Two Chicks On Bikes

Photos From Greece!

2009-08-08T17:51:00.001-07:00

Near the rooftop pool in Athens.

Our campsite on Milos. Yep, we had to hike down that cliff every night. Best campsite ever! Volcanic sand to warm ones toes.

Just like Heaven.

At the church on the top summit of the capital of Milos, Plaka. Seems like every island in Greece has a capital named Plaka. The island in the distance behind me looked like it was floating on air, kind of like Miyazaki's Castle In The Sky.

Conner in Athens, rooftop pool.

Totally rad print that was in our hotel room on Agistri.

Coastal climbing on Milos

Coastal Climbing

2009-08-07T10:34:00.000-07:00

The other day Conner and I decided to do a little coastal hiking; got some physical activity in after days of lounging. Milos has a very rocky coastline punctuated here and there by stretches of sandy beaches, but for the most part it's largely made up of big boulders that have tumbled down the cliff into the sea.

The rough volcanic boulders are actually quite easy to scale with tennis shoes despite their size. While pretending that we were doing much more strenuous mountain climbing than we actually were. I noticed that Conner and I have vastly different climbing styles. He's more like a mountain goat; jumping around on long thin legs. I however, turn straight into the Nirvana baby; my whole body splays out to the four winds. I use my hands, slide down rock faces on my bum, rotate on my stomach to reach the next foothold.

Some of us are just far more graceful in some things.

Salt of the Earth

2009-08-04T05:57:00.000-07:00

On this trip I have been fortunate to travel with people who are way more vocal about their need for a shower than myself. After our third night of camping on Agistri, Conner insisted that we finally get a room with a comfortable bed and a cold shower. I think the final straw for him was sleeping on plastic floaties with our sunburned backs; every time you have to turn over, you have to rip your skin off the plastic-it's akin to fleshy Velcro and highly painful.

While biking it was nice to shower off all the dirt rings. In Greece it's nice to wash off a fraction of the salt encrusted onto every part of our bodies. My hair has been raked back into a bun for the greater part of 4 days and now feels exactly like the coif of an original 1950's Barbie doll-total straw.
The salt dries on my skin and renders me the ashiest white girl ever. Conner fares a bit better as the salt just adheres to his leg hair and makes him look like he's been dusted with sugar.

And making out on these idyllic beaches in the moonlight sounds so romantic-and it is-just as long as you can get over the fact that every time you each other's necks, it's exactly like liking a Pringles chip. But you do it anyway because you think, "Wow! My boyfriend finally got rid of his carpenter's tan and how he's all freckly and bronzed. Come 'ere!"

On the upside of life by the highly salty Mediterranean Sea is that no one smells bad here. We all sweat a lot, but everyone just dips in and out of the water so much and washes it all away. No need of Patchouli oil here, mild natural musk will do quite nicely.

Calamity Avoided

2009-08-02T03:16:00.000-07:00

I must confess that I'm surprised by how smoothly our Greek vacation has been going. I'm used to Kat and I making endlessly questionable decisions. Yesterday Conner and I, on my suggestion, began hiking up the steep and winding road from the port of Adamas to the hilltop capital of Plaka. It looked like it was a super short distance on the map and I figured it would be an adventure and we could save money on the bus fare.

Now, there are now sidewalks along the roads which are barely wide enough for two cars, and they're rather slick so the car tires are always squealing around the many bends. I could see it happening that Kat and I would both stubbornly press on and two hours later, hot, exhausted, and irritable, we wouldn't be much closer to Plaka than a pin dot. But they would be some good stories after the pain had subsided.

Conner however, after 15 minutes of hugging the small space between the road and the cliff, had the good sense to insist on going back to town and taking the bus to the rugged southern beaches-took all of a 5 minutes bus ride for 2.30 euros.

Calamity avoided.

Milos!

2009-08-02T02:53:00.000-07:00

After a bit of indecision we made it to our second Greek Island, Milos. It's claim to fame is the Venus de Milo, discovered in 1820 and battled over by the French and the Prince of Moldavia. Eventually the French won out and purchased it under considerable pressure. The Greeks say that the arms were broken off in a scuffle with the French. The French claim it was already that way. Who's to say? Ah! That rhymed!

Regardless, the French have it now in the Louvre and have sent Milos a copy for their cultural memory. There are several gift shops on the island who's specialty are "re-imagining" the Venus, which usually just involves painting small figurines of the Venus with brightly colored patterns.

The English are another story. The Lord Elgin Marbles, sculptures found on the Acropolis, were sent back to London by way of a controversial permission by the Ottoman Empire who, in 1800, ruled Greece. They are all currently on display in the British Museum in London. There is a huge push by the Greeks to get the British to return the sculptures, but according to one of my couch surfing hosts, no one really expects them to be returned; because then they would have to reckon with the Persians and the Italians, and no one wants to open that can of worms.

There are 74 beaches on Milos, some of the best are on the secluded and undeveloped western end. Only problem is how to get there; all of the 5 bus routes run solely on the eastern end of the island. They have several scooter rentals in the main port, but as we were informed back on Agistri, it used to be that anyone could drive a scooter, but now that they were "European" well, now you have to have a scooter licence.

We took the bus down south to Palechori and hiked west till we found a small secluded beach that we've taken to calling "our beach" despite the other couple that ventures down every day around the same time that we decide to explore and head into town. By the time we come back to have dinner and sleep, they are on their way out. It's a nice dynamic. We haven't seen anyone else camping on any of the beaches, but with our wild Texan mentalities, we figured that we would just wing it. The first night the waves got so loud that we were both wakened with the fear that we would get submerged by the encroaching tide, but no such thing happened. Now I have to say that camping on the beach is entirely the way to go.

Vacation With A View

2009-08-02T02:44:00.001-07:00

It takes me a while to fully relax; I'm always feeling like I should be working on one of my various projects. I suppose this was one of the reasons my solo-time in Athens was so difficult. I figured that since I just spent all my time by the pool, I might was well use my time to do research on my next project. I sought out the National Library hoping to find a couple English books on music. No such luck. All in Greek.

side note: I've begun to get a silly amount of pleasure out of the saying, "It's all Greek to me!" A silly amount.

After having been on Agistri for a couple days, I've finally relaxed. Being around Conner also helps: he's a pretty quiet guy who's perfectly happy to sleep, swim, and eat the day away. After spending several days on this very small, very chill island with him doing exactly these things, well, I've eased into them too. I feel like we spend a lot of time gazing out at the sea, with it's various shades of turquoise and the islands in the distance, and not really thinking much of anything-just enjoying the view.

Moondoggie

2009-08-02T02:33:00.000-07:00

The nudie beach of Agistri is in actuality, not that nudie, at least not during the week. The weekends see the population triple and many more visitors to this particular beach. The only true nudies during this time are the men, and even then it's the gay couples and the older portly Greek men. The week hosts more of the "beach bums", who would be perfect as extras if they ever remade the cheezy 1950's surf film, Gidget. They pitch tents along the pebbly shore and it seems like the nudist green light goes on with everyone smoothing extra sunscreen onto their slightly paler bits.

Note: Neither Conner nor I have frolicked about naked so there need not be any awkwardness when we all sit down for Thanksgiving in the fall. Just had to set the record straight.

Ex-pat Inn

2009-07-27T10:29:00.001-07:00

Every Greek Island must have their own version of an ex-pat run bed & breakfast; see Mamma Mia for reference.
Last night Conner and I ate dinner at Agistri's version, The Agistri Club. If I were to write a fictional short story about how the trim and handsome older proprietor arrived at his new profession, I would put him in an after hours business meeting in a Rat-Pack chic London wine and cigar bar. The latest real estate development deal looks like it's going through, and while he used to be elated when he pocketed the 1 million pound paycheck and celebrate with an oxygen facial and a glass of Johnny Walker Blue with one cube of ice, now he just feels kind of bored with the whole thing. He looks out the window onto the cold, drizzly London night, vamped-up East London girls drunkly stumbled past; he's 52, successful, handsome, and bored as hell.

So he packs up his money, ditches his black wool suits in favor of khaki shorts and white cotton button-down shirts, buys a shitty old building on the outskirts of town on the way to the island's best nudist beach, and sets to work renovating and painting all the stucco a nice Greek white.

Now he's the much loved gregarious host of the evening meals, dancing around entertaining guests and eternally waving a tall glass of gin and tonic in his hand.

We had a lovely meal and were presided over by George, who had the "good sense" to keep our icy cold beers full. Halfway through dinner the power went out over the whole island, cutting Frank Sinatra off mid-Fly Me To The Moon. Apparently it's a regular occurance because no one seemed surprised, lit the candles that were already set all about the patio, and soon brought in the British bard who played guitar and sang 1970's pop ballads.

When we tried to pay for our food we were told, "Oh my dear boy, guests don't pay! We run an all-inclusive joint here." I'd totally stay there if we were sleeping in a hotel, but as it is, we're camping on the eastern seaside cliffs in between the Agistri Club and the nudist beach (pictured above). There are lots of flat, if not slightly rocky spaces big enough for tents. When we first arrived on Saturday it was so packed that we had to hide some way in order to hunt down one of the much coveted tree-shaded spots. By Sunday evening it cleared out considerably as people left on the last ferry back to the mainland. So now we've upgraded to a nicer, closer spot and have purchased some rectangular floaties which provide cushioning from the tiny rocks that make comfortable sleep in the tent absolutely impossible. They floaties also serve their original purpose and turn the Mediterranean Sea into the greatest water bed ever. The only downside to the latter use is that yesterday Conner and I both fell asleep while floating over the waves and now sport slight sunburns. Alas.

Flying Dolphins

2009-07-27T10:22:00.000-07:00

Conner and I finally got the hell out of Athens. We took the metro down to the port and hopped on a hydrofoil to Agistri, a small island in the Argo-Saronics, about an hour from Athens. I've never been on a hydrofoil before and frankly, had no clue what it was. It's pretty cool, engineerically speaking, and feels much like a little putter plane on water-fast but with a little turbulence.

The much slower Hellenic Sea car ferry also makes daily trips to Agistri, and costs half as much. We were operating under the sentiment, "Get me out of Athens as fast as possible!", and thus opted for the Flying Dolphin hydrofoil which gets here in under and hour for 12 euros a person.

Olympian Metros

2009-07-27T09:59:00.000-07:00

If Athens' unique word is chaotic, then mine must be efficient-maybe that's why I love Germany so much. I came to Athens under the assumption that it would be orderly and organized like all other major cities in the European Union. I thought that the city had invested millions in new urban development for the Olympic Games of 2004, and that meant they had now joined the world of the polished European city. I was totally wrong and should have left all my assumptions at the sleek new airport.

I asked each of my Greek couch surfing hosts about the effect of the Olympics on Athenian life (not to channel my Berlin buddies). They both just shrugged and said, "Ah, not much changed at all." The only real improvement was the installation of two new metro lines which made transportation easier and more reliable, and cut back on the number of cars within the city limits. The inner city roads, like most European cities, were not built with the width of two cars side-by-side in mind. On several occasions I've had to squeeze by as two cars were locked in a battle of wills as to which one would stop honking and back up to let the other pass.

I do have to say that the new metro lines are pretty cool. They are all lined with freshly polished white marble and are actually much faster than the four previously existing lines. They also have museums in them; one is dedicated to archeology and the other to art.

Other than that, things apparently went on much the same before and after the Olympics.

When heading into the metro, there are always people hawking their wares; the Africans head towards Syntagma Square, their backs loaded down with a large white sheet that holds a bundle of fake designer purses or sunglasses. They'll lay out the sheet on the ground and then entice you into the land of faux Fendi. The Asians prefer Omonia Square with the bottom of a cut-off box that they attach a strap to and hang it from their necks, much like the Las Vegas cigar girl's mobile display box. They mainly sell small electronic toys with multi-colored lights. My favorite of these was a small silver plastic crucifix that has flashing neon blue lights on each point of the cross and was purchased by a small round Greek woman. The older Greek men and women can be found around Academia selling off complicated looking lottery tickets hanging from home made easels.

Meet Conner

2009-07-24T02:38:00.000-07:00

Kat has returned home to Texas. I spent a week by myself in Athens-an experience I would decline to repeat. Now I have a new traveling companion and I felt it only right to properly introduce him.

This is Conner, my boyfriend whom I love and cherish. He's a wonderful musician and carpenter, and absolutely knows the success rate of the pick-up line, "Hi. How's it going?" Because that's what he used on me at a bar in Austin and voila, I fell for it. He's never been outside of North America before, so off we go to Greece.

Cultural References

2009-07-24T01:33:00.000-07:00

I've noticed that when I travel alone, I tend to hide a bit. I read up on all the Lonely Guide picks for best restaurants and cafes. Of course, these dining establishments have been chosen as the fabulous few for good reason, and as such, they are inevitably crowded. I seek them out on my highly crumpled Athens map, and cruise by only to be intimidated to actually go in.

I feel much more comfortable finding the quietest cafes and generally just walk around a lot. Having a second person seems to boost my confidence, adventurousness, and fearless attitude 10-fold, and makes for a much more interesting traveling experience. And there is of course, the added benefit of having an arm nearby to punch when finally looking up and seeing the Acropolis floodlit at night to say, "Wow! That looks way more majestic at night now that all the restoration cranes have been blocked out by the light."
So, I whiled away the hours at the pool today until my next traveling companion will arrive, reading McMafia, until it closed and then marched myself down to a cute little bar off a side street on Monastiraki square, to read some more and nurse a very large Amstel beer. Henekin and Amstel are the main two beers to be found in Athens; they're considered 'local'. This is funny to me since they are both decidedly Dutch beers.

The music mix they were playing at this bar is worth noting; they started off with a very cheezy French pop artist and then dove into a succession of 70's musicians.
*Sounds of Silence-Simon & Garfunkel
*Friday's Child-Nancy Sinatra
*Jackie-Scott Walker
*And then Willi Nelson!

I'm sitting in a bar in Athens, Greece, and they're playing Willi Nelson! Musical god of Austin, TX! Different parts of the world, all listening to the same music.

I just finished reading John Peel's biography, hero of British Radio 1 who was the first to play death metal, grime, British hip-hop, and reggae on the air. He also hosted the famous Peel Sessions that had live sets from PJ Harvey and the White Stripes. He talked about traveling to different countries, devouring records from local music shops, and taking them back to England to play on his shows. And at the time, because there weren't quick and easy ways to travel in between different cultures, nor was there the Internet or satellite TV, being exposed to something created in Asia or Greece was exotic and wholly different. Now it all kind of blends together; and now it's almost impossible to find contemporary music not sung in English, from which ever country you go!
Athens, when I'm being honest with myself, it's actually not that alien in terms of cultural references. They played all this music that I know, McDonald's is around the corner, Ikea can be reached on the metro, and there are 2 H&Ms here.

One of my couch surfing hosts had a small dinner party comprised of two Greeks, an Australian, and me. We all sat around discussing cartoons that we all grew up with-why is this a typical bonding practice among kids of the 80's? Some of the cartoons were all the same across the board: Captain Planet, Fraggle Rock, SheRa. Then there were others, imported from Japan, that the Greeks and Australian could bond over; those were lost on me.

