Stepping Foot on the 7 Continents of the World A Step at a Time

The Bangkok Airport Take Over that Took Over My Emotions

dartagnan — Mon, 24 Nov 2008 20:12:00 GMT

Truth be told, I have been to Bangkok more times than to any other city outside Manila. Indulge me while I do the math. 1997-2008 without a miss multiplied by 4 times a year, initially for leisure then mostly for work. It is an understatement to say that Bangkok no longer excited me. Until my last business trip. Before I get into that, let me start first from the very beginning of how my business trip accidentally fell on the first week of the airport takeover. As early as September, I already got myself a visa to Paris, booked myself a ticket and planned out a meet up with a friend of mine who decided to spend his much deserved vacation in Paris. I would be staying with him in his hotel for free so who was I to still mull over it, right? Everything was already set. And then I got an email from the regional gods of my company mandating me to go to a one day business trip in Bangkok in November, that unfortunately fell right in the middle of my vacation. After much pleading and negotiating, I gave in and adjusted my schedule. My secretary moved heaven and earth for me to fly to Bangkok then fly to HK to fly to Paris. She again moved heaven and earth back for me to get a return flight from Paris to Hk to Bangkok and then finally to Manila. All was set. November came and I left for my business trip. The one day meeting was a non-event really. Until now, I am still at wit's end figuring out the much ado about that meeting for nothing to be honest. But I digress. The day ended and my vacation officially began. In Bangkok. I had a day to kill before I fly to HK. On my second day in the city, having spent it aimlessly wandering around the malls, I was greeted by the news that people started to converge at the airport when I arrived at my hotel that night. Apparently, the small talk in my meeting about people trying for months to overthrow the government was not small talk anymore. It was happening right before my eyes, in my room, watching CNN. I shrugged it off, fell asleep, half hoping that it would be over the minute I opened my eyes the morning after. I woke up and found out that the mini convergence has become a takeover of the airport. I had to think on my feet. Should I risk my flight the following day in the hope that the people would go home and converge somewhere else? Or should I already rebook my flight? I decided to rebook my flight after I talked to the front desk of my hotel. They advised that it's wiser to rebook flights because there was no certainty as to when the takeover would end. It made sense because it just started last night. My redial button in my hotel room was working on overdrive, trying to reach Cathay Pacific. As luck would have it, the earliest available flight was already on a Friday. It was still a Tuesday then, which meant that I had 3 days to kill in Bangkok. I booked that flight. And I was on my way to the malls again. Having been in Bangkok so many times, being in Bangkok without a reason was like being in your own city with nothing to do. Yes, it was that boring for me and I was bored walking around or just staying in my hotel room. Though the city itself was peaceful and felt like nothing worrisome was happening, it was a different story at the airport day after day I was there. It got worse and worse as the police was powerless to evict the people who started to sleep, eat and just kill time in the airport. There was clearly a stand-off between a suspiciously 'powerful' group of rioters and a totally upsetting useless and powerless government. Everyday in those 3 days was irritating and frustrating. And there was this annoying feeling of helplessness that was slowly eating me up. It didn't help that I kept thinking to myself - I should have been in Paris right this very minute. I was a ball of emotions ready to implode. Thursday came and still there was no certainty that the airport would resume flights. For the last time, I created options that would 1) take me out of Bangkok to somewhere 2) where I can take a flight to HK then to Paris. But to no avail. All the flights from HK to Paris were already booked. My only recourse was to fly out of Bangkok from somewhere or else I would start pulling my hair. I was lucky enough to book the last seat out of Thailand to go to KL on Saturday. But I had to take a car from Bangkok to Phuket to take that flight, which was just about 10 hours of continuous driving. I booked the flight and the car immediately. I just wanted to get out of Bangkok period. I woke up at 2 am on Saturday because my land trip to Phuket leaves at 4 am. It was the longest drive of my life. 10 hours of wasted time, doing nothing. 10 hours of thinking time, making me feel more irritated about what just happened and how it ruined my vacation. Reaching Phuket by dusk was the first source of joy for me because it meant escape from this misery I was put into. Phuket Airport was just a mad chaos. If you're wondering how the fall of Saigon would have looked like, you just needed to be inside Phuket Airport. There were bee lines everywhere with no semblance of order. Everyone's nerves was testy as the slightest annoyance would strike a fight between passengers. I was able to find my airline counter, checked in and was surprised to find out that I couldn't check in all the way to Manila. This meant that I had to go through Malaysian immigration in KL to get my bags and check in again to Manila. The catch - I only had 30 minutes to do it all. I was hopeful that I would make it even if my plane arrived 15 minutes late. I was still hopeful in the plane until I alighted and went through immigration. All hope was lost when my luggage was the last on the carousel. But still I made a mad dash to the check in counter of my flight to Manila. I made it to the counter but didn't make it to my flight. There, right in front of the counter, in front of the ground crew, I just lost it. I broke down, feeling the whole weight of my experience crushing me to pieces. Picking myself up was the hardest thing to do. But I had to. I was in KL, with no KL money, no hotel, no flight at 2 in the morning. It took every ounce of what's left of my energy to find an ATM, drag my luggage to the Malaysian Airlines counter and try my luck to book a flight back to Manila. The earliest flight was the last business class seat at 10 in the morning. There was no other flight. The next flight was on Dec. 2. It was still November 30. I bit the bullet and bought myself a ticket home. I have never felt so physically and emotionally exhausted in recent years. But there I was running on empty, now trying to find the nearest hotel to lay my dizzy head on. All hotels were fully booked. I told myself, that's it. I have had enough. My vacation has really turned into a nightmare. My friends felt I was just being overly dramatic. I guess you would have to be there from day one for you to understand what I had gone through. These were my last thoughts as I slept briefly in the airport lying on the cold floor hugging my luggage the best I could. 6 am came and I went straight to the business class lounge of MAS. I took a shower, had something to eat, bundled seats together and tried to catch a short shut eye. I was sleeping lightly when I felt someone put a blanket on me. It totally wakened my senses. This simple, unassuming and perhaps perfunctory simple gesture was the nicest thing anybody has done for me throughout this whole experience. My eyes swelled as I snugged inside the blanket, because I began to feel safe and protected from all the bad luck that has happened; and that in a few hours I would be home safe and my ordeal would be over. Yet, inside this warm blanket, I knew that I didn't have to wait anymore.

