Category: Europe

I’m Back From Europe: A Brief Recap

Post author By Just Visiting
Post date May 13, 2013
2,346 Comments on I’m Back From Europe: A Brief Recap

It’s been a week since I’ve landed back on US soil. And it’s taken me this long to sit down and start writing about it. Mostly because I don’t know where to start. It’s daunting to summarize what I saw, what I did, and what I’ve learned during those 97 days abroad. So let me begin by breaking it down by numbers (disclaimer: numbers are totally not my strong point).

97 days
14 airports
14,027 miles flown
42 hours on airplanes
26 hours on trains
10 trains
2 buses
1 ferry
2 Airbnb’s (3 if you count the one that I stayed at twice)
2 friend’s houses
8 hotels
8,500+ photos

Places visited:
Reykjavik, Iceland
London, England
Amsterdam, Netherlands
Bristol, England
Dublin, Ireland
Dublin, Ireland again
Belfast, Ireland
Northern Ireland Coast (Carrick-a-Rede Bridge, Giant’s Causeway)
Newbury, England
Paris, France
Barcelona, Spain
Interlaken, Switzerland
Jungfrau, Bernese Oberland, Switzerland
Venice, Italy
Rome, Italy
Pompeii, Italy
Amalfi Coast, Italy : Positano, Amalfi
Athens, Greece
Crete, Greece

And yet, here I sit in my New York apartment once again, feeling almost as though I never left. But I know I’ve come back wiser, re-energized, and obviously a wee bit older with a slightly more damaged liver and a new view on living abroad. And on the United States.

To sum it up, that was the quickest 97 days of my life. I didn’t sleep much but I saw more than I ever imagined I could pull off in three months while still working a full-time job and not going into debt. I saw natural phenomenons, snow-covered mountains, and ancient cities that are nearly twelve times older than the United States. I tasted some of the most amazing food I never knew existed, met some incredibly hospitable people while spending time with friends both old and new, and drank enough Guinness to safely assume my body could snap into relapse any day now. I walked across a rope bridge in gale force winds, showed my mom her first international experience, and participated in the chaos that is St Patrick’s Day in Dublin. Of the 14 total weekends I was gone, I spent just four in London and ten traveling around Europe. I quickly adapted to waking up at 3am nearly every Monday morning to catch a flight back to London and straight in to work a full shift. It was a whirlwind of three months, but the best experience of my life.

I’ve learned a lot on this trip. I’ve learned that exploring without a cell phone is not nearly as difficult as it sounds. Turning off the GPS and disconnecting from Twitter and Facebook let me get lost in the city and the moment and enjoy wherever I was with no interruptions.

I’ve also learned that Europe is ridiculously expensive and living there while still getting paid in US dollars is NOT recommended. I spent a shit ton of money, but every penny was absolutely worth it.

I’ve also rekindled my love for New York City, and I’ve got a newfound respect for the United States.

So stay tuned for tons of stories, tips, babblings, and pictures. But in the mean time, here are just a few highlights.

Sunset in Crete — Yes, I took pictures and GoPro’ed the sunset in Crete. Two nights in a row.

This would be so much cooler with about 50 less tourists in the photo.

Feta and honey saganaki and pan-fried cheese in Athens. OH. MY. GOD. AMAZING.

Showing off my awesome sunburn in the hot tub. Oh, and that's just the Parthenon in the background, no big deal. — Showing off my awesome sunburn in the hot tub. Oh, and that’s just the Parthenon in the background, no big deal.

The mind-blowing beauty of the Northern Lights in Iceland.

These were the people who inspired my own jumping spree all over Europe.

I drank so. Much. Guinness. And learned how to pour the perfect pint at the Guinness Academy.

Westminster Abbey on a cold, rainy evening. So like, every evening in London.

What good is a vacation without a few days in a Greek paradise?

Tags Athens, Crete, Dublin, Europe, Greece, Guinness, Iceland, Ireland, Italy, Jungfrau, Living Abroad, London, Northern Lights, Rome

Europe People

An Ode to Chi Cheng, and Seeing the Deftones in London

Post author By Just Visiting
Post date April 15, 2013
4,625 Comments on An Ode to Chi Cheng, and Seeing the Deftones in London

This past weekend the rock world lost an incredible musician, bass player Chi Cheng from the Deftones. When I woke up on Sunday and reached for my phone to scroll through my Facebook feed, that’s when I saw “Chino Moreno: Rest in Peace Chi Cheng,” and my heart broke a little. So, in Chi’s honor, I thought it only appropriate to finish a post that I’ve been putting off for nearly two months. Originally this post was more about the comfort that comes when you experience the familiar in an unfamiliar country. But in light of Chi’s passing, I’m gonna switch it up a bit with some reminiscing.

The Deftones Live At UCI Bren Events Center — Chi, photo courtesy of Gary Livingston, Getty Images

Deftones formed in 1988 when I was just three years old. In 1997 Around the Fur came out and moved its way right to the top of my all-time favorite albums list. And there it has remained, for more than half of my life. But Chi hasn’t played with the band in years, since a car accident in 2008 left him in a coma. Since then he’s been making progress slowly, going into a semi-conscious state where he was able to acknowledge commands and speak a few words. But for whatever reason his body decided the fight had lasted long enough and surrendered.

After the accident the band continued to tour and make albums with Sergio Vega on bass, and fans have continued to support Chi through OneLoveForChi.com. And over those years [and before] I’ve seen the Deftones more times than I can even remember. Unfortunately any photos I have from the days of Chi are stashed under my bed back in New York alongside other disposable-camera snaps. But I’ll never forget the way his snake-like dreads whirled around stage as I crowdsurfed my way towards them. Or the way his screams on Headup bellowed and his bass thumped while I was being enthusiastically battered in the pit.

