France (okay Paris and wine country for now)

So I write you in Paris, after a full week in France, in an apartment that Guy swapped with a French couple in a neighborhood I frankly don’t know how to label.

It is a great area, don’t get me wrong, but since they don’t label towns like “the upper west side” or “the village”, all I can tell you is it is in arrondesmont (neighborhood) 12, and I can best liken it to an up-an-coming area in Brooklyn, although Paris seems much more compact on a map since it all seems connected, save for the river Seine splitting it down the middle. I am quite happy with the apartment since I’m nowhere near a touristy hotel and I’ve experienced Paris like a true Parisian, a very stupid and totally incommunicable one!

Backing up, I decided to book a flight from Prague to Paris as the train seemed a bit too long and I arrived in Paris relatively late Sunday Sept 9th. I took the bus from the airport and then a cab and found Guy at this apt share without any difficulty.

I was worried I ruined Guy’s day by the late arrival but since he had gotten in 2 days earlier, he was just getting over his jet-lag and really only managed a couple of sights in that time and no real partying.

We looked at our maps and took a subway to the nearest area that might be hopping on a Sunday night, and while we had little luck, we found an Irish pub and drank overpriced beers until 3 in the morning. (hey, we didn’t even make it OUT until 12:30!)

Also, let me add that France in general is all about the World Cup of Rugby, and all the pubs are chock full of Irish, British and especially Scottish people…yes, with kilts.

Screw it, rather than this boring diary shit of dictating what we did, let me speed up and say Guy and I spent 3 nights in Paris, and since he was here 2 days before me, I’m fairly certain I annoyed the shit out of him since, as I told you, it takes me 3 days to understand my way in a town, and he was hoping I’d get up to speed and help out with the navigating.

On the contrary! The fact is I put myself on autopilot and simply followed him around like a ritilen-sedated child and learned less than if I had been by myself. Oh well, I we are best of buddies so he’s well aware I bring nothing to the table in any area, travel included. And if you choose to read well on, you will see I found my way in Paris on trip two!

I shall let Guy tell you the story of his heroic drunkenness Tuesday as well, but let me say that it involved him drinking an ENTIRE bottle of Absynth, and amazingly he didn’t lose his composure AND didn’t murder me in my sleep. I had no Absynth, but I did have many beers of course.

Guy and I were amazed by how freaking clean Paris is, as I have noted in many cities, but Paris is REALLY clean, and the subways are otherworldly clean. No rats. No brown sludge and stalactites growing on the 80-year-old supports like in NYC, just very clean and well-decorated platforms to see. And I wouldn’t have noticed if Guy hadn’t pointed it out, but the trains run on tires so you have a very smooth ride. Worth mentioning I suppose.

While we enjoyed Paris for 3 nights, the fact is Guy had this place for 2 full weeks but wanted to hit wine country before he hit a wedding in Toulouse for the weekend.

I figured I’d join him on the trip to Bordeaux/wine country and then head back up to Paris when he went to the wedding, which is exactly what I did. (geez, why am I so boring tonight? Oh, because of the $8 bottle of French wine that would’ve cost me $150 in the states…sorry about that)

Let me just paste comments from wine country:


(2 nights into wine country)

I sit in the hotel lounge in Saint Emilion, roughly 20 km due east of Bordeaux, recently having uncorked a 2001 bottle of Chateau Bigaroux, which I learned was a very good vintage here in Saint Emilion on my wine tour today, and the region of Saint Emilion is where the absolute best wines in the world are made. (including the bottle of Chateau Chavel Blanc Paul Giamatti covets in “Sideways”, if you care to know)

The wine tour also made me very interested in wine-making. I have to say, I never got into the beer-brewing craze, only because I've always liked simple beers that don't have fruit and shitloads of sugar thrown into them. Also, the first time I ever got "drunk", (okay buzzed) was from my older brother's friend Vince's home-brew, and I'm not even certain it had any alcohol in it.

But I'd like to take a crack at bottling my own wine...of course, the only grapes I have access to are in my parents back yard. I learned that while wine has a hell of a lot to do with climate, it also has to do with the soil and factors such as growing grapes atop a limestone deposit, where the soil retains all of its nutrients and isn't washed away.

Of course, my parents grape-vine is situated atop our septic tank, which isn't quite as temping, but in 2008 look for my premier bottle of "Chateau La Merde".

But back to this bottle I have in front of me.

No, I didn’t buy this at the vineyard tour, though I did buy one bottle, but I’m letting that age a bit. (translation: I HOPE to have it 2+ years but know I will probably drink it in the next 2 days)

And how much was the bottle I’m drinking? (which is f#*king awesome, by the way)

15 Euro!!!! (about $22…it would be at least $100 in the states, and the 25 euro bottle from Chateau Mauvigne would be roughly 6 million dollars)

If that doesn’t piss you off, know that 2 hours ago I had a 4 course meal of foie gras and pinapple, filet mignon, salade, cheese and meat platter and crème brule for desert (with more fantastic Bordeaux throughout of course).

We don’t know exactly when we will die, but I feel very privileged I know the APEX of my life, and this is it. Sure a hot chick would have helped, but creepy American loner beggars can’t be choosers, you know?

But seriously, in Ireland, my general reaction was “wow, this is cool”, and then in Norway and Germany it was “this is the life!”, and then Prague “it will never get better than this!”.

But France? Here in wine country? Well my reaction has been simply “wow, now I’m just being an asshole.”

With the endless supply of affordable wine and amazingly good cheeses and food in general, I have a shit-eating grin on my face that only swiping my badge to enter work could remove.

C’est horrible!

And by the way, let me say that the foie gras wasn’t very good. Sure I am the pickiest eater alive but I DO like liver, and I DO like Duck, but force-feeding a duck to achieve this taste doesn’t seem worth it. I’ve been force-feeding myself for nearly a month now and my liver probably tastes of tobacco and booze, and it recently inspired a new measurement on the Moe’s Hardness Scale as it is harder than diamond. (huh?)

Guy only spent one night and a day in Saint Emilion before he had to head down to Toulouse, and I was enjoying myself so much (seriously, look at the pictures) I stayed another night.

While having yet another glass of wine and a plate of cheeses at a random cafe at lunch today, and marveling at just how FRENCH it all felt and how relaxed I was, Freddy Mercury started screaming ominously through the speakers, threatening to rock me. Now, let me say Freddy Mercury is one of my top 5 favorite vocalists, but at that moment, it was a little jarring.

A few songs later, and I shit you not, Alanis Morissette’s “Isn’t it ironic?” came on, and while I wasn’t drinking Chardonnay and it wasn’t a black fly, a freaking gnat flew directly into my Bordeaux. Mon Dieu!

The worst part is I spent at least 10 minutes trying to decide if that really WAS ironic, contrary to Alanis’ widely regarded misunderstanding of the word. I eventually decided it STILL wasn’t, just a coincidence…(do you agree?)…and then I fished the gnat out and drank it anyway. (Isn’t it pathetic? Don’t you think?)

And you will note from the pictures (which I haven’t uploaded yet of course) that it was a bit of an older crowd, but I didn’t care in the least as I needed to relax and enjoy a non-urban area.

Paris Trip 2: Final 4 days in France:

I took a train from Saint Emilion to Bordeaux and then hopped on a train to Paris without a problem. Would have liked to spend a night in Bordeaux, but I must say the Gypsy in Prague really threw off my budget and did I mention, GUY HAD A FREE PLACE TO STAY!?!

Friday night I was a bit exhausted but still rallied enough to hit the town for a while, but at this point I was getting MIGHTY frustrated at how terrible my memory is of the French language.

Let me back up and say that I took 2 years of French in high school, and unlike many subjects, I always got straight As. I THEN took 1 semester in college as the 2 years wasn’t enough.

THEN, over ten years ago I dated a French-Vietnamese gal who insisted on giving me refreshers in French and for a while there, I must say I knew French pretty well. Okay not well at all but I could read 70% of it and speak and understand about 30% of it.

But I forgot nearly all of it since then. Luckily Guy bought some “learn French in a week” type books and I refreshed some of my knowledge, but on the whole I am useless.

Terribly useless.

Anyway, Friday was uneventful, and after catching a couple sights Saturday day (yes, I actually did the Eiffel Tower after dissing it, and it was very cool I must say) I hit the town again Saturday night.

I really didn’t feel like doing a pub crawl, which I could have, just felt like hanging out in the immediate area of where the apartment is. I grabbed some French bread and a much needed salad (although the salad had loads of ham and eggs in it, which was fine, as long as I can say I had a salad!) and hit a couple local bars.

The second bar I went to, after noticing it was full of guys, many of whom were drunken train-wrecks and some slurring so much I almost understood their French, I decided to stay!

It turns out this bar was full of French-Algerian dudes, and they all were very nice. Okay 3 of them were nice, the others were totally hammered vegetables, but this fit all my requirements of a shady dive bar so I was happy.

The bartender was the nicest guy, but another guy Bruno (yes Bruno), was the one who decided to take me under his pungent wing for the evening.

He spoke English very well, although after reading up on the French refresher books again, I really wanted to speak some French as most of the guys spoke little English, but Bruno wasn’t happy with me butchering his language.

This is not because Bruno was practical, but because he was one of those “randomly angry drunk guys”. Seriously, he was nice as can be for about 20 minutes at a time, and then out of nowhere, he would call me a prick or lambaste me for something. It was not tourette’s syndrome but just the fact he was an angry drunk I guess.

I of course found him fascinating, and I’m fairly certain if I wasn’t a menacing looking fellow he may have beaten me up about 5 times.

