Day 68: JOURNEY TO THE EIFFEL TOWER

(Featuring a digression on...stereotypes!)


Trippin'

Seriously, Big Ben sucks. While the Eiffel Towel totally lived up to the hype. The building is ginormous. And while, it's not very wide, I still managed to get lost in it. A woman from Iran and I both couldn't find the exit down from the 2nd floor of the Eiffel Tower. It doesn't even make sense, but at least my complete lack of a sense of direction led to a cool conversation.

I'm not sure how to spell out her name, but it was Persian for "beautiful lotus flower," which is much cooler than Matt. Dressed in an orange parka and purple scarf, I never would've guessed she was from Iran. It didn't fit the image. She spoke five languages - Persian, English, Russian, Arabic and French. And while we searched for an exit, we conversed in the one language* I shared with her. We both found the Eiffel Tower awe-inspiring. She talked about Tehran (Milad) tower that was just built in Iran's capital. Of course, she also made sure to mention that she was relieved to see George W. Bush "the clown of the world" out of office. By the time, we reached ground level again and went our separate ways,* I was kicking myself for having not asked her more questions. And also for not having read Persepolis yet.

For me, she put a face to a country that's attacked so harshly in the West. But this woman was not the crazy, anti-American face that mainstream American culture seems to paint all Iranians with. Without ever meeting somebody from the country, it's so easy to not realize there's a difference between Mahmoud and Iranians. Conversely, there's a difference between Dubya and Americans.

In my American foreign policy class, we discussed how foreign countries stereotype peoples from other countries based on what that country's government is like. So it unfairly makes sense to assume all Iranians are anti-West, sexist, etc. because the government gives that impression.

Americans aren't the only ones doing the stereotyping. For example, the Brits (and Western Europe) seem to stereotype Americans during the Bush years as belligerent cowboys / religious fanatics. How many of those Western Europeans have actually been to America, and had a conversation with an American? I can't speculate, but I bet the ones who have spoke with an (educated) American - and therefore can put a non-Dubya face with the name "American" then it becomes a bit more personal and a bit more easier to get along. This of course is my segue into France. Americans' favorite country to stereotype. Americans call them cheese-eating, wine-guzzling, smelly, snobby mimes. Obviously, it's not true. But more importantly, I lived three days with some French people in Paris (by lived, I mean lived, not stayed in a hotel) and the French are awesome. More on that to come later.

But first I leave you with this hilarious article. No two allies showcase more tension than the English and French. It's like a cute,little sibling rivalry. Aww.



View from Montemarte.


View from the park outside the Louvre.


View from somewhere closer than the Louvre.


View upclose and personal.


Boring view from the Eiffel Tower. But listen to that wind rustle!

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Foot notes

*Pathetic. Can somebody make me fluent in Spanish? Or Portuguese? Or Tagalog?

*I'm not sure how spectacular my debating skills on U.S. foreign policy are, I'll leave that to Joe Biden. But I will argue this music video is the worst one of all-time. It takes place on a dock/warehouse-area that appears to be behind a J.C. Penny's. Steve Perry and company are quite obviously stalking a woman around the dock. And worst of all - air keyboard!

Day 30-32: AMSTERDAM WAS AMAZING

Brad Winkelman / Amsterdam manages to be both super busy and super shiny.

(Let's never go there again.)

How do I describe Amsterdam without making it sound like it was some type of 72-hour drug-addled circus-like nightmare? Well, I don't know if I can because the city is seriously out of some kind of trippy dream. Yes, even without drugs. Amsterdam is just a place everyone needs to experience.* It's not easy to describe, nor to even display through pictures (though I'm gonna try.) Tourists must immerse themselves into this culture.* Do as much as you can.* See everything, explore every crevice because this place is...out there. From the Red Light District* to Rembrandtplein, every area of this colorful place will leave you awed. And by the time you're done you'll be thinking:

"Wow, that was really amazing. Uh, I think I want to go home now."

And then, you'll enjoy a 12-hour bus ride home that includes a ferry trip from Calais, France to the Cliffs of Dover. Oh wait, you won't enjoy that part.

Anyway, before I bombard you with photos I stole from three roommates I went with (Will, Brad and AJ), I'll list three things in Amsterdam you won't find anywhere else. But don't take my word for it. Just gooooo.

Three things super unique to Amsterdam:
1. McDonald's next door to a porno shop.
2. Coffee shops everywhere but no Starbucks. (Apparently, coffee shop patrons are looking for something other than a 13 shot venti soy hazelnut vanilla cinnamon white mocha with extra white mocha and caramel.)
3. Sex museum, vodka museum, hash museum, anyone? At this point, it appears the Dutch are just mocking us.
4. Trees that can uproot themselves, walk around and even talk. Nahhh just kidding. I didn't see that. But I did see this:

Courtesy of (read: Stolen from) Brad Winkelmann. His blog called "A Winkel in Time" rules. Also I stole some pics from Will's facebook photo album. Here's his blog.