Amazing. Various parts of the globe, all watching the same Saturday morning cartoons.

Proliferation of Athenian Dogs

2009-07-19T09:06:00.000-07:00

I here by forth forbid myself from traveling alone, especially to countries in large, hectic cities to which I have never been before.

I've been a poor budget traveler since stepping off the metro three days ago. I have once again checked myself into a hotel despite every intention of hosteling it tonight; the breakdown occurred around 3pm after dragging myself around the very packed, very new New Acropolis Museum. The museum just opened in June of this year, as yet another member of the designed museums that you go to more for the modern glass architecture and less for their collection. It is however, only one euro until December, making the trip semi-worthwhile. The coolest bit by far was the miniature models of the north and south pediment sculptures of the Acropolis.
It's really the heat that truly did me in. There was no wind to dry a bit of the sweat that was dripping down my back only to be soaked up by the waistband of my underwear. And it was Sunday. Sundays are the bane of my traveling existence because everything in Europe seems to be closed on these holy days. In fact, there is a far greater amount of open establishments in the God fearing land of America on Sundays than anywhere in Europe, an entire continent that seems to be moving further and further away from organized religion. With only museums and cafes open today - and having no more energy for more exhibits and having spent my allotted per diem on coffee already - I yearned to escape the stale heat of the street and go back to a roof-top pool. So, I caved and found a different pool than I had already visited. While Kat and I may have ice creamed and H&Med our way around Northern Europe, I seem to be roof-top pooling it around Athens.

My mom informed me that Rick Steves, travel guide god, said one can do Athens in two days. I say that indeed, Athens can be done in a maximum of two days, but those days must be spent in a nice hotel equipped with a pool and air conditioning. The charm of Athens I must confess, is entirely lost on me and I can not wait until my boyfriend, Conner, gets here and we run off to some of the more relaxed Cycladic Islands.

Things I've noticed about Athens:

a. It's expensive. Ice cream cones in Western Europe generally run around 1.90 for two scoops. Here it's 3.90 - 3.90 I tell you! Absolutely ludicrous.

b. Sure are a lot of stray dogs hanging out, sleeping in the shade of metro stations. In Amsterdam every shop, restaurant, grocery store, has a cat to hunt the mice that are simply a fact of canal life. In Athens they have dogs hunting-well, I have yet to figure that out, but they all look quite robust and healthy.
c. Greek men have flirting skills that require the same level of patience as a Planet Earth filmographer trying to capture footage of the rare Costa Rican Quetzal bird. They just stare, and stare, and stare; sometimes for the entire length of a 45min tram ride. Occasionally they do break the barrier and talk, but usually in Greek, which still baffles me. I obviously look like a tourist and well, don't they know that while English has become the universal language of business, it is also the language of the global pick-up line: the most effective being, "Hello. How are you doing today?" My main way to combat all of this nonsense is simple ignorance. So, if I return to the States and now ignore anything that is not said directly to my face, well, you know where it comes from. Hopefully after having returned to Texas for a couple weeks, this will have all vanished without a trace and I will once again be the super friendly Southern that now lies dormant.

Greek Carresses

2009-07-18T05:55:00.000-07:00

I've spent the better part of my 3 days in Athens lounging by the roof-top pool amongst young and topless French and German couples. I flit between the safety of the umbrella shade and the bed-like cushions in full sun, trying to even out my bikers version of a farmer's tan. The tops of my thighs, my hands, and the backs of my calves-go figure-are quite brown while my stomach is still pasty white. My foreign pool-side female colleagues bask uninterrupted in the harsh Greek sunlight, their nipples becoming a dark shade of coco instead of the pink they started began with. Their male counterparts sport small, solid colored manties.
I must confess that I checked out their bikini line, because surely, if I have to do summertime maintenance, then so do they in the face of such a small amount of Lycra. It turns out they do, at least the Donatella-Versace-dark Greek man sitting in front of me.

I did venture out briefly yesterday, determined not to be intimidated by the crowds and noise of Athens. I went in search of the little gelateria the receptionist referred me to and after finding it got two scoops. Bad idea. I'm a leisurely ice cream eater and in the Greek heat, this concept does not exist. By the time I finally chomped down on the last of the cone, I had dripped the chocolate hazelnut cream all down the front of my white shirt. I had quickly turned into the gouche tourist, only needing a fanny pouch to complete the look.

Another incident caused me to retreat back into my roof-top hide-a-way. I was absent-mindedly window shopping down a side street from the hectic Ermou shopping district--they even sell really cool exotic chickens! As I was gazing at some clothing a group of young boys passed behind me and the smallest one let his hand casually pass over my butt. Little punk. I turned around and raised my leg to kick him but thought better of it at the last minute. Ah, to be a light-haired, pale-skinned obvious foreigner in a Roman land; one of the reasons I vowed to never return to Italy without a tall strapping man to discourage such unwarranted caresses.

Nasty Words

2009-07-18T05:24:00.000-07:00

I warn readers that I am about to say several mean, nasty things and that I mean no offense by them on a personal level.

I hate the British. They drive me absolutely up the insane on multiple levels. I feel like a couple direct quotes would illustrate my problem; all taken during my layover in the London Gatwick airport.

Little girl sitting across from me:
"Dah-dy! Dah-dy!"
"Yes, sweetheart?"
"Can I wear this in the pool?" (small charm bracelet)
"Of course dear."
"Good. Because I want to look good."

At the airport bookstore:
"Would you like a bag? 6 pence."
"Uh, no. But could I borrow a pen real quick?"
"89 pence. Nothing's for free in this world honey."

On plane. Girl standing in aisle calling down:
"Cah-ly! Cah-ly!!! I'm so upset right now I'm about to have a fucking melt-down. I'll clean up my language soon but right now I'm fucking upset!"
(exclaimed as she hovered over a poor elderly couple desperately trying to sleep)

Old man sitting next to me, speaking to his wife:
"What a fucking stupid selfish cow."
In response to reading the newspaper headline, 67 Year Old Mother Dies Leaving Twins Aged 2, as wife studies Greek phrase book.

On the bus that took Kat and I from the London Stansted airport to the London Gatwick airport (a 2 hour ride!) at 4am, the driver gave us trouble about getting on the bus with our hot chocolates, said they were forbidden on board. He relented as we started chugging the hot liquid saying to just dispose of our cups at the end of the ride. Ugh.

Sometimes I feel like they try to 'out-American" us by being the loudest, most obnoxious, most Paris Hilton-esque, most unstylish people ever.
By first roomate is college was British and she was wonderful. My mother is a huge Anglophile and went as far to spend 6 months living in London. She loved it and it's the happiest I've seen her in ages. I think British humor is brilliantly awkward, 1960's Brit rock and punk is legendary. Coming from Germany where everyone is quick to be helpful and laid-back (yes, 'tis true despite common assumptions), to London where everything is an ordeal and nothing is done without expected compensation well, it just made me want to die--let's call it a slight case of 'culture shock'.

Sunken Yachts

2009-07-18T04:58:00.001-07:00

We're not used to public transportation, that much is clear. We tried really hard to maintain our optimistic and positive outlook on life through the long and chaotic lines of Ryan Air although we were both struggling. We got through another long line passing by customs into Croatia and changed some money, only to wait with 40 other people for the bus that was supposed to come in 10 minutes and whisk us into the city center.

We waited and waited for well over an hour. Several people jumped the bus line and shared a taxi together, taking them one step closer to the promise of the clear Croatian sea. Several more people did it too and we looked on with increasing envy. Finally we shared a taxi with 2 other American girls who were "backpacking" their way around Europe by way of B&B and hotels; they had 7 pairs of shoes stored in their packs, each. 7 each. They had just graduated from high school.

Once we got to the city center we caught a bus over to our haven, Villa Lippa. It's a modern house that was split up into 6 apartments. Our apartment takes up one half of the top floor and we have two balconies. Everything is white and airy with tiled floors and french doors. White curtains billow in the wind and there are sliding blond wood floor-length shudders that can be slid in order to block out the sun without blocking the view.

We dumped our stuff and ran to the market for fresh fruit, bread, and wine and then off to the beach by the yachting club, a 10 minute walk south. The "beach" area is a short collection of rocks before it plunges into the clear, cold, blue ocean. The small jagged rocks are brutally hot and sharp and make entry and exit from the water one of the least graceful acts ever.

Zadar seems to have the quiet laid-back vibe of a beach town but with an underlying desolation. Old wrecked yachts act as diving boards, gray stuccoed structures have missing roofs, buildings outside of the 2-building financial district don't rise above 3 stories with the trees not getting much higher. They are currently revamping the quick post-war concrete rebuild that occurred in the 70's (I think) and the Sea Organ and the Sun Salutation are at the forefront of that effort. The Sea Organ below is amazing! It's so calming and just fabulous. There's an explanation of how it works at Wikipedia.

Croatia's lovely and makes the flight and non-existent bus worth while.

Ryan Air

2009-07-17T14:52:00.000-07:00

I question our sanity in deciding to go to Croatia at the end of this trip. At the current time I classify it as a bad decision. Ryan Air, when on the ground in the comfort of your own home, seems like a brilliant idea, to fly cheaply all over Europe. When actually going on a Ryan Air flight, it's the worst conception of an 'air taxi' ever.

Kat and I checked in online several days in advance and we had our confirmation number. But because we didn't print out the boarding pass for lack of a printer, we had to "counter check-in" for a fee of 20 British Pounds. Totally ridiculous! First we had to go through security where they made us throw out all liquids over 100ml, which you know, is nothing new. But still, they made us throw out the sunscreen, and we're going to Croatia and a pale-faced girl like me is going to curse Ryan Air later, I can feel it. My saddle bag with all of my bike equipment had to be searched and I was preparing myself to throw a hissy fit. But no, it had nothing to do with my bike parts, they were unhappy with the cutting knife that I had just chilling in my bag. Haha, whoops. Then there was the matter of Kat's carry-on bag being overweight and they charged her 30 pounds. It's just a series of regulations that they are absolute about; they leave no room for error. And coming from laid-back Germany, the hard-nosed Londoners were quite a pain to deal with.

Plus, it's like a freaking cattle run to get onto the plane. They don't assign seats and it's just a first come, first serve kind of thing. Everyone's pushing and shoving to be one of the first people to get on the plane and plop down in the coveted window seats away from all the children. A freaking mad house and I don't understand why they don't just save everyone the stress and print seat numbers on everyone's tickets. Ugh.

Funny thing is that they always have some sort of classical music playing on the plane once you do shove your way onto the plane, in a feeble attempt to calm us all down again so they can dole out water for 3 pounds each.

Breaking Through To The Yellow Side

2009-07-17T13:00:00.001-07:00

Ah, ha, ha...ok, bad. That was bad, I know.

Kat and I took the opportunity to "work through" a couple things on this trip. Mine was to figure out what my new five-year plan is to be. Being 26, I feel like it's high time to get my act together and you know, get a 'real' job or at least start down that road-I say this what the same feeling as, "Aw, Mom, do I have to clean my room?" Kat wanted to work on living in the here and now. Kat quote: "Forget the ants, focus on the State Of Now Kathleen." Both objectives are slowly being reached to one degree or another, however, there are other things we have improved about ourselves as well.

Apparently for years Kat has been unable to pee without the faucet running and absolutely no one around. Spending so much time on the road, and most of that on scenic bike paths, peeing in nature with one of us acting as a look-out makes Kat's previous peeing requirement obsolete. Even through she was beginning to get a stomach ache from how bad she had to go, she couldn't as we rode up the coast of Denmark. But by the time we reached Dusseldorf, I am happy to report that it is an issue of a bygone Kat-ian era. Haha, ok, that was a bit of an over-share, I admit.

Oh! While I am on this most ridiculous subject, I forgot to mention that in Amsterdam they had such a problem with the lack of public bathrooms, drunk tourists, and an overflow of late-night peeing on the sides of buildings that they put in "public urinals".
But they're only for men and you just pee up against the make-shift wall. Ah! Even though we know how to pop-a-squat really well now, this isn't going to help Kat nor I for any late-night drinking. We saw some men in bright orange jumpsuits cleaning one of these with scrub brushes while we were in Amsterdam. I think that has to be one of the more unpleasant jobs in that town.

Bike Abandonment

2009-07-16T18:04:00.000-07:00

After our night of imaginary hell, we rode the 22 remaining kilometers to Mannheim. Needing security and comfort, I figured that because I used to live there 6 years ago, that would be the closest we could get to proverbial chicken soup from across the ocean. It's amazing how little the town has changed in all these years; my favorite cafes are in the same place, the awesome antique jewelry store is still on the corner, the medical library still has free Internet, and ice cream cones are still 1 euro-the cheapest we found the whole trip.

The first stop we made was to the medical library Internet where Kat scoped out hunky doctors-in-training and cheap hotels, because there was no way we were getting on our bikes again to camp. It turns out the most affordable hotel in the center of town, Hotel Luxa, was the one my mom and I stayed at when she first dropped me off in Germany, and which I had totally forgotten about. Kat and I were so worn out since we got in to town that we ended up staying 3 days when we only planned for 1. The thought of moving at all filled us with dread. We became very, very boring. Our idea of a perfect day was to spend several hours reading at Star Coffee, followed by several hours of Internet, some window shopping, always to retire to our room by 7pm for dinner, a bottle of wine, and watching music videos - some cheezy, some brilliant, and some just with fun songs.

On the 2nd day we had to finally deal with getting our bikes home. The plan was to ship them back to the States and then frolic on Croatian shores sans cycle. Getting the bikes to Europe was not really a huge problem, the bike shops in Austin even offered to send them from the store and then there was always taking them on the plane. Getting them back to the States proved to be a greater issue. Kat investigated through a few shops around Mannheim and they all said they would provide a box but we would have to deal with the German freight companies ourselves. Total pain in the ass.

One of the boys at the bike shop said he would buy Kat's Crosscheck because they're coveted in Europe and apparently olive green and gray are super rare colors over there. She sold it for just slightly less than she had hoped, but not by much. Success for Kat!

Mine was a slightly different story. Because my bike was homemade, it didn't fetch any buyers. I decided to do a little cycle surgery and take all my 'good' parts with me. Armed with a large glass of wine and my multi-tool, I went down into the hotel basement junk area where we stored our bikes-the part they don't want the customers to see. I took off the tire tread and tubes, my girl seat, the rear rack, and the derailleur and chain; unfortunately I had to leave my peddles because they were welded on and despite my best efforts of my newly formed biceps, they wouldn't budge.
The parts combined were more than the $50 frame and my boyfriend, Conner, said in a worse-case-scenario to just leave it and we'll build another one back in Austin.

Afterwards, on our way to get one last ice cream cone, I unceremoniously left the poor remnants by a dumpster and quickly walked away before anyone saw. It was actually really sad; we rode over 1,500 miles on those bikes and well, damn it, parting..yadda, yadda...sweet sorrow. End of a biking adventure.

