Versailles

No trip to Paris is complete without a trip out to the royal vacation palace of Versailles. It was here that the monarchs of old escaped the heat (and smell) of Paris during the warm summer months. It is here that, despite the hordes of tourists, you still feel incredibly spaced out and not crowded.

Before attacking the palace proper, I decided to take a stroll through the massive palatial gardens. It is here that the monarchs enjoyed many fountains, statues, hedge mazes, personal hunting grounds, and an in built canal in the form of a giant cross. To get an idea of just how gigantic this estate is, here is a video from the top of the steps looking out into the garden:

The one thing I really liked walking down the corridors into the grounds was the well kept lawn. This was a lawn that would make Hank Hill proud. I wonder how it was so well kept before the advances of modern landscaping, but I imagine it must have required an army of peasant gardeners. As I wandered down farther, I discovered the personal summer house of Marie Antoinette. What I liked especially about this place was that it had its own personal old style billiards room. Here are a couple pics:

As I was walking around Marie’s house, Mike and I were having a discussion about this large estate. I wondered why, after the revolution, the palace was not burned to the ground and the land given to farmers. And from there we drifted into the differences in land usage in the US and Europe, particularly in the growing up vs. growing out mentality. We agreed that Europe had no concept of either. In any major European city, most neighborhood buildings do not exceed 4 stories, perhaps maybe 5 or 6 max. At the same time, the cities are restricted in their ability to incorporate land outside of the city perimeter, making it hard to construct new housing developments and the like. In the US, by contrast, those areas with land do grow out, like the Phoenix or Chicago metropolitan areas, whereas cities with no more room to build like New York City or Los Angeles build high rises to sustain larger urban populations. While Europe is smaller than the continental US, it still has an abundance of land, land which Europeans seem hell-bent on not using. This led us to another conclusion for why European views towards immigration were so negative. Not only did they feel the watering down of their culture, but they feel a sense of overcrowding in their already overcrowded cities. The solutions seemed simple for us: for those cities than can build out, build out, and for those which cannot build out, build up. While we were discussing these matters, a pair of Brits who were trailing decided to pipe in, stating “Sounds like you two should book a pair of tickets home.” Leave it to the Brits to offer up some snide comment like that. Mike and I then got into a little discussion with the Brits over who were better conservationists: Americans or Europeans. They argued that they were better conservationists because they chose to preserve nature as well as constrain their urban development. We argued that we were better because we had already preserved very, very large acres of land as well as found ways around the problems associated with urban growth. By the end, it seemed to me that Europeans were trying to have their cake and eat it too when it came to conservationism and maintaining economic momentum through population growth. I found this ironic as Americans are always viewed as having our cake and eating it too, but honestly, I think we can because we think outside of the box and find ways around our problems without losing our commitment to nature. More power to us, I say.

Anyway, Mike and I made our way over to the canal to find our way back up to the palace (we had gotten a little lost, but once we found the water we were back on track). Here’s a pic of me in front of the large canal, which now hosts a paddle boat service:

The palace itself was impressive. Many large rooms with high-vaulted ceilings and art decos all over the walls and ceilings. The most impressive one I saw was the famous Washing of the Feet. Here it is:

Here is the Royal bedchamber where the monarchs got jiggy with it, a cool green marble wash basin, and of course, a picture of the queen herself:


The best part of it all, by far, was the famous Hall of Mirrors. It was here that the Treaty of Versailles was signed to “conclude” the First World War.* The hall was jam-packed with tourist groups, but I was able to get off some good shots of the beautiful chandeliers and the reflective walls. It was very interesting listening to tour guides give their spiel about the importance of the hall, especially when it came to the infamous Treaty of Versailles. It is amazing, as a historian, to hear how whitewashed that story has become. I was tempted to jump in and offer a few clarifications (yes, Germany was given a piece of paper to sign with little negotiation involved, no the Americans did not sign the treaty, etc) but why bother tourists on vacation with the truth. Here are a couple of pics:

In conclusion, the palace is a throwback to the opulence and sheer decadence of monarchical Europe. It was here that a few lucky individuals, born into a family of established, titled aristocrats lived a completely sheltered life from the millions of subjects which groveled and toiled beneath them. While I could admire the art, the architecture, and overall layout of the palace and gardens, I was sickened by the reason why it was established in the first place and for the people who once lived here. I suppose the only saving grace of justice came when the monarchs’ heads rolled. Karma’s a bitch, ain’t it?




