(175): Nice

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Before we begin, here are some pictures from Antibes.

(175) is Wednesday, 30 June 2010.

After class, Kristin took us (the CEA kids) to Nice for the afternoon. We mostly walked around with a few notable highlights.

First stop was a climb up stairs on a hillside near the water for a few very impressive panoramic views. We got ice cream (those delicious Magnum bars... the one with vanilla ice cream covered in white chocolate is, in the words of Jon Fuller, my Aderol of choice) and that combined with the breeze was entirely refreshing.

We also saw a few shops and food stands. I bought and shared these deep-fried nuggets of fresh whitefish that were quite good.

We also went to the Marc Chagall museum, which apparently a lot of people don't know about. That's a shame in my opinion, because Chagall makes the single most joyous use of color among any painter whose work I've ever seen. This museum (which Chagall himself helped design before his death in the late 1980s), naturally, has a great collection, including some lovely stained glass of Chagall's making.

Here are the day's pictures.
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(167): Patchwork

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I'm catching up, I am...! Here are the day's pictures.

(167) is Tuesday, 22 June 2010.

There's one thing that really bothers me, and to explain it, I'd like you to look at this piece of my map of Europe. This is the map I used to plan out this entire month-long loop. It's not too detailed (which might explain why I've visited capital cities almost exclusively), but it serves to illustrate the following point:



You see how it's basically a straight shot from Prague to Luxembourg and then from Luxembourg to Paris? Seems like a downright elegant itinerary, right? Well, not if you're taking trains through Germany. They run a great system - very efficient, friendly, and generally effective - but they just send you all over the place. When I have to change modes of transportation (usually trains) a lot, I usually refer to the entire trip as "patchwork." Anyway, here was my actual itinerary:



So, in 24 hours, I would cover (however briefly) Prague, Offenburg (the 'A'), Strasbourg, Luxembourg, and Paris. And you've heard that...

...Oh. Oh, have you not heard? It was my understanding that everyone had heard.

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A-WELL-A EVERYBODY'S HEARD ABOUT THE BURG



B-B-B-BURG, BURG, BURG, B-BURG'S THE WORD
A-WELL-A BURG, BURG, BURG,
THE BURG IS THE WORD
A-WELL-A BURG, BURG, BURG,
WELL THE BURG IS THE WORD
A-WELL-A BURG, BURG, BURG, B-BURG'S THE WORD
A-WELL-A BURG, BURG, BURG,
WELL THE BURG IS THE WORD
A-WELL-A BURG, BURG, B-BURG'S THE WORD

A-WELL-A BURG, BURG, BURG, B-BURG'S THE WORD
A-WELL-A BURG, BURG, BURG,
WELL THE BURG IS THE WORD
A-WELL-A BURG, BURG, B-BURG'S THE WORD
A-WELL-A DON'T YOU KNOW ABOUT THE BURG?
WELL, EVERYBODY KNOWS THAT THE BURG IS THE WORD!
A-WELL-A BURG, BURG, B-BURG'S THE WORD

A-WELL-A EVERYBODY'S HEARD ABOUT THE BURG
BURG, BURG, BURG, B-BURG'S THE WORD
A-WELL-A BURG, BURG, BURG, B-BURG'S THE WORD
A-WELL-A BURG, BURG, BURG, B-BURG'S THE WORD
A-WELL-A BURG, BURG, B-BURG'S THE WORD
A-WELL-A BURG, BURG, BURG, B-BURG'S THE WORD
A-WELL-A BURG, BURG, BURG, B-BURG'S THE WORD
A-WELL-A BURG, BURG, BURG, B-BURG'S THE WORD
A-WELL-A BURG, BURG, BURG, B-BURG'S THE WORD
A-WELL-A DON'T YOU KNOW ABOUT THE BURG?
WELL, EVERYBODY'S TALKING ABOUT THE BURG!
A-WELL-A BURG, BURG, B-BURG'S THE WORD
A-WELL-A BURG...

OFFENBURG!

