More Political Commentary

29/1-08

 

Yesterday's Comments…

 

Yesterday I posted a reactionary piece about some comments I received following a post about American foreign policy, among other things. The piece was a spontaneous reaction to the comments I received, and I stand by my reaction. However, I've had some time to mull over a few things, and would like to expand on some of the ideas from that retort.

 

Regarding the President's Name…

 

Wouldn't it be funny if our next President is named Barack? What kind of person thinks someone with a name like Barack could ever represent America?

…

The name thing was a joke. Anyone who thinks I'd actually base my vote on someone's name is missing the point.

 

"People are still dying to come here… What we have, that I don't know anyone else has, is opportunity for everyone. You can go from nothing to something in a realitvely short time without having "class" interfere."

 

I concede the point about class. Although our society is very top-heavy with regards to who controls the wealth, it's always been like that, and that doesn't preclude someone from rising to that level from relative anonymity.

 

However, I believe that this argument is becoming less and less true. Our country was founded on diversity, and the varied viewpoints and variety of skills and knowledge of the people helped facilitate our rise to a world power. But that was a long time ago. What is one of the biggest issues in this election? Immigration. Or, rather, the elimination of it. I said earlier that history has a funny tendency to repeat itself. Well, this is a case of society ignoring an important facet of history that made our country great. Instead of focusing on positive solutions and finding ways to utilize new immigrant skills, we're simply trying to deny them the right to come here in the first place.

 

Not only is it becoming increasingly difficult to immigrate into our country, it's becoming increasingly difficult to even visit our country. Foreigners are now forced to have all 10 fingers printed electronically, and are subject to a series of questions prior to being granted entry simply as a tourist. What kind of message is this sending to the world? I understand the necessity for national security. But when a banner in the international terminal of the LA airport reads 'Homeland Security Welcomes You to the United States of America,' I think it's going a little too far.

 

I came to Prague to learn how to teach English as a Foreign Language (TEFL). This means the teaching of English to people who reside in a foreign country, with a foreign culture and a foreign first language, who simply want to speak English in order to 'get in the loop' with the rest of the English-speaking world. TESL, on the other hand, is the Teaching of English as a Second Language. This is for students who reside in an English-speaking country, and want to learn not only the language, but also the culture, to assimilate into society. Only a few years ago, the world officially crossed an astounding threshold as a global society – there are now more non-native English-speakers in the world than native speakers. This means that more people on earth today can speak English as their second language, than people who can speak English as their first language (like us).

 

'Welcome to America – Now Speak Our Language.' Well, it's no longer our language. In fact, it's their language. However, I don't disagree with that statement entirely. But instead of turning it into a negative, why not make it a positive? Think about this…let's create an army of English teachers. It only takes a month. Let's open our doors to the rest of the world, allow free immigration like we did when our country was founded, teach them our language and our culture  (which, by the way, they had to learn on their own in the old days…where do you think we got 'PA Dutch" from?), and see what they can offer us.

 

On a similar note, since I began traveling in foreign countries with foreign languages, I don't recall ever being denied service or being treated unfairly because I didn't speak the language. I don't know more than 3 words of Czech, and nobody here speaks English. Do you think I'm treated differently? I may be looked at funny sometimes, and laughed at behind my back…but when I go to a pub or restaurant, the staff tries to be helpful, despite the language barrier. I've never once been refused service for not speaking the language. It's called hospitality.

 

We are at a time in history when English is the lingua franca, and we need to take advantage of this. We don't even have to learn another language! We can remain self-centered in that regard. We have more power now than ever as English-speakers, when we can actually communicate with more non-native speakers around the globe than native English speakers. Let's take advantage of this!

 

"As "they" say, "If you're not part of the solution you're part of the problem"."

 

First of all, who are 'they'? This has always puzzled me, and why are 'they' always right? This is a good argument to use when one doesn't have anything better to say, and can't give any good examples to back up their point. Instead of using a real retort, and offering up solutions of their own, users of this cliché instead place the blame on the speaker, and avoid the issue. Which in a way, makes the speaker part of the problem as well.

 

The intent of my original post was not to save the world. It wasn't even to offer any solutions to anything. I was merely making observations, and, while we're using clichés, providing 'food for thought.' I'm glad that it provoked some replies. But if you're going to argue, please back it up, and don't simply rattle off overused idioms. At least I can recognize that there is a problem in the first place. I've always been taught that the recognition of a problem is the first step to its solution.

 

 

"…it is incredibly untrue that this generation is complacent and not passionate about change. If you were paying any attention before the Iraq war started, there were marches in every major city - with over one million people marching in New York alone."

 

I still adhere to the notion that my generation, in its current state, is not capable of creating change within our society. This idea stemmed from the CNN special I saw about MLK Jr. while in Austria. (And as the bumper sticker says, 'There are no kangaroos in Austria'!). I was struck by the fervor that MLK Jr. spoke with, and the enormous crowds he drew. The passion emanating from his followers was unstoppable. They willed change to occur. This was not that long ago, and it's scary to think that our society, as great as it is, still segregated blacks less than 50 years ago.

 

(A funny side note…When MLK Jr. was at the peak of his power as an orator, he visited Sweden, just before Christmas. December 13 is 'Lucia' in Sweden, and Mr. King happened to be visiting on this date. 'Lucia' is a holiday that remembers the burning of witches at the stake in the old days, much like in Salem, Mass. The tradition is for young women to sing 'Lucia' songs under candlelight, early in the morning, waking up in fact, the residents of a town. MLK Jr. got to experience this tradition. He was awoken by a group of people dressed in white gowns, with white headwear on, holding candles and encircling his bed…you can imagine what he thought. The misunderstanding was quickly defused, however, and now in Uppsala, we have a street named after him.)

 

MLK Jr. had the benefit of an obvious cause to fight for, that was personified by the countless black people who had to deal with it day in and day out. Their cause for racial freedom only needed a catalyst, and MLK Jr. provided that, and was able to organize the contempt that everyone felt, and mobilize it in a way to create real change.

 

My point was that currently our generation is not faced with such personal anguish, and that no one cares enough to begin the process of creating change. My parents had Vietnam, and saw their friends and family carted off against their will to an unpopular war. This potentially affected every person in society. The lucky ones went to college. The ones who got their number called went to war. We don't have this problem today. We (fortunately) have enough voluntary military to avoid a draft. Would our generation tolerate it if it came to that though? I say no…but like I said before, the government knows this. They won't risk the social upheaval that a draft would cause, so they find other ways of recruiting men for the military, and instead are actually praised for avoiding a draft in the first place.

 

My generation is not segregated. We enjoy more freedoms than any other in our history. We, the middle class, live extraordinarily comfortable lives, and in the age of technology and globalization, know more about the world from our desktops than any generation before ours. And in a matter of 12 hours, we can be almost anywhere in the world. Our lives are simply too comfortable, and we refuse to risk that comfort in the name of societal change. The country's (and the worlds, for that matter) problems are too abstract, too impersonal for any real change to occur from the bottom-up. Marches on Washington and NYC are great…they show that we care, but what have they accomplished? That's the difference.

 

"Really, if the US falls, who wins? We are all so interconnected at this point, it seems there would be no real winner."

 

I concede this point, to an extent. In the age of globalization and exponentially increasing technology, there can be no complete failure of a society, and no complete world-dominating empire. But I think this phenomenon began far earlier than now.

 

When the US was formed, England was the most powerful empire in the world. When the US fought for their freedom, we took a large chunk out of the English empire, and began creating an empire of our own. Gradually, as the US matured, England simultaneously became weaker as a global power. But they did not fail. The playing field was leveled, but they remained a worthy opponent in the game of global domination (some call this game Risk!).

 

Eventually, and it did not take long, the English and the US recognized each others power, and became allies. Instead of remaining enemies, they joined forces and currently remain two of the world's great empires.

 

The balance of power will never be in favor of one global empire as it once was in the time of the Romans and Greeks. Their worlds were comparatively miniscule, and it can be argued that the far-east nations in fact had greater control over the entire world than even the Greeks or Romans. Now that the world has shrunk, there can never be one dominant country or society, and this fact must be recognized to achieve any kind of progress.

 

My problem with the US society is that we refuse to acknowledge the rest of the world and it's diversity, which in the past has shaped our country and our society, and made it what it is today. We've somehow shifted to a self-centered culture basing our foreign (and domestic) policies on fear and negativity, denouncing foreigners as strange and scary.

 

Like I said, I'll concede that in a modern, global society there are no clear 'winners' and 'losers,' but the US is going to lose ground on the global playing field if we do not recognize the need to become more egalitarian and open-minded, and concede that there are equally important, different cultures playing an enormous role in the rest of the world.

 

Conclusions.

 

Can you tell I enjoy this sort of thing? Keep the comments coming, because I believe that open conversation is the first step to compromise and the creation of change.

 

The reason America has become the leader of the free world is because we have always been able to change and adapt, based on what's been happening in the world. I have no doubt that our country will continue to adapt to the changing nature of our global society; I'm just curious to see how that is going to happen.

