Things I Don't Understand #1

Hello.

Yes, it's been awhile. I would apologize, but I know you wouldn't accept it so...let's just say I've been away. So hello to everyone, with a special shout-out to the "6 or betters". If it makes you feel any better, I've missed you too.

I should also tell you the blog is in for a change, or maybe we'll just call it a takeover. For the foreseeable future all posts will entail things I don't understand in no particular order. The list is obviously quite long, so I suspect this could last...well forever. Good times. With all that preamble out of the way, let's just get to it. Things I don't understand #1:

People on airplanes sitting by the window but acting like they don't want to look out.
Let me speak directly to that person. "Come on, are you serious. We're 35,000 feet up, hurtling through the air at 500 miles per hour and you're not interested at all? Surely you jest. In case you haven't noticed the view up here is kinda cool. I mean, we were just IN a cloud! That car down there on the country road looks so tiny it's has to be fake. But it's not! It's all real! Despite what Leonardo and professors and physics might suggest, 200 people in a metal tube should not be flying. But were doing it! Also, lightning up here is really a whole different experience. And if you don't think getting a look at a city at night from the sky is worthwhile I don't really know what can done for you. You might already be dead. Yes, I see that you are a professional traveler and you're really busy and you're already counting the minutes until these insufferable fools realize how important you are and let you turn your blackberry back on, but does that mean you have to deny all those seated down the aisle the knowledge of whether that noise was actually the wing falling off or not?" Ok, back to me.

I guess it could just be me. I just can't believe that anyone wouldn't want to see what was going on out there at all times. I guess I just can't grasp how anyone, young or old, doesn't find the birds-eye view completely fascinating. I guess it's possible that I'm the only one who fights the urge to resort back to being a two-year old every time on anything that actually goes up in the air. Even so, I still don't understand those people.

My New Mancrush

...Juan Pablo Toja
He was acquired by FC Dallas at the beginning of the season. He's 22, got rock star hair, and a great game. He always hustles(in soccer they call that an excellent work rate), has great skill on the ball and generally makes you glad you showed up for the game. Earlier this week I watched him steal a ball, then as he tried to break free from a defender get knocked down, but still found a way to pass the ball from the ground with his knee. It also doesn't hurt that he's 6'1", 175. That may not sound that big, but in soccer--especially when you're not a defender-- it's practically huge. He tends to run over people and generally cause havoc to the opposing team. What makes him great is that he's a scrapper that actually has size and skill. Rarely do you see those together. Below is a video of the Columbian made by FC Dallas on his announcement to the All-Star team that might give you some idea what I mean.

That last goal in video? The one that might have you asking how he scored it. I don't know either. If you go HERE and click on the video for "06/09: Juan Toja punches ball into net" you can get a little better view of it, but I'm not sure you'll have any idea how he did it.

Stuff for you to enjoy...

...well, at least I enjoyed it. Plus, I heard someone wants to know about new music.

For Mom

From one of the great sages of my youth...
Happy Mother's Day!

For Bryan

Below is video of Lionel Messi and a goal he scored earlier in the week. Messi is only nineteen and starting for one of the best soccer clubs in the world, Barcelona, along side Ronaldinho. Messi has often been called the next Maradona, which is soccer's equivalent of being called the next Jordan in basketball. Oddly enough, this goal looks scarily similar to one of Maradona's greatest goals, which you can see as well. Oh, BTW a great or very impressive goal is typically referred to as a golazo.


No, I don't know what's wrong with the play-by-play guy, I think he really likes soccer and Messi. Which reminds me, the title of the today's post is such because this is Bryan's favorite player. I will not even go into the depths that Bryan's man-crush for Messi delves. But I don't think it's normal. I think it involves bodily fluids, and I'll leave it at that.

The Death of Pretty

I know I'm probably sealing my fate as single on every questionnaire for the rest of my life by evening mentioning this, much less writing about it, and ensuring those few members of the fairer sex that don't hate me already will join the throng, but hey what do you really care? Oddly enough, this observation stems from my trip to Germany but has nothing to do with soccer. A recent conversation with a friend reminded me of it and turned into something for you to read (and then become disgusted with me over). Are you ready for me to get to it? Fine, I will. It is simply this. Women, girls, females...basically all the people I come in contact that cause immediate confusion...Ladies, here in the U.S. of A.... they don't wear dresses anymore.

It's a little odd really, I go to stores and I see dresses. I see women looking at dresses on the rack and gasping, "How cute!" I think I might have witnessed a woman buy a dress before. I've even seen a woman's closet a time or two, they own dresses. But were it not for the fact that I go to church regularly, I'm not sure I would ever see them. I brave to bring this up for a myriad of reasons but really only one. It's sad. And honestly, it's probably not as sad for the ladies as it is for the men.
I will now speak for all men whether they permit it or admit it, and I'm talking to all the non-men. We like it when you wear dresses. You look good when you wear a flowy skirt... or even a not-so-flowy-one. We're not saying you don't look good in jeans, or shorts, or maybe even jorts (that's jean shorts) but when you wear something sans cuffs we are reminded where we stand. We are reminded that you are the attractive ones and we are the ugly ones. We are reminded what wars are actually fought over. We are reminded why we go through whatever it is we might respectively go through to just be in close proximity to you for long periods of time though it seems somewhat counter-intuitive. We are reminded that you are a woman.

We like that. We also like that fact that we're not a woman but that's a completely separate post. I might just be stricken with some odd good-ol-days syndrome, but the fact that we've come so far from the days where my mom was required to wear dresses to school everyday until she graduated has me flustered and forlorn. Listen ladies, I'm not saying you have to wear one everyday, I'm just saying every once in while reach past the capris or stretch pants and throw on a sundress...or little black dress...or maybe an a-line pleated skirt. Whatever you choose will be fine, I'm sure. There, I'm done...so let the hate begin.

Love,

Farky

One last thing

Ok, I thought I was finished with the World Cup, but there was one day left unaccounted for...so ... What's up America? The last day of our trip--well not counting the next morning we left for the airport-- was allotted for the last first round (and overall) game for the US. They would be playing Ghana in Nuremburg. It's a quaint little town. See (view photos).














Unfortunately, we only had about an hour to explore because we had to leave for the damn Fan Fest. I'm sorry, did I say damn. Anyway...Most, ok all, of this time was spent searching for and then purchasing souvenirs. Since this was the last day, no more room for procrastination.

So we went to Fan Fest and were so underwhelmed that we almost perished before we were able to get through security. We stopped long enough to replenish our life force via some Polish dish and made our way to the stadium for the game. The highlight of that trip would have to be when I looked up and realized we were walking on the infamous Nazi parade stand. Creepy. We arrived at the stadium in anticipation of a great game. Keep in mind that with a U.S. win, the Americans were almost guaranteed to go through to the next round and that the same U.S. team were overwhelming favorites in the game.

So, imagine the feeling when after 22 minutes and a fairly rough tackle/steal of Claudio Reyna the ball hit the net behind Kasey Keller and Reyna's World Cup career ended. O.K. Reyna limped around for about 10 minutes before being substituted out, but you know what I mean. Oddly enough, I think I had said before the game if Ben Olsen ever saw the field during the World Cup that would mean the U.S. was either in big trouble or winning by 4 goals. Guess who substituted for Reyna...yeah. Despite all that, our spirits were quite lifted when Clint Dempsey pounded in the equalizer with just a couple of minutes until half time. Unfortunately, a couple of minutes was more than enough time for the German referee to make one of the worst calls in the history of the sport and screw the entire United States of America. Ironically, I had been happy to hear that the referee was German when he was announced at the beginning of the game. I was not as happy after he awarded one of the worst penalty kicks (that turned into the deciding goal) to Ghana.

