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6Jul/101

paris, franzen style!

Alex was in Chicago for the week at a conference. What was a hip, happenin', globe-trottin' girl to do? Go to Paris for the weekend to see her old college buddy Zachary Franzen, naturally. (Go Badgers.)

We should win an award in holding-the-camera-yourself picture taking.

Now, I had never been to Paris. So I was really looking forward to wine, wine, cheese, wine, cheese and some more wine. However, my host Zach is a bit more of a Coke, Coke, McDonald's, Coke, McDonald's and some more Coke kind of a guy. In retrospect, perhaps, I should have set some more realistic expectations.

I got in earlyish on a Friday afternoon. For that evening, Zach had suggested going to a friend's restaurant to meet a couple people. Sounds good to me! However, we get to the restaurant and a couple of Zach's amis seemed to have multiplied to ten or so of them. And all of these Frenchies agreed upon two things: They liked to drink Heineken. And they really, really loved hamburgers. They loved hamburgers so much, in fact, that they ordered a hamburger for me. They said, "Why would you want wine and cheese and pate? This is the best hamburger in Paris!" Okay, mon frère, I is from a little place called the United States of WEKNOWBURGERS and, even though your country has some of the best goddamned food in the world, something being the so-called best hamburger in Paris, even if it is a 100% true statement, probably means very little. I should just end this paragraph here because you know how it ends. I didn't get wine, cheese or pate. I got a mediocre hamburger. I know you already guessed that. But I had to continue the paragraph so I could tell you everybody ate their burgers with knives and forks. MON DIEU!

The next morning, Zach already had plans to take part in something called the Beret and Baguette Bike Ride.

Zach getting all suited up for the big "Berets and Baguettes" bike ride around Paris today.

The startpoint of the ride was at the Eiffel Tower. I was sans bike so we picked me up a fancy CityBike right outside of our apartment. CityBikes are bike rentals you can find in many, many cities in Europe. The bikes are sometimes crappy but completely rideable when needed. It was a great early morning adventure to bike through the streets of Paris to the Eiffel Tower. When I got there I rewarded myself with pastry. Note the bereted boys in the background.

MMMMmmm. Nothing like a little pain au chocolat in front of the Eiffel Tower on a Saturday morning.

This bike wins.

After a couple hours of hanging out with the bereted and baguetted biking folks gathering for their ride, I was getting a bit antsy. It was almost 10am and I hadn't had a glass of wine yet! Thank god, my new best friend Chris showed up to remedy that. Well, this was really the first time we met but it was pretty much instant bestfrienditude. So I bid Zachary Franzen adieu, then Chris and I ventured off into the city to stir up some shit.

We started off on a mission to find me a hoodie as I made the mistake of dressing lightly for the chilly morning. Then, we got a tad sidetracked with some cafe coffee drinking and crepe eating. Next, our wanderings took us out amongst throngs of tourists. The famous Notre Dame Cathedral was just right across the way but the line to get in was a couple blocks long. So I was going to just have to be content with some nice exterior photos.

Christopher is happy to be amongst tourists in front of Notre Dame!

My new partner-in-crime Chris was not having that though as he decided to eff that line and cut in front of everybody. Even though it seems kind of dickish, it actually is a very European thing to do to completely eschew a line. I have been cut in front of many a time waiting in line for something. Rather, I have elbowchecked many a person trying to cut in line in front of me many a time. Nobody elbowchecked us though and we strode right on through. Suckas.

Shhhh. There is a man in a robe talking about stuff.

Well, Chris is a man-about-town and he, unfortunately, had to leave me to do some of his requisite about-towning. He pointed me in the direction of a worthwhile walking-around area and we parted ways. At this point, it was just before lunchtime and I really needed to make up for the burger fiasco from the night previous. I came upon a pretty nice little area with tiny streets lined with bistros. I would tell you what this area was called, but my gin-soaked memory fails me. Now, choosing a restaurant for what is your only lunch for your short Parisian weekend involves a lot of discerning assessment. After circling a good five block radius, I got really good foodie vibes from a certain establishment. The prix fixe menu looked promising and the decor was nice and didn't seem forced. It was suspiciously empty however that turned out to be just because it was a little early yet. Just after I was seated and working on my wine and olives, the place started to really fill up. I spent the next two hours there eating and drinking. To start, I had the aforementioned olives, then some amazing house-made pate and onion confit, followed by sausage and pommes frites, and finished off with this insane chestnut chocolate pudding whipped cream concoction. It was so fantastic that after every bite of food and drink of wine, I just wanted to high five somebody.

