In Buenos Aires, alive and well!

Greetings from the south ... the very, very, very south, that is. We touched down in Buenos Aires yesterday afternoon, moved into what will be our pad for the next six weeks, and did the necessary aimless and slightly awkard meandering that seems to come naturally after a two-prong 13.5 hour flight experience (sounds reasonable). We emerged from the walk more confused than anything else; we did the same exact thing when we arrived in Paris. We landed and got ourselves and our luggage to the Latin Quarter, exhausted mind you, signed the papers for our apartment by the square, tried to busy ourselves with setting up the place but then succumbed to the urge to wander without aim nor the mental capacity to understand any stimuli presented before our eyes. What justifies the Paris meandering is that it was our first time. The Buenos Aires affair, however, is simply a case of us being, you know, fools. So, we walked, we stared at the buildings, we quietly took in the images in an almost solemn way, and then resigned to the fact that we needed to go and sit in our apartment and essentially do nothing; something that I think is quite difficult for the both of us. Such is life after travel.

With all of that said, I have to say that I am thrilled to be in BA, alive and well. Alive and well refers both to the city and myself, that is. There was a bit of turbulence on the journey southward and while I am not usually a terribly nervous flier, I could not but help remembering the internet fatality statistics I had recently read (that was a bad move) for the Brazilian TAM airlines we used to get ourselves to BA. Again, I knew I should not have done that, but I couldn't resist the temptation to know how many people died and when. Simply stated, I am a bit of a jackass, but thankfully a member of the majority statistic of survivors of day-to-day air travel.

I love this city, in a really big way. I can't wait to share my photos, my stories, and the love with you all for the next set of weeks while I am here. This city has all of the spirit (and great food and pretty people) of Naples with the added set of extraordinary memories I have of its streets and people that I was so fortunate to receive with Pizmon a year and a half ago. Plus, there aren't nearly as many vespas with a vengeance on these streets as there were in Naples. In fact, I am not sure if I have seen one.

Instead, they have pretty public gardens with families of cats as permanent inhabitants and with leaf-bearing ants that have more work ethic and organizational skill than I have seen on the part of human citizens in most locales over the past two months. I remember seeing a whole string of two-lane ant traffic when I was in Uruguay a while back and being amazed both at how much they could carry and how long the work line was. I also remember standing right before the shore in Uruguay, staring at the ground to the bewilderment of most passersby, gah. But next time you are stepping through a green area, look out for the ants, it is a great spectacle indeed.

Also, after Rome, we were fortunate enough to have time to stay with Amalea's good friend Charlie, get some sun and some much-needed home cooking, and see gorgeous, vibrant Marseilles (I hope to post a picture or two of this time once I find some wireless for my elderly laptop). For the three or four days we were in Nice, it was all about preparing our minds and bodies for the big trip to the south. It was kind of like detox, but instead of methodone we had, you know, pasta, wine, X-files dvds, and sunny beach time (some of the finest of all times I might say, sunny beach time). Thanks for the hospitality Charles! All the best to you my good friend.

Anyway, I digress. To sum things up, it is phenomenal to be here in South America again, and specifically fantastic to be back in BA. More substantive stories to come!

Roman Rule # 1: To go to the bathroom, you must purchase an umbrella...

Sounds a bit odd, right? Well, those are the rules apparently. We arrived in Rome yesterday and the ground was already damp. We buzzed ourselves into the Pop Inn Hostel, expecting to receive both a confirmation of our reservation and a room, but it didn't exactly flow that way. Apparently, the "confirmation" email we received was more of a "confirmation that we do have space but will see how we feel when you get there" kind of email. Perhaps that chain of events embodies Roman Rule # 1: any transaction (let's say, a reservation for example) outside Rome is only deemed valid by the whim of a Roman. After our train-lagged faces dropped, I think the hostel proprietors took pity on us and set us up with a place to stay last night and the guarantee of a place for the remaining nights we have in Rome, so long as we paid them for all nights in full ... such is life in a major European city right before the weekend.

