I watched this video yesterday and was appalled.
Behavior like this has no place in this world. It certainly has no place in Korea if you're American. I don't need to explain how someone acting like this sours the reputation of all of us Expatriate Americans residing in Korea. He should be arrested, and removed from the country. I'm sure that if he thought he was being videotaped that he would have acted differently. Doesn't this schmuck understand that we are all being watched in this country?
After a second viewing and further private deliberation, you know what this reminded me of? Rodney King. We all remember the Rodney King incident, don't we?
Rodney King was a black man who was caught on tape being severely beaten in 1992 by LAPD in what was supposed to be a routine traffic stop for speeding. What was shocking about the Rodney King incident was not that it happened, because black people have been suffering this kind of treatment since the dawn of age in America. No. What was truly shocking was that is was caught on tape. Caught on film before the age of the internet. In 1992, catching an incident like this on video was a rarity. In fact, nothing like the Rodney King beating had ever been videotaped. Mr. King was later awarded 1 million dollars per strike by the police batons.
The officers who participated in the beatings were tried in a court of law. The decision to acquit all four officers sparked the LA Riots of April, 1992. The Los Angeles Riots eventually spread across the nation. Had the Rodney King incident not been videotaped, it would have most likely been swept under the rug. Good thing that didn't happen.
This is posted because I was disgusted at what I saw, and I wouldn't have seen it if someone wasn't quick with their cell phone video camera. Get this scumbag out of Korea. An incident like this deserves reprehension.
Keep the faith.
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Monday, August 29, 2011
A Balanced Diet
It wouldn’t be poignant of me to write a blog bragging about all the good things that go with a week away from the grind. Or a month.
My goal of this trip (tho not from the outset) has become this: gorge myself into oblivion, and hope I somehow come out better on the other side. One never wants to deprive themselves of the delicious options available only while they travel distant lands. If we don’t ‘carpe diem’ and investigate the local cuisine, we may not otherwise fully understand what magical knowledge the locals really possess.
Who can resist several pieces of that fresh bread on the table before the meal comes in a place like Spain? You know, the bread with the hard crust and the soft middle, maybe with that oil and vinegar from the region to dip it in. They do this at Italian restaurants back home, but with places offering bottomless pasta bowls like at Olive Garden, why would you take up valuable stomach space for bread?
Don’t mention this to anyone, because it’s hardly worth saying how much weight I’ve gained from all these European goodies. And you thought the Tiramasu at Starbucks was good.
Oddly, I was running 5-6 kilometers daily to get in shape for the beach prior to take off in the end of July. I was pumping out sets of crunches and leg lifts to target sizing down my stomach. I even sweated a few times. Now, I feel like I’m dedicated to drinking every last drop of European beer because Korean swill is so bad in comparison.
Of course, beer isn’t the only beverage making me happy in Europe. If you’re doing it right, and especially with the locals, it’s wine with every meal including lunch. Red if you’re lucky, in Italy anyway. It’s nothing like that crap some of us normally drink back home. Trust me.
Now I better finish this beer before it gets warm.
Keep the faith.
My goal of this trip (tho not from the outset) has become this: gorge myself into oblivion, and hope I somehow come out better on the other side. One never wants to deprive themselves of the delicious options available only while they travel distant lands. If we don’t ‘carpe diem’ and investigate the local cuisine, we may not otherwise fully understand what magical knowledge the locals really possess.
Who can resist several pieces of that fresh bread on the table before the meal comes in a place like Spain? You know, the bread with the hard crust and the soft middle, maybe with that oil and vinegar from the region to dip it in. They do this at Italian restaurants back home, but with places offering bottomless pasta bowls like at Olive Garden, why would you take up valuable stomach space for bread?
Don’t mention this to anyone, because it’s hardly worth saying how much weight I’ve gained from all these European goodies. And you thought the Tiramasu at Starbucks was good.
Oddly, I was running 5-6 kilometers daily to get in shape for the beach prior to take off in the end of July. I was pumping out sets of crunches and leg lifts to target sizing down my stomach. I even sweated a few times. Now, I feel like I’m dedicated to drinking every last drop of European beer because Korean swill is so bad in comparison.
Of course, beer isn’t the only beverage making me happy in Europe. If you’re doing it right, and especially with the locals, it’s wine with every meal including lunch. Red if you’re lucky, in Italy anyway. It’s nothing like that crap some of us normally drink back home. Trust me.
Now I better finish this beer before it gets warm.
Keep the faith.
Saturday, August 27, 2011
Traveling with Steph
Traveling (backpacking) with Steph is eye-opening, and not entirely smooth, mostly due to my own shortcomings regarding the ‘ideal’ relationship. Ideally, I’ve always believed that two people in a relationship should share all responsibilities equally, regardless of who is the man and who is the woman. And, when traveling with backpacks by train, and sometimes covering large distances in a short time, experience is of the essence. Stephanie? She loves the thrill of me doing it all, or at least that’s what I think she’s thinking.
A key ingredient to successful international travel (I believe any seasoned veteran of international experience would agree) is effective and efficient communication with the locals. Knowing when to ask questions, like when you’re lost, is of course helpful. Having knowledge of a second language? Extremely helpful. And, it’s just as important to have confidence not to be afraid to approach someone on the spot. A smile and a greeting in their native language always goes a long way, even if those are the only words you know.