* I use the word “conclude” loosely. The dictations of that treaty were a slap in the face to Germany, and became the root cause for the rise of fascism there fifteen years after its ratification. Also, it was a slap in the face to the Chinese, who had wanted the German sphere of influence in China restored to the republic. Instead, it was awarded to the Japanese for their participation with the Allies, giving them a perfect staging ground from which to invade the rest of China in the mid-1930s. What I’m saying here is that the Treaty laid the groundwork for WWII, and perhaps can be seen more as a twenty year truce than something to establish a meaningful, lasting peace; it is probably the worst document penned in the 20th century.

Paris

The “City of Light” is as beautiful as it is annoying. It possessed many of the trappings of a large European city: graffiti everywhere, trash in the streets, hustle and bustle of large crowds down narrow streets and shopping corridors. Thankfully it lacked a decisive, pungent odor.

My hostel was conveniently located around the corner from the train station I departed from. However, my room was inconveniently located on the 4th floor, and there was no elevator. I believe I should stress that by 4th floor I mean 5th floor, as Europeans count the American 2nd story as the 1st. My hostel was less than reputable, but what more can expect for paying 20 Euro a night. Toilet and shower facilities were sub-par, and the complementary breakfast involved getting a coin from the front desk to put into a machine that dispensed a pathetic looking chocolate croissant roll. The saving grace for me here, and which has become a saving grace in every city I’ve been to across Europe, has been the kebab shop. Luckily for me there was one right next door.

After the 3rd meal there I decided to introduce myself to the proprietors, seeing as how for the duration of my stay in Paris they would be receiving a lot of my business and tourist Euros. The owner was named Habib, and his partner Abdel. We shook hands and I introduced myself and told them I came from America, which brought a smile to their face, a welcome change from the frowns or disconcerted faces I would get from the French. They were from Morocco, and did not particularly like the French. This proved to be a great common ground to build upon, as I had found a half-truth in American preconceptions of the French: most of the French people are actually decent, upstanding people who love Americans, however, the Parisians are a completely different story, and fit the stereotypical image of pretentiousness and snootiness Americans claim all the French to be. What was so great about going to Habib and Abdel’s kebab shop was that it confirmed further that the immigrants in Europe are the ones who will treat all comers with the respect that a paying customer deserves. I was not about to go sit in some French café, wait 20 minutes for a waiter/waitress to grace me with his/her presence, pay for every glass of lukewarm water asked for, which also comes in 20 minute intervals, and have to wait an additional 20 minutes while they print up the check, which would require another 20 minutes of waiting had I decided to pay with a credit card. A meal at any conventional European café takes at least an hour without complications, and thus eating on the fly is practically impossible. With this particular kebab store, they had my food whipped up in less than 5 minutes for a durum. Once, I tried a multi-course meal, and not only would I get a free liter of clean, semi-chilled water, they kept an eye on me so that when I was on the verge of finishing the first course the second would arrive instantly and the same happened at the end of the second course when dessert was delivered. Such service was so well appreciated that it warranted a tip, which I knew was already included in the bill, but I felt it was well deserved. The bill was only 8.5 Euro, so I left a 10, which prompted a round of handshakes from the entire staff behind the counter. Incredibly great people.

I was in Paris for four days, and even this was not enough to “see it all”. The first day I was able to see Notre Dame Cathedral and St. Michael’s fountain. Here are pictures of both, respectively:


I was happy that Notre Dame Cathedral did not charge for entry, as that had been a reason for me not going inside other great cathedrals across Europe. Since when did the Church become for-profit…

After wondrous Notre Dame, I meandered over to St. Michael’s fountain, which was impressive in its own right for how well it was designed. Gazing into the fountains steady streams of water made me really need to urinate, and so I tried to find the nearest available toilet. And here comes the next peeve about Europe: most public toilets are not public in the sense that Americans think they are, in that the ones here you have to pay for. 1 Euro to urinate, 2 Euro to defecate. I found it horrible that the French (and to be fair, a lot of European countries do this too) would charge people to use facilities to dispose of bodily waste, a function that comes naturally to every single living human being. If this “joke” is the European idea of “conservationism” then I certainly was not laughing. At this point I was pissed about not being able to take a piss in a conventional toilet for free, and opted instead to duck down an alley, duck behind a dumpster, and relieve myself there. Think of that devilish logo of Calvin pissing on an Eiffel Tower, and you will have the same humorous thought I did zipping up my pants. On the way home, I ran into the site where the Bastille once stood. Here is the statue to commemorate it:


The 2nd and 3rd day of my stay was occupied by side trips out of town that will be addressed in later posts. My 4th and final day in Paris consisted of seeing many more of the major sites before departing for Holland. The day began on Champ d’Elysees. Right outside of the tram stop was a statue of Charles de Gualle, savior of France from the clutches of Nazi Germany and spent the next 20 years as president, grinding France’s military teeth to nubs in futile conflicts in Albania and Vietnam. He was also the bastard who withdrew from active NATO duty, and should be vilified as a traitor to the entire defensive operation in W. Europe against Soviet expansion. Here’s a picture:


Up the street was the famous Arc d’Triumph, a symbol of French military greatness (indeed, there was a time when France’s military was formidable and did play an important role within European power politics, although it is important to note that the second to last time it was used was by goose-stepping Nazis) Here’s a picture of me in front of it:


At the other far end of this boulevard was the Obelisk, a relic Napoleon stole from Egypt while trying to unseat the English from that region. I can’t chastise the French too much for their looting, however, as I have heard there is a 2nd Obelisk from Egypt as well, and that it is located in Central Park, NYC. This may or may not be true, but if it is, I wonder if the French gave it to us or whether we looted it ourselves. Some would argue for their return to Egypt, but since modern-day Egypt has as much connection with its ancient past as Italians do to the Romans, it does not seem plausible to me. Another interesting note about the square in which this Obelisk is located is that it is the square where French revolutionaries beheaded Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette. Here is a picture of the Obelisk, and a plaque for the ill-fated monarchs:


Across the river from this point is the French Assembly, which conducts the business of the French state. I also found the presidential palace. Here’s some pics:

We had done a lot of walking at this point. Here is what Mike had to say about it:

The coup de grace of this dash to see as many Parisian sites in one day was the Eiffel Tower. Dusk was approaching and I had really wanted to be on top of it to catch a Parisian sunset. The area underneath the tower was packed with tourists, street peddlers, and military personnel walking around with automatic rifles with trigger fingers at the ready. The line to go up took about 45 minutes to traverse, but the trip up to the lower tier took less than 5. Another 20 minute wait and 2 minute trip and I was at the upper tier. It was here that I was able to get shots of Paris in twilight. It was amazing to see the city lights sparkle to life. And it wasn’t just the city that was doing the twinkling. Indeed the entire Eiffel Tower was beginning to twinkle in the night as light bulbs up and down its body began to flicker on and off in an awesome cascade of flickering light. From the ground it must have looked amazingly cool, but from the tier I was standing on it was a magnificent sight. Here is what I saw from the Eiffel Tower:



On the day of departure, the last thing I wanted to find was the cemetery where Jim Morrison was buried and the Communards’ Wall. I did find it, and after a few twists and turns in this traditional above-ground cemetery, I did indeed find the final resting place of the self-proclaimed “Lizard King”. Also, I found Oscar Wilde's tomb:


Wandering around some more, I even found the grave of Oscar Wilde. And finally, the Communards’ Wall. A little history for those who are unfamiliar: In the 1870-1871 Franco-Prussian War, the Prussians (Germans) walloped the French at the Battle of Sedan, and captured then-emperor Napoleon III. This caused the downfall of the imperial regime in Paris, and led to the birth of the Paris Commune. The Commune was led by Communards, mostly of the anarchist school of thought, who quickly prepared for the defense of Paris as the Prussians approached the city gates. However, the remnants of the French government struck a quickly negotiated peace with the Prussians (probably by paying them a large tribute to leave the country, as well as other concessions) and this left the French government the ability to turn its full attention to suppressing the Commune. As such, the organizers of the Commune were rounded up, brought to this particular cemetery, lined up against a wall, and shot. To anarchists, this is Mecca, and I had come to pay my respects. Here are pictures from my cemetery experience:


On my final night in Paris, walking home from the tram, I had stopped into a grocery store for some provisions for the next day’s train ride. After acquiring them, I began on my way back to my hostel when I heard a loud crash behind me. A motorcyclist had clipped the rear end of a cab and wiped out just behind me. As soon as I realized what had happened, all those years of First Responder training from Boy Scouts kicked in and I leapt to action. The first rule in this type of situation was to secure the scene. The motorcycle was still running, with the operator and a passenger pinned beneath it. I was able to slide the bike out from on top of them and backed it away a safe distance. In the meantime, a small cluster of French gathered around and began to administer aid. My first reaction was “Get away you bastards! This is my scene!” followed by an immediate need for a towel. The driver appeared to be conscious while the passenger appeared to be concussed and bleeding from the face. I had a towel in my bag because it is the single most important item for a backpacker, and went to retrieve it. However, a busboy from a nearby outdoor café ran over with his table-wipe and was already trying to control the bleeding. Realizing that I had essentially lost my chance to provide any further assistance, I began to walk back to Mike who had stayed with the groceries I dropped. A French lady tried to speak to me, and all I could say was, “Sorry I‘m an American, I don‘t speak French.” to which she replied, “Ah, thank you American for your help. We will take it from here.” I felt bad that I wasn’t able to do more, because it was what I had been trained for years to do. At camp I was a medic in the health lodge and had to be johnny-on-the-spot whenever people got hurt. I’m happy to say that I’ve still got it.

