Versailles

Flashback: Paris. On day 3, Jaco, Candice and I went to Versailles to explore the palace.

Seriously beautiful and seriously over the top.

The trees were manicured to within an inch of their little twiggy lives.

No Photoshop, Seriously

The palace itself was a testament to excess and royal insanity.

At odds with the beautiful gold-leafed everything was an art exhibit, unnerving in its randomness. You see, this palace-wide sculpture installation might have been cool... Somewhere else. Somewhere that wasn't the friggin' Palace at Versailles.

What was this installation, you ask? Balloon animals. Made of steel.

Inappropriate

Quite modern and cool actually, but not when standing in front of a gorgeous mural from the French Revolution.

Uber-inappropriate

And, as if things couldn't get more arbitrary, one piece was a steel sculpture of Michael Jackson and his chimp, Bubbles.

Which of These Things is Not Like the Other?

Then we frolicked through the gardens of Marie Antoinette. That party princess had a serious party house with a serious party yard.

Jaco took a pic of me with my serious face:

Don't Mess with the German-Egyptian Frenchman

One more beautiful night in Paris, and then we flew to London to finish the Eurotour with Miley (to be continued).

Who's This Andre Gill, Anyway?

Ah yes. Back to my EuroStory. From October. I'm that far behind.

When we stepped off the train in Paris, I immediately fell in love. I was sort of geared up for disappointment. After all, how many things in life can possibly live up to my high expectations?

Well, Paris was exactly what I thought it would be: a gorgeous city full of passionate artists, intimate bistros and cheese. Lots of cheese.

Upon arrival, I checked into my impossibly tiny hostel, the Hotel Andre Gill. Yeah, they called it a Hotel, but it was a hostel. In fact, it was basically what you'd get if somebody made a French cartoon about a hostel, complete with a big spirally staircase, Japanese tourists, and the management baking croissants in the kitchen. It was sort of like living in The Triplets of Belleville, only with much less awesomeness and much more body odor.

Okay, not exactly the Ritz, but Disney was not paying for this room. I was. And I am not a person of wealth.

Proudly Displaying Our Two-Star Rating

After checking in, I crammed myself and my bags into the smallest elevator in Europe.

I attempted to turn around while in the elevator, but my backpack and the tiny lift prevented any of that nonsense. This was the kind of elevator one could only "back out" of.

Oh also, my room was on the 6th floor, and the elevator only went to the 5th. Why?

One should not ask questions at the Hotel Andre Gill. If one does, that question may lead to other questions. Like perhaps:

• Why is my bed made for a little person?
• Why is there only a closet and a sink in my room, and no toilet?
• Why is the toilet on the 6th floor out-of-order, forcing me to walk down the stairs, in the dark, in the middle of the night, in my boxer shorts?
• Which leads to, why is there no light in the hallway?
• Why, when I finally do reach the 5th floor toilet, is the light broken, forcing me to try and aim properly in the dark?
• Why, when I want to (heaven forbid) actually shower, do I have to walk to the 5th floor, take the elevator to the 1st floor, and then wait in line for the only shower in the entire building?

So... One should not ask questions at the Hotel Andre Gill.

Apparently, Andre Gill was a famous caricaturist. Just take a moment to let that sink in.

But none of that mattered anyway, because I was in Paris (!), and I certainly planned on spending as little time as possible in my Hotel/hostel.

So out I went. First, to the Eiffel Tower:


Then, to gorge on EuroSweets:

I had quite an adventurous day out, riding the trains, meeting Parisians, speaking pigeon-French.
___________

The following day, I met up with Jamie, Jaco and Candice for a little museum hopping. First, the Rodan museum, for a little sculpture 101.

Staring Contest

The Thinker(s)

Consoling the Inconsolable

Okay, that last one wasn't in the Rodan museum. Because in Paris, there's just random sculpture on the streets. It's like a big art explosion. Otherwise known as "Mike Schmid's New Favorite Place."

At the end of that day, Jamie and I took a little tour of Monmarte: him because he's all cultured n' stuff, and me because I like Amelie.

Sacre Coeur Basillica was a sight to behold: partially because it is a marvel of architechture, and partially because the French insisted on partying hard in front of said marvel, creating a depressing and ironic sight:


Oh, Paris. Even your flaws are strangely artful.

The next day, we checked out Notre Dame, The Musee D'Orsay, The Latin Quarter and...just everything awesome. Lots of walking, lots of bread & dairy, and great...great escargot.

The final day, we went to Versailles. (Next entry).

The Republic Can't Feel Your Pain

"Prague...You'll come back a bug."
Grover, Kicking & Screaming

On the train from Berlin to Prague, there was a very distinct point at which we realized we were no longer in Germany. It looked like this:

In our travels to London, Amsterdam and Berlin, we had seen McDonalds, Starbucks, H&M...all the same stuff we see at home. Things weren't really that different. You could usually find someone who spoke English.

Prague, on the other hand... Prague doesn't care about you. It doesn't care that you are lost or cold or hungry. It says, "You're in the Czech Republic now, fool. Deal with it."

And we loved that about it. But not at first.

When we arrived, it was a Sunday night around 8pm-ish. The train station was dirty and filled with sketchy-looking people. We were all creeped out. So we quickly jog-walked to the exit. Above ground, the streets were empty. There was an eerie calm in the city.

We wanted out immediately. But instead, we went to dinner. At a restaurant called "People." I thought perhaps we would be on the menu.

