I realize I still have to write about Austria, Czech Republic, southern Germany, Spain, and Italy, but this trip is the latest and I just have to get it out of my head before I study for my Environmental Managing 2 exam that I have at noon tomorrow.
I wanted to travel somewhat by myself again after my trip to England alone. However, I was especially sketched out to go to a place where little English was spoken when my previous experience in Munich, Germany proved our lack of language knowledge can hurt our savings accounts. (see future post about Munich) I did fly to Berlin alone, but I met my hilarious high school friend Derek Fobaire there this time. He has been living in Germany for a few years now and had the acquired German fluency we needed. We also stayed with his high school exchange student’s twin brother (phew), Flo, who put us up for two nights on his comfy pull-out couch.
I slept overnight at the airport on April 27th in Shannon, Ireland, which my friends and I all voted was the most comfortable airport of all the airports we had collectively slept in to save some cash. There’s this cafe to the right of the check-in areas with big cushioned benches and dimmed lights that Tyler Liptack recommended to me, and I totally staked my territory when I waltzed into the airport at 11:30 pm of the 26th. It’s like they made the benches with poor sleeping students like me in mind! Thanks Shannon Airport, you are the best! I put my Ipod earphones in as a block to the airport noises, as the other less savvy people paced around the airport into the early hours of the morning and the automatic doors swooshed open and closed. With my backpack as a somewhat comfortable pillow, I slept for probably a good 4-5 hours before my trip started. It was a bit chilly, but I guess I couldn’t expect my over-sized sweater to protect me from the wrath of Ireland’s cold at night. Overall, it was an experience that crushed my evening sleeping on the metal chairs of the Verona airport in Italy. (also, see future post of my Italian adventure)
I had a layover in London’s Stansted airport for the entire morning, which I spent sitting in the patio outside of the Krispy Kreme Doughnut stand, and I believe I even got some sun on my arms. First tan of the summer in England?? Yeah, right. It’s true though, I don’t think Italy even left a hint of sun on me. (Meanwhile, Jeremiah’s neck was barbecuing itself in the direct sunlight.) In my boredom, I almost bought a travel-sized Hungry Hungry Hippos. I imagined myself challenging random people on the plane to a hearty game of H.H. Hippos, but then quickly changed my mind when I saw the price tag. If only the price was in dollars instead of pounds…
On the plane, I did end up making friends without the aid of H.H. Hippos. A young Brazilian guy named Denis (I was confused as well; there are Brazilians named Denis??) and I chatted about the Brazilian tradition of Carnival and how my friend Cole Yancey is almost done with his two year mission in São Paulo, Brazil. He was visiting his Brazilian friend Rodrigo, who was studying car design in one of the top design colleges in Berlin. Derek had told me that he wasn’t arriving in Berlin from his flat in Lübeck until half past five, so the Brazilians invited me to hang out with them until then. We took the German U-Bahn (“underground rapid transit,” or the German version of London’s Underground) to Rodrigo’s apartment, and then went to grab a snack at the nearby Brazilian restaurant. How convenient for Rodrigo. Basically, I was trying to read a Brazilian food menu, which was written in German, with two Brazilians. Interesting. I ate what I like to call a “taco pillow,” in that it was an enclosed fried shell filled with spiced mince meat. It is called a Pastel de Carne; however, the one I ate was considered a “wind pastel,” in that there was more air than meat inside the shell. Oh Brazilians and their jokes. Then, I ate something like a chicken doughnut, officially called a Coxinha, which at this point I have no idea how it was pronounced. It was a ball of chicken pieces covered by a crusty dough-like shell, and it was pretty darn tasty. At this point, Derek called me to let me know he was in the vicinity and we should meet up. I bid my Brazilian friends farewell, after they gave me a recommendation to visit an upside-down bar where all the furniture was on the ceiling.
Here is the Brazilian snack "Coxinha" I ate with Denis and Rodrigo.
Derek and I reunited at the top of the U-Bahn stairs, in which we hugged and then he immediately pulled out a beer for me from his luggage. Derek said,” Hey, I’m on vacation too and I want to celebrate!” I haven’t seen Derek since our 2007 band trip to France after we graduated high school, and it was epic to have a drink with an old high school friend. We went to his friend Flo’s flat, who took us out for the Berlin fast food of choice, Currywurst, which is basically sausage covered in a curry sauce. Like most places in Europe, they also enjoy fries covered in mayonnaise, which I find revolting and ironic considering how Europeans view American food. We then went to the grocery store to pick up some unique brands of beer for me to try, and of course I picked the ones with the most colorful labels like a German beer newbie. I picked up one called Rothaus Pils, with a geometric stereotyped German beer lady on it. As I Derek, Flo and I walked out of the store holding our beer, a random drunk street man came up to us and started babbling about how I shouldn’t drink that because it is a “Fascist beer.” That is all I caught, as he started spewing in German after that to Derek and Flo, who were trying to hold back a laugh and take his political advice on beer seriously. We were so impressed with the rant that we bought the same brand the next night as well.
The so-called "Fascist Beer"
We ended up going to that bar with the upside-down furniture after all. It was pretty cool, but the long walk there wasn’t. On the way back, I was chilly with my dress on, so Flo offered me his pants. He had a long jacket on, so it covered up his boxers and made him appear as if he was a flasher. I put his cords on over my dress, so I looked goofy, but at least I wasn’t cold anymore. We then stopped at a Turkish chicken take-out booth. We didn’t know what to get, so we ordered an entire roasted chicken. Imagine us, walking around Berlin with an entire chicken and Flo with no pants. We couldn’t stop laughing, and overall it was a great evening.
The next day, Derek and I went on a free guided tour of Berlin, which ended up being the best tour I have ever been on. The English-Italian-Indian tour guide was very animated the entire 3 and a half hour tour, and we ran into my silly Brazilian friends Rodrigo and Denis along the way. We saw bullet-ridden and bombed buildings of the old East Berlin, which was the Soviet side of Berlin in the Cold War. We walked through the haunting Holocaust memorial, which consists of hundreds of stone slabs arranged in a sort of stone labyrinth. Among other things, we saw Soviet propaganda paintings, Nazi architecture, the remnants of the Berlin Wall, and a touristy staged Checkpoint Charlie, which was the famous American checkpoint between East Berlin and West Berlin. It felt so powerful to be in a place where so much history of the past century happened. We even stood in the grassy area above where Hitler’s bunker existed in World War II. As I was born in 1988, it was weird to think that I was alive when all this was happening. Maybe all this first-hand knowledge will help me appreciate the senior perspective class I’m taking next semester, called “The Bible and the Holocaust.”
After both Derek and the tour guide explained what the infamous Ampelmann symbol was, I had to buy something from the Ampelmann store. In the old East Berlin, the traffic walking symbol consisted of a small man with a hat walking instead of the normal walk/don’t walk electric sign. When the Berlin Wall came down in 1989, there was an attempt to change all traffic signs to that of the Western kind. The East Germans protested, saying that if the West Germans took everything, at least leave them their beloved Ampelmann. I ended up buying a green canvas Ampelmann bag and I’ll be displaying it at the beach all summer.
AMPELMANN !!!