Gallery: Backpacking Across Europe

dartagnan — Sun, 22 Apr 2007 22:44:00 GMT

Paris

Gallery: Backpacking Across Europe

dartagnan — Wed, 18 Apr 2007 21:42:00 GMT

Lausanne and Geneva

A Day at the Museums

dartagnan — Tue, 17 Apr 2007 17:41:00 GMT

It's a known fact that Florence houses one of the best museums in the world, the Uffizi. My guidebook said that Uffizi has the largest collection of Renaissance art in the world. Well, obviously. I would be disappointed if it had at least one artwork less than any museum in the world to clinch that bragging right. I already bought my ticket online prior to coming to Florence and I'd be demanding a major refund if I'd come out feeling shortchanged. One thing with buying your museum pass online is that you skip the long line and you go through another entrance where you feel like you're a VIP. And seeing the long line at the Uffizi on my first day, I was thankful that I did, no kidding. I started my day early making my way through the quiet winding streets of Florence. Though I know how to get there the quickest way possible, I decided to take the longer, more scenic route and just take time to absorb the beauty of the city in its tranquility, minus the buzz of tourist activity. It was nice seeing the locals go about their daily chores. Street sweepers cleaning the streets, men on Vespas going to work. Cafe owners setting up the tables and chairs outside. People hurriedly walking towards the train station off to somewhere. One could get lost in this dreamy vision of unadulterated and pure Florentine life, which was magical for me. I could have walked on and on but I still had to get my museum pass in an office that's situated right beside Uffizi. Finding it wasn't actually that hard. So was redeeming my pass. And so was getting inside the museum. I actually felt pity for the rest of the people in the line. It was my horrible Vatican museum lining experience flashing before my eyes. But here inside the Uffizi, I was walking up the grand staircase that greeted you as you enter the big doors of the museum. Uffizi actually means 'offices' which were literally offices commissioned by the Medici family for the magistrate. In other words, before Uffizi became a museum, it was Florence's administrative offices, tribunal etc rolled into one majestic building. Then, the Medici family started to gradually put their massive art collection in it and that's how it became the museum it is right now. And what an art collection! I am such a sucker for medieval art that on my second room alone, I already officially declared to myself that this was way better than Prado. Sorry, Prado, you just didn't have Renaissance creds to beat Uffizi. The highlight for me was seeing the famous Birth of Venus by Boticelli. This Boticelli guy is something else. He did the enclave of St. Peter's Basilica and what little I saw of the fountain at Piazza Navona under repair at that time. And then this! Boticelli is one guy with unquestionable taste for beauty. The Birth of Venus was indeed captivatingly beautiful. Larger than life depiction of Venus coming out of a shell with her soft wavy curls gloriously rippling from the blow of breath of angels and covering the most sensitive part of her body in a very sensual, delicate manner. It was a deliriously and deliriously beautiful piece of art. There were lots more to look and gawk at, but these didn't hold the same magic. There were lots of portraits of artists, famous Florentines, members of the Medici family, bishops, Virgin Marys , angels, etc. And I have not even crossed the other side of the museum yet! Uffizi was laid out as a U shaped building. The first half alone could make you reach your Renaissance quota for the decade. You still had the other half for spare just in case you needed extra points for the next decade. Literally seeing artwork after artwork was beginning to feel like an assault to my senses. I decided to speed my tour up and go to the ever delectable museum shop where you find yourself buying cute memorabilia which later one you realized you actually don't have any use for. My loot was a mouse pad with the serene face of Venus by Boticelli gracing the mouse surface. The second half of my day was meant for the Museo de Accademia. This was hands down easy for me because I only needed to see one thing. And that is the original statue of David. Believe me, my expectations were not that high after seeing the copy at the piazza. I was already thinking how much more beautiful it could get if the copy was not as impressive as I imagined it to be. Well, I was proven wrong. The line outside was not as long. Though having a museum pass made it easy for me to get in again. I no longer paid attention to all the usual medieval art that i walked past. After all the museums I have been in Europe, the artworks now looked the same, unless it's really a famous work of art. I walked straight to find where the statue stands. You walk through a long corridor of artwork. You turn left and the statue of David just catches you off-guard by majestically standing at the end of the corridor, under a dome where sunlight seeps through, ably aided by spotlights that give it an illusion of both grandeur and beauty. Ok, here I go again with my superlatives. But this one, for the statue of David, would be my last and my sincerest compliment ever! If the phrase, 'a work of art' was inspired by something, David definitely did inspire it. The statue was perfection. It was way larger than the copy. The proportions were much better. The details were much finer. It was that beautiful that I didn't notice that I was sitting and just staring at it for a good 2 hours. A good 2 hours of my mind wandering, thinking of all the beauty I have seen so far in my trip, thanking God for just the concept of beauty itself, feeling wistful that I didn't have anyone to share this vision of beauty with, just wishing for the possibility of living in Florence. Then, I snapped out of it because I got hungry. I left the Accademia with all the thoughts still with me, that have seemed to accumulate in that one encounter with the statue of David. And I suddenly felt lonesome as I looked for a place to eat because right then I knew I was deeply in love with Florence. The thought of being in Florence forever has never left me.

An Italian Adventure All in the Name of Prada

dartagnan — Mon, 16 Apr 2007 23:09:00 GMT

I was a boy scout with a mission when I woke up on my second day in Florence. I will go where few Filipinos have ventured before. I will go to a little obscure town named Montevarchi. All for the one thing we mortals cannot resist to do when we travel, which is to shop. Yes, I have set aside good money just to shop in a candy store called Space where Prada is sold at unbelievably low prices. But I was determined to find this place, with just a print out of a broad description of how to get there downloaded from the internet. I was ready, even before the breakfast in the hotel was. I was at the train station munching on McDonald's figuring out the train to ride to get to Montevarchi. Nothing on the information board spelled Montevarchi. It took a cranky old woman in the information booth to tell me to take the train to Foligno. So i bought my ticket and threw my future in the hands of the old woman and this train ride to Foligno. First stop, no Montevarchi. Second stop, no Montevarchi. Third stop, still no Montevarchi. I was getting anxious already thinking I might have taken the wrong train and getting scared of how the hell I was to go back to Florence, and worse I may never get to the outlet. But alas, the train stopped in the 4th station named Montevarchi. I couldn't contain my excitement. I was smiling from ear to ear at 7 in the morning. My piece of paper of a guidebook said to go to the front of the train station where taxis branded with Prada cards can be found. What can I say? That piece of paper with broad descriptions was dead on accurate. I was greeted by a comely cab driver who kept on shouting 'Prada, Prada' to me. Believe me, his annoying voice was music to my ears just because I kept hearing the magic brand name of Muccia Prada. I rode and off we went passing houses after houses that looked like each other. The road to wherever the outlet was was a long and straight one. Then the cab made a left and I instantly felt like I was in this industrial city outside Manila called Sta. Rosa Laguna. Montevarchi has turned into an industrial town right in front of my eyes as stacks of warehouses were right in front of me. But the comparison stopped there. Warehouses here were much cooler because they house designer goods. The cab driver then asked me if I wanted to contract him for the ride back, to which I declined and instead just got his number. Contracting a cab meant that the cab's waiting time would be included in your flag down rate. I wouldn't want my Prada money to partially go to cab fare, would I? And besides, I didn't have an idea as to how long I would be inside the outlet. I jumped out of the cab, entered the warehouse property and began to notice that there wasn't anybody there except me. With nothing to do, I read from my now very accurate piece of paper that you had to get a number to get in. You get in once your number was flashed in the ticket counter. Now, this was proof that I was indeed the first one there. My ticket number bore 001. One hour later, still the ticket counter wasn't flashing a number. Ok, maybe excitement got the better of me. But I was on a mission so I really didn't mind if I was first in line. If I had waited in line for hours to get inside the Vatican museum, could there be any better being first in the non existent waiting line to Prada? There was a coffee shop beside the outlet which had opened. I went in and had coffee to kill time. One by one, people started to arrive. And then it happened. The ticket counter flashed my number. And I excitedly went inside. First impression? A big OMG! Retail heaven at its outlet's finest. It gets better. Check the price tags and you have died, gone to heaven and back. I let all what I was feeling sink in and then I was down to business. I checked out a bag here, shoes there, wallet here, jeans there, shirts here, belts there. I was in my element. When I decided on what bags to get, I was carrying all of them until a retailer approached me, asked for my number and got all my bags for deposit at the check out counter. Talk about service and the temptation of just making you pick up things and buy. Though the items were many seasons past, it really didn't matter because a wise buyer like me would always default to the black items that are safe choices. So after 3 hours inside the outlet, I decided to check out. It was such a joy seeing all your merchandise being brought out in front of you. There's this feeling of unexplained accomplishment that only a good retail therapy experience can do. Still with a high, I exited the store, pulled out my phone and dialed the cab's number. Uh oh, my phone was not connecting. I tried again. And again. And again. Still no connection. I tried to go back inside the store but soon realized it was a futile effort because I had a train to catch at a particular time. So I decided to walk until the main road thinking that I might catch a cab. I reached the road. No cab. I walked a bit farther. Still no cab. I walked farther and farther. Still no cab. I just found myself walking and walking and just stopping for a few seconds just to check for a cab on either side of the road. But still no cab. Then I thought, this wasn't funny anymore. My high was gone as I lugged my loot walking for about 5 minutes. Which turned into 10 minutes and still no cab in sight. I stopped stopping and just kept on walking hoping that I would end up at the train station because time was slowly running out on me. I walked and I walked. My loot bags were becoming more of a nuisance now, whereas they were just a source of joy for me about 20 minutes ago. I had gone so far that I decided to ask an Italian woman where the train station was in my broken Italian. Sometimes, you do things randomly that they make sense to you only after you had use for them. Just like my reading this Italian phrase book I have the night before. I kept on reading 'dove, dove, dove'. And everytime I read it, it made me laugh because what sounds to be a kind of bird in English means 'where' in Italian. Now, lost in the middle of nowhere, I wasn't laughing at 'dove' anymore. It was the most useful word on earth at that moment. The Italian woman started talking to me in break neck speed that I didn't understand a word she was saying, aside from the fact she spoke in Italian. But if I did speak Italian, I wouldn't have understood it either. This woman talks so fast. I just kinda picked up a few phrases that stuck in my mind. So I walked again, just following the path of this long and straight main road, until I heard a woman shouting at me, 'senor, senor'. I stopped, looked back and she opened her mouth to ask me where the Prada outlet was. I don't even remember what I said but I didn't give her the direction because I was just getting pissed by the minute. I even thought to myself that if I got murdered in that town, no one in my country would know where I was because I absolutely had no identification with me, I realized too late. I had been walking for nearly 30 minutes under the hot spring sun when I suddenly remembered one of the words that Italian woman said to me. That word was the name of the grocery that was right beside the train station. I couldn't have thanked my lucky stars enough when I arrived at the train station right in time for me to catch my train. Tired and hungry, I slumped into my chair in the train. Then, my high instantly came back as I began to try on all the things that I bought from the Prada outlet. This was one rollercoaster adventure I surely will not forget. And it was all in the name of Muccia Prada.

