Mikhail’s All-Star World Tour 2006

Yesterday we went bowling, then watched some Russian movies I brought from Seattle: “Antikiller” and “Antikiller 2″ (thanks Peter for loaning them to me!). Hey Tuan, “Antikiller” is AK-47’s favorite action movie.

I took some pictures of my family with my replacement camera - I had it shipped to Des Moines to avoid sales tax. Hope the insurance comes through on the stolen one!

Today I’m off to Seattle, leaving in 10 minutes.

I called up Aaron yesterday and he called me back with an invitation to a couch-burning party at his friend Nate’s place, just south of Des Moines. I met up with Aaron and Nick (we’d all gone to high school together), met their girlfriends, and we headed over.

Driving up, we saw the couch in a heap with an armchair and a treestump by the side of the house. Two chocolate Irish setters ran around freely. They were the friendliest of dogs, but I kept hearing about their fondness for bringing home dead cats and racoons, maybe even larger animals. I found a jawbone with human-looking teeth on the ground, just as the conversation veered into ominous jokes about burning Eastern Europeans instead of couches. Fortunately, a game of Bocce Ball distracted us.

After the sunset, there were burgers. More people arrived and the couch burned. It burned briefly but gloriously as the night grew colder; we shivered around the smoldering coals and drank. Talk continued to twist around: Lucha Libre, anecdotes about strippers, work ethic and just rewards, Aaron’s move to Connecticut, Isma’s Caribbean med school, $trick9’s videos, embers from the fire raining on the house. Denis and Leo were asked to sweet-talk strange girls on the phone in Russian. Nick wrestled Nate for fun. On the way home, I found out that last year Snoop Dogg and The Game played in Des Moines on April 20 to a half-empty Val Air Ballroom.

I’m spending this week in Iowa with my family. The weather is nice, sunny in the 70s, so I wake up early and head straight for the deck where I can lounge in the sun, easing into the day. My pace is slower here: I seem to spend all my time eating and reading, doing nothing. Among my low-key accomplishments: setting up a wireless router and Skype, suburban hiking with Dad to a new mall nearby, catching four fish with grandpa in the local lake, watching The Inside Man with Mom and Dad (pretty good), downloading some photos (thanks Erik!) and lots of new music (thanks to the banditos for recommendations). I’ve got these songs on repeat:

Calexico - Burn That Broken Bed
James Blunt - Tears And Rain, Wisemen
Matisyahu - Time of Your Song
Robert Plant - Shine It All Around
Arctic Monkeys - I Bet You Look Good on the Dance Floor

Besides all that, I’ve been really enjoying home food. My mom and grandma are excellent cooks, and they’ve been spoiling me rotten. I’ve had strudel, Uzbekh rice/lamb pilaf, freshly caught fish stew, fried chicken livers, apple cake, meringue, lots of fresh salad and fruit, and countless other delectable delights. There are a couple of recipes I’ll try to reproduce in Seattle (one with pears, one with sour cream) when I’m next struck by culinary ambition.

We might go bowling tomorrow, and Monday I’m off to Seattle again. Meanwhile, if anyone knows which Qur’an translation is boss, tell me.

Well, it took me a few days to get readjusted to the Land of the Free. I’d been spending most of my time on random chores and laziness: surfing the net, catching up on music (Matisyahu, Arctic Monkeys, James Blunt), and reading (Freakonomics, The Psychology of Persuasion, Captain Alartiste). In sorting my huge pile of mail, I found a photograph of our Wicked camper van - sent as a memento by those thoughtful Australians. They enclosed a speeding ticket too, but I haven’t figured out whether I really have to pay that. And no, you can’t see in the picture which one of us was driving, but the van is on the correct side of the road, so probably not me.

I’m not entirely a hermit, though. On Thursday I took Brian up on his drinking offer: we started at Barca (saw Isaac too), then made our way down to 611 and ended up at Kutta’s place kicking back to some Arcade Fire. The next day, I saw part of a punk rock show with Sam and Rahul, though jet lag dragged me home earlier than usual - before 1. Then Saturday a bunch of us went over to Tim’s place in Redmond to geek out with pizza, Settlers of Catan, and liars’ dice. Sunday I was going to have a movie night, but got lazy about organizing it, so instead I shot pool with Sam(vid) after some good South Indian food. It’s been good to see all of you - hope to catch up with everyone else when I get back.

