Planes, Trains, Busses and 36 Hours Without Sleep

The following is an accounting of my 13 hour journey from Istanbul, Turkey to Graz, Austria on Tuesday, as best I could remember it...

1:00 a.m. Taksim Square, Istanbul: After an amazing last minute ride around town and some profoundly delicious Turkish ravioli, my new found pal Can (who manages the biggest rock band in Turkey, Mor Ve Otesi) kindly drops me off at the Havas bus station, where I catch a ride to Sabiha Gokcen airport well on the outskirts of town…

2:00 a.m. Sabiha Gokcen Airport: When I’m not sitting, waiting, tapping my toes and sucking down Turkish coffee in an attempt to stay awake, I am going through security (TWICE) as well as customs and passport control. I am met with disapproving scowls wherever I go… these people love their jobs… There's a bunch of great big heaving Danes in the Duty Free shop… soldiers… probably just finishing up a NATO exercise… they’ve been celebrating their departure from Turkey… they are wrestling on the floor while Turkish police look on disapprovingly... must steer clear of this potential international incident…

3:00 a.m. Checking in at Sabiha Gokcen Airport: A cute girl in line in front of me obviously has issues with reading comprehension… she seems to have a problem with the concept of carry-on baggage versus checked baggage… she has purchased some rather large cymbals in Istanbul and wishes to carry them home… along with about 3 other carry-on bags... a mono-browed grumpus behind the airline check-in counter drags his hairy knuckles over the keyboard and utters something unintelligible and informs the pretty girl that her cymbals will cost her another 100 Euros… I watch her face grow ashen with despair… since my checked baggage is underweight I offer to let her store some of her cymbals in my bag… she seems really pleased at my offer and the mono-browed grumpus drags his hairy knuckles across the keyboard once more and knocks her fee down to a more manageable 30 Euros… Cute girl doesn’t say one more word to me and avoids me like the plague until the moment she fetches her cymbals after the flight… perhaps I am so hideously grotesque that young pretty girls will no longer speak to me… perhaps they see me as some creepy skeeze, an older guy on the make… I pray that I don’t give off that vibe, but who knows… it looks as if my ship has left the “make idle conversation with pretty girls you help with their cymbals” dock for good… one more chink in the armor of my fading masculinity...

4:40 a.m. Wheels up to Bratislava: Yes… AT 4:40 A.M NO LESS!!! There are unusually cruel masochists living among us… some of them grow up to be dental surgeons, others decide on a career of scheduling flights for SkyEurope…

5:30 a.m. Somewhere several thousand feet over the snowy Slovakian countryside: As I hang on for dear life, I ask myself, is God himself wrapping his hands around the fuselage in an attempt to rattle us violently out of the plane onto the fields below? I feel as though I am inside a salt shaker held by someone afflicted with a severe case of sodium deficiency... Now I’m no avionics expert, but I’m pretty sure a flight on a Boeing 737 isn’t supposed feel like you’re a bouncing down a gravel road on a toboggan… on its side…

6:00 a.m. Landing in Bratislava: Considering the flight was one long mosh pit, the pilot brought her down pretty easy… you know its been a rough trip when you see the flight attendants marking the Holy Trinity upon arrival…

6:25 a.m. Bratislava airport: I (and others) watch as our bus to Vienna pulls away EMPTY… I guess it never occurred to the driver that… oh… the flight would be late and he should wait a little while longer? Nope… no time for adaptive reasoning… after all, he has an empty bus to get back to Vienna... on time... the next bus? Not until 8:25… LOVELY… even lovelier is being forced to stand in the sleet and freezing rain for 90 minutes because the fat Slovak cop with the football head decided he wanted to get some coffee and therefore kicked us all out of the arrivals section… I love the bovine expressions on the faces of the Slovak employees manning the airport… they all look at you as if they have a deep desire to cut off your head and make soup from it… and English speakers? Forget it… German speakers? Nope… never mind that this is an international airport just a few miles from Vienna… Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if some of them couldn’t speak Slovakian either…

8:25 a.m. Bratislava airport: Cold and wet… I finally get on the bus… just start to settle in for a brief snooze when a large babushka plops down next to me with a mountain of bags that look as if they are made out of carpeting… I’m not entirely convinced that there isn’t some sort of livestock living in these carpeted bags… I find that my eyes are starting to burn, for she smells of feet… and stale French cheese… and feet… and faintly of manure… and feet… I try to retain my spirit of cultural relativity… I fail…

9:45 a.m. Vienna Westbahnoff: I slog through the subway, up and down stairs with all my luggage, then outside in the freezing rain for several hundred meters… only to realize I am so punch drunk that I've forgotten which train station I am supposed to be at… of course I chose the wrong one… I wonder if it is ok for a grown man to break down crying in public… I spot a junkie fixing himself in a doorway and realize at least I’m not a junkie fixing himself in a doorway…

10:30 a.m. Vienna Sudbahnhof: I arrive at the correct train station (and later realize I have no idea how I got there)... I eat a Leberkassezemmel (basically a hot Austrian bologna sandwich) it is a glimmer of gold in my sea of blackness… mmm… and why does orange Fanta taste so good here?