Welcome to My Favorite City in the World, Florence.

dartagnan — Sun, 15 Apr 2007 21:28:00 GMT

Goodbye Rome as I checked out of my hotel, took a cab to Termini and rode the train to Florence. Florence was the first stop to this train ride that actually would go to Milan. Like all my train rides in Italy, this was also a non event, except that finding a convenient way to stow and retrieve my luggage proved to be stressful. I finally reached Florence after an hour and a half of travel. I was expecting a sleepy little town like Pisa. But no, Florence was huffing and puffing with people. It was like people were all crammed in this little space of confusing alleyways while compact cars and cabs busily inched their way around this madness. But amidst all these was the most beautiful city I have ever seen. Yes, even better than what little of Paris that I have seen so far in this trip. Florence was just like a town inserted inside a bottle never to evolve because doing so might mean losing the essence of its beauty, which is the richness of Renaissance art everywhere. Admittedly, my jaw has dropped in awe to everything that I have seen so far. But none has moved me the way Florence did. It was love at first sight. Seeing Florence was literally like staring at a work of art. Yes, it was that moving. Looking for my hotel took longer than I expected. I had to ask a fellow Filipino who apparently wasn't that familiar yet with the place and an Italian police who pointed me in the right direction. My hotel was the perfect place to stay in this city. Quaint, charming, quiet inside and there was an air of old world romance about it. Outside my hotel was just pure chaos as tourists and locals mixed as each went about their way around. I had to keep the momentum going so I decided to give this city a one lap of walk. First up was the famous Duomo. It actually wasn't hard to find. Zipping through stall after stall of leather goods, which by the way smelled so good, somehow one would end up landing at the place where the Duomo stands. The Duomo's facade was picture perfect. Different colors of marble covered the facade. One can just imagine the amount of marble of different colors that were hauled and used to build this humongous cathedral. But the end result was pretty perfection. For all its ornateness, the Duomo's inside was a testament to pure minimalism. You could count the number of frescoes or the statues of saints inside. It was as if the inside's bareness was meant not to distract one from his conversation with God. Personally, I just found it anticlimactic. I have had enough of the Duomo and it was time for me to get going. Did I mention that I didn't have a map with me? I just kept on walking and walking, unconsciously deciding to just get lost in this beautiful maze of a city. I ended up in a piazza where the city hall was. There were statues everywhere. The copy of David was there outside the city hall. Amazing I told myself. I lost track of what statue I was looking at because it was just statue overload. Right beside the city hall is the famed Uffizi Museum, which was definitely part of my agenda here in Florence. Walk past it and one would end up at the Ponte Vecchio where jewelry shops lined up its sides. Amidst all the Rolexes and the gold in the shops was a long history of why these jewelry shops ended up sprouting on a bridge. They apparently replaced butcher shops because the Medici family felt that jewelry shops looked much better than butcher shops. And smelled much better too, I suppose. So, if you happen to be thinking of impulse buying a gold necklace while in Florence, just go to the bridge. I crossed the bridge to find gelaterias one after another. Past that was the Boboli gardens. I decided to turn back and head towards the city proper once again because my feet were killing me. The main street after Ponte Vecchio was retail heaven. Here were all the major designer brands inside medieval buildings. A nice contrast between art and consumerism which made Florence all the more appealing to me. I reached my hotel when the sun was setting. I ended my day with a dinner in one of the trattorias near my hotel. Trattorias in Florene somehow don't feel like tourist trap restaurants like some do in Rome. They still feel authentic and intimate. And the food was just glorious. And as I lay in bed that first night in Florence, I couldn't help but smile. It was a smile of someone really in love.

Sidetrip to Pisa

dartagnan — Sat, 14 Apr 2007 20:31:00 GMT

I really thought long and hard on how to spend my last full day in Rome. I have seen all the major tourist traps and I wanted none of it anymore. So I decided to catch a train to Pisa. So off to Termini I went, bought myself a ticket and waited for 2 hours, witnessing 2 Italians argue on the side, complete with hand gestures. The train ride to Pisa was really a non-event But as soon as I alighted from the train, my adventure began.

The thing with traveling is that you really get to judge what's the best guidebook out there especially if you have no iota of an idea on how to navigate a new city. And this was where TimeOut really lived up to its hype. With just TimeOut in one hand, I was able to find the Leaning Tower of Pisa all by myself, not asking a single Italian for directions. From the train station, I walked past the piazza and and through the main street. I walked past a bridge where I stopped for a few minutes to just absorb the view. Pisa was a quiet town at that time. But this didn't diminish its quaintness. Medieval buildings stretched as far as your eyes can see along the banks of the river. Quaint and quiet, a nice break from chaotic Rome. From the same bridge, one could see the dome of the Duomo, an assuring sight that I was on the right track.

The main street merged with a side street that's part of a grid of side streets that forms the heart of Pisa. At the end of this side street, the cathedral greets you in all its splendor. One quick look to your right and there it was - the leaning tower of Pisa.

Seeing the tower was a surreal experience. No words could describe witnessing a tower that felt like it's gonna tilt to one side with the slightest jolt of the land it stands on. Or the thought that the people who paid to go inside and be on the highest floor of the tower could potentially make it fall if all them decided to converge on the one side where the tower was leaning.

Tourists outside were as entertaining as the tower itself. It felt like everyone had this conversation on how to pose for their photo and agreed to pose as if one were pushing the tower to make it stand erect. Everyone was doing it from all angles of the tower. Except me. Since most of my photos in this trip hardly involved me, I just decided to take photos of different people posing the same way which would definitely give me a good laugh as I begin to look back at this experience.

On the train back to Rome, I thought to myself that the leaning tower of Pisa was worth all the press that was written about it. And I was glad to have made the trip.

To Be in the Presence of God

dartagnan — Fri, 13 Apr 2007 00:54:00 GMT

I heard people who have been there say that nothing can prepare you for the Vatican. Yet still I had to come prepared for it. I arrived at exactly 8 am only to be greeted by a long, long, lone line of people who were ahead of me. The line snaked its way around the walls of the Vatican. Finding the end of the line was a tour of the walls in itself. I took a deep breath and lined up. After 2 hours of standing in line, we were finally moving, albeit at a snail's pace. But it was better than waiting and just standing. Nearing the entrance, I saw a glimpse of the inside of the Vatican. Surprisingly, it was modern. Much like how the lobby of MOMA NY looks like. But the comparison stops at the lobby. Deep inside the museum was like being brought back in time, when the Catholic Church as at the height of its power. Corridors and corridors of tapestries, sculptures and paintings. Ceiling after ceiling of frescoes. Every nook and cranny covered in priceless art. It was impressive, grand and an assault to one's senses. I have never seen such a vast collection of art. To think that my guidebook tells me that what's on display is only about 20% of the Vatican's collection. I wondered where they stored the 80%. Hmmm...

