Amsterdam Rules

I have had so many awesome experiences in Amsterdam in such a short time, it almost seems like a waste of time even trying to describe them here.

Amsterdam

             Dutch people are amazing. I just got back from a dinner with Chris and Joke (Ken and Barbie), and I couldn’t be more grateful for their hospitality. They had Chris’s brother and his girlfriend over and we all had a delicious meal cooked by Chris. He made lasagna (lots of broccoli, onions, and fish in it, really weird but delicious) and then shoved all manner of Dutch Christmas sweets and cookies down my gullet until I was fit to burst. Chris also showed me his new guitar and his musical skills. He has some serious fingerpicking abilities, and his classical training shows in how deftly his fingers voice strange and varied chords all over the fretboard. I played them all a few of my songs as well, and great fun was had by all. I seriously can never repay these guys enough for their hospitality and warmth. The Dutch are tops in my books after tonight.

            Earlier today I went to the Anne Frank museum. Displays of massive genocide contrasted with one girl’s touching diary entries force me to think about vast ideas. How could the Nazi’s be so cruel? What should Holland before and after surrendering to the Nazis? What was it like for this family to hide silently in a house for 2 years? Maybe these questions are too much for this blog to handle.

            I have made great friends in Cocomama Hostel here. The facilities are great, and they have truly created a home instead of a hostel. I advise this hostel to any and all tourists passing through this awesome country.  

Last day in Rome

            So you might recall the Dutch couple I met yesterday, Joke and Chris. Or Ken and Barbie as I call them. Apparently their friends call them that as well. We had plans to meet up for dinner yesterday, and this is how it went down. I got back to the hostel after seeing them at lunch, and started to decompress by taking care of travel arrangements. With all of the walking around Rome demands, a couch is the highest comfort. With my laptop and my hostel couch, I was in heaven. So I keep interneting and sitting around, and wait until my laptop clock tells me that it is almost 7pm, the time when I need to be at some new restaurant the plastic pair recommended. It doesn’t look too far away, so I am out the door at 20 minutes until 7 with a map and a spring in my step. Then I look at my phone. 10 minutes until 8. What. The. Hell? If there is one thing I hate, it’s being late. If there’s another thing I hate, it’s other people being late. Owing to my ability to empathize with the proverbial couple who has been waiting on me for 40 minutes, I am able to hate both myself from my perspective and theirs. Turns out my laptop is still set on British time. Careless. I jog the last few streets to the restaurant, and look in the window to see the Dutch pair of supermodels almost finished with their meal. I erupt into the tiny locals-only restaurant and apologize so loudly that everyone in the restaurant looks at the crazy blonde guy. I feel their Italian disapproval for interrupting the atmosphere.

            “Don’t worry about it!,” Chris says, “in England, you would have been right on time!”  They implored me to order something, and within a few minutes, I was enjoying a delicious spaghetti cabonara and some sparkling conversation. We all talked about geopolitics, the Euro, and the differences between America, Italy, Paris, and Holland. As it turns out, Americans fit in well with the Dutch when it comes to work ethic. But by Chris and Joke’s experiences, when a French or Italian colleague tells you they will get a work task done, it’s best to add a few days to whatever their estimated time of completion was. Dutch people also have a passion, like piranhas, for free things. Taxes are so high, the idea of someone giving something away excites them to a fever pitch. I can’t wait to see them both, or at the least Chris (Joke might be busy getting admitted to their version of the bar) at his flat in Amsterdam.

            Today, my last day, I went inside the Coliseum and Forum while listening to Rick Steve’s audio guide. I hate listening to most tour guides, so at least the audio guide gives me the illusion of individuality. At the very least, when Rick bothers me I can just press pause. The Coliseum was an intense experience. As I walked through the hallway and emerged into it’s oval, I couldn’t help but feel the visceral fear that must have pumped through the veins of gladiators, prisoners, and criminals as they took what likely would be their last steps amidst the jeers 50,000 screaming people yearning to see them die.

            On my way to the old forum ruins, I gave directions in Mandarin to a woman and her young son. Her face lit up when I spoke Chinese, and made me feel really good.

            The forum ruins are amazing. An entire city center is more or less preserved for tourists to imagine what life was like two thousand years ago. I walked where Cesar was stabbed, and where Cicero’s hands and head where nailed to a wall for his speaking critically of the dictatorial new role Cesar was taking in Roman life to the chagrin of the Senate. What was really crazy was the idea that these ruins used to all be under hills of turf and overgrowth. Rome went to the Earth’s foremost civilization to worm food in a couple of centuries. Something to remember when people tell you America’s supremacy is permanent.

