Jetsetters

I take coffee, you take tea my friend

2010-04-24T03:40:00.002-05:00

Last night was bizarre as most nights are after a day of jetlag. I wandered the streets until about 6pm then settled down at an open air café to watch the people in line for the Galata tower, expecting to slowly get stoned on foreign beer and sleep deprivation, which doesn’t entirely suck. I suggest you try it next time. You mind does a tightrope walk of boozed filled mind wanderings accentuated by the total lack of sleep you have. Good times. Unfortunately there was no beer (or alcohol at all) to be had at the café so my waiter suggested coffee or tea. I opted for coffee and he brought me Nescafé. Whatever. I’m so goddamn tired I would drink motor oil. About 30 mins into it the waiter comes back and asks if, since I was just one person at a four person table, I wouldn’t mind sharing with someone else. Looking forward to the distraction and possible conversation I say of course. He proceeds to bring five people over. All about my age, maybe a little younger. Mixed company college students. We talk about America, about Turkey and about nothing at all. They switch to English and back again without pause. They watch me curiously, maybe a little concerned as the evening prayer comes over the loudspeakers. It is as they say. Haunting. Other descriptions that that I don’t have words for. The crowd does not change. No one rolls out a prayer rug. Everyone continues with their evening. Holding hands. My group orders tea. In fact, everyone has ordered tea. Why the fuck am I drinking coffee and Nescafé at that? I order tea. It arrives. I ask my group, “is it strong?” The women reply “no, not at all.” They are liars. This “tea” (çay) is brewed with paint thinner. The women laugh when I put a sugar cube in mine and the men pass me theirs. Untouched.

They leave after an hour or so and I pay my bill a little while longer and walk to the bar that shares a wall with my apartment building. Beautiful on the inside, playing American jazz. I order a beer. “what size?” the waiter asks. Large. I drink it. Surrender. Sleep.

The screams of seagulls and cries of cats is Istanbul’s nocturnal soundtrack. The first looking for a place to crash, the second for a good time. I’m in bed for 10 seconds before I’m unconscious. I am very awake again at 2am (4pm back home). I toss and turn. My mind in an epic battle with my body. The debate ensues, both sides with seemingly logical points. After an hour or so body finally and thankfully wins. I sleep until 9am.

Our apartment is right below the Galata Tower. Which is about as central to the old town as you can be. Great location. Bars, restaurants and everything in between are here. A perfect HQ. A quarter mile from the tram station but I think we’ll be doing cabs. They’re cheap and, more importantly, I’m a grown ass man.

So much to say for only having been here 14hrs, eight of which were asleep. I’ve seen nothing like Turkey before. Closest thing would be Croatia. A far cry at that. I’m a genetic specimen (if I had a nickel every time I heard that…) here. No blonds in sight. Put me in the carnival and charge 2 Turkish Lira to see me. Maybe pet my head. Everyone here as natural eyeliner and mascara. I’m not joking. Men. Women. Babies. All look like they just got out of makeup on the set of The Man Who Would Be King. Beautiful. Natural. Fashion is fashion here like anywhere else. Most elderly women wear head scarves. The occasional younger girl does as well but I get the impression that women ditch it once they’re about 18 or so. There are no long beards. No long, flowing white thobes. Normal people going about their day with purpose. Smells of meat (though not pork) and pastry waft up the street like any European city.

Coffee is everywhere. I love Turkey. Germany:Beer, Turkey:Coffee. Even the most hardened coffee drinkers would be humbled here. It’s brutally strong and dangerously hot. Most places try to ease you into the experience with “Café Americano”. Fuck that. “Bring me your strongest ‘Turkish Coffee’ and marvel and this westerner’s palate.” Stupid. Arrogant. American. All true. Two sugar cubes and I choke it down with only the slightest expression of surprise when I discover the “mud” layer that makes up bottom half inch of the espresso cup. There are two Starbucks within walking distance to me and I couldn’t give a shit. I was pleased to see when walking past that they weren’t even remotely full and not a single American was inside. Two isn’t bad where every third shop sells coffee. A thought that just occurred to me: this coffee might be lethal to Paul. Probably ought to mention it to him before he orders.

I had two breakfasts. To be fair, the first was more of an appetizer – two tiny pastries. Decent. Nothing to write home about. The second was one of the greatest things I’ve ever eaten. Phyllo dough deliciousness. They’re flat, about 1 ½ inches. The first one was potato and once he started cutting it I order a meat one too. I have no idea what either had in them other than the aforementioned major ingredients except that the meat one had caramelized onions. I couldn’t finish the order so it sits in my fridge to be scarfed at a later time that has yet to be determined. I’ll take Matt and Paul there tomorrow for breakfast and laugh as their eyes glaze over.

Random observation: shopkeepers will change the music when I walk in. Not all but about half I’ve been in, especially if I’m the first or only customer. Today it changed from obviously traditional Arabic to, I shit you not, a mixed tape of Elvis Presley’s gospel butchery and Dolly Parton’s Christmas music.

The unfortunate task of getting where you're going

2010-04-23T12:33:00.001-05:00

Its 11:02am. It’s 10:02am. It’s 3:02am. It doesn’t matter. Jet lag isn’t the end of the world. It’s not terminal. You’ll get through it. Eventually. It fits over you like a heavy wool blanket, softly whispering “sleep now. And when you wake, you’ll be itchy and sweaty”. They say that after you arrive in Europe from the states, you’re not supposed to sleep again until the local bedtime. You’d think after having done this 15 times, I’d have some secret trick. I don’t. They also say alcohol exacerbates jet lag. I’ve never believed that. Even if it’s true, what fun is that? Bottom line is jetlag is pretty much the same the first time as it is the 15th time. You’re so off that when you’re trying to identify the smelly fucker in line, you start to wonder if it’s you. I mean, your deodorant has been working for about 18hrs at this point. Only difference is you have a little less adrenaline because you’re a little older and you’ve been through this before. You know what comes next. And you can drink. The simple act of typing, something I’ve been doing for 20 years is difficult. Random T’s, R’s and L’s appear out of no were. Unappreciated and scorned.

If airports are the rock concerts of people watching, this morning, I’m at Woodstock. Frankfurt International Airport. Germans. Ze Germans. Where the men have a real fondness for frosted tipped hair and square wireframe glasses. Where the women are either “cut off my right arm to see you naked” or “cut off my right arm so I don’t have to see you naked”. It’s 10am local time and I’m having a beer. I’m not drinking alone. More people are drinking beer than are drinking coffee. It’s normal. To them.

But as the saying goes, the Germans are nothing if not efficient. Well that’s not true. They’re obscenely clean as well. You could eat off the airport terminal floor. I imagine if someone did, not only would they be fine, but a worker in a clean green jumpsuit would immediately clean up the spot for the next person to eat off the floor.

No more open smoking in Germany. German men and women crammed into a walk-in glass closet inside of airport terminals. On display for all in the airport to see. Being kept alive by their camel lights and a special filtration system that whisks away the smoke. But not before it delivers its precious nicotine cargo just in time for the flight.

Walking through the crowd you can spot the Americans blindly. You don’t need to notice the broad shoulders, jeans, trainers, baseball caps. You feel them in the crowd. American’s slice through crowds of Europeans like a hot knife through butter. Reckless abandon. People flinch, dart, give us right of way. When you come into contact with another American you know it because it hurts. Neither of you move and you’re both keenly aware and only a little irritated.

What will Turkey be like. A far cry from the Indiana Jones depictions. Hot. Dry. Noisy. I think the latter might be the only one we experience. It will be cool. Cold even at night.

Italian Riviera, Here We Come

2009-04-22T10:20:00.001-05:00

OK - so I glossed over a bunch of stuff in my last blog cause I wasn't sure when I'd get a chance to blog again. Well here I am so I'll back track for a bit.

Back to Venice. It was cool, no doubt about it but I think the space, or lack there off kinda whipped our ass a bit. Still beautiful and the dueling orchestra's on San Marco Plaza are still the things movies are made of - we certainly enjoyed ourselves. But the claustrophobia of it all kinda took its toll, especially after the open space of Lake Como. But hey, it was Venice and we loved it. We had a great dinner of tapas style foods our 1st night since we had a really late lunch. It was very cool, much like Spain, and allowed us to drink 1 euro glasses of house wine at about 5 different bars and sample their food, including calamari (1.50 euro for a plate you would pay 12 for in Texas), lobster claws (splurge at 3 Euros) and little sandwiches. So, after five bars (and as many glasses of wine) we decided to have dinner, which is what we were telling each other we were doing for the last 2 hours. We got a great, canal side table but had to share it with another couple since we didn't have reservations - and that's when the wheels very nearly came off the bus. The couple was French. Luckily, they were not asshole French, but the much more rare, nice and generous French. They ordered too much wine (something I thought impossible, especially for the French) and gave us about half a bottle....just what we needed. I have no idea how we found our hotel that night. Even sober, those of you that have been to Venice know what a maze the place is. Now try doing it blind and partly deaf (don't ask me but Erin doesn't hear so well when she's been drinking...) Still couldn't figure out what that damn smell was in our hotel.

Back to Sienna. We've realized that each place we've visited on our Honeymoon has outdone the last place in terms of our favorite meal. Sienna, our third stop, held that trend. We had dinner in an old converted wine cellar that looked more like a catacomb. We got a great table in the back and the wait staff was great. We started out with a complement from the chef - white lentil soup with olive oil...I know, it doesn't sound like much but both Erin and I were searching the menu for it since it came in a "bowl" the size of an espresso cup. For anti pasta, Erin had ribolita - which is just soup with breadcrumbs in it so theirs no broth...but that taste like something you'd slap your mother to eat. I had the meats and cheeses, which was all local and amazing. The fat in their salami melts like butter. LIKE BUTTER! For the prima pasta, Erin had a boar pasta dish. It tasted like hamburger helper if God came home after a long day at work a wanted to get dinner out for the archangels and all he has was hamburger helper...freaking amazing. I don't ever remember what I had, it was that good. We had a bottle of wine, that came highly recommended (our second of the night since the hotel we were staying at gave us a bottle upon checking it...which we promptly drank!) and the tiramisu, which was, by far and away, the best I've ever had in my life. Erin, who doesn't even like tiramisu that much, saw me take the last spoonful and I think she questioned her decision to marry me. We wobbled out, in the rain, and crashed. We picked up our car the next day and Erin got to experience me driving in Europe. Matt and Paul, you know what I'm talking about. I'm good, but you gota trust it first. It's scary enough driving in Italian traffic, but even scarier when you're new husband is doing his best to best them. Fun stuff. Erin threw up twice that day but only once the next day, which I feel is great progress. The Cooking Class, which Erin says is now "our thing", was really a highlight of the trip. The guy dug up a truffle the day we were set to meet him so he amended the menu accordingly. For those of you who haven't bought a black truffle in the market these days, they go for about $2,500/lb. That's not a misprint. At first, we thought he was translating for his wife but we soon realized he was just talking over her - which I thought was hilarious. However, as soon as the cooking started, she locked that shit down. At one point (when he really was translating for us) he started translating before she finished speaking and she grabbed his arm and in Italian, said: "hold your shit up and let me finish a goddamn sentence you conceited bastard". Now I don't speak Italian but I swear to you that's what she said. His chided look confirmed that as well. Plus, she was doing alright for her self (you know what I’m talking about fellas) and I think when push came to shove, he traded up. However, once the food was cooked, we (the guy, Erin and I) sat and she rarely did, spending most of her time bringing food to the table. I pointed this out to Erin but don't think she caught on...We'll see.

Back to Florence. We did our first day here on Monday, which is when some shops take off. They also take off from 1pm to 4pm or 4:30pm which really leaves Erin and I wondering when exactly the do work. It's worse than Spain or Mexico by far. And half the time they're late opening up again in the afternoon. One lady said she didn't know when she'd open cause she had to go by the post office....WFT?!?! We decided to do the countryside yesterday and spent most of the day in Greve (my old stomping grounds last time I was here) where we found the boots Erin wanted...thank god. We bought food again and I made another bang up meal before we both crashed early. I had the forethought to get pancetta yesterday at the butcher's and had pancetta and eggs this morning...un-freaking-believable. Bacon tastes like bologna compared to this.

We're headed to the coast tomorrow - the Italian Riviera. Erin will see the leaning tower of Pisa (any taker of the fact that when she sees it she says "huh, it really does lean"?) before we cruise down the road Princes Grace died on, the Movie Quantum of Solace lost 2 stunt drivers and where mopeds routinely take a very short drive off a tall cliff. Don't worry, I'll be good. We'll be staying in Santa Margerita Ligere, about 10 mins from Portofino. We'll do the Chinque Terre on Friday before heading back to Milan on Saturday so we can fly out Sunday. Oh, and we had the best gelato of our trip in Florence today. I had dark chocolate and Coffee while Erin had Apple and Lemon. Both were awesome. Oh, and we went by H&M so I'm sufficiently stocked on eurotrash cloths. Good times.

On a personal note, my family should note that my 19-year-old self would definitely not count my 29-year-old self as friend when it came to meals. There have been at least three dinners I couldn't finish and I've eaten a healthy amount of bread sticks. I'm going to trying and find the exact point on the Chinque Terre that I melted town 10 years ago because we weren't stopping for lunch. That should be fun.

Vini Verdecci is porno film???.....Gratzie!!!

2009-04-20T08:00:00.001-05:00

Italians trip me out. Good people. Oh, and regardless of the title, there is no mention of porno film so those with sensitive eyes, feel free to keep reading...

Lake Como was awesome. Had some amazing bass right out of the lake our last night and took the boat over to Bellagio that day. We had nothing but sun. Beautiful and about 70 degrees.

We caught a train back Milan and then to Venice. Got to our hotel around 2pm and settled in. Sadly to say, compared to our last hotel, it was not as nice. The hotel was very beautiful but the staff was autonimitonic to say the least and there was a smell that started in the bathroom (both Erin and I deny being the source) that moved its way to the bedroom as our stay progressed. The next 2 days were a bit overcast but we still managed to get lost in the back streets (Matt and Paul, I was demoted several times and had the map taken away from me). We had an AWESOME dinner there that beat our top dinner to date in Lake Como. Muscles, clams, squid and other delicious fruiti di mare. The guy who owned the place was just one more glass of red wine (for Erin) away from convincing Erin to leave me for him. The guy had game, no doubt about it. Plus he was like 60...so unfair. Bastardo.

