8:17, bah, too late to make the 8:58 train to Lyon. The next train, at 9:17, was really slow, and arrived just 8 minutes before the faster 10:58 train, so I decided to wait and use the time for photos. Unfortunately, I quickly discovered that I might have spoken too soon about the Nikon's post-fall condition. The photos of Rond-Point de Plainpalais from the previous evening, around dusk, seemed fine. But for some reason my photos from the morning had the white balance and/or exposure all off, depending on where I pointed the camera and from which angle I shot with relation to the sun. Spent a good 30 minutes there trying to figure out what was going on, fiddling with settings.
By the time I shot the other three stores, fiddling with the angle and lighting each time, it was getting close to my train, and I did not have time to make the best use of my remaining seven francs. I had to simply go for the blueberry muffin from Starbucks, which is actually really good here in Switzerland, and the not-so-good overpriced juice. One advantage though, I was able to pay 7 francs in cash and the other 2.40 on my card.
Discovered I could not buy the ticket to Lyon, France from the machine, and all of a sudden I was looking at missing my train. I bought the ticket with maybe 2-3 minutes to spare, and I had to rush to Platform 8, a special platform for France that included passport control and customs. I contrast this with my trips across Germany, Switzerland, Austria, and even the Czech Republic--no control.
Made it just in time, as did a pair of attractive (one above average, the other simply gorgeous) English-speaking young women. I took our shared experience as an opportunity to break the ice by saying "Barely made it, eh?" From the curly-haired, tan-skinned one's response I gathered they were Australian, and asked as much. She replied "yes" but did not follow up. I few minutes later I asked "Where in Australia are you from?" She replied Perth, then after a second, as if she was thinking about it, asked where I was from. "Texas," I said, and replied "Cool." She smiled as she did so, but she immediately turned her head again, as she had done before, a clear indication that she had no interest in chatting with me.
So put on my headphones and resumed The World podcast and wondered to myself, why do I waste my time trying to talk to women who are that attractive. I already know they have no interest in me. To them I am a non-entity, just an annoyance, something to be tolerated and ignored. And yet I keep smacking my head against the brick wall that is the gorgeous woman (if you are not a gorgeous, or rich, man). If I had any willpower at all, I would vow to never again speak to a gorgeous woman unless I was paying her for some service. Unfortunately, I can no more promise myself that than I can promise that I will not binge on beignets or beignet-ish donuts the next time I find them. I just too weak.
Yay!!! Back in France for the first time in 4 1/2 years!!!
Weird. I'd only been in Germany and Switzerland for barely two weeks, yet when I bumped into a man at the Gare Lyon Part-Diue I said "Entschuldigung" (check spelling) without even thinking about it.
Ach! Finally lost the small water bottle I'd been carrying around for nine weeks. Discovered this just as I was tossing my bottle of juice, taller but slightly thinner, into the trash. I thought about it and decided, why waste money on a bottle, so I fished it out and washed it at the Starbucks.
Once I oriented myself and asked some passersby for directions, the Villeurbanne store appeared to be less than two miles away. I figured I'd waste 5-10 minutes trying to figure out what bus or train or tram or subway to take, so I just hoofed. Wanted to get a grounds-eye view of the Lyon cityscape anyway.
I walked into the Villeurbanne with my mind set on not using any English, except words I did not know, and even then I tried to talk around the unknown word. In fact, I wanted to avoid using English during my entire stay in France, but a more practical goal was probably 24 hours. I was butchering the language though. I cannot imagine how horrible my accent and grammar must have sounded to the baristas' delicate French ears.
Ooh, because of a 2006 French law, the first thing I saw when connecting to the wi-fi was a page explaining that I had to fill in my personal information as part of that anti-terrorism law.
Oops, I spoke to myself in English. My bad.
No multi-day wi-fi option in France. All that was available was 30 minutes for 2 euros or 60 minutes for 4 euros. I paid with my card, of course, and I was surprised when the barista asked for my ID, with the sheepish explanation "that's what I'm supposed to do." Perhaps it's different here--I could not remember the last time, anywhere, where I was asked for ID for a credit card purchase at a Starbucks.
Yay!!! The store on on of the Canary Islands, at the airport, is licensed, SSP, so I save myself a bunch of time and money making a trip in and out for that one store.
Nuts. Bus ticket was 1.60 euro, and I had just 1.40 and bills. That was fine, I needed to eat anyway, and I found a Turkish doener place a few blocks away that served burgers, 5 euros for cheeseburger, fries, and a Coke.
OMG, the wi-fi at the Lyon store was ridiculously slow, and with every minute counting, since I did not have an unlimited plan like with T-Mobile or AT&T, I was painfully aware of just how slow it was.
Ach! I said "sorry" in English.
Since Lyon was a smaller city, I hoped that I could find massages at reasonable prices of around 20 euros for half an hour, maybe 30-40 euros for an hour. I googled for a list and found a bunch of locations all near the Starbucks, roughly in the direction of the gare. Of the places that were actually at the address, and offering massage, I was surprised to find prices that were higher than I expected. The final place I found turned out to openly offer erotic massage, as well as regular massage, and the prices were ridiculous. I saw prices from 130 to 300, I think, euros on the erotic menu. And 60 for the regular massage, in euros, would have been high even if it had been for an hour. For 30 minutes, it was ridiculous.
Ach! Stupid passenger, whose train was to depart in 8 minutes, caught me off guard by speaking to me in English, and I responded in kind.
Missed the 17:30 train to Paris by a few minutes. The 18:00 had just 1st class available, for about 30 euros more, and I decided it wasn't worth it. I needed time to plot all the stores in Paris and charge up the laptop anyway, so I bought a ticket for 19:00.
Interesting. I went into a cafe just so I could keep the laptop charged while I waited and plotted locations, and I ordered an ice cream. When the waiter brought it, the spoon was inside a tall glass of water. The ice cream, BTW, cost 5.00 for about the same amount that I paid 1.60 for in Germany. Yes, I expected to pay more so close to the station, but that was a shock. I cringed to think at what Paris prices were going to be like.
BTW, the restaurant one or two spaces down had a burger on the menu for 22 euros. Don't know what all came with it, but damn.
I don't know if this means anything, but I finally plotted the nearly 40 Paris stores I needed to visit, and it just so happened neither of the two hostels I had booked were in the middles of the clusters of stores. Oh well.
Here's a map, excluding one in Versailles and two well east of the city.
Boarded the first car I saw, went upstairs, and picked a seat with a table. I noticed numbers above the seats, and I asked the man sitting across if the seats were reserved. He said his was, but he wasn't sure about the others. I looked at my ticket and noticed it had a seat assignment, and just they a dour-looking man arrived at the seat the pointed. I had gotten so used to unassigned seats (most were) in Germany, Switzerland, and the Czech Republic that it didn't even occur to me to look at my ticket.
The train was a TGV (Tequila-Gin-Vodka), and from the window it appeared it was moving really fast. The young man sitting across from me said he thought its speed ("vitesse", not "velocite", chuckle all you want at my gaffe) was 200 kM/hr, but it looked higher to me.
Train arrived late, as the French are neither Germans nor Swiss, but, as the French are neither British, the nearest store, Roquette, was still open, and so was the nearby Saint Antoine.
This was my third trip to Paris, but this time was much better. First time, 1993, as part of the Normandy Scholars Program at the University of Austin, we spent three weeks in Caen and flew in an out of Paris. At the end of it we had 2-3 days in the city, plus during the program we had a free weekend with the host family, and my host "brothers" took me to Paris. I didn't know what the heck I was doing back then, and I waste a lot of time, and probably money, including some gambling and getting ripped off on tickets for the French open.
The second time, on December 31st, 2004, I flew in on a whirlwind tour of Paris, London, and Madrid. I drove to the nine stores in Paris, and between worrying about the car, finding the stores, and getting to them all in one day, I can't say I could really enjoy the city.
But now, with at least five days planned, and no car to worry about, I could take my time and really look around and notice things, like the pair (maybe more) of homeless who actually possessed a camping tent and had set it up next to the door of a parking garage. Not very inconspicuous, their large grey tent, and I wondered how the gendarmes handled homeless in Paris.
However, my camera was still worrying me. I had no problems shooting the Lyon stores, and I managed to get a decent shot of Roquette even in the fading light, but the camera only managed to one decent shot of Saint Antoine before the lighting went all screwy. Didn't really matter, since I misunderstood the closing time when I asked at the other store and arrived 15 minutes late--I'd have to return.
Aw, nuts, stupid Paris has that same system for the travel card (Paris Visite) wherein if the card is used at the end of the day it still counts for a day instead of going on a 24-hour cycle. Bah.
Sweet--I had the mighty thirst, and I decided to try something different, a juice drink called Pago, for 1.80. Well, the vending machine already had 50 euro cents credit!!! That's the best thing that happened to me all day, besides visiting Lyon and returning to Paris, minor stuff like that.
Damn. I walked into the hostel and completely forgot to speak French. Didn't even make it 12 hours without English.
Ah, another reason why I don't ever want to be separated from my bags. At the hostel, on the bulletin board, a sign stating that somebody had walked up with one of another guests suitcase, and to please return if taken "by mistake". By mistake--yeah, right.
Ouch. Unexplained craving for sodas/juices that day, including late at night when my only option was an Orangina from the hostel bar... for a whopping 3 euros (for a small bottle than I had gotten at the station for 2).
Let's go shopping... Swiss style. Went into Migros for some groceries. Wasn't sure if I had to do that self-weighing of produce that I had encountered the previous year, so I went over to the registers to see if I spotted a scale. I didn't, and I puzzled over how to indicate what item I was weighing because I did not see the UPC code on the fruits and veggies. I finally noticed that the bins contained numbers, and the scale contained a panel with a square of numbers. Next, the yogurt. Many brands came in packs of two, and I had to ask if I was allowed to buy just one. Next, the juice, and I was surprised to find that a 750 mL container was just 3.10, cheaper than in Germany or the UK, although the taste was not as good. Better than the brand they had at the Swiss Starbucks, however, which cost 5.50 for about half the amount.
I had asked the night before, and I asked again in the morning at the ticket counter, if there was a way to save money on a ticket to Bern/Geneva when I also needed to go to the Arena shopping center. Nope, I was told, and had to get on the RegioBus to Arena. The ticket machine did not have an English option, and a young kid seemed to try to help me out. Except he kept punching in the wrong options, like the 1/2 price option and some other ones. Maybe he was just confused, or maybe he was trying to get me to have to use a 20-france note and get change, which he would then ask me for. I ended up just buying a single ticket, instead of a return, because all I had in coins was 3 francs and did not know to what extent the machine would give me change. Didn't want to risk paying with a 20 and not getting all my change.
Another wave of e-mails, including one from a pair of students in Sankt Gallen who wanted to meet me. I told them when I would be returning to the Hauptbahnhof and taking the train out, but I figured they were probably in school.
Aw, nuts, there went my second, of three, pair of briefs, left hanging to air out on the bed frame. I'd lost the first over a month earlier, and now I was done to just one. I'd have to wash it more often.
Oh boy oh boy oh boy, here we go again... returned to the Hauptbahnhof and, with 30 minutes to wait until my train to Bern, I plugged in my laptop and went to buy a muffin and get a free wi-fi card. Got back to the computer to find it was not charging, and I assumed the plug had fallen out of the adapter. It had not, but I pulled it out and plugged it back in again, only to see the adaptors indicator light turn green and then fade to black. No no no no no no no no no no!!!
Tried another plug, same thing. As usual, I instantly began to worry that my trip would come to a premature end. I hoped it was the plug adaptor, and not the laptop adaptor, and I was glad that I would be in France that evening where I could try my European adaptor. Still, I worried that my laptop would run out of power, even in sleep mode, in the 6+ hours I expected it to take me to get to Lyon. More, because I might need to waste time looking for an Internet cafe.
Nothing to do but get on the train, and during the trip it occurred to me that I should have tried to plug in my camera battery charger to make sure it was the plug adaptor and not the laptop adaptor. Grrr... a computer brain like Data's would not have made that mistake, but my weak human brain overlooked the logical course of action. Curse you, weak human brain!!!
Had to ask around about the Starbucks when I reached Bern, but it was close to the station. First thing I did was test the battery charge--didn't work. Yep, must be the plug adaptor. I was kind of relieved, that it wasn't the laptop adaptor, which I could not replace as easily. The other new store happened to be in a shopping center (3.80 bus right, yoicks!!!), and there was of course an electronics store (Migros, which also has a restaurant and grocery store--weird) where I bought a replacement. I cannot overestimate the relief I felt when I had the cashier plug it in and found it worked!!! Like a great weight had been lifted off my shoulders, like I was free again instead of trapped by lack of connectivity and info.
Back in front of the Bubenbergplatz store, on the tram tracks, waiting for a photo, I saw this cute little chug-chug pass by.
Finally found a burger stand, a doener stand actually, on the way back to the Bern Hauptbahnhof. 7.50 for the burger and fries, but menu option was the type in which the fries are put inside the burger, something I had previously encountered in Beirut.
Views from the train approaching Lausanne. That tennis court must be a sweet place to play. Wonder what a view like that costs.
I was still miffed that I had to spend extra money to visit the shopping centers in Sankt Gallene and Berne, but at least I was able to take the train to Geneve all the way to the airport. I still had to pay 3 francs for a ticket back to the main station, but I saved a franc or two.
However, I nearly ended my project, for a fifth time, when, as I rushed to try and make the 19:36 train from the airport, the STUPID FUCKING ZIPPERS on my FUCKING EDDIE BAUER backpack came unzipped, as they had tended to do if I zipped them up symmetrically instead of to one side or the other, and my camera fell out onto the ground!!! I gotta hand it to Nikon for building a sturdy camera--it still appears to work.
As I expected the lone new Starucks in the city was open until 9:00, and I made it in time to log on and figure out what I was going to do next. Lyon was no longer an option, because the last train was at 20:44. I had to call back one hostel in Geneva to see if they had had a cancellation. They did not, but the attendant gave me a number of another place, Cite Universitaire, that had beds. It was not that far away, so I walked (only had 7 francs left anyway), but I had to keep checking my map on the laptop to navigate my way.
Cite Universitaire turned out to be a university dormitory that rented out rooms for hostelers. After I checked in I went out into a common area to get online and book my Paris rooms (couldn't get consecutive nights), and a group of students from UC Davis were chatting at a table waiting for the bus to take them out on the town. I felt a bit wistful and a longing for my younger years when I was in college. Oh, to be 22 or 23, and in college again, but with the money and knowledge I have now.
Ach! I hate alarm clocks. Even worse than an alarm clock is one that keeps going off because somebody keeps hitting the snooze button instead of just waking up. I see no value in being woken up every 10 minutes when sleeping straight through until you have to get up would be more restful. But what could I do? I was a guest, and thus I had to endure until Michelle finally decided to get up.
We were out of her flat right around 7:00, and I used all the time I had before meeting the report in Zurich to walk around the five Starbucks in Basel and take more photographs.
I reached the station shortly before 9:00 AM, ostensibly with plenty of time to catch a train to Zurich in time for my 11:00 AM appointment. And then everything started to go wrong. First, the Reisezentrum was busy, and I after quite a wait I asked the agent about a travel pass and was shocked to time that the only option was for four days, for 290 CHF!!! Ridiculously expensive. I had to get out of line, go over to the self-service kiosk, and try to figure out if it would be cheaper to buy individual tickets. I immediately saw something called a super-saver fare for 9.40 CHF, but I would later learn this was a misleading price (as ads often are). Fortunately I had thought to grab a counter ticket in advance, and I only had to wait a few minutes to speak to an agent. She told me that the super-saver fare was only available from the computer, which I kind of expected, but also that I had to print it out--I could not have the ticket on my laptop. This was extremely annoying, because that meant I had to go off hunting for an Internet cafe with a printer.
I asked at the bakery/cafe across the street, but the cashier did not know of one. I walked over to the Starbucks and asked, and the barista directed me outside, down some stairs, into an underground corridor. I saw a sign that read "Internet Cafe", but when I walked into the room all I saw was what appeared to be a small restaurant. The cook, seemingly of Indian descent, said something in German. I asked if she spoke English, and then I asked about the Internet cafe. I did not hear her reply well enough to understand, and I had to wait for her to turn her attention back to me, come out from behind the counter, and indicate that I should follow. She did not say anything, however, so I had to ask again about the Internet cafe, and she impatiently said "Yes, yes." She led me over to the room next door, and as she unlocked it I asked "Do you have a printer?" Again, her reply was curt and unfriendly. She did not seem inclined to do more than the bare minimum to help me.
I pulled up the SBB site and quickly saw, to my dismay, that the super saver fares were only for the specified times, and that the really cheap fare was for 9:33, just four minutes away. No way I could make that, so I logged off and went to see if the unfriendly lady was going to charge me less for the few minutes of time I used. Nope, as I expected, she was a bitch and charged me the full 3 CHF even though I told her I was not able to find the ticket I wanted. While I'm throwing around insults, I supposed I should ascribe bitchness to the SBB agent who failed to give me the all relevant details about the super saver tickets. Thanks for making me waste 3 francs, bitch.
Back to the station, where used the self-service kiosk out in the lobby (not the self-service computers in the Reisezentrum) to figure out pricing. It appeared that I could save a few bucks by buying a ticket from Basel to St. Gallen via Zurich and Rapperswill rather than buying the tickets separately. I wanted to make sure of the rules, however, so I waited in the line to buy a ticket from an agent. And I waited, and I waited, for ahead of me was a man, perhaps of Middle Eastern descent, who was buying tickets for 9 adults and 5 children. It wasn't good enough for the agent, however, that he specify 5 children--no, she needed to know the exact ages of all the children! AARRGHH!!! By the time I bought my ticket, I had just a couple of minutes before the 10:07 ICE that would have gotten me to Zurich in time. I quickly took my ticket, receipt, and card, and looked around for the signs indicating where platform 10 was. I saw no indications I could understand, and I had to rush back to the counter, with an alarmed look on my face that got the agents attention. I frantically asked, "WHERE IS PLATFORM 10???" She directed me up the stairs, and despite my sprinting I missed the closing of the doors by 5 seconds!!! AARRGHH!!!
Of course the reporter's train had been on time, but since she had come 3 hours from Frankfurt, she waited for me. I was surprised she had come all that way instead of just sending me questions via e-mail or having me call her, but then Zurich is a very pretty city, and perhaps a refreshing change from Frankfurt.
It was nearly 2:00 when she finished her questions and photos, and I went off in search of a cheap burger. With just two days in expensive Switzerland, I intended to survive on as cheap food as I could find (not counting McDonald's--that would be disgusting). However, to my amazement, I walked around for 20 minutes without finding a goddamn burger joint--say what what what??? I finally gave up and went into Migros, a local grocery store chain. Made sure they took cards, as I did not want to use my francs unless I had to. Went with the currey turkey and the white rice. When the cashier asked me if I wanted grosse or kleine, the man next to me translated, not realizing I knew exactly what she had said. I felt a little insulted, but I know he was just trying to be helpful.
Perhaps I do not always read people correctly. I had the impression that the supervisor in Rapperswil was merely tolerating my presence, but when I came back into the store after taking the photos I found a small cup of the new lemon hibiscus Frappuccino waiting for me. A bit later, he offered me a Frappuccino that had been marked out.
I arrived in St. Gallen with the possibility of visiting all four stores before they closed, but it was more complicated than that. I got online immediately and looked up hostels in Bern and St. Gallen. The hostel in Bern (I was surprised my google found just one) was full, but St. Gallen had a room. Though I would have preferred to go ahead and go to Bern and get a head start, I feared what kind of prices any available hotels would charge. On top of that, traveling to Bern that night, and then to Geneva in the morning on another ticket, would cost 10 francs more than traveling on one ticket with a stopover, which had to be done on the same day.
Why... so... serious?
I thus went with the St. Gallen hostel, and I was a bit irked that the lady on the phone told me checkin was from 5-7 and did not seem to understand that I was asking her if I could check in later. This was only important because the hostel was a good 20 minute walk up a hill, and I had to checkin and then walk back into town for food.
Once more I failed to find a burger joint. I asked a pair of young men on a corner if they could think of a place for burgers, and then I asked if it was the case that burgers are not common in Switzerland. One of them seemed to nod his head in agreement, that burgers are not so common.
I kept walking around and finally decided to try the albondigas with rice from Bar Barcelona, for 21.50 (plus god knows how much for the soda). I led with Spanish of course, to ask for the menu, and the waitress quickly said she did not speak Italian. The man on a stool next to me understood, however, and he translated. I looked over the menu and then asked, in German,
if they had Coke in a can or bottle, and if I could pay with a card, and if I could sit down. I had those phrases covered at least.
For some reason I kept speaking to the waitress in Spanish even though she did not understand.
Though the portion was small, the meal was excellent. The albondigas (meatballs) were tasty, and I could not find fault with the rice, except maybe that it wasn't mouth-wateringly tasty like at the Latin restaurant in Muenchen. Would have been better if I had had a side, like potatoes or beans or vegetables, as I find just rice and meat a little plain for my tastes, but I walked away feeling like the price, though expensive, had been well worth it.
Finally found a cheap half our massage, 25 euros, albeit from a Thai place, not a German salon, but it was still pretty good. Interestingly enough, the therapist spoke better German than English. For a change, I had her start off with the Thai massage, because it was only 18 euros instead of 25, but after a few minutes I decided I just didn't like the style and had her switch to the Swedish massage (called oelmassagen) instead.
Arrived in Freiburg to find a bunch of messages in my Inbox, and I guessed that the article in Spiegel must have been published.
Went to the old store by mistake, because of a renaming I'd failed to catch, and I stayed there longer than I expected because of all the e-mails. When I reached the other store, I was surprised to find a young German man, Alexis, expecting me. He had read the article, and while he had not specifically known I would be there at that time, he took a guess. That was cool, only the second or third time somebody had read or heard about me and come out to a store to meet me.
Previous to Freiburg, my last coffee had been more than 18 hours earlier in Saarbruecken, and by the time I reached that store I was already starting to jones. Because that would be my only new store of the day, I wondered if a sample would be enough, and was considering buying a short. Fortunately, the manager happened to remember my story from the internal newsletter, and I brought over a tall.
E-mails continued, from reports and fans alike, and I pushed my schedule back to the 17:01 train, which was okay because Michelle would not be able to get off work 'til 6:00 anyway.
WTF??? Why is it that I see burger stands, or doener cafes that serve burgers, everywhere, when I don't want them, but as soon as I do (because I wanted a cheap meal to tide me over before dinner with Michelle), I can't find a single one. Finally ran out of time and had to go for pasta. At first it seemed overpriced, but I actually got a rather large portion, which meant my dinner plans were ruined. I'd only be able to munch on something light.
At the train station I encountered another fan who had been e-mailing me in the previous two hours. He had indicated he had to work, but he managed to get away, I guess, and called out to me as I was rephotographing the Starbucks.
OMG, the Google translation of the Spiegel article is hilarious!!!
Yay, met Michelle at the Centralbahnplatz store in Basel and we went a-walking. I had absolutely no memory of Basel while on the train, but once I exited the station and looked around I started to remember. It still continued to trouble me, how my memory just continued to disappoint me. Oh, to have my 27-year-old brain back with my 37 years of experience.
Cool metalwork in a fountain. Forget the name of the artist, but I think Michelle said he has a museum nearby.
I offered to treat Michelle to dinner, least I could do given she was putting me up, and I remembered from last year that Switzerland is expensive, but I was still shocked when I found out her buffet was 19 frances. Jeez, Louise!!!
I figured, because it was in Europe, Michelle's flat would be really small and dumpy, especially after her descriptions of how the place only had two washers and thus allowed just two wash times per month! However, her flat actually looked very nice, but nicer than what I imagine you could get in New York or San Francisco for the same price, despite the fact that Swizterland is expensive!
