Clash of the Continents: Final Installment

The final installment in our series of Euro/US comparisons, “Clash of the Continents 3: The Incontinence,” will be judged in a similar manner to the previous installment. That is, the grading scale will be in PIPs (Portman isn't Preggers, for those of you new to the system), with 10 PIPs signifying my belief in a world where Natalie Portman and I are married and divorce in illegal, and 1 PIP signifying a high likelihood of me rage-punting a Pomeranian if you use the words “Millipied,” “pregnant,” or “Milan” in my presence.

THINGS THE UNITED STATES GOT RIGHT:

ESPN – I tend to not watch TV much when I’m at home, and I watched even less when I was in Belgium because my computer screen was larger than the TV we had and didn’t yell at me in French. But if there was one thing I missed about American television, it was ESPN. I missed the playful banter between anchors. I missed the Top 10 Plays because in Europe, top 10 plays are a montage of soccer goals from varying distances, indistinguishable from any other top 10 plays in the past. I did not miss that sorry excuse for sports programming SportsNation or Tony Reali’s gelled mullet that I’m convinced harbors international fugitives. But I did miss the opportunity to watch sports where diving like a wounded fairy wasn’t encouraged (you’re on thin ice though, baseball). Finally, I missed the manly side effects of watching ESPN, such as increased chest hair, belligerence, and the superiority complex that comes with spouting off the same information every other man knows. 5 PIPs to ESPN for limiting broadcasts to sports-related topics (and poker?), distracting me from celebrity gossip during this trying time.

Gas Prices – When I came back and filled up my gas tank for the first time, it was a bit terrifying to find it cost more than $50. I sopped up my tears, trying to forget all of those GW pizzas from Bi-Lo I could have had, and did some calculations. $3.75 per gallon is pretty terrible, but in Europe it would be cheaper if your car ran on milk. Or beer. After factoring in the conversion from liters to gallons, and Euros to dollars, and Celsius to inches, I found that a gallon of gas in Belgium would have cost more than $9.00. So filling up my car in Brussels would cost nearly $140, which is almost three times as many potential McDonald’s cheeseburgers thrown out the proverbial window. So the next time you complain about filling up your tank, think of the poor drivers in Europe and all of the Frosty’s they can’t buy. 6 PIPs to US gas prices for allowing me to travel to Natalie Portman three times for the price of one trip in Europe.

Race relations – The dark horse for the United States in this installment is race relations, a surprising late entry that confused the judges.  America isn’t known for its accepting attitude towards minorities. Considering that a major attraction in Charleston is still called the Slave Market and that Mexicans are considered contraband in some states (source unknown), it’s not hard to contend that America is in fact one of the most racist countries on Earth. But then you see the things Europe does on a regular basis and America seems like the Valhalla of racial acceptance. Belgian landlords will often state “No foreigners” on their applications, but foreigners only include folks of the non-cracker variety. Americans are not foreigners, for instance, but Turks are. Thankfully, not all is lost in Europe. France recently decided to install a quota for black people on its national soccer team. See, that’s the kind of progressive laws tha- What? Oh. It’s not a minimum quota for black people? It’s a maximum quota? So they’re actually going to fire players for being black? Well apparently, Europe really is full of racist bastards. And apparently France wants to keep waving the white flag in all its activities for the sake of “Liberty, equality, and brotherhood.” You stay classy, France. 6 PIPs to American race relations, because it’s not about how fast you run: it’s about how slow your competition is.

24-Hour Stores – For all of the partying Europeans do, they still haven’t caught on to the beauty of a store that is open all night. All grocery stores are closed by 8:30 PM at the latest, and that’s if it’s not Sunday, when everything is closed. So if you’re jonesing for a Mars Bar after dark, you have to visit the “Paki-man” (Pakistani corner store; See: Race relations.) The corner stores mark up the prices heavily, have a limited supply of everything except non-alcoholic beer, and still may not be open all night. Then you come back to America where you can play capture the flag in Wal-Mart until you get kicked out, hit up Waffle House at 2 AM when you get hungry, then cruise down to IHOP at 5 AM because you’re feeling sophisticated after surviving the first wave of gastric distress. With all of the partiers, Europe is just scoffing at a perfectly legitimate untapped market. 7 PIPs to 24-Hour Stores because sometimes you get nightmares about Natalie’s wedding and need a place to drown your pain in syrup.

