Day 24 Faro Portugal

Wednesday night with little sleep—not a good start; Thursday morning 4.5 hour bus ride to NYC with no sleep—doing fine; 2 hour bus ride to JFK with no sleep—doing okay; 8 hours on a plane to Dublin with maybe 15-30 minutes of sleep—I have felt better; 4 hours in airport with heavy breakfast and a pint—maybe not so helpful; 1.5 hours on a plane with no sleep—feeling rundown ; 2 hours in London’s Gatwick airport with no sleep—out right tired; 4.5 hours on a plane with a rowdy cricket team and 60 geriatric English tourist—wishing I was dead; Arrival at dusk in Faro—beautiful; taxi to hostel—10 euros; being dropped off in the dark at the wrong address—priceless.

I expected some difficulties and exhaustion so it wasn’t such a big deal, mostly because my driver only missed his mark by 50 feet. I walked in the right direction and saw the very small hostel sign on the next doorway. Whew! I checked in for 4 nights at $7/night including breakfast. I think my budget will be much easier to follow here. I was given breakfast coupons and a key to room four with the instructions to leave it at the desk whenever I went out. No problem…yet….

I settled into the room, taking a noisy top bunk, and after locking the door I went out to put my things in the hall locker when a 15ish Portuguese said in rough English that he needed my key to change his clothes in the room. He seemed nice and I was in no shape to argue. I gave him the key and he went to the common room to watch TV and laugh with his friends (???). After about 15 minutes of trying to stay awake I went out and asked for the key back. I was asleep when the knock came on the door. It was an English speaking hostel employee informing me that I had the only key to the room and I had locked everyone out. It was a shared key for all four people. Oops. I apologized for the mistake and slept for 10 hours.

Breakfast was 2 very large fresh crusty rolls, jam, butter, ham, cheese, cornflakes, yogurt, orange juice, and 50/50 coffee and hot milk. It was even served to us in a very clean cafeteria style line. Needless to say I was impressed after the pathetic and not free Danish at the DC hostel. With that good start I headed out.

The old town is only a couple blocks from the hostel, although it was too early when I went through; everything was closed. I wandered the streets a bit and went into a grocery store to get lunch supplies: grapes, a little round of some truly fantastic cheese, hot crusty bread, dried sausage, EV olive oil, a juice size box of wine (31 cents), and a six pack of Limao bottles (lemon drink). The olive oil drove up the price to 12 euros, otherwise it would have been 5 euros.

On my way back to the hostel I stopped in the public aviary park next door to the hostel and saw that they have free internet service. The internet at the hostel is 5 euros/30 min or 50 euros/week! No thanks.

Life is good. I am off to explore,

Tchau!

Day 23 Stuck in Dublin Airport

I took the bus to New York City bus terminal and then another to JFK. Traffic was awful, several people on the bus missed their flights. I barely made it in time to sit on the plane for two hours before finally taking off. My first view of Ireland was of the misty and jagged hills that crash suddenly into the ocean outside Dublin. I couldn't have asked for a better first glimpse.

Now I am in Dublin without enough time to run into the city and grab a pint. It just isn't the same at the airport. Of course it is 5 am my time so maybe that is for the best.

The British Airways queue leads to a temporarily different airline (TAP) I found out after waiting in line for half an hour. Even better, it doesn't switch over to the BA desk for another hour. Oh well, it gives me time to blog for 30 minutes at $7.

Add-on:

Ran out of internet time so I went and had an "Irish breakfast" of sausage, ham, egg, and black and white pudding(it was good, not sure I want to know what it was) and then rounded it out with a pint to balance out all the animal fat. Surprised? Probably not.

I paid another $7 for internet access while I wait. It is only money, right?

Day 21 Back in DC

We found a Spanish bar called Cafe Citron that not only had a little too delicious mojitos and great food, but a Flamenco dancer and singer. Now I have seen Flamenco in movies and was always intrigued; in person, it was captivating. The combination of the unique singing style, the pounding of the dancer's feet on the heavily worn floor, and the rythmic clapping, it was intense. Even better was being there with friends and having a great time comparing funny words that are not entirely suitable for this format. One of the best is the Brazilian word for the crack that shows when someone bends over with too low of pants--they call it a piggy bank. I had the urge all night to deposit some coins when the opportunity arose. It was a good night.

I have averaged $105/day in DC and Philly. It is more than I wanted for a few reasons. More expensive hotel stays in Philly, and perhaps most deserving of blame is the high cost of having a good time with your friends. Typically, $50/night is normal for food and drinks. I am looking forward to getting to a less expensive country. I leave for Portugal on Thursday, arriving on Friday night.

Day 19 Philadelphia Continued

Terror Behind the Walls! The old state penitentiary, an enormous, spooky, castle-like prison in Philadelphia is the site of one of the best haunted houses in the country and we went on the second day it was opened. And with the two for one special it was only $15 each, a bargain for what you get.

