Critters

Cusuco National Park, and the tropics in general, are home to an incredible diversity of plants and wildlife. The year-round heat and humidity, combined with intense seasonal bursts of rainfall, create the perfect recipe from which life can flourish. Some species are ubiquitous throughout the region, but many are so specialized in their habitats that they are found nowhere else on earth. Cusuco alone has several of these species, including at least one type of tree along with several frogs that exist only within the park's boundaries.

In my short time here I have already seen an amazing variety of snakes. One kind, a parrot snake, is bright green and climbs effortlessly in a vertical motion through the branches of the forest. Another snake looks identical to the highly venomous coral snake found here, but is only colored this way as a mimic to fool predators. A third snake, a blond something or other (insert blond joke here), is so strong that it can extend a third of its body length straight out from a branch without bending. And one of my more recent snake encounters was with one that actually eats scorpions.

In addition to the snakes here, I have also seen some interesting insects and arachnids. The other day someone found a small tarantula, and I've also seen some other large spiders a little closer than I'd like, with one in the bathroom and one above my tent.

As for insects, I have frequent battles with small ants that make their way into my tent, and less confrontational encounters with large beetles, some dung, some scarub, that are often colored bright green and/or make strange clicking noises, audible if you hold the beetle up to your ear. In addition to these little guys, I have also witnessed a beautiful variety of butterflies, as well as a vicious looking, three-inch-long dobson fly complete with jaws and beady eyes.

And we can't leave out the birds. Someone caught an amazing hummingbird with an irridescent purple throat. There have also been reports of quetzals in the area, which I unfortunately have yet to see (and photograph), but if you do a quick Google Image search for 'quetzal', you'll see what I mean.

Cool, huh? Now the bad news- many of these amazing species, both here and around the world, are going extinct. Not just declining, but disappearing completely, meaning we will never see them again. Ever. How does this happen? There are a lot of factors, but the single most deadly culprit of species loss is habitat destruction. We're always hearing about saving the rainforest and, holy crap, there's a reason for it. Much of the world's tropical forests have already been wiped out for timber, agriculture, and urban development, and the outlook for the remainder isn't great..

It's one thing to hear about this sort of thing when I'm back home, but seeing it in person is a different story. Take one of my walks to the village of Buenos Aires for example. On the way down we are nicely surrounded by a mix of dense jungle and pine forest, but off in the distance (take your pick on which direction), are huge bare patches of hillside where more of that same dense jungle used to be. Now it's just a useless disaster waiting to happen- once there is no vegetation left, rainwater has a free-for-all since there is nothing to slow it down, which soon results in a mess of erosion that leads to some very murky rivers that were once crystal clear, not to mention the increase in potential for landslides.

A few years ago I would have just put all the blame on the loggers and farmers, whose little plantations can only be farmed for a couple of years at the expense of the former centuries-old arboreal residents, but I think it's important to look at their side of the story.

For one thing, Honduras is dirt poor, as are many tropical nations, so people are going to do whatever they need to in order to get money. And who can blame them? When it comes down to saving some frogs or feeding your children, the frogs are going to lose, every time.

So, what do we do? There is no single answer to this, of course, but there a lot a of steps that make a difference. A big one of these involves promoting more sustainable practices, such as shade-grown coffee. Chances are, if you're buying cheap shit, such as Folgers and Maxwell House, it may have been grown on a farm where a rainforest once stood. I realize you're going to keep buying the cheap shit, but treat yourself (and the jungle) to some good stuff once in awhile by splurging on anything with a 'Rainforest Alliance' logo on the package. The symbol indicates that the R.A. has monitored the environmental practices of its coffee-growing members.

Another way to combat habitat destruction, this one more obvious, is preservation. Designating land with protection in mind, such as creation of national parks and wildlife refuges, is generally a good way to ensure that forests will remain untouched. I have to stress the word 'generally', however, because in certain countries the concept of federally protected land is somewhat of a joke. Thailand, for example, has dozens of national parks, yet habitat destruction remains persistent.

