Belgrade: je t’aime, errr, volim te

So I left Københaven (Copenhagen) at 18:53 (6:53pm...sorry) Tuesday night. I got into München (Munich) at 8:57am (the German trains are so efficient it actually got me in early). Once I got into München, I took the 9:27am train to Budapest (which also got in early, I believe) which had an arrival time of 16:49 (again, 4:49pm...sorry!). Then I hopped the 23:00 (you get the idea) train to Belgrade. Traveling for well over a day at that point, all I wanted was to lay down. That much I could do on a sparsely populated overnight train to Serbia. I was soon asleep. However, at about 1:00am the Hungarian border patrol, armed with semi-automatics, came banging on the door speaking Hungarian. That was one of the most frightening experiences of my life. I looked outside, we were stopped on some remote part of the Hungarian/Serbian border, and had this fine gentleman decided to put a bullet in my head no one would ever find me. Sweet. Anyway, he start shouting Hungarian at me, I immediately jump up from my seat and hand him my ticket. Of course, he was asking for my passport, so he continued to yell at me. He took it, questioned it, and showed it to all his border guard friends at which point I was convinced I was going to the Gulag (I know that’s Russian, shut up). He asked the other guy (a nice Serbian guy who was extremely helpful since I had no clue as to what was going on) in the compartment what was in his bag to which he replied – I shit you not – “some stuff,” and the border guard moved on to the next compartment. Rattled, I laid back down and got some shut eye. Until 20 minutes later, when we had to do it all over again with the Serbian border patrol. Scariest night of my life since 2006 when I received last rites from a priest at Newton-Wellsley Hospital following my liver laceration. Cut to the next morning. Ever get the urge to travel for 40 straight hours by train then end up in a city where not only are the street signs in Cyrillic (and the map is in Latin – good luck matching Boulevar Oslobodjenja to the street sign reading “Булевар Ослобођења”), but your chances of being killed by an automobile while trying to cross the street are 1-in-4? Well have I found the place for you! As they would say on Ren and Stimpy: “beautiful Hollywood Yugoslavia!” Nobody’s going to get that reference. Oh well. But yeah, what a trip.

Thursday night, after taking about a 14 hour nap in my beautiful apartment, we go to Beerfest. Now, anyone that knows me knows I don’t like the taste of beer, so this might seem kind of, well, retarded, I suppose. But it gets me out of feeling guilty for missing Oktoberfest, so I go. Plus, it’s an excuse to get to Belgrade (as if I needed one). So after searching for about an hour for a parking space (which is a feat – in Belgrade they park the cars on the curb, on the median, on police officers – three high, if need be, they don’t care), we finally make it in. I’m not sure what was better, the beers for €1 or sneaking up on the 6’30” Serbian Sniper in front of the Bg tent. Six of one, half a dozen of another. But what on earth was that music they were playing? It was like Serbian folk music. I expected something…well, I’m not sure exactly what I expected, but it wasn’t that.

Cut to Friday afternoon. Sanja picked me up and took me to Boris’ for just about the best hors d’oeuvres I’ve ever had in my life. Boris’ son Milan decided to call Japan from my cell phone. Thanks for that. But we had a nice relaxing evening, sitting back, talking economics (again, sounds boring but isn’t) be it Serbian, American, Russian, etc. It was very relaxing…initially. It was getting late and Boris had to put Milan to bed, so 'Magellan' (Dragana) swung by and picked me up and took me down to Hotel Yugoslavija. Kind of. I’m not even sure what the purpose was, but it didn’t matter because we never got there. We parked the car somewhere and began this epic journey in search of the Hotel. I should have noticed something was amiss when we took four lefts, preceded by four rights. That’s not something you get on Google Maps all that often. After about a half hour of walking there we realized we were lost (this was nothing new to me after being lost the minute I stepped onto Serbian soil) and turned around to go back. Except…where is the car?? All the streets look the same. Great. Three hours (I’m not really exaggerating all that much, honestly), several sit-down breaks, and a Costas Coffee run later (okay that part I made up…although I think we passed the same Costas Coffee place about four times), we find the car. It’s 3am. Super. And on our way back, what do we pass? You guessed it: Hotel Yugoslavija. Communists.

