Mike takes Amsterdam: annnnnnd then some

Day 19

“so for 50euro…”

Next morning, Katie met me at Mac Bike, the premiere bike rental shop. As I had mentioned before, usually in Facebook status updates, I planned on doing Amsterdam right- on a touring bike. And I’m telling you- there really is no other way to experience Amsterdam. Tour buses and rental cars can suck it; walking can suck it; everything can suck it- except for biking. The overall atmosphere of Amsterdam seems to much more upbeat, and I don’t think because of the dope, but because of the natural endorphins everyone has flowing through their bodies from riding bikes all day. I mean, really, look at this:

This is just the 1st level of a multi-leveled bike-parking area next to the canal. EVERYONE rides EVERYWHERE and it’s absolutely fantastic. This ultimately only leads to a few people driving, but from what I experienced, you can get everywhere you need to go on a touring bike. I was only on one for a few minutes when I realized how awesome the day was going to be. It just helps you feel really good because you get exercise, you’re not causing extreme pollution, and quite frankly, it’s just a a lot of fun! I could have rented a moped or gas-bike, but eff that, man! You gotta experience things as everyone else does them! Otherwise, what’s the point in going places, you know?

Katie finally showed up and it was really nice to see her again. We first met in my first year of college; we were in the same FIG (Freshman Interest Group) and from there, got her hooked on Smallville, so lest-be-said, we were pretty good friends and to see her again- well, it was really nice. Quick hug and we were outta there! Since I was still carrying my big-ass backpack, we road across town to her apartment to drop it off before we got going to a small coffee bistro, since Katie hadn’t ate all day and she had been riding for about an hour or so before she met up with me. It was here that I would have my first bit of legalized herb while Katie ate her bagel. Now, a slight history with me and this stuff: I’m not a big user. In fact, the times in which I had partaken in college really didn’t get me feeling as if I should ever do it habitually. This, right now, in this country, was something to add to my growing collection of “live-in-the-now” experiences and boy- Did I live in the now! Katie warned me though, smoking (too much) and riding was on par to drinking and driving, and I trusted her, so I took it easy. I mean, I did have the ENTIRE day…might as well pace myself…

Shortly after we had sat down, one of the workers came out and yelled at us for sitting in front of the store, so we packed up shop and got back on our bikes to go to another coffeeshop that Katie said had reallly good hot chocolate. I never really believed hot chocolate demanded the use of an exaggerated “really”, but she was right! At first I thought it was because we got it in a coffeeshop and she was more or less probably stoned whenever she got it, but nah man, this stuff was legit! It was steamed milk with cube of Dutch chocolate shucked on the end of a fondue stick that we had to stir in ourselves. Of course, because Dutch chocolate isn’t as sweet as it is stateside, each mug came with some extra sugar, but I didn’t mind the bitter darkness of the choco. It was almost as smooth as it was bitter…I know, I can’t really explain it, but it was! We sat there a bit and enjoyed the hot chocolate and the atmosphere of the small store before Katie looked at me and asked me if I felt like a beer.

It' was 11:30; of course I did.

We rode over to a small lunchtime bistro and had a lager while Katie explained to me how horrible customer service in Holland really wasn’t the best. Typically, you have to stare at the waiter while they walk toward you, not back down, and essentially grab them to get your order. 30minutes later, you had food. Luckily, all we got was a brew while we shot-the-shit, so we didn’t have to experience the horror of Dutch customer service. Here was where we planned out the next couple of hours, including a trip to the most popular farmer’s market in Amsterdam, a photography museum, and a canal tour.

After we had locked up out bikes outside of the market, Katie began telling me a bit about the cultural aspect of Amsterdam, particularly about the racial bigotry that has lately been coming about with the immigration of a lot of Turkish people. She told me that although her Dutch was relatively pretty poor, what could gather, would –as she put it- make my ears bleed. She compared it to early American racism against African-Americans and almost said it was more blood-lusty than that. I would say it was interesting to hear, but at the same time, saddening to hear that one of the happiest places to live in the world had been infected by the disgusting disease of racism. It’s interesting because from what I learned prior to my visit is that Holland, in it’s immigration, won’t allow anyone in the country who wouldn’t assimilate perfectly into their culture. Unlike the States where we embrace cultures of all varieties, the Dutch enjoy their already progressive society and don’t really like radical changes. For example, I believe- believe- that at one point, a questionnaire asked potential immigrants if they could tolerate gay persons kissing in public, and if they couldn’t, they wouldn’t be allowed in the country. I could be wrong and that might have actually been just a radical example of the immigration standards of the country, but from what I saw, it really wasn’t far off.

After Katie bought a t-shirt, we took a walk around the park (which was absolutely stunning) and went back to the bikes, where we then proceeded to Foam, the museum of photography. Foam’s current display featured the life and work of one photographer- W. Eugene Smith. His work as a photojournalist was amazing because at first, he took pictures because he felt a calling, but soon he started to take pictures for causes- namely WWII, Vietnam propaganda, human rights, and lastly to explore the humanity in people. Check out the link and check out what you can, because this dude was phenomenal.

