It was now Sunday morning, and we knew it was going to be a big day. First of all, England was playing Germany in a game I was very, very scared to watch. And after that was another game I was pretty scared to watch, but for a completely different reason:
Mexico/Argentina. In the Zocalo. With a whooooole lot of people.
After a strange hotel breakfast where we witnessed Mexican family ceremonies and couldn't get any bacon, we headed to the hostel bar so Milo could buy a Mexico shirt and get his face painted (really). Then we went to the square to catch the 2nd half of the England game. It was already 2-1 Germany (should have been 2-2, motherfuckers!), and the square wasn't that packed. Germany quickly made it 4-1 while Milo laughed at me. There was plenty of time in between games, so we went for a walk, thinking it wasn't going to be as busy as we thought.
Wells, we were fucking wrong.
When we got back, there were people EVERYWHERE. The entire square was full. Every side street in every direction was jam packed for at least a block. We managed to wade through the crowd and get inside the square. Every Mexican was being thoroughly patted down and having all their shit confiscated. Milo and I? Waved right on through, didn't even touch us. Goooo being white!
We we absolutely surrounded by people. The dudes in front of us were wearing Mexican flags as capes and lucha masks and looked pretty funny. Milo wanted me to take a picture of him with them, but I was still a bit creeped out by this many people in one place and was a bit testy about that. Sorry, dude. People weren't allowed to bring bottles into the square, so a lot of people had plastic bags full of water or pop. It was brutally hot and there was no shade to be found. Oh yeah, there was one other thing not to be found:
Bathrooms. NONE. For that many people. What the hell?
It turned out that there were about 250,000 people in and around the square for the game. It was absolutely insane. Along with them, there were at least 3000 riot police, 4 deep, surrounding the entire square. All with their full shields, machine guns, and gear. There were 5-10 police helicopters constantly circling over top of us. And SNIPERS on the roof presidential palace. It was fucking unreal.
I was way too scared to take pics of any of them, but Milo was all over it - he took a pic of the riot cops that turned out pretty funny. Half of them were pointing at him to lower the camera very sternly, and the other half are smiling and cheesing it up. It's too fucking bad I lost my stupid camera - it was pretty cool.
The anticipation was unlike any sporting event I had ever attended or watched before. Mexico got a chance in the first few minutes, and I couldn't even hear myself think it was so loud. Unfortunately Argentina got a BS goal where Tevez was waaay offside pretty early, and that sucked the life out of the crowd. By halftime it was 2-0, very hot and stuffy, and there were no BATHROOMS, so we decided to get the fuck outta the square and catch the 2nd half somewhere else. I'm really glad we did, because one of the highlights of the trip (for me at least) happened on the way out.
After wading through thousands of people and police officers, we got out to the street. A bunch of kids were hitting a big (but heavy) beachball around in the crowd. We walked by...and some dude just fucking spiked the thing right into the side of Milo's head. I'm not lying when I say that at least a thousand Mexicans and one gringo (me) burst into hysterical laughter, while Milo rubbed the side of his head and wondered what the hell just happened to him. Once he figured it out he was laughing too, but it was unbelievably funny. A "had to be there" moment probably, but any public embarrassment Milo suffers is always hilarious. And common.
After walking by some Mexicans who stole a mascots costume head and were having pictures of themselves with it on while smoking a cigarette (yeah, weird but funny), we got away from the crowd and just wandered around the Centro. Every little store had a small TV set up and everyone was watching the game. The streets were pretty much deserted, which was ridiculously weird after watching 20 million people stomping around 24/7 for the last 2 days. Mexico finally scored, and even though we were nowhere near a TV, it was blatantly obvious. The entire neighborhood just blew up with cheering from every window, every store, every car. It was amusing.
We wound down the day with some retarded antics I'll describe in the next part, but that was our Mexican soccer experience. The biggest reason for this trip was to go to a country that was playing in the World Cup, and we got to see firsthand how fanatical Mexican fans were. And how surprisingly accepting they were when they lost. No rioting, no crazy shit...just acceptance. It was cool.
This was not our last soccer story by a longshot though. Milo's love for the Dutch team led to many more strange and amusing tales. Stay tuned for more.
Friday, September 10, 2010
Monday, August 30, 2010
Tim and Milo Invade Mexico City, Part 1
We've been back for almost 2 weeks now, so I think it's about time I get my ass in gear and start writing about this shit. For those of you that just clicked on the snappy title and don't know what you're getting into, I'm going to warn you right now - this isn't going to be very mature. Most of our stories involve stupidity on at least one of our parts (usually both), and there's not going to be a lot of class involved here. This should go without saying for anyone that knows us, but I'm just letting you strangers know. We're dumb. But we're funny!
Okay, with that outta the way...here we go.
...the story fades into a scene where two goofy-looking, half-drunk gringos are riding in the back of a nice taxi. The taxi is surrounded by other shitty red and yellow taxis, buses of all sizes and shapes (most missing doors), and the sounds, smells, and sights of the 3rd biggest city in the world at midnight...
*HONKHONKHONK*
"Traffic's crazy here, eh? What's with the honking?"
"I dunno dude. We can't exactly ask the cab driver. Hola!"
"Sweet, we're moving. Hopefully we should..."
"Should what?"
"Dude...is that...a body?"
"...."
"....dude..."
"Holy shit. That's a fucking dead body."
"Oh...whoa. Holy fuck. Whoa."
"We've been here 10 minutes and we've already seen a fucking body? WHAT THE FUCK ARE WE DOING HERE TIM! WHAT THE FUCK!"
"This was all your idea."
"My idea?!? You...what the...fuck you!"
"Welcome to Mexico City!"
Let's back it up a bit for a second, and explain how we ended up here. Milo called me up one day and demanded to go "backpacking" somewhere. He's demanding when he drinks, you just get used to it. Eventually, after working our way through planning a trip in some incredibly dangerous South American countries (notably Venezuela and Colombia), we decided on Ecuador. We only had 10 days, and it was a small enough country that we could cover a fair amount. It was exotic, cheap, and a fairly inexpensive flight.
Well, it was...till the flight price basically doubled overnight. Fuck.
So, all that planning went out the window. After some more nerdy net research (I'm good at it, leave me alone), I found a flight to Mexico City for 500 bucks. A steal of a deal. After showing Milo some of the cool shit there, he was down. He didn't seem concerned about the city's reputation at the time. Namely - crime, violence, and corruption. If he was down, there was no way I was gonna puss out...so Mexico City it was.
AFTER we booked the fight, Milo finally decided to do some internet research. And got very, very scurred. He'll deny it in the comments of this thing of course, because he's an internet tough guy, but it's true. He almost cried. It was pretty pathetic. I laughed at his tears, until I started reading...then I got scurred too. And others laughed at my tears.
Screw all this drug violence crap you see on the news, that's not a big thing in Mexico City. A drug war? They don't need no fucking drug war! The sun coming up there is a good enough excuse to rob, rape, and kill people left and right. It's just part of their charm. But the police will protect you, right Tim? Nyet, they're corrupt. But you can just take taxis between places to stay safe, right Tim? Wrongo, those fuckers wills robs yous like the refs robbed England in the World Cup. But, at least the food's great, right Tim? False, the bacteria in the food and water will make you more nervous and sick than Len Edwards on Father's Day.
So with all that lovely shit firmly planted in our little brains, we set off on our "adventure". Sure sounds like a fun destination so far, don't it!!
...we'll pick up the scene just after our two fearless world travelers have arrived at their hotel, shaken by the sight of a lifeless corpse on the street minutes after their arrival in the city...
"That's it? We're checked in?"
"Guess so."
"They didn't ask for our ID's? Or cash? Or a credit card?"
"Nope. Weird, eh?"
"Yeah. Okay, I guess we're set. Now we need food and beer, stat. Excuse me sir, where could we get food and beer?"
"Senor, there is a 7-11 across the street. And there's a taco stand just to the left."
"Sweeeeet."
"Wait...we're going outside? Past the padlocked door with the guard attending it? At 1am? Seriously?"
"Tim. There's beer out there. You need beer."
"Right. We can do this. Eyes on the prize, EYES ON THE PRIZE!"
We dropped our bags off in our room, and opened the patio doors. Sure enough, directly below us was a 7-11, and there was a taco stand across the street with a few people milling about. Other than those people, there we no one else out on the surprisingly clean streets. The ever-present sound of honking street taxis were the only noises emanating from the night. It seemed normal enough.
...5 minutes later, the scene picks up with two confused gringos standing in front of a gigantic hunk of mystery meat on a vertical stick, with what looked like a welding flame blowing up on it from below and enveloping the lower half of it. Next to it, a huge grill is set up facing the sidewalk, where a typically short Mexican man is working his magic with fresh (?) ingredients, butcher knives and a spatula...
"This is a trip dude."
"Fuck yeah man, this is nuts. It's just right here on the street. Like, ON the street. What the hell is that meat?"
"Dude, I have no idea. I'm more concerned with what we should order right now. I have no idea how to order anything!"
"Obviously I don't either. *staring at the menu* Uhhh...pollo means chicken. That's about all I can help with."
"Thanks, fatty. What the hell do we do? Just point at something on the menu?"
"Dude, I dunno. This was your idea. Street food 10 minutes after arrival wasn't exactly on my Mexico City to-do list! That's why I bought sandwiches at the 7-11!"
"Whoa...whatever he's making right now looks pretty fuckin' good dude."
"Wow, it really does. This cook's a magician."
"Maybe we should just get what that guy's getting."
"That's the best idea you've had all day Milo. Certainly better than trying to invite the little LA guy from the plane back to the hotel with us!"
"Fuck off, I know...that was a bad move. At least we ditched him at customs."
"I still can't believe they spoke English at customs. Fuck it, okay, we'll get what he's getting."
"It's gonna be awesome dude!"
It WAS awesome, and a great call by Milo. It was some sort of quesadilla with ham and egg and cheese in it, and it was fucking delicious. We got 3 huge ones each for 48 pesos, which is 4 bucks. We forgot to buy water, but there was a tap next to the ice machine on our floor that said "purida water"...so we risked it. Between that, a bunch of pepto bismol pills, and some 7-11 beers that Milo deemed "not alcoholic enough" because it was only 3.6%, we chilled as happy gringos on our first night in the belly of the beast.
...and the scene fades into a fuzzy view of an overdressed fat guy and an obvious tourist wearing shorts and a t-shirt standing on a street corner in the bright smoggy morning, stunned by their surroundings...
"Holy shit dude, there's cops everywhere!"
"I know, I've never seen anything like this...ever. How many are on that corner? 5?"
"I count 7. What the hell man! This is insane! And there's a bunch right over there!"
"I'm not sure whether to feel comforted or scared. Which way's the Zocalo?"
"I think it's up that way...where there's more cops."
"Makes sense. The streets are actually pretty clean, eh?"
"Yeah, and look at the women. Mexican bitches are hot!"
"All class Milo...all class. Hey, did you notice you're the only one wearing shorts?"
"I am?"
"Yeah dude. People dress pretty conservatively here. Pants and nice shirts. You're just a mark for robbers dressed like that."
"I was wondering why you were wearing such a stupid shirt."
"I hope you get robbed right now, asshole."
"You're funny Timmy. Reeeeeal funny."
"Is that the Zocalo?"
"Sure looks like it dude. I see all the FIFA stuff. Can you hear that?"
"Yea, it sounds like a very excited soccer announcer."
"Whoa dude, this is outta hand."
"I know man, I know. This place is gigantic."
"Let's watch some of the game."
"The Mexican announcer is way better. More energy."
"I agree. The vuvuzelas are 100 times as loud in this stupid square though. This is gonna drive me fucking bonkers."
Quick geography lesson - The Zocalo, or The Plaza de la Constitución, is where the Fan Fest took place. It's 10 acres in size. Yeah. That massive cathedral behind the screen is called the Metropolitan Cathedral. I'll get back to it's wackiness later. The left side and bottom, where the pic was taken from, is all federal administrative buildings. The right side is the presidential palace. All the buildings are over 220 years old.
After taking in two games there, we spent most of the rest of the day walking around the Centro Historico. We discovered a whole shitload of people going about their day, in a pretty clean downtown area with a lot of pedestrian-only streets. Taxis were absolutely everywhere, making a racket. And cops. Lots and lots of cops. So many that we never felt remotely unsafe that day, or any other day that we hung out in the Centro. After sampling a few touristy bars, it started to get late in the afternoon, so we decided to walk down to the Alameda, which is a big park to the west of our hotel that people hang out in.
