a good thing we got plenty of groceries because most grocery shops closed Christmas Eve (Thursday) and remained shuttered through the weekend. We enjoyed some home cooking as well as local sausages and cheese.

Matt and I explored the city center that evening, stopping for a beer at a bar with two rooms, one a pub with an older crowd, and the other a cocktail bar, with mostly teenagers. We could see from the pub into the other room and thought we saw Matt's long-lost twin. It was both eery and hilarious how much the Austrian Doppelganger looked like Matt, but we were a little disappointed when we got up close to see the facial differences. The next day the family went into the old section of Salzburg, stopping for coffee next to Mozart's old house, inspecting the Christmas Fair and eyeing the shops, most of them closed, aside from a gallery of old prints and drawings. We stopped in some churches as well to take photos. They were well appointed with greenery for the holidays.

What is this instrument called?That evening we went to midnight mass at the Salzburg Cathedral. While we didn't understand a word, the dual choirs were incredible. The mass ended with an outstanding Still Nacht performance with the entire church dimmed to candlelight only. It was definitely festive. Afterward, we walked with the locals as they fanned out slowly and quietly to their homes. In the morning on Christmas day, we set out to do some hiking around Bad Gastein, a popular ski area. It was raining lightly in Salzburg, but 30 minutes outside the city, we reached a light snowline. Higher up in the mountains we were met by much heavier snow. We checked out the resort area by car and winded around some truly treacherous roads overlooking massive canyons. The village was a true resort, and not a traditional Austrian town, but pretty nonetheless. We stopped to check out ski information in case we wanted to return the next day, but as the snowfall seemed to increase we thought better and descended from resort back toward. We backtracked to Dorfgastein, where the snow was still falling pretty heavily. We stopped for a meal at a beautiful restaurant in the village opposite a small ski area. The waiter spoke perfect English, but grovelled for his tip throughout the meal. I did enjoy when he made fun of Matt for ordering a child meal, which "Comes with a candy" he said. Matt ended up with a foot long hot dog sliced on a plate, which made me laugh even more, and a lollipop was delivered as promised. It was another delicious meal, although I can't remember exactly what I ate. I'm pretty sure my mom had Spaetzli for the fifth time on the trip, because I do remember finishing her plate as well as my own. We returned to the apartment and relaxed. The next day we got up early and headed for the mountains. Obertauern, reputed to have among the best ski conditions in Austria no matter the year, was our destination. The directions were confusing though, and I guided my dad through a series of wrong turns, one of which took us 20 minutes down a road too narrow and snow-lined for any sort of u-turn. We turned around in the parking lot of a decent-looking ski resort called Zauchansee. "Why don't we just go here?" Matt asked. I wasn't having any of it, as disgraced navigator, and I was determined to get us to Obertauern. So we turned around and 40 minutes later we were nearing the big resort. As we got closer we saw lots of cars leaving the resort, and others stopped on the side of the road where chains were added to the tires. We continued on and soon enough stopped on a slick hill behind a line of cars. At the head of the line was a convertible, fishtailing as it tried to make it up the hill. The car eventually turned around, but now every non-4wd car that had stopped needed a gang to push it through the same icy patch. A police officer arrived and sent every car withoug chains back down the hill, even as we tried to put them on while stopped. We gave up on Obertauern and another 40 minutes later we were back at Zauchansee. Matt and I rented equipment and skied while my parents went walking nearby. The snow was outstanding - half a foot had fallen the night before and we weaved between the marked trails in search of powder. The area seemed small, but we shared a gondola with a couple who explained how it was linked with several others by lift and by bus. We ended up finding plenty of snow and terrain at Zauchansee. We were rewarded with a few cliff drops and super-steep areas to make big powder turns. I scoped out one of the cliffs and didn't like what I saw. As I tiptoed around it, I lost my balance and on one ski, I slowly tipped over as I slid down the face, with my head aimed at a rock outcropping. It was a close call - close enough to make Matt seriously angry with me. I took some video with a digital camera of Matt dropping a cliff and making some steep turns. I fell a number of times in the morning, so after lunch, I rearranged my pockets to load both my ipod and camera in the same pocket to keep from landing on them in my next fal. I didn't break them on my next fall. Instead I lost them both; the pocket had seemingly unzipped itself and bequeathed my electronics to the mountain. I tried to retrace my steps, but searching for the exact same path through the woods was fruitless. It was an expensive day of skiing and I was sorry about losing the photos too - Matt was pretty upset about them. We still have the memories to go by though, and we returned to Salzburg for our last meal before leaving for Paris in the morning.

The day was overcast, but the city was still beautiful

What is this instrument called?

Views near Altemarkt Im Pongau, Austria

Innsbruck 12/19-12/22

2010-02-20T22:30:00.001-08:00

The ride to Innsbruck began in a brief snowstorm, which tapered off. The ride was uneventful, until we reached the Alps. The roads winded through valleys next to shear cliff faces. There were long tunnels with spectacular views of snow-capped peaks waiting at the end, before the next tunnel began. There was avalanche protection in the form of huge concrete overhead awnings.

In Innsbruck, we were somewhat lost, but my dad spotted the Pension, our Innsbruck residence, from across the river, nearly a mile away. "Does that say Pension Paula on the building he asked?" He took some flak before we realized he was 100% correct. The pension was a bed and breakfast, but our first look at our room left us a little nervous. Quarters were tight to say the least, with one room, 3 beds and a chair and table at the center, with little space in between. Things have been known to get testy between the Bachmans, and confining spaces can stoke the flames. When we left Innsbruck, we agreed that it was remarkable we got along so well, and that the room was not so bad after all. Neither was the breakfast served by proprietor Herr Gunsch. I continued my hostel-bred habit of maximum caloric intake during a free meal, working from cereal to sandwiches and back again.

Herr Gunsch watches us leave. My dad read the sign from across the river, while driving.

After settling in and unpacking we ate our first and one of our best meals at a Gasthaus, a traditional Austrian restaurant. While I had been spoiled with delicious food all week in Lyon and Zurich, the rest of the family vociferously praised the meal. Afterward, we crossed the river ____ and visited the Christkindlsmarkt. Matt and I sampled the Hauspunsch, one of the many available heated beverages. We went to sleep early.

In the morning we headed into the city to check out the sights. While the city itself was pleasant but ultimately forgettable, the mountain backdrop was otherworldly.

Innsbruck

Inn River through Innsbruck, the city's name translates to bridge over the Inn (river)

The Golden Roof, Innsbruck's trademark tourist sight, was built as a viewing area for sovereigns to watch sporting events below.

We stopped for a coffee at a local brewery, where world cup skiing was on TV. Matt was instantly cured of his grumpiness - Austria is reputed to have good coffee. In the afternoon we drove to one of Innsbruck's many ski areas, Mutters, a pint-sized area, with a single gondola. We parked and followed signs to a hiking trail. The trail was a summer-time road, and snow covered, but not too challenging. Excitement was provided by tobaggoners - the road was also a toboggan path - who flew past at dangerous speeds, and almost side-swiped my parents on a particularly hairy hairpin. The trail crossed ski trails from time to time, providing openings for spectacular views, which became sunset views later on. We made it to a mountain restaurant, but the owner said she was closed. We lingered taking in the view as shadows engulfed the furthest peaks on the horizon.

Hiking in Mutters

After the hike we drove back to Innsbruck. We picked an Italian restaurant, where we were the lone diners. The Italian owner was very friendly, and not so busy, so he chatted with us during and after the meal. Italy is just south of Austria, but the owner complained about how cold it was, and indicated he preferred his native land. He called out my mom, "You no like the soup?", and she had no ready response - she really didn't like the soup. We hoped she hadn't gotten the cook in trouble.

Matt and I went out for drinks at a nearby bar and came back to the pension stinking of cigarettes. In the morning we filled up at breakfast and headed to Axamer-Lizum, one of the better-regarded Innsbruck mountains and site of the 1976 Women's Olympic Downhill. The views were incredible. Matt and I tried out some of the off-piste, while our parents watched from below. Aside from digging up some brush and rocks from time-to-time, we were skiing a few inches of powder on some really steep terrain. When I went back to Vermont a few weeks later, the mountain seemed completely flat. In Austria, the lifts actually went up.

The Bachmans at Axamer-Lizum

Top of Axamer-Lizum, the crucifix reminds us that this is not the Himalayas

The next day, we headed to the Stubai Glacier to explore a little and do some hiking. We checked out the ski area, but there wasn't much to see - only two side-by-side gondolas that disappeared up and over a ridge. We backtracked down the highway to look for a hiking trail when we spotted some people walking uphill. We parked and followed a road that lead to a hiking path. We switchbacked through steep pastures and ended up at a family-owned hotel/restaurant/farm. Past the cows on the right was the cozy dining room with only two tables.

This could be anywhere in Austria, but I think it's from hiking outside Fulpmes, near the Stubai Glacier

Matt and me outside the restaurant. The meal definitely came with a view.

On our last night in Innsbruck, Matt and I decided to really experience the nightlife. I made an ipod map of a few locations recommended on the internet, and we set out. We stopped at an Irish pub, for a drink, but the scene was a little too laid back. We checked out the next three locations on my map - all closed or unimpressive. As we stopped to look at the map, a late-twenties local asked us if we needed directions. We don't really know where we're going, we said, explaining our situation. He told us to follow him - he would show us a party. We ended up at the Hofgarten, an outdoor cafe in the park that had been covered and heated for winter-time use. There was a bar and dancefloor, both packed with the local crowd. We had a great time - Matt is a dancing machine, and had me laughing the entire time. German was the only language I heard, except when I was greeted by an Icelandic fellow redhead. "My brother from another mother," he shouted to me.

That night we went to the Buzzihutte, an excellent traditional restaurant where I had yet another rich, delicious meal. Located up a hill well above the city, the restaurant appeared to be a converted home. The clientele was local, and even featured a couple with their respective dogs at their feet.

In the morning we departed Innsbruck for our next destination, the land of Mozart, Salzburg.

Zurich 12/16-18

2010-01-25T22:16:00.000-08:00

I set aside a day and a half in Metz to apply for a few internships and, really, to clean my single apartment. The floor hadn't seen light for a few months, and the clutter and dirt on the hardwood was a daunting mess. I started to clean halfheartedly Wednesday evening. Thursday morning, I began again in earnest. If I didn't complete the task in one go, it might never get done and certainly wouldn't be done right. By 6PM, the room was clean, my stuff was packed, and I hurried out the door before I could saying goodbye to my neighbor, Sarah, who was kind enough to store some of my stuff for the next week and a half.

I just made it aboard the last train toward Zurich, stopping first in Strasbourg. There I realized I had no idea where I was going once I got to Zurich, having forgot to write down hotel information that my parents had emailed. My connecting train was an hour late though, so I sought the comfort er, wifi of the McDonald's across the street. My ipod was truly paying off, as I downloaded Zurich hotel directions, maps, bus routes, the New York Times, and even NBC Nightly News.

Back in the train station an outgoing elderly woman began chatting with me out of the blue. Throughout our conversation she spoke very quietly, but standing over my bags, I could only lean closer rather than move closer as she seemed to beckon me away from the center of the station. She instructed me several times to speak quieter, which I thought was odd because it was a bustling train station, and we weren't disturbing anyone. My train-station paranoia seeped in, and some sort of trap involving a charming old lady crossed my mind, but either she was unsuccessful at stealing my bags, or more likely just a nice, soft-spoken old lady. Austria is a great place to be at Christmas time, she explained, but complained about how expensive Switzerland is.

The next train was a comfortable and direct TGV ride, although I would have been happy to avoid the 8 euro TGV "international" booking fee. In Zurich, I rode the tram for free, with no Swiss coinage to pay the fare, but karma sent me in the wrong direction. At around midnight, I found the correct stop for the hotel, and heard a familiar voice calling out from behind me. My dad, in no hurry to get to sleep because of his previous-day time-zone hop, was waiting for me.

Andy Bachman in Zurich

It was great to see my parents again, and after some early tension in Zurich, we and my brother got along better than expected the rest of the trip.

In the morning I slept off my cleaning exhaustion and met my parents at Zurich's renowned museum the Kunsthaus, a few blocks from the hotel. The art was incredible - likely the best assembly I saw in Europe - warranting its hefty entry price. My heart soared when I saw a Seurat exhibition sign. He was my favorite artist when I was younger, his seemingly ingenious magical dots were a fantastic optical illusion. The exhibition was a bit disappointing, containing mostly small studies, and featuring Le Cirque, which is not my favorite Seurat piece. The permanent collection was a best-of of the art world from 1850 on. Artists like Hodler, Bocklin, Segantini, Munch distinguished themselves, along with modern artists Magritte, Mondrian, and Lichtenstein. Torben Gielher's intersecting colored plane geometrization of the Matterhorn Alp was particularly memorable.

River Limmat

Part of Rodin's Gates of Hell

The full view. This is one of the later casts of the original plaster mold. I recognized the sculpture from the Musée Rodin.

The big impressionists were well represented at Kunsthaus including Van Gogh

On Saturday, Matt arrived. We picked up our rental car and set out for Innsbruck, Austria.

Lyon 12/14-16

2010-01-10T13:44:00.000-08:00

I recognized a girl from my Friday train ride on the way from Bourg Saint-Maurice to Lyon. We chatted - she was from London originally, and had more recently spent time in Metz and Verbier, Switzerland. The ride was scenic, wrapping around beautiful lakes.

In Lyon I connected metro to funicular and arrived at my hill-side hostel in the old city, overlooking modern Lyon. I unloaded my bags, warmed up my hands and headed out to explore the city, but not before admiring the amazing view.

View from the hostel can't be beat

My first stop was Place des Terreaux, site of the Musee des Beaux-Arts de Lyon, and the Bartholdi fountain, decked out with steam-breathing horses.

Hotel de Ville at Place des Terreaux with fountain at left

I had a snack on the square as the sun set, then entered the museum. I moved slowly through the museum, completely spacing out in the Egyptian wing, and made little progress. The admission was free for students, so I could return, I reasoned. The museum attendants were eager to leave early, so I decided not to linger and headed out onto the streets. Literature describing Lyon never fails to mention the city's culinary reputation, and I was eager to indulge, but Monday was not the night to do it. Virtually every restaurant was closed save a single street - Rue des Marronniers. Littered with a mix of seriously touristy, and some more authentic eateries, the bustling pedestrian street reminded me of Paris' Latin Quarter where foreigners are accosted by pushy maître d’s. Here though, I was left to myself to choose a restaurant selected one for its unassuming, yet well-occupied interior and decent prices. The waitress, who sat me in a row of fellow single diners, took my beer order briskly and plopped a huge menu board down in front of me,. I thought she was giving me the tourist treatment until I watched the rest of the diners ordering in the same manner. Feeling adventurous, I blindly chose the andouillette. The dish served was a rich and mysterious sausage with sides of cooked vegetables and potatoes. Delicious, but heavy, the meal lived up to Lyon's reputation for indulgent cuisine.

I wandered a bit after dinner, in hopes of digesting a bit more. The next day would be productive, I decided, and retired to the hostel early. While the days were cloudy during my time in Lyon, the nights provided better opportunities for photos.

Three of Lyon's monuments - Back Row: Basilica Notre-Dame de Fourvière, Tour Metallique de Fourvière, Front Row: Cathédrale Saint-Jean-Baptiste de Lyon

Cool pedestrian bridge

In the morning I got up later than I had hoped, and moved uphill into the Fourvière section of Lyon, site of Roman ruins. There was a plot of land with two former Roman theaters side-by-side, now partially restored.

The larger theater, built in 15 BC with a capacity of 10,000, originally had columns behind the stage, and the theater was covered with cloth stretching from the back of the stands to the columns. Past the ruins lies the Basilica Notre-Dame de Fourvière. The church was a pleasant surprise - its gilded interior was decorated with incredible biblical mosaics, a refreshing change from typical stone-facade interiors.

I relaxed in the basilica for a few minutes, although the church was no reprieve from the cold and I struggled but failed to warm my hands.

Alleyway between Fourvière and Vieux Lyon

The walk back downhill was memorable for its tight alley staircases winding between apartment buildings. Sounds couldn't escape the stairwells; flute music gave way to shrieks of toddlers at a daycare center. I descended into the heart of Vieux Lyon, a pedestrian area populated by students congregating at kebab shops rather than tourists. The streets smelled not of urine or pollution, but of delicious incubating food. I had a kebab for lunch, following the lead of the students and saving money and room for dinner. After cris-crossing old Lyon a few times and soaking in the quaint, quiet walkways, I walked north, crossing over the Rhone, then the Saone rivers toward slightly more modern parts of Lyon. At the north end of the city lies the Parc de la Tête d'Or, where I did a lap along the manmade lake with barely a handful of people in sight.

