I feel kinda dumb that I've gone on a whole new epic trip and haven't even finished my blog from the last epic trip...6 months ago. I just happen to be in Budapest right now, and the world's biggest rainstorm has just descended on the city. I happen to have beer in the hotel room fridge, and the Chelsea/Wolves game on the TV, so it seems as good a time as any to finish this bitch up so I can start writing about THIS trip.
So, when I left you last time, Jess and Marissa had just left for a Geysir and Waterfall tour, and I had just fallen asleep...at 4:30pm. They got back around 11pm, which is pretty much when I woke up. Boo. We sat up for a while, drank a few beers, blah blah...Marissa went mental a couple of times about stuff that I don't quite remember, which was pretty amusing. Just like the night before though, I ended up watching movies all night while Jess was passed out on the floor. Yes, I'm a loser.
The whole time I was awake, I was looking out the window at the ever-changing weather. I don't think I've ever seen that sort of rain or wind...ever. And I've lived on Vancouver Island, where shit like the roof of our patio has blown away before. Multiple times actually. Sideways rain is amusing when you don't have to go out in it, I guess.
It did kinda fuck with the next day though. Jess and Marissa went off to the Blue Lagoon with her friend Kyle and his Icelandic friend. I think his name was Peter, but I'm not sure. I couldn't remember Kyle's name, depsite Marissa telling me a bunch of times, so for some reason I just christened them both Peter. For the rest of the trip, they were the 2 Peters. I think even called Kyle Peter a few times at the bar later, which was probably a bit confusing to him, but hey, I'm a different kinda cat, ya heard?
So, I spent a lot of the day...sleeping. Woo boy I'm a party animal. I should point out that the only good channel on Icelandic TV at this point was the music channel, but it only had a 2 hour loop, so we kept seeing the same videos over and over. One was a terribly awesome dance video which I thought was great and Jess...well, it made him angry. Naturally, I'd turn it up every time it came on, and even play it on youtube when he would try to nap. It drove him crazy, which was obviously my goal.
So, later in the day when I was awake and Jess was ready to go, we went and met up with Marissa and the two Peters at a bar called Cafe Oliver. It was good to get out of that room, because it STANK. We decided to take a cab over because of the weather. Cabbie turns on the radio...and guess what song is on? I thought Jess was going to get out of a moving cab, which was pretty amusing to me. I sang in the front seat while Jess stewed in the back, which confused the shit out of the cabbie. Good times.
Anyway, we get to the bar, and it was pretty nuts. We walk in, and to our left is a booth containing 6 girls. All blonde. All hot. I just stopped dead and stared, because it was pretty amazing. Jess was already at the bar with Marissa and the Peters, but I just stood there. Till a guy in a Coors Light hat bumped into me. Greeeat...this place had Americans in it.
The reason we were here was because it was cheap beer night...5 bucks a pop. Yes, that's the sale price. We managed to get a beer without much trouble, and I took a look around. The place was jam-packed with super-hot blonde Icelandic girls, Icelandic guys dressed like your favorite emo band, and a bunch of redneck Americans. It was an amusing scene for a while, but it got old reaaaal quick. The Americans were acting like Americans, which offended pretty much everyone there. They were standing near us, so when it came time to get a second beer, the bartender wouldn't come near us. He just stayed at the other side of the bar, serving everyone there. We couldn't go over there, because it was jam-packed. So we waited. And waited.
15 or 20 minutes later, one of the Peters finally managed to get the guy to come over and pour us a fucking beer, but the damage was done by then. I wanted nothing more to do with the pretentiousness or the Americans, hot girls or not. My theory was that if this was the first bar we went to, which sucked, and they were all hot, they're probably all hot everywhere else right?
Chalk up a party foul to Timmy. Sorta.
We said our goodbyes to the Peters and Marissa, and went looking for somewhere else to drink/stare at girls. Unfortunately, the next thing I saw was a casino bar...and I HAD to go inside. Normally Bitch is enthused by international gambling (because the bastard usually wins), but he was reluctant about this place. I couldn't figure out why, until about 10 minutes after we got in there. A freak made it quite clear.
I have no clue if this chick was homeless or mentally ill or what, but all she wanted was our beers. She was trying to tell us that, I think, but I couldn't understand a fucking thing she was saying. It was in english, too. She was just rambling on and on until she became impossible to ignore. Me and bitch just looked at each other, sort of astonished, and he handed the broad his pint. I'm way too hardened for that, so when she reached for mine too, I shotgunned it. She was not amused. And we made double time getting the FUCK outta that place. First thing I said when we got outside was "Holy shit! They have natives here too!" That got a laugh out of Jess at least.
We just walked straight out and down some side street, because Jess is bedazzled by blinking lights. I just realized his lights obsession would be way funnier if he had epilepsy. ANYWAY, the blinking light in this case was a sign for a strip club, which sounded like the greatest fucking idea on the planet at that point in time. What do Icelandic women look like naked? Are they all hot when they've got clothes on, but hairier than Chewbacca underneath? Do they really dance to Bjork? Is it so cold that they sometimes get stuck to the pole? So many questions were about to be answered...
Or not.
We get to the entrance...and there are two doors. TWO DOORS. It's like the fucking Matrix with the pills and shit. Which do we choose? There was a guy outside, and he pointed at one of the doors. It seemed logical that he would point at the door with naked whores inside, because...you know, he's a guy and he likes naked women, right? Wrong. We ended up in a pub. Not the worst thing ever, but still. It had women, but they had their clothes on, and there wasn't much hope of nudity in the near future. Fail.
I still can't remember why we didn't go back and try the other door. I think I just saw a beer tap and, like usual, forgot about space and time and everything else and plunked down right in front of it and started at the bartender chicky until I had beer in my face again. Jess might have been talking...I certainly wasn't listening. Once I was whole again, we sat there for a while and stared at the pretty girls playing pool and shot the shit. A few hours and Gulls later, we were kinda plastered, so we decided to head out. Only problem with that was...we had no fucking idea where we were.
As we all know by now, I'm fucking terrible with directions. Luckily Jess led the way in this case, and we headed in what turned out to be the right direction. After a stop at a gas station for some drunk food (Jess kept yelling "This is the best sub of ALL TIME!" about 30 times along the way, in between mouthfuls) and we made it back in one piece. Luckily it had stopped raining for the 20 minutes or so it took us to get back.
After making Jess laugh so hard he spit his beer all over the floor of our hotel room...twice!...we managed to pass out. I fell asleep a happy guy, finally getting a taste of what Iceland was like. Sorta. I can't exactly say it was a touching cultural experience or anything, but it was a shitload of fun at least. And there were hot blonde girls (almost) everywhere. What's to complain about?
We were both leaving the next day, but we were going to radically different destinations. I was going home via Seattle, and he was just starting his 2 weeks in Europe, so he was going to London. Despite having no money and less time, I spent 2 hours on the hotel computer trying to figure out a way to go with him. Anyone who says traveling isn't an addiction should have seen me at that computer. I wanted to go so fucking bad, but it was not meant to be. I flew back to Seattle, where I stayed in a suite at the Howard Johnson (talk about an oxymoron), and Jess went on to conquer a variety of places, including Egypt. That bastard. I get a small bit of satisfaction out of the fact that I'm writing this in Budapest though, and he's going to Columbus next week. I win!
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Thursday, December 24, 2009
The Ghost of Christmas Past
It's 10:45pm on December 24th. A friday night. I'm sitting at home, drinking an Old Milwaukee, and listening to some music. This is like any other friday night to me. Go to the bar after work with my boss, get home early, and stay outta trouble. The fact that it's Christmas Eve really doesn't mean a damn thing to me. I went to the strippers and the OT before this. Not exactly full of yuletide spirit.
There is one thing I do like about Christmas though. In my never-ending quest to be anti-Christmas, I usually end up doing some entertaining and/or retarded shit on Christmas Day. Your average person probably looks back on Christmas Day's past and remembers a pretty standard 24 hours:
2008: At my parents house. Mom and dad argued. I hate my brother. Who needs 9 ties?
2007: At my brothers house. The kids got a Wii, and I wanted to shove a controller down little Billy's throat by 4:30.
2003: At my parents house. Mom and dad argued. My sister didn't show. Major drama OMG!
1996: At my parents house. I asked for a portable CD player. I got a walkman. I hate life.
And so on. My timeline is a little bit more entertaining, at least to me. So, here's a brief synopsis of some of my more interesting Christmas Days. Sure, I spent some with family too, but other than a fire poker fight or 2, it was usually pretty boring. These are my memories of the times I managed to bail on that bullshit and do something interesting. Without further ado...
2008 - I wrote about it last year. But, here's the cliff notes version of the 25th, if you don't feel like reading: A 24 hour train ride to Jasper full o' booze on the 23rd/24th led to a massive hangover that spilled over onto the 25th. The only cure was Pilsner, of course, but this was not to be. Nothing in town was open. Even our hotel bar didn't open till 5pm, which led to me basically crying in public. After it finally opened, it was less-than-fulfilling, so Len and I got the bright idea to go to the fancy lodge up the hill where actual people hang out.
Too bad it was CHRISTMAS HELL and the Disney movie cheerfulness nearly made us commit a homicide or 23. 14 dollar ceasars finally broke the drunk camels back, and after a brief stop back in the hotel bar where I purchased a 27 dollar 6 pack, Christmas was mercifully put to it's death via Comedy Roasts and my best friend Pilly.
2007 - Me, Lisa and Len all have various reasons to hate Christmas, and we figured since none of us could go on vacation, the best thing to do was to get drunk at the best bar in town (which happened to be the only bar open)...the Cambie. 194 people were invited. 3 showed. Me, Lisa, and Len. We arrived at noon. 6 other people were in the bar...which was 5 more than we expected. We set a firm no shots rule, and went to work on some 10 dollar pitchers of shitty beer, while Len's Mr Hanky doll eyed us warily.
After 8 hours of playing pool with immigrants, picking terrible music from the jukebox, taking pictures of Mr Hanky shamelessly swimming in our beers, and downing like 24 shots (we're not good at following rules), we were finally escorted from the premises. Lisa yelled "LET'S GOOO TO THE CASINOOOO" pretty much the whole way home on the skytrain before passing out, and I honestly don't remember what happened to Len. Dumping Lisa out of a cab onto her lawn at 9pm on Christmas Day while her parents looked out the window disapprovingly is way better than any shitty Christmas present I could get. That shit was GOLD!
2004 - You can read about it here, if you feel the need. If not...
Pretend you're me (but not as cool), and picture this: I wake up groggy and cotton-mouthed and take a look around. After a minute or so, my surroundings start to come into focus. I'm in a Days Inn hotel. In Anchorage, Alaska. I look over at the other bed. The person I came on this trip with isn't in said bed. This is all amusing and stuff, but our flight to Fairbanks leaves in 2 hours and going alone wasn't part of the plan. I gradually piece together the night before at Chilkoot Charlies (the best bar in the WORLD)...I came back to the hotel after nearly hiccuping draft beer all over some angry native broad. By myself. Len chose to stay. Uh oh.
While this assessment is being made, the door swings open and a fucking toasted co-pilot is standing there. He manages to make it to his bed, explaining to me that he was helping some dude change his transmission in -20 degree weather at 4am. This is highly amusing, until I inform Len that he can't go to sleep because we have to fly to Fairbanks in 2 hours. Many curse words followed.
Me and the zombie manage to get ourselves to the airport and onto the plane. Len is completely done at this point. Talking and walking is rocket science to him. The flight to Fairbanks is ridiculously scenic, and I celebrate this awesome show with an Amstel Light at 8:30am. Len dry heaves at the sight of it.
Upon arrival, we are ripped off by the only asian guy in town, who drives the taxi to our hotel. Len is asleep 0.243 seconds after we get into our room. I went to buy beer, and realized it was -37. I thought that was cool for about 20 seconds, until my face, nose, snot and beer all froze at once on the walk home. Seriously.
After Len slept off his hangover, we decided that we're going to North Pole, where Santa lives! Honestly. It's a real town with a real Santa house, like 11 miles north of Fairbanks. I know, the scrooges heading towards the heart of Christmas sounds weird, but cut us some slack, what else were we gonna fuckin do?
The lady at the hotel said Santa's house would be open. One 40 dollar cabride later, IT WAS NOT. Len pissed on his house to show him who's boss. Another 40 dollar cabride back, and we're pissed. We go looking for a restaurant for dinner. No dice. Everything was closed. Every. Single. Restaurant. In. Town. We ended up at a gas station, and we bought burritos for our Christmas dinner. I think we were asleep by 9:30pm. Goooo Christmas!
2003 - It's just me and Mikey. Jay just moved home, so we're down a roommate. In his honour, our whole goal for the day is strippers and beer, because we know he would approve. Mikey kept telling me about a poster he saw at Mugs (same peeler bar I was at today, different location) that said something about an all-day stripathon on Christmas Day. Nuthin says yuletide joy like amateur boobies, so we walked all the way down there from here (5km, give or take) in the early afternoon. Just to find out that it was closed on Christmas Day. What the fuck?
Apparently Daly can't read and it was on Boxing Day. Damn him! Either way though, we had committed ourselves to debauchery, so we went to the only place that was serving beer in all of New West...the riverboat casino. We played some blackjack and somehow we both won, probably 100 total between us, which basically doubled what we had to start with (fuck off, this was when we were young and financially irresponsible!)...so it was ON. Booze in face, pronto.
Somehow day turned to night, and some old lady was following us around, thinking we'd spend money on her or something. Obviously she was delusional, but she did give us one nugget of info - Barfly was open that night! Barfly (now The Standard) is a terrible club in New West, but it was Eden to us that night. Mikey and me ran to a cab to dodge the old lady, but she was like a fuckin' drunk FloJo and kept up with us all the way there. We jumped in, and she attempted to do so as well...but it was kind of difficult with Mikey's hand on her forehead, launching her away from the door.