My main mission was to see the Sistine Chapel. Getting there was a maze of more corridors and more art. There were directional signages yet it seemed like you're never nearer as you enter another corridor. I knew I entered the Chapel when I noticed a multitude of people in silence looking up at the ceiling and just marveling. I looked up and saw for myself the most famous frescoes in the world. To be honest, I wasn't as impressed as I should be. It seemed much more diminished compared to the larger than life hype I imagined it to be seeing the photos. But I had to hand it to Michelangelo for a job well done. What was amusing though was the way the silence of the people would transform into a unison of chatter only for the guards to hush them down to silence once again. And it was a cycle of silence, chatter, hushing and silence once again. Funny.

The end of my Vatican museum tour was the start of my walk towards the basilica of St. Peter's. You'd think that once inside, it's easy to go to the basilica. Well, apparently not. Going there meant going outside the Vatican and seeing the line where I once was. The line was longer this time. I really felt for the people, who were under the hot spring sun, beating the 12 noon closing because that was me a few hours earlier.

Entering the basilica through the massive columns that surround it, I knew that I was about to play witness to more grandness. It's one thing to say it, it's another thing to see it for yourself. From the rows of thousands of big columns, to the giant statues of saints that seemed to be watching us, from the people on the other side of the basilica who literally were ant-like in size, to the hundreds of white chairs being lined up for an event the following day, everything felt like they were being put together for people like me to feel dwarfed by the whole experience. It was impressive, intimidating and imposing rolled into one ball of confusion of just being in that wide space of a basilica. This definitely was the big league, the seat of power of what is probably the most influential religion on earth. And because I was sucked in to this experience already, I wanted to see, hear, feel, touch more. I had to go inside the church even if it meant lining up again. The sight of the Swiss guards provided a pleasant distraction from the wait to the front of the line. What greeted me were two massive doors to the entrance of the church. Again, inside was all about grandeur, high ceiling, giant marble statues and just wide open space. I surmised that a Boeing 747 could easily park itself inside. It could even measure its length using the markers on the floor of the different churches around the world, comparing the top ten churches vs. the mother of all churches that is St. Peter's. The golden canopy towards the end of the church was imposing. St. Peter's bronze statue was imposing. The bullet proof encased Pieta was imposing. Apparently, some deranged American tourist wanted a piece of the masterpiece and attempted to chop off a part of it. I don't blame him considering that this work of art was created by Michelangelo when he was only 23 years old. That guy's a genius if you ask me.

In all the churches I have visited so far in Europe, I have always made it a point to say a prayer of gratitude for this experience beauty first hand. And praying in St. Peter's felt the most special because it truly felt to be the House of God. As I meditated on what I have seen, absorbed and gotten in awe for, I realized that this feeling of intimidation or this feeling of being dwarfed by the grandeur of the Catholic Church had a latent yet purposive meaning to me. It made me think that no matter how we think of God, He will always be bigger than what we imagine him to be. This actually grounds me and is a humbling experience that amidst all these, I am just human after all, in the presence of God Almighty.

When in Rome, Do What the Tourists Do

dartagnan — Thu, 12 Apr 2007 01:13:00 GMT

I woke up late today for the first time in a long while since I started my travel. Primarily because I wasn't jetlagging anymore. Today I promised myself, I am going to take everything slow. I relished my breakfast which was plentiful in my lovely hotel. I left the hotel later than usual for me, but right smack at the peak hours of the metro. The metro to the city center was packed. I was very cautious of my belongings as people were really packed like sardines in the train. My stop was Colosseo which led me to the massively impressive Colosseo. The walk up the exit and stopping at my tracks by the sight that's in front of me always got me. It got me in Barcelona. Now in Rome. The Colosseo was grander than what I imagined it to be. Inside was even more breathtaking. I would stop from my walking and just think of how many people could be accommodated by this massive arena. And how many died just to put on a show to the people.

Being in Europe for almost two weeks now, I must admit that I have not met a single traveller like me. So bumping into one was a pleasant surprise. It proved to be convenient as well because I now can be included in my photos with no sweat. Somebody could take a photo of me in the shot, no longer at close range. The little price to pay was just to return the favor. So I met this Pakistani guy who like me was going around Rome on his own. I found out that he had just arrived and wasted no time in becoming a tourist like me. He was a pleasant guy and I had a nice time talking about a lot of travel stuff, occasionally interrupted by a flip flop of photo shoots. We soon parted ways and I ended up with dozens of Colosseo shots with me right smack at the center.

I decided to linger a bit more, finding a nice spot in the shade because the spring sun was becoming too hot for my comfort. I noticed that there were a lot of American tourists in Rome in group tours, which eased off the pressure of the language barrier. Italians can very well understand English, even though you hear a lot of the native language being spoken around. As I walked around a little bit more, I saw from across the Roman Forum or the Fora Romano. I decided that that would be my next point of destination.

As I walked near Fora Romano, I realized that I have underestimated the whole place's expanse. To call it sprawling is an understatement. I was dwarfed by the big Roman columns and ruins that surrounded me. It was the grandeur of Roman architecture at its finest. I thought to myself that the Roman empire literally subscribed to the idea that the larger it is the better. Walking for about ten minutes into the place, I was passing along ruins after ruins after ruins. I was feeling a little bit tired from walking because words can't describe just how expansive the whole place is. I walked up the Palatino and got a better sense of how much I have walked down there. Being up at the Palatino afforded me some time to rest and decide where I wanted to go next. It was near lunchtime when I started to walk towards Piazza Navona, keeping an eye for a restaurant where I could have my Italian pasta. I chanced upon this Roman Catholic priests' calendar in one of the souvenir shops which my friends and I were talking about via email. It's basically a collection of photos of good looking Italian priests. No, hot Italian priests, may God forgive me? I bought one as a souvenir and a show off to my friends back home, knowing very well that I would probably be the only person in Manila to ever own one for 2008.

I was off to Piazza Navona after having my Italian pasta at this quaint restaurant where the staff was very nice. I was navigating around Rome and just absorbing and enjoying the sights and sounds of this beautifully chaotic city when I finally reached the Piazza. Too bad the fountain was being repaired. But the biggest source of amusement for me came in the form of these African vendors who were selling all things fake. Fake designer bags, fake designer shades, fake artwork, it was surreal. It got better as the police arrived and there was a big cat and mouse chase that happened at the Piazza. I was sitting at the middle of it all, amused and reminded of the vendors being chased by the MMDA staff in Baclaran. But this had a much nicer backdrop. My attention was caught by a male opera singer who entertained guests in the surrounding cafes by his rendition of Nessum Dorma. Wow, to hear this favorite Italian opera of mine being sung by an Italian opera singer in Rome really capped my day. I got goosebumps. I suddenly felt the whole experience of la dolce vita come to life right there. And I instantly fell in love with all things Italian.

I was such in a 'la dolce vita' mood that I decided to look for a gelateria and have one while I walked through the rest of the streets of Rome. With a dark chocolate gelato in hand, I went about my way around the city, eventually going back to the Spanish steps then to Piazza di Popolo where I did a bit of window shopping.

As I ended my second day in Rome, I realized that I love this city. I can live here. Life is easy going. The Italians are warm. And the city is chaotically beautiful. It's like you're living and basking in a culture that is both rich and familial. La dolce vita indeed, I told myself, as I lay in my hotel room watching the grand finale of Gran Fratello, Italy's Big Brother.

