Christmas in Europe 2012, part 5 - Switzerland

I'm still awake and in a writing mood, so let's knock off another chapter. After my time in Poland and Lithuania, a logical next destination would be...Switzerland. What? That makes no sense, you say? I know, I'm weird like that. In all my travels around Europe, I still had never hit the land of neutrality and yodeling. So while I would have loved to spend the rest of my time exploring places in Eastern Europe, I needed to cross this glaring omission off my travel map once and for all.

Plus I heard it was kind of nice.

I flew into Zurich after a four-hour connection in one of my favorite cities ever - Riga, Latvia. Unfortunately I didn't have time to go into the city, but I was pleased to to see that the airport was packed to the gills with Latvian supermodels. I firmly believe that Latvia is tied with Sweden for having the most attractive women in the world. This is vital travel information, folks. Write this down. Google this shit.

Upon arrival in Zurich, I was slightly disappointed that Priceline had steered me wrong for one of the first times ever, sticking me with a hotel about 4km outside of the city center despite their claim that this was "central". My reluctance disappeared when I got there though. It was a ridiculously nice hotel - so nice that I got two glasses of champagne while I waited to check in. And they upgraded me for making me wait less than 10 minutes, to a room that was fucking unbelievable. Does a hotel room with one bed really need two huge bathrooms? I didn't care, I used them both just to say that I did.

Still though, a 4km walk into the center through a drab industrial area didn't sound like much fun. I thought my only other option was their commuter rail, but a nice waitress in the hotel bar (shut up, of course I went there first) told me that the trams were way easier. Generally I eschew public transportation because...well, I don't like it. But I was willing to give this tram thing a try, and I'm so glad I did.

Switzerland is obsessed with time. They are well-known for their watches and clocks. But I had no idea how much their obsession helped to make the country the most efficient place in the world in terms of transportation. Everything is exactly on time. EVERYTHING. Trams, buses, trains, boats...their schedules are all perfectly calibrated to provide a dream experience when it comes to exploring a country. Of all the things I loved about Switzerland, this is what I loved most. It made walking pretty much obsolete, as strange as that sounds. With a schedule in hand and a two-day pass, I was able to explore every part of Zurich I desired, and never worried about waiting long or getting lost. It was awesome.

Unfortunately though, as much as people hype Zurich as one of the most liveable and beautiful cities in the world, I really wasn't all that impressed. It was certainly pretty, but it was clearly a business city and lacked big-ticket attractions. I think it'd be way better in the summer when it's a lot more green and the boat trips would be more rewarding. Unfortunately I was there in winter. And on New Years Eve to boot.

One of my best finds was (surprise!) a pub. Called the Oliver Twist. This is the name of my (recently closed) local pub at home, and I found it hilarious that Zurich had a pub by the same name. I enjoyed a nice NYE talking to the multi-national staff about living in Switzerland while watching a gaggle of English people get so drunk that they turned into...well, English people. Songs were sung, shit was broken, vomit made an appearance or two (not mine, obviously). Just a typical night in Ibiza...sorry, Zurich.

After another day of sightseeing and marveling at the efficiency of the place (and racking up a 250 dollar tab at the hotel somehow - Switzerland is expensive!), I headed off to do something I had never done before. A rapid-fire look at a bunch of places. I generally explore cities for a day or two, but not this time. My marathon train trip for the day would stop in three major Swiss cities before ending in a small town called Fribourg. The next day would hit one more before my final destination, Geneva. It turned out to be one of my best travel decisions thus far.

My first stop was Lucerne, about an hour south of Zurich. People, go to Lucerne. It was one of the prettiest cities I've ever seen, and I was immediately kicking myself for not stationing myself there instead of Zurich. The setting was amazing, on the shore of Lake Lucerne and surrounded by mountains. It was classically Swiss architecture-wise, and featured the Kapellbrucke (a covered wooden bridge across the river that wades into the city). The bridge is full of cool paintings in each arch, and it's something I've wanted to see since I read a book that included it when I was a kid. Yes, I'm a nerd.

I'll explain that book one day. It changed my life.

Alas, I only had 2 hours in Lucerne, and was pretty depressed when I had to leave. The next leg of my train trip helped me get over that quickly though. I was totally transfixed by the Alpine scenery outside as we climbed through snowy remote villages with strange Swissy-German names - Giswil, Kaiserstuhl, Lungern - each more amazing than the last. As beautiful as Canada is, I've never seen anything like that.

The older Swiss woman sitting next to me even commented on the sustained look of wonder on my face, despite us not sharing any words to that point. "I've seen this a hundred times or more, but it makes me feel very happy to see how much you are enjoying it". I actually asked her if I could write that down and use it when I inevitably told my story, because it was great in so many ways. She laughed and agreed, and I spent the next hour torn between the amazing view outside and the compelling stories my new friend had to share about her time in the mountains. Old people are cool.

Eventually we stopped in Interlaken, which is at the center of a big valley and surrounded by the biggest peaks Switzerland has to offer. The Jungfrau has three peaks over 13,000 feet, but I fell victim to a regular occurrence around here - fog and low cloud. So I couldn't see a god damned thing. The little town was nice, but I wasn't exactly heartbroken when we set off for Bern.

Bern wasn't what I expected. I think I had really high expectations based on my research, and while it was certainly nicer than 95% of the places I've been to, I felt a bit let down. I was impressed by the clocks and crazy underground businesses though. But it had been a long travel day, and I was anxious to get to Fribourg to get some rest. Fribourg was certainly nice as well, despite being built on a big hill. The town sat right on the line between German Switzerland (where I had spent all my time thus far) and French Switzerland. From now on in, things were pretty different.

I woke up the next day refreshed and ready to tackle one more Swiss city before Geneva. I had to climb the stupid Fribourg hill to get back to the train station though. That sucked. After a really cool trip through some more hills and valleys, we arrived in Lausanne. I could see that it was built on a hill that I was at the bottom of, and thought "it'd probably be smart to take the metro to the top and walk down".

For some reason I ignored that gem of logic though, and paid dearly.

