Days 12-13, The Train Ride

“There is a hill. It’s not very tall, but it is a lush green and it rolls across the horizon. There are trees with thick, bristly coats whizzing by. A pack of curious half-timbered houses with thatched roofs take shape in the distance and I wonder what kind of people live there. Behind them, the sun is already setting and the sky is blue-ish yellow, with a streak of red along the horizon. I’m listening to Bob Dylan because a good friend told me that is what she pictures when she thinks of riding a train across Europe. I don’t know exactly where I am – somewhere in Western Germany, or possibly still in Belgium, I don’t really care. This is one of the coolest moments of my life.”

I wrote that over a thousand miles ago. I’m so damned sick of trains now that when I pulled open my laptop and read the last paragraph I almost vomited on my sweaty, stained t-shirt. I haven’t showered in 3 days. Last night I slept on a plastic chair in a mission at the Frankfurt train station. I have been “en route” for 45 hours so I could get to Munich for Oktoberfest by Monday, so that I could enjoy Berlin for 2 days, so that I could reach Poland by the weekend. I’ve really been packing it in. Yesterday alone I visited 4 countries. Of course I will tell you about them, with a nice little picture for each description. But after this, I’m going to slow down for a bit and catch my breath, maybe stay somewhere for a week. Who knows.

Brussels, Belgium
I met up with a friend in Amsterdam and together we began our journey across the European countryside. We visited Brussels during a 45 minute train stop. The capital of Belgium, the small country sandwiched between Europe’s major powers and famous for fine food, chocolate and beer, Brussels is a charming town with cobblestone streets, Art-Vouveau architecture, elegant chocolate shops and the Grand Palace, one of the most beautiful plazas in Europe.



The Grand Palace is all we really expected to see in such a short time, but along the way we stopped in a chocolate shop at the Galeries St Hubert, Brussels’ best shopping arcade. It is here that I discovered that the Praline was invented in Brussels. I’ll take 10.






At the Grand Palace I immediately fixated upon the magnificent Gothic-style Hotel De Ville. I read later that this was the only building to escape bombardment by the French in 1695, ironic because it was the main target. The remaining three sides of the plaza are made up mostly of ancient guildhalls adorned with statues and symbols. In the center of the plaza is an open-air market selling fruits, foods and trinkets. It is telling that where most food stands sell hot dogs or kababs, Brussels' food stands sell Escargot. I’ll take 10.

A block down the road was a concentration of brasseries with large outdoor seating areas. The tables were packed and everyone was drinking Stella. I’ll take 10 (Kidding!). Stella is one of my favorite beers and I would have liked to sit and enjoy one right there, but I had a train to catch.

Luxembourg City, Luxembourg


Luxembourg City is rumored to be one of Europe’s most picturesque cities, positioned high on a promontory overlooking the Petrusse and Alzette rivers. We took a stroll down the Chemin De La Corniche, a promenade overlooking a sprawling, forested park, both rivers and the bridges that cross them, and a mountain top castle. It’s unique topography has made Luxembourg City eagerly sought after by neighboring countries and in 400 years the fortified city has been devastated and rebuilt more than 20 times.

Luxembourg City’s pace of life is “relaxed”, according to Lonely Planet’s Europe Guide. According to me, it’s dead. On Saturday night, 7PM, the plazas were empty, the shop keepers packing up, the restaurants closed. Luxembourg City’s loose financial regulations make it a banking city and its central location between France and Germany make it a good base point for which to explore Europe. I guess that’s why everybody leaves on the weekends. “When in Rome, do as the Romans”, I thought, and then I left.

Koblanz, Freiburg and the Rhine Valley

The last stop and fourth country of the day (we started in Amsterdam remember), we arrived late in Koblanz and quickly enjoyed a Bratwurst in the main plaza before calling it an early night. The town itself was not of enormous interest to us, but it is nestled at the point where the Rhine and Mosel rivers meet and German wine country begins. The next day we embarked on a boat tour down the Rhine, enjoying several regional wines, stopping for lunch in the small castle town of Bacharach, and then boarding yet another train to Frieburg. Freiburg is a college town and a great place to walk around and eat dinner in a local pub, which is exactly what we did. On a tight schedule and aiming to make it to Octoberfest early the next day, we boarded a late train for Munich. Unfortunately, we failed to realize there was a 4 hour stopover in Frankfurt, from 1AM - 5AM. Luckily there was a mission that took pity and let us crash on their plastic chairs for the night. Best plastic chair sleep I've ever had, seriously.

We where pretty tired when we pulled into Munich at 8AM, but there was a bench in a giant tent with our names on it so we dropped our bags off and headed to Theresienwiese meadows for Oktoberfest.

See the rest of my Brussels, Luxembourg and Germany pictures here

Amsterdamnit I Lost My Camera

I took some of the best pictures I have ever taken in Amsterdam, but I lost my camera so I can’t show them to you. At least I was able to pull some from a friend’s camera. The first thing I did when I noticed it was missing was check my bag and my coat repeatedly. I think it’s funny how when you lose something you keep looking in the same places over and over again.

Not having a camera on a trip is unsettling. When I arrive at a historic landmark I don’t know what to do. I suppose I could just enjoy the view, but I don’t get the same sense of accomplishment without the picture. Pictures are like stamps on a passport in that way. You don’t need them to enjoy a new place, but it’s nice having the proof.

The Bulldog Hotel is the 3rd best hostel in the world and my home base for 3 days. The atmosphere is boisterous, with throngs of party-minded tourists coming and going at all hours. There is a bar/lounge with a pool table and TV next to the lobby where most people congregate before hitting the town. There are 12 people per room and of those 12, 2 are going to be very loud snorers. 4 won’t come home until 5 AM and 2 will get up at 7AM. 1 will have caught some travel bug and cough, sneeze, sniffle, hock and spit all night. 1 will walk around in underwear and 1 you will never see. The other person is you. Going to bed very late and very tired is almost the only way to get a decent night of sleep. But everybody is friendly and approachable and if you are traveling alone and want to make friends it will never be easier.

I’ve written three paragraphs about Amsterdam without mentioning pot or prostitution, but these trademark associations are integral to the city’s culture. It’s fascinating to see a society that not only accepts, but also embraces the two. In the famed Red Light District, bikini-clad women stand in front of glass windows and beckon passer-byers to come in. On nearly every corner you will find coffee shops where pot purveyors can purchase several strands of marijuana, with descriptions of what type of “high” you can expect. Of course it gets abused by tourists acting like college freshman on their first weekend away, consuming anything they can get their hands on just because they can. But the city functions just fine despite its “sinful” ways. It’s too bad, I think, because Amsterdam has so much more to offer than sex and drugs.

There are lovely canals that snake throughout the city with cobblestone bridges from which to stand and watch the gondolas passing by. There are remarkable plazas with renaissance-style buildings and cathedrals scattered throughout the city center. The Vincent Van Gogh museum tells a wonderful story of his life, starting with an exhibit of the artists he was influenced by, followed by a collection of most of his work, and finishing with works from the artists that he influenced. Of the 200 or so Van Gogh works on display, my favorite was the Bedroom, which was originally created as an exercise in color selection.

Van Gogh had ample inspiration growing up in Amsterdam. Canals and renaissance architecture aside, the people of Amsterdam move about whimsically, dressed colorfully, wearing eccentric hats and shoes, riding bicycles with baskets filled with fruit and bread loaves. The graffiti is world class: never crowded, matching in color and design to the buildings they live on. Amsterdam is one of those places where you have to remind yourself that real people live here. That’s how capricious it is.

Above all, Amsterdam is a social place. Nobody goes to Amsterdam for a quiet and relaxing weekend. The city has 2 of the top 10 hostels in the world and most people I met were on their own soul-searching, epiphany begging world-gallivanting expedition. Conversations generally follow the same path: where are you from, where are you going, how are you in a position in life to do this? Most people, like me, found themselves without a job, a lease, or a girlfriend and just decided to hit the road. As far as the unemployed go, we are the luckiest in the world.

My last day in Amsterdam I was eating breakfast and a guy I met told me that somebody had found my camera at a nearby bakery. Unfortunately, he had left that morning and did not leave the camera at the front desk. It got me thinking about whether the criminal makes the opportunity, or the opportunity the criminal. Here’s a guy who found himself in a situation where theft is easier than not thieving – it’s easier to keep the camera than to mail it back. However, that camera has all my Europe pictures and is far more valuable to me than to him. I sure hope he takes the high road.

See the rest of my Amsterdam pictures at http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2567795&id=6016496&l=00f23f2cb2

Days 6-7, Galway, The Cliffs of Moher, and the Practice of Expectation Setting

The day before I left Dublin I was sitting in Johnny Fox’s, Ireland’s most famous pub, deciding where to go next. Belfast, an industrial city in Northern Ireland and ground zero for the sectarian conflict that divided Ireland’s Roman Catholics and Protestants from 1969 to the late 1990’s, had the historical edge. Galway, a college town on the western coast and the entryway to the world famous Cliffs of Moher, had the natural beauty and mysticism edge. History is very interesting, but who doesn’t love sheer cliffs? I love how dramatic they are. Don’t the best battles always happen on a cliff? As a kid I remember watching the battle between Inigo Montoya and Westley in The Princess Bride. They filmed that scene at the Cliffs of Moher you know. At that moment the bar duo began playing the famous Irish jig Galway Girl and I decided I was going to Galway to see the Cliffs of Moher.

Galway is nicely organized, with the Eyre Plaza a few steps from the train station and Shop Street, the central artery of this bustling college town, stretching out from there, a 15-minute walk down cobblestone streets contained by shops, pubs and restaurants. The typical Galway meal is seafood chowder, brown bread, and a Guinness, which I enjoyed several times. Ireland is a music country through and through and Galway plays first chair. Every pub, restaurant and street corner had live music, and every musician was talented.

It was pouring rain in Galway and everybody I asked told me not to waste my time with the Cliffs of Moher; I wouldn’t be able to see anything. I went to sleep considerably upset about this as I had come a long way for those damned cliffs. When I awoke Tuesday morning, however, the sky was blue. I shot out of bed, looked at my watch, decided I could still make the tour and dashed to the bus station. Cliffs of Moher, here I come!

2 hours later our bus rumbled down the rocky path towards the cliffs and came to a halt. The doors opened and I popped out, camera in hand, smile on my face, extra bounce in my step. This was going to be awesome.

I reached the main ridge, rounded the corner, and came to a stop. There they were, the Cliffs of Moher, right in front of me. A thought bubbled up from inside of me and trickled out of my mouth. “Oh no. I’m disappointed”.

“That’s ok” I assured myself. “I can make this work. I’ll throw on some good music. I’ll walk along the main ridge. I’ll write a Haiku. This moment is special!” I insisted. Disappointment.

It’s not that the cliffs weren’t spectacular with their precipitous, black face towering 700 feet over white-capped water. It’s that my expectations were too high. I had built the cliffs up in my mind to be thousands of feet tall, soaring into the clouds and staring angrily down at the world and the sea. I had expected to arrive at these cliffs and achieve clarity of mind, to reflect on my questions and decisions and to find answers and results.

This isn’t the first time I’ve set faulty expectations; it’s a tricky practice. Set them too high and you will disappoint people. Set them too low and you aren’t operating with enough ambition. Set accurate expectations and you will build trust and reliability among your colleagues. My brother thinks accurate expectation setting is one of the most important qualities of successful people.

Does setting accurate expectations make you happier though? That is an interesting question. Meeting expectations makes me happy, so setting low expectations should help me meet my expectations more often. That would make me happier in the short term, but I would fail to meet my long-term goals. Setting higher expectations would push me to operate at a higher level. I would get more done, but I would never be satisfied with the results. What do I expect of myself for the rest of my life?

I pondered this for an hour with music in my ears, then abruptly stood up and walked back towards the bus. Whatever I’m searching for isn’t here. Next stop Amsterdam.

*Note: I lost my camera in Amsterdam, along with my Galway pictures! More about that in my next post.

The (Drinking) Culture of Ireland

Some places are better known for their historical and cultural elements and others for their ideality for partying. Dublin is unique in that its defining cultural elements are pubs, breweries and distilleries. I take back what I said about not caring for museums.

I took the ferry into Dublin and arrived Friday evening. I wandered along the River Liffey, which splits Dublin into North and South, and marveled at pub after pub, from which the cheers and laughs of exultant Irish could be heard. I settled into one at random and ordered my first Guinness. By the end of the trip it would be my favorite beer. A couple of hours and a few Karaoke songs later, I met up with my guide, who had recently moved to Dublin and offered to let me stay on his couch. We went to Templebar, a popular cobblestoned walkway lined with bars, and crooned along as a guitarist performed cover songs well into the night.

My visit to the Jameson Irish Whiskey Museum the next day coincided with my first European hangover. Whiskey in the afternoon was about the last thing I wanted, but I reminded myself that this was a cultural stop. Skipping out for a hangover was no different then not going to see the Louvre in Paris. It’s irresponsible drinking. And yes, I just compared a whiskey factory to the Louvre. I collected my wits and my camera and made my way.

There are basically three types of whiskey: Irish, American and Scotch. Scotch has a smoky flavor, which comes from treating the malt with peat smoke. American whiskey is made with corn instead of grain mash, giving it a sweeter quality. Irish Whiskey is known for its smoothness, which comes from triple distillation. As this was explained to us we were handed a shot of each and I was happy there aren’t 5 types of whiskey.

First, the barley is malted, or converted to sugar. It is then mashed by adding hot water and stirring. Yeast is added to the malt and water and it is set-aside for fermentation. The spirit is extracted through distillation, then put into oak casks and stored for several years. Finally, the different barrels of whiskey are “married” in a large vat to give it a uniform taste across all bottles.

Next stop was the Guinness Brewery, a self guided tour that culminated with a Guinness in their Gravity bar, 10 stories high and offering a 360 degree view of Dublin. The Guinness is made on site and the rows of giant vats and complicated maze of pipes is impressively set against the Dublin skyline.

Our last stop on the Dublin culture tour was a famous church where Arthur Guinness was married and Mary Mercer was buried. It was recently converted to a bar! Dublin clearly has a drinking problem, but it is improving. There are 850 pubs in Dublin. In 1750, there were 4,000. And that, my friends, is progress.

Realizing the danger my liver was in if we stayed in Dublin, my guide and my new friends decided to get out of town and go visit the other thing Ireland has lots of – greenery. We headed to Powerscourt, the former castle and estate of the earl of Kildare. This place was magical. Let me paint a picture. I am sitting on the stone terrace of a 14th century castle, looking out over a sprawling lawn, a cascading staircase that stretches several hundred feet, at the feet of which a grand fountain sits and sprays water high into the air, all presented with a back drop of lush rolling hills and a single distant, mountain peak. I must be dreaming.

We strolled through the gardens and let our imaginations wander. We climbed a cannon tower, navigated wooded trails, sat in the Japanese garden, visited a dolphin pond that, disappointingly, had no dolphins, and then we rolled down a steep, grassy hill and laughed like kids. After, we were sore like adults.

My last night in Dublin I went on a literary pub crawl - two actors took us to the drinking establishments frequented by James Joyce, Bram Stoker, Flan O'Brien, and James Plunkett, reenacting famous scenes from their token novels along the way. Paris has its cafes and Dublin has its pubs.

Most fun I’ve had so far:
1. Dublin
2. London

Check out more pictures from Dublin here.

Days 1-2, A Rush of London to the Head

My first night abroad was spent in a quiet upstairs dining room of an old London pub. My guide wanted to take me to her favorite American restaurant, but I swiftly vetoed that idea.

“But English food is so bad!” She exclaimed. English food is famously bad and I am aware of this. I don’t care. Better yet, I’m excited. Now is a good time to tell you my approach to traveling - I’m an immersionist. I don’t much care for museums, guided tours and hotels. I eat in native restaurants and drink the national beer, sleep on couches and hostels and make friends with the locals. I seek out and validate stereotypes. If I hear that the London food is terrible I’m going to seek out the worst, nastiest food in town and it better be disgusting.



For dinner I had Curled Sausage, Meat Pie and warm beer. When I asked the waitress why the beer was warm she explained that it helps combat the frigid London weather. It’s 65 degrees and it’s summer. The meat pie was watery, but the curled sausage was not bad. A little dry. I expected worse, but we can’t have everything.


After dinner we walked by Piccadilly Square, London’s answer to Times Square, before settling onto a park bench in Trafalgar Square. It had been 4 years since I last saw my guide and much had happened. She had married and moved to London and was starting a masters program. I had gone to Law School and started a music website. We had a lot to talk about.

London is a huge city and with only a day to explore I knew I would barely scratch the surface. Small cities are often more enjoyable on quick trips because you get the whole story. With big cities you have two choices – pick a slice and enjoy it thoroughly or blast through town shooting pictures first and asking questions later. I opted for the latter.

London runs along the Thames River and offers spectacular views along the South Bank. If you limit your stops and power walk, you can see many of London’s famous landmarks in a day by taking the Queen's Walk.

We set out early and headed to the London Bridge. Maybe you remember the song “London Bridge is Falling Down”? I doubt anybody would notice if it did, because it’s completely underwhelming. The two-towered iconic London landmark that comes to mind is actually called Tower Bridge. Everybody knows that…




After snapping 42 pictures of London Bridge, Tower Bridge, and the walkway in between, we headed towards Borough market. This place was awesome – an outdoor bazaar with meats, cheeses, fruits, deserts, street food and vendors. I liked it so much we stayed for 15 minutes.



Next stop was the Shakespeare Globe, a reconstruction of the 17th century Elizabethan playhouse where Shakespeare started his career as an actor. We didn’t have time to go in, but I took some great pictures of the outside!



Further up we came across the London Book Fair where I set out to find a classic English spy novel. Instead I bought a King Arthur novel. Adjacent to the stands was a graffiti museum (OK, it was just a skate park). I didn't have any spray paint, but I had the next best thing - a Bic pen! Now London will never forget me.

I was prepared to continue documenting the famous sights along the Queen's Walk but I’m starting to ramble and if I couldn’t commit enough time to visit London properly, I sure as hell won’t commit enough time to write about it properly. So I'm going to wrap this up and get on my way to Ireland.

I also saw the London Eye, Big Ben, Buckingham Palace, Chinatown, Hyde Park, lots of bikes, pubs, theatres, bridges, alleys, phone booths, double decker red buses, banks, old school cabs driving the wrong way and random, sideways rain that appears and disappears without warning. London is your full service city and a great place to live; try to do it in a day and your head will spin.

Sorry London, it's time to go.


Check out more pictures from London here

One Way Ticket

Friends and family, greetings from Europe! Over the next few weeks or, dare I say, months, I will be planing, training, busing, ferrying and walking across England, Ireland, Spain, Germany, Amsterdam, Poland, Prague and…well that’s as far as I’ve planned. I have a one-way ticket and an appetite for adventure, so I am keeping my itinerary loose and my mind open. I invite you to come along for the ride with my Andrewlogue, a series of pictures and tales about the places I go, the people I meet, the facts I discover and the lessons I learn.

This is not a travelogue. It is not a guide to Europe. I undoubtedly will make stereotypes and assumptions and I will be wrong in doing so. It takes an expert to accurately profile even a single person, let alone a nation. I intend to share my experience in a short and colorful way in the hopes that my days ahead provide you a brief mental respite. Without further ado…