Romania

Oh boy, Romania. Romania, Romania, Romania... So last I left off, I was leaving Berlin and the Göktürk. When I got to the Germanwings terminal at Berlin Schoenefeld airport, and sat down at the gate, I knew I was in for a treat. First of all, the guy sitting right across from me looked like someone who would pick up drifters and brutally murder them. Why? He had very quiet sneakers. Besides that, I just got negative vibes from his insect-like bulging eyes. Anyways, I got on the plane after a 20 minute wait and had an uneventful flight. When we landed in Bucharest, the terminal looked like it hadn't been updated for 50 years and had fallen into disrepair. In the little hallway leading outside, there were a slew of taxi drivers on either side, and plenty more waiting just outside. Now, I have dealt with similar people, such as in Marrakesh, but these guys were much more aggressive and much more unsettling. Unfortunately, I couldn't help but look like a tourist when I pulled out my directions, and needless to say, this alerted them and sent them into attack mode. "Need taxi?! I've got good price! Where you from?" Every one of them shouted the same lines. Then I got to the end of the sidewalk and exited the airport, but I couldn't shake one persistent cabby who followed me down the road. Once he realized I wasn't going to bite, he just yelled out in the most pitifully depressing voice, "please, please, please!" I knew it was just an act though. I kept walking down this main road, having no idea where I was, but I did see the Bank of Transylvania which made me laugh:

After snapping that picture, I kept walking down the street and turned right at the next big intersection. In the distance I saw this animal that looked like a cross between a wolf and a bear, basically the meanest looking dog you can imagine. I want to figure out what breed it is because it is one of the most bad-ass looking things I've ever seen. It looked like it was on the hunt, which it probably was because it was clearly a stray. Looking back now, I can't believe I didn't take a picture of it. Sorry. Well, that was only the first of many more strays I would see in Bucharest and Romania. Bucharest is reputed to have more than 250,000 stray dogs. Those with yellow tags on their ears have been neutered or spayed. More on the strays later. So I was walking down the street and I see this bus, and I thought it was my bus, but it started to go so I thought I would just have to wait for the next one. In one of the only acts of kindness I saw or received in Romania, the driver stopped a few feet down the road and motioned for me to get on. I didn't have a ticket, but I said what the hell and hopped on. There was barely any room though, and the people in the front seats refused to move their bags so I just stood in the doorway and the doors repeatedly open and closed on me every time we stopped. I would periodically look at everyone on the bus behind me, and they would almost always be staring at me with a sour face. If I had to venture a guess, they knew I was a foreigner, and if I had to venture another guess, I'd say they aren't very fond of foreigners. No matter, I just kept my eyes peeled for my stop. Numerous cell phones went off during the ride, all of which had some sort of traditional Romanian instrumental song as the ring tone. I hate to draw the comparison, but think "Borat." My directions instructed me to get off the bus at the major train station, Garra de Nord.

When I got off the bus I was greeted by gypsies and strays. At this point I still didn't have a bus ticket, and I didn't want to have to pay a fine if I got caught, so I went into the train station looking for some sort of ticket kiosk. Well, they don't have electronic ticket machines in Romania yet, so that option was out of the question. I wandered around for a bit, keeping my guard up since I heard the train station, like most train stations, is the worst place for pickpocketers, con artists, etc. However, I had no luck finding a kiosk. I scanned my environment and saw these two security guards...or so I thought. I walked up to them and asked them where I could buy a bus ticket. People at Garra de Nord come in two varieties: sleazy and sleazier. The sleazier guy, with the gelled back hair paused a moment, looked at me for a few seconds, turned, and then said "follow me." This already sent off red flags for me, but I didn't think I had a better option so I followed the two to the other side of the station. When we were near the exit, Sleazier (They will now be addressed as Sleazy and Sleazier) told me to wait there with his partner and he walked outside. Me and Sleazy shared a painfully awkward 5 minutes together in which he attempted to speak to me in Romanian several times despite my protests that I only knew English and some Spanish. Sleazier got back and handed me the ticket which had written on it, 1.60 Lei. He told me it cost 10 euro. I told him this was clearly not the case because the ticket said 1.60 on it. He said, "fine, fine, 10 lei." At this point I wasn't too sure there was anyone that would help me if these guys decided to jump me, as they had clubs, so I relented and said "okay." I asked him if he had change and he replied in the positive so I gave him a 50 lei note. He only counted out 30 lei to give back to me and I asked him what the deal was. He answered, "10 lei for me and my partner for a beer." I was done with these guys, so I let them have the 10 lei note (it really isn't much in dollars anyways).

