Obama, my Host Family, and Geography

Every Friday night in the summer (ending with a special event on Tuesday), the city of Montpellier hosts a wine-tasting festival on the Esplanade, the large tree-lined promenade off the city center. Tons and tons of people turn out! There were easily 10,000 people there last night at any given time. There were flamenco dancers (nice to see, but not particularly exciting), live music (eurotrash - which is to say it was literally eurotrash; that's not a band name), and three glasses of wine for three euros (and you can keep the glass - or break it, trying to see if your cell phone will fit inside of it, as was the case for me). It was a lot of fun, especially since it was the last night all the Americans were in the dorms together.

Yesterday, one of the Americans, Rachel (who is staying in the dorms for the semester and has already acquired an extra mattress, and thus, couch surfers) and her Colombian-Australian couch surfer Camilo and I went to the zoo. I am a big fan of zoos, and a bigger fan of free zoos. Montpellier's Lunaret Zoo is quite large and is, of course, free. We barely scratched a quarter of it in the course of two hours. We saw ostriches, lemurs, macaws, zebras, leopards (which are called guépards in French), rhesus monkeys, and maribous, which are the evilest looking birds in existence. They have gnarled, prehistoric faces and needle-point beaks that are about a foot long. It didn't help that the sign said they were predatory birds, either, nor the fact that they are about four feet tall and could easily impale me. I look forward to going back sometime. Apparently, it is also a popular place to go running, and it's about ten minutes walk from the University.

A quick word about Camilo and all the other Australians I've met. I am constantly envious of their lifestyle. They seem to come from a carefree land where everyone eventually leaves Australia to go on the first of several year-long voyages to Europe, Southeast Asia, East Asia, or in Camilo's case, all three. He began his voyage in Thailand two years ago, traveled to China, then to South Korea, worked there teaching English for a while, took the Beijing-Ulaanbataar connection to get on the Tran-Siberian Railroad to Moscow, wound up in Moscow, made his way to Denmark, and hitch-hiked to Spain. While not achieving the speed of Phineas Fogg, he certainly has achieved much of the same breadth. And when I asked him, he said he doesn't have a cellphone or laptop, he has a pair of Crocs, a pair of hiking boots, one pair of pants, one pair of shorts, a few shirts, a couple of sweaters, and socks. Probably a few other things, but still.

I was unpacking my things today, and I realized just how much stuff I packed that I probably don't need. I brought three pullovers, about a dozen T-shirts, eight long sleeves, six pairs of jeans, two pairs of cords, four pair long socks, five pair short, three pairs of shoes (having my running shoes sent - along with various school supplies), three pairs of shorts, two pairs nylon shorts, six pairs boxers, a towel (the single most useful article I brought), a scarf, a pair of mittens, my toiletries, five books, a box of photos, my two cameras, my water bottle, my laptop, and of course, a pen. This, after reluctantly agreeing to leave behind a three-piece suit, a matching pair of chaise lounges, six beavers, a set of encyclopedias in Farsi, a Vermeer, a 50-lb bag of sorghum, two cinderblocks and the transmission of a 1991 Honda Civic. And naturally, I've added to my already preposterous load by beginning the European edition of my rock collection. It already fills a shoe.

Of course, this is all prelude to what you've been waiting to read. And that is about my host family! They are quite nice. They are M. and Mme. Luc-Amauré (or just Amauré) and Véronique Mittifiot de Belair. He is very distinguished looking with graying hair and a beard in typical French style, and is rather tan. She is extremely nice and has blond hair and reminds me a bit like Joy Laine, my former philosophy professor. They have two sons at home, Arthur and Timothé, who have so far stayed in their rooms and not engaged me in much conversation. Ce n'est pas grand chose. (Trans. "It's no big deal") They live in a two-story house on a somewhat busy street that my room faces (I hope the traffic noise will not keep me up, as the window is somewhat flimsy in noise-dampening). The first floor is the kitchen, dining room and living room, with a little courtyard where Arthur smokes. They, like most French people whose houses I've been in, have paintings everywhere instead of photographs. The floors are all stone, as the house is quite old (I've yet to ask how old). The upstairs is where all the bedrooms are. All the beds are lofted, even Luc-Amauré and Véronique's. They have tons and tons of books on the walls, although not quite as many as back home, I'd wager. They even have a cute white dog named Tannhauser. And it is rather nice, all things considered. I suppose it could out that they are only hosting me to harvest my organs later on, but apparently they've been hosts for students on the U of M program for a few years now. Haven't met the daughter yet, nor do I know if I will for certain. I was especially happy to finally be in a place that had good-tasting drinking water. Montpellier has crap tap water.

