The Ahlberger in the Hamburger

......................................................................I had successfully escaped Holland without seeing any gratuitous sex or drugs, only to end up in Hamburg`s notorious Reeperbahn, the longest alley of ill repute in the WORLD! Had met some Irish lads in the hostel who went to school with a girl from Hamburg, and we met up with her down there to go out for the evening. We also had Ashly, a fella from Texas, and Sonny, a Chinese Australian in our crew. The girl suggested we start our Hamburg "experience" by doing some window shopping in one of the brothels. I felt inclined to join the tour, just for journalistic reasons, so I could report back to you. It was strange to say the least. Strolling down these dark hallways and meeting girls at their doorways. The typical story for groups like us was they would put us all in a room and give us a lesbian show before each would split up with their own girl for half an hour. 50 Euro. 100 Euro for kinky stuff. Not my cup of tea really. I asked one who was busy swatting fly's in her room (not the best sales strategy) if she would spank another girl her fly swat for 5 euro. 50 EURO for anything! These girls were unionized and not negotiating. It was all really rather depressing, and I think we all couldn't wait to get out of there. As we were walking out I saw one guy getting turned away by the bouncers for being too fat. How sad! We went to some interesting bars and clubs after that lovely introduction, and had a good time. I always have a good time with the Irish it seems. Also ran into another American who was there supporting his brother who was playing in an American football exhibition there. There were a lot of 1 euro beer places that we frequented as well, one of which had a bar tender who had no teeth, other than a few little black stumps. I take back all I've said about the British :) The next day was beautiful and I wondered around the two big lakes and river that surround the city center, and checked out the historic port. Hamburg, much like Amsterdam, is an incredibly beautiful, vibrant, livable city once you get past the sorted section. I really liked it there. But I was hung over and felt the need to press on to the Capitol. http://picasaweb.google.com/ethan.ahlberg/Hamburg

Holland, NOT Amsterdam

Literally the SECOND I entered Dutch territory I saw someone wearing clogs, its was incredible! I decided to stay away from Amsterdam`s red lights and smoke and focus on the real dutch society, which involves lots and lots of mayonnaise. Rotterdam dubs its self the city of architecture, but I have to say it doesn`t hold a torch to Dusseldorf. In fact, there really isn`t all that much to see in Rotterdam except a huge bridge. I was in the hostel bar having a beer when I met a strange British chap. He looked like the bald shy character in the Cusack film high fidelity, and as it seems to be my curse, had a speech impediment. (4 people on trip). His was of a unique nature however. He would state a complete sentence fine, usually with a supreme look of consternation on his face, but them follow it up with the EXACT same sentence. He was like a broken record! Above and beyond that, he was just a strange cat. He had spent a couple months trying to get a English teaching gig in Berlin without success, I WONDER WHY? He had spent two years in Osaka teaching English before being let go. He couldn`t fathom why. I asked him if he learned any Japanese and he said no, none! While we were discussing this a woman from Australia chimed in that she had been to Japan as well. Her name was Terese and she had recently turned 50. She had been traveling for about 3 years and had just completed 10 weeks of walking the pilgrimage tour from France to Spain. It sounded amazing. She was really an incredible lady, she was divorced and her daughter was now 26 and working, so she figured why not? She had traveled through SE Asia, USA and Canada, India, Morocco, Syria, Jordan, and Iran. Now she was going through Europe and would take the Trans-Siberian train back to China and head to India again via Tibet and Nepal before going home. I was inspired on so many levels. We had a great couple nights chatting about our common experiences and where we would like to go, all the while with the broken record player sitting by and offering comments like, "Well, you two are just WORLD travelers, just WORLD travelers." I had been thinking about the end of my trip. I had always considered this kind of thing to be a once in a lifetime deal, and thus had been cramming a lot in while wishing to take it slower. Now I had new resolve to continue to travel if I wanted to, and to always remember, there is always another trip to be had, even if this one was nearing its end. I think Teresa was my favorite person I met in Europe, and for sure the best thing about Rotterdam. I also took a day trip to Den Haag and Delft. Den Haag was nicer than Rotterdam, but still just a big city. The MC Esher museum was great, and I some good fish at a road side stand. Delft was great, one of my favorite European towns. A lot like Ghent but smaller. I got there too late to hit the Vermeer museum but had a nice walk through town as the church bells rang for an hour straight, then had a nice cheap pasta and beer next to one of the picturesque canals that criss cross the town. I could have spent another day or two in Delft, but I was feeling that urge again, that urge to head back to Deautchland!

