Paris, London... you know, just your average week for a EuroWebb

We've spent six weeks in search of the adventures, the stories, the crazy situations that can only be answered with T.I.E. (This is Europe), so why would our trip from Madrid to Paris be anything but ridiculous. The question is: Can you see yourself taking an overnight train across the European continent for thirteen hours? We did it, and loved it, or rather love the fact that we can add that to the list of insane choices we've made... actually aside from trying to brush our teeth in the dark while the train tried to shake us out of our cabin, it was a pretty swell experience. (below is not the cabin we slept in, this is Neil passed out on the way to Provins, "We'll stop when we're dead", luckly we didn't die and can now laugh at a statement like that...)

We pushed our Eurail pass to the max on our first day in France. After arriving in Paris at 9am, we dropped our bags off at the hostel and tore off to the medieval town of Provins. The small city was quiet and left for Neil and I to explore casually, without the crowds of camera-crazy tourists (beware of the Mom-with-children-and-her-point-and-shoot-still-cam, she wanders Paris and will run over a 6'3" hulking specimen of a young, polite gentleman, just to get her snot-nosed kids in her perfect postcard framing... but it's all in good fun right?). Provins was a small treasure brought to us by Kevin Polan. The suggestion to visit the cobble-stoned narrow streets of Provins with its towering medieval structures was tossed in as a bonus point amongst an extensive list of "secrets to Paris" that Kevin provided us. Travel Tip number 41: If visiting France consult with Kevin, if visiting Paris, bring Kevin along (I can only image what other hidden gems are lying among the beautiful streets of Par-ie that most tourist couldn't even imagine, but that Kevin knows all about). We wandered Provins and were amazed that you didn't need to try and image what it would have been like to walk the streets of the French town hundreds of years ago, we just kept turning corners and found ourselves falling further and further back in time.

How small were the French at the turn of the last millennium? Tour the Tour Cesar and try to fit through the hobbit-sized door ways and squeeze up the spiral stair case to the top of the tower while imaging that you are John Webb; well over six feet with shoulders that are significantly broader then any Baggins.

How hard is it to find Mech Engineers these days? Well, back at the hostel we met Boston Chris, who not only was a Mechy, he answered my next question: How hard is it for a Mech Engg to get a job? He gave me his card after pushing his lucrative company and telling me that his boss has been hunting for Canuck Gears like the first day of Deer season. Iron Rings man...

We spent two days in Paris without spending any time in Paris. How you ask. Day two was a trip to Verseille, which I warn the Amazing Racers is not a place that can be rushed. The palace itself is what all palaces should be modeled after, it is the David of living arrangements, and convinced me that Prince John really should be my career aspiration. With that said, the royal decor, astounding rooms and "king" sized beds weren't all that we paid to see; every square-inch of Verseille is full of all the tourists that are not going to see Provins. Each room has a guys recording every wall with his video camera, there is usually two or three groups of people that Scan each mural and talk about what they would have preferred if they were to have designed the room. Some people gasp at "the beauty", others want to touch everything, including the signs that say "do not touch". Out of all the sites we have seen, the crowds of Verseille are as spectacular an attraction as the Louis XIV's palace.

Someone told me "no, don't worry about the Gardens of Verseille..." Wow, this guy is an idiot. My advice is first not to listen to anything that comes out of the mouth of a crazy person who says not to visit the Gardens because they are a raving lunatic, and second, visit the Gardens of Verseille and take your time, because it is the definition of Royalty (and another reason why the dreams of Prince John must be fulfilled - why not King you might ask, well the Prince has all the perks of being King, without the stress and anxiety of the responsibility. Plus King John just sounds cocky).

We left Verseille after visiting Marie Antoinette's Estate, which itself is a cozy little situation; what a girl, to have set things up for herself in her own "Estate", which is hoity-toity for huge friggin Palace or two. Verseille is a must, don't skip this, or you will disappoint Neil and I, and you don't want to disappoint a future Prince, or Princess (Neil was really looking to camp out in the Estate)

The plan for Paris was a complicated execution, but a rather straight-forward concept: See everything. This made our next three and a half days in Paris somewhat busy...

Travel Tip number 43: buy a two day Museum Pass, then after two days, switch the date on the back of the pass and use it for an additional two days. Not only will you feel like a genius, a prove to be extremely sneaky, it's actually pretty bad-ass. In fact Neil and I would appreciate it if you just viewed this little tid-bit as a "oh those crazy boys and their overpowering desire to view art and their lack of funds" as oppose to "hey my friends cousin works at the Louvre, maybe I can get those two troublemakers bad from the museum circuit".

The schedule breaks down like this:

Day Two Post Verseille

-Invalides: Musee de l'Armee, with its cool armory (I want to be a Prince that fights on horse back now) and its extensive World Wars exhibits (who needs high school social studies or history class when a museum like this exists). AND Napoleon's Tomb, where we experienced the site with an audio guide (this was the first time we had tried the audio guide approach to things, since it was free with our awesome museum pass... I wouldn't go out of your way to walk around with these things glued to your ear).