I was going to mention geography, and Obama, but this is turning into more of an autobiography than a post. Nonetheless, I knew that history would judge me poorly if I did not endure, and so I did. I went on to win the Kentucky Derby and save a small Amazonian village from rebel forces. I also admit that the rumors are true: I am the Lindbergh Baby.

Wait, that's not my life...

My last posts were about the silliness of John McCain. I will confess there was once a time when I would have voted for him for President of these United States (Wyoming and Hawaii are not real states, thank you whomever that was), but that was when George W. Bush was the other option, and I was too young to vote in any case. I've been reading any number of articles about how McCain's pick of Sarah Palin to be the vice president indicate a state of desperation and a tremendous gamble on his part. It negates his otherwise-strong argument that Barack Obama was inexperienced (Wasilla has fewer people than many large apartment buildings, and Sarah Palin was elected by the same number of people who live in the... well, I'm trying to think of a comparison to like the population of the Loop or Midtown Manhattan, but they both have more people). Also, it makes me feel bad because John McCain is (or was) much too classy of a man to stoop to the level of the conservative, evangelic wing of his party. It is truly astounding that John McCain picked someone who he has met twice before and could honestly be his daughter as his running mate. I wonder if Tim Pawlenty didn't get offered the job and actually turned it down. I mean, why jump off your own boat to climb on to a sinking one? (Much less a burning one crewed by the damned.)

I also wanted to mention geography because I am slowly but inevitably becoming convinced that I have found the coolest thing to do in the world with my life. In what other field of study can you legitimately play with dirt, tear down structures, redirect traffic, build things at the scale of miles instead of inches or feet, tell people to live there, make sure it all works and at the end of the day make pretty maps of it all? And do it all by yourself?! Only in SimCity, or as a high-ranking party official in China. I'd want to become an architect if it wasn't limited to the admittedly enormous field of designing and building buildings (No disrespect Colby). Sometimes, I just can't wait for what's store for tomorrow.

This Is Too Silly To Pass Up

Alright, John McCain. You are a silly, silly man. I know you're trying to project the image (in a vain, after-the-fact attempt) of being a Washington outsider. I know you're trying to appeal to the part of the electorate that isn't voting for Obama (Williams, Oklahoma, pop. 19). I know that you were born around the time Roosevelt was winning his second term in office (and that you have lived through 1/3 of the nation's existence). I know that you may have been a veteran of the Vietnam war and lived through that turmoil (so did all of our parents, about 200 million+ Americans). I know you may be an Arizona senator who has been critical of the Bush administration (so were the 50 Democratic senators and majority of Congress). I know that you may be struggling to compete against my man, Obama (so is... okay, no one is. That would be silly, too). But honestly, you're a damned fool.

If I were running against Barack Obama (which I wouldn't), I would pick Tim Pawlenty, who I find to be a rather reasonable and clever Republican (not that I voted for the slimy bastard, or would, ever) to be my vice president. Barring that, I would've chosen Charlie Christ, governor of the 4th most populous state in the union. Barring that, I would've picked Mitt Romney, the man (besides McCain) most admired by the Republican party (not saying much). But no, being a silly old man (like Reagan, Bush I, Bush II) you pick Sarah Palin, a woman who has been governor of the last state of join the Union and the largest and least populous of that group, for two years, and a woman you claim to be similar to Hillary Clinton. Okay. Fuck off, the both of you. If Obama had not won the nomination to be President (Praise Jesus, Allah, Buddha), I would've voted for Hillary.

Anyways, it's 2AM now, and I have no reason for talking about this anymore. 300 million Americans (okay, not all of them, but everyone who isn't currently in infancy or senility) will be carrying on this conversation for me.

