Brussels, Belgium - July 7 & 8
Thursday night, Tom & I found our way to Brussels. My eyes were glassy, and my thought process jumbled. I mistakenly ordered carpacio beef at dinner. What was I thinking? The slimy beef had a slight tang as it slid down my throat. That should have been the first indication that something was amiss. The next morning, I felt ill as we hit touch-and-go traffic that churned my stomach with every sick inducing turn. I burped the taste of carpacio beef, and cracked the window struggling for oxygen to stave off my urge to yak. I must say, the worst part of it was just the anticipation. Matters worsened as we entered a mess of winding roads, which under normal circumstances, would have been a scenic ride through the beautiful Belgian countryside full of green trees, woodframe houses, and flowerboxes. However, each glance out the window made the merry-go-round in my head go faster and faster.
Ironically, I was visiting a company that makes the key ingredient going into that pink anti-nausea medicine (whose name rhymes with clepto bizmall). Here I was cutting a business deal for this stuff as I excused myself every so often to go yak in the toilet. The carpacio beef came up as easily as it slid down my throat the evening before. I tried to pop a few pink pills in hopes I could spare myself future misery as I anticipated the car ride back to the Brussels Midi train station.
Strangely enough, the nausea made me experience Brussels in a way I never hope to do again: with eyes closed. The cabby drove us into the city as I kept my eyes shut to quell the queasy sensations stirring in my stomach. Nausea however plays a practical joke on the body as it heightens all your senses. Your hearing increases, your sense of smell picks up the nuances in the stale air, and your eyes hyper-sensitize to the light. I heard every rumbling stone in the street, smelled the sickly sweet flowers on the sidewalks, and felt the hot sun slowly torture me as the car jerked with every turn. I popped more pink tabs like candy mints at this point, but with little chance for success. I finally gave in and leaned out the window to make my mark on Brussels, literally. A streak of pink liquid painted the side of the cab as the driver shook his head in disgust mumbling something in Flemish while Tom turned the other way in disbelief. The cab turned another corner before we slowed to a stop at our final destination. Huh? One more minute and I would have gotten here in one piece.
"Well, I almost made it," I blurted.
The driver was not amused as he demanded his money. Tom & I looked at our watches. We were just in time to catch our train to Paris.
- Marvin A.
Friday, July 08, 2005
Thursday, July 07, 2005
Luebeck, Germany
Luebeck, Germany - July 7, 2005
I Just Want to Sleep
We flew on a budget airline to get to Luebeck, because it was the only direct flight. I hardly slept the night before, was suffering from jetlag, and was a bit jumpy from the adrenaline pumping through my veins. I tried to sleep, but this flight attendant with a thick Italian accent, a goatee, and a microphone gawk-box kept interrupted my dreams with offers to buy breakfast burritos, coffee, cologne, lottery tickets, stuffed animals, sausages, and other assorted snacks. It was like watching the home shopping network at 30,000 feet, but without the luxury of changing the channel.
I had a meeting in Luebeck that morning, and the muscles in my eyelids hurt from trying to keep my eyes open. Despite drinking several cups of coffee, I could not help but drifting off into light REM. Meanwhile our host was talking a thousand miles a minute without taking any breaths. He was an old curmudgeon, with balding clown hair, and rectangular glasses that hung from the tip of a crooked nose. When he spoke he raised his chin to see through his glasses and sometimes let out a guffaw when he told a joke that he only seemed to get. He reminded me of Mr. Burns from the Simpsons, and in I imagined him saying, “Excellent Smithers! Excellent!” After a long few hours of his monologue we broke for a bite to eat.
Try the Fish
We had lunch in the old town at the historic Schiffergesellschaft (Seamen’s Guild), an exotic dining hall that dates back to 1525. The hall speaks of Luebeck’s history as a sailing port where the sailors would dine and drink when docked in Luebeck. The hall is outfitted with oaken panels painted with maritime themes, which have faded & cracked over the centuries. From the ceilings hang model sailing ships, 3 to 6 feet in length, some as old as three centuries. On the far end of the hall is a raised platform which was once reserved for ship captains, and was now my personal dining spot.