All in all, I had bit off more than I could chew trying to see Paris in the time I had allotted. By the time I boarded my train to Holland, my feet were absolutely killing me. Paris was indeed beautiful for all it had to offer, but it required a large chunk of time to “see it all”, not to mention all that walking. I did not even attempt the Louvre or d’Orsay, vowing to return and give them the time they deserve. I left Paris exhausted, and was looking forward to an extended stay in Holland where I would have adequate time to put my feet up, smell the tulips, and enjoy the relaxed Dutch atmosphere.

Lyon

The stop into Lyon was brief but pleasant. After some initial difficulty in finding the hostel (when faced with a decision where it’s 50/50, don’t you just hate it when you’re wrong?) I checked into what was more like a hotel than any hostel I’d seen up unto this point. The thing is that Europe is no longer truly viable for the wanderlust backpacker. The lines between what constitutes a “hostel” and a “hotel” are blurred, and I believe the Internet has something to do with it. There really is no more showing up to a town unexpected and going door to door to find a hostel. That has become incredibly impractical. The place I stayed in was nice, and for all intents and purposes, it was a hotel.

I spent much of the afternoon recuperating from the long and largely unnecessary walk to the hotel. I watched some of the first TV ever in Europe on the fancy 14’’ flat screen in my room, mostly the beginning matches of the French Open. After being tantalized by the talented Sharipova, I went downstairs to figure out if there was anything of interest in Lyon to see. There was a museum dedicated to the French Resistance that caught my fancy, but it was closed that day. It was Tuesday, almost middle of the week, and for some reason the museum was closed only on that day of the week. What crummy luck, not to mention it made me think what they had against Tuesdays.

With no sites to see and nothing really better to do, I took to wandering aimlessly around the area of my hotel. It was a quiet place, mostly neighborhoods with families. I did not know if there was a nightlife to speak of in this town, but I wasn’t really in the mood to seek it out anyway. I found a kebab store and had some dinner, then concentrated on writing out postcards to send back home. Took a cold shower upon my return, as it was incredibly balmy that night.

The next morning I awoke early, and was first in line at the post office when it opened. After fortifying myself with another kebab (they do not get old no matter how often you eat them!) I headed to the train station to begin the 2+ hour ride to Paris. I was thankful to be back in the Eurozone after my wretched financial experience in Switzerland, but knew that Paris would probably be just as pricey. Before closing this out, here are a couple of cool photos from Lyon of random artwork I found on the street and a random polar bear statue I found in the visitors center (conveniently located ~6 blocks from the train station. Go figure…)

Geneva

Geneva, renowned city of peace, is tucked away in the French corner of Switzerland, wedged in between Lake Geneva and the Swiss/French border. It is famous for being the “Protestant Rome”, a signatory Conventions on the treatment of POW’s and battlefield wounded, and headquarters of many UN agencies as well as the International Red Cross and Red Crescent.


The Red Cross/Crescent was the first site I went to go see. Why Red Crescent you may ask? Well, Muslin nations do not take kindly to do-gooders marching into their land with red crosses and “good intentions” on account of the Crusades, so the organization had to adopt the red crescent as a compromise. The museum was a bit of a head trip, the entrance being marked by these creepy looking faceless statues, check em out:


There is two ways in which to view the Red Cross/Crescent Organization: inspiration or idiocy. This really is the first effort by any international body to address the needs of peoples devastated by natural disasters or war. It does so in an impartial manner, and offers help to all who need it regardless of affiliation. Truly noble in its mission. However, going through it and reading the exhibits, I found it stupid how they tried to put a more humane face on warfare. Their efforts towards natural disasters and aiding civilians caught in the crossfire aside, I did not find it humane at all for an organization to come in and say “You can’t shoot the wounded from the battlefield. They are off-limits because they can no longer fight.” And yet as soon as these wounded soldiers are all healed up and feeling better, what happens? They are sent right back to the front to engage in more killing and carnage. Wouldn’t it make more sense for the Red Cross/Crescent to say something along the lines of “You cannot kill this soldier, he is wounded, and as soon as he is better, he’s being sent home?” Unfortunately, the organization has no say over where troops go, as they are property of their respective governments. I will give the organization credit for alleviating the suffering of those who suffer at the hands of mother nature, but when it comes to the hand of man, particularly those individuals who propagate the violence, why try to make war more humane? I thought the more inhumane warfare became, the more likely it would be ruled out as a means of solving differences. Is this not the lesson from the World Wars? It’s a great idea, but in practice just doesn’t work and only perpetuates the problem. Oh the irony of mankind’s good intentions…

