Italy is Really Cool to the Homeless. And Anthony DeCocco.

    I spent spring break doing a tour of Italy. It’s a lot like the Olive Garden dish but with more emphasis on pizza and your servers are Turks. We flew into Milan first, which for me is like entering Hell except that Hell has more interesting people. Milan and I have a history. My first time in Italy, Milan acted the T-rex in Jurassic Park to our electric park rover, forcing us to stay very still until we were rescued by some guy waving a flare. Or something. After spending a few hours in traffic, we spent another few frantically and almost unsuccessfully searching for a hotel while trying to navigate the M.C. Escher painting that is the Milanese road system. Milan knows I have PTSD from our first encounter, and being the unmerciful bastard that it is, resolved to mess with me again.

            Milan decided that two airports were not enough. Malapensa Airport is actually on the complete opposite side of Milan than Bergamo Airport. Since we were flying into Bergamo, we booked a hostel there for one night. Upon arriving in Bergamo, we not-so-quickly realized that we were in fact in Malapensa Airport. There are few panics similar to the one when you realize that you’re actually 100 miles from your intended destination, and I may have soiled myself. Fortunately, we calmed down and found out that we could reach Bergamo and our hostel in about two hours by bus and train, so we finally crawled into bed around 1:30 AM after changing underwear. And don’t try to tell me this was our fault for booking a plane to the wrong airport. Milan made us do it. Did I mention it was snowing when we landed? Milan greeted us with snow on our first day of spring break. Don’t even bother defending this city to me.

            After our one night in Bergamo (better than Milan), we took Narnia Railways to Genoa. On separate journeys, members of our group rode from sunny, Mediterranean weather into a tunnel. Upon exiting the tunnel, it was cloudy and snowing. And not that wimpy Milanese snow; it was inches deep. After going through another long tunnel, we were greeted with Mediterranean weather again. The only logical explanation is that there are two train-sized wardrobes in each tunnel. Mr. Tumnus could not be reached for questioning.

            Genoa quickly vaulted its way into one of my favorite European cities. Its weather matched Barcelona’s, it had great food, and its late-night Kwik-E-Marts were among the dodgiest I’ve ever visited. During our time in Genoa, we hiked Cinque Terre, which directly translates to “Five Lands” and loosely translates to “You won’t even believe how many cats are here. Seriously, they own an entire town.” Cinque Terre was amazing and probably the highlight of the trip, but some of the easier routes were closed because of “rock slides,” which I think is Italian for “overwhelming laziness.” The fact of the matter is we made a lot of cat friends that day and located the mythical cat city of San Bernandino. There are no people in San Bernandino, and the cats live in perfect harmony with nature in their town atop a mountain overlooking the sea.  What I’m really trying to say is we found Catlantis. But I digress.

Florence was awesome. You should have been there. Too bad you were elsewhere, not lounging around eating Panini and watching the homeless soap opera that unfolded every day. It was a real tearjerker.

            I did a repeat of Rome after Florence. There were still as many Turks hawking things as last time, but I at least I knew their weakness this time around: Spanish. Later, I did a frantic search for nature and finally found some on the last day, savoring the grass between my toes and the goose droppings glued to the bottom of my heel. That evening I met up with Rirrian, who studies in Rome and is, how to put this properly, “totes cool, brah.” She was kind enough to inform me that Rome also likes to have public transportation strikes at the most inconvenient times and saved us from being stuck in Italy another day against our will, eating delicious food and wandering through eternal sites from the founding of Western civilization.

Notes:

1.     South Park and cats were the things we consumed most on this trip.

2.     “Consuming cats,” means making friends with them, not eating them. Probably.

3.     Really, if anyone ever decides to eradicate the hellhole that is Milan, I will not mourn it. Milan is dead to me.

4.     It’s still amazing to think that I’ve been to the cradle of Western civilization twice. Rome is absolutely amazing,

5.     Turkish hawkers can pack up their goods with alarming speed when a cop comes moseying up the Spanish Steps. If packing up illegal goods under duress were an Olympic sport, Turkey would never lack a gold medal.

6.     Pesto might be the greatest sauce in the history of creation. And Florence homeless people might be the most deranged in the history of creation.

7.     Cinque Terre is easily one of the most beautiful places on the Mediterranean. Make a point to go there if you get the opportunity.

8.     I had ice cream (gelato) for the first time in three years on this trip. I’m considering starting a new religion with gelato as the deity.

