World on a Shoestring

Moroccan Madness

jakeandgenny — Thu, 14 Feb 2008 09:23:00 GMT

Don't look at me like that, Bogie, we was only doin' what we was supposed to do! You made Cassablanca look so good, we figure we couldn't pass it up.

We've seen Casablanca. And since Hollywood is always historically and realistically accurate, we had no doubts that Morocco would be full of hip, swinging cats, who look sharp and love their women, their cigarettes and their booze, in that order. Turns out Hollywood lies, much to our dismay and chagrin.

We spent our last night before setting our for Morocco in a cheap guest house n Algeciras, the gateway betweeen Africa and Europe, drinking and planning. But as we were to find out, no amount of planning or drinking could prepare us for what was in store. Along for the ride were our new Brit friends, and , and with them we boarded a boat bound for Africa. Before we go any further, let me offer some advice on the boat issue. Don't spend too much time trying to figure out which boat to take as they all cost around the same. Also, don't count on their time tables. They're accurate but only to a certain point. The timetable should have a footnote that reads +/- 1 hour.

That having been said, we made safe passage into africa from

Here's lookin' at you, kid...

Bring the Spain

jakeandgenny — Mon, 14 Jan 2008 05:44:00 GMT

Au revoir, Cannes, we’re headed across the border for the final month of our trip and to celebrate Genny’s 25^th year en estilo!

Our train out of Cannes looks like it took a wrong turn in 1973, stopped at a polyester factory, and ended up on our platform. But blind with the prospect of birthday splurging (any excuse to go over budget), we boarded with a little salsa in our step, bound for Barcelona. We were pleased to find that first class tickets come with decent seats AND some in-flight entertainment: a visit to the restaurant car produced Oreo’s, milk, and a new friend, right out of Texas. I had just met my first conspiracy theorist. So convinced was my new amigo that 9/11 was a conspiracy concocted by the American government with nothing, in fact, to do with Al Qaeda or any of its corollaries and was nothing more than a play to fatten the wallets of the oil tycoons, that he would gladly share his preposterous hypothesis with any nearby pasajero. Should no passengers be within earshot, the restaurant-car's barkeep became the default audience, regardless of his ability to speak English (he couldn’t). And so fervent was our conspiracy farmer from Texas that as the train pulled into the station at 12:30 am and his audience dispersed, he continued to sew his seeds, handing out DVDS instead of business cards and encouraging us to keep an open mind…and trust no one. For those of you interested in his rants…er, I mean theories, visit www.fearorlove.com.

So here we are, almost 1 am in Barcelona, all the tourism offices in the station are closed, and we have only vague wisps of leads on local campgrounds. Fortunately, Barcelona is nice enough to keep staff on hand at the train station at all hours of the night to direct people in just such a situation to their far begot destinations. Familiarity breeds comfort, so from our sparse list we pick a campground called Villanova and at 1 am set out with our Spanglish instructions. Our train arrives 45 minutes later to a station illuminated by the dwindling taillights of the night’s last public bus, leaving taxis as our only option. With the rumble of our taxi’s exhaust growing fainter in the distance, the security guards politely inform us that there’s no room left at the campsite and that we can not come in, who cares that it’s 3 in the morning. Thank God Genny paid attention in Spanish class all those years ago; she manages to convince security that there’s no way there ISN’T a swatch of land 3 meters by 2 meters somewhere on their compound where we could just put our tent until 8 the next morning when we can catch a bus back to the city! We pitch tent, catch 5 hours of z’s then head to the main office the next morning to settle our tab. They enthusiastically charge us 40 euro for the few hours and small piece of land we used.

Screw that. We got out of there, found a place that was a 25 minute bus ride from center city, right on the beach, and cost 40 Euros for five nights instead of five hours. But it’s not the convenient proximity to the city that makes Estrella Del Mar (our campsite) most appealing. What is most appealing about this site is that it’s a long term campsite. So every morning we wake with the sun and head to their café to enjoy our cappuccinos where all the local old men smoke cigars, play dominos, and vigorously imbibe their morning liqueurs and beers with the enthusiasm of drunken college students. Seriously, we went to Penn State, and I've seen seasoned frat boys that don't posses the dedication to start this early, or the stamina to go for as long as these AARP members went.

With base camp established we headed into Barcelona (pronounced "Bar-THE-Lona due to the egotistical whims of a narcisistic king with a speech impediment) to celebrate Genny’s 25^th cumpleaños!

It started with a romantic stroll down Las Ramblas, and ended with a delicious 7 course meal. But what kind of birthday would this be without presents? A bad one. And what kind of man would I be if I didn’t get the best for my baby? A bad one. So shop we did, and presents she got. In the shops of Barcelona, we finally found the bag Genny’s been dreaming of! And after touring his almost Dr. Seussian house, in the most unlikely place, the gift shop of the Gaudi Museum, we found the ring she’d been pining after for some time. Fully accessorized, we sat down to a huge meal and made our best attempts at rupturing the lining of our stomachs with Spanish omelets and paella and returned to the campsite engorged.

The next day, another beautiful one in Spain’s faultless climate, we joined the throngs of Spanish sun worshippers at the beach. Unlike our fellow idolaters, however, we were a bit too modest to allow the sun to shine on the dark sides of our moon…but that didn’t stop the Spaniards from bearing all, nor did it stop from me from parading around in my boxer briefs for lack of a bathing suit; I’m sure no one noticed, though, as my bathing attire was the least risqué that day; the pervert who invented the male thong needs to be ejecutado. A day of sun and a night of fun, we journeyed back into the city to catch the night time festivities put on by the innumerable Las Ramblas buskers and street artists. Many an hour can be lost watching a caricature artist exaggerate the features that people are most self-conscious about…hey, as long as it’s not me, I’m up for the laugh.

We finally left Barcelona and headed to what would end up being our home for some weeks, Seville. Now that we were seasoned professionals, finding the campsite was a breeze; ask for directions and comply. Again, Genny, thanks for paying attention in Spanish class. We set up shop headed into town where we wandered the streets, had some beers and enjoyed the city. Spain boasts some of the nicest weather we’ve encountered, and southern Spain is no slouch when it comes to heating the planet. Our campsite, Camping Villsom’s, pool seems to be the sun’s target, and we the bull’s eye. Our slow days in Seville were spent soaking up the rays (and Sangria), and our saucy nights were spent visiting Flamenco shows in town. Though there are many options, I like my Flamenco shows like I like my sex: with as few people in the show and in the audience as possible. So unlike the huge shows with 60 person casts performed in huge auditoriums, we opted for the cast of four and an audience of 50, with cocktails and munchies. I believe we made the right decision. The show was exciting, sexy, and beautiful, and we were so close to the stage we inadvertently sat in the sweat splash zone!

Our third day in Seville presented us with a decision to make: we could head south and into Africa, or west into Portugal. After some deliberation, we decided its more likely we’ll come back to visit Portugal, but this may be the only reasonable chance we’ll have to visit Morocco so we set out for the land of fez’s and all the gin joints in all the world. We returned from Morocco 10 pounds lighter, and spent our remaining time back at Camping Villsom chilling out, maxin’, relaxin’ all cool, sipping cappuccino outside by the pool…and recovering from a plague of food poisoning that laid waste to my insides… more on those gastro-intestinal fireworks later.

Our lazy days at Camping Villsom were comprised mostly of jogging, grocery shopping at the super grocery store around the corner, and watching the sun wander through the heavens. We ran out of books some days prior, so we wrote in our journals and talked to each other. And I’m not complaining…I reckon there will never be another time in our lives where the most important thing we have to do in a day is make sure we get to the pool at our campsite in Spain early enough that we get the good lounge chairs…oh woe is us. One thing, though: after several weeks of passing my boxer briefs off as swim trunks, the lifeguard at Villsom finally got wise and told me I couldn’t wear them at the pool…drat’s, foiled again.

So we wrapped our time in Seville and headed to Madrid where they have a passion for siesta like Queen Latifa has a passion for anything deep fried. Word of advice: don’t try getting anything done between the hours of what may feel like dawn to dusk, but more reasonably like 2-6 in the afternoon when everything, and I mean everything, shuts down. But, again, far-be-it from me to complain that we can’t find anything to do in Madrid while we travel the world. So for most of the day, the streets of Madrid were ours and we wandered them as such, partaking in their famous chocolate churros and joining the hordes of tourists taking pictures of their famous statue based on Madrid’s coat of arms, a bear standing against a tree, which ends up being a tourist standing against a bear standing against a tree.

Our final month of travel behind us, we’re taking our last strides toward home. From Madrid, we’re off to Dublin. So we bid a sad hasta luego to Spain and hop on a plane to Ireland where the beer flows like wine and a bottle of water costs more than a bottle of beer.

Welcome to Cannes...

jakeandgenny — Sat, 15 Sep 2007 23:45:00 GMT

...where you can't afford it.

Just to put things in perspective, before we get started, to demonstrate the preposterous prices in Cannes due to its irresponsibly wealthy inhabitants, we decided to partake in our only regular indulgence. We entered McDonald's with the hope of being met by our normal, budget-friendly under-one-Euro soft-serve ice-cream cone. Much to our financial dismay, we found soft serves to be double what we had budgeted. So, given that frozen McDonald's soft-serve yogurt is twice the normal cost (and we're talkin' bottom of the feeding totem pole, here) let's just just say that was even too expensive for us to visit the beach (of course they charge to get onto the sand, silly).

But, its not to say we didn't have a good time in Cannes. We enjoyed sharing the town with the like of Brangalina, Clooney, Tomkat, and other tabloid fodder. Unfortunately they were staying at a different campsite, frequented different gorcery stores, and rode a different bus...so we're told.

From our campsite it was only a short bus ride to the center of town where the glitz and glamor of wealth waited to rub our noses in poverty. Roaming the streets of this small but lavish town, we came across stores that sold watches that cost more than cars and had more security than Camp David.

It was nice to wander the world of the wealthy, but after even a day, we were feeling more feduciary guilt than any team of Jewish-grandmothers could dish in a lifetime, so we high-tailed it to Barcelona.

