Stormy Sleep

Last night a storm blew through the campsite.

Everywhere was the sound of flapping nylon tarps and zipping.

Flashes of sheet lightning momentarily took blue and green snapshots of shadows mid sprint.

Spectacular forks of light like intricate glowing cracks in the cloud above seared themselves into being as a united gasp escaped the lips of those lucky enought to be looking up.

Lone street lights and headlamps illuminated slanted sheets of raincurtains angling into trees and sandy ground. The smell of earth and wet branches rose like smoke from below.

As I ran past one tiny shelter I heard from within muffled moans and the unmistakable high-pitched barely-voiced inhale. A couple, possessed by the spirit of reckless weather, were riding the rhythm of the storm as the wind wolf whistled along.

The night was whispering to each in turn their secret messages.

From afar.

Driven abreeze they now shook loose in rhyming clarity... to wrap the receiver in farflung dreams beneath the chaotic canopy.

I tossed and turned all night as the tent repeatedly claimed to give up cruel world! or tear unshackled from my aluminum stakes. While the moon... a shapeless hidden glow... struggled across the embattled sky, gusts of wind charged my tent from every angle in turn. Like the hands of a clock slowly stalking its center. The chiming bells were periodic cracks of rolling thunder that seemed to rattle your organs from the inside out.

But my shelter held its ground, and I slept dry within.

Something about being at the mercy of unbridled nature has always appealed to me. Testing my fortitude against the onslought of the elements.

Perhaps I see the forces as beautiful mirror images of the wild parts of myself and humanity that are equally halting in their mystery to me.

Or perhaps I just like a good party.

Either way I enjoyed my little storm last night.

The House that Dali Built

Two Dali museums down, one more to go.
The first was in Figueres, the Teatro Museo... an extremely popular museum. The holy bible of traveling (aka guidebook) hath so-seriously-you-guys declared it top most visited museum in Spain, or something along those lines.
I don´t know about all that, but the big crowd did somehow force my experience. Hard to get lost in an art piece and be jostled at the same time.
I was lucky... I walked into the room of his tomb just at the right moment. I was the only person there. It was a nice touch.
The Teatro Museo was first created by Dali... constructed on the ruins of a burned theater in his hometown (the actual site of his first art exhibition at age 14). The Mayor of Figueres asked Dali to donate a painting to the town. The artist refused, instead promising a museum of his design. And there it was.
As you can imagine the whole building is a surrealist experience down to every minute detail.

The real winner though was Casa de Dali which I visited today.
This was Dali and Gala´s (his wife and muse) home and studio. They lived here until Gala´s death.
This place is so wild, shit! I want a house like this someday... seriously.
Three separate fishing huts strung together... it grew and evolved over years, the universe of Dali in a physical labyrinth. To enter it is to enter a shrine.
Due to the size, the number of visitors are strictly limited... adding to the aura.
In fact, you´re supposed to call ahead and reserve tickets. Solo to the rescue... if you´re alone, sometimes it works in your favor.
Something about the intimacy of the whole experience... hushed and holy... was riveting. Be it the mirror positioned just ye, so the artist could see the light of dawn from his bed; or Gala´s private room designed by her lover... the acoustics of which created a dreamlike echo, completely confusing and enhancing for any ear-eye coordination.
In this house, a hall was not just a hall: completely white... blank except for a tiny birdcage, it could have been an artpiece... but it wasn´t... it was his home.
Very moving day for me.
After that I took a walk by and then a swim in the Mediterranean.
In case you were wondering, yes nude beaches exist in Spain (stop reading if nudity makes you queasy):
no, they aren´t marked, a regular beach becomes a nude beach when someone takes their pants off, but they do tend to be remoter... yes I saw a lot of tits, pussy, and dick today... no they weren´t all pleasant to look at... yes that means flabby, saggy, hairy, etc. But one or two weren´t bad. I might try it tomorrow.
Instead of getting nude today... I jumped off a cliff and then I jumped off another higher cliff. Nothing too high, about 30ft maybe I just saw some kids jumping and surviving so I gave it a try. Fun stuff.
The past two nights, I have been extremely lax about finding places to sleep. Both places I found after 9pm. Instead of paying too much for a hostel, I just figure I can grab a midnight bus and sleep on it... since it doesn´t really matter where I go. As long as I keep moving.
In other news... I am happy to announce I have bought a plane ticket back to the States and will begin my season of money making in Montana this time: Mountain Sky Guest Ranch. At least until October and then it´ll be the road again.
Cheers.

