Back in the U.S.S.A.

I have returned, triumphantly, to America! I am currently sitting in the family room of my parents' house, resisting jet lag, doing crosswords, vainly trying to update my resume so I can apply for FIP interviews in the next couple of days, and writing to all you fine folks. Soon I'll be heading to a movie with mom.

Yesterday's journey was generally uneventful, but I did have one odd interaction. Have you ever been asked a totally out-of-place question, but since you knew the answer, you just said it, without realizing how ridiculous the question was? Well, at Amsterdam's Schiphol Airport, as I was going through security to get into my gate, I had the following exchange with the Dutch security officer:

Him: You are Maggie...Veet-lin?
Me: WHIT-lin, yes.
Him: OK. And your Hebrew name is?
Me: Malkah.
Him: Ah, Shabbat Malkah. Did you check any luggage?

At the end of the conversation he wished me a Shabbat Shalom, even though it was Thursday. Kind of cool, but kind of bizarre.

I suppose I'm signing off from Ljubrication now. Thanks so much to all of you loyal readers. It's been wonderful to read your comments and just to know you've been listening...it has made my summer sweeter. If I do password protect the blog, I'll update with access info a few days before I do.

Adijo!

The End of an Era

EuroTour 2009 has ended, according to custom and law. As I was worthy to celebrate it this year, so may I perform it in future years....Next year in Europe!

I spent most of today feeling very wistful, wandering around town with a sad smile on my face, staring longingly at the river, the buildings, the crazy protester wearing huge angry signs I couldn't understand. It all looked so beautiful.

I started off wandering over and up to Vyšehrad, the other castle, which has its very own pretty church, as well as a cemetery with such luminaries as Antonín Dvořák (the New World Symphony guy) and Karel Čapek (playwright and coiner of the word "robot"). The church really is quite pretty.

Then there was more wandering...to Kavarna Slavia for lunch, to U Sudu for wine, to Kampa Park for (a very expensive but very good) dinner, and to U Rudolfina for a final beer. All the while staring wistfully and snapping pictures when the lighting was right.



I'll miss Prague; I feel oddly comfortable in this city. I don't know what it is about it...maybe it's just the right linear combination of Ljubljana and New York, both authentically city-ish but beautiful and not too tense. I could hang out here a while longer.

And I'll miss this summer. It's been a new and exciting experience, full of good times and bum times ("...I've seen 'em all and, my dear, I'm still here. Plush velvet sometimes, sometimes just pretzels and beer, but I'm here."). Anyway, I'll write a big final post back when I'm in the states. Ah, the States, where people speak my language, washing machines and driers function, and you can go from zero to a large cup of filter coffee in just a few minutes. And the States, where most buildings were designed in the second half of the 20th Century, it's easier to find bad food than good food, and two glasses of wine a day will set you back $17 and make you look like an alcoholic. But most of the people I care about are back in the U.S.A. And more than anything, New York is my home, and so I must return. My journey must come to an end.

Will do, irritated Prague residents. Will do.

Sex! Drugs! Neogothic Stained Glass Windows!

I just had my first glass of real absinthe at Absinthe Time, a surprisingly empty tourist-targeted bar about a block from my hotel. I used my most rudimentary irrational heuristics to determine which brand to buy (not quite the most alcoholic at 68% abv, not quite the most Thujonous at 28 mg/l, not quite the most expensive), and settled on the Toulouse Lautrec. As you can see, the green fairy need not actually be green:

It tasted pretty much like anise schnapps, and I don't think it did anything that a strong glass of alcohol wouldn't do. I've read that you need two glasses to get the hallucinogenic effect, but my drinking philosophy has always been "drink until you feel good...and then stop." It made me a bore at college parties, but it's kept my headaches and idiotic behavior to a minimum. Still, please forgive any horrifically bad writing that follows.

I started today off at the Prague Castle, which is a whole little complex of buildings. The main cathedral took about 1000 years to complete, so parts are from the early middle ages, and parts are from the early 20th century. My favorite part was actually the 20th century stained glass windows:

There's not nearly enough stained glass made today. I'm sure that with modern tools we could make some incredibly intricate mosaics, but it's an out-of-fashion art. Won't somebody bring it back? Think of all the beauty there could be!