Lausanne is worse than fucking San Francisco. After about 15 minutes I thought I was gonna die. I managed to make it most of the way up to the cathedral, which was quite an accomplishment for me. I seriously considered just rolling back down the hill, or stealing some kid's sled. Instead, I trudged back down in the ice and slipped a couple of times. I'm still not sure why I didn't take the metro either way. Oh wait, I remember. I'm a stubborn retard.

I eventually made it back to the train and completed the trip into Geneva. Most of my research said that Geneva was a business city without much to see and was pretty sterile overall, so I had one set aside one day/night for it.

What a mistake.

Geneva turned out to be amazing. For one, it's beautiful. The architecture is great, the Old Town is walkable and interesting, and it has the same awesomely efficient transportation system as Zurich. In fact, anyone who checks into a Geneva hotel with a foreign passport is given a free transport pass for every day they're in the city. How smart is that? It just invites people to explore and keeps some cars off the road. I wish every city had the financial means to do this, because it's brilliant.

Despite my aversion to public transport, I definitely made the most of that pass. I saw everything in the city, and even ventured far out on the (awesome) tram system to far-flung places like the Palace of Nations and CERN (on the France border). I couldn't get into either, but both were amusing to check out from the outside either way. The Palais featured a gigantic chair missing a leg. CERN featured the angriest "don't use our wifi" message of all time.

Upon my return to the city, I went down to the lake and ended up mesmerized by the Jet D'Eau for a while. It's just a thing in the lake that sprays water about 500 feet in the air, turning the docks near it into a water park. I wasn't in the water zone, but it was remarkable. Unlike anything I've ever seen (Full disclosure - I had stopped at a pub on the way there and had a few beers, so that might explain my love for the thing (and the sixteen videos on my tablet that all looked exactly the same).

Overall, what I saw of Switzerland was amazing. Generally if I spend a few days in a country, I don't feel an overwhelming need to go back. Especially with so many undiscovered countries left for me to go to. But I would go back there in a heartbeat. Maybe not Zurich, but I'd love to spend more time in Lucerne, Geneva, or a bunch of the places I didn't get to go. It's an absolute gem of a country that every Euro traveler should take the time to see. My only regret is that I bypassed it so many times before and didn't see it till now.

But Switzerland hasn't seen the last of me, that's for damn sure.

Christmas in Europe 2012, part 4 - Lithuania

So, I didn't manage to write any more blogs while I was in Australia. I was traveling with one of my best friends from back in the day (Rob Pike) and was usually too busy/inebriated to write anything legible. I'm home now, and I just happen to have some Vitamin P and time on my hands. So let's get back to this so we can finish it up.

Leaving Gdansk, Poland was incredibly simple. I generally try to head to airport early in case anything goes sideways in the process, but it certainly wasn't necessary here. There were like four other people in the whole airport, and three of them worked there. My next destination was one of the last outpost-type places that I always get strange looks for when I mention where I'm going. This place was Vilnius, Lithuania. And it definitely didn't disappoint in terms of being out of the way.

I've hit the other ex-Soviet Baltic states (Estonia and Latvia) already, and thoroughly enjoyed them both. Lithuania was purported to be the least Western of the three, and that turned out to be mostly true. The first thing was the inevitable taxi ripoff. It was like 5km to town from the airport, but they were charging the equivalent of like 30 bucks. I have no idea why I stressed over this since money wasn't an issue, but for some reason I was determined to not pay 30 bucks. I thought about it for days before arrival, and now it was time to earn my stripes.

So after much negotiating, I somehow paid...32 bucks. As a world traveler, you'd think I'd be better at this by now. And you'd be wrong.

As usual when I first get to places, I go for a long walk around the hotel area to get a feel for it, then find somewhere to eat/drink. Travel guides all mentioned various English/Irish pubs (fuck off, I integrate slowly) in the Old Town, but they were all shut down. Apparently the ex-pat community in Vilnius is so small that these places never get any business and inevitably close up shop after a few months.

So, I had to bust out my stellar Lithuanian skills at a regular bar to order. And by stellar Lithuanian, I mean pointing at stuff and adding "ski" to the end of every word. Obviously that backfired.

Tim: "Pleaseski? Beerski?'
Bartender chick: "I speak English."
Tim: "Oh. Sorry."
Bartender chick: "Try that first next time. This not Russiaski."

Vilnius 1, Timski 0.

I woke up the next day eager to explore since it was my only full day in the city. It was around -10, but anyone that knows me that I'm weird and I like the cold so I thought it was great. I set off to check out the biggest tourist sites first, which were a cathedral and the adjoining area. I was amused to come across three different wedding parties in the large square. On December 28th. Did I mention it was -10 outside?

The funny part to me was that all the guys seemed to have parkas on, and all the women in the wedding parties were just standing around in their dresses freezing. And visibly angry. Welcome to Lithuania.

I explored the entire Old Town (one of the biggest in Europe), and it was a strange mix of beauty and neglect. I'm an architecture nerd and loved a lot of the buildings, but there would be 62 graffiti'd garbage cans in front of them, which obviously spoiled the scene somewhat. There were other weird things too - like putting a gigantic domed bouncy castle right in front of one of the nicest-looking buildings in the city, which completely obstructed the view. Nice to see they still had that backwards Soviet spirit in spades I guess.

Food and beer were cheap though, so that was much appreciated. Overall it was a very walkable city, with a nice river running through it and stuff to see on both sides. There were lots of open, inviting squares and some small parks interspersed amongst the old town and residential areas. It was also a lot more chic that I expected, with fancy shopping areas and high-end restaurants all around my hotel. And my hotel itself was brilliant. The people are standoffish, but that's standard for this part of the world and I've always appreciated it. It's just part of the makeup. No fake smiles here, that's for sure.

Overall, I liked it. Riga and Tallinn were much cleaner than Vilnius, which is probably why most tourists like the other two Baltic capitals better. They're also much more tourist-friendly. But I grew to appreciate Vilnius' odd charm despite my short time there. Unlike places that totally rely upon tourism, Vilnius gave me the distinct impression that it didn't give a shit if I came to see it or not, it'd be just fine either way.