...

I actually spent less than 10 minutes in Offenburg. The real highlight of the day was actually Luxembourg. Bit of background: my dad went there on a short business trip when I was about 10 and he came back and told me how it was tiny, but it was the richest country in the world and that you could go to the north tip and stand in Germany, Luxembourg, and France all at once. It captured my imagination, so I wrote a report on it in sixth grade and have sort of always wanted to visit there.

Today was my day.

I spent much of it wandering around the (very nice) shops in Luxembourg City - the capital - which is basically a smaller, cuter, brighter version of Paris. The only big difference is the grassy valley (not really a river) running through in the middle. It reminds me of Rock Creek Park going under the bridges of DC. I found a GREAT panoramic view and a bench in the cool shade not long before my train to Paris. Simply idyllic: one of my favorite spots on Earth.

There’s not a tremendous amount to see in Luxembourg, so I was right to only plan a few hours there. But I am very glad that I went.

I finally made it back to Paris, where it took me bloody forever to find my hostel. I was staying in the Montmartre area, which was a total flip-around for the Rive-Gauche guy I've become. By the way, I don't know if I ever explained this, but you hear these terms about Paris a lot and they don't really make intuitive sense. Rive Gauche is the lower bank of Paris (where I've chronicled the vast majority of my time there) and Rive Droite is the upper half, where I was staying now.

I hit it off with the receptionist, who liked my French and told me where to find a laundromat. On my first time there, I have to say I kinda’ liked the experience. I don’t like how impersonal those places are, this one was bright and clean and I like the idea of going and sitting and having time built into your schedule to read. Nowadays it’s The Clocks, an Agatha Christie mystery (not a Coldplay song). The book employs multiple perspectives, and nonlinear storytelling and all that rather appeals to me, as I'm sure you've heard me say.

Oh, wait... you haven't heard?

"Brian, don't!"

A-WELL-A EVERYBODY'S HEARD ABOUT THE BURG
BURG, BURG, BURG, B-BURG'S THE WORD
A-WELL-A BURG, BURG, BURG, B-BURG'S THE WORD
A-WELL-A BURG, BURG, BURG, B-BURG'S THE WORD
A-WELL-A BURG, BURG, B-BURG'S THE WORD
A-WELL-A BURG, BURG, BURG, B-BURG'S THE WORD
A-WELL-A BURG, BURG, BURG, B-BURG'S THE WORD
A-WELL-A BURG, BURG, BURG, B-BURG'S THE WORD
A-WELL-A BURG, BURG, BURG, B-BURG'S THE WORD
A-WELL-A DON'T YOU KNOW ABOUT THE BURG?
WELL, EVERYBODY'S TALKING ABOUT THE BURG!
A-WELL-A BURG, BURG, B-BURG'S THE WORD
A-WELL-A BURG...

LUXEMBOURG!

BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBB... [RETCHING NOISES]... AAAH!

PA-PA-PA-PA-PA-PA-PA-PA-PA-PA-PA-PA-PA-PA-PA-PA-
PA-PA-PA-PA-PA-PA-PA-PA-PA-PA-PA-PA-PA-PA-OOMA-MOW-MOW
PAPA-OOMA-MOW-MOW
PAPA-OOMA-MOW-MOW, PAPA-OOMA-MOW-MOW
PAPA-OOMA-MOW-MOW, PAPA-OOMA-MOW-MOW
OOMA-MOW-MOW, PAPA-OOMA-MOW-MOW
PAPA-OOMA-MOW-MOW, PAPA-OOMA-MOW-MOW
PAPA-OOMA-MOW-MOW, PAPA-OOMA-MOW-MOW
OOM-OOM-OOM-OOM-OOMA-MOW-MOW
PAPA-OOMA-MOW-MOW, PAPA-OOM-OOM-OOM
OOM-OOMA-MOW-MOW, PAPA-OOMA-MOW-MOW
OOMA-MOW-MOW, PAPA-OOMA-MOW-MOW
PAPA-A-MOW-MOW, PAPA-OOMA-MOW-MOW
PAPA-OOMA-MOW-MOW, OOMA-MOW-MOW
PAPA-OOMA-MOW-MOW, OOMA-MOW-MOW
PAPA-OOM-OOM-OOM-OOM-OOMA-MOW-MOW
OOM-OOM-OOM-OOM-OOMA-MOW-MOW
OOMA-MOW-MOW, PAPA-OOMA-MOW-MOW
PAPA-OOMA-MOW-MOW, OOMA-MOW-MOW

