"Now it's Istanbul, not Constantinople..." or "...by the banks of the mighty Bosphorus is a Japanese man in a business suit singing 'Smoke Gets in Your Eyes'..."

When I was in Paris, I met a couple of Australian honeymooners who had spent the first few days of their trip in Istanbul, Turkey. Istanbul has been on my “to visit” list for quite some time now, so I naturally asked them how they felt about it. The conversation went something like this:

“I’ll be spending about a week there pretty soon,” I said.

“A week?” the newlywed wife asked.

“Yeah, is that not enough?”

“I think it’s too much. You can do all of the main sights in Istanbul in a day or two.”

“Really? I feel like I’ll be able to spend a lot of time there.”

To this, she said: “Well, I guess it depends on your personality. If you’re the type of person who could spend all day in a café reading, smoking hookah, drinking apple tea, and playing backgammon, then you could probably never get bored.”

Little did she know: I am exactly the type of person who could spend a whole day in cafes reading, drinking tea, smoking hookah, and playing backgammon. After this conversation, I knew that Istanbul was going to be my kind of city.

Yes, from the old Looney Tunes music video.

I stayed in Sultanahmet, the old district of the city that houses all of Istanbul’s main sights. After a three minute walk, I could be in the heart of the historic buildings. I visited the Blue Mosque, which is one of the more beautiful mosques I’ve ever seen. Unlike most other mosques, which (for religious reasons) tend to have a simple aesthetic and not a lot of artwork, the Blue Mosque was as artistically impressive as any European cathedral. With its vaulted domes for ceilings and chandeliers everywhere, this sight was one of the best I have yet come across in my travels. I also walked around the outside of Aya Sofya, a huge Byzantine church turned mosque turned museum, which was equally as impressive. However, I did not actually enter Aya Sofya in silent protest of the 20 lira entrance fee. At night, the whole historic area of Sultanahmet comes alive with colored lights and street vendors. It’s really beautiful, and I enjoyed just walking around the area. Here are some photos:

The amazing Blue Mosque, as seen from the courtyard.

The domes of the Blue Mosque.

From inside, the domed ceiling of the Blue Mosque.

Awesome lighting inside the Blue Mosque.

My street in Sultanahmet at night.

Fountain in the park between Aya Sofya and Blue Mosque.

I still need to figure out my camera's shutter speed, but this is Aya Sofia at night.

Aya Sofya.

All of the East-meets-West clichés about Istanbul are accurate. The city boasts all of the luxury and style of Western Europe, all of the “exotic” allure of the Middle East, and all of the rugged charm of Asia. At different times in history, it has been part of the Roman Empire, the Byzantine (the later, Eastern Roman) Empire, and the Ottoman Empire. In its modern history, Mustafa Kamel “Ataturk” (which means “father of the Turks”) unified the nation into its modern state. There are international tourists and business travelers from all around the globe. A few times, I ventured into the more modernized, less touristy areas of the city, and it only testified to the rich history: there were old Ottoman and Byzantine buildings sandwiched between modern apartment complexes. All over, I saw old Turkish men smoking hookah and playing backgammon over afternoon tea. From the roof of my hostel, I had incredible views of the city. I could see across the famous Bosphorus River into the other side of Istanbul, which is technically Asia. The city literally straddles two continents, and this unique geography has helped make it one of the world’s truly global and great cities. Even the Grand Bazaar in Istanbul is like an old Middle Eastern souq that has been upgraded to a 21st century shopping mall. More photos:

Istanbul skyline.

Rug sellers at the Grand Bazaar.

The Bosphorus. Across is Asia.

After visiting all of the sights that I wanted to check out, I basically spent the rest of my time in Turkey hanging around the various cafes and restaurants in Sultanahmet, and it never got boring. In order to become the epitome of the tourist stereotype in Turkey, I could not help but keep listening to They Might Be Giants’ cover of “Istanbul, Not Constantinople,” which I love.

Cafe/Hookah bar... or, "How I Spent My Time in Turkey"

I really enjoyed Istanbul, and it’s definitely a place to which I would gladly return. It has a great number of tourists, and it is an extremely cosmopolitan city. There are karaoke bars, nightclubs, and fine restaurants. All of these things are enjoyable, especially because, in spite of them, the city still retains the mystique and adventure assigned it by centuries of Western travelers.

There really isn’t much to add, so I guess that’s all I have to say about Istanbul. I hope all is going well back in the States.

“Be well, do good work, and keep in touch.”


