just arrived in marakesh

I decided to see Cordoba after leaving Seville.  My impression: not all that worth seeing...  It seemed as though everything was closed for renovation and construction -- maybe under other circumstances...

At least it was good for a decent night sleep.  I got up fresh and took the 10:25 train down to algeciras, then hopped on the first ferry to tangiers.  By the time i got in it was already dark.  I asked a spanish couple Id seen on the ferry if they were walking to the medina and they said actually they were taking the night train to marakesh -- I was hoping to do that myself, but thought Id wait a day until I knew what the train times were.  They already knew, and the thougth of sharing a couchette cabin with two decent looking people was appealing so i asked if i could join them.  The couchettes were relatively comfortable and i got another decent night sleep -- now all i need it a good night of partying =)

So here I am in marakesh sitting in a room off the medina, the sounds of the snake charmers flutes going off in the background.  Im just waiting to see if they have a room for me at a hotel where I left my bag -- checkout is at 12 so Ill go back at 11.

Ciao

slowly making my way toward morocco

I'm in seville right now, just checked out of my fleabag pension -- it was dingy and overpriced which surprised me because I thought this would be past the high season.  There was a music festival in town though and people from all over the world seem to have come for that, so it might explain some of the trouble finding a place.  The first night I was here I hung out with an australian girl and her mom who were on the same bus into seville from Faro (south of portugal).  After some tapas for dinner, Ailsa's mother turned in for the night and we hit the bars.  There was an excellent vino dulce de naranja bar (sweet orange wine) where we had a few drinks.  Later we found a dance club and bumped into the guys who worked at the orange wine bar so after that every time we passed by it they'd call out and say hi.

On our way back from the night club, we were walking by the plaza del triumph and there were some people playing music so we stopped and sat down to listen for a bit.  Somebody came over and said hi and explained that they were actually one of the brazilian bands from the music festival -- nice, we got a free private concert! 

Last night we decided to go to the last night of the festival.  It was cool, but we were both falling asleep to turkish music near the end so we turned in semi early. 

The clocks are supposed to turn back for daylight savings time today, but I cant figure out if they have or havent yet.  My palm pilot is now an hour before my phone, but my phone is in sync with the computer clock here...

Ok, I should wrap this up and head out to catch my train.  Not sure exactly where Im stopping tonight.  Maybe ronda closer down to the straights, or maybe I'll make it all the way into tangiers.  I'm hesitant to show up in tangiers too late in the day though.

Hast Luego

Greetings from Madrid

I know I haven't said anything in quite a while now, but I've been pretty busy and then I had the usual technical difficulties and other lame excuses. I actually started to write something in San Sebastien, but then my battery died and I never got back to it.
As a quick summary though, I was in Bourdeux four nights with Joanna from Hospitality club, then three nights in San Sebastien -- quite the australian party town (two nights in a pension with two aussie girls I met on the train and one night in a hostel), then two nights in Gijon in further west down the northern coast of Spain. All were nice.
I took a train from gijon to madrid this morning and I'll be sleeping on a couchette tonight and getting into Lisbon in the morning. I haven't decided if I'll check into a hostel there, or make my way up to porto first...
I have to admit I'm a bit worn down today -- the last two nights I was able to sleep well for 8 hours, but before that I was kind of burning the midnight oil and I think it caught up to me. Don't worry though mom, I'll be fine =)
It'd been six months since I'd spoken or heard much spanish and I'd forgotten most of it, but the words came back pretty quickly as soon as I got here. I listened to some music on the train to San Sebastien and that seemed to jump start my brain. My first day here words and phrases just popped into my head. For the most part I remembered things as soon as I saw or heard them. It was a good feeling, but I haven't really spoken much since being here. I spoke mostly english with Irene in Gijon (and even some german). Every now and then we'd speak a bit of spanish, but I was lazy. I really should have pushed myself more because I've been struggling at the train booths. I think some of that just has to do with being worn down though... Oh well, a few days of portugese should really screw with my head before jutting back into spain and then out again to morroco... We'll have to see.
Adios mis amigos!