P.S. A random couple just came into the common area and asked for directions to the hostel. I gave them my computer to check, and now we are going to dinner (they are new in town and I am an old hand at Rome).

P.P.S. Ok just got back from dinner and they were really cool. Both Portuguese, very nice.

 Imagine walking to your death.

     

Lunch and Chance in the Trastevere District

    As good as yesterday was, today is proving to be better. I just went on the best walk I have had in this sprawling city. On the recommendation of Camilla, a woman I met on the plane ride over here, I decided to get lunch at a pizzeria in the Trastevere District. This neighborhood is a bit of a hike from my hostel, over the river in fact. The walk was so nice, that I have decided to make a route on Google Maps for other people to follow. If you click this and then drag the little orange man on to the route marked in blue, you can see exactly where I walked.

http://maps.google.co.uk/maps?saddr=Alessandro+Downtown+Hostel,+Via+Carlo+Cattaneo,+23,+Rome,+Italy&daddr=41.8967259,12.4924771+to:Viale+di+Trastevere&hl=en&ll=41.887582,12.473559&spn=0.017987,0.038581&sll=41.898125,12.494996&sspn=0.008992,0.01929&geocode=FZVOfwIdOMK-ACEfHXaVmurfPg%3BFRVLfwIdvZ6-AClZSj_FsWEvEzGAyXCgmk8JEw%3BFWAofwIdgFK-AA&vpsrc=6&gl=uk&dirflg=w&mra=dvme&mrsp=1&sz=16&via=1&t=h&z=15 

I decided to take a street I have never walked on before, Via Panisperna. The weather was soggy and drizzling, and almost no one was out on the streets. As I listened to Basia Bulat and Bob Dylan on my iPod with my hood up, I walked down Panisperna being greeted by the sights of authentic restaurants and the smells of freshly baked pastries. Most of the buildings were modestly sized apartments, all in different pastel colors and all covered in orange, red, and green ivy-like flora. This was all covered in a layer of water from the rain, making the entire neighborhood verdant. This honest, organic scenery contrasted 100% from the big monuments of Rome surrounded by ‘I Love Roma’ t-shirt stands that assail you with hundreds of key chains and other made-in-China memorabilia. It doesn’t sound as impressive as the Vatican, but after days and days of being surrounded by the vendors and trappings of tourism at Rome’s biggest sights, seeing the beauty of actual Rome was so welcome. I jogged in front of the Victor Emannuel monument as quickly as possible to avoid tourists and their vibes, and then crossed the river to emerge in the Trastevere district.

            I looked around for the restaurant, ‘Mamma Mia!’, in what had to be the nicest side of Rome I have seen yet. It was a relaxed, smart yet not too pricey side of town where the streets were clean and the tourists scarce. After running around looking, I eventually gave up and asked a street vendor “Il dovay Mamma Mia pizzeria?”. In perfect English, he replied that I had walked past it by 50 feet, but it was closed until dinner at 7pm. Well great. What am I supposed to do now? I walked to where the restaurant was supposed to be, and saw metal garage door curtains pulled over all of its apertures. A few feet away, another restaurant was less closed. Actually, it looked quite nice. I peeked in to see groups of Italians smiling and laughing over freshly cooked pizza from a nearby wood-burning pizza oven. Perfect! Up until this point, most “pizzerias” in Rome I have seen merely cook their pizzas in advance and then reheat them for a few seconds in a toaster oven to a lukewarm temperature that turns cold in seconds. I look ecstatically at the waiter and say, “Are you guys serving piz-“

“Last pizza just was cooked,” he interjects. I sob inside. “Very sorry, just cooked the last pizza. Look,” he tells me before picking up two giant, empty boxes that had previously been filled with pizza dough, “all done, nothing left.” “Oh…” I search for a reason to live, “is there anything else for lunch?” “Sit down,” he said, “do you like seafood?” I assent, and after about 10 minutes, I have the house special in front of me. It was a plate so large I could barely fit it in the frame of my camera. On top of a feeble piece of ceramic trying desperately to hold its contents lay a heap of giant pasta tubes oozing with oily tomato sauce, small clams, and mussels as big as infant fists. Oh, did I mention the whole fish in a separate plate-compartment in the bottom of the dish? That’s right, this lunch was so big they had to invent a plate suitable enough to hold it all. “Thank you,” I offered to the waiter, but he had already left grinning a knowing smile. I would be happy. He knew this.

