paralyzedbynotcaring

Walking around looking around: Copenhagen

Dad is an early riser so today I learned what it’s like to take the first tour bus of the day (Hint: less crowded).

We were driven up and down and all around the city, stopping at the Little Mermaid of course.

Yes, she really is that little.

We were compelled to visit the Carlsburg exbeerience; they no longer brew the beer at the site, but similar to the Heineken experience, there is an interesting history and process to learn about. Here are a few factoids.

This bottle’s label design, from the very early 1900s, didn’t last.

There are hundreds of old bottles to look at.

Our favorite little statue was brought to you by beer!

Skaal!

Of course there were also a few places to sample the product. For science.

This evening we visited Tivoli, which is a carnival/garden/music venue/restaurant hub area place thing. Walt Disney was inspired by it and the result is DL–there is a certain whimsy they share. Tivoli is more old-timey, though you can order a #3 at the hotdog stand and get two dogs and a dark beer, which seems progressive. The rides were of an elevated state fair variety, but after hotdogs and beer we were not up to defying gravity. Fountains, detailed planters, carnival lights, a robot rabbit lawn mower, fun house mirrors, and some rogue peacocks finished the scene.

I think the major difference is that far more adults without children want to come to Tivoli–for dinner, for some music, or just to see all the pretty lights and fountains. It wasn’t a hassle to get to, either. It’s right in the middle of downtown, only a few blocks from our hotel.

Here’s to a no-hassle day tomorrow.

To the surprise of no one

The French flight attendants were on strike, so the ladies in charge of Dad’s flight to Paris, then Copenhagen were “professional but a bit abrupt,” according to sources.*

The plan was for Dad and me to meet at the train station at the Copenhagen airport. His flight wasn’t scheduled to land until 730pm, so I thought I had acres of time at 8 to secretly eat a pastry as I waited. Just as I was about to take my first bite, I hear my name correctly pronounced for the first time in almost two months. Mouth wide open, eyes wide open, I see Dad across the tracks on the other platform.

It is so nice to speak American with someone.

Dad seems quite at home here, though I had to show him how to operate the shower. “These buttons don’t do anything!”

Welcome to Europe.

I am reading The Family Romanov by Candace Fleming and Good Behavior by Molly Keane.

*Dad

D’Orsay

Today is my last full day in France. I took the train and the metro to Paris proper to visit the D’Orsay Museum, which I have never visited before.

Back on the metro–luckily no one made pee.

On the walk from the metro station to the museum, I caught sight of that famous radio tower.

The museum has sort of a crazy floor plan made even more incomprehensible by a “map,” so I did the thing where you wander. I played my museum games: spot the dogs in the paintings, check the mirrors in the paintings, find the weirdest Jesus. The last game was quite a bit more difficult than it has been because many of the pieces of art glorified landscapes, ordinary objects, and Greek/Roman myths. I took a picture of what I thought was a soul being dragged to heaven by angels and presented to Jesus only to realize it was Zeus and I felt like a bad Christian. This was not my first sin, though. Hell, I’m a fan of all seven. And upon realizing this I found Silent Hill Jesus:

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If this isn’t the creepy crawliest Jesus ever depicted, I don’t want to know.

I saw some familiar faces, including this Monet:

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And I met a few new pieces with particularly beautiful lighting from within the painting:

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I stopped when I came upon this next one, mostly because the crowd was such that I could not pass. You know how you automatically pay more attention to paintings that other people seem to be killing themselves over? I try not to do that because art is so subjective, but the more I looked at this one, the more I was convinced the whole world has gone insane.

What sort of vegan pagan bad facial hair picnic is this? I have so many questions. Where is the real food? Is the guy on the right holding an umbrella? Why is she naked if it’s going to rain? What is that other girl doing–pulling out a splinter? And why is this nakedly nude lady glaring at ME as if I’m the one out of place? This is a very uncomfortable piece and I was not happy to be stuck in a crowd around it. Nuts.

Last but not least I saw this reminder for RS to call Dr. A.