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"Baby went to Amsterdam, 4-5 days by the big canal..." or "I know of a City of Sin, and that's the place I wanna meet you in..."

The past 4 or 5 days were spent with my cousin Maggie exploring the wonderland called Amsterdam. I don't want to make this entry too long, particularly because we basically did exactly what everyone does when they go to Amsterdam, which, believe it or not, is NOT code for "We got stoned the entire time." There are plenty of other things to do, and we did our best to check them out.

We did some of the main sights. We took photos of the "I AMsterdam" sign. We visited the Van Gogh Museum, which was filled with incredible works (though, annoyingly, not any of the notorious masterpieces that I might have recognized). We visted the Anne Frank House, which was somber and interesting (as expected). Beyond that, it never got old just walking around the canal, with its quaint bridges and lovely architecture on both sides. Here are some photos:

Canal.

Cool architecture of Amsterdam.

Anne Frank House... no photos inside.

Bicycles are a huge presence in Amsterdam.

Van Gogh Museum. And me.

"I AMsterdam" sign.

We also explored the obvious vices of Amsterdam. I don't want this entry to dwell on that ("I got stoned, then we went to this other coffee shop and smoked more, and then..."). That would be annoying to read.

HOWEVER, the legal vices in Amsterdam is something to behold. From the complete strangeness of prostitute-lined windows in the Red Light District to the nonchalant selling of Magic Mushrooms, this city does not shy away from indulgant tourists (though I hear that's scheduled to change soon). The whole attitude of the city is infected with the drug and sex trade, both of which are booming legitimate industries in Amsterdam. That was probably the strangest and most interesting part about being there. Anywhere else in the world (that I know of), you have to at least pay lip service to the law. In Thailand, prostitution is rampant but still technically illegal. In India, all the hippie pilgrims smoke plenty of hash, but it's still not "allowed." In Amsterdam's tourist districts, these types of things raise no eyebrows. Rather, they are downright encouraged. In the United States, smoking pot isn't abnormal, but it is illegal and generally looked down upon. Consequently, marijuana has been relegated to private homes and a few exceptions (concerts, camping trips... California). Even in Bloomington, certain unofficially designated areas exist (in a private basement, say, as opposed to the cafe in Ballentine Hall). In Amsterdam, these boundaries change and blur. It's hard to describe the sensation of sitting in a coffee shop ordering marijuana off a menu. Regardless of how you feel about marijuana, it's interesting to see how culturally influenced these types of imaginary boundaries are. Whether it's the circumvented War on Drugs in the US, the regulated chaos on Thai beaches, the ruthless drug laws in Singapore, or the total acceptance in Amsterdam, it's clear that these distinctions are at least somewhat arbitrary, certainly not intrinsic to the objects themselves. People's opinions about "sin" and "vice" clearly shift along social and cultural lines, and this fact stares you in the face when you walk around Amsterdam.

Condom store... sorry, no photos allowed in the Red Light District.

Coffee Shop near the Red Light District.

B-Boys in Amsterdam! (I guess this isn't a vice except in Footloose, but it was cool)

Tourist street lined with coffee shops and bars.

In many ways, I cannot help but compare Amsterdam to Bangkok. I know this analogy seems jarring at first, but there is one clear similarity that I could not get out of my head: both of these places are party-going tourist Meccas, and both of them have a beautiful side that often goes unexplored. In Bangkok, you can point out the sex, drugs, and rock 'n roll tourists from a mile away. They are everywhere, much like in Amsterdam. In Bangkok, there are plenty of "real" things to do as well--the Grand Palace, the Reclining Buddha, the monasteries, Wat Arun, the off-Khao San bars, etc. (see my 3rd or 4th blog post about this). Amsterdam is like this, too. It struggles between its universally recognized virtues and the accepted vices. The canals in Amsterdam are beautiful; the architecture is wonderful; the museums and parks are world class. So, yes, I definitely partook in the coffee shops (though not the mushrooms and prostitutes). I enjoyed this side of Amsterdam immensley. Again, I'm being a hypocrite if I pretend like I didn't indulge for a significant portion of our time there. But there's another layer to Amsterdam. As anyone who visits this city (pothead or otherwise) can tell you, there is a whole wealth of amazement to be discovered just outside the coffee shops.

"Be well, do good work, and keep in touch."


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"Buying bread from a man in Brussels..." or "I am a breathing time machine..." or "I think I'll have myself a beer..."

