Nic's Wild European Adventure: Vienna

Alright, we're about to wind down the crazy European Adventure, and what better place to do it than the Original Seattle. That's right, I'm talking about Vienna, home to the world's greatest classical musicians. The city was home at one point or another to Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven, among many others--the Mudhoney, Nirvana, and Pearl Jam of their day, respectively. As a student and lover of music, I of course made a pilgrimage to each of their homes, and took many pictures of old sheet music and harpsichords. You know, the kind of stuff we need to drive up web traffic here at WDR. That's the ticket!

Now back to the beginning. I got to Vienna after a scheduled 16 hour train trip turned into a 21 hour slog. That shouldn't be too much of a big deal--I would only be missing breakfast, though some vital museum-visiting time as well--but some point within the last ten years they've decided to do away with actual dining cars on these trains. Instead, you have a dude who periodically opens a chest filled with the barest of snacks. As a result, I was blessed with a breakfast of champions that morning--a small loaf of bread and a Beck's. This can only bode well.

Once again, when I entered the city I did my routine of finding a tourist map and planning a route to hit as many sites as possible within the day. If you want to know how to lose twenty-five pounds over a summer, I recommend touring the capitals of Europe in just such a manner, with minimal stops for hot dogs and beer. As a fan of architecture and just plain old not-standing-around, this is really the best way to go about sight-seeing. And Vienna was perfect for this--wonderful cathedrals, various arts buildings, and numerous museums all held me in rapt attention. All this, and the beautiful Blue Danube as well.



Of course, when you keep walking, you sometimes end up having to return at some point. As I attempted to make my way to the Viennese version of the Copa Cabana, I ended getting up lost in what could pass as the ghetto of Vienna. As darkness descended, a quick "fuck that" order was issued and I made my way to the subway station. The only problem was that the map at this subway station was completely indecipherable to an outsider, and I had no idea which route would go in the right direction. This led to me hiring a taxi, which was fine enough--you get to see different parts of the city this way that you can't see just by walking--but also led to another chance to rip Nic off, as the driver feigned having trouble with the credit card sliding mechanism, and giving himself a fat 40% tip.


I returned late at night to my hostel, a place I heartily recommend (in fact, my co-worker ended up going to the same hostel the next night, and had the same rave review I had). I then decided to explore further this more "urban" neighborhood, and quickly realized that I was basically in the Viennese version of the Red Light District. At first I thought those two skimpily attired women were just being friendly, but my suspicions were immediately raised when I walked by the "club" they stood outside of and saw the logo which featured a very naked lady. I then proceeded to take a better view of my surroundings and saw that indeed there were many strip clubs and the like in this area. The best part were some of the names--apparently this is what they think of when they see the word "Manhattan", or that naming your club "Okay" implies that the women are anything but. It wasn't just these blatant displays--I also walked by a coffeehouse with an "upstairs" and what were clearly women of the night going down the stairs. Oh yeah, then there were the two ladies dressed in bra and panties standing on the corner. I think that was the last subtle hint I needed.

But all this talk of Red Light this and Hooker that sells short how beautiful and interesting the city of Vienna is. As I mentioned, there is some absolutely stunning architecture, from the Volkstheater to the different palaces to the giant Ferris Wheel, the Prater. Also, Vienna is home to a lot of weirdness with which the denizens of the Pacific Northwest are certainly familiar--we wouldn't bat an eye at a sticker proclaiming "Space Invaders Against Sexism" for example. Combine this with museums like the Albertina which houses some fascinating Modern Art, and you have a true city of the arts. Vienna has a very unique identity, and is definitely worth a visit.


And so ends the massive recap of the big trip. I hope I didn't make you just envious of me, but instead provided some fun stories and some insight into unfamiliar areas. But of course, knowing me, I probably failed in all regards. Well, tough shit, that's all you're going to get from me.

Nic's Wild European Adventure: Prague

After a week of total relaxation, it was once again back to the sight-seeing grind. Next was a trip that I had been dreaming about for years, a journey into the heart of Eastern Europe and into Prague. Now, I don't really know anything about Prague, either than it was the home of a number of artists and scientists and so on, including one of my favorite authors, Franz Kafka. I didn't even really know about any of the tourist attractions in the city--I had only in passing heard about the Charles Bridge or the famous Astrological Clock. But I knew I still wanted to have a visit to a city that had charmed so many of Europe's intelligentsia.

I could sit and tell you how Prague was a fascinating mixture of East and West, where you had your more or less typical European capital feel in the city contrasted with the spare utilitarian train that takes you into town, but I'm sure you don't give a shit. I could also mention that the many sights were indeed spectacular; including the above, you had numerous sculptures throughout the city, the hanging gardens, the peacocks in the Senate courtyard, and even the vintage cars that you could take on tours of the area. Again, something you could find in a guidebook. I could also tell how the countryside was a beautiful rolling green hillside, practically unspoiled by development and dotted with intriguing old villages, but fuck, this is Europe, that shit is everywhere. Instead I'll present two little vignettes that should prove entertaining.


