Munich, Zurich, and Vienna:

After my week in Sweden and Finland, I met up with my dad in Copenhagen, as we had a good week of travel planned ourselves. After my study tour, I had about 22 hours to turn everything around, which was just enough time to unpack, do a couple loads of laundry, pack again, and show my dad around. He had been in the city for a day or two prior to my arrival, so thankfully everything wasn't crammed into one day. As it turns out, however, one day is really all we needed to check off some of the interesting sites, as we rented bikes and poked around the city for a bit. Short of going to a museum or settling into a long meal, I found that we weren't able to pass as much time as I thought, so we ended up killing a few hours over beers and a soccer game in an Irish pub in the main train station. Oddly, for some reason the pub was Boston themed, as we were greeted by large Red Sox, Celtics, Patriots, and Bruins decals on the front door. Inside was much of the same, with Boston memorabilia everywhere, although the games on the numerous screens at the time were more local.

Around 7:00, we boarded our train -- an overnighter to Munich -- and "settled" into our cabin. After spending two nights crammed into a sardine can of a berth on the Viking Line, I had thought that I was done with cramped quarters for a while, but the City Night Line was a whole different animal. Our room was barely big enough for our baggage -- let alone us -- but we made ourselves as comfortable as possible and leafed through guidebooks and magazines before getting dinner. We had a nice microwaved feast (should have just eaten at the station) on board, and then we returned to our room, where the conductor had made up our beds. I was glad that I was exhausted from my week of travel, because had I not just wanted to go to sleep immediately (it was probably 9:00), I might have been miserable. Thankfully, I passed a restful night of sleep on the top bunk before we woke up to more train food the next morning. I looked out the window at the German countryside as we approached Munich, and it was remarkable how the scenery transitioned immediately from open countryside to dense city.

We happily exited our cell in Munich and checked into our hotel, where we luxuriated in a shower and a brief nap before seeing the city. The day had looked cold from the train, but stepping outside, it was far from it. It was mid-October, and it was in the 70s without a cloud in the sky. We spent most of the day walking around Munich and taking in some of the sites, but we mostly spent our time enjoying the weather and breathing in the atmosphere of the city. We had a nice lunch outside at a tavern, where I ordered the "Bavarian board," a large plate stacked high with an enormous variety of meats and cheeses. I had decided to eat as much authentic local food as possible over the course of the trip, cholesteral be damned. After lunch we made our way to the English Garden, a massive public park designed by a British loyalist from Massachusetts, as it turned out. The park is about a mile wide by three miles long -- so long, in fact, that rather than having an "end," so to speak, it just melts into rolling farmland. We walked for a while through the park, which was packed with Germans taking in the lovely weather, and we even passed by a nude sunbather or two (the guidebook mentioned that this was popular) -- but not the good kind, if you know what I mean. We eventually reached one of the park's garden follies, a pseudo-Greek temple on the top of a small hill. From there we had a great view of Munich and the peaking fall foliage, and we rested for a while and soaked up some rays.

For some reason -- I'm not sure why -- I had imagined Munich to be more of a cold, industrial city, but I instead discovered that it is graced with the same old buildings, winding roads, and gorgeous parks of many of the nicest cities in Europe. Of those that I have been to, Munich is a favorite. After our foray into the park, it was time for a nap, something we did often over the course of the week. So we returned to the hotel, took a brief nap, and woke up in time to walk around a bit more before dinner. We ate at a nice small restaurant, where I treated myself to more of the local fare, although I can't remember which game animal I ingested specifically.

The next morning we woke up and spent a couple more hours walking around the city before boarding a train to Zurich. Seeing three places together over a week (Munich, Zurich, and Vienna), we didn't spend more than a day or two in each place, which was both good and bad. From my experience, trips are best kept short enough to see a lot of things without getting bored or long enough to settle in and be able to spend a day at home without feeling like one is wasting precious time. Ours was the former.

So we took a four-hour train ride to Zurich (no sleeper this time), where we got off, discovered that our hotel was far too distant to drag our luggage to, and hailed a cab that was, like everything in Zurich, ridiculously expensive. Our hotel was high up in the hills, and after a brief mishap due to the online booking process, we went up to our room, which thankfully seemed worth its expensive price tag. From our balcony we had an expansive view over downtown Zurich, the lake, and on to the Alps in the distance.

We ate dinner in the hotel restaurant, opting to condense most of our exploring into the next day, and marveled at just how effective the restaurant was at separating us from our money. An average meal for two usually came to just over 100 Swiss francs (1 dollar = 1.2 Swiss francs), so it was expensive.

The next day we took a shuttle into the city proper in order to do some looking around. Unfortunately, it was raining, so we were denied good views in our most scenic destination. We walked around downtown Zurich for a while, but in the rain and cold, it was not always that appealing. We went to a contemporary art museum on a whim, and although one of its two exhibits was not open, I was pleasantly surprised to see some Erwin Wurm photography in the otherwise-unimpressive second gallery. After the museum, we split up for a bit to wander around before returning to the hotel for a short break. Later, we got dinner back in town, but any after-dinner exploring was nixed by more rain, wind, and cold.

The next morning we had breakfast and went to the train station, as we had a long train ride (about nine hours) to Vienna ahead of us. A nine-hour train ride doesn't seem that appealing during a week-long adventure through central Europe, but it served two purposes, 1) giving us great views of passing lakes and mountains, and 2) keeping us from remaining in Zurich any longer and inevitably going bankrupt.

The views out the window really were spectacular, and we had a large cabin to ourselves, so the trip was quite comfortable. All the time in trains over the course of the week also gave me the chance to catch up on world news, as besides my hourly inspections of the New York Times and CNN online, I'm starved for English-language news. Watching the one or two English language television stations in each hotel room got boring quickly, too, and if I ever have to hear the word "bailout" with such frequency ever again, I might go crazy. So the trains offered a nice break and a chance to read the Herald Tribune or the Financial Times, or whatever English blurb I might happen to find.

Once in Vienna, we settled into our hotel and got dinner at a small Italian restaurant on the Ringstrasse. The restaurant was mostly empty, and we eventually discovered that this was probably due to the fact that the quality of the food was somewhere between "high school cafeteria" and "Chef Boyardee." In reality, it was fine, as it served its main purpose of filling the empty void in my stomach.

The next morning in Vienna, we went right out into the town, where we walked down the Ringstrasse and past a couple of palaces on our way to the main pedestrian area. Interesting sidenote: one in every two buildings in Vienna is a palace of some kind, or so it seems, as they are everywhere. Overwhelming though it might be, one has to appreciate the overall effect of so much Baroque architecture in one place. The city was gorgeous, and while feeling almost amusement-park-like in its uniformity, there were lots of nice places to check out.

On our way to the pedestrian street, we unknowingly wandered into a military show of some kind, and although I knew it was just a convention, something about seeing large groups of uniformed soldiers whilst in a foreign country was just a bit terrifying. Luckily, we made it through without any international incidents and proceeded on. Our first destination was one of Vienna's famed confectionary shops and cafes, where my dad and I each picked out a treat for breakfast and had some coffee and hot cocoa in the upstairs lounge. I had been fascinated with Vienna's cafe culture, as some of the best used to be hangouts for all sorts of artists, musicians, writers, and future revolutionaries (Trotsky, for one). After our burst of sugar, we took to the streets and did the touristy thing, climbing the spire of one of Vienna's main churches, where the view was less impressive than advertised (there were only a couple small windows to look out). Afterwards, there was more walking -- including an attempted trip to the riverbank until we realized it would be a ridiculously long journey and turned back -- before our daily session of pre-dinner relaxation. I took some more time to torture myself with the one English-language news station, and then we went to dinner at a tavern. I had another dinner of meat and beer (health consciousness was out the window at this point), and then we packed it in for the evening.