I like that.

Christmas in Europe 2012 part 3 - Poland

As usual, I'm ridiculously behind on these things. And again as usual, I've decided to try and catch up now that I'm actually on a trip. I'm writing thing from my hotel bar in Sydney, Australia, because I can't go outside. There's some sort of crazy storm going on on that is dumping rain harder than I've ever seen outside the tropics. But in the tropics, it lasts like an hour. This has been going for 12 hours. The city is fucking swamped. I've never seen anything like it, and my clothes are still drying in my room from my brief tour earlier today. But this hotel bar has beer and wifi, and that's about all I need to write. So let's roll.

Last time I checked in I was in some serious pain. I had a feeling what was causing it, but I wasn't 100% sure so I was super paranoid. Surfing the net for answers didn't help, as can be expected. I was pretty sure I didn't have a flesh-eating disease, but one or two of the symptoms fit. I wouldn't have really cared if it was that anyway - I'm huge. I would have had at least three months to live.

What I thought I had was a stomach ulcer. All the symptoms fit, but I had no idea about the kind of intense pain they can send into your back and shoulders. When I got to the Munich airport to fly to Warsaw, I went in to a drug store there and just decided to ask a pharmacist chick. She confirmed that it was an ulcer, and gave me pills to completely stop the production of stomach acid. That apparently requires a prescription in Canada, but not in Germany. And they were 10000% successful - within 3 days I was feeling perfect again. But those three days in Poland were kinda rough. Especially the first day.

I arrived at Warsaw and was scooted off to my plush hotel by a cabbie that ripped me off. Shocking, I know. I didn't care though - I just wanted to lay down for a bit. I picked one of the nicest hotels in the city because Poland is cheap. To give you an example of how nice it was, you could order bottles of Cristal to your room. And they had a pet menu for room service.

I was struggling, but I had only had one day there so I was determined to check out as much of the city as possible. The Old Town area is super nice, a lot different than I had expected. It was also packed to the gills with people. I guess the Polish celebrate Boxing Day? I dunno. Anyway, I walked all over the place in the snow and the sea of people, using my tablet as a camera because I had already lost my regular one. Go Tim. Is it embarrassing to use a fucking tablet to take pictures? Slightly. When I got home, Danny christened it the "plywood cam" because that's exactly what it looks like. This is why I hate the Portuguese.

After walking through a massive construction site, I happened across a pond full of ducks. Is this interesting? Not really I guess. But I was amused, because they were the most forward ducks ever. They had no problem walking right up to me. And ON ME. They were like squirrels in Stanley Park. I had no food for them, so all for my trouble was dirty jeans because they were all sitting in a fucking mud puddle before I came along. One of them actually jumped up onto my lap and attempted to take my hat. The plywood cam was their kryptonite though - they scattered like *insert racist comparison here* and I never got a good pic of them bothering me. Come to think of it, that was the most action I got on the whole trip. Whores.

After a nice sleep in my uber-comfy bed, I was starting to feel better the next day. I was on the move again, to Gdansk. No, that's not a typo. Yes, that's a real place. And it's awesome. After not getting robbed by a cabbie for once (he said straight up that he thought ripping off tourists gave the country a bad name and refused to do it), I got into the heart of a fucking beautiful city. It's on the Baltic Sea in the north of the country, and has a nice river running right though the middle of the central area. The walk down the river was super nice (even though it was about -10) and the old town is one of the nicest I've ever seen.

I think I liked the city more than other more popular ones because it wasn't packed with tourists. In fact, there weren't any. My hotel was practically abandoned, and everyone went out of their way to do all they could for what seemed like their only customer. Food and beer were cheap in restaurants and bars, the service was great, and nearly everyone spoke English. It's also a port city, which I think are my favorite cities in the world. I guess it comes from growing up on the water, but for some reason I just like port cities because they tend to be a bit grittier than your average tourist haunt. Gdansk was ridiculously nice, but you could tell that it was a bit rough around the edges too. The vibe was awesome.

I still have 2 weeks left in this Australia trip, so I'll try to catch up as much as possible. This trip wasn't full of ridiculous stories or anything like some of my prior (or more recent) ones, but I got to see a lot of stuff I hadn't before so it was one of my favorites. Lithuania was all kinds of weird, Switzerland was amazing and dumb, and Paris was...odd. I'll get to that soon. Then we can get back to me passing out on the floor of my hotel room after rapping with a dolphin (Mexico), or winning a large amount of money and getting followed to my hotel room by a old-ish married woman with fake boobs (Vegas).

Christmas in Europe 2012, part 2 - Munich

I reluctantly left England to head out on the rest of my trip, and my first stop was Munich, Germany. I just happened to be arriving late on Christmas Eve, which meant that the city was all kinds of dead when I got there. After an odd train trip into the city, I just decided to stick to what works and drink at my hotel. And oh boy was that the right decision.

First off, the bartender chicky was a smokeshow. Easily the hottest woman I saw until I got to Paris 10 days later. She was grumpy at first because a bunch of kids were causing drama in the lobby, but she warmed up quickly. We were both amazed by a Russian dude that did an elaborate ceremony for his drink, with 2 glasses, a straw, and a lighter. Apparently it was a Flaming Sambuca, but neither of us (me and hot girl) had ever seen one before.

The Russian dude didn't speak much English, so it was a chore just setting it up. I had to google it on my tablet and show it to her so she could figure it out (with the Russian dude pointing and saying "Da! Da!"). She thanked me for the help with a couple of free pints, which was nice since I fucked up when I first got there and ordered a Radler/Shandy (beer and lemonade) without knowing any better. She laughed at me for it later. She was awesome. But this is one of my stories, so obviously I went to my room alone.

The next day was Munich exploration time. It was amusing because it was Christmas Day, so pretty much the only tourists out on the street with me were Asians. And there were a lot of them. I didn't even attempt to go into the biggest Munich beer garden because it was FULL of Asians. That was odd, but whatever.