Gallery: Backpacking Across Europe

dartagnan — Wed, 11 Apr 2007 20:34:00 GMT

Rome, Pisa and Florence

From Flying Budget to Riding a 65 Euro Taxi

dartagnan — Wed, 11 Apr 2007 01:33:00 GMT

An adrenaline rush woke me too early in my last morning in Madrid. Good, because I had to catch a 7 am flight to Rome. Bad, because it was a feeling of agitation over the unknown. It was my first time to fly budget outside the Philippines so I didn't know what to expect. What kind of plane would I be in? Would they serve food? Would the service be at least decent? I also didn't know what to expect as soon as I'd land in Rome. Would I find my hotel taxi? Would I locate my hotel? Would I finally get pickpocketed by the gypsies? It didn't take long for my day to start at the wrong foot. I shared an airport shuttle service to save money, which meant I had to sit through every stop to pick up the rest of my fellow passengers. My would be breakfast at the airport all went to the trash bin when I walked through security with it. We had to wait forever inside the bus that took us to the plane for a reason that's still unknown to me. And I had to endure the 2 hour flight with inept and rude flight attendants. Though I must say their uniforms were stylish. But things started to pick up positively as soon as I landed in Rome. There was a vibe that was palpable the minute you step into the airport. Though it took forever for my luggage to appear in the conveyor belt, it gave me time to really absorb all the buzz that was happening around me. The Italians were an energetic lot. And it's quite infectious. I sort of picked it up because I was a changed person the moment I stepped out to find my hotel taxi. I was spritely as the locals were. And listening to Italian being spoken everywhere became music to my ears. All the stress that I felt leaving Madrid seemed to have been left inside the plane. I was loving Rome instantaneously. And then I met my driver, who was a middle aged quite fashionable man in dark suit, cream shoes and stylish shades. Italians really do it better, most especially fashion and style. He whisked me to my taxi which was, to my surprise, a Mercedes Benz. I already knew of this story of MBs as cabs in Europe, but seeing it for myself totally floored me. It was indeed worth the 65 euros I paid for. It didn't stop there as this pleasant experience continued to my hotel. I also paid good money for this hotel. Well, they didn't disappoint. The goodlooking front desk guys welcomed me like I was the wealthiest Asian to ever check in their hotel. There was a nice touch of showing you the map of Rome and pointing out the tourist spots, the nice restaurants, the hippest clubs and the places to avoid. My room was heavenly, especially knowing that the hotel used to be a monastery. Filled with euphoric excitement, I decided not to waste time and I began to explore Rome. The metro was confusing at the beginning. But after surviving 2 more complicated metro systems, I was a master of the Rome metro in no time by just staring and studying the map for about 5 minutes. I was off to see the Spanish steps, the Pantheon, the Fountain of Trevi, eating authentic spaghetti and gelato and just lounging around with the tons of tourists like me. I was already in love with Rome on my first day. Its being expensive was fully justified. No amount of words could describe the intermingling of the people's energy with the fantastic ruins that one just discovers as you lazily stroll the narrow streets. Truly la dolce vita. I was excited to see more and knew my adrenaline would be working on overdrive in this eternal city.

To Be Overwhelmed by Spanish Art

dartagnan — Tue, 10 Apr 2007 02:07:00 GMT

I read a lot about Prado Museum, how it's been described as one of the world's best with a very rich collection of Spanish masters. I was therefore excited to see it. That was the agenda for the day for me. After breakfast, I was off. Prado didn't disappoint from the start. The long lines, yes there were 2, were a clear sign of just how popular the museum was to tourists. Inside, I started by going with the flow, not really making a plan what to see first. Then it got confusing and overwhelming. I went from one room to another, not really appreciating what I was seeing. There were just too many artworks from Goya, Picasso, Velasquez and even French, Italian and American masters. I have gone to all the rooms but I knew I had to do it again to appreciate being there. I rested for a while, got my bearing and finally strategized what I wanted to see again. I willfully went back to see Las Meninas. It wasn't hard to find because people were converging around it. I stood there appreciating what was described to be the greatest painting ever made. It was by Velasquez. Up close, it was hard to see why. But as I moved away slowly, I started to understand. It had very realistic depth and perspective. Like a still photograph of its interesting subjects. Now I was impressed. I knew I had to see more of Velasquez' works so I walked around to check out Los Burachos and his portrait of the royal dwarves. I went to see Goya's works again. His dark paintings really moved me. They were eerie and full of emotion, capturing the spirit of the Spanish revolution. Then I was satisfied having my fill of Spanish brilliance. Prado was worth the visit to Madrid. I was happy I chose to go there on my last day.

The Real Treasures of Madrid

dartagnan — Mon, 9 Apr 2007 01:08:00 GMT

In Madrid, I was back having breakfast in my hotel. It's always a pleasant experience taking my time to eat bagels, jam and some fruit while planning what I was to do for the day. The experience was made more pleasant by the nice Pinay staff I met at breakfast. My God! Another Pinay. How more would I bump into? I planned for 2 major trips today. The Palacio Real in the morning and the Reina Sofia Museum in the afternoon. Well, I did manage to visit both, with a few sidetrips in between. Palacio Real was a comfortable walking distance from my hotel. The weather was nice enough to walk during the early morning in Madrid. I knew I was near when I saw Parque del Oriente. At 8 Euros, I was inside the Palace touring its hundreds of rooms. I walked from one room to another. Each room was designed differently from the other. There were a lot of interesting ones like the throne room, which felt like it was untouched through the years. There was a room where every space was covered with porcelain. Another room's inspiration was Chinese. The dining room looked like it could seat 1,000 people. The royal collection, though, was not impressive considering how powerful the Spanish empire used to be. It was the same story in the Reina Sofia Museum. It had a thin collection with only Picasso's Guernica and Miro's works being the most impressive for me. But I think Madrid's treasures lay in the richness of its alleyways where every corner would surprise you with interesting details of the city like the Plaza Mayor. Standing in the middle of the plaza literally brought me back in time. It was like the whole place was frozen in time. I also found modern brands in shops lining up old streets where I bumped into the Pinoys I met in Sagrada Familia. We agreed to go out that night, but only for me to flake out to sleep instead. Looking back now, the Spanish night life was one undiscovered treasure that's still haunts me to this day.

Pinays in the City

dartagnan — Sun, 8 Apr 2007 22:32:00 GMT

My Easter Sunday consisted of a lot of thinking time on the train to Madrid. The 4 hour trip from Estacio Sants wasn't bad at all. Reflecting on what I have experienced so far in this trip was pleasantly interrupted from time to time by the spectacular sights of the Spanish coastline. The thing that I really loved in Spain was the opportunity to really immerse in their lives because of the relative facility of understanding and talking to them. In the train with the attendant and on the Madrid station with a nice old man I accidentally met while I was trying to figure out how to navigate the Spanish metro. He was my first taste of Madrid hospitality, which I would later discover, was pervasive in the Spanish capital. The Madrilenos were a warm bunch. Very accommodating and very at ease with tourists like me. We spoke in Spanish as he taught me how to get to Puerta del Sol, where my hotel was located. He even volunteered to go with me to the stop, which I thought was a very nice gesture. I couldn't forget what he told me when I told him I was Filipino - that there was a Spanish song where Tagala was used to describe a gun. It just proved how intertwined our cultures were, though it may not be evident at the onset. In the train with him, I felt kinda embrarassed by the extra nice gesture of this old man. He really didn't have to but here he was, standing close to me, accompanying me to my destination. Our physical closeness amidst the silence inside the train would eventually turn into a moment of doubt for me. He was standing way too close that led me to wonder - could he perhaps be a gay old man, whose niceness disguised his motive to pick me up? Couldn't be, I snapped back into reality as I casually created a comfortable gap between us. Whatever it was, his nice gesture would get the sincerest thank you from me as I declined his suggestion to walk me to my hotel once we reached my stop. As we parted ways, I shrugged off what could have happened and was on my way to getting lost looking for my hotel. I was saved by 2 Pinays who I heard talking in Filipino. They pointed me to the street I was looking for. Heading towards the street made me realize that I was walking around in circles all along. Madrid, for all its wide boulevards and big old buildings, was made up of small winding alleyways where it's easy to get lost. I found my hotel, checked in and enjoyed the comfort of my room. I had a bay window that opened up to the busy street. Looking out, I knew I was right where the action was. That got me excited. I decided to walk around even though it was drizzling lightly. I ended up eating at McDonald's, my first fast food meal since I arrived in Europe. It was here where I met a couple of Pinoys who were working in Madrid. One thing I noticed about Spain was that there were lots of Pinoys living there. What's more interesting was that the Pinoys in Europe were generally a friendly lot. From the Pinay waitress in the restaurant where I had my last dinner in Barcelona to these domestic helpers. They were all very accommodating, excited to see a fellow 'kababayan' and willing to help out. Spain may have rekindled my passion for the Spanish language. But there's nothing like talking in Filipino again, especially after almost 2 weeks of travelling.