Dali Stop

I just hopped off my train to Barcelona because I was about to pass not one but three Salvador Dali museums. So I´m here now in Figueres the place of his birth and death.

Pics, tips, and freedom fries

Starting with the photos this time:













Church in Dublin



















Same Church: I couldn't go in cause they were filming The Tudors (whatever that is)

Dublin Castle














Ivy Building

I'll have a ... a ... Jamesons?














Irish Harbor














Irish Sea


















Amazing day at the beach: I think at this point I had 3 hours till my plane left.

Irish Fishermen















Boats














The Golden Gates of Versailles Palace


















The Ceiling of the Royal Family Chapel


















Now that's a bed




































The Famous Hall of Mirrors: Testament to Extravagance














I would kinda like a fireplace that burned whole trees though


















Fountain in the Gardens














The Palace from the Gardens


















Yin and Lauren














Me and my favorite god... you guessed it: Dionysus (aka Bacchus)














Lunch / Yin's face















Eiffel Tower Sunset

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And Now the Post

First of all. I'm going to Barcelona tomorrow!!!
Second of all, a few thoughts on stereotypes:

Its no secret that Americans have certain stereotypes about the French in general and the Parisans in specific. You know its coming, but I'll get to Freedom Fries and Freedom Toast in a minute.

Before my trip I was warned several times that the French in Paris were assholes... especially if you were lacking in French fluency (or something along those lines).
At the risk of jinxing myself, I will state for the record that I have experienced nothing but kindness and patience in my interactions.

Here are a few examples:

My first night in Paris came at the end of a very long journey. I had finally reached Mathieu's apartment where I was supposed to crash. Due to the lost bag and lost taxi incidents, I was slightly late... only four hours. It was three a.m. I was mapless, dead on my feet, dying for a cigarette, and staring at a locked apartment building. I needed a phone.
Three city blocks later I concluded that coin payphones were as plentiful as freakin unicorns in Paris.
Any shop selling phonecards had closed long ago.
In desperation I wondered if it would be worth yelling at windows in the above apartments until the right one opened.
I decided against that.
Instead I was politely approached by a slightly intoxicated Frenchman asking for a cig.
Hmm, it seemed I wasn't the only one in this city with nothing but a habit.
I started to ask where all the telephone booths hung out at this time of night... but I only got as far as "telefono." He had pulled out his cell and was asking for the number.
That single gesture probably saved me another two hours of searching.
Mathieu whom I had never met (we had a mutual friend), had been waiting up with his friends. He graciously invited me into his home and handed me a smoke.
And that was my Paris first impression.

Another time I saw a young French guy chase down an Asian tourist in the subway because the back of his bag was unzipped. After frantically rumaging to make sure everything was there, the flustered tourist could barely squeak a "merci."

Of course the responsiblity for harmonious cross cultural interactions must be shared. Sometimes you have to help too:

In response to my "parle vous anglais?" bombshell...
I can clearly read the "oh shit... and I was having a good day" expression flash across the information desk lady's face.
She eyes me warily.
Luckily here's where I shine.