Drowning In Beauty

jakeandgenny — Sat, 15 Sep 2007 06:57:00 GMT

Wrong: "Honey, I'm going for a walk!" Right: "Honey I'm going for a swim!"

Wrong: "Honey, I left my keys in the car!" Right: "Honey, I left my keys on the boat!"

Such is life in a city where bumper to bumper is buoy to buoy, where ambulances and garbage trucks have outboard motors, and where the local kids look forward to getting their boating license and not their drivers license. This is Venice, where, to quote the brilliant Dr. Emmett Brown "Roads? Where we're going we don't need roads."

It doesn't take much to fall in love with Venice; as long as you have two eyes, it shouldn't be difficult...a big, fat wallet helps, too, considering the huge price inflation due to the influx of tourists every summer, but as long as you have the necessary ocular equipment, you're headed for amour of the geographical persuasion.

Everybody knows Venice; it’s that city in Italy with canals instead of streets and boats instead of cars. But until you see the city in person, you can't understand that to step outside the train station and catch a bus, you'll probably need motion sickness pills and a good set of sea legs.

But what really stops your heart and catches your breath is the absolute antique beauty of the city. Setting foot into Venice for the first time is like getting jumped by a guerrilla gang of postcards hell-bent on teaching you a lesson about their city. As your foot finds purchase with its first steps into Venice, the beauty of the city is so immediately breathtaking that there is a noticeable lack of oxygen directly outside the front doors of the train station as each newly arrived tourist gasps at the city's beauty.

Beyond the cliché of the canals, when one thinks of Venice, the clear picture that comes to mind is the broad open square frequented by pigeons more-so than tourists. This is San Marco Square, the only place in the world where rats-with-wings actually ADD to the romantic backdrop. The perimeter of this piazza is comprised the Palazzo Dacale, the Basilica of San Marco, and the Campanile of San Marco. Imagine this. With humans and pigeons living in poetic harmony, the two share a love affair with a city that has enough love to spare. And if you feel like nurturing (or nourishing, as it were) that love, spare a Euro and buy a bag of bird seed from any of the vendors in the piazza, feed the birds, and snap pictures as the birds land on all parts of you and eat directly out of your hand; these pigeons make New York pigeons look timid.

But if you can break out of the hold that this magnetic tourist center grips you with, cross the Ponte Rialto, and explore the rest of the small city, you'll find just as much fulfilling scenery with only a quarter of the tourists! It’s Venice lite!

Explore the backstreets of this city and you'll find enough cafes, eateries and bars to satisfy even the most voracious consumer. The city boasts the most complicated layout we as travelers have ever experienced, but there's no chance of starving to death in the labyrinthine city streets as every street offers myriad restaurants to nourish the body and endless atmosphere to nourish the soul.

Outside the city we found camping Serenissima, where we set up camp and tore down our walls of self-restraint; we finally caved and bought a burner, propane, and a pot...one can only take so much salami and cheese. And oh the culinary delights that followed! But, if it weren't for the helping hand of a French family, we never would have found the campsite, and thus never have purchased our new favorite toy: the website for Serenissima says to take bus #53 to their campsite, but what they don't tell you is that bus #53 doesn't exist. So if you're interested, look out, instead, for the bus marked PADOVA. Oh, and as beautiful as the site is, they have a bit of a mosquito problem, but I suppose that's to be expected in a city surrounded by water, huh?

Rumor has it that Venice is sinking into the ocean. But recent research denies this, stating instead that the city is not receding into the ocean, but the ocean is proceeding into the city; the city is sinking no faster than any other land mass. The only sinking in Venice was our hearts (and bank accounts) as we departed its flowing canals and winding backstreets.

We´ve Got a Golden Ticket

jakeandgenny — Sat, 25 Aug 2007 22:48:00 GMT

If you´re the kind of person that loves to hang out at train stations, or routinely enjoys sitting upright for extended periods of time, then boy have we got a deal for you! I shouldn´t even have to point out to you the benefits of our Eurail Pass if you´ve been paying attention in the least. However, if you´re one of the very (VERY) few that has not been reading our blog, then listen up, cuz now´s the time to start taking notes...imma drop a bomb on it!!

So far, we´ve been everywhere...maybe not everywhere, but if we were conquering nations as we went along, we´d be giving Napolean a run for his Francs, if you know what I mean. Of the 18 countries covered in our Eurail Pass, by the time our trip wraps up we will have visited 15, missing only Denmark, Sweden, and Norway due to time.
If you´re not familiar with what the Eurail Pass is, then you´ve come to the right place. Well, actually, this is ¨the right place¨; here is just a good place to be...feel the love. The Eurail Pass comes in many shapes, colors, and varities that would take too long to cover (for all that, go to ¨the right place¨) so I´ll try to make this brief. Gen and I have the first class, three month, unlimited, flexi-saver pass. Basically what all that means is that we always ride first class, our pass is good for three months from the first use, we can go to any of the 18 included countries, and its only good if Gen and I are together when we use the pass. But, of course, each of these facets is optionable to suit your particular trip; these were just the most suitable for ours.

Now, given all of the available options for travelling through Europe, there is no better way than trains. Flying is too expensive, buses or cars are too slow, and hitchiking is apprently ¨unsafe¨. This leaves only one option: Europe´s ever expanding rail system, which, fortunately for you, can be exploited with a Eurail pass.

Given all the free time we have had sitting on trains and at stations, we worked it out: assuming the average cost of a train ticket without seat reservations (no, they are not the same thing, yes, you have to pay for them seperately, and no, they´re not included on the pass, though most countries don´t require them) is in the ballpark of 75€, and assuming that one rides the train every three days, give or take a day, taking into account the cost of the Eurail Pass, we´ve already saved a butt-load of money and the pass has paid for itself three fold; we´re essentially riding for free these days! Other than the seat reservation fee, the only other incurred cost to a pass holder is the bed reservation fee for overnight sleepers.

Sleepers are a funny thing. They´re the crap shoot of European rail riding. But, it is the best way to sleep your way around Europe without contracting an STD. Sexual proclivities aside, sleeper trains are the best way to glean a night´s accommodation without paying for a hotel or hostel. But, you´re comfort is in the hands of the fates. As of this entry we´ve had the (un)pleasure of riding on three overnight trains, with a positive hit rate of 2 out of 3. For what these trains are (essentially rolling boxes containing smaller boxes containing small beds, sometimes for two, sometimes for four, sometimes for six people) some of these trians can be downright luxurious...and some can be hellacious. As I have no pictures to include here, I´ll do my best to paint you a vivid mental picture. Our introductory sleeper ride was from Budapest to Sighisoara, Romania. In a decision that would prove to be unwise, we decided to go with the second class sleeper cuz it was cheaper. This second class sleeper was a six person sleeper car: no wider that six feet from wall to wall, three beds on each side, the highest bed is close enough to the ceiling to eliminate the option of sitting up (of course those were our beds as the other four were occupado, more on that shortly), and forget AC and open windows. The four other beds in our ¨room¨were occupied by a smoking mom, drinking dad, and their two ill, vomiting toddlers, who could have be subdued at any point in the night if their parents had taken time from their respective addictions, but since they didn´t, Gen and I were stuck with two screaming children for the duration...fun fun fun! But the real icing on the cake was what no one tells you until right before it happens: as you board the train, the ticket taker does just that...takes you ticket and doesn´t give it back until about an hour before you arrive. We´ll cover why this is such a HUGE ulcer inducing problem shortly.

Our second and third sleepers were in and out of Turkey, and these times we sprung for the plush seats in first class, and let me tell you, they were puh-lush! Air conditioned, wood paneling, fresh bed clothes, complementary refreshments, and even our own sink with power outlets! Our only SNAFU was at just after the Turkey-Greece border on our way into Turkey. About an hour after the border stop where you buy your Turkey visa (oh, btw, they only take €, something we wished had been brought to our attention earlier) which takes place around 2 AM, there came a knock at our door. It was the first class attendant come to tell us that while we had bed reservations we had no ticket to be on this train (the Eurail does not cover Turkey). We told her that we had asked at the window for both a ticket and a bed reservation, she must be mistaken, we surely had both! She showed us the ticket, and low and behold, she was right! The guy at the ticket window had short changed us, and this woman was standing in front of us demanding that we purchase the required ticket right then and there, only in Euro! Needless to say, we´d been drained at the border visa purchase, so were not prepared for this shakedown. And it was the middle of the night in the middle of nowhere Turkey on a moving train; there´s no ATM. So, we went to the mattresses; we went through every pocket, bag, oraffice searching for cash. We eventually scraped together the appropriate amount in an ungapatchka assortment of acceptable currencies. So remember kids, ALWAYS DOUBLE CHECK EVERYTHING!

But I digress. The Eurail Pass is truly the gift that keeps on giving. Not only does it grant us cheap or free rail travel, but it also offers myriad other benefits including discounts on boat tickets between countries, entry into first class train lounges, and even discounts on certain hotels. Just a word to the wise: the ticket is expensive, and if you lose it or damage it to the point where its unreadable, they will not replace it unless you´ve purchased their pass insurance. And the pass ain´t the most durable thing ever: its a few flimsy pieces of paper stapled together, and you´re not allowed to laminate it or anything of that nature. So now you understand why we were so terrified when the ticket taker walked off with our $3,000 ticket as we got on his train!
But, like all wonderful things, this, too, must come to an end and so we bid farewell to our generous travel companion and say adieu as we disembark from our last train on the passes last day of validity in Madrid.

Rome Again Rome Again Jiggity Jig

jakeandgenny — Wed, 15 Aug 2007 07:00:00 GMT

Feeling the burden of living on a budget weighing heavily on our shoulders (and not heavily enough in our stomachs) Gen and I decided it was time for a bit of indulgence. Exacerbating this was our difficulty relinquishing our grip on gluttony after a rather spoiling visit with my parents in Greece. With our wallets filled with, money to be used in fulfilling these insatiable wants, we parted ways with my parents with our new travel buddy, my brother, and great expectations.

It was the best of times, not the worst of times.

