Where They Play Football With Their Feet

European Superlatives

2008-08-06T02:20:00.001-07:00

So today is the last day, and all along I've been saying to myself that I wanted to do the real yearbook thing to conclude my voyage: Superlatives. So, without any further ado, I give you the highlights (and lowlights) of three months on the European continent.

Favorite Stop: Grindelwald, Switzerland. Nothing can really beat the impressiveness and the natural beauty of the Alps. Incredible views, the simple fact of being in the Swiss Alps, a fun place to stay, good company, the chance to make snowmen and good weather made the experience one that won't be quickly forgotten. Being outdoors, hiking, and all that fun stuff was an incredible departure from the rest of the trip.

Favorite City: Berlin. I'm too much of a history nerd to say that I like any other city than the one that dominated the twentieth century. Staying there for eight nights gave me the chance to really learn about the city, explore it, and delve into it. With it's rebuilt historic sites, remnants of the wall, and futuristic, modern architecture, it was easily my favorite city, the only stop I could see myself living in and the place I most want to go back to.

Most European-feeling City: Rome, Italy. It has all sorts of ruins, statutes, historic sites that make you think of Europe, but on top of that it has the sort of congestion, crazy driving, and surly people that I think of when I think of Europe. Totally takes the cake. Plus, it has a really European food selection.

Best Old Town: Wroclaw, Poland, with its wide-open square with multi-colored buildings clustered together, the old town of Wroclaw felt like it was still . What made it cooler is that it was almost completely destroyed in World War II, and has been rebuilt since. What makes it even cooler is that it was originally a German town (Breslau) and was made into a Polish town following the war.

Favorite person met: Sally Dunbar, who accompanied me to Grindelwald on the Alpine adventure, made the experience way more interesting, and it's nice to make a friend in your travels. A Finnish man (whose name I cannot remember) I met in Zurich on the night of the Italy-France and Netherlands-Romania who made it his duty to see that I had a wonderful night comes in a distant, but notable second.

Best Train System: After more than forty train rides, I can safely examine the rail systems of multiple countries and tell you that Switzerland's SBB, which took an hour between any destination, regardless of how far, was the most efficient. It was also the easiest to navigate, and had trains going where I needed to go when I needed to go. Second place goes to the DB, which was cleaner and more friendly than any other rail system.

Worst Train System: Poland's PKP. We can talk about the PKP in person. The PKP and I did not get along.

Best country for food: Italy. Even though we were only there for three days, I had more food in Italy than I probably had on the rest of the trip. Pizza, pasta, and everything else you'd expect to eat in Italy, only better and in larger portions that you would expect.

Best meal: Toss-up between a traditional Berlin meal of almost entirely meat (chicken, fish, steak, sausage, sauerkraut, potatoes, beer and champagne) in Germany or a real Italian meal (pasta, various meats, Sicilian broccoli, prosciutto, mozzarella, ect.) when we were in Rome.

Best Snack: Belgian Waffles. Annie told me that they would be good. They were incredible. It's sugar in waffle form, covered with sugar in fruit form, covered in sugar in whipped cream form.

Worst country for food: England. While Mrs. Boulicault's cooking was wonderful, the English completely live up to their reputation of having food that isn't too good. On top of that, it's really hard to find anything that's really English in London, so most of the time I settled for eating other food. On top of that, it was all really expensive, which was a bad way to start a trip.

Best Building: On the modern side, the Hauptbanhof in Berlin with its glass and steel, futuristic space-station look is the winner. On the pre-2oth century side, the Roman coliseum did not dissapoint. On the 20th Century side, I found the Palace of Science and Culture, with its overwhelming communist feel to be really cool. On the Best fusion of old and new, the winner is the Reichstag in Berlin with its futuristic dome capping the historic parliament building.

Worst Buildings: The European Union section of Belgium might be one of the most hideous places I've ever been.

Favorite traditional clothing: You can't really beat Lederhosen. It's just silly. Comeon, it has a flap in the front so you can pee. That's silly.

Best City for Running: London, but that's only because where I was staying backs up to Hampstead Heath, and therefore I had a giant park to play in whenever I wanted.

Worst City for Running: Brussels. Simply put, there is no green space in Brussels, and nowhere to go where there aren't a million people.

Most Bizarre Sight: The Water Parade in Brussels. I don't think anything will come close to stumbling upon a several-mile long parade dedicated to water, and every fifteen minutes the whole city jumped.

Favorite Random Fact Learned: The Smurfs come from Belgium, and the Belgians love the Smurfs.

Best Hostel: Krakow. Annie and I had our own room that was as nice as a hotel room, for cheaper than any hostel I had stayed in to that point (hooray for Poland!). Plus, it had a sweet kitchen, a nice common room, good location, and felt safe.

Worst Hostel: The Blue Corridor Hostel in Vienna. On the fourth floor of a building with no elevator, no air conditioning, five people in a four-bed room, no common area, and showers with no doors, inviting everybody to share you bathing experience. For twelve nights I stayed here.

Coolest statute: The Trevi Fountain in Rome.

Object I wish I had with me: More socks. I can't tell you how many times I had to wear stinky, dirty socks, or walk in sandals when it was too cold to wear sandals.

Object I wish I didn't have with me: I brought a hoodie sweatshirt, and I still can't quite figure out why. I wore it once, when I was all wet after hiking in Austria, but other than that it just took up an unusual amount of space in my bag.

Most Memorable Experience: Auschwitz-Birkenau Museum and historical site. Going to Auschwitz and Birkenau will probably be something that will stick with me forever.

Best Experience: Croatia v. Turkey. The first game I went to, where I randomly ran into Alex Lim, which went into extra time where both teams scored, and then to penalty kicks to decide the winner, who ended up being Turkey.

Favorite Football-Related Experience (other than games): Witnessing the rivalry between Celtic and Rangers fans in Glasgow and when I encountered them elsewhere. It's a fierce rivalry, it runs along lines that are deeper than fandom, and those involved in in view the world through it. It's fascinating.

Worst Experience: Taking a night train from Innsbruck to Rome without somewhere to sleep, while a North African woman slept in my lap and 200 Italian cowboys partied outside our compartment. I'm still bitter.

Most unimpressive, underwhelming sight: This is a difficult one. Two sights really both excel in this category: the Mannequin Pis, a statue of a little boy peeing that is the national pride of Belgium; and the Glockenspiel in Munich, a contraption that rings bells and reenacts significant moments in 16th century Bavarian history through life-size wooden figures. The golden roof, from Innsbruck, also competes in this category, but it somehow more impressive than the other two.

Most impressive, overwhelming sight: The View from Grosse Schidegg in Grindelwald on the second day of hiking in the alps. For man-made impressiveness, the winner is seeing the city of Berlin at night from the top of the Reichstag building.

And I think that sufficiently wraps up the blogging experience for this summer, and I'm heading home bright and early tomorrow. For those of you who read often, I appreciate it. For those of you who read sparingly, I appreciate it. For those of you who maybe read one or two postings, I appreciate it. It's been a fun trip, and I'm glad I could share it with you.

Kevin

And for those of you who just can't get enough of Kevin Kiley blogging, that other blog I started a while ago to post my project (http://politicalpitches.blogspot.com), is about to be updated like whoa in the next few weeks to compensate for not doing anything to it in the past month.

A Long Way (But not THE long way)

2008-08-05T23:53:00.000-07:00

We started the last leg of our trip Monday at 7 a.m. when we got on a bus from Dubrovnik to Zagreb. We were all excited because we had the front seats on the second story of a two-story bus. In case anybody cares, those front seats, in the hot Croatian weather, are basically an oven. Our blisteringly hot excursion back to the Croatian capital took a horribly long 10 hours in which neither Annie nor I slept a wink and were cooked alive. On top of that, there were only two pee breaks, which I guess was fine since we sweated out anything we drank anyways.

Back at Zagreb (again, not doing anything but grabbing a train), we grabbed a real meal (since we hadn't eaten since breakfast that morning) and then jumped on an overnight train heading for Munich, Germany. The last time we took a night train, we had great roommates who were interesting and, most importantly, willing to sleep. This time around we weren't so lucky, as we were joined by two Dutch women who preferred to fold up the beds and sit down instead.

When we got to Munich around 7 in the morning, we had just enough time to grab a few Bratwursts (yay being back in Germany!) and jump on an early train to Frankfurt, which would add another four hours of travel, bringing the total to roughly 24 hours of pure, hardcore travel in slightly more than a day.

We'll Have a Dalmatian Vacation

2008-07-31T08:41:00.000-07:00

This was day four on the sands of Croatia, a country that nobody really knows anything about but has become the latest travel destination for Europeans, and apparently backpackers after they tour Europe.

We left Split Monday morning after spending only one night there, and caught a ferry to Hvar, an island off the Croatian coast. The ferry only took an hour, though I have to admit that I slept most of the ride, bringing back fond memories of the ferry rides in Greece.

We arrived on Hvar mid-afternoon, unpacked our stuff, changed into bathing suits and set out for the closest swimming hole.

For somewhere that's billed as an island paradise, Hvar's beaches aren't too nice. Most are just rocky coastline where vendors have decided to capitalize by hawking sun chairs. Laying out on a towel is an interesting experience, and probably not too good for the back. There are really nice beaches, they're located just offshore on a nearby island, and I wasn't really up for spending more money on a taxi boat.

But, determined to take a dip in the Adriatic, we staked out a spot on a nice rock outcropping and jumped in. The nice thing about a rocky coastline is that you can jump in and not have to do that awkward half run, half dive move that's always torture with somewhat cold beaches.

Day two was the epitome of how I was feeling. That would be exhausted. We didn't wake up until around 2:30, mainly due to the fact that since we left Berlin we've been going nonstop, and frankly we were a little tired. Throw on top of that the fact that we haven't slept more than 4 hours for the past few nights, and you can begin to understand how one can sleep more than 12 hours. The rest of the day passed in a blur, and I can't really recall doing anything besides being overwhelmingly tired and wanting to go to sleep. So that's what we did eventually.

On day three, Annie and I went exploring around Hvar in hopes of finding a sandy beach or something that isn't jagged rock. After noticing a spot on a Google map that looked promising, we set off in that direction only to get distracted at another beach, and while it might not have been that pretty, we were soaking with sweat, and decided that a swim might be nice.

After our dip we pressed on in search of that far off beach, eventually realizing that the road had narrowed down into a slightly used path that was only noticeable because of the discoloration of the stone, which we supposed meant that it was well-traveled. I think it was actually discolored to warn against taking it, as it was possibly the most perilous path I've ever been on, occasionally coming very close to falling off into the ocean. As we made our way around, we came to another beach, where we took another dip. After pressing on from that beach for a while, we realized that where we stopped was actually the nice beach that we were looking for, but by this time it was getting late and I was starting to feel like I was getting sunburned.

By the time we made it back I was sufficiently sunburned, and we headed inside to drink lots of water and relax in air conditioning. As the sun started going down we wandered around town and found a good spot to sit and watch the sun go down.

Being sunburned, I didn't really feel too up to laying around in the sun, so we spent most of the next day inside watching movies on the computer. As the sun started to go down, we again braved the heat to hike up to the Hvar fortress, situated high above the city. Coming down, we again made for the beach to watch the sun set. I have really good pictures, but none of them are on the computer yet, so I can't post them.

The next morning, bright and early, we headed back to Split in order to catch a bus to take us down to Dubrovnik, which, while it's really the tourist-capital of Croatia, doesn't have a ferry or railroad or any kind of easy transport running to it. In addition to the languages being similar, I'm beginning to notice more and more similarities between Croatia and Poland. It must have something to do with being stuck behind the Iron Curtain for so long.

The Long Way

2008-07-27T11:09:00.000-07:00

The reason we ventured so far down the Italian peninsula was the hope that we would catch a ferry to Split, Croatia, which was our destination. While in Rome, we decided to figure out exactly where and when and how much this ferry would be. Turns out, a Ferry across the Adriatic is close to 50 Euro, so we axed that plan. On top of that, we weren’t sure if we could get to Ancona – the port of call – before the ferry left. Plus, we still had to figure out where to buy tickets. It was going to be a long day, that’s for sure.

So we woke up ridiculously early Saturday morning (5 a.m.), and caught the first train from Rome to Ancona. While on the train, we had a brainstorm. If we most likely weren’t going to make it to Split until Sunday anyway (since the next ferry ride was late and long) why waste a lot of money on the travel. Why not, instead, just take a train north through Italy, over the top of the Adriatic sea through Slovenia and down into Zagreb, and then take a train from Zagreb to Split. We both had rail passes, so it would essentially be free. We’d get there a little later, but ultimately end up saving money.

We found that an overnight train left Venice around 9 p.m., and standing in the Ancona train station, we saw a train getting ready to leave for Venice. Perfect. After popping into the ticket office to see if we needed a reservation (we didn’t), we jumped on a very full train to Venice. After getting kicked out of our seats because someone else had a reservation, we took a seat in the hallway and played numerous games of twenty questions to kill the time.

Despite two fairly long train rides, we arrived in Venice by 2 p.m. Cool, now we have seven hours to kill in Venice, which seemed like a pretty cool plan.

Venice is a really neat city – for a day trip. We wandered the city and made it to the famous square where we fed pigeons and took pictures. It’s really beautiful and the canals make it really cool I think the best way to see the city is to take a boat, but since a Gondola ride costs about $80, and I’m not quite ready to spend that much for sightseeing.

After the day in Venice, we hopped on an overnight train to Zagreb, the capital of Croatia. Unlike the last overnight train, we booked sleeping space, which was a much better plan. While our room was unbearably hot, I managed a good night’s sleep until we reached Croatia at 4 a.m.

Needless to say, I haven’t had much sleep in the past few days, but it’s alright, since we’re on our way to Croatia, where we’ll be doing nothing on the beach for a few days. Then, of course, we’re making another mad-dash back to Frankfurt, Germany, where we’ll finally make our way home.

It’s hard to believe that we’re in the last country we’ll be visiting, and that I’m on my fortieth train ride, and I'm glad that the rail pass is finally paying off. It's easier to believe that I haven't really slept in two days, nor have I showered, and both Italy and Croatia are very hot, so I've been quite sweaty and stinky.

When In Rome

2008-07-25T15:35:00.000-07:00

Day 1: Ancient Rome

Arriving in Rome on less than two hours of sleep seemed like a difficult concept, especially considering we didn’t know where our hostel was and the fact that it was 9:30 in the morning and already 80 degrees.

With luck and my guide book, which pointed us to a nearby internet cafe, we were lucky enough to find the hostel, which was surprisingly close to the train station. We check in, put our stuff down, and, exhaustedly realized that it was still only 10 in the morning, and we had a full day ahead of us.

Our initial plan was to take a nap in a park, but Roman parks aren’t that nice or comfortable, so we figured that we’d tough out the day. Finding parks not easy to come by or sleep in, we thought we would seek out what we really wanted: food. That's not hard to find in Rome, and after lunch of Lasagna and Pizza, right outside of the Colosseum, we thought it best to do some sightseeing.

After charging my camera battery, we made our way to the ultimate European tourist destination – the Roman Coliseum. Most people say you’re disappointed by the Coliseum, but I don’t think I was. In my mind, the Coliseum fulfilled my expectations. It’s awesome to think that an ancient civilization could build something large enough to hold a crowd about the same size of Kenan Stadium. Good thing I charged my camera battery because I took a ton of pictures. I just feel like pictures of the Coliseum are the kind of thing I’m going to want to have when I get back home.

We took a guided tour of the coliseum and then headed into the Palatine Hill and the Forum, where someone who is clearly an awkward art history graduate student showed us around and told us things he, too, learned from his history textbooks. But seeing the forum was really neat, and exactly what I expected to see when I thought of it.

After finishing the ruins of ancient Rome, we made our way north to check out the Trevi fountain, which might just top my list of favorite fountains (even above the Mannequin Pis in Brussels. I know, shocking). I would hate to describe it and do it an injustice, so just Google Image search, look at my picture of it, or go to Rome and see it four yourself.

For dinner we had an incredible meal. Annie really loves Italian food, and I figured my mom and my dad and my grandpa would come down on me pretty hard if I went all the way to Italy and didn't have an incredible Italian meal. So we had one. Three courses from this amazing restaurant down this funny little side street in the heart of Rome. It might have been the highlight of the trip. Plus, the next day, we found 50 Euro in the train station, which I deemed to be Karma repaying me for giving a guy back $400 that he dropped while I was walking around Zurich.

