Over the Rainbow - Seattle Pride 2010

I've been doing a lot of complaining recently about how I'm not behind what the Pride celebration has become. I love my gay friends and am completely supportive of them and the celebration of being out and proud. But when did Pride weekend go from the ideals of commemorating Stonewall, to the gay version of spring break in Cabo? It seems wrong.

However, in support of my friends, I committed to two Pride events this year, both at Changes: Saturday night just to hang out, and Sunday karaoke. When I got to the bar last night, I was grumpy and disinterested in whatever debauchery might be happening, but then it hit me: I was surrounded by my friends, people I truly loved, and my being cranky and going home early wasn't doing anything for anyone. If a big drunken party was how my friends wanted to celebrate their gay pride, then I was in.

When in Gay Cabo, do as the Spring Breakers do.
And Taste the Rainbow was born.

Marshall was having trouble deciding what to drink, so he had this idea that he'd try one cocktail in each color of the rainbow. He didn't want to do it alone, so I agreed to join him, and later we recruited Kelly and Jordan too. We left it to our cute and capable bartenders to determine what the rainbow of booze would be.


Here's what Ryan and Seth came up with:

Red - Pomegranate press with a splash of cranberry
Orange - Strawberry vodka with orange juice and grenadine
Yellow - Lemon drop
Green - Melon ball
Blue - Pomegranate/Blueberry press with a splash of blue curacao
Purple - Vodka press with a splash of rasperry liqueur

Not only did it make the night much, much more fun than just sipping vodka and chatting, it's a great new Pride tradition. And it's kind of brilliant. Imagine if every bar had a Taste the Rainbow special for Pride Weekend! Marshall and I made a drunken pact to get together every year at Pride to drink the rainbow, no matter where we are in the country. Typically drunken pacts are broken by last call, but maybe this time, just maybe, there's some hope.

There's still one more day of Pride left, so I encourage y'all to go Taste the Rainbow before the weekend is through. Happy Pride!

Atop the Great Big... Lighthouse

Growing up, I spent good chunks of my year following family along the Washington and Oregon coasts while they attempted to wrangle up various forms of sea life. I've never been a fan of seafood (or "shellfood" as I often quote), so I gave up on the  fishing, clamming, crabbing, whatever, when my age was still in single digits. That meant that hanging at the beach, throwing things in the campfire, and visiting the lighthouse were the only fun things to do on these so-called vacations. Since Pacific Northwest 'beaches' are actually windy, cold, piles of rocks, even in mid-August, and there's only so much you can burn without getting into trouble, my hours were mostly wiled away by begging to go up to one of the various lighthouses.

Because of these 'fond' memories, along with my undying need to be near bodies of water, I continue to find myself in the vicinity of lighthouses, even now. I have tens of photos from the edge of a cliff, looking over a big blue sea. Because the candle on the water is often picturesque itself, I've also included it in many of these seascapes. I always figured I enjoyed the lighthouse -- its location, the way it symbolizes solitude -- but now I think maybe I'm just a penis freak.

The other night I watched an old episode of The Riches in which the sex-starved neighbor is sculpting what appears to be a giant cock. When asked, she replies, "It's a lighthouse." Now that the association has been made, I can't get rid of it.

I got to work the next day, looked at the lovely photo on my computer desktop of Malmo, Sweden and saw.. well. Maybe I never liked lighthouses at all. Maybe I've just been subconsciously chasing a big dick all these years. Who's to say?

I really won't make that call. But I can assure you that I did remove the photo from my desktop. I don't need that kind of distraction at work.

Where I Hang My Hat

Well, after 12 days away and 7 days back, I can definitively say that I am NOT happy to be home. I started reading a book of collected letters from Charles Bukowski during my flight back, and I don't think it's a good sign that I'm actually relating to some of them. When you look at one of Buk's drunken, self-destructive, anti-social rants and think this guy makes a lot of sense, you're probably not enjoying your life all that much.