From Patras; Greece, Zac, Gen, and I hopped on a boat headed for Bari, Italy with tickets for our own cabin and enough wine to make us each swear off wine forever, or 24 hours, whichever came first. After a pleasant 16 hours aboard; cruising the Adriatic we found ourselves docking in Italy.

With little more than a passing glance at Bari, we quickly caught a train and swiftly made our way to Rome. It was right around this time that Gen began feeling what we all wrote off as ill effects of the previous night's potations...the hairless dog that bit her, as it were. But this was one dog that wouldn't let go, making the journey through Italy all the more agonizing for her. After what seemed to be her dozenth trip to the bathroom to kowtow to the porcelain gods, we admitted that there may be more wrong here than we had originally assume. But with few resources other than Alka-Seltzer to ease her ailing stomach, we nursed her with flat cola and waited for the nausea to abate. And pass it did...

Upon our arrival in Rome, Zac and I deposited Gen in a bed in our hotel and left to scour the city for food to bring back, ate and retired for the night. The following day we all caught up on a bit of shut eye by sleeping in, and with Gen feeling a bit better, ventured into the city to retrieve our friend Kofi who had just co,e dozen fro, Florence where he'd just spent a week honing his craft. This being his first visit to Rome, we did all the requisite sightseeing we could wrangle in an afternoon and then treated ourselves to a nice Italian meal at an outdoor restaurant near our hotel, all the while Gen dragging ass behind us, complaining of nausea. Being the selfish bastard that I am, I mostly ignored her cries or attributed them to an overdeveloped sense of drama. In fact, the only time I paid them any mind was when she couldn't finish her meal benefiting me and my good friend, my stomach.

But, lo, I would eat my selfish ways promptly...and then enthusiastically vomit them up. No sooner did we return to our room than was my punishment delivered upon me for my shortsightedness and my stomach began to bubble bubble toil and trouble. Within an hour I was in the bathroom, putting both the toilet and the beday to good use as receptacles as my body gave its all in simultaneously evacuating both my stomach and my bowels from what felt like every available orifice. And this is where I would spend the remainder of my night, all the while my friends in the next room listening to the faint whisper of my repeated apologies to Gen.

The next morning, my stomach having successfully been turned inside out the night before, the four of us set out on our cross continent journey. With only four days of vacation for both Zac and Kofi, we decided our time would be best spent partying away our brain cells in Amsterdam. But getting from Rome to Amsterdam in a day is no small feet. So we made our way to the bus stop that would take us to the airport, the first leg of our journey, and before boarding the bus, I was s,art enough to over exert myself walking up the stairs and thus put on a dazzling demonstration of my upchuck abilities for all the early morning commuters to see...several times...lucky them. And just as my intestinal pyrotechnics gave their grand finale, Zac leaned over to Kofi, announcing his departure and made haste to the bathroom, the lucky victim number three.

But being the MEN we are, we stuck it through and arrived at the airport in time to catch our flight with RyanAir to Brussels.

Having a ticket on a flight with RyanAir is an interesting experience. To save the customer money, RyanAir offers super discounted (as low as 1 Euro Cent) tickets on no frills flights. And they mean no frills: no complimentary beverages, complimentary headphones, or even those fun little bags of peanuts. Oh, and no assigned seats and no organized boarding procedure, an equation whose product equals ,ad dash for the plane. When the doors to the bus from the terminal to the plane open, all bets are off and there are no friends; every man for himself.
1.5 hours later e landed and hightailed it out of Brussels for Amsterdam where we introduced the newcomers to Camping Zeeburg and whence the hilarity ensued.

We spent three lazy days and nights taking in the sights, sounds, smells, and smiles of Amsterdam. Our visit to Amsterdam was everything you think it was and more, but hat much more exciting because Gen and I were returning and experiencing this familiar city with newcomers. We were also fortunate, while indulging some of our appetites, to make some new friends there who ended up being hell bent on indulging some of their own appetites in the red light district and bring us down with them...even treating Zac to his first lap dance.

Three days in Amsterdam (and three nights of camping in the pouring rain and sleeping in a puddle) will surely exhaust the heartiest of partiers and we are no exception.

We left Amsterdam the way we came feeling better but dumber, back to Rome, with a brief stopover in Brussels' famous comic book museum, a thrilling treat for our two visitors. And what misadventure would be complete without some kind of SNAFU? Subway was kind enough to provide Zac with this trip's super SNAFU:

Instead of paying for a night's accommodation, the four of us decided we'd rather just sleep at the airport in Rome and early the next morning we bid farewell to our guests, confident that they would never forget what they could still remember of Amsterdam.

Out On a Limb of My Family Tree

jakeandgenny — Wed, 15 Aug 2007 05:53:00 GMT

After three straight days of partying in Amsterdam, this two travellers were desperate to rebuild our energy and money reservoirs before hitting the road hard again for our final thirty days of travel (boo hoo). After careful considerations, taking into account time and monies available, our tired brains decided to head from Rome to a small town in the center of Italy that is rumored that a small branch of my family tree still blossoms, Perugia.

Upon our arrival, we set out in search of our campsite based on the recommendations of a fez locals we had spoken to. We boarded a bus in the direction that all fingers pointed to and asked the bus driver who kindly agreed to let us know when e got to our stop, and then promptly forgot our agreement with us. But thanks to a kind man on the bus, we got off just in time, and were warmly greeted with this sign:

With the bus long gone and no other options available we set out on the 3 km to our campsite which, lucky us, turned out to be all up hill.

But praise to the gods of inaccuracy as we came across our campsite in no more than five hundred meters and our hearts soared and in no time we were stuffing our faces...or at least I was.

We spent the rest of our time in Perugia wandering the small hilltop city and taking in its views and gelati. It wad hard to deny the fact that my family, in part, had originated here as signs, buses, and even the local hospital all bore the name Silvestrini, my mother's mother's maiden name. According to me madre the branches of the family tree that lead from this small Italian city to me are young enough that if the research was done relatives could still be found.

After three days of rest, relaxation, and recuperation we left for Venice.

Going Dutch with Mother Nature

jakeandgenny — Thu, 9 Aug 2007 22:30:00 GMT

When it comes to travelling around the world, whether backpacker or tourist, rich or poor, everyone needs a place to crash at night. While your options are limitless, for the sake of brevity and the audience, we´ll limit this discussion to just one of those options. If you´re on a budget like us, there´s really only one option...the cheapest option. For 30 € a night or more, you can hire a bed for a night at any hostel in any city and share a room (and a bathroom) with 20 other travellers. Or, you can foot more than three-quarters of the bill to mother nature, let her provide the housing and all you have to bring is your tent, and a sleeping bag!

The biggest problem with camping is that most people think it is not available in big cities. Sucks for them, good for you, ´cuz this guarantees you a nice spot on the ground regardless of reservations. Every major city we´ve visited has not only had more than one public campsite, but has also provided full access through public transportation. Keep reading to get a taste of some of our favorite flavors...

1. Camping Zeeburg - Amsterdam, Holland - Great place to camp, no reservations necessary. This is a great place to go to escape the non-stop party crowds of one of Europe´s biggest party cities, as well as the 150€ price tags of the center city hotels. For a little more than ten euro per night you get a view of the river, a laid back atmosphere, helpful service, and a market that sells Heinekens for 1 €! A short ride on tram 26 to Ijburg, get off at Zuiderseewerg, and follow the signs.

2. Munchen Thalkirchen Campingplatz - Munich, Germany - 20 minutes gets you outside the city limits and the high prices of hostels and hotels. A nice gated campground located just across from a public park and down the street from a supermarket has everything you need. Just a short ride on the U Bahn direction Furstendried West to Thalkirchen (Tierpark) and then transfer to bus #57 to the last stop or follow the signs by foot.

3. Camping Eichholtz - Bern, Switzerland - One of our favorites, a quite campground right along a glacial river and adjacent to a local park, this campground is perfect for a short break from the hectic life of a traveller. It has a restaurant, cooking facilities and a great footpath along the river. Take tram 9 from the main bahnhof, get off at the endstation Wabern and walk down Eichholtz Strasse and you can´t miss it!

4. Camping Serenissima - Venice, Italy - Once you´ve figured out that bus number 53 never actually comes and you have to take the bus labelled PADOVA to the front of the site, you´ll see that you´ve selected a great campsite just outside the city of canals. With every tent site surrounded by flowers and shaded by trees, this campingplatz is buzzing with families.

5. Camping Parc Bellevue - Cannes, France - Try and check into a hotel in Cannes and you´re sure to find that you´ve maxed your credit card. The cheaper alternative is just about 15 minutes outside the city on the #2 bus to Les Bastides. Cheap accommodation with a free pool and entertainment for the kids every night! Swell!

6. Camping Asprovalta - Thessaloniki, Greece - Actually located two hours south of Thessaloniki, this is where you go to get away from everything...and we mean everything. Beyond the camp site and the market across the street, there is little else in the area. But, the campsite does boast its own beach front with some of the best sunrises and sunsets in the world. The only hard part about getting here is finding the bus station in Thessaloniki that runs right to the campsite, but on the plus side, the bus ticket´s only 6€! To find the bus station, make a left out of the main train station and keep walking until you see the McDonald´s, hang a louie and go straight up.

7. Camping Haller - Budapest, Hungary - A small, gated campsite within walking distance of the city center, this campsite is perfect. There aren´t any cooking facilities, but if you stay three days you get the fourth free...not a bad deal. If you don´t want to walk, just take tram 24 to BalazsBela and look for the sign. Oh, and when you get to the main train station, tell Zeb Jake and Genny said what´s up.

8. Sighisoara, Transylvania, Romania - This place has no name, and if you don´t know its there, you´ll never find it. Once you get off the train, just walk to the center of town. This shouldn´t take you more than ten minutes. Once at the main road, stay to the left side and you´ll come to an archway with ¨CAMPING¨ painted on the wall. Follow the sign, say hey to the guard in any language he speaks, which seems to be all of them, and then check in. The office is in the school building, and its not marked, so don´t hesitate to walk right in and shout...4 € a night...unbeatable.