Foam really brought me around to think of how I can use my photography for similar causes and not just for taking photos that “look cool”- but then I realized, I liked taking pictures that “look cool” and I’m fine with that at the moment; and then we got GIN. And not just any gin- the best gin in Holland! I mean, seriously, this shit was legit! This company, Wynand Fockink, is the premire distillery of Holland and has been since 1679; their products ranged from straight-up gin to mix-and-matched flavors. I, myself, had mandarin and creme brulee gins. The neat part about it is they came in fancy drinking glasses and filled to the brim with delicious liquor; however, you couldn’t pick up the glass without sipping it down first. It’s kind of like a blowjob at a bar- no hands policy- but after you sipped it down a bit, you were good to go. Check it: Katie and I classing up at Wynand Fockink.

The dude behind the counter was a curious sort, but was very good natured and if you do go there, you have to go with enough time to talk with him because it’s one of those places that…you just do. Don’t be the dick that gets a drink and leaves. Totally sweet spot that EVERYONE needs to visit in Amsterdam.

Before we got completely snockered on delicious gin, we decided to hit up the canal tour. The canal ride was nice because I got to see the areas of Amsterdam that we wouldn’t have been able to reach in the one day I was there. The worst part was when AN ENTIRE CLASS OF HIGH SCHOOL KIDS GOT ON THE BOAT; they were loud, annoying, and got in the way of ALL my shots. Those little bastards nearly ruined my canal ride, but luckily Katie was able to provide the information that I couldn’t hear from the actual guide. I didn’t end up taking many pictures because of the kids, but it’s alright because the pictures I did take were worth it.

After the canal ride, we made for one of Katie’s favorite pubs in the whole of Amsterdam. I don’t know what it was called, but all I know is while she bought cigarettes, I bought a wood pipe for more Julio. She couldn’t help laughing whenever I lit up because she admitted she had never seen anyone, ANYONE smoke from a wood pipe. My response?

America.

‘nuff said.

Now, for anyone following this asking themselves “Where is the part about the Red light District, Mike?!”

It’s right here: the pub, get this, was right down the alley from the Red Light District. Katie told me to just walk around and check things out, see it for myself. And I’ll tell you what- there are, in fact, women in doorways with red (more like hot-pinkish) lights around every door. And I was NOT ready for how pseudo creepy it was! I mean, there are WOMENin DOORWAYS with NO CLOTHES on! I mean, all throughout Europe I’ve seen uncensored mannequins in windows, but I was not ready for them to move- nonetheless wave at me! And they were EVERYWHERE! Left, Right, Up, Down…everywhere! And in some places, there were TWO of them in ONE ROOM! Given all my boyish excitement, I will admit I made a couple of laps through the district and for some reason, I heard a bunch of knocking whenever I would walk by. As Katie would later explain to me, that’s when the ladies had a particular interest in a fella. So it goes to say- I felt pretty special at hearing so many knocks my way. But then again, they are prostitutes that want to be paid, so, I’m not trying to give myself jazzhands over the knocking.

sooooooooo….we left the Red Light and got some Schwarme (?) at a Middle Eastern restaurant and then booked it home to have a couple more drinks and relax before my long-ass day of traveling tomorrow.

FAST FORWARD TO THE FOLLOWING MORNING

Before I got on a flight, I had a very Dutch meal of croquettes, which were deep-fried gravy rolls on bread. This, I believe, marked my return to the obese nature that is America- nothing like deep-fried fat on a stack of carbohydrates! And since I wasn’t prepared for it, I actually burned the roof of my mouth quite badly-which sucked. To add onto it, I got through security with maybe half-filled bottle of water and at the end of it, the lady wouldn’t let me take it with me or empty it out and refill it later. I mean, I understand the new international rules surrounding boarding flights and what not- but a dually hungover guy with a burnt mouth-roof needs water; I needed that water.

And here is where my European adventures come to an end- hungover and a burnt mouth-roof. Good thing the most of my trip in Amsterdam was spent in an unspeakable bliss or I’d have been pisssssssssed!

Submitted for the approval of the Midnight Society…Mike’s taking of Amsterdam: COMPLETE.

Our Norwegian protagonist braves the Netherlands in search of adventure; in other words….MIKE TAKES AMSTERDAM!!!

Day 18

“So wait, I can just walk into ANY coffee shop and not only buy marijuana- but then smoke it?”

“Yes.”

“hahah yeah…”

DISCLAIMER: for obvious reasons, I will not talk about some of my experiences directly or explicitly. Again, where most of my censoring comes from is the respect I hold for my grandmother, who is an avid reader of this travel blog, and I’d rather not scar her too badly. If you’d like to hear it all, bring a bottle of wine to my house before I leave Seattle and we’ll talk.

SECOND DISCLAIMER: I really didn’t do anything horrendous, but I like creating an exciting atmosphere with my story-telling, so for all intended purposes- just pretend I was a bad, bad boy.