Besides this semi-depressing, semi-inspiring site, there was also the old headquarters for the UN building, as well as India's gift to Geneva: a statue of Ghandi:


From this clock you could see Jet d’Eau, a phenomenal jet stream of water that is shot to a ridiculous height in the air. Apparently the stream used to be just an annual thing for the city, but they liked it so much they wanted it to run 24/7. I don’t know how this is sustained, but it looks pretty cool at night. Here’s a pic:


Finally, Geneva is the site of the ill-fated League of Nations, the precursor to the United Nations. While I had wanted to get out to see it, the guy at the front desk gave me wrong directions and I instead wound up at the Wilsonian Palace. This was a palace (or what looked like a big hotel to me) dedicated to President Woodrow Wilson for his commitment to establishing a world government which the United States ended up not being apart of, one of the many reasons the organization was destined to fail. Since I had attempted to see this on the last day in the city, I did not have enough energy to seek out the real one, but here’s a pic of Wilson’s palace anyway:


Geneva was an alright city. There really isn’t much to the place. No crazy nightlife to speak of; I spent most of my down time in a jazz n blues bar down the street from my hostel, sucking down suds and complementary peanuts (yes, that’s right, the peanuts were free, saving grace of the entire excursion through Switzerland). There are no incredibly beautiful sites to see (eye of the beholder, I know). For this reason, and the fact that I was getting pretty tired of paying ludicrous prices for everything, I decided to cut my stay in Geneva to just one night, and head back into the Eurozone. Paris was a distance from Geneva, and not wanting to make such a long journey in one day, decided to see Lyon.

Interlaken

Interlaken is an outdoor adventurer’s paradise. It offers a wide variety of EXTREME sports (why “extreme” is written that way and will be written that way for the duration of this story will soon be explained for those who find it completely unnecessary at this point.) Here a person can skydive, cliff dive, paraglide, canyon, cave, hike, mountain bike, and even do a thing called zorbing (they put you in a oversized gerbil ball, strap you in, and roll you down a steep hill. Fun!)

The hostel I stayed at was a place called Baumer’s. For those of you who would like to find a little piece of America in Switzerland, I give you Baumer’s. It so happened that the weekend I booked to stay there was also the weekend a study abroad group from University of Kansas was also residing there. As such, I felt like I was living in the worst parts of a frat house nightmare. Even the lingo these kids (I use the term endearingly, I promise) were tossing around was of the Greek variety. This was equally as annoying as the hostel itself, which was a bastion of EXTREME sports advertisements and packages. When I was checking in the guy behind the counter must have said EXTREME about a dozen times in trying to describe all the things to do. And they weren’t even cheap. $300 to go canyoning, or $400+ to go skydiving, even zorbing which I was tempted to try cost $150. I almost stroked out upon hearing from a couple I was talking to that they had spent close to $1000 in just 2 days. Even I have to stretch my imagination to find ways to spend that much in so little a time. It became ever apparent that pretty much everybody here was out on mommy and daddy’s dime, and at the time there were no other people I could think of who were more deserving of my scorn. Luckily I befriended a pair of Canadians who were not apart of the KU group who were on the level. By far some of the best people I’ve met on the road are Canadians and Australians. Brits, on the other hand, meh.

Another thing that made my hostel a frat party nightmare was that it included a night club in the basement of one of the buildings were they would have happy hour from 6-7 and again from 9-10. The area consisted of a bar, some tables, and a dance floor with monitors hanging from the ceiling. The happy hour was the closest thing I could go to a cheap beer ($4.50 a bottle is cheap by Swiss standards. Good grief! Oh well, at least it was Molson, much to the delight of my Canadian cohorts). On the monitors were displayed pictures of people on their EXTREME sporting trips, and I became sick of the bombardment of advertising. The club area was small, and it did not help matters either that the hostel would advertise to the locals that it was the best club in town. As such, the place was always more than packed to capacity and made it a hot and sticky situation, situations I tend to stay far from. I ended up staying outside in the courtyard area, drinking Molson and playing oversized chess with either Mike or any challenger. We toyed with the idea of inventing a form of EXTREME chess, but this petered out after the 3rd round … of chess, I mean.