-Arc de Triomphe: one must visit the top, if one is to try and understand how 12 streets can converge into one ten-lane traffic circle and not have one single accident witnessed by two canadians looking for a Nascar style smash up (we visited the top twice, that's a cumulative hour of circling the circle, no accidents, really?) We also may have crossed this ten-lane monstrosity AND survived, yess Webb brothers, awesome.

-Tour Eiffel: Although we didn't climb the tower, we definitely got caught up in the excitment of the surrounding area. There's something about seeing the tower all lit up at night... it can't be discribed, it must be seen by the eyes of every human if they wish to feel like they have lived.

Day Three:

-The Louvre: We visited the museum of museums twice on this day, and we easily could have gone back for more. The best idea is to use the museum pass to get in the "special" entrance to avoid the lines and then head straight for the Mona Lisa. We stood and stared at the masterpiece staring back at us for five minutes in silence, with only 2 other people in the room, before the crowds took over. It would take weeks to thoroughly exam each room and hall, Neil and I spent our first visit slowly moving through the first floor, then spent our second visit on a schedule (which means no doddling)

-Notre Dame: we found the cathedral to be quite busy, but you can get lost in the beauty of the stain glass and forget about all the people snapping shots over your shoulder. We also climbed to the top, and although Quasi was no where to be found, the bell was pretty cool, the views were nice, and the close ups of the Gargoyles were worth the spiral stair case adventure it took to get up and down the towers.

-Conciergerie: This is a cool idea, "a prison that held the revolutionary figures like Robespierre and Marie Antoinette", but alas it is nothing but an idea of what such a prison would be like.

-Musee D'Orsay: This is a must see. Neil and I are both big Impressionism fans, but even if Monet isn't your cup of tea, it's a museum built in an old train station. This museum itself is a work of art.

Day Four - Day Trip to Chartres: This was our second round of medieval France. Places like these are perfect for casually wandering, or meandering if you will, down the streets without a care in the world. The town was empty, and very peaceful, and Neil and I loved the idea that people actually live inside the small little houses that give the town its authentic atmosphere.

Day Four - Post Chartres:

-Pigalle: With its Mulin Rouge and Sex Shops. Don't miss the Chat Noire. I would suggest avoiding this area at dusk, day time is good.

-Sacre Coeur Cathedrale: "On top of Paris" is how you feel as you reach the top of the large set of stairs. Impressive views and an even more impressive atmosphere awaits you inside.

-Notre Dame encore: We had to return to spend time in the garden behind the cathedrale. We sat on a bench and watched Paris move around us.

-L'Ile St. Louis for the best ice cream in Paris. Do not miss this ice cream. If you are in Paris, contact me, I will give you very clear directions. I can't emphasize this enough, Best Ice Cream in Paris...

-Bastille Monument: Not much left of the famous prison. Revolutions man.

-Place des Vosages: It's a great place to rest tired feet after wandering through the Paris Arrondisments. In the corner of the oldest park in Paris is the #6 Renaissance town house, the home of Victor Hugo.

-Forum Des Halles: Ali was excited to hear about a huge underground mall, Neil thought it was "okay", but nothing to get excited about.

-Tour Eiffel: for 11 and a half euro the 3rd level of the tower was anything but a disappointment. Spend the cash, the top is where its at. We went at night and saw Paris lit up like Christmas. I don't know how long we were up there for, you get lost exploring the city from on top of the world. My experience of Memorable vistas and breath taking photos might be slightly different from Neil's. He decided that the top of the tower was the right time to get hit with food poisoning. But hey, it's all about the stories, who can say they threw up off the top of the Eiffel Tower... okay so he didn't lose his dinner over the edge, but he was sick all the same. This had nothing to do with the Tour though, so don't worry, visit at will.

Day Five:

-St. Chapelle: Now we're talking stained glass. This cathedrale is amazing to stand in, as the walls are covered in colourful glass making the entire room glow with vibrant hues. Of course the most impressive sight, the front, was under construction. Alas.

-Crypt of Notre Dame: This is the real deal. It felt like history had crossed paths at the site over and over again, generation after generation. Aside from the field trip of grade school kids, the site was pretty remarkable.

-Musee de Cinema Francais: Can you guess whose idea this was. Neil was pumped, not only was this a museum about movies, it was housed in a building designed by the architect that Brad Pitt studied under when he put aside his Tyler Durdan duds and took an interest in architecture. We decided when the Webb brothers have stormed through Hollywood and have filled up a couple solid filmographies, we will set up our own Film Museum (mainly with Webb films, but some other pictures as well)

-Boulevard de Montparnass: We strolled the vibrant street and took in all the great cafes and small shops. Neil was particularly excited because Montparnass happens to have a new movie theatre every half block. If I wasn't so bent on seeing every corner of every street in every place we've visited, we would have shaped our schedule around the local late matinee, or the first evening show. Poor Neil, I wouldn't even let him linger long enough to catch the smell of the popcorn.

