Shibuya crossing, indeed. Tokyo

Ever since Tyra brought the up and coming young models of America’s Next Top Model: Cycle 3 to Tokyo, it has been very high on my Places I Desperately Must See list. (You remember Cycle 3. When the ladies meet Taye Diggs?! Of course you do.) And I must say, after our visit to Tokyo, it is sitting very comfortably near the top of my Favorite Cities in the World list. Patience, fair reader. Let me tell you why.

view from our apartment. can you spot Mt. Fuji?!

We stayed in an area of Tokyo called Shibuya, a very hip, youth culture centered neighborhood. The streets of Shibuya are a world unto themselves. The fashion alone was enough to fill my people watching fix. The styles on women and men alike were bright and funky and bold. There were jumbotron videos playing at the enormous intersection called Shibuya Crossing, sometimes showcasing One Direction (love this place), sometimes America’s Funniest Home Videos style masterpieces. And the best part about these enormous intersections? All traffic stops and everyone crosses at once! Hundreds of people are suddenly walking both directions and diagonally across the center of the street. It is EXACTLY like the zombie apocalypse. Sights and exploration aside, Shibuya has been my favorite place in which to simply wander and enjoy.

Shibuya Crossing at night, photo courtesy of the internet

Stumbling upon hidden gems (often missed by wealthier people who explore by paying for things like museums and events) has become something of a specialty of ours. One was a Sega building, filled wall to wall with video games, and both adult and teen players. Chris and I found particular joy in the taiko drum games, but also in watching these crazy teens play.

we destroyed the "let it go" level.

Another sweet gem for a relaxing Shibuyan evening was found in a Shisha Bar, or Hookah Bar, called North Village Books. Yes, you read that correctly. It was a room filled with comfy couches, tiny tables and a haze of flavored smoke in the air. And hidden at the top of every wall was a narrow shelf stacked with books, presumably for purchase. Similar to the coffee shops in Amsterdam that sell marijuana, it seems hookah bars are illegal, and for plausible deniability, they must also be a bookstore.

see the books? 

The culture was strangely divided into male and female activities. There are host/hostess bars where attractive people are paid to sit and flirt with patrons, making more money the more the customer spends on booze in the host’s company. There are separate skyscraper department stores advertised as “men’s” or “women’s”. There was a section of the Sega store for women only (or couples) where young, frustratingly petite women could check out costumes, then try them on and take pictures with their friends. But the most embarrassing example of this segregation we discovered in an attempt to watch a movie. Jessie (remember Jessie, our friend and guide to all things Korean?) told us about these DVD rooms they have in Korea, where couples go on dates, or sometimes groups of friends go just to hang out. They are essentially small rooms with big couches, big televisions and a big selection of DVDs for rent. We saw a DVD room advertised on the street in Tokyo and thought, “cool! Let’s go rent a movie!” It turns out this is a different activity in Tokyo. We entered a large room, filled almost exclusively with row upon row of porn DVDs. A gentleman shouted at us for a few moments before we realized he was saying “men only”. I guess in Tokyo, DVD room is code for Just For Men Masturbation Station.

boyfriend has mad chop stick skills

Speaking of sticky situations, we had a hell of a time trying new food in Tokyo.  We reverted to our typical “order by pointing at tasty looking photos” tactic and received some truly fantastic food. At one restaurant we placed our order at a vending machine outside, then went in and handed our ticket to the chef. This one took a few minutes (and some spying on locals) to figure out. But the most exciting place we discovered was Smile Sushi. As someone who has thrown up in a sushi restaurant parking lot in the past, I was hesitant to try again in public. But the chance to eat sushi in Tokyo was too much to pass up, so I gave it another shot and was very pleasantly surprised. We were handed numbers upon entering and sat at a bar facing a conveyor belt and a computer screen. We individually ordered on our screen, then waited for our food to zip over to us via speedy conveyor belt. The most delicious things I ate were the basil mayonnaise salmon and the squid with mentaiko mayo. And fear not, friendly reader. I did not vomit on the premises, or anywhere else for that matter, so I guess sushi is back in play for this belly.