WELL DON'T YOU KNOW ABOUT THE BURG?
WELL, EVERYBODY KNOWS THAT THE BURG IS THE WORD!
A-WELL-A BURG, BURG, B-BURG'S THE WORD
PAPA-OOMA-MOW-MOW, PAPA-OOMA-MOW-MOW...

(147-149): I can't escape from Rupert Goold.

Here are the pictures.

DRAMATIS PERSONNAE

Andy: 21 years old, spending a few days in London as part of his loop around Europe. He is, among other things, a food and theater enthusiast.

Marshall: 22 years old, Andy’s classmate from elementary school who is hanging around London after a semester studying history at King’s College. He is, among other things, a self-described food, beer, and film enthusiast.

Weird Indian Guy: Mid-thirties, the man sleeping in the bed below Andy’s at the hostel.

I had actually seen Marshall in Paris a week or two prior (during the time between Berlin and my Music in Cinema exam). Marshall finished his exams around the time I finished most of mine and decided to hop down to Paris for a few days. He knew I was there, so we met up. I told him that I would be doing the same: and so I was now.

(147) is Wednesday, 2 June 2010.

After getting settled in and generally putting my life in order, Marshall and I went to Princi, a quasi-casual Italian eatery in Soho. You can find it here, and I highly recommend you do, because… how best to phrase this… I hadn’t had Italian food since Rome, and it was still delectable. Pretty reasonably priced too, given that it’s in, well, London. Interesting concept for this place: you order like a cafeteria, and then take your food on trays to tables or — if those are taken — to these stand-and-eat tables scattered around the restaurant. As Marshall explained, it’s a more flexible, casual take on a high-quality ristorante.

Afterward, Marshall took me to his favorite pub near King’s College where we had a pint (I found a wheat beer that was actually not the worst thing I’ve ever had) and discussed (among a few other things) world history, the nature of logic, our college experiences, and why we went abroad.

I’ve been making a slight effort in the last year or so to reconnect with people with whom I’ve either lost touch or with whom I’ve never been in touch as much as I’d like. My working theory (yes, science kids, I know it’s technically a “hypothesis”) is that I’ve known a lot of all-around fantastic people in my time, but in many cases it was the wrong time of my life to get to know them. Marshall is a case-in-point; in elementary school, he was one of the sports kids, and I was the kid who got knocked down each (very rare) time I decided to join in football… touch football. But here we are now — almost ten years later — having a substantive, genial conversation over a pint in an English pub. I love London (I went there with my folks back in 2008 and wrote some notes about it on Facebook - about as rambling as this blog!), but for all the sites and shows and good food, seriously getting to know a childhood classmate on better terms was probably the best part.

After the pint, we were both pretty tired, so I headed back to the hostel, where the lights in my room were on, three people were sleeping, and Indian Guy (for now he's just Indian Guy... wait for it) was in the bunk below mine reading a medical journal. I’m not trying to be one of those obnoxious, semi-ageist backpackers who thinks hostels should be 20-somethings only; if all you want (and want to pay for) is a bed to sleep in for a couple of nights, a hostel is a good solution for anybody. But, that said, a hostel guest in his mid-30s with a Blackberry and a medical journal in hand is a statistical anomaly. I shrugged and got ready for bed. When I got back from the bathroom and tucked myself in, Indian Guy’s Blackberry rang — full volume. He answers it. Without leaving the room. Despite 3 people asleep (and one Andy on the waiting list). Takes him maybe a minute to finish his call. Then he gets up, turns off the light, and goes back to his bed.