http://picasaweb.google.com/ethan.ahlberg/Rotterdam

Goin Back to Deutchland, to Deutchland, to

Deutchland. Took a train up the Rhine to Cologne, or Köln, city of the huge cathedral, stopping at Trier along the way for a few hours to take in some Roman ruins. Köln cathedral is a whopper, no doubt, and I had a nice view of those twin spires from my bed through the window each morning. Spent three nights there while taking day trips to Aachen and Dusseldorf. Remember dorf on golf anyone. Anyway, had a good time in the area. Becoming a fan of day trips. All three of these western German cities were great, full of activity and beer gardens along the river. There was some great architecture including a cool tear drop shaped department store in Köln and a great housing complex by Gehry in Dusseldorf. I met a cool Canadian in the hostel who was very worried about my diseased chicken stories from Thailand. He was in pre-med and we discussed bird flu and how we most likely will be screwed at some point in the near future. So I decided to go to Aachen and pray to Charlemagne´s grave, then took in a hot springs spa in a really cool building set around roman ruins. Feeling pure I was ready to head north to Holland.

http://picasaweb.google.com/ethan.ahlberg/CologneAachenAndDusseldorf

Its a Grand Duchery

On to Luxembourg, land of the royal family. One out of every two post cards in Luxembourg features either the Duke, or the Duke and his entire extended family. The capital city is maybe the most beautiful city I have ever seen. It rises up on a great rock, perched there like a sand castle, and was known as the most fortified city in North Europe for many years. You cross all these bridges over a deep gorge to get to the old part of the city, which of course is full of pristine architecture, vast parks, and many, many places to get food and drink. I took a day trip up to Vienten, a little town out of a fairy tale. Explored the great castle up on the top of a cliff overlooking a river and hiked around in the woods for a spell, no pun intended.

http://picasaweb.google.com/ethan.ahlberg/Luxembourg

So this kid took a piss

Brussels, the city with the manikin piss, the homage to a boy taking care of his business, what a concept. Turns out he was a boy scout as well. I spent two days in Brussels where I met a guy from Kansas of all places. Also checked out the Victor Hugo museum, one of his best buildings, then on to Ghent for a couple days, one on my favorite cities. The canals and church spires were very picturesque. This is where I met Bart, a kid from Rotterdam who dropped out of high school to deal drugs. He was there with his folks, and he told me he make 3 times his dad does per month in a week. He was a big fan of South Park and telling racist jokes, was kind of weird to be stuck in a dorm with him and his family. On to Antwerp for a day, then finished off visiting Bastogne, the area of the Battle of the Bulge in WWII. The beer and chocolate are hard to beat in Belgium. I really liked the Trappist beers, brewed by monks, so its got to have some beneficial side effects. At least that's my story. Belgium was a good starting point for venturing back into the world of backpacking. Layed back, lots to see and do, and really easy to get around.

