Travelogue Malaga Day 4 & 5

Food and drink on a balcony on the AC Hotel overlooking, Malaga, Spain

That was a non-alcoholic beer. No, I have no explanation for it.


Me: Your batteries are low. You should always be charging something.
Her: If you had an autobiography, you should call it that.
Me: What was the other I said that you said would be a good title for me?
Her: “I’m full of ham and other late night confessions.”

We wake up later than we thought we would but this is because, after four days, I finally get six uninterrupted hours of sleep. I wake up and see that my hands are steady once again.

We walk out the door and head over to the cathedral, which is on the next block.

The tours are closed so we pay for a viewing of their replica of the Shroud of Turin. Yes, it’s a replica. But it was the only way to see the inside of the church.

They tell us not to take pictures and I say that I won’t take pictures of the exhibit. And I don’t take pictures of the exhibit.

The cathedral in Malaga, Spain

We end up going to another tapas place.

Her: OK, this is nice.
Me: (looking up) I’ll stand guard for birds.

We order almost exactly what we had the other day but this time, it was without bird poop.

The tapas, it turns out, are much better without bird poop. Good advice for life in general.

Street scene in Malaga, Spain

We wake up early and pick up food at the local bakery again. It’s so early that they don’t have much prepared so I wait for them to make me a sandwich.

A few hours later, we’re in a cab to the airport, and soon on a flight back to Dublin. We get off and I’m starving so we pick up some food at the food court.

Airport in Malaga, Spain

More accurately, I pick up some food at the food court but soon regret my, admittedly, random choices.

Me: Perhaps having a burger, fries, yoghurt, dates, coffee, and an errant cashew right before a transatlantic flight wasn’t the best idea.
Her: You think?

We eventually make it onto our flight home and I spend a little time writing these entries.

It’s late when the plane lands at JFK. We forget that customs is always a bear. But eventually that’s over and a really nice hack gets us home relatively fast.

Some 18 hours after we begin our trip home, we get home.

Her: We’re home!
Me: Sweet! Let me check on Harold.

Harold is obviously upset we went away as he says nothing and he gives me the silent treatment even now.

Still, that aside, it’s good to be home. And now, work.

Woman on balcony in Malaga, Spain
Horses and carriages in Malaga, Spain
Logan Lo, in Malaga, Spain

Location: home, getting dressed for the office
Mood: busy
Music: took what they offered me To set me free


Travelogue Malaga Day 3 / All food, all the time

Two cups of Café con leche and a pain au chocolat in Malaga, Spain


We both wake up just in time for a tour of the Picasso museum. Rather, once again, she wakes up and I get up.

The museum is very interesting, actually. No pics though. As we wend our way around these beautiful objects, I’m reminded of something Lorne Michaels once said, Sadly, talent and character do not often reside in the same person.

Afterward, we go out to eat where we order a traditional meal of tapas. In Malaga, they always give you a basket of bread but never any butter or oil to go with it. Find this a bit odd but HG is less concerned. Things are going fairly well until a bird decides to poop on the table in front of HG; in the pic below the crime happens between the bread and the wine.

She is displeased. Thus ends lunch.

Beer, bread, and wine in Malaga, Spain

We go back to the hotel and I actually get some sleep for once. When we wake up, we head out and explore the city a bit. As the rain begins to fall, we end up at a traditional market where people look at me funny cause I’m taking pics of where they pick up their dinner.

Ducking into a café when the rain picks up, we have two café con leche and split a pan du de chocolate as an old man asks us if we want lottery tickets. In light of our recent luck with them, we decline and like the man yesterday, he exclaims, Such a shame!

Eventually, we walk over to try and see the cathedral, but it’s already closed. So we take cover in a doorway and keep our eyes out for birds.

When the weather lets up, we make our ways to the ruins of the Moorish castle, Alcazaba and then the 2300 year old ruins of the Roman arena I saw yesterday.

Her: It’s pretty amazing that people in Europe get to have things like this all over the place.
Me: It really is.

Wine and a mojito in Malaga, Spain

We then we head over and get some libations: she orders a glass of white wine, I order a Mojito.

