Amalfi, Italy:

When I first wrote about Amalfi, I was actually on the Isle of Ischia, on my way back here, but for the past three days I’m truly back in Amalfi. Since today is (let me check) Wednesday, I feel I should give a mid-week progress report (or perhaps Workplan) to account for myself. In the interest of full disclosure, I will provide an exhaustive and complete list of my acomplishments since I’ve gotten her.

Sunday: Arrived by ferry. Took bus up the mountain to Chris’s in time for dinner. Ate delicious pasta & BBQ. Went to Jerry’s pub.

Monday: Went to local beach with English lads. Ate sandwich.  Walked back up 1042 steps. Ate pasta.

Tuesday: Walked down 296 steps to grocery. Bought tuna, roasted peppers. Made & ate sandwich, twice. Trimmed lawn with petrol trimmer in exchange for accommodation. Uploaded photos.

Wednesday:  Made pasta. Trimmed lawn. …?

I wrote earlier that despite every intention to the contrary, one can only accomplish one major activity a day. The problem is that because the only thing here is the wonderful minutiae of life, the days fill up and your one activity is done. I thought that today would be the day of the haircut, but I don’t see how I could possibly fit that in now. Maybe next week.

 Side note: I realized that I had lost my iPod when I left Ischia. I was surprisingly unbothered by this fact, I think because of my setting. However, I discovered today that Anika found it where I had left it and took it with her back to Germany, and if all goes well I should shortly be reunited with my music. Thanks Anika!

The view from the patio in the evening. The structure in the foreground is for the lemon trees.

From the historical-posts department:

München, Germany:

Wenn ist das Nunstruck git und Slotermeyer? Ja!…
Beiherhund das Oder die Flipperwaldt gersput!

As with most journeys, my decision to go to Munich consisted of long and drawn-out scrutiny of many possible ittineraries followed by a fairly arbitrary decision based upon convenience. In this case, Munich was in a neighboring Eurail-friendly country, but was far enough away that I could get sleeper train so I wouldn’t have to worry about accomodations.

Fun facts about Munich:

• When Germans do things, they really do do them well. Volkswagen is one example, but a much better one is movie theaters. Besides having assigned seats (like most of Europe), the nice Germans have thoughtfully put a nice lounge in the theater where you can wait for your movie. But whereas in America this would mean some tables and maybe a few couches, here it means a Lounge – brushed glass and steel everywhere, beatiful cocktail waitresses, entrancing bubble-walls, hookahs, and walls with HD-projected fish just swimming around. Screw the movies, if you really want to impress a girl on a first date, take her to the movie lobby!
• Go to the Deutches Museum. This is what a science and technology museum should be. It’s probably a good thing that we couldn’t read most of the signs, or we’d have been there for days. As it was we spent 5 hours wandering around looking for Science Buttons on exhibits (push it, and science happens!). We saw huge lightning and thunder being made, got to play with a gas chromatograph and mass spectrometer, and marveled at how similar a steel combination bike like (Germany, 1990) is to an iron combination lock (Italy, 1660). Total nerdgasm.
• If you cross the street illegally in Munich and get both legs broken by a car, you’re responsible for paying for the damage to the car. Use the cross-walk.
• Despite every instinct to the contrary and hope of planning a sight-filled day, you can only accomplish one major thing each day. Accept this, and make it a good one.
• Beer really is lovely.

Amalfi, Italy:

I’ve found paradise and its name is Amalfi. The coast here (south of Naples) have some of the most beautiful views in the world, but amazingly it’s not built up into hi-rise hotels. On the contrary, the town of Amalfi has a population of 5000, and putting aside the small (but thriving) tourist area, life still moves as slowly, and as laid-back as I could want. The great thing is that these facts are not coincidental, but bound together by the magisterial hands of geology and geography; this coast (which used to be one of the most powerful of the Italian kingdoms) is nearly vertical rock, and the entire string of towns here are built directly into the cliff-side. Amazingly, it’s only because of the human impact here that the place is so beautiful; this place has the rare perfect-balance between man and nature.

The geography means than roads are more suited to mountain goats than cars. The town of Positano, for example, has one road — it snakes in from the west, winds itself up and down the cliff, and leaves as quickly as it came. Amalfi is at a bit of an intersection so has a few more roads, but they are oh-so-fun to ride the bus on (assuming you’re not squeamish). I came across the mountains from Castille della Mare di Stabia on a simple 30 km journey that took 2 hours. I was a little confused (but note displeased) when my bus driver stopped for 10 minutes to go have coffee with some friends , but was amazed when he took the bus very slowly around the hair-pin turns with 2 cm clearance between the bus and the rock wall. I’m pretty sure what he said afterwards meant “no problem”. Because a bus is half again as wide as a car and the road varies between 2 and 3 car-widths (with a usual amount of cars parked on the road), passing is undertaken with great care, and I imagine, pride. The fact that two buses passing sometimes means that the driver has to stop for a few minutes, get out, and convince some cars to back up to a wider spot in the road is par for the course.

