Life as a Cosmopolitan-Poser

Dear Readers:

I am going to attempt to briefly describe my first two weeks as a Londoner. I say briefly because I've received veiled complaints about the length of my blogs. Those of you that would like to deprive yourselves of my witty humor and storytelling capabilities by skimming, I can hardly blame you. In fact, I was reviewing/editing an old essay only yesterday, (of course, in my usual manner lasting a mere 14 pages) and I was like "Good gracious, Andy, get on with it! I'm probably one of the only people who's read this essay and is actually interested in the topic, but you are eternally droning!" So know, dear readers, that I likewise have suffered at my wordiness and am working on a more desirable solution.

I have recently discovered how un-cosmopolitan I am fact am. True, I have an obsession with personal cleanliness and I love what the city has to offer, especially to someone my age and with my interests in the arts. But the fact is, I grew up on a very small farm in a very small town in Montana. I love nature (though there are limits, especially where insects and animal feces are concerned) and I'm used to wide open spaces, the country, and few people.

London is not like this; the amount of people is overwhelming. Millions. MILLIONS. Everyday, everywhere. Surrounding you on the tube, rushing past you in the street, living in all the little brick buildings. Therefore on the tube the other day I had my first experience of real culture shock. There were just so many people, so many people I couldn't even move or turn, and I kind of freaked out a bit. It was so foreign to me, and I have reached a point where now this is no longer a vacation, but actually a place where I am staying and living.

But don't let this make you think I don't love London, quite the opposite. It's fascinating, huge, and unfathomably energetic. Also my little journey here earlier provided me with quite a lot of experience to build on. I am picking up on the language. I know, it's English, but now I'm the one the accent, I'm the one who uses words nobody knows, and I'm the strange one who doesn't know what "knackered, gerkin, brolly, wooly, and gris" mean. But I think I've managed to figure out how to say "sorry" with a perfect British accent, or at least a good enough one that people don't give me the you're-an-American stare when I run into them.

On to adventures, which naturally I've had quite a few. The other day I managed to get locked in the institute by myself with no way out, and naturally my phone ran out of minutes before I could contact help. Fortunately I was prisoner for only an hour before the tenant arrived and let me out. I've gone to two plays at the Globe, both 1st rate, and last night I saw Wicked, which truly is a glorious spectacle. I've made it to the Opera once and confirmed my growing suspicion that I'm really just a German-opera-junkie and bel canto is not my thing.

My fellow Americans are entertaining, and for the most part a bit younger with different interests from myself. The British have proved fascinating and I look forward to meeting more. My host family is wonderful, and the food is kosher. My internship is just beginning, but so far appears to be very promising, and I find I'm quite enthusiastic about it.

Otherwise, my complaint about London is there is simply too much to do. No matter how busy you are, you've missed out on at least 5 amazing things everyday. Operas, concerts, performances, and museums galore, not to mention Pope visits. I can think of only three things to make me happier in London: 1. a piano to practice regularly 2. good Mexican food 3. and a fountain of money to afford all the things I want to see and do.

And now for something completely different

Dear Blog Readers:

I should mention that I do in fact always think of you when I write this blog. The scariest part about this is I'm not completely sure who you are. I would like to assume that you are at least my mother and my grandmother, but let's be honest, my grandma probably doesn't read this every week (and mom, if you don't either, let me keep my self-esteem and don't tell me.) Maybe you're my friend, or acquaintance, or maybe you're just some creep who is way better at computers than me and managed to come across this blog. Well, whoever you are, I hope you have been enjoying my adventures or at least finding my prolific use of sarcasm entertaining, and I would like to let you know that I am sacrificing precious sleep hours to write this. Today is Thursday, and for some reason apparently I write blogs on Thursday. (Or maybe I just don't like change, and not writing a blog this Thursday would be change at this point.) Also, I think about you quite frequently, whoever you are dear blog reader, and because of the mystery of your identity (and because I have the unfortunate gift of candidness) I thank God that someone invented the backspace key. I find removing the foot from your mouth is much easier when your mouth is a keyboard instead a piece of anatomy.