During our chatting I pointed out to Michelle that it appeared I had kept up with culture/news back home despite my traveling much more than Michelle had, even though she had long since settled in. I commented that because I had been constantly on the move for over two months, I really needed to keep up with the news, music, movies, TV, and other culture from back home in order to have something to ground me and provide stability. I can't imagine I'd feel very comfortable being away from so long if I did not have such a constant stream of online communication and access.
8:32, a little later than I had hoped, as the Starbucks opened at 8:30, but an extra 10 minutes wouldn't have mattered, because the best train I could take was at 9:41, and I made it. I even had time to stop at Bio fuer Alles and get some yogurt and fruit. I even had time, upon reaching the station, to confirm my itinerary at the service point. Surely because it was just minutes before 9:41, the agent printed out an itinerary for the 10:35, but that didn't matter. I just wanted to know the connections, the first of which was Backnang.
Nuts!!! In my hurry to make the train, I failed to notice that the yogurt I bought was soy, dairy-free. Wasn't awful, but far from my preference.
Super nuts!!! After about a week with the small hole in my left pants leg, I finally managed to catch my toe in the hole while putting them on, and I made the rip really big. You could call it fashionable in some circles, but I was more worried about being cold at night, on plane flights, or even on chilly trains while I tried to sleep.
Super duper nuts!!! The bogus congestion charge penalty was already issued, and subsequently paid by Hertz, on the BofA card, even though I had blocked it, and thus my blocking it and subsequent credit limit reduction turned out to be completely useless. I was going to suffer a lack of credit for no benefit whatsoever.
Esslingen was easy, but the Ludwigsburg store is in Breuningerland, a shopping center well outside the town center. When I had called the store for info on Saturday, the barista had told me there was no train to the center, that I would have to take a bus (I assumed she was referring to the Ludwigsburg bahnhof, which is what I had specified). Once I had time to think, I doubted this, and it turned out the S-Bahn had a stop in Tamm, about a mile from the center. There was a bus waiting at the stop outside the station, but what I thought I heard the bus driver said was the fare was 1.95 euro, and that was a bit above my value threshold. I always assume that I can walk a mile, no problem, and even though it takes time, peaceful walking has value to me.
After the uninteresting walk, however, I might have been prepared to pay for the ride back, if the bus had been waiting and I could confirm the fare with an English speaker. It was still six minutes away though, and that was just enough time that I decided to walk it again. There was no predicting, really, whether the bus ride would save me anything. The trains back to the Stuttgard Hauptbahnhof ran every 15 minutes, and it was just as likely as not that the bus would get me there right after the train left, as opposed to right before it arrived.
A good illustration of just how prevalent the legal sex trade in Germany is, I found a brothel not a five minutes walk away from the large, posh, shopping center. This was the suburbs, mind you, not even the city center. Pick your favorite American suburb and, assuming prostitution were legal in the U.S., ask yourself if the local municipal council would allow a brothel near the posh shopping mall. Anyway, I investigated, and I found the pricing to be pretty much the same as in Nuernberg, with one additional piece of information that became clear. The girls were tended to charge more for just massage than for sex or a blowjob. In one sense there is a logic to this--it is less work to just lay there, or to perform fellatio, than to massage. Still, this is just the opposite of America and Canada, where massage for a full 30 minutes can be had relatively cheaply, and anything more, if even available, costs more. Regardless, just as with the bus ride, 50 euros for 20 minutes of massage was not a good value to me, and 30 euros for a blowjob, which was almost surely required to involve a condom, had almost zero value to me. And straight sex, quick and rushed as it was sure to be, again, zero value.
Hungry as fuck, but I missed my chance for food before the train to Saarbruecken because I was wasting my time on the phone with a Bank of America agent trying to get my credit limit increased. Every now and again you will hear a news report about people who work in call centers, and they often report abuse from callers. However, I have never heard a single one admit that he incited the abuse by refusing to act like a human being. I myself kept calm during the call, although emphatic, but the person I was speaking to was guilty of acting like an inhuman computer. A minimum human reaction would have been to acknowledge that BofA did wrong by extending me a $10,000 line of credit and then pulling it back with no notice while I was already in Europe and had informed them I needed the card to buy a plane ticket back!!! On the heels of having taken $45 BILLION from the U.S. government in TARP funds, to not be able to extend my credit by $1200 for a ticket is, quite simple, an evil act.
A boycott is useless--not going to happen. But I wonder if I could successfully appeal to people's baser instincts and organize a mass campaign of criminal mischief.
Damn, that bitch was persistent. Let me make it clear that "bitch" is not equivalent to "woman", no more than "asshole" is equivalent to "man". But when a woman, on the street in Mannheim (getting food while waiting for train to Saarbruecken) calls out to you and asks for money for the ticket again, after you've already denined her obvious scam the first time, then you are justified in calling her a bitch, and that is not being misogynistic!
I think President Obama should give his weekly radio and Internet address in rap form, and adopt the moniker "Flowbama" while doing so.
While I'm having great ideas, I think some Vanilla Ice track should play from the speakers every time an ICE train arrives at the station.
Wow, is there not end to the fucked-up-ness of this Dell? Now the mouse is freaking out on me, either not moving or moving erratically. If I just hold my finger on the touchpad it jiggles around. And of course I cannot reboot the machine for fear that it will not come back up.
Ow. My ass tingles. It could be because of my time on the toilet, or it could be the after effect of getting fucked by Hertz, by Dell, by Bank of America.
Bad planning, or poor assumptions, ended up costing me. Once I knew I would not reach Freiburg in time to visit the Starbucks and move on to Basel. I googled hostels in Freiburg, Mannheim, and Saarbruecken, but I assumed that, because it was Monday, if there was a hostel, there would still be rooms available. That was a mistake, and not only was Freiburg booked, but also nearby possibilities like Karlesruhe. I tried one hostel in Frankfurt, technically in the other direction, but free since I had a rail pass, but even they were full. I could have made more calls to Frankfurt hostels, but the Hotel Luxa in Mannheim was about to close the desk, and I needed to call back quickly if I wanted that room. I was hesitant, because it was 49 euros, not the 39 euros I had seen online, but I had little choice. Yes, there was a train itinerary that allowed me to sleep for an hour here, and hour there, a couple of hours there, while making connections, but I would reach Freiburg at around 5:00 AM and have to just wait somewhere for Starbucks to open. I could also try just staying awake in Mannheim the whole time, wandering around, but that was risky. If I fell asleep somewhere I could lose all my stuff, and regardless I would be exhausted on Tuesday, and that seriously affects my enjoyment.
Meanwhile, as I was doing all this investigating and making calls, a strange-looking older woman with wild hair and bad teeth sat a couple of seats from me, looking over at me with my laptop and microphone, and said something that ended in the word "Teknik". I assume she was commenting on my equipment, but I was too busy to be inclined to understand her, and I just turned and smiled. A few seconds later she said something else, and I had to say "Es tut mir leit. Ich muss... zug." I meant "I must catch a train", but I left out the verb. I think she finally got the message.
Dude, 49 euros, and they could not even provide free Internet access? The attendant sensed my displeasure and offered me up a code for three free hours.
At least I was able to mitigate the cost by using the sink to wash all my socks, briefs, washcloth, and even my shirt. Not as good as a real wash, but it would save me 3, 4, maybe even 5 euros for a few days at least.
After washing I went out to sate my mighty thirst, and something unusual happened. I found myself with a sudden craving for ice cream, and a minute later I passed an restaurant displaying ice cream. I decided to get jiggy and deviate from my usual vanilla, and I tried a combination of the Snickers flavor and the mandarin yogurt. And, to continue my wild and crazy night, I had a Fanta.
Figured the Starbucks would open no earlier than 10:00, if even that, so I stayed in bed 'til 9:30.
Determined or stupid? I guess that depends on the outcome. Upon waking up I stepped outside the room, dropped to the floor to do a couple of push ups, and quickly decided to give my hand/wrist a break. Went back into the room, thought about it a moment, and decided the pain wasn't that bad, and that I didn't want to be a wuss. Went back outside, and the pain turned out not to be that bad after all. Of course if I started to hurt worse later, I'd feel foolish.
AARRGHH!!! WHY DIDN'T I CALL THEM!!! WHY DID I ASSUME THAT THE STORE WOULD BE OPEN SUNDAY JUST BECAUSE IT IS NOT IN A SHOPPING CENTER. MY WHOLE SCHEDULE IS NOW @*^&NSI%^KNF#*P@P(HNFWF)SIGH)QW*GF!!! (I'm so frustrated I can't even swear right).
I walked around and photographed the stores, of course, and rephotographed the stores I had visited, and then I went into the one store that was open at that hour to plan my day. I confirmed that the new store in Munich, Platzl, and the store in Esslingen, were both open. The ICE train to Munich would get me there in an hour, not a big deal, but I would still need to return to Nuremberg on Monday after visiting Ludwigsburg, or perhaps before--I hadn't figured it out yet. At least with my rail pass it wasn't going to cost me anything, just time on the train.
Just four stores visited on Saturday, and this meant I was starting to jones. Traveling even the hour-plus to Munich without any coffee would be painful, I predicted, and I decided this was a good opportunity to have the obligatory-when-overseas non-Starbucks cup of coffee, a cappuccino from the cafe next door to the Starbucks, Casa Nane, accompanied by something called a knielkuechle.
Had enough time before my train to stop at the hostel again and reserve my bed for that night. I could have done it by phone, but I wanted to talk to the attendant who had checked me in personally, in the hopes that he would waive the 3 euro fee for the sheets that I had already dumped in the laundry bin. For the last three nights, the hostels I had found all required an extra 2 or 3 euros for sheets. If staying several nights, the charge wasn't so bad, but for one-night stays it was annoying. Fortunately, the attendant threw in the sheets for free since I was staying another night.
SCORE!!! With time to kill, I remembered to google for Latin restaurants, and I found Caramba and called to confirm tostones. Took a while to walk there, but it was sooooo worth it. It was the best meal I'd had during the entire trip. Pricey, at $25, but worth every pennies. The tostones had an excellent crispiness and taste. The steak, unlike at most Latin restaurants I visit, was not tough. The chicharron was tasty, and I ate every bite. Even the rice and beans had a great taste--I could have eaten them by themselves with tostones and had a great meal. Only the sausage had a bit of a taste that was strong for me, but mixing it with the beans and rice made it taste just fine. I left wistfully sad that I would not be able to enjoy another meal--wish it would have been in Berlin where I was for several days.
Wow, it is true!!! Just the other day I was listening to a brief NPR report about how Pepsi gave in to the Argentinians and changed its advertising to read "Pecsi", the way they pronounce it. The report said the Argentinians pronounce other sounds differently, and I definitely heard this from the Argentenian waitress, most notably a "ch" sound for a double L.
When I got back to the hauptbahnhof I learned that the next train to Esslingen would take 2 1/2 hours, and then to go to Nuremberg I would not arrive until past midnight. I thought about it, waffled back and forth, and finally decided I did not want to spend nearly 8 hours traveling. I decided to just go back to Nuremberg on the train and then go from their to Ludwigsburg and Esslingen. The upside of this plan, a second crack at Caramba, for dinner, once I digested my late lunch.
OH... MY... GOD!!! FUCK BANK OF AMERICA!!! FUCK THEM ALL TO HELL FOR ETERNITY!!! THEY ARE SO EVIL!!! Reporting my card lost on Tuesday to prevent Hertz from further raping me had an unexpected side effect--they issued the new card with the credit limit reduced to $5800, barely above the balance!!! They cut $4200 of my credit limit, and that seriously affected my travel and other plans. I planned to use that credit to get back to America, for another possible trip easy, to pay my car insurance, for basically all my expenses in order to avoid spending the cash I had in the bank until I got a new job. All of a sudden, unless I could convince them tomorrow to raise it, I WAS FUCKED!!!
Even worse, I could no longer afford to cancel my Chase card, which is the one I might have given Hertz as a backup (stupid, stupid, stupid). That meant I had to pay the bogus congestiona charge penalty charge, if if had not been paid and billed already by fucking Hertz. I couldn't risk cancelling the card because that would leave me dangerously low on funds once I bought my ticket back to America. I still had to assume I would not be able to find a new contract right away, and I wanted to have several grand in the bank upon starting that job.
I'm so pissed off I can hardly think straight.
Walked around to build up my appetite, and during the walk I did something extremely unusual, I bought a spurious Coca-Cola. By which I mean that I did not need the soda to accompany a meal. It had been years, I think, since I had consumed a cola when not eating, at a party or other social event, or at a club (when drink purchase required). But to drink a cola just because I was thirsty--that was something I stopped doing long ago.
Well, I did my best, but I was not able to finish the second "bandeja paisa". I did well though, and I ate more that day than I had during any other day of my trip.
Meanwhile, while I try to avoid getting into philosophy or politics in discussion groups, as I used to do way too much when I was younger, I could not help but getting pulled into this tricky thread.
Well, that was interesting. I took just two trains on Sunday, from Nuernburg to Muenchen, and back. Both times the ticket checker did not punch my ticket, and I assumed that meant I could ride one extra day. I had no desire to stay an extra day, but given the way my schedule was going, I could not rule out the possibility that I would not make it from Nuernburg to Ludwigsburg to Esslingen to Saarbruecken to Freiburg to Bale all on Monday.
Oh, cool, a display showing how fast the train is moving. How high will it go? 220 km/h? 221? Then the display changed.
That blogger was right--the red light district (the main one, it seemed) began maybe a quarter to a half mile down the same street as the hostel. This one had both girls at the windows, many calling out to men, sometimes assertively or pushily, and girls inside the apartments. Once again I tried to see if I could find a massage at a lower price than the standard 50 euros all the girls were quoting for sex. Some of them stayed at 50, some of them dropped to 30, but none of them gave me a time greater than 20 minutes. Unlike the Romanian in Hamburg, who gave off the vibe that she was genuine about giving me the time she was offering, most of these girls gave off the vibe that they would attempt to rush me, and I did not feel confident about getting my money's worth. Furthermore there was a problem with the math. The girls that quoted 30 euros, when I said I wanted more time, said that 30 minutes would be 80 euros. 30 euro for 20 minutes, 80 euro for 30 minutes? That doesn't add up, and that made me suspicious, and a suspicious Winter tends to keep his money in his pocket.
I finally encountered one woman, perhaps a bit older (late 20s, early 30s?) who spoke Spanish, from Spain, and perhaps because of this connection she was more honest with me. She said the other girls would most likely try to rush customers and only give 10 or 15 minutes, even if they said 20. She agreed to do a full 30 minutes for 50 euro, and she seemed genuine, but I still did not feel it was a good value. Part of the reason was most definitely the problem with the Bank of America credit card--having $4200 fewer in credit made a huge difference in how I chose to spend money. I finally decided I just wanted more time than she was willing to give, for the price, and that I'd continue looking for a more legitimate massage from a salon. Virtually no chance of the therapist's getting naked there, but every now and again a therapist would be more liberal with her hands than any massage school would teach.
7:58, stepped out of the shower a bit later and nearly ended my trip by forgetting there was a step and falling squarely to the ground. I imagine all I'll get is a bruise on the heel of my hand, and perhaps my arm, but it could obviously have been much worse.
Went to the kitchen to see if there was juice for breakfast. As expected, there was not (hostels rarely have juice, probably because it is more expensive). I couldn't get enthused about the toast, and it was 8;25 anyway, so I turned to leave. I noticed a bag of bananas on the table next to a young woman, and I asked if they were hers or the hostels. She said they were hers, but she insisted I take one anyway, even after I politely declined a couple of times. So I took it.
Back to Rhein Center, of course, and after getting my sample I thought about it a moment and decided to explain to the manager what had happened the night before, and to express my opinion that they should have answered the phone. She replied that she had actually been there, but that she couldn't come to the door or answer the phone because the safe was open and she could not leave the barista alone. I did not ask if that was because of trust, or safety.
Remembered the Latin American restaurant somewhere in this area, and looked up its name my financial database (useful thing), but google yielded no "Paladar Latino" in Frankfurt. Dang, I was already starting to anticipate the tostones.
On the bright side, I arrived back at the Koeln Hauptbahnhof just in time to catch the ICE train to Frankfurt. Even cooler, the train offered T-Mobile wi-fi!!!
However, what was not so cool was that I DIDN'T HAVE TO GO TO FRANKFURT!!! Two mistakes, one my one, and one Starbucks trickery. The airport mistake was mine--I should have noticed that the airport store had been renamed to started with the airport code, as has been done for different countries, maybe all of them, but the new German name fooled me. But the other store, Kaiserstrasse 75-77, had been renamed from Kaiserstrasse 2. I had fixed all the renamings by matching addresses, but in this case the address was changed, correctly really, from 2 to 75-77, and that tripped me up and caused me to visit the city unnecessarily, costing me hours.
Ach... finally spotted a massage place at a good price, near the hauptbahnhof, but because of the time I had spent online, I no longer had time even for a 30 minute massage.
Out time of the running for to be the lunch to finding, but I managed to find a cheap pasta place. A little pricier than the night before, and their was no spaghetti on the menu, penne instead, but language difficulties yielded a benefit. I did not understand the cook when he said a water came with the meal. When the waitress, who spoke English, went to hand me the bottle, I said I didn't need it. I waited a bit, and then I asked how much for the bottle of Coke, hoping for a discount. Even better than that, the cook gave it to me for free.
My mistake was even more costly than I thought, because a store Heilbronn was in a shopping center and would not open Sunday. If I didn't get there in time I'd be machaca-chacha.
Oh, but it was worse than that. When I had plotted the Ludwigsburg store, called "Breuningerland Ludwigsburg", I had not suspected that it was a shopping center.
f I don't chose a pair of seats near an attractive young woman, I try to choose an empty one in the hopes that an attractive woman will sit across from me. Thus was I irked when a funny-looking man with bad teeth and possibly mental deficiencies sat across from me instead. Further, he kept glancing at me. I read a bit, and then I decided to get some sleep and moved to a different car.
In Heilbronn went to the Stadt-Galerie store first and, after getting my sample, looked up hostels in Nuremberg. I expected to find several, but I only saw one listed. I called and at the same time looked up train schedules. The lady on the other end of the line told me there was indeed a room, and that the desk was open until midnight, maybe 12:15, and at the same time I saw that I would need to catch the 19:47 train, exactly 27 minutes away, if I was to make that deadline. I quickly switched into rush mode, and I told the lady I wanted the room and that I would call back and cancel if I missed the train. I gave her my name, my single name, just as I had done when I called the other hostels. The previous attendants had not given me any trouble, but now that I was in a great hurry, I had to waste more than a minute telling her that was the name on my government-issued ID. It was 17:23 when I hung up, and I still had to take the photos. I grabbed my camera, turned to rush out the door, and felt a sharp spasm of pain in my right big toe. Oh for the love of Pete--that's the last thing I needed, when I would need to sprint to the other store and the hauptbahnhof. Shot the photos as fast as possible, and I literally limped back into the store to grab my things as I asked the barista to call over to the other store and tell them I was coming and what I was doing.
Being careful of my toe, I managed to sprint over to the store. I fired off a few shots, cursing at the stupid little kid running around in front, and then I went inside. No line, good, and the barista quickly brought out the supervisor who quickly obliged with a sample, which I downed as quick as I could. Outside I shot as quickly as possible, still cursing the little kid who was still running around, as well as his sister, as well as some other people who passed by. Did the best I could with the photos and sprinted off as fast I I could, with the stupid backpack jostling against my back, and trying not to put pressure on the toe.
Made it to the platform with a whole 10 minutes to spare, and I used the time to try and find a wi-fi signal so I could call the hostel and confirm I'd be on the train. No signal down on the platform, none up in the lobby, so I asked a young man, chatting with friends, if he spoke English (of course, his reply) and if he had a phone that I could use. He was hesitant, asking what country, and I quickly said Nuernberg and showed him the number on the laptop that I was still holding. His girlfriend quuickly explained she had some sort of calling plan and asked for the number. I held up the laptop and let her dial. Took forever for the lady to answer, but I was able to reach her with one minute before 19:47.
Of course after all that hurry hurry, the train was late.
Son of a bitch. A young man in an aqua-blue t-shirt holding a green-tinged bottle of beer in his right hand said something to me in German. I replied that I did not understand much German, and he asked if I spoke English. Then he asked if there was someone in the bathroom, and I said I did not know. He went on to say that the indicator said the facility was empty, but the door would not open. I figured I knew what the problem was, something that happens to me all the time. I stood up and smacked the door, and it gave. I then pushed it open, and the young man thanked me. I sat down, and almost immediately realized I had made a mistake in smacking the door with my right hand, as I felt the pain building. The heel of that hand had been hurting all day from the fall, and the last thing it needed was to smack a wooden door as hard as I did.
Oh boy oh boy oh boy! I sure hoped I got on the right train, but I didn't have time to look. As soon as the train arrived in Wurzburg I worried that the delay would cause me to miss my connection. When I saw some other passengers rushing down the stairs I quickly surmised that they might be going to Nuremberg, the closest major city. I rushed down the stairs myself and quickly spotted the large yellow/orange "Abfart" schedule that I'd come to look for everywhere. The time was 9:33 on my iPod, and the schedule said the train for Nuremberg would depart at 9:34 from Gleis 4. I rushed down the hallway, looked at the electronic sign, and saw the time listed as 9:30!!! Then I heard the chime I've come to associate with a departing train, and I sprinted up the stairs along with a pair of women, one young, one old, and hopped on the train right behind them. A young man came through the door from another car and looked at the electronic sign, which did not list Nuremberg as the next destination. I asked him if this train was going to Nurnberg, and he replied "I hope so." He then knocked on the glass door of one of the private rooms and asked the young lady, who said yes, and further she handed him a schedule which he used to double-confirm. I still had doubts, but the train had long since started moving. I found my seat, and when the DB agent came by to check my ticket she confirmed the destination. Whew!
Meanwhile, these Germans seemed to be big Michael Jackson fans. I'd only been in country a week, and I'd heard Michael Jackson playing more times than I could remember having heard him in the States in the last few years. As I right this, a mother playing "Smooth Criminal" on the laptop for two young children. A day or two earlier, a song I can't remember playing, loudly, from a young man's iPod (or iPod-like device). And in various places, Michael Jackson songs from the stereo/loudspeakers.
Meanwhile, I'd managed to keeep my laptop from shutting down for more than a week!!! How long can I keep Vista running without a restart, I wondered.
Meanwhile, all the news reports about the Henry Louis Gates incidents caused me to flash back to all the encounters I'd had with police. Some of these flashbacks were powerful and dredge up a lot of emotion and a strong desire to start killing all these bad cops (most of them?). I hate them so much I can hardly stand it. Funny thing is, when I was in tenth grade I wrote an essay, after watching part of Ragtime in English glass, about how citizens should obey the law no matter what. I might have gone on respecting cops indefinitely had a certain one, in my own neighborhood, when I was seventeen, not told me that I should "watch your black ass before you get shot" after I made a quick turn because I thought the car behind me had been following me. My police encounters only got worse from there. If anybody reading this every hears about how I actually attacked a cop, please contact the media and tell them decades of abuse by cops was the reason.
After a while, I noticed the kids trying to do the moonwalk. Heh.
Great Scott, man!!! Is there no end to the ways in which my trip has nearly come to a premature end??? Let's see, previously we had:
A) Left credit cards on phone booth
B) Laptop would not boot
C) Nearly broke arm or hand
And now, D, nearly left laptop power adaptor on the train when I reached Nuremberg. Actually, I did leave it, but thank heavens I went to arrange my backpack immediately upon exiting and noticed the adaptor was missing. I managed to hop back on the train, get the adaptor, and hop back off before it left, to the surprise and possible alarm of a couple of Bahnpersonal. I'm starting to feel amazed that I am even capable of feeding myself given the degree to which my mental faculties have deteriorated.