I go through all that to let you know that after the game ended I had one more of my soccer hooliganism attacks. Well, maybe not a full out attack, but I was yelling things and wishing evil. I was even mad at the cops. Yeah, I don't know. Let's just say it one of those times I got caught up in the moment.

The other thing from the game I wanted to mention was the seating. Once again, why the heck can't the Germans get this seating organization down? Instead of just having one seat separated from the rest, the Krauts decided to kick it up a notch for our last game. Please note that we had 3 seats in the same section on the same row with consecutive seat numbers (Block: 24 Row:13 Seats: 30-32). OK? Got it? So that would mean the three of would be sitting together, right? Uh...not even close. The picture you see is of Lisa taking a picture from her seat as Bryan and I sit in ours. So in between Bryan and Lisa's seat is an aisle. Between Bryan and myself? That would be the ramp into the stadium. Oh, and there's a aisle right on the other side of my seat just to bring the point home. How much German beer do you have to drink to ever think this would meet with any one's approval?

So we left the game, I had a chocolate croissant and rode the train back to Munich. I had a tense and almost heated confrontation with a German girl who refused to acknowledge the legitimacy of my seat reservation. But who cares about that?

That was it...I hope. And just in case your still wondering, yes, I had a good time.

Munchen is where we party

...It's not like we didn't party in Heidelberg...but...anyway.

Sure this post is about 6 months late, but I always fulfill my promises and finish what I started, not matter how absurb. So we rolled into Munich on a Sunday, I think. And let me just say that if you ever get a chance to take a summer train ride from Heidelberg through the lush hills of Bavaria to Munich, you should at least consider it. So we arrived at the train station, excuse me...the Hauptbahnhof, around noon and found our hotel. Almost a little too easily if you ask me. Once again we experienced the greatness of being on the top floor of a hotel without elevators (yea us!), but it was only the 4th floor. Well, except for the fact that they don't count the first floor, so it was actually the 5th (yea Germany!).

We had already decided that Sunday would be a rest day of sorts, no actual activities planned, but we wanted to get a lay of the land so embarked to grab something to eat and see what we could see. We quickly discovered that our hotel was mere feet from Karlplatz (yea us!) and not much further, obviously, from Marienplatz, home of the famous glockenspiel. We found a restaurant, Italian, and returned to the hotel by way of gelato (yea gelato!). We begrudgingly decided we needed to do laundry (boo dirty!). Unfortanatly, being German not only means you can't give decent directions in English; it also means you can't properly write an "X" on a map. After about 45 minute of wondering around in the hot sun (boo hot sun!), we decided we would try again the next day. After some rest, we undertook the daunting task of not only finding a suitable place to eat, but one where we could watch the game. By the game I meant the Brazil-Austrailia game, of course. By the time we wondered in and out of several establishments, including the famed Hofbrauhaus, tensions were rising. Luckily my keen ears honed in on the sound of sports announcers and we realized we were standing right outside just the place for which we were looking (yea me!). A good German beerhouse with good German food and bitter German women serving us. I feel like I should mention this was the first time on our trip that we encountered the "What language are you speaking?" face. We had heard Bavarians were hard-core about their Germaness (it's probably a made up word, but you can deal) and we found that to be true as we encountered this over and over again. We settled in with our food and our litres (that means beer) (yea litres!). We had a decent viewpoint of the makeshift screen and plenty of interested fans. BTW, and I guess I send this out to all the single guys, there are worse places to be than the same room with a number of Brazilian and Austrailian chicks...just sayin (yea hot chicks!).

**We must now take a break from our normal trip coverage to play a round of "Gay/not Gay":
You're in a foriegn land (Germany), in a public restaurant and you decide that your "mate" (you're Austrailian) needs face paint. He needs it now. And you need to give it to him. And by give it to him, I mean you need to sit on his legs while stradling them to make sure you have the proper angle to apply said face paint.
Yeah, I know. It's the supergayest thing I've ever seen. BTW, taking that picture and not getting beat up by a bunch of drunk Aussies was not easy.

Where were we? Oh yeah, Brazil won and that was that (yea Brazil!). Day 2 was the day of the (fanfare) walking tour (yea walking tour!). First we did our laundry, but then we got right to the walking tour (yea walking tour!). We saw Karlplatz, Frauenkirche, Marienplatz (see photo above), Neues Rathaus (New town hall - same photo), and Altes Rathaus (Old town hall). Of course we had to stop and have some lunch at the Marienplatz, but we got right back on the horse. Next was Peterskirche, where I actually stopped and prayed. Oddly enough, we walked out the church and almost immediately came upon this woman. Now, I want to be absolutely clear and say that in no way did my prayer have anything to do with photogenic woman who happen to be scantily clad in traditional German garb. But who am I to question God? I've been told He works in mysterious ways (yea God!). We went on to see Alter Hof (it was actually under complete
construction so all you could see was scaffolding and plastic sheets), the National Theater, the Residenz, Feldherrnhalle, and then Theatinerkirche. I must say, that eventhough all three churches we visited that day were impressive, this was by far the best. From there we headed through the Hofgarten to our final destination of the day, the Chinesischer Turm beer garden in the Englischer Garten. We made our way through Englischer Garten, which is no easy task considering it's bigger than Central Park and features such distractions as cricket matches, nude sunbathers and surfing. Yes, you read that right, I said surfing. Anyway, we and our weary legs finally made it to beer garden (yea beer garden!).

What a sight, I'm guessing there were between 500-750 people settled into picnic tables under the cheastnut trees enjoying soccer and beer, not necessarily in that order (yea soccer, yea beer!) We found an empty table and then quickly found some beer (yea beer!). As you might be able to see from the picture, the beers were quite large(yea litres!). So we enjoyed our heffes, the game, and I made eyes at some girl a couple of tables over (we would have had a picture of her if the only member of the traveling party who supposedly wasn't drinking hadn't forgotten all the sudden how to focus a camera). Ok, so we had some beer (yea beer!) and I also had the greatest roasted chicken and potatoes ever created (yea food!) So, after about 2-3 hours and 2 beers we had our fill (for the time being). Keep in mind those beers were a litre in size. Let's just say that fact, in combination with my fairly short drinking resume my have resulted in a an all-time first. But you have to wait to the end of the post to decide that for yourself...now, now, don't jump ahead. I might have also confiscated a litre mug as a keepsake(yea stupid American teenage girls who don't know what a deposit is!). I then lead us back to the hotel by way of gelato (yea gelato!) despite my alcohol intake(yea superior orientation skills).