When I left off, I was on my way to Paris. I was in an airplane saying good riddance to Vienna and hello to France. First hurdle: Charles de Gaulle. Now, me and ol' Charlie have a history. My first encounter with this ill-tempered creature was last year on my Blue Lake trip. When I arrived there for the first time, I was already overwhelmed by a number of things, including but not limited to: having friends/coworkers fired, having a new job position, having new, untrained coworkers, being the new choir accompanist, sleep deprivation, walking pneumonia (unknowingly at the time, just thought it was a weird cough), 1st time in Europe, etc. On top of all this, just when we landed in good ol' Charlie, we found out that the orchestra that was accompanying us had had their trip canceled due to Swine flu. Not a good first date, Charles.

2nd time: Survived that which could be properly described as "the trip from hell" (though now I prefer to focus on the good aspects), and landed in Charles de Gaulle. I'm the counselor at the end of the line, monitoring the kids. Of course, one girl has misplaced her passport, but this is after all the others have gone through security. So I'm running around the Paris airport frantically looking for this girl's passport only to come across another one of our girls who had gotten lost. Now I am alone in Paris with two crying 14-year-old-girls, facing the realization that we have missed our flight and the next week will be spent between the American Embassy, Mr. de Gaulle, and on the phone with Blue Lake. Fortunately, the passport was recovered eventually, the plane had a 3 hour delay (only partly due to us) and we made it back to Chicago. Strike #2 Charlie.

3rd time to Charles. Get off the plane, wait in line for luggage. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. And here comes my bag. (well, technically my mother's, but mine for 6 months.) Huge rip in center of bag. 3 Strikes Charles. Game over.

But that's enough negative. My last blog had negative vibes, and I'm afraid I've started this the same way. Let's pull out the sunshine, and be happy!

And that's exactly what happened. I couldn't have asked for more perfect weather. Always warm and sunny, but never too hot that I couldn't sleep or even be too uncomfortable. Also, people seem to have this stereotype that the French people aren't nice. I have always been told they are cold and impersonal. This is simply not the case. Everyone I met was warm, friendly, helpful even. Perhaps this is because I tried to stick to French, a thing most Americans do not have a habit of doing. The people I met were always understanding and helpful. So I love the French people, as well as their city and their food.

Now I know this sounds like a big claim, but it's true: Everyone is Paris is beautiful. By "everyone" I really mean 80%, but still that's a lot. And if you're not beautiful in Paris, you better be well dressed. And if you are neither beautiful nor well dressed, you are simply a tourist who is not from Paris. It was incredible to be in a city with so much beauty, from buildings to people to gardens. Of course, it does make one somewhat self-aware, especially when you are not as beautiful or as well-dressed as everyone else, but hey, I was a tourist.

I won't bore you all the details of my stay; but I saw all the sights that were on my list. I've decided to write my list and give a catchphrase to describe it:

Eiffel Tower--overwhelming enormous and not cliche at all
Jardin Luxembourg--exotic and relaxed with a huge flow of people
La Defense--awesome modernness
Arc de Triomph--big
Champs Elysee--expensive
Louve--enormous and gorgeous, masterpieces galore
Notre Dame--musty and jam-packed
top of Notre Dame--the best views, complete with gargoyles!
Centre Pompidou--WILD
Musee/Jardin Rodin--Romantic, Physical, and delicately overwhelming
Musee d'Orsay--incredible
Sacre Couer--Religious experience and favorite sight despite annoying con men
Versailles--unbelievable
crepes, baguettes, croissants, and other general french food--delicious

Other details about Paris: I got my own personal tour guide! It was great. Maurine is the older sister of Clemence. Clemence is a bit of a celebrity in my house due to her stay their a few years ago with Gracie. So Maurine and I became buddies. Most of the conversation was in English, but occasionally it would switch over to French. She had the most perfect French accent while speaking English: not a single "h" was pronounced, and all "th" became "z"s. It was great. On Friday night I crashed at her house, where I ate a huge French meal with her family, got to meet the famous Clemence along with everyone else, got to play a piano for the first time in a month, and then I even got a pull out bed to sleep on instead of a couch. Definitely an improvement from the hostel.