So we get to Barfly...obviously, no one's there on Christmas Day. Maybe 6 people. That didn't stop Mikey from shotgunning a beer and doing a ridiculous dance on the floor that some of you have probably seen if you've hung out with him for any length of time. Suddenly we were the center of an 8 person club party...for about 10 seconds. It was about to be 9, because guess who walked in the door! The old lady! And she was PISSED. Somehow, Mikey talked her out of homicide and had her dancing within a few seconds, which was even funnier because she was easily 30 years older than everyone there.
A whole lot more liquor was consumed, and I woke up on the living room floor the next morning. That's about all I can tell you..I have no recollection of much else. Mikey eventually came out of his room and we had the same conversation we'd had countless times..."What the fuck happened?" "I dunno man." "How did we get home??" "No idea." "Do you have any money left?" "I have 5 bottlecaps and a bunch of ripped up coasters in my pocket. No money. You?" "I thought I had like 30 bucks in change, but they're all quarters. I have 6 dollars, tops." "What do we do now?" "Call Lisa and tell her to pick us up and buy us breakfast, that's what!"
In approximately 12 hours, 2007 will be repeated. I think over 160 people were invited this time. 10 SAY they're coming, but we know who's gonna show...me, Lisa, and Len. And hanky. It's gonna be a shitshow, and I wouldn't have it any other way. Merry Christmas motherfuckers. If you want to do something a little different this year, we'll be at the Cambie. Come on down. Make this a Christmas you'll actually remember.
There is one thing I do like about Christmas though. In my never-ending quest to be anti-Christmas, I usually end up doing some entertaining and/or retarded shit on Christmas Day. Your average person probably looks back on Christmas Day's past and remembers a pretty standard 24 hours:
2008: At my parents house. Mom and dad argued. I hate my brother. Who needs 9 ties?
2007: At my brothers house. The kids got a Wii, and I wanted to shove a controller down little Billy's throat by 4:30.
2003: At my parents house. Mom and dad argued. My sister didn't show. Major drama OMG!
1996: At my parents house. I asked for a portable CD player. I got a walkman. I hate life.
And so on. My timeline is a little bit more entertaining, at least to me. So, here's a brief synopsis of some of my more interesting Christmas Days. Sure, I spent some with family too, but other than a fire poker fight or 2, it was usually pretty boring. These are my memories of the times I managed to bail on that bullshit and do something interesting. Without further ado...
2008 - I wrote about it last year. But, here's the cliff notes version of the 25th, if you don't feel like reading: A 24 hour train ride to Jasper full o' booze on the 23rd/24th led to a massive hangover that spilled over onto the 25th. The only cure was Pilsner, of course, but this was not to be. Nothing in town was open. Even our hotel bar didn't open till 5pm, which led to me basically crying in public. After it finally opened, it was less-than-fulfilling, so Len and I got the bright idea to go to the fancy lodge up the hill where actual people hang out.
Too bad it was CHRISTMAS HELL and the Disney movie cheerfulness nearly made us commit a homicide or 23. 14 dollar ceasars finally broke the drunk camels back, and after a brief stop back in the hotel bar where I purchased a 27 dollar 6 pack, Christmas was mercifully put to it's death via Comedy Roasts and my best friend Pilly.
2007 - Me, Lisa and Len all have various reasons to hate Christmas, and we figured since none of us could go on vacation, the best thing to do was to get drunk at the best bar in town (which happened to be the only bar open)...the Cambie. 194 people were invited. 3 showed. Me, Lisa, and Len. We arrived at noon. 6 other people were in the bar...which was 5 more than we expected. We set a firm no shots rule, and went to work on some 10 dollar pitchers of shitty beer, while Len's Mr Hanky doll eyed us warily.
After 8 hours of playing pool with immigrants, picking terrible music from the jukebox, taking pictures of Mr Hanky shamelessly swimming in our beers, and downing like 24 shots (we're not good at following rules), we were finally escorted from the premises. Lisa yelled "LET'S GOOO TO THE CASINOOOO" pretty much the whole way home on the skytrain before passing out, and I honestly don't remember what happened to Len. Dumping Lisa out of a cab onto her lawn at 9pm on Christmas Day while her parents looked out the window disapprovingly is way better than any shitty Christmas present I could get. That shit was GOLD!
2004 - You can read about it here, if you feel the need. If not...
Pretend you're me (but not as cool), and picture this: I wake up groggy and cotton-mouthed and take a look around. After a minute or so, my surroundings start to come into focus. I'm in a Days Inn hotel. In Anchorage, Alaska. I look over at the other bed. The person I came on this trip with isn't in said bed. This is all amusing and stuff, but our flight to Fairbanks leaves in 2 hours and going alone wasn't part of the plan. I gradually piece together the night before at Chilkoot Charlies (the best bar in the WORLD)...I came back to the hotel after nearly hiccuping draft beer all over some angry native broad. By myself. Len chose to stay. Uh oh.
While this assessment is being made, the door swings open and a fucking toasted co-pilot is standing there. He manages to make it to his bed, explaining to me that he was helping some dude change his transmission in -20 degree weather at 4am. This is highly amusing, until I inform Len that he can't go to sleep because we have to fly to Fairbanks in 2 hours. Many curse words followed.
Me and the zombie manage to get ourselves to the airport and onto the plane. Len is completely done at this point. Talking and walking is rocket science to him. The flight to Fairbanks is ridiculously scenic, and I celebrate this awesome show with an Amstel Light at 8:30am. Len dry heaves at the sight of it.
Upon arrival, we are ripped off by the only asian guy in town, who drives the taxi to our hotel. Len is asleep 0.243 seconds after we get into our room. I went to buy beer, and realized it was -37. I thought that was cool for about 20 seconds, until my face, nose, snot and beer all froze at once on the walk home. Seriously.
After Len slept off his hangover, we decided that we're going to North Pole, where Santa lives! Honestly. It's a real town with a real Santa house, like 11 miles north of Fairbanks. I know, the scrooges heading towards the heart of Christmas sounds weird, but cut us some slack, what else were we gonna fuckin do?
The lady at the hotel said Santa's house would be open. One 40 dollar cabride later, IT WAS NOT. Len pissed on his house to show him who's boss. Another 40 dollar cabride back, and we're pissed. We go looking for a restaurant for dinner. No dice. Everything was closed. Every. Single. Restaurant. In. Town. We ended up at a gas station, and we bought burritos for our Christmas dinner. I think we were asleep by 9:30pm. Goooo Christmas!
2003 - It's just me and Mikey. Jay just moved home, so we're down a roommate. In his honour, our whole goal for the day is strippers and beer, because we know he would approve. Mikey kept telling me about a poster he saw at Mugs (same peeler bar I was at today, different location) that said something about an all-day stripathon on Christmas Day. Nuthin says yuletide joy like amateur boobies, so we walked all the way down there from here (5km, give or take) in the early afternoon. Just to find out that it was closed on Christmas Day. What the fuck?
Apparently Daly can't read and it was on Boxing Day. Damn him! Either way though, we had committed ourselves to debauchery, so we went to the only place that was serving beer in all of New West...the riverboat casino. We played some blackjack and somehow we both won, probably 100 total between us, which basically doubled what we had to start with (fuck off, this was when we were young and financially irresponsible!)...so it was ON. Booze in face, pronto.
Somehow day turned to night, and some old lady was following us around, thinking we'd spend money on her or something. Obviously she was delusional, but she did give us one nugget of info - Barfly was open that night! Barfly (now The Standard) is a terrible club in New West, but it was Eden to us that night. Mikey and me ran to a cab to dodge the old lady, but she was like a fuckin' drunk FloJo and kept up with us all the way there. We jumped in, and she attempted to do so as well...but it was kind of difficult with Mikey's hand on her forehead, launching her away from the door.
So we get to Barfly...obviously, no one's there on Christmas Day. Maybe 6 people. That didn't stop Mikey from shotgunning a beer and doing a ridiculous dance on the floor that some of you have probably seen if you've hung out with him for any length of time. Suddenly we were the center of an 8 person club party...for about 10 seconds. It was about to be 9, because guess who walked in the door! The old lady! And she was PISSED. Somehow, Mikey talked her out of homicide and had her dancing within a few seconds, which was even funnier because she was easily 30 years older than everyone there.
A whole lot more liquor was consumed, and I woke up on the living room floor the next morning. That's about all I can tell you..I have no recollection of much else. Mikey eventually came out of his room and we had the same conversation we'd had countless times..."What the fuck happened?" "I dunno man." "How did we get home??" "No idea." "Do you have any money left?" "I have 5 bottlecaps and a bunch of ripped up coasters in my pocket. No money. You?" "I thought I had like 30 bucks in change, but they're all quarters. I have 6 dollars, tops." "What do we do now?" "Call Lisa and tell her to pick us up and buy us breakfast, that's what!"
In approximately 12 hours, 2007 will be repeated. I think over 160 people were invited this time. 10 SAY they're coming, but we know who's gonna show...me, Lisa, and Len. And hanky. It's gonna be a shitshow, and I wouldn't have it any other way. Merry Christmas motherfuckers. If you want to do something a little different this year, we'll be at the Cambie. Come on down. Make this a Christmas you'll actually remember.
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Christmas Wish List 2009
I fucking hate this stupid holiday, but I'll get into the spirit this one time and offer the only thing worthwhile anymore - a little bit of advice. Specifically, advice to that rotund red-suited drunk that lives in a land about 11 miles north of Fairbanks. I know this, because I went to his house on Christmas Day once and he wasn't home. Len pissed on his house in retaliation.
Anyway...Santa, you fat bastard, here's how you could handle a few situations for me this year, okay? Some involve simply getting these people a present, some involve you getting off your duff and actually doing something about a situation. Without further ado...
Apple - Make the ipod designers attach something similar to a key tracer to the stupid things. Anyone remember key tracers? Where you clap or whistle, and the beeper thingy goes off and leads you to them? I need this for my ipods. I've gone through four shuffles this year. Four! At least make 'em glow in the dark/glow in the snow or something. Fuck.
Brittany Murphy - Oops. Scratch that one off the list.
Cambie Pub - Make sure they have plenty of shitty beer ready for us when we get there at noon on Christmas day. In addition, can you ask the bouncers to at least be gentle when they 86 us this time? Thanks.
DJ AM - Oops. Scratch that one off the list too.
Ex-girlfriends - Give them all coal.
Filipino lady that was singing along to her ipod at 6am this morning on the bus - Give her a swift kick in the babymaker and a right cross to the jaw. Please. No one wants to hear the "soothing" sounds of a howling cat that just stepped on a nail. At 6am. Because that's what she sounded like.
Georges St Pierre - Give him whatever he needs to so he can gain a little more weight and move up to middleweight. Believe me Santa, when he defeats Anderson Silva, you won't even need to stop in Canada next year. You'll have already given the entire country the best present EVER.
Hell -Santa, I don't know if this is in your power or not....but could you save me a nice, fiery seat down there? It's pretty obvious that all the retard/racist/sexist/filthy Jew jokes are going to catch up to me at some point.
Iceland - Just give the people of this fine country a little advice. Tell all the guys there that the rest of the world doesn't give a shit about Fall Out Boy or A-ha anymore, so you can all stop dressing like a member of those shitty bands. And for the ladies...tell them to keep being blonde and perfect. Seriously. You're all gorgeous. I love you.
Jess - I'm gonna need you to stop him from going anywhere new. Flying to Florida? Bird in the engine. Driving to North Carolina? Armed robbery around Atlantic City or so. Ferry to Nova Scotia? Sink that motherfucker, it's full of people who pay for their clothing and beer in cod anyway. In other words, don't let him wander. And try to keep his cousin's ego in check too. That one will be a lot tougher, I understand that..so Jess and I will do our best to help you out.
Kings - I know this is a tough one, but hear me out. Could you just find some way to enforce the laws of probability a little better when I play poker? When I pick up pocket kings, I'm supposed to win the majority of the hands I play with it. An ace isn't supposed to hit the flop every god damn time. I'm not supposed to be losing a shitload of cash with a hand this good. Fat guy to fat guy Santa, for reals...make this happen.
Luxembourg - You don't have to give the people of this fine country anything specific. I just threw it in here to make sure Jess knows that I'm going to Luxembourg and he's never gonna make it there! I win!
Miley Cyrus - Make her turn 18 faster so I can stop feeling so guilty every time I watch her videos on youtube. Over and over. And over. At least she's not Jojo, right guys? RIGHT?
NHL - Do everyone a favor and get Gary Bettman fired (and killed by something nasty, like scurvy!) so the league can stop moving backwards. Seriously Santa, you must have some appreciation for hockey, you live in the fucking cold. Does hockey belong in Phoenix? No. This one is high-priority, close in importance to the letter P one below.
Old Milwaukee - Give the makers of this delicious nectar whatever they ask for, because they are some of the greatest people in the world. They bring so many others so much joy. Even if they're asking for unethical stuff (immigrant children to chain up in their basement, the extermination of all Coors employees, etc), GIVE IT TO THEM.
Portugal - Nice and simple - a first-round exit from the World Cup. Highest priority.
Quinton Jackson - Just explain to Rampage that he's not an actor, he's a fighter, and all the whining in the world isn't going to make him an actor. Pick him up, carry him to the fucking cage, and let him humble Rashad Evans so I don't have to fucking hear from either of them anymore.