Day 2: Catholic Rome

I guess it's not technically considered to be in Rome to go to the Vatican, seeing as it's its own country, but I'm going to consider it Roman anyways. Anyways, I like to think of it as the third reason for going to Rome outside the nifty ancient history and the incredible food.

Yeah, so this morning we headed across the Tiber River to check out where the heart (the old, Papal heart) of Catholicism resides.

When we arrived in St. Peter's Square, I was shocked at how many people there were there. Well, actually, I was more shocked by how many people were waiting in line to enter St. Peter's Basilica, a line which we soon joined. The Basilica is massive. And every inch of it is elaborately decorated and worth more than I will ever make in my lifetime. I'm not really a church person, but I enjoyed the Basilica.

After the Basilica, we headed into the Vatican museums, which culminate in the Sistine Chapel, where you're unfortunately not allowed to take any pictures. I wasn't overwhelmed by the Sistine Chapel. It's cool, but it's just as cool as all the pictures. It doesn't rank up there with the Mannequin Pis or the Glockenspiel as the most underwhelming sights of the trip, but it doesn't get up there with the view from Eiger or the Berlin Wall or the Trevi Fountain as the most impressive either. If I made a scale, the Sistine Chapel might fall right in the middle.

The rest of the museums were cool. At some point in history, some Pope ordered that leaves be put over all the nude statues' private parts, which made for funny, out of place leaves. While I know nothing about art and will not claim to, I will say that my preference for sculpturedefinitely involves soldiers fighting stuff or scenes from ancient mythology (which usually involves people fighting stuff), rather than just people standing around.

We moved from the Vatican to the Pantheon, another religious site, and then to the Piazza Navona, another square with a fountain I wanted to see. Now, the only real reason why I wanted to see this piazza was because someone is killed there in Dan Brown's Angels and Demons (really the only part of that whole book I can remember, which is sad since I'm in Rome and would probably enjoy remembering things from it). Unfortunately, the fountain is undergoing major renovation and was not available for viewing.

We saw the Spanish steps tonight. Tomorrow we're trying to make our way to Croatia (yay) where we'll be lounging on the beach for a while, since, you know, after all this Euro-travelling, we really need a vacation. Please don't hate me.

A Midnight Train Going Anywhere

2008-07-25T15:23:00.000-07:00

Introduction: Remember that post I did a while ago about when I missed the entire football game due to the weather, and I was really bitter. This post should be read with that same irritated tone.

The next stop on what I had deemed the “mind the gap” adventure – filling the space between scheduled stops – was to make our way south so it would be easier to reach our final destination of Croatia.

We looked at where trains from Innsbruck were heading, and decided that the most appealing southward direction was Italy, and if we only had two days to spend in Italy, we might as well make it to Rome.

We thought that since we had rail passes, and we didn’t want to waste any time going extremely long distances, why not take a night train? That way, we could save money on accommodation and it would be nifty to fall asleep in Vienna and wake up in Rome.

I can’t sleep on planes. I can’t sleep in cars. I can’t sleep on buses or in vans, and I’m fairly certain that I can’t sleep in any kind of contraption in which I am sitting upright. Why I thought I would be able to sleep on a train is beyond my comprehension, but I believed it, and so we booked seats on the 11 p.m. train from Innsbruck to Rome. While that was pretty much the only mistake, it was a big one.

We boarded the train at around 11:00 p.m., so we were already tired. Our compartment already had two guys going in and out of sleep taking up the window seats, so Annie and I took the seats by the compartment door. Also probably a mistake. Since we had hiked for seven hours that day, I figured that I be so pooped that I would have no problem falling asleep. Wrong. I find it impossible to get comfortable enough to fall asleep in any kind of sitting up position. And when the train conductor is coming in every 10 minutes and checking your ticket (doesn't do that on any other train, only the one where I'm trying to sleep), it becomes hard to enter a real slumber.

I'm not quite sure where it was that we stopped, but about a billion people got on our train, so our compartment door was opening and closing every 10 minutes with someone looking for a seat.

Then into our compartment barge two French women who proceeded to take the two middle seats in the compartment and proceeded to seep into every other seat in the compartment as well. After about 10 minutes I was sufficiently cuddling with one of them and quite unhappy. That’s also when the Italian cowboy disco picked up in the hall outside.

So with everybody drinking, smoking, and carrying on outside our compartment, a French woman's head in my lap, and 1 cubic foot to sleep in, I finally gave up and proceeded to glare at Annie for several hours, who was nodding off peacefully. I was not a happy man.

The French women were supposed to get off in Verona, but instead missed their stop and had to get off in Bologna, where, lucky me, another man in our compartment got off as well, meaning that, at around 6 a.m., I finally had enough room to sleep. That is, of course, until people started boarding around 8 a.m. for their morning commute.

Obviously, night trains aren't my thing.

The Hills Are Alive

2008-07-25T15:12:00.000-07:00

Seeing as how Annie and my plans had rearranged drastically since we left for the summer, we had a gap of about five days to fill and no real idea of what to do with them. So welcome to a few days on improvisation. Where would we go first?

Since I had been regaling everyone I knew with stories of my Grindelwald hiking adventure earlier this trip, and Annie receiving the brunt of it, and seeing as how our hiking plans for Zakopane in Poland didn’t quite work out, due to unfavorable weather and the both of us just being exhausted from the first halves of our trips, we thought we should try our hand again at hiking.

Unfortunately, when you try to book hostels a night or two before you’re supposed to be somewhere, they tend to be full, especially during tourist season in Europe. My first few ideal destinations didn’t pan out. So, luck and numerous full hostels brought me back to Austria, where Annie and I made for the mountain town of Innsbruck, home to the world’s coolest ski jump tower and a golden roof that it pushes like a cocaine dealer, proud host of two winter Olympics, and this summer a host city for – you guessed it – Euro 2008. Wonderful coincidence.

Innsbruck is a nifty mountain city, which is bigger than a mountain town. When you look at it from high up on hills, you can see that it is much larger than say, Grindelwald. It makes it so that, even though you've been hiking for hours, you don't really feel like you've gone anywhere. Kind of frustrating.

Seeing as how one does not get many chances to go hiking in the Austrian Alps, we decided that whatever the weather might be, we would tough it out and do some hiking.

That turned out to be an interesting decision. The weather in Innsbruck is fickle. It rains. It’s sunny. There’s wind. There’s no wind. Some parts have snow. Some parts are dry. And this is all at the same time. Within 15 minutes one can experience almost every type of weather on the planet in this humble mountain city. Dressing appropriately was difficult, and I often found myself putting on and taking off layers.

So when we started our first day of hiking, it was gorgeous. Then it was rainy. Then it was gorgeous again. We hiked up for about three hours, and then we hiked down for about two hours. That is, until we got to Geologensteig.

Coming down the mountain, we thought it would be a good idea to take this shortcut we had noticed on the way up. We disembarked from the main trail and headed town a tiny, windy side path. It got tinier and windier, until it eventually disappeared. Me, being the genius that I am thought I would follow where I thought it would go, and that's when we went over a minor cliff to find a small, windy trail. So we followed that. And things went worse from there. We ended up sliding down half of the mountain, holding on to trees for dear life to prevent us from certain death. And then we ended up in someone's back yard, about 50 meters away from where we should have been. It was an adventure.

Day two saw nasty, rainy morning, and in hopes that the sky would burn off in a few hours, we made our way across the city to catch a glimpse of the Bersigel ski jump tower. I don’t know how many people know this about me, but I am fascinated by the sport of ski jumping. I find it to be ridiculously awesome, in the sense of both awe-inspiring and absolutely ridiculous. To me, it encapsulates everything the winter Olympic Games should be: obscure sports that involve a certain element of mortal peril. People hurling themselves down an ice sheet of metal and flinging themselves several football fields through the air to what could be a devastating crash certainly fits the bill.

Unfortunately, the ski tower costs 8 Euro to enter, and when we learned that, we also learned that we would be content admiring it from afar, though not before taking a few pictures right outside of the gate. Plus, they wouldn’t actually let us ski jump (and, honestly, I wouldn’t let me ski jump either), so that took most of the allure out of it.

With my dreams of Olympic ski jump gold thoroughly defeated by extortionate prices, we made our way back to the same path we started up the day before, not going quite so far, since we were pretty tired from the day before (I haven't been doing quite as much exercise as my body would have wanted this trip).

On day three, we woke up and got ready for our major hike. Too bad for us, the weather wasn't going to let us have a good time, but we thought we would tough it out through the rain and the fog in hopes that it would burn off by the time we got to the top, just like it had other days. After getting lost and following what ended up being the same path as day one (not the shortcut, but the way up), we ended up getting pretty high. As the following picture clearly indicates, the weather did not burn off.

I can’t say that I liked Innsbruck as much as Grindelwald, but it was nice to get out into the fresh air and out of the city again. Grindelwald had that mountain town allure, while Innsbruck seemed like a big city stuck in the middle of the mountains, too big for its location, kind of like when tall men drive Volkswagon beetles.

''Hung Over in Heidi''

2008-07-20T10:14:00.000-07:00

Brussels was normal compared to this place. This place would be Munich, by the way. To the Germans it's Munchen. To the Germans Germany is Deutchland. I don't know why we change the names of all German things.

The title comes from Annie, who is correct in saying that I haven't even seen Heidi, which is apparently a movie in which people are wearing traditional German clothing. I don't get it, but it sounded funny, and adequately described the day, which has been by far one of the weirdest of my life.

Okay, so last night, we met these guy from Swizerland who kept buying us drinks, so when I woke up this morning I wasn't in top form. On top of that, more than two months of travel and living out of a backpack takes its toll on the mind, so we were a little loopy. Which makes all of what happened today much funnier.

So, after we took a tour yesterday, we realized that there really isn't a whole lot to do in Munich, so we went for a stroll around town.It has some cool old-timey architecture, which was rebuilt after most of the city was destroyed in the war. That's pretty much it, except for the city's second-biggest tourist destination (next to the massive beer halls, of course): the worldßfamous Glockensphiel. We made our way to the town center just in time to catch the Glockensphiel (sp), which has been deemed one of the most underwhelming sights in Europe. It's this stupid thing that goes off a couple times a day that has these wooden figures that don't really do much other than move in circles. Why we went back to see it a second time is anyones guess, but it now seems an appropriate way to start the day.

As we turned the corner to head down our next street, we began to notice that an odd number of people were dressed in their German milk-maid dresses and the males in Lederhosen, which are kind of like overalls, but stupider, and not made of denim. I thought these things were just gag gifts, but people actually wear them around town, and look like they're in the eighteenth century.

Then we had to clear the street because a procession of mounted knights (yes, like, shining armor knights), was making its way down the street led by pipers in brightly colored tights. Where this ''Glockensphiel procession'' was heading is anybody's guess, but they turned through a huge crowd who gathered to watch, and we couldn't follow.

Wanting a coke, we made our way to this huge market, where we were met by the melodious cracking of whips. A group of lederhosen-clad men with whips were following along with a piper and making music outside of a local cafe. I swear people, I'm not making this stuff up.

As we wandered deeper into the market, things became more German, and stranger. Polka bands were playing oompa music for street dancers who looked like they existed in the seventeenth century, and everybody was eating wurst and drinking beer.

And then we saw a guy on stilts. He took a picture with Annie. That was pretty much the culmination of the day weirdness. He wasn't even doing anything for money, he was just walking around on stilts. He was really happy, too.

As we made our way out of the city's center, we were passed again by the Glockensphiel procession, as if to mark our entry and exit from this bizzare German fantasy-land.

I have absolutely no idea why any of this was going on, and nowhere we've looked has provided any answers. I'd like to think that Munich is always like this, if not all week, then maybe just Sundays.

Ich Bin Ein Berliner (Ein Apfelberliner)

2008-07-20T09:15:00.000-07:00

A Berliner is someone from Berlin. It is also a jelly doughnut. An Apfelberliner is delicious. United States President John F. Kennedy came to West Berlin in 1963 and proclaimed that he was a Berliner. I hope he was a Apfelberliner.

So all that mumb-jumbo about not liking cities was wrong. I just like certain cities, and Berlin is one of them. Over the course of a week I fell madly in love with the city, much to the dismay of Annie, though she said she would be willing to join me in my pursuits of the city.

Something I read called Berlin a city which ''Disproportionately shaped the history of the world,'' which is something I would have to agree with, and something that makes it so cool. It was ground zero for seventy years of twentieth century tension, has been more than destroyed and rebuilt, and is everything that Germany is bottled up into a walkable city.

We were in Berlin for eight nights, and I'm sure that wasn't enough. We did a whole lot, and I'm going to recount some of my favorite adventures.

Berlin Day One
So there's this wonderful program in some European cities where they give free walking tours, and the guides work on a tip basis (which is totally a future job pursuit, by the way), so we spent day one getting a crash-course in Berlin. It was a great mix of Third Reich and Cold War history, Prussian stories, displays of modern architecture, basically everything that makes Berlin so cool, which ended with our guide (who was really awesome) recounting how the wall fell. By the end of the day I was already in love with the city.

Red Berlin
Being the history nerd I am, I couldn't pass up the opportunity to take a tour about the historical cold war sites in Berlin, including the wall, government buildings, secret underground tunnels and bunkers, random streets where meetings and uprisings occured, and all sorts of other, really nifty things. Annie and the Polish women sat out this one and I had to go it alone, which was fine by me, as I kind of wanted a chance to explore the city and get to know her myself.

My tour guide had just graduated from Indinana University, having studied ''Radiacal political change,'' which I dont think is a major offered at UNC, though I could be wrong. He was well-versed in spy stories, anecdotes about torture, struggling workers, and daily life in the country with the most domestic spying of any country ever.

At the end of the tour I ran off to a bookshop and picked up a book about the country's history since 1920.

Reichstag
That night, we waited in a ridiculously long line to get to the top of the Reichstag, the German parliament building. While I wanted to go up, I didn't think it would be anything too spectacular. I was wrong. Going up to the roof of the building, with its futuristic, space-station-looking dome, was one of the highlights of my trip. The dome was designed so that German politicians, if ever in doubt, could look up from the chambers and see what their jobs were about, namely, the people. Being on the roof of the old building, which contrasted greatly, yet somehow worked with the dome, afforded incredible views of the city at night. As we were in the last group to go to the top, the crowed thinned out and we got to spend some time relatively alone with the city. In the dome is the history of the Reichstag, which eerily mirrors the history of the German people. One ironic note of history: while the fire in the Reichstag was a dramatic incident that helped Hitler and the Nazi party seize power, it never housed his regime.

Confronting History
Steps from the Brandenburg Gate, the symbol of everything Berlin, lies the Memorial to the Dead Jews of Europe, a massive expansive of more than 2,000 idential cement blocks that create an organized jungle that, at its highest point, stretches taller than two of me.

If I could have done this international project again, I would love to come look at the different ways the Holocaust is remembered in Europe. Being in the Berlin memorial was as emotional experince in a different way from being at Auschwitz-Birkenau. I think its such a hard thing for a country to confront, but I honestly believe that Germany is doing it in extraordinary fashion, and Germans I have spoken to will be the first to recognize and confront the tragedies of the past. To them, its not something to bury, its something to learn from and prevent from ever happening again.

I don't hate the Germans. That was a rant by a disaffected Holland fan who had a bad day. I find Germany, and the Germans, fascinating, and if if Annie wasn't spurring me on, I might have just stayed, adopted a white jersey with the red, yellow, and black eagle, called up my brother to learn a few German phrases, and continued to delve into the city.

So, needless to say, I like Berlin. I was sad leaving it. But don't worry, I'm formulating schemes for getting back to the city, like, for instance, graduate studies. When I start referring to my ''Fullbright plan'' when I get home, this is what I'm talking to. On top of all that, it's one of the cheapest cities to live in, and people talked of apparements that went for €150 a month.

On that note, since I've been here in Europe, working on my project, I've had my eyes opened to all sorts of other things I want to study, not least of which is the perpetual idea of majoring in History, which I'm pretty sure would send my parents into a conniption after my brother pursued the same discipline. I have all these things I want to look into that I just don't have the time to, or the funds. I wish I had the opportunity I've had this summer every summer, which makes me think I should be an academic.

Europe's Dejected Child (Poland)

2008-07-20T09:05:00.000-07:00

Sorry about the complete lack of updating this blog. There has been a long time where I've either been having too much fun gallivanting to update the blog, or, more often, I was staying in cheap, crappy hostels that don't have internet. I feel by now I've lost any kind of readership I had before this hiatus, but now I feel ready to get back into it. And so I will

So the first part of this post-project exursion was Poland, and I think I've captured all of Krakow and Wroclaw's glory in the previous post, so now let me get to what I really think of Poland.