On our trip over there, one thing stood out...we both noticed that there were some weird people around. One was a dude from New Orleans that tried to sell us weed. We blew him off pretty quickly, but he'd reappear many times. Other than that, it was more of a vibe.
...the scene fades in right as your two clearly troubled travelers arrive in Alameda Park, confused by their surroundings...
"Dude, did you see all the rainbow flags back there? There was one hanging from a window in our hotel too."
"Rainbow flags? Is that what they are? How do you know that anyway?"
"Fuck off, I spent a summer refitting the Dufferin when I was working construction. You learn some stuff."
"Wait, YOU LEARN SOME STUFF?"
"Not like that you asshole. You didn't notice anything...different...on the way over here?"
"Well, I noticed the dance club with the shirtless dudes hanging off the balcony. They were kinda hard to miss. And now that you mention it, I think I saw some dudes holding hands. The girls do that here, but that's a friendly thing...I just figured the guys do it too?"
"You wanna hold hands Timmy?"
"Fuck off and die Milo."
"Seriously though, look over there...are those dudes kissing? What the fuck!"
"Yeah, thanks for pointing that out. Really, thanks for that. I need more pepto pills now."
"Whoa dude look at THAT transvestigation! Is it on stilts? IT'S ON STILTS! HAHA!"
"Wow. I have no words. That's...wow."
"Let's go sit on over there and just watch this craziness!"
"Uh, okay. *walk over to a bench* Uh, Rob...ROB. Look at that creepstar."
"HOLLLEEE SHIT that's nuts dude! NUTS!"
"Literally. Eww."
"I think it's time we get outta here. I thought you said the gay area was far away from here!"
"It is man! The Zona Rosa is like 3km from here! I don't get it! There's nothing in the guidebook about THIS!!"
I'm gonna go on record right now and say that neither of us have any particular problem with gay people. They're just like any other people, no big deal. I think we were just shocked because we didn't expect it to be so...blatant. The walk back was even more full-on. We were surrounded by gay dudes in various states of undress, partying the night away. It was right then that the light bulb came on for both of us when a tranny dressed as a vampire walked by...
"Milo, you think this is the way it always is here? Or did we show up for some festival or something?"
"Dude, it looks like Davie on Pride weekend..."
"Oh shit."
"HOLY SHIT DUDE! You fucking booked our trip to Mexico City on their Gay Pride weekend parade type shit didn't you? HAHAHAHA!"
"Oh no. Oh fuck."
"HAHAHA FAG!"
"Fuck! Never tell anyone of this!"
"Yeah right dude! I'm updating my facebook status as soon as we get back and telling everyone all about it!"
"I hate you. I DIDN'T KNOW! I DIDN'T KNOW!!!"
Sure enough, get back to the hotel and look on the net...yup. Gay Pride weekend. Gigantic parade down the Reforma. Big party all day. Well at least it made sense now. Dammit.
"Dude! I DIDN'T KNOW!"
"Suuure you didn't know. Sure. Suuuuure."
"Die Milo. Die."
"HAHA Timmy. You're a fucking dipshit. That's too funny. Fuck, what an idiot."
"Well, I might as well just fucking post it on facebook too. Fuck."
"Hey Timmy..."
"What?"
"You wanna hold hands?"
"YOU'RE FUCKING DEAD MILO. YOU HEAR ME? DEAD!"
Okay, with that outta the way...here we go.
...the story fades into a scene where two goofy-looking, half-drunk gringos are riding in the back of a nice taxi. The taxi is surrounded by other shitty red and yellow taxis, buses of all sizes and shapes (most missing doors), and the sounds, smells, and sights of the 3rd biggest city in the world at midnight...
*HONKHONKHONK*
"Traffic's crazy here, eh? What's with the honking?"
"I dunno dude. We can't exactly ask the cab driver. Hola!"
"Sweet, we're moving. Hopefully we should..."
"Should what?"
"Dude...is that...a body?"
"...."
"....dude..."
"Holy shit. That's a fucking dead body."
"Oh...whoa. Holy fuck. Whoa."
"We've been here 10 minutes and we've already seen a fucking body? WHAT THE FUCK ARE WE DOING HERE TIM! WHAT THE FUCK!"
"This was all your idea."
"My idea?!? You...what the...fuck you!"
"Welcome to Mexico City!"
Let's back it up a bit for a second, and explain how we ended up here. Milo called me up one day and demanded to go "backpacking" somewhere. He's demanding when he drinks, you just get used to it. Eventually, after working our way through planning a trip in some incredibly dangerous South American countries (notably Venezuela and Colombia), we decided on Ecuador. We only had 10 days, and it was a small enough country that we could cover a fair amount. It was exotic, cheap, and a fairly inexpensive flight.
Well, it was...till the flight price basically doubled overnight. Fuck.
So, all that planning went out the window. After some more nerdy net research (I'm good at it, leave me alone), I found a flight to Mexico City for 500 bucks. A steal of a deal. After showing Milo some of the cool shit there, he was down. He didn't seem concerned about the city's reputation at the time. Namely - crime, violence, and corruption. If he was down, there was no way I was gonna puss out...so Mexico City it was.
AFTER we booked the fight, Milo finally decided to do some internet research. And got very, very scurred. He'll deny it in the comments of this thing of course, because he's an internet tough guy, but it's true. He almost cried. It was pretty pathetic. I laughed at his tears, until I started reading...then I got scurred too. And others laughed at my tears.
Screw all this drug violence crap you see on the news, that's not a big thing in Mexico City. A drug war? They don't need no fucking drug war! The sun coming up there is a good enough excuse to rob, rape, and kill people left and right. It's just part of their charm. But the police will protect you, right Tim? Nyet, they're corrupt. But you can just take taxis between places to stay safe, right Tim? Wrongo, those fuckers wills robs yous like the refs robbed England in the World Cup. But, at least the food's great, right Tim? False, the bacteria in the food and water will make you more nervous and sick than Len Edwards on Father's Day.
So with all that lovely shit firmly planted in our little brains, we set off on our "adventure". Sure sounds like a fun destination so far, don't it!!
...we'll pick up the scene just after our two fearless world travelers have arrived at their hotel, shaken by the sight of a lifeless corpse on the street minutes after their arrival in the city...
"That's it? We're checked in?"
"Guess so."
"They didn't ask for our ID's? Or cash? Or a credit card?"
"Nope. Weird, eh?"
"Yeah. Okay, I guess we're set. Now we need food and beer, stat. Excuse me sir, where could we get food and beer?"
"Senor, there is a 7-11 across the street. And there's a taco stand just to the left."
"Sweeeeet."
"Wait...we're going outside? Past the padlocked door with the guard attending it? At 1am? Seriously?"
"Tim. There's beer out there. You need beer."
"Right. We can do this. Eyes on the prize, EYES ON THE PRIZE!"
We dropped our bags off in our room, and opened the patio doors. Sure enough, directly below us was a 7-11, and there was a taco stand across the street with a few people milling about. Other than those people, there we no one else out on the surprisingly clean streets. The ever-present sound of honking street taxis were the only noises emanating from the night. It seemed normal enough.
...5 minutes later, the scene picks up with two confused gringos standing in front of a gigantic hunk of mystery meat on a vertical stick, with what looked like a welding flame blowing up on it from below and enveloping the lower half of it. Next to it, a huge grill is set up facing the sidewalk, where a typically short Mexican man is working his magic with fresh (?) ingredients, butcher knives and a spatula...
"This is a trip dude."
"Fuck yeah man, this is nuts. It's just right here on the street. Like, ON the street. What the hell is that meat?"
"Dude, I have no idea. I'm more concerned with what we should order right now. I have no idea how to order anything!"
"Obviously I don't either. *staring at the menu* Uhhh...pollo means chicken. That's about all I can help with."
"Thanks, fatty. What the hell do we do? Just point at something on the menu?"
"Dude, I dunno. This was your idea. Street food 10 minutes after arrival wasn't exactly on my Mexico City to-do list! That's why I bought sandwiches at the 7-11!"
"Whoa...whatever he's making right now looks pretty fuckin' good dude."
"Wow, it really does. This cook's a magician."
"Maybe we should just get what that guy's getting."
"That's the best idea you've had all day Milo. Certainly better than trying to invite the little LA guy from the plane back to the hotel with us!"
"Fuck off, I know...that was a bad move. At least we ditched him at customs."
"I still can't believe they spoke English at customs. Fuck it, okay, we'll get what he's getting."
"It's gonna be awesome dude!"
It WAS awesome, and a great call by Milo. It was some sort of quesadilla with ham and egg and cheese in it, and it was fucking delicious. We got 3 huge ones each for 48 pesos, which is 4 bucks. We forgot to buy water, but there was a tap next to the ice machine on our floor that said "purida water"...so we risked it. Between that, a bunch of pepto bismol pills, and some 7-11 beers that Milo deemed "not alcoholic enough" because it was only 3.6%, we chilled as happy gringos on our first night in the belly of the beast.
...and the scene fades into a fuzzy view of an overdressed fat guy and an obvious tourist wearing shorts and a t-shirt standing on a street corner in the bright smoggy morning, stunned by their surroundings...
"Holy shit dude, there's cops everywhere!"
"I know, I've never seen anything like this...ever. How many are on that corner? 5?"
"I count 7. What the hell man! This is insane! And there's a bunch right over there!"
"I'm not sure whether to feel comforted or scared. Which way's the Zocalo?"
"I think it's up that way...where there's more cops."
"Makes sense. The streets are actually pretty clean, eh?"
"Yeah, and look at the women. Mexican bitches are hot!"
"All class Milo...all class. Hey, did you notice you're the only one wearing shorts?"
"I am?"
"Yeah dude. People dress pretty conservatively here. Pants and nice shirts. You're just a mark for robbers dressed like that."
"I was wondering why you were wearing such a stupid shirt."
"I hope you get robbed right now, asshole."
"You're funny Timmy. Reeeeeal funny."
"Is that the Zocalo?"
"Sure looks like it dude. I see all the FIFA stuff. Can you hear that?"
"Yea, it sounds like a very excited soccer announcer."
"Whoa dude, this is outta hand."
"I know man, I know. This place is gigantic."
"Let's watch some of the game."
"The Mexican announcer is way better. More energy."
"I agree. The vuvuzelas are 100 times as loud in this stupid square though. This is gonna drive me fucking bonkers."
Quick geography lesson - The Zocalo, or The Plaza de la Constitución, is where the Fan Fest took place. It's 10 acres in size. Yeah. That massive cathedral behind the screen is called the Metropolitan Cathedral. I'll get back to it's wackiness later. The left side and bottom, where the pic was taken from, is all federal administrative buildings. The right side is the presidential palace. All the buildings are over 220 years old.
After taking in two games there, we spent most of the rest of the day walking around the Centro Historico. We discovered a whole shitload of people going about their day, in a pretty clean downtown area with a lot of pedestrian-only streets. Taxis were absolutely everywhere, making a racket. And cops. Lots and lots of cops. So many that we never felt remotely unsafe that day, or any other day that we hung out in the Centro. After sampling a few touristy bars, it started to get late in the afternoon, so we decided to walk down to the Alameda, which is a big park to the west of our hotel that people hang out in.
On our trip over there, one thing stood out...we both noticed that there were some weird people around. One was a dude from New Orleans that tried to sell us weed. We blew him off pretty quickly, but he'd reappear many times. Other than that, it was more of a vibe.
...the scene fades in right as your two clearly troubled travelers arrive in Alameda Park, confused by their surroundings...
"Dude, did you see all the rainbow flags back there? There was one hanging from a window in our hotel too."
"Rainbow flags? Is that what they are? How do you know that anyway?"
"Fuck off, I spent a summer refitting the Dufferin when I was working construction. You learn some stuff."
"Wait, YOU LEARN SOME STUFF?"
"Not like that you asshole. You didn't notice anything...different...on the way over here?"
"Well, I noticed the dance club with the shirtless dudes hanging off the balcony. They were kinda hard to miss. And now that you mention it, I think I saw some dudes holding hands. The girls do that here, but that's a friendly thing...I just figured the guys do it too?"
"You wanna hold hands Timmy?"
"Fuck off and die Milo."
"Seriously though, look over there...are those dudes kissing? What the fuck!"
"Yeah, thanks for pointing that out. Really, thanks for that. I need more pepto pills now."