Roger Goodell - Pull his head out of his ass for him. And give him a sense of humor. The possession rules on catching a football shouldn't be more detailed than an Al-Queda plot to blow up a train station. Fining every guy that shows an ounce of personality is retarded. Pretend you're Chris Henry's fiancee, and throw Roger off a truck. Simple as that.
Ooh, that one was cold.
Sami Salo - Invent some sort of hybrid bubble that Sami can play in so he doesn't get hurt every 3 games. I'd say the same for Pavol Demitra, but he'd probably complain about the bubble not having Marian Gaborik in it, so he'd end up going home anyway.
Toronto - Separation. Banish the city from Canada. Banish the Leafs from my television. Before this though, make all the goofs that left the shithole for better weather and nicer people GO BACK so we don't have to hear about what a great place it is. If it's so fucking great, WHY ARE YOU HERE?
Uneducated debtors - Keep them believing their package will actually get there soon. And thank them for being deadbeats, because without these retards to find, I couldn't travel the world! You're dumb and I love you!
Village of Jasper - Wipe out every dingo-fucking Aussie that works there. Dude, they don't even know the 3 brands of Canadian beer they sell in their bars, and they're working...in Canada. Feed them to the moose, bury em in the snow, I don't care. Just make them gone.
Washington Redskins - Somehow, could you make the team hand the playcalling duties back to Jim Zorn? That "fake" field goal attempt last night was the ugliest football play I've ever seen. Ever. You guys are worse than the Lions and the Raiders COMBINED sometimes (that last comment was specifically aimed at Adam and Milo).
X - You think you could just get rid of this letter? It's fucking useless and pretty much grinds any alphabetical list to a halt.
Yellowknife - Prepare these people for the shitshow that awaits them when Len and I eventually make it there. And can you get Ice Road Truckers canceled? These tards don't deserve groupies, they're fucking truckers!
Zoos, specifically the Wellington Zoo - Make sure that animals don't stand up people who pay good money to come hang out with them. Stupid giraffe. You know what you can get him for me, Santa? A housing enclosure that's 2 feet shorter than he is. Then he'll know how I feel when I sit in the back seat of a car. Stupid giraffe.
Okay, that's enough venom for one Christmas. See y'all next year.
Anyway...Santa, you fat bastard, here's how you could handle a few situations for me this year, okay? Some involve simply getting these people a present, some involve you getting off your duff and actually doing something about a situation. Without further ado...
Apple - Make the ipod designers attach something similar to a key tracer to the stupid things. Anyone remember key tracers? Where you clap or whistle, and the beeper thingy goes off and leads you to them? I need this for my ipods. I've gone through four shuffles this year. Four! At least make 'em glow in the dark/glow in the snow or something. Fuck.
Brittany Murphy - Oops. Scratch that one off the list.
Cambie Pub - Make sure they have plenty of shitty beer ready for us when we get there at noon on Christmas day. In addition, can you ask the bouncers to at least be gentle when they 86 us this time? Thanks.
DJ AM - Oops. Scratch that one off the list too.
Ex-girlfriends - Give them all coal.
Filipino lady that was singing along to her ipod at 6am this morning on the bus - Give her a swift kick in the babymaker and a right cross to the jaw. Please. No one wants to hear the "soothing" sounds of a howling cat that just stepped on a nail. At 6am. Because that's what she sounded like.
Georges St Pierre - Give him whatever he needs to so he can gain a little more weight and move up to middleweight. Believe me Santa, when he defeats Anderson Silva, you won't even need to stop in Canada next year. You'll have already given the entire country the best present EVER.
Hell -Santa, I don't know if this is in your power or not....but could you save me a nice, fiery seat down there? It's pretty obvious that all the retard/racist/sexist/filthy Jew jokes are going to catch up to me at some point.
Iceland - Just give the people of this fine country a little advice. Tell all the guys there that the rest of the world doesn't give a shit about Fall Out Boy or A-ha anymore, so you can all stop dressing like a member of those shitty bands. And for the ladies...tell them to keep being blonde and perfect. Seriously. You're all gorgeous. I love you.
Jess - I'm gonna need you to stop him from going anywhere new. Flying to Florida? Bird in the engine. Driving to North Carolina? Armed robbery around Atlantic City or so. Ferry to Nova Scotia? Sink that motherfucker, it's full of people who pay for their clothing and beer in cod anyway. In other words, don't let him wander. And try to keep his cousin's ego in check too. That one will be a lot tougher, I understand that..so Jess and I will do our best to help you out.
Kings - I know this is a tough one, but hear me out. Could you just find some way to enforce the laws of probability a little better when I play poker? When I pick up pocket kings, I'm supposed to win the majority of the hands I play with it. An ace isn't supposed to hit the flop every god damn time. I'm not supposed to be losing a shitload of cash with a hand this good. Fat guy to fat guy Santa, for reals...make this happen.
Luxembourg - You don't have to give the people of this fine country anything specific. I just threw it in here to make sure Jess knows that I'm going to Luxembourg and he's never gonna make it there! I win!
Miley Cyrus - Make her turn 18 faster so I can stop feeling so guilty every time I watch her videos on youtube. Over and over. And over. At least she's not Jojo, right guys? RIGHT?
NHL - Do everyone a favor and get Gary Bettman fired (and killed by something nasty, like scurvy!) so the league can stop moving backwards. Seriously Santa, you must have some appreciation for hockey, you live in the fucking cold. Does hockey belong in Phoenix? No. This one is high-priority, close in importance to the letter P one below.
Old Milwaukee - Give the makers of this delicious nectar whatever they ask for, because they are some of the greatest people in the world. They bring so many others so much joy. Even if they're asking for unethical stuff (immigrant children to chain up in their basement, the extermination of all Coors employees, etc), GIVE IT TO THEM.
Portugal - Nice and simple - a first-round exit from the World Cup. Highest priority.
Quinton Jackson - Just explain to Rampage that he's not an actor, he's a fighter, and all the whining in the world isn't going to make him an actor. Pick him up, carry him to the fucking cage, and let him humble Rashad Evans so I don't have to fucking hear from either of them anymore.
Roger Goodell - Pull his head out of his ass for him. And give him a sense of humor. The possession rules on catching a football shouldn't be more detailed than an Al-Queda plot to blow up a train station. Fining every guy that shows an ounce of personality is retarded. Pretend you're Chris Henry's fiancee, and throw Roger off a truck. Simple as that.
Ooh, that one was cold.
Sami Salo - Invent some sort of hybrid bubble that Sami can play in so he doesn't get hurt every 3 games. I'd say the same for Pavol Demitra, but he'd probably complain about the bubble not having Marian Gaborik in it, so he'd end up going home anyway.
Toronto - Separation. Banish the city from Canada. Banish the Leafs from my television. Before this though, make all the goofs that left the shithole for better weather and nicer people GO BACK so we don't have to hear about what a great place it is. If it's so fucking great, WHY ARE YOU HERE?
Uneducated debtors - Keep them believing their package will actually get there soon. And thank them for being deadbeats, because without these retards to find, I couldn't travel the world! You're dumb and I love you!
Village of Jasper - Wipe out every dingo-fucking Aussie that works there. Dude, they don't even know the 3 brands of Canadian beer they sell in their bars, and they're working...in Canada. Feed them to the moose, bury em in the snow, I don't care. Just make them gone.
Washington Redskins - Somehow, could you make the team hand the playcalling duties back to Jim Zorn? That "fake" field goal attempt last night was the ugliest football play I've ever seen. Ever. You guys are worse than the Lions and the Raiders COMBINED sometimes (that last comment was specifically aimed at Adam and Milo).
X - You think you could just get rid of this letter? It's fucking useless and pretty much grinds any alphabetical list to a halt.
Yellowknife - Prepare these people for the shitshow that awaits them when Len and I eventually make it there. And can you get Ice Road Truckers canceled? These tards don't deserve groupies, they're fucking truckers!
Zoos, specifically the Wellington Zoo - Make sure that animals don't stand up people who pay good money to come hang out with them. Stupid giraffe. You know what you can get him for me, Santa? A housing enclosure that's 2 feet shorter than he is. Then he'll know how I feel when I sit in the back seat of a car. Stupid giraffe.
Okay, that's enough venom for one Christmas. See y'all next year.
Monday, December 14, 2009
Iceland, Part 2
Only took me like 3 months to get around to part 2 this time. Impressive! Might as well get right to it.
Bitch's flight didn't arrive till close to midnight, so he didn't end up getting to the hotel until just after 1am. I still wasn't dry from the mother of all rainstorms earlier, but the frosty hotel bar beers were helping me ignore it. 8.50 a beer though...god damn. The bar supposedly closes at midnight, but they stayed open to serve me until Jess got there. The hotel staff was quirky, but generally pretty nice.
So finally, bitch arrives. We took about 3 minutes to drop off his shit and load up our backpacks, and then it was pillaging time! We made our way over to the water, sat down, and cracked the first of many Icelandic beers. We were staying in an area that was fairly busy during the day, but absolutely dead at night. For the first hour that we sat on the rocks down by the water, I think we saw 2 cars total. It was dark, but not for long.
We had walked halfway to town along the Seabraut, but it was obviously dead and getting sort of repetitive, so we decided to double back and go the other way. After a while we came upon this strange structure. It's kind of hard to describe...it was a circular hill, with a building sticking out of the flattened top of the hill. Basically, someone built a hill over a building...or something. Here, a pic should clear it up a bit:
I know, Bitch looks extremely gay in the pic. You get used to it after a while.
So, we decided to climb the thing and sit up there and drink for a while. It wasn't anything really special, it was just...odd. We nicknamed it "The hatch", of Lost fame. If you haven't seen Lost...well, then the reference is lost on you. Pun intended.
Many more beers were consumed as we walked along the water, past more strange structures, a tiny-ass rock beach, and eventually right onto someone's property. There was a house there that amazed the drunks standing in their driveway (us). There were all sorts of carvings and gadgets and statues n shit all over the property. It was extremely odd. Somehow we never clued into the fact that we were basically trespassing and doing laps around someone's house at 3am. We're lucky the Icelandic popo didn't show up...but I don't think their tractors move very quickly, so we had ample getaway time.
After getting our fill of the house (which we labeled the Lost house, even though it has sweet fuck all in common with any house on Lost...go beer!), we wandered even further down the coast until the sun started coming up. In the same place it went down. At 4am. I still have trouble wrapping my head around that, and I saw it happen 3 more times before I left. We took pics and pondered intelligent stuff we had no business talking about with that much booze in us, then the moment stuck. The intellectual highpoint of the entire trip.
Birds!
We came across a big...uh, gaggle? of these weird-looking birds. Geese, but not quite geese. They weren't big enough. They were just standing around in a field, doing what pseudo-geese do, until Jess saw them. Jess has this thing about going fucking berzerk on animals. Don't ask me why. He just does. So, Jess sees them. He doesn't utter one word, he just charges and starts screaming. I know it sounds completely retarded, but I can't do it justice with words. I've seen it a few times already too...but this one was special, because who knows how Icelandic pseudo-geese will react to a chubby drunk berzerker, right?
Well, they ran. And they hissed. And they ran some more. Jess pranced after them, trying to go in 3 directions at once and falling down a bunch of times, until his energy reserves ran out. I fell down too...from laughter. Here are a couple pics of bitch in all his brilliance...
Around 6am, we decided to walk back to the hotel, after watching a HUGE ship go down some fjord and dock. Jess said cruise ship. I said cargo ship. We argued about it all the way back. Oh, and we fell down a lot, and spilled beer all over ourselves. We're classy like that.
What did we do when we got back to the hotel? Drank vodka and energy drinks for many hours until we were way too wired to sit in a tiny hotel room. Around that time, Marissa got to Iceland, but the person she was going to stay with didn't. So she ended up coming over to hang out with us. I don't think she was prepared for two drunken retards, but hey...at least we're entertaining. I started making fun of her about 3 seconds after I met her, and didn't stop until she left. I'm charming like that.
So, the 3 of us wandered downtown. We ended up stopping at a cafe/restaurant thinger called Cafe Paris, which just happened to have the hottest waitress of all time. I'm pretty sure she didn't really enjoy me staring a(nother) hole in her, but I was drunk and couldn't help myself. I'm writing this months later, and I still think she's insanely hot. Not as hot as the flybus ticket girl, but it was close.
After walking around for a while, we headed back down the seabraut to the hotel. Jess did flips on the grass and I threw his shoes into traffic. You know, man stuff. Marissa just looked on at our immaturity with disdain, but that's because she's from Buffalo and nothing fun ever happens there, so she didn't understand what she was witnessing. I think she would have left long ago...if she had anywhere to go.
Now that we had filled our day with Icelandic stuff and killed some time chillin, what was there to do? Drink at the hatch, that's what! We loaded up our backpacks and headed on over, climbed up the hill, and got drunk all over again. They talked nerd for a while, while I rolled down the hill a few times. I know some nerdspeak, but not like these two. They're both extremely fluent (and extremely lame). Whenever I'd get involved and try to steer the convo towards something not so fucking engineery, I'd get ignored while they argued over who has the nicer pocket protector or some shit. I had beer though, so it was all good.
This is the hatch lid:
That's how the polar bear got to the island.
When I finally got them to talk about normal stuff, I'd try to tell Marissa something about myself...and she'd already know it. I guess Jess decided to prepare her for possibly meeting me by doing what he does best...talking. And telling her EVERYTHING about me. I mean, I know I'm not supremely interesting or anything, but have you ever met a stranger and they already know your complete bio? It made for a pretty one-sided convo.
Me - "So, I guess you like the Sabres. I feel sorry for you."
Her - "I know you like the Canucks and you went to the World Juniors with Jess and yelled at Americans and you have been to a lot of other cities to watch hockey and you just got back from New Zealand and you like long quiet walks in the park and your birthday is July 30th and you're left-handed and you make fun of Jim a lot."