And on the way back to the metro station, I stopped in for the obligatory french pastry.

I had the apricot tart (second from right).

As a subplot update, Dad went to the Wells Fargo in Red Bluff and convinced them to issue another replacement ATM card for me, so when I meet Dad in Copenhagen tomorrow, he will have it with him. It is easy to complain about small towns, but sometimes they are the best thing ever.

I am reading The Robber Bride by Margaret Atwood & rereading the Scandinavia chapter in Rick Steves’ book.

Let’s talk about food

At Disneyland Paris, I expected a lot from the food vendors. After all miss, this is France. The crepes and fantasiambrosia ice cream did not disappoint, and the pineapple juice soft serve was an acceptable variation of Dole Whip. Though, much to my surprise, there was not a churro nor a lemonade stand to be found.

Crepe:

Fantasiambrosia (not what the menu calls it):

The Fantasia cafe won for most adorable decor:

Imposter Dole Whip will do:

I had the catch of the day at the Blue Lagoon (where you can get vodka in your martini), which was a bit too much fish for me. The chips served with the tuna were actually my favorite part of the meal.

Overall the alcohol did not push the experience past that of the BL in CA, where the monte cristo sando will change your life.

The grilled ham and cheese from the deli market on Main Street is very good, but the cristo deserves its own show.

The Hakuna lunch included expertly spiced crisp cut fries, and though there is a ketchup shortage in Europe that no one talks about, these fries didn’t suffer. They were one serving of ranch dressing away from perfection.

The last meal I had was at Buffalo Bill’s Wild West show, which is a BBQ dinner with live entertainment of the lasso and gunslinger variety. The food was pretty good, especially the cornbread and ribs, but the Indians (they don’t bother with saying Native Americans much here) really stole the show. One stood on two horses while guiding two more in a race around the arena. The other shows I saw were very fun, with dazzling special effects, but this one was the most impressive. Probably because I know how hard it is to rope a calf with a lasso (impossible) and to jump onto a galloping horse (even more impossible). It was also the most fragrant.

And I got a hat.

Overall, though, I think the food in DL CA is better purely because of the variety and availability. The food kiosks close very early here (some before 730pm), and some of the restaurants do as well. One evening I had to leave the park so I could buy a sandwich at the train station (really, there was not a casual dining experience to be had in the park). Also, the kiosks serve the same four ice cream options and the same four drink options. There are only two crepe kiosks, and one ran out of crepes before 7pm. This seems decidedly un-disney. The Disney I know will sell you anything and everything anytime.

Let’s have more of that.

And more pink castles.

I am reading The Robber Bride by Margaret Atwood.

What are you going to do next?

Disney, of course.

An afternoon here reminded me that good customer service does exist and not every large, extremely profitable company wants me to go away and die. I have not explored everything yet, but Disneyland Paris (DLP) has a dreamlike quality in that everything seems familiar yet… foreign. DLP is somewhat smaller than DL in Anaheim, and add to that several attractions were closed for maintenance, the park didn’t have the same epic grandeur as in our homeland.

I started in Discoveryland, a steam punk version of Tomorrowland. The singles line for Space Mountain 2 was empty, and the ride flew past in loud darkness, blurry universes flashing by, people screaming as your body is jerked left, your brain is jerked right, and your heart is left on the floor. By the time you’re able to let yourself go and enjoy it, it’s over and everyone is saying is the best ever. It’s like your 20s I guess.

It was here I saw everyone’s favorite robot couple.

Star Tours always gives me motion sickness, and I am not sure I am emotionally stable enough to hear R2D2 beep in French, so I skipped it and walked through Captain Nemo’s submarine. It’s not a ride, just an elaborately staged underground attraction, with the eye of the squid its center piece.

From there I went to Fantasyland where every child ever born was crying and eating ice cream at the same time. I rode Le Pays des Cones de Fées, which is apparently like the Storybook ride in Anaheim. Storybook has always been closed each time I’ve visited DL, so Le Pays was new to me. Several fairy tales were depicted in miniature. The snow-covered hill wasn’t Frozen, though, it was the Boy who Cried Wolf. My favorite scene was this, of Belle all alone reading her book.