-Pantheon: 2 Pantheons, a Parthenon, a half dozen Notre Dames, 3 or 4 Arc de Triomphes, enough canals to compete with Montparnass cinemas, 2 picasso museums, 4 to 5 Basillicas, a dozen plazas, piazzas, places, or squares, promenades for all 6 beach fronts, 2 Academias, a handful of Via Nationales and a couple Gran Vias, and a number of Santa Croces is just the start of some of Europes favorites. However, there never seems to be any repetition. Travel Tip number 50: visit everything, don't get fooled by a familiar name.

-Eating on the Champs Elysee: This treat was another Kevin Polan special. He treated us to one of our only meals that wasn't defined by the "best deal" or the "quantity over quality" mentality of choice. We took our time at Vesuvio. It was beyond comfort to be watching the Champs Elysee move by us in the cool drizzle while we sat under the awning with a soft heater keeping us warm. It's the only way to do patios, and the most relaxing "activity" we had taken part in all trip.

-Arc de Triomph: We returned to the Arc for another look over the Paris streets (still no collisions on the traffic circle of death), and decided it was unacceptable to have our last look at Tour be from a dozen blocks away.

-Tour Eiffel: We said good bye to Paris from the steps in front of the tower. It was tough to leave. Neil and I turned back a dozen times and said we would never forget the Eiffel tower, or Paris, or our great European adventure.

We left Paris early the next morning, and after the chaos of the Charles De Gaulle airport we started the end of our 7 weeks. London was rest, relaxation, the excitement of being so closed to home. London was the Cranley Gardens. I felt so comfortable having returned to the old Cranley that for the first time all trip I missed my alarms and slept in. I actually looked at my watch at 9:30am and when I told Neil we had missed the wake up, but that breakfast was on until 10, he grabbed his pants, a shirt and smashed on his shoes in 20 seconds. "I'll get a table and order for us..." London was a trip to the Stanhope Arms for Fish and Chips and English Pub atmosphere. London was Shakespeare's Globe, a return to tower bridge, Big Ben, Trafalgar Square, and Picadilly Circus. London was a trip to Wimbleton to see the courts from a distance, London was me and the Chelsea stadium and the Megastore for The Blue apperal. London was the Tube. London was fog and rain, which was what we wanted, no more sun burns in the UK like our first round. London was the chance to recap the trip in a 2 and a half hour "How about..." style of story telling between Neil and I as we walked from James Park, through Hyde and into Kensington Gardens. London was the end. London was sad as we realized our "trip of a life time" was almost over, but London was happy as well, as we started to let ourselves get excited about seeing Home, the Fam, friends, cars on the right, water from a tap, CND currancy, comfortable beds minus the hostels, N. American TV, proper sirans, proper English, news papers, limitless internet access, Food, Food, and more Food... London was great, London was... a place I want to go back to.

It's been more fun than any of you could imagine. The whole expirence, right down to spinning the stories on this blog. This won't be the end of these tall tales. I've saved a few real gems for face to face reenactments. Until then, it's the EuroWebbs having Punched Europe Right in the Face... and having survived, sort of, well you should see the other guy... okay I need to have something to eat, and then its back to my comatos style of sleep. It's a tough world out there, and this time next week I'll be ready to head back out there for the next big adventure. Because it's all about the stories...

We're Back... to Back

Neil and I have survived our Amazing Race around Europe. It was a 22hour day, but after waking up in the comfort of the Cranley Garden Hotel, the tube took us to Heathrow, where our 9 hour flight brought us to the fam at the arrivals gate in old Cal town.

From here it's only a day of rest (which is travel for laundry and tall tales), and then off to the wild wilderness of the Kananaskis. Hostels vs Tents. Because July means Camping for the Webbs. This doesn't mean that Europe is over. There are still secrets to unlock about the beauty of Paris, and the face pace of London's rainy streets. So stay tuned, we may need to sleep for a week... straight. Vacation from the vacation.

I'll Fight the Freakin Bull Myself

Where are you outside world. I'm lost inside my little tourism bubble. No newspapers, no TV, and for the passed week the internet has been a luxury I can't afford at 7 and a half Euro for an hour of connection (that's two meals, Come On).

From Barcelona we crossed the open Spanish plains. This remains as one of the most beautiful country sides I have ever seen. It's tough to read, or catch up on sleep (Danny Archer style; I am very good at this style of sleep, ahh the nap), when every turn in the tracks hits you with a new vista of wide landscapes stretching over rolling hills and big blue skies.

At this point I would like to point out the amazing aspects of Train travel. This is the only way to move through Europe. Josh Soles, if you are out there, I must tell you that I am now a Train guy. I understand your love for the tracks and their cars.

With that said, the Barcelona station is out of control. They most definitely lost our train. Neil and I were thrown in all different directions before finally catching a break and having a pair of friendly Americans share the secret to our hidden coach (Texans, man you got'a love 'em).

