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!

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.