Alright, so, the first day in Amsterdam wasn’t actually the most excited: I had a 10hour layover in Copenhagen, which last most of the day, and I ran out of minutes on my international sim-card, which resulted in me not being able to connect with my friend/tour guide. I think this was Monday the 24th….yes..I think so. I did, however, end up seeing a good amount of the gorgeous night-scenery while I looked all over the place for my freaking hostel. Seriously- I COULD NOT FIND IT. I stayed at the Stayokay Hostel at Vondelpark. As I would come to find out, it was actually StayOkay Hostel in Vondelpark; the hostel was literally in the middle of this park. I, on the other hand, walked around for over an hour with my 35lb bag trying to find this damned hostel, looking like the biggest sap of a tourist in the world. As anyone who knows me knows- I dislike tourists, immensely. Mostly because of their ignorance and non-desire to actually live and learn a culture, instead, opting to visit sightseeing destinations and stay in fancy hotels. I know, I know, I’m an econ major and I know tourism is a fair chunk of some nations’ GDP, but still, tourists on whole can be assholes.

But I digress.

I looked liked the only tourist in Amsterdam, and because it was winter, I wasn’t too far off. But I eventually found it, thanks to the help of another hotel manager. I checked in, found my coed room, and unpacked. And here’s the funny thing about the coed room- it was full of dudes. I clicked on the coed because it was the only room open at the time I registered, but I have a feeling that every other dude in the room booked it accordingly to try and fully “experience” Amsterdam with a little hostel love. And another interesting thing was that there was an entirely girl-tour group staying the hostel and I could hear girls down every which way of the corridor and every room around us- but our room was completely dudes. I don’t know, I just find this to be a funny occurrence. One of my hostel-mates, Daniel (?) from Argentina, had just checked in as well and was getting all prepped up for the stay. We chatted for a bit and I eventually decided to go check out the city a bit. Daniel (?= I forgot his name, so it will be Daniel from now on) was working on his blog and I tried to persuade him to come out and get some drinks, but he declined because he wanted to write everything while it was fresh in his mind. Right at that moment of denial, a PACK OF CLUB-DRESSED = SCANTLY CLAD WOMEN walked behind me, tossing smiles and flirts our way. I did one of those slow head-turns back to Daniel whose head had tilted so far to the side he could rest his ear on his shoulder (comfortably), raised an eyebrow, and threw a headnod towards the chick-pack.

HE TURNED ME DOWN!! AGAIN!

something is wrong with this dude, seriously.

Anyway, I was done trying to persuade this guy to come out, and I took off after the night-life. The pack had gotten out of sight by the time I got out, so hunting was out of the question, leading me to find fun on my own [which isn’t hard for me]. I walked to the touristy-tourist center of town and immediately found a bar playing loud music and had a good, dense crowd of people. I made my b-line for the bar and got some drank. Honestly, nothing really happened here; I talked with a couple of people, drank a bit, got a couple beers bought for me, and left because it was 4am something and I was drunk. I was set to meet Katie, my buddy, at a local bike shop in the morning around 10:30, so I figured with everything going on that next day, I should have probably started back. As I step out of the bar, I look across the way and see the “Cool-Down Cafe” (?), a coffeeshop. As Katie told me –“Coffeeshops = weed; coffeehouse = coffee”. And I mean, what is the sensible son of an agent of the law going to do at a time like this?

You’re damn right I went into that coffeeshop.

“Did you smoke..?”

No.

“Why not?!”

Because (1) I didn’t have any matches; (2) I was already drunk and I didn’t feel the need to go overboard; (3) honestly- I was nervous!

In the States, as everyone knows, this is bad-juju, and I wasn’t quite in Netherland-mode yet, so I took my time, ya dig?

So here I am , walking down the street back to my hostel, nd I’m thinking to myself: “Damn I’m cool!”, when in reality, I was just now fitting in to the Holland scene. But in any case, I felt awesome because I had already started experiencing Amsterdam. Even though I had drank until 4am, met some peeps, and bought a J- today was going to be NOTHING compared to the next night, which you can read in my exciting conclusion!

…to be continued…

Mike Takes Denmark-and develops a mild hatred of the Danish transportation department.

Homecoming: Day 16—> day 17

“I have 100kroner and I need to get back to hostel or I will be stranded here- please, take me!”

My Saturday night in Aalborg, Denmark seamlessly transitioned into Sunday morning, a night done right with techno music, drinks, and random Erasmus students from around the world. Seeing as this was my last night in Denmark, I did it right and I did it hard. In other words, I stayed up all night with Peter and the guys dancing and drinking, trying to be “cool” with the ladies, which as I mentioned last post, is a very difficult task considering the socially-bipolar collection of women in the clubs.

4am: I enter the hostel lobby, stumbling around, trying to tell the dude behind the counter I need a taxi in 15minutes; it took a while- but I did it! And I will say this: if you plan on staying out all night, make sure you are packed before you go. As some of you reading this might guess that was me- YOU’RE WRONG. I packed up my schtuff before heading out because I knew I wasn’t going to be able to see straight come time to leave and whudathunkit I was right. The warm shower to “wake-up” didn’t help either, especially considering how small it was. I think I honestly fell into the walls enough times to count, but I wasn’t, I was actually considering getting a road brew while I waited for my taxi! No, don’t worry, I didn’t. I did however buy a Twix for the taxi ride.

