Sevilla to Granada

July 18:

Left our van at the campsite and took the bus into Sevilla. Spent the day in the sweltering Sevilla heat where temps got up to around 115 F. Most notable thing was getting turned away from a restaurant after sitting down. Bart and Anj don't eat meat. When they asked for a salad without the meat on top, the waiter said, "Here we don't have that." I asked again if they would just not add the meat on top of the lettuce for a salad and he responded by saying in Spanish, "Do you want a plate of carrots?" drawing laughter from surrounding tables. We ended up leaving and as we were leaving he continued to mock our veggies, asking why we would ever want just vegetables when there was so much good meat to be had. The other patrons laughed with him, but we got the last laugh because he had just cost the restaurant around 60 Euro.

We continued walking around Sevilla during the afternoon. Sevilla was like a ghost town during siesta time, which allowed us to see a lot of the city and its beautiful architecture without having to deal with any crowds. Rachel and I had come down with colds (hers more severe) which made the heat even less pleasant, but she was a tough cookie and made it through the rest of the day.

July 19: The Car Debacle

The whole car debacle was quite ridiculous and made me thankful for the organization back in the States. The car company sent us through some third party that worked with car glass and so again we were left communicating with a "voice" who couldn't answer questions like, is there an estimated time we may receive a call? How long can it take? Which car glass will it be? So, all day we sat around unable to move our van anywhere in Sevilla and kicked out of our campsite. We made good use of a strip mall and ate at a Chinese buffet where we could watch the van from the window. Anj's blackberry had gotten at the campsite earlier that day and we were just ready to get out of Sevilla with the rest of our stuff.

Finally, around 4 pm, we got a call from an unknown number. I answered speaking Spanish and the lady was speaking French. WTF? So I handed the phone to Bart in a sequence that had us connected to Spanish, Dutch, and French speaking people, most of whom we didn't really know who they were. To make the debacle short, we took the car to car glass and when we got there, they had no idea about our situation. The guy was very helpful and took the car in right away. Essentially we had wasted a day waiting for the voice to call us when we could have just gone right there... I should have known.

They didn't have the right window, but were able to put a plexiglass cutout that looked like a window. It came with some stipulations... no driving over 120 km/hr and we couldn't open any windows in the car when moving because it would ruin the pressure and pop the window out. It wasn't the best scenario, but we had a "window" and could get back on the road. Best of all, the really helpful guy at Car Glass, after finding out insurance wouldn't cover the plexiglass gave it to us for free. Feeling good again, we took to the road headed for Granada.

As we were driving to Granada, we received a call from the first (Spanish) car glass voice letting us know that our car could be seen at car glass... again, there is the organization in Spain for you. We arrived in Granada as darkness was starting to fall.

From the Algarve Coast to the Sevilla Police Station

July 15:

Woke up and hit up the Pasties Belem one last time. Like I said it didn't disappoint.

Headed through the mountains and windy roads to Monchique. Walked around the city and stopped to eat at Barelefante, a sweet bar/restaurant we found by following signs up a narrow stair lined street. We ordered the locally made drink firewater... not realizing that it was a well deserved name. After drinking the liquor from strawberries, we were breathing fire for quite some time. The food was also really good... I took a hot dog sandwich that had a bunch of good stuff on it, sounds gross but was delicious. We checked out an old abandoned convent up on the top of the hill before heading to Lagos, baby!

I am going to let Troy do a little guest writing and write about our first night in Lagos... I will just say that it was a wild one indeed. More to follow.

TROY SPACE

July 16:

Woke up from our late night and headed to The Odeon for breakfast. This place was amazing and provided me the best breakfast since the BOSS HOG. It was cheap, delicious, greasy, and although I hate to say it puts the Tavern to shame.

After breakfast, we headed for Sagres, one of the jewels of the Algarve Coast of Portugal. It is the most Westerly point in Europe and offers breathtaking views of rocky cliffs plunging into crystal clear blue and turquoise water.

We stopped at a beach at the base of one of these cliffs, not far from the most Westerly point. It was absolutely beautiful, the sand as fine as can be, probably my favorite beach of the entire trip. The wind made the sand nip at our legs a bit, but for me it was still numero uno.

We went out for a few drinks to cap the day off (becoming a bit of a routine, but can you blame us?). I fell asleepish in the first bar for the second time in the week (the other time in Lisbon) which was strange but we went back to 3 Monkeys afterwards and that picked up my pace a bit. On the way back to the campsite, we ran into an Australian guy who had done running of the bulls the same day as us. Only difference was he got pulled over leaving and got arrested for a DUI. He blew a .032 and the legal limit in Spain is .o3. He said, "While I waited for bail money to be wired to my bank account, I sat in the police station playing with toy cars while the greatest party in the world was going on right next door." And to this I say... Don't drink and drive.

July 17: Our triumphant return to Spain goes sour

Woke up and hit up the Odeon for another scrumptious breakfast. Filled up with greasy/amazing food, we took to the beach again. We struck out in the first town we tried, a place that would come to my mind when thinking of Juarez, Mexico. We rebounded quickly (after driving around the same round-about 4 times trying to decide where to go) and ended up in a really nice spot. After spending the afternoon at an island beach in Tavira (located out on a sand bar and accessible only by boat), we left the Algarve Coast of Portugal behind, bound for Sevilla.

We got into our Sevilla campsite at around 9, quickly set up shop, and then headed into Sevilla for some evening food and fun.

Mistake number 1) Assuming that parking the van right off of a busy street would be okay

Mistake number 2) Giving a guy a few coins to watch over the parking area

and I quote from my travel survival book chapter on "Foiling a Scam Artist,"

"Random Acts of Kindness: When you ask for assistance, chances are you're going to find some lovely, helpful people. When you get approached, you need to be somewhat suspicious."

Oops!

Mistake number 3) Putting valuables in the glove box

Mistake number 4) Not locking the glove box

Back to the action... starving, we park the car and look for food. We decide on a tapas restaurant called "Matahambre", meaning "Kill Hungry." Now this is something I had longed to do since being in Barcelona with no money and having to walk by amazing looking tapas bars daily without being able to sample even one little morsel. Well this night I had my revenge, loading up our table with delicious food. We enjoyed the meal, which stands out as one of my favorite since being in Europe, Spanish style. We ate from 11-1 and topped it off with a Carujillo (Coffee with Cognac).