Cut to Saturday evening (it’s easy to do since my mornings have been basically non-existent). After a beautiful day spent on the River Sava at Nikola’s houseboat (see pictures), a bunch of us meet up at Skadarlija for dinner and drinks. It’s about this time that I come to the realization that no, Belgrade is not some war-torn ghetto you see in films in the States (they don’t specifically target Serbia, but rather the entire Eastern Bloc). It gets a bad rep being part of former Yugoslavia and being a very poor country, but I like it. It's not as pretty as Copenhagen or Stockholm certainly, but there are some hidden treasures here; Skardarlija, reminiscient of Monmartre, is an excellent example. So we’re sitting there, and I realize I am in the midst of paradise: it’s about 75F, there is live music and people cheering, beers are flowing and they are cheap (I’ll take a €1.50 Lav over a €6 Carlsberg (Denmark) any day), and the women (at our table, no less!) are stunning. There are eight of us at the table: myself, Stefano, Dusan (I think), and five absolutely stunning women (Dragana, Sandra, Natasa, Milena III, and some chick I’ve never met before). I know I sound like a broken record, but what is in the water here? I expected it on the beaches of Greece (you have to bring your A game there), but in downtown Belgrade? I’ve noticed the obesity epidemic we have in the States hasn’t gotten here (or to any of the places I’ve seen in Europe, honestly), but I can’t for the life of me figure out why: every five feet is some street food that is full of cholesterol and saturated fat, be it sausages, ice cream, or the local пекара (bakery) which offers nothing healthy whatsoever. Food is cheap and unhealthy; ditto the beer. How is everyone thin?? But I digress. The bill then came, and it was less than €57. Crazy. Three of us for dinner in Copenhagen was well over €100, and that was at a restaurant named “Puk.”

Cut to Monday. The Serbian Sniper picks me up at my apartment to go to Lake Ada and play basketball. For those of you that know me, I play basketball like an offensive linemen: I’m dirty, I use my elbows, and I have very little ball skill. I’m also not in shape to play regular USA basketball, much less Serbian basketball (here there is no “taking it back” – if you miss, you have to play defense right away). In what was undoubtedly the best play I made all day (which isn't saying much), I took this 60+ year old man off the dribble, turned around, and laid it up with my left hand. As I'm doing this, Djuro yells "you go American Fairytale!" Asshole. :) It was downhill from there. Then I went home and collapsed on the couch to Croatian Music Television. It’s not any better than it sounds, trust me. After watching Eurotrip ("Miami Wice, #1 new show!"), I was hoping I could catch some 'new' episodes of “Sliders” here in Serbia. No luck, though. I will say, though (completely unrelated, now that I’m in ‘revision’ mode), in Copenhagen and Stockholm I felt like a tourist. Here, I don't. It’s actually to the point where I feel embarrassed taking pictures just because nobody else is doing it, and it makes it pretty clear than I’m not from around here (as if the Buffalo Bills hat and magenta iPod Nano didn’t do the trick). I still feel like a foreigner - going grocery shopping when you don't know the language and have to point at everything and say "hvala" (“thank you”) is a trip - but generally I don’t feel like a tourist. It's a good feeling. I just wish I had a gym to go to. In Greece we played volleyball every day on the beach and ate one meal a day. In Scandinavia food was too damn expensive to eat often and I was probably up to ten miles a day on the city bikes by the time I left. Here? Well I'm getting the three squares a day and there are no bikes to be found. So much for getting myself into shape.

Speaking of getting into shape, chicken tetrazzini has got to be the least healthy thing in my repertoire. For anyone curious on how to make chicken tetrazzini in Europe, here are the conversions (what a pain in the ass):

1 stick of butter = 1/4 lb = 113 g
1 pint (whipping cream (“pavlaka”)) = 473 ml
2 cups (chicken broth) = 0.5 L
16 oz (pasta) = 454 g
1/2 cup (flour) = 120 ml
350 F = 177 C

Thank you, thank you, I know that was riveting for most of you. I’ll be here all week. Be sure to tip your waitress.