           

Clash of the Continents: 2nd Installment

In the second installment of my examination of USA vs. European character traits, I take a tougher stance on what makes each side great and what makes each side look like that decomposing rat your cat dragged onto the front porch to “thank” you for pampering it endlessly. In honor of my recently broken heart (definitely not related to my favorite actress’s pregnancy), the topics will not only be ranked by which continent did it better, but by how much the particular item in question allows me to forget the miracle of birth. Numerical rankings will be administered on a 1-10 scale of PIPs (Portman Isn’t Preggers), with a 1 meaning that I am still fully and furiously aware of Natalie’s baby bump, thank you, and a 10 meaning I believe I inhabit an alternate universe where pregnancy is a myth and Natalie is always single.

Things the US Got Right:

The Head Nod – Usually only used among male members of society, the head nod is an acceptable form of acknowledgment when you see someone as you’re walking by. It’s simple, effective to use on friends and strangers alike, and apparently a sign of aggression in most European cities. If any eye contact is made with a European stranger, it is guaranteed to be frigid and leaves you with an urge to pat yourself down to make sure all of your belongings and organs are still in place. The head nod receives 3 PIPs for being friendly, but not allowing me the conversation I need to express how deeply I want the music from Black Swan to follow me around.

Money – Yes, the Euro is stronger against the dollar and makes traveling abroad that much more expensive, but this has nothing to do with the exchange rate. The US Dollar has a superior design compared to the Euro. I agree, the Euro is more sensitive to individuals with impaired sight, but the dollar doesn’t look like monopoly money and through careful quality control standards, every bill manages to be the same size. That way I don’t have a bouquet of freshly collected bills spilling out of my wallet alerting every thief within the block to exactly how much money I have. And who the hell needs 8 different coin denominations, including a two-cent piece? 5 PIPs for the US Dollar, because when I get back stateside, I plan to make a thick, green, 1-dollar bill rain fall in my room rather than the thick, painful, 1-Euro coin sleet I get here. “God is in the rain. And definitely not the sleet.” – Evey Hammond, V for Vendetta. Mostly.

Construction – I will grant that the United States undergoes a lot of construction. After all, Pennsylvania’s official state nickname is “The Perpetual Roadwork State.” But when it comes to historic monuments or tourist attractions, we tend to leave well enough alone until something serious happens. I get that Europe’s sites are generally much older and in need of more extensive repairs. But in Bruges, I swear I saw the construction workers giggle as they rode an elevator up and down the scaffolding on the town’s main church tower, accomplishing nothing. And this happens everywhere, on major monuments. I’m willing to bet the worker’s would open the elevator like a carnival ride if they weren’t having so much fun themselves. 6 PIPs for the US for leaving decaying structures alone until they kill civilians and then blaming it on the original contractor for using “inferior materials.”

Fast Food – I will be the first to tell you that I use McDonald’s as nothing more than a glorified latrine if I ever set foot inside of it. But not all fast food is McDonald’s and the US has excelled in producing things that I will shove in my mouth when I hate myself. Europe does have kebaps (think Turkish burrito) that are Turkilicious, but otherwise, they’re lacking in a quality niche fast food chain. Americuh gets the win for having not only Chick-fil-a and my girl Wendy’s, but also Five Guy’s, Hardee’s (for those watching their cardiovascular health), and literally another Chick-fil-a right around the block. I won’t tell you the things I’ve considered doing for a Chick-fil-a biscuit over here (Hint: It starts with “puntin-“ and ends with “-aby”), but it’s frowned upon in civilized society. 8.5 PIPs for American fast food for giving me just enough fibrillation to make me worry about my own health rather than Natalie’s undoubtedly malignant stomach mass.

Thing Europe Got Right:

Leash Laws – In the US, there are very few places you can take your dog and many more where you can’t. In Europe, that is just the opposite. The places I’ve seen dogs (normal, untrained pets) include the metro, the grocery store, a bar, a sit-down restaurant, and a church. Because Rover needs to get his Jesus on after a few drinks and some mussels, too. That said, the dogs are much better behaved, rarely bark, even in public places, and their owners actually pick up after them! 5 PIPs to European leash laws for allowing me to witness a Pomeranian in a bar before imagining how far I can punt it.

Authority – In Europe, it seems the only two types of police you have to worry about are French and German. The French police are scary because they have a messed up judicial system and are really insecure from the years of merciless taunting. The Germans are terrifying because they’re called the Polizei, and that’s a lot of hard consonants. Otherwise, most police officers in Europe seem content to live and let live, only stepping in during emergencies. Or not, if a soccer game is on. 6 PIPs to European police officers for leaving people alone, like Benjamin Millepied should have done to Natalie.