He also hated that I couldn’t say his name correctly, as the French pronunciation would require me to have 6 shots of Novocain and 20 beers.

But after 30 minutes in this place, noticing there were NO women to be found, I asked Bruno “Ou sont les femmes?” (where are the girls?…well I think that is what it means)

He seemed angered by this as well, not because it was a gay bar or anything but just because Bruno is an angry guy (and I think his parents knew this, thus the name)

All of the sudden, a very cute French gal who I learned was a regular walks in.

At one point, when all of the bar was talking to me, I mentioned I am from New York and live in Manhattan and work for blank (all lies technically, but GREAT to have in your arsenal) and from that moment on the cute French gal was eyeing me like Oprah eyes Haagen-Dazs after a fight with Stedman.

But Bruno, angry drunk connoisseur that he is, proved to be an even BETTER cock-blocker, for while he was the first to point out the cute gal wanted me, he put on a show of cock-blocking like I have never seen, by not only ensuring I didn’t talk to her, but by eclipsing my view of her so impressively, I barely got to SEE her.

You are probably thinking like I was that perhaps since she is a regular that all the guys look out for her, but hey, the whole rest of the bar seemed to understand I’m an okay guy, and probably knew I’d strike out with this vixen anyway, so what was the big deal?

I’m divulging too much here but basically Bruno wasn’t really blocking the view as much as happy to have a friend I guess. After at least 30 minutes of this, I juked Bruno like Tim Duncan avoids a pick and roll and found myself next to the French gal…but it was too late as she had JUST gotten her tab and was headed home. (She was also probably horrified by the vision of me up close, but lets say otherwise)

Oh well, I am useless.

Bruno then took me out to a couple bars, okay only one really, and at this point I was thankful for his efforts but he was rather unstable and I was getting tired. Seriously, red wine at dinner sucks the energy out of me…in a good way as going to bed at 3 or 4 am is NOT healthy. I made it to bed before 1am that night! And no, Bruno was not sleeping with me.

Come Sunday, as I write you now, I was eager to hit a few more sights, like the Louvre and Versailles, but I found myself unable to get motivated. REALLY unable. Sure I did some laundry and organized my travel a bit, but I was alarmed at how fatigued I was, despite no obvious hangover.

I had a serious bout of “the stupids” as well.

Like I said, I’ve been learning more and more French since I arrived, but on this day I couldn’t speak a damn thing.

For instance, I told a convenience store clerk “good night” at 1 in the afternoon.

And when a fellow said thank you after borrowing my lighter, I told him “see you tomorrow!”

I realized I was in a funk so impressive I had forgotten the most basic of exclamations, and frankly, I’m fairly certain I would have had the same responses in English.

It took me a while to realize it had been a full five days since I went for a run. And since I have been eating out every meal, and the French deep-fry almost everything that isn’t already fatty meat, my veins were pulsing with blood as viscous as play-dough.

I’m telling you, since I’ve grown to enjoy running, NOT running, while fun in itself, really puts you in a funk. (You were right Joe, running is oddly enough like smoking, you only do it since you feel odd if you DON’T do it)

Anyway, I put my sightseeing off for the day, laced up my hideous jogging shoes, iPod with distance tracker chip and terrible red shirt and made my way toward Lake Daumesnil, and before you know it, I was running like the wind, though totally without energy.

Well, sure I started off terribly, and the sand/gravel path only made me more miserable and thirsty, but pretty soon I was loping along gracefully, with a stride best likened to an effeminate T-Rex with an equilibrium disorder, and after 5 miles, I was a new man!

At one point in the run, forgetting which direction was north and south, I stopped and asked directions to a couple cute gals and I must say my French was not too shabby. The lesson? Running is good and I only talk to gals when smelly and covered in sweat.

I came back, showered, and was ready to have a nice meal and then see my friends at the bar from the night before (and yes, I was fairly certain Bruno would not be there).

Well, either the bar was closed or I totally forgot where it was in the first place so my evening involved a great meal, some wine of course, a beer at an equally shady bar without the friendly/angry patrons and then I’m back now writing you.

Since I know my last 36 hours in Paris will be full of sights and planning my next destination, I shall end my France blog now. (I think)

From what I have written, you would think I’ve found Paris so-so, but that isn’t the case!

I haven’t met many friends in Paris but this town is simply awesome. Hell, I lived in New York a good 5 months before hitting my stride, and I HAD friends when I arrived.

And I didn’t even want to come to Paris in the first place, as I thought it would be touristy and essentially is a place you come to if you have a significant other.

And as I walked along the river Siene at night, I must say it was indeed romantic. I was all over myself. Okay just kidding, but I could definitely see how it would be romantic with a gal, if I weren’t a lethal combo of hideous and unable to commit.

As for tourists?

Well it wasn’t too bad, and I actually liked that the French don’t bend over backwards to cater to tourists and certainly don’t feel the need to learn English, so they have their very own attitude that is different from the rest of Europe.

But make no mistake, I didn’t encounter a single episode of “rude” French people (Bruno excluded, but he was a fantastic outlier) and on the whole the French are very hospitable and a genuinely cool bunch of folks.

Let me also say that as well as Europeans dress in general, the French are some well-dressed cats, whether male or female, gay or straight, we ain’t got shite on them in NYC.

Oh yeah, and in case you are wondering why I didn't hit the Riviera, well, I decided I was running out of time and to utilize the free place in Paris. (there are worse places to extend your stay!)

I also was so impressed by France that I want to fully refresh my French and become fluent (mostly) so I can return and hit the south of France! (Steph, I will need your help here! And no that doesn't involve you being the miracle worker, just making sure to test me once in a while!)

Also, I decided to squeeze in another destination...but since I'm sure about 2 people have read this far, no guilt on keeping you in suspense!

Paris (& wine country) Ratings:

The scenery: 10 (as impressive as Prague, though their buildings are more 18th & 19th century impressive, as opposed to medieval and baroque-design impressive…and yes, the man who still proclaims Airplane is the best movie ever just typed that)
The "local feel": 9
The bars: 6 (truly was hoping for more, but I think I was VERY malinformed here)
The food: 9.5 (holy crap, the food is amazing, and I only shaved off half a point since I was kinda tired of “jambon”, but only because I kept picking it as I couldn’t remember much of the other menu option meanings)
The friendliness of patrons: 9
The ladies' presence: 8 (very, VERY cute and sexy gals of all ages here…no clue how they stay so thin with all good food, good food that ALWAYS involves something deep-fried)
Desire to return 10 (not until I learn French! And I want you, my friends, to hold me to this, if in 1 year I haven’t become markedly more fluent, please kick me in the balls forcefully)
Value for Money 10 (they get this on the fact that I have eaten in a French restaurant 3 or 4 times in the states, and my whole trip has cost me less in Paris…seriously, never once felt like something was overpriced)
Opinion of Americans 6 (I didn’t help here…the guy who borrowed my lighter is probably still wondering why I would intend to see him tomorrow)

Prague

Okay the gloves are off. For those of you who’ve complained my travels have been boring and too photo-oriented for a guy who claims to hate being a tourist, THIS is the story you have been waiting for.

But still, it involves little to brag about.

Also, you will have to read through the usual rambling crap first.

I woke up rather crusty from the pub crawl in Berlin but felt pretty good overall. I asked the cute hostel clerk/bartender (yes they are the same person) the best way to get out of town and hit Prague. She gave me directions to Haubenhoff train station (probably spelled that wrong but who cares?) and when I got there, I was TOTALLY confused.

Please note, I am nearly 3 weeks into Europe and I have yet to take a Eurail train. So I was expecting a crowded train station full of tourists going the same direction. Well it was huge and nice but seemed very local.

I walked around for a good 10 minutes with 50 lbs of gear on my back and decided to park it at a McDonalds because I had NO CLUE how to do something as simple as book a train.

I finally figured it out and found the travel center (which was empty…I get the feeling it was open solely for idiots like me) and since the economy ticket to Prague was 60 euro and the first class ticket was 85, well I decided to splurge, especially after staying in the hostel.

My trip was very relaxing, though the waiter in the first class car had such horrific B.O. I stopped ordering after my ham and cheese sandwich and glass of red wine.

I made it to Prague and once again had no clue what to do. Yes, I had my hotel booked, and even wrote down the address and confirmation number, but other than that, unprepared.

I found the taxi stand but was surprised to see that while it had taxis, it had no taxi DRIVERS waiting for me. I walked around a bit more thinking I must be in the center of town but then started having lower lumbar pains due to said 50 lbs of gear.

I walked back to the taxi stand and a voice whispered from the shadows “Taxi?”.

I said “yes!”. I showed him the address and hotel name and he went to the back of his trunk and pulled out a laminated piece of paper showing the “fixed rates” into town, which seemed way too high.

Not knowing how far city center was, and nearly in traction, I said “sure, fine!”

Unfortunately, he quoted me a price of about 40 euro, and after 10 minutes of driving, and about 8 left turns in a row, we arrived at my hotel. I needled him only slightly for the obvious rip-off, but he gave me the “I’m sorry sir, it is a set rate” guff.

Oh well.

I checked into the hotel and it was rather nice so all was fine.

I was very happy to hit Prague since I had a friend Jana there, who I met in NYC when she visited Joe. This was great for several reasons, namely: (1) I was tired of being by myself to the point I was feeling a bit like a loser at times. (2) Jana is darn fun, likes to drink, and is extremely proud of her town and LIKES to show people around. And most importantly, (3) She happens to be a bone-crushingly hot Czech gal.

