Renault Diaries

People in France do not drive so much as play a life size game of bumper cars. The traffic lines are merely decorative; the roads so narrow that I had to suck in my croissant shaped gut in order to fit; and right-of-way is determined by the person who is first to flinch. This mad max reality pretty much guarantees you are going to get hit at some point. Rubbing is racing. Even if you are fortunate enough to survive the gauntlet while driving they'll just get you while you're parked. After making the drive to Cannes, we parked the car on the road overnight instead of paying the $40 it would cost to park at the hotel. The next morning we were minus one side mirror. Thankfully, American Express covers the damage.

Cannes, of film festival fame, is surreal. It's a beach resort for people with a few more zeros on their pay checks than most. The majority of the beach has been claimed by the local hotels, leaving a small sliver for the common folk. The yachts docked in the harbor are the ones you see in TIME magazine when they write about a Saudi prince's opulence. Cannes is everything that Jay-Z raps about, save one: somehow a Steak n Shake is positioned in the heart of downtown. Nothing says, "the 1%," like shoe string french fries.

Once they figured out we weren't paying full price for our five star hotel (thank you Priceline) they kicked us out of Cannes. We headed south west to a sleepy port town called Cassis. Jessica found this hidden gem. No more mega-yachts and private beaches. Just tiny fishing boats and secluded coves.

It was a welcome change of pace; and, as always, the people were gracious. As we first entered town our car navigation system, Bonnie, kept sending us the wrong way down one-way streets. Eventually, we were able to find the tourist office which was closed. While I tried to log on to their WiFi with the hope of using Google Maps, Jessica did what she does best...gallivant. I look up to see her being surrounded by no less than five Frenchmen. From my vantage point I could not hear what they were saying; but I have a keen understanding of non-verbal communication. I am certain the Tyson Beckford looking French guy was pointing at the Augustus Gloop shaped American (me) and laughing. I needed to protect my girl from these opportunists, so I threw down my pain au chocolat and stormed over to them to demand an apology. Once I was close enough, Jessica turned and smiled. "Let's go!" she said, and proceeded to hop back into the car. I turned back to face the Frenchmen who were all smiling and giving me the thumbs up sign. I headed back to the car perplexed. Apparently, Jessica was asking them for directions to our hotel. Then, the shortest one in the group blurts out, "I take you! On my scooter!" Jessica, thinking this was how first dates in France started, responded with, "No, No...my boyfriend," and points toward me. That is when I (Augustus) looked up. The would be Scooter Don Juan simply laughed and replied, "No, you follow. On my scooter I show you." So this guy, who three minutes before we showed up was playing soccer on the beach with his friends, hops on his scooter and drives 10 minutes to help us find our hotel. I don't know if Jessica is that good or the people here are that kind, but we always seem to get the red carpet treatment.

From Cassis, we traded in what was left of the car and took the train into Barcelona. About ten years ago, Jessica lived in Barcelona for four months; and I enjoyed seeing her reminisce.

Jessica's old pad.

It is at this point in our trip that we began to fizzle out. Instead of seeing four or five monuments or museums we only would see two. It is a long time to be on the road and if a vacation begins to feel like work, then you are doing it wrong.

Antoni Gaudi's Park

 

I think I could have taken him.

We returned home two weeks ago and as we settle into our usual rhythm I have had a chance to decompress. Traveling, I feel, exposes people. It makes them vulnerable. People spend most of their day working within a given routine. Routines are safe. Routines are reliable. Routines are what we all strive for to help us manage the countless responsibilities we tackle each day. Traveling disrupts all of that. Every night the bed doesn't feel quite like home, you're hoping that the next hotel has better WiFi and you have to pre-plan your pantomimes before ordering each meal. Everyday you have to admit to the locals that, "Yes, I am an American idiot. And yes, you now get to help me unretard myself." So you are left at the mercy of strangers. Either it's buying train tickets, ordering at a restaurant or trying to find what's left of your right side mirror; you find yourself constantly asking for help. It is within these little interludes that we get the chance to experience something truly unique. The night before we flew home, Jessica and I watched the USA vs Belgium game in a small tavern near the airport. It was a rustic man cave. There were about 20 people crammed inside watching a projected image on the back wall. Jessica and I were, of course, decked out in our USA gear. Each one of them took a moment to talk with us and wish our team luck. After 3 hours of them screaming just as loudly as we were, they gave us a standing ovation as we left. I am not kidding. They praised the USA team for a great effort, stood up and applauded. The whole bar. Needless to say this bar was not listed in our Lonely Planet. We just happened upon it; and yet, those are the experiences that I find myself daydreaming back to. I often wonder if those experiences would be so memorable without the disruption of a routine. Visiting all of the sites is worthwhile and not without value, but one can learn and see most of it with a quick Google search. The pictures we took probably look a great deal like the pictures of countless other visitors of the same points of interest.

Except this one. This one is my masterpiece.

What makes traveling so memorable, I believe, is the stuff that happens outside of the margins. It is the karaoke cab ride to get to downtown Paris. It is the tasty homemade breakfast prepared for you by an unbelievably generous host. It is stranger after stranger treating you like a guest in their house when they see you lost and confused. It is the realization that while America prides itself on having an unbelievable work ethic; European countries like their two hour lunches and month long vacations just fine. It is all the weird little things you stumble upon that you couldn't possibly have planned.

I found the Hoff!

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It's knowing that no matter where you are in the world, if you can't find the US soccer game on TV, you can always call Juan Carlos and watch it with friends on facetime.

The more I travel the more each country has a face, a personality. They are no longer just monuments and museums. They are people. And the more we associate each country with the wonderful people in them, the more difficult it becomes to be dismissive or feel that we are any more exceptional than they are.

The King and I

It’s been XIV days since we have started this little adventure; and for Jessica, I’m sure, it has seemed much longer. Yesterday, we began our drive south from Paris, through Lyon and now on to Nice. Driving south to the French coast adds another dimension to our trip that we could not experience if we stuck to train lines and big cities. Before I get ahead of myself, however, let me talk about a little town called Paris.

Pont de l'Archeveche: The "Love Lock" bridge in Paris

Paris is all that you imagine it to be. One can see why so many people are drawn to it in search of the romanticized experience that poets and artists have put to page and canvas. Having spent the last 2 weeks traveling through century old cities, Paris had many similar characteristics to some of our previous stops. Museums, churches, bridges, monuments…repeat.

Notre Dame

What makes Paris so unique, however, is how pivotal it has been in the development of western civilization. Countless artists, architects, chefs and military ideals (hello Napolean) have been directly influenced by Paris or its derivatives. For example, you might not be a fan of the Beatles, but the bands you love were most certainly influenced by them. France, and more specifically Paris, can be seen as the Beatles of western culture. It is because of this that the French really enjoy being French and why they often get the label of being a bit pretentious. I had heard all of the stories about tourists being met with turned up noses when attempting to communicate in English; but throughout this trip, the people we have run into have been simply amazing. In Belgium, the Netherlands and France, almost everyone we met had not only a functional understanding of English, but could communicate with the nuance and complexity of a native speaker. It was not uncommon to meet someone who spoke at least three languages. In America, if you have the ability to speak three languages you are probably working in the international offices of some large company or maybe for the US government. In Belgium, you are the dude at the waffle shack.

Jessica, having been practicing her French with an iPhone app, tries to power through in French; but people, upon seeing my stupefied face and hearing her accent, just speak with us in English. No one should ever travel overseas without a Jessica. She possesses such an infectious energy and disarming charm that people are more than eager to offer help. We have found ourselves the beneficiaries of good fortune on more than a few occasions simply because of her smile and laugh.

Our last night in Paris was one such occasion. We stumbled upon an empty bar to watch the Germany vs Ghana game. The plan was to watch the game, then head home and pack before calling it an early night. As the game progressed the bar began to fill up. We were sitting at a table with four chairs so the waitress asked to sit a couple along side us because there was no other table available. Of course that was OK and seeing as how the woman was German our soccer interests were aligned for the time being. They were a young, soon to be married couple; Charlotte, originally from Germany and Jean-Marie, a native Frenchman. After about an hour or so of talking and cheering, the game was over and they asked if we would like to go downtown with them to meet up with friends. Always up for a new experience, we said sure and off we went. As we were looking for a taxi, Jean-Marie mentioned that on this night in Paris, the longest day of the year, Paris celebrates by having a bunch of bands playing outside. How cute, a local summer music festival, I thought. I had noticed a few bands playing at the local bars, but nothing more than I would have seen back home on a Saturday night at a coffee shop. We found a taxi and as we piled in Jean-Marie said to me with an almost apologetic tone, “This might not be a real taxi.” Umm, pardon? I did a quick search for evidence of the poor decision we had made… duct tape, rope and shovel. Fortunately, I found none. Before I could buckle my seat belt the driver passed back a microphone and said something in French. That is when I noticed the large speaker in the passenger’s seat. This was a karaoke taxi. Jessica and I looked at each other with an expression of “why not”. The driver would play a song, Charlotte would quickly look up the lyrics on her phone, and with the windows down for all of Paris to hear we would all sing out of key. In between renditions of “Billy Jean” and what I think was the French version of Miley Cyrus, I began to notice that the streets were becoming more crowded the deeper into the city we drove. Mind you, it is now about 10:30P.M. and there are people everywhere. Eventually, the cab could only creep along because the crowd was so dense. We hopped out, thanked our DJ and began to walk. The streets were alive. This made Amsterdam look like a backyard barbeque at an AA meeting. There was a band or DJ playing on what seemed like every block. As we walked, and the sound from one band would fade into the distance, another would grow louder as we approached a different corner. Some corners had proper stages and set ups, but most bands just put their equipment down were it would fit and started jamming. Apparently, what I thought was going to be a few bands playing at a couple coffee shops was a citywide block party. And this wasn’t just kids running a muck. There were old folks, young children and families mucking it up as well. At one point, Charlotte turned to me and said, “You’re probably the only tourists here right now.” These were Parisians celebrating being in Paris. We had fallen through the rabbit hole and found ourselves in the middle of wonderland.

There is much more to write, but at the end of each day we find ourselves exhausted. Please bear with me as I try and keep up with everything. More pictures and hot chocolate updates to come.

I AMsterdam

What a whirlwind of a trip! We’ve seen four different countries in twelve days. I have so much to share and don’t know where to begin. Hmmmmm……….

We’ll start with my love for Belgium’s beer, chocolate, waffles, and beer. I did not have high expectations for Belgium. It hasn’t been on the top of my list for places to travel; it just worked out, logistically, on this European tour and I’m so glad we did. Brussels has been one of the highlights of our trip so far. We didn’t get enough time in Antwerp-just a day. But, we did get to eat, drink, and watch the World Cup at Bier Central where their beer menu was the size and width of Elle magazine’s fall fashion edition. It was overwhelming and I am really ignorant about Belgium beers, so I just started pointing to the first one I flipped to whenever the server came around. My favorites were Duvel and Ramee Amber. There were so many more that I wanted to taste but I was already suffering from massive indigestion from Belgium culinary delights such as chocolate stuffed waffles and fries with mayonnaise. I'm pretty sure I will need to go up a pant size before this trip is over; especially now that we are in Paris and it’s totally normal for Patrick and me to eat chocolate croissants at 8A.M. chocolate crepes at 10A.M., and macrons from 10A.M.-10P.M. intermittently. But we’ll get to Paris later.

 

After Belgium, we took the train north to Amsterdam. Amsterdam is so beautiful with its canals and cobblestone streets. 

While in Amsterdam, we stayed at a wonderful Airbnb for three nights. (If you haven’t heard of Airbnb, it is a website that allows people to rent out their homes, apartments, or rooms to guests. We are using this service for the bulk of our lodging and we’ve had a great experience so far). 

We stayed with a couple who live a short metro ride out of the city. They have an adorable apartment and were so hospitable. The wife is retired and originally from Texas and the husband has lived in Holland his whole life. They love hosting travelers and are eager to share the history and gems Amsterdam has to offer. They gave us insider tips that saved us from eating crappy, overpriced meals and helped us map out our stay by telling us what sites to hit or miss. They also made us a full breakfast every morning, gave us access to their bikes, and sent us with a package of homemade cookies every day to fuel our adventures. As if that were not enough, the day we left for Paris we had a very early flight to catch so they made us a to go box packed full of a delicious breakfast. I mean, come on, who are these people!? 

I am still blown away by their kindness and willingness to share their home. I really hope they come out to California so we can show them the same kind of generosity.

One of the highlights from our Amsterdam trip was taking a train just 20 minutes out of the city to Zaanse Schans. The city is great, but getting out for the day was needed. We were able to see windmills that are still in use today. Check these out: 

 That's all the time I have for now. Patrick and I will write about Paris next! Thanks for reading :)

This is not a Blog

Brussels is a diabetic’s nightmare. One is seemingly within arms reach of a waffle shop, chocolate shop, pastry shop or pub at all times. Granted we were downtown where most of the touristy wears were being hocked, but the locals sure now how to relax and indulge. Two hour lunches seemed fairly common with a beer, digestive liquor and espresso used as chasers to their meals. The interior of restaurants and cafes were fairly empty while patio seating was prime real estate. Often, the chairs would be facing out towards the cobblestone sidewalks to enable people watching.

That seems to be what people do at all hours of the day; and considering that 10pm at night resembles late afternoon in LA, people were in no hurry to head home on a Wednesday evening.

9pm

In all honesty I did not know what to expect from our three days in Belgium. Our other stops, to me at least, are preceded by their reputations. However, I was pleasantly surprised to discover that Belgium and I have crossed paths before. Many well-known artists are from Belgium. Rene Magritte and Pieter Paul Rubens are artists whose work I have been exposed to in the past, but would never have been able to name-drop them in a conversation. Another groundbreaking artist from Belgium is the creator of the Smurfs. I did not catch his name, but now I know he is from Belgium if and when Jeopardy calls.

The architecture here is amazing. I may be a neophyte when it comes to Belgium culture, but I am absolutely certain that subtlety was not a Belgian creation. The cathedrals, city centers and shopping promenades are awe inducing. Even the Antwerp train station is meticulously decorated with ornate statues and marble columns. A simple picture does not capture the magnitude of some of the buildings. I went a little panorama crazy, but it was necessary.

All three staircases lead to the same place.....?

A popular tourist destination, Manneken Pis, seemed to come up a little short in comparison to the grandeur of its surroundings. Jessica was not impressed.

Jessica indulging her inner fat kid

After two nights in Brussels and one night in Antwerp we headed north to Amsterdam. Through a bit of unintended timing we arrived on a Friday afternoon. On the weekend Amsterdam pulsates. I’m not sure if it is like this every weekend, but I have never experienced such a dense city. Alleyway after alleyway was filled with hedonistic and gluttonous indulgence, and plenty of eager patrons looking to partake. It’s Vegas with cultural relevance. I am sure there are plenty of people who visit Amsterdam just for the “coffee shops” and endless shopping, but that would be a cursory experience. The canals that snake through the city, outlined by tall, narrow and sometimes leaning buildings, keeps one reaching for their camera with each new street. And while all of the “brick and brack” has its allure, it wasn’t until Sunday when we really were able to enjoy the city in its simplest form.

 Either everyone had returned home to reality or they were sleeping off their hangovers, but Sunday found us riding bicycles with the locals along specialized bike paths. If I said there were a lot of bicycles in Amsterdam it would be a gross oversimplification. There are copious amounts of bicyclists in Amsterdam. In fact, as I look through my pictures, I do not think I was able to take a single picture where there wasn’t a bicycle somewhere in the background. 

One of many multi-story bike lots

More about Amsterdam still to come. For now, bed.

Mind the Gap

I broke one of the most important travel rules yesterday. In all of my previous travels, I would make sure to stay up as late as possible when I arrived in a new country to avoid the jet-lag-zombie-brain and adjust quite easily to the new time zone. This usually meant staying up until at least 10P.M. and getting 7-8 hours of sleep, putting me on track with the new time zone.

But after a long, sleepless flight from San Francisco to London; hours of navigating city train, bus and tube schedules; a hot shower; and a cold Peroni (My favorite Italian beer. Don't judge me), I passed out as soon as we got to our hotel at the ripe hour of 7P.M. I awoke hours later, ready to explore and excited to get outside. I reached for my phone and clicked the home button to ignite the day. "1A.M.! Shut your mouth" I protested. The iPhone had no response. It just glared back at me, mocking me and my rookie move as a traveler.

I tried to will myself back to sleep for a few more hours, but failed miserably. Patrick failed along with me, so the upside was that we've both been awake since 1A.M. and have been in a haze for most of our adventures today. The two cups of coffee luckily powered me through most of it. I will try my best to recount our amazing day in London, but please mind the gaps in my brain :)

Patrick and I started our day off at 5:30am with a 3 mile run around Twickenham.  The morning greeted us with the perfect running conditions: 60 degrees and a cloudless sky. We shared a quiet sigh of relief when the cool air hit us as we stepped out of our hotel and onto the cobblestone streets. I've always found running helps me settle into a new city. I'm glad Patrick and I share this passion.

We cleaned up for the day and then headed out by train and tube to tour around the River Thames. We hit the House of Parliament, St. Paul's Cathedral, Covent Garden, and Tower of London. The highlight was the view from the top of St. Paul's. We lucked out with incredible weather for the whole day. We had beautiful blue skies and didn't feel a single rain drop all day. I know; I also questioned if we were really in London. The view from the top of the Cathedral was stunning. We had a 360 degree veiw of the city and could point out Tower Bridge, The Globe Theater, The Millennium Bridge, The London Eye, Buckingham Palace, Wembley Arch and Olympic Stadium. AH-MAZING. The 528 stairs to get their were definitely worth it. So was the chocolate pastry I devoured later in the day, completely negating the calories I burned off from the climb.
Here's the view:

I have to give Patrick credit for mapping out the day and being the one to ask for directions and help when we got lost. Yes, I did type that correctly. Patrick, a man, asks for directions. Well, I take that back. The part about him being a man. He's a man-boy. He still orders hot cocoa with breakfast. Let's just put that out there. Sorry Patrick, I have to balance my praises with burns.

All in all, it was a great kick off to our European vacation. Thank you for reading my first blog post ever! I am excited to share more throughout our time overseas.

Patrick is eagerly awaiting his chance to blog about the complexities and varietals of hot chocolate. 

Jet Lag

Jessica and I would not be considered new to traveling. She lived in Spain and New Zealand for a bit while I lived in Japan for a few years. We both have traveled around to various other countries throughout the years. It seems, though, that we are a little out of practice. The flight from San Francisco to Heathrow was pretty brutal. Jessica has been fighting a cold, while I have been trying to get rid of a stiff neck. Needless to say, being wedged into economy class for 10.5 hours did not help matters. But we made it. A little stiffer and sicker, but we made it.

First impression of London is that it looks like a movie set. All the buildings look like they belong on the back lot of Universal Studios. It's as if an artist was asked to draw a caricature of London and then said, "Fuck it, let me just build the damn thing." And the NAMES of places! I swear they gave the makers of Candy Land free reign when naming the bus and train stops. The Rainbow Trail, Peppermint Forrest and Mr. Licorice give way to Pudding Mill Lane, Mudchute and Shepard's Bush Market. And the creme de la creme, the pièce de résistance, the King Kandy of Candy Castle....Cockfosters. Serioulsy, imagine being the conductor and having to say that little gem a hundred times a day without giggling. It's as if up is down and down is up. For example, out of the four train stops listed, which one is not a real train stop on the London Underground?

A) Piccadilly Circus
B) Elephant & Castle
C) Blackfriars
D) Main Street

We will be staying in Twickenham for the next two nights. Or as Jessica prefers to call it, "Twerkenham". Our hotel is attached to the massive Twickenham Stadium. Apparently it is the largest rugby stadium in the world seating 82,000 people. I did not know any of this when I booked it and unfortunately there will not be any games played while we are here. Jessica, no doubt, would have loved to lead a Twerkenham cheer or two. Tomorrow we plan on heading into London and being tourists. Checking out Buckingham Palace, Big Ben and the like. Hopefully I can turn my head enough to see everything.

His and Her.......by His

Upon graduation from the prestigious California State University at Chico, I took a weeklong trip to Ireland with my brother. That was my first time venturing away from the good ole US of A. Until then, I had very little desire to travel abroad. I do not know if it was the country’s culinary excellence, the warmth of the locals or the fact that everyone there looked like my father; but that trip had a profound impact on the trajectory of my life. As soon as we returned, I was eager to head out again and explore another foreign country. That was in 2001. Since then, I have lived and traveled abroad numerous times; each trip wetting the palate of my now insatiable desire to see and do more. Unfortunately, I have yet to return to Europe. Each summer seemingly filling up with life’s ever increasing demands. Until now. This summer, I have traded in my brother for a prettier model named Jessica (sorry Nate). We are headed to Europe for 24 days of eating, drinking and beautifully awkward cultural experiences. Our trip will take us to London, Brussels, Amsterdam, Paris, Barcelona and all points in between. Parts of our trip have been meticulously planned while others have been left to chance. Partially (mostly) due to laziness and a youthful desire to throw stuff against the wall to see what sticks. This blog will be a “his and her” affair. Jessica and I will post along the way and if all goes well we will still be on speaking terms by the end of this adventure.