God Bless President Obama.

Sometimes It's Just Too Funny

Sarah Palin.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. I don't even think I have to vote. Ladies and Gentlemen, give a round of applause for President Obama.

A Quick Update

Not much to report. Classes for 3 hours starting at 8AM - grammar and oral expression - and having another 2 hours of class - French culture - every other day at 4PM really drains you. Je suis fatigué as they would say here. I move in with my host family on Saturday, not Monday as I had thought. I will be glad to get out of the dorm, to be honest. It's kind of annoying and getting dirty.

It's a Candy Shop For Me, Not You

Because I woke up late this morning (entirely by design of course - I may be in France but I'll be damned if I can't sleep in on weekends), and after discovering Obama chose Joe Biden as VP in spite of my karmic messages telling him it should be Kathleen Sebelius, I was perusing Facebook quickly before getting dressed and heading out to do... who knows. However, therein lay the aside that has me here, nearly three hours later still in my boxers.

Among my friends in the geography department, few are more enthusiastic about new and cool things than Aaron Brown. He is from Portland after all, which in my opinion, and probably his too, is the most likely place to secede from the US and form its own truly equitable collectivist state. I just happened to look that he had a note up about something or other - what it was about was not important, rather what is important is that got me on the track of looking up a whole bunch of geography blogs. Jesus Christ! There are tons of them! I currently have like two dozen tabs open on Firefox and I'm honestly like a kid in a candy store whose parents have just said, "You've still got your baby teeth and we've got full dental. Have at 'em, tiger!"

True, this does mean a lovely day in Montpellier will be wasted while I drool all over myself reading about cool geographical, urban and urban landscape things, but... I'm allowed to indulge. Besides, I am a geographer, and this is "research".

In France, On Island America

Je suis ici, but in spite of the overwhelming number of signs in French, people wearing tight jeans and smoking cigarettes like they were candy, I have not had a whole lot of interactions with les Francaises yet. I - and the other participants on the program - are living in dorms at the University of Montpellier for two weeks before moving in with our host families. This means, though, that we have to live like average college students and buy everything that we didn't bring with. This includes things like food and toilet paper (the big two), but we were graciously provided with a pot, a plate, a bowl, and a set of silverware by our program office.

The Americans are all very nice. That is all I'll say for the sake of diplomacy. I have met a few people who I've been spending time with more than others, although the dorms where we are staying are about 20 minutes walk and tram ride from the city center, so I haven't been down there as often as I like. Montpellier itself is rather small (250,000 people) but it, like the Twin Cities, has limited mass transit, and like any city, takes a while to get used to. I also figure that since I'll be here for the next four months, I don't necessarily have to rush to discover everything.

I think also the lack of people I know especially well and who know the area especially well has contributed to my slow pace of discovery. Were my friends from home here, no doubt we'd be bounding up and down the rues at such a pace that the gendarmes would hardly have time to extinguish their cigarettes before chasing after us. In case you can't tell, I've been slightly homesick. Some parts of me have been reluctant to make yet another set of friends - especially since the bar is so high thanks to my various cohorts. Other parts realize that I'll be miserable sans amis. But, it's early in the semester yet, and I haven't even met all the French people! Who knows, they might not even laugh when I speak.

Montpellier At Last

Montpellier. Clean. Lots of young people. University is up a hill, about 25 minutes walk from downtown. Haven't been to downtown too often 'cuz of this. Then again, it's only my third day here. Met a few Americans. Well, met several Americans. Befriended a few. Experience is a lot like the first couple days of college, which, delightful as they were, I don't really have an interest in repeating. French classes are mostly grammar, oral expression and history. Pretty easy. Real class starts September 7th. Dorm room is small but manageable. It has its own bathroom and kitchen, so I can cook for myself and not have to pay exorbitant restaurant fees. I still need to do laundry. Haven't yet unpacked. Most've been speaking English, but will try to get out of that soon. Blue skies, sunny, about 80 degrees Fahrenheit. I am eager for the weekend when I can spend some time exploring. Tomorrow, we will go to the beach. Hopefully I will not get sunburnt. Please send addresses if you want postcards. That is all.

