Touching From A Distance

Going from one extreme to another. I have now gone directly from one of my favorite places on earth (Euzkadi/Northern Spain) to another (Manchester, England). It is quite the change of scenery being that it has dropped about 15 degrees celcius. Some like it hot, some like it cold. I really just prefer culture and cool dudes.

From Bilbao, I went to spend some time in Barcelona with my friend Elias Martinez de Rises. This is the second time he has been kind enough to let me through his doors in the past year. I met him last year when I travelled to Murcia and Zaragoza. My time at his place was much shorter then, so I was happy to get to hang out for about 3 days during this stint. We visited some of the important sights from the time of the Anarchist stronghold during the Spanish Civil War. We also went out for an evening where I met some of the locals from the Barcelona punk scene. Not to mention, we were also hanging out with the bassist of Fucked Up who was there to visit her boyfriend. It was a great ending to my time in Spain.

After leaving from Spain, I landed in Manchester the other morning. It was quite strange to be surrounded by English being spoken as the native language. It was almost going too fast for me. After using English as your second language for such a long period of time, I felt that I was not up to par.

Here, I met up with my friend Phil. We first headed over to visit the famous Wigan Pier. George Orwell spent some time here to experience the horrid living conditions of the English working class in the North. It was just as grim as he writes. The next day, we went on an adventure of audible bliss as we visited sights from both The Smiths and Joy Division. First, we went to Salford Lads Club. Then, after returning to Macclesfield, the city where Phil is from, we went to the infamous house of Ian Curtis. 77 Barton Street. There was an eerie feeling that came over my body when peeking through the window of the room he hanged himself. That was soon to be interupted by the current resident poking his head out of the window and yelling, "Get a fucking life asshole". I think it just made the experience even more memorable. Perhaps it was even Ian's angry ghost!

I have ventured back to the good old UK-diet as well. So far, I have definitely consumed much more than I can hold. Some highlights have included the 16 ounces of Fish and Chips. The thing was about twice the size of my foot, and probably weighed about 32 ounces after being soaked in all the grease. I also got to venture back to my favorite Indian (as in the country not the tribes) sweet: Burfi. I can thank my neighbors back in Birmingham for all the acne and heart attacks that result from this.

Through An Hourglass Satisfaction Fades

Imagine a place called utopia. Being that this is completely subjective, I am sure that mine is different than yours. Then, imagine if all the persons, places, and things fell flat into your lap. This is similar to how I feel about the Basque Country. I didn´t think places like this could exist until I started falling deeper and deeper into it. It could be a person. It could be a place. It could even be a thought.

This time in Bilbò is far different than the past. I am here during the midst of the biggest festival of the year: Aste Nagusia. The streets are full of festivity as the whole city basically shuts down for 10 days to celebrate. Throughout the entire day, it is possible to see an array of different traditional Basque events. My favorite was a parade of Gigantes y Cabezuros. They are these enlarged characters that walk down the street with exaggerated Basque features. Just for fun, they whack away at the population with a strange balloon thing and everyone is running around the city frantically.

The Basque Country is known for its punk influence. Nearly the whole population is into punk music or at least aware of it. It seems to go hand-in-hand with the separatist movement. It is rather normal to see 50 year old women with hair dyed pink, red, or blue. It is also a given that all of the bars here will be blasting punk music throughout the night. During the festival, there are shows going on in the streets. The shows are far more than just music, but they are used as weapons for the movement.

It wouldn´t be an official Basque experience without a run-in with Euzkadi Ta Askatasuna (ETA). The internationally recognized terrorist group has been active since the time of Franco in seeking Basque independence. While walking down a small street at the festival, we came across a gang of riot cops. I immediately became excited to see something juicy going down in the streets of Bilbao. There were choppers flying above, and a sense of tension began to become noticeable in the streets. Nothing ended up surfacing, and I later found out that all of the mobilization was due to the posting of posters supportive of ETA prisoners. Apparently, this has become outlawed in Spain. Not exactly a valid reason (in my book) to send a squadron of stormtrooper-dressed characters down a crowded street during the middle of a festival.

Finally, I was lucky enough to be in town during a match of Athletic Club Bilbao. They are my favorite futbol club in Europe because of their philosophy. They will only draw local players from the Basque Country. This is something that is extremely rare in any professional sports of today. Instead of giving into to the spectacle of franchise players and absurd salaries, they take pride in the place they are from and the people that support them. Major League Baseball should take some notes. On an important side note, we won the match 3-2. Aupa!