Despite being surrounded by silver spoons, it was refreshing to speak English fluidly, as it had been something I was beginning to miss. Everything still cost a lot, even the Internet. My only escape from it all was nature, which Interlaken was not short of. I found the nearest hiking trail and hit it. After an hour I made it to the top, out of breath, drenched in sweat, and overwhelmed with an EXTREME sense of self-satisfaction. I took a moment to look out across the town. Interlaken is named the way it is because it is a town situated in between two lakes. It was a beautiful site, and even the mountains were beautiful too. Here are some pics:


Even though this small mountain town in the Alps may sound pristine, believe me it will not be this way for much longer. Much like the small, quiet mountain towns in Colorado, Interlaken is being commercialized and overrun by international conglomerates. McDonalds already has a strong presence (not complaining, at least they offer free Internet) and I even came across a Hooters. Before I left the States I made a promise to myself that I would not buckle and seek out American fast food, no matter how bad the local cuisine was. Thankfully, Hooters falls outside of this because it’s a sit-down establishment. I braved the price and had the most satisfying meal of my trip to date: nachos, wings, and beer. Here’s proof I was there:


Interlaken became my most favorite place in Switzerland, and I would urge everyone to go and experience it before it becomes more commercial than it already is. Remember to bring lots of $$$, and have yourself an EXTREME time!

Bern

The city of Bern was bustling as I exited the train station. I noticed that the UEFA Championship Cup was to be co-hosted by Switzerland and Austria, with Bern serving as one of the host cities. Although the Cup had not started yet, there were flags and banners all over the place, and already one could tell there was an influx of foreigners into the country. The unfortunate thing about this is that prices of all goods were being inflated even higher than what they already were. Not only were prices inflated because it was Switzerland, they were also inflated because Bern is the capital city of Switzerland, and thus costs of living are higher. My stay in Bern was thus rather brief. The only really fascinating thing I found was a fountain across the street from my hostel. It depicts a man eating children. It made me wonder if the citizens of Bern were really big fans of Jonathan Swift's "A Modest Proposal". Oh, and I did find a store with many cuckoo clocks:


In Bern I noticed it was a lot more “Americanized” than other parts of Switzerland. Not only was McDonalds ever present, but there were Burger Kings and KFCs all over the place. Everything was also in English, despite the language not being one of Switzerland’s officially sanctioned ones (they have four: Italian, French, Swiss German, and Romansch). After walking around for a bit I was able to find their parliament building; here it is:

Right across the large square in front of the parliament building there was an open-air market and at the end there was large chess board. As I was taking some video of it a dog happened to walk through the board, and I found it incredibly amusing since the chess pieces were taller than the dog. Here is the clip:


One night in Bern was all I really needed. I felt I needed to get out of the city and into the countryside, where all of Switzerland’s true beauty lies:

Lugano

Lugano is a small town in the canton of Ticino in the Swiss-Italian Alps. The scenic views I was afforded on the train ride in was further rewarded as I exited the train station. The station itself overlooked much of the town, with condensed apartment buildings and houses nestled up in the area between the mountain slope and the pristine lake.


The first interesting thing I noticed was that there was a cable car that went up the slope of the mountain from downtown to the train station. This made sense as it must be murder to climb these slopes daily. My hostel was located behind the train station, up the slope a little way. The hostel was adequately sized, however it was currently being used by a high school class from another part of Switzerland. This fact answered my question of why so many loud and obnoxious teenagers were all over the place. Fortunately, none of them were staying in my mixed room.

I wandered into town to seek out provisions. At the time of my visit, the exchange rate between the US dollar and the Swiss Franc was almost dead even, so I had figured everything would be cheaper than the Eurozone and on par with the US. Boy was I mistaken. For instance, a Value Meal at McDonalds cost 15 Swiss Franc. And this meal is no different than the ones you would get in the US. The fries are not made fresh just for you, the drink is smaller because of the metric system, and the burger is just as smooshed and pathetic. The supermarket was no better, and I ended up paying about the same as I was in Eurozone supermarkets, except I was getting considerably less product. For the duration of my stay in Switzerland, I ate lean.