Internet – Anyone who attempted to contact me in Brussels for the past semester knows that all European internet is comparable to molasses with severe, debilitating seizures.  If you’re either confused as to the meaning behind that description, or you’re trying to imagine molasses with epilepsy, I suggest you stop whatever you’re doing and attempt to contact someone in Europe through Facebook. Go, do it now.

OK, now that the morons are gone for a few hours, let me get right to the point. The worst internet in America (at home, where your mom set up the router upside-down inside a steel box, forgot to password protect it, and named the network after herself) is still better than the internet I received at international business hotels. Dial-up would have been faster and more reliable during a phone-a-thon than the internet in Europe. Just…just be thankful, you spoiled Americans. 9 PIPs to the American internet for allowing me to research Natalie Portman’s upcoming movies. Before they’re released.

THINGS EUROPE GOT RIGHT:

Culture – I know Americans like to think that we’re a melting pot of different cultures, but we’re really not. There’s a bunch of white people who sound different throughout the country. With the exception of rednecks who think the “War of Northern Aggression” is still ongoing and hunt Yankees for sport, most of those people can get along and understand each other fine. Other minority groups don’t differ much across the country either, especially when you consider European diversity. I’ve learned how to toast, curse, and squirm uncomfortably with a full bladder in a variety of languages. Aside from the languages, the cultures are such that people from certain countries will absolutely not get along well with each other. French and Germans will actually combust if you leave them alone in the same room. Conversations between a Catalonian and Madrilenian will degrade into a bar fight within minutes. Walloons and Flemish, like electromagnets, literally cannot touch each other without flying off in opposite directions immediately. And that doesn’t even touch the myriad other cultural differences. It’s something you’ll never experience in America. 6 PIPs to European culture for showing me that it’s OK to hate someone for being different.

Weight control – The first thing I noticed upon landing in Atlanta last week was the large (Ha! Get it?) number of fat people. It was as if a great fat fountain had flooded the flight deck, then demanded I use alliteration to describe it. I felt vulnerable and confused. Fat people were illegal in Europe, either immediately deported or rehabilitated to allow them to rejoin society. I had forgotten that such policies weren’t in place in America. Later that day, I pondered why America was unable to control the weight epidemic over my Baconator with large fries and a diet soda, but never did figure it out. This is a question for people more scholarly than me. All I know for sure is that I definitely felt more comfortable among the svelte European crowd. 7 PIPs to European weight control for figuring out the secret to weight loss: cigarettes and poverty.

Lodging – The one thing Europe has plenty of that the US severely lacks is hostels. For those of you unfamiliar with hostels, think of them as a very cheap hotel where you sleep in the same room as a bunch of strangers. A friend of mine, during a class presentation, described them as, “…a place where you go to have kinky orgies and then get tortured by Slovaks.” So, just like the local YMCA. The unique thing about hostels isn’t the torture, however (that can happen in your own home, if you’re so inclined,) it’s the opportunity to meet foreigners. When you go to hostel, you’re almost forced to interact with strangers, which often lead to going out to the bars with new people. It’s a great way to network with people you’d otherwise never meet, and an even better way for you to condition yourself to fall asleep under impossible circumstances. 7 PIPs to European lodging for allowing me to meet other Natalie fanatics, then sell them to Armenians for a hefty profit.

Work – If you haven’t picked up on this yet, Europe does not care about anything you as an individual do. The list of things I’ve seen European people do in public that are outright illegal in America is long and moderately upsetting, and society there doesn’t even bat an eyelash. In that same vein of not caring, jobs in Europe are essentially adult daycare, yet inexplicably productive.  Vacations are doled out like candy, hours are shorter, and if you’re just having a rough case of the Mondays, striking is a perfectly acceptable option that requires almost zero forewarning. Our Economics professor who worked at the European Commission said, and I quote, “Getting fired from the Commission is nearly impossible. You’d probably have to murder someone. And even then, you might still have a job.” And she was dead serious. This is the most upstanding, highest-paying institution on the continent. Even simple minimum wage jobs are ludicrously hard to get fired from, allowing people to be truant for weeks at a time and still maintain a spot on the payroll. However, it is much more difficult to get hired in Europe. But who needs a job when unemployment benefits are as good as they are? 8 PIPs to European jobs for allowing that convicted Armenian trafficker to whom I sold other Natalie fans to maintain his job at the European Commission after serving his sentence.