With dinner finished, we crossed the river to check out the Sevilla nightlife along Calle Betis. It didn't disappoint and we danced late into the morning. When we decided to head back to the car, we were met with our first major dilemma of the thus far problemless trip. When we got to the car, we found the front passenger window smashed in, the glove box open, and Rachel's ipod, Bart's GPS, and Aaron's camera, with tons of great great pics and videos gone. Unfortunately, this time I would not be able to retrieve the camera for Troy. Luckily they had just gone for the glove box because Bart's really nice camera was left under the front seat along with some other stuff. We were careless and unfortunately paid the price.

I called the police and went to the corner to waive them down. When they arrived, I asked if they wanted to see the car and they said no. Instead, they said I would have to come to the police station with them to fill out the report. So, here we were in the early morning hours, in Sevilla, heading to the police station in the back of a police car. Bart and I, being the people on the title of the rental car had the luxury of experiencing the ride to the station. We were let into the car and put in the back seat, which was made of hard plastic shaped in a way that dug into your back if you leaned against the back of the seat. We watched as the policemen blew threw red lights going 90 km/hr on the small streets. It was almost like a scene out of Superbad except our stuff was stolen and we weren't nearly as bad ass.

When we got to the station, they put me on a phone with an English speaking officer to answer questions from the report. Now, I don't know if it was because I was nervous having to speak in Spanish to the officers, the uncomfortable seats, but as I am talking on the phone with this unknown guy, I suddenly have to go pee really really bad. This is a problem that I have never had, but lately when I have to go, I have to go. So I ask the officer on the phone to please hold on and set the phone down. I leave the small room they have put us in and go back to the officers, who are standing around talking. I ask them if I may use the bathroom, to which they respond "There is no bathroom here." A little confused as to how there could be no bathroom in a police station that takes up almost an entire block in one of Spain's biggest cities, I headed back to the phone room. I told Bart what they said, and that I thought I was going to pee in my pants and then got back on the phone with this officer. By now I am doing the potty dance hard core and again have to get off the phone, this time handing it over to Bart.

I went back to the officers to pretty much plead with them to let me use a bathroom, but they continued to treat me as if I were the criminal. They again said there were no bathrooms for me to use. I could now see the scenario playing out in my head... The officers making bets on how long it would take for me to pee my pants... me peeing in my pants in the police station, much to the delight of the winning officer... them arresting me for public urination... me spending the rest of the vacation/my life locked in the Sevilla jail... Shit.

I head to the room where Bart has just finished talking to the voice, who hung up on Bart as he was asking what he should do next. We went to tell the men in blue that we were done, and they asked me to follow them into a different office. Bart started to come with us and they yelled at him to get back, again treating us like we were the ones who had broken into the car. So, with Bart left behind, I was taken into the room to finish the rest of the report, this time answering questions in Spanish (Thank you Cesar Chavez Elementary). I somehow managed not to pee in my pants, although it was close several times and when we finished some 20 minutes later they gave us 2 options. 1) We leave the car where it was to be finger printed on Monday (it was now early saturday morning) or 2) Agree to not have the car finger printed and they let us know if anything happens.

Unable to leave the car with the broken window in the middle of Sevilla for the rest of our stuff to be stolen, after conferring with Bart, we decided to sign to not have the car undergo the investigation and cut our losses. I asked if there was any way for us to get a ride back to the car and the officers said no (we were probably a good 10-15 minute drive away from it). I asked if they could show me how to get back on our map and they said no, that I would get lost.

Having survived the experience at the station, we left (waddling down the street) and as soon as out of eye sight, I relieved myself. A few thoughts... Spanish authorities from my experiences are real pricks, I am really glad I know Spanish, don't park a car with non Spanish plates on the street in Sevilla.

A little dejected, we headed back to the campsite with the breeze blowing through our now open passenger window. Welcome to Sevilla.

July 14

July 14:

We woke up late after the late night.

Headed to Belem by bus. Visited a Pop Art Museum. Went to Casa de Pasties Belem, famous for its egg tart pastries, which didn't disappoint. In fact, they were so good that they went back the next morning before heading south. We took a bus to the old center, close to Barro Alto where we were the day before. We took a long walk to the castle up on a hill, stopping a few places for really nice views.

Once at the top of the hill, we waited for the famous number 28 cable car, which is likened to a roller coaster, to take us down. Before getting on the wild ride, we were warned at the cable car stop by a lady that there were pick pockets in the area. On high alert, the crowded cable car turned into even more of an adventure.

Two of the people who were sitting together with us at the stop, a woman wearing sunglasses, a scarf and sporting what I would call a poorly done rose tattoo on her forearm, and a guy nicely dressed, split up once on the train. I was watching her as she got closer to me. Standing next to me. Dropping her scarf on the floor. Nice distraction, NOT. Inching closer as the cable car bounced around. Reaching for my pocket with my wallet, which was buttoned shut anyways. Hand part way in my pocket. I look at her right in her face and put my hand over my pocket. Attempt thwarted!!! Assist to the lady who warned us. I warned everyone to watch their stuff carefully and then the two of them, working in cahoots got off at the next stop.

My first reaction was excited that I stopped her. Then I was a little annoyed with myself that I hadn't even said anything to her or done anything more. As I thought about it, I thought about all the things I could have done or should have said. Instead I was calm, didn't blow up or make a scene. I go back and forth about which would have been better. If I make a scene, then it creates a distraction for her partner to steal something else. If I say nothing, then she just goes about her business as usual, maybe getting someone else's wallet. Maybe no one would care if I had made a scene. Anyways, what do you guys think?

I tend to be calmer in these type of situations, which I guess can be a blessing or a curse. It was fun to think of possible and ridiculous things I could have done... karate kick to the chest, etc. With the pick pocket attempt behind me, I could enjoy the roller coaster ride. We were also joined by two guys riding for free on the outside of the cable car. With the narrow streets and hills, I can only imagine how wild of a ride it was for them. Again, pictures lost on lost cameras but a wild ride indeed.

The rest of the night included a dinner at a terrible Indian restaurant, me falling asleep at an old church turned brew house.... I am pretty sure I was drugged because I had one beer and felt like my world was ending... bus back to the campsite... another good night in Lisbon!

July 12 (post Encierro)-July 13th

July 12 (Post Running with the bulls)

With the Ecierro behind us, we made like a banana and split from Pamplona... leaving behind the mayhem and craziness. We stopped in a small town for a late breakfast and then again later in Salamanca. Salamanca was a beautiful town that I would love to get back to. Everywhere you turn there is another beautiful building and it gives off a nice youthful vibe, reminiscent of Leuven and Ghent, some of the other college towns I have enjoyed recently. Unfortunately our stay was short and after a few hours we continued our 5 hour drive into Portugal.

