Posts
What a day. I got go to court for the first time, met our client, and made tentative plans to visit Jon Mann in Prague. I’m pretty fired up. One of the witnesses was a Member of Bosnian Parliament. You can imagine my excitement given my recent obsession with the Balkans. Our attorneys were on point. The momentum is in our favor. I’m about to have dinner and drinks with my team. Life is good.
Positive Holland fact of the day: The Frisian Islands, off the Northwest coast of the country, are a haven for seals.
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Cold
It has gotten cold here, butt cold, colder than a black steer's tuchus on a moonless prairie. Unfortunately this seems to make the Dutch even more rude than usual.
One of my pet peeves is when I am driving down the road, usually the highway, and the speed limit is, let's say, 45. There's a car behind you, all over your backside, who finally passes you just before the speed limit changes to, let's say, 55. This guy either: A) Doesn't see that the speed limit has changed, or B) Doesn't give a damn what the speed limit is. He doesn't change speeds so you are forced to stare at the back of his Passat until there is an opportune time to pass. Inevitably, the speed limit will change back to 45 just after you get past him and he'll get right back on your bumper because he didn't notice this most recent change either.
The Dutch do this on their bikes. It's not as annoying in Dutch because bikes don't go very fast so the obliviousness or rudeness of the person may only set you back a few seconds as opposed to fifteen minutes. They will, in typical get-in-everyone's-way fashion, pass you and then slow down. Now you have to wait until the coast is clear so that you can pass, or just slow down so that another of their countrymen can do the same thing to you, ultimately creating a line of slow moving Dutch to impede your progress.
I'm obviously not used to cold weather. Adjusting to it in a foreign country is even more difficult than it would be with central air conditioning. Dutch dwellings have space heaters (radiators?) that look like something out of, Black Snake Moan. I keep expecting to come home and find Cristina Ricci chained to my heater. I guess they are safe. I think I remember seeing them years ago in Kentucky. It seems like my Great Grandmother (Mawmaw) had them in her house. Or, maybe she just had a stove to heat the house. Either way I feel like the whole building is going to burn down if I leave the heater on all night. I keep expecting to wake with the smell of smoke and Samuel L. Jackson yelling at me, screaming that he's going to kick my ass.
One of my pet peeves is when I am driving down the road, usually the highway, and the speed limit is, let's say, 45. There's a car behind you, all over your backside, who finally passes you just before the speed limit changes to, let's say, 55. This guy either: A) Doesn't see that the speed limit has changed, or B) Doesn't give a damn what the speed limit is. He doesn't change speeds so you are forced to stare at the back of his Passat until there is an opportune time to pass. Inevitably, the speed limit will change back to 45 just after you get past him and he'll get right back on your bumper because he didn't notice this most recent change either.
The Dutch do this on their bikes. It's not as annoying in Dutch because bikes don't go very fast so the obliviousness or rudeness of the person may only set you back a few seconds as opposed to fifteen minutes. They will, in typical get-in-everyone's-way fashion, pass you and then slow down. Now you have to wait until the coast is clear so that you can pass, or just slow down so that another of their countrymen can do the same thing to you, ultimately creating a line of slow moving Dutch to impede your progress.
I'm obviously not used to cold weather. Adjusting to it in a foreign country is even more difficult than it would be with central air conditioning. Dutch dwellings have space heaters (radiators?) that look like something out of, Black Snake Moan. I keep expecting to come home and find Cristina Ricci chained to my heater. I guess they are safe. I think I remember seeing them years ago in Kentucky. It seems like my Great Grandmother (Mawmaw) had them in her house. Or, maybe she just had a stove to heat the house. Either way I feel like the whole building is going to burn down if I leave the heater on all night. I keep expecting to wake with the smell of smoke and Samuel L. Jackson yelling at me, screaming that he's going to kick my ass.
Monday, October 27, 2008
It's Not That Bad
It has been brought to my attention that my blog may have a negative bent to it. I don’t want to give the impression that I’m not enjoying myself or that I don’t like Holland. I just like nearly everywhere else on earth more than I like Holland. But, Holland isn’t that bad.
I’ve decided to make a list of Holland’s pros.
Pros:
1. The ICTY has been an amazing experience- I’ve met some incredible people and learned A TON.
2. The beer is incredible- The Dutch beer is pretty damn good but the Belgian beer is out of this world.
3. The towns are beautiful- European cities are gorgeous. They have strict zoning laws that serve to maintain the historical integrity of the buildings. I like this.
4. The cops leave you alone- I have a problem with authority so I’m glad the cops aren’t breathing down my neck all the time (this one is a bit of a stretch since I rarely have trouble with the law at home).
5. I have fallen in love with the Balkans- This one should probably be a subtitle of #1 but we’ll count it separately.
6. Their drug laws are superior- I don’t take drugs but I think people should be able to if they so desire. The Dutch don’t understand why we criminalize marijuana. I agree with them.
7. The bars are charming- They are cozy, a quintessentially Dutch quality.
8. Soccer is actually pretty cool- I got into the game with the Euro 2008 and had my interest confirmed by a trip to a World Cup qualifier.
9. Proximity- Belgium, France, and Germany are very close.
10. Bicycles- This one is the best. Bike travel gives you a morning workout and a stress reliever on your way home.
I’ve decided to make a list of Holland’s pros.
Pros:
1. The ICTY has been an amazing experience- I’ve met some incredible people and learned A TON.
2. The beer is incredible- The Dutch beer is pretty damn good but the Belgian beer is out of this world.
3. The towns are beautiful- European cities are gorgeous. They have strict zoning laws that serve to maintain the historical integrity of the buildings. I like this.
4. The cops leave you alone- I have a problem with authority so I’m glad the cops aren’t breathing down my neck all the time (this one is a bit of a stretch since I rarely have trouble with the law at home).
5. I have fallen in love with the Balkans- This one should probably be a subtitle of #1 but we’ll count it separately.
6. Their drug laws are superior- I don’t take drugs but I think people should be able to if they so desire. The Dutch don’t understand why we criminalize marijuana. I agree with them.
7. The bars are charming- They are cozy, a quintessentially Dutch quality.
8. Soccer is actually pretty cool- I got into the game with the Euro 2008 and had my interest confirmed by a trip to a World Cup qualifier.
9. Proximity- Belgium, France, and Germany are very close.
10. Bicycles- This one is the best. Bike travel gives you a morning workout and a stress reliever on your way home.
Saturday, October 25, 2008
Go Gators
.....and Cats. I just want to see a good game. I'm making a hooligan mimosa (Dutch beer and orange juice) and eating Burger King.