Oh, I should mention that on the way back we had a couple of other encounters. One, all throughout town that day we continually ran into lions. Not real ones obviously, but the fiberglass variety in various stances, colors, and commercial allegiences. Lisa had decided earlier in the day that someone one have to pose with each one we saw. It seems like we found about half of them on the trek back. Here's some pics so you know what I mean:












The other encounter occurred when we came about a smaller beer garden and some people leaving after the game. As we approached I first noticed the three fairly attractive ladies. I then noticed that they were Australian(at this point in the trip it was pretty easy to do). I also noticed they were with some guys, but who cares about that. At that point I decided to start a cheer and see what would happen. So I (possibly with some influence of the two litres) yelled, "Aussie Aussie Aussie!", and on cue and without pause the ladies replied, "Oi Oi Oi!" I raised my stolen glass and gave a final "Woo-hoo!" in salute as we never broke stride. Unbeknownst to me, at the same time two feet away, a debate was raging when Bryan thought about doing the same thing. Unfortunately for him, he ran it by Lisa. And since the debate on my side was between me and myself (with some fine points from the two litres), I blurted it out before a consensus had been reached.

That was day two in Munich. I proclaimed then and will do the same now. The greatest day of the trip. No question. The next day wasn't bad either. We traveled to Prien am Chiemsee home to one of Mad King Lugwigs castles, Herrenchiemsee. He attempted to build an exact replica of Versailles, unfortunately he ran out of money. I was still cool. We also got close enough to see the Alps (yea mountains!). We headed back into town and after dinner that night and watched the Germans root against England at another beer garden closer to the hotel.

Day four was a little more somber, at least early on. We went to see Dachau. Nothing says happy day like a visit to a concentration camp. I'm glad I went. I think it's something everyone should do. I just don't know if I ever need to do it again. To follow that up we wondered aimlessly around the town for about and hour and half. That could have been my fault, but I'm going to give a big assist to the street signs "pointing" to the train station. If only they had all been pointing the same direction. We dropped Lisa off at the hotel and then headed for the Fan Fest in Munich just to prove that they all were lame. Success! Bryan and I then made the decision to try to recreate some of the magic of days past and returned to Chinesischer Turm (yea beer gardens!). We each had a litre but it wasn't the same. Mainly because we had to leave, I think.

We then returned to the hotel and hatched a plan to have dinner at Hofbräuhaus and then possibly watch the game that night at a separate hall or beer garden since we didn't think there was a TV there. We left and were confronted with quite a rain storm. We got to Hofbräuhaus relatively unscathed and discovered that finding a table might not be a given. Despite its size, we realized there were no empty tables in the main dining hall. Since that's where all the action was, we found a booth with only 3 people (they would seat between 6-8) and asked if we could join. They obliged and we soon found out that not only were they Americans, but were from Austin ("It a Small World" starts playing in the background). We enjoyed hours of eating, drinking (yea more beer!), conversing and singing with our new friends whose names we never got (boo us!). Because we were having such a good time, and because it was raining cats and dogs, we never made it anywhere else. We took one last walk trough the Marienplatz since it would probably be our last day in Munich as the next day we would be traveling to Nuremburg to watch the U.S. lose (that's all I'm saying about that day).

Obviously, Munich was great. I hope to go back. What else can I say? I just whipped you with like 10,000 words about it. What's that? Oh yes, the "all-time first". Well, I usually use this space to impose my will and poke fun and kick others in crouch. But today, for you dear reader, I will take assume the position and take a wide stance....Enjoy.

The Song That Never Ends

Apparently, this is going to be an annual occurrence. That is, me complaining about the BCS and showing you how great it would be with a playoff system. But what am I supposed to do when they keep putting this crap in front of me and asking me to eat it. In the last five years I think the BCS has actually "worked" once, and that was last year. But just realize, it only "works" if we finish the season with only 2 undefeated teams.

I'm going through this tired act now as opposed to after this weekend's conference championships because I'm almost positive that if there was a playoff system, especially with 16 teams, the conferences would get rid of that game so fast it would make your head spin. They wouldn't want to saddle one of their best teams with another loss, which is really all a conference championship game would accomplish at that point.

Now, I've tweaked the plan just a tad. Let me reiterated it for you here. You know, because I'm nice and it's the holiday season and all. There will be 16 teams. Every conference champion receives an automatic bid unless (Tweak #1) they have more than 4 losses at which point an another at large team would be added. I think that would ensure that one of the low-end conferences doesn't get a 6-5--or like the year North Texas won the Sun Belt with a 5-6 record-- team in. Conferences would be limited to no more than 3 teams. At large bids would be determined by a BCS like poll. Now a look at what this year's mythical college football playoff would look like.

OK, sorry, I actually wrote the first three paragraphs without even looking at the standings and knowing that with my new 5 loss rule, that the Sun Belt champion would not qualify with a 7-5 record. Luckily for Notre Dame, as they received that last available at large bid. Also, I should mention that I had to just pick a winner for the SEC and MAC for their conference championships are actually needed to provide a clear cut winner.

• 1) Ohio St. (Big Ten Champ.)
  
• 16) Ohio University (MAC Champ.)
  

• 8) Boise State (WAC Champ.)
  
• 9) Arkansas (At large)

• 5) L.S.U. (At large)
• 12) Rutgers (Big East Champ.)

• 4) Florida (SEC Champ.)
• 13) B.Y.U. (Mountain West Champ.)

• 3) Michigan (At large)
• 14) Georgia Tech (ACC Champ)

• 6) Louisville (At large)
• 11) Oklahoma (Big 12 Champ.)

• 7) Wisconsin (At large)
• 10) Notre Dame (At large)

• 2) U.S.C. (PAC 10 Champ.)
• 15) Houston (Conf. USA Champ.)

So there you go. The first round would feature some great games, plus you get that all-Ohio 1 v 16 game. You get to find out if Boise St.'s for real and if the SEC is really all that. Oh, and the team left looking in? The team who would be complaining the loudest? Well, the next at large team would be #11 Auburn, but they would already be ineligible under my rules because the SEC has 3 teams in. So, the next eligible team that wouldn't get in would be #14 Virginia Tech. What's my point? My point is that instead of arguing if the #2 or #3 team is the better choice to play for a national championship we would be debating about #10 through #15. That would be better...wouldn't it?

I'm tired of the rectangles

Today's post will be about politics...sort of. I'm sure I'll disappoint all of you out there who think I'm some kind of true blue (or is it red) Nazi Republican who worships at the foot of Karl Rove, but it's not gonna be that kind of post. Oh, and by the way, if you do still think that about me, you need to pay more attention. But on that note, before I move along (just because I like to give the people what they want), last Tuesday I was at a gathering to watch the election returns. As it became apparent the Dems would indeed win the day, and that Nancy Pelosi would subsequently become (man this is hard to type) Speaker of the House; I started in on my "Nancy Pelosi couldn't think her way out of (enter large open-ended receptacles here) joke series." If you're wondering why I would think such a thing (I mean, other than it's the truth), well luckily I had a blog back in July of 2005. Just read this. For extra entertainment, read the comments. Yes, "at least she's not running the country." Nancy Pelosi, the best reason yet to keep Dick Cheney alive by any means necessary.

Anyway, the actual topic of this post will probably interest no one, but when has that ever stopped me. I mean, I write I blog for like 0.73 people. NBC has a new show this year elegantly titled Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip. It's a show that has a litany of stars but the reason I decided to give it chance was that Aaron Sorkin would be writing it. His two previous TV endeavors of note were Sports Night and West Wing and I enjoyed them both. I mean, if he's entertaining enough to get me to sit through 8 years of liberal crap, he must have something, right? Well, what I expected was an inside look at how the entertainment industry works, kinda like Sports Night but with jokes and satire instead of homers and touchdowns. What I quickly realized and now feel ready to confirm is this is just a vehicle for Sorkin to espouse his political views. If I may be so bold, this show is more politicized than West Wing.