My dad had a flight out of Vienna the next morning, and it was crazy how fast a week went by. I guess it should come as no surprise though, as whenever one sees three spots in a week's time, it's inevitable that it will pass quickly. I saw him off from the hotel, and then I took a few more hours walking around the city on my own before heading off for my next destination. I went on an architecture tour of sorts (somehow I hadn't gotten enough of that already) and made use of Vienna's role as the birthplace of modern architecture. I saw a couple of seminal buildings from Adolph Loos, Otto Wagner, and others, and also checked out a more recent building, the architect of which I need to remember to look up. The building was almost Gaudi-esque and was adorned with bright colors, mosaics, and even plant life. It was quite a spectacle. I'm actually not even sure what it was, but I'll inevitably look it up after writing this and post a link. (...writing later, here it is.)

After a couple of hours in the city, I gathered my things from the hotel, took a taxi (relatively cheap, actually, as was much of Vienna) to the station, and waited for my train to Prague.


See more pictures from the week here.

Viking Line II: Even More Pillaging:

My time in Finland drawing to a close, I meandered through downtown Helsinki and eventually to the harbor, where my Viking Like chariot awaited me yet again. I boarded with my roommates, we admired the "view" out our "window," and we made our way to the duty free shop in order to kill the two hours before dinner. More Karhu was purchased, and we spent the pre-buffet hours shooting the breeze and putting a dent in the bears.

I also took the opportunity to go up top while it was still light out, and I was treated to a nice view of the Helsinki skyline (from the ship you are literally looking down at most of the buildings) and the harbor islands as we set off. The ship again took a ridiculous route through the harbor, and I'm pretty sure the captain was just showing off, as we passed within fifteen feet of the old fort that marks the entrance to Helsinki's waterfront.

At dinner, we all helped ourselves to more complimentary food and drink, and people were generally more responsible in their portions of both. Longevity was the name of the game for the night. After dinner we retreated to our cabins for a while, before we were booted from the hallway for being too loud. We again went up on deck, where unlike the first trip, it was absolutely freezing and there were gale-force winds. Regardless, we hunkered down wherever we could, or just leaned into the wind, and did all those things one would expect from a bunch of inebriated Americans on a ship in the middle of the Baltic.

Later, we went to the club and casino, where many moves were busted. There were no young Russians to challenge this time, but because it was a Friday night, the club was that much more energetic. There was an awesome (at least they seemed that way at the time) cover band, and we sang along with reckless abandon. I don't know if I've ever busted a move quite as hard as I did that night. We danced, we sang, we gambled -- briefly -- and everyone retired in the wee hours of the morning.

The next morning I woke up early and immediately went to the top deck, where I took in a sunrise over the Swedish coastline and enjoyed the crisp morning air. I realized we were in a long line of ships making the run to Stockholm, and I thought how odd it must be for the inhabitants of these remote Swedish coastal homes to look out each morning and see these hulking ships pass by. I suppose they get used to it.

Back downstairs, I had another hearty breakfast, packed up, and went up top with a few friends to take in Stockholm from the boat. It was a while before we were granted permission to disembark, as apparently there had been an incident on board the previous night. The boat was met by several police cars, and we watched a group of officers board the ship to settle everything before we were allowed off.

Despite the wait, I came to the conclusion that overnight ferries are the only way to travel. It's a pity that there aren't more places easily reached by water in the US, as it would be great fun to board a ship somewhere, spend the night eating, drinking, and dancing, and wake up the next morning in a new place. While many of the Scandinavians merely get on the boat to get drunk and pass a few hours in a new place the next day before reboarding and doing it all over again, I think it would be really great to incorporate ferry rides into a longer trip, as we did. While I don't think sea travel is much of an option in the states (although trips up and down the coasts could be cool), I think a cross-country party train could be awesome. For the record, in writing that down, I hold the unofficial patent on the idea. What could be better than boarding a high speed train on the coast, taking in a night of debauchery, and stepping off in some new far-flung city the next morning? I'm gonna make it happen.

After about an hour's wait, we were finally given permission to disembark, and we got back on the bus for our last day. We had a long day of driving in front of us, but first, a quick stop at Centralbadet Stockholm, the Stockholm public baths. It was a shame that the delay on the boat cut into our time there, because I could have been happy killing a full day. The building housed a central swimming pool in this ornate Art Nouveau room, with cabanas, massage rooms, and tanning beds on the sides. There were also a couple of hot tubs, steam rooms, saunas, and nearly anything else one might want to relax. We only had about 45 minutes inside, and we did a quick circuit from the locker rooms to the pool, hot tub, sauna, and steam room. The bath even had a restaurant and bar, and I could imagine no better activity for a weekend morning than sitting around in a bathrobe, sipping a fruit smoothie, and taking advantage of the various pools and amenities. When I return to Stockholm, I'll be going back.

Too soon after arriving, we all had to leave, and we got back on the bus damp but refreshed. We settled in for the eight hour drive to Copenhagen, and minus lunch at a castle in the middle of nowhere (where does DIS find these things?) and a pit stop at a rest area, we slept and watched movies all the way there. So concluded a packed week in Sweden and Finland, and my best time since being abroad.

Finland and the land of the eternally pubescent:

Our first stop in Finland was Alvar Aalto's Villa Mairea in Noormarkku, about a two-and-a-half hour drive from where we docked in Turku. While my traveling companions took advantage of the long bus ride to alternately sleep off their hangovers and deposit the contents of their stomach in the on-board toilet facilities, I became entranced by the Finnish landscape. Outside of major cities, it seems that all of Finland is covered in thick forest. Outside the windows of the bus, we passed endless stands of firs and birches draped in moss and fog. It was surreal.

We got off the bus in Noormarkku and walked a short ways through the forest to the villa. The light shining through the mist at such a low angle and silhouetting the trees created this fantasy world of moss, mist, and silence. Hobbit jokes abounded.

I was particularly excited to see the Villa Mairea, as I spent the better part of a week last year studying it for an architecture project. After having to spend hours hand-drawing all the plans, I felt like I was qualified to give tours of the place. Unfortunately, my services were not required, as there were superiorly-qualified guides already there. The inside of the house was pretty much exactly as it had been for decades; very little had changed. Sadly, we weren't allowed to take pictures inside, as the house still functions as a vacation getaway for the family, and they don't allow tours to take photos for privacy reasons. The inside of the house is hard to describe -- there are many fine details, but in general, the ground floor is just one big room that flows from space to space. Despite being in one of Aalto's most reknowned works, what impressed me most was the family's art collection. I knew from my research that the owners of the house were fabulously wealthy and that Mairea herself was a big art collector, but I still wasn't prepared. As we entered the house, we were greeted by a Calder mobile overhead, and as we passed into the main living space, we passed a Kandinsky. The walls were adorned with Matisses, Picassos, and a couple from Juan Gris, and a cast of Degas' Little Dancer Aged Fourteen stood quietly in a corner. It was like being in a museum.