http://picasaweb.google.com/ethan.ahlberg/Belgium

Salsa-Gate 2007

Road trip number two. Heading up north Yorkshire way to Scotland, the land of my for bearers. At this point, Alex and I were camping experts, but there was much flooding in the region, and the added complication that once you get past, lets say Nottingham, they speak another language. Luckily, as you proceed north and the words get progressively more unintelligible, the people also get more and more friendly. Its a perfect correlation. Our first stop was Sherwood Forest for lunch. I saw no men in tights, but did see the old tree where Mr. Hood used to hide out. (please picture Arrow Flynn, not Kevin Costner). I thought I might try my luck at pick pocketing to really get into the spirit, and continue the reign of terror, but Alex talked me out of it. We continued on to York, possibly my favorite large English town. The Abbey was fantastic, the best stained glass yet, very subdued and seemed to be glowing rock rather than painted glass. The little lanes were great, and we took the ghost tour which was actually really scary. Our camp site for two nights was unfortunately really damp, lets say completely saturated, being in the flood zone of the river, but we made do. Also went up a little town called Whitby, known for being the town where Dracula was written and partially set. There were a few Goth kids running around, but mainly little old ladies (Dracule?) One of them caught us kissing and growled at us to,"Oh grow up!" We decided Whitby wasn't for us, so drove down the coast to Robin Hoods Cove, a great little hamlet along the cliffs of the sea. Highlight was when I trounced a certain British girl in a race up the hill. On to Edinburgh, pronounced Edinbuurah, (I think). What makes this place so cool is the massive rock that juts up out of no where, the perfect perch for one of the ugliest castles you'll ever see. It also happens to be a castle that has been taken quite easily over the course of time, but nonetheless, its a damn impressive sight. We met some cool Canadian people on the bus into town one night and put them to shame on the dance floor at a club later that night. Explored the High Street, which is teaming with Tartan (plaid) shops and such, but also seems to be partially owned by my clan, the Campbell's! Our coat of arms bearing a savage looking boar was all over the place! Seeing this I got a little cocky and started to strut around, Mic Jagger like, till I tripped over a cobble. I also braved haggis, which wasn't bad, just a bit gristly. On the way back to the bus, I went into a Mexican restaurant and begged for some salsa. I think they some the crazed look in my eye, so they gave me a whole cup full! I was giddy as a school girl and was proclaiming the Scots as the most giving people on earth when the bus driver wouldn't let us on the bus with the cup! I tried to explain that although there may be a rule, that surely he could understand that in spirit it was meant to stop hot beverages from scalding people, and not from people bringing home a bit of dinner, but to no avail. There was no way I was leaving my FREE salsa on the side of the road for anyone to find. I was getting off that bus! (reminds me of the time I left a half eaten burrito in the City Hall council chambers of San Francisco, something I have always regretted). To add insult to injury, we had already paid, and he refused to give our money back! This, of course, meant war. We sat fuming on the bus stop, munching on salsa, plotting our revenge. The plan was simple, we were going to smuggle salsa onto a Scottish city bus or die trying. Well, we did, and I'm sure I'm on some most wanted list up there by now. From there Alex had to go back home to work, but I continued on to Inverness to witness the legendary Highland Games. The looks on these colossal peoples faces as they hurtled immense objects into the sky was a never ending source of hilarity for me, I don't think I've ever had so much muffled laughter. They had a couple old guys in kilts wired up to speakers to announce the events, or just ramble on about god knows what. They were classic and wee bit sarcastic about the whole thing, which I fully appreciated. I mean, a bunch of the largest men on the planet running around in skirts holding telephone poles, its hard to take seriously. The low light was a leaky tent, nothing worse then waking up in a puddle. After two days up at the top of the island, I headed back to the civility of Suffolk. Two day later I found myself on a plane bound for Brussels. I had the best time in England, and as hard as it was to leave, as I write this I'm about to see Alex again (after a month). http://picasaweb.google.com/ethan.ahlberg/YorkshireAndScotland

Cornwall Reign of Terror

Road tripping to the southwest of England. Hopped in the car (Nora), and with the help of GPS with a sexy voice (Brenda), and made it without getting too lost. Cornwall is beautiful area, exactly what I always pictured England to be like. Rolling hills lined with hedgerows, cris crossed by tiny lanes that wind their way through gullies and thickets of trees. Its a quaint, simple world out there. They had no idea what havoc Alex and I would unleash. We snuck into the back doors of Cathedrals to escape the fee, we pulled Jedi mind tricks on poor camp site owners, we finagled free tea and even got paid to dine on a huge cream tea feast. Our camping trip lasted 8 nights, and it rained practically the entire time. England. We checked out Bath, a pristine city full of Georgian architecture, highlighted by the kitchen museum and Sally Lunn`s hot buns. On to Camelot and the most beautiful sunset. On the way we stopped at copious quantities of castles, all in different states of ruin. We partook in a plethora of Cornish pasty`s, cream tea`s, and fudge. I had my first proper fish and chips, sitting in a fogged up car in a torrential downpour, the only way to enjoy that amount of vinegar. Down near lands end, we toured the island castle of St. Michael`s Mount, where I got yelled at for taking pictures. Finally, in Devon on the way back, the highlight of the trip was a night in the hamlet of BEER. The coup de grace was the Donkey Sanctuary we happened upon, they do good work there, for a unappreciated cause, I pledge to spread the word. Finally, a quick stop outside of some big rocks that some druids erected a while back, and we were safely back in a warm house in Bury. The tent had been a good home to us, cooking pesto pasta, chili, or stir fry, and drinking the goon. It was a wonderful time. Oh, and I failed in my attempt to capture and devour a real life Cornish game hen, but they do exist, no matter how many people laugh and mock me in my belief! (Alex)

http://picasaweb.google.com/ethan.ahlberg/Cornwall http://homecooking.about.com/od/foodhistory/a/cornhenhistory.htm