In Steph’s defense, it’s no easy task simply ‘gaining’ experience quickly in areas where you originally had none or very little. If one hasn’t traveled the world, for example, it’s tough to know what to do ‘naturally’ to make the trip go more smoothly. That’s all experience really gives you when traveling.
Seems simple enough, right? I’m thinking Steph may not agree with me.
Of course, after all, I’m only a man, so who really knows what these ladies are thinking. I know I sure don’t most of the time.
Keep the faith.
A key ingredient to successful international travel (I believe any seasoned veteran of international experience would agree) is effective and efficient communication with the locals. Knowing when to ask questions, like when you’re lost, is of course helpful. Having knowledge of a second language? Extremely helpful. And, it’s just as important to have confidence not to be afraid to approach someone on the spot. A smile and a greeting in their native language always goes a long way, even if those are the only words you know.
In Steph’s defense, it’s no easy task simply ‘gaining’ experience quickly in areas where you originally had none or very little. If one hasn’t traveled the world, for example, it’s tough to know what to do ‘naturally’ to make the trip go more smoothly. That’s all experience really gives you when traveling.
Seems simple enough, right? I’m thinking Steph may not agree with me.
Of course, after all, I’m only a man, so who really knows what these ladies are thinking. I know I sure don’t most of the time.
Keep the faith.
Thursday, August 25, 2011
Castiglione Olona
A single month in Europe is hardly enough time to draw any real concrete conclusions about anything. But alas, in the end we have our experience, and our personal observations to ‘draw’ conclusions, so to speak.
So after Barcelona we headed straight for Milan. This was not our final destination, however, of this particular leg of the journey. We were heading to Castiglione Olona, a small town in the north of Italy near the Swiss border. I have an old artist friend who goes by the single name of ‘Trury’ who lives there, and she has graciously invited us to visit and film her life.
Trury is quite unique. She may very well be the is the first person I’ve come into close contact with who, in my own personal description of what I consider an artist to be, is a true artist in every sense of the word.
The first time I met Trury was in Berlin in 2002. We were both there on holiday, and it was the weekend of the famed ‘Love Parade’. We were both staying with a mutual friend, and therefore attended the Love Parade together. Long story short: we danced and drank a lot that day. At the end of the night I found myself back at Federico’s apartment with Trury, and she had taken the scissors to her long brown. When the dust had finally settled, she looked more like ‘The Legend of Billy Jean’ with long locks of hair covering the floor.
For some reason, I never forgot that night.
Keep the faith.
So after Barcelona we headed straight for Milan. This was not our final destination, however, of this particular leg of the journey. We were heading to Castiglione Olona, a small town in the north of Italy near the Swiss border. I have an old artist friend who goes by the single name of ‘Trury’ who lives there, and she has graciously invited us to visit and film her life.
Trury is quite unique. She may very well be the is the first person I’ve come into close contact with who, in my own personal description of what I consider an artist to be, is a true artist in every sense of the word.
The first time I met Trury was in Berlin in 2002. We were both there on holiday, and it was the weekend of the famed ‘Love Parade’. We were both staying with a mutual friend, and therefore attended the Love Parade together. Long story short: we danced and drank a lot that day. At the end of the night I found myself back at Federico’s apartment with Trury, and she had taken the scissors to her long brown. When the dust had finally settled, she looked more like ‘The Legend of Billy Jean’ with long locks of hair covering the floor.
For some reason, I never forgot that night.
Keep the faith.
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
Knowing the World
Call it the spirit of adventure, but in my earlier days I can remember how exhilarating it was to travel to distant lands. Maybe it was the different faces or skin colors, the distinct smell in the air, the architecture, or the (mostly) delicious and often unique food. Possibly it was funny looking cars, the more delicious coffee, or the barely understandable language. Maybe, it was all of it at the same time.
Or, for me, maybe it was the feeling of shedding my own culture and finally feeling free.
My first trip abroad (not counting Canada) was to Spain in 1992. I was 16 years old, and we were there for less than two weeks. I went as a group with about nine other students from my high school, and two teachers. I was (almost) completely surrounded by ‘America’ there in that group, and yet I still felt like my life had changed, even as it was happening. We had amazing experiences speaking with locals in their own language, and meeting & hanging out with people our own age in parks.
I wanted so desperately to think that these experiences were special. At the time, and even later on into my twenties, I thought I was special for having visited these far away lands. Instead what I’m learning all these years later is that I wasn’t doing anything different than anyone else who had also traveled across oceans to see what other countries were like. And, after all this time, I get this eerie feeling that I just wasn’t educated about the world the way I should have been.
Now when I travel, I see the world much more the way it is, the way is always was. I’m not tremendously exhilarated by different people like I used to be, and new cities don’t excite me as much, even though they’re (mostly) still really cool. New currencies? Once exchanged they still need to be spent. Wine in Italy, well that's a different story.
The world around us really isn’t that different after all, except for those who haven’t seen it.
Keep the faith.
Or, for me, maybe it was the feeling of shedding my own culture and finally feeling free.