Fortunately for Cusuco National Park, the organization under which I am employed, Operation Wallacea, or Opwall for short, is responsbile for a serious conservation effort for the benefit of the park. Opwall provides a base from which a variety of research can be conducted by a variety of people. Currently we have people from Ireland, the U.K., Germany, Belgium, Poland, Canada, Honduras, and the U.S. studying bats, reptiles, invertebrates, birds, plants, small mammals, and large mammals such as howler monkeys, tapirs, and large cats. Opwall provides the means and resources (food, guides, equipment, communication, etc.) by which scientists, dissertation students, and volunteers can collect considerable amounts of data at a variety of camps throughout the jungle. Or, to be accurate, throughout the world, as there are sites in Peru, Cuba, South Africa, Indonesia, and Egypt.

The conservation effort here in Cusuco is an ongoing one that has been around for several years. Soon, however, the data will be presented to large conservation organizations such as the World Wildlife Fund in the hopes that such organizations will recognize the biological value of the park and, in turn, provide the funding necessary to protect it- guards, guides, and infrastructure all cost money, and this is the best way we know of to get it.

To wrap this one up, I must say I am happy and grateful to be working for this organization. In my short time here I have seen an amazing variety of plants and wildlife, and I hope that my small contributions here will in some way support the efforts to preserve the complex and peaceful beauty of the rainforest.

Base Camp

It was nice to get out of the steamy mess of the city. We met up at the comparatively fancy Gran Hotel Sula, had our little intro to the program, then boarded a converted school bus reminiscent of my Guatemala visit, and headed out of town.

The initial bus ride was relatively short and ended at the small village of Cofradia. Still uncomfortably hot, the little community was a typical one with unpaved streets and various animals running around. In a short, chaotic span of fifteen minutes, we helped load our bags into the bed of a pickup truck and hopped into the other empty ones.

To say the least, the road heading to Base Camp was a bumpy one. Wide enough for barely more than a car in spots, with no guardrails between us and the numerous steep hillsides, the “road” wound up and up through the jungle and increasingly further from civilization. We crossed small streams that trickled over the road, and did our best to get comfortable, a task that proved difficult with the many large bumps and a steep upgrade that made all bodies gradually slide to the back of the truck bed, readjust, and repeat for the duration of the two-hour climb.

I try not to have expectations about these sorts of things, so my first glimpse of Base Camp was a relatively neutral one. The camp was laid out neatly with dozens of tents protected by tarps, a main office, and a building containing the computer and genetics labs. We were given a brief tour, which included directions to the urinal, a.k.a. a PVC tube sticking into the ground; the showers, whose water temperature is identical to that of the groundwater; and two types of toilets. One of these was a set of regular toilets that, although not connected to actual plumbing, still “flush” the water that you bring in from a bucket, but I have yet to figure out the process. That said, when it comes time to drop the Cosby kids off at the pool, I opt for the simpler “Long Drop”, which is essentially a standard outhouse containing a PVC vent pipe.

As spartan as my summer existence may sound, I am living in a veritable palace compared to the other camps scattered throughout Cusuco National Park. Here we have internet (weather permitting), showers, and entertainment such as movies at night. The other camps have none of these things, nor tents for that matter, just hammocks enveloped by mosquito nets. So, it is difficult to complain about conditions here and, overall, I am content with the level of luxury we have at Base Camp.

The little discomforts associated with this place, such as cold showers and often monotonous food, are the easiest to deal with. It is the more persistent annoyances that pose greater challenges. One of the main examples of these, to me, is the humidity. It is not hot here, in fact often somewhat chilly, but the dampness is penetrating and constant. Being over a thousand meters above sea level, we are literally in the clouds at times, so the moisture gets everywhere- on computer screens and benches, tent floors, towels, and, of course, clothes. We may not be hot or cold but, to be sure, we are damp.

In addition to the humidity, boredom is a nagging concern. The camp operators do their best to keep us entertained but, this being a dry camp (technically a dry park), the lack of alcohol makes for some dull evenings. Initially we found little things to keep us occupied, such as gathering around the blueness of the bug light, as drawn to the glow as the insects themselves, watching the huge variety of strange creatures fluttering about. The light, which was our equivalent of a fire to stand around, hasn’t been on in awhile, so we end up just listening to music and occasionally playing cards to pass the time.