What will eventually be concluded with this post is how much I have developed a mild hatred of the Danish transportation system, in regards to flying. It will be discussed in the following stages (somewhat in that order, but maybe not exactly):

1. Ridiculous and redundant hours of operation;
2. Robots that are not helpful;
3. Asshole Customer Service agents;
4. Danish websites changing dates of trips;
5. Faulty trip reservation system;
6. Non-compliance with said hours of operation;
7. Inability to resolve conflict (quickly).

So, 4:30 rolls around and I’m at the airport, which has just opened. This, in the first place, seems counter intuitive when you have 6:30 international flights that require you be checked in at least 2 hours before the flight. I’d actually gotten there a little bit early, but only a few minutes, so that was nice. Anyway, I went over to the self-service kiosks, the electronic mah-doogies, to print of my boarding pass. Low and behold—there is an issue with my reservation. The machine, with all of it’s wisdom and power, wouldn’t tell me why my reservation code wasn’t working. So of course being as intoxicated as I still was, I get a little upset and decide to talk to someone to help me out. I waddle over to the customer service counter to see what I didn’t want to- NO ONE AT THE EFFING COUNTER. Why open an airport if there is going to be NO ONE to be there? I don’t get it! No service agents were there, in any of the kiosks and no one was behind their respective counters! At this point, I was drunk and now very pissed off, so I did what any self-respecting drunk American would do while they waited for a service agent: I played Angry Birds- and then passed out against the column I was propped up against. Like I said- I was pissed.

When the dude finally showed up, he tried to not pay attention to me as he gets his “area” ready for the day. I really had no right to have been pissed at him (yet) because I had done the same thing when I worked coffee. I couldn’t help anyone until the store was ready, so I would just pretend they weren’t there, as he was doing to me; I had just gotten served. When he finally came over to the counter, he wouldn’t stop speaking Danish, even despite my constant “nei, nei, Taller englesk, takk..” (even though it’s Norwegian/Danish, they can understand it, so he should have stopped SPEAKING IN DANISH) and it was not helping my pissy nature. As it turns out, the genius came up with the conclusion that I had purchased the ticket for February, not January.

FÆN [google translate it- I won’t say it here].

Looking at his screen I saw that the reservation was in fact made for February, yet I would have sworn on any holy book that I had clicked January. The idea that the Danish site changed my month isn’t too far fetched considering it wasn’t the first time a travel site had switched ish up on me during my travels. Even though it actually is pretty far fetched to say the Danish travel bureau sabotaged my flight to Amsterdam, I like to think I didn’t commit the foul. This is where the guy becomes a dick- he would not BUDGE on getting me on the flight. Before I could even finish asking to help a brotha out, he cut me off “Nope, no, we don’t-we can’t do that. It’s against policy.” The non-internet price for a ticket was upwards of $400 , and there was no way I could afford that, so I told him I needed to get on the flight because I couldn’t afford to stay in Aalborg another night. His response?

“Do you have a credit card?”

"Do you have a credit card?!” Are you kidding me?! It’s almost 5am and this chode was trying to commit extortion of the reasonable kind, but it was ridiculous. I can’t say that the US is any better, but I’m sure they would have tried a lot harder to get me on that flight. This guy actually walked away from me while I was trying to work something out! Chode aside, I backed away from the counter and took inventory of my decreasing currency. I had spent the last solid bit of Danish kroner to get to the airport and my US accounts were beginning to dwindle below the point I marked to have a reasonable move to California upon my return to the West Coast, so I had begun to float up the shit river. Luckily, I found 100kroner in my back pocket; unfortunately, my taxi ride out had cost me over 200kroner. Again, I did what any reasonable drunken American would do if they found out they were stranded and broke in a foreign country- I played Angry Birds, but when I couldn’t break down the effin pigs’ defense, I got even more angry and decided that I needed to get a game plan together. I decided to try my luck with a taxi-driver and ask for a ride back. In other words, I begged some guy, who turned out to be a douche, to give me a lift back to the hostel for the rest of my money. He reluctantly agreed, but was a dick the entire way back, which I think is completely unnecessary. If I were a taxi-driver, I would be up for helping out a brotha every once and a while, especially when the clubs were closing and I would definitely make up the loss very quickly from all the extremely drunk bastards around town.

I get to the hostel and explain to the new person behind the counter that I had just checked out but missed my flight and needed to use the internet. She was cool about it and let me ‘chill’ out in the lobby for a spell. And THANK GOD FOR FACEBOOK. I never thought I’d say that, but without it, I would have been EFFED because I was losing my cool and my mobile phone definitely did not have enough credits to call the states and talk with the parentals. My mom happened to be online and with the her help, I was able to regain my chi and think logically about things: I needed another flight and a place to stay for the night because I was running drunk with only 2 hours of sleep 27hours earlier (if that makes sense). After getting my to-do list busted out and booked, my parents were my knights in shining armor and wired me some extra cash to help with the room and food for the day.