Friday night in a town of 4100

Wow, it must really suck to be a teenager or young adult in a small town. I was in pontorson the last two nights and as charming as it was, Friday night there was absolutely nothing going on. It looked like there was one bar with 3 people in it, the kebab stand was of course open and had another three people, but otherwise the most happening place seemed to be a room up on the second floor of a building nex to the church -- somebody's apartment of course. Both nights when I walked by it sounded like the sounds of a party eminating from the window -- mainly loud music. As I was walking back to the camp grounds where I stayed last night, I caught a glimpse of a guy with a mohawk all spiked up in the room. I guess all you can really do in a small town is have your friends over and party at home. In a town of that few, I'm sure everybody who saw me on the street new I was an out of towner. I kind of regret spending my friday night there, but when I woke up in the morning I didn't really feel like packing up, then spending the day seeing Mont St Michel without knowing when I'd make it back, or where I'd go. St Michel was pretty impressive, but didn't really take more than two hours to see -- plus the 20 minute bike ride up. I was tempted to thumb it -- I imagine that might have been an easy way to meet some people to spend the day there with. It was good to be on a bike again though -- even if it wasn't in the best shape and a bit small for my size.
I took a good number of pictures (for me that is) at Mont St Michel and I'll make sure to upload them and whatever else I took in Paris when I get a chance. Mont St Michel is basically a little mountain/island off the northern coast of france. One of it's big claims to fame is that it's located in the area where europe experiences the largest tides. Lonely planet said the difference between low and hi tide can at times reach 15 meters. Somehow I'm tempted to think that was a mistake on their part. In Rouen when I was looking at the tide charts, it looked more like they were citing numbers during the full moon of 115. I'm not sure what the units are -- I'm pretty sure they're more than centimeters, but at decimeters that would only be 11 and a half meters. However, maybe a little further along the coast they get even bigger and maybe when you get the perfect combination of moon, sun, and whatever that third thing is that affects the tide then it would reach 15 meters. Unfortunately, I was there during the half moon, so rather than seeing it during the grande mari, I saw it during the small one which was only a few meters difference between high and low tide.
So depending on the tides, St Michel is either a mountain or an island. There's an elevated road that you can take out even during high tide, but at low tide you can walk out along the sea floor. One of my pictures is of a boat marooned ashore which at high tide would be floating in water.
Aside from wandering around the streets, I did pay to go all the way up and take the abbey tour. When I walked into the first room, a service was taking place. I sat down and listened to a nun reading the gospel (or some other lesson) in french. Then the choir sang. The accoustics were impressive -- the harmony of vocal ensemble resonated off the massive stone walls and the whole place just filled with a beautiful sound. Later I noticed speakers all along the wall and I couldn't help but wonder if some of that "resonance" I heard was achieved with the assistance of loudspeakers, or if the speakers were only used for the man (or woman) on the pulpit. I found it amusing that they actually painted the speakers so that they'd blend into the stone wall better.
Other than that I didn't do too much in Pontorson. When I arrived I tried to check in at the hostel which my travel guide said was open year round. Not quite so... I couldn't tell if the closed sign meant permanently, or just until 6, so I walked nextdoor to the camp ground and asked at the reception. She called somewhere to ask and let me know that they were in fact closed for the season. I said I didn't have a tent, but asked if she had any cabins for rent. She said a small chalet was 25 euros a night, but since she didn't have any, she'd give me a larger one at the same rate. I imagine I could have found something a little cheaper in town, but this was only a little more than my bed in paris had been, so I was suffering from psychological tolerance of price inflation and the location was convenient, I took it. The "chalet" was really just a trailer, so for those of you who recall my fantasy of living in a trailer park, I finally got to experience a little slice of that heaven =)
The one down side to the cabin was that it wasn't heated (as far as I could figure out anyway) and the night did get pretty cold. This was the first opportunity I had to really put my sleeping bag to the test and I wasn't disappointed at all.
The trailer included two bedrooms, a kitchen, microwave, stove, coffee machine, sink, private shower, bathroom... Rather luxurious compared to some of the hostels -- in Paris I had to walk down two flights of stairs to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night... So I took advantage of the kitchen and spent the two days only dining in. Total grocery list:
1 cheap bottle of bordeaux
1 packet of smoked salmon
1 baguette (not impressed, it was cold when I bought it from the bakery)
1 circle of Fromage de Mont St Michel
1 can of ratatule
1 can of chick peas
1 can of spinach
1 can of ravioli
1 liter of milk

