Irelanded
Big ups to Mount Vesuvius for having the foresight to bury both Pompeii and Herculanium for us. We really appreciate the art and architecture of the classical period that you saved for us. Travelling through a place like that with a family member that has a mean jones for classical architecture is always an interesting affair. My brother was really, really excited about the concrete they were using. When we finally found a remenant of a hypocoste floor at Pompeii.... well.... kids at Christmas have never been so bright-eyed.
If you read back to my last post, you'll note that I gave a quotation from a friend that indicated that Napoli was the "Pit of Hell." This is the truth. Getting from the Napoli train station, through lunch, and then to and through the airport can only be described as an ordeal. Problem A, the train was late and the train station is dirty. Problem B, as much as people tell you that McDonalds are the same everywhere, this is not the truth. In Europe the fries are better (in my humle opinion) but there are new items on the menu like the Bacon McCrispy that should just not be explored. The Italians and us do not share the same definitions of the words "bacon," "crispy," or even possibly "Mc." Problem C, the unlicensed cabbie trying to pick us and other tourists up for a run to the airport. Keeping aside the fact that the first rule of travelling anywhere is never get into an unlicensed cab, I somehow doubt that he paid for that Lexus charging guys two euro for a ride to the airport. I'll take my crappy bus with the angry bus-driver who shouts at old men any day of the week.
Problem D, and this was the big one, was getting through the Napoli airport. Since some jerks decided to suck at blowing up planes, the Heathrow airport has been on terror-lockdown, and as such every plane flying through it (a LOT of planes) have new security policies that they have to enforce, which is holding up travel all over Europe. Especially in Napoli, where the check-in line for our flight was an hour long. Once we actually made it to Heathrow, we quickly discovered that aside from an abnormally long wait to get our checked baggage that should have been carry-on, everything was a breeze. Sure there were a few more officers with assault rifles than normal, but they seemed to be excited about holding big guns and the departures terminal was actually pretty dead. My brother said he's never seen the Aer Lingus line so short.
The staff working there were all pretty great too. They were all a little unsure about what items weren't allowed on the plane that day, but if you gave them a few seconds they would figure it out. Apparently the banned items changed by the day. Monday was no liquids or cell-phones. Sunday cellphones were okay, but no laptops. Today, I think that cellphones will be back off the list, but they won't let you bring on something else relatively common that people like to keep with them when they fly, like babies.
The man at security patted me down because he said that I did a "silly dance" coming through the metal detector. He's apparently never seen the Metal Detector Strut. It gives me good luck. I haven't pinged the metal detector on five separate occasions at five separate airports, all thanks to the strut.
So, Ireland now, and so happy to be in a mostly English speaking country. Ireland is odd for that, because it's about 99% english, but every once in a while they throw some Gaelic word at you that throws you for a minute. I'm having trouble getting back into the habit of thanking store clerks with my native language rather than spitting out a mis-pronounced "grazie" at them.
Today, I'm taking a vacation from my vacation, organizing the hundreds of pictures that we have, and staying off my feet. I didn't realize until I had to walk for eight hours a day that my shoes are getting worn through. I've had some pretty hard-core blisters for the last three days. The dogs are barking, my friends. Oh how they bark.
Evan's Final Thoughts On Italy
Italian Driving
Think of everything you've ever done in a car that has made you go "WooHoo!!" That thing they were doing is how driving here is all the time. Stone-faced girls sitting properly upright on their vespas do woohoo driving just going to the Gucci store in the morning.
There are three main things that every Italian needs to know how to use in their vehicle:
1. The Steering Wheel Use this to make turns. Apply as needed.
2. The Gas Peddal Use this to go faster. Apply at every possible instance.
3. The Horn Used when things are in front of you that prevent you from using item two. Sometimes item two must be used in conjunction with item one when the vehicle in front of you isn't using their item two enough for your liking, which will likely result in more usage of item three. Alternatively, you may also use the horn when you are happy and you know it. Other parts of the hokey pokey are not acceptable.
Italian Food
To this day I am somewhat mystified as to how there are even Italians at all. In my entire time there I only saw one grocery store. There's no fast food except for the one McDonalds that the larger cities have. There are coffee shops everywhere that offer coffee, soft-drinks, coffee, light snacks, and coffee. Some of these shops will grudgingly sell pre-wrapped sandwiches, which the Italians seem to eat equally begrudgingly. How one locates enough food to subsist there is still a mystery to me. I think that they have evolved to gain sustenance solely from espresso. Whenever I saw a fat Italian (which wasn't often) I desperately wanted to ask them "how?"