So we managed to survive the night in what is better described as a Spartan rather than a Roman hostel, naturally with a French name (naturally), and went immediately to our hostel of choice, the Pop Inn, this morning. We walked through the doors, greeted the hostess, and expected a room, namely our room, the one we reserved a few days before arriving in this city. The nice ladies took our passport, we signed a form, it all seemed right. When we finished the work, we sighed, she sighed, it was a moment, and then ... a bit of silence. I asked, "can we see our room now?" and, in surprised fashion, she said "your room is not ready yet, come back later, you can store your stuff in the locker over there, ciao." Gah!

So we put our stuff away and went out into the pouring rain with little more than a map, an empty tummy, and a full bladder. Most of Rome's sites are outdoor affairs. And, being the genius I am, I have no umbrella. And, it being Rome (or Europe for that matter), bathrooms are not free. And the Roman bathroom, wonderfully enough, only accepts specific amounts of change. Hooray! So, to find change and to relieve Amalea's bladder, we took refuge in the nearby train station, searching for an umbrella to access the bathroom.

In sum, not only must you do as the Romans do, you also have to do as the Romans wish, even if they don't vocalize it themselves. Which leads us to Roman Rule # 2 (or 3 I guess, but who is counting?): When in Rome, do as the Romans think you should do, and develop a sense of telepathy to support such mandated behavior.

Ehh, at least I am now sporting a snappy plaid 6Euro umbrella, not everyone can boast that these days. Rome!

The Many Faces of Napoli

So Lea and I have made it to Naples and have spent either two or three days here so far (after a while, the days blend, even before that, the days of the week have lost some of their meaning). Unlike most of the cities we have visited thus far, we did not have to go out and "find" Naples. From the moment we arrived in the train station, Napoli was literally in our face in the form of the swarms of people that traversed the dimly lit, somewhat dingy streets, to the zooming motor scooter drivers that clearly never took a course on defensive driving, to the overzealous sidewalk salesmen, looking for the next sucker tourist to purchase their faux handbags or squeeze toys. The minute we walked outside the station, we had Napoli in our laps. But unlike more sedate cities, Napoli didn't merely sit quietly and purr; instead, it pounced and ran off only to come back with something unseemly in its mouth. The place has pizazz and cannot be pinned down, there is no doubt.

Napoli breathes and morphs right in front of you. I could walk down a street corner on a Sunday evening and feel the dark (sometimes uneasy) calm of the day's end, and by the next corner see a world of activity: youngsters in the street playing football, their older neighbors playing just 200 feet away from them, teenagers hanging out by a square, folks promenading the streets until late into the night. By the next evening, what was quiet before is now alive, what was vibrant has fallen silent. The place breathes, it has an ebb and flow of its own unlike all the cities we have found thus far on our journey (in this sense, it shares something special with New York).


In sum, this place is very very Italian...in a big way. Venice was gorgeous and certainly belongs to Italy, but Napoli is Italian, Italian, Italian. Its citizens, with their flare for the bombastic and exclamatory, its food, the cheese, tomato, the pastry, gelato, etc.


We have been lucky enough to see Pompeii and its fascinating, eery ruins (the area and most of its inhabitants were covered in ash in 79 CE or so after Vesuvius, which is right by, erupted). Because of the ash, much of the over 2000 year-old city was preserved.

Today we ventured off to the island of Capri, by far one of the most gorgeous locations I have visited. I cannot wait until I can access wireless for my laptop to post a picture or two of this locale. The island is set atop an enormous hill that views the coast of the Golf of Napoli. The vegetation is lush and there are gargantuan rock formations embedded in the expanse of sea.

We have a great comunity in our hostel. It's run in a very relaxed fashion and is located on the third floor (fourth floor in our understanding of levels, oh Europeans) of a very old and somewhat gritty (like most of them are here) buidling in the center of town. There's a large living room and a kitchen, where most people congregate when they are not sleeping, so the place is a bit of a social scene, yet still retains a sense of relaxation, which is key. The place is groovy, most of the staff we interact with are our age or younger and there's usually music or a movie playing in the background in the evening time.