It was a beautiful country. Its got wide open spaces, and nifty old-timey cities. I can see why it's neighbors have prided in devouring it over the past several centuries. But more easily, I can clearly see why it was so easily devoured.

Poland was difficult. If you were standing on the border between Poland and Germany, you probably wouldn't be able to tell the difference. But then, if you tried to actually do something in either country, the difference becomes apparent. Germany = easy. Poland = headache. Things don't move smoothly in Poland. For example, the information person in Krakow, Poland's biggest tourist destination, does not speak a word of English. Trains even move slower in Poland, and we even saw one roll into the Krakow pulled along by its coal powered enginew from the 1920s. While Annie had no problem buying a rail pass once we got into Germany, Poland (which doesn't count on my rail pass, I just thought I would reiterate that) didn't even know what we were talking about. I would classify it as a country that has some room for improvement. Read Annie's blog, she's probably got it more spelled out.

But despite all of that, I enjoyed being in Poland. After leaving Wroclaw, Annie and I went to the Polish capital, Warsaw, which is really nothing like the rest of the untry. When we arrived in the city, I remember saying that, to get to our hostel, we had to go right out of the train station. Unfortunately, and in typical Polish fashion, having a front door to the train station would be too easy. Emerging on the other side of the street from the train station (and not realizing it) we went right and started walking. Bear in mind that we got into Warsaw at like, 9:45 p.m, and we're carrying about 1000 pounds of stuff on our backs. So we're walking for a little while, and true to our little hand-drawn map, we pass a roundabout, and keep going. And then civilization ends, street lights diappear, and the sidewalk becomes more or less a dirt trail. After about 45 minutes walking down this path, we began to suspect we weren't going the right direction. Eventually, we came across a bus station, where we hired a cab and tld him where we were heading. He ushed us into the back f his cab, and we took off, for like, 20 minutes. He dropped us off at our hostel, where we checked in with a nice young gentleman with a fantastic mullet, climed several flights to our room, took off our sweat-stained clothes and plopped in bed.

When we awoke the next morning and found a map, we sought out where our journey had taken us. We couldn't find it, and then realized that we had walked off the map. That's never a good thing.

Warsaw was interesting. We spent a whole day just wandering around and looking at stuff. They have really great androgenous mermaid statues (one of which made farting noises and ripples in the fountain it was in), an amazing communist building, sweet bear pits (like Bern!), and a fake palm tree. Oh, and some of the coolest memorials and statues, and an awesome Supreme Court building.

I love Poland. That might be an exaggeration. But I'm willing to come back for Euro 2012. I just hope the trains move faster then.

What I Learned About Myself

2008-07-07T03:03:00.000-07:00

So, after slightly less than two months traveling Europe myself, my solo journey came to an end when I met Annie in Krakow, Poland, on the first.

But what did Kevin learn about himself through so much alone time on the European continent?

I really like hamburgers. I'm comforted by the fact that no matter where I go, there is most likely a place to get a good cheeseburger. Pizza too, is a good standby.

More important than hamburgers and pizza, though, is the fact that I really like ice cream. Like, to a bizarre extent, most people would probably say. Some day's I'll have multiple ice cream cones. The guy who ran the ice cream counter near my hostel in Vienna got annoyed with me because I came so often and couldn't order in German. Or I'll get one at the grocery store as I'm wandering around and pick up an ice cream bar. It's just that ice cream - and especially fruit ice cream - is so much better here than in the states. And when it's hot out, nothing is better than a good cone.

While we're on the food thing, I would like to be one of those people who tries a whole bunch of different foods, but I'm just not. I really like food, but I like food that I already like. I had my fair share of Wursts and Schnitzels and Kielbasas and meatloaf sandwiches, which they sell in the Germanic countries, and I had Belgian waffles and fries, but I eat all those things normally (in their Americanized form). But going out of my way to try something new just isn't going to happen with me, especially if I'm fairly confident that I won't like it, because then I feel like I've wasted money and time, and I'm still hungry. I'd rather eat something I know I'll enjoy and be full and happy.

I'm not very good at taking pictures of myself. Each try there's a series of about three or four pictures of me trying to get myself with a good face in the same picture as the background, and most often it doesn't come out.

I'm horrible with languages. Really bad. I was in German-speaking countries for like, a month, and I haven't picked up any German except "Ich spreche deutch nicht" (I don't speak German) and "Hallo!" and I can pronounce a few football-related terms since I've heard so many on television. I'm not even trying with Polish. While I complained incessantly about it while in school, maybe I like the classroom type of learning languages better than the "here, struggle with this" kind, seeing as I felt moderately comfortable talking to people in Spanish, and not in anything else.

Swiss chocolate is better than Belgian chocolate. Period.

Parks are awesome. I think the first thing I did when I got to a city was scour a map for green space, or if there was no map, then I would just go wander to find something like a park. I would then return there multiple times throughout the day to run, to read, or when I had nothing to do I would just lie around and people watch.

While I like being able to have "Kevin time," traveling alone got old after a while. Mostly because I had nobody to talk to when I had witty things to say (which, lets be honest, happens quite often), but traveling with someone tends to relax me, especially when things start to go wrong.

I miss reading when I'm in the real world. Here I have ample opportunities to read, especially train rides and days when there was no football, and I've gone through like, 6 books since I've started this trip, and some of them were quite big. Throw on top of that a magazine or two a week (basically anything I can find in English), and I've been doing a lot of reading, and I love it. Plus, it's books that I actually want to read, and that I don't have to do anything with when I'm done, which makes things better. the only downside is that I have a hard time parting with them, so my pack keeps getting heavier.

I'm a big football (soccer, whatever) fan now. Hopefully it will stay with me.

Finally, the ultimate revelation: I'm not a city boy. My favorite stops on this trip have been Grindelwald (barely a town) and Bern (the smallest city ever, and not very city-like, more old-timey). Given the opportunity, I'd much rather head to the mountains or the beach (which hasn't come yet, but I'm sure it will) instead of a city. The noise, pollution, hustle and bustle, the "I need to be here now" atmosphere really isn't my thing. I like the old-timey cities with cobblestone streets and markets and street vendors and short buildings and that jazz, but not the metallic, tower-over you, subway and tram, skyscraper cities.

Alright, that's all for now, more to come later.

Now You Can Call It Gallivanting

2008-07-05T10:11:00.000-07:00

I know it has been quite a long time (in blogging terms) since my last post. So I'll try to catch the world up on the past week.

I spent my last day in Vienna doing laundry and packing up all of the clothing, books, hygiene materials, etc. that tend to leap from a backpack to the floor over the course of 12 days in the same city. Te sad thing is that, while it looks like I have a lot of stuff when it's spread all over the floor of my tiny hostel room, it can probably fit into one washer if I really wanted it to, and that's sad. I have managed to pick up more clothing as I've gone along, and I'm always thankful I unloaded that bundle at the Boulicault's in England.

So what does Kevin do now that football is over? He spends the rest of his summer wandering Europe with Annie, of course. I was originally planning to spend two weeks in Germany working with a sports research institute there, and then go travel, but my only contact there was going on vacation, and said I probably shouldn't come. Fine by me. On top of that, I was getting quite tired of traveling alone, and like any whiny, needy boyfriend I was missing my girlfriend. Plus, who doesn't want two extra weeks of traveling in Europe instead of working?

So now is the part of the trip that is officially not "research" and that all of you can refer to as gallivanting or traipsing or being a tourist or whatever implies that I'm just on vacation, because I now officially am.

Let's see how it's going:

On Tuesday I caught a train from Vienna to Krakow (well, actually two trains, but that's not really important). And when I got off in Krakow, there was Annie. Yay! We spent two days in Krakow, which is a very old-timey Polish city, and basically the only place in Poland not to get destroyed in World War II. We saw the old market square (each city in Poland has one, and they all kind of look similar), which was nice. There was a giant statue of a head in the main square, which was great for taking funny pictures:

We also wandered around the Wawel (pronounced Va-vel, though I still like to say Wa-wel, because that's more fun), which is the castle that kind of overlooks the city. Not as cool as the Edinburgh castle, I have to admit, but still pretty cool.

Coolest thing about Krackow: when we were wandering around the Wawel, we saw this cool iron statue of a dragons, and decided to take a picture of it. While I was taking the picture, the statute started breathing fire. Yeah, breathing fire. It was awesome. The legend of the city's founding has something to do with someone slaying a dragon, but I'm not really sure how it goes.

On the second full day in Krakow, we went to Auschwitz-Birkenau, the largest Nazi concentration camp from World War II. While I wouldn't say that I was "excited" about going, it has always been somewhere I wanted to visit. The Auschwitz camp itself is very much like a museum, which is what I imagined it would be like. It was a lot smaller than I expected, and being there on such a nice day made it hard to imagine that such a terrible atrocity could happen there.

From Auschwitz, you can take a tram to Birkenau, which was the "extermination site," where more than 2 million Jews, Poles, and other groups were murdered in gas chambers. Birkenau has a completely different feel from Auschwitz. The first thing is how massive it is. It stretches forever in every direction, and it's nothing but cabins, which one can imagine being packed with prisoners. There are no trees like there were at Auschwitz, and it's completely flat, so you can see everything. It's so simple when you look at it, with everything made of wood except the main entrance, the railroad track, and the barbed-wire fence. All the information points to 75% of arrivals at Birkenau being murdered as soon as they arrived, and seeing how massive the camp was, gives an incredible feel for how many people passed through the camp. At the back of the camp are the sites of the gas chambers, which were destroyed by the Nazis with dynamite when they fled the camp. The ruins have been preserved, and there is a memorial to the holocaust victims.

I don't really know what to say about visiting the camp. It was a sobering experience, and its so weird to actually see what I've heard so much about. It doesn't make the tragedy any more real to me though. I know it happened, and I've seen how and where it was done, but it's still so impossible to comprehend something like that.

From Krakow we took a bus (a bus? really? I didn't think people took long-distance busses since the 70s, but they do in Poland, which I think says a lot about the country) to Zakopane, a mountain town which is the heart of winter life in Poland.

Side rant: While all signs would make you think that Poland would count on my rail pass, like the fact that its cities are included in the pass' time table book, or that it's routes are clearly indicated on the map, or the fact that the travel agent said that "the Czech Repulic is the only country on this map that isn't included" (and Poland was on that map), it does not, in fact, count on my rail pass.

Zakopane is pretty. It's exactly like all the ski villages, and I can imagine it being really cute during winter, with all sorts of people in ski clothing and carrying skis and poles (poles-Poles, get it! I love Poland puns). As it was summer, it wasn't too busy. They sell cheese in Zakopane. A lot of cheese, and while it's pretty good, I can't begin to comprehend how a cheese shops selling the same exact kind of cheese can exist every five feet.

Our reason for going to Zakopane was to get in some hiking (because let's face it, neither Annie nor I are really city folk), but the weather had other plans. While it was gorgeous in Krakow, Annie managed to jinx the weather into being rainy while we were in Zakopane. Instead of hiking, we wandered around the city, hung around in our hostel and watched movies. We eventually braved the weather and found a trail that got inreasingly smaller and more dangerous until we weren't quite sure that we should be hiking. On top of that everything was wet from the rain (including us), so that was fun. The plus side of the whole adventure was at the top there was a cool rock formation which made for a great picture-taking spot.

Then we almost died like, 14 times each on the way down, and it was impossible not to laugh the whole way.

From Zakopane, we caught a bus back Krakow and then a train to Wroclaw (which is pronounced Vrotes-slav, because the Poles are crazy, but I still call it Row-claw), which is a college city with another cool square and random things to see, including a massive painting that I haven't seen yet. But really, the reason we came here is because when Annie was here last summer, she said it had the best strawberry ice cream in the world, and Kevin has a soft spot for strawberry ice cream. What she didn't tell me, however, was that she didn't really remember where it was. So we spent last night wandering around the city in search of some ice cream stand that might spark her memory. We think we found it, but Annie's still not sure. It was definitely good ice cream, but without the assurance that it is, in fact, the world's best that Annie remember, I'm not sure I'm going to believe.

My itinerary has changed for those who are interested. From Wroclaw, we're going to Warsaw for a few nights, and then we're heading to Berlin for like, a week. From Berlin we're going to Munich (though there might be a random stop somewhere else first). After Munich, we're not quite sure where we're heading, though we think it will be some combination of Austrian Alps (yay, more mountains) and then to the north/east of Italy, where we can catch a ferry to Croatia by the 26th. We'll be in Croatia for a little while, and then heading to Frankfurt, Germany, where we both fly out of on August 7th.

There Was Something In the Air That Night

2008-06-30T00:50:00.001-07:00

The stars were bright. Fernando.
They were shining there for you and me.
For Liberty. Fernando.

Though I never thought that we could lose
There's no regret
If I had to do the same again
I would my friend. Fernando.

My contribution to UEFA Euro 2008's atmosphere was to lead a hodge-podge English-speaking contingent in a rendition of an Abba song in honor of the final match's only goal scorer. And so my month of football ends with a solitary goal by Fernando Torres to give Spain their first Cup victory in 44 years. The last time they won, they beat the Soviet Union. In all fairness, the last time Russia won, it was the Soviet Union.

Everybody is crediting Vienna with being a great host city, and in many respects it was (good weather, not too expensive, great Fan Zone), but to give Vienna all the credit overlooks the seven other cities (four of which I saw) that did an incredible job hosting. And on that note, I really wanted one of the Vienna host city t-shirts, because I've spent so much time here and the city has really grown on me, but by the time I headed into the store, alas, they were sold out. I might try scouring the city today looking for one, though I don't know what that might turn up.

It went much quicker than I thought it would, and was a lot more fun than I could ever have imagined. And the football was really good, too. But it has been an incredible experience, being here, and many of my favorite parts of it never made it into this blog or into emails back home, so I thought I would take some time on this ultimate Vienna hangover day and recount what really stood out to me on this tournament, from the ground level. So, in chronological order, and not necessarily in order of greatness, I present my favorite moments of being at Euro 2008.

Saturday, June 7
The first game was also a Switzerland game. Despite their atrociousness, the Swiss fans loved them, and it was a great introduction to the world of European fandom.

Monday, June 9
Determined to get where the action really was, and having fallen in love with the city two days earlier, I decided to take a train from Basel back to Bern for the first group 3 games - France v. Romania and The Netherlands v. Italy. The Netherlands-Italy game would be played in Bern, and I got my first taste of what actually happens at tournaments like this.
This was before I was a Holland fan. It wouldn't take long for me to become one. When I say that Bern was completely orange, that would be an understatement, because it supposes that I'm exaggerating. The water coming out of the city's fountains was orange. The air surrounding everything had an orange haze because of numerous smoke bombs. Orange paint splashed on the road and buildings. And everybody, everybody, was dressed in orange.
Holland completely routed the World Champions Italy and quickly became the tournament's favorites. But I didn't realize this at the time, I was too busy being mobbed by a group of orangemen that was way too big to fit into the fan zone.
On the train ride back, which took a little more than an hour, I sat with a group of three Dutchmen, who introduced me to everything great about the team, its history and why I should cheer for them for the rest of the tournament. I happily obliged and bought my Holland jersey the next morning.

Thursday, June 12
I'm not really sure who played this night, but it was one I spent in Grindelwald, which has by far been above and beyond my favorite adventure within this larger adventure and my favorite stop on this whirlwind tour of Europe. Not really related to the tournament, but fun nonetheless.

Tuesday, June 17
By this time I was fully entrenched in my Dutch fanness, and was proudly cheering them on as they played Romania, already having qualified for the finals. Since there's an entire post on this evening, I won't go into much more. But you should read that post if you haven't.

Wednesday, June 18
The final night of group game saw Russia play Sweden, a match that would determine who would and Spain play Greece. I was in Zürich, and thinking that there wouldn't be a big turn out of fans for any side, I thought I would just stay in. My hunger led me out. The reason the night was so good, aside from being Andrei Arshavin's stunning first appearance in the tournament, is that the Fan Zone was packed with Swedes, and every time I turned around I heard someone speaking exactly like the Swedish chef from the Muppets. Gobbly-gobbly.

Friday, June 20
This was the night I managed to get tickets for the tournament's second quarter final between Croatia and Turkey. If its any indication of how easy it was to get tickets, as of last night there were still leftover t-shirts for the match on sale.
But the house was packed, and the game went into extra time, where both teams scored in the last possible minute, pushing the game into penalties. At this point everybody in the stadium was going incredibly crazy. Most people don't like penalties, because they don't establish who was the better team. That's probably true, but they are really exciting, giving us numerous chances to cheer.
Most incredible thing about the night, however, is the fact that I ran into Alex Lim, who just happened to be sitting right behind me.