Her: I can’t believe you’re eating all the mint.
Me: It’s like a drink and a salad all at once.

Soon, we find our way to a restaurant for a proper dinner. I decide on something called a Migas and ask HG to ask the waiter what it is.

Him: Um, maybe he should pick something else.
Her: Why, what is it? (the waiter begins to explain when HG thinks and says) Actually, it doesn’t matter. He’ll eat anything.

It’s pretty good, if not very greasy. She orders the paella and can’t finish that so I eat that as well.

A Migas meal in Malaga, Spain

We take a walk back to the hotel and end up watching “500 Days of Summer” – a film we’ve both been avoiding for a while.

Turned out to be pretty realistic; people, especially men, have been told by Hollywood what love is all about. And real love’s nuthin like what you see in moving pictures. We enjoy it.

We then try to sleep but the noise outside on a Saturday night is indescribably loud.

As I get up and head to the bathroom, I steady myself against the sink. The hand shaking continues.

It’s been a while since my insomnia’s been so bad and for a moment, I despair a bit, thinking maybe it’s back again as it was.

But then remind myself that I’m traveling. Running my hands under the cold water, I look up and see a terribly old-looking man staring back at me.

A butcher in the market of Malaga, Spain
A church in Malaga, Spain

Location: my apartment, looking for more food
Mood: busy
Music: night after night my heartbeat shows the fear


Travelogue Malaga Day 2

Malaga, Spain


We wake up an hour before the conference starts. More accurately, HG wakes up and I get up.

She runs out and grabs us two cups of joe, some bread, and a sandwich for me while I get dressed and quickly go over my presentation. Wolf it all down before dashing out the door.

Sandwich in Malaga, Spain

I hoof it over to the Picasso Museum but promptly get lost. An Australian bartender sets me on my way.

Him: It’s over there, between those two buildings.
Me: The alley?
Him: (laughs) That’s a street, mate; alleys you can barely squeeze into here.

A few stressful minutes later,  run into several people that heard me speak last year before I settle into an orange chair in the rear.

Her: Mr. Lo! How are you? (later) Hopefully it’s not as exciting as it was last year when that woman yelled at you.
Me: It wasn’t so bad; at least everyone remembers me.

Cause of technical difficulties, we break for coffee early. During the intermission, a reporter asks if she can interview me. After I nod, she asks about my presentation.

Me: Technology has changed so much recently, especially since I was a kid, and probably the same for most people. For example, how old are you?
Her: um, 21.
Me: Well, I don’t have any examples for you then.

After several other presentations, it’s finally my turn.

Me: The First Amendment – Freedom of Speech – is what Americans are known for. Well, that and McDonalds.

Silence. Complete and utter silence.Then five seconds later, laughter.

I forget that they’re translating what I say into French and Spanish. Relieved, I continue and my jokes elicit the polite laughter I’m expecting. Soon, I smile and finish on time. No one screams at me.

Afterward, we’re at lunch where I end up sitting with some Germans.

Her: You taught yourself German because you couldn’t sleep? Why?
Me: Why not?

Food in Malaga, Spain

Waiters come with small sandwiches and olives. The olives are terribly bitter so I have a sandwich. It’s great – Spanish ham and a soft cheese.

So I have another. It’s blue cheese and tuna. I almost gag so I put it off to the side. Taking a bite of another, it’s different fish and cheese sandwich. Again, I almost gag.

Server: Beer?
Me: Please!

Soon, I have a pile of half-eaten sandwiches on my plate and decide that bitter olives aren’t so bad after all. We Americans are so spoiled when it comes to food.

Bellies full, we head back to the conference but not before I realize that we were just noshing about 100 feet from a 2,000 year old Roman Theater.

The Roman Theater in Malaga, Spain

Back inside, stay for the other American to finish her speech as a sign of solidarity but then I can’t stay awake for the second half of the presentations so I head back to the hotel to rest.

End up working on a few things instead of resting before I run back to the conference hall for drinks.