I also finally picked up a jar of nescafe to take with me so now I can easily have coffee any time. Last night as I was eating the can of spinach I felt a little bit like Popeye! I am what I am...
So although the room wasn't the cheapest, I ate well for cheap, and spending friday night in a small town definitely saved me some money...
In paris on the other hand I felt like I was hemoraging money. I didn't do aything particularly touristy -- I skipped the museums, the tower, the champs... Instead I guess you could say I did a bit of a literary tour of paris. The first day there I met two guys in my hostel room who were at the tail end of a three month tour of europe. One was a big Hemingway fan and wanted to see all the Heminway sites. As I'd just finished reading the Razor's Edge (thanks for the recommendation Sanya) which largely took place in Paris, I was myself interested in seeing some of the spots where the charaters spent their time. Montparnasse and Montmartre seemed to be the two big neighborhoods, and the first day I found Le Dome in Montparnasse where some of the characters were always bumping into each other. The second evening I had planned on going to la defense, but instead brought a bottle of wine, a warm baguette and some goat cheese back to the room and shared it with Mike and Codi. Then as it was getting late, I just went out with Mike to look for some of Hemingways old apartments.
The bars in Paris were ridiculously expensive, so we usually had a few drinks before going out and then mostly just walked around. The first night as we were walking back toward the hostel, a girl jumped out in the street and asked us if we wanted a free crepe. I'll admit, at first I was a bit apprehensive and thought she was just trying to run some scam. No thanks, that's all right. "Italian? Do you speak italian?" Mike tried a little. She explained that they had given it to her and she didn't want it. Then two of her friends came out of the bar and she said one of them spoke good english. At about that point it got to be clear she wasn't some gipsy trying to run a scam, she was just drunk and being friendly... We talked with them for a bit, and although nobody ever took the crepe (I have no idea what happened to it) we did decide to join them in the bar for a bit. I ended up talking to the girl who spoke good english, but mostly we spoke french -- very slow and basic french! I did my best to explain why I was there, where I'd been, how I'd spent five days in rouen trying to learn a little french. She asked how much french I'd studied and I said just the five days. I was flattered that she was impressed by how much I'd picked up in that short amount of time. Unfortunately I think I've forgotten a lot of it already...
Mike and Codi left before me but I continued to practice my french until the last minute when I had to run back to beat the 2am curfew back at the hostel. I hate curfews! When I got back everybody applauded my successful return and they let about ten of us sit around on the street by the entrance for an extra 20 minutes before making us come in.
The next night was Codi's Birthday and after searching for Hemingway's apartments, we went back to the hostel for a few drinks and then wandered around the town with three german girls and I'm really not sure how many bottles of wine. Somehow whenever we finished one, Codi or Mike seemed to have another in his pocket (actually, the phrase "up his sleeve" would be appropriate in this case as that was the night I snuck a few bottles into the hostel by hiding them up my sleeve...).
That night we just wandered around the streets, but the next morning we were all a bit tired after all the wine we'd drank, so wednesday we went to the gardens together but then split up. I wandered over to la defense -- I have a feeling I walked a good 10 miles that day! I think it took about two hours to get from the opera to la defense, and that was at a quick pace. By the time I got there I was pretty tired so I just sat around and enjoyed the view. I decided not to go up the grand arche, but the view from the steps was still nice. I got back to the hostel around 9 and we went out one last time -- although after the previous night I decided to stick mostly to water and orange juice.
So that was paris. Nothing special, but definitely fun. I could see where it would be a nice place to live for a few months and I could see going back again some other time for a longer stay -- in a cheap apartment with no curfew! One thing I'll say about France in general is that as much as I may have criticized it in the past for being isolationistic, it is actually refreshing to spend some time in a country that hasn't become to commercialized with western culture.
So now I'm on my way to bordeaux. I'll be stopping in Paris for an hour before connecting to another train for Bordeaux. Crap, I just realized my train arrives in Gare St Lazare rather than Montparnasse where my next train leaves from so I won't have as much time to grab some food and relax.... Oh well. At least the metro is always fast and reliable.
Au revoir