They Some Tea Drink'n Mutha Fucka's

And yes, there is an inordinate amount of rain, and a disproportionately high case of the snaggle tooth, and did I mention that the mutha fucka's love their mutha fuckin tea? Crikey! But all this being said, I loved my month in jolly ol England, it was like returning to the mothership. I even gave one of those red coats a good natured tar and featherin just for old times sake. But first, my dad and I had a mission, get to Wimbledon without getting bombed. Seemed easier said than done at one point, as the first car bomb dud was mere blocks away from our hotel in Westminster. I just kept thinking it would be damn ironic to be blown to smithereens on my first day in Britain, considering all I went through to get there. But the true test would be no mere assassins, no, but could two Americans successfully navigate a que, and we're not talking just any que, but the mother of all ques? I had my doubts, buy Pa was not daunted in the least. Alighting off the train in Wimbledon Park, we found not one, but two ques, blimey, what were we to do? I`ll tell you what we did, we headed towards the back of the line. Man did we get a good talking too by one of the many que patrolmen on duty that day! We had to get into the other que, the one that ques to get into the real que. At first, I did not understand the purpose of calling it two ques, and why not just call it a line now that I mention it. I found out later. I must say, they do keep good care of the poor souls who can`t afford to buy tickets in advance to this prestigious event, we got free tea, free yogurt things, and to top it all off, a free sticker that proclaimed us as queing veterans of Wimbledon! I didn`t feel like a expert quer yet, but I wore my sticker and stuck out my chest. That's when all hell broke loose. First one, then many of the que patrolmen, most of whom were about 80 years old, started yelling, "We are about to move the que, BUT DON`T MOVE YET!" This was repeated with growing intensity for about 3 minutes, they seemed to be stalling. I overheard one of them mention they needed to wait for Bill, that they couldn`t move the que without him. But we were getting antsy. "Don`t move yet!" I couldn't`t help myself, "Can we move now?" "NO!" "How bout now?" "There will be no moving until ordered too!" I just didn`t understand, and felt unworthy of my dark green sticker, so I threw it off in disgust. I mean, even in England, its a matter of one foot ahead of the other, right? That's when we started to move, sideways! The real line, which had slowly disappeared round the bend, left a vacant spot, which we were now so cleverly taking advantage of, thus becoming the new, real que! Brilliant! Anyway, we got in and saw about three matches and overheard a Tim Henman match. Was cool to check out the grass, and the pomp, but honestly it paled in comparison the the Australian Open. Just not enough drinking going on. The next couple days I spent up in Edmond St. Bury with Alex, met her family, and then rendezvoused with dad again to check out Cambridge and Oxford. At Oxford we met an old guy on the bus who looked like Mr. Bean. He had been a student of JRR Tolkien, and gave us some great in site into the man. We also checked out his grave and old house, but best of all, the pub where he and CS Lewis used to hang, the Bird and Baby they call it. A couple of great site seeing days in London with dad and then he was off back home. That's when Alex and I took off on our camping trip to Cornwall, and my personal quest began, the search for the mythical Cornish Game Hen.

http://picasaweb.google.com/ethan.ahlberg/England

Fancy an interrogation? Cup a tea? My ARSE!

That's right, the moment I set foot in Stansted airport I was whisked into detention straight away. Why? Why not? I had grown accustomed to the attention, and after being virtually ignored in Munich, it was about time someone showed some interest, I'm Ethan freakin Ahlberg for Pete's sake! This time, I filled out the same forms, got me thumb prints and mug shot taken, again, and was offered an American version of the pamphlet outlining my utter lack of rights by a sarcastic pom. Funny that! Next I got my bags searched. Then I got comfortable and enjoyed an entire film centered around the battle of Waterloo. The bloke playing Napoleon was well good. Finally, after about three hours, the questioning began. The gentleman across the desk from me was very serious and he made sure he had all the facts. We went through the story, and I showed him all my evidence proving how good a tourist I could be if just given the chance. Then he went to go call my dad. I waited, sat, waited some more, and after another hour, he came back. What I don't understand Ethan, is why do you want to come to the UK so bad? I mean your risking a lot, and obviously went to a lot of effort to get in this time, so I'm curious, there are a lot of great countries in Europe after all. I looked him dead in the eye, and spoke from the heart. This has been the best year of my life sir, and I had always dreamed of the grand finale being England. I have spoken with a lot of people over the last three weeks, and they all told me this would not be a big risk, and I really would like to see my dad, and go to Wimbledon with him, this seems like our best chance to ever do that. But mostly, I wanted to clear my name in all honesty, and I hope if I am let in this time, this can all be in the past. Somehow, it worked. I was given a month visa in the glorious UK. I was a free man! In a daze, I stumbled out through the gate, and there to surprise me was Alex, it was like that famous picture of the sailor returning home from WWII and kissing the first girl he saw. It was an out of body experience.