On my way to Switzerland I stopped in Koblenz (Germany). When I was there I stayed with some friends that I met on a boat in Australia. Though I only knew Ranja and Domenic for a few days, they welcomed me into their home. This is the speed of travel in full force. That is, the speed that you build trust and friendship. Koblenz is a small city that is famous for it’s castles by the river. It is also the place where two major rivers of Germany combine. In the summertime, this town is littered with dozens of touring buses. From Frankfurt to Koblenz is a surprisingly beautiful train ride. I lost count of castles on the hillsides that overlook the rushing river. The other major unique feature of the land are the vineyards. With German precision, the stocks of the vines are proped up on hillsides that are nearly vertical. I never knew that grapes could be grown this way.

When I met Ranja and Domenic at the train station, I was surprised with a distinctive Australian accent. They just came back from living in Australia for the better part of a year, but when I had seen them last, Ranja had a mid western American accent and Domenic had a German accent. Ranja’s accent was so perfect that I would have pegged her American (half a year ago). Now I would peg both of them Australian. This was a shock.

They lived just outside of town and had to use the autobahn. They said “What do you want to do while you are here? Wanna go 240 on the autobahn?” Without hesitation I said “YALETSDOTHATRIGHTNOW” all in one decisive word. They told me that we would break some speed records tomorrow morning, on the way to breakfast, when it was light out ( a good idea).

Since Ranja just got back from traveling, she was temporarily living with her parents (as many of us travelers tend to do). Her parent’s house was something out of a modern art museum, complete with life sized raven stature in the front window, looking out at prospective visitors.

The next morning, we screamed down the autobahn going nearly 240Km/hour in a small BMW. A very German event indeed. While on the road, we spoke about the state of healthcare in Germany. They mentioned how many Turkish people live in Germany and how much of a strain it is on the social systems. “Like the Mexicans in America.” Ranja said. It turns out that my friends from abroad are not all liberal as I had previously presumed. “Uggghhhh, they are everywhere. One of them comes in and then just brings their huge family over with them.”-Ranja was not happy.

I kept my thoughts to myself about the difference between America and Germany. And for the record, America gets ALL of it’s greatness from it’s immigrants. Thats a safe statement. Considering that we are all from somewhere else if you just look back a few generations. I am am not going to even get into the mess of how we treated and still treat Native Americans. That I could go on for days about.

Next I was off to Switzerland. I got to Bern (the capital) to stay with Selina, another friend who I had met in Australia. Selina didn’t let me pay for one thing during the entire 4 days I spent in Switzerland. She told me that I was the first person who actually came to see her in all her travels.

This is a common occurrence. People tend to make plans to meet back up and never really follow up on them. So, when people actually come to visit, it tends to be a celebrated event for many people.

Selina works in Immigration for Switzerland. She told me “God, there are so many Germans here. It’s like everywhere you look. I see how many visas we give to them everyday and it is like a plague. They all come here to make higher wages than they can in Germany.”

Wow. Apparently it’s all relative in Europe. There is always a richer fish and there is always someone who wants the chance to live in their pond. The pot calls the kettle black and then complains about the heat.

What’s next? Is there some place that the Swiss wish they could work? Actually yes. Lichtenstein is a place with even higher wages and better quality of living. The Swiss try and work there all the time. It seems that the name of the game is “the smaller the western European nation, the more desirable.

I spent my days in Switzerland in Bern, Zurich, and Interlaken (which is a beautiful town that is situated between two huge mountains and two beautiful lakes. While in Interlaken, we spent the majority of the day foraging for wild berries. Growing wildly in plain sight, black berries, raspberries, blue berries, and strawberries. The most interesting of the 4 where the strawberries which grew to the size of capers. With such small size, these things packed a perfect punch of sweetness. They were never sour and very tender.

When we got back to Selina’s apartment, we she cooked me some traditional Swiss food including something that was similar to fondue. She used spices that I had never heard of. One of which is apparently only available in Switzerland. “Aromat” is, as far as I can tell, crack. The powder doesn’t actually taste like anything when you eat it directly, but when sprinkled on something it is said to “bring out the other existing flavors and amplify them.” The Swiss use Aromat like Americans use Salt or Pepper. She said that it contains something that is used a lot in asian food that is said to be bad for you (I presume MSG). But it doesn’t taste salty at all and MSG (as far as I remember) is a form of salt.

Anyway, Selina gave me three large packets of the stuff to take home that don’t expire till 2011. Everyone can come on over to my house and try it out. I know what is going to happen though. I am going to get stopped and searched in an airport. I can see the headline on yahoo news now….

“Man gets detained for illegal Swiss seasoning possession. The American was in possession of enough of the substance that it is implied he had intent to distribute. When interpol agents conducted a deeper investigation, it was confirmed on his website that he intended to distribute the substance.”

More about the history and current situation in Switzerland. Swiss speak 4 major languages based on the region you are in. Since they are so central, they have Swiss versions of each of the languages in their bordering countries. There is Swiss German, Swiss French, Swiss Italian and a native language from many years ago. They are kind of on the shit end of the stick in a sense because the neighboring countries consider the Swiss version of each language a gross bastardisation.

I consider Swiss German to be a more melodic version of German. They seem to be singing a song when they are speaking. Their tones go up and down (as the Norwegians where supposed to). I asked Selina about getting a Swiss Bank account (for the novel value) and she said how most everyone in her family are in banking.

She said that there are current pressures from the EU to join. I asked her if they ever would and she said “We won’t have a choice soon. They are claiming that they will essentially boycott us from all trade if we don’t join. We are not self sustaining in that sense, so we will have to join soon. I hate it. Our quality of life will go down. All of our assets will be spread across the poor nations like Poland and Bulgaria.” She went on to say “As soon as a nation Joins the EU, the price of everything goes up for them and the wages don’t follow.” This claim has been made by everyone who I have met in the EU.

The water in Switzerland is said to be some of the best in the world. So much so that they have fountains in the middle of the street that are drinkable. They are just extensions from the river without treatment. Bern has a small town feel for a capital city.

Tomorrow I shoot all the way up to Amsterdam to meet up with some more friends. Then after 4 days, I shoot down to Italy. I should really keep count of how expensive the trains would have been without the rail pass. I think I would definitely be more than my around the world ticket.

God I’m glad I came here. It crushed nearly every stereotype (especially the negative ones) I had about this place. Parisians, simply put, are charming. There persistent greeting culture reminds me of America. There food ranges from bland to masterful. Their style isn’t any better or worse than any other country. Their women are not particularly beautiful nor ugly. But their city. It. Is. Art.

From the first greeting from the train conductor, the Parisians have been extra kind. Now, if you don’t speak French in a restaurant (in my experience) instead of taking a snooty tone, the waiter might smile at you with the quiet implication that he or she finds it cute that you can only speak one language. Then they will help you along the stretches of the menu. Even the children will playfully jump out of your way if you need to get past in the supermarket.

The weather in September is remarkably similar to Southern California in the Winter (cold in the morning and sometimes boiling by noon). The touristy spots are still crowded (though I simply can’t imagine how bad it is in August). The Luve (spelled wrong- who cares?…. that was rhetorical) is not a museum at all rather a palace the size of a small city. I went to several museums and to tell you the truth, they are all beginning to look the same. I think I am done with them unless they are on a particular subject that I find interesting before hand. Something needs to have been accomplished in this museum. I don’t want to look at pretty things anymore.