Italian Queues
Standing in lines in Italy is much more Darwinian than our North-American egalitarian model. They still have "lines" to a certain degree, but whereas our lines function on the principle that serving order is determined on when you reach the back of the line, theirs works on the principle that serving order is determined on when one gets to the front of the line. This leads to some pretty intense jockeying, where the traveller must assert their line position. I had to fight tooth and nail to keep this venomous old crone from weasling ahead of me in a train-ticket lineup. She was good, but I had my spot and I held it for dear life.
Italian Fashion
As a general statement about the Italians, they are not particulairly attractive, just very well dressed. Sometimes it takes a few seconds of inspection to determine that no, that person is not actually attractive at all, they're just faking it. Guys, you do not know a high-maintenance-looking girl until you have been to Italy. Their individual clothing and jewelry budget is likely more than the GDP of most African nations. They make our well-dressed girls look trashy, but still manage to make themselves look even trashier.
Italian Men
I've heard bad things about the agressive flirtations of Italian men, but seeing as I am not the obejct of their attention, I didn't see much of this. The only real example was a very silly situation where the Italian male hitting on the foreign female were separated not only by the language barrier, but also ten vertical meters.
You may have noticed that the gelled-straight-up, polo shirt with a popped-up collar, and hideous sunglasses, or as I like to call the "greasy guido jerk" look is popular among young American males of Italian descent who are trying to mimic European style. Let me assure you, though, that the "original" greasy guido jerks are in fact less greasy, less jerk, and likely even less guido than the American knock-off greasy guido jerks. Drop these American collar-poppers into Napoli and they'd look totally out of place, and likey would get killed by an unlicensed cabbie.
Italian Women
I know no other way to present this, aside from giving you Evan's Guide to Determing Which Girls Are Italian. There is only one step to this process. Look at her chest. Seriosuly, this is not just an excuse to be a creepy jerk, this is how you do it. If the girl is very clearly not wearing a bra, then you are probably in Italy. Or, if you can very plainly see a bra through her shirt (and we're talking about the front here), then you are also likely in Italy. The North American paradigm on the subject of bras has made them much like oxygen: you only notice it when it's not there. In Italy, conversely, they are, first, not as popular as they are at home. Second, when they do choose to wear one, they like to advertise it. The North American conventions of "no black bra under a white shirt" and "wear a undershirt under a semi-transparent shirt" are just not used out there. Here, a bra is underwear. There, it's just wear.
Again, not wanting to come off as creepy, but it's kind of hard to avoid.
There is also the occasional unfortunate intersection of transparent/semi-transparent shirts being in fashion, and the lackdastical approach to bra wearing. This leads to things like clearly visible nipples at world herritage sites.
If you read back to my last post, you'll note that I gave a quotation from a friend that indicated that Napoli was the "Pit of Hell." This is the truth. Getting from the Napoli train station, through lunch, and then to and through the airport can only be described as an ordeal. Problem A, the train was late and the train station is dirty. Problem B, as much as people tell you that McDonalds are the same everywhere, this is not the truth. In Europe the fries are better (in my humle opinion) but there are new items on the menu like the Bacon McCrispy that should just not be explored. The Italians and us do not share the same definitions of the words "bacon," "crispy," or even possibly "Mc." Problem C, the unlicensed cabbie trying to pick us and other tourists up for a run to the airport. Keeping aside the fact that the first rule of travelling anywhere is never get into an unlicensed cab, I somehow doubt that he paid for that Lexus charging guys two euro for a ride to the airport. I'll take my crappy bus with the angry bus-driver who shouts at old men any day of the week.
Problem D, and this was the big one, was getting through the Napoli airport. Since some jerks decided to suck at blowing up planes, the Heathrow airport has been on terror-lockdown, and as such every plane flying through it (a LOT of planes) have new security policies that they have to enforce, which is holding up travel all over Europe. Especially in Napoli, where the check-in line for our flight was an hour long. Once we actually made it to Heathrow, we quickly discovered that aside from an abnormally long wait to get our checked baggage that should have been carry-on, everything was a breeze. Sure there were a few more officers with assault rifles than normal, but they seemed to be excited about holding big guns and the departures terminal was actually pretty dead. My brother said he's never seen the Aer Lingus line so short.
The staff working there were all pretty great too. They were all a little unsure about what items weren't allowed on the plane that day, but if you gave them a few seconds they would figure it out. Apparently the banned items changed by the day. Monday was no liquids or cell-phones. Sunday cellphones were okay, but no laptops. Today, I think that cellphones will be back off the list, but they won't let you bring on something else relatively common that people like to keep with them when they fly, like babies.
The man at security patted me down because he said that I did a "silly dance" coming through the metal detector. He's apparently never seen the Metal Detector Strut. It gives me good luck. I haven't pinged the metal detector on five separate occasions at five separate airports, all thanks to the strut.