Outside, several wine tables are set up and I have a glass of white. Then a glass of red. Then a glass of a dessert wine.

Sommelier: What do you normally drink?
Me: Rum.
Him: Such a shame; we have none.
Me: That really is a shame.

Afterward, take a meandering walk back to the hotel as I take in the sights. There’s something beautiful everywhere.

Sculpture in Malaga, Spain

The Spanish have this habit of having dinner at 10PM so they invite HG and me out to eat. Tell them it’s too late for us but, as luck would have it, I run across them as I head home. They insist I come in for a bite but I tell them I can’t as I give them a rueful nod.

After a pleasant night, have an agonizing night as I don’t sleep for more than an hour.

When I wake up, I look down at my hands and notice they’re shaking again.


Malaga, Spain

Location: getting ready for work at home
Mood: groggy
Music: Get sucked in and stuck in late nights

business personal

Logan’s 39 / Travelogue Malaga Day 1

Malaga, Spain

It’s my birthday.

And like always, say something, all of you bastards that read me but never say anything.

Logan Lo at the AC Hotel in Malaga, Spain


Me: Did we check the stove was off?
Her: Go check.
Me: I put on my shoes already.
Her: (shakes head and slips off shoes)

HG and I go on our first airplane trip together. As i did in Paris last year, I’m speaking about intellectual property issues and video games in Malaga, Spain.

We’re out the door, on the AirTrain, and in the airport in less than an hour. Except for one minor hiccup, we make it to the plane without issue.

Me: Shoot, I can’t find my ticket or passport.
TSA Agent: Sir, you just put them into your back pocket.
Me: I knew that.

Soon we’re in our chairs in the sky and I start taking things from HG’s bag of snacks.

Her: Didn’t you say we didn’t need to bring that? And now you’re going to eat it all in the beginning of our trip.
Me: If you weren’t here, I would strap this on my face like a feed bag.

Six hours and one tiny can of Diet Coke later, we arrive in Ireland for a two-hour layover at around midnight. We have the airport to ourselves.

Airport in Dublin, Ireland

Announcement: last call for Amsterdam.
Me: We should blow this thing and go to Amsterdam. (thinking) We could smoke pot.
Her: You’ve never smoked pot before.
Me: I’m away. I’d smoke a pot.
Her: (laughing) The fact you just said “a pot” makes me think it’s not for you.

Ended up heading to Malaga anyway.

We finally get to board our connecting flight. As I can never sleep, read the entirety of Digital Wars during the layover and half the flight to Spain.

About 18 hours we walk outta our door in NYC, we walk into our door in Malaga.

We drop off our bags and we notice that we have a balcony so I get a beer from the mini-bar and look over the city.

Overlooking Malaga, Spain

We both try to crash for a bit but I don’t get much rest. It’s only 1PM there so four hours later, we get up in search of food and a SIM card and we find both on the same block.

The organizer of the event meets us for a chat in the hotel lobby but we’re fading fast so we politely make it short.

Unfortunately, it’s a sleepless night cause Spaniards have dinner at 10PM and we’re essentially in the Times Square of Malaga.

It’s been almost 30 hours and I’ve gotten five hours of sleep.

The conference’s tomorrow.

Overlooking Malaga, Spain
Having a beer on a balcony in Malaga, Spain

Location: finally back home
Mood: another year older
Music: Just give me credit, I’m just sitting on the shelf

business personal

Europe 2011: Day 4 & 5 / The Presentation and Home

My name card


Wake up and head over to the Île de la Cité again and make it over to the Paris Bar Association. I’m the first one there. Meet up with my fellow speaker and, after some running around, set up.

Most of the speakers are good, but run over time. Two presenters have me riveted – I love my area of the law.

After my presentation, the lead attorney for a major museum stands up and starts yelling at me. She does not approve of how we do things in the US. The problem is that she’s confusing two separate aspects of the law.

Presentation at the Avocats de Paris

After she was done, I politely started to respond when I realize she was busy digging in her purse. Wait for her to finish. The audience roared with laughter without my having said a word.

