An Alpine Getaway...my power boost

Hey all!
This weekend, I met up with my old Canadian buddy Mac and traversed a bit of the Swiss Alps. It was a great 3 days. Trains, cable cars and walking was the name of the game as we got to the ceiling of Europe despite the weather forecasts. I had seen, with great disdain, that there was a heavy chance of rain this past weekend, which would thus result in clouds and fog covering the beautiful snow capped mountains at that altitude of about 10,000 feet. We woke up early on Saturday in Interlaken, the gateway to the central Swiss mountains, and looked out the window. The sun shone on a snowy peak far in the distance; a good sign. So we got moving, a 20 minute train ride, a 15 minute bus, and then a 30 minute, harrowing cable ride. As we went up through the first two stations, we could see green hills and houses. Once we reached Muerren (a town about 5000 ft up the mountains) however, everything dissapeared. For a good 15 minutes on the final 4000 meter leg, we were surrounded only by white nothingness and cables. Nothing else. Once a returning car was passing by us, but that was just a small glimpse of hope in an otherwise vast emptiness. It was only when we got to the top did things appear again. And did they appear. As we stepped out onto the viewing deck, the clouds, as if they knew we had arrived, decided to part and give way to a breathtaking view of the Swiss Alps. It was a beautiful day, with a 57 degree temperature not even warranting a jacket like it would in Texas. It only seemed proper to do UTD proud and whoosh at that height. And so we did.
George Lazenby, the least famous James Bond, shot a scene of his only movie atop Schilthorn. It seemed very 70s in nature, this Alpine station; inside was a wood paneled revolving restaurant, with mirror ceilings as you ascended the escalators; very classy. I could see James killing some Dr. No type here and then jumping off the mountain with some Swiss Bond Girl.
Nevertheless, there was more. We thought it was over for the weekend; now just a chance to relax. But no; we ran into a hotel with the most character I have ever seen. It was a building housing a hostel and hotel; the hotel was a reasonably named "Mattenhof". The hostel was called the "Funny Farm". The name fits. When you walk in, you see a ridiculous mix of people. Huge dogs populate the stairways and Mariachi bands are serenading a wedding party outside. A regal drumline proceeded down an old hallway at 10 pm to greet a bride and groom. This place was insane. However, the room was one of the most entertaining things I have seen; it was because of the TV (the oldest I have ever been in the presence of: I think Mac has a video of us trying to figure out the buttons), the bathroom (best, tackiest shower curtain and tiling) and the location (right above the Mariachi Band and wedding reception).
If this was not enough, we wandered into a wonderful little surprise. We decided to take a 20 minute, partly lost walk to our hostel from the West train station and encountered a crowd of people congregating in front of some fun looking building. We were immediately intrigued. Upon arriving, there was a crossbow shooting game, a Dulcimer quartet and all things medieval. We approached an information desk and immediately bought tickets to the premier open air reenactment of the story of William Tell, the father of Switzerland. It was a great performance, with the players acting right through torrential rain, so as to add more emotion to the situation. I could not help but be proud of this country as the cast sang the national anthem. I am not Swiss, but it felt great to be a part of this nation, at least for a short while.
More than anything, I got to reunite with a familiar face from back home. We talked about anything and everything on trains and buses and in the hostels. We reminisced and looked to the future. It was an escape I needed, a wake up call to be motivated to drive through my last month here in Europe.

The Little Things

Clerical work saved me today. I came into the office this morning and did nothing for 45 minutes. I just sat with a blank stare. Finally, I got the desperation to ask "is there anything I can start off with?" Thankfully, the database entry of Country Information and printing off reams of paper came to my rescue. It has been an incredibly painful 24 hours. Even going to the Medical Services in the UNOG and finding out I got bronchitis was something to look forward to; it was something to do, after all. Busy work, doctor check ups, watching Kurdish people protesting in front of the entrance and writing this blog. All a distraction, a welcome distraction.

I'm pretty lonely in Geneva, to be honest. Sure, I have made friends, but these people already have PhDs and Masters and at least Bachelors Degrees. I feel happy that I can hang with such a professional crowd, but it is quite an issue being the only one as young as me. My work, my laptop, my Skype and my drinks with the usual suspects here are what I rely on.

I just want to say that this is a wonderful town, though. Many people will say, "college is the best time of your life", and "savor this time while you can", and "when you're in Europe, take any chance you have to party and go crazy". I really don't believe that last one. I am perfectly content with the working life and the relaxing parts in the evenings and weekends. It gives me the time to reflect and slow down. I don't think personal discovery is aptly performed by living fast all the time. Thus, I like small, relatively quiet, yet diverse Geneva.

I am anticipating greatly the next few weekends; weekends I will get to see some fellow travellers from UTD. We need to connect, and though it is important to be able to be independent, there comes a time to be together. This is one.

Though it may seem extremely sensitive at this time, I want to dedicate this post to our friend David. He was a great guy, a great mind, and a calm demeanor. It was wonderful working with him. It was wonderful getting to know him. I will remember him as I last saw him: happy, thoughtful and kind. I will live to my fullest to remember such a great soul, and I will try to fill this optimism in everyone else I see. I will try my best.

Rest in Peace, David. Here's looking at you.

OM

Friends, Deutschland, and Rain

Hey everyone,

So this period of the World Cup has gone by extremely fast. It's already time for incredibly unpredictable semifinals.

1. Ghana should be there; I was so upset when they didn't make it. It seemed like they gave up in Penalty Kicks. What a disappointing way for Africa to go. Well, I guess at least they made it this far.

2. Good for Uruguay to be the only South American team to make it through to the Semis when we thought that 2 others would, and when all 5 went past the Group Stage.