I totally understand why Munich ranks so high on the most liveable city list though - everything is seamless, just like Vienna. Local transit is ridiculously easy. You can't get lost because signage is so good. And all the tourist sites and easy to find and readily accessible. Vienna is probably my dream city if I ever moved to mainland Europe, but Munich ranked second at that point. It's just so EASY. And so nice.

I do want to go back for Oktoberfest though. I feel like that's my destiny.

My last night in Munich ended in pain though. The crazy shoulder pain I experienced in England came back and completely ruined a good night's sleep. I had no idea what was wrong with me but I was actually scared, which is rare. Luckily I got the answer (and the fix) at the airport the next day on my way to Poland. Folks, Poland is awesome. And I'll explain in my next blog.

Christmas in Europe 2012, Part 1 - England

I had it all figured out. I was going to South America! Argentina! Chile! Uruguay! Maybe other places! I booked the flight for July 2012 and had 3 weeks to do it. I was psyched.

Then I wasn't so psyched.

I hadn't accounted for the fact that those countries were way more expensive than I thought, and I only had three months to save for the trip (and pay off the flight, which was booked on credit of course). I just wouldn't have been able to see all of what I wanted to see due to financial constraints. So for the second time in my life*, I made a radical flight change - instead of South America in July, it would be Europe in December. And the southern US in July instead, which was much cheaper (and documented in my last few blogs).

*The first time was when I booked a flight to China to check out Shanghai and Beijing, but succumbed to a free refund policy on Air China to go check out the Yucatan area of Mexico instead. Why? Well, why the fuck did I book a flight to China in the first place? It's China. That seems like a better question to me.

Anyway, I had 18 days in Europe over the Christmas holidays. My first stop was England to visit family, which is always awesome. Then it was off to Munich, Germany. Then two cities in Poland - Warsaw and Gdansk. A two-day stop in the capital of Lithuania (Vilnius) was next, followed by four days to traverse Switzerland. I finished up with a day in Paris and two more days to chill in London. Yes, that sounds rather ambitious. But it was fun.

This was the first time I had flown directly from Vancouver to the UK, surprisingly enough. There was a 90 minute delay, but I had a row to myself to so it was more than okay. I was staying in the Kings Cross area of London for a night before taking the train up to Leeds, and it was typically entertaining. I chilled at a few local pubs, ate some bangers and mash in a gigantic Yorkshire pudding, and laughed at the locals' hate of everything French until I finally passed out after being awake for 30 hours or so.

After waking up typically early and laughing at some English game shows (Golden Balls anyone?), I jumped on the train to Leeds. It's only supposed to take a little over two hours, but flooding had taken out a bridge so it was delayed for a while. I was surrounded by weirdos as usual, and that didn't change when I actually got to the Leeds train station. My nephew Ryan met me there. He's not weird, he's awesome - but we were surrounded by weirdos either way. 

We drank at the train station for a bit and were joined by the lovely Louise, a good friend of Ryan's mom Shell. But there was a dude behind on with a crazy glasses and a big sticker on his jacket that asked people to remind him when it was 6pm so he could go do something. Then there was a starer. You've all seen one - every time you look at the person, they're staring at you. They might not even realize it, but they are. And it's 100% creepy.

Anyway, the train station crowd got old quick so we hitched a ride with Louise and Dave to my brother's local, the Hope. Ryan insisted that he was going to go beer for beer with me back at the train station, and he wanted to continue it here. He's 19 and pretty ripped, but he's about 5'8 and I'd guess about 175 pounds. I'm obviously WAY bigger, so I knew how this was going to turn out. I warned him many times, but he wouldn't listen. As expected, it turned into hilarity not long after we got to the Hope. 

It's probably about 5pm at this point. We walk in, and Ryan is immediately surrounded by a gaggle of old ladies. Ryan's a singer, and apparently he had performed at some sort of event (I think it was a Christmas-related thing, but I can't remember for sure) at the pub the week before for these ladies. And they loved him. To the point that they all wanted to dance with him immediately. Here's a good kid, so he was down. 

Then they started molesting him.

I was playing a "Deal or No Deal" video game, watching Ryan get accosted by these ladies. They had him surrounded, and they were pulling his shirt up and showing his abs to the rest of the ladies, who took turns rubbing them and generally harassing him. It was all in good fun, but pretty odd. It was also so funny I couldn't even play the game. I was laughing so hard that I spilled my beer and ran out of time on my turn. I'd say that he owes me 50 pence, but the entertainment value of that was worth way more than the money I lost in the game (and let's face it - I was gonna lose the money anyway. I suck at British Deal or No Deal).

He had just managed to peel the senior's division off of him when his parents arrived. My brother Terry and his lady Shell have always been awesome to me, and I felt a little bad that their son was...well, kinda drunk. In fact, he passed out in his seat within an hour of them arriving, which I profusely apologized for. As usual, they just laughed it off. After a few more beers, we retired at a relatively normal time.

The next day was good and bad. We had planned on going on a train pub crawl between Leeds and Manchester, but the local flooding made that a problem. So we just went on a pub crawl in Leeds instead. That turned out to be good, because halfway through I developed some crazy shoulder pain, like nothing I had ever felt before. I ended up finding out what caused it a few days later, but for the time being I was totally confused and felt terrible about killing everyone else's good time. 

I was able to sleep it off though, and woke up a few hours later to find out that the party had just continued at their place. We ended up staying up till 5am - I drank cider; Ryan puked on purpose to make himself feel better, then got scared into insomnia by trying to watch a suspense movie in his room; Shell passed out for a while on the couch, then woke up demanding Jack Daniels (which caught up to her the next day); and Terry and I just talked about everything under the sun, just like we always do. 

As mentioned above, Shell was feeling pretty rough the next day. You'd hardly know it though, because she's always so chipper and upbeat. We just hung out for the day, watching all sorts of different stuff on TV and having a few drinks. Terry and Shell passed out relatively early (after midnight Christmas Eve shopping for Shell and Ryan, where he bought me a bunch of socks that came in super handy on my trip with a hole in my boot - thanks again man!), but I stayed up to watch an NFL game between the Seahawks and Niners. Ryan was still up and I tried to explain the rules since the NFL has little presence in the UK. He made me laugh over and over by just saying the same thing in response to my rational explanation of the rules:

"So it's just gay rugby?"