That night, Derek, Flo and I made a delicious hand-made salad and each had another “Fascist beer.” Flo took us to a German bar with a huge outdoor patio overshadowed by large willow trees. We sat out pretzel-style on the floating wooden platforms in front of the patio on a river while loud tunes and lights swirled around us. However, we were tired from the long tour earlier, and Flo had things to do the next day, so we went home early and hit up Burgermeister on the way home. I didn’t get to hit up the secret warehouse techno clubs complete with fog as my Minnesotan buddy Dave Norman described, but I don’t think I could have danced until 9 AM anyways. Berlin was a blast and a half, and I’m glad Derek and I got to catch up and reminisce about France trip 2007. Flo was a great host and I hope I run into him again someday.
Amsterdam. How do I describe it to somebody who hasn’t been there? I guess it is Europe’s Las Vegas, but with a bazillion times more drugs and sex. I took a 6 hour train ride from Berlin to Amsterdam on that Thursday morning, where I met a stereotypical retired British lady having the best time of her life, living from holiday to holiday. She lives in Germany, but was on her way to meet her Dutch boyfriend south of Amsterdam. They are planning a trip next year where they are taking his yacht from the Belgium coast to the Caribbean. No big deal, right? Along the way, I saw absolutely no windmills, and I was extremely disappointed, but stereotypes often are. I did spot a few fields of bright yellow flowers as my train zoomed by on a beautiful day in Holland. (The British lady tried to explain that the term Holland is widely accepted although it really only describes a part of The Netherlands.)
I think I chose the wrong time to visit Amsterdam for the first time, as Queen’s Day is the biggest celebration all year. It is a day to celebrate the old Queen’s birthday, dress in obnoxious amounts of orange, participate in selling anything anywhere on the street, and party. This is a city where they have to set up “pee protectors,” which are pieces of metal attached to corners and niches of buildings that are supposed to prevent damage caused by those who chose to participate in public urination. They also are created to splash the urine back at the person to dissuade them from peeing at all in that area. I’m pretty sure an intoxicated person wouldn’t care either way, but sure go for it Amsterdam.
I mean, I admit I chose to go to Amsterdam on purpose for Queen’s Day, but there were insane amounts of people that made it difficult to move in some areas. The night before Queen’s Day is Queen’s Night (so clever), and everybody stays up to unearthly hours and parties how Dutch people do. We didn’t have the best Thursday night, as after the shenanigans of the evening ended, we ran into a drunk dutch man when the boys were walking me back to my friend Carine’s place (which was unfortunately a 25 minute walk from their hostel). I was staying at Carine Middeldorp’s apartment because I wanted to see all my Nuts Frisbee team friends from the Siege of Limerick tournament earlier in the semester (see earlier post) and save some money since it was ridiculously expensive to stay anywhere on Queen’s Day. So we were just minding our own business, when this drunk guy comes up to us, points to Jeremiah and says “Did you just say “ay!? to me??” when we had no idea what he was talking about. Our friend Brian (if you haven’t caught on by now, I met up with Jeremiah and Brian in Amsterdam) realized that another random guy had yelled the threatening “ay,” and tried to explain to the Dutch man that it wasn’t Jeremiah, but it was too late. After he yelled something in Dutch at Jeremiah, he punched Jeremiah in the face. When I say punched, it was more like a really hard slap to his eye, so it still hurt but didn’t break his nose or anything. We were all astounded at what happened as the man turned his back on us and walked away, and weren’t ready when the man turned around, smacked Jeremiah on the other side of his face, and disappeared. The drunk guy was clearly looking for a fight for no reason, and we weren’t about to waste time on him. I mean, I clearly should have used some ninja moves or pulled out some nun-chucks, but this guy was clearly not worth it. Sorry Jeremiah, is it still too soon to joke about it? He had two black eyes for a week and a half, and had to surprise his parents with that when they came to visit Ireland last week. I am grateful that they walked me back both nights to Carine’s place even though it was kind of a hassle. Thanks boys.
In the morning hours of Queen’s Day, anybody is allowed to sell whatever they want on the streets of Amsterdam, like a gigantic garage sale. I ate some delicious mini pancakes with my Nuts Frisbee team friends, and then continued on exploring with Jeremiah, while Brian was on his own. There was non-stop techno music blasting from every other house and bar, so my brain was on overload from all the music meshing together into one. People were wearing the most ridiculous orange outfits, and I looked like a cross between Willy Wonka and that crazy crystal ball professor from Harry potter. Carine let Jeremiah wear her orange bucket hat that had a Dutch saying “Ga Je Mee” on it, which means “go along with me” in Dutch, and he looked quite handsome in it. (haha)
People were dancing everywhere. On a balcony, in the park, on the street, in the bars and ON THE BOATS. There are many canals in Amsterdam, and everybody who owned a boat was on it, plus some. Boats blasted techno music, and people dressed in orange and other costumes jiggled out on the water and under bridges, waving to anyone along the way. I saw a whole boat full of fake costumed cops, like it was some sort of odd stripper police party. At one point, I saw that some people were in the water because their boat broke, and people were trying to lift them out of the canal. Did I mention that there are open public male urinals that run right into the canal? Nobody wants to be caught swimming in that.
The boats were overflowing with techno and orange.
We met up with Brian later (and by met up, I mean found because Brian’s phone was taken from him in Rome…another story, another day) and decided to go to the free open air concert by the world’s favorite DJ, Tiesto himself. He is Dutch, so giving a free concert to his people came in handy to us, a trio of Americans. By the way, earlier Jeremiah and I had tried to see Ray & Anita, which is the Dutch eurodance duo otherwise known as 2 Unlimited. If you remember Jock Jams from the 90′s, you would remember jams like “Get Ready For This” and “No Limit.” My athletic childhood memories come to mind, with basketball camps and watching Space Jam too many times. We may have seen them, but we were too far away from the stage to tell, and we arrived late so we didn’t recognize any songs. It will always be a mystery.
Jeremiah and I on Queen's Day.
Anyways, Tiesto was magnificent, and Jeremiah and I danced hardcore. Brian left because he doesn’t “like techno.” Psshh. He missed out on the dance party of the century. Later that night, we met up with our Belgian friend Jeron, who we met in Rome, and he brought along his friend John Paul. Jeremiah walked me back with no violent surprises this time, thank goodness.
On Saturday morning, Carine and I ate breakfast together at a local cafe and got to chat about various things. She went to high school in South Africa, which definitely raised her bad ass rating. I thanked her for her hospitality and met up with Jeremiah and Brian so we could go to the Anne Frank house. It was shocking to see a book I read in childhood come to life, and the solitude she had to endure to stay alive. It was such a shame that she died in the concentration camp a few weeks before liberation.
