Foodstuff – Page 3 – paralyzedbynotcaring

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.

Rain rain go to Spain

Despite cooling temperatures and the ever-present nagging of anxiety about my ATM replacement card, which did not arrive today, I was able to take a fairly productive walk in my neighborhood in Prague. I came across this church, the Church of St. Ludmila.

Here is an artistic side view of the church.

Here is a building nearby that I suspect is a theater or opera house.

After all that walking, which included a series of endless stairs (Prague is not flat like Amsterdam), I deserved a nice salad.

But they brought out these pork ribs and what’s a girl to do.

I reading Lonely Planet’s guide to Prague and am still reading Daisy Miller.

“Fortune does favor the bold and you’ll never know what you’re capable of if you don’t try.” ~ Sheryl Sandberg

Travel day

Another day another country. Taxi to train to metro to tram to walking in the rain to not being able to discern a few characters on the hand-written wifi information card.

Oh, and guns.

This is a picture of two well-armed German policemen checking documents at the Dresden main train station. Someone with a bigger camera is taking a film of it between me and the interaction. I have to say that the police in Europe carry far larger weaponry than police on the beat in CA. The police guns here have to be held with both hands.

The sightseeing tour bus in Prague has some pretty scathing reviews on TripAdvisor so now I really can’t wait to check it out.

Czech out this body of water I saw from the train.

Now observe how scientifically I failed at reading numbers and letters.

I couldn’t figure out what the wifi code was. That’s right, my conclusion was “?”

For those of you who don’t know, my dad is planning on meeting me at the end of July or beginning of August in Copenhagen. He does not have the internet, so all of my logistical questions are being funneled through lil bro, who has to call dad on a LAND LINE and ask. I am not sure why this isn’t the system everywhere because there have been no misunderstandings and we all love each other VERY MUCH.

I am reading Lean In by Sheryl Sandberg and Daisy Miller and Other Whatevers by Henry James.

“Hang ‘abroad’! Stay at home and do things here.” ~Henry James

God and art and banks and tears

Today I went to the gallery in Zwinger, which is three stories of paintings and sculptures. I was unsure if pictures were allowed, so I had to take the obligatory snap of the best painting of Jesus on the DL.

This is baby Jesus accepting a pimp cup from the Magi. Magi know how to get down.

There are lots of other pieces of art I liked. One in particular was painted with very dark colors and impossible to take a pic of, but it was of Beatrice hiding and listening to Hero and Ursula “talk.” It was refreshing to see a) a story I knew well depicted and b) not Greek or Christian.

This portrait of Our Lady of Decadence also caught my eye–Marie Antoinette of course.

Notice how the painter included me in the background–so modern! Let’s not forget that she charmed European countries into helping us bloody colonialists fight the British. Respect the cake.

This museum is known for this work by Rafael. Does it seem familiar?

Does it?

I’ll let you think about that while I go to dinner and have dumplings.

German food is delightfully salty and filling. I also enjoyed the decor.

Unfortunately when I ordered NOT mineral water, I got SPARKLING mineral water, which is doubly bad. It tastes like medicine for the disease of life. I drank it anyway because while I was in the museum, I left my pack at the coat check and someone went in there and loosened the water bottle cap and let it leak all over my everything and so I had no water. Soggy train tickets are stuck to my umbrella now.

After this glorious meal I visited the Church of our Lady. It is quite a building. Here it is with Martin Luther and another one of his damn books. I decided to climb to the top of the dome (only 8 Euros!)

It’s not as tall as the tower in Bruges, right? I’ll be fine, right?

I start out and it’s going pretty good. Look how new and reasonable these stairs are.

Ok go a little farther, and it gets a bit narrower. No big deal.

Now ascend the ramp around the perimeter of the dome. It’s only a 60 degree angle what’s you problem why are you panting and sweating and crying?

You better woman up because now there is a ladder.

Ladders don’t take any shit, believe me. And you’ve got to be close, right?

Yes, just a few of these ellipses and

Don’t look down and

Boom! This view of Dresden–

And this view of the inner dome.

And of the teeny tiny people attending the services below.

