Gaudi and Gouda

Friday, July 15

Barcelona Day 3

Today we went to Parc Guell, the famous garden complex of Gaudi architecture.  Since we slept at Kayla's house last night, we didn't have anywhere to leave our bags.  So we brought all our stuff with us.  Which made getting to the park really fun, since this is the nature of the several blocks leading up to the entrance.

Since the whole point of the place is the view, here's a few pictures from inside the park

Me

Tobi

\

Entrance to the park

Visitor's center / gift shop

Just as we were about to find a place to make lunch, it started pouring rain.  So we went to the little playground down the path from the main entrance, shoved our bags under a slide, squeezed in to the most shelter-y shelter we could find, and made Gouda sandwiches with avocado and pesto.  And beer.  Of course

Tobi, in our little home for the afternoon.

Slicing cheese

And drinking beer.

This is Gaudi, but it's not in the park.  

It's the Casa Batllo, which we visited 

after leaving parc Guell.  In a stroke of 

good luck, we found a hostel right near

this place, and are staying there tonight.

Beaches and Bavarians

Thursday, July 14

Barcelona Day 2

Today we decided not to spend the whole day with reception desks as our main sightseeing destination, so after leaving Rasta's, we found a grocery store, bought a bunch of fruit, cookies and beer, and headed to the beach.  We spent the whole day in the sand and the water, playing and napping and talking and decidedly NOT carrying our packs around.  Tobi is originally from Bavaria, a place where the official budget for state-aided living expenses accounts for beer.  When we pulled out the 6-pack that we had brought on the train and realized it was in plastic bottles, he looked torn between outrage and physical pain.  He explained to me the German word for "twist-off cap" and then asserted that it should NEVER be used in the same sentence as "beer" before mournfully cradling the bottle and whispering "what have they done to you??"  This perhaps explains why when we were at the beach, the first thing he did after putting the bags down was to set about digging a hole with an angled shelf on one side, where he stuck our frisbee such that its shadow completely covered the opening of the hole.  He then poured cold water into it, and put our beer cans into his makeshift mini-fridge, stating "Beer is like women.  In order to make it enjoyable, you have to treat it nicely" which earned him a fairly substantial smack in the head.

Later that day, we bought actual groceries, and headed to a travel bar / internet cafe to look for a place to sleep.  Coming up empty-handed, we decided to just walk around for a bit and see if lightning struck.  And it did, in the form of a 95 lb Swedish girl named Johanna who came running up to us about three blocks later.  We had left our whole food bag in the bar, and she came out looking for us to return it.  We chatted for a bit, and she asked where we were staying.  We said we didn't know yet, so she said she knew some places, and we could check there before she started calling her friends.  She walked us to another four-ish hostels that we hadn't tried yet, but to no avail.  So she took us to a cafe/bar where her friend Kayla (from California!) worked, who happened to be living with one other person in a five bedroom apartment.  So that's where we are now, and where we're staying tonight, and it has lightbulbs and a shower and electricity, and Kayla and Johanna are both really cool girls, so call this one a definite win!

Railways and Rastas

Tuesday, July 12

Barcelona Day 0 - Train.

Our train has successfully delivered us in Barcelona.  It was an interesting overnight, we befriended the guy across the aisle, a redheaded German with waist-length dreadlocks named Dominic whose Bavarian accent was apparently so strong that Tobi could identify it just from hearing the guy speak English.  Partway through the trip, we were descended upon by a flock of teenage French girls who repeatedly demanded to know why I spoke French, which swear words I knew, why I was travelling with a German, why he spoke French, if he was my boyfriend, whether it hurt to pierce my lip, if I could take it out, and if they could play with Dominic's dreadlocks.  Then, a few stations later, they all disappeared as suddenly as they came, and the three of us were left more than a little shell-shocked.

Cool mosaic in the underground.

First real sight of Barcelona after the train station

Wednesday, July 13

Barcelona Day 1

We arrived at Barcelona Sants at around 11 am, having no idea where anything was or what we were doing.  By standing outside a cafe, I managed to pick up a wifi signal and google-mapped youth hostels.  The area on and around La Rambla looked like it had chicken pox,  so we found a map and started walking.  We worked our way all the way down to the coast, weaving back and forth through the small side-streets.  When we got to the port, we took a break to sit and find coffee and internet, and then backtracked to a few other hostels that we found online.  In total, we went in to about 8-10 hostels, a few of them twice, and everything was completely booked.