Unfortunately I had to set off the next day to continue my trip, but Terry and Shell accompanied me to the train station for a sendoff beer. Just like every other time, they were awesome hosts and I owe them a ton. Thanks again everyone! From there, it was off to Munich.

Trip to the Southern US, Finale - Charlotte

I'm not gonna lie here, I came to Charlotte as the last stop on my southern US trip for one reason - it was the cheapest city on the east coast to fly home out of. It's known as a business city without a ton of tourist sites, and that turned out to be true. But it was still nice and I found out a lot about it from a few different kind locals.

My hotel was on a university campus, which was a first for me. The staff was made up of hospitality majors at the school who were all extremely eager to help out with whatever because their work experience grade depended on it. I had to laugh when a front desk girl asked me to ask her about local restaurants just so she could tell me, even though we both knew I didn't care. She was cute though, so I obliged. She then told me "off the record" about a good bar up the street. THAT I cared about.

I checked out the bar the first night and had some food after a long wander around. I had to cover a UFC event though, so it was an early night back at the hotel for me. The next day was when I really learned about Charlotte.

Upon return to the bar early on a Sunday afternoon, there were but two other customers in the whole place with me. My attire once again drew attention (just like Atlanta in my last blog), but it was my Canucks hat this time. One of the guys there was from Detroit and was a massive Wings fan. So it was hockey talk on this occasion. 

Turns out the other dude was from just outside Buffalo and a Sabres fan, and the two guys were roommates. They both worked for Bank of America as mortgage brokers, and explained that probably 10% of the Charlotte population worked for the bank and none of them were from NC. They seemed to find NC amusing but a bit backwards, which turned out to be pretty spot on.

After a few beers there, they explained that they had nothing else to do so they were going on a "college girl pub crawl". Did I want to come along? Hell yeah I wanted to come along!

While we went to a couple of bars that weren't that busy yet, they explained their self-professed "preppy white" perspective on Charlotte. According to them, it was one big culture clash. On one side were the outsider rich kids that had to live there for work (ie. them). On another side were white southerners, who were generally "poor rednecks". On the third side were African-Americans, who sit in an apparent precarious position on the northern edge of the south. I don't know if any of this is actually true, I'm just relaying their explanation. I didn't see much of the culture divide in my one day there, except for the music in bars. 

We finally got to a busy college bar. It was only about 2pm on a Sunday, but everyone was drunk. It was kind of weird that all the guys were on one side and all the girls were on the other, like a seventh-grade dance, but I didn't really care. We all sat right in the middle of all the chicks, which worked for me. Pretty soon there were girls dancing on the bar to country music in front of me, which certainly had my attention. They were dumb as rocks when I talked to them, but who gives a shit? They were underdressed, drunk and they had accents. And they thought I had one too. Touchdown!

My serenity was quickly shattered by a dude at least as big as me who tapped me on the shoulder and demanded my attention. I wasn't sure what the deal was right away, but I've got into fights for less than hot college girls and I was drunk already, so whatever. But it turns out that he wanted to talk to me because he saw my Canucks hat (sports gear again!). He was at the bar with his college lacrosse team, and over half of them had traveled to lacrosse camps in Vancouver over the past five years and loved the city. He tried to drag me over to his team, but I pointed at all the girls and said they should come over here. He agreed, they agreed, and the party kicked off.

The Bank of America guys were clearly a bit put off by the gathering of lacrosse meatheads suddenly surrounding them, but everyone was friendly. I had all sorts of drinks bought for me, which was great. The girls were obviously enjoying the attention too, and all started dancing on the bar. But the music was ridiculous.

Since Charlotte is pretty far north for a "southern" town, I guess this bar was out to accommodate everyone. So a country song would come on, then two hip hop songs. Then country. Then old school southern rock. Then hip hop again. Everyone had their favorites, which made it odd. One genre would be on and 1/3 of the bar would go nuts. Then another would come on and a different 1/3 would lose their shit. That went on for two hours, and I was thoroughly confused. But I was happy as long as college girls were dancing, of course.

I know what you're gonna say, and yes you're right - Timmy magically failed with the college girls. I felt every single one of my 33 years of age at that point. and a damn college lacrosse team hanging out with me didn't help my chances. I'm used to that happening though - that's just how I do. It's all good. I was more amused by the Bank of America guys failing though. 

They actually thought they deserved every girl in there because they made 60k a year or something, and getting shot down made them mad. When we finally left, they were super bitter. "Whores," they said. "I wouldn't want any of them in my condo anyway. They'd never leave."

Sure, guys.

I returned to my hotel after about eight hours of drinking, but I wasn't really done yet. So I went to the hotel bar and met a super cool bartender lady named Cathy. She was about 45 or so, but she was the epitome of the sweet southern belle that you see on TV. Which is odd, because the only other real southern girl I've ever known was named Cathy as well, and she was just as sweet. But this lady had liquor to give me, so she wins this round.

Over the course of a few hours, she explained her thoughts on Charlotte and North Carolina in general. I don't know why, but I always pictured NC as a pretty progressive state with big business and big universities. But she explained that most of it was very rural. She was from a rural part, a town called Havelock, which was apparently next to a big military base. She talked about growing up there and how the tensions there aren't that much different than they are in the "big city she is forced to work in to make money". 

It was about 9:30pm at this point, and the bar was dead. I asked if I was imposing, and if she could close and go home if I left (she commuted 45 minutes each way). She laughed and said that I was the least of her worries. She then explained that a ton of Bank of America people from out west were about to arrive, like they did every Sunday night. They stayed in the hotel during the week, and, "they're all assholes". She had been extremely proper to that point, so that made me laugh. 

But she was 100% correct. 