Barcelona from 2 Different Views

dartagnan — Sat, 7 Apr 2007 21:03:00 GMT

My last day in Barcelona would take me from one end of the city, Park Guell high up on a hill, to the other end, the Olympic Stadium near the sea. This meant that I had to master the metro system. And on my last day, I did just that. Reaching Park Guell by metro was no sweat. But walking to get there was. But once there, it was surreal. Park Guell was one beautifully grotesque theme park in cement. Dragons, minarets and fountains in brightly colored mosaic tiles greet you as you enter. There was this elongated walkway that felt like it was carved out of the cliff. Gaudi envisioned it to be a market place. It's one artsy marketplace if you ask me. The highlight for me was the spectacular view of Barcelona from up there. It was just breathtaking seeing how the old and new perfectly blended together against the backdrop of blue sea. It felt good being witness to such beauty. Even though I was tired from that experience, it sort of inspired me to go ahead with my plan and see what's on the other side. En route to Montjuic, where the Olympic stadium was, I made a quick stop at the Perdrera, another famous Gaudi building. It was an apartment block that was unmistakeably designed with the sea in mind. The wrought iron railings of the terraces were like large lumps of moss taken from the ocean. Again, weirdly beautiful. There was one house that wasn't designed by Gaudi which was equally stunning. This was Casa Atiller. I saw it yesterday when I went to see Gaudi's Plau Bastillo, but never really paid attention. Today, I totally appreciated its distinction. At least, this was a different eyecandy. Off to Montjuic to now see the Olympic stadium. When I reached it, I had to find what I really went there for, to see the Olympic torch. It took me a while to look for it. Even when it began to drizzle, I was determined to find it. And when I finally found it, I was happy. Though it looked taller on TV, I was not at all disappointed for wasn't this the same torch that blew me away when I saw how it was lit by a burning arrow in 1992? The thought, helped a lot by the cold wet weather, gave me goose bumps as I stood there in awe. I was in for another surprise when I had another spectacular view of the city, this time with the hills as backdrop. Awesome. No wonder people fall in love with Barcelona. As I wound up my trip by going to a nearby beach, I thought to myself how Barcelona, as a whole, was just spectacular, shaped not only by Gaudi but by the collective creative imagination of the beautiful Catalans. I was sad to leave.

Cramming Gaudi in a Day

dartagnan — Fri, 6 Apr 2007 23:50:00 GMT

I arrived in Barcelona early in the morning of Good Friday. Sleepy-eyed travellers were walking like zombies to a city that felt deserted. I was more like a sleep deprived zombie stepping inside a taxi. The cabbie didn't speak a word of English. The chance to put my Instituto Cervantes-learned Spanish to good use invigorated me to life. It didn't matter at that time that I had no idea where my hotel was. I was just excited to speak and give directions in Spanish. The kind old cabbie didn't know where my hotel was either, which made for a pretty interesting exchange between us. I, saying something about my hotel being beside a mall, and he, insisting that he had never heard of my hotel. Yet we were able to find it. My hotel was located outside the city, at a quiet residential side. I checked in, took a bath and decided to hit the town. Seize the day! Even though I was feeling tired from my long trip. Because most everything was closed, I ended up having breakfast at Starbucks. As luck would have it, I had a sneak preview of the beautiful gene pool of the Spaniards, care of my barista who spoke no more than 2 English words. With my tummy and my oggling eyes satisfied, I was on my way to explore Barcelona. My first encounter with Gaudi was the moment I exited the metro. Imagine, walking up towards sunlight and being beholden by no less than Plau Bastillo! It was weird and beautiful at the same time. Plau Bastillo stood out because it's the only weirdly beautiful building on the block. It was at that moment I thought of my game plan. I would try to explore all of Barcelona's attractions in a day. Next stop was Las Ramblas which was truly a tourist trap. The deluge of tourists made me take a side street where I accidentally found the Barcelona Cathedral. It had so much character, compared to Notre Dame, was all I could say. The small streets in the old Centre felt like it could take you back in time, during the early days when people still rode horses around town. All around felt both modern and medieval at the same time. More walking and I felt dizzily hungry. I decided to pay a visit to a Filipino restaurant I read in TimeOut. It took me a while to find it, along the side streets of Raval, which felt kinda seedy. I finally found it, taking cue from a few Pinoys talking in Tagalog who seemed like they came from there. My lunch was composed of rice and lumpiang shanghai. It was not so much about the food that was filling, but more about the joy of speaking Filipino in a foreign land. Now, feeling rested and full, my next stop was Sagrada Familia. There's something about exiting Barcelona's meto that never fails to catch you by surprise. As I walked up again, I was at once breathless seeing Sagrada Familia in all its glory. It was like a big wedding cake. Magnificent, intricate, ostentatious. You'd think it was all a joke. Yet you'd feel Gaudi's passion in every little detail. It's inside where you'd see how colossal it will be as soon as they finish it. I was still speechless when I thought I heard my name being called out from the crowd. At first, I didn't know whether to look around or not because it just sounded so surreal to hear your name in a place where you know you know no one. I turned around and saw a friend from back home. Unf_ckingbelievable! It was just a moment of pure madness. Laughing. Talking fast in Filipino. Not minding the people around us. We met up with her friends who I also knew from back home. It was just a pleasure bumping into people you know. I was happy. I brought this feeling of euphoria with me to my last stop for the day. I headed for Hospital de Sant Pau. I liked this hospital because it looked more like a museum than a hospital. I read that it was deliberately designed in order for people to forget that they're sick by creating a sort of like haven of rest. It truly was one. Nestled in a quiet side of Barcelona, each wing had enough distance from each other giving a sense of calm and space. It was a perfect way to end my first day in Barcelona. Tired as I was, I was happy to exprience speaking Spanish, seeing good looking people, bumping into Pinoys and amazing Gaudi architecture all in one day.