3. Oh my god, Germany and Netherlands! Two of my favorite teams. What games you played!

In this post, I would like to discuss the joy of watching Germany get to the Semifinals amongst a big crowd. Since watching Estudiantes de la Plata in La Plata, Argentina, this was the first time I viewed true football passion in a year.

There are always reasonably large crowds (for Geneva) to watch teams play the World Cup outside the Geneve-Servette Hockey Club stadium in Vernets. It's a huge TV screen, much like the set up in many other cities around the world, with tents walling off the venue, selling latin themed food and drink. With the Rolex building casting its shadow onto the stadium, it's like a Genevois football paradise.

But the best part, the reason you are there, are the people. Understand, it was hot for Geneva, like almost 90 degrees, with that amplified by the blacktop. It was like Summer Marching Band again, except with more people and less coordinated movement. In any case, it was worth the sweat, because we (me and a group of interns from the ILO, some of whom were German) were right in between a cluster of German fans and Argentinian fans. Understand, who I was supporting yesterday was a difficult decision, but even though I was in Argentina for a month, I had been loyal to Deutschland for 4 years before that. So, I put on my Klose jersey and went to town.

The people were great. Songs on both sides, but I had to be unilateral on deciding which ones to sing. It's okay, because Germany had a lot, and we got explanations from Christoph, a german ILO intern. It was great discussing with people the technicalities of the game while still being fans with such fervor. That is what I wanted. And, at halftime, I saw a certain spirit of communal brotherhood. I went and joined a juggling circle with some people clearly labelled as German supporters and others who were for Argentina. Despite this we were passing the ball around to each other like we were all friends. It was the cooperation that I wanted proof of all along, and I got it finally.

4 goals to nil. I felt bad for Argentina, specifically for Messi, for having so many wonderful shots but no goals. But I was so proud of Germany for playing so efficient, for playing a style close to the Dutch Total Football of the '70s. All 4 goals were well deserved and well executed.

Klose got 2, and I was jubilant. I have been pushing for him this entire tournament; he is old, maybe out of shape compared to the rest of the team. But he has stuck with it the longest and has been modest about his work. There's nothing I could admire more.

After the game, the celebrations were amazing. We all ducked down to the ground to do a "Give me an A" sort of routine in the pit of Deutschland fans. And then we rose to dance around for about 5 minutes. It was exhilarating. And then, going out on European streets (obviously to a lesser degree than in Germany, but a good dose) and seeing truckloads of German supporters driving by and honking. It was great. It was European Football. My experience of it came to a climax yesterday. And I loved it.

One person said that "god waited for us to win to rain". Because right after we got out of the match, it started pouring. Destiny and fate still exist, my friends. It all just depends on whether you want to view them with having real possibility in our world. I just saw that as destiny.

YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS! OMG YES.

That is all. You know what it means.

The Mix of Emotions this World Cup is producing within me is RIDICULOUS

Ok. So weirdest World Cup ever.

-I guess after all that news of France refusing to train and Nicolas Anelka cussing out Raymond Domenech, they got what was coming to them. I only feel sorry for France, because as my friend Valentine said, "without football, French Patriotism is in the trash".

-OMG I am so pissed at that ref. You know. America knows. Maurice Edu, that was a brilliant finish. In every one of my stat books, you're getting that goal.

-Switzerland: the impenetrable defense cracked in the saddest way. Behrami should NOT have been sent off (let me mention here that this is like some business expo meeting thing with all the cards handed out), Derdiyok should've hit that goal. But that's in the past. Hopp Schwiiz against Honduras!

-ARGENTINA! The first sure success of my World Cup! Albiceleste have done wonderfully, and I think it will earn them the title.

Football is crazier here than I thought it would be. On Monday, during the Chile game, there were notices at all public transport stops to watch out for the River area because there were huge perturbations during the match. I saw a do not enter sign with a vertical line painted perpendicular to the horizontal white line to make a cross like the Swiss flag during that day. Amazing support.

Watching the reality show on Youtube, the Bud House, is increasingly entertaining. It's that stupid, no brain entertainment, but this is a novel idea for this World Cup. It's wonderful seeing 32 people representing their countries forced into a house to watch matches together, to sleep within their preliminary groups, to interact as humans as well as fans at appropriate times. You get to know people beyond their fanaticism with this sport. This is the wonderful thing. But it's also what I finally wanted to see; people going batty over their country's teams. I couldn't stop watching.

WEDNESDAY. Today. The day of truth. My ability to boast my country relies on this game against Algeria. Let's do it USA.

FRIDAY. The day of truth, part deux. Switzerland HAS TO beat Honduras to have any chance of going through. Go Chile, edge Spain out! Go Switzerland, score so many goals!

Less Frequent Posting Ahead

Hello all. Just wanted to let everyone know to either their delight or discomfort (I doubt it'll be the latter), that my posting will be less frequent now that I have reached Geneva. I will try to bring everyone up to speed on interesting things I see or do which I am at liberty to tell everyone about. However, I will be working on things, and therefore, this will bog down my blogability. Just thought I'd give fair warning.

DEUTSCHLAND UBER ALLES! Also, Geneve.

The first paragraph, with fair warning, is going to be spent by incessantly babbling about how great the German Football Team is. It sucks that Australia got beaten so badly, but I wouldn’t be more pleased now that I know it is by Deutschland. Yay for Miroslav Klose; I really think he’s going to hit the top of the World Cup goal scorers list this time around. I’m proud I ironed his number and name on my jersey at Euro 2008. Furthermore, I am raring up for a crushing of Spain. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t hate the Spanish team; I think they play beautiful football. HOWEVER, nothing can make up for the fact that they crushed my dreams of German victory during the Euro 2008 final. This feeling was similar to the one I had when the Netherlands got overwhelmed by Russia; pure anger.