Died And Gone To Heaven

2009-07-16T14:58:00.000-07:00

Holy Shit, I've died and gone to heaven!

Kat left this morning to fly home and I ventured on to Athens, Greece. Being with one other person for 5 weeks with no time apart - I kid you not - and to have them gone and then going to a country where I've never been and can't even read the alphabet, well, it's terribly unnerving. So in order to make the transition from cohabitation to being again, a "strong, young, independent woman", I felt like a needed some training wheels for that. In my yuppie-in-training mind this obviously meant to throw down for a really nice hotel and hibernate for a couple days before I feel strong enough to venture out once again and reclaim my adventurous spirit. I did some research and settled on Hotel Fresh : Athens Design Hotel.
It's freaking awesome! I'm on the 8th floor, everyone has their own balcony and mine faces the Acropolis, they have a sauna and a steam bath, a rooftop pool. Sigh. I plan to employ all of these services to the fullest extent tomorrow and then I feel confident that I will quickly regain my mojo. Plus, I am supposed to be working on some scarf designs for my mom and I have yet to begin them. Tomorrow is the day.

Athens has a lovely transit system they put in place for the Olympics several years back. After visiting Croatia, I totally appreciate having it be super straight forward as to how to get around. Nothing like getting to the airport and then being stuck waiting for a bus that was supposed to come in 10 minutes but yet still has not come in 2 hours. When you can smell the ocean but only see the black tarmac, well, it sucks. But anyhow.

The hotel has computers and Internet that are at my disposal and so I shall be catching up on so many missed stories. Yay! Mojo returns!

A Southern Girls Guide To Ditching

2009-07-11T05:17:00.000-07:00

On the morning of the third day with Michael, he spoke of taking another day off of work and continue heading south with us. We gave each other the covert wide-eyed girl look that screams, "What the hell?! Save me!" It had been fun to have a pause in Kat and Rachel's Series of Unfortunate Events. But as my mom told me-as I sobbed to her over the payphone about my screwed up flights on the way over here, heaving, "This is exactly what I hate about traveling!" (when tired I become inept at damage control of any sort)- that traveling is about discovering what you're capable of in tough situations, as well as seeing new people and places. With someone else manning the helm of the trip, we felt like we were on a cycling equivalent of a cruise ship and not a bad-ass sailboat.

Being Southern ladies, we didn't want to be rude, but we didn't know how to gracefully bail out.

While Kat was off peeing, after several false starts, I finally said, "We'll probably ride with you till Mainz (the end of our bike map), but then I think we're going to peel off and resume our girl bonding trip." He just shrugged and said, "Ok. Sounds perfect." Man, why do us Southern girls over think this kind of stuff? Worrying over nothing.

So we got to Mainz and he went on to Frankfurt while we headed south towards Mannheim.

Which brings me to recount what has to be the one most difficult night of our entire trip.

Kat and I were already really tired but we wanted to get as close to Mannheim as possible, find a nice campsite and get a good night's sleep. We rode along the elevated path through southern German farmland. It looked just like a photo from a Fodor's travel guide that is so vivid you think, "Surely that must be photoshopped." But no, real, all real. It was so nice to be back in the countryside after a stint through so many industrial towns along the Rhine, between Bonn and Frankfurt.
Around 9pm we came upon a confusing rerouting of the path for construction and I saw one of the temporary signs thrown on the ground to the side of the road. Then we passed a parking lot full of teenage boys who began to laugh as we passed. I have really learned to hate groups of teenagers on this trip; If they're not trying to run us off the bike path into stinging nettles, then they're spraying us with a fine mist of soda, or just being little shits in general.

The thought popped in my head that they had changed the signs around as a mean joke on unsuspecting cyclists like us. The route took us down a long straight road to the river with only one muddy road branching off to the left. Two of the teenage boys passed us on their motorbike, honking and hollering, and stopped at the river ahead. The route took us down a long straight road with a muddy bike lane branching off to the left as the only exit strategy in sight. And in the waning light I thought, "Oh no. I've seen this situation played out before on a Lifetime channel's Afterschool Special. Shit."

We continued along with no assault and passed by the only campsite in 50km. There were lots of camper vans and a few tents, but not one person. The gates were locked and despite our 'hallos!', no one appeared. I could possibly, maybe understand the campers being shut down for the high season of late June, but why leave tents up? It was the eeriest thing ever, combined with the teenage boys, that when we soon came upon a cute clearing on the bank of the Rhine, I couldn't fathom stopping.

We hauled ass through the next two towns and stopped as soon as the path took a turn for farmland again. By this time it was far past dark and we made camp by the moonlight near fields of hay. It sounds romantic, and it should have been, as we huddled in our sleeping bags having a small dinner consisting of chocolate. But as a result of our Lifetime freakout, the camp ghost town, and extreme exhaustion, Kat and I were sufficiently petrified not to sleep at all the entire night. I kept imagining having heard heavy breathing by the tent, footsteps in the grass, and voices.

Worst case German Chainsaw Massacre scenarios incessantly flashed through my head and I kept trying to shove them out with images of butterflies and beaches. People say that camping on the side of the road gets easier, and it did-the part of falling asleep on hard dirt and setting up camp super fast in all conditions. The part of two girls with no method of defense-except maybe peeing on ourselves and clawing eyes out-and sleeping with only a thin layer of fabric between us and the world, that part got no less difficult. In fact, I think it got progressively worse as we headed south into more densely populated areas.

As we packed up camp early the next morning I kept thinking, "I'm totally over this. 4 walls=heaven. No more. No more." We made a bee-line to the nearest bakery which was to be found in a bizarre German version of Super Walmart. There were all these small groups of old people having passionate discussions, and running on empty as we were, this was highly comforting. We craved somewhere secure. We sealed the deal with a large cup of coffee and two pastries, each.

Worst day ever, and it was all in our heads.

Home of Augustus Gloop

2009-07-11T04:46:00.000-07:00

Kat and I are admittedly yuppies-in-training. We like the art deco saunas and the chi-chi minimalistic restaurant above the yachting club. On the same token we're also game for roughing it on our bicycles-but that's not my point here. We were warned by our German tour guide, Michael, that Dusseldorf is the land of the rich, one time home of Claudia Schiffer, and training ground of arrogantly upturned noses. But really, could the hometown of Augustus Gloop be all that bad?We had our first coffee of the day sitting on the outside couches of a sufficiently hip coffee shop and watched the early morning strollers. It was like everyone was a model-in-training! They were all beautiful and stylish-very unlike my previous comment about German style being sensible. No, these people were so not sensible, wearing stilettos on cobblestone streets. I don't know how they did it!

Actually, I take that back. I did see how they did it. Two girls were walking, being adequately animated and decidedly oblivious to our staring. One stopped in her tracks because her heel had gotten stuck in one of the many cracks. She tried to wiggle it out, all the while trying to keep up the conversation, but it wouldn't budge. She finally bent down and yanked it out. Awkward, unsexy moment, but really funny for Kat and I to watch.

Dusseldorf doesn't just need one unique word, it deserves a whole song!

Oh, and people here had the best tattoos. Several of the beautiful young women had corresponding beautiful full sleeve arm tattoos. If I were going to get one in Germany then I would come here and forget Elfenzauber in Berlin.

Michael was so not impressed with the city and wanted to make a quick getaway, but Kat and I were secretly loving it. I wished we could have spent more time here, sitting in cafes and people watching.

Superior State Of Being

2009-07-11T04:13:00.000-07:00

My absolute favorite documentary film ever is Surfwise. I am constantly mentioning it in passing and force my loved ones to watch it, because it's fabulous on so many levels.
In short:

Surfwise follows the odyssey of 85-year-old, legendary surfer Dr. Dorian "Doc" Paskowitz, his wife Juliette, and their nine children—all of whom were home-schooled on the beaches of Southern California, Hawaii, Mexico and Israel; they surfed every day of their lives, and were forced to adhere to a strict diet and lifestyle by their passionate and demanding, health-conscious father.

But really, just watch the preview.

So yeah, he's super strict, especially about their diet. He makes a point of health as not simply "the absence of disease", but of a "superior state of being". The Paskowitz's surfed all day long and ate essentially nuts and berries, leaving them crazy fit.

I acknowledge that this might be the most in shape I may ever be in my life. I simply can't imagine when I will ever have another time in which I can devote to 10 hours of cycling a day for 4 weeks. I wanted to try the Surfwise diet and see what happened, beginning from the time we crossed the Holland-German border to the finish of our trip in Frankfurt, 9 days. Kat and I went to the market and got carrots, nuts, beans, rice cakes, and lots of fruit. I made it through the first day and felt awesome, I even weathered the mid-afternoon ice cream craving.

Then we hit Duisburg the next day. It was so stressful that when Michael offered to treat us to pizza, it sounded like the best, most comforting thing ever. I caved. I then caved the following day too, as we passed one ice cream cafe after another with flavors like Pistache, Schwarzwald (chocolate cherry), Malaga (rum raisen), Prosecco Melon, and Honig. It was like tasting all the flavors of the dairy rainbow.

Speaking of comfort. When biking for a while, past our exhaustion point, for one reason or another, and we have something lovely at the end-beautiful campsite, delicious meal, squishy bed-then it all seems worth it. It's easy for us to get up early again the next morning with a positive outlook and do it all over again. We're exhausted, our asses hurt, and we have dirt rings around our necks but it's cool because at least we have this amazing castle in the distance with two! rainbows, and it all seems worth the hassle. However, if a respite from the pain never materializes then it's really hard to not want to give up. And in fact, while I'm on the subject, I think we can handle about 11 days of straight-up biking before we need a couple days off to chill in cafes and lounge in saunas to get our mojo back in working order. Cycling and sleeping on dirt for 11 days, that's our limit.

Even Cycling Texans Get The Fairytale Blues

2009-07-10T07:23:00.000-07:00

"So much to say, so much to say, so much to sah-ey"
So Much To Say. Dave Mathews Band-during his cool years

Kat and I have gone a long way since I've been able to properly write.

Third Leg auf einer größeren Karte anzeigen

We left Rotterdam and headed towards what has to be the worst city in all of Germany. Duisburg used to be a major center of steel, but then all the factories closed down, and it went into a steady decline. Now it is one of the poorest, dirtiest, most vile cities in West Germany. The minute Kat and I reached the northern suburbs it felt like we had entered a gauntlet-from the people to the architecture. We stopped in a small plaza with several old people around to check our directions. We figured that if people were leaving the old timers alone, then surely they wouldn't bother us. While we were pouring over our maps, across the street part of the ornate stone decoration fell off of the side of the building and almost hit a group of people walking below. Like a gauntlet I tell you.
Kat says that one of my talents is finding at least one thing positive about a situation. The only redeemable aspect I can find about Duisburg is that they have quite talented graffiti artists. Because really, how else are you going to pass the time in a shit town except paint the decaying buildings pretty colors? We took some pictures but don't have a way to put them on the computer yet. Soon I will get some more up here.

Whenever I travel in Europe and I come across a heavily industrial and ugly town, I always think, "Bombed during the war." And vice versa, if a town is old and super cute then is was saved heavy bombing during WWII. I feel like Duisburg must have been mauled during the war. I learned that even the Germans bombed their own bridges, some built during Roman times, so absolutely no one could get across. Ancient architecture gone, at the bottom of the river. Damn war kills all the cool architecture.

Hell-bent to get out of Duisburg as soon as possible, Kat and I blazed a trail past another young, tattooed, saddlebag ladden dude. We inadvertantly picked him up as a traveling companion for what we thought would be a couple of hours, but ended up being 3 days. You stop to figure out where you should be going and then voila, a young man offers to show you the way himself, and poof, instant traveling companion. That's how it's done. He's a chain smoking German firefighter who took off on a cycling trip after his live-in girlfriend broke up with him and he needed time to 'think'-except he just hung out with us instead.

When traveling, occaisionally you get thrown into an extended companionship with someone towards whom you only feel a lack of negative sentiment. In normal life you'd probably never become really good friends with them, even though they seem nice enough. Thrown together on the road, you get along pretty well before you part ways with no intention of keeping in touch. You also seem to share a lot of information with eachother about your personal lives because well, you'll probably never see them again. That was the story with the romantically challenged German fireman named Michael.

Kat however, hated him. He drove her absolutely crazy. When she finally told me after the first day I was totally surprised since I felt totally neutral about him, and just kind of enjoyed not having to figure out where we were going for a while.

Michael did let us in on a nice German secret. Technically the land along the Rhein is "owned" by the river. Every five years or so, it floods and climbs up the riverbanks about 20 meters. So technically no one can fuss at you for camping on the banks of the Rhein. Sometimes it's a trick to find a nice, flat, non-city, non-campsite bit of Rheinside land, especially through the Loreley Cliffs. That area is freaking amazing and it's no wonder that the Brother's Grimm collected so many fairytales here.

Side note: I read that Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm were first and foremost, German linguists. As of the 19th century there was still no unified Germany, only 39 nation-states, whose sole common link was the Germanic language. They were collecting German folk/fairytales as a way to help create a cultural identity.
We actually camped across the river from something like the picture above. We had ridden so far that day, 120km, and were dead to the world but we couldn't find one nice flat place to camp until we came upon this sight. We set up camp and were in the middle of cooking bratwurst on Michael's portable stove, when it started to lightly drizzle. Over the castle across the way two rainbows formed. Two! Sigh, fairytales.

Mannheim, Germany

2009-07-09T06:10:00.000-07:00

Oh my god. We're in Mannheim, just below Frankfurt on the Rhein River. I studied here about 6 years ago and it's nice to be in a familiar city again. Kat and I are really, really rough around the edges right now. We're dead to the world and desperately holding on to the last shreds of our sanity. I think we're going to stay here the night and figure out what to do tomorrow after some sleep, which neither of us have had in about two nights. We're sooo over biking at the moment, but maybe after sleep and a shower we'll reconsider biking back to Frankfurt-another 80km. Sigh.

And I'll fill in all the missing parts in between 'happy and vivacious! us' to 'sad and pathetic us'...but later. As in much later...tomorrow.

Staying Clean

2009-07-09T05:34:00.000-07:00

There's something about checking off the cities as we along our route that gives us a sense of progress, ''Ah, 4 more small towns closer to Frankfurt!'' Although, it seems like super slow going for us through southern Holland, around lots of farmland and small industrial towns. In fact, if there's one smell that will instantly take my memories back to this trip, it will be cow manure. Not sheep, not goat, but cow because seriously, judging from these Bikeline routes, one would think that cow fields are what Europe is comprised of.

The other thing about the scenery staying so constant is that it's way more mentally tiring than riding where there are lots of new things to see; it's kind of like running on a gym treadmill instead of along a mountain trail. Kat suggested I think about something completely different to break the monotony. She likes to daydream of future situations where comfort is the top order of the day: spa retreats, hours of yoga, movies on the couch with a hot chocolate and a warm blanket. I focus on songs-or more like, I try desperately to remember the lyrics to songs I should know. My favorites, and most successful remembrances, are Blackbird and Sweet Baby James. Both songs are super comforting and easy to pace with my squeaky metronome-like peddles.