Will photographs the canal during the day.


Brad photographs the Red Light District canal at night. Go teamwork!


Oh you wild and crazy Nederlanders. Peace, man!


Prude? Or do I just really advocate Fanta?


This photo was my idea. I just think Dank U would be a funny name for a university in Amsterdam. It makes too much sense.

Click this box. It's a glorious panorama by Brad. Plus you get to see male crossdressers!


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Foot notes

*You can totally experience Amsterdam without doing drugs. It's a beautiful, crazy-ass city.

*Once again not advocating drugs here.

*OK, I actually am advocating drugs with this asterisk. Just kidding! Be cool. Stay in school. But visit Amsterdam during summer break.

*It's a common misconception that the Red Light District is just a city running amok with harlots, strumpets and ho-bags. But even while ignoring the ho-bags, the Red Light District is actually a stunning area that's filled with many profitable businesses outside of the world's oldest. In other words, it's not just an area for perverts but even just regular tourists. (though much of the businesses there do straddle a fine line between vulgar and...uh, I don't know I just wanted to say "straddle." hehe

Day 8: THE CURIOUS INCIDENT

(Or how I learned to stop worrying and love London)

I went to sleep angry.

Angry it was always overcast or raining in London. Angry about the dim prospects of the newspaper industry — and my future. Angry about how expensive London was. Angry about how un-enjoyable my insanely-busy spring (and final) semester in Syracuse would be.

So I couldn’t really sleep. And I read. That’s when it hit me. That moment where it finally clicks — that I’m in London. And I should tell the voice in my head to shut it.

The book, which you might’ve heard of — and possibly read*, was called “The Curious Incident of the Dark in the Nighttime.” I borrowed it from a dude named Randy (or Randizzle, if you’re not into the whole brevity thing) before leaving for England. And little did I know….the book took place in England (Coincidence? Totally.) It’s about an autistic kid trying to solve the murder of his neighbor’s dog. And at one point, near the end, he makes his first ever journey to London.* That’s when I became giddy.*

Because when he arrived in London he saw signs like this:



I saw signs like that!

He went on the tube, and took the Bakerloo Line, where there was a sign like this:



I live on the Bakerloo Line. I know that sign!

Then there was a sign that looked like this in the book:

1 HARROW & WEALDSTONE 1 MIN
2 WILLESDEN JUNCTION 4 MIN

Yeah, I recognized that too.

And then it changed again and said:

1 HARROW & WEALDSTONE 1 MIN
**STAND BACK TRAIN APPROACHING**

And then he was almost hit by a train.

I was almost hit by a train!


Credit: Brad Winckelmann / Edgware Station at the Bakerloo Line.

I think you get the point. I am seeing things here that few of my friends back in the States have come across. When Randy or anyone else read this book, they had not recently experienced the bustling city of London streets hours earlier. It clicked.*

It’s a whole new world. I am privileged to be here—and to have this opportunity to see a completely new culture.

And that’s why I decided to shut up about complaining about the things I’d normally complain about it in America. Will I stop fretting about them altogether? No that's impossible! It's in my nature.

I guess I’ll just have to learn how to be less neurotic.* Because London is gonna be amazing.

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*But who has the time?

*Like meeeee!

*In the book, immediately after the main character described himself as giddy he vomited all over the place. I didn't do this. I think I am using a different definition of giddy here.

*One of most annoying things—and one of the reasons that I took so long for it to “click”—is sometimes I still feel I’m in America (Is that the opposite of homesick?). Maybe it’s all the English. Oh and the five Starbucks we passed on the bus ride from the airport to the SU campus. There’s still a little regret for not going to Madrid. Pero...sobrevivare.

*Oh that reminds me. I'm going to Amsterdam in four weeks.

Day 6: NINE ROOMMATES. NO CUPS.

(Also, in a completely unrelated matter, our toilet is broken)

We slumped around the table. A stressful day of moving into our fully-furnished* apartment had just ended. Now we all just wanted to relax. Have a drink.

That's when we discovered the problem. No cups to drink the refreshments we had bought from the grocery store. So, like any resourceful (read: lazy) college student, we improvised with whatever cup-like items we could find in the house:

Me: Drank cranberry juice out of the carton.
Brad W.: Tossed back swigs of coke from a shot glass.
Will H.: Chugged coke from a wine glass.
AJ C.: Gulped down Strongbow from a "sapphire" Coca-Cola glass he received with his chicken tenders at McDonald's.
Sarah M.: Sipped tea from a mug that stated matter-of-factly "I ♥ Mum"


No London home is complete without a mug stating that you heart your mum.