Enough about soccer, let me tell you about Geneva. I love it. Free transportation with lodging, free internet everywhere, an incomparable mélange of culture. Furthermore, “Le Palais”, or the UN compound here, is amazing. There’s a supermarket and several post offices in there. It’s its own city! Only downside is no A/C, but you can’t argue about being across from the room where the League of Nations met. That’s pretty sweet. I work with some very laid back and awesome people, and I’m looking forward to meeting everyone on the floor.

It’s going to be very interesting walking around with people in their traditional national clothes; Indian diplomats in Nehru suits and African ones in their garb. It’s going to be interesting walking in every morning to protest. Today, one was going on that was dear to my heart and heritage; fate, I guess. It was a cry to the Human Rights Commission on the situation of the abandoned Tamils in Sri Lanka in the era post-Tamil Tigers. Being Tamil, there was something about this that I identified with closely. In an odd way, protest let me know that I didn’t have to feel left out here; the whole WORLD was here.

AAAH WORLD CUP

The past two days in Amsterdam, the city was festooned in orange for “De Oranje”. Usually, bright colors help one distinguish the shady from the safe areas of a city; it was impossible to tell there, because everywhere was orange. It has been nice to blog about my personal growth and the lessons I have learned over the past couple of weeks, but it is impossible to avoid the World Cup and football now.

Fast forward. I’m on a wonderful mechanism; my train docked in some sort of crazy garage in Denmark. We had to walk up a flight of stairs. It was like a shopping mall, or an airport terminal. But, alas, to my complete confusion, we were still moving. This, my friends, was the legendary “train goes onto a ferry” journey. I was so happy. I sat on the sun deck for a good 20 minutes holding myself back so as to not get tossed overboard amongst gale-force winds and incredible ocean spray amongst the warm sun. More importantly, on this ferry with its shops I saw a newspaper. It read, in big white letters, 1-1. This is the AMAZING start of the World Cup for South Africa. I was so proud; it’s always a shame when countries that host huge tournaments do not get to share the competitive pride with the monster footballing countries; this, at least for the slightest moment, is so refreshing. Up to date, no European nations have played. UNFORTANATELY, TO THE HIGHEST DEGREE, I will be missing the England vs. USA game, the most anticipated match for America, by being in transit to Basel overnight. I pray that Deutsches Bahn trains acquire internet capabilities within the next 2 hours.

In any case, the hype is huge. I now have two football special magazines: one in German, one in Dutch. Both incredibly hard to comprehend, both with their obvious statements. What I did see quite often was the prediction that European teams were to fare amazingly well, in that the only teams not from the continent in the final eight were Argentina and Brazil. The hopes are extremely high here. However, I feel it is too early to be disappointed that no one is blabbering sentence by sentence about the World Cup 24/7. There’s still time.

Stop! Relax, Outside the Box.

What do you do in a place where everything turns off at 8:30 at night? Just sit and ponder. Walk up some hills. Explore the façade of a city built up around rock forts and torn down mercilessly by crippling war. Oh, and maybe practice your French and marvel at the oddity of Luxembourgish. This, my friends, was my past few days. In the smallest country I have ever consciously visited (Singapore, in my infancy, only counts through home movies), I got to see the calmest metropolis ever. The streets were clean, people were on the whole friendly, and you could walk the city without a care in the world. Erich, Dionna and I, people of Chinese, Caribbean and Indian heritage, were stopped in front of a fountain to have a man take pictures of us with HIS camera. He then proceeded to tell us what places to visit. We figure it was because of our diversity that they had never seen before.

Despite being crammed by some of Europe’s most influential countries, Luxembourg is incredibly removed and all its own. Though Germany and France exhibit open-all-the-time stores with bustling nightlife, Luxembourg is the complete opposite; a veritable city that runs despite seemingly having more hours closed than open. I guess, however, this gives you time to slow down and find things that a crowd would normally push you through. In the Casemates, an underground fortress in the old city, we did an experiment with the diffraction of sound waves, managing to get audio to move coherently between two deep spiral staircases about 100 meters between each other. It was something we would not have thought of in a circumstance with visitors flooding through the claustrophobic caves.

In the far north of the country, in Clervaux (a grueling 52 minute train ride out from the City) we got to, practically alone, dissect one of the most controversial and acclaimed art exhibitions of all time, the Family of Man. We got to take the time to take an emotional journey to find ourselves and relate ourselves to these pictures outlining the elements of human life. It was incredibly rewarding to do this with no silhouettes drifting past eyesight.

The luxury of Luxembourg is its silence. Though there is a time to play and socialize en masse, there is also a time to be alone. In the ‘City’, we got to walk through, uninterrupted, the antiquated architecture and rich roads at day and night, just free to look about and keep our thoughts silent to the world, but loud within ourselves. I thoroughly appreciated it.

In other news, the World Cup begins in two days. Now that my intense relaxation has passed, it’s time to get psyched; I bought my Weltmeisterschaft 2010 exclusive magazine detailing all of the World Cup squads, groups and matches. It’s in German. My experience with that language is 6 weeks in 6^th grade, and a semester in Freshman year. Let’s do it. GET PUMPED!

Respect on all levels

Brussels is a wonderful city. I like it because it looks so ordinary compared to others that I’ve been to coming in. Graffiti adorns as many walls as possible, and many buildings look severely worn out with the exception of about a handful. It’s like revisiting the 1940’s, down to signs for the train stations; this is awesome, because it’s like being in a Belgian film noir. When I stepped off the train, it was awesome too; Brussels’ population is 46% immigrant composed, so nearly everyone looked like they weren’t from here originally.

For many, it’s still a struggle to be here; prejudice is still relatively rampant here, with African-based teenagers finding it difficult to keep current with school or envision bright futures. Many have been ashamed to bring their families to Europe because of their lack of success. However, though the museum at the Atomium said all of this, one particular detail made it seem less polarized. A large majority of the public of Brussels said they would support a football team made up predominately of foreigners. It’s great, in my view, that soccer, a game, gives people the strongest opinions of acceptance of a country’s people.