My first trip abroad (not counting Canada) was to Spain in 1992. I was 16 years old, and we were there for less than two weeks. I went as a group with about nine other students from my high school, and two teachers. I was (almost) completely surrounded by ‘America’ there in that group, and yet I still felt like my life had changed, even as it was happening. We had amazing experiences speaking with locals in their own language, and meeting & hanging out with people our own age in parks.
I wanted so desperately to think that these experiences were special. At the time, and even later on into my twenties, I thought I was special for having visited these far away lands. Instead what I’m learning all these years later is that I wasn’t doing anything different than anyone else who had also traveled across oceans to see what other countries were like. And, after all this time, I get this eerie feeling that I just wasn’t educated about the world the way I should have been.
Now when I travel, I see the world much more the way it is, the way is always was. I’m not tremendously exhilarated by different people like I used to be, and new cities don’t excite me as much, even though they’re (mostly) still really cool. New currencies? Once exchanged they still need to be spent. Wine in Italy, well that's a different story.
The world around us really isn’t that different after all, except for those who haven’t seen it.
Keep the faith.
Sunday, August 21, 2011
Coffee shops: a humming economy
According to recent statistics, the rate of unemployment in Italy is at 9%. In Spain, the official numbers may be as high as 20%. As far as I’ve heard, the latest regarding Greece is that they are now paying 30% interest rates on the country’s debt. Even the middle class in America is feeling the pinch.
These are humbling figures, and the last I knew, no one I know wants to be poor.
According to unscientific observations I made recently when visiting Amsterdam, there is one sector of their economy that seems to be doing really well: The coffee shop industry. This is a lesson Americans should adhere to carefully.
Interested in starting a business that’s almost foolproof to fail? I know I’d be all ears at such a proposal. Seven days a week, from 10am until 1am, the coffee shop closest to our guesthouse always had customers. These customers range from those that actually wanted to sit and enjoy themselves there, to others who just wanted to purchase goods and move along. There was almost always a line to make a purchase.
The environment is quite safe. One won’t often run across drunk and obnoxious youth, and other drugs hardly seem to provoke malicious behavior. I didn’t observe a single serious problem during our stay in Holland.
This was not the only coffee shop successfully conducting business either. Most of the coffee shops we’d pass were packed with patrons seated, and enjoying their goods and coffee, as well as those standing in line to make a purchase.
The recent ‘no’ vote in California to regulate and make legal the sale and purchase of marijuana just goes to show: in 2011, Americans are either too stoned, or still like their drugs illegal.
After experiencing such success in business during my stay inn Holland, I’d say Americans (in general) have it wrong.
Keep the faith.
These are humbling figures, and the last I knew, no one I know wants to be poor.
According to unscientific observations I made recently when visiting Amsterdam, there is one sector of their economy that seems to be doing really well: The coffee shop industry. This is a lesson Americans should adhere to carefully.
Interested in starting a business that’s almost foolproof to fail? I know I’d be all ears at such a proposal. Seven days a week, from 10am until 1am, the coffee shop closest to our guesthouse always had customers. These customers range from those that actually wanted to sit and enjoy themselves there, to others who just wanted to purchase goods and move along. There was almost always a line to make a purchase.
The environment is quite safe. One won’t often run across drunk and obnoxious youth, and other drugs hardly seem to provoke malicious behavior. I didn’t observe a single serious problem during our stay in Holland.
This was not the only coffee shop successfully conducting business either. Most of the coffee shops we’d pass were packed with patrons seated, and enjoying their goods and coffee, as well as those standing in line to make a purchase.
The recent ‘no’ vote in California to regulate and make legal the sale and purchase of marijuana just goes to show: in 2011, Americans are either too stoned, or still like their drugs illegal.
After experiencing such success in business during my stay inn Holland, I’d say Americans (in general) have it wrong.
Keep the faith.
Friday, August 19, 2011
Zarautz
This place needs a proper introduction onto the world stage. It’s like a magic land, a perfect place. I never thought such a place existed on Earth. It's a family town, with a flare for fun if you will. Trust me, I hung out here in the summer of 1996 and partied. Trust me on that one.
In reality, it's a lovely place. There doesn't seem to be any problem with anyone, or anything here, except of course to mind the amount of time your car is parked on the street, because they will issue you a ticket if the amount of time you've already paid for expires. This was something I didn't take into consideration before coming here, because why should I?
I, of course, don't even own a car on this continent. We are, however, extremely fortunate to have a friend lend us one who had an extra. A Volkswagon Golf. A quick turn down the road, a the ‘Autovía del Cantábrico’ was there to wisk us in any direction. We visited Santander, a city I would have never otherwise visited if we didn't have a vehicle at our disposal. Since we did have one, we decided it was the perfect place.
But Zarautz, a place of barely 60,000 in the peak summer months, is a gem amongst the endless places one can visit in this lifetime. The beach is clean, and the sand feels nice between your toes. The whole place feels like a beach town, without the annoying Cancun style partying. You have no choice but to surrender yourself to the easy life of going to the beach, refreshing yourself with a dip in the Bay os Biscay, and catching up with old friends.
Zarautz is legendary indeed.
Keep the faith.