Whenever I start talking about my trip, I find myself quoting this blog first, and it takes a little effort to come up with unwritten things to say. Not that there’s nothing to talk about; it’s just the opposite. The trip was saturated with more new impressions than my brain can handle, and here I have a convenient summary that makes things easier to think about. Sometimes too convenient: I’ve repeated some anecdotes so much that I’ve started to bore myself. No good.

Anyway, this Monday I flew down to Des Moines to visit my family until next Monday. I feel my nerd cred rise as I write this from my parents’ basement.

It felt like a long flight because I didn’t let myself sleep, hoping to avoid jet lag. Watched three movies on the plane (Good Night and Good Luck, Walk the Line, and Harry Potter IV). Also finished the second Foer book, Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close - it was less funny but more moving than the first, and very good.

Matt and Kutta picked me up from the airport and we hung out at my place for a bit, starting to catch up. My apartment felt strange when I walked through the door, almost unfamiliar. But this morning I’m more used to it already, and there’s lots of little errands to get me back into the flow of things. I’m off again on Monday, flying to Des Moines for a week, but I’m already thinking that I might get a day of snowboarding before then. Mountains close Sunday!

This has been a good city to prepare myself for coming home. The weather is just like Seattle now: 55 F and overcast, occasionally drizzling, freezing after Barcelona. Came across some good sights and humorous homonyms - too bad I’ve no camera to capture them. To cope, I walked myself tired, translating bitter Russian song lyrics in my head. Once the sun set, the city acquired an air of northern mystery: brick buildings looming into the deep darkening sky, still river reflecting streetlights, brisk air. Returned to the hostel hoping for a shower the first night, and discovered (the hard way) that there’s no hot water.

Surprisingly, this improved my mood: I decided to take the city as a challenge, and enjoy it despite the setbacks. So my second day here was even better: I walked all over, sampled the local “polser” hot dogs and pastries (excellent on both counts!), saw some Hans Christian Andersen monuments (they call him Jose here because H.C. is pronounced that way), practiced some of my Danish, explored the hippie commune of Christiania - more interesting for its imaginatively painted houses than for its typical granola-rasta street market, and later went out to a club called Stengade 30 (close to the hostel and apparently hip) with eight Australian girls from the same hostel. The club impressed me: good music, especially for a Tuesday, a fun crowd, and the space was cleverly set up to seat people facing the stage and each other at once. Naturally, Tuborg on tap.

Still, now I’m at the airport for my flight to Seattle, and my blistered feet tell me it’s good to be going home. Hope to see many of you soon!

As I was writing my last blog post last night, from an internet cafe, I was using my backpack as a footrest. When I was done writing, my footrest was gone. Lost: my diary, all pictures from the trip, and a number of expensive but insured and replaceable things like my camera, “backup” cash, books, ipod, extra shirt, etc. My wallet and passport were safe in a hostel locker, but I wish I’d lost those instead of the pictures.

I spent three hours in a police station, among other marks, filling out a police report and meditating on all the ways this could’ve been avoided. Big thanks to the police: they were understanding, they found someone who spoke English (and even Russian), and they helped me through all the paperwork. In the unlikely case that anything turns up, they’ll send it to me through the hostel.

As much as I’d like to heap the blame elsewhere, this one’s all mine.

I almost wasn’t hung over this morning, since I had the presence of mind to drink two bottles of water last night. I didn’t have the presence of mind to avoid all pickpockets though - they just walk straight into you. So I learned my lesson and only had half a bottle of wine with dinner tonight - much more reasonable. Let’s see if the rest of my stuff stays put. Despite all that, I still love Barcelona: it’s a modern city, and it’s alive.

I decided that I was enjoying this town too much to take off on a day trip, so Figueres will wait for another time (besides, I’d need to spend five hours on the train). Went to the Miro museum instead, and it was well worth it: his mind turned in some funny directions. My favorites were the huge tapestries, the painted sculptures, and the constellation paintings. There was also a temporary exhibition by a contemporary American artist - things like a room with a line of text all around the walls, or a screen suspended in midair playing Hitchcock’s Psycho in slo-mo. Mostly too clever for my taste, though there was one installation that impressed me - a room with about 50 TVs stacked haphazardly, playing back different clips and images.