Furthermore, the interactions I saw between races was one of mutual respect; the 21^st century, though it is wrought with turmoil, is a time for social progress as well in many respects. What’s most important is that since it’s a very working class community here in Brussels, food stalls from various cuisines are always open late.

Before I came to the country, I knew that Belgium was the country of beers; thousands of beers come from here, with pretty much each town making their own (single or few). I thought it was particularly interesting how monks in monasteries make these beers; alcohol seems, to me, to be contrary to the holiness and piety. Regardless, it was a wonderful escape to go down to Rochefort in Wallonia to go visit some amazing caves and try the local trappist beer. It had a flavor I had never tasted before, and you could taste the uniqueness of the town in the beer.

Usually, I prefer the metropolis to the sleepy town, but this was different. There was absolutely no one in the tiny square by what seemed like the lone bus stop. I could just sit for a few minutes and relax. What made it great was that a wonderful shop with great food (fries and cheese!) was just a block down. Europe’s towns are very laid back but also manage to have thriving economies at the same time, which is why I was in love with Rochefort.

Finally, we ended up at the most anti-human location we could possibly be, the caves of Han (or, in French, Les Grottes de Han). I have one of the greatest amounts of respect for nature’s pure ability to create a masterpiece that it seems only the creativity of human minds could make with just water and time. These caves were massive galleries of art, comparable to rooms full of Picasso or Van Gogh. It was extremely cold, but the crevasses and pillars were warm and glowing.

Inherently, this post travels through respect and appreciation. I learned within a mere two days to respect something big, something small, and something nonhuman. We live our best understanding and putting effort into everything around us. Nothing deserves neglect.

It's not necessarily the biggest thing EVERYWHERE

So, this is a really short post. I just remembered something I saw on the way back to Dublin from Belfast. A bunch of people were on a field playing something that looked soccer-like. Me and my friend, Dionna, automatically believed that this was soccer; there were goalkeepers and everyone was constantly just running around. Our friend, Erich, was convinced it was closer to football. My arrogance at the moment however, with my following of soccer, phased my judgment. We then find out from a girl in front of us that it is actually a mix, a sport where you have to kick the ball after taking a few steps with it in your hands after passing. You use both the rugby goal and the football goal. I was utterly perplexed and humbled; I learned that Europe is obviously much much more than football. I always realized that it had great tradition in other sports (Switzerland, my home country for 2 months, can be proud of 2 of the worlds greatest Tennis players, Martina Hingis and Roger Federer as well as legendary Ski Jumper, Simon Ammann), but I always thought that everything was far overshadowed by soccer. Apparently, everything has an off season, and there has to be something there to replace the possible disappointment that failure in football may bring.

Division for the First Time

Yesterday was the first day that I was really forced to experience turmoil between factions in Europe. Dublin itself has wonderful architecture and plenty of people of different background just walking en masse in the city center and Temple Bar. It’s a really warm place to be, with no cars around and streets full of kind buskers and block upon block of old style pubs and taverns. It’s the Dublin I thought it would be.

This, however, is a big difference from Northern Ireland. Though it’s been quite sometime since the true hey day of the IRA, the marks have been left and there’s still uneasiness among the relative calm. Driving through the countryside, you would not know the difference; Ireland is the same rolling green throughout the isle. However, the first time you really know you’ve entered the UK dependency is with the road signs. Any trace of Gaelic has been erased from the boards describing road services and towns. This attempts to function as a sort of dominance over the Irish, or it did for the longest time during the “Troubles”.

The citizens here aren’t different from those of the South of the island, which is probably what made this place such a hotbed for so called terrorist activity. Our tour guides into the North spoke with a similar Irish accent and knew Gaelic as well. Genuinely kind people they were, like the Irish of Dublin. So why all of the hate and turmoil? This is one of the key places of evidence today for religion going beyond its proper realm and fully interfering with politics. Derry/Londonderry is the perfect display of the division. The Bogside is an area of this city where Bloody Sunday occurred and the population is primarily made up of Roman Catholics. There is a small block of land clad in blue, red and white where Protestants reside, sort of a resistance against the goings on surrounding the area. The murals of the Bogside are quite blunt and potently symbolic of the anger the public feels about the untied knot of the events of deaths of innocents. Though it looks like no one is fighting and people are harmonious, the appearance does not echo the same sentiment.

The same sort of idea could be seen in the mythical story of Giant’s Causeway. At first glance, this is just a magical feat of nature, the fury of volcanic activity at it’s most graceful state. However, when we examine the mythology, we see a feud between emotional giants, Ireland and Scotland. The story is that this causeway was build between the two isles to gain the love of a woman and to settle a dispute over her. In the end, the Irish giant prevails over the Scottish (for this sake, British) giant because the will of Finn McCool shakes the core of the Scottish giant. We thus see the heart of Ireland versus the physical strength but coldness of the British; a battle that can be seen throughout the past century.

Despite all of this turmoil, I had a cameo entrance of football make me feel at ease. In the middle of the Bogside, at the heart of unrest, were a group of children in their front yard frolicking with a soccer ball. Sport in general has turned conflict into civil competition, much like war was in the older days, where agreements were made about the fights. It forces people to exercise caution and sensibleness while fulfilling the anger within the most deepset conflicts. And, what I learned yesterday was that, inherently, it wipes the salt from the wound, though very slowly and with very little magnitude. Whatever helps is worth it, though.

The Dreaded Journey...but not really

That will never happen again, but it did need to happen. 31 hours. 4 trains, 1 plane. One disheveled American teetering and tottering through the sleeping and restaurant cars trying to find a home. The world of European Rail is massive and I was surprisingly so small within those vehicles.