Seriously, my parents are best. If you disagree, you can go f*ck yourself.

I eventually got a room and slept until about 3pm, which felt absolutely wonderful. Oddly enough, when I had reserved my new flight, it said there was a complication in purchasing the ticket, yet the confirmation I was emailed said everything was taken care of. All day after waking up, I called the customer service hotline, but being freaking Sunday, no one was there. I was quite concerned because I really could not afford another night in Aalborg. I gave up and decided to figure it out in the morning at the airport. In the evening time, I met back up with Peter and his Danish-American pal for some drinks to watch the Packers-Bears playoff game. Soon enough, a Belgian dude (that we all think was completellyyyy full of shit) and bought us all a bunch of beer, which was great.

FAST-FORWARD TO THE NEXT MORNING

I want to go on record and say that I did not get drunk that night, because I’d be a huge dick if I used the money my parents sent on booze; however, I did forget to set my alarm to wake up in time, and with going to bed at 3am and needing to be up at 5am, this was a bad new bears. Luckily, I had a dream that ended abruptly with me (yes, me) walking up to me in a dream and yelling at me- “YOU FORGOT TO SET YOUR ALARM, ASSWAD!” It actually freaked me out to the point where I abruptly jerked awake and fell out of my bunk. I looked at my iPod and saw that it was exactly 5am.

F8ck yeah.

Showered, taxied, and waiting in the airport, I go again to the freakin robot-kiosk and it says that my confirmation code had a problem…

F8ck.

I decide to keep my cool this time because (1) I wasn’t drunk, and (2) I had plenty of time to figure it out. Except the CHODE behind the counter wouldn’t tell me what was wrong because he couldn’t figure it out. I had the idea that it was my debit card (which had been acting up lately) and told him but he assured me that it wasn’t. So he tells me to wait 15minutes until their office opens [at this time, I had just about under an hour before my flight took off]. Once the time comes around to call the office, ChoderBoy calls them up and guess what- no. one. answers.

30minutes later (20min until I had to be on the GD flight), a lady called me over to the other counter and told me my credit card hadn’t been accepted- INCONVIEVABLE! Well, instead of saying that, I do one of those slow head turns toward Chode, who doesn’t make eye contact with me, and turn back to pay the lady with my other debit card. With my flight paid for and moderate hatred for the Danish travel system, I shoved some bitches (guy bitches and girl bitches) out my way to make it to security. At this point, I had 10min to board my flight. LUCKILY, I got through security lickety split and the gate was literally right there after you got through. I boarded my flight literally putting my belt on. I think I finished putting my belt on when right before I sat down in my seat.

Often times I’ll end a post with words of advice, but in all honesty, I may have messed up originally, but the Danish [assuming the rest of the country is just as incompetent as Aalborg] are horrendous at customer relations; thus, my advice is such- avoid flying in Denmark.
Considering the rest of the day was spent in an airport and flying, I will end my Danish leg of my blog with this:

CONSIDER DENMARK: TAKEN!!

I hate this place…

MIKE OUT!

Mike Takes Denmark!

Homecoming: Day 15

“We underestimated by a power of 10!”

Quick pre-cap [yes, no recap, but precap. Yes, the word doesn’t exist, according to Microsoft LiveWriter, but it can suck it]

I would like to say we took it easy after the Norwegian Sea and in terms of being touristy, this is completely true; however, in terms of relaxing, this is completely untrue. The two days following the epic battle of Man vs. Nature (which ended up as a draw, seeing as I bitchslapped a Jellyfish and we all fell in the Norwegian Sea), Christian and I prepared for Denmark by working over time in the woods. We didn’t want to leave his dad with all the work, so we busted ass and rocked it out. The day before Denmark, we went into Kristiansand for last minute shopping, but let’s face it- we’re dudes; we don’t shop. Instead, Christian bought a sandwich and I got coffee and eventually pistachio gelato.

Consider Kristiansand: TAKEN

Now onto the greasy greasy of Denmark…

First off, we had an entire day of awesome fortune, and honestly, if one thing would have gone wrong, we would have been effed in some way or the other.

• We almost missed the Ferry because SOMEONE took forever getting ready (it was mmeeeeeee);
• When we arrived, our tram to the train had pulled up and was about to leave, so we ended up booking it down the crowded path. It looked like this;
• When we got to the train, we couldn’t figure out how to use the electronic-automatic ticket buying-thingie, so we went looking aimlessly for the ticket counter. By the time we got our tickets, our train was blowing the final whistle for boarding- so we ended up running to that, which looked kind of like this;
• Once we got to Aalborg, Denmark, we had NO IDEA where we were going, but we just kind of started wondering and ended up being right down the street from our hotel, when we finally got wifi and checked our google maps;
• Finally, and most importantly- the beer was cheaper than in Norway.