Right next to the Storybook boats is le Petit Train du Cirque, which is a train made in the fashion of Dumbo’s circus transport. It does a good job of recycling the Storybook scenes by giving you an aerial view, but other than that it was very much a low-intensity ride. It got to be quite the opposite for me, though, as a little girl apparently named Atina kept trying to cut in front of me and I was not having it. Children are immune to throat clearing hints, in case you didn’t know. Atina was not alone, though; the concept of one’s place in line is not as sacred here as it is in the USA. Families had no problem skipping ahead of me when a line switchbacked and they thought I wasn’t crowding the people in front of me enough.

Getting cut in line makes me hungry, so I had a bagel burger at Au Chalet de la Marionette. Pinocchio apparently doesn’t have strings or use napkins.

The lines for the Alice in Wonderland rides were long, and the Fast Pass for Peter Pan wasn’t in operation, so I went over to Pirates of the Caribbean. I was almost to the front of the line when the ride had technical difficulties and everyone had to evacuate in a crush of people and crying children. That was a bit more swashbuckling than I signed up for. Right around this time I got a bit lost because three attractions in Adventureland were closed, and the paths kept leading to dead ends. Turns out I had to go back into Fantasyland to get further south in Adventureland. Magic.

The Indiana Jones ride—and it pains me to even call it by that name—has no narrative and almost no decoration distinguishing it from any ordinary roller coaster. Massive let down compared to Anaheim, but does a great job of punishing your head against the seat if you’re into that sort of thing.

I continued south into Frontierland to Phantom Manor. Though the narration is in French and the story is a little different, the holographic ghosts are still worth seeing. The ride got stuck when I was facing a skeleton, and he and I had quite a chat as the technical difficulties were fixed. It wasn’t so bad for me, sitting in the haunted house, but some younger riders were not happy.

Because I am in Disneyland, it of course rained. I exited the Phantom Manor into a cool drizzle that immediately soaked my shoes, feet, and half my pants. The line for the railroad was covered, so I waited out the shower there and got a bonus train ride in.

I didn’t do several of the things I want to do, and I haven’t eaten nearly enough Disney snack yet. I am going back tomorrow for more research.

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Czech to France

I’ve been traveling the last few days and finally got a full day of basically doing nothing. I usually have one of those days once a week. On this trip I haven’t had one in going on a month. It is particularly well timed as my woes with Wells Fargo came to a nadir I didn’t know existed: they refused to send a second replacement card (I never got the first one and was leaving the address it was being sent to). My last day in Prague was spent in total, shaking disbelief that no one at WF could help me and they were content to continue to let me be stranded without access to my own money. Needless to say I sent a strongly worded letter to the board of directors. I am still experiencing the emotional fallout of being completely alone so far from home dealing with being stonewalled unnecessarily by a company that could so easily fix the problem. It’s as easy as sending another replacement card. Their arguments are invalid.

I am still really upset about it and the ongoing nature of this ridiculousness has made me want to come home every day for the last 11 days or so–much more than usual. I wouldn’t say it’s completely ruined my trip (the train strike kind of already did that), but it’s dampened the already tenuous rekindling of my enthusiasm.

So, that being said, I am trying to focus on the positive and not be a gigantic grump for the rest of my life. Dad is meeting me in Denmark in a week.

I am reading Stiff: The Curious Lives of Human Cadavers by Mary Roach, Cinder by Marissa Meyer, and parts of Part 2 of Mark Twain’s Autobiography (saved for emergency situations).

Another day another trdlnik

After a wholesome brunch

I made my way to Mala Strana, “Lesser Town,” where the Kafka Museum is. Here you can find glorious buildings such as this.

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Ignoramus that I am, I thought Kafka was German, but he was born in Bohemia, and said of this city “Prague never seems to let go of you.”