Sunday, June 22
Not thinking that I would get to go to another game, I was surprised to overhear a scalper offering tickets for less than face value. I promptly took him up on it, and made my way over to Ernst-Hoppel Stadium.
I was deep in the Spanish section for their game against Italy, a team I wanted to see lose anyway, so I gladly assumed the mantle of Spain fan for the evening, and a man next to me even lent me his scarf for the evening so I could cheer properly and not look too out of place. Since the quarterfinals started, it was the first time a team I wanted to win actually won. It also gave me a good reason for cheering for Spain as they progressed through the rest of the tournament.
On top of all that, I got to practice my Spanish, which I haven't really been able to do since fall semester, and probably will never have the chance to do again. And I got to beat on my neighbor's obnoxiously large drum, which is just fun.

Sunday, June 29
Obviously, the final was always going to be one of my favorite moments, it was just a matter of why. While I wasn't able to procure tickets at a reasonable price (they we're going for 500-700 Euros, and I figured I'd rather be able to eat for the next month), I wasn't alone.
When I woke up in the morning, I wasn't sure who I'd be cheering for, but I trusted that my answer would come in due time.
And then the German fans turned hostile. Vicious. Jerks. In To Hate Like this is to Be Happy Forever, author Will Blythe is questioned by a young boy why he so adamantly cheers against Duke. He responds (and this isn't a direct quote): "Because they're bad people." "All of them?" the boy replies. "Yes, every single one of them."
The German fans are all bad people. I didn't think this until yesterday. But on the whole, they were obnoxious, rude, crass, and just unfriendly. Like hurricanes they left a path of destruction in their wake. And here I was not hating anybody, and just because I wasn't German I was being ridiculed.
They hate the Dutch, for no other reason than the Dutch hate them. It's a long historical rivalry dating through two World Wars and climaxing in 1988 when the Dutch beat the Germans in the Euro Cup, where they celebrated throwing bicycles in the air. For more information of this wonderful rivalry, check out the first chapter of Simon Kuper's Football Against the Enemy.
So, decked in my Netherlands jersey (because any time Germany plays, Holland has a reason to cheer) and a Spain-colored wig, I headed out into the taunts and jeers of drunken German fans, armed with the wonderful retort, "Actually, I'm American, and we've beaten you in two World Wars, and Spain's going to win," which managed to eke some smiles out of drunken German fans.
A British man I befriended adequately described the atmosphere here in Vienna, "It's like a freaking colony here." One could say it was sympathetic to Germany, but that would be an understatement. While there were a couple cells of Spanish fans, but overwhelmingly, the mood was pro-German. Makes sense, seeing as they're neighbors, have radically similar cultures and the same language.
Which is why it was so great when Spain scored in the thirty-third minute and Germany just fell apart. And as the game wound down, and Spain just kept firing shot after shot at the German defense, the German's just sulked out of Fan Zone, and when the 90th minute rolled around the Spanish fans (who were now much more prevalent) erupted in jubilation. I knew it would be a good night after that.

Viva Espana.

Also, in chronological order, my favorite goals of the tournament:
Wesley Sneijder - Netherlands v. Italy, June 9: Total Netherlands "total football," as the Dutch swept almost the full length of the field to finish in Sneijder's right-footed goal.
Arjen Robber - Netherlands v. France, June 13: As if to say that getting scored on by France didn't really mean anything, less than a minute after the French goal, Robben dribbled around two French defenders and took an incredibly odd-angled shot to hit the net.
Wesley Sneijder - Netherlands v. France, June 13: Shot hit the underside of the crossbar from right outside the box. Beautiful goal that showed just how good the Netherlands were in group play.
Michael Ballack - Germany v. Austria, June 16: One of the best free kicks I've ever seen.
Andrei Arshavin - Russia v. Sweden, June 18: After missing the tournament's first two games, slid at full speed to catch a pass from Yuri Zhirkov to show why he would become the most talked-about player of the tournament.
Bastian Schweinsteiger - Germany v. Portugal, June 18
Semih Senturk - Turkey v. Croatia, June 20: In the last minute of extra time, trailing 1-0 against Croatia, the Turks made their third miraculous comeback of the tournament on a goal that seemed to come out of nowhere. Not really a pretty goal, but great for what it stood for.
Dimitri Torbinski - Russia v. Netherlands, June 21: Another goal that showcased Arshavin's ability to play make and why the Russians are a force to be reckoned with in international soccer once again.
And I guess Torres' goal last night, simply for the fact that it won the tournament, but it wasn't anything really spectacular, just a lot of determination.

Look them up on YouTube, I'm sure they're there.

What I've Learned about Soccer

2008-06-28T15:47:00.000-07:00

For what I've really learned about soccer, and the results of all I've been researching go to my other blog here: http://politicalpitches.blogspot.com. But that's a less fun blog and more focused on compiling everything I've learned, but seeing as how someone else is footing this bill on this football-related adventure, I figured it was best to churn out some actual knowledge. It will be updated as I have time to collect my thoughts and put them in paragraph and blog post form.

Now, for the fun, travel-blog.

So today marks the end of what has been 21 days of football. Spain v. Germany. I'm still not quite sure who I'll be cheering for when kickoff comes at 8:45 tonight, though I'm tending to lean toward Germany at the moment, which belies everything my Dutch fandom from the first half of the tournament has taught me, and my three semesters as a Spanish student.

Two historically powerful teams still proving that they're powerful. Three weeks of soccer. Vienna is overrun by Spaniards and Germans. It is game 39 of 39. The tournament is over, and club seasons across the continent are over. Tomorrow morning we will wake up and there will be no more international soccer. Actually, there probably will be. Somewhere in the world someone will be playing to qualify for the 2010 World Cup, or nations will be playing friendlies for no apparent reason. On top of that, Major League Soccer - America's wonderful league - is just ratcheting up.

I guess that's the first thing I've learned.
1) Football is never over. There is very little offseason for a football player, especially a good one, who goes from regular season games to national competitions to international club competitions to international competitions. Every two years there is either a European Cup or a World Cup, and the previous two years are spent qualifying for these tournaments. Or, if none of the above is going on, nations will be playing friendlies against each other or doing charity or showcase games somewhere in the world.

2) Despite wanting to be, I am still no better than when I got cut from the Green Hope team after one round of tryouts. Nor do I have a left foot. I have played in a few pickup games (mostly while I've been out for runs because that's the only time I've really been dressed for it) and I've kicked the ball around with a few strangers or roommates, and I've come to realize that I'm just not very good at the sport, and that maybe the coaches were justified in not seeing my potential, which I'm starting to see might not have ever been there.

3) I do have the potential, however, to be a very good fan. I've realized it takes a few things, but I think I've got them down. First it takes a willingness to forget about everything else while a game is going on. Check, I've done that. I even lost a notebook during the Russia-Spain game, which was horrible for this project (sorry, Foundation) but made me realize that I actually care. Second, it takes an uncanny ability to rhyme. Check. I spent all last summer coming up with post-meal, pre-activity cheers for 10- to 12-year-old boys. I even rhymed with Cardigan. Third, it takes a willingness to blow substantial money on the sport. I think we can all tell from the simple fact that I'm here that I'm capable of that. Reading up on the sport? Check. Knowing random statistics and facts? Check, that's what this project is all about.

So while the dream of playing football at a high level might be all but dead, maybe a new dream of being a fan at a high level is just being born. Besides, I think American teams could use a little of this European fandom I have come to understand so blindingly well.

4) The Dutch have the best fans in the World. While the Irish I have met assure me that their brand of cheering is head and shoulders above the Dutch, and they just haven't had the opportunity to show it, I don't think I believe them. After 80,000 Dutchmen invaded Bern, Switzerland, in the first few days of the tournament, painted the streets literally orange, and provided the whole city a reason to celebrate, I think they easily take the cake. On top of all that, when they beat Germany in the 1988 they threw bicycles in the air. Bicycles. In the air. Think about that.

5) German fans drink more than any other nation's fans. All the bartenders I've talked to (which really isn't a lot) want Germany to win because it will be so good for business. Russians might drink faster (and harder), but the Germans drink more.

6) Calling American football "football" really doesn't make any sense. I already knew this, but every European I begin to talk to about football has to inform me that our version of football neither uses feet (except in a few rare instances) nor does it really use a ball.

7) When there's soccer, everything stops. Today is the final, and not a single store on the main thoroughfare will be open. Austria isn't even playing, yet everybody has closed down shop and

8) It's more of a people sport, I think. I got tickets for the Spain v. Italy match, a quarterfinal in what is the third largest sporting event in the world, for cheaper than it costs for a decent Carolina Hurricanes ticket. The people that have travelled all this way, especially from countries like Turkey and Croatia, are not executive, business types, with lots of money to spend on their team. They are everyday guys who are really passionate about their team and are willing to give up three weeks, or one week, or one night of their life to follow them to a foreign country to cheer them on.

9) It's the perfect length for a sport. It's long enough to be worth your money, but its also short enough to stay interested the whole time. I can even stand around and watch without being annoyed by the predicament. It's long enough to be a challenge, so that only really good athletes can participate at the best levels, but its short enough so that nobody is completely destroyed by it, unlike marathon running. It's also short enough, and consistent enough, to eliminate the need for commercials, which is always a plus for the viewer.

10) Everybody is a soccer fan. Even people you wouldn't expect. In fact, especially people you wouldn't expect. It's strange seeing the gothic, anti-social looking people who we Americans so accustomed to thinking hate sports actually passing around a ball. And the hippie types who usually look to lethargic to pass around a ball are juggling instead of hacky sacking. Businessmen open to the sports page on the subway. Old ladies are adorned with face paint.

But even after all this, men, aged 20-35, are by far and away the most dedicated and enthusiastic fans I've seen. Nowadays I don't see any of them in shirts that aren't somehow related to Germany or Spain, and they're usually already drunk, even if its 10 in the morning. Actually, they're drunk, but not too drunk to pay attention to games and football talk. They're really a breed of their own. They can pull facts and stats from nowhere, give play-by-play replays of the previous night's (or week's) match, and inform you of who will be traded where and when.

11) One day, maybe not soon, but not too far in the future, American soccer will be good. We've been flirting around the edges for the past few decades, and I wouldn't be surprised if in 2 years or 6 years, the national team starts looking really good. It's going to take some time (and quite a bit of investment) to make the league good, but I disagree with all the American sports writers who say that soccer will never be big in America. It's too big around the world never to catch on. Plus its such an amazing sport, and every little boy and girl in America plays it.

And finally, I've learned that I really like the sport. A lot of people said I would get tired of it, that after three straight weeks of soccer that I wouldn't want to watch it any more. But that really hasn't been the case at all. In fact, I find myself more invested in following the sport than when I started, knowing more about the players, teams, and world of the sport than I could have fathomed two months ago. I'm truly a fan of the sport (and a few choice teams and players), and that's something that I think will stay with me.

Last Time I Saw the Sky That Color...

2008-06-27T01:27:00.000-07:00

You know how some things are just bad omens? Some times mother nature tells you to leave. Bad things happen when you don't.

When I was really little, probably in the 8-10 range, my parents decided to take the whole family to a Jimmy Buffett concert. I don't really remember much of it (some of that might have to do with the atmosphere there), but I do know that a really bad storm rolled through and the sky turned a really weird orange color right before all hell broke loose. We were trapped under the stands for a long time, and I don't think Jimmy got to play too many songs.

Last night the sky over Vienna was that same orange color. It happened at about 8:40, five minutes before kickoff. I knew I probably shouldn't stick around, but I haven't been rational in a few days - mostly because I don't get much sleep here.

With two games left in the tournament, I was adamant that I wasn't going to miss any more games like I missed the Germany one, so I figured that I'd just wait it out in hopes that the storm would blow over like all the other Vienna storms had, and I could get on my merry way watching football.

That never happened. Instead, lightning started crashing down and the skies just opened up and what seemed to be the end of the world occurred. There were bits of hail and stuff was blowing everywhere.

But lucky me. I had a poncho. And a recently-purchased baseball cap.

As stubborn as I could be, I was determined not to miss this game like I had the previous nights, so I toughed it out. I wasn't alone either, which greatly surprised me. There were hundreds of other fans in the Fan Zone alongside me, getting soaked and wind-beaten and generally destroyed by this crazy storm. For some reason I felt less crazy because of that, when really these are football fans we're talking about - the craziest of the crazy.

And right as the final whistle blew, the rain started to let up. Because that's how things like that work. But I didn't have any problem sleeping last night.

Now my only pair of shorts are soaking wet (as is a t-shirt, but that's of less importance), which is kind of a problem, but I can wear gym shorts about town while I wait for them to dry.

It would have been great for my project, from multiple angles, if Russian had won the tournament. Even if they got to the finals it would have been good, seeing as there's incredible historical irony in Russians and Germans battling it out in Austria. Plus the most EU-ified country vs. the total outsider, that would have been pretty good too. Plus, only one Russian player plays in one of the continent's big five leagues. Plus they beat Holland, and secretly it would have been vindication if they had eventually won it. But, alas, my historical nerd's dream of such a final is not to come to fruition, and why should it? I only braved the most terrible storm in the history of Vienna, risking my life and limb, (okay, that might be exaggeration) to see it.

How I Missed a Whole Game

2008-06-26T01:07:00.000-07:00

I'm sure it was a spectacular game. That's what all the news reports said. I tried to watch, I really did. It wasn't like I was doing anything else at the time. But it just seemed like fate was stacked against me for watching this game.

Despite attempting for the full two hours to watch the game, I missed all five goals and the end of the match. Let me explain.

I showed up to the fan zone about two hours before kickoff and did my normal "go around and talk to people" routine, which yielded fine results. About 15 minutes before kickoff I took a seat in the giant field where they air the game, ready for what I was sure would be an exciting match. It was at this point that I noticed the awfully dark clouds gathering on the horizon, but I figured they would be plenty of time before anything materialized.

At kickoff, I looked back and noticed that the dark clouds were now pretty much right on top of me. Determined to see the game, I held my ground as people started making for the exit. It was at this point that a warning announcement came over the loudspeaker noting that a storm was approaching and that it was expected to hail. We were asked to make for the exit. This was around 20 minutes.

It took me 10 minutes to get to the closest pub. Anybody who was watching the game knows that in this 10 minutes, Boral scored for Turkey and Schweinsteiger equalized for Germany, meaning I had missed two goals walking from the game to the game. That made me unhappy.

As I rolled into the pub through the rain, and was filled in on the goals, which isn't the same as seeing them at all, I took a seat by one of the pub's many TVs. No hail would get me now, and I could watch the rest of the game in warmth, dryness, and peace. I watched as the first half came to a close, and the pub changed the channel during halftime, so I missed the half's highlights.

The second half started out relatively slow, and I watched as it trudged along. It started picking up again at about 70 minutes, and then at 75 minutes, the unthinkable happened. The TV cut out. Due to the bad weather, the Pub's satellite signal gave out, and they assured us that it would be back on soon. Soon wasn't soon enough as when the game cut back on, Germany was leading and I had missed the game's third goal.

At this point I was starting to get unhappy. This is the first game I'd really missed any of this whole tournament, and to miss this one (which actually has goals) just really isn't cool. So I sat in silence secretly hoping Germany or Turkey would score again if for no other reason than I would get to see another goal.

Then the screen cut back off. People started yelling and jeering, and I just stared in disbelief. Obscenities were flying at the bar manager and I just backed into the corner.

When the screen cut back on, the game was over and Germany was sitting on the pitch celebrating and Lukas Podolski was jumping into the crowd taking people's paraphernalia. They had scored two more goals, and fended off a late-minute Turkey offensive. It was at this point that the bar manager, realizing I had finished my drink, asked me if I wanted anything else. I said I just wanted to watch the highlights, and then I would be gone. He told me if I wanted to do that I'd have to buy another drink. Disgruntled, telling the bar manager that he should be buying the whole pub drinks, I picked up my hat, headed out into the rain, and wandered back to my hostel. I still haven't seen the goals.

Hopefully, the same won't happen tonight, and if it does, I might just fly back to the states so I can watch the game in peace.

Viva Espana!

2008-06-23T02:16:00.000-07:00

I'm allergic to Vienna. I'm not quite sure what it is, but I've been sneezing all the time and I've had a runny nose that I have to blow like, every 5 minutes. Throw on top of that the fact that it's really hot and I'm starting to feel pretty physically feeble here. Plus, I haven't gone running since I got here, which makes me feel lazy and unhealthy.