Me - "You know Jim?"
Her - "No."
Me - "Uh...I have no idea what to say now. You're chubby*."
*Before you get mad at me for calling a girl chubby, she weighs like 63 pounds. She's not chubby. I just like attaching completely unrealistic qualities to people to amuse myself. Like telling Jim he's smart.
So this went on for..a long time. Booze in face, fall down hill, rinse, repeat. Sun went down again, sun came up again...it was all somewhat routine the 2nd time around. We stagger back to the hotel. It's daytime again. Jess does what he always does when the entertainment stops for 10 seconds...he falls asleep. On the floor.
I try to fall asleep as well. Nyet. Not happening. Vodka/energy drinks + not adjusting to the time zone had Timmy Wide. Fucking. Awake. I watched The Hurt Locker (awesome movie) and tried to stave off the hangover. And fail miserably at it. I was hurtin for certain.
Jess slept until mid-afternoon while I laid there, wide awake, feeling like I was about to die. He got up and went for food and a walk with Chubby, but I couldn't move. Eventually he decided to take a tour out to a gigantic waterfall and Geysir (the geyser that all geysers are named after). I got all prepped to tough it out and go...and my body finally decided it was sleepy time. What the fuck? So, Jess and Marissa went on the 6 hour tour, and I fell asleep. At 4:30pm.
Yes, I know...I completely fucked this trip up to this point. So far I had seen barely any of Reykjavik, despite being there for 3 days. I hadn't gone on the main tour that every visitor takes. I hadn't been to a pub yet. I hadn't been to the main harbor yet. Hell, I hadn't talked to one Icelandic person that wasn't selling me something yet. This definitely wasn't a normal vacation for me. Did it get any better? You'll find out soon enough that it did not.
Bitch's flight didn't arrive till close to midnight, so he didn't end up getting to the hotel until just after 1am. I still wasn't dry from the mother of all rainstorms earlier, but the frosty hotel bar beers were helping me ignore it. 8.50 a beer though...god damn. The bar supposedly closes at midnight, but they stayed open to serve me until Jess got there. The hotel staff was quirky, but generally pretty nice.
So finally, bitch arrives. We took about 3 minutes to drop off his shit and load up our backpacks, and then it was pillaging time! We made our way over to the water, sat down, and cracked the first of many Icelandic beers. We were staying in an area that was fairly busy during the day, but absolutely dead at night. For the first hour that we sat on the rocks down by the water, I think we saw 2 cars total. It was dark, but not for long.
We had walked halfway to town along the Seabraut, but it was obviously dead and getting sort of repetitive, so we decided to double back and go the other way. After a while we came upon this strange structure. It's kind of hard to describe...it was a circular hill, with a building sticking out of the flattened top of the hill. Basically, someone built a hill over a building...or something. Here, a pic should clear it up a bit:
I know, Bitch looks extremely gay in the pic. You get used to it after a while.
So, we decided to climb the thing and sit up there and drink for a while. It wasn't anything really special, it was just...odd. We nicknamed it "The hatch", of Lost fame. If you haven't seen Lost...well, then the reference is lost on you. Pun intended.
Many more beers were consumed as we walked along the water, past more strange structures, a tiny-ass rock beach, and eventually right onto someone's property. There was a house there that amazed the drunks standing in their driveway (us). There were all sorts of carvings and gadgets and statues n shit all over the property. It was extremely odd. Somehow we never clued into the fact that we were basically trespassing and doing laps around someone's house at 3am. We're lucky the Icelandic popo didn't show up...but I don't think their tractors move very quickly, so we had ample getaway time.
After getting our fill of the house (which we labeled the Lost house, even though it has sweet fuck all in common with any house on Lost...go beer!), we wandered even further down the coast until the sun started coming up. In the same place it went down. At 4am. I still have trouble wrapping my head around that, and I saw it happen 3 more times before I left. We took pics and pondered intelligent stuff we had no business talking about with that much booze in us, then the moment stuck. The intellectual highpoint of the entire trip.
Birds!
We came across a big...uh, gaggle? of these weird-looking birds. Geese, but not quite geese. They weren't big enough. They were just standing around in a field, doing what pseudo-geese do, until Jess saw them. Jess has this thing about going fucking berzerk on animals. Don't ask me why. He just does. So, Jess sees them. He doesn't utter one word, he just charges and starts screaming. I know it sounds completely retarded, but I can't do it justice with words. I've seen it a few times already too...but this one was special, because who knows how Icelandic pseudo-geese will react to a chubby drunk berzerker, right?
Well, they ran. And they hissed. And they ran some more. Jess pranced after them, trying to go in 3 directions at once and falling down a bunch of times, until his energy reserves ran out. I fell down too...from laughter. Here are a couple pics of bitch in all his brilliance...
Around 6am, we decided to walk back to the hotel, after watching a HUGE ship go down some fjord and dock. Jess said cruise ship. I said cargo ship. We argued about it all the way back. Oh, and we fell down a lot, and spilled beer all over ourselves. We're classy like that.
What did we do when we got back to the hotel? Drank vodka and energy drinks for many hours until we were way too wired to sit in a tiny hotel room. Around that time, Marissa got to Iceland, but the person she was going to stay with didn't. So she ended up coming over to hang out with us. I don't think she was prepared for two drunken retards, but hey...at least we're entertaining. I started making fun of her about 3 seconds after I met her, and didn't stop until she left. I'm charming like that.
So, the 3 of us wandered downtown. We ended up stopping at a cafe/restaurant thinger called Cafe Paris, which just happened to have the hottest waitress of all time. I'm pretty sure she didn't really enjoy me staring a(nother) hole in her, but I was drunk and couldn't help myself. I'm writing this months later, and I still think she's insanely hot. Not as hot as the flybus ticket girl, but it was close.
After walking around for a while, we headed back down the seabraut to the hotel. Jess did flips on the grass and I threw his shoes into traffic. You know, man stuff. Marissa just looked on at our immaturity with disdain, but that's because she's from Buffalo and nothing fun ever happens there, so she didn't understand what she was witnessing. I think she would have left long ago...if she had anywhere to go.
Now that we had filled our day with Icelandic stuff and killed some time chillin, what was there to do? Drink at the hatch, that's what! We loaded up our backpacks and headed on over, climbed up the hill, and got drunk all over again. They talked nerd for a while, while I rolled down the hill a few times. I know some nerdspeak, but not like these two. They're both extremely fluent (and extremely lame). Whenever I'd get involved and try to steer the convo towards something not so fucking engineery, I'd get ignored while they argued over who has the nicer pocket protector or some shit. I had beer though, so it was all good.
This is the hatch lid:
That's how the polar bear got to the island.
When I finally got them to talk about normal stuff, I'd try to tell Marissa something about myself...and she'd already know it. I guess Jess decided to prepare her for possibly meeting me by doing what he does best...talking. And telling her EVERYTHING about me. I mean, I know I'm not supremely interesting or anything, but have you ever met a stranger and they already know your complete bio? It made for a pretty one-sided convo.
Me - "So, I guess you like the Sabres. I feel sorry for you."
Her - "I know you like the Canucks and you went to the World Juniors with Jess and yelled at Americans and you have been to a lot of other cities to watch hockey and you just got back from New Zealand and you like long quiet walks in the park and your birthday is July 30th and you're left-handed and you make fun of Jim a lot."
Me - "You know Jim?"
Her - "No."
Me - "Uh...I have no idea what to say now. You're chubby*."
*Before you get mad at me for calling a girl chubby, she weighs like 63 pounds. She's not chubby. I just like attaching completely unrealistic qualities to people to amuse myself. Like telling Jim he's smart.
So this went on for..a long time. Booze in face, fall down hill, rinse, repeat. Sun went down again, sun came up again...it was all somewhat routine the 2nd time around. We stagger back to the hotel. It's daytime again. Jess does what he always does when the entertainment stops for 10 seconds...he falls asleep. On the floor.
I try to fall asleep as well. Nyet. Not happening. Vodka/energy drinks + not adjusting to the time zone had Timmy Wide. Fucking. Awake. I watched The Hurt Locker (awesome movie) and tried to stave off the hangover. And fail miserably at it. I was hurtin for certain.
Jess slept until mid-afternoon while I laid there, wide awake, feeling like I was about to die. He got up and went for food and a walk with Chubby, but I couldn't move. Eventually he decided to take a tour out to a gigantic waterfall and Geysir (the geyser that all geysers are named after). I got all prepped to tough it out and go...and my body finally decided it was sleepy time. What the fuck? So, Jess and Marissa went on the 6 hour tour, and I fell asleep. At 4:30pm.
Yes, I know...I completely fucked this trip up to this point. So far I had seen barely any of Reykjavik, despite being there for 3 days. I hadn't gone on the main tour that every visitor takes. I hadn't been to a pub yet. I hadn't been to the main harbor yet. Hell, I hadn't talked to one Icelandic person that wasn't selling me something yet. This definitely wasn't a normal vacation for me. Did it get any better? You'll find out soon enough that it did not.
Monday, November 2, 2009
Iceland, part 1
I know, I know...I got home 3 months ago and haven't written about this. Don't act like it's unusual, everyone knows I'm lazy. I'm going BACK to Iceland in 3 months too, which is going to fucking rule. We'll get to that later though - for now, sit back, relax, and get ready to learn. I'm guessing 99% of you know nothing about Iceland, based on the same tired variation of a quote I got from all of you when I said I was going:
"Say hi to/kick/strangle/make sweet love to BJORK while you're in Iceland!"
To start the story, I will quote...myself. I know that's kinda arrogant, but it's easier this way. People ask why I wanted to to go to Iceland of all places. Here's why:
Seriously, a drunken conversation in Cabo is how this all came about. We're still working on the moon part of things.
So, bitch decided he was going to Europe for 2 weeks in the summer, and his first stop was going to be Iceland. He's a rat bastard, planning this trip right after I booked my NZ trip so I couldn't go along...it was his secret way of trying to catch up in our travel contest that I'm totally dominating him in. Anyway, I figured out the logistics and talked to my boss...and voila, I was able to go to Iceland for 6 days. Shazaam!
First step - train to Seattle. Since I had 2 hours to kill before the train departure, I decided to hit up the Ivanhoe for some hungover-curing beers. That place is always a gongshow, and it was in fine form on this day as well. As soon as I got there, a guy came in and sat down across from me with a pie in a box, one of those Safeway ones. He tried to cut it up into pieces with a plastic knife, but failed horribly. By the time he was done, it was just a pile o' pie, no individual pieces at all. That didn't stop him from scooping up a bunch with his hands into 4 different napkins and going around trying to sell pie to the other customers! It was damn tasty too.
I kid, I kid. About the tasty part, anyway. The rest of the story is true.
Train, hotel, sleep, blah blah. Departure day!
Eventually it was go time. I was seated in the exit row right before the entrance to business class, which was curtained off as usual. I guess the flight attendant got the booze cart wheel stuck on the last row of business class seats, and the cart just flipped right the fuck over. The cart, and many bottles of liquor, just took out the curtain and landed right in front of us. A couple of bottles whizzed right past us, a few rows down. Frankly, it scared the shit out of all of us in the exit row at first, because we certainly weren't expecting anything like that. But we certainly made the best of it.
About 2 seconds after the cart fell over, the old guy across the row from me sprung into action like an elderly spiderman. He whipped his seat belt off and pounced on a champagne bottle on the floor. Just as quickly, he whipped around and asked all of us "Champagne, anyone?" Hell yeah! He manged to fill up 4 of our glasses before the flight attendant LOST HER SHIT and started berating the guy in Icelandic. That made it even funnier, because Icelandic might be the funniest angry language in the world. After her tirade was over, he took a huge swig out of the bottle, smiled, and handed it to her. And she lost her shit again. Classic stuff. And for the record, business class champagne isn't half bad.
So, after all that, I arrived in Keflavik Airport. After another baggage screening (?) was immigration. The only question was "Where are you going?" "Uh...here?" The guy just gave me a strange look and waved me through. Odd.
So, now I'm in the main terminal. Due to my superior research skills, I know that buying booze at the airport duty free is up to 50% cheaper than in Reykjavik itself. How do I know this? A gigantic sign next to the baggage carousels that said "BUY DUTY FREE ALCOHOL HERE! IT IS UP TO 50% CHEAPER THAN IN THE CITY!"
I told you I was smart, folks.
My major problem was that I had only brought my daypack for the trip, and had no room to store much alcohol. Carrying a boatload of booze in a bag on a public bus is something I don't really enjoy, so I just bought a 6 pack of tallies for 880 kroner (7.75 or so), and went on my merry way. Until I came across another customs lineup. And an awesome conversation.
Customs guy - "You have duty free?"
Me: "Yes, a 6 pack of beer."
Him: "How long you here?"
Me: "6 days?"
Him: "1 beer a day does not sound fun."
Me: "Huh?"
Him: "You're allowed to buy as much beer as you want. Only 6? Only 6 is a waste!"
Me: *laughing* "I agree, I just don't want to carry 48 on the bus. It'll look strange. I can just buy more in town".
Him: "This is Iceland! Alcohol on the bus is okay! You better find a bank before you go to beer store in town. Very expensive."
Me: "How bad can it be?"
Him: "Have fun being not drunk!"
After that guy, I had to have my bag screened AGAIN for some reason, then I was finally free and clear. Finally, officially in Iceland. The absolute first woman I see after clearing all that was the chick who sold me my bus ticket into town, and she was unbelievably gorgeous (and not hairy). I wish I could have somehow taken a picture, because she was beyond words. Straight up supermodel. Selling bus tickets. I officially loved Iceland 30 seconds after I officially get there.