But anyway, she checks her email less than I check my pulse and she wasn’t exactly informed of my relatively early arrival, but that was fine since I wasn’t down for a full night of partying. (this was a Wednesday)

So I went to a nearby restaurant to get some food. I ordered the spicy pepper steak and boiled potatoes but they only had the spicy pork and French fries ready. (Um, okay?)

The food was excellent anyway and the 2 gals working at the bar were rather cute and friendly. I had one of them take the pic of me with the Absinthe…which I didn’t drink (that night at least).

Now my hotel is a bit far from the city center but I was happy for that since I’m about done with touristy lodging spots, so I asked for a good pub nearby.

(For those wondering when the story is coming, well, never)

So it is about 10pm and I’m tired, but not out of energy.

I hopped on the first tram I saw, without looking at a map, and headed “into town”. Unfortunately, I hopped on a train that sorta went into town but then took a hard right and headed north. I eventually ended up at the airport (after like 20 minutes, when I KNEW I wasn’t going anywhere useful, but I enjoyed the people watching!) and I hopped off and then took a tram headed the other direction.

Fed up, I got off at the same stop I had initially caught it on and just went to the first bar I saw, called “Monty’s Herna bar”. I didn’t like the name much but then again I was thirsty and it was just about the only bar in the area.

I walk in and there is no bar, no bartender, just a guy sitting in a loveseat wearing a sweatshirt and tight red boxer briefs, and he seems far too surprised and/or happy to see me. I notice another guy get up from his seat and walk behind the counter.

Me
“Um, what kind of bar is this? It said night club outside?”

Him
“Oh, this is the hostel entrance. The bar is on the other side.”

So thinking little of the man-lady in red, I went into the other bar.

It was not as odd, but also dead. I left and started walking back to the hotel.

Not far from the hotel, what seems to be a beggar comes up to me asking for money. I tell her I’m American and don’t understand a friggin word, and she pesters me just enough (about 3 seconds, which is all it takes) and I give her 10 Koruna, worth about 50 cents.

Then she gives me the money back and locks arms with me, and appears to like me. She is about forty, KINDA pretty, but seems to be on some sort of drug and is basically creepy.

Her persistence had me a little freaked out, but still I simply felt sorry for her. I try to give her the whole 50 cents back and she refuses. INSTEAD, she appears to want a kiss.

I refuse. She tries again. I refuse again, with an actual push-off this time.

She then, ahem, gets VERY friendly and tries grabbing exactly what you are thinking. I refuse again.

All I can think at this point is “wow, that Axe body spray I bought in Denmark really works!”

Somehow, she kicks it up another notch and tries to hump me as I’m walking. This strikes me as very funny and I laugh uncomfortably while I push her off (rather forcefully at this point).

This goes on for about a minute or two. After saying “sorry, not interested” and “goodbye” roughly 50 times as I dragged her around like a terrier in heat, she finally gives up and leaves.

“Phew!” I thought, just as I came upon a bar I hadn’t noticed before. It was dead, but after the last encounter, I needed a beer.

I opened my wallet and poof, no money!

Yep! I got freaking pick-pocketed!!!!! And if you were doing the math, I was sober!

I was wondering how a beggar would go from asking for pennies to hailing a taxi!?! Yes, I am an idiot.

I have lived in NYC for 2+ years and I NEVER got pick-pocketed. I’ve never been pick-pocketed or mugged (or even woken up in a tub of ice without a kidney) in my life! (okay Eggy, I know you are thinking of the gal at “dime beers night” in Blacksburg…but that wasn’t quite the same)

This development had me 50% angry and 50% grateful that this occurred. I mean, sometimes you NEED things like this to happen to you. What is amazing to me is how she took my wallet, took out the cash, and then PUT IT BACK IN MY BACK POCKET without me knowing? She didn’t get any credit cards or my passport so I am VERY lucky.

Here I was feeling sorry for her, especially when she tried to hump an ogre like me, and all the while she was playing me. It was the best I have ever been bamboozled…and here is the great thing, by a real honest-to-goodness gypsy!!! If you asked me how much I would pay for a tour called “how to be swindled by a gypsy”, I would say at least a $40 admission!

Unfortunately, I had much more than 40 bucks in my wallet. Sure, I only had 40 bucks of Czech money, but I had about 50 bucks Norwegian Kroner, 60 euro, 40 British pounds and 60 us dollars! Damnit.

All things considered, not a catastrophe, but I HATE that it happened to me…and yet, love it! What a memorable story! (I am warped)

But to you my gypsy friend, I’m glad you took 40 bucks of my money, but the other 250? I want it back!!

The next 3 days:

Never saw the wily pick-pocketer again, but the rest of Prague was fantastic.

The next day I walked around town a bit before meeting up with Jana for dinner.

And for anyone wondering if Jana and I were an item, well we are just friends. (and I consider her a great friend as she was a fantastic host, dedicating Thursday night and her whole weekend to showing me the town)

Of course, I’d hook up with her in a second, but she finds me about as attractive as a shower drain clog.

Oh well. You know what they say, give a man a fish and he will eat for a day, but give a man a hot tour guide and he will look like the coolest guy in town and jealous fishermen will deny him angling tips.

I digress.

As for the town of Prague, well it is easily the most beautiful city I’ve ever seen. And I’ve seen some great ones lately!

I can’t even pick my favorite sight as they are all amazing. Eating dinner with a great view of the Vltava River and Prague Castle in the background was probably my favorite part.

Be warned though that the Prague Castle Grounds were amazing but incredibly crowded. We walked to the top of St Vitus’s Cathedral, which was 287 steps up a spiral cement staircase. As tired as I was climbing up the stairs, descending down them left me a dizzy, stumbling zombie. But it was cool just the same.

Old Town Prague is also excellent to see, not just for the photos but the buzz of the town. While waiting for Jana at the Astronomical Clock (which was cool but I screwed up the pictures of it) I forgot my watch and wasn’t sure if I was early or late, so I asked someone the time.

Let me repeat that. I asked someone the time after waiting 5 minutes under the Astronomical CLOCK. (I should be euthanized…thankfully the couple I asked pointed this out with a raised eyebrow)

Here’s another great thing about Prague: Beer is incredibly cheap! Sure the hotels are a bit more expensive than I’d like, taxi drivers are dishonest and humping gypsies reign supreme, but a beer costs a little over a dollar!! Oddly, cocktails are 3 times as expensive but that’s fine too!

I tried some Absinth one night. It had no effect on me, but I was surprised it was actually pretty GOOD. Why I would try something that might make me murder several people and is known to taste like pure shit is another issue.

Jana and I also walked along the Charles Bridge, which had part of it under construction but the rest was amazing and the views were fantastic.

Also, I find the city to be the perfect size, with a little over a million people, and only 3 metro lines A, B and C, and a very understandable system of above-ground trollies. I of course managed to get lost in the beginning, but I think I do that on purpose. It is very odd how each and every town I’ve been to has taken exactly 3 days to figure out. Come to think of it, NYC was the same.

The food is MUCH better than I anticipated. They are a meat and potatoes kinda town, in a creative way that isn’t predictable, and while not entirely healthy, I enjoyed it all! No garlic and minimal onions too! And the deserts were fantastic.

I simply had a great time in Prague. My only regret other than the pick-pocketing is wasting much of my time stumbling around trying to find a Laundromat Friday. I was intent on finding the one up the road the hotel told me about and I took entirely too long looking for it. And when I finally did find it, it was a stinking dry-cleaners! Ugh. This was the outskirts of town so nobody had any idea where one was. I eventually went into city center and found one immediately. The lesson? I’m showering with my clothes on from now on.

While the women were not what i expected, the men were even less attractive. I am convinced they all cut their own hair, and not with a scissors. My best guess is they do the cabbage-patch in front of an airplane propeller to get this style. Seriously, it is odd.

(I’m a bit lazy on this post for now. More to add later I think)

Prague Ratings:

The scenery: 10
The "local feel": 8 (way too many tourists, but it is such an amazing place, I don’t blame people for coming here)
The bars: 9 (Jana picked some great places in different parts of town, and smoking is allowed too!)
The food: 8
The friendliness of patrons: 7 (Not too many people talked to me, but I think that’s because I looked like Jana’s bodyguard)
The ladies' presence: 7 (Expected better. Actually I expected a town of gals that look like Jana, but as Debbie Gibson would suggest "Only in my dreams")
Desire to return 8 (there is so much I DIDN’T see despite a good crack at the sights)
Value for Money 8 (um, dollar beers anyone? And Budvar, my favorite!)
Opinion of Americans 7 (they like us, but like many places, find us a bit ignorant. Good thing I was there to be extra stupid)

Berlin

I sit in the DB lounge at the Berlin train station typing this up, waiting for a train for Prague.

In Berlin, I stayed 3 nights in St Christopher’s hostel. This was my first hostel stay thus far in the trip. And while I eventually got very comfortable with it, the first day I felt like a creepy fossil!

I arrived late on a Sunday as my flight got in very late from Copenhagen…easyjet did not impress me, since the 2.5 hour delay caused me to miss the last train into town so the taxi was about 40 euro. Oh well.

Since it was like 2 in the morning, I simply went to bed the first night. The next morning I tip-toed my way to the shower room like a smelly old cat burglar. Luckily the showers had stalls to close you off, though it was a coed bathroom so I had to towel off and throw my clothes on before leaving. I’d grace the ladies with my bare-chested physique and towel around the waist but I couldn’t bear the shrieks.