Which is true. One of the main reasons I travel alone is the escape factor. It's not only getting away from work and responsibility, it's just time away from life in general. If I don't want to talk to anyone, I don't. If I don't want to do anything but drink wine or walk along a canal, that's all I do. There's something very freeing, very relaxing about it. There's not really any soul-searching going on, I'm just letting my brain be quiet for once. When I blog things like This beer is tasty, or It sucks that it's raining, those are truly the most meaningful things going through my brain at the time. And that can be glorious.

So, I am continuing the pattern of escape. I've already booked my next trip, leaving in 6 weeks. I have so many places that I want to visit, but not enough vacation time or money to get to them all. I saw a good deal for one of the spots on my list this morning, and I jumped on it!

Where am I off to? I'll give you a hint.

Except I already gave it up on Twitter, so it's not really a mystery anyway. Shrug.

Rainy Rainy Copenhagen

After my last post, I checked the weather. The hour by hour forecast showed 12 little rain clouds in a row, so I decided to just suck it up and go out anyway. And it rained. Nonstop. Sometimes lightly, sometimes heavily, but it just never. stopped. raining.

In general today was kind of a fail. It's not Copenhagen's fault, it seems like a cool enough town, it's just hard to enjoy it when you spend the whole day wet and miserable. Even with an umbrella, I felt like every inch of me was moist, and my dancer's joints ached from the damp. I can't really be blamed for being cranky.

My cough has managed to linger the whole trip (shut up, Ryan!), and I ran out of cough suppressant in Sweden. Most of the time I'm fine, but I have random coughing fits at bad times, like the middle of the night, or when I'm sitting in the silent car of the train. I checked several pharmacies for some more today, but all they have are useless herbal products. How can a culture survive without any drugs at the drugstore?

On the plus side, I saw some cool buildings, visited the shopping district, and had a nice frankfurter with spicy mustard and a hefeweizen. Definitely more of a German than Danish lunch, but it hit the spot regardless. I sucked down that weiner in about 40 seconds. (Shut up, Ryan!)

It still hasn't stopped raining, so I'm taking a break before dinner, then I'll decide if I feel up to braving the weather anymore. I don't leave until tomorrow afternoon, but the morning forecast looks identical to tonight's. I might actually be GLAD to get back to Seattle, where the rain occasionally stops for a minute or two. What an odd turn of events.

Hotel Mayfair, aka Weather Jail

I wish I was out wandering Copenhagen right now, but instead I'm trapped inside by the weather, unable to go enjoy my last full day in Europe.

From up in my room on the 4th floor, the rain doesn't look too bad, a bit drizzly, nothing I can't handle. So I went down to the lobby and drank some coffee, to check it out from street level. It's pouring. The rain was coming down sideways from the right, I took a sip of my coffee, looked back, and it was raining sideways from the left. I can't go out in this weather.

I used to be a good Pacific Northwest girl. I'd walk all around Seattle in the driving rain with no umbrella, no raincoat, and I'd be happy. Like a duck. But somewhere along the way, I became sick of all that moisture everywhere. And now, I don't care if it's Seattle, or Denmark, or bloody Botswana, this weather makes me suicidal.

It's still early, not even 11am yet, so I'm attempting to wait it out, hoping it lets up soon so I can still have time to see a few things.

If not, well, I guess I get wet.
And angry.
Hooray.

Copenhagen

As of today, I'm at the last stop of my Eurotrip: Copenhagen. I haven't yet figured this city out, and I'm not sure how to describe it. My first impression is that it's like the bustle and crowds of NYC or Chicago, along with all their businesses, have been plopped down in a city from a few centuries ago. It's just wild.

I have the rest of today and tomorrow to figure it out, so wish me luck. At least if I get exasperated, there's tons of readily available booze!

Mmmm... Aquavit...  Carlsberg...

I wonder if the cheese Danish is actually from Denmark. I love me a cheese Danish. I'll investigate and report back.

