Still the Cutest...

Is it just me or have they grown heaps in 3 months??!!

Roma Roma!

Just like they say, the best places, you come across by accident.
The first was the little wine bar that serves, and this is no exaggeration, the best olives on earth together with the drinks.
Wine is expensive, but if you come during happy hour (it goes for about seven hours every day, so definitely doable) and if you bond well with the nice waitress (saying "Ciao Splendida" to her seemed to have done the trick), you are guaranteed a good night that's still compliant with the current fiancial crisis.

Then there was Enzo. That's the restaurant where everybody is super cranky and has no time for you, but that's just a facade, coz everybody knows they love you at Enzo.
They also have a tendency to tell you (rather that suggest) what to order, because only stupid turisti order artichokes deep fried on this side of the river!!!


And the little bookstore with the nice old English lady who could speak to you for hours on how the light in Rome will make her live forever. I assumed she was the owner, but then found out she was just a random who decided to spend the day there...



Oh and the weird restaurant, managed by this magnificant (can't think of any other way to describe him) older Italian gentleman with a white mane and an Armani suit, who looked like one of those older Italian men who sweep American housewives off their feet during their midlife crisis. Funny enough his wife (girlfriend?) works at the restaurant with him. And funny enough she is American. Good on her I say. And good on him. He also took me by the hand (literally) into the kitchen, to help me pick a dessert, and then overruled my choice and picked a different one for me... It was a good choice - I will give him that.
I couldn't stick a camera in his face, I'm too classy for that, but if you look closely- you can see him on the right.

You do get some insight into the American side of the family when you go to the WC downstirs... A little ummm cooky. Its a bit like a shrine to Dolls and all sorts of things most people place in the big St Vinnie's bins.

Barefoot in the Park with You-Know-Who

I keep telling myself how lucky I am that Murphy didn't make much of an appearance on my trip so far.
Weather has been remarkably good almost everywhere. No lost luggage, no delayed flights or missed connections, no unfortunate accidents... Hardly any tummy dramas...
But I guess I knew all along that he will eventually show up. And show up he did. With a vengeance.
So I booked the ticket to see Liza in Rome, knowing that it's literally a once in a lifetime opportunity and that she's not gonna be with us forever. (I actually had doubts she was going to make it to the end of the week).
And that's when things started to go horribly wrong.
The Italian government has done something to really anger the public. Had to do with how they pay uni professors or something along those lines. As a result, the entire student population took to the streets to protest. Every day of the week. And pretty much every street.
That made getting to the concert (or getting anywhere really. Rome doesn't have much of an underground) a truly royal pain.
Then it started raining. It hasn't rained at all until then. It hasn't rained afterwards. But on that one day it rained the entire monthly average. It was absolutely pouring down.
If that's not enough, the power to my block was cut the night before. I assumed it would be resumed within an hour or so. God was I naive. I can only imagine the Italian Electricity company people going: "Out?? To fix what?? Can't you see it's raining??? We fix when spring arrives". So I was without power for a good 36 hours...
So there I am, in the pouring rain, after having a cold shower (cold!!!) walking to the concert.
At some point I thought I'd outsmart the rain and get an umbrella. Wrong move.
As soon as I got it, the rain turned from annoying to horrendous. It was like walking through a huge fishtank. My umbrella went "You're kidding me, right?" and turned into a useless piece of you-know-what.
The concert was taking place in this enormous complex. The rain was so heavy it was actually almost impossible to find - you just couldn't see anything.
By the time I got there I was soaked. And I mean soaked.
Not just the obvious. Everything. All the way to my undies. Inclusive. Every single piece of paper in my wallet. My shoes and socks were just a joke (at some point you stop avoiding the puddles because, quite frankly, what's the point).
So there I am, not only soaked but also visibly under-dressed (the rest of the crowd stuck to suits, ties and evening dresses, and was surprisingly dry).
But hey - what doesn't kill you makes you stronger, right?
So I took off my shoes and socks, which doubled the looks opf distaste I got from the fancy Italians and sat down soaked amongst the creme de la creme of Roma and had an awesome night.
Trying to find a way to upload the video. Not sure I can...