Sure enough, the bar was half-full by 10:30. And all of them (men and women) were extremely demanding. Nothing was good enough - their drink didn't come fast enough, it wasn't stiff enough, the food sucked, etc. She was right, they were assholes. I said that to her, and she just shrugged. "At least y'all from Canada are sweet. You being here make it easier to deal with all them. If you wanna stick around for a while longer, your drinks are on them."

"On them? How? I mean, I'll stay either way, but that's pretty funny."

"Don't worry honey, I've been doing this for 15 years. I know how to make it work," she said with a wink.

That happened nine months ago and it still makes me laugh when I think about it. I think I had nine beers, a shot, and a pizza. I paid for 2 beers. That's it. 

So Cathy is my favorite person in North Carolina. College girls ain't got nothin' on 45-year-old southern belles with connections, yo. Thanks again ma'am!

Trip to the Southern US, part 3 - Atlanta

My one-hour flight from Cancun to Havana is delayed seven fucking hours, so I figured now was a good time to catch up on some travel writing since I have fuck all else to do. So some Dos Equis and I will guide you through the last half of my Southern US trip last summer. I'm only nine months late writing this one. That's pretty good for me.

It was a hot summer's day in the south. And I only started with that line because it's so cliche and cheesy, by the way.  I woke up with a pretty nasty hangover after spending July 4th in New Orleans, which should hardly come as a surprise. On tap for July 5th was a quick flight to Atlanta, which didn't seem too bad. It turned out to be pretty easy, but my hangover was definitely getting the best of me despite my attempts to drink my way through it at the New Orleans airport.

Upon arrival in Atlanta, I quickly figured out two things - holy fuck was it hot, and holy fuck there was no way I was taking public transit when it's 104 degrees. An air-conditioned shuttle it was, even if it was a bit pricey. I would have just gone for a taxi, but I couldn't find one. Go figure.

I eventually arrived at my hotel, and it was unreal. The Hyatt Regency in Atlanta might not sound very glamourous, but it was pretty sick. It's basically 3 buildings surrounding a massive lobby, with these space-age looking elevators going up in the middle.  There's also a pretty cool bar right there, which ended up being my home for a while on both nights because...well, that's how I do. 

I was actually supposed to (briefly) meet up with a friend from ATL that was heading to Vegas that night, but my hangover was still kicking my ass so I never saw her. Sorry again Katie! After having a nap, I went for a walk around the hood but it was still insanely hot. To the point that I couldn't get very far without thinking I was gonna die. But I am the one that came to the south in the summer and didn't pack any shorts. I'm pretty fucking dumb sometimes.

After a trip to a local bar for some food and the final kick to the hangover I was good to go. The only problem with that was that I had no idea what to do. Everything I wanted to see in Atlanta was already closed, so...bar time again. Specifically the hotel bar. And the place was pretty funny.

Since it's in the middle of the hotel, the area is quite busy. And one side of the hotel is shaped like a pyramid, with open-air floors...meaning that if someone wants to walk out their door on the 20th floor and yell at the lobby, they can feel free. And you'd be surprised how many people took advantage of that. Full-on yelling conversations took place between people in the bar and people on the 3rd, or 11th, or 23rd floor. It was extremely odd. And fucking loud.

Anyway, I went down there to do exactly what I'm doing right now - catch up on travel blogs. I was paying 7 bucks a Corona, which was pretty steep, until the bartender chicky asked me I wanted something better. She suggested a beer called Three Philosophers, which is 9% alky, as opposed to the Corona since they were the same price.

SOLD!

I can't say I remember the whole night, but I did have to completely edit my travel blog the next day because it didn't make any fucking sense at all. I'm pretty sure I didn't see any purple aliens the last time I was in Mexico, for example. But I do remember the hotel had a foodstuff shop where they sold the best chicken pot pie of all time. I know that for sure because I had it the next day again and it was amazing. 

Speaking of the next day...not much happened. I didn't really check out a whole lot other than Olympic Park and the area around that. It was way too hot. I feel kinda bad that I didn't see more, but it ain't no thing. I'll just go back. I did have another amusing night at that hotel bar though, which shouldn't surprise anyone.

When I went back down that night, I was wearing my Hines Ward Pittsburgh Steelers jersey. I vaguely remembered that he played for Georgia in college, but didn't think much of it. Well I should have, because I quickly became the most popular guy in the hotel somehow. Everyone wanted to know why the Canadian liked Hines Ward so much. 

To be honest I do like the dude, he was an awesome player. But I just got the jersey from my boss. It didn't really mean a lot to me. But I've learned from experience that people love to talk if they find something in common with you, and wearing sports gear is a great way. For example, I'm in Havana right now and some hot Brazilian girls have a friend that's a diehard Canucks fan somehow....they took a pic with me to send to their friend, just to show that there are hockey fans everywhere. Works for me.

Anyway, back to ATL. Everyone wanted to talk football with me. In the elevator, in the lobby, on the street, everywhere. It was kinda funny because I have an old beat up Mike Vick Falcons jersey (which my friends still tease me about), but no one brought up the Falcons once in my convos even though I was in ATL. College football is king, and Hines Ward was my ticket to acceptance. I got drinks bought for me, people wanted pics with me, the whole deal. I thought it was great. 

As I said, this continued into my second trip into the hotel bar. All four bartenders knew me on sight, which was kind of confusing. And right away, one mentioned that I wore a much better jersey this time around (the night before was a Cards jersey - Larry Fitzgerald). One dude came over and asked if I was writing again. I said yes, but how did he know that? He explained:

"I asked to read a little bit of what you were working on last night after you told me it was a travel blog. We all ended up reading it because it was so funny. You don't remember that?"

"Whoa really? No, I don't remember that."

"Really? Bro, you do a good job of hiding how drunk you are then, and I'm a bartender. You were completely with it the whole time, despite drinking us out of Three Philosophers."

"Wait, how many did you have?"

"I think we had 8 left? 10 maybe? We have none left though....you were going to ask for one, weren't you?"

"Heh, yeah I was."

"Hold on, I got something else you might like at the other bar. In the meantime I'll get you a shot on me for the entertainment last night. And the jersey. Great jersey."