Malmo

Well, Sweden gets an A, even with the lack of English speakers. In fact, after my brief need to talk to other humans yesterday, I'm back to being glad I can so easily tune out everyone around me.

If Goteborg is Sweden's Seaside Heights, New Jersey, then Malmo is its Vancouver, Washington. This is a reluctant suburb of Copenhagen, mainly drawing tourists because it's half the price of its neighbor across the water.

However, that's where the similiarities end. Malmo has a sort of untouched, old-world charm. Sure, it has more than its share of modern businesses and chain restaurants, but even the Radisson and the Burger King live in old brick buildings of times gone by.

It's a small town, so small that I can walk in any direction and still find myself back where I started. Should I get lost, I can simply follow the canal and I'll soon have made a circle of the city. I think we need more canals in American cities; let's start digging, shall we?

For now, I'm just taking a break from the hot afternoon sun in my air-conditioned hotel room, which looks out at a 12th century church. Could anything be better? Tonight I'll be savoring my last taste of small-town Sweden, then tomorrow I'm off to Copenhagen.

Goteborg

For some reason, Goteborg is usually called Gothenburg in English. Maybe because, like me, no one knows how to type the O's with the special umlauts and stuff that Swedish uses so frequently.

Whatever you call it, I liked this town from the moment I got off the train. It took me almost 5 hours to get here, including delays for "technical difficulties with the tracks," on a route that looked disappointingly like the Amtrak ride from Seattle to Portland. In fact, aside from several windmill sightings, I could have been travelling the length of Western Washington, rather than from Norway to Sweden.

Goteborg is a port city, college town, and pretty much the whole city is within walking distance of my hotel. I kind of wish I had more time to spend here than the 17 hours or so in my schedule. I feel like I could spend a couple of days just hanging out, it just seems like a cool little place. But on the other hand, maybe it's good that I only get the one night, since there are a few oddities.

First off, I have seen an inordinate number of guys who look like they should have been on Jersey Shore, which is slightly perplexing. Also disconcerting is the total lack of crosswalk lights, with traffic and pedestrians having a free-for-all in the streets. In a few spots, a pair of yellow lights blink just before you get hit by a streetcar, but that seems to be it.

I think the biggest obstacle to me spending any time here, though, is that no one seems to speak English. The hotel guy did, of course, but when I went to dinner, the girl didn't seem to understand a word I said. I got beer, and it took a ridiculous amount of gesturing to finally understand that she wanted to see my identification; I guess it's important to verify that I'm over the apparently high age that Sweden has designated for drinking alcohol.

It's kind of unfortunate that I'm getting into areas where fewer and fewer people speak English, at the same time that I'm getting more and more desperate for people to talk to. So far I've either stayed in for some reason, or everyone I've been out with has kept to themselves. And not spoken English. In the States, I'd just find some excuse to bombard them with my company, but here, it's too much of an awkward situation when you're not sure you even speak the same language. In fact, the only people willing to engage at all are random guys on the street. They're all very eager to get my attention -- at least one has tried in every location I've visited, so far. Sadly for them, the holla tactic doesn't work in the States, and I'm definitely not responding in Europe.

I'm also at that point in traveling where I want nothing more than a home-cooked meal. While bacon-flavored potato chips are great and all, I just want food that's not made in a restaurant or factory. If some dude on the street says, "Hey baby, I speak English! Come with me and my mom will cook you dinner," I'm screwed.

Oslo Exit

Well, it's my final few minutes in Oslo, and the place has finally grown on me. It's rare that I get spooked by a location, but this neighborhood did it, so I didn't wander again after dinner last night. Instead I got up early to see some more before I have to check out and catch my train, and before the bad seeds get out of bed. Apparently my free hotel innernets access has run out, though, so this won't be posted until who knows when.

