Winding down in Madrid

This segment of the trip has been a bit on the relaxed side. Thank 95-plus degree weather for the duration of our stay in Madrid, as well as the millions of World Youth Day participants and thousands of protesters. Here are some random thoughts and reflections about this vibrant city:

I'm utterly amazed by the efficiency and quality of work Madrid's waste department has executed. At midnight, the streets are scattered with trash - water bottles, papers, overturned ice cream cones, and countless other remnants of human indulgence. The next morning, it's as if no one went out the previous night. Well done, Madrid!

Our one splurge meal here in Madrid consisted of paella with various shellfish, bacalitos, bread and flan. It was 67 euros. The paella and bacalitos were the best I've ever had. For me, I think the most important part of the dish is the rice. This paella's rice was bursting with saffron flavor and was perfectly timed in the pot. Each grain of rice was its own grain of rice, in other words, it didn't mash together with everything around it. The seafood was as good as it could be, but the bacalitos were particularly fantastic. Lightly battered, pleasantly seasoned, and served with a sharp aioli. For about 90 bucks, no, it wasn't worth it. But I don't regret eating all that impeccable food.

World Youth Day has been quite an experience. I'm not an official participant, and for that, I say thank you Lord. They aren't lying when they say this day is for the youth. If waking up at 10, going out at noon and needing to come home at three for an afternoon siesta makes me an old geezer, then send me my discount card. It's hot here, and I'm sure at some point in my life I would have had the energy to gallavant around town with my friends belting cheers, waving flags and playing games. But like I said, it's HOT here, and when the day reached its peak temperatures at 100 degrees, that means it's time to find cover in an air conditioned luxary apartment.

This enormous gathering has made me appreciate the relative intimacy of LA's Religious Education Congress. The catechism is better and more diverse, as are the masses, and there you don't have to Marshawn Lynch your way though a crowd to get to a mass or major presentation.

I'm watching the final event of WYD on television right now. About 1.5 million youth and their holy, holy chaperones (God's got a special penthouse in Heaven for these people), are clumped in an old air base southwest of Madrid. The field is all dirt and people are wisely walking around with covers over their faces. But in 100 degree heat, that gets a little tedious.

The air is so dry here in the city, that after five minutes of being outside, I can't stop blinking. My eyes are afraid of drying out!

While I've enjoyed so much of this trip, I'm so ready to come home. In fact, I'm praying for rain when I touch down.

A different crowd

Right now, an enormous crowd is outside our apartment. They're not wearing red and yellow. They're not waving flags. Instead they're waving signs. “Papa go home” one read. “My taxes are not for your beliefs,” said another. It’s a little scary when an anti-Pope and anti-WYD protest is going on right outside your window. Especially when I’m part of the opposing group, and the uprising requires cops in riot gear and helicopters. I felt especially bad for a group of WYD volunteers who were walking down my street in their bright green official polos.

The news said that this protest was a conglomerate of anti-Pope groups, gay rights and pro-choice supporters, and a secular movement here in Spain that emphasizes the separation of church and state. Other groups and lines of beliefs were likely involved.

I don’t mind protests. I agree with the right to dissent. I think people should be allowed to voice their opinions even if they are against my own beliefs and life principles. I don’t, however, condone disrespect, fighting, mob intimidation, or vandalism.

There was a good amount of property damage last night just outside my window. This morning, I awoke to walls littered with graffiti.

I must admit, in terms of pride, these protesters certainly matched the levels of the youth marching around Madrid with their flags, singing songs and acknowledging their fellow comrades. The only difference is that one movement was rooted in good values that uplift, and the other had roots that sprouted destruction and degradation.

In the end, no I don’t agree with the protesters on several points – though some I may share some sympathies with, like their economic frustrations– but I will, like Voltaire and Evelyn Beatrice Hall, defend their right to say it… in a peaceful way.

Elbow to Elbow

Madrid truly is a beautiful city. It feels like Rome would be if it was clean, organized and less expensive. This evening, Joyce and I tried to attend the opening mass at Plaza Cibeles, which is only about six or seven blocks from our apartment. Within four blocks of the Plaza we were elbow to elbow with people. Chains of humans interlocked at the arm, some more than a dozen deep formed moving walls that made it nearly impossible to navigate. I broke a chain of Americans and the girl who let go was scolded and told to be more aggressive. I told her to just follow me and I’d follow her group because I wasn’t about to wait for her chain to pass.  I couldn’t even see the end of it! And then they decided to turn around!

After about 20 minutes, we had enough. Enduring a lot of weight shifting and dodging of proud patriots from around the world, Joyce and I finally emerged at a quiet side street. We decided I’d cook dinner and we’d watch the mass on TV. We hit up the grocery store, I made some kind of snapper-like fish with garlic, olive oil, salt and cherry tomatoes, and we sorta half watched the mass as it ended.

I must say, I’ve never experienced anything like this before. LA’s Religious Education Congress is amazing with some 40,000 Catholics gathering in Anaheim. But World Youth Day makes that gathering look like a small prayer group. No lie. Everywhere are the red or yellow t-shirts of the event. During the mass, though there were hundreds of thousands of people gravitating toward that square, it was relatively silent. That tells me in part how strong the faith and reverence is here. Already, I’m astounded by the magnitude of this event. Thanks JP2!

If World Youth Day came to Seattle

Disclaimer: Before I finish this statement, understand that I just got to Madrid and have no concept of what WYD is like with a broadened perspective. This blog entry is a first impression, and will likely change. Without further delay…

… I would go online and book a vacation beginning three days before and ending three days after the event. There is an incomprehensible amount people outside our window. Waves of people. I feel like I’m in Shanghai or Hong Kong. They’re flooding the streets. They’re crowding the trains. They’re chanting, singing and clapping. Every 10 minutes or less I hear the Italian national anthem outside my window. They’re dancing in public fountains. They’re piling up excess garbage. You want to go to a party? Come to Madrid right now, close your eyes, put your finger on a Metro stop and go to that station. Join in the dance.

If my beloved Seattle decided to host this epic event, our mayor should be fired. Talk about biting off more than we can chew. Seattle can barely accommodate its current population with its lackluster public transportation system. And if you’re a Joe Metro patron, I get it, you like the buses in Seatown, but trust me, you have no idea. Imagine going to work (just because a few million people are on vacation in your city doesn’t mean you’re on vacation) with four times as many people moving about the city. Maybe even more.