Leaving paris

I'm heading out of paris on a train in 20 minutes for pontourson to see Mont St Michel on the northern coast. I arrive there a little after 5 and I'm hoping I won't have any trouble getting a bed at the one hostel that's listed in my guide... I have a feeling it's a small town though so I don't know how much luck I'll have finding internet connections. I expect to head down the western coast toward the bordeaux area tomorrow or the day after. Paris was fun and I'll try to spend some of my time on the train ride to Pontourson elaborating and going back to earlier escapades, but for now I need to go find my train...

Leaving paris

I'm heading out of paris on a train in 20 minutes for pontourson to see Mont St Michel on the northern coast. I arrive there a little after 5 and I'm hoping I won't have any trouble getting a bed at the one hostel that's listed in my guide... I have a feeling it's a small town though so I don't know how much luck I'll have finding internet connections. I expect to head down the western coast toward the bordeaux area tomorrow or the day after. Paris was fun and I'll try to spend some of my time on the train ride to Pontourson elaborating and going back to earlier escapades, but for now I need to go find my train...

Appologies for my long absense!

Sorry about that. Wow, I knew this would happen -- not the absense, but the keyboard confusion. Remember how I was complaining about the german keyboard sooo long ago (um, in my last post...) well, the french keyboard is even more messed up. In germany they just swap the y and the z and a few of the punctuation keys. But in France they go nuts! The q, a, z and w are all jumbled up -- I think just rotated one key clockwise, so while I was staying with my friends parents I had to adjust and now I find myself continuously hitting the q when I need to type an a -- just did it again in qn...
That was part of my excuse for not writing anything -- the keyboard. I couldn't find a wireless connection, so anything I wrote on my pda would have to wait until my next stop, and then I just didnt want to type anything long and involved on the french keyboard. I did end up sending out some emails though which is where my fingers got semi used to the new keyboard.
yes, I'm sure this is exactly what people really want to read about, my adventures with foreign keyboards. And I know some of you (I'm talking to you dan) will likely post a comment saying why didn't I just change the keyboard input -- I did try, but wasn't able to get it to work, and as it wasn't my computer I didn't want to break anything...
Instead I'm sure you'd all much rather hear what I did when I wasn't on the computer. Rouen was great. Thats where I was -- a friend invited me to stay with his parents for a few nights and somehow two nights turned into five. They had plans on Friday so I figured I'd probably just head back to paris for the weekend and figure out where to go next from there. Somehow their plans changed though and they invited me to go out to the countryside to a farm with them where they needed to pick up some food and to stay another night. Since its not so easy to see the countryside by train, I obviously accepted the invitation and when along. We went to two farms -- at the first farm we bought some Neufchatel cheese. Francois asked if the lady of the farm would mind showing me the celler where the cheese ages. She was more than happy to and as we decended the steps there was a hint of amonia in the air which got slightly stronger as we entered the room. All around there were little racks of cheese aging. I asked about the amonia smell and she said the cheese gave it off as it aged. Then we went back up and she showed us the laboratory where she cultures the milk (if you go over to my flickr account you can see some pictures, I'll try to edit them into the blog later). I asked a few questions about the temperature, and when she adds the renin and I guess she was surprised by my interest in cheese production. Apparently the cheese sits in the vat for 24 hours at about 26 degrees C. I thought it would be a higher temperature for a shorter period of time like when you make yogurt, so it was interesting for me to hear. I also thought she'd add the renin after the milk had cultured, but no, she added that right away. This whole conversation was a bit interesting considering I don't speak french and she didn't speak english -- Francois had to act as our translator the whole time and since renin isn't the kind of word you learn in basic english, I had to explain that it was an enzyme from the stomach of the calf to which the cheese lady (what does one call a woman who makes fromage -- fromageur?) went on to explain that cows have four stomachs which each have names -- the last of which is apparently named something like calais which produces the enzyme I was asking about. From what I gathered they just call it something like serum. Then she went on to show us where she squeezes the whey out (I again asked what they do with the whey -- feed it to the pigs -- at which point I mentioned in america they now process it and isolate the protiens and sell as a powder which people consume -- they thought that was somewhat funny) and scoops the kurds out into little cookie cutter shapes to make rectangular and heart shaped pads which then age in the first aging room next to the lab. I got a few pictures of this room, but none in the cellar where they move to later.