My Bad
I have another forgotten story. During Tuesday Night Drinks, I wandered to the door with designs of going outside because the weather was surprisingly pleasant and the bar was crowded. My friend Mitra was entering the bar as I was exiting so I greeted her with a hug. A few feet behind her was a local who opened his arms for a similar hello (I assume as a joke, an admittedly funny joke). I obliged and as we were pulling away he swung his drunken arm too wide, hitting my beer and knocking it and its special glass to the ground. Beer went all over me and all over the floor and glass littered the entrance. He gave me a predictably strange look before picking up the glass and asking if it was his fault. Not wanting to foster any conflict in a foreign country (or really anywhere in the world over a simple beer thereby defeating the purpose of drinking beer), I said it wasn’t anyone’s fault and gave him a pat on the back. We went together (me soaked, he dry) to the bar and he bought another beer. His English wasn’t particularly good, one of the few times I have faced this challenge in Holland. He smiled and then said, “It’s your birthday party, no?”, with a hearty laugh.
“No, not my birthday,” I replied unsure of what the hell he meant.
“Oh, happy birthday”
“Thanks”
I have no idea what this meant or how it related to anything at all. Freaky Dutch.
This guy was completely sure that he did not cause the spill. Perhaps the most perplexing thing about the Dutch is how they are completely sure of themselves. I see this country as a decent place with a lot of problems, like America but without good food, music, weather, topography, and bathroom facilities. The people are generally rude but they don’t know it. In fact, they think of themselves as the most polite civilization on earth. They will tell you as much. The only thing they will concede is that the Belgians make better beer, not much of a concession considering half of Belgian is basically Dutch. Maybe they really are that good. Maybe it’s a self fulfilling prophecy. Maybe this philosophizing would make more sense at the end of the trip.
“No, not my birthday,” I replied unsure of what the hell he meant.
“Oh, happy birthday”
“Thanks”
I have no idea what this meant or how it related to anything at all. Freaky Dutch.
This guy was completely sure that he did not cause the spill. Perhaps the most perplexing thing about the Dutch is how they are completely sure of themselves. I see this country as a decent place with a lot of problems, like America but without good food, music, weather, topography, and bathroom facilities. The people are generally rude but they don’t know it. In fact, they think of themselves as the most polite civilization on earth. They will tell you as much. The only thing they will concede is that the Belgians make better beer, not much of a concession considering half of Belgian is basically Dutch. Maybe they really are that good. Maybe it’s a self fulfilling prophecy. Maybe this philosophizing would make more sense at the end of the trip.
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Dude
I told you that Rhett, Francesco, and I went out last Thursday night and had a really good time. I forgot about this little nugget. The same Dutch bartenders who let us stay late so they could chastise us for individual gun ownership and the freedom to choose your doctor provided a funny story earlier in the night. The three of us decided we wanted White Russians. The bartender was not sure what that meant so we explained that it was equal parts vodka, Kahlua, and milk. She came back a few minutes later with tiny shot glasses full of White Russian. We corrected her and she confessed that she had never heard of such a drink. We told her about The Big Lebowski and how its protagonist (anti-hero? role model? god?), the Dude, drinks nothing but White Russians. That turned on the light bulb. “Oh, I know the Dude. Yeah! I like that movie.” She said something in Dutch to her coworkers. All three of them got excited and started walking around behind the bar saying,
“Dude”
“Dude!”
“the Dude”
“Dude Dude”
I wonder what they call a White Russian in Dutch. He orders it about five thousand times throughout the movie. I’m sure it translates to something freaky and nonsensical. The Dude probably orders bicycle grease or fritesauce. The Dude is a uniter. Never underestimate his ability to fuse cultures.
“Dude”
“Dude!”
“the Dude”
“Dude Dude”
I wonder what they call a White Russian in Dutch. He orders it about five thousand times throughout the movie. I’m sure it translates to something freaky and nonsensical. The Dude probably orders bicycle grease or fritesauce. The Dude is a uniter. Never underestimate his ability to fuse cultures.
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Diver Gingivitis
Today may have been the strangest day I have experienced thus far. By the time I got to work, I had pages worth of thoughts on the freaky Dutch but those nuggets have drowned in the rest of my bizarre day.
My boss, Marie, put it best. Holland is the most developed third world nation on earth. We ordered pizza for lunch because things are getting hectic at work and none of us wanted to leave for too long. The Dutch love the internet so it was perfectly reasonable for us to expect that we could order a pizza online. Danny, who has lived in Holland off and on for over a year, ordered a pizza from one of the local pizza joints. His confirmation email said, in English, "Your order will be delivered in three to five business days."
I worked a pretty long day, deciding to stay at the office until our weekly, Intern Tuesday Night Drinks. The bar was quintessentially Dutch, weird atmosphere with delicious beers. I didn't like the vibe and left fairly early. My legs and ankles were hurting when I got up from the bar stool. I said this aloud because it came suddenly and kinda scared me. Had the Dutch poisoned my beer with ankle depleting juice? Were my feet going to fall off my legs? It hit me without warning. Jon, my Texan friend, had a diagnosis. "It's Diver Gingivitis, have it in my family."
"Diver Ginvi- you're not serious."
"Yeah, swear to God, Diver Ginginvitis. Sarina, tell him. It runs in my family. What are your symptoms?"
"It hurts, kinda like a bruise."
"Yep, that's it. Diver Gingivitis. You'll be ok."
Five minutes later the pain had subsided and I realized it was just a severe case of my feet falling asleep. Diver Gingivitis. Jon will keep you on your toes.
The strangest and most Dutch part of the night came from the bartender. He was unpleasant all night. They were all unpleasant but this one guy was just ridiculous. I had to wait for twenty minutes or so each time I wanted a drink and the only people in the bar were those in my party. It's not like these guys were overwhelmed with work. After waiting for a good twenty minutes, another bartender took my order and rude bartender walked over near me. Europeans have no concept of personal space so I wasn't worried about him standing almost on top of me. I had just finished drinking my beer and had set my glass on the bar. Without warning, the rude, weird bartender takes my glass and, instead of taking it away, chugs the remaining beer which consisted of a small puddle of my backwash. The Dutch.
My boss, Marie, put it best. Holland is the most developed third world nation on earth. We ordered pizza for lunch because things are getting hectic at work and none of us wanted to leave for too long. The Dutch love the internet so it was perfectly reasonable for us to expect that we could order a pizza online. Danny, who has lived in Holland off and on for over a year, ordered a pizza from one of the local pizza joints. His confirmation email said, in English, "Your order will be delivered in three to five business days."