the beauty in Asakusa

One clear, sunny afternoon we ventured away from the many wonders of Shibuya to an area called Asakusa. Here we wandered through a garden with many shrines to ancient temples. The architecture was intricate and the colors bold. It was fun to compare these temples to ones we’d seen in Korea and discuss our new found knowledge. Also in Asakusa were many “good fortune” activities. We pulled scrolls from a wall of drawers and read our fortunes (a Japanese man informed me that the scroll I pulled was the best fortune! He then looked at Chris’ and said his was “pretty good too"). We drank from a fountain of good fortune and wafted towards ourselves what I can only assume was smoke from the fires of good fortune. All in all the visit made us feel pretty lucky to be together and alive and in Tokyo that lovely day. 

 As we neared the end of our visit, I started to notice the differences in how we travel. Differences from other explorers, but also differences from ourselves, four months ago. Less and less we sought out American themes or English writing. We frequented Japanese restaurants, non-touristy shops, and neighborhoods where the locals go. One night we visited a British pub to get some wifi and plan the next leg of our journey. It was by far the most western group we’d seen since arriving in Japan. I am proud Chris and I have found a way to feel comfortable in a very foreign land. We have learned to ignore the things that make us uncomfortable, the inevitable moments when a language barrier causes us to have to turn around and leave a shop because we simply cannot communicate. Or perhaps we don’t ignore our discomforts, but we now embrace them as a part of what is important and necessary. That feeling out of place has helped us learn more than paying for a hop on hop off bus tour and eating at the local TGI Fridays ever would. So, raise your glass of saké to the world getting a little bit smaller. 

lovefromkatie

Seoul Patch

The "keep off" sign on this bridge was comically small. It was more a dare than a warning.

South Korea was a series of firsts for me. We have bounced through eleven European countries with ten different languages, but they all shared a similar alphabet so if necessary we could slaughter our way through a word, plus thankfully "kebab" is basically universal. Seoul was my first experience with a language that used a completely different set of characters that I had absolutely no handle on. But the reason we made this stop was to see our friend Jessie, who has been teaching English in Uijeongbu (just outside of Seoul) since June. Fun fact. Uijeongbu has two American military bases nearby and was the setting for M*A*S*H*. Jessie became our window to understanding not only the language but also the country and the culture.

This is Jessie. She insists that throwing up the peace sign is "The Korean Way." We would hear that phrase a lot this trip. Some would say too often.

Katie spoke on the difficulties we had feeling comfortable in Istanbul, but what's strange is that, physically, we fit in. If you didn't hear our American accents or hear me refer to the Packers as a "football" team, our dark features (and killer mustaches) would make you assume we could be from Turkey or a number of nearby places. But we still felt like we stuck out like sore American thumbs. Compare that to Korea, where we were often literally the only white people on a crowded subway, but never did we feel unwanted or out of place. Growing up in central Wisconsin, at a school whose diversity left every year with our foreign exchange students, this was the first time in life where I was solidly in the racial minority. But there were no glances. No aside whispers. Instead people were eager to talk to us, the most notable was a man who was terribly excited to use the very little English he had to talk to me about the LA Dodgers. It was nice to feel so welcome in a place that seemed so foreign.

Although to be honest I did stand out a bit. Mainly because I kept sitting on the ground in the middle of the street.

Thanksgiving was tough for me. This was the first year Katie or I wouldn't be with our families, but being with a friend made it feel much more like we were home. The three of us and our new friend Heather went out for a big thanksgiving dinner that night. Since Thanksgiving isn't celebrated in Korea, we had to substitute fried chicken for turkey, sausage and peppers for potatoes, and egg rolls for stuffing. The food didn't matter as much as being surrounded by loved ones. Afterward we went back to Jessie's and stayed up til 5am talking about our families and futures. The highlight of the night was when I pulled up a stream of the Lions Bears game, and Heather went into near hysterics in the joy of seeing football for the first time all year. It's amazing how the little things mean so much to you when you're away from home. Plus the Bears lost, which always cheers everyone up.

Normally I'd be in Marshfield punishing my siblings in Mario Kart, but I'll settle for heart to hearts on a heated floor.