Let’s take a quick detour down memory lane to my best Deftones experience yet. In November 2000 they were playing a show at Cobo Arena in Detroit. I was 15, without a driver’s license and still about three months shy of getting my first job. But I was determined to go, so I rollerbladed to the store with $90 in pennies from my “college fund” in my backpack to buy tickets the second they went on sale. I got a ticket for me and my brother who agreed to drive if I bought him one. A few days later I was also Caller X on a radio contest and won two more tickets, plus I was entered to win backstage passes (which I didn’t win). As if that weren’t enough tickets, a friend of mine randomly got four more free and gave them to me since she knew I was a fan. All in all, on the day of the show I had 8 tickets total for myself, my then-boyfriend, my brother, and five of his friends.

At the end of the show, the guy who’d been sitting behind me tapped me on the shoulder and asked if I wanted to meet the band for $20. I thought it seemed kind of like a rape-and-murder scenario, but after I saw the name on the envelope was the same name as the radio caller who’d won the backstage tickets, I knew I had to come up with $20 stat. So as the show was letting out I ran faster than I’ve ever ran in my entire life to the other side of the massive arena in search of my brother and his friends, figuring I could get $20 off one of them since I got them all in for free. By the time I made it back the guy was gone. I frantically searched the entire section before spotting him in the walkway, mid-transaction with someone else. I may or may not have thrown a tantrum while shoving the $20 in his face and grabbing the envelope, but regardless, starstruck, naive, 15-year-old me went backstage.

Let me just state the obvious here. Chino has always made me feel like a little schoolgirl with a major boy band crush. I mean googley-eyed, butterflies in the tummy, mumbling my words and probably drooling all over myself whenever he’s in sight. So Abe, Frank, and Stef entered the room and made their way down our single file line as I shook their hands and got autographs. But I was too shy to speak. Then in walked Chino and Chi and suddenly I was too giddy to speak. So I hugged them both, making it a point to touch Chi’s dreads. And Chino’s ass.

Lead singer Chino Moreno at the London show

Anyway, back to seeing them in London. Just two weeks after arriving they were playing at the O2 Brixton Academy, and even at $150 a ticket, I went. It felt damn good to see tshirts, beards, dreads, tattoos, and gauged ears. No sweater vests, ties, dress pants, or blazers. A complete 180 from the suit-style I’ve grown to associate with London. And I wasn’t the only one who wasn’t a fan of London style. Chino joked, “Today I went to Top Man. Which I thought was an ironic name because there’s not a single top in that place that a real man would wear.” But at one point the joking subsided for a shout out to Chi, with one of the loudest cheers I’ve ever heard in my life.

I don’t know if it’s just because I was feeling high from the anticipation, but everyone at the show seemed way more polite than any concert-goers in the US. Instead of herding and shouting, security was using words like “please” and “thank you.” And when people walked by on the floor they always said “sorry.” If you were ambitious enough to make it to the front row, they were up there giving free squeezes of water. I’ve only seen that at outdoor festivals like Ozzfest, not indoor shows in the middle of winter. With a few “excuse me’s” I managed to push my way up to the front rather easily and went trigger happy with my shitty iPhone camera. Should’ve snuck in the GoPro.

Yep, I'm that girl. Figured this is as close as I could get to having a picture of "me and Chino." — Yep, I’m a creep. Figured this is as close as I could get to having a picture of “me and Chino.”

Me at Deftones — For real, this is a terribly illegible photo my iPhone 4 took at one point

I swear this video is crystal clear on my iPhone!

After the set I got a guitar pick from Stef and brought myself back down from cloud nine to make my way home.

But even with this entire amazing experience, it still wasn’t the same without Chi. Sergio is a great fill-in and I’m glad the guys have continued to push forward with the band. But for some reason my eyes just aren’t drawn to that side of the stage the way they used to be. I think we were all waiting for the day that Chi would bounce back and be able to play a show again. Waiting to see that tearful moment where, even if he’s unable to rock out on stage, we’d see a home video where he picks up an acoustic and plays with the guys at home. Just knowing that day will never happen now feels so final. And sad.

So long, Chi. You will forever be missed and I think I speak for all of us Deftones fans across the world when I say that we are forever grateful for your many years of talent, music, and entertainment. And to the Deftones, take care guys. We know this will only fuel the passion and emotion behind your next album, and all of those to come.

Tags Around the Fur, Chi Cheng, Chino Moreno, Deftones, music, O2 Academy Brixton, rock

Europe Spain

48 Hours In My New Favorite City

Post author By Just Visiting
Post date April 9, 2013
3,951 Comments on 48 Hours In My New Favorite City

I fell in love this past weekend. Less than 24 hours into our first encounter and I was already scouring the internet for a new job and apartment. There was something about Barcelona that made me want to give up everything I’ve worked so hard for in New York and start over, right then and there.

Despite the fact that it’s something like the 16th most visited city in the world, I still don’t think Barcelona gets enough love. That’s probably because usually when I hear of people jetting off to Europe they’re talking about Paris, London, or some place in Germany. Or maybe it’s just me who’s been left in the dark about such an incredible city for so long.

But after spending the past nine weeks traveling around Europe—London, Newbury, Iceland, Amsterdam, Dublin (2x), Paris—I was getting a bit worn down by the grey skies, wind, and the freezing cold temperatures. And to be honest I was craving a change from city life. In came Barcelona, like a tall, dark, handsome Spanish knight in shining armor. Or something; I never was big on fairytales.

Right when I stepped off the bus in Plaça de Catalunya I could smell the sea. Honestly it was probably coming from one of the many restaurants along the street, but I imagined that the humid air was carrying the scent of saltwater along with that slight chill. It was 1130PM but the streets were alive with people, lights, and color, and children were still out playing football under the streetlights. And despite my fears of pickpockets gone wild, I never felt unsafe nor did I notice any suspicious behavior.

To me, it’s the perfect mix of city, mountains, and beaches. Kind of like all the things I love about Northern and Southern California combined to make a big awesome city with incredibly unique architecture, more Spanish people, and more history. Plus, even though it was a city and I hate driving, it felt like the kind of place where I could comfortably own a car (although I’m sure it’s unaffordable and hard to find parking). And I’m getting older, I should be thinking about settling down and owning something other than a laptop and a camera soon, right?