I cannot say enough of how scary the prison is in the first place with its rundown stone construction and rusted wrought iron bars. Add in intentionally scary lighting or at times, lack of light at all. Throw in 40-50 people dressed as gory undead guards and prisoners, and have them yell at, scream at, chase, or whisper to you as you are inducted as new prisoners running a guantlet that includes gun fire, countless loud noises, blast of air, and horrifying scenes including Abu-Graib prison reenactment, hanging dead bodies meat locker style--that you have to push through, very dark fog filled rooms with the undead looming close, whispering in your ear, a 3-D section (with glasses) that was very bizarre and fascinating, and countless bloody visages popping out at every corner. It was truly scary. What made it even better was Patricia screaming the whole time and nearly drawing blood with her death grip on my arm.

Afterward, we went across the street to Jack's Firehouse Bar and watched people expertly swing dance to a great live band. I had delicious pulled pork on sweet corn chips, very delicious with a few pints and a tapping foot. It was a good finish to the day.

Day 18 Philidelphia and Questioned Patriotism

After a three and one half hour bus ride to Philadelphia ($30) we took a taxi to the Club Quarters Hotel, arriving at almost 10pm. It is a nice little boutique hotel and my room was on the penthouse floor; sounds impressive, no? Quickly, I understood why my room was so inexpensive. It was right next to the hall bathrooms that serve the meeting/party rooms on that floor and I got to listen to people slamming the doors and talking loudly until midnight. The room itself was small, but nicely appointed. The best part was the supposedly inoperable window that lifted out of its frame, giving me access my own large and entirely private rooftop balcony with a great view of Philadelphia’s downtown (see the gallery photos). We had a quick dinner of Chinese food and retired.

The next day we went to the see the Liberty Bell and Independence Hall. As an American I was moved to feelings of patriotism and pride in my country to personally view such tangible history and walk through the very places where our forefathers risked their lives to create a republic where people could be truly free. I stood in the same places as George Washington, John Adams, Ben Franklin, Thomas Jefferson, and so many other great idealistic men. To stand in their places and imagine their struggle, which has brought us so much, cannot fail to touch the American heart. Other hearts are another story.

I was initially taken aback by the reaction of my Brazilian friend Patricia. She could not understand why Americans are so fascinated with these bits of history or why they are so nationalistic. Not having ever explained this before, I struggled to find words to express my feelings. What I came up with was something like this:

It is our democracy that gives us our freedoms and rights. We are brought up believing in that each one of us can make a difference in our government if we want to change it. Yes the impact of one individual is limited, but with a group of like-minded people the effect can be huge. We identify the struggle of our forefathers as a fight for what is fair and just, a fight of the few overcoming tyranny--very American ideals. Democracy is all about personal empowerment for the betterment of society. I added that even though it may be contrary to world opinion and sometimes history, Americans see their country as a force for good in the world. Even when we disagree with our current administration, we wholeheartedly believe in our form of government. Other countries have had very different histories and much less or no democratic government and so it is understandable that those peoples cannot understand the personal identification Americans have with democracy.

Well, I said something like that. Whether I answered her question satisfactorily, I don’t know.

Day 13 In the Shoes of an Assassin

There I was today, standing in a doorway, mere inches behind a now empty chair, overlooking the stage of the Ford Theater where over a hundred years ago, on a dark day in our nation's history, John Wilkes Booth stood in my place. From only six inches away, he fired a bullet into the back of Abraham Lincoln's head, stabbed his guest, Major Rathbone, and clumsily leaped the 10 feet down to the stage. Whereas the rest of theater is not worthy of any special mention, the spot behind Lincoln's chair changed the whole feel from ho-hum to eerie.

Yesterday, we went to the National Zoo. It was nice that it was free to get in, though based on the meager quantity of exhibits and animals, I think they should start charging admission so they can get something worth seeing. It pales in comparison to almost every other zoo I have ever seen. It would have been a waste of day if I hadn't had such good company.

I have been trying to get over to the National Portait Gallery and Museum of American art. Maybe today.

Day 11 Exhaustion Sets In

I have been trying to stave off exhaustion, yet is has found me. I have been resting today. The thing that has surprised me is how much time I spend doing the little details of life; I had envisioned spending all of my days out exploring. In fact, I spend a fair amount of time washing clothes, shopping for food and small items, waiting for the bus, waiting for the very slow hostel elevator, waiting for the metro, waiting in line for an exhibit, waiting for friends to get ready to go somewhere, waiting for the bus some more, waiting at the always packed hostel front desk, waiting, waiting, waiting....and waiting is tiring. My legs are also sore from the walking. I know that I will grow accustomed sometime soon--I hope.

After I move into yet another room, because I want a room with a locker inside, I am going to the National Portrait Gallery with some people of whose names I am unsure--luckily that is not required here.

