Freetouring Part II, or So Many Dikes, So Little Time

In many ways, the Amsterdam tour was a far cry from my guide-led expeditions through Berlin, but this was entirely because, well, who really cares about Dutch history? I mean, compared to World War II, the Cold War, the fall of Communism, and urban culture, stories of wealthy trading merchants or tolerant drug/prostitition policies seem like a rebuilt Bronze Age palace next to the Acropolis. Happily, I was distracted from the rather mundane nature of the information being divulged by two things: the city's beauty and the midwestern congeniality of our guide.
Note that here she's doing a great Val Kilmer impersonation. Anyways, I will say that the stories about Anne Frank and the Dutch reaction to/role in the Nazi occupation was interesting.

The rest of my stay in this fair city was fun but typical: sampling of local foods (not just Dutch, but Surinamese, mmmm), going to the Rijksmuseum (Dutch masters), checking out markets, listening to the audible miracle that is the Dutch language...

But, if you ever go to Amsterdam, one thing you HAVE to do is rent a bike. I've never seen a place where not only pedestrians but CARS defer to bicycles. They're everywhere, have their own roads, lights, etc., and make the city uniquely (and cleanly) hectic. Plus, it may the only time you'll get to ride a foot-brake bike as an adult. Ok, so I know, this has been a strangely informative and--well I'll just come out and say it--normal entry; I apologize and won't do it again. But for now, I'll leave you with some pictures. The rest are on Picasa.


One of the most disturbing things about Holland. They have a tradition where Sinta Claus comes from Spain with his "helpers," who paint their skin black and lug all his crapola around. When I demanded from a Dutchman an explanation, he said that the blackness was from the chimney soot. Be that as it may, I still want to numbchuck the entire country.












Nothing special about the picture to the left, just a good example of nice, carless streets with pretty buildings and a cluster of bikes.

Freetouring Part I

Berlin and Amsterdam were among the first cities I've been to where I didn't have someone to show me around, so I did something pretty drastic. I ignored the sympoms of TIS (tourist identity syndrome) and took a series of *gasp* tours. But I still feel like I stuck to some semblance of my principles, because the guides worked on a tip-only basis. Ostensibly, this means if they do a good job, you reward them. What it really means is that if you're a cute girl and/or have a sweet accent, you make more money.

Almost every tour turned out better than I expected, but the Berlin ones were especially insightful into what the city means on a level beyond the first glimpse of the "temporary immigrant." Some of the highlights:
-Hitler's bunker: the Germans commemorate the place where the Führer died by having their dogs crap and pee on an otherwise unmarked spot of land.
-Scottish accent: That's right.
-The Brandenburg Tor....made out of chocolate.
-Stories: One involved a tragic love tale impeded by the Wall. The guy, in West Berlin, decides to find a girl in his part of the city that looks exactly like his true lover, stuck in East Berlin. He dates this second girl for a while, then convinces her to take an outing to East Berlin. After wining and dining she takes a nap. He sneaks away with her documents, finds his true lover, and using the West German girl's documents they run off to happiness in West Berlin. Unfortunately, they both end up in jail for seven (I think) years because the West Berlin girl's father was a powerful politician. I wasn't sure where my sympathy was supposed to lie in all this, so I just thought about the chocolate shop again...
Also noteworthy was how the Wall fell: basically the DDR's press secretary missed the meeting before the press conference and had to read from his colleague's notes. Reminds me of my old high school English class days.

I took a second tour called Alternative Berlin, which was as cool as it sounds. Basically we looked at alot of the city's graffiti (and learned about specific artists), squatter settlements, and other random stuff. Unfortunately my camera's batteries died so I couldn't take pictures, but my visually evocative prose should do the trick. Highlights:
-We passed a club with a sign that said No Dress Code and were promptly informed that this meant, not a tolerant policy, but in fact that you weren't allowed to wear more than underwear. Considering the lack of sun in Berlin, I hope they at least allow sunglasses. Next door was an "illegal" club in an abandoned factory.
-My favorite graffiti artist was identified by his cartoon-esque Lucy character, who is always depicted killing her cat. Two winners were one where she is putting the cat in a toaster (legs as "slices") and another where the cat is saying, as it is pulverized, "It almost doesn't hurt anymore." This is alot funnier when it's in German and has taken you a couple seconds to decipher, so START LAUGHING!