Delightful Little French Towns, Populated By the British

Well, to be honest, only one British woman (Jan, the proprietor of the fine little hostel at which I am staying) but four Australians, a Welsh girl, an Irishman, two New Zealanders, and about four Germans (different ones today), and a Czech-Canadian. As it stands, I have met most of the Commonwealth but very few citoyens de la République. Except a stereotypically impolite and put-upon restaurant owner who, every time we spoke to her, tried to shoot lasers out of her eyes to kill us horribly.

Preixan (not Perxian, sorry) is a quaint little town 10km outside of Carcassonne. I'll be going into town tomorrow, but today I wandered about the vineyards and walked to the top of a hill and saw some spectacular views. And this evening, I sat around talking to my fellow hostellers for several hours. It was great fun. Colm, the Irishman who is about 65 or so was very interesting, and does watercolors, works as an artistic psychotherapist, although originally he was a factory worker. Dave, Heather and her boyfriend, whose name escapes me, are all from Perth and seem like what you'd expect if Southern California had been part of the British Empire. Rose and Simon are still here, but now we've added another German contingent, Arcturis, Sabrina and two whose names I haven't caught yet. They are very nice. There are also a couple older guests, a couple named Anne and yet to be named from Wellington. Anyways, my roommates are all off to sleep, so I should be too.

Here are a few pictures from Granada and Barcelona. More later.

Europe Ho!

My grand European adventure so far has been thrilling, both in Spain and in France. I am also tping right now in complete darkness, so I can't tell if I'm making any mistakes or not. I would also like to point out how awesome I am for being able to type in complete darkness without making any mistakes, as I am sure I am doing. I would also kindly request that if I am making mistakes, no one take me to task for it. I may be gone, but I will be back in January, and don't think I am not taking names.

So today I took the afternoon train from Marseille to Carcassonne. My afternoon in Marseille was spent looking at the Stade Velodrome, home to Olympique Marseille and the sight of one of the largest roundings up of Jews during the Holocaust before they were deoprted to the death camps of Eastern Europe. That fact, however, is not mentioned. The Veoldrome is named after the bike races that used to occur there. I think bicycle racing is cool, and that we in the United States should have more of it than we do. Especially since we do not have bicycle racing. After the Stade Velodrome, I went to the Parc du Longhamps, a smallish park with a fabulously large Greco-Roman style monument dedicated to the Republic, or Napoleon, or Liberty, or the Enlightenment, or something like that. All statues in France are dedicated to a variation on common themes such as those. It, like most other things in Marseille were in a noticeable state of disrepair. I don't know what it is about Marseille, but it just seems to be dirty and a bit dodgy. (I know exactly why - it's dirt poor and like all cities that aren't Paris, is neglected by the central government).

The train ride to Carcassonne passed without event. I even got to peer out the window at Montpellier while we passed. From the tracks, it was delightful! I will give a ground update later on. The hostel I am staying in is run by a nice British woman named Jan, and is in a little village outside Carcassonne called Perxian. The hostel itself looks more like a person's house (mainly because Jan lives here, too) and is rather nice. I have, for once, met all the people that I am staying with. There is Simon, a Czech Canadian, Dave, an Australian 0 who like all the other Aussie's I've met enjoys skydiving and extreme sports and is in the mining business -, Rose, who is also Australian but as a woman is exempt from the stereotype, and then two Germans, Corina and Sebastian. I had dinner at a little French restuarant with the latter three. It was great. Probably the most fun I've had since Martha left. Granted, that was only two days ago, but it was a lot of fun.

The Germans are extremely funny. Corina tried to fool us into thinking that she was 40, event hough she was born the smae year as Helen, and she told us she has two snakes in her luggage that she uses for botox treatmentm and also to kill any cats she comes across - as she is allergic to cats. Sebastian is a doctor, who studied in Mexico, and while there was put up in a four-star hotel for the duration of his studies, as he was the first German (and probably European) to apply to this particular program. They were very interesting, but unfortunately they are leaving for Bordeaux in the morning. I am glad to have met them. I was also smart enough to get Corina's contact information - something which I have not been mindful of doing with the other people I meet along my journey.

Anyways, it is late(ish) and I am tired(ish) so I will say goodnight now.