When I was outside, I was bombarded by even more taxi drivers. I told one of the cabbies who approached me that I was taking the bus and he replied: "Don't take the bus! The bus is hijacked! There are hijackers on the buses!" I knew this was just a desperate business tactic, so I laughed. Still, it made me a little apprehensive about what I would be in for in Romania. I found this Hispanic family waiting at the bus stop, and I cannot tell you how elated I was to find someone I could communicate with and who didn't seem to want to cause me bodily harm. I got on the first bus that came, mainly because they got on it, but it turned out to be the wrong bus. So I rode the bus with this Hispanic family for a while, talking with them, trying to figure out where I needed to go. We arrived at this one stop and they told me to get off there because "I would be safe there because it was a Spanish speaking neighborhood, and people there would help me." I felt like they had brought me under the protection of the Hispanic community. I felt incredibly indebted to them and thanked them numerous times when I left. It turns out I had to walk to the other side of the block to catch a bus in the direction I came from. Again, I got on the first bus that stopped, the only difference being this time I knew it wasn't the bus the hostel told me to take. I asked the bus driver if he stopped where I needed to go, and he merely looked at me with a grimace and then looked back at the road. I asked a Romanian couple if they knew, and even though they didn't speak any English, I was able to convey what I needed and found out that the bus I was on did stop where I needed to go.

By the time I was at my stop, the sun was pretty low in the sky and evening was fast approaching. I wanted to make it indoors before the packs of strays and crazy people came out. On foot, I was able to find the hostel easily. After paying, I moved my stuff to my room and then relaxed for a little while. The night before in Berlin, and the events up until that point that day were starting to catch up with me. After mustering up the energy, I got off my bed and headed out into Bucharest for something to eat. Little did I know that Easter is one of, if not the biggest holiday in Romania and almost EVERYTHING shuts down. I thought there was bound to be something near by so I just set out in a random direction with my map. A few blocks out from the hostel, a random man came up to me on the street and asked for a cigarette. I told him I had none and that I didn't smoke. He seemed perplexed by this. After this, he stuck out his hand for me to shake. I wasn't sure if I should shake it or not, for all I knew it could be some kind of Romanian custom to shake someone's hand after you ask for a cigarette. Against my better judgment, I shook it. Then he put his arm around me. This was not O.K. I took his hand off and I told him to knock it off and go away. He followed me for a good half mile, about ten feet behind me the entire time, yelling "I love you American!" and "hey friend! wait friend! Please!" After walking for a while, I realized that I was definitely walking away from where I should be going, so I had to double back, and again cross this guy who was stalking me. When I did, he reached out his hand and I just kept walking and ignored him. I finally got back to my hostel's neighborhood, and stopped in my tracks after I saw a pack of strays on the prowl. I wanted to take a picture because they looked organized and fierce, but I had this wacko on my tail so I kept walking. A little after I passed the dogs, I heard the guy behind me start talking to them. After all my effort, I found an Italian place right around the block from my hostel in the OPPOSITE direction I had taken. I was about to walk into the restaurant, and at this point the guy was only a yard behind me and I had had enough. I turned around and told him to leave me alone and that his following me ended there. I was definitely in fight or flight mode at this point. In reply to my ultimatum he apologized and walked away. To be honest, he was probably just a drunk bum who wanted a friend. There were some people from my hostel eating at that same restaurant by chance so I sat with them. There was a couple from Belgium and a couple from France. They were pretty nice, but it was hard to talk with them since they didn't speak English very well. The Belgian guy talked exactly like Steve Brule, which made it hard for me to keep a straight face. After dinner, on my way back to the hostel, I took some photos of advertisements for some prime Romanian entertainment:


I fell asleep quite quickly when I got back. The next morning I got breakfast in the hostel and talked with some people to get an idea of what there might be to do in Bucharest. Nothing apparently. I set out with one of the guys nonetheless since we both wanted to sight see and take pictures. Well, there isn't much to see. There is a big government building that is supposed to be the largest government building in the world after the Pentagon:

The streets weren't attractive at all and the architecture left much to be desired:

While we were walking down one of the main streets, there was a kid walking towards us on the other side of the sidewalk, inhaling fumes of some sort from a bag. Apparently it is a big problem with the impoverished youth in Romania. The odd thing is that no one thought it strange that this kid was walking down the street in broad daylight getting high. Everyone there is used to it, and no one bothers the kids, cops included. On our way back to the hostel, we came across some very welcoming graffiti:

There was a hostel barbecue that night which was awkward because there really weren't that many people staying at the hostel. Free food is free food though so I ate everything I could. "God knows when I will be able to eat again," I thought. After eating my fill, I decided to go out and hunt for packs of strays to take pictures of. I figured the park would be a good place to look, so I went there first. It didn't take long to hear some howling and all I had to do was follow the noise to the dogs. There were three of them darting back and forth under park benches and sniffing all around. It was tough to get their pictures because they aren't very trustful of humans, and they were freaked out by the camera. I did manage to get a few shots which you can see in my Picassa album. The park was also full of frogs which I had a field day taking pictures of. Some were even mating:

After I had enough of the frogs, we went back to the hostel. I got up the next morning and got on a train to Brasov in Transylvania. I didn't know what anything on my ticket meant, so I just got on the last train car and picked a random cabin. Turns out I was in the wrong place when the ticket man came around. Two railway employees also decided to sit in my cabin. These were actually some of the nicest people I met in Romania aside from the Hispanics. They were civil and patient with me when I didn't understand them, and when they got off they wished me a good stay in Romania. In total, it was about a 3 hour train ride. We stopped in several places and waited as long as 20 minutes sometimes. At one stop there were two Romanian boys waiting on the platform, one of which was profusely bleeding everywhere. I'm not quite sure what happened, but I'm gonna guess it was a bloody nose. I'm not sure if a bloody nose produces that much blood though. He and his friend were taking turns swigging an almost empty bottle of vodka. I witnessed people drinking vodka like it was water, numerous times during my stay in Romania. It is quite impressive. Here's a picture of a Romanian town we passed on the train:

Once I got to the train station in Brasov, I was immediately wary of anyone or anything that approached me, and I refused to talk to anyone, no matter how cop-like they may have appeared. I decided to make it easy on myself and got a cab since in American dollars it was only like $2 to my hostel. I made sure to use one of the taxi companies the hostel suggested so I wouldn't get ripped off. The guy didn't rip me off, and I got to my hostel in about ten minutes. Win, win. Already a better start than Bucharest. There was only one other person in my dorm room when I got there and he was sleeping. The place felt very empty. After unpacking my stuff, I needed to feed. I didn't feel very adventurous so I went to KFC, one of the only places where they spoke English. This KFC would become a regular stop for me and I got the chicken strips with garlic sauce every time. It was nice to have familiar food in what seemed like such an alien and hostile environment. There wasn't a whole lot to see in Brasov. In fact, most of it could be seen in an hour or less if you wanted to speed through. I can't forget to mention the Hollywood-esque sign that sits atop a mountain behind the city:

Thankfully, the thing also lit up at night. Besides the sign, Brasov lays claim to one of (although I think they claim it to be THE) the narrowest streets in Europe, Strada Sforii:

It also has the Black Church, which is called so because of a fire that broke out there many centuries ago and charred the building. It supposedly has the largest collection of Turkish rugs in Europe because traders always donated rugs every time they crossed through Brasov on their way to or from Turkey:

Aside from those attractions, the square was a nice place to hang around because it was the cleanest and also the liveliest:

That night, my roommate and I decided to walk around and see if there were any good bars to hang at. All of the bars are down narrow side alleys and are very hard to find, some even being underground. Eventually we just chose a random one and went in, grabbed a beer and chilled. It wasn't that great of a bar, so we decided to just go back to the hostel after we finished our beers. On our way back we passed a group of Romanian boys dressed in kilts and hats doing a traditional dance, all the while taking turns throwing a metal object into the sky and trying to catch it on its way back down. I got a video of it that you will be able to see in my Picassa album. After watching this ceremony for a while trying to figure out what was going on, we went back for the night. Thankfully, more people arrived the next day. After having breakfast in the morning, me and two of the guys thought it'd be cool to go see Dracula's Castle, also known as Bran Castle. We learned that we needed to take a bus to get to Bran, which we thought would be at the train station since there were coaches lined up outside the station with various destinations in Transylvania written on them. We had no luck finding our bus for the longest time until we realized we needed to catch a city bus to the main bus station which was much further away. We got to the bus station just in time to catch the hourly bus. It was around an hour bus ride to get to Bran, with not a whole lot to see on the way. Bran itself is tiny, and the castle is much smaller than you'd expect, but still decent:

The castle was not actually Vlad Tepes' castle, the historical figure that Dracula is based on. Vlad was famous for his victories against the Turks in battle, and subsequently torturing his war prisoners in inventive ways, most notably of which was impaling them on a wooden stake making sure not to hit any vital nerves so that it would take an agonizing 24 hours or more to die. He also once gouged out the eyeballs of hundreds of Turks and made them walk off a cliff to their deaths. Quite an accomplished guy. Back to Bran Castle. It was actually a Teutonic Knight stronghold used to guard the fringes of their territory from invaders coming from the South. There wasn't much to see inside the castle, but here's a view of the courtyard:

It started to rain while we were there. Then the winds picked up. It was also quite cold. So by the time we got back on the bus to Brasov we were soaking wet and cold. We had priorities though and KFC was above warm clothes, so we stopped there first before going back to the hostel. I got the usual chicken strips with garlic sauce. I showered when we got back to the hostel and then planned my train for the next day to Budapest. After I figured out which train I was going to take, more or less everyone in the hostel, which was around ten people, went out to dinner at a traditional Romanian restaurant. I got Schnitzel but it had nothing on the Schnitzel I had in Berlin. After dinner we spent the rest of the evening playing drinking games. On our way to buy the alcohol, this little stray decided to tag along. I bought him pretzels but he refused to eat them:

The next day I was scheduled to depart in the evening so I took the opportunity to go to Peles Castle in Sinaia, however, not without some drama. On our way to the train station on the bus, my hostel mates and I were caught not having tickets. The inspector didn't ask anyone else for their ticket, but at this point I expected no less from the Romanian authorities. I'm not exactly sure which night it was, but I was walking in the square by myself after getting some pizza and these police officers stopped me and proceeded to interrogate me and asked for my passport. I didn't put up a fight, but it definitely seemed a little iffy. I wasn't sure if I could trust these guys considering what happened in Bucharest. They eventually gave me back my passport and let me be on my way. So, with this incident in mind, I decided it would be best to just pay the fine and keep my mouth shut. Again, it wasn't that bad of a fine when I considered it in American dollars. These two Canadians who were with me on the other hand decided to protest the ticket. I knew that they weren't going to get anywhere so I just bit my lip in silent frustration as I watched them make fools of themselves in front of everyone. I don't think it was fair for the ticket inspector to just single us out, but at the same time, if you break a rule, you're going to have to pay. I don't know what made these Canadians think they were some sort of special case and didn't have to pay. It got to the point that curse words were being exchanged along with some shoves. As I expected, they ended up paying the fine despite all their protests. I ended up going to Peles Castle alone because the Canadians were so upset about the "injustice" and "racism" that they decided they needed to sit it out for the rest of the day. My other two companions were leaving relatively early, so they didn't have the time to come with me. I think it actually might have been better this way. Sinaia was actually a sleepier town than Brasov, if that is possible. I made a beeline for the castle. Along the way I crossed a monastery that everyone was taking pictures of, so I thought it must be something significant so I took pictures of it too:

My favorite part was this stray puppy that was taking a nap along one of the outer walls:

It looked up at me just as I took the picture. I feel like it has such a look of utter despair on its face that it can only be thinking: "help me." I proceeded to walk up the mountain hoping I would come across the castle. I ended up scaling much higher than I needed to, and having to backtrack down the mountain. The castle proved to be well worth the trek though, as it seemed to be the only well maintained area of the town. Also, it was pretty incredible to see the castle framed by the Carpathian Mountains. Inside was pretty decent too. There were a couple rooms totally devoted to rare weaponry which was pretty cool. There was a sword with a sharkskin scabbard and precious stone encrusted rifles:



When the tour was over, I walked outside and down and around the castle to get some photos from better angles.

When I was done loitering around the castle, I walked back down towards the train station and looked for something to eat. I got a kebab and then went to the station where I had to wait about an hour for my train to come. When it did, two Australian friends I met at the hostel just so happened to get on the same train and were also traveling to Budapest that evening. When we got back to Brasov, we still had some time to kill before our train, so I grabbed some dinner while they went back to the hostel to grab their luggage. Afterward, we met at the train station to take the night train to Keleti station in Budapest.

Berlin, Germany

With the current volcanic ash cloud situation in Europe thanks to Iceland, I will be spending a few more days in Prague than expected. Since I've seen just about every major historical and cultural landmark, I figured it would be a good time to continue this momentum with the blog entries. So we got in from Paris in the evening and ate at a Chinese fast food place in the Alexanderplatz train stop. We then got back on the train and took it one more stop to the one closest to our hostel. Wombat's City Hostel was only on the other side of the block, so we had a very short walk from there. We were quite tired from our travels so we picked up our linen and went straight to our rooms. I just threw my sheets onto my bed and laid down. Within a matter of minutes I was out like a light, clothes on and everything. We decided the next day would be perfect for getting depressed, so we thought what better way than going to a concentration camp! Certainly not the most famous, but still an integral part of the horrible history of the Holocaust, Sachsenhausen was about a 45 minute train ride away from us. It took us about a 15 or 20 minute walk to get to the camp's entrance from the train station:

We got audio guides and started the tour at the big reconstructed model of the camp where they gave an overview of how it was run and what parts constituted the prisoners' quarters and Nazi quarters, etc:

It was quite a sobering experience to say the least. After a while it was a bit difficult to keep all the sights and audio tracks straight so I just kept playing them one after the other and walking to each site as I saw fit. There was a museum just before the main part of the camp that I went through, the highlight of which was definitely the stained glass just as you enter:

I think everyone has a pretty good idea of the Holocaust from history classes throughout grade school, and what atrocities went on in the camps, so I rather let the photos speak for themselves because I don't think I can truly do the sadness justice through words:



A little known fact is that Sachsenhausen became the prototype model for just about all other concentration camps. The Nazis looked at Sachsenhausen to see how a concentration camp should be run. So, although not as large and full of as many casualties as say, Auschwitz, Sachsenhausen definitely holds a significant place in the history of the Holocaust. Moving on to happier things, that night we walked to the Brandenburg Gate, which was absolutely stunning to see at night all lit up:

Napoleon stole the statue on top and took it back to Paris during one of those European wars. After the Germans got it back, they tweaked some details to the statue, such as the staff Victory is holding to symbolize their triumph over the French. In fact they named the square it resides over, Paris square, to symbolize Victory over France. The next day we took a free walking tour with a very "eccentric," but very well read and enthusiastic guide. We started at Paris Square where she explained the significance of the Brandenburg Gate to us. He also pointed out the Hotel Adlon, the sight of the infamous baby-dangling incident perpetrated by Michael Jackson (RIP, miss you Michael!):

She, the guide, really did such a great and thorough job on the tour that it would be way too much information to recount, (not that I remember half of it) so I will just try to hit the high points. We walked through the Holocaust Memorial, who's architect, Peter Eisenman, described as having no specific meaning. He said it means whatever emotions it evokes when walking through it. However, there have been several popular meanings proposed, such as the memorial as a "time line" of antisemitism in Germany. The blocks start out flat in the sidewalk, meaning only latent antisemitism, a potential threat, but not visible enough to be a huge concern. As you walk through the memorial, the blocks grow in height until you reach the center where the blocks are tallest. This represents the peak of the Holocaust and overt antisemitism. The blocks gradually shrink in size until they are once again in the pavement on the other side. This is supposed to serve as a reminder that there will always be antisemitism, and we must be conscious of our past so that we never let something like the Holocaust happen again:


We then moved on and stopped at the location where Hitler's bunker used to be. The rest of the tour consisted of a stop at the Berlin wall and the location where Kristallnacht took place and they burned all the Jewish books, along with some pointing out of major museums. One last thing about the tour, the guide pointed out the huge T.V. tower (it's hard to miss), a remnant and reminder of Communism, and provided a cool side story behind it. Apparently the Communists sought to get rid of all the crosses in Berlin when they took power, and did so, and then put up this T.V. tower. However, when the sun shines on it, it reflects light in the form of a cross. For this, it has earned the nickname, "The Pope's Revenge":

Once the tour was over, we headed to the Pergamon Museum which was alot better than I thought it'd be. It was full of artifacts rich in Greek and Mesopotamian mythology, such as the huge frieze from which the museum gets its name, and the Gates of Ishtar. Both can be seen in my Picassa Albums. They're not necessarily that impressive or different from any other classical Greek statues you may have seen, but the story behind them is fascinating. I don't remember it in too much detail, but rest assured, it is something cool along the lines of Gods fighting Titans and Hecatonchires, etc. Since I wanted to get to the Jewish History Museum before it closed, I kind of had to rush through the Pergamon Museum, but I think I saw the best it had to offer. The Jewish Museum was kind of tedious to be honest. I know that sounds like a horrible thing to say, but there are only so many letters you can read in handwriting that is hard to decipher. I thought the architecture was the true draw of the museum. Just like the Holocaust memorial, it was full of symbolism. Also, I studied its architecture Freshman year at Miami under the tutelage of the wise Gerardo Brown-Manrique. Cal, you shouldn't have dropped that class. So, it was neat seeing the work I had studied from so far away, in person. It took a while, but after walking through the museum for a while and seeing the name Daniel Libeskind over and over, it finally clicked where I knew his name from. These two pictures show two wings of the Museum that are especially renowned and respected by architects:
The Void

The Holocaust Tower

After the museum, I got everything I needed in order so that I would be prepared for my flight to Bucharest the next day. However, I wasn't done with Berlin quite yet. We went out to a traditional German restaurant where we had some great beer and amazing schnitzel. After that, we hung out at the hostel's bar for a bit and then went to a German club, which was interesting. After the club, we went back and called it a night, and the next day I was up and it was off to Romania.

