I apologize for the recent drought; I've been busy. In an unpleasant turn of events, I had to actually submit class work last week, a pair of essays, and they completely overtaxed my atrophy-afflicted word-muscles. Also, I've had basketball practice, which I'll probably post about in the somewhat near future, and I've been traveling, which I'll post about now:
-Paris was the first European city I've visited outside of England. After overindulging with the team the night before my trip, following a gut-wrenching two-point loss to a team from Oxford (but not the Oxford, I don't think they have a team) I managed to miss my train the next morning. I caught the next one, but only after frantically under-packing and failing to write down directions to the hostel, making for an exciting and thoroughly unintelligible half hour at the Gare-du-Nord train station before I got a hold of my buddy Rob.
Paris gives the impression of being one large palace; the buildings are all made of the same white limestone, situated along these wide avenues, all with the same windows, roofs, with all the floors at the same exact height. The people do walk down the street with their noses aloft, but when I actually spoke with a few Parisians, I found them to be quite nice, and not nearly as disdainful of Americans as one might expect. I mean, I took pains to not be the ugly American, though my every attempt to speak French was met with a mildly exasperated response in English:
"Ou est la toilette?"
"In the back, to the right side."
"...thanks very much."
The food met my astronomical expectations - falafel, croque monsieur, crepes, le vin, le pain et le fromage, all were killer. One ends up not feeling so bad about ordering wine with every meal when it's cheaper than water. Though they drink a lot more beer in France than I would have expected - Kronenbourg is their staple, sort of a sweeter Heineken with a hint of lemon. I ended up smoking nearly a pack of cigarettes while I was there, and I don't even like cigarettes. It's just what you do - the bars and cafes all spill out onto the sidewalks, and everybody is just puffing away constantly. I learned later that one of the bars I went to on my first night there was none other than the one where recently-canned fashion designer John Galliano said these things. I did the other obvious tourist things as well - the Louvre, the Eiffel Tower, the Catacombs, and Versailles, all of which were pretty neat.
-Ireland surpassed my expectations, which, admittedly, were not terrifically high. I've never been so totally enthused about my Irish ancestry the way many people are. I think it's partly because of my hair, and the readiness with which people label me Irish, and partly because Ireland itself has always been, well, sort of a backwater. Historically the Irish have been the Chicago Cubs of geopolitics, trading one oppressor for another for the better part of three millennia. Like the Cubs, nearly all of its successful homegrown talent found success elsewhere - James Joyce, JFK, the Duke of Wellington. Millions of Irish didn't emigrate because it was such a great place to live.
That said, I was really impressed by the modernity of Dublin's airport. The recession hit Ireland particularly hard; as I discussed with the tour guide who was leading our student group, the Irish made the same property-speculation mistake as Americans, but without the luxury of being able to print money to cushion the blow. In the few years before it, however, they had the second-highest GDP per capita in the Euro zone, which is no mean feat.
As our tour bus drove from Dublin to the west coast, I was struck by the beauty of the Irish countryside. Its lush, rolling green hills reminded me of Oregon, if Oregon had been divided into sheep pastures with mossy slate fences for a thousand years. The Cliffs of Moher were pretty neat, as were the various ruined castles and abbeys we saw. I liked Dublin quite a bit too; it's a sharp contrast with London, less dense, hectic and cosmopolitan, but far more welcoming and unpretentious. The Irish people were the same way, warm and eager to chat where Londoners are often distant and reserved. We took a walking tour of the city, which didn't take that long due to its size, and spent the rest of the afternoon at the Guinness brewery. People like to say that Guinness tastes better in Ireland than anywhere else, and while I attribute that judgment to the placebo effect more than any real qualitative difference in flavor, a pint in the brewery's rooftop bar with a panoramic view of the city did taste pretty damn good.
-Amsterdam is so far my favorite European city, and not simply because of the coffeeshops. The coffeeshops are great, don't get me wrong, but there's so much more to Amsterdam than the opportunity to smoke spliffs in a restaurant setting. Their existence is indicative of the overall attitude of the Dutch: tolerant, liberal, and capitalist. Really capitalist: the Dutch invented the asset bubble, after all, and had an impressive array of colonies for such a tiny little swamp of a country.
In many ways Amsterdam is the epitome of what Americans think of when they think of "Europe", a tourist Disneyland equal parts quaint old-world and Ikea-Legoland. The 17th-century city core is surrounded by very modern, creative architecture that's all geometric and curvy in ways that surprise and delight. Trams, canals, and one-way cobblestone streets abound. The bicycle, however, is the dominant mode of transit, and nearly every street has dedicated bike lanes. This is especially dangerous for the intoxicated American tourist, who must avoid four or five unique and unfamiliar hazards at each street crossing. Strangely, nobody wears bike helmets, though I was told that on average only nine cyclists are killed each year.
The beer there is incredible. Ordinarily I find Heineken weak and skunky, but the 'domestic' version is a lot tastier, and has a lot more subtlety in its hop character. The local ales, however, blew it away: rich, spicy, well-balanced and usually about twice as alcoholic as Bud Light. A bustling brewpub near the apartment of my gracious hosts, Megan and Harrison, had daily offerings of different beers brewed on the premises. At one point when ordering a round, I saw a tiny little blonde head toddling behind the bar until he was scooped up by one of the bartenders and carried out of sight. A young girl who could have been his older sister was making rounds of the patio outside, shyly collecting empty glasses.