Paris is a city that sleeps in way past 9am. In fact, most of the shops are still closed (during the week) at 10 am. But when should you really be outside in Paris? At 7pm this place begins to really pop. Everyone is outside walking around, chatting with each other, and beginning the celebration of eating. The streets wreak of roasted chicken. I find myself intoxicated with the sweet smell of a honey reduction glaze.

For the whole sha-bang, you are looking at a minimum of 45 Euros ($60+). But I wasn’t alone was I? (My parents are reading this post right now and wondering why I haven’t mentioned my Step Bother Patrick yet.) Well parents, I simply wanted to speak about Paris a bit before I let our wonderful family steal the show

Had I not spoken about Paris first, I would not have interest in mentioning it after speaking of Patrick’s life style. To catch the rest of my 85 up, my stepbrother Patrick is a fashion photographer who has been living in Paris for about 15 years now. I have been staying with him for the past 5 days or so and have gained great incite into the life of a fashion photographer in Paris.

(while I am typing this, I am on a high speed train to Frankfurt at the moment and it is absolutely flying. This time though, I am not paying 26 Euros and I have plenty of leg room as well as an electrical socket. I love the Germans!)

Patrick picked me up at the train station with one of his three motorcycles. We zipped along the streets of Paris in the highest style possible. Snaking our way through traffic and, in true Parisian fashion, lent ourselves to on coming traffic at times. We also did a little side walk driving, but I promise that all of these maneuvers were done with so much experience and care, that my heart rate never changed

Patrick is quite simply, a gentleman in ever sense of the word. He is as attentive as he is considerate. Always a thoughtful host. Always selfless and generous. But more than anything, Patrick is sincere. And that goes a long way in his industry. Ironically iconic when you think about the traits that he has emulated from his father, a lawyer in an industry that equally lacks high marks for sincerity.

I spent the last 5 days following Patrick around and observing the people who he interacts with and who he has chosen to surround himself with. At the end of day 5, he looked back at me (when we were on his motorcycle) and said “You pretty much saw my whole life. The apartment, My work, the bottle shop (his local watering hole), and the bike shop (where he hangs out with his biker buddies).

Patrick is 38. He currently shoots for Marie Clair Magazine. He lives a relatively modest life, yet not deprived in the least. He enjoys the simple pleasures that a Parisian does (fine food, conversation, and wine.) Neat and organized, he tends to have a personal system for most everything. He collects helmets that he buys online. Finds time to keep in constant contact with everyone via Balckberry, and knows both name and personal story of everyone in his everyday life from the Taylor to the superintendent. He lives in the north east side of Paris where all of his daily essentials are within walking distance.

I know what you are all wondering. What about the wild parties? Abuse of his power as a photographer with the models? No….. Never

Moving right along….

Patrick’s friends range from shy to pre-Madonna, but almost all of them are involved with either something artistic or motorcycles. (Wow, I can’t believe I am at peace with summing his friends up in one sentence. Perhaps one or two more.) …. Later

I got the pleasure of seeing every step of his job with the exception of the actual shoot. I got to tag along for casting call, location research, and all the shmoozing and coordinating that comes between. Perhaps the most interesting to talk about will be the casting call.

We went to the Marie Claire office which is situated just outside of the Paris city limits. No one cared that I was there to tag along, in fact, they were quite welcoming. After introductions, models began to pour into the room, one at a time.

The first thing I noticed was how emaciated they were. Sometimes in a bold stance and sometimes with posture broken, each one of them said hello and hand Patrick their portfolio. At this point, Patrick begins to separate himself from the crowd. He doesn’t just flip through the pictures; he makes some small talk. He wants to find out if the girl has enough social skills to work with him. In addition, he knows that a lot of these models are as young as 16 and are terrified to be away from home. “You can crush a girl so easily. For many of them, this is their first time away from home. For many of them this is their only chance to make any money for their family.” Many of them are from poor eastern European countries.

Some though are bold, even cocky. Some are dressed to the nines and some look like a train wreck. All of them have upper legs that are almost the same width as their calves (small) which is frightening in person. Most of them don’t wear a bra. Some of them have this combo with a loosely fitting tank top, providing for a bunch of flashing.

The longer the interview goes (as always) the better the chance the girl has for getting the part. Shockingly, in between each of the girls in the room, the stylist and Patrick bounce their opinions off of me and even take heed of my input. That was a real rush. I was opened up to a new world or standards. Too sexy and too commercial, were some of the criticisms that I heard that I never thought could exist.

Later I chatted with the stylist about what she was looking for. She said “There is a fine line between too shy and too pushy. Too made up and looking like a slob. We want to see that there is room for improvement. We as artists don’t want to see a canvas that has already been painted on.”

What a rough interview. They are encouraged not to sell themselves? When I interview I set my personality to “dominate” which is pretty easy to balance. But this is kind of like playing hard to get. One thing that is the same with all interviews (including casting calls) is that a genuine smile painted on someones face, when you first walk in the room, will get you both noticed and remembered.

Lets chat about food a bit more. When Patrick was doing a little less fun work, I was doing the touristy things. I stroll down the street, baguette (French roll) in hand. This will be my lunch, for the bread is just that good. I think of this as markedly non Parisian. To eat so simply. To not celebrate every ingredient in a complicated dish, over a glass of red wine and an espresso shot. But alas, I find other locals who have the same routine.

Later that night, Patrick took me out to a fine traditional French restaurant, owned and run by twin brothers. One ran the bar and the other was the cook. The food was exquisite. Duck liver served warm with a red wine reduction. Tender steak with a strong blue cheese-like sauce. A huge plate of cheeses and raspberry cream & butterscotch cream for dessert. I tried to pay my own way, but Patrick would not dare let me. My stomach was painfully full at the end of the night. There were a few friends that joined us for dinner. Some were bubbly and some were painted with fake French accents as well as a spoiled sense of entitlement. Rude at the dinner table, they all tended to their blackberries as a first choice over listening to the question they just fired off to the table.

These were the kinds of people who will eat your soul. These people belonged in LA. They asked questions to hear their own voice and then dove back into your ignored response to add some sort of blunt “Piece of advice” that was really just a rude outcry of their ego.

But those are the minority of Patrick’s friends, he does have sweet and sincere ones too.

I leave Paris with a sense that the Parisians are a lot less exotic that I had previously envisioned. This is a good thing. Though the city as a whole was a little boring as far as attractions are concerned, I thoroughly enjoyed my stay.

I am currently in a high speed French train that is the most cramped ride that I have had since Greyhound of Australia. This was (as far as I could figure) the only logical way to get into Paris. Otherwise it would be a whole day bouncing off of local trains routed through Germany. Because of this, I had to pay an additional 27 Euros for the mandatory reservation/supplement.

But that’s not what this post is all about. I just spent the last two days being guided around the city of Antwerp by my friend Patrick. I met Patrick in Australia originally and then bumped into him in Thailand again a few months later. He just got back from his 7 month trip about a week ago. Now it is back to work for Hewlett Packard. But he doesn’t sell computers or printers like you might think. He is an IT consultant. And HP is actually the world leader in IT consulting solutions (Who knew?). He has been working with HP now for five years. Working on all sorts of projects from the size that he manages completely himself to mega projects that 130 others like him try and bind together 3 of the world’s largest telecommunication providers. That big harry project, with 130 consultants firing at once, left a wake of 2 heart attacks and one seizure. High stress indeed. But what does Patrick get out of all of this. He gets to work from home, company car (2008 BMW 3 series), gas card, and expense account. Not bad right? I thought to myself, “HP treats their Belgian employees better than their American ones.” But that’s not exactly accurate.