From the first bite, I felt validation. This was right. All of the accidents and happenings; meeting Camilla on the plane, Ai Mammi being closed, they had all led me here, to this plate of delicious. My zen and lunch even attracted the attention of others. “Are two more people coming to join you?” a blonde couple asked next to me. “No,” I replied with a calm smile, “this is all for me.” We three started talking, but I felt bad for them craning their necks away from their table. Seeing as they were done eating, I thought I’d offer. I told them, “Hey, you guys wanna bring your beers over here to talk?” They sat down, and made me very glad that I had asked Joke (pronounced Yo-kuh) and Chris from Amsterdam over to my table. They were both too nice. Joke is starting a job as an intellectual property rights lawyer, and Chris is a mucky-muck at a bank. I told them I would actually be in Amsterdam in a few days. Chris took this as a hint to give me some tips, and asked “Do you have a pen?” Once I gave one to him, he took my napkin and wrote a travel guide of things to do while in Amsterdam, as well as his email. I couldn’t have asked for a better pair of people or a more fortuitous state of events. Chris even invited me over for a home cooked dinner in Amsterdam on Wednesday, and I am meeting them both for dinner tonight. All because I ordered what the waiter recommended, because Ai Mamma was closed, because I met Camilla on the plane. Sorta seems like fate when you think about it.

        

St. Peter's Basilica

The way up to the top.

 The top.

         Rome is starting to become more familiar to me. I am starting to know where I am based on old piazzas, and when I get lost I always recognize a gorgeous church that tells me where I am. Most of these Roman days have been frantic see-em-alls for me as I bee-dance around the whole city with a map in one hand and a half-eaten sandwich in the other. Not so today. Today I walked out to St. Peter’s Basilica with some New Zealanders I met last night. They were a cute couple, and almost too optimistic (even for me). Actually, I need to side track from today and talk about last night for a second. I went out for dinner with Daniel (my Danish friend who I might have accidentally called Stephen in previous posts) and this Kiwi couple. We all had amazing Italian food, but what made the night really special was the couple sitting next to us. I started talking to them when I asked how their food was while I was deciding what to order. With their answer, I learned a lot more than the quality of their dinner. These two were Irish. I mean like, Blarney stone, pint of Guinness, juice of the barley for me Irish. Gift of the Gab Irish. They started talking to me. And talking. And..well you get the idea. 2 hours into the meal, I was talking macroeconomics and Irish election with the wife, while the husband was speaking in fluent French with Daniel. The 2 kiwis, I felt so bad, mostly just politely nodded as everyone else got caught up in conversation (the Kiwis are pretty laid back). So after a few deft comments by myself, I am happy to report that 2 real real Irish people told me I have the Gift of the Gab. No joke. Life goal achieved.

            So, fast forward to the next day. The kiwis and I are walking to the Vatican, and then split up, they to the Sistine chapel and I to the basilica. The line wasn’t so long, and I met a nice family from Nebraska that helped pass the time. I talked to one of them about his opinions of our economy, and even though we came from very different sets of thought, we concluded the conversation with agreement and compromise. It gave me a little hope for Democracy.

            I have done and seen many things this trip. I have seen a few things in my life. None compare to St. Peter’s Basilica. You want a testament to what human beings can do? You want proof of our collective possibility? There’s a building for that, and it rests in il Vaticano. I spent hours slackjawed between mosaics, under domes, set on all sides by columns the size of redwoods. Every inch of the vast…building doesn’t seem appropriate…nor Church…space was covered in dense art. Be it molding, designs in gold paint, mosaics, or statues, every inch your eye could find would find you astonished. After hours of walking in this silent, echoey marble cavern, I went outside to get in a new line. This was the line to the Basilica dome. The line to the top.

            I paid 5 euros. A pittance. Almost insulting. They let me go around the building to a special entrance outside, where I began to mount the uncountable number of winding, ramped, sometimes worn stone steps that lead hundreds of feet to the dome of St. Peter’s. At one point I was in a spiral staircase smaller than a shower, holding on to a dangling rope which was the only safety device to keep me from falling. I got up to the dome. I’ll just post the pictures. After that, I thought the trip was over. The ride coming to a close. But I saw a sign. It was a small, wooden sign. “This way to the dome,” it said. ‘But I have already been to the dome,’ I thought. This was it, the inside of the dome. I followed the sign. I followed the sign to stairs and more stairs. You might notice stairs as a recurring theme in this story. Now, picture the end of my ascension. A panting Connor, swearing to only use escalators and elevators for the rest of his days, crosses the threshold of the last godforsaken step only to walk out on the outside rim of St. Peter’s Basilica. The wind whips you. People don’t even look like ants from that height. Maybe ticks. Or paramecium. All of Rome was laid out in front of me like a toy. I could see every bend of the Tevere river, the coliseum, the Pantheon, and hundreds of apartment buildings. My Rome gets better by the day. Who knows what tomorrow will reveal?