Now he’s Weird Indian Guy.

(148) is Tursday, 3 June 2010.

Marshall tried valiantly to get us groundling tickets to Macbeth at the Globe, but they were sold out for a week solid. I was disappointed, ‘cause that would have been sweet.

I got sushi at Pret À Manger, a French-named, English-run chain restaurant. They’re everywhere, and in my opinion, they give chains a good name. As a Vassar student, I inevitably encounter the local-versus-corporation discussion pretty often. Here’s my take: as long as a business charges reasonable prices for a good product that I want, I don’t usually care if most of the other such products are physically identical. Now, I’ll try to find a good local place if I’m travelling, but everybody eats at Pret: it’s a local chain. Get it?

London is where I first learned to love sushi, by the way. Last time, though, not now.

After eating, I spent 2+ sunny, blue-sky hours walking through the gorgeous Hyde Park listening to my favorite feel-good music.

I met Marshall at Trafalgar Square and we saw the National Gallery for a while. Afterward, it was getting on food time, so we stopped into a pub near Westminster for fish and chips (which I’d been craving) and a pint (which was a little too hopsy for me).

“Food time” is earlier than “dinner time” because I had to make a 7:30 curtain for All My Sons, an Arthur Miller play starring David Suchet. For those of you too lazy (or too sick of my linking you to things) to click on that IMDB shortcut, he played Agatha Christie’s Hercule Poirot on TV and — more importantly to me — the arms dealer in the 2003 remake of The In-Laws. It’s largely thanks to him that that movie is one of my favorite comedies of all time.

As for the show itself, I got student-priced (10-pound) seats on the side that had kinda’ crappy visibility (although I was close to the stage) and the first act was a little slow, but the performances were great and Act II was amazing.

It’s just such a treat to see my favorite actors live; one, they’re right there. Secondly, and more importantly I think, when they’re onstage, you’re not just being one of the hundreds of millions of numbers in their box office returns and you’re not worshiping them from afar. I always enjoy knowing that — for two and a half hours — your favorite celebrity has nothing better in the world to do than to entertain you in person. I think we often get lost in the reversal.

Back at the hostel, Weird Indian Guy takes another 11:30 PM phone call while half the room is asleep.

(149) is Friday, 4 June 2010.

I woke up at 8 to beat the line again at TKTS, the famous discount theater ticket booth in Leicester Square (and Times Square**). And Weird Indian Guy was gone.

…And then Weird Indian Guy came back from the bathroom.

So, after stopping by TKTS and another box office, I poked around the London Bridge area a bit before meeting Marshall. Our big event for the day was the Borough Market, home to many, many food vendors. Fish and chips (I was downright binging at this point, but it was wonderful), cheese, desserts, Turkish delight, bread, produce, meat, a place with a huge beer selection... whatever you want, it’s all there.

From here, we walked all over… the Tower Bridge, St. Paul’s, the Temple Church**, Marshall’s academic building at King’s college for a semi-panoramic (is that just “ramic”?) view of the city, and a bus mixup on our way back to Leicester Square. We had pub food (Shepherd’s pie this time) and discussed what it means to be a light spirits (versus dark spirits or beer) kind of guy. I learned a lot about beer this month, and I’m kind of glad.

Okay, so I think it’s time I finally explain the title of this entry. At the box office this morning, I picked up two tickets (Marshall accompanied me) to Enron, a brilliant play by Lucy Prebble about the rise and fall of the titular company. It’s basically a classical tragedy about the guys behind it all, which I knew almost nothing about beforehand (although Marshall told me they got the history pretty much right on). I got the tickets for good (student) prices that morning, I felt optimistic, and then I walked by the ads outside the theater. You know, the ones where they show a picture and somebody’s review. Well, one of these mentions Rupert Goold’s brilliant mise-en-scene.

