It was 20 years ago today

Mon Jul 13, 2009 14:15 EST (UTC -5)

I am now in my twenties. Happy birthday to me. Woo!

My last post was three days late. I couldn't get the photos off my camera (it's old and the parts are getting loose), and once the camera magically fixed itself, I couldn't upload the photos because my web host was in crisis mode (someone figured out how to change their account balance without making a payment). For this post, I can't seem to access FTP or SFTP. It's probably the local network. So, no pictures. Boo. [Edit Mon Jul 20, 2009 07:33 UTC -5: Several pictures added. Yay!]

On Wednesday morning, I arrived in Vienna very tired, so I didn't really do anything all day. Andy cooked, and that was about it.

We spent most of Thursday the same way. We were enjoying the apartment, which belonged to a distant relative of Andy's. He wasn't much older than us, and he was a grad student with a girlfriend, so he wasn't around a lot of the time. But he was there on Thursday evening, so he wanted to show us around the city a bit before we had to leave the next day.

We went to the old part of the city, which is surrounded by a circle of wide boulevards collectively known as the Ring. I remember from my history class that the city walls used to be there. We walked around a bit. The main sight to see in the center of the city is Stephansdom, or St. Stephen's Cathedral.

After that, we went to a sort of international festival that was going on in front of city hall. They were screening films of orchestra concerts and there were tons of pavilions serving up food from around the world. Since Andy's relative is British by birth, he was interested in the Indian food, and so were we. We also got some beer. The food was good. Even the beer was pretty good. After that, we we were tired and went home.

On Friday, we set out for the second annual Summer Esperanto Study in Modra-Harmonia, Slovakia. We first had to take a train from Vienna to Bratislava, and I was getting nervous because we were running behind. At the station in Vienna, Andy saw an Esperantist he knew; he was going to SES as well. I felt much better after that. His name was Alex (Aleks in Esperanto) and he was from France but living in Belgium.

Once in Bratislava, we had to take a couple of buses, the route numbers of which I was fortunate enough to write down. They took us to a bus station, where we would set out for Modra-Harmonia. Eventually, we were on our way. It wasn't a long way away, but there were a lot of stops, so it took a little over an hour.

We arrived only five minutes after the (official) end of registration. We took a quiz so they could determine our level of Esperanto expertise, and then it was time for dinner. The food was actually somewhat good. After that were cheesy ice-breakers. Andy and I also checked out the dorm room we were staying in. It was actually better than a lot of the places we had stayed before. We even had our own bathroom... with a toilet and a shower!

Andy was afraid that there wouldn't be a lot of people our age there, but young people seem to be the majority. There are also middle-aged people, old people, and a few little kids. They generally seem to be from various European countries, but there are a few from the Americas, including a couple of Canadians, a girl from Costa Rica, and one other (USA) American. I would estimate that there are about 100 participants here.

Saturday was the first full day. In the morning were the classes. Based on my quiz results, I had been sorted into the fourth and most advanced group. Andy was in the group too. Unlike the other groups, we didn't talk too much about grammar; instead we talked about news from the Espreranto press and traditions from various countries. There was a lot of group work and discussion. There were also lots of laughs.

For the afternoon, there was an excursion to the city of Modra-Harmonia. A local guy showed us around, with one of the organizers translating from Slovak to Esperanto. There wasn't much to see besides the remains of the old city wall. The church was interesting because its clock tower had a star and crescent on top. The locals apparently added it long ago to make the invading Turks think that they had already conquered the town so they would move on. Apparently it worked.

After that, we went to an ice cream shop for cheap but delicious ice cream. It needs no occasion.

That evening, a local music group performed Slovak folk songs, some in Slovak, some in Esperanto. After that was a wine tasting, so of course, I had to taste some of the local wines they offered. As you might imagine, there was a lot of merriment after that. The folk group came out and performed Italian, American, and other kinds of traditional songs. This only increased the merrymaking.

I chatted with a Russian girl I had met earlier that day. Her name was Katja. We talked and talked. Even after the band left and the wine was all gone, we talked. We talked until we were a couple of the last people in the room. She seemed to take a liking to me. As we walked back to the dorms, we discovered that our rooms were next to each other.

On Sunday, there were classes in the morning as well, except Andy wasn't there because he slept in. In the afternoon was an excursion to a castle called Red Stone or somesuch thing. Katja and I sat with each other on the bus. The castle itself was sort of interesting; we had a tour guide (and translator) who took us through the rooms, which were decked out in various styles. It wasn't the fanciest castle I had ever been in, but it was probably very good in its temporal and spacial context.

Unlike the Alamo, this castle had a basement, and it was the coolest part... literally!! It was also pretty spacious. You could have had a banquet down there.

The second part of the excursion was to go back into town and see some pottery being made. That was kind of interesting, but it was more interesting after that to go back to the ice cream shop, which Katja and I did. We continued to hang out even after that; we took a walk to a nearby restaurant. She had tea; I got a Coke.

In the evening was a concert by Georgo Handzlik, a Esperanto singer whose songs were sometimes funny, sometimes serious. After that, it was late, but I helped Katja with her massive amounts of homework (she's in a different group), explaining (among other things) every preposition in the language. I think it helped me a little with my own Esperanto, but I also think that she just wanted to see me try to explain every preposition in the language. She's actually a rather competent speaker.

While she and her roommate (the Costa Rican girl) were asking for help, the clock figuratively struck midnight. I was 20. Interestingly, my twin sister at home in the US would still be a teenager for another six hours. I thought that was interesting.

I woke up on my birthday morning for another Esperanto-filled day. Due to scheduling conflicts, our classes and meals were now in the same building as the dorm rooms. At breakfast, Katja gave me a postcard with a very special birthday message written on it. Andy slept in again, but I attended the class.

Since then I've just been hanging out; there's no excursion today. I've mostly spent my time with Katja (we took a long walk outside and had some Czech soda at the same restaurant), but for some reason she didn't want to sit around for over an hour as I wrote this. I'd better make it quick.

Happy birthday to me!

The old country

Sat Jul 11, 2009 07:02 EST (UTC -5)

Why? Why split up with my friend to spend the better part of a day going out of the way to an obscure, formerly communist country that's shaped like a chicken wing and has a goat on its flag?

Curiosity, mainly. I have a funny name, and I always wondered exactly where it came from. I've met a lot of relatives on my mom's side of the family but not as many on my dad's. There was some mystery there. I knew that my great-grandfather came from a certain city in Yugoslavia - no, make that Croatia. But that's all I knew.

Last year I did some research and found copies of the immigration records for my great-grandfather and his siblings. They passed through Ellis Island separately about 100 years ago. It seems that they came not from the city of Split but from Pucisca, across the channel on the island of Brac. But why? And who were they?

I doubted I would find out exactly, but I wanted to at least see the place and get a sense of what my ancestors left when they went to America. And, with any luck, I'd get to meet some of the cousins, the descendants of those in the Kalilich family - or, if I may briefly abandon my convention of dropping all diacritical marks, the Kalilić family - who stayed behind in the old country.

On Friday evening, after wandering a bit more in Venice, I came across a restaurant that had a pretty cheap menu and no cover or service charges. Having spent a week in Italy, I was able to get through the meal, from "One?" to the tip, using only the basic Italian phrases that Andy had taught me.

After that, I made my way to the train station to catch my train to Zagreb. It was actually an overnight train to Budapest, but it would apparently be making a fair number of stops, including Zagreb at 4:18 in the morning. I came prepared with some sleeping pills I had just bought, but my car had those booth things rather than rows of seats.

At first, I had the booth thing to myself, but at one of the early stops, and old woman and two girls who looked like sisters got on. The old woman spoke to me in Italian, apparently asking me to help her put her suitcase in the overhead compartment. I obliged. The sisters were talking to each other in some language I didn't recognize.

A little while later, I got up to go to the WC (as they say), but at the same time, two more girls came to take the remaining seats in the booth, and I decided I could wait. The brunette sat next to me, the blonde across from me. They spoke to each other in another language I didn't recognize, although it sounded vaguely like English at times. As the snack cart went by, the blonde asked for something in English.

After a few stops, the old lady was getting off the train and again asked me (apparently) to help her with her suitcase, which was above the blonde's seat. As you can probably guess would happen, I lost my hold of the suitcase and almost fell on her. I said I was sorry and felt pretty awkward after that.

The brunette started reading a book in Dutch, so I had a good guess as to where they were from. Later, they started talking to me. They were going to play a Dutch card game and asked me if I wanted to play. The game turned out to be crazy eights in one of its many guises. I had to get used to their deck of cards, which had different face cards, and the "teasing cards."

As we played, we talked about some cultural differences between our countries, such as the school systems and the drinking ages. Europeans who don't know what the drinking age in America is are always surprised to hear it, and these girls were no exception. They were also very surprised that I had almost four months off from school.

They talked a bit about themselves and the town where they were from. They were traveling for two weeks, and Venice had been their first stop. They had tickets for Zagreb but had changed their minds and wanted to go all the way to Budapest. They looked about the same age - I guessed 21 - but the brunette was 23, and the blonde was 19. I was right on average.

It was late, and the other sisters were trying to sleep in spite of our conversation, but they eventually gave up. It turned out that they spoke English as well. They were from Quebec. One of them had been studying in France, and the other was visiting her. They were stopping in Zagreb to take a bus to Split. We all got to talking with each other, but eventually, things quieted down.

The train made several long stops. Uniformed men and women with little patience asked to see our passports. We were going through Slovenia. Later, in the wee hours, it happened again; we had entered Croatia. During much of the time in between, my eyes were closed. I might have slept for about an hour. I was cognizant of the fact that it was Saturday, the Fourth of July.

Finally, the train stopped in Zagreb. I had some time at the station, so I sat on a bench inside. I had started reading a book on my computer when a man sat next to me and struck up a conversation. His accent was somewhat strong but understandable. He asked where I was from, and I told him. I thought he would ask me for money.

"America is good," he said. He said his name was Noble, or something pronounced like that. He said that he was Albanian, that his father had been executed by communists, that he couldn't get a passport, that he had fought in Iraq. He mused a little on the horrors of war and said he had almost been deported from Croatia several times. He suggested that Michael Jackson might have been killed by Russian spies. He said he was 33 years old.

He saw that I had a laptop and produced a flash drive. He asked me to delete some files on it. I was afraid that the flash drive had a virus or something on it, but he showed me which files to delete, and that was that. Then he asked if I had time for some coffee at the station's cafe, which had just opened at 5:00. I didn't have anything better to do, so I went with him.

He got a coffee. I got a coffee with milk and sugar. I drank as little of it as possible because I wanted to sleep on the next train. Between staring at some of the TVs on the walls, I talked a bit about why I was there in Croatia. I offered to pay for the coffee, but he refused to take any money. In our conversation, he would repeat things. "My name is Noble," he said again. "America is good," he said again.