We caught a train out of Venice and down to Sienna where our hotel totally redeemed itself from Venice. Super nice and made reservations for us at a local farm for cooking classes. We met the guy about 10 clicks from his farm and followed him in. Super nice guy that was a Vet (the animal doctor, not war hero) that just farmed as a hobby. Erin and I called bullshit on a number of things but didn't change the fact that he was very nice and his wife, who couldn't speak a lick of English was a dynamite cook! She instructed and he translated and we tried, unsuccessfully to do what she said before the got pissed off and took over what we were doing. That worked out well cause we cause take a wine break then. We made two pastas, pork tenderloin (from his butchered, free-range pig) tiramisu, 3 kinds of wine, including a super Tuscan, fracaccia cheese and god knows what else. Everything except for the cheese and wine, we made. Very cool.

Erin loved Sienna and I was glad to go back to remember it a bit better. We picked up our car (Fiat Panda, rest assured, we have pictures) and headed north to our agriturismo which is nice. It rained on us the entire day yesterday but the sun is out today and Erin is getting a great look at the Tuscan landscape. Belisima! We're in Florence today (day trip) and will figure out tonight whether we come back tomorrow or the next day'.

The Honeymooners

2009-04-13T07:00:00.001-05:00

Italy is how I remember it...which is a good thing. I still have to remind Erin to pick her jaw up off the floor. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

The hotel at DFW was awesome. We got upgraded to their Presidents Suite that had a bathroom bigger than our bedroom at home. Not to mention four chocolate, coconut, etc covered strawberries and a bottle of fine champagne! We ate the strawberries and sent the fine champagne back home with our cloths to enjoy another time. I also stole the soap and mouthwash. Hey, it’s a honeymoon but that doesn't mean I’m not going to take everything that’s not nailed down to the floor!

We got to JFK no problem and quickly made our way to our connecting gate to see if we could sweet talk the attendants into letting us sit in first class. Right as we got to the desk, she called my name. I have no idea why but we explained our situation and she promptly handed us two, first class tickets. I saw The Day The Earth Stood Still and was re-impressed just how badly Keanu Reaves sucks the talent out of any movie he’s in. He’s like an acting black hole. Not even the light of Jennifer Connelly can escape his gravitational suckiness. I also had the fillet minion while Erin had the tikka masala. I had a little order envy. I think I got a good 4 hours of sleep...Erin wasn’t so lucky. Neither of us has slept well for the last few nights and the previous night was no exception. We kept going over the wedding and how it played out which kept getting us worked up. We really did have a great time and feel like pretty much everyone else did too!

Milan Airport, at first glance, is a beast. Once you give it a second, it starts to make sense. We finally found the bus to the main train station and hoped the 12:20 train to Varrena on Lake Como and got to our hotel by 1:30. Erin (and I) was blown away by the Lake District which boarders Switzerland and is surrounded by the Alps. Our hotel is ancient and beautiful with some of the most amazing gardens Vie ever seen. When we talked into our room I thought they over did it with the potpourri but it turns our room overlooks the gardens and they smell amazing! We got Erin her second cup of Italian coffee (i.e. espresso) and her first Italian pizza (and her first "house wine"). Both were very much to her liking. We spent the rest of the day bumming around the lakeshore, introducing gelato to our diet (1st up - sour cherry!!!) and relaxing. We had dinner at a little cafe on the water and had homemade salami, dried lake fish, pumpkin gnocchi, and homemade ravioli...and a liter of their house wine. It was so much food I couldn’t finish it....

We stumbled (due to the lack of sleep more than to the house wine) back to our hotel and were asleep by 9:30. It’s been a great start to Italy and our honeymoon thus far. Can’t wait to blog about today later!

Ouch...

2007-07-04T06:32:00.001-05:00

Rated "PG-13" for violence and drunken behavior.

Man, we are no good at going to bed early - even when we know the consequences will be enormous. Sunday night in Edinburgh, our last night in Edinburgh, was supposed to be low key so we could get up early and get our car and get the hell out of Dodge. We all agreed. Dinner, 1-2 drinks and then bed. Not even close. We had dinner at, hell I can't even remember. Doesn't matter. What does matter is we had one bottle of wine with said dinner then decided to go back to our hostel and have one more at a small cafe right next door since they had out door seating. After the 2nd bottle we decided to find a place still open and I have just one last drink. The Irish blood took over from there and the prospect of VERY cheep wine (we were drinking blush by the end of the night people) and laughing was just too good to pass up. None of us have a full recollection of that night or how much we ended up drinking (conservative estimates are 8 bottles total) other than we know we drunk dialed Mom and Dad 3 times because we kept getting into fights in the phone booth. Mom and Dad would hear things like "yeah, it's been pretty cold here but yesterday...Stop it Matt. Shut it! No you shut it! GRRGGAAHHHA...click" Then we'd dial back and explain that Matt's head clicked the receiver when we were bashing it against the phone booth.

We woke the next morning with bruised/bloody knuckles and one of the top 5 hangovers I've ever had. Truly hating life that morning. We slept about 1.5 hrs past the alarm (we were all still pretty drunk at 8am when it went off) before finally catching a cab and getting to the rental car place. Luckily, they didn't have our car ready so Paul and I walked down to get breakfast for the 3 of us and tried to sober up. Matt and I had tea - Paul had coffee. Remember that detail for later.

We got a VW Golf and piled in. Anyone who knows us, knows we all have different rolls when we travel. Paul does math, conversions and poor accents/imitations. Matt asks questions Paul nor I want to and is a pretty good punch line. I drive, mandate eating times and encourage/facilitate most of the drinking binges we've been on.

So, with me behind the wheel finally, we head out of Edinburgh to Oban (pronounced Oh-bin). It's a 3.25hr drive. We made it in 2.5hrs and that's counting the times we had to pull over for Paul to feel better and blow chunks (see, I told you to remember he had coffee). We told him coffee was a bad idea. We got to Oban and found a GREAT B&B who's run by a woman to would be any of our grandmothers if she was 60, Scottish, a golfer, listened to Amy Winehouse and a mother of 5 boys! As you can guess, we were a big hit. When she said she only had a room with a double and a single bed, I told her that would be fine, we're brothers and we'd done it before. She said "aye and with no wee bit of fist-a-cuffs between the lot of you I'm sure".

We had some seafood down at the pier (lobster sandwiches, crayfish and salmon steaks) before heading to the scotch whiskey distillery. Had a great tour there and learned a ton about the six regions of Scotch (much like the wine regions of France...only cooler and not as snotty). I bought some stuff that'll keep you warm on a February night. It will also make you blind if you drink it too fast. We learned some really cool tricks about adding water to scotch, an act of heresy I had thought.

We then had dinner on the pier again, different restaurants and had the best muscles I've ever had in my life and I order them on any menu I see, anytime I come over. The were "rope grow" in the loch about a mile up so they grow very fast and are very tender. amazing. We split our plates of haddock, salmon and seafood pasta and walked away full. Even managed to convince Paul that we should have a bottle of wine.

This time, we really did go to bed at a decent hour. After dinner we headed back to and arcade and shot a round billiards before walking back to the B&B to read and sleep. With the 1st full 8 hrs under our belts we woke this morning to an "English breakfast". If you don't know what that is, consider yourself lucky. Eggs, French toast, toast, bacon, bangers, hash browns, cereal, orange juice, tea and pancakes make for a full meal. I'm pretty sure our host would have stood over us until we finished our juice if we hadn't already.

We're off to Fort Williams this morning, overnighting in Pitlochry. We'll see Loch Ness on the way.

A note for the terrorists

2007-07-03T13:05:00.001-05:00

Rated "R" for language and extreme nationalistic/narrow minded viewsOk, so all these bombings and terrorist attacks over here just have me baffled. Of all the people in the world, not of fuck with - the Scots need to go ahead and be at the top of that list. The bombers (all originating from where you'd expect) should do a little history check. The English, OK - risky but you know what, roll the dice and see how you come out. The Scots on the other hand...I think they'd just not been here before. The Scots have been fighting the English more than a few 100 years and it looks like they'll be doing it for a few 100 more. In fact, in effort to help educate our Middle Eastern friends, I've compiled this list of people NOT to fuck with.

1 - The Australians. I shouldn't have to explain this one but I will. They're all big blokes who are decedents of murderers, thieves and some other horrible shit. It was a prison colony. So you have a few hundred years of selective breeding going on there. Chance of being beaten senseless by your own boots if you fuck with them? 9/10

2 - The Scots/Irish. There's no real point in distinguishing between the 2 but I'll give the upper hand to the Scots on this one as they are bigger in size. They have games like caber (sp?) tossing where the basically see how far they can throw telephone polls. They also like bolder tossing or anything where the objective is to throw something twice as large as yourself. Chance of being crushed by a 4-ton bolder if you fuck with them? 8/10

3 - The Americans. Once again, selective breeding helps here. We were the ballsy ones who decided fighting Indians and starvation were viable options. We have more nukes than anyone and a military budget 10 times the size of the next biggest. Our only real weakness is we may have an incompetent, semi retarded half-wit in the white house when you attack us (Bush, Jr). We'll get confused and bomb another country and not yours. Chance of being bombed back into the stone age? 7/10

4 - Everyone else. Yeah, everyone else has their claim to fame. The Italians have their Costa Nostra, the Asians have their land wars, the French have their cheese. But they all have fatal flaws when it comes to really kicking ass. The Italians have to look good doing it, they Asians need to feed their people and the French have to constantly deal with the fact that they are indeed French. Chance of being slapped by a white glove if you fuck with them, 4/10So take note, terrorist man and heed this list.

We're fine

2007-07-03T11:21:00.001-05:00

Rated "PG" for discussion of potentially violent themes and adult situations

For those of you wondering, we're OK. The Glasgow bombing and the London attempts have made things a little more difficult for us though. We went back to the airport today to get our car to go to St. Andrews, only to find the police weren't letting any in or out, only taxis and buses. A taxi ride to the course would have been £100 and that wasn't in the budget.

We came back and did some...ok A LOT of shopping on Prince St. All of us got a ton of stuff. I even found one for those golfing hat that fits me and a corduroy jacket so I fit right in. I even got a pair of those shoes....ok, this I getting self deprecating. Suffice to say, I got a bunch of cool stuff. I even managed to get Paul to go out on a limb with some Euro fashion. Oh, and there was this AWESOME open air market that had samples just like Central Market back home, only much better. Plus they didn't scowl nearly as much as they do state side when you take a full handful of cheese, right Dad?

Matt was spent after that so he went back to the hostel and caught some zzzz's while Paul and I saw ocean's 13. We just finished buying souvenirs for people and are about to have Thai food, again. Gota love it.

a bloody good time!

2007-07-02T07:00:00.001-05:00

Rated "PG-13", for bathroom humor (including dick and fart jokes), shameless self promotion and bawdy behavior

Where to start, where to start...? After I posted my last blog we went back to the hostel to get a few things for tonight and get ready. Matt took the opportunity to explain to the receptionist (male) that tomorrow we'd be playing a round at St. Andrews and we'd be sore that afternoon and did the man know of (using exact language here) "a good massage parlor [he] and [his] brothers could relax". The man looked very nervous and waited for Matt to say something that would make the situation less awkward. Matt, not realizing the international beard for brothel was "massage parlor" (naive or stupid, you tell me), just blinked and the guy waited for the reply. The bloke finally stumbled out something to the like of never having been to one himself but his friends had. The phone then rang and he was all to relieved to be able to answer it.

We broke Matt's balls for the next two hrs over dinner where we had great house beer (where they really pull it from the kegs, not the pressurized crap we use...I guess technically it's all pressurized but you know what I mean) and haggis - delicious. I'm not just saying that because I was three sheets to the wind, I really love the stuff. For those of you curious, haggis is barley, and goat organs (they're never more specific than that) in goat intestine. I bet your mouth is already watering.

We knew we had to be up early the next morning for golf so we decided to head to Finnegan's early and finish early. Well, we got half that right. Apparently ALL of the single women were getting married the next day which meant everyone was out on a hen party (bachelorette party). As soon as we're in the bar one of the brides-to-be comes up holding a card that she explains requires her "to squeeze hunks arse". We couldn't have scripted it any better if we had rehearsed. O course, all the bridesmaids are watching so we have an audience, and how do you expect us to walk away from that. In unison, we look at on another, shrug, take a drink of our beers, turn around put our hands on the bar and say, "if you're gonna grab one darlin' you'd better go ahead and get your money's worth". We each get a honk, take the picture and go about our business. The band kicked ass again and we stuck around until around 11pm or so until it was too crowded.

We walked down the street a wee bit to a place matt and I spied when we were out for pizza. We pop in for a pint but the place was unhinged. We were sucked in to the dance floor and it was at that moment, Matt nearly cause an international incident by dancing to Shakira. Holy shit that was funny! I would have given my left arm for a video camera. We were having such a good time we were all surprise when Paul announce that it was 12:30 and we needed to have his ass in bed soon or he was gonna be shite on the course. I think it was just a good excuse for him to suck today but we followed him out and announce it to be a raging success.

Finnegan's Wake

2007-06-30T07:11:00.001-05:00

PG - 13, due to language, extreme nationalistic expressions and alcohol/drug use.

As, what I took to a good omen, we were stopped on the street in route by a woman complaining her drinking mates were light weights and needed "stronger men". We told her we were from Texas and she says, "EXACTLY, BRILLIANT!". She stumbled along for another 25 yards or so before we got to a set of stairs she looked at a said, "I had better go check on my friends". We parted ways and introduced Paul to the late Finnegan. Same place, same crowd, same bartenders. This is why I love Scotland and if only slightly disappointed by Ireland.