Belgium has never really been on my radar as a particularly attractive place to visit, and it never gets considered on my ever-changing “places to see before I die” list. However, I had a 5-day window of time between Paris and Amsterdam, so Belgium seemed like the natural choice. What I found was a completely understated country with awesome culture and charm.

I started in Brussels. In truth, there’s not a ton to do in that city. It’s the seat of the European Union, but I had little interest in doing sightseeing of diplomatic buildings. The center of the city surrounds Grand Place, a beautiful square lined with Gothic buildings. My stay happened to coincide with an annual jazz festival, so a great live blues/jazz band offered a soundtrack to my first night in Brussels. I met 3 guys (a father, his son, and his stepson) in my hostel. We all went out together, trading rounds of Belgian beer, eating Greek food (there are tons of pita places on a street just off the Grand Place), and listening to live music. The next day, I wandered around the city in daylight, taking in the tourist sights. Honestly, this does not take very long, as they’re mostly concentrated in an easily navigated central area. Nothing terribly noteworthy happened in Brussels, but I definitely enjoyed myself. Here are some photos:

The world-famous "piss" fountain in Brussels.

The start of the live music in the Grand Place, Brussels.

Grand Place.

Cool buildings in Grand Place.

Main square... again.

On my third day in Belgium, I hopped on a train to Bruges, the most-visited city in Belgium. I knew absolutely nothing about this city, and (until today) I had not even watched In Bruges, the recent Colin Farrell movie that takes place in the quaint city. Bruges is loaded with tourists, but (much like Paris) this is for good reason. The architecture and pace of Bruges feels totally lost in time, and it feels like it never made it out of the Middle Ages. The city almost looks like an Epcot exhibit. The whole town has cobblestone streets, medieval-looking facades, a series of Venice-style canals that runs through the whole city, and some beautiful churches to boot. As if that weren’t enough, there are actually age-old windmills on the edge of town. I stayed at the Snuffel Youth Hostel, which is the best hostel I’ve stayed in so far. It was extremely easy to meet people there, so the cast of characters with whom I explored the old town was constantly rearranging.

I won’t waste time going into too much detail, but here are the highlights of my visit to Bruges: the Basillica of the Holy Blood, a church that (supposedly) has a few drops of Christ’s blood as a religious relic; the aforementioned windmills, which were an awesome place to relax in the afternoon; Markt, the city’s center square, which is surrounded by cafes and amazing buildings; the Belfort, a medieval structure that towers over the Markt square and offers postcard-worthy views of the city; a boat ride on the canals; and Beginjhof, a centuries-old nunnery in a quiet garden with swans and flowers. On my final day in Bruges, I finally watched In Bruges. One of the characters summed up the city very well: “How can a f***ing fairy tale city not be your thing?!” After visiting this land that time seemingly forgot, it’s hard not to understand the character's point. I can’t imagine anyone not feeling impressed with the buildings, scenery, and atmosphere of Bruges. Even in spite of the hyper-polished, Epcot-esque feel of the town, it was still one of the more beautiful towns I’ve seen:

The canal.

Cool street in Bruges.

Nothing to do with Bruges, but how awesome is this dog I saw?

Tall buildings in the main square.

The canal again.

...And with the Belfort in the background.

Windmill!

Me atop the windmill.

The massive Belfort up close.

   

Tourists touching the (alleged) blood of Jesus.

The Belfort and pretty sky.

Swan at the nunnery.

The entrance to the nunnery.

The view of the Belfort.

A nearby church.

Not from this century.

Belgium is definitely a wonderful country architecturally, culturally, and scenically. Arguably, though, its best attribute is the food—or, more specifically, the beer and the sweets. All of the clichés and stereotypes are true about Belgium: you can get the most rich chocolate drizzled over an authentically sugared Belgian waffle, all while enjoying one of countless local beers. All of it was delicious, particularly the beers. I am not too much of a drinker, but the beer in Belgium really was—at the risk of sounding completely lame—a delight to drink. Belgium is a country that knows and appreciates good beer, and it shows. In fact, it’s infectious. I could almost feel myself becoming a beer snob, and it really doesn’t matter that I know very little about beer. Coupled with the sweets, my snack-time experiences here put Belgium near the top of my culinary list for this trip. As Kevin, always mindful of my diabetes, told me via Skype: “Belgium can literally kill you.” You only need to see the photos for proof:

I know.

Such good beer.

Enjoying the best waffel of my life.

Still more good beer.