Day 9 Bus Trouble

Since the last posting, I have spent the days in a few of the 14 Smithsonian museums and the Aeronautical and Space Museum. It is almost too bad that there is an overwhelming amount of amazing exhibits and artifacts here, because it quickly raises the threshold of what it takes to be impressed. I have broken things up with going to a movie, taking an evening Georgetown tour, and tonight a large group of us is going bowling.

Georgetown is picturesque, cozy, and thanks to the Georgetown University, rather high-spirited on the main street at night. I didn’t know what to expect other than a lot of old very expensive homes. We walked through the quiet, dimly illuminated, narrow stone streets, feeling like intruders on the carefully decorated parlors visible through appropriately fragile curtains. I felt the warmth of care in the faithfully restored facades, bountiful planting boxes, and neatly trimmed hedges. I also felt the exclusivity of the rows of luxury cars narrowing the already narrow lanes.

As part of the tour we hit one of the local bars where I promptly lost several games of pool to a Russian, Korean, and a Brazilian. Other than the dense clouds of smoke, we had a lot of fun. That is, until we tried to get back to the hostel. The tour guide, now gone, failed to mention that the particular bus we needed to take stopped running at midnight. Ever hopeful, we waited at a different bus stop with a number of locals that looked like they were expecting a bus anytime. After about 20 minutes the taxis were looking good. After about 30 minutes, we were ready to take one, and then a bus showed up. Using my slightly fuddled brain, I inquired with the driver before we boarded the bus to avoid ending up somewhere we didn’t want to be. He assured me that he was going to within five blocks of the hostel. Great! We got on. What I failed to ask the driver was for him to let us know when that stop of close proximity occurred. We had passed it a while back when we jumped off close to the National Archives and waited for another bus that the driver said would take us right to the hostel. After half an hour of waiting on the cold damp benches the bus of the specified number showed up, and dropped us off around the corner because he didn’t go the way we wanted. Exhausted, cold, and bleary-eyed at the current time of 1:30 a.m., we walked many blocks to the hostel, showed our ID and room receipts as requested and everyone but me went up to the rooms to sleep. I was told that I was checked out earlier that day and could not go back to my room. Even though I had paid for the room for another week, the computer didn’t show it and I had to plead with the desk clerk to go get my receipt from my room to prove I paid. I provided the receipt, but had to change rooms at 2 a.m. I was too tired to get upset, I just wanted a bed. C’est la vie, no?

Day 5 And on the Fifth Day He Rested

I spent most of the day reading books that I do not want to take with me further. Later in the day we went out for a walk on the mall, saw a brief glipse of the Smithsonian Castle Gallery and were propmtly kicked out because they were closing. The great thing about the Washington Mall is that everything is free, allowing you to wander in and out as you wish without worrying about wasting money. We wandered leisurely up to the Capital and then back to the hostel to relax in the common room until bedtime.

The picture above is of me and Patricia, a Brazilian who is here to attend English classes. She is gracious and patient enough to help me learn some Portuguese for my impending trip to Portugal. Apparently, my conversational accent is lousy, but she informed me, while doubled over laughing hysterically, that my gay Portuguese accent is just fabulous. Ah, humility is a wonderful thing when you are learning a new language.

Expenses: $45.50

Day 4 Hostel Life

As an independent traveler, I was a little worried about getting lonely while traveling. If my brief experience so far is any indication, I have nothing to wory about.

My new friends pictured above are a perfect example: Victoria from Spain, Sky from Korea, Theresa also from Spain and an amazing look alike of a young Carrie Fisher, and Patricia from Brazil. We are all traveling alone and naturally gravitated toward each other. The language struggles are part of the fun and a learning experience for us all. Often it takes a couple of us to explain one concept well enough to one another.

Together we went to the Adams Morgan festival (a huge street party) and enjoyed people watching as much as anything else. Then we tried finding an open Karaoke place; alas, it was Sunday night(Whew!) Instead we went to Chinatown, adding Mark from London and very funny Eddy from Argentina/Miami to the group.

Over breakfast this morning, Eddy's equally funny Aunt invited me to stay with her in Argentina. The open friendliness and generosity of my fellow travelers is refreshing to the soul.

Daily expenses: $55.25

Day 3 DC Spy Museum

So as to not get monument burnout, I went to the Intenational Spy Museum which is only about 6 blocks from my hostel. It is a very cool and interesting place. $15 admission was well worth it. The exhibits are slick and well designed interactive multi-media. There are loads of real historical and current spy gear, including such classics as lipstick and cigarette case guns, bugging devices, cameras, and micro dots. The history of spying is told in small absorbable chunks to keep you from getting museum fatigue. This is by far the best non-art museum I have ever visited. Sorry, no cameras were allowed.