Doctor Offices – After rescuing so many orphans from apartment fires, I managed to contract an infection. I won’t relate the gritty details, but let’s just say that I required medical attention. My roommate escorted me to the doctor’s office where I was third in line to see the doctor. I realized I wasn’t in Kansas any more when I didn’t have to fill out any paperwork. I was out in less than 45 minutes and paid the doctor herself 23 Euros (31 dollars) for the examination, blood tests, urinalysis, and prescriptions., which is still less than my co-pay at home. The test results were in within 10 hours. 8 PIPs for allowing me to get better quickly and focus on important things like sabotaging Millepied’s engagement.

Barcelona – Did I mention I love Barcelona? 11 PIPs to Barcelona.

Boo-eh-nos Die-ass. Me Lahm-oh Captain-o Ryan

            First off, sorry about the delay in writing this. I was so busy rescuing Belgian orphans from house fires this week that I never had enough time to sit down and start this post. Anyway, I spent my last weekend in Barcelona. I’m now going to explain to you, in detail, why Barcelona is better than your favorite city, better than you, and nearly better than Natalie Portman. It’s statistically impossible for anything to actually be better than Natalie Portman, but Barcelona sure tries.

WHY BARCELONA IS BETTER THAN YOUR FAVORITE CITY:

            Because your favorite city wishes it could be Barcelona, that’s why. Your favorite city wishes it could speak Spanish. Your favorite city would love to have 60-degree sunny weather every day in the winter. Your favorite city is jealous that Barcelona is located on the Mediterranean Sea and that laying out on the beach is perfectly reasonable in February. Your favorite city yearns to have Camp Nou and FC Barcelona, which are both better than your favorite city’s best stadium and best sports team. Basically, your favorite city is Robin to Barcelona’s Batman, or that little, gimpy, traitorous humpback in 300 to Barcelona’s King Leonidas.

WHY BARCELONA IS BETTER THAN YOU:

            Have you seen yourself recently? You’ve really let yourself go over there. Seriously, go check the mirror. Barcelona hasn’t let itself go. In fact, judging by the cranes that litter the skyline, Barcelona is gearing up for one monstrous facelift, even though Barcelona is already more attractive than you. And it’s smarter than you too. It created the ideal formula for siesta, something even Einstein never accomplished.  In fact, Barcelona is pretty much better than you at everything. It’s a better cook, a better cleaner, a better listener, and it remembers to lock the door when it leaves for the night. Barcelona is the perfect roommate. The only thing you’re better at than Barcelona is pissing me off, and that’s only because Barcelona is incapable of making me anything but happy. But if Barcelona could piss me off, it would be better at it than you.

WHY BARCELONA IS NEARLY BETTER THAN NATALIE PORTMAN:

            As previously stated, it’s impossible for anything to be equal to or better than Natalie Portman. Even trying to think of something better than Natalie Portman is a crime against humanity, punishable by 30 years in prison and a forced viewing of every one of Rob Schneider’s movies. But Barcelona gets as close as legally and physically possible to equaling Natalie Portman. Barcelona is almost as attractive, has appeared in almost as many movies, also speaks multiple languages, and is also part Jewish. In fact, Barcelona surpasses Natalie in one respect because it is not pregnant or engaged to someone that isn’t me. But it can still never be better. I love you though, Barcelona.

Notes:

1.     In case it wasn’t clear, I really love Barcelona, particularly the lifestyle there. It’s one of the few places I’ve been where I just do not care about what time it is or what I have to do. It’s very relaxing.

2.     They do futbol (soccer) justice in Camp Nou, the stadium where the local soccer team, FC Barcelona, plays. The stadium holds 98,000, there’s not a bad seat in the house, and the team is REALLY good. Lionel Messi is arguably the best player in soccer, and most of the team was on the Spanish national squad that won the World Cup. Tickets are expensive, but witnessing a Messi hat trick in person is worth it.

3.     Barcelona’s seagulls aren’t from Hell. Another point to Barcelona.

4.     This post is referencing no one in particular in the “Better Than You” section. Don’t get your undies in a bunch over it.

5.     I finally felt useful in the language department. I can speak broken but functional Spanish and was able to converse with some of the natives decently. It feels really good to survive a conversation with someone who can’t speak English and be able to hold your own.

6.     That said, Catalan is a dirty bastard language who enjoys harassing tourists and has no business in functional society. And it drowns puppies. Probably.