Staying up late became the norm since Jess worked until 10pm every night, so Katie and I would often sleep in until 4pm, (Jess had to be up at 11am because she's a chump) but we would be out until 5am every night. One night around 3am we found a special karaoke bar (called a No Ri Bong) where instead of listening to strangers mangling country songs, you pay $20 to rent a solo room and mangle whatever songs you want. So we spent the next 60 minutes belting out the few English songs they had, which was mostly Frozen, One Direction, and the occasional Savage Garden (arguably one of their deeper tracks too). We left with our voices ravaged and cameras full of blackmail videos of each other.

Good friends don't judge

Speaking of mangling your body, throughout this entire trip, we've been adventurous when it comes to trying new and strange food, often by just ordering something randomly and hoping it isn't terrible. However, having Jessie as our safari guide in Korea was extremely helpful because we would have been helpless. For example, if you walked into a Korean restaurant and sat down by yourself you probably wouldn't be served because the waiter would have assumed you were waiting for someone else as people don't eat in restaurants alone. Tough break, lonely people.

We also met my former coworker in Seoul to perform important international Comcast business.
(He's the one with the weaker mustache)

She was also there to teach one of us what was a soup and what was a dipping sauce (in my defense they look identical). My favorite experience is the Korean Barbecue, where a group of 3-4 people share a table grill to cook up various types of meat, which are then covered in sauces and wrapped in leaves of lettuce and typically only costs about $15 total. It DID however ravage its way through your digestive system. Jessie later told us that we tried the amount of foods in 5 days that she did over the course of two months. Oh and many restaurants don't have bathrooms so you need to grab some toilet paper from a roll by the door, and then walk half a block away to a dark unmarked hallway with a one person stall at the end of the building. If you go to Korea any time soon, bring Imodium. Also probably toilet paper.

South Korea is known for their corn dogs. They're like normal corn dogs but they're also dipped in sugar. Basically diabetes.

Jessie also taught us about how to drink. In Korea instead of ordering individual drinks, you order ONE bottle of beer (makju) and ONE bottle of liquor (soju) for the table. Soju tastes like a watered down vodka and is consumed in shots or by mixing it with your beer (the combination is called somek) kind of like dropping a shot glass in an Irish Carbomb. Before you open the soju, you elbow the bottom of the bottle and then swing the bottle around in a tight circle until you see a little tornado develop inside. Once you crack it open, it's customary to dump the first bit out (often on the restaurant floor) because it's bad luck to drink the beginning of the bottle. That or Jess was just messing with us. Either is possible.

We are also much taller than everyone here so we must have looked like giants in this pic. 

We had a great time trying new foods, exploring the country, and climbing 1.4 km straight up to the highest point in Korea, but we could have spent the whole week inside Jessie's studio apt eating Pringles and dried squid, and it still would have been one of the better parts of our trip. 

CM

The West and the East. Istanbul

a furry friend we met along the way.

They say ignorance is bliss. In a world of travel and exploration, where every part of you is yearning for knowledge of the culture into which you are becoming submerged, I would beg the opposite. However, in an effort to inform myself as much as possible before traveling to Istanbul, I stumbled upon an article. This article told the story of three young American sailors in Istbanbul, just days before we were set to arrive. While wandering a busy city street, the three men had paint dumped over their heads while hearing screams of “Go home, yanks!” While the Turkish government condemned the actions of a hateful few, this anti-American sentiment seeped into my brain and enveloped our visit to Turkey. 

fishermen on this bumpin bridge where we took our ferry

As unfortunate as the feeling was, we were able to enjoy some truly remarkable sights in Turkey. Our first night we arrived around 11pm, worried everything would be closed and we wouldn’t be able to find anything to eat after a long travel day. However, our street was brightly lit with decorative colored lights and full of music and people. Shops and restaurants were packed too, not just clubs and bars. And the pedestrian walking street was full of people as though it were rush hour. It was bright and bubbly and beautiful. The downside was that the streets were also full of lone homeless children, something we soon learned was painfully common. We started and ended each day on this street, as it led from our apartment all the way down to the water. 

our host met us here at 11pm, despite us being an hour late!