CUBC – This is the part where I get all sappy, so bear with me. In fact, I wouldn’t be offended if you skipped this part. For those of you who aren’t familiar with the acronym, CUBC stands for Clemson University Brussels Center, which was our program while abroad. The four months I spent with that program were unbelievable, from the people in the group; to the opportunities we had to travel to other countries; to the Europeans we met (and pissed off) by being dumb Americans. I wish that everyone I knew could have an opportunity to study or travel extensively abroad. Not only do you get to see things that millions of people never will, but also you really start to understand yourself and the world around you. There’s something empowering about knowing that you can pack yourself up, go anywhere in the world, and still trust yourself to not only make it, but make the most of it. So to those of you reading this, thank you for paying attention to my ramblings about my travels, and a special thanks to my parents and my brother for funding and encouraging this adventure. I’d do it all again in a heartbeat. 10 PIPs to Clemson and CUBC because I know Natalie likes a well-traveled, well-educated, borderline obsessive man.

Notes:

1.     All sappiness aside, if you can find a way to study abroad, do it. It’ll cost a lot, but you can always make money when you’re older. You can’t always travel.

2.     In the four months, I visited 9 countries, 5 of which I had never been to before.

3.     Superlatives and more in depth statistics will be up within a few days of this post on the blog and on Facebook.

4.     In recap: Barcelona is the best, Moroccans are insane, and the Dutch love biking. That’s all you really need to know about Europe.

A Tale of Two Cities

Since I’ve been in a competitive mood lately and slow to write about my trip to Berlin due to the spike in the number of orphans needing to be rescued from house fires, I’m going to pit two cities against each other. And since they’ve never been able to get along in the past, and I recently visited both of them, it'll be Berlin and Paris. In the attempt to disguise this as some sort of quasi-objective and fair competition, the cities will be judged on Language, Friendliness, Monuments, Food, and Wild Card, which is probably where I will just rant about thin-

What? No, Paris, please just sit do- No. There’s no need to throw things jus- Just- Ok Paris, stop swinging the fondue stick. Stop. Ok, we’ll do that if you sit do- Sit. Ok, thank you.

And since the Parisians are already whining about how this system isn’t fair to them, “Desserts” will be included as a separate category as well. You’re welcome, Paris.

LANGUAGE:

Paris – Sacre Bleu! The hype French gets as a beautiful language is grossly overrated. Have you ever heard it spoken by a pack (pod? gaggle?) of teenage boys playing soccer? Imagine the dulcet tones of walruses fighting to the death. And I know that all languages sound awful when spoken by teenagers, but French sounds particularly bad because Parisians are required to get nasal implants at birth that prohibit breathing through the nose. So now you have a brood of teenage walruses with allergies battling for their lives in futbol. And what language needs two accents, a vowel hat, and a squiggly that gets attached to the bottom of “C’s?” A pretentious language, that’s what. Good day to you, French.

Berlin – Let’s just say it: Germans are obsessed with flatulence. It seems every fourth word ends in “-fahrt,” and from what I can tell, it’s acceptable to tack on to any prefix. So maybe I was a little biased in favor of Berlin because I was giggling at the language the whole time. But German still isn’t much better than French. It’s phonetic yes, but it also looks like . And some of the “letters” were either straight up stolen from Greek or doodled by a lonely 2^nd grader while his friends played Battleship. I’m looking at you, S-set, with your Beta and your “f3” hybrid letter. Plus, words get hard to pronounce when they’re more than ten letters long. I swear, Germans must play scrabble with twice as many letters. Or a “fahrt” tile.

Point: Berlin, because I’m that juvenile.

FRIENDLINESS:

Paris – All right, let’s just get this out of the way, too. Parisians much prefer it if you speak French. It’s not that they’re hostile towards you if you can’t par-lezz voos the Francis, they just look at you with a mix of contempt and boredom. It’s similar to the way most people look at rednecks trying to do math. But if you can somehow convince them you’re not a complete moron, they can be quite friendly. It’s just that sometimes it’s easier to pluck off all of your own fingernails than convince a Frenchman that not all Americans are idiots.