Stockholm to Copenhagen was to be my testing leg; the leg of patience in which I had to just sit and wait and look outside. But that was fine; I had already fueled up on enough soccer talk to make up for the days past. I met a guy from Manchester, England named David. I had pondered us discussing football earlier in our acquaintance since we had been together in Stockholm for 2 days. But, finally, at our last breakfast there, about 20 minutes of debate spilled out over the ensuing mayhem. We discussed the England v. USA match of course, both agreeing it would be close, but each of us rooting for our sides. This was what I wanted; I hadn’t really found the true support, rather calculated and well-thought out opposition to national teams. David was proving my hypothesis with a cool demeanor; people do care about their teams. Remember when I said Rooney’s causing the stock market crash was exaggerated? Apparently it wouldn’t be so absurd to England; still pretty absurb, but not completely out of the question.

In any case, the first leg was a leg where I pondered what I accomplished while looking at the sea of yellow of flowers give me such a fond farewell to such a beautiful region. I was really anxious though; I have to say, one thing I dreaded about the train travel was the transfer waits. Hours with nothing to do; sure I would explore, but there’s only so much I can do, and I walk and absorb fast. But it was fine, cause next came the best experience: the individual sleeper car cabin.

It was a huge room, like a hotel, with its own key card, its own shower, with a bed. I was in awe; it was a jungle gym apparatus that spilled out into luxury. Inherently, this turned out to be very counterproductive; I slept much less than I should have. I predicted a miserable state, but a simple breakfast of bread made me feel better (did I mention how horrible vegetarianism is for carbohydrate consumption here?). In retrospect, so did the prospect of my next leg.

Brussels to London. It seemed like a crossover into another realm, because the UK is still part of the EU, but exercises American standard security. I had to diagram my life story over the next 2 months to the security officer at the Eurostar booth in Brussels. Speaking the same language as someone has its benefits and its negatives; though it was nice to finally say words after so long, the interrogative style was not my choice for resuming my conversational skills. However, I was pleasantly surprised on the train.

Two women. One of my generation, one of the generation of wisdom. One was city-hopping for short term work with merely a bundle of resumes, while the other was travelling to trace her family history for a book. One was French, one Australian. Despite the vast differences, they both were so damn interesting. It was a fun back and forth listening to Beryl (the Older Australian woman)’s stories of criminal family members in Ireland, and discussing the criteria for good employees with Valentine (the Younger French girl). As I left the train, Valentine and I had gained such a bond in just one hour that we decided to hang around each other for at least 10 minutes more. We parted with promises to keep in touch, one that I intend to keep.

For a while on this journey, I thought of losing faith in Europe’s trains. But, within this trip, I regained the vision of simple beauty. Trains here are so big, but are so small. You are forced into a set of four seats with two facing the other two; I think this was brilliant on the part of European train builders. It makes you have to get to know fellow humans whom you wouldn’t otherwise. Most of the time, this gives you faith and stories to be proud of. Just 1 hour of conversation in such a simple place did the same for me.

God bless the European Railways.

The Fondue Pot

Today, I spent my time in purely Swedish land. I was on the island of Djurgaarden and visited the Vasa Museum and Skansen, the first of which houses Sweden’s most famous war ship, the second of which is a huge open-air museum that claims to be “little Sweden”. It certainly does this. Today reminded that despite how small of a continent this is, cultures are vastly different. Shifting only about 5 degrees in latitude gives you new skin tone, new cuisine, entirely new climate and a language that is alien to the Danish I heard for the first two days. However, one thing that I’ve overlooked in this discussion is the unfathomable level of immigrant blood.

I’ve been to cities like London, New York and LA before: the cities where it’s clear that due to their locations on their continents as the first ports of entry, that people will immigrate there first. If it were me escaping persecution, destitution and altogether shoddy infrastructure, I would be afraid to venture too far in; best to settle in the first safe haven. However, in this discussion, I forgot to examine where I’ve been in the past week or so.

Copenhagen and Stockholm are both cities situated on archipelago structure with big bodies of waters seeping into smaller ones caressing the land. It’s just a little extra way down a rather broad strait made up the Baltic Sea and the North Sea. Regardless of this relapse in geographical consciousness, I was astonished, not only now, but two years ago when I visited Germany, of how many immigrants were present. Scandinavia has always been portrayed to me as the whitest place on earth. Snow, blue eyes, blond hair, and the whitest people anywhere. Within 4 blocks from my Copenhagen hostel, there were 5 Indian restaurants and within 1 block of my Stockholm hostel, there are 2 kebab shops. Arguably, the best food I had in Copenhagen (and the best Samosa I’ve had) was fed to me by a kind Middle Eastern establishment. And, I’m getting dinner tonight from one of those kebab places.

Like I said before in this blog, European food and culture is nowhere near pure; the purest I found was probably at Skansen today, with all of the farm houses, native dress and home grown industry. Even then, though, there were definite Dutch, Danish and other proximal influences. Everything is effected by immigration; Europe is the regarded overall as toe-to-toe with the [majority] of North America for safety and economic opportunity. So why not have them? If we know that their food is more flavorful at times, the people are sometimes more attractive, why not allow them to assimilate? Why did the colonial powers only move to conquer and usurp, but then scorn actions when the conquered try to become part of that movement? It kinda baffles me. Modern Europe has it pretty together; I must say it’s incredibly weird to see an Indian speaking Hindi one sentence then Danish or Swedish the other. But it’s refreshing not uninviting; it shows that the people are trying. Because of this effort, I think it has become more harmonious.

That being said there are groups regarded with low esteem such as Roma, Eastern Europeans and Africans in general. This is something that every region of the world faces however. It is just up for the continent to give these people space to show their contributive ability, which it is swiftly doing.

Anyway, Stockholm’s pretty much done. My next post will bring to you the joys of the European train, as I will have a foray into the voyage cross-continent.

Till then!

Will You Be Profitable?