The view from the top is pretty spectacular, and no one else was up there so I got to enjoy it without photobombing some other tourist’s panorama.

Across from the church and down a bit is the Opera, with that statue of a horse and a man I’ve posted before.

Nearby is the Hilton, which has an ATM in its lobby. I went to make a withdraw but was denied–this was particularly irritating because yesterday I had the same problem and called my bank and was told the hold was lifted. Also, I am lower on cash today than I was even yesterday when I had a super fun panic attack. Another call to the bank (3 actually, because my international phone kept dropping the call) revealed a significant amount had been drained from my account, and I had to do an unemotional reckoning for all my transactions for the last week. It was not fun and someone in Berlin has a lot of my money. A. Lot. Let’s delay the rage about how this person could access my money but I could not, and the righteous indignation about how this person will likely never be caught. Just keep that smoldering in your pocket for now and deal with the logistical issues–how do I get cash? Many places here are cash only, notably the taxis and buses, which I will need to travel into Prague in two days. My bank has no international relations, so I am totally on my own until a new ATM card is delivered to my airbnb in Prague. I did make the bank lady cry, so at least I have that.

This post is dedicated to RS for coming through with a wire and remaining cool as I turned into a ragecake.

This picture is for her.

Time to call Dr. A!

Walking around ad looking around: Dresden

On Sundays things close early despite the fact that everyone knows that I sleep in on Sundays and every other day I can sleep in. So the store was closed and probably the museum so I didn’t even bother. Instead I went to the Großer Garten and found a restaurant.

Luckily I was early enough that the soccer crowd had not yet assembled fully (France and Portugal, I think?) and I was easily able to point to something on the menu. Then this arrived.

Meat, potatoes, salad, like God intended. Then, more strudel.

This strudel came with watermelon slices, which were a happy surprise.

I exited the biergarten before soccer started in earnest and walked through the adjacent park.

The sun is out, people are roller blading like it’s the 90s, and when I think the park is perfect, I come to the front of this craziness.

No big deal just sitting here in the middle of a huge public park. That’s my shadow to prove I’m artistic.

I have no idea what this place is. There is no fence around it. Someone could live there for all I know, though I doubt it. I was going to check it out more closely but look how far away it was. And it’s Sunday so you know whatever it is is closed anyway.

I hate to break it to you but literally all I did today was walk around, eat, walk around more, and come back to my room. I liked this walk particularly because there were benches in the park. The world needs more benches.

Before you go thinking all is well, observe:

You can’t really see, but the Captain is saying “Story 3000.” I don’t know what this means but I’m afraid the DEMON has taken a new shape. Stay vigilant, my friends. Stay vigilant.

I am reading Daisy Miller and Other Stories by Henry James and Surely You’re Joking Mr Feyman by Richard Feyman.

Sex, drugs, and black cats

Today my priorities were getting packed and buying more cheese. What a compelling first sentence. Any second now you’re going to make me smoke tobacco and-and have drugs.

First though I went to a cafe ruled by a cat.

This black cat’s reign of terror included the whole bar. No one’s seat, once warmed, was safe.This guy literally took his beer outside in the rain to finish. When I left, I passed him, and said “Cats, eh?” He said, “There’s nothing I could have done.”

Some of you may know that, in addition to legal sex work, Amsterdam also has legal drug use. It’s not the same for the rest of the Netherlands, but Amsterdam remains special. I went into a coffeeshop, which here means drug store, and asked for the mildest brownie. They suggested this space cake.

I bought it with cash, and when I passed a walking policeman down the block, I avoided eye contact. I don’t really need pot to be paranoid.

(Half of this brownie has been eaten, but I am experiencing no noticeable effects.)

After the coffeeshop I popped into the Sex Museum for lessons, but I’m afraid most of the information there was unenlightening.

As societies have progressed, their art related to sensuality has become coarser. Around one corner, a mannequin prostitute jumps out at you from behind a curtain. Fun times.

Tomorrow I travel to Berlin. I have only a bus to a train to a train to a train to a taxi to navigate, so it’s like a totally easy day.