Outside of the house, the landscape was still draped in the mist that seemed to cover all of Finland at midmorning. Eventually, however, the sun broke through, casting the forest in a completely new light. Because the sun comes in at such a low angle, it's easy to lose track of time in Finland. It always seems alternately like early morning or late afternoon, and the transition between the two is impossible to notice. We reveled in this as we walked from the villa to a restaurant for our lunch. We passed through fields, down tree-lined lanes, and even across a wooden bridge, and the combination of the cold, the silence, and the foliage reminded me of Thanksgiving (remember, this was more than a month ago). We were treated to a delicious buffet in a Finnish town meeting hall of some sort (or maybe a real restaurant, but it was difficult to tell), and we spilled out into the crisp air with full stomachs and high spirits. At the time, I wrote in my journal, "Is there anything better than putting on a sweater, traipsing through the mid-Fall mist and cold, and then eating a hearty meal and basking in the sun? I think not. Needless to say, Finland is awesome." And it was.

After lunch, we piled back onto the bus for another drive, which took us to traditional Finnish church built from 1763-65. Again, the landscape was incredible, as the church was built on a small peninsula that jutted out into a coldly serene lake. The church itself was actually really neat too -- this coming from a guy that has been subjected to enough chapels and churches for a lifetime -- and was an impressive display of traditional Finnish craftsmanship. A couple of us were able to climb into the belfry, which was pitch black despite the weak flashlight we held in front of us. We had to feel around for the rungs to the ladder, which was difficult as it wove and spiraled all the way around the inside. At the top, we could barely see anything, but just for kicks I set my camera up for a 60-second exposure which illuminated most of the room and captured the brief flashes of my peers' cameras.

The highlight of that first day in Finland (and perhaps the whole trip) was the activity we had planned for that night. We stayed in a hostel in the middle of rural Finland, and DIS had rented out a sauna on a lake that we would be using for the night. On the way there, we made a quick stop at a supermarket to pick up food for the night -- we all would be responsible for cooking our own food in the kitchen or on the fire at the sauna -- and we all spent a bit of time trying to figure out what the word for "reindeer" was in Finnish. Hey, when in Finland, do as the Finns do. We never ended up figuring it out conclusively, but we grabbed some meat and vegetables and planned to do some roasting over the fire.

Once at the hostel we dropped our stuff and made the short walk to the lake and the sauna. As it turned out, there were two large saunas and locker rooms inside this main house, which also held the kitchen and gathering area. A fire was built in the main central fireplace for cooking, and while some people started preparing their food, I went straight for the sauna. Saunas are a huge part of Finnish culture -- the country has 1.6 million saunas for 5 million people -- and are a part of both social gatherings and general relaxation. Although a room intended to make you sweat seems like the last place you'd want to consume alcohol, apparently this is common in Finland. We had been made aware of this fact ahead of time, and we stocked up on the some beers when we bought our food.

Most of the night was spent running between the sauna, where we talked, drank a couple beers, and nearly suffocated ourselves from the amount of steam we created by throwing water on the rocks, and the lake, where we sprinted down the dock, jumped in, and tried to make it to the ladder before our bodies succumbed to complete paralysis. It was probably about 40 degrees outside, and the water couldn't have been much warmer. Nevertheless, it was an awesome experience, and as I became completely obsessed with the sauna I forgot to eat most of my food for the night. By 11:00, it was time to clean up, shower off, and return to the hostel, where many of us talked for a couple of hours before retiring for the night.

The next morning I awoke, my skin feeling great, but my head...not so much. I had wondered what the effects of drinking alcohol and serious dehydration would be, and I soon found out that while the perspiration from the sauna keeps you from feeling drunk in the moment, by the next morning your body knows what happened. Thankfully, all it took was a couple glasses of water to offset my severe dehydration before I was ready to go and got back on the bus prepared for another day's adventures.

Our first stop was Saynatsalo, the site of Alvar Aalto's famous town hall complex. It was pretty nice, but by this point in the trip, I was getting tired of looking at architecture. Instead, I wandered around outside and took advantage of the cold air. I was immediately rewarded for my wandering ways, as I stumbled upon a series of posters that depicted the various candidates for Finland's upcoming municipal elections.

A word on Finland: While Finland itself is a gorgeous country, the same cannot be said of its people. Where Sweden and Denmark are truly Scandinavian, replete with the required beautiful blondes, Finland seems to be under more of a Russian influence. The people are odd, to say the least. I had first noticed it in the grocery store the previous day (quite frankly, it was a Finnish equivalent of a Wal-Mart, which should say it all), but the Finns as a people seem to be the kids to who spent too much time at the mall during middle school. Finland is essentially an enormous mall food court, where alternating groups of kids with bad haircuts, awkward facial hair, and too many piercings walk around decked out in heavy metal shirts, chain wallets, and nearly anything else you can buy at Hot Topic. I'd like to say that I'm just stereotyping, or that my sample size is far too small, but nearly everywhere I went, that's all it was: metal shirts and prolonged pubescence.

Many of the candidates for the Finnish municipal elections fit the stereotype, and I laughed out loud at several. The Kommunist party took the cake, however, and if you look at the picture below (it's worth clicking on and really inspecting each person individually), you'll understand what I'm saying. I really hope some of them got elected.

Eventually we left the town hall and went to Jyvaskyla University, another Aalto design. Again, I puttered around a bit, mostly disinterested, before we grabbed lunch in the school cafeteria and moved on to the Aalto Museum, which was nearby. In the Aalto Museum I perused the gift shop for Christmas presents or souvenirs, but most things were prohibitively expensive. Around this time I also came to the conclusion that Alvar Aalto probably makes up 25% of Finland's GDP through tourism, design, and souvenirs. The guy is everywhere.

That night we had dinner on the harbor in Lahti before taking a short bus ride to our hostel in Helsinki.

The next morning I awoke refreshed, having turned down the chance of a night on the town in Helsinki in favor of a good night's sleep, and had my daily breakfast of ham, cheese, cucumber, and tomato sandwiches before we set out for our first stop, Hvittrask, the home of Eliel Saarinen and his more-famous (at least in the US) son, Eero. Hvittrask was an enormous complex, because it was the home and working quarters of Saarinen and two of his colleagues. I thought it would be fun to live and work with one's best friends, and things seem to have worked out well for all those involved. In fact, at one point, two of them decided to swap wives (seriously), and the whole thing went down with no drama at all. Impressive.

After Hvittrask we went to two chapels...yada yada yada...and then we went to Paimio to look at another Aalto building. The Paimio Sanatorium was another one that I had studied previously, albeit in less detail than the Villa Mairea. During our tour, I found it interesting to see in person, but something about walking around a hospital as a tourist isn't all that comfortable. We were happy to make it a short visit.

That night we had dinner on our own in Helsinki, where I was finally able to sink my teeth into some elk (as mentioned previously, we were all jonesing for some Finnish game animals), which was delicious. Afterwards, a couple of us set out for a college bar, which would have been cool if we knew anyone, but was otherwise less than satisfying. It did, however, provide another good opportunity to make conclusions about the appearance of the Finnish populace.

The next day -- our last in Finland -- we took a train to another chapel, which of course I will not desribe here. The experience itself was hilarious however, as we were treated to an audio tour of the chapel which beamed down from the heavens, it seemed, along with a nicely-illustrated chapel brochure. The only reason I mention the brochure is because it was apparently exhaustively researched, citing both "The Bible" and (direct quote) "The Internet" in its expansive bibliography.

Later, we returned to Helsinki to look around the Kiasma art museum, where we took in the structure itself and some works from Richard Serra and Olafur Eliasson, among others. After that we had a few hours on our own (I spent my time looking for gifts and taking pictures that I could not-so-cleverly caption as "Architecture in Helsinki") before again meeting up with the group and getting ready for Viking Line: The Sequel.


See my Finland pictures here.

High fives and high seas:

Wherein our narrator travels from Stockholm, Sweden to Turku, Finland aboard one of the Viking Line's floating pleasure palaces...