"Whoa dude look at THAT transvestigation! Is it on stilts? IT'S ON STILTS! HAHA!"
"Wow. I have no words. That's...wow."
"Let's go sit on over there and just watch this craziness!"
"Uh, okay. *walk over to a bench* Uh, Rob...ROB. Look at that creepstar."
"HOLLLEEE SHIT that's nuts dude! NUTS!"
"Literally. Eww."
"I think it's time we get outta here. I thought you said the gay area was far away from here!"
"It is man! The Zona Rosa is like 3km from here! I don't get it! There's nothing in the guidebook about THIS!!"
I'm gonna go on record right now and say that neither of us have any particular problem with gay people. They're just like any other people, no big deal. I think we were just shocked because we didn't expect it to be so...blatant. The walk back was even more full-on. We were surrounded by gay dudes in various states of undress, partying the night away. It was right then that the light bulb came on for both of us when a tranny dressed as a vampire walked by...
"Milo, you think this is the way it always is here? Or did we show up for some festival or something?"
"Dude, it looks like Davie on Pride weekend..."
"Oh shit."
"HOLY SHIT DUDE! You fucking booked our trip to Mexico City on their Gay Pride weekend parade type shit didn't you? HAHAHAHA!"
"Oh no. Oh fuck."
"HAHAHA FAG!"
"Fuck! Never tell anyone of this!"
"Yeah right dude! I'm updating my facebook status as soon as we get back and telling everyone all about it!"
"I hate you. I DIDN'T KNOW! I DIDN'T KNOW!!!"
Sure enough, get back to the hotel and look on the net...yup. Gay Pride weekend. Gigantic parade down the Reforma. Big party all day. Well at least it made sense now. Dammit.
"Dude! I DIDN'T KNOW!"
"Suuure you didn't know. Sure. Suuuuure."
"Die Milo. Die."
"HAHA Timmy. You're a fucking dipshit. That's too funny. Fuck, what an idiot."
"Well, I might as well just fucking post it on facebook too. Fuck."
"Hey Timmy..."
"What?"
"You wanna hold hands?"
"YOU'RE FUCKING DEAD MILO. YOU HEAR ME? DEAD!"
Friday, August 20, 2010
Europe Trip, Final Chapter - Oslo
In the Copenhagen airport, I had a beer while waiting for my plane. It was just under 11 dollars Canadian. It was the most expensive beer I had ever bought. That record lasted approximately 5 hours...
It was snowing when I arrived in Oslo. Not exactly a surprise, it's fucking Norway after all. But this was a LOT of snow. Everywhere else in Scandinavia, I had heard the same thing over and over... "This is the worst winter we've had in __ years!". In Oslo, the blank was filled in with a big 20. And I actually believed these people, because it was fucking nuts!
I got onto the airport train (37 dollars for 20 minute trip), and tried to get a glimpse of the city on the trip in. Unfortunately that wasn't going to happen, due to the combination of a heavy snowfall and the train doing 220km/h. It was the whitest whiteout I've ever seen. It was so bright I couldn't even look out the window. It was whiter than Barack Obama. I've never seen anything like that.
So, I arrive downtown and FINALLY see Norway. It's pretty cool. When I planned the trip, I picked a hotel that was only 3 blocks from the train station because it'd be easy. Uh, no. Due to the insane snow and my shitty sense of direction, it took an hour to traverse those 3 blocks. Dammit. All was not lost though, because the hotel girl upgraded me to an apartment just because I was from Vancouver. Score!
After dropping off my stuff, I immediately went for a walk. The hole in my shoe was acting up again due to all the snow, but whatever...I'm tough. Unfortunately, all the cool stuff in my tourist guide was completely covered by snow too, which made the things less than enthralling. I seriously didn't find 2 or 3 of them until I was standing right in front of the things, because the snow completely covered them up. And these things (statues, BUILDINGS) weren't small. The harbor was absolutely awesome though, snow or not.
The streets were pretty clear of snow, but it was still a bitch to get around anywhere. I think you know what that means. A nice comfy seat in a pub, stat. I found a pub called The Dubliner. Now, anyone who's traveled a bit knows that Irish pubs in other countries are NEVER actually Irish pubs. They're decorated like one, but there will invariably be a local behind the bar, who doesn't speak English, and there's not an Irishman in sight.
Until this pub.
I walked in, and the bartender was Irish. The customers were all Irish and English. There was rugby on TV (coincidentally a game between England and Ireland). It was awesome, for about 45 seconds. I ordered a pint, and the nice bartender said "71 kroner please." A simple math equation in my head stupefied me.
The pint was 13.50 Canadian. Ouch.
I figured maybe I ordered the most expensive type of beer or something, and sort of blew it off. It was my last stop and I had money left, no biggie. The two Irish guys next to me were babbling about something or other, and they were super funny. Turns out one is a comedian. We talk for a bit, and after I inform him that I'm Canadian, he says to the bartender:
"Aye! Barkeep, get a beer on me for my new moose fucker friend over here."
Moose fucker? Really? That's what we're called in Ireland (and apparently Oslo)? Wow.
I certainly wasn't complaining though, since beers were worth more than Milo makes to work a 24 hour shift as a paramedic. I happily consumed that pint while the Irish guy took off to watch the game in the back. I offered one in return, which is usually the rule, but he turned me down and said it was okay. Super nice guy. With my newfound wealth, I figured I should order some food. Fish and chips seemed reasonable in a place like this, right?
31 dollars. Yeah. After that raping, I decided to call it an early night before I had to call my bank to get my credit limit raised.
I got up early the next morning (which was the norm for my trip) to go for a longer walk around the city when there weren't many people around. As expected, it's really very nice. Still lotsa snow though:
These people had left their bikes there 4 hours before that. Seriously.
I had heard the people were cold (no pun intended) and would try to avoid speaking English, but I didn't find that to be the case at all. Everyone was super friendly, curious about my motives for being there, and eager to direct me to cool stuff in the city. It was a very enjoyable cruise around, which had me end up at the harbor again because it's really cool. Here's another harbor pic, just for fun:
I thought the Canada/USA gold medal game was going to be at 2am Norwegian time, which would have made things very difficult for me since I had to be up at 6 to begin the long trip home. To my elation and surprise, I walked by the TGI Fridays and saw the sign out front: "Canada vs. USA Hockey: 9pm".
9pm? YES! I could watch! I immediately became very excited and did a little dance, which earned me a few odd stares, but I didn't care. Canada was gonna win the gold, and I was gonna see it!
I spent the rest of the day alternating between walking around the city and anxiously waiting for the game to start. I could have watched in my hotel room, but that didn't seem like much fun. Why not go to TGI Fridays? Even if I was the only person in there, at least someone else would be bringing me (expensive) beers, right? Right, dammit. After purchasing an energy drink for 45kr (about 8 bucks!) to make sure I stayed awake...it was fucking game time.
So I walk in and take a seat in front of the big screen. Predictably, it was dead because it was a Sunday night. I was perfectly happy watching by myself, but nooo...someone had to ruin my fucking serenity. Who you ask?
The people that ruin EVERYTHING. Americans.
They weren't even cool Americans either. There were 3 of them, 2 guys and a girl. One had a Team USA jersey on, which almost made me hurl. Of course, they sat down right beside me and talked to me, because that's what ignorant people do. I resisted the urge to Ric Flair chop all of them, and found out they were from Denver. The one wearing the jersey said they weren't really hockey fans, he just bought the jersey because "the colors were nice". What the fuck?
I spent two and a half periods drinking pricey beer and going completely bonkers over every little thing. The waitress asked me, in a very, very polite way, to keep it down a bit, but eff that. I couldn't help myself. The Americans didn't really do or say much. The girl was even reading a book for part of it. I was surprised any of them actually knew how to read.
So, 30 seconds to go, we're up 2-1. Then...Parise scores and nearly crushes my bloated heart. The Americans don't even jump up or do anything in particular...they just say "We tied it up. Great." That was both good and bad, because if they had blown up I might have clubbered one of them...but it was just retarded that they didn't react at all. Way to be a debbie downer, nerdbombers. I went for a walk in the intermission, because I was pretty worked up.
I came back, and...the game wasn't on. Some Norwegian news show was. I thought it was an intermission show, but...it didn't end. I frantically ran over to the waitress and asked about it, and she changed it to another channel that was now showing the game. I was hugely relieved, but what the fuck? Who changes the entire STATION that's carrying a game right before overtime? Fucking Norway.
So, overtime. Some oohs and ahhs, nailbiting, etc...then Crosby scores. I go absolutely nuts and start running laps around the bar screaming and yelling "YESSSS MOTHERFUCKERS WE'RE THE FUCKING BEST MOTHERFUCKERS" I stop back at our table and show what a good sport I am by yelling "HOW YOU LIKE THEM APPLES MOTHERFUCKERS!" at the Americans.
Aaand I was removed from the premises.
I went peacefully, but managed to yell "I'M GOING TO SING MY NATIONAL ANTHEM BACK AT MY FUCKING HOTEL! WOOO!!" for some reason as I went through the door. Go 13 dollar beers. I'm nice and mature.
I raced (well, waddled) back to the hotel and caught the medal presentation, and, true to my word, stood up, took my hat off, and sang O Canada as loud as I could. Alone in my hotel room. I don't care if that's weird, it felt right at the time, okay?
I went to sleep as the happiest fat Canadian guy in Norway (or the only one, take your pick), and got up in the morning ready to tackle my multiple flights home with a big sloppy Canadian smile on my face. At the airport, I had 420kr left. That's about 75 bucks, give or take. Lotsa money. I also had 3 hours to kill, so I went to the pub.
85kr for a beer. Around 16 bucks. Officially the most expensive pint I will probably ever buy. I actually kept the bill in case people didn't believe me. I just checked the exchange rate, and it's actually gone down a fair amount since I was there. Today, it's a nice tidy 14 bucks. Like that's any better. So after that pint, I had 325kr left. I thought "I don't even have enough left for 4 more pints." With just under 60 bucks in my pocket! Besides the fact that those are probably the thoughts of a degenerate liquor pig who obviously doesn't have his priorities straight...what the fuck!
I realized I didn't have a book for the flight home, so I went over to the bookstore, terrified at the thought of the prices there. I picked up The Heroin Diaries by Nikki Sixx. 139kr. A relatively paltry 27 bucks. I needed a book though, so that was that. I had enough left for two more pints, so I savored those bitches like they were the last piece of poon I'll ever get, and eventually it was time to go home.
I was actually sad to be leaving Norway, because I really liked it. I wish I had more time, because there are plenty of other places in Norway I'd love to check out. Of all the Scandinavian countries, it was my personal favorite. The only problem is how ridiculously expensive everything was. I'd have to save up for a looooong time if I wanted to go back. Once I hit the rest of the countries in the world, it's at the top of the list for a repeat visit though.
On the plane, I thumbed through the airline book to the menu page. A beer was 28kr. 28. Just under 1/3 of the price in the Oslo airport. Absolutely unbelievable. At that point, I demanded a recount and immediately renamed Iceland as my favorite Scandinavian country again. I can do these things. Why?
I'm cool like that.
It was snowing when I arrived in Oslo. Not exactly a surprise, it's fucking Norway after all. But this was a LOT of snow. Everywhere else in Scandinavia, I had heard the same thing over and over... "This is the worst winter we've had in __ years!". In Oslo, the blank was filled in with a big 20. And I actually believed these people, because it was fucking nuts!
I got onto the airport train (37 dollars for 20 minute trip), and tried to get a glimpse of the city on the trip in. Unfortunately that wasn't going to happen, due to the combination of a heavy snowfall and the train doing 220km/h. It was the whitest whiteout I've ever seen. It was so bright I couldn't even look out the window. It was whiter than Barack Obama. I've never seen anything like that.
So, I arrive downtown and FINALLY see Norway. It's pretty cool. When I planned the trip, I picked a hotel that was only 3 blocks from the train station because it'd be easy. Uh, no. Due to the insane snow and my shitty sense of direction, it took an hour to traverse those 3 blocks. Dammit. All was not lost though, because the hotel girl upgraded me to an apartment just because I was from Vancouver. Score!
After dropping off my stuff, I immediately went for a walk. The hole in my shoe was acting up again due to all the snow, but whatever...I'm tough. Unfortunately, all the cool stuff in my tourist guide was completely covered by snow too, which made the things less than enthralling. I seriously didn't find 2 or 3 of them until I was standing right in front of the things, because the snow completely covered them up. And these things (statues, BUILDINGS) weren't small. The harbor was absolutely awesome though, snow or not.