So, Ireland now, and so happy to be in a mostly English speaking country. Ireland is odd for that, because it's about 99% english, but every once in a while they throw some Gaelic word at you that throws you for a minute. I'm having trouble getting back into the habit of thanking store clerks with my native language rather than spitting out a mis-pronounced "grazie" at them.
Today, I'm taking a vacation from my vacation, organizing the hundreds of pictures that we have, and staying off my feet. I didn't realize until I had to walk for eight hours a day that my shoes are getting worn through. I've had some pretty hard-core blisters for the last three days. The dogs are barking, my friends. Oh how they bark.
Evan's Final Thoughts On Italy
Italian Driving
Think of everything you've ever done in a car that has made you go "WooHoo!!" That thing they were doing is how driving here is all the time. Stone-faced girls sitting properly upright on their vespas do woohoo driving just going to the Gucci store in the morning.
There are three main things that every Italian needs to know how to use in their vehicle:
1. The Steering Wheel Use this to make turns. Apply as needed.
2. The Gas Peddal Use this to go faster. Apply at every possible instance.
3. The Horn Used when things are in front of you that prevent you from using item two. Sometimes item two must be used in conjunction with item one when the vehicle in front of you isn't using their item two enough for your liking, which will likely result in more usage of item three. Alternatively, you may also use the horn when you are happy and you know it. Other parts of the hokey pokey are not acceptable.
Italian Food
To this day I am somewhat mystified as to how there are even Italians at all. In my entire time there I only saw one grocery store. There's no fast food except for the one McDonalds that the larger cities have. There are coffee shops everywhere that offer coffee, soft-drinks, coffee, light snacks, and coffee. Some of these shops will grudgingly sell pre-wrapped sandwiches, which the Italians seem to eat equally begrudgingly. How one locates enough food to subsist there is still a mystery to me. I think that they have evolved to gain sustenance solely from espresso. Whenever I saw a fat Italian (which wasn't often) I desperately wanted to ask them "how?"
Italian Queues
Standing in lines in Italy is much more Darwinian than our North-American egalitarian model. They still have "lines" to a certain degree, but whereas our lines function on the principle that serving order is determined on when you reach the back of the line, theirs works on the principle that serving order is determined on when one gets to the front of the line. This leads to some pretty intense jockeying, where the traveller must assert their line position. I had to fight tooth and nail to keep this venomous old crone from weasling ahead of me in a train-ticket lineup. She was good, but I had my spot and I held it for dear life.
Italian Fashion
As a general statement about the Italians, they are not particulairly attractive, just very well dressed. Sometimes it takes a few seconds of inspection to determine that no, that person is not actually attractive at all, they're just faking it. Guys, you do not know a high-maintenance-looking girl until you have been to Italy. Their individual clothing and jewelry budget is likely more than the GDP of most African nations. They make our well-dressed girls look trashy, but still manage to make themselves look even trashier.
Italian Men
I've heard bad things about the agressive flirtations of Italian men, but seeing as I am not the obejct of their attention, I didn't see much of this. The only real example was a very silly situation where the Italian male hitting on the foreign female were separated not only by the language barrier, but also ten vertical meters.
You may have noticed that the gelled-straight-up, polo shirt with a popped-up collar, and hideous sunglasses, or as I like to call the "greasy guido jerk" look is popular among young American males of Italian descent who are trying to mimic European style. Let me assure you, though, that the "original" greasy guido jerks are in fact less greasy, less jerk, and likely even less guido than the American knock-off greasy guido jerks. Drop these American collar-poppers into Napoli and they'd look totally out of place, and likey would get killed by an unlicensed cabbie.
Italian Women
I know no other way to present this, aside from giving you Evan's Guide to Determing Which Girls Are Italian. There is only one step to this process. Look at her chest. Seriosuly, this is not just an excuse to be a creepy jerk, this is how you do it. If the girl is very clearly not wearing a bra, then you are probably in Italy. Or, if you can very plainly see a bra through her shirt (and we're talking about the front here), then you are also likely in Italy. The North American paradigm on the subject of bras has made them much like oxygen: you only notice it when it's not there. In Italy, conversely, they are, first, not as popular as they are at home. Second, when they do choose to wear one, they like to advertise it. The North American conventions of "no black bra under a white shirt" and "wear a undershirt under a semi-transparent shirt" are just not used out there. Here, a bra is underwear. There, it's just wear.
Again, not wanting to come off as creepy, but it's kind of hard to avoid.
There is also the occasional unfortunate intersection of transparent/semi-transparent shirts being in fashion, and the lackdastical approach to bra wearing. This leads to things like clearly visible nipples at world herritage sites.
posted by B-Boy Nothing at 3:25 AM
1 Comments:
"The man at security patted me down because he said that I did a "silly dance" coming through the metal detector."
Perhaps he patted you down because he thought your Metal Detector Strut was sexy.
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