And I've Only Been Here A Week!

Bonjour! Hola! Hello! I am currently in Marseille, at a nice hostel called Vertigo. The only downside is the computers are pay-per-minute and each of them has a specific, crippling defect. One has a broken delete key, the one I am on has a broken space bar and the other is French, and thus I have to look at every key. It is a total scam. There is nothing I can do about it though.

Getting here was something of a trick - August in Europe is the height of the tourist season and so everyone is travelling. That means me, the poor American could not find anything in the city he is supposed to be going to. So, after leaving Barcelona, I found a place on the other side of the Golfe du Lion, and tomorrow I will be going to Carcassonne where I have found a little place for the remaining three nights before arriving in Montpellier on the 18th. I was planning on writing more, but this broken space bar is going to force me to recall all the impolite French oaths I've ever heard. It has been a lot of fun, but I am a little homesick and very tired. My 50lbs of luggage are no easy travelling companion, especially when you've just taken the overnight bus with a sunburnt back.

I was also going to upload pictures, but couldn't find a USB port on the box I'm using. That, I'm sad to say, will have to wait. Now, I'm off to read some wikipedia articles and then find dinner. I plan on being asleep by 9 for the first time in days. Also, Marseille is just a little sketchy, especially where I am right by the train station in the heart of a North African immigrant neighborhood.

Well, the space bar is cooperating a little more, so I'll write about today at least. Got into Marseille, glad I could understand (some) French, found the hostel, fell asleep on a couch in the common area for three hours, then waited for my room to be ready at 2. Went to Notre Dame de la Garde, a cathedral atop a hill that has a panorama of the city, and also went to the old port. And, I had a genuine ham and cheese sandwich at a boulangerie! Ha! Also, everyone send me your addresses (postal or otherwise) and I'll send you postcards. I've sent a few already, and I hope they've made it okay. Au revoir! Bon chance à moi!

Barcelona

Martha and I are in Barcelona. We are off to the beach. Spain has been great, but I am ready for France. Well, after I see all the Gaudí I can, I´ll be ready for France. And maybe some paella.

Backlog

Whenever I travel, I keep a travelogue. I first started this, oh, I dunno maybe four or five years ago, and it wasn´t until just recently that I filled up my old one. I also use my travelogue as a stash for my postcard collection. I am pleased to say that I have already started a new one, whose admirable contents are a photo of a Marc Chagall stained-glass window in Zürich, and a woman, on a pogo stick, in her Sunday best, walking a greyhound. Nothing quite compares to my postcard of Vladimir Lenin thrusting his fist in the air with a McDonald´s style logo saying McShit. I´ve never understood it, but it makes me laugh.

Well, I have a considerable backlog of reporting to do. Last I wrote, I was in Chicago, so let´s pick up the pieces. Oh, and it´s currently about 9AM here. I couldn´t sleep much past 730AM because I was a bit too hot in our hostel bedroom.

After going to the Art Institute, I went back to the Architecture Foundation for my tour. The subject of the tour, of which they have dozens of varieties, was Modern Skyscrapers. Our tour guide, Jim, pointed out that since the 1950s there have really only been two major architectural styles in skyscraping - Midcentury Modern and Postmodern. If I was working on my laptop instead of the computer at the Madrid hostel, I could upload pictures detailing the differences, but alas I cannot at this time. Maybe later. (My laptop is out of juice and I haven´t asked Martha where the adapter is yet). In lieu of photographic aides, I´ll just leave you with the unsatisfying ´it was very cool´. Also, I´m using a Spanish-language keyboard and it´s nearly impossible to get quotation marks.

After the tour, which ended around 3PM, I was finally in time to check in to my hostel. Bear in mind, I had arrived in Chicago at around 630AM and had been on my feet - save for brief breaks - since that time. When I had first arrived at the hostel, I approached the reception desk to be confronted by a very unhelpful Chinese woman who couldn´t comprehend why I was there (to check in) and told me to come back in nine hours. At that time of day, still being fresh, I didn´t feel a need to argue. At 3PM though, I would have broken down the door to get to my bed, I was so exhausted. Luckily, everything went through and I quickly crashed for an hour and a half.