On Tuesday, Deki (haha, you can’t get away from it Dejan) picked me up with his sister Irena and we met Sanja at Kalemegdan (which is this nice area in Belgrade with a park and the big fortress). After the worst lemonade in the history of water-based liquids (yeah, you heard me), we walked back through the pedestrian zone where I was able to display some killer 3rd grade recorder skills. Mrs. Moriarty would be so proud. Thursday (I think), Deki picked me up again (at what point do I owe him cab fare?), and we met up with Sanja and Dragana for crepes. Delicioussssss. Then we apparently went down to Hotel Yugoslavija (I shit you not – and I had no idea about this until days afterward even), and met up with Kosta and Marija for drinks on the river while unsuccessfully looking for karaoke. It was about that time I tried to put in 600 RSD for the bill, and received 700 RSD change. New math. Friday was the trip to Novi Sad (the Thessaloniki of Serbia, if you will) for an incredible meal at Salaš 137 (this random farm out in the middle of nowhere - the fact that they say "it's nearly impossible to get lost" on their website is maddening), and a trip to Novi Sad’s fortress and main square. Saturday was the big bash at my place and, if you’ve seen the videos, there’s not much else I can add to that. As nervous as I was to be hosting a party in Belgrade, it was a smashing success. Of course, I don’t know half of what was said at the party, but who cares? People had a good time, I had a good time, and we’ve got enough photographic and video evidence to keep me out of Congress forever. Time now to head to Budapest for a few days before I deadhead back to Belgrade for the trip to Bosnia for white water rafting. Just when you think it can’t get any better…

Now it comes to meet your maker, Belgrade. Drumroll please!

Women (why is this category always first??): A+/A. Did they send their best to Greece to represent? Certainly. But walk around downtown Belgrade and see if it's really that much of a drop off. Some of the younger girls have the potential but wear trashy clothing. Aside from that, there's little you can say negatively in this category. Deki says the hottest girls in Europe are Serbian and Polish. Why am I not going to Poland after this??

Nightlife: B+. Didn't see enough of it to really judge, believe it or not. But the rivers (Sava, Danube) and the lake (Ada) are extremely impressive. Much more beautiful than you would expect. The only knock on it is that it seemed too quiet when I was down there. Apparently the natives leave in August to go on vacation. Didn't go to any clubs (which really is a blessing).

Food: A. Didn't expect this, certainly, but all the local fare was excellent. Whether it was a meal at Salaš 137 or just Serbian hors d’oeuvres, the food was excellent all around.

Beaches: C-. Disappointing. All this water, but no real beaches to speak of (that I saw, at least). Not that I went to Serbia - a landlocked country - for the beaches. But I figured since I rated beaches for every other country (not that you can compare to Greece's) I might as well throw it in. I'm sure there are beaches somewhere, I just didn't really see any on Ada or the two rivers.

Public transportation: C+. Didn't take it so it's tough to judge. I will say that the busses looked crowded as hell every time I saw one, and there's not much of an underground subway to speak of (but rather trolleys everywhere reminiscient of the Green Line in Boston, which is atrocious). Neither the bus nor the trolley has a problem cutting you off in traffic or running you over if you try to cross the street.

Infrastructure: B. Better than I expected. From the stories I was told, I expected to see half-blown up buildings everywhere. While I did see one or two, everything was more or less in tact. As I stated before, it certainly wasn't as pretty as Scandinavia (and can we stop with the graffiti already? who thinks that's a good idea??), but there are some hidden gems in the city, and not just Skadarlija.

People: A+. Totally biased, I know, but even this random Serb on the train offered me a sandwich for no reason whatsoever.

Overall: A. I was sad to leave. I will see everyone again for rafting, but still. If it wasn't 5000 miles away from home (let's say it was just 500) I might never leave.

As it stands now, here is the projected schedule:

July 22: NYC
July 23 – July 31: Paralia Katerini, Greece
August 1 – August 5: Stockholm, Sweden
August 5 – August 11: Copenhagen, Denmark
August 12: Budapest, Hungary
August 13 – August 24: Belgrade, Serbia
August 25 – August 28: Budapest, Hungary
August 29 – August 31: Tara, Bosnia (via Belgrade; for rafting)
September 1: Venice, Italy

Live from München Station

Well, the journey is underway. Actually, I won’t be able to post this until after I get in to Belgrade, but whatever. The last twelve hours have been a trip. First to the Danish War Resistance Museum. Smallest museum I’ve ever seen – is anyone surprised? Skip the trip to Copenhagen, I’ll give you a quick rundown: Hitler liked the Danes because they were followed his Aryan model and really had no use for their shitty country so he allowed the government to stay as long as they did what he said; the Danes were terrified of Hitler and didn’t want to make waves, so they just sort of did whatever he wanted. When some of the citizens (like eight of them, seriously) rebelled, Danish law saved them from death. You can imagine that didn’t go so well with ol’ Adolf. The Danish government was soon replaced, and rebels were executed. Clearly fed up with this, in 1944 as the Germans were losing the war, the Danes finally resisted. Way to jump on the bandwagon, guys.