Men (and Women) of God

One of the first thing to strike you in Rome, is just how many priests and nuns you see everywhere. Young and old, of any race, any age and wearing any imaginable colour (well, any imaginable grim colour).
There are HEAPS of them.
They are also very well respected, especially the nuns. They are the only thing that would make an Italian driver stop and give way. Red lights are only recommendations, but a nun - a nun can cross the road anywhere, anytime.
And Rome's men and women of God are different than the priests you see back home. Back home you see priests (on the rare occasion that you actually do see one) pretty much on their way to church or on their way back. That's about it.
Here they are all over the place.
Eating a slice of pizza in some hole-in-the-wall pizzeria. Slurping spaghetti at a restaurant... Going out at night in a pair of Armani Exchange Jeans (where do priests go when they go out??)
There's this one priest who seems to have a bit of a... ummm.... problem. I have been spotting him at this one bar pretty much all night every night, always with a half empty bottle of cheap red.
And if you ever wondered where priests buy their clothes, you obviously never been to Rome. They have priest shops here with everything – from the fancy collars to a myriad of accessories, to pretty flashy socks. Not sure why, but priest socks are very vibrant – red and purple!
But my favourites are the Roman nuns. Especially the ones that you see around street corners having a quick smoke before they have to go back to class (or whereever it is that nuns spend their time). You can just imagine their gossip... Who said what to whom and who is behaving like a tart at class... Love it.

Crazy Old Lady

It's time I mention the crazy old lady.
The crazy old lady is old. Very old. If I had to guess I' say she's ninety-plus and doesn't look a day younger.
I'm not sure where exactly she lives, but I think it's actually just across the road, with the nice nuns.
The crazy old lady loves her strolls. I see her probably twice a day (at least) every day, always dressed up, with a fancy hat, usually with one of those 1950's nets and flowers... Not sure it's what she should wear, the look is a bit too revealing for someone who was born around the first world war, but she does have style. Imagine ummm maybe a really old Blanche Dubois, or Bette Davis on steroids...

When I just got here, she would smile at me whenever we crossed paths, and say something that sounded nice (I want to think that she offered to have my baby, but I have no evidence to support it).
Anyway, after a few times that she said those nice things, I thought I should greet her myself, and the next time I saw her I uttered a Buongiorno... Just a nice hello, you know.
It didn't go down well. She screamed something and tried to get as far away from me as possible.
Ever since, our encounters have been really tense, Sometimes she just gives me dirty looks, sometimes she yells something. The other day as I was returning home, she started yelling AIUTO! AIUTO! (which I think means HELLLLLLP!) and pointing her umbrella at me. The other day she told the dude that works downstairs that I drove past her and got her all wet. Which is obviously untrue, seeing that I have never driven in Rome (and never will...)

So yeah – I don't know how I can fix my relationship with the crazy old lady. Maybe I never will...

Receipts

Italians are obsessed with receipts. Apparently it is not only mandatory for them to GIVE you a receipt, it is also mandatory for you to TAKE it with you. If a policeman chooses to stop you carrying your groceries back home, and you don't have a receipt... Well, that could be trouble.
That's why every food shop has two layers of people- the ones that do something (like make your coffee or give you your pizza) and the ones that take your money and give you a receipt.
And this is how it works. You walk into a store. You decide what you want – say... a piece of cake. Then you go to the till. Obviously you don't know the name of the cake you like, so the till lady yells at the cake man something to the affect of “what does the crazy american want?” the cake man tells her and she then takes your money and gives you a receipt. You then go back to the cake man, with the receipt and get your cake.
It's a little bit of a pain, but I guess it keeps unemployment low.

Start Spreading the News

Talking of little shops...
I was walking past the shoe repair shop the other day thinking to myself...How cute... Who would have thought shoe repair shops still existed?? (*)
And then I noticed the poster on the door of the shoe repair shop.
Boys and Girls - Do you recognize the lady in the poster?

Yeah – you got it... Liza is coming to Town! And giving one concert next week!
Now guess who got himself a ticket??

You know what they say – see Roma and die... Once you have seen Rome- it's like you've lived a full life. Well I guess the same can be applied to Liza. They are roughly the same age, both a bit of a wrack, but I bet they will both be around way after we're all gone.


(*) After I wrote that comment about the shoe repair shop, I remembered that there is one in Paddington too. Just up the street from my place... Oh well..

My Neighbourhood (Part 1)

So I think it's time I take you on a little tour of where I live in Rome.
I am not going to put any pics of my apartment since it is currently in a state of mess, but you can check it out on the original web site.
It is just as cool in real life, and actually feels like someone put their own taste into it, rather than just hit IKEA.

It is on a little street that goes straight towards the Rome Botanical Garden. When I say little street what I mean is a street that cab drivers refuse to drive into because it will take them ages to reverse.
And this, ladies and gents, is my building. The window with the ivy is my bedroom window!

Right next door is some big building I hardly even noticed... Well, apparently it is some famous pallazo that was built by some famous Italian a few hundred years ago, and had frescos by Raphael and all sorts of other famous people. I couldn't really be bothered checking it out, but here's a quick pic of the entrance.

The neighbourhood is called Trastevere and is right on the river. It is very old and charming and full of tiny little alleyways. And because it is so Italian, it is where every self respecting tourist will go to have dinner and drinks at least once.