Jeremiah and I got on the train to Brussels, Belgium in the evening, and accidentally left Brian in Amsterdam (again, he had no phone), but we figured he could find his own way. Brian is a pretty independent guy, I mean, he IS from New York. I’m surprised he didn’t plant any American flags in Amsterdam along the way like he said he was going to do all over Europe. This is where Jeremiah had bad luck: part 2. Our flight out of Brussels wasn’t leaving until 7:30 AM and we didn’t want to pay for a hostel, so we figured we would just hang out until the earliest bus left the city for the airport, which was at 4 AM. The boys had spent the first part of their trip in Brussels and Antwerp with the Belgian boys we met from Rome (while I was in Berlin), so Jeremiah knew his way around. We grabbed a snack and sat down in the main square with our backpacks at about 1 AM, and there were a ton of people out partying still, and the area was perfectly lit so we were should have been perfectly safe. A group of Belgian guys approached us and started talking to us, and we assumed they were friendly. One guy was asking where I was from, as I was obviously not from there with my backpack next to me. I glanced over to Jeremiah, and one of the guys was “drunkenly” hugging him (who knows if he was actually drunk or not) and then we see another guy reach in between and grab Jeremiah’s backpack and disappear. Jeremiah ran after him but it was too late. Luckily, they didn’t take my bag, and Jeremiah had all his essentials on him in his jacket. Jeremiah only ended up losing his camera charger, some clothes (but only a few shirts and underwear as he had layered like 3 shirts on in the rainy weather), his backpack, and his…plane ticket. We weren’t too worried as we knew people who have re-printed out their ticket at the airport. Unfortunately, Jeremiah’s bad luck increased when we got to the airport, because they made him pay 40 euro to replace his paper ticket that he originally only paid probably 20 euro for.
Basically, Jeremiah got railed by the Benelux countries. He said it was great the rest of the time though…
Gakkk! I have so much blogging to do! (+ London)
Okay. I’m going to skip the apologies this time as this is the first free weekend I’ve had since….I got to Limerick. I am so grateful that I get a break, as my money supply and traveling superpowers cannot last forever. I have so much to write from the past month, so I think I’m going to break up the blogs from each trip. In the past month, I’ve been to London (twice?!), Munich, Salzburg, Prague, and Barcelona. Oh, and of course St. Patrick’s Day in Dublin. I’ve literally been in class Monday through Wednesday and then traveled the rest of the week for most of the past month. I think I should get a frequent traveler trophy from Ryanair or something at this point. So here goes….London.
My fantastic trip to London seems so long ago already. I went the 24th-28th of February, half in London and half in Norwich, England. I kind of booked it on a whim, as I just had recently discovered the new album of Hot Chip and scarfed it down so fast I had to see them whenever, wherever (you may slap me for the Shakira circa 2001 reference). (Yes, I just immediately went to YouTube to listen to Shakira. I’m truly embarrassed. This is a horrible video.)
So I saw that Hot Chip was playing in Norwich, which is about 2 hours by train from London. I did a little research and decided that I wanted to make the trek alone. I was slightly nervous, but I kept reassuring myself that at least they spoke English there. I also decided to try my hand at this new-fangled thing called CouchSurfing. I am obsessed with offtrackplanet.com , which is where I read about couchsurfing. It’s a website where you create a profile like Facebook, but it’s for the purpose of creating connections with random people worldwide by staying a night or two on his or her couch. It is free to participate in; however, it is not just a place to sleep when traveling. It’s an experience where you trade cultures, make new friends, and get an insider’s look at the location. It’s a win-win-win-win. I have an automatic tendency to trust people who seem trustworthy, (how silly of me) so of course my parents weren’t too happy about the idea. I explained that the website is legit in that your identity and location can be verified by a donation and a returned postcard. I’m sure there are still weirdos out there on the interwebs but I felt like I did enough adequate research.
I settled on contacting Paulina, a Lithuanian girl my age studying at University of East Anglia in Norwich. I made a quick profile, emailed her, and crossed my fingers for a response. I’m at least a quarter Lithuanian thanks to my Grandpa, so I was very interested in Lithuanian culture. Paulina confirmed my request only a week in advance, and promised to squeeze me in between her birthday trip to Portugal and her studies.
Paulina and I at the Cantina getting a bite to eat
I left for the London-Stansted airport very early Wednesday morning with really no idea how to get around, except that I had to get to the train station at Liverpool street by 1 pm. After snacking on my staple mini-pancakes from Burger King for 1.50 euro, I figured out how to take the hour-long bus to London. I also should mention that I didn’t even know that pounds were used instead of Euros until the Shannon airport early that morning. I was very disappointed to find out that my dollar was worth even less in pound form. I spent an obnoxious amount of money in London.
Long story short, I messed up my travel plans so much in the next couple of hours that I almost cried on the streets of London in frustration. When I got to the bus station, I asked a handful of people how to get to the train station, and none of them could help me. I could see the clock ticking away as I frantically tried to find a cheap way to get from point A to point B, and a nice man finally noticed me pacing back and forth like a crazy person I’m sure and offered to help. He pointed me toward the Underground, the subway system used in London, which I was previously unaware of and that its location was twenty feet behind me. I ran downstairs (I did a lot of running that day, jiggling my backpack booty up and down stairs) and got an all-day pass for around 6 pounds. I grabbed an Underground map (which I now cherish as it is creased with both panic and love) and headed into the dungeon that Londoners call home. I ended up taking the wrong tube two times in the opposite direction, and dragged two poor English people with me who tried to help. They even kept pace with me as I sprinted from tube to tube. I was pretty impressed with their athleticism and ability to dodge other tube-goers that insane day.
Finally, I arrived at King’s Cross station, where I sprinted up to the desk to claim my pre-paid tickets, only to find out that I was at the complete wrong train station. What?! Liverpool street?! !#%@@! The train ticket salesman just shook his head at me and helped me purchase a new and pricier ticket to Norwich that left an hour later. At least I got to snag a deelish brie-basil-tomato baguette along the way. While I struggled with putting my money away, my various levels of jackets and sandwich, I dropped a handful of money all over the train station ground. Did anybody bother to stop and help an obviously struggling-with-life girl with her baggage? Absolutely not. I watched as I saw a lady stare at me with a half-grin as I stupidly bent over to clumsily gather up my change off the cement without dropping my lunch. Ugh.
Finally, I settled into the train across from a 30-something English white-collar man who let me eat some of his spicy wedges to accompany my sandwich. He pointed out the location of the future Olympic stadium for the London 2012 Olympics and a few other landmarks along the way. I pretty much passed out from exhaustion after that for the rest of the train ride.
Okay, I’m taking way too long to describe my first day. I’m just trying to illustrate my frustration as a lone traveler in London. I think you got the jist.
I took a taxi to Paulina’s college flat as I had no map to reference the address she gave me. Norwich is a medium-sized university town with some of the best shopping in England. I instantly loved it. When I walked up to the door to Paulina’s house, I almost second-guessed myself. What in the world was I doing?! Staying at a stranger’s place?! Yep.
Paulina gave me a big hug and a warm welcome into her flat, where she lives with a handful of British boys I believe. She took me to a lovely spiritual experience at the local Cathedral. It’s called Taizé, and it involves lots of singing and prayer among youth of different Christian backgrounds. It reminded me a lot of peer ministry back in high school, and made me miss my St. Joseph’s Parish back in Minnesota. Paulina has a stunning voice and can sing in Latin, and the atmosphere of sitting on cushions in the red candlelight was very relaxing after my stressful day. Afterwards, we chatted and had tea in the Cathedral’s kitchen with the two other men who showed up to Taizé.