With more posts to come, I just couldn’t wait to declare my newfound love. So in a nutshell, here are some things I love about Barcelona, in no particular order:

– Let’s start with the obvious, the architecture. I didn’t think I was going to take much of a liking to Gaudi’s work, but to see it in person was truly breathtaking. Plus looking up at the green mountains to see cathedrals towering over the city, especially at night when they’re lit up to appear as though they’re floating in the air is magical.

CASA BATLLÓ — The magical Casa de Batlló

Inside Barcelona Cathedral — Inside of the Barcelona Cathedral

La Sagrada Familia — Come on, with a view like this at the end of the street, how can you not love such a quirky city?

– Barcelona spans across roughly 39 square miles, with just over 1.62 million people living there. But despite it being a major city, I always felt like there was enough space to live comfortably (except on La Rambla, but that’s the same with any tourist hot spot). Most of the intersections are large, there’s plenty of room to walk down the sidewalk, and when you need to get away from the streets the beaches are literally right there. Granted it was only about 60 degrees so I’m sure it’s a much different scene when the temperature rises.

– The sangria. Middle of the day, with dinner, or in the evening, glass after glass after glass just keeps coming. It’s like fruit juice, but for adults.

– Mercat de La Boqueria. Seriously. I’m not really in markets all that much (probably because I’m always broke). I usually enjoy them them, but I don’t go out of my way to visit one. But this one is just different, and possibly the best variety in a market that I’ve ever stepped foot in. It’s just ashame that I got there right as they were closing up.

Candies disguised as fruit? Brilliant! — Candies disguised as fruits and vegetables? A brilliant way to “eat healthy!”

Lamb heads — How does one prepare a lamb’s head? Also I kind of want to lick the eyeball.

– There are tons of insanely attractive people. Again, I can’t back up this statement 100% due to the amount of sangria I consumed, but I’m sure it’s a safe assumption.

I'll forgive you for playing Coldplay if you promise not to get creeped out by my staring and drooling. Swoon. — I’ll forgive you for playing Coldplay if you promise not to get creeped out by my staring and drooling. Swoon.

– The beaches. It was still not quite beach weather so they were fairly empty and super clean, in fact much nicer than I’d expected, but literally right on the edge of town. I spent both Saturday and Sunday evenings relaxing there after a long day of walking.

Sangria to go — Jeans, jacket, but no shoes!

Barcelona — I call this my sangria creeper glare

– The views. When you’re not gawking at one of Gaudi’s masterpieces or the turquoise Mediterranean, there’s a whole new way to look at things from a quick trip up one of the hills.

– The smiling lobster. Because come on, how many cities have a giant smiling lobster on display?

Have you ever been to Barcelona? What do you love about it? I can hardly wait to plan another (longer) trip back!

Tags Barcelona, Catalonia, Catalunya, cathedral, Gaudi, La Rambla, La Sagrada Familia, Mercat de La Boqueria, Museu Nacional d'Art de Catalunya, sangria, Spain

Europe

Is Theft on the Rise in Paris?

Post author By Just Visiting
Post date April 3, 2013
3,992 Comments on Is Theft on the Rise in Paris?

On New Year’s Eve there was news of thieves getting away with $1.3M worth of gear at the Apple store.

Two weeks ago my work partner who is doing the life swap with me had his backpack stolen while sitting in the McDonald’s across from Gare du Nord.

Hell, thieves are even breaking into museums and trying to saw off elephant tusks for a quick buck.

Is it just me or is theft on the rise in Paris? Or maybe before I was just more naive than I thought, and traveling with my super-cautious mother has me just now noticing it? To be fair, I’ve only been to Paris twice—my first time in September 2011 and my second this past weekend. But I definitely felt more on edge this time around and noticed much more suspicious behavior around me.

When we arrived at Gare Du Nord it seemed as though our entire sold-out train had beat us in line at the ticket machine for the metro. So I set my mom off to the side with her two carry-on bags while I went in search of more machines, backpack and shoulder bag in tow. Once I got to a slightly shorter line at the opposite end of the station, a man approached me asking if I wanted to buy a train ticket from him. Immediately afterwards an older woman cut in front of me frantically claiming she was late for a train in French. It seemed a bit strange, but I didn’t make much of it since neither one came within two feet of me and I had all of my valuables securely tucked away.

When I got the tickets I went back to my mom who was white-knuckling both bags and refusing to take her eyes off a group of young boys. I looked over as she whispered to me what she witnessed in those 15 minutes.

There were a group of three nice enough looking guys wandering amongst the crowd. I only saw the one (dark hair, medium complexion, leather jacket) as he scoped out his next victim. Minutes before he had approached my mom asking if she needed help. She told him no, and he moved along towards the ticket machines. A group of English speaking tourists accepted his offer of help, and he grabbed the credit card they were using with the same hand that was also holding a small machine (possibly stealing credit card information?) before helping them complete their purchases. After they got their tickets they thanked him and were on their way. But then he motioned to one of his friends to follow the group who were heading towards the M4. And he did.

It really disturbed me that my mom had only been in Paris for twenty minutes and already she’d witnessed this. Especially since this was her first time ever leaving the United States and she was already a bit of a nervous wreck.

So I did some reading up on theft in Paris, and though I shouldn’t have been, I was surprised to read how huge of a problem it is and has been. As it turns out, Paris has been rated one of the top ten pickpocketing cities in the world on TripAdvisor.

What’s sad is that nearly half of the pickpockets arrested in Paris are minors. And they’re not at all thug-looking lowlifes. Some of them are fashionable groups of pretty girls, or even young girls carrying babies. Apparently they roam the RER and metros near tourist spots looking for vulnerable passengers to catch off guard. There’s even some more aggressive groups who will surround you by shoving their clipboards at you, asking you to sign their petition while they rifle through your bag, or simply grab it and run.