 

Our country was founded on moral principles and is in fact 'good' as one commenter put it. We will not fail like the communists did, because we have the freedom and the flexibility to change with the times. And the first step to creating change is recognizing the need for it. That's what I meant by saying that America is at a turning point in its history. Everyone needs to wake up to the reality that what our country has been doing, globally and domestically, has been short-sighted. This doesn't mean America will fail. I hope this means that our society will recognize our faults, and continue to mature and be the leader of the free world, setting the example for other nations and cultures to follow.

 

I think if we think of it that way, of being an elder sibling to the rest of the world, we'd be better off. Let's try to set the example we'd like the rest of the world to follow, and we can rule the world! If we continue to create good ideas, welcome diversity and acknowledge and respect other cultures, the rest of the world may just follow suit. We're currently setting the opposite example, shutting ourselves in, destroying our opposition instead of listening to it, and forging animosity from the rest of the world. What, exactly, is this going to prove? Think about what I've said, and by all means, craft a reply and let me hear your point of view. Knowledge is power.

Reactions to the Previous Comments

I don't know who's written the previous two comments, and didn't even realize they were posted until this morning...the post they are referring to was more of a 'what-if' and not necessarily a criticism of the United States. In fact, if you'd read the rest of my blog, you'd notice that I wrote extensively about how excited I am to come home...and the mere fact that I am writing from abroad is due to my freedom to travel as a US citizen. 

(And furthermore, writing about America from Abroad offers an outside perspective that is impossible to view from within our own country. I never said I was renouncing my citizenship or declaring war on the US. I'm traveling to experience the world and broaden my views. You know there are places worth experience outside your own country. Finally, the entire last post was based on an international CNN broadcast that I saw in Austria. It was one of the few times that I've watched the news and saw people talking about America from afar, and it offered a viewpoint that could simply be objective without trying to offer any solutions. It was very interesting, and I don't think my position is tarnished by being abroad. In fact, I think I can speak more objectively by removing myself from the norm.)  

The vague, 'we are a stable democracy' argument is relying on our history as a stable and powerful country and not looking towards the future. Don't you think the Romans and the Greeks, and even the recent English Empire relied on their 'collective goodness' when the signs started pointing to their demise? History has a funny way of repeating itself, and humans have a funny way of ignoring it. Wake up people. "The tragedy is that unfortunately this administration will follow its agenda regardless." This is not the tragedy. The tragedy is that my generation does not have enough collective willpower to create change. Don't you think the communists thought they were going to 'follow [their] agenda regardless.' I don't care how powerful a government becomes, the will of the people will always be stronger.  

Inevitably America will change. The status quo has never remained. Throughout our history, there have been waves of digust, followed by upheaval from the citizens, and significant change. This was my whole point about the MLK Jr. thing. And actually a praise of our country, since we have the power within our democracy to create change without violent revolution and radical orthodoxy.

To return to my first point, I still believe America is on the brink. It's been a long time since any significant change has taken place and our society has become stale and mired in historical solutions that no longer apply to the modern global circumstances of economy and war. My generation must be the next great generation to take responsibility and remove the negative taste in the worlds mouth with regards to the US.

People, please leave your name if you comment. This is supposed to be an open discussion, so stop hiding behind 'anonymous' and let yourself be heard. Debate is supposed to be fun.

Miserable Weather

I'm under way again, waiting for the boat to take me back across the
Elbe and to the bahnhof. My train won't leave for an hour, but the
cafe wouldn't let me sit there without buying something, and I only
have .80 Euros in my pocket. My clothes, my jacket and my backpack are
thoroughly soaked.

This is without a doubt the crappiest weather I've experience since
arriving in Europe, even in Sweden. The wind must be blowing 20-25
knots, the rain is blowing sideways and permeates into everything, and
the visibility is about 300 metres. Yesterday, conversely, was
gorgeous outside, and I wish I could have experience Bad Schandau
then. I would have stayed longer for sure.

The boat is small and the river runs swift. I'm joined by a middle-
aged German couple, and we continue to remain at the dock. There is a
small enclosure at the stern of the boat with 4 small tables and
booths, where i compose this entry. The wheelhouse is forward.

The Elbe valley is beautiful, and as I sit on the river, I get a neat
feeling from gazing upstream. The high sandstone cliffs rise on either
side of me, giving the area a surreal, closed-in feeling, partially
created by the weather, and creating a sort of mystery around the
town. The captain has just returned and we're departing the dock. I'm
freezing in my damp clothing, relief hours away in Prague...

It's Raining in Dresden

And it's raining even harder in Bad Schandau. That's where I am right
now (in Germany) as I write this. The waitress just brought me 'ein
kannchen kaffee.' There are two cyclists drying off in the bathroom.

I learned today that my new puffy jacket is not waterproof. It's not
even water resistant. It's soaked, and so am I. I almost didn't make
it to the cafe where I'm sitting now. The train from Dresden only
stopped for 30 seconds, and I made a split-second decision to hop off
despite the gloomy weather. Unfortunately, the bahnhol is on the wrong
side of the river from town, and the bridge was 3km in the wrong
direction. So I stood in the rain, debating what to do, and nearly
returned to the deserted train station to wait two hours for the next
train back to Prague. But I persevered, and at the last second, as I
was walking towards the station entrance, I noticed a boat coming down
the river...salvation! For a mere 1.50 Euro, I was whisked upstream
right into the quaint heart of the tiny German 'dorf', and managed to
stay sort of dry in the process.

Being that it's my last full weekend in central Europe, I wanted to
take advantage, so set off yet again. (Can you tell that I'm not
completely enamored with Prague?) This time it was just me and Sara,
and we were bound for Dresden, an easy two-hour train ride away.
(Traveling by train in Europe is a must-experience event by the way. I
thought to myself yesterday that i could sit on that train all day
long, drinking coffee, writing and watching the scenery glide by. What
a cool - and practical - way to travel). We made no plans, arrived in
Dresden at 12:30pm, and just walked towards the old center of town.
Dresden is unique in that the 'Alt Stadt - Old City' is really very
new - it was bombed flat in WWII and the city is still rebuilding.
They've done a remarkable job, however, and the city is super-clean
with a modern, well-designed, friendly and decidedly untouristy feel.
I was pleasantly surprised.

Sara and I wandered through the ancient-feeling yet shining new Alt
Stadt, winding up at the Frauenkirche ('Church of the Mother'),
magnificently rebuilt in the center of a large square. We ambled into
the Frauenkirche Cafe, up the steps to a comfy table replete with two
couches and overlooking the church and the square, and we sat there,
for 4 straight hours. The goal of the weekend was to complete the
enormous writing project for TEFL, and I was determined not to leave
that cafe without doing just that. Upon completion of my 14-page
(handwritten!) masterpiece, I had a beer.

At that moment, when i was browsing the bier menu, I realized that I'd
been waiting nearly 8 years for this opportunity. I was about to enjoy
a true German Hefeweizen, in Germany, and I knew how to order it,
speaking Deutsch. I sat for a moment, reflecting on how much I
romanticized Germany through my 4 years of language study with Herr
K...I was finally there. I stared at my bier for a minute, marveling
at the situation, and thoroughly enjoyed every last drop of that bier
more than any other in my life.

By 7pm, both Sara and I were getting hungry, but we still hadn't yet
found a place to sleep. The waiter was tremendously helpful, brought
us a map of the city and drew directions for us of how to get to the
'Jungensgasthaus - Youth Hostel.' It turned out to be only a 10 minute
walk away, so we sauntered down Freiberger Strasse and found it quite
easily. For 18 Euros a piece, we had a double room with two beds and
breakfast in the morning...not too bad.

That night, we ended up at an Irish pub of all places. (The phenomenon
of the irish pub is really incredible. Here is a bar, based on the
theme of a country the size of New Jersey, which you can find with
striking consistency all over the world. And they are usually the most
fun and atmospheric places to go!). This place was obviously a local
hangout, kind of out of the way down a side street, and we felt lucky
to stumble into a little Dresden secret, despite the irish theme. A
band was setting up, so we settled in, to hang there all evening, soak
up the ambience (which was still decidedly German despite the decor)
and get drunk on German 'bier.' (Yes, they had Guiness, but the German
bier was the highlight, by far).

It is worth making the pilgrimage to the motherland solely to
experience what the Germans do best - make (and drink) bier. We
ordered two Kostrizter Schwarzbiers, which looked like motor oil
coming out of the tap. They were served in .5L glass steins, with a
big handle on the side and a two-inch, snow-white foamy head. A real
beer indeed. Before the night was over I'd sampled two hefeweizens
('helles' and 'dunkel' - light and dark) - the two best I'd ever
tasted - and the aforementioned schwarzbier, guzzling 3.5 litres in
all. I slept like a rock.