When we last joined our intrepid traveler, he had just concluded at lovely couple of days in Sweden, taking in Stockholm, enjoying the weather, and concluding that Sweden is superior to Denmark. These occupations suitably concluded, he planned to board a ferry to Finland for the next segment of his week-long trip with the DIS architecture program. It is at this point that he stopped referring to himself in the third person.

...So there I was, outside the terminal for the Viking Line ferry, and somewhat unsure which was the boat and which was the building. The ferry was enormous; it dwarfed the terminal building (and most of the Stockholm skyline, for that matter). It was a full-sized cruise ship -- despite the fact that we were only traveling overnight -- the kind of ship so large that one wonders how they possibly get it moving, or keep it floating, or build it in the first place. Large.

We passed a bit of time in the ferry terminal (very much like an airport) before the time came for us to set sail. We piled onto the ship along with several hundred (thousand?) Swedes, Finns, and assorted foreigners, all excited for our journey to Finland. After a few minutes of searching, we settled into our berth, which was tiny, despite the size of the ship. The room was basically a large closet with a bathroom, four fold-down beds, and a porthole-shaped picture of a lighthouse on the far wall -- intended to give us an ocean theme while reminding us of just how far away we actually were from the outside. The room would have been claustrophobic had we actually had to spend any time in it, but lucky for us, our only moments there were hazy from the other activities available on the boat.

Around 8:00, the ship set sail on the open seas, and we made our way for the buffet. Despite its many attractions, I think the most appealing aspect of the Viking Line ferry is its all-you-can-eat -- and drink! -- buffet. For a group of students mostly confined to meals of pasta or other foods easily prepared in a shared kitchen, the wealth of foods available was a welcome treat. And as for the beers and wines on tap, we got our money's worth.

By the end of dinner most people were suitably sated and sloshed, and as they closed down the buffet (by that time our group was the only one in there; it seemed that the other passengers were not as committed to a Tuesday night of oceanic revelry), we marched directly to the duty free shop to stock up on provisions. I purchased a 24 pack of Karhu; my purchase was based solely on the awesome bear pictured on the box, and I was not disappointed. Over the next few hours, I also took the opportunity to overuse the phrase, "Toss me another bear (beer)" as frequently as possible.

So, fully outfitted with a night's worth of provisions, we set out to explore the ship, and immediately made our way to the top deck. By this point most of the crowd was feeling the effects of overdoing things at dinner; it was a sloppy scene indeed. People chatted, slid across the deck (it was safe, really), and we helped ourselves to a round of shotgunning on the Heli pad. It was a classy night.

One thing that was really fascinating about being up on deck was realizing how close we still were to land. I remember walking up the stairs to the top deck and looking off to my right, only to notice an island close enough to be bathed in light from the ship. I could have hit it with a rock if I had one. Through the night, the ship continued to weave between islands and archipelagos, and it's a wonder it could even fit. How our enormous heap of metal managed to squeeze between the islands -- and not ground itself in shallow water -- is beyond me.

Over time certain members of the crew filed ("filed" implies far more control than they were exhibiting) back down into the boat, and to their beds, eventually. The rest of us hit the nightclub, where we made the mistake of challenging a group of Russian teenage girls to a dance-off and immediately had our asses handed to us. Undeterred, we danced for a while longer before throwing in the towel and retreating to our bunks for the night.

I use the term "night" liberally, as we had to wake up at 6:00 AM in order to make the 6:30 breakfast and 7:30 docking, which, due to the time change from Sweden to Finland was actually 5:00. Needless to say, we did not sleep much. Anyway, I woke right at 6:00, showered, and made my way to breakfast, where another buffet awaited me. I ate my fill of Scandinavian breakfast foods (on the trip I got extremely used to eating sandwiches of bread, butter, ham, cheese, cucumber, and tomato more or less every morning), returned to my room to pack up, and bounded off the ship in Turku, Finland.

Thankfully, I felt fine from the night before, although my busmates were not all so lucky. The on-board bathroom saw a lot of action that day.

The beautiful game:

Assuming it's real (it seems like it), this video is amazing. It's also just freaking hilarious.

See more funny videos and funny pictures at CollegeHumor.

Copenhagen:

...more like Snow-penhagen! Oh man!

So we got some snow yesterday, and big surprise: some of it stuck. If only I could check the Danish news; they'd probably be referring to this as "The Storm of the Century" or something. All I know is: it was nice to feel the temperature dip below freezing for the first time since I've been here.

Also, for those of you wondering what gorgeous view I have out my kollegium window, eat your hearts out.

Addendum:

I know it's a couple days later, but a couple more reasons why Sweden is awesome (there are a lot) that I forgot to mention earlier.

1) Way better music than Denmark or most other countries of its size. ABBA notwithstanding, Sweden has a vibrant music scene, and in the past few years it has produced a steady stream of indie rock/pop artists to make the rounds on popular indie music blogs. Among them, a couple personal favorites: The Shout Out Louds; Lykke Li; Loney, Dear; Jens Lekman; Peter Bjorn and John; Jose Gonzalez; The Knife; the list goes on. Hell, even Eagle Eye Cherry was from Sweden, for those of you still clinging to the '90s.

As a matter of fact, doing some fact checking (I am meticulous) on Wikipedia (...Wikipedia, not that meticulous), I've discovered countless other popular bands from Sweden -- who knew? Additionally, "the Consulate General of Sweden states that they are the third biggest exporter of music in the world, after the USA and the UK." Cool. Nice job, Sweden -- you continue to impress.

Here's one of my favorite bands from anywhere, who also happen to be from Sweden (although their name would have you believe otherwise): I'm From Barcelona.



2) Sweden also rules because the Swedes run way better than the Danes. Unlike in Denmark, in Sweden, when people run, they run. Literally the first joggers I saw in Sweden were a group of three guys who were in their late 50s or 60s, and they were trucking. And when I say "trucking," I don't mean, "They were going pretty fast for a bunch of geezers" -- they were tearing down the sidewalk, clearly working hard. And good for them. In fact, as I thought about it later, of course everyone I saw running in Sweden would be running hard: this is the country that invented the Fartlek, after all. For those of you non-runners out there, Fartlek is Swedish for "speed play," and is a workout that consists of alternating intervals of hard, fast running, and intervals of slower, recovery running. The length, time, and speed of the run is entirely up to the runner (that is, unless your coach is in charge, and she gives you a death workout, as seems to happen more often than not), which is good for someone that really wants to get out there and kick their own ass. The Swedes rock.

This concludes the latest installment in the series, "Why Sweden is Awesome and Better Than Denmark." These reasons should do until I come up with more.

Sweden, and more hot dog related adventures:

It's been over four weeks now since I was last in Sweden, and given this fact, I think that it is high time for a description of my trip there. If I get on a roll, perhaps anecdotes and other information from all the other countries to which I went will follow.

We departed for Sweden on the morning of Saturday, October 11th. Unfortunately the Sally Bussen would not be the vehicle to grace our presence during our week-long adventure, but I would daresay we traded up. With a different bus came a different driver, in this case one who could actually shift while going up hill and not stall out. We took off at 8:00 and settled in for what would be a long ride. All told, it would be about eight hours to Stockholm.

Our trip was broken up somewhat, thankfully, by a short ferry ride to cross into Sweden, a stop at the first church of many that we would see on the trip, and a lunch break in "the candy capital of Sweden." Those detours only occupied a small portion of the day, however, which ended up being just fine, as the bus presented a good opportunity to catch up on some of the sleep we had all missed while getting raped by our architecture projects earlier that week. The bus would continue to serve this purpose throughout the week.