One of the coolest things we did in our area of Istanbul was take a ferry tour along the Bosphorous strait between Asia and Europe. Before this visit I did not realize Turkey sat on both continents! The coolest part for me was passing under the intercontinental bridge. This side: Europe. This side: Asia. Sailing through, looking at two continents at once was a strangely exciting experience. We couldn't understand the descriptions of what we were hearing over the loud speaker, so we tried to look things up on our own, and took to making up historical facts about the beautiful buildings surrounding us. 

the bridge. shall we cross continents today?

Not everyone in Turkey was anti-American. In fact, salesmen made it very clear that they wanted to talk to us once we were in sight of their shops. Street shopping was very big in Istanbul, but the coolest, most overwhelming part was the Grand Bazaar. The Bazaar had over 4,000 shops, slammed into a labyrinth of narrow corridors. On your left, a fifteen-foot-high wall of rainbow colored scarves, on your right, a precariously perched array of beautifully hand painted dishes. There was jewelry and ornaments and lamps and instruments and even a few cafes. Passing through the shouting men I felt like Jasmine when walking through the market in Aladdin (sugar dates? Sugar dates and figs?! Sugar dates and pistaaaacccios).  We spent about three hours in that Bazaar and left with our arms full and our pockets light.

just outside the bazaar: more shops!

One dreary day we walked to The Sultan Ahmed Mosque, or The Blue Mosque, a famously beautiful Muslim house of worship. We arrived just in time for the call to prayer, meaning the mosque was closed to visitors. At first we were disappointed in our poor planning skills, but then a man handed us a flyer for a free presentation at the information center beside the mosque. As it was raining and the center boasted free refreshments, we thought what the hell? Gotta kill time before we can see inside, anyway. Yes, the dry air and hot tea was most welcome, but I was pleasantly surprised by the succinct, well-delivered presentation. In thirty minutes, we learned basic points on a world of topics, including The Blue Mosque, Islam and its similarities and differences to other religions, Muslim prayer rituals, and different practices around the world. 

rainy day reflections

When we finally entered the mosque we felt as though we’d taken a semester long course on the place, recognizing the art and script on the walls, and pointing out other facts we’d just learned as we walked around. As in many Catholic churches we’d visited, there was a dress code to enter, for which I, like always, was too scantily clad. I was given a cloth to cover my legs, and both Chris and I removed our shoes to walk inside. My words nor our photos can properly describe the interior of the Blue Mosque. You’ll just have to go see it for yourself. But it was remarkable. This day of beauty, knowledge, exploring religion and the conversations with my husband over gluhwein afterwards was one of my favorites of our months of travel thus far.

in the visitor's section 

So, perhaps sometimes ignorance is bliss. Had I not read the anti-American article days before arriving in Istanbul, maybe I wouldn’t have felt as though I stood out as the only blonde-ish person at the airport in a sea of staring eyes. Maybe I wouldn’t have dyed my hair dark on our first night. Maybe I would’ve enjoyed outbursts of friendly laughter in the street instead of worrying over a rowdy crowd. While my perception of Turkey was dimmed by my mindset going in, it still resides on my list of places to which I’d like to return. As my friend Kent said (in a message with an alarming number of typos for a teacher. Get it together, Canada), “it really is where east meets west, physically and culturally.” I like to learn about everywhere we visit, and maybe it was because we finally got out of the rain, but I felt like I definitely learned a lot here, and that I have so much further to go.

 lovefromkatie

Double Dutch

It's going to be tough leaving this place

After several months of traveling solo it's always nice to see a familiar face so the last couple of weeks have been wonderful. First, Katie's parents Anne and Wayne came over from Minnesota to briefly escape what is turning out to be another harsh Minneapolis winter. This was our 4th time in Amsterdam but somehow the majority of the normal tourist stops had avoided me e.g. Anne Frank, Van Gogh, etc. Anne and Wayne had never visited these tourist attractions either, so we went to all of the main spots, but I would rather talk about the unique things we ran into. For example, we were one of the few people that dressed up for Halloween. The majority of the costumes consisted of one prop like a mask or something handheld. Luckily for the Dutch, Katie and my costume closet is at home or else we would have won every Halloween contest. Watch out 2015.