I knew I was in a good place when I made it up all the flights with my huge bag and guitar and the staff member noticed my guitar and said, "we have two house guitars if you want to try those out too." I actually managed to jam a bit with a significantly better guitar player our first night in town, always a good learning experience.

So, that's Naples. We have a bit more to explore tomorrow, perhaps another island off the mainland, perhaps a museum, and then to Rome. Italy!

Abridged: The place has got moxie, in a big way. Napoli is gritty but still has its looks, you just need to wipe off the grit to get a better look. Pompeii = quite the beauty. Capri = stunning to say the least. Food great, hostel quite chill, and we are doing just dandy.

Note: I realize this post is both a bit long and a bit diary-like. I hope, though, that it isn't excessively detailed or boring. I usually prefer the singular story type post, but I felt that this was the best way to go for this special city. I have learned that when you are on the road, it is a bit more difficult to tell stories in the way that I did while I was in Paris. But, perhaps a story will emerge in the near future. Best!

New Friends from all around...

Hello... So we are now in our Italian section of the three week whirlwind around Europe. We arrived in Venice late last night, strolled from the train station and were lucky enough to find a reasonable place to sleep and keep our stuff. From what we have been told, that it is not always easy. Budapest, surprisingly enough, was so far our most difficult city to find lodging.

Speaking of Budapest, I think it is the current winner of the "what exactly do you mean by that and why is that there?" prize for our journey. The city, while certainly beautiful, does not seem to mind its decaying state. Nor does Budapest really care to notice tourists as tourists. Instead, major attractions like Castle Hill and the Roman ruins within the Buda section (yes, Budapest is indeed separated into districts, two of which are called Buda and Pest, I love it) simply chill out, somewhat uncared for but still quite beautiful. Perhaps these sites are ever more beautiful because of the relaxed way in which they are cared for. Nevertheless, Budapest is not necessarily the king of all walking or tourist cities. The architecture and the natural coloring of the area is simply stunning. I hope to post some pictures soon enough, but it may take a bit of time. I hope to have a little picture story in a short while, I just need to find adequate wireless for my ailing laptop (it is an elderly one and has gone through some tough times these days on the road).

So, to the subject of the post, these past few days have given us more friends than we could have imagined. We were able to meet up with a great, diverse group of folks on the train ride from Prague to the 'Pest and actually wound up living with them in a quasi-apartment style hostel. It was great fun having a group of six friends to hang out with, made things feel like home. And, wonderfully enough, these friends specifically wanted to break the fast with me (they weren't fasting but they surely knew I was) over dinner two nights ago, which I thought was extraordinarily nice of them. When I said how I was touched by their gesture, they simply said that they were my international family and that it would be their pleasure. How cool is that? I think that alone ranks as one of my finer moments abroad. It represents a lot of good, it embodies a kind of fellow love that people tend to ignore or think long gone these days. It represents kindness, simply expressed and thoughtfully delivered.

So Budapest, in that sense, was incredible. Although, Yom Kippur was the main focus of my stay there and I do have a set of stories regarding that experience. I won't get to it all right now though, because I am in Venice. But I have to say that Hungarian Jews are quite the odd birds. The institutions won't go the way of egalitarianism (female participation) and still have separate seating, but there were folks taking cell phone pictures at Kol Nidre and taking calls during the morning services. Whoa... It certainly sounds like the community has moved and transformed without the institutions, it happens. While it wasn't home, I was glad to be in a shul for the holidays, and I actually was called up to participate at the smaller synagogue I attended on Yom Kippur day, crazy. I do what I can, I do what I can... It felt cool. Oh international connections.

Okay, I am quite done for now.

Abridged:

Paris = well-dressed thirty something career mother, Prague = Paris' younger pretty sister, Budapest = Paris and Prague's quirky, sometimes loud-mouthed, but altogether wonderful and wily grandmother.

Yom Kippur, so Hungarian this year, Yom Kippur.

Venice!

The journey continues...

So...we are leaving Prague tomorrow for Budapest, where I will be spending Yom Kippur at the Great Hungarian Synagogue on Dohany street. It should be a hoot as the shul is supposed to be the second largest in the world. The second largest what exactly I do not know. I have pictures of inordinate amounts of German meat still to share. So far, the friendliest city we have met is definitively Prague. Prague is also the friendliest city to Americans. I'm not precisely sure why that is quite yet. I'll have to think this one over for a bit. I'm just happy I got to find peacocks AND peahens, what a world...what a wonderful world indeed.