Our first stop, St. Petri church, was nice enough, but attempting to describe it (and by precedent, every other church we saw that week) in detail would be enough to make me abandon the post here. Should you desire pictures of this particular house of G-O-D, they are available in the link you will find at the bottom of the post. Anyways, we made an hour's stop there before piling back onto the bus and making our way to Granna, Sweden.

I've commented to various people during the past few months about the noticeable lack of real geography in Denmark -- the country is more or less completely flat, and with the flatness comes an absence of rivers, lakes, or nature of any kind. Upon crossing into Sweden, the landscape was initially more or less the same as we passed through the area that most recently belonged to Denmark, but as we pushed further into the country, things began to change. By the time we reached Granna (the aforementioned "candy capital of Sweden" -- even the poles on the road signs are striped like stick candy), the landscape had changed completely. We drove past an enormous lake, and mountains were visible on the distant shore, covered in trees just reaching their peak fall colors; it reminded me of Vermont. When we stepped off the bus in Granna -- a small but charming lakeside town -- the air was noticeably colder, and the entire town sloped downhill to the lake. I felt more at home immediately. Over the course of the next week, I took every opportunity to enjoy the splendid views and unpredictability of real nature -- it was as close to New England fall as I'd get this year, after all.

In Granna we grabbed some food at a small, anonymous restaurant -- the kind they have in every town that serves all manner of burgers, sandwiches, pizza, and whatever else they decide to slap on the menu. A couple of us ordered pizzas, and when they arrived they were surprisingly good considering the establishment. A couple minutes later the owner checked on us and asked how the pizzas were, to which we replied, truthfully, "Really really good." He responded, "I know. I made them." He was the first Swede we'd encounter on the trip, and it's safe to say he made a good first impression.

After lunch we stocked up on some stick candy and piled back on the bus. I bought two pieces -- one for me, and one for my sister, eventually -- and it took me an entire viewing of The Royal Tenenbaums to finish mine. After eating it in one sitting I was hopped up on sugar for the rest of the day, so Sally, if you're reading this, I hope you did not do the same. Anyways, a couple hours later as I was crashing from my sugar high, we pulled into Stockholm and arrived at our hostel.

After check-in a few of us took the time to wander around our area of Stockholm and made the short walk to the top of a hill that had been recommended to us by DIS in our pre-trip meeting. At the top we had a gorgeous view of Stockholm over the water, and I again appreciated being in a place with legitimate topography instead of gentle ups and downs. Once back at the hostel, our group departed by public transportation to our dinner that night. One thing worth mentioning: the Swedish government has put an enormous amount of money into public artwork, and as a result, nearly every subway stop in Stockholm was designed and decorated by a different artist, which makes arriving at each next stop all that much more interesting. Dinner was at a small restaurant on Gammel Stan, the island that constitutes Stockholm's old town. One other thing worth mentioning: Stockholm was built on 14 islands, which breaks the city up into smaller individual sections that all conveniently have expansive views to the rest of the city. It is quite spectacular. While dinner was rumored to be a seafood buffet, it never materialized, and we made-do with our Swedish meatballs (how authentic), mashed potatoes, and gravy. It was a pretty good meal, buffet dreams aside.

After dinner a couple of us trucked out to the finest drinking establishment we could find, which turned out to be quite awesome. It was a small Irish pub with an extensive basement; around each new corner was another intimate seating area, and playing in the largest of these was an Irish band. The pub was of course packed, and it took us a while to secure an expanse of couch well-suited to the size of our crowd. Eventually though, we settled in, and brought some Danish hygge to Stockholm. We also had a chat with the Swedish girl and two Italian guys who were sitting next to us, one of whom was, as we soon found out, her boyfriend. How did they meet, you might wonder? (We did.) MySpace. Apparently "a space for friends" is as effective an international hook-up tool as its been rumored. And if their occasional pauses to absolutely suck face were any indication, they were quite happy.

Anyways, the bar closed, eventually (apparently they actually do that in Sweden), and we all trudged home. On the way we felt obligated to stop at a sausage stand, something my most loyal readers (I use that term regardless of whether or not they actually exist) have come to know the I enjoy tremendously. Per usual, I was feeling adventurous, and ordered the most intimidating-looking thing on the menu: the "dubbel rulle." What attracted me to the dubbel rulle was the fact that in the picture there were two hot dogs in one bun, something I found both awesome and irresistable. In my past experience, two things and then one other thing has always gone well -- Two Girls, One Cup, for example. (Actually I still have not -- by my own refusal -- seen that video, something I plan to continue indefinitely. Here's a funny Middlebury reaction video though.) Okay, so I got my dubbel rulle -- "With everything," I happily confirmed -- and it immediately became apparent that I was in over my head. I was handed a tortilla-like bun packed with two hot dogs, all manner of ketchup and mustard(s), lettuce, onion, gravy, some seafood-salad thing (I have no idea what this actually was), and to top it all off, another hearty serving of mashed potatoes. It was an experience, to say the least. Nevertheless, I fought through it, and even found a few-odd bites that were actually palatable. With three quarters of it gone, I cut my losses and sent it to the trash. So concluded my first day in Sweden.

On day two we rose early, as one is required to do on every school trip ever, and went for a walk around Stockholm. The day was cold but otherwise perfect (not a cloud in the sky, quite literally), and we first ascended the hill that I had been on with a few friends the previous night. In daylight, the view was even better, and we took a couple minutes to soak it all in and snap some pictures. We then returned to the old town, which really is quite enchanting. The streets are very narrow and winding, but unlike Copenhagen's they are so narrow that cars wouldn't even think of trying to get through them. So rather than finding the cobbled streets as packed and stressful as in Copenhagen, it was nice to take a walk around and enjoy the old city. We passed a few churches and a palace of some kind, but they were mostly inconsequential. Rather, it was much nicer just walking around and enjoying the brisk weather, gorgeous day, and brilliant foliage.


Later, we went into the more modern part of Stockholm, which could have belonged in any medium-sized global city. We took in a few more buildings, got some lunch, and then had the early afternoon to ourselves in the city. I strolled around a bit and checked out some recommended sites before making my way to Moderna Museet, one of Stockholm's newer art museums. Many of the museums in Stockholm are located on one particular island which functions as a large park, and the walk to this location was one of the more enjoyable ones I have experienced in a while. I don't know whether I was intoxicated by the day, the scenery, or just the change of pace from Denmark, but it was lovely indeed.

The museum, too, impressed, with an exhibit of Max Ernst's work and a collection which prominently featured Marcel Duchamp, Robert Rauschenberg, Frank Stella, and many other titans of modern art. Of all the works, some of the more noteworthy were Duchamp's Fountain and Great Glass and Rauschenberg's Monogram. Who knew that you could come to Sweden and see some of the milestones in 20th century art?

By the end of day two, I decided that I was in love with Stockholm and that Sweden, and not Denmark, had actually been the country I envisioned with my impossibly idealized visions of Scandinavia.

On day three, we rose, got breakfast, and then departed for a whirlwind tour of several Swedish funeral chapels. We visited Stockholm's Woodland Cemetary, which was nicely laid out, but again, I'm never one to be particularly fond of chapels and churches. We saw three, though (Resurrection Chapel, Woodland Chapel, and Holy Cross Chapel, for those keeping score), and in general they were all pretty nice. Unforunately, Holy Cross Chapel fell victim to the same fate of Arne Jacobsen's Arhus City Hall: it was graced with an appalling mural. Apparently just after blondes, sausages, and socialism, murals capable of making one's eyes bleed are one of Scandinavia's greatest loves.