My exhibit today will be two conversations during the course of the show. The first between the show's fictional head writer (Matt Albie) and the female star of the show (Harriet Hayes) who happens to be a self proclaimed evangelical Christian...so Aaron has is foil. A seemingly smart, level-headed, and well meaning foil, but a foil nonetheless. What you need to know is that the Harriet character was asked by some publication her thoughts on gay marriage. Oh, you should also be aware these two characters are involved in one of those on-again off again relationships. I think you're supposed to believe that Matt is madly in love with Harriet. Now the conversation:

Harriet: You honestly think I'm a homophobe?
Matt: Harriet, I can't...
Harriet: You honestly think...
Matt: Yes, yes I do. And you know why? Cause, you are. Now go to work.
Harriet: I said the Bible says it's...
Matt: Yeah, yeah.
Harriet: Don't "yeah, yeah" me. And seems to me every Democrat on a ballot answers the same question by talking about civil unions and leaving it up to the states and not wanting...
Matt: I don't need any reminding that my party is full to brimming with panderer and mediocrity.
Harriet: What's wrong with civil unions? And why shouldn't we...
Matt: Because there's no way to get to the end of that sentence without saying that homosexual love is something less than heterosexual love. And watching you trip all over it makes me want to hit you in the head with Liberace.

You should probably also know that the quote that Harriet made is: "The Bible says that homosexuality is a sin. It also says 'Judge lest ye be judged'". I not here to even raise issue with the debate itself, even if I don't think it was handled in a way I like. It's what I think the tone and direction of the conversation exposes. If I'm correct, homophobe means "a person who hates or fears homosexual people". If someone accused me of being a hater, and not the cool street lingo sort, but an actual person who hates someone else without real knowledge of them, I would not have used some political rationalization. I might want to know why they can't see the difference between a religious belief and actual rancor. Also, if I had accused someone of such a grievous offense and they responded with some justification of political viewpoints I would say, "I'm not talking about politics, I'm talking about you." I've heard that one of the main problems Democrats have with religious conservative voters is that they can't separate their faith from their politics. But what we see through this fictional exchange is that Aaron Sorkin and those championing his cause suffer from the same malady.

The second exchange occurs between the same Harriet Hayes character and the supposed head of the network's entertainment division played by Amanda Peet (Jordan McDeere). The issue here is derived from Harriet's participation with a group called "Women United Through Faith". I'm assuming it's like Promise Keepers for women, which might actually exist, but what do I know. Oh, also Harriet supposedly has a side career as some sort of Gospel/Christian singer. Because of the flap that Harriet's quote caused, she's being encouraged to not take a part these W.U.T.F. events. That should be all the set-up you need.

Jordan: You have 6 concert appearances scheduled with them around the country on 6 consecutive Mondays.
Harriet: Yeah.
Jordan: You shouldn't be appearing in front of groups that oppose gay marriage.
Harriet: Are you censoring me?
Jordan: Don't put it like that.
Harriet: Give me another way to put it.
Jordan: Harry...
Harriet: I grew up with Women United. I was a teenager when my mom died and she asked them to look out for me and they did.
Jordan: Harry...
Harriet: I don't agree with everything they believe in, but I don't believe in everything you do either... doesn’t' stop me from working for you.
Jordan: I understand...
Harriet: I do "Crazy Christians", I do "Science Shmience","Cheeses of Nazareth"...
Jordan: "Cheeses of Nazareth"?
Harriet (smiling): It's Matthew's latest. Cheddar, Gouda...all from the holy land. "Cheeses of Nazareth".
Jordan: That's a little funny.
Harriet: Yes, it is. They all are. I saying they are, so why can't I go out...Young girls attend these events. They admire me. I'm in a position to show them that Christianity has a nicer voice than Ann Coulter's.
Jordan: Carol Channing has a nicer voice than Ann Coulter's....

Yes, we end with the obligatory shot at Ann Coulter. I can't be sure this entire episode wasn't written just for that one line. But I must raise a question, do teenage girls know who Ann Coulter is? Maybe a few teenage boys...maybe, but girls? And if your were asked to name the female spokesman...sorry, spokeswoman for Christianity. How many days would we have to sit in a quiet, empty room before Ann Coulter's name came to mind? Basically, what I'm trying to say here is that despite the fact that I really enjoy pretty much everything Aaron Sorkin has ever done, this act is getting tiresome. We get it that you don't like conservatives, Christians, or any combination thereof. It's kinda like the rock group who's 4th album is just like their first. Or maybe it's like my Mark Rothko experience. I really liked the simplicity and the colors but after a while I just got tired of the rectangles.

The Greatest Game in the History of Ever

So the next day was game day. A game we had been looking forward to the entire trip. Truth be told, I think we might have made the trip if we were told this was the only game we would get to see...o.k. maybe just Bryan and I would've, but you get my drift. Before the game, though, we thought we'd try to get in some more sight-seeing. For this we headed to the town of Speyer. We wandered around town aimlessly (I didn't even have a map so don't try to pin this one on me) and after seeing the sites ( or at least what we thought were the sights), Bryan had to sprint for a bathroom and we found a lovely outdoor cafe at which to have lunch. In retrospect, I fear this was a completely wasted trip for I'm fairly confident we saw nothing of what your supposed to see when in Speyer. But honestly, I don't care. We did have the experience of a waitress causing us to arrive at the site of game 2 hours behind schedule, but that's gonna happen when your in a country were 3 quarters of the people who claim to speak English are actually lying. No biggie, though. We still arrived in Kaiserslautern a good three hours before Italy and the U.S. would square off.

Of course, that didn't stop us from more aimless wondering and wasting of time until we had to frantically find something to eat and make our way to the stadium. That was partly because of the city in which we found ourselves. Having this game in Kaiserslautern would be like having the Fiesta Bowl in Waco. I'm not saying Waco's not lovely, (that would require a completely separate post) I'm just saying holding a sporting event that is going to draw as many people as live in a city is asking for trouble. Honestly, we didn't have a whole lot of trouble other than wondering what we were gonna do with three hours and getting packed into tight spaces with lots of people for no discernible reason. Enough of that, though.

We made our hike to the stadium, and I do mean hike. It was approximately 2 miles from the bottom. "What bottom?", you say. That would be the one from which you must ascend to the stadium because it was built on Betzenberg Mountain. Great for the view...but uh... well let's just say we almost had to enlist a sherpa guide to carry Lisa all the way up. But we got there, through security (I'm still waiting on the dinner that guy owes me) and to our seat with about an hour to spare. Early enough to watch Ghana put the finishing touches on a 2-0 win against the Czech Republic via jumbotron that would turn Group E upside down and give the U.S. team and supporters actual hope founded on probability instead of fantasy. With that knowledge in hand, or in mind I guess, the cheering of the U.S. fans was geared up a notch. Keep in mind we're still 60 minutes from kick-off. Even so, the rollicking good times continued right up until the start of the game, including the the 15,000 person sing-along to Born in the USA which the was played over the stadium P.A. to my amazement. I've never really been that big a fan of "The Boss", but being in a foreign land with your fellow patriots will get you out of your comfort zone. Just so you're aware, the Germans haven't come up with anything better to play at sporting events but tired old American pop/rock. Also, a little heavy on the disco, but I digress.