Our little routines make the evenings go by decently enough, but since the majority of camp tenants are young people, we would jump at any opportunity to go out and party once in awhile. We have already examined, albeit somewhat jokingly, the possibility of drinking some of the ethanol used to preserve specimens, but concluded that, since the additional additives of the liquid were designed to prevent bored individuals such as ourselves from reaching our goals, we should probably hold out for some less toxic beverages.

I have considered smuggling in some beer from the nearby village of Buenos Aires, but since I am part of the staff here, and since it is still early in the season, I am reluctant to pursue such a risky endeavor at this point. Another week of lackluster evenings, however, and we’ll see what sort of chances I’ll be willing to take.

In the meantime, enjoy your warm, dry houses, your freedom to drink and eat whatever you want, whenever you want, and keep on reading!

Getting Here

The flight itinerary to Honduras was not a good one. Anything involving a 14-hour overnight layover in Houston cannot be good. I was as prepared as possible, of course, with my sleeping pad, travel pillow, earplugs, and travel sheet. Unfortunately I couldn't prepare for the security announcements, which run all night despite the fact that there's about four people in the airport. I think our nation is much safer from terrorism because the unoccupied D Terminal of George Bush International gets instructed not to leave its baggage unattended at 3:30 in the morning. Oh, and leaving every light on in the airport definitely keeps the bad guys (and sleep) away.

In my search for a good spot I consulted a large, black cleaning lady in D Terminal about a potential spot.

"What you need, baby?" she said.

"Will anybody bother me if I sleep here?"

"Somebody always comin' around. If they wake you up, they wake you up, but you best get to some kind of sleepin'."

I felt the need to point out the woman's skin color and size not because of the burning racism I harbor within myself, but because the phrase "What you need, baby?" cannot be uttered so eloquently by any other combination of race and girth.

Despite the unpleasant brightness and loudness, it was a more successful airport sleeping experience than my other two this year. In the first situation, in the unsecure area of Los Angeles International (they don't let you check your bag until morning for some reason), I had a great spot picked out. It was behind the farthest row of seats, safe from excessive light, but not from the good old security annoucements, which, after about 47 repetitions, led me to think "You know, lady, I don't have a bomb in my bag, but I'm starting to think about getting one if it will shut your ass up.”

I did the best I could to appreciate my dark little corner, until some time in the middle of the night when I was awakened by some flashlights and talking. Turns out, the voices and lights belonged to about five armed LAX cops. I figured that they were there to kick me out of my home, so I got my passport and boarding pass ready, but when I showed it to one of the officers, he just responded with an indifferent wave. I soon learned they weren't concerned with my sleeping arrangements as much as those of a woman nearby, who evidently had a flight, but not for another five days. What she didn't have, however, was much coherence, or an ID for that matter. She was promptly escorted, as I imagine were some of the other nearby "passengers".

My stay at Chateau de Tucson Baggage Claim was not so smooth either. I had a ridiculously early flight the next morning, 5:00, but the airline still wouldn't allow me to check my bag until 3:30a.m. So, the usual airport sleeping materials laid out, I gave sleep a shot. Not much success, however, after being briefly questioned by an airport cop, who evidently was not satisfied with the legible note I left for him, which contained my name, itinerary, and flight number. Oh well, at least I had my security announcements to keep me comfortable and safe. Also comforting was the wake-up call (and curious stares) that I received from passengers who arrived on a late flight and soon afterward congregated at the baggage carousel about twenty feet from my head.

So, you could say my Houston sleepover was a relative success compared to the other adventures, and the rest of the trip went smoothly as well. The flight from Houston to San Pedro Sula was a mere two hours and fifteen minutes, which was actually shorter than the jaunt from Detroit to Houston. On the plane I sat next to a guy from Arkansas who would soon be visiting a coffee farm in the northwest part of the country. I got the scoop on Honduras from him, as well as some answered questions I'd had about quality coffee.