So that was most of the day. We stopped for lunch and a brief tour at another art museum of sorts, and the in the late afternoon we drove just to the outskirts of Stockholm to Hammarby Sjöstad, which would become one of my personal highlights of the trip.

Hammarby Sjöstad is a large mixed-use sustainable development in Stockholm harbor. Upon completion the development will contain about 10,000 apartments for 25,000 residents. Currently about two-thirds finished, the main residential sections and major thoroughfares have been inhabitied for a couple of years now and are becoming increasingly popular addresses in Stockholm. Thankfully, unlike the Komfort Husene that DIS tried to pawn off as cutting edge sustainable architecture during our short study tours, Hammarby Sjöstad has truly earned the title.

The development is oozing with green cred: it was built on a brownfields site that used to be the home of several industries, it integrates public transporation directly into the design, it generates some of its own electricity from solar power, it turns sewage sludge into biogas to be used in homes and to fuel cars and buses, it maintained existing vegetation, it uses natural stormwater remediation, and the list goes on. Our group received a detailed presentation on the project in "the glass house" which is the information center for the development. There we learned about all the green features and were given a guided tour of the area. Perhaps one of the most innovative features of the project is its garbage disposal system. The development has one central building for waste, and the building is collected to all other areas in the development via a system of underground vacuum tubes. In their apartments, residents sort their garbage into three groups and deposit them in the appropriate waste shoot. Sensors in the shoot indicate when it is almost full, at which point an automated system in the main building turns on the vacuums and sucks all the garbage to the main plant to be disposed of. Sounds ridiculous, but it's ingenious. This system not only simplifies the waste management process for individuals and the community, but also allows the buildings to be built closer together, because garbage trucks never have to come in and take trash away. Just one of the many interesting features we learned about.

It is important not to get caught up in the environmental statistics of the development, because one should certainly not overlook one of the most important things: Hammarby Sjöstad is gorgeous. Like all of Stockholm, there is water everywhere, and in addition to the boardwalks and shorefront, there are canals that run between all the buildings (and passively treat stormwater). The buildings are attractive and properly scaled, and the landscaping is seems both natural and refined. We ended our tour on a large round swimming platform that juts out into the harbor, and while it might have been too cold that day, in the summer I could envision people everywhere taking advantage of the location to go swimming, boating, or just enjoy the setting. I wouldn't mind being one of them someday.


After Hammarby Sjöstad, we boarded a Viking Line ferry for Finland, and due to the debauchery that ensued and the fact that I am tired of writing (as you, surely, are also tired of reading), it will get its own post.

You can view my Sweden pictures here.

Today:

This weekend I had planned to take some time off from going out and getting drunk, in an attempt to save money, catch up on sleep, and potentially even do some work. Looking at those three things and then thinking that I have to stop drinking to get them done probably makes me look like an alcoholic. But I digress.

Today I woke up and made myself a nice big breakfast, with all the trappings one would find in a real meal: scrambled eggs with Swiss cheese and chopped onions and peppers, served with fresh avocado and salsa. I even made bacon, to boot. Not bad for a kitchenette.

I took some time to digest, and then I went out for a run towards a track that I had seen on Google Maps. It was a couple miles away, which was just enough of a warm up for me to launch into a two-mile fartlek in an attempt to begin working off the rust in advance of track season. The track itself was nothing special: far from being a legitimate running surface, it was an aging cinder track that was probably more grass than actual cinder. But, as far as running in circles goes, it did the job.

On the way out I checked out another area on the campus that had caught my eye on satellite. From above, it looked like a running track, except one set out in some crazy S-shape. As it turns out, it is a track of sorts (and even has a rubber surface): it's an obstacle course. Now at this point I wasn't sure exactly what type of school I had stumbled on; sure, there was a security checkpoint at the entrance -- but the guy waved me through without a thought -- and while it was a pretty big campus dotted with other structures suggesting one enormous campus-wide obstacle course, it must just be part of the physical education program. Regardless, I checked out the obstacle course, and even thought about doing it myself, but abstained for fear of 1) injuring myself when no one else around, and 2) looking like a complete idiot in the event that anyone actually was around.

I must say, after a careful inspection of the course, the Danes do not mess around when it comes to obstacles. The roughly 600 meter long course was dotted with all matter of ladders, balance beams, concrete walls, and other structures that were ingenious in their ability to keep obstacle course runners from successfully advancing past them. I decided that watching a class of whatever students go to this school try to complete the course as fast as their little Danish legs would carry them would be quite fun indeed. It was then that I noticed one particularly interesting challenge. It was a hole in the ground, surrounded by a temporary fence. It looked like a steeplechase pit, so that's what I decided it was. But as I approached and looked for the telling slanting base, I discovered that it in fact just dropped down about eight feet on all sides to a gravel-lined pit below. For some reason I still envisioned it as filled with water, and as I imagined people either jumping and slamming their shins into the bank on the other side or just getting into the water, paddling two strokes across, and then getting out, I thought, "This is the most inconvenient obstacle ever." Then I realized that it is not supposed to be filled with water -- it's just a pit. Competitors run, jump into the pit, and then have to pull themselves back out, one way or another. While I hoped that on the day of the event the pit would be filled with hissing snakes or scorpions or something, I figure this is not the case. Admittedly, I was again curious as whether I could best this particular challenge, but after considering how humbling it would be to be trapped and have to wait a long time for help, I decided against it. Anyways, this concluded my adventure with the obstacle course, and after pumping out some pull-ups on one of the bars, I jogged off, passing another guard post on the way out. I was then that I saw the monkey bars. I was in an Al Qaeda training ground.

Back home, I showered, ate, and did all those things that aren't worth describing here before going to the grocery store for some necessary items. As I went through the store and filled my basket with the only five things that I wanted or needed (it was just a supplementary trip), I considered how odd my purchase would look to the person checking me out:

1 tin of chocolate powder, for chocolate milk (I had a craving)
1 two-roll package of duct tape, for Wizard Staff (I am taking part in a transatlantic game tomorrow via Skype)
1 six-pack of beer, to add to my stockpile (also for Wizard Staff)
1 package of Danish sandwich chocolate, to bring back to the states
1 large sack of oranges, for eating

I tried to imagine what plausible explanation one could have for the day's purchases (besides the real one), but I couldn't come up with one. Feeling a bit sheepish about how ridiculous I probably looked, I nonchalantly gazed at (and pretended to be able to comprehend) some Danish tabloids. Then I noticed the woman in front of me. I thought my purchases were odd, but her's took the prize -- among other things:

1 large bag of rice
1 package of spinach
assorted produce
1 newspaper
1 baby blue polo shirt

Okay, so I guess the polo shirt is the only weird part. And I had always wondered who actually bought that stuff at a Netto; I've marveled at how Nettos are like The Christmas Tree Shop, a CVS, and a poorly-stocked grocery store all rolled into one, but I had never actually seen anyone take advantage of it.

All told, an interesting day in Copenhagen. Not one worth repeating, perhaps, but it's too late for that. Now where's my beer?

J-Day, and the weekend I spent 70 dollars on cab fare:

Welp, it's a Monday night, which can only mean one thing: at this time yesterday, it was Sunday night. That means that another weekend met its untimely demise -- and oh what a weekend it was.