And now I find myself in Bad Schandau, about 50km outside of Dresen,
nestled into the Elbe River valley, which rises dramatically on each
side of the river, sandstone cliffs towering above the pine forests in
shapes and colors you'd never expect to find in Germany (or at least I
didn't). If not for the weather I'd be exploring today, as the area is
apparently home to the spectacular Saxony-Switzerland National Park,
with endless hiking and climbing in the dramatic sandstone
surroundings. (In fact, the Frauenkirche in Dresden, as well as the
other historical buildings, is built entirely of sandstone. Originally
designed in the Baroque style, which calls for marble as the building
material, Dresden's buildings were made instead from the local and
abundant sandstone. It's the only place in the world where you'll find
Baroque architecture made from sandstone.)

My jeans are damp, and it will be hours before they dry. The rain is
the kind that you can't really feel falling from the sky, but in no
time you find yourself dripping wet. It's like a giant fog. And the
wind is howling, blowing the rain sideways and ensuring that your
clothes become saturated.

I wish I had more time to spend in Germany. I've spent a long time
romanticizing the country, especially in high school German class, and
it hasn't disappointed. I'm remembering how to speak the language, and
surprisingly have been able to understand most everything I see and
hear. I have a theory that the language-barrier is a deciding factor
in how you perceive a place, once you actually get to visit it.
Australia and New Zealand, and now Germany, are romanticized in my
head because I'm comfortable in those places, can understand the
language and enjoy them.

Prague is the opposite. I'm turned off to the city in part because the
language is so foreign to me and I don't have any desire to learn it.
Without that desire to at least attempt to assimilate, even as a
tourist, I'll never enjoy a place to the fullest extent.

Rural Austria and American Foreign Policy

Note: This is the final entry from Austria.

Written 20 January, ~8:00am.

I seem to have completely forgotten that my somewhat expensive room included breakfast. So, to my delightful surprise, upon entering the cafe for a cup of coffee to start my day, I was presented with an assortment of meat and cheese, various rolls and jam, OJ, water and my coffee!

(Oh my God, Ace of Base just came on the stereo...I don't want to see the sign.)

This morning I was awakened by the town church bells ringing around. 7:30. What a wonderful change from the incessant noise of the trams outside my window in Prague. (This cheese is absolutely outstanding by the way...sliced so thin you can almost see through it!). Today I plan to explore the town on foot this morning, take some photos and just enjoy the fresh air and quiet stillness. I'm hoping the abbey is open so I can go have a look around. It's almost unfathomable how over 900 years ago they could build such an enormous, beautiful structure, perched atop rocky cliffs no less.

I watched TV for the first time in weeks last night. My room actually received almost 30 channels. Strangely, even the American stations and shows like MTV and Desperate Housewives were dubbed in German. I found a 'Sport am Samstag (Saturday)' channel and watched highlights of skiing and biathlon. Apparently Hermann Maier just won the most recent World Cup Downhill with Bode Miller a close second. The Hermannator has to be like 45 by now doesn't he? He was good when Johnny Moseley was popular...

I then switched to CNN, the international version, which was broadcast in English and not dubbed over. They had extensive coverage of the Nevada Caucauses, and it appears Hillary has won a narrow victory over Obama, while Mitt Romney ran away with the GOP. Can we really have a president with a name like Mitt Romney? How can this be possible? Let's make sure this doesn't happen.

What would happen I wonder if the next president, regardless of who it is, simply withdraws every soldier from Iraq and declares the nation neutral, kind of like Switzerland? I think the immediate consequences would be enormous gas price increases and the Middle East would degenerate into more violence (as it's been for 2000 years...). But think of the resources, both monetary and human, that the US could sink into worthwhile, advancing projects.

What if the US were to develop the first plausible, workable, affordable alternative energy automobile? Ostensibly, as it is now, the Japanese will figure this out first, the US car market will suffer, and we'll still be dependent on oil and at war with the Middle East. But what if we did it first? We'd simultaneously end our dependence on oil, while providing an enormous boon to the economy and creating countless jobs in the process. We'd set an example for others to follow, kind of like America did when we first began our democracy.

What do you think of when you think about Sweden? Snow and blonde people, right? Sweden has the best standard of living in the world, and doesn't get involved in other people's business, yet maintains friendly relations with the 'good guys.' They play a sly game, and they play it well, and their citizens reap the benefits.

I think the US is facing a critical turning point in it's history. The economy is teetering on the edge of disaster, our historically dominant military cannot wage the way against terrorism, as there is no clear enemy. The rest of the world dislikes us more now than ever, and our foreign policy is so self-centered that we're missing the big picture and inviting criticism from the rest of the world, allies and enemies alike. Every great civilization in the history of man has fallen. Why do we assume the US is invincible?

Unfortunately, I don't think my generation has enough passion to create change. CNN showed a documentary last night about MLK Jr. and the changes he brought about. The people he spoke to were incredibly passionate and willed changed to happen. Over 250,000 people stood to hear him speak in front of the Lincoln Memorial. My generation will never create that kind of energy or power. People like me, i think, simply turn the other cheek, refuse to participate and sort of forget the whole mess. I think it's because the tipping point the US is facing is not personal enough for us. Yes, I don't agree with the war, or many of our countries policies, but they don't immediately affect me. I'm more concerned with my life, to see the world before my eyes before my country destroys it. I wonder what the catalyst will be to create real discontent and change from my generation. Every generation has had something to rally around - WWII, Vietnam, race, etc. What will we rally around?

Something extraordinary or unspeakable needs to happen to Americans to save our civilization and create some real change. 9/11 was not it. It could have been, but Bush killed the chance of that happening by invading Iraq and turning the world against us. I wonder if that will turn out to be the tipping point, historically, of the fall of the US as the ruler's of the world. Days after 9/11, the entire world was on our side, sympathized with us, and we blew it.

I think a draft would create enough unrest for some change to occur. Unfortunately, that government knows this too, and would never institute one for that exact reason. I don't know what the answer is, though it could involve aliens and Will Smith.

Authenticity Revisited...

I'm not yet finished transferring all of my entries from this weekend onto my interweb blog, but I feel like I need to interject, and comment on my last entry about authenticity, that I wrote back on Saturday. 

First of all, I'm aware that that entry devolved into an alcohol-induced commentary on my surroundings, but I liked it nonetheless, and I enjoyed writing it immensely. I was in the best mood of the past three weeks, and I was simply writing what came to mind. I sometimes think that is when I write best, or at least enjoy it the most. 

I spent a lot of time in Melk enjoying my time there, but also commenting on how much Prague had been weighing on my well-being. Well, I may have found a small piece of Prague which is in fact authentic, and I feel I need to share it.

As I write this, I'm sitting in a small bar 4 subway stops from my apartment, but 6 subway stops from Old Town Square. Karinth, the Alaskan girl told me about the place. It's really just a local pub that happens to have wireless. I'm drinking a glass of wine, talking to Mia on Skype, and am surrounding by about a dozen Czech's enjoying an after-work beer and socializing. It feels like the Prague version of Davis Pub in Eastport, and actually looks a bit the same inside. Anyway, despite the smoke, it's a breath of fresh air, and has given me a slightly different impression of Prague. 

Authenticity

Note: Written 19 January 2008.

Bahamas. Canada. Costa Rica. New Zealand. Australia. Fiji. Sweden. Finland. Czech Republic. Austria. 

Anyone can travel. The world's cities and resorts eventually blend into one blurry memory. Everything becomes the same. So what's the point?

Why travel to Prague when nearly all of the Old Town restaurants and pubs print menus in English? Who cares that an odd bridge exists when it's plagued by swarms of people looking for a photo?

This morning my international travel resume has reached double-digits. Austria is officially the tenth country outside of the US that I've visited. I'm not bragging about this...it's quite common for the average European to visit that many countries by their tenth birthday. I'm trying to find authenticity in my travels.

What's authentic American? New York City? Maybe certain parts. Philly? Maybe more so. But give me St. Michaels if I'm an international traveler. Yes, it's touristy, but in a very American sort of way. There is more down-home authenticity there than in any major city. But that's my taste.

I've attempted to see the world from a locals perspective, as much as that's possible. I think I've managed pretty well so far. I managed to escape Vienna and am currently writing this in a cafe in Melk, absolutely undoubtedly the only native English speaker in the establishment. I'm quite proudly getting by on my much-forgotten German (I'm mixing it with Swedish and Czech all the time). I'm surrounded by Austrians playing Yachtzee and smoking cirgarettes, living out their ordinary lives.

These are the experiences I crave. At my side is a German National Geographic; and again, I write in pencil, to later translate online.

In Austria it's Melk in winter. In Costa Rica it was the beach village of Gandoca. In Sweden, Enkoping, Finland, Aland. In Australia is was Hobart and Byron Bay, New Zealand, Blenheim and Wanaka. In Fiji it was Lautoka, The Bahamas, Georgetown (though I don't remember too much). I've yet to find that special place in the Czech Republic, though I'm more determined to do so now, maybe next weekend. 

I'm buzzed and it's only 8:30pm. I wonder what Nate and Ryan are up to tonight. I ought to send them something. Maybe some Absinthe from Prague. Maybe just a postcard. i wish I'd have ordered this Gosser Bier a bit earlier...it's the cloudy, wheat beer that I so enjoy, and it's delicious. Bob Dyland is playing now, my soul at ease.