I was worried at first about not having a work visa, but I decided that, since I am not being paid, that's technically not working, right? Well, I never found out, because the customs official simply glanced at the 'Tourist' box I had checked on my immigration form, asked "San Pedro Sula?" to make sure I was in the right place, then returned me my documents. I'm in!

I found my mochila immediately, then headed out to the main part of the aiport, which sadly contained a Wendy's immediately outside the doors of customs. I traveled over 24 hours to Honduras to see another shitty fast food restaurant? Things better get a little less familiar real soon...

They did. I found the driver of my hostel's shuttle immediately (yes, I wimped out and didn't take a cab because the shuttle was only a bit pricier, but actually turned out to be cheaper in the end), thanks to the sign he was holding with my name on it. If there's anything that promotes a feeling of self-importance more than someone waiting with your name on a sign at the airport, I have yet to find it. If you haven’t had this experience yet, you should arrange it some time.

I got some cash out of the ATM quickly and painlessly. Well, almost painlessly: the 18-to-1 exchange rate on the lempira made withdrawing 1,900 seem like a lot). The driver and I then went to meet our other passengers, a couple arriving from Texas. We headed toward the airport exit, which contained a little breezeway in which the air was a bit warmer than the moderately air-conditioned airport, prompting me to think, "Hey, this isn't so bad", a mentality that lasted the full three seconds of the walk through the breezeway, then BAM we were outside. It was kind of like opening a door to an oven. It was just after noon so the sun was completely out, there was no shade and, like most of Central America, it was humid. It was like being under a big sweaty blanket, becoming even more pronounced once we got into the old van, which had to be over 100 degrees inside, with no A/C, and I was sweating immediately.

Fortunately once we got going the open window provided a nice relief, at least in terms of temperature, but no so much for scenery. Wendy's was just the beginning- I saw Pizza Huts, Church's Chicken, McDonald's (of course), and a bunch of other crap-ass establishments that I would have loved to leave home.

San Pedro Sula is Honduras' second largest city after the capital, Tegucigalpa, but it kind of runs the show in terms of the country's business affairs from what I've read. Its appearance was not unlike that of cities I saw in Mexico and Guatemala, but the country's Top-5 spot in the "Poorest Nations in the Western Hemisphere" contest quickly became evident (I think only Haiti and another country are poorer than Honduras).

Littering is a massive problem in most or all Third World countries, and San Pedro is no exception. I have certainly seen garbage floating in rivers in Guatemala, Romania, and Bosnia, but the trash I saw in just a single stream in SP looked like a miniature landfill. Other than that, it was just a typical Central American city- crazy driving, unchecked diesel fumes, and the general calculated chaos I'd come to expect.

My hostel was decent, nothing special, but the cold shower provided another brief relief from the heat. I had plenty of time and little difficulty finding a pharmacy where I could obtain more Chloroquine for malaria prevention. Some broken Spanish, no prescription, and a few dollars was all it took.

I met up with the Texas couple and we walked downtown to look for a good place to eat. The city center, considering its being surrounded by half a million residents, wsa quite small with just a small main square with decent landscaping as well as a large, dirtyish church nearby. Other than that it was just a boring, scattered pile of chain restaurants and commercialism. Oh, except for the protest, or something that looked like a protest anyway- a large group of people marching down the street holding signs. Everything I've read about travel safety indicates that protests should be avoided, so our little group took the long way around the block.

We settled on a recommendation from Lonely Planet's "Central America on a Shoestring" guidebook, which miraculously manages to precisely direct the lives of thousands of travelers every year. The menu was nothing special, and the restaurant was out of both things we tried to order, but they had cold beer, which is important.

We finished off the hot, uneventful evening at the hostel, where I met a few of the people who I would be working with for the summer. After getting a pretty good intro on the project and what to expect, I decided to call it a night, and headed off to bed for a night of humid, choppy rest before my jungle introduction the next day.

Welcome to the Jungle

Once again, it's been a really long time since I've updated this, but I'm going to try and keep up with it now, for real this time. And, someday, I'd like to get all my stories, travel and otherwise, on here, so keep yourselves posted, even if there's months in between. The internet is such a perfect medium for publishing shameless narcissism, it's hard to turn down the opportunity.

