Travels

This is likely to be a long, rambling blog post. So be warned. Other things to remember while reading are, but are not limited to, the facts that I’ve forgotten how to speak, read and write English and that I’ll probably become more and more tired of writing as this progresses. That means that quality and coherency is likely to reach pitiful levels towards the end of these recollections. Good luck.

I embarked on my journey one week ago on a train from Paris to Avignon. I arrived in Avignon unscathed and went in search of a hostel/cheap hotel. First stop was the Office of Tourism from which I was directed to the one hostel in Avignon. I had to cross a bridge (not the Pont d’Avignon, we’ll get to that) and the weather was beautiful so I walked slowly taking in the view, which was incredible—filled with medieval palaces and bridges and whatnot. I got to my hostel, which was quite sketchy but exceptionally cheap. I threw my stuff into my empty dorm room and set off for the Palais des Papes (palace of the popes). The palace looks pretty remarkable from the outside but the inside is far less so. I took some time exploring and then read outside enjoying the sunset, again a truly beautiful view. Rather tired from the day’s journey, I bought a small dinner and went to sleep on the early side.
The next morning, before heading to Nimes, I had to check out the famous “Pont d’Avignon.” There’s a pretty famous French children’s song called “Pont d’Avignon” so I felt obliged to check it out. The bridge is pretty funny. It’s a bridge that leads out about halfway across the river and then just stops. It does nothing. Presumably, at some point the bridge went somewhere. Maybe construction stopped as a result of strike. Or a vacation. Or a 3 hour lunch break. It’s always hard to tell, here in France.

When my train stopped at Nimes, I stood dumbly waiting for the doors to open when the train started to leave, continuing on its course. As it turns out, in France, one needs to actually open the doors. You’d think they’d have machines for that but then again I think that technology comes right after air conditioning which is tough to find in Europe, so who knows. Anyway, I got off the train at the next stop and wasted some time before getting on the train going back towards Nimes.
I made a friend with a French guy, and while this detail seems insignificant now, remember, because he comes back, later in our story. Anyway, he looked sort of sketchy and he started the conversation by asking for a lighter, but one must remember that everyone here smokes and looks at least somewhat sketchy. He turned out to be quite nice.
I opened the door this time and stepped out to find myself in Rome—I mean Nimes. Nimes is basically Rome, only way smaller, less famous and French. There’s a coliseum-ish thing, some ruins, etc. They’re all extremely old, so you know what they’re like. I crashed in a pretty “posh” hotel (I’ve been hanging out with way too many Brits I think) and enjoyed a bed that didn’t give me pink eye. (I woke up in Avignon with a cold and an infected eye—all is fine, now). I also bought Mere Anarchy by Woody Allen, which is ridiculous and very entertaining. Oh! And I finally read this book by Harlen Coben (sp?). Coben is an American author who is extremely famous in France but not well known in the states. French people are beyond mortified when I say that I’ve never heard of him. The book was an exciting police-ish novel… kind of like Da Vinci Code.