It's finally gotten warm enough to break out the sunscreen, tank tops, and biking shorts. It's the kind of weather I was envisioning for this trip all along. It's totally awesome. The only downside is that it's hard to feel clean for more than an hour. In Holland, they don't have those large bathroom sinks big enough to fit one's head under, like they do in Sweden. Here, they are more akin to the size of an airplane sink, just enough room to put one hand under at a time. And now we actually sweat. Riding through farmland all day, with wind kicking up dirt that then gets stuck to our bodies, well, that's just plain gross by the end of the day, even by our standards. The sunscreen we keep slathering on adds a nice layer of grease to our already sweaty and gritty skin.

After noticing the rings of dirt on my neck-I kid you not-Kat said she had reached her gross threshold and we were definitely showering at a bonafide campsite that night. We can make it for about two nights just camping by the side of the road, but by the third it's mandatory to find a nice shower and go to bed early. We also bought these little Dove face wipes that also work well to de-grit at the end of the day in between showers that seem to help us feel slightly more clean before we get in our sleeping bags.

Personal Words

2009-07-05T06:07:00.000-07:00

In Amsterdam I read a bit of Eat, Pray, Love, which was awful. It was just too much god-talk for me from a overly politically correct New Yorker--might as well just come out with it instead of pussy-footing around the matter by throwing in 'Allah, Yaweh, etc...or whatever you may wish to call that great being in the sky'. Makes me want to gag.

However, the premise was nice; after a messy divorce she spent a year doing all the things she always wanted to do: language school in Italy, meditation retreat in India, etc. There were a couple things she wrote that I keep coming back to, despite the heavy-handed writing. An Italian man she met said that everyone has a personal word that is unique to them, and every city also has a unique word. Rome was Sex. New York was Achieve. LA was Succeed. If your personal word and that of the city don't match, then you'll always feel like a bit of an outsider.

I bring this up because I have never seen Kat react so negatively to anything we've seen so far as she did to Rotterdam. If the word for Rotterdam is Gritty, then Kat's must be Genteel, forever at odds with one another. Myself, I didn't see really see why anyone would want to vacation there and take up all the hotel rooms. But I did see that it was the most immigrant populated city in Northern Europe, super diverse. It was rough around the edges, and a little depressing, but it also seemed to have a lot of cool music and art happening; maybe like Paris in the 20's or New York in the 70's.

Back To Old Ways

2009-07-05T05:29:00.000-07:00

Um, all that stuff I said about having learned to do the second leg of our trip in comfort & style? Yeah, well I have come to realize that was all utter bullshit. It was supposed to be easier this time round; our muscles were seasoned, we figured out how to successfully read our foreign maps with fewer instances of getting lost, and we even had squishy beds to look forward to through couch surfing.

We left Amsterdam for Rotterdam and it was like the first day all over again. Almost a week and a half of lounging in Vondlepark with wine and sweets and we were beginners again. We didn't find our way to our nice squishy bed until 11:30pm, far after the time our host had already gone to bed-we were supposed to get there at 8pm. Trying to find a safe, free, place to camp in a big city so late at night seemed like the worst idea ever, so we decided to bite the bullet and spring for a hotel. We were so exhausted and irritable at this point that all the latent obscenities started coming out.

''What the hell should we do?''
''Fuck if I know.''
''Damn it all to hell! I just want to sleep.''
''Well shit. And just how should we go about that?''

For some ungodly reason all the budget hotels that we could find were full. We were finally sent to a hotel that had one more room for 120€. We were so tired we were ready to hand over our credit card saying, ''Ah, fuck it.''

Trying to find that hotel we came across Hotel One. The young, slightly nervous concierge said that indeed, he too had just one extra room, which normally went for 100€.
I leaned in, ''Normally?''
''Um, yes...but tonight maybe...maybe I could rent it for 90€'', which sounded like there was room for negotiation. As the daughter of a woman with whom there is always room for negotiation, hesitation is always an invitation.
''How about 80€?''

It was a deal! I've never bartered with a hotel before, but I figure that now I should just add it into my hotel rule-of-thumb.

Trying to reach a destination by a certain time is really difficult and leaves no room for spontaneity. We like to have coffee and read for an hour, two if the book is really good. We like to stop at the kids playground because they gasp! have a kick-ass zip-line. Oh, and not to mention getting lost, which we do often. We don't have reliable Internet access, so coordinating housing is hard. So if the night's arrangements get messed up, by that time we're so tired that we'll even consider staying at the Hilton by way of calculating how many ice creams will be necessary to skip in order to break even.

This is what we learned and now we're back to old ways.

Decaying Glory. Reclaimed Glory.

2009-06-29T15:56:00.000-07:00

Oh heavens, Kat and I experienced the single most luxurious day on this trip so far. We ended up staying another day in Amsterdam on account of a couch surfing mix-up in Rotterdam, and instead of spending all day making another tour of sugary Dutch morsels, we made discovered Dutch cultural luxury.

First we went to FOAM, one of the photography museums. They had this totally kick-ass exhibition by a South African photographer, Guy Tillim, called Avenue Patrice Lumumba. Lots of streets in Africa were named after the Congolese politician who was democratically elected as the first Prime Minister after Congo gained independence from Belgium in 1960. Many other African countries also gained independence around this time, such as Mozambique, Angola, and Benin. They built many new modernist buildings that symbolized the hope in the post-colonial future. Lumumba was then assassinated--no, secretly executed--in January 1961 and the idealism of a truly independent Africa faded. The modernist buildings that were used as government offices, luxury hotels, and schools decayed over the years and now stand as mementos of forgotten ideals. Guy Tillim photographed these buildings as symbols of the "inability to make Lumumba's dream a reality".

The photographs were amazing. Face flat amazing.

In one of Arden's travel guides to Amsterdam, I read about Sauna Deco. It said that almost everything from lamps, to railings, and stained glass windows were rescued from a 1920's Parisian department store that was undergoing a renovation. It was beautiful and absolutely decadent. They had two dry saunas, a steam bath, an infrared sauna, a cold water pool, an outdoor terrace, and cafe with fresh squeezed juices.

I've never been to a sauna before and the nice lady explained the lay-of-the-sauna-land by way of a series of goofy diagrams that really should have been in the Sunday comics instead. They began after the preliminary strip down and towel wrap.

step 1: rinse off in cold shower

step 2: enter the world of heat. if you lay down in the sauna, then sit up for 2 minutes before exiting the room to help with circulation (ie. don't pass out)

step 3: rinse off in cold shower

step 4: walk around for 8 minutes, preferably outside in the fresh air

step 5: jump in cold pool and swim, after taking a cold shower, of course

step 6: sit down for 10 minutes

step 7: start all over again

It was a constant rotation of hot and cold that kept shocking the system. And it was amazing. First it was the dry room, pool, then the wet, then a salt scrub-down, pool, then the foot bath, pool for two complete rotations that lasted for four hours. Around 7pm we had to call it a day because we were so hungry, but really, this could have gone on till closing at 10pm. We stayed away from the infrared sauna because, dude, what the hell is that? Sounded like cancer ready to happen.

There was virtually no one else there when we first arrived, and it was easy to imagine that we were living in an F. Scott Fitzgerald novel. Plus it was nice to not feel self conscious as we putzed around trying everything that was offered. We emerged, several water weight liters lighter, so amazingly relaxed that I almost biked into a sign post. Nice to meet you, just call me by my middle name. It's Grace. It's nice to have one absolutely self-indulgent day on vacation...or two-we've already scoped out another bathhouse in Baden-Baden, Germany.

Stuck Like Glue

2009-06-28T17:36:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I like to hear myself type, the soft thud of the keyboard is strangely appealing. So just keep that in mind as I write the obvious in order to hear myself type.

Kat and I have spent virtually every moment of our day together since I arrived in Copenhagen on May 25th. We sleep side-by-side in a small tent, we read over coffee together every morning, we talk a lot about anything and everything. We don't really interact with many people other than ourselves in the course of a day while cycling. This must be what it feels like to have a twin sibling, there's just not a lot of separation.

And the amazing thing is that we don't really get on each other's nerves at all. There are times when I'm tired and grumpy and vice verse, but we've learned each other's moods and how to take it all in stride. It's been a long while since I've learned the ways of someone other than a family member so thoroughly. I can not imagine how this trip would progress if we didn't get along as well as we do; that field we traversed beside the autobahn would have been the absolute worst experience ever. So, traveling companions--chose wisely.

Second Wind

2009-06-28T16:19:00.000-07:00

We set off tomorrow to head south to Rotterdam in search of Dutch rockabilly music, and then Eindhoven to scope out the best industrial design school in the business. Then we'll head down the Rhine river through Germany and France and finish the second leg of our trip in Basel, Switzerland. We've learned a couple things after the first bit; namely, that we both really hate to clandestinely camp. After a long day of riding, all you really want is a squishy bed where you don't feel there is a possibility, however remote, that lighter fluid could be poured over you while you sleep. So, we have planned out our route and pace beforehand and have organized couch surfing places to stay along the way. Thank heavens for couch surfing.Ah yes, speaking of music. I wrote earlier about wanting to collect one album from each country that we go to on this trip. In Denmark, the representing band was Under Byen. In Sweden, I learned that they are the third largest exporter of music, under Britain and America. We have all heard of Abba, Ace of Base, The Cardigans, and The Hives, so for this country I nominate Suburban Kids With Biblical Names, mainly because I like the name which was taken from a Silver Jews song. I think Jens Lekman is my favorite Swedish musician but I knew about him back in the States. One of the criteria for this band search is that the band selected should speak in their native tongue, forget this English stuff. But seriously! It's really difficult to find a Swedish speaking musician, it's English all the way. One blog, Swedesplease, is helpful in finding new music from Sweden.

Even though we've already been through Germany a bit, I didn't find any that I thought interesting and put it off till we go back later this week. For some reason I have gotten it into my head to find a Dutch rockabilly band. Kat's tattooist said that they had quite a large scene down in Rotterdam but that simply didn't exist in Amsterdam. Hopefully he's right.

Evil Eyes Of The Shrimp

2009-06-28T10:38:00.000-07:00

Although Kat and I are in the midst of an exercise extravaganza, we keep shooting all of our body perfecting efforts in the foot. Despite the fact that we spend on average of 9 hours on our bikes a day, we haven't lost that much weight. We've been eating so much ice cream, apple cake, chocolate, morning pastries, and stroopwaffels which wholly counteract all of our exorcising. Oh yes, one Dutch food that I did forget to add to the list is stroopwaffel. You can get them in the grocery store, but they are best fresh from the daily fish market. I know this seems like a terrible place to find a fresh waffel, yet the trick is to quickly purchase it from the waffel winklewagon, quickly run to the next block so the smell is gone but the caramel is still hot. Essentially they are comprised of two very thin flat waffelcone wafers with a thin layer of gooey caramel in between.

When we began this whole thing we had a strategem to get fit. We were going to get up, pack up camp, stretch, do sit-ups, eat lots of fruits and vegetables. We planned to finish this trip basking on the beaches of Croatia to get rid of our unflattering sports bra tans. I would then be able to confidently meet my boyfriend at the airport in Greece with a bouquet of flowers and a totally new bitchin body. This was the plan.

We have yet to do any stretching after packing up camp. First it was because it was freaking cold; then it was because we had to flee before the rest of humanity woke up and fuss at us about our clandestine camping; then it was because of the obscene amount of bugs we would inhale while we breathed into our stretches. We decided that a yoga class would do us well. I must confess that I feel a little dubious about yoga in the same way that I feel about a white boy with dreads, tribal tattoos, or the fact that I could never wear a sari with a straight face--none are aspects of my own cultural background and therefore, I'd feel completely disingenuous to co-opt them into my life. So while I can't deal with the spiritual aspect of yoga, I do love the stretching.

Kat, her sister, and I went to a Bikram yoga studio. Now, Kat has done quite a bit of yoga and was familiar with the Bikram style, all of which she purposely withheld from me, the yogic novice. When her sister found out which one we were going to, she said with a frown, "Oh. That one's quite hard." Kat figured that it would be way better that I have no idea what I was getting myself into because otherwise I'd loose the nerve to attend the class. Bikram is known as "Fire Yoga", is practiced in a room heated to 105 degrees and is more like a workout than deep stretching. Man, I just learned that it was developed by this spiritual yogi guy and a "Los Angeles, California company". This seems really strange to me, two completely opposing ideas joining together to create a new style of yoga. It would be like Donald Rumsfeld, Marlboro Man, and the CEO of Texaco combing their powers to create Captain Planet, instead of Earth, Wind, Heart, etc. Doesn't seem right.

Anyway, back to the yogic sauna. I have never in my life sweated that much. The tops of my feet had little beads of sweat. My light grey leggings slowly became dark grey as my shins began to sweat. Sweat dripped into my nose as we bent down into triangle pose. Oh god. It was so gross. I fared slightly better than the two skinny guys in speedos in front of me. Sweat dripped off of their elbows like an old moss covered fountain in Italy, a slow yet decidedly steady drip the entirety of the 90 minute class.

We took a cold shower afterwards but we kept sweating all day long, and it wasn't that hot outside. Our core body temperature had been elevated several degrees and short of jumping into the cold North Sea, we wouldn't be cooling down for some time. All in all, I'm glad we did it but none of us would ever go back.

As is our counteractive tendency, we followed up our body cleansing experience with a night full of toxins. Back in Austin, Kat and I used to go out a lot, but on this trip we have really only gone out once; that was in Sweden with Jo and we were so drunk that we could only make it as far as the trash cans which was pictured in the last post. Kat's sister, Arden, just graduated from art school in textiles on Friday and we had to go out to celebrate. The two British guys that Arden is in a fledgling folk band with, a third British guy and his wild Indonesian girlfriend, and us three American girls filled out our party for the evening. That's one thing about going out in Europe, it's always a fabulously international affair. The sun doesn't really set until about 11pm right now, so party-time doesn't start until around midnight with a pre-festivities drink until 1am. Then we were off to a bar with a cheesy Dutch cover band playing songs by the Eagles, Pearl Jam, and Stevie Nicks, because the other option of yet another Michael J tribute dance party cost 15 euros to get into. Seriously. 15 euros to go dancing to pre-recorded music. Totally bogus in my book. Then we went to another bar with more cheesy Dutch music and lots of dancing. Bars don't close until 4am here so you can get another good 2 hours of naughty fun in before they turn on the lights and play Frank Sinatra's It's Over.

During this whole time we were instructed that under no circumstance could we "fuck with the band" in any way. Repeatedly. Do Not Fuck With The Band. According to Arden, the band is a very delicate balance of forces which could all fall tragically apart if say, one's friend or sister tries to "make it with the band" (ie. get some serious booty). Thus, the band and all libido should be checked at the gate. Let me set the record straight by saying that the pot can not call the damn kettle black. Get my drift? Booty within bands, booty outside of bands, booty in general. It's happened throughout history--Fleetwood Mac anyone?