So, a quick re-cap of my last 9 months: Europe >> home for holidays >> volunteered on farm in Mexico >> traveled around Mexico, Guatemala, Belize >> (screeching sound of brakes) went home to live with my mom and her husband in the cold, stale fog of conservative monotony that is my hometown, Alpena.

Why the return to the nest? Like all good things, the travel had to come to an end. I get burned out on traveling, believe it or not, and so does my bank account. But why go home for three long months? That brings us to my current location and how I got here.

Some time during my travels in Mexico, I came across a posting online for a Database Manager/GPS Course Leader wanted in Honduras for the summer. And, if you know anything about me, you know that this is right up my alley, so I applied immediately.

A short time went by before I got my first response and, after a few e-mails back and forth, I was offered the position! Psyched, I of course accepted, despite the fact that the job was unpaid, and that I would be required to live in a frigid wasteland, jobless, for three months.

Aside from a few bumps along the way (which can be expected when you're 27, unemployed, and living with your mother), the three months turned out well enough and I'm thankful for the experience. I learned some good lessons, both in life and on the computer, and was able to make my first website, this one being for my parents' moving company. Despite the fact that I had to learn nearly everything from the ground up, I think it turned out all right, so check 'er out HERE.

So, why take an unpaid position in the jungle for two months when I could probably find a decently paying job in the States? Well, for one, it's good professional experience. Up to this point, I haven't had this much responsibility in any job, and it will look great on a resume. Secondly, the cause is a good one. I'm not working for a timber company down here, this place is straight-up conservation. You know the cliche "save the rainforest"? The people I work for are the ones who carry out that task. Lastly, and this should be the most obvious reason for coming down here- more traveling!

Well, hopefully that will be enough to keep you reading, but you'll have to wait until the next post to hear about my jungle experience so far...

Prague

Wow, it's been awhile since I've updated this, but it certainly hasn't been for lack of material. I have been to seven countries in the past month, and have seen and done many interesting things, and met heaps of amazing people, and I'm only halfway through my trip!

I will say that this past week has, hands down, been the most intense part of the trip, but I feel like I should cover some things before that.

Hmmm, where to start. I guess I left off at my departure from Amsterdam into Germany. Basically I skipped Berlin (biggest regret of this trip since I've heard it's amazing) because I had no lodging booked and it would have been midnight by the time I got in. The other option would have been to stay in Hannover, but it seemed like a waste of time and money to stay there. So, in Hannover, I headed to an internet cafe, looked up some train times, and found a night train heading to Prague very shortly. So, I figured that would be in my best interest given the situation, and went back to the train station to buy another expensive ticket, this time for a sleeper.

Sleepers might sound great, but there isn't much sleep going on. You feel every bump and curve (at least on this train, which I think might have been a Czech one, German ones are likely better), and there are a lot of curves. I had the top bunk in a 4 or 5 bunk cabin, and there was only one other dude in the bottom bunk.

Needless to say I didn't sleep worth shit, and got into Prague the next morning feeling pretty out of it. First priority there was to get into the city and find some lodging since the station I came into was definitely out of town a bit. Getting to the city may sound like an easy task, but when you're in a new country for the first time, everything becomes its own little adventure. What is the exchange rate? Where is an ATM? Do I withdraw 100 or 500 krona? What tickets do I need to ride public transport, where are they, how much do they cost?

Everything went somewhat smoothly, despite having to wait in line twice because one window was out of day passes. Now what? What tram, what stop, which direction from there? Oh, I forgot to mention, everything is in Czech, which is a Slavic language and bears nearly no resemblance to English.


Prague, in a nutshell: scenic, but touristy and somewhat overrated. People (and my trusty guidebook, whose suggestions I rely on less by the day) told me to spend three to seven days in Prague. Are you serious? What the hell would I do with five days? I suppose if I wanted to see every single museum, every church, and every square, then maybe five days would be a good idea. However, in two or three days I felt I had seen enough to get a feeling, albeit a subtle one, for Prague. Charles Bridge and some of the squares were cool, but I was really impressed (and that's a hard thing to do) by Prague Castle. It sits above the city on a hill and completely dominates Prague's skyline "like a giant beached battleship" as the guidebook says. To me it would be an impressive piece of work if built within the last century, but the building is several hundred years old!