10:56 a.m. Train leaves the station… in a few minutes we are in the snowy and picturesque Austrian countryside… I proceed to entertain/terrify the other passengers by alternately grumbling like a mad man, bouncing my head off the window, snoring loudly and then acting completely freaked out upon awakening, as well as producing copious pools of drool… I have become Homer Simpson… it doesn’t take long for the other passengers to gently sneak out of my immediate vicinity… I pray that I’ve committed no prosecutable sleep crimes…

1:45 p.m. Graz Hauptbahnhof: I stagger out of the train disheveled... My uncle Pietro greets me with a wary glance… I am a sight for sore eyes… I’m exhausted, wet and dirty… I smell of babushka lady, garlic, raki, cigarettes and Russian whores… (ok… maybe not the latter, but allow me some creative license…) my uncle takes one look at me and 15 minutes later there is a large bowl of goulash before me alongside a cold beer…

And all is right in the world…

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quod fabula revolvo...

Walking along these ancient streets I am enthralled and mystified… math, science, justice and law were discussed here at length… politics were argued… armies were raised… conspiracy, deceit, decadence and dogma were unwound and brought forth into reality… of these facts I am aware…

But what I was painfully unaware of is that nearly all the remnants of what we consider to be hallowed ancient Rome was either ransacked for building materials or used as dumping ground for scrap… I never would have guessed that the Home Depot and the Coliseum would have had so much in common… It wasn’t until the 18th century that the Romans actually sought to preserve some of their heritage… they kept accidentally excavating giant carved heads and columns until someone got religion and said “Hey, shouldn’t we preserve this instead of carving another marble bathtub?”

I stood inside the Pantheon today… a building so perfect in architectural design that it has stood for nearly 2000 years… the circular 142 foot dome was made up of lime paste mixed with sandy volcanic ash, pumice, and some crushed rock… in other words… CONCRETE. By comparision, the foundation of my garage was poured 2 years ago and is already cracking like a stale sugar cookie… Makes we wonder what we’ll leave behind…

WalMarts and pick-a-part auto graveyards…

We don’t give favor to even our most revered examples of Americana… even something as culturally significant as Yankee Stadium will meet the wrecking ball later this year… we don’t care… out with the old, in with the new… (or even worse… in with the “faux old”… at least in Europe they employ the practice of restoring the old facades while designing spectacularly modern structures to sit alongside them… with mixed results…)


Rome, for all its lore and splendor, was just another throwaway, consumer based economy based on slave labor… their armies spread thin, far and wide... their banks lent too much and then debased the money supply in order to make up for their losses, and when the gold became scarce, the entertainment was ramped up in order to dull the masses to the fact that their bread was about to become scarce and their lives even scarcer…

quod fabula revolvo...

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S.P.Q.R.

So I find myself in the eternal city… Roma…

So much has changed since this city-state ruled the world… and yet… so much hasn’t…

Despite all of our “enlightenment”, all of our technological advances… the human condition remains painfully static…

Armies fighting costly wars of imperialism… a quarrelling senate, economic strife, rampant elitism, currency manipulation… along with pointless decadence… bread and circus…

This is where it all began… our modern civilization (if you can call it that)… of course the Greeks and Egyptians might have issues with that statement (and cultures before them) … but so much of our collective modern culture can be tied directly to what transpired under the Roman Empire… and to my amazement, we haven’t seemed to learn from their mistakes…

Are we merely hamsters on the wheel of perpetual failure..?

Hegel’s paradox tells us that “man has a history of failing to learn from history”

Let that rattle around in your noggin’ for a bit…

This place has me perplexed… I’ve been here before… a few times in fact… I want to love Rome, but I don’t get the impression that she wants to love me back… so here we are, at an impasse…

I am looking for her soul but so far I haven’t found it… maybe it’s because of where I am…

I am staying at a spectacular hotel at the top of the Spanish Steps… so spectacular that if I were to actually use the mini-bar I’d have to sell my car to pay the bill… The kind of place where internet cost 23E ($30) a day… where the only way to get a 7E ($10) cup of tea is to order it via room service, who slap another 10E onto the bill for their pleasure… (yes… the trip upstairs to your room costs more than the cup of tea itself…)

Oh how I wish I was a Saudi prince…

And what is it with European bathtubs… are they made for Lilliputians? And why must every shower entail a raging battle between me and the shower curtain… (the shower curtain is winning so far but I swear I’ll leave that clammy bastard bleeding and shivering on the cold marble floor before I check out…)

And the food… what the hell happened the food? So far it’s been watery pasta sauce and particle board pizza… and the cold minestrone at the Vatican had me doing the porcelain shuffle for a good 24 hours… (Damn Catholics… getting me back for a lifetime of blasphemy…)