Afterwards, Paulina dropped me off at the main campus square where the concert was going to happen later that evening so she could study in the library. I grabbed a bite to eat at the cheap cantina diner and made fast friends with some Star Trek super fans while inhaling my shrimp stirfry. I bid them farewell and went to the concert by myself. This is not something new, as I drove 6 hours to see Sufjan Stevens last semester by myself, which was both the best and worst idea ever.
I ended up meeting some really cool English boys at the Hot Chip concert. Will, Steven and Tom were some pretty goofy characters, and we danced like it was 1985 to Hot Chip’s epic electropop. They somehow convinced me to stay another night to go dancing with them and their friends. I figured that London wouldn’t have as much English flavor as much as small-town Norwich, and it ended up being a fantastic choice. I slept in at Paulina’s place, met her swell housemates (Jonny “let’s have a facebook stalk” Wattley) and meandered around the covered outdoor food, clothing and trinket market in the downtown area for a few hours. This is where I found my new favorite pair of skinny jeans. Why, you ask, are they my favorite? 1) I got them for 15 pounds and 2) They were in the little girls’ section under a sign that said “for 13 year olds.”
*Note: Hot Chip isn’t actually a boy band. The actual band members are the group of guys that get lasered in the end.
I met the Hot Chip boys at their dorm and met their kooky friends for some late night fun. I’m pretty sure Claire and I were best friends in another life, and I hope we get to meet up again before I leave Europe. Simon and Chris were awfully nice as well. We went to a club called Po-na-na’s, where they played non-stop obscure techno the whole time. Well, except when the DJ played “It’s Tricky” for some odd reason. The boys were literally drinking plastic tubs full of vodka redbulls, no big deal. It was a grand evening. I was sad to leave my new friends, but I had to continue on to London for the remainder of my trip.
I met up with my friend from home Nate, as he is studying for the semester in London, and stayed with him and his friends for the second two nights. Nate took me to the typical tourist sights of London on Friday, although I missed Shakespeare’s Globe Theater and Buckingham Palace. We all went out to a club called something like “Zoo bar,” and I witnessed one of Nate’s friends take a shot of vodka through his eye. He tried to convince us to do it but we didn’t want to have the “crying out vodka for 30 minutes” sensation he described. Must be a British thing?
Taking a shot through his eye=never a good option.
On Saturday, I went shopping by myself in the Oxford Circus area for a few hours. I tried to get into “Wicked” at the last minute but it was sold out, so I snagged the last ticket to see “Priscilla, Queen of the Desert.” I had no idea what I was getting myself into (as usual), so I found myself watching cross-dressing men lip sync disco hits and wear flamboyant costumes. At first I was shocked, and then I warmed up to it halfway through. There’s a movie version made of the musical in 1994 and I really want to rent it now.
Here's the gaudy musical I saw.
After that, things got crazy again. When I walked out of the musical, I realized that I had no plans for the next couple of hours while I waited for Nate and his girlfriend Linds to finish with their masquerade ball. Naturally, I wanted to go out in London…but I needed 1) a venue to go to and 2) new friends !! Check and….CHECK. I chatted up some girls who looked like they were going out, but found that they were on their way back from a musical as well. They guided me toward the tube station where I took it to the recommended student bar area called Covent Garden. I ran into the teenage mutant ninja turtles in the underground, singing to classic rock played by a random guy with an acoustic guitar. Outside, I found myself surrounded by a huge group of people all singing in Spanish and hugging like it was a campfire song or something on the streets of London.
TMNT in the Tube.
I ended up meeting some British boys on the street my age who were going out, in the least creepiest way possible. How does one go about making friends on the street, you ask? It takes a lot of random small talk with the right people. A guy happened to be handing out tickets for a club around the corner, and it caused the boys to pause and talk to him, giving me a chance to do the same. I’m such a sneak attack friend-maker. They told me it was their friend Sam’s 21st birthday, and invited me to join them as I was friendless. Sam the girl ran up to me and drunkenly hugged me and welcomed me to her birthday party. They gave me the name of a girl in their group so I could get into the club for free on the list. Woody, Olie and Olie were very generous to me, the token American girl. I was in a club full of British students jamming to throwback hits, including the Baywatch song where the all the boys insisted on removing their shirts. This was my fourth and final night out of dancing so I was exhausted afterwards.
Naters & I in London
So basically, I decided that traveling by myself is pricey but amazing. I am slightly scared to go alone to a country in which English is not widely spoken (see Germany post, coming soon!) so we’ll see where I head next by myself.
The Siege of Limerick
My body hasn’t hurt this much since training for spring track season in 10th grade. I think the average amount of muscles in the body is around 700, and I think about 699 of mine are under severe stress right now. The good news is that my team, JAB-UL, won the championship for the women’s division for the ultimate frisbee tournament this weekend. The bad news is that I can barely move right now after playing mostly savage (no subs for the games) in 7 games this weekend, plus a two hour training session on Friday by the one and only frisbee super power Ben Wiggins, who happens to coach Sockeye, one of the top ultimate teams in the States from Seattle.
So on Friday, Wiggins ran a training session that taught me more technical ultimate knowledge than I’ve ever learned in my ultimate life. Hopefully I’ll be able to remember and apply all the skills and drills I learned on Friday to my game. Wiggins also showed us a a number of plays at a whiteboard session after the practice, which was all very helpful. I feel like I’m writing a critique of Ben Wiggins. His fellow captain Skip was there too, and both were pretty cool cats. I guess Skip and his friend were playing “Guess the nationality” and when I walked by, his friend automatically labeled me American. Must have been my lucky backwards red trucker cap. It was. I asked.
Elaine and I trying to keep warm in the tent between games.
On Saturday, Elaine, Becky, Una (sorry girl, I’m not sure how to spell your AWESOME name) and I found out that we’d be joining the small group of girls from Jabba the Huck to make a super team called JAB-UL. Get it? JABBA+ UL…yeah okay. We sounded like a bunch of turkeys squawking when we cheered “JABUL JABUL JABUL!!”
There were 6 women’s teams, with 4 games on Saturday and 3 on Sunday. I played with DCU, a team from Dublin, for a couple games because they were short a player to make a full squad. Fiona and her gals from DCU ended up winning the spirit award for the women’s division, and I could see why. They were so friendly and such good sports for all foul calls. I switched back to my JAB-UL team for the semi-finals and final, which were played against Cork and Trinity, respectively. It actually snowed on Saturday, and it being rare to snow in Ireland, it was ironic that Mother Nature Ireland decided to pull out her best slush for us frisbee players.
The girls and I after our long chilly match in the snow. JABUL!
I hosted the Amsterdam mixed team called Nuts in my flat all weekend, and they were some of the coolest people ever. Some were Dutch of course, but some players were from Canada, Switzerland, and Belgium. They kindly cleaned my flat for me and even signed a Nuts disc for me. We went out for Indian food on Saturday, which I had not previously tried. It was ridiculously delicious, with so many flavors I was unaware of before. I didn’t eat much of the hot curry dishes as my lips were on fire after a tiny bite. My king prawns in mild creamy curry sauce were fantastic with the special bread that you were supposed to scoop it up with.
The Amsterdam team Nuts and I after the awards ceremony.