Sleeping Off The Last Five Years

After returning to Fulda to drop off Kevin, I headed back up north to Belgium. There, I was welcomed by another friendly B9 poster. Maarten is a fast food and roller coaster enthusiast who lives on the outskirts of Hasselt. He showed me the ropes of Beligian quick cuisine. After visiting America, he was actually disappointed in the quality of fries because (foreign to my knowledge) fries were actually invented in Belgium. He let me in on the secret of their flavor: they are actually cooked in animal fat as opposed to vegetable oil. After making numerous trips to relish in their goodness, we headed to the gym to play some squash. He handed it to me on a silver platter as I fell far short of being able to compete with his nationally recognized racket skills.

While in Belgium, I also spent a day heading to a town called Brugge. It was there that I had a true touristic taste of Belgium as I downed some Belgian chocolate, Belgian waffles, and a glass of Belgian beer. Now, I am not so much of a proponent of drinking, but this stuff was pretty sweet. It was like drinking a Shirley Temple. The beer was brewed by monks as it came from fermented cherries. The coolest part is the color. It is red.

After Belgium, I headed back to Paris to meet with two friends from back home in California. Kevan and Ani have been traveling around Europe for 3 weeks, and actually head back home today (19 August). While in Paris, we made sure to pay homage to the sights from the Paris Commune being that it is one of the most significant historical events in Anarchist history. We were taken around the city by a group of vegan-straight edge kids that reside in Paris. We took some time to pose for a photo in front of the wall dedicated to those killed in the crushing of the rebellion, and I offered a small token of respect.

Finally, I took a trip of nine hours to venture back to the Basque Country, and I couldn´t be any happier than in this moment.

Hiding From Myself

After departing from Gerald's, I headed further north with Luke. In fact, we went way north. We got so far north that we got lost, fell off a bike, and attacked by a militia of ducks. But, before that we went to Fulda to pick up Kevin Grant. I have known Kevin for about 7 years now. We first met up in Speech9 during my Freshman year at Damien. After spending a cozy night in his basement, we gathered our belongings to head north; to The Netherlands.

Amsterdam is beautiful. Even beyond all of the things that it is notorious for offering with open arms. It is similar to New York when looking at the Dutch architecture. But, the canals are really what set it apart. When we first got there, we simply grabbed a bit of pizza, then headed right to a coffeeshop. By then, we had already considered it to be: "Probably, like, one of the best cities I have ever been to". Or, in Kevin's terms, "Amsterdam is amazing". We were there merely two hours and we saw the equivalent of about 1 square, suburban block.

It was pleasant to just roam around the city to see where all of the nooks and crannies would lead us. We often just ended up doing this without even thinking about it. We would set out for a place, then end up on the other side of the town. At one point, we even found ourselves outside of the city limits. When you go outside the city limits of Amsterdam, I am pretty sure that says something. Perhaps, it means to turn around and go back in to see some more of Amsterdam.

There were many strange things that we came across. I made a paper boat, then we tried to bomb it. We were attacked by some ducks. There was an abnormally huge chess board. And, finally, the menu at the African restaurant.

Our second day, we pedaled around town on bikes. It was quite the experience considering we got up to see Amsterdam at around 11. We had already been in The Netherlands the entire day before. But, it was a whole different story with the bikes. We ended up cruising the town for about 5 hours. The city layout is poor. The streets are far too confusing (this can be confirmed by a good friend studying Urban Planning at MIT). The only way we could track our steps was through using different coffeeshops as points of reference. It usually sounded something like, "I'm prety sure we went there before The Grasshopper, but it may have been after Homegrown".

During our confusion, I stopped to pick up a pillowcase at a local bizarre. I don't even think I have one pillow, but I got two. They were nicely finished. The worst part was trying to figure out how to put the locks on the bike. It always took so long. Sometimes, it would take up to 6 minutes with two people working on it. Things also got interesting when I pulled up in front of a crowd of people, stopped the bike, and simply fell over without putting either of my feet down. It hadn't even occurred to me that the thing wouldn't balance.

It became more and more noticeable how much we were able to explore Amsterdam when we spent our last night sitting on the street corner eating 27 euros worth of food from the market. We went in there in order to keep the costs down. I mean, I had just eaten 48 ribs from the all-you-can-eat ribs place the night before. So the next night, we kept it simple. We only took the bare necessities: 14 bread rolls, 3 packages of salami, 2 packages of liverwurst, 16 slices of cheese, a jar of asparagus, 16 donuts, 4 giant raisin cookies, a cucumber, two tomatoes, and a liter of juice. That night, we saw Amsterdam. The next morning, we ended up in the exact same shoes.

On the way back, we stopped in Koln to see the dome. It was quite impressive to see how such a massive building survived the air raids of WWII.