Paris, France

Today I was scheduled to go to the Terezin concentration camp, but that didn't end up happening unfortunately. The good news is this gives me time to do some much needed catching up on the blog. Last I left off, we were in Marrakech. So our plane arrived in Paris CDG around 11 pm and we bought train tickets after picking up our luggage. No more than ten seconds after buying the tickets, a voice comes on the loud speaker and informs everyone that the trains aren't running because of a problem with the line or something. So we had to go in search of the bus that would take us to Gare de Nord, the main train station, and from there, get a cab that would take us to the Hotel Andre Gill. Well, we ended up waiting for probably around an hour or so outside the airport for the bus to come. When it finally did come, these Indian businessmen who arrived after everyone else, cut the line. I'd be damned if they were going to make me wait another hour for the next bus. Luckily my Oghuz friend and I were the last ones to be let on to the bus. However, I had to sit next to the Indian businessmen who kept asking me when the Gare de Nord stop was. They couldn't go a minute without looking at me and saying "Gare de Nord? Gare de Nord?" Then they started dancing in an odd manner in their seats and looking at me and smiling. Somehow we made it to Gare de Nord without any bloodshed, got our bags, and hopped in a cab. Without the Indian businessmen of course. It was a fairly short ride to our hotel which was situated in the Montmartre section of Paris. There was some kind of club on the street next to ours, and there were several drunk kids loitering outside our hotel. One had his head in his lap and you could tell it was only a matter of time before he would puke. Sure enough, as the concierge (who also happened to be an Arsenal fan) was showing us how to get to the nearest ATM, the kid stood up and started barfing relentlessly. The concierge summed up the mood of that night as he muttered in dismay under his breath "uhhh shiiit." Here's a picture of our hotel:

The next day we decided to explore our home turf and basically walked all around the Montmartre hill area. We saw Sacre Coeur from the inside and out; wandered through the Salvador Dali exhibition; got thoroughly lost; and went through the sex museum. Here is a picture of Sacre Coeur during the day, and one at night:


My favorite part about the Dali exhibition was the statue collection, and this one in particular:

His work is just bizarre. That's why I can kind of dig it even though I'm not a huge fan of art in the sense of paintings and sculptures. I thought this drawing of his was particularly humorous. I kind of feel like it belongs in a Nickelodeon cartoon (back when they were good and in some cases, slightly disturbing):

I'm not even going to post any pictures from the sex museum in this update, if you want to have a look, you can see one or two in my Picassa album. There was one floor that was totally devoted to this one artist that has some sort of obsession with violent porn. If you're going to look, please don't do it while eating something. This is how I looked for an entire day after seeing those horrible pictures:

After reconciling what I had seen, the next day we headed to the Louvre. It is just as bit as impressive as everyone says. Since the Louvre I have been in other Museums, and all pale in comparison, save for perhaps the Pergamon Museum in Berlin which I will detail in a later update. Of course we saw the obligatory things like the Venus de Milo and Mona Lisa:


The Mona Lisa was much smaller than I expected. It was also the busiest attraction in the museum so it was somewhat difficult to get a clear picture with everyone crowding around it. We walked just about every wing of the museum, which after a while gets both physically and mentally tiring. As a result, you tend to find things less impressive than they really are. Looking back, I realize again just how amazing almost every single piece in the museum is, and that I was just a bit art weary at the time. That night we ate at a restaurant that Kevin, our friend we met in Morocco, suggested to us. However, we didn't get there at 7 like he advised us and ended up waiting longer than an hour. It was fine though because we met the nicest french couple who were also waiting outside. They didn't speak much English, but it was really nice of them to make an effort to hold a conversation with us, especially given we didn't speak ANY French. They were seated before us, as they should have been since they got there before us, but then we started seeing groups of people being seated who had arrived well after us. We went inside and asked the bartender who also acted as the host, but he just blew us off. The couple saw this and started arguing our case to the bartender, asking him why he hadn't sat the Americans yet. I'm not sure it did much, but it was an incredibly appreciated act of kindness. Eventually we were seated, but we could only pay in cash, so I had to go find the nearest ATM. I walked in the general direction our waiter told me to go, until I reached a corner when I saw this grown man coming up the hill on a razor scooter. I thought he was French so I spoke very slowly and asked him where I could find an ATM. Turns out he was just about as American as they come, and it was one of the surrealist interactions I've ever had. He left with, "I will see you up there," meaning at the top of the hill, but the way he said it sounded like he was making some kind of prophecy like, "we are fated to meet in another life." Anyways, he gave me good directions and I managed to find the ATM with ease and get back to the restaurant. The Oghuz and I both had the veal dish on Kevin's recommendation and it was indeed very good. Here's a pic of me in action eating it:

The next day we went to the Eiffel Tower and Arc de Triumph. The Eiffel Tower was impressive, but the wait was brutal. First you get on a line to use the stairs to walk up the tower, then once you reach the top floor, you pay even more to get on another line and take an elevator to the very top. The views are pretty spectacular at every level, so now I know it isn't worth the time or money to go to the very top. Everyone knows what the Eiffel Tower looks like, but here's a picture I took of it anyways:

After the Eiffel we went to the Arc de Triumph which was, like most things in Paris, much better than I thought it would be. I guess it pays to have low expectations. Not much to say about it other than it is an impressive monument and provide you with a picture of it:

The next day we made an excursion out to Versailles which was like a 30/45 minute train ride. We also planned a picnic with bread, cheese, cold meats and all. It started to rain, but we still went through with the picnic even though it was one of the sorriest picnics you will probably ever see. Versailles itself was pretty cool, but part of it was closed because of renovation. Also, all the rooms looked the same after a while. The hall of mirrors was probably the coolest part of the interior. I myself preferred the outside architecture with all the gilded-ness of it. I wouldn't say it was a total disappointment, but I think it would have been much better if it had been sunny and the flowers had been in bloom in the garden in the back. Here's the hall of mirrors:

Some golden architecture:

The garden in the back:

That took up the better part of our day, so when we got back to Paris we didn't do a whole lot, besides the normal walking around for a bit. The next day, I went to Notre Dame which was alright. To be honest, I wasn't terribly impressed. I kind of thought the abbey in Caen was better. It might also be that it was the first big cathedral I saw on my travels since I've been over here, and everything else is going to seem more and more familiar. That's not to say Notre Dame is a slouch of a cathedral by any means. It is still a very impressive structure and well worth seeing. Just stay away from the Romanian gypsies in the square right outside it that ask you if you speak English. If you say yes, they hold out an index card that outlines their life's struggles written on it in English, and then they stare at you with a blank look expecting money. That in and of itself isn't bad, but if you don't give them anything they get nasty and insult you. After chilling on the Champs de Elysee for a bit, we caught a train in the evening to Paris Orly and got on our plane to Berlin. I shall leave you to reflect with this picture of Notre Dame:

Marrakech, Morocco

It's been a while since I last updated and for this I implore your forgiveness. These past two weeks have been very fast paced. Lucky for you, the reader, it is Easter, and in Romania, EVERYTHING shuts down for this occasion. So, I've decided to take some time to try and do a little catching up on my travels during Easter Break thus far. Last I left off was in Barcelona, so I will begin with my trip from Barcelona to Marrakech. My Seljuk friend and I took a night bus from Barcelona to Madrid where we flew out to Marrakech. When we landed, it was about 11 in the morning, sunny, and about 80 degrees. It was definitely a nice change of pace from the cooler weather of Northern Europe. Here's a picture of us walking with our friend Sharon, also studying abroad at Sussex, on the tarmac:

We then got a taxi to the old town center, just outside a cafe. Here we were met by Ali, one of our hostel hosts. He walked us to the hostel which is good because we would never have been able to find it on our own in the maze-like streets and its unassuming entrance. When we got in, we sat down and had our first taste of mint tea which is very popular in Morocco. They jokingly refer to it as "Berber Whiskey." Zora, another hostel hostess took out a map and circled all the places worth seeing during our stay. After we were done with introductions, the three of us decided to look for a place to withdraw money. Ali pointed us in the direction of Prance Street. We also decided to wander for a bit, and ended up checking out the biggest mosque, and the large town square with all its merchants. Here's the mosque:

Here's the little alleyway that led to our hostel to give you an idea of its location:

Behind the mosque there was a fire ant hole which was pretty cool:

I also snapped a picture of this dosing feline. The city is just rife with stray cats:

After becoming acquainted with the town center, we decided to head back to the hostel, however, not before I dumbly decided to respond to a snake charmer when he said "hi." Even though he ripped me off, I got some great pictures, so in a sense, I guess it was worth it:

After resting at the hostel, we decided to head back to the square since at night it turns into a huge outdoor restaurant with various stations trying to sell you on their food. The funny thing is they all have the exact same menu and more or less the exact same prices. So more than anything else, people end up eating at the place with the nicest/funniest/whatever-est waiter that harasses them. I typically ended up getting chicken or beef kebab, sometimes with a mixed salad and potato pancakes. It was also customary to get a loaf of bread and sometimes olives also came with the meal. Here's a picture of the square with the mosque looming large in the background:

The next morning we got up, ate breakfast, and then head out to see the sights of the old town, getting incredibly lost along the way. We didn't mind though because we saw cool parts of the town that we wouldn't have seen otherwise. After employing the services of a young lad, who we apparently gave "naussing" as a tip, we found the Madressa we were looking for. It was simple, but nice nonetheless. There was some cool light to play with, such as the sun shining through the ceilings:

We then went to a museum that had old Moroccan artifacts on display, along with a photo exhibition of portraits of Berbers. Right next to the museum was a ruin of some sort of significance, but we had no idea of what exactly. It was alright. To be honest, the main attraction of Marrakech is the atmosphere. Walking down claustrophobic alleyways with the scent of spices, butcher shops, and bakeries mingled with horse manure, a cacophony of merchants hawking their wares and heckling you if you decline, dodging weaving mopeds all the while....it might not read that well, but it's actually very fun. Not to mention the joys of haggling. In Marrakesh you haggle over just about everything besides food and beverage. Taxis and shops among other things and places are fair game for haggling. I managed to get a pretty nifty souvenir for 30 euro. I digress though. After the ruins, or whatever they were, we walked to the complete opposite side of town to see some sort of very unimpressive palace, and the Jewish section of town. Here's a rare sight, you won't see very often, a banana flower in bloom, I count my blessings:

We also went to some tombs, but they weren't anything special to say the least. As usual, we took our late afternoon nap after this, and then got up to go to the square for dinner and walk around some more at night. The next day we took an excursion to the Atlas Mountains with other people from our hostel. It was a short drive, only about an hour or so. We started with a traditional Berber breakfast in a Berber village. It consisted of freshly made bread with honey and olive oil and Berber tea made with freshly picked mint leaves. Here's a picture of me squinting from the sun on the balcony of the house. Also, in the background is another small village:

Here are some pictures of what we ate. That's sugar:

Bread:

After we ate, we drove a bit further up the road where there was a wide shoulder with some camels leashed to the ground. Everyone got their chance to ride, but unfortunately it was a short ride, and we were all tied to one another, so I felt like I was riding a pony at a county fair or something. Plus, there was the camel owner who was walking at the front of the line holding the lead camel's harness. It was still fun nonetheless. Here's a pick of a camel:

We continued on from here deeper into the mountains and decided to stop at the side of a small river/stream to walk across a rickety bridge made out of branches. Here's a picture I took looking down at the bridge beneath my feet:

After walking across the bridge and back, we got back in the van and headed for the waterfalls. It was a little hike into the groove of the mountain before we reached the waterfalls at the "top." It wasn't really the top of the mountain, but it was as far as people typically go, or at least tourists:

After descending the mountain, we headed back the way we came and stopped at a hotel/restaurant. We had traditional Moroccan food for lunch such as tajine, couscous, bread of course, mixed salad, cookies, and oranges. I also witnessed a pretty cool sight: the rising of the moon behind the Atlas Mountains in daylight:

This concluded our day trip, but there was still plenty of time left in the day. We went back to the hostel, I showered, and then got dinner in the square as usual. Here is a picture of one of the food stalls at night:

It was the Seljuk's birthday so we went out at night to a bar called "Coutoure" or something along those lines. The way the Moroccans pronounced it made it sound like its name was "Cold War" and that's actually how we referred to it for a while. It was quite an experience since almost every woman at the bar was a prostitute. How did we know this? Well, apparently it's common knowledge. They did look like prostitutes too. The scene was basically a bunch of middle-aged Moroccan or Frenchmen with nothing going for themselves, treating a prostitute to drinks and hookah, with paying for their "services" their ultimate end for the night. Well, the bar closed at 1 am, so we migrated from there to a club located underneath a Casino named Teatro. It was another experience in and of itself. a single beer cost 90 dirham or about 9 euro! Needless to say, I did not drink. This made the incredibly loud techno and house music a bit more difficult to stomach than usual. It was still fun though because I got in some great people watching. Like this guy:

He was like the Moroccan form of Technoviking. We left after a couple hours and went back to the hostel to sleep so we could get up relatively early and get some stuff done before our flight to Paris in the evening the next day. I used this time in the morning to secure the souvenirs I spoke of before. That ended our much too short of a stay in Marrakesh, and Morocco in general. We bid "La Casa del Sol" a bittersweet adieu and left for the airport in the afternoon.