PS- We did end up receiving a ticket for expired parking fees. It was the nicest little piece of paper folded and tucked neatly into a clear plastic envelope that you ever saw. I barely recognized what it was when we were about to pull out.
In reality, it's a lovely place. There doesn't seem to be any problem with anyone, or anything here, except of course to mind the amount of time your car is parked on the street, because they will issue you a ticket if the amount of time you've already paid for expires. This was something I didn't take into consideration before coming here, because why should I?
I, of course, don't even own a car on this continent. We are, however, extremely fortunate to have a friend lend us one who had an extra. A Volkswagon Golf. A quick turn down the road, a the ‘Autovía del Cantábrico’ was there to wisk us in any direction. We visited Santander, a city I would have never otherwise visited if we didn't have a vehicle at our disposal. Since we did have one, we decided it was the perfect place.
But Zarautz, a place of barely 60,000 in the peak summer months, is a gem amongst the endless places one can visit in this lifetime. The beach is clean, and the sand feels nice between your toes. The whole place feels like a beach town, without the annoying Cancun style partying. You have no choice but to surrender yourself to the easy life of going to the beach, refreshing yourself with a dip in the Bay os Biscay, and catching up with old friends.
Zarautz is legendary indeed.
Keep the faith.
PS- We did end up receiving a ticket for expired parking fees. It was the nicest little piece of paper folded and tucked neatly into a clear plastic envelope that you ever saw. I barely recognized what it was when we were about to pull out.
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
European Women
Call me completely off base, but the women of the world could do themselves a favor by taking a lesson from Europeans. Hands down Europe has the hottest, sexiest women. By Americans standards they are definitely healthier, and not just because of the food they eat. Generally speaking, they have built their cities and towns in a livable way, and walk many places that most Americans would normally drive to, like the supermarket or the mall.
All things with humans considered equal, the ladies of the Eurozone are far more elegant and confident than women in most other parts of the world. Forget about history, and the reasons why this is. By just simply observing while visiting here, I’d rather set my eyes on a European lady than one from any other place. Talk about making a man feel their culture from pure body language!
I have occasionally been known to brag about how good looking the women in Korea are. But if good looking has anything to do with confidence, only about 10% of the entire previous group of attractive Korean women would I still consider ‘attractive’. This happens mainly because I live in Korea, and am susceptible to becoming a product of my own environment, conveniently forgetting how attractive confidence is in a woman.
And here, even if they are not fully confident, one generally can’t tell the difference. Compared with Korean women (and men) for example, they way some Europeans walk the streets gives them an air of confidence that doesn’t exist in Asia. Korean women, for example, don’t often look where they are going, and walking in high heels doesn’t make up for lack of direction, or confidence. Grace and style in this area of the world are enough to make any American man do a double-take.
You have to give it up to the Europeans. Well, you don’t have to, because with their confidence, they are most likely not going to care what you think anyway.
Keep the faith.
All things with humans considered equal, the ladies of the Eurozone are far more elegant and confident than women in most other parts of the world. Forget about history, and the reasons why this is. By just simply observing while visiting here, I’d rather set my eyes on a European lady than one from any other place. Talk about making a man feel their culture from pure body language!
I have occasionally been known to brag about how good looking the women in Korea are. But if good looking has anything to do with confidence, only about 10% of the entire previous group of attractive Korean women would I still consider ‘attractive’. This happens mainly because I live in Korea, and am susceptible to becoming a product of my own environment, conveniently forgetting how attractive confidence is in a woman.
And here, even if they are not fully confident, one generally can’t tell the difference. Compared with Korean women (and men) for example, they way some Europeans walk the streets gives them an air of confidence that doesn’t exist in Asia. Korean women, for example, don’t often look where they are going, and walking in high heels doesn’t make up for lack of direction, or confidence. Grace and style in this area of the world are enough to make any American man do a double-take.
You have to give it up to the Europeans. Well, you don’t have to, because with their confidence, they are most likely not going to care what you think anyway.
Keep the faith.
Monday, August 15, 2011
Returning to Italy
My first trip to Italy I remember thinking that I saw Robert DeNiro’s identical twin. I also thought I had seen the spitting image of my aunt. Not sure why that happened as I am, by blood, only 25% Italian-American. After that first visit, I was fascinated by the place.
That was long ago. Now I go there, and I have an idea what the people are going to look like. They have dark hair for the most, are slender, like their mopeds, and talk with their hands. And, without fail, I see Robert DeNiro’s twin every time I’m there.
The coffee? The most dee-lish of anywhere I’ve been, and possibly the least expensive.
So after many moons, I find myself (w/ Steph) heading back to Italy. This time, however, I’m certain it will be different. I have several filming projects planned, and we’ll be spending a week with my parents in a Tuscan villa. It’s their first time overseas. Ever. Kind of like a homecoming for the family, the Italian side anyways.
I chatted with both my parents yesterday over Skype from Barcelona, and it was like I was the parent. There are so many things they're unsure about. It's cute, really it is. I asked my mother what she planned to do if her ATM card didn’t work after her small supply of cash that she’s bringing ran out. Her answer: I don’t know. I advised her to stop by the bank on the way to the airport and make another cash withdraw. It made sense to her.