Cut to the train ride. I get on the 18:53 (I guess AM/PM is only used by the States?) train for München (Munich). I get in a six-seat compartment and find I’m all alone. Score! This poor Italian girl (who’s English isn’t great and speaks zero Danish) is being told by a conductor who hasn’t got the time nor the interest to explain in great depth that her ticket is only good to some random shit town in Germany outside of Hamburg, not all the way to Munich (eight hours south of Hamburg). He doesn’t explain to her that it’s going to be a mere €4 to continue on to Munich. So I help her out a bit and squeeze a few answers out of the conductor (thank God I didn’t have to translate them to Italian. Andiamo? Ashpete? Yeah…) and she gets moved into my little, formerly-private compartment. But it’s two rows of three seats facing each other, so no worries right? I can still lay down. I beat the system, right? For 221 DKK (less than $44) I have a semi-private compartment and a “bed.” Scoreboard USA. That is, until we get to Hamburg around midnight. Good thing I got a few hours of sleep beforehand, because there was no more to be had when these sketchy Germans got on the train. First a mother and daughter came on and were very nice, sat on the outside facing each other (Italy and I were on the inside facing each other once we saw we were getting guests), and in the middle were these two sketchy German dudes who didn’t speak a lick of English and looked like Megadeth roadies. Both in their forties, one looked like a blond version of Flea from the Red Hot Chili Peppers sporting an American Choppers t-shirt and whitewashed jeans, the other extremely overweight (of course he sat next to me, right?) with awful teeth and smelled like a dumpster (maybe he lived in one?). I figured if they were going to attack us when we were asleep, it being me and three women, I would definitely be first. Talk about food for thought while you’re trying to sleep (sitting up, no less – why don’t European trains have reclining seats??). So much for beating the system; so much for getting any more sleep. Maybe that whole “I’ll sleep when I’m dead” adage is truer than I thought…

So I’m on the high-speed train from München to Budapest going 160 km/h. Take that, Amtrak. I grabbed some breakfast at the station, but I refuse to pay €5+ for one of those horrendous looking sandwiches they’re walking around with now. So this German girl sitting next to me offers me just about the worst sandwich I’ve ever seen – swiss cheese and butter on stale Czech bread. And a carrot. This must be how the ‘other half’ lives. Devastating. But props to the Europeans for putting power ports on their trains. Now if I could just get internet…

Day one solo

Not soon after Fletcher left did the realization that my adventure is going solo set in. What a weird feeling that was. My immediate instinct was to run back home where familiarity will return me to my comfort zone. But wasn’t getting out of my comfort zone what this trip was all about? Tuesday we (and by ‘we’ I mean ‘I’ of course) continue on to Munich, then to Budapest, then to Belgrade. Beerfest goes on until Sunday, and it’s a city I can finally afford. I also can’t wait to get out of this hostel-living for a week. A luxury apartment in the center of Belgrade for €40/night? Sign me up. No more showering in sandals dodging mold and mosquitos that made Sprague Hall look clean? Done. And a kitchen…I can’t wait. I haven’t had milk since I left.