One of the cooler sites in Prague is the Communist Museum, which goes over in great detail what life was like in Czechoslovakia during the time of the Soviet occupation. Now I understand that life under that regime was very difficult, and indeed I understand that people would want to distance themselves as far as possible from the horrors of that rule and would embrace the West with great fervor. That being said, there were many parts of the museum that either gave a chuckle in terms of the propaganda or just a snicker at the irony on display. These ranged from the cheap shots at Marx in his biography to the fact that the Museum was situated across the plaza from a McDonald's and next door to a casino. But there were two displays that were especially hilarious: the first one was an exhibit which bemoaned how Marxism focused so much on industry and manufacturing, to the detriment of the economy--of course now as the United States attempts to make its way out of the recession, many point to our shipping of manufacturing jobs overseas as an important cause; the second was a different exhibit which gave a view of the dastardly interrogation processes used by the Soviets that violated all sense of due process, in stark contrast to the fair methods used by the West--tragically hilarious, considering the news we hear each day of America's post 9/11 behavior.


The other experience I want to mention is my trip to the go-kart track. Yes, I traveled halfway around the world into one of the jewels of Europe and spent my Sunday afternoon at a go-kart track--if you thought I would do otherwise, you clearly don't know me. This is a guy who will drive 45 minutes away just so he can race his friends on such a track; believe me, the irony of using a real car to go drive a fake one is not lost on me. But we were told that this track was either the biggest or the fastest in Europe, and while I wouldn't argue either of those points, I'd add that it probably was also the "HOLY FUCK I'M GOING TO DIE AS MY LEG IS CRUSHED INTO KART"-iest of all the tracks in Europe.

Now I don't know why I would be surprised about the obviously lax safety standards of an Eastern European Go-Kart track; I've experienced terrifying carnival rides put together by degenerate drunks and would rank them only slightly higher on the trust scale. But that's nothing compared to hurtling yourself at 40 mph in giant steel deathtraps (complete with holes to get your foot stuck and pointy pieces galore), smelling of pure gasoline as you navigate the tightest fucking hairpin curves as some Czech punk kid careens past you without touching the brake. I think the race was restricted to only 5 minutes, but those were among the five longest minutes of my life. It didn't help that afterward I had to spend another few minutes dislodging my Strongbad-type helmet from my virtual planetoid of a cranium.



In other words, Prague was a blast.

Nic's Wild European Adventure: Visiting the Motherland

The next weekend I decided to quit the whole sight-seeing deal, and get down to brass-tacks. Time to update the agenda and readjust priorities so we can concentrate on what's really important: relaxing. And what better place to do that than the beautiful beaches of Greece?


For this weekend I took a plane with some co-workers down to our beachhouse in Halkidiki, where we relaxed and had ourselves a loooong weekend (Thank you, vacation days!). We met up with my mom, who proceeded to play the role of the entertaining host, charming my fellow travelers the whole time. We spent our days relaxing at the beach or traveling up and down the coasts and taking in the beautiful scenery, and then went out at night to indulge in fresh fish and other fine Greek cuisine. You just can't beat a weekend like that.


It was during this weekend I began to ruminate some serious philosophical shit, as the kids say, and compare American versus Greek attitudes toward work. Which is better--working like a dog to achieve modest productivity gains and maybe getting a bigger tv, or working enough during the week and then piling into a car and driving to the beach to enjoy the weekend? I'm beginning to lean toward the latter. It was then that I realized that I already had what people spend their life working for (Thanks Dad!). Makes the rat race seem all the more pointless, and my decision to not engage in Early Interview Week shenanigans all the wiser.

Now sit back and enjoy the pictures.

Nic's Wild European Adventure: Berlin With Ze Germans

Berlin marked a new traveling experience for me. Instead of going with a compadre, this trip was done totally solo. A frightening proposition, considering I had to confront multiple train switches and otherwise navigate myself around a town without knowing more than three words of German (well, beyond the essentials of "beer," "sausage," and "sauerkraut."). Hell, even the train station was imposing--the Hauptbahnhof is fancier than most airports. In other words, there was a strong chance that shit was about to get real.

However, nothing of the sort really occurred. Despite initial confusion in determining which U-Train to take into town, and where the hell my map faced in the middle of Kreuzberg, there would be no snags on this trip. In fact, once I found a tourist map I was able to hit the road and take a walk around the entire center of Berlin. This is key, since all the major tourist sights are in the center of the city (Sorry Dahlem Museum, you get the shaft!). In a day I was able to see Checkpoint Charlie, the Reichstag, Brandenburg Gate, the Siegessäule, and the great Cathedral, all within a few hours of brisk walking.


Did I mention that I came during the Gay Pride Festival?