He asked to see my passport. I thought he was going to copy down my passport number, so I just showed him some of the pages, with my hand happening to cover the important stuff. But he asked to see it himself. I handed it over. An American passport was a great thing to have, he said. He took a look at the cover and kissed it. Then he gave it back to me.

"What's my name?" he asked after saying something. He wanted to make sure I remembered. He said he had to get to his train and told me not to forget about him. He said I should stay in the cafe rather than sitting on the benches outside it. Why? Because it was nicer there. He left.

I went back to the bench after that and continued reading my book. The sun had come up. I took the train to Split a little while later.

The trains in Croatia aren't exactly fast. Taking the bus from Zagreb to Split is supposed to be a little faster. But I had this Eurail ticket, so the ride was mostly paid for. The train traveled through the mountainous Croatian countryside for hours and hours. I took a few sleeping pills but then decided not to sleep. I had written down some basic Croatian phrases, so I went over those. Finally, beyond the mountains, a city on the sea came into view. It was Split.

When my great-grandfather left the Croatian coast for Cleveland, Ohio, it wasn't for the weather. It was sunny and warm when I arrived. As soon as the train stopped, people holding signs saying "Rooms" or "Apartments" in different languages crowded around the door. Lots of people kept asking me if I needed accommodations in Split. Even outside the station, people on the sidewalk approached me and asked if I needed a room, a hostel, an apartment, or other accommodations in Split.

Since I hadn't been able to get in touch with my distant cousins, I felt very fortunate that there was a Pasporta Servo host around here. His name was Ivica, and he told me about the ferry between Split and the island of Brac. There are actually lots of ferries, so I had to make sure I was getting on the right one.

I rode the ferry to Brac, which cost about $6 and took 45 minutes. It's really not that far, but you're on a big, slow boat with cars in it.

The ferry arrived in the town of Supetar, on Brac. From there, he said, I could take a bus, find a taxi, or hitchhike. Taking the bus seemed to be the only sensible option. Since Brac is a rather large island with some small towns on it, the bus service is run by some private company with charter buses. It's about $4 or $5 per ticket.

I got off at Gornji Humac, which didn't seem to be quite a happening place. Even the driver didn't expect me to get off there. "Gornji Humac?" he asked me. After getting off the bus, I could see what he meant. It looked like a small village. It was the mid-afternoon by then, and no one was around. All I had was the name of the town and the house number, but I quickly saw that the houses weren't numbered, nor were the streets named.

After trying to talk to an old woman, I realized that the number I had was the postal code for the town. I found a small bar/restaurant that was technically open. The woman there spoke English, and I asked to use the phone because I had Ivica's number. She knew him and gave him a call for me. I ordered a Coke as a token of gratitude. Ivica arrived a few minutes later, and he took me to his house.

His house looked old like the others, but it looked pretty modern inside. I hadn't eaten all day, so he heated up some soup that was just chilling there. It was good. He also put out some cherries, and I ate a few. To drink, he offered me something I had never heard of before: homemade cherry juice. It was delicious.

After I told Ivica why I was visiting, he mentioned that he too was from Pucisca. He called one of his relatives to ask if she knew about any Kalilićes. She did, so he got their phone numbers. He called them and asked when we could meet them. He also told me that I had a relative in Gornji Humac.

Later, he took me along while he ran some errands. First, we went to a house nearby. It was his family's house, and he took some vegetables from the garden. Inside a small building were some barrels. He took some wine from one of them. Next, he went to a convenience store to get a few things. As he drove, he woud honk or wave at everyone. Everyone knew everyone else there.

After that, we drove out of town onto a dirt road that twisted and turned. He parked the car and we got out. I could see Gornji Humac in the distance. I followed him through various fields with stone walls around them. He was looking for his sheep. Finally, we saw the flock. I had never seen so many sheep, so it was interesting. They all say "Baaa," but each one has a different voice. The little ones go "Baaa!" all small-like.

He wanted to lead them to a different section of his land, and they followed. He gave me some corn to feed some of them. The rest concentrated on the grass. As the sheep grazed, he showed me the lavender bushes that were growing all around. He took two sprigs of lavender and put one behind his ear. He gave me the other, and I did the same.

I asked him how many sheep he had. He said that a shepherd never tells. In any case, he said, he didn't know the exact number, but he could tell that they were all there. He also told me a bit about the history of Brac. Apparently there was once a lot of wine produced there, but a disease killed the native grapes a hundred years ago, prompting a lot of people to leave the island. He said that was probably why my ancestors went to America.

Once he had the sheep where he wanted them, he showed me a tiny church, more like a chapel, near his land. It was dedicated to St. Michael and built in the 10th or 11th or 12th century (two consecutive ones of those, I don't remember).

He said it was still used every year during the island's Good Friday solemnities. The door was locked, but I could sort of peek inside.

There were a lot of rocks on a nearby mountain. He said that they were the ruins of a Bronze Age settlement. In fact, he said, there were some Bronze Age graves near us that had been recently been excavated. One looked like a pile of rocks with a small section dug out of it. He also took me to see a stone hut built used by shepherds for shelter as well as two pools built by some ancient civilization; one for people, the other for animals.

It was getting dark. We went home, and he made dinner: fried potatoes, bread, and salad. He said he rarely cooked and didn't have much food, but I thought the food he had was good. After dinner, it was late, so I got online only briefly to check my e-mail. Besides the usual Facebook notifications, there was my Esperanto word of the day: nobla, noble.

I slept in on Sunday. Ivica was apparently accustomed to sleeping very little, so he had already gone out and done some things. I think it was about 10:30 or 11 when I got out of bed, so I decided to wait till lunchtime to eat anything. Ivica made a delicious soup that I couldn't stop eating. It had large chunks of ham or something in it which you'd cut up before eating.

Apparently, my relatives in Pucisca had said that we could visit them after 5:00, so we had some time to kill. Eating ice cream, Ivica and I set off to the town of Bol, on the south side of the island. The first thing he showed me in town was a local landmark called the "House in House."

Apparently, in the 19th century, some guy had some land in town that someone else wanted to buy. He sold him the land around his house but not the house itself. So, the other guy got mad or something and decided to force out the first guy by building a house around his house. Weird, but clever.

The outer house didn't have a roof, so the whole place basically looked like an abandoned house with high walls (with windows) around it. I followed Ivica inside the outer house, and we looked around. He showed me some architectural elements that were typical of houses in the area. He also said that they use the place as a theater sometimes. Is such the fate of all abandoned buildings?

Bol was a small town, like all the others, but it was rather touristy and had a prominent beach. I thought it was interesting to lot of the signs in town were in Croatian, English, German, and Italian, in that order. We walked down the sidewalk that ran alongside the beach.

We chatted a bit, and he ran into a few friends and neighbors. I ran into the Canadian sisters from the train. We talked for a minute about why I was there (Esperanto) and then went our separate ways.

Eventually, enough time had passed that it was time to go to Pucisca. So, we got back into the car and headed along the twisty mountain roads to the north side of the island.

I had seen pictures of the town, so I recognized it right away. It consists of some houses wedged between mountainsides and a natural harbor.

We parked at the end of the harbor, in the center of town, and continued on foot. There was a steep street nearby. Off the street was a house. A woman and a man were there. They were Kalilićes.

They had us sit inside. The place seemed kind of small but comfortable. They were watching Andy Roddick play Roger Federer on TV. There was a large crucifix on the wall, carved in wood by some family member. I thought it was interesting because my grandfather was also a carpenter, and he made some religious art that we have hanging in our house.

Ivica spoke to them in Croatian; they spoke little English. Ivica translated for me. The man, the father of the family, was called Jerko. His grandfather and my father's grandfather were brothers, which would make him my second cousin once removed. I was surprised that I had never heard of this branch of the family tree. I thought his grandfather had gone to America. Maybe he went back? Or I was confusing him with another brother? I didn't know.

They offered us bread, cheese, and brandy. The brandy was pretty good. Ivica and the Kalilićes talked to each other quite a bit in Croatian; apparently they were trying to figure out how they might know each other. Everybody on Brac knew each other, Ivica said. Jerko showed me a couple of photos of his grandparents and a letter that my great-grandfather had written in 1960.

As gifts, they gave me some items made of Brac's white stone: two candleholders, an ashtray, and a small vase. They said that one of their relatives sold them as souvenirs, and their English was good enough to tell me personally that Brac stone was used in the construction of the White House. They also gave me some olive oil and brandy to take home. When I would say "Thank you" to Jerko, he would say "Please." It actually makes sense if you think about it.

One of their sons, Milan, stopped by and greeted me in English. He seemed to be about my age. He asked me if I was on Facebook, and I told him I was. He wrote down his name and e-mail address and then had to go somewhere. I wrote my family's mailing address and phone number for them.

After that, I wanted to get a picture, so we went outside.

They had a small garden and a lot of potted plants. They also had some grapes growing above our heads; it seems to be a popular thing to do. From the garden I could see other houses on the opposite mountainside; we weren't far from the water.

They said that Jerko's grandfather and his siblings (including my great-grandfather) were born in the house. The house had one story back then; the second story, which I could see was an addition, was added in 1947. I couldn't believe it. This was where my family came from. This was the house they left to go to America.

The other son, Zoran, came by. He was a few years older than me. They said they also had a daughter, but she wasn't there. Zoran and the rest of us went back into the house to chat a little more. Next, they wanted to take me to the cemetery, so I gathered my new belongings and we got into the family car.

I had wanted to see where my ancestors were buried, so this was a welcome development. The road to the cemetery went up alongside a mountain, where we stopped to get a view of the house and the rest of the town. After that, we continued along. It wasn't far at all, of course. Pucisca is a small town.

There was a small church or chapel with rather elaborate graves all around it. Jerko and his wife led us to one of the outer sections that was on higher ground; apparently it was newer. Each family had a section here where its members would be buried together. It was a small cemetery, but we weren't the only visitors there.

We got to a headstone with the Kalilić name on it. Several items had been placed there. As Zoran took a broom and cleaned up the surroundings, I got a good look. Two people were buried there; I think they were Jerko's parents. The headstone was marked "OBITELJ KALILIĆ TRIFE." I asked Ivica what it meant.

It said "Kalilić Trife Family." In Croatia, or in this part of Croatia, each family has a nickname that they use informally, often to distinguish themselves from another family with the same name. I don't think there's another Kalilić family, and neither do they, but they have a nickname. It is Trife.

We walked around a bit more, and Josko and Ivica each saw people that they knew. We then drove back into town, near where Ivica had parked. There was a cafe, so we decided to have drinks. I didn't feel like beer or soda, so I just had water. Sometimes I just want water. We talked some more, and that's when Jerko asked if I had any siblings. Just a twin sister, I said. Everyone is impressed when you say you have a twin.

I was supposed to meet Jerko and his wife again the next day, but in case I couldn't, they wished me well. I asked for their address, which turned out to be little more than their name and the name of the town. Apparently it's such a small town that the people at the post office know where everybody lives.

