Spring Break: Eastern Europe

The idea for this trip had been in the works for a few months. As soon as I committed to moving to Spain, Schuette emailed me and said we needed to pick a time to travel. Although my job is a joke, unlike studying abroad, I cannot just pick a week to take off and travel so we decided my Spring Break or Semana Santa would be the best and most logical choice. The two stipulations being that we somehow work a Tottenham match into the mix and to see a part of Europe that isn't as popular as say a Paris or Rome. Thus our 10 day extravaganza to London (for the match), Vienna, Budapest and Prague was born. As the year progressed a few others decided to join us in our conquering of Eastern Europe: Harry, Nate (Denison, SigEp alums) who I had met for the first time and Simon. All in all, I would say that we had the most ideal group to travel with as everyone's interests pretty much coincided. To avoid a long winded description of the domination we handed each city I will instead highlight some of the best parts of the trip with some photos to accompany them.

- First visit to Tottenham's grounds: White Heart Lane and a 2-0 Spurs victory
- View's of London from the top of St. Paul's Cathedral
- Spending a night in a London airport
- incredible architecture throughout Vienna and the beginning of the Easter markets
- natural springs outdoor baths in Budapest (some created natural whirlpools)
- karaoke in Hungarian
- first overnight European train ride
- Prague: my favorite city in Europe
- the chance to meet up with my sister
- shooting a variety of military grade weapons in the woods of the Czech Republic
- nightclubs, bars, traditional food in all of the aforementioned places

Couldn't have asked for a better way to spend my Spring Break....and now it is time to focus on the final stretch of the school year while trying to figure out what i will be doing in the coming months....

Photo evidence I don't sit on my ass and make this stuff up

A trip to the homeland: Madeira, Portugal

Growing up I was never quite sure of my background and consequently struggled with my cultural identity. My mom is American. That is easy. My father, however, is a different story. Born in Port of Spain, Trinidad grew up in Venezuela, moved to Brazil when his parents divorced and then onto the states for High School. To confuse me more my father worked, although throughout all of Latin America, primarily in Argentina and supported both their and Brazil’s national teams. It did not help that my father did not meet his father until the late 1990s, and I only learned a few months ago the political situation that lead to this whole mess with my Great Grandfather. Long story short (kind of), after a lot of question asking, I discovered where my heritage came from: Portugal.

Madeira Island is located 900 km off the coast of Portugal and is actually closer to Africa than Europe. My grandfather was the last Pereira (my father’s last name before he adopted his stepfather’s, Hudson) to be born on the Atlantic Island. As I continue the extensive process of acquiring my citizenship, I decided to make a pilgrimage of sorts to the island, where you can trace the Pereira lineage back a few centuries.

After my very fun but tiring (a combination of the travel issues, little amounts of sleep and copious drinks), my trip to Madeira was a nice escape. I traveled alone and couldn’t have been better. Spending the Thursday in Lisbon allowed me the opportunity to see the Portuguese capital., home of some very cool forts and castles. I arrived in Madeira early on Friday morning and spent the next sixty hours relaxing, reading by the water, and exploring the island. A product of a volcanic eruption, Madeira actually has very few beaches. Lush, mountainous, and with a very unique culture, it was a surreal experience to visit the island where half of my bloodline is based. As I prepare to return to Madrid, I plan on continue to research my lineage and one day return to the beautiful island.

London: its like America Jr.

For whatever reasons the country I have the most trouble traveling around is the UK. Two trips in my life and two missed departures out of the country. Granted it is a combination of my own retardation and incredibly bad luck, but I have yet to leave London successfully in two attempts. Last Sunday’s mishap aside (which was actually the fault of the Gatwick express breaking down en route to the airport, not my fault. Unlike the time Nat and I just missed our flight while searching for soccer jerseys and then were unable to figure out the tube) it was a fantastic weekend.

Friday afternoon, Simon gave me and two other friends a detailed tour of the city. There is not a monument to George Washington or Benedict Arnold as I was promised. We concluded our trip around the city with a stop in a famous 17th century pub where, allegedly, Charles Dickens used to write. Barnes’ friend was DJing at the Ministry of Sound, one of London’s bigger nightclubs, which lead to a night of sloppy dancing and probably pissing Brits off.

Saturday was match day. Even though we were unable to get Tottenham (my team) tickets for that Sunday, Simon’s friend hooked us up with Chelsea tickets. We paid a very reasonable amount to sit five rows backs from the pitch as the Blues took on another top club, Manchester City. The best part, and what made my weekend, happened before the game. Walking towards the stadium, we stopped a few hundred meters short of the police line to finish our beers. Ducking into an alcove, Simon spotted a familiar face across the way: Harry Redknapp, manager of my favorite team. With the help of some liquid courage we crossed the street and asked if we could take a picture with the footballing legend. He obliged, even chatting us up while the retarded parking attendant attempted to take a picture with maybe the easiest camera in the world. He wished us luck, shook our hands and headed off to the match. I may not have made it to the Spurs match the next day, but I certainly got my fair share of football that Saturday.

All in all it was a swagtastic weekend as the rest of the time was spent between pubs and tourist attractions. Even making it to, and this is where my Mom will be proud, the famed British Museum, which is filled with countless world treasures. A few weeks back in Madrid and then back to London to start my spring break and finally make my pilgrimage to the White Heart Lane (home of Tottenham).

A trip to Barcelona to escape Spain...

After returning from Germany and laying low in Madrid for a few weeks, I traveled to Barcelona to visit my sister the second weekend of February. People say cities become ‘Americanized’ but I prefer the term ‘internationalized’ because it is not just American culture that has infiltrated Spain’s second largest city.
Arriving late Thursday night had me up early the next day seeing the sights with my sister, her friends, and my aunt, who had flown in for the weekend. The city is beautiful, located on the Mediterranean (although not beach weather whatsoever during my trip), and filled with amazing architecture. Anton Gaudi, who is guilty for the majority of the famed structures that line the streets, was truly a genius. I know squat about architecture but it does not take much to appreciate the creativity the man possessed. His most famous work, La Sagrada Familia, is still a work in progress. Construction began in the late 19th century and estimates do not envision the church complete until 2030 (though I’d be willing to bet they are undershooting with that estimate). Nonetheless, it is a magnificent structure filled with an interesting history. Sightseeing aside, my sister and her friends took me out to a club the Friday night, which left the two of us appropriately hung over for our mother and brother’s arrival the next day.
Sunday afternoon, after a weekend of tourism, Beans and I headed outside the city to try and catch an Espanyol football match; however, the cheapest tickets were 75 euro, which, for an incredibly shit team, is grossly overpriced. Hungry, we stumbled into what would turn out to be the home side’s supporter’s bar. Some drinks, tapas and the belligerent singing of the Espanyol faithful ended up being a better experience we agreed.
A very different feel than Madrid or any other city I have visited in the country, Barcelona had a very unique feel (spend two minutes reading about its history and you will understand why) and was a very nice weekend escape from Madrid.

An update from Madrid

The few weeks following my trip to the frozen tundra of Germany were supposed to be a pleasant transition into the Spanish spring. It should figure that, as I moved to my new place where the cost of heating is not worth the quality provided, we experience the coldest Madrileno winter in 25 years. Good. That is not to say that it was actually that cold but I learned that it is a lot different dealing with temperatures around freezing when you are prepared to do so. The Spanish are not nor have ever been prepared to handle anything below 50 degrees F.
The other main developments in my life in Spain, save two very frustrating trips to Ikea (anyone moving to a new place, please, I implore you, spend the extra money and skip Ikea), involve sport. Two friends and I have become season ticket holders for Atletico Madrid. As they are the ‘other team’ in Madrid, the ten game package was incredibly affordable and, even though their performance this season has been lackluster, los rojiblancos are a perennial contender for Europe. I have also joined a baseball team. Yes, it exists in Spain. There is even a stadium. The league is technically professional though because of recent bankruptcy, no paycheck (I can deal with that seeing as players from Valencia CF, one of Spain’s biggest soccer clubs, didn’t get paid for seven weeks). The quality is not bad as there are a good number of Dominican and Cuban immigrants; however, they are undisciplined players and any collegiate team would wipe the floor with them.
I also celebrated my 23rd for the first time away from the good old US of A. A friend of mine turned 24 on the 6th so we gathered our friends, rented out a small bar in a cool neighborhood and threw a party. Asides from the inappropriate levels of debauchery that ensued (and my friend’s father trying to lead me into a male on male Asian massage parlor), I would say the party was a success.
Debating my future in Spain/in general, consumes the majority of my free time; however, regardless of where I end up next year, with Atletico now winning (victories against Barcelona and the aforementioned Valencia) and spring slowly approaching, I plan on enjoying the next few months in the Spanish capital to the fullest.

Pictures!

Clockwise: Neuswanstein Castle in Fussen, Germany; Enjoying a stein at the Haufbrauhaus, The Berlin Wall, New Years Eve celebration in Amsterdam, Brandenburg Gate, Berlin

Weirdly, Germans drink all beverages out of a boot...

I had been to Munich once before; however, it was Oktoberfest and very little sightseeing was done. A great experience in itself but it is amazing how much one misses when they are only in town for the beer drinking festivities. That is not to say that there was not a fair about of beer drinking done and beer halls visited this time around, but there is so much in and around the city as well. A much prettier city that Berlin, the Bavarian capital has a very German feel to it, not to mention the food and beer were far superior to the capital. Visiting the original Haufbrauhaus House coupled with some walking tours took care of the city sights, but there were also two very interesting day trips that are a must do when visiting Munich not for a beer drinking festival.
Neuschwanstein Castle was the brainchild of Ludwig II, one of Germany’s late 19th century monarchs, and the true inspiration of Walt Disney’s Cinderella castle. Nestled in the base of the German Alps, the palace is just as amazing as one might imagine. An easy two hours train ride south of Munich in Fussen, the castle is filled with history, mystery and technological advancements unheard of for its time. The snow blanketing the area added to the allure of the location but the castle is surely a must visit for anyone in the south of Germany at any time of the year.
The last full day that I had in Munich I decided to take a day trip that would be a little more somber. Through my immersion in detailed German history that started in Berlin, I learned that Dachau was Hitler’s first concentration camp and located just outside of Munich. Within a month of power, the Nazi party set fire to their own capital (the Reichstag, mentioned below), blamed the Communist Party and used the fear to suspend rights and imprison Hitler’s adversaries. We all know what followed.It is truly horrible what these places were. Obvious statement, I know, but there is only so much that words in textbooks can do. Nothing quite suffices to express the true horrors that occurred under Hitler’s regime. The memorial is humbling, doing an incredible job to not only honor and remember the victims but to also remind the public how evil man can be. Walking through the gas chambers was a chilling experience, a feeling that words cannot truly justify and an sensation I have never quite had before in my life.
After 10+ days on the road, I was very ready to return to Madrid with a much lighter bank account. Germany is not the most popular location for American tourists when heading to Europe, with the romantic allure of France and Italy stealing the thunder from the Rhineland; however, I would highly recommend it to any European travelers, and I have only been in two cities!

Ich bin ein Berliner

Unlike the Spanish, who conveniently write very little about their forty-year dictatorship or the ways in which Francisco Franco came into power, the Germans beat the fact into the ground. If something involving the Third Richt happened in a locale, the information describing said event is plentiful; some tours are even tailored specifically to how certain buildings and locations played a role in the movement. That being said, Berlin was a city rich with history.From Reichstag, which is Germany’s parliament and epitomizes the cities recent history, to the Brandenburg Gate where US presidents and presidential candidates have made historic speeches, it feels as if every corner of the city is rich with history. Certainly ruins still remain from World War II, reminders of the devastation of war.
Interestily, however, the Berlin Wall was not easy to find. Albeit only 1500 yards still remain, the location of it was not well described in guidebooks or by locals. It is only logical that only a section remains in an obscure location, but what was amazing was how poorly marked the East Side Gallery, the name of the remaining section that has now been transformed into fifteen football fields of artwork. It may be an American mindset, but the first thing that comes to mind when speaking of Berlin is the Wall.A very cold but informative trip, Berlin was a nice change from the insanity that was Amsterdam. After three days of exploring the city, I headed south to Bavaria.

New Years 2010: Amsterdam

Learning in early October that I was going to be spending New Year’s Eve in Europe got me to thinking: what/where would be the best way to go about doing it. My godfather refers to the night as ‘amateur hour’ and usually, I have to agree; however, this year was different. A few weeks into the school year a buddy of mine mentioned that his brother lived in Amsterdam, working in a comedy show. As December approached, Andrew informed me and another buddy that his brother’s club was throwing an awesome party and we should all be in attendance. Stupid not to. After a day and a half of taking in the sights, we proceeded to the club for the big party. It did not disappoint. With ten minutes to go before the New Year, Andrew’s brother found us and brought us onto the roof of the club. Amsterdam is one of the few place fireworks are legal (shocking, I know) in Europe, a fact made very clear the second you get off your train and they are hurled at your feet. The entire Dutch sky was alit with fireworks for the 45 minutes we spent on top of the roof, a very well done celebration.I woke up in Utrecth, a city 45 minutes outside of Amsterdam. Allegedly the last thing said to my friends as I left the club were, “lets get weird.” A fantastic night for sure and, finally, one that lived up to the hype that accompanies New Years.The next night didn’t disappoint either, as we took in a few Dutch bars away from the tourist central of the city and Andrew’s brother’s comedy show. After the two days of debauchery, I made my way to the German capital.