In a sense I feel bad for Madrid locals who have to put up with so many pilgrims for a week. I also feel grateful to them for allowing us to use their city, which by the way, has the best Metro system I’ve seen since Tokyo – though WYD won’t be happening there anytime soon.

Sorry to start off on what seems like a negative note. If anything, it’s more of a note of excitement. I can’t wait to go out and wade in the crowds and find out why so many people have decided to congregate in this one city to celebrate our faith and global unity.

Feast of the Assumption

I was slightly distraught since I wasn’t able to locate JP2’s tomb for my dad, but in all that let down, and in regard to my notions that St. Peter’s seems more like a tourist attraction than a church sometimes, God brought me front and center and showed me what St. Peter’s is truly about. A mass was about to begin right in front of St. Peter’s chair – the absolute coolest place to experience mass, in my book. I put my camera away, looked at the official and said, “Messe?” He nodded and let us in.

The blessings continued. We were directed to sit down right next to the choir, four rows from the very front. The music was absolutely beautiful, and if you know me, my connection to the liturgy is very strongly music-oriented. It was fun singing in Latin/Italian (I think it was a combination).

This experience showed me what this Basilica should be like. The order of the mass cast over the voices of tourists and clicks of shutters. The tones of the choir and congregation reverberated throughout the basilica. I was in such awe, the goosebumps I gave myself cooled me from the heat of the day. Easily, this was my favorite experience in Roma. And no, I didn’t take any video or pictures. But I sure wanted to!

Ryan Air Pt. 2: It's a small price to pay for a small price to pay

One of the most thankful moments I’ve had on this trip came as Joyce and I stood in long, winding line to check in for our flight to Madrid at Ciampino Airport. I know what you’re thinking. You’ve seen long lines at airports before, and if I’m a seasoned traveler enough to blog about my journeys, I should expect such snake like lines.

If this line was a snake, it’d be an enormous anaconda. There was one attendant for about eight flights. I estimated at least 100 people in front of us at one point. Just as I was spiting everything from Ryan Air to Ciampino to myself for not pushing us out the door earlier, God came in and said, this is how things work in Rome. Translated into action, an attendant walked by us asking for people checking in for Madrid.

“Yes! Yes!” She directed us to go to booth 25, where one party of four was checking in. I bolted toward the line telling Joyce to keep up since I expected half the anaconda to swing its body to where I was going. Joyce, being the more calm traveler, trailed me by a few steps, but my haste was all for naught. No one was behind us, and no one was ahead of us.

As I thought about it, the idea makes sense. Employ one person to check in everyone for all the flights. To take care of tardy travelers, they open a side booth temporarily. This way, Ryan Air only pays one person to check in all the early people and one person to rescue those who are hanging by a thread. I imagine the savior person roams to another job once all the stragglers are taken care of.

I must say, thank you God for helping us successfully board our last Ryan Air flight. It’s a tad bit of a head spinner, but like I said, that’s a small price to pay.

Queue the rain

It’s hot here in Roma. Everyday it’s been in the mid-80s. I’m getting so much of my vitamin D from the sun, along with a nice tan and a healthy coating of sweat by the end of the day. Gross, I know. It’s a far cry from the mid-60s and thunder storms in Belgium and Germany. It’s also good practice for when we experience the mid-90s in Madrid.

Street Musicians

The imposing street musicians used to irk me. When I was last in Rome, I was appalled that someone would do something so nice as to provide a little soundtrack to my dining experience and then walk up to my table and ask me for money. The nerve!

Now that I’m a musician myself, see these people in a different light. The kind of light I like to be under. The one that can’t resist the urge to perform. I respect the talented people who come up to our table and share their gifts and talents with restaurant patrons or subway riders. They’re just trying to make a buck by playing what their mamas and papa probably made them learn. And loving music myself, I can’t help but share a strong sense of camaraderie with them, and even a slight bit of envy that they get to do what they love and make money for it in one of the greatest cities in the world.

So my philosophy is that if I feel like I’m in a giving mood, I tip my favorite. Nothing’s required. Only if I enjoyed the performance and I’ve got some change in my pocket.

Bug bite blues

Well, I guess all the bug life saving I’ve been doing at home only gives me a bloodsucker free pass with the local insects. Here, it’s open season on my sweet, high cholesterol blood. They all love me – mosquitoes, biting flies, creepy crawlies, you name it. As long as they’re not poisonous I do all right with the little itches. I can resist the urge to scratch even though I have almost ten bites above my neck. My natural spearmint but repellant doesn’t really help. I recommend chemicals if you really want to shoo the bugs away. Next time I come here, I’m bringing some deet.

Siestas are important

Perhaps you’d think that every moment spent in Rome must be used for quality site seeing, and that naps during the day time are a waste of time. I thought that for a little bit, until I got tired of being in the hot sun at three in the afternoon. I get if you only have three nights to spend in the city of Amor, but if you have a little more time, make your excursions enjoyable by getting enough rest, drinking plenty of water, and taking some public transit instead of walking everywhere all the time. There’s nothing sadder than vacation wear out, and it leads to going back to work and feel like you need another vacation. Catch those zzz’s and be an efficient planner. The city’s not going anywhere.

Biking in Borghese

One of the most fun outings Joyce and I have had is at the Borghese Gardens. On its own, it’s a simple arboretum with wading fountains and grassy quarters. It has its own museums – this is Rome after all – as well as a beautiful panoramic viewpoint. I guess it’s not so simple. What made it extraordinary was the cycle-buggy we rented for 10 euro for an hour. Look at the pictures and imagine the fun we had cruising through the park on that awesome contraption. To make the experience all the more awesome, I brought my iPhone with me this time (conveniently stored in my new murse I acquired at the flea market last night) and I turned up the tunes as loud as I could. We played everything from hip hop to jazz to Bananarama during our trek. Two times we stopped to walk in public fountains – a refreshing experience on a hot day.

I highly recommend renting one of these buggies, especially if you’re in a group, maybe even if you’re all by yourself. It’s such a fun ride and an quick and memorable way to view the park. I had never been to Borghese before, but I can tell you, based on the fact that I’m a frills kind of guy, that without this buggy, this place would have just been a walk in the park.

Sistine Chapel Free For All

It would be absolutely awe inspiring… if people followed the rules. The last time I was at the Sistine Chapel, it was more or less silent. For me to take pictures, I had to hold my camera inconspicuously and take non-flash pictures. It seemed like there were more guards there, and that the place was more protected.