Yeah, my timing made half of my walking tour a journey into fantastic debauchery, with drinking in the streets and what we will call "tomfoolery" of a sort in various floats, all resulting in a trashing of the Brandenburg plaza that rivals my previous experience at Mardi Gras. I experienced a tradeoff--while it made the trip more interesting (and provided a great story), it also meant I had a great slog to go through the throngs of trannies in half of my tour. However, I did my fair share of drinking and dancing in the streets, participating in a dance circle of some anarchists (oh anarchists, when will your contradictions ever not be funny?).


Perhaps the most impressive thing was how open the Germans were with their past.
There was no effort to conceal their participation in some of the greatest atrocities of the previous century--no, they instead took steps to confront their actions. On the guided tour I took the next day they pointed out many infamous sites from WWII, and outside one of the train stations I found a heartbreaking statue dedicated to the victims of the Holocaust. Let's just say other countries could take heart from these lessons.

Overall, Berlin was probably my favorite city to visit. It wasn't just the beautiful architecture, the clean air, and the mix of urban and pastoral that did it for me. There was just something in the air that made it seem like a pleasant city in which to stay, and if that wasn't good enough, there was always something to do late at night. It also was interesting to visit the different sections of the city, like say comparing the immigrant area of Kreuzberg with the Mitte District. While I got a good feel for the town over a weekend, I'd probably enjoy a much longer stay in the area. Oh yeah, and it's way cheaper than the Netherlands.

Word to the Wise--get your cash at the train station. I walked for miles and miles around Berlin without spotting anything that looked like an ATM. They're all hidden in banks, and it's tough to decipher what the hell is a bank. See, come to WDR for the Ronnie Colman breakfast, and stay for the useful travel tips.

Nic's Wild European Adventure: Copenhagen

The next stop was my first venture into Scandinavia. We took what can only be described as an epic train ride from Den Haag into Copenhagen, using our fancy-pants Eurail passes. This time we paid a bit extra on the way in by taking a night train and paying for some beds. This was totally worth the extra 30 euros--It's not the most comfortable sleep in the world, especially when you have a paranoia of missing your stop (even if it's the final destination), but it sure beats the alternative (staring straight into the seat in front of you--you know, like an airplane). It also would mark an interesting hostel experience--Ireland had been my first experience in one, but here we had the treat of sleeping in a giant 64-bed room. This was surprisingly not as crazy as it sounds, since we had small private areas marked off by cubicles. Who knew the Danes would be influenced so much by Dilbert?


We arrived into town with little to no idea of what sights we should see. I remembered vaguely The Little Mermaid statue and some Hans Christian Andersen shit, but that wasn't going to fill a weekend. I then remembered that there was a really old amusement park (yeah!) and some castles, including the one that belonged to "Hamlet". Too bad we didn't visit those last two (too pricey and too not-in-the-city, respectively).

We ended up grabbing a map and just walking the entirety of the center of the city, walking from garden to garden and so on. Not ten minutes after we set out did we get confronted with a flash-rain storm, which made our decision to leave our umbrellas behind seem altogether foolish. Nevertheless, we braved the elements and persevered, determined to see nature and all that. One of the gardens had an interesting bachelorette party featuring an event that would make Freud blush. Oh, and there was a puppet show and a castle too!

We then kept up our trek and found a fort THAT IS STILL IN USE by the Danish navy. Honestly, I have no idea who the Danes are so fearful of--I'm not sure Norway's going to fight for Greenland all over again, at least not via submarine. There we met up with many ducks who apparently emigrated from Oregon, and they had some stories to tell. Too bad they were mainly about bread. But we also saw the Little Mermaid, which was you know, actually little. Interesting statue, nonetheless. Charmed.


We next went to one of the most unique aspects of Copenhagen, the anarchist commune known as Christania. As you might expect, "Sketch City" could have doubled as the name of this place. People seemed on edge, which is understandable considering the police presence that always hovers around nearby--one bar claimed to have been raided over 4000 times in 10 years. And what can one expect from an anarchist commune? Lots of pipes and graffiti everywhere. Good to see society might have a purpose.

We then proceeded to not get dinner, since everything in Copenhagen is absofuckingly ridiculously expensive. When New York prices seem reasonable in comparison, there's a problem. Besides, we were saving money to enjoy the nightlife, which is actually pretty good in the 'hagen. We then made another trek out into the center to visit a bar promising all-you-can-drink for ten euros. Once there though, we were confronted by the hard backhand of the dress code--apparently even though i was dressed in a nice button-down shirt and khakis, my solid-black sneakers were apparently a no-go for these folks. This led to a lengthy argument with my compatriot over the arbitrary nature of dress codes, which will certainly be rehashed at a later date in these here parts. However, despite that setback, we found a couple of good real-local-type places and enjoyed seeing the Danes let their freak flag fly and party down. We then proceeded to essentially crawl back to our hostel room and wind down before departing early the next morning.


Despite all setbacks, I recommend people visit the town, as long as there's money burning a hole in your pocket. There's some fantastic architecture and thousands of statues--a definite must if you love seeing dudes battle dragons and other mystical shit.