This also means that it is peppered with little restaurants and tratorias and osterias, and bars and cafes and pizzerias and gelato places.
The other thing is has is hundreds of little random shops. The shoe repair shop, and the fruit&veg shop and the local barber and a bunch of tobacconists. Tobacconists are the backbone of Italian economy I think. They are where you get all those little things you can't get anywhere else - stamps, and bus tickets and top-up cards for your phone.

*** TO BE CONTINUED ***

Me and (B&W) Celebrities

Just thought I'd post these pics from the restaurant in Bologna, where I had lunch the other day.
It has been there since forever and every inch of wall space is covered with signed pics of famous Italians who have dined there over the years. Didn't recognise any of them (apart from Sophia... Good old Sophia, you can always count on here to show up for some home made tortellini).

Phones (Again)

So I thought getting a Spanish SIM card was difficult. I had no idea what it's like to get one in Italy.
Let's start with the fact that mobile shops in Italy are chaotic. There's always a huge line (think RTA during lunch break in the city) – you need to take a number and wait and wait and wait.
Then there's the opening hours. They may be selling high tech gizmos, but they are very very conservative with their opening hours. And in particular they all seem to take their siesta between 1:00 and 4:30 PM. I mean technology is all well and good, but still they all have to go home for mom's pasta!
Now, once you get to actually speak to someone, you find out that you need a fiscal code to get a phone here. What's a fiscal code? Good question – it's the Italian equivalent of the Aussie TFN, a tax file number.
I was beginning to feel a bit weak at the knees - imagining myself at the Italian Tax Office (*shudder*)... But all was not lost - there was a silver lining of sorts.
The silver lining is that getting a TFN is a piece of cake. You just need to go online, put in your name and date and place of birth (I put ROMA, because they only accept Italian cities) and it spits that code at you right then right there. It's not much of a code really. It's pretty much a combination of your name and date of birth... I could probably have just made it up...
Anyway, once you do that you go back to the shop, wait in line yada yada yada then complete a form, and then wait 48 hours for someone to type that form into a computer and ta-da... You're all set and ready to go.
So yeah – They may have the best pizza and coffee, but Italian red tape gives a bad name even to red tape.

Pizza

Went for a stroll and decided I should have a pizza for dinner. I mean – that's a no-brainer on your first night in Italy, no?
So I walk down the little dark streets and then see this hole-in-the-wall Pizzeria with about 500 people gathering around it, ordering, waiting for or eating their pizzas. None of them looked or sounded like a tourist, so I decided that place can't be that bad.
It was a very familial affair. The dude's job was to stretch the pizzas, then his wife (I assume. Maybe his part-time lover) would ditch her post at the cash register and do the whole topping thing while he does, well, nothing, then she gets back to taking orders and he puts them all in the oven and starts working on the next round.
In my infinite wisdom I thought it would be a good idea to order a spectacular pizza, so while everybody was ordering the simple stuff, I went for something a little extravagant.
Not a smart move.
The minute I grabbed the first slice, the entire extravaganza slipped right off it, leaving me with nothing but the (perfectly crispy) crust. I had to develop a pretty sophisticated enveloping strategy to deal with the rest of the pizza, attracting the attention of pretty much every single Italian person in the area. I actually think they saw it coming, so all eyes were on me for the entire time. Was probably the cultural equivalent of eating Vegemite with a spoon.
Oh well, learn something new everyday. It's back to basic pizzas tomorrow.

Blast from the Past

I didn't have the time or inclination to do a proper hotel research for Bologna, and booked the Starhotel which seemed pretty nice. Well, it is nice. And very central and all.
A bit of a shock.
It sorta took me back to the times where I was still employed and had to travel for work and stay in the standard business hotels. You know – the cookie-cutter type. Dark timber furniture. Standard bathroom. Standard TV. Outrageously priced internet.
Not sure I can put my finger on it, but in the last 5 months that I have been on the road- everywhere I stayed was, well, different. Some places cooler than others. Some newer, some older, some not so awesome even. But it has been a LONG LONG time since I stayed in a standard business hotel.
Nothing wrong with it (apart from the overpriced internet) – it just made me realise....

Italia!

By Sunday morning it was cold and rainy, I had a nagging cough and a sniffly nose and I was well and truly ready to get out of London.
The cab driver had some hearing issues and took me to the wrong train station (lucky me! I noticed the nasty plot not too late), so by the time I got to Gatwick I was significantly poorer (17 Pounds for a train to the airport?? I mean SERIOUSLY!. Not to mention the 15 Pounds for the cab...) and a bit on the cranky side and very very ready to leave.
Flight to Bologna was uneventful. The gentleman next to me tried to be funny way too many times (“have you got spaghetti bolognese.... because we're going to Bologna you see” isn't that amusing the fourth time you hear it...) but other than that no complaints. The airport is the size of a large fridge, which is awesome – 12 minutes and I was out of there on my way into town.
And let me tell you - nothing like a 3 Euro ride into town to restorer one's trust in public transport, after a week in London.