So I know I said I probably wasn't going to any more games, but the deal was too good to pass up. The guy was offering them for less than face value, and they were better seats than the last game. It's pretty hard to turn that down. I think it would have been a cool project to look at the economics of ticket scalping, because it's probably one of the best models of free market economics. Plus all the characters are really interesting and odd.

So I sat in the Spanish section for their game against world champions Italy, which everybody was expecting to be a great game. I didn't know I would be in the Spanish section until I sat down (actually, until everybody else sat down), when I noticed that everything around me had a red and yellow coating to it. I didn't have any Spanish regalia, so I felt a little funny wearing gray in the midst of all these Spanish men. They didn't seem to mind, though. They didn't really notice me.

While I'm not particularly partial to either team, I was probably more excited to be in the Spanish section, as I could do a minimum amount of communication (good for the project, and my Spanish) and understand the cheers. The Spanish national anthem doesn't have any words, but the Spanish still sing along anyway, which I found entertaining.

The game wasn't sold out (well, it sold out, but there were open seats) because apparently "the quarter finals come too quick," and people can't make travel arrangements to get to Vienna. I thought that was weird, because the Turkey-Croatia game was packed, and I figured that Spain and Italy would attract much larger crowds. But they didn't, which means I got my tickets for cheap, which was fine by me. I was at the other end of the stadium from last time, which was cool because I got a different perspective.

The game was good, and went into extra time like the Croatia match. Unfortunately, there were no goals, which was kind of a bummer, but it did go to penalties, which makes everything very exciting very quickly. Again last night the penalties were at my end of the field, which makes everything better.

There are only three games left, which blows my mind. I've watched more than 30 games in the past half-month, which is a pretty jam-packed schedule. It tends to wear on one, and it's nice to have a few days off before the semi finals. I'm preparing myself for thousands of screaming Russians and Spaniards to descend on Vienna in the next few days.

Go Big or Go Home

2008-06-21T02:37:00.000-07:00

You come halfway around the world to watch football, you have to go to at least one game.

I'm in Vienna for the second half of the tournament - the elimination rounds - and its a very different experience from being in Switzerland. The major difference is that it's hot. Like, really hot. Like, North Carolina hot. After two summers where I haven't had NC hot, it's kind of nice to experience it again. But its also kind of bad, because I have limited clothes and sweat a lot, which might make for a stinky Kevin. Also, the city is much bigger than the Swiss ones, and a lot more...cityish. There are a lot of big buildings and cars, and not much pretty greenery like in Switzerland. Also, the city doesn't seem as football-crazy, but that might just be because its so big and spread-out that the football madness isn't concentrated anywhere.

But back to the point of the post.

So, with stipend money running low, I decided to do the only thing that made reasonable sense. Blow quite a bit of it and actually go to a football game.

As I was taking the train from Zurich to Vienna, I sat with two Irish guys who were following the tounrament and going to the games. They said they had been able to procure tickets to four games so far at little more than face value. I was inspired. I figured I'm probably only following the Euro Cup once, so I might as well indluge and go to a game.

I figured this game would be my best chance. Turkey and Croatia were playing in Vienna, which is the biggest stadium in the tournament. There probably weren't going to be too many looking for tickets, as those countries are quite far away and relatively small. So I waited around outside the stadium until a little while before kickoff, paid a good chunk of change (but not as big as I was expecting) and went it.

Of all the crazy, unlikely, impossible things to happen at this game, as I was in my seat waiting for the game to start, none other than Alex Lim, a fellow UNC student and Morehead Scholar, rolls up into the seat right behind me. Mind you, this is a 51,428 person stadium, and here are two people who know each other sitting behind one another completely randomly.

The game was awesome. We were sitting in the Croatia, and despite being way in the back, still had a good view of the pitch. Croatia pretty much dominated the game, and should have had two or three goals, but seemed to have really bad luck. Turkey took maybe two shots the entire game, and it looked as if it would be Croatia going to the semi finals. But they couldn't find the back of the net.

After 90 minutes the score was still 0-0, so they went into extra time (which was great, because that means more football for my money). With two minutes to go in extra time, Croatia scored, and it seemed like the game winner. The section was going wild singing the one Croatian football song there is (as I clapped along because I don't know a word of Croatian). But then out of nowhere Turkey scored with what was proably less than two minutes left. The Turkey fans and players went wild and the Croatian players just lied down on the field.

At this point, everybody was going crazy.

So the game goes to PKs, and the fans are going crazy. Croatia took the first shot and went just wide, and all the Croats sat down hanging their heads. They would make the enxt and then miss again and have the fourth blocked. At that point, it was all over, and the Turkish crowd errupted in jubilation.

Tonight Holland plays Russia in Basel, and then Sunday Spain plays Italy. The more I watch the more exciting it becomes, and the atmosphere is just infectious. And while I probably don't have the funds to go to any more games, I will be having fun watching on giant TVs.

My Night as a Football Hooligan

2008-06-18T05:15:00.000-07:00

(Just so there’s no confusion, The Netherlands is also called Holland, and the people are Dutch. This has confused some people in the past, so I thought I'd clear that up in the beginning.)

All the other travelers I talk to about this project think I just travel around watching football games on somebody else's dime. That's really not the case at all. I spend most of my time interviewing fans and conducting other interviews outside of football. Earlier in the trip I even spent time in libraries. I've missed key goals because I was taking notes on something else, so this trip isn't all fun and games. I mean, there's a lot of fun and a lot of games, but it's not solely that.

Following football objectively for months has been an interesting experience, but it leaves a lot to the imagination. Nobody here is objective in their watching of a football game. An interesting thing I’ve learned about European football reporters is that a lot of them are fans first and foremost, which is very different from the American “no-emotion” kind of sports reporting. But wading through the fan zones with a gray or brown shirt has tended to make me stand out more than wearing some team’s color, and when I say I’m not really supporting anybody I tend to catch flak.

It’s not possible to be unaffiliated in Europe when it comes to football. It’s not possible to be disinterested, either. A German man I talked to the other day probably put it best when he said, “When a major tournament happens like this or the World Cup, the world just stops. Football is on, and everything else can wait. Stores won’t be open, people won’t go to work. Sometimes they won’t even be in their own country like the Dutch, who have all gone to Bern for three weeks. They just pick up and leave. No, football is everything here, and everything else can wait until it is over.”

I thought to get the full picture I needed to be a fan, if only for a night. I needed to get into the mix and get beer spilled on me when goals were scored. I needed to learn fan songs and chants and sing them when my country scored goals. I needed a jersey and to throw things and cheer and boo.

To do that, I needed to pick a team. I’ve always been a USA fan when it comes to football, and I’m not going to shed the red, white and, blue, despite how fun it is to watch the Europeans. But seeing as how this is a European contest, I needed to pick a European team. I’ve never been a fan of the big teams like France and Italy, but I wanted to cheer for a team that would be fun to cheer for and one that I already felt some emotion for. Seeing as I watched the first few games in Bern, which had been completely invaded by the Dutch, I already felt some pull toward them. They are looking like one of the strongest teams in the tournament, which doesn’t hurt either.

So last night I donned a bright orange Netherlands jersey and a free orange wig I came across in Bern and made my way to the Fan Zone that was already bustling at 4:00.

In all fairness, I picked the easiest night to be Dutch. They’re not a very hated team to start with, as they have a reputation for being an entertaining team that’s always good, but rarely threatens when it comes to the knock-out stages. On top of that France and Italy, who were playing in Zurich at the same time as the Netherlands-Romania game both needed the Netherlands to beat Romania in order to advance. So wading through the fan zone I caught numerous people coming up to me and in broken English telling me that I need to win tonight. I told them, not sounding Dutch at all, that I would do my best. A lot of people told me not to throw the game, because Netherlands, who were already assured of a spot in the next round, would probably benefit from seeing both Italy and France out of the tournament (though I had to keep reminding people that we’ve already thrashed both, and wouldn’t be afraid to meet them again.) So while France and Italy were cheering against each other, they were both cheering for the Netherlands, and Romania seemed completely absent.

People love the Dutch. Unlike the English and German fans, which disaster, violence and arrests seem to follow wherever they travel, the Dutch are celebrated with open arms. The headline on Bern’s paper today reads “Dank u wel, Oranje!” and there were no arrests in Bern despite an estimated 80,000 Dutch pilgrimaging to the city for their three games. Contrast that with the almost 200 that were arrested in Klagenfurt for Germany’s first game against Poland for making Nazi salutes.

The Zurich crowd was mostly composed of Italians and French (and other nationalities that are already eliminated like the Swiss, pretending to be one of the others). I even came across a group of English 20-somethings who were cheering for Italy. One of the highlights of the night was coming across two groups of Glaswegians, one of Celtic fans and one of Rangers fans, who were cheering together for Italy and making snide comments at each other. It’s nice to see different parts of this project overlapping in the weirdest ways.

Discarding both journalistic and research ethics, I fabricated a back story to melt into the Dutch crowd, seeing as I speak no more Dutch than “Ik ben een Amerikaanse journalist. Spreek u Engels?” (I am an American journalist. Do you speak English), and that clearly wasn’t going to earn me respect with the Dutch crowd. The easiest was I conspired to do this was to say that I had Dutch family (which isn’t true at all, I’m Irish and Italian, but Ireland isn’t playing and I can’t pass for Italian to save my life, nor did I really want to cheer for them). Ultimately the Dutch didn’t mind having an American in their midst, which was nice for me, and they occasionally broke into English to talk to me, which was nice. A few of the “Dutch” were actually Finnish and English who had gone to school in Holland, so I spent most of the game with them.

Since the games were on at the same time, they had to cut back and forth between them when something interesting was happening. Since we were in Zurich, the giant fan zone screen showed predominantly the Italy-France game, which was probably the more important game anyway. I didn’t miss either of the Netherlands goals, which the screen cut to in time. When the Dutch scored, everybody, Italians, Dutch, Swiss, and French, cheered, and the small little Dutch contingent got to lead the crowd in a rousing chorus of “Holland! Holland!”

By the end of the Italy-France game, which saw a French player get sent off early and two Italy goals, most of the French fans had melted out of the fan zone, and the Italians began to celebrate. They quickly accepted us Dutch into their celebratory singing and partying, with rousing choruses of “Holland! Holland!” mixed into their Italian chants of “Campioni del Mundo” and others. People sang and danced in the fan zone or headed into town to celebrate. Wandering through the Zürich streets during the night I saw both beer and fans spilling out of bars, and the air was filled with the sweet sound of drunken Italian (and a little Dutch) singing. The Dutch enclave headed for a few town bars that were more than happy to be overwhelmed by Orange-clad Hollanders. In the euphoria of the night I even managed to snag a few free drinks, which makes everything better, and also makes Kevin more apt to sing and dance when songs start up.

There is one more night to the group stages, where Russia will play Sweden and Greece will play Spain. Then the tournament moves on to the quarter final stages and I move on to Vienna, where four of the next seven games will be played. The Netherlands will play their quarter final match on Saturday in Basel, and while I won’t be there, I’ll probably be wearing orange and pretending that my family is from Rotterdam while I watch it on the giant screen in Vienna.

Wanderweg

2008-06-16T02:34:00.000-07:00

Sorry, research project, I got distracted by the Swiss Alps.

In Zurich, there is no free internet. I've been spending hours trying to find a library, bookstore, coffee shop, or something that will let me get online for free. So far, nothing has been fruitful. Even my hostel charges for internet, which is a pain. I'm morally opposed to paying for wireless internet access, and I'm sure there is somewhere in this city where I can get online for free, I just haven't found it yet. I've gotten all of your emails, and I apologize for not responding to them, I just haven't been able to. The best I've been able to find in McDonald's, which lets you online for 30 minutes during the day for free, so I will do my best to update the blog in that short time. Plus, I haven't been able to find a place to put more money on my phone, so sorry mom and dad for not getting in touch with you, but I will when I can. You can read the blog as a substitute for talking to me.

Wanderweg means "walking trail" in German, which has nothing to do with soccer, but everything to do with fun and adventure. Allow me to explain.

So when I was planning this trip and booking rooms, I came across a two-day period where there were just no rooms in the big cities in Switzerland, which is where I was hoping to be. I emailed around and still had no luck. So finally I decided that I would either go to Italy for a few days, since they were playing a big match on one of those days (probably the reason I couldn't get a room), or I would go to a small-town Swiss Alps village and spend a few days hiking. It didn't take much persuading from my parents and girlfriend that the latter was probably the more fun option. I could even make it project-related by talking to people there about what I'm doing (okay, that's probably a stretch, but I got a few notes from it). Besides, I would have wasted most of my time just trying to get to and from Italy, and that's not a good use of time or energy.

So Wednesday afternoon I booked a room in Grindelwald (no relation to the dark wizard that Dumbledore is famous for defeating), a small town in the heart of the Jungfrau region of Switzerland. That's in the middle of the country. It's named that Jungfrau region because it's dominated by Jungfrau, one of the Alps' tallest mountains. In the winter the town turns into a massive ski resort. In the summer, it's kind of a dead one-horse town except for lost souls like myself looking for some good hiking trails. The hillsides are dominated by abandoned ski lifts and clear cut mountainsides that look like they would be fun to ski if there was only snow.

The night before I left I was playing cards and watching soccer with other random travelers when into my life walks Sally, a Clemson student with one semester left who had just finished studying abroad in Spain and is taking some time to wander Europe. Sally had no idea where she was heading the next day, and when I said I was going to the Alps she thought that sounded fun and decided to accompany me to the wilds of Grindelwald. While I'm sure that some solo hiking would probably have been meditative and good soul-searching, I don't think that's what I was after. After more than a month of solo travel, it is nice to have someone tag along and to talk to. Its probably safer, too, given that I was planning on hiking mountains, which is probably something you shouldn't do by yourself.

So Thursday morning we took a train from Zurich to Bern (yay, back in Bern for the third time) and then from Bern to Interlaken, which is the backpacking and extreme sports capital of Europe, apparently. It's big for bungee jumping and ski diving, which I can imagine would be pretty cool in the Swiss alps. Interlaken is a weird place, though. It's gorgeous, as it is set in an Alpine valley between two lakes, but the people in Interlaked were a weird crowd, which is probably an explanation that deserves to be told in person, not via the web. Looking around the train station it seemed as if every group of people that had given up on life gathered in Interlaken. We trekked around the city for a few hours before catching a train up into the mountains to Grindelwald.

As the train wound its way up, the mountains just kept getting bigger. Out the window we could see glaciers and waterfalls and swiftly flowing mountain rivers. I don't think I've ever been so overwhelmed by a landscape before. Every direction from the center of Grindelwald is up. And really far up. I'll try to put some pictures on here, but pictures never do landscapes like these justice.

The hostel in Grindelwald was amazing, mostly because the views out the windows of the room and the kitchen were incredible. Plus, there was only one other person in the room besides Sally and I, which definitely made for better sleeping.

Day one of hiking tried to take us up the hardest trail of Eiger (because honestly, how can you go and take the easy route), but our Australian hostel manager informed us that the Eiger trail was closed due to the risk of falling rocks. I agreed with him that it probably wouldn't be a good idea to head that way. So we took the second best route up the same mountain. It took us winding up through cattle and goat pastures and up beyond the tree line and into snow. We ate lunch about halfway up, and the meal might have been one of the best all trip. You see, in Europe they don't really do breakfast. You might have toast and jam, or cereal and yogurt, but you never come across eggs or bacon or hash browns, or any of the things that make breakfast good. But I came across them in Alpiglen. After a huge pile of hash browns, fried eggs and ham, and paying way too much (it probably wasn't worth it, because it was really expensive, but it was really good), we headed back out into the cold and trails. By the time we reached the highest point we were being bombarded by sleet, and I was regretting the decision to wear shorts. But the views were incredible, and the sense of accomplishment of reaching 2,061 meters was quite a rush. Being quite tired and cold, and seeing that the sun was going down, we made our way to the train to take that down.

The next morning I thought I'd have to make my way to the train station, but I was talked into pushing that back and squeezing in one more day of hiking, because honestly, how often are you in the Swiss Alps.

Day two of hiking began by going the wrong direction (honestly, would anything else have fit this trip?), which ran Sally and I into Ian, a recent graduate of Indiana University who is trekking Europe for three months by himself, and was trying to find the trail from Grindelwald to First, the same path were were searching for. First is on the other side of Grindelwald from the mountains we hiked the day before, and provided an incredible opportunity to see these massive mountains from a new perspective. Glad to have company we made out for First together, which was a much steeper climb, though it might have only seemed that was after a day of hiking (As I sit here typing this, I can't help but feel a twinge in muscles I have forgotten about over the years). As we neared the top and began getting hungry and grumpy, we noticed a small trail/staircase that broke off from the main trail. Thinking that it would cut down on our time until lunch and make for a cooler story, we took the road less traveled. We were at First probably half an hour quicker than if we had taken the long road.