I saw some sights the first day, like the Fernseturm TV tower, which was touristy but cool since the weather cleared up just in time to catch a good view. Like the lamo I am, I even purchased one of the guided tour recordings to accompany me. Unfortunately it didn’t have earphones and you had to hold this hideous over-sized cellphone thingy up to your ear. I used it for about 3 minutes before sliding the unwise 3.5 euro rental into my back pocket. I wasn’t aware that each window has a much more informative description of the sights beneath it!

I also used this view as a way to figure out where the hell I was in town. I wasn’t sure which direction was east and west…rather key information in Berlin.

My hostel is on the east side, but rather close to many of the sights and yet just far enough away. I have to say I experienced mostly East Berlin only, as it sure seems like a lot of the most popular sights are there.

Chris gave me a tip to see a few places my second day, like Gendarenmarket, which was an awesome square in town (still east I believe) with a French Cathedral to the north and a German Cathedral to the south. It was surprisingly empty (maybe because it looked like it was about to pour rain but didn’t) so I enjoyed having to myself essentially.

I must say I’m very impressed with Berlin overall. It truly is a well organized town. The train system is very easy to figure out (key when you’re a moron) and they are also incredibly punctual! And all the maps are well-planned and there are even maps throughout the town.

Chris also suggested Gedaechtniskirche, which is a war-torn church right around where the Berlin wall used to be…though looking at the map, this seemed to be nowhere near the former Berlin wall dotted line on the map. Oh well, I probably misunderstood Chris, as this place seemed clearly in the west side. But the church was very interesting, and after touring it, I got my third dose of “currywurst”, which is some simply awesome junkfood they have on many corner stands. Knockwurst and powdered curry with spicy ketchup. I will need angioplasty soon but it is worth it!

So after my second full day in town, I started to feel like I knew my way around TOO well, so I got off at Bellevue (park stop) and got delightfully lost in the park. Very cool! (this was like 4 o’clock so not at night!)

To digress extremely randomly, most of you know I’m the worst athlete ever, especially at basketball. However, I always maintained that I would always play up to the level of competition I was playing with, like no matter whether I was on varsity or some pickup game with a bunch of uncoordinated guys, I would always contribute the same 6-8 points and 4 rebounds, no matter who I was playing with.

I bring this up as I feel like being in such a well-organized, efficient town, it has rubbed off on even ME. My travel planning in Berlin has been excellent. Germany seems to have a hell of a lot of 10 minute rain storms, so whenever rain would come, I’d scurry down to a nearby train station, find a new sight/stop and by the time I was off the train, poof, the rain was gone!

This happened several times. And each sight, I seemed to spend a perfect amount of time touring and took JUST enough pictures. I’m telling you, I toured like a warrior poet.

And on one occasion, I got to see the most impressive fall I’ve ever seen by a human being. It was not impressive in how ugly a fall it was, but how magnificent and efficient a fall it was. Clearly this person was German!

I was in Alexanderplatz and was taking a rest since I had my day pack with 300 lb laptop in the back of it, when my keen ears heard what sounded like a stumble and peripherally I saw the beginning of it. A portly woman of about 40 was descending down the last of 2 steps on the square and she must have stepped on her shoelace or something.

Well, she knew she was going down, and if I didn’t know better I’d say she LEPT forward, as if Michael Phelps at the starting block on the 100m fly.

At her zenith, I swear time stood still, like she was in the matrix.

As I gazed with gaping jaw, I watched her incredibly efficient landing, as every single part of her front side hit the ground at the same time except her head and face, arms extended forward the whole time. She minimized the impact by doing this, instead of breaking a wrist or kneecap by falling like an unworthy American on our joints.

It was something to behold, I swear!

She then hopped up unscathed, mildly annoyed by the inefficiency of her walking, and she went about her day and left me in awe.

After my day of touring, and realizing it had been 2 full nights since I boozed, I noticed the travel guide had an advertisement for a “pub crawl”. Now, I was wary that this was the free travel guide from the hostel so the pub crawl would be full of youngsters, but then I realized “um, when have you ever had a bad time at a pub crawl?”

So I listened to my wise conscience and hit the pub crawl, which was INDEED full of youngsters. There were others my age…okay kinda. I had a great time anyway, spending much of the night with a couple from Antwerp, Belgium, a biomedical engineering student from Singapore who’s going to school in London and some firefighter guy from Oregon.

The pub crawl tour guides might have a job more dangerous than king crab fisherman, as they were totally hammered throughout the crawl, and they do it every night! I can’t even say I was jealous…though I think I’d take the job in a second.

It was fun, but keep in mind this was a Tuesday so I didn’t get too crazy. (no fire escape lodging accommodations on this pub crawl like in Boston)

I made it up fine today and took one last shower at the hostel, alluding any forms of life for each of my 3 showers throughout the hostel stay!

Let me add also that Germany is a gorgeous country. On the train to Prague, I could NOT believe how green and pretty it was, riding along the river Elbe almost the whole way. We passed Dresden, among other towns, which seemed very cool, especially the villages on the outskirts.

Germany really wasn’t what I was expecting. VERY much worth visiting.



Berlin Ratings:

The scenery: 10
The "local feel": 9 (I really felt like Germany isn’t overrun by tourists, despite all the great sights…and only about 30% of the people spoke English at best, though 90% of people you encounter on tours or hostel staff speak english)
The bars: 7 (pretty darn good…and yes you can smoke!)
The food: 8 (I had currywurst 4 times and bratwurst twice. I love cholesterol!)
The friendliness of patrons: 8 (very friendly country really)
The ladies' presence: 6 (just didn’t see many, but it was early in the week)
Desire to return 9 (MANY places to see in Germany, kinda pathetic I only did one town)
Value for Money 8 (now this was surprising, beers were pretty cheap and I never felt like anything was overpriced)
Opinion of Americans 7 (didn’t talk to enough locals, but they seem to like us)

Scandinavia

Well I write you now on a gigantic ferry from Oslo to Copenhagen. In case you are doing the math, yes that means I only spent 2 days in Norway, as opposed to the 4-5 days I had allowed.

This is NOT because Norway sucked. It was great…okay it wasn’t quite great but very cool. But I hate to let all the doubters say “I told you so” but Norway is indeed WAY too expensive.

My hotel was very affordable. (side note: my rule has been to book a decent hotel for 2 nights in any country and then talk to locals and get advice on the next few days. This also allows me to abort travel if it gets too expensive or I am having a terrible time. So I consider this well played!)

So when I told people I was going to Norway, I got one of three reactions: (a) Why? Well bring a jacket! (b) Norway? You know that is very expensive right? (c) Oh, you want to see beautiful women. And also (d) Do you want a girl to bench-press you or something?

Well (c) is the most correct, but not entirely. (okay maybe) I also read about Norway and how incredible the sights and country are. And let me tell you, I wasn’t disappointed. The country is indeed beautiful, and I’m sad I didn’t get to travel to Bergen, where I planned to stop midway and ride the Flam (one of those trains/lifts that take you up a mountain…sorry I can’t be more specific), and I even hoped to hit another town like Stavenger or Kristiansburg. (totally wrong spelling but who cares eh?)

But lets get back to the women. If you have heard that Scandinavian women (especially in Norway) love Americans, well I am not the one to confirm it…but I can shed some light. First, let me say the women here are incredibly beautiful. When I got on the bus at the airport I looked around and thought “hmmm, lots of male hippy backpackers, some older folks and ONE really cute girl. Lies!)

But that was a biased sample size. Once I got into town (note: Ryanair flies into “Oslo Torp” which DOES NOT mean Oslo, but a town 1.5 hours away…but I didn’t care as the flight from Ireland cost me like 50 bucks…really!) but anyway I realized this town is LOADED with beautiful women.

Seriously, anywhere I went, my reaction to these girls went somewhere along the lines of "wow" then to "holy shit!" and then finally "okay is this a f%#king joke or something?"

Let me say my hotel was also in the snooty shopping district area, and I first considered that as the reason. (like women walking outside of Bergdorf in NYC, or fashion square in Scottsdale)

I took it easy the first night, but went out for dinner and like 2 drinks, and then went home to upload some pictures. Well, I was already surprised how cheap my hotel was (note, not cheap but this hotel was WAY nicer than what I payed, if Norway is so inexpensive…$140 a night if you must know) and my dinner was even fairly cheap considering I splurged for a steak. Hey, I’ve been eating relatively healthy…and I’ve been jogging!

Anyway, I had it stuck in my head that that 1USD=roughly 14 Norwegian Kroner. It wasn’t until I got home and logged on that the 1USD=about 5.6 Kroner! That is a huge idiotic mistake by me, yes, but the hotel really was $140 a night. However, that meant my steak dinner was $100 (and it wasn’t very good) and a beer COSTS $17!!!!)

Once I realized this, and saw how expensive the train to Bergen was, I decided to abort the country, hotties or not. That doesn’t mean I regret visiting Norway…especially after my second and last night.

So we are on the same page, I spent Tuesday and Wednesday, Aug 28th & 29th in Norway. Really hate that I wasn't there later in the week...though I may have had a heart attack. Tuesday I took it easy as I said. Wednesday I was panicking from the high costs and spent most of the afternoon on the web looking for alternatives and planning my travel.

One thing I really wanted to do was take a ferry from Norway to wherever…but the thing is all the ferries leave from Oslo, not Stavenger or any other town. (unless I wanted to go back to the UK, which I’m not doing until late Sept!)

So I took this as a sign to get the F out of dodge and booked a ferry to Copenhagen, which was pretty affordable.