If I may offer a few free tips:
First, before you begin firing questions, greet the individual in French. This step must not be underestimated... many cultures (even ours) value politeness and the establishment of a relationship.
Second, establish two things as soon as possible: you are neither distressed nor rushed.
In the absence of words you must communicate through other means: body language and facial expressions.
In practice, adopt a non challenging relaxed stance, make eye contact (minus that intense crazy guy stare)... and smile for the love of god! Act like you are having the best day of your life.
Now... having said that, it gets a little tricky when you are, in fact very rushed, extremely distressed, and consequently having the worst day of your life. Lie, baby lie. Acting cool can be better than blowing your top: better service and it clears your head.
Practice makes perfect.
Third, use whatever means to communicate. This often ends up being amusing for everyone in line. I have used drawing, acting, singing, dancing... anything. Try using words in different languages. Try having a good time doing it. If it seems funny or awkard thats because it is, so laugh.
In this case after a little miming with some Spanish thrown in, the young lady took a liking to me (thats the smiling for ya), and walked me to the appropriate ticket counter. Which ended up being the wrong ticket counter but hey... at least it was in the vicinity.
Plan on repeating the entire process several times before success. That way you can be pleasantly surprised instead of devastated (if your the prone to devastation type).

I just had an ominous feeling that after such a self-righteous post... I must have doomed myself. Next post: Nate in Paris jail after beating store clerk with flip flop.

Lets hope not.

This post is too long for me to go into Freedom Fries, so I'll just say that I suspect the US government (or at least the current administration) to be behind a media driven smear campaign against the French culture. Imagine what a pain it would be if some Frenchies did things opposite from your way and fared much better. I mean wouldn't that prove you... gasp... wrong?
I'm referring to France's health care, educational, and work vacation systems which are decidedly left of our left... and better.
Mainly though, I feel like anti-French jabs really heated up in the US after France took a stand against the Iraq War.
I'm no expert on this so feel free to add your thoughts in the comments. Just tossin it out there. Discuss.

Raw Versailles

First to answer some questions: The reason Chinese or Spanish gets a better response in Paris for me seems to be because Parisians are more likely to speak Spanish than English due to Spain being right there. As for Chinese, I just look for the closest Asian and hope they can at least understand it. Paris is a very cosmopolitan city: lots of different cultures.

Yesterday was raw day with Yin and Lauren.

Lunch: Beef tartar (they gave us each a plate with enough ground beef for two large American burgers). It had onions, herbs, capers, and citrus, but not very much of it. Yes we ate it all; Yes it was really good.
Foie Gras... also raw. Never had it before... it came with toast and the best balsamic reduction I've ever had.
We also had escargot... cooked. SO good.
Dinner: Oysters, mussels, clams, tuna, scallops, and brined shrimp. All raw. Delicious!

In the afternoon we hopped a train to Versailles. It was moving for me to see the setting of the French Revolution and imagine the peasants storming the palace. It was so unnecessarily lavish inside I felt sick. The gardens were nice though.
An interesting moment:
As we sat on the grass I noticed a group of men with cameras and shit eating grins following a slutty looking, suspiciously buff, high-heeled woman. Alright, it was actually a French dude and his bachelor party... drunk off their ass. Just then a family passed us, the mother momentarily blocking our view of the entertainment. She wore a long flowing chadri... only a rectangle exposed for her eyes.
I was momentarily overcome by the extremes in human appropriateness. The modest muslim mother and the crossdressing drunk both sauntering through the gardens of Versailles. I was most interested in the possibilities for how these two would regard each other. But no interaction occurred as they passed each other seemingly indifferent.
Still I can imagine the possibilities ("sex deviant!"... "prude!").

A few notes on my thoughts:
The justifications for any given action deviate greatly between the actor and the observer of the action.
While the ramifications of both are quite strong, neither is the complete and true motivation for the action.

I know this because my reasoning for my traveling (and anything else I do for that matter) is as elusive to me as to those who speculate about me. It is never one reason but a heirarchy of reasons.

To me, the complexity of a person or character is a mirror of the complexity of this heirarchy... as well as its ability to change.

I dont know fully what drives me, I do know who I am by my actions, I dont know who I will be... and neither does anyone else.

Make sense?

On another note:

I realized last night that I couldnt see the stars... its time for me to leave the city.

Below are some of Cody's Pictures from the Road Trip in Salta, Argentina.

DUI-M

Driving Under the Infuence - of Mate

Salta Overlook

The Gnomes live in those mountains!