It was quite possibly the best thing that could have happened to me. At the lunchen afterward, ran outta business cards in about 10 minutes. Alla the French in the audience came up to me to apologize and said that the woman’s behaviour wasn’t representative of the French; the Spanish can up to thank me for the education plus morning entertainment.

This one lawyer told me he wanted to take me out for coffee and did. Super nicea him but I shouldn’t have cause it was 6PM.

La Pointe Saint Eustache in Paris

Cup of coffee at La Pointe Saint Eustache in Paris

Turns out he’s an elder statesman in my particular practice and thought I did a really good job. Def nice to hear.

Afterwards, went to a private event at the Musée du Barreau – it was the House of Lawyers, then a butcher shop for years, then back to the House of Lawyers. Coolest thing was seeing the actual newspaper with the headline, “J’accuse!”

J'accuse headline

Hopped aboard the metro to get back to my hotel and chatted up this beautiful blond right before I went to bed.

Her: Skype is great, this sounds better than when we’re on the phone.
Me: Let me switch on the video.
Her: (seeing me) Ah, there you are.
Me: Do you want me to do an Anthony Weiner? (standing up)
Her: Uh…no.
Didn’t sleep much that night. Dunno what I was thinking, having coffee at 6PM. Stupid delicious Paris coffee.

Logan Lo in a French Hotel


Wake up and walk to a local bakery to pick up some fresh bread to have with my cuppa joe.

French bakery

Afterward, slip into the Metro to head to the Paris Du Nord where I wait to board the Chunnel train again. This time, there’s no screaming children.

Exiting Kings Cross, had a full Indian lunch; cause what makes more sense before a transatlantic flight than a heavy Indian meal?

Indian lunch near Kings Cross London

Get to Heathrow on the tube, board, and head home. The guy sitting next to me – purely by coincidence – works with my wife and is heading to a conference with her. Small world.

Logan Lo on an airplane

Exiting JFK, tell the driver to take the 59th Street Bridge and not Midtown to get into the city. He asks me to repeat myself and he grunts. Soon, we’re barreling down the LIE and we don’t speak again until we pull up in front of my home. Tossed him a $10 tip, grab my bags and make it to my door.

I’m exhausted and I lost my keys so I ring the doorbell.

She opens the door and smiles. “Logan’s home!” she says and I laugh. I am.

Location: home
Mood: rested
Music: keep my things, they’ve come to take me home

business personal

Europe 2011: Day 3b / Montmarte, Île de la Cité, Notre Dame, Sacré-Cœur and a gyro

Train approaching the Paris Metro Cité Station


Walking to my hotel with two large bags was not a good idea as the crowds in Montemarte are just as aggressive in NYC.

Luckily, I’m a New Yorker so I push right back. Get to my hotel, toss my stuff onto the bed and make myself a quick cuppa joe. Man, the French really love their instant coffee.

Cup of coffee overlooking Paris

Today is my only free day here so I grab my camera, Fiona. Again, cause I’m a New Yorker, figure there’s no subway system I can’t deal with. So I head over to the Metro station and pick up a book of ten billets (tickets) and hop onto the Line 4 towards Porte d’Orléans.

Just like in Manhattan, there’re people that stand by the door and no one moves to the middle of the car. People are equally obtuse everywhere.

Get out at the Cité station and stare in awe at the soaring ceilings.

Paris Metro Cité Station stairs

Exit and make my way over to the Notre Dame Cathedral and pop on Rick Steves Historic Paris Walking Tour.

It’s pretty good but I end up skipping a buncha things. When people think of France, this is the part that they think of with the Île de la Cité and the River Seine.

Walk away from the crowds at the cathedral to the Deportation Museum where I’m there by my lonely. It deserves it’s own entry someday so I’ll just leave that be for now.

Make my way to the Latin Quarter, which should really be called the Greek Quarter, and am incited with the allure of gyros.

Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris France

Greek food at the Latin Quarter in Paris France

Her: Wait, you went all the way to Paris and had a gyro?
Me: No…(sigh)…yes.
Her: (shakes head)
-end intermission-

Exiting the Cite metro station in Paris France

Check out where I’m gonna give my speech tomorrow and then head back. On the way to my room, ask the receptionist where I can get postcards to send home. He tells me to walk up to the Basilique du Sacré-Cœur. Shrug my shoulders and I go.

He did not mention how steep that hill was. Bastard. 15 sweaty minutes later, I’m overlooking Paris. Take some pics, buy some cards, and then head back to crash.

Tomorrow I give my presentation.

It’s 10PM and still bright outside. I fall asleep with Parisian sirens wailing in the background.

Paris Metro Station Sign

Logan Lo at the Basilique du Sacré-Cœur in Paris France

Location: yet another European city, yet another cuppa joe
Mood: excited
Music: it’s 2 o’clock in the morning and I’m sittin’ thinkin’, wonderin’


Europe 2011: Day 3a / The morning of Logan and the kid trapped in the loo

Logan Lo on the Eurostar to Paris


It’s 6AM  when I wake up to the sound of my mobile telling me it’s time to go. Grab my stuff and put it all back together again.

Have the free breakfast from the hotel. It’s not good at all but it’s passable and I’m in a rush. Down two hardboiled eggs, some croissants, enough muesli to choke a horse, and cup after cup of god-awful instant coffee. The British really love their instant coffee.

Note to self: eat more muesli.

Hoof it over to the St. Pancras train station where I remove my belt and watch only to put it on again after the checkpoints. Catch the 8:55 train to Gare Du Nord Paris.

Paris Gare du Nord Eurostar station

At first the train’s essentially empty but it turns out that it makes a stop where my car fills with screaming school kids wearing purple shirts from St. Peter’s London Docks and three harried looking women wearing the same, herding them.

From the conversations around me, evidently Lester feels yogurt is too sour, Maneer wants to be a ninja and Alice doesn’t understand today’s music. They are all about 10 years old.

This is the ninth circle of hell.

At the halfway mark, make my way over to the restroom and note that the “occupied” indicator is off. I open the door to lock eyes with a young Indian boy, no more than 7 or 8, with dropped trou. He begins to scream in abject horror – neglecting entirely to pull up his aforementioned dropped knickers. (Are you impressed how I used the word “kinckers” I feel fancy today).

With amazing alacrity, and dexterity, frankly, he kicks the door closed – and I can only assume he fell in the process.

His story does not end here.

Not knowing whether or not I should wait for him to be finished, realize that he has no idea how to open the door now and is effectively trapped in the Eurostar lavatory. He is now screaming in earnest; he’s swinging for the fences, that boy is.

Backing away, from what I am sure will end up with me starting sentences with, “Officer…” I gingerly tap one of the women wearing the purple St. Peter’s London Docks shirts and say, “I believe one of your kids is trapped in the loo.” (Again, note how I used the word “loo.” I could pass for British).

Her: Thank you for getting me – he’s out now but he’s not one of ours.
Me: (looking around at the car of screaming kids) Oh, well I figured I had the odds on my side.

That kid’s scarred for life.

I arrive in Paris with two bags and a headache.

Decide to walk the mile to my hotel to clear my mind. It’s a long day, so I’ll tell you the rest tomorrow, yeah?

Statue against a cloudy Paris sky in France

Globe light fixture at the Cite metro station sign in Paris France

Cite metro station sign in Paris France

Location: another European city, another cuppa joe
Mood: headachy
Music: let’s get rich and buy our parents homes in the south of France


Europe 2011: Day 2 / And this is where I got coffee and free wifi next

Underground Entrance at Heathrow Airport.


It’s 6AM there when I wake up. Grab my stuff and put it all back together again.

Dunno if I told you what I bring with me when I travel. Carry everything I can in my laptop bag and a tri-fold garment bag. The usual stuff most people bring when they travel for work: suit, nice paira shoes, extra socks, etc. Like I said, the usual.

Except for the 12″ high-gain 9db 2400~2500 MHz antenna, 2.0 USB extension cable, and external USB 802.11n wireless adapter I carry.