-Finally, another story. We visited an actually legal squatter settlement. The residents had won this status thusly: every owner of the land had been unable to develop it because the squatters would riot and burn cars when any workers came to build. So the latest owners decided to hire a crime boss from Kosovo(!) to get rid of the squatters. So he set about making them an offer they couldn't refuse, but the ensuing sketchy/violent means of persuasion caught the police's eye, who started uncovering this guy's war crimes in Kosovo. So he got scared and sold the land (which is worth millions of euros) for 30,000 for 30 years and took off. So now the squatters own the land, sort of, and there's apparently nothing the real owners can do about it. And no cars were harmed in the making of this story.

On a Plane

I've lost my kephi
What to do?
Don't even want to talk to you,
When normally it's bittersweet
To taste foreign linguistic treat;
But now without
I little care
That feelings good or bad aren't there.
Then faced with such dishonesty
I make amends with my kephi.

Proud happenstance alights me o'er the world.
Distraction quarrels with my private isle.
The waves of chatter buffet solitude,
Now pondering the deeds I must enact:
An ancient store of lithine-scratched decrees
Is pushed aside by new Hellenic speak;
The hand-in-hand gemine discovery
Of self and city seen sans precedent
That demands quick renew'l of former tongue,
A Thursday night fatigue sternly impedes.
Which now makes promise also this event
To Overshadow ere my ink is spent.

Hero Today, Gone Tomorrow

This past Sunday, I participated in the Athens Marathon, in case you didn't get the memo.
Usually, I don't like to toot my own horn, but I was so inspired by the story of Pheidippides yelling "Nike" and dying (before he could reap the harvest of his multi-billion-dollar corporate descendant), that I painted this vase of my fellow competitors. Tracey was so touched by the intricate depiction, not to mention the bold colors, that she declared me hero for the day, and Toby made me Korean food (finally!) Then they both made fun of my marathon chafage, or rather the slow waddle-walk it induced, the rest of the day.

But all that has little to do with the title of this post. Although I was Tracey's Sunday-hero, she herself continues to perform feats of strength that put Mr. Costanza's Festivus rites to dire shame. I've already mentioned her display of indomitable will to include us among the elite of the friends of Democracy. Even more impressive, however, is her (no longer, as of this momen) secret superpower: getting robbed without losing anything. This magical skill was first unleashed several weeks ago, when a group of Bulgarians surrounded her and took her wallet. Ignoring the empirically-founded uselessness of the Greek police force, she went to the station and, lo and behold! they had her wallet. The only thing missing was the turmeric she had just purchased. Apparently her talent does not include exotic spices.
Big deal, you say? One time could be a coincidence? Well not but the day before yesterday, I tell you, the same Tracey had unwillingly donated her bike to a cracked-out native. By the time she had managed to report the incident to the authorities, the addict had already sold the bike to an unfortunate Bangladeshi. Unfortunate, because when the cops saw him, they rode him down and pummeled him and wanted to arrest him even after Tracey told them he wasn't "their man." (This was so that they could justify having pummeled him).
If you're STILL not convinced, I just stole a kleenex from her apartment. I'll let you know if she gets it back or not.

The second part of my title refers to the tragic departure of our dear friend Toby. Ostensibly, she has to move to Thessaloniki because she's studying the film festival there, but we all know that she is afraid of commitment and runs away anytime she finds a good thing for fear of messing it up. But her departure is a big problem because now we don't have a minority to laugh at our racist jokes to make them ok. What to do...

Now for the really bad news: I'm off to Berlin and Amsterdam for a week, so that means a good ten days or more without a post. I know, this will be rough, but try shaving with a rusty butter knife and lemonade aftershave sometime.

Ass Gratitude

The events of Tuesday evening have led me to celebrate a proto-Thanksgiving several weeks ahead of the real deal. To that end, witness the following "panegyric" to my favorite political party.

Thanks, fair Democrats, for hosting a wonderful all-night election party. You really embodied the spirit of egalitarianism and freedom by holding it in the Hilton, charging 35 Euros, and refusing to let
everyone come. Thanks also for letting the Hilton charge 15 euros a drink after our complimentary glass of wine.