When you're in another country, it's probably best not to sweat the little things. For once, I need to be laid back.
Two reasons:
a. I'm in a foreign country. That's just awesome.
b. I'm in a foreign country. What the hell is going on? I barely can function in America. And you expect me to fix a toilet in Great Britain.

Oh that reminds me. Other cultural adjustments we'll need to make in our apartment:
No dryers - Londoners do battle with dirty laundry with just a washer and a drying rack. It's a losing battle, in my opinion.
Faucets - Sinks here have a separate faucet for hot water and cold water. Lukewarm water is achieved by clapping your hands real fast while both faucets are running.
TV Stations - Only five measly channels. Brits pay a yearly television license fee. It gives viewers five terrestrial television stations (BBC1, BBC2, ITV1, Channel Four and Five). The good news: no commercials.* Oh and also lotsa American tv courtesy of the CW.
Paper money - The English love coinage. There's a penny, a two pence (tuppence), a five pence, a 10 pence, a 20 pence, a 50 pence, a one-pound coin (a quid) and a two-pound coin. However, the country lacks one and two pound bills. Other than the change overload, there's one other problem I foresee: a severe shortage of people making it rain.
Toilet - One toilet doesn't flush. I don't think it's actually a British thing. It's just, well um, not good.

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Foot notes
*Fully-furnished except for the fact we don't have Internet, and we won't have it for awhile. So for us college students, in actuality, it feels like our house is completely unfurnished. We reacted to the news of no Internet like the world was ending. It reminded me of a scene in Airplane II when the passengers learn the spaceship is off-course, being torn apart by asteroids and the crew has run out of COFFEE!?!?! Yeah, we reacted similarly.

Estate manager: Your plumbing is broken
Us: OK. We can go without that a couple days.
Estate manager: There's a gas leak in your stove.
Us: Ooh that's exciting. It's like an adventure.
Estate manager: Also, you won't have Internet for at least a week.
Us: AHHHHHH! How do you expect us to live in this gulag?

*Cable television and satellite does exist for a price. And actually, most Brits receive more than five channels because there's something called "freeview." It's a whole complicated matter that's not exactly easy to explain. Nor do I understand it. So instead just log off your computer. Turn on your television and watch another rerun of Deal or No Deal. There. Much easier.

Day 5: CULTURE SHOCK

(Or what happens when you plug in an American clock into a British outlet)

My alarm clock died today. Or maybe yesterday. I don’t know I’m all jet-lagged out.

I guess that’s better than my alarm clock. It just stopped working. The adapter I bought for British sockets wasn’t intended for clocks. As a result, the high voltage fried my American clock.

The past three days have been a blur, as I try to adjust to a new culture. I guess the clock story could be considered a humorous* anecdote. But, okay, I like it as a metaphor.

I’m feeling a bit fried myself.

Most students abroad are juniors. As a senior, I know few of my classmates. So I’m more lost than most as we all look for affordable housing in the heart of London. Luckily, I’m taken in by two photo students I know—and six other photo students. I’m grateful for their hospitality. But, as always, there’s a catch.

I will spend the next four months living with these eight trigger-happy photographers. For the next four months, wherever we go—we are cursed to look like the most tourist-y of tourists. (If only Londoners could tell the difference between a Single-Lens Reflex D300 with a telephoto lens—and a Kodak disposable camera. If only I could.)



Photo majors even photograph their alcohol.

Each group of students, was assigned a native Londoner to help with the housing search. We received a poor ol’ unemployed actor named Gary. Much later, we found out he was only acting when he said he was a poor ol’ unemployed actor.

We discovered a decent-sized home owned by man who looked eerily similar to Brick Top of Snatch fame.* Of course, he was much more humane (like a Pikey or even Brad Pitt). And soon we had cheap enough housing that it was covered by Syracuse’s per diem.

Just off the Edgware Road tube stop on the Bakerloo Line, we made our home.

After a hectic three days, holed up in a shoddy hotel paid for by SU—we now were no longer homeless. No more worries about housing meant it was finally time to start looking around and appreciating London.

But first I needed a nap. And, afterward, a new alarm clock.

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Foot notes:
*humourous
*Brick Top in Snatch famously dispatched of his enemies by feeding them to pigs. There were no pigs where we secured out housing. But there was a monstrous fish. And on our trip to check out the house, Brick Top’s son explained the fish had killed (other fish) before. I think it was clear. A message was being sent.