I sat opposite from Mr. Burns, while Tom sat opposite from one of Burn’s cronies who had these mad scientist eyes that bulged out of the sockets when he spoke. I was still a little edgy from coffee and adrenaline and deliberately tried to avoid eye contact with the mad scientist in fear that his eyes might pop out of his head and roll towards me. Instead, I enjoyed a delightful plaice fish from the nearby Baltic Sea along with potatoes and vegetables. Mr. Burns and I began a short discussion on German politics when our mad scientist let out a stifled cough that exploded into a “GAAACCKK!” followed by a liquid spray across my face & arms. My body reacted violently as I defensively hopped up to my feet jarring the table causing the silverware to crash onto the table with a clink. I half-expected an eyeball to have landed on my plate when I realized that Tom was drenched with fluid and food bits which he calmly wiped from his face and beard.
“Sorry,” uttered the mad scientist, red-faced with hand over mouth in sheer embarrassment.
We were all stunned for the next few awkward moments, and no one uttered a word. Did he just puke on me??? He just puked on me! I did some damage control and realized that I only got collateral splash, but poor Tom got a face full of backwashed fish stew & vegetables. The awkward silence lasted for an eternity, then finally Mr. Burns turned to me, smiled, shrugged his shoulders, and politely asked, “How’s your fish?”
"Delicious!"
-Marvin A.
I Just Want to Sleep
We flew on a budget airline to get to Luebeck, because it was the only direct flight. I hardly slept the night before, was suffering from jetlag, and was a bit jumpy from the adrenaline pumping through my veins. I tried to sleep, but this flight attendant with a thick Italian accent, a goatee, and a microphone gawk-box kept interrupted my dreams with offers to buy breakfast burritos, coffee, cologne, lottery tickets, stuffed animals, sausages, and other assorted snacks. It was like watching the home shopping network at 30,000 feet, but without the luxury of changing the channel.
I had a meeting in Luebeck that morning, and the muscles in my eyelids hurt from trying to keep my eyes open. Despite drinking several cups of coffee, I could not help but drifting off into light REM. Meanwhile our host was talking a thousand miles a minute without taking any breaths. He was an old curmudgeon, with balding clown hair, and rectangular glasses that hung from the tip of a crooked nose. When he spoke he raised his chin to see through his glasses and sometimes let out a guffaw when he told a joke that he only seemed to get. He reminded me of Mr. Burns from the Simpsons, and in I imagined him saying, “Excellent Smithers! Excellent!” After a long few hours of his monologue we broke for a bite to eat.
Try the Fish
We had lunch in the old town at the historic Schiffergesellschaft (Seamen’s Guild), an exotic dining hall that dates back to 1525. The hall speaks of Luebeck’s history as a sailing port where the sailors would dine and drink when docked in Luebeck. The hall is outfitted with oaken panels painted with maritime themes, which have faded & cracked over the centuries. From the ceilings hang model sailing ships, 3 to 6 feet in length, some as old as three centuries. On the far end of the hall is a raised platform which was once reserved for ship captains, and was now my personal dining spot.
I sat opposite from Mr. Burns, while Tom sat opposite from one of Burn’s cronies who had these mad scientist eyes that bulged out of the sockets when he spoke. I was still a little edgy from coffee and adrenaline and deliberately tried to avoid eye contact with the mad scientist in fear that his eyes might pop out of his head and roll towards me. Instead, I enjoyed a delightful plaice fish from the nearby Baltic Sea along with potatoes and vegetables. Mr. Burns and I began a short discussion on German politics when our mad scientist let out a stifled cough that exploded into a “GAAACCKK!” followed by a liquid spray across my face & arms. My body reacted violently as I defensively hopped up to my feet jarring the table causing the silverware to crash onto the table with a clink. I half-expected an eyeball to have landed on my plate when I realized that Tom was drenched with fluid and food bits which he calmly wiped from his face and beard.
“Sorry,” uttered the mad scientist, red-faced with hand over mouth in sheer embarrassment.
We were all stunned for the next few awkward moments, and no one uttered a word. Did he just puke on me??? He just puked on me! I did some damage control and realized that I only got collateral splash, but poor Tom got a face full of backwashed fish stew & vegetables. The awkward silence lasted for an eternity, then finally Mr. Burns turned to me, smiled, shrugged his shoulders, and politely asked, “How’s your fish?”