Then I took the Chunnel and went to London, where I am currently. But I'm exhausted, and I would love to write about London, but I think sleep would be a better plan. So that's the story of Paris, and I can say that it is the most wonderful city I have ever been to. Currently I'm beginning my plot on how to live there at some point.

I'll try to update before Thursday; maybe this weekend if I have time. Until then, Au Revoir

As of my last update, I was in Berlin. The sky was gray, rain was coming down, and Robert and I were going to see a castle. Which we did, but they charged us an arm and a leg for it. 7 Euros for a very short and uninteresting tour to only see a quarter of the building. The gardens, as so often seems to be the case, proved more exciting, beautiful, and free, then the interior. Also, we got to go to a Picasso museum, which was wonderful for me and a little less wonderful for Robert.

About Picasso…I tend to fall in love with various artists on various vacations. Last year was my Calder crush, this year it’s turning into a Bouguereau (though I started to realized that I’m developing feelings for Cezanne, which I never thought would happen, not to mention this weird thing I’m getting for Dali, and I won't even get started about Braque) and my senior trip to New York it was Picasso. Ever since then I’ve been a hopeless sucker for the guy, rambling on and on about his works to anyone who will listen (and unfortunately for him that was Robert last Thursday.) I also used to think I was so lucky, that wherever I went there seemed to be an enormous amount of Picasso, always there when I was. But now after seeing approximately the 7 impressive collection of his works, I’m beginning to realize that the guy just painted a lot.

After the museums and some extremely unhealthy but extremely delicious currywurst, I made it to the airport. Speaking of health, I should mention that my diet has been probably the least healthy it’s ever been. I’ve always been a sucker for carbs, and in Europe it is all-to-easy to just grab a croissant or baguette and go. Also, I’m an adventuresome eater, and I like to experience “authentic” food. My response to “what would you like to eat?” is always along the lines of “what should I eat before leaving this city?” or “what is the most traditional dish?” As nobody’s traditional dish seems to be a salad, I’ve been eating Doner and Cheese and Kabab and Cheese and Currywurst and Cheese not to even mention the absurd amount of desserts. But don’t worry Mom, I’m actually not putting-on weight. Due to all the walking and the student budget (which means pretty sparse eating some days) I’ve maintained weight with minimal sagging and/or bulging.

Okay, back to Berlin. Or I guess the next thing I did was fly out of Berlin, so on to Vienna. I got there, and it was warm and dry. Good false impression from the start. Turns out the Austrians speak less English than the Germans and this was my first time without a translator. After several frantic hours of wandering down random Vienna Street, having to resort to my version of German and frantic sign language, I made it to my hostel frazzled but alive.

Now, the moment you’ve all been waiting for: Andy in a hostel. In the past I’ve heard the adjectives “high-maintenance,” “ridiculous,” and many less polite terms applied to me, but I will let you know that I can rough it just like any other guy. (Okay, maybe not as long as any other guy, but I still can do it.) I realized the first night that I had no plan for Vienna, no friends, no real knowledge of the language, and worst of all, no towel. It all worked out in the long run, resorting to undershirts as towels (I know, I know. I pack undershirts but not towels), and really it’s only a little worse than living in a dorm. (Probably the only reason living in a dorm was as bearable was because Kyle equally hated living in a dorm and so we simply pretended that we didn’t.)

Back to the hostel: I would love to tell you how wonderful it was. No towel as already mentioned, no flip-flops (why would I bring flip-flops? Oh wait, public showers…gross), sleeping in a room with 3 other random men, one of those men thinking it would be great to quiz me on a random US geography and scream “wrong! Apparently you don’t know your country well!” whenever I got a question wrong, and one of the most disgusting bathrooms that I’ve had to use repeatedly. Otherwise, it was quite lovely.

