Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Bruges 4/27/10
We went to Bruges this last weekend, and it was as amazing as i remembered. Everything is so clean compared to Torino, but the prices of everything are over the top. Our first day there, John and I went to an all you can eat rib place called "De Hobbit". It was themed after Lord of the Rings, and the menu was a newspaper called, the daily hobbit. We stayed in a eight bed hostel and we met so many people. The second night we met up with these french guys and tried to labor through hours of conversation. Really tough. They were nice, but the language barrier was so severe. The next day we went to a chocolate museum and a french fry museum. Both were fun, but i'd say the fry museum was the best. All i really wanted was to eat french fries and chocolate, but they felt they had to give you a huge history on everything. Also the chocolate museum had a giant Barack Obama carved out of chocolate. Very offensive. The girls and boys go crazy for Barry over here, i dont get it. I guess they all want hope and change. We went to the outskirts of the city and saw some decomissioned windmills. Apparently, in Belgium Rock and Roll is just catching on, and by rock and roll i mean eighties glamor rock. We went to this bar in brussels where there was a gun's and roses cover band and in bruges we saw a white snake cover band. Then one of the bands played an original which killed the mood and everyone dispersed. This has to be a short blog because im recovering from an illness and need to sleep.
Friday, April 23, 2010
Florence
So it has been a while since my last post because i have been extremely busy. School work has picked up and James is still living in our apartment because his flight was cancelled do to the Volcano and junk. I am however writing this email from my favorite place in all of Europe-Bruges. Florence was really spectacular and even more fun because James was there. I saw Michelangelo's David, the wooden Mary Magdalen, and I climbed to the top of the duomo.
I even took a picture of Michelangelo's David statue despite the screams of numerous employees foaming out the mouth trying to maintain their monopoly on post cards. People say that air traffic controllers have stressful jobs, but i think that being a "junk yard dog" for Michelangelo's David would be worse. You flounder around the room screaming "No Pictures, no pictures" like a superstitious Navajo Indian for about 8 hours a day. It seems like a combination of cruel and unusual punishment with a hint of situational comedy thrown into the mix. The only way to describe the personal hell that is this security guards life would be to imagine a person in a wheel chair finding himself in a very narrow handicap stall whose door only opens in.
Anyway i got a picture and as blurred as it was---- It was still a picture
The next day James took us to his favorite restauraunt where we were flooded with an impressive number of employees who all seemed to know James on a very personal level. It couldn't help but draw attention to the fact that John and I will be leaving behind very few friendships in Torino. The Kebab people, a teacher or two, and maybe the homeless woman outside the Grocery Store i pretend not to notice everyday.
The next day we climbed to the top of the Duomo which, suprisingly enough, is covered with a horribly barbaric mural. It appeared to be a massive depiction of the heinous torture involved with going to hell. As i gazed at the graphic artwork i couldn't help but think- After all the bible classes i've taken this really isn't what my interpretation of hell is like, at all. JUST THEN as i was thinking that, i saw it, my own personal hell captured in art form. It was rather hidden and it took me near 15 minutes of surveillance to find, but it embodied everything that i fear and loathe in this world. It was what appeared to be a frog person standing on two legs like a Neanderthal beating a skinless man un-mercilessly with a sock full of batteries. Pretty diabolical, and yet it definitely put the fear of God in me.
We did a lot of fun things while we were in Florence, one thing i'm not proud of is my decision to eat a double decker waffel and nutella sandwich. The story is as follows:
The day was like any other day, a little colder maybe, but that was the charm of the morning hours in the shade of the duomo. The cafe was small, quaint one might say, and exceedingly close to our place of stay.Thats where the mistake happened.
--- To eat a double decker waffle and nutella sandwich you have to have 3 things
1. No pride
2. No friends
3. No fear of kidney damage
"I'm good on two out of three of those" i thought as i strolled in with my two friends. Fast forward to the end of the meal- at this point i had diagnosed myself with type two diabetes, and "Finding a nice dialysis machine" had catapulted its way to the top of my priority lists. I left the cafe a broken man.
I realize that the format of my writing is very similar to that of Matt Drudge and therefore near impossible to understand. I apologize for that. I also apologize for my unnecessarily graphic depictions of my poor eating habits the last two blogs. That being said i can continue with my depiction of Florence.