Another great day in Roma

Day 3 in Rome

       I…am…exhausted. I walked around almost the whole of Rome today, from end to end in an oval. This city is huge. My day today and my night last night were made particularly enjoyable by new friends made in my room at the hostel. Last night, after travels with Stephen, I got home to crash for an hour after a tiring day of walking. I ended up not being able to sit for a moment though, as I had to go out to a pharmacy and get some essentials that the airlines made me throw away (looking at you shaving gel). When I got back, I had to switch rooms from my 4 person to a 5 person. There was only one person in there, a meteorologist named Amelia who is a third year studying at Edinborough through a Pennsylvanian University named Muller. We ended up going to dinner together, and this is a thing I really like about hostels. Everybody is about the same age and circumstances, in a foreign place with no friends, so they all end up making plans together at the drop of a hat. We went out, got an amazing dinner (my first good meal in Rome (I keep getting pizza but they keep serving it cold!)) and then got lost on the way back to the hostel for about 40 minutes. It was really embarrassing. We finally got back, got to sleep, and made plans to see the Sistine Chapel the next day.

       The next day, we started an epic trek to the Sistine Chapel, with stops along the way. The Vatican is on the complete opposite end of Rome from our hostel, and as a tourist in Rome, any long journey takes way more time when you factor in all of the random beautiful sights you end up running into along the way. Every corner has a history, and every street a surprise. We saw the Trevi Fountains, the Pantheon, and the Sistine Chapel after navigating through the Vatican Museum. I have pictures of most of these things, but it would take 10 times more words to try and describe all of the things I saw today. I hope pictures are worth 10,000, and that this blog entry will do more than whet appetites. Rome is an amazing place.

First day in Roma

So begins my 6 day Roman stay. I booked a hostel today for an average of 19 euros a night, and will be here until the 13th when I fly to Amsterdam. I wrote earlier about my last night in Paris. Because I got in to the apartment last night at 1:30, then packed and planned, I only had an hour to spare before my 5am busride to the airport. The walk to the bus stop was depressing. At 4:45, no one in Paris is awake, and the giant city's squares are filled  only with giant monuments and vast empty highways. I was the only person on the bus, and the driver drove like a bat outta hell while listening to French techno music. At 5 am, this was all really weird to me. We spoke in French, and it was a good conclusion to an awesome trip around Paris.
     When I arrived at the airport, it was devoid of life. A silent, empty airport is a particular kind of horror. I eventually found my way to my terminal (despite all the signs being in French) and went through security. Unfortunately, I realized when I got to my terminal that I had forgotten to check my one bag. I talked to the guy behind the counter, and without his boss looking, he took care of everything for me so that I didn't have to pay a 50 euro fee. I will not make that mistake again.
      The plane ride to Rome was just over an hour long, but I still had time to make a friend. She was a Parisian/Roman named Camilla (another Camilla!) who gave me some great travel tips for places to get pizza in Rome. Her utmost advice was simply "Walk around." Don't follow guide books, don't go on tours, just walk around and let the city show itself to you. While I will take a map for safety, I am excited at the prospect of this kind of travel. I took a half hour train to the city center from the airport (and met a future Spanish teacher from Missouri named Melenie). As we entered the city, I was surprised by the plants. There were a lot of cacti, but also mixed with more deciduous, temperate trees and shrubs. Also, everything was covered in graffiti, and not as nice as what I had thought Rome would be.
      When I got to my hostel (located near the terminal in a graffiti riddled part of town resembling a second-world Mexican city) I checked in and slept. After I woke up, I had some free pizza and met a guy from Amsterdam named Steven. We hit it off really well, and decided to go walking around Rome at night. He has already been here for a few days, so he was sort of my tour guide. We saw the Colosseum and some other immense ruins, as well as more really impressive buildings (pictures forthcoming). After that we had some drinks at a local ex-pat bar where I learned from Steven that the Dutch word for "cheesy" is "Oprahwinfrey".