"Sweet!"

I spent the rest of the night talking to all the bartenders and all sorts of customers that came and went while I wrote some more. Everyone was incredibly nice and I learned a lot about a bunch of different places. The ironic part was that I was in a hotel in Atlanta...but I really didn't learn much about Atlanta.  All the more reason for me to return one day (hopefully in the the winter). 

I know what I'll be wearing as a conversation starter, that's for damn sure.

Trip to the Southern US, part 2 - New Orleans

After my brief stay in Fort Lauderdale, it was off to the Big Easy - New Orleans. This was undoubtedly the most anticipated part of the trip for me, mostly because of all the stories I had heard about the place. I had a vision of it in my head, and I wanted to see if the real thing matched what I came up with.

It didn't. It was even better.

After connecting through Tampa and finally getting to my hotel, I was amused pretty much immediately. The hotel is so big that it has a weird elevator system. Instead of just pushing a button, everyone getting on, and stopping 10 times before you get to your floor to let everyone else off, you go up to the big computer and punch in your floor number. It dispatches you an elevator, and voila - non-stop service to your desired floor. It sounds odd, but in practice it worked really well. It was probably the coolest part of a pretty underwhelming hotel overall.

After getting settled, I immediately set out to find a sports bar. This just happened to be the day of the Euro 2012 final between Spain and Italy, and there was no fucking way I was missing it no matter where I was. Luckily for me, New Orleans isn't exactly short on bars. In fact, that might be the understatement of the fucking century.

I found a bar just a couple of blocks into the French Quarter with a simple sign that "Soccer - back". Okay then. I went to the back, and...there was no one there. 'Well this is lame' I thought. Whatever, they had beer and the game. Who gives a shit if I'm the only one there, right?

As soon as I sat down at the bar, the cute bartender chick (a soulless ginger) from behind the counter said "You're not from around here, are you?" with a Fargo-type accent. I responded with "you don't sound like you are either". She laughed and said she had just moved there last week. We went on BSing for a bit while I drank my first Nawlins beer, an Abita Amber (awesome, for those that care).

I asked her why there was no one in the bar except me and one Italian couple, and she told me that it'd fill up for sure because a party of 30 had reserved a bunch of tables (the place probably only seated 45). Sure enough, right before kickoff they showed up. And they were all Spaniards. And they were all pretty drunk already. The Italian guy and his girlfriend looked like they were going to puke. It was great.

If you care about soccer at all, you likely remember the result - Spain absolutely blew Italy out 4-0. For the first two goals the crowd was going bonkers, but they were still pretty respectful towards the Italian couple, They couldn't help themselves after goal three though. At least 10 of them jumped up, joined hands, and danced around their table while singing some sort of celebration song. Finally the Italian guy lost it and stormed out, while all 30 of them chanted at him. It was fucking hilarious. I wanted Spain to win anyway, so I was having a great time. Two of them even ended up buying me a beer, which was very nice of them. I've learned this many times over the years, but drunk Spaniards rule.

After the game, I ventured further into the Quarter. It's about 9 blocks long and maybe 12 blocks wide. And there are HUNDREDS of bars, of all shapes and sizes. While Bourbon St. is the most recognizable area to most, I didn't really like it. It's really gaudy and over the top. Neon, touts, the whole deal. It was like the West End in San Antonio in Ibiza. I was already half cut and in no mood to be harassed by people of all shapes and sizes, so I checked out some other streets instead. At first I was a tad worried about security since NO is known as a dodgy city, but the Quarter was perfectly fine. I spent most of the night meandering between different bars and just walking around, taking in the atmosphere. It was loud, amusing, and didn't feel threatening. There were so many people everywhere that it would have been pretty hard to get robbed or anything.

After a good sleep, I set off to explore more of the city the next day. I went down to the water (Mississippi river) and walked along the banks a bit. Checked out the Harrah's casino. Walked up and down Canal St (the border between the Quarter and the Business District) and into the CBD a bit. All nice and chill. Then I decided I was going to go to a cemetery.

I know that sounds odd, but Nawlins might have the coolest cemeteries in the world for one reason - the city is below sea level. They can't bury coffins because they just get pushed back up above the ground (imagine the first person to figure that out - yikes). So all the coffins are above ground, set in massive crypts with crazy decorations and headstones and shit. I wanted to see a good example of one, so I asked my hotel concierge to direct me to the closest one. He told me the hotel had tours to Saint Louis Cemetery No. 1, just across Rampart from the Quarter. And the tour was 'the only safe way to go there'. 40 bucks. It was 5 blocks from my hotel. Fuck that, concierge. Turns out the place was really nice. Not unsafe. And free.

Later that night, I decided to check out a couple of bars behind my hotel. The same concierge from earlier told me that the food was pretty good at a couple of them, as long as I didn't "look too hard". I assumed he meant that the places were easy to find. He didn't mean that. At. Fucking. All.

I headed to the end of the street and popped into a bar on the corner. I didn't really look around since there were people on either side of me, but I ordered a beer (2 bucks) and a pizza (6 bucks off the menu). The bartender chick then took off to my right, which caused me to look in that direction.

And I immediately thought "Holy shit. I'm in fucking Cambodia".

I was looking into the "kitchen". Which wasn't a kitchen at all, it was just some big ovens with stuff hanging all over them, and a big counter full of all sorts of foodstuff. It was separated from the bar's front door by a flimsy cubicle wall. I have no idea how I missed it coming in. But I couldn't miss the cook as he walked past the bartender into this den of depravity. He was a little black dude with an apron, and he was singing. As loud as he possibly could.

I had two choices at this point - cancel the order and fuck off, or drink as many beers as possible until my food came and hope that might kill all the diseases on my pizza. My decision was made a lot easier by the bartender chick, who saw me staring into the kitchen and mainlining my beer. She came back and said "Food falls into two categories here - 'Are you willing to risk food poisoning?' or 'Are you a pussy?"." And walked away before I could respond.