Just across the border we did some shopping and stopped in an almost empty KOA lot to reorganize the van and cook dinner.

We ended up spending the night in a random guesthouse in Castello Branco, which we found through the help of a helpful Best Western employee in the middle of the night. After sleeping in the parking garage, it felt good to get a bed and hot shower. If only we realized that there is a time difference and didn't wake up at 7:30 on accident the next day.

July 13, Lisbon:

We made it to Lisbon in the early afternoon and found a maximum security campsite (guards, barbed wire, and metal detectors, entrance cards, etc). We set up camp and then took a bus into the new district of town.

We enjoyed some pizza on the waterfront, visited the wave park, fountains, all the new art, hilly park (which I desperately wanted to take ground balls on), and then strolled back on the floating bridge before stopping at Republica de Cerveja.

Republica de Cerveja: parched, we stop at Republica de Cerveja for some drinks along the waterfront. The reason why I am even explaining why we stopped is because our somewhat deranged waiter and a passerby turned it into a pretty hilarious 45 minutes.

1st: Our waiter had a few loose screws, was always trying to get us to buy something more expensive and more of it, and his accent/facial expressions made it even funnier.

When the waiter came to take our order, he walked up and said, "May I help yooouuuu...ssszzz," drawing out the "ou" part of you for about 4 seconds before adding an equally drawn out s/z sounding combination at the end. So, we were already laughing. Then when we told him that we wanted to order a meter (it comes in a tall cylinder measured out by height) of the cheapest beer, and a ginger ale he tried to convince us to buy the most expensive beer and that we would need at least 2 meters. Finally we settled out order and he left. First he brought out the beer, and then a few minutes later came out with Anj's ginger ale. He set the ginger ale on the table and said "Here is the ginger ale," followed by a bitter beer face, and then added "it's for the girl," adding another face to show his disapproval for her not getting beer.

I realize this may not be funny to you, and if it is not, consider this post one for my memories.

Next, as we were sitting there drinking our beer, a group of Japanese tourists walked by. One man stopped next to our table, admiring our tall cylinder of beer. He asked if he could take a picture. As he was taking a picture, Anj was ducking trying to hide her face from being in his picture. In another awesome accent he said enthusiastically, "It's okay, you are beautiful! Muy Bonita!!!" Anj was embarrassed, we were laughing hysterically, and our new friend, who I desperately wanted to invite to sit down with us, was still admiring out beer. "How does it work? What are the physics?" He inquired. I spun the cylinder around so he could see the tap on the other end. "Ahhh, I see. Genius!" he said. At this moment, we have a picture of him that pretty much captures the moment ( I will add it in shortly). We finished the beer and hopped on the subway for the older downtown.

At dinner down town, our waiters tried to scam us. We got to the table, full of delicious cheeses and meats. Our trusty guide book had warned us that these delights and bread were quite expensive and so we asked them to take it away. They gave a smirk, but obliged. After dinner, we got our check and as we guessed, they tried to scam us into paying for the pre-dinner goodies. We called attention to it, they fixed the bill and we were on our way.

We cruised around the bar area or Barro Alto, a cool neighborhood situated up on a hill. Lisbon reminded me a bit of San Francisco, both very hilly and with cable cars running along the streets. The city had a really good/youthful vibe and people were out and about at the late hours. Not wanting to miss the complete Lisbon experience, we ducked into a Fado bar for a family performance of the Portuguese soul music, Fado. We sipped on some porto and listened to the traditional music that is a combination of opera, soul, folk and storytelling. I couldn't help but think how my sister could sing it better, but all in all I enjoyed the performances. It got mixed reviews from our group with some liking it and others not.

We left the Fado bar just in time to get the last call at another joint and join the street party. Literally hundreds of people hanging out in the streets, eating, drinking and being merry. It was a good time and all that was left was figuring out how to get back to the campsite.

As we looked for the bus, the guys a bit in front of the ladies, we turned around to see the ladies being hit on by some guys. Our testosterone challenged, we had to do something. One at a time, we ran by the girls and kissed Rachel on the cheek and then kept going. It was pretty funny, for us at least, and we eventually went back and met the canadian guys who were trying to get us to go to a club. After a brief discussion, we got into an argument with them about whether France had a coast (they claimed it didn't) and then left. The bus was not coming for another 45 minutes and the long wait/bus ride was killer. With no room on the bus to sit, I was essentially sleeping standing up. We made it back after a long day at around 4 am. Yikes.

Encierro: Running with the bulls

We had 2 hours before the official beginning of the Encierro which meant 2 hours of worrying about exactly how things would go down. Sure we had already had 3 pieces of advice, but how would it really transpire?

We split up with the girls who were going to get a good place to watch the running and try to take pictures of us.

First thing first, we went back to our trusty corner mart and got some tortilla de patata sandwiches. We sat on the curb of the main straightaway and talked strategy. We walked up and down looking for good niches to go in when the bulls ran by. We figured we wanted them about half way down the main straightaway to the arena that comes after the dead mans corner. That way the bulls would be running hard and straight at that point (we hoped). With about an hour to go until 8 when the running started, our nerves were going full throttle. We reconsidered the plan from the day before. We decided we wouldn't start in front of the city building like yesterday, but farther up... better safe than sorry. Our plan must have changed a few hundred times in a matter of minutes. We were in the Encierro route which was now completely blocked off on both sides of the road. At about 25 to 8, our entire plans changed. The police closed off a gate behind us and ushered us out of the streets.

We were sent back to the beginning of course by where the bulls are first released, the spot where the tour guide had compared to Omaha Beach. Machoness wouldn't allow for us to fully express our concern with the uncertain, but nervousness was apparent on our faces. My stomached danced and then knotted up as if I were constipated. Aaron's look was priceless and Bart was hoping that as a vegetarian the bulls would prefer to gore someone who might be eating them later that evening. The streets seemed much narrower blocked off and the hundreds of other people doing the running now seemed less like people who would get gored instead of us and more like obstacles in our way. Now we were towards the back of the group and had little clue as to what was going on. We worked our way as far down the route as possible before running into the police blockade... Looks like we wouldn't have much say as to where to start. Nervous as hell, we turned for more advice.

"You ever done this before?" I asked an English speaking guy.
"Yeah," he replied.
"What is the best strategy?"

Advice #4:

Don't press yourself up against the wall. (F*&$! There goes our only semblance of a plan) Stay to the sides and run. If you fall, stay down and cover your head... don't try to get back up. Stay out of the middle and don't try to outrun the bulls.

Well, 15 minutes before doing something really dangerous our only plan was just discounted... and by a veteran Encierro runner. Damn.