Gallery: Backpacking Across Europe

dartagnan — Fri, 6 Apr 2007 22:11:00 GMT

Madrid and Barcelona

7 Hours in Paris + 13 Hours on a Night Train to Barcelona

dartagnan — Thu, 5 Apr 2007 22:54:00 GMT

I left Amsteram early, catching the train back to Paris where I will ride my next train to Barcelona. I knew it would be a long day of travelling so I mentally prepared myself for the worst. I finally arrived in Paris. I had to get to Gare du Austerlitz, with just a hunch on how to get there. Today would be the day when my public transportation navigation skills, made worse by the language barrier, would be tested. And I made it to Austerlitz. It wasn't bad after all. In fact, the Paris metro felt safer than the New York subway. It also felt more chic with the French language filling the cold subway air. But just when I thought I had the hang of it, I experienced my first French snobbery. Asking for directions to get to the platform of my train to Barcelona proved to be challenging as everyone I asked, to my mind, pretended to not speak a word of English. Trusting my common sense and my gut, I managed to find it. With just a little over 5 hours to kill, I had to go somewhere or else I'd go totally insane in the station. But first, I needed to deposit my luggage somewhere. Trust TimeOut to provide you with the kind of information you need. There was one in the station. The problem was how to use it when I found it. No thanks to the staff, I again delighted myself with my DIY skill. Then I was off to explore a little bit of Paris. Taking my first steps out into Paris was breathtaking. It was postcard perfect. Every tree in place. Every light post art directed. Truly an art director's paradise. Because the station was an easy 10 minute walk to the Notre Dame, that's where I went. I was like a kid in awe at the sights before me, including the Notre Dame. After a few hours, I got bored. With a lot of time to kill still, I went to people watch by the river Seine. French sunbathers, lovers cuddling, art students doodling something artsy, and little Asian me staring at what fancied me at that time were the cast members of this lazy afternoon by the Seine. It was nice and relaxing. Just what I needed after that harassing moment at the train station. 2 hours to go and I was walking back to Austerlitz. It was cold, but not as cold as Amsterdam. I sat long enough on my steel chair my butt warmed it up for the next person. Then, boarding time. My 7 hours in Paris ended the minute the train attendant spoke to me in Spanish. And my 13 hours to Barcelona began when I patiently waited inside my cabin, fervently praying that I didn't have any cabin mates. It just took a quick visit to the toilet to surprise me with 3 other companions. One really tall old African man and 2 equally tall but younger ones. They were actually very nice, though only one of the younger ones spoke English. It turned out that the younger ones were just bringing their grandfather to the station. They left the train once the old man was settled, to my relief. Having 3 tall men, who seriously stank big time, was way too much for me. And then came in a stocky French guy, who also didn't speak a word of English. From that moment on, I knew it won't be a pleasant 13 hour ride. We tried to talk to each other, managing to do so with a lot of effort and hand gestures. There was a lot of silence. As in lots. I was definitely not in a social mood. Tired and wanting to get some sleep, I just wanted the bunk beds to come down. We needed staff assistance to do it, who was busy collecting all our passports for some verification. As soon as the bunk beds were down, I popped a Stilnox and tried to doze off. The swaying of the train and the body odor brought me back to consciousness. I tossed and turned until the old African man went down at the first and only stop, Gerona. After, I didn't try to sleep anymore. One Stilnox wasted I said to myself. I was just lying on my back wishing that this horrible experience would end, while hearing 2 snoring men. There was a new guy in the cabin who must have joined us when I was knocked down. In what could be considered the longest miserable experience in my life, it finally came to an end the minute the train slowed down to stop. My cabinmates took no time to get up and leave, leaving me inside the cabin slowly collecting myself, but finally happy the worst was over.

The Art of Killing Time

dartagnan — Wed, 4 Apr 2007 22:02:00 GMT

The wonderful thing about not being anal about your vacation plans is that there's no pressure to come up with what to do when that day comes. And I learned this early in my trip. In fact, on my third day, I still had no game plan on what to do what day and where. And I was loving it, given my OC nature. It was a slow day, I said to myself while I was having breakfast at my hotel, looking at the streets of Amsterdam. There was hardly any traffic at rush hour. More like bike traffic, which was not much. Come to think of it, the city's so laid back any day would seem like a slow day especially for someone used to traffic infested Manila. With no plan at hand, I decided to venture on our national pastime - malling. I rode the tram to the part of the city where I saw a lot of interesting shops the day before, Liepsdein near the Dam Square. I was too early. At 10am, everything was still closed. I did a little bit of walking to look around. Rested in a park for a while, where sunlight on me was a welcome change in freezing cold weather. Everyone who knows me knows that I absolutely hate the sun. But here, I embraced it, with sun protection of course. Now I totally get it why Europeans love the sun. Too much cold weather is tiring. Just like what too much sun is for me. Another problem I have with cold weather is my always-wanting-to-be-emptied bladder. It's such a hassle when it calls. And it calls at the most unexpected places of transit. Right now at the middle of the park, it was calling. Luckily, and thanks to First Worldom, there was a decent pay toilet where you just needed to insert 0.50 euros to use. Just insert the coin, and the door revolves to open and welcome you. How cool is that?! Time check, it was already 11am and shops were beginning to open. I must say Amsterdam has the weirdest fashion brands. Totally unfamiliar territory for a shopping whore like me. But because I am such a whore, I still decided to check them out. Same stuff, like Springfield or Celio. With wanting to buy and nothing attracting me, I walked and walked around for a bit until I ended up in a tulip market. Whoah! Name the color they have a tulip for it. Nice to see tulips of every size and color. I just love tulips. To me, they're the most sophisticated flowers. Would love to buy but how to bring them back to Manila alive and still vibrant in color?? Ok, next stop, a mall that would compare to Podium. The usual suspects were present like Mango, Body Shop, Mexx. At least Mexx here meant it came from the source. If you buy one, that is. The biggest surprise was HEMA. It's the Dutch version of Target or Muji. It was Disneyland for me. I could spend a day inside buying stuff that I didnt' really need. When I ran out of shops to go to, I thought, I should already do the obligatory gay must-do in any visit to a foreign land- go to a bath house! The details will be omitted due to the general patronage of this blog, but rest assured that nothing happened. I saw a lot, but that was as far as it went. Mmm, let's just say it was money not well spent in the land of sexual liberation. Ok, I will go as far as to reveal the name of the place, Thermos... Today I learned the art of killing time with absolutely no agenda planned. Even as the day was ending, I was pretty much open to doing and exploring anything. Which included a visit to the sex shops and smoking pot once again for the last time. Legally, that is.

Going Dutch, Museum Style.

dartagnan — Tue, 3 Apr 2007 23:53:00 GMT

I woke up to a wet Tuesday morning. It was definitely much colder today than when I arrived. I still wanted to curl up in bed but I was too awake already. I really had a good night sleep, with a little help from legalized cannabis. I decided to hit the road early, with Anne Frank's house and the Van Gogh museum as my itinerary. It would be my first ever cultural immersion in a city. After breakfast I was walking the still empty streets of Amsterdam. A few locals were already on their bikes heading for work in this drizzling morning. It was definitely much colder. And the rain didn't help. But considering the kind of hot humid weather we had back home at this time of the year, I'd take this cold wet weather anytime. Doing my homework on where my destinations were on the map, I thought that navigating the city would be easy, given that the streets of Amsterdam were sort of a quadrant. I later found out that I overwalked and missed the house. Or maybe I got too engaged seeing the canals, the houses with those strange trolley contraptions hanging from the roofs and the still closed sex shops. I had to navigate my way back to a church that should have been the landmark of the famous house. There was already a line when I found it. So waiting in the rain wasn't really a nice way to start my day. But after a fifteen minute wait, we were let in. One had to wak four floors up to start the tour. It felt creepy walking around the exact same house 2 families lived in hiding for 2 years. What was amazing was how they were able to survive those 2 years without being found, by living in total darkness and silence. Seeing the pictures that Anne posted still intact sent shivers down my spine. As I walked towards the end of the tour, I saw a full display of all the books which had the different translations of her story. Too bad, there was no Filipino version. I then headed for the Van Gogh museum. I rode the tram which wasn't really hard to learn. It took me much farther than where I was staying. Again, there was a long line outside. The rain had stopped but it was colder than a few hours ago. So waiting in line sort of became a little unbearable. It didn't help to see loads of Japanese tourists skirting the line because they were in a group tour. A few minutes more of waiting, I was inside. There were lots of Van Gogh's work. About 4 floors of them. However, the collection was not as impressive as I expected it to be. The only famous pieces were the Irises and the Sunflowers. Too bad Starry Night was not there. That could have capped the collection. And for it to be in Amsterdam would have been something for the Dutch. What stood out for me though was this collection of Van Gogh's wherein he did covers of a few of the masterpieces. Imagine a masterpiece done Van Gogh style. Nice. By about lunchtime I finished the museum and headed for the park nearby, where the city slogan 'I Amsterdam' was located. It was freezing cold to just sit in the park. After grabbing a bite, I was back in the hotel dozing off for the rest of the afternoon. I woke up with the sun still up, but realized it was 8 in the evening already. I just went out to force myself to have something for dinner. I hardly finished my food as for some reason my metabolism has changed. It may be because of the jetlag, my changed mealtime schedule or just coping with a new environment that's causing me not to feel hungry and eat as much as I could. Or could it be my appetite has shifted from food to just absorbing the different sensorial experiences that were right before me, I thought.

