6/20/07
9:00 AM
Flying into London
We're dropping into London now. After an eight-hour hassle to get on my way to Britain, we're finally arriving.
So that's it. In the middle of the night sometime I got up to use the lavatory and realized I was over the Atlantic. It was a beautiful feeling. But thanks to closed windows I couldn't see a thing to realize what it was like. You'd think there would be more sense of accomplishment or significance, but as it is I can't think of much other than what's ahead.
I've been sitting next to a trendy-dressed middle-aged Russian man this whole time. He's mostly slept. His English is very poor, but I learned that he is on his way to St. Petersburg. He offered me his yogurt this morning, making motions to imply stomach-sickness. I thanked him & took it, but I didn't finish my own yogurt even. I sort of wonder what he thought of our exchange, but I suppose I'll never know.
I wish the man sitting against the windows would open the window I can see out of--oh, there we go. Turns out I only needed to ask him. He's a character, too. Headed to Vienna, he's an older man with long grey stringy hair. If anything, he looks like a street bum, but I expect he's actually an artist. He wears a round tan hat that's somewhat like a fisherman's hat.
I think we're landing.
Wednesday, June 20
June 23, 2007
6/23/07
8:00 PM
Hotel Ibis
Charleroi, Brussels
The day pauses, so I write. Rain is falling on the river outside our window. It's a thin river, nothing like the Allegheny or Ohio back home, and it seems usually smooth. The rain makes ripples on the water.
This is a rich moment, somewhat because of how far I am from home & somewhat because this town isn't someplace we meant to be, but it makes me curious and shy.
For lack of plans after our plane set down in Brussels Airport, Gina & I found a hotel close by, intending to stay one night and move on to Luxembourg today after changing her airline tickets at the airport again. Instead, we enjoyed the evening here and looked around for a little while, and decided to sleep in late & spend the next day here as well. Dinner was odd; we went through 3 waiters before finding one who would put up with my butchered French & his shaky English. At some point I was able to apologize for not speaking French; I mentioned I studied it only a little but thought it was a beautiful language. I don't what where he thought I was from. He mentioned he liked English too, then clarified, "But American..." then he wandered off proclaiming, "Fuck! Fuck this! Fuck that!" I guess that's his impression of the USA. I'm glad I didn't fit that description exactly.
Today we wandered around Charleroi. I'm not sure what it is, other than a small town outside of Brussels near enough to the airport to get some traffic from travelers. As far as I can tell, the main commercial hub is somewhere between a train station that happens to be across the river from this hotel, and a large factory put up on a hill nearly half an hour's walk away. The train tracks, river, & major highway all seem to run in the same small concourse along the south of the town; the factory is in the north.
There is a university here, though it seems to be from the early soviet era & seems run-down, if not somewhat abandoned. It's called the Universite de Travail, & it was founded by Paul Pastur, of whom there's a Stalinesque statue standing in an overgrown cobblestone square between the ivy-conquered buildings. It's only a short walk away from the factory, & I wonder if it's related to the rise of the workers' rebellions from the 1930's and before. Outside the hotel there's another statue of a worker with some classic soviet-style figurines carved in the base: your common laborer, wielding his hammer or whatever. I'm curious what happened in this place.
There's also a Waterloo metro station, but I don't actually know (and this is embarrassing) where the real Waterloo was, so I have no idea if this is it or if it's more in Russia somewhere (which is what I thought before).
8:00 PM
Hotel Ibis
Charleroi, Brussels
The day pauses, so I write. Rain is falling on the river outside our window. It's a thin river, nothing like the Allegheny or Ohio back home, and it seems usually smooth. The rain makes ripples on the water.
This is a rich moment, somewhat because of how far I am from home & somewhat because this town isn't someplace we meant to be, but it makes me curious and shy.