The rest of the day I’ve just been walking around, soaking in sunlight and the city’s architecture. I like to walk a lot, so the strategy is pretty simple: walk to a corner, look around. Find something interesting, maybe a cool building or a park in the distance, and go that way until something else pulls me in a different direction. Every once in a while I pull out a map to see where I am, where I’ve been, and what landmarks are nearby. I might miss some things, but it feels more fun than a planned itinerary. My one regret is that I didn’t make it to the beach today: when is Seattle gonna get warm enough to sunbathe?

Ah well, I’m off to Copenhagen tomorrow morning. Haggled with a merchant for the alarm clock so I don’t miss my flight. Got a free battery and a third off, but still overpaid. Hard to haggle without knowing Spanish.

When I was a freshman in college, Tuan (then my roommate) pointed out my penchant for making unwarranted generalizations. For the sake of nostalgia, I will now return to that habit. Amsterdam is a city that values common sense. Paris values elegance (a kind of beauty). Berlin values seriousness (duck! the flames are coming). Barcelona values the enjoyment of life.

I’m in Barcelona now, and loving it. If I had to go back in time and cut my trip down to one city, out of all the places I’d visited I would choose Barcelona. Sure I’m biased because the weather’s been ideal (70 F and up), I just had a bottle of my favorite wine (Rioja) with an excellent dinner (civet), and spent the day exploring Gaudi’s creations: Casa Batlle, Park Guell, Sagrada Familia. In a fit of ambition, I was trying to make it to the Miro museum too (eat your heart out, Centre Pompidou) but it closed just as I got there, an hour before my guidebook claimed. The Miro museum was on a hill, and I still scored a victory by finding a view of the whole city from a vantage point nearby.

Yesterday I had just half a day after the train ride, so I walked around La Rambla and the Cathedral: plenty to see, and close to the hostel where I’m staying. Bought some T-shirts, making up for the Prague laundry debacle: Spanish people got style. (Me comment on fashion? I love the Internet!) Then I found a park where random people were playing guitar and sax, sat on a bench and sketched the surroundings until the sun set.

I only have a day left - do I go on a day trip to Picasso’s castle and the toy museum, or stay in town and chill on the beach, maybe try Miro again? Stay tuned….

Had to catch the 1:30 train to Barcelona, so I spent the morning soaking in Monmartre: wandered the streets, bought a baguette, cheese (bleu de Causses, I think), pate, and pastries, found a little secluded square (next to the Timhotel), and had myself a picnic with pigeons. Then I walked up the hill, stopping to check out the street market along the way. There were lots of sell-out artists offering to sketch me, cut out my silhouette, or sell me Paris views worthy of Thomas Kincade, Painter of Light. So I busted through, sitting on the Sacre Coeur steps one more time and losing myself in a reverie, only to realize that my train departs in an hour.

I made it to Gare de Lyon just in time and caught the train, but the old French lady sitting next to me stole my ticket for the connection to Barcelona. Either that or I lost it, but I never lose things. In any case, I found myself in Montpellier, having missed the last train of the day. So I bought a ticket for the following morning, found a cheap hotel, dropped off my luggage and went out.

This was exactly what I needed to recharge. I’d been tired out by Paris, its endless essential sights and the limited time. Being in a constant state of awe gets tiring after a while. Montpellier was the opposite: no agenda, weather warm enough for a T-shirt, and lots of relaxed people strolling around without intensity. It felt like a resort town, like Anapa on the Black Sea where we used to go every summer. I discovered a beautiful park with a view of the town at the end, then had dinner in the town square watching the fire jugglers.

The concierge at my hotel engaged me in conversation: he’d been to the U.S. (New Jersey - that’s you, Sam and Alex and uncle Ben!) and was convinced that everything about America is better than France. Some of his arguments I agreed with, like the superiority of American labor laws and work ethic, but some seemed just plain silly: he claimed that Americans respect the police more, and scoffed at French patisseries in favor of Dunkin’ Donuts. To each his own, I guess. Gilles, how about it: croissants or donut holes? It’s the 21st century loyalty test…