Objects in mirror are closer than they appear.

I’m in Brussels, Belgium now! We rode the TGV here first class, since the train company had some deals. It was actually cheaper for first class than second class. And it was such an awesome ride! The seats were wider. And we were served drinks and snacks, complimentary. I had a couple of Belgian beers on the short ride from Paris to Brussels.

Upon arrival, we found our hotel. The sign was right next to a really ratty decrepit building, and we were so afraid that it was our hotel. Then, slightly recessed into the wall, was a clean and modern looking building next to the ratty one, which luckily turned out to be our place.

Brussels has a much more modern feel than Paris. It’s quieter here. I haven’t tried the waffles yet, but the beer is great. A few blocks away from our hotel is a semi red-light district, and hookers were standing on the street. It was surreal seeing that only a few minutes away from our modern city block.

Random moment: I love French mustard, by the way. I am taking a big bottle of it home to the US. Also, I am planning on learning to drive stick shift this summer when I get back. And I really want to get a motorcycle instead of a car…

In France, I have:

Peed in the Louvre, the Eiffel Tower, in a train station (not in a bathroom), and at Versailles.
I’ve spat from the Eiffel Tower, into the Seine river, and in the chateau gardens at Versailles.
I’ve napped in the Louvre.
I have watched the sun set from the Eiffel Tower.
And I’ve seen the July 14th amazing fireworks show.

I also lost the Game in Geneva, Paris, and Versailles.

Everywhere I go, the city of Paris is rooted in the Catholic religion. Its fascinating to go to the huge cathedrals and see all the art, work, and design put in for one man and his legend. It’s awesome in its power, and scary at the same time.

Out of Paris for a day, we went to Versailles for our last full day in France. It is really nice being out of the busy and loud tourist city.

The serenity of Versailles and the chateau (the former home of King Louis XVI and his wife, Marie Antoinette) make it a seemingly ill-fitting place for the creation of the infamous Treaty that Versailles is now so well-known for.

Versailles is so different. Quiet, calm, but history, the chateau that sits next to the city is amazing. And so are the surrounding gardens. We had very French picnic lunch in the gardens, including bread, cheese, and meat. The only thing missing was wine.

Nearly as big as the town iteslf, King Louis XVI’s palace and his wife’s gardens sit on the edge, and are now public grounds for tourists and French alike. We rented bikes and rode around the lake-like canal in the center of the garden, under perfect rows of trees lining the gravel paths. It was not hard to imagine French aristocrats walking those very same paths 300 years ago.

In one center of the expansive gardens was a beautiful wheat field. The amber waves of grain were a surreal sight right out of America, the Beautiful or Gladiator, or 300.

Versailles is even more beautiful than Paris. I could easily see myself living here and going to King Louis’ gardens to get lost in a forested corner to read a book or just be by myself.

My feet are exhausted from walking the Louvre and Invalides museums. What an experience it was, though! The Louvre isn’t famous without reason. Attracting what seems like hundreds of thousands of people a day, it features 35,000 art peices and historical objects. The museum itself is a piece of history, as artists of the old world used to visit and do their work on the building. The vast rooms of the museum were adorned with beautiful paintings, engraving, and decorations.

Being a person uninterested in paintings, the Louvre still proved to be a fascinating place for me. The Greco-Roman busts and statues were amazing. The Napoleonic rooms were mind-blowing. The grandiosity of the living quarters of the French royals back then!

For me, the most amazing thing was to imagine all those works being created by people centuries and millenia ago. And the museum was such a vortex, sucking me in. I was so enthralled that I easily spent four hours wandering the halls. At one point, I was so sleepy that I took a nap in a room of ancient Roman antiques.

Nevertheless, I couldn’t help but think that Louvre would be better served as a paintball arena or that the Mona Lisa was a copy. Or that the statues were alive and had to hold their poses all day, and would complain at night to one another about us tourists. I even envisioned a Family Guy tangent featuring the Mona Lisa.

After the Louvre, I walked to the Invalides military museum. It features artillery from the early modern era to WWII, small firearms, uniforms, propaganda pieces, pictures, and other military devices of the modern warfare era. Seeing military uniforms with medals and ribbons on them made me both sad and proud. I realized that I am joining a tradiion of humankind that has transcended thousands of years: warfare. And I am just another pawn (or maybe rook) that will come after literally billions of warriors long past.

Invalides also housed WWI and WWII small arms, like MP40s and 19th century French rifles. And asection of the museum was dedicated to Napoleon’s tomb. Grandious in life, Napoleon maintains an aura of command in his huge tomb under a golden dome. It was a fitting place of burial for one of the greatest makers of war in all of modern warfare.