La Rambla

We had a tent and sleeping bags, so we decided to walk down the beach and scope out a spot that might have some tree cover near the water.  We were forgetting of course, that we are in Barcelona, and thus, literally every square foot of coastline is groomed and cleared into vast, yawning tourist beaches.  At this point it was almost 11 pm, and it had started threatening to rain.  We had passed some scaffolding covered with a tarp at a construction site a few blocks in, and resolved to go back and sleep there if we didn't find anything.
Finally we came across an empty pier that stuck out about 60m into the water, with big cement blocks jutting out of the waves around it at funny angles.  There was one that was about 2x2m, relatively flat, and high enough out of the water not to get splashed, but low enough not to be seen.  We climbed out onto it, took off our shoes and spread out our stuff.  I had saved one bottle of Guinness that I brought with me all the way from Ballyvaughan, and Tobi had hoarded some soy nuts from the gas station in Denmark, so we had a little picnic.  We were just starting to lay out our sleeping bags when it started to rain.  Not the light, sprinkly shit it had been doing on and off all day, but for real rain.  Tobi had a fly for his backpack, and I wrapped mine in my raincoat.  We took off extra layers that we wanted to keep dry, stuffed our shoes under our bags and hunkered down to wait it out.
A few minutes later, the man who had been sort of aimlessly hanging out on the dock drinking beer and chain-smoking spliffs this whole time wandered over and sat on the edge of the pier closest to our slab, dangling his feet off.  He introduced himself only as Rasta, informed us that he was a fisherman, and that he came to Barcelona with Manu Chao, who was his best friend.  He told us that he was pretty drunk, that he grows some of the best weed in Spain, and that he lives by the principle that everyone is your brother, and you help people out, so we were welcome to come stay at his house, come and go as we please, eat his food, drink his beer, and of course, smoke his weed.  We didn't want to get too carried away, but he assured us that we would have our own room and that it was less than five minutes from the beach, so we decided to do it.
The flat was on a well-lit and populated corner with several little pubs and cafes open all night, so we went up.  And I mean up.  Rasta's place was six floors up a spiral staircase that wound so tightly we could barely fit through with our backpacks.  He squeezed past us to unlock the door and throw the deadbolt, which, once inside, proved to be pretty useless, since the door was completely rotted through on the other side, and the lock mechanism was held in place with duct tape.  He showed us to our room, which consisted of a double-bed mattress on the floor, touching three of the four  walls.  He then gave us the tour of the place.  There was a living room with a cot where he slept, a futon couch, and a coffee table overflowing with "paraphernalia."  The kitchen looked like it hadn't been used for much besides "agriculture" in at least several months, and the bathroom was just big enough to fit inside the door with the toilet if you didn't sit down all the way.  Also there was a spoon in the toilet, and no light fixtures (or electricity as far as we could tell) in the whole apartment.
Rasta went to sleep pretty much right away, so we took a quick vote in hushed tones, and decided that he seemed pretty harmless, and since we had a lock on the door to the room, and our own sleeping bags (since the bedsheets looked pretty well used) it beat sleeping outside in the rain.  Especially on the beach which at this hour was populated with drunk tourists and very happy pickpockets.  So we slept, and in the morning we packed up our things, thanked Rasta profusely, gave him some beers, and got the fuck out of there as fast as we could without being rude.

Here we are on La Rambla the next morning, having survived the night.

Kings and Kehl

Monday, July 11

Germans do not pick up hitchhikers.  We ended up taking a train that got in at around midnight, and were collected at the station by Tobi’s mom.  So I’ve been staying at Tobi’s house in Kehl for the past few days, with his mom, Heike, her boyfriend, Stefan, and his half-brother, Christopher (Tobi’s, not Stefan’s).  They are all genuine, fantastic people, and I felt instantly welcomed and accepted by everyone, save for Pino, the vicious and vocal guard dog, who doesn’t seem to understand that I actually love dogs, and am not intending to intrude on his domain.  Until now, I have never encountered a dog who actively dislikes me, but Pino has taken it upon himself to stake out the bottom of the stairs and sound the alarm if I even try to come down into the kitchen, body-blocking the hallway - no easy feat for a creature who weighs maybe 30 lbs soaking wet.

The house is absolutely perfect - beautiful, but with a distinct feeling of being a home.  In german, you'd call it "gemuetlich," which roughly translates to "cozy."  All over, there are bits and pieces of personality integrated into the structure of the place - Heike is a holistic alternative medicine practitioner, and has her office/studio where she sees patients attached to the house.  Apparently, it used to be a garage, but Tobi and a friend finished and remodeled the whole thing, converting it into a serenely bohemian but still professional space complete with a sitting area, a chiropractic/massage table, soft-light sconces built into the stucco, and one wall of floor-to-ceiling shelving full of mason jars and vials of medicinal herbs and minerals.  Tobi also built a pull-out shelf over his bed that functions as a retractable night stand, a spring-loaded door to the attic/sunroom that latches automatically so as not to bang down on your head, and a perfectly level, fully functional pool table out of wood from his brother's old bunk bed.