When you go out in Ireland, people are serious. The need a drink and they're happy to share the space with you but god help you if you interrupt or even delay the boozing process. The Scots on the other hand are pissed and insulted if you don't interrupt their drink with or without mates (the masculine kind, not the married kind) and they'll just as soon interrupt yours if you don't do it first. Case in point - 5 mins after getting our first round, an Irish lass (barking pissed ) pokes her head in our space and say, I'm Abigail, are you Irish too? We explain and she turns to Paul and says, "who are you" to which Paul replies, "hate-haters". Apparently he'd made an off color remark just before she poked in and was trying to cover for himself. Call it a conditioned response or just poor hearing, he didn't really need to say anything because Abigail was 2 pints away from a nap on the bar. Regardless, Paul kept up the front and repeated himself several times, increasing in volume. Matt and I are rolling on the floor by this point and finally jump in and correct Paul's interpretation of the question.

Abigail suggest we all get up and dance, to which I see the never disappointing option of volunteering a brother. Back me up here fella's - there's nothing funnier than throwing a friend to the lions, especially if the lion is drunk, fat and ugly as a shoe, all of which apply here. Pretty soon, Abigail and I are laughing about something (about which I have no idea as I've lost track of her drunken Irish slurring 10 mins ago but I do my best Vince Vaughn), when she stops abruptly and suggest that Paul dance naked on the bar and she has plenty of "1's". At that point her boyfriend (poor bastard that he is, god rest is tired soul) jumps up and pulls her back to her stool. We stayed for a few more drinks and four songs from the band (who kicked ass playing Simon and Garfunkel, U2, etc.) and got back to the hostel around 11. Matt and I put Paul to bed and went in search of a pizza place still open (our bodies thought it was lunch time) and finally found one around midnight.

OH, the hostel. It's about 10x14 with 3 sets of bunk bed in it. There's a communal shower (yeah, men and women) and we share the space with an Ausy chick (Charmane or something) and 2 other people we've never seen. It aint great, but I promise you Paul's getting the "total" experience...as I read that I realize I looks like I'm implying that Paul is getting the real experience due in part to something that Charmain is doing. I didn't mean that. Only that the bathrooms are built for one and so are the showers but they manage to get five in them. Good.

Today we woke around nine and headed for the castle that Matt and I remember fondly. Upon arrival we found that they were starting Parliament today and were bringing in the crown in a big ceremony down the Royal Mile. Very cool since it only happens once a year and we just happened to be there. Some daft tart was saying the Queen would be in attendance but she wasn't.

We did a bunch of other sight seeing today and are about to hit the pubs again, though probably not Finnegan's Wake as we have a 10am Tee Time at St. Andrews tomorrow. Gotta hit the links. We're already plotting the pictures we'll take and I'll be amazed if they let us finish all 9 holes.

It's raining and cool/cold here. Next time we do a brothers trip, I'm taking them some place sunny and warm.

Finally in Edinburgh

2007-06-30T06:01:00.001-05:00

PG - 13, due to language, extreme nationalistic expressions and alcohol/drug use.

So I cool my heals in Charles de Gaul (I still hate that uppity prick from my last time in France ) and watch 3hrs of Transformers DVDs that I Netflixed and brought with me courtesy of my company's office Olympic where I won a portable DVD player - SUCK IT KEVIN MANGUM! We finally board at 4 and I get to Edinburgh around 5:30 and am at the hostel (not a misspelling people, Paul wanted the "total" European experience) by 6:30, only 10 mins behind Matt and Paul, whose plan was delayed. All-in-all, not to shabby.

But Paul and I are chewing on Matt's left and right arm, respectively, so we go to what we know - Chinese, or in this case, Thai. Once again, we've freaked out another country by ordering 2 things a piece off the menu and eating it all in about 5 mins. Seriously, they just watch and stair in a horror/amazed stupor.

We convince Paul he needs to stay up until at least 10pm so he gets a good night sleep. The truth is, he could take enough melatonin to kill a yak and sleep for 24hrs if wanted to but dammit, I was thirsty and needed a pint. So we head over to another hold-over from our last trip to Edinburgh, Finnegan's Wake. Some of you might remember this pub as the one we joined forces with an Ausy group and took the joint over, spending the whole night teaching the locals to 2-step and having a general riot. This time didn't disappoint either.

French Bastards

2007-06-30T05:04:00.002-05:00

Rated "PG - 13", due to language, extreme nationalistic expressions and alcohol/drug use.

Ohhh, those shiesty French bastards! I defy all odds and make it out of DFW in, what Noah must have experience after he got that last peacock on the boat, only to arrive in Paris and damn near have to sell my liver to get to Edinburgh. I won't go into details because I'm trying to repress the memory but lets just say, my 1st plane ticket to Europe back in '98 cost me less than the 2 hrs plane ride from Paris to Edinburgh and that ticket was less than a ticket from Paris to London.

Oh, and here's an update for you - French people? Yeah, still not showering! WTF!!!!! It was one thing when we were just making fun of them behind there backs but we've pretty much given up the ghost that they don't know we're snickering and holding our noses. I mean shit, Monty Python made a fucking movie about it! "I fart in your general direction". Come on! I wanted to start passing our rightguard and buying up add space for Axe.

Last call

2007-05-19T11:00:00.002-05:00

Probably my last post before I'm home. We catch a taxi in about 30 mins for the plane to London. Spend the night in London and then catch a flight home tomorrow.We did NOTHING today. Not a damn thing. Sat for damn near four hrs at a cafe on the main drag just watching people and thinking about the stuff we need to get ready to go to Rockport in just 6 days!

So Dubrovnik...neat place but we probably should have put it at the beginning of our trip. We slowed waaaaay down in Split so we knocked out the beach lounging there. In Hvar we had a ton of things to do - renting boats, renting scooters, etc. In Dubrovnik you pretty much have a half days worth of things to see and then just enjoy the town. But by the time we go there, we had done the whole slow down and watch thing so we kinda wondered what to do with ourselves for a while. Plus, you can’t get too relaxed when you know you're flying out in the afternoon.

The other strange thing is there are no souvenirs really to buy - nothing they’re really known for. Poland and Czech Republic had Vodka and Absinth, lace and wooden things. But here...shipbuilding and salt were their big exports...and last time I checked, salt was not in shortage in the old U.S. of A. That being said, we did what we could today and I think people will be happy. They better be anyway.

So, for the 170 people who read the blog, big thanks. Nice to have an audience. For the one person who made a comment (thanks Kev), thanks for remembering it’s nice to hear back.

Check back to the picture section soon for some "interesting" snap shots!

war reminders

2007-05-18T09:52:00.002-05:00

We saw the war museum today. Defiantly slanted in a Croatian perspective but important nonetheless. 100 freedom fighters died in the shelling of Dubrovnik (considered to be the last straw by the international community). The town actually reverted to its medieval defensive positions, using the town well, walls and granary. Pretty impressive that the same fortifications that keep the Venetians out keep the modern Yugoslavian Army out as well. While they kept them out and eventually resisted the siege, Dubrovnik suffered terribly. As you climb the city walls you can see which of the old, terracotta roof tiles are new or old by their color. 70% are new. There is a map showing where each shell hit and it looks like over 500 ordinances landed in old town. Remember, Dubrovnik provided very little strategic importance in the war. The siege began as a campaign to break the spirit of the Croatians but as the saying goes "when they tried to take Dubrovnik, they lost the war". The one picture I felt like a jackass when taking (which will really impress you when you see some of these pictures) was of the "pock marks" where the shells landed and shrapnel flew.

Again, you're used to seeing this kind of thing in Normandy or Alsace from the WWII happenings but it really startling when you remember that all this happened 15 years ago. These were modern guns, modern ships, modern planes that did this destruction and they did it with much better precision than in the past.

War is hell...

Jesus' nappy and other religious relics

2007-05-18T09:42:00.002-05:00

Yeah, so Christian religious relics are all over the place here in Dubrovnik. Apparently, the thing to do once the holy guy goes to the big reception in the sky is cut off what ever you want of him/her (but let's face it, usually a him) be it a finger, foot, piece of skull - what ever. Then make a piece of silver that looks like the relic (i.e. a hollow silver finger for a severed finger, a hollow silver leg for a severed leg, etc) and then stick the body part in the silver casing, being sure to cut a hole in the sliver casing so a little piece of holiness is visible. Lovely.

So the local story here is that bishops passed down the swaddling cloths that Mary wrapped Jesus in after Nativity goings on from generation to generation. They kept it a secret until a mouthy nun caught wind and told the whole town. I mean really, even vows of silence can’t keep women from gossiping! Anywho, the town wanted to start using the blanket to help postnatal women recover. They did so by cutting pieces of the blankly and then doing something with it...who knows what. Of course, the women were healed. Oh, and every time they cut off a piece, the blanket reverted to its full size - like a blankly cornucopia. All this went on with no hiccups until one day someone cut off a piece for a Bosnian queen but because she was Muslim it didn't work and the blankly never worked again for any woman. Such is the legend of the Jesus Nappy.

Absurd as all that sounds, it does speak to the strong underlying nasty feelings between the ethnic groups that have been around for a hell of a long time...

Update: Dubrovnik

2007-05-18T09:25:00.002-05:00

First full day in Dubrovnik. Cool town. We met a guy from Chicago on the bus ride over who was working for M&G (big investment firm) based in London and decided to meet up for drinks around sunset last night. He was a cool guy, looking for a break from work (they get 6 weeks a year off...amazing...their economy's still growing...) and his girlfriend and apparently didn't mind being a 3rd wheel.

We met at a bar called Hemmingway's (every country has a place they claim he drank at - which isn't surprising since the man was a ragging alchy) but we read in Rick that drinks were cheaper and the view better at a bar up the street so the 3 of us wandered on down. We found what we thought was the bar (later found out it wasn't) that had an AMAZING view. Dubrovnik is a walled city much like Avon, Spain or York, England. They bored a hole in the seaside wall and put tables strategically located on the limestone outcroppings. You were perched like a barnacle right on the city wall perilously close to crashing sea below. Very cool. We drank and watch the sail boats come in reminding me that our family (once our fearless Capitan comes back from sabbatical) needs to do that again. Isn't someone in the family graduating soon!?!?

After a few drink we went to another restaurant recommended by Rick and had one of the best (and cheapest) dinners yet. Two American girls next to us (completely shit-faced) told us the house wine was good and we took their suggestion. It was definitely better than any of the other house wine we've had here but nothing to write home about. That's true about pretty much all the wine here. In fact, if I had to complain about one thing, it would be the lack of good, regional booze to be had - wine or otherwise.

Its overcast today and a decent breeze is keeping everything borderline chilly. We walked the city walls and did the city walking tour and now thinking about the best way to blow the rest of our time here, which is only about 24 hrs since we fly to London tomorrow around 4pm.

Oh, the food! The I have successfully converted Erin into a muscles lover (aside from my own) and I have really taken to the squid. They do it just right over here...it's really worth eating a lot of. I'll try the oysters tonight but they're not exactly reasonably prices at $2 apiece. Oh, and the shrimp we had last night damn near knocked me out of my chair. They were grilled, head and shell on so that to eat them, all you had to do was take off the head and eat them shell and all. AMAZING!

The gnocchi is also damn good. Never really been that impressed with it before but these people do it up right.

Noticings

2007-05-17T11:00:00.002-05:00

Croatians are freakin HUGE! No shit, they’re all like 6ft. Even the women - amazons I tell ya!

Better looking (the men too Erin tells me) than most other Eastern Europeans as well.

Generally nice but not grinning idiots either. Most of them (unlike the French) get that 30% of their GDP comes from tourism so they tend not to shit on us...at least when we are watching.

I still think its bullshit that they get a pass from the international community just because they have some nice beaches and islands. Its like someone said, "OK, I know, we did some horrible shit 10 years about but come on, look out the window! It’s beautiful! How can you stay mad at us?" and Kofi said, "You’re right, it is beautiful. Let’s never talk about the last decade again. Gelato anyone?"

Oh well, as they say (not here though) "se la vie"

Update: Hvar

2007-05-17T10:44:00.002-05:00

So it’s been a while since my last entry, I know. We spent 3 nights in Split and then split for Hvar (pronounced, var). We took the slow boat over lasting about 1.75hrs. Cool ride all in all and got to see some great scenery.

For those of you that have been to the Italian Riviera, it’s kinda like that but even more like the Cinque Terre in Italy. Very dry, very steep landscape with deep blue water crashing on the rocks below. For those of you that haven’t been to those places, let me dispel any notion you may have of white sandy beaches - they’re all pebbles and rocks. Sand is a myth. If you want sand, go to Cozumel. We checked into our sobe (which is like renting a room in someone’s house but much nicer) and proceeded straight to the nearest rent-a-scooter. We picked out a nice powder blue, 50cc moped that I quickly nicknamed, Blue Thunder. We spend about five hrs easy riding around the island, stopping every now and then for a picture. The roads were very windy and windy and the drop offs had no guardrail. (think the Amalfi coast where princess grace was killed...yeah, kinda like that) I think Erin (who was riding behind me) only peed herself twice. The highlight of the excursion was the Chinese fire drill we pulled at a nudist camp toward the end of the island. Man that was fun. We came blaring through the front gates at top speed sounding the horn and whooping like wild people! Then we ran hell out of there before we went blind!

That night my allergies got wicked pissed and started whaling on me! We went to the local pharmacy and gave them our symptoms. For $10 we walked out with eye drops, nasal spray 10 days worth of prescription Zyrtec. Gota love America’s health system. Everything worked great (the nasal spray made me giggle a lot and everything taste like mushrooms) and I was back at em the next day. We decided to say "the hell with" the itinerary at this point and skip Korcula. We spent 2 nights in Hvar instead.

The following morning we rented a boat (5hp "dingy") and went and visited the islands off the Island of Hvar. Nudists abound! Great Scott! It was like a butcher shop! Damn Germans and their need for perverted exhibitionism! We had a blast and really enjoyed the autonomy the dingy...no pun intended.

