Reading – Page 3 – 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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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).

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.

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

Everything Was Beautiful, and Nothing Hurt

After I was bailed out of debtor’s prison, I made a Billy Pilgrimage in the rain to find where Kurt Vonnegut was imprisoned during the bombing of Dresden.

It rained quite a lot and I used both an umbrella and a stunningly flattering plastic poncho. I had only vague directions to the location as the tour guide was on vacation this week and blogs about finding the location were not encouraging. Along the way I found an old friend.

Ahoy. I avoided puddles and cross referenced cross streets for a total of almost 6 miles, all the time thinking that if Billy Pilgrim could survive being navigated through space and time, I could tolerate a bit of rain.

After many dead ends and incorrect assumptions, I found the building complex where the Slaughterhouses used to operate. You can tell because the last remnant of the meat industry is in the parking lot–a small statue of a cow.

The complex as a whole looks like this.

According to some blogs, there is a small sign commemorating Kurt Vonnegut somewhere on the street, but I never found it. There is also supposed to be a room dedicated to him and Slaughterhouse-5, or The Children’s Crusade: A Duty Dance with Death, which I was also on the hunt for.

I approached the gate with the same rain soaked shuffle that has become my summer stroll in Europe, passed by the security kiosk, and began looking in windows like a proper trespasser. Germany has done very little–nothing, really-to encourage tourists or any member of the literati to visit this site. In fact, I was told to leave. Yes, as KV and PB were forced to stay, I was forced to leave. Luckily I have an uncomfortably convincing dumb blonde expression and this, as it has may times, allowed me to do what I wanted. I found the door to the slaughterhouse.

It looks upsettingly similar to the door I took a picture of in Amsterdam, though this time I could stomach a selfie.

Yes, when I found the door, the rain cleared and the sun shone on it and the security guard permitted pictures despite my wet hair and soggy feet. I wanted to stay and try to find the room with all the historical information and KV’s quotes, but Germans are not overly welcoming and German security guards mean business.

So it goes.

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.

Germany doesn’t seem to celebrate the 4th of July

Which meant everything was open as usual. I continued with my bus tour (I’d purchased a 2-day pass) and it wasn’t so bad today–not because the stops were predictable or announced, but because by now these irritants were familiar. I love familiar things.

As promised I went to Museum Island. Now, erase the image of a round island with beaches sloping up towards a ring of five museums. “Island” is a technicality; these city blocks are bordered by a river and a few canals. And, after having seen the Mississippi River, the Spree is really just a large canal.

Once on this island, I decided to visit the Deutsche Museum.

I think this is a picture of the outside of the museum. I took a lot of pictures of a lot of old style buildings today and they start to look similar. Sometimes I wish the tour guide would say, and look, a totally modern and unremarkable building! I’d take a picture of that.

Germany’s history is really just European history, so I saw many elements similar to pieces in Dutch and Belgian museums; however, there were deffo more weapons here.

I got to touch a chain mail tunic and it was certainly not mithril. It was heavy AF and all the inter looping chain pieces pinched my arm hairs. Being a knight was no joke.

Probably my favorite exhibit was the old books section. This is one of the bibles that Martin Luther translated into the common tongue. That guy was super cool.

I can’t read it but it was open to a page with a picture so it was like Jesus was speaking right to me.

My favorite of my favorites was this religious liturgy book.

Isn’t it so so pretty? What aren’t books like this anymore? It’s got to be cheaper to manufacture them now than it was THEN. Come on people. No wonder reading is on the decline.

A painting that caught my attention was this portrait of Marie Antoinette’s mom.

She was on fire her whole life, too, it seems, being in charge of all sorts of stuff and things and then trying to give advice to Marie A and her NINE other children. Can you imagine? All while dressed like this? What a multi tasker. What an inspiration.

A German museum wouldn’t be complete without a huge statue of Victory.

I did a slight google and learned that the large, golden Victory statue I posted yesterday was in reference to a war with Prussia. It’s easy for me to forget that there were loads of wars and country reorganizations before that fateful day in 1776 exactly 240 years ago TODAY.

There were more modern pieces of pop art in this museum, too, but things get a little dicy when recording 20th century Germany and I opted to skip it and head for the Brandenburg Gate, which is the gate to Berlin.

It is closed.

I am trapped.

Well they’ve walled off this gate. I stood there in its shadow but all I could think is that the statues of the four horsemen reminded me of Angel season 5. The structure is impressive though the effect was diminished by the restricted area. I am not sure but this might be due to SOCCER. That sounds right. I’m going with that.

I tracked down the bus, but unfortunately it was the last bus of the day, so I didn’t stop at the wall. I did take a picture from the bus.

That’s the wall in the middle of the frame. It is fenced off so you can’t walk along it, but you can drive just along it outside that fence. On the right side of the fence is a memorial. Down on the other side of what remains of the wall is Checkpoint Charlie. I did not get to investigate this area yet, but I did see an American flag and that made me feel better about being abroad on the 4th.

Here is a statue called “Berlin.” The locals call it the Dancing Noodles, but it is (I think) supposed to be broken chains/liberty/freedom/etc.

Never mind, it’s spaghetti.

The tour guide went on and on about this new(ish) government building. I am not sure if it is the parliament or just another parliament-ish place, but the glass dome on top allows anyone to peer down into the offices of the government officials. The symbolism here being that the common folks are above the government, not the other way around, and that government work is transparent. The guide did end by saying this is purely symbolic because he’s never been able to tell if people down there are working or just playing on their computers.

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This is a pretty cool building what with all that symbolism (I’m a sucker for that) but my favorite building so far has been this one.

To the right is the TV tower. This gorgeous grey and green giant is the Berlin Cathedral.

I am still reading Catherine the Great. I caught a painting of her in the museum and I recognized her by her eyeballs and jewels. Both are stunning.

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

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)

Category: Reading