Tomorrow, I head to Amsterdam to meet my cousin Maggie and (hopefully) a few other people we know in the area. I am definitely eager to get to Amsterdam, and I think it will be the last city I hit in Western Europe. There will be a blog within a week about my experiences there. Until then, I look forward to hearing from everyone.

“Be well, do good work, and keep in touch.”

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"Oh, Paris, you've really done something to me..." or "If you don't expect too much from me, you might not be let down..." or "With the roar of cars and the lulling of the cafe bars, the sweetly sleeping sweeping of the Seine..."

Paris is a city of clichés: the City of Light, the City of Love, a city of great wine and great cheese, a city of poets and painters, a city beloved by everyone from Humphrey Bogart (or at least Rick Blaine) to Earnest Hemingway, from Pablo Picasso to Woody Allen. With this type of notoriety, I don’t know what I can say about Paris that hasn’t been said in excess by others far more eloquent than I am. With that disclaimer on the record, here is what I’ve been doing the past few days.

My hostel in Paris was surprisingly nice. Located right by the St. Paul Metro station, I was never too far from any destination in the city. Armed with my three-day unlimited Metro Pass, I hit the major tourist attractions. First came Notre Dame, which is as beautiful as I had always imagined. Then I headed to the Eiffel Tower. Even after being inundated with romantic photos and films of the Eiffel Tower my entire life, I was still extremely impressed when I saw it up close. The next day, I hit the Catacombs, which was well worth the wait and entrance fee. The damp underground corridors were lined on all sides by human bones and skulls, which was a lot more “in-your-face” than I had imagined. Pretty creepy. I also visited the Louvre at sunset, though I did not actually go inside (the building was impressive enough for me). Here are some photos of all of these things:

Bridge over the Seine.

The Seine, cutting through the center of Paris.

Notre Dame.

High ceilings inside Notre Dame.

Inside Notre Dame again.

Stained glass window and sculpture inside Notre Dame.

Above the entrance to the Notre Dame.

The Seine... again. I just couldn't get over this river.

The Eiffel Tower. Obviously.

Me and the Eiffel Tower. Obviously.

Night on the Seine w/ wine and cheese. So French.

Skulls in the Catacombs.

More bones.

Creepy corridor in the Catacombs.

The next "Dying Fetus" album cover?

Down in the tunnels.

Near the Louvre.

The Louvre.

Approaching the entrance at sunset.

The pyramid at sunset.

I also visited a renowned cemetery in Paris that houses the tombs of important and famous people. The grounds were peaceful, and the ostentatious tombs were beautiful. When I arrived, I intended to see the final resting places of Oscar Wilde and Jim Morrison, both of whom are buried there. However, I did not find a map, so I failed. Initially, this bummed me out, but then I remembered two simple facts that made me feel better: (1) I’ve never read a word written by Oscar Wilde, and (2) the Doors are overrated. I left the graveyard without regret.

Pere Lachaise cemetary.

NOT Oscar Wilde's grave.

NOT Jim Morrison's grave.

Montmarte was my favorite area in Paris. On my last day, I went to check out the Salvador Dali museum, which houses over 300 lesser-known works by him. I have always loved Dali’s work, and the museum had loads of sketches, furniture, sculptures, and paintings by the quirky surrealist.

Art in the Dali Museum.

A sculpture adapted from "The Persistence of Memory."

Dali in Paris.

Dali with Communists on his mustache? I would kill to have this poster on my wall.

In addition to the Dali museum, Montmarte is home to the best site I visited in Paris: the Basilique du Sacre Coeur (the Basillica of the Sacred Heart), a towering, hilltop, white-domed church that offers an incredible view of Paris. On the inside of the church, the domed ceiling has an enormous devotional painting on it. There were plenty of tourists there, but not as many as this church deserves.

The view from the Basillica of the Sacred Heart.

The church itself.

The amazing art on the ceiling.

Paris also allowed me to fulfill my dream of visiting Shakespeare & Company, an English-language bookstore that has been frequented by great ex-pat writers of the past. City Lights Books of San Francisco, my favorite bookstore in the world, has a sister relationship with Shakespeare & Company. The bookstore is also featured in the first scene of Before Sunset, one of my favorite films. Furthermore, Shakespeare & Company was a hang-out for some of the best writers of the 20^th century: Earnest Hemingway, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Henry Miller, Lawrence Ferlinghetti, Allen Ginsberg, Jack Kerouac, and more. The store is small and musty, and the walls are lined from top to bottom with books. However, it’s not organized the way a Borders is. In all honesty, Shakespeare & Company somehow only seems to stock books that people like me would be interested in reading. They’ve got everything, and the staff is extremely knowledgeable. This is a bookstore for people who truly love literature.