Upward Over The Mountain

The weather in the central parts of Europe is definitely far away from the climate along the sea that has been my typical surrounding. It's cold, dark, and damp. I like it far more. I came to Austria to stay with a friend that I met while traveling through Portugal. His name is Gerald, and he is a good dude. His home is situated on a farm on the border to Austria and Germany. His family produces milk on the farm, but the economic side of the situation is rather disheartening. The milk market is monopolized in Austria. Laws are made in which all milk produced by small farmers must be sent to the factory to be bottled and packaged. The milk is then sold for around 1.40 euro, but the farmers are only given 30 cents per liter. Sadly, someone is making a huge profit from this.

The area around the farm is an ideal setting to take in for a burned out suburbanite such as me. While there, we visited many of the small towns in the region of Bavaria. We saw numerous castles, lakes, and cottages. It was everything that can be pictured when holding an image of Germany. The only downside is that it is extremely expensive to live here. One must pay everywhere to simply park the car, drive roads, or use restrooms. Pretty harsh when one is attempting to live out of the box such as myself. We did, however, come across a village by the name of Fucking.

On Wednesday, we took a drive into Munich. First, we stopped to pick up Luke who is a good friend from Pitzer. We play baseball together, and have developed a great companionship throughout the college years. The timing was perfect to venture together to the airport later in the day in order to witness the resurrection of Nino's trip in Europe. He had no idea Luke was with us until he was approached by a hunch-backed stranger with a German accent asking for the tourist office. Priceless. It's a pleasure to spend time with both of them here in Europe.

The next day, we traveled to the Alps. The mountains were perfect. They were so high and mighty. It was almost overwhelming. We went on a hike into an ice cave that is located over a mile high in the mountain. It was a warm day, so I was dressed accordingly for the weather. Sadly, it didn't quite sink in that I would be going into an ICE CAVE! and I stubbornly insisted on solely bringing my t-shirt. That was soon to bite me in the ass when I entered into the tangible version of hell frozen over in Austria. The temperature was somewhere slightly above freezing, and I wondered through the dark barrel with nothing but a sweatshopped piece of cotton. The rest of the visitors found me to be quite the spectacle. I didn't mind too much though because I was able to hold an old-fashioned lantern.

Head On My Shoulders

After going through Budapest, I made it down to Croatia to hang out in the city of Zagreb. I was able to meet up with some of the kids I met a few days before while at Fluff Fest. They were a good group of punks that remind me a lot of my friends back home in West Covina. I met Josip while posting on the good ol´B9Board. He took me around the city to visit all the old parts.

What I found most infatuating was the modern day war history of the region. I am relatively aware of the controversy among borders after the fall of Yugoslavia, but it was pretty incredible to hear about it first hand. All I knew about prior to this visit was that there was a fight going on in the early 90s along the borders of Croatia, Serbia, and Bosnia; it was mainly intertwined with some religious differences. Now, I have come to see how much deeper the conflict goes, and I have witnessed the current situation of a war-torn country.

While there, we headed to a punk festival called Monte Paradiso. It was located in the seaside town of Pula. The punks were definitely out in full swing. The fest was located in an old military barrack in the middle of the city. It is now a squat. The bands all wanted to sound like Discharge, but we did see Vitamin X. Overall, the show really made me appreciate the local punk movement that we have in Southern California. It seemed as though all the kids here were just there to get drunk, look dirty, and act violently. It was rather a bummer to see such a poor misappopriation of the punk movement.

The kids I hung out with were great though. We stayed up all night for two nights in a row. It was rather out of my element being that childish sleeping schedules are kind of my thing. They made an awesome barbeque, and I taught them how to play some hacky sack.

Born in a Bottle Rocket

After dealing with nearly two weeks worth of nerve-wrecking anxiety, I finally received my passport to depart from Greece. I left from Athens to Berlin on a flight that got me into the capital city at about midnight. However, I had a train to catch the next morning at 5am. I figured that if I went to sleep, then I would most likely end up sleeping through the hour of my train out; especially because I have no alarm clock. So, instead, I decided to go check out the Berlin Wall. To me, it is one of the most symbolic ruins still in tact from the Cold War. I remember seeing news footage about the situation there when I was young. All of the clips are so full of emotion, so it was moving to walk its remains in the late hours of the night.

I got into Prague the next day. I like the city a lot, but it was almost too nice. The city is beautifully preserved, and everything is perfectly in tact, but I think that might be the problem. It almost seems as though it is Disneyland. My favorite aspect of the European city is the combination of urban life, tradition, and history. Prague seemed to lack the first two on the list.