The Kafka Museum, in a word, is strange.

I guess I was expecting a glamorized bookstore with some letters and portraits of Franz, but what I got was a sort of maze through a dark attic that began with pictures of Prague during FK’s lifetime, his family tree, and his ferocious letters to his father. Then around the corner is a movie screen, the top half leaning forward, showing imagines of Prague with quotes about FK’s society. To the right are round tables illuminated from within showing books, portraits, and descriptions of the literati FK admired. Around the next corner was a tall file cabinet with certain drawers permanently opened. Some contained FK’s correspondence, some his sketches, which were mostly of a man’s silhouette hunched over a desk. Further on are screens hanging from the ceiling, each one showing a black and white picture of one of FK’s loves. Below the hanging portraits are remembrances of each affair, pictures, quotes, and letters. The museum is very dark and each exhibit is so brightly lit it’s like a star in a night sky. Through the next hallway is a semi circular table with letters asking for a reprieve from insurance writing work due to health. Kafka was educated as a lawyer and spent his working hours writing law stuff for an insurance place. The next hallway is a modern mausoleum, each square with an engraved plate with a FK character engraved on it. Everyone knows that mausoleums are big freaky cereal boxes of death, so I didn’t examine the name plates after I found our dear Mr. Samsa. Now you curve around through a white hallway with a curve such that your shadow and the shadow of the person ahead of you meet and create a totally new shadow that follows your motions but looks nothing like your own silhouette. Next is a sort of movie room with a projection on the far wall and a mirror on the wall to your left. As you sit, the images reflect from the mirror and join your own reflection. First a shadow of a man waking along a path, but getting no closer to the castle in the distance. Then a fence. Then fog and clouds. You are in this movie with this walking man, and before you are stuck forever you leave and find some first editions along with sketches made for The Metamorphosis (In the sketches, Gregor’s body is a dark red with black legs). The proofs of FK’s final work The Castle, which FK worked on as he was slowly starving to death due to cancer of the larynx. Then more letters about his health and finally his obituary. He succumbed to TB, as if throat cancer wasn’t enough.

Overall this was not only a strange experience but also uncomfortable. There was no single exhibit that was repulsive, but finding the way through the darkened museum with other people seemed almost intrusive, as though it is ok if *I* drop in on FK’s subconscious (or regular conscious, as in his letters to his daddio), but with other people there it seemed too public. It’s unlike any museum I’ve ever seen.

I crossed the bridge in the sun with everyone else ever born.

I visited a second museum today, a tiny one dedicated to Johannes Kepler, astronomer. I have a special interest in Kepler because of his relationship with Tycho Brahe, a Danish astronomer and notorious party animal (Google how he died). Kepler is pretty famous among science types, and to those people I would like to point out that the horoscopes Kepler wrote were just as respected as those “laws” he’s so well known for. Kepler and Brahe had a sort of difficult work relationship due to Brahe’s larger than life ideas and personality and Kepler’s quiet insistence on being treated as an equal, not an assistant.

Here’s a statue of these two scallywags.

This is a sketch of a pavilion-like structure showing that Kepler’s ideas were based on those who came before him, such as Copernicus and our dear Mr. Brahe.

There’s the Dane.

Though the museum was small, it had charm and I’m glad I happened upon it.

No sign of the demon since yesterday when I was locked in the basement.

Though I did find this.

Sweet dreams.

Locked in the basement

My airbnb is a basement studio in a normal Prague apartment building. I have the external key, the mail key, and the studio key. There is however a door from lobby to the staircase to the basement that I was told is rarely locked, but my external key should open it if it happens to be locked.

It was locked this morning as I ascended out of the cave. The light in the staircase is motion detected, so it kept flicking off as I turned the key first clockwise, then counter clockwise, then half clockwise and full counter, then flip it and reverse it, then pull the door shut more tightly and try again, then jiggle everything, then start sweating, then continue sweating, then keep sweating so that a decent grip on the keys is impossible, then imagine being locked in a basement in Prague and going feral, then jiggling the keys more until someone happens by and opens the door from the lobby.