Anyway, the last two nights have been crazy here. I met an interesting mix of people here: a few Americans, a couple of Canadians, a few Aussies…but no Danes. Too bad. Night one we decided going out around here was just too expensive, so we went to Sevs (7-11 for you common folk) and decided to “homeless it up” and drink at a park bench (which is completely legal here). Keep it classy, Copenhagen. What an experience that was. As we were all trading travel stories, people would stop by randomly and sit with us for a few minutes (or more), then take off. A homeless woman came by and started singing to us (quite loud, I might add; could be classified as ‘shouting’). Priceless. Cut to the next morning. I have to get up and walk Rob to the train station but my back is killing me. WTF? What happened last night? Oh that’s right, I fell asleep in the lobby at a 45 degree angle with my laptop on my lap…for three hours. Well done, sir. Dropped Rob off, got to the Carlsberg brewery only to find out that 1) it’s closed on Mondays and 2) the swastika isn’t as unpopular in Denmark as it is in, say, Israel (see picture). Spent the remainder of the day with these two Americans bumming around the city swiping city bikes from the bushes/stairwells/canals they were stashed away in. Hey, when in Rome, etc. etc. We walk up to the City Public Hostel to try and find them a room for the next night, and I run into Heath Ledger from Stockholm! What a small world. The four of us got a pizza (after another epic search for ice – wtf is wrong with this continent???), and reconvened at the hostel. Our group continued to climb to the point where there were six of us Americans, three Aussies, two Canucks, a Costa Rican. We decided to go on a pub crawl…in the most expensive city ever…in the pouring rain. Worst decision ever. We actually walked into this dive bar with the Sevs beers thinking we were stealth. We were not. The walk home was not a dry one.

Almost time for the epic journey to Belgrade for Beerfest. First I have to hit the Danish War Resistance museum (I have to see their tanks up close: http://wpcontent.answers.com/wikipedia/commons/thumb/7/76/DanishResistanceAC2795.jpg/180px-DanishResistanceAC2795.jpg). But I leave tonight at 6:57pm for Munich, I don’t get in to Belgrade until Thursday morning (after changing trains in Munich and Budapest). I’ve got to be out of my mind…

Where the hell are we??

…because I have no idea. This is the last time I let Fletcher pick a hostel. Check that - when I get to Belgrade I'm living in style. No more of this hostel shit. In Stockholm at least we were in the center of everything – Old Town (“Gamla Stan”) – and we could get anywhere in a city much, much bigger than Copenhagen. Now? I’ll be happy if we aren’t murdered in our sleep, and if poor Rob doesn’t call out of his 15 foot high bunk bed with no railing. If the blog suddenly stops someone contact the Copenhagen police department. I saw ‘Hostel.’ Did we walk all the way to Bratislava? It’s certainly possible. At least the Bates Motel was clean…

I should also mention that I found a Bills fan on the train. Some musician from Rochester happened to be on the train from Stockholm and pointed at my hat. I initially just figured he had confused it with some local soccer logo, but not the case. What are the odds?

Went to Christiana yesterday. Wow. They weren’t kidding when they said this was Denmark’s hippie enclave. What a neat place, though. It actually reminded me of a group of Deadheads who decided to stop traveling once Jerry bit it. A very cool place to visit though, with all the dreadie merchants selling their clothing/food/drugs (not joking, actually). I haven’t seen so much illegal drug paraphernalia sold since the last Greatful Dead concert I was at. Technically it is illegal in all of Denmark to buy or sell drugs (unlike Amsterdam), but that didn’t stop the people I saw. When you walk in there are signs everywhere warning against taking pictures, so I don’t have any photographic evidence of any of this, but it was an experience I’ll never forget. After you leave the merchants, you walk into the “bar” which is a bar that sells beer and tables with women dancing on them and people smoking all sorts of things all over the place. It reminded me of “From Dusk Till Dawn.” We must have stuck out like sore thumbs. The beers were actually the cheapest we’ve gotten (besides 7-11) but we decided collectively to return at night would be an extremely bad idea.

Aside from the hippie commune, Copenhagen is pretty boring actually. And extremely, extremely expensive. To the point that I don’t understand why anybody even comes here. There’s not much to do, and you pay a fortune to do it. Not hating on the country – I just love the fact that everyone bikes everywhere (the cities in the US could stand to learn a thing or two) – but I can’t imagine why anybody visits. Hell, I don’t even know why we visited. Went to Tivoli Gardens today (see pictures). That placed sucked hardcore. It was like a mini-Asian Disney World. 85 DKK down the drain. There was one ride – I shit you not – that you had to pull yourself up on a rope and bounce this carriage you were sitting in. Worst. ride. evar.

So I booked the train to Belgrade (well, to Budapest, but close enough). www.raileurope.com thought they were going to get me for $300+. They thought wrong. I got a ticket to Munich (610 miles from Copenhagen) Tuesday night for 221 DKK (about $42), and then switch to a train to Budapest (425 miles from Munich) for €51 (about $75). The train from Budapest to Belgrade (230 miles) is €15 (about $22). Beat that. I think I’ll spend a night in Budapest after the endless train ride to get there, arrive in Belgrade as the Beerfest celebrations peak. I can’t wait to get to a country I can afford. I might never leave.