So the game begins (finally, you say). You know what, I could go into a detailed blow-by-blow but if you wanted that you could just go here or here. As I said before, there is nothing like cheering for your native land, especially when you're in a different country on the world's biggest stage. I was a lunatic. Jumping up and down like a fool. The chanting and singing by US supporters never stopped. News reports claimed that it was a pro-American crowd in attendance that night, but I can tell you first hand we were outnumbered 2 or 3-to-1 by Italians. Even when Italy scored, it seemed we stopped long enough to take a breath and started right up again. It was just odd that the atmosphere was controlled by Americans while the Italians could do nothing but sit on their hands and try to figure out what was wrong.

When the US scored to tie the game, I'm not sure I've ever been happier, ever. It's odd how emotionally involved one can get at a game. But I was in, baby, all in. And when that ball hit the back of the net (right in front of me, by the way) I went nuts. Jumping, high-fiving strangers from 5 rows away (one of the odd advantages of being tall) ,waving my flag in the air...like I just didn't care...good stuff. I should also mention at this point that the seats we were in were on a aisle. And by aisle I mean a 18 inch-wide space between the seats for some steps. On the other side of this "aisle" is where the US section ended and the Italian section began. Lucky me. This arrangement of fan juxtaposition provided some interesting opportunities. For instance, around the 60 minute, when the US had been playing a man down for the half and yet were still controlling play and taking most of the offensive chances, it gave me occasion to witness some 50 year-oldish Italian who no doubt knew more about soccer 30 years ago than I ever would curse his team and hang his head in defeat. From this vantage I was also able to see if Italian chicks are really that hot. I could have done that, but I didn't. Finally, it allowed me one-on-one interfacing with my Italian counterparts. (Possible Hooliganism Warning here) The interface in question came after yet another Italian player hit the ground in an attempt to draw a card from the referee, commonly referred to in the sport as diving. This resulted in a ,shall we say, a negative reaction from US supporters and possibly even some of the players. I rose to voice my displeasure. At the same moment, a fan from the country that looks like a boot rose and turned around to debate us, I guess. Our eyes met, he frowned and shook his head to let us know we had no idea what we were talking about. Usually I would try to avoid confrontation. I thought about that fact that his fellow countrymen greatly out numbered me and my countrymen and that they were much more familiar with fascism. But I did not go quietly into that good night, I never broke the stare. I rose my hands above my head and placed them on top of each other, like a Olympian on the high dive. I then jump and simulated such a dive, not once, not twice, but three times. He then gave me the look of man who just figured out who had shot his beloved hound and nodded and smiled as if to say," I see you, and you will pay for your iniquity." I nodded and smiled in reply as if to say," I wanted to be seen and relish the opportunity to altercate with you on this or any other subject." And that was that.

In the end, the game was a tie. One point in the standings for each team, but one that saw an unbelievable effort from the US squad. One that now stands as possibly the greatest game ever played by a US team. It should also be noted that it was Italy's only game of the World Cup that it did not win. The main point I want to make is that the atmosphere in the stands that day is not something I'm sure can be duplicated in the U.S. Maybe college football, but that's the only thing that would come close. I left the game physically and emotionally drained. Not drained enough to make one last attempt at WAL, but it was closed. And so was our time in Heidelberg.

The Beauty of Heidelberg

So we left out of Dusseldorf on the train to Heidelberg via Mainz and Mannheim. Sure Bryan had us get off the train in Mainz for no reason, nothing like giving up your seat and toting your luggage to the platform just to hurriedly get right back on the same train. Fun times. Anywho, we eventually got to Heidelberg and our hotel...just in time to try to figure out where to eat lunch...happy day. Luckily, this time we found a serviceable place near our hotel. Sure we made the block twice before we went in, but why must you dwell on the negative. It was your basic bar with a restaurant mixed in and the food seemed to meet with everyone's approval... among other things. The place was called WAL. I don't know... and I wouldn't mention it except that it played a role in several of our days in that fair berg.

That day was basically spent resting in the room while watching games, with a sojourn out to get dinner and watch the game. I believe on the way back I had my first gelato of the trip. I would have gelato approximately 83 more times before we left. After all, it was only a euro, and that's if you wanted two scoops. Let it be known that I was mocked when I made it known to the traveling party I wanted gelato. "I don't want any gelato," said one member, "I only want ice cream." Their tune would change, oh yes, it would change.

The next day started out with a fun trip to the laundrymat. Four and half euros seemed a little steep for one load of laundry, but what are you gonna do? Besides, you'd be surprised at the amount of clothes you can stuff in a washer when each run is that pricey (Approximately six days worth). So after all the clothes had been folded we headed out for another fantastic (strike up the fanfare...) walking tour! Sure, we had strolled by many of the destinations on said tour the previous day, but we had yet to see them in their proper order so as to build that perfect historically dramatic climax. Ok, that never happened, (heck, I don't even know what that means) but I was trying to be a glass-half-full-guy. Anyway, like I said, walking tour.

I'll admit we didn't adhere completely to the guide book. I'm still trying to figure out why anyone would be interested in the German Packaging Museum. I'll just stick to the highlights. Of course, I should begin with the main attraction of the town. The Schloss, or castle to you and me, it's quite impressive. Remember this picture? It's got 8-foot-thick walls and the largest wine barrel the world has ever known. See what I mean?They also had this cool fountain of some mythical deity. I'm going with Neptune. By the way, if you check out the picture closely, you might see yours truly in the frame (really, there by his right hand, you might have to squint). Oh, I almost forgot. We rode up to the Schloss in a funicular. I tell you this because it's really fun to say funicular and I find that word doesn't make near enough appearances in my world. Go ahead, say it a couple of times, slowly, and enjoy the rest of your day.

We winded our way through town, dragging Lisa along, making all sorts of empty promises of when the tour might end and how great the payoff would be. We crossed the Atle Brucke (Old bridge, that's where the pic of me with the Schloss in the background was taken) and I thought, "While we're here we might as well go see the Philosophers' Path; it's just right up these steps." What I didn't know: there were approximately 18,000 steps, and this it not because they didn't want it to be that steep. Dear Lord. Plus, once we got to the top we realized that there was actually nothing up there. Sure, we got some great views of Heidelberg. But that's all. Well, except for the shirts soaked in sweat. Bonus. That was pretty much it for that day unless you count the 4:30 dinner and watching some soccer games, which you don't, so shut up.

Day 3 in the Heidelberg, the day of infamy. Ok, not really...well, maybe. Ok, no...I've decided definitely not. Except possibly it was. Anyway, this is the day we had conceded to Lisa as (booming announcer voice) "The Day Which Souvenirs Shall be Shopped For and Possibly Purchased". But before we did that we thought we'd take a boat ride on Neckar (Neckar! I don't even know her). Heading over to the boat we had hoped to stop at a market to pick up some water only to find them closed, odd for a Thursday at 10:45 am, but you know how unreliable those Germans are...oh wait. We ignored it and got on the boat. It was indeed a lovely ride, look how much fun Bryan and Lisa are having. More castles were seen (Honestly, they're kinda like Starbucks over there). Anyhoo, the ride was three hours round trip with a short stop at a quaint little town to turn around. We disembarked there (I have no idea what the name of the town was), and our quick stroll revealed all of the shops and most of the restaurants were closed. It was about 1:30 pm. Folks, we have a developing situation. As I mentioned, the plan all along was to begin the great crusade known as "The Day Which Souvenirs Shall be Shopped For and Possibly Purchased" as soon as we returned, but the truth of our plight began to slowly set in on the ride back. When we arrived back in Heidelberg all hope was vanquished. The shops were shut up tighter than a...well...stuff that's not open (note: metaphor censored in reaction to possible perusal by parental types. Hi Mom!) Anyway they were closed. There was much wailing and gnashing of teeth. OK, I might have just trailed behind my traveling companions chuckling, but I dare you, NAY, demand you to prove it...that's what I thought.