It's around this point - the 36-hour mark - of a solo trip that I start to talk to myself. I narrated my own thoughts as I moved back into the eastern section of the city. It was cold and overcast and only getting colder, so I stopped in the Centre Commercial Part Dieu, an enormous shopping mall, to warm up and replace a hat I had left on the train the day before while helping the British girl with her bags. Less than two weeks before Christmas the American-style mall was packed with shoppers.

Night drifted on and I headed west back toward the old city, eager to try one of the many restaurants that had been shuttered the previous night. Waiting to cross an intersection, I noticed a van with some sort-of lit camera-like contraption on top. As the van turned slowly, and its music blared, the camera rotated and revealed itself to be a complete menorah. I quick-drew my camera and snapped some pictures to send to my Jewish friends, but they saw me and pulled over. "Est-que vous etes juifs?" No, I responded, but I have many friends who are.

The Hannukah-mobile

The restaurant I selected was busy, but didn't warrant my seating in the worst possible spot - behind the computerized cash register screen in fact. I could see exactly what diners were ordering though, and followed suit. The first course, salade lyonnaise, would pass for a full meal most places. The next course, a steak doused in a decadent sauce I can only describe as donut batter, sharing the plate grudgingly with a huge portion of creamy potatoes, was plain overwhelming. I gave up halfway through, opting for a bit of light dessert. The plate that came out next made me laugh out loud. It was a full on sundae boat of ice cream with half a bottle of whipped cream on top. I offered some to the man next to me, but he declined, laughing as well. Another diner paused as she left the restaurant to comment, and I caught the words "impossible de finir." She was right. I went for a walk in the old city to digest before returning to the hostel. IN the morning I was on the first train toward Metz, arriving by mid-day to begin the arduous apartment-cleaning process.

Not sure what building this is, but it looks pretty cool lit up

I believe those are floating night clubs in the foreground

The Hannukah-mobile

Enormous plate of ice cream - the photo doesn't capture the full size. Also they serve water for free in Lyon! Probably because they know you'll need it to digest their heavy fare.

Val d'Isère Dec. 11-13

2010-01-10T12:18:00.000-08:00

Phil, my friend at GTL, had bugged me to do a ski trip all semester. We settled on the weekend after finals. I noticed that a world cup skiing event would be held in Val d'Isère that very weekend. I've done an awful lot of skiing over the years, and the prices in Europe were hard to justify, so I told Phil Val d'Isere is where we're headed, and I'm going to watch the world cup, at least part of the time. I found a hostel in Tignes, a nearby resort and part of the Espace Killy - the combination of both Tignes and Val d'Isère ski areas with interconnecting lifts. Through the hostel we got discounted lift passes and ski rentals as well as delicious meals. Here is a map of the two resorts.

The trip to Val d'Isère was no cakewalk. A train company strike nullified one of our potential routes, and nearly prevented me from travelling at all. In one of my most clutch instances of ipod touch use yet, I connected to wifi at the Metz train station used an app called Irail to find a variety of routes that not even the glorious Bahn.de german rail website would have provided, and picked one that left early Friday morning. Half of the GTL undergrads caught the 6AM bus into Metz to the train station, the majority heading to Paris to fly home. It was a nice way to see everybody off. Our itinerary sent Phil and me through Germany, then Switzerland, and back into France where we ended up at Bourg St.-Maurice, an hour bus ride from Tignes, at 6 PM. The whole train trip, we never knew if the 615 Tignes bus, the last one departing for the day, would have space for us, but we were more concerned with making our connections as a single missed train would doom us to spend a night in a train station. Everything was seamless though, and by 7 we were unpacking in our very own comfortable hostel room, before sitting down to a delicious three-course meal prepared by a hostel cook.

I can't say enough about the ski hostel experience. It was comfortable, affordable, and the meals were outstanding - worth about half the price of the hostel room. There were a number of British adults and families there. The hostel price, they explained, is such that they can take multiple ski holidays. Tignes Les Boisses, the village where the hostel was located was sleepy though, and the hostel lacked any sort of party atmosphere. I suspect hostels at other, less posh, more youth-oriented ski resorts are a bit rowdier.

A hostel worker told us that Saturday would be great weather for skiing and Sunday would be the opposite. I specifically remember her using the word sun, but it was nowhere to be found as we boarded our first lift, nor did it make more than a fleeting appearance over the course of the day. Phil and I struggled with the limited visibility, although the snow was decent and the trails were long, steep and interesting. We spent most of the day near Tignes. I rode my first ski-funicular, a train in a tunnel that moved up about as fast as I would come down. We enjoyed skiing at the top of the glacier, but stayed on-piste, heeding warning signs that showed stick-figure skiers falling into crevasses.

Later on I went over to Val d'Isère to see if the slalom was still going on. I talked to a ski patroller and got the details for the next day's race - GS starting at 10 AM. I skiied back to Tignes where I found out I couldn't make it down to Les Boisses on ski and would have to take a bus. I had some time to kill and took a few more runs, but by now the sun had set and visibility was absurdly poor. I nearly crashed after bucking over a fresh, unmarked, invisible mound of manmade snow, and decided to call it quits. At the bus stop I chatted with a Brit on vacation and a Danish man and his French girlfriend. The latter two were "Seasonaires" living in Les Boisses, meaning they work for the season at a ski resort, so they can ski or snowboard in their free time. They got cold waiting for the bus and hitchhiked down to Les Boisses.

Tignes' original village was destroyed intentionally in the mid 20th-century, as a hydro electric dam was built, flooding the town. The original church was moved up a hundred meters to Les Boisses, where it stands across from the hostel. This was my view Saturday morning.

Tignes' original church

I left Phil to nervously ski on his own, while I caught a bus to Val D'Isère. Racing was about to begin as I arrived. The crowd was mostly French, with a small Italian contingent. There were banners with competitors' names and people wearing jackets for specific skier fan clubs. A few younger fans had chest paint, cowbells, and even a truck horn mounted on a pole that accounted for a large portion of the crowd's noisemaking capability. The partisan fans cheered raucously for the French skiers despite their poor showing at the event. I was handed a starting list as I entered and spotted the names of Ted Ligety and Bode Miller on it, but Bode never raced. I read a few days later that he had sprained his ankle playing volleyball the night before. I guess I would believe that story - who knows. Needless to say I was disappointed. Ted did alright. He led the race with about 10 skiers to go, but was soon knocked off the podium. The winner was the Austrian Marcel Hirscher.

French fans waved flags, screamed "Allez Allez", rang cowbells and sounded truck horns as their countrymen skied

Some pretty awful footage from yours truly.

Ted Ligety in his brief stint on the podium, before being unseated

Another view of the race course

View of the mountains from Val d'Isere's base

Between races, I walked through the Val D village, then wandered down the main road where I spotted a go-kart racing course. I watched a few youths getting the hang of the hard-packed snow lanes. I eventually returned to the World Cup area. Nearby there was a kicker with an airbag in the landing for people of all ages to try new tricks. I thought it was a great idea. The airbag could have been a little wider and longer, though. There were definitely some close calls. Skiers landing in the airbag tended to lose their skis, but the landings looked reasonably comfortable and cushioned.

Kicker with airbag.

People tried all sorts of snow toys on the kicker...

and some weren't snow toys at all

Phil and I wandered up above the Tignes dam and found this helipad, where the pilots were putting away the chopper for the day.

The view from our hostel window

Monday morning I parted ways for good with Phil and headed to Lyon.

Indoor Tournament 12/6

2010-01-10T11:38:00.000-08:00

I didn't plan any trips for the first weekend of December to allow a little time for studying before my first and hardest final - Thermodynamics - set to take place first thing Monday morning. I was, however, talked into a soccer tournament. "10 am until 230 PM," friend and GTL graduate student Malek explained. I

left with a few GTL grad students at 9 AM and rode to a gym nearer the center of Metz. Inside were around 70 people, mostly in their 20's, warming up. This is going to be fun, I thought. I started the first game up front, but missed a few open looks and was moved to a more defensive position. We were methodical and disciplined, while many of the other teams had very skilled players, but couldn't quite muster the teamwork necessary to beat us. In the first round, we tied two and won two.

During our second tie, we had a defensive breakdown when two of our players went to chase the ball, and I slid away from my man, to cover another at the near post. A pass was made to the man I had been assigned, who was now wide open and buried a goal. First on the field, then afterward, Mohammed, my teammate threw a hissy fit, blaming me. I explained that I had moved because the near-post man was more of a threat and that two of our teammates had chased the ball, leaving the near-post man unmarked. My team continued to feud, even though the result seemed, and would eventually prove, insignificant. I had to leave the area, so disgusting was the display of frustration and bickering by my teammates. This made me think long and hard about cultural differences and how they might be to blame. In the U.S., everyone plays team sports at some point, learning lessons of teamwork, personal responsibility, and winning and losing as a team. I'm not sure France has the youth team sport infrastructure. Doesn't that affect teamwork in non-sports environments? Imagine a company project setback where everyone instantly points the finger at the first sign of adversity. Maybe blame was their way of trying to improve the team. Maybe it's a cultural difference, and merely that. Or maybe it was just this group or even individual players that were just a bit too competitive.

We played flawlessly the next few games. I was instructed not to make such reckless runs at the goal - to be more defensive-minded. "I'm Dani Alves" I explained partly joking, but I don't think they understood the reference to the equally reckless, but infinitely more effective Barcelona right back.

After group play ended, there was a vote held on how many teams would be allowed into the playoffs. It was a sham - obviously any team that didn't make the playoffs would vote for more teams in the playoffs, and they outnumbered the teams opposing the rule change. So we had an extra game on our slate. In the run through the playoffs, we played some incredibly skilled individuals, but they spent more time moving side to side than at the goal, and they lacked any sort of coherent passing that could penetrate our defense. We won one playoff game on penalty kicks and the next two we wrapped up with early goals. There was no bickering as we celebrated our championship and posed for a zillion pictures with the 2nd and 3rd place teams.

The tournament involved 11 teams and took place on a single field or court. We left at 6:00 PM. So much for studying for thermodynamics.

We had a lot of time to kill. The stands were full of players at the beginning of the day, but the teams were slowly eliminated, and went home.

Champions: R-L Me, Fred, Mohammed, Mallek, and another player we picked up, I can't remember his name, but he was a really good goalie, and won PK's for us

Munich 11/29

2009-12-08T11:50:00.000-08:00

After a wonderfully exhausting day in Fussen, I decided to extend my weekend in Bavaria into Monday. Rather than take a night train departing around 7 PM, I opted instead to take my time in Munich, get a good night's sleep, and catch the first train to Metz in the morning.

New City Hall at Marienplatz

I was up comfortably early Sunday morning, and, armed with a tourist map, I strode into the old city in search of, not surprisingly, churches. As I came through the heavily commercialized pedestrian streets, I first found the Marienplatz. Here, in the literal and figurative shadow of the new city hall buildings, christmas market booths bustled. I moved on to the Max-Joseph, snapped some photos, and inspected a church that, according to Let's Go, had a tower with an excellent view of the city. Mass was in progress inside the Theatinerkirche and the sweet singing of the choir persuaded me to take a seat for a minute. I ended up staying for the entire mass, which had apparently just begun as I arrived. The sermon was completely lost on me, but I enjoyed the choir, and it felt good to be back in church. I didn't take any pictures, but the interior, was tall and well-lit, but austere and white-washed.

Theatinerkirche (Theatine church)

Small square off of Max-Joseph Platz. Buildings are part of Munich's Residenz.

Next I checked out the Residenz, a palace whose first phase was begun in 1385. The seat of the Bavarian monarchs whose power fluctuated heavily over the years, the massive Residenz was in many ways reminiscent of the palace at Versailles, with lavish appointments at every turn. The Residenz was heavily damaged in WWII, but restoration, completed in 1980, made it difficult to distinguish the original rooms from the restored ones.

One of the palace's simpler rooms

The Residenz's oldest room, the Antiquarium, was originally designed to display antiques, but surely held a few fish as well once it was converted to a dining hall in the 16th century

On display in the antiquarium, this display case of beautiful china holds mint condition plates bearing Munich's blue and white colors and images of the city's mascot, the lion

The ceiling of this room is painted to create an optical illusion of a lofty vaulted roof, but the illusion is effective only when viewed from the very center of the room. Look closely at this picture.

This treasury room contains many relics. The skulls and hands contained in various golden bejeweled monstrances are allegedly those of saints. Relics were considered more valuable than gold during the height of Papal power, so monarchs sought to collect and display them.

Steeds of Neptune - Walter Crane - Neue Pinakothek

Next I visited Munich's solid museums - Althe Pinakothek and Neue Pinakothek. The Althe held classical paintings, that were, to me at least, forgettable. There was a Rubens exhibition taking place that reinforced my impression from my Amsterdam trip that Rubens' art is bland and overappreciated. My time would probably have better spent at Pinakothek der Moderne, a modern art museum. The Neue Pinakothek was more my style, featuring artists like Van Gogh, virtually the entire impressionist clan as well as sculptures by Rodin.

It was getting late, but there was still one interesting place open. I made my way by metro to the olympicpark area. The BMW museum was open, but nearly empty. The cashier explained that everyone gets the student discount at this late hour.

Ice-climbing wall outside the BMW plant

Here's a brief history of the BMW company as I remember it: BMW first made airplane engines in the early 20th century, then moved into motorcycles, was a war-manufacturer employing concentration camp labor in WWII, and was eventually allowed to restart operations years after the war.

Early BMW airplane engine

One of their first motorcycles

Feast for the engineering eye

Side view

BMW's foray into jet engines

A quirky, popular 1950's BMW Isetta

My favorite room of the museum, where each engine's corresponding set of headphones played the sound of the engine going 0-60.

Race car and concept car

Single-person flier ....

Its wing looks like a windsurfing sail to me

BMW plant with TV tower in background

The BMW museum, despite its attempts at high-tech interactive exhibits, catered to the car and company enthusiasts, more than the casual observer like myself. A friend explained later, that the plant tour, unavailable on weekends, was the highlight of his visit to BMW world.

I took a metro back to the city center, where I ate dinner at the Augustiner beer hall. I ordered Roast Pork knuckle from an english menu, and, for my first time in Europe, had my age questioned after ordering a beer. The pork knuckle was the heaviest meal I had had yet. I could feel each bite slide slowly into my stomach. The side of potato dumpling was visually appealing, but as physically painful as the pork, and certainly less tasty. This was one of the few meals I did not finish during my semester.

Füssen 11/28

2009-12-04T08:13:00.000-08:00

View from the train

I left mid-day Friday, connecting trains a few times on my way to Munich. I was there for Oktoberfest in early November, but spent my entire day at the 'Fest grounds. The plan for this trip was to take a daytrip to Füssen, a town at the foot of the alps, and spend another day in Munich. I arrived in Munich Friday evening, and settled in at the hostel bar where I met Ian, a transplant Brit who was living near Füssen. Ian and I chatted a while - he explained his dislike of Brits, Americans, and big cities, all of which he was surrounded by at the moment. I met some girls from Vermont and New Hampshire, and later spotted a familiar face at a table nearby. On closer inspection, it was Heath, one of the Americans I had partied with in Marseille. I said hello, but it looked like he was in tears, as he sat opposite a girl who might well have been his now ex-girlfriend. It was quite a coincidence; I even texted Sohail, my companion on the Marseille trip to tell him about it.

After what turned into a few hours at the bar, I went to sleep, but my alarm was not loud enough to wake me up on time for my 6:15 AM train. I happened to wake up at 6:35, checked alternate train times, and sprinted the short distance to the station to make a 6:51 train. Not bad, I thought.

The ride to Füssen, the latter half at least, was stunning. A carpet of magic green countryside and clusters of red-roofed villages rolled out a welcome mat to the alps behind. I switched sides at every turn, marvelling at the magnificent views. I pitied the tourist across the aisle, about my age, who was sleeping soundly, while the ride had the opposite effect on me.

View from the train

Füssen, located five kilometers from the Austrian border in southern Germany, is situated near the Neuschwanstein and Hohenschwangau Castles, both mouthful names that I still can't pronounce. The picturesque village was the shooting location for many scenes from "The Great Escape" including the motorcycle stunts. I paid for admission to Neuschwanstein, which included a brief guided tour. The castle is located on a hillside overlooking Füssen, and the countryside beyond, with views of the alps in the opposite direction. Constructed relatively recently under King Ludwig II in the 1800's, Neuschwanstein, was designed as a soaring tribute to the German composer Wagner and his operas. One passageway was a dramatic cave, with stalagtites hanging from the ceiling. "Was this meant to be left natural like this or is this an unfinished room?" I asked the tour-guide, envisioning the cave as part of the original rock foundation. "That's wood and molding - it's part of the scenery." At least she didn't laugh at my momentary brain lapse.

Neuschwanstein, Hohenschwangau Castles

The sun never quite rose above the alps to shine light on the area around the castles

Hohenschwangau Castle

View of Schwangau village from Neuschwanstein

One of the rooms - the throne room I believe - was one of the most beautiful rooms I've ever seen. Photos were forbidden, but I would have taken one had there been enough light. The view, the architecture, and the incredible artwork on the walls left an impression on me, although my mental visual image has already begun to fade.