The streets were pretty clear of snow, but it was still a bitch to get around anywhere. I think you know what that means. A nice comfy seat in a pub, stat. I found a pub called The Dubliner. Now, anyone who's traveled a bit knows that Irish pubs in other countries are NEVER actually Irish pubs. They're decorated like one, but there will invariably be a local behind the bar, who doesn't speak English, and there's not an Irishman in sight.
Until this pub.
I walked in, and the bartender was Irish. The customers were all Irish and English. There was rugby on TV (coincidentally a game between England and Ireland). It was awesome, for about 45 seconds. I ordered a pint, and the nice bartender said "71 kroner please." A simple math equation in my head stupefied me.
The pint was 13.50 Canadian. Ouch.
I figured maybe I ordered the most expensive type of beer or something, and sort of blew it off. It was my last stop and I had money left, no biggie. The two Irish guys next to me were babbling about something or other, and they were super funny. Turns out one is a comedian. We talk for a bit, and after I inform him that I'm Canadian, he says to the bartender:
"Aye! Barkeep, get a beer on me for my new moose fucker friend over here."
Moose fucker? Really? That's what we're called in Ireland (and apparently Oslo)? Wow.
I certainly wasn't complaining though, since beers were worth more than Milo makes to work a 24 hour shift as a paramedic. I happily consumed that pint while the Irish guy took off to watch the game in the back. I offered one in return, which is usually the rule, but he turned me down and said it was okay. Super nice guy. With my newfound wealth, I figured I should order some food. Fish and chips seemed reasonable in a place like this, right?
31 dollars. Yeah. After that raping, I decided to call it an early night before I had to call my bank to get my credit limit raised.
I got up early the next morning (which was the norm for my trip) to go for a longer walk around the city when there weren't many people around. As expected, it's really very nice. Still lotsa snow though:
These people had left their bikes there 4 hours before that. Seriously.
I had heard the people were cold (no pun intended) and would try to avoid speaking English, but I didn't find that to be the case at all. Everyone was super friendly, curious about my motives for being there, and eager to direct me to cool stuff in the city. It was a very enjoyable cruise around, which had me end up at the harbor again because it's really cool. Here's another harbor pic, just for fun:
I thought the Canada/USA gold medal game was going to be at 2am Norwegian time, which would have made things very difficult for me since I had to be up at 6 to begin the long trip home. To my elation and surprise, I walked by the TGI Fridays and saw the sign out front: "Canada vs. USA Hockey: 9pm".
9pm? YES! I could watch! I immediately became very excited and did a little dance, which earned me a few odd stares, but I didn't care. Canada was gonna win the gold, and I was gonna see it!
I spent the rest of the day alternating between walking around the city and anxiously waiting for the game to start. I could have watched in my hotel room, but that didn't seem like much fun. Why not go to TGI Fridays? Even if I was the only person in there, at least someone else would be bringing me (expensive) beers, right? Right, dammit. After purchasing an energy drink for 45kr (about 8 bucks!) to make sure I stayed awake...it was fucking game time.
So I walk in and take a seat in front of the big screen. Predictably, it was dead because it was a Sunday night. I was perfectly happy watching by myself, but nooo...someone had to ruin my fucking serenity. Who you ask?
The people that ruin EVERYTHING. Americans.
They weren't even cool Americans either. There were 3 of them, 2 guys and a girl. One had a Team USA jersey on, which almost made me hurl. Of course, they sat down right beside me and talked to me, because that's what ignorant people do. I resisted the urge to Ric Flair chop all of them, and found out they were from Denver. The one wearing the jersey said they weren't really hockey fans, he just bought the jersey because "the colors were nice". What the fuck?
I spent two and a half periods drinking pricey beer and going completely bonkers over every little thing. The waitress asked me, in a very, very polite way, to keep it down a bit, but eff that. I couldn't help myself. The Americans didn't really do or say much. The girl was even reading a book for part of it. I was surprised any of them actually knew how to read.
So, 30 seconds to go, we're up 2-1. Then...Parise scores and nearly crushes my bloated heart. The Americans don't even jump up or do anything in particular...they just say "We tied it up. Great." That was both good and bad, because if they had blown up I might have clubbered one of them...but it was just retarded that they didn't react at all. Way to be a debbie downer, nerdbombers. I went for a walk in the intermission, because I was pretty worked up.
I came back, and...the game wasn't on. Some Norwegian news show was. I thought it was an intermission show, but...it didn't end. I frantically ran over to the waitress and asked about it, and she changed it to another channel that was now showing the game. I was hugely relieved, but what the fuck? Who changes the entire STATION that's carrying a game right before overtime? Fucking Norway.
So, overtime. Some oohs and ahhs, nailbiting, etc...then Crosby scores. I go absolutely nuts and start running laps around the bar screaming and yelling "YESSSS MOTHERFUCKERS WE'RE THE FUCKING BEST MOTHERFUCKERS" I stop back at our table and show what a good sport I am by yelling "HOW YOU LIKE THEM APPLES MOTHERFUCKERS!" at the Americans.
Aaand I was removed from the premises.
I went peacefully, but managed to yell "I'M GOING TO SING MY NATIONAL ANTHEM BACK AT MY FUCKING HOTEL! WOOO!!" for some reason as I went through the door. Go 13 dollar beers. I'm nice and mature.
I raced (well, waddled) back to the hotel and caught the medal presentation, and, true to my word, stood up, took my hat off, and sang O Canada as loud as I could. Alone in my hotel room. I don't care if that's weird, it felt right at the time, okay?
I went to sleep as the happiest fat Canadian guy in Norway (or the only one, take your pick), and got up in the morning ready to tackle my multiple flights home with a big sloppy Canadian smile on my face. At the airport, I had 420kr left. That's about 75 bucks, give or take. Lotsa money. I also had 3 hours to kill, so I went to the pub.
85kr for a beer. Around 16 bucks. Officially the most expensive pint I will probably ever buy. I actually kept the bill in case people didn't believe me. I just checked the exchange rate, and it's actually gone down a fair amount since I was there. Today, it's a nice tidy 14 bucks. Like that's any better. So after that pint, I had 325kr left. I thought "I don't even have enough left for 4 more pints." With just under 60 bucks in my pocket! Besides the fact that those are probably the thoughts of a degenerate liquor pig who obviously doesn't have his priorities straight...what the fuck!
I realized I didn't have a book for the flight home, so I went over to the bookstore, terrified at the thought of the prices there. I picked up The Heroin Diaries by Nikki Sixx. 139kr. A relatively paltry 27 bucks. I needed a book though, so that was that. I had enough left for two more pints, so I savored those bitches like they were the last piece of poon I'll ever get, and eventually it was time to go home.
I was actually sad to be leaving Norway, because I really liked it. I wish I had more time, because there are plenty of other places in Norway I'd love to check out. Of all the Scandinavian countries, it was my personal favorite. The only problem is how ridiculously expensive everything was. I'd have to save up for a looooong time if I wanted to go back. Once I hit the rest of the countries in the world, it's at the top of the list for a repeat visit though.
On the plane, I thumbed through the airline book to the menu page. A beer was 28kr. 28. Just under 1/3 of the price in the Oslo airport. Absolutely unbelievable. At that point, I demanded a recount and immediately renamed Iceland as my favorite Scandinavian country again. I can do these things. Why?
I'm cool like that.
Sunday, August 15, 2010
Europe Trip, Part 7 - Copenhagen
I arrived at the Manchester airport, still not knowing the score of the Canada/Russia game. I immediately went to an internet kiosk after clearing security, and impatiently waited while TSN loaded. When I saw 7-3 Canada, I just yelled "YEEEESSSSSSSSSSS!" as loud as I could, completely oblivious to where I was. Everyone in that entire section of the airport looked at me, and that was a lot of people. Still oblivious, I looked in their general direction and yelled "CANADA WON!"...to which everyone either laughed or just went back to their own business.
After a couple of seconds I realized how incredibly embarrassing that was, and turned bright red and sunk into my little kiosk as much as I could. Which, let's face it, wasn't much because I'm huge. Every time I looked up for the next 10 minutes or so, someone was still looking at me or laughing. Again, slightly embarrassing...but that's how I roll, bitches.
So, onto Denmark. Copenhagen's airport is very modern and laid out very well, which made it easy to find the train station. Unfortunately, the next 3 trains into town were canceled so I sat there and waited for almost an hour. Once it finally showed though, shit went smoothly and I was in the center of town in no time.
I was starving by that point, so I decided to grab a hot dog as I was leaving the station to walk to my hotel. He asked me what I wanted on it and I said nothing, but apparently "nothing" means "everything" in Danish English, because I got this hot dog with all kinds of shit on it. 9 sauces, relish, onions, you name it. I like approximately none of that shit, so I did my best to try and scoop it off.
Nyet.
I just ended up with goop all over my hands while people all around me laughed and probably taunted me in Danish. It just wasn't my day for impressing the public, that's for sure. After grabbing about 90 napkins to wipe myself off, I finally took off towards my hotel. Oh, and I smelled like mustard for my entire time there, despite having about 5 showers and scrubbing like a rape victim. Weird.
So my hotel was one of these new ultra-modern technology places. The idea is that you use kiosks to check in and get your key, so you don't have to wait in line for a hotel employee. You do it the same way checking out. Too bad the kiosks were all retarded and worked for nearly no one (including myself) so I had to...you guessed it, wait in line to fucking check in/out with a hotel employee. The hotel was brand new and in an industrial area, which meant that there was pretty much nothing around it except for construction sites. To buy or see anything, I had to trek the 10 minutes back to the bus station area. Slightly inconvenient, but the hotel was a fucking steal in Copenhagen, which is a very pricey city, so it was worth it.
I think I was still in chill mode from England, because I didn't do much of anything the first day there. I went for a short walk around the station area and checked out a few things, but I was really unmotivated. All the rain didn't help either. So...I did a whole lot of nothing. Drank a few Carlsbergs, watched some Olympics on my fancy flat-screen TV, and caught up on what had gone on in North America other than the Olympics for the past 2 weeks or so.
About the only interesting thing that happened was when my room door suddenly swung open, revealing a fucking super-hot blonde maid. Porn music kicked off in my head pretty much immediately, but it was not to be...she apologized profusely for having the wrong room and took off. Denied, as usual.
I decided that since I had wasted pretty much an entire day in a city I always wanted to see, I'd have to go into overdrive the next day to cover as much as I could. I spent about 4 hours walking around, and saw lotsa cool shit. My personal humorous highlight was walking through the red light district, where the hookers just stand there and go "PSSSST" at you, trying to get your attention. It was pretty odd...it made it seem like she was more interested in telling you a secret than anything else, which made me laugh at the idea of it. Anyway, Copenhagen is a beautiful city full of amazing buildings and sculptures and stuff, and the canals are awesome too.
The main area was a little smaller than I expected though, so by mid-afternoon I had seen pretty much everything I had set out to see. You know what that means...pub time!
My friend Kate used to live in Copenhagen and told me to go to this bar called the Moose, which was like the Cambie of Copenhagen. Unsurprisingly, I couldn't find it and got lost. I must have set some kind of world record for the number of cities I got lost in on this trip.
Anyway, after I finally gave up on my Moose dream I just went into the first pub I saw - an Australian pub. I know, I know. You'd think I'd aim for an actual Danish pub or something, but noooo. I actually went in there because I could see their TV through the window, and a gorgeous girl was in a music video. Finding out who she was provided me with all the inspiration I needed to go inside. Well, that and the beer. Obviously.
7 bucks, Cheryl Cole, and a crossword puzzle. Those are the answers. The questions? In order - how much they charged for my first beer (in Canadian), who the hot girl was on TV, and what I did in the pub other than drink. There was no one in there except for the owner when I stepped through the doors. A little odd, but that's never stopped me before. After serving me up a Kilkenny, he demanded that I help him with his crossword puzzle in exchange for a discount on the 2nd beer. Hells yeah I can do that. Finally my intelligence could be used for a worthy purpose!
Uh, no. This was the hardest fucking crossword puzzle of all time.