Anyway, after the unbelievably gorgeous cathedral, I went to a few less exciting parts of the castle (the palace, a lovely smaller church, a row of cute small houses) and finally wound up in the prison tower, where I saw implements of medieval torture.




OK, actually only the first is from the prison. The others are all from the Sex Machines Museum, where I spent about an hour this afternoon. I first heard about the museum from these British girls waiting with me and Natalie for the train from Ljubljana to Zagreb. When they told us about it, I vowed to go, but I had completely forgotten about the museum until I found myself standing in front of it today. Like the museum of erotica in Barcelona, the Sex Machines Museum had a copy of the two pornographic films commissioned by King Alfonso XIII of Spain (grandfather of Juan Carlos), because he loved these sorts of "pastimes for joyous rainy evenings." Apparently some of the actors are his personal friends. The movies are absolutely horrible, but that's not the point. The point is that they're PORNOGRAPHIC FILMS COMMISSIONED BY THE KING OF SPAIN.

The museum also included dildos used for, ahem, "gradual and extreme widening of the anal orifice," as the placard so nicely put it. Allow me and my guidebook (which is of normal paperback book size) to show you what they mean.

Yes, that thing has about the same dimensions as the upper half of my leg. If international criminals ever find out that this is possible, airport security is going to have a whole new beast to tame.

Also today: Kafka's house, the astronomical clock striking four pm, and two great meals. Tomorrow is my last full day in Europe. I'm sad that this crazy adventure is drawing to a close—I'm incredibly fortunate that I got to do this—but I'm also looking forward to spending some time at home with the fam and the friends. And I wouldn't turn down a good hamburger, either.

Prague Gnosis

Sorry, all the good puns were taken by the gay pornography industry. I have now spent one full day in fabulous Praha, and I'm a big fan of the city. Part of this comes from my recent trip to Dubrovnik, which made Disneyland look like an undiscovered gem of authentic local culture. While the city is, yes, ridiculously touristy, there are over a million people actually living in Prague, so it's all a nice mix of real and glamorized, which I can definitely handle. And Prague has far and away the best selection of tourist shirts I've ever seen. You've got your classic tourist shirts, your reproductions of local soccer team shirts, your obnoxious shirts (which are relatively tame here: the big frat shirt says "Praha drinking team" and has a picture of the Czech flag), your funky arty shirts, your shirts that pick out a minor bit of local culture and exploit it, etc. etc. I actually bought a shirt that straddles the last two categories, because the Golem is the coolest Jewish legend ever, and I think it looks kind of nifty.

The train ride to Prague was solid. At one point I was munching on some potato chips, and I realized nobody else in my cabin was eating, so I offered chips to the other people. They all politely refused, at which point a Slovak woman pulled out homemade pastries and made me take one. It was a warm, freshly baked circle of sweet dough, topped with a sweet cheese and cinnamon. And it was pretty much the best thing I've ever tasted. Thank you, random Slovak woman on the train.

I spent most of this morning Jewing it up in old Prague, checking out the Staronová Synagoga (the "Old New Shul," which makes you wonder what would qualify as an "old old shul," considering this dates from the 13th Century and is the oldest operating synagogue in Europe), the Spanish synagogue, an exhibit about the Golem, and, of course, the amazing Jewish cemetery.

I think it looks like the tombstones are davening.

I had my first pint of real Czech Pilsner Urquell with lunch and a great dark lager after dinner, from a microbrewery called Pivovarský Dům, which I can only assume translates as "Brewery of Doom." I also had a great Czech white wine with dinner. Perhaps tomorrow I'll finally gather my courage and try some absinthe.

As I was walking to dinner tonight, I noticed a gorgeous sunset and instantly began to take pictures.