BUT, I still had one more night in Oslo and a good night’s rest. (seriously, Norwegians have the most comfortable beds ever…and this was a 3 star hotel apparently…it was spotless, the sheets totally white and the whole bed may have well as been a big feather pillow…and no, this bed was NOT designed by NASA like the temper-pedic)

So I went out, with the general attitude of “yep, hot gals everywhere…but what the hell am I doing in Norway? I just spent 17 bucks on a quarter pounder meal!”

Let me back up and say that I’m having a freaking blast traveling, and Norway has been just about as fun as Ireland, possibly better.

You should also know that Norwegians play EXCLUSIVELY American music, and here’s the thing: They have WAY BETTER taste in our music than we do! Seriously, with our society so screwed up by a curious appreciation for terrible country pop, and additionally by our inability to appreciate good music from the past (that isn’t Elvis, The Beatles or the Stones) I was blown away that every song the DJ’s played was fantastic. And some of the songs were clearly American but I’d never heard them in my life. And they weren’t new songs, as I don't know much new music since I don't listen to radio much in NY.

I’m all over the place right now. Anyway, I went out Saturday and while all the points mentioned above are true, it started to feel pointless being out (especially on a Wednesday) and I started to walk home. It was also very dead in Oslo.

But then I stumbled upon a bar that had a few people…and it looked like a mixed-age crowd, which I prefer. When I walked in, they told me to head to the left because the room on the right had a private party. Okay. I went to the left and it was happening, but it was also young and very crowded.

I went to the bathroom down the stairs, and while there, I realized I could sneak my way into the private party if I went up the stairs the other direction. (Hey, private party means a possibility of free drinks! And at the very worst, a reason to leave the crowded young’ns)

I went into the party and while it wasn’t some great party, I wasn't old, and I knew from when I entered, it would be under in an hour until the party ended…so I felt I was worthy of being there. No, there wasn’t free beer…though maybe there was until a certain hour. (it was like 11 at this point) But I DID find out what kind of private party it was. A Scandinavian Airlines company party. Yes, that means flight attendants that come from the country housing the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen!!!

But I was kinda disappointed considering this.

Yes, there were some hotties, but also a lot of pilots and admin folks. (I think all the flight attendants were actually flying…drats)

But I did hang out with 2 flight attendants, both pretty darn cute. (one is in my pictures) And no, I didn’t hook up as one was married and one had a boyfriend. I had a blast anyway. And they gave me their party pass thingies around their neck, so I could feel like part of the party. Yes, that helped make me feel welcome!

Anyway, Norway is a fascinating place. To all my single friends, and I mean men AND women, straight and gay, if you every win the lottery, move here immediately. Since I’m a manly man, I can say that not only the women are beautiful, but the men are all tall and (ahem) good-looking as well. And they ALL speak nearly perfect English.

And I don’t understand how they do stay so good-looking actually. They smoke like chimneys and drink like fishes. (There are few reasons why I would EVER leave a country with beautiful women who smoke and drink too much and have great taste in music…$17 beers unfortunately is one of them)

Norway Ratings:
The scenery: 10
The "local feel": 9 (seriously, I didn’t see a single American, even though we rule their culture)
The bars: 7
The food: 4 (good presentation, but since they basically mimic Americans, they too have been inflicted with the garlic craze…Emeril must die)
The friendliness of patrons: 7
The ladies' presence: 10
Desire to return 6 (10 if I become rich)
Value for Money 1
Opinion of Americans 8 (they love us, problem is most American travelers are poor like me and stay away due to the money…hey, I like to think of my 2 expensive days in Norway as ¼ of my worst weekend in Vegas…but I’m totally warped anyway)

The Ferry:

The ferry from Norway to Denmark was fantastic. Yes, it was totally touristy, and there wasn’t a soul within 10 years of my age in either direction…but after the Scandinavian airlines party, I needed a relaxing evening.

And let me elaborate: I felt totally out of place and yet it might have been my favorite part of the trip. You can see I went picture crazy since I was enjoying the views so much. And I also enjoy saying (and spelling) fjord. I only have slight regrets I cut the Norway trip short. Hey, this isn’t about draining my savings.

Some great people watching went on as well. I was marveling at how well the Danes and Norwegians danced, not that they were great but since they are about as “white” as you can get with their Arian looks, they weren’t bad.

But I spoke/thought too soon. Out of nowhere came some delightfully horrific dancers.

This was about 10pm and while I enjoyed the views in the sunlight, it was dark and I was getting bored. But then this guy, who had been sitting right next to me and seemed to be rather obnoxious, pulls his wife up on stage and starts dancing with her. I can’t tell you how funny his dancing was. It would be impossible. But imagine what it would take to take you from boredom, to a grin, then a chuckle, then a flat-out guffaw (when he breaks it down and ends up on the ground) and then full-on laughing out loud at this spectacle (when he KEPT breaking it down).

I don’t know who this man was, and I can’t say I liked him either, but I’d like to thank him just the same. (and his wife was actually a great dancer, and pretty hot, which I can’t decide is even funnier or very sad…nope funny)

And then I arrived in Denmark the next day and I was surprised I wasn't as inspired to take pictures. I realized it was probably since the city center was not on the shore. It was rather anticlimactic reaching shore and not seeing a discernible direction to walk with my 15 ton backpack, but I picked a direction and walked.

I didn't walk TOO far before I saw a cute blond on a bicycle waiting at a light. I asked her which way to town and she pointed toward the opposite direction I was walking. Yes, a setback, but I was happy to see a cute gal since I am pathetic.

I caught a taxi into town and made it to my hotel.

I was so tired and kinda hungover at this point, I just wanted to check in and get 2 hours of sleep before resuming my touristy ways.

Well, the classy 3-star hotel gave me the run-around for 3 hours, and during that time I caught some sights. And while the city of Copenhagen is indeed impressive, I very quickly figured out it is terribly touristy. I wish there was a better adverb than "terribly" because it really is.

But I also realized I was burned out quite a bit. I took only a few pics (and got rained on) and then decided I was too judgmental on this place and to relax a while. (seriously, I hit the "travel wall", now 2 weeks into travel, so I didn't want to experience the town bitter)

And this was a FRIDAY! I wasn't so much tired as partied out. (please note: this was an excellent feeling)

I decided to park my ass in my hotel bed (another comfortable Scandinavian bed...but not as nice as Norway) and simply watch American movies. (no not porn...though it was tempting for only $5,000 an hour)

I felt guilty for staying in my room all day but not really. I love not working, but if you think about it, trying to catch all the sights EVERY day kinda turns into work. (yes, I know you are cursing me, but trust me naysayers)

So while I enjoyed my "day off" (okay I deserve flack for that) I have to tell you I totally dislike Copenhagen. Yes, it is very nice and the architecture is stunning, but when you plaster billboards and neon on said structures, it is kinda shameless.

But the real problem in Copenhagen, which I find very sad, is that EVERYONE has heard how beautiful it is and EVERYONE has decided to visit. 10 years ago, it wasn't the same, as the locals tell me. I know I am compounding the problem, but really, don't ever come here. It sucks for this reason.

The next day...

I had like 10 hours of rest and was raring to go on Saturday night, but instead I write you now totally bored shitless. Sure, this could be because I hit the wrong places, but trust me, I walked by ALL the places. Now, I'm sure the locals have an underground network of places to see, but I don't care.

On one of my terrible tour buses, they showed us "Nuhavn", which is the most affluent place to live in town (and it was very cool) and so I took note and went there for dinner. The food was okay an all, but I decided this might be the west village equivalent in this town...WRONG! I went back later in the night and it was dead. I walked some random streets and they were dead.
As far as I can tell, Copenhagen is totally lifeless. TOTALLY.

Sure, it may have been beautiful and undiscovered 20 years ago...but so was Kirsty Alley.

I'm sure I've missed certain aspects and certainly haven't figured out the local scene but trust me, it sucks for 180 bucks a night at a 3 star hotel.

And while I can't thoroughly judge the bar scene due to the tourist aspect (much like superman can't see through lead) the women in Copenhagen are terribly ugly and fat. Yes, I said it! This place is a sausage fest...and even the guys are not good looking! And yes, I just compared myself to Clark Kent AND made a judgment call on the males without reason. Screw you for judging me!

So if you haven't figured it out, I don't like this town. But yet, I still have few regrets. Like how I could have stayed in Norway and not spent all that much more money.

Tomorrow I head to Germany, and I should be nice and refreshed. (Chris, could use your help with people to hang out with...even though it will be a Sunday-Tuesday!)

Later!

Denmark Ratings:
The scenery: 6 (would be much higher if not for neon & billboards)
The "local feel": 0 (simply terrible, really)
The bars: 2
The food: 4 (lamb chops were okay)
The friendliness of patrons: 5
The ladies' presence: 2
Desire to return 0 (I want to go back to Norway big time)
Value for Money 0 (I am killing this town! But they deserve it)
Opinion of Americans ? (the only guy I talked to and liked was the bartender at my hotel, who was from the Philippines, and couldn't give me a single reason to like this town...though he did try)

Ireland

Well, this blogging thing feels more lame than anticipated, but I must say I have been better than I thought at actually writing stuff down once in a while. However, I rarely have internet access and the internet cafes, while affordable, have very screwed up keyboards and I simply cannot write comfortably with a freaking enter button one centimeter to the right of where it should be.

Also, since I seem to morph into some over-the-top narcissistic jackass when posting blogs, allow me to simply cut and paste my thoughts as I write them:

Galway & Galway City

When visiting Ireland, best not to take advice from Albanians.

Let me start by saying I'm thoroughly enjoying myself, as after going back and reading below it sounds like I'm bitching like Sean Penn at a political function.