Patrick is a Polish immigrant. His family came to Belgium when he was 5 years old. Patrick is casually fluent in 4 languages, then perhaps a dozen other’s that pertain to the computer. But Patrick isn’t the average computer nerd. He is highly social and contains a ton of leadership. Just what HP (and every other major technology company) needs in this day and age. But Patrick has been exposed to the world of backpacking and it’s freedoms. He is now motivated differently than the average American.

And why would I ever peg him as an American? He now, temporarily lives with his parents in Antwerp (and is looking for an apartment). So, when I stayed with him in Antwerp, it was with his parents in a house that looked remarkably similar to a house that you would fine in a suburb of America.

Patrick’s parents own a printing/PR company that is taking a hit that is completely equal to one that they would take if they were based in America. His Mom is a fiery woman that speaks and entertains at a mile a minute. When talking to me about backpacking, she said “You know, I could see myself doing something just like you. I could see myself just packing up and traveling the world for a while. Even with my family and my business. That could be nice for a while.”

I admired her ability to remove herself from her box and realize that she always has choices.

Patrick looked at me and said “The Polish is an eating culture. You’re going to have to eat what my Mom makes you.” I thought, “That won’t be a problem.” His mom made a huge breakfast of both Polish and Belgian dishes and of course the home made Jam from plums in the backyard. The most intriguing dish was Belgian though. It was a minced up raw meat spread. It was a raw meat paste that you spread onto bread and it was wonderful. In addition, there was polish cheese spread along with many other delicacies.

Once we were finished with breakfast, we went for a tour of the city. Patrick was actually super informed about the history of the city. He said “That’s usually how it is. If you move to a city, you learn about it, but if you are born here, then you take it for granted.” He went onto tell me about how the city got it’s name. “There used to be a giant who stood at the mouth of the entrance of the city. He would take taxes from everyone who wished to pass. One day a man came and refused to pay the taxes and as the giant reached down to kill the man, the man sliced off the giants hand and threw it into the river. An-twerp roughly translates to “Hand-weapon.”

Interesting stuff. What else is interesting about Antwerp? As far as unexpected value? 9 out of 10 of all the diamonds in the world pass through this little city. And which sector do they pass through? The orthodox Jewish sector. We rode bikes through the place and found tons of men with long locks of hair growing where your side burns are. It was truly an amazing sight. Patrick said that this community sticks to itself. They don’t mingle with the rest of Antwerp at all. They are not seen as a burden to the community because they are completely self contained. They only buy from each other. There is a store of every kind in this small community of only a few blocks. Outsiders are free to come in and buy from their shops, but you will never find them buying or even walking around in the rest of Antwerp.

They seem to be prospering as a community, but the houses they live in look run down to be honest. Patrick believes that they are just cheap and not interested in investing any money into their homes. I, of course, have no idea if that is the case or not. But I could in fact see that the area looked a little run down compared to the rest of Antwerp and that every 2nd store was in fact something handling diamonds. The world high commission on diamonds is here in this neighborhood too, so it doesn’t appear that they are running some cheap side show.

We went over to the city square for some Belgian waffles as well as Belgian fries. The fries are more exotic in the sense that they are not as well known in America. They are essentially French fries with a hearty wallop of sour mayonnaise and beef gravy. I know what you are thinking. This was very tasty.

From Patrick to Patrick, I am now headed to Paris to visit my step brother, who is a fashion photographer. Now a bad life right?

Thank you so much Patrick for you and your families hospitality.

It’s about that time where I will be catching up with the lion’s share of people who I have met Abroad. I am now officially in Western Europe. Not Central. Not Eastern. Not Scandinavia and Not Southern. But to start, I am in Amsterdam and I am visiting Zaza, a good Dutch friend of mine who I met 6 months ago in New Zealand.

Her travels ended over 4 months ago and she is just now getting used to the normal life of work and school. She showed me the city sparing no delight. Though I resisted every time, she insisted on paying for everything. We went to two museums and rented bikes for the day. The first museum we went to was, or course, the sex museum. Why not? We are in Amsterdam. This was kooky at best, but most of it was just a bunch of erotic art. Slap an oversized dick on it and you could see your art here too.

After that we went to the science museum, which was a 9 year old’s wet dream. I wish I had a place like this when I was a kid. All of the hands on science experiment type stuff that you can shake a stick at. The city was raining on and off and I had a little bit of a cold, so I was not enthusiastic to go dancing in it. Next we went to the red light district, which is a funny dynamic to say the least. Walking down the streets my little naive brain produced a cute little question. “Why are some of the windows draped closed? You’d think that they would want to be open for business during these peak hours.” A swift reply from Zaza “They are in the MIDDLE of business.”

Then there were the special coffee shops. They all reeked of weed. But I couldn’t understand why there were so many restaurants and snack shops situated so closely to these places. MAYYYYBEEE because people had the munchies? Now I think I’m catching on to this whole Amsterdam thing.

I was pleasantly surprised with the diversity that I found in Amsterdam. People of all shapes and sizes were spurting out dutch with phrases with cracked smiles. The people in my hostel couldn’t understand why I wasn’t hitting the special coffee shops for breakfast lunch and dinner. They couldn’t understand why someone would come to this town if they were not going to indulge in all of the unique legalitys here.

Back to Zaza and her coping with normal life. When we rented bikes, she told me that “It feels good to be a tourist again.” It’s a nice release, even if it is at home. This is were I felt invincible. I began to realize that 99% of the people who I have met abroad have now gone home from their big special trip. They are back to the grind, but I am a long way from home.

Speaking of long. You might wonder, when did I feel like I’ve been away fro a long time? About a week ago when I hit the 7 month marker. That’s when I felt how long it had been. But and I sick of it?  Not in the slightest. For now, in the traveling world, I feel like I am the chosen one. Where all else have fallen, I still solder on.

Even with the rain and my sickness, I am excited to the max. In the last month (Since I’ve entered the Schengen) area I have been to 11 countries! My pace will slow in the next month, but looking back, that is more than half the amount of countries that I had been to in my entire life (before I started this trip).

Norway is, definitively, the most expensive place I have ever been in my life. It’s a good thing that I didn’t have to pay for accommodation for two nights in Oslo. Instead we stayed with Alison’s 3rd cousin Ellen, a tall and well educated woman who lives just outside of the center of town. Ellen lives in a house that is semi-connected with her mother Liv. Her 18 year old daughter Matilda lives at home as well.

Fact: Ellen is the best hostess that I have ever encountered. She took us under her wing, fed us, cultured us, and offered us anything our hearts could desire. I got to try a new cheese (I’m not a big fan of Cheese in the first place) that was awesome. Norwegian cheese is sweet and looks exactly like peanut butter. I could eat it by the pound, it was so good.

Speaking of eats, we are headed to Bergen tomorrow where we will be able to sample rain deer, wale (which I am oddly ok with here in Norway, but passed on for morality issues when I was in Japan), and some other very unique foods.