We parted ways. Ivica and I walked around Pucisca some more. He showed me the Stonemason School, which was open for visiting. It's unique because the students there are taught to work only with simple tools. The work they had on display was very well done. Ivica was able to tell me a lot about everything because he went to the school and, by his account, fared badly.

We could see a couple of rooms filled with lions, faces, fountains, cubes, and modern sculptures, large and small, rough and polished, all made of Brac's white stone.

There were brochures in several languages; I got one in English. It said that Brac stone was, in fact, used for the White House, among other notable structures. In the corner of the main room was a closet whose door was slightly open. I could see a stone head inside; Ivica said it was a bust of Tito.

It had gotten dark out, so we went home. I had wanted to meet with Josko, a relative that I and others of us at home had been in contact with. Ivica called him up, and he said that he would call back the next day. Ivica made fried potatoes for dinner. Once again, it was pretty late, and I was very tired, so I went to bed soon after that. It had been a big day.

I slept in again on Monday. While Ivica was out, I did my laundry and hung it out to dry outside. It seems primitive, but it actually works pretty well if you can get your clothes in direct sunlight. If not, you're kind of screwed. I waited for Josko to call, but I don't think he did.

Ivica had to go to work in the afternoon, so on the way, he took me to visit my other relative, the one right in town. He led me into a small-looking house and talked briefly the people there before leaving. There were two men and a woman. One of the men was smoking. I was introduced to the woman and one of the men; the smoking man left.

Marijana was the name of my relative; she lived there with her husband, Nikola. They looked to be marrying age, and she was pregnant. She was Jerko's daughter, the daughter I didn't meet the day before. That would make her my third cousin. They spoke English well enough to have a conversation.

Marijana said she had never heard of my branch of the family tree until yesterday, and I said the same about hers. We sketched out our respective branches of the family tree, and Marijana mentioned that she had an aunt who lived in Bol. She also said that there was a Kalilić not related to us who lived in Supetar. I figured he must be related somehow.

Nikola spent more of the time talking to me while Marijana held on to my third cousin once removed. He talked about the differences between life in Croatia and life in Australia, where he had spent some of his childhood. Times had been difficult in Croatia due to the war in the 1990s. Things were getting better, he said, but they could be better still.

He seemed optimistic about starting a family, and I was happy for him. He showed me their plans for expanding the house. He also said that they were going to a birthing class soon as Marijana went to get ready. Times had changed in Croatia, he said. Once upon a time, men didn't want to be in the delivery room with their wives. I said that it had been the same in the States. Attitudes were changing.

The TV was on. There was some French show with subtitles, followed by the news. One of the top stories was Obama visiting Medvedev in Russia. We talked a bit about the political environment in the United States. The Europeans I've talked to have expressed their disdain for Bush and their optimism about Obama, just as many Americans have.

Nikola briefly went to get ready, and then they both had to be on their way. They reminded me that Marijana's parents were expecting me to meet them in Bol. Nikola showed me how to get to the souvenir stand where they worked. After they told me they could be found on Facebook even though they didn't have Internet access at home, we took the obligatory picture, and Nikola drove me back to Ivica's, where I had a quick bite to eat.

My next task was to get to Bol. There were a couple of buses standing at Gornji Humac's bus stop, but neither was for Bol, so I decided to thumb a ride. Ivica and Nikola had told me that hitchhiking was safe and common on the island. They also implied that it was legal. I didn't feel so bad, then, as I stuck my thumb out on the side of the road. A car went by. Right behind it was a bus heading for Bol, so I just jumped on the bus.

In Bol, I found the souvenir stand easily, thanks to Nikola's directions. Sure enough, Jerko and his wife were there with all manner of souvenirs from Bol, Brac, and Croatia: magnets, figurines, shells, a life-size seagull, and more. Their stand wasn't far from the area where Ivica and I had walked the day before.

Jerko invited me to sit in a chair across the way from the stand. He sat next to me and got up when people looked like they were interested in something. A couple of his friends and associates came by, and he would introduce me to them. One of them asked (in English) if I wanted anything to drink. I asked for a Coke, and he gave it to me for free.

Jerko also asked me the occasional question about my family with what English he knew. He said he spoke German and some Italian, but the only English he knew where things like "How much?", "Thank you," and numbers. When his wife wasn't manning the stand, she talked to me too. She said that their small seashells were from Brac but that the large ones were from the Philippines. She also said that Bill Gates came by once in his yacht, and his daughter bought a shell.

I watched the passersby pass by. I didn't get bored; I was happy just to be there. After a while, Jerko took me to see his sister, Marijana's aunt who lived there in Bol. We walked to their apartment, which wasn't far away. His sister, Gita, was there with two daughers, Vera (I think) and Zorana. As I should have come to expect, they offered me some meat, cheese, and chocolate, and I obliged.

The daughters spoke English. Zorana wasn't around for long; she had to go to work. Vera told me she was 16, but I think she meant 26. Her boyfriend came around, and he chatted with me quite a bit. His English was very good. We talked about various subjects, and he described various aspects of life in Croatia. The TV news was on in the background, and he asked if focusing on bad news was just a Croatian thing. No, I told him.

Over an hour passed as we exchanged questions about the family and I ate. Jerko mentioned to them in Croatian that I had a twin. I didn't remember the word for "twin" from the day before, but I recognized it by the way Gita and Vera repeated it.

Jerko had to get back to the souvenir stand, so we started to get going. That's when he asked me if I had to be back at Ivica's at any particular time. Apparently they work till 11 PM. I didn't have a problem with that. So we snapped a few pictures of all of us together, and then I went back with Jerko.

Next to his stand was a stand that sold stone souvenirs like the ones I had gotten as gifts the day before. It was then that I got to meet the relative who worked at the stand. He was Jerko's wife's nephew; not a blood relative, but a relative nonetheless. His English was fairly good, and he told me that he lived in Bosnia but worked at the souvenir stand during the summer.

He was interested in computers and the Internet; like me, he liked programming in PHP. In fact, he was sort of a hacker, in the popular sense of the word. He told me about a simple SQL injection, which I though was interesting because I don't know about any of that kind of stuff. He also asked me about life in Florida and whether there were a lot of hurricanes.

Night fell. I thought business would drop off, but a lot of people were still walking around and buying souvenirs. I was taking pictures.

After 10, when Ivica got home from work, he gave my relatives a call to make sure I was with them. They decided to close up shop a little early to take me home.

They stopped at Gornji Humac's bus stop, where Ivica was waiting for me. My relatives said that if I could stay longer, they would gladly let me stay with them. I appreciated the offer and told them I would be back soon with my family. I think they'd really like it there.

On Tuesday morning, Ivica was at work. I had to get back to Supetar to catch the ferry to the mainland. I tried hitchhiking, but no one was stopping. I took the next bus to Supetar. So I've still never hitchhiked, but I've tried hitchhiking.

After the bus, the ferry, three trains, three subway lines, and a trolley, I was at Tuerkenschanzstrasse in Vienna, where Andy was staying with a distant relative. We were back together. I hadn't slept. It was Wednesday morning; I had been traveling for 24 hours.

Why go to Croatia? The scenery is beautiful, and the people are friendly. But most of all, I have family there. Even though they had never met me or even heard of me, they were more than glad to have me and even let me stay in their home. I got a glimpse of the way of life that my father's father's father left behind, and I even visited the home he gave up for a new life in America.

Curiosity, mainly. But also because I feel that, in a small way, I have a stake in the place, and it belongs to me.

For its entire existence, The World of Stuff has been the web site of a teenager. That was the main draw in the early days, when it was pretty exciting not only to come across a "web log" but one written by a teenager. I've used taglines such as "Musings of a teenage teenager," and "The world through the eyes of a not-so-typical teenager," and they fit: these digital pages overflow with teenage thoughts, teenage experiences, teenage non-experiences. But now, it ends. This will be my last post as a teenager. After 1,073 posts, I turn 20 on Monday.

I've had a lot of experiences since I turned 13 (for a detailed treatment of these, see every post I've ever written), but I was still maturing. So it's fitting that I should have my enter my... twenties... while on such an epic trip. I've never felt very different on or right after a birthday, but this is no normal summer. On this unfamiliar continent, am I standing on the boundary between adolescence and adulthood?

It is an important decade. What will my twenties bring? A job or a career? Dating or marriage? Which do I want?

I don't know. I'm just going to school and, in between, trying to have fun. On July 13, and for the foreseeable future, that will be the same.

A tale of four countries

Sat Jun 27, 2009 03:44 EST (UTC -5)

When we last left our heroes, they had awoken in a stylish apartment in Sabadell, a suburb of Barcelona.

Last Friday was a short day since Andy woke up so late. He and I went downstairs to play the keyboard. I taught him a song and he played some others. That was our day, pretty much. Santi and Olga, our hosts, were kind of surprised that we had stayed in Sabadell instead of going into Barcelona, but I wasn't.

Many of you have commented on Andy's tendency to sleep and asked if he had a problem. I said no, he doesn't have a problem. He likes to stay up all night, and he prefers befriending the locals to sightseeing anyway. But actually, he's just told me that he was diagnosed as having an unusual circadian rhythm. Also, for every day I don't mention that he slept late, he probably woke up at a reasonable time. Cut the guy some slack.

On Saturday morning, Andy and I asked our hosts where we could get some more Steinburg Clasica, and they said they had put some lemon Fanta or something in an old Steinburg Clasica bottle. In my defense, 4.8% alcohol could taste like anything.

Mark and Dan were in Barcelona that day, so Andy and I wanted to meet Mark at Park Guell. All we knew is that he wanted to meet us and some of his new friends by a lizard statue. We got lost on the way to the park and arrived half an hour late. There was no sign of Mark or any such statue.

But there were signs of Gaudi, the visionary architect who left his mark on Barcelona. He designed the park, and the flowing forms all around are his.

We went into a cafe to ask where the lizard statue was, and we were told that it wasn't far away. As we went to look for it, we encountered Mark, who had been at the park for a while but was lost and confused. It turned out that the lizard statue was right by the grand staircase at the entrance of the park. Mark's other friends, however, were not.

Mark had already gone around the whole park, so we followed him for a bit. There's a path that encircles the park, and it's filled with tourists. Not long into our walk, we encountered a large open area with a view of the city. It was also my first view of the Mediterranean.

There was also some food right there, so I got a pre-made potato omelet sandwich that was pretty bad. I hadn't eaten all day, though, so it was okay.

We walked a little more and made it to the highest point in the park, which was a sort of mound with stairs going up around it. The view was even better.

Andy and I couldn't stay long, so the three of us started to head back to the nearest metro station. On the way, we stopped at a shop for some more eats and drinks. I had a Fanta, which I wasn't particularly fond of. It tasted like slightly carbonated orange juice.

We parted ways with Mark on the metro. We had to be back at our hosts' apartment because they wanted to take us to a barbecue/campout in the mountains that evening. But when we got there, they said that they were put off by the weather, which was slightly menacing. Instead, we would go in the morning.