Flash forward ten years, and everyone’s talking like it’s a block party. Flash photography ran rampant and there were maybe ten guards in there at most. I can tell you, I got plenty of pictures this time. None of them flash pictures, but lots of them. Yes, I feel guilty, and I’ll probably go to confession when I get home, but who knows if I’m going to come back here or if the people I show the pictures to will ever get to see the Sistine Chapel.

Still, it could have been silent in there. Even if people were taking pictures. I believe silence would have made the place feel more like a chapel. Joyce and I thought they could play some peaceful choral music in the background – or better yet, have different choirs volunteer to sing in there – to entice people to zip their lips. I don’t think I got an authentic experience of the chapel this time.

St. Peter's Basilica: Attraction or Church?

Is St. Peter’s Basilica a tourist attraction or a place of worship? Of course it’s not an either/or question – it’s both/and. But I would call it a church that attracts not just tourists, but everyone. Notice I called it a church first, because that is, first and foremost what it is.

If I visit Mecca, I’m there as a visitor to admire a place of worship, not just a fancy location. I felt the same way when I visited the Japanese Shinto and Buddhist temples. You simply can’t deny the sacredness of a place of worship, whether you’re a visitor of a different religion or an atheist. If you don’t believe in God, and you’re visiting a place like St. Peter’s (I’m sure San Pietro is just teeming with people who don’t believe in God), you might deny the presence within yourself, but you’re foolish if you deny the presence in others who are there and understand and believe in God.

So even though there are thousands of people wandering through the Basilica taking snapshots and chatting away, it’s very important to understand that each fresco, every mosaic, all the sculpted stones, bronze and marble is Ad Majorem Dei Gloriam.

Tourist Invasion

If everyone and their mama is at the Spanish Steps, then everyone and their daddy is at the Trevi Fountain. These are two examples of high tourist concentration at small area sites. Still, places like St. Peter’s, il Colosseo, and the Pantheon also draw many people.

What’s that? No, I’m not complaining. Unless I’m complaining about myself too. I would say it’s more of an observation. My complaint comes in the next two posts.

Consequences of tossing a coin in the Trevi

My first visit to Rome ten years ago was also my first time traveling alone. Other than Vancouver and a family trip to the Philippines, I had never been outside of the country. You can imagine the culture shock and homesickness I experienced. I felt like no one spoke English. I felt like everyone was a native and I was the only foreigner. But when I saw the columns of St. Peter’s Square and entered the monolithic doors, I found my connection through my faith, shared by the thousands of people who were in the Basilica with me. The world was large, but not so large as to leave me in an unknown land with no sense of solidarity.

Here I am a decade later, back where it all started. The zeitgeist throughout this city still astonishes me. The frescos still enchant me. The architecture still humbles me, mostly because of the distance between the top of my head and the ceiling. The streets and its denizens still charm me. And the food still stuffs me.

But now that I’ve seen more places, I’ve found that I’m drawn to things other than an ancient city’s greatness. I like the peace and awe of the ocean. Frescos don’t dance and breathe like the Pacific. I enjoy the quaint life of a small town. So far, I think I’ve enjoyed our walks around Adrienne’s village the most. And of course, food is an important draw for me. I suppose in that respect, Italy wins. For that alone, I threw another coin in the Trevi Fountain.

Eating Eternally

I am convinced that there is no better place in the world to eat other than Roma. Joyce and I at at a restaurant called Navona last night. Our table was right in the piazza. We had an amazing view of the fountain, the street vendors, the roving musicians, and all the people who frequent the square in the middle of a Friday evening. This is the first meal I decided to splurge on. After eating pizza twice, a Panini, arancina, and carbonara, it was time for some pesca di mare. Sea bass and potatoes to be precise. And it was quite nice. Joyce had a pesto spaghetti. If I was eating the same meal in Seattle, I probably would have critiqued it a bit more. Instead, in Rome, eating isn’t just about satisfying your appetite and taste buds. It’s about good company. It’s about getting your table before sunset, and walking out satisfied under the stars. It’s about smiling at vendors selling goofy products like laser pointers, frayed roses, and handbags. It’s about enjoying a serenade or four – no need to tip everyone, maybe just your favorite. Dining, especially for dinner, is not about snapping your fingers at your server, it’s about enjoying the real estate you have and striking up a long conversation while your food comes to you. Food isn’t cheap. But the experience can be priceless. Our first two dinners in Rome probably lasted a collective four hours. Remember when you eat in this city, come hungry, wear your patience on your sleeve, and try something other than gelato for dessert.

Eternal City: Introduction

I know I’ve been off the blog for a while. It’s not an easy thing to do when you’re in Rome. Let me give you a rundown of where Joyce and I have been.

Thursday: St. Peter’s Basilica and square; walk along the Tiber; walk by the bars along shore; browsed the flea market; rode the carousel; took night pics of Piazza San Pietro.

Friday: Vatican Museum, Sistine Chapel; siesta; walk to Castel Santangelo, then across the bridge to Piazza Navona where we had dinner on the square and enjoyed three different seranades; back to Castel Santangelo to look around the bastion.

Saturday: Piazza Del Popolo; Borghese Gardens; Spanish Steps; Trevi Fountain; Pantheon, Basilica San Andrea Della Valle; Memorial of Emmanuel Vittorio; Exterior walk of the Roman Forum and the Colesseo.

Sunday: Mass at San Andrea Della Valle; Ancient Roman Forum, lunch at 4 p.m.!, il Colosseo, some random pyramid, Basilica di San Paolo.

We’ve seen a lot in the last three days, and I’m going to blog mainly about isolated experiences and reflections.

Ryan Air: If you can read, the skies can be cheap!

Today – and my today, I mean two days ago as I’m writing this, we got up at the rare hour of 3:30 a.m. in order to make the 45 minute journey to Frankfurt Hahn Airport, not Frankfurt Main as I originally thought. The airport was small and housed all the European discount airlines like Ryan Air, Wizzair, and Easy Jet. Our one way trip to Rome was a steal at a base price of 59 euro. Even with add-ons like checking two bags (20E each) and priority boarding (4E each), the flight was about a $110. That’s a bit better than the price of the train, and certainly a faster ride.

When you look up Ryan Air online, you’ll see some spiteful reviews. Here’s a good review, with some tips. First off, the airline was very comfortable, and the flight was smooth. The check in procedure involved a couple extra steps, but nothing too drastic. If you play your cards right, there’s no hidden fees, as everything is written out in their terms and conditions.

If you’d rather not spend an hour like I did slowly marching down the scroll bar and checking correlations and analyzing meanings of a dull legal document, let me give you my Santos Notes version.