It is shortly after midnight on late Monday/early Tuesday and I sit in the Ard Mhuire B&B typing this up. And yes, actually sober!

While I am enjoying Ireland thus far, I must say I have SOME regrets on choosing the Salt Hill section of Galway City. I was told of this location by some random Albanian guy at a cocktail party in NYC (yes at your place Paul). I had already decided to visit Galway when I spoke to him and I asked him a good area of town to visit. He said Salt Hill and he said there was a great bar (that he used to bounce at) called "Halo Bar". I specifically asked him for a non-touristy bar that wasn't just a bunch of 18-21 year olds. Well, when I arrived in Galway, the cab driver that picked me up at the airport said this place is indeed too young for me. He also told me Salt Hill is a bit far from the heart of Galway city. Oops.

I also picked a B&B that is rather far from even Salt Hill because the b&b website is a bit misleading. The place is great and they've been very nice, but I gotta say I'm tired of walking so far into town! Yes, there is a bus but not really. Yes there are taxis but I only take taxis home as I don't really have a phone. (kinda like having no phone...really)

Worth noting that walking 2+ miles to town is made harder when you start your day with a 5 mile run! Running along the Galway Bay promenade has been awesome! I took a few pictures on each of my ensuing 2 walks to and from town today. The only cool sunset photo I managed was sullied by the caravan/trailer park, but then again I think sunsets and trailer parks are 2 things I don't stop and enjoy enough. Don't you? (yes, I have issues)

Tomorrow I hit the Aran Island of Inis Oirr, which I'm guessing will be rather cool, as I felt a little proud when the tourist agent gal complimented my choice of Aran Islands to visit, as most do the other 2 islands, and I told her a friend had grown up in Galway City and said it was by far all the locals favorite but the least visited by tourists as it is furthest away. Granted, this wasn't really a friend but a waitress from Ireland that works at DJ Reynolds in NYC. The lesson? Drinking is very useful.

But overall, I have to say Galway is just TOO darn touristy. I know I'm a tourist but I just like to experience things like an intruding local and in this town I feel like tourists far and away outnumber the locals. And they aren't even dominated by Americans. Many British, Polish & Slavic from what I can tell, but mostly Irish vacationers. It is like if an Irishman came to the states and then went to Ocean City, MD. Great place to go for a local family vacation, but an Irishman? (Yes, I am an unappreciative moron)

The Aran Islands: Inis Oirr

The Aran Islands is definitely my favorite stop thus far from a scenic perspective. I played this one perfectly I must say.

Getting the tip that the island of Inis Oirr is the least visited by tourists (since it is furthest…barely) but the favorite of the locals was a good one! This place was incredible.

I’m also glad I left the bulk of my stuff at the b&b in Galway as the day pack is more manageable. There were only like 3 b&b’s and luckily I got a room as the first 2 had no vacancies.

After securing the room I rented a bike and toured almost the entire Island. I was hesitant to do so since I’ve never been a mountain-biker or cyclist. I’m just too tall and gangly looking. But while the 4 hours of riding was a bit tiring, it allowed me to see it all. And really it wasn’t a tough ride. However, I did get really friggin thirsty at one point and knew I was miles from the ONLY convenience store. I thought of milking a cow but then I remembered the scene in Kingpin..."we don't have a cow, we have a bull?"

But the Aran Islands are wrought with Irish tradition…old school Irish. They all STILL speak Gaelic (or “Irish”) although they speak English too but only to idiots like me.

It may not be where the McDermotts come from directly, but the fact it is the best preserved piece of old Ireland Is cool.

And frankly I sympathize with the fact they speak such an impractical language, as it isn’t understood anywhere else in the world. Kinda like me with my SAS programming knowledge, only I have no pride and would gladly remove part of my brain to forget it. (perhaps I would speak complete sentences again) But somehow it is related. (huh?)

Several hours passes….

I just went out to 3 of the 4 bars on the island, having a pint or two at each only, and let me tell you it was cool! Did I feel welcome? Hell no! In fact I’m pretty sure a local drunken youngster wanted to kick my ass. Not because I did anything, nor did I tell a soul I was from the states or really even talk to anyone. I’m exaggerating a bit, as he was just belligerent and mumbling about kicking someone’s ass. May or may not have been me. (but if I were him, I’d say I was a good choice...and you know? Angry drunks have always fascinated me. I felt bad for this guy because if you are one of those belligerent drunks when you are young, chances are you will be in AA by the time you are 25. Who wants that?)

The last bar I went to, Ned’s, was pretty interesting. It was packed with locals (where do they come from? I feel like I saw about 20 houses, which means the entire town must get hammered on a Wednesday night!) Anyway, I had left the previous bar since I heard the band was coming on soon and frankly I didn’t want to be tempted to stay out late since I wanted to catch the early ferry at 8 bells in the morning. I went to Ned’s and when I arrived, there was a completely hammered fellow singing Johnny Cash tunes outside of the pub. He was totally trashed, which I thought little of, until he grabbed his mates (also trashed) and then headed to the bar I was just at. Why? Because they were the band!

Awesome. And no I didn’t follow. I had one beer and went to bed and woke up fine for the ferry. And yes, if you haven’t noticed, while I’ve had at least a couple beers each night, I NEVER went to bed as early as I have in Ireland. So I had to COME TO IRELAND to correct my boozing and late night ways? Yikes. And yes, I’m enjoying the normal sleep patterns.
So my only knock on Inis Oirr is the amazingly cold B&B. (hey, what can I expect for only 30 euros!) Plus the owner kinda creeped me out.

Galway City Day 3

After the Aran Islands, I returned to my b&b in Galway for 2 more nights.

Well, I have noted my regrets about visiting Galway, but tonight was fun I have to say. As is common with morons, we need a few days to figure out a town.

I figured out the bus system first and foremost. It doesn’t pick you up right outside my b&b, or anywhere close for that matter, but close enough that I can go into city center where it all happens. “It” being a good mixture of touristy crap, street-shows (which aren’t touristy somehow, maybe since there is fire involved and homeless guys they invite into the show…I digress) and a cool bar scene.

I also had a great cab-driver on the way home (11:15pm departure, mind you, which is my LATEST if you can believe that) and he told me that Halo bar is a great place, full of 27-35 year olds, and the only downside is they are a bit pretentious. Well, isn’t that New York? Or anywhere urban? Damn myself for trusting that first cabbie! I still blame the Albanian who said it was IN Salt Hill, but in retrospect, he may have told me to STAY in Salt Hill and PARTY in city center. But I don't think so. (I'm gonna catch me a rabbit and cut his tail off)

And tomorrow? Well, I MUST do laundry, as while I’ve only been traveling 6 days, I managed to run out of clothes. The only clean clothes I have are shorts (not needed here in the pseudo-arctic summers) and 2 bathing suits, one of which isn’t even mine but Joe’s, who put mine in my backpack my last night in London in case we swam in Marion’s pool. We did no such swimming, and I actually would have swam in the Aran Islands, if only I didn’t go touristy on myself and detach the handy-dandy “day-pack” of my overpriced backpack, and of course forgot a swimsuit.

Oh, and the b&b I am at has me in a THIRD room tonight. My first night, there was a booking mistake and they put me in an incredibly small room where I had to share a bathroom downstairs, which was fine since she cut 20 Euro off my 50 Euro a night rate (equivalent to about $600 savings with the current US dollar rate) and to make up for the mistake. The second night, she made up for it by putting me in a purty sweet room with a private bathroom. And then I went to the Aran Islands yesterday and when I returned my stuff was in an even sweeter room! This may be due to the fact that I complimented her Irish soda bread she was including in my breakfast. And yes I lied a little bit, as it was only so-so, but it prolly was more because my Mom makes the best there is going.

Let me tell you how much I love the Irish breakfast. I have decided it really isn’t that tough to create, as the 60 year old guy in the Aran islands with pungent B.O. made me an even BETTER Irish breakfast than the place in Galway. It was awesome(b.o. guy's breakfast)…though the coffee sucked big time. But here is what it entails:
-2-3 sausages, just like in the states, just maybe not as “brown and served”.
-2 honking pieces of Irish bacon, which is more like Canadian bacon, only they know enough to incinerate it so it isn’t fatty as hell.
-About 800 pieces of toast, 400 white, 400 Irish soda, and I like to clear my plate but simply cannot, and I can only assume they are putting the toast back in the mix for the next customer. (which I am fine with)
-2 pieces of black pudding (is that even what this ricey creation is??? Seriously, I want to know) It isn’t very good, it too was much better with B.O. guy.
-2 once-over eggs, which I used to HATE, but with 400 pieces of toast to burst it’s cholesterolly goodness with, it has grown on me big time. (even yesterday, when a friggin mosquito got caught in the over easy mess, and I simply picked it out AND ATE THE EGGS. (please send aid...and Crestar)

Also, let me tell you what a time I’ve been having with the bathrooms. (please stop reading if you know me even in the slightest and know this is only going to disturb you) Before I left NYC, my roommate returned for about 4 days, and since her apartment is about 10 square feet, and NO air breezes through the place, I know that any kind of, ahem, numero dos, isn’t going to clear the air for at least 2 hours, and since SHE NEVER LEAVES when she visits, AND I hate public restrooms, I basically sweated my way through my last 4 days, with the occasional night-prowler phantom display. THEN, I visited Marion’s parents, where I once again refused out of respect, and THEN I had that first night at the b&b with a “shared” bathroom, and needless to say I was a little “off” on life. I don’t know why I mention this…maybe so someone will explain why I have these issues. Even with my private bathroom at the b&b now, I watch nervously like a crazed gambler at a horse race hoping the flush leaves no evidence.