Have Italians lost pride in their cuisine? (ok… I did have some pretty good risotto…) I lived in Italy for three years in the eighties and if memory serves me, the grub was nothing less than spectacular... I’m not one for fancy restaurants… I enjoy doing the Anthony Bourdain thing… eating where the locals eat… maybe it’s because I’m in a touristy area… maybe it’s because it’s the off season… maybe they think that I won’t know any better because I’m a dumb American… who knows… but I’ve had a couple meals here that make the Olive Garden seem like haute cuisine in comparison… as a corpulent foodie I must state that I am profoundly disappointed…

Back to the Vatican… extremely beautiful and impressive place… and yet… if you really pay attention… something horrifically sinister lies beneath… the extortion of souls… As I walked along the halls of the museum I could not help but think of all Catholic history not represented there… persecution, enslavement, unchecked power… guilt, fear, and punishment… ruinous crusades, perverse inquisitions, the slaughter and forced conversion of native peoples, the hoarding of treasure, collaborations with fascists, and last but not least rampant pedophilia…

No mention of any of these things from a church that prides itself on “la boca de verita” (the mouth of truth)

Ah well… I’ll be excommunicating myself to Vienna on Friday…

More to come…

Ciao.

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You're So Vain, You Probably Think This Blog Is About You...

I am making a vain attempt to rise from the ashes of my annual holiday depression... been quiet lately... perhaps even lazy... but at least this time my wallowing has led to some introspection (oh brother, here he goes again...) as to why I've not fulfilled the promise I made to myself that I'd write at least three times a week... but then again, why write when you've got nothing terribly original or interesting to say?

It's not that I don't have opinions about things... believe me, I have opinions tenfold... (ask anyone unfortunate enough to have to deal with me personally...) but my opinion doesn't move mountains much less ant hills... why should you credit any importance to anything I have to say, and furthermore, why should I continue to write if it doesn't?

Quite often (as is common within the blogosphere) my opinions are nothing more than me parroting something I've read/heard somewhere else... oh sure, I may tart it up a bit, put my spin on it, but let's be honest... why say something when someone else out there has already said it so much better? Someone far more learned, with gravitas and credibility...(Perhaps I should just provide a page linking to better writers...)

The beauty of the web is also its inherent failing... it has lowered great journalism, great writing, great art, and great music to a level where it is considered to be on par with the works of pretending amateurs... hacks... and fools...

"Anyone can do it" is the mantra...

I vehemently disagree... not everyone can be H. L. Mencken, Seymour Hersh or Hunter S. Thompson... they were/are special... extraordinarily talented...

This is a problem with our culture... too often we place the mantle of brilliance upon the shoulders of the merely average...

The average blogger? We're not special... nor is the greatest blogger on earth.

I champion the role of blogging as important journalistic tool... had the mainstream media actually done their job... had they been objective and truthful... had they not become a downsized, irrelevant, corporately controlled whorehouse beholden to shareholders there would be little need or desire for the news blogosphere... (but when was the last time I broke a story? Better yet, when was the last time I wanted to..?) And now, in a last ditch effort at relevance, realizing that they are neck deep in a sinkhole of shit reeking debt, newspapers are "blogging"... so much for that last shred of credibility...

I get the point of the "friends and family" blog as well... here are the baby pictures, we went to the Poconos, we bought a new car... etc... Those are not meant for public consumption... (Besides, I lead a stunningly flaccid life and no one cares about me, so why bother doing one of those..?)

My beef is with the blogger who has nothing particularly interesting to say, but yammers on anyway... and truth be told, I must put myself in this category, hence this screed of self-loathing you are currently no doubt enjoying... (no worries, I loathe you as well...)

I truly fear that I am part of the problem and not part of the solution... And so I ask myself... (and others guilty of verbal vanity...) What on earth makes you think that anyone is interested in anything you have to say? Who are you? What have you ever accomplished? Are you a noted artist? scholar? writer? scientist? Are you at least humorous?

No?

Then perhaps you might want to think about shutting the fuck up.

Some of you will correctly make the point that I can simply choose to not participate... Others will correctly point out that I'm an incredibly negative and grumpy asshole... No doubt you are correct on both counts...

But seriously folks... Do I really need to know who you went out for sushi with..? Or see the new boots you got on sale..? Or learn that you got really drunk and puked at the AC/DC concert..?

Do we really want our lives to be so lacking in mystery? Doesn't anyone value privacy anymore?

Do I really need to see your tits?

Do I really need to see your tits AGAIN!?

Blogging has led to an epidemic of self-absorption previously unseen upon this mortal coil... we have become a culture of whining narcissists who constantly post our every fart onto twitter, myspace, or facebook ad nauseum... just another virtual toilet for our self-obsessed reality TV shithead culture to vomit itself into.

Are we collectively so fucking empty and pointless and lonely that our only pathway towards love, acceptance and relevance is an avenue paved continuously with the shrill screams of "LOOK AT ME!" repeated every 15 minutes?

Apparently the answer to that question is YES.

So I guess I have a decision to make... do I continue flinging poo like a hopped up chimp or do I find something better to do...?

My money is on the chimp...

Send hate mail accordingly.

(The above was written while experiencing a severe migraine, therefore I cannot be held responsible for this rambling mess... and yes, I know... I'm mean...)

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