My biggest fear about travelling to Chicago by myself, other than killer bees, was that I would not have anything to do in the evening once most of the public venues shut down for the day. I was really scrambling to figure out what to do. Fortuitously, I was walking to the elevator lobby and there on a bulletin board was a notice saying that the hostel staff was taking a group of people to something called the Improv Olympics, and that it would be free. One must never pass up the opportunity for free things, whether they be pencils, or improv shows, or musty chairs left on the side of the road. (Okay, maybe not that last one).

The group of people was about 20 or so, mostly foreigners. As I described it to Helen, most were either by themselves or with someone, to which she pointed out there aren´t many other options. They are opposite statements that kind of fill up the range of ´am I travelling solo or not?´. Nevermind that. What counts is that I met, much to my surprise and gratitude, two Australians around my age named Ewan and Alex. I did meet a few other people, including a British girl named Alice - who sounded shockingly like my friend Yui but was not Japanese (is it weird that my image of a British female accent is based on a 6-foot Japanese woman?) - and a Frenchman named Tomas. There was also another Aussie who joined us later named Rio. We talked about many of the things people who do not know each other talk about - the weather, novel differences in our cultures, where we live, and what is drinking like in your country. These tend to be universal constants that can be shared by strangers anywhere.

It is especially novel being from Minnesota. There is no end of questions like ´Where is Minnesota?´ or ´What is there to do in Minnesota?´ or ´How far is Minnesota from Montana?´ or my favorite, ´So Minnesota is in Wisconsin, right?´ I am a perpetual cheat in that I am a geography major who reads the BBC daily, so I was able to wow the Australians by knowing the name of their prime minister and knowing what state they were from (Newcastle, New South Wales). The Improv show was great. There were three different groups who came on, each getting a little bigger, and they had a guitarist and a pianist off-stage, so the comedians would sometimes burst into song or be forced to sing when the musicians started playing something. My favorite moment was in the last sketch with a large number of people waiting in a hospital room - presumably someone was fatally ill - and one of the comedians, and older, heavy-set man comes on-stage and in a deadpan, deep voice asks ´Can you direct me to the maternity ward? I must go to where humans are spawning,´ and then goes off to eat babies like a troll. All around funny.

Afterwards, many of us were hungry, and since we were right by Wrigley Field where there are lots of bars, we went in one and I got a tasty burger (non-Big Kahoona style) and we talked at length until about midnight. At this point, the Australians went off to more bars that I couldn´t get in to - they had fakes, I did not. I got back to the hostel and pretty much fell straight asleep.

Speaking of hostels, it´s about 10AM, so I think I shall either wake Martha up or go in search of the supposed free breakfast she promised they have. Almost finished with Chicago! Yay!

España

Martha and I are in Madrid. We are safe and sound and exhausted.

Shoot That Bird!!

Since last Sunday, when I heard on the radio Bartok's Romanian Folk Dances, I've had them stuck in my head almost continuously and have probably played them on YouTube twenty bazillion times. You should listen to them too. You just might like them. As with most classical music on YouTube, it tends to be parents who are filming their children's orchestra, and so neither the music nor the video are of spectacular quality. A good video does exist, in my opinion, and that is: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rTBC734Lljk. I have also now figured out how to get hyperlinks to work, and will include them in the future. Hurray!!

After looking at the Architecture Foundation of Chicagoan Architecture Worth Foundationizing Based on Architectural Value in Chicago - it was called something like that - I walked across Michigan Avenue to the Art Institute. After paying a ridiculous $7 charge to get in, I walked up the stairs to the Impressionist Wing, only to find that it had been closed for renovation and only a limited few of their great, iconic works were on display. It seems that they're adding a whole new wing that will house the Modern and Impressionist Collections, and various signs told me to come back in 2009. I stamped my foot and swore a bit under my breath and took a few of the Seurats with me as compensation. Regardless, it had taken me longer to get in to the museum and see what little I had seen than I had expected, and it was almost time for me to go to the tour. I thought about what other galleries I could look at, and decided on the museum's main exhibition, the art of the African Kingdom of Benin.