The C Word

Had breakfast with Will, and then decided to head into town while he does something about all the sleeping hours he's been missing.
I get to the station only to find out that it is shut for trackworks or something.
Not to worry. I go outside and head to the bus station to hop on the bus going to Victoria. The bus arrives, I'm being cautious and ask the (slightly male-looking, yet female) driver if this line goes to Victoria, she says yes, so I get on the bus and off we go.
Then she chucks a U turn and starts heading in the other direction. I assume it is just a special bus shortcut but she keeps driving and we are getting further and further.
So after a couple of stops I go back and ask her if we are going to Victoria. She says (no prizes for whoever guesses...) NO.
I say “but I asked you just 10 minutes ago!!”, to which she replies “yes, well this line does go to Victoria, but you should have taken the bus in the other direction”
Will claims all London bus drivers, without exception, are C***s. Can't argue with that.

ROFL revisited

I told someone about the cough syrup thing, and St Blaise, and while he found it a bit amusing, he was definitely not ROFL. Or surprised even.
Apparently some people have a more rounded education than others. And some people actually do take their saints seriously.

ROFL (*cough*)

London left me with an annoying cold and a nagging cough.
Damn English weather!
Anyway, I thought it would be smart to go get some cough syrup, so grabbed my Italian phrasebook and headed to the local chemist.
I half used the book, half did charades... only to have the lady behind the counter say in perfect English "so you need something for a chesty cough, do you?"
She was actually what you would imagine an Italian pharmacist to be, if you were (say) in the adult entertainment industry. Long legs, long shiny black hair... the works.
Anyway, I get the syrup, and then she says... "you might want to go and light a candle to Saint Blase... It can't hurt". I probably looked confused enough for her to explain to me that said Saint Blase is the patron saint of sore throats!
And I had no idea!
Wasn't sure if she was serious or not, but checked good old wiki and she was absolutely right.
So here goes... This is what anyone with half a brain should say when he has a bit of a throat thing... "Per intercessionem Sancti Blasii liberet te Deus a malo gutteris et a quovis alio malo."

Or in English... May God at the intercession of Saint Blaise preserve you from throat troubles and every other evil.

Learn something new everyday. I wonder who's the patron saint of sore feet...

How Many Oysters is TOO MANY Oysters?

Couldn't resist the 20 oysters for 13 Euros promo in 0ne of the nice restaurants here.
Oysters were great, but around the 13-14 mark I realised why you normally don't get more than a dozen.
At around 18-19 it became a bit of a struggle.
So yeah, I don't know if 20 oysters is too many oysters, but it's pretty darn close!

The Aquarium

Everybody kept telling me I have to go see the aquarium in Valencia.
It's apparently pretty amazing- the biggest one in Europe or something like that.
But when I got there, there was a HUGE line- which was made worse by the fact that every single person in the line (but me) had at least one kid. Most of them under three, most of them crying.
It was hot and sticky and I decided to forget about the whole thing. Yes, yes, I know it's a must see and all, but i still haven't been to the Sydney aquarium. I thought it made more sense to start closer to home.

While on the subject, the design of the entire area looks like the designer saw the Sydney Opera House, said "I want that, just more"... Or am I only imagining it?

Rip Off

There is this museum in Sitges with a couple of very old cars at the front. I had a couple of hours to burn before it was time to take my train and I thought a car museum would be a fun way to pass it.
Well no.
The place, the entire house, is this huge DOLL collection. Hundreds and hundreds of them. And I am not talking barbies here – I am talking the antique doll type with the huge creepy head and kinda scary face. It has to be the very bottom of the list of things I'm willing t pay money to see.
Wasn't impressed.

Celebrating the Virgin

Salamanca is a pretty city with historical significance (not exactly sure what) and a very pretty main square. It also has millions of students from all over Europe studying there. Or at least that's what their parents think... In reality they seem to pass the time drinking and smoking at the main square, to which I say “why not”.
Apart from that it is pretty small and has the potential to be pretty boring.
I think.
However, when I as there it wasn't boring at all thanks to the local festivities of the Virgin (not sure what Virgin exactly they were celebrating... I'm Jewish... We take virgins for granted...).
The core of the festival is the entire town comes out at night. There are shows and concerts etc at the main square. And what's even better – they have this thing where most restaurants in town erect their own stands in the little streets around the plaza mayor, where you can get your tapas AND a beer (or wine) at a standard rate of 1.80 Euros.
Not sure how it is all related to the Virgin (or even if the Virgin would approve) but as you can imagine it's all a pretty pleasant affair. Less than 10 Euros and you are pretty tipsy, pretty well fed and all in all pretty about the whole Virginity thing. I didn't even mind the Spanish music.