I find it difficult to ingest the history rooted in this city and country.

Today is day one in Paris. I rode the TGV (ultrafast train) to Paris from Geneva with Monica. On board the busy train, we met a nice French guy named Thiboult on his was to get his visa to the US to study in Kentucky for college. We chatted him up about France and America. He told us that today, July 14th, is a French national holiday. What luck? Turns out that this day marks the starting of the French Revolution in 1789. A riotous crowd broke into the Invalides house (a military building), stole over 20,000 rifles, and then proceeded to tear down the infamous Bastille prison.

Marking this occasion, Paris has a military parade every year, and we also heard rumors of a firework show near the Eiffel Tower. So once we got into town, we quickly checked into the hostel. My first encounter with a Parisian involved him flipping me off. We found out hostel with the help of Thiboult, and explored the area before stolling down the Seine river that cuts Paris in half. Nearby our hostel were: two porn shops, more hotels, an internet cafe, and a delicious smelling kebab shop.

The walk down the Seine was scenic. The river was cluttered with tourist boats. A couple of friendly French guys yelled, “Jackie Chan, Jackie Chan!” at me and I obliged them with a kung-fu stance. The shore was full of Parisians and tourists alike, enjoying wine, bread, and music. I bought a sandwich with chicken and toomatoes in a baguette.

We passed Notre Dame, the Louvre, and Invalides, and marveled at the immensity and amazing design of the famous buildings. As we neared teh Eiffel, more and more overpriced food and ice cream shopes attracted the stomachs and wallets of tourists. The streets were becoming more and more clogged with foot traffic, and people were camped out on bridges. Little did we know that today was a very special day for the French.

We inched closer to the Eiffel, passing a police checkpoint and more food stands. Slowly, the crowd became a hot, sticky mass of people that was almost at a standstill. The Eiffel was literally 200 ft away at this point. WE say on the ground, marveling at the ‘metal asparagus’ and waited for the night to fall.

We weren’t sure when the fireworks were going to start, but the 100,000s of people were a sign of something big. After waiting for almost two hours, we just about gave up and were about to go home. We were pushing back through the throng of people away from the Eiffel Tower, when suddenly, across the Seine, a light and music show started. The Eiffel Tower, normally illuminated, went dark. And the most amazing fireworks show I have ever seen started.

It put our 4th of July celebrations to utter shame. The sheer size and coordination of the show was beyond awe. A live orchestra and opera singers performed famous classical pieces of music, and fireworks exploded in synchronized beat. And just as we thought the show was over, the fireworks and music would start again, doing more complicated coordination than before. The complexity and precision of the fireworks were spectacular.

The show went for about 25 minutes, and then the band played Nessun Dorma. The power of the music and combined fireworks brought tears to my eyes.

After dragging my suitcase around the base and town, waiting for the base hotel to free up, I gave up and checked in a relatively cheap hostel downtown. I was finally free for the day to check out the town, instead of lugging around the 50 pound suitcase that had accompanied me halfway across the world. A nice lady was manning the desk at the hostel, and spoke a little English. She taught me a few Spanish phrases, and assured me that the guy who manned the hostel at night spoke far better English.

I dropped my luggage in my tiny hostel room, and went out to check out the town. Five minutes later, I found myself at the beach, looking out at the Atlantic Ocean. The town was truely small, and right on the ocean!

The realization that I was in a different countr really came when I bit into my first Spanish vanilla ice cream cone. It tastes different somehow. The ice cream was definitely vanilla flavored, but it seemed to have a hint of cinnamon…or something. Funny, I thought to myself, as scooters buzzed by on the narrow streets by the dozens. Cars weaved in and out of the streets, expertly dodging the scooters, busses, and pedestrians.

No, this definitely was not Eugene. People stopped willing on the street to chat with each other, as if time was as abundant as the Spanish sunshine. Down at the beach, an old man wandered to the end of a jetty, where a younger man and his son were fishing with 20-foot long fishing poles. They, too, were having a conversation. Further down the beach, an older woman lay topless in the sun.

And on top of all the different culture, there is always the language barrier.

But having just about everything lost in translation is a rare and valuable experience. And there are other signs that this charming little town is not so alien. As the cars zipped by, every once in a while, I would hear a few notes of American music.

Kids still called their mothers ‘mama’ and a smile was always given or returns. And I started to wonder whether the taste of Spanish vanilla was the real taste of vanilla.