I worked a pretty long day, deciding to stay at the office until our weekly, Intern Tuesday Night Drinks. The bar was quintessentially Dutch, weird atmosphere with delicious beers. I didn't like the vibe and left fairly early. My legs and ankles were hurting when I got up from the bar stool. I said this aloud because it came suddenly and kinda scared me. Had the Dutch poisoned my beer with ankle depleting juice? Were my feet going to fall off my legs? It hit me without warning. Jon, my Texan friend, had a diagnosis. "It's Diver Gingivitis, have it in my family."
"Diver Ginvi- you're not serious."
"Yeah, swear to God, Diver Ginginvitis. Sarina, tell him. It runs in my family. What are your symptoms?"
"It hurts, kinda like a bruise."
"Yep, that's it. Diver Gingivitis. You'll be ok."
Five minutes later the pain had subsided and I realized it was just a severe case of my feet falling asleep. Diver Gingivitis. Jon will keep you on your toes.
The strangest and most Dutch part of the night came from the bartender. He was unpleasant all night. They were all unpleasant but this one guy was just ridiculous. I had to wait for twenty minutes or so each time I wanted a drink and the only people in the bar were those in my party. It's not like these guys were overwhelmed with work. After waiting for a good twenty minutes, another bartender took my order and rude bartender walked over near me. Europeans have no concept of personal space so I wasn't worried about him standing almost on top of me. I had just finished drinking my beer and had set my glass on the bar. Without warning, the rude, weird bartender takes my glass and, instead of taking it away, chugs the remaining beer which consisted of a small puddle of my backwash. The Dutch.
Monday, October 20, 2008
Contradutching
One minute the Dutch drive you crazy with their unabashed rudeness, the next they live up to their reputation as the most polite people in the world. I just got through lambasting Holland for its lack of manners when the supermarket cashier did the unheard of; she spotted me 11 cents. This happens in America when you are two or three cents short. The cashier will just say, "I got it", and then hopes that someone leaves a penny later. This girl spotted me 11 cents.
Before you pack up and move to Holland with dreams of saving 11 cents a day at Albert Heijn (the tiny, crowded Dutch grocery chain), let's try to get some perspective. Europeans love coins. I do not understand this phenomenon. They have a one dollar and a two dollar coin and will do everything in their power to gain more. They always ask if you have the extra twelve or even thirty cents. If not, they frown and reluctantly give you the proper change with a longing look in their eyes as if handing over the last few M & M's. They know it's the right thing to do but they really want those coins/candy coated chocolate pieces.
Whatever her motivation, that anonymous Dutch girl put a smile on my face and curbed my homesickness for at least another day. Cheers, Dutch supermarket girl.
Before you pack up and move to Holland with dreams of saving 11 cents a day at Albert Heijn (the tiny, crowded Dutch grocery chain), let's try to get some perspective. Europeans love coins. I do not understand this phenomenon. They have a one dollar and a two dollar coin and will do everything in their power to gain more. They always ask if you have the extra twelve or even thirty cents. If not, they frown and reluctantly give you the proper change with a longing look in their eyes as if handing over the last few M & M's. They know it's the right thing to do but they really want those coins/candy coated chocolate pieces.
Whatever her motivation, that anonymous Dutch girl put a smile on my face and curbed my homesickness for at least another day. Cheers, Dutch supermarket girl.
Workin'
Things are picking up at work. We will be starting our Defense case in the coming days. I did some work today in an effort to make up for time lost during Rhett’s visit. I’m glad that things are picking up at work. The next few days will be stressful but that will help take my mind off of how much I want a rib eye, a bottle of California Cabernet, an evening with my girlfriend, Wal-Mart, and a clothes dryer.
It’s not that I’ve given up on assimilating to Dutch culture but I have scaled back my efforts. I appreciate Holland but am further convinced that there is no better place on Earth than America.
In furtherance of my efforts to be more American, I am watching the final Presidential debate. I have watched about half of it and think both candidates are saying the right things for their respective campaigns. Unfortunately, I think most people are fed up with the way Senator McCain has lowered this campaign to the Democrat’s level. Both candidates are saying ridiculous things about one another instead of facing the issues directly. Obama is saying some borderline Marxist things but no one is calling him out on it. In fact, when asked whether Obama is a socialist (Marxism light), McCain said, “I don’t know.” He is. Why can’t we talk about this? Instead of dealing with this head on, the McCain campaign keeps talking about William Ayers. We are going to end up with a President who is a Marxist with a free pass from the media and unconstitutionally expanded executive powers, including control of the world’s largest banks.
On a lighter note, I am currently at work and my colleague just opened some kind of web page which immediately began blaring Van Halen’s, “Jump”. I also found out that the project I have been working on is much easier than I am making it. The day is looking good so far.
It’s not that I’ve given up on assimilating to Dutch culture but I have scaled back my efforts. I appreciate Holland but am further convinced that there is no better place on Earth than America.
In furtherance of my efforts to be more American, I am watching the final Presidential debate. I have watched about half of it and think both candidates are saying the right things for their respective campaigns. Unfortunately, I think most people are fed up with the way Senator McCain has lowered this campaign to the Democrat’s level. Both candidates are saying ridiculous things about one another instead of facing the issues directly. Obama is saying some borderline Marxist things but no one is calling him out on it. In fact, when asked whether Obama is a socialist (Marxism light), McCain said, “I don’t know.” He is. Why can’t we talk about this? Instead of dealing with this head on, the McCain campaign keeps talking about William Ayers. We are going to end up with a President who is a Marxist with a free pass from the media and unconstitutionally expanded executive powers, including control of the world’s largest banks.
On a lighter note, I am currently at work and my colleague just opened some kind of web page which immediately began blaring Van Halen’s, “Jump”. I also found out that the project I have been working on is much easier than I am making it. The day is looking good so far.
Saturday, October 18, 2008
Fantastic Trip to Europe Light
R1 here: I just finished packing and this is one of my last things to do tonight before I get ready to leave. I want to first say that Teddy was the finest host and I had the greatest time here in Europe Light. I coined the thought Europe Light because the Netherlands has a great European feel but they all speak English (and enjoy to do so!). I imagine it would be uncomforable to try and stumble thru a language but you don't have to do that here. Just speak English.
The beer is also fabulous. There are all types of Wheat, Pale Ales, Dark Beers. And it's 8.5% alcohol which makes it extra good. 3 beers and you feel great. I also enjoyed re-learning how to ride a bike. It took a day or two but I really stepped it up.
The town of Den Haag was very charming and was a nice easy place to explore. Everywhere is really nice (except for the area I biked into) and really charming. The trip to Amsterdam was worth it. Just to see what goes on there. It is a little sketchy in some areas so go with a friend but the people and bars are really fun! It was a great trip to Amsterdam.