What happens after Belgrade? Maybe cut back through Budapest and Vienna, then maybe to Rome? I'd still like to hit Iceland...maybe on the way back??

Copenhagen, you have disappointed me. Drumroll please!

Women: A/A-. Not quite the Nordic beauties of Sweden, but they hold their own.

Food: C+. Too expensive to enjoy, and not all that enjoyable on their own. The pickled/marinated herring is absolutely disgusting. And where is the ice??

Public Transportation: A-. City bikes are technically public transportation since they are free. But they make my Wal-Mart bike look like a Lance Armstrong customized Schwinn. Or something. And you can't find them anywhere. Check with Sweden on how to do it, guys. Didn't take the subway, but the train was quite efficient; heard the subway was too (just like the Tunnelbana).

Nightlife: B-. Supposed to be "crazy" compared to Stockholm...which isn't saying much.

Beaches: B-. Too many stick and shells in the sand. No volleyball. Cold water. Weak sun. But attractive people bring it up a bit. A nice place to bike to. Oh, and you get a good view of the windmills right off the shore which is pretty neat.

Overall: C+. Not all it's cracked up to be...whatever that means. When the DKK follows the path of the ISK I might come back. But probably not.

"Fletcher – get the fuck up!"

I’m currently on the SJx2100 train from Stockholm to Copenhagen. Waking up at 7:45am and making an 8:21am train with ten minutes to spare is an art form, but the events leading up to this should be explained first.

Sunday was tame. Sunday night was not. The Swedish nightlife leaves quite a bit to be desired – state controlled liquor laws make the States look like complete anarchy. We saw one liquor store in all of Stockholm and we never saw it open. The beer sold in the supermarket was 3.5% and wasn’t cheap. All outside bars closed at midnight per state regulations, which blows my mind since you can only be outside at night for about six weeks in Sweden.

In any event, when the bar closed, Fletcher winds up meeting this group of Swedes who can’t be explained as anything other than characters. They end up leading us to this dive bar that had karaoke ironically called the Anchor Pub (anybody that’s ever been to Buffalo, NY knows the home of the buffalo wing is the Anchor Bar). Apparently Fletcher got absolutely wrecked (and racked up a 1000+ SEK bar bill) because the next afternoon when I tried to wake him up at 1:30pm for the bike tour he was completely unable to respond. Rob was nowhere to be found, so I did the bike tour on my own, what the hell. Now, Sweden for all it’s beauty, nature, and splendor has a history that’s almost completely irrelevant. Augustus Adolphus this, warrior king that, blah blah blah. They haven’t had a war in 200 years (which is great, but it makes for a pretty boring history). Berlin’s bike tour in ’07, by contrast, was full of relevant, recent political strife and war and was absolutely fascinating. But once you get past the history, biking Stockholm is something else entirely. It’s comprised of 14 islands so there’s water everywhere – some of it salt water from the Baltic Sea, some of it fresh water. People come out in droves when the weather is nice and the people of Stockholm, on average, are not unattractive people. It’s such an experience, the next day the three of us rented bikes ourselves and biked all around the city. It doesn’t hurt that Stockholm is the most bike-friendly city I’ve ever seen with dedicated bike lanes everywhere (edit: we just got to Copenhagen and it blows Stockholm out of the water re: city biking. More on this later.).

Monday night we met up with our new Aussie friend, Heath Ledger (that’s his real name. no, not really), and went to Södermalm (I believe literally means “the southern island,” but don’t quote me on that). Of course the outside bars closed at midnight so we had to cram into some bar/club combo…when it’s 75°F outside. Cali Rob got to meet the sketchiest guy ever (yes Beth, even sketchier than Dead Weight) before we went to what the Aussie’s call “Mackers” to have a pickle race. Not my idea, but watching Heath Ledger throw a pickle across McDonald’s and hitting the golden ‘M’ on the window might have been one of the funniest things I’ve ever seen. I guess you had to be there. Don’t blame me for not – you were all invited!