When in Rome, stop saying "When in Rome"

This past weekend had a lot of firsts for me. It was my first time in Rome. It was the first time I’ve used Ryanair (“Prostitutes of Air Travel”) on this trip (although not my first time ever.) It was the first time I’ve ever hated Indian street vendors so much. It was my first experience with Italian public transportation. It was my first experience hating Italian public transportation. However, it wasn’t the first time I’ve ever complained so much.

            But seriously, Rome was amazing. Except for those Indians trying to hawk their umbrellas. They must have robbed an umbrella warehouse or something because literally every single vendor had six umbrellas and there were about 1000 salesmen. Now, I’m no math scholar, but that’s like a million umbrellas.

            Anyway, it’s a great city. The ancient buildings are impressive to say the least, and the air just dripped with history. And speaking of dripping air, you know what didn’t happen in Rome while we were sightseeing? Rain. Much like the mythical mountains that Belgian parents tell their children about, the sun is an equally legendary character in the nighttime tales of Brussels toddlers. Romans informed me that the sky is actually blue, not gray, and that in fact they had not “painted the clouds blue like a bunch of crazy Italians.”

            Likewise, my roommate and I found a small park-like area inside the Roman forum that was set on a hill. It offered a great view of the entire city, Coliseum included, and the touch with nature, however brief it was, really lifted my mood. Not as much as when I shook hands and got a photo with a Swiss Guardsman, but almost.

            Did I mention I shook hands and got a photo with a Swiss Guardsman? Because I totally did. The Swiss mercenaries at the Vatican dress in clothes that were designed many years ago, but could easily pass as the genius creation of Ralph Lauren. On acid. In a circus.  That, coupled with the magnitude of St. Peter’s Basilica and the rest of the Vatican City, made for a very happy self. I probably don’t need to visit any more churches after seeing St. Pete’s (he prefers “Pete” in informal situations.)

            Here is where I will put the obligatory rant about Italian public transportation, which appears to have been designed by Ralph Lauren on acid in a circus. In order to get on the bus from the city to the airport, you need to exchange your bus ticket for a plastic ticket before everyone else does so you can get a seat because heaven forbid some people stand on a bus. Then you go outside in the rain (There it is! I knew it wouldn’t let me have an entirely dry trip), but the bus driver won’t take your newly acquired plastic ticket. The guy who is supposed to take your ticket is busy counting other tickets in the corner of the station from the previous bus, or maybe he’s peeing because Italians like to play Hide-and-Seek with their restrooms. Then, when he finally comes over to take tickets, half of the people don’t understand the whole ticket exchange process, so he explains the situation to every single person, rather than making a group announcement. So you get on the bus with a bunch of wet Italians, who, like Gremlins, seem to reproduce when wet, so despite the ticket service, it’s still crowded. The moral of the story is, one of those damn street vendors got on the bus and was trying to hawk her wares. I mean, go Belgian transportation.

Notes:

1. Despite my complaining, Rome was beautiful. The history is stunning and when you consider that these buildings are some of the oldest structures on the planet and still standing, it’s a bit intimidating.

2. I stick by my previous thesis that Americans are idiotic travelers. Some girls got a photo with the guys who stand outside the Coliseum dressed as Roman soldiers and didn’t realized they had to pay them until afterward. However, we did find two guys throwing a football around and threw with them. I do miss American football.

3. I may not have escaped the plague running rampant in the group after all. Matt caught strep from himself again and I have mild cold-like symptoms. Hoping it is just allergies to street vendors.

4. Those cursed Mediterranean seagulls from Hell live in Rome.  If you’re not familiar with them, they’re about twice the size of American seagulls and they have blood red eyes. And I’m pretty sure they eat pigeons. Or tourists.

5. Props this week go to Josh for booking a really nice apartment for cheap. There were three rooms and we each got out own bed and some privacy, as well as internet and a gas stove. Which I may have burned my fingers on twice.

Yeah, I'll have the Luxembourger with Fries. I mean Frites.

            Instead of Paris, our group decided on going to Luxembourg for the weekend. Paris was looking to be a little too daunting given some peoples’ exams on Monday, which is fine with me because Paris smells funny. And it was adopted. We went to the train station where several events transpired. The two most important of these events were 1. Kati bought “Frisk,” a type of mint, and 2. We rode on the Hogwarts Express. So for the rest of the trip, whenever we had bad breath, we could count on Kati to Frisk us. What a great friend. And as for the Hogwarts Express, I’m sure anyone who has traveled on a train in Europe can attest to how beautiful it is to watch snow fall on the countryside of a foreign country, cows and horses huddling close as they graze on the last tufts of grass, as you look longingly through the glass while crammed in a seat next to a sweaty Luxembourger who has an unusual concept of “personal space.” Ruined that image for you, didn’t I?