After a lunch that was again too expensive, Ian parted ways with Sally and I and made his way to an alpine lake. We bid our fond farewells and headed in different directions, Sally and I off along a ridge taking us back to the valley's other side. I wish I could have gone to the lake, but I didn't feel like I had time, seeing as how I had to get to Zurich that night, since I had already booked my room there. The trip to Grosse Scheidegg (our final destination) was fraught with snow crossings, a sleet storm, and increasingly cold weather. It also produced some of the coolest views, and an inescapable opportunity to slide down a giant pile of snow, which was both exhilarating and very wet and cold.

From Grosse Scheidegg, we caught a bus down the mountain back to Grindelwald because I needed to get back to Zurich, eventually.

Realizing that it was getting late and that trains would soon stop running, I parted ways with Sally who decided to stay one more night in the mountains to make me jealous, and made my way back to the Grindelwald station where I ran into, out of all people, Ian, who was staying in Interlaken and also needed to get to his bed. We waited for the train and rode that down together. We got to Interlaken just in time for me to catch the train to Bern, and go there just in time to catch the train to Zurich. I rolled into Zurich around 11 p.m., where I promptly rolled into bed.

Soccer Craziness

2008-06-12T22:59:00.001-07:00

I should call it football, because it's football, not soccer, but I figure that people reading this might be confused. I get razzed when I say soccer, so I apologize if I lapse into calling it football in this entry.

I know I haven't updated this blog in a while, but I have been highly distracted by soccer. Because of the tournament, I haven't been able to stay in the same place for very long, so as a result I was in Basel, then Bren, then back to Basel, then back to Bern, then back to Basel, then to Zurich. I haven't had much time on the internet either, so most of that has been spent figuring out where I'll be sleeping the next night. Needless to say, it has been a crazy few days, but I'm in a relaxing period now, so I thought I'd update.

I've watched 12 soccer games already, which blows my mind.

Soccer fans are crazy. Sometimes it's like a good crazy, like taking three weeks off of work, traveling several countries away, and spending three days before a match cheering with other fans, even when you don't have a ticket. Other times its not such a nice crazy, like when they get mad at Americans for being in the FanZone because we're not allowed to cheer for another country, never mind the fact that I was neither cheering, nor wearing Holland orange.

But the energy here is just unimaginable. I don't know how they care so much (I feel like a lot of it has to do with the alcohol that flows, literally, from the street fountains). I don't think you would ever see an American take off work for literally a month to go watch a sport when he doesn't even have a ticket. But it really is a good excuse to travel and see Europe for those people who never have in their lives. I think more people are coming to this one since Switzerland and Austria are so central on the continent. I've met people from every country that's playing and even some who aren't.

The major cities set up fan zones, with giant (like, several meters wide) televisions that broadcast the games for everybody who wants to come. The best part, of course, is that its free, but its also good because it's easy to find everybody I want to talk to, and they are often inebriated enough to open up to me.

I really like the fans, they're a different breed than other people. They come from all walks of life but become one giant, indistinguishable blob of their countries' colors when they show up here. I've seen more face and body paint then a whole season in UNC's risers. Watching the games with actual fans has been somewhat overwhelming, though. I try to go wearing neutral colors so nobody will bother with me. That has almost proved more difficult with people asking me (in other langauges) who I'm cheering for any why I'm there. I often say I'm cheering for the USA and they laugh and walk away. There's no real concern for personal space, and fights between opposing camps have been known to break out. The fan zones have often been so packed that they stopped letting people in. In Bern I got closed out of it after trying to get some food. In Zurich I had a place by the water and kept thinking I was going to be pushed in.

One plus of this project is that I've learned how to say, "Excuse me. I am an American journalist. do you speak English," in multiple languages, and that makes me feel like I'm learning things and other cultures. The problem is that if they say no then I don't know what to do. Often times they will keep saying things in their language, which is really difficult. I think I've gotten pretty good at the "I'm sorry, I have no idea what you're saying, I'm just an American tourist" face. I'm a little disappointed that none of British teams qualified, since I would have had more people to talk to, but oh, well.

I even got a German phrase book because my brother never filled me in on important phrases. I didn't even know how to say bathroom when I got here, which is a word I think you should know in every language. Good thing there's that international symbol of a guy just standing there to indicate where I need to go. But I figured if I'm spending two months in German-speaking countries, then I should cave and learn some German. I've gotten pretty good at "Ich spreche Deutsch nicht" (I don't speak German). Other than that though, I'm pretty much lost. I can't understand other people at all, but then again I'm not really trying.

One of the highlights of my trip's ad-lib nature is that my roommate a few nights ago was a Mexican journalist. I talked to him for a while about his job and football and globalization of football and all sorts of jazz that was both interesting and informative. I think that would be a sweet job, following your national team. You'd get to go to all sorts of cool places and talk to interesting people and, of course, watch football all the time.

I'm off for an adventurous day today that's somewhat unrelated to soccer (and when I say unrelated, I mean completely unrelated), but I'll fill you all in on it next time.

Hopp Schwiiz!

2008-06-08T00:21:00.001-07:00

Welcome to a straight month of football. I'll be spending the next four weeks of my life watching more soccer, and hopefully by the end I won't be terribly sick of it. I doubt that will happen, though. There are 24 opening round games, four quarter finals, two semi finals, and a final. That's 31 games. That's 46.5 hours of nothing but football. That's not even counting half time, pre-game and post-game coverage. I'm going to be a busy man. And this is going to be a lot of fun.

I rolled into the first host country, Switzerland, Friday after a day of train riding. I can now hold my head high and say I've been to Luxembourg, which I doubt many can say. Disregard the fact that I only spent an hour there in between two trains; it's Luxembourg, do you need more than an hour? Anyway, I got in around 7 p.m., and proceeded to get lost finding my hostel just like at every other city. Once I found that, I scoped out the rest of the city and checked out how they had prepared for this extravagant tournament. Their streets are covered in Euro garb, and there's an electricity in the air. It's going to be an exciting place to watch games, that's for sure.

So by poor planning and a lack of rooms, I didn't actually get to spend the evening in Basel, where the tournament was set to kick off. Instead, I had to catch a train to Bern where I would be catching the game. But no fear, in all the host cities they have giant "Fan Zones," where all those of us without tickets can congregate. And there are a lot of fans, most without tickets. I'm amazed that people just give up work for a month to hang out in a foreign town and spend money like there's no tomorrow. I guess Switzerland and Austria must love it.

The wonderful thing about Bern is that the Netherlands (or Holland, I'm not really sure how that works (and on that notew, why do we call them the Dutch?)) play all three of their opening round games here, meaning that thousands of Dutchmen (some with tickets, many without) have descended on this tiny mountain town all decked out in their obnoxiously orange jerseys. I say this is a good thing because, in my experience, the Dutch are incredibly friendly and fun, which should make Bern an interesting place to watch a match.

So for the opening match, everybody was nuts for Switzerland, because, after all, I am in Switzerland. It was almost impossible to find somewhere to stand and watch the match in the Fan Zone. It was sad that Switzerland lost, because it would have been exciting to see the kind of revelry that happens - but I'm sure that will come as the tournament progresses and I make my way to Vienna.

I did get to see the Portuguese fans go nuts when they beat Turkey in their opening game. Why there were tons of Portuguese in Bern, Switzerland, I'll have no idea, but they love their team. I think women in Portugal must love guys with mullets. That's the only reason I can conjure why every Portuguese man between 18 and 30 had the same business in the front, party in the back cut in the image of their country's new national icon, Cristiano Ronaldo. It was like some weird Portuguese version of that "My new haircut" video where all the guys look the same.

I don't know if anybody has ever been to something like this before, but the atmosphere is incredible. The town has been completely consumed by Euro 2008, and store windows of every shop carry some sort of football or Switzerland paraphernalia. The streets are lined with Euro 2008 flags, and booths have been set up everywhere hawking European football goods like jerseys, face paint, noise makers, and anything else under the sun with team colors on it.

Bern is one of my favorite stops so far, and I wish I was spending more than 24 hours here. It's tiny, and exactly what I think of when I think of Switzerland. It's set up on a hill and surrounded on three sides by a river. Its streets are cobblestone and the buildings are not modern at all. The entire city was named a UNESCO world heritage site in the 80s.

Now it is back to Basel where I'll be sleeping for two nights, but I will be coming back here to Bern to watch Holland play Italy, which I'm excited about. Tonight's match between Germany and Poland should be an interesting one. There's a lot of noise about ill feelings from Poland towards Germany (I wonder why) that could manifest at the game. I wish I could go, but it doesn't seem feasible to get to Klagenfurt for that. Then again, I'm running around like a madman for the next few weeks anyways, so I might eventually make it there.

I haven't quite picked who I'm rooting for, but I'm sure it's not Portugal. I like the Czech Republic, and I like Croatia, and I think it would be fun to go to Germany right after they won. I think if I hang around with the Dutch much more, I'm going to fall for that team. Plus, who wouldn't want one of their electric orange jerseys. Or at least a hat.

Brussels, in Total

2008-06-05T07:43:00.000-07:00

So, being that I haven't had internet access readily available here in Brussels, I've had to limit my posting. But as I end my time here, I decided to take some time to sit down in the local McDonalds to catch everybody up on what I've been doing here.

Bureaucracy, or Eurocracy, as they call it
The reason I came to Brussels was to check out the European Commission Central Library and look at European policy in relation to sports. So I spent some time digging through volumes and volumes of memos, advisory reports, and policy briefs. It was all really interesting, and it is cool to see how other countries political systems work. It was kind of nice to be back in the library setting, though I think it's weird coming a quarter of the way around the world just to sit in a library, and I think I got more out of my time in England and Scotland.
It took me forever to get access to this library. Honestly it wasn't even completely ironed out before I left for Britain (sorry, Foundation), but after three or four months of emails it all worked out. I had to talk to five or six different people, all to be told that I just had to being my passport and sign up for a day to visit the library. It was kind of cool getting a special pass to the library. It made me feel like I was conducting some cool research. Which I guess I am.
There are some really interesting papers that I'm sure would help me a lot, but they're in French or German, so they're just not usable. That's unfortunate, but whatever, I have enough EU literature to last the rest of my train rides, and a list of sports policy books to pick up if I want to (which, I honestly might).
Getting into the library was another even all together. I had to go through two security checkpoints, both of which searched my bag and patted me down. The funny thing, though, is that they didn't search me on the way out. I guess they're not too worried about people stealing their random papers.
After experiencing it firsthand and digging through their work, my overall opinion about the European Union is that it creates a lot of jobs that don't seem to do anything. There are a lot of policy memos, but they never actually do anything. They're really good at pointing out problems and advising others on how to figure them out. I guess that's what happens when you have so many countries, each with their own issues and cultures and languages, trying to work together.
On this note as well, the European Union buildings are hideous. It looks like they were trying to go for a modern thing, but they just look like weird blue-green buildings. Plus, they're not in the nicest part of Brussels, which makes them stand out in their ugliness even more as they tower over tiny, run-down buildings.

Antwerp
The truth about Brussels is that there's maybe a day worth of stuff to do here, so by day four I was getting a little stir crazy, especially as I had seen most beds in my hostel turn over two or three times already. Lucky for me, I had to go somewhere else to do research.
On Tuesday I journeyed up to Antwerp, a city in the north of Belgium. The reason I traveled up there was to meet with a sports economist who I spent a few hours with talking about competitive inequality and why Belgian teams will never be good at football (not just the national team, but their club teams, too). It was a good time.
Antwerp is a really cool city. It's not as big and busy as Brussels, and it's right on the Rhine river, which makes for some cool scenery. It has a giant square with a really cool statue and some nifty architecture. When I download the pictures you can all see how cool it is. The University of Antwerp, where I met professor Kesenne is also really pretty. It's this tiny Gothic compound in the middle of the city and has an awesome little park in the middle. I don't think I'd ever want to go there (mainly because the people speak Flemmish, which I don't actually believe is a language). They do have a pretty rocking sports economics program, if that's what you're into (though maybe that's what I'm into, still not quite sure)

Bruges
The next day, instead of hanging around Brussels for another day (which would have been really hard), I decided to take a train up to Bruges for the day. Bruges is a quaint little city that hasn't really developed since the 14th century, and, consequentially, it is the most visited city in Belgium, and an insane amount of tourists go there annually, which is great because everybody speaks English. It has canals and old renaissance and Gothic architecture, and people call it the "Venice of the North." It has a belfry that towers over the rest of the city, which you have to climb more than 350 stairs to get to the top of. It was a really cool view and definitely worth the climb. One thing that Bruges is really known for is its fry cartes, which tend to pop up around every turn. Belgian fries ("frites") aren't really any different from American French Fries, except that the Belgians are a little more liberal with what you can put on them. I had mine with samurai sauce (a spicy, asian food-esque sauce) and soufleesauce (a meat-based sauce that was way better than it sounds).
Some of the highlights of things to see in Bruges: One church has what it claims to be Jesus' blood; another has one of the only Michaelangelo statues outside of Italy; windmills; canals; and lots of cheap pancakes and fries.
One of my favorite things takes a little looking around to figure out. So, horse-drawn carriages are huge in Bruges, obviously since it's a big tourist place. But there was never any horse poop in the street. Bruge has an awesome solution for that. The horses have bags attached to their rear ends so they poop right into them. I thought my dad would appreciate that.
The pace of life in Bruge is also really slow. While the weather wasn't particularly nice, it was a really relaxing day of just kind of ambling around and taking it easy. Good thinking time.

Other Tourists
People only stay in Brussels for a night or two, so at seven nights I've become a kind of long-term resident, so I've noticed some similarities about the other people coming though. Brussels is kind of the stop-over place from Britain to Amsterdam, so everybody coming through here is either on their way or just coming from the biggest party place in the world, so I've gotten to hear all sorts of crazy stories. (My favorite being the guys from Virginia who took mushrooms and wandered through the Van Gogh museum, which is open late on the weekends for that exact purpose). But all they want to do is get out and party, which has made them quite interesting.
Almost everybody staying in my hostel is from America or Japan, oddly. A couple days ago a few Glaswegians (from Glasgow) came through, so I had fun relating to them. Also, a lot of other people are on their way to Switzerland and Austria just like me, which is just getting me more excited about that.
Most people are traveling in pairs or groups, too, which I think is a good cool. While it's nice to have some independent time, it is always nice to have someone to talk to as you're wandering around the city - especially when you're lost and in not the nicest area.

I didn't hate Brussels, though it may sound as if I did. Its just a weird place. It had weird architecture, weird people, weird languages, etc. Its the kind of place I find myself making snide comments about, but I've had a good time while I've been here, especially during the nights. I like that it's home to the Smurfs (though I'm unfortunately missing Smurf-fest tomorrow). It has amazing food, especially the waffles and fries. It has also provided some much-needed down time as I get ready for the real crazy part of this trip.
I also didn't hate Glasgow - it was probably my favorite stop so far. Apparently it sounded as if i did, which is just not true. Galswegians, along with traveling Australians, have been my favorite people. Canadians come in a close third.

So the next few days are going to be a little hectic, and I'll be in like, 6 different cities in the next 2 weeks, some of them twice. I'm also getting ready to watch a lot of soccer and talk to a lot of people about soccer, which I'm excited about. I've been told there's a lot of energy in the air already, so it's going to be a crazy few days coming up. I don't know how often I can update this thing, but I will try to do my best.

Twenty Days Is a Long Time

2008-06-01T06:05:00.000-07:00

Today marks the twentieth day I've been on this trip, and that blows my mind. It has gone really quickly. It's also the first day of June, which is also pretty crazy. I don't think I really contemplated how long this trip was going to be, but it's long. I don't know how I'm going to fill all of these days.

So how does one celebrate day 20? By doing laundry of course. After a run around the city (I didn't get lost!) I devoted a few hours to doing laundry. It was glorious, and I'm much happier as a result. I pretty much pushed it as far as I could. But now I have a refreshed wardrobe and I'm ready to take on the rest of this continent.

For anybody contemplating a trip like this: bring good socks, and lots of them. I brought good socks, but I thought I would be wearing sandals and flip-flops more than I have. But with the amount of walking I've had to do, it's been difficult not to wear shoes. And I didn't quite bring enough socks. I had to invest in more, which aren't great socks. Apparently they don't sell good socks in Brussels.