MuchoMadrid greeted us warmly, and at first inspection seemed to be in the top five Hostels for the trip (No Nice Hotel Pastoral, thank goodness, sorry Pastoral). Then they told us they lost our reservation (first the train, now the room, who loses a room). They didn't actually say that they lost the reservation, but they kicked out one of those "Oh, ummm, what days were you booked in for?" and "Can I see your reservation again... how did you book this?" Luis was a real swell guy about the whole situation, and I would find that he runs a pretty tidy operation there at MuchoMadrid. (a personal favorite was the Champagn and Sangria party where I was able to practice some bad spanish and catch some great stories for other kooks out there, I dig it, the whole scene, the whole crazy hostel scene).

So we walked the streets of Madrid with excitement; this is a town you walk around, forget the Metro, the place is beautiful and built for the wandering tourist. The whole time in Madrid we were caught in one, huge, crazy Spanish Cup final party. The Plaza Mayor was overrun with Sevilla fans, and every site we visited was crawling with drunken football fans dressed in their teams colours (which was always the Red of Sevilla... it's a good thing they won, the crazy riots of joy and better then the angry riots of defeat; gotta love the Futbol). With all the excitement though, there is still the devastation of leaving Madrid, on a Sunday, at 7pm. This just so happens to be the only time during the summer months that the Matador faces the Bull... We missed the FREAKIN BULL FIGHT. This was not made any easier by Tennessee Matt who had recorded some of the nonesense on his camera. Neil and I watched his little 2" screen and couldn't turn away. I may have said "Wow, just like the movies". But hey, you can't see it all right, and aside from the great weather (nothing but sun), the wonderful food (paella, oh paella), the playful atmosphere (Canada needs so soccer, and fast), and the breathtaking sites (random buildings, just random buildings lining a secondary road... amazing architectur), what would I come back for? It still hurts to think that we were settling in for an overnight train, and the crowds were just welcoming the first challenge... Bull vs Matador, it's so great.

Paris is beyond words. I have loved every second here. Someone told me that I should skip Paris and spend more time in Spain... WHAT. Skip Paris. Never. This city must be seen, by all. And I have already started to try and figure out if weekend trips to this city from Calgary are possible... I don't even think this is a stretch.

The night train was a real adventure. I can't believe that these things exist, and that I got to from Madrid to Paris, rocking to sleep like a baby in a crib. What a trip this has been. What an adventure. Man I love the travel. I love the Road life. I love the journey. Everytime it starts to feel like things are settling, it's time to move...

Mullets, Diets, and Post-Coital Cigarettes

Good title... oh and I did it again, make sure you read John's post which will be right underneath mine because I started mine once again 2 seconds after he did

Why are mullets coming back? That's what I wanna know and NOW! When I say mullets, I'm sure that most of you are picturing the very small slightly stylish mini-mullet, not unlike the one that I have inadvertantly grown over the past five weeks. But no...that's not what I'm talking about at all. That's not how the euros roll. I'm talking about the full-on, redneck, I've got a nascar sticker on my car, straight out of the trailer, should be extinct by now...80's mullet. Now you're thinking 'But Neil, some of those stuck in the eighties redneck types are also in europe.' Maybe there are and maybe there aren't but that's not what I'm talking about. These are young people, wearing stylish clothes, and aviator sunglasses, and they are sporting the full on, perfect, short in the front, long in the back mullet...................Why? I mean I was warned about the abundance of the faux-hawks and fake DG glasses, but I was not prepared to be seeing this much mullet in such a short period of time.

If your plan is to lose weight, get rid of the nice layer around the old abdoms, here's how to do it. It is the very simple euro diet. Eat hardly anything and walk 10 to 15 miles a day - or for eight hours, whichever comes first. I admit, even I've had trouble sticking to the euro diet. And here are some things that might trip you up in your quest for that skin and bones traveller look. Avoid not eating breakfast and lunch, because you will binge when it comes to dinner time, and that's just too expensive. If you love food, one thing I strongly suggest: is to not go into supermarkets. They are dangerous, they are packed with food, pretty much anything you can think of and it's not that expensive. Because you might end up buying 6 mars bars just because they cost 2 euros. Or buy 2 boxes of cereal that you can't carry, and that you certainly can't eat. And if you fancy yourself a beer drinker, avoid the supermarket at all costs. Let me put it this way, 660mL of Heineken for 1.25.........trouble. Do you even know how many calories are in beer. Having a supermarket around, is like someone offering you free beer, or cheap beer, like draft night at cowboys - just because something is cheap or free, does not mean you need to have it!

And lastly for today, you know when you see a couple that are just way too into eachother and consequently are all over eachother. Well, there is one such couple staying at our hostel. When you see one such couple you might bust out a line like 'get a room'. However, when you bust out the whole 'get a room' line, you make the assumption right off the bat that 'the room' you've told them to go to...isn't going to be your room. Well in this case it was my room. Let me set this up some more by saying that the girl half of this couple is very unpleasant. I mean unpleasant in every way. You know those girls who aren't quite there looks wise but are one of those personality-plus types. Well that's not this girl. She's unpleasant to look at, listen to, be around, and the personality is grade A douche baggian.