For lack of plans after our plane set down in Brussels Airport, Gina & I found a hotel close by, intending to stay one night and move on to Luxembourg today after changing her airline tickets at the airport again. Instead, we enjoyed the evening here and looked around for a little while, and decided to sleep in late & spend the next day here as well. Dinner was odd; we went through 3 waiters before finding one who would put up with my butchered French & his shaky English. At some point I was able to apologize for not speaking French; I mentioned I studied it only a little but thought it was a beautiful language. I don't what where he thought I was from. He mentioned he liked English too, then clarified, "But American..." then he wandered off proclaiming, "Fuck! Fuck this! Fuck that!" I guess that's his impression of the USA. I'm glad I didn't fit that description exactly.
Today we wandered around Charleroi. I'm not sure what it is, other than a small town outside of Brussels near enough to the airport to get some traffic from travelers. As far as I can tell, the main commercial hub is somewhere between a train station that happens to be across the river from this hotel, and a large factory put up on a hill nearly half an hour's walk away. The train tracks, river, & major highway all seem to run in the same small concourse along the south of the town; the factory is in the north.
There is a university here, though it seems to be from the early soviet era & seems run-down, if not somewhat abandoned. It's called the Universite de Travail, & it was founded by Paul Pastur, of whom there's a Stalinesque statue standing in an overgrown cobblestone square between the ivy-conquered buildings. It's only a short walk away from the factory, & I wonder if it's related to the rise of the workers' rebellions from the 1930's and before. Outside the hotel there's another statue of a worker with some classic soviet-style figurines carved in the base: your common laborer, wielding his hammer or whatever. I'm curious what happened in this place.
There's also a Waterloo metro station, but I don't actually know (and this is embarrassing) where the real Waterloo was, so I have no idea if this is it or if it's more in Russia somewhere (which is what I thought before).
June 30, 2007
6/30/07
Madrid Airport
9:00 AM
Well, I'm on my own again. Gina has gone on her way home. I managed to catch an early flight to Madrid, but this proved to be a mistake. Normally it is not difficult to shift a booking forward one or a few days if you are willing to stand by in the airport and wait. Unfortunately...it requires the services of a ticket office. And the ticket office at the Madrid airport--only for British Airways, as it turns out--is on strike.
Whistles, drums, a megaphone, an air horn & siren, marching workers & banners, posters, everything. This is a full-out riot. Everything they can do to disrupt the airport, they are doing. I have picked the very wrong day to try and travel through Madrid. There's not much for it, I guess. I'll wait here today and read, and write, and try to email someone. Maybe I can catch a metro into town and get to an internet cafe. Hmm.
Well, I can fairly say I wish this weren't happening, but in all honesty it's not a terrible time or place for it to happen. If need be I can sleep here pretty safely. Maybe I can find a quiet corner to spend the night. Hopefully I can deposit luggage somewhere. We shall see.
Time with Gina was wonderful. The first day we spent in a park together, talking and enjoying being together again. She took me downtown to an Irish pub and we ate. It was great. That night I went to my hostel to find two folks sleeping in my bunk--I took the other, which was empty, and figured if they wanted it I could ask for mine back. The night passed without incident, though. The next day we met between her school & my room, and went for coffee at a small bakery. They seem to be everywhere in Valencia. I don't really like Spanish culture--they seem an excitable, party crowd, and that's not so much my personality.
--Aha, some Spanish police have showed up. They're standing in a little bunch and not doing much. Mostly everyone looks bored, except the people in the line, who look frustrated, and the Spanish people trying to work the desk, who look frazzled and stressed beyond belief. Man, I'm glad I'm not catching a flight today...
Back to my first full day in Valencia. Gina & I went out with some of her friends from school, to a place where they make an interesting creamy drink. I forget the name of it. That night we visited her home--her host mother is named Magda--and then went down to the beach for dinner. We took a walk on the beach, and Gina had planned ahead and had a friend put together a towel on the sand with candles and a picnic. It was incredible! For a while we stayed at the beach and watched the sunset over the Mediterranean (amazing feeling, knowing I was on the shore of those history-steeped waters), and dozed off together. We woke up in the middle of the night, drowsy and happy, and took a taxi home. I'd gotten lost walking to the hostel from Magda's the night before; this time I'd mapped out an easier way home and got there quickly. There was nobody in my bed, either.