The cafe I'm in has a distinctly 1950's feel. At least how I'd imagine a cafe in the 1950's to feel. The lighting is bright yet soothing, emanating from several globe-shaped fittings hanging from the ceiling. The walls are decorated with photos of the days gone by, adding to the old feeling. Wooden booths are upholstered in dark red faux-suede, creating an elegant atmosphere. There is a magazine rack attached to the bar, but all of the publications are in German. Suddenly I'm rather looking forward to retiring to my room upstairs and watching TV before falling asleep. I predict tonight will be my best night's sleep since leaving Sweden...

Should I have one more beer? I shall, aber ein kleines bier. It's too early to kill the creative mood I'm in right now.

(Interesting aside, and this is written as I transfer the pencil to the computer...I just recalled a part of the Kirk, Mark and Shamrock Show from Baltimore's 105.7 radio station...they were discussing funny song names, and one person called in and suggested "It's too early to drink, but too late to stop." I remember laughing at that.)

Tomorrow I may meet Karinth, an interesting girl with an even more interesting name. She's from Alaska, and I ask her if everyone from Alaska is from Anchorage, and she confirms this. She was with our party of 6 on the train to Vienna. I had only just met her and Lisa, a Korean-American girl, also on the TEFL course with us. It was originally their idea to go to Vienna, and me, Michael, Alison and Sara kind of tagged along.

ANYWAY, the 6 of us enjoyed pleasant conversation for the duration of the train trip this morning, and I may have convinced Karinth to meet me in Melk tomorrow. She's accustomed to the quiet town atmosphere, having once toured British Columbia via mountain bike. She also has a Czech boyfriend, so we can relate well in the foreign-significant other departmant. I'll wait for her by the train station tomorrow, and if she doesn't show by 11, I'm out. It would be nice to have some company to visit the abbey with tomorrow.

'Hast ein Kaiser, Bist ein Kaiser' - the slogan on my Kaiser Bier coaster. It means 'Have a Kaiser, be a Kaiser.' Nice.

This may seem like a rather disjointed entry, but I've been sitting in the same cafe since it began, so I feel it's continuous enough. I'm still waiting for the waiter to acknowledge my request for ein kleines bier, but he's yet to pass by. Since my evening began, nearly 3 hours ago, I've consumed 2 litres of beer...

Two Austrian girls are playing pool right now...I feel the need to mention this. I can't help but think I've stumbled into the real lives of other people and have managed to escape the tourist traps of Prague and Vienna. The people here know what is going on...they're not merely passing through, but actually belong here. It's kind of weird actually...I feel like an invader of a very private, sacred place. Like this is a haven for people, outsiders not allowed. It feels like The Chesnut Tree, 'where I sold you, and you sold me' from the classic 1984. Any minute I might be whisked out of the place by the Thought Police for merely considering the idea...

I've paid, I'm leaving...Goodnight.

"Austria? Well then...G'day mate. Let's put another shrimp on the barbie!"

Note: Written in pencil, on Saturday, 1/19/08, on the train...

Ahhh. Back in my element, finally. It's 1:57pm right now and I'm sitting on a train that has yet to depart the station. I'm in Vienna, bound for Melk, a tiny Austrian town in the heart of the Danube River Valley. I've been traveling since 7:15am this morning, and will not arrive in Melk until after 3pm. It's been a glorious day.

Prague has been weighing on my emotions for the past two weeks, and being on the move once again is incredibly cleansing. When the first train rolled into the countryside my mood lifted immediately. I'd decided last night over a glass of wine that I was not in fact going to stay in Vienna with my friends, but move on, in search of a quiet town surrounded not by factories but by nature. I hope I've found it in Melk.

Quite serendipitiously I discovered the town in an Austrian tourbook that was left in my apartment. It's from 2004 but had some great info in. Apparently it'd be only an hours train ride from Vienna, and was described as picturesque and devoid of tourists. The main center of town supposedly  revolves around a 900 year old enormous abbey. I'll check it out later today.

I brought my running clothes with me, and with luck will finally be able to get back into nature and explore the way I enjoy the most...on foot.

I haven't booked my accomodation, and I'm excited about where I'll stay. I'll continue tomorrow, after I've actually explored the area. The train has just departed...

~6:30pm...

Run: 65 minutes / ~8 miles

This has already been the best day I've had since arriving in Prague. That city, as I've mentioned ad nauseum, was wearing me down, soiling the amazing experience of teaching. Prague has it's highlights for sure, but the overall feeling is doom and gloom, and it's difficult to overcome.

Moving on. Literally. I knew I'd have fun in Vienna, but knew I'd also want something more. We had a group of 6 people when we left Prague, and the difficulties of travel increase exponentially as your group increases in number. So I decided to simplify things and go solo, and it's been the best decision of my journey so far.

As I write this, I'm sitting in a small cafe/pub in the tiny town of Melk, Austria (pop. 6600). I'm writing the old fashioned way, with a pencil and paper, and will later transfer this to my blog. I'm drinking a 'Kaiser' beer, apparently Austrian, though it tastes pretty much like any other beer would. The ambience of the pub is lovely, the music is shit. I'm going to move on shortly.

It was easy getting to Melk, but it was a long trip. I woke at 6:15am, having to shower and make breakfast before catching the meto around 7:15. I took the time to hard-boil 10 eggs, for this mornings breakfast and to bring as sustenance for the weekend. I'm trying desperately to keep it cheap, so I won't pay for food this weekend. My backpack was loaded with bananas, pears, oranges, bread and 8 hard-boiled eggs, so I'll be fine for the weekend.

I met the others (Michael, Sara, Alison, Karinth and Lisa) at the downtown train station (Nadrazi) in Prague for our 8:23am departure for Vienna. Falling in and out of sleep, the ride was pleasant. In 4 hours we rolled into Wien Sudbahnhof. En route I'd mapped my course to Melk. I hopped the #18 tram to the Westbahnhof and got there 10 minutes before the next train left for Melk. Perfect timing.

We rolled into town around 3:30pm, 8 hours after I'd first gotten on the metro this morning. But it was worth the trip. The ancient abbey was immediately visible, high on the hill overlooking the Donau (Danube). The thing is enormous...I plan to visit tomorrow and explore for a bit.

Exiting the train station, I was greeted by cobbled streets and beautiful, quaint houses, scattered along a rolling hillside. I followed some worn steps down to a narrow alleyway, and after 30 metres or so emerged through a low arch into the trafficless town center. Only about 300 metres long, the main 'Platz' is picture-perfect, and being the winter low season, there wasn't a tourist in sight.

I gleefully ambled down the small hill, keeping my eye out for a cheap place to stay. My guidebook mentioned a hostel-like hotel not far from the center. When i arrived, the door was open but the place seemed deserted, and no lights were on. I walked up a creaky staircase to find an open window but no sign of anyone. So I quickly exited. I couldn't help but think of 'The Shining' and 'Hotel California' simultaneously. I'm moving on to a another pub...

-PAUSE-

Um, not much better here. The music is even worse, but the ambience is about the same. It's very peculiar having club-style music in the quaint Austrian pubs in such a postcard-perfect town. Oh well, this is real life here I guess...

So I did find a place to stay shortly after my encounter with the creepy hotel. This place is obviously a summer town. It's deserted, and a lot of the restaurants and guesthouses (you can't really call them hotels) are actually closed. So at the center of town there is a small cafe that advertises rooms for rent above the establishment. It looked open, so I investigated. Two older Austrian women greeted me at the bar, and in my best effort at German, managed to convey that i needed a place to sleep. The older (and uglier) lady led me upstairs to room #2, surprisingly modern with a nice bed, shower and even a TV. It was a bit pricey at 45 Euros, but I didn't seem to have much choice. At least it's very nice.

By then it was nearly 3:45, so I immediately donned my running gear and set out to explore the surrounds. I hadn't been in such a good mood since first discovering my forest in Uppsala.

There is a well-marked bike path that heads out of town, circling first below the cliffs, where the abbey stands guard over the Donau, then leading across the river to the town of Emmersdorf. I followed the  path, relishing every breath of fresh air, scented with the sweet smell of wood-burning stoves, not the industrial smog of Prague. Upon reaching Emmersdorf, I slowed to a gentle saunter, and tried to burn into my memory the fairy-tale ambience of the place. I jogged up a long stone staircase, emerging onto an old, un-used train platform that offered a splendid view of the town from above. The main street is only about two blocks long, but I found an open cafe, surprisingly crowded with locals and enjoyed a latte before my return jaunt to Melk.

I returned in 65 minutes, simply enamored by my surroundings and so completely happy that I could hardly remember Prague. Though alone, this has been the most enjoyable time since leaving Sweden. I've been craving an escape to the countryside, and didn't want to set foot on another city public transport system. I'm sure Vienna is nice for what it is, but I'll trade a bustling city for a quiet town in the countryside any day, and I'm so glad I did.