Because I didn't have any particular agenda, I just went walking around to see what I came across. That meant that I missed most of the city, and although I'm near the harbor, I didn't have time to catch the ferry and see all the cool viking stuff across the water. I guess if I ever get WAY richer, I'll have to come spend a few days here and see more. Right now, the cost is prohibitive, though, and I'd rather get to spend more time in several places than blow the same amount on 3 days here.

It's interesting how matter of fact and do-it-yourself the Nords seem to be; they'll just tell you "there's coffee over there" or "[the historical site you're looking for] is that direction, you can't miss it," and then go back to their own business. Self-sufficiency, I like it! This is also related to my favorite English translation from the hotel, which is this single context-free sentence, nestled between the minibar prices and a plug for the spa:

You are welcome to make your own waffles in the afternoon from 3 pm to 6 pm.

Why, thank you! I've always wanted to make my own waffles in the afternoon, but until now, I'd never been given permission. What amuses me is that there's no information about where, or how, or what's involved, just a simple statement that you can make some waffles, if you're so inclined.

Another excellent Scandinavian discovery: Pomegranate Cider. It's just a smidge sweet, but it's still fantastic. Apparently it's actually from Sweden, so I'll have 2 more days to investigate this one. Although thanks to the educational video Full like a Kastrull, I know that Sweden has strict laws around alcohol, and I may have trouble purchasing it. I hope I can get my hands on some more - I love it!

But for now, it's time now to finish my coffee, shut down the laptop, and hit the road, since I have a 4 hour train ride ahead of me. Hope to have wi-fi again soon...

Oslo

Well, if Amsterdam was the most crazy-busy place I've ever seen, Oslo is the most crazy-CRAZY. It might have something to do with my hotel being in a vaguely sketchy part of town, but so far everyone seems totally NUTS. In order to turn the lights on in my hotel room, I have to insert the key card in a special slot. Without it, no power to the room. Sounds like a good way to forget the key and lock myself out.

Oslo's not very English-friendly either. Often I see signs in 2 or 3 languages, but none of them are English. I guess that's what I get for assuming Imperialism would save me, no matter where I go in the world. Damn you Norwegians for being your own dominant force and rejecting the Anglo ways!

Flying in, Norway wasn't at all what I expected either. From the air, after you pass the fjords, all you can see are rolling hills and dense forests. They are first speckled with lakes, then a few towns, then farmland, with nothing but wilderness in between. Not exactly what you'd think would be so close to a place the size of Oslo.

When I got settled, I didn't have any specific destinations in mind, so I just wandered out toward what looked like civilization, and of course ended up in a shopping district. In general, Oslo has kind of a Seattle vibe. No, not like Ballard! What I mean is that it seems pretty laid back, and while it's a densely populated city, it still feels small. And instead of Starbucks on every corner, there's an H&M store.

By the way, for those who think I exaggerate about the... erm... interesting nature of my mother, here's an unedited e-mail she sent the day before I left Seattle:

I just had a tour group from Norway and they said to tell Starbucks that people in Norway LOVE Starbucks but they don't have any stores in Norway. One woman said everyone asked her to bring Starbuck products back as souvenirs for them. Check it out when you are in Oslo.

Indeed. I did "tell Starbucks" and am now "checking out" the lack of stores here. Good thing I brought my own coffee... Anyway.

After avoiding temptation at several stores, I grabbed a few snacks and came back here for a break from the heat -- it's sunny and around 70 here, but with the low sun again, it's brutal for a pale girl like me to take for long. While in the little convenience store, a guy said something to me in (I assume) Norwegian, and motioned toward the counter. I thought he was telling me to go ahead, so I smiled and moved forward. He repeated whatever he'd said earlier, but angrily this time, so I told him that I was sorry, and I only spoke English. This seemed to piss him off even more. "English! Get it out faster! I need to know where is the fastest toilet! I have to go to the bathroom!" When I shrugged, he turned to the store clerk and yelled louder, "I need to know where is the fastest toilet!" The guy behind the counter shook his head, and the angry man stomped off, cursing everyone in two languages.

See? Crazy-crazy.