For them, it’s like Italy is located on another planet. I have no problem with that really. What does concern me, ever so slightly however, is that others from the same country they’re from might think the exact same thing.
Can’t be true... can it?
Keep the faith.
That was long ago. Now I go there, and I have an idea what the people are going to look like. They have dark hair for the most, are slender, like their mopeds, and talk with their hands. And, without fail, I see Robert DeNiro’s twin every time I’m there.
The coffee? The most dee-lish of anywhere I’ve been, and possibly the least expensive.
So after many moons, I find myself (w/ Steph) heading back to Italy. This time, however, I’m certain it will be different. I have several filming projects planned, and we’ll be spending a week with my parents in a Tuscan villa. It’s their first time overseas. Ever. Kind of like a homecoming for the family, the Italian side anyways.
I chatted with both my parents yesterday over Skype from Barcelona, and it was like I was the parent. There are so many things they're unsure about. It's cute, really it is. I asked my mother what she planned to do if her ATM card didn’t work after her small supply of cash that she’s bringing ran out. Her answer: I don’t know. I advised her to stop by the bank on the way to the airport and make another cash withdraw. It made sense to her.
For them, it’s like Italy is located on another planet. I have no problem with that really. What does concern me, ever so slightly however, is that others from the same country they’re from might think the exact same thing.
Can’t be true... can it?
Keep the faith.
Saturday, August 13, 2011
Life Lessons
We never stop learning, whether we want to admit it or not.
I had this conversation with my mother years ago on our back porch. Maybe I was when I was in high school. I remember my father also being present that evening. She and I were in agreement that everyday we learn something new.
So what right? Everyone knows this.
In reality, that afternoon was just another day of chatting with my parents and enjoying the day amongst good company. I’m almost positive that neither of them would remember precisely when this occurred. It was a conversation I had had before, in school maybe, and for some strange reason this time around it made an impression on me. I’ve never forgotten it.
Some of us continually want more out of life, and some of us are happy enough with the status quo. Me? The more I investigate my own life, the more deeply I peel away the layers, the more I’m convinced that I‘ve wasted a good deal of time on this planet. I’ve always known about hard work, and even participated in some from time to time. Fact of the matter is that, no matter how many long papers I’ve written for my degrees, no matter how many mornings I’ve woken up super early to for some employment I can no longer remember, that whole time I had myself convinced that I was a hard worker.
The longer I live, the more I can’t help but feel that the majority of people I observe are somehow not living up to their full potential. What is it with people just getting by? And why are so many people excited for payday? I never understood that. Is it really the cool thing to live for the weekend, and complain about your job? Why doesn't everyone do something they enjoy?
And it’s a shame really, so much talent and so few people doing something with it. I’m in there somewhere, trying to crawl my way out. I just wish I had known about this earlier in life.
Keep the faith.
I had this conversation with my mother years ago on our back porch. Maybe I was when I was in high school. I remember my father also being present that evening. She and I were in agreement that everyday we learn something new.
So what right? Everyone knows this.
In reality, that afternoon was just another day of chatting with my parents and enjoying the day amongst good company. I’m almost positive that neither of them would remember precisely when this occurred. It was a conversation I had had before, in school maybe, and for some strange reason this time around it made an impression on me. I’ve never forgotten it.
Some of us continually want more out of life, and some of us are happy enough with the status quo. Me? The more I investigate my own life, the more deeply I peel away the layers, the more I’m convinced that I‘ve wasted a good deal of time on this planet. I’ve always known about hard work, and even participated in some from time to time. Fact of the matter is that, no matter how many long papers I’ve written for my degrees, no matter how many mornings I’ve woken up super early to for some employment I can no longer remember, that whole time I had myself convinced that I was a hard worker.
The longer I live, the more I can’t help but feel that the majority of people I observe are somehow not living up to their full potential. What is it with people just getting by? And why are so many people excited for payday? I never understood that. Is it really the cool thing to live for the weekend, and complain about your job? Why doesn't everyone do something they enjoy?
And it’s a shame really, so much talent and so few people doing something with it. I’m in there somewhere, trying to crawl my way out. I just wish I had known about this earlier in life.
Keep the faith.
Thursday, August 11, 2011
On the road again
I’m not going to sit here and glamorize anything. But, being on the road ain’t all that bad. Just ask my friend Andrew Harrison.
My friend Anna laughed at me earlier today when she read our train tickets. Anna lives in Cataluña, a region in northeastern Spain that speaks Catalan, and where Spanish is a second language. I've known Anna since 1992 when she, along with several dozen of her high school classmates, came to our high school in NY on a two week exchange program.
I had told her the day before when we arrived that we were taking the train from Barcelona to Milan, and that Steph and I had our own overnight private cabin. Because she reads Spanish better than me, she actually knew what the entire ticket said, and a private isn't what we had reserved.
Much earlier on, while preparing the trip, Anna had fairly wisely recommended to me for us to fly to Milan instead of taking the train. It’s her terrain, and who would know better how to travel in Europe than a native. The prices of trains and planes were surprisingly similar. And seeing as how ‘being on the road’ really isn’t the same as flying, we, in the end, chose to go by rail.