Getting a Spanish Phone!

You'd think that you could just walk into a shop, pay money and get a local SIM card for your phone.
Well, you'd be wrong.
There's this registration process that needs to take place. You need to produce a government issued ID and the nice gentleman behind the counter needs to enter all that info into his system (takes forever – the nice gentleman takes his job very seriously and is not SUPER SHARP) and then... well then you can pay and get the card.
Now the reason I am telling you all this is that I just happened to look at the output of everything he entered, and thought it's worthwhile sharing.

Let's start with the fact that the kangaroo on my driving license (together with the word AUSTRALIA) didn't make anything click. I am registered as an American.
My date of birth is September 19, 1990. (No idea where that date came from, doesn't appear anywhere on my license).
But the best part is my name. In the Spanish Telecommunication Police records I appear as Mr ALEXANDER PADDINGTON.
I couldn't stop laughing (out loud!) for about 25 minutes...

Does Anyone Even Read This?

If you do - apologies for the lack of update. It's a combination of blogger being either down or malfunctioning for 50% of the time, and of me not having the internet in my current apartment.
It's very cute and very Roman, but not really connected in a 2008 way. More like 1958... You want something - just yell loud enough and the old lady in the corner shop will get it for you.
I did manage to identify a couple of startegic street corners where I can hijack unsuspecting wi fi, and also found that I can connect to the network of Santa Maria in Trastevere church down the road...
The blog may be skipping a bit backwards and forwards from now on, but I reckon if Quentin Taratino can do it, so can I.

Madrid is Super Cool - Part 2

I had to switch hotels in Madrid, but they they were both very very cool. In a W kinda way without the W attitude and the W price tag.

Like I said before - Madrid rocks.

Managed to catch up and have drinks and dinner with Estefan before he started working on his new video, and became the world´s busiest dude. Waiting to see the results though - should be released any day now.

Will keep you guys posted.

Madrid is Super Cool

Just thought I´d say it.

Super cool.

Doesn't get much cooler. Really.

Out of everywhere I ever been to- I think Madrid has to be the most underrated of cities, which is probably a good thing. Keeps things cheap and people fun.

A Comment About Airports

I don't think there's really agreement about what's the best airport in the world. Some are new and flashy, some are cute and handy, some are really easy to get to, some are just cool.
There is (or at least should be) wall-to-wall agreement about the worst airport. That has to be, without doubt, and with a huge margim, CDG airport in Paris.
It is crap in every single aspect – absolutely nothing about it is even remotely acceptable, let alone cool. No other city could possibly get away with that disgrace, but Paris has so many good things about it - they can afford a crappy one...
It's the only airport I have ever seen in the shape of a huge skinny bagel. I guess the idea was to make sure you ill get to where you need to be no matter what direction you go in (signage sucks) but because it's so big – one wrong turn and you'll be walking for the next hour (and signs will keep promising you, you are on your way).
Because it is so skinny, you can't really form proper lines, and given airports are all about queuing, the whole thing is annoying annoying annoying.
Waiting for my flight to Madrid to start boarding. Spain- here I come!!!!!!

Moisture Moisture Moisture

We were walking down the street (actually, I think it may have been the Champs Elysees) and decide to walk into a Sephora shop.

No real reason, just breath some perfumed aircon before heading back into the sweaty Parisian street...

And there, in the middle of the shop were two girls, Next-Top-Model material, both of them, doing some over-choreographed dance routine.

While it was very (very!) camp, it was also pretty cool. One of them seemed to be the playing the good girl (all in white, obviously, and blonde) while the other was more of a party girl... With some seriously bitchy attitude.

Well, apparently some brand just released some day&night cream thing (or something similar) and decided to take the spend-spend-spend approach to marketing. To quote the banner - the dancing girls were much more then dancing girls. They were interpreting the day and night moisturising routines through the medium of dannnnce.

Hot Pink

The hotel in Paris is one of those old basic hotels, that have just been transformed by some interior design student (well, that's my theory) with an obsession for soft furnishings, wallpapers and newly upholstered furniture.
Surprisingly it looks pretty damn cool.
Even Will said so (Will is the one with good taste)

My room, on the other hand, was pink. Very pink. Floor to ceiling. Almost to a point where you can't get any sleep because your brain is buzzzing pink.

The super cool thing about the room was that instead of a TV it had a Mac computer. So you could obviously use it to watch tv if you wanted, but it could also play dvds, cds, play music. Not to mention the getting-online benefits. Good thinking I say!

