Back In Action,
Paris. I have only been back for a few hours and yet I feel somewhat at home. But I am alone out here. Though I am sitting in his apartment, my friend David is in the south of France. So it is just I now, and this big city to explore…and I’m loving it.
I didn’t have David’s front door keys, so I had to explain to this little French lady downstairs that I was his friend and had my stuff in his apartment. After a few questions and suspicious looks, she let me in.
Germany was a wonderful country and Munich, like Vienna, had lots of good beer. Both in Vienna and in Germany, I loved how my aunt would stop at an intersection and say, “I need a beer. That sounds great. How does that sound to you guys?” My cousin, who is convinced beer is nothing more than soapy water, would respond in her most common response of the trip, “I don’t care.” But the thought of a cold beer on a hot day during a long walk instigated my excited response, “Yes, beer, goood, beer!” Ohhhhhh and was it good! No matter where we were, I didn’t need to worry about having a bad beer, it was excellence across the board. I could choose a specific beer, or just say, “Eine beir bitter” and they would know exactly what I wanted. Eine beir bitter (bit-tah) means “a beer please.”
Danke (dan-ke) means thank you. That’s all you really need to know in Germany.
I was surpirsed by the large amount of Arab women walking around Munich. They were in full custom gear, covered from head to toe in Armani and Versace robes and Gucci sunglasses shopping for clothes they could only where under their robes. Compared to the apocalyptic like state that some of their home countries are in, watching these women shop was surreal and a clear definition of their social class.
On BBC news, they showed some of the UN tanks in Lebanon and talked about France’s decision to send 200 more troops in. It wasn’t that we don’t get footage of that stuff in the US, but the degree of censorship out here is less. You see bloody wounds and people carrying their dead. You see the faces of the soldiers and their expressions of fear and disdain for the situation. You see that these wars aren’t a good thing. You see more of a world in conflict with itself. It’s hard to explain, you just have to see it. And yet, like everywhere, the rich get richer and the poor get poorer. And I assume that most countries in war, men and women still buy Versace robes from head to toe. It is just an odd observation.
Europeans seem to have a better understanding of this because the conflict in on their front porch and right across the street.
But they make efforts for the environment, like bikes and energy conservation. These actions might be small, but in the long run, it could do a lot of good. They have been around a lot longer than we have and it seems they want what is best for everyone and everything living. But of course, corruption and what Kurt Vonnegut, the famous American author of Breakfast of Champions, calls “bad chemicals in the brain” make people do the wrong things.
Back to basics:
After Germany, I flew to London. At Munich airport, they had 3 out of 4 of our bags…who knows how long they had really been there. So I got my backpack back, but not my clothes. My camera was with my clothes, so still no pics. But here are some you haven’t seen from before:




It has been hard not having any of my stuff. I depend on my material possessions so much. What I do have is a lot more than many other people have. It has been an important lesson in sacrifice and I’ve learned how to survive with only what I need. If you can survive with only what you need, you find it easier to let go of what you had.
London was cool though, despite the expensive conversion rate. From the airport, my sister, cousin, and I headed to the wrong neighborhood looking for the wrong hotel. Lost on Lambeth street in London, we searched for Hotel 87. But we needed to be on South Lambeth street, which was no where near Lambeth St. So we took a cab, the driver said he couldn’t understand our American accents and kept asking why we voted for Bush. “I didn’t vote for Bush,” I said. “Ok, but why you vote for Bush?” He was from Nigeria. “That man, he’s crazy!” then he would let out a little giggle and shake his head.
The room we had was 1092374102834120 degrees. So we switched rooms. Our second room was a lot nicer than our first and much more habitable.
In London, we saw the crown jewels at the Tower of London. Learned about all the beheadings there. Henry the 8th…what a nut. One of his first wives, Anne Bolyn I think, refused to have her head chopped off on the block. With boldness, she said, “If you are to behead me, do it where I stand, or do not do it all.” So he had her head chopped off right there.
We admired all the weapons that had been used throughout the ages; everything from lances to swords, armor to cannons (those were really cool, especially the one that shot 9 cannon balls at once). Monday night we went swing dancing, a favorite past time of my cousins, so we danced the night away to the sounds of the Jive Aces, at the 100 Club at Oxford Circus. I asked this girl to show me how to dance the Charleston. She had a hard time doing it and I looked pretty foolish. But it was fun, and one of the first times my sister cousin and I had ever gone out.
We took a Jack the Ripper tour which covered the raunchy Eastern side of London. We visited all the places he killed, and places where his victims were last scene. All the while the tour guide was giving us clues, challenging us to figure out who Jack was out of a short list given at the begging. The man leading the tour was one of her Majesties bodyguards at the Towers of London. He knew his Jack, and was really into it. After the tour, he explained to a small group of us that there was things he couldn’t tell us because kids were around, disgusting details about the bodies and situations. He said that after all the studying he’s done and with all the access he has, he thinks it was a multiple man job, in a conjunction with the free masons to cover up the an affair Edward the 2nd had with an Irish prostitute. By getting her pregnant, he had to have her and all her buddies killed. So they thought, hey lets have a little fun and remove their organs and leave clues on walls.
Baffled for sometime, the police went as far to think it was a chimpanzee who had committed the crimes. This was not the case. So who was he? Do some digging for yourself, beware of what you might find.
Now back in Paris, I guess it is time I get a little life going. I must say, I’m looking forward to it. The beginning of my trip has already been full of adventure. I expect that the seas will not simply calm at this point.
Cheers Mates.

Catch Me if You Can