1.      Figure out where you’re going. Some of the destinations are not the main airports in the city. We took off from Frankfurt Hahn instead of Main, and we landed in Roma Ciampino, not da Vinci.

2.      Let the website guide you to check out. They will try selling you more merchandise than a Parisian street vendor. Take what you want and get to the checkout screen. Don’t forget you’ll need passport numbers and names and DoBs EXACTLY as they appear on the passport. Even if your passport is wrong, the information has to match it. Of course, you’ll sleep better with an accurate traveling document.

3.      Before paying for the trip, you may need to contact your credit card bank and let them know to approve the purchase. B of A was very kind to suspect divergent activity when they denied an international charge while they thought I was still in America. While I appreciated the card security, that little ordeal cost me a little bit of time, which in the air ticket purchasing world could mean the difference between a 40E airfare and a 60E airfare. Once you’ve done that, hit submit and make sure the screen shows that your purchase is CONFIRMED.

4.      After you’ve confirmed your trip, you must check in online and print your boarding passes. You have from 15 days before your flight to four hours prior. Forgot to check in online? It’ll cost ya.

5.      You’ve checked in online, you’ve printed your boarding pass. Now you’re packing. You are allowed ONE carry on item. Not a stowed item and an under the seat item. One bag to carry on, in which all other loose appendages must fit. Calculate that when you pack. For your checked bags, you have a 20 kg limit. I’m an American thank you very much, and I don’t pay attention to inferior forms of measurement. So I just packed to my heart’s content and was ready to whip out my wallet just in case I went over the limit. But then the cheapskate kicked in and I started measuring, in pounds, mind you, after looking up the conversion rate, and put extra weighty stuff in my sub-55cm carry-on bag. In summary, calculate and strategically distribute your luggage.

6.      Now you’re at the airport with passport and boarding pass in hand. If you’re a proud American like I am, then you get to jump through another hoop. Begin your check in at the visa/passport check (the same place where you check your bags). After getting approval, go through security, then to your gate, where you should have your carry on bag approved. Size is more important than weight, though if you’re lugging your bag like you’ve got four bowling balls in it, you may have a problem.

7.      By now you know I’m not a European, so I’m not about to get my hands dirty in the skirmish to get to the front of the boarding line. I paid four Euros to be the only person on this flight with priority boarding. Not only did we get first choice of seat on the middle section of the plane, but I made me and my girlfriend look like VIPs. Make that acronym what you will.

And that’s how it’s done on Ryan Air. Stay tuned for our next episode of Cheapo Traveler, when we take an intimate look at the Terravision airport bus from Ciampino Airport. Mind the broken seats tied in place with seatbelt segments and back of headrests stuffed with bubble gum.

A jaunt to Trier

Today we got to take a little day trip with Adrienne. An hour away from Glan Munchweiler is the oldest city in Germany – Trier. Just before arriving in the city, the autobahn gained some elevation and overlooked this magnificent view of lined crops, a river and a distant bridge. It was a painter’s delight, and sadly, all I can offer you in lieu of a photograph is a brief description.

Once we arrived in Trier, I spent a very important 0,50 Euro to use the bathroom at the Mercure Hotel across from the Porta Nigra, which is Latin for Black Gate. The Roman gate is one of the most noticeable landmarks of the city, which was founded around 15 B.C. It also has an H&M.

We made our way past the gate and into the market square where flowers, fresh and fresh fruits are sold. Dozens of shops surround the square and line the streets from which the tourists flow. After my fifth Doner Kebap, Joyce and Adrienne wanted to go shopping at H&M. I stayed in the square to take more pictures.

Then a Body Shop caught my eye. I looked at the ashen state of my hands and thought now would be a good time to by some quality hand lotion. Better yet, obtain a free sample! And I did just that. I went with the coconut scent. Good thing they had pictures because all the labels were written in Deutsche. Unfortunately, the pictures didn’t include any visuals of the sparkling glitter infused in the lotion. I HATE glitter. I do not allow it in my classroom, let alone in my hand lotion. As I ignorantly worked the lotion into my hands, I began to wonder why my hands were sparkling. Stupid glitter. Yes, my hands shimmered in the sun, and yes, someone made a Twilight reference.

After surveying the shopping center and St. Peter's Gothic Cathedral of Trier, it was time for dessert. I don’t remember the name of the place, but they now hold a special place in my heart for the best cones ever. The cones were made of streusel! And they were warm, soft, yet crunchy on the outside. These cones have no match. Inside my cone was a large scoop of caramel gelato, a poof of whipped cream, and a drizzling of caramel sauce. Adrienne got the same thing, and Joyce got the other flavor I was interested in: hazelnut.

After the gelato, we headed back to Glan Munchweiler for one of Adrienne’s friend’s birthday. Manny ran the local bar/restaurant we ate at during our first night. We sat in a corner of the restaurant, and I felt like privileged company eating cake with friends, and friends of friends. It was probably the most home-like experience I’ve had on this trip. In all my travels around the world, I never got to share birthday cake with someone, and celebrate their birthday.

After cake, Joyce and I took one last stroll around the village. I think I’d like to live here or somewhere like G.M. at some time in my life. Everything is so slow paced. All the needs you have are met in the close confines of a village otherwise surrounded by trees, grass and a lazy stream that looks as if it’s getting nowhere not fast, but slow. And that’s what I’d like to do. Take my time and enjoy an array of presents, no final destination set. Life isn’t an A to B to C experience. It’s an experience of unidentified variables. We all have our time. What the use in rushing to get from one unknown to the next?

Oh. Did I just digress? That’s perfect because I need to take out my sink laundry and catch up on one and a half more days of travel blogging!

Big Emma's and K-Town

Last night, Joyce, Adrienne and I took a 10 minute drive to Big Emma’s. It’s a restaurant that serves Costco-sized portions of food. The portions are so inflated, it could have been a restaurant in Bedrock! I swear I ordered a bronto burger when the 8 inch (not ounce) sandwich was set in front of me. I had to cut the thing in sixths! Even then, I only finished half of it, which I’m sure is the equivalent of eating four Dick’s Deluxes. My stomach felt the same way.

After such a massive meal, what else could we do but hunt for dessert? We found a gelato restaurant and I tried something called spaghetti eis. It was basically vanilla ice cream (not sure if it was gelato) in the shape of spaghetti noodles. Once it melted a little, it was pretty much a pile of ice cream with strawberry sauce on top. What’s not to like?