Lastly, Teddy was a great host which I think was the first item on the list too. But it can't be said enough how well he took care of me. It was great to just get to hang out with him and meet new people and just have fun. Not a care in the world, just 2 great friends hanging out. Dank u Well Teddy
So, if you get a chance to come visit Ted you should...especially Mr. and Mrs. Payton. You guys would really enjoy it. It was my first trip to Europe and I loved it! You will too.
Rhett
PS - I won't have anymore posts but I will make sure to make comments. Teddy really enjoys to get comments so we all gotta post some comments.
Friday, October 17, 2008
McCain = Bush = Worse than Hitler
I worked all day Thursday while Rhett gave himself a bike tour of the town. I asked how things went and he gave me his typical, "No sweat dude, no sweat", answer. After work, I met Rhett back at the apartment and we set about finding some food and having a few beers. Francesco was going to meet us at the aforementiond, Sheleighla, at 8:30. As you know, my record with meeting Francesco is not very good. I stood him up last time.
Rhett and I made some calls home and then set off to find dinner. The only problem was that Rhett's bike (nicknamed Traveller after General Lee's favorite horse) did not have a functioning light and it was dark. The politie do not like it when you ride around sans illumination. We took it back to the bike shop where the attendant refused to replace the bike. He wanted to fix the light. So I waited in the cold, Rhett in the dingy bike shop, while this guy puts Traveller on the rack and fixes his light. We are not going to make it to Sheleighla by 8:30. When Rhett and Traveller finally emerge from the bike shop, I start to realize something is not right. Rhett doesn't seem to know how to mount the bike and then, when he finally does, the bike is wobbling all over the place. Rhett has done the impossible. He has forgotten how to ride a bike. This is obviously very entertaining for me except that it is not helping my- meet Francesco on time- cause. Compounding Rhett's general biking ineptitude is the challenge of biking in Holland for the first time. Bikes are as much a part of the traffic as cars and you have to act like it to survive. It takes a while to get used to this. Rhett is not completely grasping the concept. When I go to make a turn, he ends up in the opposite direction. Turning is apparently a problem for Rhett. I'd love to seem him handle a motorcycle.
We eventually made it to an Italian restaurant where I practiced my six Italian words, much to the delight of the Italian waiters and waitresses (not really, they were understandably indifferent). The food was good and affordable. The portions were more American sized than Italian sized so we got full and went to meet Francesco. Rhett started to get the hang of things on the way to Sheleighla. He was still slow to turn but the trip was decidedly less eventful. Francesco was pissed. He had only been there for ten mintues but he showed up fifteen minutes late, knowing I would not be on time. He only ordered a half pint, a very unEnglish thing to do. Sheleighla is an English/Irish bar; I'm surprised his countrymen did not attack him.
Sheleighla was dead so we returned to the Plein because the bars are cool and it is close to home. I made friends with the bartenders at the last bar. They invited us to stay after hours and talk politics. One of them compared Bush to Hitler and said that John McCain was exactly like Bush. They thought American hospitals denied emergency surgery to those without insurance. Just thought we let people die. And, don't even get them started about abortion. There is only one way to look at it and America looks at it the wrong way. One guy told me that America should be more like Holland because Holland is perfect. I run into this kind of attitude everywhere. Europe is perfect and America is wrong. It's amazing that we have the reputation for being closed minded.
They finally asked us to leave once they realized that we were not going to install Obama as Supreme Chancellor. On the way home I gave a ride to a Dutchman on the back of Willie, lost Rhett (twice), and bought frites. After scouring the town, Francesco and I found Rhett at my apartment. "Where you been? I took a shortcut." I thought we would have to exchange the bike for a tricycle but Rhett has morphed into Lance Armstrong.
Rhett and I made some calls home and then set off to find dinner. The only problem was that Rhett's bike (nicknamed Traveller after General Lee's favorite horse) did not have a functioning light and it was dark. The politie do not like it when you ride around sans illumination. We took it back to the bike shop where the attendant refused to replace the bike. He wanted to fix the light. So I waited in the cold, Rhett in the dingy bike shop, while this guy puts Traveller on the rack and fixes his light. We are not going to make it to Sheleighla by 8:30. When Rhett and Traveller finally emerge from the bike shop, I start to realize something is not right. Rhett doesn't seem to know how to mount the bike and then, when he finally does, the bike is wobbling all over the place. Rhett has done the impossible. He has forgotten how to ride a bike. This is obviously very entertaining for me except that it is not helping my- meet Francesco on time- cause. Compounding Rhett's general biking ineptitude is the challenge of biking in Holland for the first time. Bikes are as much a part of the traffic as cars and you have to act like it to survive. It takes a while to get used to this. Rhett is not completely grasping the concept. When I go to make a turn, he ends up in the opposite direction. Turning is apparently a problem for Rhett. I'd love to seem him handle a motorcycle.
We eventually made it to an Italian restaurant where I practiced my six Italian words, much to the delight of the Italian waiters and waitresses (not really, they were understandably indifferent). The food was good and affordable. The portions were more American sized than Italian sized so we got full and went to meet Francesco. Rhett started to get the hang of things on the way to Sheleighla. He was still slow to turn but the trip was decidedly less eventful. Francesco was pissed. He had only been there for ten mintues but he showed up fifteen minutes late, knowing I would not be on time. He only ordered a half pint, a very unEnglish thing to do. Sheleighla is an English/Irish bar; I'm surprised his countrymen did not attack him.
Sheleighla was dead so we returned to the Plein because the bars are cool and it is close to home. I made friends with the bartenders at the last bar. They invited us to stay after hours and talk politics. One of them compared Bush to Hitler and said that John McCain was exactly like Bush. They thought American hospitals denied emergency surgery to those without insurance. Just thought we let people die. And, don't even get them started about abortion. There is only one way to look at it and America looks at it the wrong way. One guy told me that America should be more like Holland because Holland is perfect. I run into this kind of attitude everywhere. Europe is perfect and America is wrong. It's amazing that we have the reputation for being closed minded.
They finally asked us to leave once they realized that we were not going to install Obama as Supreme Chancellor. On the way home I gave a ride to a Dutchman on the back of Willie, lost Rhett (twice), and bought frites. After scouring the town, Francesco and I found Rhett at my apartment. "Where you been? I took a shortcut." I thought we would have to exchange the bike for a tricycle but Rhett has morphed into Lance Armstrong.