By the way, staying five days with Claude and Francois was probably the best opportunity I could have hoped for to learn some French. They were very helpful and patient with my obscure questions of grammar and Francois even took out one of her french grammar books to help me with my verb conjugations. Over the weekend I received intense french lessons from the esteemed professeur Elisa (their seven year old granddaughter) who when I asked plus lentement sil vous plait (slower please) would speak out each sylable slowly and clearly -- unfortunately that made it hard for me to distinguish the breaks between words -- l'animal became la--nee--mal with long pauses between sylables. In retrospect I think she probably said pa--se--que a few times and I had no idea what she was saying but now realize had she just said it a little faster I would have understood it to be because. Still, the patience with which she and her brother explained their childish questions like "do you like dog poop?" was very endearing. In this case I understood everything but poop and laughed when they explained that it was the stuff that your butt makes -- I remembered butt from earlier lessons... I can only hope that I'm not getting her and Hector in trouble with this little story...
After the cheese farm we went to another farm where we sat down and had coffee with the lady of the house. What we saw upon entering might gross some people out -- I thought about taking my camera out, but decided that might be a bit rude. On the table lay a number of skinned rabbits and plucked chickens (actually some kind of game hen) nicely cleaned and packed in clear plastic bags. I clearly remember noticing the contrast of the rabbits dark eyeballs agains the pink deskinned flesh. Sorry to all the vegetarians out there -- not to mention the easily grossed out =) I take no particular pleasure in the thought of killing animals, but at the same time, I feel that if I am going to eat meet I should at least be comfortable knowing where it comes from... When we went back home, I watched Francois cut off a few of the hens necks and tail glands before going up to use the computer.
All in all, it was a very nice day inspite of the fact that it was less than perfect weather. Even that had a bright side -- as we were driving back from the farms, the sun shown like art work through the sparse clouds. You couldn't see the actual sun, but rather its reflection off the top of some of the clouds coming back down through the lower clouds as they danced around like some beautiful little picture show.
Sorry, I had to laugh right now as I looked up and saw a man on the train with his finger so far up his nose he risked poking his brain.
The day before we went to the farms, Claude and Francois took me up to the normandy coast to see the seaside. I asked about the tides and later on Francois showed me the schedule -- I was suprised to see that Rouen all the way up the Seine river was actually effected! We drove up to one town along the coast, then drove further down the coast just short of the mouth of the Seine and then back to Rouen. Along the way we stopped at a nuclear energy production station. I've never really been that close to one in the US to compare it too, but somehow I was surprised by all the barbed wire fences surrounding the area -- and the general idea that it would be a place of interest for people to go see. We also went to see a church up on a cliff with some beutiful stained glass.
Beyond that I wandered around a bit in town, saw some cathedrals, a church on the site where joan of arc was martyred and the Musee de beaux arts. It was a very charming town with some interestingly preserved ruins (not ancient ruins, but buildings largely destroyed during the war).
Every meal was a delicious combination of fresh food mostly straigh from some farm or the market. At midday we generally had a salad of tomatoes, beets and cucumbers followed by a course of potatoes and some sort of meet -- hen, veal, hair or some kind of game animal, then the fromage with bread and wine -- mmm, fromage... Last but not least fruit or some sort of sweet for desert. Dinner was similar but usually started with soup rathe than salad, and for the meet course we generally finished whatever was left from lunch. The cheeses were great though -- camembert, chevre (goat), neufchatel, some kind of blue cheese, something similar to parmesian and another much like colby. They were all delicious!
It was a nice chance to recharge and fill up my tank =) I'm sure I replaced a few of the pounds I probably dropped running around with a backpack on my usual travelers diet, but I'm sure I'll shed them again as quickly as I packed them on...
I should get going now because my train will be arriving in paris soon and I still need to figure out where I'll be staying.
Au revoir

just another quick check in.