We basically run this town now so Anne and Wayne got a private tour

My favorite time with the Schmiegs was actually getting out of Amsterdam for the day and taking a train to Zaanse Schans, which is just as much fun to visit as it is to say. Say it with me...ZAHN SA SCHANS. Lovely. Just 17 minutes out of the city lies what everyone pictures when they think of Holland - windmills, cheese, wooden shoes and tulips (in spring). Zaanse Schans is deemed a working village which translates to tourists tromping through people's actual businesses and backyards while snapping pics and saying "Ooo how quaint. Look at their little lives". But it's honestly worth it. You get to check out eight windmills, there's a cheese museum with about 20 samples of their product, and a clog factory where you can try on legit wooden shoes. Honestly it seems like a punishment to walk around in these things but you often see them around Amsterdam. My beautiful bride insists the pair she tried on was quite comfortable but she lies all the time.

Anne and I often get into disagreements over board games. Although I'd be upset if I lost all the time too.

Anne and Wayne were in town during a folk music festival and one of the key events was a beer tasting during IndieBingo, the classic game but instead of a dangerously elderly woman calling out numbers you have a young emcee (speaking completely in Dutch), a DJ and live band playing alternative and folk rock songs. Now I think I'm pretty plugged into the social pipeline. I'm hip, I'm down, I've got the 411, but MAN did I come up worthless at IndieBingo. I was expecting more Fall Out, Jack White, and The Ramones but instead we got bands like Alamo Race Track, Babyshambles, and Jesus and Mary Chain.

Read the room, guy

However, thanks to the nice people around us and dumb luck, Anne got a bingo almost immediately after 7 songs but was too nervous to go up - understandably since we were relying only on the word of strangers who SHOULD be out for their own good, sabotaging those around them (what I would have been doing) plus anyone that went up with a false bingo had to stay on stage to sing a song or dance. Most often the victims were English speakers that didn't hear the changing rules put out so it makes sense to be cautious. Luckily I was full of beer samples and went up automatically in her stead. The bingo was true and suddenly a beautiful woman was shoving cheese in my mouth while the emcee loaded me up with prizes. By the end we walked away with a bunch of 45s of unknown bands, a plant (because of course), a Suicidal Tendencies workout tank (that's a keeper), and a pair of bright blue running shoes that fit perfectly.

Free preview performance at the Amsterdam Concert Hall. Fun fact. In dutch, the oboe is called a hobo.

Our next guests were my cousin Laura and her boyfriend Carl from Chicago. One of the things we did with them was the Heineken Experience. Now the Heineken brewery tour used to be free but then they moved the building and started charging 15€ for it. People were pissed because it was basically the same thing, so Heineken rebranded the "Brewery Tour" to the "Heineken Experience" and then everyone forgot about it. Give that PR person a raise. Anyway, it seemed like a lot to shell out but it was surprisingly worth the money. You end up getting 3 drinks and we spent 2 and a half hours in there being taught how to pour/drink beer, playing foosball, and going on an unexpected 4D "Be the Beer" ride through the brewing process.

In one room Laura and I got to try out our table turning skillz. Just call me DJ Mustache Wax. (Erra erra erra)

Speaking of paying for a ride, I know I mentioned the Red Light District before but I now have more valuable information. We found an arcade bar (WITH A BALLPIT FOR ADULTS) right outside of five women's windows so we camped out for an hour in the front window and kept some statistics. Four of the women were quite successful and kept pulling in suitors (with maybe about fifteen minutes in between johns), while the fifth, who was our underdog, came up empty the whole time. On average the men spent 8 minutes inside the door with the most at 10 min and the least at 6 from start of convo to hasty exit. Now brace that brain for some math. The most popular girl had 3 johns, presumably at 50€ each over the span of an hour which comes out to 150 euros or $187 an hour, but if you remove the 10min of down time and a minute each for conversation, she only worked 27 min of the hour so it comes out to $415 per hour worked. Now that was the most, several other girls only pulled in one or two men so the numbers vary. It's a fascinating and bizarre culture and so far, we've only observed it from a distance...for now.