After long and exciting travels, I am finally in Baltimore-Washington International Airport. Also known as Thurgood Marshall Airport, this place is much more racially diverse. That is the first thing that stood out to me. I wanted to see what the city was like, but I was unable to. I did get to see it from the train, and from what I’ve heard, there are some very ‘good’ parts to visit, but the surrounding areas are ‘riff-raff’. Straight from the words of a local inhabitant that I befriended during my travels.

Being military over here is pretty sweet. The USO (United Service Organization) has a big office in the airport, with a lounge, baggage check, and computers. It’s been filling up as th eday has gone by, with lots of hopeful travelers like myself. I felt sympathy for the families trying to reconnect with their sponsors (active duty servicemen and women). Some of them have been waiting for flights since the middle of June.

Earlier today, I got lost going to Baltimore, which is why I didn’t get to see the city. I fell asleep on the train, and missed the stop. When I woke up, I was crossing the Chesapeake Bay to a place called Edgewood. I had to get off where I could, so I did at this Edgewood, which turned out to be a little more than the middle of nowhere. Checking the returning train schedule, I found out that it was a rare stop for trains to pick up passengers at, and there would be one train returing back to the airport for the rest of the day. It was an hour and a half away.

The ticket office was closed, and I was so afraid I wouldn’t be able to buy tickets or get back! Luckily, at the stop, I met a guy who was also waiting for the train, and assured me that it would work out. I ended up striking a conversation with him. To be honest, he’s probably the first black guy that I’ve really had an extended conversation with. On the train ride back, we traded political views, stories about our families, college, and friends. He told me about the gangs in Baltimore and how bad the public school system is. It’s something else over here. Another world. But he got out, and he’s on the track to something better. He plays rock music with an amateur band and is going to college hoping to be a lawyer or policeman someday.

Arriving in Portland, I was more interested in visiting a street faire that I had found my last time in town. I purposely skimped on breakfast at home so I could eat more later.

I was pretty sure that my flight was leaving Portland around 1:30 PM. I wasn’t too sure, but I wasn’t too worried, either. The light rail to the airport wouldn’t take too long, and I still had an hour and a half.

At the faire, I was faced with a difficult choice: Thai? Burgers? Indian? Philly Cheese Steak? I walked back and forth between the booths, realizing that while everything looked delicious, I was limited by money and stomach space. After deliberating, I decided on a philly cheese steak and a box of Pad Kee Mao for later.

Suddenly, I was very aware of the time. I had only spent half an hour at the faire, but less than hour to get to the airport suddenly seemed sparse. And I realized that the light rail would take longer than I had previously thought. I wasn’t sure of my departure time, and as I thought about it, I couldn’t remember waht airline I was even traveling with!

As the MAX light rail rushed to the airport, the clock’s hands seemed to be rushing even faster. I pleaded with my watch to spare me a few minutes, but it ruthlessly counted down to my unknown departure time. Halfway to the airport, it was already 12:50 PM, and I wasn’t sure about making the flight anymore.

Finally, the plane pulled into the airport. I almost yelled at the operator as he took up valuable seconds lining the train up with the station, seconds I could have been using to run to my flight of unknown departure time and airline.

The train doors finally blissfully opened, and I darted out to the terminals. As I neared the check-in areas, I heard a dreaded call: US Airways flight to Las Vegas, departing at 1:24 PM, final boarding call.

Right then, I figured out my flight time, airline, and also that I was not going to be on that plane.

Luckily, US Air transferred me to a later flight at no charge, and the connections worked out. I bought a Jamba Juice, sent out a flurry of text messages, nervously ate some Pad Kee Mao, and settled in with the other thousands of travelers waiting for their flights.

Oh boy.

What a book. My buddy over at Bryan’s Sophia had been recommending this to me for the better part of a year. I was daunted by it, since everyone else I had talked to said it was dense. When I tried to get through it when easily distracted by other things, it was dense.

But once school was out and I didn’t have anything else to do, I blew through the book in a week. It was an amazing exploration of psychology, religion, politics and economics (both at a micro and macro level), philosophy, leadership, and the human condition. The character development was amazing, and the story was complex, interwoven, and took many unexpected but interesting twists of fate throughout the story. I know understand what good science fiction is: it isn’t about space ships and lasers and fantasy worlds. It’s about creating situations that make humans or other beings act and think in ways that are relative to us, or in ways that teach us various aspects of life.

A synopsis of the book would be too complicated, but I’ll sum up some of the best quotes from the book here:

A popular man arouses the jealousy of the powerful - Thufir Hawat, page 4.