The next day Gina met me at the hostel, we went to Magda's and packed, and then it was off to the airport. Everything went smoothly, except the flight was delayed for three hours because a bird had hit the plane. So we waited for a long time, and eventually made it into Brussels/Charleroi. That airport is apparently much smaller than the real Brussels airport. Because it was so much later than we anticipated, we decided to spend a night in Charleroi. We got a room through the tourist office at the airport, and took a bus there.
I've looked it up, and apparently Charleroi is a little post-industrial town that dates to the medieval ages (doesn't everything in Europe?) & is important for having some bridges over a significant river that runs South & East of Brussels. The industrial history shows in the structure of the town, and in the river. The drab concrete riverbed, cut through quaint village atmospheres and soviet-era statues, seems to define the town. It's like a smaller Pittsburgh set in Eastern Europe. We explored a little bit that night and found most of the restaurants closed. All the chocolate places were closed, too, unfortunately. We ate at a ritzy place just outside the touristy side of town, which is where I found my coarse-mouthed French waiter.
The whistles are still going. It's distressing. Hopefully soon I can go ask about my flight. I think I will now. More on Charleroi & Luxembourg (which was our next destination) when I get back.
Madrid Airport
9:00 AM
Well, I'm on my own again. Gina has gone on her way home. I managed to catch an early flight to Madrid, but this proved to be a mistake. Normally it is not difficult to shift a booking forward one or a few days if you are willing to stand by in the airport and wait. Unfortunately...it requires the services of a ticket office. And the ticket office at the Madrid airport--only for British Airways, as it turns out--is on strike.
Whistles, drums, a megaphone, an air horn & siren, marching workers & banners, posters, everything. This is a full-out riot. Everything they can do to disrupt the airport, they are doing. I have picked the very wrong day to try and travel through Madrid. There's not much for it, I guess. I'll wait here today and read, and write, and try to email someone. Maybe I can catch a metro into town and get to an internet cafe. Hmm.
Well, I can fairly say I wish this weren't happening, but in all honesty it's not a terrible time or place for it to happen. If need be I can sleep here pretty safely. Maybe I can find a quiet corner to spend the night. Hopefully I can deposit luggage somewhere. We shall see.
Time with Gina was wonderful. The first day we spent in a park together, talking and enjoying being together again. She took me downtown to an Irish pub and we ate. It was great. That night I went to my hostel to find two folks sleeping in my bunk--I took the other, which was empty, and figured if they wanted it I could ask for mine back. The night passed without incident, though. The next day we met between her school & my room, and went for coffee at a small bakery. They seem to be everywhere in Valencia. I don't really like Spanish culture--they seem an excitable, party crowd, and that's not so much my personality.
--Aha, some Spanish police have showed up. They're standing in a little bunch and not doing much. Mostly everyone looks bored, except the people in the line, who look frustrated, and the Spanish people trying to work the desk, who look frazzled and stressed beyond belief. Man, I'm glad I'm not catching a flight today...
Back to my first full day in Valencia. Gina & I went out with some of her friends from school, to a place where they make an interesting creamy drink. I forget the name of it. That night we visited her home--her host mother is named Magda--and then went down to the beach for dinner. We took a walk on the beach, and Gina had planned ahead and had a friend put together a towel on the sand with candles and a picnic. It was incredible! For a while we stayed at the beach and watched the sunset over the Mediterranean (amazing feeling, knowing I was on the shore of those history-steeped waters), and dozed off together. We woke up in the middle of the night, drowsy and happy, and took a taxi home. I'd gotten lost walking to the hostel from Magda's the night before; this time I'd mapped out an easier way home and got there quickly. There was nobody in my bed, either.