Shakespeare & Company.

A random scrawling inside the store.

Wall-to-wall books.

A shout-out to City Lights, my other favorite bookstore.

I could literally spend days in here.

I really enjoyed Paris, but I was initially a bit underwhelmed by it. After all of the hype, I expected to be swept off my feet in Paris. That didn’t happen. In addition to this, the city is crawling with tourists. Obviously, it’s ridiculous for me to complain about this, as I am part of the hoards of Americans who come here to take photos of the Notre Dame. Nevertheless, it’s hard to feel the magic of a city when you see as many camera-happy tour groups as you do genuine Parisians. As I said (and as should be obvious from my descriptions above), this did not affect how much I loved Paris. This is a world-class city if ever I have seen one.

That said, though, my trip got me thinking about the conluence of tourism, expectation, and memory in a city as famous and romanticized as Paris. For decades (even centuries), Paris has been described as a city for lovers and poets, winos and art lovers. Indeed, the city offers all of these things and more, but it has all been commercialized in the form of kitsch souvenirs and excessive entrance fees. There are literally tour buses on every corner, and the lines at the major attractions are out of control. I guess that's the problem with idealizing a place like Paris: it still retains all of the art and romance, but it now does so (at least partially) to feed the expectations of foreigners (like me). When Shakespeare & Company was founded, it was in a dodgy part of the city. Now, the area is extremely commercial and chic. This is the predestined trajectory of every Bohemian Mecca. From Greenwich Village to Haight-Ashbury to North Beach, neighborhoods that spawn great movements ultimately get changed and trampled beneath waves of artistic pilgrims and tourists (like me). It's uchangeable fate. Greenwich Village will never be as cool as it was in the 1940s. Haight-Ashbury is a commercialized shadow of what it must have been like in the summer of 1967. North Beach retains only a fraction of its Beatnik cool from 1956. Paris is much like these places. The painters have been displaced by caricature artists. Berets are a novelty. People did not seem to go to the Eiffel Tower because it's organically romantic; they seemed to go there because we all agree that the Eiffel Tower is the most romantic place on Earth. Unfortunately, there is a difference between these two motivations. Don't get me wrong: I LOVE all of the places I just mentioned. It's just that I have to approach them in the same way that I visit a museum. I love North Beach because it's where Lawrence Ferlinghetti and Gary Snyder and Allen Ginsberg drank and recited their poetry (past tense). I love Haight-Ashbury because it's a dying vestige of the earnest Summer of Love. However, if I expect to find genuine Beat poets in North Beach or the new Grateful Dead in Haight-Ashbury, then I think I'm in for some serious disappointment. When the socio-artistic movements gain popularity, the gentrification and "yuppification" (*I am coining this term) beings. Much to my dismay, I am fully aware that I am as much a part of this entropy as anybody else.

Damnit. I’ve made my blog negative again. Honestly, I don’t want those last two paragraphs to leave the wrong impression. I thoroughly enjoyed Paris. I would say it’s one of the best cities I’ve ever visited. At the end of the day, maybe it IS better to preserve the legacy of Hemingway’s Europe, even if we have to do that through miniature statues of the Eiffel Tower and “I <3 Paris” T-shirts. Even in spite of these negatives, Paris is an unbelievably romantic and beautiful city in its own right. Even if no one had heard of Paris—no hype, no cheesy souvenirs, no romantic films, etc.—I still would have loved it. I guess that’s my point: Paris is not about the hype. I was not swept off my feet. I did not fall in love beneath the Eiffel Tower. I did not even fall in love with the city of Paris. Nevertheless, maybe my expectations were a little unreasonable. I found my new favorite bookstore; I saw some of the most beautiful churches that I could ever imagine; I drank wine on the banks of the Seine; and I smoked hookah just off the Boulevard St. Michel. If that doesn’t indicate that Paris is a fantastic city, then nothing would. 

Tourists could never ruin this scene.

So that's it. I hope this blog didn't leave you thinking: "Ben is such a negative dick." Consider it one big backhanded compliment to Paris, which I really did love. It is a wonderful city, and I hope this blog didn't detract from that. To shamelessly rip off the film title: Paris, je t'amie.

"Be well, do good work, and keep in touch."

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