Finally, after all that eating, the food coma really started settling in. Sleep is of primary importance if you want to get the most out of your vacation. It does no good to get less sleep than you need and then trudge around for hours feeling miserable. What good is site-seeing when all your senses are dulled? So last night’s nine hours of sleep were absolutely rejuvenating! I guess I know how I have to eat in order to sleep that good.

 
Today, Joyce and I took the train from Glan Munchweiler to Kaiserslauten. Comparatively, K-Town, as it’s hiply referred to by resident Americans, is a big city. It’s got strips of casinos, restaurants, clothing stores, and a soccer team with a stadium that looks much like the one in Montlake. We started off the day with coffee and chocolate dipped almond pastries, then wandered around the city amidst incredibly mercurial weather. Whether it was bright and sunny or thunderous and showering, it was cold. I think it may have topped out at 60 today, but the wind chill factor made it feel like March in Seattle. Last night, we could even see our breath!
 


The sidewalks in K-Town, and in all of the places I’ve been in Germany, are clean. No litter. No gum. A rare cigarette butt, but they are virtually spotless. Walls on the other hand are decorated by street artists or vandalized by punk kids, depending the quality of art and I suppose your perspective.

After winding through quieter and narrower streets, we came upon the commercial center of the city. We did a little shopping, and perhaps the most useful tool we bought was a bright yellow umbrella to combat the imminent grayness above. That was either good fortune or nature saying ‘be careful what you wish for.’ It poured so hard everything not under our umbrella got drenched. Naturally, we decided to take refuge in a casino.

The gambling joints in K-Town are sprinkled throughout the commercial area like Burger Kings. There are no tables, just one attendant at a central desk, and a couple dozen slot machines spaced out with cushy chairs. Slogan idea: “We want you to be comfortable while you lose your money.” Joyce and I played for a good 20 minutes. I was lucky enough to win 20 free spins, which, I’ve learned is a way to make you feel as though you’re not losing any money, when in fact, you’re just losing money slower. Happily I learned that lesson at free spin number 18, and I decided I’d take whatever I won from the slew of gratis play and walk away. I left negative fifty cents richer, which is better than I usually do.

By the time we left the casino, the weather had returned to its Dr. Jekyll form. We made our way to the oldest church in the city, a 13^th century now Protestant church called Stiftkirche. Someone tell Martin Luther King we’re making the dream happen. Next, we found St. Martin’s – a 14^th century now Catholic church. It was nice of the church to be open, since so many others have been locked. Inside were spiffy white walls, tall and skinny windows and pointed arches, and an entire organ mounted on the wall.

Our next stop was the Japanese Gardens. Our trip to Germany would not be complete without it. The place was a beautiful playground with stepping stone bridges through ponds, tall bridges over waterfalls, clusters of bamboo, schools of koi, and railings to slide down. Many fun pictures later, Mr. Hyde had returned, this time bringing the wrath of thunder and lightning. I don’t think I’ve ever spent so much time in a tiny gift shop, but thankfully we weren’t the only ones to seek shelter there.

This was to be the last fit of rain we faced. It was back to the station for us after a quick Doner Kebap (Turkish spelling). Back at Adrienne’s, we had second dinner… ADOBO and GARLIC FRIED RICE!!! Nothing’s better than a home-cooked meal when you’re thousands of miles away from home. Adrienne also made brownies, which were still warm, extremely gooey, and ultimately pushed me over the edge. Time to crash!

Familiar Faces

There are always benefits and drawbacks to traveling alone. It's awesome to be on your own schedule, dealing with mistakes is entirely up to your own resilience, and then there's the Disneyland theory which states that some people go for the shows, others for the rides. When you're traveling solo, you choose. But with the autonomy comes the realization that human beings are social creatures. One grows tired of watching people interact with each other, muttering observations only to oneself, and finally my least favorite thing about traveling alone - eating by yourself. So today, I was thrilled to meet Joyce and Adrienne and begin the social leg of my trip. It's comforting and enjoyable spending time thousands of miles away from home with good people who share a similar reference point.
So, on with the day. Waiting for the train in Koln is quite nice, since you can sit on the steps in the shade of the Dom. Some kids brought an amp and were playing all sorts of pop music and doing sporadic, acrobatic break dance moves. I don't think they were performing for money, but they were pretty good. I have a feeling they were just there to show off for the tourists.

Before I boarded the train, I got a pretzel, and then I went to a kiosk to get something to drink. I asked for a Lipton, and the guy turned around to grab it. Whilst he was there, I saw a soft drink I'd not tried before. So I told him, I wanted the Mezzo Mix instead. The dude threw a fit! "What you want Lipton or Mezzo Mix!?" he spat with a scowl. "You gonna change your mind again?" Maybe, I said. Maybe. He overcharged me 0,15 Euros, but whatever. Someone's probably just having a bad day. I gave him the stink eye as I left.

The ICE train bolted to Frankfurt in less than an hour, and I was with my company before I knew it. Adrienne drove us to her village, Glan Munchweiler. It took about an hour, and we stopped at the US AF base to get gas. The base was huge! They even have their own Burger King, a mall, two gas stations and more stuff I probably didn't even see. I went to a BX store for the first time. It's like a Target for soldiers. Lots of go America and red, white and blue stuff in there. We just got some toothbrushes and chips.

After we got to Adrienne's home, we headed off to a village restaurant/bar where Adrienne knew the owners. So nice to finally share a meal with friends. I had some Cordon Bleu schnitzel and some rosti potatoes (giant tater tots!!!).

After a couple movies that I slept through, mostly, it was time for some sleep. I woke up this morning at about eight, Skyped mom and dad and Mario, then took dad's advice and went to go find breakfast for me and Joyce, who was still sleeping after a long day of traveling. After walking around the quaint village, I stumbled upon a bakery and got a couple of almond pasteries and an apple turnover. The village is pretty cool - I'll let the pictures do the descriptive work.

I'm pretty fortunate to be here. I can always go to a city like Frankfurt, but when would I ever, by my own devices, wander out to a small village in the middle of Germany? Not likely. Today, I think we're off to Trier for some more Doner Kebabs. You know I can't wait for that.

Whoops I thought I posted this - A View of Brussels

Today started off with a familiar breakfast. The concierge told me to find a waffle at Namespoort, but when I emerged from the station, I saw a McDonalds and knew immediately that I would be eating a Sausage McMuffin instead of a liege waffle. While the meal was a little more costly than in the States, the sandwich was on a toasted muffin under a sheet (as opposed to a blanket) of butter, the cheese was evenly place and melted, and the sausage had just a little more seasoning. Why is McDonalds always better outside of the U.S.? Now I’m ready to find a Mega McMuffin. Bing image search that if you don’t know what I’m talking about.