They decided to have the barbecue for dinner anyway, so we had a meal of it on the back patio. Since it was mostly going to consist of meat, Andy and I went to the local supermarket so Andy could get some vegetarian food to cook. He ended up making mashed potatoes, which everyone enjoyed. Olga's 10-year-old sister, who was apparently visiting from Russia, had dinner with us too.

On Sunday, we hopped into the van and took a drive to the mountains. There's a small mountain range outside Sabadell. I forget what it's called, but Santi, a mountain enthusiast, calls it his favorite. They said it was their third time taking Esperantists to the mountains. I thought it would be nice to get some fresh air and do something a little different.

We started driving up one particular mountain, going through the neighborhoods that had situated themselves around it. Santi parallel-parked on a street about halfway up the mountain, and nearby we found a place to begin. Oh yes, we would be hiking. Up the mountain.

It started easily enough. But then it quickly got more difficult. I was practically panting before we took our first break. Everyone else, including Olga's sister, was having a grand old time. So I had some water, and we kept going. And going and going and going. We followed narrow paths flanked by wild plants. We climbed stairs of tree branches. We got higher and higher and higher.

Eventually, we were walking around the side of the mountain. The width of the path varied. At one point, it was so narrow that one wrong step could have sent me over the edge if I hadn't been holding on to the cable that was anchored along the mountainside. I wasn't really scared, but I was very tired. Exhausted, even.

At one point, we got to a giant rock formation reminiscent of the southwestern United States. It looked sort of like a giant boulder sitting on a promontory of the mountain. We walked around it and admired the view of the mountainside. There wasn't a lot of room to walk around there, so of course, there were bees hanging around. But nobody got stung, fortunately.

They asked us if we wanted to walk a bit further to get to the restaurant at the top of the mountain or whether we wanted to just leave. Although I was tired and aching, I thought it would be nice to stop at a restaurant and relax. So we kept going higher and higher. The path started to consist of steps, and we saw lots of people going the other direction, so I knew we were close.

Finally, I could see the restaurant at the top of the mountain, but it was still pretty far away. I thought I was going to die as we were finally walking up to it. But nobody else seemed to be that way. There were lots of people hanging around outside, with a lot of kids and dogs. And then there was the view. At the top of the mountain, you could see everything. It was almost worth it!

Rather than going into the restaurant, we sat outside it and had a little picnic, which I thought wasn't as fun. I wasn't very hungry, so I ate a piece of bread and drank gazpacho from a carton. Everyone else had leftovers from the barbecue.

After a while, we did go into the restaurant, which was apparently an 11th-century monastery. ("Every valley shall be exalted and every hill made low." An attractive promise.) We just went in for coffee and tea. Andy fell asleep because, as I recall, he went out clubbin' the night before and therefore slept very little. He had also just hiked up a mountain. Okay???

The restaurant was apparently closing, so we left and went on our way. Going down the mountain was easier than going up, but you still have to be careful not to let gravity get carried away with you. In any case, it was simple enough that I passed the time by just thinking about other stuff. Over the course of my life I've had to endure many boring or tedious things, so I have a high tolerance for boredom.

After a little while, we arrived at a paved road. Instead of continuing down the mountain, we took the road and turned around the corner. It was the street that we had parked on. I looked up. It wasn't halfway up the mountain; it was almost all the way up the mountain. We took a really long and circuitous route to get to the top and a really quick way down. I was as surprised as I was tired.

Andy and I both passed out once we got home. Well, I lay down to rest and apparently actually slept for a little while, which is my equivalent of passing out. I couldn't help but consider Edmund Hillary and Tenzing Norgay my new heroes.

On Monday, Andy and I left Sabadell for a meeting we had been planning for weeks. Andy's friend George was going to be with his mom and stepdad (or somesuch relation) in Barcelona. They had rented an apartment in the Ciutat Vella, the old part of Barcelona. We met them on La Rambla, one of the main drags in town. Andy, George, and I went to a Chinese restaurant and then checked out the apartment.

It was pretty nice. I didn't know you could rent an apartment for a few days like a hotel room, but you can. It also smelled like a hotel room, which wasn't bad. We caught up with George's parents there, and when George's stepdad and I were the only ones awake, we went out to explore the old part of town. There were lots of locals walking up and down the narrow streets. There were also a lot of small plazas, some with their own churches. On our way back, we got some groceries.

Then, it was dinnertime. This was the dinner we had been been aware of well in advance: Monday, June 22, dinner in Barcelona with George's family. For dinner, we had a lot of options. We ended up going to a hip place just around the corner. The menu had entrees categorized in a grid, with the main ingredients on the horizontal axis and the cooking style on the vertical. I think everybody liked the food. They had Italian, Mediterranean, and Asian dishes of all types, so there was something for everyone.

Part of the dinner plan was to spend the night with George's family, so we did that. We were going to leave on Tuesday, but Andy wanted to stay an extra day. I didn't think it was a bad idea either since we had hardly seen much of the city. So Tuesday was a full day in Barcelona.

The five of us started by going to the Picasso Museum, which was only a few blocks from the apartment. Due to its location in the Ciutat Vella, it was necessarily a small place. And when the guidebooks say that this museum mainly has early works by Picasso, they're not kidding. There are only a few of his cubist paintings. And the rooms containing what's supposed to be the highlight of the museum, some of the versions of Las Meninas that he painted in the '50s, were closed for remodeling.

It wasn't all bad; The First Communion, one of his first major works, is very nicely done. But if you're an art major or someone who's otherwise interested in Picasso's early development as an artist, you would probably enjoy it more. Otherwise, you're not missing much.

We spent some more time walking around the area, including the Plaza de la Constitucion:

We had lunch at a quiet, kind of fancy restaurant around there. I had a dish of Catalan sausage with rice and vegetables. After that, we eventually made it to the beach. We sat on a bench behind all the sunbathers and watched the Mediterranean. I also watched the sunbathers for a bit. Andy and George got some beach-type alcoholic drinks.

When we Americans talk about Europeans, we often mention their laissez-faire attitudes toward things that for some reason get our collective national undies in a bunch. What we don't often mention, maybe because we don't know, is that Europeans take things in moderation. They walk their dogs without leashes—sometimes. They take their tops off at the beach—sometimes. They drink in public—sometimes. I don't know how we got this way, but we seem to be afraid that society will collapse if Uncle Bob savors a cold one on the sidewalk or the kids see a nipple. We can learn a lot from the Europeans. Everything in moderation.

It was sometime on Tuesday that I realized it was less than three weeks till my 20th birthday. My days as a teenager are numbered. What, if anything, does it mean? Maybe not that much. After all, our decimal number system is arbitrary. I like to think that I'm 23 in octal. But on the other hand, it means a lot in society to be in one's teens or twenties. My friends who have turned 20 seem like they were when they were 19, but I don't think I would feel the same inside. There's so much I haven't done, and it feels like a weight hanging on me. I don't want to be someone who didn't have so much as a girlfriend until his twenties, but I am set to be. A lot of people would say it doesn't matter, but it doesn't reflect well on me, and I care about that.

It was getting kind of late, and some of us had to go to the bathroom, so we went over to a fancy hotel and used the facilities there. We sure looked out of place since we were all touristy and everything. My comment about the place "oozing with fancy" probably didn't help much either.

We walked home from there. At one point, we went through a park where there was a tire swing. Of course, Andy and George had to swing each other around. I joined in too. After regrouping at the apartment, we went to one of the Ciutat Vella's many other restaurants. This one was called Juicy Jones, and according to some guide that George read, it's the only all-vegan restaurant in Barcelona. I had some gazpacho and some Italian corn thing that I should have remembered the name of. As you might expect for a vegan restaurant, our waitress had lots of tattoos and the decor was crazy. The food was pretty good, though.

By then, it was dark, and we could hear all kinds of fireworks, firecrackers, and other fire-related things. While in Sabadell, we would hear the occasional firework, which sounded like a gunshot or a car backfiring, and we were able to gather that an important holiday was coming up. Tonight was the night before the feast of St. John, the patron saint of Spain. We walked by the Cathedral and saw small children lighting fireworks. In the plaza outside the apartment, there were fireworks too, but I didn't find it too hard to sleep.

Some things were closed on Wednesday, but Andy and I hoped we could get a train out of town so we could continue our journey. George accompanied us to one of the major train stations, where we spent hours waiting to get tickets to France. We had time to eat a quick lunch, but we could have made it a very long one.

Once we got our tickets, we felt free to roam around the city for one more afternoon. We walked through the city's plaza (as I've probably mentioned, every Spanish city has one) and then walked down La Rambla. The tourist books describe La Rambla as such a fun place for kids, but I'm not sure that I would agree. The human statues are supposed to be exciting, but I think they would frighten small children. Heck, they would probably frighten some people I know. My European guidebook also gleefully explains how vendors sell birds on the thoroughfare. Parents would love that, I'm sure.

To be fair, things got more interesting as we moved down the road. That's where the artists are. Some draw portraits and caricatures; others systematically spray-paint alien landscapes. I could have hung out there a little while longer. Also, I think it would be cool to have a caricature of me, but not from one of those artists who draw all their people the same way. Exaggerate my nose and mouth only if I have a big nose and mouth!

We made it down to the Columbus statue, where we sat for a while before returning to the apartment.

Andy and George got gelato and a smoothie on the way, so their appetites were wrecked. We ended up having dinner with George's parents at a bar that happened to serve some food. It was good because I wasn't very hungry. Then Andy and George went to a crepe place and had more gelato.

On Thursday, Andy and I set off early for the train station. The train that was waiting for us was a little different from the ones I had been used to. Rather than kicking back in a relatively modern train, we bounced along in a Franco-era tin can. Our destination: a town in the South of France called Pignans, where we had been putting off meeting our next Pasporta Servo host due to our extra nights in Barcelona with George. On the way to Pignans, we had to make stops in Montpellier, Marseille, and Toulon, so we were on trains and in stations for most of the day.

When we finally got to the little station, we were ready to follow the directions we had been given when a man on a bicycle greeted us in English. I try to ignore suspicious-looking people who try to strike up a conversation with me, but when he mentioned Esperanto, I knew he was our host. He took us back to his house, which wasn't far. The town seemed to be little more than a few houses.

He showed us the guest house that he rented out and used for Pasporta Servo guests. Then we went inside the main house, where we met his wife, who also spoke Esperanto, and his 17-year-old son, who practiced his English with us. It was sort of late by non-Spanish standards, but they had dinner waiting for us. We got to learn a little about the family. The husband was French and the wife was Polish; they apparently met because of Esperanto. They had an older son who was about to finish a trip across the United States. The younger son claimed not to speak Esperanto, but he understood it well.

The after-dinner entertainment consisted mainly of Andy rocking out on the family piano. I accompanied him on the son's guitar. The father had a sort of bongo drum that he played to keep time. After a while, Andy took to the drum and asked if I would sing. I was hesitant at first, but I let it loose on "Stand By Me." We also played that annoying song, "Calabria," which is soooo 2007 or whatever. It was funny.