Nic's Wild European Adventure: London Towne

Next stop on the tour was a familiar spot--London (no "merry old England" crap from this guy, I'll tell you wha). I've been to the city many times before--my mom has a cousin that lives there, and we've often spent some time in her brownstone up in Archway. However, the last time I was there I was just entering high school, so this trip promised to be slightly different. Of course, considering that I spent most of my time the last time trying to figure out just how the hell you play cricket, that isn't saying too much (the verdict after three days of watching cricket: still no clue).


So yeah, I was now an adult let loose in London, as opposed to a sniveling teenager attached to his family. Wait, was I really sniveling? (Ed. note: Probably) That meant instead of the touristy stuff, it was mainly seeing different parts of the city--i.e., how people really lived. That meant visiting the sections of town that were full of immigrants and/or clubs. Each had its own merits.

The first part of our day out mainly consisted of visiting a large outdoor market near the center of London. As a guy, this didn't interest me much, but as a guy who was conditioned to shopping with ladies (many years spent doing so with the mom and the sister), this wasn't such a big deal. It did give me the chance to take a picture of a most hilariously racist t-shirt--one that claimed "Jim Crow" as some sort of fashion icon, with an actual crow, a la Joe Camel. Unfortunately, that photo was done on a compatriot's camera, and I have yet to receive it. So you just have to trust my word on that one.


Following the market, whose only other noteworthy characteristic was a decent selection of 45s and other LPs (and the shady area, with all the drug paraphernalia), we headed out to try to meet up with some guy who knew of this really great English pub. Unfortunately, the only result was *Clusterfuck*, because said guy lost his phone the night before. The end result was some time traveling around the part of London that's worse than Times Square (but home to Top Shop, ladies!), and then a ghastly busride back on a double-decker that lacked A/C.

But that night we all went out to the West End and had quite the party. I basically got my Eurotrash on and danced the night away, but also had to keep an eye out to play the part of bodyguard for the ladies in our party, a task that is ALWAYS enjoyable. Bah, don't listen, I had a great time.

And then the next day I spent 2 hours cramming in a bunch of sightseeing anyway, then took the train and flew out. Where I then proceeded to get pulled over by the Dutch police because they thought I was drunk-driving my bike. Memories abound!

Nic's Wild European Adventure: Bruges

If I grew up on a farm, and was retarded, Bruges might impress me but I didn't, so it doesn't.

One of the best and most hilarious movies to come out last year was a little film called In Bruges. It got some minor notice and some rave reviews, but for the most part people haven't really heard too much about it. Which is a damn shame. I mean, just reading the quotes page is enough for hours of entertainment.

So where did my co-worker and I decide to spend the second weekend? In one place that was skewered for ninety-something minutes as one of the most boring places on the planet, which was my only previous reference point. Did the city live up to its reputation? Yeah, if I had to spend the rest of my life there, sure. But for a quick weekend trip, Bruges definitely lives up to Harry's memories as an idyllic town.


So what's in Bruges? A bunch of really old churches, including one with "Christ's blood". We visited that one, but there was a service going on at the time, so it would have been kind of awkward to walk up to the altar and give the blood an old looksy. And there's the giant Belfry which played a part in the movie. It is indeed as narrow and hazardous to the fatty as the movie suggested, so the American should have heeded Ray's advice. He would have had a terrible time negotiating the narrow stairway, and he wouldn't even have to pull his co-workers giant duffel of weekend luggage up the whole way.

Even though the Belfry was quite the sight, the one in Bruges didn't match the one that I had found in Delft. I'm only bringing this up because I have an incredibly stupid story to tell about that place. The belfry in Delft was narrower and taller, and featured several points where I hit my head on low-hanging bar. Its exterior also was eight-hundred and fifty-seven times more fright inducing, considering the low waist bar that was the only protection from certain death on the narrow walkway. But I only bring the whole experience up because I saw some fresh graffiti in the stairwell from some Americans--"Bill '09 and Melissa '09", all luvy-duvy. I was prepared to add my own contribution--"My Balls '09", since they hit the same spot as I negotiated the previously-stated low-hanging bar. Damn shame I didn't have a pen on me.

Trust me, that was all much funnier in my head.


Bruges has also apparently earned itself the reputation as being the place for bachelor parties in Northern Europe. We came across several parties, including one that featured a traveling cycling kegmachine, which we attempted to join (once we finished our forties in the town square--no joke). For a sleepy-ass medieval village, the place sure had a lot of nice clubs to help out said folk. It's also home to a few bars that served hundreds of different beers. It's interesting that Belgium is now seen as the new hot place for beer, considering that Belgian-style ales are pretty weaksauce. However, we were able to sample a few great-tasting beers, even if one of them was the more feminine pineapple-flavored beer. But as my co-authors could attest, I still found a way to pull that one off.