I got one thing right. ONE. He got about three. The rest of it was just us looking at each other and alternating between "what the hell?" and "who made this up?" with a few swear words interspersed at regular intervals. I felt pretty fucking stupid after attempting that thing. I did get a free beer out of it though...but it was probably out of pity more than anything. Who cares though, free beer is free beer! After another one and some time admiring about 10 Cheryl Cole videos in a row (look her up if you don't know who she is - gorgeous), I had a good buzz and decided I was going to walk around Copenhagen some more.
As usual, my motivation evaporated quicker than Milo's memory (he's sitting right beside me, so he seemed like an appropriate target for a joke...plus, the guy forgets everything you say 5 seconds after you say it...he's like a goldfish!), I somehow ended up sitting on a bench which overlooked one of the bigger canals in the city. Me, my ipod, a Carlsberg or 4, and the canal just hung out for a while. It was completely frozen over, since it was about -5 outside. Yes, I like cold weather...we've gone through this already.
A couple of people rode by on bicycles and gave me odd looks, but I was used to that by now. I just sat there and mentally flipped through my last couple of weeks, laughing at my stupidity and marveling at all the shit I had seen. It was pretty peaceful, until I decided to leave. I got up, walked about 3 steps, and slipped and fell on my ass. I'm all class baby! It was dark by then, and I couldn't really head out to another pub because I had to leave for Oslo early in the morning, so I decided to call it a night.
Overall, Copenhagen was awesome. I don't want to use a stupid faggy word like enchanting, but it has a lot of character and I can definitely see why people call it the most fun city in Scandinavia. The people are more outgoing and they all come across as pretty happy. Everyone rides bikes around the city, which adds to the charm and means the city isn't as choked with traffic as most major cities. Take all that and throw in the architecture and canals, and you've got a hell of a destination. I'd highly recommend it.
After a couple of seconds I realized how incredibly embarrassing that was, and turned bright red and sunk into my little kiosk as much as I could. Which, let's face it, wasn't much because I'm huge. Every time I looked up for the next 10 minutes or so, someone was still looking at me or laughing. Again, slightly embarrassing...but that's how I roll, bitches.
So, onto Denmark. Copenhagen's airport is very modern and laid out very well, which made it easy to find the train station. Unfortunately, the next 3 trains into town were canceled so I sat there and waited for almost an hour. Once it finally showed though, shit went smoothly and I was in the center of town in no time.
I was starving by that point, so I decided to grab a hot dog as I was leaving the station to walk to my hotel. He asked me what I wanted on it and I said nothing, but apparently "nothing" means "everything" in Danish English, because I got this hot dog with all kinds of shit on it. 9 sauces, relish, onions, you name it. I like approximately none of that shit, so I did my best to try and scoop it off.
Nyet.
I just ended up with goop all over my hands while people all around me laughed and probably taunted me in Danish. It just wasn't my day for impressing the public, that's for sure. After grabbing about 90 napkins to wipe myself off, I finally took off towards my hotel. Oh, and I smelled like mustard for my entire time there, despite having about 5 showers and scrubbing like a rape victim. Weird.
So my hotel was one of these new ultra-modern technology places. The idea is that you use kiosks to check in and get your key, so you don't have to wait in line for a hotel employee. You do it the same way checking out. Too bad the kiosks were all retarded and worked for nearly no one (including myself) so I had to...you guessed it, wait in line to fucking check in/out with a hotel employee. The hotel was brand new and in an industrial area, which meant that there was pretty much nothing around it except for construction sites. To buy or see anything, I had to trek the 10 minutes back to the bus station area. Slightly inconvenient, but the hotel was a fucking steal in Copenhagen, which is a very pricey city, so it was worth it.
I think I was still in chill mode from England, because I didn't do much of anything the first day there. I went for a short walk around the station area and checked out a few things, but I was really unmotivated. All the rain didn't help either. So...I did a whole lot of nothing. Drank a few Carlsbergs, watched some Olympics on my fancy flat-screen TV, and caught up on what had gone on in North America other than the Olympics for the past 2 weeks or so.
About the only interesting thing that happened was when my room door suddenly swung open, revealing a fucking super-hot blonde maid. Porn music kicked off in my head pretty much immediately, but it was not to be...she apologized profusely for having the wrong room and took off. Denied, as usual.
I decided that since I had wasted pretty much an entire day in a city I always wanted to see, I'd have to go into overdrive the next day to cover as much as I could. I spent about 4 hours walking around, and saw lotsa cool shit. My personal humorous highlight was walking through the red light district, where the hookers just stand there and go "PSSSST" at you, trying to get your attention. It was pretty odd...it made it seem like she was more interested in telling you a secret than anything else, which made me laugh at the idea of it. Anyway, Copenhagen is a beautiful city full of amazing buildings and sculptures and stuff, and the canals are awesome too.
The main area was a little smaller than I expected though, so by mid-afternoon I had seen pretty much everything I had set out to see. You know what that means...pub time!
My friend Kate used to live in Copenhagen and told me to go to this bar called the Moose, which was like the Cambie of Copenhagen. Unsurprisingly, I couldn't find it and got lost. I must have set some kind of world record for the number of cities I got lost in on this trip.
Anyway, after I finally gave up on my Moose dream I just went into the first pub I saw - an Australian pub. I know, I know. You'd think I'd aim for an actual Danish pub or something, but noooo. I actually went in there because I could see their TV through the window, and a gorgeous girl was in a music video. Finding out who she was provided me with all the inspiration I needed to go inside. Well, that and the beer. Obviously.
7 bucks, Cheryl Cole, and a crossword puzzle. Those are the answers. The questions? In order - how much they charged for my first beer (in Canadian), who the hot girl was on TV, and what I did in the pub other than drink. There was no one in there except for the owner when I stepped through the doors. A little odd, but that's never stopped me before. After serving me up a Kilkenny, he demanded that I help him with his crossword puzzle in exchange for a discount on the 2nd beer. Hells yeah I can do that. Finally my intelligence could be used for a worthy purpose!
Uh, no. This was the hardest fucking crossword puzzle of all time.
I got one thing right. ONE. He got about three. The rest of it was just us looking at each other and alternating between "what the hell?" and "who made this up?" with a few swear words interspersed at regular intervals. I felt pretty fucking stupid after attempting that thing. I did get a free beer out of it though...but it was probably out of pity more than anything. Who cares though, free beer is free beer! After another one and some time admiring about 10 Cheryl Cole videos in a row (look her up if you don't know who she is - gorgeous), I had a good buzz and decided I was going to walk around Copenhagen some more.
As usual, my motivation evaporated quicker than Milo's memory (he's sitting right beside me, so he seemed like an appropriate target for a joke...plus, the guy forgets everything you say 5 seconds after you say it...he's like a goldfish!), I somehow ended up sitting on a bench which overlooked one of the bigger canals in the city. Me, my ipod, a Carlsberg or 4, and the canal just hung out for a while. It was completely frozen over, since it was about -5 outside. Yes, I like cold weather...we've gone through this already.
A couple of people rode by on bicycles and gave me odd looks, but I was used to that by now. I just sat there and mentally flipped through my last couple of weeks, laughing at my stupidity and marveling at all the shit I had seen. It was pretty peaceful, until I decided to leave. I got up, walked about 3 steps, and slipped and fell on my ass. I'm all class baby! It was dark by then, and I couldn't really head out to another pub because I had to leave for Oslo early in the morning, so I decided to call it a night.
Overall, Copenhagen was awesome. I don't want to use a stupid faggy word like enchanting, but it has a lot of character and I can definitely see why people call it the most fun city in Scandinavia. The people are more outgoing and they all come across as pretty happy. Everyone rides bikes around the city, which adds to the charm and means the city isn't as choked with traffic as most major cities. Take all that and throw in the architecture and canals, and you've got a hell of a destination. I'd highly recommend it.
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Europe Trip, Part 6 - Leeds
I'm now on a bus between Taxco, Mexico (insanely cool city) and Mexico City, so it's time to continue the blog with Operation England. The reason for this off-the-tourist-trail destination was simple - my brother Terry lives there. He and his family were nice enough to put me up for a couple of days, which is always a plus.
After my flight into Manchester and a short train ride, I arrived in the Leeds train station. Terry said to meet him in the pub there, so that's what I did. I was pretty hungover, but I figured a pint or 2 would make me feel a little better.
It did. But that's not exactly how it went down though.
After Terry arrived, we went on a pub crawl through the center of Leeds. A similar one to the one we went on 6 years ago when I was there, but there were 2 major differences. I wasn't brutally hungover then, nor did I have to drag a suitcase into every bar. If you ever wanted to announce yourself as a liquor pig tourist, try wheeling your suitcase down a bunch of narrow alleys into pubs...at 1pm. I got some great looks of amusement. It was a lot of fun. The two trips did have one thing in common though:
This was my second time not remembering a damn thing about most of these pubs.
I think we ended up going to 5 pubs total...maybe 6. It's a little foggy because we were just mainlining pints and bullshitting about everything. Terry's a super intelligent guy and despite growing up in different worlds, we have a lot in common so I always enjoy getting to hang out with him. So after a few hours of that...yeah, I was pretty drunk. I don't think he was too far behind either. We headed back to his place so he could have a nap before we headed out that night...to a soccer game.
I probably should have slept at that point too, but instead I played on their computer and listened to my ipod really loud like a moron in their kitchen. So loud that I didn't even realize it when Shelly and Ryan got home. Shelly is Terry's super-nice girlfriend, and Ryan is their 16 year old son. They walked in to see me swaying around like a retard and singing along to something terrible, which is always the best way to re-introduce yourself after 6 years or so.
By the time we headed out, I had sobered up pretty well (surprisingly). I had always wanted to go to a real live English football match, and this was my chance since Shelly had grabbed some free tickets from work for the game. Leeds United used to be an elite team, but had fallen on hard times both financially and on the field in the past few years, and had plummeted down to the 3rd tier of English football (somehow called League One - yeah, I think it's dumb too). Shelly drove us over, and Terry, Ryan and I went up to our seats in one of the ends behind/above the net. Folks, it was a trip.
The ends are the cheap seats, where all the rowdies hang out. Terry had told me not to bring my camera to the game because of where we were sitting, and now I knew why - these guys were NUTS. First off, they never sat down. They paid for seats (I think), but everyone stood up for the entire game. Odd, but whatever. Then they started chanting.
For the entire game, we were surrounded by fanatical fans that chanted about everything. They had their usual Leeds United chants and songs, along with some pretty impressive improvisations. For example, a player for Oldham named Chris Price did something...oversold a tackle or something, can't remember. Right away, about 1000 people started chanting "CHRIS PRICE IS FUCKING SHITE!" Over and over. No, I didn't spell shit wrong Canadians...that's how they were saying it.
After a pretty pathetic first half, Leeds scored 2 goals in the second half and looked pretty impressive. What wasn't so impressive is that they don't sell beer at the games anymore, but I could deal with that after epic last 24 hours of beer consumption. Either way, the crowd went home happy (well, as happy as those crazy fuckers can get) after a 2-0 win. I was certainly impressed...it was a shitload of fun. Leeds has since been promoted to the 2nd tier of English football, and hopefully someday soon they can get back into the Premiership so I can go see a top-flight game back in Elland Road. Awesome, awesome experience.
Shelly came back and picked us up, and we headed back to their house for a chilled out night. Couple of beers, watched some TV, and got a good nights sleep. The next day was the perfect day for someone who had been on the road non-stop for 2 weeks at that point - we did pretty much nothing. Terry made me breakfast, I did my laundry, and we watched gameshows and other awesome English shows on TV for most of the day.
For those that care, British TV is waaaay better than American TV. The gameshows rule, and they have some killer comedy/variety shows like 8 Out of 10 Cats and Never Mind The Buzzcocks, which had me in tears from laughing. Between that and bullshitting with Terry about all sorts of things all day, it was exactly what I needed to recharge a bit for my last week on the road.
After Shelly and Ryan got home, we headed out to a pub to grab a great dinner (turkey, beef, veggies, you name it, all buffet style for like 6 bucks) and had a couple pints and talked for a while. The last time I saw Ryan he was only 10, and he was hilarious. Not much has changed except for the fact that he's a lot bigger and a pretty talented singer now. He's still super funny.
I tipped the bartender after grabbing a beer, and he pointed out that they don't tip in the UK. I had been in so many countries that I couldn't keep track of where to tip and where not to. I won't forget again though, because the kid did an excellent job of teasing me about it. He recently posted a facebook status concerning the vuvuzelas at the World Cup, with something along the lines of "I'm not donating to those African charities anymore because instead of buying food, they're spending the money on annoying trumpets!" Hilarious. Between that and his mom's video of him passing out in their dog kennel in the backyard after a night of drinking...the kid's given me more internet laughs over the last few months than anyone I know. Great stuff.