The main reason I went to Czech Republic was to go to Fluff Fest. The fest was an extremely different experience in comparison to anything else I have ever endured throughout the youthful days of my punk rock spirits. The fest was similar to Warped Tour, but with bands like Trial, Ghostlimb, Fall of Efrafa, Zann, Have Heart, and Victims. The lineup was incredibly diverse which is something that is not so common in the states. A lot of bands just prefer to sound the same, and to play with bands that sound the same instead of diversifying tours and gig lineups. The weird thing, however, was the number of people at the fest. I never thought I would witness a day of seeing a band like Ghostlimb play on a gigantic stage to a crowd of a few thousand people. It was a bit bizarre. My two great finds were Mondo Gecko from Israel, and La Prosperite from France.

While at the fest, I hung out with the dudes in Ghostlimb and Graf Orlock. Great group of guys. It was refreshing to spend some time withe some faces from my native area, and to speak naturally in my native language. We spoke about putting together a live set and interview with Graf Orlock when I return to Claremont. Looking forward to it.

Two of the main reasons I went out to the fest were to see Trial and Have Heart. I have never seen Trial, although I love them dearly. It was fulfilling to see such a meaningful band that has been putting out positive music for such a long time. And they still remain passionate about it! I spoke with them about playing Claremont Commune Collective as well as interviewing at KSPC. Both seem probable. That should unfold well.

As for Have Heart, it was the last time I would get to see that band play. Although its been nearly 3 years since I was buckwild over their music, it was a very emotional experience to see them for the final time. Patrick Flynn still has just as much fire and energy as when the band first started, and he is just as sincere about all that he says. It has been a long way since they played Showcase in 2005 with a total attendance of 78 people. I never dreamed I would see this band playing in Eastern Europe to a a crowd of a few thousand. As always, Pat took he time to speak with me after the set. He seemed pleasantly surprised to see me so out of my element. As for me, it is always a pleasure to speak with him because he acts as such a great role model and class-act. He is still unphased by all of the popularity the band has gained. Just as used to request years ago, they finished the set with Watch Me Rise.

After spending he weekend in the Cinematent at Fluff Fest, I was fed up with ruffing it. I committed a sin the night I returned to Prague to wait out my train south. I purchased a one-night room at a hostel. It was nearly painful to pull the money out to do it. That was the first time this trip that a sleeping place was payed for. It will be the last.

I made my way farther south to Budapest after finally being able to clean up at the hotel. I made it into the city in the evening, and I talked my way into a free night of sleep on the couch of a hostel. They agreed being the fact that I was only there for one evening. In that evening, I walked around the eerie streets of the town. It is an awesome place. There are a lot of buildings that are pitch black. The streets are very dark and old. It is a place I would like to have spent more time, but I had to catch a train the next morning to Croatia.

Prophets Whisper to Fools

We spent a full day in the main town of the area called Ioannina. It is a very nice plays that has the perfect balance of small town intimacy and big city charm. There are plenty of people living there, but it is not overwhelming. The city often goes unnoticed with people who visit Greece because it is so far away from the islands and Athens. It is also very difficult to get to. But it is well worth it due to its cultural and natural beauty. My favorite parts were the old mosques, the deserted buildings, and the lake.

During the day we spent walking around in the city, we met with a gal named Anna. I decided to ask her to go with me the next day to Zagoria because figured that the time would be best enjoyed in the company of another. She happily said yes to my invitation to her to hitch-hike with me to a small town about an hour away, and took a bus the next day to meet me on the side of the highway. That alone said a lot about her character. Whimsicality is my favorite second nature.

It took us merely 15 minutes to catch a ride to a town called Papingo. It is one of the nicest villages in the region. All of the houses are made of stone there and they are far up in the mountains. It is magical. It goes to show that Greece has much more than just white-painted houses and topless beaches. This beautiful area in the Balkans along the border of Albania is often forgotten about. It is actually my favorite. We spent a few hours sitting at a small church high above the village as we ate the sandwhiches that I prepared that morning at the bakery. We started talking music a bit, and to my surprise I found out that Joy Division is her favorite band.

Later, we hitched a ride back to her town with some people coming from Albania. They were pretty excited to meet an American. I was also jsut as pleasured to meet some Albanians. It worked out well. In the evening, she took me to a festival in a village near by her house. There was a band there to play traditional music from Creete and Epirus. It was perfect. She took me to the front to dance the traditional dances. The ones where everyone goes around in circles holding hands and kicking high like the Radio City Rockettes. It was a blast. I could not stop smiling. My favorite part was the group of old people that got very into it. They would flap their arms around like birds and do these crazy heel clicks in the air. I wish I had the camera, but it is all so fresh in the mind.