I think the most random and exciting thing to happen in Prague was to meet up with a friend from Alpena. I had updated my status on Facebook to include a reference that I had made it to Prague (if you don't know what Facebook is, it means you're old). John saw this and sent me a message saying he too was in the city! How about that, another Alpenian on the other side of the ocean, yet just minutes away! Small world indeed.

John and I covered the usual Alpena topics (unfortunately for his friend), and then wandered in the rain through the dark, cobblestone corridors of Prague's streets until the wee hours. We managed to squeeze in a shot of Absinthe (140 proof, yikes!) at a touristy pub, and eat some ridiculously large Czech sausages (they hang off the bun by a good two or three inches on each side) while John chatted it up in Russian and English with the Ukranian girl who sold us the food. I had told him earlier that my great-grandfather (last name Senchuk) had come from the Ukraine. John mentioned this to our new friend, who said she indeed knew some Senchuks!


We parted ways after some more wandering and I headed back to my pretty-decent hostel, then I think I went to Kutna Hora that day, which has this crazy church with a whole bunch of sculptures and chandeliers made out of human bones. It was interesting, but the 20 minutes I spent there probably weren't worth the three-hour round trip!

Moving on

On Sunday I concluded that there was no point in staying in Amsterdam any longer, even though I had already paid for a third night. But really, what else would I DO with another day? I already did a city tour, went to some bars and coffee shops, ate some good (and not so good) food, saw the Red Lights, and got a feel for the city and its people, history, and transportation. I am not into museums, which seemed like the only thing I might have missed, so my best option was to hit the road.

I find it funny the difference between the decisions I have to make here and those I had to make back home. In Denver it was usually "What Netflix disc should we watch tonight?" or "Where should we eat?". On the road, it's more like "What country should I go to today?". This type of traveling is the closest thing to complete freedom that I have discovered in my life. There is something slightly liberating about having to rely upon only what you can carry on your person.

On a related note I was thinking about the pattern of minimalism I have experienced in recent years: my parents' warehouse burned down a few years ago and I lost a lot of possessions, my house got broken into the first week I moved to Denver (laptop and camera: gone), I had my bike stolen last year, I lost some stuff in a work vehicle fire this past summer, and before this trip I had to part with a lot of stuff since I could only take what would fit in my car to take to Michigan. Now I am down to a backpack for the next seven weeks. What's next, a plastic bag on the end of a stick?

If I could have posted some Red Light District shots, I would have. Unfortunately, in the interest of remaining anonymous, the ladies don't really appreciate having their photo taken, and they will remind you of that if you try otherwise. I saw one dumbass guy try to get a shot in, despite the "No Photo" stickers on the windows, and the girl completely freaked out on him, hitting the glass and proving the extent of her English vocabulary.

Oh, and by the way, if you have the same preconceptions of what prostitutes are supposed to look like, you are probably incorrect. I anticipated a row of dirty, cracked-out East Colfax types clinging to life by a single desperate thread. What I saw, however, were women who belonged not behind a window but on a magazine cover. They were probably some of the most beautiful women I have seen in my life (most of them anyway), and it was amazing that they would choose such a profession.

Also, to give you an idea of what I saw, our tour guide described the Red Light as the "Baskin Robbins of Prostitution". Every size, shape, ethnicity, age, and specialty (i.e. a dominatrix to punish you or a nurse to take care of you) seemed to be present behind the windows. And for 50 Euros, any one of them could be yours for 10-15 minutes.

Some final Amsterdam notes: I did try another coffee shop, wisely skipped the tobacco this time, but concluded what I have known for years- that marijuana just isn't for me. An anxious introvert will only become more anxious after a couple of puffs, so what's the point? I appreciate the effects it has on the mind, but not the tension, which is usually to the point of physical discomfort. I have a drinking personality, probably always will, so I think I will stick to what I know best.