It doesn’t even sound like a matter of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. They scope you out and follow you, waiting for the right time to strike.

Another thing that isn’t quite as scary but still equally WTF-worthy; in London my mom saw something on TV about a gold ring scam. She told me over dinner one night that a person will bend down in front of you and appear to pick up a gold ring, asking if it’s yours. She wasn’t sure exactly what they did next, and I didn’t bother to look into it as I generally don’t speak to shady people in the streets anyway. Then one day in Paris we were walking along the Seine River near the Pont Royal when a woman bent down in front of us to pick up a ring. Immediately my face lit up and I looked at my mom like, “holy shit what happens next? Does she jump us? Pickpocket us?” so we hurriedly blew her off with a “Psh, nice try” and continued walking. But after telling Marcus (who’d just had his bag stolen in Paris the weekend prior) I found out what happens because he’d fallen for the gold ring trick that weekend as well. If you take the ring they’ll hand it over and walk away. Moments later they’ll come back trying to get a few Euros off of you. Obviously they feel you owe it to them since they just gave you a gold ring. I don’t know who in the hell would fall for that, but at least it’s kind of your own fault if you give them money.

I snapped this window reflection shot shortly after being approached by a "gold ring scammer." Funnily enough she ended up in the shot. She's the one hunched over towards the middle of the reflection. — I snapped this window reflection pic shortly after being approached by a gold ring scammer. Funnily enough she ended up in the shot. She’s the one hunched over towards the middle of the reflection.

I guess I’m writing about this because it’s disturbing to think that I’ve more than likely been a target, and probably more than once. I can’t help but think about how many close encounters I was unaware of, especially as a frequent solo female traveler. Sure I’ve always heard about pickpockets and people setting their stuff down only to turn around and see it gone, but it’s creepy to know these people have such intricate plans for getting your stuff. I’d like to think of myself as a fairly aware traveler, especially after growing up with a mother so observant as mine, but I never realized how oblivious I was to these things going on around me. I just hope that in letting others know about the extensive lengths these thieves go to, I might help prevent at least one person from carelessly leaving their bag unzipped as they get help buying a train ticket.

But my real question is why do authorities seem to do nothing about it? It’d be such a shame to see such a beautiful city turn into a worrisome place for travel. Don’t get me wrong, other than constantly looking out I didn’t feel unsafe in Paris (even with the sudden swarm of 11 police vans at Jardins Du Trocadéro or the evacuation of the Eiffel Tower on Saturday due to a bomb threat). I just felt much more alert, and as a result I noticed much more of the unromantic side of Paris. The first time I was too busy gawking at the architecture so I remained blissfully unaware of any dangers. I just went about my business while carrying on with my normal common sense and I was fine.

What do you think? Have you had any experiences like this in Paris, or do you feel safe there? Are there any cities you’ve been to that seem worse?

Tags crime, France, Gare du Nord, Paris, pickpocket, scam, scheme, steal, thievery, thieves

Europe Uncategorized

Celebrating St Patrick’s Day in Dublin

Post author By Just Visiting
Post date March 19, 2013
3,795 Comments on Celebrating St Patrick’s Day in Dublin

I spent most of yesterday not only rehydrating and grazing on comfort food to ease the lingering hangover of my second weekend in a row in Dublin, but also trying to find the words to describe what Saint Patrick’s Day in Dublin was like. Then I realized, being in Dublin for St Patrick’s Day is a lot like spring break. But less of the sunny skies and sandy beaches, and more like drizzly grey skies and walkways littered with shattered glass, empty beer cans, and the occasional pile of vomit. But despite the nearly-freezing temperature, there were still plenty of scantily clad girls running around!

So, ladies and gentlemen, contrary to popular belief by many US people, St Patrick’s Day in Dublin IS a big deal. And it’s not just one day of gluttonous fun, the festivities run for five days total.

The General Post Office going green for the big day

That being said, I must add that the city is jam-packed with drunks from every country except Ireland. Like Times Square on a Saturday packed. I read there were 225,000 people estimated to be passing through Dublin airport this weekend, and that doesn’t even include those coming over by ferry such as myself and about a thousand passengers on board with me. A fairly sizable amount for a city whose population ranks in at just above one million.

A majority of these tourists seem to be college students. They’re loud, happy, and at times borderline obnoxious as they sing at the top of their lungs while skipping down the street with their arms linked. Some of them just look like drunken babies stumbling a zig-zagged line while shouting at the ground and holding onto their friend’s arm as if they’re walking a flaming tightrope. Hard to believe it’s only 2PM, the day BEFORE St Patrick’s Day.

Everybody is clad in green and orange, with Irish flags tied around their necks like capes, shamrocks painted on their faces, and the girls who actually wore an appropriate amount of clothing donned shamrock tights, neon green tutus and wigs. The amount of Guinness flowing from the taps was unreal, and I’d say about 85% of the the people in any given bar had a Guinness in hand. Considering the average pour-time for a pint, I’m surprised the bartenders were able to keep up with demands.

Once 8, 9 o’clock rolls around there’s live music flowing from almost every pub, playing a mixture of top 40 hits and traditional Irish music. Every single bar in Temple Bar is massively crowded like you’re working your way up to first row at a concert, to the point where the crowds are spilling out into the streets or bouncers are turning people away because they’re at capacity. One of the first pubs to lure us in with their live music and deceivingly empty appearance was Fitzsimons. As soon as we walked in I’m pretty sure we floated our way over to the bar, because I don’t think my feet touched the ground once. We had to seek space on the fourth floor stairwell just long enough to slam our beers and check in on Foursquare using their free wifi. After that we diverted our drinking route just outside of Temple Bar. It’s amazing how much the atmosphere can change just a block away.