Its tuesdaz and Im in germanz.  Excuse the z and y mixups because I havent adjusted to the german kezboards zet and I actuallz had to paz to get on line here.  The lack of free hotspots in germanz is making me less regretfull that Ive spent so much time shunning it.  Todaz was a holiday.  Der Tag der deutche Einheit.  Day of unity.  Berlin seemed an appropriate place to spend it, but well, it was actuallz verz accidental, berlin just happened to be in between where I was and where I was going...
Last night I made the ill advised decision to go out on a pub crawl.  I shouldnt have been surprised that it turned out to be all american and australian tourists -- a bit annoying...  I ended up spending the later half of the night babysitting for some drunk australians.  Two of them got lost on the way to the last club and I had to go back and carry one of them (with her fighting me most of the way) about five blocks to the last bar.  At least it was good for some amusement...
Ok, Im heading out to frankfurt now to catch a night train over to Paris from whence I'll catch another train to Rouen in the north and stay two nights with a friends parents -- Everybody thank Victor for me and go visit him where ever he and Bradley may be DJing these days!
ciao

Riga Rox!

Ok, no more desultory remarks, here's what actually transpired in Riga...

 

Hmm, I really haven't been all that in touch with the calendar since getting here, but lets do the math.  Today's Sunday the first and I arrived in Riga a week and a half ago on a Wednesday, so that must have been (counting on my fingers...) Sept 20?  Something like that.  Anyway, I got off the bus from Tallinn and slowly got my bearings.  Actually I just started walking in the general direction toward where I thought the hostel was.  I had a couple Riga city guides that my friend had given me in Tallinn (much more involved that the few pages I'd cut out from the lonely planet Europe book) and after walking for five minutes or so I decided to pull out the map and see if I could figure out where I was.  Not too bad, I hadn't overshot the hostel by too much, but I had been going off a little bit in the wrong direction.  I just had to turn down a few streets and there I was.  How did I decide on this hostel?  The allure of a dorm bed for five Lats was just too much to resist! 

When I arrived, there was a young guy talking to the girl at the desk.  She asked if I wanted a bed in the 15 person room, one of the 8 person rooms, or one of the smaller rooms.  The smaller the room, the more it cost.  Each room had one bathroom, so basically you paid a little more to share the bathroom with less people.  As it turned out, the 15 person room was also on the top floor so if you don't like climbing lots of stairs, that might be another excuse to pony up some more cash.  The guy told me to take the cheap bed -- that's where he was staying.  He was a bit dodgy, but seemed like a nice enough guy, and everybody knows I was cheap and there was never a question in my mind anyway, so obviously that's the room I took.  I didn't have any money on me yet though, could I come back in a minute?  Great, where's the nearest bank machine?  Down the street, great, can I leave my bag here for a minute?  Perfect.  So off I was to fill my wallet up with as I've mentioned a little too much Lat for the two or three nights I planned on staying...  I came back, paid for my bed (there was also a 5L deposit for the key which was a bit annoying -- really, imagine leaving ten dollars as a deposit that you won't get back until right before you plan on leaving the country...) and got settled in to my room.  Then I went out to get my bearings and check out the market halls that my friend in Tallinn had told me about.  Apparently they were old Zepelin hangers from the war that have since been converted into this huge indoor/outdoor market place.  Inside there was lots of fish, meat and dairy products.  Outside they had fresh produce and everything else you might expect to find at a flea market -- shoes, purses, clothes, sunglasses...  Some booths were just a table and umbrella, others were more permanent structures that locked up at night.  I wandered around and finally picked up my standard bottle of water, and a liter of kefir for dinner.  The sun was going down so I headed back to the hostel to see if I could find anybody interested in going out. 

Back at the hostel, it was still too early for the night life, but I talked to the guy I'd met by the front desk and asked if he knew where I could get a shot of balsam -- something I'd been told I had to try while I was there and something which would "cure my cold".  He took me to a bar in the neighborhood and had the guy make me a glass of hot black currant juice mixed with balsam and a lemon wedge -- it was pretty good and did leave me feeling a bit better =)  We played some pool, and then headed back to the hostel.  By this point there were a few guys looking to head out to the bars.  I left the guy from earlier and headed out with them. 