Oh, bullocks…

Mr. Goold has directed many high-profile shows in the last few years. I have seen more plays under his direction than any other contemporary director I can think of (I can only name just one or two others).

And I hate his style. It usually involves loud, staticky TV screens, harsh fluorescent lighting, and enough self-reflexivity and general experimental theater tactics to make even Vassar theater majors nauseous.

Over two years ago, I went to see Macbeth at the Brooklyn Academy of Music with my Shakespeare class. Patrick Stewart was terrific as the title character. The directorial style didn’t get in the way that much, but it was still weird. Then, six months later, in London, my folks and I saw Six Characters in Search of an Author, Luigi Pirandello's modernist play where six characters, whose play was never finished, come to a real-life play rehearsal and insist their story be staged. Goold did a big reworking of the original script (which I later read… not that good) and turned it into this bizarre, creepy, staticky-screen-filled self-reflexive trip of a play. My father still gets props for indulging me and sitting through the whole thing.*** So, when I saw that this show was the same director — making for three shows of his I’d seen in just over two years — I laughed, shook my head, and muttered the title of the entry.

BUT...

...I will have you know that everything about this production of Enron was outstanding. Sarah Rebell, my source on the Broadway world, tells me this same production wasn’t so popular in New York, which I think is a shame because now it's certain (as opposed to highly likely) that none of you will ever know what I'm talking about.

Not that's ever stopped me before.

I think Rupert Goold’s multimedia approach to theater works a lot better in a story that takes place in the 90s and 2000s and on the stock market, where screens and fluorescent lights play a natural part of the environment, anyway. It was just a much better fit of director and script, a script that is so tightly written, often quite funny, and encompasses a great story and character arc. It also does an outstanding, smooth job of bringing uninitiated viewers like me into the fold on complex economic ideas and business practices. I bought a copy of the script at the theater, so I highly encourage you to borrow it from me if you’re interested.

Marshall and I said our goodbyes after the show, agreeing to meet up again back in Washington.

I went back to the hostel to find Weird Indian Guy checking his email on his Blackberry.

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Footnotes are not a girl’s best friend. That’s because they aren’t diamonds.

* THERE’S ALSO ONE ON HARBOR STREET. It’s like it’s some big secret or something… you can go to this other location and get the same great deals but with far fewer lines. Granted, it’s a much less convenient location and it’s harder to leave and go right to the theaters and see what they offer. But if you don’t really care what you see and just want good prices, consider making the trip.

** My folks and I had tried to get into this one the last time, but it was closed when we visited. I got in just as they were closing, so I took a few shots before they ushered me back out. It’s in the album: nice church. I’m glad I didn’t miss it twice.

*** I didn’t love it, obviously, but I try to show respect and stick around. There are only two performances I’ve ever left early because I disliked them; one was an animated movie that scared me when I was three, and the other was the movie Serendipity when it was in theaters and my mother dragged me to it one day.

(105-109): Roma, Ro-ma-ma...

Ga-ga, oh la... la. Er, right. Moving on.

(105) is Wednesday, 21 April 2010.

Maybe I'm becoming a bitter old man, but I have to comment on how we got to Rome via the noisiest train ride of my life. There was a battalion of kids between 10 and 11-and-a-half either yelling or snapping pictures of themselves and friends and then looking at their portraits and shouting "Facebook! Facebook!" Oh, well. Only two hours' ride, and the countryside was great.

After checking into The Yellow (pretty standard as hostels go), Dan and I got a very tasty lunch at a nearby restaurant. We spent the rest of the day wandering the city and getting a feel for it in the following order:

Repubblica, walking distance from the hostel, had this really cool church next to it: big and open, very beautiful, with a pendulum (something about Galileo) on display.

The Spanish steps, where-- as always-- there were throngs of people. Today, though, a big army orchestra was playing. Apparently Dan and I picked Rome's Birthday, a local holiday, to arrive and walk around. I was especially tickled when they played this song, featured in my favorite Italian movie, 8 1/2. The steps also afford you a rooftop view of most of Rome. No city does rooftops quite like Paris, but this was still a neat photo-op.