Carcassone was next on my itinerary, and, while waiting for my train, who did I run into? The French guy from before! I wasn’t sure it was him, but he sat down right next to me and started talking as if we were best buds and I recognized him instantly based on his friendliness. His big question for me was how to say scrotum in English, which I informed him was the same as it was in French. I didn’t ask why he wanted to know.
Carcassone is this ancient, fortified town that is, like Avignon, truly stunning. I arrived just as the sun was starting to set and took a couple of minutes to admire the view from Quai Bellevue—Dock Beautiful View, literally, and not a misnomer at all.
They’re weren’t a lot of English speakers at the hostel (mostly Spanish speakers) but I met up with a pair of traveling Aussies and we bonded over the fact that we understood each other. Unfortunately there’s basically no night life in Carcassone so we played cards and wandered around the ancient city which was awesome during the nighttime. I felt like a knight, which is every boy’s dream.
Woke up in Carcassone, did some tourist stuff which was pretty exciting and then set off for my painfully long and complicated trip to Barcelona. It consisted of two changes and many hours and my ipod batteries were dead and I had finished my book. I, uhh… reflected? Not that exciting, but I finally arrived in Barcelona.
Barcelona is insane. I arrived around dinner time and found myself swiped up into ferocious pre-gaming (drinking before going out for you old people, sorry). I was hanging out with a Swede who had just sold everything he owned, moved out of his apartment, left his girlfriend and dog and started traveling and an American 19 year old who’s taking a year off. Needless to say there was lots of interesting and inspirational conversation about traveling, life, and the meaning of all of it. No conclusions, unfortunately. I’m not going to go into details about the night because I think it might scare the bulk of my readership, but I woke up the next morning, mostly alive, having learned my lesson that the “Shots Bar” is not one to be taken lightly.
The day after my big night was a rather slow day, but I did some exploring, wandering around Barcelona and getting my bearings. I also finally bought a new book, Roald Dahl’s “Tales of the Unexpected” which so far has been really good.
That night, still feeling sensitive from the night before, I took things pretty easy. But I ended up meeting these two kids from Alaska, one of whom had just gotten back from his third tour in Iraq. It was very, very strange at first, because he was basically my age (a couple of years older) but he had actually served. It struck me that the soldiers in Iraq are my age. This, I obviously knew, but it really hit home. Naturally, I was really curious, but didn’t know how to approach asking him questions. I think he could tell that I was curious and kind of sugar coating my questions, so he told me that I could ask whatever I wanted, and I asked every question I could think of. Really, really interesting responses, and not at all what I had expected.
He told me that things had improved a ton since his fist tour in 2004. He said that Boot Camp wasn’t as bad as people think, because you’re just following simple orders. You just do whatever they tell you. However, in his last tour, he was sergeant and said it was way tougher. The decisions you make carry such an enormous weight. I naturally asked if he had killed people and how that made him feel, etc. He said that he thought he had, and that the thing is, is that for him, it’s a job. He said he had been trained really well to do something, and he was just doing it. He also said he missed his home, family and friends a lot more while traveling in Europe than in Iraq, which I found quite interesting. He talked a lot about the bond between him and his “boys.” And he said that he and some of his boys had saved other people’s lives and that forms an amazing bond, unsurprisingly. I was really impressed by his ability to share frankly, and I think I learned a lot. He’s starting now at Indiana U. If I think I’m entering college with a different, interesting experience, imagine that! It’s like the Feb program on steroids!
By taking it easy, I mean that I didn’t drink, but we all went out to a club. Barcelona is very much a clubbing city and people don’t even go out until 3 am. It’s honestly ridiculous. We were on an earlier schedule, naturally, but the city is insane, honestly.
The next morning I woke up, feeling relatively well rested, all things considered, and set out on an hour or so walk to the Sagrada Famillia (sp?)—Gaudi’s incredible church. It’s amazing. I can’t even describe, but look at pictures online, I think they’ll do it some justice and give you an idea. It’s really interesting looking and quite modern, so a nice change from all the other churches I’ve seen in Europe which all start to look pretty similar.
A whole lot more walking until I arrived at Parque Guell (sp, again), which is another demonstration of Gaudi’s artistic genius. Also, very cool, and interesting. Very photogenic, too, so feel free to check it out. Maybe I’ll try to post some links to good pictures (or I’ll put up my pictures if they’re actually any good, which I’m not sure of).
Oh, and I went to the Picasso Museum, too which was great, obviously.
That night I hung out with a pair of French girls from Toulose, speaking French, which was fun. There was this older woman in the hostel who was Belgian and who spoke French, so we invited her to come out with us and were shocked when she abided. She followed us for about an hour before realizing that she so didn’t belong (I thought), and went home. It turns out she hadn’t gone home, because when we got back a couple of hours later, she was still out. Party animal, damn. Anyway, the French girls were interested in going to the Shots Bar, so I showed them where it was, warning them of its dangers. Needless to say I had learned my lesson and was quite careful. But I think I do need to describe this bar. The walls are entirely covered with names of different shots, almost none of which you’ve ever heard of. People basically pick a random one, or one they’ve heard of from a friend and just go for it, trusting the bartenders entirely. You can sit back and watch and you’ll see them serving shots with every type of alcohol, grenadine sauce, sugar, Tabasco sauce, oranges, and basically anything else you can think of. Shots are constantly being lit on fire and stuff, so it’s really quite a scene.
The next day led me to the port and the beach. While no one was there (it was winter), it was a really nice day and quite pleasant, it was also extremely windy… I was actually concerned that the wind would knock me over. My next was the Park of the City (translated, I forget what exactly it was in Spanish, Parque Citadelle or something). On the way, I passed by a train station and in passing, heard a massive noise that seemed to consist of glass shattering and an enormous blunt object smashing down. This was followed by people running, somewhat frantically, out of the station. My gut instinct led me to believe that I had just witnessed a terrorist attack and I panicked momentarily.
Upon realizing I had not, in fact, witnessed a real terrorist attack, I crept curiously into the station to find that a (approximately) 30 foot by 20 foot, truly enormous window had fallen out of its frame as a result of the ferocious winds. The wind must have weighed a ton because it had what looked to me like iron framework that incased all of the glass. It’s the kind of thing that kills someone easily if it lands on you.
Walking through the Park I ultimately arrived at was less than enjoyable because the winds were causing painful and frustrating sand storms. I really struggled to see the park.
Not too much else of interest… fellow traveler’s stories of being mugged and stuff in Barcelona by armies of prostitutes, but nothing else super interesting. All in all, a really good trip. I saw tons of interesting things and met tons of interesting people. Sorry if this one was a little boring, it’s probably more for me to remember than for you to live vicariously.