Oslo is magical. It is undoubtedly my favorite place in Scandinavia, but I suspect it is because of how warm of a welcome we have received from Ellen and Matilda. We went to 5 museums today including one that is a tribute to the old Norway where people dress and act in a traditional manner. We also went to the Viking Museum which was ultra impressive. My favorite museum of the day was the FRAM. This was all about the first boat to reach the north pole and its many expeditions. The best part about this museum is that it was built around the ACTUAL boat. This enormous bulbous creature is actually open to walk inside of and see how the living conditions were.

But the most impressive place I went in Oslo by far was the Sculpture Park. This is a must do before you die. Put it on your list, it is magical indeed. There are tons of sculptures of humans interacting with each other in almost every possible emotion and state. Wait till you see the pictures of this place.

Oslo is a place that I would love to come back to and stay for longer. It is a true gem. But if you are planning on coming here, be prepared to be crushed by the price of food. A can of coke here can easily be $5.

BERGEN

Bergen, the second or third largest city in Norway is magical. This is a port town on thew west side of Norway. I know I was refering to Oslo as magical, but this place is much more. Dozens of cutely crafted houses line the steep cliffs that lead down to the bay. The mouth of the bay is where we got to sample wale and rain deer. Wale tastes a lot like steak. When you look at the pieces they have on display, you think that you are looking at the world’s largest rib eye. It cooks to a dark brown while the center remains crimson (wait till you see the pictures). I thought to my self, self, you could eat a few pounds of this stuff couldn’t you?

Rain deer was remarkably unremarkable seeing as it came in sausage form. Thats right folks, I’m going to tell it like it is, If something Isn’t amazing, I’ll let you know (or just not mention it). Speaking of unremarkable, there was a 2 hour detour that we took on another train (on the way to Bergen) and it was highly over rated. It’s claim to fame was that it has the steepest decent of any train in the world. Other than that, it was rather boring. I think actually that you could blame it on the weather though. The weather in Bergen was been a bit of shit. It has rained a bunch. Enough to the point that when it starts raining the locals will say “Finally! I thought it would never stop being dry again!” in a wonderfully sarcastic tone. Well that wasn’t the natives, that was the worldly immigrants that work in the fish market.

When you are walking though the fish market, you will hear 7-10 different languages being used because the people who work on the boats and in the booths are from everywhere from Argentina to Zambia. It’s wonderful. Walking through the tents everyone wants to talk to you about where you are from (but in a ultra low pressure maner) and then they inevitably want to give you samples of wale, salmon, rain deer and caviar. Trout caviar is my favorite

There is a ton of spectacular hiking in and around Bergen. You can see some epic views of the city and surrounding fjords. Speaking of Fjords (the reason I came to Bergen), the weather didn’t permit it. That’s right, the weather was poring rain for the few days that we were here. Too bad. Put it back on the list. I’ll show you what I missed out on:

These two pictures are from Fjords that are actually not exactly where I was, but ones that I will return to eventually. Read the captions to find out more about them!

Norway was the most intriguing of all the Scandinavian countries and the most beautiful (from what I saw). All the capital cities main drags are about the same, but the country side are very different. It is likely that I have the most interest in Norway because of the people I have met and the extra time and places I saw. (But at the second that I am writing this section of this post, I am on a train going back to Oslo from Bergen and I promise you that it is the most scenic train ride you will ever go on. It’s way better than the 2 hour excursion.)

Before you go Scandinavia, please keep the 3 to 5 rule in mind. That is, you will spend between 3 and 5 times as much on an item of food (not particularly on housing) as at home. Sweden is the most reasonable of the countries then comes Denmark and finally Norway, but it is worth it. What’s really expensive? How about $60 for one course in a restaurant? Whale only costs $40 per pound.

I feel that I was skunked a bit in Norway because of the weather, but this is a place that I will be back to. If you are into the mountains and woodsy land (including tons of waterfalls and rivers), then Norway will be among the most beautiful places you will ever go. This place will stop your heart just long enough to remember you’ve got one. The Norwegians (among the rest of Scandinavia) will shock you in how perfect their English is.

Next time, though I don’t know how, I am going to stay here for a month.

Alright, in real time (of me typing this) I’ll tell you what I see: Deep, dark, placid lakes. Black rolling rivers. Puffy white wisps on tiny clouds, dancing along the surface of the water (we have a super high altitude). Steep green pastures that are dotted with trees and red & white houses. 300 foot waterfalls, thick forests. 1000 foot cliffs dressed in bright green. This is the kind of place that an author moves to for inspiration. Flooded patches of trees covered in moss. Wild red mushrooms. It’s overcast which is perfect. It ads the mystery. There are so many (I’m aware that this is an oxymoron) cosy cabins that are profoundly situated in idyllic isolation. This country is full of nooks and cranny’s that you will feel alone with nature. Next we ascend up past the tree line where the mountains turn white and don’t ever change for the course of history. This is all from the comfort of a train!!!!

Don’t forget, Norway invented the paper clip!

Tonight I fly from Oslo to Amsterdam. It was that or sit on a train for 40 hours (including two overnight trains costing $150 each (apparently my Rail Pass doesn’t cover those in Scandinavia)) , take a 16 hour ferry for $200 (and then have to take another 5 hour train, or take another 4 days getting back by taking my time. Time is not what I have a lot of (in Europe).

In True flash packer fashion, I fly (for half the price it would cost to do almost everything else. I am off to meet up with a few friends in Holland that I met in New Zealand. After that I will meet up with a Belgian friend that I met in Australia and Thailand. Then after that with Patrick my step brother in Paris. Then a German friend that I met in Australia. Then a Swiss friend that I met in Australia. Ya, you could say that my global network is maturing

BACK IN OSLO FOR A FEW HOURS

I’m back in Oslo for a few hours before my flight out to Amsterdam and of course, my friend who I met in Australia, Marthe, cooked me dinner in true Norwegian fashion. We talked about the price of food as well as some Norwegian stereotypes. She says that the reason food is so expensive is because EVERYTHING needs to be shipped in. She said that she often drives over to Sweden (less than an hour away) to stock up on food because it is so much more cheaper. Also, Norwegians are known for smelling like milk as well as sounding like they are singing when they speak. The milk stereotype comes from the old times when people’s diets consisted of mostly milk products. This is before, of course, the high speed super tanker that can bring in anything the heart can desire (for 3-5 times the price). Norway started with hospitality and ended on the same note. Thanks Marthe!

I’m in Stockholm now and I must say that it is one of the very most beautiful cities in the world. I’ve spoken to many people who live here as well as have visited and none of them have done a proper job. A proper job that is, or warning me of Stockholm’s beauty.

Sure it has all the standard monuments and churches. It’s got the narrow alley ways and immaculately crown molded building faces. It has the charming cobble stone streets. But the thing that separates it from the rest of Europe that I’ve seen is the waterways. This place has flowing canals and bays that can not be compared to Prague or Hamburg. It’s just different.

As for the people, Stockholm feels a lot less homogeneous than Copenhagen. It seems that the people are a ton more stylishly dressed and don’t ride their bikes religiously like they tend to in Copenhagen. There have actually been a lot more dark dark black skined people here than I ever thought there would be as well.

Though still atrocious, Stockholm’s prices are much more reasonable than Copenhagen because the power of the Swedish Kroner is about 20-30% less than that of the Danish Kroner. The weather is a little colder, but we are still are not really wearing jackets. I went to eat at a $12 buffet (reasonable right?) and the guy who rang us up asked us where we were from.

