The Baltic Sea

In one week I have changed timezones 4 times.

Stockholm

I arrived with only one full day around the city, and although I would have liked more time, one day was enough.

The hostel I stayed in was the coolest part of being in Stockholm. On the tiny island of Langholmen, in the middle of the city of islands, is an old prison. Surrounded by a small beach, bike paths, small boat ports, and parks, Langholmen prison was turned from a maritime holding place to a hostel/hotel and conference center. Resurrected inside are preserves of the prison-life and museum casings. I would have spent a day or so on the island if I had more time in Stockholm. But I didn't, and instead I walked along the water for an hour before turning onto the main drag. The Royal Palace was much to be desired, since the original one had burnt down and the replacement had no bells and whistles. It serves its purpose. Sitting along the main streets, I was harassed, several times, by one particular gypsy girl. She would ask me for money, and of course I acknowledged her and said no in Swedish - since thats all I could say. However, the three separate occasions throughout the day when she asked me for money, she put her hands on my arm and on my head, and when I forcefully said "no" - since I don't know how to say "don't touch me" in Swedish - it felt like she would almost smack me. I have no judgments of gypsies - in fact I feel a lot of compassion for them and anger towards the governments that shun them and oppress them. But you shouldn't touch a stranger. That's crossing a boundary. Of course she was touching me to buy time to look into my pockets, try and see whats there, and perhaps steal from me. Her touch was not of compassion, so of course I knew there were no good intentions behind it. My pockets were all zippered up like a smart little traveler. 

It's a terrible conundrum. I feel bad for her, I have little to no money to spare for myself, I want to give to her, and I would have, but then she treats me with contempt and I see that she is seeking an opportunity to steal from me. Even so, I know that stealing and begging are yet another outcome of her oppressed life and culture. I'm torn. After the several times of touching and harassing, I was no longer torn, and instead I felt that if I had given to her then it would only condone her behavior. I would have karate chopped her in the throat by that point. Which I thought about as she passed me a fourth time. When did I become so violent?  No, I wouldn't do it. But thinking about doing it made me wonder if I was capable of beating someone up in a situation where I was acting in defense rather than pride. Mom says karate chop them in the throat. My brother says cup and hit their ears to destabilize them. Dad says kick em where the sun don't shine. Sandra Bullock says to S.I.N.G. - solar plex, instep, nose, groin.

From Stockholm I left on a cruise to Tallin - St. Petersburg - Helsinik and back to Stockholm. The cruise itself was less expensive than a hostel would have been for 4 nights in most places, and here I had an opportunity to see 4 different countries. Briefly, but beautifully, and restfully.

The cruise was much like a hostel. Everything cost extra money, so I did not pay for anything. I have become  a savings bank in my own right, and the proof is in my financial anxiety and a suitcase full of fruits and homemade sandwiches. From the Langholmen hostel where I had a free breakfast, I sneakily packed away 4 sandwiches from the buffet. Free dinner for the week, on the cheapest cruise of a lifetime. 

Upon checking in for the cruise, I was given my boarding card. I asked the woman behind the desk if I was sharing a room with someone else. (I had assumed that for only 120 Euro, there had to be some sort of catch, maybe I was paying for a bed in a room with strangers?) The girl told me that I had the room to myself. It was like Sinterklaas came early. I jumped up and down, and let out all of my excitement like a child. I was so happy I could have kissed the girl behind the counter. Thank you! I have been spoiled my whole life with a room to myself, and for the last 6 weeks I haven't minded sleeping in a room with strangers. However, the added anxiety of not having my privacy, of being walked in on by a man or woman who is a stranger at any moment, of locking my things in the morning and the night - it all was beginning to make me tiresome. It kept giving me more to think about, and because of hyperawareness, I hadn't slept a full night since I began traveling. Earplugs don't seem to make a difference. So I jumped up and down and sang the praises of every officer I passed on my way through customs to the ship where I get to snore, fart, burp, and sit around naked for the next 5 days in a room that is mine. Not that I do any of those things, but the option is so freeing!

Tallinn

Next was a time-zone change to Tallinn Estonia. One day here is all you need, and I had 4 hours. That was more than enough time to walk around the cobbled streets (the kind that twist your ankle if you're not careful) hear street performers, see the ancient parts of the city and the monuments, and enjoy some local food - all before returning back to my cruise.

Trying to learn Estonian for the short time I was there was absolutely pointless. Estonian is close to Finnish, and both Finnish and Estonian (like Hungarian) are completely different from any Slavonic, Germaic, or Russian langauge. The language itself, like Finnish, was sing-songy. Both of them, with the linguistics, intonations, soft and sweetness - they made me picture a pond at a lake with a quiet lone frog jumping from one lily pad to another. It was as if the languages created a sweet tone, an outdoorsy thoughtful tone - like when, in my imagination, the frog comes across the mermaid Ariel while she is to the side of the shore crying - the frog doesn't saying anything, it just sits there ribbiting while she talks to it. Thats what Finnish and Estonian were like to me, if that makes any sense at all.

St. Petersburg

After Tallinn, the next day I entered into the Russian Federation's timezone, and mobile network. Everyone working on the ship was Russian, and so I had been warming up as best I could by asking people phrases and writing it down. I lost the paper an hour into my tour of the city, but I remembered enough.

At the help-desk on the cruise they made me say the words back to them. Mikael, the guy who was helping me, kept saying, "its okay but say it angrier."

Heres what I learned.

gdyet toalet? Where is the toilet

paka - Goodbye

das vi danya - goodbye formally

privet - hello

niet - no

dah - yes

minye - I want for me

Harasho - good

kak tohebia zo voot - What is your name?

diechte - Give me

pivou - beer

schot - bill or check

spasiba - thank you

That was enough to get me through a day in Russia.

I had always imagined that the buildings in Russia would look like they were made of candy. With balls of gumdrops, different colors of twisting candy canes, and dollops of cream on top. When I entered the city all of my childish fantasies were put to rest. The city's architecture was like Paris, or London, or Budapest. No candied houses.

In the one day I had, the first thing that I did was go the Holy Resurrection Orthodox Cathedral. And the church, like a couple of other churches I had driven by on my entrance from the seaport, they did look like they were made of candy. They had twists of colors like candy canes, gumdrops on the sides, and dollops of different colored creams on top. Without even thinking, I went and bought a ticket and entered into the church. I was drawn to it. I had to go in and see what these Russian churches are about. I had to be in an Orthodox church. And it was so shiny and pretty.

I walked in, no no... I took two steps in... and I began to cry. I looked to the ceiling and the wooden throne in front of me - like the one carved and kept in St. Peter's Basilica at the Vatican and seen in the movie Angels and Demons. I saw that every inch of the walls were covered with beautiful Russian art, and Byzantine icons. I looked around in awe. The people holding the door behind me laughed at me just standing there. They saw my back and that my head was fixed towards the ceiling. No doubt they could hear me say "wow... wooow...wow" over and over. From my perspective I had only just entered and therefore I had only seen a corner of this place. I turned to them laughing at me, and still with tears, my shaky voice said "It's... so... beautiful." And then I began to cry some more.

The only other time I had been so taken-away during my trip so far, was when I arrived at the River Seine in Paris, and looked around - at nothing particularly, but I was there and it was beautiful and nothing could contain my excitement and gratitude for its beauty.

Looking at the ceiling of the cathedral, I began to walk around. I stopped crying after hearing in my head my brother's reaction to my tears in Paris, "aw are you crying?" Not with sarcasm, but with surprise, sincerity, and perhaps a little bit of concern. I'm okay, I'm okay. It's just so beautiful. I pulled myself together and toured the church. It was breathtaking all of the hand-painted icons on every inch of the walls, coming down to meet a midnight marble that touched the floor where panels of marble intersected and created more designs.

If nothing else, I was happy that I saw this in Russia. The rest could wait.

After I left the Cathedral I went to eat some true Russian Borscht, and beef Stroganoff. I had never eaten either of these foods and I like to make it a point to try the local food, the local beer, and hear the local music. That is usually one of my goals in a city or a new country. The Russian beer was heavy, and similar to Heineken. The food was so meaty and flavorful that I'm not articulate enough to describe it. I added it to my list of foods I've loved around the world. It's a long list. 

Helsinki

Due to the time change between Tallinn - St. Petersburg - Helsinki - I was pretty worn out, and my body was utterly confused. I woke up at 7am, but it turns out it was 5am, another day I woke up at 8am and it turns out it was 9am. By the time I entered the center of Helsinki I thought about going right back to the ship to sleep. But no, there was much to be seen, and after playing around on instruments in a music store I came across, I had the energy and excitement to explore.

Helsinki was expensive. Much like Norway, but they didn't fool you by using Kroner, they used Euro and straight-up shamed you with their pricing. 8Euro beer? And its an amber beer? No I think I'll stick with Carlsburg in this place. I walked along the fish market, ate reindeer meatballs, and salmon soup. I hadn't known it was reindeer meatballs. I tried it as the woman held it out, ate it, and then asked what it was. It had a pork flavor and was well seasoned. When the lady told me it was reindeer meatballs, I cried a little... then I asked for more. Walking through the market I touched all of the furs, the rabbit, lamb, reindeer, deer, duck. I laid my hands on everything. I even bought a reindeer leather coin purse. This is definitely not an animal lovers dream.

Just down the hill that the Finnish Orthodox church sat on top of, there was a giant statue in the center of the fish market. The statue looked like Benjamin Button when he was first "old" enough or mobile enough to pee standing up. And thats what the statue was, a deformed (or really old) looking baby who was standing up, holding his peewee, and draining a fountain of water into the sea. It was quite a site to watch tourists take pictures between his legs, and try to reach out to touch the fountain of water that represented urine. The statue was two stories and the eyes on the character were giant eyes looking in one direction as if to say "uh oh, I got caught" since he had a gaped mouth to go along with the expression. That was probably the funniest thing that I have seen.

That, and in Stockholm on one of the main streets, a vagabond wearing a halloween rubber mask of a horse was dancing in order to make money for travel. He danced to be funny, and it was, and next to him was a sign that said "for travel." In his hat were hundreds of Kroner too. I contemplated taking up a shenanigan of my own to start a "for travel" fund. I'll leave it to the experts with horse faces for now.

After a fantastic rest all afternoon and evening on the cruise-ship I am now in Stockholm airport, waiting for my flight to Budapest.

Cheers

Dublin, Ireland

From the moment I sat on the Aer Lingus flight from Boston to Dublin, my natural draw to people was on fire, and attracted kind people to me. On the plane I sat next to a woman, who I would classify as your typical suburban British woman. Ever see a Ricky Gervais show or movie? Well, she was the leading lady; witty, empathetic, comedic (the British sort) and of true grit. We talked about British shows we both liked, and how British humor is better than American humor because of its wit, and truth. I could tell right away that she was a warm person. She gave me advice for my UK travels, laughed with me about poppy cock, and was downright offended by the general idea that Americans have a food called "London broil." With every "t" pronounced, and a rising inflection, she said with her true Brit accent; "Its beef and gravy? And you named it after our capital city? Thas pure rubbish." We laughed a bit, and before parting she asked me if I had anyone in the UK to call in an emergency. I told her I had the U.S. Embassy. So she gave me her mobile number, and told me that it was in case I got arrested. I wondered for a second if, in the mostly silent 6 hour plane ride, that she deduced from my character that I may be a person who gets arrested. I assured her I wasn't that sort, and told her if I pass through Liverpool or Bermingham I would buzz her, and in return the next time she is in Boston on business I will treat her to a London broil and laugh at her mortified response to it - the rubbish.

Upon landing, I waited at the airport for a few hours until the bus system turned on at 6am. Waiting an hour or so to spend 6Euro on a bus instead of 30 on a taxi is just the beginning for me. We have to be choosey now.

My adventures begin in a city thriving in history and oppression. Parts of Dublin are like being back in Sol Madrid. Shops everywhere in the tourist areas so that it is almost like an outdoor mall. The cobblestone streets along the Temple Bar section is where all of the piss, and Guinness line the sidewalks during the day, and where live folk and rock music can be found at night. I wasn't able to check into the hostel to sleep until 3pm. So I locked up my bags, and from 6:30am until 3pm, I walked the city. It only took 3 or 4 hours to really see the whole of it. The section where I am staying is more rubbish than the tourist sections - not dangerous, but clearly somewhat trashier than the better kept parts of town - I didn't take to Dublin right away because of it. There are cigarette butts everywhere and it smells like the dry sweat of an Irish army. 

I never hesitated to tell anyone that I was from Boston. My plan for a lot of this trip was to say I am Canadian - I know I will need to in Central Europe because I have been discriminated against before for being American. I learned quickly that saying you're from Boston in Ireland gets you respect, because some people might even assume that you are Irish. They know that Boston is heavily Irish in history and they love it. Maybe thats why Boston is so resilient - Irish are certainly resilient. I learned a long time ago that foreigners know Boston better than New Hampshire, so i just don't bother with that unless they want to know more or we become friends.

After walking about I came and sat in the lobby of my hostel waiting for a walking tour to start. While I waited I met a kind Iranian family. I was drawn to them speaking Farsi on the couch next to mine. One was a young woman studying Middle Eastern conflicts for her PhD in Belfast, and the others were her aunt and uncle visiting from Norway. After much discussion on passions concerning the Middle East, good health, and the fascination of cultures - I was offered a place to stay in Belfast, and also in Oslo. I don't know that I will, but I was complimented by the generosity and smiles of this family. We continued to chat and exchanged emails before the tour started some time later.

On the walking tour we skipped around Dublin seeing some parks, memorials, the Irish Castle, and Trinity College where the library holds the book of Kells (the only Gaelic version of the Bible.) The castle looked like any Plaza Mayor you've seen or heard of, minus people, minus restaurants and stores, minus everything but blank walls and an empty square. Its deserted. The Brits built and the Brits left, so thats what you get. I learned that, while in Ireland, I should have a distaste for the Brits. They enslaved the Irish and sent them to the Caribbean, just as Americans enslaved Africans. I knew this already, but the way that our tour-guide, Rory, spoke about it brought light to the fact that when Americans typically think of slavery they think of black Africans. Ever heard of slavery and thought of a bunch of poor famished Irishmen? I suppose racism is engraved in us in that way. Imagine though, you are put on a boat not knowing where you're going and then you and the famished guy next to you end up working cotton fields in between beatings for the rest of your life. Although the separation of Ireland with Northern Ireland was meant to bring peace between the Brits and the Irish, it caused conflict within Irish traditions, tearing apart families to the point of them killing one another over disagreeing about right and wrong. Politics. Religion as well. Rory told us about how most Irish are against Israel in the conflict between Israel and Palestine. Not because of politics, he assured us, but because of murder and immorality - because Irish see themselves and their history in the anguish and suffering of others. In my own opinion Israel is comitting a genocide - after having slimly escaped their own in history it makes it ironically sad to me. I suppose history shows us that every powerful nation at least attempts genocide before peace. Gaza Strip is the most densely populated region in the world. Drop a bomb anywhere and its the end for many, whoever the many may be. Oppression is very powerful - I'm sure it has something to do with Israel's desperation to get rid of Hamas no matter the consequences of their inhumanity towards the civilians. I'm sure it has something to do with why Ireland has such a drinking culture. Everyone's gotta cope. Even now, the Irish feel strongly about their culture and what history has to do with modern Ireland.

For instance, Gaelic is a dying language with less than 15% of Irish speaking it. The correct way to say the Irish language is "Gail-gah" not Gaelic. Gail-gah or Irish. Essentially its because of the British banning of Irish culture during their rule that the language is dying. Irish who can speak Irish are the super Irish Irish. :-) Back then community meetings weren't allowed, which forced Catholic mass to operate underground for fear of punishment. It sounded communist almost, or an effort to genocide. Well, it was an effort to genocide. Funny how the world forgives and forgets the mistakes the most powerful nations have made - Britain, America, Germany, Norway, France, Spain, Russia, China, etc. The Vietnamese and Koreans have forgiven us and are kind people to us... But take the money from Europeans and start hostile takeovers of downtroden Middle Eastern countries during an oppressed time and that sort of shit puts you on most of the worlds' shit list. Places that are safe for Europeans to travel, like Cairo, or Saudi Arabia, are not safe for Americans according to the US 

State Department. Anyone here will tell you, its a lot more dangerous to travel as an American than someone else. Thats why its so important that I am passionate about understanding a people/culture. It sets me apart from the typical traveling American who ignorantly goes on a vacation just to drink and dance and eat away from home - plowing through anyone and everything, not asking questions, having the mentality of "who cares I'll never see them again." Well, you may never see them again, but you just helped solidify their opinion of Americans.

Rory passionately spoke as an Irish purist to us, and (clearly) it ignited my passions. Aside from his degree in history, it was apparent that he chose to lead free walking tours as a job so that he could share his passion and the "real" history of Ireland. The grit of it - the humanity.

Much like New York City, Boston, Paris, Munich, or any other major city you can think of - the real majesty of the country is in suburbia, outside of the city. Also, all of the best major cities have a lake, river, or ocean in/next to it (Paris, Budapest, Athens, Dublin, Boston, Miami, NYC, London, Beijing, Ho Chi Minh - and so on.) So I chose to cut my plans short in Dublin so that I will have one more day and night to experience what I want in the city. Then I willl leave Dublin and spend an overnight in Galway to hike the Cliffs of Moher and walk along the Atlantic Bergen. It will set me back by making my trip to Belfast longer, but I will see more and pay the same.

Rory told us on the tour that in the West are many Irish purists who work hard to preserve the language and culture. Even Irish who study 12 years of Gaelic in primary school are usually not fluent. Not to mention, listing "Irish" as one of your main languages, will not help you get a job anywhere. So the Irish westerners try to keep it up, to keep Gaelic from becoming a dead language. Just like any other culture, Rory said that people in the west tend to respect you more if you at least try to say some things in Gaelic. He taught us some phrases. All I remember is that "Slante" means cheers. I remember it because I heard it a lot at the bars.

I asked Rory if the cliche idea of Irishmen getting together, getting drunk, and singing Irish folk music was far from the truth. He told me to give him some beers and he would show me how true it is. Hah!

Foreshadowing of the night to follow - when I was walking to the pub later in the evening I saw a man in front of me peeing on the sidewalk. I have seen this a lot all over Europe. Except for this man wasn't pointing his peewee at the wall, he was aiming for the street and leaning against the wall. I thought, hey! You're doin it wrong! As he zipped his pants a woman walked past paying no mind and he said to her "oh fuck off!" which drew her attention. I liked her response when she said, "me fuck off? You fuck off!" And she kept on walking. I laughed to myself, lifted my skirt to my knees and took a large step over the stream and kept on going. That was my only negative experience of Irish people, even then I enjoyed it for a laugh.

Along the walking tour I became friendly with a lovely Sicilian woman. We talked about couchsurfing, and how she is going to meet her host after the tour. She invited me to a rock concert later in the evening as a couchsurfing event, to meet other hosts and surfers. I went.

An aside; couchsurfing (CS) is a website and community network of low budget travelers connecting and sharing their culture, language, and couch with others who want to do the same. Its a give and take, not immediately and not in any service, but overtime through community and gratitude. I will stay with you, and maybe we will be friends and maybe we wont, but when you have the time to travel and if you so happen to make it to my home town, I will do the same for you.

So now I'm at a pub for live music with these people who all met through the couchsurfing network. One thing I can say for certain, if you go to any Irish pub in the world, close your eyes and tell yourself you're in Ireland, and then open your eyes - believe it or not, you are in Ireland. Every Irish pub is the same, wooden panels, stools, the smell of beer everywhere, lots of beers on taps, samples of beers, green tapestries, and random framed whatevers all over the place with the occasional drinking slogan. Oh, and live music. In the group I met a few Italians, enjoyed speaking Spanish with a girl from outside of Madrid, there was a Nigerian man, and another man from San Diego. The band was American and played classic rock music - so I paid no mind to anyone else and did my hip-shaking foot stomping thing. Soon enough others were joining. It was a two piece sitdown band, like I had never heard before. One strumming all of the rock solos perfectly, and the other banging his head and singing better than any bar band I had ever witnessed. I felt right at home. The singer announced to the bar that he wanted the bartenders to bring him a Guinness. He got himself into a mess of trouble with that, because he was such a good singer that everyone in the bar was buying him Guinness. He had a stool of 4 pints sitting in front of him when he told everyone to fuck off with the Guinness. Literally, "fuck off with the Guinness already. Give me another and I'll fuckin kick you out. I'm serious" He drank two, gave another away to a handicapped man in a wheelchair, and then announced he was drunk. Fair enough, this was his second gig of the night, and first solo gig of the night. I know because we followed him barhopping from the two-piece band to the solo gig because he was amazing, and our group organizer knew him. After he told everyone he was drunk, the crowd roared with excitement. He then sang an Irish drinking song or two in between the Eagles and Thin Lizzy. An Irish song can be created, basically, by getting really drunk and depressed and singing your blues while clapping along. If you can mumble loudly with a drunken drawl, then you can get by during most drinking song choruses - da da die dah die dah die, la la lie, la la lie. Drinking is not my thing, but Irish pubs certainly are.

There is a music festival tonight in Merrion park next to Trinity college. I was invited again by the sweet Sicilian woman. I was also invited to pub crawl with a group of young people who met two years ago studying abroad in Germany. I might do both, one, or none. I would like to hear more local folk music, its fantastic. 

All in all, if it weren't for kind foreigners, or the Irish being generally friendly, fun, and passionate people, I might not have liked Dublin at all. So I'm ready to move on to where I not only love the people, but the environment. I think that will be Galway, and a suburban hike or two outside of Belfast next week.

Slante!