The next day we felt a little like we had all been in a train wreck, and then only way to fix that was to spend the day lying in the park and eating, of course, ice cream. I can tell I'm getting older because the day after is getting harder and harder. I know, I know--the smallest violin is playing somewhere in the background for our sad, sad life.

L-R: Kat, Kat's sister Arden, me, and Gary the wise cracking Welsh dude who's in the band. By the next morning we dubbed him Gary Google, not to be confused with another British guy, Gary Glitter. In fact, the title of this post is an ode to Gary. He was listing off things that frighten him such as keyrings heavily loaded with keys, 1 o'clock on an analog watch because of the way the hands look on the clock face, the fabric of policemen's uniforms, and shrimp because of their evil eyes.

Kat and Heinki, master Dutch tattoo artist

Us on our day trip to Marken.

Onslaught Of Pictures

2009-06-26T17:45:00.000-07:00

Before I begin this onslaught, let's have a little geekery shall we? Etymology of onslaught: is a modification on the Dutch word aanslag, the act of striking. While in Holland, might as well use mangled versions of Dutch words, no?

"Reunited and it feels so good..."

I finally made it to Copenhagen after the most hellacious Delta flight ever. Felt so relieved when I saw lovely Kat in the airport. Here we are actually sitting on top of a public urinal along a canal in Copenhagen. Our 'character building' began early in the trip.

This is our 'home' in Helsingborg, Sweden. After the one and only drunken night on this trip so far, this was as far as we made it in search of a good camping place. We made it as far as those trash cans on the right. We stayed here a couple nights. The sea is to the left of the photo.

We saw this graphic in the elevator at the train station in Sweden. Um? Riding an elevator can occasionally be quite irksome, so it seems. I really love diagrams.

Fixing Kat's flat tire in the German rain after a night of camping in a field of manure. Our tools for getting the tire off of the rim can be seen by my feet--a credit card and a key.

This is what the first two weeks of our biking trip looked like.

So when it finally warmed up and stopped raining, we were so, so happy. Kat, farmland, and Germany.

Just above Berlin we came to an impasse. The map looked like we crossed the river, yet there was no bridge. There is a little boat, to the right, that goes back and forth all day along between the two docks, toting cyclists across for 1 euro. I don't think I understand why they don't just build a bridge, but I have to say that the whole affair warmed my heart by how cute it all was.

Oh my good lord. We finally made it to the center of Berlin after getting lost for two hours in the suburbs and stopped at the first damn beer and bratwurst joint we could find. We're a little tweaked out at this point.

One of the 'beach houses' on the western coast of Holland that we went to on a day trip from Amsterdam.

Questionable Foods

2009-06-26T17:16:00.000-07:00

One of my favorite things to do in a foreign country is to go to the grocery store. It's really a cultural experience in itself. Kat and I were doing a little pre-dinner shopping in Amsterdam and seeking pepperoni to put on our mock pizza, we came upon the lunch meats. Our discovery was too great that we had to get photographic evidence. Look at it! It's different meats compressed into the face of a bear! The face of a freaking bear! It was however, rather cheap at only 79 cents.

The alternative traditional Dutch sandwich for a young child is that of peanut butter and chocolate sprinkles, called hagelslag, smeared on toast. We have discovered that a big box of these sprinkles also works wonderfully on ice cream, with peanut butter and apples, and on top of the granola we have been carrying on our bikes from Copenhagen.

In fact, speaking of toting certain foods across several boarders, our friend Skip was walking across America last year. Walking. He generously tried to offer us his dried lentils that he had been carrying on his back from Virginia to Texas. Haha, I suppose for long distance travelers there is just one food item that seems like a good idea to have, yet is never eaten and yet can't be thrown away.

The one food item that Kat and I both miss a great deal is the Danish Rye bread that is super cheap all over the country. The beautiful thing about this bread is not the taste. It is the amazing amount of fiber that they pack into one loaf. Seriously, intestines have never had it so good as after a large sandwich made with Danish Rye. I would absolutely love to find a recipe for it because ever since we took that ferry over to Germany, there has been no fiber love to speak of. None.

Passing Of Eras

2009-06-26T16:51:00.000-07:00

Michael Jackson's death is not only headlining national news in the States, it is also the case in Holland. Amsterdam has gotten back on the MJ bandwagon after so many scandal ridden years that left one to believe that to be a Michael J fan was to be in the utmost of bad taste. The coffee shop that we spend the first 1.5hrs of each day reading and drinking the most expensive Americano ever, was playing a day-long MJ tribute. The guy who pulled up next to me on his bike at the red light was blaring Blood On The Dance Floor. And there was a dance party in the square on Leidseplein tonight that had every hip swaying. I do love myself some dancing in the streets.

Kat was saying this morning that she was really sad about the whole affair, to my dubiously raised eyebrows. I felt way more sad over the death of Heath Ledger than Michael J for some reason. However, I do think it's a passing of an era, especially for our generation who came of age during Thriller.

I have to post my favorite Michael Jackson song that I first heard during the Michael J 50th Birthday sing-a-long at the Alamo Drafthouse earlier this year; a favorite despite my better judgments.

Tunnel of Bug Love

2009-06-25T01:17:00.000-07:00

Dude, before I go on, Michael Jackson is dead! And for that matter, Farrah Faucet died too. Jeez, all the major pop icons are meeting an early grave this year.

Kat got a tattoo the other day! Last year she got some small script on her wrist and now she has added the outline of jasmine flowers. Ever since we started this trip she has gone back and forth on the whole matter, whether to get it en route or just to wait till we return to Austin. There is something to be said about getting the tattoo while in the process of this whole bike affair because even if the image itself loses meaning over time, it will always signify this specific moment in her life.

I don't know if Kat mentioned this or not, but in Berlin, a shopgirl recommended a certain tattoo artist up the street. As is customary, we went to check her out. The shop is called ElfenZauber, which I feel should have prepared us beforehand. The name translates into "Elfen Magic". Elfen Magic! After pouring through all of their photos, I feel like the one below really sums up the whole experience.

Although among the many wall photos like this, I learned they also specialized in realistic tattoos of demonic girls, or boy, I can't tell. And then in the middle of that, one could also get quite a good rendering of Britney Spears circa "Hit Me Baby, One More Time". Kat talked to her for a while, pulling out all her inspiration photos, but it just wasn't a good fit.

Off we went to Amsterdam in search of ink. After scoping a couple artists out on the internet, we found Heinki from House of Tattoos, and went to talk to him. Whenever Kat and I have first walked into any tattoo parlor, people always seem to be really gruff--haha, it was totally like walking up to meet the Billy Goats Gruff on the damn bridge! But then with our charm and soothing voices, and Kat got him on the same stylistic page, we slowly coaxed out Heinki's flamboyant side, and yes, it was fabulously flamboyant. When it was time to do the deed, he was confessing his Madonna fan status and showing us youtube videos of Britney Spears' and Beyonce's real singing voices. He also told us stories of he and a friend traveling to perform freak shows at parties; burning each other with irons and stapling themselves...the 'burning' was just a little red die on the bottom of an unplugged iron and well, the stapling was real. He told it with this sighing air of, 'oh, the silly things we did when we were young'. Kat's tattoo turned out really well and unfortunately we have pictures, we just can't get them up on this computer. Ugh, slow computers.

Heinki

We both talk about possible other tattoos we would get in the future, because you know, once you go black ink, you never go back. And I think it's quite telling about our personality differences, because all the images she chooses (trees, botanical root systems) are really grounding, whereas mine (air balloons, boats) are all about flight.

Speaking of body alterations of a less permanent nature, I got a haircut. Apparently certain things (ie. haircuts) are really cheap, while random other things (gallons of house paint) are crazy expensive; 20 euros and 50 euros respectively.

Kat and I in Vondelpark. What you can't see in the background are hundreds of stoned people passed out in the sunshine. We are miraculously still awake because we have not just finished a joint, but an entire bottle of fizzy red wine (bought at any supermarket for 2 euros. Best stuff ever, called Lambrusco. Just saying.)

You see those rather large sunglasses we both sport? They are no longer a fashion choice, they are, after yesterday, a matter of necessity. We took a day trip along the eastern coast to a little town called Marken. It was really supposed to be this 9 hour loop, but it was so wonderful and sunny at the cafe we stopped in for coffee, that we just sat and read our books for several hours. A foiled day trip. Map found here.

It was the best day trip ever though because for the majority of the time the bike path is actually on a strip of land that cuts through the ocean. It's fantastic. Periodically the land widens and there are the cutest little coastal towns ever. It was such a lovely day that all these sail boats were out on the water and oh dear, just breathtaking.

However, I have never ridden through that many bugs before as on that strip of land in the ocean. Tons of them! They are these little green guys who are no bigger than mosquitoes and look like crickets. They jump up, catch the wind that we were riding through, and land on our clothing. Every once in a while we would have to brush off a whole nest of them off of our shirts. The sunglasses were mandatory as a bug shield and when they slammed against the large frames it sounded like a woman lightly hitting your lens with her nails, over and over. Poor Kat came back with a rather sad face from the cafe toilettes during our reading extravaganza. She said that when she briefly lifted up her shirt, a hundred bugs fell out. Unfortunately she was wearing a low cut shirt that acted as a funnel tunnel of bug love.

What To Tip When There Are No Cows

2009-06-24T14:49:00.000-07:00

Rather boring subject:

There comes a time at the end of a meal, or in our cases a rather extended reading/coffee date, when you must pay. Easy enough, taken care of. Then what? Do we just saunter out into the Dutch sunshine? Or do we leave a tip? Frankly, this has been super stressful trying to figure out what to do.

So, we've asked around and this seems to be the case:

Denmark--tips are built into employees paycheck and you only tip a little if you "want to be nice"

Sweden--same

Germany--comparable to tipping in the US

Holland--again, built in to paychecks and it's usually the tourists who tip. Totally acceptable to saunter away without another thought.

Greece--you tip on the dollar. So if your meal is 7.40 then you only tip 60 cents! It's true.

Drunk Dutchmen

2009-06-22T11:57:00.000-07:00

Yesterday Kat and I rode to the sea. It's totally freaking flat here! And after hauling ass and our stuff all over the place, it was like riding on a rainbow.

View Trip to the Sea in a larger map
One of the various differences between Kat and myself is the immense pleasure she gets out of seeing any barnyard animal, whereas the most I can muster up is, "Oh, well, that's adorable..." We happened to take the 'Cow Path' route to the sea, passing by acres of goats, sheep, miniature horses, and of course, cows. It was as if we had reached the end of the rainbow and it was a land full of cuddly animals instead of pots of gold. "Awwww, Rachel, look at the cute little goat! Just look at 'im! I love his big ole ears! Awwww!"

We passed a field of horses with one white guy sprawled out away from the other horses. Neither of us grew up near a farm and weren't sure if he was sleeping or just dead. It was like the one guppy in the tank at Walmart who is near the filter and for the first couple seconds you can't tell if it's swimming in circles, or it's dead little body is just getting tossed about by the flow of water. It didn't look promising. I was riding along looking at it and it started to get up. He was alive! What I saw was this...

What Kat saw was this...

Understandably, we were both captivated. Kat stopped riding in her tracks while I just stared, kept riding and crashed right into her. The funny thing when one is crashing into another body of matter is that one forgets all motor functions. I completely blanked on the fact that I should break. Breaks?! I couldn't even locate them on my handlebars. I hit her and swerved into the reeds growing on the side of the road which masked the algae-infested moat that bordered each plot of farmland. All for The Last Unicorn.

Luckily it was sunny and I dried out pretty quickly.

Despite being a mountain raised girl, I get especially excited about seeing the ocean. When my mom and I went to the coast of Portugal last year, and we went down to the beach, I kept yelling, "Mom! We're on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean! How cool is that?!" Hahaha, this was right before a big wave crashed over the rock I was standing on and got submerged in that Atlantic Ocean up to my knees.

I had a similar feeling when Kat and I finally reached the North Sea. It was the ocean! How fabulous!!! There was a wide fine-sanded beach with double rows of 'summer homes' right within spitting distance from the water!

On the way home we went back through Haarlem, to hit up the super cute ice cream shop for a second time since the employees had undergone a shift change and we could slip in undetected for another helping. Haarlem is the under-rated sister of Amsterdam, complete with canals, and terribly charming but without all of us tourists. While riding around trying to find the ice cream shop, we had to pull over to make way for an ambulance and stopped alongside a makeshift table with several empty bottles of champagne. At that moment a well dressed Dutchman with a camera slung across his camera came out of the town house and started speaking to us. He told us that the city wanted to build a three story underground parking garage right where we were standing. However, they had just defeated the proposal, and because he was a lawyer on the case, he held a celebration in front of his house which was to explain away all the empty bottles.

Kat and I eyed each other to escape as he recounted this random story and kept readjusting his belt. We're used to people never talking to us unless they work at an information desk, so we were a little skeptical about our verbosely drunken Dutchman and his faulty belt. Not talking to strangers is just the Northern European way of life. He stopped his legal story, looked directly at Kat and said, "What is a nice American girl like yourself doing on a shit bike like that?"

She was standing over her bike, the chain drooping miserably. After the hours spent fixing and refixing her bike, we both just had to laugh. "Just one minute. We'll fix it." For the next hour he pulled and prodded the derailleur, running inside to grab several different tools, all the while we got to meet his wife and two sons as they slowly returned home. His oldest daughter had just graduated from high school and to his amazement had been partying straight for the last week and had yet to come home. None of the family whom we met seemed at all phased that their dad had just befriended to young American girls. Amazingly he actually fixed her bike. It was a slightly bent metal bit that wasn't allowing her chain to 'glide' through the derailleur. It simply was not 'gliding' properly.

We had to celebrate. He brought out another bottle of wine and a parting gift. He had recently finished recording an album and gave us each two, one for us and one to bestow upon someone back home. So, be aware, we might be giving one of you a Dutch album with a recording of Wichita Lineman very soon.

Kat's bike now rides like a cloud, we have cd's of Dutchmen singing country tunes, and have had more than our share of ice cream cones after our trip to the North Sea.

Style--I simply must

2009-06-21T01:39:00.000-07:00

Today we are going on a biking day trip to the sea and possibly a little Van Gogh Museum, but we can't leave until Kat's sister comes back in a bit with the house key. Kat's still asleep, the classical music is playing, and I shall take this time to indulge in some reflections on style.

So far we have been to Denmark, Sweden, Germany, and Holland and each country seems to have a different idea about personal style. I have never seen such a stylish capital before Copenhagen. Everyone is gorgeous and well dressed. Everyone. Beautiful. Even the more grungy kids are stylish. There is a specific look among the ladies who bike that Kat and I noticed and to which they have dedicated an entire blog, Cycle Chic From Copenhagen. Right now they have posted a lesson on how to bike in skirts and dresses. The specific Copenhagen look that we noticed is short dresses/skirts, long leggings, cute shoes, hair pulled back on the crown of their head in a messy teacher bun, and no makeup (mascara at the most, but otherwise a bare face).