As complicated as the Barcelona metro and train system may be perceived to be, we managed it without a hitch. We were leaving from Anna’s village, a house located about forty five minutes north of Barcelona centre and connected by trains. Other than our packs and some extra camera equipment, the only true obstacle in the way to finding the Estacion de Francia (other than having the internet beforehand to get directions) was whether or not I could properly communicate in Spanish.
At this point we are somewhere in France, about half way there, and this train is flying.
Keep the faith.
My friend Anna laughed at me earlier today when she read our train tickets. Anna lives in Cataluña, a region in northeastern Spain that speaks Catalan, and where Spanish is a second language. I've known Anna since 1992 when she, along with several dozen of her high school classmates, came to our high school in NY on a two week exchange program.
I had told her the day before when we arrived that we were taking the train from Barcelona to Milan, and that Steph and I had our own overnight private cabin. Because she reads Spanish better than me, she actually knew what the entire ticket said, and a private isn't what we had reserved.
Much earlier on, while preparing the trip, Anna had fairly wisely recommended to me for us to fly to Milan instead of taking the train. It’s her terrain, and who would know better how to travel in Europe than a native. The prices of trains and planes were surprisingly similar. And seeing as how ‘being on the road’ really isn’t the same as flying, we, in the end, chose to go by rail.
As complicated as the Barcelona metro and train system may be perceived to be, we managed it without a hitch. We were leaving from Anna’s village, a house located about forty five minutes north of Barcelona centre and connected by trains. Other than our packs and some extra camera equipment, the only true obstacle in the way to finding the Estacion de Francia (other than having the internet beforehand to get directions) was whether or not I could properly communicate in Spanish.
At this point we are somewhere in France, about half way there, and this train is flying.
Keep the faith.
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
Traveling Koreans
Last summer in Rome Steph and I shared a room with a very unfriendly Korean. I figured it was an isolated incident, and that that particular girl was just not in the mood to be nice and outgoing. That is until earlier today. Maybe it's me and my unfriendly ways, or maybe I'm beginning to see a trend.
How could I not notice that this person was Korean? Many of our friends in Korea might agree that we could spot Koreans easily, or at least try to tell the difference between Korean people and, say, Japanese or Chinese just for the fun of it. We have an idea how they look and act by now because we live there amongst a nation of them. Personally it may be easier at this point to pick out a Korean from the crowd than just about any other nationality, and this is not necessarily because of their confidence. Maybe it's their lack of confidence that makes them easier to spot.
Instead of going over the particulars, lets just say I tried to strike up a friendly conversation with the young traveler today by speaking in Korean in the common room of the hostel in which we were staying. Anyone see a problem with that? (plz tell me if you do!) If I were Korean I'd welcome such a conversation opener. Why not, it isn't like the Korean language is the equivalent of English in the world.
Anyway, she shut me down, showing very little interest. I even told her I lived in Korea, and she barely smiled. What more could she expect from someone in Spain? How many non-native Korean people do you think have said 'Hello, How are you?' in her native language (안녕하세요?) since she's arrived in Spain to greet her? I even smiled.
Korean people with a social complex: loosen up a little. Some of us are simply trying to be friendly. Speaking with others can be a good thing, and you may actually learn something.
Or, maybe I got the whole thing wrong, and some travelers are just unfriendly.
Keep the faith.
PS- As a side note, I believe it wouldn't hurt the Korean government to consider altering (and/or adding to) the national public school curriculum some courses in life skills. Some may find subjects like 'sociology' or 'psychology' to be fascinating. And beneficial.
How could I not notice that this person was Korean? Many of our friends in Korea might agree that we could spot Koreans easily, or at least try to tell the difference between Korean people and, say, Japanese or Chinese just for the fun of it. We have an idea how they look and act by now because we live there amongst a nation of them. Personally it may be easier at this point to pick out a Korean from the crowd than just about any other nationality, and this is not necessarily because of their confidence. Maybe it's their lack of confidence that makes them easier to spot.
Instead of going over the particulars, lets just say I tried to strike up a friendly conversation with the young traveler today by speaking in Korean in the common room of the hostel in which we were staying. Anyone see a problem with that? (plz tell me if you do!) If I were Korean I'd welcome such a conversation opener. Why not, it isn't like the Korean language is the equivalent of English in the world.
Anyway, she shut me down, showing very little interest. I even told her I lived in Korea, and she barely smiled. What more could she expect from someone in Spain? How many non-native Korean people do you think have said 'Hello, How are you?' in her native language (안녕하세요?) since she's arrived in Spain to greet her? I even smiled.
Korean people with a social complex: loosen up a little. Some of us are simply trying to be friendly. Speaking with others can be a good thing, and you may actually learn something.
Or, maybe I got the whole thing wrong, and some travelers are just unfriendly.
Keep the faith.
PS- As a side note, I believe it wouldn't hurt the Korean government to consider altering (and/or adding to) the national public school curriculum some courses in life skills. Some may find subjects like 'sociology' or 'psychology' to be fascinating. And beneficial.
Sunday, August 7, 2011
Facebook, and ‘The Social Network’
I picked up a 2-pack of Time magazines in the Tokyo airport on our way to Europe recently to tide me over the 11 hour flight to Copenhagen. The magazines were wrapped together, back to back in clear cellophane with covers facing out on either side. The current front cover (Aug. 1 & 8 2011 issue) was titled ‘Traveling Through Islam’. The back magazine was an old issue from 27 Dec. 2010/03 Jan. 2011 titled ‘Person of the Year’.
