Way down the shore

On Saturday, my girlfriend and I embarked on a road trip that took us to the most southern point in New Jersey.  So far, in fact, that it is below the Mason-Dixon Line.  As we ventured further down the Garden State Parkway, it seemed as though we were leaving the state entirely.  The only thing familiar was the hundreds of yellow New Jersey license plates also flocking southward.  A near three hour ride, mired in heavy traffic would be enough to put anyone in a cranky mood.  When we crossed the bridge and greeted by the Welcome to Cape May sign, all negative feelings were drained from my body.  Now, I was filled with excitement, joy and a yearning to explore this famed Victorian beach town.

Whale mural

If asked to describe out trip in one word, it would most certainly have to be serendipitous.  The timing of the trip was entirely dictated by chance—which despite being subjected to hours of traffic—proved very positive for us after we arrived.  I will mention these unforeseen occurrences throughout this blog post.  Our timing first seemed too good to be true as though we were being smiled upon by the day-vacation gods themselves.  Our first instance of good fortune transpired when we at last found ourselves a parking spot at Cape May Elementary (the only free parking in the area) and approached the welcome center.  There we were met by an affable Cape May Chamber of Commerce employee, who presented us with a map and information about the town’s hotspots.  Vince (our temporary guide) in addition to being very friendly, advised us to visit the bar/night club known as The Boiler Room because it was “kicky” and young people like ourselves would have a good time there.  We acknowledged all of his advice and vowed to check this place out, provided we had enough time.  Well-stocked with information about the town, we set out on our way.

We first traversed the touristy section of Cape May in hopes of finding some lunch.  Although we had left early in the morning, it was approaching noon and our appetite was rising.  Finally we stumbled upon Cape May Fish Market to sit down and have lunch.  We both ordered the thing you would expect at a seafood restaurant:  a turkey club and a cheeseburger for my girlfriend.  The meal brought out to me was of Man vs. Food proportions.  The triple-decker turkey sandwich was difficult to fit in my hands.  After taking in the shocking amount presented to me, it was simply mind over matter.  And after a slight struggle, I consumed (read: defeated) my meal.

On Washington Street

A big groggy after our large meal, we set out on foot to the Emlen Physick Estate, one of the oldest houses in the entire town.  This was the first serendipitous moment of many during our day.  As we arrived to purchase tickets for the tour, we were informed that the tour would be starting in no more than 3 minutes.  We hurriedly made our way to the tour meeting point, walking briskly on the seashell driveway.  This estate was everything you could expect of a Victorian Era mansion.  The estate’s grand first floor gave way to even more luxuriant 2nd and 3rd floors to what our tour guide referred to as a Seuss-ian chimney.  Unfortunately no photography of any kind was permitted once indoors.  Suffice to say there were many interesting artifacts, replicas, wallpaper and carpet designs, and reproductions that filled this enormous manor.  We saw original bath suits (made of black wool!) pianos, top hats, books and more in the house.  It was an impressive sight.  Afterwards, we lounged at the gazebo and plotted out our next course of action.

The Physick Estate

My girlfriend’s father was at one time in the coast guard.  Cape May has a U.S.C.G. station at the far end of town.  Thinking it would be a good idea to grab a picture by the institutions sign for her father’s stake, I suggested we hoof it out there, grab the picture and come back to the beach to relax.  The walk was much longer than I had anticipated (and the map’s scale had led me to believe) but we got a nice tour of the residential district and away from the beaten path.  I noticed that many of the town’s year round denizens were Philadelphia sports fan.  I walked with trepidation, fearing my Mets cap would conjure some sort of confrontation with the town’s residents.  My apprehension proved unfounded, but I realized that whether I liked it or not I was in Philly-country now.  Oh, and the Mets lost to the Phillies that day, so there was little reason for taunting on their part.