Aaaanyways. I wake up this morning because the other two guys in our room are packing up to leave. Oh, by the way, unlike all our other hostels, there are nothing but guys at this hostel, it's a huge sausage fest. One of these guys incidently is a big-time sleep talker. This guys holds both sides of conversations with himself...in his sleep, he also cheers, hoots, hollers, and even busts out evil laughs, which can be kind of terrifying at 4 in the morning. Wow, I got hugely sidetracked there, someone just yelled 'Digression' at me from the book Catcher in the Rye. Anyways, so I'm awake because sleep talker and his buddy are packing their shit as loud as possible. And their shit is allll over the place too. So much so that in the packing mele, sleep talker managed to take my balled up sock out of my shoe and toss it across the room....I have not idea. So I'm awake because of this non-sense. They're doing this for a good half hour until they leave. In the meantime, I've grabbed my sansa and I'm listening to a few songs; a little Jack Johnson to relax my anger at sleep talkers. I'm relaxing in bed when the doucherama show exits the room; I'm almost drifting back to sleep when I lazily open my eyes and see, in the bottom bunk across from me, some rustling of the sheets. You see what I did there, you all had completely forgotten about the overly affectionate unpleasant girl and her manslave. I initially don't think much this rustling of sheets, maybe the manslave is just turning over in his sleep. But I open my eyes all the way to see that the unpleasant girl is not in her top bunk...where is she? And if you guys haven't figured out where this one's going, either I'm a terrible storyteller, or you guys need to give your heads a shake. As you suspected, she is underneath the sheets, causing the sheet rustling. These two are going at it. They weren't making a lot of noise or anything, she was probably just whispering sweet unpleasantnesses in his ear. It's 9am people. The sleeptalkers have just left, how much longer could John and I possibly sleep in for? an hour...maybe, then the room would've been empty, all theirs to do whatever they wanted in it. But they couldn't wait. They went at it, in the hostel, with other people in the room, at 9 am on a thursday. Now, it may have been different if this girl was a knockout, or not just overall-ly unpleasant, but that wasn't the case at all. Ridiculous right...wrong, what's ridiculous is that half an hour after the first...session...ended, another one started up again. And, at it they went again. So that's how my morning went down, listening to the unpleasant girl have unpleasant sex with her unpleasant manslave...twice. And after all this, the unpleasant girl rolled off her man slave and lit a post-coital cigarette.......................................Alright so the cigarette thing was a lie, but the rest was absolutely true; I just liked that for the title.

Bvar-theh-lonaaaaaah

I´m done On the Road. I´m completely lost. Where are you now Dean Moriarty? What antics have you in store for the adventuresome? Sal I need direction? East, West, or South? Abandonment is a heavy situation.

We moved from the Cote westward to the "Meeting place of the world", Marseille. Drowning in culture and energetic streets Marseille does not represent the south of France, in fact Marseille is unique to Europe. If a change is what you seek, then the African rich shops, and the Arabic cuisin of this busy city is what you need. "Dude, did you read that before you booked us in here?" is Neil´s first question after I hit him with the Let´s Go Travel Guide´s intro to Marseille. He is not quite sure how he feels about this new vibe. I think a day and a half was all he needed to soak up all the culture he can deal with for a while.

Montpellier was another new twist. From the beaches of the Riviera, to the hot streets of Marseille, there was no preparing us for the comfort of Montpellier. With little shops of all kinds and wide pedestrian walkways between sites within the old city, Neil and I took an instant liking to this beautiful town. We spent almost all our time wandering the streets and digging the whole scene. When we left for the train at 6:30, the city was still asleep and we strolled down the center of the streets like we owned the place. Sure the sun was rising, but who could comment on that when we had the whole city to ourselves.

We left France too quickly. Although we stalked up on fresh bread and croissants, not even a late lunch of delicate baguette could ease the pain of leaving the country of love. I speak french, and after a week of traveling the streets, I could speak it quite well (I was still working on my France accent, but accent or not, I loved the whole second language experiment all the same). I understood train announcements for the first time since London´s tube, I could read menus, order drinks, and convers with locals. It was my country to enjoy after only a week, and I enjoyed it in a totally new "complete" way.

I speak a little Spanish. Un Poquito. I even hablo some as well. But what ever they speak here, in Barcelona (say it with me: Bvar-theh-lonaaaaah), it´s not the same spanish I´ve been learning. They speak so quickly, I´m usually just realizing I´m in a conversation when they´ve already come to understand I have no idea what they are saying. I can pick up every 5th to 10th word. I catch some of th"Attencion" announcements, and I order the odd item (with help from the old "that one, that one there" kind of point), but in the end, I am an English speaking tourist again. Travel Tip number 3: Learn the language of the natives, be one with the foreign tongue.