The king's bedroom was impressive as well. It featured a bed that I found unusual because it was built into the corner of the room, rather than centered on a wall and sticking out into the room. It was probably a function of limited space, though. The truly remarkable aspect was the carving done above the bed - ornate cathedrals topped the bed's canopy. It took four carvers fourteen years, or fourteen carvers four years (not sure which) to decorate the bedroom alone.

Most of the castle was unfinished. King Ludwig died prematurely in 1886, drowned in inches of water along with his psychologist. The castle was soon after opened as a museum to pay Bavaria's debts. The tour was thus brief, and at noon, I was back outside, ready to head up into the mountains behind the castle.

Neuschwanstein Castle

View of manmade snowmelt-fed lake from just below Neuschwanstein

While Fussen is a popular tourist destination, I would not have considered it if it weren't for a few other GTL students who made the trip in September. They enticed me with stories of hiking. Just as my friends and I got caught on the mountain at nightfall in Interlaken, Switzerland, this group summited near Fussen at 9:30 PM. They made a harrowing descent in pitch-black, and lived to tell the tale. So I planned to hike in Fussen with a wary eye on my watch.

View from the Hike

The hiking was no joke. The slopes were near vertical, and the trails switchbacked frequently, weaving between shear rock faces. Thankfully, there were other hikers around in case I misstepped, which seemed both possible and dangerous on the Fussen trails. The route was supposed to take 3 hours one-way, but I decided to set a turn-around time to make my return before sunset. The round-trip ended up being 3 hours, as I moved quickly and took limited breaks. I turned around at the Tegelbergbahn tram station, which serves one massive ski trail in the winter. The views the whole way were incredible, and I enjoyed every minute of the hike.

These could be spliced into a panorama, but paint, my only option, really isn't the proper application for the job

Back at the bottom, I just missed the last tour for the Hohenschwangau Castle. I walked 2km to the nearby village of Schwangau, where I checked out a ski shop, bought some fruit and chocolate at a grocery store, and eventually found a bus to Fussen. It was too bad that night had fallen to obstruct views of the countryside on the train ride back to Munich, but I got some much-needed sleep instead. As I got off the train, I glanced at my phone to see if Sohail had texted me back. Instead I found my outbox entirely full of text messages to AJ, the first contact in my phone. The phone had been sending messages while I was hiking, my thigh pushing the buttons. All 40 of them read "Just bumped into Heath."

Praha 11/21

2009-11-30T15:10:00.000-08:00

Phil and I had a comfortable hostel stay. I made efficient use of the breakfast, stuffing down multiple sandwiches along with bowls of cereal and eggs. We rode the subway to join the rest of Prague's tourists at the Prague Castle. Built on top of a hill overlooking the city, the castle would have offered excellent views if it weren't for the haze. We took some photos anyway.

We entered the castle area, passing by two unflinching Czech military guards that reminiscent of Buckingham Palace guards. We purchased tickets that allowed us into a well-preserved civilian section of the "Castle" called Golden Lane. In retrospect, the 70,000 square meter Prague Castle did not resemble a traditional medieval castle, but rather a tightly spaced old town surrounding a spectacular cathedral. On display in Golden Lane building were chainmail and suits of armor.

I was particularly interested in this window. The slot, I believe, is for shooting arrows. The cylindrical piece of wood can be rotated to close the window entirely. We inspected a prison tower, then moved into the religious section of the castle.

St. George's Basilica

St. George's Basilica was founded in 920, although it has surely been rebuilt since then. It was one of the many Prague churches and concerthalls hosting daily classical concerts. Facing the Basilica was the glorious St. Vitus Cathedral.

St. Vitus Cathedral

With my back against a nearby building, I still could not photograph the entire cathedral. The Cathedral was founded in 1344, and here lie many Bohemian kings.

Interior of St. Vitus

Next we toured the Old Royal Palace. Photos were prohibited, but I took some non-flash stealth shots. From the Castle grounds, we walked into the city center, crossing the Charles Bridge in the process. It is one of the more elaborate old bridges in the world, decorated every 50 feet or so with a religious sculpture of some sort. It had some more modern relevance to me, as the site of scenes in the movie Mission: Impossible. I had the strange urge to give a Mission: Impossible tour. "This is the Charles Bridge where IMF agent Jim Phelps faked his own death and dove into the Charles River. Here is the parking lot where Claire Phelps' car exploded, but she was not inside at the time. This is the gate where the diplomat carrying the fake NOC list was stabbed." Okay, I didn't find the gate, but seeing the Charles Bridge, and enjoying the view of the city amidst the many vendors and strolling people was a pleasure.

Charles Bridge

Crucifixion on Charles Bridge

Concert hall of some sort

Phil and I took a breather on the steps of this concert hall, then made our way into the heart of Prague - at least the commercial and tourist heart.

Old Town Square

Christmas Carolers

There was a choir performing in a busy pedestrian area. It was an elaborate setup with TV cameras and professional lighting. There was even a light inside a tethered balloon floating 30 feet in the air. The carolers were excellent, singing Latin hymns as well as some more popular music - I definitely heard Hakuna Matata from the Lion King. Hearing Christmas music left me a bit homesick, possibly for the first time since arriving in France.

Later that night, Phil and I spent happy hour at the dirt cheap hostel bar, enjoying Pilsener Urquell, Budweiser Budvar, and other excellent Czech beers with some older traveling Brits and ex-pat Americans. After a game of Kings and some various others, Phil and I ate dinner, then returned to the hostel briefly. A friend of mine from Westport, Sean Soderstrom, was in Prague and I made plans to meet him across town. I dragged Phil along, but we left without a map and soon we were hopelessly lost on the trams. After an hour and a half of tram-riding, we were back where we started and decided to call it quits.

Kutna Hora 11/22

2009-11-30T13:57:00.000-08:00

Dun Dun Dunnnnnn!!!!!

The main draw for tourists in Kutna Hora is the Sedlec Ossuary, meaning bone repository. Phil and I left Prague in the morning for a quick train ride to Kutna Hora. Our first stop was the Sedlec Ossuary, a chapel, cemetery and ossuary, where we inspected the finest human skeletal art on the planet. There were four vaults of neatly arranged bones as well as a variety of other bone artwork. The crown jewel was a chandelier incorporating at each bone in the human body at least once. In medieval times, the land around the church was believed to be blessed on account of the sprinkling of sacred earth transported from holy lands by the monastery's abbot. Burial there was highly sought after and, especially after the plague, the cemetery became packed. When the chapel was built, the bones from excavated mass graves were piled beneath the chapel. In the late 1800's a local woodcarver was given the task of arranging the boneneatly, and he took some interesting liberties.

Me with bone chandelier

Coat of Arms

While we came for the bone church, we soon discovered that the town itself was a gem. The ossuary was on the outskirts, so we trekked into town past the soviet-era apartment buildings and into the old quarter. We were rewarded with incredible views of the sun setting behind old buildings and another incredible cathedral signifying the city's one-time importance.

Church of St. James

My photos don't do this view justice

St. Barbara Cathedral

Golden at sunset

We wandered through the old town, up to the St. Barbara Cathedral on the outskirts where we lingered taking photos in spurts as the sun peeked out now and then from behind a cloud. In town we had a delicious Italian dinner for half the cost of what we would have paid in countries further west. Eventually we made our way to the central train station where a two-car gas-powered train took us to Kutna Hora's main rail stop. Then it was on to Prague and an overnight train back to Metz.

Berlin 11/20

2009-11-24T12:05:00.000-08:00

Phil and I had discussed a trip to Prague for a few weeks before we left on this trip. A few days before our departure, we checked out a map and noticed Berlin was near Prague, well, within 5 hours by train. Worried about missing out on a must-see city, we added Berlin as the first stop on our trip. Five train changes and 12 hours after leaving Metz, we arrived in Berlin and got down to business. Our first stop was the Reichstag building, the meeting place for the Bundestag German parliament. Established in 1949, after the post-World War II elimination of the Reichstag (parliament under and prior to Nazi reign). The building was built in 1894 to house the Reichstag, but languished during the cold-war period. A fire in 1933 was grounds for the Nazi party to temporarily strip constitutional rights in an effort to seize power and expel communist enemies. The dome features a spiral staircase that visitors can climb. We waited in line, but decided a visit, although free, wasn't quite worth the wait.

Reichstag Building

On we went to the Brandenburg gate. The gate was built in the 1700's under commission from Prussian king William II of Prussia as a peace symbol. Greek-inspired, and topped by a statue of Roman goddess of victory, Victoria, the gate is a symbol of Berlin and the site of many historic events, including Reagan's "Tear down this wall" speech. The bottom half of this photo shows the wreckage surrounding the gate in 1945.

Brandenburg Gate

November 9, 2009 was the 20th anniversary of the fall of the Berlin wall. We arrived at the wall two weeks late for the celebration. There are only scattered remnants around the city - it was torn down after all. The section we visited was near Checkpoint Charlie, the checkpoint of the U.S.-controlled section of West Berlin. The wall was simple, made of rebar-reinforced concrete sections, each about 5 feet wide and 9 feet tall, cemented into a 260 foot section that stands today.

I had forgotten the exact details of the occupation of Berlin, but eighth grade history lessons came back in a flash as I read some nearby informational signage. After World War II, democratic NATO nations disputed the borders of Germany with communist USSR. The resolution involved splitting Germany in two. Berlin was an extremely important city to both sides, so that city was split in two as well. Berlin, was not located on the border of East and West Germany, though. It fell squarely in East Germany, so splitting it was an awkward situation geographically (not to mention politically, culturally and on and on). To stem the flow of Berliners into the NATO-nation-controlled Western section, the USSR built a wall around the entirety of West Germany, which makes sense given that it is surrounded entirely by East Berlin, not just on one side.

Preserved section of Berlin Wall at the Topography of Terror museum site

And the other side

Me at the wall

After seeing the wall section, walking its length, and reading some detailed museum-style outdoor history, we headed through the Gendarmenmarkt square, surrounded by imposing 1700's architecture. Local vendors were setting up elaborate Christmas-Market booths, although "booth" does not do them justice. Many were expansive, heavily decorated, and heated. Some looked like full-on restaurants. Phil and I stopped in a museum on the square that detailed the German Bundestag's history (1949 - Present). It was free, but entirely in German, so we moved through very quickly.

Gendarmenmarkt and Christmas Market booths

I suggested to Phil that we eat lunch in the Cafe in the Fernsehturm TV tower, the second largest building in Europe. On our way, we stopped to take pictures of the Berliner Dom, and some other weathered, but beautiful buildings. I haven't yet had the opportunity to stitch them together for a panoramic.

Berliner Dom

The Fensehrtrum

We arrived at the T.V. tower (Fensehrtrum) only to find out that tickets were 10 euros to get to the top, and the wait would put us in danger of missing our train. Phil is a big fan of taking panoramic pictures, sometimes with multiple rows taking up hundreds upon hundreds of megabytes, but we both agreed it was better to make our train and save some money.

Statue of Friedrich Engels

This unlabeled statue in the shadow of the Fensehrtrum looked familiar; cut out on the left is the seated Karl Marx, with whom Engels collaborated.

Soviet War Memorial

Hoping to save some money rather than pay for a bathroom, I wandered through the brush of a public park and happened upon this memorial - the most satisfying find of the day.

And on we went to Prague we went, sleeping most of the way there.

Amsterdam 11/13

2009-11-23T05:55:00.000-08:00

Armistice day fell on Wednesday this year, inspiring many of the GTL students to be sick on thursday, creating a five-day weekend to travel. Unfortunately, I actually was sick Wednesday and Thursday. My illness probably could have been avoided with a little extra rest on Tuesday, but I felt bad missing class in the midst of a short week. My friends headed off on a whirlwind tour of Brussels, Bruges, and Ghent, while I slept, read, and didn't set foot outside my room for nearly 48 hours.

Feeling better on Friday, I rode trains north to Amsterdam to meet Jon, Sohail, and Phil. Actually, as my train passed through Antwerp, they boarded directly onto my car. Finally, we had enough people for a game of pitch. Arriving in the evening in Amsterdam, we found our hostel, then set out to find a restaurant from the Let's Go guide that, we soon discovered, did not exist. We ended up eating at an Irish pub. I called my friend AJ, who was in Amsterdam with Dylan, (whom I spent time with on the Barcelona trip). On our way to meet him in the Red Light District, I bumped into Gerrard Mooney, a kid my age who used to live in Westport. The Red Light district was impressive in size, and, I hate to say it, classiness. The main streets were filled with windows where lingerie models modeled lingerie for men looking to buy lingerie for their girlfriends (just kidding). Amidst the red glow of the prostitute coves were bars and coffeeshops. Amsterdam coffeeshops sell Marijuana legally, but despite its widespread acceptance, the coffeeshops were pretty grungy and the pot itself was kept in filthy tupperware containers. We hung out with AJ and Dylan at the Jungle Coffeeshop, then headed out to see the rest of the district.

The next morning, we started at the Van Gogh Museum, which I thought was amazing. The others grew bored, but I made sure to see every bit of art and continued to keep track of my favorites. Outside the Van Gogh Museum was a long stretch of grass surrounded by beautiful buildings.

Amsterdam lacks the traditional photo-obligatory sites of most European cities. Compound that fact with the lack of sun during my trip and photos took a backseat to soaking in the atmosphere. Th entire city was beautiful - neatly dressed in brick. There were nearly as many bikes as cars - simple, heavy city bikes that shops advertised for 700 euros and up. It was easy to appreciate the bike culture benefits like independence, environmentalism, unless you stepped into the bike path and were cursed out.

In the afternoon we walked through a mile-long market at Albert Cuypmarkt. We continued to wander the streets, taking in the buildings and canals. Amsterdam has canals that form concentric rings around the center. To move any great distance usually involves crossing a number of canals.

Later on, we had beers at the Leidseplein, a square at the heart of Amsterdam's non-red-light nightlife. The Let's Go restaurant recommended a restaurant known for its steaks. The prices had nearly doubled compared to the guidebook, as corroborated by the well-dressed local clientele, but we indulged anyway.

In the morning on Friday, I went to the Rijksmuseum to get another art fix. The musuem was filled with paintings by the Dutch masters. Rembrandt was the most prominently featured. I had hoped to see some Vermeer work, but only two of his paintings were exhibited. Once I had my fill of portraits, the project of choice of the Dutch masters, I headed for the train station to meet my friends.

Arles 11/8

2009-11-16T18:09:00.000-08:00

On Sunday, Sohail and I took an afternoon train to Arles. Arles is known for its Roman ruins, as well as for being the home of Van Gogh for many years. The city made a cameo in the movie Ronin, with its Arenes playing an important role. The amphitheater was built around the first century B.C.

Renovation of Les Arènes

Virtually all of the monuments I've seen have been restored to some degree. Here restorers are replacing entire blocks of limestone. It's good to know the buildings are well-cared for, but at the same time, it's difficult to determine how authentic these kind of ruins really are.

Sohail and I walked from the train station, stopping first at the arena, then moving past the ruined Roman theater, to the main square - Place de la République. Arles - at least the old section - is a decidedly cozy town, lacking much of the commercial development that defaces the beautiful buildings of larger European cities. The main square was billboard free.

Church in Place de la République

Place de La République

Sunset turned this tower orange

After dark, Sohail and I wandered the narrow streets of the old city's residential areas. The apartments were unmasked by curtains. Some of the walls bowed out into the street, showing signs of age.

Sunset from the Rhone river

We walked along the river for a bit and got some cool pictures of the sunset. The riverwalk appeared to be a new construction. A flyer posted on the path that addressed dog owners read something like: "We made a 20 million dollar investment and we can't even clean up after our dogs?"

We wandered back to Les Arènes, which looked very cool lit up.

We planned to catch our night train back to Metz in Nîmes, Julien's city of birth, so we took a train there next. A match between Olympique Marseille and Olympique Lyon was scheduled for the evening, so Sohail and I found a bar in Nimes that looked like it would show the game. Sure enough, the bar steadily filled with fans, all males between the ages of 16 and 35. Loyalties lay mostly with Marseille, whose goal were loudly cheered and greeted with the ringing of a bell. The Olympique Lyon fans were plenty loud themselves, and even hijacked the bar's bell after one goal. The thriller featured 10 goals and ended up tied. With some time yet before our train, Sohail and I tried out our long exposure camera tricks at Nîmes' Roman Arena

Les Arènes Nîimes

We boarded the night train at midnight. Sohail slept soundly in his couchette, while I shut my eyelids in a vain attempt.