Eventually we found our way to the beach and as soon as we could, we slipped off our shoes and ran for the beach.  I felt strangely like a foreigner, enjoying a beach that was not my own.  It also made me feel hypocritical because I had so unabashedly mocked out-of-towners for flocking the Red Bank and the greater shore area.  I was Benny now.

Lying on the beach we closed our eyes and reflected on what a lovely day it had been already.  And it wasn’t even half over.  I was more interested in looking at the Victorian hotels and buildings than I was the water.  The water I had seen a million times, but the houses…they were incredible.  Even though I had taken careful measures to prevent sand from going anywhere on my body, I found myself covered in it.  After a thorough brush-off, we made our way to Carney’s to grab a nice pint of pale ale and some delectable steamed clams.

At the beach

We headed back towards the tourist area to pick up some souvenirs.  I had seen a navy blue Cape May hooded sweatshirt that I had to have earlier that day.  On our way back, we found the public library.  We had wondered whether the town would have one after seeing the tiny schools.  The library was just as small.  After searching through a few stores, I at last found my beloved sweatshirt.  Satisfied, we hiked back to the car to head west towards Cape May Point.

Several of Cape May’s attractions are actually located in the Point.  The lighthouse, Sunset Beach, World War II watch tower and nature conservatory are just a few.  We want to catch get some photos of the lighthouse (even though it was closed) before the sun went down and to watch the sunset on Sunset Beach.  We finally made it to the lighthouse (which is also a State Park).  We grabbed some token photos of the lighthouse and then heard the shrill of children.  We turned our attention to the source of the commotion and realized everyone was pointing and ogling the water.  They were all watching dolphins.

Lighthouse at sunset

Dolphins leaped out of the water as a small pack of them headed north.  We had considered taking a dolphin/whale watching tour during the day, but Vince told us it would be a wash.  The whales are all in Massachusetts by now, he uttered.  And even though we decided against spending time and money on the watch we were still serendipitously granted view of the sea mammals.   I got as many photos as I could, but most just turned out as tiny black fin-shaped specks against a dark blue ocean.

That’s a dolphin fin…can’t you tell?

We left the beach with hopes of catching the sunset at the aptly named beach.  Regrettably, everyone else had similar ideas as we had to park a good half-mile from the beach.  The setting sun was shielded from an unlucky strand of clouds placed just at the horizon.  So we were snubbed from our romantic sunset, but at least caught a glimpse as the fiery orange tinge faded into the sea.  We also saw one rare sight, the remains of a concrete ship.  Long story short, America ran out of steel and iron for production and constructed 16 ships out of concrete.  They weren’t very fast, but they somehow stayed afloat, with the exception of this one.  It crashed just off shore and the split remnants of the ship’s hull stuck out of the water, like the ruins of an ancient underwater city.

“It’s like Atlantis” my girlfriend said, as we stared at the nautical marvel.

Concrete ship

I spent some time looking for Cape May diamonds (translucent pieces of quartz) on the beach.  The setting of the sun (and possibly my girlfriend’s waning patience) dashed any hopes I might of had in finding any larger sized precious stones, but I did find a few fragments to present to my mother later.  Our long haul to the car was followed by an even longer wait in local traffic.  Eventually we found a beachside parking spot and set out for the Boiler Room.

Searching for diamonds

Enjoying sunset

The bar, which we thought must have been this tiny hole in the wall, was located underneath the very ritzy Congress Hall hotel.  We approached the bouncer, produced our IDs from our wallets and descended the stairs.  Below, I was met with total surprise at what I saw.  This was hardly the hole in the wall we had imagined.  Instead, it was a hip (dare I say kicky) night club, with an ample bar and stage for performance.  The ambience is best described as a Manhattan-esque bar that plays live music, with the tranquil neon lights fluttering on the wall.  It was both exciting and low-key at the same time.

Though well nourished by the clams form Carneys, we ordered some appetizers.  My girlfriend had the friend calamari and I had a buffalo burger.  Both meals were delicious.  We savored the bar food as well as our accompanying spirits (a River Horse Pale Ale and Long Trail Blackberry Wheat). When we entered the Boiler Room, it was a bit quiet and the band was just doing their sound checks before their performance.  This was our last serendipitous moment.