We pushed as far forward in the crowd as possible and landed next to two guys talking English with southern accents. We struck up conversation, one of them had run the day before... we asked him advice.

Advice #5 (best if read in a thick southern accent):

If you run really hard you can make it into the arena before the bulls, but I wouldn't want to be in the tunnel (to the arena) when the bulls are coming through. It's not that far to run but it's like an obstacle course... you have to watch out for people, the bulls... everyone is running and tripping over each other. If you run the whole way you can make it. It really tests your agility...
and he went on talking about it...

So pretty much we had talked to at least 5 people (not including those who say they don't run because they don't want to die) and had about 4 and half pieces of different advice. The bull run started in 10 minutes, and adrenaline was picking up with the second...

8 minutes before 8, the police moved the blockade and we were allowed to go forward (thank God)...

Looking for a spot along the wall, we walked past all the previous spots we had picked out (so much for planning). We settled on a little nook and then decided to go to a different one. We repeated this process a few times and then the first rocket went off, symbolizing that the gate was open for the bulls to run. We ran a little ways, and expecting the bulls to come soon, found our last nook. As runners flew by us, the second rocket went off letting everyone know that all the bulls were out of the pen.

There was an elderly English couple with us trying to fit into the nook. The man turned to his wife and said in the calmest of English accents, "Well I don't know what we do Jane. I suppose we just stand here and hope that they run past us."

At this time of momentary panic, confusion and an unbelievable amount of adrenaline the calmness of these two were absolutely hilarious.

The crowd of people around us picked up and the rumble grew louder. Before we knew it, the bulls, running in twos came flying past us, no more than 10 feet away from us. They were huge, fast, and took up the vast majority of the narrow street. We chased after them, running down the street. Not more than 10 yards from us, a man lay on the ground unconscious being attended to casually by a team of medics. We were running for the arena when the 3rd rocket went off symbolizing that all the bulls were in the arena. We made our way for the Plaza de Torros arena. I never heard the 4th rocket to symbolize all the bulls were back in the pen but we found the girls on the way and made it into the arena. Not long after, the bulls from the running were paraded through the stadium to a huge ovation.

The running took was seemed like seconds, and luckily went off without a lot of problems. The bulls stuck together, didn't get too disoriented and made it to the arena quick. For me the most memorable part was the amazing adrenaline rush and insanity leading up to it.

After the big bulls were put back in their pen, they brought out a series of smaller bulls with corked horns. The bulls chased people around the stadium, knocking people to the ground and chasing others around like mad. While it looked like the bulls would kill the people, they always got up laughing. This reminded me of something we heard from Advice #2...

The drunk Australian guys told us to make sure we got into the arena to chase the small bulls around. Even the girls (haha, yeah right) they encouraged to get into the right and get knocked around. These guys were all huge and nuts... we took the cautious route, but enjoyed (everyone minus Rachel) watching people getting knocked around by the bulls. A few people wooed the crowd by jumping over charging bulls or riding the bulls backs.

Mostly, we were just glad we survived running with the bulls.

Check out the complete run here:

http://www.youtube.com/watch#!v=ejhL5MqFLEU&feature=related

Still buzzing from the craziest 2 minutes of our lives, we took to La Zino and left Pamplona heading East.

More pictures/videos to come.

Pamplona: World Cup Game and Celebration

PAMPLONA, Spain: Spain fans celebrate a goal during a public screening of the soccer World Cup final against Netherlands at the Plaza de Castilla in Pamplona

After picking up some sandwiches and drinks, we staked out our spots in Plaza de Castilla and waited for the game. I was ademmant about getting good seats and willing to sit for a long time for what I thought would be well worth it. Rachel, not understanding how big this was, went for ice cream only to come back and find the square packed.

La seleccion Espanola>


Right before game time>


By game time the square was a sea of white and red with the occasional Dutchie Orange in there. They brought this old guy in a weird outfit up on stage for the pregame to give a speech and get the crowd going->


The chants started, the singing, jumping up and down, Spanish flags waving everywhere... the atmosphere electric. As the game progressed, the score tied 0-0, the reaction from the crowd with every missed chance or big save only added to the once in a lifetime environment. The next day in the Navarra paper, we landed ourselves both on the cover and more clearly visible on another photo taken just after one of Spain's missed opportunities. You can see me covering my face with my hands and Aaron reacting similarly to a missed Spanish opportunity. As the game got closer to the end of final time, the crowd remained on the edge of their toes (since no one was sitting for the entire game). And then, several minutes into overtime, the moment that everyone was waiting for finally came...

(9:09 PM, July 11, 2010) "Torres... Torres balon... Fabregas, para Iniesta, Iniesta... GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOLLLL!"

Seconds after the goal (or Win)?->

Post-goal crowd celebration^

The crowd erupts in a euphoric celebration in Plaza de Castilla. Thousands of people jumping up and down... our white clothes getting drenched in Sangria and water that people were joyfully throwing about the crowd. Typical of any Spanish celebration, flares were shot off in the crowd. Fireworks burst over the government building. Like rough ocean waters, the movement of the crowd packed together like sardines through us about. We screamed, we chanted, we jumped up and down... the party was on.

There will only be one time that Spain wins the World Cup for the first time, and we were there in the middle of one of the biggest festivals in Spain, celebrating.

As the final whistle blew, another brouhaha arose from the crowd and another set of similar celebrations. Dire Straights came blaring over the speakers and the crowd broke out in air guitars (at least we did) and singing.

Post Victory/What is wrong with Bart's face? ^

Captured on Aaron's camera was the perfect video... the crowd erupting after Iniesta's game winning goal, fireworks in the distance, a zoom to the big screen showing the replay... the excitement on our faces. A video that we can now only review in our minds.

As the square began to empty, and the celebration moved into the streets, the remains of the crowd, about a foot deep of trash, bottles, banners, rubble covered the ground (see picture below that doesn't really do the mess justice).


We headed for a kebab and then to a bar to join in the celebration. We danced and celebrated for a bit until the unfortunate happened. Aaron went to the bathroom, but left his camera on the counter. After going back for the camera and no longer finding it where he had left it, the mood took a turn for the worse. All the pictures of our trip to date gone. It was a pretty big buzz kill and after asking the bar if anything had been turned in, we decided to leave. With Bart tired and Troy dejected, they headed back to the parking garage that doubled as our hotel for the night and went into La Zino to get some shut eye for the big run less than 7 hours away.

The rest of us stayed out for a bit, watching the parties break out all over the city to Shakira's World Cup theme song... "Waka Waka hey hey..."