I wish I could tell you the name of the place(s) I visited the rest of that night because they were absolutely perfect. Maybe I’ll do some digging and see if I can follow through on a later post. Once we got off the main strip of bars, even just a block over directly on the River Liffey, the crowd was much more tolerable (but still drunk and fun), the live music was actually good and entertaining, and the Guinness was even more delicious since it was so easy to get to the bar and get one.

Live Music in Dublin for St Patrick’s Day Weekend from Just Visiting on Vimeo.

On actual Saint Patrick’s Day we ventured out even further to explore some less-touristy spots and found ourselves inside Club Conradh na Gaeilge, the only pub in Dublin that still speaks Gaelic (or as the Irish call it, Irish). We found it by walking down some pub-less area before seeing two green and orange semi-slutty chicks emerge from a random black door in the basement of some building. So we gave it a shot. But more on this gem of a place later.

When in Dublin, do wander into random basements. Good things will happen, I promise.

Aside from all the drunken debauchery there was of course the St Patrick’s Day Parade. I’m not a fan of parades. At all. Between the crowds, the waiting, the endless acne-faced marching bands that sound identical to every other marching band, to the random floats and costumes that I’m clearly not artistic enough to make a damn bit of sense out of, I find them dull and unexciting. But how often would I be in Dublin for St Patrick’s Day, staying just one block from the start of the parade route, and unable to sleep due to a massive hangover? So I checked it out.

St Patrick’s Day Parade in Dublin from Just Visiting on Vimeo.

This year they started a “The People’s Parade,” inviting 8,000 tourists from around the world to march through an hour before the actual parade itself. I didn’t catch that part because it was rainy, and while all the websites said to be in place along the route no later than 1130, I strolled up at 1155 and still got a good spot.

People were climbing ladders to get a good view

Apparently this guy was famous, but I have no idea who he was. Any idea?

The parade was a parade. Sure there were a few costumes and floats I could appreciate just for the sheer amount of hard work that had to have gone into making them, but aside from that I wasn’t that impressed. It seemed like there were more Americans marching than anything. The FDNY, Purdue, and about a dozen other US school’s marching bands.

So, you’ve got a year to plan. Should you do St Patrick’s Day in Dublin?

Yes.

But two things that will help your trip immensely,

1 Plan ahead. Prices continue to skyrocket big time the closer it gets to March 17, and literally every hotel room in the city will be booked up well in advance. We started looking into this about three months before and hotels and flights were still available at a reasonable price. Since it ended up being a last minute trip, flights were close to $600 roundtrip from London (the weekend prior I paid $200 to get there), and every single hotel room in the city was full unless you wanted to spend $900 a night. I ended up paying $200 to crash on a couch at the airbnb guy’s house that I stayed at the weekend prior.

2 Make sure you know what to expect, and tailor your plans accordingly. Ready to get wild and party your face off like you’re 18 again? Great, you’ll love Temple Bar. Want to head to a local pub and actually find a seat to enjoy live music and conversation? You’ll find that too. It’s surprisingly easy to escape “the madness” (as we’ve named it) and find a comfortably busy pub. So if crazy spring-break style partying isn’t your thing, don’t fret, just stay the hell away from Temple Bar after a quick drink (come on, it’s like a car accident). Do I wish maybe I would’ve done it 8 years ago when I was young and wild? Maybe. Would I do it again? If someone asked me to go along, hell yes. Bottom line is I love Ireland and I love Irish culture. I’ll take any excuse to visit Ireland again, but I might sit out the next parade.

Tags Dublin, Ireland, Irish, March 17, parade, pub, St Paddy's Day, St Patrick's Day, St Patty's Day

Europe History

My Emotional Visit to The Anne Frank House in Amsterdam

Post author By Just Visiting
Post date March 14, 2013
3,983 Comments on My Emotional Visit to The Anne Frank House in Amsterdam

Seeing the Anne Frank House was one of those things that I had no idea how painfully bad I ~~wanted~~ needed to see it until I realized it was right down the street. The night I arrived in Amsterdam my friend met me at Centraal Station and we walked about 10-15 minutes towards Jordaan to his apartment. That’s when we crossed the bridge on Haarlemmerdijk and he pointed down the canal towards the towering Westerkerk Church, before saying “the Anne Frank House is down that way” rather nonchalantly. My brain just kind of stopped, trying to process the information like “wait, what? That’s here?” I never associated Amsterdam with Anne Frank (probably because I always had trouble staying awake in history class), but it suddenly became the ONLY thing I needed to see in Amsterdam.

Westerkerk Church and the block of the Anne Frank House

So my first afternoon there, that’s exactly what I did. I followed the signs up Prinsengracht until reaching a massive hoard of people standing in front of what I assumed was the Anne Frank House. It was about 1230 in the afternoon and the line was wrapped well around the building. Any other tourist attraction and I would have turned away, but not this. Some of the locals suggested ordering my tickets in advance, or at the very least going early to avoid the line, but I failed to take either of those tidbits of advice.

Queue at the Anne Frank House — The line up ahead and around to the front of the building. All in all it was about an hour and a half wait.

On the plus side they have free WiFi in line to ease the wait time, which I promptly used to brush up on my history. It only took a few minutes of reading Anne’s story before I developed a huge lump in my throat that didn’t disappear until I walked out of the museum three hours later.

The guys at the front door looked at my massive DSLR strapped across my chest and gave a nod towards the “no cameras” sign. Damnit. So you’ll have to bear with me, I tried to be sneaky and snap a few cell phone pics but my outdated iPhone 4 doesn’t necessarily shine in low-light situations.

The layout lead us from one room to the next, starting in the (now empty) warehouse of Otto Frank’s company Opekta before climbing the steep stairway up to the Secret Annex.

When I reached the top of the stairwell there was a small landing area with the original moveable bookshelf covering the entryway to the Secret Annex.

It was a little hard to imagine some of the rooms as a living space. When the families were discovered and arrested the place was emptied out, and when Otto Frank returned he chose to keep it that way as a symbol to everything that was taken away when he lost his family. But upon turning it into a museum after the war, they added short videos—interviews with Anne’s father and friends, people who’d helped the family in hiding—old family photographs, framed documentation, and even photographs of movie stars Anne used to decorate her walls, while printed excerpts from the diary guided us through each room.