            Luxembourg turned out to be an excellent choice. Coming from Brussels, where mountains are myths told to children before bed, Luxembourg’s hills were quite refreshing. Especially the hill behind our hostel. That thing is easily the number one cause of premature death in the city. And to get just about anywhere, you have to traverse it. To travel safely, I recommend at least one set of crampons and a team of Sherpas. But the rest of the city of Luxembourg (located in the region of Luxembourg the country called Luxembourg) was very nice, and even bustling at times in the main shopping square. Luxembourg is best known for its banking, but one should not overlook its chocolate, beers, and playgrounds.

            Those of you who saw my facebook photos know this, but playgrounds in Europe are a carefully designed way to weed out the weaker and dumber children in society. Playground architects think safety features show a lack of creativity and that a deficiency in precariously high rope bridges indicates your failure in the field. What I’m trying to say is that six college students spent an hour on the playground, genuinely enjoying themselves and they will never have that much fun on an American playground because it’s too safe. I’m going to end the main recount here because this playground has me so worked up that anything else will just sound disappointing.

Notes:

1.     Big thanks to Dana and her parents for purchasing the group a meal from a restaurant that we had no business looking at, never mind eating in.

2.     I am pleased to inform you all that even though I did enter a McDonald’s, it was only to use the restroom. I will never give them money while I’m here, but I will pee in them in an emergency.

3.     Belgium also has mobile home parks in the south, just like the USA. Knowledge on the dental care of the residents and the likelihood of being destroyed by rogue tornadoes is unknown.

4.     I love talking to people in Spanish.

5.     Buy one, get one free is always a beautiful thing.

Clash of the Continents: 1st Installment

Presented below for your reading pleasure is a subjective comparison of certain aspects of daily life in America and Europe.  I hope to make these comparisons a monthly or bi-monthly post as more topics are brought to my attention. Also, keep in mind these are subjective, so if I step on your toes or you disagree, then you're wrong. A post on my trip to Luxembourg will be up later.

Things America got right:

Bathrooms – Let’s get this out of the way now. Charging people to use a public restroom is annoying and sadistic. Also, how does the restroom attendant describe his job to his friends? For everyone’s sake, I hope they work in a shift cycle with other public employees. I would hate for a stranger to learn my potty schedule because he is a tenured bathroom guardian.

Music – Apparently. I hate Rihanna, Beiber, and the Black Eyed Peas like any red-blooded American should. Much to my dismay, Europe’s musical tastes mirror that of an American high school girl. All public places, including bars, clubs, metros, and restaurants, play American top-40 music. Perhaps this belongs more under “Things Europe got horribly wrong.”

Restaurant Prices – Eating out in America isn’t cheap, but European restaurants seem to think their food is made entirely from caviar and unicorn kisses. As much as I’d love to drop the equivalent of $30 on a meal regularly, it’s just not cost effective. And most of the sit down restaurants here require at least that much, plus drinks (more on that later). However tip is included which is a plus. Another positive side effect is it forces us to cook, which is both beneficial in the long run and phenomenally dangerous in the now run.

Drinks – Drinks here means all beverages, alcoholic or otherwise. First off, they’re expensive and asking for free refills will get you a dirty look at best and a hearty derisive laugh at worst. Secondly, we’re already getting cheated those 25 milliliters because of the conversion from 12 ounces to 33 centiliters (you better believe I calculated!). Many bottles only contain 25 centiliters. And thirdly, there is no thirdly. I’m willing to excuse the whole carbonated water thing because it’s cultural, but if you’re going to charge me $3 and surprise me with gassy water then (insert fart joke here).

Weather – I swear all of Europe is a rainy, bleak mess right now, with very few exceptions. As much as I usually love rainy, bleak messes, it’s a bit daunting to know that this trend is continent-wide and there’s little to no chance of escape until spring. And South Carolina gets snow while Brussels gets none, despite being hundreds of miles farther south? Shenanigans.

Things Europe got right:

Windows – How America let Europe get so far ahead in window engineering baffles me. These things don’t slide up and down like some archaic Tangram puzzle. They open in and out in a smooth and quiet manner. They can be opened a variety of distances. They’re larger and less obstructed. They allow me to sit on the window ledge and stare without a screen or white crossbar getting in the way. I may be in love. Or a feline.