By then it was late, so after a brief e-mail checking session, we retired to the guest house. Andy really wanted to stay there another night, and I did too, but we were running out of time, and I felt that we had to keep moving on.

So today we awoke for a quick breakfast, and after the son took us to the train station, we made our way back to Toulon, the nearest major city. From there we were supposed to go to Nice, but there was something wrong with the train, so we had to get off at a different station and wait for the next train to Nice. Finally, we were in Nice, which was pretty nice. But we couldn't stay there for long. We were headed for... Monaco.

I always thought it would be interesting to go to Monaco, so I thought we should stop there and check out the world's second-smallest country for a while. We were going to have three hours there, but because of the delays, our Monaco time was cut to one hour.

The French national railway serves Monaco, and its station is pretty large. We walked outside, and the weather was beautiful. Outside the station we saw a map of the country with a "you are here" sticker. It was awesome.

Monaco is a playground of the rich, and it shows. Monte Carlo, the city that is coterminous with the country, is filled with ritzy-looking places, and the water is filled with yachts. Look at me in front of the yachts!

You can also see ritziness on the road. You can find Ferraris and Rolls-Royces next to Renaults and motorcycles. Even the taxis are fancy. I saw a Mercedes-Benz and a Volvo limousine for hire.

Apparently, I wasn't the only tourist who wanted to wander around in Monaco while snapping pictures. To my mild surprise, lots of other tourists were there too, and I even saw some tourist-type shops. About halfway through our hour, we stopped in a small park amid all the hustle and bustle. Then we decided to head back to the station.

On the way, we stopped at a little bakery, where Andy got a little treat that was kind of expensive. In the shop, I saw what seemed to be a photo of the previous Prince of Monaco, flanked with flowers. I wondered how much nationalism it's possible to have in a tiny country that is in many ways dependent on another. I did see the national flag quite a bit.

After Andy had some gelato (hey, it's good stuff), we made it back to the station for our Italy-bound train. After about 20 minutes, we were at the border station of Ventimiglia. This was the first time I had visited two new countries in one day, and it's interesting to note that I had been in three countries in the span of half an hour.

We hit up an Internet cafe across the street from the station so we could make arrangements for our stay in Pisa that evening. We booked the cheapest place we could find, a bed and breakfast. Right after we booked it, we realized it was in the nearby town of Lucca. Undeterred and vaguely aware that Lucca was a beautiful town, I booked a hostel in Rome after that. The website wouldn't let us make a reservation for Saturday night, only Sunday and Monday, so we decided that we would call the hostel and ask about Saturday.

The next train was to Genoa, and there we changed trains for Pisa. Once in Pisa, we realized that we had missed the last train to Lucca, so the only way to get there would be by taxi. Instead we checked out some hotels near the station and found one that was comparably priced to a hostel. That's where we are now. It's not the greatest, of course, but it's not bad either. They have free breakfast and Wi-Fi, but their firewall blocks certain pages, such as those with "gay" in the URL. Not cool.

Today we'll check out the sights in Pisa, and then we're off to Rome!

Nine in the afternoon

Fri Jun 19, 2009 12:12 EST (UTC -5)

Once, I had a friend named Laura. We went to school together. Then, she moved to Seville, Spain. We exchanged a few letters, but they soon stopped.

A few months ago, Laura contacted me through MySpace, and we caught up on things. I told her that I'd be going to Europe in the summer and asked if I could meet up with her.

On Sunday, I took a high-speed train from Madrid to Seville. As you might have been able to guess, it was pretty fast. Laura was waiting for me at the station. I hadn't seen her in 12 years.

We took a bus to her house; they've been building a subway system in the city, but it's not close to being finished, so people get around by bus. Her place is pretty nice. She lives with her mom and her sister (who currently isn't there) and their six cats.

One of the first things I did at her house was drink lots of Coca-Cola. I had been guzzling it all weekend, surpassing the 2-liter mark (not including Pepsi). Laura said she's heard of Americans who visit and can't stop drinking Coke. I didn't think I had noticed a difference between Coke with corn syrup and Coke with sugar, but apparently I don't get tired of the latter as easily.

I was also hungry, so I made myself some small sandwiches. They had an interesting meat that tasted like a cross between bologna and pepperoni. I would call it bolepperoni.

Laura got out her yearbook from second grade, and we shared stories that we remembered about the people in our class. I told her what the ones I've been in contact with were doing now. Laura's mom had some stories from back in the day as well.

Later, Laura and I went out to look for a good place to eat down by the river. By this time, it was about 11 o'clock at night. The Spaniards usually don't eat dinner till late at night, but since it was Sunday, not a lot of places were open. We got a couple of hot dogs and then went to an ice cream shop, which was actually hoppin'.

I was tired. We had walked around a lot, to be sure, but I think weeks of walking have caught up with me. Plus, the days go late in Spain. They wake up late, have a little breakfast, eat a big lunch in the afternoon (around the time of the famous siesta), and have a small dinner late at night. Around 1 or 2 in the afternoon, Laura would still be calling it the morning; it's morning till lunch. She would also say "7 in the afternoon," which makes sense in the summer when the days are so long. It would get dark around 10.

On Monday, we went walking around the central part of town. Seville is a big city, but it feels suburban most everywhere. I wanted to check out the local El Corte Ingles since I didn't get to visit their flagship store in Madrid. It was a department store, but they also have a travel agency and other crazy stuff. In a similar vein, we checked out Fnac, which is an electronics store that also sells movies, music, and books. They should have something like that in the States if they don't already. I would probably live there.

For lunch, we went to one of Laura's favorite restaurants. It's kind of a small place, but there's a bar and some tables. In one corner, there are some large steps, like bleachers, where people can sit and eat. We had some sandwiches. One of mine was a potato omelet sandwich. A potato omelet is called a tortilla de patatas, and it's a traditional dish in Spain. I've also found out that they have lots of words for sandwiches.

Later, as it was getting dark, we went to the Parque Maria Luisa and the adjacent Plaza de España. My camera's new memory card decided to crap out right then, and I didn't have my spare on me, but the lighting was bad anyway. The Plaza is really grandiose, and its grandiosity was evident even though part of it was being renovated. There are lots of benches, each one representing an important city in Spain and showing an illustration about it.

For dinner, we went to a restaurant near Laura's house. Actually, it was apparently a drinking establishment that happened to have a large selection of food and outdoor seating. We each got a couple of tapas, or small plates of food. They're great for trying new things. I can't tell you what I ordered, but it was pretty delicious.

My new memory card had been working intermittently, so on Tuesday, we went back to Fnac to look for a new one. Since they didn't have the right one at a similar capacity, I decided to use my old one, and we went to the Cathedral.

It's one of the larger or largest such buildings in the world and, as is the way of these things, looks even larger when you're inside. Laura explained to me the religious significance of a lot of the things because Spain has some unique traditions. And check out that organ!

One of Christopher Columbus's sons is buried in the Cathedral. Columbus himself may or may not also be entombed in Seville; there's a rival grave in the Dominican Republic. Interesting!

At the church, we climbed the Giralda, the highest tower in Seville.

Most of it was built by the Muslims, who had the foresight to make it wheelchair-accessible. Actually, they built the tower with a series of ramps so they could ride their horses up to the top. The Christians added the top part, with a few stairs, later.

Laura says there's an unwritten rule in Seville that no building should be higher than the Giralda. From it, you can see the whole city.

Next, we went to the Reales Alcazares, built as a royal palace in the Islamic style. The place is pretty open and airy, with lots of gardens that I was, of course, too tired to fully check out. We got to see royal bedchambers with magnificent Islamic designs. They looked like the other chambers because they were empty, but it was still neat.

We went home for lunch, and Laura's mom made paella with chicken and seafood. After I got some work done (I still have my job while I'm on vacation), we went to a classical concert. The ensemble was pretty small, and the people there wanted a donation of €10, so we went somewhere else. Sorry, Oxfam.

In Seville's Macarena neighborhood, there's a small church that's magnificently decked out. I believe it's called Our Lady of Hope of Macarena. We got there too late to go inside, so we had dinner. I had a cold soup called salmorejo, which is like gazpacho but with a stronger taste. I liked it.

On Wednesday, my last day in Seville, we started by going out of town to the ruins of the Roman city of Italica. It's located in another town, and there are restaurants and stuff across the street.

Even though it was very hot, we spent about an hour going around to the ruins of the arena and some various streets and buildings. A lot of them had fantastic mosaics, like this one showing some gods and goddesses:

There was a statue of the Roman Emperor Trajan overlooking the site. He and Hadrian were born there. I've heard of them!

Laura and I were both really hot and tired, so we went to a restaurant across the street from the Roman ruins. I had garlic chicken and some tinto de verano, which is apparently red wine with fruit juice added. It tasted refreshing and not very alcoholic. (Yeah that's how you get schwasted before you know it, by mixing drinks. Feh.)

After that, we returned to the church in Macarena. Behind the altar is a statue of the Virgin Mary, magnificently decked out.

The place reminds me of something, but I can't quite put my finger on it...

I went to bed relatively early in preparation for a long day. My stay with Laura was a lot of fun, and I thought it was cool that I was the first person from our school to visit her at her home in Spain. She also taught me a lot about the culture of Seville. At every turn, she had an opportunity to explain to me something about the local religious festivities such as those during Holy Week. Religion and traditions mean a lot to the people there.

On Thursday, I woke up just in time to catch the taxi that was waiting outside at 5:30 in the morning. Since Andy wasn't there, I had to make do with what little Spanish I had. If any of my Spanish teachers are dead, they'd have been rolling over in their graves.

I made it to the station and caught my train back to Madrid, where Andy would be flying in after going home for his grandfather's funeral. We had decided to meet at Chamartin station, but since our trains were entering and leaving the city at Atocha, I had told him that we should meet there. I sat near the ticket desk, where I told him to meet me, but a pig made me leave even though I wasn't harming anybody.

The situation was complicated. Andy was supposed to go back to Manolo's place, where we had stayed the previous week. Andy had left a lot of his stuff there, and he needed to get it. I thought I would try calling Manolo at work, but my credit card got stuck in the payphone, and I had to ask a random guy who didn't speak English to help me get it out. When I did call, I got an answering machine, and then I didn't have enough change to call his home number.

I thought that I could try to meet Andy where we had originally decided, but I was afraid to go there in case he went to where I was at the same time. I didn't think he didn't have his cell phone with him, so I couldn't call him. But I tried. Well, I tried to try. For the first time in three weeks, I turned on my cell phone. I was supposed to have an international roaming plan for use in case of emergency, but instead I had no signal.

Next, I tried hunting down some Wi-Fi in the likely event that he had sent me an e-mail. Of course, there was nothing usable in the station, and I even went outside the station looking for a cafe or other establishment that would have Wi-Fi. No dice.