The busride in was...interesting. Most people would probably say that the landscape was ugly as hell. I didn't think it was ugly, just very odd. Barren, rocky...it looked like someone had taken a backhoe to the entire countryside. Apparently Iceland is the closest approximation to the moon's surface that you'll find on earth. Now I know why. Every so often there was steam rising from a small hill or mountain, which was a product of the geothermal activity Iceland is full of. Eventually the road gets to the coastline, which makes it even more odd. One side is brightly-coloured waterfront houses along a very cool rocky coastline...and the other side of the street is complete desolation and molten rock. Certainly a unique introduction, completely unlike anything I had ever seen before.
After changing buses and making it to the hotel, it was about 9am Icelandic time, or 2am Vancouver time. I was super excited to go exploring, so I did just that. I quickly realized something though - there were no people. Anywhere. I walked all over the damn place for 2 hours, and I saw a grand total of 2 people. No stores were open. No cars were on the road. Nothing. I was starving, and couldn't find anywhere open to get food. Not one store open, anywhere. So I went back to the hotel to ask some serious questions about why Iceland was fucking abandoned.
Turns out I got there on the tail end of Verslunarmannahelgi. Yes, that's actually a word. It means something close to "Labor Day Weekend". Apparently the entire country shuts down and everyone goes camping in "the islands" and they party. EVERYONE. The hotel lady (not hot, not hairy either though) told me everything would be back to normal in 2 days. But she said for those 2 days, I was basically fucked in terms of close restaurants and such. Greaaaaat.
At least I knew what was going on now. I went back to my room and brought up a (not-so) trusty google map. I realized then that I had severely underestimated Reykjavik. This hotel was a little further out than I had anticipated, and a combination of Reykjavik's circular streets and my terrible sense of direction meant that finding downtown was going to be pretty tough for me.
I asked about the bus, but she said it was running on a severely limited schedule. Plus, just look at that word for labor day weekend. Words that long are the norm for Icelandic. Trying to figure ANYTHING out was fucking difficult, especially bus signs. I was actually taking pictures of street signs so I could refer back to them if/when I got lost, because they were impossible to remember. I'm an Icelandic failure, what can I say?
I was also a sweaty pig from all this walking, so it was shower time. Right away, I could tell something was off about the shower. At first I thought it was me, but it turns out that the water smells like ass. If any of you have ever been to a hot spring (or Rotorua, New Zealand), you know that hot spring water smells like rotten eggs. Well, Icelandic water is all natural spring water, so...you do the math. Yes, all the water, including the tap water you brush your teeth with, smells like ass. Always enjoyable.
After getting clean but not feeling clean, I decided that I was going to go to the Kringlan. It's a huge mall about 3km from my hotel. It was also across the street from the hotel Jess and I had booked for the 4 days following, so scouting the neighbourhood seemed smart. Plus, it was a mall. It had to have something open, right?
Wrong. The entire mall was deserted. Every store between my hotel and the mall was deserted. And there were no people. Quite the introduction to Iceland. On top of that, I couldn't find our new hotel, even though google maps clearly identified where it was. Weird.
On the way back, I decided to just cut through the residential area and hopefully run into someone who could direct me to the gas station that hotel lady told me about. I was going to get lost anyway, so why not try? It actually worked out, and a nice lady directed me to the first meal I had eaten in a loooong time. Gas station sandwiches and pringles never tasted so good. They also sold beer, so I grabbed a few to compliment my 6 at the hotel, and went back there a happy man. For a while, anyway.
I did make the usual European shopping mistakes though. I learned this from my first trip in 2004, but it had been a while, and I epically failed on both counts:
Rule 1 - Sandwich packaging lies about ingredients. It will list 2 or 3, and leave out the other 9 that are actually on the sandwich. One of these unlisted ingredients is always some sort of disgusting sauce. All sandwiches taste bad in Europe, so don't buy them. Never forget this.
Rule 2 - Carbonated water. For some reason, Europeans loooove carbonated water, and they're terrible about labeling which bottles are carbonated and which aren't. I fucking hate carbonated water. Guess which one I bought.
My hotel room was really nice. Spacious, cool furnishings, comfy bed, etc. I was worn out, so I figured a couple beers and some Icelandic TV sounded interesting. As I said in my NZ blogs, I'm a sucker for foreign TV for some reason. It almost always sucks, but it's interesting to see how badly they rip off American TV. In Iceland's case, it...was stranger than I expected. BBC News, 4 channels in english with Icelandic subtitles, and the strangest music channel I've ever seen. Here's a pic of the screen that displayed all the time:
All that comfort turned out to be a bad idea though, because around 4pm, I passed the fuck out. And woke up around 10:30pm. It was still light out, so I went for a walk to attempt to watch the sunset. Cloudy. No dice. It got dark around midnight, so I went back and vegged. Drank my remaining duty free beers and started on the gas station ones. These new ones tasted pretty bland, but whatever, they were cheap. I was chuckling to myself about how wrong/stupid the customs guy was about the "expensive beer in town", when I read the can and realized how wrong/stupid I was.
2.3 percent. Low-alky beer. Blah.
Turns out they can sell this shit anywhere and it's super-cheap because it's pretty much impossible to get drunk off of. So, now not only was I very bored in an abandoned city, I was also drinking the equivalent of O'Douls unknowingly. FML. After mindlessly playing on the net for a while, I noticed it starting to get light again around 3:30am. So it was light out for 20.5 hours a day and dark for 3.5 in August in Reykjavik. Very cool. Sleep came again not long after that, and day 2 in Iceland was about to begin.
Jess wasn't arriving until 1am, so I had the whole day to myself. My goal was to check into the new hotel and head downtown somehow. As stated above, I knew where the new hotel was because google maps told me. About 3km from the current hotel. I started walking around 10am. It was 8 degrees outside and sunny, which is perfect weather to me (I'm weird). I cut through the suburbs again, and didn't see a single person. Eventually I arrived at where the hotel should be. There were 5 identical apartment buildings there, so I figured one had to be the hotel, right? Nope. I wandered aimlessly around them, and up and down the side streets for a while, trying to find the hotel. No dice.
At this point, I was a little shaken. How can the hotel I pre-paid for no longer exist? Was this some huge Icelandic scam? I would have asked someone for directions, but it should be pretty obvious by now that people were hard to come by. The mall across the street had tumbleweeds rolling through the parking lot. (Well, not really, but it's a fitting description). The only solution I could think of was to walk back to my original hotel and use the internet again.
3km later, and I'm back. And tired of walking. Go to google maps. Hotel is where I just was. What the fuck? You'd think after 2 trips there I'd stop fucking trusting google maps and actually go to the hotel's website, but noooo. Timmy not that smart. I go ask hotel lady. She tells me it's down by the water. Water? What water? I hadn't even seen the water since I got there. Finally, I tell her my story and give her the address, and she laughs and tells me that the street (Borgatun) is nowhere near the Kringlan, and heartily laughs at my story about walking there twice to find it.
Whore.
She draws directions on an actual paper map (something I probably should have considered buying, I dunno, right when I fucking arrived there!), and I head out. For the third time. In the other direction. And guess what? I found the fucking hotel down by the fucking water. It only took 3 hours and 8.5km of walking. Iceland 5, Tim 0.
So, this new hotel has many pros and many cons. The room key was huge and metal, and the door opens towards you, not into the room. The room was fucking tiny, easily 1/3 of the size of my last room. 2 single beds, a small table between them, and a tiny bathroom. But, the hotel had a bar and buffet restaurant, and was across the street from a subway and gas station, 3 doors away from a liquor store, and half a block from the water. I'll take location over comfort any day.
After a nap, I walked along the seabraut (the road along the water) in the direction of downtown, but bailed before I got there. Why? The biggest rainstorm of all time drenched me, that's why. I was repeatedly warned about how crazy Icelandic weather was, but it was the summer! How bad could it be? I didn't want to pack much, so I ignored all good sense and brought a grand total of one hoody and no jacket.
Bad idea, Tim.
My hoody was so wet, it didn't dry for over a day. Yeah. Cold weather + no dryer = wet Tim. You ever had the discomfort of slipping on a soaking-wet hoody whenever you wanted to go anywhere, because it was either that or freeze your balls off in a T-shirt? Welcome to my world. Tim Burke, world traveler extraordinaire.
So far, Iceland had humbled me. Basically, it had kicked the shit out of me. Luckily, things could only go uphill from here, because Jess was due to arrive soon. Looking at his ugly face for a few days certainly wasn't enticing, but at least Iceland would have someone new to beat the tar out of and it might leave me alone. It turned out that was at least partially true. You can tune in for part 2 to hear about our drunken misadventures. Peace out.
"Say hi to/kick/strangle/make sweet love to BJORK while you're in Iceland!"
To start the story, I will quote...myself. I know that's kinda arrogant, but it's easier this way. People ask why I wanted to to go to Iceland of all places. Here's why:
We go back to the hotel room for a bit, and chill on the patio (which is directly above the entrance to the hotel). After one of these tequila beer thingers (and the 2 margaritas he had at the hotel bar), he is...well, drunk. He starts telling the world how he has a laptop worth 3 grand and a camera worth 1500 in our room, and he doesn't care if anyone steals it, cuz it's INSURED, BITCHES! And we plan a trip to Iceland, and the moon! Shut up, it was funny at the time.
Seriously, a drunken conversation in Cabo is how this all came about. We're still working on the moon part of things.
So, bitch decided he was going to Europe for 2 weeks in the summer, and his first stop was going to be Iceland. He's a rat bastard, planning this trip right after I booked my NZ trip so I couldn't go along...it was his secret way of trying to catch up in our travel contest that I'm totally dominating him in. Anyway, I figured out the logistics and talked to my boss...and voila, I was able to go to Iceland for 6 days. Shazaam!
First step - train to Seattle. Since I had 2 hours to kill before the train departure, I decided to hit up the Ivanhoe for some hungover-curing beers. That place is always a gongshow, and it was in fine form on this day as well. As soon as I got there, a guy came in and sat down across from me with a pie in a box, one of those Safeway ones. He tried to cut it up into pieces with a plastic knife, but failed horribly. By the time he was done, it was just a pile o' pie, no individual pieces at all. That didn't stop him from scooping up a bunch with his hands into 4 different napkins and going around trying to sell pie to the other customers! It was damn tasty too.
I kid, I kid. About the tasty part, anyway. The rest of the story is true.
Train, hotel, sleep, blah blah. Departure day!
Eventually it was go time. I was seated in the exit row right before the entrance to business class, which was curtained off as usual. I guess the flight attendant got the booze cart wheel stuck on the last row of business class seats, and the cart just flipped right the fuck over. The cart, and many bottles of liquor, just took out the curtain and landed right in front of us. A couple of bottles whizzed right past us, a few rows down. Frankly, it scared the shit out of all of us in the exit row at first, because we certainly weren't expecting anything like that. But we certainly made the best of it.
About 2 seconds after the cart fell over, the old guy across the row from me sprung into action like an elderly spiderman. He whipped his seat belt off and pounced on a champagne bottle on the floor. Just as quickly, he whipped around and asked all of us "Champagne, anyone?" Hell yeah! He manged to fill up 4 of our glasses before the flight attendant LOST HER SHIT and started berating the guy in Icelandic. That made it even funnier, because Icelandic might be the funniest angry language in the world. After her tirade was over, he took a huge swig out of the bottle, smiled, and handed it to her. And she lost her shit again. Classic stuff. And for the record, business class champagne isn't half bad.
So, after all that, I arrived in Keflavik Airport. After another baggage screening (?) was immigration. The only question was "Where are you going?" "Uh...here?" The guy just gave me a strange look and waved me through. Odd.
So, now I'm in the main terminal. Due to my superior research skills, I know that buying booze at the airport duty free is up to 50% cheaper than in Reykjavik itself. How do I know this? A gigantic sign next to the baggage carousels that said "BUY DUTY FREE ALCOHOL HERE! IT IS UP TO 50% CHEAPER THAN IN THE CITY!"
I told you I was smart, folks.
My major problem was that I had only brought my daypack for the trip, and had no room to store much alcohol. Carrying a boatload of booze in a bag on a public bus is something I don't really enjoy, so I just bought a 6 pack of tallies for 880 kroner (7.75 or so), and went on my merry way. Until I came across another customs lineup. And an awesome conversation.
Customs guy - "You have duty free?"
Me: "Yes, a 6 pack of beer."
Him: "How long you here?"
Me: "6 days?"
Him: "1 beer a day does not sound fun."
Me: "Huh?"
Him: "You're allowed to buy as much beer as you want. Only 6? Only 6 is a waste!"
Me: *laughing* "I agree, I just don't want to carry 48 on the bus. It'll look strange. I can just buy more in town".
Him: "This is Iceland! Alcohol on the bus is okay! You better find a bank before you go to beer store in town. Very expensive."
Me: "How bad can it be?"
Him: "Have fun being not drunk!"
After that guy, I had to have my bag screened AGAIN for some reason, then I was finally free and clear. Finally, officially in Iceland. The absolute first woman I see after clearing all that was the chick who sold me my bus ticket into town, and she was unbelievably gorgeous (and not hairy). I wish I could have somehow taken a picture, because she was beyond words. Straight up supermodel. Selling bus tickets. I officially loved Iceland 30 seconds after I officially get there.
The busride in was...interesting. Most people would probably say that the landscape was ugly as hell. I didn't think it was ugly, just very odd. Barren, rocky...it looked like someone had taken a backhoe to the entire countryside. Apparently Iceland is the closest approximation to the moon's surface that you'll find on earth. Now I know why. Every so often there was steam rising from a small hill or mountain, which was a product of the geothermal activity Iceland is full of. Eventually the road gets to the coastline, which makes it even more odd. One side is brightly-coloured waterfront houses along a very cool rocky coastline...and the other side of the street is complete desolation and molten rock. Certainly a unique introduction, completely unlike anything I had ever seen before.