The next day Gina met me at the hostel, we went to Magda's and packed, and then it was off to the airport. Everything went smoothly, except the flight was delayed for three hours because a bird had hit the plane. So we waited for a long time, and eventually made it into Brussels/Charleroi. That airport is apparently much smaller than the real Brussels airport. Because it was so much later than we anticipated, we decided to spend a night in Charleroi. We got a room through the tourist office at the airport, and took a bus there.
I've looked it up, and apparently Charleroi is a little post-industrial town that dates to the medieval ages (doesn't everything in Europe?) & is important for having some bridges over a significant river that runs South & East of Brussels. The industrial history shows in the structure of the town, and in the river. The drab concrete riverbed, cut through quaint village atmospheres and soviet-era statues, seems to define the town. It's like a smaller Pittsburgh set in Eastern Europe. We explored a little bit that night and found most of the restaurants closed. All the chocolate places were closed, too, unfortunately. We ate at a ritzy place just outside the touristy side of town, which is where I found my coarse-mouthed French waiter.
The whistles are still going. It's distressing. Hopefully soon I can go ask about my flight. I think I will now. More on Charleroi & Luxembourg (which was our next destination) when I get back.
July 7, 2007
7/7/07
London Cafe
10:30 AM
(Cafe Nero, near Embankment)
Well, I'm back. I got to London OK in the end, but it was a long end. I sat by the counter in the midst of their little war and read a couple of hundred pages. Five hours later, they found a plane to London with an empty seat I could sit in, so I took it. When I got to London it was raining. I couldn't remember where on Earth (more specifically than "London") I was supposed to go. I had the street address, but that was all.
I took a train to King's Cross, thinking it was a big train station that Uncle Jim had mentioned at some point. It was, indeed, a large train station he'd mentioned, but as it turns out, King's Cross is North, and Uncle Jim is South. I spent a while trying to find the appropriate station to ride the tube to, crossed the street a thousand times looking for a map or a phone or anything, tried to call my uncle (it was busy, I think), and did a great many other useless, frustrating, and somewhat wetting things (it was raining pretty well), all the time towing my luggage like the unfortunate dumb tourist I was. And in the end, I took a cab, and enjoyed that.
In the process, unfortunately, I never did get the chance to call my uncle. Having been up for almost two days, travel worn and somewhat soggy, I showed up on his porch and rang the doorbell with no warning whatsoever. Oops. Not such a great start, but it worked out okay.
So that's how the 30th ended. But I think I've left you somewhat unsatisfied on the 23rd of June, somewhere in Charleroi, just hanging out.
Well, so were we. We had a slow morning on the 23rd, and decided early (it may have been the night before, actually) that we didn't want to spend another day travelling just yet, and would spend the next night as well in the hotel.
The hotel had a little breakfast in the morning, which closed sometime around 9:30, effectively getting us out of bed better than anything else could. I can still remember pretty clearly the image of Gina putting on her jacket over her cast and carefully coming out the door to come downstairs with me--in pain, I could tell, but in love.
Right. So after the breakfast--which consisted mainly of Nutella on stale toast, apparently a favorite item for continentals--we decided to go explore Charleroi. After wandering for a bit, we found a place for lunch located on the corner of a little town square, of sorts. There was an odd modernist sculpture of some kind in the middle of the square. It wasn't defined, but it looked like fingers coming out of the concrete. Nearby was a modern art museum that was probably related.
Mostly that day, we just walked. I love wandering through places, so we just held hands and went for a meandering day-long stroll through the town. We saw a huge old factory, which a pretty view from its parking structure (of all things). The hills in Charleroi made for some incredible vistas. The factory is probably still in use, but it was closed then--I think it was a Saturday, which explains it. There are endless numbers of train tunnels and tracks running through the hills. We wandered into some, and found a large pedestrian tunnel that was probably used for the manpower of the factory. It looked like the stereotypical Factory Approach: huge staircases & all included. We went through & up; I think Gina didn't like the area. She was starting to feel unwell anyway, so that didn't contribute to her mood. Regardless, it was a fun in its own way: a rather silent and thoughtful approach to the town instead of the chattering companionship we had other times. We walked.