Churches – I like renovated warehouses of worship enough. But the cathedrals here are just amazing. And it seems like every town has at least one or two very impressive stone churches. I’m actually pretty fond of churches (more so when they’re empty) and I could easily see myself blowing a day just hanging out in a few of them around Brussels. Plus, church names are much more intimidating when you can’t understand what they mean. Basilique Nationale du Sacré-Cœur sounds like the national venomous reptile from the Belgian badlands, whereas Second Baptist Church sounds like the runner-up to First Baptist Church in the Christian Coalition Chili Cook-off.

University – Apparently university is only 800 Euros a semester or so, not including any scholarships. The catch is, you have to survive the rigorous first two years. That sounds easy to some of you, but it’s a trap. You’d be surprised how difficult even menial tasks are when there’s heaps of cheap beer available to anyone that looks like they could have passed the 3^rd grade.

Sales Tax – It may be higher here, but it’s included in the price on the tag. Thank you! The American system is flamingly idiotic. If the same people who can’t finish La Sagrada Familia after over 100 years can be bothered to calculate and include tax in prices, you know America was hitting the Patriotic Punch a little too hard when it came time to decide on how costs would be displayed.

Beer – Obvious. Even the cheapest Jupiler or Maes here trumps some of the mid-level American stuff. I will admit, I sometimes miss a good Blue Moon, but when the supermarkets are practically throwing Stella Artois at you, it’s hard to get too upset. Plus, everything is higher percentage, so you don’t feel obligated to drink more than one (or something like that.) Hooray beer.

Carpe Diem: Seize the Carp

January 17, 2010: I am writing this from self-imposed quarantine. Three of the people in our group have contracted some sort of illness, leaving me to lock myself in the window box area with the curtains drawn. I only venture out to eat and do laundry.  Outside, one of the skyscrapers is currently having a seizure. Its lights are fading off and on in an unpredictable pattern, similar to an octopus’s camouflage. The blinking reminds me of the futility of survival. The infected sit just beyond my curtain, watching Dexter on my bed. I plan to sterilize it later. I’m terrified and I think they can smell fear. My only chance at dodging this illness is to pickle the virus before it takes hold in my body.

            **We now have a confirmed case of strep throat in the apartment, and two more cold-like illnesses with people downstairs. My goal of staying healthy is being severely threatened. **

            Anyway, in attempt to get really in touch with my domestic side, I have branched from cooking into laundry. Worrisome, I know, but it’s ok, I had a genius solution. Instead of dropping 4 Euros on the laundromat, I decided to tub wash my clothes myself. I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking “But Tyler, won’t clothes take forever to dry, even indoors, in that damp climate?” And that’s why you’re all smarter than me and should warn me before I do anything more difficult than use an ATM (it’s OK to leave my card in the machine for next time, right?). Most of the stuff dried within 5 hours. And by “most” I of course mean “none.” I finally resorted to blow-drying some of it, and fortunately, the rest was dry by morning. Except for my jacket. I swear that thing absorbed about 10 pounds of water, expelling about 8 pounds of what appeared to be raw sewage when I squeezed the water out. It’s still damp right now, and I fully expect it to grow an hyper-resistant mold colony that feeds on cigarette smoke and American stupidity, both of which are abundant in and around our hotel.

            In other exciting news, I had my first Post Office experience here. Apparently customs decided the package containing one of my textbooks looked enough like a bomb to warrant searching and a 10 Euro fee. But I dutifully paid the dues, doing so during a damp downpour I give up on this alliteration. Basically, I got the one lady who didn’t speak much English, but at least she was friendly. I need to know more French. Like “I’m retarded” or “I’m so sorry for myself and my friends for stepping on your dog, no one taught us how to open the doors on your public transportation.” You know, the useful phrases.

            Anyway, it’s Paris this weekend, which should be exciting, then Rome after that. We may die in Rome. I say that so you have advance warning to get your “goodbyes” out.

Notes:

1.     I don’t think I’ve ever tried so hard not to get sick. Which means I’ll get sick.

2.     Does anyone else think that the day after the Super Bowl should be an international holiday?

3.     I’ve decided I’m collecting flags from every country I’ve been to. I’ll decide where to hang them later.

4.     New linens are the best things ever behind a fresh waffle.

5.     Seriously though, cigarette smoke is nasty and gets in everything.