"Delicious!"
-Marvin A.
Wednesday, July 06, 2005
Cambridge, England
Cambridge, England: July 6
I arrived in Cambridge after a red-eye flight, a dayful of work meetings, kidney pie for lunch, and having to put up with my chain-smoking friend Tom who couldn't go more than 20 minutes without firing up another Marlboro Light. The weather was a bit bi-polar that day and it couldn't decide if it should be sunny or rainy, but fortunately for us, we caught it during one of its sunny moods. We parked the car at the entrance to a wrought-iron gate that led us down a shady path lined by tall poplars. The path opened up to an immaculately manicured lawn that resembled a soft green carpet worthy enough of laying down and drifting off into la-la land. But there was no time for that as the buildings of old beckoned us into their arched walkways. My eyes were drawn upwards in long sweeping glances as my mouth gaped open in amazement. Cambridge is an ancient town, and dates back to the 9th century. I could only imagine the centuries worth of quirky professors that spoke in these halls of crusty academia.
River Cam
We chanced upon the River Cam which ran through the center of the university. I noticed a boat full of starry eyed people gazing up at me as their guide paddled them through a narrow passage under a covered bridge. Their boat glided softly, silently acquiescing to the slow current that gently pushed them along. After walking over the stone bridge and through an echo-filled corridor, we entered a series of inner courtyards and finally came out through a grand oaken door. We discovered the cobblestone streets full of roaming faces ducking in & out of shops selling University of Cambridge merchandise.
Canalboats
We were desperately thirsty and chanced upon the Eagle Tavern, a watering hole full of patrons that lined its dark paneled walls and oaken benches. Since it looked like smokers were welcome, Tom ushered us in, and made a beeline to the bar. We ordered English pints of a dark amber ale which were served warm, but were bloody good. On the patio, we clinked our glasses as we said, "Cheers to the next 9 days." We each knew this was just the beginning of a long week of travels, where England was just the first of 5 countries we each would visit. Tom took a drag from his cigarette, looked around at the local Brits, and finally exhaled a puff of smoke as he said, "English women are too pasty."
"Cheers to that!" I replied.
-Marvin A.
I arrived in Cambridge after a red-eye flight, a dayful of work meetings, kidney pie for lunch, and having to put up with my chain-smoking friend Tom who couldn't go more than 20 minutes without firing up another Marlboro Light. The weather was a bit bi-polar that day and it couldn't decide if it should be sunny or rainy, but fortunately for us, we caught it during one of its sunny moods. We parked the car at the entrance to a wrought-iron gate that led us down a shady path lined by tall poplars. The path opened up to an immaculately manicured lawn that resembled a soft green carpet worthy enough of laying down and drifting off into la-la land. But there was no time for that as the buildings of old beckoned us into their arched walkways. My eyes were drawn upwards in long sweeping glances as my mouth gaped open in amazement. Cambridge is an ancient town, and dates back to the 9th century. I could only imagine the centuries worth of quirky professors that spoke in these halls of crusty academia.
River Cam
We chanced upon the River Cam which ran through the center of the university. I noticed a boat full of starry eyed people gazing up at me as their guide paddled them through a narrow passage under a covered bridge. Their boat glided softly, silently acquiescing to the slow current that gently pushed them along. After walking over the stone bridge and through an echo-filled corridor, we entered a series of inner courtyards and finally came out through a grand oaken door. We discovered the cobblestone streets full of roaming faces ducking in & out of shops selling University of Cambridge merchandise.
Canalboats
We were desperately thirsty and chanced upon the Eagle Tavern, a watering hole full of patrons that lined its dark paneled walls and oaken benches. Since it looked like smokers were welcome, Tom ushered us in, and made a beeline to the bar. We ordered English pints of a dark amber ale which were served warm, but were bloody good. On the patio, we clinked our glasses as we said, "Cheers to the next 9 days." We each knew this was just the beginning of a long week of travels, where England was just the first of 5 countries we each would visit. Tom took a drag from his cigarette, looked around at the local Brits, and finally exhaled a puff of smoke as he said, "English women are too pasty."
"Cheers to that!" I replied.
-Marvin A.
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