It was like traveling back in time, and for three hours I didn’t feel like I was living in 2013. I was completely immersed in the world of Anne Frank and not a single thing could divert my attention. The windows were covered and the lighting dim, but once we reached the top floor there was a mirror perfectly positioned to reflect the dreary grey skies from the attic. It was almost alarming how good it felt to get a peak at the outside world after just a short time of being inside. I can’t even imagine how it must’ve been to be locked up there for two years.

I’ve always found it difficult to imagine historical events as though they ever really happened. It always seem like fiction to me. Hell, I live just a few blocks from the World Trade Center in New York and I still can’t believe that 9/11/01 happened right there. So maybe it’s the writer in me and the fact that as a kid Anne’s age, I too kept a journal in place of a close friend. Or maybe it’s just basic human compassion, but her story, as terribly disturbing as it is, is somehow much more relatable to me. Not only did I find myself understanding and even envisioning life in the Secret Annex, I found myself empathizing and asking questions like “how could this have happened?” “what if Anne hadn’t died at Bergen-Belsen?” or feeling my face begin to boil with rage while wondering if maybe, just maybe Anne had known her father was still alive, she may have had the desire to keep fighting just a few weeks longer until the camp was liberated.

Basically the Anne Frank House is worth every cent of the €9.50 admission fee (for adults). It’s located at Prinsengracht 263-267, just about a 20 minute walk from Centraal Station. It’s open every day of the year, but with around one million visitors annually it’d be wise to buy your ticket online so you can skip the queue. Then it should only take up about an hour of your day to navigate through the museum. Besides, it’ll probably be raining at least one day while you’re in Amsterdam so why not head indoors?

On my way out I bought the paperback diary in the bookstore and I’ve been engrossed in it since. It’s hard to imagine that after reading through two years of entries this book is just going to come to an end. So I’ve slowed down quite a bit, partially because I think I don’t want it to end yet. There’s something refreshing about the fact that inside the fictional world of my head Anne Frank is still alive, hiding away in an attic, learning foreign languages, and falling in love with a boy.

Tags Amsterdam, Anne Frank House, Anne Frank Museum, museum, Netherlands, WWII

Europe Food + Drinks Ireland

What Not to do in Dublin

Post author By Just Visiting
Post date March 12, 2013
3,878 Comments on What Not to do in Dublin

In the states we'd refer to this as an "Irish pub." In Ireland it's just a pub.

I fell in love with Ireland the second I stepped off the plane, though I wasn’t exactly sure why. Especially since the only day I spent in Dublin was anything but ideal. I was only there for the weekend though, so I spent Saturday in the city before heading off on a fourteen hour tour of Northern Ireland on Sunday. But more on that later.

Basically, my perfect day in Dublin was supposed to go a little something like this:

– Wake up early.

– Have an Irish breakfast, including Guinness.

– Walk around town taking awesome photos.

– Tour the old Jameson Distillery. Drink Jameson.

– Take a leisurely stroll through the Guinness Storehouse.

– Drink Guinness at Gravity bar, admiring the views over Dublin.

– Find a bar to watch Ireland v France rugby while eating Irish stew and drinking more Guinness.

– Meet fun locals at said bar and continue on the evening with a pub crawl.

Sounds like the perfect Saturday in Dublin, right? Ideally, yes. But instead it went a little something like this:

– Woke up two hours later than I’d hoped.

– Inhaled a cup of rice pudding I’d mistaken for Greek yogurt in an attempt to save time on eating breakfast.

– Made it a few blocks snapping photos against a miserable looking sky, before the incessant mist became a bit too much for my camera.

– Stumbled upon the Old Jameson Distillery only to see the next 93 minutes of tours sold out. Luckily I was able to sign up for the last one of the day at 515pm, but since it was already 2 I had to hoof it over to the Guinness Storehouse to make it back in time.

– Took the long back-way over to Guinness in what had now become a steady rain and light wind. You know, just to ensure I was properly soaked before going inside.

– Had no time to stop for lunch, so I chugged my sample beer, poured my perfect pint, then chugged that too. And just like that with no food in my stomach, I was tipsy.

– Visited Gravity Bar long enough to snap a few photos of raindrops and clouds before rushing out the door to the Old Jameson Distillery.

– Bought a Guinness coffee mug on the way out, then oh-so-cleverly carried it unguarded in the rain in a paper bag with a thick rope handle.

– Got disoriented on my way back towards the Old Jameson Distillery and ended up walking about five blocks too far. So I asked some nice Irish fella to point me in the right direction and found myself backtracking with only six minutes until the tour started. Then, right there on the corner of Mary’s Lane and Greek Street, tragedy struck. The Guinness bag succumbed to the battle against the rain, and the bottom fell out, sending my prized mug crashing to the ground. I shouted expletives as a family across the street pulled their daughter near to avoid my harsh words. But come on, she’s Irish, surely she’s heard worse? I picked up the pieces and carried the shattered, dripping wet remains into the Jameson Distillery just in time at 514PM.

– Did the Jameson tour, grabbed the largest glass of free whiskey afterwards and downed it a bit too quickly in an attempt to make it to watch rugby.

– Walked another 20 minutes in the rain and wind before realizing I’d completely missed the rugby match.

– Stopped into a pub for an Irish stew only to discover that they didn’t accept swipe cards.

– Pissed off, I went out the door and directly across the street to McDonald’s. I was still buzzed and by this point STARVING, so I ordered 12 chicken McNuggets, a large fry, an apple pie, cheese sticks, and a chocolate shake. And I took it all back to the apartment and ate every. Last. Crumb.

It wasn’t necessarily a bad day, but I did miss out on a few key things due to poor planning and unexpectedly quick intoxication. So folks, if you’re going to Dublin, here are a few pointers:

– Remember that Guinness should not be a substitute for food. You will get drunk.