The city is kind of a far cry from the car-party suburbs of Sweden. It’s absolutely beautiful, that’s the same; there are so many islands and all of them are so small that it seems like there’s not even any water between them. However, knowing how pristine the water is, it’s extremely hard to notice. Regardless of this, I learned a very important lesson here; I’m taking a break from soccer, because unfortunately, Sweden did not qualify for the World Cup.

There was a painting the Moderna Museet (modern art museum) that was an image of a classroom full of children looking intently forward, with a slate next to it. On that slate, written in chalk, was (in Swedish), the phrase “will you be profitable, my children?” (I am paraphrasing because I unfortunately already forgot the exact words). This struck me though; the Sweden I had seen before today was one of total relaxation for ages 0-99. However, now, I realized life is a lot business.

Going to the old town on Gamla Stan island and loafing around on the royal palace grounds, I noticed something as I went inside the buildings and looked at all of the artifacts. Kids had to be prepared to mature at the drop of a hat. Gustav III, as a 5 year-old prince, was told not to cry unless he was truly sad and to behave like a mature adult. At 5 years old?! Really?! Yet, this trend continues throughout the history of the Swedish Royalty. Everything is so structured within that family and the grounds are so big; at infancy, I don’t know that I’d be able to help not making mistakes with so many rooms and places and people to remember. However, this is what much of Europe is about.

Moreover, Alfred Nobel has left a shadow upon the children of the world to dream big things from their first days. His sheer genius and inventive spirit left a legacy in the Nobel Prizes that said “be profitable with yourself. Do something that’s right for the world because of your rich experience and mind and heart.” This, I think, is of great importance to me at my milestone period of college; halfway through undergrad, I’m beginning to wonder if I am profitable. And, it seems that the best way to be so is to give it all you got in anything you do. That’s my attitude for this trip and thus for life.

Man, Europe Knows how to Chill!

I met with the most beautiful bad luck today in Malmö. First off, in Copenhagen, I find that there is rail work that was decided three days ago in Stockholm (mind you, this is BEFORE I bought my ticket to that city). Next, after I have changed my ticket and decided to go to Malmö first, it seems that the station THERE has massive renovations underway on the track where I was supposed to transfer to Stockholm. So now, I am on the train from Malmo to a very small town called Höör, where I have to take a bus to Hässleholm. From Hässleholm is where I have a train to Stockholm. So, because of all this hassle, I figured I’d upgrade to first class, so as to work out the kinks in my neck and my soul. Yeah, I understand, I’m probably kind of a wuss, but at least I’m getting a serious workout and losing some weight with about 60 pounds on my back.

In any case, none of that describes how BEAUTIFUL Malmö is. Walking outside the central station to the bus station that closed at 12:30 pm (it was 4:00 pm) I saw a quiet town with nothing going on, but so much sun and cleanliness as the water reflected onto the glass that every building on the banks seemed to have. It gave me that peaceful easy feeling even with that humongous burden on my back.

On the way from Höör to Hässleholm, I experienced the utmost relaxation of Europe. On the way, I saw about 3 different old American muscle car parties, where people were just laid out on the grass grilling meats and showing off their cars. This stretched on across a good 10 kilometers, by the beach and just in the center of town. I’m thinking, what an amazing sense of balance. Here we have a European culture which (almost all of the time, at least) is entirely efficient with transportation and service, but the people know the best way to relax. I mean, they put internet on trains (exciting news, as this post will appear while I’m on it!) and are just, literally, as my parents would say, “lying all over the countryside”.

I guess what I’ve noticed today is that despite all of the travel trouble, which I’m sure is rare, I think I gained a greater perspective to love the free time of my life more: to dedicate myself to great work, and to love my free time.

I’m going to play around on the Internet and veg out on a transportation vehicle. Hence, my post ends here brief.

Hej daa!

We've Actually Come a Long way from the Iron Curtain

I can honestly say that yesterday had not even any hint of football around. But that was fine with me. I think yesterday was just a day to round up my compassion for those concepts that are different. The Copenhagen Zoo and the Statens Museum for Kunst (National Gallery of Art) were both forays into tolerance.

The zoo was a magnificent facility, with a wide variety of creatures, from the seals jumping up and barking every second, to the monkeys toying with your playful side right next to an indoor environment set to a temperature, humidity and foliage of a rainforest. Elephants also abound here; they are by far the biggest attraction, with a massive dome under which they live and huge roving grounds considering their captivity. Apparently, I heard, the Carlsberg Beer brand has a huge theme on elephants; they seem to be abundant at the factory here in Copenhagen and feature on one of the logos. In any case, we see that a creature largely associated with Africa and Asia can have significance in, of all places, Northern Europe as well. Normally, the zoo going crowd is displayed as a mob of gawking tourists who carry the animals as amusement. I felt here though, with the well-kept environment, I could see them as my own kin. It’s almost like I’m reverting back to my role from the musical I was in this past semester; in my background story, my character loved to go to the zoo and hang out and relate with reptiles, and I pretty much feel the same about my zoo visit yesterday.

Never have I seen an art gallery where juxtaposed on four floor-to-ceiling walls of, let’s say, 10 or 12 meter height, are hundreds of paintings from all different countries, encompassing the entire wall space. It was overwhelming the number of sceneries in one room; there are a few of these in the Statens Museum for Kunst, and arguably it would take a few hours to conquer each of these rooms in a much more vast museum. The Museum was a lesson in tolerance not only because of the variety of peoples represented in the collections (the biggest installation in the place is actually by an Argentinean), but also because of the variety of subjects that Danish painters took. It was interesting to see in the section about national identity in Denmark so many paintings of blacks and Arabs. I thought this was wonderful because it meant that the country, at least from an aesthetic point of view, was accepting these cultures as part of their development. There was one particular piece made of contrasting political viewpoints that I’d like to quote here:

“I often catch myself defending my own country. BUT DO I REALLY THINK IT’S THAT GOOD A PLACE? Or did I just grow up believing it is?”

