Rome is a remarkable city and if you want to blow your mind to the maximum, go to Cinque Terra on the mediterranean coast. Below is an excerpt from a journal I kept during a a two month trip through Europe.
August 12th 12 something. Sitting in the hallway of a train surrounded by greasy Italians and listening to godspeed and my feet undoubtedly have some sort of fungus or worm or something. I have never seen them dirtier.
In the ongoing quest to better myself, experience culture, and pursue mind boggling love, I moved myself to Santiago Chile back in February. I intended to do another “Random First Impressions…” blog but that time has passed so follow along as I ramble through my slightly more refined and matured impressions of Chile.
As I prepared to move myself to Santiago Chile, I frequently told people that I planned to “inject myself” into the cycling scene and eventually “dominate.” Well after almost two months, six trips to various bike shops, and countless kilometers, I finally injected the scene. However, I think in the end, the scene did not like me sticking it with sharp objects and turned around and bitch slapped me to the other side of the road. Here’s how it went down.
I like to think that I am a good traveler. Like the chameleon, I can blend into almost all situations. People always struggle to guess my origins and I frequently get told “You look French. Wait! Maybe Brasilian. If not Brasilian, probably Swedish.” From doctors to marketeers to writers to wrestlers to strippers to evangelicals to politicians, we always have something to talk about. In 26 years of moving around on this earth, I do not have too many truly negative stories from my travels. A few forgotten passports or missed buses which incurred severe charges on various credit cards or the occasional over priced excursion. But never anything to write home about. However, a recurring negative theme in my travels is the fact that I lose my camera.
The Dutch (people from Holland/Netherlands) I have always found to be interesting. Initially it was for the superficial reasons of their very open drug policies. But if you can avoid the temptations, and maintain a keen eye towards the very specific way in which they live their lives, there is something to behold that is worth absorbing. Granted, I have only visited three times, and in no way can I offer an accurate commentary. But I cannot do that even for places that I am extremely familiar with.
I absolutely adore aggressive city cycling. I am not talking about the usual getting from point A to point B, although that is the main objective for me. I am talking about a heart pounding, flat out effort across town running every red light you can find
, even red lights that you do not have to go through. A balls to the wall sprint with your head band on to keep the sweat out of the eyes. Malicious pedals dragging on small dogs as you go the opposite direction on the side walks to avoid a particularly heavy chunk of road traffic. Simply, whatever it takes to beat your cousin going from South West London to central North in Camden. I have mentioned in the past my love of the Argentine system for making sure that this would not even be a contest. Well London is a little different and let me explain.
I grew up in Southern California. Current statistics show that the majority of inhabitants in this part of the world speak Spanish before they speak English. In high school, all students are required to take some form of language learning and I chose Spanish being the practical minded person that I was. However, I treated Spanish with the same sort of attention I have been giving my latest cycling injury, couldn’t care less. My worst grades were in Spanish. I can remember Mrs. Contreras calling on me always right when I was in the middle of goofing off with Matt Comeux, and I would always respond with a barely intelligible combination of badly ordered pronouns and horribly conjugated verbs. In university I avoided further Spanish training by taking a multi-cultural class which taught me all sorts about seven different religions, but no language. But then 18 months ago I decided that it was absolutely critical for me to learn a new language to move forward on my quest of becoming a renaissance man.
From Argentina, I went to California for two weeks thinking that was enough time to settle my life in that continent before heading off to England. The complexities of “settling my life” in that continent will be saved for another entry. Two days after arriving in England, I boarded a plane to Istanbul. In Istanbul I had enough time to buy a bottle of fine tequila and then get on another plane for Izmir where my good friend and fellow blog author is currently living. I spent two weeks in Turkey with three days on some Greek islands where I learned about the intense problem of middle eastern immigrants trying to get into Europe and the idea that certain generations of people just simply hate each other regardless of any sort of reason. But I will not pass judgement on some of the things that they had to go through. Charles was a fantastic host as always and a play by play of the trip should be given to give him full respect but instead I will go through a tattered page of my journal that I found with a bullet point list of things I needed to remember. In order as I wrote them and to the best of my memory.
If you plan on sharing a conversation with anyone in England, you better be prepared to discuss the weather. Without fail, it will be the second thing talked about regardless of the encounter you find yourself in. For example:
“You alright?” (Equivalent to ‘how are you doing’ often said without the ‘You’.)
“Ya, excellent|lovely|not bad.” (excellent is heavily used here and on par with ‘like’)
“So how ’bout that weather?|What crap weather.|Beautiful day we are having.|Absolutely pissing down.|…” (many more but all roughly the same)
The other person will usually take a long hard look into the sky, and then agree with the given conclusion.
Last night, apparently there was one of the most visible meteor showers of the year in the northern hemisphere. I was meandering down a very dark lane blasting my iPod to “The great gig in the sky” and gazing upwards into the lightly misting rain wishing the cloud cover would move. It got me thinking…