In an odd turn of events we had no plan B. Oh, and we also had no idea why everything was closed. We only had three German guide books with us but there was no mention that June 15th was the day in which capitalism takes a nap. Thanks for nothing Mr. Fodor! So we headed back to the hotel and watched some soccer. In case you are wondering, out of the 48 first round games I feel confident we saw some or all of about 35 of those. We were there for the World Cup after all. Oh, I forgot to mention, the previous night Germany had played Poland in the late game (9pm) and won. This set off a city wide celebration that resulted in random screaming, yelling , fire works and car horns. Keep in mind that was merely a first round win. Sure, it basically ensured that Germany would advance, but still. Annoying yes, but it's not everyday you get to experience something like that. When I finally dozed off at about 1:30 am, it was because I had finally become immune to such noise. But, back to the day at hand.

We went out, had another lovely dinner and afterwards decided to head back to our new favorite (my first ever favorite) watering hole for some libation and maybe dessert. Sure we had already had a couple of drinks at dinner (Bryan might have had more) but we're in Germany, dammit! The rest of our night would probably have been completely uneventful (you might think it was anyway) had it not been for what we encountered when we were seated. The waitress. There was nothing special about her except she was possibly one of the most fetching females I had ever come across, much less working at some spare restaurant in some spare German town. The odd part was, she didn't seem to know that she was beautiful, or if she did, it made no difference to her. If I believed in love, I might have fallen right then.

I'm not telling you this so you'll know I saw a pretty girl in Germany, that's not news. What is news is the circumstances would result from such an encounter. As we were sitting enjoying yet another game and yet another hefe (aka hefeweizen) we observed some other American with his teenage son ask the waitress if she would pose for a picture with said son. Despite her befuddlement, she relented. Stupid Americano. Anyway, Bryan and Lisa began their usual petitions that I should talk to her. They accused me of being afraid. All the normal browbeating. I'm pretty sure this is sport for them, because you know, there's no reason not to talk to a busy waitress in a town you'll be in approximately 48 more hours who barely speaks English and has already been hassled by male tourists from the U.S. That's a recipe for success if I've ever heard one. Of course, every time she came to the table Bryan wouldn't let me get a word in edgewise. So, when he had the brilliant plan (no it was not brilliant, but German beer was involved) to let me order the dessert, who am I not to go along.

So the waitress returns to the table and Bryan informs her we would like to order dessert. We had already decided we wanted two portions of the apple streusel (Germany, remember) . You might be thinking, "I thought he was going to let you order?" That's what I was thinking. I'm pretty sure that's what Lisa was thinking. Well, Bryan thought it, too. Unfortunately, like I said , he was already half way through ordering. "Yeah, we like to get some dessert", he says. And then he realized..."The Plan!" So in order to prove for all his exceptional couth, what does Bryan utilize as the ultimate smooth segue? He immediately, mid-sentence stops talking, bows his head like the preacher just asked for extra invitation time, and points at me. That's right, he tucked his little head and pointed. I look at the waitress (who must have thought the Americans were nuts), look at Bryan with a shake of the head, and order the stupid streusel. The most amazing part is that he had the gall to blame me as we left the restaurant of not making the most of my "opportunity". By the way, she was able to tell us that apparently everything was closed because of some sort of Catholic holiday. Where's separation of church and state when you need it?

The next day we headed to Stuggart for a little day trip. We had timed it so that we would be there the same day as a World Cup Game between Holland and the Ivory Coast. At one point
we had foolishly thought we might be able to find some tickets and attend the game. That is, until we arrived. The game was at 6 pm. We got off the train at 10:30 am. This is what the main square (or Schlossplatz) looked like 7 ½ hours before the game. Yeah, we weren't getting any tickets. So we hit the State Gallery, which conveniently was undergoing renovation that required two-thirds of it to be closed. Still, there was good art that I have now seen. So there's that. We took another short walking tour of the city (walking tour!) , made some failed attempts at shopping and headed back so Lisa could take another stab at "The Day Which Souvenirs Shall be Shopped For and Possibly Purchased". I recall it being wholly unsuccessful, but we (she) tried. Actually, Bryan and I might have been in a bar watching a game, but that's neither here nor there.

This was our last free night in Heidelberg as the next day we had a game to attend. I'll give you three guesses where we went for some drinks after dinner. Good job. What's that? No. She wasn’t there.

I got your Dussel right here!

So we embark on our 2nd long train ride of the trip, from Brussels to Koln, or as you might call it Cologne, which would eventually lead us to Dusseldorf. We were heading to Dusseldorf for an actual game. Yes, 5 days into our “World Cup Trip” we were finally going to see a game. Before that though, there’s something related to our train ride of which I must inform you.

You see, a day earlier, before we left for Brugge we stopped at the ticket desk to make a reservation for the train to Koln to ensure we got on the right train to arrive at the right time. We request the reservations and the gentleman at the desk checks to see that they are available and finds that they are. He then asks for some sort of payment, at which point I pulled out my credit card. It had been previously decided I would pay for any such expenses and we would settle accounts when we returned home. I handed him my Capital One Mastercard, because you know, they don’t charge those ridiculous international transaction fees that some of the other companies do. He took a quick look at it and said,”I cannot accept this.” We were all somewhat dumbfounded because he had already assured us they took Mastercard. I knew I wasn’t over my limit, so what was the problem? “This card has not been signed,” he said, and he handed it back. I took it, mulling over my fate and my options. It was at this point that a member of our travelling party made his first grievious error of the trip. He decided this would be the best time to debate a Euro on procedures for rendering payment and fraud protections. “We cannot accept any card that has not been signed by the holder.” I think at some point he also mentioned that they must pick their cards up at the bank and must sign them before they leave. But what you care about is what Bryan said next. What he said was…as I stood there slightly confused and wondering if any of my credit or debit cards were signed…he said, “In America they tell us not to sign the back so people ask for I.D.” At that point, my chin hit my chest and air was expelled from my mouth (I don’t know whether it was audible or not). I knew it was coming, you know it was coming, but Bryan didn’t appear to see what was coming. What came was this, “Well thankfully sir, we are not in America.” I looked at Bryan as it made impact, he was brieftly staggered but fought through. Oddly, the man behind the counter had no problem taking the card after I signed it right in front of him. I'm guessing he was in some pool to see who got to deliver that line first that day, and I’m guessing he won. Even if there wasn’t a pool, he still won.

So we arrive in Cologne after a very enjoyable ride with some lovely scenery along the way. We finally encounter World Cup crowds and World Cup atmosphere. We saw a group of American fans dressed as the Harlem Globetrotters and toting something that played the accompanying music. They were at every game… we could not get away from them. Anyway, the train to Dusseldorf was full of people, mainly U.S. fans to the point were you were happy to find a place to stand where you were only touching 3 people. Of course, I found a seat, but that’s a different story.