Montpellier

2009-11-16T17:18:00.000-08:00

Place de la Comédie

And At Night

Julien opened up us his apartment to Sohail and me and even found us a huge air matress to share. He picked us up from the train station and took us first to the supermarket. We bought some beer and wine and Sohail and Julien played the 100 million euro lottery. Our dinner stop was a pizza truck that Julien talked up. He claimed the owner had multiple trucks because his pizza was so good, but Sohail and I suffered through it. At Julien's apartment, we were introduced to Ahmed, Julien's Turkish friend. Ahmed speaks very little French, but is somehow taking all his classes in French. His English was pretty good though, and he was a verry funny guy. We went out to a bar called Circus, met two of Julien's female friends, and relaxed while wasting money on drinks.

The next day Julien gave us the tour of Montpellier. We went to the Musée Fabré, which had plenty of excellent art, including an extensive modern art collection. Montpellier, naturally, has an Arc de Triomphe, which is built next to a Roman acqueduct.

Arc de Triomphe Montpellier

Aqueduc St. Clément

Crucifix at dusk

After wandering the old, narrow streets for a while, we stopped at an Irish pub and watched Real Madrid play Atlético Madrid on a TV. Julien's girlfriend appeared and we followed her to a jam-packed nautical-themed bar. The place truly was a ship's cabin, long, but with a narrow beam - proof that France has no fire safety codes.

A French Rally race finished nearby, with the awards ceremony held in the city center. From a distance we could see the winner pop his champagne and celebrate.

We got back to Julien's apartment via Tram, then car. It soon became clear that we had seen the best of Montpellier, so in the morning, Sohail and I made plans to check out other nearby cities. We were near the Mediterranean and unopposed to the beach, but our best logistical option was the city of Arles. That's where we headed next.

Avignon 11/6

2009-11-12T11:05:00.000-08:00

On Thursday, November 6, Sohail and I boarded a train bound for Avignon. The plan for the weekend was to visit Julien, my hostelmate in Paris the previous week. Our overnight train was uneventful but pretty much sleepless. We arrived in Avignon at 5:00 AM, I advocated for a little sleep in the train station. The waiting room was the most inviting location, but its chairs were standard French train station chairs - designed to ward off sleepers. The real culprit was the cold. Despite its southern location, Avignon was freezing, and we struggled to stay warm. Regardless, some sleep was had, and we didn't leave the station until 9 AM.

The Tourism Office believe it or not

Avignon is a walled city, made famous for its medieval Papal palace which was almost arbitrarily placed there. Sohail and I crossed the old city in 10 minutes and arrived at the Palais des Papes. The palace was a castle-type building built in several phases starting in 1334 under Pope Benedict XII. Pope Clement V was the first Pope to move to France, and did so in 1306 at a time of instability in Rome. He eventually settled in Avignon. The papacy in Avignon only lasted until 1377.

Palais des Papes from the interior

Room where meals were served

View of Avignon from Palais

My audioguide gave me the statistics on one of the feasts at the palace, including 39,000 eggs.

Next Sohail and I found an internet cafe so I could register for my classes for next semester. While I had trouble at first and blamed the computers, Sohail fixed my problems, and was eventually registered. I will be taking Fluid Mechanics, Control Systems, Mechanical Engineering Analysis for Design, and The Art Market.

After registration, I walked back toward the palace to see the Avignon's bridge Pont St-Bénezet. The bridge was built after St. Bénezet came down from the mountains proclaiming his God-given mission to build a bridge in Avignon. The bridge was popularized in the famous French song Sur le Pont d'Avignon. The song describes how people danced on the bridge, however, the very first version described more accurately the dancing that went on beside, not on, the bridge.

Lower level of Pont d'Avignon

View of papal palace from Pont d'Avignon

Sohail and I went to the Musée du Petit Palais, which holds a collection of Renaissance art. We saw about 100 versions of Madonna and child, and little else. The museum is bordered by a small park with a view of the surrounding countryside.

View from the park - In the distance you can see the outline of Mont Ventoux, the most grueling climb on the Tour de France

Small Vineyard with Pont St-Bénezet in background

Satisfied with our visit to Avignon, Sohail and I travelled to Montpellier where Julien was to pick us up at the train station.

Barcelona

2009-11-11T09:56:00.000-08:00

I arrived in Barcelona in the evening of Thursday, Oct. 29th. AJ had given me the address and corresponding metro stop of his friend Almy, our host for the weekend. As I reached street level at the metro stop, I immediately spotted a familiar face. Amber, another of AJ's friends, was on her way to Almy's, so I tagged along with her. Almy was a very gracious host, as were her roommates who didn't bat an eye at the three guys cluttering up their apartment. Already there were AJ and our friend Dylan, who we know through Max Teicher, another friend from Westport.

One of the northernmost Spanish cities, Barcelona lies in an area of Spain called Catalonia. Inhabitants tend to think of themselves as separate from Spain. They speak their own language, a Spanish-French hybrid called Catalan.

Barcelona demanded some serious partying. Almy took us out Thursday night, first to a bar called Fairy Bar. Not a gay bar (I think), Fairy Bar was populated by fake trees, a rainforest canopy, and plenty of Americans. Next Almy led us by taxi to a club called Opium. Located right on the beach, Opium was quite large, packed to the gills, and had an array of seizure-inducing light effects. It was a cool place, but the club experience is really not that exciting.

Partying Spanish-style means returning home at 5 AM. Thus, the next day began around noon. Tour guide Almy took us to Barcelona's unfinished pride and joy, the cathedral La Sagrada Familia. Designed by chosen one Gaudi, La Sagrada Familia is an acid trip of architectural design, better viewed than described. Its construction began in the late 1800's and continues today. The church's design is extremely complicated, which explains in part the construction delays. Gaudi died in 1926, and the cathedral's anticipated completion date is 2026. Tourism now pays for construction - currently costing 18 million euros per year.

La Sagrada Familia still under construction

The Facade seems to be melting - its flowing nature, a contrast to most sharply carved cathedrals

Almy took us to Gaudi-designed Parc Guell. The park was built into a hillside and provides a decent view of the city as well as some brightly colored Gaudi creations.

Parc Guell

We relaxed at the park a little, then made our way back to the apartment for an afternoon siesta. That night we had a similar nightclub adventure. First we went to a packed bar called Chupitos - Spanish for shots. The bar offered about two hundred different types of shots. We tried flaming shots called el Diablo, which came with a fiery cross of flaming alcohol poured and lit on the bar. Almy was a great host, and thanks to her I never paid a cover while I was there. I recognized a bunch of Duke kids while I was out, and even ran in to Dan Rosato, a friend from Westport, who also goes to Duke.

In the morning, or mid-day, I should say, we checked out the Barrio Gotic - the Gothic quarter of Barcelona. We only scratched the surface. After walking for a few hours, we returned to Almy's apartment. It was Halloween and Almy's roommates were hosting a dinner with a bunch of people. Dylan and I had convinced ourselves that we would try the bar scene rather than the clubs that night. He and I watched a soccer game at a nearby bar, and ate delicious cheeseburger with eggs on it - a Spanish delicacy? We went back to the apartment to meet up with Aj and friends and Dylan decided he was going to the clubs, so I felt obligated. We quickly changed and spent Halloween night at a nearby place called Broadbar.

Arc de Trionf

On Sunday morning, AJ and Dylan left early for their fligh, while I left the apartment around 1 PM. I took my excess luggage to a nearby train station to be out of Almy's hair. Then I made use of a Let's go guide I had loaded on my Ipod and wandered down the famous La Rambla tourist drag from Plaza Catalunya all the way to the sea. There was a beautiful port area with the Mirador de Colom - a monument to Colombus - hundreds of ships, a cable car, and a view of Montjuic.

Mirador de Colom

Montjuic was the site of the 1988 Olympic games. If you look closely, you can see the cable car towers silhouetted on the outline of the hill.

The Port

I spent a little time at the port, then walked down to the Barceloneta area for a minute. This district was constructed for people displaced by King Phillip IV's demolition of their homes and construction of a fortress on the grounds of the current park Parc Ciutadella. I would have liked wandered more in Barceloneta but my time was limited. I walked from the Barceloneta metro to the international train hub Estación de França to time the trip and make sure the area was safe for my departure later that night. In the distance I could see a park and made my way to it. Parc Ciutadella was beautiful - certainly less touristed than Parc Guell, and filled with locals: kids wrestling and playing soccer, teens strumming guitars, families picnicing. The Catalan Parliament was on the park grounds, as was a pond with rentable rowboats. At the opposite end of the park was stunning fountain and monument called the Cascada.

Foliage, Pond, Parliament in Parc de la Ciutadella

Catalan Parliament

La Cascada

From Parc de la Ciutadella, I checked out a map on a metro sign and walked toward the Gothic Quarter through Ciutat Vella (old city). The streets were windy and buildings tightly spaced glorified alleys with little of the dusk light making its way into the depths. I passed the Museu Picasso, but the Museu offers free entry on the first Sunday of every month and the line was about an hour long by my estimate. I continued my mapless wandering and found some beautiful squares and an impressive church. Outside the church, street performers played accordions and danced, while inside, a baptism took place. I soaked in the church atmosphere and watched the baptism for a while, then moved on.

As the sun finished setting I picked up my bags from Estación Sants and returned to Estación França with an hour to spare for my return to France. The ride to Metz was disappointing - the name of the train - Trenhotel - and the exorbitant reservation fee of 73 euros (did not include the actual ticket) had me dreaming of some sort of suite with tables and a private bathroom. Instead I shared a cramped room with three aromatic men, and slept in a bed filled with sand. Worst of all my Eurail pass was checked for the first time in Spain, so I had to use a day.

On Sunday, I felt I had seen and experienced more of Barcelona than the previous two days combined. There is something to be said for traveling alone, and also for wandering around a city and happening upon sites. Dylan and I talked at length about our study abroad programs - what we were getting out of them and accomplishing. His is a year-long Spanish immersion program. At all times he is required to speak Spanish, and he lives with two Spanish students who have become his good friends. We also noticed that the Barcelona program seemed to be a relocation of American students to Barcelona en masse. Everyone we seemed to encounter at night was American and many were from my school - Duke, or AJ's school - Wake Forest. Although my program at Georgia-Tech Lorraine is certainly no immersion experience (and after talking to Dylan I wish it were) at least I'm meeting new people.

Cathedral in Cerbère

I shot this from the train, but needed a steadier hand. Cerbère is the first French town across the Spanish border.

Aj, Almy Standing, Dylan squatting

Madrid

2009-11-09T13:16:00.000-08:00

My night train to Madrid was forgettable - as in I cannot remember it at all. I arrived in Irun, just across the Spanish border where I transferred to a comfortable Spanish high-speed train for my trip to Madrid. The trip would take over five hours, I realized just then, noting the time on my ticket of 14:00 which I had previously assumed was the time at which I had originally booked the ticket. Oh well, I had plenty of time to sleep while the supposed bullet train averaged a measly 150 km/hr with some additional unplanned stoppages as well.

Once in Madrid, I dropped my bags off at my convenient and comfortable hostel. Next I checked out the Palacio Real (Royal Palace), the official but unused residence of the King of Spain and largest palace in Europe. I was too late to go inside, but managed some photos through the gates.

Palacio Real

Next door was the Catedral de la Almudena, a recently-completed church with controversial modern decor

The overnight trip fatigue began to hit me and I returned to the hostel for a successful nap. My phone rang and woke me up. AJ, my friend and neighbor in Westport was calling to see where I was. In Madrid for study abroad, he told me to meet him and his friends for dinner. They were a fun, multicultural group, but all seemed to have a real problem with the food. They complained in Spanish, French, English, even Arabic. After dinner, I hung out at AJ's apartment for a bit before catching a late metro back to my hostel.

In the morning I first visited the Museo del Prado, Madrid's world renowned museum featuring Spanish artists like Goya and Velazquez. I didn't quite see the entire museum, but took my time and kept a record of my favorite pieces.

Church adjacent to Museo del Prado

Right nearby the Prado is Parque del Buen Retiro, a beautiful park. I wandered through it, then navigated leisurely through the city using maps posted at bus stops. The weather was wonderfully warm, and the old parts of the city were easily walkable. In the evening I boarded a high-speed train to Barcelona, and made my way at a true high speed of around 300 km/hr.

Monument in Parque del Buen Retiro

Palacio de Communicaciones

Paris Day 5

2009-11-09T11:13:00.000-08:00

On Wednesday, October 28th, I said goodbye to Mr. Araj, who had to go to his university, and Julien, who was heading off to visit a friend in Reims, the famous champagne city. I vowed to make up for the lost time of the day before. The night before Sohail had mentioned the Musée de l'Armée, located inside Les Invalides, which Julien and I had overlooked. Next door is the Musée Rodin, so I connected metros to the Varenne stop. A stationary hundred-person line wrapped around the Musée Rodin, so I opted for the Musée de l'Armée instead.

The museum was an extensive exhibition of military artifacts, memoribilia, uniforms, and weaponry.

In WWI, infantry used this contraption as a portable shield.

These look like grenade-launchers of some sort.

Another Big Gun

For a change of pace, I moved over to the Rodin Museum where the line persisted. A professor once explained that people are happy in a line, only when they are constantly moving forward. This line favored long pauses rather than continuous flow. Once inside, I saw some amazing sculptures - some by the museum's namesake Auguste Rodin. Most of the sculptures were found inside the converted hotel and former residence of Rodin, but a few, including the iconic Thinker, were spread amongst the hedges and plantings outside.

Le Penseur - The Thinker

Musée Rodin

Outside the museum walls, I headed down Rue de Rivoli and stopped at an English bookstore to pick up a Spanish phrasebook and a newspaper. Further on I spotted the Luxembourg gardens and entered hoping to peek inside the Orangerie museum before it closed. It was closed on, but I stopped by the nearby pond dotted with snare drums. Kids scooped rocks from the dirt and pegged the drums with them, turning the pond into a dysfunctional instrument.

These funky pond flowers are actually snare drums

I continued past the Louvre on Rue de Rivoli all the way into the Marais section of Paris, where I found a pedestrian-only area to soak in the sights. Eventually I made my way back to the hostel to pick up my bags and charge my ipod. I arrived in plenty of time for my night train to Madrid and was waived through without any glances at my brand new Eurail pass. With only fifteen days of travel at my disposal with the new pass, I was happy to slip by. I kept in mind the previous times I had been wronged by the French rail company SNCF to justify my "theft".

Paris Day 4

2009-11-04T16:07:00.001-08:00

l'Opéra Bastille

La Colonne Juillet

On Monday, Oct. 26th, Julien and I did a little sightseeing and a lot of wandering. After sketching a rough plan on a map, we headed to Place de la Bastille. The Bastille was a prison and arms storage facility, stormed by citizens looking to arm themselves just prior to the French revolution. The July Column marks the site, but is actually a monument to the Revolution of 1830 which overthrew Charles X. The original Bastille fort is gone.

We moved north-west to the Musée Picasso, which was closed for construction. We moved on to the Musée de l'Histoire de France, where we hoped to see some famous historic documents. The building was closed on Mondays, as was the nearby Musée de Nature et de Chasse (hunting). So we wandered a bit more in the Marais section before taking a metro to try our last intinerary possibility - Le Centre des Arts et Métiers, a science and industry museum. The replica TGV pilot's cabin outside the museum was locked, as was the museum itself - also closed on Mondays. As Julien and I ate lunch, I recieved a text from friend and GTL student Alex inviting me to his Uncle's apartment to hang out. Alex's uncle is ambassador of the arts (not sure the exact title) of Sweden to France. The apartment was pretty incredible, and we had tea and swedish biscuits furnished by Alex's Grandmother, along with Sohail and Alex's older brother. After tea, we headed to a bar for happy hour, essentially giving up on Paris for the day.

Fall Break: Paris Day 3

2009-11-04T13:52:00.001-08:00

On Sunday, I woke to Mr. Araj doing situps in his hostel bed. Julien and I decided to go to the Montmartre area, where we visited the Sacré-Coeur Basilica. Julien invited Mr. Araj, who kept us entertained throughout the day. We killed time in Montmartre waiting for my friend from GT Lorraine, Ryan. The basilica lies at the top of a steep hill, while Montmartre lies just below, also on inclined terrain. The area has some beautiful old buildings, but some of the streets are packed to the brims with tourists. One such street had a three-card monte game set up every 25 feet. The dealers talked quickly and enthusiastically in English, while every so often their planted partner acting as a tourist would interject, betting and winning large sums of money. We took some pictures at the foot of the hill in front of the Basilica, and made our way up, carefully stepping past arrays of knockoff bags and minature Eiffel towers spread out on the paths. Completed in 1914, the basilica lacks the history of most churches, but is a beautiful building with an impressive view. We toured inside briefly, then took a side street down the hill into the Pigalle area. Mr. Araj posed pictures in front of the Moulin Rouge and various sex shops which he found endlessly entertaining. Julien threatened to send the pictures back to Iran - "Nooo" said Mr. Araj.