So after another chill night and a good sleep, I had to get up at the dreaded 5am to head back to Manchester to catch my flight to Copenhagen. Canada was playing Russia in the quarterfinals that night, but the game didn't start until 1:30am UK time, so there wasn't any real way for me to watch it and be able to make my flight. I tried to find out the score on Terry's computer when I got up, but my cab arrived before I could boot it up. I'll save the story of how I found out for the next blog.
After my flight into Manchester and a short train ride, I arrived in the Leeds train station. Terry said to meet him in the pub there, so that's what I did. I was pretty hungover, but I figured a pint or 2 would make me feel a little better.
It did. But that's not exactly how it went down though.
After Terry arrived, we went on a pub crawl through the center of Leeds. A similar one to the one we went on 6 years ago when I was there, but there were 2 major differences. I wasn't brutally hungover then, nor did I have to drag a suitcase into every bar. If you ever wanted to announce yourself as a liquor pig tourist, try wheeling your suitcase down a bunch of narrow alleys into pubs...at 1pm. I got some great looks of amusement. It was a lot of fun. The two trips did have one thing in common though:
This was my second time not remembering a damn thing about most of these pubs.
I think we ended up going to 5 pubs total...maybe 6. It's a little foggy because we were just mainlining pints and bullshitting about everything. Terry's a super intelligent guy and despite growing up in different worlds, we have a lot in common so I always enjoy getting to hang out with him. So after a few hours of that...yeah, I was pretty drunk. I don't think he was too far behind either. We headed back to his place so he could have a nap before we headed out that night...to a soccer game.
I probably should have slept at that point too, but instead I played on their computer and listened to my ipod really loud like a moron in their kitchen. So loud that I didn't even realize it when Shelly and Ryan got home. Shelly is Terry's super-nice girlfriend, and Ryan is their 16 year old son. They walked in to see me swaying around like a retard and singing along to something terrible, which is always the best way to re-introduce yourself after 6 years or so.
By the time we headed out, I had sobered up pretty well (surprisingly). I had always wanted to go to a real live English football match, and this was my chance since Shelly had grabbed some free tickets from work for the game. Leeds United used to be an elite team, but had fallen on hard times both financially and on the field in the past few years, and had plummeted down to the 3rd tier of English football (somehow called League One - yeah, I think it's dumb too). Shelly drove us over, and Terry, Ryan and I went up to our seats in one of the ends behind/above the net. Folks, it was a trip.
The ends are the cheap seats, where all the rowdies hang out. Terry had told me not to bring my camera to the game because of where we were sitting, and now I knew why - these guys were NUTS. First off, they never sat down. They paid for seats (I think), but everyone stood up for the entire game. Odd, but whatever. Then they started chanting.
For the entire game, we were surrounded by fanatical fans that chanted about everything. They had their usual Leeds United chants and songs, along with some pretty impressive improvisations. For example, a player for Oldham named Chris Price did something...oversold a tackle or something, can't remember. Right away, about 1000 people started chanting "CHRIS PRICE IS FUCKING SHITE!" Over and over. No, I didn't spell shit wrong Canadians...that's how they were saying it.
After a pretty pathetic first half, Leeds scored 2 goals in the second half and looked pretty impressive. What wasn't so impressive is that they don't sell beer at the games anymore, but I could deal with that after epic last 24 hours of beer consumption. Either way, the crowd went home happy (well, as happy as those crazy fuckers can get) after a 2-0 win. I was certainly impressed...it was a shitload of fun. Leeds has since been promoted to the 2nd tier of English football, and hopefully someday soon they can get back into the Premiership so I can go see a top-flight game back in Elland Road. Awesome, awesome experience.
Shelly came back and picked us up, and we headed back to their house for a chilled out night. Couple of beers, watched some TV, and got a good nights sleep. The next day was the perfect day for someone who had been on the road non-stop for 2 weeks at that point - we did pretty much nothing. Terry made me breakfast, I did my laundry, and we watched gameshows and other awesome English shows on TV for most of the day.
For those that care, British TV is waaaay better than American TV. The gameshows rule, and they have some killer comedy/variety shows like 8 Out of 10 Cats and Never Mind The Buzzcocks, which had me in tears from laughing. Between that and bullshitting with Terry about all sorts of things all day, it was exactly what I needed to recharge a bit for my last week on the road.
After Shelly and Ryan got home, we headed out to a pub to grab a great dinner (turkey, beef, veggies, you name it, all buffet style for like 6 bucks) and had a couple pints and talked for a while. The last time I saw Ryan he was only 10, and he was hilarious. Not much has changed except for the fact that he's a lot bigger and a pretty talented singer now. He's still super funny.
I tipped the bartender after grabbing a beer, and he pointed out that they don't tip in the UK. I had been in so many countries that I couldn't keep track of where to tip and where not to. I won't forget again though, because the kid did an excellent job of teasing me about it. He recently posted a facebook status concerning the vuvuzelas at the World Cup, with something along the lines of "I'm not donating to those African charities anymore because instead of buying food, they're spending the money on annoying trumpets!" Hilarious. Between that and his mom's video of him passing out in their dog kennel in the backyard after a night of drinking...the kid's given me more internet laughs over the last few months than anyone I know. Great stuff.
So after another chill night and a good sleep, I had to get up at the dreaded 5am to head back to Manchester to catch my flight to Copenhagen. Canada was playing Russia in the quarterfinals that night, but the game didn't start until 1:30am UK time, so there wasn't any real way for me to watch it and be able to make my flight. I tried to find out the score on Terry's computer when I got up, but my cab arrived before I could boot it up. I'll save the story of how I found out for the next blog.
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Europe Trip, Part 5 - Brussels
I was waaay behind on these, but I had to catch up on them before I could start posting my Mexico blogs. Mexican buses gave me the time to write them, so I'll post one a day until I'm caught up, then start on the DF. Here we go...
I'm on the comfiest bus ever right now, traveling between Puebla and Cuernavaca in Mexico. Seems like a good time to write about Belgium, right? Sure. I'll ignore the sweet sounds of The Taking of Pelham 123 dubbed into Spanish and put down my snickers bar and get on it.
I've always wanted to go to Brussels for some reason...I've never been sure why I tend to pick off the wall spots as my dream destinations. Missoula, Montana is probably the strangest. Anyway, my flight took me to Amsterdam, and I had booked a high-speed train from there to Brussels. I still had 3 hours to kill until my train left, so I took the train into the city center of Amsterdam. I'm not sure what to say, really. Amsterdam isn't that great. I walked around a bit, checked it out...it's pretty, I guess...lotsa canals and stuff. I guess it's just not really my thing though. I never had any real desire to go there, and now I know why. I don't smoke weed, pay for hookers, or like Dutch people. Yes Milo, this means you.
So, it's train time. I go back to catch it...and had to wait another hour because mine was canceled. I arrived in Brussels around 8pm, after seeing a whole bunch of windmills and some snow. The highway system is strange in Brussels. It weaves up and down like a rollercoaster, through these mini tunnels, then back to street level, then another tunnel, and so on. It almost made me carsick. Oh, and every taxi driver in Brussels looks exactly like Badr Hari.
True story.
So I arrive at my hotel, and for the first time on my trip, the staff doesn't speak English. Oh, and they can't find my reservation. GREAT. So I had to revert to my pathetically bad French to help them try to figure it out, which they eventually did. Barely. They tried to make me pay again, despite the room being pre-paid. Frogs these days.
A quick walk around revealed that I had booked my hotel right in the middle of Brussels' version of a red light district. It was pretty amusing, actually...lots of sex shops and Badrs wandering around. It's not very big though, maybe 2 blocks long. In the other direction from my hotel was the center of the city, which was pretty chill at night. Since there didn't seem to be much to do, I just grabbed some food and beer and chilled in my plush room.
The next day was a fairly big adventure and a half. For some reason, my plug adapter didn't work in my hotel room, so I had to go use the internet at a cafe down the street. Despite it being 7am, the place was packed with people, and they were all yelling at each other in French for some reason I couldn't comprehend. I didn't last long in there, partially because of all the yelling, and partially because French keyboards are a bitch. It's official. I hate all that is French. Even the fries, dammit. Just because.
After that, it was dorky tourist time. Grand Place is fucking amazing, one of the coolest squares I've ever been in. It was kind of odd because at first I couldn't find it to save my life...I walked all over the place for an hour until I actually stumbled across it. Once I found it once though, I couldn't avoid it after that. Every road I went down seemed to lead me back into it. Weird.
There are a ton of cool little plazas and statues all over the city, including one of a gigantic pylon. Not sure why, but it made me laugh.
Being a dorky tourist makes a guy thirsty, so it was pub time. I had read about a pretty unique pub that was up the street from my hotel, so I went to check it out...and it was certainly unique. I walked in, and it was dead silent. No music, no TV's, nothing. Just a bunch of tables with chess boards on them, and a gaggle of old guys, 2 to a table, silently playing against each other. It was sort of haunting because of the quiet, and it was one of those times where everyone in the place looks at you when you walk in. Eerie. I sat at the bar and had the quietest pint of my life (I even tried to swallow quietly...how dumb is that?) and headed on to slightly louder pastures.
I decided to go to a store I had read about called De Bier Tempel. It sells 550 different types of beer from around the world, and it was like my version of heaven. I just meandered around the store for a half hour, checking out all kinds of strange shit. Eventually I picked a few that someone had recommended and took them back to my hotel to enjoy later. That turned out to be a terrible idea, but I obviously didn't know that at the time.
Two pubs later, a couple of people started talking to me in broken English, and were eventually joined by 2 girls who only spoke French. Eventually, they said they were going to grab some beers and go drink in the park. Did I want to come along? Sure, why not...haven't drank in a park in a while (or ever), so it seemed like a good idea. So we go to the store, and they tell me to wait outside and they'll grab the beer. I do that, and they come back with...a 40. In a paper bag. Really? I'm brown bagging it now? This isn't fucking Compton, it's Belgium...I thought it was slightly more civilized, but apparently not. Werd.
So, we're sitting under some trees, drinking in the park. No one else is drinking in the park, but these people don't seem to think it's unusual, so whatever. We're all bullshitting about this and that, and after a bit, the guys and one of the girls say they're gonna jet, but that I should stay there with the other girl, Marie. Uh, okay. She was cute and all that, and I had been talking to her a fair amount, using one of the guys as a translator. I was definitely down for hanging out, but how the hell was I going to talk to her now?
It was...awkward. It's pretty hard to be charming when the girl you're talking to doesn't understand anything you're saying. I think I was doing alright though, for a while at least. At some point it started to rain, and I signaled her to get up so we could go somewhere...ya know, DRY, but she wanted to stay. So we sat there, getting soaking wet, drinking 40's out of soaked paper bags, and playing charades to fucking communicate with each other. Yup, that's exactly how I expected Brussels to turn out. Sure.
Eventually she signaled that she wanted to leave. It was getting dark, so I did what sounded like the best idea in my head...I signaled her to come back to my hotel. I figured that's where it was headed, so why not, right? Uh, NO. Apparently that idea offended her, because she started swearing at me in French and doing a good enough job of charades to imply that she wasn't a slut and it wasn't fucking happening. Me getting denied? What are the chances? At least I can say I've been shot down by women in English, French, and sign language. Go Tim.
So now that I was all alone again (huge surprise there), it seemed like a good time to go back to my hotel room and drink the beer I had bought earlier (even bigger surprise). I played on the net and drank some of the fancy beers, not really paying attention to how inebriated I was getting. I didn't even consider the idea that the beers I had bought would have a higher alcohol content than usual. Well maybe I should have, because once I finally figured it out around midnight, I was smashed. And I had to get up in 5 hours to catch my flight to England. Ruh roh.
So, what did this super-responsible world traveler do?
Kept drinking, that's what. Not the brightest idea.
A few hours later, I could vaguely hear ringing, but couldn't make out where it was coming from. It went away, then came back again. Weird. By the third time, I finally clued into the fact that it was the phone ringing. As in, my wakeup call. I answered, and the lady said in her stupid french accent "Zees is your wakeup call, sir. Zeee TURD one" and hung up. Zut alors, skank.