The bar soon began to fill up and the band began their set as we were eating.  They were a soul/jazz/blues band that covered some classics as well as performing some of their own work.  The lead singer was everything you’d expect to be a band of this ilk. The bluesman came onto the stage after the band’s terrific instrumental rendition of Oye Como Va to sing what had to be a Ray Charles song.  He was tall, old and wore a weathered face of a man who had done this all his life (spending his days on the beach and his nights performing in nightclubs and bars).   He was linen clad and was topped by a worn Panama hat drawn over his eyes.  As he sang he danced around in his chair as best he could; waving his arms to the rhythm of the blues he sang. It was all too good to be true.  We absorbed the pleasant feeling of the set and became entranced as the band played on.  Tempted to say this was once again like our Nick and Norah/Good Old War experience, I refrained from mentioning it (even though it really was).  We just enjoyed the presence of each other’s company, the band’s company and the experience of the day.  After finishing their first set, we removed ourselves from the bar (for fear of being hypnotized longer by the music of the bluesman) and set out for our way home.

Any other two-hour plus car ride home would have been a little tiresome and even annoying.  Still doped up on the high of our music experience, we conversed about the day and how wonderful it had been.  And it was truly wonderful…

Moonrise

Il Ritorno Romano

It’s been awhile since I’ve traveled, much less written anything about it.  This weekend however, I was fortunate enough to go on trip to Rome with my father.  It’s been two and a half years since I had been there, so I was more than delighted to at last return to the motherland.  Due to the lack of writing abut traveling; I will spare no brevity in this post.  For the faint of heart (or patience) I will not be offended if you stop reading only to recognize that I had a great time.  I did. For the rest of you, here begins the detailed account of my trip.

My arrival at Dulles International Airport was far from comfortable.  To those of you unaware of how I fly so frequently, it is because my father is a flight attendant.  Part of his benefit package is that, should there be room on the airplane, I fly for virtually free.  However, that small caveat of “if there’s room” has come to hinder many a family vacation and tips with my father.  This almost became one of those cases.  I was rushed onto this trip because next week I will be turning 25 and these benefits will effectively expire once the clock strikes midnight March 9^th.   So when my father learned that the loads for the trip looked good he requested I come along for one last time.  This also led me to question whether I should change the name of this blog.  I do have two more definite trips planned (San Diego later this week and then Europe in May).  I still have some wandering to do, so far now it stays.  Anyway, back to my story.  So when flying stand-by there is a risk of being bumped off of a flight and having to take the next one or just go back home. I am always mindful of the risk, but never fully appreciate it because I haven’t been bumped in over three years.  I came close.

Rather than explain the logic of the stand-by system (and lengthen a prospectively lengthy post) I will just say that since my benefits are about to expire, they have been significantly reduced in priority.  Essentially, people with lower seniority are seated before I am, even though my father has been with the company for over 30 years.  So needless to say, I was a bit nervous.  Right when I was about to plan on taking the next flight back to Newark, I was called for seat.  It was in business.  I thought that well if this is going to be my last trip, I might as well go in style.  On top of that, another stand-by was flying who got First Class, had overheard it was my last trip, gave me his seat.  So I went from not getting on the airplane to getting to fly first.  Not too shabby.  It may have been a bit unnecessary to recount the details of what seat I went in, but I just want to acknowledge that I almost did not make it to Rome in the first place.  So without further distraction I will take you to Rome.

Atop the Spanish Steps

We landed in the early morning, so a brief rest was imperative.  After catching a few winks, we were out of the hotel by 2:00 P.M. and out on the streets.  Our walk took us from Plaza Barberini to the Spanish Steps and Trini de Monti in the north of the city.  We descended the famed incline and onto the streets below.  Walking through the tight alleyways we eventually arrived at Caesar Augustus’ mausoleum and museum.  We peered inside the glass windows and caught a glimpse on statues.  Mind you, our goal was to see as much as possible.  So we proceeded across the Tiber to the Castel St. Angelo that was a fortress made palace.  It was an impressive sight.  More impressive was the vision ahead of us: the Vatican.