Instead of staying at the hostel I booked, which is what you’d expect of yourself in a city, I ended up staying at Chris’s house, a Manchester expat who inherited his grandmother’s house and turned it into an accommodation. For €10 I slept in a tent on his lawn (passing up a bed), helped him cook us a fantastic dinner, and basically made myself at home. It’s humbling to think of his 102 year old grandma hiking the 296 stairs down to the nearest road every day (1000 to the beach).

I came to Amalfi solely because I was compelled by my friend Craig to find and send him some of his favorite wine, which is from the region. I haven’t yet, partially because I’ve been lost in a sea of other delicious local wines (including Chris’s aunt’s wine, which you buy from the fruit-n-veg shop in 2 liter jugs for €3). However, I most definitely will find it, even if it takes all day. In fact, searching for it sound like a perfectly good full day’s activity. I’d still have to take a break for siesta, of course. The only thing that has kept me from looking for a flat and staying is the chance that I’ll find something like this in Spain. Viva la vide dolce, indeed.

One more note: Rob is a huge Harry Potter fan, and I’ve been watching with chagrin as he makes his way through The Deathly Hallows. Instead of jumping in and reading it now, however, I’ve decided to re-read the first 6 books in Spanish before I read the last one in English. This means that for the next month-plus I’m in a self-imposed information quarantine about the book – don’t tell me anything about it!

Firenze, Italy:

As the old saw goes, reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated. After Vienna, I hung out Prague, where among other things I got to see my cousin Andrew; Munich, where, thanks to Kate, I visited Klauster Andrechs and drank absolutely wonderful monk-brewed beer; Venice, where I had a Top-5 All-Time Meal sitting near a canal somewhere in the byzantine streets of the city; and Florence, where I was awed that The David was able to exceed its own hype and be even more magnificent than I could have imagined.

I made some very cool friends in Munich including my recent travel partner Rob, with whom I’ve been doing Italy. Today however we both leave Florence – he for Paris and I for Naples. I’m nearing the point in my vagabonding at which I forecast myself to enter Spain and begin biking, but the food here is too good for me to leave just yet. Now I plan on kicking around here for a while longer and then either pass through the south of France on my way, or make things simple and take a ferry across the Mediterranean. Plus, I’d be irresponsible if I didn’t go to the Amalfi Coast to find Craig’s favorite wine in the world.

I will likely write more now that I’m wandering alone again (and when I can find less extortionate internet access), but for now life continues to be as fantastic as it should be.

Wien, Austria:

That was on a t-shirt in a tourist-shop, and I liked it. Vienna seems fairly cool, but I only spent one night there. One of the problems with the city, however, is that like most of Europe right now it is damned hot — on Monday it hit 39° (102° F), and the whole area has been hovering in the mid-30s. This makes is uncomfortable to walk around like a tourist, much less run 2km with a fully-loaded backpack to catch a train, both of which I did.

The solution I found was to spend Sunday afternoon on the beach of the River Danube. It was the perfect setting and felt almost exactly like this:

Except, of course, with fewer corsets and many more naked children running around.

Brugge, Belgium:

So yesterday I tried to take a day trip to Brugge (the other of the 3 or 4 real cities in Belgium; in English Bruges) with some friends from the hostel, but ended up spending the night there alone.

Because I wanted to buy a Eurail pass beforehand, and because I learned that to physically get it I had to go to a different station, I tried to be clever and planned to get to the other station quickly, buy the pass, and meet them on the train in 30 minutes after it stopped at their station. Of course, because I don’t speak a word of French outside of merci, pardon, and Ju no parle pa francias (and because I tend to run with my gut instinct), I got on the city tram instead of the train. After 20 minutes of tramming in the wrong direction and 20 minutes of running back, I was where I started.

So it was to be Brugge, alone; pleasantly, one of the prettiest cities I’ve been to. The city has a great feel to it and pretty much looks like it did in the 16th century, except with lots of modern shopping on the little tiny streets and Frite-carts all over the place. This isn’t really a coincidence, since after being a major international trading center for hundreds of years the port (literally) dried up on the town and essentially preserved it in time.

Of course I soon met some Spaniards, which threw off the plan of going back. I learned that the Spanish card game Culo is ever-so-slightly different than the American Asshole, which caused me to be Culo or Vis-Culo far too often. I learned that sometimes a €16 hostel isn’t worth even that price when you end up sleeping in the hallway, locked out of your room. And I learned that having local Belgian friends surround you when you’re walking into a dance club is an effective way to keep the bouncers from noticing your sandals.

Brussels, Belgium:

The Delirium Cafe in Brussels, home of the the now all-over-the-U.S. Delirium Tremens beer, serves 2004 different brews, and is my new favorite bar in the world. The previous holder of that title was the Brickskeller in Georgetown, D.C. with somewhere around 1300 different beers available, but Delerium blows that out of the water. Mind you, there’s literally no place better to go: on the wall of the bar they have the Guiness Book of World Records‘ certification for “Most Beers Commercially Available”. I don’t know why I love things like this so much, but I do. I guess it’s the intersection of my love for beer and my compulsion for collecting and completeness (like wanting to own every album I might ever want to listen to).