Berlin – Berlin easily takes the cake on friendliness. And then returns it with a bottle of wine because they felt bad about stealing it in the first place. Everyone from people on the streets, to waiters in restaurants, to the desk clerk at the hostel was willing to attempt some English with us if they weren’t able to speak it perfectly already. One of the hostel workers acted as an amateur bartender for us, and everything was on the house. And maybe I was just in a good mood from all the “fahrt” jokes, but it seemed like everyone on the street was a bit happier as well.

Point: Berlin.

Editor’s Note: Berlin will be forfeiting its Friendliness Point. Seems someone stole my debit card information and robbed me of over a thousand dollars. Shame on you, Berlin. And Paris, you can stop your giggling because you’re not getting the Point either. I heard what you said, and I don’t find it very flattering, or friendly. Category dropped.

MONUMENTS:

Paris – Eiffel Tower. The Louvre. Versailles. Arc de Triomphe. Sacre Coeur. The Louis Vuitton Store. And those are just the ones I can think of off the top of m- Paris, if you keep interrupting me, you’re going to get disqualified. Paris would like to let everyone know that they “Also have a Statue of Liberty like you fat Americans” and that they “saved the best materials for ourselves. Hon, hon, hon.” Apparently, they’re going to drop all pretenses and concede defeat on the friendliness point entirely. But they are right to be proud of all of their monuments. They’re all impressive, and the Eiffel Tower even puts on quite a show at night.

Berlin – Brandenburg Gate. The Berlin Wall. Charlottenburg Palace. Berliner Dom. The East Berlin TV Spire That I Can’t Remember The Name Of. Also a very impressive group of monuments. And Berlin can boast more museums than Paris and London combined at over 180. And Berlin’s representatives aren’t yelling at me to include more of their monuments in the list. Thank you, Berlin.

Point: Paris. If you match up the Eiffel Tower to the Berlin Spire, Versailles to Charlottenburg Palace, Arc de Triomphe to Brandenburg Gate, and Sacre Coeur to Berliner Dom, Paris wins every one of them. It’s about quality over quantity, Berlin. And having everything blown up 70 years ago is no excuse.

FOOD:

Paris – I’m going to say outright that Paris got a distinct advantage here. I was much less concerned about conserving funds in Paris than I was in Berlin because I recalculated my budget in between. That said, Paris did not disappoint. Many ducks were slaughtered to feed me that weekend, including the fattened young ones that produce sweet, sweet foie gras. And the fish. The ocean must be entirely devoid of tuna and salmon after all of the sushi we ate. Did I eat in excess and at the expense of many adorable creatures? Probably. Did I enjoy it anyway? Absolutely. Do I like answering my own questions like a pompous asshat? Indubitably.

Berlin – Even working with a tight budget, Berlin did not disappoint either. The food was significantly cheaper, portions were massive, and I still managed to devour an entire menagerie of cute and exotic animals. Plus, the options were definitely more novel than the fare you usually get in Belgium and the rest of Western Europe, or I at least thought that because I had no idea how to read a menu.

Point: One to each. Well done, you two.

DESSERTS:

Paris – You know we’re just giving you this to build the suspense for the final category, right? And because you’re an insufferable whiner. I just want to hate you so much. But you do have beignets… and crepes…

Berlin – Sorry Berlin, but you knew this category was rigged from the beginning. No amount of Kinder eggs is going to beat out crepes and beignets. Buck up, lil’ camper. There’s another round coming.

Point: Paris

WILD CARD:

Paris – Paris is what I imagine having a little brother is like. Annoying as hell some of the time, tolerable most of the time, and actually halfway fun after it takes a nap and washes up. And much like a little brother, when Paris decides to be difficult, it doesn’t cut corners. Let’s just take the metro lines. After failing to get on the right train to Versailles for nearly an hour, we finally found ourselves heading in the correct direction. Granted, about half of that delay was our fault for not properly researching the lines. But Paris blows its nose with forgiveness and refused to provide any sort of explanation or metro worker for the entirety of the process. Then, a return ticket from Versailles on the exact same train requires an entirely different ticket that costs twice as much. And finally, when you’ve had enough of it all and just want to escape back to good ol’ Belgium, Paris forces you to use three metro passes just to reach your train, even though you haven’t left the metro lines the entire way there. One day, before your big job interview, I’m going to slip laxatives in your escargot, Paris. It’s just the nature of our love-hate relationship.