Beyond that, there's not too much to say about Bruges. I did get my Eurotrash on, but that only leads too tears. I've also previously commented on how Flemish is a terrible, terrible language, so we've covered that. There was some weird chocolate, but hell, everyone already knows the Belgians are known for their chocolate--they invented it so the molesters could get to the children. So I'm just going to end this with just a plain inexplicable photograph, and hope you understand what the Venice of the North is all about.

Nic's Wild European Adventure: Ireland

Even though I'm back State-side, I never gave you readers the full rundown of what happened over in Euro-Land. While I did provide a great look into the day-to-day life of a stranger in a strange land (Dutchland), I didn't have a chance to go over all the trips that I took to different countries over each weekend. So, before my vacation ends, I'm going to spend this week running down the full list of destinations. And we're going to do two-a-day, to fully capture the Rules of Attraction style nature of the whole trip (we reference this movie way too much considering how bad the entire film was). First up, we have Ireland.


1. Guinness snobs are right. I spent my first weekend in Dublin, and it would seem to be a good omen for the rest of my time overseas. I had always wanted to visit, but even though I had been to the UK many times we were never able to make the short trip over. So I was excited to visit, even though I knew nothing of the sights to see. We saw an old college which has an old Bible, and a couple of random old churches. But I did know that they had one must-see destination: the Guinness Brewery.

The tour of the brewery itself was worthwhile, as we got a glimpse into the brewing process. However, the true highlight was the many pints of beer that we had on the premises. And I hate to confirm what I had heard before, but the beer really does taste better in Dublin than it does elsewhere--and I say that as a guy that enjoys his Guinness. We had our share of other pints, but we always came back to the Guinness.


2. Ireland can apparently be confused with the South of France. We chose the one great weekend in terms of weather to visit, as it was wonderfully sunny and a very pleasant 70 degrees the entire weekend. And as we toured the green countryside, we were able to take the most spectacular pictures. Ireland would seem to be known more for its rustic charm, but under the right light, it's just plain beautiful.

3. Who would think you could get barred from entering a club in Dublin for being too drunk? We ended up joining an international group of travelers in our nighttime Dublin experience, and we had a great time searching for cheap drinks and good times. In the center of the city it can be tough to find a good deal, as they're mostly cashing in on ignorant tourists, so it was a struggle. We did receive one setback when one bouncer would not let in our group because I and another compadre were said too bee "too drunk" to enter the club--strange, considering we hadn't had a drink for hours at that point. No matter--we just found a nice neighborhood pub and enjoyed a drink with the locals, and many friendships were made that day.

Nic Ouzo's Wild European Adventure: Exploring Dutch Television

Some wise scholar once said that the best way to get a view of another culture is to view what they watch on television. Actually, I'm pretty sure no one actually said this, and I really didn't feel like writing a decent opening for this post. No matter, the stage is set--we're talking about Dutch television today.


Surprisingly enough, there is plenty of English-language programming available on Dutch television. I don't think that the apartments I've been had any fancy-pants cable systems (they each had around 25 channels), but at any given moment I could probably find something in English worth watching (even if it was CNNInternational or BBCNews). But that's because I've been conditioned from years of going to Greece, and finding the only English programming to be one terrible old forgotten movie; it was either that, or watch futbol, and soccer won every time (though in the past few years, English programming has increased). In Holland, I'm able to get a whole range of television shows; I remember a couple of nights when I was first settling in, I would just plop on the couch after a long day of work and not move for three or four hours, and only then realizing I had to get dinner, and only then realizing the only goddamn thing that's open in the city past 9 pm is basically McDonald's.

I've also enjoyed the act that each night there are at least 4 different movie choices I can watch. They range from the great (Quiz Show (subject of a future WDR column), Jurassic Park, Heat) to the "why the fuck not, I've got time to kill" (Sum of All Fears, The Arrival), to the "good thing this is what American culture is exporting these days (Let's Go To Prison!, 2001: A Space Travesty). And considering I spent about 5 weeks without television, since I was afraid of bothering my landlord (the TV was in the den, two floors below my living quarters), who knows what I missed out on.


Another thing to note about television here is that Comedy Central plays pretty much every comedy show that's in syndication in the states these days, plus tossing in a random few others (I just now got acquainted with the surprisingly decent family-humor of "The Tracy Morgan Show")(that, and they split time with a Dutch-dubbed version of a Nickelodeon/Disney hybrid). So each night they'll have the Simpsons, Scrubs, South Park, Frasier, and Becker among other things. A big difference between American and Dutch TV is the amount of commercials and their placement. Whereas these days in the US each half-hour sitcom has at least 3 commercial breaks, all of the shows here just have one mildly long break in the middle of the show. This allows a quick-strike schedule of 25 minutes per show, but wreaks havoc on trying to figure out what time a favorite is on (is It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia on at 10:40 or 10:55?). However, I've been bombarded by ads for Entourage during every break on Comedy Central, which tends to get slightly annoying even though I get to see Holly Valance's cute face every 20 or so minutes.