A bit later, we ourselves decided to head back for some Zs. As we were walking back, we noticed some riot police gathering. A drunk guy wandered unknowingly right towards them, after words with one of the policemen, he turned around and started walking away. After he had taken a few steps, the policeman came up behind him and hit him 3 or 4 times in the back of the head. The man stumbled away dazed and we were shocked at what we had just seen. As we would come to find out, the Spanish police we would come into contact with weren't exactly the friendliest people.

When we got back to the parking lot, it had turned into a hotel/campsite. People were sleeping on the floor next to their cars, in their seats, lying with their feet hanging out the trunk. I decided to go with the feet on the dashboard/out the front window approach and settled in for 2 or 3 hours of miserable sleep in the front seat, which I shared with Rachel and Anj. It was probably about 95 degrees in the garage, but the accommodations were quite fitting for the wild extravaganza.

At around 5, unable to sleep anymore, I got up and decided to check out the party. It was unbelievable, at 5 am, the party was ragging just as hard as it had been at 3 that afternoon or right after the game. I wandered the streets enjoying the scene and determined to find Aaron's camera. I went back to the bar and asked if a camera had been turned in. It was pretty hopeless, but I figured why not try. To my surprise and delight, the camera was there... the bar tender told me how lucky I was and gave the camera back... my faith in humanity was restored and our prized world cup video was saved... at least for the time being.

I made a nice little video on the camera about how much Aaron owed me and raced back to the van to wake everyone up. Troy was sleeping in the trunk on top of all our stuff, Bart's guitar included, Bart in the middle seat, and the girls up front. I went to the back window and pounded on the glass, scaring the bajesus out of everyone. I held up the camera and I am pretty sure Troy's mood went from 6 to Midnight. Party back on...

With everyone up and it now past 6, we had 2 hours to find a spot for the Encierro...

(one of the) Greatest Day(s) Ever (up until gametime)

A day this epic couldn't possibly be done justice in one post, therefor I am splitting the day up into pre WC Final and then the game and everything else after... Enjoy... slowly but surely I will finish the trip.

I have to start by saying that from the moment we woke up on July 11th, 2010 we knew that the potential that the next 36 hours had were EPIC... little did we know that the shenanigans to follow would exceed the potential by so much that we would have to name it Marques Colston.

We woke up early to break down the tents and get a move on. We sadly had to drop Joris off at the train station early and for the first time all trip, we actually woke up at the time we said we were going to. After getting Joris to his train on time, we went down to the water to check out the Roxy Womens Longboarding Championship. We took in a few heats and mingled with the surfers and wannabees. This is when the first of many hilarious things happened... As we watched the surfers come and go, Bart, in his typical blunt/way-too-honest fashion stated, "Female surfers are quite ugly." It may not be funny to you reading, but it was said so bluntly and honestly and in a way only Bart could that I almost died. Way to set the tone, Bart...

After taking in a Jennifer Smith interview and watching a few heats (no big deal, she is only the best women's surfer in the world) we hit the road for Pamplona. It was the middle of the San Fermines festival (the running of the bulls for you gringos) and the world cup final was on that night so we knew it would be crazy and wanted to get there nice and early... we had NO IDEA what we were in for.

As we were driving a few miles away from the border, a game of Pelota caught our attention. We pulled over into a parking lot and went over to check out the impressive Basque sport. I don't know the exact rules, but there is a hard ball that you catch in woven basket-like contraptions that you use to both catch and throw the ball (here is the wiki... http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Basque_pelota)... The actual catching and throwing process is quite impressive and I have since read that the ball can travel at speeds in excess of 150 miles/hour. We stayed and watched in awe for about 30 minutes as one guy from one of the two teams seemed to do about 90% of the work and we couldn't help but wonder how his arm didn't get ripped off. Anyways, we left, but not after watching some fellow encierro (running of the bulls) runners struggle to get their car out of the steep parking lot. They probably stalled out a good 7 times and switched 3 drivers before finally squeeling away in their little pinto hatchback.

But enough of the warm-up... lets get to the good stuff. After driving another hour of so along a beautiful scenic rout that took us through the mountains and along rivers, we ended up in Pamplona. As we entered the city center, we saw a baseball field which we took as a sign that we were supposed to be there and were supposed to be there. After quickly realizing that driving around in La Zino would be a pain, we pulled into an underground parking garage/our hotel for the night which just so happened to be the parking lot next to Plaza De Torros, the main center of the festival and all the action.

Let me set the scene... thousands upon thousands of people walking the streets having a grand old time. If that alone wasn't good enough, everyone was dressed in white (mostly) and red. The typical attire being all white with a red bandanna around your neck or a red scarf. Everywhere you looked was a sea of white and red people drinking, dancing, singing and having the time of their lives. Let's just say if Ruth Benedict had to classify this get together, it would definitely be Dionysian, and the epitome of such an extravaganza at that.



First things first, we couldn't stick out like a sore thumb so after perusing a few stands, we picked up our white pants and red bandannas. Troy added a white bucket hat, and Rachel and Anj opted for red scarf used as a belt instead of the bandanna, which was also equally acceptable. With the outfits checked off, we did what any reasonable person would do... had about 3 beers each while waiting for Rachel and Anj to finish their close shopping. After Anj and Rachel finished making their purchases, we all went for more beers and decided to plan out our route for the following day's run.


When we got to the pen where the bulls are kept before they are released on the run, there was an English speaking guide talking about the Encierro and how it goes down. Beers in hand, we free loaded on his information session taking in the details of the event. When everyone else had left, we asked him what advice he had for us in running the next day. His advice, the first of many (all different) pieces of advice we would receive was as follows.

Advice #1:
To tour group: "If you have not run before, absolutely DO NOT run on this stretch (Caller Santo Domingo/the beginning straight away). Look at it, it looks like Omaha Beach, there is rock wall on one side and fence on the other.

When we ask what we should do: What should you do? Don't run. It's crazy. And if you are going to run, get a good night sleep and run sober."

So at this point in time, we are buzzed and feeling good and we assemble our first plan, which went as follows... We celebrate Spain's world cup victory, we go wild, Bart and Aaron kiss some cute Spanish girls, we drink 'til 1... which we quickly amended to 3, we sleep, we wake up, we start in Constitutional Square, we run/do sexy dance moves when everyone starts to run.

Good plan so far, right? Riiiiight...

So after checking the place where the bulls start from, we continued down the Encierro route, following Calle Santo Domingo to the big beautiful building that is Constitutional Square. In constitutional square, we got side tracked and go to search for more beer, this is when we ran into the first group of Australians we would meet who gave us our second piece of advice.