Berlin – Berlin is like the family member you enjoy having around on special occasions, but never any time else. It’s pretty nice and usually entertaining, but sometimes it does weird things like eat the potpourri and blare techno music on Christmas morning. It certainly means well, but some times it seems like it’s trying too hard to make up for that one “incident” that happened years ago that most people in the family would prefer to forget. But at least Berlin is pretty easy to get along with, despite all of that. Maybe if I spent more time with it, I would value its company more.

Point: Paris. Even though Paris smells funny and is really whiny, I can at least understand what it’s saying most of the time. And even though sometimes I want to tell it that no one cares for it and it’s adopted, I sort of love it deep down for reasons that aren’t clear to me. But that doesn’t mean I won’t send you to the orphanage and hang out with Cousin Berlin on a moment’s notice, Paris.

Notes:

1.     Someone in Berlin actually did manage to get my debit card information and rob me of the aforementioned amount. In Chicago. A week later. Thankfully (shameless plug) Bank of America took care of it for me and will reimburse me in full. That guy had better be having a field day.

2.     Although I had been to Paris before, I somehow missed out on Versailles. While you kind of felt like King Louis XIV was a terrible ruler, he sure knew how to party it up in style.

3.     Berlin is the best place to go to eat a lot and eat cheap. I managed to get a four-course meal from a nice Thai restaurant for around 13 Euros. In Brussels, 13 Euros will get you a bottle of water and a croissant. And the water will be carbonated.

4.     Train travel is definitely my preferred method of transportation now. Cheaper than a flight (usually), smoother, safer, and no security checkpoints or luggage restrictions. There’s a train from Brussels to Atlanta right?

5.     Since my weekend in Paris was my last major trip, we’re winding down on the number of remaining posts. There’s probably one more Clash of the Continents and something sappy and heartfelt about Brussels coming before I leave.

I can see Spain from my hotel!

    In this week’s episode of “Captain Ryan Goes Somewhere on a Plane or a Train” (copyright in progress), we visit the Kingdom of Morocco. Before recounting the details of the journey, here are some facts about Tangier and Morocco, probably:

·      The Kingdom is ruled by Mohammed the Sixth, who has at least 3 palaces in Tangier alone.

·      Mohammed the Sixth looks like a pauper compared to Captain Ryan

·      Morocco’s main export is hash. Its main import is pasty white kids.

·      Moroccan law states that boys may be named Mohammed, Said, or Abdul. No deviations from these three options are permitted.

·      Women are not allowed in Morocco.

·      So there.

Now that you have a comprehensive understanding of Moroccan customs and laws, it’s important to note that Moroccans are a welcoming and generous people. For example, my roommate was offered hash within 45 seconds of arriving at our hotel, and our friendly tour guide Abdul offered to take us on a “super awesome tour to everywhere for cheap!” at least seven times. If persistence were indicative of IQ, Tangier would make Atlantis look like a daycare, and the lady who accosted Matt in the Kasbah (which we rocked), would make the entire faculty at Harvard look like the cast of Jersey Shore.

Fortunately we gave in to Adbul’s persistence because he took us on a solid tour to see things we wouldn’t have otherwise. We went to the Cave of Hercules, rode camels, fed monkeys, and broke into an Arab oil baron’s compound. I would say that I was scared of a pissed off Arab avenging my trespassing on his property, but Abdul claimed it was his father’s property. His tracksuit and profession as an unlicensed tour guide told me otherwise, but I wasn’t too concerned. Captain Ryan’s blog is huge in the Middle East, so I’m sure the oil baron would actually thank me for gracing his property with my presence. Abdul turned out to be a pretty awesome guide until he abandoned briefly us in the Kasbah. But he redeemed himself by cursing out that really intelligent lady who grabbed Matt.

The next day we went to the beach. Moroccans were apparently unaware that eye damage can occur from looking directly at white people in the sunlight because we had the beautiful, pristine beach to ourselves for most of the afternoon. Except the beach was neither beautiful, nor pristine, nor empty. We did damage a few corneas though when we took out shirts off to play soccer with some Moroccan kids. One of the kids, Abdul (seriously not kidding about the names), spoke Spanish so we worked out some teams and played for a few hours. We then went swimming in what I was convinced was a wastewater treatment facility, but little Abdul maintained it was “el oceano,” whatever that means. 