Once we finally checked in and headed out, we found out one MAJOR piece of information that I wish someone had told me, and because of this, I will say this to you all:

Aalborg has NO tourism/VERY LITTLE to DO

Totally serious. We went to a few places, all of which were the worst, most boring places we’ve visited:

1. Aalborg Cultural Museum- Horrible. Worst displays ever and completely non-interesting;
2. Utzon Architectural Museum- Boring. It is literally just drawings. Nothing fun or cool at all;
3. The Modern Art Museum- the best by far, but still, nothing that exciting. The museum in Oslo was much better because a lot of the art was about issues, not some random clashing of lines that some people call art;
4. The Military-Garrison Museum- looked ballin’, but was closed for winter.

Now, we did hit up one place, the Maritime Museum of Aalborg which had a pseudo- chronological display of Denmark’s maritime history, which as it turned out, was pretty radical. “Why was it so awesome to see all these boats and ships and stuff? Haven’t you seen other maritime museums on your trip?” And the answer is yes; however, none that ended with a MOTHALUVIN SUBMARINE!

and then A MOTHALUVIN HELICOPTER!

In all honesty, Aalborg is a very scenic destination spot and I can see where a lot of it’s tourism comes with the warmer seasons. The very Danish architecture is probably just an accent during the summer with all of the outside vendors and the hubbub of the sun. I chose to come in winter, so I can’t hate it too much, but you know what, I’m going to. And you’ll see why in a later post.

After the art gallery, we head back to the hotel to figure out the night. Christian, being a poopy-tired little sap decided to nap while I looked for transportation and housing for Amsterdam. Sounds dull, yeah, I know, but a mere 1.5hours later, we decided to hit- and hit it hard is what we did! Starting in the hotel, we had a small drink, which held us off until the quick-E-mart down the street when we got thirsty again. This was awesome because apparently, people just drink wherever they want. So of course, we felt like absolute mavericks walking down the street and drinking Carlsbourgs on our way to the bar! We made it to the Irish pub of choice (the one where we wanted to get damned delicious grub), ordered our pints and found out- whoops- kitchen was closed. At 7pm! Who does that?! Apparently this place does, so, do not enlist the help of “The Irish House” for late night munchies- they will not help.

We eventually got food after having a few drinks (which is not the greatest idea if you haven’t eaten all day) but at that point, Christian started getting tired. We had just walked onto Jomfru, the party street, and stopped into a bar called “Robin Hood”, which is a fantastic place, to be honest. Cheap beer and neat interior i.e. very attractive women behind the counter- and wouldn’t you know it- Christian starts dozing off at the bar! No, not on my clock! Not in Denmark. SO, what is the onnne thing that can make men wake up more quickly than any other known substance in the wide-world?

If you said naked women, you are correct; Luckily for us, there was a strip club right around the corner! I dragged his tired ass over to that beautifully lit establishment and started on his revival.

FAST-FORWARD 15MINUTES

Long story short, students on a tight budget shouldn’t visit these establishments for a couple reasons: (1) the beer is GHASTLY expensive; (2) so is everything else! We actually, no joke, were getting glared at by all the ladies in the club because they knew we didn’t have any money. We took this as a sing we should leave before things got ugly. And by ugly, I mean this.

We eventually headed back to the hotel, but there was no way in HELL I was going to bed…I mean, it was Friday night in Denmark…I’m sure there was a party somewhere…right?

Right.

to be continued…

Mike Takes Stavanger!!!

Homecoming: Day 8

“I’m going to buy you a drink- but only if you drink it!”- Egil

So far, this was one of the most exciting for these reasons:

1. I was alone (Christian stuck back to help his dad);
2. I only booked hotel for one night (I was counting on my social skills or CouchSurfing to find a place to stay the second night);
3. I had NO idea where I was.

And in brief, I will say this: it was a damn good trip.

There really aren’t many tourist activities, with I'd say only about 8 museums, of which, 4 are actually interesting. I sort of knew that going into it, though. Stavanger is a huge oil town and known for its close proximity to gorgeous fjords, fantastic scenery, etc; the tourism lies in nature. I will say this: Stavanger has a very good ‘old’ section of town that brings to light a modern-history. It was kind of neat to walk through that section of town and see the close clusters of neighborhoods and then look behind them to see skyscrapers and cranes, building newer, more attractive buildings. It was also…kind of sad…it reminded me of America and it’s inability to preserve history. I guess it’s not all to blame on our desire to progress, but I mean, c’mon- we suck at building history-withstanding structures; barns no older than 100 years are crumbling all around us.

Anyway, so, tangent aside: Stavanger was awesome!

I’ve decided not to talk about how I walked around all day and looked at things, because there is only so much I can say:

“So, I walked down that street and that one. I stopped to take a photo. It was nice.”

There, I talked about it!

But really, what was really nice about the Stavanger trip was meeting up with the new people. I recently was told about this site called CouchSurfing.com, a place where people from all over the world who like to travel, can meet other people who like to travel just as much as they do. Aside from the obvious [you can use it to sleep on people’s couches], it’s a fantastic opportunity to meet opened minded people who don’t think the whole world has gone to the dogs. And it’s true- you have to be open-minded about a lot in order to have a successful surfing experience. Both parties have to trust in people and believe in the world for it to work and if you don’t, well, you' should stay in a hotel. It’s not for everyone; if you like your privacy, don’t like talking to other people, and you have a dislike of genuine humanity- you should stay in a hotel.