After changing buses and making it to the hotel, it was about 9am Icelandic time, or 2am Vancouver time. I was super excited to go exploring, so I did just that. I quickly realized something though - there were no people. Anywhere. I walked all over the damn place for 2 hours, and I saw a grand total of 2 people. No stores were open. No cars were on the road. Nothing. I was starving, and couldn't find anywhere open to get food. Not one store open, anywhere. So I went back to the hotel to ask some serious questions about why Iceland was fucking abandoned.
Turns out I got there on the tail end of Verslunarmannahelgi. Yes, that's actually a word. It means something close to "Labor Day Weekend". Apparently the entire country shuts down and everyone goes camping in "the islands" and they party. EVERYONE. The hotel lady (not hot, not hairy either though) told me everything would be back to normal in 2 days. But she said for those 2 days, I was basically fucked in terms of close restaurants and such. Greaaaaat.
At least I knew what was going on now. I went back to my room and brought up a (not-so) trusty google map. I realized then that I had severely underestimated Reykjavik. This hotel was a little further out than I had anticipated, and a combination of Reykjavik's circular streets and my terrible sense of direction meant that finding downtown was going to be pretty tough for me.
I asked about the bus, but she said it was running on a severely limited schedule. Plus, just look at that word for labor day weekend. Words that long are the norm for Icelandic. Trying to figure ANYTHING out was fucking difficult, especially bus signs. I was actually taking pictures of street signs so I could refer back to them if/when I got lost, because they were impossible to remember. I'm an Icelandic failure, what can I say?
I was also a sweaty pig from all this walking, so it was shower time. Right away, I could tell something was off about the shower. At first I thought it was me, but it turns out that the water smells like ass. If any of you have ever been to a hot spring (or Rotorua, New Zealand), you know that hot spring water smells like rotten eggs. Well, Icelandic water is all natural spring water, so...you do the math. Yes, all the water, including the tap water you brush your teeth with, smells like ass. Always enjoyable.
After getting clean but not feeling clean, I decided that I was going to go to the Kringlan. It's a huge mall about 3km from my hotel. It was also across the street from the hotel Jess and I had booked for the 4 days following, so scouting the neighbourhood seemed smart. Plus, it was a mall. It had to have something open, right?
Wrong. The entire mall was deserted. Every store between my hotel and the mall was deserted. And there were no people. Quite the introduction to Iceland. On top of that, I couldn't find our new hotel, even though google maps clearly identified where it was. Weird.
On the way back, I decided to just cut through the residential area and hopefully run into someone who could direct me to the gas station that hotel lady told me about. I was going to get lost anyway, so why not try? It actually worked out, and a nice lady directed me to the first meal I had eaten in a loooong time. Gas station sandwiches and pringles never tasted so good. They also sold beer, so I grabbed a few to compliment my 6 at the hotel, and went back there a happy man. For a while, anyway.
I did make the usual European shopping mistakes though. I learned this from my first trip in 2004, but it had been a while, and I epically failed on both counts:
Rule 1 - Sandwich packaging lies about ingredients. It will list 2 or 3, and leave out the other 9 that are actually on the sandwich. One of these unlisted ingredients is always some sort of disgusting sauce. All sandwiches taste bad in Europe, so don't buy them. Never forget this.
Rule 2 - Carbonated water. For some reason, Europeans loooove carbonated water, and they're terrible about labeling which bottles are carbonated and which aren't. I fucking hate carbonated water. Guess which one I bought.
My hotel room was really nice. Spacious, cool furnishings, comfy bed, etc. I was worn out, so I figured a couple beers and some Icelandic TV sounded interesting. As I said in my NZ blogs, I'm a sucker for foreign TV for some reason. It almost always sucks, but it's interesting to see how badly they rip off American TV. In Iceland's case, it...was stranger than I expected. BBC News, 4 channels in english with Icelandic subtitles, and the strangest music channel I've ever seen. Here's a pic of the screen that displayed all the time:
All that comfort turned out to be a bad idea though, because around 4pm, I passed the fuck out. And woke up around 10:30pm. It was still light out, so I went for a walk to attempt to watch the sunset. Cloudy. No dice. It got dark around midnight, so I went back and vegged. Drank my remaining duty free beers and started on the gas station ones. These new ones tasted pretty bland, but whatever, they were cheap. I was chuckling to myself about how wrong/stupid the customs guy was about the "expensive beer in town", when I read the can and realized how wrong/stupid I was.
2.3 percent. Low-alky beer. Blah.
Turns out they can sell this shit anywhere and it's super-cheap because it's pretty much impossible to get drunk off of. So, now not only was I very bored in an abandoned city, I was also drinking the equivalent of O'Douls unknowingly. FML. After mindlessly playing on the net for a while, I noticed it starting to get light again around 3:30am. So it was light out for 20.5 hours a day and dark for 3.5 in August in Reykjavik. Very cool. Sleep came again not long after that, and day 2 in Iceland was about to begin.
Jess wasn't arriving until 1am, so I had the whole day to myself. My goal was to check into the new hotel and head downtown somehow. As stated above, I knew where the new hotel was because google maps told me. About 3km from the current hotel. I started walking around 10am. It was 8 degrees outside and sunny, which is perfect weather to me (I'm weird). I cut through the suburbs again, and didn't see a single person. Eventually I arrived at where the hotel should be. There were 5 identical apartment buildings there, so I figured one had to be the hotel, right? Nope. I wandered aimlessly around them, and up and down the side streets for a while, trying to find the hotel. No dice.
At this point, I was a little shaken. How can the hotel I pre-paid for no longer exist? Was this some huge Icelandic scam? I would have asked someone for directions, but it should be pretty obvious by now that people were hard to come by. The mall across the street had tumbleweeds rolling through the parking lot. (Well, not really, but it's a fitting description). The only solution I could think of was to walk back to my original hotel and use the internet again.
3km later, and I'm back. And tired of walking. Go to google maps. Hotel is where I just was. What the fuck? You'd think after 2 trips there I'd stop fucking trusting google maps and actually go to the hotel's website, but noooo. Timmy not that smart. I go ask hotel lady. She tells me it's down by the water. Water? What water? I hadn't even seen the water since I got there. Finally, I tell her my story and give her the address, and she laughs and tells me that the street (Borgatun) is nowhere near the Kringlan, and heartily laughs at my story about walking there twice to find it.
Whore.
She draws directions on an actual paper map (something I probably should have considered buying, I dunno, right when I fucking arrived there!), and I head out. For the third time. In the other direction. And guess what? I found the fucking hotel down by the fucking water. It only took 3 hours and 8.5km of walking. Iceland 5, Tim 0.
So, this new hotel has many pros and many cons. The room key was huge and metal, and the door opens towards you, not into the room. The room was fucking tiny, easily 1/3 of the size of my last room. 2 single beds, a small table between them, and a tiny bathroom. But, the hotel had a bar and buffet restaurant, and was across the street from a subway and gas station, 3 doors away from a liquor store, and half a block from the water. I'll take location over comfort any day.
After a nap, I walked along the seabraut (the road along the water) in the direction of downtown, but bailed before I got there. Why? The biggest rainstorm of all time drenched me, that's why. I was repeatedly warned about how crazy Icelandic weather was, but it was the summer! How bad could it be? I didn't want to pack much, so I ignored all good sense and brought a grand total of one hoody and no jacket.
Bad idea, Tim.
My hoody was so wet, it didn't dry for over a day. Yeah. Cold weather + no dryer = wet Tim. You ever had the discomfort of slipping on a soaking-wet hoody whenever you wanted to go anywhere, because it was either that or freeze your balls off in a T-shirt? Welcome to my world. Tim Burke, world traveler extraordinaire.
So far, Iceland had humbled me. Basically, it had kicked the shit out of me. Luckily, things could only go uphill from here, because Jess was due to arrive soon. Looking at his ugly face for a few days certainly wasn't enticing, but at least Iceland would have someone new to beat the tar out of and it might leave me alone. It turned out that was at least partially true. You can tune in for part 2 to hear about our drunken misadventures. Peace out.
Friday, October 23, 2009
Rotorua and Auckland Again
Everything after Wellington was gonna be downhill, because it was the coolest city ever. Obviously I didn't know that when I planned the trip though, or I would have scheduled more time there. Instead, I was off to my last real destination on the trip...Rotorua. I almost didn't even go there, but everyone I had discussed NZ with said it wouldn't be a compete trip unless I did. It's the center of Maori culture apparently, and full of geothermal areas that were apparently pretty cool. So, I went.
I sorta wish I hadn't.
Nothing bad happened or anything. It's actually a nice place. It was just boring...partly cuz of the weather, but mostly cuz I'm incredibly lazy sometimes. It's not like this trip had been really intense or anything...to be honest, I really hadn't done much at all. It was the first trip I've ever gone on where I didn't go completely gung-ho the entire time, and it was relaxing. I think I got a little too into that vibe in Rotorua, cuz...I didn't do much of anything.
I arrived around noon or so, and proceeded...to watch UFC 98 on my laptop. Hey, I'm an addict, leave me alone. It was pouring ass rain anyway, so walking didn't look stupidly appealing. After that was over and the rain let up, I went for a walk down to the lake, which is pretty damn nice. But, since this is me and not a normal person talking, something had to go wrong.
I'm chillin on a bench, minding my own business, when a...gaggle? of black swans swam over and jumped onto the dock, probably 15 feet in front of me. Pretty cool lookin, and big mofos too. I sat there and observed them for a bit, till one veered outta the pack, and walked towards me. No big deal, right? It's just a swan. It's not a Rarotongan pig or anything. I was getting my camera ready to take a pic of my new friend, and shit went sideways. I dunno why, but as soon as I took the camera out, he threw it into hyperdrive and in no time, he was right beside me.
And unhappy.
Since I have very little experience with swans, but a healthy fear of anything that's black (JUST KIDDING!), I attempted to exit the bench. As I did, the little fucker bit me! Or tried to, anyway. He sorta gripped onto my pant leg and gave a few tugs, before I realized exactly what was happening. And you know where it always goes from there, if you've ever read any of my other blogs...
Scream like girl, run for life.
Why the fuck do animals always attack me? What did I do to them? Did I go one too many zoos, and they feel exploited? Did they circulate my picture around the animal kingdom, with an "approach and bite immediately" command attached? What the hell? It's not like I even provoked the fucking thing, unless he's camera shy or something. Either way, fuck swans. And pigs.
So, after that little Rotoruran experience, I immediately hated this place. When I hate somewhere, I do what all mature adults do...head straight to the liquor store, then to my hotel for the night to enjoy rugby. And I watched Juno, and thought it was funny. Don't hate. Haters. Oh, one more thing happened - I ordered Domino's. It's sort of unusual for me, but I didn't feel like going back out. I know you don't give a shit what I ate, but it sets up a story where I look stupid the next day, so I'm sure you can cut me some slack.
So...the next day. The weather was much nicer, so I decided to walk over to the mud park. I doubt it's actually called that, but it was the only redeeming quality of the park - bubbling mud pits. Once I got to Rotorua, I realized that all the fancy geothermal activities that are actually cool cost a looootta money. I still had a fair amount of coin left, but didn't really feel like parting with a chunk of it to see mud geysers, when free mud ripples were just up the street. Leave me alone, it made sense at the time, okay?
The park was pretty cool. I forgot to mention that, because of all the geothermal activity, the whole city smelled like sulfur. Or rotten eggs, take your pick. At my hotel down by the lake, it wasn't so bad. This park though...wow. My nose felt like it had been assaulted. It was unreal. Luckily I didn't bring a snack to eat, because there's no way I would have been able to stomach it. So, the whole park is just paths that wind through mud lakes. Some just steam, some bubble, some are practically erupting. The steam is so thick you can barely see your way around, which made it pretty eery and cool.
After all the park excitement, I walked the long way back to the hotel, through the center of town. And it was Ledger. Really Ledger.
*Writer's tangent*
What does Ledger mean? It means dead. DEAD. I started using it in my Jasper blog, and it makes me laugh every time I think about it, so I'm keeping it. I could update it to a more contemporary death for each blog, like "Jackson" or "Fawcett", but Ledger is more fitting. My stories, my death reference!
*Tangent over*
So yea, there was nothing going on. It was sunday afternoon...I shoulda guessed that, but oh well. I went into a restaurant and asked where a convenience store was, and was directed to the "dairy" down the street. Dairy = convenience store in New Zealand. See, I know all the slang. I'm cool like that.
So, after grabbing some water and walking around for a while longer, I walked back to my hotel. I hadn't approached the hotel from this side yet, and found something that was amusing and annoying at the same time - a Pizza Hut. ATTACHED TO THE HOTEL. The night before, I had paid a 9 dollar delivery change to get a pizza brought to my room by Domino's...and the fucking Pizza Hut was no more than 150 feet from my room. My own stupidity usually makes me laugh though, so it's all good.
Other than all that, there's not much else worth mentioning about Rotorua. It's nice n all, but it wasn't what I expected. I didn't see a single Maori there. I saw some stores that sold some Maori trinkets. There was a Maori hut thinger that they do shows at outside my hotel. That's about it. Doesn't calling it a "hut thinger" make me sound so cultured?