I'll start on Friday afternoon. My architecture class had a field study on Friday, and the plan was to bike around Copenhagen, scope out the site for our new project, see some architecture, and who knows what else. One intriguing aspect of the trip was that we were asked to bring a bathing suit and towel. By the time Friday rolled along, swimming was the last thing we wanted to do, as the day was dark, cold, and windy -- as well as raining -- the way most days seem to be here in Copenhagen. Anyways, we set out on a wet bike ride towards Amager, the large island just south of Copenhagen. There we checked out our site (nothing special to report), before riding down to the beach. Now, I had obviously known that there were beaches around Copenhagen, as pretty much everywhere in Denmark is close to the water, but I wish I had known some specifics earlier. The beach on Amager was recently developed, and despite the bad weather, I could tell how perfect it would be to lounge around on in a nicer season (say, August, just after I arrived). Even on a rainy day, there were people kiteboarding in the lagoon and jogging on the boardwalk (something I took the liberty of doing myself today, 30 minute bus ride be damned). The beach is dotted with a couple of neat pavilions, as well as some swimming areas that jut out into the ocean. The most impressive of these is one I had heard of before, and is pictured below (and here).


Unfortunately, this particular harbor bath was not the one we ended up swimming at (I had really wanted to jump from the highest spot), so we took our bikes back down the boardwalk to another one, which was somewhat less spectacular. It didn't matter, as progressive architecture was the last thing on our minds by that time; when one is changing into a bathing suit in the open air on a rainy, windy November day in Copenhagen, the only real concern is why you're getting ready to go swimming in the first place. So yes, we went swimming, and yes, it was cold. There was a surprisingly good showing, too. After all, I have a long history of doing stupid things, but it was nice to see so many of my classmates (and teachers) jump right in too. It was a fun time all around, and it was capped by a round of shots of that awful Danish liquor they feel compelled to subject us to on all occasions of this sort. I think that Friday's particular batch was made with extra feces. So, gag reflexes aside, it was a memorable experience, and there are a couple pictures floating around that well-document the event -- and that I was so cold my nipples could cut diamonds. We ended the day over chocolate cake and hot cocoa at a nearby restaurant, just in time to see it get dark outside (4:30, or thereabouts).

When I say we ended the day, I mean merely that we ended the Friday afternoon portion of the day, as there was still lots to come. After all, Friday was J-Day. "What's J-Day?" you ask? Well, hold your horses, because I'm about to tell you.

J-Day is one of two quasi-holidays in Denmark that revolve exclusively around beer. The J stands for "Jul," which is the word for Christmas in Danish. The day itself marks the annual release of Tuborg's Christmas beer, a slightly more alcoholic brew that is released every year at 8:59 PM on the first Friday of November (the other holiday is in the spring, when the Easter beer is released). Danes look forward to J-Day for weeks, and people start getting in the Christmas spirit early. I think that since Danes don't have Thanksgiving -- and only sort of have Halloween -- there is no holiday to stand in the way of Christmas season. Which explains why I found myself singing "Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer" in Danish in class on Friday.

On Friday I went into town with some friends just after 9:00, hoping to get in on the J-Day festivities. We were not disappointed. Downtown Copenhagen was packed, which is unusual at 9:00, considering most Danes don't go out until at least 11:00. There were huge groups of people drinking in the streets (it's going to be a rude awakening when I'm back in the states and that's illegal again), and all the bars were overflowing. A couple of Tuborg trucks were making the rounds of all the bars on the main pedestrian street, shooting fake snow into the air as it passed. We followed the truck for a while, and whenever it would stop, a couple of dressed up "Tuborg elves" (an alcoholic version of the Wiiings Team, the girls who drive the Red Bull Mini Coopers around) would pour out, carrying cases of free beer into the nearest establishment. Once inside, either everyone would start singing Christmas carols or the band would break into their version of some Christmas favorite while everyone cheered and beers were passed around. Every bar was standing-room only, and when the free beer came in it was gone in seconds. A serious feeding frenzy.

After some time spent following the truck and dispatching a couple Christmas beers myself, I headed to a friend's apartment to meet up with a group. There, we had a few more Christmas beers and then hit the town. We went to Nørrebro -- the neighborhood that I live in -- which I had always heard was cool but had yet to see myself. It lived up to expectations, and we hit a bunch of nice bars, got some late-night kebabs, and headed home around 4:00 AM. I took the night bus back into the center of the city, hoping to hop a bus back out that would take me closer to my kollegium. I had to wait a while, and in the meantime I helped myself to a sausage from a pølser stand (I had forgotten about my kebabs from only a few hours before). Eventually, the bus came, and I got on it.

I was pretty tired, it being 4:30 AM and me having not slept much in the past week, and that all soon became apparent, because a while later I found myself being woken up by the bus driver at the end of the line. There were a couple of other random Danes who had fallen asleep too, and we all spilled out into the night and tried to find our respective ways home. I took a look at the map at the bus stop, and discovered that I was a good distance northwest of the city. Checking the map again, I started walking. At the next bus stop, hoping to check my progress, I took a look at the map and discovered that I had been walking in the wrong direction. So, as I often do when I want to get home after a long night of drinking, I started running. I passed the first bus stop, and at the next one I decided to have another check of my progress to see roughly how far away I was. I had moved less than an inch. Rather than run a marathon and find myself finally in bed sometime around sunrise, I hailed a cab and reluctantly paid the $30 it cost to get me back. Moral of the story: falling asleep is a bad financial decision.

Saturday night was another notable one, as it was the end of the year party for ØKF, the Danish soccer club I played for over here. The party was set to run from 6:00 to midnight, which is a long time when you drink the way Danish soccer players do (they are players second, drinkers first). The details of the party aren't very important, except that there were mandatory funnels for everyone who won an award, gave a speech, or happened to excuse themself for the restroom at the wrong moment. For a while I was spared, trying not to make any sudden movements, but eventually my time came too, and I had to hit the funnel as 40 guys (and only a couple girls from the women's team) chanted loudly. The funnel itself was somewhat improvised and was actually just a plastic gas can with the bottom sawed off. It was ghetto, but practical (Remember in middle school when everyone used to say "ghetto" all the time? Yeah, so do I, unfortunately).

Anyways, the night went on and I ate, drank, and chanted with the rest of 'em. Through six hours, I think I can say with complete honesty and accuracy that this may have been the most beer I have ever drank at one time. It makes me feel like an idiot frat boy to say it, but I think I was nearly into my third decade, if you'll believe it. At midnight the party shifted to a nearby kollegium, and as soon as I got there, I realized that I was on borrowed time. Inside, the alcohol portion of my biological clock was winding down, and I knew that within a short period of time I would either a) pass out, b) vomit, or c) both. So I headed out into the night determined to get home quickly. I thought about trying to take a bus, but after the previous night's problems, I decided that a bus was not where I wanted to be in my present state. Again, reluctantly, I hailed a cab, and had to check to make sure I would have enough money to get home. I did, and a couple minutes and about $40 later, I was safely in bed at my kollegium. Other moral of the story: drinking a lot is a bad financial decision.

So, an eventful weekend, overall. One for the books. J-Day might be my new favorite holiday, and I think we should try to have something like it in the states. St. Patrick's day is just about the only holiday we have that is directly related to drinking, and while it is indeed awesome, I think we can do better. Even if Budweiser or the next closest thing to a national brewery doesn't start releasing seasonal brews to great fanfare, I'm sure my friends and I can find a way. We just need some elves.

Coming soon to a campus newspaper near you:

After two-plus years of reading "Overseas Briefings" in The Middlebury Campus that were only mildly amusing (and even then only on occasion), I decided to pen my own and update the Middlebury masses on my experience in Denmark. What follows is my in-depth analysis on a very important topic, Danish fashion:

Hello! Or, as they say in Denmark, “Hola.”