I took her down small streets I didn't know, and behind one large intersection I found that little university square, wedged between buildings and a railroad wall, of which I told you earlier. We wandered in; it was silent, greatly overgrown. Ivy was conquering the old architecture. In his silent sanctuary, forgotten by all but the smokers and loiterers, I guess, there stood a statue of the man who founded the university once. The square was stepped down and walled on the edges, lined with old trees. At the far end was a portion of wall at that perfect bench-sitting height walls occasionally achieve. We walked through and found a short bridge over the train tracks, off to our left; it took us back to a civilized area, and we kept wandering.
At this point, Gina was feeling particularly painful, so we found a chocolate shop and bought some chocolates. Then we walked on for a bit. She wanted to sit down for a bit, but we were too far way from the hotel--so we wandered back towards that University de Travaile square, perched on the short wall, and ate our chocolates.
That moment in time was beauty itself for me. I remember Gina's face in the sunlight; the rest, the warmth, the taste of rich European chocolate, the feel of her hand in mine. We paused there, letting the world rush on around us and the square, sharing in that forgotten space's silence and age, absorbing its timelessness. We lived, for a brief moment, in that square.
London Cafe
10:30 AM
(Cafe Nero, near Embankment)
Well, I'm back. I got to London OK in the end, but it was a long end. I sat by the counter in the midst of their little war and read a couple of hundred pages. Five hours later, they found a plane to London with an empty seat I could sit in, so I took it. When I got to London it was raining. I couldn't remember where on Earth (more specifically than "London") I was supposed to go. I had the street address, but that was all.
I took a train to King's Cross, thinking it was a big train station that Uncle Jim had mentioned at some point. It was, indeed, a large train station he'd mentioned, but as it turns out, King's Cross is North, and Uncle Jim is South. I spent a while trying to find the appropriate station to ride the tube to, crossed the street a thousand times looking for a map or a phone or anything, tried to call my uncle (it was busy, I think), and did a great many other useless, frustrating, and somewhat wetting things (it was raining pretty well), all the time towing my luggage like the unfortunate dumb tourist I was. And in the end, I took a cab, and enjoyed that.
In the process, unfortunately, I never did get the chance to call my uncle. Having been up for almost two days, travel worn and somewhat soggy, I showed up on his porch and rang the doorbell with no warning whatsoever. Oops. Not such a great start, but it worked out okay.
So that's how the 30th ended. But I think I've left you somewhat unsatisfied on the 23rd of June, somewhere in Charleroi, just hanging out.
Well, so were we. We had a slow morning on the 23rd, and decided early (it may have been the night before, actually) that we didn't want to spend another day travelling just yet, and would spend the next night as well in the hotel.
The hotel had a little breakfast in the morning, which closed sometime around 9:30, effectively getting us out of bed better than anything else could. I can still remember pretty clearly the image of Gina putting on her jacket over her cast and carefully coming out the door to come downstairs with me--in pain, I could tell, but in love.
Right. So after the breakfast--which consisted mainly of Nutella on stale toast, apparently a favorite item for continentals--we decided to go explore Charleroi. After wandering for a bit, we found a place for lunch located on the corner of a little town square, of sorts. There was an odd modernist sculpture of some kind in the middle of the square. It wasn't defined, but it looked like fingers coming out of the concrete. Nearby was a modern art museum that was probably related.
Mostly that day, we just walked. I love wandering through places, so we just held hands and went for a meandering day-long stroll through the town. We saw a huge old factory, which a pretty view from its parking structure (of all things). The hills in Charleroi made for some incredible vistas. The factory is probably still in use, but it was closed then--I think it was a Saturday, which explains it. There are endless numbers of train tunnels and tracks running through the hills. We wandered into some, and found a large pedestrian tunnel that was probably used for the manpower of the factory. It looked like the stereotypical Factory Approach: huge staircases & all included. We went through & up; I think Gina didn't like the area. She was starting to feel unwell anyway, so that didn't contribute to her mood. Regardless, it was a fun in its own way: a rather silent and thoughtful approach to the town instead of the chattering companionship we had other times. We walked.