Salt Flat Fun

Lunch

Hey, did anyone bring any salt? ... waiiiitaminute

Be the Salt Flats

Pink Thermos Balancing Act:

Daniel-son Style

You won't believe this

When we last left our hero he was sitting in an internet cafe in Paris trying to reach his lost friends, who were obviously the ones lost... as he knew exactly where he was.
Unable to contact them, he decides to chance at it and see just how lucky he really is.

And now the exciting conclusion:

I left the internet:
To stubbornly enjoy the day
I was hellbent!
I am solo anyway.

Where to thought me? The Louvre'll be neat.
In Line One I see a bag check ahead.
No sweat I know this drill:
Bag on the belt be sure to smile or wink at Miss Security,
In case she's feeling frisky?... ok, she's not.

Down I go beneath a pyramid of glass.
Wow, big room... lotta people to see...
The sign says tickets free.
But I didn't see it as I thought:
"Now where's that dead Virgin supposed to be?" *
So I wait for the ticket I didn't need.


Which put me in just the perfect spot
For hands to enter my left and right pocket.
One for my cigs and one for the wallet...
respectively.

I jumped I'll admit it...
a foot or two
and assummed a slight resemblance...
to that kid in gym that always was
surprised at being pantsed**.
But so would you...
so shut up.

I hear familiar laughing,
Turn... Yin and Tai are grinning.
GOT you!


A chance finding in Monstrous Paris City
I guess I am pretty lucky.

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* A reference to The Da Vinci Codes, which I somehow couldnt get out of my head at the Louvre, dammit all.


** To be pantsed is to have one's trousers abruptly and unceremoniously relocated around one's ankles. It can be observed mostly among middle and high school aged. The rather amusing result is an uncontrollable expression of shock and embarrassment coupled with frantic motions meant to restore said clothing to its proper place as rapidly as possible: a sort of red-faced jiggle-dance.

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I couldn't figure out how to work this French computer so some of these are just going to be sideways.

Sidewys Eiffel Tower

My Parisian Friends: Farida, Anna, and Mathieu

Look Familiar?

One of my favorites

FROM DUBLIN

For those of us with a cornier disposition

It begins

Inspiration: This was right before I fought the line for my free guinnes.

A beautiful sight

Things get interesting

So this is where the trip starts to get interesting: I no longer have any tickets or places to be. The road is wide open and i'm as free as they come. I have no idea where I will be in three days, and that's just my style.

Flying into Paris at night: there's nothing quite like it.

There's nothing quite like the airport losing your bag either. I just got it back today, I think it has a sticker on it for Japan... figures.

Little travel tip:

This lost bag popped my cherry, but I have been waiting for the day. I knew it would happen. So I always keep my basics in the carry-0n. You know... contacts, deoderant, toothbrush, cigarettes, condoms (bare necessities). Enough for a day or two, which is usually how long it takes them to find your bags. I was extremely lucky this time... Paris was the first destination on this trip where I actually had a phone number and address to stay. The rest of the time, I just hit the hostel kiosks.

In Dublin:

True to form, I can proudly announce that I hit the Jameson distillery and the Guinness brewery all in one day. I was toasted. Also had the chance to get out of the city (led by two slovakian ladies I met at a restaurant) and saw some Irish Sea... always nice.

By the time I got into Paris from the airport it was really late (delayed flight, lost bag). I met two Americans whose flight had been cancelled. They had ten hours to burn, so they were staying up all night walking around the city. I wanted to join them but could barely stand. I saw the city though, between hiking in search of open metros and chasing taxis I gaped up at the illuminated architecture. The streets were alive with intoxicated people... in love or in wine. Couples by fountains, women gliding through the warm night in their bright sundresses. The wind was cool off the Seine. Then I was treated to a tour of the city when my taxi drove me to the wrong address on the other side of town.

The next day the wedding party met up for drinks and dinner. Great to see everyone... Matt and Diana... we wish you could be here.

Today was Notre Dame... beautiful. I somehow lost my friends, so decided to find some internet and catch up on writing instead.

We'll see if i'm lucky enought to find them in Paris... if not I'll find a bar and go from there.

Interesting note: I have used more Spanish and Chinese on the streets of Paris than English... gets a better response.