The streets were crowded, but for good reason because the weather was spectacular and so was the city. One more eventful thing happened while i was in italy, Italians never stand in line, they don't understand the concept of a line which, of course, can be incredibly frustrating to you if you have been standing patiently in line while herds of lemmings speaking gibberish flow past you on either side. So late Saturday evening i finally snapped. You think ?Snapped?, but John your a piece maker- you defuse situations- too that i would say, i agree. This guy, however, pushed me too far, and so i decided to put this Jack back in his box. I pushed my way over to him and told him he better move back to the end of the line unless he wants to "make something of it". Which in case you don't know could mean anything, but i think the general implication is fighting. We both stood and looked at each other until he finally said, "You Americans always have to have your lines." He may have dissed America in that moment, but i had gotten him to back down and so i feel like once again its America 1 and Italy 0. Don't worry Mom i'm coming home soon. haha
Love you all
John
And the picture of me on the broom stick, is in a cemetery
I even took a picture of Michelangelo's David statue despite the screams of numerous employees foaming out the mouth trying to maintain their monopoly on post cards. People say that air traffic controllers have stressful jobs, but i think that being a "junk yard dog" for Michelangelo's David would be worse. You flounder around the room screaming "No Pictures, no pictures" like a superstitious Navajo Indian for about 8 hours a day. It seems like a combination of cruel and unusual punishment with a hint of situational comedy thrown into the mix. The only way to describe the personal hell that is this security guards life would be to imagine a person in a wheel chair finding himself in a very narrow handicap stall whose door only opens in.
Anyway i got a picture and as blurred as it was---- It was still a picture
The next day James took us to his favorite restauraunt where we were flooded with an impressive number of employees who all seemed to know James on a very personal level. It couldn't help but draw attention to the fact that John and I will be leaving behind very few friendships in Torino. The Kebab people, a teacher or two, and maybe the homeless woman outside the Grocery Store i pretend not to notice everyday.
The next day we climbed to the top of the Duomo which, suprisingly enough, is covered with a horribly barbaric mural. It appeared to be a massive depiction of the heinous torture involved with going to hell. As i gazed at the graphic artwork i couldn't help but think- After all the bible classes i've taken this really isn't what my interpretation of hell is like, at all. JUST THEN as i was thinking that, i saw it, my own personal hell captured in art form. It was rather hidden and it took me near 15 minutes of surveillance to find, but it embodied everything that i fear and loathe in this world. It was what appeared to be a frog person standing on two legs like a Neanderthal beating a skinless man un-mercilessly with a sock full of batteries. Pretty diabolical, and yet it definitely put the fear of God in me.
We did a lot of fun things while we were in Florence, one thing i'm not proud of is my decision to eat a double decker waffel and nutella sandwich. The story is as follows:
The day was like any other day, a little colder maybe, but that was the charm of the morning hours in the shade of the duomo. The cafe was small, quaint one might say, and exceedingly close to our place of stay.Thats where the mistake happened.
--- To eat a double decker waffle and nutella sandwich you have to have 3 things
1. No pride
2. No friends
3. No fear of kidney damage
"I'm good on two out of three of those" i thought as i strolled in with my two friends. Fast forward to the end of the meal- at this point i had diagnosed myself with type two diabetes, and "Finding a nice dialysis machine" had catapulted its way to the top of my priority lists. I left the cafe a broken man.
I realize that the format of my writing is very similar to that of Matt Drudge and therefore near impossible to understand. I apologize for that. I also apologize for my unnecessarily graphic depictions of my poor eating habits the last two blogs. That being said i can continue with my depiction of Florence.
The streets were crowded, but for good reason because the weather was spectacular and so was the city. One more eventful thing happened while i was in italy, Italians never stand in line, they don't understand the concept of a line which, of course, can be incredibly frustrating to you if you have been standing patiently in line while herds of lemmings speaking gibberish flow past you on either side. So late Saturday evening i finally snapped. You think ?Snapped?, but John your a piece maker- you defuse situations- too that i would say, i agree. This guy, however, pushed me too far, and so i decided to put this Jack back in his box. I pushed my way over to him and told him he better move back to the end of the line unless he wants to "make something of it". Which in case you don't know could mean anything, but i think the general implication is fighting. We both stood and looked at each other until he finally said, "You Americans always have to have your lines." He may have dissed America in that moment, but i had gotten him to back down and so i feel like once again its America 1 and Italy 0. Don't worry Mom i'm coming home soon. haha
Love you all
John
And the picture of me on the broom stick, is in a cemetery
Saturday, April 10, 2010
April 10, 2010 Ibiza
So i have been in Ibiza for an unholy amount of time, and i can't say that i was at all pleased to come home to my "saving grace" Torino. Ibiza was filled with a lot of memories, but i think most notable one involved John and I meeting up with these two marines. We didn't know them before we go there- we just kinda met up with them. Anyway as fate would have it, only weeks before our own arrival to Ibiza a yacht had run aground right on the edge of the most popular beach in all of Ibiza. Unfortunately, the yacht was under the category of what the Spaniards like to call "dirty money" so needless to say they just left it there. Anyway that night we climbed aboard and were just messing around-It was all fun and games-until from the depths of the behemoth we caught a glimpse of what was below deck. We had only moments before descended below deck with nothing but a flip phone to guide us when we were struck by the sight of a small army of homeless people laying side by side in the base of the yacht. Excuse my insensitivity, but it looked like something from a holocaust video, because when the light hit them what looked like a pile of corpses started to move. We quickly left the boat, but we were freaked out. More importantly though the two marines were freaked out.