After breakfast, I had a bit of a scare – self-inflicted, of course. I was riding the train to the Atomium, and there’s a point called Simonis where the 6 train begins… and apparently ends. It runs in a large circle, but on the map, it looks like it naturally continues toward the Atomium, so naturally, I stayed on the train. Once the doors closed and the train started moving, I looked up to find that I was the only person in the train car. Moving at a slow pace, I seem to remember hearing and ignoring the word “termine,” or something like it, on the announcement. Piece by piece, I came to realize that I was all alone on a soon to be parked train.

That’s okay. Because we weren’t far from the station when we stopped, and there seemed to be a service walkway. I had no idea how long I’d be stuck there, and I didn’t want to sit around to find out. There was just one problem. The doors were locked. I was trapped!

I hate being trapped. I’m a man of options, and confinement wasn’t working for me. I didn’t panic though. At least not that much, and especially not when the conductor finally came walking by my car. Frantically, I knocked on the window. I wonder what he was thinking. I wonder if this happens every so often. Or maybe not. At least he had a funny story to tell his co-workers later. I followed him as he walked by my car. I thought he had a key and would let me out. But he merely said, “Wait a few minutes.” He sounded irritated. I just smiled.

Waiting was my original plan. If he thought I’d be okay, I would probably be okay. That didn’t stop me from being flustered enough to forget filming this whole experience. Sure enough, five minutes passed and the train came alive again. Whew!

I made it to the Atomium, and paid 15E for a combo Atomium and Planetarium ticket. I love planetariums! From the outside, the Automium looks like a giant jack, or an iron atom. At least I think that’s the element it’s supposed to represent. Inside was a museum of sorts and an observation deck that had limited window space. The museum was kinda interesting. Its exhibits focused on the 1958 World’s Fair, revolutionary artwork, and several stations related to immigration, which intrigued me the most. After the Atomium, I watched a movie in the Planetarium, then headed back to town. If I could do this over, I would probably just have snapped some external shots of the Atomium and then headed back to town. But, eh.

Lunchtime! I found a pan-Asian restaurant that used homemade noodles – I got video of the woman making them. It was quite good, and thank the Lord for vegetables other than fried potatoes. With a tea and Coke, my total came to an eye-popping 16E!!! That’s like $23 for some noodles and a drink!

Afterwards, I wandered around the Grand Place, unsuccessfully searched for Manniken Pis, successfully found a better waffle than both of yesterday’s, bought some Neuhaus chocolates, then headed back to the hotel for a siesta.

Three hours later, it was off for dinner, another waffle and photos of the peeing kid fountain (I honestly don’t get the fascination with it… I wonder if the locals feel the same). Oh, and guess what! I had a beer! The last beer I had was a Corona maybe five years ago. It was gross. I didn’t finish it. Halfway through it, my stomach felt swollen. This beer, a Jupiler, was much lighter and more subtle. Still, I ordered a Coke next to it, just in case. And this marked the third night in a row of eating Mediterranean food. Next to me sat an older Spanish family, and I was happy to be able to finally communicate with some people. Comparatively my French is just a lost cause.

Thus ended my time in Brussels. I admit, I’m one of those people who’d have preferred to stay in Brugge and do a day trip to the European capital. Granted, I didn’t see the whole city, but it can’t help that unlike Brugge, its charm is spread out far and wide, instead of condensed into a small core of canals and medieval streets. All in all, I thoroughly enjoyed my time here. I’ll never forget your waffles, Belguim, and the hunt is on to find something remotely similar in Seattle. Maybe I’ll start a food truck.

Capturing Koln

The disorientation of jet lag and being abroad is finally leaving me – well, maybe not the jet lag… my sleeping patterns are still a little off as I’m writing this blog at 3:30 a.m. But that means I’m starting to open up to people. On the train today, I helped two older women with their bags. Wait – forget it. Actually one of them was probably closer to my age. Heh heh heh. Oh boy. Perception keeps us young I guess. The one older woman who I helped was my seatmate and she turned out to be my first “international travel buddy” or ITB. BTW, I just made that up. An ITB is a random person I will strike up a continuous conversation with primarily because language barriers have prevented me from communicating with someone for so long, that I can no longer resist traveling on this island. I love ITBs. They make traveling alone much more bearable.

This ITB’s name is Marianne. She lives in Brussels, has friends in Koln and has a German mother. We chatted on the train periodically. Since her English is decent and my Francais is virtually nonexistent, we carried on in my native tongue. (I especially like traveling in Spanish or Japanese speaking places since I can actually carry on a conversation in those languages if I need to). Marianne was sweet to point out the details of the train ride to me. We also had a fun conversation about my reading a Kindle and her reading an old-fashioned book. Haha – “old fashioned.” I know, quit complaining – it was a joke! 

When we arrived in Koln, she alerted me to the view of the Dom, which I’ll write about later. She told me to follow her off the train and she’d show me around the station. Since I was from America, I think she was excited to show me Starbucks. When we got to it, she treated me out to a drink! What a generous and gracious woman, God bless her. Out of all the ITBs, she’s probably one of the best non-American ones I’ve met.

After saying our ou reviors, I decided to pinch some pennies by walking by the cab stand and finding the metro train. Still, I spent 7,80 euros on a day pass, which I later found unnecessary since Koln isn’t that big of a city. My hotel was in a pretty neat area with plenty of shopping and restaurants. (Later on – much later on – I’d find out that those restaurants were actually bars and clubs). I wandered around looking for a place to eat, and in my wandering, I ended up right back at the station! There were tons of boutique shops and bakeries, but I found myself eating schnitzel by my hotel. I couldn’t remember exactly what schnitzel is. I just saw that it was fried. When I started eating it, I realized I had just ordered the biggest chicken patty I’d ever had! It was particularly good with fries.

After picking up a fresh camera battery, it was off to Dom, the largest Gothic church in Northern  Europe. The first thing I did was scale over 500 steps to get to the top of the belfry. If you’ve ever climbed the Statue of Liberty, you’ll have an idea of the close proximity of the stairs. Only the spiral stair case was made of stone or cement or something not metal. The air was dank and smelled like a high school football bus. After practice. Since the steps were so large and the spiral so tight, I was at eye level with people’s shoes for most to the climb, and in addition to the tight quarters, the stairs going up were shared by the people going down. We were all one big happy, sweaty family!