It’s a good thing I missed this issue 8 months ago. In Dec. 2010, I had already decided that I was going to have a website built, but in reality knew very little about the web. I had hired a small firm to begin building it in Oct. of that year, and had been working with one individual from that company mainly on the design.
Fast-forward to today, and I’m on my second web coder/designer. He’s a thousand times better than the first (he may even be reading this), and the website is getting closer to being fully operational. And, in the 10 months leading up to now, I’ve learned more about the web than I had in the previous 10 years.
One thing I’ve learned is that the web we all currently know today is still what some people consider a cold place to navigate. Outside of Facebook and with only a few exceptions, we visit
websites all alone, without any real person to interact with. Increasingly this is changing I find, as I've had live people ready to chat with me when attempting to purchase a server for the site from companies offering the service. Facebook in seven short years has fully transformed the way we communicate with each other online. Companies are hot in pursuit to change this, but the present availability of technology still doesn’t fully support experiences on the web such as fully functional virtual reality.
The social web seems to be the wave of the future. Creating a social experience on my website will be the biggest challenge early on. Making high quality content without a plan of distributing it across the web properly and efficiently to those who are interested in it is like being dead in the water before you’ve crawled out of it.
Innovative ideas are one thing, but a solid, well-written business plan is another.
Keep the faith.
It’s a good thing I missed this issue 8 months ago. In Dec. 2010, I had already decided that I was going to have a website built, but in reality knew very little about the web. I had hired a small firm to begin building it in Oct. of that year, and had been working with one individual from that company mainly on the design.
Fast-forward to today, and I’m on my second web coder/designer. He’s a thousand times better than the first (he may even be reading this), and the website is getting closer to being fully operational. And, in the 10 months leading up to now, I’ve learned more about the web than I had in the previous 10 years.
One thing I’ve learned is that the web we all currently know today is still what some people consider a cold place to navigate. Outside of Facebook and with only a few exceptions, we visit
websites all alone, without any real person to interact with. Increasingly this is changing I find, as I've had live people ready to chat with me when attempting to purchase a server for the site from companies offering the service. Facebook in seven short years has fully transformed the way we communicate with each other online. Companies are hot in pursuit to change this, but the present availability of technology still doesn’t fully support experiences on the web such as fully functional virtual reality.
The social web seems to be the wave of the future. Creating a social experience on my website will be the biggest challenge early on. Making high quality content without a plan of distributing it across the web properly and efficiently to those who are interested in it is like being dead in the water before you’ve crawled out of it.
Innovative ideas are one thing, but a solid, well-written business plan is another.
Keep the faith.
Friday, August 5, 2011
Coming Back Home
Zarautz is a special place in Spain, and not because I said so or anything like that. And not because I lived here for a summer in 1996, and not because this is where I gained a significant portion of my Spanish speaking ability, either.
It's also not special because I feel like I'm home when I'm here. I realized it was special yesterday evening when we took a wrong turn on the highway about 2 hours from here.
After a two hour drive from Zarautz, we arrived in Santander, and spent the afternoon getting to know the city. Lovely place. I highly recommend it if you have the means. Since this city is also located along the north coast, I figured it wouldn't be very different from The Basque Country. It appeared similar to San Sebastien/Donostia, but felt unique because, for one, there was no Basque language written anywhere. We actually quite enjoyed the place, especially along the harbor.
We left for a place called Comillas around 7:30. Also located on the coast but as a much smaller town further west. I wanted to show my Stephanie a place that houses the Capricho de Gaudi, an apparently special building designed by Antonio Gaudi in the 19th Century. With the sun not about to fully set until 10pm, we figured we could lose. That is until we took a wrong turn south.
We, instead, ended up in a place called Reinosa, in the mountains. Other than the fact that we were in the middle of Spain and everything looks different, if I didn't know better, and judging from the character of the place, it could have been anywhere in middle America that's feeling the crunch of the economic crisis.
We took one of the longest back roads I've ever been on to drive from Reinosa back to Bilbao, to eventually get back to Zarautz.
Keep the faith.
It's also not special because I feel like I'm home when I'm here. I realized it was special yesterday evening when we took a wrong turn on the highway about 2 hours from here.
After a two hour drive from Zarautz, we arrived in Santander, and spent the afternoon getting to know the city. Lovely place. I highly recommend it if you have the means. Since this city is also located along the north coast, I figured it wouldn't be very different from The Basque Country. It appeared similar to San Sebastien/Donostia, but felt unique because, for one, there was no Basque language written anywhere. We actually quite enjoyed the place, especially along the harbor.
We left for a place called Comillas around 7:30. Also located on the coast but as a much smaller town further west. I wanted to show my Stephanie a place that houses the Capricho de Gaudi, an apparently special building designed by Antonio Gaudi in the 19th Century. With the sun not about to fully set until 10pm, we figured we could lose. That is until we took a wrong turn south.
We, instead, ended up in a place called Reinosa, in the mountains. Other than the fact that we were in the middle of Spain and everything looks different, if I didn't know better, and judging from the character of the place, it could have been anywhere in middle America that's feeling the crunch of the economic crisis.