Another thing that's worth a mention is the fact that there are not one, not two, but three music video stations. Granted one of them is still MTV, but at least MTVDutchland attempts to play videos sometimes (though usually later at night). Hell, I even saw a couple of rock videos. But in looking at a view of Dutch music television as a whole, it appears that the Dutch are really into Flo Rida and Lady GaGa, as well as this Norwegian rap song. Take that any way you want it.

But when it gets dark outside, Dutch TV goes fucking crazy. After midnight, at any moment, you'll find 6 or so channels advertising what I called "sex-texts" each night. Now, that was a bit of a misnomer--it's not just dirty talk, it's filmed movies and dirty pictures that are sent to your phone through SMS (the term "SMS" is big in Europe, though I imagine most in the US would not have any idea what I'm talking aboot, eh?). And to answer your question, indeed everything pretty much gets shown in these advertisements. All tastes are represented (which you'll find to be the case when you visit the Amsterdam Red Light District [shivers]), and I mean all of them. The all-time best ad is for one service whose big draw seems to be a masked naked woman who, um, has two pieces of toast on her ass. I had no words for it, but when pressed for a response, Dr. Von Bookman mentioned something about how "maybe they want you to put your 'manjam' on it". Indeed, Doctor.

Oh, and these commercials have taught me one of the few Dutch words I know--apparently "Enorme" is exactly what you'd think it means.

Nic Ouzo's Wild European Adventure: There's a Reason Why You Can Never Find A "Dutch" Restaurant

One of the initial questions I had when I first found out I was going to the Netherlands for the summer, was what exactly is Dutch cuisine (this gives you a good idea of what my priorities are in life). And even though the person I was asking had lived in Holland for 3 months, she couldn't give me much of an answer. And now here I am, three months later, and I too can't give much of an answer.

My initial guess would have been that the great Dutch dish was some sort of herring on a stick, and I probably wouldn't have been too far off in that assessment. I seem to recall seeing that sort of dish around, though not in pushcart form (I've been in New Yawk for too long). However, my sense of what would really constitute Dutch cuisine may be a bit off since I'm living in The Hague, which is truly an international city. Not only does one get to view beautiful women of all races from every corner of the globe, but one gets a diverse sampling of various international dishes. And what I've really learned is that the Dutch don't really know how to cook Thai food.



The one true Dutch dish is apparently French Fries. That's it. You can get all sorts of sauces with them, but the Dutch go apeshit for mayonnaise. In fact, all of North/Central Europe loves to drench their food in the stuff, which is bad news bears for me. For you see, even though I'm an incredible fatass, the one healthy choice I've ever made was to decide not to like mayonnaise--it makes me so sick that I can barely listen to the Smashing Pumpkins song, even though it's brilliant. Combine that with my recent decision to try to eat somewhat healthy, kicking out some old favorites, with french fries being the first to go. Needless to say, I have not partaken in a Dutch classic.



However, the Dutch have proved themselves capable of one thing, and that's making a sandwich. Which is a good thing, since it's about the one relatively inexpensive thing you can buy. It's not just that they prepare a good sandwich and you can find one everywhere (they're big fans of selling truck-stop style sandwiches, which is decent train-food), but that they're very creative in making new recipes. In fact there are two that I want to import to the US--one is a spicy chili sauce chicken mixed with a lightly-fried mushroom sandwich, while the other is a concoction sure to give Joe Reefer half-a-chub: ham, cheese, and pineapple, and all toasted. We should all bow down to our Dutch sandwich masters.

One thing you will find in Holland is American fast food. McDonald's, Burger King, KFC, Subway--all are here. Now some will lament how Americanized everything has become (I remember shedding the metaphorical tear when I saw a T.G.I.Friday's in Thessaloniki), but hell, these places provide really convenient cheap food right when you need it most, especially later at night (because everything in Holland shuts down at like 6 pm). So I felt better about this American influence, at least until I rode the train to Vienna with some University of Florida students. Oh, they were fine enough people, but after hearing them complain about how the food sucks in Europe and how THEY DON'T KNOW WHAT BUFFALO SAUCE is, I was ready to give up. Of course, if we left the Dutch on their own to approximate American food, we'd end up with only stuff like this:



I actually just visited this place, and there really isn't even fried chicken on the menu--it's a bunch of Turks selling things like crappy falafel. Whatever, I'll go get myself a crazy pineapple sandwich and call it a day.

We Must Win the War for Hot Dog Technological Supremacy

When you're traveling on a budget, some things have to be sacrificed. One area where a lot of money can be saved is in the food part of your budget. As a result, even though I've been traveling to different countries every week, I haven't taken the time to indulge in some of the finer cuisine.

That isn't to say I haven't sampled the local flavors, it's just usually on the cheaper side. One of the joys of going to Northern/Central Europe is the abundance of various sausages. I mean, beer and sausage, who doesn't love a healthy balanced meal?