Hey, how about that. Haribo has its own stores. Had it been open at that late hour, I might have had to have another gummi treat.
My penne pasta, though late in the day, had not been enough, and after checking in and hanging my socks (gotta get as much airing as possible) I headed out in search of either a light Chinese meal or a cheap burger and fries (I'd probably eaten more burgers in the last two months than I'd eaten in the last two years). Probably because of the touristy nature of Nuremberg, the prices at the Chinese place were higher, and there was no plain frice rice on the menu. The staff did not speak English (heck, the cook did not even speak German), and I decided it would be too much trouble, so I moved on. It was late, however, getting close to midnight, and I did nott find any of the doener restaurants that I seem to see everywhere, when I'm not looking for them. End up having ice cream for the first time in a long time, possibly two years according to my database. Might have had some at the house in Houston or some other event, but unfortunately I have neglected to record every action of every minute of every day. Such poor record-keeping.
While sitting on some steps and eating my ice cream and wafers I was approached by a man, 30s perhaps, scruffy, holding a bottle of alcohol in his left hand. I think he asked me if I was having a good time, and I said I only spoke a little German. This did not deter him, and he continued to speak, eventually sitting down. What could I do but humour him with my limited German. I picked up a few things, that he hated cops, that he had been in jail for allegedly stealing something, that he was homeless, that he was an alcoholic, that his friends had stolen all his things. I expected him to ask him for money, but he never did. I finished my ice cream, excused myself, and walked off wondering why it was always the strange funny-looking guys and the homeless guys who approached me instead of the attractive young artsy intelligent women.
I headed back to the Starbucks on Koenigstrasse, to get online, and right next door I spotted a doener restaurant that I had missed earlier. Bah. I couldn't justify another meal, not after the ice cream. Already fat enough as it is.
Had spotted several erotic businesses in the area, more than I would have expected. Decided to google first and found a entry from a blogger who concluded the same thing, that Nuremberg has a lot of adult businesses for a city of its population. The club I had spotted on the way to the hostel seemed the same as those in Hamburg, no interest in even trying. A different place was a combo of bookstore/video store/video booths/live show via video, and something called "hot show". I was curious, but the price was 13 euros to the door plus an unspecified tip to the girl, who might not look like the photo on the counter. In fact, I expected that she would be older and considerably less attractive, as is common practice. I decided to pass on that and instead checked out another combo place, Stage 2000, that had a strip show on the top floor.
This one turned out to be the best I'd seen of all the places in Hamburg and that one place I visited in Munich the previous year. The dancers were attractive, on stage constantly, nude, if only for maybe 30 seconds right at the end. Moreover, when I arrived I was amused to find a pudgy shirtless young man seated on a chair on the stage. I assumed he was a bachelor, because he had a lot of friends, and some were wearing the same type of hat, something resembling a Panama hat, or at least what I think a Panama hat is. Anyway, the dancer put on a good show teasing the young man on stage, although it was nowhere near the level of Mons Venus in Tampa--that place is crazy. I ended up sticking around with no pressure to buy a drink either for myself or for a lady, and I actually enjoyed the show for once.
The big downside was that, unlike in England, German allows smoking, and I was in the club long enough for my black undershirt to acquire a smoke odor. I managed to save my long-sleeved shirt from the same fate by stuffing it into my backpack.
Oh, a couple of unusual details. Entry to the club was six euros, in the form of three 2-euro coins put into a turnstile. Also, the bathroom was along the same hallway as the private dance rooms, and I had to be escorted by a bouncer for access. Weird.
By coincidence, that blogger had stayed at the same hostel, Lette 'M Sleep, and he said that farther down the street was a red light district with pros at the doorways, but I was too sleepy to investigate.
8:07, figured I'd have plenty of time to get to the Starbucks by 8:50, but I dawdled, as I am wont to do, and I did not arrive until 9:01. The effect of this was I missed the 9:10 train that would have gotten me to Dortmund in 30 minutes. The 9:34 train took about 50.
On the bright side, I received a $25 donation. Maybe I can buy a cheap pair of pants and avoid being arrested if I decide to visit the Middle East after Europe. I wonder if I will encounter a shop that does tailoring, where I could get my pants patched.
Oops, almost visited the old Dortmund store, not the new one. A good reason to continue introducing myself to the staff and asking questions, despite the possibility of scorn and rejection. Another good reason, really helpful managers, like the one at the real new Dortmund store. He gave me a host of good info, and one disturbing piece... that there was a store called Benrather Karree that had been open last year when I visited, but had not been on the web site. Thus, I missed it!!! AARRGHH!!!
The manager also gave me directions for how to get to the Karstadt Hauptverwaltung (really long and complicated, yet cool sounding, word for "headquarters") store, which I would need a visitors pass to get into. However, at the last minute I remembered that Essen is where the German support center is located, and I made a note of the address and decided to go there first. Took quite a while to walk there from the hauptbahnhof (after starting off in the wrong direction), but the receptionist was friendly, and the trip was worth it.
Besides bringing to six the number of support centers I had visited (Germany, Greece, Hong Kong, Japan, England, USA), the visit yielded a really useful benefit. I assume it was the receptionist who, after making me a latte, called over to Karstadt and told them to expect me. Could have also been somebody else, perhaps a manager, perhaps someone from the support center following my blog, but regardless, when I arrived and gave them my name, the receptionists looked on a computer screen and then one of them handed me a visitors badge. I guess membership has its privileges. Membership in what, exactly, well, that I don't know.
During the course of my trip I was asked by various people, mostly journalists, about my schedule. Currently, a friend wants to know when I will reach Basel. All I could give them, and my friend, were approximations, because it is virtually impossible to predict how many Starbucks I can visit in a given day. A good part of the reason are my constant screwups, like dropping my long-sleeved shirt as I rushed to board the train to Duesseldorf. I could not be without a long-sleeved shirt, under no circumstances, and I had to get off at the next station, return to the previous station, and I was lucky no one one had stolen the shirt (who would have wanted to, given its tears and odor). The delay probably cost me over 30 minutes, and all of a sudden I wasn't sure if I was going to get any farther than Duesseldorf that night.
Fortunately, the new Duesseldorf store was in the hauptbahnhof, and that meant I had a shot of visiting the Rhein Center store in Cologne (Koeln) before it closed at 8:00 PM. If I could do that, I might even make it to the airport store and be able to move on to Frankfurt. Of course the delayed train to Koeln would have to arrive first, and then in Koeln I would need an immediate train to the shopping center, well west of the city center.
Coulda made it, but upon arriving in Koeln I could not figure out quickly enough how to get to the Rhein Center. I finally had to call the store for directions, and I asked the barista to save some coffee. I arrived right at 8:10, but apparently that store does not stick to the 10-minute rule. Given how many baristas had helped me out when I arrived late, I guess I could not expect it all the time, but I was particularly irritated by the fact that the baristas ignored my knocks, even though they saw me out there, and also ignored my attempt to call them (via Skyp from the wi-fi). That really irked me.
While I was there I made a reservation at the Black Sheep Hostel, and AutoRoute showed the distance to be 4.5 miles. I had seen restaurants on the tram ride west, so I figured I would walk back and thus be better able to find a good food options. My idea probably wasn't very realistic, and when the time approached 9:00 PM and I still had quite a ways to go, I decided to hop on the tram. The fare machine was on the train itself, and it was tricky to get the display to switch to English. By the time I managed it, the train had already passed the next station, or maybe the one after that. I wanted to find the cheapest ticket, and I tried to find a help option, but I could not seem to. I paused to look at my map to see where I wanted to get off to find food, and while I did that the machine reverted back to German. I tried to switch to English again, but nothing was happening when I touched the icon (British flag), and by that time I was getting really close to where I was hoping to get off. I saw restaurants outside, so I just said eff-it and got off the train.
Like the night before, I passed a restaurant advertising Mexican food but not run by Spanish speakers (Arabs or Turks, my guess). Nothing against Arabs or Turks, but I was getting irritated by having my time wasted investigating all these restaurants that said Mexican when the owners were most certainly not. I can't really blame them for not speaking English well enough to be able to understand my questions about how the food was made, given that Germany is not an English-speaking country, but I can blame them for the looks I always got when I said "danke" and started to walk off. Their concern seemed to be more about getting my business than worrying about my getting food that I actually liked. Same goes for the restaurants I saw, two of them in Cologne, with "Cuba" or "Cuban" in the name. Neither of the two places served genuined Cuban food--the many was Mexican. I guess they figure Cuba is more exotic and appealing, and Germans wouldn't know better anyway. Bastards.
I ended up find cheap past, 4.50 euros, that was not only pretty good but also included four really good small bread rolls. The one downside, the fact that I bought a Coke in a bottle, because it was raining and I just did not feel like walking around to find a can, but the cook did not offer to open the bottle for me. Because I'm not used to bottles, I walked off, and when I finally found an awning to sit under, at least a quarter mile away, I discovered I could not open the bottle. Still raining, and I didn't want to walk back, so I went into the nearby restaurant and had to suffer a bit of a condescending look from the waiter as he responded to my request, "Sure, why not."
Thus was I already in a sour mood when I reached Barbarossaplatz and could not find #1 to save myself. It was drizzling even, and I had to wander around a very large area, across a wide street, and back, and up, and down, before I finally entered a McDonald's and asked. A cashier said she though they were #1, or #2. I went next door into the convenience mart, and the cashier there was sure they were #1. I hestitated, and then I asked if he knew the Black Sheep Hostel. Around the corner, he said. Completely non-descript entrance. Don't know how I was supposed to find it at night, in the rain--wish the person on the phone had said something.
7:08, no chance of making the 7:20 train to Kiel. Bah. According to what I'd seen on the DB page the night before, the 8:20 train was very slow and would take a couple of hours.
Awoke again at 7:48 an considered going back to sleep to wait for the fast train, but I pulled up the DB page anyway and saw that there was actual a fast train at 8:20. Hadn't seen this the night before. Quickly rushed out to try and make that train.
Well, it finally happened. After several attempts, I finally managed to lose my bath towel. It was bound to happen. Every time I took it off my shoulder and put it on a seat back for quicker drying, I was running a great risk. When I got off the train, I was extra careful to make sure my damp socks were squarely tucked into the shirt around my waste so I would not lose them like I did the washcloth. If that happened, I'd probably end up having to spend more than what I I saved by washing them in the sink.
Very tleepy on the way to Kiel, and unsure why given that I'd slept for the better part of 8:00 PM to nearly 8:00 AM.
On the map Kiel looks very close to Denmark, and I was actually a little disappointed that there are no Starbucks in that country, because it would have been nice to visit. I cannot, of course, visit a country that does not have Starbucks--that would be ridiculous!
Great, just when I lose towel, a rainy day.
Three Starbucks at the Waterfront Shopping Center. Keep forgetting to point out that the German shopping centers do not seem to have as extensive a security presence as the British ones. No clue why that might be.
Ach! I could have made it as far as Dortmund, had I rushed when I got to Osnabruck and taking an earlier train down to Muenster. Instead, I arrived about 10 minutes after the supervisor had shut down the coffee. Part of the reason for my screwup was that I saw two Muenster stores in my database, forgot that I had already visited one, and decided that there was no way both of them would be open late enough for me to visit them. So I took some time booking a hostel and did not rush.
Holy Mary mother of god, I was both dismayed and relieved when I received an e-mail from a barista at a store in Albany, OR, telling me that it is not licensed. Because it had Fred Meyer in the name, I put it in my licensed store list and have been missing it for six years!!! Thank heavens it did not close, and thank heavens I modified my web pages to include a list of licensed stores at the bottom. So this one was caught, but I still have to wonder how many other legitimate stores I might be missing because the right person has not seen the list.
The Sleep Station in Muenster, very small, just a hallway on the fourth (3 OG) floor, with no lock on the room door. I saw clothes in the room, and bottles on a table, indicating one or more roommates, but he/they never showed up during the night. Had I known, I coulda slept naked, like god intended (I'm sure there's gotta be a bible verse that can be interpreted to condem wearing clothing while sleeping).
Woke up again a bit after 6, a bit after 7, and then again at 8:36. Really, really wanted to sleep more, but I couldn't be sure that I would wake up before the 10:00 AM checkout time. Oh boy, another sleepy day ahead.
One piece of good news, my challenge to the parking penalty charge from Enfield had been accepted. That still left the congestion charge issue that I wanted to dispute but had to do in writing, which is a great pain in the ass in the 21st century.
The supervisor/manager at Roedingsmarkt referred to me as "The Traveller". I think I like the sound of that.
Finally bought my mandatory bag of Haribo gummi bears. Every time I visit Germany I must have Haribo gummi bears.
Alstertal EKZ, the manager also referred to me as the traveller. Must be an e-mail or something that went around.
The Germans don't appear to have a problem with alcohol out in the open, and the same would seem to apply to nudity. First thing I noticed was a nude woman on a poster for what I assumed was an art exhibit by a Helmut something, Newton perhapts. Then, next to the Alstertal store, a photography studio prominently displaying a couple of nude photos on the window facing the mall.
At Alstertal I asked for directions on how to take a bus to Eppendorf (since my pass was not valid on the U-Bahn). I was directed to the Barmbek S-Bahn station, and when I arrived I began trying to figure out where and which bus to take. Of course I had completely failed to realize that if I was going to pay for a bus ticket, I might as well pay for a U-Bahn ticket and save myself the time. Had I realized that sooner, I could have taken an earlier station. Wow, my inability to quickly figure out the best travel options, like a computer, was astounding. I was certain that I could have done this when I was younger, and that I was getting dumber every year. I felt like Charlie, from the book, and I hoped that I would not lose all my mental faculties and become a blithering idiot.
Yay, rain. Just as my towel was drying it, I had to use it to shield myself. Guess I shouldn't worry about how clean the rainwater was given that my towel was already pretty funky. Laundry was in the near future.
And as if funky towel wasn't enough, I accidentally dipped a corner in a puddle of dirty rainwater.
The day in Hamburg did not go nearly as quickly as planned, and my schedule and plans evolved by the hour, and sometimes the minute. I had meant to go to Kiel early in the morning, but then it occurred to me to go to the shopping center stores first, but I did not realize that Eppendorf Zentrum was the town center, not a shopping center. I intended to go to Kiel after that, but because the train towards Blankenese arrived first, I took it. Afterwards it was so late that it occurred to me that even if I reached Kiel, I wasn't going to get any farther south than Bremen, if even that far. If I used my pass for Kiel, I'd essentially be burning a day of the pass for a very short journey like I had done for Leipzig. Granted, while I expected that the five days I had remaining would be enough to complete my German journey, I couldn't be sure that some delay wouldn't crop up. Furthermore, after getting just six hours of sleep that night, and seven the night before, I needed to catch up. I could do it on the train, but, again, I didn't want to burn a day of the pass if I couldn't travel a whole day. Of course the whole reason I had five days left was that, even though I'd been traveling on the S-Bahn in Hamburg, the one DB agent who came on a train to check for tickets had not punched my card. Essentially I was gaming the system, but all it would take was for an agent to punch my card on my very last S-Bahn journey of the day for my plan to be ruined. Then there was the hostel issue--every time I thought I might end up in a particular town at the end of the day, I had to check to make sure the Starbucks would still be open, and if not, that there was a hostel available. So many factors. Whew!
Holy magnetic monkey nuts!!! Five days into Germany, I finally found an unsecured wi-fi signal that worked!
Back to Meininger, where a pair of Swiss dudes were waking up to go out and eat. I slept a few hours, and around 10:00 some new roommates came in. Not sure if one of them had been smoking, or if the reason was something else altogether, but I started coughing for some reason, and the cough persisted even as I left the hostel to find a convenience store. I needed to find some juice, because I had the thirst that water cannot quench.
For no good reason, I bought myself a tasty choco treat (Kit Kat), my third of the trip. Doesn't Winter deserve a choco treat?
Dude, how did Tori Amos' new album escape me for two months??? I had no idea until I saw a poster for the a concert date in Germany. Moreover, I missed a chance, last Friday, July 17th, to download it from Amazon for $2.99!!!
Sat blogging and stuff down in the lobby for 30+ minutes, sitting across from a young woman, before I realized that she bore a slight resemblance to what Sarah Palin might have looked like 20 years younger. But believe it or not, pointing out to a random German-speaking woman from some unspecified European country that she resembles a former U.S. vice-presidential candidate is not necessarily the best pick-up line.
7:37, not enough sleep, not even 8 hours, but with the bathroom in the room just for one person, and with four other people in the room (in addition to the two who were leaving), I feared that if I went back to sleep I'd lose time waiting for the bathroom, so I got up.
Arms getting stronger, able to do more pushups.
Something called a strueseltasche and fresh orange juice.
DM in Leipzig quite interested in my project and was able to answer some of my questions, especially the one about getting in the store at the Karstadt Headquarters. Also learned another store closed, last month, in Duesseldorf, but thankfully (for my soul) I had visited that one.
Left the Bruehl store around 10:00 AM, and when I got to the hauptbahnhof a few minutes later I learned that the train to Braunschweig (Brunswick) would not leave 'til 10:40. Bought a 1.59 milkshake from a shop so I could use the outlet (they didn't actually say anything, but I didn't want to be rude), and when I got to the train I discovered that had been unnecessary. This train was an IC, a higher class than the RC, and had outlets at the tables.
Just as I had been surprised at how long it took to get to Leipzig, I was equally surprised to discover it would take two hours to get to Braunschweig. Apparently, I have a very poor sense of just how large Germany is.
Stupid. Realized an hour into the train ride that I should have hung my socks to air right away. Took a while to figure out where to put them so they wouldn't be noticed though. Stupid humans have a tendency to give strange looks when they see something they don't understand.
Dang. Twenty minutes later an elderly couple boarded and pointed out that they had reservations for the seat I had chosen. I had to move over to the table across the aisle, and I did not think it appropriate to subject the old lady sitting there to my socks.
As soon as I reached Braunschweig I checked the train schedule and saw that I had about 90 minutes until the next train for Hannover. Just two stores to visit, but the town center was a good 15-20 minute walk from the hauptbahnhof. Even without wasting any time getting online, but with some time explaining myself at the first store and then chatting with the manager, whom I had met a year prior in Wuppertal, I barely made my train with 2 minutes to spare. Even so, I had to settle for a danish-type thing with a name I did not have time to jot down, and crappy orange juice. I would need real food soon.
On the ride to Hannover an agent came by to check tickets, and I pulled out my pass and passport. The agent said something I couldn't understand, something about next journey, or next day. I worried that he meant I could not use the ticket again the same day since it had already been punched. Later I realized what he meant was that I did not need to show my passport once the ticket that been punched for that day.
Another quick quick stop, in Hannover, just 28 minutes to the Hamburg train, and I lost nearly 10 walking down a mall and returning only to find the Ernst August Galerie right across from the hauptbahnhof. Grrr...
That was just one of my mistakes. I also neglected to look at what type of train was going to Hamburg. It was an ICE, and had I noticed that I would not have spent 5+ extra minutes at the Starbucks charging up the laptop. I could have used that time to get me some real food, for the hour-plus trip to Hamburg.
Good thing I did not miss the train, because I would have had to spend an hour at the Starbucks (if I returned) without wi-fi. Though the store had T-Mobile, I learned that the cards for one hour of free wi-fi were a pilot program that started in Berlin. They had the cards in Leipzig, but not in Braunschweig or Hannover.
First store in Hamburg too busy to give my spiel, but at the next store the manager was very excited to meet me. I think the supervisor had heard of me too, and another barista had been to my blog. Of course none of this helped me get cards for free Internet access... because Hamburg did not have them yet! I was loathe to do it, but had to end up buying a T-Mobile 30-day account, for 29 euro. With my job search beginning, I couldn't be without ready access to wi-fi. Checking e-mail at night and in the morning at the hostels just wasn't going to cut it.
Finally decided to do it, to report my primary card stolen to prevent Hertz from stealing any more of my money with "administration fees". Problem was, they had asked for a second card as security, and I think I foolishly gave them the one with the $5000 limit instead of the one with the $750 limit. Stupid. I needed to cancel that one too, but I felt vulnerable if I did not wait until the other card, the replacement, arrived in Houston so my parents could send me the number that I could then use to make online purchase, namely airline tickets and hostel reservations. If I didn't wait, I was going to have very little available credit left on my remaining two cards, and I'd have to rely in the few grand I still had in the bank plus the cash I was carrying. One other option was to transfer the balances from my two lower-limit cards to the higher-limit one, but that would incur a fee. I decided to wait 2-3 days and hope that no other penalty charges would come in in that time.
After Gaensemarkt I headed over to the U-Bahn hoping to find an agent who could confirm that I could use my rail pass on the U-Bahn and S-Bahn. Saw nobody at the station, so I just took my chance and headed over to Reeperbahn, the red light district. Immediately upon exiting the station I could see that this street was what I had been expecting to see in Berlin but did not. Lots of table dance clubs, stage dance clubs, peep shows, cinemas, sex shops, and brothels, which I did not realize are called "lauf haus". I had seen brothels the previous year in other German cities, but I had not seen that turn. I went into one expecting to see some kind of club, but a girl on a stool said it was a "house of sex".
Had little interest in any of the activities, though, perhaps because I was famished. Really wanted some Italian, from a small place that had small, cheap portions like I'd find in Berlin. Walked what must have been the entire stretch of the street, on both sides, but all I found was a larger place with spaghetti carbonara at 6.20 for takeaway. I had a feeling, while I waited, and when I got my food my fears were realized--they had not provided me with plasticware, and they did not have any. I gave a puzzled look and asked several times what I was supposed to do, and as I was about to leave the waiter quietly came over and, on the DL, slipped me a fork and spoon in a napkin. I said I would return.
Next, the can/bottle hunt, with a new twist. I found a can immediately, at the convenience store down the block, but it was a large 330 mL can, and it cost a whopping 1.70!!! Say what what what??? Was this Reeperbahn district such that merchants were grossly overcharging? Remember, I was finding small cans as cheap as 39 pounds in parts of England. I was loathe to pay such an amount, so I kept looking until I found a smaller can for 1.25.
Down one side street there appeared to be a lot of street working girls, most in regular clothing and just standing against the wall, passive. A couple, though, were in more of a sexy uniform, and she was actively soliciting men, even going so far as to beckon one older man from across the street. I was curious to find out where these women did their business (given that there were brothels right down the block) so I just asked how "how much", and I learned she was a dominatrix. Interesting.
Lots of street youths, more than I had seen in any other part of Germany or Europe, at least as far as I could remember. Later I would see lots of similar-looking youths throughout the city. In fact, I saw a lot in Hannover.
Finally saw what I had been expecting to happen to me for days, because I could not seem to learn that part of the sidewalks were reserved for bicycles, and I kept having to quickly dart out of the way when I heard a bell ringing. Anyway, I actually didn't see what happened, just the bike falling on the ground, but a young man appeared to have had to dump his bike to avoid hitting a pair of young women. That's my best guess.
Spaghetti was pretty good, and slight headache started to fade. Went back to Vic's to return the fork and spoon, and then headed back towards the clubs. Still not in the mood, however, but I didn't want to miss this opportunity to satisfy my curiosity. Decided to head over to the hostel to check in, shower, and lighten my pack.
On the train I chose, as I am wont to do, a seat opposite an attractive brunette. During the ride she took her foot and rested it on the cushion of the seat next to mine. I wondered if this was some type of German come-on. Probably not.
My room at the Meininger Hostel was unusual because it had two bunk beds near the door, two beds side by side, like in a hotel, near the window, and a separate smaller room, with a wall but no door, that contained two bunk beds. The young Korean man told me that the two non-bunk beds and the one in the small room all belonged to three friends. I felt kind of weird being in that relatively confined space with another bunkmate, so I took the other free top bunk, out in the open (it had drapes, actually, for privacy).