So we land in Barcelona and find that the West has found this city. Like home, the streets of Barcelona feel under control with more cars, less scouter, and rules of the road that appear to be more then simple suggestions. No close calls yet, the pedestrians still live. So we went through our normal routine; arrive, get lost, return to start, get lost, find the hostel, cheer and dance around like idiots, settle in, meet the neighbours, and take to the streets with a map and the thrill of a new town. As far as I can tell (this became apparent to me after half an hour of feeling the place out), Barcelona treasures two heroes; Gaudi, and Ronaldinho. Everywhere you turn there are Ronaldinho jerseys. Number 10 is wandering every street. The guy is in freakin day care adds. But I´ll get back to the Futbol jerseys in this town. Gaudi is as to Barcelona, as Ari is to Entourage. Without Gaudi, I don´t know what this place would be. Each street seems to have been touched by his hand. The Temple de la Sagrada Familia. This architectural wonder stands high above the surrounding buildings and seems to anchor the city, feeding it power and giving it character. Now if you have been lucky enough to see this Temple, and admire its glorious facades. If you have marveled at its unique design and appreciated its bond between art and engineering, that look no further. Don´t ask any more questions. Stop reading. Because this monument is under construction. No, no, not like every other monument that we have visited. No this building is not being repaired, or restored (which is the word of choice for these situations). This masterpiece, the legacy of Gaudi is not yet complete. Since 1882, they have been building this monsterous design. And after more then 125 years they have finally, just recently, made the last additions, to complete the project... to the point of just over 50 percent. They are half done. Neil just stood there in awe. "What 50% done?", "What are they doing?", "Who´s in charge here?" I´m most impressed with their patients. It seems that at no time, any of the hundreds of thousands of people involved with the work has said "Ok, umm, I think we need to kick it up a notch, I´m not going to name names but these last two or three decades some of you have been slacking..." They have yet to reach tha"Get'r done" stage, and I love it. I´ve been going on and on about how Masterpieces just aren´t made any more, how everything is a McMansion, and it´s all functionality. But here is a true piece of architecture, and to have been a part of its creation (okay, I only walked through it and took pictures, but still), to be around during its development... That´s history right there. I love it.

We visited the Museo Picasso, and I suddenly had a flash back from my grade 5 art class. I didn´t understand Cubism then, and I don´t understand it now. But the Pablo definitely was on to something. Turns out, P. Picasso did more then just the abstract art of his impressionism. The guy dabbled in everything, landscapes, oil portraits, ceramics, the works. A life time of creation. Oddly enough, in one of the 20 rooms in the Museum, Picasso´s work centered around Pornograph. That´s right, everything from doodles to complete brush strokes, and it was pretty vivid stuff. A lot of people passed through and kept their sam"Ahhh, yessssss, I enjoy the intensity of this subject, the short strokes bring out a certain...", while others just couldn´t hold back and started giggling like little school girls (or 20 something boys...). Neil and I quite enjoyed the "Man with Chicken, enjoying himself, while relieving himself" but of course it´s art, it´s not for everyone.

Las Ramblas is a favorite local for the two of us. At night the street preformers gather their crowds and awe the masses. Whether it´s the slight of hand of a smiling magician, or the intense attitude of a latin dancer, there is someting for everyone. Neil and I have trouble being confined to a bar, when the real party is in the streets. We roam the roads from our hostel to the beach and dig the whole scene. Barcelona is going to be hard to leave. Barcelona is a favorite.

Some other highlights:

Neil vs the Pigeons - little brother makes contact with an accidental kick, seconds later he is pooed on... I just laughed, and laughed.

Couple has sex - I´m awake, on my top bunk, downloading pictures onto my dream device (Archos 604WiFi, a must for any gaget guru) and below me, one bed over, a couple is waking up with a little morning exercise. I don´t know how I feel about this. I think there is something wrong with the whole situation, but then again, I didn´t even realize it was going down until Neil told me about it an hour later. Hostels, you really can´t go wrong.

Angry woman vs the train - Why was this woman so angry we will never know. All I can say is I´m thankful I can understand French, because the ridiculousness of this woman´s complaints were worth the cost of my entire Eurail pass. She needed a hug, but I couldn´t bring myself to end the entertainment.

The Country´s best - Germany´s Brats, Italy´s pasta, Greece´s sea food, France´s bread, England´s Fish and Chips; it´s tough to make a call on what my favorite is, but one thing for sure is Spain can cook a mean Paella. Wow.