Seriously. BAR BALL PIT. Get on it, Minneapolis

One of the nice things about spending so much time in Amsterdam is that we also get to find the small places that tourists don't hit up. Our AirBnb hosts recommended a local restaurant to the Schmiegs and I saying "This place has the best steak. No joke", and Loetje did not disappoint. Easily the best steak I've ever had BUT I did leave my scarf there and they didn't have it the next morning so out of spite, never frequent this business. With Laura and Carl we found De Keu, a sports bar that offered free darts and pool all night, although there must be something different about Dutch billiards because despite being 5 beers in, I was simply terrible. My wife, however, played surprisingly well. She and Carl wiped the floor with us probably because we learned that Laura has been shooting with the wrong hand for twenty years. Naturally she blamed this on me since we have been playing pool since we were kids. Maybe she didn't read the part above about where I referenced the importance of sabotaging opponents.

A midnight Canal Tour is always romantic. Perfect for cousins

It was great seeing our family for a brief moment but it's nice to be back alone where no one can judge me for having an all Doner diet or not washing my jeans for a month. Amsterdam is one of our very favorite places but sadly it's time to move on. Now onto Asia!

We'll miss you old friend.

CM

Conversation and Hennesseys. Lisbon

 

The sunshine continued as we ventured west to Portugal. We stayed in a pleasantly bright airbnb garden level apartment in Lisbon. The relaxation that so often accompanies warm weather evaded us as we explored the cobbled hills of Lisbon. Our first afternoon we hiked an hour on what was certainly an entirely vertical path to the largest, most extensive street market I’ve ever seen. It began more like a neighborhood yard sale, with blankets lining the streets for blocks, each individual vendor using their six-foot space to sell an assortment of random goods from leather boots to antique door knockers to one-eyed dolls. The market continued beyond the narrow streets to a large open area filled with tables, tents and more blankets. We spent several hours navigating the labyrinth of hidden treasures and frightening childhood toys from another time in the much welcome sunshine.  

Chris debating between an Indiana Jones hat or Harry Potter 4 in Portuguese.

One treasure we hunted for at the market all afternoon was an outfit fit for the upcoming futbol match, El Classico. To Chris’ chagrin, we accidentally left Spain one day before Barcelona played Real Madrid, a hugely popular game stacked with some of my World Cup favorites, including that handsome bitch and local Lisbon favorite, Ronaldo. Fortunately, the match was still a big deal to sports fans in Lisbon, and we were able to find a pleasantly rowdy Irish bar, Hennessey’s, to watch and cheer. With very little effort, we were able to find two Ronaldo jerseys (or futbol shirts, as we quickly learned the Brits call them) just in time for the game. An enjoyable evening of Irish beer, high fives with sweaty strangers, flaming Sambuca and new found friends from England and Australia followed. And of course Real Madrid dominated the match, which I tribute mostly to our new shirts.

 

Tom and David have big plans to visit Minneapolis. Obviously.

 We took a day trip from Lisbon to a coastal town called Cascais. Originally the trip had intended to be a beach day, but after a late start and ill-planning by someone in our group, it turned into a pleasant exploration of the town instead (questions like, “how does one get to the beach?” and “when does the sun set in Lisbon in October?” would have been important answers to seek out before leaving the apartment). But we found a strange café on the ocean that sold slabs of cold meat and bottles of takeaway beer, and we made an impromptu picnic on the jagged, volcanic looking rocks on the edge of town and watched the sunset over the Atlantic. It was the perfect end to what could have been a very disappointing day. Who needs a beach day, anyway?

 

note the lovely setting sun in our glasses

So, we didn’t find the glamorous beaches the internet was raving about. We did, however, find some pretty cool ocean-side activities of our own. We found a tranquil bar with lounge chairs feet from the shore and only a 30 second walk from a busy city square. We watched in awe as a local man built an epic sand castle on a small plot of make-shift city beach. The urban proximity to the ocean reminded me of Minneapolis and Lake Calhoun set against a backdrop of familiar skyline. A pleasant mix of relaxation and exploration. There was even a neighborhood famous for its enormous street art. Head towards the Saldahna tube stop and you won’t be able to miss the larger than life depictions of political corruption and crocodiles with story high teeth. 