The town itself was very pleasant. There was a shopping district I wandered through that had designer everything, and the prices were atrocious and made me ill. I found a very nice park lakeside where I went to eat my lunch, picnic-style. In the park there was even a spot for people to play chess with pieces two or three feet tall. I laid back and stared into a baby blue sky, gazing at clouds as they streaked by. It was a lot cooler here than it was in Milan, and this was incredibly relieving to me. There came a light drizzle so I headed back to the hostel.

The next day I was sitting at a park table outside of my room on the ground floor, surfing the web and listening to heavy metal. A group of teenagers walked by, and one of them stopped to talk to me. He asked me “Do you like System of a Down?” I smiled a big grin and invited the lad to have a seat. Allow me to introduce you to Lucas:


Lucas plugged his mobile media player into my laptop and we started to jam. I even copied over a few albums that I did not have. We talked more about heavy metal and hard rock and he explained how he was on a field trip with his class and that they were all 16 or 17. I asked him if he had any cute girls in his class, to which he replied a few, but that they were all stuck-up bitches; I was not surprised that this maxim was not just an American phenomenon. I inquired as to why things in Switzerland were so damn expensive, and he did not understand that they were so. I then asked him about wages, and what someone on minimum wage makes in a year. I was astounded when he told me 70,000 Swiss Franc. 70k is what someone on minimum wage in Switzerland makes. If you lived in Switzerland I don’t see how anyone could live off of it, but if you happened to commute in from the Eurozone, that really ain’t that bad. He told me he wanted to work with computers in the IT department of some bank, and he said the starting salary was 125,000. So I got the impression that in Switzerland one could earn a lot of money and then spend pretty much all of it in order to live. Prices in Switzerland, by the way, are universal. There are no places that are cheaper than others. If you come to visit Switzerland, bring $$$.

I also found it interesting when talking to Lucas. It was funny asking him questions about worldly affairs, as his Swiss neutrality was definitely showing. I couldn’t pin the kid down on a single issue, and then we started talking about guns. Lucas loves guns. I told him I admired Switzerland for being practically the only country to not outright ban them (the only EU country with any type of sensible gun policy is Finland, and the reason for it has to do with their bumpy history with the Russians). He told me that it was good for the Swiss to have guns, except that they are all not loaded. I didn’t understand this and asked him to go into it a little more. He told me that while yes, every Swiss house is required by law to have a gun in it (I think it‘s some kind of sub-machine gun, but I really don‘t know), they are not allowed to have them loaded unless instructed to do so by the government. Essentially, in a national emergency, the military distributes the ammo, and everybody locks and loads. I did find it cool when he told me how every Swiss citizen is required to do a month of training during the course of the year that involves target practice, emergency response drills, etc. It made me think that the Swiss still have a fortress mentality, but I would feel very safe and secure if I were in Switzerland and either a major natural disaster or a war were to suddenly occur. Overall I’d give Switzerland’s gun policy a C+ (the C for actually having the guns, and the plus for training their people on how to responsibly use them.) Ammo control irks me, though. And yet the Swiss haven’t fought a war since Napoleon invaded. Perhaps this has more to do with them being radically neutral than being armed to the teeth. *shrugs*

I got tired of Lugano after a few days and felt it was time to move on. There really wasn’t much to see in the town, and even though I was having oodles of fun hanging out with Lucas and some of his other hard rock enthusiasts, I had to go. Before departing I left Lucas with a few bits of advice, namely to not trust anyone over 30 and to always blast your stereo on 11. He wrote down my email address and said he’d write if he ever gets the chance to come to the US. I told him that would be fine, and that we could even go shooting if he liked. He became very excited by this prospect. In the end, it was really good to have met him, as the loneliness that comes with traveling had been creeping on me.

Milan

It was mid-afternoon in Milan, and the sun was trying its best to break through the clouds. The wall of humidity that hit me as I exited the station was thick and sticky. I immediately had flashbacks of summers of my youth in San Antonio. Being in the desert had afforded me an escape from the humid belly of Texas. Here in Milan, it was soggy walking.

The first site to see was the famous Duomo. This behemoth of a cathedral lies a distance away from the train station, and a bus may have been a better choice. It really is a marvelous thing to see. There were aggressive black vendors in the area, constantly trying to sell these cloth bracelets. I ignored these people the best I could, and eventually I felt safe to say “no” firmly, and walk away. Here are some pics:

And here is a random, giant needle and thread, to signify that Milan is one of the fashion capitals of the world. I believe I've taken a picture next to a similar one in New York City:

I tried walking around the city a little more, but it proved most uncomfortable. I ducked into a market to purchase provisions. The food in Italy was cheap, and plentiful. I even bought a humongous chiabatta bread, as I will show later. I found a really, really small car:


I had thought a side attraction would be Da Vinci’s Museum. This guy was so far ahead of his time in developing inventions of the modern era. Unfortunately, after wandering around to find it for almost an hour, I found that it happened to be closed on Monday. In Italy, they like to take Mondays off of work. In theory, I completely agree with this concept, as Mondays happen to be my most hated day of the week. However, on this particular instance, I was bummed because I wanted to see Da Vinci’s radical shit! I took note of this, and gave Italy a point for hating Mondays as much as I do. Viva Italia!