After that episode of Fear Factor, I went back to try the strudel version of the trdelnik, which was tasty but even more of a challenge to eat. It wasn’t even noon and I was already through two challenges.

The Old Town Square was as picturesque as ever.

I went to the Prague Castle, which is the largest castle complex in Europe. It really is a complex–many different types of buildings in a sort of ye olde business park. By far the most beautiful was the St. Vitus Cathedral, which, and I can’t stress this enough, is large.

It’s bigger on the inside.

As you might imagine, there are many beautiful statues and windows of stained glass. My favorite stained glass window is this one.

And wouldn’t you know it, another depiction of the giant holding Jesus’s body on the cross, this time in silver with many embellishments.

At least in this one he looks like he feels guilty for showing up a bit too late.

Also in the complex is St. George’s Basilica, which houses these bones.

When the top three google search results didn’t include whose bones these are, I abandoned the project, making this the shortest episode of CSI ever. You’re welcome.

Part of the castle was built by the Empress Maria Theresa–that’s right, Marie Antoinette’s mom was always hard at work. This was when the Habsburgs of Austria were all over Prussia.

Look what I found there.

Fifty points to Gryffindor!

Also abounding were sharp objects.

And the inspiration for Nimbly from the Never Ending Story II!

Now it is time for my final challenge of the day, which occurred on my bastion of safety, the dear old tour bus. I was sitting in the front of the bus so I could see out the windshield and hear the tour guide easily. The tour guide was joking with the driver about asking out a female tour guide when a car cut in front of us and the bus came to a sudden and jarring halt. I was thrown from the window seat to the aisle seat, where thankfully no one was sitting. The driver of the car that cut into our lane rolled down his window and started yelling and gesturing at the bus. The tour guide and the driver then ran out of the bus and chased the car down. It was a total scene from cops except no cops. The keys to the bus were still in the ignition so I drove the battered tourists to safety JOKE there’s no place safe. Haven’t you learned that from my blog yet? I didn’t have to drive us anywhere because the driver in the car fled the scene to much yelling and fist gesturing of the tour team and honking from nearby cars. It was all very manly.

The narration from the tour guide was more heavily accented from then on.

I went to Sephora to buy some sanity.

I found a Sephora

There is a deathly dearth of Sephoras that people don’t warn you about. It’s like the opposite of a plague but twice as ugly. On the tram from my Airbnb to the Old Town Square, while I am diligently reading each tram stop in true Rain Man fashion, I see the familiar white and black stripes and gasp. This is the same reaction other people might people have when they see the Charles Bridge or the Castle or whatever. The Sephora was a good omen, because almost immediately afterwards, I found the trdelnik:

Oh boy. This is something new: a warm thin doughnut dough rolled in cinnamon and filled with soft serve ice cream. You cold also fill it with strudel filling and whipped cream or any combination of many things. Though this resulted in endless crumbs (still finding them) and a sticky everything, good god it was worth it.Eating it was like living art.

After I plowed that down and went into a sugar coma, I found the bus tour. Yes! This bus had A/C (sort of)!

We saw some sights and stopped at some points to take ho hum pictures like this one.

We drove by the Dancing Building, which is modeled after Fred and Ginger. Guess which is whom.

We also passed the church of my favorite saint, Mr. Ignatius.

It was around this point that our tour guide let on that the president of the Czech republic has a reputation for speaking publicly while intoxicated and that there is a fun internet game that provides a quote and the player must decide whether it originated with the Czech president or our Mr. Trump. Everyone laughed and then opened a vein and then threw themselves off the Charles Bridge.

I did a bit of walking around and a lot of city streets. A lot of buildings are adorned by fancy molding or sculptures or busts or reliefs like this craziness:

I don’t know why. I came across a street market and bought a cheap fan for the impending death by heatwave scheduled to start tomorrow.