The whole city seems to be comprised of designers and architects and so it must be in order to be aesthetically pleasing down to one's person. The H&M (since we first began H&Ming our way around Europe) in Copenhagen is chalk full of leggings of every color. I curse the fact that I didn't buy any when I had the chance because I can't find any decent leggings in mainland Europe.

Germany is a different story all together. Germans are much like their shoes:

Sensible. Germans are sensible.

There really is no distinct style here, not even in Berlin. While there are fashionable, Karl Lagerfeld, and beautiful, Claudia Schiffer, people from this country, Germans seem to be of a more hearty stock with broad working hands and broad Wurst bellies. Fashion does not play an important role in daily society here. Granted, we haven't gone to Munich yet, where the Bauhaus and "form follows function" have never gained a foothold over gilded interiors. Maybe in that city can one find a pleasant sense of German fashion...maybe.

Heiliggeist Kirche

The Dutch in Amsterdam are more on par with Copenhagen in terms of style. Although here, people seem to wear more colorful outfits. Here too is a large cycling population and that means outfits that you can easily move in. I've seen a lot of leggings with a long t-shirt on top, like in the picture below--slightly more tomboy than the feminine look in Copenhagen.

From DamStyle

Now, as for Sweden. I really don't know when I have ever seen such an array mullets. Seriously. Men, women, kids--it doesn't matter who's head it's on. I can't say that I even noticed anything below the neck in order to comment on Swedish style because they captivated me with their hair. Sweds are exceptionally tall, I did notice that trait since my eyes had to revolve up a bit more in order to see the hair.

Dutch Dollhouse

2009-06-20T11:37:00.000-07:00

Kat and I have been taking it super easy for the last two days. It's amazing how tired you become by simply being in a foreign country. When my sister was getting ready to study in Spain all last year, they warned her about being rather fatigued the first couple weeks from the stress of not knowing the language or the customs. It's true. Fatigued.

Kat's sister is frantically completing her graduation design project that is due next Friday. We have the house to ourselves and we've been taking full advantage by cooking Bratwurst and watching movies from her absent roommate's small video collection. Last night it was War of the Worlds and the night before was The Contract, both of which got Kat to passionately yell at the screen "Run away you morons! Giant alien is going to kill your asses! Runnnnn!" We were drinking a lot of 2 Euro wine that night.

During the day we went to the Rijksmuseum which is undergoing a huge restoration project for the main building and only a small portion is on display until completion in 2010. They have the creme de la creme of their collection on display such as paintings by Vermeer and Rembrant. One of my favorites was the ink on canvas below The Battle of Terheide by Williem van de Velde. You can see the large version here. Freaking amazing because it's this large scale canvas that is done with tons of little lines and it's just simply beautiful.

The other amazing thing we saw were the Dutch dollhouses which are a history lesson in economic classes in themselves. Popular during the 17th Century, they were commissioned by house owners, to be a direct replica of their own home and not playthings of the young. Everything was exactly recreated to miniature scale: spoons, porcelain from China, wallpaper, clothing, dolls, heating pads. The largest dollhouse they have on display right now was ordered by a wealthy Amsterdam woman who spent as much on this one replica below, as would cost to buy a nice home on one of the canals here in town. You can see a larger scale picture right here.

Apparently the more dolls (down to the servants) and items you had in miniature, combined with the level of skill with which they were executed, the more wealthy you were. The dollhouses seem to be a more direct reflection on your yearly income then your actual house. There are more detail photos and more info about them here.

Oh, art travelers tidbit: Depending on how many museums you want to go to, it might be worth while to get the MuseumKaart which gets you into the Amsterdam exhibitions for either free or really cheap. The catch is that to get it dirt cheap you have to be under 25 and a student, in which case you'll only have to shell out 15 euros. They are valid for one year if you plan on coming back to this fair country for art hopping.

Kathleen on the Swedish and rose tattoos.

2009-06-19T12:29:00.000-07:00

I have somehow downed a huge dose of culture on this trip. High on my list of cultural awesomeness is Johannes' mom, who's name I will apparently never be able to remember. I sort of like her better as "Jo's mom" anyway. She is quintessentially mom, and to me, quintessentially Swedish.

She says "Neeehhh, neh Johannes (Jo-han-nes), neeehhhh" like its sentence glue, sticking together her very cute way of speaking english fragments. She kind of rushes into the room, like a little happy tornado, talking to everyone and laughing and offering lots of bread and drinks and pastries while getting out sweaters and slippers and showing you where the three pink towels she left out for you are. It is kind of amazing. I get the feeling that this is a Swedish custom, to make sure your guests are absolutely taken care of, and fattened. I learned that weekend that it is necessary to always bring with you a little treat for your host - even if, as in Jo's moms case, its your sister who you see every single day - you still need to bring a little something. As well, after each visit you must call within a day or two (two at the latest, Jo got fussed at because he had waited two days to call his Aunt, it was a very big deal) and "Thank them for the latest". How darling! "thank you for the latest" I just love to say it.

Johannes is a writer, and his mom had just finished her book on my last visit, so it could just be that story telling runs in the family, but I like to think that this is a Swedish thing too. She told lots of stories about going to school in Sweden, and throwing huge parties that she would sel entrance tickets to. Likewise, shes a great audiance. Everytime I told a story, it seems pretty well recieved and she never ever disagreed. That was until I said, "I cant wait to be in Berlin, we will eat tons of bratwurst... I'll get my tattoo..." to which she cut me off with "NEEEEEHHHHHH!". It was so out of charactor that we all just laughed. All but she of course, who was already describing an old, wrinkly tattoo of a rose she once saw on the rear of an older woman at the sauna. "It just hung there! But lucky for her, she couldnt see it".

I am really glad that I met her, and saw how friends treat eachother. How hosts treat guests. I think I have mentioned this before, but it really threw me off when people where "mean" to me in both Sweden and Denmark. She reiterated what the danes had said, that it is just a cultural difference. There is just none of this, "hiiiii, how arrrreeee you?" sweetness, fake or not, that we have in the states. As evedence to the blunt nature of conversation, she told us that just that morning, when she (being the amazing Swedish hostess) had gone to the store in search of meds for Rachel (who was sick with a cold), asked the man at the store if that had any natural medicines, to which he replied with a snort, "I dont believe in that shit". Not, "Oh no, I am sorry" but just a clean, strait answer.

I cant remember who said it, but I was told that it is because the Swedish keep their friends for life, so why would you be nice to everyone you meet? You have to be selective. I like to think that that is true. But all in all, I still like when my coffee shop boy says "hi" in the morning with a smile.

Oh, and needless to say, I didn't get a tattoo in Berlin.

Ramifications of Post-War Berlin

2009-06-19T04:16:00.000-07:00

I love going to visit friends in between long stretches of being on the road. It's a huge break from the wonderful traveling stresses of trying to figure out where things are or where you will sleep that night. It's a mental sigh of contentment, if you will, before picking up one's luggage and resuming the journey. Yesterday Kat and I decided that we had enough of the experimental living situation that we stumbled into in Berlin and took a train straight to Amsterdam where her sister, Arden, is currently going to art school. We got in after a 7 hour train ride and proceeded to stuff ourselves with tons of vegan food at Arden's dinner party. Mental sigh. Belly sigh.

Back to Berlin. It took us forever to find our way to the center of Berlin four days ago, after days of small German farming villages. The tour book we picked up in Rostock was fabulous and I highly recommend getting a biking route map. It saved us a ton of time and frustration and also spared us from biking along major roads. There is a series of books that map specific biking routes around Germany that are quite fabulous. They're called BikeLine and we already have two of them; one from Copenhagen to Berlin (which we just finished) and one from Mainz, Germany to Basel, Switzerland (which we'll be doing a little later). They also have little tips and history bits about the small towns that you ride through, but it's all in German so we missed all of that.

The book was great until we got to the outskirts of Berlin and it was like we were just plopped down to figure it out on our own--there weren't anymore handy bike signs at all. The bus stops luckily, all had big Berlin maps and we slowly figured out our way from there and found the house of our couch surfing host. It was awesome because he lived really close to the center of town. It was not awesome because we didn't know what we were getting into. It was a co-op living situation that had a revolving door of residence and a rather open door policy with couch surfers. It was filled with a bunch of early 20-something Americans discussing the alcohol content of different beers and the 'cultural ramifications of post-war Berlin'. Because we were dead tired and in no mood to mentally masturbate, we just wanted to gag all over their greasy hair. Oh dear, I'm being nasty. Everyone had to make a mad-dash at the end of the night to grab a cushion to sleep on. Party goers got the shit end of the stick and had to settle for the hard wood floor. The first two nights we got lucky, the third we were not.

Aside from that, Berlin was awesome. We went to the Museum The Kennedys--go all the way to Berlin and find an entire museum dedicated to an American family. Amazing. The lady at the counter explained that after President Kennedy goofed up his German language skills with the "Ich bin ein Berliner" speech, Germany just loved him and thus a museum was built. They also had a special exhibit that compared photos of Kennedy with similar photos of Obama. I felt like a total sentimental schlep because I kept getting all teary-eyed with emotion.

We also tried our hand at theater again. We thought it would be an excellent idea to go to an opera. Apparently there were two operas playing: Figaro by Mozart and Das Versprechen. Recommended by a lady at a hotel information desk, we saw Versprechen. Ten minutes into it we realized that they would not be breaking out into song and that this was not an opera in any sense of the word. We had no idea what was going on except that it was an entirely depressing play (on account of the down tempo music, the frantic wailing, and displays of alcoholism). Strike two on our theater card.

We also happened to be in town on the 17th of Juni. There's a wide boulevard that cuts right through the Central Park of Berlin, called the Tiergarten, named after this date. We stumbled upon a big parade/march/demonstration of thousands of students walking along the road protesting something that again we had no clue about. It was really cool to see all these students marching; I mean, they just kept coming, a never-ending stream. I just googled it...

The Uprising of 1953 in East Germany took place in June 1953. A strike by East Berlin construction workers on June 16 turned into a widespread uprising against the Stalinist German Democratic Republic government the next day. The uprising in Berlin was violently suppressed by tanks of the Group of Soviet Forces in Germany. In spite of the intervention of Soviet troops, the wave of strikes and protests was not easily brought under control. Even after J une 17, there were demonstrations in more than 500 towns and villages.~wikipedia

Oh, I love riding a bike around a city! At first I was petrified about riding around Berlin, trying to haul-ass and keep up with the flow of traffic. Then we came upon an old man, groceries hanging out of his saddle bags, slowly peddling along and I got the message to just take it easy. Because if an old man feels comfortable enough to ride his bike along and trust that cars would give him enough room, then by god, I too would relax. And it's true, cars are way more kind towards bikers in Berlin then they are in Austin, Texas.

I Am Your Information

2009-06-16T14:26:00.000-07:00

Berlin is a slightly difficult place to navigate. The same damn road has possibly three different names within a 7 block span. Crazy. Even if you are say, 3 blocks away from an information center on your rather small Berlin map, if may take 30 min to find it: 10 min per block, seems like a lot...hahaha, it rhymes! Anyhow, today Kat and I found a way around this conundrum--just stop in any nice hotel in the area and pretend to be a guest who is terribly lost, which is partly true. Even in our state of bike disarray, they take pity on us and say, ´Why yes, but I am your information center. Where do you try to go?´ To which we reply, ´Why, we have been searching for H&M for ages. Where shall it find itself?´

Bottom Line: Nice hotels, saving grace for lost, weary travelers.

Side Note: We ended up going to four H&M´s all over Berlin today, and yet we found nothing to help us feel girlie. Sigh.

Changes in Attitude, Changes in Latitude

2009-06-15T11:05:00.000-07:00

After biking 241 miles, both of our bodies have changed in visible ways.

On the good side: We have chiseled triceps! And our biceps are slowly following suit from having to hold our bodies up while we ride. When there´s no one else on the road and we can ride along side each other and talk while sitting more upright, this is the time when they get the best workout, as opposed to when we´re hauling ass and we drop down to the lower handle. Oh, the curved road-bike handle bars are the best for long distance riding since they offer the most varied hand positions.

The backs of our thighs, our hamstrings, are crazy buff. Last night I finally took off my leggings and sat with my feet drawn up to my butt, and my hamstrings just stick right out of my legs! As in, there is a significant bulge where I previously had none. It´s a little on the ´not hot´ list in my opinion.

On the bad side: Our butts are getting flat! I´m used to having a bit of a bubble butt and frankly, it´s the one big round thing on my body that I actually like. I´m in the Jennifer Lopez camp on this one. But now, the thing is getting flat. I´d like to think that it´s because of the fact that I´m getting totally buff, but who knows. My other round thing, my belly, is definitely in tact on account of our daily morning pastries and afternoon ice creams, complete with lots of whipped cream.

Dude! We´ve Arrived In Berlin!

2009-06-15T10:10:00.001-07:00

I can´t believe we´ve arrived in Berlin! We´ve biked 388km (241 miles!) from Rostock to Berlin!

Copenhagen-Gedser-Rostock-Berlin 3

http://www.bikely.com/

We´ll be here for three days and then on to Amsterdam, via Hamburg.

So...about the Autobahn field story I left off with.

There were no signs from the ferry station to the center of Rostock. Having slept on the benches in the cafeteria of the ferry, we were sore and irritable and just wanted coffee and a pastry in order to regroup and figure out the best way to bike to Berlin. We took a wrong turn and ended up on the side of the German Autobahn, which really doesn´t have a speed limit and thus, is an incredibly stupid place for any cyclist to find themselves. We stopped for a minute and two old German men pulled up to fuss at us about getting off the highway. It´s been almost 6 years since I studied here, without any previous German language. While I´m surprised how much I do remember, I certainly didn´t understand exactly they were saying, except the general gist of `Get the Hell off the highway!´

After that several other people honked at us, and feeling the impending doom of being on the Autobahn, we decided to not retrace our path up the entrance ramp, but to abandon ship to the previously mentioned construction field.

We soon orchestrated a sort of call-and-response song. One of us would fall in the wet muck and squeal.
´Oh my god! Are you ok?!´
´Yeah, I´m ok. Stupid field.´
´Ok, cool.´

Then soon after that the next person would fall and squeal and it would all start up again. It got tiring after a while.

So we shortened it to.
Squeal...
´I´m ok. I´m ok.´
Squeal....
´I´m ok. I´m ok.´
Squeal....

You get the gist.

Now, I´d like to take a pause to compare Swedish and German mentalities. I´d like to compare our Swedish audience on the train (us being inept with fastening our bikes} with the Germans fussing at us to get off the highway. One party just watched as we fumbled around while the other were all too happy with telling us exactly what we were doing wrong.

Hahaha, cultural differences.

The following story only appears because Kat mentioned it, and I only write it because I have been thinking it for some time now. As much as I adore Kat, I absolutely detest her bike. She researched and purchased one of the best long distance touring bikes available, the Surly Cross Check. It has great ´frame geometry´ and is made out of steel, which is supposed to absorb more vibrations and leave one´s bones feeling less rattled. But the blasted thing keeps breaking! In Copenhagen the chain broke. On this trip the back wheel keeps going freaking flat! We had to ride 30km and blow the tire up every 15min until we could get to the next ´big´ town and get a new tube. However, once we got to the big town we learned that the one and only bike store closed at noon on a Saturday. Dude, European store hours are very different.