We got to Dusseldorf. Found Bryan’s friend who used to be a exchange student of his parents. She helped us find our hotel. We found lunch (Hello Turkish food!). We walked along the Rhine. Then we went back to the hotel and headed for the game. It was about then that we realized we shouldn’t have tarried so long at the Rhine. Our 35 minute train ride, even with the crazy—though nice—German ensuring us every 5 minutes we would make it on time could not arrive fast enough. Once there (the game was actually in Gelsenkerchen, a suburb of Dusseldorf), we had to get to the stadium. No easy task when thousands of other people are going the same way. We got to the stadium and through security and found our seat apporximately 90 second before the game started.

About our seats. For this game we had four. At one point we thought we might be met by a friend of Lisa’s but that didn’t happen. That was lucky for me because even though I had four consecutively numbered seats in the same section, one was across the aisle that featured a barrier down the middle of it, no less. With the extra seat I was able to sit with my friends and watch a rather lackluster defeat…

Even so, it was an amazing experience. I’ve said it before on this blog but just in case you missed it I’ll say it again. There is nothing like a big time (or even moderately sized) sporting event where one of the teams is representing your country. People in costumes, girls in very patriotic bikinis, continuous chanting and cheering , it's almost sensory overload. Especially when you mix in the world class athletes.

So they lost. It sucked. And then we had to get back to the train station. No easy task. The trams and buses were completely overloaded and who knew how long the wait would be for one we could actually fit in. So we started walking. In hindsight, this might have been a mistake as the stadium was actually about 2 and half to 3 miles from the train station. We walked and I realized my foot really hurt. We kept walking. About 30 minutes in we arrived at the entry and exit to fan fest. (Don’t get me started) They had a bus stop there but usually by the time the bus got there it had already been filled way up the road. There was some discussion about whether we should wait or not but I just stopped walking. Luckily, some guy running the stop decided that a bus headed to the stadium should stop and pick up the handful of us waiting there. So we got on a completely empty bus, thank God. Oh, as we were about to enter the bus, Mia Hamm, star of the women’s US team and spokesman for all women’s sports walked by. She seemed really intent on not being noticed and I let her be. Not that I could have thought of anything to say anyway.

As I mentioned in one of my posts from Germany, the ride back was actually quite fun as I sat with some English and Scottish guys and we talked about all American sports. One of them was convinced that John Stockton of Utah Jazz fame had a nickname equal to that of his Mailman Karl Malone counterpart. I had to sadly report that I knew of no such nickname. Also seated with us was a girl from Tyler…Texas…what are the chances?

We finally got back to the hotel and me to my crap bed, which was actually one of those that fold out chairs that you see in hospitals. I slept, though. For tomorrow we would finally start enjoying Germany on a whole new level.

What so hot about Belgium?

Our first extended train ride led us to our second stopping point in Europe, Brussels. The train station was a short walk to our hotel, and we pleasantly discovered everything else was a short walk from our hotel. Bonus. One of the things close to our hotel, in fact, right outside the door, was "the restaurant-lined rue des Bouchers". It's always comforting when you find that the street with all the restaurants mentioned in the travel guide is right there. The only problem with the rue des Bouchers is that with so many restaurants so close together, the competition for diners creates this sort of carnival barker atmosphere with each establishment having their own "salesman" acting like he's your long-lost best friend and about to give you the greatest deal ever. Bryan went ahead and went with the guy who promised us free beer. Shocker.

So, we're at this mainly seafood place. We're in Brussels. So it seems obvious what to order, right. Of course, I did. I ordered the mussels. Prepared in garlic sauce I believe. Who really knows, the menu was in French...as was the waiter. My travelling buddies ordered...Italian food? Yeah, I don't know. But my mussels and pommes frites were tasty. Next on the list was to find the waffles we had heard so much about. And find them we did. The first waffle I had that day came topped with cream and chocolate sauce and to even compare this to Hershey's would be an insult to the entire country...we were in Belgium people! After one bite the only thing I could think of was when I could get my next one. While walking around in a epicurean induced haze we stumbled into the Grand Place. And I can make no argument, there is very few places on earth more grand than that.

After a respite in the room to finish our waffles and watch a game we headed back out on walking tour #2 of the trip (Yea Walking Tours!) This one shockingly lead us back to the Grand Place where I succumbed to the pressure of a local custom by "rubbing the bronze deathbed sculpture of Everard 't Serclaes". You run your hand along the length of the female sculpture and then that thing on the top. It's supposed to be good luck. Word's still out on whether it worked or not. From there we made our way to the Manneken-Pis...yes, the peeing boy . It was here that we began to take note of an apparent European custom that seems to be their version of a bachelors and bachelorette party. We found groups of people where one, presumably the bride or groom, dressed in some sort of costume accompanied by other members of the party that were attired in matching t-shirts usually identifying the betrothed couple. Here at the Manneken-Pis I believe we saw the bride and groom parties accidentally run into one another.

It was here that I made my first major error of the trip. Up until this point I was the one always stuck with being the "obvious tourist goob" by having to guide our walking tour while carrying the book. I had grown weary of the thing and passed it on to Bryan. After 30 minutes and about a mile and half, I realized we were no closer to the Palace and its accouterments that was our goal. So, I took the map back, never to be relinquished again. Oh, there was also some sort of Turkish festival going on while we were there. They were parading these things down the street. I have no idea...

We did a little more walking and finally ended up at the Royal Palace. We headed back through the Parc de Bruxelles. Thought we saw a topless chick, but I had to assure Bryan that it was a dude. We grabbed some dinner as we watched some more soccer and plotted where to get our next waffle. And get it we did. Except this time, I thought some ice cream might be an excellent addition. It was, but I gotta tell you, eating a waffle covered in ice cream and heated chocolate sauce on a paper plate with a plastic fork while walking through crowded streets is not the easiest thing to do. We got back to the hotel and some poor teenage girl was forced to ride the elevator up with us while we toted our food. Oh, the elevators were kind of tiny, so she seemed quite relieved to get off.

The next day we had decided to take a side trip to Brugge. A quaint little town filled with historic churches and canals. Kind of like Amsterdam, but smaller. We did the obligatory canal boat ride , not bad. Hit a disappointing museum that was partly closed for construction. Had a big argument over lunch (shocker). If you believe what they tell you, we saw the blood of Christ and a Madonna and Child sculpture by Michelangelo at two different churches. It's really hard not to be impressed by the churches there. Not just the size and architecture, but what's inside. The church with the Madonna also featured numerous paintings bigger than a wall, and all pre-1700. Here that would be fodder for a noteworthy art exhibit. There it's just some stuff they hung on the church wall. This day we tired quickly (it was quite hot) and decided to head back to Brussels. We missed the 4:30 train by about 45 seconds. The next one was at 5 pm. Bummer. And then it was 30 minutes late. Real bummer. Then the 5 o'clock and 5:30 train arrived at essentially the same time. And then we made one of the worst decisions of the trip when we chose the wrong train. Wrong being the one without air conditioner and vastly slower than the other. Our 50 minute train ride turned into about and hour and half.
Bummer doesn't begin to describe. Nothing like hours of marinating in your own sweat. Look how happy we were to arrive back in Brussels. We went straight to dinner, another patio with the game on. I think we had to watch Mexico win (bastards). Then we headed off for our (sadly) final waffle run of the trip. This time without the ice cream (you CAN have too much of a good thing), but everyone was still quite pleased with the way things were going. We walked back through the Grand Place one last time and that was it.