To create a perfect framing effect for this post, I will wrap it up with my decision to leave Amsterdam. My original plan was to head to Berlin, but seeing as how I wasn't up to a six-hour train ride, nor did I have any lodging booked, I opted for the shorter destination of Hannover, Germany, a decision I made literally on the bus ride to the train station.

I'll tell you about the train ride next time...

http://Internet.situation.sucks!

Unfortunately I haven't updated this thing because the internet situation has been ridiculous. For example, there are about 8 computers at this hostel here in Prague, 6 of which are actually functional online. So, if i want to do anything at all on the internet, i have to sit and wait in line anywhere from 15 minutes to an hour because there is a queue of other travelers waiting to do the same things. I sit on the couch behind the computers and watch people go to Facebook, Hotmail, Gmail, Yahoo! Mail, HostelWorld, HostelBookers, Skype, bahn.de, RailEurope, uploading photos, all the exact same things i do. It's amazing how popular the online world has gotten!

So, long story short, it has been really difficult to do anything online so far. There are definitely internet cafes around, but so many people have laptops these days and wi-fi is so popular that i think internet cafes are dying. Basically, if you don't have your own computer, it's a huge pain in the ass to do anything. If you start wondering why you haven't heard from me, that's why! Trust me, I have so much stuff I would like to say (I'm about two days behind actually), and many photos to go with it, but there are about three people waiting to use this computer. so frustrating!

Be patient....

AmsterDAMN this place is different

At the suggestion of a fellow blogger, I'm going to try some smaller, more manageable posts...

The majority of Saturday was spent on a Free Tour (if you ever get a chance to do one, go for it, they're great) of Amsterdam. I got the scoop on weed, prostitution, why some Dutch houses are leaning (can't tell you why, you have to take the tour), and some strategies for minimizing public urination:
(click on any of the pictures if you can't see them well enough)




On a less humorous note, we also got a relatively concise history of Holland. I was impressed by how tolerant their culture has been throughout most of history and, obviously, still is today. One example- Amsterdam is more ethnically diverse than any other city in the world, with something like 170 different ethnicities in the area. Considering there are only about 195 countries on Earth, that's pretty impressive!

Some other random Amsterdam notes:

- Psychedelic mushrooms (the real thing, not the High Times crap) are completely legal here (at least until a certain law is in effect due to a French girl's recent death from mushrooms), while marijuana technically is not.

- If Amsterdam doesn't have the best public transit system in the world, it has to be close. There are countless trams, metro lines, Sneltrens (high-speed), bus routes, and bike lanes on nearly every street. There is almost no reason to drive a car, especially since finding (and paying for) a parking spot is often a fruitless endeavor. On a related note, almost every vehicle I saw was far smaller than your average American automobile, and that's coming from someone who drives a small car.

- From what I gathered Amsterdam has an almost identical climate to that of Vancouver or Seattle: cool and rainy most of the year, but with decent summers.

- The prices I usually encountered for food, drinks, etc., were very similar to those in Denver, only in Euros. Not exactly a steal if you ask me!

- With the amount of diversity I spoke of above, you can imagine the variety of restaurants and bars in Amsterdam. I only had some Indian and Turkish food, and went to a solid Irish bar where I don't think I heard a single Dutch word in two hours, but evidently such exotic cuisines as Indonesian and Surinamese are prevalent as well.

I have a lot more to say, but not enough time to do it. I think there will be a bit of lag time between when things happen and when they get posted, otherwise I'm going to get burned out from writing too much! Most of it is in my journal, though, so I should usually have something in queue for the next post....

This place smells like college

I am officially in Europe for the first time, Amsterdam to be exact, and am so far enjoying the whole deal. The architecture is incredible, people here are a more smiley and helpful bunch than I expected, and EVERYONE I've talked to so far talks English real good. There seem to be as many signs in Dutch as there are in English, and when they're in the former I can still do some decent translating since Dutch seems considerably similar to German.