As I went back into the S-Bahn station I spotted to agents questions a dark-skinned, grungy-looking middle-aged man. I first think they are checking tickets (even though they are just outside the zone), but then I see the man's sign, and I understand enough German to pick up their telling he he couldn't stand there. I approach, and they ask me how they can help. I ask if I can use my rail pass on the S-Bahn. One agent gives it to another, they chat, and then he takes it into the office. After a minute another he comes back out and said I was okay. A second later his boss came out, and I asked "das U-Bahn auch?" He replied that, no, only the S-Bahn, because those trains are run by DB, but the U-Bahn is run by the city.
Meanwhile, the grungy man smiled widely, bowed and put his hands together and thanked the two agents. I assumed they had decided not to ticket him.
The first strip club I picked was lame. The dancer was barely moving on stage. The 5 euro admission included a free drink, but I was full from dinner and figured I'd wait until later for a Coke, and this prompted either curiosity or suspicion. A dancer immediately sat next to me and asked why I was not drinking and trying to convince me to buy her a drink. I did my best to be polite while trying to shoo her anyway. A few seconds later, another dancer. Then a third. This is not different than in some clubs in America, BTW, but these dancers were really aggressive. I genuinely wonder if they actually understood that I had gone into the club to enjoy the stage show and did not want to be bothered with meaningless chit-chat. Regardless of that, the stage show was unappealing, and I moved on.
Next club, I was more picky. Part of the problem at the first, I thought, was that I was the only patron, so all the dancers approached me. So when I saw a group of four young men in front of a club, I headed to the door. Unfortunately, the hostess shooed them all away, and when I asked what the problem was she said they were seventeen, a year too young. Once they left, I specifically asked the hostess if this was a club with a stage show, if I could see it before paying, and if the girls would pressure me for drinks. Yes, yes, and no, she said, but it was a scam. There was no admission, but a drink was required if I stayed, and because I saw a reasonably good-looking dancer on stage when I walked in, I decided to stay. But no fewer than 30 seconds later, I was interrupted by a dancer wanting me to buy her a drink. Then another. Meanwhile, the dancer on stage looked like she was going to go nude, as the hostess had said, but she pulled her panties back up, and a minute or two later she sat down. And just sat there. A couple of songs went by, and I realized that the stage show was just a pretense to lure patrons in.
Next club, the entry fee was 25 euro, and I thought maybe I was just not possible to find a good stage show at these 5-euro prices. I waited while the bouncer explained the admission to pair of men, and when they went in I asked him what type of club this was. He replied, "a clip club." I have never heard this term before and asked what this was, and after a moment the bouncer said, with a bit of a sneer, "a strip club." I said I had never heard that term, and he said that is what they were called in Hamburg. From his tone, I decided I wasn't going to waste 25 euro going in there and moved on.
I started to think I was not going to find a stage show, but I wasn't ready to go back to the hostel, so I tried to change tack. I went up to a regular dance club where the door was fronted by three dark-skinned men. I went up to one and asked "sprechen Sie Englisch". He looked at me, looked down at my appearance, looked back at me, and said "Nein, Deutsch". I did not believe him for a minute. I think he spoke enough English to tell me what admission was, but he just didn't like the way I was dressed. Probably not "cool" enough, with my jeans and running shoes and plain black t-shirt and backpack.
Thought about going into one of the many bars, hoping to catch the attention of a young German woman for a drink, but then I remembered Blackpool, and how loud it had been. I could tell just from standing outside that all the bars were loud, and that did not suit my purposes. Given my schedule and limitations, I did not expect or intend to go "home" with anybody I met (since she couldn't come back to the hostel). I would have been perfectly content with some conversation and light flirting, and loud bars are simply not conducive to the former.
A couple of the brothels specifically advertising Thai girls. I went up to see, and, as I had guess, they quoted a lower price. I remembered I'd seen Thai massage (supposedly legitimate) advertised in Berlin and here in Hamburg. And in Prague. Again, the question, why Thais of all people?
Walked over to the streets where I had seen the bulk of the street workers to see if their prices were lower, but the were still charging 50 euro. The one I spoke to did answer what I'd been wondering about, where the act took place, up in "her" room (or so she said). This seemed to me riskier that the lauf Hause ("a" has an umlaut, but I don't know how to type it).
Unlike earlier in the day, while I sat with my spaghetti observing that the street girls seemed passive, now they seemed more aggressive, actively soliciting me as I walked, and in some cases taking my arms and trying to pull me close.
Down one street I noticed a wall, similar to what I had seen the next block over. I had assumed this was just a dead-end street, but this time I saw people walking through a gap. On the other side was something I thought only existed in the Netherlands, a genuine "red light" area with actual red lights lighting up girls in shop windows. When I first heard about this years ago, I thought I would find it unappealing, and I had been right. The sight of all these women sitting/standing in the windows, like mannequins, some still, some beckoning to the men, did not appeal to me at all. I can't saw why, though. Logically, this is no different than other situations in which women and men subject themselves to being chosen. Heck, even the line of students back in school being picked for the sports team during gym class is similar. I have to assume that the reason I was bothered has to do with some bias I have. I wish more people took this position, that whenever bothered by something the initial assumption has to be that there is something wrong with them, not with what bothers them.
Having seen working girls in three different settings all in this St. Pauli district, the lauf Hause, the street, and the red light area, I wondered what the difference was. I did not expect to get a genuine answer from a girl herself, so I asked a man as he was coming through the wall, if he spoke English. He said yes, and I posed my query. He motioned for him to follow me down the sidewalk, away from the girls that were working the corner, and he proceeded to give me a lengthy explanation. He said that the 50 euros that these German girls quoted was for... nothing. For getting into the room, basically. Anything else would cost more, much more, and there was no guarantee that they would even have sex. There was no point in arguing or discussing one the money had changed hands--doing so would just bring a customer trouble. I suspected there was more than met the eye, but I had no expected the scam to be that egregious.
Incidentally, perhaps the old man's English was limited, but he sure liked to use the words "fuck" and "suck" a lot. I myself would have given the same explanation using more gentle language, because I'm such a sensitive person, you know.
Somewhere, on the ground floor of that Thai place perhaps, I had spotted a card offering something called a "shooter" for free at a club called Galerie. I figured there was a catch, but I had to investigate. The catch wasn't too bad--I just had to buy a drink, if I wanted to stay, to get a free shot-type drink. This place was also a strip bar, but there were actually several groups of customers, two of which included women. The dancer on a small stage was better-looking than at the other two places, so I stayed and ordered a Beck's. As I suspected, the "shooter", something with vodka according to the waitress, was rather diluted. Otherwise I should have felt a buzz kicking in right away, giving my inability to hold my liquor. I was a little disappointed, because I actually wanted to get a buzz on, for once. I guess should have stuck around at the second club and finished the beer, but it felt really lame sitting there in front of the stage while the dancer just sat. Anyway, I waited until I got one of the dancers (only three in the club) to find out the price of a private dance. $55, or maybe $50, euros, for maybe two or three songs--she wasn't clear. Regardless, not something I was interested in. I just wanted one single dance at a reasonable price, like in America, but it appeared that, despite initial appearances, Reeperbahn was going to be a disappointed in that regard.
Left Galerie and decided to try something else, to see if any of the girls at the lauf Hause were willing to bring down the price for just a massage. I asked several at one, but all I got back was "50 euros", "50 euros". One dark-skinned girl was particularly insistent and grabby in trying to get my business, and she was also annoying with her repeated questions about where I was originally from. I kept saying U.S., then Texas, then Chicago, and she kept saying, "yes, but where are you originally from." "Bitch, I'm a goddamn American," is what I was thinking, but I was as polite as I could be.
Decided to give it one more try at a different brothel, and I was about turn around and call it a night when I noticed a very attractive fair-skinned, dark-haired girl come out of a door and smile in my direction, down a hallway designated as being for "international girls". This lauf Haus had arrows at the start of all the hallways indicating what type of girls were to be found. I walked over and said right up front "I am not looking for sex, just massage--how much will you charge me for that." She thought about it and said 30 euros. I asked for how much time. She said 20 minutes. I figured that was a good enough value given her looks and the fact that she would probably get naked, which she did.
I was surprised to discover that this girl, Romanion, did not speak German, but she did speak English, Spanish, and French.
Right before I left I asked her what time it was (didn't feel like pulling out my iPod), and she said it was almost 2:00 AM. Yoicks!!! Of course the S-Bahn had ended for the night, but Altona was not that far--I would not have stayed out so late otherwise. I needed to orient myself and find a safe place to look at my laptop, but before I could do that something dramatic happened. I was standing at a corner looking for a street name when suddenly several police vans pulled up, and a host of policemen, all in riot gear, rushed out and ran down a side street. Everybody was paying attention, of course, and I asked a young man what was going on. He said this was just a typical night. A typical night in Hamburg, I asked. No, he made clear, a typical night in the St. Pauli district, on the Reeperbahn.
I walked a few feet to get a better view, and I noticed that particular street had the Gay Kino, another gay establishment, and perhaps some other gay businesses. If memory served me, my earlier wandering had revealed that the next street over, to the left, was where the transvestite pros plied their trade. I had to wonder if this was somehow anti-homosexual related. I found this hard to believe, in a big European city like this, but then I remembered that just a month or two earlier, right after the anniversary of Stonewall, NYPD had raided some gay club in New York.
There was a lot going on, all of it a mystery to me, in no small part because of my limited knowledge of German. One young man approached the line, and an officer gave him what I assumed was a command to get back. On the other side of the line, the officers were preventing people from leaving, or so it seemed at first. One bearded young man approached, and the officers started questioning him. I did not see if they actually let him through, but I was thinking that I could have found myself between those two lines of cops (there was a line at either end) had I been walking around at the wrong time.
Suddenly a young man near where I was started a chant that reminded me of "We're here, we're queer, get used to it." I don't know what the chant really was, of course. All I could get was "Wir sind hier. Wir sind (some word I couldn't understand). Something something something Polizei!" The chant went on a few times and died down. A while later, the same guy tried to get it started again, and it went on longer this time, but again died down.
I finally decided I really needed to get home, and I moved down the street and out of sight of any cops so I could check my laptop. Don't know if they would have noticed, but given the situation I did not want to attract any attention to myself. I figured out that I needed to basically along the same road, but I still wasn't sure of which direction. I asked a pair of passersby, and, of course, they pointed me in the wrong direction. Took me a while to reorient myself, and it was quite a while before I reached the hostel.
As I neared the Altona station that was near the hostel, I walked along a relatively dark street and saw two young men up ahead. I kept a wary eye on them as I shifted my direction slightly to the right of them, to see if they altered their course. They did not, and then suddenly, one of them took a bottle and through it up at a building, perhaps aiming for a window. I suppose that is one reason I was seeing so much broken glass in Germany.
8:12, no one at the cafe, so I could not return my key. I had little choice but to walk off grumbling, knowing I'd have to return after Schlossstrasse and Teltower Damm.
AHA!!! Got the wabbits!!!
Shortly before leaving Schlossstrasse 120 I realized I had left my towel in the room, so I would have needed to return regardless. No time to hit Teltower Damm, in part because of the time I spent on the phone trying to find out why Hertz had billed me an addition $152 on top of my rental fee. Also, I needed to book the hostel for Hamburg.
What Hertz had done was to bill me 64.50 pounds because I had gotten a bus lane violation. The penalty was just 30 pounds, but they doubled it, calling it an administration feet, and adding a VAT on top. I consider this outright thievery. No, in fact it's such a violation, to not give me a chance to pay it myself, that it is tantamount to rape!!!
All the morning's delays put me under some time pressure, and I barely made it to Alexanderplatz and back to Pariser Platz in time (actally, 7 minutes late) to meet the reporter and photographer from Spiegel. As I suspected, the store was too crowded to be suitable for an interview, but the reporter had smartly obtained permission to shoot anywhere, so we went to Potsdamer Arkaden. Nothing really unusual about the interviews or video shoot, except for the foreign angle.
Say what what what??? At the Alexa Shopping Center there is the store called Media Markt that sells some Apple equipment, and I decided, yet again, replace my earphones. 25 euro, but they don't take credit cards!!! Unheard of, this would be, in America.
Keep forgetting to mention--there is alcohol everywhere. People are allowed to carry freely, on the street, on the trains. I can only assume this accounts for all the broken glass I see on the sidewalks. This place is wholly unsuited for the barefoot.
Excited attention from cute German (I assume) baristas at the Ring Center--always a bonus.
Less than two months after the tube strike in London disrupted my plans, I faced another problem, with the S-Bahn in Berlin. Not a strike, but some kind of scandal resulting from failure to maintain the trains. Because of this, the S-Bahn was not running normally, and I had to figure out how to get to Teltower Damm without it. I finally decided on the U3 to a station about a mile away, figuring I could walk. For some reason I keep forgetting about the bus. I always forgetting about the bus.
By contrast, unsure looks from the supervisor at Teltower Damm.
After I had already made the hostel reservation for Hamburg I decided that it was more efficient to travel to Leipzig, Brunswick, and Hannover and then Hamburg. I called the hostel (Meininger) and was relieved to learn that this was no problem, to move the reservation to Tuesday.
It was too late to visit the museum, unless I stayed in Berlin that night and visited museums in the morning. I called Jetpak to see if they had a room, but they were full. I thought about trying other hostels, but I finally decided that I really needed to get through Europe as quickly as possible. I could spare a couple of hours, but I did not want to burn the better half of a day. Still, with the extra time, I was able to finally try a massage from a genuine German, at a beauty salon a hundred or so feet from the Starbucks. Unfortunately, the therapist did not speak much English, and the experience turned out to be more mentally challenging that I would have preferred, trying to communicate what I wanted. I just don't know the words for a lot of body parts in German--perhaps I should have made a list. Even with a list, there is always the danger of using the wrong word for a body part and offending the therapist or even ending up in a German jail. Even though prostitution is legal in German, I suspect the rules have technicalities, and that masseuses wouldn't be any more receptive to that kind of thing than in any other country. I decided I wouldn't get any more massages unless the therapist spoke more English.
Hung out at Spandau Arkaden until the limit of my travel card time and booked a hostel for Leipzig. Couldn't leave from that bahnhoff, however, because I wanted to buy a travel card for Germany that was only available from the Berlin Hauptbahnhoff. Rushed back to the station, time running out, and hurriedly asked at the information desk about getting to the hauptbahnhof. I was told that train would not depart until 19:48, and then I realized that the Berlin Hauptbahnhoff is not on the U-Bahn lines, but rather the S-Bahn, and these were the trains affected by the maintenance issue. I quickly figured out that I could get close, and then walk, on the U-Bahn, and I confirmed with the agent that I could still get on with my ticket.
Spent quite a bit of time with the agent at the ReiseZentrum trying to determine what my best option for a travel pass was. The oft-mentioned Eurail pass was available there, but I could not quickly figure out it was the best option for me given the price. For one, I really needed to have plotted out all the stores to visit in France and Spain. I also need to investigate prices directly from Switzerland to France, and then from France to spain, without a pass. I didn't think I had time to do this before the train to Leipzig, and when I asked the agent about the schedule, I learned the next-to-final train was departing in 12 minutes. No more time, I had to get the 7-day Germany pass for 244 euro.
Don't know why the laptop battery sometimes drains quickly and sometimes slowly. Did not use it at all on the first two trains to Leipzig (had to change twice), and as I waited for the last train I saw that power was still at 82%--I could have used it. Of course, as I used it sitting on the platform, it quickly drained to 40% in a short period of time, and I had to put it to sleep so I'd have enough power to find my way to the hostel when I reached Leipzig.
In Leipzigm, I was very surprised to find plenty of restaurants, and even a jewelry shop, still open, or just in the process of closing, at the very late hour of midnight. Even the bagel shop looked like it had just shut down for the night. In America I would never see a bagel shop open anywhere near that late.
Unusual, the Sleepy Lion Hostel wanted my passport or driver license as key deposit.
Oh, these kids. I finished up my shave and shower and returned to the room about 20 minutes later to discover that a pair of young ladies were just now coming into the room, from partying all night. I'm so too old for that.
Wow, that was stupid. I took the 115 to Fehrbelliner, took the U7 to Berliner Strasse, walked up the stairs to the U9 platform, spotted a row of 4 metal seats, walked over to the seat on the end, next to a young woman, kneeled to take my laptop out of my bag, tried to sit down, and promptly slammed against the wall because I had been standing just to the right of the actual seat. Can't said I've ever done that before.
Rather surprised to arrive at a store on Schlossstrasse a bit after 9:00 AM and to find it closed. The doors were open, but a baristas was still setting up and said they would not open until 10:00 AM. Same thing for the other store down the street. I fully expected the store to be open by 9:00, or even 8:00, on a Sunday, but I guess Germany and England do have some things in common.
Oh, traveling just cracks me up sometimes. I think I alarmed the people across the street with my laughing.
Hey, it's 10:00 AM, on a Sunday, in Berlin, so why not have a few beers, like the group of youths sitting at a sidewalk cafe.
Did not see this last year, in the parts of Germany I visited, but this time I'm seeing this "banner"-like thing around most of the stores in Berlin.
First thing that came to mind was that this was a maze, like the corn mazes (amazing maize mazes) in the American Midwest, but this is actually a war memorial, and the blocks do not form a maze at all.
Cool tall thing in the distance, seen from Pariser Platz, between the Starbucks and the Brandenburg Gate.
Saw Segways in Pariser Platz, rented out by a tour company.
Anybody know if this is the actual sign from the Checkpoint Charlie border checkpoint.
Over at the Checkpoint Charlie store, I received a stern look from the manager. This was not that unusual, and I brushed it off, but what I did find annoying was when, after I pulled out my computer to log the store and some blog notes, one of the baristas came out from behind the counter, around a wall, and then stood behind me for a few seconds, perhaps looking at my computer screen to see what I was doing. Perhaps to make sure I was not up to no good. Perhaps. I cannot, of course, be certain.
Oh, where do these people learn their customer service skills? From Checkpointt Charlie I took the U6 to Karl-Schumacher-Platz so I could catch the bus to Tegel Airport. Right behind the bus stand was a Chinese restaurant. I was curious to see what the Chinese food would be like in Germany, but I could not read most of the menu. The host spoke a little English and was able to indicate the fried rice options and explain that the chicken soup I saw was sweet & sour. I wasn't sure if I wanted to try it, and then the bus pulled up, and I decided to think about it when returning from the airport. I gave the menu back to the host and said "danke", and he said something I couldn't understand. From the glance on his face and the tone, I had to assume it was something rude or unpleasant. In an instant, he had lost my business and ensured I would never eat there. It's a general principle I've learned, to ask a lot of questions of any customer service business. If the person seems impatient, or is explicitly impatient, then it is not a good idea to patronize that business. I suspect I've saved myself from many a bad massage using this technique.
I was low on patience upon arriving at the airport location, and I was hoping the expediter would not be the supervisor, because if she was, she would want to know what I wanted right away and would not understand that I wanted to wait until the line cleared. Well, she was, and she did not. I said "you can help them first", pointing to the customers behind me, and I repeated with various other phrasings and pointing, but she did not get it until the lady behind me translated. Finally the line cleared, and I was able to slowly and deliberately explain my purpose. She still didn't quite get it, and I was about to pull out money when another barista, one who spoke better English, intervened and translated.
Before I got the coffee, though, I had to make sure that Starbucks Germany hadn't started licensing out stores. I asked "Is this store operated by Starbucks?", and what happened? Some jerk of a young man at the next register condescendingly exclaimed "Who do you think runs it? McDonald's???" I gave him a stern look and said that not all Starbucks are run by Starbucks, and he got his drink and walked off while returned my attention to the baristas. While the one went to get my coffee I asked the other if that guy worked at the store. No, she said, he was just a customer, and I told her he was an asshole.
Over at the condiment bar the young man and his friend were still there and made some comment to me, noticing my Starbucks shirt. I said, with a measured tone, that I thought his comment had been very rude. He, ethnicity uncertain, asked why, and I explained that I had been to 9600 Starbucks and knew that some Starbucks are operated by other companies. He wouldn't back down, and defensively asked "Then why are they called Starbucks." I explained further. He continued to ask questions, and I continued to demonstrate patience and explain. Finally he seemed to understand my project and come around, and in the end I shook his hand instead of hitting him.
That guy might have been an asshole, or a jerk, but he probably wasn't crazy. The same can't necessarily be said of the older man who boarded the U1 at Kurfuerstenstrasse wearing a bucket, with a sign affixed, on his head, and carrying a small blue plastic stool, a large oversized purse-like bag in a checkerboard pattern and red trim, a large sign with German on it, and a container that appeared to be full of a homemade publication. The man spoke to the people in the car, in German of course, and I could not understand him (both because my German is limited and because I was listening to Studio 360), but I assume he wanted to sell copies of the publication. No one seemed to pay attention to the man, and he walked past us and exited the car when it reached the next station.
Incidentally, the only reason I encountered the man was because I accidentally deboarded the train at Kurfuerstenstrasse when I should have deboarded at Nollendorfplatz. This could have been a coincidence, or it could have been the hand of god at work, a sign telling me I should have paid attention to the man. I guess I'll never know.
I guess I should point out that, roughtly at the same time I wrote the above anecdote, I myself was listening to an episode Studio 360 about the Aspen Ideas Festival, and thinking about some point in the future when I have finished a presentable version of my ideas for saving the world that I can then present at some conference like Aspen or perhaps TED. Perhaps the only difference between me and buckethead is that I will be able to afford the several-thousand dollar fee required to attend and/or present at these conferences.
Headed over to check into to the other Jetpak hostel, in the city, so I could try and secure a bottom bunk, and also to hang my socks. Checkin was done at the cafe, and the sign read "BACK IN 5 MINUTES", so I took the opportunity to check out the Chinese restaurant next door. This one had an English menu, but there was no simple fried rice on it. However, the mananager/owner spoke English, and he said they could make plain fried rice for 3.50. I ordered chicken soup, as well, and it came with something I'd never seen before, called "glass noodles" on the menu (they were clear).
Checkin turned out to be a mess. When I called to move my reservation, I specifically asked how much more it would be, and I was told that I would be charged the same as the other hostel. When I asked the young lady... wait, let me back up. One of the primary reasons to move the reservation was to save time. So first I had to wait for the girl to return to the cafe, and then I had to wait a long time for her to sort out checkin for a group of Italian girls, and then the amount I was told to pay did not match what I was expecting, and I had to wait for her to make a call and try to sort it out. What she was told was not what I had been told, but I needed to get over to Starbucks and had no more time to argue over 2 euro. So I paid the 15.80 and she took me to the room, and I had to quickly check on the wi-fi. Didn't work. We had to go to the common room and she had to get on the phone with the mysterious "Neal", but it still didn't work. Finally we went up to the cafe and I kept trying, on the verge of trying to change my reservation back to the other location, when it worked. But it was too late--Teltower Damm was closed, and I had to rush off to try and visit the two Schlossstrasse stores with full knowledge I'd have to make the same trip again on Monday for Teltower Damm. AARRGHH!!! I WASTED MORE TIME AND SAVED NOTHING!!!
Across the u-bahn station near the hostel, I spotted a herd (probably not the right word) of wabbits, but they wabbited (as wabbits are wont to do) before I could get a photo. Thing is, this is a very small patch of bushes, so can wabbits actually survive in such small space?
All the delays at the hostel meant I missed two nearby stores I'd hoped to get to, and though the manager/supervisor was at Schlossstrasse 120 when I arrived, all the coffee was turned off. Got 27, but I'd still have to return in the morning. Stores in the city center though, they closed later, as I expected, and I headed up to Hackesche Hofe where I think I irritated the supervisor with my request. Hung out there charging my laptop and doing online stuff. I finally decided to head over to Alexanderplatz a bit after 8:00 PM, and by coincidence I passed by a poster for The Limits of Control, playing at the cinema next door, and I saw that it was playing at 8:00. Despite the 35% rating on RottenTomatoes, I was a fan of Jim Jarmusch, and I decided to give it a shot. Mistake. It was soooooo exceedingly boring, and after just 65 minutes I didn't care about what was going to happen anymore. Heck, I felt if I stayed in that auditorium any longer, I wasn't going to care about living anymore.