The overwhelming feeling that I was left with was that there is a whole other high-stakes world happening right around us. It made me feel left out; considering the life expectancy of spies, maybe that is a good thing.

Daily expenses: $94.50. I stocked up on groceries so I can make my own food in the hostel kitchen. My breakfasts have been bellpepper, mushroom and spinach omelets with salsa and sour cream. And orange juice. Yum!

Day 2 Washington DC

Finally rested, I headed over to the white house. It was intially quiet other than all of the security people watching me. They are overt, semi-overt, and I am sure quite covert. I have never seen so many people sitting around in vehicles with tinted windows. Many of the overt Secret Service people were carrying black bags that were about the right size for some serious weaponry. I was accordingly inclined to follow the signs about what not to do and where not to go.

The white house looked so peaceful, almost bucolic in one picture, as you will see in the DC gallery when I get it up. Then, as I was leaving, two airforce one helicopters roared directly over my head and landed on the south lawn briefly and then headed right back over me. Too far away, because of fencing, I could not get a good picture. I did feel special though, having the president fly by me on my first visit.

I have been looking forward to seeing the Lincoln Memorial, and standing before him, I felt just like the little boy pictured above. It was like being in Lincoln's presence--definitely something everyone should experience.

The WWII Memorial was also impressive and moving, but for a different reason; as I walked around listening to the small groups of old men talking to each other, I heard a repeated theme, "...we were pinned down for hours...," and "...they were coming at us from the north...." and so on. Large monuments, however grand as this one, cannot convey the personal impact that is memorialized like the people themselves. It makes one feel quite patriotic.

The Vietnam Memorial was almost dissapointing in comparison. It looked like just a long low slice of black granite. Not until I had walked past so many names and was standing among visitors touching individual names did the sheer size and personal nature of the list hit me. It was devoid of the granduer of the WWII Memorial. By not glorifying the onflict, the personal impact on our loved ones and neighbors was conveyed more clearly.

The Korean War Memorial was dissapointing. The statues and ghostly images on the granite gave me a feeling of Hollywood more than anything.

Arlington National Cemetary is aptly situated right next to the Pentagon. I hope they look out the windows often. I visited the graves of many people, from JFK and Jaqueline to Justice Marshal. Walking around the cemetary is like walking through the military history of the US. The endless gaves of our dead put perspective on the brief entries from my history class textbooks.

At the tomb of the unkown soldier, I watched the interesting and almost bizarely formalized ritual of the changing of the guard. And then to my surprise, a busload of foreign soldiers rolled up from Fort Meyers. Four uniformed soldiers, two Jordanians, an Afgani, and a Georgian, of the group participated in a wreath laying ceremony honoring the unkown soldier.

I was exhausted after walking all day in the heat and trying to assimilate all I had seen, so I took the Metro back to the hostel, stopping to get a delicious dinner at a Pakistani Deli.

Daily Expenses: $65

Day 1 Washington DC

After a year and a half of planning and anticipaction it finally began with a five-hour, red-eye flight with bulkhead seat that wouldn't tilt back and a fussy baby in the seat next to me. I was already tired from the excitement which had denied me a resitve sleep for the previous week or so.

I had a two-hour layover in Newark, an hour flight to Baltimore, and a 30 minute train to DC. Exhausted but still wired from the excitement, I decided to walk the 11 blocks to the hostel in the heat and high humidity. I was sweating profusely and marveling at how heavy the pack felt at the moment when I realized that I had walked 5 blocks NE instead of the NW direction of the hostel. The first of many mistakes to come I am sure. Lucky for me the city is riddled with small parks and public buildings that provide grassy shade to collapse on.

The busy, seven-story hostel is only four blocks from the white house. My dorm room is the normal bunk bed affair with lockers for packs, linens and towels provided for $27/night. All I cared about was sleep at that point and collapsed in bunk #5. I got up briefly to go buy some water at the mini-mart down the street and went right back to sleep. Seeing the sights could wait. Almost twelve hours, two cups of coffee, juice, and a bagel later, I am writing this before I head over the white house.

Costs:
Airfaire $170
Train $6
Room $27/night
Food so far $13

Learning experiences:

Ear plugs and eye mask make all of the difference when you are sleeping in a hostel. People came and went and the light was on the whole time, yet I heard almost nothing and the light was on all night.

Hostel breakfasts are not all the same. The Seattle hostel put out a great continental for free and this one charged $1.65 for a dry bagel and a juice.

Skydiving!

This is the plane that we jumped out of at 13,000 feet. I have been wanting to skydive for a long time, and I figured that I should do it here in the states first so I have a reference for safety procedures and equipment when I do it in another country. So Tyler and I took the plunge. And what a fantastic plunge it is. It was 50 times as intense as any amusement park ride. I didn't notice the 120mph wind so much as the wonderous feeling of flying. I'm hoping to do it again soon.