Montmartre

Basilique de Sacré Coeur

Ryan guided us to Place de la Concorde, in search of the Arc de Triomphe. The Concorde area is a tourist's dream. In every direction, a different monument is visible. We walked from the Obelisque to the Grand Palais, a museum in a former palace. There was an exhibition ending that Sunday, and lines wrapped around the block, but the Petit Palais across the street had no line, and our group of four entered for free. There was a small, but impressive permanent collection, while the courtyard of the palace was beautiful as well. The three others didn't seem to have the patience for art, so we left. Ryan headed for the Arc de Triomphe, while the rest of us crossed the Seine to the Esplanade des Invalides, a promenade and road. The well-maintained grassy areas surrounding the road were occupied by soccer games. I made a mental note to return on a Sunday with my cleats. In front of us lay Les Invalides. The building looks like a palace, but was made to house wounded war vets in the 1600's under Louis XIV. Napoleon was buried there (after several previous burials and relocations) in a large, but simplistic sarcophagus. Legend has it that the tomb was designed to force visitors to bow to Napoleon's grave, however, when Hitler visited, he was led directly underground to avoid bowing.

Part of Les Invalides

Napoleon's Tomb

Also in the complex is a beautiful church. Napoleon's Tomb is on the opposite side of the glass behind the altar.

Satisfied with our visit, we made our way to the Eiffel Tower. I was reluctant to go, but the other two were deadset. They posed, took some pictures, and bought some souvenirs. Mr. Araj bought a cotton candy - a priceless picture, if only I had taken it. We moved across the Seine to the Trocadero, a complex I know only because of its proximity to and great views of the tower. Julien and Mr. Araj tried to fill their memory cards while I watched a group of freestyle bike riders doing tricks on the Trocadero steps. I shot some video but it was too dark to make out much.

I told Julien and Mr. Araj about the good and cheap restaurant I had found two nights previous and they were sold. Back to Butte Aux Cailles, near our hostel, we went, trying to retrace my steps. Even Mr. Araj ragged on me as I tried to find the restaurant "Oh Mr. Greg, thank you I'm so full." We found it, but went next door for a beer. Mr Araj, a muslim, declined, but did indulge in the free drinks we were given by the restaurant proprietor who exclaimed "Le gooner" recalling the Arsenal Gunners jersey i had worn on my first visit. Mr. Araj drained his rose then ordered another. Soon after he was quite drunk and even more entertaining then ever. Julien teased him about the Moulin Rouge and finding a French girl. Mr. Araj expressed his intentions quite clearly and explicitly in english. I said "First you must learn English so you can talk nicely to women." He said "Yes, yes." and seemed to understand my point, but then blurted out "I want to the sex." The meal was good and cheap as I had advertised, and we returned to the hostel in good spirits, especially Mr. Araj.

Julien in front of Tour Eiffel

Fall Break: Paris Day 2

2009-11-03T14:46:00.001-08:00

The next day, Julien and I set out to see some sights. He suggested the Louvre, and I agreed. Julien had not heard of the free entry policy for students. We tried to avoid the crowds waiting for tickets and went right to the entrance as I had done successfully in September. On our first attempt, after some close analysis of my student ID and passport, the ticket checker told us that, yes, we could enter for free, but would need a ticket. Remembering my easy entry the month before, I suggested we try one of the other two entry points. Again we were directed toward the ticket lines. Julien suggested we try the third entry. Part French, part Turkish, Julien happened upon a Turkish ticket checker, who, eager to help a fellow Turk, told Julien to get tickets from the group window, which we managed. We saved an hour in line, and made our way into the Richelieu wing. From German to Dutch to Flemish art, Julien moved quickly. I like to linger a bit on certain pieces and give each room at least 5 minutes, but my compatriot was very efficient, so I tried not to hold him up.

We descended into the bustling ticket area and asked a museum employee for some guidance. "Anything but the Mona Lisa" she said, pointing us toward the French paintings, but Julien was eager to see it. Da Vinci's masterpiece was as unimpressive as I remembered it. With binoculars and a ladder, I might have seen some of the painting's details. There was plenty of other incredible art in the Italian wing and I walked with jaw dropped indulging visual gluttony. As visitors clamped audioguides to their ears, I cursed myself for not putting a free audioguide on my ipod.

Mona Lisa room is good for people-watching, bad for epiplectics

Later, we ran into my friend Ilana, who I hadn't seen since ... Oktoberfest two weeks before. I had originally planned to spend a good deal of time with her friends and her in Paris, but as it turned out, we only said hello, briefly discussed our plans, and didn't see each other again. Julien and I continued our tour into the Egyptian wing, and finally decided to leave.

Outside, we found a Brasserie on the touristed Rue de Rivoli. The man next to us was soaked as a bus wheel dropped into a pothole. Locals on stilts resembling pogo-sticks bounce-walked by us.

This sport doesn't seem worth the carnage of a likely fall

Napoleon's Apartment

Napoleon's Dining Room

Next we crossed the Seine, and paused in front of Notre Dame, before moving into the Latin Quarter. We wandered to the Pantheon, were whistled out of Luxembourg gardens at closing time, and waited for a friend of Julien's at Place Odeon. Also Turkish, Diana had lived a few years in France, and was studying in Paris. She explained that students tended to have small parties in their apartments rather than go to expensive bars and clubs, as we sat down at a cafe serving 12 euro cocktails. She also blamed the minimal nighttime public transportation and tradition for students' reclusivity. Julien and Diana moved fluidly between French and Turkish, pausing to involve me in their conversation every so often. The difference was clear, French is a pretty language made even easier on the ears when juxtaposed with the rough, repetitive Turkish sounds. After drinks we criss-crossed the area in search of a meal and found the authentic, but pricey Relais Odeon. Julien and Diana joked with the waiter, shouted at patrons and passersby every once in a while, to keep things lively. One day I will learn to cook risotto St. Jacques, a risotto with scallops and other minced seafood, but was more than happy to shell out for it in Paris. After dinner we said bye to Diana and made our way back to the hostel for the evening.

Fall Break: Paris Day 1

2009-11-03T13:12:00.000-08:00

On Friday October 23rd, I boarded a train to Paris, flush with a new Eurail pass. Once in the capital city, I made my way to Oops, where I made my first jetlagged stay after arriving in Europe. I was less impressed this time. The place is a "design hostel" which means contemporary rooms and bathrooms. I would prefer decent water pressure. After dropping my luggage, which seemed less secure than ever in my 4-person dorm, considering my recent loss in Marseille, I headed to the Les Halles area. I walked past Tour Saint-Jacques, investigated the Forum Les Halles (underground shopping mall) and eventually made my way to the Saint-Eustache cathedral. The cathedral was impressive in size, but weathered. Inside, workers were setting up for a concert, while a performer rehearsed on the organ.

Cathédrale Saint-Eustache

Organ

Nearby, the Centre Pompidou's bustle beckoned. I avoided the street performers and made my way inside, hoping the Elles feminism exhibit had made way for something new. Minus my student visa, I persuaded the cashier that I really was studying in Metz and he begrudgingly let me in free "Exceptionelle," he said. Whatever. Centre Pompidou houses le Museé National d'Art Moderne, as well as galleries with additional exhibitions. Once inside, I tried to see the new gallery exhibitions but was denied with my free pass. I descended into the Museé National and was disappointed to see the Elles exhibit still there, but I saw a sign for the permanent collection, which I definitely hadn't seen when I was here in September. So began a tour of some of the most famous modern art in the world, from artists like Matisse, Picasso, and Calder.

Recognize This?

View of city and sculptures from Pompidou

Even great art gets tiresome, or maybe I was just tired. I made my way back to the hostel, and met Julien, my roommate for the weekend. I slumbered, woke up, and headed out for dinner after dark. Although my Let's Go travel guide was stolen in Marseille, the book has an affiliated website, with the same information. I loaded it into my ipod before my trip, and accessed it as I made my way from Place d'Italie into the Butte aux Cailles area of bars and restaurants. I chose a restaurant called Le Parocqu, and enjoyed it enough to return two nights later.

Back at the hostel, I met my second roommate, Mr. Araj, a slightly insane 35-year-old Iranian Metallurgical scientist. He spoke a little english, and asked me many questions, but as I responded and conversed he frequently said "OK", or "oh yes", without understanding a word. We talked basic politics. Mr. Araj interrogated me, "Mr. Greg you like Ahmadinejad? You like Obama? Obama good man") and he explained he was very happy to be out of Iran.

Farmer Protests

2009-10-21T11:24:00.000-07:00

On Friday, October 19th, farmers descended upon Metz to express their disapproval for the EU's policies. Farmers believe that prices are too low - they are selling at a deficit - to sustain them and something must be done. Around 1,000 tractors arrived and blocked off many of the main streets in Metz. On my way to the grocery store, I saw an endless line of tractors heading home from the rally. They drove offroad any chance they got to tear up grass and leave their mark. One tractor even braved a hilly roundabout and off-roaded right over it demolishing the plantings and barely clearing low-hanging tree branches.

Here is some video. You can see how this might get annoying after a while.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1wqZoPKyKiI
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fqA3zGOF-mk&feature=related

There are a lot of strikes of all kinds here. Rail strikes are common - there was one two days ago, in fact. I walked into the city a few weeks ago and found a group of medical professionals picketing outside their building. I'm sure there'll be a bus strike sooner or later.

Marseille, Cassis

2009-10-19T05:23:00.000-07:00

Sunset at Pointe Rouge, Marseille

I caught a ride to the Metz train station with my French professor once again, and met up with Sohail. Also there were Phil and James, two GTL students heading to Nice to do some scuba diving. They both had couchettes - sleeping compartments - for the overnight ride, while Sohail and I had opted for the cheaper reclinable seat option. We even gloated a bit about how we were saving money and have just as good a sleep as they would, but we were soon eating our words. Like some houses have "house sounds", this train had "train sounds". Every time the train stopped, which was quite often, there was a screeching mechanical sound that seemed to come from directly below us. The sound would continue for the duration of the stop, some stops lasting up to half an hour.

We arrived in Marseille at 5:59 and after wandering the train station a few minutes, decided not to brave the dark and opted to nap in the train waiting room. I put my feet through a bag loop to keep my bag secure and got creative in my quest to find a good position on chairs designed to be unsleepable.

Around 8 we left to tour the city. It only took a few steps to learn to keep your eyes on the sidewalk, scanning for dog droppings that littered the streets. I mentioned to Sohail the "Friche de Belle Mai" which was supposed to be an arts center with incredible grafitti covering its surrounding walls. We made the quick walk to the arts center, which was a concrete maze of radio studios, and other art companies and studios. The grafitti was good, but not really worth the walk. We turned around and headed into the center of the city - le vieux (old) port.

The streets that lead down from the Gare to the vieux port were lined with department stores, while the port itself was filled with daysailer vessels, cruising sailboats, and powerboats of all types. While the boats were not all that impressive, their sheer number was, the masts obstructing views of the opposite side of the harbor. We found a good vantage point for some photos, then took a break in front of the fish vendors selling their fresh catch. A man sitting nearby us began to harrass us in French. At first I thought he accused me of trying to rob him. He was speaking quickly, so I told him I only spoke a little French, but didn't want to rob him. The man complained about how he hated all the foreigners in his precious city. I asked him what nationality he was. I thought I heard Moroccan in his response, and when I tried to clarify he threw a tantrum of spitting and cursing and "No Maroc, No Tunisie". Sohail was enjoying the show, but I dragged him away from the spitter.

Next we took a bus up to the Basilique de Notre Dame de La Garde, a church located on a steep rocky hilltop with unmatched views of the city, the sea, and the harbor islands - popular tourist destinations including the Chateau d'If.

Lack of sleep was taking its toll, so we checked into our hostel at 4PM and took 3-hour nap. My alarm woke us up and I asked our host, the man running the hostel and living there as well, where we could buy some groceries. He took us around the corner to a small nighttime grocery where found the essentials - spaghetti, sauce, and bread. He would later escort us to the ATM and told us a little about the city as well.

After dinner, we wandered the streets. There was a bar that had spilled its imbibers out into the street - all 30 of them mingling on the sidewalk. We stopped for a beer; its low price seemed to have attracted the masses. Our next stop was a popular bar called le Petit Nice with a huge outdoor seating area. Well-dressed mid-20's students enjoyed their drinks and cigarettes. At one point I looked around and saw virtually every live body had a pack of cigarettes in front of it. As the bar began to empty, we headed down to the Vieux Port, but at first glance, there didn't seem to be anything going on. We walked back to the hostel and went to bed.

Giraffe made of books

On Saturday morning, Sohail and I woke up late and took a midday train to Cassis, a decidedly more Riviera-esque town built into a hillside on the outskirts of the Calanques, the geologically impressive landform that we had come to see. We walked the 4 kilometers from the train station downhill to the edge of the city, with a beautiful view of the Mediterranean most of the way. Cassis had a picturesque little port and a small strip of beach. We ate a picnic lunch on the beach, took some pictures then headed back up the hill to the Calanques

Me and the beach at Cassis

Picturesque Port at Cassis

The Calanques are rugged white rock outcroppings that but up against the sea. The mediterranean carves lengthy inlets and the Calanques stretch into the water like fingers. Boats take tourists into the inlets, but we hiked up the streets and into the terrain along not-to-taxing paths. The schilthorn this was not, but we were careful on the uber-slick limestone underfoot. It began to get late, and not wanting a repeat of our close call with nightfall in Switzerland, we left the Calanques and headed back toward the train station in the dark, stopping briefly at the supermarket. "Why don't we kill some time here," I said to Sohail, but the cashier requested "Depechez-vous" or hurry please.

Une Calanque

60-foot sheer drop

Sunset painted the cliffs orange

Back in Marseille, we found a bunch of new people in our hostel - a group of American guys, a French-Canadian and a group of Spanish girls. Sohail and I claimed to know the city a bit, and we invited the guys to come with us. I extended the invitation to the girls, but they had a train to catch in the morning, or so they said. We took the group to the Le Petit Nice bar. At 2AM the bar closed some returned to the hostel, while Sohail and I and our new friends Heath and Brian went down past the vieux port and found an Irish Pub still open. Eventually, it too closed, and we followed the crowd down the street to a club called the Trolleybus, which has 4 rooms playing different types of music. The rooms appeared dug out from solid rock, like well-furnished caves. We had a good time at the club - our friends even met some French girls albeit who stood them up the next day. Our walk back was exhausting, however. Sohail and I got lost and spent nearly two hours trying to find our hostel. We would stop people and ask where the train station was. They would gasp, "Ohhh, c'est très compliqué" meaning we were really far away, and the directions they gave were to confusing to successfully follow. Eventually, we just returned to the vieux port and started our trek all over again, making it back to the hostel as the sun began to rise.

Sunday we had planned to go sailing and windsurfing. I had been following wind forecasts for the past week, as I love to do at home, in hopes of the famous Mistral winds that are common in October. With high hopes, we made our way by bus to Pointe Rouge, a popular area with the windsurfing crowd. On the bus two teenagers next to us discussed the wind conditions, so I butted in to say I was going windsurfing too. They explained that the wind was inconsistent, and the water was dirty today, so I would have to wear a wetsuit. Sohail and I followed them to their club - an area near the beach where they kept their windsurfing gear. The man running the club rented us all the gear we needed, including wetsuits that looked like they'd had run-ins with sharks. I gave Sohail, a newbie, a quick lesson on uphauling, then did my own thing. It felt great to be out on the water again, especially having had very few chances to windsurf this summer. There were around 25 windsurfers out, most very near the beach, as well as a few kitesurfers. Pointe Rouge had only about 150 yards of beach to sail along before the beach became rock, then abruptly ended altogether. I was turning around frequently, with a special eye toward avoiding being washed up on the rocks. Eventually, Sohail and I got tired and took our time derigging and showering. Meanwhile the wind built another 7 knots, and those left on the water were tearing it up. Kiters were lofting huge jumps, while one windsurfer was jibing back in forth every 30 seconds, covering the entire beach. Sohail took some great photos of the action and the sunset.

After the wind picked up

We were thankful to be clean, well-fed, and in no rush to get to our train. The walk back from the vieux port was leisurely. Every scooter that passed bore a Tunisian flag and serenaded the streets with horn blasts. A crowd had built along one section of the main strip. We saw more Tunisian flags and two TV's facing the street from inside a store, showed a soccer game. The crowd of about 100 was vocal, but disorganized and certainly not destructive. Nevertheless, Sohail and I watched to plainclothes police officers leave the center of the group as a police car arrived followed by no less than 8 police motorcyles. We had moved up the street a safe distance by now. As Sohail said "This might be photo-worthy" and reached for the camera, a group of children standing on a platform armed with Tunisian flags began chanting at the police. Then a few objects were hurled. Suddenly the people burst from the crowd, sprinting in all directions. Some came out with eyes teary. One woman was screaming in pain. The police had tear-gassed the group and never have I seen so many people run so fast all at once. Sohail and I were standing right there, out of range of the tear gas, but frozen in place. It would definitely have been photo-worthy.