Benin is historically located not within the modern state of Benin but actually central Nigeria. It is still an extant nation, in politico-anthropological terms, and still has a royal family, ritual celebrations and the works. Though the Kingdom of Benin has existed since the 12th century, he cultural apex of the kingdom of Benin occurred around the 15th and 16th century with, surprisingly to me, the arrival of the Portuguese. Much of their art reflects the Portuguese traders (who were not invaders, that would be the work of the British) they encountered, and so for me it was unusual to see statues in a distinctly African style of late-Renaissance era Portuguese gunmen and knights. Fact is stranger than fiction though. The people of Benin use a lot of red sea shells and red agate in their ceremonial dress, along with ivory and bronze for their statues. The oba, the king, was both head of state and the military, and naturally got all the best stuff. There was - and still is - extensive documentation of the hierarchy and lifestyle within the court of Benin, and much of it is reflected in the artwork of the nation. Very little portrait-work, but lots of statues. Their most revered animals were the crocodile, a symbol of strength, and the mudfish, a symbol of magic.

One animal, though, also played an important part in the history of Benin. I was walking by a case and saw a headpiece to a staff in the shape of an ibis or crane, and it was called the Bird of Prophecy. There story behind it goes as such: In the 16th century, oba Esigie and the people of Benin City - his capital - were faced with invasion by the neighboring state of Idah. As the armies of Idah closed on the city, a bird flew down from the sky as an omen of the defeat of oba Esigie and the fall of the Kingdom of Benin. In an act of defiance, oba Esigie ordered the bird to be shot, and subsequently led his armies to victory over the Idah, cementing his rule and beginning an age of considerable prosperity and success for the Benin.

I was a bit rushed through all of this, and photography was not allowed, but at the end of the exhibit was artwork from later artists of Benin. Much of the work focused on the invasion of the British in the 19th Century and the forced exile of the oba, who, granted, was a bloodthirsty tyrant trying to consolidate power by stagnating change from the outside. One piece that I really liked was a set of statues in a scene depicting Queen Elizabeth II and Prince Phillip meeting oba Akenzua II in the 1960s. I would have looked at more, but I was out of time.

So the moral of this story is when your kingdom is under threat of invasion, defy the conventional wisdom and have killed whatever prophetic animals which don't predict your victory.

Flat Broke

I have now run out of money. This is not a good state to be in three days before embarking on a six-month European tour. It is an okay state to be in at the end of one, but certainly not the beginning. Helen and I were at the grocery store tonight, and I was planning on buying a lottery ticket, but the lottery station there was closed, so my free lunch was not to be had. Maybe I'll find some drug money in a trash can while I'm walking down the street.

Dad and Jon are watching a movie called "In Bruges", which neither they - who've been watching it - nor I - who's been listening passively - understand. They say it is weird, and I'd be inclined to agree from what I've seen. Anyways, the real reason you're all reading this is to hear more about Chicago. Or possibly because YouTube is taking too long to load and you don't want to go turn on the TV.

So, I set off to Chicago on Tuesday night, Harley having graciously agreed to drive me. I got off work at 9PM and the bus left at 1030PM so I had just enough time to eat dinner, pack and get to the bus station. We left at about 10PM, but Harley couldn't find her car keys, so we drove my car. This ended up being better because we got caught up in traffic and were very nearly late. In snafu situations, I am more at ease when I am the person at fault and can't direct my wrath towards otherwise innocent others. That's why I always juggle chainsaws instead of letting other people juggle them around me. In my rush to pack, I had managed to get everything I needed, but I decided since I was setting off on my trip to bring one of my lucky frogs.

I am not superstitious per se, but I prefer not to be understitious. Therefore, anything that can improve my luck, karma, or mojo I try and take advantage of. That's why I have a collection of frogs, which are my self-defined totem, that are all made of stone and I believe bring me good luck. For my trip to Chicago, I brought with me my jade frog I purchased from a vendor in Winnipeg two springs ago. I credit it for my enjoyable time.