I had two really great surfing experiences in Stavanger; one was with Vegard Bø and the other Chi-Chi Ton. Vegard was my night life guide, while Chi allowed me to stay on her couch [which actually turned out to be a nice IKEA bed]. I was a little downtrodden because no one had responded to any of my requests to hang out that night, but then Vegard responded and invited me out for some drinks with his friends. This worked out fabulous because it was Friday night in Stavanger and I wanted to experience it. It ended up also that his buds had a huge work project that held them from the night out, but we rocked it anyway. We met in the hotel lobby around 7 and headed out. What I saw was a 5foot-nothing dude was glasses, but who I saw was someone who knew how to have a good time. And dayum- he knew how to work the bars. We went to a hole-in-the-wall place with 30Kroner beer, which is a big thing because alcohol is SO damned expensive here. After a few rounds, we started talking to a big S.Korean-Norwegian dude by the name of Egil. EGIL!! It was one of my goals for the trip to meet an Egil and I did! and he bought me round after round of drinks because (1) he was hella impressed with my Norwegian and (2) because he said I was a good man. SEE- it pays to be an open-minded, fun loving dude from the states. We peaced out after Vegard’s buddy, Saema, said there was an after-party at another bar. So we go, but the dude wants 100kroner to get in! What’s a Mike Snowden to do? Oh, yeah-

“Hey man! I’m from USA on vacation- how’s about 50kroner for me and my friend?”

He folded like a house of cards. BOOM!

So, after some drinking, dancing, and helping some old drunk bastard get up from falling down the stairs, we call it a night. It’s 3am and we’re sh*tfaced.

FASTFORWARD TO THE NEXT DAY AT 4PM

Chi picks me up from outside the hotel and seriously, we hit it off. Not in the “oh yeah, totally gonna get some” hit it off, but in the fact that it seemed right away that we had been friends for years. Chi was such an awesome host, seriously. She made dinner [one with meat, which she did for me because I said I missed bbq food] and bought beer [for me, because she was on penicillin], and watched Team America [for us, because we both love that movie]. Her friend came over and we all hung out and talked, you know, kept it real. I really wanted to go out again, but as Chi mentioned, “Norwegians for the most part are difficult to just start a conversation with. It’s not that they are assholes, it’s just that sometimes they don’t want to”. Plus, Chi and I were having a grand time just talking and laughing, that I ended up opting out of the bar scene. We ended the night with a movie and both passing out on our respective sides of the very comfortable couch. Chi, my newest friend, put me-a stranger- up for the night and we both had a great effing time. We spent most of it laughing and making fun of stupid things, which as we all know, are my favorite past-times.

All in all, the best part about Stavanger was the people I met and the fantastic time I had integrating myself into modern Norwegian life. I had experienced more of the traditional life in Kristiansand, but in Stavanger, I set out to meet new people and share in a fun experience; I did this and it was awesome.

Consider Stavanger: TAKEN.

Vegard, Saema, and Me This is Chi Ton, my Couch Savior.

fra Norge med kjærlighet

Homecoming: My Journey to Earn My Viking

Stardate 1.7.2011

Day 1, Part 1

First and Foremost, I need to shout-out to Serrrrruh Canosa because through all of my decision making and planning process for this trip, she has been there for me with never ending support. Thank you, Sarah for helping to encourage me to follow my dreams and go with this new adventure in life.

Now, onto Day 1:

I really didn’t listen TSA or whomever tells people things to go by when they are going on international trips for two main reasons: 1. Whenever they say something about new 3oz supplies and what not, I don’t care because I don’t pack that stuff. 2. I have one of the most skewed senses of time of all…time. If you were to ask my dad about my time-keeping abilities, he will without a doubt say” he has to speed up to slow down”. And he’s right. I usually think I’m doing fine, but don’t consider the small variables when travelling. Namely- traffic. Or forgetting things. Or just being ignorant of things. But I digress, my time is almost always skewed in my favor. Why? Because I haven’t had that ‘wake-up call’ that tells me otherwise. I’ve never missed a flight, never been kicked off for not checking in on time, etc (though one time I almost missed it, but that’s cause I confused a “something:45” with “something:15” Honest mistake.

Note: To any one who reads this that might employ me, my skewed sense of time is surprisingly applied only to my personal life. When I am employed, I am very meticulus with deadlines and timing in general. Know this.

Back to it: I thought to myself this morning, Feb. 6^th- “I don’t need to be 3 hours early. 2 hours will be fine. Suck it, TSA”. Lonnng story short, when you’re flying internationally, be prepared for LONG ass lines of people who STILL don’t understand new flight regulations [yes, YOU, lady in the red dress, your high-heels, golden hoops, and freakishly small watch need to be scanned]. I am not hating on anyone specifcally, but honestly, flight regulations are going to be eerily similar throughout the world, so the fact that you can’t really speak English shouldn’t trump your abilities to get through security quickly. Just saying- I got through Dutch security pretty quickly using common sense.