 And right in the center of the city was my favorite place of all. A garden overlook with a view for miles around. The garden where we sat featured dozens of statues, representing a mix of Greek mythology and Portuguese history. But the real hero of this small overlook was the breathtaking view. And not “breathtaking” like in Seinfeld when the doctor refers to both Elaine and the ugly baby as breathtaking. I mean truly a surprisingly stunning view hidden in the middle of the city. You have to get close to the edge to appreciate the magnitude of what you are able to see. And thanks to the treacherous hills of Lisbon and with the overlook placed at the top, we looked out over a rainbow of houses from our serene perch. And we enjoyed all this serenaded by a pleasant man and a gentle acoustic guitar. If it weren’t for the flies (seriously, where are they all coming from? Were we sitting on a nest of sorts?!) we would have stayed there all day.


unfortunately this photo appears to be mostly stone ground and very little view.
So you'll just have to believe me that it was really cool.

 On our last night in Lisbon we visited a traditional Portugese restaurant down the street from our apartment, recommended by our Airbnb host. The servers did not speak English and we recognized very few words on the menu. I ordered a lemonade and veal with fried egg, which turned out to be almost exactly what I suspected. Only the lemonade I ordered appeared to be mostly lemon with the tiniest bit of water. I added all the provided sugar packets and half my water bottle before I could take a sip without my entire face contracting like a raisin.



mmmmmmmmmmm

 Chris ordered a beer and a steak. Our server wasn’t certain what he wanted and first brought over a platter of very large fish that I was almost entirely certain were dead (they looked right at me) and gestured as if to say “is this what you want?” With the platter inches from his nose, Chris attempted to explain “No! Please, I’d like… cow?” He nodded in apparent understanding and disappeared. Chris watched our meals arriving over my shoulder with a panicked expression on his face. Placed in front of him was a raw, bright pink, juicy slab of meat. But, again our heroic server and his extremely helpful gestures showed Chris that he had also brought over a hot plate, and Chris was to cook is own steak on there. It was delicious and also really fun! I’m glad my veal was cooked for me as I don’t know how Chris avoided burning his forearms on the hot plate like George Senior's corn baller. It was one of the best meals either of us had ever enjoyed, and goes to show what can happen when you point at a menu and cross your fingers.



I think I can still hear it mooing

 We did not explore the history of Lisbon as earnestly as we have in other places. We did not take any tours, we did not seek out informative books or articles, and we did not visit a single museum. But we took away a feeling about a place in a moment in time. A lifestyle. A pride in freshly made sangria and freshly caught fish. I felt welcome here, less of a tourist, more of a visitor. I’d like to learn more about Portugesue history and culture because of the snapshot of happiness I took in the few short days we experienced here. Bottoms up, Lisbon. Or as they say, saúde!



post work happy hour anyone?! (Also, how handsome is that man?)

 lovefromkt

Mad About Madrid

Como se dice: Girl's got some ups.

Maybe it's because we only had 3 days there, but man do I want to go back to Madrid. We were all over the city but there were still so many more places we didn't have the chance to explore. In all but one city we've stayed in AirBnB apartments and sometimes the neighborhood is hit or miss and can often substantially sway the mood of the visit. For example, our Bratislava neighborhood was not great if you wanted to go to any business after sunset, let alone if you needed to find alcohol at 1AM. Madrid was the exact opposite. We stayed in an area called LAVAPIES pronounced Lava-Pee-Ace but naturally we just called it LovePies. 

Stencil graffiti is all over the city but it's hard to be hardcore when you have hearts for letters.

LovePies used to be a very poor and drug ridden neighborhood but recently it has flourished when young people moved in to take advantage of its cheap housing. In the middle of the square there are 8 streets shooting in all directions that have every possible type of cuisine you'd want. Hands down I had the best chicken fajita in my life at a place called Portos. We spent several nights at the street tables in front of Portos enjoying their buckets of beer for absurdly cheap prices, just enjoying the buzz of the nightlife and people milling through the area. There's a constant police presence which has dropped the crime dramatically but still we were offered drugs everyday. Nothing compared to the amount in Lisbon, but that's for the next post. 