“Are you German?”
“No, we are from America.”
“Ohhh, George Bush.”
“Noooo, Obama !!”
“I am from Iraq. I like America.”
“Oh thats good.” (in a delicate tone)
“Please, have a free drink on me.”

Was he happy because we gave him a chance to flee as a political refugee to Sweden? This place does feel rather like a utopia. Was he happy that we “freed the country”? That would be a first. Either way, we felt like the topic was a little too sensitive to cover.

At this second I am on a older train to Oslo. The weather is getting steadily worse and I am glad that Allison’s long lost family members will be putting us up for a few nights. No camping in the rain for us!

If you could only see one city in Germany, it shouldn’t be Hamburg. But it’s still an interesting city, especially when you have no idea what you are looking at.

In wondering around the main water passages, you might enter a bridge that is designed to cross a canal and find that the same bridge will bend and run parallel to the street, elevating you above the cars and side walks. It seems as though this place was designed to be flooded on an annual basis. And I must say that the amount of glass here in Hamburg is much less than that of Berlin.

In Berlin, people will tend to smash their beer bottles down in a celebratory fashion, as if they actually believed that the thousands of shards they release to the streets are green, clear, or brown diamonds. The best part is, if you are in a bar in Germany and someone breaks a glass on the ground, no one is going to clean that glass up for the rest of the night. It just isn’t efficient to run around with a broom all night to keep your patron’s feet safe.

I myself created some of that glass one night by chiming two empty shot glasses together to the beat of a song. Who I’ve always been able to play the shot glass at home without it turning into the in my feet glass. But lets get on to the good stuff. Scandinavia. The first place in Europe that has felt really, really foreign.

In taking the train from hamburg to Copenhagen, you get to experience a true marvel in technology. The train (along with another) loads into the hull of a ferry to make it across to the island where Copenhagen resides. This process runs so seamlessly that you could easy deny that it is happening at all. But you can’t actually stay in the train for the 45 minute ferry crossing according to two Canadian residents of Copenhagen because “If the boat sinks, you don’t want to be in cased in a steel tube at the bottom of it.” Fair enough, but for some reason all I could think of during the ferry ride was “turducken”.

People always ask me, “Have you been somewhere that was just too expensive?” Up until Denmark, I would have said “No” that’s just a roomer that people with an affinity for fine dining tend to pass. But Denmark is different. I can confidently say it is the most expensive place I have been to on the planet. This is where you will happily pay $3 for a candy bar at a super market. A single measly slice of pizza from a hole in the wall will happily run you $7 and a glass of tap water with your meal is a cool $3. If you were planning on sleeping with sheets in your hostel, don’t worry, it’s only an extra $10.

There are tons of place to shop in Copenhagen and I do need a new pair of sandals. The problem with this is that I’m not quite ready to part with the $100. But what about fine dining? How much is that? You know the kind of place that you are actually sitting down and have silverware. A single dish starts at $40, but that’s only for the restaurants that casually line the city streets.

Surprisingly enough though, my hostel dorm room was only $25 per night. This is about the same price as the cheapest accommodation in Japan. The only difference is, in a Japanese hostel, you feel like you are being pampered by a family. Here, you feel like a rat might round the corner at any moment. The hostel dorm that was this price, was by the way, filled with 65 other backpackers in a single room. A new personal record.
But I’m just being sensational. Don’t let me persuade you to believe that I am having anything less than an excellent time. Copenhagen is said to be the very most happy city in the world. This isn’t because the weather is perfect (though it has been while I have been here). It isn’t because they have some secret society that brews happy elixir either. It’s simply because they have set their expectations at an achievable level. This is fascinating to me, seeing as I’ve got the marketing mindset. This is the same school of thought that would explain why people who have so much are almost never happy at all.

The Danish are distinctly not the people who go off looking for greener grass. They lie back in the field and let the blades caress their faces. Come to think of it, this might be the first western culture that I have found who shares this wisdom on a national level. This is the beginning of Scandinavia and I am beginning to believe all the Scandinavians who I have met along my travels who say “We are Scandinavian, not European. There’s a difference.”

At the second, I am on a high speed train to Stockholm Sweden and the baby who is screaming bloody murder is actually very easily calmed by his mother. (Side Note)

I haven’t rattled your cages about fate based travel in a while, and I think you deserve an update. Originally (a few days ago) I hadn’t planned on going past Denmark, but I met a fellow traveler who had plans to go all the way to Norway to see the fjords. When I saw some fjord-like masses in New Zealand, I thought, “I would be great to see the ones in Norway.” But I didn’t believe that I would go all that way to see them.

We did a little research online to see if there were any hostels open for Stockholm, Oslo, and the other important connecting cites to get to the Fjords. Almost everything was booked up. In addition, in a few towns, It was decidedly impossible. Every single piece of accommodation was taken. And why is this? Because though the sun is burning down at the moment, we are only a few days away from the tourist season closing. In just a few days, all the hostels will close their doors for the year and the weather will get as nasty as one can imagine. The polar bears will regain power of the streets and anyone who defis them will stain those the snowy streets red with their own blood. Well maybe not that last bit.

Allison, my fellow traveler is an experienced camper, and regretted not bringing her camping gear. “If I’d have known, we could just camp instead.” The thought of torrential blizzards and blood thirsty polar bears sprinting through the streets flashed through my head. “Let’s check the weather first.”

As expensive as Denmark is, Norway is actually, a lot more expensive and the cheapest hostel “had it been available, would be $50 per night per person.” We got to thinking about how much that would amount to in only 6 days. $600 bucks, do you think that is enough to buy a full camping set?

It seemed a little wasteful to deck ourselves out for only a few days, but the math was there. It would be the same if not cheaper. Just as we were about to make some amazingly expensive purchases, Alison got a reply from her inquiry to her Mother “Can you find me any obscure relatives to stay with in Norway?”

She sent this message out half as a joke, but of course, happy to see a helpful response. In true fate based travel fashion, her Mom pulled though with this response (Not verbatim)

“Ok, I just got off the phone with your grandma and she says that my Aunt stayed with a second cousin in Oslo just last winter and I’m sure they would be happy to let you stay for a few days.”

She went on to give us 3 phone numbers to call as well as background relation to each one of the contacts. She even gave us correct pronunciations of their Scandinavian names as well as nicknames and back stories.

KuuuCHIIINNNNGGGGG!!! Wammy!!!!

If all else fails (these demi strangers are away for the week, or just don’t answer their phones), we can always just buy that camping equipment that we always wanted, and hope that the weather doesn’t turn evil.

By the way, the man in black (in Poland) ended up coming into my room really late at night and rolling into the bunk below mine. The problem was, his bed assignment had been moved that day and he ended up getting into bed with some pore gal who was sleeping. That would have been a memorable way to wake up. Either way, after the commotion, he promptly got into his own bed. Yikes

I took a bus to get to get to Berlin because my rail pass did not cover Poland. I had the distinct disdain of sharing the 10 hour ride with a 17 year old, British, know it all, non showering, hippy. She asked me how many fat people I knew “because, you know, most people in America are fat and stupid.” She went on to brag about how she doesn’t have any money and how she got all the way to Serbia by hitching and staying at strangers houses. She said that she hadn’t paid for a single meal in 2 months. Promptly after that, she began to solicit me for food and money, but not directly, just building a guilty case. I asked her why she was on a bus at the moment.

But don’t worry, she knew it all. Accept that Berlin was the capital of Germany, not a country in it’s own right. Oh and that Copenhagen (where she was headed) was in fact on an island. The following conversation came from that little point.