Here's how a proper German bratwurst looks like. Notice the great size, and the good amount of mustard. Much to my disappointment, sauerkraut was not an option.



Now the disparity between bread and hot dog is just ridiculous. In this case, the bread acts as merely a hot dog-holding device, much like a glorified potholder. It's comical and inefficient.

Now compare this to the sausage from Vienna. No, this wasn't a Vienna sausage, stop trying to confuse me. I believe this was a bratwurst as well, but I was just picking wursts at random--whatever sounded good and spicy was my sole criterion for choosing.



Now notice the difference in the bread. This is an amazing use of bread technology to help support the enjoyment of the hot dog. As most sausage enthusiasts are too well aware, the bread often breaks apart, or provides insufficient coverage to protect the taster from spillover of precious precious condiments. But this design of the bread solves all problems! The condiments are contained, and there is no mess! Truly a tasty, enjoyable experience.

My question is why hasn't pure American ingenuity come up with this design? We must steal the blueprints for this and proceed posthaste in constructing an American prototype. WE MUST NOT ALLOW FOR A HOT DOG GAP!

Thank God They Speak English Here

Dutch is a terrible, terrible language.

I don't know if I was expecting something different before I arrived in the Netherlands, but I don't think I've had a single pleasant encounter with the language. Oh, it's not the fault of the Dutch people, who are plenty nice and reasonable in my dealings with them (unlike some of their neighbors to the south). But there is something about the language that is just, well, stupid.

First off, Dutch is basically a bastardized version of German, which itself is a pretty awful language. I mean, we're talking beyond the fact that it just sounds like the most evil language on the face of the Earth, even when spoken in a calm, reassuring manner (in fact, when done in this way, it is often even creepier). It likes to mash up consonants in ways that don't make sense, it likes to combine 8 words into one, and it has ridiculous grammar constructions. Dutch does all of these things, and adds in things like unnecessary h's and j's and double o's all around. It's like German's retarded cousin. It doesn't even have the inherent "bjorn-ness" that makes Scandinavian languages such a delight.


I think I'd be less upset with Dutch if I could hear consistent pronunciation. The airport in Amsterdam is named Schipol, and I've heard it pronounced "Skip-ol" and "Ship-ol" by Dutch folk. If they can't agree on how to say the name of their huge airport, I guess it's foolish for me to think that the street where I live should have a consistent pronunciation. I've heard no less than five ways to say "Regentesselaan".

Then again, these are the same people that have decided that "Spui" should be said as "Shpel".

The one thing that Dutch has in its favor is that it's not Flemish, which is just bastardized Dutch. If you thought that Dutch was German's retarded cousin, well get that cousin liquored up and you get what Flemish is.


In the end, after nearly two months in this country, I've learned about 7 words, half of which relate to what kind of sandwich I'm going to have. Really, the two most important words I've learned have been "kip" equals "chicken" and that "kaas" is cheese. It's so bad that when I went to a Tapas restaurant, I decided to rely on my extremely limited knowledge of Spanish to decipher the menu; then I realized that "pollo" and "queso" were the only Spanish words I knew as well.

So it's been a blessing that just about everyone here speaks English; not only that, they can even carry on in-depth conversations about current events or politics. I don't even have to rely on my French around here--English is spoken by like 95% of the Dutch. Except of course by those at McDonald's--like in the States, they can hardly speak English either.

The Dutch Take Their Bike Safety Very Seriously

Sir, have you been drinking?

This is the story of my first encounter with Dutch police. Unfortunately, it would not be my last.

I had just gotten back from a weekend trip to London, where I had gotten my Eurotrash on, when I stopped by my office to pick up my bike and ride it home. So after a train ride to the airport, 2 hours of waiting including delays, a one hour flight, a half-hour train ride to town, and a 10 minute bus ride to the office, I was only minutes away from heading home. I climbed aboard my bike, careful to balance the giant weight of my backpack that had carried my supplies for the weekend, including my laptop, and slowly made the journey back to my apartment as dusk began to settle in.


Now my office is located on a triangle of land that makes no sense any way you slice it for a bicycle to go anywhere. Any way you really want to go, you're going to cut across traffic at some point and risk getting your ass Canyonero'd to the curb. So I head to the stoplight and contemplate whether I should risk going the wrong way down a one-way street, because it cut off about half a kilometer from my route. I see that the traffic signal perpendicular to me had gone from green to red, and since no cars were coming I made a careful turn into the street. About halfway through the maneuver I had second thoughts, and I decided to instead take the long way home.

Ah, but that would be my fatal error. A police vehicle (to call it a car would be too generous) had pulled in behind me without my knowledge. They saw the totality of this maneuver, and decided to pull me over. Of course, since I was heading down a narrow street, I initially thought the officers were just advising me to ride my bike on the sidewalk, but soon enough I found out their actual intent.

After some cheerful chirping on my part (Good evening officer, what exactly do you want me to do sir), the officer began in a roundabout way to get to the heart of the matter.