Below the Spanish Steps and Trini de Monti

Dad @ Castel St. Angelo
Vatican from afar

The closer we got to the holy city we noticed more and more public workers, a neon dressed group of men in women, either in sanitation or medical response.  Upon arriving at St. Peter’s, these neon spectacles were everywhere.  From what my father could gather, it must have been a public worker appreciation day, where they could all get to the Vatican for free.  Battling through the crowd, we entered the sacred site.  It was even larger than I had remembered it (I had been eight years since my last pilgrimage).   Everything was majestic, the ceilings, ornaments; even the floors were breath taking.  We toured the Basilica for a while and then made our way underneath the church for the tombs.  I was unprepared for what I saw next.

At St. Pete’s

Vaticano

I was expecting a few Popes from the earlier church days, maybe even few contemporary ones.  I had not expected on seeing the final resting place of Pope John Paul II.  It was obvious before I reached it, because there was a large crowd formed in front of it.   Most of the pope’s tombs were adorned in the way you would predict the highest-ranking officer of Catholicism would be.  The sight that all these people were gathering around was simple.  A basic marble rectangle with the Pope’s name, dates of reign, birth and death were chiseled into it.  Worshipers did adorn the grave.  There were plenty of flowers and folded notes to carry what I believed to be prayers or petitions.  I do not witness this kind of reverence often.  Maybe when I saw Eva Peron’s grave in Buenos Aires.   Such respect is something that people could appreciate, Catholic or not.  “A simple tomb for a simple man,” my father whispered thoughtfully.  After paying our respects and marveling at the grave of the Holy Father, we moved on.

We strolled along the side if the Tiber until we reached the Travestere, to see another handful of churches on our itinerary.  Though none of them could compare to the Vatican, they were inspiring in their own way.  First stop was Santa Maria of Travestere, the first church dedicated to the Virgin Mary in Rome.  We crossed through some very quaint plaza and past restaurants with red and white-checkered tablecloths.  We would have to return here for dinner.  Some of the residents had their clothes hanging out on the lines to dry, making it seem as though we were in a scene from a movie.  Santa Maria’s church was ancient and its frescoes were breathtaking.  In it there was a large bronze plaque commemorating the achievements of Baltimore archbishop James Gibbons, who championed worker’s rights in the early 20^th century.  I found this shout-out to an American to be interesting.  Even more interesting was a statue of St. Anthony, which was embellished with countless notes.  I had never seen so many petitions before, there were more here than at the Vatican.   Appreciating the power of prayer, we left for yet another church.

Inside Sta. Maria’s

Along the Tiber

The last church on our way was Santa Cecillia of Travestere.  We were a bit lost, but eventually found our way to the once popular convent. The story of Saint Cecillia, in a nutshell, is that she was one of the early martyrs of Rome.  So strong was Cecillia’s faith, the Emperor Diocletian sought to have her proscribed as an example.  The emperor’s agents attempted to drown her in her own baths.  They were unsuccessful.  She was later captured and sentenced to death by beheading.  After three blows to the head with an axe, she still survived.  Eventually she was executed, but the story of her survival was one of inspiration.  Her estate was converted into a convent and then a church.  The church itself is not very big, but under the altarpiece is a marble statue of the Cecillia, precisely as the sculptor found her, with gashes in her neck.  Although this description may sound graphic, the effigy is beautiful.