I should add some context here.  Riga is apparently known for its nightlife, and cheap flights and relatively cheaper cost of living draw tourists from all over Europe.  As such you do end up with an environment that begrudgingly caters to rich tourists.  Although there's no actual "red light" district, at night, the entire old town area changes its flavor a bit and you're constantly besieged at every corner by russians handing out flyers for yet another "exotic dance" club.  "Come, follow me, I take you now, I give you special entry, 5 lat and two free drinks..."  The irish guys I with said to steer clear of these places as they were all mobbed up and as soon as you went in some girl would expect you to buy her a 600 Lat bottle of champagne and if you didn't some thug would drag you back to your hostel and extort you for all you were worth.  Personally I can't attest to any such stories myself so I don't know how much of this is exageration and how much is reality.  At the first bar we went to, I met a group of 15 or so vacationers from england who'd all flown down to party for a few days with their old friends from college.  One of the girls in the group told me to watch out because her friend had been assaulted the night before just sitting outside the bar we were in.  A couple of guys had just come up to him and started wailing on him until he handed over his wallet.  She added somewhat tongue in cheek that at least they weren't all bad -- when he called after them "hey guys, can I at least have my passport back?" the were nice enough to take it out and throw it back to him.  Again, this is all hearsay, but I heeded the warnings...

I eventually left with the Irish guys from my hostel and we headed over to another bar/club.  Oh, actually, I just remembered, I was pretty hungry at this point, so before I even really joined them at the first bar, I ran off looking for anything to eat.  While waiting at an outdoor beer garden type place and considering a bowl of soup, I bumped into Adam -- an american guy who I probably haven't mentioned yet since I'm recounting all of this somewhat in reverse...  I briefly met Adam at my hostel back in Helsinki.  He and two of his friends from Virginia were taking 8 months to travel around the world.  We exchanged email addresses and since Helsinki we've bumped into each other a good four or five times.  This was one of the last times and once again it was only for a minute.  When I told him I was looking for anything to eat, he suggested the McDonalds right down the street -- I said thanks and hurried off in that direction.  Anyway, as I was saying, we left the first bar and headed over to "Pulkvedim" -- or something like that.  I never could get the name of the bar down, but it was my favorite one there and at the hostel everybody just referred to it as the "left-right-left" bar, because well, that's how you got there.  As you headed out the hostel you just went left, then took the first right, then again the first left.  Unfortunately I wasn't going there from the hostel, I had no map on me, and I had no idea where I was, so I was kind of at the mercy of the irish guys to get me back home again.  Don't get me wrong, they were nice guys, but at the same time, after meeting them and seeing a lot of the other tourists, I can understand why I spent a lot of my stay defending myself from accusations that I was just another "sex tourist".  I kind of thought it would be funny to have a shirt made up that said "I am not a sex tourist!"  These guys were going up to every girl and trying to talk her up.  Of course every time they had any luck, five minutes later you'd hear the tall one yell "scatter".  Apparently that was code which meant he'd finally figured out they were talking to "working girls" and it was time to move on before some thug showed up.  Thus went the walk to this second bar.  As usual, when we arrived, one of the guys started talking to two girls having a smoke outside.  They were aloof, but he was persistent.  Personally, and I was a bit irritated myself and just wanted to go inside.  Somehow it came out in their conversation that she had spent some time in Germany, so I switched over to german and although she said she could only remember a little, she instantly warmed up a bit more to me.  I know, it's a cheap trick, but it seems to work.  Suddenly I'm not just another english speaking sex tourist, I'm an english speaking sex tourist who speaks another language =) 

When we finally made our way into the club, I headed for the dance floor and for the last time bumped into my fellow americans from Virginia.  Finally, some guys who understood the value of a little subtlety!  I spent most of the rest of the night just having a good time on the dance floor. It was fun to watch the dynamics between the locals and the tourists and very easy to tell who was who.  Actually, I hadn't known this before, but somebody mentioned that for some reason there are a lot more women than men in Latvia.  I don't know how true this is, or what the real statistics are, but it did appear to be the case.  Latvian guys, much like the guys in Helsinki, also seemed rather reluctant to dance.  As such, it was a good bet that any given guy on the dance floor was probably a tourist...