The next morning, I got up and ready to go catch my bus to Auckland. I didn't think this bus ride would be nearly as entertaining as my last one though, because I only spent a dollar on it. Yes, one dollar. A 4.5 hour bus ride for 1 dollar. Go New Zealand. I was expecting chickens and scabies to be coming along for the trip, but the bus wasn't that bad. It went through Hamilton though. Wow, that town's a shithole. Glad I didn't decide to go there (not that I, or anyone else that doesn't live there, would have any reason to). It also went through a town called Whatawhata, and by a car lot in it called "5999 and under". Why is that funny? We were stopped a light, so I got a good look at 15 cars or so. Yup, you guessed it...all over 5999.
So, back in Auckland. Same hotel, same weather, same mirror image of home. I knew this place so well by now, I gave 2 people directions. 10 bucks says they got lost, but that's not the point dammit. I guess I could have gone and done something new with my one day left in Auckland, but eff that. I vegged and watched TV. Got a good night's sleep, cuz the 12.5 hour flight to San Fran the next day was gonna blow. Guess what? It sure did blow. But the wait at the airport was funny.
I paid a few bucks for wifi at the airport, because I was there 4 hours early. So I'm sitting there, and a fucking stunner walks by. This woman was supermodel-gorgeous. I basically eye-raped her, but it was sooo worth it, because...as she was walking by, she looked back to see if someone was catching up to her....and walked directly into this huge helicopter ride for kids that was in front of her. She did a header right over the top of the thing, landed facefirst, and basically somersaulted through to finish on her back, laying flat out. Everyone else went silent...I laughed. Loud. For a long time. I got a ton of dirty looks for that, but fuck it, IT WAS HILARIOUS. It would have won the 10k on America's Funniest Videos every damn week.
So, after laughing at that for a solid 3 hours, I finally boarded. Had an exit row seat. So far, so good. Then my serenity was destroyed by the biggest fucking Tongan I've ever seen in my life. That doesn't really mean a lot, since I've only ever seen one Tongan in person, but just go with it. This guy was massive. His wife was sitting behind us for some reason. I offered to trade seats with her, but she didn't want to for some reason. Weird. Anyway, the wifey was from San Fran and spoke english just fine. My new friend to my left? Nyet. Not a lick of english. Had never left Tonga until earlier that morning. Wooboy.
He has NO IDEA what was going on. Seatbelts? Tray tables? Armrests? White people? All of this was completely foreign to him. I'm not even being racist or anything either. His wife actually said "All of this stuff is completely foreign to him."
This is what made it so odd to me that his wife didn't want to sit next to him. Maybe she just didn't want to have to explain all this stuff to him, and decided to leave it to me. So I've got a guy that's easily 3 inches taller and 50 pounds heavier than me, completely tattoo'd, and hopelessly clueless about THE WORLD sitting next to me. I had to help him with everything. The TV screen pulled up from underneath the seat, and it was like fucking magic to him. He looked like a 6 year old opening the coolest Christmas present of all time. I was trying not to laugh, because I know that Tongans are fucking savages when they're angry (pun intended). So yeah...isuch a weird flight.
At hour 8 of 12, I started getting uncomfortable and bored. I dunno if you've ever flown anywhere for that long, but at a certain point you just hit your limit. You can only distract yourself for so long, then it becomes readily apparent that you are fucking hating life at that moment, and nothing is going to change for the next _ hours. For me, the blank was 4. I was fucking miserable. I was shifting in my seat every 10 seconds, nothing on the entertainment system could hold my attention, and obviously I couldn't sleep. I nearly went out of my fucking mind. I just sat there and watched my watch, while the Tongan watched me. It was...odd. To say the least.
FINALLY I got to San Francisco. I got to my hotel at 2:30pm. I was asleep by 3pm. And I didn't wake up until 5am the next day. Yup, I'm a sleeping machine. Got up, went to the airport, and started to type the first entry of the NZ blog on the comfy flight home. And I was pretty amused by my welcome home present.
My boss picked me up from the airport, around 10am. As soon as I got into his truck, he gave me a Pilsner! "Drink this". Yes sir! Two more of those in the 15 minute drive back to work, and I was fucking flying. After that, I located 6 people in 5 hours. Maybe morning beers are the key to tracing success!
So...overall, what did I think of the places I went? Well, the Cook Islands are...interesting. I was amazed by the scenery of the island and the people were awesome. It was very cool getting to see how Island Life works, in a place that's not polluted with American culture (eg. Hawaii). Some people could stay there forever...me, not so much. Heat and beach life aren't for me. I'm a city boy. For a South Pacific stopover though, I highly recommend it. Awesome place.
As for New Zealand - I absolutely loved it. Couldn't give it higher marks. I feel like I was able to get a good feel for both islands, and notice the small cultural differences in each. The south island felt more laid back, and the weather was certainly colder. The north was more cosmo and stuffy, but I still enjoyed it a lot. I didn't go to Christchurch, which is apparently the stuffy capital of the south island, so that could be why I came away with those impressions.
The people were amazingly helpful and friendly, more than anywhere else I've ever been. Even more than home, which surprised me. They also face many of the same social challenges that Canada does, which is something I didn't expect at all. For instance, there is a lot of tension with the huge population of Pacific Islanders and Maori in New Zealand. You could almost call it racism, but it doesn't seem that outright. The Islanders and Maori situation there is startlingly similar to the First Nations situation in Canada. I'm not going to get political, cuz you came here to read the funny, not the serious...but the similarities blew me away.
So, while New Zealand does have it's issues, it's a lot like home - a fucking great place to visit and live. It's also a lot cheaper than home, which made it an even better destination. I definitely want to go back someday and check out the stuff I missed (go jager bombs)...and just to hang out there again. I've never really been anywhere else that made me want to stay so bad. I didn't feel like a tourist there, really. I felt at ease, and I loved it. So people, if you ever get the chance to go...DO IT. Fuck Australia. It's all about New Zealand.
Kia Orana.
I sorta wish I hadn't.
Nothing bad happened or anything. It's actually a nice place. It was just boring...partly cuz of the weather, but mostly cuz I'm incredibly lazy sometimes. It's not like this trip had been really intense or anything...to be honest, I really hadn't done much at all. It was the first trip I've ever gone on where I didn't go completely gung-ho the entire time, and it was relaxing. I think I got a little too into that vibe in Rotorua, cuz...I didn't do much of anything.
I arrived around noon or so, and proceeded...to watch UFC 98 on my laptop. Hey, I'm an addict, leave me alone. It was pouring ass rain anyway, so walking didn't look stupidly appealing. After that was over and the rain let up, I went for a walk down to the lake, which is pretty damn nice. But, since this is me and not a normal person talking, something had to go wrong.
I'm chillin on a bench, minding my own business, when a...gaggle? of black swans swam over and jumped onto the dock, probably 15 feet in front of me. Pretty cool lookin, and big mofos too. I sat there and observed them for a bit, till one veered outta the pack, and walked towards me. No big deal, right? It's just a swan. It's not a Rarotongan pig or anything. I was getting my camera ready to take a pic of my new friend, and shit went sideways. I dunno why, but as soon as I took the camera out, he threw it into hyperdrive and in no time, he was right beside me.
And unhappy.
Since I have very little experience with swans, but a healthy fear of anything that's black (JUST KIDDING!), I attempted to exit the bench. As I did, the little fucker bit me! Or tried to, anyway. He sorta gripped onto my pant leg and gave a few tugs, before I realized exactly what was happening. And you know where it always goes from there, if you've ever read any of my other blogs...
Scream like girl, run for life.
Why the fuck do animals always attack me? What did I do to them? Did I go one too many zoos, and they feel exploited? Did they circulate my picture around the animal kingdom, with an "approach and bite immediately" command attached? What the hell? It's not like I even provoked the fucking thing, unless he's camera shy or something. Either way, fuck swans. And pigs.
So, after that little Rotoruran experience, I immediately hated this place. When I hate somewhere, I do what all mature adults do...head straight to the liquor store, then to my hotel for the night to enjoy rugby. And I watched Juno, and thought it was funny. Don't hate. Haters. Oh, one more thing happened - I ordered Domino's. It's sort of unusual for me, but I didn't feel like going back out. I know you don't give a shit what I ate, but it sets up a story where I look stupid the next day, so I'm sure you can cut me some slack.
So...the next day. The weather was much nicer, so I decided to walk over to the mud park. I doubt it's actually called that, but it was the only redeeming quality of the park - bubbling mud pits. Once I got to Rotorua, I realized that all the fancy geothermal activities that are actually cool cost a looootta money. I still had a fair amount of coin left, but didn't really feel like parting with a chunk of it to see mud geysers, when free mud ripples were just up the street. Leave me alone, it made sense at the time, okay?
The park was pretty cool. I forgot to mention that, because of all the geothermal activity, the whole city smelled like sulfur. Or rotten eggs, take your pick. At my hotel down by the lake, it wasn't so bad. This park though...wow. My nose felt like it had been assaulted. It was unreal. Luckily I didn't bring a snack to eat, because there's no way I would have been able to stomach it. So, the whole park is just paths that wind through mud lakes. Some just steam, some bubble, some are practically erupting. The steam is so thick you can barely see your way around, which made it pretty eery and cool.
After all the park excitement, I walked the long way back to the hotel, through the center of town. And it was Ledger. Really Ledger.
*Writer's tangent*
What does Ledger mean? It means dead. DEAD. I started using it in my Jasper blog, and it makes me laugh every time I think about it, so I'm keeping it. I could update it to a more contemporary death for each blog, like "Jackson" or "Fawcett", but Ledger is more fitting. My stories, my death reference!
*Tangent over*
So yea, there was nothing going on. It was sunday afternoon...I shoulda guessed that, but oh well. I went into a restaurant and asked where a convenience store was, and was directed to the "dairy" down the street. Dairy = convenience store in New Zealand. See, I know all the slang. I'm cool like that.
So, after grabbing some water and walking around for a while longer, I walked back to my hotel. I hadn't approached the hotel from this side yet, and found something that was amusing and annoying at the same time - a Pizza Hut. ATTACHED TO THE HOTEL. The night before, I had paid a 9 dollar delivery change to get a pizza brought to my room by Domino's...and the fucking Pizza Hut was no more than 150 feet from my room. My own stupidity usually makes me laugh though, so it's all good.
Other than all that, there's not much else worth mentioning about Rotorua. It's nice n all, but it wasn't what I expected. I didn't see a single Maori there. I saw some stores that sold some Maori trinkets. There was a Maori hut thinger that they do shows at outside my hotel. That's about it. Doesn't calling it a "hut thinger" make me sound so cultured?
The next morning, I got up and ready to go catch my bus to Auckland. I didn't think this bus ride would be nearly as entertaining as my last one though, because I only spent a dollar on it. Yes, one dollar. A 4.5 hour bus ride for 1 dollar. Go New Zealand. I was expecting chickens and scabies to be coming along for the trip, but the bus wasn't that bad. It went through Hamilton though. Wow, that town's a shithole. Glad I didn't decide to go there (not that I, or anyone else that doesn't live there, would have any reason to). It also went through a town called Whatawhata, and by a car lot in it called "5999 and under". Why is that funny? We were stopped a light, so I got a good look at 15 cars or so. Yup, you guessed it...all over 5999.
So, back in Auckland. Same hotel, same weather, same mirror image of home. I knew this place so well by now, I gave 2 people directions. 10 bucks says they got lost, but that's not the point dammit. I guess I could have gone and done something new with my one day left in Auckland, but eff that. I vegged and watched TV. Got a good night's sleep, cuz the 12.5 hour flight to San Fran the next day was gonna blow. Guess what? It sure did blow. But the wait at the airport was funny.
I paid a few bucks for wifi at the airport, because I was there 4 hours early. So I'm sitting there, and a fucking stunner walks by. This woman was supermodel-gorgeous. I basically eye-raped her, but it was sooo worth it, because...as she was walking by, she looked back to see if someone was catching up to her....and walked directly into this huge helicopter ride for kids that was in front of her. She did a header right over the top of the thing, landed facefirst, and basically somersaulted through to finish on her back, laying flat out. Everyone else went silent...I laughed. Loud. For a long time. I got a ton of dirty looks for that, but fuck it, IT WAS HILARIOUS. It would have won the 10k on America's Funniest Videos every damn week.
So, after laughing at that for a solid 3 hours, I finally boarded. Had an exit row seat. So far, so good. Then my serenity was destroyed by the biggest fucking Tongan I've ever seen in my life. That doesn't really mean a lot, since I've only ever seen one Tongan in person, but just go with it. This guy was massive. His wife was sitting behind us for some reason. I offered to trade seats with her, but she didn't want to for some reason. Weird. Anyway, the wifey was from San Fran and spoke english just fine. My new friend to my left? Nyet. Not a lick of english. Had never left Tonga until earlier that morning. Wooboy.
He has NO IDEA what was going on. Seatbelts? Tray tables? Armrests? White people? All of this was completely foreign to him. I'm not even being racist or anything either. His wife actually said "All of this stuff is completely foreign to him."
This is what made it so odd to me that his wife didn't want to sit next to him. Maybe she just didn't want to have to explain all this stuff to him, and decided to leave it to me. So I've got a guy that's easily 3 inches taller and 50 pounds heavier than me, completely tattoo'd, and hopelessly clueless about THE WORLD sitting next to me. I had to help him with everything. The TV screen pulled up from underneath the seat, and it was like fucking magic to him. He looked like a 6 year old opening the coolest Christmas present of all time. I was trying not to laugh, because I know that Tongans are fucking savages when they're angry (pun intended). So yeah...isuch a weird flight.
At hour 8 of 12, I started getting uncomfortable and bored. I dunno if you've ever flown anywhere for that long, but at a certain point you just hit your limit. You can only distract yourself for so long, then it becomes readily apparent that you are fucking hating life at that moment, and nothing is going to change for the next _ hours. For me, the blank was 4. I was fucking miserable. I was shifting in my seat every 10 seconds, nothing on the entertainment system could hold my attention, and obviously I couldn't sleep. I nearly went out of my fucking mind. I just sat there and watched my watch, while the Tongan watched me. It was...odd. To say the least.