At the train station we had an hour to kill, so we sat down near the McDonald's and logged onto the company's free wireless to bide our time. The battery on my ipod was running low so I borrowed Sohail's charger and found a secluded area with an open outlet to plug into. I sat on the floor with my bag next to me, reading about the U.S. soccer team's game in Honduras, when a teenager stopped to ask me something. I focused on his lips to hear his French. He repeated himself "Est-ce vous avez un euro pour aller au vieux port?" - "Do you have a euro so I can go to the port?" or something to that effect. I immediately shook his head, avoided his eyes by looking down at my ipod. He mumbled as he left and I watched him exit the train station. It was odd to me - he seemed reasonably well-dressed - not the begging type - and the port was 10 minutes away by foot, a walk I had made 5 or 6 times this weekend alone. Why would anyone give him money to go there? I read my ipod for a few more minutes, than glanced around, first at Sohail on a bench 20 feet away, then at where my bag had been. WHERE MY BAG HAD BEEN? I panicked. It was just to my left, within arms reach minutes ago. "You gotta help me find my bag, I told Sohail" and we checked the area, but sure enough it was gone. At first, I thought I must have left it somewhere, but soon enough I pieced together what had happened - the French teenager had distracted me while an accomplice had grabbed my bag - pretty smooth.

The SNCF French train staff gave a half-chuckle at my story, and just looked on as I explained that I was now missing my passport and eurail pass and had a train to catch in 20 minutes. They referred me to the police, who told me that I could file a police report in Metz, but there was nothing they could do to help me. I explained to the conductor that my train pass had been stolen and he didn't seem to think it was a big deal. Luckily no one ever checked our car of the train, so I didn't have to pay the full fare, which would likely have been around 100 euros.

In the week or so since returning from Marseille sans backpack, I have filed a police report, visited the U.S. embassy in Luxembourg to start the passport process, and begun to replace some of the stuff I lost. Thankfully my wallet, ipod, and cell phone were all in my pocket during the theft. Many thanks to my parents for helping with the insurance claim - which paid for the railpass, far and away my biggest loss, and also for making the order for the new railpass.

I will go to Luxembourg tomorrow (Thursday) to pick up the passport and should have just about everything I need for my weeklong vacation starting Friday. Everything has worked pretty well all things considered.

...And I was planning to tell everyone how nice and crime-free Marseille was - Oh well.

Gare Saint Charles - a beautiful building, but I wouldn't hang out there

Oktoberfest

2009-10-18T07:12:00.000-07:00

My real motivation for visiting Nuremberg was to have a bed near Munich during Oktoberfest. On Saturday morning I took an early train to Munich, arriving at the Party grounds (Oktoberfest party grounds) at 9:30 AM. Phone airtime is expensive, I waited until I arrived to make my first call to my buddy AJ - who audibly fumbled with the phone as he picked it up and was generally groggy. He was still in bed at his hotel, along with the rest of the group I was planning on spending the day with. I gave them a few words of encouragement and went on to explore the Theresienwiesen grounds.

The scene - photo by AJ

According to lore and wikipedia, Oktoberfest was first a celebration of a marriage between Prince Ludwig and Princess Therese (whose name graces the grounds). It was so much fun that it became an annual 16-day event.

Oktoberfest is centered on a main street, on which all the major beer tents are located. Each beer tent is run by one of Munich's local brewers. Tent is an understatement - these are humongous semi-permanent structures that hold hundreds, maybe thousands of people. They house their own cooking facilities for serving local fare to tent-goers, including whole chickens, while storing enough beer for the tent's consumption. Beer is only served in one liter denominations.

I never made it inside a tent, but this is what it would have looked like (photo borrowed from Ali Feinstein)

Surrounding the main street and the tents are carnival-type amusements like rides and games. After getting a feel for the place, I settled in near the subway stop at one end of the grounds. I found a beer counter where I could sit and watch the people funnelling out of the subway, decked out in tracht, lederhosen, and all sorts of festive halloween-style costumes. At around 11:00 AM my friends arrived and we tried to find a beer tent, but it was too late - they were all full. We settled for a beer-garden, the outdoor sibling of the beer tent, but couldn't find a seat there either. Patrons are required to be seated at a table to be served at Oktoberfest, but Ilana, my friend from Westport, brokered a deal that let us sit on the ground outside the beer garden and still be served. We eventually finished our pints and wandered a bit. AJ got a call from his friends who had space at a table in the beer garden outside the Hacker Pfetzelt brand tent. We pushed our way through the crowd of people outside, while they cursed and whined that we were cutting. Oh well.

Outside Hacker Pfetzelt

We found space across from some obnoxious French kids and settled in. We stayed around six hours, drank numerous beers, and met tons of people from all over the world. It was a lot of fun, and good to see AJ, Ilana, Maddy, and Ilana's awesome friends. At around 8PM we went our separate ways. I headed to the main train station to get reservations for an overnight train home. I bought some food - my first solid meal since 8 AM and took a seat, extremely satisfied. That is until I realized I was missing a small bag from inside my backpack that I had packed with all of my valuables. Nervously I trekked back to Oktoberfest, made my way into the beer garden, searched for my bag, and could not find it. What was at stake? Passport, Ipod, french rail discount card, a bit of money, and lots of pride and sanity. A German man approached me and said "Did you lose your passport?" Why yes I did. It was too good to be true. He went into the main tent and returned with my belongings sans a little cash, which probably disappeared hours ago. I thanked him profusely and made my way back to the train station, satisfied, and now relieved.

The overnight train was a blessing, I slept for a few hours, then listened to my ipod for a while longer. This was also the first trip that made my Eurail pass truly worthwhile, allowing me to forgo expenses of around 240 euros. My bag of vitals had been rescued, but I had my good fortune was wearing thin. Karma would take hold the next weekend in Marseille.

Nuremberg

2009-10-13T15:01:00.000-07:00

No pictures because my camera got stolen!

I arrived at the Metz train station thanks to a lift from my French professor. For the past three weeks I've taken night trains leaving around 9 PM, so Madame Serafin has been kind enough to drop me and my friends off on her way home. Unfortunately I left my itinerary and every document I had assembled to prepare for my trip. The Eurail pass gave me plenty of freedom to choose my trains, so much so that I didn't have a record of which ones I was to take on my overnight trip to Nuremberg. Luckily, my friend Albert picked up the phone and happened to be on the German rail website. He looked up my route, I wrote it down and hoped it would work out. I made it to Nuremberg at 7 AM, having survived a frigid 3-hour layover in Frankfurt. Nuremberg's old city section was pretty small. I covered it quickly in the morning. There were market stands everywhere, culminating in a massive market called the Hauptmarkt in the city center. About 100 stands filled the square entirely. Vendors sold crafts, kitchenware, and plenty of food. A church overlooked the square, but the highlight was the "beautiful fountain" - a replica of a middle age fountain that now rests in a museum.

I trekked beyond the main market to Kaiserburg castle, which sits on a hill overlooking the city. It served as the home for Kaisers and was part of a three-castle complex heavily used during the middle ages. The castles were bombed in WWII, and later rebuilt, which was clear to the untrained eye. There were bits of the original foundation - smooth, flowing rock that clashed with the newly cut stone. Nuremberg has some excellent city gates that were built to fortify the original castle. The old city is contained in these walls, which my hostel abutted.

I declined the tour, preferring to take some pictures of the town from the excellent vantage point provided by the castle. Then I paused briefly on my way to the main train station to sample the tourist special "3 Bratwurst im weckla." Three tiny bratwursts were placed in a small baguette-style roll and handed to me by the cook. They tasted awesome - well worth the 2 euros.

After reaching the Hauptbahnhoff (train station) I took a train to the former Nazi Party grounds. Nuremberg, which already had a history of mistreatment of Jews, was one of the most important cities of the Nazi regime. Selected for its importance to the Holy Roman Empire, Nuremberg hosted the Nazi version of the Reichstag, a mostly symbolic political assembly. The city was also the site of the annual Nazi Party Rallies. I first visited the Kongresshalle, an unfinished stadium built for the Reichstag out of stone mined by concentration camp inmates in Hinzert in Luxembourg, that now holds a museum on the Nazi Party. I began an audiotour - the first one I've ever taken, I believe. Not sure how long it would last, I visisted every exhibit, triggering a button each time to learn about the beginnings of Adolf Hitler - his attempted overthrow, imprisonment, and burdgeoning political momentum. Two hours later, the Nazis still had not begun their aggressions, so I picked up the pace a bit, and ended up skipping the war itself. I was overwhelmed by the details, but got a good sense of the context of the party - none of it excusable in any way.

Next I took some pictures of the Kongresshalle itself, then walked around the neighboring lake, watching someone sail a laser sailboat in the gusty, shifty wind. Seeing a sailor in the shadow of the Kongresshalle was a bit surreal to me, an image that despite my lack of photodocumentation, will linger in my mind.

Past the lake was the party ground site itself, called the Zeppelin field; it was also the site of Zeppelin launches prior to the Nazi Party. The grounds in their heyday amounted to about a quarter square mile of grassy expanse surrounded by grandstands that could seat thousands of people. At one end, was a much higher grandstand, with a podium area for Hitler and his cronies to address those in the crowd and on the field. Hitler youth, the SS, the Wehrmacht (regular army), and the German Labor Service all marched at the Party grounds. Now, the grandstand is in in aesthetic disrepair, while the grounds have been converted to parking lots and soccer fields. The museum provided some excellent before and after photos to show what the grounds would have looked like full of Party-goers, lit with torches, and flying swastikas. While i was there, I watched a native German jokingly give the sig-heil salute atop the grandstand as he posed for a picture. He quickly put his hand down hoping no one would notice - I was probably the only one to see him in the mostly abandoned area. Below a woman was learning to drive a motor cycle, while cars passed through every once in a while.

Back in Nuremberg center, I checked into my hotel around 5 PM for some badly-needed rest. The room was spacious but not the cleanest or nicest. Luckily no one was there to interrupt my nap. At 8:30 I went out for dinner, wandered the still-bustling streets a bit, and returned to the hostel.

Nancy vs. Sochaux

2009-09-28T10:00:00.000-07:00

On Saturday, Sept. 26th, Jon and I took a 35 minute train ride to Nancy to see a Ligue 1 match between Nancy and Sochaux. I didn't plan a big trip this weekend because I had devoted time to my midterms during the week. The soccer match, was a good chance to see U.S. men's national team player Charlie Davies on his club team Sochaux. The crowd was much larger than the Metz crowd a few weeks ago, but still nowhere near as imposing as the Manchester City crowd. I tried making noise for Charlie a little bit, but the hardcore Nancy fan section was in full song most of the game, with their team up 1-0, then 2-0. Sochaux had the majority of the possession, but couldn't penetrate into the penalty area. Davies had one wide-open chance where he was one-on-one with the keeper, took a wide touch around him and had the ball poked away by a defender. Sochaux got 1 back late in the game, to make it interesting, but the score ended 2-1. These games are cheap - with a student price, we paid 10 euros. For highlights, click here.

Jungfrau Region, Switzerland

2009-09-26T17:46:00.000-07:00

On Thursday Sept. 23rd, I went to my evening French class with a packed backpack. My French professor offered a ride to the train station, but I declined not wanting to impose. "I go right by there on my way home." I accepted her offer and we drove by my tripmates waiting at the bus stop and I invited them in. We boarded a 9 something train to Basel, Switzerland. I had hoped to nap on this leg, seeing as our 5 hour layover in Basel would take a chunk out of potential sleep time, Sohail, Phil and I played cards instead. Phil had done a little research on Basel and found a bar open till 5 AM. We were joined by an Irishman who was loitering at the station, rather than listen sleeplessly to his snoring hostelmates. The tourist sections of the city were eerily quiet - I half expected zombies to stumble out from the cathedral. We stopped for a kebab and discovered how expensive the food would be in Switzerland. It was a good kebab, but we made a pact to cook our own food for the rest of the weekend if possible. Eventually we found the bar marked by the red lights of the brothel above. The bar was classy enough, and we nursed our beers for an hour and a half. The highlight was the appearance of a middle-aged German-speaking Russian man with some heavy hardware in place of his teeth. He sat down with us, but spoke only German. The language barrier was absurd, but he taught me to count to ten in German, attempted to learn to count in English, indicated he was an expert marksman, and expressed some negative views on the war in Iraq, to which I was about to counter with Russia's prior engagements there, but thought better considering he was an expert marksman who had been drinking. We left the bar around 4, headed back to the train station and had plenty of time before our 530 departure for Interlaken.

Interlaken is a European extreme sports and outdoors mecca. An online search for the small Swiss city will bring up results for Paragliding, Hang Gliding, Skydiving and many more heart-pumping activities. For most, though, Interlaken is a waypoint to the lofty snow-capped Junfrau mountain range in Swiss Alps. We stocked up on some groceries in Interlaken and continued by train, bus, and cable car to Gimmelwald, a town a few hundred meters up a sheer cliff above the Lauterbrunnen valley. Map>> The cable car continues up to the Schilthorn peak, a ride costing around __ euros roundtrip. We thought we were being sneaky by continuing to ride up past Gimmelwald, but we were forced out at Mürren, where we locked up our heavier belongings and packed light clothes, cameras, PB&J and Toblerone. With a collective 5 hours of sleep among us, we set out on the 10-hour hike, to the Schilthorn peak, which, as we were informed by excessive signage, was the site of the James Bond film Her Majesty's Secret Service. The hike took around 5 hours, but could have been quicker considering my friends, avid photographers, seemed to pause to take a picture for every step up the mountain. The scenes were breathtaking and made my digital camera seem inadequate especially having reviewed the photos. I went to Interlaken with my family in 2002, but it was foggy all three days, and I wished I had been able to see the landscape. On this Friday, it was crystal clear, and every hundred yards up the mountain, a new vista opened up. The summit, however, never seemed to get closer, even when we were only separated by a 200 m stretch of steep rock.

My most vivid memory of the climb was the sounds. Cow bells rang, birds chirped, the wind whistled, and the occasional helicopter flew overhead, but it was generally very calm and peaceful. On the trip down, we figured out that the mountain was a phenomenal echo chamber. With a good high-pitched shriek or better yet, a yodel, we could listen to ourselves for nearly 10 seconds.

Sohail and Phil early in the hike

Strange rock formation

Paraglider

Finally above the grass, into the rocky zone

Memorial for a 1865 lightning victim

Me near the top

Artistic?

Top of the Schilthorn - Me and the famous restaurant

And video of course

Finally we made it to the top of the Schilthorn and took advantage of the 360 degree deck for photos. We checked out the secret lair of the Bond villain - the restaurant and made some PB&J sandwiches. After a moment of indecision about how to get down, we decided on a new route that, at 3 hours 30 minutes according to a signpost, would put us in Murren around 8 pm, possibly less if we hurried. Hurry we did, first traversing for a while, then bouncing endlessly down a path that switchbacked every 5 yards. It was tough going compared with the hike up, which had been 2/3rds gravel paths. Three hours into our trip down we reached a sign that said an hour and a half to Murren. There was an hour of daylight left and we had an hour and a half to go according to the sign which assumed nepali sherpa pace. We started to run down the hill, pushing the pace as fast as we could while we could still see. Eventually it got dark and we slowed down, and eventually it became pitch-black and we still hadn't reached Mürren. It was difficult to stay on the path, and eventually Sohail brought out his Iphone and used it for a flashlight. We moved carefully in a tight formation and were eventually spat out onto a paved road with Mürren's lamps in the distance. It had taken us longer to get down than up. The cable car was still running when we stumbled exhausted and relieved into the Mürren station. The hostel had a great atmosphere, with college-age kids drinking, singing songs, and playing cards, but we were too tired to partake. In fact we were too tired to shower, cook dinner, or move, and it took an hour to get the process started.

One of many misleading signposts - Note: Mürren 3 hours 30 min.

As the sun began to set behind us, we were still pretty far up the mountain.

The next morning we cooked pancakes and left at the mandatory 930 lockout time, with baggy eyes that begged for more sleep. I told my friends about a path to nearby Grütschalp, which was a flat walk with a view, and they agreed to follow. We stopped at a small cheese shop/factory that had brought a huge smile to my dad's face in 2002 when we happened to walk by on that trip. There, Phil and I split a liter of fresh milk, which was delicious. The walk again way exceeded the 1 hour rating on the hiking signpost, but at least it was flat. In Grutschalp we took a cable-car down to Lauterbrunnen, and then headed up the other side of the valley to Wengen, the site of a world-cup downhill where Bode Miller tends to pick up some hardware.

Farmhouse between Mürren and Grütschalp

Grütschalp Cable Car Station - Wengen is the village visible on the opposite side of the valley

Wengen is a beautiful town, that, I told Sohail, is car-less. In the next few minutes, no less than 10 cars, some electric some gasoline-fueled, drove by, despite the city's no-auto claim. There was a great view of the valley from near Wengen's church, but Saturday was pretty hazy, and the mountains were obscured.

Next we took trains to Grindelwald, the busiest area of the Jungfrau.

View from Grindelwald train stop

We took a brief walk above the city, but went to sleep early because we needed to be up early to go to Interlaken for CANYONING!