Today we woke up at the crack of dawn and caught the first ferry off the island at 6:30am. We were back in Split by 7:30 and on a bus bound for Dubrovnik, getting here around 1pm. We found a place to stay and after dragging the luggage up 15 flights (more like five but it sure as hell felt like 15 flights) I was ready for some food...quickly. I read in Rick that there was a kick ass pizza place not far so we found it and tried to grab a seat but some little shit middle schoolers had the whole damn thing reserved. What the hell did they think this was, Planet Hollywood!??!?! The little bastards didn’t leave a single table. We had to eat across the way and I had to have the biggest beer they served just to get over it. The beer is now wearing off and I'm seriously considering spending the afternoon hunting each one of them down and putting my size 10 to good use.

We will spend the day getting oriented to the city and then I will write more.

Until then, be jealous!

Shopping

2007-05-14T13:30:00.002-05:00

OK, so while we are not up to Poland standards on shopping yet, we are making progress.

The 1st day we were here I bought a straw fedora. Erin bought a big floppy white hat and was told by the man selling it that "she needed it for her big, white head".

I'm putting the fedora with the white pants in Dubrovnik!

Status Report

2007-05-14T13:15:00.002-05:00

This is our last day in Split. Cool town. Well, not cool. It’s been in the upper 80s and the water feels great when we get in it. Not too cold at all.

The oldest church ruins in all of Christendom they say. The Roman Emperor of the time Diocletian was know of really getting a kick out of torturing Christians and guess where he was from and subsequently retired? That’s right, Split. Aside from beating the shit out of Christians every chance he got, he was also know for dividing the Empire into 4 sections which, while making things easier to govern, eventually lead to its collapse. Anyway, upon retiring, he set up shop back in Split. His retirement gift - the local bishop's head. When the mean old bastard finally croaked, they partied like it was 9A.D. They converted his temple (Jupiter Jr was his monitor) into a church and buried that bishop in the alter. 15 centuries later, when the Slavs invaded (read last political rant if you need to see how this fits into today) everyone took shelter in the palace. The upper class took the Emperors old rooms and the commoners took the lower rooms below. The siege lasted long enough that the rich bastards upstairs got tired of walking out to the outhouse or taking the garbage out. So they just drilled holes in the floor. That’s right, the first documented occurrence of the upper class shitting on (literally) the lower class.

How far we have come!

We head to the island of Hvar (the "h" is silent) tomorrow morning.

food for thought

2007-05-14T13:01:00.002-05:00

On the 1st night here, we ate at one of Ricks recommendations. We ordered a ton of fish and it all arrived in tact - that is, head on. I tore into it but Erin wasn’t exactly thrilled so after dinner we walked up and down the promenade. It being Saturday night, there were plenty of people out and about so we quickly noticed a local pizzeria doing a hell of a lot of business. Erin popped in for a slice and immerged with a quarter of a pie. She took one bite and said "this pizza tastes like it has Velveeta on it" 2 blinks..."it’s delicious!” not believing her I took a bite - she was right and now we will probably put Velveeta on the pizzas we get back home.

The Croatians really like their food in tube form. You can get anything from pate, to mayonnaise to tomato paste all in what looks exactly like the Crest tube on your bathroom counter. I love pate but I don’t think I will be trying it in tube form any time soon

We had lunch yesterday in a place we thought was recommended by Rick but in further examination, was not. Didn’t matter - best damn food I’ve had here yet! we ordered :

bottle of wine
water
anchovies
French fries
mushroom caps
pizza
tuna gnocchi

The waiter, who turned out to be really cool, took our order, reviewed it and said "in all my 35 years, I have never taken this order". in all fairness it was more food than we intended to order but I felt obligated to make it disappear just to spite the guy. we finally finished that meal at 4pm. Total cost: $20. I love Croatia.

Bon Apatite!

Girl-on-girl frisking and adult experiences

2007-05-13T15:25:00.002-05:00

Girl-on-girl frisking, I believe, is something we can all support but before I get into that, let me say, we flew first class; I had the scallions and scrip risotto, the cheese course, two Makers Marks, three glasses of Champaign, and three glasses of red wine. I watched the movie with Will Ferrell about an author narrating his life. Pretty good. Then I stretched out flat and get six hrs of sleep. booyaahh.

ok, on to the main event. When we landed in Gatwick, we had to clear customs and get our bags and clear immigration to go to Croatia. I had a mini bottle of Makers Mark that I swiped from first and had it in my backpack. Erin swore to me I’d never get it past security. my position was that if any culture would understand the need for find bourbon, it was the English. Plus, they were much too polite a people to insist.

I made it Erin went through screening first as I pushed our bags through the scanner. I pick my head up just in time to see her getting full on felt up by the female security agent. I don’t think she even set off the alarms but let me tell you - you could have sold tickets to this show. I swear it lasted like five mins. she walked away dazed and didn't respond when I asked her if she needed more ones.

Which brings me to my next bit, adult clubs that translate their names into English? The popular (I’m only judging by the number of fliers I see on windshields on cars) on here is “Go-Go Lady Dance" that advertises "strep dance" (I didn't misspell that) and "free drive call" and "very appetizing ladies". We laugh every time we pass a flier, which is quite often.

Finally, also on the subject of adult entertainment, we got home last night around midnight and I turned on the TV while Erin took a shower. Damnit if there was Croatian porn everywhere! seriously, I wasn't even looking for it but when I heard the shower crank off, I figured it was time to turn the channel. Much to my horror, the channel wouldn't change. I tried every button on that damn remote to no avail. When Erin came out I figured it was time for preemptive measures and before she saw the TV herself, started to explain the situation. She, seeing how embarrassed I was (not to mention innocent) laugh and asked for the remote to try it herself. no luck. for a while I was thinking we'd have to go to sleep with the TV broadcasting Slavic porn into our room all night. luckily, we found the power button on the TV and went to bed. Next morning, Erin gets in the shower; I turn on the TV for SKY News and guess what channel the TV is on. At that point, I unplugged the TV, feeling damn sure Erin could understand once, but not twice.

That all for now - Split is amazing. In a word - "sun drenched"

Political rant

2007-05-13T02:51:00.001-05:00

OK so I lied in my last blog, I'm not finished ranting about the wars ten years ago. I admit that I didn't fully understand all the players (Serbs, Croats and Slavs) when all this took place but I do remember trying to establish a bad guy. The media seemed to serve up Milosevic on a sliver platter and while I'm certainly not advocating his innocence, he was just the only one who survived long enough to have charges brought against him.

So for all of you who were either too young to remember, didn't get past WWII in history class or were just as confused as I was, here's a brief recap.

Back when Hitler conquered this part of the globe, before the Greatest Generation got their medals and before anyone gave two shits about Eastern Europe, you have five types of people (comprised of 3 religions - Catholics, Muslims and orthodox, and 2 ethnicities) inhabiting the land who had been conquered by nearly as many cultures as the Polish (though France still holds the record for sheer number of times beaten). When the Nazis established law here the Croats (Catholics, who as history tells us, were ALWAYS on the moral side of the issue) saw it as an opportunity for a little autonomy and supported the new rulers. When Hitler showed them his plans for changing the landscape, they were all for it. Anywhere from 25k to 300k were exterminated.

After the Allies saved everybody's ass, we started drawing up new countries. Grand decisions like Iraq, Israel and Yugoslavia were created.

The Iron curtain falls, Yugoslavia becomes a communist satellite and Titto came to power. I remember hear about what a controversial guy he was. Here was his great achievement - keeping five factions from killing each other. Wanna guess how he did it - ding, ding all the people who said despotism, come on down!

Seriously, the guy was a class-A douche bag. People disappearing and shit - really nasty stuff. People here have a short-term memory. Kinda like Russia does now. Everyone likes Putin because he keeps his foot on the neck of the separatist. They forget he's quickly eroding their civil liberties - take note Patriot Act supporters.

Regardless, after Titto dies shit goes crazy. The Serbs gain the upper hand in 1991, and figure it's payback time for the heinous shit the Nazis/Croats pulled and 6,000 people end up disappearing. Guess where they found them (hint: it wasn't Barbados). It was mass graves

Fighting continues. In 1995 the Croats set up "rape camps" (think Auschwitz but instead of crematoriums, there is a fresh platoon of pissed of soldiers...oh, and they only interned women...yep you are on the right track). Lucky for them, we had a president at the time that gave a damn about other things that didn't concern oil and sent ol' Wes Clark to drop some "war kisses" for about 2 months. Because the US was involved in a military expedition, it got press. Because it got press, people started hearing about all the nastiness. The residents took a cue from Germany in 1948 and said, "Wait, we didn't know they were doing that stuff" and quickly ousted Milosevic. He died in prison. The official cause was heart failure. We all know it was assassination.

So, after all that reading, you wanna know who the bad guys were, right? THEY ALL WERE! All of them did unimaginable, horrible, things to one another. It doesn't matter who did it first or who did it worst/best. Everyone over here deserved a BIG time out!

Instead, everyone pretty much goes about their business. There are now five countries where there was once one - all drawn on religious and ethic lines. Bosnia's having the hardest time apparently because of the heavy mix of the five.

Croatia is looking into being admitted into the EU be they're being told to piss off until they hand over the war criminals.

I like the fact that they can forgive and forget but I don't think we need 6 million dead before we start calling something what it is - systematic extermination of a race or people, i.e. holocaust. The fact that 90 percent of the people reading this (including yours truly up to 48 hrs ago) didn't put all of this together, or know all the details is pretty alarming. Do we need to lose troops to take notice? Does Brat Pitt have to go to Africa and hold a bloated baby before we even consider doing something in Dar Fur?

OK, enough - for now. I'm not promising anything. I'm sure I'll revisit this the more I think about it.

Waiting...

2007-05-11T17:47:00.001-05:00

It's 3:45pm - we checked in for our standby tickets over 1/2 an hour ago. Our plane doesn't take off for another three hrs...baahhh.

The good news is it looks like we're in first class again. I won't go into why, when I fly first class, I'm superior to all other moral passengers again but if you need a refresher, read the past blog - "1st class, real class".

Seven hrs to Gatwick and three hrs to Split, Croatia. Mentally, I've already been there a week.

Had to leave Parker (the dog) with one of my bosses. Much harder for me than Parker. He'll be staying with two other dogs with plenty of energy so I'm not even sure he'll notice I'm gone.

How to kill three hrs in an airport...maybe I'll test-drive some cars at the airport dealerships...do you think they do duty free?

The most common response when I tell people I'm going to Croatia for a week is, "Why?" After I tell them how great of a place it's supposed to be I realize they're connecting Croatia to the war in the former Yugoslavia 10 years ago. At that point, it becomes a fair question. Why is a place where, from all accounts, horrible human atrocities occurred just over a decade ago attractive as a tourist destination of all places!?! What separates Croatia from...say...Lebanon or Kashmir? Did people just forget and forgive the war crimes and mass graves? Maybe it's just too pretty of a place to hold a grudge. Or maybe it's just too hot in Lebanon - heat has been known to make people angry. Regardless, it will be somewhat surreal to fly over Sarajevo. A reverse, perhaps, from what the UN peacekeepers felt as they marched into the Olympic Stadium that housed the Winter Games a decade before.

I'm thirsty and in need of a drink after those ramblings...it's a good thing booze is free in first!

3rd time's the charm

2006-10-06T13:17:00.001-05:00

Had a really cool night last night. After dinner at a really good pizza place Erin and I wanted to go have a drink and stumbled into a bar that was about two stories below ground. VERY COOL. I think it was an old wine cellar but it had all the old stonework and kinda looked like a crypt. Once again, the cheep bastard in me was loving the prices so 2 drinks turned into 4 and 4 drinks turned into 8 and before I knew it we had made friends with Pollock couple. (By the way, turns out Pollock is the correct way to say it. I confirmed it this time with an actual Pollock. Incidentally, a female of Polish heritage is called a Polka. I kid you not.) We learned all sorts of things about past communist pains and Poland's optimistic capitalist future. I also learned how to say jackass in Polish. It's jackass. Turns out some things don't need translating.

So we danced to the "UNSE UNSE UNSE" of the techno beat until the wee hours of the night. We walked across the square back to the hotel we heard the buglers play their hourly song (kinda like Taps) and was reminded of the story behind that I forgot to mention. So there's this big town smack dab in the middle of the square that's, I don't know, 1,500 years old. The story goes that the watchman saw the invaders coming and started bugling his alarm. About half way through the alarm he was shot in the throat with an arrow. Pretty grizzly I know, but to this day, they play the song on the hour every hour and stop it mid way through. I don't know, I kinda thought it was cool.

This morning we got up at a decent hour, switched hotels as the other one was all booked up for tonight and headed down to the Wawel Castle. There has been some sort of structure there since the beginning of recorded history! Also, (another religion tidbit) Hindus believe that there are 7 places on earth that have kick ass chakra – Jerusalem, Delhi, Delphi, Mecca, Rome, etc, etc and Wawel Castle. So you're supposed to go hug on this wall to achieve maximum chakra potential but it totally wigs the Krakowians out. If you ask a tour guide about it they start to squirm cause they're not even allowed to talk about it. So after rubbing on a wall like a bunch of cats in heat, we headed down to the garden to have a Pepsi Lite and sit in the sun. I got a back rub and a big thumbs up from some really old Pollock that could see I was in heaven. Seriously, he passed us with this group, turned around and with a big grin, gave me two big thumbs up. I agreed.

We spent the afternoon strolling through the Jewish quarter but were really unimpressed. Its not like walking into China Town or Little Italy in New York. There aren't menorahs on the street signs or dradles in the street. I don't know what I was expecting but it was just kind of a run down part of town without a whole lot going on. So we booked it back to town and discovered that a festival in the square was in full swing. We are heading back down there now for carnival food before taking it easy tonight as we are flying to London tomorrow on our way home.

Oopps, I did it again...

2006-10-05T13:18:00.001-05:00

So instead of visiting the haunting and extremely important Auschwitz we decided to get smashed last night and sleep in until 11am. That's twice now and I gota say, it doesn't suck. This time we didn't have the green fairy around to blame it on, just good ol' fashioned beer. A really cool outside bar that poured good beer and cider. They're less big on Absinthe here than in Czech Rep and much more hyped about their vodka. I guess some parts of the old Commy regime are still in place.