Scams. Everyone loves their scams here in Europe. You can get a fake anything, and you can pay anything for it, because not only is it fake, but it´s probably stolen. Along the way, I have been collecting soccer jerseys. One for each country. I pick one of my favorite Footballers, and I search for a deal. Yesterday I cam across a Torres jersey. The spanish red, the number 9, it was perfect. I ask how much for the jerseys, the guy says 15 euro. This is good, not great, but definitely what I´m ready to spend to keep my series alive. I return today to the same shop, after passes several other stores pushing the Barcelona number 10 of Ronaldinho, I realize that this 15 euro deal is a real steal (and I rhyme that little diddy off to Neil with excitement). I´m in the store, I find my size (a medium), and the guy wraps it up for me and asks for 39€. Uhhh, I just stand there dumbfounded. I, uhhhh. That´s all I´ve got. I finally pull myself together, accept the reality of no jersey in my immediate future, and I tell him I´m going to need to go get more money. 35€ he says. Uhhhhh, I, aaaa... What did you want to pay for it, he asks me. I tell him someone (it was him) had told me they were 15, and that I only had a 20 (this was not true, but who can afford 40 euro on a jersey, when they have only budgetted 10 on food for the whole day). He can´t believe it. 15! he says with a genuin disbelief. He pulls out a different red Torres, and hands it to me. This one is a piece of garbage. It´s last years jersey, it´s a large and it´s 29, he tells me. This doesn´t matter to me, or my story of 20 euro in the pocket. I try it on, it really, really looks bad. I ask if he has a medium. He brings out a different player all together and tries to sell this new piece of garbage to me, without letting me see it. I ask for a medium Torres (I need my Fernado Torres, forget this other smuck that this guy wants to get rid of). He gets a medium, number 9 Torres, and I try it on, it´s great, it´s also the first jersey he gave me, and it´s still 39 euro. I tell him all I have is the 20 euro bill I was going to use for the 15 euro jersey that no longer exists. He brings it down to 35, 32, and 30. My story sticks, I show him the bill, and he pauses. He picks up the phone, and frantically spills out some Spanish jumble. He tells me he can get me a medium, Torres, from last year and he can give it to me for 27. I stare at him. 25. I pull out the 20, and tell him I will need to go get another five. He doesn´t want me to leave. He tells me he can do 22, and he runs out of the store. He comes back 2 minutes later, out of breath. He has a medium beauty that I try on. It´s great. He packages it up. I pull out the twenty, and a handful of no more then 60 cents in 5s and 10s. I tell him I can go get the other 2 euro, but this is all I came with. (I had fished the twenty out of my money belt while he was in the back, hoping that the 3 50s and the other 20 that it was folded into wouldn´t come exploding out. I also had to grab the change without revealing the 5 bill that I still had for today´s dinner). He looks down at the 20, then the coins. He looks up at me, and I spill out the oscar "I´m sorry brotha", and he grabs it all, acting and everything, and I´m out the door with my jersey. Scaming the Scamster. All in a days work. Do I feel bad. Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe I think I saw the same jersey in Florence for 10 euro, and maybe I think he was getting what he deserved. John 1, silly Spanish kyosk guy 20euro and dirty change...

Bvar-theh-lonaaaah has been a blast. Time for one more Las Ramblas tour with the sunsetting and the wild night life coming up for air.

One Line Frenchmen

Okay, here's quick update,

And read the post below this that john just put up and his single serving friends one because I always seem to post one like 5 seconds after John does, so mine are always at the top so I feel bad.

We were really gettin the hang of Nice just when we had to leave, the last night we had a few beers while strollin down the beach with a bunch people. It was late, early morning I guess and there's all kinds of people out. A guy had wheeled up a piano, there were a group of hippies playing guitars, some dude dressed up in native clothes climbing up a lamp post, you know the usual, there were also tons of roller bladers who couldn't skate worth a damn but when they got up to their line of pilons...these guys were amazing.




It was funny, we were hanging out with some girls from the hostel, one of em was kind of a looker, and blond too, so the groups of creepy twenty, thirty, and forty something frenchguys, of which there were many, would come up and say shit like "hey baby," "do you wanna suck me?" "what are you doing tonight, you come with me?" But after their opening line, they had nothing, they had no game past their one line. I guess if the girls wasn't blown away by that kind of charm, that was it, there was no follow up. So these clowns would come up bust out lines like that, and then they wouldn't know any english after that, so John and I would end up having nice, normal conversations with these guys in french...Ha, they try to seem all hardcore, but they only have one line of english. Ahhh Nice.



Time for Marseilles. Remember how I said that every day in europe was garbage day. Well that's true of everywhere except Marseilles. The streets reeked of garbage, and occasionally, sewage, shit, and vomit (sometimes all at the same time). So I had a great time there. But the hotel was nice and McDonalds had a deal for students. Agh, blasphemy, McDonalds in France. Believe me, I wasn't really up for staying out on the streets much past 7 oclock though. Then off to Montpelier which was the exact opposite, a beauty, a real gem. Nice, clean, friendly people, always garbage day, which I now quite appreciate incidentally. And in Monpelier don't worry we hit up a beauty bakery, and got a croissant, a salted baguette (man, it was amazing), and a pain au chocolat, which is basically a croissant filled with chocolate...need I say more.

Right around then, I felt a little spent, kinda done with the trip. And then we got to Barcelona, and now I'm revived. What a cool place, tomorrow, I think we're gonna hit up the beach, picasso's place and some more of the old town. This place looks like North American cities for the most part, except for the old town part, which is euro at it's best. It has old school buildings, then you'll run into a piazza (I know they're probably not called piazzas in spain but who cares) with huge palm trees everywhere. And every corner you turn, there's some uber talented musician playing. Some guy was playing "My way" by sinatra on some flat table guitar thing. And we saw a guy with El Mariachi skills playing a traditional spanish song on the old guitarra. It was amazing. And then you'll run into great streets like the one in the pic to the right, that are beautiful and narrow and empty, it's crazy. This was pretty much a quick update, but I've got another beauty story coming up about what happened on the train this morning. I was starting to feel like I didn't have much to blog about, and seconds later some shit goes down, so hang on I'll write it up as soon as possible.