Our train for Barcelona was going to be leaving soon, so I headed back to the station, thinking that if I could count on him being in a certain place at a certain time, it would be there and then. I went down to the train and found our seats. He wasn't there. As the train was about to leave, I got off to see if he was anywhere on the platform. He wasn't, so I decided to carry out my next plan.

My next plan was to try harder to find Wi-Fi. I stopped at some benches on the sidewalks outside the station looking for an unsecured network, but with no luck. I was sitting outside a hotel trying to get their Wi-Fi when I heard a familiar voice.

It was Dan, who was traveling with Mark on a concurrent leg of our trip. I knew that they were in Madrid, but I had no idea that we'd run into each other on the street, especially when I needed help the most. Everyone, including Dan's new friends from his hostel, was surprised by the coincidence.

We went to Mark and Dan's hostel, where I promptly jumped on the Wi-Fi. Andy had sent me numerous e-mails telling me where he was and where he would go next. I e-mailed Andy and called his dad to say that Andy should meet me at the hostel, which was close to our train station. Next, I opened the lunch that Laura's mom had packed for me: a ham sandwich, a sort of bread with bits of chocolate in it, a cup of yogurt, and a banana. I ate it all except the banana, which didn't really survive the hectic journey.

I caught up a bit with Dan and Mark, who was very surprised to see me hanging out at his hostel. After waiting at the computer for a while and doing nothing in particular, Andy finally e-mailed to say he would be on his way. Dan and Mark left for Barcelona, and then Andy arrived, tired and sweaty.

He told me his side of the story, and I have to say that it was much worse than mine. It involved meeting where we originally said we would, catching lots of trains, sending lots of e-mails to someone who never replied, and making it to the platform a few minutes after the train to Barcelona had left. He had just gone on his way to Manolo's when I e-mailed him, so he had to go all the way out of town and back. But we were together and safe.

Next, we had to go to Manolo's for real this time, so we contacted him, and he had his wife put Andy's bag outside the door. It took us forever to get there, and finally one of the residents let us into the building. We made it back to Atocha just in time to get tickets for the 19:30 to Barcelona. I collapsed as we ran into the train.

We arrived in Barcelona and managed to find our next Pasporta Servo host pretty easily. We got to the neighborhood just before midnight. The narrow streets were completely silent. We finally found the place, but the door was locked. We had his phone number but no phone. Just a minute later, he pulled up in his car with the young woman he lives with. They showed us into their unfinished yet stylish apartment, where they treated us to food and drinks and we chatted in Esperanto. Then I went to bed. I was very tired.

Today, I woke up Andy at 6 PM (in his defense, he had been jetlagged), and we made ourselves sandwiches. Since the water here tastes kind of funny, we helped ourselves to the alcohol. Steinburg Clasica is a pretty good beer, and at 4.8% alcohol by volume, it's basically a pre-mixed drink. (omg jordan is turing into an alcoholic) I guess we won't do much today, but hopefully we'll see some interesting sights in Barcelona tomorrow.

Se habla español

Sun Jun 14, 2009 04:47 EST (UTC -5)

We didn't do much on Tuesday. I woke Andy up rather late. He used Skype, and I wrote my previous blog post. Before we knew it, it was the early evening, and we hadn't gone out all day. I wanted to see if the nearby Pere Lachaise Cemetery was open, and Andy wanted to go to a particular electronics store for something. He found out that it was closed, and I figured that the cemetery was closed, but we decided to go out anyway.

After confirming my suspicions, we felt free to wander around Paris for a little while. As he has tended to do, Andy found a market and got a piece of fruit to eat. And as he also has tended to do, he went to a bookstore. During our time in France, he decided he wanted to learn French. The woman at the bookstore recommended another bookstore that specialized in learning languages, so we went there, and Andy picked up a French textbook and an Italian phrasebook.

After parting ways with our generous host, we made our way to the train station. We arrived about an hour early, so we went to a cafe, where Andy had some wine and I got a beer. It was my first legal drink. When I return home, my body will once again be too immature to process alcohol. (I've actually heard that used as an excuse for the USA's draconian drinking age, which I don't support at all.)

Anyway, the beer was disgusting, and our train left at 11:10 PM for Irun, a town just across the border with Spain. Seated in front of us were two girls about our age with large backpacks like ours. One of them was wearing a Nova Southeastern University sweatshirt. NSU is a private university in South Florida, i.e., near where Andy and I live. We chatted it up with them for a little while, and then the lights went out and people went to sleep.

Except me. I tried, but I'm not heavy enough of a sleeper to nod off on a plane, train, or automobile. So I went though the entire eight-hour train ride awake and at least semi-conscious.

So that was Paris. The first thing I could do when I got there was contrast it to London. The London Underground is cleaner than the Paris Metro. I didn't realize how nice the trains and stations were in London till I went to Paris.

As I've probably mentioned, this was the first time I had ever spent a significant amount of time in a non-English-speaking country. They do some things differently in France. For one thing, they often have water closets rather than having a toilet in the bathroom. I find nothing wrong with this unless I want to, say, wash my hands or (if the room is actually the size of a closet) sit. Also, I found out about the whole shower thing. Their shower heads are the kind that you can hold, allowing you to shower selectively.

France is pretty much like you'd expect. People play tonsil hockey with each other on park benches and take their loaves of bread for a walk. It is wonderful.

As the sun came up, we were approaching the French border. There were a lot of Spanish-looking villages nestled in the mountains, and at one point, the only thing between our train and the Atlantic Ocean was a little house. Andy and I got off at Irun, where we had just enough time at the train station to pick up some food. We had potato omelet sanwiches. Weird, but good.

Then we caught another train to Vitoria-Gasteiz, the capital of the Basque Country. We had decided to stop there between Paris and Madrid to stay with another Esperantist using the Pasporta Servo. After two hours of more beautiful landscapes, we made it to the city, but our host wouldn't be home till later. We finally found a cafe that had Wi-Fi, so we camped out there. I figured we should buy something, and they had these potato omelets out, so we each got a slice.

It was there that Andy found out that his grandfather had died. He decided that he would go home for the funeral in a few days and then rejoin me a few days later.

We went to our host's house, which again was actually an apartment. Unlike the last one, it was pretty luxurious. He was a very nice guy, and soon he was showing us around town with another local Esperantist.

I learned quite a bit about the city. It's called Vitoria in Spanish and Gasteiz in Basque. The central part of the city is on a hill; it has several churches and other buildings that are hundreds of years old. And everywhere, people were walking around. It seemed like a pretty decent-sized city, but our host and his friend kept running into people that they knew.

At one point, Andy tripped on a curb and hurt his toe, so we took a taxi to the hospital. While we were waiting there, Andy had time to go over his Italian flash cards and get a crash course in Basque from our host. The Basque language is unlike any other, and it has official status along with Spanish in that part of the country. Also, Andy's toe wasn't broken or anything.

After that, we went to a restaurant for some sandwiches and went home. I guess it was a pretty bad day for Andy, but he was still glad that we had stopped in Vitoria, and so was I. The scenery was good, the people were good, the health care system was good, and the sandwiches were good.

On Thursday, we went back to the station to catch our train to Madrid. Our host, who I believe went to work that day, was kind enough to meet us at the station and see us off. Along the way to Madrid, the scenery gradually changed from mountains and valleys to something like a desert. It started to feel like a desert too.

Finally, we were at the station in Madrid. It was late but still daylight. (The long summer days up here have can mess with your head. In England I was often woken up by daylight around 4:55 AM, and you could still see vestiges of sunlight at 10:30 PM.) We decided to eat dinner at a stand at the station. I had some various meats and a potato omelet sandwich. Then we took a local train to our next Pasporta Servo host in the outlying city of Galapagar.

On Friday, we went out and about to explore the city with some Esperantists. Jorge was the editor of a journal of Esperanto literature. He was accompanied by a Cuban, also called Andy, who, though not much older than us, had recently found political refuge in Spain. He love confusing people by talking to them in Esperanto, confusing Esperantists by talking to them in Ido, and drinking Coca-Cola.

After showing us some landmarks and getting lunch, they took us to the Parque del Retiro, which I recognized from one of my high-school Spanish textbooks.

We sat under a tree in the park. American Andy slept while Jorge and Cuban Andy talked in Esperanto about religion, politics, and the like. I mainly listened. It's not just because my speaking skills aren't up to par; I tend not to add much to conversations at all. (A teacher in high school said that when I did contribute to a conversation, it was as if Gandhi had entered a room full of people talking and said "Boo!", first silencing everyone and then making them reflect: "'Boo'... Damn, that's smart.")

After a while, we woke Andy up and continued our walk around central Madrid, including the Puerta del Sol, the point from which all road distances in Spain are measured. I apologized to Jorge for my awkward phrasings and limited vocabulary when I did talk, but he said I was very good for never having met other Esperantists two weeks ago. To improve my skills, he said, I should be an active reader and read his journal. We eventually reached the Plaza Mayor.

From there, Jorge parted ways with us, and Cuban Andy accompanied us to our train station. At home, our generous host had prepared for dinner a homemade potato omelet and a vegetable salad.

On Saturday, we left early so Andy could get to the airport for his flight home. I went with him because he had to use his Spanish knowledge to help me buy tickets to Seville, my (formerly our) next destination. After that, I met Cuban Andy and a couple of other Spanish Esperantists by the Museo Reina Sofia, where one of them was attending a protest against building an oil refinery in Extremadura. After having some free food and free wine (which tasted really nasty), we walked around for a bit and stopped for Cokes. Andy explained that you can't find Coca-Cola in Cuba except at a few hotels.

We went to an anthropological museum that was free because of renovations, and then we had lunch out in front of a restaurant. After that, it was just me and Andy. We had planned to go to the popular museums when the admission would be free. First we went to the Reina Sofia, a modern art museum. We didn't like a lot of the stuff there, but there were some mid-century photographs of Spanish life for which Andy provided a historical context. I also enjoyed the paintings by Miro, Dali, and Picasso. The latter's Guernica is there, flanked by museum employees who keep visitors far away.

We had some time to kill before El Prado would be free, so we chatted, mainly about Esperanto. Andy reminded me that there's a city in Germany that calls itself the Esperanto City and said that we should go there.

Finally, El Prado, one of the world's finest art museums, was opening its doors for free. I'm pleasantly surprised that some museums do this.

As we went inside, I immediately saw a famous painting that I recognized. There were many more where that came from, and Andy seemed to recognize more than I did. Many of the works were by Spanish artists such as Velazquez, Goya, and El Greco, who was actually a Greek. Also, I learned that the Spanish refer to Albrecht Duerer as Alberto Durero.

The highlight of the museum for me was Velazquez's Las Meninas, a very famous painting and one of my favorites. I also enjoyed getting to see The Garden of Earthly Delights. Read about those. They're very interesting!