So, instead of a new tube we´ve had to patch her tube up three times already. Unbelievable.

Oh! The first time we had to patch the bloody thing....
It was late in the evening on the first day of biking, the same day as the Autobahn field. It´s not legal to camp anywhere in Germany like it is in Sweden. We didn´t want to pay for a campsite and we just kept riding in hopes of finding a really great free, hidden yet safe place to sleep. We went over a railroad track and a few minutes later her tire was flat. I´m total shit about dealing with anything when I am tired. It´s one of my lesser known bad, bad traits. I was totally frustrated and didn´t want to deal us trying to fix her tire. There was a large field by the side of the road and we decided to just stay there the night. We trudged through the field, our shoes getting wet all the way through, and picked a spot slightly hidden by the trees. While we´re trudging, I noticed a smell. We set up camp and finally laying down I notice a smell. We freaking slept in an old crop field covered with manure.

The next morning it was raining and we had to battle to get her tire off the rim. For the longest time we tried the handle of our hairbrush. Didn´t work. After 30min we rigged up a system of using a key and a credit card. Now, after three times of this, we´re pretty fast at it, although her poor rim is not a scratch-free as it once was.

My boyfriend and his brother, Conner and Dan, built this kick-ass bike and taught me how to fix it. It hasn´t fallen apart once. So in a ninja fight between a fancy bike and a handmade bike, I´d place my money on the handmade one any day.

Die Deutche Leute!

2009-06-12T02:23:00.000-07:00

We're finally in Germany. Alas. I have a slight thing for the Germans after having studied here about 5 years ago.

Anyhow, to update on our progress. After the last time I wrote, we biked up to see our friend Johannes in Viken, about a 45 minute ride up the coast of Sweden. He and his mom were wonderful! His mom was hilarious and nursed me back to health and Jo made us Swedish meatballs (boiled potatoes, meatballs, and lingenberry sauce(it's sweet)). We lounged about all day and basked in the fact that for the first time in several days, we were warm! Amazing how a bed feels after the ground for so long. Divine. The only word for it.

We biked back to Helsingborg and high tailed it on the train to Malmo. We had to pay for an extra ticket for our bikes on the train. There was a special car for our bikes with fold down seats. We couldn't figure out how to fasten them in, and we kept doing the usual 'uhhh? Like this? uhhh?'. There were about 4 people on the opposite wall staring at us. We had a freaking audience but no one offered any help! Seriously.

It was so rainy and cold in Malmo that we biked around a bit, thought about biking to Trelleborg, where our ferry to Germany was leaving at 11pm, then quickly threw that idea out the window and took the bus. That whole day kind of blends into the next really since we caught a couple hours sleep in the ferry dining area.

There weren't good signs from the ferry into town and at one point we ended up on the autobahn-the highway. Some older men pulled over and fussed at us to get off and not get killed. Then all these other trucks started honking at us. I felt like that was a good example of the difference between Swedish and German culture. Swedes keep to their own-sometimes to a fault-and Germans get all up in your face when you don't do something correctly-again, sometimes to a fault.

Now I come to our least glorious moment on this trip so far. After being fussed at to get off the autobahn, it seemed like a good idea at the time to cross this big field on the side of the road to the little biking road in the distance. First problem. Big ass hill from the road to the flat part of the field. We slid down the hill, trying to feebly keep a hand on our bikes which were far faster than us. Then the field that we were crossing was more like a construction area that they just threw grass seeds on and which have been growing unhindered for 2 years-terribly high. And it was wet and oh my god....

Little library is closing in 15 minutes (hours: from 10-12 and 13-15pm)...hahaha.
To be continued....

Unprepared For Swedish Weather

2009-06-07T07:29:00.000-07:00

I wouldn't say miserable is the right word. Not even unpleasant. Maybe uncomfortable is the best word to use for our trip thus far.

We started out when it was cold and slightly rainy. It's funny what goes through one's head at a time like that; I was totally trying to negotiate with the weather. Ok, ok, I can handle wind but absolutely no rain. Fine. Be that way, I can survive the rain but under no circumstances can I deal with the dreadfully gray day. If you're going to rain on me at least give me some blue sky and occasional glimpses of sun. Nope, no, no. Absolutely my last offer. I won't budge any more than that.

As if that would do anything what-so-ever.

We took the ferry over to Sweden--from Helsingor to Helsingberg. It was super fast and cost less than a cup of coffee, 20 kroner. We got here around 8pm and then set out to find some place to sleep. We knew that you could camp anywhere but we never bothered to really look into it; are they serious about anywhere? What about in the city? Do people bother you? I mean really? We decided to go outside of town a bit and hopefully run into some field or a park.

The place we chose ended up being behind an elementary school, wedged between a birch forest and the sandbox, about 50 from the school itself. We waited a minute to see if anyone came by and then set up camp because it was twilight by that time and freaking cold. We nestled in out sleeping bags and about 20 minutes later we heard voices. We picked a place that was out of the way! And there was no path through the woods. No reason to come over. It totally freaked us out. It was a little scary after that with the absolute worst scenarios running through our heads. I think Kat's bad thought took the cake: someone could come a pour lighter fluid over our tent and set it on fire. Oh it was awful! Needless to say, we didn't get very much sleep at all and at the first light of day we took off into town. (oh, and the voices were just two parents and a little kid...hahaha, but really. freaked us out.)

We asked at the tourist office the next morning about the details of camping anywhere and the lady scoffed at us when we asked about being safer in the camp ground or anywhere else. Safety is just not an issue here.

We rode our bikes into the hills around town the next day, which was flag day and again, for the umpteenth time since I've been here, it was a holiday and everything was closed. Our friend, Johannes, his cousin and her boyfriend came into town and we all went to watch the soccer game between Denmark and Sweden. Seems like the only places to drink around here are Irish pubs. Ha, oh the drinking Irish. Sweden ended up losing and to drown Jo's tears, we went to yet another Irish pub and kept drinking. It was a lot of fun and because Kat and I haven't been drinking much at all and because we've been eating fruits and bread a lot, we got tanked. Couldn't even make it very far outside of town to camp that night. In fact, we didn't even make it past the center of town, next to the ocean. We pitched our tent right on the grassy promenade by the sea and promptly fell fast asleep. I only really woke up to voices calling Swedish dog names as they sniffed around our tent. Whoops. But totally safe and totally fine.

Today it's cold and windy again and I've developed a cold. I hoped it was just a killer hangover, but nope. My throat is raw and sore and I'm totally achy all over. Sucks. We've decided to head south in the next week or so in search of warmer weather. I think it's just the shitty weather, not enough clothing, and having to spend so much time outside that has left my immune system in the gutter. But I have faith that warmer weather will be the best cure.

Oh! This morning we finally 'bathed'. I figure I can make it about 3 days before it's essential that I bath in some way. We camped out in the handicapped bathroom at this cultural center and washed our hair and feet in the sink. Amazing how clean hair can make one feel like a new person. We've been changing socks and underwear daily and brushing our teeth, but really, because it's so cold, we both have on pretty much our entire collection of clothing. So changing our clothing is not really an option...mixing up exactly which shirt is next to my skin is the only option I have. I day dream about being girlie again one day...

Off to Sweden

2009-06-05T01:04:00.000-07:00

Kat and I are finally bidding ado to Denmark. We'll be riding to Sweden today and will be without Internet for a couple days until we reach our friend, Johannes. I keep telling myself it will be a character building experience as I pack up the last of my things, because the weather has taken a turn for the worse--it's cloudy with expected rain for the next several days. Luckily, we will be able to reach Jo by the time it's supposed to really pour...considering getting a bottle of whiskey to sterilize our throats each night since we both feel rather dry and sore this morning.

Right. Character building. New mantra.

Sour Lemon Milk & Cookies

2009-06-04T12:58:00.000-07:00

Kathleen here, Rachel has finally worn me down.

Tomorrow we are leaving on our bike trip. That marks the end of week 3 of my stay in Copenhagen, and week four of my trip so far.

Happenings & Findings:

It took 36 hours for me to fly from Austin to Amsterdam. All I have to say about that is check to make sure your layovers aren't 8 hours each. And cuddling your bike box in the airport is not the same as cuddling your sweet boyfriend. Not a happy start.

In Amsterdam I stayed with my sister Arden, who is studying at the Rietveld Academie. My first taste of biking Europe was a short bike trip (about 45 miles) to the sea from Amsterdam with my dear friend Jesse. The bike paths in the Netherlands are amazing. There are signs everywhere, and the paths tend to stay away from the main roads. It was really flat, really green, baby sheep and rabbits everywhere.. I can see why people say it is the best biking in Europe. I don't know that I understand the mini horses everywhere, but I was totally diggin it.
I have to say that I agree with Rachel that it is amazing to have your own bike, however, I would never take my bike with me again. The $300 the airlines charge each way is out of control, and the actual hauling of the bike threw airports is worth a good hundred or so in my book, which all in all would buy you a nice shiny new bike here in Copenhagen. Or whatever city you are traveling to. Though, I would pack a good saddle to stick on whatever bike you get. As Rachel mentioned, you just cant mess with your girlie bits.

My wallet was stolen on my first night here. In part, I have to blame myself. I was in Nørrport Station, which is the 'ghetto' if you can consider anything in Copenhagen as ghetto, at 1am, with my purse open and a giant box filled with bike bits demanding the full attention of both of my hands. I was asking for it. So I had literally no money, no phone, no food, and no way of fixing it until Monday rolled around. Copenhagen with no money was interesting; a walk threw City, a nap in the park, and a little train hopping can be a full day.
I have been staying in Nørrebro for all 3 weeks. It is supposed to be the dangerous part of town because in the last few months there has been a rise in crime in the area. My hosts explained that the rise is due to the cities efforts to clean up the drug sales in Christiania, now the "pushers" are moving into other parts of the city. Its also where all the hip kids hang out, fully decked out in their short skirts and leggings. The biking fashion is fabulous!
The Danish have a very different attitude towards social graces then we Texans. Small talk in nonexistent, and even after being introduced to someone, they don't find it necessary to make conversation. So meeting people has been hard. I have managed to meet a few find folks, however. My internship at Anne Black introduced me to some very talented designers, and taught me that ceramicists can actually make money! Horray! For all the artists out there, I would absolutely recommend finding internships or apprenticeships while traveling. Even if it is only for a week. It is priceless to see the inter-workings of a studio. I also learned so much about the culture... Think; sour lemon milk with cookies, eaten with a spoon. I don't know the danish name, but it translates directly to "milk bowl". More to follow on Danish tradition...

Joy Dance!

2009-06-04T03:16:00.001-07:00

Dude! I feel like a total bad-ass right now!!! Yay! Kat's bike chain broke the other day, just snapped in two, so I went on youtube and tried to figure out how to fix it. Today I did our laundry in the bathroom sink (dish soap is the best to get clothes clean), put on Imelda May and Kitty, Daisy, & Lewis (totally digging the rockabilly sound right now), and got to work.

Since I didn't know what I was doing, it took me much longer--didn't know how far the connecting pin could go before it would fall out which, according to the video, would be impossible to put back in. An hour later it's all fixed! And my hands are totally black from the grease...which only adds to my feeling of total bad-ass right now!

Going to launch into bike talk:

When going on a cycling trip through Europe, the first thing that comes up is whether to bring your own bike or to buy/rent one over here. After going through a big hassle to get mine to Copenhagen, I would still bring my own. I've been scoping out bikes around town and they are mainly cruiser style or internal shifting bikes-both of which I think would be a pain to take on a really long ride and harder to fix. Before I came, Conner and his brother fixed mine up into this sweet hybrid bike that's totally perfect. He also showed me how to take it apart and then made me put it back together myself which was sooo invaluable. After that, and with youtube, I feel totally confident that I could fix most anything on this bike. We also got this multi-tool that is an absolute necessity too.
Biking trails in Denmark are really nice; they go by the sea a lot and into the woods that have jasmine growing alongside of the trails which smells amazing. However, they aren't super well labeled. A couple times Kat and I got off of the trail by accident and had to find our way back, but that didn't add very much time to the whole trip--just don't zone out too much and forget to keep an eye out for the occasional directional signs (they're small and low to the ground, easy to miss).

European Hippies

2009-06-03T03:32:00.000-07:00

Yesterday our other couchsurfing host, Jasper, took us to Christiania, a freetown in the middle of Copenhagen that was formed in 1971 and has survived as a semi-self governing social experiment ever since. It used to be a military bunker that was abandoned back in the day and then when the economic hardships of the late 60's happened, people couldn't afford rent in the city, moved out here, and renovated the old military buildings into colorful homes. About 700 people actually live here, and the rest just eternally hang out. You can buy really amazing smelling grilled hot dogs and hash right next to each other!

I learned all this from Jasper, an excellet tour guide. Apparently it's a big tourist attraction but Kat and I didn't want to go as tourists, we wanted a native in. Jasper's pretty interesting. He's only 20 but has very clear ideas about how he thinks the world should be. He's studying hydro-engineering and plans on moving back to Ghana to have an organic garden and use the skills he's learned in school to help them figure out better ways to irrigate and grow better, and less expensive, food. He told me that last year he moved to Ghana for 5 months to learn to make African drums. He said he was like a Danish African...this is a guy who is quintessentially Danish-blond hair and blue eyes. Oh! And that in the market you can buy water and peanut butter but it all comes in plastic ziplock bags. Haha, wonderful!

Being from Asheville, NC, I've come across so many young Rastafarian kids who come from stable homes that choose to travel around as vagabonds. I'm a little doubtful when I talk to people like that now because it just seems a little disingenuous. However, Jasper seems to be really sincere, hell, he's actually gone to Ghana with a name and a photo that was 10 years old, looking for a guy who would hopefully teach him to make drums. I thought that was great--just going somewhere for 5 months with no concrete plans how to make it work out, but it did.

Other Observations About Denmark

2009-06-02T15:44:00.000-07:00

Today while Kat was at her internship, I went around Copenhagen and just wandered around, getting lost and then getting my bearings again by pulling out my large tourist map. I finally found my way to a record store in search of Danish music. I have a mission to find one album of native music from each country that Kat and I visit this summer. The guy behind the counter gave me a couple cd's to listen to, including Moon Gringo which I quite liked. All the albums he gave me were in English and I was looking for some straight up Danish music. So he gave me Under Byen saying that they are super popular here right now and I couldn't go wrong with them, so that's what I grabbed. I asked if there was such a thing as Danish soul and he guy laughed and said that they only rock in Denmark.

Some other things I have noticed about Denmark:

They are incredibly active people. On our mini-trip we passed an entire store dedicated to Squash. Squash! Honestly, I had to google that because I only had a vague idea of what that game entailed. We regularly see grandmothers riding their bikes to the market for dinner supplies. And I've seen several rather large strictly badminton halls as well.