I walked across a bridge and took pictures and took pictures for other people, after which I was sure to leave before they were able to figure out that I could see nothing through anyone’s display screen and hoped for the best like a true artist.

Across the bridge and through the park I found the John Lennon Memorial Wall. It has even more graffiti than the East Side Gallery of the Berlin Wall, but this one didn’t seem as disrespectful. Maybe because there was a barefoot musician taking requests with his guitar. Can you imagine how many times he must have to sing certain songs? I requested something by The Who, but I was informed I’d have to provide my own lyrics. Serves me right probably.

I learned this pose from FL.

From the JL wall I made my way to the Charles Bridge, a pedestrian-only tourist magnet. There are many statues along the bridge, and it is apparently customary to take a picture of every. single. one. I have to say by this time my hands were tired and decided on two statues.

This first one is probably a giant saint holding killed Jesus’ freshly dead body, still attached to the crucifix. This wins for weirdest Jesus of the day. Where was this giant when the deaths were going down? Fe fi fo gtfo, boom, Jesus saved. The bible is so crazy this way.

Notice the lighter areas on the two lower panels. People kept coming up and petting these areas, which may explain their color–I don’t know and I’m afraid to Google it. I petted the dog on the left as it seemed more… seemly.

The other statue on the bridge that made the cut is this almost autobiographical piece.

Friends: Please hang out with us! You are so fun and smart and hilarious! Don’t leave yet! We love you the best! Please!

Me: Sorry I have three books, and I have to get my beard waxed, bai. (Not a joke, AL).

If you thought there were to be no more pictures of statues, you were mistaken, because this crazy thing is the first thing you see when you get off the bridge.

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I feel like he’s inviting me to reenact with him that pivotal chalice scene in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade.

One good thing about Prague that I didn’t know is that if bridges and skylines and sculptures don’t do it for you, you can always just make your own fun.

The return walk to the tram was a bit meandering after I realized the stop I used this morning does not have a stop for the reverse direction, so I lingered to observe the sun and river while trying to forget that taking a taxi in Prague isn’t usually the best alternative to trams.

And of course I ran into this gentleman.

Alien? Demon? Doppelganger?

Don’t judge. This is what happens when I don’t have regular access to a Sephora.

I am reading Daisy Miller and Princesses Behaving Badly by Linda Rodriguez McRobbie.

Garden walk

The sun decided to make a summer appearance today so I walked to the nearby park at Vysehrad. Parks in Europe contain, you know, just a Basilica and a river and statues and stuff. No big deal.

This is the St. Peter and Paul Basilica. It was too large to take a proper picture of, but here’s the top part. The park is full of pathways, gardens, BENCHES, and stairs. The benches make up for the stairs, for the most part. On the west side of the park, a brick lookout allows for some stunning views.

Loads of people were milling around eating ice cream and taking sticky pictures like this one.

That’s the river Vltava shielded by my round face. There are lots of dogs in Prague as well, particularly small dogs. They like to pee on statues like this one.

After walking around the park–I didn’t see the whole park but I think I climbed every staircase at least twice–I went to have lunch. I had pork knuckles, which are surprisingly tender. Unfortunately my credit card (not the ATM card I’ve had to stop using) was declined, causing another full blown panic attack. This meant I had no card at all that would work, and I had to pay with my limited cash. Instead of pushing forward and walking to the Faust House, where Mephistopheles dragged our humble doctor, I came back to my airbnb to figure out my life. Apparently my credit card is fine and the card reader at the restaurant was to blame. This made me feel slightly better, but by this time my sweat pants were on so Faust will have to wait until tomorrow. I must say I am not pleased at having to deal with first the train craziness and strikes and delays and now not knowing what’s going to happen with my own money. For a sabbatical this has been stressful. Don’t be surprised if a future post is from an asylum.

Author: paralyzedbynotcaring

Walking around looking around: Copenhagen

To the surprise of no one

D’Orsay

What are you going to do next?

Czech to France

Another day another trdlnik

Locked in the basement

I found a Sephora

Garden walk

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