Europe: Recollections and Reflections

“Dude, you're in fuckin' Prague!”

That's when it hit me. That feeling that I was missing since the start of the trip finally reared its bashful head while I was sitting on a bench in a park on Kempa Island near the Malá Strana part of Prague. It was probably the picturesque scene in front of me: hundred-year-old buildings with intricately-detailed facades nestled into and between rolling, green hills; towering chestnut trees in bloom reminding me of Kiev, the calm flow of the emerald-colored waters of the Vltava. All this man- and otherwise-made beauty opening up to me managed to finally break through my unexpectedly jaded attitude towards where I was, where I have been, and where I was yet still to go.

The idea was hatched just about two years ago and that is how long it took for it to come to fruition. Various extenuating circumstances.. ahem.. friendswithnomoney.. ahem ahem.. had prevented my vision of a European excursion from becoming a blissful reality. Then finally the stars aligned.. ahem.. foundnewfriendswithmoney.. ahem ahem.. (dastardly cough!), the flight was booked, the hostels reserved, and the trip was on!

Amsterdam: What a city!

Its crooked houses, with giant windows big enough to fit a grand piano peer over the canals and narrow streets like watchful shepherds tending to their flock. Its seedy Red Light District, with every vice on proud display, delights you with its decadence. A feeling of amazement takes sweeps over. You wonder why it is that you do not fear for your life or property even as you are offered every hard drug imaginable by shady characters on street corners. Its cobblestone streets teem with bicycles running through them, giving the city its pulse. Its pubs and restaurants are packed with travelers and locals, all wanting to hear your story and gladly willing to share theirs over the amber glow of an Amstel or the warm, nutty aroma of a strong, proper cup of coffee.

The spirit of this port town is distilled from the warm hearts of its people. One of these that we were fortunate enough to meet was a 40-something rocker in a Screaming Trees t-shirt. We met at a local brewery that is located under a reconstructed old, Dutch windmill. The man recounted a tale about hist visit to New York City in the late 70s. His journey started in L.A. where he began a hitchhiking tour to the Big Apple. When he finally got there with nothing left to his name but a $20 traveler's check, he slept in 25 cent porno theaters in the Bronx, and loved every second of it. This story was an example; the one thing that you come away with when you meet the people of Amsterdam is that they know how to deal with whatever life throws at them with a laid-back attitude and a smile. You simply cannot faze these people.

Coming into Amsterdam I was somewhat unnerved by the fact that the excitement of being in a foreign country, away from everything familiar and dear to me had not yet hit me. I was fully expecting to be as giddy as a school girl, and yet here I was, in this ancient city, brimming with amazing people and history and acting like I'm above it all. Although disconcerting, I was not about to let my jaded outlook put a damper on this momentous trip.

Our days were spent partaking in the standard tourist fare: museums, restaurants, and coffee shops. One afternoon was spent visiting a lovely cheese farm just outside the city where I had purchased a 2 kg wheel of some peppered cheese along with some smoked. It saddens me greatly to say that the cheese wheel did not make it to the end of our trek across Old Europe. By not letting it out of its paper bag, the cheese was not allowed to breathe and sweat in the open air and therefore proceeded to grow pasty green mold to match its new, unsavory scent.

Our last day in Amsterdam was spent with each of us going our separate ways and doing our own individual "thing." This was something that I initially thought was the antithesis of what a buddy-style European vacation was supposed to be, but it turned out to be the perfect way of saying goodbye to such a wonderful city.

I decided to rent a bike near the Central Station and simply ride from one end of the city center to the other, taking as-of-yet-unexplored routes and re-visiting favorite spots. I rode through the luscious greens of Vondelpark, on to the bustling cobblestones of Dam Square, and past the magnificence of the Rijksmuseum. I ended my afternoon at a cafe by a canal where I enjoyed a banana-topped, Amsterdam-style pancake (washed down with a few pints of sweet Amstel lager), and a conversation with a couple of chaps from northern England who were motorbiking their way across Europe.

"Is that a small portion for you?" They inquired, looking at my pancake, after I told them I was from the States.

It was during my solo bicycle ride through Amsterdam, during which I was free to let my mind wonder wherever it may, that began to feel the pangs of longing for my love nipping at my heart.


Berlin: What a history!

It is easy to feel small and insignificant in this reconstructed metropolis. Its colossal, neoclassical structures do not embrace you with their enormous breadth, they domineer and intimidate. The Reichstag, Brandenburg Gate, Tiergarten, all stand as stark reminders of the deep and unfortunately terrible history of this state. Seeing all the monuments and memorials, I came to see that this city does not hide its past, but confronts it, and uses it as a lesson to the rest of the world; holds it up, brandishes it with a warning and a slogan: nie wieder, never again. Drinking in the spirit of this city, this city that was the stage upon which dreadful events were played out that changed and defined the 20th century, brought on a solemn feeling of connectedness with the history of my family and my people. This experience was made more poignant while walking the Straße des 17. Juni, while gazing out over the featureless, concrete blocks of the Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe, and while gazing upon the execution chambers and ovens at Sachsenhausen Concentration Camp.

Being in Germany and being confronted with these confusing, and mostly morose emotions, I wanted to ameliorate my internal turmoil in the proper, locally-accepted way of eating incredibly rich, artery-clogging, food and drinking an obscene amount of delicious lager. The food in Germany was incredible. I did not think I would ever get tired of eating delicious, savory pork in all its forms. Combining the savory flavors of fried, braised, boiled swine with the tanginess of the most delicious mustard in the world and the most incredible sauerkraut made me a very happy man.