Excuse the olive pits, please.

Merlot, pommes frites, pork sausage and some crazy good mustardy lemony buttery sauce.

Chestnut custard, chocolate and cream for dessert. Ridiculous good.

I met up with Zachary later that day and we spent the rest of our evening rabblerousing our hearts out. We hit a houseparty thrown by another American ex-pat where I met more Americans than I have in my entire time in Vienna. Chris was also in attendance as well as another one of my new Parisian homeboys, Kyle. After hours of imbibing on the things kids worldwide imbibe upon at house parties such as this one, we caught the last Metro train home and called it a night.

Yeah, get those back teeth real good, Kyle.

The next morning, before we had to Le Metro it to the airport, Zach and I tried to get in a bit more sightseeing in the few hours we had left. We killed two birds with one stone and headed over to the Champs-Élysées which conveniently ends with the Arc de Triomphe.

Someone significant standing in front of something significant.

By the skin of our teeth, we made it to Charles De Gaulle in time for my flight. For a few moments, it seemed like Volcano Eyjafjallajokull aka Volcano I'manasshole was looking to keep me in gay Paree for one more night. Every single other flight to Vienna had been cancelled up to that point. I could not have that. When I am in the direction of leaving somewhere, I want to keep heading in that direction. Thankfully, Mr. Volcano decided to do me a solid and allowed my plane clearance to take off.

Au Revoir, France!

Tagged as: airplane, airport, bicycle, blogsherpa, culture, drinking, food, france, friends, paris, sightseeing, travel, trips, weather, zach franzen 1 Comment

11Jan/100

the last schlafwagen to venice

The only thing nicer than going to Venice... is getting proposed to an hour before you leave for Venice. One would think that Venice is where you would get proposed to which makes getting proposed to before you go most certainly a surprise. And it makes the already highly anticipated trip to Venice even more highly anticipated. What was once just a ho-hum run-of-the-mill trip to Venice, Italy is now an ENGAGEMENTMOON to be celebrated at every waking moment. And celebrated we did.

So we decided to take a sleeper train to Venice or as they say in those parts, a Schlafwagen. The nice thing about taking the train is there is no rigamarole to go through before you get to the train including pretty much zero security. I could have had bombs in my underwear, shoes... I could have shown up five minutes before the train left and had one of those cartoon round bombs with the long fuse under each arm and been like, hey what's up, and they probably wouldn't have even looked at me twice.

So we reserved our very own two-person Schlafwagenzimmer (sleeper car room). I think it's the fanciest you can go on these things. The next step down is what is called a couchette which basically is a room with six couches, three on each side like bunk beds, that you share with random people. We get two nice bunkbeds with a little table and a couch and even a little sink. Mind you, it's all very cramped and tiny but they do maximize the space.

Who's that engaged lady in the Schlafwagen?

If you want to see more, go to our Videos page to get a grand tour of our glamorous quarters!

Along with the fancy room, we got a nice big breakfast in the morning. This translates to us each getting to choose six things from a list of Viennese breakfast items which can best be described as a deconstructed sandwich. The bread traditionally included with one's Frühstück (I'm larnin' you something!) is basically a Kaiser roll or as they say in Vienna, Semmel. The other items are basically jam, butter, cold cuts, cheese slices, pate, etc. And of course, we also got some juice and coffee. It is Wiener Frühstück, isn't it?

Riding into Venice on the train is beautiful. For those of you who are unawares, Venice is an island and you arrive just as it's light over the water onto the island and into the city right to the train station.

That, my friends, is the island of Venice.

After we unloaded and detrained, we made our way to the water taxi aka Vaporetto stop. I was fully debriefed by my Venetian friend Andrea which Vaporetto to take to our hotel as one will make many stops (1) whilst the other (2) is very swift about taking you through the Grand Canal. However, even a native's help will not prepare you for navigating the "streets" of Venice. I had a map. It seemed we were very close to where we needed to be. I wish Venice were laid out like an Ikea. You walk in the entrance and maybe you have to walk through the whole store but you will eventually pass by everything before you get to the end. In Venice, you basically wander and wander and wander perhaps employing some natural instinct and hopefully stumble across your destination. That is essentially what happened to us. We knew we were close. It just took us a while to find the right rape alleys to follow. We somehow found our hotel. Unfortunately, however, it was still a bit early, so we were not rewarded with a room or even so much as a high five for finding the place. We dropped off our bags and headed off into the frozen city. Oh, did I mention? Venice was super duper cold. It was so cold, I didn't even think of getting an Italian gelato. That's cold.

Let me pedal back a week or so to make mention that in my German class, a Lithuanian classmate warned me of the flooded streets in Venice. I scoffed at her. She said, wear galoshes! I doublescoffed. Well, here I found myself in Venice, Italy and a lot of the streets were indeed flooded. I scoffed in error! I doublescoffed in a double error! Now, the kind city puts out platforms for us greenhorns to walk on when this situation arises. However, there were a lot of showoffs in their knee-high water boots splashing around from here to there and back again. I could wear galoshes! I can splash around! You're not analyzing the complex genetics data of the Arabidopsis thaliana! That's what Alex does. I like to throw it around when I can.

Some people put on their galoshes and took on the water. We opted for the platforms.

Honestly, though, I don't know why I have been wasting your time. I went to Venice. I will now give you what you want... FOOD PORN!

At Osteria Al Portego eating a plate of awesome fried seafood. Heaven.

Taking a break after some ridiculously awesome pumpkin flan at La Zucca in Venice.

Our meals at Osteria Al Promessi Sposi. That's a whole lot of squid ink.

At Osteria Al Portego. Up top we have pappardelle with pork sausage and porcini mushrooms and on the bottom we have gnocchi with scallops and zucchini and saffron. Murder me it was so good.

Ciao!

Tagged as: blogsherpa, breakfast, food, italy, pitfalls, sightseeing, train, travel, venice, weather No Comments

5Nov/096

please do cry for me, friends

Yesterday, it was snowing here. Today, it is raining Katzen und Hunden. Basically, it's miserable outside. Now, here I am having to sit down and write about my trip to Hawaii last week. Sob story, I know. Oh, I can hear the sarcasm in your voices. You know what? It's all relative, people. My life is my life. My trials and tribulations are still trials and tribulations. My "it is raining Katzen und Hunden in my idyllic neighborhood in Vienna" is your "there are fires in the hills and I can't breathe because of all the ash in the air." My "I can't figure out where to buy travel-size contact lens solution in this city" is your "it took me 4.5 hours to drive from Hollywood to Santa Monica on the 10 because people were checking out an accident at the Robertson exit." My "they put too much jam in my crepes" is your "my unemployment just ran out and I had to start buying generic macaroni and cheese." Like, I said. It is all relative.

Now, let's talk about MY TRIP TO GLORIOUS HAWAII:

First off, we got to the airport and nobody bought me a lei.

In the Honolulu Airport. Do I look jetlagged? Cause I'm pretending I'm not.

We got to the hotel and still nobody bought me a lei.

In our hotel lobby. Hmmm, I don't seem to be wearing a lei. Step it up, Alex!

We got up to our room and there was still no lei!!

Our hotel room is nice!

Let me just say that adjusting to a 12-hour time difference sucks. It's as bad as you can get. Your mind and body are completely effed. Down is up, up is down, red is green, 2+2=3, Michael Jackson is still alive... You know what I'm saying. First night, I lay down for a nap at 4:30pm watching Judge Judy (Hi, Grandpa!) while Alex is checking in at his conference (that's why we were there in the first place). So he comes back around 5:30pm and asks me if I am able to go anywhere and I mumble something akin to, "There is no way in hell's bells I'm moving one inch." Flash forward to me waking up at 3:30 in the a.m. READY TO GO. I'd say every day that scenario repeated itself improved by an hour and a half or so. It was an accomplishment when I finally was able to stay awake until 9:30pm and that was probably three days after we got there.