Cheap and Cheerful

Will and I decided to have a picnic on Saturday, which we both agree would be a cool idea.
Some french bread, some french cheese, a few bits and pieces. Something cheap and cheerful.

So there we are walking down the street, minding our own business, when we see a ham shop claiming to sell the best ham in the world. That's a pretty ambitious claim, but we thought, why not...
We go in and ask for a little bit of ham, go through the ceremony of less, even less than that, about half of that one, and end up with a pretty tiny heap of the world's best ham.
Which ends up costing us 17 Euros.
So just consider yourselves warned- world's best ham comes at a price. Two hundred and sixty Euros a kilo to be exact. That's about $500 Aussie Dollars a kilo. Maybe $250 US a lb.
We continued to buy what could quite possible be the world's yummiest, and freshest bread, one of the world's most mature cheeses, a couple of the world's richest cupcakes. And a couple of the world's top artery blocking pates.
And then we had it all on the stairs of the French Academy, by the river.
Was really good, and quite cheerful, although the cheap bit we failed on dismally.


PS. When we finished we threw all the leftovers in the bin, together with my brand new, never-been-used-before picnic knife. Arggggghhhhhhhh

Another Myth Broken

So Will and I are walking up the street one morning, having what can only be described as idle talk. In a good way of course. I can't think of many people I'd rather have idle talk with.
And we talk about the little cafe on the corner where we have our morning coffees. Which is a pretty unremarkable cafe, probably made special by the fact that it is so unremarkable in a city where every cafe is remarkable in some way.
And then this French lady walks towards us, says hi to me and hello to Will and goes on asking what our plans are for the day and how happy she is, having a day off and that kinda stuff.
You guessed it. The lady from the cafe.
I'm not sure if there were byebye kisses or not (probably there were) but I think Will fell in love. Just a tiny bit. And maybe me too.

The French have somehow managed to earn a reputation for being nasty, arrogant and unfriendly to tourists. And to that I have to say no, no and no.
I can't really think of a single person I came across in France that was anything other than lovely and full of smiles and sunshine.

Catchin Up with Yannick in Lyon

Met up with Yannick on both nights and had some really nice dinners.As well as old fashioned good times.

First night we went to this place called “Le Trois Cochons” (the three pigs), and while I am not sure who the third one was, I think Yannick and I definitely qualified as the first two. They actually enjoyed giving us more food than we coould possibly finish, accompanied with a look saying “and you call yourself PIGS? you? pffffffft”. It was nice though. And now I know what Queue de Vache means in French! Who would have thought oxtail (well, cow tail) go so well with a shepard's pie??

Second night we went to some obscure place on some obscure street by the river (but then again, all streets seem to be by the river). We were greeted by a fairly old guy, who looked like the last thing he was expecting that night was diners. Not in a bad way, he was all smiles etc, just seemed a tad surprised.

Well, it appears that said old guy was not really working at the restaurant. He actually WAS the restaurant. He seemed to be the cook, the bar person, the guy bringing out the food and clearing the tables.
Only time he got stuck was when he ran out of ice, at which point he called his daughter (granddaughter? much younger girlfreind? mail-order bride?) who ran down the stairs with an ice tray from the fridge.


Lyon rocks.

Quenelle

For those who don't know what Gefilte Fish is (aka “Fish in Jar”) - you can skip this entry. Unless of course you want to expend those horizons.
For the rest of us, GF's estranged brother lives in France (in Lyon actually) and is called Quenelle. The French version is roughly the same thing: you mince some fish, make a ball (well, the French thing is more of a dumpling) and cook it. But that's where the similarities end.
I don't know if it's the fish the French use (they wouldn't use carp, carp is to fertilise the fields. Never understood the Jewish obsession with that fish... A bit like the RAT of the sea) or the excessive amounts of butter and cream than go into it, but the French version is awesome. And for those who haven't tried the Jewish version, I suggest you think twice before you do. It's not a love-at-first-bite thing.

Lyon

I'm not going to do the whole "Lonely planet" thing here, but because I do
think Lyon doesn't get the appreciation it deserves, I will stop here and just say:

1. It's very pretty city, with hills around it and a very medieval feel.
It actually got a UNESCO thingy for being the most medieval/renaissance/something city. In plain English: it's very pretty.

2. People in Lyon are super friendly. Even friendlier than in Paris!

3. Lyon is (apparently) the gastronomic capital of France. I don't even think there's much of a dispute about it. Something to do with it being on a crossroad in the olden days... From everything I tasted, I would have to say that it's probably true.

And it's way cheaper than Paris, so everything feels like a bargain!

There you go. Lyon rocks.

Oh... Almost forgot.