I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain. - Paul Atreides, page 8. (more…)

My second day in Boise, David, Tony, Richard, and Tom and I went out to Red Robin’s to eat before shooting. We enjoyed many a discussion while watching Tony hit on the waitresses and Richard drink Raspberry Lemonade after Raspberry Lemonade.

At one point, a fellow diner joined us in discussing world politics, the economy, and feeding the geese with our steak fries (seriously!). I wanted to tell him to use his own steak fries, but instead used the argument that birds shouldn’t have too much grease. He was weird to say the least, very forward, and very educated in history and economics. This guy, Frank, predicted that we are going to hit a domestic economic crisis in less than two months. As he said this, I chuckled to myself that his very saying that, if it was taken seriously, could be the cause of the crisis. Expectations affect outcomes on both a small and grand scale. He complimented Tony on his thinking, and then I found out Frank was a fellow Ron Paul follower, which negated all weirdness from before.

Fountain Family - Canon EOS Rebel XTi with 35mm f/9.0 at ISO 100

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Departure

I left Eugene Tuesday morning on the train with Monica, and we rode to Portland together. After getting to Portland, I saw her off at the train station, and transferred her over to an interesting cabby to take her off to Switzerland.

I spent the rest of the day wandering around Portland, taking pictures of people on the street, which is really fun! I wandered into a street faire, and ate a couple Polish sausages and a milkshake. I forgot my debit card in an ATM, and a nice Asian lady ran after me for half a block to give it back to me.

One of the things I hate about big cities is bathrooms. Public bathrooms are conspicuously lacking in big cities, and with good reason, to my inconvenience. And while they are not completely devoid in the city, I can never seem to find them when I need to go pee. I ended up paying two dollars for a mocha at a coffee shop to use their Customer-only bathroom.

Lean Back - Canon EOS Rebel XTi with 35mm f/7.1 at ISO 400

So I’m back from Idaho, and I’ll be updating that soon. I had an awesome time!

I came home to my new 17-40mm F/4L lens, and I am absolutely stoked to use it.

Earlier today, I went to a camera store in Portland to try out both the 17-40 and the 10-22, which I had also been looking at. As I used both and shot some pictures in the store, the clerk helping me went to go talk to someone else. As the customer and the clerk conversed, he mentioned the 10-22 lens, and how young people like myself really liked it for sports and landscape. Then he said something that made me day:

“See, this young man has it figured out. He’s using good lenses on an XTi, because lenses are the most important. He’s transformed an entry-level camera into an intermediate system just by using better lenses.”

These days, nothing quite makes me happier than receiving compliments on my photography or photographic skills.

Hacky - Canon EOS Rebel XTi with 35mm f/3.2 at 100 ISO

Ten days ago, my blog turned one year old! I didn’t even realize it until today, when moving home marked the official beginning of summer for me.

It’s been a good year, to say the least. I met great people, met even better friends, learned a lot academically and personally, did a LOT, and stirred up my share of the pot on campus.

The year was so dense and intense that I don’t remember the beginning or middle of it too well. It was very dynamic, and there isn’t one thought or word or description to sum it all up.

I don’t know what to say about this year, really, except that I grew.

I made better friends, friends that lasted longer and meant more to me.

I had fewer friends than before because I focused on the ones I had instead of trying to go out and get more. I was truer to myself, less concerned with upsetting people, and I made a lot of people angry. And I turned off a lot of other people that normally would have been ok with me. But I think it was necessary for me to explore that and not try to be nice and accommodating like before. And being truer to myself, on the flipside of pushing a lot of people away, showed me who my true friends were.

Friendship - Canon EOS Rebel XTi with 35mm f/6.9 at 100 ISO

I woke up this morning and this song start streaming in my head…

This basically depicts what is happening to me right now:

I am not motivated. I’m losing confidence in myself, in how I deal with situations, and in how I treat people. Everywhere I look, now, it seems all I can see are people who were once close to me that now have moved on, or have found other people that they get along with better. Honestly, I feel like I’ve lost any kind of interest that I used to have. I feel boring.

This isn’t the first time I’ve dealt with this. But before, instead of looking within and trying to figure out how to change myself, I think I’ve tried to stay strong (stay the course), be more confident about myself, and not worry about the people that didn’t appreciate me or couldn’t deal with me. And I think I’ve gotten worse because I haven’t been as willing to change or adapt myself.

Or maybe, I’m just too absorbed into issues about myself, and need start caring about other people more. Either way, I need to do something about myself and my situation.