Tracey with her "nemesis," who initially wouldn't let us into the party. Tracey, never deterred, texted her that it was undemocratic to not let us in, and signed her text with her credentials. The lady responded by pointing out the complexity of putting together such an event, signing it with HER credentials, including 6th grade spelling bee champion. Eventually the whole thing was cleared up and we were allowed among the rest of the horde. Actually, the lady turned out to be really nice.

Thanks, Jim Beam handle, for sneaking into the Hilton with us, thus providing with the necessary fluids to stay up all night to hear the results of the election.

Thanks, broad-minded Democrats, for playing a slide show during the national anthem, consisting of ONLY MALE celebrities. Besides the sexism, I almost regretted my vote when the images of Ben Affleck and Matt Damon flashed before my nausea-bulging eyes. And for the record, Matt Damon was eaten by a giant house cat in Team America, and I beat up Jason Bourne yesterday.

Thanks, humble Democrats, for hooting and hollering in ecstatic joy when CNN showed a demographic that twice as many post-graduates voted for Obama as McCain. This clearly means Democrats are smarter, and has nothing to do with the ideology pumped into the classrooms of higher education. My lungs are still hurting from the smug.

Thank you, Democratic platform, for turning my friend Tracey and her biting critiques/candid awareness into an idealist. Also, you put Toby to sleep, but I am told that is how Koreans show their support.


Thank you, oh so much, South Park, for your brilliant episode on the election. Please everyone watch it, preferably for free.

Finally, thank you, cyncial worldview, for helping me to feel superior to everyone else while at the same time freeing me from any sense of obligation to suggest something better. I sure showed them!

In other news, my washing machine exploded today. Although this meant dirty water all over my floor, it also meant I was forced to mop my apartment. And yes, I used soap the second time around. Hurrah!

Doubleween

Today on my morning run, I had an epiphany that really helped put Greeks in perspective for me. You see, there are these two aspects about their behavior that I found irreconcilable until now. On the one hand, Greeks don't have our Anglo-Nordic personal space issues, which makes for a lot less UNcomfortable elevator and subway rides (although I still can't get used to the shouting and close-talking). At the same time, whenever there is plenty of space, they take up as much room as possible, so that, for instance, one has the greatest of difficulties passing someone on the sidewalk, because heavan forbid they walk in a straight line or not swing their arms/shopping bags/hair nets.

And that's when it hit me: Greeks (and their Mediterranean brothers) are like gas particles in the ethno-atomic universe. They can fit into any size container, no matter how small, but when you give them more space, they take it all up and bounce all over the place! Contrast that with Germans, clearly solids, who will always organize themselves in a crystalline-structure. I guess everyone in between is liquid? As for plasma, although I've never been to India, I hear it's pritty crazy dah. Anyways, that was for all you physisisicists out there.

Hey, remember when I used to write poems and songs on my blog? That was awesome!

Halloween is, the Festival of Frights!
And when it's on a Friday we have two drunken Nights!

--Ok, stop, stop! Sorry, I can't do this. Adam Sandler used to be funny but now he's just a creep. Let's see....I've done lyrics, iambic pentameter, Bohemian Rhapsody...I feel like someone trying to buy a Halloween costume in Greece! There are like 3 options and they're all taken!

I know! I'll play word association game...with myself!!! Here's how it works: I'll say a word, and then whichever picture from Halloween comes to mind, that's what I'll show. Ok, ready?





Glorious













Acculturation















Clockworkorangerific!













Hummusguacamoltastic!












So that was the first night, and for the second night...I failed to take any pictures because I was having so much fun. I know, that sounds like one of my patented-sarcastic remarks, but the American School party was actually a dance orgy masked as an archaeological ball (fitting, I know). And unsurprisingly, when there are moves to be busted, my camera takes a back seat. But everyone else took tons of pictures, so if they post them maybe I'll put a link up. And finally, the highlight of the night:

Seeing my costume, this dumb Brit (redundant) came up and asked if I was a mime. He then outdid his inanity by admitting that if I were (which i most certainly was not!), he was going to ask me to "mimic the color yellow." Clever. And original. Anyways, the highlight was not that, but in fact when said Brit passed out in the middle of the floor later. The end.