Stumbled across a small Italian place with a great price, 3.80 euro, for spaghetti bolognese. Ordered right away, unknowingly expecting that I could go to the convenience store down the street and find a soda in a can. What I did not realize, until a Turkish waiter explained it to me a bit later, was that Germany had passed some law regarding the environment that resulted in most establishments' having plastic soda bottles. Couldn't find a can anywhere in the area, and it took me more than 10, 15 minutes to find a place that had glass bottles (taste and tactile sensation is different).
The Hackesche Hofe store was a couple of hundred feet from Oranienburgerstrasse, which was one of the red light districts (according to various websites). During my walk up the street looking for cola I had spotted working girls every couple of hundred feet or so on either side.
Passed this really interesting building, called Tacheles I think, well-known according to a pair of young women...
At 7:36 I tried to go back to sleep so I could catch up from the night before, but my mind seemed to be racing with images, and I finally forced myself out of bed.
First thing, try the e-mail. I thought to convert from Yahoo! Mail Classic to the new Yahoo! Mail, and that worked. Whew.
The 72-hour tourist travel cards are not designed to survive in a pocket for that long. If my pants were to get wet, that would be the end of a very expensive ticket. In a wallet, sure, but I don't carry one. I had to carry it in my bag instead.
On the bus back to Fehrbelliner Platz, I was surprised that the driver stopped at a convenience kiosk for a coffee (or some beverage).
Laptop battery seems to drain very quickly and charge very slowly. By the time I get to the first store of the morning, Wilmersdorfer Arcaden, I'm down to less than 80%, and by the time I finish getting my coffee and looking up some things, I'm only up to 82% with a lot of time to wait if I'm to get close to 100%, for safety.
Ach!!! Learned of the first store closure in Germany, Ernst Reuter Platz, five months ago. Hear that soft swoosh? That's a piece of my soul quickly evaporating. If I had not gotten sick last year, I could have gotten that one! I was also told that a few more closures are coming, which means I definitely need to visit all the stores in the country.
Expensive, 2.50 euro, but I had to try the Hitchcock brand of orange juice from Starbucks, different from the brand they had last year. Not the best taste I'd had from Starbucks juice--the Johnson brand from the UK is better.
Something called a kameruner from a bakery. I tasted very much like an American donut but had a bit of different look.
Easy cash, at 1.41, because Deutsche Bank is part of the Global ATM Alliance with Bank of America.
After an excellent reception in Prague, and seven straight stores where I was well-received in Berlin, it was unfortunate that my first negative reception was from a supervisor who appeared to be Turkish or Middle Eastern. Unfortunate because I had noticed a pattern of suspicious, uncomfortable, or negative reactions from Middle Easterns (or Turks, I can't really tell), and just the act of point out empirical evidence was likely to result in somebody out there accusing me of racism. Those accusers, if they really think about it logically, are probably able to realize that there is a difference between recognizing patterns from evidence and being a racist, but people often use such accusations to advance there own agenda with no regard for the truth.
Interestingly enough, at the couple of dozen stores I visited between Lebanon and Jordan, nearly all the baristas were receptive to my project. Not so much in Turkey, but I only visited eight stores--perhaps too few to declare a pattern.
Interesting. 23 stores listen as being in the city of Berlin, and seven of those were either on Friedrichstrasse or Kurfuerstendamm--that's nearly a third.
On the way to the underground from the final Kurfuerstendamm I passed a sign for a beauty salon offering massage from 8 euros. I figured it would be very limited, but I had to check. Yes, it was just a hand massage. The 30 minute price was not unreasonable, though, except that, because the staff was Turkish, the lady told me that they did not massage men below the waist--no glutes, no legs (didn't ask about feet).
I happened to learn that U2 was playing that night, at the Olympiastadion. Tempting, but it probably wasn't worth the expense. Better to see them back in America. Still, I'd be tempted for the rest of the day.
Bah. Wasted a good bit of time waiting at the wrong platform for the Potsdam Hauptbahnhof train, for the simple reason that the sign read "Potsdam Hauptbanhof".
Well, that was a bit cheeky. On the train to Potsdam a middle-aged man who could not speak English asked me about my laptop screen. A pair of women, one young, one older, translated. As the conversation finished, he said that I need to learn more German.
Had an extremely awkward and uncomfortable encounter in Potsdam. The supervisor, or manager, happened to be behind the bar making drinks, and as usual I said I could wait for her to finish. Unfortunately every now and again their is a supervisor/manager who doesn't understand that I don't want to split her attention, and who keeps asking me what I want. In those cases I usually say "never mind", buy a coffee, and leave, but in this case I had to speak to somebody because I did not know where the other Potsdam store was. Also, I needed the opening date. Anyway, twice the manager/supervisor asked me what I needed, and twice I said I could wait for her to finish and then speak with her. She then said she did not understand very well, asked again what I wanted, and I said I was a tourist from America, a fan of Starbucks. She then said, rather curtly and dismissively, "we don't have time." At that point I walked over to the counter, preparing to buy a coffee, and fortunately another barista, blonde, who spoke excellent English came over, and I told her what I was doing. I did not ask for a sample--I did not like the wait the manager/supervisor, and a third barista, were looking at me. I had to ask for directions though. Couldn't be avoided.
I ended up having to wait for the coffee to be brewed, and when I returned to the counter the blonde handed me the coffee. I asked what I owed, and she said nothing. However, her demeanor had changed. Previously she had been friendly and smiling, and now she was not smiling so much. Some discussion had probably gone on while I was away from the counter. Finally, as I sugared my coffee, I could see out of the corner of my eye the manager/supervisor repeatedly glancing over at me. This made me fairly uncomfortable, and I was eager to get out of there quickly.
Strange looks from a young woman, when I unlocked the door to the bathroom and she quickly pulled it open. Turns out it was the women's bathroom. I had not noticed because it had been the same door that another man had just walked out of, and in fact instead of coming out of the passageway and letting me through, he remained their and held the door open (so I couldn't even see the female icon). No idea how the Germans feel about men using the women's bathroom.
I had expected to have plenty of time to visit Potsdam and get back into the city. I was thus quite surprised to learn that while the Stern Center store was just 5 miles away, it took well over 30 minutes, maybe 45, for the 694 bus to traverse its roundabout route. By the time I returned to the Potsdam Hauptbahnhof it was 7:00, and the next train heading back was at 7:22. It looked uncertain that I would get to the next nearest Starbucks by 8:00, and if that's when it closed, I'd be stuck at a surprising seven for the day.
Still, I'm glad I followed through, because the store in Das Schloss, a shopping center, was still open. Germany is definitely not Great Britain, as regards closing times. However, there is a big difference, I was told--shopping centers are not open on Sunday. Not sure if this is true countrywide, but the supervisor seemed pretty sure. I was surprised that, despite having spent two weeks, at least one or two Sundays, in German last year, I had no memory of this Sunday thing.
Around 6:36 a group of Spanish speakers came in. I assumed they were all Colombians, like the young man I'd met the night before. Some of their comments later indicated that was not the case, specifically an argument about whether the Colombian was using the term "maricon" in a friendly sense, like the term "tio", or whether he meant it as an insult. I gathered that the mixed group that was hanging out somewhere, the kitchen maybe, including the Colombian, some Spanish girls, and these other young men from some unspecified country, and that there were cultural differences.
Anyway, I hoped, given the hour, and given they wanted to get up at 9:00 AM to make their train to Bratislava, that they would go to sleep right away. Wrong. Every time I thought they had shut up, somebody would make a comment. Then, at some point, I started coughing, and a moment later I smelled it. There had been a reference to marijuana, but I wasn't sure if it was a joke. Apparently not, because one of the men opened the window to smoke it. I knew at that point I wasn't going to sleep anymore, and I went ahead and got up.
On the way to the bathroom I'm pretty sure I saw one of the men playing with his dick. Now I'll admit when I was younger I never had any occasionas to hang out in a dorm-type setting with several other males. It was always just two of us in my college dorm, and back during high school when I took a recruiting trip to West Point, it was just me and another boy. Never went camping, and I was never in the military. So I don't know what is or isn't normal, but it sure seemed strange to me that this guy would be playing with this dick in full view of the others. Could have been a trick of my eyes, but I don't think so, because I heard one of the other men call out, "Pancho!" as if I alert him that there were others in the room.
Of course, perhaps the young man was not normal. Perhaps he was the weird one of the group. Perhaps even mentally challenged. I could be wrong, but I seem to remember having heard references to the mentally challenged doing things like touching themselves in public.
Meanwhile, the thing in my eye was still there. I hadn't really expected it come out during the night, with my eye closed, but I was hopeful. I was starting to get worried about it.
Started off my daily screwups right away, by forgetting that I still had a travel card good until 8:24. I did not need to buy a ticket right away, an endeavor that did not work at all. After I put my 26 krone into the machine and pressed what I thought was the correct button, nothing happened. I pushed another button, and the machine returned my 5 and 2 coins, but not the twenty. I tried pushing the original button again, and I was prompted for more coins. I ended up putting in 46 krone overall, and what I got were two child's tickets, not the one I needed. As that was happening, the tram passed me by, and since I didn't know when the next one would arrive, I just walked to the subway station. I went to the ticket office and tried to explain to the lady, who hardly spoke English, what happened, and she made it clear she could not, or would not, switch my two bad tickets for a good one. Lesson--don't use the automatic machine if you don't understand the language.
Views of the (Prague?) castle from the famous Charles Bridge.
After some reshoots of Malostranske Namesti I went to drink the coffee from Palac Archa and finish up Prague. A very attractive young woman was taking a photograph of the sign, and I figured she was a fan of Starbucks. I went inside and sat down, and after a few minutes I saw her taking more pictures, of the door, and then she came inside. I beckoned her over and showed her my Prague page, figuring our shared interest in photography and Starbucks was enough of an excuse to talk to her. Wrong. She actually worked for Starbucks, or rather AmRest, and she was not only not impressed by my Prague page, but she actually seemed a bit put off and uncomfortable. She said something polite but dismissive and walked off. Very, very odd.
The Prague public transportation, unlike London, does not use gates that open with a ticket or a travel card. Anybody can go through, and passengers are expected to have tickets and validate them (timestamp) in the machines. From Wednesday evening through my ride from the hostel to the town centre on Friday morning, I had not seen anybody checking tickets. So of course, the moment I get on using the two children's tickets, I saw behind me two police officers and wondered if they had somehow spottted me punching the differently-colored ticket. The did not notice me, but then at the transfer station I exited the train and spotted two men at a staircase calling out to people, seemingly at random, and checking tickets. I did not go for the stairs, but rather moved down to the other side of the platform, and then I took an opportunity when they were occupied to take the stairs. Just two stops to the train station, but those were some tense moments.
I'd been wondering all morning what to do about my remaining Czech crowns. I had already been told I could not split payment for my Berlin ticket, so I'd either have to spend all the money or take a currency exchange hit, something I was loathe to do for such a small amount. That turned out not be an option anyway, because I did not see any currency exchange kiosks at or near that station (not the main one). I ended up buying some toothpaste, some fruit, two orange juices, three chocolate twists, and a Kit Kat bar. I still had two crowns left over, and I would have liked to figure out a way to use up all the money, but I did not want to miss the train. So of course, the train was late, by at least 15 minutes.
While sitting against a wall waiting for the train I pulled out my ticket, and the young man next to me, American, asked if that was a reservation (for a Eurail Pass). I asked where he was from. He said Gainesville. I asked if he was a student at the university, and then if he was actually from Gainesville or from some other town. He said from a small town. I, as usual, was eager to demonstrate my geographic skills, and I got him to say Bradenton and then surprised him by knowing where it was and roughly how many Starbucks there were, four. Except I was wrong. I said outside of Tampa, which is roughly correct, but I was actually thinking of Brandon. Brandon, closer to Tampa, does have four stores, but Bradenton has six. The kid, though, he had no idea about my mental lapse--he was just impressed to have met me, because he had read about my story a few years ago, about a computer programmer trying to visit every store. He initially thought it was somebody else, but I quickly disabused him of that notion. Can't have people thinking there is somebody else out there like me.
Train was a bit hot. No, actually, it was just the part of the train that I had chosen. I went up and down all the cars until I hit what I thought was the reserved section looking for an emptier cabin, and an outlet, but the train was pretty crowded. It was cooler in some other cars, but because it was so crowded I just stayed where I was, suffering for the next two hours. Finally, after Dresden, I decided to see what I could find, and I found a cabin with just two women (six seats), and it was much cooler. I was actually able to sleep a bit.
Oh, you know they must be doing this to screw with me. Somebody at Starbucks somewhere in the world though it a good idea to rename 37 of the store listings from last year to this year. All they did was add an address to the street name. No idea why. I've been to those streets--there's not going to be another Starbucks there. Furthermore, they did not do it for all the listings for German, just 37 of them. Had to go back and tweak my database. Grrr...
Oh the bright side, I felt a great sense of peace as I rode on the train to Berlin. I had no rental car to worry about. I had to flight schedule to keep. As free as I was in the UK, I still faced the ticking clock of the high cost of the rental car and the petrol. With that out of the day, and with the deadline to register for the NSC already past, I nothing in the way of schedule pressures, and that felt good.
MOREFUCKMOREFUCKMOREFUCKDIEDELLFUCKERSDIEDIEDIE!!! Please, oh please let me get AIDS or cancer so I will have nothing to lose and can therefore hunt down the designer of the Inspiron 1420 and KILL HIM DEAD DEAD DEAD DEAD DEAD DEAD DEAD DEAD!!! Arrived in Berlin, visited the Hauptbanhof station, which did not have any outlets, then asked for directions to the nearest store. I bought a 72-hour travel card and took the train to Friedrichstrasse, where I was pleased to find the store visible from the exit to station, as it was raining pretty hard. So hard, in fact, that even inside the train station we could feel rain drizzling down through the ceiling.
Anyway, I tucked myself into a corner behind the occupied seats, plugged in the laptop, pressed the power button, and my heart sank. I hoped it would come up after a few tries, like at the Prague airport, but I kept trying and trying to no avail. Finally I decided to ahead and ask for the supervisor to get my coffee, and when I returned it still didn't work. What could I do but get out a piece of paper and start making notes. Then I went out to take a photo, and when I came back in I decided to try tapping the computer and then shaking it. I heard something, which turned out to be the placeholder inside the PCMCIA slot. Just for grins, I took it out, and the computer booted. No idea if the two acts were related.
I had to assume the laptop would continue to be a problem, and thus I had to try and make sure it never powered down. Thus, instead of moving on to nearby Starbucks, I had to sit there as long as I could while the battery charged. I was going to have to do this throughout the rest of my trip, and it was going to cost me time.
As if those problems weren't annoying/disastrous enough, my Yahoo! Mail page wasn't coming up.
Finally got to see State of Play, in the original version (English), at the CineStar Sony Center. This was one of the movies I missed because I was too busy in the runup to finishing my job and leaving for Europe. Rudo y Cursi was one, and I managed to catch it (don't even remember where anymore--oh, yeah, Edinburgh, I think), and this was the other. Still outstanding, films released after I left: Moon, Up, Food, Inc., The Hurt Locker.
Didn't realized seats assigned until I overheard another customer asking, or rather telling, the people sitting in his seats that they would have to move. I went out to ask the staff if there was a penalty for sitting in another seat. You never know what strange laws might exist in a foreign country (or even in your own).
Nearly 10:00 when I got out, but I stuck around anyway to charge the laptop. Turned out the charge had not dipped below 50%, which was good, but I still wanted to download some podcasts and check my e-mail. E-mail still not working--I had hoped it was a temporary problem, but I was getting nothing. Tried a 3rd-party client, but it didn't work. Once 10:00 arrived I decided I'd better go. I'd seen one review of the hostel reporting an 80 minute ride to the city centre, but it wasn't nearly that bad. The subway to Fehrbelliner fairly quickly, and there I had to find the 115 bus. Didn't see the stop immediately, but I spotted a food stand, so I went there to get a burger and inquire. While waiting for the burger a bus pulled up, and the driver pointed me in the right direction. One the bus arrived the trip to Puecklerstrasse was fairly quick, but what took a while was walking all the way to the end of the street, into the woods, and then quite a ways down the woods to find the hostel. I hadn't realized it was literally in the woods, and as I walked I was sure I was going to be eaten by a wolf.
I guess the amount of travel time wasn't that bad, but I still inquired about changing my reservation to the other Jetpak location, in the city. The attendant said this was no problem, but when he called he was told only Sunday was available.
No lock on the dorm room door, which did not surprise me at all given how far from the city center, and far into the woods we were. Seriously doubt homeless or thieves were hanging out there.
The fifth Harry Potter movie was showing in the break room--I kind of wanted to watch it again, but it was pretty late.
Only one power outlet in the entire room. Very inconvenient for me because I was trying to keep the laptop from powering down. Only one other person was using it, for a battery, and after a few hours I woke up to find that it was fully charged (the light was green), but I was afraid to put my laptop out there until everybody was in bed and asleep, for fear of theft.
7:46, later than I'd hoped, for two reasons. First, obviously, photography, getting out to shoot all the town centre stores before the streets got crowded. Second, the hot water. After booking with Plus Prague Hostel I'd received a message alerting me that the hostel would have only limited hot water because of some city maintenance. I was offered a 10% discount if I kept my reservation, and I found that just fine, figuring I'd be up early enough that there would still be hot water. When I woke at 7:46 though, I figured I was too late, but there was still hot water left.
Views from Old Town Square.
Despite my late start I was still able to photograph all the stores in the city center and arrive, just a few minutes late, to meet four lovely young ladies who worked for Starbucks, AmRest, and the PR company that works for Starbucks in the Czech Republic. They sat down with me and asked questions about my project, asked for feedback about the stores, and then two of them accompanied me to two other stores. I was additionally treated to blueberry cheesecake, a local pastry (blueberries are big in the area, I was told), a bagel (later, for lunch), and given directions to the two other stores, outside the city center.
An unusual view of two of the young woman who accompanied me around.
Arizona Iced Tea at the Starbucks in Prague, surprising.
Lots of Thai massage places around town, for some reason. Was there a big influx of Thai people to the Czech Republic?
Lots of stands and shops hawking DVDs, with the doors and windows, or every available surface of the stands, wallpapered with what I assume are reproductions of DVD covers. The obvious question--are the DVDs pirated?
From Palladium, where the ladies left me, I took the B line to the final stop and looked for a bus to the Avion Shopping Park.
Interesting. I will have to consult with the Oracle and the Advisory Board, but I suspect that the rules will be interpreted to require that I revisit this store.
Some British brands, Marks & Spencer and Tesco. Don't know why I was surprised. The presence of British brands in Prague would seem to make at least as much sense as that of American brands given that the British and Czechs are all Europeans. Although one of the two English gentlemen at the Tesco, from the home office I presumed, made it clear that they were English, not European. Don't know how much he was just giving me, the American, a hard time, but he even insisted that he was technically English, not British.
Anyway, I found my replacement washcloth, but I could not find orange juice. I also found a bounty of yogurt. Nearly two full aisles, constrasted with just one in Britain and not even a full one at most American markets. I couldn't understand the labels, though, and it took a while to pick something I thought I would like. It had grains. It was okay.
Those motherfuckers. It's not bad enough that I dare not power down or hibernate my stupid-ass laptop (Inspiron 1420 running fucking Vista), but now the machine is blue-screening when in sleep mode, meaning that it reboots and stays completely powered on while in my backpack, thus really draining the battery.
Those motherfuckers. Both Hertz and Transport for London. Wasted nearly an hour on the phone with no resolution, and I blew my timetable for visiting the art museum. Hertz screwed me by not telling me that the congestion charge would have to be paid by midnight the next day and that the penalty would be a whopping 120 pounds. "Customer service" rep further disavowed Hertz of all responsibility, saying they were not obligated to inform customers of this. Now I might have to resort to extreme measures.
Most or all of you have seen bathroom grafitti, but have you seen it in Czech?
A few minutes north of the train station I was beckoned by a man standing at the door of his car and holding a map. I didn't think I'd be able to help, of course, but I went over anyway. He tried to explain in English, but he was not doing a very good job of it, and so I took a look at him and made a guess. "Habla espanol?" I asked, and it turned out he was from Spain. He wanted to know where he was so he could figure out a route to his hotel, and I was able to help him with this.
I really wanted drops for my eyes, but I had foolishly forgotten when I was at the Tesco. When I got back to town, all the small shops seemed closed, and it appeared that I would not find a pharmacy that was open. I went back to the Palac Archa store to get online, and I asked an English-speaker (American, actually) about a market. He directed me across the street, and I found a shop that seemed to have everything but eye drops--shaving equipment, deodorant, hand creams, dental things. I was directed to an apotheke, but of course they were closed at that hour.
I kept walking, looking around for food, and I stumbled across an optician that was still open. I popped in, and I saw the drops behind the counter in a case. Boy, were they expensive, $11.23. I immediately put three drops in my eyes, and they seemed to provide relief, but they did not get out whatever was in there.
Kept searching for food, wanting Italian but bent on finding this goulash that one of the ladies had recommended, as a typical Czech food. I stumbled across this very cute place near Old Town Hall, called Staromacek I. (I think). I had no idea what to expect, as I had neglected to google goulash. What I got were pieces of pot roast in some type of brown sauce accompanied by potato dumplings. I've never really figured out what a dumpling is, but I'm guessing there was some type of dough involved, mixed with potato, to give them such a thickness. Overall, it was a decent, quite edible meal, but not something I'd go out of my way to find.
I usually order take-away for practical reasons, time, or to save on tip and a drink, but there is another good reason to avoid eating inside a restaurant, especially one as cute and charming as this one--the fact that doing so makes one painfully aware of being alone. Such a beautiful place in such a beautiful city really merited company--the elderly couple over at another table were testament to that. But for that to happen, I would actually have to know a woman interesting enough to have an interest in traveling the world, or I'd have to get really luck and meet someone at a hostel our out in the street, and that has only rarely ever happened.
One really cool thing, the gentleman ordered some type of alcoholic beverage. The waitress poured a small amount (at least it appeared small relative to the size of the glass) into a very large glass that resembled a fishbowl. She then lit a flame and took the glass and turned it in the flame until the liquid caught fire. The carried the flaming glass over to the table and then turned it upright and swirled the liquid to put out the flame. Cool stuff.
Cops at the hostel when I returned. Interesting? Worrisome?
This is a good example of what the sharp drop in caffeine level does. I woke up just once, maybe twice, during the night, instead of every couple of hours like I usually do. On top of that, I did not wake up for good until 7:54, later than pretty much every other morning during my trip.
Harry Potter & the Half- Blood Prince!!!
The movie let out around 11:50, and I rushed off, not because I was late for the airport, but because I'd promised a fellow Scrabble who also happens to collect Starbucks cards that I would try and find him some more of the London card. I'd picked up one for him--I didn't realize he would ask for five or six. None at Shepherds Bush, so I walked to Hammersmith where there were three stores. Between them I was able to get three cards, and I used the opportunity, after buying my underground ticket and my lunch, to put the remainder of my British currency into a card. I could have kept the currency since I knew I would eventually return to Britain, but that was just one more thing to keep track of. Also, I wasn't sure that the UK would not at some point switch to the Euro and render my currency useless. Of course, I was counting on having been given accurate information by the baristas, that I could use the card back in America.