I am reading Catherine the Great and The Stand.

“Your wit makes others witty.” C the G

(Entire brownie has been eaten per MP)

Probability

I think the weather station here should just say winter is coming and leave it at that. Yesterday the forecast was 0% chance of rain and it rained. Today had a 90% chance and there was no rain. Two things: one, stop with the percentages. You don’t understand probability. Two, I was not prepared for how winterlike summer in Europe can be. Barcelona was scorching hot, but everywhere since has had more than enough rain/wind/coldness. KB tried to tell me to bring a jacket, but that sounded like such nonsense to my California brain. Now I’ll probably have to buy one when I head further north. 90% chance of that happening.

Because it was supposed to rain I didn’t plan all that much to do today. I went to the Hermitage Museum, which had a Catherine the Great exhibit and a Dutch People in Large Groups exhibit. Here is Catherine the Great’s everyday outfit.

Just a FEW layers there. Here she is posing with a pimp cane.

Just put that vat of diamonds over there, please.

She apparently was large and in charge and liked snuff quite a lot.

The other exhibit was literally a bunch of huge paintings of groups of Dutch men looking around for wine and/or women. Observe.

What the hell is happening here. They came, they ate, the looked around. They put on their knee ribbons and got all fancy. But where are the women? I can’t decide if they are anxiously awaiting them or resigned to keep eating and drinking until it doesn’t matter anymore.

Outside where it was 90% not raining there were some statues of a few favorites, starting with this party animal.

In vino veritas, right?

And of course, my astrological ruler.

Goddess of love, beauty, victory, and other important things like prostitutes.

Getting a little hungry? I found the restaurant I had been looking for yesterday and ordered this pizza.

I had to cut it myself because everything and I mean everything is eaten with a knife and fork here.

Now, you may be thinking, no rain, good art and food, seems like a perfect day, right?

I thought that too.

Until.

The Return of the DEMON.

The “Diemen” stop is just a few before mine, and guess how Diemen is pronounced?

Demon. I’ve been riding his train this whole time.

Mind. Blown.

Thanks, Obama.

0%

Today weather dot com said there was a 0% chance of rain for Amsterdam, so I put on my sandals and walked about town. First I went to the Rembrandt House Museum. This is his actual house before his debtors made him move into more humble accommodations, and it is full of many of the things he hoarded, such as busts of famous men, art, and taxidermy.

Here are some of the heads he had staring out into space. Perhaps one or two look familiar?

This is a pile of books. He read a lot about art.

The house itself is a normal Amsterdam tall-and-skinny affair with a narrow spiral staircase and large rooms with lots of windows. He had his own studio and another studio for his students. Every room had paintings; he was a collector and a dealer as well as a painter. I am not sure if this one is his, but it is in his entry way–a room that served as a gallery for what he had for sale.

I particularly like this Jesus picture because the puppies seem to be totally feeling the divinity and Jesus looks like he is failing at trying to get some coffee incognito.

Some people say that Rembrandt couldn’t draw, or else why are his brush strokes so messy and wild? Well, actually Rembrandt did a metric ton of sketch work and drawings. His painting style was just that, rough around the edges but exact where it mattered.

Here is one of his drawings.

Those strokes outlining the leaves are pretty frickin precise.

After Rembrandt’s house I decided to get some cookies I read about on Pinterest. It was quite cloudy but I persevered and found the most perfect chocolate cookie ever made.

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It might not look like much, but it was still warm.

Does this picture look blurry to you? Well that is because this cookie was so good I started shaking. Look at that vanilla creme filling–also still warm and extra sweet. I had to sit down to eat it because my knees were knocking together.

I somewhat recovered from eating this cookie by eating a second. By now it was starting to get a bit blustery and the clouds moved quickly across the sky. That is what 0% looks like here, I guess. My plan was to go to dinner at the place the Pinterest lady who recommended that cookie liked (clearly she and I have compatible taste), and after examining my map I took off.

Along the way, can you believe it, I found a canal! Here is a picture. Later I came by a tall tower and just as I was deciding which way to turn, it clanged into action.