Gallery: Backpacking Across Europe

dartagnan — Mon, 2 Apr 2007 21:55:00 GMT

Amsterdam

Of Paris Immigration and Coffee Shops.

dartagnan — Mon, 2 Apr 2007 09:10:00 GMT

Finally landing in Paris. From the plane I saw the Eiffel Tower and had a good bearing of the city from the many times I had gone through the map of the city back home. Touchdown. I was in Paris. It felt both surreal and real at the same time. I have always secretly feared immigration. Murphy's law seemed to be always in place whenever it was my turn to be screened. It's not that I had been sent home but I always felt I was always given a hard time. And Paris was no different. "How much money do you have?" in a thick French accent was directed at me after looking at my passport by the burly immigration officer. I knew it! Something had to be made difficult for me to enter. After answering him calmly. He let me in. Whew! Thank God that was the first and last immigration I had to go through in Europe. Oh, I almost forgot about Switzerland. I'd take care of that later. Now, back to the adrenaline rush of finally being in Paris. I went to fetch my luggage. Got a trolley. And turned on my mobile phone. There was signal, unlike in Taipei. I started sending text messages to my friends because I couldn't contain my excitement. I could hear not a single word of English all around me. French sounded so good in a cold climate. Indeed, welcome to Europe, Bunny. Got my luggage. Now, it's time to navigate the airport for the free shuttle to the train station that will take me to my train to Amsterdam. The thing with CDG airport is that its circular in orientation, therefore it's not scary to get lost. You just go around and eventually end up at the same spot where you started. Which happened to me while I was looking for the depot of the shuttle. Finding it was tricky. It's a good thing I decided to take my time to understand the signs, which were all in French by the way. When I figured it out, with a little help from a nice French woman, I was riding the bus to the station. One good thing about doing your homework was that I didn't have to pay for the RER ticket to Gare du Nord because of my Eurail Pass. It was free! My first freeloading experience. I knew I needed a lot of that because I was travelling on a budget. There was a long queue to get the train ticket, which later I would realize was a sign of things to come in Europe. Lining up, that is. My first encounter with the gypsies was right there in my first train station. True to form, they were entertaining people by playing the electronic harp on the waiting ramp. I had to really distance from them because I didn't want my first muggery, God forbid, to happen on my first day. They were easy to spot in a crowd. Which was good because, again, if I do get pickpocketed on, I want to know who did it so I could fight back. As if! I got off Gare du Nord. I immediately looked around to check out my train to Amsterdam, though I had a lot of waiting time. 4 hours of waiting to be exact. But I didn't mind because there was too much to absorb. And my adrenaline was pumping the whole time. I was trying my darnest to hide my excitement and to look composed like a worldly traveler I would like to project. Aside from finding my train and how to ride it, there were a lot of things I needed to do like take a piss and eat as it was getting close to lunch and my last meal was early breakfast on the plane. First things first. I asked someone inside a booth on how to go about finding and riding my train. The pleasant French lady who spoke to me in English, which I would later find to be a rarity in Paris, told me everything I had to know. And then I looked for a spot to settle down. There was a small berth where other travelers like me were waiting patiently. I grabbed a spot and rested for a while. It was cold with the cold air penetrating my already layered clothes. But did it matter? Of course not. Heck, I was in Paris and I was not complaining. Ok, I now had to pee. I realized I passed by a toilet going to the platform of my train. I left my spot and walked towards it. I was lugging my 2 bags the whole time. Quite heavy, but then again, did it matter? Hell no! Finding the toilet had one little problem. I needed coins to go in. I didn't have any. So I retreated and decided to buy lunch first so I could get loose change. I had a pastrami sandwich for lunch. Not bad. Ate it while standing because at this time the station was brimming with people already and there was no place to sit anymore. And I didn't want to pay to sit in a cafe. Such a cheapskate me, I realized. But then again, I was travelling on a budget and my first day wasn't the day to start splurging. Finally it was time to board my train to Amsterdam. I booked a first class back home. And when they say first class, it was indeed first class, complete with attendants to welcome you and a complete meal with your choice of drinks, including French wine. The travel time to Amsterdam would take about 4 hours with a horrifying 10 stops in between. But at least I got a glimpse of Belgium and the other famous Dutch cities like Rotterdam and the Hague. That's the beauty of traveling by train. It's 3D Europe. Seeing what I saw of Belgium, I wasn't impressed. Somehow it was lacking in character especially after seeing Paris and the outlying French towns. Seeing Rotterdam and the Hague was more interesting because of the very modern and unconventional architecture. I had to see cows and windmills. The view didn't disappoint. There were so many windmills scattered all over Netherlands I lost count already. The Schipol stop signalled we were nearing Amsterdam. Then finally, Amsterdam. First impression. Old world charm. Warm people. Cold and wet weather. I say nice. I got off the station, excited as ever, but feeling tired already. It's been one whole day of walking, navigating around and just waiting. Stepping out of the station felt a different vibe for me. Amsterdam was bustling in an upbeat way. It was like people were breathing acid. Everyone was just sending out positive vibes. I loved it instantly! But reality check first. I had to find my hotel. I lugged my bags with me on the cobbled road looking at my travel book for directions, looking around for any sign of my hotel and just absorbing the fantastic sights. I finally asked for directions. I think it did make a lot of difference to me learning that people speak English. After walking 2 blocks more, I was at the front desk of my hotel. I absolutely loved my hotel! It was at the heart of the city. It was very cozy. And the staff were all very accommodating. Just as how tripadvisor.com reviewed it to be. I was loving every minute of it, all the way up to my room, which looked so modern, cool and cozy. I took a shower after 2 days of wearing the same clothes and then I went to check out the city. I was at the heart of the Old Centre with interesting old architecture. What really stood out for me were the trams in the middle of the road. To me, more than the canals, my visual of Amsterdam would be the trams that zigzag around the city. I walked and walked getting lost in the side streets, and ending up in the red light district. Not at all scary because of the number of tourists like me milling about. Yet I was the only Asian at that time. So I sorta stood out. Until I heard from behind me Tagalog. There were 3 Pinoys strolling as well. Seamen I figured because they kinda looked it. I ended up in the part of the city where there was just a proliferation of Amsterdam's coffee shops. I walked past them, casually checking out what's happening inside. And then I decided to go for it and find out for myself by going inside one. I chose the farthest on the street because being new in town, it still felt kinda not legal to go inside in a way. Once inside, the friendly staff greets you with a menu of the different flavors of weed and space cake. Arranged from the strongest to the mildest. Ok, enough observing, it's time to get my feet wet. I chose the mildest on the list, to be on the safe side. Ordering weed meant you needed to order drinks with it. That's why it's a coffee shop, stupid me. But alcohol was not served. Not a coffee drinker anymore, I had to order decaf with my first weed in Amsterdam. Whoah! she brought me a thick monster of a joint that I, for a moment, feared smoking. That would definitely knock me out and erased whatever jetlag I would be feeling later. And the rest would be forever carved in my memory. Smoking a joint in Amsterdam, drinking coffee intermittently. Feeling dizzy and awake at the same time. Finally feeling how perfectly legal it was to do it there. And eventually enjoying the experience. I managed to finish one joint. Head spinning I mightily tried to walk in a straight line to a place I could grab something to eat. There was still sun, even at 8pm. So imagine being stoned, navigating your way to you hotel in a totally new place and seeing sun at 8 in the evening. Surreal indeed. I grabbed a sandwich in a pastrami shop. Gulped everything down. And found my way to my bed, happily slumbering, ending my first day in Europe.