9. Camping Del Mar - Barcelona, Spain - After a late arrival and a night at the wrong camp site (Camping Vilanova, 38€ a night!) we found the right place and that´s where we are now. A few blocks from the beach, two swimming pools, and the softest ground we´ve slept on yet. Just take the L94 or 95 bus from Placa Espanya and ask the driver to stop there for you.

10. Camping Berlin - where do you think? - Not the best scenery, but easily the most convenient as its located a few city blocks from the main sightseeing district. But its low price reflects its quality. The ground is hard, and the bar on the premises rocks til the wee hours of the mourning. We were also unlucky enough to be there during the worst lightning storm we´ve ever seen...for six hours! But, you can literally throw a rock from the site and hit the main bahnhof. Just exit out of the train station, turn left on Invalidenstrasse, walk 100 meters, turn right to Lehrter Strasse, left on Srydittzstrasse and there you are.

So those are our top ten. Of course there´s plenty more, but these are the ones worth mentioning. Beyond those listed above, we´ve also camped in Vienna, and Perugia, Italy. Each of the places we listed offers sites for no more than 22€ a night for two people. Beat that. So, if you´re tight on dough and feeling particularly spiteful of your chiropractor, sleeping on the ground across Europe is a sure way to light a fire under his ass.

Mad Dash

jakeandgenny — Wed, 1 Aug 2007 03:11:00 GMT

OK, so we just finished up two weeks living on someone else's dime, and let me tell you, it sure warps the sense of reality and jumping back into the big pool of poor backpackers after spending even a small amount of time in the little pool of indulgent tourism sure comes as a shock. But for all the free money and time in the world I wouldn't trade any of it.

Quite a bit has happened since the events of the last post. Like I said, we just wrapped up two weeks living the high life; my parents and brother came to visit us in Greece and relieve us (temporarily) from the bonds of backpacking poverty. But, I made a silly mistake and all you avid readers are going to suffer because of it...all you occassional readers probably won't know any better, so shame on you for not reading more. I was silly enough to hand over all of my picture CDs to my mother for safe keeping in a more stable environment, and so you will note that the last few and the next couple of posts contain no pictures...I realize that transitioning from books with pictures to books with no pictures is a big step, but I'm only here to help, and this is only temporary.

If you read the last post, then you know where last we spotted Carmen San Diego. If you didn't read the last post (or don't know who Carmen San Diego is) then you might be a bit confused, but bare with me nonethenless.

We last left our heroes in Budapest, Hungary, home of the Buda and Pest, the Danube, Turkish baths, and maniacal vengeful drivers. From the conjoined twins of Europe that is BudaPest we made our way South East deeper into Eastern Europe where all your dreams, fantasies and stereotypes of "Eastern Europe" come true...But, as we found out, all is not what it appears...

If you've made this far (and by "this far" I mean to the point of literacy) and don't know who Count Dracula is, then stop reading. Otherwise, continue as I briefly recount to you our trip through his home town.

Bram Stoker's character, Count Dracula, is based on a real person who lived several, several hundred years ago in the same area of Romania as the eponymous real life personage, Trannsylvania. This is where the similarities between the two stop, although it is rumored that the real Count Dracula, Vlad Tepes, drank the blood of his vicitms to give him vitality...but that's just what I heard. The real Dracula was, however, known for his rather uncomfortable method of torture which consisted of a spear planted in the ground and an unlucky sphincter...any more and I would be placing this website on the government's "watch list". But, unlike the region's once creatively torturous ruler, the countryside is a rather nice visit. We found some of the best views, castles, camping, people, and prices here. Specifically, we stopped and spent three days in a little town called Sighisora, which is actually where Tepes was born. Our campsite was an off season school yard, our food of choice was 2 euro doner kebabs, and our drink of choice was 1 euro beers at the local pub. A wonderful place if you are looking for somewhere without too many tourists, but with plenty of atmosphere. Oh, and I highly recommend the hand-made socks sold by the one-eyed woman; they're cheap, warm and make great gifts!

From here we made our way through Romania, stopping first in Brasov, the town where Tepes supposedly imparted his clever torture methods to the people. We found Brasov to be not quite what we were looking for in a relaxing little town, and so quickly departed for Bucarest, the capital of Romania, only to find that it, too, was not what we were expecting, and so left the next morning for Istanbul.

Having visited the conjoined twins of Europe (remember Budapest?) we thought it would be best to continue our anatomical tour of Europe and visit the unibrow of Europe that connects Europe and Asia. Istanbul is the only city in the world that sits on two continents (those mentioned previously), and so connects two worlds and cultures...but the real reason we've dubbed Istanbul "the unibrow of Europe" is because there's an apparent lack of tweezers and male brow grooming going on over there...perhaps its a fad that just hasn't hit the states yet, who knows with these crazy kids these days, right?

But other than that, Istanbul is an amazing city. We spent our days walking around the 1000 year old mosques architecture and absorbing a culture that is so different from ours as to be alien (I wish you all could see the picture of the local "doktor" who was selling leaches out of a plastic barrel on the side of the street), but still warm and welcoming. We spent plenty of hours in the two largest markets of their kind, the outdoor market with over 5000 shops, and the famous Turkish Spice Market, whose odoriferous scent makes the mouth water. And when we weren't shopping, we were eating. You have never had a kebab until you have had a kebab from the home of kebabs. I could cry right now just thinking about how good that meat was (that's what she said)(sorry, that had to be said). But seriously, this country is home to some of the best food these two travellers have ever eaten. What's more, if you're in the mood for a drink and a smoke, there are enough huka bars to entice even the most vehement anti-smokers and even a few bars on the bridge between the two continents so one can say they had drinks on no continent, no where.

From Turkey we made our way to Greece, home of the beautiful sunset and sunrise. Before we met my parents in Athens, Gen and I found an out of the way campingplatz about two hours south of Thessaloniki called Asporvalta and set up camp for a few days so that we could catch up on our Zs and our tans. Then it was off to Athens and Patras, where we spent a week being spoiled by my parents and taking a vacation from our own prolonged vacation. It was nice to not have to sleep on the ground for a bit, and get to watch a little bit of TV, as well as be able to actually eat to capacity. The one thing we find astonishing about Greece was that dinner typically starts around 10 pm and ends somewhere in the vicinity of 1 am...not anything we were accustomed to, but still delicious. And of course we did all the requisite sight seeing, taking in the Parthenon, Acropolis, etc, etc, etc.

So, at this point, you should be pretty much caught up (for the most part), though it might be a bit much to get through without the pictures. We promise that beyond this and maybe the next post, we'll be putting pics back in the mix...word.

HUNGARY FOR SECONDS

jakeandgenny — Wed, 25 Jul 2007 14:04:00 GMT

Try crossing the streets in Hungary’s capital city of Budapest (pronounced Buda – Pesht) and not feeling like that frantic little froggy from the 80’s classic “Frogger”. For those who didn’t have their hands glued to a Nintendo throughout their adolescence as I did, allow me to explain: the object of “Frogger” is to get our little green hero from the wrong end of a busy highway, through a raging, cluttered, river to its far banks where all your frog fantasies come true. Of course the difficulty lies therein! In order to cross each of these, you must do your best as Froggy and avoid speeding cars and 18-wheelers in the streets and randomly sinking or fast moving logs and lily pads. So how does all this relate to Budapest, you ask? I’d be happy to answer that for you!

While Hungary requires no precarious crossings of the Danube, the river that splits the city down the middle (more on that later), if you’d like to see the rest of the city, you will be required to cross the streets should you want to see the sights. So, while Froggy and we do not share his aquaphobia, we do share his fear of being clobbered by a speeding car, a not wholly unlikely possibility, as it were. On more than several occasions, it was our experience that while crossing the street with the light, cars enjoy terrorizing pedestrians by accelerating at them and through the intersection; all crosswalks should come with signs that say “Cross at own risk, Froggy”. So I implore you: when in Hungary BE THE FROG and move in the quickest leaps and bounds possible else you end up flat like our frog but with no reset button…oh yeah, and you’d miss out on one of the most beautiful cities on the globe.

Like you, wise traveler, Hungary itself has heeded my advice and taken its cue from the ambulatory methods of the our hero, the Frog, though more as a philosophy and less as a way of getting around…only in my dreams does a city exist where the only way to get around is to hop…everywhere. But I digress. Only within the past 15 years or so has Hungary gone from occupied nation to independent nation and member of the big dog’s club, the EU (that’s European Union, for those of you not paying attention). In 1991 the last remaining occupying Soviet soldier left Hungary, ending the former communist grip on the country that had gone on for so long and handing over the reins of control to its own government. And so, with the leaps and bounds of a confident nation of brave frogs, Hungary has managed to endure decades upon decades of occupation and tyranny, and not only come out the other end of occupation with their heads held high, but also retain enough of the pre-World War II culture and warmth that once thrived to keep a firm grasp on the mystery and beauty that attracts so many travelers and tourists every year.

After a short three hour train ride from Vienna (in a car solely occupied by Americans) we were deposited in the heart of the city. With a little help from a big hearted hostel hawker who helped us regardless of the fact that we had rejected his offer of cheap accommodation, we hoped on a tram and made our way to our campsite. And score another hit for camping! After we set up shop at our site, we hoofed it back into town (no trams, trains, buses, taxis, tuk-tuks, rickshaws, or piggy back rides, remember?) through the outskirts of the city into the thick of it.

To love a city is to know it intimately; to be able to explore its streets from memory like your hands would a long time lover, and never grow tired of every corner turned and the romance that lies beyond it. Unfortunately, it is impossible to build an intimate and deep relationship in only four days, so I’d say that Gen and I have formed a border line unhealthy infatuation with Budapest, like a fourteen year old girl and her movie star, hear throb, crush. But unlike our poor young girl, doomed to a lifetime of unfulfilled fantasies, forcing her to become president of the celebrities fan club, eventually driving her to break into his house and steel his underwear (I am NOT speaking from experience here), Gen and I hope to one day return and rekindle this budding relationship we’ve formed with the fantastical metropolis.