Alas, tasty tasty food at (what I think were) reasonable prices.

In Prague, the currency is Czech Crowns, which has to be the dumbest currency ever. Want an ice cream cone? That'll be 45 crowns. Wanna see a string quartet concert? 250 crowns. I about had a heart attack when I went to the ATM and withdrew 2000 crowns (approx $120). Of course, it all starts to make more sense after a couple days.

While we definitely felt we weren't in Kansas anymore, there were a couple modern blights to remind us of home:

Day 2. During the daylight, the city was much more beautiful, and much less sketchy.

Jaco, Candice, Jamie and I decided to make our own walking tour of the city. Spotting a castle on a far-of hillside, we decided to walk. It was up a very, very tall hill, of these:

Knee Pain, Just for You!

At the top, we toured the giant castle, as well as the cathedral next door.

Took 3 Whole Weeks to Build!

After that, we walked around the city, watching painters paint on the bridge, puppeteers puppeting in shops, and the aforementioned string quartet concert. A gorgeous day. By the end, nobody wanted to leave Prague. Except me. I was too psyched about Paris!

Ich Bin Ein Berliner

We took the Eurorail from Amsterdam to Berlin.

We headed straight to Brandenburg Gate, and started soaking in history immediately.

Okay, so neither Candice, Jaco nor I had any clue what the historical significance of this gate was. We even read the big plaque thingy. Basically, it had something to do with fighting for independence. Anyway, it was big and pretty and important.

Moving on.

We went to a "traditional German restaurant," whatever that meant. Well, that meant wieners.

And heavy, starchy weightiness in our bellies.

Imagine the digestive tornado to follow. Germans have cast-iron intestines.

We then proceeded to ride the subway everywhere.

We met some really awesome German folks, who became our new friends. Partying ensued. At one point, we had a big sing-along. The Germans sang Kate Nash, the Americans sang Third-Eye Blind (okay, well Jaco did). But everybody knew all the lyrics to Oasis. It's universal.

Eventually we found our way to a party that everybody in town seemed to be talking about. Super "underground." (Of course, how "underground" could it be if everybody was talking about it?) It was a giant dance party held in a former power plant.

Note the 3rd Floor Rocking Out

There was much dancing and frolicking and stumbling about.

On the way home, I noticed that someone had written "Someday you will be loved" on a car window:
It was late, I was not-quite-coherent, and I had only seen German written everywhere. For these reasons, I suddenly felt very emotional, and started taking approximately 973 pictures of said window. Jaco and Candice had to convince me of my lameness and pull me away from the car.

And thus the night ended.

Back to our cheap little hostel we went.

Cheap Hostel Room for Three, Please

As we were totally slumming it, Jamie wanted nothing to do with us, and rented a beautiful apartment elsewhere in Berlin. I'm sure he was having fun, but we were roughing it.

Day two: we strolled down the Berlin wall.

The Most Berlin-y Picture I've Ever Seen

Over the next two days, I decided to brush up on my German (I took a few years of it in high school, but had since forgotten much). And there was more dancing. More partying. More taking the subway all over German creation.

Hot Girls On Bikes

Amsterdam. Beautiful, beautiful Amsterdam.

After BBC Switch, Jaco, Candice, Jamie and I flew from London to Holland for a little time off.

We stayed on this houseboat.

Which was very exciting,

and showcased a gorgeous view at night.

The streets were full of people on bicycles, flying every which way. It seemed incredibly dangerous to me; I always felt on the verge of being mowed down by some two-wheeled maniac.

One of Jamie's good friends wrote a song about the city, called "Hot Girls on Bikes," due to the scorching hotness of said girls on said bikes. They all looked like models...whizzing past us at high speeds. Jamie was totally into it, because he just likes to look, and not actually talk to girls he finds attractive. I didn't love it as much. By the time I even noticed them, they were already gone. Somehow though, it seemed a fitting metaphor for my lovelife.

Amsterdam is all about Overwindowing

We spent 3 days walking, relaxing, eating, walking, going to museums, eating, walking, and massaging our aching feet. The Van Gogh museum was quite moving.

Our final day in town was punctuated by an extremely random and violent hailstorm, which was kinda fun.

Hail on the houseboat next door.

Then we were off to Berlin.

BBC Switch

About a month ago, when we first arrived in London, I was immediately stricken by the sheer Britishness of it all. Somehow, it was even more British than I was expecting:

The UK is a Cartoon Version of Itself.

For Real, Though.

But of course, we weren't there to sight-see; we were there to work.

We were playing a show called BBC Switch, which was aimed firmly at teens. No one over 19 in the crowd, which meant no parents, which meant a room full of crazy adolescent Brits. The energy in that room was electric, and we all had a blast.

Backstage, Kelly Osbourne interviewed Miley, surrounded by every camera in the United Kingdom...and made her do the limbo, for some unknowable reason:

Afterwards, the band went to The Defectors Weld, which has a dress code I will never understand. You are not allowed entry if you're wearing a hat. Okay, fine. So this just means they expect a certain higher level of dress, right? Well, no. You are also not allowed in if you're wearing formalwear. Wha-what? So you've got to just be right-down-the-middle then. The principal of this made me want to leave immediately. I don't wanna be anywhere that particular.

We stayed for a few drinks, and then Clay, Nadia and I left for a very special British treat:

Magnum Classic. Best Ever.

Yummy yummy ice cream.

On the way home, we saw this sign:

Anyone Wanna Take a Crack at Interpreting This One?