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
In the Netherland
R1 here: I flew out of Jax yesterday, went thru Detriot quickly and boarded for Amsterdam. Big plane with 8 seats wide and no one sitting next to me so I got to try and sleep across 2 chairs (still uncomfortable but better than leaning against the window). I got into Amsterdam, after dinner and breakfast on the plane, 30 minutes early...SWEET!free 30 minutes of vacation. I made my way thru customs quickly and found the Euro ATM to get some money. Then I got my train ticket to Den Haag Centraal, grabbed a Starbucks Grande SL and headed to the platform.
I asked a young woman if I was getting on the right train and she said mine was next so I waited for the next rain. A guy from Rwanda came and asked if I was going to Den Haag Centraal. I said I was, so we started talking. On the train, he said that he was a Civil Engineer designing large 25 floor buildings. We talked about ordering construction materials and auger cast piles...normal construction talk. Then we arrived in Den Haag Centraal and went our separate ways.
I found Teddy right in front Burger King just like the plan. We hugged it out (editor's note: R went for the handshake and I insisted on a hug) and I was offically in Den Haag. We walked to his flat and I called to check in. Then Teddy went back to work and I went to wonder around. Bikes are everywhere and I kept my head on a Swivel to avoid getting run over. I went to a museum just to avoid the rain. There were some Rembrant paintings (editor's note: R originally posted, "Rembrant pics"); I'm not much of an art guy but it was dry. I met Ted after his work and we had some drinks. We bounced around and drank 8.5% beers. I'm feeling pretty good during this blog. It was great to hang with Teddy after not talking with him for about 2 months. Dude here.
I hope you are all doing well. More funny stories to tell but I can't type fast enough. Good night Folks!
Editor: This is a much easier edit than Travis' wandering narrative. Rhett may not be a wordsmith but his post is pretty coherent. Granted, this is just day #1. I expect that the weekend will yield countless more gems.
I asked a young woman if I was getting on the right train and she said mine was next so I waited for the next rain. A guy from Rwanda came and asked if I was going to Den Haag Centraal. I said I was, so we started talking. On the train, he said that he was a Civil Engineer designing large 25 floor buildings. We talked about ordering construction materials and auger cast piles...normal construction talk. Then we arrived in Den Haag Centraal and went our separate ways.
I found Teddy right in front Burger King just like the plan. We hugged it out (editor's note: R went for the handshake and I insisted on a hug) and I was offically in Den Haag. We walked to his flat and I called to check in. Then Teddy went back to work and I went to wonder around. Bikes are everywhere and I kept my head on a Swivel to avoid getting run over. I went to a museum just to avoid the rain. There were some Rembrant paintings (editor's note: R originally posted, "Rembrant pics"); I'm not much of an art guy but it was dry. I met Ted after his work and we had some drinks. We bounced around and drank 8.5% beers. I'm feeling pretty good during this blog. It was great to hang with Teddy after not talking with him for about 2 months. Dude here.
I hope you are all doing well. More funny stories to tell but I can't type fast enough. Good night Folks!
Editor: This is a much easier edit than Travis' wandering narrative. Rhett may not be a wordsmith but his post is pretty coherent. Granted, this is just day #1. I expect that the weekend will yield countless more gems.
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
Hand Wash Only
I finally set about cleaning my apartment for the first time in about a month. It was reaching critical levels when Travis arrived and went steeply down hill from there. Sunday was supposed to be the day that I tackled the mountain of dishes (I have no dishwasher), bought a new shower head, vacuumed, put all of the tickets and various papers I have collected in one spot, finished my book, started a new one, and actually sat in the park behind my house for the first time. None of that happened. I slept most of the day. The sleep was much needed but I could have used the other things as well. One thing I did accomplish was laundry...sort of. My washing machine now makes some strange noises for 45 minutes before delivering soaking wet, semi-clean clothes. I think it has stopped spinning, rendering it just slightly more useful than my bathtub and two hands.
My boss gave us the day off to finish ongoing projects and relax. She needed to get everything organized so she can make a list of things we need to accomplish in the next two weeks. We are meeting tomorrow to go over things and dole out responsibility.
Rhett's impending arrival provided the necessary impetus for me to clean. As most of you know, Rhett is much more relaxed than he was in college or even a couple of years ago but he's still considerably more high maintenance than Travis. I could have taken Travis to a tent out back and said, "here's your room". I did not feel compelled to clean the apartment for Travis. We just washed dishes as they were needed. Rhett will face no such obstacles. The dishes are all clean and I'm working on straightening up the place. The washing machine is a different story but he'll only be here for a few days so I'm not too worried about that.
Look for Rhett to contribute to the blog much the way Travis did.
My boss gave us the day off to finish ongoing projects and relax. She needed to get everything organized so she can make a list of things we need to accomplish in the next two weeks. We are meeting tomorrow to go over things and dole out responsibility.
Rhett's impending arrival provided the necessary impetus for me to clean. As most of you know, Rhett is much more relaxed than he was in college or even a couple of years ago but he's still considerably more high maintenance than Travis. I could have taken Travis to a tent out back and said, "here's your room". I did not feel compelled to clean the apartment for Travis. We just washed dishes as they were needed. Rhett will face no such obstacles. The dishes are all clean and I'm working on straightening up the place. The washing machine is a different story but he'll only be here for a few days so I'm not too worried about that.
Look for Rhett to contribute to the blog much the way Travis did.
Sunday, October 12, 2008
Hup Holland!
I went to my first ever professional soccer game on Saturday night. Holland was playing Iceland in a World Cup qualifying game. The outcome was a foregone conclusion. Holland was arguably the best team in the world during the Euro 2008 tournament, a contest they lost because of the peculiarity of the tournament’s structure. Iceland is, well, Iceland.
The game was in Rotterdam. I was looking forward to seeing the city because of its historical significance (it was annihilated by the Third Reich in WWII) and its rebirth as an architectural landmark.
I have now visited two cities that I just do not like, Tampa and Rotterdam. At least Tampa has the Bucs, some good friends, and the Rays (sort of). Aside from the occasional interesting building, Rotterdam looks like any decent size city in America. It could be Tampa. The city is dirty and the people are rude. We had a difficult time getting to the stadium because of the behavior of the Rotterdam residents. We were to meet our friends at a pre-party at a mutual friend’s house. He lives in the Turkish area of town. Turks are roundly hated in Holland. I refuse to elaborate; delve into Turkish history and draw your own conclusions.
This guy’s apartment was terrible. It looked like an old dorm and was called, “In Africa hotel”. True story. He is from Florida. He grew up in Sarasota, goes to law school at FSU, and was the only person at his apartment. Apparently, the rest of the group decided to go straight to the stadium without telling us. There was no pre-party. Tristan, the Florida guy, was a saint. He welcomed us into his apartment as if we were long lost friends. As it turns out, he speaks Dutch because his family is originally from Holland.