At this point, I’d like to address a very serious issue that some travelers have certainly encountered in the past: being white. Tangier was quite literally swarming with police. They were crawling all over everything, eating the crops, chirping all night, and leaving those nasty husks of their shells behind on all of the buildings. What I’m really trying to say is that is was safe. And despite this police plague, you couldn’t help but feel a little uneasy because you were always so clearly in the minority. There was no way to escape hawkers on the street or to blend in. Everyone is speaking a language that is entirely foreign to anything most white people recognize. I know you’re thinking, “How is that different from Los Angeles,” and to be quite honest, it probably isn’t, but it still makes you a little out of place.

However, everything I’ve mentioned so far pales in comparison to the excitement of what I’m about to tell you: We unintentionally watched the episode of Archer where you find out that Archer was born in Tangier, in Tangier. I know, I probably should have told you to sit down for that beforehand, and I apologize, but it’s just so exciting that I couldn’t wait to type it any longer. And if you’re unfamiliar with Archer or don’t like it, could you tell me what it’s like to have no friends? I hear it’s just devastating.

Notes:

1.     We ate like kings in Morocco. It was strange to have free appetizers and free refills again. And we even found a place that sold decent pizzas for around $3.50. Take that Little Caesars!

2.     Morocco is honestly one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever been. Mountains and beaches are all crammed together on the Mediterranean and the weather was perfect.

3.     The proximity to Spain was a plus as well. Tangier has a heavy Spanish influence, and most of the people habla’ed some Español. We would have been in trouble if they didn’t because we knew no Arabic and almost no French.

4.     I would recommend an extended stay only if you had a guide or a Moroccan friend with you. Otherwise, you can see most of the sites in a day and a half. The nightlife is much more difficult to find than in a European country, so it’s best to stay in.

5.     Moroccans do not understand air travel. Honestly, I could write an entire post about our flight back, but suffice it to say there was almost a riot on the plane because we were delayed an hour on the tarmac.

Amateur Hour

Capping off the ten-day blitz with my brother and Andrew was a trip to Barcelona. As I think I’ve made it abundantly clear to everyone who has ever met me about how I feel about Barcelona (I love Barcelona more than Spaniards love doing nothing), I’ve decided to devote this post to informing you on the best way to handle a repeat trip to your favorite city. Let’s start from the beginning:

PACKING:

      It’s the most essential part of any trip and sets the tone for how your vacation will unfold. Will you be frustrated because you forgot your contact lens solution? Pleasantly surprised that you remembered to bring scissors? Devastated because you only brought one pair of pants and they just happened to be the ones with the mustard stain on them? If you’re like me (you’re not; I’m a unique snowflake), you will remember the essentials: clothes, basic toiletries, shoes, a razor, a scalpel, scissors, a larger pair of scissors, and your computer. It’s important to bring ALL of these things to Barcelona because you can’t trust the Spanish medical system. It’s always “Mañana” this and “It’s just a splinter” that when you’re clearly in need of a serious surgical procedure because who knows what bacteria dirty Spanish 2x4’s have.

GETTING TO THE AIRPORT:

     Make sure you get to the train station on time. After packing all of those necessities, you’re going to be a little behind schedule, so go to the proper platform and hop on the earliest train to the airport. When you realize that the train you wanted is actually two feet away on the adjacent platform, go there. If you’re like me (you still aren’t), you’ll come to this realization as the train you want is pulling away.

WAITING FOR THE NEXT TRAIN TO THE AIRPORT ON THE PROPER PLATFORM:

    Do that.

AIRPORT SECURITY:

    Take off all of your metal accessories and belt. Don’t forget your coat, either. Put all of these things in the plastic bins and put your bag on the security belt. After the bag goes through, collect your belongings and wait for the security guard to come over and tell you that you forgot to remove your laptop. Remove your laptop and send your things through screening again. Again, wait for the security guard to come over and inform you that there appears to be some contraband in your bag. Open your bag and allow her to confiscate your larger pair of scissors and your razor. Stand very still and chuckle silently as she forgets to confiscate your scalpel. Then wonder why you brought a scalpel. Finally pack up the remainder of your toiletries and head to the terminal. Be glad that your bag feels significantly lighter.

REALIZING YOUR BAG FEELS SIGNIFICANTLY LIGHTER BECAUSE YOU LEFT YOUR COMPUTER AT THE SECURITY CHECKPOINT:

    Do that too.

