Tuesday, October 19, 2010

12:20 PM

Prague, Czech Republic

Starbucks along Václavské náměstí

I’m sick of cities. I’m sick of towns. They’ve bored me to exhaustion—they are, in essence, all the same. I mention this first because I know it colors my thoughts. I hope it will pass as I make my way down to the ruins of the classical civilizations.

There are buildings. They are either bland modern structures, elaborate edifices from two to three hundred years ago, or Medieval churches. Sprinkled around are monuments. Everywhere, the same brands follow me. McDonalds, Starbucks, H&M. In Zurich there were three H&M’s one the same street, all within view of each other. Supermarkets are ubiquitous; sex shops and overpriced cafes too. The cars are not small. They are standard sized. I’ve seen no more Minis, or smart cars here than I have in the States. The people are all the same—they only speak another language..except they speak English too. People, everywhere I’ve been, are mean, and nice. They are desperate and lackadaisical. They ride the bus. They go to McDonalds and Starbucks.

The terrible monotony of it is driving deeper into me. I’ve tried different approaches. I’ve gone from city to city, a new one every day. I’ve spent multiple days in large cities, and small towns, or spent only a little time. I’ve mingled with locals and fellow travelers. But there is an unfortunate tedium that is beginning to define my explorations. I’m less than one month into my three month train pass. Something needs to change.

That’s why I’m headed south. I’m headed for Italy and Greece as soon as possible. I’m swinging up through Amsterdam to do what all young Americans must do in Amsterdam, then down to Paris for a day to visit the Louvre and restock on books. I then plan to visit the tiny Medieval village where Chocolat was filmed, a town virtually untouched by time (or so the guides say)—I hope that will rekindle my interests.

I have planned a trip to CERN as well, for the 18^th of November. For those who don’t know, that’s where the heart of particle physics lies, where the Large Hadron Collider (LHC) every day brings us closer to a greater understanding of the universe.

Added to that is my return to England, where I will be going to the town of York for Guy Fawkes day, and then possibly going to Oxford and Cambridge after that to visit the Medieval academies. I might also swing through London to visit the National Gallery, which I missed when I was there in September.

My eventual trip to Rome, Venice, and Athens also fill me with great expectation. These are the places I really want to see. I’ve grown weary of checking off countries on my list. Now I’m focusing on the places I really want to go. At least I know that I’ve used my Eurail pass very well, by now. I’ve probably used it for twice its worth at this point, so I’ll stop being paranoid about getting my money’s worth out of it.

There is a silver lining to this growing discontent, though. It’s giving me exactly the perspective I was looking for. Where others go overseas and find the differences, I focus on the similarities. Food, architecture, people, nature, driving patterns—I focus on what is similar. And it’s focusing me. It’s helping me to see how I want to be a part of this world.

Anyway, I suppose I should get to some of the travel notes themselves. First off: no one over here says anything when you sneeze! Isn’t that weird? I have nothing else to say about this…it’s just really weird.

Okay, so the last time I wrote I was planning to attend the Tivoli Halloween themed amusement park, which I did, the next day. It was really nice, and kind of funny in the way they went about it. It’s a holiday basically copied from the Americans and you can kind of see them working the kinks out of their imported holiday. It has the trappings, some of the spirit, but they’re still struggling with some of the core concepts. It’s kinda cute,actually.

The paths were lined with pumpkins and orange lights; the vendors were all selling Halloween themed foods and souvenirs. The rides themselves were decked out, one roller coaster being transformed into a haunted house—pathetic though it was—, and the Ferris wheel, which usually has a big balloon above each of the gondolas, had pumpkin heads.

I bought some candy at the candy shop—and here I must provide a warning to any who would try the horror that is Danish candy. Oh, please, enjoy their pastries, but avoid their gummies. They cover their gummies, not in sour powder, but in salt. SALT! And nobody warned me! The poor, unsuspecting American bought a bunch of candy which thereafter nearly cause him to vomit. I picked out a few pieces of skull shaped sour candy. Or so I thought. It was black liquorices (which I already hate) covered in salt. Definitely goes in the top three of worst things I’ve ever tasted. Even their sour belts—which were, marginally, sour, mind you—were missing something. Very strange. Avoid the candy at all costs.

Of course, I must balance out this caution to suggest that you spare no expense in obtaining Norwegian chocolate, which is exceptional. It has a completely different texture than the chocolate we get over here. It almost crumbles as it melts, and is very smooth. German chocolate too, which is very thick and creamy.

So, back to the amusement park: they had two shows that day which I was extraordinarily excited to attend. One was a Halloween circus, and the other a vampire story told through pantomime and break-dancing. The Halloween circus was an utter travesty. They clearly took employees at the end of the summer, handed them some random circus stuff they picked up at a Toys R Us, and said, “Here, do something.” I guess it was supposed to be funny, but it wasn’t even that. It took extreme self-control not to hop up on stage and grab the unicycle and really wow the audience.

The Vampire show, on the other hand, was incredible. It was well choreographed, well staged; creative, funny, provoking. It was worth the price of admission itself (seriously).