The Hills Are Alive...

Tomorrow I'll ride the rails to Vienna. I'm really looking forward to practicing my German for the first time in a real-life scenario. Maybe I'll even run into the van Trapps along the way.

Prague has been wearing me down. I'm already sick of living in the city, especially the communist-influenced, dirty, worn-down area, far from the city's cultural center. I hate riding the metro, and starting Monday have to find another way to school. There is a tram stop right outside my window, so I'm going to leave early and check that out...it may involved a bit more walking, but it will be worth it to stay above ground for a bit.

Prague is an odd city. It has been magnificently preserved throughout it's history, and escaped destruction during WWII. So it's old center and historic district is quite a sight to behold. But that's the problem...it's only a sight.

Where the bombs of WWII missed their mark, tourism has scored a direct hit. The city's ancient buildings and myriad of confusing cobblestone streets are gorgeous when viewed from a distance. But once you enter the maze of old town, you're simply inundated with gaudy tourist shops and ridiculously expensive restaurants.

There is a side of Prague that I enjoy. It exists on the opposite side of the river from Old Town Square, and is more quaint, more green and more local. But from where I live, it's light years away, which is a bummer. Mia and I did find one cool Turkish cafe off of a side street in Old City. I had the best coffee of my life there. Middle-eastern decor lined the walls while enchanting Indian music created a surreal surrounding. Two men next to us delighted in their enormous water pipes, the sweet smell of flavored tobacco a delightful respite from the other 'smoking allowed' pubs. I will revisit this place, hopefully on more than one occasion.

But off to Vienna I go, tomorrow at 8:23am (it's currently Friday evening at 9:51). I had a strong urge to get out of town this morning waiting for class to start. I really wanted to go to a much smaller town, somewhere in Germany perhaps, and avoid the city life for a bit. But then three friends from class said they were heading to Vienna, so I decided to capitulate and tag along. It's a four-hour train ride from Prague, one which I hope offers some interesting scenery along the way. Apparently Vienna has some really cool cafes, a big forest just outside town and some amazing museums, so I'll be a tourist for two days and soak up this part of the world while I'm here.

USA! USA! USA!

Sometime this spring I will be returning. I had previously announced to several friends that I'd be heading off to St. Maarten for another adventure this summer. I changed my mind.

It was a difficult decision, but at the same time it was an easy one. I've been in a bit of a funk lately. Prague has been eating away at my sanity...nowhere green to explore, no good places to run, breathing the filthy air, riding the dark underground metro everday. It's had it's good moments...Mia and I exploring last Saturday night, looking for a decent pub, not returning home until 3:30am. The zoo, my Turkish cafe, the small internet cafe where a glass of wine costs $1. It's been an up and down experience here to say the least.

The teaching has been the same. Some days I get excited about it, other days I ask myself why i wanted to do this in the first place. I don't have much of a choice at this point...I'm good at it, so I might as well put my energy into it while I'm here and see what happens.

I realized this morning that every time I've traveled somewhere before, I've had a definite return date and some concrete plan to return to. This time, I didn't have that. I left for Sweden, and ultimately to Prague without so much as a return airplane ticket, and it got me all out of whack. I didn't realize it until this morning. I've been so obsessed with trying to figure out what the future would bring that I neglected to live my life in the present. This is part of the reason i decided to head off to Vienna tomorrow...at least I have something to look forward to, am on the move again to see a new place and have some new experiences.

When I made the decision to return home, a lot changed. I feel like I am freer now to experience life here, knowing I'll be returning to something familiar in the future. Jen has already told me I'm welcome to return to the Woodwind family, and I can't wait to go back there. I thought it would be cool to skipper a catamaran in the Caribbean, but what could possibly be better than sailing on the fastest sailboat on the Bay with your best friends, everyday, while living half a mile from the center of my favorite town on earth. Um, not much.

So my spirits have lifted. I'm lucky that I realized this now while I still have two weeks remaining in Prague. I actually can't wait to hop on that train tomorrow and enjoy the 4 hour ride through the countryside to a new city I can explore. I've been reading up on it tonight in a guidebook that I found in my apartment, and I definitely have to go to one of the outlying wine gardens. I only wish Nate and Ryan were here so we could reminisce about the Finger Lakes.

How to Teach English Without Actually Speaking It

I had no idea what I was getting myself into when I sent $500.00 to Prague. I think it was sometime around July. Wanting a little adventure and excitement, and a chance to make some money when I travel in the future, I decided to sign up for this TEFL Worldwide course in Prague, of all places. I hadn't the slightest idea what the city was like, only that it was near Germany and used to be communist. 

As the fall rolled along, my mind was focused on going to Sweden, not Prague, and I didn't give it a second thought until literally the morning I left Uppsala for the airport. It only hit me then that I was heading off for a month in a new city to go to school for something I knew next to nothing about, and wasn't sure if I really wanted to know anything about.

So here I am, two weeks into this business, and am still not sure what to think. I'm excelling at the English teaching bit...so far I've been observed twice by our professors while I student taught, and both times they had excellent things to say. I'm finding that i actually really enjoy the teaching as well. All the training and the theory cannot create the feeling of standing in front of Czech students, who really want to learn, and successfully being able to facilitate that. It's a cool feeling. But it's also a ton of work. 

Class starts at 10:00am sharp everyday, and Terry and Pete, the two British guys who teach the course, are very strict about their time schedule. Their great teachers, two of the best I've ever had for anything, and they command the attention of their students. It's an added bonus that they both speak with that enchanting British accent...Pete sounds like John Lennon and looks a bit like Keith Richards, while Terry sounds like Prince Charles and looks a bit like a 12 year old kid. They've been doing this for over 12 years, and have taught all over the world, from the UAE to Japan, Spain and Russia. Their stories alone were worth the price of admission to the school.

So anyway, school begins at 10, with the first session lasting until around noon. After that we get a 15 minute break, followed by the afternoon session from 12:00 - 1:30. On Mondays, school resumes at 2:30 after lunch. But the rest of the week, the afternoons are reserved for student teaching, when the Czech students come to the school for their lessons. We only teach twice a week, either T-Th or M-W, having the other two afternoons off to plan our lessons. So on any given day, I'm at school from 10am until at least 7pm, sometimes longer. But it's rewarding work, and to me is like solving a little puzzle. Planning the lessons requires a lot of thought to actually make them interesting (despite following a book as a syllabus). And successfully implementing a lesson is enjoyable.

The biggest challenge is getting your points across while not actually being able to say anything. Our training follows a theory of student-centered tactics...meaning essentially that the students do all of the work, and the teacher is only there to facilitate the learning process. For example, when presenting a new vocab word, we must first try to elicit the word from the students through visuals and sometimes elaborate and quite humorous modeling. A lot of English teaching is really just acting, and once you realize that and embrace it, it can be quite fun.

The planning bit is the difficult part. I spent 2.5 hours planning my first lesson (each lesson is 45 minutes long). Which is roughly 2.5 hours longer than I spent on anything I did in college. The difference this time round is that I really enjoy it. I'm not doing it for the sake of getting it done, I'm actually looking at my lessons as a little problem I have to solve, and when I get to present them and fit in that last piece of the puzzle, it's very satisfying.

I've written and discussed before the notion that all deeds are essentially selfishly motivated. I think this teaching thing is a prime example. My initial motivation for coming to Prague and to this school was so that I could potentially get a job while traveling the world, and finance my adventures. Which obviously is a selfish motive. Since I've been here, however, I actually enjoy more than i thought the actual act of teaching. So while I'm fulfilling my own selfish needs by simply feeling good about myself when i complete a lesson, I'm also helping those Czech students learn English, which they are paying to do. So I think sometimes it's ok to have selfish motives when in fact you're helping others at the same time.

Blood Doping & Ironmen (Published January 8, 2008)

Dane sent me an email today and posed an interesting question that I've touched on briefly. I'd mentioned how happy I was that Roger Clemens got caught for doping, which he's vehemently denied. Regardless, his name was involved and it's bad press even if he's exonerated. If he's truly clean, I hope he can prove it. But if Andy Petitte testifies to Congress like they want him to, and Clemens' name comes up, he'll have a tough time denying his so-called best friend.

So anyway, Dane wondered if I thought that a lot of Ironman athletes were dopers. His intonation (if you can infer that from an email), suggested that he thought they did. 