Meanwhile, men in cars keep slowing down and looking at me as they go by. It might have something to do with the dodgy area I'm staying in, along with the fact that my messenger bag has given me a noticeable purple hickie-like spot on my neck, in return for shlepping it from country to country. Regardless, I don't think I'll be staying out very late tonight, even though the sun won't go down until around 10:30. Don't worry about me, I might be mildly insane, but I'm not stupid.

It's a shame, because I only have the one night here and don't want to waste it. Maybe later I'll find some non-shady dinner and pick up a few gifts in the decent part of town. Off to Sweden tomorrow afternoon...

Naptime

At home, I can never nap. It's not from lack of desire, I just don't have the ability. On vacation, I always nap. I'm not sure why, I guess the relaxation just gets the best of me. Today, napping was a big mistake.

After my last post, I plopped on the bed to put my feet up for a few minutes before going out again, and immediately crashed out. I woke up feeling a mess. I've been completely adjusted for the last 3 days, and suddenly now I've given myself jet lag? After having it together since Day Two, now my shit is all apart?

Not cool. I blame the creepy people on the headboard.

I figured I'd be fine if I just went out and got some dinner, got to walking around again. But the moment I left, my head was in a fog and my attitude surly. The streets I'd been walking all day, that I had gotten to know, were confusing and unfamiliar. I hated everyone walking around or lounging in the sun, and wanted to punch the cyclists who zoomed by too closely. I had to come back to my room; I was officially a danger to myself and others.

This is a bad sign. I don't want to have to readjust every other day, or be punished for relaxing. I also don't want to miss out on enjoying the places I visit, just because my sleep patterns are so screwed up.

I'm drinking a nice Westmalle dubbel in an attempt to rally; if anything will make me human again, it's beer, right? Right?!

(sigh)

Amsterdam

Having spent several hours over the last 2 days wandering Amsterdam, I've come to one conclusion: I feel weird being a tourist here.

Today I checked out Dam Square, which is a big mess of construction right now, and happened past the Anne Frank house and a couple of museums, but I didn't go into the places, or take a single photo. I could see myself living here, working here, but not visiting historical sites and taking pictures of buildings. I feel strange doing it, so I haven't.

I've shopped, had lunch, got holla'd at by a couple of guys with dredlocks (I don't speak dutch, so I have no idea what they were saying, but they were clearly upset that I wasn't responding), and just generally been here. I don't know what else to do with myself.

It's a beautiful sunny day out, mid-sixties temperatures, so I guess I'll just continue to hang out and feel weird being a tourist for the rest of the day. I'm thinking it will be pretty boring: dinner, beer, sitting around in the sun, then back here to get ready for my flight to Norway in the morning.

I know, I just can't be pleased. Too touristy, then not touristy enough! Maybe one of the next 4 cities will get it just right for Goldilocks.

Planes, Trains, and Automobiles. And Amsterdam.

After a bus back to the airport, three hours on a plane, a train ride, and a brief walk, I'm finally on the second leg of my trip.

Amsterdam is by far the craziest city I've ever been to. The airport is a zoo, the train station is chaotic, and the streets? Well. The sidewalks aren't much around the canals, so you find yourself walking down the middle of narrow brick streets, dodging cars, scooters, and motorcycles. And whether there are sidewalks or not, you're constantly contending with tons of maniacs on bicycles. So far all I've done is wander the canals and get a bite to eat, and I've already almost been run down a few times.

Oddly, though, I think I could like it here... if I ever got used to the insanity.

For now, though, cramped seats and constant walking have my joints in pain, so I've come back my hotel room for a brief respite. The place I'm staying is called Chic and Basic, but it's definitely more basic than chic. Luckily I always book double rooms, even when traveling alone, so I at least have a bit of space to open my suitcase and still take 2-3 steps in either direction. I think the chic part of room lies in the modular Ikea furniture, and the fact that this is the headboard of my bed:

Creepy, no? I hope it doesn't give me bad dreams.