I did that thing I do where I run away from loud noises. Unfortunately I ran (slash shuffled along at my unique walking pace) about eight blocks in the wrong direction. it was raining steadily now, and the wind had picked up. Taking out my map resulted in flapping futility. I took the first tram that said Centraal Station and just ate a snack at the station before catching a train back to my room.

0%–bah. Always bring your umbrella!

XXX

The city’s coat of arms, or what I would call a logo, is XXX. Apparently it does not refer to the liberal attitude towards sex workers here, but rather to the three disasters the city has survived: water, fire, and pestilence. So when you see a pole with XXX on it, like this one

it just means you are in Amsterdam. It has NOTHING to do with the lady who was just sitting in this nearby window.

I also learned that you are not allowed to take pictures at the Van Gogh museum, so these three that I took are ILLEGAL.

The first one is of a peasant lady working her ass off. A lot of his paintings are rural. Most of the people working in the paintings are women, whereas the people who are sitting around doing nothing are usually men. I was going to take more pictures to illustrate this point, but I got in trouble with the museum anti camera campaign.

Just look at this workin girl. Bent and dark and almost moving.

Now look at this guy.

Chillin smokin a pipe.

I actually took a photo of this painting because the subject looks JUST LIKE my airbnb host. There were several other paintings that better proved my point about the female vs male subjects, but I didn’t want to get escorted out. Imagine the page 17 headline, “San Mateo Co. Resident Kicked Out of Most Accepting Country on Planet.”

Here is the final picture I took before the axe came down. It is called “The Potato Eaters.”

Earlier in his career, VG thought this was the one that was going to make it for him.

I’d never heard of it before.

Not that I know much about art, but when I thing of VG I think of flowers and landscapes and his self portraits and oh yeah idk a starry night sky? (Starry Night is actually in NCY right now so I didn’t get to see it).

I did see his famous “Almond Blossoms,” which KB and I did excellent copies of a few years ago at a wine-and-paint event, and the sunflowers, and the smoking skeleton. Also about 500 others. VG did sketching/drawings, was a prolific letter writer, and he spent a bit of time in an asylum. Also, those blue irises on all the greeting cards? Yeah they used to be purple. The more you know.

Outside the VG Museum is the Iamsterdam sculpture/sign, so I took this obligatory shot.

It wasn’t raining yet, so I walked to the Heineken Experience, which is an interactive tour/museum/tasting at one of Heineken’s original brewery locations. No brewing happens there anymore, but a lot of the old equipment was there. I don’t really drink much beer. That’s a lie. I never drink beer. But the tour was right there and I had a discount card and when in Rome/Amsterdam. Well, today I drank more beer than I have had in the last ten years and I think my stomach is dying. I learned that I have been drinking beer incorrectly in that you must not drink the foam. What did we learn about beer? FOAMY!

Probably a bit more than 99 bottles of beer on this wall.

To settle my stomach, I had some ribs.

I ordered these based on a yelp review, and then people at the tables on either side of me ordered them also.

I think these ribs cured my beer disease stomach problem and would prescribe them to anyone with a similar or dissimilar ailment. By the time I was done with dinner, it started raining. Luckily there was a tram stop nearby and I was able to figure out how to get back to the train station. Navigating Amsterdam isn’t easy because the bikes are everywhere. I read that there are a lot of bikes here, and I thought well I’ve survived Davis, CA, how different can it be?

Very, very different. The city is basically designed for bikes, so pedestrians just have to look the hell out for their lives. Suddenly that cheery brrring-brrring of a bike bell becomes the sinister sound of death by pedals. I already hate crossing streets–I know everyone is out to kill me–but here each intersection involves cars, taxis, rickshaws, stoned pedestrians, city buses, motorcycles, trams, double-decker tour buses, tourists, and a swarm of bicyclists. It is a total circus and when the rain started, complete with tent-like umbrellas. Bikes have their own lanes, but they share them with motorcycles. It’s just all a little too much sharing for me. I was so paralyzed at an intersection, a bicyclist pointed at me and then motioned for me to go. I clearly need assistance.

You have probably long since figured that out.

Category: Foodstuff