Unfortunately, while I was taking my jeans out of the dryer, I notice that they're developing a hole in the crotch. I'm hoping I get to warmer climates where I don't have to wear jeans soon, or I might suffer an embarrassingly tragic event. I also want those climates to I can wear flip-flops and sandals instead of socks and shoes.

O' Brave New World That Hath Such People In't

2008-06-01T05:17:00.000-07:00

Greetings from the capital of the European Union and NATO, the bilingual Belgian capital Brussels. And what a strange place this is. It's not very pretty and very gray. The EU buildings are some of the most hideous I've seen in a long time. There's graffiti. All the road signs are in two different languages, and roads here are only slightly less sporadic than in London. But people like it here. The locals think it's the greatest city. One guy had lived in London, Paris, Sierra Leone, and Vancouver, and decided that he wanted to make Brussels his home because he liked it best. I'm starting to fear staying here too long and decide to stay (which, honestly, I don't see happening).

The hostel owner was amazed that I was staying for six nights (most people stay one or two). She wondered what I was going to do for six days. I'm starting to wonder that too.

When I was planning this trip, I considered how long I wanted to stay in each place to get the feel of what I'm looking for, but I forgot to take into account weekends and holidays, which might prove a problem, especially here in Brussels. See, the European Commission Library, which is mostly what I'm here for, obviously isn't open on the weekends, and the meetings I lined up both fall on week days. So six days quickly turns into four. So I had a few weekend days to kill the first few days doing the tourist thing. That was over quickly. I've already seen most of the tourist attractions - aside from the giant atom-shaped building that lies outside the city center that was a world's fair attraction. Those are always odd.

Now, I know what you're all wondering: But Kevin, your project is about football, why did you go to Belgium? There are no big soccer stories there. That might be true, but there are politics (or more percisely, endless bureaucracy) that I was hoping to tap into. And I mean, its the center of Europe, so I thought it would be an interesting atmosphere. I'm starting to find that I'm wrong.

Wikipedia says that soccer is Belgium's favorite sport. I don't know if I quite believe that. I watched the Belgian team get destroyed by Italy the first night I was here. I went to find the most Belgian bar I could in hopes of seeing what the Belgians thought of their team. There aren't Belgian sports bars (sports would get in the way of the massive alcohol consumption, I think). Instead I settled for a quaint Irish pub that was showing the game, but there were still Belgians there watching the game, so I thought they might have interesting opinions. Thats when I learned the horrible truth: There are no Belgian fans. People (including the Belians) cheered all three times Italy scored, but when Belgium put in a beautiful goal in the last minute, the room was silent. At first I thought it might be because they weren't watching. I mean, Belgium was down three and it was the last minute, but all the Belgians were glued to the TV. They just don't like their own team.

So Brussels doesn't like football, I suppose that's okay. So what is Belgium known for? Waffles. Check, I got one the other day as I was wandering around the city. It was delicious, covered in strawberries and whipped cream. I don't think another waffle will ever measure up. I would eat them everyday if they weren't four Euros. Instead I've been cooking and eating pasta and ham and cheese sandwiches. I know, so cultural.

You know what else the Belgians are known for, which I forgot about until I got here. The Smurfs! Everybody's favorite tiny blue community originated from this odd little country, which is somewhat fitting. I think the two do a lot as far as explaining each other. Their other national symbol is a statue of a little boy peeing. It's all over their websites and brouchures, and I almost missed it when I went to find it. It's about 1 foot tall, and hidden in the corner of the winding streets. I wasn't too impressed. Then again, I haven't been impressed by much in Brussels. Except the waffles.

And the beer. Not the beer itself, just the sheer volume of it. They're known for beer. There's a bar that has more than 2600 beers. 2600 beers. If you went every night and drank five a night, that would take you almost two years to try all of them, and I doubt you would remember most of them. It's in the Guinness Book of World Records.

When I first got here I didn't like it, obviously, but it's starting to grow on me - mainly due to its eccentricities. I'm not saying I like it here, but its interesting.

When I walked out of my hostel yesterday morning I was swept up in a wave of preparation for the city's major parade. Why would they be parading, one might ask. The answer is simple: water. It was a parade in celebration of water. What a wonderful thing that you don't have to really have a reason to block off several of the city's major thoroughfares, only a fairly common chemical substance. The parade was really cool though.

Its been a while since I posted, and that's not really due to me doing a whole lot, it is more evident of the lack of internet access I've had. But here I sit at McDonald's in the heart of Belgium, where I can always count on free wireless internet access and if I'm lucky, a power outlet.

I can't complain about the hostel though. It's clean and nice, and has multiple showers. And, despite sleeping in a room with 13 other people, I've had a relatively easy time sleeping.

Brussels is having a Smurf celebration event the day that I leave. I'm kind of sad I'll miss it, though I don't think I'll be sad to move on to another city.

Why I Really Came to Europe

2008-05-28T14:34:00.000-07:00

Not many people know this, but I have a secret passion. I love castles. Castles on hills are even cooler. When there's cool weather around, they become even cooler. Castles on hills in mist might be the coolest thing in the world.

So it should come as no surprise that the real reason I came to Europe this summer was not to study football and politics, or for any kind of self-discovery journey, but actually to see castles on hills in mist.

Glasgow, unfortunately, is one of the few Scottish cities with no castle. It has the University of Glasgow, which is really castle-like, and the Kelvingrove Gallery, which is also sort of castle-like. But not the real deal. Oh, speaking of the Kelvingrove Gallery, see if you can figure this out:

Yeah. Just think about that for a second. The Kelvingrove Gallery is both to your left and to your right, and simultaneously, neither. For those of you who are wondering, the Kelvin Gallery is actually behind me while I'm taking this picture. I don't want to hear any more about how difficult these cities are to navigate. If the Scottish can't even figure out which direction they're supposed to go, you can't put any blame on me for not knowing my way around.

So, with my Glasgow meetings and interviews finished this morning, it was time to make my way to Scotland's most famous castle - the Edinburgh Castle. I had had enough of Glasgow by this point anyway, plus it was raining here, and I thought that escaping across the country to Edinburgh would help me get away from the nasty weather. Fun fact: Scotland's not big enough to have two different weather systems. Edinburgh is only like, an hour and a half away. It was rainy in Edinburgh, too.

One can clearly see from the rows of kilt and bagpipe stores that Edinburgh is where the tourists come when they come to Scotland. And they come for good reason. Edinburgh is a pretty city. Many of its streets are cobblestone, buildings come from every century except the 21st, and the city is shaped into a valley, with the castle towering over the rest of the city. There are old churches and other cool architecture.

I have to mention that while I'm in Scotland, I feel like eating McDonald's is okay, because honestly, what sounds more Scottish than McDonald's. It's the most Scottish name there is - aside from William Wallace.

Now, it would have looked even better, save for the fact that the weather was horrible and visibility was limited to less than 50 feet. But despite the rain, I had to pursue my destiny, to climb to the top of the city to see what I came to see.

The Edinburgh castle was cool, but a little too commercialized for my taste. It was chock-full of museums, and I could have spent hours if I was willing to read everything, but four museums about Scottish soldiers just seems excessive. It wasn't terrible picturesque because of the weather, but the mist made it especially eerie and medieval looking. Plus, when I think of Scotland, I think of gray, wet weather, so I guess that added to the effect.

The best pictures came from walking along the city and looking up at the castle, because of course, nothing is cooler than an old castle on a hill in the mist, which is exactly what Edinburgh gave me. I'm a fan of the city, and the castle (but then again, how could I not be?).

I also made my way through the rest of the town, seeing an old graveyard where philosopher David Hume was buried and the old Edinburgh observatory, which was set way upon another hill overlooking the city.

More on the trip and the exciting soccer adventures that I've been having in Glasgow, but for now, have fun sliding down the stairs, and watch out for when the floor disappears.

Why the Scottish Cheer for the United States

2008-05-28T14:18:00.000-07:00

It's actually pretty simple: They hate the English. At least that's how it was told to me this evening as the USA lost 2-0 to England. I didn't really know what I could encounter when I walked into a local pub for kickoff, but when I found out quickly when I was greeted with cheers when I asked who the Scots supported in the match.
"Obviously we support the USA," said a nice old Welsh man. "We [expletive] hate the English? Don't you guys? I love the USA."
Even the Welsh hate the English. I thought they loved them. I knew the Irish hated the English, that one was simple, but it turns out that most people who were once under the authority of the crown don't like England.

So it was a sad night for all those countries that were once a part of the English empire when the USA couldn't beat out the English. We did it in 1776, why did we come up short this time? Maybe we're better at war than football. I think we have more passion for the former anyway. My fellow bar mates were surprised that an American was even watching football (and calling it football and not soccer, for that matter), but I think I shold get used to that for the next few months.

Take Me Out to the Ball Game

2008-05-26T01:17:00.001-07:00

There's a great Gatorade Commercial from a couple years ago that chronicles team USA's World Cup journey to the tune of "take me out to the ball game." I guess the idea was that soccer is finally arriving in America. Great thought - but I'm not sure America will ever embrace the beautiful game like they do here.

So yesterday I headed across town to Celtic Park to catch my first live European football match. I wanted to see if it lives up to its reputation of being as crazy as it's hyped to be. The boys of Celtic played Motherwell as a tribute to a player, Phil O'Donnell, who died of cardiac arrest on the pitch last December. The team also lost it's manager and former player, Tommy Burns, earlier this month.

Despite the losses, Celtic were this season's Scottish Premier League champions. In fact, they've been champions the past three years. In fact, only Celtic and their cross-town rivals the Rangers have been Scottish Premier League champions. Since 1998, there has been only one year where the two teams failed to occupy first and second. But more on this in my actual research project, because it goes to the heart of it, and probably isn't interesting for those who don't like football or economics.

I had to enter through the "neutral/visiting team" entrance, since that was the only ticket I could procure. But no worries there, I was surrounded by Celtic fans, and since it was a tribute match to great players, everybody was in friendly spirits. Security is tight at Scottish football matches. I had to enter through a turnstile that I could barely fit through (and I'm not sure some fat people could. Once in my section, it was very difficult to get to the next over. And the stadium was overrun by security guards, even for a tribute game. When I get pictures downloaded, I'll put them up, but at one point there was a ring of security guards spaced about 5 feet apart all the way around the field. Then there was one at the bottom, middle, and top of every section. I don't quite know what they were protecting against, but I don't think I wanted to be around.

My seat was very high up and there was a railing in front of my face, but that didn't bother me too much because it was cheap and I could still see everything. In the first half Celtic was scoring on my end of the pitch, which was quite exciting as they put up three of their goals that half.

The stadium is huge, holding more than 60,000 people. To put that in perspective, the RBC Center holds fewer than 19,000 for Hurricanes games. And every seat was full yesterday. I was embraced by a nice family next to me, who wanted to make sure I was a Celtic fan before I left. I'm not quite sure they're my favorite, but it was an interesting experience and I now have a soft spot in my heart for the Scottish Premier League champions.

But the game was incredible. Before a full house the Celtic boys won 5-1. But despite it being a blowout, the fans were into the game the whole time, singing rousing cheers to Phil and Tommy and the rest of the team. Everybody in the stands was decked out in green and white, the team's colors (with a little orange thrown in from the Irish flag). People draped huge flags from the upper levels and some were on their feet the whole time. The game ended with the teams taking a lap around the stadium with took about 10 minutes, and every second of it was filled with applause.

After the game, the team's current captain brought out their recently-won trophy, and the crowd went crazy again. After the game, the stadium emptied out into the streets. Since most fans come from the city, there wasn't much traffic, only a mass of people all walking down the same street. While it was only 4:30, many people went to pubs, which I thought was funny.

Though it was a wonderful experience, it made me wish I was here for the real season and possibly and "Old Firm" match with the Rangers, which is supposed to be the cream of the crop when it comes to crazy football fandom. Though for the sake of my health and safety, it was probably best I wasn't there.

I know you're speaking English, but I have absolutely no idea what you're saying

2008-05-26T00:47:00.000-07:00

And other hasty judgments about Glasgow...

I can't understand these people. I listen to them and it sounds like they're speaking German or Swedish or some language I've never heard. But every now and then I'll catch a word of English thrown in their mumbo jumbo and I make an even more concerted effort to understand some semblance of what they're saying. Alas, it has been fruitless.

But on to other things:
First off, this city isn't too big. After coming from London, where it was too far to even walk into the city center from where I was staying, Glasgow seems tiny. Yesterday, I actually walked all the way across the city without realizing it. The surrounding area expands for ever, but everything interesting is really centrally located. It's a five-minute walk to the city's major streets. Odd that the city has two train stations though.

The people here are intimidating. I don't know what it is, but Scottish men (and women) seem to be much more intimidating than Londoners. They're bigger, drunker, and I can't understand them, which is a triple threat for lonely, insecure Kevin.

On that note, the people in the Hostel are really friendly. They're an eclectic mix of mostly gap year students, though there are a few older men thrown in. I thought I wasn't going to like it much in the beginning, but it has turned out to be a much better time than I thought. It's nice to have somebody to talk to about nothing - it kind of reminds me of college.

They love death here, apparently. There is a huge cemetery that looms over the city. And when I say huge, I mean massive. Big gravestones and tombs, all situated high above the city. I ventured up there yesterday evening. It made for cool pictures but also gave a very ominous feel.

And when I say evening, I don't really mean that. There's a lot of sunlight here. I guess that's because we're so high up on the globe, but days are long. It gets light really early (like, 4 or 5) and gets dark around 10:30. It makes for little sleep and lots of daylight, but I've learned that I'm much happier when there is sunlight, so I'm not going to wish it away. And we haven't even hit the longest day of the year yet.

Things are cheaper! Thank god. I can get lunch for much less here than in London, which makes me much happier, and more full. I got breakfast yesterday for less than two pounds, which blew my mind.

Unfortunately, I haven't found anywhere to go for a run, though I'm not quite sure I would want to go for a run on my own around here. I think it would be even easier to get lost here than in London. It has fewer green spaces than London (no heaths), and the air feels a lot grittier and grimier. Glasgow kind of reminds me of an old rust belt city, where there's not a whole lot of progress. But I actually have no idea.

I can't believe how little time I'm spending here, but I'm heading back to London Thursday, and catching a train to Belgium Friday morning. I guess that will make all of this seem like it's going really quickly. And I guess it is.

Aside from a few museums, there doesn't seem to be a whole lot to do here, except for football, but more on that later.

A Northbound Train

2008-05-24T07:40:00.000-07:00

The incredible coincidence of this post is that I'm actually on a train. One has to love that the world has become so wireless that this moving vessel can have full wireless access so that I am able to update this blog.

So, where am I off to, one might ask. Well, I am beginning this second leg of the journey heading north among rolling hills and tiny boroughs of the British landscape. I'm leaving the land of limeys, pence, boiled food and the Queen, and making my way to Scotland, home of haggis, kilts, bagpipes and violent sectarian soccer. After realizing I overpacked for this adventure, I forsook several shirts and a pair of shorts in Marion's closet. I probably should have parted with my DTH sweatshirt as it takes up a lot of room, but my love for it is too strong, and I've already lost it once, twice would be too much. Though I picked up a jersey, new toenail scissors (probably the fortieth pair I've ever bought), a combination lock, and a new book, I set out from the Boulicault's humble abode several pounds lighter (in both the monetary and weight terms), and I'm off to the second country in this wonderful, football-filled journey.

On that note, is Scotland a country? What is it's official designation. They're part of the United Kingdom, I know that, so they're not really a country. But at the same time, they, along with Wales and Northern Ireland get their own team in the World Cup (and European Cup for that matter). Scotland has it's own devolved parliament, but they still report to the England crown. So what are they?

And on that note, I'm just now realizing how far north Scotland is. Have you ever looked at it on a map? It's up there. I mean, it's not Greeland or Iceland or Sweden north, but it's up there.

Amazing that its going so quickly. I'm coming up on two weeks on Tuesday. But what's more amazing it how much further there is to go. I feel like I've been away for a while, but there's so much more, and I've barely scratched the surface. Several countries and even more cities yet to come, with no familiar faces until Germany. Also, no more privacy for a while as I move to hostels and dorm rooms (and even some sleeping on trains) for several weeks.

In honor of all the English teachers I've ever had I went and saw a show at the Globe last night. While it wasn't traditional Shakespeare, it was a traditional sixteenth-century good time nonetheless. I'm kind of glad it wasn't one of the long ones, because standing for three hours might have been difficult.

Anyways, keep sending me emails because I miss you all dearly, and will need to hear some friendly voices as this solo part of the trip begins.

