Pathetic Declarations Card

When I arrived at customs in O'hare Airport I had to fill out a Declarations card. it asked me to list all the countries I had visited on my trip and all items I had purchased that I'll be bringing into the United States.

List of countries read: Turkey, Greece, Italy, Spain, France

List of items read: Spanish scarf, hip European speedo, Dry-fit sleeveless t-shirt, black ankle socks (3 pair).

Not exactly a stellar list of souvenirs there. I had accumulated quite a few good souvenirs along the way, but everything was lost when my duffel/backpack was sent to Kathmandu. As it was, all I had to declare was the few items that I purchased in Barcelona to get me through the week of site-seeing.

Everyday I'd walk around the city in the same patagonia board shorts, hanes boxer briefs, blue t-shirt, black ankle socks, and tennis shoes. then I'd shower at the hostel with said clothes and hang them out to dry while I hung out in my dorm room in my dry-fit sleeveless t-shirt and hip European speedo. When my regular clothes were dry, I'd change back into them and head out to a bar or restaurant for the evening. By the end of the week the process stopped working and I began to smell pretty bad.

The blue t-shirt was the worst. and luckily I had my navy blue long sleeve patagonia capilene shirt as my emergency shirt. I wore that shirt on my last day and my trip home and I don't think I smelled too bad. The picture above was taken at the Barcelona train station men's room just before I boarded the train and started my journey home. It was the last picture I took on my trip. It was picture # 900.

47 Days. 4 days in Istanbul. 7 days on a sailboat in the Aegean Sea. 10 days in town of Yalikavak in Bodrum Peninsula. 2 days in town of Bodrum. 2 days in Kos Island. 6 days in Santorini. 2 days in Mykonos. 2 days in Athens. From there, my travel companions and I separated. And my luggage and I also decided to separate. 6 days in Barcelona. 5-6 days of just traveling in between cities. And roughly 2 more days to travel home to Denver by way of Paris and Chicago.

I learned quite a few things about myself along the way. I also learned a few things about European culture and Muslim culture. It would be too difficult and tedious to list everything out here, so hopefully everything has been illuminated in the blog entries I've posted along the way.

Looking back now after I've been home for almost 2 months, there is one thing that stands out in my mind when I think about my travels. And it is how wonderfully heterogeneous and unique each city was that I traveled through. It is something that is hard to find in the United States. Every city here is un-remarkably the same. The architecture is the same, the people are same, and the culture is the same.

It seems that we could use a little infusion of character into our cities here in America. And since I am about to receive my masters degree in urban planning, I have an opportunity to try to help accomplish this. I suppose my next blog should detail that pursuit. Although, that doesn't sound to exciting. Got any ideas? I'd love to hear them.

Until then, I say...Serefe!

Barcelona to Paris to America

June 26, 2007. Spent the day in the Barri Gotic (Gothic Quarter). The Santa Maria del Mar is an amazing building. So awe inspiring that I contemplate converting to Catholicism. This would be huge for me since I don't really believe that Mary was a virgin. Anyway, I have all day to kill, so I stop at the Aquarium and then the IMAX theater next door. Boring $hit. Both places show me nothing that I haven't already seen before.

Afterward, I settle in at a cool bar with pizza slices on display. I drink Coronitas while a sultry Spanish lady sings on a CD playing in the background. First time all week that I've felt welcome to hang out at a bar/tavern/restaurant type space. I don't know if it is because I am American, or if it is because I don't speak the Catalan version of Spanish...or any Spanish for that matter, or if it is just the fact that the European culture isn't as friendly toward consumers in the retail world. But this little pizza slice bar is different. The staff are all enjoying the music, reading portions of the newspaper, and smoking cigarettes with a nice breeze blowing through the open front door. Cool dudes. And they made me feel cool, too.

I head to the train station on foot and board a 9pm train to Paris. Very easy and accommodating. Sleep well in a reclining chair. Wake up at dawn and watch the French countryside pass me by. Huge modern windmills dot the landscape.

We arrive in Paris around 9am. It is cold and rainy. Maybe 50 degrees. I walk towards the posted cab station. There is a brief delay when I was stopped by a couple of police officers dressed in street clothes. They want me to put my messenger bag down and hang out for a couple of minutes while their drug dog sniffs my bag. Along with a couple of other bags belonging to men that look similar to me; young, poor, and tired. I freak out for a moment while I remember all those movies I've seen where the innocent patsy watches a policeman pull out a brick of some illegal substance and then gets hauled off to prison while he screams, "thats not mine! thats not mine!" but then I calm down when I remember that I am not in a movie, and there is no way someone would be able to fit a large brick of illegal drugs into my messenger bag. It is way to full to begin with.