On an unrelated point, still don’t understand why I never got invited to any parties as a child. Suppose some mysteries are never meant to be solved.


Anywho, after I check out of the hotel, grab the local bus that loops around the airport. There’re few people on it.

Did I mention that it was hella cold?

Slipped into the Underground, picked up an unlimited day pass, and took it to Leicester Square. It wasn’t even 8AM so there weren’t a lotta places open, let alone with wifi. Ended up at the Patisserie Valerie, which purported to have wifi. Ordered an Eggs Benedict and was gonna take a picture of it but the waitress nixed that idea.

The problem with their wifi was that it was beyond weak. Ergo…

Her: May I ask what that is?
Me: Oh that? Nuthin, just a 12″ high-gain 9db 2400~2500 MHz antenna, 2.0 USB extension cable, and external USB 802.11n wireless adapter.
Her Is it dangerous?
Me: Not unless I drop it and you trip on it. Can I get another coffee?

Did manage to snap one shot of the place.

Patisserie Valerie at Piccadilly Circus

While there, hop onto Skype and contact another hotel to see if could drop off my stuff and head to my meeting. They tell me to come on by so I do.


St. Pancras / King's Cross

Check into my hotel off of St. Pancras and get settled in. Have my meeting, which runs over time, of course.

Afterward, have lunch in this local establishment run by, what I can only assume is a good Scottsman, Mr. McDonald, for the free wifi. The wifi, much like the fare, kinda sucks, but this is what one does to be connected..

After lunch, grab the Victoria line to Victoria where I pop on my iphone and listen to this Lonely Planet Audio tour. It’s pretty good. Afterward, end up caught in the rain – which seems to happen all of time in London – and duck into the Waterstone/Costa bookstore for an hour or two where I have more coffee and more free wifi.

Should really entitle all of my travels as, “And this is where I got coffee and free wifi next…”

Big Ben London.

Beat, head back to the hotel and call it a night. Tomorrow, gotta wake up at the cracka dawn to grab the train to Paris.

See y’tomorrow?

The London Eye.

Man on horseback in London.

Dark clouds threatening London.

Location: another cafe, another cuppa joe, London
Mood: fascinated
Music: clouds and dogs and trees, stones and sunlit streets
YASYCTAI: Be bold – and mighty forces will come to your aid. (time/2 pts.)


Europe 2011: Day 1 / The time where Logan travels to Paris give a speech

There’ll be a lotta posts this week; wanted to give you a heads up.

John F. Kennedy Airport, NY.

Just got back from giving a talk about a narrow aspect of Intellectual Property for the Barcelona, Málaga, and Paris Bar Associations for their Third Annual Art and Law Conference (Séminaire international Art et Droit / Arte y Derecho).

As a rulea thumb, try to keep my professional life separate from this blog but sometimes y’can’t.

For those long-time readers, you’ll remember the last time I went to Europe, it was to Paris, Nantes, Bruges, Rotterdam, Dover, and the Netherlands. This time it was just London and Paris. Here’s what happened if you’re interested:

Automated walkway in JFK, NY.


Stay over with the rents the night before cause it’s easier to head out to the airport from there plus it gives me an excuse to have dinner with them. Heartgirl’s been to Paris for work a buncha times so I’m going by my lonely.

It’s 05:45 when my eyes pop open on their own.

Her: Morning! I would have woken you up.
Me: (laughing) Morning, mom. I’m always awake.
Her: You should bring a sweater. You might get cold.
Me: (rolling eyes) I won’t be cold. It’s summer.

Have a cup of coffee, a spoonful of peanut butter, and a banana and I’m off.

Two hours later, I’m putting back on on my shoes and belt and heading to gate 5 to catch a 777 to London. Reserved my favourite seat on that particular plane, seat 41G, but spoke to the lady at the desk anyway.

Me: Is there anyone sitting next to me?
Her: (looking) Um…not at the moment.
Me: Heavy load today?
Her: Not particularly.
Me: Now, if I asked really nicely, could we keep it that way somehow?
Her: (laughs) I’ll see what I can do.