A Project, A Game, and A Tourist

2008-05-22T17:05:00.000-07:00

I haven't done well keeping this up as much as I would like, though I guess that's a testament to how busy I've been these past few days.

A project
The past few days were devoted to this project, which I suppose is shaping up well. I've had a few solid, good interviews with academics this week, as well as some vital email conversations. I would have to say the Rosetta Stone of this whole project was meeting with a man who used to be a CEO of Southampton FC and Fulham FC. He clued me in to some resources that will prove exceptionally helpful, and we had a good long chat about football and its future. He's currently in the market for a new job, so he told me to ask around and see if I knew any professional football teams that needed new CEOs. I told him I'd ask around.

I think I might do a separate blog to hash out what I'm learning from the project, since it's cool and interesting, but probably not what most people reading this would want to read. Then again, I haven't really been able to keep up this one, so I don't know how two would work out. However, I have found that I know more about economics, the EU, political systems, sports industries, American sports, and of course, football, as a result of being here less than two weeks. I'm excited for what the next few months bring.

Monday I dragged myself out of bed early to go cross town to Emirates Stadium, home of Arsenal, to meet with the team's historian. I'm not quite sure why all of these teams have historians, but it seems to be a well-paying, easy-going job. Their stadium is beyond belief, and while I was there the grounds keeper was doing his annual digging up and replanting of the field, which slightly blows my mind. When I talked about Chelsea, I mentioned how I was not impressed by their media treatment. I take that all back with talking about Arsenal. They have a plush media room, including a full-service bar and restaurant, all paid for by the club.

I also made my way to Craven Cottage - the Fulham F.C. stadium - to see how people do things when they're not at the top of the league. It was much more low-key than Chelsea and Arsenal, and they definitely didn't have a club historian. Though they were a lot nicer, and even though I didn't have an appointment or meeting set up, I found someone to sit down with and talk about the club. It kind of seemed like the management had nothing else to do, which I suppose makes sense because Fulham didn't make any post-season play, and just barely saved themselves from relegation this season.

A Game
Last night was one of the best nights I've had in a while, though I must admit that the result wasn't what I had particularly hoped. After a day of train rides and cricket watching (see the previous post), I came back to London just in time for kick off of the first all-England Champions League final, which was being played in Moscow. At a wonderful Irish pub called O'Malley's (No relation to the Pina Colada song) we had to watch as the Blues lost to Manchester United in penalty kicks to lose the Champions League final. I thought we had it when goalkeeper Peter Cech stopped Manchester United superstar Christiano Ronaldo, but the ill-fated Chelsea had a stroke of bad luck when captain John Terry slipped on his kick and hit it just wide. We watched the game with a group of students from Texas A&M who are here for the summer to work. I don't think they were quite prepared for the European football experience, though they got a crash-course last night.

While the result wasn't what I hoped for, watching the game was certainly fun. Such a back-and-forth match between such great teams makes for quite an exciting atmosphere. I don't think anything really compares to watching a football game among Europeans. The people actually care. And it's not just the people who have been rooting for either team throughout the season. When it comes down to the final game everybody picks a side cares. It's incredible contrasting this to, say, the Super Bowl, which a majority of people only watch for the commercials and because everybody else is doing it. No, watching this game here was phenomenal, and I can't wait for the Euro Cup.

Don't worry, mom, I had nothing to do with the riots in West London. Though I must admit that being in the area would have done wonders for both this blog and my "research" this summer. But alas, I was on my way home moping with the rest of the Chelsea fans on the tube.
One thing that shocked me about the coverage of the game was that so many people were complaining about how expensive Moscow was, which blows my mind because prices here in London are through the roof, so I can't possible imagine what they would be in Moscow to put people so on edge.

On that note, I'm continually amazed at the coverage football garners here. The Times ran 12 pages of post-match coverage, but, no, that will not suffice. Tomorrow their sports writers have combined their strengths to put out a 16-page supplement to tell me everything I could ever have wanted to know about last night's game, how the teams got there, what the future holds for both, how the drinks were in Moscow that night, why the grass appeared better than it actually was, why that guy in the first row wasn't wearing a shirt. Really, how much analysis can you do of a game? The answer: never enough.

A Tourist
So now for the recount of the rest of the time:
I finally saw Buckingham Palace, which I must admit wasn't that spectacular. It's a rather unimposing building with drab architecture and a complete lack of character - though I guess that goes a great distance in describing the royal family. I must admit, though, Britons love their Queen. She's on the money, posters, the national anthem. And people actually still do things in the name of the queen, in her honor. It blows my mind that in such a developed world, we would still believe that one family is vastly superior than others, though I must admit that they almost feel the same way about the sex and the city actresses and Amy Whinehouse that they do about the queen, and the latter probably gets more news coverage.

I also got to see Westminster Abbey, which simply blows my mind in its oldness. People were being buried in that building more than 500 years before my country even existed. That's crazy. I was slightly let down that nobody solved the mystery of the Da Vinci Code while we were there (remember, Newton's tomb), but there were some cool sculptures and famous people. I am a little disappointed that I couldn't remember more of the names I saw there from AP European History (sorry, Ms. Yamauchi), though I knew a remarkable number of those people buried in the "poet's corner."

On that note, one of the theaters downtown is showing Equus - my favorite horse-blinding, psychopsychotic, coming of age play about how parents completely mess up children - and I only learned this today. Had I learned earlier, I would totally have been there, but tonight I'm off to the Globe Theatre to catch some Shakespeare, and there's just no more time.

Britons love American movies. As I sat through the previews for Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull (a film I would highly recommend), I noticed how there really aren't any popular movies made outside of the United States. I suppose you could say Bollywood, but it's really only Indians who watch that. No, if there is one aspect of this crazy world where foreigners still love the United States, it's action-adventure-comedy with incredible special effects, and Sex and the City, of course.

Today I'm off to the local library (I know, wonderful way to spend vacation) to look a few things up and make some copies of a wonderful book I was allowed to borrow, and must mail back to the original owner, unfortunately.

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Oh, and since Marion requested that I mention her in this blog, I thought it was only appropriate to thank her and her family for letting me stay with them. The best way of doing that? By putting up a picture of little blond Marion that has been lying around her room.

A Note on Cricket

2008-05-22T15:27:00.000-07:00

I've liked sports my entire life, and I think I understand them well. Especially the obscure ones. The first time I saw curling I was hooked and learned the game fairly quickly. I understand the intricacies of diving and even Jai-Alai, but while I've been in London, one sport has eluded me greatly: Cricket.

They love it here. It gets it's own page in the paper every day. There are bars and channels devoted entirely to it. They sell jerseys and flags with cricket team logos, and the national team competes all over the globe. Apparently, it's the second most popular sport in the world.

Here's the thing about cricket: It's the only sport I can watch for two hours and still have absolutely no idea what in the world is going on. It's stupid.
I sat and watched a match at Loughborough while I was waiting for a meeting yesterday, and the whole time I sat there scratching my head. Any nobody else understands it either. I asked the people around me what was going on, and they used uncanny, fake terms like wickets and overs, and something known as the popping crease. I think Marion's right - it's a conspiracy - nobody actually has any idea what cricket is, the British just do it to confuse us Americans. It must be their response to American football.

So here's what I gathered from sitting there for two hours:
I don't know how long into the match I showed up, since there is no clock or scoreboard, and nobody ever looks like they're into the game. There are about 35 people standing around this field, not really paying attention. Two of them have large fraternity paddles and body armor. I think the iron men are on the same team, but I'm not sure.

So play starts when a pitcher (I think he's called a bowler, but not like the hat or the PBA) runs about 300 yards and chucks a small wooden ball. Now when I say that he runs, I don't really mean that. He tends to trot, not really full speed, and he does a funny little dance right before he throws. Like I said earlier, I don't know if the guys he's throwing to is on the other team, since everybody is wearing white and are essentially indistinguishable. Anyway, he throws this ball at the ground, it bounces, and then another guy swings a fraternity paddle in hopes of hitting this. Alternatively, it looks like he occasionally tries to peg the batter for no apparent reason. Sometimes the batter misses, and the ball hits these sticks poking out of the ground, and everybody cheers. But that doesn't really matter, because the people who actually know what's going on cheer at random points when it appears that nothing happens.

So when the ball gets hit, everybody runs in a circle. Except when the guy hits it far enough (when you think he would run a lot), but in that case everybody just stands around watching it. It takes about five minutes for play to resume after that. The ball comes back to the pitcher-like guy, and the whole thing starts over. Unless they don't want to, in that case they just stand around talking. I'm not quite sure who the ref was, either, since he was wearing white too.

And the game didn't end in the time that I watched it. The games must go on for days, because I read in the paper that they have tea breaks, and that someone took two wickets on a jimmy in the fifth to put the bowler up before lunch break, whatever that means. And the score, you can forget me trying to keep track of that. In fact, I wasn't even quite sure it was an actual game. It could have been a scrimmage or practice, and I would have absolutely no idea of the difference.

The best part of cricket is reading it in the paper the next day. They talk about achievements like "centuries." Also, scores tend to be astronomical numbers, and nobody understands how they get there. The other day New Zealand beat England 176-5. I'm not quite sure how that happens, but they tied the next day, though N.Z. seemed to have two scores.

The Blues, Lots of Green, and a Woman in Black

2008-05-18T10:36:00.000-07:00

The Blues
Thursday morning I thought it would be best to start this thing called a research project, so I went down to Chelsea to speak with some people. obviously I had to start there, since they're going to win the Champions League on Wednesday. First things first I took a tour of the stadium. So, I've always heard these rumors that European football press boxes are crazy luxurious, and that the clubs went to great lengths to treat the press right. But I wasn't overwhelmed by this stuff. It was very similar to the press rooms at places like the Hurricanes and the Red Sox. Still, it's pretty much a dream job to get in there.

So the first guy I talked to was Frank. He works for Chelsea and has been a fan for like, 40 years. He showed me and a couple other people around the stadium. He really knows his stuff, and it was cool to talk to him. He told me about how the image of the club has changed during recent years, since this oil magnate Roman Abramovich bought the club.

On of the guys there with me was from Nigeria. His real name is Akin Okunola, but he preferred to go by Billy Boy. He's developing a magazine to be distributed across Africa, and possibly the world, that focuses on African footballers playing in the Premier League. Africans are nuts about the Premier League, and they're all about the Africans playing here. Billy Boy was a huge Chelsea fan because of John Mikel Obi, who's also from Nigeria. He gets to travel all over Africa talking to people, and he gets to come to Britain too. He's also hoping to turn it into a television program. I really hope his project works out, because I think it would be really successful, and a really cool thing for Africans.

When I was all finished they let me watch a developmental game. I also talked to this kid in Chelsea's developmental program from Ghana. He's 17 and he's been playing in their programs since he was ten. He came to the country when he met with scouts in Ghana. His story will probably make a good biography when he makes it big one day.

Lots of Green
I spent today wandering around Hampstead Heath. This had absolutely nothing to do with my project, it was just something I wanted to do. I wandered in way further than when I've been running through there. The day started off really sunny and warm, but that kind of digressed into a cold and gray afternoon, which was unfortunate since I wore a t-shirt and shorts.

You never think of cities of being natural, but they all seem to have some cool natural area in which to escape. The Heath is awesome. I wandered into it and just kept walking. I stopped in a couple places to read and such. It has swimming ponds that are segregated into mens' and women's, which I found quite hilarious (though, the actual funny part is that people were swimming, and it was quite cold). There was also a great sign that said watch for mating geese, which made my day, since I can imagine a funny image of geese attacking swimmers.

From the south end of the Heath there's a really cool view. It overlooks the city and is a great place for taking pictures. I spent some time up there hanging out, reading and writing. It was very meditative. There were a lot of people with kites and their dogs. I want one. A dog, not a kite.

So, by about hour 5 I was pretty lost and tried to make my way back to where I'm staying. I was getting really hungry, and I managed to stumble across a little girl with ice cream. Then there was another one. And another. And finally I came across an ice cream stand, which made me incredibly happy, and I learned that my mood is incredibly impacted by ice cream, in a positive way.

A Woman in Black
I saw this play last night. It's called the Woman in Black, and it played at the Fortune Theater. So the big deal about this play is that it's supposed to be really scary. And it was. It scared the crap out of me. It did a really cool job of utilizing sound and silence to get the audience all suspenced and freaked out.

Other than that my wanderings in London have been joyous. The city is really cool, and an interesting mix of history and modern.
Londoners have this problem with walking. They can't quite figure out which side of the street to do it on. In the tube they make people walk on the left, which is confusing as crap. But on the street people walk on the right, or just walk wherever they want. I thought I had it figured out, but every time I guess which side to talk on, I guess wrongly, and have to do the infamous sidewalk dance.

So, until next time, I expect you all to send me emails and all that jazz. Also, I'm kevinkiley on Skype, if any of you use that and want to call.

Tourism in England

2008-05-16T10:31:00.000-07:00

I'm pretty sure this is travel rule number 1, but I wasn't really paying attention during that DEA guy's presentation before heading off: Never go running in an area that you don't really know anything about. That's what I did last night and ended up taking an almost 2-hour run because I couldn't find my way back. But the awesome thing is that I was lost in Hampstead Heath, which is like London's Central Park, but more beautiful and historic. Luckily there was a nice old man to steer me home.
I did a little better this morning, but it wasn't such a good workout.

So, since I hadn't really set up meetings or anything like that during my first few days in London, I thought I should take some time to do the tourist thing in London. I saw the Tower of London, the British Museum, Big Ben, Westminster, and almost anything else I could do for free. It has been a wonderful time. I feel like such a tourist.

In my time here, I've noticed some thing that Londoners love. Londoners love:
Londoners love Sex and the City. It's everywhere. They even write crazy articles about how to visit New York like one of the "fab four." They're on buses, buildings, boats, the ground, anywhere.
Londoners love their celebrity gossip. It's all over the newspapers - more so than actual news. The love Paris Hilton, Posh Spice, and a bunch of British people of whom I've never heard. They even love Amy Whinehouse. It's all over the front page, second page, and then they have a whole separate section for celebrity gossip. There's definitely more celebrity news than real news, except maybe sports.
On that note, Londoners love sports. More importantly, I love how much Londoners like Cricket, because it's an absolutely ridiculous sport. I love reading about it, because it makes absolutely no sense.
Londoners love horrible traffic. Their roads wind with no particular pattern. Clearly, the roads had to develop around a city that had already been here for a while, but its like they made no effort at all. Trying to throw pedestrians into that mix makes it even worse. People get hit all the time. Apparently one teenager dies daily from getting hit by a car. That seems excessive.
Londoners love fitting perfectly into British stereotypes. I don't know why, but I feel like I've seen all Londoners before - in a movie or television show.
Londoners love Sir Walter Raleigh! They credit him with everything - he's like the British Benjamin Franklin. Even now, I'm watching a show on how he brought the potato to England. It's so funny to hear about his work here, since we know him so well on our side of the pond.
Londoners love not being from London, or England for that matter. Nobody I've come across is actually from London. There are Indians (like, from India), French, Germans, Africans, but not that many people form England.

Alright, that's all I've got for now. More to come later.

Cheerio

2008-05-14T14:11:00.000-07:00

'Ello friends,
Greetings from across the pond, where I have taken my first steps in this wonderful world known as Europe. It's hard to imagine that a little more than a week ago I was taking tests, and now here I am backpacking across a completely different continent.
I'm spending my summer studying soccer, which is basically the coolest thing that any 11-year-old boy who plays for the local recreational league could dream up (which is largely because I dreamed up the idea as an 11-year-old boy in a local recreational league). So I'm spending part of my time talking with big-wigs and researchers and the rest of the time will be spent being an absolute, no holds barred tourist. I'm hitting up the UK, Belgium, Switzerland, Austria, Germany, and the Czech Republic, finally making my way down to Croatia for some well-deserved R&R.
The weather here has been wonderful. I was expecting cold and rainy (actually I had no idea what to expect), but it has been sunny and 75 both days I've been here.
I was completely jet-lagged yesterday, so I spend it bumming around and napping. I even took a nap outside and got sunburnt, which is clearly a good first day. However, being refreshed, I spent today wandering around London seeing the sights (and when I have the energy, I'll put up pictures).
I'm here in London until the 22nd, at which time I'll be making my way north to the wonderful kingdom of Scotland.
In an effort to make all of this remotely related to soccer: Boo to Zenit St. Petersburg for beating Glasgow's Rangers in the UEFA Cup Final, especially since I'm heading up there soon.

All of you should stay in touch, because I already miss all of you terribly. This blog is no excuse for individual emails, I care as much about what you're doing. kkiley@email.unc.edu.