Took a bit longer than I expected to get those cards, but I felt I was still okay, as Hammersmith is not that far from the airport. Wrong. First, it turns out that not all the Heathrow trains go to Terminal 5--they all go to 1, 2, and 3, but they alternate between 4 and 5. Once I figured this out, I had to wait a bit for the right train. After a slow ride with lots of starts and stops, I finally heard the conductor announce that, because of the delays, the train would not be stopping at Terminal 5 after all. So I had to get off and wait for the next Terminal 5 train. By the time I reached Heathrow, I was worried, and I made things worse by not realizing that I had to take the lift up to departures. I took the stairs and ended up having to then take the lift back down to train level and then up to departure level. The line at security was long, and so was the line for the Starbucks. No time for spiel--used the coupon I'd been given instead. As expected, the baristas was surprised that I just wanted a short coffee with the coupon. Of course it took a while to get the shots I wanted, and when I finally finished and went to the restroom, I heard the final call for the flight and had to rush down to the gate.
AHA!!! I knew it!!! This doesn't have to do with underperformance, but these five Starbucks might end up closing anyway. They are not sure yet. Regardless, it's a good thing I made this trip when I did.
Saw a a couple of new things at the airport. First, and automatic lift, an elevator with no buttons because it cycled automatically between the trains/arrivals/departures floors. Later, right before security, a biometric machine including a retina scanner. I didn't have to put my eye next to the ball though--that was only for domestic flights.
Arrived in Prague about 6:10 and immediately set about finding a power outlet. Once I did, I looked at my database and realized that I had never actually downloaded the store listings, so I did not even know if the airport had a Starbucks. No wi-fi either, so I next went to find currency exchange and try to guess at how much I might need--I went with $70 worth, 1164 crowns (krona) after the commission. Next, I cleared passport control and went to find an information counter. There I learned that there was in fact a Starbucks, I went over there to find out if it was "real", run by the principal license holder, Amrest. It was, and I had a much-needed coffee. I could have survived on the...
AARRGHH!!! STUPID WINDOWS KEEPS CRASHING AND I LOST SEVERAL PARAGRAPHS OF BLOG!!! FUCK MICROSOFT AND DELL TOO!!!
Let's see if I can remember. I had coffee from the airport store. Following the helpful baristas advice, I went outside and looked for a stop for bus 119. I then looked for the ticket machine and realized that it did not take bills. I went back to the information counter, and the lady directed me to the booth two or three spaces down where I was able to buy a ticket that was good for 75 minutes for the bus, metro, and tram.
Outside, I went back to the stop and waited for the 119 to arrive. When it did, I stood and walked up to the font door, but the driver pointed somewhere ahead of him. I walked over to the next stop and looked around, puzzled, and when the driver noticed me he pointed across the street. I went across the street and found the correct stop, where, interestingly enough, there were seats and a ticket machine, and the 119 arrived a few minutes later.
English seen everywhere on the bus ride to the metro station. Also a few Chinese restaurants.
Took the metro to Mustek and walked about a quarter mile down until I spotted the Starbucks. Was surprised to find free wi-fi, and more surprised still that it was extremely fast. The Daily Show came down in about 10 minutes. Hung out there updating my site, answering e-mail, etc., and wondering how late I could check into the hostel. Tried to call, but no answer, so I sent an e-mail. Then I found their website and info page and discovered the reception was 24 hours.
Left a bit before 10:00 PM and wandered around in search for food. Had a bit of a desire for spaghetti, but given the lateness of the hour I decided a smaller, cheaper meal would be better, so I just went over to one of the numerous hot dog stands in the area. The Bavarian sausage on a roll was decent enough, but the chips were the absolute worst I had tasted in a while. Every single order of chips I'd had in the UK had been better, in no small part because they tended to be made to order, whereas the lady from the hot dog stand had given me these limp soggy things that had been sitting there for who knows how long.
Right next to the hot dog stand (wow, what a coincidence--as I wrote about the hot dog stand, Stephen Colbert asked Paul Krugman about a hot dog stand) is a strip club, called a cabaret, called Hot Pepper (or Peppers), with a sign below reading "GATE TO HELL". Three dark-skinned men, presumably of African origin, beckoned people to come in with promises of free entry and two-for-one drinks, but few did. Most amusing was when a couple passed by, and the young man, Nikon camera around his neck, stopped and started towards the door until his girlfriend, petite, blonde, wearing a green dress, pulled him away.
A couple of cool buildings near Mustek.
The reviews of the Plus Prague Hostel had indicated the place was large, but I was not expecting it to be that large. Seemed to take up most of the block. I sat down in the lobby for a while working on stuff, and it was only after an hour that I realized the candles on the table were real candles with real fire. Had my little zip bag (or whatever it was called) been a bit closer, I would have melted the zipper.
Six beds, I think, in the room, but only two were occupied. I took a bed on the far side of the room where it was darker and tucked my computer under the bed to charge along with my laptop. In the middle of the night a pair of young men came in, talking loud, until I got up to use the restroom and they realized the room was not empty. Later, when I woke up again, I went into a near panic when I felt inside my backpack and could not find my laptop!!! Of course it was right under the bed where I had left it, but the half-sleep moment was pretty scary. This laptop booting problem was going to be a real pain in the ass.
At 5:35 I considered driving over to Hertz to avoid the congestion charge that starts at 7:00. Couple of problems with that idea. First, I'd have to find parking that was free until 8:00 AM, because there was no guarantee that once I fell asleep I'd wake up by 7:00 or 7:30. If I couldn't find such parking, I would have to stay awake until 8:00, when Hertz opened, and that would screw my plans to see the new Harry Potter at midnight.
Next woke up at 7:27 and resigned myself to paying the congestion charge. Figured I might as well sleep as much as possible to better stay awake during the film, but at 7:56 I was woken by some road maintenance nearby.
Severe allergies returned, was London pollution a factor?
Since I would not beat the congestion charge, I went back to Maida Vale and Queens Park for more photos, then over to Holland Park and Shepherds Bush. I then found a wi-fi signal and did some investigation. Looked at availability at St. Christopher's for the Southwark location, close to the Old Vic, and then looked for Harry Potter screenings. My idea was to find a hostel near the cinema so I could walk back at 3:00 AM when the film ended, and I wanted to go ahead avoid leaving Southwark area, for convenience, but I quickly realized I'd have plenty of time after the play to get to another part of town. I expanded my search, but, amazingly, I could not find any of the major chains, Vue, Cineworld, Odeon, screening the film at midnight. Given that in Bristol, a city much smaller than London, I had been able to see Transformers at midnight, I was really surprised.
What I did find was a screening at the Vue in Shepherds Bush at 9:00 AM, convenient both because it was right next to the hostel, and because it was early enough to give me tiem to get to the airport.
While I had the car I wanted to get down to reshoot Blackheath, the farthest out store I did not have a daylight photo of. My memory was that I'd had to walk a while from the underground, maybe take a bus, and I figured it was much easier to get there with the car. Perhaps around 5:30 AM I could have done it, but in the middle of the day the experience was excruciating. After over an hour of crawling, trying to work my way to to a bridge, I finally had to abandon that plan and hope that I could still return the car in time.
Had my first ever encounter, that I did not myself initiate, with British law enforcement. While I had already abandoned my reshoot route, I was still having trouble getting back to Hertz. One wrong turn after another put me next to a store that I thought was Chanery Lane, the original London location. I would have had an opportunity for a quick photo by putting the car right at the end of the bus lane, next to an obstruction, but a delivery van stopped there first, and then in the rearview I saw a bus approaching. I went around the corner, stopped the car, and ran over to the store for some photos. When I got back there was a uniformed man with a pointy metal hat observing my car, and he approached just as I got in.
It was safe to assume that he had already made a note of my registration (license plate)--simply driving away could have been a huge mistake, but I'll never know. For one, I assume he was a parking warden, although if I had thought about it I would have noticed he did not have the PDA that all traffic wardens seemed to carry. Had I realized this, I might not have gone on about just stopping the car for a minute to take a photo of the Starbucks, and he might not have thought to ask to see the photo, ID, etc. Privacy and civil rights advocates might be thinking about what information I was or was not legally obligated to provide, but the bottom line is that any resistance would have resulted in suspicion, and that could have led to a longer delay, and that could have pushed my rental into another day for no good reason. Nothing I do is going to have an effect on British laws. After he finished running my ID, he said the reason for the check was that I was taking photos in that part of the city, whatever that meant. Actually, I meant The City, which is a specific part of London. In fact, the officer was not part of the Metropolitan Police, but rather an agency called the City Police.
And, to top it all off, when I got my bearings and drove a few hundred feet I realized the store I'd been shooting hadn't even been the Chancery Lane one! The correct store was a few hundred few ahead of me.
Because of the delays I hadn't had time to take care of a couple of things. I'd dumped the pillow into a trash, and I was able to put the pajamas in the trash, but I had to leave the duvet in the a corner of the parking garage. I also hadn't had time to kiwi, so I had to do it in a cup and dump in the trash. Didn't really want to do that to whomever had to pick up that trash bag, but when you gotta go, you gotta go. On the other hand, trash pickup and all such activities should be done by robots, not people.
Hadn't seen much of this, sleeping out in the open in the middle of the day. I see constant patrols by various types of officers on foot throughout London, so I have to assume that, perhaps because that particular unit is unoccupied, they choose to let this person be.
Happened to pass Beard Papa on Oxford Street and remembered that I needed to have a cream puff. I can't find all the entries in my records, but I know I visited Beard Papa in Hawaii and Hong Kong, and I'm pretty sure I encountered the chain for the first time in Tokyo. Still need to go to the NYC location though.
5:55, starting to feel the beginning of a withdrawal headache. Had two samples already, and I was planning to save the other two samples the next morning, but I had to go ahead and drink them so I wouldn't be bothered by a headache during the play.
Killed some time at the Waterloo Station store until the play, and when I restarted the laptop to clear up some glitch, I experienced a serious, serious problem. During the bootup process, a couple of icons (CAPS lock and the one next to it) right above the keyboard flashed blue for 10, maybe 15, maybe 30 seconds, and then the laptop turned off. I hit the power button again--same thing. I thought the problem had to do with the battery's being low on power (because the Waterlook Station store did not have an outlet), so I went over to the Old Vic and located an outlet down in the cafe. Plugged in, tried to boot, same thing. Kept trying. Nothing. Had to give it up for the moment, nothing I could do. Back to low tech, my book of Fitzgerald short stories, until the play.
Cherry Orchard, and, like The Winter's Tale, I did not understand it. Was pretty tired, and finally decided I couldn't take it anymore and left at intermission. It's not that I can't handle theater either. I loved Glengarry Glen Ross and Radio Golf on Broadway. These plays just did not grab me, even though I'm a fan of Ethan Hawke. Perhaps if he had had larger role.
Tried the laptop again on the tube to the hostel, and it booted up!!! But later, it happened again. What was I going to do???
Laundry, took longer than I expected. Should have chosen the fast hot option.
Scary dream in which broke camera lens. A nightmare, really, but the real-life laptop problems could derail my trip just as quickly.
The supervisor at the first Ipswich store was expecting me from the call she'd gotten from Great Yarmouth, the supervisor at the other store was really interested in my project, and the supervisor in Colchester was expecting me from the call from Ipswich, making it really easy to get in and out before the parking wardens reached my car. I'd call that a good morning.
In the spirit of fairness, to balance out my complaints, I must point out that the drop-dead gorgeous platinum blonde waiting for her drink at the Colchester store did seem to look my way and smile, both when I was at the bar waiting for my drink, and then later when I moved over to the condiment bar for sugar. I wasn't sure if she was with the young man at the bar, but when he good his drinks and walked away it seemed she was not. Unfortunately I suspected the parking wardens were nearing my car, and just as I was debating going back inside, I saw them walking down the sidewalk, and I had to hop in the car and drive away.
Interesting. As I headed out of Colchester I had to squeeze between a stopped car and the right hand lane. Traffic was obviously being obstructed, but the cop that passed by in the other direction did not, at least while I watched him in the rearview, appear to stop or turn around to investigate. In America, in a small town, I think it is a virtual certainty that the cop would investigate.
Another crazy person, this time outside the Chelmsford High Street store. I tried to shoot the best photo I could, focused on the fact that the sun was almost behind the store, and then as I was about to walk in she said something like "Anything interesting on that photo?" Phrasing caught me off guard, but I responded, "Yes, I think so." She gave me an odd, possibly nasty, look, and I said "I don't really understand what you are asking." She went on to say something about not wanting to be in any advertising. I told her I didn't work for Starbucks, walked in, and wondered, as I often have, why Starbucks seems to attract a lot of crazy people.
I picked up an egg/bacon sandiwch before leaving Chelmsford, and about 15-20 minutes later, when I reached Braintree, I realized I should have waited. For the Braintree store in a designer village, and that meant the possibility of donuts!!! I did not see a stand, but the Starbucks manager confirmed there was indeed one, way around the corner. Despite my non-hunger, I bought seven. I ate five right away. I have no willpower. Later I would start itching again.
Before I went to the into the outlet, however, I spotted the Braintree Swimming Centre across the parking lot. 3.85 to use the facilities. At first I saw only showers open to the air, and I thought I would have to wear my shorts and wash discretely. After I put my things in the locker, though, I found the private shower room. Afterwards I went ahead and rotated my socks, since my feet were clean, and I also had to make a delicate choice about whether to put on my briefs. I avoid putting them on right after showering, but that hole in my crotch was getting uncomfortably large. Dangerously large. In fact, after I visited the Starbucks and got back to my car, the way in which I sat down caused something to poke out. I was going to have to be extremely careful from here on out. Either that or buy more underwear.
Should have looked at my map. Instead, I trusted the lady's directions for how to get out of Saffron Walden and towards Bishop's Stotford, and I ended up heading the wrong way. I turned around before I had gone too far and got on the right track, but then I just as quickly made a wrong turn and ended up heading north, away from where I wanted to go. By the time I discovered my error, in Linton, it made more sense to continue on to the M11 and take that instead.
Meanwhile, during the drive, I felt a sharp pain and itching in my leg. It felt like I had been bitten, and bedbugs immediately came to mind. I wanted to rip my pants off right there to check, but I had no place to stop. Pulled over at the next opportunity, but I saw nothing right away, and then I noticed that it might be possible for someone on the second floor of the house across the street to see my with my pants off. I drove on, and I felt the sting again. I finally found a little pseudo-parking area where I could stop and really do an inspecting, and I finally realized what had happened. Because of the hole in my crotch, grains of sugar from the donut had fallen in, worked their way down my leg, and then when I shifted cut into my leg. Though small, a sugar grain is still sharp enough to sting.
Pretty easy to find parking (had to pay, of course, 70 pence, a rip), and then to find the Starbucks, but, as I feared, when the supervisor called Cheshunt, they said they closed at 6:00 PM. I was going to cut it close, and stopping in Harlow too seemed near impossible. Didn't have time to check, though, until well into my drive, once I got onto a highway that moved smoothly for a couple of minutes. Still had a problem, though--I did not know where the Harlow Sainsbury's was. The supervisor in Bishop's Stotford had given me directions, but from the motorway, and I hadn't really understood them anyway. My database listed no address. The list from the support centre listed a Fifth Allende Avenue, which AutoRoute could not find. Finally, when I got a moment at a light to look at the map more closely, I noticed there were indeed numbered avenues. I searched for Fifteh Avenue, and I found it, and discovered it was also called Allende Avenue. So what the support centre had done was combine the two names, thus rendering the address practically useless!!!
The store appeared to be just a half mile off my route, so I decided to try and pop down, at least to find out when it closed (because I had not asked at the other store, fearing the delay that calling usually brings. Mistake, mistake, mistake!!! I realized it as soon as I made the turn off the roundabout, but there was nothing I could do. Traffic was absolutely slammed in the other direction, and even thought I turned into the Sainsbury's and immediately turned back out, I lost at least 15 minutes to drive one mile.
Barely made it to Cheshunt, but I made it, and then back to Harlow, and I... was... finished!!! With all UK stores outside of airports. That I knew of.
Un... fucking... believable. With several hours before sundown, plus the possibility of keeping the car for Tuesday, I went through my photos to see which were nighttime and demanded reshoots. What did I find? Shepherds Bush, where I stayed for several days without ever bothering to take another photo. AARRGHH!!!
Rushed down into the city to reshoot as many stores as possible before sundown.
7:25, I cursed the heavens, for it was overcast, and drizzling to boot, again on a Sunday morning, and thus once more my planned early-morning reshoots were Cambridge roont.
Lots of bicycle traffic in Cambridge.
At the Bury St. Edmonds store I saw something unique, a full-size art exhibition, held in a room on a floor above the main store. The room was not usually open to the public, just used by staff, but they decided to let The Silent Gallery hold an exhibition there. I think it's a great idea, and in fact I considered one of the art pieces for the present I usually take back to my mother. I wondered which one she might like, and then it occurred to me to take photos and send them to my father so he could ask her. Good thing I did, because she said she didn't like any of them. She prefers perfume.
Walked around the corner in search of breakfast and went into the first restaurant I spotted, the Suffolk Carver. The cook said he could not serve me a regular egg breakfast to take away because he did not have the containers, so I ordered a sandwich. I expected the sandwich to be in a bag, but it turned out he had put it in a styrofoam container anyway. It was perhaps too small for a full English breakfast, but it could certainly have held eggs, bacon, and toast.
Just down the street from the Castle Mall in Norwich I passed a place calling itself a "medispa", and I, because I was walking back to my car instead of driving, I happened to notice that the door was open and that people were inside. I lucked out to be walking, because had I been driving, I would have assumed the place was closed, as virtually all salons are on Sunday and just kept going. Well, as it turned out, the salon would ordinarily have been closed, but the owner had recently taken over from the previous management, and she and her boyfriend and a friend were there doing some work on the place. I imagine since she had recently started her business, same as the therapist in Watford, she was eager for business, which is why she readily volunteered to take me right away. Excellent massage, very accomodating to my needs, and the third therapist in a row that was willing to employ the special technique that another therapist had inadvertently discovered a couple of years earlier. I went away thinking, "I hit the trifecta!" even though the analogy was technically not a good one.
I guess the jinx was in effect. Just a couple of days earlier the supervisor/manager in Hertford had asked me if any baristas ever denied me a sample. Well, I ran into one of the few examples at the Haymarket store. He gave me an excuse I'd heard just once before, that the sampling time had already passed by and I'd missed it. I was in a hurry to get to Great Yarmouth so I quickly pulled out money and asked for a shot, because for some reason I thought he was out of filter coffee. Once I realized I'd have to wait for my shot (other drinks in the queue), I looked behind him, noticed the filter, and asked for that instead. He then started giving me a hard time about that, saying I had ordered an espresso. I told him the prices were the same. He said I had already paid for the espresso. I told him I just needed to get out of there quickly so I could read Great Yarmouth in time! The customer behind me had no idea what was going on. The supervisor finally took the cup, but did not fill it. I had to ask him to fill it, and then for a lid. I'm sure he was as glad when I left as I was to leave that store.
Interestingly enough, security ignored my rather obvious photography at the Market Gates Shopping Centre in Great Yarmouth, perhaps because they had seen me talking with the supervisor, or perhaps because they were busy trying to get everybody out of the mall. While they Starbucks stayed open an hour later, security seemed keen to get everybody out of the halls (the shops had already shut).
Not good. As far as I can remember, every sty or pimple I've ever had has grown, then shrunk and disappeared. For some reason, this one on my eyelid had stopped shrinking and reversed course, getting not just bigger, but bigger than it had originally been, judging from the size of the whitehead. Not good.
Thought I smelled the magic donuts near the pedestrian mall outside the Market Gates Shopping Centre, in Great Yarmouth, but it must have been an olfactory hallucination triggered by the inexplicable and powerful lust that I felt for those donuts.
Happened again, lost track of where I was, thought for a moment I was in Canada. Reason was simple, listening to a To the Best of Our Knowldge story about a film about Winnipeg.
Replacement espresso mug from a highly enthusiastic and insistent manager.
Whew, another close call, at the Hub, arrived just a couple of minutes before the parking warden came by. That particular meter took a pound minimum, so I decided the Starbucks, right around the corner, was close enough to risk it.
Aw, poor doggie left all alone.
Something different in Peterborough, a stand selling something called "dinky donuts", in a bag of 10. They tasted pretty much like the larger heavenly donuts, just smaller.
FUCKERS!!! THEY ARE ON MY SKIN!!! THE BUGS!!! THE BUGS!!! I DON'T KNOW WHAT THEY ARE, BUT THEY ARE ATTACKING ME!!!
Ooh, a bonus! With just 28 stores left, I decided to look at the list and compare it to my map for discrepancies. I discovered that I had forgotten to label two stores, and I had mislabeled another with the old name. That meant I had just 25 left, plus Cheshunt.
After finding some distant parking (had to pay, but only 'til 5:00), I walked down into the Cambridge centre, found the extrmely busy store on Market Street, and immediately inquired about the closing times of the other stores. I then went on a blitz, to get them all before they closed, and I barely managed it, and only because a barista the Retail Park still had the espresso machine up and pulled me a shot. That store closed at 6:00, but I had been told 6:30.
Outside the Grand Arcade was a plaza where some youths were practicing feats of athleticism involving climbing up a sheer building wall.
Okay, if this isn't proof positive that I am wholly uninteresting to women, I don't know what is. A young woman passed in front of the Market Street Starbucks I was photographing, and suddenly a group of young men sitting at an outside table of a restaurant called out to her, asking if she was Spanish. She said no, Mexican, and they beckoned her over. She walked over and chatted with the a while. When she finally left them and walked past me I asked "Usted es del DF?" At that point, if I had been the slightest bit appealing to her, she would have stopped and asked where I was from. Instead, she just responded, "Si." and walked on. Not even the fact that I had a camera around my neck, just like she did, made a difference. So what was the difference between the other young men an me? They--reasonably attractive. Me--one ugly son of a bitch.
Still had the itch to find a sauna, but guess what. According to McCoy's, there are no saunas in Cambridge. That made two nights in a row I ended up in such a city, a fairly irritating development given that when I was not interested I was spotting saunas left and right.
7:20, pain in eye definitely lessened, but not gone.
Unusual coincidence. First store of the morning, Borehamwood, and I ran into the same manager that been at Harlequin Centre just the previous day.
Now that was a true asshole. Unlike my failing to see a sign, which was unintentional, this guy was being purposefully difficult. Around the corner from the Palmers Green store I wanted to park my car as close to his as possible without blocking either him, or the driveway. If he was going to be gone for more than 5 minutes, then it didn't matter if I blocked him, so I asked how long he would be. His response, in a clearly rude tone, "Who knows?" I said "I'm trying to avoid blocking you in." Rather thank thanking me or becoming cooperative, he said, dismissively, "I don't know. I'm not going anywhere." and walked off.
AARRGHH!!! MOTHERFUCKER!!! DIE!!! DIE!!! DIE!!! I paid my money for the parking and displaying my ticket, and yet when I returned to my car I had a penalty charge!!! I had already paid 3 charges, all legitimate, but this one was BOGUS!!! Now I was going to either be robbed of 30 pounds or waste a lot of time trying to deal with it. First bit of time wastage, driving up and down the road looking for a parking warden to see if I could get an explanation, because the ticket did not contain either a number to call or an address I could go to. Of course there's never one around when you need him, and I found nothing. Tried again after the Winchmore Hill store, nothing.
After visiting the Enfield store I spotted a uniformed man while returning to the car. He was not a parking warden, but he was nevertheless surprisingly willing to help me. He followed me to my car and took a look at the penalty charge. Finally he suggested that I go over to the Crown Road Car Park, and I headed over there. The agent there gave me a number to call, so I had to leave and find the nearest residential neighbor and do my creepy driving slowly thing that generally gets me odd looks from the residents. Found a wi-fi signal and made the call, and lady who answered asked me several questions about the ticket... and then told me she could not look at it because it had not yet been downloaded into their computers. Gee, thanks lady, for telling me that up front. She then instructed me to go back to the Crown Road Car Park, write a letter explaining the situation, and ask the attendant to make a copy of the parking ticket. So back I went, and, after several minutes, my hand was on fire. See, because I almost always type these days, have done so for years, my hand is no longer physically used to writing. I can run for miles, but any writing over a few sentences caused my hand to hurt quite a bit.