Lovepies is always bumpin.

Flamenco! Now I've been told by many friends and strangers that I have the freshest moves on the dance floor, and I've won my fair share of dancing championships, but I've got nothing on these dancers. Flamenco is a Spanish dance which consists of a lot of clapping and a large stout man bellowing out words faster than I thought possible. Remember old school Geocities websites that would automatically start playing some terrible song as soon as you accessed it? If I knew anything about websites, I would set that unavoidable automatic music file for this blog post but instead of a dancing yodeling hamster, it would be rhythmic clapping and the click-clack stomping of feet. Luckily for you, I do not.

Sadly there was not an amateur night for me to show off my skills.

One of the most beautiful spots of Madrid is Buen Retiro Park which is in the Eastern part of the city. The park is an enormous green space with an abundance of places to nap, read, people watch, or drink excessive amounts of sangria. One of the most popular spots in the park is the pond Estanque del Retiro where young handsome athletic lovers (sound like anyone you know?) rent rowboats and troll around the water. It was a dangerous call since the last time Katie and I tried something similar we nearly broke up over a paddle boat ride through Amsterdam. Luckily this time was beautiful and our marriage is still intact. Sidenote: the word "rowboat" has forever been ruined for me by the movie I, Robot because customers at my movie theatre didn't understand the I ROBOT marquee and would ask for two tickets to "EE-ROH-BOAT". Although nothing was worse than Viggo Mortenson's horse desert race movie...you know the one....Hidildo.

 

We tried to have jousting matches with other boats but everyone else (wisely) backed down.

My favorite part of Madrid was the bar Tartan Roof on top of Circulo de Bellas Artes, an 8 story building just off the main shopping strip of Gran Via. Now it cost 3€ to get to the top of this badboy but it's worth it. Now I know you badasses are considering just slipping up without paying but we tried that already. We stealthily avoided the front desk clerk but then we were prompted for a ticket, which of course we didn't have so we had to go back down. I even tried to pay the guard to let us stay up there but he said we had to go back and pay on the first floor. You win this time, Spain. So pay the few shekels and go upstairs and enjoy the view.

 

In addition to the view, dont miss the lovely gazelle and lady butt art.

On top of the building was an outdoor art exhibit of photography ranging from nature shots to city landscapes to a naked man that body painted himself a dozen different times to look like each of the Avengers and X-Men. Obviously my favorite was his interpretation of naked Hulk. In addition to the nude flaccid Wolverine art there was a bar up there with barca loungers meant for two. Katie and I spent several hours lying back, drinking Heinekens and gazing out over beautiful Madrid. If anyone is going to visit, I highly recommend hitting this place up, just make sure you "follow the rules" and pay their stupid fee. Damn the man.

Skylines, booze, and lying down is kind of our jam. 

Plus I got to use all my Spanish that I apparently still have in my system from barely paying attention over the last 14 years. For the most part we were Spanish experts but once people heard my awful accent they immediately switched into English. Ordering food was probably the easiest since that seems to be the thing every Spanish class covered. However, every once in awhile we would falter. We went to 100 Montaditos, a restaurant that sells 50 cent beers and tiny ass sandwiches (montaditos) for a buck. Katie tested out as proficient in college so naturally she should have no problem ordering our food. We talked it out and planned the speech for the server, and she was all pumped up and ready to go, but then she watched in horror as the customer in front of her had a 5 minute rapid fire conversation, an almost interview like grilling by the cashier. Once it was Katie's turn, the cashier looked at her and used only took one word to bring her crumbling down: Nombre? Nombre, a word that we learned as children, disappeared from Katie's brain and she slipped immediately into English. Valiant effort, girl. Oh and then the man misheard her "Nombre" and started calling her Kelly.

 

BreadMan is the stuff of nightmares. So much for ever sleeping again. I think it might even say DOOM on his chef hat.

Seriously. Madrid is amazing and I want to go back. Like right meow. I know Kelly feels the same way.

CM