“Ya, it’s an island, like England.”-Me
“England is not an island; its too big for that!”
“Oh really? Please tell me then, what it is?”
“What is Europe?”
“Europe, my dear, is a Continent.”
“Well, that’s what we are. A continent.”
“No, I think you may be a little short.”
“Well, we aren’t an island, thats for sure.”

Any way….. I got to Berlin at night and was pleasantly surprised with how easy the subway system was to use. A few days later, I learned that my Rail Pass actually worked on it too. I had been paying for tickets for no good reason.

The next day I went on a bike ride throughout the city. The city itself bleeds with the signs of how many times it has changed hands in the past century. If you want a perfectly clean city, don’t come here. If you want to see some real character and contemporary history, this is your spot. Berlin was said to be the center of Europe and has been fought over for the past 100 years. The people here all speak English (an ironic point since we could have easily been all speaking German had things gone a little differently.)

The people here are all actually very soft spoken as well. The Austrians were much louder and abrupter. I’ve got thumbs up across the board for the people of Berlin. Maybe it is a sign of how long I have been traveling, but I felt much more safe walking around Berlin at night than I did in Sydney. By the way, it is Illegal to show a swastika in Berlin as well as signal “Heil Hitler”. You can and will end up in prison for 2 years for either offences.

Berlin is actually quite a diverse city with the largest Turkish population outside of Istanbul. It’s one of the cheaper western European capitals as well. But as always, the people make the place, and they are great. The music is amazing as well as I learned at a pub crawl. The techno here is off the chain.

I met a gal on my train ride from Vienna to Prague. She lives here in Berlin and agreed to show me around. This would be the first local on my trip who would show off their city. I heard roomers about the German thought process and in my experience they were all true. Things need to be done in a specific order. You need to stick to the plan. This isn’t a bad thing at all.

She had planned out the day. Everything from which metros to take to which streets to walk down. She planned exactly where we would eat and even showed me a beer in the liquor store that had my last name. It was a truly special day. The funny part was walking back the exact same way (unwinding the day) when it was time to go home. It was actually something that I would have likely done (just because of my lack of directional sense.)

The next day I went to Sachosenhosen, a concentration camp about an hour outside of the city. I have to be honest. I wasn’t really rocked too too hard. I think it was because I over mentally prepared myself. It is a true testament to the power of the mind. I think that this particular concentration camp was laid out in a very dry and informational way. Which is upsetting in it’s own way. It hierarchy and architecture almost took centre stage.

Berlin will definitely be revisited again. Next I am off to Hamburg and then Copenhagen for a few days!

First I’ll start with a character. He will be the common thread across this post. He’s a lot of fun (you’ll see) and at times he might not fit in. Look Mom, I’m a real writer (I can jump between time periods and run multiple stories at once). (This post might be weak and hard to follow)

The first time I saw him, our common thread, our character in question, he was dressed in all black. Cooking Polish sausages on the barbecue, it was Sunday night at “Goodbye Lenin” One of the most famous hostels in all of Krakow (Poland). It was a free BBQ and I felt a little greedy as I edged my way up for seconds. The man in all black looked at me and said “Come over here, I’ll fill that plate right up.” All was safe as of yet, but things would soon change.

Flash back one night to Prague. I am in a crowded bar/club in the north end of town; far away from most tourists. I am there with a few very memorable 18 year old French guys. I’ve been in the same hostel as them and some other sweet Brazilians as well. We met up with a group of French girls that the guys had known from home. The guys were Parisians, the high stakes type of person who can cary a lot of weight in a stereotype. What I mean by that is that if they were extra nice or mean and from some tiny farm in France, one could argue that they don’t properly represent the population of France.

Gabriel and Johnathan are only 18, but years ahead of their time. They represent France (and particularly Paris) with the highest marks. To put it simply, they are all that you ever envied in the Parisian lifestyle and None of the negative stereotypes that come along with it. They have a passion for enjoying life in moderation, but none of the pretentious attitude that often accompanies individuals who believe they have figured out the secret to living a happy and meaningful life (myself included). While everyone is drinking back home enough to sink a ship, they could not be bothered to hastily finish a beer in order to catch a tram ride on time. They smoke marijuana throughout the night, but only a tiny pinch at a time, mixed in with the tobacco of a whole cigarette. These are the signs of someone who wants to enhance life, not escape it.

I asked Jonathan why he insisted on making sure I made it on the right tram the night before and he jokingly said “Because I don’t want you to think that the French are mean. I’ve got to fix that stereotype.” After spending three days with him and Gabriel, I knew that was a true joke seeing as I had met two of the more genuinely good people on my trip to date. I bated them several times. I wanted to see if they would budge from their heightened level of understanding. They would not budge.

They were the dreamers who still had a function to participate in life. They never had anything mean or controversial to say about anyone. Everything was maybe. I even tried to bate the with guy talk about women. They seemed almost asexual in their lack of participation, but in reality, they were just too classy to stoop to my devils advocation.

We met up with 6 of their friends from home. A lively bunch of girls. They were still living for the spice of life, but also happened to enjoy a good judgment. Hell, they were ruff around the edges. In true Parisian stereotypical fashion, they were “so cultured” that they had the God given right to judge other’s lack of it (a true case of a bastard).

Once there were 8 of them in the same room, they would snap into French without fail. Johnathan would protest and request that they all spoke in English so that I wasn’t left out of the conversation, but even he fell victim in moments. But most of the time, he would just look back at me and translate what was going on. He, 7 years the younger, had taken me under his wing in a sense.

The bar/club was called “the cross” and it was almost entirely made out of spare car parts. Skillfully welded together to give the place a true industrial feel. It impressed everyone who walked in it’s 3 stories. We spoke with some local Czech guys when we first got in who wanted to recite everything they knew about California as soon as they learned I was from there. They were not even interested in a conversation. It was a laundry list, dump, of all of their Californian cultural merit badges. We were still in Czech Republic, where it was very good to be an American.

The only true tragedy of the Parisians is how they find it so damn cultural to smoke an entire pack of cigarettes in a row (each) in only a few hours. They are the chain smokers of chain smokers. I like to think that I have gotten a lot better in tolerating cigarettes being smoked in my presence since I’ve been abroad, but in a few short ten minute blocks, I was ready to barf. To top, they for some reason all participated in a strange ritual of blowing the smoke in each other’s faces. Once one did it to me and I coughed loudly. She looked surprised and said sorry. I wondered if she was culturally diverse enough to notice the lack of a miserable flame perched between my cold shaking fingers.

I wind had shifted so that everyone’s smoke trails were blowing directly into my face. I stood up and moved up wind of everyone. One of the gals said “Did we scare you off.” and I replied with “No no, I just want to get out of the smoke.” and a few of them let out an audible grunt of dismay almost to say “What, you don’t enjoy a good cigarette? How inferior?” I wanted to punch some faces at that very moment.

I was time to see the band that was playing that night. The music was from the Jungle group. Imagine fast ray-gay and you won’t be too far off. It was an incredible experience. I was immediately sucked into this pit of people dancing without control of their bodies. I had hardly ever even heard this music, let alone seen how to dance to it. It was more of a shake and the the room was electric.

It’s now been 4 days since I have had the word “decidedly” stuck in my head from a book that I have been reading. Just a thought.