The next night we brought this pair of Dutch girls from our hostel out for karaoke. They were traveling with a group of six from Holland and four had split off and they looked a little lost, so we figured 'what the hell.' They thought it would be a good idea to teach me Dutch as we walked – why does everyone think I’m proficient enough at languages to pick them up on the spot? I can barely get through my own language half the time. We signed up for karaoke again, they didn’t get to us again, and again Fletcher got wrecked and ran up a huge bar bill. Wash, rinse, repeat.

That brings us to this morning. We all set our alarms for 6:30-7:00am. At 7:45am I shot up and realized no one was awake and yelled “Fletcher, get the fuck up!” We hadn’t packed and we had an 8:21 train for Copenhagen about a mile away. In what had to have been some sort of record we were out hailing a cab ten minutes later, and only by the grace of God we were at the train station by 8:11. Once the adrenaline wore off, the hangover set in. I’m sure the elderly woman sitting next to me for the majority of the ride enjoyed smelly, un-showered, booze-ridden Theodore sleeping next to her all morning. Life has it’s little bonuses, I suppose.

Now, for the scorecard, Stockholm (drum-roll please):

Nightlife: C. State liquor laws are just too much, and although this might have been a product of being there the wrong part of the week, the Swedes we met seemed to suggest otherwise.

Women: A. They look like the Children of the Corn sometimes, but they are beautiful people. Hell, if I was gay – which I’m not, thanks - I’d go after a dude from around here. Tough to compete with scantily-clad Mediterranean 20-somethings, but all the stereotypes about Swedes are true; they are beautiful.

Public transportation: A. We only took the Tunnelbana once because it was so expensive and too nice to go underground, but it was solid that one time. The train we’re on right now is quite comfortable, clean, and not prohibitively expensive (unlike the RailEurope, which is a fortune.) The public bikes, not unlike France’s “velib”, are an excellent way to bum around the city, and not surprisingly there is a ton of bike traffic everywhere. I definitely saw a woman get very close to being run over in a bike lane. Quality.

Food: B. God I miss American food. I ordered a sausage for dinner one night because it was “local fare,” and I think I got an oversized Slim Jim with chocolate sauce on it. Rob ordered a hot dog that tasted like plastic, and I got a hot dog wrap filled with mashed potatoes that made me feel like the guy in the opening scene of ‘Seven.’ The seafood that we had (fish and chips, mussels, crayfish) tasted very fresh.

Beaches: F. I think the only beach in Stockholm was this 10’x20’ “beach” on Långholmen (quite literally “Long Island”). Jones Beach it was not.

Parks: A. Greenest city I’ve ever seen. For all the hustle and bustle (yeah, you heard me) surrounding downtown Stockholm they’ve managed to keep a ton of the city green, and people take full advantage of it.

Overall: B+. The nightlife was too weak to get it into the ‘A’ range, but it was legitimately the cleanest, most beautiful city I’ve ever seen in my life. Didn’t seem like a singles hotspot to me (unlike Paralia Katerini) but perhaps more of a couples vacation spot. Nothing wrong with that, just that neither Fletcher nor Rob are really my type.

Copenhagen next. Then Belgrade for Beerfest. Then cutting it back and probably making stops in some of the big cities (Vienna, Budapest, Munich, Amsterdam?) before hopping the pond and making my way back (maybe a layover in Reykjavik?). But plans have a way of changing…

Greece rocks, Albanians suck, and discount airliners think they're tougher than they are.

I've been told I've been slacking, so here it is, hungover, day 2 in Sweden. Take it for what it's worth.

So the last night in Greece wasn't anything to write home about. We grabbed some beers and hung out on the beach and had a real good, but mellow time - nothing new, right? Then as we walked home, 10m from our hotel, I made the mistake of flipping off a group of Albanian bikers (in fairness, they were being dicks) and apparently almost got my ass handed to me as after we walked up to our room they circled back looking for me (I found all this out the next morning). Well done on my part. During one of my history 'lessons' during the week, I had been warned that the Albanians had been the 'least friendly' of the ex-Yugoslavs, and it may have been accurate. Call me a racist if you want, but Albanians are assholes. Probably not all of them, but so far they're 0-for-15 (it was a big group). After the Kosovo conflict, I don't expect any of my new Serbian friends to disagree.