Angry Neil

Contesting with the Côte

Nice is nice:

When arriving in Nice the first thing to do is ask yourself "Do you feel lucky? Well, do ya, punk?" The second thing do is make sure that no one heard you kick out a bad Clint impression, then answered the question truthfully, because if the answer is anywhere near "No", then do not stay at Hotel Pastoral. It is a hostel full of "Character"... or something that makes it "unique". Drop your stuff off, don't touch anything, and head down the main drag towards the beach (if it is still under construction, as it was during our stay, don't worry, they won't start bashing around until 2:30 or 3 in the old AM, this fun can be heard from Pastoral). Climb the Colline du Chateau and after catching your breath and resting your legs (I seem to be either out of shape or permenantly exhauted; I choose the later as it makes me feel better about myself when I see all the old ladies that have made it to the top of these monster hikes) gaze out over the hills of the coast, covered in a beautiful red that lines the roof tops of the Nice houses. From the top of the world decide which beach you want to plant your flag in for the afternoon. Below at the water's edge the waves crash in on Rock covered beaches. Don't worry, the rocks heat up in the sun and most people pay handsomely for this type of spa message. Later listen to the tourists tourist-it-up as they complain about the "Stupid rocks! Ruining their Beach!" Spend more time at the beach then we did. Enjoy the soft sea water of the Mediterranean. Don't look for topless bathers; you won't like want you see. Don't take a towel, lie right on the rocks, and later let the sun dry you off, then throw your sandels back on and try it all over again at your next beach of choice. In the evening walk the promenade with your favorite beverage. Listen to the street performers, watch the roller-bladers, and take on as many French conversations as you can; the people of Nice are... nice, and will want to hear of your travels, in your Canadian accent. And feel free to allow yourself to protect the attractive American girls from the late night punks "Hey, Pal, she's with me, got it". More often then not they turn out to be all talk and you'll end up laughing it up and they'll join you crew, but more importantly, everyone loves a hero. The rest of your time in Nice should be spent wandering the streets of the Old town, taking in the church scene, and visiting the outdoor restaurants and cafes. And make certain to frequent the bakeries (this stands for all of France). Try it all; the baguettes, the croissants, the pain au chocolate (oh heaven). Nice is the start of every good Holiday on the Cote d'Azur (also listen to the Johnny Favorite Orchestra's song, same name, while along the Riviera)


Slacking in St. Raphael:

The train ride is 45 minutes to Frances Florida, and the definition of relaxation along the Cote. We arrived to find a slow-paced, restful beach town, lined with resorts that open up onto the sandy beaches (the complainers are out of luck here, no rocks). The average age of the St. Raphael's scene appears to be significantly older then that of the Nice promenade. It feels like the R&R atmosphere of retirement, and I loved every second of it. The streets are beautiful, but it's entirely possible to miss the town itself as the comfort of the sandy coast can swallow you up for an entire afternoon.


The Fame of Cannes:

Rome has its Ruins, Amsterdam its Red Lights, Pisa its tower; Cannes is all about its festivals. Try as you will to stay on the wide, sandy beaches, or tour the promenade along the coast; inevitably you will be drawn to the Palais des Festivals. You can feel the movie star vibe still lingering from the spring Festival. Wander along the park in front of the theatre and try to find the hand prints of your favorite big names. Once you have had your fill (which may take a while if you are traveling with Neil or John) climb the Tour du Mt. Chevalier and see how Cannes compares to its sister cities along the Riviera. You can only leave knowing you will be back.

Monte Carlo's Money in Monaco:

Head in the other direction and find the glitz and glamer of the rich and famous in Monaco. Spend the €10 to get into the Casino so you too can feel like you've made it to the final table in Super Nintendo's Vegas Stakes. Let the roulettes table slowly and painfully take your €25, it's worth the excitement. Leave the Casino before you have to (need to eat right... and eventually leave Europe, so don't lose it all...). Walk any part of Monte Carlo Raceway and wish that the Ferraries and Maseratties that fill the cits streets were yours. Window shop along the docks for the biggest and best in Yachts (I didn't know it, but turns out I really, really want a yacht). Pay €3 to get into The Collection de Voitures Anciennes de SAS Le Prince de Monaco (turns out I now want to be a Prince too). Whether or not you are a car connoisseur, you can't deny a century of the world's best. Don't get caught in the same storm we did (this is an excuse to hide out in the Casino). Realize that Monaco is definitely a place you could live in, and live well.


The most important part of your trip to the Cote d'Azur is to see it. Take the train up and down the beautiful coast, and watch the Riviera reveal its secrets. Stop everywhere. Sample the food, the beaches, the promenades. And above all, if nothing else, the most important thing is to go for more then 3 days. Now I ask myself the last question "When can I go back?"