“I often catch myself criticizing my own country. BUT DO I REALLY THINK IT’S THAT BAD A PLACE? Or am I just afraid of seeming nationalistic?”

In Europe, this dilemma seems to be quite common. But what really matters, in my opinion, is what scope of the people of the public use to weigh their opinions. To revisit football for just a second (contrary to the first sentence of this post), the majority of the French National Team is black though the population of the country is largely white. Does this mean that the team does not adequately represent the spirit of the people? Absolutely not. These are all French men who are playing for the same national pride as the citizens are supporting, regardless of their heritage. We could say the same about food; Nicolas, a roommate from Berlin, and me were talking about cuisine influences in Europe on walk. We came to the conclusion that the pure cuisine of each country may have some variety, but that these menus really owe it to immigrant influence for a large part of flavor. Copenhagen itself is a veritable melting pot, with many Asian, Middle Eastern, Indian and Africans living here; they all make an effort, though, and often succeed at speaking Danish and accommodating their culture with the functionality of the nation. This is the Europe of now, and I am happy to see that people are accepting that.

My trip pretty in this city pretty much ended with conversations across many countries about economy and food; the most exciting parts of the conversations were where something was found in common that we could all laugh and agree upon. It was Poland, Russia, America and Italy at one point trying to find similarities in cuisine. One thing I really love about Europe is though it has so many distinct nations and cultures, the continent is so small that influences are often across the board. People can maintain their cultural sovereignty but still empathize across borders. This, my friends, is tolerance.

An Old Hope In a New Age

Yesterday morning gave me the fullest view of Copenhagen that I would ever probably get to see within the span of an hour. Not only was I able to experience the architecture, but I was also learning about these buildings, and getting to see them from one of the city’s greatest resources: its canals. I had the privilege of understanding the scenario in Copenhagen and also, I feel, that of most European cities; a healthy dose of antiquity and modernity. On one hand there was the ornate, old buildings of Amalienborg (the royal castle), the old National Brewery (because water was so bad in the 17^th century, this institution rationed 10 liters of beer to each soldier per day) and the Stock Exchange, on the other was the Opera House (which is awesome because 5 of its stories are underwater), the National Theater and the Maersk headquarters (the windows reflect the color of the sky, and are thus nearly always blue). I got to just wander around the pedestrian sector near Nyhavn, the new port and see the shopping district, which is where I really got my first glimpse of a flood of red and white at the multitude of sports stores.

Football fever! It’s an illness I will never grow tired of. And neither will Europe; football, I feel, holds together the social framework of Europe’s nations. With a game so easy to understand, it unites the rich and the poor in a spirit of hope. I think the jerseys that stores were selling adequately show what soccer is to these people. In Copenhagen, alongside the current official jersey, a retro jersey from the ‘80s and ‘90s is displayed for the same price. Why? Wouldn’t you expect to be lower because it is obsolete? Absolutely not. The retro jerseys here reignite nostalgia of a Danish team to be feared and reckoned with; it reminds the people of a team led by Michael Laudrup, arguably the best Danish player and goalscorer of all time. Football is unfortunate, in a way, for smaller sporting nations, because this is not necessarily a sport where results can change with a fleeting glance. Whenever you ask people about the fate of their nation, they are pretty sure about it: there are usually never any “maybe” or “it’s kinda possible” responses. So, this being said, countries scrounge and scrape hope up from the times of triumph to give them the fervor to cheer for their country. What do you know, Denmark was victorious over Senegal in tonight’s friendly.

One such example of people’s certainty about their teams was displayed to me last evening. I met a girl from Mexico City who was studying in Florence and on a vacation in Copenhagen. She was going to go to South Africa for the end of the World Cup; you could imagine my intense jealousy at her glorious situation. When I, however, asked her if she was expecting Mexico to get so far, she responded with a puzzled, blank stare. After a few seconds, she firmly responded “no, not Mexico, USA”. I was taken aback by this confidence in our soccer team. Usually, the feelings about Mexico are heated against the USA, especially amongst Mexicans. But, if anything was learned by this conversation, it was that no matter how much national pride a person has in football, they are always honest with their judgment of a team’s true skill. This girl was no different; she was proud of the Mexican team’s position, but aware of their lack of skill compared to the US squad.

It’s really wonderful being in an environment where all one has to do to learn about something in Europe is look, ask and listen. Three simple tasks with clear spots in the brain laid for them are all it take. Now that two days have hit this nail firmly into my head, it is clear that this will be my process in this excursion.

Cheers for now, mates.

Feels like a week, but it has been a day

In my wanderings since entry last, I have seen more hope for my project; a 2 sides advertisement board devoted to selling TVs for the World Cup, and a small street court in the middle of the City Hall square. I also forced a child on a bicycle to bump into me, which resulted in an innocent smile from him and his father, which made me feel much better about an otherwise awkward pedestrian face-off.

The period since my last post has been like a good week worth of stories. I showed up at my room in the hostel, and though there were remnants of people, no one was there; bags were lying underneath beds, but they were uninhabited. Now, I am not a “jump to make conversation” kind of person, but as soon as someone walked into the door of my room with its five beds, I wanted to talk. I figured that would be the only way I could really get anywhere with this city; despite its multitude of sights, it seems I would have been at a great loss without this conversation.