And how could we not? To never again walk this city’s streets, or to absorb its architecture, would be dreadful! Though the roots of its former communist occupier are still being unearthed and disposed of, the dereliction left behind y these tyrants does not detract from the city, as one would expect, but lends to its beauty. And through t Budapest, the heart of Hungary, runs its main artery, the Danube, of “The Blue Danube” fame. The elegant and sweeping river separates the Buda and Pest, what once were two cities, but have combined to become one super city.

Four days is no where near enough time to explore this city, but we did our level best. With our guide book in hand, we set out to see the whole city, but also a few specific things, as well. And so, we spent morning and afternoons sightseeing, our lunches watching the Danube flow by, and our evenings soaking in beer and incredible views.

Budapest is a good city to tour on a budget. If you work it right, you can see most of the cities main attractions for only a couple bucks. In fact, aside from the Turkish baths that the city is so famous for, there should be little else that requires funds, if you work it right. Now, I’m not saying that everything in the city is free, but no one can charge you for a view, and a nice stroll, and Budapest has plenty of these.

It’s not easy to miss the majesty of Gellert Hill on the Buda side of the city. Make the investment and take the 30 minute hike to the top and you will be copiously rewarded for your efforts. Atop the hill sits the citadel that overlooks the city, accompanied by the Fisherman’s Bastion (Gen’s favorite), affording the best views in town (it is the highest point in the city). So breathtaking was this view that we would return on several occasions to watch the city streets flow with cars and people, and watch the set sink slowly behind the horizon. Betwixt the two halves of the city lies the royal palace, a monument to architectural achievement, though much of it lies in ruin, devastated like so much of Eastern Europe by WWII. Though some its grounds and buildings have been restored as a museum, much of what remains lies in neglect as a sort of modern archaeological site. But nonetheless, make the journey to the top of the mountain as it is the best place to have a beer and watch the day come to an end.

Another must see is the Terror Museum, which lays out the brutal history of Hungray’s occupation, but specifically tells the story of one house that was first home to the Nazis and then to the communists. Through this one house that has been converted into a museum, the story of the country is told. As WWII came to a head, the Nazis moved into and took over Hungary, like so many other countries. They set up their operations out of this house and coordinated from here. As well, they brought prisoners and victims of every ilk here and set out to break the spirits of one and all. But eventually Hungary was rescued by the Soviets who ran the Nazis out of town. Unfortunately, this wasn’t really a liberation, as much as it was a dictatorial changing of the guard. The soviets took over the Nazis’ former base of operation and, in true communist fashion, made it their own and everyone’s at the same time, ecumenically imprisoning and torturing anyone. And so this was the way things went for the next few decades, until the fall of the Soviet Union, when Hungary was awarded its freedom, and the soviet troops were removed (although the last Hungarian POW held by the Soviets wasn’t returned to his home until 2001, just to give you a sense of how recently they’ve extracted themselves from tyranny). And we learned all this from a museum that’s no larger than a big house. The only downside is that the whole museum is in Hungarian (how dare they!) except for the pamphlets that are available in each room, some of which number in the tens of pages, so absorbing all that info can be a bit daunting.

NB – I would like to point out here the benefits of having a student identification handy. Its is wise to carry yours on your trip as most places we visit have student discounts for entry fees. The reason I mention this is because if you visit the terror museum on a Sunday, entry for students is free.

And so, our four days were spent wandering the city, taking in the sights and smells, and falling in love anew every day. Between our campsite and the center of city is a line of little out of way bars, all of which offer cheaper than center city prices with an equal selection and quality, and outdoor seating, and so, we dabbled a bit. But, our only true indulgence here would be our day at the Turkish baths. Budapest is known the world over for having been constructed atop so many natural hot springs, both hot and cold, that you can literally dig a whole in your backyard and strike water. This thought had, of course, occurred to the Hungarians of the past, and at the sight of the most proliferate springs they’ve constructed huge complexes, dedicated to soaking in the earths minerals. So in true American fashion, we went for the biggest and best. Szechenyi baths, located in the City Park at the long end of Allatkerti Boulevard, a street so magnificent, UNESCO saw fit to proclaim it a world heritage site. The spa itself is within the walls a huge complex consisting of more than thirty baths, with temperatures ranging from 15 degrees to 40 degrees Celsius, and they even have a huge whirl pool! And so, for our final day in town, we soaked our muscles and sipped beer from the bar, all while watching the regulars play chess on the famed chess boards located IN the baths. (I should mention here that these are not baths in the literal sense, but more like huge, shallow, swimming pools of varying temperatures.)

Such a wonderful city should not be missed when on a tour of Europe, but be warned: the temptation to stay longer and longer with each passing day is difficult to resist, but the indulgence of doing will absolutely be understood. Be warned Budapest, you haven’t seen the last of Jake and Genny!

Poland/Auschwıtz

jakeandgenny — Sat, 21 Jul 2007 23:40:00 GMT

´´Those who forget the past are condemned to repeat ıt.´´ --George Santayana

It ıs an odd sentıment to descrıbe one´s feelıngs regardıng a vısıt to the most prolıfıc death camp of the Holocaust. On one hand we are ınterested, perhaps even excıted, to vısıt one of the most hıstorıcally and relıgıously sıgnfıcant sıghts of the 20th century. On the other hand, how can one be ``excıted`` about vısıtıng a place where mıllıons of people met a horrıble end? There ıs no joy to be had ın thıs vısit, but we must vısıt, ıf not to pay homage to those who lost theır lıves here, then to acknowledge and learn about the mıstakes humanıty ıs capable of makıng to ensure that hıstory does not repeat ıtself.

Before the constructıon of Auschwıtz the concentratıon camp, the town of Oswıęcım and ıts surrounds housed some 60,000 Polısh homes and farms. Upon Nazı occupatıon, these people were forced from theır homes, some out of the coutnry and some ınto other labor camps. Theır homes were raızed, and the brıcks from these buıldıngs were used to construct the death camp´s three campuses: Auschwıtz I, Auschwıtz Bırkenau , and Auschwıtz III. The town has sınce returned to ıts orıgıns and where once the death camp stood now stands the ruıns of Hıtler´s ´´Fınal Solutıon´´. What buıldıngs do remaın stand as headstones to the untold number of vıcıtms the camp has claımed. A few of the survıvıng structures have been converted ınto a museum to tell the storıes of these vıctıms and the atrocıtıes they encountered here.

As opposed to wanderıng the grounds unguıded, we opted for the guıded tour whıch takes you to Auschwıtz I and Bırkenau wıth a guıde who, as dramatıcally as possıble ın our case, descrıbes everythıng that went on at each of the locatıons we vısıted. Our tour took us through the entırety of the fırst two campuses, ıncludıng through the barracks, along the lonely traın tracks that lead to the gas chambers, and ınto the only gas chamber that remaıns standıng. After a tour of the grounds, the tour goes through the museum and explaıns each of ıts few, though powerful, exhıbıts. Some of these rooms ınclude encarceratıon and torture chambers, Dr. Josef Mengele´s experımental laboratorıes, the barracks where the prısoners slept, and theır bathrooms. Each of these rooms helps to emphasıze what 6,000,000 really means: entıre rooms fılled wıth hundreds of thousands of shoes; a room occupıed by a mountaın of spectacles; a pıle of luggage so hıgh that ıt touches the ceılıng, each bag wıth the name and bırthdate of the ıts former owner, wrıtten by theır own hand. All these artıcles are orıgınal, left behınd by the Nazıs when the Sovıets lıberated the camp. And each room has a dıfferent effect on every person. The strongest emotıonal ımpact for me was ın the laboratorıes. In these rooms, Mengele and other doctors unsympathetıcally and ındıscrımınantly conducted torturous medıcal experıments on anyone, young or old, handıcapped or healthy, man, woman, or chıld, ıt made no dıfference. But they dıd pay partıcular attentıon to twıns and theır famılıes and the anatomıcally anomolous. For Gen, the strongest emotional impact was in the room filled to the ceiling with the hair of the tens of thousands of women victimized by the Nazis. Because sitting before you is the actual hair the Nazis forceably removed, shaved from the heads of so many women, it draws a stong emotional reaction to see what so many women cherished as a last vestige of dignity stolen by the Nazis and used to weave linings for the soldiers' winter uniforms.

Silence pervades the former camp, and though while inside talking and photographing the exhibits is prohibited, the quietude remains outside the walls of the barracks, but within the gates of the grounds.

So let's switch gears, shall we?

For me, it was Suttgart and Porches.

For Gen it was Krakow and Pierogies.

Gen'll tell you every time that she came to Poland to see Auschwitz and it just so happens that Poland is the home of her favorite food. And I'm sure she means it when she says it. But I suspect that may be a little white lie.

Before the mattress springs settle under the weight of our backpacks, I turned to say something to Gen and was met with nothing more than a Gen-shaped puff of dust and a Gen shaped hole in our door. I found her some time later at the restaurant around the corner where we ordered two orders of Perogies and I took a shot with something called beatroot soup with ravioli. On a 5 star scale, the food earned ten stars, especially since it only ended up costing about 5 American dollars for enough food to satisfy two backpacker appetites!

So Poland gets four thumbs up from us. We are happy to have refined our appreciation for our good fortune, and happy to have left the country with full bellies!

Czech Us Out!

jakeandgenny — Thu, 12 Jul 2007 03:11:00 GMT

Welcome to the apparent Stag Party capital of Europe. Understandably so. With good food, good beer, large portions of both, and prices that would make cheap ol' Scrooge blush, I'm sure you can guess what we filled our days and nights with.

You'd only be half right.

It all started when two weary backpackers, bedraggled from weeks of camping on the hard ground, decided to splurge in a city known for splurging encouragement, and get a room.

It really is quite amazing how wearing being on holiday can be.

With nothing but our whits to guide us (well, maybe more my whits and Gen's creepy, but infallible sense of direction) we found the local accommodation registry with the hopes of procuring cheap but private (no dorm beds for us) accommodation.