And also let me say I’m about done with the b&b’s, even as I sit typing in my master bedroom. NONE of them have wireless internet. They are certainly not full of teens like hostels, which I like, but the ARE full of families and couples, and I feel like there is a curfew, even though there isn't, and frankly I have been back before midnight every night.

GALWAY CITY DAY/NIGHT 4 (FINAL DAY)

After walking back from Galway city once again, the maid gal that works at the b&b happened to be walking along the road as well. After a short discussion, where she correctly surmised I am pathetic and have no travel companion, she invited me out with her and her friends.

She was a German gal who's taking English classes for the summer (even though she was 31?) and I must say I was happy to have people to hang with...especially a bunch of German gals.

However, it wasn't a bunch of German gals, or even German men, but mostly Swiss men, said German Maid and some gal with enormous boobs. (worth noting...at least I think so)

They were all classmates of the German gal, so they all had just taken a crash course in English and were happy to communicate with an ignorant American. They had trouble understanding me but I assured them it was because I have a speech impediment.

We all got totally hammered. Did I hook up with the maid? You know I don't kiss and tell...or maybe I do. She was certainly cool, I will say that, though she had very odd hair. (huh?)

Final Galway Ratings:
The scenery: 8
The "local feel": 3
The bars: 7
The food: 6
The friendliness of patrons: 7
The ladies' presence: 4 (like pubs in New York, ladies hardly show up!)
Desire to return 4
Value for Money 6 (I felt like I was ripped off, but after adding it all up, wasn't too expensive!)
Opinion of Americans: 4 Much like myself, Americans are just the most hopelessly moronic, cocky ("hey, I'm Irish too!") and presumptuous of the tourists.

Cork City

Wow, didn't realize I didn't even include this from my notes....

Day 1

I can imagine having a better day than today, but it would take some major thought.

I met a hot Spanish gal at the bus stop, about my age…and before you know it we were having dinner in Cork City. She seemed interested, was rather cute...although didn't speak a word of english...which I assumed was a good thing since I have nothing good to say anyway. I figured some well-placed laughs and Carry Grant preening would be my best approach.

But by mid-course of dinner, it was frustrating…since I speak no other spanish other "beer", "bathroom" and "wash your hands", and she spoke only slightly more English, we couldn't understand a word eachother said. However, we still had fun and laughed (about what, I don't know) and eventually though, it wasn't so fun. I got tired of talking like Tonto...and frankly, I couldn't shake it the rest of the evening after she left. (she had to catch a flight)

After sending her off on her bus (after striking out like Richie Sexson) I figured I would have 1 more pint, which I did at a nearby bar I remembered from last time in Cork City, and surprisingly, it kinda sucked.

Just so you know, I have had 2 pints on a FRIDAY NIGHT, and I was fine with it, but logic told me to try another pub. I go into a pub and while I’m ordering a drink from a rather young but rather hot gal bartender, some drunk guy bumps into me and strikes up a conversation.

He is about my age and totally hammered. Within seconds of meeting him, he buys me a drink, hits on about 4 different girls in 2 minutes (and isn’t a very attractive man), and then tries to milk my nipple to get more vodka in his drink. In the words of Morgan Freeman from Shawshank, “I liked him immediately”. So he brings me to meet his "mates".

Reluctant, I join him and find out it is a bachelor party, for his buddy Terry and about 10 of his buddies. His buddies are very nice but also standoffish as I would be with a random guy busting onto the scene (especially since they know he likes to milk nipples and might attract the wrong crowd!) But after talking with the boys we hit it off quite well.

I wouldn’t have joined this crew if it didn't feel appropriate. It was obvious they were the “drink a shitload with the boys” stag party rather than “let’s get hookers” stag crew that I frown upon.

Ever meet a group of folks one night and think “wow, if circumstances were different, I would definitely be friends with these guys”? This is how that crew was. Just a great, hilarious bunch of guys. And the one guy, the very guy who bought me that first beer, may be the funniest person I’ve ever met…and not because of his wit so much as his shameless presence in the bar. We all have those friends that will walk up to any girl and bust out the most purposefully terrible dance moves, and we also have another friend that likes to take off his clothes when drunk (Carp) but this guy was BOTH of these guys.

You know how you laugh so hard that you not only cry but realize you are “the laughing guy who nobody else understands why it is so funny”? Well I was him. Sure, his buddies were laughing, but this guy was killing me.

And these guys said they had been drinking since 10am, and here I was speaking caveman with a hot Spanish girl who didn’t drink, and STILL, I managed to catch up to these guys AND leave before the party was over. (mind you, most had left, but some were still there)

Excellent night though!

Cork City: Day 2 & 3

Well after Friday, one of the better days of my 34 years of existence, I had trouble following Saturday or Sunday with the same kind of evening. And frankly, that is a good thing since you shouldn’t have bachelor party-level partying more than a few times a year.

So Saturday was pretty relaxing. Sure I had a couple pints, and was actually willing to have SEVERAL pints, but the magic wasn’t the same, and there was a pivotal juncture when I knew I had to go home. I went into a bar on Washington street and was feeling a tiny bit loserish for CLEARLY being by myself.

But out of nowhere, I catch a horrific stench that is clearly a fart. Just as I’m recognizing it, the fellow next to me has already recognized it and had already been surveying the scene for culprits.

Perhaps the timing of him smelling it before me and then looking at me to see my own level of surprise and disgust (which he probably took as an admission of guilt) did me in. You know I have little shame when it comes to toilet matters, and often don’t know how to keep such things to myself, but let me say I was NOT the owner of that one.

But in retrospect, I remember the accuser walking over to my area, and I’m fairly certain he did it himself. But at the moment I was guilty, and I kinda found it quite funny and knew I couldn’t prove my innocence (and it lingered while I chugged my beer to speed up the trial). No Richard Kimble vengeance for me!

And then today, I pretty much organized all of my idiotic ramblings and uploaded my blogs and pictures. Please note this is more time consuming than you would think. Seriously, the wireless router on my floor is messed up so I have a very weak connection at times. (good thing I payed extra for a wireless enabled hotel rather than b&b’s!)

And tonight? (Sunday the 26th) I was fairly tired after my documenting, and I was also hungry, so I decided to stray from the norm and try a Thai restaurant. I went in there at 4:30pm and recalled just how early it was, so I went and had a pint nearby until a respectable dinner hour. I went back and it was still totally empty, and remained so for my whole meal, demolishing my expectation that the Irish might love Thai food as much as I.

And “how was the thai food?” you may ask? Actually it was pretty good! Sure, a couple slices of the chicken were a little tough, but not off-puttingly so (kinda like Foghorn Leghorn) but by the time I finished, I was in heaven…although the green-curry-heavy dish left me smelling of curry worse than Dell Curry. Huh? (note: I should not sully any VA Tech grads at this point who haven’t admitted to killing dogs…and has any university in the HISTORY OF THE WORLD had a worse year than Virginia Tech? Michael Vick, you broke my heart…bastard)

So anyway, I went home after dinner and did some more blogging and travel research, and with an ounce or two of energy, decided to go out again. I stayed very local and went 50 yards from my hotel to a place called “Rearden’s”. The bouncer outside looked unfriendly but I went in anyway with low expectations, mostly because I heard a traditional live music band was playing and I hadn’t caught much of it thus far in Ireland.

Wow! What a cool place it turned out to be! I found a seat hidden in the back of the bar but totally in view of the stage and marveled at the band, which was actually a REAL traditional Irish band, only they were about my age or younger. Seriously, this was a concern for me, that the Irish had been so sickened by American and other foreign stereotypes of traditional Irish music that they had grown tired of their OWN music.

Luckily I was wrong. This place was full of Cork locals and Irish from out of town at worst, and it was simply amazing. And no, I met no friends, and frankly didn’t stay much more than an hour, but it was cool I tell ya.

Cork City: Day 4
So my day in Cork started with a much needed run. The 50,000 calorie a day diet suggests so. After that I did a “hop on, hop off” bus tour, which is always a tad lame since you are propped up on the upper level of those things, with touristy tidbits playing far too loud to pedestrians and my hideous shiny pate extends above all on top of the bus.

But no matter the town, those things are always enjoyable. Got some good pics and good info, like how “The Four-Faced Liar”, probably my favorite pub in NYC, got its name. It is because the tower has a clock on each side, and the prevailing winds would screw up each side back in the day. Nice to have answer for that! And yes, it made me thirsty.

After the bus tour, that same German gal who worked at the B&B in Galway happened to have her sister visiting Cork at the same time and suggested I meet up with her and sis and boyfriend. Well I’m glad I did! Neither her sis or boyfriend were actually THAT fun, but we went to a bar on St Patrick’s street, the main street in Cork that I had been avoiding since it is mostly shops, and this place was pretty cool. It had live traditional Irish music as well, the instrumental kind that is nice to have in the background.

Since Ireland joined the European Union, it has seen an influx of foreign residents, the majority from Poland and Lithuania I’m told. If I may pass on the stereotype, they don’t mind the Polish so much since they are “good workers” and willing to do cheap labor. They clearly don’t like the Lithuanians since they are “lazy and only want to beg and collect welfare”. They did not mention world-class B.O., but I confirmed that one myself. And Baltic B.O. was bad enough before the emergence of sleeveless shirts. Damn whoever invented those!