The movie just ended with pretty much everyone dying and saying how much they find Belgium to be a strange, uneventful Hell. I've never been, but I'd be inclined to agree. So, the ride on the Megabus to Chicago was almost completely uneventful. Someone brought a pirated copy of Hancock and we watched that, but I slept most of the way. We arrived in Chicago at 6:15 in the morning outside of Union Station. However, arriving at 6:15, one finds oneself with very little to do. On the flip side, and despite having a plethora of museums, shops, restaurants and other venues, Chicago has perhaps the largest and oldest collection of skyscrapers in the world, other than perhaps Manhattan. So, it's really really cool to look at.

After readjusting the weight in my backpack (I'd sillily brought four books with me), I made my way to Millenium Park, being large and the first thing to technically open in the city that I wanted to see. On my way there, I stopped by the Art Institute but that wouldn't open until 10:30. I therefore had three hours to kill. And killed them I did. Millenium Park is extremely beautiful and is probably the most unlikely park in existence. From what I understand, it was built in 2004 over an unused railroad yard sided by four of the busiest streets in Chicago, two of which contain some of the most historical and famous landmarks in the city. Major cities often do not have large, centrally located parks. Well, okay, this is not true. Most do. But they were planned early and the surrounding areas became beautiful as a result of their presence. Millennium Park worked in the astonishing and opposite way. It was built after all the buildings, which were beautiful in their own right, and is still centrally located. For those without a focus in urban planning, this sort of thing does not happen. It just doesn't.

Nonetheless, thank you Richard M. Daley for being sensible, if corrupt. In Millennium Park, there is a large and now world-famous sculpture commonly known as the Bean. It looks like this: http://farm1.static.flickr.com/46/128627213_b349267c88.jpg. I got to stand under it when no one else was there (okay, so there was a Chinese family on vacation, but they left after a bit) and it was really cool. However, Millennium Park is completely exposed to the sun from the east, and it was quickly warming up by about 7:30, so I decided to head into the shade of the many, many skyscrapers. So many skyscrapers! And they're all really beautiful! I took many pictures. I walked the length of Michigan Avenue down to the Hancock Building, where I decided I had walked far enough and needed a break, so I ate the PB&J sandwich I had packed the night before in a nice little park by the Water Tower and rested my feet. Upon getting up a little while later, I was walking around the block and what should I see but a tourist information center!!! Just what I'd been looking for, because to be honest I had not planned my trip very extensively. I knew I had to be at the Consulate at 9AM on Thursday, and that I would have one free day, but other than that, I had no definite plans. This, upon reaching Chicago, proved to be a bit of a problem. Luckily, and with Jade Frog in town, my friend Hillary had prepared an exhaustive list of things that I should do while I was there. So, I decided to hit up spot number two, the Chicago Architecture Foundation. Or the Architecture Foundation of Chicago. Or some rearrangement of those three words.

The CFA/AFC/CAF/FAC/CCCP/AFL-CIO was a 1/3 exhibition space, 2/3 gift shop, but they gave a number of walking tours (since the architecture of the city is best seen not in pictures but in context) and the exhibits were interesting, if small. There was a photography exhibit on late-Soviet photography that I thought was... okay, in an effort to sound a little less repetetive, I find lots of things to be cool and interesting. If I'm writing about it, and unless I state otherwise, chances are it was cool. No more explicit coolness for you! The tour I wanted to go on wasn't scheduled until 1PM, so I went to the Art Institute first with the hopes that 1) it would be air-conditioned, and 2) that I could check my obnoxiously and shoulder-dislocatingly heavy backpack.

The Art Institute and more... tomorrow!!

Chicago Preview

To be described in greater detail later, but here's what I did and saw...

Dawn over Chicago
Empty Millenium Park
Art Deco
Hobo Who Tried To Give Me His Gum Wrapper
Mid-Century Modern (Mies van der Rohe)
Heavy Backpack
Incompetent Chinese Hostel Woman
Smiling Traffic Cop
Closed for Renovation
Benin
Exhaustion
Meeting Foreigners
Alex and Ewan, the Australians
Improv Olympics
Bar Hopping (sort of)
Breakfast Cut Short By Primal Terror
The French Consulate, A Little Known Gateway to Hell
Marilyn Monroe
Triumph Over Bureaucracy
Giordano's
Caught In Traffic
Rohit, the Indian Man
How Fucking Wide Is Wisconsin Anyways?!
Safe and Sound

More later; I need a shower.