The agent at the car park seemed to think that my challege would succeed, but regardless the delays almost proved costly, because I only just barely made it to Hitchin. It was already near 5:00 when I arrived at Hertford, and I had them call over to Hitchin. 5:30 closing--nuts!!! No way was I going to make it, but I quickly downed my coffee (ouch, it was hot), took shots from several angles (it was an unusually pretty store) and sprinted back to my car. Traffic and wrong turns cost me 10 minutes I'm sure, but amazingly I made it to the store, nearly 20 minutes after closing, before the espresso machine had been taken down. The manager did not know to expect me (I though the barista from Hertford was going to let her know), but she still cooperated with a shot, thus saving me from having to go back to Hitchin later.
Holy cow!!! I almost missed a store, Cheshunt, because it does not appear to be listed on the Starbucks website. By some amazing freaky good luck I stuck around Hertford long enough to chat a bit with the manager/supervisor, and she just happened to ask which other stores in the area I had visited. She specifically asked about Cheshunt, and the name did not seen familiar. I quickly looked at my map, and list, and the store was not there. I then looked at the list from the support center, and there it was. Thing is, after I removed 49 licensed stores from my database, 703 had been left, compared to 704 in the list from the support center. I worried about the discrepancy, but I did not want to take the time to compare 700 listings until I returned to America. I guess I should have, and I'm lucky that manager/supervisor alerted me--she really saved my ass.
Uh-oh. The fraying near my crotch finally turned into an actual hole. Bear in mind I bought these jeans not long before my trip--they were my newest pair. But I swear there has got to be a correlation between the closure of the last Levi factor in America and the declining quality of the 501s that I am psychologically compelled to keep buying. Anyway, as long as there were still several piueces of thread covering up the hole, I was okay walking around commando, which I usually do for a couple of days fter a shower, to keep my briefs from getting stinky as long as possible. But now, with a hole, I was going to have to be more careful lest I end up having to try to convince a judge that Levis is to blame for my indecent exposure.
After seeing saunas left and right but having no desire for anything more than a shower and genuine massage, I finally had the urge for something more. Except, I was in the wrong place. Milton Keynes, borough and "new city" , is very unusual, not like other English cities at all. It is actually planned, and follows a grid system, like American cities that are not extremely old. As I drove around, I did not expect to find a sauna, and I wasn't even sure I'd find some local food still open, so I drove over to Bedford. There was a sauna there, unusual because its entrance was actually on the roof of the building, but after glancing at the women in the lounge, I found not a one appealing. Smiling lessons, anybody?
Spotted the first fully Mexican restaurant I had seen, by which I mean one that just served Mexican food, and not a combo of Mexico and others, La Casa de Tequila. After making various inquiries of the manager, I ordered the chimichanga. A few minutes after leaving with my order, I returned, because the meal had include just the rice, but no beans--very unusual. The manager was conciliatory and quickly brought me some beans at no charge. I appreciated the generosity, but I still can't say it was a very good meal. Not awful, and certainly edible, but far from what I would expect from even a mediocre restaurant run by real Mexicans.
I spent the night in Bedford, but I had actually an offer of a place to crash in a town near Milton Keynes, called Leighton Buzzard. An older lady, Patricia, had e-mailed me after reading the WSJ article and sent me very enthusiastic e-mails offering me the couch and even a meal. Unfortunately, I had not heard from her during the course of my trip, and I had to assume that she had read something in my blog that caused her to rescind her offer. Yes, I might have been assuming too much, and I could have contacted her at any time, but I frankly preferred to sleep in my car than to suffer rejection. In fact, that very morning, or perhaps a day or two earlier, I had heard a report on NPR that included the fact that rejecting affects brain chemistry differently than acceptance. The whole report was actually about scientific method, but I agreed with the assertion that was mentioned. I think it is mentally safer to avoid rejection even if it means missing out on opportunities. Unfortunately, because of the nature of my project, specifically the sheer number of stores, and my need to obtain directions and store opening dates, I have to expose myself to rejection, from baristas, over and over again, many times a day. Sometimes I just want an unlimited Starbucks card so that I would never have to talk to another barista about my project again.
2:55, woke up and drove down into the city. In all my previous visits to London, I had never had a chance to drive around in the middle of the night. In fact, I had never been able to walk around in the late hours because I wasn't aware of, or didn't want to figure out, the night buses so I could get back to the hostel. Afterwards, rather that heading back in the direction of Edgware, I decided to get close to the Camden Lock Keepers Cottage store so I could rephotograph it in the morning. I'd been praising the store for years, but I was never happy with the photos.
7:13, headed over to Lock Keepers Cottage, and after taking some photos I went in to see if all the special features I'd been recounting were actually there. Right away I noticed that the big map of London appeared to be missing. I pointed this out to the barista, and she led me over to the next room where the map was there on the wall. Boy, my memory sucks, because I distinctly remembered that map's being right on the wall next to the door. In fact, the caption I wrote reads: "On a wall across from the bar is a large photographic map of London." I also wrote about a map of London's canal system, and for years I've been touting that as a cool feature of the store, but that particular map was nowhere to be seen. Neither of the two baristas remembered it, but I could see on the wall the remains of the hook that might have held the map. I'm not demented, darn it!
Actually, before I got out of the car, I did an eye-check, and I saw that the bump now had what appeared to be a whitehead. It appeared it was a pimple, although I had never had a pimple right at the underedge of my eyelid before. On the one hand, if it was a pimple, it was good news because it would go away by itself. On the other hand, it was troublesome that I was getting a pimple in a place where I'd never had a pimple before.
Finally, with my photograph of Muswell Hill, I finished up the last of the stores I had visited in 1999 but not photographed, with the lone exception being the original Manchester airport store that closed down. Not only will I never get a photo, but since I never actually went through security to the store, I've decided to take it out of my total even though I had the coffee.
As I drove away from Muswell Hill I spotted the Cherry Tree Cafe, and its name name served as the catalyst for the breakfast craving I had already been experiencing. Furthermore, I was bound and determined to find a cafe that served scrambled eggs fried like the Americans do it. No luck there, had to settle for sunny-side-up, but the hunt will continue!!!
Well, that was an amusing coincidence. Visited the Temple Fortune store and ran into the same manager from the Loughton store that had close down. Glad he was able to get another position.
Minor drama in Edgware. I drove along Station Road, saw the Starbucks, and began looking for parking. I saw a side street next to the Starbucks, and when I looked down the street but did not see any one-way indications. Even when I turned and saw that the lane was a bit narrow for two cars, I was not sure that it was one way. Nevertheless I move as far to the right as I could so the other car could get past me. I could not back up, because of course the car behind me had immediately moved up right behind me. Now the other driver had plenty of room behind her to back up so I could better move out of her way, but instead of doing this she started calling me an asshole over and over. Road rage. Yes, it was my fault for not seeing the sign, but she was completely out of line for not trying to simply resolve the situation and let me get out of her way but instead becoming belligerent and abusive. If I knew who she was, I'd definitely add her to my list of people who need to die.
Greater tragedy still--some poor soul lost her balloons.
Traffic on the road leading to the High Street in St. Albans was crazy backed up. 6:00 PM, probably closing time, was fast approaching, so when I approached the intersection I decided I'd better put the car in the loading zone and hope the store was right around the corner like AutoRoute indicated. It was, but I had to wait an agonizingly long time for the light to change so cars would move out of my frame. I had just a few second to get off a few frames, and then I moved to another angle. At that point the man who had been sitting in front of the store, then gotten up and walked in, suddenly came back out and started staring in my direction. I continued my business, and when I finished my photographing I walked across the street towards the store. As I was about to go in the man said something like "I know you work for them," and then something about my having been very rude. I tried to have a rational conversation with him and explain that I cannot take the time to ask everybody who might pass in front of my frame for permission for a photo--that's ridiculously impractical. He continued on, but without really explaining his point of view, and then he went on about how the staff at Starbucks had dismissed him and treated him rudely. I had no idea what he was talking about, and I said I did not work for Starbucks. He said, curltly, "then you shouldn't wear there shirt." At that point I started to suspect there might be something wrong with this man. I continued to try to explain my position, but he cut me off and said I would never understand his point (he never explained it), and he sat down and said "This conversation is over!"
I went into the store, told the supervisor who I was, and then I asked if the man outside was mentally ill. And of course, both of the baristas did exactly what they shouldn't have done, they looked right at the man!!! Geez, Louise, hasn't anybody heard of discretion. I quickly told them not to look at him, and had to repeat myself twice because they kept glancing over. The supervisor then answered that yes, he was one of two mentally ill two hanged around the store, and that this one was always asking out the baristas.
Oich!!! Three of four stores about to close, necessitating three shots of espresso, not so great late in the day. Even worse, I had to pay for one of the shots, because even though the supervisor seemed to agree when I asked for the sample, he then proceeded to ring me up. I had already asked, and been told, that Chiswell Green was probably closing at 7:00, so I was in a hurry and did not want to get into an awkward conversation, so I just pulled out the ol' Starbucks card. Plus, with just 50 stores left, and barely $25 spent on coffee, I was no longer so worried about putting a dent in my budget by paying at all the stores. Still, it was annoying to pay for espresso I didn't even want--I've pretty much lost my taste for it and really just want filter coffee.
8:31 PM, I'm parked on a residential street picking up a wi-fi signal, and a car drives past me with Depeche Mode's "Personal Jesus" playing. I cannot say that this detail has the slightest bit of importance.
Those shots of espresso late in the day had the effect of filling my night with wild and crazy dreams. In one, I arrived at the Israeli border with superpowers and the intention of using those powers to stop the Israelis' mistreatment of the Palestinians. I know what that dream is about, clearly stemming out of my desire to fix this world. But in another, I had one of my worst Starbucks experiences ever when I was hung up on twice after calling to get the directions to the store, and then, when I finally found it, I was given a hot dog instead of the cheeseburger I had ordered. No idea what that means--it's just weird. Maybe it means you shouldn't go to Starbucks to order a hot dog?
6:40, first thing I did was to check my left eye again, as I had been doing all of Tuesday, to try and see if it was a sty that was causing the pain I'd been feeling since the morning. It had gotten worse all day, and I really wanted to see the sty so I could at least know it would go away eventually. Nothing was visible on Tuesday, however, and on Wednesday I noticed my first clue about the pain, and it was a bit disturbing. My left upper eyelid appeared to be swollen, and possibly slightly discolored, though I wasn't sure about that. When I lifted the eyelid, I thought I saw a bit of a bump, but, again, I wasn't sure.
In Chesham I could see the store down the pedestrianized portion of the High Street, but all the parking space was taking up by a taxi rank plus one car on the double-yellow line. I had already seen a parking warden inspecting cars in a car park, and I had doubts that I could rush to the store and back quickly enough if there was a line, or if the supervisor was occupied. I decided to check out the car park, and I was about to have an internal debated about whether I wanted to pay 50 pence given that it was good for an hour and I only needed 10 minutes. Then it occurred to me to ask the warden if there was any kind of grace period, like 10 minutes or such. He said once he logged my car in I'd have a 5-minute "observation period". Well, that seemed good enough for me, and I drove all the way to back of the lot, to a spot that happened to be far away from the warden and also close to an alley that led to the High Street. In the store I faced a couple of delays, first spilling my coffee, then an overwhelming need to kiwi, and finally a chat with a gentleman who had heard me on the BBC, but I made it to the car in time.
After waffling back and forth, debating the pros and cons of visiting the Chimes stores in Uxbridge by car or waiting until I returned the car and visiting by tube, I finally decided to head out there. Found parking that seemed legal, if I read the sign correctly, in a neighborhood about 5-10 minutes away, and then after asking a couple of pedestrians, I located the centre. When I saw that both the inline store and its sister kiosk were right at the outside, facing the pedestrian mall, I figured I would have no trouble with security. They had run out of filters, so I had to pop shots from each store, and thus I was extra wired when the fun began. Don't know how I was spotted, if by the cleaning man perhaps, but regardless at some point during my wait for a clear shot I could see a woman with a blue uniform top and a radio looking at me. When I finally got that clear shot I fired off a couple of dozen frames and scrunched down on a knee to review the photos. Next thing I knew the woman was coming towards me, and she asked if I had permission to photograph. I, sternly but politely, told her that I was on public property and could photograph all day if I wanted to. She said she did not think that was correct, and I replied that she was free to consult the police if she wanted. I added that I had already spoken to a police officer (the first day I arrived in London, when he was interrogating the woman outside Chiswick Park) and been told it is not illegal to photograph buildings. We went back and forth, and the woman finally said she would consult with her boss and walked off. A man standing near me, overhearing, said "well done." Another man had been listening on intently, and I commented to both of them, "I have to deal with this every day." Proceeded to chat with the man about what I was doing, and he went on to ask if I had any plans to monetize my site. I said no, that I just hoped to still get a book deal or reality show, and the man asked for my contact information.
And sometimes it's me. After asking a bajillion people and wondering how it was that nobody knew where St. Stephen's Centre is, I turned my computer back on and realized the store in Harrow is in St. George's Centre! Doh!
Meanwhile, besides the left eye pain, I was looking at two welts on my right side just above the hip. Bedbugs were of course fresh on the brain after my London experience, but they could just as easily be mosquito bites, and I could not rule out the possibility that mosquitos either got in my car or got me while I was standing still taking a photo. Either way, they itched my a mother.
Also, I had noticed a couple of times that I was experiencing itching all over my body after drinking lots of coffee quickly. I had experience this before, on previous Starbucking trips, that too much coffee made me itch. But again I had doubts, and seeing the clouds of insects, mosquitos, gnats, at various points around the country, made me think I was getting bitten. I had discovered the bugs in my car on a couple of occasions, and at least once I found a bug on my finger in the process of stining before I got it off.
In fact as I write this I can see a bug crawling on my LCD screen. No idea what it is, or how it got there.
Finally, after four weeks of inquiring at beauty salons, I found one that had an immediate availability and a shower.
Yep, I was right. I finally pulled up my Scrabble tournament record and confirmed what I had been suspecting, that the six weeks since my last event was the longest time I had gone without a tournament since I started playing.
Pretty good oxtails from Heritage Inn Caribbean Retaurant.
Finally booked my flight out of the UK, to Prague.
Good news, kind of. Finally saw a definitive bump on my eye. Not sure if it was actually a sty, but at least it was something I could see.
6:48, right on time, except the store did not open 'til 7:30. Bah.
A week earlier, I had been contacted by someone wanting an interview when I visited Basingstoke. When I contacted him on Monday, he said he would be tied up for three days, but he asked me to report on how I found the two Basingstoke stores. Had he given me a heads up about the awkward placement of the stores, I might not have had such an annoying experience.
Though I quickly spotted signs for Festival Place, I saw no indications of something called Old Basing Mall. When I saw a place to stop the car on a side street, right next to the entrance to Debenhams, I decided to try and find out from a pedestrian where in the seemingly huge centre the Starbucks is located. Fortunately for my budget, I spotted a parking warden right away, and I managed to avoid a ticket and also find out, despite his poor and heavily accented English, that the Starbucks was way on the other side of the mall.
I pulled back out on the the one-way road and immediately pulled off onto the next street, to ask about Old Basing Mall. The first lady I asked knew nothing. I continued on, still looking for some kind of free parking, and I instead spotted a beauty spa and went into inquire about an appointment. The therapist from Leamington Spa barely had time for half an hour, and I left wanting more.
I followed the ring around and made a couple of awkward turns until I decided to try the Alecon Link car park, which is what the parking warden had suggested. I was pretty sure that it wasn't going to work for me because I had to go up a ramp several levels, but nevertheless I parked the car and rushed down to see if the centre, The Malls, was the one with the other Starbucks. downstairs I spotted a sign that actually read "Old Basing Mall", and a second later I spotted the Starbucks down the walkway I sprinted over, and right across the walkway were two security guards wearing uniforms that at first sight made them look like police (sneaky bastards). I tried to get the coffee out of the way, but even though a barista had heard of my story, there was no coffee brewed. I couldn't risk waiting, and I had to go back up to my car to find some other place to park.
The Old Basing Mall was right next to Festival Place, and the Starbucks baristas had told me the other store was not far from the entry doors, so it would have made sense to pay the 90 pence for the parking to visit those two stores, if not for one thing. The car park was a maze. I had had to go up several ramps and make several turns to get in, and getting out was even trickier. I could not risk parking there in case I caught the attention of the security guards and had to bolt. No, I needed to park well outside the centre.
Problem was, as soon as I left the car park I totally lost track of where the centre had been. I could not see anything that looked like a pedestrian entrance. I finally had to give up that search and just take a look at this other car park to see how much it was. 70 pence for the hour, and far enough away that security wasn't going to follow me all the way there. I put in my coins and hurried away, having no idea of how long it would take to locate the entrance and then navigate to both stores.
The first walkway I took was wrong. I asked a couple halfway up the ramp, and then pointed me in a different direction. I walked a couple of minutes, never seeing an entrance for the Old Basing Mall, until I finally saw an entrance, to Festival Place. So I went ahead and visited that store first, and I make a specific point of noticing that security was wearing different uniforms than over at the other mall. Their shirts were bright purple, my favorite color, but I still hated them, just as I hate all security, and all police. Anyway, since they were two different security companies, I decided I could go ahead and photograph the Festival Place store and then head over to Old Basing Mall. When I finished and took the escalator down to ground level, I could see a serious-looking guard heading in my direction. She did not look at me, though.
When I reached the other store a few minutes later, security had moved away. I soon faced another problem, however. I chatted with the baristas a bit too long, and just when I decided to go outside to take the photo, it started to rain. I was able to take refuge under the Tesco awning, but I was not able to position myself to take a photo at the right moment, when my frame was clear of people. Worse, the rain intensified, I had to sprint back to the car with my shirt pulled up over my camera. I had, of course, not brought my backpack so that I could run faster if I had to get away from security--ironic that my backpack would have helped me against the rain.
The real wackiness in Basingstoke occurred a bit later, though. I went back to that beauty salon to see if the busty Venezuelan receptionist had gotten ahold of the therapist. She had not, but the other receptionist offered to call again, and I figured since I was there I might as well wait a minute. No answer from the therapist. I was about to leave when she called back and said she could be there in 10 minutes. Good enough, so I went back to my car and moved it into the car park across the street, and I waited until I saw her arrive and enter the salon before obtaining the parking ticket, for an hour. I was only expecting to ask for a 30-minute massage, but if I was really good I might extend it, and I knew that parking warden was walking about.
I went into the salon, greeted the therapist, Jilly, and she led me up to the room. I told her I wanted a 30-minute massage, and, as I had said to every other therapist that trip, I asked her to focus on my lower back, glutes, and legs. She said that was fine as we walked into the room, and I waited a moment for her to leave so I could change, as American massage therapists almost always do. When she did not leave, I started to undress, at which point she walked over to a car and grabbed a towel for me to cover myself. Unusual that the towel was not already on the table, actually. She said she would give me a couple of minutes, and she walked out. I waited on the table for more than a few minutes wondering where she had gone, and at the same time I noticed, through the window, that parking warden walking along the sidewalk down below. Better not go over time, I thought, and then I heard footsteps up the stairs, and the door slid open. Wasn't Jilly, though, but a young man who said "go out now please"? I didn't quite understand him at first, and he repeated himself and walked out. I had little choice but to get dressed, walk downstairs, and ask what the problem was. He started to speak, then asked me if I spoke Spanish, and we continued the discussion in that language. He said the therapist had claimed I had asked for an erotic massage and left in a hurry. I had done nothing of the sort, I replied, and I told him exactly what I had told the therapist, the same thing I had told other therapists around the country. I was puzzled why the therapist had reacted as the did, the first such reaction I had ever experienced, and as I left I was a little upset with her, because now that man, the receptionists, and perhaps that other customer in the shop would be thinking I had asked for something improper. Later on I decided I wanted to call the owner and complain, but I had neglected to make a not of the name of the salon, and when I googled I saw nothing that looked familiar, even when I added in the two possible street names to narrow down the search.
Actually, there was one more thing, something I couldn't really explain to the young man. It wasn't so much something I had done, as something a part of my body had done, something that was completely out of my control. If the therapist had left the room right away so I could change, it wouldn't have been an issue. Regardless, I would think a massage therapist in her 50s (my guess) would be experienced enough not to be offended by a man's manliness.
Next stop, the Sainsbury's in Reading, where I had a much more pleasant experience, a very friendly DM who wanted a photo of me and gave me useful info about the other four stores in town. Of course, you don't always get the best info from locals. She said she was sure I wouldn't find free parking, but just a quarter mile, maybe less, from the Oracle and Queen Street car parks was a two-hour space.
Oracle thus turned out to be relatively easy. One store was outside, riverside, and no security seemed to paying attention, and for the other one I was able to get a halfway decent shot (not exactly what I wanted, because the mall was just too crowded).
When I walked into the King Street store I noticed a customer watching The Wire on his laptop. I had to tap him on the shoulder and express my approval, saying that I considered The Wire to be the best show ever. Well, let's call it the best cop show ever, as I consider Lost the best show of all time.
Decoy chocolate at the Sainsbury's in Taplow, purchased just so I could scope out the security-looking man standing near the Starucks. Turns out he wasn't security, but he still looked like a manager, so I didn't quick get the shot I wanted.
Amazing! I managed to pop fifteen coochies (visit 15 stores) because, surprisingly, High Wycombe and Beaconsfield Sainsbury's were both open 'til 8:00, plus there was the MSA (motorway service area) store, open 'til 11:00, to boot.
Checked out an Indian place again, still wanting to try dahl, but this one happened to be in what appeared to be a ritzy part of Beaconsfield, and the prices were higher than what I had seen at all the other Indian restaurants. No egg fried rice on the menu, and even the nan was expensive. I passed and went for a cheap burger and chips from a food truck. I chatted with the owner, and I guess he must like Americans, because he offered to throw in a Pepsi. Dang, I had already bought a soda from the convenience store, and I had no way to keep it cool.
Unexpected good luck, a random find of a 1 hour free parking space not that far from the two Leicester city centre stores.
Unexpected bad luck, some sort of maintenance issue at the High Cross Shopping Centre (NOT "THE SHIRES", AS INCORRECTLY STATED ON THE STARBUCKS WEB SITE). The Starbucks is in the section of the centre that was affected, and though the gentleman at the information desk seeemed to think it would open, he could not give me a time. I had little choice but to wait, as long as I had free parking. I mean, I'd waited for stores to open on Sunday mornings at 10:00, 11:00 AM sometimes--this was hardly different.
Along the pedestrian mall next to High Cross is a building that includes in its architecture thick columns supported by a sort of wall elevated about 6 feet. As I passed a section of that wall, I saw a homeless man hurriedly trying to put his blanket into his large duffel bag, presumably before the policeman that was behind me noticed him. He was too late, and the policeman proceeded to walk over to the man and have words with him.
With an unspecified amount of time to kill, hopefully not more than 30 minutes, I figured I might as well find a proper breakfast. I found a the Titanic Cafe & Restaurant a few minutes away, and as usual I asked the cook if the scrambled eggs were fried or microwaved. Nope, not fried. I tried to ask why the scrambled eggs were not fried here in Britain, but it was clear the cook did not understand my question, and furthermore he gave me a wide-eyed look as if I were a crazy person, asking something ridiculous. Dude, come on. I'm all in favor of multiple languages, but why can't these people (immigrants, from wherever) learn to understand English well if they are going to run a business. It's not a difficult sentence, "Why don't the British fry the scrambled eggs?". But I might be assuming too much. It might not have been a language issue at all. Maybe it was a cultural issue, that he couldn't wrap his head around the fact that I might be asking him about the process of making the food. Or maybe he was just unintelligent.