After that, substitute Andy and I were both tired, so we parted ways. I went back to Galapagar, where I fixed myself a bite to eat and went to bed a little too late. After all the time I've spent with Esperanists here, I've just found out that Jorge Camacho is considered one of the greatest living Esperanto writers. He even has his own article on the English Wikipedia.

I've been impressed by Madrid's art, architecture, and public spaces. The subway system is clean, efficient, and cheap. But today, I'm getting ready to leave for Seville, where I'll meet my friend Laura, whom I haven't seen since she moved there 12 years ago. What sorts of crazy haps will ensue? Stay tuned...

I see London, I see France

Thu Jun 04, 2009 15:45 EST (UTC -5)

Saturday was pretty quiet. Andy slept until 4 in the afternoon, so instead of going out, we made pancakes. Actually, he made one big pancake that we cut up and ate. Not much later there was lamb for dinner. We don't really eat lamb in the States, but I don't know why not. It tastes like beef.

On Sunday, Andy slept late again. He can sleep forever as long as nothing wakes him up. I convinced him that we should go out, but I wasn't really sure what we could do. We ended up wandering around London for a few hours in the afternoon. We came across a war memorial in Trinity Square, which is near Tower Hill, which is near the Tower of London. Europeans take the World Wars very seriously.

The next day, as you might have guessed, was Monday. I woke Andy up at 5:30 PM. He made soup. Later, he decided to hang out with one of the guys we had met at the London Esperanto Club, but I didn't feel like going. I was dead set on going to a pub and having fish and chips. So we decided to meet outside a pub near the house later that night. Even though I called Andy, he didn't show. His cousin (whose house we were staying at) found both of us as he was driving around; Andy was going home instead of meeting me at the pub. The pub was closed by then, but I was just glad to get a lift home.

Tuesday was supposed to be our last day in England, but we had found that we could get a better price on the train to Paris if we bought our tickets a day in advance rather than on the same day. We asked our hosts if we could stay another night, and it wasn't a problem. Andy was still sleepy, and there were some things I wanted to do in London before we left, so I went out by myself.

Can you guess what country I'm in?

First, I went to Westminster Abbey.

Beside kings, queens, and at least one saint (who was also a king), a lot of notable Britons are buried there, so I thought it would be interesting to see. Photography isn't allowed inside, so I didn't take any photos (unlike some people). Instead, you'll just have to take my word for everything. Cool? Cool.

Okay, so I knew that there were lots of dead people in Westminster Abbey, but I had no idea how crammed full of tombs it was until I got inside. When you walk in, there are memorials on the left and right sides. They go all the way back to the front door, so that the ticket booth is in front of several sculptures. I was wondering where the actual graves were until I looked down and saw that I was standing on some. They're marked on the floor all over the place, and many of them are of peple you haven't heard of from way back during the time when the Abbey wasn't so crowded. Space seems to be at a premium now.

It was interesting to see the graves of bygone monarchs like Elizabeth I, but I was especially interested in Poets' Corner, the famous section where the literary types are interred. That's where you'll find Robert Browning; Alfred, Lord Tennyson; some other people; and Lawrence Olivier. But the greatest of the great, it seems, are buried in the Nave of the abbey. The famous sculpture of Isaac Newton flanked by cherubs marks the spot where he's buried there. Of special significance is the tomb of the unknown soldier of World War I. As I was wandering around this holiest of holies, I remembered reading that Charles Darwin had been buried here and wondered where he was. Then I looked down and didn't need to wonder anymore.

Next, I went to the National Gallery, an art gallery in Trafalgar Square.

Admission is free, so I figured it would be fun to check out. I didn't know that one of my favorite paintings, the Arnolfini Portrait, was there, as well as several others I had heard of. They also (if I recall) had works by Raphael, El Greco, van Gogh, Monet, and Renoir. I spent most of my time looking at Renaissance-era paintings that were religous in nature. I wish I could have seen everything there, but the museum was going to close soon, and I was getting tired.

I was also getting hungry, so I returned to the cafe on Whitehall where Andy and I had gotten sandwiches a few days before. I had the fish and chips this time. Even though it wasn't the cafe's specialty, I had to say that I had fish and chips in England. I came up about a pound short on the bill and had to ask for money from some other American tourists in the restaurant. Frig, why didn't I just use plastic? Of course I think of that now.

Finally, I set out for Greenwich to see the Royal Observatory, the place that the Prime Meridian is defined to run through. I'm not sure how many other people would want to go to the Prime Meridian; it seems like a boring Jordon thing. It's kind of out of the way from central London, so it took me a while to get there by train, but it was worth it.

As the sun was setting, I made it to Greenwich, which is a quaint little place on the south bank of the Thames, across from the Isle of Dogs. I made my way to Greenwich Park, where the observatory can be found atop a hill.

The observatory was closed, but I was able to peer through the gates to see the "Prime Meridian of the World" sign. Apparently, I had already crossed into the Eastern Hemisphere without realizing it. Fortunately, a short section of the meridian was marked outside the gates, so I paused for the inevitable photo op.

Thus ended my romps in London. Yesterday, Andy and I were getting ready to leave, but we didn't have much time because we weren't supposed to make noise while Andy's cousin was giving a yoga lesson. In fact, she invited us to join her, and we obliged (well, I obliged). Never having done yoga before, I was of course not very flexible, but apparently I'm a natural squatter. Toward the end, I was advised to stop and just breathe while closing my eyes and sitting yoga-style. You know, "Om..." Apparently I impressed everyone with my ability to sit still. Thanks?

After that, Andy and I took a train to Paris and left our gracious hosts and the rest of London behind.

The first thing I really noticed about England (besides the weather) was how the people lived. On the train from the airport, I saw endless rows of little English houses all squeezed together on winding streets. People seem to live that way everywhere around London. The house in Mill Hill was like that too. Andy's relatives told me it was 135 years old. Mill Hill was kind of suburban but still quaint. The high street (main street) had lots of shops, and people apparently lived above them, even if the place was a Subway.

Speaking of which, the cultural differences were really apparent at times. I would see signs that said "Subway," but I knew they couldn't be referring to the underground train system because that's called the Underground. It turns out that a British subway is a pedestrian tunnel under a road. Who knew?

During my stay, I got some lessons on British words and phrases. I learned (or learnt) a bit about soccer (or football). I tried English tea (which tasted the same as any other tea) and found out that Heinz salad cream (salad dressing) is delicious on baked potatoes. And I had my fish and chips. London was a good experience, and I'm glad we could stay in a place that felt like home.

The Channel Tunnel, or Chunnel, is a feat of modern engineering, but it isn't very interesting to go through. Andy slept through it and didn't believe me when I told him we were already in France. I told him to look at the roads we passed by and verify that cars were driving on the right.

We arrived in Paris in the late afternoon and had a heck of a time trying to get to the hostel we had booked. It can be hard to get around in a new city when you don't speak the language. All I really know how to say in French are "Hello", "I don't speak French", "Do you speak English?", and "Thank you". But we did find the place, so we are now enjoying (i.e., having) our first hostel experience.

There's a room on the ground floor with a bar, a kitchen, and some tables. It's also a good place to use the Wi-Fi (which we have to pay for, so I'm writing this post offline). Andy was checking his e-mail here last night when he got a message from one of his Esperanto contacts. It was an invitation to an Esperanto gathering at a cafe downtown. Of course, we went.

There were at least a dozen Esperantists there; most of them were Parisians, but I did see several Japanese visitors as well. Everyone was friendly, and I didn't have too hard of a time understanding them. Some people left, but those of us who remained went to an Italian restaurant and chatted it up. They spoke to the waiter for Andy and me. Suddenly, this strange new city wasn't so scary after all. We had friends.

Andy and I returned to the hostel and slept. I'm a light sleeper, so I didn't appreciate that one of the people in our room woke up at 5:15 in the morning and spent at least half an hour making lots of noise, including answering a call on her cell phone. She also left the light on even when she seemed to have left the room. After that, I slept better.

We got up this morning for free breakfast and then had to be out for the day. To encourage guests to go outside and become responsible young persons, the hostel closes from 11 AM to 3 PM. They also make sure that the place is dirty and disgusting so you never want to be there. I am glad we won't be here much longer.

Anyway, we went out and met an Esperanto friend that Andy had made online. He was a nice guy, and he brought his friend who didn't speak Esperanto but did speak English. We went to a small skate park and Andy tried his hand at skateboarding; I, valuing my high number of non-broken bones, knew better than to try. But a pleasant time was had by all.

After that, Andy and I went Sacre-Coeur, a beautiful church that sits high on a hill overlooking Paris.

Next, we went to Place de la Concord and walked down the Champs-Elysses to the Arc de Triomphe. It was hard to get a good picture because the sun was behind it. That didn't stop me from making a weird face at the camera, though.

And that was today. Tomorrow, we'll be leaving the hostel and staying with an Esperantist as we see more sights around Paris. Stay tuned...

Jolly good!

Sat May 30, 2009 09:04 EST (UTC -5)

The flight to London seemed endlessly long. And it was filled with children. Actually, that part wasn't so bad, but it could have been. I managed to keep myself busy mainly by just thinking about stuff. That's what I often do to beat boredom. When I got tired of that, I watched several of the in-flight movies, viz. Frost/Nixon and Gran Torino. I didn't sleep. Basically, 2 AM jumped to 7 AM, cutting out some prime sleeping time. I wouldn't have been able to sleep anyway because the plane was too noisy.

Anyway, we landed in the UK on Wednesday morning without a hitch, and the weather was typical: cold and overcast and slightly rainy. The four of us made our way into London before deciding to head for our own lodging; Mark and Dan went to a hotel while Andy and I trekked to Andy's relatives house in Mill Hill, Barnet, Greater London. After much frustration in trying to take the underground and overground trains, we made it to Mill Hill, and from there we asked locals how to get to the right street. Finally, we found the house and were greeted by one of Andy's relatives.

After settling in, we thought we would kill some time (and keep our jet-lagged selves from dozing in the afternoon) by taking a train into London and walking around a bit. But it was so cold that we didn't stray far from the station where we had gotten off. There wasn't much to see around there, so we went home but got kept taking the wrong trains. It was pretty confusing because some of the trains passed by our stop but didn't stop there. All the while, we were trying to beat the jetlag by not falling asleep. Even I was nodding off at that point.

Finally we were home, and we met more of Andy's relatives. There are three of them in all, parents and a son older than us. We finished the long day in a very British manner: by eating Indian food (which was delicious, by the way) and watching soccer on TV. Then we went to sleep. Ah, beautiful sleep...

On Thursday, Andy and I woke up well-rested and ready to see all the sights. We took a bus to Oxford Circus and planned to mosey down to the Palace of Westminster. I kept getting distracted by monuments off in the distance, and before we knew it, we were at a road lined with British flags and a lovely park on the opposite side. Toward the end of the road there was some kind of monument, so we decided to see what it was.

It turned out to be a monument to Queen Victoria, and behind it was none other than Buckingham Palace. We stuck around for a little while before continuing to Westminster.