Beyond that, my final observation about the Scandinavians is that they wear their age very well. I can’t tell you how many times I have seen a woman whose face was not visible and assumed she was an attractive twenty-something, only to be very surprised when I saw her face (which, in itself usually looked younger than it obviously was).

After Copenhagen I took a train to Hamburg (the train went on a ferry to get there—how cool is that!?). Hamburg was more of Germany, which I now vow to never return to, unless I have a native to take me through a small town with a castle or something. The cities are just depressing.

From there, on to Zurich, which was a very nice day. I did a lot of walking through the town, and it’s probably my third favorite, after Copenhagen and Paris. I found my way to the big art gallery there and was lucky enough to catch the Picasso exhibit they had on.

I’ve never seen so many Picasso’s before. It was a surprising journey, to have my eyes travel along his paintings and trace his development as an artist, to see the Blue Period give way to the Pink, over to a form of Impressionism and then a complex Cubism, followed by a more realistic period in the mid-20’s, and then finally on to a simpler, essential Cubism for which, I believe, he is most famous. There are many artists and works of art for which this can be said, and Picasso is definitely among them: his paintings are something that need to be seen in person to truly appreciate. When you look at them on the page, all you really see are strange shapes and a creative mind doing something different, “stirring things up” as it were. But when you view them up close, well, you see so much more. You see the fine detail, and there is much of it. You recognize the thought behind a stroke, the necessity of a misplaced nose, or a distorted torso. The body, so expertly torn apart in his work, is pulled together in a meaningful way.

From Zurich I went to Budapest, my first foray into Eastern Europe, and the return of my genes to their motherland, was exciting. When I arrived I knew, immediately, that I was in Eastern Europe—it truly lived up to my expectations. Just off the train I expertly avoided being accosted by the very pushy taxi drivers hassling travelers. The train station itself was grand and large, but dark and cold. On the street, I saw the buildings all around, a few stories tall, elaborate designs along them, but chipped all about, stained too. Walking the streets I saw the most pushy sock-seller I’ve ever seen—a lady who grabbed a man, practically begging him (I think—it was in Hungarian) to buy the socks. Everywhere the signage made me feel uncomfortable. Previously, in any country I had been to, the languages were similar enough to English or Spanish for me to discern their meaning, but here the language bore zero resemblance to anything I am familiar with. I should also mention that it was cloudy—that added to the whole grim, Eastern-European-y-ness of the whole thing.

I set off to wander the streets and find a wifi connection to figure out what sights to see. I found one at a McDonalds (the only reason I’m grateful for their ubiquity), and set of or the Danube River and the Chain Bridge. I found it, crossed, and made my way up a big hill to the Buda Castle, the Mattias Church, and stunning views of Budapest.

From there I made my way back down to street level, wandered some back roads, and then dragged myself up an even bigger mountain to where I had seen a massive statue standing atop. At the base of the mountain I noticed a really interesting waterfall that looked manmade, but fell down along the side of the huge rock face into a small pool. At the top of the mountain I saw even more incredible, 360 views of Budapest, as well as the impressive statue of a woman with a feather. I couldn’t read the plaque, so I have no idea what it was about.

(Speaking of things I knew nothing about, I finally looked up the story of Lucretia, who seems to show up at least a dozen times in every museum I go to. If you go to an art museum, make sure you do a quick review of Lucretia, Christ’s Passion, and St. Sebstian’s martyrdom—that covers about a fifth of all the paintings from 1200-1500 in most museums, it seems.)

I took a little more time to walk along the river. Which got me to thinking: what is it about rivers that I like so much? It seems that no matter where I go I can’t help but walk along a river. Aside from going to a good museum or seeing a sight I’ve always wanted to see, it is my single favorite thing to do in any place. For every place I’ve visited that has a River I’ve either walked along it, or sat beside it. Curious…

Alright, well, I think that about covers it. I took the train last night and had a layover in Vienna. Had an hour so I walked around, but the sameness depressed me…again. I’m now in Prague, the most beautiful city in the world, or so I’m told. Maybe I’ve done too much at once? Maybe that’s why I’m jaded. Jaded—or surprised? I dunno. Anyway: Prague is beautiful. The buildings are more well sculpted than most places and most of their major buildings a gilded in gold and bronze, with lots of sculptures and monuments lining the streets. But it’s not enough. I don’t know why. But I think it’s a good thing.

It’s my new thought-mission—figure out why I feel this way about the places I’m visiting. And figure out its significance. I think it’s probably a good thing because, while I feel depressed because things are not what I had expected and are not giving me the supreme thrill I was hoping for, I am discovering some of the fundamental qualities of the cultures of the world—well, at least the Western world. It’s why I think I’m anxious to visit Japan next, with, perhaps, a stop in Turkey. It’s the Far East. If I recognize the same qualities there, I expect a rather large revelation; the same if I realize that it is fundamentally different.

But I don’t think I will find a difference. Not anymore. I think I’m starting to get to the root of what so many artists have been trying to express from time immemorial. Painters, writers, filmmakers—they are most often trying to get at the root of human experience. That is the power and purpose of art. It feels like seeing the Matrix (but not quite understanding it yet).