4. Yannick came down to see me, so I also had top notch company while in Lyon!

French Trains

While on the subject of trains.


French trains (the super fast TGV ones) are the coolest thing ever.
Now they made it even cooler.
They have two types of cabins: ZAP cabins are where you go if you're young and funky, and you can listen to your iPod, chat to your mates, even rent DVDs.
ZEN cabins are where you go if you like your peace and quite. No mobile phones, no noisy kids..
God bless the French Trains.

Why Lyon?

Lyon wasn't part of the plan. So I should take the opportunity to thank Chen for making me go.
It wasn't his intention though. Chen was trying to convince me to stay a few more days in Berlin until he gets there, so that we can party together. His way of doing it was to explain to me how overrated Paris was, even in France, and how other cities (like Lyon) are way more exciting.
So I thought to myself... He may have a point and decided to check for myself.
That's how I found myself on the fast, clean and ever so punctual train to Lyon.

So yeah – here goes: Thanks Chen! You're a legend!

Berlin to Paris

Didn't feel like and more crap European flights and decided to take the train to Paris instead. The night train I mean.
You board it after dinner, go to sleep and wake up in Paris just in time for breakfast. Pretty neat, eh?

I had visions of the Orient Express, drinks with aging silent movie starlets in the restaurant car... Maybe a fling with the would-be Tzar (or Tzaress) of Russia... Then asking the butler (how do you say Jeeves in German?) to set up the bed before retiring for the night.
In real life it was not quite as glamorous. The cabins were less Orient Express, more like the set for prison porn (not that I ever watched any, but so I'm told).

Still – serves a purpose.
They say you get a really good night sleep on the sleeper train and they ain't lying. Before I knew it, it was France all over again and we were in Paris.I had a long (very long) breakfast at a nice cafe before getting on the train to Lyon.

One Thing the Germans Got Right

No need to go back to all the wrong things. Here's one good thing.
If you need to go to the bathroom in Berlin, you just walk into the closest restaurant/bar/cafe and do your thing. And they can't tell you to get outta there and that the bathrooms are for paying customers only. They must let you in. That's the law. Toilets to the people.
Anyone who's ever been wandering the streets of a big city knows what a huge relief this is.
Also if you feel like a glass of water, they must give you one. That too is the law.
See – when they try, the Germans can actually play well with others.

Rainbow in a Bottle

So Absolut Rainbow is all the rage in Berlin bottleshops this summer. It's like San Francisco all over again, just with a different accent.

Charlie

Hotel is a two minute walk from where Checkpoint Charlie used to be in the days of the Berlin Wall. Today, the little shed is still there, and for one Euro you can even have your photo taken in front of it with two dudes wearing American and French uniforms and holding American and French flags (Turkish. Of course they're Turkish).

Names

I then noticed those little copper plates, probably 4 inches by 4, that you see in the footpaths in Berlin. They are all over the shop really.

The plates have names engraved on them... Names of people who lived in that particular address before the war, together with their fate. The Jews, the commies, the homos, they're all there. On the footpath they used to walk on, on their way to school or to work or to temple. Or on their way back home...

So yeah... Two pretty emotional days. back to fun stuff now.

Piece of Jewish Trivia

(Courtesy of the Jewish Museum)
As it happens, I am not the only Christmas Tree Jew... It is actually (so they say) a pretty cool Hanukkah decoration these days.
I mean green, red and white. Who can say no to green red and white?!

Been to the new Jewish Museum in Berlin today. It's an interesting museum
and all but to be honest I'm not a huge museum person to begin with, let alone Jewish ones... But this one's a little different - what's really amazing and makes the visit doubly worthwhile is the building itself. It's the most zigzagy place I have ever been to. It's pretty hard to explain but the floors go in different slopes and the walls meet at weird angles. Then, because of all this you end u having those gaps or voids that don't serve much of a purpose apart from the obvious symbolic one.

The thing I found probably the most moving is one of those voids that was turned into a artwork of sorts.
There's not much there, just thousands of steel plates on the floor.
Once you walk through it, as you have to, they make this clanking
noise, amplified a hundred times just by the voidness of the place.


And then you also notice that those plates have faces. It's probably
something you have to see and experience to understand. But it's a pretty full on experience. Especially in Berlin.

161 Days

Well that was the original plan.
Looks like I will be extending my trip and it will be more like 200 days and change.
Just thought I'd let y'all know. Will be thinking about you....

And Then in the Basement...

And in the basement under the kitchen, where people would sit peeling potatoes for days on end (and occasionally be drowned in the washing basins as entertainment) they found little painting of flowers on the wall.
Nobody knows who painted it, or indeed how they got the paint, but still - gives you yet another something to think about on the train...