Dajan and Sanja were nice enough to give us a ride to Thessaloniki airport Friday afternoon. Once you got outside of the touristy part of Paralia, Greece reminded me a lot of Jamaica, actually: smaller cement houses on random parts of hills, not all that much going on (until you got into Thessaloniki, of course). And the drivers made Mass-holes look like driving instructors. When we got to the airport I had a choice: pay €22 ($33) to check my bag half-way to my destination (and face another €20 fee at the layover airport in Berlin) or make my bag lighter. If you knew me at all, you know the answer already. I boarded the EasyJet flight with all my clothing on on a 95ºF day. Worst decision ever. Then I took off all the clothes on the plane (don't worry, pictures will follow), strapped them to my bag, and did it again in Berlin. Rinse, wash, repeat. The looks that I got from people on Ryanair taking off shirt after shirt after shirt after shirt almost made the whole experience worth it. Almost. Was it worth the €42 saved? Probably not. But we're in a recession; sacrifices must be made.

All-in-all, the Greeks scored pretty well:

women: A+ (they may have had some help from the Serbs - I can't really distinguish between them; I know a few Americans who can compete, but they are in the minority (sorry ladies))
beaches: A- (the beaches themselves were incredible, but the water had WAY too much seaweed and jellyfish and was even too warm at times)
food: C+ (the €2 deliciousss gyros kept them from being in the 'D' range; the souvlaki wasn't really any good, the veal was overdone, the shrimp was terrible; the food at the wedding was quite good, but I'm not so sure that qualified as 'typical' Greek fare)
amenities: C+ (guys, they have these things called 'credit cards,' learn to accept them....somewhere....anywhere. It's like the stone age over there.)
public transportation: B (they certainly didn't seem to run on what one might call a 'schedule,' but they got us pretty close to where we needed to be for an excellent price; plus, they had gypsies fighting the conductor)
overall: A- (good luck Scandinavia, you have a lot to live up to)

When we got to Nyköping (pronounced NEE-sho-ping) at 11:30pm, I was in paradise. It was a cool 65º (compared to Greece which didn't seem to sink far below 80º, even at night). I think the airport is only staffed with beautiful Swedish women (isn't that against the law?). Everything was clean, public transportation was running efficiently (are you listening Tom Menino??). The airport hotel was this swanky, modern hotel that looked more like an Ikea than an airport hotel. Try comparing it (http://www.connecthotel.se/default.asp?id=skavsta-en) to the LaGuardia airport hotel in Queens. Not even close. The room was a little small, but for one night extremely clean, comfortable, and modern. Big fan.

We took the Flygbussarna shuttle into Stockholm the next morning and walked to our hostel. What an interesting place this is. It's legitimately a maze (I will take and post a video at some point this week). It's in this really old, but cool building. We settled into our room (which is like a big dormitory), walked outside...right into the biggest gay pride parade in Europe. I shit you not. The videos will be up whenever I get around to it - beware, they are not all PG (I'm sure Facebook is going to take issue with one or two of them). Afterward we had a delicioussss lunch we scoured the city for hair gel and liquor stores, neither of which we could find on a Saturday. Unbelieveable. Then Fletcher led us on the Long March around Jiangxi to find this dive bar...I still don't know why. But at least he took a nap - he didn't sleep the entire flight over and as a result had been up for 36 straight hours, and I was getting 'Fletched out' four hours into the trip. That's a recipe for disaster.

My only problem with Sweden so far - and this is a serious problem I have with Europe - is why is it so hard to get ice around here?? Why would you want to drink anything (excluding milk, OJ, beer, and wine) without it?? It occurs here naturally like nine months out of the year! I was so upset I skipped dinner...which is probably a good thing since the exchange rate makes the Euro look like the Czech Kroner (don't I sound sophisticated...Jesus). But it is crushing us. I just withdrew 3000 SEK from the ATM - around $415. If that doesn't last me until Wednesday morning then I'm going to have to have a word with the Swedes.

Bike tour tomorrow of Stockholm. Wednesday we leave for Copenhagen. Then the plan is to head East to Belgrade (Beerfest!) for an undetermined amount of time. When I've finally overstayed my welcome there I'll head back and hit up Budapest and Vienna on my way to Amsterdam...maybe. That's the plan at least. It looks like there are no more rooms available at Oktoberfest, so that may not be happening. I'm not a real beer aficionado anyhow, so no harm, no foul. More to come as it happens...and as I can get an internet signal. I'd still trade the signal for ice any day.