When I reached the top, the gloomy clouds decided it was time to wring themselves out. And boy did they have a lot to wring. I got thoroughly soaked – even with the umbrella I borrowed from the hotel (which said, “Renaissance Hotel” on it… I should get commission for advertising!). It was at the top where I met a mother and her adolescent son. They were from Wisconsin, and I almost blurted out, “Oh, I’m a teacher.” I enjoy making connections with people, but not so much political ones. They had been waiting for the downpour to subside at this open area near the top. I decided to do the same. I had already been to the observation deck at the very top, but figured since I made it all the way, I could scale 150 more steps again just to see the view without millions of droplets in the air. It was quite worth it. Seeing the clear view was marvelous, especially since the rain had just given the air a nice bath.

At the observation deck, that kid kept on following me and asking me questions. I think he left his mom who got tired and stayed back. He has all the typical mannerisms of a pre-sevy. I just kept waiting for him to say “Mr. Santos.” Do I have some sort of gravitational pull with middle schoolers? Anyway, that was another nice home-like connection. Although I think I definitely left my teacher hat at home.

After the belfry, I went into the actual basilica. My first thought was how much I’d love to sing with the OLG choir in here, because the acoustics are phenomenal! I felt as though two or three St. James Cathedrals could fit inside of it. After touring the church, I crossed the main Koln bridge, took some scenic pictures from the river bank and from an observation deck, then went back to Dom for mass.

It’s interesting going to mass inside a church that’s also the main tourist attraction for a city. Priests guard the pews allowing only those who are here for mass to enter. I looked rather holy, so the Padre let me in. A group came in and sat behind me and were quickly expelled from the worship area for taking flash pictures. I decided to put my camera away and focus on the liturgy. Until the organ began to play. This monolithic organ boomed throughout the basilica. I kept my camera in my pocket, yes I did. But I turned it on and recorded video of my pocket, and audio of the pipes.

The order of the mass was similar for the most part. It was all in German, but hard to appreciate because I was so exhausted from walking around all day. In the middle of the mass, there were screams coming from the back, which I assumed were just disrespectful tourists trying to be funny or just a bunch of assjacks. Earlier on my way in, I saw a guy do just that during pre-mass prayer. Pitiful. But it’s not like I can control what comes out of someone’s mouth. That’s why the priestly secret service are there, but even then…

After mass, I decided, since I was on the verge of crashing during the homily, to go back to the hotel, order room service and call it a night. Who needs a night photo of the Dom and the bridge when all you want to do is be clean and crawl into bed. After seeing the astronomical prices for gastronomical fulfillment, I threw on a polo and athletic shorts, along with my Crocs and socks and walked out to find dinner. Yes, I looked in the mirror before I went out. And yes, I looked utterly ridiculous. But I just wanted to grab something quick, and guess what I got… another pita pocket! Or doner kebab to be more descriptive.

In addition to dinner, I found a boat ton of people out getting ready to party it up. All of a sudden out of nowhere was a most peculiar thing I’ve seen yet – a “barcycle.” I’m not sure if that’s the proper name, but that’s what I’d call it if I was running it. It’s literally a bar with five seats on either side. Each stool has pedals, and everyone pedals and drinks as the bar moves around the neighborhood. A sober (I’m assuming, yet doubtful) beer vendor steers the wagon. It was pretty funny from a tourist’s standpoint, but would never fly in the States. Ah, Germany…

After eating, sat down on my bed, and before I knew it, I woke up at 3:30 a.m. A bit rejuvenated, I decided this was the perfect time to write. Outside my window, it’s now 4:30 a.m. and I’ve realized that my hotel is right in the middle of Koln Belltown. Only the party’s still going on. I can hear the rhythmic monotony of club music, people yelling and shouting and having a good time. Damn these people are partier’s partiers. And then there’s me. Asleep at 10 p.m., up five hours later to write, and likely going back to sleep. Trust me, I’m not missing out. I’m not trying to go solo to the bar or the club. Which is why I’m excited to meet up with Joyce and Adrienne tomorrow! Not necessarily to join the party, but to finally have some people to talk to other than ITBs.

Waffles and Waterways in Brugge

I really thought I’d sleep more than four hours last night, but how can you sleep when you’re visiting one of the most beautiful towns in Europe the next day.

At 7 a.m. the streets of Brussels were just as vacant as they were last night. The absence of crowds and traffic jams helped me notice how clean this city is. Not only do they have people sweeping up stations and keeping up well-traveled areas, but they also have a waste system similar to Seattle’s, except they have one extra bin in addition to the recycle, compost and waste bags.

I noticed something else this morning. The subway stations don’t smell like pee. They either have no distinct smell, or they smell like baked goods. At Midi, the pleasing aroma of pastries circulated with the train breezes making Midi my all-time favorite train station.

I kicked off my Bruges day trip by getting on the wrong train. The guy I bought my ticket from said track 15, I went to track 15, saw a train, and figured since the Bruges route runs just about every half hour in the morning, that I was more than likely in the right place. But the less than likely happened and I found myself exiting the train at Central Station and waiting 35 minutes for my transfer. Which is what I would have done anyway.

The Belgian countryside is spotted with small towns, familiar birch-like trees, grassy expanses and an occasional construction project. It’s especially beautiful when there are no clouds in the sky.

I arrived in Brugge before most of the tourists woke up, so after catching a local bus to the Markt and Burg Squares, I decided to wander around aimlessly until… well, until that got too monotonous. Yes, Brugge is a beautiful postcard city. It’s not nearly as heavy on the canals as say Amsterdam or Venice, but the spacious waterways add to the magic of the atmosphere just enough. It was fortunate of me to arrive in Brugge early enough to see the two squares populated with only small handfuls of people. Later on in the day, say around lunch time, thousands of tourists would be crawling around like rush hour for a colony of ants. Yes, once the city awoke, make way for the peppy cars, the easy-riding cyclists, the hulking busses, the horse carriages, and of course, the glassy-eyed tourist paying more attention to his camera than what’s in front of him.

There are several experiences that inspire the storyteller in me, so here are some vignettes about my day.

Once upon a time, a Filipino giant lurked the streets of Brugge. The quiet streets of the early morning were easily traversed, but despite the picturesque scenes of canals and Flemish housing, the giant had something sweet on his mind. Images of giant waffles floated in his head – fluffy ones like therapeutic mattresses, hardened crispy ones with waffle cavities large enough for pools of maple syrup. Having skipped out on breakfast, Waffle Giant was saving his appetite for what he firmly believed would be the perfect waffle. Then, in the window of a chocolatier, he saw what he was looking for. Waffle.