What is canyoning? It's hiking down a canyon with a river flowing through it by any means necessary - rappel, slide, and jump. We left from Interlaken, drove 40 minutes along some unbelievably beautiful blue-green lakes, to the canyon. The company supplied us with a wetsuit, helmet, rappel harness, booties, life-jacket (pretty torn up, definitely not US Coast guard approved) and two friendly New Zealander guides, Rich and Koren. They led us into the woods and brought us into the canyon where we started off with a 30 foot jump into a narrow cylindrical pool with very little room for error. We were essentially jumping off a small waterfall, landing next to the falling water. "Can I land in the white water," I asked thinking the frothy area would be the softest, surest landing spot. "If you land in the white water, you will break you legs, jump a little to the right," Koren said to matter-of-fact for my liking. I assured myself that a lot of people do this without dying, and jumped landing successfully in the little pool. From then on, we had, more jumps, a bunch of massive natural waterslides where you slide on rock, and some rappells down waterfalls, where the guides dropped us swiftly through the pounding waters. The slides had some telling names: spaghetti slide, banzai slide, and guy slide among them. There was even a slide where you had to jump across some water and land in the slide, which took some commitment. Another of the slides required you to cover your face with your arms to avoid busting a tooth.

The guy slide was intense. Koren described it as a torpedo launching. If you started from the very top, you would have too much speed and hit rock at the bottom of the landing pool. I used a rope to lower myself down about fifteen feet, through some raging water, and let go, to slide down the rest of the 40 or so feet.

Later on there was a 20 foot jump that we tried some flips on. I'd never even done a flip into a pool before, but I'd just done some other crazy stuff, so I figured why not, and did pretty well. Others tried successful backflips, but Phil didn't quite commit on his attempt. He landed in a beautiful upside down pike position, with his head at his knees, which would have hurt him pretty bad without the wetsuit and protective gear. We had a good laugh about it.

There were some situations where bad footing or lack of attention could have caused some long falls. We even clipped into a rope to traverse one particularly exposed part. Sohail didn't get the message, and was walking casually along, unhooked next to a forty-foot potentially fatal drop. Someone yelled out to him to clip in, so he turned around walked all the way back up the narrow rock and then clipped in. I was nervous even when I was safety-latched - I don't know how he wasn't scared. On that particular rock, we had a special knot tied through our harness - we had to hold two pieces of line in one hand and once we had been lowered part way, the guide told us to let go and the knot undid itself and dropped us in the water. It was pretty nerve-racking to feel the line slip a little in my hands as it began to bear my weight.

All in all, canyoning was pretty incredible - definitely not for people with heart problems because mine was racing the whole time. I do wish they had a bigger jump. There may have been some, but at this time of year, not much glacial melt is flowing, so some of the pools are less full, limiting the safe height for jumps. I was looking forward to a jump that would make me cry a little or at least have some serious second thoughts.

We were all really happy with the way the weekend turned out. It had been forecasted to rain Saturday and Sunday, but we only felt a drop or two and had plenty of sunshine for our Friday hike. I even bought sunscreen - the most expensive tube by volume I have ever seen nevermind bought. Check it out http://www.pizbuin.com/. The front page says it all.

Arsenal vs. Man City

2009-09-21T10:09:00.000-07:00

On Friday Sept. 11, I left Metz headed for Manchester via London to see Arsenal vs. Manchester City. I began my trip on the 6:02 bus to the train station, planning to get on a TGV to Paris, and then another to Calais on the Normandy coast, where I would transfer seamlessly to a ferry, cross the English channel, and board a train to London. It was the first weekend of my Eurail pass and unfortunately, the TGV has much more room for high-paying commuters than high-paying Eurail pass holders, so I was obligated to pay full fare, or else blow up my itinerary and potentially spend even more money. I was also forced to commit to a full first-class fare for the return from Paris, making this my most expensive trip yet and I hadn't even left the country . I made it to Calais, where I got off a stop too early, but happened to hear the conductor on the loudspeaker mention that there was one more stop left, and I reboarded. The Calais Ville train station seemed not too far from the port according to google maps, so I began the walk, a 3 kilometer tour of Calais' industrial parks. The ferry complex was humongous, and catered mostly to passenger car and freight operations. I was one of about 25 foot passengers. We passed through customs where the agent tried to throw me off guard and asked, among other things to see my soccer match tickets, which I didn't have yet. The ferry was a massive mall of dining and shopping. I shied away from the ferry food, and took some pictures of the Normandy coast and later the cliffs of Dover, napping in between.

The Calais beach was inviting. The windsurfers and kitesurfers made me jealous.

Cliffs of Dover from Ferry

The Cliffs are beautiful, but they haven't been travelling since 6AM.

View from Dover

I took a train from Dover to London. The British rail system, including London's Underground was outstanding, in my opinion. The tickets I bought were good for any train all day long, and there were plentiful timetable options. Twelve hours after I started I was in London, walking from the Victoria station to my hostel in the Bayswater area near Hyde Park. I didn't get to see much of London, but did grasp the size of the city, based on the hour and a half journey to the hostel.

Before the sun rose on Saturday, I was at London Euston station, boarding a train to Manchester. The industrial northern city was surprisingly modern and well kempt, with a major, modern shopping district near the Picadilly station. I passed through the shopping area, stopped for a dense breakfast, and made my way to the Museum of Science and Industry. The museum seemed designed for ages 3-12. I checked out the steam engines, antique automobiles, and aircraft along with dozens of happy elementary-schoolers and their parents. The museum, a likely destination for K-5 field trips was more relevant to my education than ever; my thermodynamics course covers the basics of steam engines, while my history course on technology involves the early automobiles and bicycles found at the museum.

Tri-Plane Replica

This exhibit taught the mechanics of jet engines. I was excited to see the material statistics charts, similar to those I used in my materials science course last year.

Is it a good or bad sign that the museum coincides so nicely with my current curriculum?

Working steam engines

Around noon, I crossed town again, hoping to get onto a map I had printed that excluded my current location. On the way I spotted this beautiful building.

Soon after, I began to see baby blue jerseys -Manchester City colors. I picked a group and followed them, hopeful that they would lead me to the stadium. Ten minutes later they ducked into the most discreet of bars, up some narrow steps. I wanted to join them - it looked like a cool place - but thought better knowing I couldn't blend in with the Man City fans. Heading back toward Picadilly, a location definitely on my map, I crossed the path of a man in an Arsenal jersey, walking with purpose, and a map of his own, so I began following him. I lost him twenty minutes later, and still not on my own map, asked a passerby where the stadium was. He was a fellow Arsenal fan, an Irishman named Andrew, who had flown in for the game. We walked together and chatted - he's a fish farmer and makes it to a few games each year. The stadium was in sight most of the way, and finally directly in front of us - a new, modern, hunk of steel and concrete splashed in blue banners. I retrieved my tickets without any sort of ID and returned to the visiting fan entrance. Only then did I put on my Arsenal jersey. Andrew explained earlier that he doesn't wear jerseys to away games if he is travelling alone in case he meets the wrong group of opposing fans. I felt the same way, but kept mine in my backpack. Inside, I checked out my seat in the second-tier, front-row with a completely unobstructed view. After a cider, I watched warmups - the players really push themselves and get a good sweat going before the game. Soon after, the teams lined up, posed briefly, and kicked off the game, at which point the batteries in my camera died and the replacements were duds.

Crowd control was neccessary today

The riot happened in the bottom right corner of the screen.

The players were incredibly skilled. In fact, it bothered me when they messed up not because they made a mistake and hurt the team, but because they were so good that it seemed irregular or out of character that the players would err. The Arsenal fans were boisterous from the start. They sang songs loudly and continuously. When their players did well, the fans serenaded them, and when they didn't, they were cursed out. Man City scored first and the stadium, a 47,000-person sellout - exploded. The concrete structure shook, and the roar left my ears ringing into the next day. In the second half Arsenal leveled the game, and my section turned insane. I joined a three-person hug with some complete strangers and screamed at the top of my lungs. In the second half, Man City scored twice and the Man City fans were in full song for the rest of the match.

Arsenal seemed to dominate most of the 2nd half with their pretty passing, and careful buildup, but Man City's counter-attacks were lightning quick and proved more effective, netting 3 more goals. Arsenal added a goal in the 87th minute and had a few more chances, but there was too little time.

Emmanuel Adebayor, a former Arsenal player who, Arsenal fans believe, quit on his former team mid-season and later made a money-grab transfer to Man City was making his first appearance against Arsenal as was another more beloved ex-Arsenal Gunner, Kolo Touré. Arsenal fans made it a point to boo Adebayor and cheer Toure during player introductions, and sang songs ridiculing their former star all game.

The game took a dramatic turn, not for its scoreline, but for Adebayor's antics with Arsenal players and the crowd. He stomped an Arsenal player in the face after that player made an aggressive tackle. After scoring, Adebayor ran the length of the field and slid in front of the Arsenal fans, who rained trash on him and began a small, but feisty riot in the section below mine. I definitely got the full experience, and, as Andrew explained, the Arsenal fans who had made the trip were the hard-core boisterous ones.

I took off my jersey and tried to blend in with the crowd as I exited. There was still some smack-talk and violence to be found, but the Man City fans were upbeat. I boarded the next train to London and returned to my hostel. Trying to avoid another huge fare from Paris to Metz, I spent four fruitless hours investigating new options, but alas, bright and early, I began the return trip via train and ferry to Metz. On the ferry, I met a friendly, chatty Malaysian man, and we took the same train to Paris. I helped him with the train transfers and he gave me some chocolate in return. He thought travelling to Paris was quite the adventure, and was eager to get back to Britain where, he explained, everything is better. He and his wife were scared off by the scent of a homeless man, who, with a gleam in his eye, got up every so often for no apparent reason. Later, I was joined by a French schoolteacher who taught English to middle-schoolers, and got some language lessons. First class on the TGV means a slightly larger headrest, but I took full advantage, sleeping the entire way to Metz.

Trier, Köln, Dusseldorf

2009-09-14T10:34:00.001-07:00

On Friday Sept. 4th, I went with four others from GTL to Germany. It began to rain early in the several hour train ride, and continued to do so as we got off in Trier and consulted a map. Discouraged by the rain, but not deterred, we walked to the Porta Nigra, the gate to the old city built by the Romans.

Porta Nigra

Inside

View toward Trier city center

Sohail and John in Porta Nigra, are they laughing at me?

We climbed up into the stone structure and took some photos. My camera didn't quite capture the mystical effect of the fog lifting off the hills in the background.

This type of roofing was popular throughout Trier. I wonder what it's called.

Once beyond Porta Nigra, we were in an old shopping district, which culminated in a quaint plaza.

I believe we found the most beautiful Mcdonald's in the world...

As well as a Subway sandwich shop with a happy hour.

As far as I can tell, in Europe, Subway is the cheapest place to get food that won't give me a heart attack in less than 30 years. We elected to eat at a real German restauraunt. The waiter recommended schnitzel, which sounded exotic, but was a basic fried slab of meat. In the evening we again tried the local cuisine and were similarly disappointed.

Good Irony

This was an incredible fountain. The iron vines that form the structure were decorated with artisans and craftsmen, like masons and blacksmith.

We saw these ruins from outside the complex, as big black clouds approached from the opposite direction and lightning began to strike. I got a free retrospective peak at the ruins by poking my camera through a hedge. I just looked at it for the first time today and it was a much better view than I had from the outside.

We found shelter nearby and waited out the mini-storm. Umbrellas were opened and closed at least three times an hour for the entire day. As the rain eased a bit, we photographed this beautiful building.

Kurfürstliche Palais

Trier's Cathedral

Our hostel was on a path that ran along the Moselle river. Here we are looking from central Trier across the Moselle to the surrounding hills. The Moselle is the same river that runs through Metz. One of the tour boats docked was run by Tauck Discovery tours, which I think is based in Norwalk, CT.

Moselle River

The hostel had more families and elderly people than students. In fact, during our stay, I saw no one between the ages of 12 and 30 (aside from my group). It seems to me there must have been cheaper hostel options available. Trier was sleepy at night, though, which could be a factor. I taught everyone how to play pitch, a card game that my extended family plays at every reunion. Phil, an avid poker player, especially enjoyed the game, and prodded us to play throughout the weekend.

The next morning, we caught a train to Köln. We used the Happy Weekend pass, which covers up to 5 people for around 40 Euros for a day of travel - not a bad deal. Köln was a much larger, more heavily touristed city. Our first stop was a kebab shop. I had gorged myself on free breakfast from the hostel, including eggs, cereal, and two salami sandwiches, and gladly passed on a kebab. A European kebab is not skewered meat and vegetables, rather, it is a hot sandwich made of meat (usually lamb), veggies, sauce, and a thick bread or roll, similar in taste to a gyro. A huge cylindrical slab of meat is often hung pinata-style in plain sight in the shop and the "chef" uses a razor-like contraption to shave the meat off onto your sandwich. Watching this is pretty disgusting to me, although others disagree.

Outside the kebab shop, there were a few soccer fans from South Africa, dressed in Bafana Bafana gear, blowing their famous Vuvuzela horns that. Why were these soccer fans in Köln Germany? I speculated that there must be an international match nearby, and felt a little disappointed I didn't know about it.

We walked past the soccer fans to the cathedral, which was probably the biggest I have seen yet.

Kölner Dom (Cathedral)

Dom Stained Glass

The cathedral has an underground treasury, which, true to its name, contained ridiculously lavish religious items. There were gold-laced clergy outfits for special events, gilded, bejeweled, staffs and crucifixes, monstrances, chalices. Many of the fineries were out of space for any more precious stones.

Next, we hiked to the top of the cathedral via a single staircase that had both climbers and descenders on it. Someone could have caused a lot of problems by shouting "Fire". The view from the summit was obscured by wire cage and the surrounding areas were more modern than historic.

View from the top of the cathedral

Afterward, we crossed the street to the museum Ludwig, which housed an impressive modern art collection - much more extensive than the Centre Pompidou in Paris. There was a Picasso for every day of the artist's life, or so it seemed. There was also plenty of art that I didn't "get". Unfortunately, photos of the art were prohibited. In fact, as I entered the name of a piece in my ipod, a woman came over to see if I was taking pictures with it.

As we walked along the river and checked out the city center, we saw the Beer Bike go by. The Beer Bike is a bar on wheels propelled by patrons who pedal from their seats. Two of my friends were offered a ride with this bachelorette beer bike party, but hesitated to leave the rest of us and still have not forgiven themselves. I was in Subway a hundred yards away getting a sandwich at the time. A Beer Bike event is actually a decent deal - 20 liters of beer for 10 people for 200 euros and 2 hours. We saw another beer vehicle in Dusseldorf that night, but it was a bachelor party this time. There were many bachelor parties going on in both Koln and Dusseldorf, with the bachelor and his entourage wearing matching custom t-shirts. Not having matching shirts, we almost felt left out. We settled in outside a bar that was gearing up for the Germany-South Africa game. Intrigued by the Giraffe, a five-foot cylinder of beer, we ordered a three-liter variety and had our own tap for glasses of Kölsch, the popular, but mediocre signature beer of Köln.

Beer Bike

The plan was to ride over to Dusseldorf by train and see what the fuss is about its nightlife. We boarded a packed train for a half-hour ride, which spat out half the passengers at Leverkusen where the Germany game was played that night. I was now very upset I didn't know about the game and could have seen it for minimal travel expense as opposed to setting fire to cash on the way to Manchester the next week. Dusseldorf had an extremely busy line of bars, with hundreds of people passing by every minute. We did not sample the nightlife, but did sample some cheap and sadly delicious Pizza Hut.

In the morning, we returned to Köln and headed straight for the chocolate museum. The museum covered every part of the process from growing and harvesting cacao to packaging and marketing. Here are some highlights.

Ingredients of small chocolate bar

Chocolate wrapping machinery

Cacao plant growing in the museum's small, sweltering indoor rainforest

Molding Chocolate:

Molten chocolate is poured into a mold and placed on this contraption to create "constant rotation in every direction on its own axis" ensures uniform thickness throughout the finished product. This would have been a good gyroscope example for my dynamics class.

Cocoa beans were used as currency by the Aztecs, who deeply valued the bean. It was used as a sort of panacea to treat fever and wounds.

There was an incredible chocolate shop in the museum. I bought some absurdly high-percentage dark chocolate - 90% and 99% - for my mom who is a fiend for the 85%. I bought another 99% for all of us to try. My friends suffered through their tiny squares - someone said it tasted like dirt. I got pretty hooked and had finished half of the bar before our return to Metz. After a Italian lunch easy on the taste buds and stomachs rattled by German cuisine, we boarded the first of a few trains that would take us back to Metz, and played the first of many games of pitch.

Louvre Art

2009-09-09T17:04:00.000-07:00

Here is some art from the Louvre that I appreciated.