The grumpy man behind the counter assured us that the room we were purchasing was conveniently located both in the city center and a short three minute walk from the what we thought was the main train station. It had struck us as peculiar that the main train station we arrived at consisted of little more than a few vendors selling an arbitrary assortment of wares (shoes, "fresh fruit", wigs, candy, etc), a few vagrants, a toothless woman selling large pretzels, and the pungent aroma of urine and meat. Mmmmm. It did seem a bit barren for a hauptbanhoff, but we were tired and gave it little consideration, focusing our thoughts and efforts on the prospect of a mattress.

Back to the grumpy man. What was amazing about this man was that he managed secure payment for our room from us, exchange our currency, and give us directions to our hotel, all without smiling...once. In fact, I'm not even sure he spoke at all, as his face registered zero emotion. Mind you, he was not angry, intolerant, or impatient; just absolutely void of affect. In fact, I think he was a Jedi, using the force to impart the necessary knowledge...but Gen disagrees.

But we made it to our hotel safely, checked into our rather nice digs, whipped out our map of the city and its surrounds, and set out. Turns out grumpy old man mislead us.

As it happens, we were neither at the main train station, nor in the city center. The former would later be confirmed upon our departure from Prague from the REAL main station containing all the appropriate shops and eateries one would expect. The latter would be firmly ingrained in our minds (and feet) each time we made the one hour hike from hotel to city and back.

Please do not misconstrue the recounting of these events as complaining, as it is anything but. This little displacement ended up being a blessing in disguise, for every time we walked the hour forth and back, we discovered a new sight to be seen, a new path to walk, a new restaurant to sample, or a new part of the city, all of which we surely would have missed had we stayed elsewhere. If you take only one lesson from this entry, let it be this: always hoof it. The trams, trolleys, buses and subways all turn a city into a passing blur. Walking through the city separates you from other tourists and makes your holiday into an adventure, as it typically takes where few tourists venture, and the native's English is on par with your grasp of the native tongue. So most of our time was spent walking (how else would we maintain our sexy feminine figures?) to, from, and around Prague.

If you've never been to Prague, go. If you've already been, go back. Again, and again, and again...and again. So many cities we've visited have several beautiful buildings, parks, etc. Prague itself is one large site to be seen; the whole city is an attraction. The city has such an appeal as to be magnetic; every building is original in its construction and picturesque. Untouched by any of the World Wars, Prague has sustained its postcard facades for generations, thanks in part to the aforementioned omissions from international conflict, but also thanks to its uncrossable borders until the Velvet Revolution in 1989, where not a shot was fired and not a drop of blood shed. These hermetically sealed borders have preserved the winding cobblestones, the countless spires and bohemian atmosphere unspoiled for centuries; every street is a photograph, every building a monument.

Our site-seeing took us all over the city, from the Prague castle, the largest castle in Europe, across the Charles bridge, and into the Old Town Square. All roads in Prague lead to its busiest and most breathtaking square, each of whose four sides are walled by Gothic and Romanesque castles that seem to touch the heavens. So magnificent are these that even a blind photographer could capture them with artistic flare. At the street level, dozens of outdoor cafes surround the large lunar clock that sits at the base of one of the square's castles. Every hour the throngs of tourists gather to see the show as the clock chimes the hour. Invariably the throng is unfulfilled by the clock's brief show, so to satiate themselves, the turn to any of the many restaurants and cafes in Prague.

Now let us get down to the meat and potatoes of Prague. Literally. We managed to find the cheapest restaurant around that offered beer for less than 1 Euro, and whole meals, including individual appetizers, for less than 6 Euro. Needless to say, we were return customers. And when my cousin Beth, her boyfriend Jeremy, and our new good friend Kara joined us, we took them too.

This joint serves the best meat and potatoes you have ever had. But they call it Goulash. A wise, but toothless and friendly Amsterdamian whom we met in our travels said it best: "You can wake me up for goulash". I couldn't agree more. Goulash, as best as I can describe it, is like the end of a pot of pot roast. The last few pieces that have been soaking the longest in the juices are served on a plate with all the remaining juices, as well. And along with all this juicy deliciousness, they serve dumplings, which are, I suppose, bread-sized gnocchi; somewhere between real thick potato bread without the crust, and gnocchi, but large and delicious. Another Czech dish sampled was chicken breast coated in cornflakes, then perhaps fried or baked, its debatable. You're gonna have to give this one a try when we get home, Lyn, its seems right up your alley. And finally, to add to the list of "sampled local dishes", I ordered Neck. No classification, no idea what animal. Just neck. Having seen it at several restaurants, I finally ordered "Homemade neck", whatever that may be. Turned out to be pretty good.

Prague's history, the country's as a whole, is plagued with the dictatorial rule and stringent confinement. This city really gives its visitor some perspective; until very recently, Prague was closed to tourism as well as any international influence, so many people seen walking the streets lived during these oppressive years of quarantine. As little as two decades ago, the Czech Republic's doors were opened to the international community, and its capital city has been a hit with tourists ever since. Sentiments we share.

Visiting Prague is a dream come true for both us. It was wonderful to sample the cities culture and cuisine, to see family after so long, to make new friends, and gain a little perspective.

From building perspective to redefining our appreciation for life, we head for Auschwitz.

HAVE YOU SEEN THIS MAN?

jakeandgenny — Sun, 1 Jul 2007 04:50:00 GMT

'Cuz we haven't. Not heads or tails of him. Neither well-tanned hide nor sumptuously curled chest hair. He's no where to be found. And this in the country where he's supposed to be a demi-god. So much for expectations; you've broken another heart, Hof.

Germany, however, has not disappointed in any way, shape, or form. Any preconceived notions you may have regarding Germany and Nazism, Socialism, large breed blonds, or architecturally and socially nauseating (though artfully graffitied) walls should be dispatched immediately. That was the Germany of old. This is the new and improved Germany.

Our nationwide search for THE HOF took us through the heart of Oktoberfest, beer, pretzels, Porsches, Bimmers, Mercedes, Schnitzel, Bratwurst, and sauer kraut; ingeniously, Germany has become known for things that, individually are indulgent, but when combined are dangerously gluttonous.

The quest for German pop perfection began in Stuttgart, where, as I'm sure all you avid fans should know (if you don't, you're really missing a good read) from previous posts, Porsche's are made. This was more of a self indulgence on my part than anything else; as we all know Michael Knight prefers his sports cars of the American persuasion. Sorry, Dav-O, thıs ıs one thıng we don´t agree on.

But this is the only time you'll find that me and Mr. Hasselhoff's tastes depart from their normally shared path.

So with a little help from God (no, the real God, not David Hasselhoff, though the confusion is understandable) we got to see where performance perfection is constructed. And what more suitable a country is there for a car with no limits than one whose highways have no speed limits?

Our next stop in THE HOF HUNT DOWN took us to Munich. Munichorns (people from Munich, as far as I´m concerned) consider they and their cıty to be much more Mediterranean than the rest of Germany, and rıghtly so. The entire city is full of biergartens, restaurants and museums.

Suspectıng that The Hoff ıs a Pearl Jam fan, we began our hunt at the concert that was goıng on ın Munıch at the tıme, but to no avaıl. So we put our search for Mitch Buchannon on hold and got to know the city a bit.

Munich, or Munchen (there's an umlaut in there somewhere) as it is known to the locals, is a vast enough city that trying to get to know it on your own is an insurmountable obstacle to overcome ın a few short days. So we did what self-respectıng backpacker would and scoured the streets for a free tour of the city...and found one! If you should visit, keep your eyes peeled for the "free tours with this flyer" fliers and use them to your advantage; it saved us each 21 Euros! This was probably my second favorite three hour tour ever, the first being a doomed boat excursion.

The tour takes you everywhere through Munich, and has a story for every historical building; it covers all of the unfortunate events of Germany's past and its promising future. Munich, like much of the rest of Germany, was devastated by WWI and WWII, in which much of its classical architecture was destroyed by bombings and other military attacks. Of all the buildings in prewar Munich, only about 20% survived in a state that warranted repair. But what remains is beautiful, and what stands new is constructed in a classical and fitting fashion. The few Nazı remnants that do remain in Munich, and in Germany at large, are left as a reminder of mistakes past. And you'll be happy to know that Nazism in Germany has been abolished, and merely displaying any sort of related paraphernalia in public is a punishable crime. What's more, all buildings that Hitler and the Nazis valued in an official capacity that remained after the war were refurbished and converted for uses that the new government felt would most piss off Hitler...so most of them are modern art galleries and other forward thinking establishments. Good on you, Germany!

There are two sides to Munch, really. The first side is the sight seeing side. Central to all of Munich and its sightseeing is the English Gardens, so called because they were designed and realized by a defected American who fought on the wrong side in the Revolutionary war. Within the park´s limits are two things that will blow your mind. The first is the river which has been turned into a perpetual wave so that all of Munich's landlocked surfers can get a little practice in. The second is the center of the park, which has been turned into a nudist park. But be warned: its only patrons are men over the age of about 50.

The other side of Munich is the food. Pretzels as big as your head, and beers to match. When someone says that a restaurant offers "German portions", wear your elastic waistband pants. So eat we did. At the last official Beer Hall in the world, the Hofbrauhaus, Gen and I sampled some of the best bratwurst, sausage and pork knuckle we've ever had...well, the only pork knuckle either of us had ever had.

With our tanks on full, we set out once again in search of the illusive southern California life guard and set our sights on Berlin.

If Germany had a mullet, Munich would be the "party backstage", and Berlin would be the "business as usual". In contrast to Munich's parks and laid back nature, Berlin is all business with an artistic flare. It is in no way left wanting for culture of attractions, by no means. But the city is a bit more traditional in its high rises and grid layout.

Berlin is known for two things: an unhealthy and somewhat creepy fascınatıon wıth David Hasselhoff, and THE WALL. We went for the latter, as the former tends to induce vomiting. What remains of the wall is on display for all to see, though these few remaining parts are spread out over the city. But, where the wall once ran now runs a narrow brick strip, cutting a path between what was formerly the separated East and West Germany. Of course the wall no longer stands and the city offers monuments and museums of explanation and celebration. One such museum we went to is the Checkpoint Charlie Museum, so named after the former point of passage between the once separated halves of the city. The museum offers little insight into why the wall was erected, but does give many examples of the ingenious ways Germans successfully escaped East Germany.