Best!

Budapest...then Italy...onward!

Dave and Scott in London...together! 

While Paris claimed the overzealous pigeons as its own, Prague somehow has peacocks hopping through bushes within its more green quarters... This peacock right here had a particularly welcoming attitude, much like many of the Czech people we have met... 

Prague...so beautiful right now...Prague 

The caravan heads eastward...

So we have officially started our journey towards the east of this fine and predominantly friendly land mass. We started things off with Munich ... well, actually, we really started this whole thing with me landing in Paris from London, immediately heading to our apartment, packing, eating, and rushing to the train station to see how we would get this journey afloat. Before I knew it, we were sailing, or railing if you will, towards Strassbourg, stopping in Munich for the day, Berlin for the day, and now Prague.

A few things I have learned thus far...

Germans love very big lawns. They do not feel the need to demonstrate their control over nature in the shaping of trees so much as they like to show it in the amount of meat products they can turn into linked cylinders.

It isn´t the greatest of all ideas to start singing the German national anthem in front of Berliners on the street. They are still a bit sensitive when it comes to their sense of nationalism. I should have been tipped off by the way their police dress these days. They look more like timid hall monitors than law officers, such a contrast from their uniforms of yore.

The same rule as with German nationalist song-singing applies to random outbursts of my very limited German vocabulary-namely, achtung liber, einsatzgrupen, lebensraum, blitzkrieg, and my personal favorite... Ich ben ein berliner, which is "I am a Jelly donut." Oh, JFK speech mishaps, so precious.

I do hope to post pictures as soon as I find an easy way to connect my personal computer to the web here in the east. And I hope to share some stories soon enough.

So...toodles from Prague.

Greetings and Farewell to London! And an adieu to Paris...

I know, it's been a while since we last conversed. I apologize for the gap time. With the holidays in full gear and me being in London with the Davester, it was a bit difficult to check in with the blog. But, alas, I am here now!

London with Dave was simply phenomenal. I could not ask for a better Rosh Hashanah abroad. It was, however, very sad to leave Paris. The morning I left, it was dark and rainy in the city, much like the weather that Amalea and I experienced when we were lugging our oversized bags up hill to get to our apartment by the square. The parallel weather, though clearly cooincidental, resonated with me and (it being dark, rainy, and 7am) made me a bit nostalgic.

Luckily, as soon as I touched down in London, the skies were gorgeous and the sun was shining (odd, usually it's Paris that's the sunny sort and London the more foggy and gray). To see the powerful, free-roaming, and expansive greens of the United Kingdom was a much needed breath of fresh air from the Parisian controlled gardens and manicured shrubs. I was in serious need of grass suited for multipurpose use.

Dave and I were fortunate enough to spend the holidays with a wonderful community in North London. I have a few stories to tell when I get the chance as there were an inordinate amount of characters in residence. But, I'm in Dave's office at the moment and while it is a lovely office with lovely people, I feel it has placed a block on the creative parts of my brain that are quite mandatory for such tales. Cubicles and work spaces just don't give me the kind of inspiration that my Parisian square provided.

I know that in the coming days, I will not be able to write as often. Amalea and I begin our European excursion tonight. I reach Paris in the evening and we officially leave our apartment soon after that to board a train, likely to Germany.

I have been trying to make sense of my Paris experience; in a way, I would like to send a farewell to the city. But it's hard, real hard in fact. It's difficult to sum up a world that you carved for five weeks; a world that took me on as much as I took it on; a set of experiences that will set the tone for the months upcoming and perhaps, who knows, beyond.

One thing I know that I can say is thank you. It's odd, perhaps, to say thank you to an entire city, but I want to do just that, and perhaps that alone. Thanks Paris. Thanks for the shrubbery, the silly, the language, the facially challenged animals, the wine & pastry and, of course, the superb homemade cheese sandwiches.

Best!