Anyway, without further ado, here is the email reply that I sent to him:

I'm not sure about your Ironman question. I think based on my experience with that Luke guy and the couple athletes I met last year in New Zealand that I'm inclined to say it's way less than most major sports. There is just not enough money and publicity in the sport, or team pressure for that matter, to do it. Luke won that event in NZ, and nobody cared. It's one thing to win the Tour de France, but even Ironman Hawaii, the holy grail, is pretty much unnoticed. And these athletes are not making tons of money or living like even cyclists do. He was there by himself, no team, not even a coach, staying in a hostel with normal people like me, eating Cocoa Puffs. His pre-race meal the night before was a massive t-bone steak and a local wheat beer...I ate with him. And he was the skinniest punk I've ever seen in my life. Now I know he could have been blood-doping, and you wouldn't know from appearance, but based on the lifestyle, the lack of money and lack of notoriety, I don't think there is as much motivation to dope. He could probably be a successful cyclist, even on a ProTour team, and could dope there. But I think Ironmen are a different breed of athlete and are more intrinsically motivated rather than extrinsically. I still think some do it, but I don't think it's as much as cycling or baseball. I am being optimistic of course, and basing most of my idea on the fact that I met one dude and he was friendly and just didn't seem like a doper. But I think I make a valid point. Sorry for the long-winded response. 

One think that I think is missing from the doping coverage in the media is how it affects the average athlete that only competes for fun. Major athletes can dope all they want to...I'm still going to cycle, and run and compete and have no desire whatsoever to dope. I enjoy following cycling and triathlon as a professional sport, but I enjoy it more as a participant, and in that way I have control over whether or not I dope. I think the average person makes heros out of professional athletes and are crushed and angered when their perfect beings, their heros are caught cheating. But for me, I'm more concerned with myself than with what my favorite athletes do. I'd be upset if Lance ever was caught doping...he's provided lots of motivation for my own athletics. But ultimately it's still me that has to get up in the morning to exercise if i want to compete, even if only for fun. So I think the media and the  average person makes way too big a deal about doping, because they get too caught up in sports as an escape. I 'escape' the mundane, as you said, by going for a two-hour run; not by watching someone else run on the tv, only to find out they've been helped along by taking drugs. 

A Ridiculous Link

Check out this ESPN.com article. Considering the recent backlash for people saying stupid things in the media, if this woman doesn't get fired from the Golf Channel, I'll be surprised. She said something involving the words 'Tiger' and 'lynch.' Truly amazing.

Heavy Metal & The Beach Boys in the USSR

Very surreal…the Beach Boys ‘Get Around’ plays on my stereo, immediately following an original version of Led Zeppelin’s ‘Kashmir’ on a local Czech radio station. (I shouldn’t be surprised at the tasteful and eclectic music in Prague – after all, this is the city that produced the Plastic People of the Universe, possibly the most important band after the Beatles, to ever grace a population with its music. More on this in a later post, but stay tuned, because their story is incredible). I’m drinking a glass of wine, which has been poured from a bottle depicting a large black bear with a Czech label. The wine is red, oddly sweet, and cost me 45,00 Czech Korunas, which is roughly equivalent to just over US $2.00 (for the entire bottle). I’m sitting alone in the spacious bedroom of my apartment located in Hloubetin (which has a weird accent on the ‘e’ and the ‘i’, which I cannot reproduce on my American machine), and the ceilings are not quite so low. My front window overlooks a busy street, and my back window overlooks an adjacent apartment complex. The subway station is less than a half a block away. It doesn’t quite register to me that Communists (capital ‘C’?) once lived in this apartment.

I’ve just returned from my first jaunt into the city center, one of the few in Europe that escaped destruction during World War II. That post I wrote this morning in the airport seems like it occurred a lifetime ago, which is generally the feeling one gets when traveling great distances in a short period of time. At least I get that feeling.

Prague is old, it’s sprawling, it’s confusing, it’s beautiful, it’s scary and it contains an oddly large number of marionettes. I want to say something to the effect that Communism still reigns supreme and that people are only starting to adjust to Western culture and capitalism. But that’s not true at all. Capitalism is everywhere, encouraging and sickening at the same time. For some reason I guess I expected the city to be more authentic, more something, but the same trendy restaurants and tourist boutiques line the Old City just like anywhere else. The comforting realization that nearly all of the Old City buildings are actually authentic and original in their architecture and construction is squashed by the establishments that inhabit those buildings. Paradoxically, tourism simultaneously maintains and kills the authenticity of a city by preserving the look of an historical place such as Prague, yet destroying the feel with the influx of money and foreign tourists.

I must go back in time before I can return to the present. I’ve been writing what is coming to mind, which may be a product of my solitude, the wine I’m drinking or this bizarrely eclectic radio station I’m listening to. Mostly I think my stream of consciousness comes from that ominous black bear who graces the label of my wine bottle. I feel like the hammer and scythe should adorn the bottle next to the bear. ANYWAY, (and I shamelessly borrow that word from Chuck Klosterman), I digress. So back in time we go…

Remember that 7 degrees C that I mentioned Paris was enjoying? Well evidently Paris is a bit farther from Prague, at least meteorologically. When my plane landed, after descending through three distinct and mesmerizing layers of clouds, the pilot announced, in not less than three languages, that the temperature on the ground was minus 6 degrees C. Not sure if I heard him correctly, his statement was shortly confirmed when I exited the terminal sans jacket and promptly froze my ass off waiting for my ride to the school. For some reason I didn’t get a stamp in my passport, which is disappointing, because up until now every country I’ve visited has left their mark in my little Blue Book of Freedom.

Via shuttle bus, I was granted a short tour through the Old City en route to the Hotel Pivovar. Despite my zombie-like state, brought on by my 1:00am bedtime and 5:00am wakeup call, my initial reaction to the city was one of amazement. The driver did his best Michael Shumacher impression as he tore through the cobbled streets, our sense of speed multiplied by the incessant vibration from the ancient pavement. A few observations immediately stood out; cars were parked on the sidewalks; trolley cable cars zoomed down the center of the main streets; church spires stood like palace guards over every visible section of the city; and the enormous castle loomed over the entire city while the river meandered through it’s ancient center. The castle, I later discovered, is more than one thousand and one hundred years old, built more than a millennia ago. The first passenger was dropped off just under the famously beautiful Charles Bridge, where an old mill, built in the 1350’s, was visible. As the cab departed, I noticed a sinewy, soldierly looking man, ostensibly in his 30’s, running through a park adjacent to the river, in shorts. I was reminded that I am in the former USSR, and that these people are probably a lot tougher than I am.

Upon arrival at the hotel, I was greeted by a few of my fellow students, all of which were female. One of the girls was asking for help lugging her enormous bag, of which she’d packed two, up the stairs to her room. Another was very friendly, in her 40s or 50s, and will probably feel very out of place with a class full of twenty-somethings, but whom I will probably relate to the most. The third was unmistakably American, and unmistakably female. She had not one positive comment to make, and her frustration with not being able to make a credit card phone call or get online with her laptop quickly became everyone else’s problem. I’m very cautiously optimistic about the rest of the class.

My apartment is larger than I’d imagined, and for better or for worse, I occupy it by myself. I was under the impression that I’d be living in a bedroom of my own in a shared apartment, but that is not the case. I have a large kitchen, a huge bedroom, a nice shower, a decent stereo, no TV, and an absolutely enormous closet. I’ll like it here, and I’m only two subway stops from school, eight from the city center, about a 10-minute jaunt. My accommodation is adequate, but I must emphasize that it is pretty rustic, a bit musty, and, for lack of a better descriptor, very Russian. (Rather appropriately, I think, I began re-reading George Orwell’s 1984 this morning in the airport.)

After a brief doze on my entirely-too-small-for-one-person bed, I decided to explore. Never fully cognizant that I’d be experiencing yet another culture with yet another language to challenge my comfort level, I was a bit shocked at the indecipherable recordings while riding the subway. Without realizing it, I’d become very accustomed to Swedish, and now faced with a culture even more foreign to me, Sweden seemed oddly familiar and comfortable, in hindsight. Nevertheless, I ascended from the underground into a bustling, vibrant city, gawking like a child at my surroundings. Fairly confident in my route-finding ability, I set off in a direction that seemed to lead to whatever it was I was in search of. Block after block of ancient architecture delighted and confused my senses, and soon I was very, very lost. I didn’t care. Truly enjoying myself, albeit freezing my ass off, I meandered along the ancient cobblestones, keeping a watchful eye out for a neat pub or interesting gallery to pop in to. About to continue down one street, I glanced to my right and noticed the silhouette of the immediately recognizable castle looming in the distance, and immediately changed course. Following a side street, I soon emerged onto a veranda overlooking the river, and beyond that, the castle itself. Perched on the peak of a small rise in the landscape, the castle in Prague occupies a stunningly enormous piece of real estate, and is a truly magnificent site to behold. The sun had already set, leaving only a faint grey-blue hue on the western horizon, and the castle stood, glowing in the soft-yellow light that shone upon it, dramatically contrasted against the ever-darkening twilight.

By chance alone, I found myself in the middle of an explorer’s nightmare – packed amongst hundreds of wide-eyed tourists, snapping photos in every direction, unconcerned by anyone else around them. I had stumbled upon the Charles Bridge, the gateway to the castle and essentially the central tourist attraction of Old City. In this most historic and beautiful of locations within the city, cheeky tourist shops which belonged in Ocean City, not Eastern Europe, dominated the storefronts. Unfortunately, these places and the people that keep them in business are exactly why historic monuments like the bridge continue to exist in their original form. After all, money is king, and tourists bring in more money than the people of Prague have ever seen in the 40 years of Communist rule.