“One Waffle with chocolate and whipped cream please… oh and one hot chocolate,” he asked the fair maiden behind the counter. She presented him a freshly pressed waffle in a rectangular plastic container with two piles of whipped cream and a healthy showering of chocolate sauce. What would happen next was a euphoric out of body experience. Crunchy edges. Gooey insides. Sweet. Warm. Waffle. Perfection. It was so good, he forgot how to speak in complete sentences. It was so good, he called his dad to tell him, but forgot it was 1:30 in the morning where he lived. It was so good, it stirred a pot of emotions – joy at unsurpassed flavors and textures, sadness at the fact that these magic waffles were nonexistent where he came from…

Hmmm. Sounds like part one of my new children’s book! I think waffle giant is going to make waffle shops in Seattle! Anyone want to help me illustrate?

Stories aside, there was still plenty to get out of Brugge. A canal cruise provided different views of the city. After that, it was off to the friterie for some “French” fries (which we all know originated in Belgium, though it’s likely that other cultures also had the idea of cooking potatoes in oil). The difference between these fries and those of the golden arches is that these 1) aren’t frozen, 2) don’t possess immortality, and 3) are free of any anomaly fries, i.e. the soggy fry, the ashen fry, or the elusive unripe green fry. Another key difference was the blob of mayonnaise on top of my potato sticks. Easily five tablespoons of the fatty sauce. And while I couldn’t finish all the fries, I did manage to vanquish the mayo. Not sure if that’s a good thing.

These fries were so tasty, I decided to go to the Frites Museum. Should it go without saying that I also went to the Chocolate museum? I would have gone to the Waffle Museum if they had one. To be honest, even though the subject matter consisted of two of my favorite things in life, museums tend to lose hold of my slippery attention span. But after trying really, really hard, I learned some interesting factoids.

For starters, the Aztecs (Or was it Mayans? Or both?) used to mix their blood with cacao and offer it as a sacrifice to their gods. Speaking of deities, thank the beautiful nuns somewhere in Europe at a date I can’t remember for popularizing the addition of sugar to cacao, leading to the decadence of an otherwise bitter bean. Cocoa is broken down into three parts: paste, powder and butter, which really looks just like butter! The last fact I’ll share regards one of my favorite kinds of chocolate. White chocolate only contains one of the three elements of cocoa. Can you guess which one? Extra credit.

The Frite Museum was slightly less interesting, considering I just spent 45 minutes reading about chocolate. The history of the potato just isn’t as glorious as the cacao bean. And the frite shop at the end was a lost cause – I just had fries! I couldn’t possibly have them again… Or could I??? Do you think I did it? Do ya?!? 

Still full from lunch – wait a minute. Did I have lunch yet? I think all I had was a waffle and then a box of fries. But my stomach was full, and it was just past one in the afternoon. Maybe that’s why my mind was thinking dessert. So naturally… Taco Time! … Oh excuse me, I mean waffle time! I wasn’t sure if I should try to fix the unbroken waffle I had earlier by trying another shop, or stick to what was good. Ordinarily, I’d follow the proverb, but since I was in the land of waffles, I found it necessary to be comparative. What I found was that eating a waffle in a dessert shop cost three times as much, and even though this new waffle was still better than any I’ve ever had back in the States, it was nowhere near the masterpiece I had that morning. The strawberries were a nice addition though. Still, it made me want to go back to the first waffle place and make things right. But I couldn’t possibly have three waffles in one day? Before 2 p.m., no less… Or could I?!?

Running low on cash – being frugal on vacation is not cool, but I’m here for three weeks and I don’t want to come back to Seattle completely broke – I figured I should visit a church. There were two that piqued my interest: The Church of Our Lady and the Basilica of the Holy Blood. Though it would have been cool to see the dedication to Mary, it was far, and the Basilica and its vial of blood that is said to belong to Christ himself sounded way more compelling. There was a short adoration line, and I hopped in it before masses of tourists would have made the wait discouraging. While in line, I had a student moment. I was surrounded by newbs who didn’t know how to take non-flash pictures in a church. (That sounded kind of snobby, didn’t it?) I only say that spitefully because guess who got chided for something he didn’t do… And I couldn’t help but channel my inner defensive 12 year-old and snap back, “It wasn’t me!” Sometimes, I just can’t help myself.

I wasn’t sure what to expect from the Holy Blood, and when I reached the top of the stairs to lay hands on the vial, my first thought was, “Wow, if blood was to live in a glass container for 2000 years, this is what it would look like.” I’m not an archeologist or a historian, I’m merely a person of faith. And as a person of faith, I allowed the relic to fill me with thoughts. Yes, we can receive the Blood of Christ anywhere, any day of the week. But this was untransmuted blood. This is blood that was actually a part of Christ. If that is true, and I find no harm in believing that it is, then this relic is truly inspiring and I did feel a sense of that numinous awe as I walked down the stairs.

As I stood in line and as I reflected, choral music played in the background. Thanks to Diane, I involuntarily started singing along with the bass part of Ave Verum Corpus, and then later, Sicut Cervus. These moments are special, when you have an experience that connects directly to a significant part of life back at home – for me it was the connection of faith and music.

After that experience, I realized I was zapped. Also, the perfect blue skies of the morning gave way to rain clouds, so I decided to call it a day at about three o’clock. I know it sounds lame. It actually kind of is. But to that I say, that’s why I like traveling alone. Guilt free, I hopped the train back to Brussels, bought a Turkish chicken sandwich at a snack shop next to my hotel, took a shower, ate my sandwich while watching an episode of Avatar on my computer, then fell asleep at 6 p.m. And that brings us to where I am right now, awakened at 3:30 a.m. to write to you.

Despite calling it a day much earlier than I wanted, it was an amazing day. I was beaming all morning with my trademark smile throughout Brugge, I wandered not only the spiffy streets frequented by tourists and locals, but also the alleys and buildings of the medieval city. And best of all, I fell in love with an amazing waffle. If you think I’m exaggerating, you’re relatively right, but oh, I promise you, if you got grinds for waffles like I do, you’d feel the same way.

Back in Brussels, the light rain turned into torrential downpour. I opted to ride a bus back so I could get some ideas for tomorrow… or today, as it is. I didn’t expect to sleep for so long, but it definitely felt good! Now guess what I am. Here’s a hint: it starts with an “H” and ends with an “ungry.”