So that Sunday was my birthday. I turned 33. I ain't ashamed to say it. Although, that was Jesus's age when he was MURDERED. Well, you'll be happy to know I managed to survive the whole day without coming to the same end. Or did I? SCARY LAUGH. Anyhow, we decided to put on our tourist pants and go sightseeing. We had reserved a rental car and when we went to go pick it up, I dropped that it was my birthday. Bam, UPGRADE. It was that easy. I wish I could bottle up this charm and sell it to you, but I cannot. We got a Mustang! This is a car that before having ridden in it, I would have never ever considered buying and now after having had use of it for a day I would... never ever consider buying it. I really don't know how to put this eloquently. The insides is ugly. And this particular Mustang had all sorts of dents and scratches on the outside of it too. I will not hold that against all Mustangs but it did sully the excitement of driving around a "sports car" for a day.

The first place on our itinerary was the Diamond Head Crater. It was beautiful. You can see pictures of it and everything else for that matter in the "Action Photos" section. So I knew going into this situation that a visit to this crater usually necessitates a 2.5 hour hike up to the top to bask in breathtaking visages of the island of Oahu. I also knew that my companion loves a good hike almost as much as he loves yours truly. However, I did not factor in that when we got there it would be skin-melting hot. It was Texas hot . Also, I forgot that I really, really hate hiking. And we were supposed to hike up and up and up closer to the SUN? I kept my reservations inside for about the first 100 feet deciding how appropriate it was to put a cabash on this foolish venture. We could die! Then I remembered it was my birthday. And nobody should suffer on their birthday. As a matter of fact, nobody should have to do anything that they even slightly don't want to do on their birthday. So I announced my discontent... and we turned back. Poor Alex. He was silently heartbroken. His sad face wasn't silent though. He was screamingly facebroken. That's a saying, right?

After that, our next stop was the Dole Plantation. Now, we had heard that this was a must-see on a trip around the island. I really think Alex and I had built it up in our minds as some sort of tropical Wonka's Chocolate Factory. That it was not. We were cornered by a souvenir lady before we even got in the door. She had us participate in a "raffle" where we won the ability to get 50% off on her shitty product that was probably marked up 90% to begin with. We juked her and then went inside where we had to evade two or three more of her ilk. And that was probably the last interesting that happened. This main building was just a weird store for Dole-labeled products. There was no pineapple wallpaper. There was no pineapple-juice river. The souvenir ladies could have at least limped on canes towards us then turned into a somersault before shoving their wares in our faces. I would have paid 0% off for that, souvenir lady robot army! You're doing it all wrong.

I don't get it. So it's like as if the pineapple is the Mickey Mouse for Dole Plantation's Disneyland? I ain't buying it.

Well, we did manage to salvage the trip though because the one great unfuckupable thing they have at the Dole Plantation is the world's largest maze! And even though it was drizzling, we were not leaving without getting in that maze. It was three miles of fun, right? Trapping yourself in a maze while it was drizzling is a great idea, right? Right? It started out fun. And honestly, it ended fun too. The drizzle turned into actual rain. The whole maze was overrun with huge snailman creatures. It was muddy. You couldn't tell the passages for the maze from the holes in the hedges. It was a losing venture. We made it to one of the six requisite "stamp your card" checkpoints and decided to consult the map to get the hell out of there. I have no idea how Alex figured out where we were on the labyrinth of the map and got us out so lickety-split either. It was impressive. Anyhow, here is a video clip of a bit of our aMAZEing time. You can see more video clips on our "Videos (Not Porn)" section too, by the by.

So that was the long of the short of our trip. I loved Hawaii. The murderous jetlag was worth it. I would do it again. Now, I'm back in freezing cold Vienna. It feels even colder having to think about my time in Hawaii. Oh, well. Guess I'll try and console myself while I'm in Strasbourg, France this weekend.

See ya, suckers!