I was barely functional at this point. I narrowly avoided falling asleep in the shower, packed up my stuff on auto-pilot (and forgot my watch and earphones), and somehow steered myself to the lobby. I walk up, and I shit you not, a BLIND lady is the receptionist. She tries to make me pay for my room AGAIN, which was starting to get pretty annoying, then tells me I had a beer from my minibar. I guess it has sensors or something, because there's no other way she would have known that. She said it was 3 Euros, so I go to hand her the money, and it turned into a Laurel and Hardy sketch.
She sticks her hand out nowhere near me to grab my money, so I reach over to give it to her...and she moves her hand even further away. I know she's blind, but she can hear my voice right in front of her...why would she reach to the side for the money? Finally I just put it on the counter, while she felt along the entire thing before finally going to grab it...and she knocks the coins onto the floor in front of me. So...we go through the whole fucking thing again. And she knocks the coins over AGAIN. Argh. I still can't figure out how she was able to look up my reservation and stuff, but wasn't able to see my fucking hand right in front of her. Braille monitor? Who knows. All I know is that blind people and hangovers don't mix well. Throw in the french, and I wanted to kick a baby at that point.
Anyway, to get to the Brussels airport, you can either take a taxi, or walk 1.5km to the train and take that. I had approximately zero desire to walk anywhere, so I just jumped in a taxi. I figured it was only a few km's, so it couldn't be that pricey.
Uh, no. 20km. 41 euros. Or about 63 bucks. FUCK.
So, I'm brutally hungover, a blind lady has enraged me, and I've been ripped off by Badr Hari, all in the course of an hour. That was how Brussels ended. I actually enjoyed the place, believe it or not...it just wasn't my favorite departure of all time. Luckily, my day was going to get a lot better, courtesy of family, beer, and soccer.
I'm on the comfiest bus ever right now, traveling between Puebla and Cuernavaca in Mexico. Seems like a good time to write about Belgium, right? Sure. I'll ignore the sweet sounds of The Taking of Pelham 123 dubbed into Spanish and put down my snickers bar and get on it.
I've always wanted to go to Brussels for some reason...I've never been sure why I tend to pick off the wall spots as my dream destinations. Missoula, Montana is probably the strangest. Anyway, my flight took me to Amsterdam, and I had booked a high-speed train from there to Brussels. I still had 3 hours to kill until my train left, so I took the train into the city center of Amsterdam. I'm not sure what to say, really. Amsterdam isn't that great. I walked around a bit, checked it out...it's pretty, I guess...lotsa canals and stuff. I guess it's just not really my thing though. I never had any real desire to go there, and now I know why. I don't smoke weed, pay for hookers, or like Dutch people. Yes Milo, this means you.
So, it's train time. I go back to catch it...and had to wait another hour because mine was canceled. I arrived in Brussels around 8pm, after seeing a whole bunch of windmills and some snow. The highway system is strange in Brussels. It weaves up and down like a rollercoaster, through these mini tunnels, then back to street level, then another tunnel, and so on. It almost made me carsick. Oh, and every taxi driver in Brussels looks exactly like Badr Hari.
True story.
So I arrive at my hotel, and for the first time on my trip, the staff doesn't speak English. Oh, and they can't find my reservation. GREAT. So I had to revert to my pathetically bad French to help them try to figure it out, which they eventually did. Barely. They tried to make me pay again, despite the room being pre-paid. Frogs these days.
A quick walk around revealed that I had booked my hotel right in the middle of Brussels' version of a red light district. It was pretty amusing, actually...lots of sex shops and Badrs wandering around. It's not very big though, maybe 2 blocks long. In the other direction from my hotel was the center of the city, which was pretty chill at night. Since there didn't seem to be much to do, I just grabbed some food and beer and chilled in my plush room.
The next day was a fairly big adventure and a half. For some reason, my plug adapter didn't work in my hotel room, so I had to go use the internet at a cafe down the street. Despite it being 7am, the place was packed with people, and they were all yelling at each other in French for some reason I couldn't comprehend. I didn't last long in there, partially because of all the yelling, and partially because French keyboards are a bitch. It's official. I hate all that is French. Even the fries, dammit. Just because.
After that, it was dorky tourist time. Grand Place is fucking amazing, one of the coolest squares I've ever been in. It was kind of odd because at first I couldn't find it to save my life...I walked all over the place for an hour until I actually stumbled across it. Once I found it once though, I couldn't avoid it after that. Every road I went down seemed to lead me back into it. Weird.
There are a ton of cool little plazas and statues all over the city, including one of a gigantic pylon. Not sure why, but it made me laugh.
Being a dorky tourist makes a guy thirsty, so it was pub time. I had read about a pretty unique pub that was up the street from my hotel, so I went to check it out...and it was certainly unique. I walked in, and it was dead silent. No music, no TV's, nothing. Just a bunch of tables with chess boards on them, and a gaggle of old guys, 2 to a table, silently playing against each other. It was sort of haunting because of the quiet, and it was one of those times where everyone in the place looks at you when you walk in. Eerie. I sat at the bar and had the quietest pint of my life (I even tried to swallow quietly...how dumb is that?) and headed on to slightly louder pastures.
I decided to go to a store I had read about called De Bier Tempel. It sells 550 different types of beer from around the world, and it was like my version of heaven. I just meandered around the store for a half hour, checking out all kinds of strange shit. Eventually I picked a few that someone had recommended and took them back to my hotel to enjoy later. That turned out to be a terrible idea, but I obviously didn't know that at the time.
Two pubs later, a couple of people started talking to me in broken English, and were eventually joined by 2 girls who only spoke French. Eventually, they said they were going to grab some beers and go drink in the park. Did I want to come along? Sure, why not...haven't drank in a park in a while (or ever), so it seemed like a good idea. So we go to the store, and they tell me to wait outside and they'll grab the beer. I do that, and they come back with...a 40. In a paper bag. Really? I'm brown bagging it now? This isn't fucking Compton, it's Belgium...I thought it was slightly more civilized, but apparently not. Werd.
So, we're sitting under some trees, drinking in the park. No one else is drinking in the park, but these people don't seem to think it's unusual, so whatever. We're all bullshitting about this and that, and after a bit, the guys and one of the girls say they're gonna jet, but that I should stay there with the other girl, Marie. Uh, okay. She was cute and all that, and I had been talking to her a fair amount, using one of the guys as a translator. I was definitely down for hanging out, but how the hell was I going to talk to her now?
It was...awkward. It's pretty hard to be charming when the girl you're talking to doesn't understand anything you're saying. I think I was doing alright though, for a while at least. At some point it started to rain, and I signaled her to get up so we could go somewhere...ya know, DRY, but she wanted to stay. So we sat there, getting soaking wet, drinking 40's out of soaked paper bags, and playing charades to fucking communicate with each other. Yup, that's exactly how I expected Brussels to turn out. Sure.
Eventually she signaled that she wanted to leave. It was getting dark, so I did what sounded like the best idea in my head...I signaled her to come back to my hotel. I figured that's where it was headed, so why not, right? Uh, NO. Apparently that idea offended her, because she started swearing at me in French and doing a good enough job of charades to imply that she wasn't a slut and it wasn't fucking happening. Me getting denied? What are the chances? At least I can say I've been shot down by women in English, French, and sign language. Go Tim.
So now that I was all alone again (huge surprise there), it seemed like a good time to go back to my hotel room and drink the beer I had bought earlier (even bigger surprise). I played on the net and drank some of the fancy beers, not really paying attention to how inebriated I was getting. I didn't even consider the idea that the beers I had bought would have a higher alcohol content than usual. Well maybe I should have, because once I finally figured it out around midnight, I was smashed. And I had to get up in 5 hours to catch my flight to England. Ruh roh.
So, what did this super-responsible world traveler do?
Kept drinking, that's what. Not the brightest idea.
A few hours later, I could vaguely hear ringing, but couldn't make out where it was coming from. It went away, then came back again. Weird. By the third time, I finally clued into the fact that it was the phone ringing. As in, my wakeup call. I answered, and the lady said in her stupid french accent "Zees is your wakeup call, sir. Zeee TURD one" and hung up. Zut alors, skank.
I was barely functional at this point. I narrowly avoided falling asleep in the shower, packed up my stuff on auto-pilot (and forgot my watch and earphones), and somehow steered myself to the lobby. I walk up, and I shit you not, a BLIND lady is the receptionist. She tries to make me pay for my room AGAIN, which was starting to get pretty annoying, then tells me I had a beer from my minibar. I guess it has sensors or something, because there's no other way she would have known that. She said it was 3 Euros, so I go to hand her the money, and it turned into a Laurel and Hardy sketch.
She sticks her hand out nowhere near me to grab my money, so I reach over to give it to her...and she moves her hand even further away. I know she's blind, but she can hear my voice right in front of her...why would she reach to the side for the money? Finally I just put it on the counter, while she felt along the entire thing before finally going to grab it...and she knocks the coins onto the floor in front of me. So...we go through the whole fucking thing again. And she knocks the coins over AGAIN. Argh. I still can't figure out how she was able to look up my reservation and stuff, but wasn't able to see my fucking hand right in front of her. Braille monitor? Who knows. All I know is that blind people and hangovers don't mix well. Throw in the french, and I wanted to kick a baby at that point.
Anyway, to get to the Brussels airport, you can either take a taxi, or walk 1.5km to the train and take that. I had approximately zero desire to walk anywhere, so I just jumped in a taxi. I figured it was only a few km's, so it couldn't be that pricey.
Uh, no. 20km. 41 euros. Or about 63 bucks. FUCK.
So, I'm brutally hungover, a blind lady has enraged me, and I've been ripped off by Badr Hari, all in the course of an hour. That was how Brussels ended. I actually enjoyed the place, believe it or not...it just wasn't my favorite departure of all time. Luckily, my day was going to get a lot better, courtesy of family, beer, and soccer.
Monday, June 28, 2010
Europe Trip, Part 4 - Budapest
During my first trip to Europe in 2004, a lot of people I talked to had the same favorite destination - Budapest. Besides Budapest being beyond beautiful (how you like that alliteration, bitches?), they said that their favorite part of it was that it was still genuine. Prague was a similar city, they said, but EVERYONE had discovered it already and it lost a lot of it's authenticity. Now that was 6 years ago, so I figured that in the meantime Budapest would have been overrun as well. But I still picked it over Prague, hoping that it might still be beyond the grasp of the masses. Luckily, I was at least partially right.
My flight was pretty early, so I arrived at the Budapest airport around noon and jumped into my prearranged shuttle. A German guy named Hans who was also on my flight was along for the ride as well, so we BS'd about sports and the usual stuff on the 40 minute ride into the city. He spoke perfect English, and had even been to Vancouver before. He wasn't a huge hockey fan, but he thought that the Russian team was overrated and that the US was going to make the finals against Canada. I laughed at his obviously stupid statement...until a week later when everything he said came true. Dammit. He must have thought the Canadian that's supposedly a diehard hockey fan is a moron. And he'd be correct.
Eventually he jumped out and the shuttle driver took me on a bit of a city tour before depositing me at my hotel. Even though his English sucked, it was cool to have a tour guide point out the various old buildings and their significance. I was already blown away by how varied and cool the city looked. One block would be ultramodern, while the next housed crumbling buildings and huge churches. I'm not a huge architecture buff, but this shit was cool.
I hadn't actually seen the Danube River yet, which splits the city in two (one side is Buda, the other side Pest. Seriously, they just combined the two to make the city name). My hotel was right on the bank of the river, apparently overlooking the gigantic Royal Palace on the other side, with the Chain Bridge about 100 feet away. I say apparently, because there was one small problem...
It was foggy. Not just your average fog. The thickest fog I've seen in a long time. If the driver didn't tell me the Royal Palace was across the river, I never would have known, because I couldn't see a damn thing. And this motherfucker is HUGE, as I'd find out the next day. Hell, the Chain Bridge is gigantic too, and I could just barely make out the entrance to the thing. I didn't even notice the fog before because we weren't near the river and the streets are very narrow. But now...this fucking shit was ruining my vacation!
My hotel was pretty sick. A priceline business hotel again, but the location and layout couldn't be beat. I had heard a lot about how hot Hungarian women were, and when I was lining up to check in, I thought I had hit the jackpot right away - the reservations girl was gorgeous. Until I got up there, and mentioned that I picked Budapest over Prague, and she told me she was Czech. What the hell? Anyway, hot is hot, I don't care where it's from, dammit. It's not like I had a shot either way.