Then there was a neat old pillar that's on most tourist maps.

We found more military music at another piazza. I was grinning because I got to hear-- are you ready for the Coldplay reference?-- Roman cavalry choirs singing.

The Wedding Cake, as most romans mock it, is a huge building built to look like ancient Roman architecture would have. But it sorta' fails. It's not far from the coliseum.

Piazza Navona was next (even a cursory look at a map of Rome will give you a sense of just how erratic our path was), and here we went to the gelato place at either 28 or 30 Piazza Navona. They're famous for Tartufo, a sphere of chocolate gelato-based dessert kept nice and cold. Worth every one of those 5 euros. Beautiful twilight was coming in on the piazza as well. This is one thing I love about Rome: the buildings are painted to catch twilight perfectly. I can't think of another city I've been to that is so beautifully suited to its natural environment.

The fountain at the Piazza Navona was under renovation, but you know what? The Trevi Fountain is a pretty good substitute. For those who don't know it, it's a marvelous (or should I say MARBLE-OUS?!) sculpted fountain depicting roman gods and other naked figures (apparently every day was Casual Friday back then). Epic site, and always full of people taking pictures and agreeing with that sentiment.

We then met up with Meredith, a good friend of mine from Vassar studying Art History this semester in Rome. She and her friends took me and Dan to this really good restaurant that I couldn't for the life of me direct you back to (it's on this secluded little piazza). Great food, though, and when you're in Italy, always get the table wine because it's reasonably priced and always good.

(106) is Thursday, 22 April 2010.

Dan and I started with the Forum ruins near the Wedding Cake and the Coliseum. Pretty cool to walk around, although like a lot of Rome's other attractions that fall into the category of "old stuff," you don't need to spend huge amounts of time there to get the idea. Very cool to see close up, though, and Culture Week was still our friend.

It is at this point in our story that Liz and Kirill finally catch up with us, after having spent 5 days in Paris's Charles-de-Gaulle airport and its environs. We found them at Termini* and took them to get settled at the hostel and course-correct for the next few days of our travel.

The next discovery was a delight. There's a little to-go pizza place just around the corner from the hostel. I'm getting hungry again just thinking about it... no, wait, I'm sorry. That's from being in Paris, where food is also good, but it's nowhere near as filling (and therefore satisfying) as in Rome. The pizza place had crunchy-crust pizza, any sort of combination of toppings, and low prices. I got a lot of pizza with cheese, pieces of potato, and bacon. REAL bacon-- not the small bits of ham that Paris tries to pass off as the good stuff. That pizza was greasy and wonderful. We would be back. I'd recommend this place, but even better than the food was this fact: pizza that good is everywhere in Rome.

We hit the coliseum next, where we took pictures and decided that the passageways in the center of the coliseum (under the now crumbled arena floor, these housed animals and gladiators/victims in ancient times) would be one of the best places in the world for a game of laser tag, especially when you fill the coliseum with spectators. Meredith then found us, and we hung out at Circus Maximus, where an Earth Day concert was happening. We all talked and eventually found dinner in the southwest part of town (across the Tiber from Circus Maximus), which is supposedly where students go to bars and otherwise hang out. We got a decent dinner at a place with crazy low prices.

Big discovery of the meal: prosciutto ham and melon. Anybody who knows me and my 7-year-old eating habits can have a good laugh imagining my face when I saw this as an appetizer. In line with those habits, it picked it because none of the other appetizers caught my interest any better. But it worked. I can't explain it-- really, I figure there is no explanation-- for why these two foods got along, but I can tell you right now that I will be living off of this combination for the next decade or so of preparing my own food.