Have the row to myself and lay out all my stuff. Work on my presentation and then a story idea. Eight hours later, I’m in Heathrow. Make my way outta customs and step outside.

Hell’s bells, it’s freezing here. Note to self: Listen to your mom.

End up stopping someone to ask how to get to Shuttle Bus H6 and he points it out before saying:

Him: Have y’self a good stay!
Me: Thanks, you too. (pause) Wait, that didn’t make any sense…
Him: S’all right, there. (laughs)

30 minutes later, after I’d checked in and had a nice hot shower, realize that I forgot the UK power adapter I’ve got at home. Dammit. The hotel workman points me to a vending machine that sells it for £7.00. Technology’s grand, isn’t it?


Ibis Hotel at Heathrow Airport.

Pass out knowing that my tapped out mac and mobile’ll be waiting for me, charged and ready the next morning.

G’night, citizensa the interwebs. See y’tomorrow?

UK power adapter.

Location: Ibis Hotel Heathrow, London
Mood: exhausted
Music: I can’t explain; go to the corner, I end up in Spain
YASYCTAI: Sometimes, just asking someone nicely works. Not all of time, but most. (1 min/ 1 pt.)


Globetrotting Pt. II

Trip to Europe: Rotterdam to Dover, to London, to Munich, to Innsbruck

Another long and weird day. Someone from my past is knocking on my door. He’s everything I hate about myself but he and I have a history so here we are again.

Sorry so cryptic, I’m making some changes – dunno if for better or worse. I’ll let you know soon. I always do.

But back to the trip:

Skipped all the meetings and went to the New York Hotel in Rotterdam. There I wrote postcards and had a $6 glass of water and listened to someone saying, goodbye my almost lover as I wrote my friends and family.

I picked up the pretty postcard above and thought it was a bit sad I had no one to send it to.

Oh well, there’s always tomorrow.

I’ll be in Dover tomorrow.

Arrived in Dover, England this morning where we left the ship. The guy that screwed up with the six hour trip to Bruges also screwed us for our Dover trip. We didn’t have to get up until 9AM but we woke at 4AM on his suggestion. Man!

At least I got to see the white cliffs at dawn. Went over London Stansted for an EasyJet flight to Munich.

Lemme just say that any airline with the word “Easy” in it is bound not to be. We ended up queuing for almost an hour.

Arrived in Munich that night where the Hotel Apollo said they lost our room but put us in Hotel Mirabell instead. Hmmmm…

Started drinking at 7PM at Oktoberfest where I met this bunch of people. Fun. I may have kissed a girl from Chicago and/or Australia – I don’t remember.

Its so hard to see clearly.


Woke up at 8AM to start drinking. Yes, 8AM. That’s how they do it there. They don’t mess around. Here’s the town walking to get hammered at 7:45AM.

We met up with some US soldiers and then a whole bunch of different people. Called it a day at 3PM. It was when I shot this video.

When to the hotel, passed out. We went to the Augustiner Großgaststätten to eat dinner.


Him: Wanna drink more or let our livers take a rest?
Me: Rest. Please.

We rented a BMW 1 (yes, they exist) and drove down to Neuschwanstein Castle and some other castles. There’re all over the damn place.

And man, those mountain roads are TWISTY! We drove through a %!#$% mountain for several minutes. Driving them in the dark was both terrifying and fun. Sorta like living in NYC.

We then decided to drive two hours to Innsbruck in Austria for dinner at the Elferhaus and had a cup of coffee at Cafe Kroell for an hour. On the way back, Mississippi, shes callin my name.

Drove to Munich in the dark with only 35Km left of gas in the gas tank. It’s funny now. Wasn’t then.

Slept for three hours at the Mövenpick Hotel München – the room was absolutely gorgeous but totally not worth it because we were there for grand total of four hours. We should have slept at the airport. Oh well…

Woke up thinking another aerorplane, another sunny place (I’m lucky I know) but I wanna go home. We then made our way to the Munich airport to Belgium then the US.

So now I’m back.
Location: 8PM, driving in circles in LIC
Mood: tired
Music: see the words in italics above