Berlin is also home so some of the more impressive architecture in Germany, including ıts Holocaust Memorıal, and the Egyptian Museum.

Defeated and exhausted, we decided to give up our fruitless search for the man who made man-perms OK, and retreat to the Czech Republic with our tails between our legs. You've won this round, Hof, but the war is not over.

Swiss Triste

jakeandgenny — Sat, 23 Jun 2007 02:42:00 GMT

Say that five times fast, we dare you. Ok, cut it out.

With a bit of extra time on our hands, Gen and I decided to swing down to Switzerland for a little romantic alps action. Our destination: Bern, Switzerland, home of glockenshpiels (sp?) and the man who redifined physics...and follicular couture. This one's for you, Zac...

For lodging, we chose a nice little campsite a short tram ride outside the city right along one of the frantically flowing rivers than run off the alpine glaciers. This river was a shade of blue the likes of which we've never seen. So different was this color that for the duration of our stay it was a constant debate over the color's name, with Gen lobbying for "teal" or even the paltry "aqua-marine". I on the other hand stood steadfastly beside "jade". But if the worst thing we squabble about is which beautiful color the water is, then things aren't that bad, are they?

With the time we had we set out to see what kind of neutral fun we could have in the country that's home to clocks, chocolate, knives, international neutrality and hefty bank accounts. And we were on a mission. We wanted Einstein, chocolate, mountains...and even a few chocolate mountains, if we could find them...which we couldn't, I'm sorry to say.

Einstein's home is set in the middle of a commercial block just past the huge clock and glockenspiel (sp?) that sits in the center of Bern. With absolutely no pomp or fanfare marking its location, you can easily walk right past the house without realizing it. And, in true Jake and Genny fashion, we did that very thing, hypnotized by the smells wafting from the local public houses and cafes. But we finally found our way in, paid the 4 € at the door and settled in for the twenty minute film that precedes the exhibition.

The whole of the museum is not much more than a few of his personal belongings and some captioned pictures. The short film that we viewed touched barely on Einstein's time in Bern, only mentioning that here is where he hatched his clever little E=MC^2 theory; maybe you've heard of it. But, the one really cool thing the museum offers is the opportunity to sit at the desk he sat at when he crunched out his revolutionary theory...that and the little known fact that he canned his second wife in favor of marrying his cousin. But, incestual tendencies aside, the man was a genius and you can sit where genius once sat and did things geniuses do. And I sat at the desk. Unfortunately the only revolutionary thought that occurred to me was to wear my underwear inside out to prolong their wear.

I'm not sure if this comforts me or worries me, but having watched that short film, I see and incredible amount of the genius that occupied Einstein in my brother; similar idiosyncrasies, habits, and thought processes. This, I'm sure, will remain a comforting thought as long as Zac refrains from any romantic inclinations towards any of my cousins.

From the peak of geniuses to the peak of mountains, we took a scenic train ride (conveniently covered by our Eurail pass, the seemingly endless virtues of which we shall extol in a later post). The train takes you to a small town called Interlaken where you have the option of walking around town, or paying the 145 Swiss Francs to continue on the train to the highest train station in Europe. We chose the former, and wandered the beautiful town all day admiring the glorious mountains and the paragliders that seemed to be jumping from every available precipice. Quite amazing.

So we leave Switzerland once again pleasantly surprised to find that an unexpected stop yielded a wonderful experience.

Ever Seen a Grown Man Cry?

jakeandgenny — Fri, 15 Jun 2007 22:46:00 GMT

If the operators of the Porsche factory tours have never seen a full grown American man (a term I use loosely) cry (which, given their line of work its doubtful the haven't) then they did this day. Actually, let's call it what it was: Like a small child who's just watched his once flushed goldfish swim back to glory, I wept. I wept like a confused 14 year old boy at a Justin Timberlake concert. I think I've made my point here.

But why, you ask, did Jake weep like he just found out someone had plundered his prized collection of NKOTB paraphanelia (for those of you that know what NKOTB is, shame on you)? Becaues I had just been given permission to join a guided tour of Porsche's Stuttgart assembly and manufacturing facilities. This may sound easy, but in fact it typically requires any of the following four conditions: a reservation three months prior to your arrival, membership in an official Porsche club, retrieval that day of your custom-made car, or an act of God. While the vast majority of people on our tour fell into the third category, apparently God was on my side that day, for an act of divine intervention allowed me to join, and join I did...and Gen tagged along, mopping up my drool.

Througout the two and a half hour tour, the guide takes the group through all the engine, interior, and drivetrain assembly factories located on campus. Among the more notable things we were privy to witness was the marriage of the drivetrain and body, the assembly of the fully customizable dashboards and seats, and full assembly of all the engines Porsche produces. We even watched a young assembly line worker drop a fly wheel off a 911 Turbo engine mid assembly. And all the while I asked questions. Every inquisitive statement that manifested itself in my tiny one-track mind came spilling out of my mouth with no sign of my mental filter. In fact, I was astonished that more people weren't asking more questions! But whatever that lacked, I surely made up for.

The most amazing thing we witnessed was the engine assembly line. It sufices to say that any car that falls into the "exotic" or "super" category needs delicate care and attention during assembly. Porsche provides this to the utmost degree. Each of the 150 cars the factory produces each day receives the absolute in hand assemblage. The interior is assembled by factory workers on a line that moves at 1 meter per minute, slow enough to guarantee that each worker does his job efficiently, but also carefully and masterfully. In addtion, we learned at the engine assembly line that each engine is hand assembled from the best parts by only one person!!! This means that if you're reading this in front of a computer and your Porsche is tucked safely away in your garage, your car's engine was put together by a single man (there are no women on the Porsche assembly lines). And in no more than 2.5 hours from nothing to complete engine! And even now, some engine assemblists still sign their engines before they're placed into the cars. Also, when the cars are painted, the last two coats applied to the body are done by hand, and not infrequently do the painters sign their cars behind the right rear tail-light, so when I get home, you better lock up my tools, Pop, cuz I'm going signature searching.

One more interesting part about the factory is that while the cars are all handmade (with the exception of the winsheilds which are installed by a really cool, more-precise-than-humanly-possible machine), parts are delivered to work stations by automated, robots with visual recognition software programmed to follow lines of black electrical tape from delivery to delivery.

Along with a visit to the factory, there is a small Porshce museum that includes some iconic cars as well as champion cars. Though photographs are allowed in the museum, they are strictly forbidden during the tour, so you won't find any here.

For lack of a better descriptor...

It was awesome.

Amster-DAM!

jakeandgenny — Fri, 8 Jun 2007 23:25:00 GMT

Before we get started, in an effort to protect our futre careers as public servants, any typical pictures of an Amsterdam visit will not be included. Additionally, any names and faces have been changed to protect the innocent...namely, us.

Now that that's out of the way, let's get started.

So often people visit cities with certain expectations set by stories they've heard, books they've read, pictures they've seen, or even fantasies they've had. And all too often, once one arrives in the city of their dreams they find that it is not exactly what they expected it to be. It may not be as fantastic, or as colorful, or as full of the rich smells and flavors and culture that the city they've so often dreamt of getting lost in.

Amsterdam is none of these things. Even if we were dissapointed (which we were NOT) in our gretting off the tram every morning, we wouldn't have had the time to relish our dissapointment as there is so much to do and see and experience in Amsterdam. It is a city full of culture, music, delicious food (that comes out of vending machines, no less!!), and really really uninhibited people. It has not undeservingly been dubbed the New York City of Europe.

For those of you reading this for no other reason than to hear about the proliferation of coffeshops (NOT coffeehouses, the differenece being that the former sells dope and munchies and the latter actually sells coffee), the legalality of marijuana or the human zoos that are the back-alleys of the red light district, let's take care of that now. Yes, there's dope everywhere, and yes there's sex everywhere. Stepping into Amsterdam with the expectations of avoiding either is like jumping into the ocean and hoping to avoid getting wet.

But, beyond the novelities of travel in the Netherlands, Amsterdam has culture and history of overwhelming abundance. There is so much to do and see that trying to see the whole city in a couple of short days is a feet unto itself. And so, we set out every day from our campsite (we'll cover this money-saving gem later) at no later than 8 in the morning to ensure that each of our four days in this diverse city was spent experiencing all that was available.

Try walking through Amsterdam without stumbling on some of historical personage's home and you'll likely find that you've indavertently wandered outside the city limits. The houses of such noted individuals include Ann Frank, Rembrandt, and the old Heineken factory (which some condisder to be a house of worship), all of which we visited.

Anne Frank's house is remarkable. So infrequently are remnants of the Holocaust and its effects effetive at really protraying life in the time of absolute fear. And while talking about the Holocaust does no more to portray the exeperience itself, actually visiting this house puts a name, face, location and life to a few of its vicitms. To most, Holocaust vicitms are a long list of murdered people, but to those that visit Anne Frank's home, walk through its hallways, or up and down its narrow steps hidden behind a bookshelf into the secret rooms where she and her family hid for two years, the Holocaust becomes so much more. To see where this family slept and ate while their neighbors were carted off to concentration camps instills fear, respect and sorrow into any visitor. If not for the screaming AARP-ers from Long Island, the somber moment would remain unscathed in our memories.

Rembrandt's house is remarkable in itself! To see where he worked, created, and went bakrupt give one a true appreciation for his art. The highlight of the visit was seeing a print that we have hanging on our walls at home, and then seeing the actual press where he made the prints.

This leaves only two toursit attractions left: The Heineken Musem and Madame Toussauds (sp?). The former is a beer experience fit for any enthusiastic consumer, complete with a free gift and three free beers throughout the trip through the breweries history. Should you decide to visit first thing in the morning, as we did, even before you've eaten your first meal of the day, you should depart the museum with three sheets to the wind, as we also did. And then there's the wax museum. This museum is the second installment in the Toussaud franchise, but unfortunately does not live up to its predecessor's grandeur. It is cool, but because of the deceptively large building in which it housed, you leave feeling like you may have missed something, even though you haven't.