Speaking of parts of Communism that doesn't suck, Milk Bars. No, not like the post 1970's, A Clock Work Orange milk bars. These are basically cafeterias with government subsidized food prices. We ate in one this afternoon and had Hunters Delight (kinda like the sausage and sauerkraut Mom makes but with BBQ sauce and no potatoes...and delicious, or in this case, delightful), potato pancakes, coleslaw, tomato soup, and a water for about 9 bucks, TOTAL. Soup is less than 1 dollar. Paul, you would love this place. In hindsight, it's also a great way to find out what you like and don't like because if you order something and spit it out, you've only wasted about 35 cents.

We spend the day seeing the other important sights of Krakow and wondering the streets. Very cook place, Krakow. Pope John Paul II was archbishop here before he got the nod to come on down.

Now (CYNIC ALERT, be prepared to be offended or at least roll your eyes), as most of you that know me know that I don't have a whole lot of use for church and that I pretty much give the finger to any type of organized religion. That being said, I gota admit, the churches and places we visited today were absolutely moving. All of them were ancient, of course, and most of them have some pretty solid historical relevance, other than just being a church like so many Italian sites.

We visited the church that John Paul the II cut his teeth in. They have a plaque on the pew that he likes to sit and even an exact replica of the Shroud of Turin. The replica also touched the real Shroud so it's considered a holy relic too. Again, most of the Catholic tradition is a lot of noise to me, but the hocus-pocus stuff is really cool. For those of you that slept through/skipped Sunday school, the Shroud of Turin (and I very well may be misspelling it) was supposedly the cloth that wrapped Jesus Christ (not Jesus Jones) after they pulled him down from the cross and laid him in the tomb. When the cloth was removed, a perfect image of Jesus was left on the cloth. So, if you believe all that (and there are plenty of independent, read: not Vatican sponsored, studies that verify the age of the cloth and that the image is not made of paint or dye) you're basically looking at the only legitimate and accurate image of Jesus. Pretty cool. The real Shroud is only taken out and shown rarely so this was a very cool surprise. Seriously, read up on the Shroud.

They have a pretty nice accounting of the pope's death too. Apparently, a bunch of Polski's (turns out Pollock IS an offensive term) waited outside his window when he came to Poland for the last time in 2002. The pope had gone to bed but the people, fearing it would be the last time they'd see him, chanted outside his window until the old fellow got out of bed and waved. I think it's pretty ballsy to taunt the guy who's got a direct line to the man upstairs but what do I know. I know I'm pretty grumpy when I'm trying to get some shut eye and some pesky Polski's (couldn't resist) are chanting my name on the street. When the pope finally did die back in '05, they all meet (10,000 of them) again below his old window and fell in unison to their knees when it was announce he was indeed dead. Again, not for nothin', that's pretty moving.

We went to another church that, hands down, was one of the coolest and most colorful churches I've been in. Take that France and Italy!

Tomorrow we're gonna finish the walk we started today and head to the Jewish Quarter. Upon further review we decided to skip the concentration camp and enjoy our lasts days here without the depressing fog of the Holocaust.

Poland is awesome. Next up, my review of the people, atmosphere and city.

Adios Prague, Hello Krakow

2006-10-04T12:46:00.002-05:00

Our last day in Prague was pretty uneventful. We went to the Charles Bridge and the Prague castle/church and both were very nice. Turns out back in 1648, the favorite way of dispatching of a shitty political leader was to throw him out of his office window. Two governors got tossed that year. Those are my kind of people.

At the Charles Bridge we touched the lucky plaque depicting a saint being tossed over the bridge to his death. Turns out there was a lot of tossing people out of and from things in Prague. If you touch his engraving it's said to grant you one wish. If you touch the dog to his left it's said to bring bad luck. You wouldn't believe how many people were touching the dog while waiting to touch the saint...suckers.

Oh, and we tested my now increasingly substantiated theory that Chinese food is good ANYWHERE on the globe, except Alpine, TX. It was delicious but we were hungry again in two hrs. Hey, you take the good with the bad. Finally we headed over to the train station to catch our night train to Poland. No problem catching the train but some dumbass (read: Pollock conductor...still not sure if "Pollock" is a derogatory term...) turned the heat up so around midnight we had our own velvet revolution (10 points to whom ever gets that reference). That helped a little but we were awoken again by what sounded like the Gestapo at our door. I know, probably not the time or place for such a reference but I couldn't resist. After we proved we were legal, it was back to sleep for three hrs before we got to Krakow.

The place we're staying at was open as luck would have it and let us come in, put our bags down and get a cup of coffee. Then they told us to get the hell out for the next six hrs. We lasted about 4hrs, including breakfast at a Hooters meets IHOP establishment, before we were back begging to be let in. They took pity and after a shower, nap and lunch we were back at the shopping. I got some wicked cool belts and sunglasses that are, in a word (say it with me people), fan-damn-tastic.

I'll write more about the people and weather towards the end but so far their much more out going. We're going to Auschwitz tomorrow and after having been to Dachau (sp?) I'm not exactly looking forward to another concentration camp, much less the most notorious death camp in modern history. However, Erin has never been and to have come all this way and not would be a shame. So I'll suck it up and we'll have a shitty, great day watching just how disgusting man can be.

Expect a rather seething Blog tomorrow...but the Blue Hairs are everywhere and the Japanese travel in packs armed with their Minoltas and Kodaks. I'm looking forward to being in a less discovered Eastern European city.

More soon.

Eurotrash assimilation complete

2006-10-03T08:40:00.002-05:00

Yep, it didn't take long. I think I'm blending in with the landscape but I'll get to that in a minute.

First of all Prague. Very cool city but as ass-backwards as Venice when it comes to streets and markings. Those that have been, I'm sure understand what I'm talking about. It's a mess. None of the streets last for more than about 100 meters and I think the locals think it's funny to translate random streets on some maps and not on others. I could really use a compass here. No joke, all the buildings are tall and narrow making finding any sort of navigation point (short of the North Star) damn near impossible.

Second, the people. I wouldn't call them overly friendly but their certainly not mean. Kinda like the Germans but better looking. It's kinda like TCU or SMU here, lots of very attractive woman with some shoe faced dumbass. They have no idea how out of their league they would be anywhere else. Oh, and another thing. It's kinda like Logan's Run over here. The woman and tall, blonde or brunette with blue else and legs that go all the way to the top floor. Very stunning...until they get to be about 35. Then I think somebody goes around and dunks their faces in acid. It's really weird. You don't see too many going through the uglifying process, just those before and after. Very strange.

Third, the weather/ambiance. This is spy city, no doubt about it. Rainy and cold. Narrow, dark streets with cubbyholes perfect for one person to slip completely out of sight with a 9mm silenced H&K. Oh, and all the churches play this really haunting music like the stuff from La Boehme. Perfect soundtrack for an assassin. I'm serious, I find myself slipping my hand inside my jacket occasionally when I find my mark.

Ok, now to the Eurotrash assimilation (by the way, I have no idea how to spell "assimilation" and there's no spell check on this thing so I'm just gonna keep spelling it different ways in hopes that I get it right at least once). They do pretty well here. I mean, it's not embarrassing like some countries. The chicks slut it up just about every chance they get (I know, a real shame) and apparently the style is to have the top of your underwear poke out the top of your EXTREMELY low cut jeans. The guys don't wear tapered leg jeans, which is a real step forward in my book.

Erin and I went shopping yesterday and made out like bandits. I bought a brown fitted striped shirt, low cut jeans and one of those jackets that is a blazer with a hoody under it - VERY eurotrash. I almost bought the uber obnoxious Bono sunglasses but they were too much to be funny. Oh, and everyone here has a faux-hawk damnit! I'm not unique at all!

After that, we spent the day just wandering around town. That's what Prague is good for - wandering. We had Thai food yesterday (it's like Chinese food Matt, good everywhere!) and went back to the hotel for a 2 hr nap with the rationalization that we were gonna burn it down that night at a Prague discothèque. We went back out around 5:30 and had Irish coffee and decided to give the Green Fairy another chance.

We had two absinth shots apiece and let me tell you, the Green Fairy is alive and well. She's a smooth talker at night but a raging bitch in the morning. Turns out she and Mr. Jim Beam didn't get along to well and I'm the one that paid for it. Slept until 11am this mooring after turning it around 10pm. That's right, do the math.

We're gonna see the Church and Castel (both 3 diamonds Matt and Paul) today and hope a night train (first class again) sleeper car to Krakow tonight around 9pm. We'll get to Poland early tomorrow morning.

The only negative thing (other than the other negative things I've already said) about Prague is that it's become VERY touristy. I can't blame the Pragueites...Pragueiens...Pragins, what ever - them. They handle it pretty well. It's not nearly as bad as Toledo in Spain or Monte St. Michelle in France, but the Blue Hairs are everywhere and the Japanese travel in packs armed with their Minoltas and Kodaks. I'm looking forward to being in a less discovered Eastern European city.

More soon.

PS I find myself slipping my hand inside my jacket occasionally when I find my "mark".

1st class - real class

2006-10-01T05:47:00.001-05:00

Ohh people. I just discovered the joys of flying first class, trans-Atlantic. Erin hooked us up with the tickets as she works for AA and can make that kind of thing happen. We rode business class to Chicago and first class from Chicago to London. Unfortunately, we had to slum it on coach from London to Prague but that was only a 2hr flight so no big deal. So now that I'm a first class veteran, let me comment on a few things. First of all, the assumption that first class passengers feel, somehow, superior to those in coach or even business is absolutely true. We are. It's time for the rest of you to deal with it. You're gut told you as much every time they pulled that Victorian lace curtain (ok, maybe it's not Victorian lace but it might as well be) across the chasm that divides our 2 worlds. And two worlds they are.

But first, we have to take a moment for the things lost before boarding. We very diligently read that you could take gels and pastes if you put them in a "see-through" plastic bag. We did just that and right before the security line, we very proudly showed a rather slack-jawed security man. He shook his head and said that it had to be a quart size zip lock and we had gallon. Even though they were barely 1/4 full, we were told we had to throw it away. Erin lost an untold amount of make-up and other girly things but the real tragedy here was that I lost my "de-fi" hair product. Faux-hawks don’t style themselves people and now the citizens of Prague will have to live the rest of their lives, knowing that they were witness to a sub par Mitchell Faux-hawk...the horror...

Now, on to the plane ride, a la first class. First of all we board first. Now, you may not appreciate that or fully grasp why that is, I certainly didn't. We board 1st, so that we can have our class of fine Champaign (not that sparkling wine shite they try to pass off else where, I mean the real stuff) before wheels up. If you're a fast drinker, like me, you can even get the second glass down and well on a way to a healthy little buzz before they come and take your crystal class away. My personal air steward was Chaz and aside from over emphasizing his "S's" and leering as I slept, he was a pretty good guy (though I did have to decline his offer for a back rub, but I'm sure he was just being helpful)

Once you're wheels up, they come around and give you your own, personal Bose QC2 headset with the noise canceling technology (retail $300). Then they give you the menu. I chose to start with the cheese course, then moved to the prawns. They were nice but asked if I could have some of the smoked salmon as well and they of course said, "of course".

Then they brought the smoked duck, Cesar salad. Phenomenal. I tried to order the leg of lamb next but since I was in the back, had to settle with truffle tortellini. I chewed each bite glowing with the satisfaction that I did so while the plebs behind me were gnawing on re-constituted chicken. Losers.

After the entrée, I had big bowl of Byers vanilla bean ice cream and Kaluha.

Oh, let's not forget the most important course, the booze course. As I said before, I had the two glasses of fine Champaign before take off but it didn't stop there. I had, in chrono order, sherry, pino griso, pino griso, burgundy, burgundy, brandy, Kahlua. I don't remember going to sleep but I'm sure it happened cause I woke up with a nasty headache. Good thing they've got bloody marrys at breakfast. Oh, and sleeping is a breeze as my chair fully reclined into a bed that was bigger than my dorm room at A&M.

Oh yeah, breakfast. I had a cream cheese and chive omelet. Now, I'm not sure how it's somehow unsafe to have toothpaste on an airplane and it is safe to flip an egg at 30,000ft but I'm glad it is. 10 mins to wheels down, more fine Champaign.

A short time at Heathrow and we're on plane to Prague. Beautiful day. Sunny and 75. Our hotel is amazing. Courtyard, balconies, great restaurant and helpful staff. We had to share a bathroom with about three other rooms but I never saw any of the occupants.

We explored the town and had dinner around 3pm. Goulash is awesome! You've never had beer until you've been to Czech Republic. We were both dead on our feet, not having slept in about 30 hrs but we powered through until about 7pm by people watching in the down square and slowing getting stoned on lack of sleep, coffee and beer. We gave up around seven and headed back to the hotel determined to watch TV and stay awake until at least 8pm. On the way home, we thought it was a brilliant idea to try Absinth for the first time. We bought two mini bottles of two different varieties (one for women and one for the Irish the guy told us), an Absinth spoon, sugar cubes and a lighter. We got home, and I played bartender. We threw them back and both passed out within two mins. We'll try again today.

Speaking of today - rainy and cold, just how I pictured Prague. We're trying to avoid the blue hairs and their massive tour groups but they're nice and seem to like seeing a young couple in Prague.

More soon people and remember, if you're not in first class, you're really a third class citizen.

Back in Business

2006-09-29T12:00:00.001-05:00

All right people. It's that time of the day again. I'm about two hrs away from embarking on a 9 day Eastern European Odyssey.

For those of you new to this blog, welcome. Expect to be dazzled and amazed by the writing prose herein. Also, expect to be offended at least once per entry.

For you veterans out there, welcome back and congratulations. You've made it this far, which is more than I can say for most.

This week we'll be learning about Prague (Czech Republic) and Krakow (Poland). We'll find out how soon after you step off a plane it's acceptable to drink Absinth and if the green fairy is indeed hot like we all imagine her. We'll discover just how long I can travel without pissing off a travel companion that is not part of my immediate family. I promise you all of these things and more so strap in and cowboy up.