Saturday night after the Indian food, we went to the Lodge night club for the frisbee themed party “Super heroes and Super villains.” I didn’t have time or euros to spend for a costume, so I joined the Amsterdam girls with painting multi-colored face masks on in the bathroom of the Lodge last minute. I told people we were the Amsterdam Power Rangers. It was quite the dance party, and I taught Ben Wiggins how to play Buffalo, so hopefully he will spread the power of Buffalo to all the frisbee players on the West Coast.
Nuts girls and I at the Lodge. Power girlz.
Me, Brian and Jeremiah "Does this shirt count as a costume?" Shrovnal at the Lodge.
I am glad to make history as the first champions of the women’s division of the Siege of Limerick. We got to keep the Siege Women’s flag as our prize. Hopefully I’ll run into all my new Irish frisbee player friends again before I leave. I know at least I’ll have a couch to sleep on when I visit Amsterdam in a month or so.
Kinsale & Cork
Last weekend Jeremiah and I went to Kinsale and Cork, two of the most southern cities in Ireland. On Friday we stayed in a hostel owned by a friendly older woman named Joy (?) or Julianne or J-something. Let’s call her J-dawg. She liked us so much that she referred us to her friend’s hostel for Saturday night’s stay, and referred us as “the wonderful American couple,” which Jeremiah and I had a chuckle about. We found an extremely small pub, Dalton’s, filled with about ten considerably older locals. Everybody turned and stared at us when we walked in on Friday evening…are we that obnoxiously American? Jeremiah did say that my pea coat looks ridiculously American.
Me looking delighted to be awake at the hostel Saturday morning.
Kinsale has pretty views anywhere you stand around the harbor that leads into the Atlantic, so we spent most of the day Saturday climbing rocks and strolling along the path toward Charles Fort. We loved Dino’s restaurant so much we went there twice that day, and I made sure to write in the guestbook on the counter “TWICE IN ONE DAY!!” We of course got fish and chips, as this was the town’s specialty. I’m not a big fan of fish, but I forgot that pretty much anything fried tastes the same.
The pinnacle of small town cutesy. Dalton's, the pub we went to Friday night, is the red building.
One of the views from around the harbor in Kinsale.
My forehead snuck into the scenery. Look! I see the ocean!
Jerry-miah and I taking a break from the long walk.
On Saturday evening, we took an 8 pm siesta at the hostel, and almost ended up sleeping through the night as we were so tired from walking all day. We jolted awake at 9:30 pm and finally got enough energy to go out to the hoppin’ pubs around town. I’m glad we did because we found some great live music at a pub. It was packed even though I thought the Irish would be wallowing in sadness after that day’s embarrassing loss to France in rugby. The band was playing American classic rock, and I specifically remember a good rendition of “Ring of Fire” by J. Cash.
On Sunday, we ran into our friends from UL who were on the international society trip to Cork for the weekend. I think we made the better choice though, as Kinsale was prettier than Cork and a better weekend destination. Jeremiah and I tried to find the outdoor adventures building in Kinsale because we wanted to go sailing as it was very sunny and about 50 degrees, which felt fantastic. Unfortunately, it was closed when we finally found it. We found a fountain that splashed up foam on our walk…not sure if it usually has foam or if it was a sort of Valentine’s Day prank.
We got on the bus to Cork and walked for hours around to find somewhere that wasn’t McDonalds. (We each got double orders of chicken nugget 6-packs on Friday night for lack of a better dinner. And of course, an apple pie, which by the way tastes better in Ireland than in the States) We finally settled on Captain America’s Bar and Grill by promising ourselves to ignore the cheesy name of the place. I graciously let Jeremiah have the chair with the Valentine’s balloons on it because I know deep down he really wanted it. They were playing VH1′s top Valentine’s Day hits, which I was pretty stoked about until someone changed the station to a rugby game.
Overall it was a relaxing weekend, and I’m glad we spontaneously decided to hop on a bus on Friday to Kinsale after our Dingle debacle. (Basically we accidentally chose the wrong date on the bus ticket to Dingle, and we couldn’t get it refunded. Travel mistake #2, after I lost my camera the other week.*) (*Don’t worry, someone recovered my camera for me a week later. Badda-bing badda-boom luck of the Irish)
On a completely unrelated note, I am trying to do some couch-surfing off a cool website where I get to stay at a local’s place and talk to them. I booked a flight to London next weekend to see my friend from home Nate Louwagie and to see Hot Chip in Norwich, England where I’ll be couch surfing.
And, by the way, my Irish housemates think it is the funniest thing ever that I pronounce the word “fillet” like “fill-ay,” like I’m French or something. Apparently it is pronounced like “fill-it” here. Surrrrreeee.
Dodgy Dublin
Hey all. Quick post update as I am feeling especially fantastic this evening. I went to Dublin this past weekend with the UL frisbee team and played 4ish games in soggy soil all day Saturday. We lost all of our games, but I was just glad to play outdoors in February without having snow flurries block the disc. I landed hard on my shoulder and was out for the second half of the last game, and it’s still quite sore so who knows what I did to it.
I ended up staying in Dublin Saturday evening with Aussie Dave, Jeremiah and his St. Norbert buddies in an apartment in a super dodgy area. We literally had to go through at least three types of security blockades to get to Becca’s apartment. The apartment itself was wonderful (minus the shower, which Jeremiah made it blantantly obvious that the water turns ice cold after a mere five minutes when we heard him cursing through the bathroom door). We ended up going to two pubs (one was called Hogan’s?) in the trendy district by downtown. The inside of the first pub looked like a huge house party with convenient bars (with inconvenient prices) located in half of the rooms. It was so packed we could barely move. We moved on to another pub down the street with multiple levels, with a spacious dance floor in the basement. Aussie Dave made new friends with some older Irish guys, but I was too timid to talk to any new people, especially since the Dublin accent is quite a challenge to decipher in a loud bar. On our long 30 minute walk back to Becca’s, we picked up some delicious late night burgers at a place called Rick’s.
On Sunday, Jeremiah, Dave and I went shopping downtown. When I say we went shopping, I mean that Jeremiah bought a much-needed belt and Dave examined the remote controlled tarantulas, while I perused the sale rack at the expensive shops. I had to hit up H & M, but my new favorites are A/wear, River Island and Zara’s.
On the 3.5 hour bus ride back to Limerick, Jeremiah and I played Truth or Dare on his iTouch. Of course we couldn’t do any of the dares, as the prompts consisted of “Bite somebody’s toe,” and “Kneel and kiss the hand of the person next to you.” When I chose Truth, it asked me what I would do if I had 24 hours to do whatever I wanted. When I thought about it, I instantly realized that I WAS doing what I would want to do for those 24 hours…except I had a whole 4 months to do it. My typical answer would definitely be something about traveling the world in a spontaneous way, and doing crazy things in random places. I haven’t really done anything crazy yet, but I’ll let you know when I do. It was unreal to realize that I was having the time of my life only three weeks in to a short four months. I somehow have to bottle up this feeling and sell it on the black market. Then maybe, just maybe, I’ll have enough funds to travel the world.
Ireland Week 2: Galway & Getting Comfortable
Sorry I’ve been slow putting up pictures on facebook, but my internet here seems to hate me. It’ll happen. Promise.