I took her down small streets I didn't know, and behind one large intersection I found that little university square, wedged between buildings and a railroad wall, of which I told you earlier. We wandered in; it was silent, greatly overgrown. Ivy was conquering the old architecture. In his silent sanctuary, forgotten by all but the smokers and loiterers, I guess, there stood a statue of the man who founded the university once. The square was stepped down and walled on the edges, lined with old trees. At the far end was a portion of wall at that perfect bench-sitting height walls occasionally achieve. We walked through and found a short bridge over the train tracks, off to our left; it took us back to a civilized area, and we kept wandering.
At this point, Gina was feeling particularly painful, so we found a chocolate shop and bought some chocolates. Then we walked on for a bit. She wanted to sit down for a bit, but we were too far way from the hotel--so we wandered back towards that University de Travaile square, perched on the short wall, and ate our chocolates.
That moment in time was beauty itself for me. I remember Gina's face in the sunlight; the rest, the warmth, the taste of rich European chocolate, the feel of her hand in mine. We paused there, letting the world rush on around us and the square, sharing in that forgotten space's silence and age, absorbing its timelessness. We lived, for a brief moment, in that square.
July 7, 2007 (second entry)
Same day
roof of a parking lot outside Trafalgar Square
1:00 PM
Revived a bit, we studied the buildings a bit more & Gina convinced me they were still in use, just overgrown on this side. We decided that may be part of the different philosophy of that town. Live & let live; build & let grow. Nature and artificial nature side by side. Very cool, if that was really anyone's intent.
That night we came down through the main streets of Charleroi and had coffee and Belgian waffles at a very frilly place (I can't think better how to describe it), and then a few beers or Bailey's at another little corner pub near the hotel. An odd end to our conquest of Charleroi found us the next morning, breakfasted, showered, and slightly hungover, headed out on the first train we could find. Actually, I don't think we showered. The language barrier was incredibly difficult in the train station. Out of frustration and stress, Gina had something of a breakdown in the train station.
I worry about that side of her sometimes. I hope I can do something to help her. I love her--I want this to work out.
When we arrived in Luxembourg, the hotel we'd wanted to stay in was full. So we found a little place across the street and unloaded there; then we went walking. I'd printed out a few maps of Luxembourg city, and they proved pretty useful. The whole area is gorgeous. I would try to describe it, but we took a lot of pictures and hopefully those will last for at least as long as this notebook.
The first day, we just wandered
(Editor's Note: nothing further)
roof of a parking lot outside Trafalgar Square
1:00 PM
Revived a bit, we studied the buildings a bit more & Gina convinced me they were still in use, just overgrown on this side. We decided that may be part of the different philosophy of that town. Live & let live; build & let grow. Nature and artificial nature side by side. Very cool, if that was really anyone's intent.
That night we came down through the main streets of Charleroi and had coffee and Belgian waffles at a very frilly place (I can't think better how to describe it), and then a few beers or Bailey's at another little corner pub near the hotel. An odd end to our conquest of Charleroi found us the next morning, breakfasted, showered, and slightly hungover, headed out on the first train we could find. Actually, I don't think we showered. The language barrier was incredibly difficult in the train station. Out of frustration and stress, Gina had something of a breakdown in the train station.
I worry about that side of her sometimes. I hope I can do something to help her. I love her--I want this to work out.
When we arrived in Luxembourg, the hotel we'd wanted to stay in was full. So we found a little place across the street and unloaded there; then we went walking. I'd printed out a few maps of Luxembourg city, and they proved pretty useful. The whole area is gorgeous. I would try to describe it, but we took a lot of pictures and hopefully those will last for at least as long as this notebook.
The first day, we just wandered
(Editor's Note: nothing further)
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