Advice # 2 (drunk Australians... caution to readers, bad words were said.... and I write them):

(Best if read in an Australian accent) "You start at Constitutional Square and start walking down to over by dead man's corner. If you try to go any farther, the police will kick you out. So you start there and when the first firework goes off, you start to walk or jog. When the second firework goes off (letting you know the first bull is out) you start to run and make sure you get past dead man's corner. When they start to get close, you jump out of the way and go up against the wall until they pass... then you run after them and chase them into the bull ring."

Ok, sounds like reasonable advice. This is our new plan... not running has been replaced.

We keep walking and see a drunk Australian getting his hair put in corn-rows. He is screaming to his friends and when he is finished goes and sits on the ground to drink sangria. Aaron and I sit next to him and pose for a pic, to which he says.. "Oh i'm just some fucking joke to you guys?"

Sounds like a good conversation started.

We start chatting it up with his buddies and get our 3rd piece of advice which echoes the 1st Australian guys advice...

Advice #3: (okay I lied earlier, here come the curse words)
(Best if read in a heavier/drunken Austalian accent) "...So when the bulls are coming..."
Us-"how do you know when that is?"
"...you will hear them coming, it will get loud and people will be yelling... so all you got to do is when those fuckers are coming, you press yourself up against a wall and wait for 4 or 5 other fuckers to pile up in front of you making a human shield..."
Us-"How do you know people will pile behind you?"
"Well you don't, but the bulls are huge and will take up most of the space so people will have to get out of the way."

Ok, sounds easy enough.

After having some sangria from our new friends pouch, we are on our way again, this time going to check out the square where the game will be televised on a big screen.

Already speaking like a native Spaniard, I strike up conversation with 3 girls who are there together. One from Paraguay, one from Venezuela and the last from Columbia. After a nice conversation, Bart, Troy and I pose for a Pic before moving on (see below)
After our photo sess, we set off looking for a dancing bar (not hard to find despite it being the middle of the afternoon)... we go into the first one that we find and are pleased with the music and ambiance. We settle into the corner and make it our own. We hardly have drinks in our hands before making some dance friends.... A group of sweaty/wasted Spanish guys and a group of Frenchies (Is that a derogatory term? If so it isn't meant to be... I apologize), one of which is wearing John Stockton short shorts and no shirt, just an apron. He also has a discolored front tooth, giving him the appearance of a very mature big baby.


We are dancing up a storm and having a great time. We start to realize that we may be in a gay bar when men are making frequent passes at us and guys around us start making out. We quickly decide that we are a big fan of dancing at gay bars and continue to have a great time... I'll let the pictures do most of the talking but some of the highlights include Rachel knocking Anj's beer from her hand... it landed up, saving about half of it, and creating a slick dance floor, Rachel getting hoisted up in the air by the Spanish guys, sweet dance moves by all...


Wanting to save some of the party for later that night, we leave the bar and take to the streets again. Back in the square where the game will be, I strike up a conversation with a group of Spaniards and play my favorite game... I speak my best Spanish and ask people to guess where I am from... They can't guess... I am pleased that they think Spain... my street Spanish is money. We play this game for 30 minutes or so, shooting the shit and being social... This time Rachel and Anj take photos. (At 5 am the next morning, I would run into these guys again and one of them would hug me and confess that he knows I am Spanish)



As we are leaving.... I give Rachel a kiss.... we are drunk, apparently it is sloppy because some French girls come over and lecture us on how that was a bad kiss... I argue my case and (i think this next part happened) lobby to have them show me a real kiss on Troy or Bart... they are married... Troy and Bart are sad? haha. Another photo takes place (although it is lost... stay tuned for Troy camera story)

We talk to some more Australians, some Kiwi's, pose for a picture with some Dutchies... We walk around, take some pictures at the running of the bulls statue... Game time looms a few hours away.





Did I mention that throughout this whole day it is 40+ degrees Celsius (104 +F)...

I decide that it's time to stake out our seats for the game (2 hrs. before)... We grab some sandwiches and sit in the sun to bake and solidify our spot in the center of the action in Pamplona's center square.

More to follow...

We Almost Never Made it to Pamplona...

Biarritz, France with the Pyranees and Spain in the distance


Even though I labeled myself strictly as an emergency driver, I somehow landed myself in the drivers seat as we entered Biarritz. Biarritz is the surfing hot spot in Europe with a picturesque coastline, natural bridges, and it also just so happened that the Roxy Womens Longboarding Championship was being held there for the days we were there. As with many beach towns, Biarritz also has small windy streets that go up and down hills. Couple that with all the cars parked both legally and illegally covering every square inch of curb and you have a tight squeeze for the big boy, La Zino. Imagine David Ortiz trying to fit into Dustin Pedroia's jersey and that gives you a pretty good idea of what it looked like with me trying to weave up and down these streets looking for any campsite that may or may not have been in that area.

So pretty much everyone was yelling at me... except Aaron who was repeatedly telling me "you are doing great", I was driving way too fast, down way too narrow of a street, with way too many illegally parked cars, trying to take in the beauty of the sun setting over the water and almost crashed La Zino. ALMOST is the key word there, I am confident that I would have taken us safely to our destination had I been allowed the opportunity, but instead Joris Ordered me to stop (in the middle of the street), which I did not do... but instead pulled over at a corner and relinquished the driving reigns to Bart.

To make the long story short, Bart delivered us safely to several campsites before we wound up finding an open spot for two days at a 4 star campsite (coming up in the world). To explain how ridiculous some of these luxury "campsites" (more like urban resorts) can be, when we got there, there was a hypnotist doing a show at the bar/games area of the campsite.

July 10th...

Our first (and last) full day in Biarritz had some great moments. We spent the morning and afternoon exploring the town and getting in some good beach time. While walking around, happened upon a pretty young lady and her camera crew filming a tv promo for the Surfing Tour and entertainment that accompanied it (called Roxy Jam). For some reason which escapes me, Aaron was carrying his pirate hat around with him... setting up a perfect opportunity. During a break in filming, Aaron bravely walked up to the woman with his pirate hat and asked if he could take a picture with her. She agreed, asking him, "Is it your bachelor party?". No, lady... sadly that is just his normal attire. Well done, Troy! (below find pictures of Troy with a long lost Matey and with the woman of his dreams)




After taking in the beautiful coast from a bluff that jetted out into the water, we spent the day on the beach and getting pounded by waves (I had to switch from booty shorts to regular suit because the first wave nearly left me bootyshortsless). We went back to the campsite to shower up and eat before heading back to the beach for the Roxy Jam concerts on the beach and other festivities. It should also be noted that I started mental and physical preparation for Pamplona at the campsite, exchanging my grizzly beard for a sexy mustache.