When I went over to the bar to order a drink, I had the good fortune of bumping into Linda again -- the girl from out front.  I said hi and as I went to order a drink, she gave me some advice, "when you order a drink, always ask before hand what the price is.  In Riga there are always three prices, the one for friends of the bartender, the one for locals, and the one for tourists..."  Then she tore a red slip of paper off the wall which had a price list and gave it to me telling me not to let me charge more than what was posted on the list.  I thanked her and ordered my drink. 

Later I saw her again on the dance floor dancing with a guy.  I was impressed because he could really dance!  He seemed somewhat possesive and I asked her if he was her in German if he was her boyfriend to which she responded yes.  We stayed on the dance floor for a long time, and when they left to get some fresh air I followed to thank her for being nice and to try introducing myself to the guy.  Outside I introduced myself and he gave me a pretty dirty look.  I think one of his friends had just been in a fight with a tourist and had some blood on his fist.  I couldn't help wondering if it was one of the guys from my hostel!  I was getting nothing.  I went back in and it seemed like my group was getting ready to go.  I went back out and gave it one more try -- they were sitting down on the curb across the street so I sat down next to him and told him I just wanted to say he had a really nice girlfriend and I wanted to thank her for being so helpful to me.  Somehow this time he loosened up a little bit and we all started to have a nice conversation.  It was great!  This was exactly what I was looking for -- an opportunity to meet some locals.  We finally went back in, ordered a round of drinks and sat down at a table and talked for a good hour or so.  His name was Kris -- he had been pretty big in the skateboarding circuit, but it had been a while since he'd really practiced or competed and he had a competition coming up that weekend.  After talking a while, it came out he wasn't actually Linda's boyfriend -- she had only just met him one time before herself!  Anyway, it was fun.  I asked what they were doing the next night, but they were busy working, so we exchanged emails, but never did see each other again.  Either way, it was nice to have a chance to talk to people who lived there and get their perspective rather than just hanging out with other tourists. 

Robert is here with his son now and we're going to go for a bike ride, so I'll continue this more later.

Ciao...

I want my two dollars!

Sorry, yet another quick digression -- this one on the topic of foreign currencies.

While the EU is great and the common currency of the Euro has made traveling between the countries of western Europe terribly convenient, it also has taken away a bit from the challenge and adventure of having to figure out just how much money you'll need to get by for a few days in one country.  For anybody who misses that adventure, just head a little east to the baltic -- the only country here that uses the Euro so far is Finland.

One important tip I can give though -- before taking money out at the ATM, look up the exchange rate!  I made that mistake in Latvia.  I was only planning on staying a few days so I took out a hundred Lat (thinking a Lat was about the same as a Euro).  As I strolled around I was amazed by how cheap everything in Latvia was!  You could get a pint of raspberries at the market for only one Lat, or you could pick up a liter of milk for less than half a Lat!  This was great.  That's what I thought until I finally realized the Lat was actually closer to two dollars US than one.  It's a good thing I hadn't bought anything yet! 

There's one other thing to be aware of in Latvia though.  Every now and then in the US, you'll reach into your pocket for some change and notice that one of your penny's looks a little funny -- oops, it's a canadian one.  Nobody really pays all that much attention and if you accidentally slip it into your change as you pay at the super market, there's a good chance they won't notice either -- that's probably how you got it in the first place -- in your change at the super market.  Well, that's not so bad, somebody ripped you off less than the value of a penny.  Now imagine though that your penny was worth two dollars.  And imagine that Canada had a coin that was worth about four tenths of a cent which was about the same size and the same color.  And imagine you tried to pay for something at the store with that worthless canadian less than a penny and the woman behind the counter looked at you like you were crazy.  That's what happened to me.  I can only imagine some bartender at one of the bars I went to (knowingly or unknowingly) snuck a lithuanian penny into my change, and I the uninitiated tourist accepted it without question as correct change.

If only I could figure out who that bartender was, I'd stalk him on the ski slopes with my bike saying, "Two dollars.  I want my two dollars."