FINALLY I got to San Francisco. I got to my hotel at 2:30pm. I was asleep by 3pm. And I didn't wake up until 5am the next day. Yup, I'm a sleeping machine. Got up, went to the airport, and started to type the first entry of the NZ blog on the comfy flight home. And I was pretty amused by my welcome home present.
My boss picked me up from the airport, around 10am. As soon as I got into his truck, he gave me a Pilsner! "Drink this". Yes sir! Two more of those in the 15 minute drive back to work, and I was fucking flying. After that, I located 6 people in 5 hours. Maybe morning beers are the key to tracing success!
So...overall, what did I think of the places I went? Well, the Cook Islands are...interesting. I was amazed by the scenery of the island and the people were awesome. It was very cool getting to see how Island Life works, in a place that's not polluted with American culture (eg. Hawaii). Some people could stay there forever...me, not so much. Heat and beach life aren't for me. I'm a city boy. For a South Pacific stopover though, I highly recommend it. Awesome place.
As for New Zealand - I absolutely loved it. Couldn't give it higher marks. I feel like I was able to get a good feel for both islands, and notice the small cultural differences in each. The south island felt more laid back, and the weather was certainly colder. The north was more cosmo and stuffy, but I still enjoyed it a lot. I didn't go to Christchurch, which is apparently the stuffy capital of the south island, so that could be why I came away with those impressions.
The people were amazingly helpful and friendly, more than anywhere else I've ever been. Even more than home, which surprised me. They also face many of the same social challenges that Canada does, which is something I didn't expect at all. For instance, there is a lot of tension with the huge population of Pacific Islanders and Maori in New Zealand. You could almost call it racism, but it doesn't seem that outright. The Islanders and Maori situation there is startlingly similar to the First Nations situation in Canada. I'm not going to get political, cuz you came here to read the funny, not the serious...but the similarities blew me away.
So, while New Zealand does have it's issues, it's a lot like home - a fucking great place to visit and live. It's also a lot cheaper than home, which made it an even better destination. I definitely want to go back someday and check out the stuff I missed (go jager bombs)...and just to hang out there again. I've never really been anywhere else that made me want to stay so bad. I didn't feel like a tourist there, really. I felt at ease, and I loved it. So people, if you ever get the chance to go...DO IT. Fuck Australia. It's all about New Zealand.
Kia Orana.
Saturday, September 5, 2009
Wellington
I said I'd do Wellington and Rotorua in one blog, but eff that. I'll just do one at a time. Deal with it.
So, the last time you heard from me, I was kicking an Otago girl outta my hotel room. Go Tim. After all that excitement, I packed my shit and headed for the airport. One other woman was on the airport shuttle. We get to the airport, I collect my boarding pass, and proceed to the gate. When I get there, I realize that something very strange just happened...
I didn't have to clear security.
Like, no baggage screening, no metal detector. Nothing. Anyone can come and go from the gates. What fucking year is it here, 1965? I realize that terrorists aren't exactly sitting in their caves, planning to blow up all 29 people on the Air New Zealand flight from Buttfuck to Middle-O'-Nowhere, but still, no security at all? What the hell?
After thinking about that for a half hour or so, we all board our flight, and...the lady from the shuttle is sitting beside me. Weird. It was a short, comfy flight into Wellington, but the landing was unreal. I had heard it referred to as "Windy Welly", but I had no fucking clue what I was in for. The plane was swaying back and forth so bad, I was pretty certain a wing was going to hit the runway before the wheels did. But, since you're reading this, that obviously didn't happen. So far, flying in NZ was full of adventure. If shitting your pants is an "adventure".
Get off the plane, and onto another shuttle...and the same woman gets on the shuttle. Wow, this is getting "breakfast buddies in Jasper" like. Then, it got even weirder when she got off at the same hotel as me. What the hell? We were both eyeing each other warily, because it was a pretty fucking big string of coincidences. No, I didn't end up tossing her. Probably shoulda though.
Hotel was dead center downtown, so I went for a long-ass walk in the rain. The city is FUCKING SWEET. Right on a big harbor, super-clean downtown that wasn't too busy, and houses sprawling up the hills in all directions. No homeless people at all, unlike Auckland. This was a pic I took from the museum...it's some ritzy area of town:
Anyway, after all that walking, you can guess where I stopped:
Hey, I was thirsty, leave me alone. This was the coolest pub EVER though. They showed every North American sport imaginable. The NBA Finals were on when I was in there, but they also show the MLB, NFL, and...the NHL! Hell yes! And pints were 5 NZD, so like 3.40 Canadian. What's not to like?
After that, I went to what is referred to as the best museum in NZ, Te Papa. It's mostly Maori-oriented stuff, and it's fucking HUGE. 6 floors, massive building, tonsa shit in it. To be honest, I wasn't that impressed. All that space didn't contain much cool shit. The Otago museum was like 10% of the size, and still had cooler stuff. Maybe I'm just not a museum guy, who knows. Here are a couple pics from the museum.
A Marae, some sort of Maori humping hut or something:
The jungle area outside:
I went back to the hotel and chilled for a bit, then got keyed up for the big rugby game. My hotel had a bar in the lobby, so I ventured down there for a few wobblers and discussed the game with a few people. As usual, all the Kiwi's were super nice and helpful in explaining the finer points of the game I hadn't grasped yet. Wellington's team, the Hurricanes, were in the semi-finals and people were pretty excited for it. Unfortunately they lost, but it was still a super good game and I met some cool people.
I didn't want to pay bar prices all night, and I was pretty tired from the walk earlier, so I went looking for a liquor store. I found one..and it was closed at 6pm on a saturday. Odd. I ventured a little further and didn't find anythin else, so I went back to my hotel to inquire about this. The lady at the desk said "That's the only liquor store around here. Downtown is pretty dead at night on the weekends."
WHAT?
The city is very cool, but they do little to cater to the thousands of people that stay in downtown hotels each night. It might be on purpose, so the people are forced to get food and drink from their hotel at inflated prices, but it was pretty shitty. Every pub in the area was fucking jam-packed due to the rugby game, so I had no choice but to chill in the lobby bar for a while longer and watch some more rugby (different league, different rules. It'd take too long to explain). I called it an early night a few hours later.
The next day had one purpose - getting to hang out with a giraffe! The Wellington Zoo has a program where you get to go inside a giraffe's cage and feed him and pet him n shit. I'd been looking forward to this for a while, because giraffes are my cousins, according to most of my friends. And they're cool, like me. So about 2 hours before I was going to head out, I got an email from the zoo:
"Dear Mr. Burke,
Due to the current weather conditions, the giraffe is not accepting visitors today for the safety of the giraffe and the zoo visitors. We are sorry for the inconvenience. If you would like to reschedule, please contact us. We can also offer you a refund if necessary.
Sincerely,
Angry Asshole Giraffe and friends"
I told Lisa about it, and surprisingly she came up with a pretty witty burn:
"Are you kidding me? Not even a giraffe will keep a date with you? haha!"
Damn you woman.
Since I didn't have much else to do, I just went exploring in the rain again. The most famous building in Welly is called the Beehive. Doesn't look like a fucking beehive to me though. Here's a pic - Beehive or no beehive?
I spent most of the day just checking out various things downtown. The city is more livable than touristy, which I liked very much. I didn't dig everything closing early though. The wind got tiresome after a while too. Hey it's wind, how bad can it be, right? BAD. My hat blew away 3 different times. Walking around felt like you were walking uphill, because it was a struggle to walk into it. I'm not even kidding. And this isn't even me being lazy. Honest. Fo' real.
I managed to grab food and beer at a regular time on this day though, so it was all good. I had an early flight to Rotorua, so I figured I'd stay outta pubs and just chill in my room and watch rugby. Mission accomplished, and I won 45 bucks betting on the games. I had no clue what the fuck I was betting on, but it made the games interesting at least.
It was still raining like hell the next morning, but I had a flight to catch. Go to get on the airport shuttle, and GUESS who's on there. Yup, the lady from before. I wanted to say "Hellllo NEWMAN". She was my nemesis!
So, the last time you heard from me, I was kicking an Otago girl outta my hotel room. Go Tim. After all that excitement, I packed my shit and headed for the airport. One other woman was on the airport shuttle. We get to the airport, I collect my boarding pass, and proceed to the gate. When I get there, I realize that something very strange just happened...
I didn't have to clear security.
Like, no baggage screening, no metal detector. Nothing. Anyone can come and go from the gates. What fucking year is it here, 1965? I realize that terrorists aren't exactly sitting in their caves, planning to blow up all 29 people on the Air New Zealand flight from Buttfuck to Middle-O'-Nowhere, but still, no security at all? What the hell?
After thinking about that for a half hour or so, we all board our flight, and...the lady from the shuttle is sitting beside me. Weird. It was a short, comfy flight into Wellington, but the landing was unreal. I had heard it referred to as "Windy Welly", but I had no fucking clue what I was in for. The plane was swaying back and forth so bad, I was pretty certain a wing was going to hit the runway before the wheels did. But, since you're reading this, that obviously didn't happen. So far, flying in NZ was full of adventure. If shitting your pants is an "adventure".
Get off the plane, and onto another shuttle...and the same woman gets on the shuttle. Wow, this is getting "breakfast buddies in Jasper" like. Then, it got even weirder when she got off at the same hotel as me. What the hell? We were both eyeing each other warily, because it was a pretty fucking big string of coincidences. No, I didn't end up tossing her. Probably shoulda though.
Hotel was dead center downtown, so I went for a long-ass walk in the rain. The city is FUCKING SWEET. Right on a big harbor, super-clean downtown that wasn't too busy, and houses sprawling up the hills in all directions. No homeless people at all, unlike Auckland. This was a pic I took from the museum...it's some ritzy area of town:
Anyway, after all that walking, you can guess where I stopped:
Hey, I was thirsty, leave me alone. This was the coolest pub EVER though. They showed every North American sport imaginable. The NBA Finals were on when I was in there, but they also show the MLB, NFL, and...the NHL! Hell yes! And pints were 5 NZD, so like 3.40 Canadian. What's not to like?
After that, I went to what is referred to as the best museum in NZ, Te Papa. It's mostly Maori-oriented stuff, and it's fucking HUGE. 6 floors, massive building, tonsa shit in it. To be honest, I wasn't that impressed. All that space didn't contain much cool shit. The Otago museum was like 10% of the size, and still had cooler stuff. Maybe I'm just not a museum guy, who knows. Here are a couple pics from the museum.
A Marae, some sort of Maori humping hut or something:
The jungle area outside:
I went back to the hotel and chilled for a bit, then got keyed up for the big rugby game. My hotel had a bar in the lobby, so I ventured down there for a few wobblers and discussed the game with a few people. As usual, all the Kiwi's were super nice and helpful in explaining the finer points of the game I hadn't grasped yet. Wellington's team, the Hurricanes, were in the semi-finals and people were pretty excited for it. Unfortunately they lost, but it was still a super good game and I met some cool people.
I didn't want to pay bar prices all night, and I was pretty tired from the walk earlier, so I went looking for a liquor store. I found one..and it was closed at 6pm on a saturday. Odd. I ventured a little further and didn't find anythin else, so I went back to my hotel to inquire about this. The lady at the desk said "That's the only liquor store around here. Downtown is pretty dead at night on the weekends."
WHAT?
The city is very cool, but they do little to cater to the thousands of people that stay in downtown hotels each night. It might be on purpose, so the people are forced to get food and drink from their hotel at inflated prices, but it was pretty shitty. Every pub in the area was fucking jam-packed due to the rugby game, so I had no choice but to chill in the lobby bar for a while longer and watch some more rugby (different league, different rules. It'd take too long to explain). I called it an early night a few hours later.
The next day had one purpose - getting to hang out with a giraffe! The Wellington Zoo has a program where you get to go inside a giraffe's cage and feed him and pet him n shit. I'd been looking forward to this for a while, because giraffes are my cousins, according to most of my friends. And they're cool, like me. So about 2 hours before I was going to head out, I got an email from the zoo:
"Dear Mr. Burke,
Due to the current weather conditions, the giraffe is not accepting visitors today for the safety of the giraffe and the zoo visitors. We are sorry for the inconvenience. If you would like to reschedule, please contact us. We can also offer you a refund if necessary.
Sincerely,
Angry Asshole Giraffe and friends"
I told Lisa about it, and surprisingly she came up with a pretty witty burn:
"Are you kidding me? Not even a giraffe will keep a date with you? haha!"
Damn you woman.
Since I didn't have much else to do, I just went exploring in the rain again. The most famous building in Welly is called the Beehive. Doesn't look like a fucking beehive to me though. Here's a pic - Beehive or no beehive?
I spent most of the day just checking out various things downtown. The city is more livable than touristy, which I liked very much. I didn't dig everything closing early though. The wind got tiresome after a while too. Hey it's wind, how bad can it be, right? BAD. My hat blew away 3 different times. Walking around felt like you were walking uphill, because it was a struggle to walk into it. I'm not even kidding. And this isn't even me being lazy. Honest. Fo' real.
I managed to grab food and beer at a regular time on this day though, so it was all good. I had an early flight to Rotorua, so I figured I'd stay outta pubs and just chill in my room and watch rugby. Mission accomplished, and I won 45 bucks betting on the games. I had no clue what the fuck I was betting on, but it made the games interesting at least.
It was still raining like hell the next morning, but I had a flight to catch. Go to get on the airport shuttle, and GUESS who's on there. Yup, the lady from before. I wanted to say "Hellllo NEWMAN". She was my nemesis!
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