– Take an umbrella and a sturdy bag if you plan on buying any fragile souvenirs. Sadly the gift shop attendant at the Jameson Distillery said that happens all the time.

– Buy your tickets to the Guinness Storehouse and Old Jameson Distillery in advance online. You’ll save a few bucks, plan your day a little better, and avoid the lines.

– If you’re deciding between touring Guinness or Jameson, I think the Guinness Storehouse is the better choice. The Jameson Distillery was great, as was the tour guide, but it was shorter and felt like more of a theatrical setup since it’s in a place they no longer use, whereas the Guinness Storehouse felt like a much bigger experience.

– Don’t count on going out to a pub near the Old Jameson Distillery. There aren’t any.

– Have fun. Drink Irish beer and whiskey. Eat Irish food. And chat with the locals. From my experience they’re super friendly (at least if you’re American) and LOVE to talk. Plus they have cool accents!

Tags beer, Dublin, Guinness, Ireland, Irish, Jameson, tour, whiskey

Europe Food + Drinks Living Abroad

Lazy Sunday at the Camden Market

Post author By Just Visiting
Post date March 4, 2013
1,849 Comments on Lazy Sunday at the Camden Market

This past weekend finally brought blue skies and well above freezing temperatures to London, so I spent Sunday roaming around Camden Market with my friend Julie whom I met a few years ago in New York. She’s originally from France but currently living in Geneva, and luckily for me visiting London with her equally awesome friend for a few days.

Pub shot — My selfies are out of focus about 70% of the time

Camden Market has been on my list of places to see since I’ve arrived, though I wasn’t exactly sure why since I’m not usually one to gravitate towards overcrowded shopping areas. But alas I went, and I was pleasantly surprised that it was far more entertaining than I’d expected.

The thing about Camden Market is that it’s so incredibly massive—it’s made up of six main sections, and then some—everyone’s bound to have a different experience. So let me give you a small sampling of what I encountered while strolling through for a few hours.

When we first started walking through the scattering of souvenir shops, shoe stores, and KFC’s, I wasn’t impressed. The overcrowded streets reminded me of East Harlem during a summer street fair, minus the sweaty heat. Then we went into the green Camden Market tent which was completely packed with countless, nearly identical clothing shops. Each booth owner tried to get our money—the women by pushing the latest fashions and “just for you” discount prices in our faces, and the guys by flirtatiously combatting our “we’re just looking” lines with “…looking for a boyfriend?”

Gothic clothes and KFC — Gothic clothes and fried chicken

I was hooked as soon as we made our way towards the food in Camden Lock. The surprisingly harmonious scents of Indian, Thai, Chinese, and Mexican spices lured me in, and had I not been concerned about certain digestive repercussions I would’ve sampled something from each stand. But alas I found myself drooling over the sizzling fajitas that the two semi-Mexican looking men were serving up. I ordered carne asada tacos, which were… well, interesting. The corn tacos were stuffed with a mixture of what looked like canned chili, peas, corn, tomatoes, cheese, avocado salsa, and sour cream, on top of a bed of iceberg lettuce and deglo orange rice. Pretending for a moment that it wasn’t Mexican food, I suppose it wasn’t all that bad. In fact I’ll even bet that it would’ve been incredible after about ten beers. But I’ll never go back.

“Mexican food” at Camden Market

In my search for bottled water I was drawn to some no-name stand where I heard Tool’s Ænima album blasting. The dread-locked, tattooed, gauged ear guy running the stand (hello 18-year old Kim’s dream guy) was putting so much passion into making his coffee to the beat of Eulogy that I felt compelled to order a caffe mocha. And thankfully so. It was warm, thick, foamy, and overall a delicious companion for the chilly afternoon, even though it was gone in about six sips.

We finally made our way into the Stables Market and down to the pinnacle of my Sunday market adventure, Cyberdog. This place was like a rave, complete with pumping music, dancing girls in short shorts, wildly outrageous but equally incredible futuristic outfits, and I wouldn’t be surprised if there were even some drugs scattered about. They carried all sorts of wacky unique gag gifts and party clothes, from guitar baking spatulas, to galactic dresses you’ve probably only seen on the Jetsons, to OhMiBod iPod-powered vibrators that sync up with your music to get you off to a beat. (Or to help you beat off? Get it??!) Yep.

Best store ever, forreal — Awesome. F’ing. Store.

Galactic Dresses — If they weren’t so expensive, I’d seriously consider rocking these galactic dresses.

After Cyberdog the rest of the shops just didn’t seem to compare, so what else could we do except stop for a cupcake? It was almost closing time and most of the flavors had been picked over at Mimi’s Cupcakes, but I managed to grab a winter fruit mini cupcake for just £1. The cake was much thicker than what I’m used to in the states, probably about the same consistency of cornbread, but it made this bite-sized treat perfectly fulfilling. The tart, fruity icing was like a thick buttercream, but it played a refreshing trick on my mind to make me think I was eating something lighter and more healthy.

Winter fruit cupcake at Mimi's Cupcakes — Winter fruit cupcake at Mimi’s Cupcakes

I think my favorite thing about Camden Market was the grunginess of it all. I feel more at home when I’m around people in hoodies with tattoos and piercings as opposed to those in collared shirts, sweaters, and perfectly pressed slacks like the other areas I’ve been to. And it wasn’t too in-your-face with people forcing us to buy stuff (except for the food market, but they were forcing us to taste their free samples so who can really complain?). Plus there truly seemed to be at least one shop for everyone there—even those of us who hate shopping. Definitely a good market worth getting lost in for a few hours, but you have to take the time to go deep inside to find where the shops really start to get good.