We made it back to the beach in time to watch the sun disappear below the water. Then we checked out the concert, had our daily dosage of ice cream, and had a drink. Our waiter, like many we had on the trip sucked big time bringing up a pretty good debate... what do you think... Is it better having to tip and getting good service, or not having to tip and getting the shaft?

Anyways, this was the last night we spent with Joris (sad) and in France and so started (in all likelihood) the craziest 24-36 hour time period of my life.

Some pics from Biarritz:

Roxy Jam Concert on the BeachSunset over water

Small Biarritz Streets

Au revoir Bordeaux... Bonjour (from France) Biarritz

Bordeaux, Bordeaux... what would any decent person do in Bordeaux on their second day there? In honor of Ton-Loc and simply out of common sense, we started our second day in Bordeaux off with a wine tour at Chateau Latour-Martillac. The Chateau Latour-Martillac has been family owned for over a century (I need to double check that) and is as they claim "the worst of the best," meaning they are in the highest classification of chateau in Bordeaux region, but sit towards the bottom in terms of prestige and price. Do they really market their wine as "the best of the worst"? Definitely not, and it was nice to see that our tour guide, in addition to giving us a really nice informative tour, had a sense of humor.
Many oak barrels full of delicious wine

Rachel sampling the white... and clearly enjoying it

After we finished our wine tour and tasting, we head back to the campsite which was located next to a beach and had a lounge day splitting time between our campsite swimming pool (a ridiculous thought for anyone who has done real camping, I know), the cesspool aka a little lagoon a few hundred meters off of the beach, and the beach.

For dinner we walked around the Andernos Le Bain boardwalk, admiring a tide so low and far out that if it had not been for hundreds of boats sitting atop the sand, you wouldn't even be able to tell there was ocean there. Troy and Bart took the time to pose on the beach with some 12 year old girls, in a hilarious sequence of events where the cute 18 year-old+ girls posing/lying on the beach below turned into a group of awkward 14 year-olds when they got closer (see below)

Looking like cute girls our age:

Actually 13 year-old girls:

HAHA.

After the said picture shoot (which actually included about a dozen more pictures of the whole sequence), we settled down for a dinner of muscles at a restaurant where we were served by a doppelganger of Aaron's mother (or so he said). It was good, as was the ice cream that followed. We went to bed with rain clouds looming over our tents.

Having survived the rain showers of the night, we woke up on July 9th ready to continue our trek south, destination Biarritz. Before arriving in Biarritz, however, we had two important stops. 1) We ate oysters and sausages in Esplanade Des Ostreiculteurs, said to be the best oysters in the world, and 2) spent the day climbing the largest sand dunes in Europe at Dune de Pyla. Joris had picked both these pit stops out and deserves all the credit for us finding these amazing spot.

Oysters and Sausage... THAT IS WHAT ESPLANADE DES OSTREICULTEURS DOES!

Group shot in Esplanade ...

I didn't think it was possible to have that much fun with nothing but sand, but Pyla lived up to her reputation. Set with the ocean on one side and a forest on the other, the top of the dune offers beautiful views in any direction you look.

We spent a few hours pretending we were lost in a desert, trying not to create any footprints in the wind hardened sand, having jumping contests, walking down to the beach, walking back up to the top of the dune (tiring), watching hang/para gliders, and sprinting down from the top of the dune. Although these things may not sound like much, this may have been my favorite day of the trip up until this point. Sharing beautiful nature with good company is tough to beat.

Us trekking around in the endless sand

Ocean side View
Me rescuing a beautiful girl from a sand storm
Forest side view

After our fun in the sand, we continued on to Biarritz, a ritzy coastal town not too far from the border of Spain. This was our final stop with Joris, and was a great way to finish our time in France. Bearritz showed us a great time... check back soon to hear about it.

La Rochelle and Bordeaux

Day 2...
We awoke on day 2 refreshed after sleeping off the long drive and looking forward to seeing places at a speed less than 120 km/hr. It should also be noted that day 1 was La Zino's first big test. In trying to find our campsite, we ended up in some of La Rochelle's narrowest streets, putting Bart's driving ability to the test. After packing up our urban campsite, we headed back into the narrow streets of La Rochelle's city center.

We split up with the girls going together and us manly men setting off in the other direction. The group bond was so strong that we ended up all back together within the next two hours, eating at a port side restaurant. Not only were the Crepes good, but our waitress was a cute little thing and we enjoyed Bart's (failed) attempts to flirt with her (Okay, maybe the girls were not so amused by this but it was pretty funny). After heading back to the car, it was time to show the beach bodies off. We made our way South down the coast to Saint Palais-sur-mer, where we (I) threw on our sexy Euro swim suits and showed off the goods (see picture).
On the beach, Bart, Aaron, and I had a mini World Cup shootout tournament. Battling through injury (cut foot on the rocks in the water) Aaron came in 3rd and I took Bart down in the finals using my man booty shorts as a distraction. In all honesty, the biggest victory for anyone was that nothing popped out of my suit during the action and post goal celebrations... With everyone a winner in that sense, we loaded La Zino up again in the direction of Bordeaux. After driving for a while, we pulled into (another strange) campsite an hour or two outside of Bordeaux and set up camp for the night.

It was at this campsite that we added our 7th member to the crew, Eggbert. An eggplant that had a nose that Nomar would be proud of.

We got Eggbert liquored up to ease the pain of us eating his sister as a side dish to our pasta and after he passed out, we headed over to the game area to play some ping pong and foosball. While I played ping pong with this old guy from Madagascar, everyone else played Kikker (Dutch for Foosball). Drinks followed and before we knew it, July 6th was in the books.

Day 3: Bordeaux...

My first near heart attack on the trip came in Bordeaux. We pulled into the underground parking lot with a clearance of 1.9 meters and everything looked fine until the top of our car scraped the roof. Pretty much trying to get our car through this garage was like Chris Farley's "fat guy in a little suit" antics in Tommy Boy. I'm pretty sure if La Zino wasn't loaded down with 6 people and all our camping stuff that we would have been stuck there for the rest of the trip, but as it was we made it with about a centimeter of space between us and the roof.