After a full night's sleep and my first proper breakfast in weeks, we spent most of the first day on a tour of Kehl.  As Tobi pointed out, you can see the whole city in an hour, so we biked to France.  It is worth noting that in this case, France is about 10 minutes away, since Kehl shares a border with Strasbourg.  So, not really the epic international bike tour one might imagine, but nonetheless, I got to flex my somewhat atrophied French language skills in a real live French riverbank cafe.

Ici on se trouve en France!

The other night, we went to a small BBQ party to surprise Tobi's friends who didn't yet know he was back in Kehl.  There was a distinct language barrier, but fortunately drinking games are universal, in that they don't require much intelligent conversation.  We played Kings [http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kings_(card_game)] which got interesting when I became the question master.  Since I was already pretty much constantly lost in a vortex of slightly intoxicated German chatter, it certainly didn't help to make everyone drink copious amounts of watermelon vodka any time they would translate for me or fill me in on what had just happened.  

Most of the guys at the party were old soccer teammates from the regional club league (where Tobi was the goal-keeper), and therefore had each been permanently assigned a nickname whether they liked it or not.  Tobi wouldn't tell me his nickname, but his friends informed me that he's called "Muskeln" which means "muscles."  He'd swear up and down that it's a silly name and he has no idea why they call him that, but this picture might shed some light on how the title originated...

During our travels together, and especially over the past few days here, we've bonded over a shared affinity for eyebrows, heavy bread, the color lime green, and putting peanut butter on everything.  And as much as I generally prefer to travel alone than with friends, Tobi has a few more weeks of free-time and can raise each eyebrow independently of one-another, so I  invited him to come with me to Spain.  Tonight we're taking the overnight train to Barcelona, starting in Strasbourg.  Heike drove us to the station, and we said our goodbyes, but not before she invited me to come back to Kehl and stay with them for longer next time.  I... think I will.  Someday.  Schaun mer mal (we'll see...)

Stencils and Stereotypes

There exists, for some reason, this generalization that Germans do not pick up hitchhikers.  After our extremely positive experience with Stefan, I was ready to call this myth busted.  After three hours outside the gas station on the main highway connecting Berlin and Dresden however, I wasn’t so sure.  Tobi and I approached nearly every motorist who was heading in the right direction, and while I mastered the German phrases “Are you going towards Dresden?” “Do you have space for two people?” and “Oh, that’s ok, thank you anyway,” we had nothing even close to a yes.  Finally, a young, well-to-do Czech couple who had left the kids with the grandparents for a weekend getaway in Germany pulled up and asked us where we were trying to go.  They then proceeded to take us all the way into the heart of Dresden, where we met up with Victor (the featured artist) and went out for Falafel/halloumi/kebab sandwiches.  After dropping off our bags, we went back to the gallery to work for a few hours.  Tobi and I set about cutting out stencils that Victor had printed off, and around 1:30 am, we headed home to the apartment of one of the gallery curators (a lovely German girl named Verina) where Victor, Tobi and I converted the living room into our shared sleeping area. 
Today we were back working in the gallery.  Besides cutting stencils, we mixed colors, painted backgrounds on big canvases, stenciled decals onto the windows, and more than once used our combined language skills to interpret between Victor and Verina, from Spanish to English (me), and English to German (Tobi).  I also became the default translator for the official artist statement and biography, which was just a little bit more pressure than I quite like, but turned out pretty good I think.  We’re staying at Verina’s for one more night, and setting out tomorrow morning to hitchhike to Kehl, where Tobi lives.  We’ll see how it goes and call this the tie-breaker on the German-hitchhiker-picking-up-itude debacle.

Stencil-cutting zombie

Half-done-ish

Window stencil

And for some examples of the actual artworks,

The main man

Hitting the road

L-R: Jens (one of the curators), me, Victor, Tobi.  

or: Dresden, Minneapolis, Mexico City, Kehl.

Metal and Morgenrot

Tuesday, July 5

1. I got my tattoo yesterday.
2. It is not of Brian’s face.
3. During my tattoo, Tobi showed up at Loxodrom, having hitchhiked into the city and taken a tram right to the shop instead of having to find an internet connection to contact me with - happy surprises!
4. With my ever-improving German language skills, I can now state the following, with some proficiency:
“Excuse me, do you have the hiccups?  Or maybe a tramp-stamp?  No?  Well that is very boring, but stay optimistic - my shirt is moisture-wicking!  I don’t understand why you are doing that with your eyebrows - that is quite confusing.  Ah, now I see, you are a smart-ass.  But it’s ok, you get what you ask for!  See you later, shithead!”
4. I would feel incomplete if my experience in any given city did not involve a bike cafe.  So I found one here in Berlin, only a few blocks away from Fuer Immer Tattoo in Friedrichshain.  Unlike the chain bike-rental style shops that pop up all over the touristy areas, this one is an actual hangout among local messengers and alley-catters, as well as the ubiquitous crowd of roadies.  The front door was partially obscured by scaffolding, and on top of that, the only signage on the outside was the name of the shop in Japanese characters.  BUT I found it, and thus befriended Mortimer, long time messenger, racer, and friend of B-rad and several other Minneapolis and Chicago cyclists.