This night, despite the smoking, had decidedly made my time in Prague memorable. Prague is beautiful, but packed with tourists and any chance I can get to speak with real locals is usually my favorite part of a city.

We stayed up all night and headed strait to the train station (provided we grab a quick shower at our “Hostel”)

The place we had been staying for the last 3 nights was loosely known as a hostel. The people running the show had obviously read “The 4 Hour Work Week.” They had set up a situation based on trust. The reception for this place was only open for a few short hours in the morning. Everyone staying in the hostel were essentially on the honor system and it worked perfectly. There was a free washing machine and a single computer with free internet. Reception was on call in case of an emergency and if you didn’t have a phone, then you could use the phone at the bar across the street for free. When I first got to the hostel to check in, I was let in by some fellow people staying there, but then found myself sleeping in the kitchen (which doubled as reception) for 2 hours until someone else called reception for another reason. I sat in this empty “Hostel” and said “Now I’ve seen it all.”

Skipping forward to the train ride from Prague to Krakow, it turned out to be a crowded one. I rushed to grab a seat but learned that I was in a car that was completely reserved. I dashed out to run into the next cable car and finally found a seat that was not reserver. Who said travel in Europe was easy anyway. It has been the most stressful and hectic to date. I think people say it is easy because they haven’t been to other regions where it is even easier. Train travelers in Europe tend to be afraid of buses, but they are sadly mistaken. At least In a bus, you know you get a seat. (well, maybe not in Costa Rica).

I set my bags down and try to catch up on some sleep that I missed from the all nighter from before. There is a couple of people who nervously and anxiously are standing in the gap between cable cars. There are a few open seats here and there and I wonder why they are distressed. As the conductor wakes me up, he asks me, “Where are you headed?” “Krakow” and he says “Well, this train will be spliting soon and you will want to be in the first 4 cars. The back ones are going to Berlin.”

Yikes, that could have been a small problem. So I stand up from my perfectly good seat after my 2 minute nap and attempt to make it to the front 4 cars. As I make my way up, I see that there are tons of people standing in the doorways between cars. They are practically shoulder to shoulder. I shamelessly force my way in and say in a big loud voice “who’s got room for one more?!” I figured I might as well dive right in. Luckily the passage way was mostly full of a local Czech field hockey team that were making their way back form a 2 week tournament circuit. We chatted for a short while before I had them teaching me all the most offensive words I could think of in Czech. They were a fun bunch and helped me pass the 4 hours I would be standing up (without sleep from the night before). After those first 4 hours, many of the people got off the train and I had a seat it sit in for the last 4 hours. Who said European travel was easy again?

Skip forward to yesterday afternoon.  The man in black is now staying in my dorm room in the bunk beneath me.  As I try to grab a quick nap in the middle of the day, I hear him rustling around.  I look down and he has a small roller bag full of what looks like pottery and a golden Christmas wreath.  This wierds me out and I notice that he has three large black trash bags full of, well, who knows.  Periodically he invites members of the Goodbye Lennon staff up into the room and shows them various items, presumably for sale.  Wait a second, wasn’t he BBQing last night?  Why is he staying in my dorm room?  Something is not adding up.  When things don’t add up, I tend to get to thinkin.

Back to the train ride.  I am now on a smaller, local train that leads directly to Krakow.  I see a local sticking his head out of the window and enjoying the breeze and I decide to do the same.  I put on some of my favorite tunes on my Ipod and watch the world wizz by.  I am greeted with fields of lavender and mustard plants.  Then there are fields of thistle.  This place is farm land nestled in the valley between the mountains.  All earlier train travel is forgiven.  The only word that comes to mind when describing this place is “Hidden”.  I can already tell that I am going to like Poland.

Just as I am enjoying this stellar moment a milk carton almost hits me in the head.  What the fuck?  I look forward and there is an Asian man who is throwing trash out of the window.  I wonder if he would like me to murder him and he lights a cigarette.  Some things you just can’t get away from.

Flash forward to later that night, not after the train ride, but the next night, the one where I saw the Christmas wreath.  I was in the bar underneath Goodbye Lennon with a few fellow backpackers.  The place was close but were were still hanging out on the couches.  One of the backpackers comes out of the bathroom and asked us if anyone was trying to open her door and flicking the lights on and off.

The man in all black? I instantly go cold.  Everyone around me finds this hilarious and start to tell ghost stories.  “Why are you even scared?  Do you even believe in ghosts?”  “Decidedly not, but once you are spooked, it doesn’t take much.”  This is the first time on my entire trip that I am actually scared.

That night, I don’t sleep in my room for fear of the man in black who tends to serve me sausages from time to time.  We hear several creaks and movements in the bar and I can’t stand it.

I live.  Naturally.

The next morning I crawl back into my bed as the man in black is running his local business below my bead.  I spend the next 4 hours eating pirogies (Polish Dumplings).

Later tonight, I went to an Indian Restaurant with a few friends and returned to the hostel with the man in all black running another free BBQ.  I was only paying $12 a night for this place and it had free breakfast, internet, laundry, and BBQs.  I love Poland and even though I’m pretty sure the man in all black is a Gypsy, I love him too!

Tomorrow I’m off to Berlin.

Being abroad for over 6 months has given me real incite about a lot of things. But today we are going to talk about How the World sees America and Why.

I’ve had the pleasure of interviewing over 200 people from all over the wold. Think my sample set is large enough? I can promise you that I was not very scientific about it though. What I can say is that I’ve heard and seen enough to form one of my famous analogies.

Last night I was in a club in Prague.  There were a bunch of kids dressed in grunge attire.  I was with 5 french people I met in my hostel and 3 Brazilians.  The  were American music videos playing all night and in the course of only one hour I saw chart toppers from the 60′s to 2006.  The best part was that the locals were dancing to the music (regardless of style) like Russian prostitutes from the 80′s (not a lot of rhythm, kind of bouncy).  Being in this place I realized that as I was choking on the dense indoor smoking, the locals were gorging themselves on American culture.  Offspring, Michale Jackson, No Doubt, Tom Jones; It didn’t matter.  People were going ape shit over anything we made.  It was grand.  Many of these people didn’t speak a word of English, but then the corus for Bon Jovie came on they were all “LIVIN ON A PRAYYYYERRR!!!!”

Almost every time I talk to someone who is not American (or Canadian.  Canadians have a pretty damn good grasp on American culture, since they have been “Emulating it for ages” according to many Candid Canadians I have spoken to.) I hear one of two things.  1: You know less than 18 percent (the number changes every time by the way) of Americans even have a passport.

I didn’t miss the question mark by mistake.  This is a statement, not a question.

The second thing I am always TOLD is how Americans only Eat McDonald’s (Thanks Super Size Me Movie).  Then come a lot of other sensational statements that vary widely.

But I NEVER get any positive statements like “Thanks for the past 50 years of Movies, TV, and Music.” Not to mention the actual invention of the Television, Internet, Personal Computer, Mobile Phone, Jeans, Airplanes, and just about every other important Invention in the past 200 years.  All I get are statements like “America doesn’t have a culture.” and “Americans are the fattest people in the world.” No Thanks for Bailing us out of two world wars.

But that’s alright.  I understand completely.  I didn’t at first, but I get it loud and clear now.  America is the Boss.  What? (say my international readers).  Ya, we are the boss.  We are currently the ONLY super power in the world (though it Kills the English to admit it).  But think of it in a work environment.