In walks Joe, a man originally from Wisconsin, but someone who has lived around Europe for over two decades. We talked about the economy back home, the politics in Europe, and the pace of life and food in this continent. It was a great insight at this, the gateway of my trip, of what to expect. One of the quotes I will keep from this entire experience came from him, stemming from a discussion of my laziness to cook back in Dallas: “You have all the time in the world, but no time to waste. Just do it”. As soon as I heard it, I knew it was one of those all encompassing life philosophies that I’d have to adopt in Europe. All the planning of my trip was complete; it was all about going with the continent’s flow from now on. On a more specific note, he told me to avoid the area around the most visited tourist site, the Little Mermaid of Hans Christian Andersen; apparently it’s in Shanghai for the World Expo. In any case, that gives me time to just walk into a beautiful accident of an experience. So, I’ll take it.

All you have to do in Europe, no matter who the person, is ask and/or respond. I was just sitting in the hostel lobby, eating a sandwich and heard these American accents (more than faintly, mind you, because I had been disappointing in my ability to identify the languages people spoke until then). So, I decided to be the most out of character for what I had learned about strangers, and walk up and invade their table. I had walked into more of a mélange than I thought; a Canadian, an American and an Australian. My fellow countryperson was working as a graphic designer in the city, and the two others were well-traveled backpackers. I had merely mentioned that this was my first day in Copenhagen and they were all raring to take me out. It was the best first night I could’ve asked for.

We spent about 4 hours discussing differences between America and Australia, comparing them to Europe and just shooting the breeze in general. Being the devoted surveyor that I am, I planted a few questions and comments about my quest for the essence of football here. I heard a story from the Australian, Andrew, about some Germans in Dresden plotting with all seriousness and great fervor to murder the man who injured Michael Ballack, Germany’s captain (even though the guilty party was a German himself, NOTHING excuses taking out the driving force of a powerhouse national team). Furthermore, I got to talk about cricket seriously for the first time since I was at home with my dad, which got me more excited than anything could at that moment.

My motto or adage from this post, I guess, is to not be afraid to wander towards the familiar in this continent. In some cases, their experience or lack thereof can tell you more about Europe than your journeys or the citizens of the countries. All you have to do is talk.

Copenhagen: this is really overwhelming.

First off, the airport is a city. Actually, scratch that. It seems ALL airports are this way here. Amsterdam's Schiphol is about the same way; I may have speed walked about a mile before I got to where I needed to be. This is good; I may not be able to play soccer this summer that much, but the walking will more than make up for this. As I got off the train to begin a several block jaunt to my hostel, the architecture change between North America and Europe was pretty much immediate; I could probably be correct in assuming that the average age of buildings here is about 150 to 200 years. It's as close to a time machine as I could get, in my opinion; never has the transformation been that immediate. It's beautiful, sunny, and a perfect 64 degrees Fahrenheit, a joy for a Danish summer. It'll be great to work off the allergies I definitely did not earn happily on the 8 hour sleepless plane ride to Amsterdam.

However, contrary to my hypothesis, the football atmosphere isn't as crazy as I thought it would be. This is a wonderful opportunity; I am now in a country that has not been to the World Cup in 8 years but is finally back. It's a little dissapointing that I haven't seen any ads hinting towards triumph in South Africa yet...however as I just typed this, I saw a great publicity ad on Denmark's VH1 channel that did the trick-- Kaka (Brazil), Messi (Argentina) and Drogba (Ivory Coast) all running around amongst South African children in a savannah wearing Nelson Mandela-esque shirts. My hopes have risen!

In any case, I am typing against the clock--20 minutes of internet! Aah! As great as the culture here is, I'm going to have to get used to the economic changes here. It makes sense though; the scares with Greece and Portugal are making every EU country scrape for money, everywhere possible. So, I type with empathetic swiftness. It's okay, because I have a wonderful, breathtaking view of the Copenhagen harbor from my hostel room. Bliss, surely.

Within a day, I will have a more constructive post!

Ciao!

The First Question: Why?

So, it's important to say that I delayed my trip to Europe by 9 days. Initially, I was moving out of my apartment in Richardson on Thursday and in Geneva by the approaching Monday. For what I was planning, that was too little time. I needed to ground myself; I probably wouldn't have got the beginning of my trip that I wanted had I left so early.

It begins with a simple gathering of some friends on a thoroughly scalding weekend in Austin. At high noon, a few of us went to play some soccer at Zilker Park, where festivals such as ACL are held. There were several groups already well into intense matches between foldable goals. So we joined; and we were obliterated by the heat but still ran to gather the rolling ball. Finally, when the big group left to go watch the Champions League final (which unfortunately, my team, Bayern Munich, lost), it was just me and one other friend.

We opted to shed our high tech cleats and socks to reveal outrageous tan lines. But, right at that moment, 6 other friends showed up. Not wanting to upset the vibe, we got up and kicked around the ball, barefoot. We stood in a circle and juggled the soccer ball in the air as we discussed who would progress in this year's World Cup.

This experience -- being amongst friends, the chatting, the barefoot play -- made me think of the true point of this sport. We were all there to socialize with the bare minimum of resources: our feet and one ball. How could something so simple captivate almost the entire planet? This past weekend, I think I regained an outlook for my trip this summer. Yes, I am going to be interning in Geneva, but at the same time, the World Cup will always be a constant theme playing in the forefront of my mind, and the mind of my 'countrymen' for 2 months.

So, my task for myself is to examine how soccer is shaping the culture of those not rich enough to score the choice seats in the stadiums of Johannesburg and Cape Town, but to see the fervor with which fans at home take this sport. It is war on peaceful ground, this game; I urge anyone who thinks otherwise to watch the new Nike Football advertisement. Brilliantly done, with some cinematic exaggerations (Wayne Rooney alone clearly can't ruin Britain's economy), it illustrates what soccer means for Europe. Though this is true year round, I thought, what better time to examine it than now.

A link to the "Write the Future" Ad:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=idLG6jh23yE

Now that I have had all my bags packed for a week and my affairs in Switzerland are in order, I am awaiting the arrival of Tuesday, when I leave for Copenhagen, in the heart of one this year's World Cup contenders, Denmark.