The game was amazing. There were a few unruly fans in front of us but other than that it was pretty tame. No booze is sold at the stadium, much to our initial disappointment but ultimately a blessing. Soccer fans do not need booze to get excited. I expected the fanaticism to be more intense than that of U.S. sporting events but that was not the case. Florida football games are much higher octane than this. I realize it was an inferior opponent but even when compared with a Florida v. Western Kentucky snoozefest, the atmosphere paled. Still, it was an incredible experience and I really enjoyed it.
Saturday, October 11, 2008
Going Dutch
Today was a quintessentially Dutch day. The sky was beautiful and the temperature was perfect. I started the day at a tourist shop so I could buy a Holland t-shirt for tonight's football (soccer) game. Then I ate lunch at Subway.
My favorite thing about Subway is that they sell Mountain Dew. I bought one with my meal and set off on the Plein (square) for a protest concert. The signs were mostly in Dutch so I'm not entirely clear on what they were protesting but I think it had something to do with President Bush. A policeman walked up to me while I was perusing the grounds and asked what I had in my hand.
"Beer?"
"It's a Mountain Dew."
"Oh, beer," he said with nod, reveling in the fact that he was proven correct.
"No sir, it's a softdrink."
"Oh! soft drink," he said with a puzzled look.
I wanted to offer some to him because Mountain Dew is so delicious and I'm saddened by his ignorance but I thought it best not to push my luck.
Off to the football game.
My favorite thing about Subway is that they sell Mountain Dew. I bought one with my meal and set off on the Plein (square) for a protest concert. The signs were mostly in Dutch so I'm not entirely clear on what they were protesting but I think it had something to do with President Bush. A policeman walked up to me while I was perusing the grounds and asked what I had in my hand.
"Beer?"
"It's a Mountain Dew."
"Oh, beer," he said with nod, reveling in the fact that he was proven correct.
"No sir, it's a softdrink."
"Oh! soft drink," he said with a puzzled look.
I wanted to offer some to him because Mountain Dew is so delicious and I'm saddened by his ignorance but I thought it best not to push my luck.
Off to the football game.
Friday, October 10, 2008
Thursday, October 9, 2008
Jump Around
I completely forgot to tell this story. On the Friday before Belgium, Travis and I went out with, Zheni, and my friend, Francesco, an Italian who grew up in England. He looks Italian but speaks with an English accent. We went to a real relaxed bar and then, when we should have been going home, Zheni suggested a bar that played American rock n roll music and served cheap drinks all night. I doubted her and was proven wrong. The bar was a bit of a dive with good music and friendly bartenders.
We were watching a black guy dance on stage with his white friends (European men dance with one another whether gay or straight, kinda the way girls do in the U.S.) when Francesco admits that he cannot dance. I have had a few drinks and announce that I can dance like a black guy. Francesco doesn't believe me. I'm feeling so bulletproof that I claim the black guy currently dancing on stage must be "whiting it down" for his white friends because no self respecting black man with any rhythm would dance so blandly. Francesco scoffs at this remark.
Minutes later we are being dragged onto the dance floor by an enthused Francesco because House of Pain's, Jump Around, is playing. Francesco wasn't lying about his dancing ability. He really cannot dance. His arms are flailing in front of him and to the sides with no apparent purpose or link to the song or anything else that could qualify as dancing. Wanting to stop the bleeding, I grab his arms and tell him to keep them at roughly a right angle. Don't mess it up, I say. Girls don't expect you to be able to dance, they just don't want you to mess it up. Flailing around was funny when you were in high school, maybe even college. That junk won't fly anymore. I finally get him to buy into my theory. He has his arms at a right angle with his hands pointing forward and isn't moving them very much.
"Like this?", he asks. "Oh you mean like John McCain?"
Yes, Francesco, exactly like John McCain.
We were watching a black guy dance on stage with his white friends (European men dance with one another whether gay or straight, kinda the way girls do in the U.S.) when Francesco admits that he cannot dance. I have had a few drinks and announce that I can dance like a black guy. Francesco doesn't believe me. I'm feeling so bulletproof that I claim the black guy currently dancing on stage must be "whiting it down" for his white friends because no self respecting black man with any rhythm would dance so blandly. Francesco scoffs at this remark.
Minutes later we are being dragged onto the dance floor by an enthused Francesco because House of Pain's, Jump Around, is playing. Francesco wasn't lying about his dancing ability. He really cannot dance. His arms are flailing in front of him and to the sides with no apparent purpose or link to the song or anything else that could qualify as dancing. Wanting to stop the bleeding, I grab his arms and tell him to keep them at roughly a right angle. Don't mess it up, I say. Girls don't expect you to be able to dance, they just don't want you to mess it up. Flailing around was funny when you were in high school, maybe even college. That junk won't fly anymore. I finally get him to buy into my theory. He has his arms at a right angle with his hands pointing forward and isn't moving them very much.
"Like this?", he asks. "Oh you mean like John McCain?"
Yes, Francesco, exactly like John McCain.
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
Ghent
Paris didn't work out so we went to Ghent. We were scheduled to meet my friends at the train station at, 11:00 in the morning but I slept through my alarm so we rushed to the station just in time to go all by ourselves. The train ride isn't bad and I sort of have this thing figured out. Ghent is a lot like Brugge but more realistic. It gets a fair share of tourists but nothing like Brugge. Ghent has almost a seedy edge to it. The people don't speak flawless English and the beer is affordable (cheap if you are getting paid in the Euro). But, the city has all of the charm and beauty of Brugge.
Travis and I were pretty exhausted after eight days of going almost non stop. We were looking forward to a relaxing trip and found it in Belgium. Lodging was a bit of an issue because we did not book anything and an international film festival was to begin the next day. The tourist office was very helpful. The lady got us into a hotel that was a little more expensive that we wanted to pay but still cheaper than a trip to Paris would have been.
The hotel was a little outside of the city, which in European terms means we had a ten minute tram ride back into the center of the city. We set about trying to find an internet cafe so I could call/email Jami and let her know we were alive. Ghent is a university town but for some reason we could not find a cybercafe. We finally settled on having some Turkish kebab and sampling the local beers.
The first bar was what I had been waiting for in Holland. You read about these "bruin cafes" (brown cafes). The walls are supposedly stained with hundreds of years of tobacco smoke and everyone is sitting around drinking a pint, telling stories. They embody the seminal Dutch virtue, coziness. In hindsight, the places in Den Haag are in fact cozy. I just think this place was quintessentially cozy. The bar had ivy growing over it and any Belgian beer you could imagine, each with its own special glass. The walls were brown and everyone was smoking but somehow the smoke did not overpower you. Almost immediately, a local struck up conversation with me. Her name was Nicol. She and her husband, about sixty years a piece, were at the bar having a beer. They both spoke limited English and of course wanted to know why Le Barack is not yet our Prime Minister. I politely explained the system to them and they politely dismissed me as an idiot. Nicol was eager to practice her English. Some of the older Dutch and Flemish did not grow up learning English through TV and movies so they have learned later in life which I find admirable. I also admired how affectionate they were. I don't know how long they had been married but that matters little. Seeing such an old couple behave show affection in that way was inspiring. A table opened in the corner so we said our goodbyes (much to Nicol's chagrin) and commandeered a table in very imperial American fashion. The table sat four, we used the other two chairs as a footrest until three middle aged guys walked up and started eyeing the open seats. Turns out these guys are country folks from just outside of Ghent. They took a bus into town as they do every weekend for some drinks. They had to leave just before midnight so as not to miss their ride home. This was a cool experience. We had read that custom in Ghent is to take turns buying a round of drinks, even if you just met the people in your party. They took the lead and we reciprocated. Again, talk turned to why Le Barack is not yet Czar but the conversation was civil and they conceded their ignorance of the subject.
After the Belgian locals left we decided to kick the computer search into high gear. Our sense of direction and self awareness was heightened by the Trappist beers. The Irish bartender told us there would be no open cybercafes but that there was a really nice bar with internet in the back just down the road. We followed his (luckily straight shot) directions and found an equally cozy bar, this one underground. The bartender was knowledgeable about the local culture and eager to oblige our curiosity. We finally peeled ourselves away at about 1:00. We were having fun but knew that we were too tired to make it a long night. The next day we walked around Ghent including a tour of a rebuilt medieval castle. Travis flew home the next morning.
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
Hurricane Holland
You know how the tail end of a hurricane looks and feels? I mean like when the hurricane has all but passed through and all you have left is the beginning of the outer bands? It feels like that all the time in Holland. The rain will blow into you from every angle and then stop for five seconds. Then it starts again. But it's not pelting you. It is just a drizzle boosted by a half serious wind. Everyday.
Don't Use Your Hands
I just bought a ticket to the Netherlands vs. Iceland World Cup qualifying game. It is being held in Rotterdam, a city I have yet to visit. Rotterdam was destroyed by the Germans in the war. It is supposed to be an architectural wonder. The city is the main port of the Netherlands and services Germany and Belgium as well.
The Dutch still hate the Germans for that episode-that and the fact that the Germans defeated the Dutch in the European football tournament twenty years ago. I guess this can't compare to the excitement I felt before my first NFL playoff game or first trip to Wrigley field but it is exciting nonetheless.
The Dutch still hate the Germans for that episode-that and the fact that the Germans defeated the Dutch in the European football tournament twenty years ago. I guess this can't compare to the excitement I felt before my first NFL playoff game or first trip to Wrigley field but it is exciting nonetheless.
Brrraving the Elements
I mentioned that the weather is unpredictable in Holland. Yesterday was sunny and about 65 degrees. Today is about 65 degrees and cloudy. It's a bit brisk. The interesting thing is that the Dutch are all dressed like we are in Siberia. They all wear heavy coats and scarves. I am supposed to be the cold one. I live in Florida, where we may get ten days a year below 65 degrees. By the time I bike to work, I am sweating and have finally learned to wear a t-shirt unless it is raining.
Monday, October 6, 2008
Rest In Peace, Maurice Murphy
I just learned of Maurice's passing and think it inappropriate to tell stories about this weekend. Travis and I went to Belgium for the weekend and by chance noticed Maurice's obituary at the bottom of Ocala.com when we returned. My heart goes out to the Murphy family. I wish I could be there to help support them.
Friday, October 3, 2008
Straight Pari-ee
I should be writing this from Paris. Unfortunately, the Belgian transport gods decided to strike so Paris was financially impossible. Travis and I met my English friend, Francesco, and my Bulgarian friend, Zheni, at a local bar for some drinks. We intend to make Belgium tomorrow but I think our chances would be better if we planned on scaling the Eiffel tower with the intention of base jumping from the top and coming up with a better name for Led Zeppelin before we hit bottom.
I owe you another installment of the German story and intend to oblige. The third day in Munich was by far the best. Germany is fantastic.
We needed a day to detox. Fortunately, the Bavarian Alps were a short drive away and we had a car. By this point I was over any apprehension. Driving to and across the Austrian border was not intimidating. There's no way to do the experience justice. Enjoy the pictures.
Thursday, October 2, 2008
You're Gonna Burn My Country Music Award?
So much happened on this trip that I need to break it into installments. We expected the drive to take six hours but it was more like eight. None of us had eaten so we stopped at a McDonalds just outside of Munich at 2:45 in the morning. We did not have reservations for the night so we just slept in the car at this rest stop. John slept on a bench outside, Travis in the passenger seat, Chris in what is best described as the back seat and me in the driver’s seat. I slept on and off for about four hours because every time Travis or Chris would roll over, the tiny car shook me awake.
We woke early the next morning and drove the rest of the way to Munich. Travis did a pretty good job of describing the first few hours at Oktoberfest. Unfortunately, a member of our group (not me or Travis) could not handle Travis’ cousins (take a look at the picture of Travis and the lone Austrian toasting the camera). We went home early to meet with John and Chris’ friends at the hotel. I called Jami from an internet café and we all settled in for the night. There was no need to get too crazy on the first day at Oktoberfest. By now it was clear we would not be able to hang with the Bavarians so it was best to concede and enjoy the next day.
I tried to convince everyone that we should get there early. They didn’t listen and we ended up seatless again. Not having a seat in the large beer halls is not all that bad a deal. Sunday morning was a little slower than Saturday so we walked right up to one of the smaller tents and ordered a round. This time, inspired by the performance of our now absent colleague, we all ate a lot of Bavarian food before drinking. Brats and sauerkraut, ox tail, and giant pretzels. The entire day was tamer than Saturday. Everyone else went home while Travis and I walked around Munich looking for lederhosen.
I didn’t want to buy some tourist fake lederhosen but I can’t afford some of the nicer, heavier stuff. Fortunately, we found a shop that sold something in between. The entire shop was intrigued by my desire for the local dress and took the time to make sure I had the right pair. They weren’t cheap but I think you’ll agree they were worth it.