They do not actually say this in Denmark, but they might as well as far as I’m concerned, because due to the complete inadequacy of my Danish classes and the fact that Danish is an impossible-to-pronounce devil language, I haven’t learned much.

But this is not with what I concern myself now – there are far more important things to write about. Yes, I am talking about Danish fashion. On the whole, Danes are a fashionable lot, owing I think to their universal supermodel good looks and their high disposable incomes (this despite a tax rate over 50% – if only the Obama campaign knew that one of the side effects of socialism was a stylish populace, he could have won even more overwhelmingly). Yes, it seems that nearly everyone is decked out in the latest trends: skinny jeans, baggy jeans, no jeans at all – for a stodgy American, it is absolutely overwhelming.

Danish men are the kind of guys who spend a bit too much time every morning getting their fauxhawks and bed-head just right, and who get their chests waxed on what I would guess is a bi- or tri-weekly basis, which I think is two or three weeks too many. One of the most recognizable styles on many Danish men these days is the ever-popular pants-tucked-into-the-socks look (I’m not kidding). This fashion springs from biker style – tucking pants in one’s socks keeps them from getting tangled in the chain – but actually riding a bike is not a requirement for rocking it. In fact, I would be willing to wager that most of these pant-tuckers rarely actually get onto a bicycle, despite the fact that over a third of people here ride their bikes to work everyday. For a while I laughed at those unfortunate Danes, taken in by something patently ridiculous and beyond their understanding, but then I remembered Pokemon cards.

As far as Danish women go, I’ll say this: of all the exhaustive research I conducted to support my assertions in this article, staring at awkward length at some blond Dane as she passed me on the sidewalk was by far the most enjoyable. So, after weeks of said exhaustive research, here are my findings – and they are pretty radical. The fashion du jour for women in Denmark seems to be being really, really, really attractive. I know it sounds crazy, but for some reason that is all the rage these days. I’m not sure where it could have come from, but these wacky Danish women are just all about being jaw-droppingly, mindblowingly gorgeous. I wonder if this will catch on in the states.

One last fashion that is shared by Danish men and women alike is accessorizing with one of those checkered, vaguely Middle Eastern scarves. Denmark has a short and complicated history with the Muslim world – one that boiled over most memorably with the global riots, flag burning, and embassy fires incited by a Danish newspaper’s 2005 publishing of a series of cartoons featuring the prophet Muhammad. The ubiquity of these scarves seems to be the Danish way of asking for forgiveness. After all, I’ve always said, “Nothing solves international conflict quite like an attractive pattern and a somewhat-insulated neck area.” Or, in Danish, “Ich bin ein Berliner.”

Yes:

I cried like a baby.

Chills, every time:

A couple of my friends sent me this / posted it on their blogs, and it speaks for itself:

My absentee ballot never arrived:

What the fuck America?



If I didn't live in Obamassachusetts, I'd probably be a lot angrier right now.

There is a lot of talk these days about moving election day to weekends in order to facilitate the voting process for more Americans, and I think it's a great idea. Looking deeper into the issue, one realizes that our voting process is pretty messed up in a lot of ways; the way we go about voting deprives of a voice some of voters who need one most. People always talk about how the elderly are the most reliable voters, and this should come as no surprise. Besides driving golf carts and wearing those ridiculous blind person sunglasses until they die, voting is pretty much the only thing on their to-do list.

Other people with pressing needs in an election, however -- say, single moms, students, or blue collar workers -- don't exactly have as much time to get to their voting stations. Some people may feel that they're too busy, and others feel that as a slave to the clock they can't get out to the voting booths, keeping some of the adults that most feel the impact of our political decisions from casting a vote in either direction. And as far as young people go -- the voting block that everyone likes to rag on -- the odds are stacked against us.

Young people may find themselves in classes or in busy jobs the keep them from feeling free to get to the voting booth, or, as in my case, the system may be complicated for them because of their situation. Even if I were not in Denmark right now and were instead at school in Vermont, I would still have to send in my vote via absentee ballot. As this post makes clear, I have not received said ballot, even though I filed the request a month and a half ago AND sent a personal email to my town clerk asking about it when it had not come after a few weeks. Even in the event that students do receive their ballots, the somewhat-complicated process of requesting them makes voting that much more unappealing. I guarantee that if all young people had to do was walk into a booth no more than a couple of minutes from their current place of residence, voter turnout would skyrocket. Now by no means do I intend this to act as an excuse for the decades of apathy exhibited by young voters. There is no excuse not to vote -- not when we all know what is at stake.

In short, our antiquated system of voting keeps more vulnerable voters from getting to the polls, and it's about time this all changed. Additionally, the electoral college is bullshit.

Back in the DK:

As mentioned in the previous post, I'm back from my traveling, and it was a hell of a time. In the past three weeks I've hit Sweden, Finland, Munich, Zurich, Vienna, Prague, Madrid, and Morocco, so I've seen a bit. I enjoyed pretty much every minute of it, and there are plenty of places that I would love to return to. There is obviously much to write about, and I imagine it will take some time, so keep checking back for updates. If I remember to, I'll link to my post about each country off of this one.

The past three weeks have been full of new experiences. There were plenty of moments that were among the most comfortable or relaxing of my life, and then there were some that were among the most terrifying. Here is one of the latter:

The financial crisis hits home:

Welp, I'm back, but not without the requisite travel headaches one would expect from any long time away.

Yesterday I flew from Marrakech, Morocco to Amsterdam, where I was supposed to connect with my Sterling Airlines flight to Copenhagen. I had a fairly long layover, so I wasn't all that surprised when I couldn't find the desk that I was supposed to check in at. I figured I'd kill a few hours and then go back once my flight had opened.

After killing those hours, I went back to check, and sure enough, my 8:15 PM flight to Copenhagen was open for check-in, except at the SAS Airlines desk. Confused but unfazed, I slapped my well-traveled passport onto the desk and waited for the nice lady to give me my boarding pass. Instead, here is what transpired:

Lady: "Your name is Waters?"
Me, confused: "Yes..." (she's holding my passport, after all)
Lady: "We don't have you in our system, do you have a confirmation number?"
Me: "Not on me, but I can look it up downstairs on my email. I definitely confirmed the flight, 8:15 to Copenhagen. I booked with Sterling Airlines...I assumed that they were a subsidiary of SAS...no?"
Lady: "Sterling? I don't know a Sterling."
Lady at next desk: "Oooh...Sterling? They went bankrupt."
Me, incredulously: "When? In the past three weeks?"
Lady at next desk: "Yeah, five days ago."
Me: "Umm..."
God, or some other omniscent ruler of the universe: "HAHAHAHAHA."

One would have thought that in the airline's dying moments it could have summoned the strength to send out a short form email to all of its customers, something alone the lines of: "Oh, by the way, we're bankrupt now," but evidently they were too busy shredding documents and spray painting over their logo to get to a computer.

Anyhow, the next flight with seats available wasn't until 7:05 the next (this) morning, and after checking that a train wouldn't make more sense (it didn't), I booked for the tidy sum of 190 Euros. I planned to just kill time in the airport and go drink at the airport bar, but after a couple more minutes of sitting on the hard ground and lugging my baggage around, I decided that this was an awful idea.

Long story short, I had the good fortune to run into three of my DIS colleagues who were supposed to be on the same flight, and we checked ourselves into a budget hotel nearby. So at 9:00 this morning, I arrived back in Copenhagen, tired, a couple hundred Euros poorer, but happy to be back.