 

5. If you took Hard Times Café, picked it up, shook it a few times and dropped it in Europe, you would have Café Morgenrot, the vegetarian/vegan worker-owned collective where I have been eating brunch every day.  The first day I spent at the tattoo shop, I got antsy and decided to walk around exploring the city.  I got across the street and haven’t left.

Morgenrot has great coffee, great people, and a vegan breakfast buffet, not to mention the fact that the basement turns into an underground (literally) punk venue at night.  I went to a hardcore show on Sunday (that had free vegan sausage stew and cornbread muffins!), and met my new friend Laessie (like the dog, except spelled like his last name, Laessner).

He’s a nurse who works in various hospitals around the city, and happened to have an empty room in his flat.  I stayed there on Sunday, and after Tobi showed up, we both stayed there again last night.   

Today, we’re going to head out to Dresden, where Panke’s brother (a painter and graffiti artist from Mexico City) has a show opening this weekend.  He needs a hand with some of the details, so I have been enlisted as an assistant for a few days.  Don’t know exactly what I’ll be doing, but I assume it has something to do with painting.  We’ll see!

As for the tattoo, no before pics, but...

 

during...

...and after!

          

Final photos to be posted after healing is underway.

Berlin: Kreuzburg and the Brian Kelly Army.

Saturday July 2

A bit of backstory:  While at the Burren, I mentioned to some of the faculty that I was planning on going to Berlin at some point after leaving Ireland.  Mary, the president and co-founder of the college, looked me up and down and said, “We need to put you in contact with Brian Kelly.  He was a student here a few years back, and I believe he's a tattoo artist in Berlin nowadays.”  So she gave me his e-mail address, and when I got home, I looked up his shop online.  As it happens, Brian is also from Minneapolis, and graduated from MCAD before going to the Burren College.  Also, apparently, he started something of a phenomenon.  He designed a graphic in his own image, which for 20 Euro one could get tattooed either in black and white or in color, anywhere on their body, along with a lifelong membership in the ranks of the Brian Kelly Army.  I believe that at this point, he has enlisted some 60ish followers and counting.

He was indeed tattooing in Berlin, so I shot him a quick e-mail from the hostel in Amsterdam, name-dropping Mary and Tim the dean.  How it ended up playing out is that Thursday night, Minneapolis band Dark Dark Dark was playing in Berlin, so we arranged to meet at the venue once my hitchhiking adventure delivered me into the city.  As I mentioned, our conquering hero Stefan brought me right up to the door of this club, at around 11:30 pm, and rode off into the sunset.  At the show I met Brian and some of his friends, Panke and Iban (also tattoo artists) from Mexico, and we went out for beers and Club Maté, a weird maté tea soda functioning kind of like an energy drink.

So I’ve been staying at Brian’s flat in Kreuzburg since then, and spending my days on the veritable tattoo-tour of Berlin.  In the “morning” (1:45 pm) we go to Loxodrom Tattoo, so Brian can start work, and I hang around there for a bit until I get antsy or hungry, at which point I occupy myself with navigating the Bahn system to visit other studios around the city.

Besides Loxodrom and Fur Immer (where Iban works), I’ve found my way to three other tattoo shops, as well as at least four coffee shops, several pubs, two parks, and countless Doner stands for falafel and halloumi wraps.  I can boast at least a passing familiarity with the U-Bahn, S-Bahn and commuter tram systems, as well as the most important German words: Please, thank you, bicycle, beer, coffee, bathroom, and I’m sorry, I don’t speak German.

 Brian, me, Panke.  Train-waiting.

 Fahrrad is Bicycle in German.

 

M10

Panke showing us that there's a street named after him.

Also worth mentioning, Tobi’s friends decided to cut the Sweden trip back, to end on the 3rd of July, so the tentative plan is for him to meet me in Berlin at some point on the 4th or 5th, and then we’ll make our way towards the French border, where I’ll catch my train to Spain.
As of yet, Brian is refusing to do the tattoo I want, and is trying to convince me to get his face instead.  Battle of will, stay tuned for results.