I watch the drug dog work with mild amusement and take the opportunity to chat with one of the police officers about taxi prices and subway alternatives. He says I should definitely take a taxi because there is no way I'd make it to the airport in time for my noon flight on the subway.

My bag passes inspection by the drug dog and I'm off to Charles De Gaulle Airport. 40 Euro cab ride, but well worth it as I just barely make my flight. Had to endure a 5 minute psychological profile before I was awarded a boarding pass. It was a little intrusive and strange, but the psychologist was French, so that might have just been his normal demeanor. And speaking with a psychological profiler seemed like a helluva lot better way for the airports to try to stop terrorism than simply asking me to take my shoes off and throw away my toothpaste. So no harm done.

I pass the test and receive my boarding pass and speed walk to my gate. (No luggage to check because it turns out that airline I used to get from Athens to Barcelona did in fact send my duffel/backpack to Nepal or Kathmandu.)

9 hour flight from Paris to Chicago. I made it back to America! So glad to be home. Can't quite explain it, but it has something to do with seeing five or six different restaurants to eat at just in the airport, and each place offering ten to fifteen different dishes for my enjoyment. Lots of food and lots of options and friendly accommodating staff. God Bless America!

Museu Picasso

My favorite site in Barcelona was the Museu Picasso. The Picasso family donated just about every piece of work that Picasso created throughout his childhood. His father was a painter and he realized very early that young Pablo had a great talent. So just about everything Picasso created was saved at the family estate and subsequently donated to the Museum in Barcelona.

I was almost able to snap off a pic of one of his earliest known doodles in a sketch book that was protected behind glass. The security guard almost tackled me when she saw me take my camera out. Never even got my finger on the trigger.

The collection was presented as a journey through Picasso's life. His earliest sketches, his first large pieces that he submitted in contests in his teens, his first forays into Modernisme, his fascination with color that led to his Blue Period and Rose Period, his creation of Cubism, and finally, a collection of work that he put together near the end of his life that was an analyzation of Velazquez' "Las Meninas" (The Maids of Honour), pictured at top. It was an absolutely astounding collection of work. Picasso created 58 oil paintings based on Velazquez' original. (My favorite interpretations are shown above.)

Picasso's interpretations of Las Meninas are dark and disturbing, yet funny and ethereal and illuminating. He strikes me as nothing less than an absolute mad man with an amazing gift of being able to convey his madness with paint and brush. And this ability somehow seemed to keep him grounded and even humble. He conveyed madness and sadness and fear and tranquility all while seeming to be a simple and humble human being. His paintings actually scared the $hit out of me, and at the same time, make me feel at peace because they show me that my wildest nightmares and delusions and hallucinations are nothing but bright colors and bold lines drawn out by my mind's eye. And when illustrated properly, as Picasso was able to do, my nightmares are nothing more than fantastic works of art that my mind creates for me every moment that I am alive and awake and day-dreaming, or sleeping and dreaming.

Santa Maria del Mar

Placa Reial

Mirador De Colom (Monument of Columbus)

La Catedral...under construction

...lame

Drawing and Sculpture by Josep Subirachs

La Sagrada Familia

La Sagrada Familia

Athens To Barcelona

June 21, 2007 was a long day. The morning began with a metro trip to the Acropolis and Agora. Back to hotel around noon to shower and pack. Another metro ride to the airport and a flight to Barcelona with a quick stop in Rome. I arrived in Barcelona around 11:30pm local time. A nice and easy trip with one big exception; my duffel bag with all my clothes and souvenirs did not meet me at the baggage claim as promised by the airline. Stood in the lost luggage service line until 2:30 in the morning. Never would have found it without the aid of a nice Polish girl that spoke Spanish and English. I found out rather quickly that the Spanish speaking world does not give a $hit that English is now the universal language. the first person I asked, 'Abla Anglais?' responded with, 'Poco'. To which I responded by turning to the guy standing nearby and said, 'Are you Poco?' Not a very good start.

Got thru the lost luggage service line and took a taxi to the hostel that I had reserved in advance. A much nicer hostel than the Athens hostel. Air-conditioning, clean sheets, clean bunks, hot water, free lockers, free internet, and free breakfast with croissants and cappuccinos.

I lock up my sole remaining bag - my messenger bag with passport, laptop, and ipod - and I actually feel a bit excited that I don't have to deal with the cumbersome duffel/backpack for the next couple days. That is, of course, as long as the airline did not send that duffel/backpack to Nepal or Kathmandu never to be seen again...

I put my sheets on my bed and finally get horizontal around 4 in the morning. Long day. Drift away immediately.