PANICKING:

    Wait, wait, wait. No. Don’t panic. Decide to steal someone else’s laptop for the weekend because checking the results of the NCAA tournament is significantly better on a laptop than a smart phone. After all, you’ll return it when you get back. That way, karma won’t bite you in the ass later. Realize that you have a smart phone and don’t need the laptop that you left in the safest location in the airport until you get back. Call the airport in the morning. Enjoy Barcelona.

I hope this guide allows you to have the most stressful yet successful trip to your ideal location possible. I hope my mistakes will inspire you to do the same in your future endeavors and then complain loudly to everyone in earshot how you’re an imbecile. And I sincerely hope, more than anything ever, that Natalie Portman breaks up with her fiancée.

Notes:

1.     I really did pack all of those things, miss the train even though it was right next to me, and leave my computer at the airport. I swear I was entirely sober and entirely idiotic.

2.     Barcelona is still the best city in the world.

3.     Traveling with my brother and Andrew was one of the best experiences of my life. I couldn’t travel that hard for more than 10 days, but it was a blast for the entire duration.

4.     Catalan is still a stupid bastard language.

5.     If two French guys who quote American Dad and sing American Top 40’s hits from the past 20 years offer to show you around the city for the night, absolutely take them up on it. Hesitating is for the weak.

Amsterdam May Not be Right for Everyone

Unbeknownst to most travelers, Euro Disney isn’t located in Paris. The real Disney World for adults in Europe is in Amsterdam. I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, “Handsome Blog Writer, Sir, what possible fun activities are there to do in Amsterdam? Isn’t that a Dutch city? Doesn’t the Dutch idea of a good time involve drinking tulip juice, wearing wooden shoes, and inexplicably painting everything orange?” You’re stereotypes are well founded, but there is a flaw in your thinking. They drink Amstel. However, the Dutch do have some redeeming qualities, hard as that may be to believe. They’re incredibly welcoming, very accommodating to dumb American tourists, and have one thing that makes Amsterdam the most popular tourist destination for college-aged students: bike riding.           

Unlike most western cities, bike riding is legal in Amsterdam and often even encouraged. It’s easy enough to walk into the local bike shop and simply get the bike you need. There’s no third party, no middleman, no awkward conversation with the guy that dresses in Rasta gear with the nose ring who usually gets your bike supplies for you. However, Amsterdam’s system allows the city to regulate biking, providing a safe and legal community for cycling aficionados to enjoy. It’s a great system for the city as well. The city gets tax money from all of the bike stores, so bike rental actually helps keep the city clean and functional. This way, the city is profiting from biking rather than allocating taxpayer money to enforce unnecessary cycling regulations.

           

You might argue the biking is dangerous or unhealthy. Or you might contend that bike riding is a gateway vehicle that will lead to the use of Segways, forklifts, or Hummers. But we saw no evidence to support those claims. Plenty of people were biking in Amsterdam both day and night, and we never witnessed any major accidents. There were no Hummers or forklifts and we only witnessed one or two people using Segways. In fact, compared to the usual vices a city can offer (carpooling, public transit, rollerskates), biking is a safe alternative, especially with the system Amsterdam has in place.

           

Biking isn’t for everyone. Common side effects include nausea, weakness in the legs, and shortness of breath. Consult a doctor if you have any symptoms of vertigo, persistent or vivid hallucinations, or difficulty walking, as these may be signs of a more serious condition. Biking should not be used in conjunction with alcohol or any other drugs. Women who are nursing, pregnant, or may become pregnant should not bike while in Amsterdam. People with a history of asthma, emphysema, or pneumonia should consult a doctor before riding a bike in Amsterdam. After all, there are a lot of people smoking pot.

Notes:

1.     Amsterdam is a beautiful city. The canals add a touch of Venice (but much cleaner), the atmosphere is very laid back, and there’s something for everyone here.

2.     If you go to Amsterdam, be sure to check out the Burger Bar near the Flying Pig Downtown Hostel. The kobe beef burger is a religious experience.

3.     Yes, there will be plenty of people smoking pot and many opportunities for you to do so if you desire. But that’s not all the city offers.

4.     Some enterprising young genius decided to make a cat shelter on a boat in the middle of a canal. There is no escape from Al-Cat-Traz (that was a stretch, I know)

5.     In all seriousness, definitely rent a bike and use it to ride around the city. It’s a unique experience, and the city is designed to make it simple even for tourists.

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.