The radio station has seemingly switched to mellow classic rock at this point. Crosby, Stills & Nash ‘Our House’ is currently playing. That followed The Who’s ‘Substitute,’ which followed Pink Floyd’s ‘Shine on You Crazy Diamond.’ Life in my apartment was more exciting when Led Zeppelin diametrically opposed The Beach Boys. Ah, fittingly, The Beatles are here to save the day, and help me finish my $2.00 bottle of wine. I wonder if this black bear is going to give me a bad hangover.

Several sips and several minutes later, after re-reading and editing much of what has already been written…

Bob Dylan’s ‘Lay Lady Lay’ is now playing on that radio station. I feel that this is important to mention. Additionally, in the hour or so that I’ve been creating, there has been, at a maximum, maybe 30 seconds of continuous commercials on this radio station. The sounds emanating from my stereo have been almost entirely musical, and I’m thrilled that this song is on the air right now…20 seconds later, and now what is playing? None other than ‘Love Isn’t Always On Time.’ This place is bizarre. One of these days I’m going to do a Bill Simmons-esque running diary of this radio station. I may need more Czech wine for that.

Welcome to the Future

Last year I was in New Zealand when 2007 happened, and I had a funny conversation with Nate on the morning of Jan. 1. It was still 2006 where he was, and he asked me if people in the future wore silver clothing that looked the same. They didn't. That wasn't why the conversation was funny. He continued with a story about his exploits in Tampa (I think it was in Tampa), where he enjoyed some classy "entertainment," the kind of which I had never experienced, and up to that point, he never had either. His recap of his night was humorous. 

2008 happened 7 hours before it did for Pennsylvanians. People still aren't wearing silver suits and talking with the brains, which was a bit disappointing. 

After Stockholm, Mia, Kate and I embarked on yet another, longer journey via Scandanavia's public transportation system. A quick subway ride at 7am (it's still dark at this time...in fact the sun won't rise until nearly 8:30), and a twenty minute wait outside in the cold for our bus. Then the two-hour bus ride through more rural countryside to the tiny coastal village of Kapellskar, which we slept through mostly. Finally we boarded the ferry that would take us across the Baltic Sea to Aland Island, which belongs to Finland, but where they speak Swedish and hate the Russians. 

The weather was bleak (again), and really windy, with whitecaps on the water. This made for a bit of a rolly ride on the ferry (which was better described as a mini-cruiseship, which slot machines and 8 decks). It would have been hellish in a sailboat. We entertained ourselves on the two-hour jaunt by playing cards and drinking coffee, while everyone else on the ferry entertained themselves by drinking beer. It was New Year's Eve, so that was acceptable, even at 10am.

I hadn't seen Johanna in nearly a year. She looks the same, and it felt normal seeing her again, like an old friend. We met her parents, who put us up in their modest house in the countryside (there is a lot of countryside over here). Her dad would not look strange in one of those Russian winter hats with the earflaps. He has gymnast rings in the basement.

The festivities began at Johanna's friend Josephines house. Her parents were away, so her and about 12 friends had concocted an elaborate and exceedingly classy dinner party. Three or four times the Nordic folk at the table sang songs and we drank snapps, which is a nice word for vodka, which is a nice word for jet fuel. This is common to do while eating a festive meal.

At 11pm, a cab picked us up and we drove a while down the road, through more countryside to another friends house for the rest of the evening. I was too drunk to realize how far we'd driven, but it seemed like forever. The house had an outdoor hot tub, which looked like a giant tin can with a chimney, that fit 4 people. Kaitie was welcomed to Aland by the 4 guys in the hot tub standing and saying "Welcome to Finland!" These four men were very large, and very naked. 

Around the hot tub was 3 or 4 large logs, planted into the ground, on fire. It may have been because I had had 4 snapps, 2 bottles of wine and 3 beers, but the ambience created was mesmerizing. The Alanders were exceedingly friendly - initially Kate was nervous about being left alone at the party, but she ended up talking to everyone on her own and truly enjoying herself, and I couldn't have been happier to share that amazing cultural experience with her. I think she understands a bit more now why I do some of the things that I do.

Johanna's boyfriend's brother builds fireworks. He has a business building fireworks, and his fireworks won the Finnish fireworks championships last year. His brother built us fireworks for New Year's Eve. The fireworks were awesome. 

A year ago, in Napier New Zealand, on Dec. 31, 2006, I kissed Mia for the first time in my life, while watching fireworks on the beach. I cannot describe the feeling I had when I got to kiss her, exactly one year later, almost exactly on the opposite side of the planet. I'd spent only 3 months with this girl out of the past year, on different sides of the earth, yet never had a doubt that this wouldn't work out. Maybe because of the alcohol, maybe because of the ambience, maybe because of Mia, but probably for a combination of those reasons, at midnight on Dec. 31, 2007, I was the happiest person alive, and I was kissing the girl of my dreams. It was a fitting way to begin the future.

Kate Can Fly!

My sister arrived in Sweden on Dec. 28. It was the first time she'd ever been on an airplane by herself, and it was to cross the Atlantic. I was really proud of her, and Mia and I waited anxiously for her to come out of baggage claim and into Stockholm Airport. She was like the last person out because she'd been standing at the wrong baggage claim...apparently it never registered that Morocco isn't where she was flying in from. So her bags were the last two on the carousel, but she made it. Kate must have slept better than I did on the flight, because she didn't seem jet-lagged at all, and we even went into town for most of the afternoon to walk around. It's strange, because after having been in Uppsala not even a month, I've stupidly learned to take things for granted. But walking around the city the first day with Kate was such a cool experience, for her and for me. She'd never seen an historical city like this, and was like a little kid looking up at all the buildings and the cathedral. And it made me realize how cool it really is here, and has given me a newfound enthusiasm for my new city. 

Our journey into the future began on Dec. 30, though it wasn't in a Delorean. After packing a few things into two small backpacks, we hopped a bus into town, where we hopped another bus that would take us to Stockholm, about a 45 minute ride, through farmland and countryside. That morning was the first sunny morning we'd had in Uppsala. But about 20 minutes into the ride, ominous black clouds appeared on the horizon, and by the time we reached Stockholm and the coast, it was raining and foggy and generally depressing. Still enthusiastic, we then descended into the underground, where the train took us to the other side of town, in search of our hostel, in Zinkensdamm. We found it.

By the time we'd walked through the adjacent park and onto the path that would take us back to Old City ("Gammla Stan"), the rain had abated, and the clouds lifted enough to grant us a magnificent view over the entirety of Stockholm from a large outcropping of ancient granite from within the park. The city is strangely not-surprisingly low - again, it looked like I'd pictured it for some reason. From our vantage point we could see Old City, which sits on an island in the middle of a network of canals and waterways, crisscrossing each district. Church spires older than the Renaissance reach skyward from each city district, the most distinguishing feature of town from our view. The rest of the cityscape was colored in subtle red and yellow hues of the beautiful buildings that line the narrow streets. The subway came gliding aboveground for about 500m to cross a canal, before diving back beneath the streets. 

We descended down the far side of our lookout, through a maze of granite staircases lined with moss. Once we reached the water, we turned right, and made our way towards Gammla Stan. Old workboats lined the wharves along nearly all of the waterways, many of which had been converted into restaurants and hotels. Gammla Stan is immediately recognizable when the buildings suddenly converge inward, kind of like that scene in Star Wars where Luke is trapped in that garbage compactor. It's amazing how close everything is, but it's also beautiful and exceedingly cosy. The apartments in the upper floors of the 5-6 story buildings could literally share a beer between them, simply by opening the window. Down at the street-level, there isn't much room for anything but walking, so cars are thankfully absent. Trendy cafes and expensive restaurants, the kind with white tablecloths, make up most of Gammla Stan's economy, accompanied here and there by goofy tourist shops where you can buy things that have mooses on them. 

Since the sun sets at 3pm at 59 degrees North, we had little time for sightseeing beyond what the street lights illuminated. So we stayed in Old City, because there the streetlights are a soothing soft yellow, and cast a magical  glow on the cobbled streets and the ancient buildings. The way the lighting was made you feel as if it almost wasn't real, it was a strange feeling. At the far end of Old City is Stockholm Castle. I can't describe it, but it had a moat. It was exceptionally beautiful, mystical, eerie and ancient, complete with motionless men standing guard at each and every castle entrance. Kate even remarked how she now has a completely new respect and fascination for history and historical places, after having assumed she'd find them boring. I was equally impressed.

Oddly enough we enjoyed dinner at a Spanish tapas bar on the edge of Old City, then took the subway back to the hostel. The walk from the last station is maybe 10 minutes, but it took us 30. We stumbled upon an outdoor ice rink (which interestingly was ice on top of an outdoor track facility, pretty clever). People were playing "bandy", which is like broomball on ice skates. Half the rink was open, and since we didn't have skates, we just walked onto the ice and acted like idiots.