Tags Camden Market, Camden Town, coffee, cupcakes, Cyberdog, food, London, mexican food, shopping

Europe Food + Drinks

Top Notch BBQ in Bristol: Meat & Bread

Post author By Just Visiting
Post date February 26, 2013
3,541 Comments on Top Notch BBQ in Bristol: Meat & Bread

Fresh off the heels of a 48 hour gluttonfest in Bristol, I’m absolutely knackered (yes I’m incorporating British words into my vocabulary now). I don’t know if I did more eating or drinking, but I do recall a “UK vs US” contest in which we each drank for our country until the last man blacked out. Problem is when everyone is blacking out it’s hard to declare a “winner” for several reasons. I was told that I smuggled my last glass of whiskey from the bar, took a few sips while walking down the street, gave it a look of disgust and exclaimed “I’m done with this” as I threw it to shatter on the pavement. Real classy.

Backpedaling to Friday, after just a two hour bus ride from London we got into Bristol and immediately went out to a Mediterranean spot called Biblos which some of the guys swore was an absolute must-have. I ordered a falafel wrap with halloumi cheese, some spattering of sauces, and all of the toppings.

This place had a super hipster vibe with benches and tables inviting you to cozy up next to those around you. So the three of us squeezed onto a bench opposite of a particularly filthy hipster that could have easily been mistaken for a homeless man. He was eating with a group of people who looked like they’d dressed themselves in the dark, complete with marker-drawn mustaches on the ladies. As I fumbled to keep my elbows in at my sides and out of my friends’ faces, I awkwardly shoved my face with each bite of dripping falafel like a dainty T-Rex. While it looked insanely appetizing, it was lacking a bit of flavor—which I’m noticing to hold true throughout most of England. I’m sure it has something to do with the amount of salt I’m used to in my fat American diet, but still. Not a terrible bite to eat, but I certainly wouldn’t go out of my way again.

The next day while watching rugby at The Three Tuns my friends kept talking about some epic BBQ food. I took their hype with a grain of salt considering their less than superior recommendation from the night before, so I nearly passed it up to go hunt down a burrito. Thankfully my laziness persuaded me to order a pulled pork and coleslaw sandwich.

Oh. My. God.

To say this was one of the best things I’ve ever put in my mouth would be an understatement. The sauce, the tender shreds of pork, the sauce, the perfectly toasted bun, the sauce, the fresh cole slaw, and the SAUCE. Generally I’m not even a fan of BBQ sauce but I’m assuming that’s because I’ve never had it done properly. This was homemade with a breakfast stout, and yes I would gladly pour this on my cereal every morning. I don’t know if it’s because I’ve been craving flavor ever since I left the states or because it really was meat perfection, this was by far the first delicious bite of food that I’ve had in the UK. Paired with a dark stout, it was just fan-fucking-tastic.

The brilliant meat master who has everyone drooling over his meat is Ben Warran, owner of Meat & Bread. I’m told they smoke and cure their meats and make their own sauces and pickles to serve the lucky Bristolians who come across the food cart at lunchtime (or obsessively stalk their Twitter feed to find out where they’ll be next). But as of this Thursday, February 28th, they’ll be taking up a more permanent residence at The Three Tuns on St George’s Road, serving lunch and dinner Tues-Sat each week. Guess who’s planning another trip to Bristol in a few of weeks?

I’m telling you, if you like meat you need to get some Meat & Bread. And if you don’t like meat, well then we have much bigger problems to deal with and you should probably start solving those with a fat, juicy, meaty sandwich from Meat & Bread.

Tags BBQ, beer, Biblos, Bristol, falafel, food, Meat & Bread, pulled pork, Three Tuns

Europe

Iceland Smells Like Farts

Post author By Just Visiting
Post date February 19, 2013
6,567 Comments on Iceland Smells Like Farts

Or at least that’s what the guys kept saying. I’m a lady, and for all I know farts smell like roses and unicorn hugs, duh.

But really. Iceland smelled like a room full of forgotten hard boiled eggs that have been sitting in a pool of well water from the countryside (I’m from Ohio, yes I know what that smells like).

From the second we got off the bus at the Blue Lagoon my nostrils were stinging with the unmistakable scent of what could only be described as decaying chicken embryos. Or sulfur. Scientifically speaking, the entire country basically runs off of geothermal energy. So since the water is naturally heated by awesome volcanoes and hot springs beneath the Earth’s surface, it apparently has to balance out its “nature just blew your mind by being completely awesome” factor by containing a lot of sulfur. Or something like that, I don’t know. I went to art school not science school. But I do know that it’s a damn shame because after arriving from a long flight, driving through rocky paths comparable to what I’d imagine the surface of the moon to look like, and coming across the milky blue water of the lagoon builds anticipation like whoa. But once you open the car door and inhale that first whiff of putrid egg you might second guess stripping down to your skivvies and soaking in the cloudy sea of farts. Suddenly this once-welcoming water seems like a glowing radioactive pit of sewage.

Aside from the Blue Lagoon, there’s a very likely chance you’ll notice the sulfuric smell every time you turn on the hot water. You go in for a shower, the room fills up with steamy farts (but on the plus side the smell doesn’t linger on your skin afterwards). You order tea or coffee, you’re sipping on diluted farts (the flavor definitely masks the scent, but it’s still there). Hell, even when you use cold water it’s still noticeable but not nearly as bad. When you brush your teeth, you’re rinsing your mouth with fart water.

Oh Mother Nature, you sly bitch. Giving us something as beautiful as Iceland to look at but making it smell like the deepest pits of an overflowing outhouse during a summer music festival.

Okay it wasn’t that bad, really. If you’re lucky like me you’ll get used to it pretty quickly. And it’s perfectly safe to drink, no tummy troubles here! In fact I was told by locals that it’s some of the cleanest drinking water in the world. So as I’m clearly exaggerating about the scent, don’t let any of that stop you from visiting. Go embrace the land of farts with open eyes and a closed nose. It really is a gorgeously unique country that’s worth every sulfuric whiff you take in—and then some.

Tags Blue Lagoon, Iceland, Reykjavik, rotten eggs, sulfur, water