You all work right? That means you have all had a boss at one point or another.  No one is lucky enough to have NEVER had a boss.  Imagine if that boss walked down the halls every morning (as you are still shaking off that hang over/ morning grogginess) and screamed “I’m number one! Fuck yeah! In your face employees!  You fucking suck and I rule over you.”  I Imagine that you might have some negative brooding at the old water cooler?  Well when Americans chant “USA, USA, USA” this is basically how the world feels.

Better yet; what if the boss locked himself in his office all day, every day and just sent out emails saying this?  What if the boss decided to stop listening to people’s problems?  This is how the world felt about George Bush.  They were upset because he didn’t have any interest in hearing any other nations opinions.

A special note for the English; what if your 6 month old son (“you don’t have a history or a culture”) was among the first to stand up to you while you were the boss?  His name was America and he was among the first children who not only resisted you, but kicked your ass? (revolutionary war).  To add insult to injury, he then came back and saved you 2 times when he was only 3 years old (or was he?)(WW1 and WW2)

Still with me?  But wait a second Alex, this is just a bunch of American rhetoric.  Don’t worry, the warm and fuzzy part is coming soon.

Back to how fat and stupid we are.  The same reason that the Czech people jump up and down to all of our music is behind this.  There was a little film that came along by the name of “Super Size Me” that was a documentary of what MIGHT happen IF someone only at McDonald’s for a whole month.  It also makes reference to how poor our eating habits are in general.  But somewhere along the way, in the mass consumption of our culture, the world decided that this movie was a fact and that the Hypothetical situation.

I’ll have you know that in China, if you want to take your date to a fancy restaurant, It’s McDonald’s.  Not because it’s the most that you can afford, but because you find it to be an amazing delicacy.  This was said directly by a few bilingual Chinese friends of mine.

And if you go into a Pizza hut in Eastern Europe, be prepared to be waited on by a man in a dress shirt, slacks and a tie.  That’s right, shitty old Pizza Hut is being worshiped in many parts of the world as fine dining.

Oh one more thing.  KFC (one of my guilty, once a year, (NEWYEARS DAY) Pleasures) ain’t too shabby either.  You can find it as a favorite among many Europeans too.  I went out with the Brazilians and the French the other day and they chose KFC.  Yuck.  And I also had to by a bathroom ticket (which is a rant that I’ll save for another day)

Just like when you hear a roomer about the boss at work, bam, you fixate on this.  You tell yourself that he is not that special of a guy after all, thus devaluing his accomplishments in a childish jealous denial.  It’s the same thing that the liberals did to Bush when he became president ” you know he did cocaine when he was in college.  You know he has the lowest IQ of any president we have ever had.”  These are the statements that rung through the hall for 8 years.  And the 8 years before that it was something along the lines of  “you know he cheated on his wife.  you know he used a cigar on that poor girl.  you know that he left a stain or he blouse.”

Everyone wants to fixate on the spectacular.  Sensationalism is what sells right?

Then along came Obama.  The door opened and the boss started walking through the halls to tell them he was interested in their opinion.  That they were worth something as an employee.  This is why the world likes Obama.

Here’s the funny part.  Any boss that is worth his or her weight in Salt knows that people say things behind his or her back.  But for the most part they take it and they let it go without pulling their employee into the office and ask them why THEY dropped out of grad school and THEY don’t put in any more that the 40 hours (35 in France) that is absolutely required of them.  The boss doesn’t dare compare their employee’s ambition to their own.  The boss would never be recognized for the immense risk that he/she takes every day.  Or that perfectly rare quality we call initiative.

The truth of the matter is that that boss ( I am referring to the owner of a small business) is assuming all of the risk in the world.  Something that the employee might not ever understand (as they put in just enough to not get fired).

Wow, now your just talking crazy.  So are you’re telling me that you think the rest of the world is working for the US?  No, not at all.  This is where the analogy gets a bit confusing (or maybe not).

But before I go on, lets talk about why America is what it is today.

Being abroad, I am surrounded by like minded people.  This means that everyone who I meet is relatively independent and values traveling.  It’s like living in a water cooler convention for a year and then being convinced that the world is obsessed with water coolers.  I have surrounded myself with people who are (usually) not afraid to take risks.

Yesterday I was on a free walking tour through Prague.  The guys giving the tour only worked on tips alone.  None of them were from the Czech Republic, but all of them were risk takers.  My leader was Mick: a late 20′s Aussie who had married a Czech girl who he met in a hostel in Costa Rica.  He was the type of guy who doesn’t spend any time worrying about paying the bills, or what age he was going to retire.  He was too busy having the time of his life.  He was too confident to worry about IF he would make it.  He believed in himself enough to know that, where ever he was in the world, he could eat and be happier than most anyone I have ever met.

What does Mick have anything to do with America being the boss you say?

It’s simple.  America was started by a bunch of Micks.  A bunch of people who were not going to sit around and take the status Que.  A bunch of people that just assumed that sitting on a sweaty disease ridden boat for a few months was worth the CHANCE for a better life.  Initiative.  This is the key word for the day.

I want you to imagine for the rest of your read that everything in the whole big world revolves around one or two words: Choice and Chance.  Make them into a simple phrase.  “You always have a Choice to take a Chance.  Always!”

Now you are starting to think like Mick.

Back to America.  Just as you will find an extremely dense population of people who value traveling over stuff and security while abroad, you would find that the people who originally started this country would have made great entrepreneurs.  Great business owners.  Great bosses.  Great risk takers.  Great Choosers and Chance takers.

The people who stayed back in England were not fed up enough to FIND a way out.  The are equivalent to many of the people who say.  “I want to do what you are doing more than anything else, but I can’t just quit my job.”

Oh Yes. You Can.

If you are like Mick, you know that you’ve got “IT” and that “IT” can be used anywhere.  Most people value security a lot more than greatness.  And for them, they are loving every second of their secure life.  Right?

Today, America is not 100% bas asses like it started out as.  Those bad asses had children and those children had children and sadly, the bad ass gene is not passed forward to everyone.  It will dissipate among the masses over time and then we get “a bunch of people who eat McDonald’s for EVERY meal and only 16% of Americans having passports.”

But there is the saving grace.  America is an environment created by Bad Asses (remember) and they created this environment to preserve the path to the top for Bad Asses.  That is, If you have the guts to make the Choice to take a Chance, you CAN (not Will) make it to the top quite easily compared to anywhere else in the world.  Any one can start the next Nike, or Micro Soft.  How many other countries are set up like that?  Not many, this is why we have so many risk takers immigrating into the US.  Because they are ready to make it big and made the Choice to Chance it.  Don’t worry, If they wanted a free ride, there are plenty of Countries with a MUCH better welfare state.  Oh ya, and those inventors.  Many of them were not born in America.  They came here because they knew their invention would actually be made instead of shelved by a government without the money or initiative.

Ok ok, this is where my beloved brother refers to my talk as self help bull shit.  Which is fine.  I’m getting sick of the C words myself.

But not every employee is a 9 to 5 er.  Some of them work their asses off (China) and have the guts to take the lead.  And I’m not so dense as to believe that America will always be THE BOSS.  We Won’t.  We will be the next England (thinking we are the Boss, but really just a whole lot more charming than we used to be, because we don’t have to make those decisions that the we used to as the boss.)

ALEX. I’ve just read 2135 words! Is there a point to all of this?

I’m exhausted from writing this crap.  You decide.