Besides the lively atmosphere of Berlin there was also a deep historical and cultural side. Visiting the broken wall and the East Side Gallery of portraits painted across it was truly humbling. To visit the sites where Adolf hitler and his dreaded SS once occupied, and to walk through the holocaust memorial site where moments I will never forget. Sites like these are important because they raise questions and leave you wondering about the world you live in. For me, the question remains how could a country, a city, a people who at the present wholly embrace liberal opinions and minorities, discriminated against them in the past? This question is one that is sure to follow me as I explore the neighboring cities of Prague and Budapest. Above all, it is these types of questions and moments that are only permitted through travelling and through walking, even for a day, in someone else's shoes.
Sunday 23 June 2013
Just another brick in The Wall
I fell in love with Berlin. I fell fast and hard from the very moment I got off the platform at the train station to the final moment when I got back on to leave. The city was full of energy, youth and excitement. Getting off the train we were greeted by a crowd of people walking around with beers in hand (thanks to no open liquor container laws) enjoying the music of singing buskers. Turns out we stumbled into the city right during an outdoor music festival, in which street performers took up whole blocks playing music. The next day we also wandered into the gay pride parade and walked through the packed streets as food trucks, beer gardens and scantily clad (albeit gay) men danced around.
Thursday 20 June 2013
It's all Greek to me
My trip to Greece began with a rocky start. After a 2 hour flight delay in Rome, in which none of the airport staff seemed to know what was going on, or were willing to help, we landed in Athens to be greeted by a public transit strike. That meant our 20 minute metro ride turned into a race to find somebody to split a can with amidst a line up of hundreds of people pushing into cabs. Luckily, a lovely Argentinian couple whose parents hosted a girl from clagary learning spanish overhead us and offered to share a cab into town. From there on it was smooth sailing. Literally.
In Santorini we opted to do a boat tour of the island and it's surrounding isles. Along the way we met a group of Canadians from Quebec and Alberta who spent the day with us on a hike up some volcanic rock, a swim in the Mediterranean, a dip in some hot springs, and sunset in Ia (the most northern part of Santorini). The next day it was off to explore the rest of the island via ATV. We rented one for the day and rove up and done along the coast to see some spectacular views and traditional blue and white churches.
From Santorini, we took the ferry to Paros. This island seemed to be a lot less full of tourists and we were able to walk around the main towns with no one else around, and enjoy the sandy beaches on our own accord. Our living situation in Paros was probably the most interesting thus far. Located right by the beach, we stayed in a "hut" for lack of a better word, fully equppied with electricity, but lacking in the basic necessities of toilettries, and toilets for that matter...no worries though, most of the time was spent in the ocean or at the pool working on somewhat of a tan in the 30 degree weather.
Taking the ferry back to Athens, we managed to make it to the acropolis and walk amongst the theater of Dionysus and the Parthenon before having our last meal of souvlaki (accompanied by some stray feline friends) and settling in for the night. All in all, Greee has been one of my favorites. The people were friendly, the food and drink were good, the scenery was awesome and the ocean was beautiful.
Tomorrow though it's off to new adventures and new sights in the wonderful city of Berlin!
Sunday 9 June 2013
BRUCE...in Italia
Every country, or every place rather, seems to have that one day or one moment when things shut down and all of it is worth while. It doesn't matter that your train was delayed, or that you walked six hours, or that your hostel bed was unmade, or that you got lost in the middle of another plaza, all that matters is what is happening at that point in time.
For Italy, this moment happened at the Bruce Springsteen concert in Milan. Months ago, in the dreary days of England's February I bought tickets with a friend for the show in June. Then about two weeks ago I found myself sitting in the nosebleed sections of a huge soccer stadium, singing along to every word in broken English with an enthusiastic Italian crowd. The seat section, which made Bruce look like a distant miniature toy army man, didn't matter, the fact that no one around me spoke the same language as me didn't matter, and the struggle of finding our seats amongst the fans didn't matter. All that mattered was that despite the obvious language and cultural barriers, a group of people came together to relish in some good music and good fun. The most suprising part of the experience for me was the universality of Springsteen's music. When born in the USA came on the entire crowd yelled, shouted and applauded in excitement. American flags were on hand and American merchandise populated every kiosk outside the venue. It was as if the American dream had landed, face first and sprawling, into a stadium parking lot of Italy.
Springsteen himself seemed to bask in the cultural appreciation. He started promptly on time, played for three hours straight, showed no sign of his 63 year old age, took requests from the audience at will, and even made a few people's days by bringing them on stage to sing along. Although I wasn't one of those lucky fans, I still felt like one of the luckiest people there.