:(

Spent the day at Sachsenhausen, the Nazi concentration camp near Berlin. And I mean near. The slow train gets there in just over 30 minutes, probably half that if you drove.
No matter how many times you heard about it, read about it, visited the sites, watched the docos and read the books. No matter how many stories you heard from friends' grandparents, your own family and complete strangers.
It is still the most brutal kick in the guts.


This wasn't the biggest camp. It was actually minuscule compared to the big ones. They didn't even bother killing the Jews there(they didn't want Jewish blood on German soil, you see). They still went into so much trouble fine tuning every single aspect of humiliation, brutality and sheer cruelty that you are just left speechless at the perversion of it all.

It's pretty amazing to compare the people on the way there (who just seem, well, similar to any people you'd see on a train) and the same people on the train back into the city who are just completely silent.

Was thinking of a night out tonight, but don't think that's gonna happen.

Berlin

Staying at a pretty cool hotel here in Berlin. Basic, but very cool. It's either brand new or had very very very clean guests before, because the place is impeccable. Which is what you'd expect in Berlin I guess.
Not sure why but they seem to subscribe to the double-doona theory. So your queen size bed has
two Single doonas. It makes a lot of sense in diminishing the likelihood of doona hijacking etc but makes cuddling a bit awkward. Or maybe German people just don't cuddle.

The only other place I have ever seen this was at my friend Guy's, but he's a well known territorialist when it comes to bed real-estate.

The other thing worth a mention about the place is how fond its designer was of this shade of light yellow I can only call “banana yellow”. Maybe that's even the official name. Surprisingly it works pretty well... Always looks fresh and clean (well, that's partly because it is clean).
(Mental note to self: consider incorporating banana yellow stuff into own home)

Least Cool Thing About Tel Aviv

Crocs.
Everybody wears them. Not joking. Everybody. All the time.
Walking the dogs in the morning, going to work, going to
the beach, even going out at night.

If you see a Crocs-less person, chances are it's a tourist, someone who's been asleep for the last two years or my sister.

A Few Good Things About Tel Aviv

With all the bad publicity Israel gets, I think the right thing to do would be to list a few of the cool things about Tel Aviv. Not to worry - it won't be a very long list.

1. Movies
I am almost sure there isn't another place anywhere on earth (maybe with the exception of New York. Maybe.) that has as many movies showing at any one time as Tel Aviv. No idea why, people's way to escape maybe, but just is. Obviously it has the entire range of Hollywood blockbusters, and a bunch of local movies (usually about sensitive boys going to war, what else?), but also seems to have every movie made anywhere else in the world in any imaginable language (with big emphasis on Eastern European deep and meaningful movies).

2. Nice Coffee
What can I say - it's nice.

3. The nice restaurants are VERY nice.

4. Weather
It never rains in summer. Never. May to November, you are pretty much guaranteed a dry day. Sweaty, yes, rainy - no way. Pretty cool if you're not a rain person like me. Pretty lame if you're a lawn.

5. Cheap cabs
After a few weeks in Europe you learn to appreciate them. Obviously the flip side is that the drivers will always try to rip you off. Keep trying I say.

6. Like the restaurants - the cool people are VERY cool. The friendly ones are SUPER friendly. And the rest? well they don't belong here.

Istanbul

So the scenes at the airport were just a sign of things to come...

Monthly confession time.
Together with Buenos Aires, Istanbul was one of the places I was most excited about. Pretty much everyone I know told me nothing but fantastic things about it, so I was pretty nearly my armrest with excitement as we landed at the airport.
But here's the weird thing. Istanbul and I didn't really click that well.
Don't get me wrong, it is a stunning city, with some truly amazing historical buildings and all.
But when I was there it was super hot (rarely went below 35-36 degs, that's about 100 Fahrenheit, my non metric friends) and was full to the rim with tourists. And going through Europe in August, I have seen quite a few tourist infested places... But Istanbul was something else. Literally whereever you went you found yourself in a middle of a group of tourists (usually Russian, usually with a very loud guide) or in the middle of a bunch of drunken youth (usually German, and very drunk). Then there were the restaurant pimps, the guys trying to drag you into their restaurants... That sorta thing.

The other thing was that I was a bit sick. Nothing major - a runny nose and an itchy throat... That's never fun, but is really annoying when it's all hot and sweaty ...

So yeah, as much as I hate to admit it, Istanbul and I didn't really get along that well. Maybe I should try it again in winter (or come for Anzac Day). Maybe not.

Guess Who!

So here I am, strolling in Istanbul, and who do I see?
The ladies from the plane. And their shepherds!
Small world, eh?
Well I think it's the same group. It could be some other traveling harem I guess.
They say life is not worth living if you don't take risks... So I hid in the crowd and took a picture...