FAST FORWARD: Amsterdam , ho!

I got quite lucky, all things considered, for I was sitting next to a quiet and very nice Dutch woman. I’m saying she’s Dutch, but to be honest, I am going off of 3 words, her accent for said 3 words, and how relaxed-yet-supremely excited she was to be in Amsterdam. I know the feeling everytime I fly into SeaTac. Anyone else can probably relate to the feeling as spending a long day shopping and finally coming home, the last stretch into the garage. Yeah, it’s a good feeling; however, I was not lucky for several other reasons. Instead of complaining in great detail, here is a small power-note style bitchout:

1. Four babies. Use your imagination;

2. Grown men punching and kicking the back of your seat. Seriously, how old do you have to be to not act like a small child on a public school bus?

3. Sitting behind a 12 year old. First thing the kid did was recline his chair to capacity.This act of ridiculous nearly decapitiated me when I was reaching for my bag;

4. Number 4’s buddy using your chair to pull himself out of his chair. This is simply irritating and doesn’t deserve any more of my time wasting complaining.

Good Things about my Flight to Amsterdam:

1. Aforementioned Dutch woman. I didn’t really talk to her much, but she had a nice ‘grandma’ atmosphere about her and I enjoyed sitting next to her;

2. Modest collection of on-board films. I started watching Inception, but felt that I needed to pay more attention and the inconsistent volumes didn’t give me the abilities to do this. I watched a few movies (will review later) and they weren’t bad choices-why? Because they didn’t censor them. This = happy mike;

3. Free beer. For anyone who knows me, my reasoning should not surprise you- ‘Nuff Said.

4. The Food. It wasn’t all that bad. I had the chicken and rice pilaf, with limited mixed greens, a roll, cheesestick and crackers. Dessert was a cookies ‘n’ crème brownie. Breakfast was weak in comparison [egg mcmuffin with some odd condiment] and a banana. But I reiterate- free beer. Heineken makes all poor breakfasts better

Amsterdam Airport [Schiphol]

At first, my arrival was absolutely surreal. I never thought that I’d be standing there, in the Netherlands, on my dream trip to Norway. So what naturally was the first thing I did upon setting foot in the Schiphol? I deuced. I know, I know-MONDO inappropriate, but it’s true! I took a picture of the Schiphol sign and then did my deed. Am I proud of it? Yes. Would I do it again in that order? In a heartbeat. Anyway, Schiphol wasn’t too confusing, however, the overwhelming desire for the Dutch to smell good was. From gate to gate, I saw at least -at least- 4 fullsized perfume stores. Ralph Lauren was EVERYWHERE! And by Ralph Lauren I mean the pungent odor of hundreds of perfumes and colognes mixing together to make this all-encompassing smell that was nothing I’d wear on the first date and probably could be found in my grandfather’s bathroom cabinet [sorry, GPA, but it’s true] i.e. Ralph Lauren.

I’m not sure if every international airport makes you go through security (once) while leaving your origin country and (again) in the transfer country, but The Netherlands do and I’ll tell you huwaht- they do not want to be there JUST as much as you don’t. The lines were built up akin to a scene from 28Weeks Later when everyone realizes there is a zombie in the room so they all run and crowd by the only exit; Unfortunately, we were all running towards the zombies. They were alright once we got up to the window, but like a teenager working the McDonald’s drive thru, saying the same line over and over had gotten to them and it showed.

[copy and paste this into your computer’s automated voice – “microsoft sam” for PCs]

“Hello. How are you. Good. Where are you travelling to. Kristiansand? Why? For how long? That’s neat. Enjoy.”

Like I said, I doubt they meant to be drones and hold up thousands of people from an ill-desire to be working there, but I get it. I mean, c’mon, I worked in customer service for over 4 years (collective), I feel them. I think what they needed, though, was something AWESOME to happen. Like, have Johnny Depp from Blow come in with some cocaine in his suitcase and totally get busted. I bet the guy that helped me would have been the first to pop him just so he could feel alive [editors note: I find this sentence interesting because in order for the guard, in my hypothetical situation feel alive, he would have to kill. Hmmm]. In any case, standing in line wasn’t all that bad because I had plenty of time before my flight and it gave me a chance to listen to all the languages around me. I was able to soon enough discern Dutch from the different dialects of Norwegian, so I felt pretttty badass, just sayin’….

I eventually got through and was able to connect to the local wifi and do the customary Facebook message to mother. I would have called, but you needed this special phonecard and I honestly did not want to waste my small amount of Euros on it. Sorry Mom, you can wait until I get a prepaid phone in Norway. When my flight arrived, I boarded easily and tried sleeping, but everytime I got close, the two kids in the seats in front of me would jibber-jabber about random things and I’d perk up realizing that I could understand them. Mostly they were asking about driving and how long it was going to take to get home, because they missed their video games…BUT…I could understand them and I felt proud. My next challenge: speaking my rusty Norwegian with the natives.

Fra Norge med Kjærlighet