All that was left to do was to sample the world-renowned Berlin nightlife. Just such an opportunity presented itself in the form of a Berlin pub crawl. Starting in a trippy "squat pub" my travel companions and I were afforded the opportunity of all-you-can-drink beer for an hour and screwdriver shots for the whole night. After downing a few skunky pints I felt much more relaxed and was able to sit back and enjoy the scenery that consisted of approximately 30 to 40, mostly college-aged tourists getting drunk, falling over each other and desperately trying to hook up. The night was pretty much awash only after a couple of pub stops as I quickly lost any and all desire to drink or get drunk (drunk people are much more fun to observe through sober eyes) and relegated myself to ensuring a safe journey back to our hostel for my inebriated companions.

One of these, however, developed alternative plans as he met and quickly proceeded to chat up some local, queer-looking birds—each one more androgynous than the former—and decided to accompany them to a club located in a God-knows-where part of the city. I pleaded with him to come to his senses and come off the tram with the rest of our pack, but in the end I gave up, no longer caring about whatever predicament he might get himself into. I gave up because I realized that I had nearly become what I had dreaded of becoming on this trip: the den mother. As it happened, Boy Wonder returned the following morning. He collapsed into bed at 0600 and did not rise until 2000, just in time to join the rest of our trio for a final dessert and coffee in that storied city. We made our way to the Communist-built Fernsehturm (TV tower) and its spinning, overpriced restaurant, and toasted to continued success on what had so far been a relatively safe and enjoyable trip.

We left Berlin on a rainy, miserable day. How fortunate.

Prague: What magnificent beauty man has wrought!

Our introduction to Prague came in the same way we acquainted ourselves with the other cities on our trip: via walking tour. Two of us—myself being one—managed to swindle out of paying for it in a manner where the fault was not entirely ours. We also took in a classical concert, enjoyed some lazy afternoon paddle boating near the Charles Bridge, and of course joined a pub crawl. Unfortunately this crawl was quite disappointing. We started out as a trio and quickly became a duo as a fellow had realized he had had enough and bailed for the evening. The remaining two—myself being one—decided to soldier on, but really it was a waste of our time and patience. There was nothing particularly memorable or interesting about this crawl save but for a trio of funny-looking and funny-sounding Germans, one of which proceeded to make balloon animals in order to try to win the heart of a young, Swiss girl. We left not long after his first poodle took shape.

Out of all the cities that we visited, Prague was the most difficult for me. The incredible vista views begged to be seen through lovers' eyes, and yet here I was, without the one I love, with nothing but my lonely, homesick eyes to gaze upon the incredible panoramas. Walking across the famous Charles Bridge, even with the crush of several hundred people, I never felt more alone. We spent more days in Prague than in any of the other cities on our tour because it was to be friendlier on the wallet (the Czech Republic has not yet converted to the Euro). With all these days to fill and not a whole lot to fill them with, my mind again broke loose from its pragmatic binds and I spent nearly every moment thinking about my love and how I longed to be with her. Although we were able to stay in touch throughout my trip via the Internet, it was not an acceptable substitute for the real thing.

I was in a desert. Each of my five senses ached to have their thirst for the woman I love quenched.

Of course this is not to say that I did not enjoy Prague, quite the contrary! Prague is an incredible city with a rich, long, and beautiful history. The city had truly touched me. It touched me to the point that I was so moved by what I was seeing all around me that I proceeded to get an incredible urge to sketch. My desire was fulfilled on our last full day in the city as I picked up some bare essentials at a local art supply store (all while deflecting attempts at ridicule by my companions), went to a park, picked my scene, and began to put lead to paper. I was not completely unsatisfied with the result.

Munich: What beer!

The people of Munich take many things seriously, of this I am sure. However, I saw first-hand how seriously they take their beer. It teeters on the edge of absurdity. Yet when you sip that golden, sweet lager for the first time you come to realize that it's not farce but brilliance. I enjoyed Munich. For me it was a toss-up between Munich and Amsterdam, but I believe Munich wins by a nose because it has better food and beer. Just thinking of the jovial atmosphere at Hofbräuhaus and the sheer enormity of Augustiner Bierkeller brings a smile to my face. Coming back to the wonderful food and even more wonderful drink felt like a homecoming. I love this city.

In many ways it was very appropriate that we ended with Munich. Despite the fact that we were one man down coming in to this Bavarian capital, and I was sporting a sizzling cold sore on my upper lip, it was a truly relaxing and enjoyable experience. In many ways the atmosphere there was very similar to Amsterdam, but with a more big-city feel that I found made me feel more at home. Having this sort of easygoing atmosphere allowed me some time to reflect back on all that I've seen and experienced—the vast majority of which is not recounted here—on our two-and-a-half week excursion. No matter how I tried to frame the trip in my mind, I kept coming back to the same point which I will expound upon here.

The trip to me was a demonstration. A demonstration done by me for the sake of me. My mind was catching up to what my heart had already known. These incredible sights, the amazing people, it all comes to naught if you cannot share these things with the one(s) you love. I believe that is also what motivated me to write this all down: an unavoidable desire to share how I was touched and changed by my experiences. Often, writing down our musings and reflections is an easier way to express the complicated emotions and ideas that bubble up to the surface than to try to explain them extemporaneously.

And so I share this.