And suddenly I began to feel morally bankrupt. I've been taking a lot of snapshots this vacation, not thinking too hard about lighting or composition (although I did appreciate the light at the cemetery), and I'm starting to feel a little guilty about it. Like, I've developed this attitude that whenever I see beauty, I reach for my camera, because it must be mine. FOREVER. This taps into a Christian sort of morality that I totally don't buy, but I'm starting to feel it more acutely. Well, two more days and I'm done with snapshots for a little while. I'll leave the moments to themselves or to my own memory and labored attempts at recreation.

Oh, and I realized that while I asked for what classes y'all are taking, I never told you what classes I'm taking. I'm almost definitely going to be in Neuroscience and Tax. Unfortunately, I think there are high school seniors in Thailand ahead of me on the wait list for Legislation, so that may be a lost cause. I'll probably get Admin out of the way, then, and I may take one more class...perhaps a behavioral econ course; we shall see. All right, after that wine and huge beer, I may be a little too tipsy to blog, so I'm going to go and rest up for another day of walking my poor feet into the grave. Just my feet, I mean. I feel ok. They're the ones that feel like they're dying. They're going to walk into the grave without me. Which might cause some problems for the rest of me, but that's beside the point for the sake of this metaphor. Jeez Louise, people.

Budalicious

I've been fortunate enough, in my life, to work in some very pretty places. My high school was about as attractive as high schools get; my residential college and law school are both super-hot; I've already shown you pictures of the Constitutional Court; and while my work building in New York was nothing special, the Flatiron District is pretty nice in general. But if I really wanted to work somewhere beautiful, I'd do my darndest to get elected to the Hungarian Parliament.

They actually meet there! It has to be the most unbelievably gorgeous place in the world, and they work in it. If they're underperforming, this has to be why.

I spent most of today in Buda, the greener, wealthier side of the city. But I started the morning off right with a chocolate croissant and cappucino from Művész Kávéház. It was (appropriately) probably the first croissant I've ever had that could rival those at the Hungarian Pastry Shop in New York.

I climbed up to the Citadel, which has views of the whole city, and some of the most outrageous tourist merchandise I've seen. ("Budapest Triathlon: Drinking, Eating, Fucking" said one shirt, with stick figure drawings of each event. Can't we at least be polite and say "schtupping?" I guess it's still better than "I think he's gay.") The one thing I find especially bothersome about tourist merchandise is that it's nigh impossible to find a shirt or hat with the name of the country...IN THE LANGUAGE OF THE COUNTRY. There are "Croatia" and "Hungary" shirts galore, but when you go to the country, wouldn't you rather have a "Hrvatska" or "Magyarorszag" shirt? I know I would. I think I've found a niche for a new business.

After walking down from the hill, I grabbed a delicious, if expensive, lunch of raspberry lemonade, goulash, and baked pasta with bacon and sour cream. I continued to an old church (under construction) and eventually to a wine tasting.

I had a rose (fine), a glass of egri bikaver (delish!), and a little Tokaji (unusual, but good).

By this point I was also chugging down water by the liter. I have a love-hate relationship with the sun, you see. I love it. My skin hates it. Click here, if you dare, to see a (somewhat unfocused) picture of my hand after walking around today. That's what a UVB allergy will do to you. In high school I got tested for this allergy. The test involved a doctor shining varying intensities of two wavelengths of light on my butt. Because I reacted to the UVB, I had red squares on one butt cheek for the next year and a half. This had absolutely no consequence, except that every so often I'd be about to step into the shower, and I'd get a glimpse of myself in the mirror, and I'd think "WTF...I can't believe I still have red squares on my butt." I need to be better about wearing sunscreen.

After the wining was a walk over the Chain Link Bridge to Parliament, then to coffee, and then back to my hostel. For dinner tonight I had two phenomenal dishes: Raspberry cream soup with honey, almonds, and cottage cheese balls, and cold goose liver with vegetables. Every time I eat liver, I just want to go to the Red Cross and tell them they can have as much blood as they want, because I have all the iron in the world running through my veins. We'll see if they even take my blood after all of this time in Europe.

OK, it's bed time for me. YLSers...let me know what classes you think you're taking! Oh, and I may not have internet access in Prague, but I'll do my best to update.