More to come when there's actually shit to report...

Hasta Luego

2006-04-20T15:17:00.001-05:00

Well avid readers, it's come to be that time. Time for me to write the last chapter in what will most assuredly go down in history is the greatest European chronicle written to date. But fear not, I'm sure that sometime during the coming weeks and months, you'll hear from me again.

Our last day(s) in Dublin were uneventful and pretty much just focused on relaxing and enjoying our fleeting time in Ireland and together. We took in 2 movies in 2 days. I haven't done that in years. Saw Walk the Line – greatness. Not V for Vendetta great, but still good.

We did some last minute souvenir shopping and got some reading material for the trip home. There isn't a new FHM out yet unfortunately but maybe I'll get lucky tomorrow at the airport.

Matt and I saw Paul off this morning and he should be touching down in a few hours. Matt and I fly out tomorrow but took a bus to Limerick (yes, like the point smart guy) today to be closer to the Shannon airport in the morning. Nothing else really to report…sorry to end all this on such a bland tone but such is travel. Start with a bang, end with a whimper.

I'll tell you this; I'm ready to be back in the states. No slam on Ireland or travel in general. You always know you've travelled the right amount of time when you're ready to be back just before you have to be back. Good timing. I miss the 5 lane highways. I miss the catsup without the massive amount of sugar in it. I miss IPA beer. I miss a mattress that has the indention my ass has so dutifully carved out over the last year. I miss everyone knowing that I think Bush is a total fuckup and not having to explain it to everyone I meet after I tell them I'm from Texas. I miss a showerhead that could take paint off a sidewalk.

What I'll miss about Ireland….being excited to see the sun. Not worrying about whether or not it will be hot today. Not worrying about asshole drivers. Not worrying about buying the first round. Chatting up complete strangers in a bar. Winks from strange women. Women who get just as plastered as their men do. Sheppard’s Pie. Waiting 10 mins for a Guinness because that's how long it takes to pour one. The color green. Having the "tres hermanos" back for 12 full days. Fighting over who gets the single bed. Fighting over who gets the first shower.

That's it kids. I'm out.

(I just dropped the mic on the stage)

Paty's Day part duex

2006-04-19T19:55:00.001-05:00

Ooohhh V for Vendetta kicks ass people!!! All of you need to stop what you're doing and go see it. The Wachowski brothers totally redeemed themselves after the last Matrix fiasco on this one! Very nice indeed. Plus, Natalie Portman has this who Little Bo Peep outfit going on at one point. Totally worth the price of admission right there.

Any hoo, where were weah yes, the IRA bar on St. Paty's day. So after the war hymn we decided we've seen enough and Matt and Paul hit the john while I watch the coats (and have another pint). About this time a few people start running towards the door and I realized there's a fight outside. Sweet!!! A St. Paty's Day fight in Dublin, Ireland at an IRA bar!!! So I say screw the coats and run outside to catch some action. Turns out it's our bartender tending to some unfinished business. Some girl decides to jump in the fray and try to break it up. It was just like out of the cartoons. A big whirling dust storm and someone gets spit out. Except she got spit out right into a road sign. BONG! Ouch! She gets up, looks a little dazed and starts talking shit to everyone who's just watching it. At this point, she's just noise in the crowd and everyone's watching the fight again. The bartender is not a big guy but man, this kid could scrap. They pull him off the guy twice, each time he puts his hands in the air until the guy on the floor gets back up and comes in for more. Dumbass. Two major rules in life: never start a land war in Asia and never pick a fight with an Irish Bartender (or publican and they're called here). After the second time the guy didn't get back up so quick and the fight was over. So at that point, I went back in, told Matt and Paul about it and we headed for the door. Oh yeah, but before we can leave the chick that got tossed into the road sign totally clocks the bartender. It was a cheap shot and he just took a swig of his Guinness like it was no big deal. Greatness.

So we leave the bar and head down to Temple Bar. It's Bourbon Street without the boobs and beads so not quite as good but still fun. It was here we again witnessed the extraordinary skill and patience of the Irish police. They were everywhere, sometimes being taunted, sometimes having rules broken right in front of them. But they just calmly would tell you not to do that or to calm down. Very cool cats baby. After about an hour of wishing there were fewer Americans in Ireland we headed back to our neighborhood. Paty's day in Ireland (or any predominantly Irish American neighborhood for that matter) doesn't stay going all night. They start as soon as they wake up but then turn in it around 11 or half 11. So by the time we walk back up to our IRA bar, it's locked down and we decided we've had a good run but we're showing signs of frost bit and need to turn it in. A treat time all together.

And before I go, a big shout out to all my Fightin' Texas Aggie basketball players out there! t.u. can suck it. So can all you other east coast pretty boy colleges that got knocked out in the first round. We're getting everybody back next year and we're gonna make all you over hyped jackasses pay! And then, we're gonna move Gillespie over to start coaching football. Gig 'Em Aggies, Aaayy Whooop!

Mark "red/green-ass" Mitchell

Patty's Day Baby!!!

2006-04-18T15:40:00.001-05:00

And we're baaaaaack! Warning, more gratuitous cussing...

So Matt and Paul and I head over to the parade grounds at noon to see the revelry before we had to be back at the stadium at 3. We got good seats and saw a decent parade. No Shriners damnit! Oh yeah, we were rained on, hailed on, snowed on, sleeted on, blown around and frozen all day. The temp hung right around 34 all day with 15-20 mile and hour wind. Big suck! Oh yeah, and you thought we were cold, the Brazilian delegation in the parade and about 5 women in g-strings and bikini tops. Gota respect the drive of those Brazilians. Cute little Irish kids running around like Christmas morning and everyone watching out for them and for their parents who were trying desperately to keep up.

So by the time the parade finished, we're popsicles, or as they say over here "ice-lollies". We headed over to a Chinese place for a quick bite, I DID NOT get the duck and we're off again in no time. We make it to the stadium a little late but get our seats and immediately see some guy get his head damn near taken clean off by a hurling stick. Oh yeah, I almost forgot, Hurling sticks. They're great. Imagine how you'd make a hockey stick into a weapon. First you'd shorten it. Then you'd make it heavier and easier to wield and gain speed in the air. Yeah, then you'd sharpen an edge. Yep, that's about it. You got yourself a Hurling stick! Congrats, now go show a cop!

People, I have no idea how we didn't see people get carted off the field or "pitch" every 2 minutes with concussions, missing fingers and broken shins and arms except that the Irish are, in general, a far superior race immune to pain or affliction. The team in the yellow ended up winning and it turns out the Irish don't really care who you route for, as long as you enjoy the game, slap a lot of people on the back and make grimacing faces when someone gets laid out. Oh yeah, and you've got to talk mad shit to the ref when he's made a bad call (or at least when you guess that he's made a bad call because you have no idea as to the rules of the game). After 40 minutes, the game was over (we only caught the 2ndhalf) and the fans rushed the pitch and the other team lied down, defeated in battle. The Gaelic Football was pretty much the same thing, massive hits, lots of backslapping and lots of grins to and from people we didn't know. Oh yeah, Matt found an unopened coke and we all shared. It was great.

At this point we're all boarding on hypothermia (it was an open field) so we got the hell out of dodge and headed straight back for our neighbourhood bar. We walk in the door and the bar was considerably more crowed that the last time. None the less, we found 3 seats at the bar next to the door. Matt ordered a Smithwicks, Paul a Guinness and me a Whiskey. We kept drinking (I switched back to Guinness after I had warmed up) until the band struck up and said a hearty "fuck you" to the crowds and tourists fighting for a pint down on Trinity Bar. Then the greatest and best moment of my young life occurred. There are few things that occur in life that you can actually plan for. All you can do is set the pieces in motion and see if fate let's you roll again. This day my friends, fate her big Irish, freckled face down on her favourite son. No, Kira Knightling didn't walk through the door and offer shag (although, that would have been AWESOME!), no this was something equally as kick ass. The band, which turns out to be lead by the salty lookin' mofo who was sitting beside us the entire time opens with a song that has to be titled "English Go Home" because that was the song. I shit you not, that was it. "English go home. English go home. English go home. Etc." for like 5 mins. The bar went ape shit. It was like gas on a fire. Everyone was dancing, buying pints, it was lunacy. We figured that was just a warm up until they played the next song – "We'll fight you for 800 more".

Here's a history lesson kids. The Irish have been revolting against English rule for 800 years in some form or fashion. This reached its peek in 1916 when the Irish wrote their version of the declaration of independence. Boy that really pissed off the red coats. They marched their limy asses into Dublin, arrested the signers and shot executed them all in about 72 hrs. Not good. That's like pushing Mickey down the stairs right before you have to fight Rocky. So the Irish go on this nasty guerrilla war for 3 years until the English are like "fuck this, we're out". So the treaty was struck where the UK was retaining the 6 counties in the north that were still predominantly protestant and the rest would be under Irish rule. That turned out to be unacceptable for the Irish (everybody saw Michael Collins right, well he brokered the deal for the Irish and was later shot in Ireland for it) and they entered into a bloody civil war that technically hasn't ended (see: IRA, EVA, Republicans, Unionists, Nationalists, etc). Now the people who want to stay with England (god help them) are called Republicans and those who don't are called Republicans or Unionists. Most of the current fighting only happens in Belfast (and even that's rare) or in Derry. We're in Dublin so everyone can breathe easy. Aaaanyway…

So this guy keeps singing anti British songs and pro IRA songs until he finally strums up his last song. Matt and Paul and I are just humming along and don't really notice anything out of the ordinary until we look around and see that EVERYBODY in the bar is lock up and at attention looking straightforward. THEY WERE PLAYING THE IRA WAR HYMN!!!!! HOLY SHIT!!!! Turns out we were in the middle of a heavily republican/IRA bar and basically witnessed how they piss all over the English and get shit face. Fucking awesome!!!!!

Oh, I've got to go now and see V for Vendetta! Natelie Portman….soooo fine….want to touch the hieny….

Mark "lovely tanks" Mitchell

Rants!!!!

2006-04-18T15:00:00.001-05:00

So I reviewed the last entry and realized it might have been a little long. Being guilty of "skimming" anything more than 2 paragraphs myself, I can almost understand. The difference being, what you're reading now is far more interesting that most anything else you'll do today. Don't sulk; just accept it. Also, there will be more than the usual amount of swearing in this post. This is official warning. I'm in a peavey mood and I'm gonna go off on some general stereotypes and groups. Be forewarned.

Before I launch into the last 48 hrs, a few updates I forgot to include in my last post. After leaving the big girls apartments Matt and Paul and I decided it was time to officially christen the Northern Atlantic. If anyone wants to know where Portrush is, look on a map of Ireland. See that Northern most point? Yeah, that's it, in winter. So we run our bare asses down the beach at 3am and give that big drink of water the full Monty. Hell yeah! Now, I haven't seen the little general in a few days but I'm sure that's normal.

After I posted before we ducked into this bar right down the road from our place. We aren't exactly on Madison Ave if you get my drift but we were interested in being away from the tourist. Which brings me to my first "on-and-on". Americans suck, female Americans suck more, and East Coast pain in the ass, daddy's girls, manicured, Ugg boots wearing, knock off Dior sunglass sporting, girls are the instrument of the devil and have done nearly as much and our noble leader "W" to ruin international relations. American's hear me now, NO MORE TRAVELLING UNTIL YOU'RE 25! You can't be trusted. You wine about finding a McDonalds and ask if you can have ice in your coke like it's an infraction of the Geneva Convention. Fucking suck it up you wining bitches. Frat guys, you're all idiots – no exceptions. You're all fucking morons. Part of me was happy to see you broadening your horizons and discovering new cultures. Then I realized you're all much too stupid to let any of those experiences have any impact on your worldview at all. Please get vasectomies ASAP. I'll spring for it. Just send me the bill. Whew, ok.

So we ducked in and had a pint. The locals didn't seem too happy to have their haven descended upon by what I'm sure they saw as seasonal locusts. As we headed out the door, the bartender who was pretty cool and got us our pints sharpish, told us to have a good time at the Gaelic Football and Hurling matches the next day. I tell you what, that got 'em started. Pretty soon we were mates with everyone in the bar and had the skinny on the matches the next day. They told us to come in the next day for Patty’s day and we felt like we'd been invited over for Thanksgiving dinner.

Gaelic football is like Rugby with a soccer ball and Hurling is like lacrosse if it was played in west Texas, preferably Odessa and Midland. Every county (11), they're like states, compete all year to go to the finals. This was like the supper bowl. There are no professional teams in Ireland. They all play for the county, the jersey and the glory/love of the sport. These lads are out for blood and stop at NOTHING to win. So we wake up, have breakfast and hit the road to go get tickets for the culmination of a full year of playoffs. We head down to their stadium (85,000 capacity) and ask a cop who was blocking off the street for the parade route if we're on the right track to get tickets.

Now pause for my next "on-and-on". Cops suck, period. Everywhere in the world I've been to, cops suck. England (especially), France, Spain, The States, you name it. Everywhere except Ireland apparently. This cop, who happens to be a woman (and women, as we all know, are the WORST cops because they have some tough-shit axe to grind on women who cry to get out of tickets and all men in general) says "You're going to the match? Here have 2 of my tickets." I shit you not, the cop hands over 2, 50 yard line front row tickets to 3, out of country Yanks and says to route for Galway! So after this I started thinking. If all the cops in the world are jackass, power hungry wankers with napoleon complexes, why is Ireland immune from this affliction? Then I started connecting the dots, what work force in America was predominantly Irish from the early 1800s for the late 1900s? Easy, Cops. It took people like Taminy and the Pinkertons (both English by the way) to corrupt entire forces. Ergo, Irish posses the skill to no only kick ass when ever they need to, but also the confidence and intelligence to know it's rarely necessary. They're like really smart bears. That is unless the British want a taste, in which case they'll get a dose that'll make 'em wish they were born else where. Think on it, you'll get there too.

Ok, that's all for now. I'll post again in just a sec. Thanks to all for the encouraging comments and replies. It's been a blast!