For a complete set list of his show in Milan check this out
http://brucespringsteen.net/shows/06-03-13-milan-italy
And for another interpretation of the concert here is a good read
http://brucespringsteen.net/news/2013/notes-from-the-road-milan
For Italy, this moment happened at the Bruce Springsteen concert in Milan. Months ago, in the dreary days of England's February I bought tickets with a friend for the show in June. Then about two weeks ago I found myself sitting in the nosebleed sections of a huge soccer stadium, singing along to every word in broken English with an enthusiastic Italian crowd. The seat section, which made Bruce look like a distant miniature toy army man, didn't matter, the fact that no one around me spoke the same language as me didn't matter, and the struggle of finding our seats amongst the fans didn't matter. All that mattered was that despite the obvious language and cultural barriers, a group of people came together to relish in some good music and good fun. The most suprising part of the experience for me was the universality of Springsteen's music. When born in the USA came on the entire crowd yelled, shouted and applauded in excitement. American flags were on hand and American merchandise populated every kiosk outside the venue. It was as if the American dream had landed, face first and sprawling, into a stadium parking lot of Italy.
Springsteen himself seemed to bask in the cultural appreciation. He started promptly on time, played for three hours straight, showed no sign of his 63 year old age, took requests from the audience at will, and even made a few people's days by bringing them on stage to sing along. Although I wasn't one of those lucky fans, I still felt like one of the luckiest people there.
For a complete set list of his show in Milan check this out
http://brucespringsteen.net/shows/06-03-13-milan-italy
And for another interpretation of the concert here is a good read
http://brucespringsteen.net/news/2013/notes-from-the-road-milan
Saturday 1 June 2013
Espana!
I just finished two weeks of traveling through Spain and have some time now to reflect on it all. We started off in Barcelona, where we appreciated Gaudi's architecture and his masterpiece, the Sagrada Familia, while also enjoying the nightlife with some fellow Canadians we met along the way. After that it was off to Madrid to check out fabulous parks and plazas. The city as a whole felt like a mix of Paris and New York and people were always bustling about. Next stop was Malaga for some fun in the sun and beach time. Finally, last but not least was (my favourite) Sevilla.
A few years ago I had the opportunity to visit this city while my brother was studying there on his exchange journey. At the time I don't think I fully appreciated the culture and the courage he had to live abroad on such a foreign climate. This time around however, I was able to spend some time and immerse myself in the tapas, the cathedral, the language and (also my favourite) the siestas.
Of all the things I have done while abroad probably the most otherworldly and foreign experience I have had was attending a bullfight while in Sevilla. The fight consists of 3 matadors each fighting 2 bulls in separate matches. Each match is divided into 3 sections and are judged by the crowd and officials to determine the best matador of the night. When I first approached the stadium I had the unusually familiar feeling that I was going to watch a C's baseball game back home. There were old die hard fans with seat cushions and bottles of water with them, outside the gates there were people selling peanuts and souvenirs and inside everyone was ushered into their proper seat by stadium attendants. But once the fights began an eerie silence fell over the crowd in anticipation of the first appearance of the bull. Despite the obvious controversies surrounding bullfights and the nature in which they are killed, the cultural aspects of the event, I believe, overwhelmed the negative.
Everything from the matadors flashy outfits and confident stride, to the crowds enthusiasm and emotional response to his achievements or mistakes, to the brass instruments that trumpeted the defeat of the bull exuded a Spanish flare. There were no big frills or gimmicks, it was simply just a man and an animal standing head to head in a ring. I'm not sure if there are words to describe the overall essence of the event, but to steal one from Spaniards themselves, ole!
A few years ago I had the opportunity to visit this city while my brother was studying there on his exchange journey. At the time I don't think I fully appreciated the culture and the courage he had to live abroad on such a foreign climate. This time around however, I was able to spend some time and immerse myself in the tapas, the cathedral, the language and (also my favourite) the siestas.
Of all the things I have done while abroad probably the most otherworldly and foreign experience I have had was attending a bullfight while in Sevilla. The fight consists of 3 matadors each fighting 2 bulls in separate matches. Each match is divided into 3 sections and are judged by the crowd and officials to determine the best matador of the night. When I first approached the stadium I had the unusually familiar feeling that I was going to watch a C's baseball game back home. There were old die hard fans with seat cushions and bottles of water with them, outside the gates there were people selling peanuts and souvenirs and inside everyone was ushered into their proper seat by stadium attendants. But once the fights began an eerie silence fell over the crowd in anticipation of the first appearance of the bull. Despite the obvious controversies surrounding bullfights and the nature in which they are killed, the cultural aspects of the event, I believe, overwhelmed the negative.
Everything from the matadors flashy outfits and confident stride, to the crowds enthusiasm and emotional response to his achievements or mistakes, to the brass instruments that trumpeted the defeat of the bull exuded a Spanish flare. There were no big frills or gimmicks, it was simply just a man and an animal standing head to head in a ring. I'm not sure if there are words to describe the overall essence of the event, but to steal one from Spaniards themselves, ole!
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