Courtyard of Sta. Cecillia

Sta. Cecillia

We were both very tired and before we knew it, we found ourselves in a café putting away some espresso.  With our newly found energy we located the Piazza de Travestere in hopes of gaining some nourishment.  Before that, my father wanted to show me the island of the Tiber.  On it was a hospital (with supposed mythical healing tradition) and a hostel.  We watched the street vendors and an old saxophonist play his finest tunes. Crossing the Tiber yet again, we at last made it back to the piazza we had been to earlier that afternoon.  The same checkered, tablecloth-donning restaurant seemed the ideal location for a traditional meal.  It was.  My gnocchi al Gorgonzola was unforgettable.  Accompanied with some local red wine the meal was everything I could have hoped for.  Dessert was topped off with a slice of pistachio cake, yes that’s right, I said pistachio cake.  After we could eat no more we made for the center of the city.

Isola de Tiber

There is no shortage of churches or religious sights in Rome or the surrounding area.  This entry is a testament to that fact.  Nonetheless, I did not expect to find such a large synagogue with in the city limits.  It was massive.  We stopped to appreciate the place of worship and its giant menorah and pushed forward.  We ended up at Campo de Fiori, which was filled with flower vendors.  In the center of the piazza was a statue dedicated to Bruno, a monk who had fallen victim to the lunacy of the Inquisition.  Despite being burned alive, Bruno showed tremendous courage, and refused to wield the cross of his so-called Christian companions.  What were Bruno’s heinous crimes that he had to be burned at the stake at Campo de Fiori?  Among his more prominent offenses were his satires, which he questioned the decadence of the church, suggestions to improve memory capacity and contemporary heliocentric ideas.  I know this is the second martyr I’m discussing in full, but I want my readers to appreciate the grounds of faith and courage Cecillia and Bruno possessed.  It truly is an awe-inspiring concept.  Without getting too tangential, I’ll continue with the trip.

Strolling through Piazza Navona, we noticed that there were few inhabitants of the otherwise crowded plaza.  We headed to a bar that my father knew.  The owner is a feisty Canadian who in addition for cracking jokes with English speakers, is also a die-hard Steelers fan.  All over the bar walls were American college flags mixed with Steelers paraphernalia.  After a quick pint we ventured towards the Pantheon.  I had been there several times before, but it was still cool to see at night.

Birra

Behind the millennium old structure was an elephant carrying an obelisk.  There are obelisks all over the city (the Romans had a penchant for borrowing form their newly conquered Egyptian subjects) and to see a different one was a nice changing in pace.  On the side of the building was a plaque serving as homage to General Jose de San Martin.  Anyone who knows me well knows my personal obsession with South American independence.  Some people like the Civil War or American Revolution, for me it’s the independence of our neighbor’s to the south that most interests me.  It started during a term paper in college and I’ve loved learning about it ever since.  So any recognition to the man who played second fiddle to Simón Bolívar, for me, was amazing.

Trevi Fountain

In my Argentine glory

We proceeded to the tourist shops and passed the old Roman Senate Building.    To think this was the same building where Cicero gave his multiple orations, or where Julius Cesar met his demise.  We later passed the Trevi fountain, which was also surprisingly quiet.   We stopped in a small cafe for some lemon gelato, which is simply the best.  We later deduced that the Rome-Milan game must have kept locals indoors (or in bars).  That, and the biting cold—it had dipped down to the low forties that night.

Pinocchio and I

Just when I thought my day was over I managed to twist my ankle on the uneven cobblestone streets.  I swore silently and hobbled on.  Cobblestone is very pretty to look at but a pain (pardon the pun) to walk on.  After climbing one of the Seven Hills of Rome we were at last at Piazza Barberini.  Our day was over.  We climbed up to the roof of hotel Berinini for one last look at the city.  Even at night, the city panoramic was lovely.   We both reflected on the day we had just had, and soon after at 10:30, we were in bed and fast asleep.

Hotel Bernini:  Roof View

Red Skies on the Tiber

Sunset

As I’m writing this to you now I am on my flight back home.  I was once again graciously bestowed a business class seat.  I have no idea how I will manage an economy seat to San Diego next week. I guess I’ll figure it out.  I hope you’ve enjoyed reading about my trip, it was fantastic.  It has served to remind me of how wonderful Europe is and also strengthened my resolve to finally learn Italian.  I’ve been continually postponing ti for awhile, but come the end of the semester, it is so happening.  So  thanks for reading, I bid you an arrivederci and will write to you when I return (much relaxed and tanner) from California. -M

Here’s a link to some more photos:

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?page=1&aid=2125079&id=18100495

Nero Wolfe and Spring Break

Greetings readers.  After having taken a long hiatus, I have found a few things to vent about, although it won’t be much this time around.  This should serve as a nice change of pace from my usual epically long posts.  Anyway, down to business.

My Reading Interest for Adults class has been unbearably dull and the readings exceptionally long.  Recently, I have been regretting taking this course, thinking it impractical and unnecessary.  That is until this week.  We had a librarian come in to discuss the finer points of readers’ advisory.  This is really why I enrolled in this class.  The librarian, from Denville Public, gave us some tips on how to conduct a proper advisory interview (all the while, I was having flashbacks to my Reference course), saying that we should not just give readers what we like, but really find out about them.  Now personally I don’t know any librarians who actually push their favorites on readers, but if they exist they should change their rhetoric.  After all this is a service-oriented profession, where we are hired to give the readers what they want.  But that’s not what I’m here to write about.

After six weeks of drudgery, we are now required to read a book of a certain genre and describe an element of it that we will focus on for the rest of the semester.  My element is villains, or more specifically misunderstood villains, like Professor Snape or Darth Vader.  So this week, my class section was required to read a mystery novel published before the year 2000.  There were many choices for me, really starting with Sherlock Holmes and onward.  Previously, we were subjected to read a book entitled Popular Culture Genres, which analyzed the structure of modern genre fiction.  In it, there was brief mention of a detective series called the Nero Wolfe series.  I had never heard of Wolfe before, but after talking to some classmates, it seemed to be famous in its time.

For those of you familiar with the series, you may want to skip on.  Essentially the books (a whopping 70-something in all) are about a detective team. Archie Goodwin is a hardnosed private detective under Wolfe’s employ, who goes out and analyzes evidence from cases. Nero Wolfe is a corpulent, rich and eccentric genius who has an affinity for orchid care.  Oh and I forgot to mention, Wolfe, in addition to constantly feasting and drinking no less than 5 quarts of prohibition-era beer a day, never leaves his apartment, sending Goodwin to do all of the work.  Set in 1930’s Manhattan, the stories describe the trials of the two men, told from Goodwin’s perspective.  Wolfe owns a private detective firm which seems to always compete with the police to crack cases.  The first novel, called Fer-de-Lance is splendidly written and kept me engaged for the whole time.  I did listen to the audio book, whose narrator (the fantastically adept Michael Prichard) managed to do all of the characters voices and make the book more enthralling.

My only qualm with the novel is that it is a product of its time.  The author, Rex Stout, does not have a problem criticizing members of other nationalities, (in Fer-de-Lance his targets are Italians and Hispanics.  If you can ignore that one small (and possibly insulting) flaw, I highly suggest it.  The series was so popular it was made into a radio show, television show and a movie.  Give it a shot if you’re into detective stories, I loved it.  It was very reminiscent of the Maltese Falcon, with Goodwin acting as Sam Spade, though Wolfe acts very didactic towards the young protagonist.

*          *          *

The only other thing I have new to report is that I will be going to San Diego for Spring Break this year.  I’ve never really taken an official college level spring break before so this should be nice.  My airline tickets have been secured and come March 11^th, I will embark on a journey of culture, Sea World and all the fish tacos I can eat (note:  the last two are unrelated).  The Padres season will not yet have started, but I can live with that.  I hope my next post will be earlier than my trip, but I can’t make any promises.  Until next time. -M

München

Hallo meine leser!  I have just returned from Germany and am filled with German beer, cuisine and exhaustion.  I will do my best to describe the trip as quickly yet thoroughly as possible.  My time in München was brief and enjoyable.  I will spare you a lengthy description of the long trip over there.  After delays and sitting in an airport for way too long, I received a business class ticket for my flight.  Also, during my time there I got to watch Minnesota annihilate Dallas in the playoffs and watch the first quarter of the Jets game, while receiving text updates from a friend while taxiing before take off.  About mid-flight (midnight EST) my father called up to the cockpit and the pilots informed us that the Jets had in fact beaten San Diego 17-14.  We both shouted for joy, much to the dismay of the passengers sleeping in first class.

After landing in the early morning and taking our rest (sleeping later than intended) we headed out to the Deutsches Museum.  The museum is essentially a mix of the Liberty Science Center and the Smithsonian Air Space Museum.  The museum was gigantic and we had only two hours to explore its holdings.  Most of our time was spent gazing at the impressive ships, planes and cars.  Among our findings we found an original U-Boat, various fighter planes from both World Wars (including a model of the Red Baron’s Tri-plane), dirigibles and a V-1 Rocket.

(In front of a U-Boat)

(A Red Baron Replica)

(German Fighter Jet)

After being kindly reminded that the museum was closing, we made our way through Altstadt or the old town.  We were searching for Peterkirche, but were swept up in various shops before we made our way there.  Daily mass had begun and were again asked to leave if we were not celebrating it (or at least, that’s what the German-speaking usher’s town implied).  We had some time to stroll through Marienplatz, St. Mary’s plaza. The plaza was incredibly well light and if it weren’t so cold, we would have probably stayed to enjoy it more.  Instead we went to the next logical place; the bar.

(Marienplatz)

At Andescher’s, we enjoyed a fine brew that is concocted in a remote Bavarian cloister.  We consumed everything; from the beer and house sausage to the local atmosphere.  It was quite a relief to experience something not so touristy.  My father, willing to call it a night was surprised when I stated my ambition to go to the famous Hofbräuhaus.  For those of you who have not had the pleasure of attending one of these beer halls, I highly recommend it.  There is usually a traditional, lederhosen-clad Oom-pah band playing folk music almost non stop.  The hall is so big, however, that the band does not drown out all conversation.  After having what I can for, a nice liter of dark beer, my father and I were off in search of dinner.

(Bier!)

There are many things that I miss about Europe.  The people, the fashion, public transportation certainly are atop the list.  However, the one thing I miss the most is kebabs.  Yes, this may sound crazy, but it’s just not the same at home.  I really can’t explain it.  But once you’ve had a European Döner Kebab, there is no going back.  Suffice to say, after a few beers my craving had been amplified.  We ordered our food and went back to the hotel.  Before I knew it, the kebab I was holding was already in my stomach.  Exhausted, I immediately passed out.

The next morning went by quickly; I was on the bus back where I saw the World Cup Stadium (the one shaped like a giant white tire) and plenty of hops fields.  On the flight back home I got to watch Mike Judge’s newest movie Extract.  For a blue collar version of Office Space this movie was a fun watch.  Additionally (with 7 hours of flight time to spare), I finished Azkaban, which was a nice treat.  Although I was impressed with the first two, this third installment was a bit deeper and easier to read.  I would have never suspected that Ron’s pet rat Scabbers was Peter Pettigrew, the wretched fiend who betrayed the Potters.  Other than that, most of the plot was pretty predictable, but maybe that’s because I’m 24, where the normal reader might only be 10 years old.  Anyway, a great read, I am eager to find out what happens next and if Sirius’ name will ever be cleared.

I hope you enjoyed hearing of my trip.  Unfortunately I have just gotten the impression that this semester’s work load is going to be very heavy.  With that in mind, I will attempt to persevere and post more of my daily life.  However, if it is a while between posts, please understand I have a lot on my plate right now.  Realistically, my next post will not be until my Rome trip the first week in February.  Hopefully that is not the case, but you have been forewarned.  Later. – M.

(Oom-pah!)