Oh, one last thing. Possibly the best feature of our hotel was the breakfast. Both the food--that featured hot food and chocolate croissants(the greatest baked good ever)-- and the view. See picture. I'm pretty sure no one has something like that outside their breakfast nook (Yes, that is the Grand Place in the background).

I AMsterdam...

Yes, finally. So, the trip I took...that long and arduous journey, well, it began in Amsterdam. Technically, I guess it began in Dallas with a connection through Chicago, but you know what I mean... Amsterdam.

A couple of things first. One, this was only my second time to go overseas. And a reminder for those of you not following along or with short memories, I was going to Europe for the World Cup and staying something like 16 days. So a long trip is what I'm saying. Thirdly (heh, that's a funny word...is it a word?) --and this may the most shocking part of trip-- my traveling companions consisted of two people...who happened to be married...to one another. Pictured thusly, that's Bryan and Lisa. Let me first say this was not the original plan, but what are you gonna do? So, I embarked on this "adventure" knowing I would be in the longest continous state of third-wheelness I, and maybe the world, has ever known. Luckily for me (or not really) I'm used to it, but I digress. So we've got this trip, we've got this World Cup, we've got this potential tenseness at ever turn with the added bonus that no one in the party has ever been to mainland Europe. Let the wackiness ensue!

And it did...depending on your definition of wackiness, of course. We arrived, like I said, in Amsterdam. After making our way to the main train station with minimal difficulties (cough!) we got our first sight of the European sun and the outdoors. Our response? What the...it's freaking hot! (Possible theme) After following and checking weather patterns we had come to expect (and packed for!) cool weather (65-80 degree highs) instead that day in Amsterdam it was about 85. Yea for us. Anyway, upon arriving at our hotel we discovered one our first truths about the Dutch. They like their stairs, they like them small, and they like them steep. Of course we were on the top floor (5th, approx), about 76 steps, not that anyone was counting. Also, like the rest of Europe, not all that big on air conditioning. Moving along.

I'm sure your wondering what we did in Amsterdam, but it's all kind of a blur. We only had two days in Holland, you know. The first day, after dropping our luggage at the room, we headed out to find some food and see what we could see. Ok, let me tell you what I did see. In the short (cough!) walk to our hotel, and in the walk to our aventual dining spot, I made some observations I will share with you now:
1) Amsterdam is a city with numerous canals and is very beautiful. It's really a shame it's a 10 hour plane ride away.
2) There are a lot of freaking bikes. Everybody seems to be on one and there's a million more just waiting to be used.
3) And most disturbingly, all the chicks are hot. And by disturbing I mean not disturbing in any way, shape, or form. Ok, I recognize that this "observation" is really an impossibility, but I'm just saying that it was shocking the number and frequency with which you would encounter a female of exceeding beauty. One would walk by me as two more rode by on bikes. Waiting on my table, selling me my croissant, next to me on the train. They were everywhere!

At lunch that day I vocalized this "observation" to my traveling buddies and was immediately taken to task by the more feminine of two, I was told that it was a little too early in the trip (3 hrs.) and I had too little sleep (5 hrs. in the last 48) to be making such bold claims. I heeded those words and cooled my jets. But, nothing I ever saw dissuaded me from my original statement. In fact, after an additional day of observation someone (cough! Lisa) stated that I was, in fact, wrong because for every hot girl that wheeled by on a bike, two less attractive lasses could also be witnessed. With that I whole-heartedly agreed...that if having 33% of the female population being hot was wrong, I did not want to be right.

After lunch, we walked around (Walking tour!), got hot, got cranky and returned to the hotel for a nap. We awoke and had an odd experience. Bryan and I both looked out the window and realized we had no idea what time it was. And by that I mean, we weren't sure whether it was still day 1, or if we had slept all the way through to day 2. After checking our watches and realizing we still had 5 hours of day 1 left, we headed out again. As we sat outdoors at a café that night it was then that we realized a couple of things. First, it was 10:30 pm and showing no signs of getting dark. Second, Jason was having his first beer...ever (A Heineken for those of you keeping score at home).

We all were surprised that no one had thought to mention this earlier. I mean, out of all the books and travel guides and websites and stupid travel shows I had used to prepare for the trip you would think at some point someone might have mentioned, "Oh, by the way, It doesn't get dark until like 11:30." But no, nothing. And then imagine my surprise the next morning when I awoke at 5:15 (because the stupid jet-lag, I presume) but think it's 9:30 am because the sun is already so high in the sky! Notice: the picture to the left was taken from my hotel room at 6:00 am. Does that really look like 6 am to anyone? I'm just saying a little advance warning would have been nice.

We had scheduled a little trip to Haarlem for the next morning to see Corrie Ten Booms's Hiding Place. That simple task provided it's own drama when we arrived only to find that the "Museum" only employed one person, so calling ahead might have been better, but we talked our way in (after a 2 hour wait) and were rewarded with a very insightful experience. We returned to Amsterdam to hit some art museums. You might just want to skip the Rijksmuseum until they're done with the renovation, but "The Night Watch" was really cool. The Van Gogh Museum provided much more bang for the buck.

We then tried to find a place to both eat and watch the opening game of the World Cup. This was a far more difficult task than we ever imagined. And it really didn't ever get easier as the trip went on. If it was a game of any import, it seemed you had to get to a place an hour or more before it started. And we never did. This night we ended up a burger place (Dutch burgers are for crap!) and then moved to a bar for the second have. A quaint old place were a bunch 40-50 somethings who knew each other hung out at the bar while us and another couple of similar demographic intently watched the game.

After the games and a couple a more beers, we decided that 11:30 on Friday would be a good time to hit the infamous "Red Light District". In actuality, we had been told this would be the worst time, but whatever. For everyone out there not familiar with the significance of light colors or Sting, that means it's where the prostitutes do their business. Business seemed to be okay that night. Now, a couple of the things. I had been under the impression that these girls were really not all that much to look at. In some cases that was true, but not in most. These were on the whole, attractive women. There were various reasons I did not want to have sex with these women, one being that I wasn't married to them and two being that they were PROSTITUTES!, but in most cases three would not have been because they were ugly. We were probably there only a total of ten minutes. We did a pretty good job of staying out the way and to the fringes of the crowd to avoid any direct interaction with what someone in the traveling party referred to as "the whores". But as we were heading out of the red light district, I made what apparently is a grievous error. For the briefest moment...no more than half a second...a nanosecond really, I made eye contact with one of the ladies of the night. I then abruptly turned my head and kept walking. As I walked I heard a loud knock behind me from the general direction of the aforementioned...whore (cough!). I inquired to those with me who were trailing behind if that was I thought it was, and they confirmed that, indeed, the woman had thought it useful to knock on the window in hopes, I guess, of re-gaining my attention. Alas, we were long gone on our way back to the hotel. Besides, I had to pee. They charge to use the restroom in Holland so it had been awhile.

One final thing, even though we were only in Amsterdam for about a day and half, we were propositioned for drugs, and I mean hard-core stuff, no less than four times. Or at least one guy in our party was...care to guess who? (Cough! wasn't me.)

Ok...so let's see. We had hot chicks, beer, whores, and drugs. All in all, not a bad couple of days.