So last weekend I went to Galway, which is on the west coast of Ireland. We also toured the burren and Connemara, which were scenic as well. The burren is basically just rocks, so after 4 hours of it both buses were sick of it I’m sure. Connemara had picturesque rocky mountain/hills, and extremely blue lakes. We were surprised when we found ourselves at the Cliffs of Moher because our guides had said nothing about it. My new friend Mandie from Calgary, Canada, bought the famous Irish friendship ring at the giftshop…for herself. I got to meet up with Ginny from Creighton who is studying in Galway right now, so that was fun. I stayed in my first hostel with my two Aussie girls Morgan and Caroline along with Canadian Mandie. It was very clean and I actually had a good night’s sleep, especially since I chose to drink a lemonade at the pub instead of an alcoholic beverage. The weekend was pretty low-key for me as I have a rough cold right now, but at least I got to hang with the girls and shop a little. I was excited until I saw how much everything costs. I did manage to snag a 10 euro puffy sleeve t-shirt though with my UL student ID discount.
Cliffs of Moher with my friend Sam
Connemara
We took a short stop at Kylemore Abbey on Sunday afternoon.
Jeremiah, my friend from Wisconsin, and I planned a trip to Germany, Austria and the Czech Republic in a month. It was only about 80 euro roundtrip on Ryanair so we were grateful for that. It took like 2 straight nights of planning to figure out the best route and price for hostels and locations, but I think we at least have a tentative schedule. We currently have a hostel booked in Salzburg, Austria, which is where The Sound of Music is based, and I guess the hostel plays the movie EVERY SINGLE DAY after breakfast. I don’t know how Jeremiah feels about this, but I am VERY psyched to re-live Julie Andrews’ life. We also have a hostel booked in Prague that apparently has a nightclub attached to it called Roxy. It looks like the place to be for sure. So far we are landing in Munich and taking the train to Salzburg and Prague, but it’s a tight decision between The Sound of Music and the Berlin Wall, so we may just hop up to Berlin instead. Oh yea, and I guess some guy named Mozart was born in Salzburg as well.
Funny story actually. Jeremiah and I picked Austria because we saw this picture:
Hallstatt, Austria
Also, Jeremiah and I were thinking of going to see Spoon in Glasgow in two weeks…but it’s on Valentine’s Day and we would have to fly like 3 days in advance in order to miss the expensive flights. But it’s SPOON, you say. So I’m thinking it’s probably a yes. What the heck are we supposed to do in Glasgow, Scotland for 4 days?! I mean, I suppose we could take a day trip to see Nessie at Loch Ness, but I heard it’s a letdown. I’ll keep you posted.
In other music news, Florence and the Machine is playing in Barcelona in mid-March, and since I stupidly didn’t buy Passion Pit tickets fast enough for London, I guess Spain it is. Oh the horrible life I live, choosing between England and Spain for a weekend trip.
Frisbee this weekend in Dublin, should be grand. As long as I take it easy this week and get healthy again I should be able to handle it. Sorry I don’t have much exciting news, as I have been sleeping a lot this week and getting to know my housemates better. Speaking of, I went with my housemates last night to Avatar, which may have been the most visually stimulating movie I have ever seen. I want to live in place where the forest bed lights up like a glo-stick whenever you step on it too.
Nap time once again.
Ireland Week One.
With so much going on, I can barely sit down to write about my adventures in the Republic of Ireland, so I apologize for that, blogsters. Everything that has happened in the past 7 days has been a blur, as I have had orientation, tours, shopping in Limerick, and of course, socializing at the local pubs and night clubs. I haven’t even unpacked, and my space bags are strewn across my floor like the Irish Aran Islands.
To fill you in with my basic living arrangements, I live in Kilmurry 54. My address is:
Lindsay Nystrom
House 54 Room 6
Kilmurry Village
Castletroy
Limerick, Ireland
I live with an Irish girl, Fiona, and 4 Irish lads, Gavin, Paul, Dean and Eanna. We live in a flat with 2 floors, 2 bathrooms, a living room/kitchen and 6 separate rooms. All of the flats are connected to each other in a village style and our closest neighbors in 53 are 6 guys, two guys from Wisconsin, Jeremiah and Tyler, and 4 Irish lads. So basically I’ve been living in an Irish frat house for the past week. Some of the guys in my house are on sports teams, soccer and hurling, so all of their lads come over to our place as well, so at any given time there are about 10 Irish boys in my kitchen.
My flat in Kilmurry Village
Now girls and parents alike, don’t get your undies in a bundle, as they all have been extremely nice to me and probably more considerate than if I lived with 4 American guys. They actually shower and do dishes and clean up after themselves at least somewhat. I’ve been in college houses in the States that have been much much worse. Although I don’t quite understand why it is necessary to smash empty beer bottles in our kitchen floor. It is the most amusing thing to them. At least it was cleaned up by the time I rolled out of bed this morning.
My backyard has horses. Does your backyard have horses?
So what do you want to know? I have tons of experiences and friends already but there is too much to cover unless I want to be here for 3 hours writing. I’ll tell you basically what has happened in the past week and the differences I’ve noticed between the States and Ireland.
Did you know???
- Most Irish people have no idea where Minnesota or Nebraska are in the States. Most of them ask if New York is close by because they have a general idea of where that is, along with L.A. and Canada. I guess I just assumed that everyone takes geography of the world and the various states are included in that process. It’s kind of humbling to be in a place in which the citizens have no clue where you live, when you originally thought most people would have at least a general idea of the location of most states.
- I’ve never been in a room where there’s been more than 2 cultures present, and suddenly I’m eating lunch with an Australian, a German and an Italian. I’ve had to considerably slow my speech down because nobody can understand what I’m saying, and sometimes it’s hard to joke when other cultures don’t know American slang. As it is, the Irish housemates I have could be talking about me in the kitchen when I’m sitting right there and if I’m not concentrating, I can easily miss the whole conversation.
- At first I admit that I saw each person as a walking version of his or her country, and now that I’m better friends with some of the students I can see the person underneath the accent. It’s not that I was stereotyping them; rather, I had no previous experience with a student from, say, Germany, and I had nothing to base my interactions on except her accent and the small amount of talking we could achieve through many hand gestures and multiple descriptions. Now, my German friend Cata promises to teach me some German if I teach her some English so we can communicate easier.
- The Irish supermarkets have HUGE aisles just for a zillion kinds of yogurt and yogurt drinkables. They probably need all the probiotics they can get after eating so many greasy chips (fries). (Chips in Ireland are called crisps.)
- Even though it rains every other day, it keeps the grass quite green all winter long. I celebrated when I arrived and it was 50 degrees and green vegetation was everywhere in JANUARY.
- There are “traveling people” in Ireland, according to my housemates. They are basically rednecks with mobile trailers who apparently park in awkward places and can be dangerous folk. Good to know….??
- When the Irish people ask me what my stereotype of Irish people are, I of course explain that we often think Irishmen are drunk 24-7. They deny this, claiming that it’s just a fable. For denying this they surely made a lot of jokes in orientation about drinking, along with claiming that most campus clubs get together and drink at the pubs as their social activity of choice. In fact, one of the members of the international clubs had a slide show in which the last slide was a picture of him “right now” and “later tonight,” which consisted of him puking into a bucket. I’m not quite sure if the Irish are poking fun at themselves or if this is just the typical world-wide college lifestyle.
