Rain – Page 2 – paralyzedbynotcaring

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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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

Hallo from Berlin

Yesterday I traveled from Amsterdam to Berlin. There was only one transfer that was a bit difficult, but only because my reserved seat was in the very first car and I had to walk along the length of the train for a long time. When I say I walk I mean run madly waving my ticket so they don’t leave without me. Always a pleasure.

It was of course raining because that is what it does in Europe. The rain however did treat me to this as I sped across the German countryside.

That’s a rainbow, in case it’s too light to see. Only three trains and a taxi ride and I was at my airbnb in Berlin (Kreuzberg district–west Berlin) meeting my new roommate Molly.

She likes to sleep on shoes and watch you eat snacks. I got in about 8pm and my other roommates asked if I was going to go out lol. Anyway the streets were bedlam because Deutschland and Italia were playing futbol. It only got crazier after that penalty kick.

Today then was a bus tour. I was very happy to find one somewhat easily, considering that the tourism office was not where it was supposed to be and two policemen had no idea where it was.

However, the bus driver wasn’t all that helpful and the tour guide said most things in German. I did make out that the bus loop map wasn’t going to be followed because of all the street closures due to the soccer game. Soccer. Why do you keep ruining my vacation? Unfortunately this meant the bus tour was a bit haphazard and I couldn’t keep track of where we were supposed to be on the tour guide, let alone where we actually were. The stops were not announced by their names or by their numbers on the itinerary. I thought Germany would be the most exact in general and especially in this manner, but soccer. Soccer. Soccer. The tour guide did mention that Albert Einstein went to college here right across the street from where the bonfires ate all those piles of books. I’d rather know which bus stop we were on, frankly.

My tour included a boat trip up the Spree river. Did you know that Berlin has more bridges than Venice? (Side note, the boat tour in Amsterdam said that Amsterdam has more canals than Venice, but fewer bridges. I think there is some serious Venice-envy happening all over Europe.)

The plus side is that the boats serve drinks.

Do not be seduced by how bright and sunny these pictures look. Berlin has a horrible case of hotcold. When the sun is out, it is a punisher. Then a cloud comes by and everyone puts on parkas and watches their breath fog. I believe hotcold is a form of torture, am I right? I did feel a few rain drops, but they seemed to be isolated incidents.

The bus tour did not yield a lot of photo ops, mostly because I didn’t know what I was supposed to be looking at until it had already passed by and the English announcement finally started. This bus tour is really failing. Did I mention it had no wifi and the Coke Lite I bought on board was undrinkable because the tab came off without opening the mouth of the can? I am dis. pleased.

However, despite this oppression, I did manage to take this stunner.

Bam. That my friends is Victoria, goddess of, you guessed it, victory.

I am not sure what Germany won or what this is in relation to. It looks to me like she’s surrendering anyway. I didn’t ask because I was already having an attitude about my wasted diet coke that was 2 Euros. I have discovered that when I am not around someone I feel compelled to please (I am a people pleaser), I easily fall in to being sullen and misanthropic. Not following YOUR OWN ITINERARY adds to this. Hotcold torture adds to this. Lack of wifi adds to this.

Lastly, the bar I read about on Lonely Planet is only a block away from my airbnb and I was all set to try it until I read that it doesn’t even open until 10pm. I like to be well into my tylenol pm/wine stupor by then. Maybe tomorrow, but I doubt it.

Tomorrow I will go to the museum island, though I can’t decide which of the five museums to explore (don’t say five, you know I can’t).

The bus drove by parts of the wall, which I figured out before the English version announced it, so maybe I will investigate that area as well. It’s quite famous.

I am reading Catherine the Great.

“Isn’t it strange that I who have written only unpopular books should be such a popular fellow?” – Albert Einstein

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.

Fries and Waffles

Lookit, it is impossible to tour Bruges without fries and waffles. They are practically forced on you.

You. Will. Succumb.

So with that out of the way, my first order of business was to send a post card to Daddio. The post office in the main square was closed for renovation, so I did a walking tour to the temporary location. I note this only because the post office worker had no qualms about reading my post card in front of me. He read it, laughed, looked up at me, and then read it again.

Glad I could brighten your day, sir. Or reinforce stereotypes. Or both.

I have learned that there is nothing sacred here.

Then I went to the Church of Our Lady, which houses one of the few works of Michelangelo outside of Italy. This is the Madonna with Child (center).

The statue is smaller than I expected, but very beautiful. There was also of course a lot of stained glass, ornate molding, and famous crypts.

The outside of the church was being renovated, so any picture would be of tarps and scaffolding. And I’m above that sort of of ridiculousness.

Oh, I also saw more soccer maths.

1+1=-0.2 folks. Note that.

You may know that Bruges has a lot of canals. “Bruges” means bridges. The canals are somewhat stagnant and not overly glorious for the most part. I did take a picture at the most photographed bridge in the city. I’ve done my part.

That leaning tower behind me is the belfry I summitted two days ago. It is leaning, too. About a meter, but I can’t tell in what direction.

You will notice that it is SUNNY. The sun was out and devastating people with its merciless monstrosity. People had to eat a lot of ice cream. I mean a lot.

I also went to Groeninge Museum and saw a lot of Flemish artwork. There were the usual upsetting paintings of Christ, capturing either his interrupted childhood or his untimely death. What caught my attention was this saucy piece called “Serenity.”

From what I can tell, the painting suggests that looking at breasts and perhaps touching breasts together is calming.

This one also made me laugh. I believe it is titled “Sheléne’s Former Jobs Now that She’s Gone.”

My favorite painting is called “The Invention of the Art of Drawing.”

Look how intent they both are.

The final room held the most modern pieces, the last of which before you exit is a sculpture of a young woman, clothed, wigged, and painted to look real, sitting on the floor with her head down like she’s crying. I had to skid passed before I became life imitating art imitating life. I can’t get stuck in that post-modern tautology. Not again.

Tomorrow ladies and gentlemen it will RAIN. And also the next day. And the next. And possibly the next. So I will leave you with this healthy dose of anti-rain medication.

Enjoy!

(PS No Demon spotting today)

Category: Rain