Since it was 1pm and I didn't have a beer in my face, it was high time to correct that. I meandered around for a bit until I found a pub entrance. Through a lobby, around 2 corners and down 3 sets of stairs later, there it was. A sign on the wall listed the prices...hmm...1000 forint for a beer. At the time, a Canadian dollar equaled about 190 forint. Soo...beers were over 5 bucks. What the hell? Everything I had heard was that Budapest was cheap. Luckily someone was reading my mind...and he turned out to be probably the worst salesman of all time. A waiter came up to me reading the board and spoke in a brutally strong accent...
"Beer food cost much here. Walk two blocks north vaci utca, find much lower money"...
And walked away. Who says that in their own bar? How did he even know I spoke English? Anyway, thanks employee of the month. After taking 5 minutes to figure out what "vaci utca" was (the street I was on, apparently), and miraculously being able to follow his directions, I sat down in a pub where beers were 600 forint. Hey, I wasn't complaining.
Eventually I left the comfy confines of the pub and went exploring...or tried to. In my infinite wisdom, I decided to explore the stuff that was surrounded by fog instead of venturing further north where there was no fog. Go Kozels (that's the beer I was drinking). I wandered around all sorts of cool buildings and sick architecture for a few hours until I got tired of barely making anything out. I then got the bright idea to grab some beers from the store and sit on a bench down by the river in front of my hotel. On a non-foggy day, this is a great idea. On a foggy day however...
Basically I sat there, drinking beer out of a paper bag, listening to my ipod, and staring at...nothing. Fog. You couldn't make out anything at all.
REALLY REALLY FUCKING FOGGY.
The few people that walked by kinda looked off in the distance where I was staring, like they might be missing something. And then back at me with looks of pity and confusion. Come to think of it, that's usually how women look at me. Anyway, it was kinda dumb. After sitting there for an hour or so, I turned around and saw...my hotel bar. Right behind me. With people sitting against the glass, drinking beer that wasn't in a paper bag, looking at me like I was dumb. Touche.
It was gettin dark and I was a bit of a burnout, so I grabbed some food in the restaurant and retired to my room for the night. Hungarian TV was pretty amusing...it was a lot of American shows dubbed into Hungarian. That might sound dull as hell, till Jersey Shore comes on. I'd never seen it before then, and lemme tell ya, Jersey Shore in Hungarian after a few paper bag beers is some funny ass shit.
I ended up crashing early, and woke up earlier. Around 6:30am. On a sunday. At home, this is a terrible time to be awake and I hate the world that early. In Budapest however, it would mean I'd likely have the city to myself for a while, which is always my goal when traveling. See, I like traveling, I just hate people. Anyway, I walked over to my curtains, closed my eyes, and opened them both at the same time....NO FOG! I could see across building after cool building. I got ready uber-quick and headed out to experience fogless Budapest. And it ruled.
I walked the 100 feet or so up to the Chain Bridge, and crossed over. A few lonely cars passed me, but I pretty much had the bridge to myself. I'm intensely afraid of heights, but it wasn't too high so we got along fine. On the other side, I took in the massive scale of Castle Hill. There's a funicular that takes people to the top, but it wasn't even open yet...that's how early it was. I decided to walk down the Danube towards the Parliament Buildings.
Holy crap, they're fucking insanely cool. I'd seen pics before, but pictures never, ever compare to standing right there, staring at something with your own eyes. I just sat on a bench (sans brown bag beer), and took it all in for a while. Out of all the things I saw and did on this trip, Budapest at 7:15am all by myself, staring at one of the grandest structures in the world...that took the cake for me. Best moment of the trip.
I do find it kinda funny that I'm telling y'all that pictures never compare to the real thing...then showing you a picture. Hey, it's better than nuthin, right?
After some breakfast and chillin, I headed off in the other direction to check out more of the city. I eventually stumbled across the Jewish Quarter, and knew it immediately. How? The rest of the city is old, but nice. The Jewish Quarter? Graffiti'd to shit and falling apart at the seams. I'd heard this beforehand, but it was kinda surprising to see the state of disrepair it's in. At least the Jewish Museum was pretty cool.
After that was up to Heroes Square, which is the coolest part of the city to me. It's a huge park area, surrounded with cool buildings and lotsa (cheap) bars and restaurants and stuff. I spent most of the day up in that area. Overall, the city is a ton of fun to walk around, because there's so much to see. I only scratched the surface in 2 days. I totally wanna go back.
There's really not much to tell after that. Chilled out for the rest of the day, got a good night's sleep, and went to the airport to head to Brussels. The airport was amusing...some stupid American was totally aghast that he couldn't pay his bar tab in American dollars. "Who doesn't take American? That's ridiculous! No, I don't have anything else, why would I NEED anything else?" And Americans wonder why they have a bad rep. Why the fuck would he think American dollars would be acceptable in Budapest, Hungary? He actually had to go to the airport currency exchange, which probably gouged the shit out of him. Serves the dipshit right. Oh, and my waitress looked just like Kaila. Like, it could have been her twin. Yes, you Kaila. I know you're reading this.
So, that was Budapest. Definitely on the "return to" list. Next up was Brussels, Belgium...certainly an interesting stop. One of the strangest, that's for sure. Stay tuned.
My flight was pretty early, so I arrived at the Budapest airport around noon and jumped into my prearranged shuttle. A German guy named Hans who was also on my flight was along for the ride as well, so we BS'd about sports and the usual stuff on the 40 minute ride into the city. He spoke perfect English, and had even been to Vancouver before. He wasn't a huge hockey fan, but he thought that the Russian team was overrated and that the US was going to make the finals against Canada. I laughed at his obviously stupid statement...until a week later when everything he said came true. Dammit. He must have thought the Canadian that's supposedly a diehard hockey fan is a moron. And he'd be correct.
Eventually he jumped out and the shuttle driver took me on a bit of a city tour before depositing me at my hotel. Even though his English sucked, it was cool to have a tour guide point out the various old buildings and their significance. I was already blown away by how varied and cool the city looked. One block would be ultramodern, while the next housed crumbling buildings and huge churches. I'm not a huge architecture buff, but this shit was cool.
I hadn't actually seen the Danube River yet, which splits the city in two (one side is Buda, the other side Pest. Seriously, they just combined the two to make the city name). My hotel was right on the bank of the river, apparently overlooking the gigantic Royal Palace on the other side, with the Chain Bridge about 100 feet away. I say apparently, because there was one small problem...
It was foggy. Not just your average fog. The thickest fog I've seen in a long time. If the driver didn't tell me the Royal Palace was across the river, I never would have known, because I couldn't see a damn thing. And this motherfucker is HUGE, as I'd find out the next day. Hell, the Chain Bridge is gigantic too, and I could just barely make out the entrance to the thing. I didn't even notice the fog before because we weren't near the river and the streets are very narrow. But now...this fucking shit was ruining my vacation!
My hotel was pretty sick. A priceline business hotel again, but the location and layout couldn't be beat. I had heard a lot about how hot Hungarian women were, and when I was lining up to check in, I thought I had hit the jackpot right away - the reservations girl was gorgeous. Until I got up there, and mentioned that I picked Budapest over Prague, and she told me she was Czech. What the hell? Anyway, hot is hot, I don't care where it's from, dammit. It's not like I had a shot either way.
Since it was 1pm and I didn't have a beer in my face, it was high time to correct that. I meandered around for a bit until I found a pub entrance. Through a lobby, around 2 corners and down 3 sets of stairs later, there it was. A sign on the wall listed the prices...hmm...1000 forint for a beer. At the time, a Canadian dollar equaled about 190 forint. Soo...beers were over 5 bucks. What the hell? Everything I had heard was that Budapest was cheap. Luckily someone was reading my mind...and he turned out to be probably the worst salesman of all time. A waiter came up to me reading the board and spoke in a brutally strong accent...
"Beer food cost much here. Walk two blocks north vaci utca, find much lower money"...
And walked away. Who says that in their own bar? How did he even know I spoke English? Anyway, thanks employee of the month. After taking 5 minutes to figure out what "vaci utca" was (the street I was on, apparently), and miraculously being able to follow his directions, I sat down in a pub where beers were 600 forint. Hey, I wasn't complaining.
Eventually I left the comfy confines of the pub and went exploring...or tried to. In my infinite wisdom, I decided to explore the stuff that was surrounded by fog instead of venturing further north where there was no fog. Go Kozels (that's the beer I was drinking). I wandered around all sorts of cool buildings and sick architecture for a few hours until I got tired of barely making anything out. I then got the bright idea to grab some beers from the store and sit on a bench down by the river in front of my hotel. On a non-foggy day, this is a great idea. On a foggy day however...
Basically I sat there, drinking beer out of a paper bag, listening to my ipod, and staring at...nothing. Fog. You couldn't make out anything at all.
REALLY REALLY FUCKING FOGGY.
The few people that walked by kinda looked off in the distance where I was staring, like they might be missing something. And then back at me with looks of pity and confusion. Come to think of it, that's usually how women look at me. Anyway, it was kinda dumb. After sitting there for an hour or so, I turned around and saw...my hotel bar. Right behind me. With people sitting against the glass, drinking beer that wasn't in a paper bag, looking at me like I was dumb. Touche.
It was gettin dark and I was a bit of a burnout, so I grabbed some food in the restaurant and retired to my room for the night. Hungarian TV was pretty amusing...it was a lot of American shows dubbed into Hungarian. That might sound dull as hell, till Jersey Shore comes on. I'd never seen it before then, and lemme tell ya, Jersey Shore in Hungarian after a few paper bag beers is some funny ass shit.
I ended up crashing early, and woke up earlier. Around 6:30am. On a sunday. At home, this is a terrible time to be awake and I hate the world that early. In Budapest however, it would mean I'd likely have the city to myself for a while, which is always my goal when traveling. See, I like traveling, I just hate people. Anyway, I walked over to my curtains, closed my eyes, and opened them both at the same time....NO FOG! I could see across building after cool building. I got ready uber-quick and headed out to experience fogless Budapest. And it ruled.
I walked the 100 feet or so up to the Chain Bridge, and crossed over. A few lonely cars passed me, but I pretty much had the bridge to myself. I'm intensely afraid of heights, but it wasn't too high so we got along fine. On the other side, I took in the massive scale of Castle Hill. There's a funicular that takes people to the top, but it wasn't even open yet...that's how early it was. I decided to walk down the Danube towards the Parliament Buildings.
Holy crap, they're fucking insanely cool. I'd seen pics before, but pictures never, ever compare to standing right there, staring at something with your own eyes. I just sat on a bench (sans brown bag beer), and took it all in for a while. Out of all the things I saw and did on this trip, Budapest at 7:15am all by myself, staring at one of the grandest structures in the world...that took the cake for me. Best moment of the trip.
I do find it kinda funny that I'm telling y'all that pictures never compare to the real thing...then showing you a picture. Hey, it's better than nuthin, right?
After some breakfast and chillin, I headed off in the other direction to check out more of the city. I eventually stumbled across the Jewish Quarter, and knew it immediately. How? The rest of the city is old, but nice. The Jewish Quarter? Graffiti'd to shit and falling apart at the seams. I'd heard this beforehand, but it was kinda surprising to see the state of disrepair it's in. At least the Jewish Museum was pretty cool.
After that was up to Heroes Square, which is the coolest part of the city to me. It's a huge park area, surrounded with cool buildings and lotsa (cheap) bars and restaurants and stuff. I spent most of the day up in that area. Overall, the city is a ton of fun to walk around, because there's so much to see. I only scratched the surface in 2 days. I totally wanna go back.
There's really not much to tell after that. Chilled out for the rest of the day, got a good night's sleep, and went to the airport to head to Brussels. The airport was amusing...some stupid American was totally aghast that he couldn't pay his bar tab in American dollars. "Who doesn't take American? That's ridiculous! No, I don't have anything else, why would I NEED anything else?" And Americans wonder why they have a bad rep. Why the fuck would he think American dollars would be acceptable in Budapest, Hungary? He actually had to go to the airport currency exchange, which probably gouged the shit out of him. Serves the dipshit right. Oh, and my waitress looked just like Kaila. Like, it could have been her twin. Yes, you Kaila. I know you're reading this.
So, that was Budapest. Definitely on the "return to" list. Next up was Brussels, Belgium...certainly an interesting stop. One of the strangest, that's for sure. Stay tuned.
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