Joris led us on a walking tour of Bordeaux and we saw a lot of the city, but by far the best moment came at a free fine arts museum. We walked into the museum and although it was free, we still had to get tickets. The lady working asked us where we were from and gave the Belgians their tickets and let them go in. Completely straight faced, she turned to Aaron and I (the girls were outside still) and demanded $200 dollars entrance fee. A little perplexed we asked, "What?" $200 dollars for Americans she said again without cracking a smile. Still a little shocked and a little angry I asked, "Don't you think that is a little bit Racist?" to which the lady burst out laughing. We had been had but decided that we would have some fun with it too. When the girls came in, we hid around the corner and filmed them as the same joke was played on them. It was much funnier when you weren't the one being fooled and in hindsight it was pretty hilarious.

The rest of our day was spent touring around Bordeaux, taking pictures of cow statues that were placed around the city (yes we got a picture of us sucking the statues utter but it was on Aaron's camera... stay tuned for the saga of Aaron's camera later), walking on the popular water mirror, and of course stopping for ice cream. As the day began to wind down, we squeezed out of the parking garage and drove to Anderrlos le Bain where we watched Spain beat Germany and advance to the World Cup finals, setting the stage for Pamplona in a few days and one of the craziest 24 hour spans in my life. Day 3 was done-zo.

Little time to write

Hey all,

With no working computer and little time to write it has been tough to fill everyone in on what is going on and the rest of the epic trip, but it will come soon... I promise. Keep checking in!

Week 1... France

After getting La Zino, we cruised back to Opwijk/Merchtem to get all our gear. I packed hurriedly (in about 30 minutes), amazingly not forgetting anything of importance, and we loaded up the van. With all of our gear loaded up and excited to kick the trip off, we decided it best to spend our first night of the trip in Merchtem and sleep out at the field.

It was the end of the first half of the season, the beginning of our trip and the 4th of July. With all the reasons needed to have a party, we did just that. We met up with Jan Cassiman, Zino, and some of the other guys to 'cue and have some drinks at the field before catching some shut eye on the floor of the cantina. Before passing out, Bart, Troy, Rachel, and I wrote a song for Anj so we could woo her by playing it at the station when we picked her up the next morning. After a few hours of z's, we woke up ready to roll.

The official day 1...

Wearing our crazy hats (me- candy cane striped wizard looking hat, Rachel-Gator face hat, Troy-Pirate hat, Bart- Cowboy hat), we greeted Anj at the train station with a beautiful rendition of our Anj song from the night before. With 5/6 of the crew assembled, we headed to Brussels to pick up the missing piece... Joris.

After picking up Joris and with the trip officially started, we headed for La Rochelle. After 8ish hours of driving and a pit stop in Chateauleraux (or something close to that) to grab lunch and groceries for dinner, we finally made it to our first destinqtion (please forgive my typos... i'm using a dutch key board and typing is like trying to pat your head and rub your stomach at the same time), La Rochelle. We pulled into a campsite after a wild goose chase trying to find it and I was quite puzzled. For me, camping was always synonymous with nature and rural areas, but as I would soon find out campping in Europe would be nothing like the camping i had experienced before. Instead, camping in southern europe (most of the time) means being smack dab in the middle of an urban area in a walled off or fenced off area where peoples tents are really close to each other, you have very little privacy and access to electricity and nicely kept bathroom facilities. Many campsites even have swimming pools and game areas and the really nice ones (they use stqr systems like hotels), like the 4 star cqmping we did in Anyways, after setting up the tents and our kitchen area, we cooked the first of many delicious meals:::this time it was beans, rice, and stir fry. After cleaning up and washing up, we enjoyed a concert of loud sex noises coming from a few cites over, chatted it up with some recent French kids who had just graduated high school and were in tozn celebrating, partying, and going to a film festival that was taking place there. Exhausted from the long day, we hit the hay and day 1 was officially in the books. It should also be noted that I drove us through Paris and other parts of France and at this point was happy with my driving skills (you will get why I say this later)

I have to go to bed now and get ready to beat Mortsel tomorrow so stay tunned for the rest of the trip coming soon in installments;;; until then, peace!

Back to Civilization

Hello All,

For those of you who haven't heard from me in a while and were wondering why, this is my attempt to bring you and everyone else up to speed on my mid season travels. How I can summarize the amazing trip I just took I am not quite sure, but why not give it a shot...

Yesterday I landed back in Belgium after 6 weeks of travel... a trip that took me from Belgium to Croatia (and through parts of Bosnia Herzegovina), back to Belgium for a 2 day stint and then by van through France, Spain, Portugal, back across Spain to Barcelona before hopping on a plane to Sicily and then heading up the western coast of Italy/Amalfi Coast and finishing up in Rome/Vatican City.

The trip lasted 43 days... Holly Cow (best if read aloud in a Harry Carry voice)

Who the hell would schedule such a break in the middle of a baseball season you may ask... Leave the impossible and balakalijk (ridiculous) baseball happenings to the Belgian Baseball Federation.

Not counting our 2 day intermission in Belgium, we went to 7 countries (Bosnia Herzegovina now holding the "coolest place I can say I have been if it comes up in conversation" award)

During the insanity I survived running the Encierro (better known as the running of the bulls), spent the wee hours of the morning in Sevilla's police station where I almost wet my pants (no I was not arrested... even though I was treated like I had been), almost crashed our rental van in Biarritz, France, foiled a pickpockets attempt to take my wallet in Lisbon, saw the tattoo speedo guy in Barcelona... twice, and still couldn't help but stare (http://www.odditycentral.com/pics/naked-in-barcelona.html), climbed volcanoes in Sicily, and said "when in Rome" in Rome.

This is just a small list of highlights that will be described in greater detail in the following writings, which for the sake of not getting carpel tunnel syndrome, will be done in installments starting with the first day right now (the croatia portion can be read about in my last few posts)...

The Crazy Hat Trip Begins... In the Cantina for a 4th of July sleepover:

After our game in Hoboken on Sunday, July 4th Bart, Troy, Rachel and I got dropped off at the Brussels airport to pick up our home for the next three weeks... a Volkswagen Transporter named "La Zino". After finding out that Bart was not the rich engineer that he claimed to be and didn't have enough credit to put down the down payment for the van, we had to call Bram back to the airport so I could get my card to use (Yes, I am a high roller). Our trip hadn't even started yet and I was already getting honked at by angry drivers and yelled at by an angry French speaking lady as cars were piling up behind Bram's car as I riffled through the trunk trying to get to my inaccessible wallet. This may have been a negative "Damn! We are off to a great start" moment for many other travelers, but for me it was the perfect kind of ridiculousness to start a trip that would include debauchery and shenanigans at every turn.

To be continued tomorrow... check back in for more