Sunny England?
Actually, it is! I flew into London Stansted yesterday on our beloved Ryanair (3 cheers for cheap rates and effective opperations!), to be welcomed by blue skies and beautiful weather.
On a suggestion from some 20-something I ran into in the airport, I caught the 40min train up to Cambridge. Along the way I met a great German girl who kept me company on the ride. After locating the Youth Hostel I headed off into town where, in an inconspicuous Gyro stand, I ran into an English girl from Kent (studying Forensics here) who offered to show me around for a few hours.
We bummed around the town, admiring the beautiful University campus, the towns rivers, the punting boats, quaint bridges, peaceful parks, and sunny weather. After parting ways, I had the worst meal in months (it was traditional English food - asparagus soup, peas, fried cod, and some other unidentifiable and bland blobs) becuase I foolishly thought the 'Good Friday Special' might be tasty... how I miss Italy and Paris...
But the town makes up for its food. I managed to drag myself back out again onto the Friday Night streets, teeming with college students eager to celebrate the onset of a 3 week break. It was indeed a rowdy crowd, with pushing, shoving and generall disregard for civil obedience - a stark contrast to lively but orderly Germany.
Not in the mood for a drink after my 21st, I decided to get lost in a few of the Cambridge Colleges, which made for some great night photography. That is until a security guard expelled me from the premises...
Today I'll be traveling down to Cantibury with the English girl from yesterday, who must take the same train route to meet her parents for Easter. I hope to snag a room tonight and catch the Anglican Bishop at the Cantibury Cathedral for the Easter Sunday service. Wish me luck!
Travel/Birthday Advisory [New Photo Site]
As a birthday (today!) present to myself I am going to be flying to England on Friday the 25th to spend 2 weeks bumming around and visiting friends. I'll be back on the 7th of April. This means that I'll have another slew of blogs and photos.
Speaking of photos, I have a brand new and shiny photo gallery. You can find it at
brightside.smugmug.com
Spread the word and enjoy! I like the presentation much better here, and I don't have any space restrictions. Let me know what you think!
The Story of Brussels
My story of Brussels is the story of our adventures with Julian.
We met him in a Laundromat in the town outskirts - he, Kevin and I were the only non-Middle Easterners on the don't-look-people-directly-in-the-eyes sketchy city block. After overhearing our probably too loud and jovial banter he approached us with a heavy French accent but perfect English.
On an exports/imports business internship for a firm specializing in African trade, he'd been living in Brussels for over 6 moths for the second time. Its a big leap for a 24 year old from Southern France, as he had to get past his small town's norm: no one in their right mind would move away from their family and support network so soon. That said, he was one of the most street savvy individuals I've ever met - he could hold his own with businessmen of all forms, be it in the suit in the corner office or the scally on the street corner.
He was loud, animated, interesting and hilarious. Our first conversation flowed so well that he invited us to join him for a night tour of the city's sights and street life. We agreed without hesitation.
Next thing I know, we're in the industrial kitchen of a communal apartment where he lives with 15 other 20-somethings hailing from almost as many different countries (Spain to Congo to Korea and back again). Each has their own room, but the kitchen, living area, and bathrooms are shared. French was the common language.
But there was no time to waste! We hit the streets and headed downtown. Brussels stands in stark contrast to Paris, our previous city. Instead of homogeneous classic architecture, Brussels sports a hodgepodge of new and old buildings - with an bit of an American feel given the number of modern looking highrises. It was a Thursday night, and the town was moving with after-hours pleasure seekers.
As we wandered around he detailed the various buildings, statues and squares we should know - which were relatively few given its size. Brussels is a living town - not a tourist town - and we loved it! Belgian waffles in Belgium are amazing. Belgian sandwiches on fresh baguette are amazing. Belgian beer is amazing (and abundant). We strolled around picking up things to eat, stopping in bars and discussed the cultural differences between France and Belgium. Julian keenly pointed out that Brussels is more open and carefree than Paris, with less emphasis on appearances (the Paris denizens are beautiful). On the flip side, Brussels lacks the cultural richness that defines Paris.
Our engaging conversation was occasionally interrupted by the soliciting of bar or restaurant owners seeking more patrons. Or by an "
Ola Chika Chika!!!" outburst by Julian everytime a beautiful girl walked by. It was both entertaining and embarrassing to be associated with this man. But it gets better...
After deciding we'd spent enough money at the bars, we returned to the street where Julian pulled out a champagne-looking bottle from Kevin's backpack, which he had stuck there earlier. Turns out it was a bottle of high-proof beer, which poured perfectly into the 3 "Campus" beer glasses he had covertly removed from our last bar. We then proceeded to walk thru downtown Brussels laughing, singing and toasting our beers to passersby.
20 minutes later found us in the bustling red light district. Kevin and I remain unsure to this day why he knew what he did, but Julian was the red light expert. While idly walking by huge windows, behind which sit beautiful girls of all shapes, sizes and ages in skimpy lingerie, he explained to us how the sin industry is set up and earns its bread. Just when we thought it couldn't get any more interesting, Julian stops at a window, smiles and waves at the gorgeous girl, and walks over to her door. We stand back in wonder as he proceeds to have a 5 min conversation with the girl as though old friends. They kiss goodbye on the cheek, she returns to her window, and we continue our stroll. This happened several times. He claims that he walks down the street everyday to reach the train station for work (which is geographically accurate), but I'll let you be the judge...
While back towards our hostel and his apartment, we suddenly find ourselves in the middle of 6 big Arabs - who are speaking quietly amongst themselves and making probing glances at our trio. Almost as quickly as I noticed them they had moved within 3 feet of us on all sides. Without missing a beat, Julian, who is walking between Kevin and I, sticks out his arms, stopping us in mid stride. The 3 Arabs behind almost knock into us due to the sudden halt - but they manage to split up and go around. The 6 then converged up ahead, slowed their pace and discussed quickly amongst themselves while looking back at us, stopped only a few meters behind... but for whatever reason (our alertness, that we're 3 fit guys, that they're lazy?) they pick up the pace and move down the street.
Rattled but riding on adrenalin, we cruise back to the hostel door. Just as we are bidding farewell and thanks to Julian, 2 young Turks approach us offering to sell some Hash. As casually as the whole evening, he waves us goodbye, turns to and walks off into the early morning black with the Turks, all the while calming their suspicions that Kevin and I voted for Bush...