The process of getting here was an extremely mixed bag of ups and downs. My first flight was delayed, so I would have missed my connection, BUT THEN I got switched to a direct from Detroit instead of going through Newark yet somehow saved two hours, BUT THEN there was a possibility that my bag wouldn't make it to the other plane in time, BUT THEN I was told my bag would make it, BUT THEN it wasn't there when I got to Amsterdam, BUT THEN someone made a call to someone else to try and find it, which they didn't, BUT THEN as I was filling out the form to have them ship my bag to me eventually I was told they finally found it. It was a glorious early-morning reunion between me and my backpack.

After I got that mess straightened out, I took a ridiculously smooth, fast, cheap, efficient train from the airport to Station Centraal (if you can't figure out what this means in English, just give up now, there is no hope for you). Since I'm at the latitudinal equivalent of roughly mid-Canada, the sun was still on its way up despite the fact that it was nearly 8:00 a.m., but I could still make out some definining features of the city's outskirts, which actually reminded me of a larger version of Anchorage in a way.

From S.C., which is absolutely gigantic, I began a chilly, long and aimless search for my hostel. And why not? I checked my schedule and it turns out I have no plans until, ohhhhh, November 20 when I have to fly back to the States. So, after successfully avoiding the many, many bikes/trams/cars and kind of figuring out the crosswalks, I concluded that my best comparison of American cities to this one would be a bigger Portland with canals.

I finally found the hostel, which is also huge, but is unfortunately in a somewhat lame area far from downtown in a slightly plain neighborhood (just like the reviews said, ha). Well, lame by Amsterdam standards anyway, but not lame enough for me to score some borek at a Turkish bakery three blocks away. It was my first borek experience, and I must say it was met with positive results.

Other than that I haven't done much, mainly because I've only been here for about four hours and am basically just biding my time until 2:00, at which point I can check into my room and hopefully proceed to a solid, afternoon-long nap. I know what you're thinking- why waste time sleeping when I could be out checking out one of the coolest cities in the world? Wellllll, considering I slept about 4 good hours the night before I left, plus the zero hours I slept on the plane because the kid behind me was fulfilling his life purpose of kicking my seat and because the people on each side of me immediately claimed each armrest for the majority of the 7-hour flight and because middle seats should just be illegal, then I guess I've slept about 4 hours out of the last 48 (on a positive note I sat next to a Michigan guy living in Bucharest who gave me some great Romania advice). I'm pretty sure my body still thinks it's six in the morning right now (or maybe even 4 since I only left Denver a few days ago) and basically I'm completely exhausted and in need of a recharge before I can go out and fully appreciate this amazing city.

Oh, I DID go to one of those, what do you call them, coffee shops this morning. For those of you 493 years old and older, these establishments are some of the only ones of their kind in the entire world. Where else can you go and point out on a menu what strain of marijuana you want to buy? If any of you have the idea that I did a few years ago about the Dutch reefer situation (i.e. it's a total free-for-all and everybody is stoned all the time), you're completely wrong. You can't just light up anywhere you want, it's mainly confined to coffee shops, and there is a surprisingly large number of people that don't even smoke.

So, it being my first time in Amsterdam and all, I had to see what this was all about. I didn't WANT to, you know, since drugs are bad, but it was just the obligation I had to fulfill. Anyway, the place had an entirely different feel to it than a normal bar (no alcohol there, by the way, just really really good pot & hash), but I can't really pinpoint what it was. People just sit there, sip tea, and smoke away. I opted for a cigarette, which really is more of a cigarette than a joint since they pack it full of tobacco in addition to the you-know-what. I was aware of this unappetizing fact (I hate cigarettes) before I made the purchase, but I was unaware of the horribly low ratio of hashish to tobacco. Sadly, the tobacco was just too much, and I did not meet my responsibility of finishing the product, but I am all the wiser now and optimistic about a more promising experience next time around.

Well, that's all I've got so far, and I'm starting to question how often I will be able to post stuff since internet use is charged by the hour (I really took those Argentina freebies for granted), but I will see what I can do.

1 day to go...

ALMOST packed up and ready to go. Hasn't sunk in yet that I'm leaving for seven weeks!