And, because two great discoveries aren't enough today (or because 3 is the magic number), Meredith did us the great service of taking us to The Gelato Place. Now, any gelato shop that claims to be "artigianale" (meaning "homemade") is going to be good, but this place was just a charming experience. The manager is this very sweet middle-aged Italian guy who loved to smile and laugh and make jokes. My favorite part was when I asked him for a cone with three scoops, picked two (caramel and vanilla), and then got stuck on the third. I asked him what he would pick for the third flavor. He gave me this really good cookies and cream sort of flavor that, sure enough, finished the combo perfectly.** I left that shop with a big smile fueled by delicious ice cream and genuine Italian hospitality.

(107) is Friday, 23 April 2010.

We spent Dan's last day in Rome showing him as much art-and-humanities stuff as we could: today was Vatican Day. And how better to start it than being IN the Vatican with Liz's iPod and listening to Tom Lehrer's 'The Vatican Rag'.

There are a few smaller museums that actually have some really neat stuff... I was particularly taken with a few-- I want to say terra cotta?-- statues of angels that were partially broken, revealing the wire and hay on the insides. These otherwise beautiful, classical statues-- "broken angels," as I like to call them-- were my favorite image of this whole museum complex. And that's saying something, because the Vatican is the biggest small country I have ever been through. One of the reasons I probably didn't like it when I was 12... lots of hallways full of painstakingly elaborate rooms. Beautiful, yes, but the main walkthrough is so long that it gets a little gratuitous after a while. What's worse is that the famous Sistine Chapel is all the way at the end, by which time I was too tired and overstimulated by art to be able to appreciate it. And there's SO much art to appreciate in that room.***

Then there was St. Peter's Basilica, which floored all of us. So many photos...

We then walked along the river for a while and eventually found an okay dinner, which turned out to be two blocks from the super-inexpensive place from the night before. Thus, it was also near The Gelato Place, where we took this picture, one of my favorites of the whole trip:



We went back to the hostel and hung out for a while at the (very cool) attached bar, where we sipped limoncello and killed some time before Dan had to catch an early cab to the airport.

At some point around here-- probably a few days back-- I figured out how to put my camera in 16x9 widescreen mode. So emotionally satisfying.

(108) is Saturday, 24 April 2010.

You ever feel sometimes like these entries just don't end? Yeah, me too. Really, the only uniquely cool thing (the rest of it was uniformally cool) that we did was go to dinner with Judy Bachrach, mother of my dear friend Sam Seifman. She was teaching a journalism class at a Roman university this semester (which I mention because-- one, it's cool-- and two, that plot point will be relevant again in a few more entries). She made us very good pasta and sauce and then treated us to an excellent gelato place near her house.

We then caught a bus back to Termini and went book-browsing in the station's bookstore. I felt like doing some recreational reading for a change, so I picked up copies of Agatha Christie's The Clocks and Nick Hornby's High Fidelity (yes, the basis for the John Cusack movie).

(109) is Sunday, 25 April 2010.

Big event for today was the Borghese Gardens. We didn't get into the museum, but honestly, when you've got a frisbee and great weather, who needs it? Being able to say I once spent two hours throwing a frisbee in the Borghese Gardens in Rome with my friends is the best souvenir of Rome I think I could ask for.

I tipped Kirizabeth off to the wonders of Tartuffo at Piazza Navona (I got a 3-scoop of lemon, strawberry, and something called zambaione that was really good). We then got pizza and a taxi to Fumicino airport, from which we flew into Athens.

Paris excepted, Rome is my favorite place I've been this semester.

-Andy

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I want your footnotes and I want your revenge, you and me could write a bad romance...

* This quickly became one of my favorite train stations for a few reasons. There's the name, the good location on Rome's subway, and most importantly, one of those old-school information boards full of little rectangles that all flip and rattle and whir in a delightfully inefficient and dazzlingly choreographed display when even one field changes.

** By the way, you know the gelato's good when I go out of my way to record the flavors in the Moleskine that holds the details of each day.

*** Also to be appreciated, however, are the guards. Every 30 seconds, the guards call out "Shhh! No photo!" in a room where you're supposed to be silent. Sistine Chapel Security: defeating the purpose since 1929. For more funny info on the Vatican (and another link that most of you will never click on), check out this little gem.