We had a beer at a beer hall and walked around the city center then we went back to the hotel. I thought the night was finished. I called Jami and weighed whether or not to sleep in my new lederhosen. When I returned from the internet café, the guys told me to get dressed because we were going to the bar. I thought they were crazy because: a) we had been partying for two straight days and b) it was a Sunday night in Europe, a time at which nothing is open. The first few attempts at finding a party proved fruitless. It looked like I was right until we stumbled upon a late night-Oktoberfest dance party. One of the cool things about Oktoberfest is how many locals you see. It isn’t a big tourist party. Nearly everyone is Bavarian and wearing lederhosen. I fit in perfectly. The DJ was very good. He played some German pop, some top forty American hits, and a John Denver cover set to techno music.
We had plans for the next day so we eventually made it home. Detox in the Bavarian Alps was next.
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
The Wholly Unedited Travis Magamoll Post with a Brief Interruption From Your Host
so, i arrive by train via jamlando, philly, amsterdam... to the wonderful land of the hague. I had not slept in a day or so due to the lovely 15 hour flight, but was exicted like no other, dewspite the fact i got lost meeting ted. So i am hanging out at a Subway (go figure) anxiously awaiting ted to answer my email, which i assume will take three hours to go through. none the less ted shows up within half an hour.... nerves calm.
Well at this point its 9am and we need to pick up the car at 4pm, i realize this is not exciting, but it happened. Fast forward through three beers and we pick up the car at AVIS (go figure). Well we pull the car out of the 'drive'. Note: Ted is driving because i cant drive a stick and I have never drove a stick. Also we farggled for it and Ted lost two to three. So after about 12 stalls and roughly 119 "safety honks" we were off to pick up Chris and John.
Fast forward.
We drive 11 hours thorugh the Netherlands and Germany. the Autobahn s fuhn un yeaah. Also you have to pay to use the bathroom, however there are no highway patrolman.
Oktoberfest Day 1:
We take the train to the Theinweise stop, get off and realize this..... We are glad we did not wear "fake" leiderhosen. If we wore the Target or Spencer's Leiderhosen, we would be the flat out laughing stock of Oktoberfest.
So we get there and get int the Paulaner tent. Apparently 10am is about 5 hours late for a prime seat. Well we "luck" out and get a seat next to some crazy ass Austrians "dressed to the nines in Leiderhosen". they buy us a few beers, we buy them a few beers, next thing we now, its getting close to black out central. At this point....
Side note: My family hails from Austria (or Bavaria).
Ted realizes that I have, for the most part, meet my long lost cousins. He's right. They are a spitting image of my family... traditions, food, beer, facile expressions.
Well. We are have a drop down, drag out time.
Honestly: These Bavarians can flat out drink. We were not challenging them, but we had no chance.
Fast Forward: We have been drinking pints, however, we got called up to the "Majors". Chris got us a seat at 2pm in the HB tent where they bring the funk. Funk meaning the 32oz beer mugs.
New narrator:
I think Travis understates the wrath of the Dutch. I was the only person who could drive stick and the autobahn sat an hour drive away. The Dutch are a rule oriented people. They do not like it when you can't figure out the difference between first and third gear. First versus third, that's easy enough. Yeah buddy, it's real easy when you are used to pulling the stick back for reverse and forward for first gear but how cool are you when reverse and first are next door neighbors? We ultimately figured out that reverse has a trigger much like the joystick on an Atari. In the meantime, I stalled out about twelve times while everyone tried to keep their cool and the smell of the clutch took my anxiety through the roof.
Driving through Germany takes the cake. It gets better as the trip progresses but the countryside is stunning. Castles and churches abound. Lush green fields and windmills yield to the foothills of the Bavarian Alps on their way to the red carpet of the world's most famous beer festival.
Back to Travis:
yes. ditto. Ted totally drove like Jimmy Johnson to germany (just kidding, like Mark Martin). Well lets wrap up Oktoberfest with a timetble:
Day 1:
10am: get there, amazing.
11am: rage with Austrians
12pm: still raging with Austrians. they can drink
1pm.
Well at this point its 9am and we need to pick up the car at 4pm, i realize this is not exciting, but it happened. Fast forward through three beers and we pick up the car at AVIS (go figure). Well we pull the car out of the 'drive'. Note: Ted is driving because i cant drive a stick and I have never drove a stick. Also we farggled for it and Ted lost two to three. So after about 12 stalls and roughly 119 "safety honks" we were off to pick up Chris and John.
Fast forward.
We drive 11 hours thorugh the Netherlands and Germany. the Autobahn s fuhn un yeaah. Also you have to pay to use the bathroom, however there are no highway patrolman.
Oktoberfest Day 1:
We take the train to the Theinweise stop, get off and realize this..... We are glad we did not wear "fake" leiderhosen. If we wore the Target or Spencer's Leiderhosen, we would be the flat out laughing stock of Oktoberfest.
So we get there and get int the Paulaner tent. Apparently 10am is about 5 hours late for a prime seat. Well we "luck" out and get a seat next to some crazy ass Austrians "dressed to the nines in Leiderhosen". they buy us a few beers, we buy them a few beers, next thing we now, its getting close to black out central. At this point....
Side note: My family hails from Austria (or Bavaria).
Ted realizes that I have, for the most part, meet my long lost cousins. He's right. They are a spitting image of my family... traditions, food, beer, facile expressions.
Well. We are have a drop down, drag out time.
Honestly: These Bavarians can flat out drink. We were not challenging them, but we had no chance.
Fast Forward: We have been drinking pints, however, we got called up to the "Majors". Chris got us a seat at 2pm in the HB tent where they bring the funk. Funk meaning the 32oz beer mugs.
New narrator:
I think Travis understates the wrath of the Dutch. I was the only person who could drive stick and the autobahn sat an hour drive away. The Dutch are a rule oriented people. They do not like it when you can't figure out the difference between first and third gear. First versus third, that's easy enough. Yeah buddy, it's real easy when you are used to pulling the stick back for reverse and forward for first gear but how cool are you when reverse and first are next door neighbors? We ultimately figured out that reverse has a trigger much like the joystick on an Atari. In the meantime, I stalled out about twelve times while everyone tried to keep their cool and the smell of the clutch took my anxiety through the roof.
Driving through Germany takes the cake. It gets better as the trip progresses but the countryside is stunning. Castles and churches abound. Lush green fields and windmills yield to the foothills of the Bavarian Alps on their way to the red carpet of the world's most famous beer festival.
Back to Travis:
yes. ditto. Ted totally drove like Jimmy Johnson to germany (just kidding, like Mark Martin). Well lets wrap up Oktoberfest with a timetble:
Day 1:
10am: get there, amazing.
11am: rage with Austrians
12pm: still raging with Austrians. they can drink
1pm.
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