From Titanic I of course rushed off to the Markes & Spencer for some fresh-squeeze oj, and, as a bonus, that location had a bakery that made the good scones. Finally, after nearly six weeks, I was able to enjoy a scone with bacon and eggs, something I'd been dreaming about.
You know you reallt need a girlfriend when... this image causes you to stop and gaze longingly.
Almost got a massage in Nuneaton, but, after wasting 45 minutes waiting, I ran into the first therapist who said she did not work the glutes. In fact, she said she wasn't allowed, that it was against the law. I found this dubious, and later on in Leamington Spa I asked at another salon and was told this was doubtful. That therapist seemed to dismiss the other therapists concern and said she had no problem with glutes. She did not have any appointments left, however.
Finally got the Royal Priors store that I'd had to skip because it was being remodeled when I passed through. Down the street I inquired at another place called simpluy Health Spa, and a therapist happened to be available immediately. Like the therapist in Nuneaton, she said the salon did not massage men's glutes, but she said "usually", and once I got on the table she ended up massaging quite a bit of my butt anyway.
When I first walked in and inquired about an appointment, I started to look at the price list, but as soon as the receptionist told me of the immediate availability I went to find a real parking space for my car and forgot about the prices. I had gotten so used to seeing half hour massages for as low as 12 pounds, typically no more than 20, in all these small towns, that I was stunned when it turned out to be 27.50. It's not that the price was that high--I had just gotten used to seeing the lower prices. Anyway, it was a great massage, worth the price. So far the UK was acquitting itself rather favorably from a massage perspective.
Nuts. The mornings delays, plus the massage, proved costly, as I was not able to visit the second Oxford store before it closed at 6:00, and this meant I could not drive down to Newbury, which would have been a good way to kill an hour or two. Actually, it was the stupid aborted massage in Nuneaton that really cost me the time, nearly an hour when you count the delay trying to get on the correct highway out of town.
Very surprised to find that the two Starbucks in Oxford are not right in the town centre, on the High Street. Instead they are a couple of miles away in the Summertown and Headington neighborhoods.
Oops, scratch that last statement! There are actually three stores in the city centre, and the reason they were not on my map is because I visited them in 2005. I actually needed to go back and take day photos, but I had completely forgotten. I would have left Oxford without the photos and later cursed myself, had it not been for the two women having a conversation on the seats near mine. As I worked and overheard them speak, I thought to myself that the English accent is so much more pleasant to listen to than the American. Finally, as the store was closing, I figured I might as well say something, and they women actually proceeded to chat with me for a while. During the course of the discussion I commented that I was surprised there were no Starbucks in the town centre, and one of the woman, the Romanian via Sweden now British, told me there was. I quickly looked at my database, puzzled a bit, and then realized why the stores weren't on my map. I quickly packed up my things and rushed off so I could take those photos while there was still light.
On the way back to my car in the city centre I spotted a sign for The Mission, and I made a quick detour to see what the menu was like. Ah, burritos, and the way I like them. Thus I had my first burrito ever in the UK, and it was actually pretty good.
Headed up to the Headington store for a photo, and then over to the Shell station for some gas. The attendant, dark-skinned, perhaps Indian, asked me for ID. That was the umpteenth gas purcahse of my trip, and the first time I had been asked for ID, and so of course I asked the cashier why. Let me make it clear that I expected the cashier to misunderstand my question, and so I slowly, politely, and deliberately explained that that was the first time I'd been asking for ID after all those weeks in the UK. I then asked if the neighborhood was dangerous, and I explained that back in America the gas stations usually asked for ID only in dangerous or low-income areas. A customer in line kind of smiled and seemed surprised and said that no, Headington was a very safe area. The cashier, on the other hand, seemed indignant and copped an attitude, saying repeatedly "This is the UK. This is not America." When a person says that with that tone the intent is clear, that the visitor with his foreign expectations is not welcome. It was a pretty asshole thing to say, and after I came out of the bathroom I asked the other cashier where he was from. Sri Lanka, not India. I don't know anything about Sri Lankans, including whether they tend to be prejudiced against Africans or people who look like they might be African (like me).
Huncho Huancho
SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT!!! I was parked in front of driveway so I could get wi-fi, and after about 30 or 45 minutes, when I saw a car stop a bit behind me and stay there, I worried that I might be blocking the driver, and I lowered the window to see if he was calling out to me. He wasn't, but those few seconds were all it took for my car to be invaded by one or more bugs, which I could only detected because they were attracted ot my LCD screen. Don't know if I killed the one or two I saw, but I knew that I would go to sleep worrying about bites. Since I'd been sleeping in the car I'd discovered two welts, both in the last week, and I had to when I had been bitten, and by what. Scary stuff, man, after my traumatic bedbug experience.
7:15, headed up to the Park Inn to wait for the health club to open. A long, long shower with much, much scrubbing. I felt so much better when I left, not so much like a caveman.
Whew!!! Beat the parking demons in Nottingham by minutes. Kind of. I avoided a ticket and moved around the corner, into a taxi rank, where I found a wi-fi signal, but after a few minutes the wardens came around the corner and told me I could not park there. Later on I found another wi-fi signal, still trying to download podcasts and upload photos, and I was again interrupted and told I couldn't park there. AARRGHH!!!
Finally got a clue as to why stores have such limited hours on Sundays here in Britain, when I heard a message over the loudspeaker at Sainsbury's about "Sunday trading laws." I asked an employee and was told that businesses can only operate for six hours (in England? the entire UK?). Well, that explains a lot. Still, it's a wack law.
The day's annoyances began in Derby, when I discovered that there is no such thing as the Eagle Centre. There's an Eagle Market, but that's not where the Starbucks are. Nope, they are in the Westfield Riverside shopping centre. That was of course a de facto annoyance, for the usual reasons of having to find the store, having to duck security, having to go off and find free parking (illegal) to avoid the minimum 1.60 fee. I found a really awkward place, and I had to rush to the mall, exactly what I didn't want to do so soon after having finally showered. Finally, the mall was already crazy busy at that relatively early hour, and there was no chance of getting decent photos, not with the way the mall was crawling with customers and security. Bah.
Next, a true fiasco, Kilburn. This one wasn't all Starbucks' fault. The first part of the post code from the website, NW6 5TF, is correct, but AutoRoute could not find the entire code and this tried for the city, Kilburn. Well, there is a Kilburn in Derbyshire, as well as a Kilburn in London. If the city had been listed as London, I would have been fine, but instead I lost at least an hour driving up to Kilburn from Derby, looking for the Starucks, and finally finding a pedestrian who happened to be a truck driver and knew that there is a Kilburn High Road in London. Grrr...
Further irritation, at MSA store this time. The manager was doing an interview, so I just waited in line, asked for a sample cup, and then told the barista that that was all the coffee I wanted. Sometimes they just fill the sample and let me have it, but this one went over and asked the manager, who told her to charge 1.35. Fine, but if I had to pay, I hoped to get out of there quickly. Unfortunately, I needed to know about Tamworth, Snowdome, whether it was licensed. None of the baristas knew, so I had to interrupt the manager, and she did not know either. She made some calls and got me the answer, and I was about to leave when I remembered to ask when the store opened. At this point she remembered having heard about me and guessed that I was the Starbucks traveller. She quickly decided she wanted a photo, and thus I ended up having to pay for the coffee and spend extra time.
While I waited for her to go get the camera, a young woman wearing a top that looked vaguely pajama-ish broke away from her group and walked over to the Starbucks. She stopped a couple of feet from me and looked over towards the menu, and I took the opportunity to say hello. She replied, "hello", but the way she looked at me it was as if I were some annoyance, like a buzzing fly. She had no interest whatsoever in my greeting. I was a non-entity to her.
I was initially headed to Nuneaton next, but shortly after getting back on the A38 I took a look at my map again and decided on a very different route that would take me to Leicester first and then towards the towns west of London outside the M25, towns which I had originally planned to do at the very end of my car tour. Eyeballing the map again, however, it looked like I could follow a more efficient route by heading down there first, then around the M25, and then back out towards Milton Keynes.
Expected, hoped, the two stores in central Leicester to be open 'til 6:00 at least, but I was told the Gallowtree Gate store closed at 4:00. Because of that, I hung out that Thurmaston until they shut. I got a good photo for it, but later on I'd learn that Gallowtree actually closed at 5:00. I could have made it. However, since I couldn't have visited the other store, it didn't really matter.
I was happy anyway to have a chance to search for something different in the way of food. I really had Mexican on the brain (as a substitute for Latin American), and after passing countless Indian and other Asian restaurants, I spotted a place that advertised Mexican food. When I saw them on the menu, I had a sudden craving for chimichangas. I wasn't a big fan of those, but just like Mexican serves as a substitute for Latin American, chimichangas were a substitute for flautas.
Just like every time I order Mexican back in the States, I had to ask if the chicken came premixed with sauces and vegetables, which oftain contain peppers and onions, which I don't like. In America, however, posing this question is easier because I'm almost always speaking in Spanish. No such luck here--the cook/proprietor was from somewhere else, and it took a bit of doing to make myself understood. I finally got my answer, and as I feared, it was so, and thus I had to turn and go.
Clear on the other side of town, I passed another restaurant promising Mexican food, and I had just as much trouble communicating my inquiry as I did at the first place. This time there was a young woman who spoke excellent English working the register, and she tried to communicate my inquiry to the cook (though she didn't quite understand herself what I was asking). After some back and forth, I got my answer. Though the cook prepared the chicken himself instead of using a mix, he still used onions and peppers. Oh, well, I thought, as I left. It's probably for the best that avoided trying Mexican food from non-Mexican, non-Spanish-speaking cooks, in a country far, far from Mexico.
So after all that wandering around, I finally ended up going for fried rice again, except from the Indian restaurant. I wanted a dish with lentils for some reason, but the cheapest one, along with the naan that I must have with every Indian meal, was more than I wanted to spend given that I would likely have to throw away half the meal. I wanted to try the dahl soup along with the meal, but the host said I couldn't eat dahl soup with rice and nan, because the soup was too liquidy. I didn't quite understand that.
Figures. After checking out a bunch of saunas over the last week, as I sought a shower, I kept passing because, relative to the price and the time, the girl had to be really attractive to me to make the total cost worthwhile. Well, there happened to be no fewer than four saunas along Narborough Road, and at one of them the price was just low enough, and the personality of the girl I spoke to interesting enough to entice me. Except I'd already had a shower earlier, at the Park Inn, and I couldn't justify the expense on the basis of needing a shower. Had it been cheaper, I could have justified it on the basis of wanting a massage, even if it wouldn't be the best. But given the price, 37 pounds minimum, I would have to wait until I needed the shower more.
Odd moment in Leicester, on Narborough Road. I finished my egg fried rice and nan and drove off in search of wi-fi. I made a right turn, and for a moment I forgot that I was in England, because of all the Indian and other ethnic restaurants I'd seen plus all the dark-skinned pedestrians.
6:56, rushed down into the city centre to photograph the three stores there while it was quiet.
Headed to the rendevouz point about a minute late, and a second later Angela and her friend pulled up a few seconds after me, and I was, flatly, stunned when I saw Angela through the window. She was drop-dread gorgeous. I instantly felt self conscious about the fact that I hadn't showered in over a week and was undoubtedly beyond funky.
We found parking and headed into town, wondering where we would find a quiet place for an interview. As luck would have it, the first Starbucks we went into had no customers and had a small room that was perfect. The baristas were even cool enough to turn down the volume (I don't think Angela told them she was going to record).
At Orchard Square I was actually hoping that a security guard would spot me photographing so Angela could get a shot of me running from him, but he never showed. Hows about that? When I finally want a guard, he's not there!
No scones at Greggs on Fargate... BOOOOO!!!
We went back to the other store where Angela asked me more questions until our parking time was up, and we headed back to the car. Before we left, she had me do a tour of the car and point out how I lived in it. The parking warden came by while I was describing my sock airing, and she overheard. A couple of minutes later, when we pulled out and turned around, she called from the sidewalk, "You should wash your socks." Then she called them "disgusting", and she told Angela, "you should get yourself a new bloke." Now that is a haughty bitch if I ever saw one (and she's a parking warden, probably uneducated, at that).
High drama in Meadowhall... or was it all in my mind? Because Meadowhall has three Starbucks, and because I was with the filmmaker, I had to form a more complex plan. I had to visit all three store and drink the coffee from each. Then I needed to take a quick photo of each store, and then I needed to back each store to try for a better photo, with fewer people.
Finally got to try that Spanish tapas chain, Tasca, courtesy of Angela. Even though she was treating, she got lucky, because I could only eat a little, just two portions instead of the 4+ suggested by the menu.
Angela decided she had enough footage and headed back to Manchester instead of coming to Doncaster. After that, I headed down to Manshield, and I hadn't even pulled into the outlet centre when my mouth started watering at the prospect of the heavenly donuts that I'd come to associate with these type of outdoor centres. From clear across the parking lot I saw the stand, and once I got close enough to read "DONUTS", I excitement grew to the point that I nearly provided my own cream filling for the donuts. Starbucks be damned, I rushed for the donuts first, and weight-loss be damned, I ordered seven of them. When I took that first scrumptious bite, my reacting was akin to this (advance to minute 4:00).
I can't believe I ate six of them at one shot. That's just obscene, and dangerous to my gut. I had been doing so well, certainly having taken nearly an inch off, and in an instant all that walking around was for naught. But I didn't care, the donuts were so good. It was like bareback sex. You know you can catch a disease, but it feels so good. In the case of the donuts, I might in fact have caught a disease. Shortly after plowing through those six I started to feel itching all over my body. I had to wonder, is it possible that an overdose of fat and sugar can cause an allergic reaction?
Anybody care to guess what happens when you consume 10 4-oz coffes plus a shot of espresso and then eat six donuts? Hint--it starts with S and rhymes with "borg".
Incidentally, the young woman at the donut stand reminded me of the woman that had filled up my bag back in Wales. I asked if she was Romanian, and she was. We chatted, and I learned that it was not a coincidence. The owner, Andrea Mattia, does in fact hire a lot of Romanians, and Polish too.
Oh curse my deteriorating memory. There's something I've been wanting to look up on the Internet for days, maybe weeks. I was just thinking about it in the car, on the approach to Mansfield, hoping they would have BTZone. Well, they do, but I CAN'T REMEMBER WHAT TO LOOK UP!!!
Arrived in Nottingham and immediately began the sauna hunt, in the hopes of finding that satisfactory shower and massage deal. But I guess these places go out of business quickly, because the first two I stopped at did not appear to be there. The third address was a charm--well, not really. It was there, but I did not like the price. On the way to the fourth I passed the same street where I had looked for the first, and from the other side of the street I saw the sign, way up above the building and out of the way. I had to asked the owner of a restaurant for directions on how to get in, through the back, but by that time they were closed. Only the gnats/mosquitoes remained (lots of them).
Nothing in Ilkeston, so I just went back to town and found the Igloo Hostel. The price was so reasonable, 15 pounds I think, that I decided to suck it up and take the bed and shower. However, during the checkin process, the attendant, a female, from California, gave me a hard time about my single name. At that point I started to think that this wasn't worth the aggravation, that I didn't have to take her shit and was better off in the car, uberfunky though I was. Somehow during our interaction I revealed that I just wanted the shower, and she, perhaps because she didn't want me there, suggested a nearby hotel, the Park Inn, that had a gym. She pulled up the number on the computer (I'll admit that was kind of her, but I still think she was trying to get me out of there) and called to find out if they were open Sunday, and what time, and whether non-members could use the facilities (for a fee). All the answers were good, so I left and went to find a place to park, thinking "good riddance". Oh, I should mention that the Igloo had gotten really good reviews, and the quality of the staff was specifically mentioned. Perhaps this attendant was brand new, or perhaps somebody just neglected to warn people about the paranoid close-minded bitch from Cali.
Meanwhile, the spider was still alive. I think it had been two weeks since I had seen the same spider living on and in my right side mirror. It would periodically come out, but I guess it must have survived the high speeds by going into the gab between the mirror and its holder. Don't know how it could get food, unless bugs were flying into its web during the night while the car was parked. How long can a spider survive without food?
7:06, music in my dream, an actual melody, and lyrics about "he's a potato" or "I'm a potato".
Strange looks from the old couple standing at the doorway of the convenience store. Not unanticipated, but after the movie it was the best and quickest place I could find in the small town of Castleford.
Parking wackiness in Grimsby. I had to enter the car park either three or four times in order to figure out the quickest way to park and get to the Starbucks and thus avoid exceeding the presumed 10-minute grace period. Extremely ineffecient, and stupid, and all because the stupid shopping center or car park company won't do something as simple as providing a clearly-posted 30 minutes for free.
Oh happy day, happy happy happy day!!! Around the corner from the Lincoln store, what did I find? Yes, the donuts of joy and delight!
6:37, plenty of time to get changed, find Bridgewater Place, and then head over to the BBC studio. Wrong. I set off in the general direction of where I thought the building might be, and at the first opportunity I asked a pedestrian. Her reply--"there's no Bridgewater in Leeds." I drove up another few hundred fee to the next pedestrian, and he pointed to the tall building in the distance and said "That's Bridgewater, mate." I continued on, trying to get as close as possible, but when I finally made the turn onto the road that passed right in front of Bridgewater Place, I had gone too far and was stuck on the one-way system. I pulled off onto a side street as soon as I could, and into a parking lot, but it just happened to be a lot for ASDA employees ("colleagues", the guard called them). Took me a few minutes to get out of the lot, but I was able to get back to Sovereign Street, where I had seen parking, without having to go around the entire city. I parked as close as I could and headed over to the Starbucks.
Perhaps I should not have spent so much time on the toilet, but when you gotta go, you gotta go. Plus I'd found free parking, and a good deal of of my trip had been spent suppressing my toilet urges because I couldn't find free parking. My bowels were content, but it was already 7:40, and that's when the BBC Leeds wanted me at their offices. I rushed off, but I course I ended up going the wrong way, and by the time I sorted myself out and found the BBC building it was 7:54. I quickly parked my car next to a building and rushed towards the doors. A man in a dark suited looked a bit alarmed and stared intently at me. I went inside as a group of dark-suited men passed through the security barrier, and I told the receptionist I was looking for Stephen Sneed (got the name wrong). Then I noticed the sign that said BBC Yorkshire and though I'd gotten the wrong building. The receptionist told me I was in the right place for BBC Leeds, and she called up to find out if I was expected. She apparently found somebody who knew me, and she said they would come for me in about 10 minutes. She said, "You've just arrived at an inopportune moment." She then lowered her voice and asked, "Do you know who that is that came in before you." I replied, "No." She said "Gordon Brown".
Wow. No wonder the dark suited man looked so alarmed when I ran up. I might be lucky that I didn't get tackled or shot, in fact. I'm really surprised I was able to get that close. I don't think I'd ever been allowed to get that close to President Obama, and certainly not after I'd sprinted up to the building.
It was nearly 40 minutes later when the Prime Minister walked out and went to his car (his guards never said anything to me or asked me to move away), and he was followed by a couple of journalists who rushed into another car that followed the caravan. A second pair of journalists rushed out and said something about "fish market", and they rushed off, presumably to find their car.
Okay, I finally got around to googling ASDA and learned it's a wholly-owned subsidiary of Wal-Mart.
Decoy pigeons, by which I mean that I photographed them for the reason of to be deflecting the attention from the factings that I for to have been photographing the Starbucks was.
Pleasantly surprised by a Marks & Spencer scone. First of all I'll point out that at Monks Crossing, there was a Marks & Spencer on one side of the parking lot with clothes and a cafe, but no groceries. For those I had to go across the lot to another M&S, and there I found a bakery with scones out for just 59 pence instead of the 1 pound that the cafe scones cost. Though cheaper, this scone tasted better than any of the cafe scones I'd bought from M&S or Sainsbury's. And even though I could not have it heated, I was able to warm it by putting it on my dashboard while I visited the Starbucks.
From Monks Crossing I headed down to the city centre, and within minutes of arriving it was obvious that York is a tourist town. All four of the Starbucks were on pedestrian streets, and I knew right away I was not going to find parking nearby. Nor would I be able to rush in and out, so I had to pay, 1.70 for an hour. But by the time I finished at the Borders store, 30 minutes had passed, and I had to rush, rush, rush to the other three. Made it back to my car 11 minutes, late, thankful I had not received a penalty charge.
After weeks of hardly any allergies, hay fever came back with a vengeance somewhere after I left Leeds and headed towards York.
Oh, sadness, sadness, sadness. I walked into the Castleford Outlet Centre (Junction22) with the faint hope that I would find the magical donuts. Well, there was a stand all right, but it was closed. And since the outlet would not open until 10:00 AM, I would not be able to breakfast on the yummy yummy donuts. Sadness, sadness, sadness.
Finally had occasion to try Nando's, simply because of its proximity to the Cineworld, in the Castleford Xcape complex, where I saw Public Enemies.
What the heck??? Had to wait quite a bit before I got a clear shot of the Darlington store. That's normal. What isn't is the number of old, slow, fat, disabled, and just plain ugly persons walking in front of the store. Seemed to me like an unusually high percentage relative to other English towns. Given that I was in Darlington, I think that might be considered ironic.
Missed a possible interview in Sunderland because the reporter did not, as I asked, monitor the top of my travel blog, where I posted updates on my location. With all the things I had to think about on my trip, I simply had no effective way to keep track of who wanted to interview me.
Had no idea Harrogate was a spa town until I saw a photo display on the second floor of the Starbucks. Still wanted to try and get a massage in a spa with that healthy spa water, but, as expected, there was nothing available immediately, or even withing an hour or two.
Scone hunt continued.
Oh, my, what a crazy time in Leeds. Hit town around 5:30, and, as I had been told, traffic was crazy. Bridgewater was the store that I had not been able to plot with AutoRoute, so of course that's the one I decided to get out of the way first. No dice. Couldn't find it. No place to stop the car and ask a pedestrian, and when I finally hit a red light, the person I asked said I had just driven past it. I tried following the one-way system back to the store, but it was no use--I was hopelessly lost. At a light I tried asking another driver, but the light for the turn lane changed to green, and the cop in the van next to me honked and told me I had a green light. When I saw a car park for The Light (a shopping centre), I gave up on Bridgewater and turned onto the side street. I found a very illegal place to stop the car, just so I could rush in and ask the supervisor which stores were closing immediately. City Points was about to close, but I first had to go back to the car, move it into a legitimate space that had just opened up, hope that no warden would come by in the next few minutes (payment required just until 6:00), and then sprint like a madman. I sprinted so fast, in fact, that when I turned onto a side street I passed up a cyclist.
I was, of course, quite a sight upon entering the store barely breathing. I explained what I was doing to the manager, and she said the store actually closed at 7:00, not 6:00--they had recently changed their hours. But I had not sprinted for nothing, because the manager told me West One was really about to close. She called over to the manager, and meanwhile I was off on another sprint.
Returned to City Points, and the manager, finished for the day, walked me in the direction of the next store, and I was able to visit three more that night for a total of six in Leeds in a very short amount of time. And, because most of the stores had already dumped their brewed coffee, I had to drink a ridiculous amount of espresso.
A view of the Leeds Borders store... from the Briggate store right across the street!!! I occasionally get asked about Starbucks across from one another. Well, here's one!
Shedule pressure, having to disappoint reporters and fans alike.
Seen in front of Nu, a club on the Headrow in Leeds.
It was really warm, hot perhaps, that night, the first time that had happened during my trip. Later it cooled, but I did quite a bit of sweating in the early evening hours.
Apparently I'm the only one who feels the need to seclude himself to make kiwi in a cup in the car. Every other guy, and even some women, in the UK seems to have no compuctions about doing it out in the open, as I have found nearly every time I have moved the car after midnight or 1:00 AM.