We spent most of our time in Ibiza just meeting people and talking. The beaches there were spectacular, John and I had arrived about 3 weeks too early for the "season" so there was rarely anyone on the beach with us. Our original plan was to island hop around ibiza to islands named "Palma del mellorca" and "Menorca" but we found out that the 30 minute ferry ride was going to cost us 60 euro one way so we canceled all of our hostel reservations and stayed in Ibiza. The food there was incredible and i even found mountain dew in one grocery store. Of course the backwards spanish don't use artificial sugar, so what i thought was moutain dew was more like citrus flavored kool aide sweetened with a small twig of sugar cane. I reached all new levels of despair when i took that first sip. I contemplated cutting my wrists, but i decided against the idea. The jury might still be out on that one.
Every day that we were in Ibiza we ate at the same restaurant. I couldn't tell you the name because i think that the spanish in all there eloquence might have simply called it "bar/restaurant". I'm not one to venture into new avenues of taste, but i decided to try the "lomo y queso" or "lamb and cheese" against my better judgement. One bite into this sandwich and you would have thought that this was a double decker "manna and quail" sandwich with cheese. I was so pleased by the sandwich i returned the following day, and the next, and the next. What i neglected to realize however is that your body becomes accustomed to things that you eat, and i threw it a curve ball when, after 7 years of no lamb, the dam was broken and i barraged my insides with lamb after lamb after lamb sandwich. I imagine my stomach spent hours sifting through the nutritionless lamb distraught and panicked to find something of value. People say that there is no reason for the appendix, but i know that after this last week your stomach probably uses that to stick lamb into when your body is over run by the stuff. Did i throw up at one point, yeah. Was it because of the lamb, probably. Did i go back the next day and get a lomo y queso, Yeah. Did i feel sick the next day, definitely.
Life goes on. Torino is a cruel mistress, and to return to her is to kiss the devil with open eyes. I'm exaggerating, its not that bad, but this next weekend i'm going to Florence to see James and then only one more trip before i come home. I miss you all.
We spent most of our time in Ibiza just meeting people and talking. The beaches there were spectacular, John and I had arrived about 3 weeks too early for the "season" so there was rarely anyone on the beach with us. Our original plan was to island hop around ibiza to islands named "Palma del mellorca" and "Menorca" but we found out that the 30 minute ferry ride was going to cost us 60 euro one way so we canceled all of our hostel reservations and stayed in Ibiza. The food there was incredible and i even found mountain dew in one grocery store. Of course the backwards spanish don't use artificial sugar, so what i thought was moutain dew was more like citrus flavored kool aide sweetened with a small twig of sugar cane. I reached all new levels of despair when i took that first sip. I contemplated cutting my wrists, but i decided against the idea. The jury might still be out on that one.
Every day that we were in Ibiza we ate at the same restaurant. I couldn't tell you the name because i think that the spanish in all there eloquence might have simply called it "bar/restaurant". I'm not one to venture into new avenues of taste, but i decided to try the "lomo y queso" or "lamb and cheese" against my better judgement. One bite into this sandwich and you would have thought that this was a double decker "manna and quail" sandwich with cheese. I was so pleased by the sandwich i returned the following day, and the next, and the next. What i neglected to realize however is that your body becomes accustomed to things that you eat, and i threw it a curve ball when, after 7 years of no lamb, the dam was broken and i barraged my insides with lamb after lamb after lamb sandwich. I imagine my stomach spent hours sifting through the nutritionless lamb distraught and panicked to find something of value. People say that there is no reason for the appendix, but i know that after this last week your stomach probably uses that to stick lamb into when your body is over run by the stuff. Did i throw up at one point, yeah. Was it because of the lamb, probably. Did i go back the next day and get a lomo y queso, Yeah. Did i feel sick the next day, definitely.
Life goes on. Torino is a cruel mistress, and to return to her is to kiss the devil with open eyes. I'm exaggerating, its not that bad, but this next weekend i'm going to Florence to see James and then only one more trip before i come home. I miss you all.
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