Floating Along at Approximately 8 MPH (That's 12.8 Km/Hour for You Metric Folk!)

For better or worse, a lot of my posts have been about running. This one is also about running. You see, I've had a lot of time to do nothing here in Sweden so far, and instead of doing nothing, I run a lot. That hasn't been true the past two days however. 

Mia and I went back to Enkoping (there is supposed to be an umlaut - two dots - over the 'o', but I don't know how to type that) on Saturday for the Christmas holiday, 'Jul' in Swedish. I ate a lot of tomtegrot (again, 'o' umlaut). This is essentially porridge, that is essentially rice boiled in milk, and it is extraordinary. A 'tomte' is, from my understanding, a gnome of sorts. You can have a garden 'tomte', or an elven-like 'tomte' that helps Santa at Christmas (I guess it just means a short person with a beard...think Jeremy). But Santa is not Santa in Sweden - he's 'Jul-tomte' - Christmas-gnome. So tomtegrot is a traditional Swedish breakfast food that they only eat around the holidays, which is a shame, because, as I said, it's delicious.

Swedes celebrate Christmas on December 24 for some reason. The morning began with said tomtegrot being eaten, followed by lots of hours laying around doing nothing (though I managed to squeeze in a shower and a shave). Then, around 2pm (the sun will set at 2:47) we began opening presents. Mia's Dad donned a Santa hat and handed out presents, much the same way that my Dad hands our presents, though I don't think he ever wore a hat. But at 3pm, on one of the 4 TV channels, they showed a holiday special, which consisted of a medley of classic Disney movies, which was oddly entertaining and extremely nostalgic. There was Donald Duck, Lady and the Tramp, Cinderella, all the old favorites. But each clip was only 5-10 minutes. And at the end, they showed a 7-minute (or so) clip of a new Disney film, Ratatouille, which I hear is actually pretty good, especially if you like rats (and cooking).

After resuming the present-opening, dinner began. Back home, we started eating roast beef for Christmas, though I'm not sure why. We never ate ham, because my family doesn't like pigs. Here we had raw salmon. And Swedish meatballs, which do in fact exist  outside of elementary school cafeterias. And we had boiled potatoes, hard-boiled eggs with shrimp, some sort of seafood-milk-omelet item, which was delicious, and some seafood salad. Dinner was excellent and not too different from what you might eat at a summer picnic at home.

The evening was spent eating homemade candy. Mia's Mom, knowing how stupid I am about food, actually made me some 'Andy-approved' chocolate, which consisted of broken pieces of Swedish crispbread, dipped in melted dark chocolate, and I was delighted. 

This entry began about running, but somehow morphed into a description of Christmas in Sweden. Tonight, back in Uppsala, I ran, again. It was dark outside (yet only 3:30pm), so I ran into town instead of my normal jaunt into the forest. Actually I floated into town. After two days of rest, despite gorging myself on food, my legs were feeling pretty chipper, and the running was effortless. I've been keeping track of my runs by time alone, and though I know I'm running faster than 8-minute miles, I use that as a base to figure out how far I run. I've been averaging about 7 miles per day, with a goal of covering 50km per week, or about 32 miles, which has been easy. 

Running has always been my preferred was of exploring a new place, and tonight was especially enjoyable, considering the ease with which I ticked off the km's. I glided into the old city, down the cobblestone pathway and across a small footbridge spanning the river. There are two low-head dams on the river, and if I learned anything in swimming class, it's that those low-head dams are killers. I'll do my best to avoid those monsters. After the bridge I turned west, ambling down another cobblestoned footpath along the riverside. The city at night is gorgeous, especially this time of year, when the tress are graced with white lights, and the shops are decorated with red and green flowers. Tonight was fairly mild, and I didn't need to wear gloves. I continued to follow the river, and ran far enough to find the sailboats moored against the bulkhead. There is a large, gaff-rigged ketch, very old, under winter cover. I'm curious as to it's use here, and it's called 'Sunbeam', and hails from Uppsala. The river, I realized, actually runs into the Stockholm archipelago, and further into the Baltic Sea. It's actually possible to reach the Atlantic from here, hence the several cruising boats moored alongside the old ketch. 

I continued running along the river, looking for another bridge to cross over and continue on home. I noticed a large outdoor hockey rink on the opposite shore, with zambonies smoothing the ice for the hockey game that was going on. I wanted to get a closer look. I soon realized, like an idiot, that there would be no more bridges, hence all the boats that were moored at this end of town. Feeling stupid, I turned around and made my way back to the last bridge I'd passed.

As I turned north and headed home, I was given a magnificent view of the castle in town, which remains brilliantly lit up at night, standing high on the only hill in Uppsala. I wound my way through some back alleys in old city, just to marvel at the ancient architecture and remember how cool it is to be living in a town like this, and remind myself why I enjoy running-as-exploration so much. In another 15 minutes I was back at Flogsta, at our apartment. I promptly devoured a bowl of leftover tomtegrot. Man, that stuff is tasty.

59.17.00 N / 18.03.00 E

Stockholm is really freaking far north. I don't know what took me so long to look that up, but I've always been curious as to how far north I actually am here. And it's pretty freaking far. 

"Into the Wild"

For a life-changing experience, check out Jon Krakauer's book 'Into the Wild.' The book will undoubtedly be getting more attention at home, since they just came out with a movie by the same title, directed by an apparently obsessed Sean Penn. I have no idea if it's any good, and I can't imagine that it compares to the book (as usual), but nonetheless, the story is amazing, and extremely personal. I can't imagine that Dane hasn't read this book, but if not, tell me, I'll send it to you. I finished it in two days, and you will too.

It's a true story about a kid, our age, who hitchhikes from the upper-class DC suburbs, around the Western US and down as far as Mexico, then ultimately into the Alaskan wilderness where he ends up starving to death. I think by now, unfortunately, the idea of us twenty-somethings going wandering off to 'find ourselves' has become an almost taboo cliche. There is almost no grey area here. Either people are sympathetic and understand, or they don't, and actually have a very negative reaction to these kinds of people. Chris McCandless, who is the kid in this story, is probably the very extreme of this kind of traveler. But if it weren't for his unfortunate death, he'd probably be just another kid. And that's all that he was really. It just so happened that he ended up dead, which has prompted a book and now a major movie about his life. 

I don't really know what my point is in all of this, other than to simply say 'read the book.' I guess the philosophy that McCandless talks about is my ideal way of viewing the world, which I think is shared by a lot of my close friends. Dane is probably the closest to living like McCandless, but still doesn't take it to the extreme. 

I guess McCandless' viewpoints and his way of life jibe with my take on how life should be lived, or how I want to live my life. I got into a discussion the other night with Mia after we attended a late-night Christmas Eve service, sort of about religion, but more about how to live your life. I've written about this before, but I just simply cannot imagine how or why anyone would want to live their lives solely with the idea of going to Heaven. Actually I think I may have just created a counterargument to what I was going to say. Anyway, my view is that I want to live my life as if heaven doesn't exist, because one thing that i am absolutely certain of, is that I have no clue what's going to happen when I die, so why worry about it? I'd prefer to live as if I already were in heaven, and enjoy the conscious life that I'm aware of now, instead of hoping for something that may not exist. I guess my counter-argument would be that those folks who live their lives as if heaven does exist, are doing exactly what I just said anyway - living a life serving 'God' is what makes them the happiest, and though they might have a different way of saying it, it's essentially the same thing.

I don't know if any of that made sense. And it doesn't matter really. I'm going to live my life how I choose to, and so will everyone else. And if I change anyone's mind about life by what I say, then fine, and if not, that's fine too. I will be interesting to find out what happens when we die though, won't it?

Ulles - Pronounced OOH-less

Back in Uppsala now. It was nice to be with Mia's family for Christmas. They make this porridge called 'tomtegrot' that is basically rice boiled in milk, and it's freaking awesome. You eat it with cinnamon. Much better than the pasta and tuna fish I had last Christmas in that hostel in New Zealand. 

Last night we went to one of Mia's friends places in Enkoping, the small town near her families house. We brought two bottles of wine with us and it became immediately apparent that I would need to drink most of them by myself in order to not jump out the window. There were about 8 girls there, no guys, and they were playing the Spice Girls. Soon though, we started drinking snapps and I actually talked to a few of Mia's friends for quite a while, having surprisingly interesting conversations. Ryan would immediately fall in love with Ulles. For some reason I just think she looks like his type. And her name is Ulles (OOH-less). 

So I'm off to Prague soon. There has been a bunch of emails circulating around amongst the 23 other people in my class, and it seems like it's going to be an awesome mix of people. Most seem to be about my age, and about 75% are from the States. The other few are from the UK and Australia. One of the things I think I miss the most is not being able to have just a normal, American conversation in English that I can understand. It's amazing how nice it is to hear someone speaking English in town, and you can always immediately recognize it, even from afar. I am getting used to it here though, and having a blast finally back with Mia. It's been fun to see what it's like in her life after nearly a year with her not really knowing what her life is like. But I got lucky I guess, and it's pretty sweet.