- I’m slowly learning Irish slang, as “craic”=fun, dear=expensive, bum bag= fanny pack, lads=can be generalized as guys is for both genders in the States, dodgy/seedy=sketchy, etc.
- The Irish drive incredibly fast, especially around the roundabouts, and everytime the car jerks to turn, I see my life flash before my eyes as I assume the other vehicles will t-bone us when we turn right. Then I remember that the other cars are supposed to driving on the left side of the street. Duh. I also had a bad experience with a taxi driver in which I couldn’t understand his thick accent over the phone, so he was shouting expletives at me and my friends as we got in the car. He even radioed to his other taxi drivers “not to pick up anymore foreigners” as we were sitting right next to him. Cool.
As for specific personal adventures I’ve had, that may have to wait until next time. I’ll leave you with one story:
The other night I ended up at Icon, one of the night clubs in downtown Limerick. First of all, this dance club was all I imagined Euro dance clubs to be and more, minus the music, which was horrible. I didn’t know that every pub and dance club had the same exact soundtrack of the top 10 American singles of the past 6 months, plus the odd addition of songs from Grease, which doesn’t make sense at all. If I hear “I Gotta Feeling,” “Tik Tok,” or “Grease Lightening” one more time I swear I’m going to bring in my ipod and DJ the crap out of the Irish DJs. Last night was even worse at Molly’s, when the last few songs consisted mostly of Green Day singles from the 90s and other anthems that are played at middle school dance functions when all the kids just want to jump around and shout lyrics. If they are going to play throwbacks at least play Ace of Base to stay true to their European roots.
Some new friends, Morgan is my galpal from Australia and Jeremiah (top) is from Green Bay, Wisconsin.
Anyways, back to Icon night club. All the swirly lights and multiple floors were intense, along with the great lack of the typical American male choice dance move “the grab the girl from behind and make general gyrations in her direction.” So I end up going to the bathroom, where I decided to make small talk with the intoxicated Irish girls in line with me. Bad choice. So the Lady Gaga-esque beaded shoulder decorations and elevated shoulders are the “hip” thing (Jeremiah, you sly dog, leaving me no choice but to use the word hip against my will), which I am extremely jealous of and am going to out to find a sparkley blue Gaga beaded top as soon as possible. So I compliment this girl with especially decorated shoulders, and she immediately whips her dramatic makeup smeared face over to me and laughs. All I said was, “I like your beaded shoulder pads,” and she freaks out. She said, ” SHOULDER PADS?!! THESE AREN’T SHOULDER PADS!!!” in a high pitch vulture voice. I calmly said, “Well, what else do you call them then?” and she goes “THEY JUST AREN’T! IT’S JUST PART OF THE SHIRT OK?!” Geez, I was just giving her a compliment, but when I guess when I gave her the choice whether to take it or leave it, she definitely left it. Weirdo.
Also, on a side note, I met some of the UL Ninjas (The ultimate frisbee team on campus) and the guys on it are just as goofy as the ones at home. Some things don’t ever change. I can’t wait to go to practice tomorrow.
Well, I smell something similar to pancakes downstairs and loud Irish accents booming, so I think it’s that time yet again for socializing. Ciao for now.
Ireland on the Horizon
Tomorrow. I still can’t believe I’m actually going. I had to jump through so many hoops to get this far. Right up to the end, in fact, I had troubles. If you weren’t aware, I was diagnosed with a very high amount of PVC’s in the fall, when I simply went into Student Health to get my study abroad check-up. A PVC is a Premature Ventricular Contraction, which is basically an irregular heartbeat caused by various things. In my case, what I understand from all the jargon that’s been fed to me from a handful of cardiologists in Omaha and Minneapolis has been that I have a small area in a ventricle that is acting up, causing the electricity of my heart to be disrupted. After various tests, echocardiograms, holter monitors, a stress test, and even a MRI, the doctors discovered that over a 48 hour period of time, I had 84,000 irregular heartbeats, which means that about 50% of my heartbeats are irregular. I was given two choices: take a drug called a beta blocker that slows down my heart and cuts out the irregular beats, or do a catheter ablation. (Basically, a heart procedure that involves an overnight hospital stay and anesthesia, two things I am not exactly fond of.) I chose the beta blocker, so I’ve been on that for the past 3 weeks until 2 days ago. The beta blockers have a side effect of excess fatigue, which is obvious because the point is to slow down your heart function. I didn’t have any symptoms until earlier this week. When I ran on the treadmill at the Y, I found I was extremely dizzy when I finished running. Anytime I stood up after sitting for more than a few minutes on the couch at home, I would almost black out from the mere effort of moving from sitting to standing. I passed both of those off as nothing for a few days. Then, on Friday, as I was packing up for Ireland, I felt extremely light-headed, like I was floating in a slow-motion dream whenever I moved. I told my mom calmly when she came home from work, and we compared pulses. While hers was very strong, mine faded in and out with each beat and was very weak and fluttery. We called the cardiologist and he told us to head to the ER right away.
Everything happened so fast. A handful of doctors surrounded me like a swarm of white-clad bees and started asking me questions, putting IV’s in my arm, taking my blood, attaching wires all over my body. I was freaking out to say the least. It was decided that I needed to stay overnight for observation and to make sure I was stable. I tried to push the fact that I was supposed to be going to Ireland in 3 days out of my mind as I was set up in a room with an older lady with chest pains. The IV in my arm was quite obnoxious overnight, but I got used to it eventually. After I got over the shock of “I have to stay overnight in the hospital for my heart,” and my worried parents left at about 11 p.m., I made fast friends with the movie buff nurse Roy, and found that my evening in the hospital was not much different than an evening at home. In fact, that hospital bed was quite comfortable, and I even had cable there! What a treat. Except for the being woken up at 5 a.m. to have my blood drawn, and having to explain “why I was there” ten thousand times, it wasn’t too shabby. I watched some weird futuristic flick set in 2013 called Escape from L.A. and then half of Dracula before I went to sleep around midnight.
Here is Kurt Russell in pure violent glory:
No pirates involved.
When I woke up in the hospital in the morning, I was oddly calm. I certainly had not been that serene waking up in the past couple of months. I don’t know if it was because I had people watching me with a protecting eye while I slept, or the sunrise into my room, or the almost sleep number replica type hospital bed, but I felt…good. It certainly didn’t hurt to be able to order french toast, hash browns, a blueberry muffin and a fruit cup into my room on a tray so I could eat breakfast in bed while watching the morning news. A spa with needles. Kind of. (I apologize for those with more serious ailments in the hospital, I’m sure it is less than appealing for those like my room 418 roommate with the chest pains. I do hope she’s doing better and out of the hospital.)