On the way up to Helsingor, all these amazing cars kept passing us. Vintage cars that had been restored and looked phenomenal. There were a whole variety of cars which I can't identify but that were just really fun to see fly by those of us on bikes. I don't think I've seen this many old cars just out on the road before.

The other day we were going to the Carnivale parade with Thorbjorn and an American lady and her family came up to him and asked if he spoke English and then asked for directions. When she left he laughed and told us, 'She asked me if I spoke English!' Kat and I kind of raised our eyebrows at each other and took mental note, don't ask Danish people if they speak English. Period. Just start talking. Previously people would start talking to us and we would do this ridiculous, 'uhhh, uhhh, English?'-straight up like a deer in the headlights. So now we just launch into it and it seems to be working.

Danish Theatre and Girlfriend Codes

2009-06-01T12:01:00.000-07:00

The first night that Kat and I were united in Copenhagen, we decided to celebrate and so we went to the theater. The only thing that was playing that night was a musical Revu at the new theater house by the ocean. It sounded lovely! We arrived and had a quick dinner outside of the venue, but we didn't keep track of the time and so were late for our show. However, the ushers snuck us in and we got to sit much closer.

Hahaha! I think it was the absolute worst thing we could have chosen to see! It would just be 2-6 people on stage basically doing stand-up comedy with an occasional song. There were very few props and not many other clues to help us figure out what the hell was going on. They had several different sketches going on throughout the whole thing. Although, judging from the laughter around us, I think it was pretty funny. Haha, the worst for non-Danish speaking viewers.

This is our couchsurfing host in Copenhagen, Thorbjorn Kuhl, and his girlfriend, Louise. He's terribly funny and has shown us the ways of Obama ordering a burger (neither of us had ever heard of this newsbit before), Yes We Can song, and Homer Simpson trying to vote for Obama. He's a huge fan of Obama--just to point out the obvious. He looks like a Danish version of Axel Rose in my opinion and gets 'girlfriend cheat codes' from another female friend (like video game cheat codes to win the game...how the win the 'girlfriend game'). Hahaha, he's a bit of a mess.

Mini-Trip

2009-05-30T07:18:00.000-07:00

We went for a mini-trip this weekend up the coast of Denmark from Copenhagen to Helsingor and back the next day, as a test-run to see if we needed any other supplies and see exactly we were about to get ourselves into.

View copenhagen to helsingor in a larger map
This is what we learned:
The bike routes in Denmark are amazing. They have specific bike lanes next to every road, even in the cities, so that there is no worries that a car is going to run you over. It is wise however, to know the biker's code-can be picked up at any kiosk selling dark Danish rye and pate. I've gotten yelled at for not properly signaling when I planned to turn. Oh, and you must have front and back lights. The cute little bike bells are widely used here and they're super handy when you get stuck behind a beautiful Danish couple who are riding along the streets of Copenhagen holding hands. So adorable! Yet impossible to get around unless you ´brrriingg´. We took route 9 all the way up the coast and it was wonderful! It went through the forest for a bit which reminded me a lot of the Appalachian Trail through the Blue Ridge Mountains, and then along the coast.

I always think of northern seas as being dark and murky, whereas southern seas are warm and clear. But the water off of Copenhagen is super clear and blue. Yesterday we stopped on the way back in to town and had an ice cream and sat on the long stone wall by the sea. It was perfectly windy and there were at least 50 sail boats out of the water. Oh! And there was a pirate ship out in the distance. Gorgeous!

On the way up the coast we stopped at a town called Niva to camp. We almost shit a brick. It's mandatory to have a 'camping license' to camp anywhere around Scandanavia, which costs 90 kroner. Then we got the bill. Freaking 235dkk, which roughly translates to $45 for one night of sleeping on a 28 sq foot plot of grass. After we looked really pitiful as we handed over our credit card, we were informed by the really sweet older couple that they were one of the cheaper facilities. However, maybe we should consider Sweden for the remainder of our trip because they don't have very good facilities and you can in fact, simply pitch a tent anywhere and that's completely fine by law. The lady instructed us to be very careful if we did that and to 'take care of your skin'. Hahaha. ? If we insisted upon staying in Denmark then we could most certainly ask for work in any camp site in exchange for a square of grass for the night. Bottom line: Denmark, notoriously expensive. Head to Sweden.

As far as the actual biking. Kat and I bike around Austin all the time. However, on a good day, we average around just an hour a day. Haha, so basically we're a little unprepared the biking that lays ahead of us. We biked for about 6 hours yesterday and today, phew, um, how do you say?...totally dying? Get a girl seat! They are amazing. Poor Kat has seen the beauty of a girl seat and after intense discomfort, despite her padded bike shorts that make her waddle when she walks, has decided to convert. Oh, maybe not exactly glamorous, but don't mess with your girlie bits before embarking on a biking trip. No shaving, no waxing, no pruning of any sort.

Just chant, 'I am woman, hear me roar!
In numbers too big to ignore'
-Helen Reddy-

My girlie bits are fine this morning but the back of my arms just from supporting myself, are super sore, as is my butt and my calves. We've been doing yoga every morning and that helps, but really, I can't remember the last time I felt so physically tired. When I lay down at night, if it's on a bed or on my grass, it's the best feeling ever, just to be horizontal and I sleep so deeply. Ahhh.

So, all in all, I think that this Thursday we're just going to high tail it to Sweden, see Hamlet's castle, and I think we'll be fine. We got this.

Jet Lag

2009-05-29T05:14:00.000-07:00

Kat and I on train into Copenhagen last night. Oh dear, she let me sleep from 10pm last night till 2pm this afternoon. My body is stiff and sore as hell and my head feels slightly like cotton balls.

We`ve Reunited

2009-05-28T15:52:00.000-07:00

Oh my good lord. I finally have arrived in Copenhagen after three days of travel. Three days of the same socks. Three days of arrival gates. Three days of trying to sleep on industrial carpet.
Kat picked me up at the airport, which is undergoing renovation and getting all new wooden floors. I tried to put my bike back together, but surviving on very little sleep I forgot how to put the chain back on. I got everything else just fine but the chain is hanging on by a bungee chord and it`ll just have to wait till tomorrow.

Kat`s couch surfing with these two European stoner dudes (video games, reggae, lots of indoor plants) who are really nice. Kat commented on how she thinks it`s hard to be funny in a different language but that one of them (Toren) is rather successful at it. I have to agree with her on that point because American humor seems to mainly be derived from sarcasm and play on words. In order to be USA style funny you must have a good grasp of if you want to know the difference between an X and a Y chromosome you must pull their genes down (hahaha...their jeans!).

I finally got the lowdown on how Kat's been doing since she got to Copenhagen and it seems like we were both in the same shitty boat of luck. Got pick-pocketed on her way from the airport to downtown. They figured out a way to change her pin code and bought a shit load of stuff. Costs so much to call her CC customer service line in order to get it all worked out. No money in a seriously expensive town sucks. Sucks.

When traveling alone and shitty things happen is an awful feeling. That's when the panic sets in. But when traveling with a friend, it all seems way easier to handle. Strength in numbers and all. So both of us are terribly glad that we finally met up. Kat has the day off of her internship with Anne Black tomorrow and then Monday is a holiday, so we're going to take off on a long weekend-dry-run of our trip to the west coast of Denmark. Hopefully after some sleep I'll remember about my chain.

Things Are Now Calm In The State Of Denmark

2009-05-28T04:23:00.000-07:00

It's amazing how little of life I can cope with on no sleep. After finally getting some rest on the plane to London and speaking with my momma who helped situate me with a new ticket to Copenhagen instead of trying to navigate seeing my sister in Spain, I feel much better and am ready to get this show on the road. Kat will meet me at the airport, we'll put my bike back together, and then we're going to bike around Copenhagen at night.

While I was standing in line in Atlanta trying to catch another plane to London, a family from Alabama were talking behind me. The mom was livid about missing their connections to Africa and she said something mean about the Delta staff but then countered with, "Oh I'm sorry, I'm just bein nasty". It was oddly comforting at the time because it's totally something my step-mother would do. And now, I preface this by saying, "sorry, I'm bein nasty"...

Oh, the British. On the way back from London the last time I was sitting next to this older man who was going to the US with his family for the first time. I was reading a book about student resistance during the Vietnam war and was highlighting and writing in the margins a lot. Towards the end of the flight he leaned over and said, "We were taught to never draw in our books." Hahaha, god he was sooo British! But damn, they do have a fabulous awkward humor (Extras, Shaun of the Dead, etc).

I Hate Delta

2009-05-27T06:10:00.000-07:00

Oh my good lord! My flight into Atlanta was needlessly delayed because of weather. So I missed my connecting flight to London and thus missed my flight to Spain to see my sister. On the up side, I wasn't the only one shit out of luck and at least I wasn't trying to go on safari in Africa like my neighbors in line. They put me on another flight leaving at 5 this evening and thus, I spent the night in the airport. There is nothing more shittier than trying to sleep on the floor in an airport. However, I did make friends with the night cleaning crew--so there's always that. Total mess. Hopefully this is just getting both Kat and my bad luck out of the way so we can have an awesome trip. Oh! Yeah, Kat's wallet got stolen in Copenhagen. Oh traveling...

I'm Off!

2009-05-19T08:10:00.000-07:00

I'm finally all packed. This is what I am taking for 2 1/2 months of good backpacker's style travel. I'll leave on Tuesday morning to fly to London and then on down to see my sister for a week in a little town above Barcelona, Spain. I'll be couch surfing for one night before I finally get to my sister and I've been informed the evening I arrive, we will be going to see the big soccer game between Barcelona and Manchester United. Haha, I kind of look forward to that.

Yesterday morning I called around to several bike stores around town to see how much it would cost to box my bike up for the airplane and if they could do it. Granted, it was Memorial Day but most of the places I called charged $40 and required scheduling a boxing a week prior to the pick-up day. I was like, "wha, wha, wha? It's a bike in a box!" Not to be confused with a dick in a box, which are two very different items requiring varying box sizes. Eventually Conner and I decided to box the bike up ourselves. University Cycles were awesome and just gave us a big box for free. Conner showed me how to take my bike all apart and then made me put it back together. Excellent idea.

I'll arrive in London tomorrow morning and then head on down to meet my sister in Spain for a week before meeting Kat in Copenhagen. While I'm in Spain I will put my bike in storage at the airport. Molly lives at the bottom of an extinct volcano in Olot (in between Barcelona and France and near the Pyrenees) and although Kat and I will be biking all over Europe this summer, I flaked out on some mountain cycling.

Biking: Not Always A Cheap Ride

2009-05-18T14:33:00.000-07:00

The original reason we decided to bike around Europe was to save money. We figured the main costs would be plane tickets, food, and entertainment which would all be minimal. We planned to camp and couch surf along the way to reduce housing costs. Both of us have tried out couch surfing in the States, having had several people stay on our couches for a couple nights at a time, and while you are technically letting total strangers stay in your house, there is a lot of opportunity to check them out before they arrive in order for you to get a "good feeling" about them or not. Essentially, we were trying to Frugal Traveler it up.

However, let me just say now, loud and clear, the upfront cost is sooo not that cheap. There is all the travel gear to purchase:

Tent, compactable sleeping bag, sleeping pad, bike, saddlebags, headlight

backlight, travel towel, bike shorts (big old diaper), etc, etc

Luckily Kat's brother-in-law and my friend , Jen, have let us borrow most of the camping/biking gear, so we didn't have to dole out a ton.

Then there's the problem of transporting the bike overseas. From all the bike blogs that we read, it seemed that between shipping it and taking it with you on the plane, the plane option was the best. Apparently lots of people have had issues with the bikes taking three months to get to their destination, or showing up all battered, and also being rather expensive to ship. So, to the plane it is. We found that it was $80 per leg of your journey to stow a bike below (haha! rhyming!). Although when Kat went to the airport Delta had instated a flat bike fee of $300. Seriously. Kill me now.

Plus, since we've become overly ambitious in our travels, there is still the additional stowing fee per each flight we're going on...hahaha, our frugal planning frame of mind got whacked out somewhere along the way.

So, in conclusion, I'm still totally stoked about our trip, and I welcome the physical exhaustion we will inevitably experience in the coming months. However, I wouldn't recommend choosing to bike around solely based on trying to save money.

Oh! The bikes we're taking...

This is mine. Conner and his brother built it for me! We got a mountain bike frame from the pawn shop and then turned it into a hybrid (thinner tires, lowered handlebars). I don't know if it shows up that well, but I have a girl seat. It's amazing! There's a hole in the center of the bike seat so all the pressure is on your bones and is sooo much more comfortable for riding.

This is the type of bike, a Cross Check, that Kat has. Apparently they are the best touring bikes out there.

Origins Of Travel

2009-05-18T09:29:00.000-07:00

Kat and I are embarking on our grand European summer vacation! We will be cycling around Europe for the next 2.5 months, camping along the way, and generally trying not to re-enact any National Lampoon saga. Originally we planned to meet up in Trieste, Italy (dying place of my literary hero, James Joyce) and biking along the Mediterranean all the way to Greece. I envisioned stopping several times a day to cool off in the blue sea, lounging in olive groves, and discovering what Albanian 'indie' music sounded like. It sounded amazing! They don't even carry any travel books on Montenegro, Albania, or Bosnia at the local bookstore. Kat and I were going to go and discover what the region was like after the Kosovo War.

However, after a bit more research Kat found that while there is no real issue with hard crime, theft is a large problem in the area. And the hills, oh the hills.

While Kat and I are relatively in shape, we're not in shape for 2.5 months of mountain peddling. We're also not super skilled in the art of Taiwanese ass-kicking should that need arise. It was decided that we should scrap our previous travel plans and start over, preferably in a flatter area.

This is the route we finally decided upon.

I will fly to northern Spain for a week to visit my sister who has been studying there for the last year--then up to Copenhagen to meet Kat who will be finishing an internship with Anne Black--we'll bike Denmark, southern Sweden, down through Amsterdam, and end up in Frankfurt, Germany--mail our bikes home and catch a flight to Croatia--then Kat will fly up to Berlin and I'll go to Athens to meet up with my boyfriend, Conner, and we'll go island hopping in the Cyclades.

View Bicycle Trip 2009 in a larger map
While researching our cycling trip we found that there just aren't that many girl bike blogs. There are plenty bike dude and dude with girlfriend bike blogs, but very, very few chick bike blogs. To remedy this situation we'll keep this blog updated as regularly as possible and hopefully do some podcasts along the way. Once I get that up and running I will post the link.

Yay! I can't wait!

Kat

2009-05-14T09:58:00.000-07:00

This is Kat. She's originally from Austin and is a total bad-ass ceramicist--see Finery for evidence. She just got into Alfred University to study ceramic engineering of which I'm totally proud of her for. She's really goofy--hahaha, the first time we hung out we went to a strip club...another story, another time...but hey, how can you not be friends after a first like that? She also loves to read a great deal; last time I heard, she was on a Michael Chabon kick.
photo by Christina Schaffell

Rachel

2009-05-14T09:20:00.000-07:00

This is me. I'm originally from North Carolina and moved to Austin about 3 years ago. I sew clothing and occasionally style photo shoots.