We were getting hungry at this point, so near the Cenotaph and Downing Street we stopped at a cafe for sandwiches. And we continued on to Big Ben. It was pretty cloudy that day, so I didn't think the pictures would come out well, but it looks like they have.

We crossed Westminster Bridge to go to County Hall and the London Eye. We thought about getting on the Eye, but we decided to wait until the weather improved. So we went toward the Tower Bridge, crossing London Bridge and passing the Monument and the Tower of London along the way.

We couldn't actually do a lot of stuff at this point because it was getting late. We were also very tired, so we went home. Andy cooked some stir fry, and then we tried to make some Pasporta Servo contacts in France before we went to bed.

On Friday, we went into town again. The first thing I wanted to do was go to Abbey Road, famously shown on the cover of the Beatles album of the same name and home of the studio where they did most of their recording. As I had expected, there were a few fans there, and the wall outside the studio (also called Abbey Road) was covered in brand-new graffiti from visitors around the world.

The people there were also trying to get photos of themselves making the famous walk across the street, so I didn't feel so cheesy about trying to do it myself. Anyway, I wouldn't be able to live myself if I hadn't done it.

After that, we went to the London Eye because it was a sunny day. We stood in line for about a half hour, and the ride (or "flight") itself lasted as long, so it wasn't that bad. It was a great opportunity to see the city.

We had some time to kill before the meeting of the London Esperanto Club that we had planned to attend. So we went to Camden, near were it was supposed to be, and walked around a bit while having some fruit from a local market. We made our way to the London Irish Centre, where the club would meet, and sat outside because we were still early. I had never met other Esperantists before, so I was kind of nervous. Finally, we went in and had a seat near some of them. They were mostly older folks, and they welcomed us heartily. We chatted a bit, always in Esperanto, and then went upstairs for the meeting, also in Esperanto.

One of the members was compiling an Esperanto-English dictionary and showed us some entries he had come up with (and some he had decided to exclude). He was having some issues with trying to decide between British English and American English words, so it was fortunate that there were American visitors there. We talked about words and such, and when that was over, we introduced ourselves to the group and mentioned how we started an Esperanto club at our school. They weren't all old; the president was younger and an American, and another member was a Slovak who looked to be in his twenties.

We went downstairs to chat with the twentysomething guy (in Esperanto), and before we knew it, it was dark out and almost everyone had left. He treated us to dinner at a vegetarian Chinese buffet in Camden, where we talked about our Esperanto-related plans for the summer. Then he presented some of his Esperanto raps (oh yes, there is such a thing). By then, it was getting late, so we went home, whereupon I fell asleep.

We haven't planned anything for today, so maybe we're just going to take it easy. Before we leave, I would like to check out Westminster Abbey or at least go to a pub and have fish and chips. We'll see how things unfold...

Almost there

Sun May 24, 2009 20:28 EST (UTC -5)

I'm leaving for Europe on Tuesday. This may be my last post before I leave! Or maybe not. Stay tuned to find out!

There are four of us: Mark, Dan, Andy, and I. The trip was Mark's idea, and he asked us if we wanted to come along. We've decided to split into two groups so it would be easier to find accommodations. Also, Mark and Dan wanted to do some things while Andy and I wanted to do other things. We'll be going to many of the same places but probably at different times, and Andy and I will be spending time with Esperanto speakers.

The two of us will also attend Esperanto events such as the Summer Esperanto Study (SES) in Slovakia and the International Youth Congress of Esperanto (IJK) in the Czech Republic (not Prague, although you're going to tell me it's a beautiful city). We made our arrangements last week; it felt good to get them out of the way.

The events should be a great way to meet new people while improving our Esperanto. To date, 98 SES participants (not including Andy and me) have allowed their names and locations to be listed online. Of these, 1 is from the United States. And among 325 other IJK participants who are listed online, only 1 is from the US (not the same person, if you're wondering). Several people are from countries that my government isn't very fond of, such as Cuba and Iran. This will be a great opportunity to learn about other cultures without politics getting in the way.

Andy has already been meeting other Esperantists; he decided to go to the National Congress of Esperanto-USA in St. Louis this weekend. Although he makes spontaneous trips like that all the time, I wasn't ready to take a plane trip halfway across the country on a few days' notice. He called me a few times and seemed to be having a good time. I wish I could have been there. Maybe we can go together next year with some more planning.

Yesterday I went shopping to get most of the things I still needed for the trip. Now I have everything I think I'll need except for a clothesline for indoor use. I've seen clotheslines for sale that you can tie to trees, but none with some indoor sticky hook things on each end. Hopefully I won't need to hang my clothes dry anyway. Bleah. I also thought about getting souvenirs from home (my city, or Florida, or the US, or whatever) to give as gifts to new friends and anyone who provides us hospitality. Any ideas? Also keep in mind that tomorrow is a national holiday, so my shopping options are limited!

Danger Mouse, the artist behind the Beatles/Jay-Z mashup The Grey Album, has a new album called Dark Night of the Soul. It's the result of collaborations with various artists who sing on each of the tracks, including Jason Lytle of Grandaddy, a band that I'm a fan of. The album hasn't officially been released due to legal issues, so Mr. Mouse et al. are selling a blank CD-R with artwork and a note saying to "[u]se it as you will." You can stream the album from NPR and download it from some BitTorrent trackers; here it is at The Pirate Bay. I know an album is good when I go back to listen to it a second time right away. I listened to this one eight times in a row. Highly recommended.

Following the green star

Thu May 21, 2009 22:39 EST (UTC -5)

The Pasporta Servo (Passport Service) is a hospitality network for Esperanto speakers. Since my friend Andy and I are about to embark on a two-month trip to Europe, and because we're Esperantists, we thought we should take advantage of this great resource. There's just one problem: this year's edition of the address book hasn't been published yet. Normally it's published early in the year, but since they're making an online version of what was previously only a book, things got complicated, apparently.

Andy and I just posted a request for hosts on the lernu.net forums, and we've already gotten a response from a young guy near Paris who we can probably stay with for at least a few nights. Also, I decided to buy last year's edition of the Pasporta Servo, which Esperanto-USA was still offering for sale. I don't think using it will be a big problem; this year's version can't be very different. While I was buying Esperanto-related stuff, I also bought a little Esperanto flag and some buttons so other Esperantists can identify us. Seeing that flag just makes me so happy. I'm looking forward to staying with and befriending a lot of nice people.

To call friends and family at home or future friends in Europe at low, low rates, I set out to install the Internet telephony program Ekiga on our Eee PC. It wasn't as straightforward as I thought it would be, though. The EeeUser wiki has a whole big page about adding software repositories, but none of the ones listed on that page had Ekiga, so they were pretty useless. What to do, what to do?

I had read somewhere that the customized version of Xandros that runs on the Eee PC is based on Debian Etch, so I decided to add the Etch repositories to see what would happen. If my system got hosed, I could just reboot and restore everything to the factory configuration. So I added the following line to /etc/apt/sources.list:

deb http://http.us.debian.org/debian etch main contrib

The EeeUser wiki page wasn't entirely useless. It taught me about the importance of pinning, which gives different priority levels to different repositories. I edited /etc/apt/preferences to give the standard Eee PC repositories a higher pin priority than the default 500:

Package: *
Pin: origin update.eeepc.asus.com
Pin-Priority: 950

Then I went to Synaptic to install Ekiga, but I kept getting an error message about being unable to parse /var/lib/dpkg/status. I tried some fixes as suggested on the wiki, but the problem persisted. I even restored the original settings, but to no avail. So I just tried using apt-get on the command line, and that worked. Apparently I also could have just scrolled down to Ekiga in Synaptic. The message apparently only comes up if I install a package after entering a search keyword.

Anyway, Ekiga seems to be working fine except for lag problems on my end and sound quality problems on other people's end. The latter, I hope, can be fixed by adjusting the equalization of the microphone, i.e., giving it more treble and less bass. But I can't seem to find a utility to do that. More research is needed. In the meantime, I have set Ekiga to start automatically, so friends and family who want to call me should be able to whenever the computer is on.

Self-explanatory: japanesebirdcookingspaghetti.com.

Dork Yearbook is a collection of dorky photos of dorks when they were dorky children. I'm glad I wasn't that dorky as a little kid. (Via waxy.org)

A sweet end

Thu Apr 30, 2009 22:58 EST (UTC -5)

End-of-year things have been going on. Last Monday, I presided over the last Esperanto Club meeting of the year. Not a lot of people showed up, but I guess that can be expected since people had to study for exams and do more important end-of-year things. We had elections, but no one was challenged, so they were kind of pointless. Still, you've got to respect the democratic process.

Last Thursday, Get Carded had its year-end dinner at Bento Cafe, a hip Asian place. This year, they'd been awarding points to people for volunteering a certain number of hours at events. The member with the most points at the end of the year would get a gift card for the restaurant of their choice. I was the frontrunner all year, so Michael and Jehan, the guys in charge, already asked me what restaurant I wanted a gift card for. And on Thursday night, I was awarded Volunteer of the Year (defending my title from last year) with a gift card good for Chili's, Macaroni Grill, and a couple of other places whose names I can't be bothered to remember because I'm too lazy to take the gift card out of my wallet even though I could have taken it out and checked in the time it's taken me to write this.

Saturday night was a Gator Freethought party. I was only able to go to a few of their meetings this year due to scheduling conflicts, so I thought I'd make up for it by going to a party at the former president's house. It was fun; there were games, political debates, and s'mores. I wish I had gone to more of those parties.

Oh, and exams. My first exam was yesterday, a whole week after classes ended. I think I did well. My other two were today. In fact, the exams I expected to be harder were easier and the one I expected to be easier was harder. Is that ironic? It might be Alanis Morissette ironic, but I don't think it's really ironic.

For my discrete math class, we got to choose our own grade distribution (according to certain guidelines), so I took advantage of that by writing a program that would find the best grade distribution for me. I gave it a few possible values for my final exam grade and went for one of the distributions that weighed my final somewhat heavily but not as heavily as possible. It made getting an A pretty easy without the risk of getting a very bad grade if I somehow bombed the final. I shared my program with my classmates, and at least some of them used it, which was cool.

After that exam, which was my last, my roommate moved out, and I'm now left in a half-empty room till Saturday. But all is not lost. I planned a date with my new friend. We hadn't met for a while due to various things (mainly exams) getting in the way, but things worked out tonight. We went to Chop Stix, a pan-Asian place, for dinner, and it was delightful. I'd like to see her again before I go home, and I might.

And, well, that's basically it. I guess it's time to put this year to bed. I'll be moving out on Saturday, and I'll probably get home Sunday.

If world leaders were on Facebook, they would probably have a Facebook group for world leaders.

The Benny Hillifier makes any video sillier by substituting the audio with that sax tune from The Benny Hill Show.

You know you need to put your comic strip to bed when you reuse artwork and/or jokes from decades ago. Recently, Blondie and The Family Circus have been caught doing just that. (Via J-Walk Blog)