The train ride out of Milan was smooth going. I ate the said-ciabatta bread seen here:


The ride into Switzerland was beyond belief. I was able to capture some of the beauty in some video here:


After a few twists and turns and out the end of the tunnel we emerged into the station at Lugano.

Genoa

I arrived in Genoa looking like the living dead. The evening spent in the train station the night prior had thrown me for a loop. The first place I sought out was a café, and was glad to find one open as it was just past 8AM. I love European coffee, simply because it is made better than your garden variety sludge served at Starbucks. Feeling refreshed, I set out to find the hostel.

After wandering the waterfront of Genoa for almost an hour, the hostel was found. It was a quaint place; a large apartment had been converted into an overnight hostel, with the renter being the only permanent resident. He was a young guy named Massimo. After the initial paperwork was over he asked me if I liked Obama. Gee, what is it with these Europeans and Barack Obama. I said I didn’t know and asked him if he liked Obama. He said “I like him more than Bush, but I guess this is your problem.” It was a snide remark, but it made me chuckle a little.

The large, 3 bed room was ample. I spent much of the afternoon recuperating from the hellish night before. I slept well into the evening, and did not awake until 8PM or so. I ventured out to find some food. Everything was beginning to close, so I got desperate and ducked into a kebab shop that looked clean.

Upon entering I was immediately offered a shot glass full of warm tea from the two guys working behind the counter. I took it, and suspiciously gave it a taste. I liked how it had a dose of menthe in it, so I took it over to my seat. I ordered my first real kebab since coming to Europe. The kebab is like the burrito back in America, but filled with lamb cuts instead of carne asada. It was delicious. It hit the spot so well I asked for an additional glass of tea. The guys from behind the counter were really friendly so I decided to introduce myself. I told them I was from America and traveling around, they told me they were from Morocco and trying to make it in Europe running their own kebab shop. I told them that was very noble and that I wished them prosperity in their business. They wished me well in my travels. I paid my bill, which did not include the tea. Nice guys.

This experience made me think hard about the many immigrants who come to the US, often looking to restart their lives and make a little money. It made me proud that there was such a place, and I could call it home. But I found that it was also happening here in Europe too, except the large majority of immigrants were coming from N. Africa and the Middle East. I chalked this up to proximity and the pre-established Muslim communities in Europe. I also began to think about how accepted these Moroccans would be in the US. To begin with, as uneducated laborers they probably would not stand a chance with immigration officials. And even if they were given a visa and allowed to enter, they would be entering a country that is going through a throe of Islamaphobia. America is not used to large groups of Muslims migrating in, nor will it ever I imagine now after 9/11. The reason I even take time to consider this is because these guys gave me some of the best service I’ve had since arriving in Europe. I don’t think it was because I wasn’t Italian, who they loathe, and I don’t think it was because I was an American tourist. I think they did it because, at the end of the day, I am a paying customer and they are trying to make money. I do not get the same impression or service from established restaurants where the owners are locals. From them I have so far received a haughty arrogance, sense of entitlement, and terrible service. In these immigrants I was reminded of the hard working folks back home, who would bend over backwards to make a sale. This is something I’ve taken for granted back in the States, and I never will again.

Genoa is the main city of the Italian Riviera, as the other towns are further down the coast. What I immediately fell in love with was the gelato. Italian gelato is deliciously famous, and I enjoyed many a cone of chocolate mint and Nutella peanut butter. It also hosts Europe’s oldest lighthouse and the continent’s largest aquarium. Here is the lighthouse:

The aquarium of Genoa is worth a visit. Filled with hundreds of varieties of sea creatures, from trout and catfish to sharks, eels, crocodiles, dolphins, and even penguins. It was crowded with many onlookers, so it became incredibly stuffy in its twisting corridors, but overall it was an enjoyable and educational experience. Here are some of the more memorable photos and video from the aquarium:






Leaving Genoa turned out to be easier than getting into it. I had to get in a quick visit to Milan before getting up into Switzerland before the day was out. I certainly had my work cut out for me.