Anyway, I mention this as it isn’t just Polish and Lithuanian, there are LOTS of EU temporary or newly planted residents. At this pub, I found myself hanging with several Germans, several Italians, a couple Spaniards and one rather amusing Austrian guy. He was cracking me up big time, but in more of a “laugh at him rather than with him kinda way”.

He was a mixture of a real life Borat and Hanz and Franz from SNL. He had an excellent knowledge of American pop culture and America in general. (as does everyone everywhere I’ve been. Seriously, we don’t know shit about anyone else but they keep an eye on us…and not enviously so in most cases!)

Anyway, Christian the Austrian was talking about the Governator (and told me how his country ostracized him for “killing two people” meaning he didn’t pardon two executions as governor…wow, that’s kinda heavy really).

He also kept saying things like “Kevin in New York who is home by himself” and I thought he was just making fun of me being 34 and single, but I finally realized he was talking about the movie “Home Alone”, and yes Macauley Culkin’s character was indeed named Kevin.

Then things got funnier when the Spaniards, the Germans and the Austrian all started singing American pop tunes. And the Austrian kept adlibbing (rather cleverly) his own stuff in there. It did get a bit annoying when they started singing U2 songs because (a) I dislike U2 frankly (no really, always have) and (b) U2 is kind of the pride and joy of Ireland and it isn’t cool to butcher their songs with broken English and (hilarious) adlibbing at 2 in the morning with residences a few feet above us.

I went home at a decent hour (midnight-ish) and got up for my flight to Norway feeling fine. I sit in Norway now typing this up. I shall tell you about Norway when I truly experience it!

London

London was my first destination and I only spent 2 nights there. I was hanging with Joe on Friday (the 17th) and then Joe and I met up with Mits & M at Marion's parent's house in Beaconsfield (sp?), and Marion's brother Richard and sister Angela were also there. Angela with new bo, who was very cool too.

Joe and I had a blast Friday, despite severe jet-lag. Well, I had jet-lag as I didn't sleep a wink on a red-eye (as I expected) and Joe was both tired and kinda drunk since he got to fly business class. I love being poor! Actually, I firmly believe it is pointless to fly business class on a red-eye as you have little choice but to get drunk! At least in coach you have a chance of 2-3 hours of sleep. I digress.

Joe and I stayed at Trafalgar square, the very spot where Clark Griswald & family got stuck in the roundabout all day with Big Ben and Parliament. We were worried this was far too touristy a spot but actually we had no trouble finding excellent pubs & nightlife.

We met a couple gals but of course I managed everything poorly. While I actually struck up the conversation (by asking for a lighter, since I once again lost mine at the security check-in) I found myself talking to the married gal while Joe talked to the cute single gal. This would be fine but Joe was just being a good wing man (and has a girlfriend) and didn't really care who he talked to. Even with the extra 1 or 2 percentage points of alcohol in UK drinks, my morals remained intact and I shot the married gal down. (I hate morals...really) Joe enjoyed my dodge and weave of the married gal's advances to make out with me. And I know what you are thinking, I only shot her down because she wasn't cute...and my retort is this: "you might be right". Actually let me add: "But I like to think not...and she wasn't all THAT bad you know...but I also had 20 beers")

In Beaconsfield Saturday, I thoroughly enjoyed meeting Marion's parents. They are nice as can be and have a lovely house in what is apparently one of the more posh places in London. And Richard and Angela, Marion's bro and sis, are damn cool but I already knew that from when they visited NY. After a bbq at Marion's, we went to a local club and had a great time Saturday night.

At the club in Beacondsfield, there was this passed out drunk guy in a chair whom everyone was decorating with stuff (bottles, sunglasses, trash, etc...) and at one point someone placed a hat on him, a good Irish-looking hat like the one John Wayne wears in "The Quiet Man". I of course snatched it.

Though we painted the town nicely Saturday, it was somewhat tame all things considered. However, with my jet-lag, coupled with the fact Joe and I tore it up Friday and didn't sleep all that much, I slept FAR TOO LONG at Marion's house Sunday morning and was embarrassed when Marion knocked on my door wondering if I should get up. Thinking it was about 10 at the latest, she told me it was 12:30! God I am useless.

When I showered and descended down the stairs, her poor Dad had researched the best ways to get Rip Van Winkle to the airport so he didn't miss his flight. (which I appreciated. And made it to the airport early as I know myself and book as few early departures as possible!)

But Marion, if you read this, know I feel bad about that. At least I didn't pee in the fridge, like my buddy Shawn did to my parents. (You like that Shawn!?! Thought so)

And when I caught my flight from London to Ireland, I threw on said hat thinking I musta looked cool, either in the traditional Irish sense or at least in a counter-culture hipster kinda way.

I was wrong. I looked in the mirror after wearing the hat a good 4 hours as I traveled to Ireland and made it to the b&b, and I realized while I'm the same height and build of John Wayne (with a similarly uncoordinated walk) the comparisons stop there. Without hair, this hat made me look more like one of Rodney Dangerfield's goons in Caddyshack rather than John Wayne. (Whether I was Moose or Rocko, I don't care to know) Point is I was NOT a wild colonial boy, and Jack Duggan was certainly NOT my name.

I haven't worn the hat since...but I can't seem to throw it out due to sentimental reasons...and let me tell you it stinks terribly. Somehow I know I'll wear it again. (please send febreeze)

The Rules of Travel

So I think it is important to lay down some ground rules for my travel. Many of you have requests such as "send me pics" and "you have to write a blog! I want to hear about your travels", and I'm happy to do so, but I must submit these conditions:

1. I am a terrible picture taker. I don't mean I lack photography skills and capturing the essence of a moment (though I do), I just never think to do so. This isn't news to most of you, as you are friends and understand I am on the whole, completely useless and basically a 34 year old child who's allowed to drink. I will take as many pictures as I can though...but expect about 3 or 4 a day(and that's laughably high).
2. I am traveling the world to experience different cultures, reflect on life, and appreciate that I will NEVER get 6 months off in a row again in life. I am NOT traveling to experience every sight I can squeeze into each destination. Most of you know I hate the idea of being a tourist, and I most certainly hate seeing sights because "I HAVE to go see it". Why? I can draw you a picture of the flocking Eiffel Tower. The Pisa tower leans. So what? I will not have an itinerary that is jam-packed with daily departures and loaded with destinations. This not hospice care. (or is it? worth it if so! I digress) I want to enjoy my 3 months of travel in new places and that's it. I could spend 6 months in an Oklahoma trailer park and be pretty happy. (and still might. better than working!) As a result, you will find I will spend at least 2 days in most of my destinations, and at least 3 days in each country.
4. I will try my best to save money on lodging through b&bs or hostels that somehow have private rooms, but even if I do this, I will have to book hotels once in a while. I don't want any chiding because I'm wasting so much money. I have learned a lot from Rick Steve's travel advice, but I have also learned 2 things: 1. That guy is one cheap bastard, and 2. He is a monumental dork. (seriously, I appreciate the advice and respect how he turned frugal travel into millions of dollars, but why keep boasting HE STILL TRAVELS CHEAP? If Rick Steve comes into one of my hostels I am stealing his credit card and staying at the Ritz. And how is a guy named Rick Steve not a porn star? Just wondering)
5. While I like beer far too much, I am not allowed to drink for 3 months straight. In NY on my first month of the extended leave, I actually behaved fairly well, maybe 3 nights a week, although my last week was a bit much. ("I'm surfin, screamin cowabunga, TOTALLY DUDE! Party like a rock...party like a rock star...okay I'll stop)
6. I am not allowed to sleep all day, but I'm also not allowed to set a schedule where I'm getting up too early. Yes, I know how vague that sounded. I just wanted to brag that has been my life since July 1st. He heeeeeeeeeeee!
7. I am also not allowed to become a fat pig. I am required to jog 4+ miles at least once every 3 days, and 100 push ups is also required over the same time. I mention this since I'm already gaining weight like a Wisconsin bride DESPITE running a bunch and doing said push-ups. I would set a weight maximum but I never have a scale and even if I find one, I refuse to convert kilograms to pounds. (or convert to moles, as my chemistry teacher Ivan Sutton would attest, as he should have failed me back in 89)
8. Similar to catching all the sights, I do not feel the need to load up on each country's culinary tastes. Sure, I will dabble here and there, especially when at a non-touristy spot, but I shall eat whatever my craving tells me to do. Fish and chips, bangers and mash? All excellent dishes, but see point #7. But also, eating certain dishes in certain countries is also totally lame to me. (like the cheese steaks in Philly, or the gumbo in New Orleans...eat them when you want but don't make it a part of your travel) And frankly, I want answers to questions like "how is the thai food in Ireland?" and "does the ketchup not suck anywhere in Europe?" and "what will be my fall-back meal since Chipotle hasn't spread to Europe?"
9. Also, I have developed a very generic rating system for rating each city. I welcome advice on other metrics:
The scenery: 1-10
The "local feel": 1-10
The bars: 1-10
The friendliness of bar patrons: 1-10
The ladies' presence: 1-10
Are the dudes cool? 1-10
Desire to return 1-10
Value for Money 1-10 (not according to Rick Steve, but me, who has no relevance)
Opinion of Americans 1-10 (seriously, I hate politics but the current administration have been such pricks from the get-go, I really worry we are total dicks to the rest of the world...I want to get the real scoop...though of course I will not improve diplomacy...unless pyrotechnic flatulence and drunken exclamations of "Nevahh!" do the trick)

I miss you guys and realize I sound like a Nazi, but I want to set expectations and remind any of you who forgot I am totally useless. Sure I will take travel advice on destinations and deals, but I cannot follow touristy itineraries. Get it?