So Thursday was all Brussels: walked around eating Belgian waffles (specifically I like Brussels waffles – they have the right amount of sugar baked in so you don’t need any topping), window-shopping, and taking in the city. The only appointment I had to make was the 3:00 tour of the E.U. Parliament, which turned out to be fairly cool. I know they’re not the most effective legislative body, but whatever subset of the 700-odd MP’s are in the Social and Economic committee were in session, so I got sit in the viewing gallery and listen them debate energy policy wording in 26 languages (I chose English and Spanish). It’s a little disconcerting to watch the people start talking, hear their voice for 3-4 seconds, and then have the audio switchover to their translator who always seemed to be of the opposite gender.

Then, back to the hostel and to dinner with a Canadian on her way back to the homeland after her 3 months away (apparently it felt pretty good). We went to a Spanish tapas bar, of all things, and I ate some sort of ribs, Andalucia style. Strange, but good! Who’d have thought that people would eat such things. Afterwards a group of people was going to a dance club, but a small but elite faction of us broke off to go the the aforementioned beer wonderland, where among other things I got to listen to a fairly good Flemish cover band play Pink Floyd and, I kid you not, Born In the U.S.A. It was perfect.

Brussels, Belgium:

Yesterday I knew I needed to head out but was oscilating between going to Antwerp and Brussels. Antwerp was at least a little familiar (and theoretically still has Mona the bartender, although I doubt her visa’s still good), but Brussels was bigger and new. I went to Amsterdam Centraal Station and, essentially flipping a coin, bought a ticket to Antwerp. The coin must have been rigged, though, because it gave me the wrong answer: two hours later when the train arrived in Antwerp (and after I got evicted from the first-class coach) I decided to just wait it out and continue on to Brussels. Luckily the aisles of second-class were packed with German backpackers, so there was no way for the conductor to check tickets again.

So I’m in Brussels, which looks pretty cool from the centaral train station, until I realized that (a) I didn’t know what language people were speaking (I thought it French, and was right), (b) I had the number of one hostel, and no maps, (c) there didn’t appear to be any payphones that accepted coins. OK, no sweat — that’s what wandering is for. Eventually I found a coin-op phone and discovered that the hostel was book, and the next hostel whose number they gave me reported that all the hostels were booked. Hmm. Perhaps related to whatever it was the police were setting up barricades for?

Like everything else, I assumed the internet could solve this problem, if only I can find it. One of the nice things that comes with practice in this area is that I’ve created a small science out of finding internet cafes (or coffeeshops, or launderettes…). 

Step 1: Look for neon. These types of businesses always travel in packs, and the internet cafe will have other neon-sporting friends. Step 2: Avoid shopping areas. Nice shopping streets have neon, but their rent is to expensive to support an internet cafe. Step 3: look for side streets. What you probably want to find is a busy street whose smaller side streets still get enough tourist foot traffic to see a the giant flashing “@”a quarter of a block down. Unfortunately this science breaks down in Belgium: Don’t believe Belgian “Internet” signs. I found three (3!)  “Internet @” signs in a row that were attached to mini liquor/convenience stores. Each time, when I pointed to the sign and asked “internet?”, the clerk said no. Finally, on my way back to the station to regroup, I found one which gave me a bevy of phone numbers to try. Eventually, and luckily, I made it to the best hostel in Brussels – the oddly named 2Go4 Quality Hostel. I definitely beat sleeping in the airport.

Among the many great things here is the best travel map of a city – the Use-It brand “map for young travelers”. In addition to a very useful map, they’ve got everywhere I want to go and everything I want to eat and drink magnificently distilled and at my fingertips, as well as a handful of useful tips. They’re available for Brussels, Antwerp, Ghent, and Bruge, as well as a couple of non-Belgian countries. Way better than a travel book.

So today I actually get to go do cool local things, and see good sights and eat good food. If I’m lucky I’ll even get to stay here again. I’m looking forward to it.

Oh, and to bring it back to the title of this post, Brussels really does love its beer as much as everyone says. And it’s fanstastic.

Amsterdam, Netherlands: 

I’m still alive. Internet is still inconvenient.

• Everyone here is attractive. Not beautiful, but attractive.
• It rains regularly. But when it’s sunny out, damn it’s beautiful. I suggest eating a baguette-cheese-tuna lunch in the park and napping in the sun.
• I continue to learn things about European geography. It only took me 27 years to get the gist of the East Coast, so give me some credit.
• Strangely, my hostel-English has improved since I left Britain. More people speak English here than they did there. Odd.
• Canals are a cool way to lay out your city. Not as useful as a perfectly-numbered 1/2-mile grid, but still cool.

Gotta go.