Mark "madman" Mitchell

Patty Day's Eve

2006-04-16T14:15:00.002-05:00

Sorry about that kids, didn't mean to go dark on yea. I was off the grid in Portrush for the last 2 days so and the only connection they had was at the town library that’s only true function turned out to be screwing non-residents. Plus, I'm pretty sure the head librarian was French. Damn French…

OK, where did we leave off…oh yeah, me getting my face carved on. I still don't have any whiskers and am thinking that might be a permanent thing. Worse thing could have happened I guess. I just wish I had know so I could have made some cool face beard design before it all went away forever. Oh well, such is life.

Our last night in Galway was spent listening to some Irish music. We settled early in one bar not too far from the bar we spent the last night at. The music wasn't nearly as good but we laughed our asses off the whole time. 2 of the strangest people I have ever seen in my life. Let me set the scene: line bar that opens up in a square stage area, 90% at capacity, music loud but not deafening. There was a group of about 5 American girls sitting across the room from us but we just noticed them because they were so obviously American – wearing flip-flops in 38c weather and very green. So at some point this guy comes up and just plops down in the middle of them. Now I'd say these girls were between 19 and 20 and this guy was probably in his early 30s so the chicks are immediately uncomfortable. So Matt and Paul and I start watching this all unfold. It really was like watching a car wreck. You couldn't take your eyes off it and quite frankly didn't want to do anything to prevent it because you knew you weren't going to see something like it again. So as the night wears on this guy starts exhibiting an alarming array of psychotic disorders, so much so that he was quickly nicknamed "scratch and sniff". Let me elaborate. He had a habit of scratching parts of his body and then sniffing whatever hand did the scratching in between doing circles, smiling and talking to the ceiling. It started with his balding, dandruff head. That was pretty disturbing in itself, but he quickly moved to the bottom of his foot and back. The coup de gras was when he pulled a Mary Catherine Gallagher and stuck is hand in his armpit and gave it a nice whiff. None of us, least of all those girls, slept well that night. Truly disturbing.

The other great guy was a big ass rugby player, complete with shaved head, who took turns doing violent jigs in the middle of the dance floor (actually it wasn't a dance floor, it was a hallway but quickly became a dance floor after he made it one). After a while he'd tire and go pick up, literally, one of the other people, girls or guys, and dance with them. He was so taught, they finally gave him the boot but he must have snuck in through the Johnny Cash cause he was back in no time. They gave him the final curtain after he picked up one of the bartenders and dragged him over the bar to dance. Awesome.

So we drove to Portrush the next day. A 6hr drive that your boy made in 4.5. Had to teach the Irish people a thing or 2. Actually, we would have taken much longer but none of us were doing the km->ml/hr conversions correctly so when we thought we were doing 60 miles an hour, we were doing 90. My bad. Either way, aside from the wide-eyed looks we got from the people we were quickly passing, a pretty easy drive. Ireland's not that big, smaller than Texas. It's just that they have not highways. They have roads, but not highways so it takes a while to get anywhere.

So we roll into Portrush, hungry as all hell and go to this restaurant Rick Steve's recommended. Honestly people, one of the top 5 meals I've ever had. It wasn't in the least bit Irish. It was this really eclectic dive with £2 wine and weird ass food. Paul got this salmon Thai dish, I got this Thai, chicken dish and Matt got, what turned out to be, Sattai (sp?). Fucking amazing. We all swore, and then promised we'd come back for dinner to the same place. We bummed around the town for a bit, when to see a local castle that was perched on the edge of the sea (seriously, the Irish had this thing about putting everything right on the balls edge of the ocean. This one actually had the kitchen collapse into the sea with the kitchen staff with it in the 1700's) and drove back looking for some more kick ass cuisine. So this time around, I get duck (I love duck), Paul gets salmon again, Matt got some salmon soup thing. Again, it was like a party in my mouth. They we went at the desserts - ginger lime cheesecake, tiramisu and banana toffee (banoffee). Now, everyone should know that I hold a burning hatred for bananas and all things banana flavored. However, Matt insisted that I give it a shot so I did. I didn't hate it.

Then we went to the bar across the way to have a few pints with the lads. Turns out it was quiz night (a very popular bar game in the UK – it trivial pursuit without the board and a prize, usually a pint, at the end) so after naming our team "Yanks" we paid our 5 quid and set off. We soon realized that half of the questions were UK and Ireland based – like "who is the biggest footballer to play for both Limerick county and County Clare?” A group of 3 girls realized just how stupid we were going to look and told us to slide over and they'd help us with the UK questions. They were very nice and invited us over to their place afterwards. Now I know what you're all thinking and it's not like that, these were big girls, full of life. But mostly big girls. On top of that, we'd run out of Pounds (Portrush is in Northern Ireland which is part of the UK, the UK doesn't use the Euro yet) so we couldn't buy any more beer which theses girls had plenty of. So we head over to their house and only have 1 or 2 beers before they break out, I shit you not, Dance, Dance Revolution. Now, if you are not familiar with this game, congratulations. You either don't have an annoying 12 year old in your life or you've never seen any early Lindsay Lohan movies. It's basically a matt with squares that you must dance on as the direction appears on the screen. My only regret is that we didn't have a camera to get Matt and Paul on tap dancing to the techno stylings of Moby McFly. Of course, Matt got way too competitive and we had to leave. On the way home I got a memo from my stomach (usually a staunch supporter of mine, along with the liver) that all was no right. I fought the feeling and slept through breakfast. As we were about to leave I quickly came to the realization I was going to toss my cookies at some point that morning and it might as well be at the B&B.

So after yelling at the seagulls for a few minutes, we headed out to this rope bridge about 15 miles away. It was cold as a witches' tit and the wind was a good 30 ml/hr clip so crossing the rope bride 300ft over the churning Atlantic. Luckily, I made it across the bridge again before talking to Ralf. We went back to the gift shop, had some tea, threw up again and headed to the Giant's Crossing.

Now, the Giant's crossing is one of the coolest things I've seen. It's all these basalt hexagon pillars as far as you can see. It's like of like the earth offering God his choice out of a pack of 37,000 cigarettes. Very cool. Now, just to let you know how shitty I was feeling and how much I wasn't pussing out, I actually made Matt and Paul drop me off at the B&B INSTEAD of going to the Bushmills tour. Yeah, that bad. I slept for the next 20 hours.

I woke up this morning dehydrated but much better. We went straight to the Bushmills distillery. They gave us a taste of the good stuff (lost of fun at 9am) and we were driving again soon. Don't worry, if you put all of us together, you had 1 mostly sober person.

We drove on to a Dublin via a few burial mounds (again, makes our Native American sites look like a putt-putt golf range), turned the car in and are now doing laundry before Patty's day tomorrow. Even the Irish are scared of Patty's day. If you ask them what it will be like, they just look at you wide eyed and shake their heads. I'm soooo psyched. We're going to try and catch a Gaelic football game (like rugby with a soccer ball – we have no idea how the game is played but it's supposed to be like Pulp Fiction on a field) and Hurling (field Hockey on serious) both of which these people are mad for.

Alright, that's certainly enough for now. Light a candle for me. I'll need it tomorrow.

Mark "McCool" Mitchell

Pappa's got a brand new bag!

2006-04-13T12:29:00.001-05:00

Boooyaaa! Check it!

We turned in kinda early last night and slept in this morning. We knew it was going to rain today, all day, so we elected to give Conemara the middle finger and just bum around town. Good call. I had seen some stuff in the shopping area I needed to explore so after checking out 2 historical spots (both churches…I swear, if the Europeans put as much work into their social issues and political systems France wouldn't have had 7 revolution in 100 years, Spain would have done without Franco and Italy wouldn't have had to worry about Mussolini) we started shopping for people, i.e. me.

I won't spoil any of the surprises that Matt and Paul will be bringing back but let's get one thing straight. Daddy shops for himself, so don't go expecting a bunch of presents and souvenirs from this one! Just kidding, I'll bring some refrigerator magnets back or something.

Now my initial plan was to pack my electric clippers and just sport my now famous, 3-day beard. I still think that would have been a great plan but unfortunately it seems that I was rather inebriated while I was packing the night before we flew out. Not only did I arrive in Ireland sans clippers, but sans razor, sans shaving soap, and sans aftershave. So going on 4 days now, I was in need of a solution. As luck would have it, it was lamenting the lack of these necessities when we passed a "warm towel and straight razor" barber shop! Now, I've never had one of these shave jobs but I have seen The Untouchables and I know that if you cut Robert DeNiro he'll kill ya. So I walk in and sit down and the guy soaks a towel, throws it into the microwave, gives it one flip and wraps that thing like a turban around my face. I swear, I damn near came out of the chair! That shit was like McDonalds coffee hot! So then he goes to work on my face. First the lather then the blade comes out. He starts working that thing across a strip of leather and it is at that point I take a good look at his face and notice the scare running down the length of his face. Phenomenal. As I pick my head up to say something he grabs me by the forehead and just starts working me over. I'm serious; I've seen meat being tenderized that got better handling than this. When it's all over, he slaps some Dad style Aqua Velva on my face is nice enough not to make a scene while I fight back the tears. I don't think I'll have to shave for 2 weeks. I'm not sure if my skin now has the ability to produce whiskers or even tan for that matter.

So then it was time for lunch and we wanted to check out this place the guidebook recommended for fish and chips. Galway bay oysters are only in season from September to April we bellied up to the bar, Matt ordered Haddock, I ordered Whiting (the most racists of all the fishes) and Paul ordered "ray wing". Now what do you suppose ray wing would be? I like to think that most of you would say, "uummm, is it a ray?" for which you'd all be awarded 10 points. Paul on the other hand just figures it's a nice way of saying catfish. So we eat the oysters (they kick ass, much more texture than our native oysters, and a little saltier too) and finally our food gets there. And low and behold, Paul gets himself a big basket of fried (whole, mind you) stingray, minus the stinger. Matt and I laughed our arses off, but Paul scarffed down the whole thing. Kudos Paul, Kudos.

After lunch we went into this big clothing store called River Island (check them out online) and I got some jeans that make my ass look like it was something sculpted by Michelangelo. Seriously, I'm going to start referring to it as the 8th wonder of the world! Oh yeah, some Bono glasses and some Euro-trash shoes. Very nice. I want to get a rugby shirt but I'm waiting for Dublin for better selection. I also want to get a bunch of Guinness stuff but of course I'm waiting for the actual Guinness brewery for that.

Oh yeah, we're now up to like 137 view on the blog and none of you people are posting kudos or comments! WFT?!?!?! How 'bout a little something for the effort?!?!?! One-way conversations suck!

Holla at your bai (Irish for boy),

"Mental" Mark Mitchell

Recruiting from the other team

2006-04-12T17:20:00.001-05:00

Soooo, I might have been a little overzealous last time I wrote. First things first, the rumors were true, Galway does party balls. We had dinner last night, at a pretty cool pub and then walked down to the drag. It reminded me a lot of Salamanca in the sense that there's one street, all pedestrian, lined with shops, restaurants, bars and clubs. We duck into one place called The Kings Head, and go to work. Now, Paul hasn't been at 100ince he got here - some cough the rug-rat gave him so he was already trying to manage expectation in terms of his commitment that night. The place was crowded and getting more so by the minute so we Matt and Paul grabbed a table and I grabbed the beers/whisky. Scotland had just lost a big rugby match so all the Irish rugby players were wearing kilts that night. They had a great time of trying to make other people inadvertently look at their nuts. I have to admit, a pretty funny game.

After a while a group of American girls (I swear to God, they're like leaches) comes over and asks if they can share our tables. We say sure and start talking. You know what, they weren't all that interesting and subsequently this isn't a very interesting story. Laurie, if you're reading this, I'm not talking about y'all.

So by the time we left the bar I was pretty polluted. So on the way home, I'm leading (I know, should have been a good indication) and decide that 12:30 is just too early to turn it in and walk through the door of this random ass bar.

From what I remember of the place, it was weird, kinda like if a Chinese food restaurant in a strip mall doubled as a bar. Yeah, like that. Anyway, we walk in like we own the place and supposed to be there and sit towards the back. At some point, a waitress brings some food to the table next to us. They were all up dancing so we figured the food would be better placed on our tables. When they returned we just pretended we didn't speak English. Classic Titian.

Now, here's another indication that things weren't quite right. The two plates that the waitress brought over was a mix of chicken and cocktail weenies. We left one on the table and took the other. We ate both the chicken and cocktail weenies. The other table just ate the chicken.

Another tip would have been all the flannel.

Maybe the extremely good girl to guy ratio could have clued us in.

But the two women snogging in the corner should have definitely told us something.

Regardless, we didn't figure it out until halfway through a techno remix of John Denver's classic, Country Road, Take Me Home. As soon as we realized the situation we headed straight back to the table, ate the rest of the people next to us' food and got out of there right after singing Bon Jovi's Livin' on a Prayer at the top of our lungs. We finally crashed around 2am I think.

Today, we got up around 10am, had breakfast (Paul tried one of the English Bangers I'd rather lick the handrail in a subway station. He damn near lost it right there in the breakfast room) and decided to take it slow today since we were all moving a little slow as it was. We ducked into a TI (tourist information centre) and found out a bus was leaving in an hour for the Aran Islands, a tour we were planning on doing that day anyway. So we sucked it up and paid our dues hopped the bus, took the ferry, hired a tour guide and explored the Islands. These people are what you would call old school Irish. The even speak "Irish" or what everyone else calls Gaelic. In fact, unless they're talking to you, they're speaking Irish. It really is like being in a foreign country...er...you know what I mean.

They took us up to this old fort (and by old, I mean built some time circa 2000bc) built right on the edge of a 300ft cliff over the Atlantic. They walls on this fort were 13 feet thick, 10 feet tall, all stacked stone. I would have given the chief the finger if he told me to start carrying stones to make a 13ft thick wall. I mean really, we talk about "ancient" civilization in America building impressive structures. Bullshit. They're neither ancient nor impressive once you've seen what the Irish had to live with and what they accomplished. The Hopi had it easy! I mean really, we've got some cave drawings and they're all "ahh, yeah we got that.” Oh, did you see the massive stones we stood upright and in a circle and positioned so that the summer solstice sun would shine perfectly through it? No? Well you should. It's just south of the big ass stone fort we build on the edge of the world!"