Staying and eating in Amsterdam is easy and can be cheap if you do the legwork. No more than a ten minute tram ride out of the city, we managed to find a campsite that was six euro a night, a far cry from the 30 to 40 euro that most hostels were asking. And cheap food is nearly everwhere! Should you require local delicasies for travel satisfaction, we reommend the resatraunts that are no more than large vending machines that dispense hot food, like Frikandels, Super Burgers, and an unidentifiable (yet still delicious) roll of some kind. Finally, if you're really short on dough, we managed to buy enough sandwhich fixings at the local supermarket for both of us for no more than 4 euro. And beers pretty cheap in these parts too, if you're into that sort of thing...and we are.

An amazing city of inhibition and excitement, Amsterdam is full of magic people, magic attractions, and magic brownies...

Gallery: Europe

jakeandgenny — Wed, 30 May 2007 06:33:00 GMT

Save your way through Europe

jakeandgenny — Wed, 30 May 2007 06:05:00 GMT

First things first, let me please explain that for the sake of saving time my punctuation will be everything but nonexistant in this instalement. I wasnt aware that keyboards were different in continental Europe and the change has forced me to type like my father with only my two pointer fingers. Moreover several letters have moved so occasionally youll find an omitted M or W or Z or A Please bare with us

Eleven days into Europe only seven of which have only been on THE CONITINENT and were preparing to buy our first summer home before we even have an every other season home. To get you up to speed lets recount: so far weve seen London Paris and Brussels.

It is the goal of this blog to educate future travellers about things that ,ay or ,ay not catch you off guard in your travels or to prepare you to expect the unexpected. So heres our lesson of the day. Too often in preparation for this trip Gen and I read that to ,ake it through Europe you will need no less than fifty American dollars a day to survive. And yo may doubt this because youre very sure of yourself and you think youre "different". Heres the reality of the situation: you arent different, dont get a big head, but you absolutely can survive on less than fifty dollars a day. Right now Gen are zorking on no more than 30 euro a day which falls well under the predictions and expectations of "they" whoever they may be, fools. You just have to make the effort, such as not taking the Eurostar to go fro, london to paris, which at the time of our travel plans was projected to cost around three hundred euro. Instead, take a boat, itll cost you no more than 30 euro which before all you nerds pull out your calculators is 10 percent, now loose the pocket protector. And the other best advice i can giv is grocery stores grocery stores grocery stores. DO NOT EAT OUT if youre trying to save money, honey. But so far our best money saving technique has been, in London to stay with our very generous family (no you cant stay there), and in France to meet a nice french man during your travels and convince him to allow you to stay at his flat with a viez of the eiffel tower while he travels the world. This technique is highly recommended. And while taking advantage of his hospitality, why not take in the sites? How about the Louvre? Or the Eiffel Tower? Perhaps the Arc de Triumphe or Notre Dame could be fun? Just dont be what the French call laize et competant.

(yes those are the white cliffs of dover)

From Gay Paris bypass the Eurostar high speed train to Brussels in lieu of the slower but cheaper regular trains and save yourself 46 euro, your belly will be glad you did cuz once you arrive in Brussels we dare you to try one REAL Belgian waffle - yes this is where they originated - once you pop you cant stop. But beyond the delicious waffles and chips - you call them fries they call them frites - turns out Brussels is packed full sightseeing deliciousness. Make your way around the city and see whatever you heart desires, but we recomend the urinal church, the pissing baby, the greatest square in europe - grand'place - , or just get lost, literally, its easy enough in Brussels, carrying a map around this city is like running the mile in high heels. Oh and if you have the time and the tolerance make your way over the the Guiness book of World Records place holder recogized as the pub with the most beers in stock at 2004, Delirium. But its hard to find so but on your beer sleuthing goggles and keep a keen eye out - dont be too jealous, Ed. Our sampled favorites were, foir Gen, the green apple beer and the raspberry beer, and for me a spontaneously fermented Belgian beer called Gueuze.

Tomorrow after we tour Belgiums oldest brezery we're off to Bruges, another city in Belgium. Then its Amsterdam, so you may not hear from us for a while...

Khawp khun khrap, Thailand

jakeandgenny — Sun, 27 May 2007 04:19:00 GMT

Our final days in Thailand were spent watching the clock roll by as we roamed the city of Bangkok, or perhaps caught a bad movie on the cable TV we were lucky enough to have in our room.

Aside from watching our TV and enjoying our AC, we spent some quality time at some of the nicest malls we've ever had the privilege of shopping at; we're talking the kind of malls that would make even Cher from "Clueless" blush. Actually; it was not one, but five malls of varying degrees of formality: at the bottom of the ladder was MBK, which wasn't much more than an indoor market. In between that and the mall of opulence, The Paragon, they all sort of blend together. But The Paragon is absolutely the highest class mall, putting my hometown mall, the King of Prussia Mall, to absolute shame. Seven floors of absolutely the best shops in the world; and at the very top, Nirvana: the puh-lushest movie theater to ever show movies, so of course we had to stay and watch a film or two...and eat more popcorn than we thought possible. And it was nice that my father could join us, too!

Our final night was spent with our very good friend from France, Ronan, performing magic tricks; the three of us single handedly made two bottles of Thai whiskey disappear. And every story comes a moral, and the moral of this one is that Genny can’t handle her Thai whiskey, regardless of whether or not it happens to be 80 proof...which it was. Along with our whiskey, we decided to try some local delicacies:

So, for the sake of our parents blood pressure, we bid a fond farewell to Southeast Asia. This part of our adventure has taught us some strong lessons, and introduced us to traveling the likes of which we had never experienced. We leave this country better people and stronger people than when we entered, and that alone makes this trip worth every Baht.

Pad Thai Battle Royal

jakeandgenny — Fri, 18 May 2007 16:59:00 GMT

In an effort to turn you, the readers, on to the best of the best of the best, sir...with honors, I have volunteered my own bowels and stomach lining to be the judge of the first annual Pad Thai Royal Rumble!

To qualify as a contender is easy: simply be one of the several Pad Thai vendors on the two popular backpacker streets in Bangkok, Khoa San or Rambuttri. Though many were expected to show only six showed, one of whom was eliminated due to unacceptably unhygienic facilities. This left five contenders, each of which was unabashedly judged on five aspects:

1. Noodle to Veggie Ratio
2. Overall Quantity
3. Availability of Accoutrements
4. Cleanliness
5. Overall Flavor

Each qualifier was judged on a scale of 1 through 5 for each of these categories, with an additional two points available for the availability of chicken. The judges: we two backpackers, unconcerned with our intestinal fortitude, focused on one goal: Show the world real Pad Thai.

Our competition began at the east end of Kho San and would continue to the west end of Rambuttri. With the sun to our backs on this overcast morning, we set out to determine who was a true Pad Thai artist, and who couldn’t cut the noodles. We present to you now, the competitors in no particular order, as the true champion will become apparent.

Competitor #1: "A Slow Start"

A disappointing start, there was no chicken available at this vendor, which would become a theme throughout the competition. An additional characteristic that would carry throughout was the cost: 20 Baht (about 60 cents). This vendor offers four different types of noodles, but overshadows the flavor with too many veggies. Her ratings are:

Category #

1. Noodle to Veggie Ratio = 2
2. Overall Quantity = 3
3. Availability of Accoutrements = 5
4. Cleanliness = 4
5. Overall Flavor = 2

Total: 16/25, not a good showing

Competitor #2: "Same Same, But Different"

Though similar to the last, this competitor displayed four types of noodle, but only cooked one. Again, no chicken was offered, and again, the flavor of the noodles was masked by the overpowering amount of vegetables in the mix. Ratings:

1. Noodle to Veggie Ratio = 1
2. Overall Quantity = 3
3. Availability of Accoutrements = 5
4. Cleanliness = 4
5. Overall Flavor = 3

Total: 16/25

Competitor #3: "UFO: Unidentified Frying Objects"

This was just a disaster. We'll call this woman the Pad Thai Nazi. She offers no options, and there's no wiggle room: all orders come with egg, each batch is pre-made, and though she displays four types of noodles, she fishes underneath her cutting board in an unseen batch for only one type of noodle. And she wears too much eyeliner.

1. Noodle to Veggie Ratio = 1
2. Overall Quantity = 2
3. Availability of Accoutrements = 4
4. Cleanliness = 3
5. Overall Flavor = 2

Total: 12/25, we didn't even finish it

Competitor #4: "How can someone spell so wrong, and cook so well"

Looking beyond the fact that she has several misspelled variations of the words vegetable and Pad Thai, your initial impression is that of cleanliness. Though her facilities and offerings differ little from her competitors, her last touch of flare is a little spring onion in the mix, which makes all the difference in the world. This is the way Pad Thai is supposed to taste.

1. Noodle to Veggie Ratio = 3
2. Overall Quantity = 4
3. Availability of Accoutrements = 5
4. Cleanliness = 5
5. Overall Flavor = 4

Total: 21/25

Competitor #5: "Pad Thai Perfection"

This little family operation is a hidden gem down at the end of Rambuttri. For those brave enough to venture all the way down, your reward comes in the form of heaping mounds of Pad Thai, AND SHE OFFERS CHICKEN!! This woman cooks her Pad Thai like a pro, with her daughter along side, making some of the best shakes Baht can buy. Her single flaw is the number of flies she attracts; obviously these are flies with distinguished palates.

1. Noodle to Veggie Ratio = 5
2. Overall Quantity = 5
3. Availability of Accoutrements = 5
4. Cleanliness = 3
5. Overall Flavor = 5

+2 chicken availability
Total: 25/25, a true champion reveals themself

That's the whole show, folks, and we think its obvious who the winner is. Before we close, we'd like to give honorable mention to the following vendors who wished to compete but didn't meet the neccessary requirements (no pad thai):

Our Falafel Friends

Our Mueseli Mates

This freaks us out, I ate a cricket, and I won't touch this: