pit stop in DC

Tuesday I don’t remember what I did when I got back here, but I definitely didn’t unpack like I planned. My dad brought me to Balducci’s to get ingredients for dinner, but I was still drunk and tired. I don’t remember what I made, but the parents seemed to enjoy it.

Wednesday was my friend Ludovic’s birthday. We spent it playing Resident Evil 4, which he still hasn’t finished. And a little bit of Scrabble with his sister Katrina while barbequing. She beat me by one point. One point! But it didn’t matter because our only real concern wasn’t winning. It was just that he didn’t win. Dinner with them, their brother Stephane, and mom was awesome. We’d barbequed beef pork and chicken, and she’d made a cabbage and carrot fried rice. The rest of the evening we snacked on chili. And I even indulged in some of the fresh brownies they’d baked, a la mode with Ben and Jerry’s Fudge Brownie. Yeah. Too much but too good.

Thursday I spent hanging out with my mom before watching the LOST finale with her. A perfect at-home day as far as I’m concerned. And the finale wasn’t as in-your-face as previous ones, but I still loved it.

Friday was the most fun I’ve ever had getting stuck in an airport. I dumped my first-Florence-then-NOLA bag in my room and grabbed my other-Florence-now-Chicago bag and headed to the airport. My flight was delayed, so I grabbed some sushi for lunch and then brought it to the wine bar for a “flight” (aka a tasting). I tried on ties at Brooks Brothers and then spent a good amount of time playing with the devices at Brookstone. And then I got to Chicago!

back to the big easy

Thursday I was off to New Orleans. I literally grabbed one of my two bags from Italy and brought it with me. Adrian picked me up and we went to lunch at Oki Nago, which was maybe the best idea he ever had. We just chilled at his house for the afternoon and then went to Buddha Belly with Rachel to play pool. I almost forgot to tip the bartender (by way of reverse culture shock!) but remembered to for the second round. Rachel and I picked up Tara, and I took her to dinner at Stella! (The exclamation mark is part of the name.) She treated me to a delicious lunch at Commander’s Palace when I left New Orleans, so I made her promise me she’d let me take her to dinner when I returned. After that, she and I went to the quarter to meet up with Ben for drinks.

Friday, I woke up pretty early. (Combination of multiple jet lags and adrenaline. I hadn’t really slept since the week before leaving Florence. But all the fun was worth it.) Second best idea Adrian ever had: Breakfast at Camellia Grill. Between that and lunch at Bluebird Café with Ben and Katie, I had a nice long phone call with Mikey and got to catch up with him finally. That afternoon, I went with a bunch of my friends to Columns happy hour. Stephanie, Sylvia, Jack, Josh, Nicole, Jody, Taylor, Tara. The names go on and on. It was so great to see everyone and some surprises I realized hadn’t left town yet. Stephanie, Tara, and I went to dinner with Girl-Kory and some of her friends at Five Happiness. After that, I met up with Ben, Katy, Mike, and some of their friends downtown in the quarter. After a little barhopping and a little separation (MiKat and I hurricane-ing at Pat O’Brien’s) we had a little episode outside of Gold Mine:

Ben and Katy had bought lucky dogs, so we couldn’t enter until they finished. Some sketchy looking white-trash-hick guy walked up wearing both a do-rag and a baseball cap. I had no voice by this point, so Ben tried to dismiss him as usual by speaking German and pretending not to speak English. I’m pretty sure our new friend misunderstood the word “Deutsch” (German for “German”) as “Douche.” He decked Ben in the face and then ran off with his two friends. Ben was prone on the ground, so as Mike and I helped him up and made sure he was okay, I just heard Katy screaming “WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?” and throwing her hot dog at him. Ben didn’t have a concussion but was pretty shook up… and was looking for his hot dog. Of course, the cops never showed up and we never called an ambulance. But ah, sweet New Orleans. The bouncers from Gold Mine brought over a bag of ice and a bunch of local complete strangers (even to each other) went chasing after the hooligans. For us, despite multiple text messages telling us otherwise, the night was over. Ben and I took a cab back to his place and Adrian’s.

Saturday morning, Emerald and I were supposed to meet for coffee and tea but ended up getting iced versions because of the heat. Adrian and I went to Jazmine Leaf for lunch with our cousins from Baton Rouge and spent the day hanging out with them. Coc, Ryan, Antonia, and we did a grand driving and walking tour of New Orleans: Uptown Cool for Blue Bell ice cream, the levee/fly, Community Coffee, Magazine, Decatur, Frenchman, Royal. We had dinner at Café Amelie and then dessert at Café du Monde. Josh and I met up and took the streetcar to meet up with Jody, Taylor, Lizzie, and The Choy Sisters for wine before heading to Madigan’s for a round of beer.

Sunday, Jody and I met up at the Tulane chapel for mass. We had some coffee and fresh bread at The Catholic Center with Miss Molly and some of the other faithful. Then we grabbed brunch at Saucy’s Café Freret. The afternoon was spent on Magazine doing some shopping and gelato-snacking with Sylvia… for old time’s sake. She took me back to her new apartment for a tour and introduction to her dog Stella. She, Jack, and I took the once-poodle to the dog park to drink iced tea, chat with their friends, and watch her frolic with other dogs. After grabbing a bite to eat at Louisiana Pizza Kitchen, we went to Bacchanal to meet up with Rachel and Tara for a few bottles of wine. They all went home after, but I hit up DBA with Stephen and Blue Nile for a bit to meet up with my friend Jenn. (I ran into another familiar face, Chad’s friend Alex, on Frenchman. Small world.)

Monday, my surrogate big brother Steven took me to lunch at Copeland’s Cheesecake Bistro. We caught up with each other’s lives and, as per tradition, ate way too much. I love that guy. He drove the hour in from Baton Rouge to hang out with me for an hour before driving the hour back to go back to work. That afternoon I spent with Sylvia, Jack, and their med school friends I’d met at the dog park. They had a Memorial Day barbeque. Lots of good food but my definite favorite was what Jack prepared: Cream cheese and jalapenos wrapped in venison tenderloin wrapped in bacon. Basically deliciousness wrapped in amazing-ness. That was my last night in NOLA, so I spent it at Madigan’s so people could come and go as they pleased. Sylvia, Maureen, Stephanie AND FAMILY, Ben, Josh, Curry, and Jake all stopped by. I love NOLA, I love the people there, even the ones who aren't my friends. I can't wait to go back again.

back in U S of A

Saturday my family and Adrian’s new girlfriend Neely picked me up from the airport and took me to The Cheesecake Factory. (I can’t think of a place to get a more generously loaded plate of American food.) After lunch, we went to Whole Foods to get ingredients for dinner. I decided to make two dishes up but went with flavors and ingredients that I love and new the family would too: Seared scallops on top of a porcini and portabello mushroom risotto. Neely, Adrian, and I closed out the night with a viewing of L’Auberge Espagnole.

Sunday I woke up to mom making a delicious American breakfast. We went to church and then to another church for a baptism – my father being the godfather – and then lunch at the parents’ house. Back at home, I started unpacking while everyone else took naps. But all I really got unpacked were my carry-on bags. We made a dinner of randomness from whatever we had. I contributed a chopped salad of avocado, corn, tomato, and red onion with a lemon olive oil dressing.

Monday after dropping Neely off at the airport, Adrian and I went to El Chalan to meet our mother for lunch and then stopped by Gonzaga to get some transcript information for him and ran into some familiar faces. Always a pleasure to see the faculty. “Those damn Marins, always hanging around!” – Fr. Robert Rokusek. My family spent the evening doing something only we could believably do. Get ready. We went to Hooters for dinner and then watched Prince Caspian.

Tuesday I spent the entire day in my pajamas, something I can’t remember the last time I did. A good amount of time was also on the phone with all the friends I’ve been out of touch with since moving to Italy.

Wednesday I cleaned my room a bit while watching a marathon of the season of Top Chef. Eh. I’m a little indifferent. Still love the show but don’t love or hate (even Lisa) anyone to really get emotionally involved with the show. But I’ll keep watching.

pack your knives and go.

Tuesday was full of errands. The most important of which was a visit to Valentina to work out my next semester here. So much easier than the first application process! The evening started with aperitivo at Kitsch that was supposed to involve a dozen people but ended up being only Sarah, Thomas, and myself because everyone else was being lame. But we didn’t let a lack of participation curb the fun. After a few drinks and plates of food, we went to meet up with Sergio, drink some more, and play pool.

Wednesday after making lunch in an attempt to finish off my ingredients left in the kitchen, I watched Rosso Come Cielo, which I’d borrowed from Southern Anna. We had our Food Writing final exam at the school’s new cultural association and from there, I went to campus for my Italian final. Then it was back to the cultural association for the book launch aperitivo my food writing class had scheduled. I stopped by Swedish aperitivo to say ciao to Isabel, Antonio, and the regulars at the bar and then went to Hilary and Risa’s last cocktail party. But Hilary left to meet her mother as I was arriving, so Risa and I, gradually joined by others, drank the night away before going barhopping.

Thursday was the final exam of my last cooking class of the semester, Claudio asked us what we wanted to make. Chicken breast florentine and panna cotta (with a season-inappropriate chocolate sauce) won the vote last week, so we made them. He approved. Food photography was just a final review of our portfolio. My professor said he’d let me into his fashion photography class next semester if I wanted in. Hell yeah.

The farewell party was so awesome. We had it at Villa Pandolfini as guests of Count Pandolfini. Yes. We were at a count’s house. And by house I mean palazzo. And by palazzo I mean a palazzo designed by Donatello. DONATELLO. Really awesome. Lots of food, lots of wine, all the students, all the teachers, a few awards, a band. The police. (They came to check out the noise situation, so watching two of my professors talk to them similar to the way Jack and Juan did the other week was quite amusing. Different outcome though. The police just left.) It was nice to get all semiformal with all the other students and drink and relax with all the faculty. Afterwards, Ross, Nick, Sarah, and I went off to a nightclub where the unofficial after-party was. We all got home past four in the morning, so yeah. It was a fun night.

Friday was a day dedicated to the word ciao. When I got up in the morning, I went to the gym and said ciao to the owner. He’d discounted the last few weeks for me and set my day of departure as the day my membership expired. He told me he’d await my return in the fall. Then before going home I stopped by the “eat-all-you-can” sushi restaurant and said ciao to the hostess/waitress lady there. I bet she and the sushi chef threw a party after I left since I’ve been putting them out of business for a few months now. I stopped by the FUA campus to say goodbye to Francesca and Marian at the front desk and library. After a phone call with my mom and a brief nap, I woke up to Henk and Juan in the apartment. Henk had asked me if we could have a party, and I’d agreed. And now he asked me if I could prepare “some aperitivo” for it while they sanded and painted the wall. So that was fun because we actually closed all three of the kitchen’s doors for once. (Between the four burners, stove, steaming pots, and infusing olive oil the place was like a sauna!) But it was a nice challenge to take all the leftover ingredients from our pantry. This is what I came up with:

• Tris of crostini: mixed jams, cannelini bean spread, egg saladPenne with red and green onions, garlic, and herb butter
• “Meat and potato” tortellini with rosemary infused olive oil
• French fries with honey garlic aioli
• Tropical trail mix
• Fresh strawberries and dark chocolate
• Gianduja torte and layered petit fours
• And of course beer, wine, and sweet liquors.

By the time all that was set up, a few people had arrived and Juan and Henk had showered, so I took one. And by the time I was out of it, it was more like an apartment full of people. No joke, never seen more people in our apartment. At least forty people came and went the entire time. At least. It was fun, drinking, reminiscing, mocking, and exchanging contact information.

I had made appointments with some of my other beloved Italians, so I left a little earlier than Henk and the die-hards who stuck around late. I stopped by the trattoria around its closing time of midnight to say goodbye to the owner and waitresses there. They even kissed me goodbye and told me best wishes in Italian. Aw. Then it was to the bar to say ciao to Isabel but Antonio, the other bartender, was nowhere in sight. Isabel and I said we’d visit each other in Florence and Milan next season. And of course, I had to stop by the cultural association to say goodbye to Sergio and Trine. Lucky for me Domenico, Miko, and Antonio all showed up – as I’d expected – so I had a chance to see them. Dom and Mik might leave the city before I get back, but they both plan on coming to the states eventually so I’m not worried. I also got to say goodbye to a girl named Lauren I met a couple of nights ago who’s coming up on her second week in Florence and she already doesn’t want to leave. It’s nice to hand over the burden of everyday partying to someone. A few million shots later courtesy of my generous Italian friends, I went back to the apartment and grabbed my bags and met the girls to take the drunk bus van to the airport.

what a wonderful week

Last Wednesday food writing class was spent working on the promotion plan and performance script for the book launch event as well as he book presentation at the farewell party. Both happen this week. Italian class was a few new verbs and a final review. Then it was the party I call “HOWdy,” Hilary and Risa’s Cowboys & Indians party. I guess we were all feeling really American that night. I had wanted to be a Stereotypical Native American, but instead wound up a Chicano cowboy just because that costume is easier to pull together at the literal last minute.

Last Thursday in my food and culture class I made the same exact liver pate that we made in food styling last week. I changed some parts of the recipe and the teacher asked me why, and I told him it would taste better. When he tried the dish, he said it was very good and asked how I knew how to improve it. “Um, because the chef who wrote the recipe taught me how to do it.” Andrea (aforementioned chef) was in a nearby room on the computer and was pleased with the news. Food photography class was spent making our final selection of photos for submission to the school art exhibit and catalog.

Last Friday at midnight, Helen was actually here at our apartment so Juan brought over a bottle of spumante for her birthday. We drank that and then called it a night. That morning I got to chat with Phil, my other little brother, for a while (which is amazing because I can’t remember the last time we both were online at all, let alone at the same time). That evening almost everyone was at the art show. I walked in and Louis, my graphic design teacher, told me my mother and some cops from Amsterdam were waiting outside for me. Just kidding. Very funny. And then he told me to go over to the next room because I was in the show. Not a joke. Kind of funny? I was worried it would be some awkward candid that Henk or John or someone had taken. But it wasn’t. It was a picture of a salad that I had shot in food photography. That was a pleasant surprise. And of course all my wonderfully talented photographer and artist friends were on display too. AND Hilary’s (and thus Taylor’s) mom was there too, in town to visit her daughter and for Mother’s Day. So that was a pleasant blast from the past. Most of the teachers were around as were copious amounts of wine and just enough food. So it was a nice preview of what the farewell party would be like. After that, Helen, a few others, and I went to Darvish for baklava and coffee and hatched a last-minute plan for her birthday. We went to Standa where as presents of form Juan bought lots of beer and popcorn and I got her some Absolut and Jager. We went back to her apartment, blew up some balloons, and with a couple of her friends played the disgusting cigarette game (well really that was just Juan, Jack, and Henk), touch-cup, and kings. She doesn’t remember a lot of it. Thus a good birthday.

Saturday I spent most of the day sitting around the apartment and napping. And I think my roommates did the same judging by the two hours we sat in the living room doing nothing. NOTHING. And then eventually Soviet Anna came over and we watched the latest Lost episodes. And we went off to dinner at Zaza with Liz and Liane. After encountering a handful of Liane’s suitors on Dei Benci, we wound up at everyone’s favorite cultural association. It was past midnight and empty. So we just got numerous shots from Sergio and bullshitted with him for a while. And then stumbled home.

Sunday was a good day too. Cassie invited a bunch of us over for brunch. (Cheese omelet, broccoli and onion egg-white omelet, waffles, Nutella, maple syrup, butter, strawberry jam, rolls, Vitamix juice, goofy green juice, and pesto hash browns.) So we cooked and ate it on the terrace while watching a few of Brian’s hat tricks. Then a few of us went over to a park and played cards and drank red wine. Jack and I walked through the market for a while in search of those leather half-backpacks. But no luck. Since I was in the neighborhood, I went to go see what The Madonnas were up to. Southern Anna and I went to aperitivo at Sei Divino and had some strong drinks, so we found our way back to her house and made Sarah drink with us. We went through a few bottles of wine, a game of bullshit, and an entire game of kings. Rolling on the floor laughing drunk. Good times.

Yesterday/Monday was the beginning of the end finals. Food styling had a little writing section and one final recipe to be repeated without any help or instruction from Andrea. IT WAS THE VEAL PATE. AGAIN. And I didn’t even bring my book (not knowing we were allowed to use it) but it didn’t matter because at this point the recipe is imprinted in my brain. Jack and I were partners, of course, and brought him two plates. An amuse bouche serving (as it’s intended to be) and an appetizer-size version. In between bites, here are some excerpts of what Andrea said.

“I’m expecting this to be good.”
“The plating is nice, clean. Bello.”
“By now, you know this better recipe better than I.”
“It’s perfect. Bravissimi.”

WOW. Never expected that. Andrea is not one of those wow-all-of-you-are-so-wonderful teachers. In fact he’s kind of a perfectionist and always ready with constructive criticism. So that was a great way to end the semester.

Graphic design was much less eventful. We just printed out our final projects and did a last critique/roundtable. Mine was lost on the computer, so I told Louis I’d e-mail him the backup copy from my laptop. And he said, “Don’t worry about it. You already have a good grade in this class.”

When I get home I found a wonderful text message from Southern Anna. “So I think it’s red beans and rice Monday...” !!! I hauled ass over to their apartment and ate them. Wow. It made me miss Cajun food even more and all the more excited for my trip to New Orleans.

So yeah, now we’re all caught up on the recent past. And in the near future, for those of you who are wondering. Here’s where I’ll be:

Firenze, Italia: now - May 17
Washington, DC: May 17 - May 22
New Orleans, LA: May 22 - May 27
Washington, DC: May 27 - May 30
Chicago, IL: May 30 - June 5
Washington, DC: June 5 - ???
Quezon City, Philippines: ??? - ???

The Europe album might have to wait until I’m stateside again. And yes, there are several Florentine pictures that are coming soon.

HOME IN NEW ORLEANS

Thursday May 22, 2007! BE THERE.

what a(n extended) weekend!

Andrew in Wonderland
Sunday afternoon after updating my journal I let another hotel guest use the computer. He’s American. He wants to bike to a field with a windmill and get stoned. I say that’s great but have no advice for him on where to get a joint, a field, or a windmill. I go upstairs and take the longest shower ever and tell Jack, Juan, and Lindsay that I’m going to walk around Amsterdam and to call me when they get up. Amsterdam has trams running up and down the streets which make me think of modernized streetcars (ala NOLA). Amsterdam = New Orleans x Venice / Vegas. I have chicken and mushrooms for lunch and wash it all down with water. I buy the water from an Indian woman, who’s of course beautiful, and she tells me I’m cute and that she’d invite me home for lunch (curry!) if her parents weren’t home and super-conservative. She wants to hang out Monday but when she gets off work I’ll have left. I almost ask for her number until I remember roaming charges make each minute of phone time a Euro. I leave. I think I’m seeing things, but I’m not. Amsterdam is just full of crazy people. Harmless. Crazy. People. I walk around and look for a t-shirt but can’t find one I like enough. I go into a record store which reminds me of High Fidelity but can’t find anything I want there either. I go to an Indonesian restaurant. (Food-wise supposedly Indonesian:Amsterdam Indian:London.) It’s closed. I go into the bar next door and order a plate of chicken satay with fries and a salad. And a Pilsener to drink. It’s getting late in the afternoon, so the place is empty except for the bartender and me. She seems busy doing things so I don’t talk to her that much, but eventually she asks me how many languages I speak. Why? She tells me I greeted her in Italian, ordered my meal in Spanish, and am now speaking English. I tell her English, and that I was probably confused by what the other customers (who left) were speaking. When she knows I’m in culinary school, I help her translate the menu for the day to write on the chalkboard. “No, au gratin is the same in every language.” We talk about tourists since she lives in Amsterdam and I live in DC/New Orleans/Firenze. She recommends a spot to hang with locals tonight. I say goodbye and leave. I go into a hookah bar (funnily “Lost in Amsterdam”) and get a jenever oude (old gin). I feel tired. I order a coffee. The bartender tells me I’m cute and the coffee is on the house because I “look like [you] need it.” Two girls at the bar befriend me. We hang out on a side street for a while. I walk around some more. I see a bar called “Bourbon Street” and a street called “Bourbonstraat.” I decide I need to find my friends. But either because of the roaming or the networks or the country codes, I can’t call anyone. Which means they can’t call me. Eventually Juan texts, I text back, and we meet up.

“meet me at the train station and text me back when you get this so I know you do. Find me before I fly away?”

Party Hard
Sunday evening I tell them all about my day. Juan is the most interested and seems a bit jealous. I wish he had gone with me that morning. We go to a square where people are starting to gather. The queen is coming to her nearby palace. We get tired of waiting for her, so we leave. Juan buys fries. We stop at another bar for more beer and some wine. We sit at a table outside by the canal and then smoke. We go back to the hookah bar I was at earlier. Fresh mint tea (amazing) and orange tobacco. Juan and I are hungry so we get “nasi rames” (a six-dish plate) at the Indonesian restaurant that was closed earlier. It’s a late dinner. Jack and Lindsay go back to the hotel. Juan and I get some cake, eat it, and then walk around some more, drink a couple of rum and cokes, and call it a night. On the way home, we walk through the red light district and see a bunch of drunken men dressed as Oompa-Loompas ogling one of the ladies of Der Wallen (“The Walls.”)

Lady: “Hey you, I like you. Come here!”
Young Oompa Loompah: “Me?”
Lady: “Yes, be my victim, be Morticia’s victim!”
Old Oompa Loompah: “You’re a wanker.”
Morticia: “You’re a league of wankers, The League of Muppet Wankers!”

Chillin' like a Villain
Monday morning we check out of our hotel at the last minute. We go to the station and buy tickets. We go to a coffeehouse and get cappuccinos and teas and smoke. Juan and I are hungry, and Jack and Lindsay are not. They go for a walk. We go to an Argentinean steakhouse and get steaks, chips, red wine, and bread with garlic butter. We walk around some more and go to the train station.

We’re not meant to leave?
Monday afternoon due to late trains, stalled trains, track changes, and other things, we are delayed two hours and switch trains like five times. When we get off in Brussels we debate which stop is the right one. (Lindsay and I took a different one than Juan and Jack did on the way here.) We hop off at the last minute. I am an idiot. (I am also an idiot who is sleep-deprived, dehydrated, and sober with a lot of leftover alcohol in his system.) I leave my backpack on the train. Everything. This is so unlike me. But I do. My wallet, phone, camera, keys, tickets, and PASSPORT. Gone. In less than a minute we formulate a plan. Jack is staying with me. Juan and Lindsay are going ahead to the airport. (Like me, Jack isn’t in college so his grades don’t matter.) Juan and Lindsay hop on a train. Jack and I hop on another one to follow ours. The train with my backpack – thank God – makes its last stop at the next station. Our new train arrives there five minutes after our old train. We decide to go straight to Lost & Found. I tell the gentleman there, and he asks me what’s in my backpack. He goes away for a few seconds and comes back with my backpack. Five minutes. I LOVE BELGIUM. If it was Italy, I’m sure they would’ve said, “oh, check back in a week.” The whole ordeal takes about ten minutes. But apparently they’re a crucial ten minutes because we miss our flight by ten minutes. I feel bad but not entirely because in our 130 minutes of delay, I was responsible for 10. And I even wanted to leave earlier than we did.

A Happy Accident

So Monday night we got stuck at the airport. The check-in booths and ticket booths were closed. The gentleman at the information desk told us the next flight to Pisa was at 6:40 in the evening on Tuesday. Backtracking to the train stations to check out train schedules would’ve been stupid because we could’ve gotten stuck there and trains would’ve taken over a day to get home when the alternative was relaxing where we were and taking a one-and-a-half-hour flight. The gentleman told us we are welcome to stay at the airport for 20 hours or whatever it was, but that if we wanted he had information on nearby hotels. He called the two nearest ones for shuttles because a five-minute taxi ride would cost us 20 Euro. “And that’s ridiculous,” he said. Very kind of him. The hotel shuttle services didn’t answer, so he called a third one, which was a bit further away. He said it’s a nice hotel with free shuttle service and showed us a brochure which looks like a boutique hotel and reads like a bed & breakfast. He told the driver to meet us by a red mailbox outside the airport to avoid the bus and taxi traffic. Then the information guy walked us out to the stop and waited with us to make sure we get the right car. (How awesome is that? This country rules so hard.)

On the way to the hotel, we found out from the driver that all the restaurants in the area were already closed, which sucked because we were starving. At the hotel, he took us inside and got behind the counter. (It was a small but pleasant place, and at this point I realized he was either manager or, more likely, the owner.) He booked our room and gave us two keycards. At this point I caved and just asked him if he had any bread and jam and water we could have. And he said of course he would give us food and to follow him. He took us to the dining room and told us to take whatever we want. “Don’t be shy. You’re young men, and you’re hungry. Take more.” We took our loot back to our room, and I comment to Jack that it looked like an indoor picnic or something out of a fairy tale. They were taken into the castle and fed eggs, cheese, waffles, and fruits? The fruit selection was impressive because we just got a quick sampling and had apples, oranges, bananas, and lychees. The owner knocks at the door. He has brought us warm towels and cold beers. We thanked him again and talked a little bit. He asked where we were from and we tell him The U.S.A. He smiled, and I thought it was a rueful “I hate you guys” smile, but it wasn’t. He thought we were German (Wangelin) and Spanish or Latino (Marin) and not American. He asked where in The States, and we told him Chicago and DC. He’d never been to DC, but he loved Chicago. On the way out, he told us he’d been to The States 17 times, and assures us he liked it and liked Americans. I tried not to creep him out when I told him how highly I thought of Belgium and Belgians. And then I told him good night and thank you very much in French. I’ll never forget his answer:

“Good night. You are welcome. I will never forget what Americans did for Belgium during the war.”

I was genuinely touched by this, as was Jack. It’s one thing to hear a patriotic American like Giuseppe talking about how great The U.S. is, but it’s a completely different thing to hear a foreigner (a European even!) talking positively about The U.S. And he treated us so well. We felt like we were staying at an uncle’s or a family friend’s. Like his guests and not his customers. Anyway, we watched TV – cable TV with a remote control and over 30 channels and everything – and eventually fell asleep. At some point around 3AM, Juan texted to let us know he was back in Italy, and we were glad we got stuck in Belgium.

Vacation extended... by force

Tuesday morning when we woke up, Marc (his name, we learned) had a buffet breakfast prepared for us in the dining room. The same fruits were out, but I noticed in the morning sunlight that aside from the apples, oranges, bananas, and lychees, there were also: Sliced honeydew (which I don’t usually like but was very good), strawberries, grapes, peaches, apricots, figs, dates, quinces, and various dried fruits. And that’s just the fruit table.

There were also hardboiled eggs, waffles, three cereals, four cheeses (one made by monks), five breads/pastries, every kind of jam you can imagine, a homemade grapefruit jam, milk marmalade, Nutella, peanut butter, other nut spreads, different milks and yogurts, (orange, mango, guava) juices, every kind of Twinings tea, assorted selections of hot chocolates, coffees, candies, and chocolates.

I’d never been so excited to eat breakfast. And I love breakfast.

After breakfast, Marc gave us a map and annotated it. Good and non-overpriced beers here, the best chocolates here, the most beautiful buildings there, etc. He drove us to the airport and told us to call if we had any problems. While checking out, I snuck a peek at the guest book and apparently everyone (like me) had nothing but praises to sing. If you’re ever in Brussels, consider staying here. You won’t regret it.

HOTEL SOUTH
206 Chaussee de Gilly
b 6043 Charleroi Ransart
Tel +32 (0)71 256565
Fax +32 (0)71 256560
info@charleroi-hotelsouth.be
http://www.charloioi-hotelsouth.be

The ticket lady told us there was only one seat left, so we booked it for Jack and I was first on the waiting list. She said it shouldn’t be a problem for me to get on the flight but to check back later, and that the next flight was Wednesday morning. We decided to spend the afternoon wandering around Brussels with Marc’s map. All the sign and map names were in both French and Dutch. We walked around the Grand Place / Grote Markt, stopped by the famous Manneken Pis (peeing little boy fountain) and got Guldenberg (au fut) beer and Herve Doux and Bouquet des Moines cheeses at the nearby bar Marc had recommended, we stopped by the store of Pierre Marcolini who we were told was the best maker of Belgian chocolates, we bought a small dark chocolate mouse cake with orange cream and praline shards, we ate that in a small park and walked around the Koninklijk Paleis / Palais Royal and then made our way back to the airport. At the airport, the ticket counter said the flight was delayed ten minutes they needed ten more minutes to let me know whether I could board or not. At this point, I would’ve been happy to go back to Hotel South and chill out with Marc and his wife and son. But I do get to board. And Jack and I finally return to Italy, a few hundred Euro poorer but completely convinced it was all worth it. It was. That was one of the best and craziest (extended!) weekends of my life.

The Great Escape
No pictures yet. But soon I’ll put up my greatest album ever. The Europe Album: Barcelona Spain, Friesing Germany, London England, Amsterdam Netherlands, and Brussels Belgium.

live from Amsterdam...

Friday morning. I decide I want to walk leisurely to the bus stop with Helen and Lindsay rather than run to the train station to meet Juan and Jack. "See you at the airport, man."No. No such thing. Our bus gets delayed somewhere between half an hour to an hour. (There was a lane closed on the highway. Apparently Italians don't know how to merge. This makes sense because they don't know how to form lines either. They just crowd.) The girls and I miss our check-in by five minutes. We have rebook our flight. We're stuck. But we're still in Italy, and we're stuck in Pisa. We buy a pizza - pizza at Pisa! - and go sit on the grass around The Leaning Tower. We ordered Napoli Pizza to be adventurous, but it's anchovies and capers. It's surprisingly good. We get gelato while heading back to the airport. We fly away.

Friday night we arrive at the airport in Belgium. We walk around Brussels for a while because we have a few hours until our train to Amsterdam. We grab dinner at a Mediterranean place. The staff is really nice. They keep the place open late for us. They point us toward a nearby bar when we ask for the check. We don't make it to the bar. We see a sketchy looking door that says Africa Music Club. We can't help but investigate. It's a bar. Our waitress is beautiful, but we think she'll be creeped out if we take a picture of her. We drink several bottles of Jupiter. Alliteration. Belgian beer brewed and bottled in Belgium. We play gin rummy. Eventually one of the black guys convinces us to dance despite being tired. He says something about not knowing whether we'll be alive tomorrow, so we should live tonight as much as possible. It sounds like my favorite James Dean motto. And he says it in French. So we all dance. The playlist is awesome. It's everything with a good beat and a good melody: American hip-hop, Latin music, reggae, and even some African music. Some of the people there are crazy good at dancing. One hilarious guy walks up to me and starts copying movements. It's like watching a mirror. Then he has me try some of his. Eventually like four guys crowd around Helen. They're not pushy like Italians or bump-and-grind like Americans, but she gets tired of it and we head to the station at four in the morning. We bump into the same security guard who told us when our train was a few hours ago. He thinks we've been lost in the station all night. He's really nice and helpful. All the Belgians are awesome. They have a great sense of design, fashion, and are friendly. They also all speak at least four languages. It's a great country. I'm going back. We get on a train at six.

We pass out on the train for three hours and wake up in Amsterdam around nine on Saturday morning. Juan and Jack are waiting for us at the train platform. They haven't slept. We didn't have a place to stay for that night anyway. Outside the station, Helen's friend Nikita meets up with us. She's also from Zimbabwe. It's her birthday. We all start walking. I blaze a trail to the first coffeehouse I see. Coffee and cake. Breakfast of champions. We walk around Amsterdam. It's amazing. Somewhere between Venice and New Orleans. There are canals, but they aren't annoying like Venice. It's easy to get around. There are bike paths everywhere. There's lots of Green like New Orleans' Garden District and small roads like in the quarter. It actually looks a lot like the quarter except without as many bars but just as many neon signs. Indonesian food is to to here as Indian food is to London. There are also lots of Argentine restaurants, inexplicably. We go to Vondelpark and walk the path. We buy hot dogs (with crazy toppings like sauerkraut, curry ketchup, onions, fried something, and sriracha hot sauce). They're good. We almost fall asleep. We get up and go to The Van Gogh Museum. It's amazing. Juan decides to sleep outside instead. Jack, Lindsay, and I join him. They fall asleep. I'm still hungry. I find a stand that sells Belgian waffles, chocolate, and soft-serve vanilla ice cream. I have them top a waffle with melted chocolate and ice cream for me. It's amazing. I wake Jack up. He loves it. He goes to sleep again. I get hungry again, for real food this time, and go get a "big boy burger."" In my stupor I call it a Monster Burger. The lady laughs, and she makes it monstrous by putting extra cheese and extra bacon on it. We regroup outside the museum. We finally go to our hotel and pass out.

When we wake up, we've overslept the alarms we set for dinner. All of us. Light is shining through the curtains. It's 8:15. Jack doesn't believe that it's still Saturday night: "Fuck you. It's morning. Where's Prima?" Eventually he's convinced and we all go to dinner at an Indian restaurant. We all eat too much, but we're in Amsterdam, and it's Kit's birthday, and we're well-rested and well-fed so we go to a coffeehouse after. It's named Ben, so I miss Ben. Cake and coffee. Breakfast Dessert of champions. We walk around The Red Light District. We enter a few sex stores. I'm jaded to both, but some of the others look like they're in awe. We go to another coffeehouse. After sitting in there for ten minutes, we realize it's a gay coffeehouse. But we don't care. They're all having fun. And so are we. When we leave from that, we decided to put Helen to bed since she's got an early flight. We go back to the hotel, hug and double-kiss her goodbye, and pass out.

It's Sunday now. Sunday morning. (A lie, Sunday morning just ended because it's past noon.) I wake up, and soon after Nikita comes to say goodbye. I hug her goodbye in my underwear and lie down again. Jack says bye. She doesn't bother waking up Juan, but I think she said goodbye to Lindsay. She leaves. I can't fall asleep again. I get dressed and go downstairs. The computers in the lounge are taken. I buy a bottle of Aquarius (like Gatorade, but the official sports drink of The Olympics). I go upstairs and take a vitamin. Still can't sleep. I come back downstairs. The computers are still taken. A girl is sitting nearby on the couches. We make friends. Her name is Joan or Joann or Joanna. She's from Seattle. She offers me some of her muffin. I happily accept - because I did sleep late enough to miss breakfast - and we drink tea from her thermos. She tells me to friend her on facebook when I get online, but I forget her last name and am not even sure of her first one. The idiots who have been talking loudly about Facebook Applications and Myspace and typing with only two fingers finally get off the computer. (I am glad they are not American because everyone has been glaring at them.) I get online. I am online. I am in Amsterdam. I am in Amsterdam. I AM STERDAM.