We got home around six, had some great Italian food and I think we're gonna sack out pretty soon. I picked up an English FHM magazine. They're so much better than the American versions (it started in the UK and headed west after Maxim and Stuff got so big). I'll probably tear into that tonight. My Blog stats say it's been viewed 121 times! Not too shabby.

Oh yeah, that picture-sharing program I thought I'd found turns out to suck. I've already hit my limit. Here's the new link. Enjoy.

An Irish Lullaby

2006-04-11T15:44:00.003-05:00

So we picked up Paul, no problem yesterday, yada, yada, yada, we finished dinner around 9:30 and headed to the same bar as last night.

They had some guys playing again so we stayed for a pint before I was ready for a new crowd. I wanted to hang out with the locals, plus the waitress from dinner was giving me the eye and said that maybe she'd see us at the Hardware store. It turns out all establishments can double as a bar at any time. It's kind of like every Israelis having military training – just in case. Anyway, we walked over to the hardware store and saw she wasn't there so we tried a place that wouldn't let us in the night before because of the late hour. Man, we begged and pleaded last night with that woman but she had no love for the Mitchell Brothers. Anyway, they let us in this time and it's this weird wine and pizza/pub/restaurant/coffee house. So we grab a couple of beers and sit down in the leather, oversized couches and this chick, a guy on an acoustic and a guy on a mandolin tunes up. Now, as a rule, I think most people over estimate their talent and generally suck. But one thing was for certain, this girl did NOT suck. She was amazing. She was maybe my age, dark brown hair and couldn't have sounded more Irish if you tired. Guys, I know what you're thinking, and it wasn't like that. Sure she was hot and of course I could have made something happen. That's not the point. She was completely captivating. The room was lit with nothing but candles, everyone was at least buzzed, it was cold outside, it was warm inside, and it was Ireland for Christ sake. It's the perfect storm. Ireland already has this weird ability to impress upon you immense tragedy and unbounded hope at the same time. Mix all this with her ability to let her voice float (I know, I'm risking having my Man Card revoked here but seriously, FLOAT) and it was nearly too much to withstand. She covered Bruce Springsteen's The River. I think even he would admit she did a better job. I'm pretty sure Matt and Paul and I said maybe 5 words to each other the entire time we were there. We finally left around 12:30, completely awestruck. Oh yeah, it turns out the people we were sharing a couch with were her parents. I think they overlooked the comments I made about her physical talents by the end of the night. Good times.

We woke up this morning, ate breakfast and headed north towards Galway. I drove and suggested Paul sit shotgun and navigate. It was sad really because Paul had the darndest time seeing over the dashboard so he and Matt had to switch before too long. We were in the car from 9:30-6 today, stopping every now and then for a tour or important sight we weren't to miss. The weather sucked - rained all day and cold as hell.

Galway is supposed to party balls, especially on Saturday night so we'll raise a little (read: a lot of) hell tonight. We've heard great things from people who've come this way. It's a college town and they say even Dubliners (people from Dublin stupid) come to Galway to tear it down. The slow town (Dingle) is behind us now. It's time to turn it up.

It's all about the completion

2006-04-10T09:45:00.001-05:00

Who ever the asshole was that told me before I left that Guinness doesn't give hangovers is a liar and should be beaten in the streets. After posting last night, Matt and I went back to the hotel, sprayed as much cologne as we could on our cloths (they're 3 days old now and are quite capable of ordering their own drinks. The locals smile and wave at them as they pass by) and headed out for dinner. We ate at a place our boy Rick Steve's suggested. I'll say this again, the Irish can cook! I had lamb shank that literally fell off the bone when I picked it up. In a word – fan-damn-tastic.

While my man, Matt settled the bill I chatted up the waitress (5'9", blonde short hair, thin but not waifish, choice) and asked her where we were going next. After she got the innuendo she laughed, I laughed and Matt laughed, though he really didn't know what he was laugh at until later. Anyway, she pointed us across the street to a pub that has nightly music that she said was "brilliant". Matt and I walked in, ordered a pint of the black stuff and started looking around. All around cool place but here's the best part. You know how bars in the states have only a select few places to see the entire crowd and still have your back to a wall? Fellas, you feel me right? It's not some Wyatt Earp cowboy shit, it's just nice to have your back to a wall. I'm sure I'm not the only one out there feeling this. Anyway, this place had little nooks cut out all over the place; hard to describe but made for a great layout with lots of place to people watch and have your back to a wall at the same time.

So I'm done with the 1st pint and thinking this is going a little slow so I decide to let the banshee out of the cage and order a whisky. Now pay attention because this is important later. Those of you that know me, again, you know what kind of party can ensue when the whisky hits the glass and tonight was no exception.

A fella at the bar turns to me and asks if we're Americans. Turns out he's on leave from Germany after a year stint in Afghanistan. Nice kid and there for the same reason Matt and I were – to chew bubble gum and kick ass. We were all out of bubble gum that night.

So the band strikes up, and puts the mood right, the kids start dancing and Matt orders his second pint. About this time a team of foxes stroll through the bar and my boy Nick (army guy) is on it quicker than I could nudge Matt in the ribs. So Nick and I go to work. Turns out the chick are all on college break and from the states. That kinda pissed me off. I mean, I didn't come all the way to Ireland to hear some pain in the ass, Yankee from Long Island. That accent is hard to handle when I'm sober much less when I feel a wee bit pissed (Irish for drunk). So I ditch and start showing Matt this great game where you try to flip the coasters on the edge of the bar up and catch them with the same hand. Turns out everybody at the bar (that was Irish) loved the game and kept coming by and telling us their high score. Good times.

It also attracted the attention of two blonds (definitely not from Long Island) sitting next to us. I give 'em the ol' "wink wink" and slide on over. Turns out they're from Holland and on holiday. Yadda, yadda, yadda, they were great girls.

So about 11:30 I holler back at Nick who's been paying his dues with the pain in the ass Long Island girls the whole night. The bar closes at midnight so we had to make our call – pain in the ass long Island girls or interesting but decidedly older Holland women. Nick and I decided, mathematically, our changes were better with the pain in the ass Long Island girls. Plus, I knew that I still had the Texas accent I could whip out at any time and save the day. So we follow these girls out the door and head back to their place to finish off some more pints when their local "boy in charge" (i.e. cock blocker) started talking about how we couldn't come after they'd just invited us. Long story short, he was a real dick and owes Matt a pint or two for the ass beating he saved him.

So we spend the next hour, looking around for a place that stays open past midnight, only to find that a place like that doesn't exist. Great….should have gone with the older Dutch chicks…

Oh yeah, almost forgot – the whisky. Matt discovered "warm whisky". They serve it in a coffee mug and put lemon and cloves in it. The ladies really like it so it was perfect for Matt. I feel confident Paul and I can do some damage with this new found chink in Matt's armor.

We have to go get Paul from the train station in about five mins. Now, with a fully operational Mitchell Brothers front, it's on. Time to do some real damage!

Mark "Whisky-tooth" Mitchell

Aahh, me bollocks

2006-04-09T15:11:00.001-05:00

After 12 hrs of sleep last night, I'm back! I haven't slept that well since college and certainly not without the help of any booze.

After posting last night, Matt and I went for dinner. We were heading for a place the guidebook suggested when Matt turns to me and says, "Hey, how do you feel about Chinese?" I said, "I love Chinese!" because I really do. So we busted a u-turn on the sidewalk and headed back to this place we saw earlier. Now here's the thing, in all 15 (give or take) countries I've visited. I've found that Chinese food is, Chinese food, is Chinese food. It's like the global McDonalds, but you don't look like a jackass American going into the "Tasty Dragon" in Ireland. Feel me? Anyway, we walk in this place to find 2 tables, one already occupied by 4 nasty lookin' blokes. I mean, these guys could churn the paint of walls. Matt and I felt right at home. We walk up to the counter and ask if this place is only take-away. She says no, so we sit down. Meanwhile, her banshee bastard of a kid starts wailing in this god-awful Chinese/Irish mix at the top of his lungs. Matt and I pick up the tabloids (best thing in the U.K., truly vicious) and in about five mins our food comes out. About now, you're probably wondering (and if you're not, you lead a very boring life) "what the hell is this doing in, what started as, a very promising and interesting Blog." Hang on mum, we're getting there. So they bring this stuff out in, I shit you not, Tupperware containers. I don't mean the good stuff we always swipe from Mom's. No, I'm talking about the .99 stuff you get at the Wal-Mart. Matt and I were starving so we scarffed it down, sharpish. In the 15 mins it took us to walk back home, we were hungry. See, Chinese food really is the great equalizer.

So this morning we woke up, had breakfast (smoked salmon and scrambled eggs the English/Irish never really got the hang of breakfast if you ask me, but this kicked ass) and hit the road. It was at this point we discovered the Irish's knack of the understatement. Our host, Paul O'Shea (yeah, it turns out they really do have red hair and names like O'Connor and Flannery) says to us, "it'll be a wee bit blustery today". Now, as a resident of Fort Worth, I'm used to "blustery". What I'm not used to is, "holy shit this wind is going to blow me Batswana".

Let me preface all this by saying after yesterday's experience, Matt and I decided (read: I put a knife to his throat last night and made him swear" that we'd find a new system for driving. So I suggested (read: showed him the knife again) that I drive and he shift/navigate. We'll it turns out that was too many things for Matt. We finally settled into a nice "Mark drives, shifts and navigates while Matt point shit out we missed because he announced it about 50 meters behind us". I gota say not bad, not bad.

Anyway, we head out on this coast road that makes the Amalfi Coast road or Route 1 look like a boulevard. It's only about 30 miles round trip but it took us 4hrs counting lunch. Amazing rocky cliffs jet up 300 feet below a severely pissed off ocean. We stopped every now and then for a picture or a look. There is this set of islands just off the shore of Ireland called the Blasket Islands which were inhabited until 1958 when the crazy buggers were forced off by Irish government. Now, don't think of this as some, tragic, Indian Relocation Policy or anything. I was out there for 10 minutes and would have rather jumped off one of the cliffs than spend anther minute up there. These people were off their fucking (just for you Mom) rockers. Lunatics. You bet your bollocks to a barn dance, you'd force them off too.

An interesting side note, the wind blows in a clock-wise motion about 50 miles and hour. Matt and I learned that if you tilt your head just right, you can create a snot rocket of epic proportions. The wind actually goes up your nose and forced everything out. Awesome. Matt's was even straight for once. Conversely, you become very dizzy after pissing beside the car. Also, wash the car after pissing beside it. Your brother may need a hosing off as well.

So we came home, tried calling people (answer your cell phone Paul!) and took a nap. I love naps. I miss them so. Matt woke me up to hail, yes hail, pea size hail. Fun stuff. I'm really glad I don't have any warm cloths. It would just be too comfortable. Remind me to write United a thank you note when I get home.

Matt and I are going to hit the pubs tonight and see if I can convince them to stay open past midnight. They could learn a thing or two from the Spanish. My guess is the Irish view it as quality over quantity. More drinking is less time. I can appreciate that. I'll let you know.

Mark "Sean-Patrick" Mitchell

1st day in Ireland

2006-04-08T12:53:00.001-05:00

Wow. So I've now discovered that it only takes 36 hrs sleep deprivation for me to start hallucinating...good to know, good to know. The trip over was no big deal made all our connecting flights and even got 2 rows of seats all to us from Boston to Shannon, Ireland! That's where our luck stopped.

We cleared customs, sans body cavity search (always a good thing) and went to get our luggage from the carousel. Except our luggage didn't come, and didn't come and didn't come. Finally, I went over to the help desk and said, "Alright, check it" in my best Ali G voice. They stared back blankly. Maybe he just isn't as big over here. That must be it, 'cause my impersonation is dead on! Anyway, turns out we flew United from DFW to Chicago and Chicago to Boston but flew American from Boston to Shannon. The bags never made it to Shannon. But wait, it gets better. There's only one flight a day from Boston to Shannon and the crew that delivers lost luggage takes 24 hrs to get it to you after they get it. Do the math and you're looking at Friday (best case) before Daddy gets some new drawers. Ever notice that the airlines always facing major layoffs and bankruptcy usually have shitty customer service and a healthy display of general ineptitude? I mean really, was everyone in this airline raise under power lines?!?!

The good news is, after learning that our bags were now with Peter Pan in Never-never-land, my reaction didn't cause an international incident and not a single policeman was called. Now, those of you who remember my last eruptions with incompetent airlines and resentful Bobbies should see this as progress.

This could be the result of 1-2 factors. 1 I am more mature and can step back from a situation, realize that the person I'm speaking to is not directly responsible for the mishap and work towards finding a common solution. Two, and the more likely possibility, is that I'm a flat sucker for Irish ladies. I'm telling you fellas, these aren't the shoe-faced hags you remember from England. These women take care of themselves, and more importantly, their teeth! Plus, they can cook!!!! Matt and I had some Sheppard’s Pie (that I barely choked down once in England), some mint pea soup and some ginger bread for lunch - fucking awesome. Oh, and they've got a little sass to them. Not too much (read: NYC women) but just enough to give you a wink and a smile. I'm serious, I'm gonna see if they'll let me bring one back with me. Oh, and they all have red hair, all of them.

We rented a car after we landed and Matt drove. Now, I have to say, many people could have done much worse. Those people would have to have advanced ocular degeneration and suffer regular seizures but like I said, they would have done worse. After a while, we worked out a system where I shifted, navigated and took turns throwing up out the window and passing out right before imminent impact with large trucks and Matt steered. That seemed to work pretty well.

I'm mainlining coffee and Guinness right now to stay somewhat coherent but feel my plan is starting to fail me. So before I have to go back tomorrow and delete half the things I wrote today, let me say goodbye for now.

Cheers

Mark "Mutton Chops" Mitchell