That settled the point pretty damn well. The pizza turned out to be pretty good too. Not long after I finished it though, I finally clued into what the concierge said. He didn't mean "don't look too hard to find a place to eat". He meant "don't look too hard AT the place you're getting the food from". I followed that advice for the rest of my stay in New Orleans, ate some really good stuff, and I'm still alive. Go figure.

After seeing all the stuff I wanted to see in two days, I just spent the rest of the time in the Quarter or the bars and restaurants around the hotel. The French Quarter in New Orleans is, pound-for-pound, the most interesting place in the world to talk to people. Whether they're from there or not, they always have a story to tell and everyone's pretty...unique. To say the least.

After having lunch at a cool bar (gumbo? Awesome. Po' Boys? Fucking subway sandwiches with too much shit shoved into them), I headed to a bar someone told me about. He said it was an "Irish Dive bar", whatever that meant. Cool. When I got there, there was only one couple in there. I sat down and quickly laughed at the bartender, because he was pouring a shitload of Jamesons into his own coffee. Take a big gulp, pour. Gulp, pour.

"Rough night," he said at my laughter. "Want some?"

"Fuck no. Can I just get an Amber?"

"Suit yourself."

He talked to me a bit about Katrina and the other bars he worked at. He also kept screwing up the order of the only other couple there because he was already shitfaced. "Wine? You wanted wine right? No? Vodka seven? Wow, I was way off."

That went on for a while before a couple of dudes came in and immediately blew the place up. A black dude in his late 20's, and a white dude in his late 30's. The black dude was singing and dancing before he even got to the bar, while the white guy was telling an animated story to his oblivious friend with spastic hand movements and even some jumping up and down. And of course, they sat down right next to me.

"Awwww snap! We needs some jager bombs! My boy here's going to the UFC!"

Say what?

I couldn't help myself and had to ask if he was telling the truth. The white dude looked too old and too skinny to knock a table over, much less fight professionally.

"Man, it's great. I'm on my way! I finally got signed up for this kickass fight gym in Kenner today. Took like six months for me to get the bread together! Now I'm gonna train and fight in the UFC!"

The whole time he's saying this, the black guy is shadowboxing behind him, and ducking and diving behind his back and popping up over each shoulder, making faces at me. He was either the funniest dude I had seen in a while, or he was reaaaally high.

"He's gonna be the world champ! Awwww snap! And I'm his manager!"

"Yup, Tyron's got my sponsors and shit. He's the brains, I'm the...uh...fighter guy!"

I quickly found out that Tyron was from Guyana and was either a drug dealer or a "professional playa". And he started every sentence with "Awww snap!"

"Aww snap! You gotta take that back to Canada wit you, boy. That's how a playa talks!" I didn't have the heart to tell him that's how playas talked in 1989 and he was a tad bit behind the times.

And it turns out that Joe was his personal cab driver. He drove cab for a real company and all that, but was at Tyron's beck and call and would ignore dispatch requests if he was doing something for him. Since Tyron paid better. I can't see many cab companies being big fans of their drivers ignoring dispatches, but whatever.

After a while of bullshitting with these two characters, Tyron saw my tablet that I had brought with me. After asking me 10 times whether it was a phone, ("That bitch is bigger than the phone that white kid had on Saved by the Bell!") He snatched it away from me and proceeded to do about seven improv skits with it. It was a phone while he talked to his mama. Then it was a tray (he even put drinks on it, much to my dismay). Then it was the world's biggest pager ("Pagers for big bitches!"). I really thought he was gonna break the thing, but it was so fucking funny that I didn't care at that point.

I didn't think he could top that, but he managed to. In the midst of telling me and the bartender a story about living in Jamaica (he went from Guyana to Jamaica to the US apparently), he just stopped dead and turned his back on us in the middle of a sentence. The bartender and I just looked at each other with a WTF face, then heard noises coming from the door.

Four African-American ladies had entered the premises.

Joe tried to say something to him, but he just whispered "Shut the fuck up Joe! You don't know me! Don't look at me!" under his breath. Then moved down a couple of stools. It took me a few seconds, but I finally clued in - he didn't want to be seen by the black chicks hanging with a bunch of goofy, drunk white guys. And right as I came to that realization, he popped out of his seat, walked over, and went to work.

"Ladies! Mmhmm, some beautiful sistas up in here now! How are you this fine evening? Tyron would like to buys yous some drinks!" They turned him down cold. But like any good salesman, Tyron was persistent.

"Tyron doesn't take no for an answer when they ladies are this beautiful! You, barman! These ladies would like shots of your finest tequila!"

"They're 13 bucks a shot, Tyron."

Without missing a beat, he replied, "Barman! These ladies would like your finest jager bomb!"

Everyone in the place, including the ladies, were laughing at him by this point. So they graciously took his shot, and he sat there and worked his game for a while. We could overhear everything he said, and my stomach hurt so bad from trying not to laugh out loud because it was so fucking ridiculous. Finally after they got up and left, he came back to the bar, sullen and defeated. "Hoo-ers!" he yelled in a terrible English accent. Which cracked everyone up again.

I spent a while there getting more drunk with these three goofs until Joe decided they were gonna go. "There are 250 bars in the Quarter right? Tyron, I think we should go to every single one of them tonight."

"Aww snap! Let's do this! You're not driving though. Hey Saved By The Bell, you comin' or what?"

These guys were pretty wasted by this point, so I figured it'd probably be better to start over somewhere else with a saner crowd. After giving me shit for give minutes about the tablet again, we went outside and outta nowhere, Tyron ran up for a horse-drawn carriage and jumped in. Joe quickly ran after him. "Grab your own Saved by the Bell, they're ain't room for you in my chariot!"

I just laughed and shook my head and walked back towards my hotel. I thought I was free. But Tyron had other ideas. After five minutes or so, I hear clopclopclop and "Awwww snap! Saved by the Bell! We gonna follow you!" Fuck. The white chick driving the think just looked at me and shook her head, which made me laugh. They continued to yell at me until the end of the block, when they turned left and finally took off.

Just another night in New Orleans.