We took one of the longest back roads I've ever been on to drive from Reinosa back to Bilbao, to eventually get back to Zarautz.
Keep the faith.
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
The Red Light District
For much of the afternoon I had been checking out the scene from the window of our guesthouse while I worked. It wasn't even necessary to get up from my desk chair to look down out the low ledge of the window frame. A simple glance away from the computer screen was all it took to see the single door entrance to a building across the street that was flanked with neon red on both sides. We were apparently staying within a portion of the Red Light District in Amsterdam.
I had decided to make use of my time, drawing on the city's energy if you will, and the cozy 2nd floor accommodations we happened upon with decent wireless internet fit perfectly into the plan. The window from our place had a perfect view of long windows lit up all day long across the street in red florescent, and with workers in them.
Earlier in the day, amongst the women I had been watching from our guesthouse, at least one of them was definitely a female. She wasn't terribly attractive from what I could see, gut protruding a bit as should stood there in a dark-colored bikini. The other one to her right was also tall, carried a large frame, had tits, and a nice lump in her speedo g-string that she kept readjusting.
Noticing the unique line of organized (and quite) gainful employment occurring there throughout the day, I found myself becoming curiously interested in their line of work, which I soon learned was standing in that window, and playing the numbers game. And, you wouldn't believe how much play these two got from men even if you had witnessed it yourself. One of them wasn't even a female..
I got the feeling, if only for the briefest of moments, what Ancient Greece may have been like, where no line went uncrossed when it came to sexual desire.
Keep the faith.
I had decided to make use of my time, drawing on the city's energy if you will, and the cozy 2nd floor accommodations we happened upon with decent wireless internet fit perfectly into the plan. The window from our place had a perfect view of long windows lit up all day long across the street in red florescent, and with workers in them.
Earlier in the day, amongst the women I had been watching from our guesthouse, at least one of them was definitely a female. She wasn't terribly attractive from what I could see, gut protruding a bit as should stood there in a dark-colored bikini. The other one to her right was also tall, carried a large frame, had tits, and a nice lump in her speedo g-string that she kept readjusting.
Noticing the unique line of organized (and quite) gainful employment occurring there throughout the day, I found myself becoming curiously interested in their line of work, which I soon learned was standing in that window, and playing the numbers game. And, you wouldn't believe how much play these two got from men even if you had witnessed it yourself. One of them wasn't even a female..
I got the feeling, if only for the briefest of moments, what Ancient Greece may have been like, where no line went uncrossed when it came to sexual desire.
Keep the faith.
Monday, August 1, 2011
Saturday at the Eiffel Tower
Ah, Paris. A city where love is always in the air, and the average French woman is a hottie. (even the MILFs!)
But the Eiffel Tower on a Saturday? Don’t do it! Resist the urge!
One of the largest tourist destinations in the world is also the most watched, suffocated, and overrun. I don't consider it ‘romantic’ when literally hundreds of men, mostly of African decent, won’t leave you alone trying to persuade you to buy the cheapest Eiffel 'junk' you’ve ever seen in your life.
And, at what’s supposed to be its finest hour is nothing more than an opportunity for French government to get in the way.
Yes, you may drink red wine in the park throughout the afternoon and into the evening as trickles of sunlight shine through the thunderous tower beams. But don’t expect to be alone. Cops watch your every move. And definitely don’t try to pee in the bushes -- they’ll come after you, and attempt to issue a ticket. Trust me on that.
And yes, thank goodness public transportation operates well into the night as scheduled. But don’t expect a smooth entrance into the subway at ‘Trocadero’. Mobs of tourists shuffle through their travel bags as they line up to purchase tickets at metro machines in which they are still somewhat unsure how to operate. Unfriendly security and Paris police stand right by the turnstiles ready to issue tickets to anyone attempting to ride the trains for free.
Eiffel Tower on a Tues. has got to be more enjoyable than this.
Keep the faith.
But the Eiffel Tower on a Saturday? Don’t do it! Resist the urge!
One of the largest tourist destinations in the world is also the most watched, suffocated, and overrun. I don't consider it ‘romantic’ when literally hundreds of men, mostly of African decent, won’t leave you alone trying to persuade you to buy the cheapest Eiffel 'junk' you’ve ever seen in your life.
And, at what’s supposed to be its finest hour is nothing more than an opportunity for French government to get in the way.
Yes, you may drink red wine in the park throughout the afternoon and into the evening as trickles of sunlight shine through the thunderous tower beams. But don’t expect to be alone. Cops watch your every move. And definitely don’t try to pee in the bushes -- they’ll come after you, and attempt to issue a ticket. Trust me on that.
And yes, thank goodness public transportation operates well into the night as scheduled. But don’t expect a smooth entrance into the subway at ‘Trocadero’. Mobs of tourists shuffle through their travel bags as they line up to purchase tickets at metro machines in which they are still somewhat unsure how to operate. Unfriendly security and Paris police stand right by the turnstiles ready to issue tickets to anyone attempting to ride the trains for free.
Eiffel Tower on a Tues. has got to be more enjoyable than this.
Keep the faith.
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