I need some ID. Do you need a passport, or will my driver's license be fine? The license is fine. [ ]. Did you see the stop light? Yes I did, but I saw the light was changiYou did not stop at the stop light. [ ]. Your lights are not on. Yes I know, I tried to turn them on, I couldn't get them on. Do you know how to do it? Yes of course. [ ]. See I told you it was broken. Sir, have you been drinking?. What? No, I haven't had anything today. It's just the first time I've ridden a bike in over 10 years and I'm carrying this heavy backpaSo you don't have the skills. I guess not. I do not smell alcohol. [ ]. Alright, it's 60 Euros for the missed stoplight, 30 Euros for the broken lights. If you hadn't done the stoplight, we wouldn't have had any of this. [ ]. Alright, my partner here is in a good mood. No fine. Just don't ride the bike. Just here, or when I get back into regular traffic. No, you walk the bike home. Thank you officer.



And I walked my bike the five kilometers to my apartment. And so there's the story of how I nearly got busted for a DUI on a 3-speed bike.

Nic Ouzo's Wild European Adventure: My First Night in The Hague

I've already discussed the details of my initial travels, but have yet to give much of an account of what's happened since I've been on the Continent itself. Today, that changes as I tell you the story of my first night in the Netherlands.

I came to Holland without any place to stay lined up, based on the advice of an intern that had done this same gig in the previous year. They had the misfortune of agreeing to an apartment sight unseen that was, shall we say, "below standard." Having an open shower in the middle of the kitchen is understandably disappointing for a lot of people. So the logic was to get on the ground in The Hague, get a hotel for a couple of nights, and then look for more permanent lodging while you're there, so you can get a better view of what's available and what's convenient. Sound strategy if you ask me.



Of course, I come in without even making a hotel reservation. I literally show up to work with all my suitcases, coming straight from the airport/train station/taxi stand. Fuck it, there's gotta be something like a Holiday Inn where I can crash. This shouldn't be an issue--I'll just go online, make a phone call, and boom, I'll be done.

Except that it was a holiday weekend coming up in the Netherlands. And that means the Dutch were heading to the beach en masse, and whaddyaknow, The Hague has a beach. So finding a room was a bit more of a problem than I thought. I finally locate a reasonably priced place and set a reservation in some random part of the city. So my co-workers get me all set up on the bus to this area, and I set out to stay the night.

So I head out into what appears to be a nice little neighborhood, very pleasant, very green, very friendly. As I'm walking, I'm thinking, this isn't the kind of place where you would find a hotel. And you know, this thinking was right. Because this is the kind of place where you once found a hotel, and now instead have condominiums. That's right, the address that I had for the hotel was for its old location. And considering most American cell phones don't work in Europe, and I had no internet access, well, I was proper fucked as they say.

So, recap: I am in the middle of a foreign country where I don't speak the language. I have three suitcases and a backpack I have to carry everywhere. I have no place to stay for the night. I am proper fucked.



Alright, time to regroup. You know only one address in the city, and that's your work. Head back there, figure things out from there. Maybe somebody is still at the office...nope. No good. Well, there's gotta be a hotel somewhere nearby...how about here?...no, nothing here...Can I use the phone? No?...

Finally I randomly find a taxi, and direct him to just drive me to any hotel. Any hotel. This of course is still difficult, since most hotels are booked, but the driver is generous enough to park at each place and inquire within whether rooms are available. After 4 tries, we finally get to a craptastic place by the beach, whose view is blocked...by another hotel. All for the low price of something like 80 dollars for the night! At least I didn't stay in Badhotel, which was literally across the street. Clearly the only reason why my hotel wasn't named that was because it was beaten to the punch.



Inauspicious beginnings and all that.

Nic Ouzo's Wild European Adventure

With Hijinx sure to ensue!

As Zhuang-o mentioned in his post, I'm spending the summer doing the whole Europe thing. Granted, I'll be doing a lot of work for my fancy-pants internship in the Netherlands, but there will be lots of traveling and and general no-goodery on the weekends. As Zhuang said, we may find that my summer ends up looking like the one good scene from Rules of Attraction.


I apologize for taking so long to write this post, but it's been a bitch getting internet wherever I'm staying. And I'm not going to risk alienating my employers by spending my work hours finding inappropriate pictures for this series. But lo and behold, the two weeks between my touchdown here in Holland and today I've had a wealth of stories suitable for mass consumption through this here blog. You'll hear about the strange cuisine available (Bacardi and Cola pre-mixed!), the strangeness of television here (late-night text-sex commercials!), and the stupidity of the Flemish language, among other things. It's going to fucking rock.

I've been knocking around ideas about using a "Freaky-Deaky" scale to document my experiences. Yes, Holland is just about as weird as you could imagine, so the scale is apropos. I'm just not sure what the measure should be--Gouda slices? Van Nistlerooys? Bacardi Colas? If you have an idea, mention it in the comments.