Alexandre Decamps
The Walls of Aigues-Mortes

The lighting in this painting caught my eye. I guess I'm a sucker for sunsets, but Decamps' painting seemed to warm up the museum. Browsing through his other works online is also a joy.

Alexandre Decamps - The Monkey Painter

Decamps didn't have much of an ego, but did have a sense of humor.

I remember sculpting this in kindergarten.

Here is art from the Elles exhibit at Centre Pompidou:

Nike de Saint Phalle

Funky sculpture of a bride right? Wrong: "The bride is a sort of costume, ..., clearly totally bankrupt of individuality, due to male shortcomings in practicing true responsibilities, and I think we are reaching a new social state, matriarchy..."

Gloria Friedman:

"It seems to me that previously, for women, the question remained of whether or not they had a place in the cultural landscape: one day the question stopped being asked.

This is pretty deep, very simple, and so physical, tangible, and visually appealing - my favorite piece at the museum.

Lost the blurb for this one. I think it was titled "Hot Dog World". I liked the geometry. It was made of a transparency over an orange tinted graph paper.

Vera Lutter
Rheinbraun 1

Not all the works were fiery feminist statements. This giant piece of industrial machinery looks like it's on Mars, and the inverted black/white effect gives me the creeps. It takes up an entire wall. I saw Vera Lutter's name mentioned on the website for the Gagosian Gallery, where my friend Max works. I'll have to talk to him about seeing more of her photos.

Alisa Andrasek
Biothing

Definitely a novel idea. Created using selective laser sintering and CNC milling. According to Wikipedia, selective laser sintering is a type of 3-d printing or additive manufacture that makes a product from a CAD file. CNC Milling is the use of computers to control fine motor tools such as drills, welding components, etc.

More Pompidou

2009-09-07T15:34:00.000-07:00

The Centre Pompidou is famous for its architecture: brightly colored structural and infrastructural components form the exterior.

View from top of Pompidou

View of Pompidou

There was all sorts of media in the exhibit. In this room, there is a set of three simultaneous videos of a woman in a burka trying new activities like water skiing and jai-lai, a set of cloth-covered, constantly inflating and deflating airbags representing sleeping bodies, various art, and finally, the lips of a woman screeching for change.

The minimalist room made me laugh. It's about what's not there, right?

Paris

2009-09-02T17:21:00.000-07:00

Alex, Sohail and I went to Paris last weekend. We made our plans the night before, but decided to buy our train tickets at the station, rather than online, along with youth cards that would give us discounts. When we arrived around 9:30 AM, we discovered that fares had doubled since the night before. We ended up taking a 4 PM train (for a bit more reasonable fare) and arrived in Paris around 5:30. We checked into our Etap hotel, which was a great deal for the three of us - 110 euros for 2 nights, and then headed out to the Louvre to make the most of our abbreviated day in Paris.

A giant column at the Louvre, see the woman in bottom left corner for perspective

After half-heartedly taking in art for two hours, we made our exit. We passed a street musician, clad in construction-style sweatshirt and work boots, who made his cello sing as he smoked a cigarette. In the Latin quarter, we scoured for a decent meal, circled the entire area, and finally agreed on a Thai restaurant. The menu was an overwhelming book of different combinations and price ranges. We had a dining area to ourselves up a split-level, but could still see the street. Next we headed to the Pont neuf and drank a bottle of wine amongst the younger thriftier Parisians. As it got late, we decided to call it a night and enjoy the nightlife more thoroughly on Saturday.

The next morning, we checked out the Centre Pompidou and, as at the Louvre, were admitted for free with our passports. Apparently the French student visa in the passport warrants free admission in many museums. I will test it this weekend in Germany. The Centre Pompidou houses the Musee National d'Art Moderne, which was the draw for me. The architecture of the Centre, with its bright colorfuls and guts-as-exterior was a site itself. Inside, the main exhibition was "Elles", a feminist art exhibit, much to the chagrin of me and my 2 male friends. Even when the art was not clearly feminist, the blurb by the artist often had some harsh words. The strongest blurb called men "walking abortions," basically botched versions of females. I must say, though, that I found it more interesting than the antiquated albeit esteemed pieces of the Louvre.

Bottom floor of Centre Pompidou

Famous Exterior Escalators

And Video

The garden of Luxembourg is across the Seine river and a kilometer or so south of the Louvre, so we ventured over and relaxed for a bit.

We developed quite a thirst at the park and decided to investigate happy hour possibilities. I had hastily revisted a NY Times article that morning which listed an "ancient dive bar" supposedly called Le Baron Rouge. We agreed to check it out, and spent the better part of an hour walking it but were greatly disappointed to find a bustling wine bar. I had misread the article, but we got to see a new area of Paris, outside the typical tourist quarters. Not wine experts and not feeling a part of the mature crowd, we returned to the Latin quarter to a student bar called the Hideout. After a few beers there, we moved to a restaurant nearby. The waiter mentioned how much better the 16 euro menu was and I took offense. Emboldened by happy hour, I explained in faltering French that we might not have 16 Euros to pay for such an expensive meal, but I don't think the humor was properly communicated.

The next day we had a scare while entering Gare de l'Est, when we noticed that the departure time we had in our heads was 15 minutes later than the real departure time. We sprinted through the train station, and along the track while conductors encouraged us to "Courez" and "Dépêchez-vous" lest their train be delayed. We boarded with a minute or two to spare, at which point I mentioned to Alex that he had made a pretty serious mistake in checking the time. Sohail reminded me that I had had the tickets out that very morning to see if we were all seated together. I hadn't even glanced at the departure time.

Louvre Palace at Night

Canal lock near our hotel

Next to Notre Dame

FC Metz vs. Bastia

2009-08-27T16:17:00.000-07:00

Entering Stade St. Symphorien

On Monday August 24th, I went with Sohail and Alex to see the local soccer team, FC Metz play Bastia. FC Metz has a rich history. Once a prominent French Ligue 1 team, it now competes in Ligue 2. My brother amazingly recalled that they were the 2nd-best team in France, just behind Paris Saint-Germain in the video game FIFA '97. That was a long time ago, though, and the stadium seems to have aged. The level of play seemed pretty weak for a professional match, but there were moments of brilliance that made it well worth the very affordable admission price of 10 euros.

The Stade St. Symphorien, was spartan and medium-sized. With a capacity of 26,700, it probably held around 5,000 the night we were there. The atmosphere was tame aside from two groups of around 50 harcore fans, singing and banging drums behind both goals.

I cropped the photos above to make this panoramic of the stadium. I don't know how to make it show up full size, but it's a bit more impressive larger, and not dumbed down.

I watched this free kick through the camera and thought the ball was about to drill me.

Corner Kick

FC Metz won 1-0 on a powerful curling shot from 30 yards out by... somebody. Oguchi Onyewu once played for FC Metz as did Franck Ribéry, Louis Saha, Emmanuel Adabayor, and likely many other famous footballers whose names I don't recognize.

More pictures from Strasbourg

2009-08-27T15:13:00.001-07:00

Panoramic view from Cathédrale Notre Dame de Strasbourg

And the other side of the platform.

Water-bus leaving lock near La Petite France, the tourist district of Strasbourg

A swing bridge that opened to let the water-bus pass

At the beginning of the water-bus tour

La Maison Kamerzell in foreground, cathedral in back
La Maison Kamerzall is a well-preserved building with an ornate facade from the German Renaissance

The Lock

Strasbourg 8/22/09

2009-08-24T17:16:00.000-07:00

On Saturday, I took the train to Strasbourg with Phil and Shaheen. We hustled from the bus to the ticket counter in Metz, then made our way to the 9:00 TER train to Strasbourg. A bit slower, than the TGV, and with a slightly bumpier ride, the TER made its way to the Alsatian capital in an hour and forty minutes. We stopped at the tourism counter in the Gare de Strasbourg. The tourism representative suggested the water-bus tour so we made our way to the Ill river, pausing briefly to gawk at the lofty Notre Dame de Strasbourg Cathedrale.

La Gare de Strasbourg

La Cathédrale Notre Dame de Strasbourg

(all the cathedral pictures are of this church)

All told we spent around an hour in line for the tickets to the water-bus, and then for the bus itself, but it was well worth it, especially for the uncovered boat. The covered version looked like

a greenhouse and, as Phil reminded us, would mess up any photos.

The Water-Bus

Strasbourg is the offical site of the European Union Parliament. This is the Louise Weiss building where the officials hold plenary sessions.

Opposite side of Louise Weiss building

The former customs house.

A covered bridge

All around were beautiful half-timber homes and businesses.

The highlight of the boat trip was travelling through two locks. A lock is a system that moves a boat upriver, where a boat enters a gated area of water into which more water is pumped, raising the water level, and then the boat exits the other side of the tank, having moved up several feet. The Panama Canal is one example of a system of locks. Once on land, we returned to inspect closer and appreciate the simple system.

These lock gates were held together by the water pressure on the high side. Two trap doors open below the water line to let water from high to low to equalize water height.

Entering the Lock

After the boat tour, we immediately got in line to climb the cathedral stairs. Here are some photos from the climb and from the platform just below the steeple.

Me atop the Cathédrale

View from the Stairs

Steeple seen from the platform

At the base of the chapel, we were attacked playfully by some screaming French children - I just screamed back at them. We then went inside the cathedral, took some more pictures, and threw some coins in an impressive change vault beneath a grating in the floor.

We wandered a bit, inspected a lock, and then paused for a beer at the Academie de la Bière. The server showed us no respect, but the Tarte Flambée- a flaky crust with cheese and toppings vaguely resembling pizza -was decent.

We left the Academie behind and checked out a covered bridge before returning to the Gare to catch a train and some rest on the return trip to Metz.

View from the center of Strasbourg

Dorm

2009-08-22T14:01:00.000-07:00

Exploring Metz

2009-08-19T15:45:00.000-07:00

Hay field outside my dorm with GT Lorraine academic building in background (dark glass)

Over the weekend, I got my bearings, and learned the layout of the city of Metz. My dorm is located east of the city center - two minutes walking distance from the academic building of Georgia Tech Lorraine. Walking to the city center is a different story. Roughly three miles away, the ville ancienne is better acessed by bus or, after 8 PM, taxi. The bus system is excellent, and costs about 2.20 euros round trip. Taxis are clean and the drivers are friendly, but a chauffered BMW ride will set you back 10 euros. Here are some pictures of my dorm building "Lafayette".

View of Lafayette courtyard from my ground floor window

Over the past week, I have seen and done quite a bit. First, Saturday, I went exploring with some new friends Matt, Sarah, and Jon. We checked out the Moselle river, a tame narrow waterway at the heart of Metz. Along the riverbank, we rented an electric powerboat, only to discover the rental limits were a mere 200 yards from the starting point. Nevertheless, we relaxed on the river below some beautiful cathedrals and old buildings. Here is a photo of the Moselle river with Temple Neuf, one of Metz's lesser-known churches, in the background.

A bunch of students went to see Inglourious Basterds. The comic fantasy war film was in "version originale" with French subtitles. At certain points, characters were speaking French, and thus there were no subtitles. The German and Italian portions were subtitled in French. All in all, I caught a quarter of the dialogue.

While traveling in Europe on two previous vacations, my brother and I have noticed shirts with English phrases that are very strange - as if the wearer did not understand what was written on his shirt.

I've spotted a few entertaining ones so far, and hope to see some more by semester's end and post them. The first t-shirt read:

"Miami Cocaine Connection"

Musée d'Orsay

2009-08-15T15:12:00.001-07:00

Some works at the Musée d'Orsay caught my amateur eye. After reviewing the degraded internet images though, I have new appreciation for the works and the chance to see them in person. Maybe I should have taken some of my own photos. Here are my favorites:

Jean-François Millet
Le Repos de Fanneurs (Haymakers Resting)

The sunset in the background was the highlight for me. Is the male haymaker stretching? This is a horrendous photo of the real thing.

Mary Cassat
Jeune Femme Portant un Enfant (Young Woman Holding a Child)

I really liked the pastels in general and singled out this one for the beautiful skin tones.

Narcisse Diaz de la Peña
Les hauteurs du Jean de Paris

The sky in this painting caught my eye. In all of Diaz de la Pena's paintings there is some impressive lighting, especially in the blue-bright darkness of the storm clouds over the treeline.

Eugin Boudin
Le Port de Bordeaux

I'm partial to the marine paintings, and liked this one for the historical significance. The horizon is densely populated by the masts of docked clipper ships.

Henri Fantin Latour
Vase Des Fleurs

The texture of the flowers were the highlight of this otherwise blasé still life. A closer glance reveals them to be oily and disgusting - if you poured water on them they might fall apart and wash away.

Edouard Manet
Susanne Hecht de Profile

Another pastel, this Manet piece caught my eye with its luminescent, weightless fabric rendering in the dress on the chest. Done with bold pastel strokes, it looks like a child's painting in the image above, but in the flesh, it really is impressive.

Georges Seurat
La Lisière de Bois au Printemps (The Edge of the Woods in Spring)

Long my favorite artist, the dot extraordinaire painted an amazing sunset. The painting gave me a feeling of dusk, and I like it for no other reason.

Maurice de Vlaminck

Le Restaurant à Marly-le-Roi
Crazy colors lit up this pastel, and I couldn’t resist including it. Vlaminck was one of the originators of fauvism, the artistic movement characterized by liberal use of brilliant colors.

TGV to Metz

2009-08-14T16:21:00.000-07:00

Gare de L'est

The morning of Friday, August 14th, I indulged in, to my surprise, a free hostel breakfast before pummeling my bags and my body through the metro turnstiles and onto the subway to Gare de l'Est. At the Paris train hub, I waited patiently, glad to be early rather than in a rush, then boarded the 10:39 AM TGV to Metz. I picked a random car, not noticing the seat or car numbers, realized my mistake, collected my bags and forced my way out of the car. I tracked down a SNCF attendant who checked my ticket led me back into the same car I came from and past the seat I was sitting in, as I again bounced my gear off the passengers and muttered "pardon" and "excusez moi" to whomever took offense. TGV stands for train à grande vitesse or high speed train. The scenery was moving fast enough to make my stomach churn after about 10 seconds of window gazing. I could manage only brief glances. In spite of the speed, it still moves with less clip-clop than a NY Metro-North train.
According to wikipedia, the track turns have longer radii than traditional trains for smoother turning at pace among other interesting design points - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tgv
Here is some video:

TGV: Notice the cars, on a highway no less, left in the dust.

Arrival à Paris

2009-08-14T10:37:00.000-07:00

I arrived in Paris (Charles De Gaulle airport) on August 13th at around 8:30 am. The flight was delayed nearly two hours which was in fact the only two hours I slept soundly during the flight. Once on the ground, I collected my bags and headed for the in-ariport Gare SNCF to catch an RER train to Paris. Easy as that might have seemed, I spent the next hour wandering the train station helplessly. I waited fifteen minutes in line for a train ticket to find out I needed 8.5 euro in change not bills. After wandering and asking some locals about the change machine, I resorted to ordering a sprite from a shop, receiving an espresso instead, which cost 1.55. I had just recieved a 10 euro bill and 8.45 in change - not enough. I was finally directed to the change machine - another fifteen minute wait followed by another wait for the train ticket machine. All this while I meant to hurry to my hostel to drop my luggage by the 11:00 deadline.

After braving the RER and two metro lines, I hustled the last few blocks to the Oops hostel on Rue Des Gobelins, hoping that the sweat on my brow would help me persuade the manager to allow me in past 11:00. Ironically, the luggage safe room was completely unlocked and unguarded day and night giving me free access to store my bags for the day.

Amidst some errands, I discovered that my ATM card does not work in France, or at least the 5 distributeurs automatique that I tried. I picked up a SIM card for my phone, which failed to light up the service bars on my phone. Nevertheless, I trekked via metro over to Musée d'Orsay happening upon the Louvre complex on my way.

View from under one of the Louvre's arches of IM Pei's pyramid entrance

Near the Louvre fountains, water vendors posing

Louvre, Bushes, Eiffel Tower

The Arc de Triomphe du Carrousel outside the Louvre

Can you see the ferris wheel in between the trees?

Un bateau, le Louvre, ferris wheel, le Musée d'Orsay in that order

At the Musée d'Orsay, I scrutinized the first few rooms at escargot pace, inspired by this New York Times piece:

http://www.nytimes.com/2009/08/03/arts/design/03abroad.html?_r=1&scp=1&sq=look%20at%20art&st=cse .

I was soon losing steam and patience and picked up my pace as I travelled upstairs to the more famous rooms. Rock stars Degas, Manet, Monet, Van Gogh, Renoir, Seurat, were all there, joined by friends Sisley and Pissaro. I didn't take any pictures - the art is on the internet anyway. In the Monet room, I allowed myself a thirty minute nap, then pushed on. Around 5 PM I called it quits, returned to the hostel, and slumbered until 915. Wary of the time, I settled for a beer and steak-frites at L'interlude on Rue des Gobelins. The beer was good, the rest, not so much.