Now about Vienna; instead of a day-to-day, I’ll just give an overview. Vienna is beautiful, old, and in terms of the old city and where all the sites are, relatively small. I fully expected to fall in love, but I didn’t. Actually it left sort of a bad taste in my mouth. All the sights are too close together; the result is a kitschy tourist playground that takes over the whole city in a way that I’ve only seen rivaled by Disneyland, except you expect it from an amusement park more than a city. There was no possible way I could imagine Mozart, Strauss, Haydn, Schoenberg, Webern, Berg, Beethoven, Czerny, Schubert or Freud wandering around; there is no way they could walk past 2 shops without seeing one of their names plastered all over it. All the music played in public was the most cliché Mozart and Strauss waltzes. Also, after the initial first beautiful day, it rained every single day. As my umbrella is in the suitcase in London that also has my sweaters, warm clothes, and flip-flops, I frequently found myself cold, wet, and miserable.

Also, I was terribly lonely in Vienna. I may come off as outgoing, and I would never use “shy” to describe myself, but I suck at making that initial conversation. I’m fine once we start talking and I can even start it myself if I have something specific to talk to them about, but I’m simply no good at small talk with a stranger unless they are directing it. After a month of museums (and the prices of museums in Vienna) I was less than enthusiastic to go to more and more museums, so I frequently found myself in Starbucks, hating the rain but loving my book. But it’s not fair for me to give a completely negative report on Vienna, as many things were nice and many of you might love Vienna for very just cause. Vienna is just not an Andy city.

Here are some of the good things about Vienna: It’s a laid-back and relaxed city that’s in no hurry to wake up (very unlike me) so I got to watch it “wake up” each morning, which was wonderful. The Imperial Apartments and Schonbrunn Palace were amazing, but the modern art museum was not all that great, though very impressive from the outside. There are parks everywhere, beautifully manicured, and I even had a favorite rose park that I would go to everyday and read for a least an hour. The music stores, once you could get past all the tourists oogally the “Favorite Mozart for Beginning Piano,” were incredible as seems to be the trend in the German speaking countries. Also, every night I would go to Vienna’s version of “Movies in the Park.” It’s every night all summer in front of the Rathaus, and it’s almost always a recording of a famous classical music production, normally one that has been performed in Vienna recently. I watched an unfortunate film version of La Traviata, (vocally wonderful, visually blah) the Vienna 2010 New Year’s Concert, (J. Strauss on steroids…never listened to so many waltzes in my life) and a great Eurotrash Don Giovanni (Loved it w/Schafer and Hampson, except was a little uncomfortable by the European comfortability with public nudity, etc.) Also, I should mention that the Kebabs are AMAZING. I had one the first day, and went back every day it was so good, and so cheap!

God must have known how lonely I was, because on Sunday he sent along a friend. At the Strauss New year’s Concert a random girl sat next to me and had the habit of commenting throughout, which was more than okay with me as it was J. Strauss and I hadn’t had a proper conversation in 4 days. After the concert I said something along the lines of “Umm, I never do this, but do you want to hang out tomorrow? I mean, I’m desperate for a friend.” She laughed and we made plans for dinner the next day and Don Giovanni after. It turns out she was visiting from Israel, and before she had immigrated to Israel she was from Russia. She brought a friend to dinner, who lived in Vienna but was from Croatia. I was so excited to finally have friends! At Don Giovanni we met another one of her friends, who was also living in Vienna, but was from Bosnia. As it was freezing, this girl and I both left after the 2nd act. She lived out by my hostel, so we walked and talked. Turned out she was fluent in 5 languages ("which really isn’t a lot," as she put it). I was grateful that one of them was English.

Okay, I’ve written a novel, so I’ll stop now so those of you that have made it this far can get on with your lives and stop hearing about mine. Next I’ll write about Paris, but I’ll give you a preview: I LOVE IT! Let me briefly interview myself:

ANDY: What’s your favorite city in the world currently, andy?
andy: Definitely Paris. It’s pretty much the greatest thing in the world, and I think I want to live here.
ANDY: Really? Please share why?
andy: No really, I’ve written way too much for now. Next time.