The end result? Well, a posse of super cardiologists put their minds together to solve my problem. After reviewing all my tests and symptoms, the cardiologists decided that the drugs were giving me symptoms of a weaker heart. I never had symptoms in the first place with all these crazy irreg’s as I like to call my PVC’s, so I went back to being….normal. Because I am not taking beta blockers now, my heart clearly still has all these irregular beats, and I am ever-so aware of them. Originally, the cardiologist warned of a possible early age heart failure if my heart continues overworking itself like this. My newest cardiologist promised me that if I am not having any symptoms, then there is no evidence that these beats are affecting my heart for the worse. I still have to have check-ups a couple times a year to make sure my heart is not getting worse; otherwise, I’m home-free. Or should I say, Ireland-free. It really came down to the wire with my health and Ireland, as you can see, so I can truly appreciate how fortunate I am to get this experience. I must have the luck of the Irish.
I Think Ur a Contra
Yup. You’re a contra. Take it or leave it.
Do you know what a contra is? I didn’t until Vampire Weekend randomly decided to make it the name of the new album that dropped Jan. 12th. I won’t get into how these Ivy Leaguers like to slip their offbeat history knowledge into somewhat mainstream music and how the public likes to leave hatorade comments all over the interwebs about them because of it. I just wanted to say that I enjoy the new stuff as much I like watching my dog growl at imaginary rabbits in her dreams. And Chiquita is in high chase mode right now, with her little paws twitching and her lips a-curled with her eyes closed tightly…so you tell me.
Anyways. I got a mishmash of definitions of a contra, and apparently it’s a cross-cultural freedom fighter, i.e. a Nicaraguan rebel. Just in case you wanted to brush up on your history.
What does this have to do with Ireland (4 days til departure!), you ask? Well, I like to make new playlists for pretty much any and every event in my life for my iPod. In fact, I still have a playlist titled “Europe Trip 07″ from my last overseas experience. It has the first MIKA album on it, which I forever will associate with shuttling around Paris. Luckily, the newest MIKA album came out not too long ago, so I plan on deja vu-ing with that, along with a lot of new Vampire Weekend. I also embarrassingly made a playlist titled “girl powa,” which I still consider a “title in progress.” Maybe grrrl powaz would be better…? Or not. The point is, I found that I have a lot of badass ladyfriends on my iPod after I wrote that last post proclaiming my adoration for Lady Gaga. I threw on the best of Pat Benatar, which I had forgotten I owned, along with tons of Kelly Clarkson, Pink, Florence and the Machine, Alanis Morissette, Liz Phair, etc. I can’t wait until the next male messes with me. My iPod earbuds will get a workout for surezies.
Back to Ireland. I’m been majorly slacking on updating this blog with my pre-departure status. I think that the solution to this is writing shorter blog entries. I think I have been avoiding this since the last two posts took longer than expected to write. Ok? ok.
So in preparation for Ireland in my massive amounts of free time I’ve been watching many movies with European locations. I feel like these movies are giving me fantasy impressions of Europe, kind of like the cliche Disney illustrations of love. In the past week, I’ve watched Chasing Liberty; Paris, Je T’aime; L’Auberge Espagnole; My Life in Ruins; and Leap Year. Most of them have been about the girl finding the dream man with the accent and falling love. Not reality. Seriously, Matthew Goode in Chasing Liberty uses the term “unbloody-hinged” when he’s talking about how he feels for Mandy Moore. Ridiculous. The one gem in the mix was L’Auberge Espagnole, as it was “real” AND entertaining. Thanks to Karen Katz for telling me about it. I would explain it but I hate spoilers, so just rent it yourself. Or buy it used on amazon for 2 bucks like me. It’s mostly about a french graduate student moving into an apartment in Spain with a handful of quirky multicultural roommates and the changes he goes through. I could only hope for a kooky British gal pal-roommate with a short boy crop cut and a snarky sense of humor.
Oh and by the way, “I think ur a contra” is the name of the last song on the album Contra, so don’t be alarmed that I used Ur instead of You’re. (Yes you, my editing class cronies.)
From Gaga to Grandma
At the end of 2009, there are a lot of lists. Technically, I’m already a list-lover, so you can’t spite me for making yet another. I guess I just want to point out the surplus of real life lady superheroes that have come about recently. Think Eleanor Jackson of La Roux, Natasha Khan of Bat for Lashes, and Florence Welch of Florence + the Machine. Overall though, I think this might be spurred by my near obsession with Lady Gaga. Or not. Seriously though, she is the MAN. Speaking of…
I’d like to apologize on behalf of 98% of mankind, Lady Gaga. I realize our patriarch-centered world cannot accept your greatness and choose to say that you have man-parts instead. I’m sorry that being a strong, fashionable and highly successful woman leads to nasty swirls of confused gender rumors. Also, I know your secret. You put up that act of a typical celebrity, with a nasally sloth voice that sounds like you just took a hit of acid minutes before your talk show appearances. Did I mention the flashy headpieces that don’t make any sense at all??
I can't wait to walk down the aisle with this bad boy.
Alas, I know the real you, Stefani Joanne Angelina Germanotta. You are a sly, sly dog just teasing the world with your zany outfits and outlandish performances, when really you are a very intelligent music artist playing to what you know people will fall for. People are “surprised” to hear that you can “really sing” and shocked to see you rub faux blood all over yourself in a performance. You, L. Gaga, are living the life of riley. At this point in your fresh career, you can literally do whatever you want, sing whatever you want, and dress however you want, and it will be well-received. I admit, I am jealous. No, not for your fame, but for your ability to turn Halloween costumes into outfits you’d wear on an everyday basis, and for your stick-it-to-the-males type of lyrics that most ladies can relate to also on an everyday basis.
So what do these lady superheroes have to do with me? Well, I suppose I now want to be an electronica dance queen who wears recycled pizza boxes for shoes and sings in 5 different languages…all in the same song. I will never give up on my dream, don’t even try to persuade me otherwise.
I’ll quit making facetious remarks, I promise. As my time in ‘merica is dwindling down (12 days to Ireland!), I’m trying to find productive things to do on the days I’m not working. I may or may not have watched a small marathon of Roseanne on tv the other day, but that was a rare weak moment. I always get restless when I have this much free time with a lack of transportation, little money, and below zero temperatures. So I made a list, of course:
- take Chiquita (my yellow lab runt puppy) on a 3 hour walk around town…oh wait…it’s -3 outside…
- put that magical nail growth substance on my nails, as I am an on-again, off-again human nail lawn mower…okay that’s done, took a whole minute and a half to complete
- research internships for this summer…still working on that one
Then I tried less practical things, in a Lady Gaga-esque mind set:
- paint a picture to music, like the band Cloud Cult does for all their performances…could be…interesting
- re-learn my 6 years of French in 12 days in case I travel there…I actually fell asleep counting as high as I could in French the other night, so I guess that’s progress?
- turn on Lady Gaga really loud and do a catwalk fashion show for…my dog. Having a montage of myself strutting for my dog just sounds like a bad scene from a Miley Cyrus movie (and I just did a presentation on her for Media Ethics, so I can legitimately say I know Miley) so I’ll probably nix that one.
Of course, if I’m afraid to do things that sound silly in my own home by myself, then will I ever do anything unique in public? I hope I won’t limit myself like that. I guess it’s like what my grandma told me today about my heart problems, “It’s not that your health condition is bad per se…it’s more…unique.” And Grandma trumps all.