I had a great time there in the north. I has proven to be my favorite part of Greece. I am in a mad hurry to go back.

Like a Daydream or a Fever

I have now ventured further east from Kefallonia to the mainland of Greece. I took a boat in the early morning of Sunday to get into the port town of Patras. There, I was forced to wait a few hours for my bus up to Ioannina. I ended up running into three girls traveling through Greece. They were from Barcelona. When looking to kill some time, it's always pleasant to do it in the company of three crustee Catalanas. We sat in the park for a few hours where I played ukulele. Apparently we attracted the attention of some bagging-balkan children, and they came over and wouldn't leave us be. So the gals started dancing with them, and soon the majority of the plaza turned its attention in our direction to see what all the fuss was about. It was quite the scene.

After catching the bus north, I had to hitch-hike to the town of Zitsa. It is a small town on a mountain side. More of a village. Only about 700 people. Here, I met with an awesome dude named Kostas. He is the town baker, and he sure lives up to the reputation. The whole town loves him and it is awesome to see such a lively community in action. While here, I have been helping out in the bakery and the restaurant. I would like to do more, but I am not quite certified to go to such extremes. I do what I can though. Today, I rolled some vegan carrot cookies. They are made with carrot, wine, flower, and sunflower oil. Attention non-straight edge vegans, looks like you have a new snack!

Last night, there was a festival in the local monastery. There are many monasteries in the region. They are all very old, bold, and beautiful. The one in Zitsa is no exception. Lord Byron even stopped by for a visit and wrote a poem about it. We went to the monastery the night I arrived because there was a festival there to celebrate the local patron saint. I am beginning to love the church and to love all the saints. They keep giving the communities I visit reasons to feast. I'm thinking of converting just for all the fiestas.

Close to here, there is a beautiful valley that is home to a river called θεογεφιρo (translated as "God's Bridge"). Between the festivals and the beauty of the nature I'm even more seriously considering this whole religion thing these days. Anyways, it is quite magical. The whole region is very stunning. I have been wanting to go here for a while. It is solid evidence that Greece is far more than just ancient ruins and islands with topless beaches.

Boat in the Smoke

Now that I am here in Kefallonia, life is moving at a much slower pace. It was an obvious change that started so far away as the port in Italy when a man working for the boat looked at my name on the ticket. He read it and said "You from Kefallonia?" I responded back to him that my family is. He then gave me a hug and said, "I am Digeminis. We are like family." See, the names have a lot of significance in showing where someone is from. On Kefallonia, it is very common to have a last name ending in -atos or -inis. Hence, Kokkinis.

Since being here, I have settled down a lot in the security. No more worrying about where I will sleep next, when the next train leaves, or if I am going to have to explain my entire life story to strangers for the 30th time this trip (not that I don't enjoy doing so). There is not too many eventful things that happen here each day. Yesterday, my aunt was trying to figure out how to wrap a box to ship to Athens. It took about 30 minutes and became a big ordeal. We even needed help from the rest of the family. It was a family matter. After that ended up successful, we just kind of relaxed a bit more. Each day at 5 am and 5 pm, my uncle goes to fetch a pale of water from the ancient Roman well to give to the sheep. It is another big event.

Yesterday, I visited the Kokkinis Church. It is a church in the town that is for members of our family along with the other family in the village of Agia Thekli. At the church, they have the graves from nearly all of the members of my family. It was a very emotional visit. I paid respect to an uncle of mine that I am named after. He is actually a first cousin of my father. His name is Andreas Kokkinis. In Greece, you do not typically go by your first name. Instead, you go by your middle name. My family often refers to me as "Andreas" which I have gotten used to now. It is like staring at a headstone with my name engraved from a generation past.

I am still trying to figure out what I will do the rest of the trip. It is a bit of an emergency still because things are still not as planned. I do not wish to be traveling through Albania and Serbia alone, but I may just go for it anyways. I just have to figure out which way the wind takes me. Things get damaged. Things get broken.

Boiling Point

Things are all quite different now. Nino has gone home, and I have ventured to Greece alone after 50 hours of travel and numerous confrontations with the Italian police. The journey was intense. It required a train, a boat, a taxi, a bus, a hitchhike, and a final taxi. I have always said my family is in isolation. It truly comes out in my character and social tendencies. I hope Nino gets well, and I hope he can return to finish the last leg of the trip.

Rome was quite a bust. The original reason to go there was to check out the ruins and to gather for the G8. The ruins were completely commodified, and the G8 lacked organization. Both were complete let downs. Rome was a complete let down.

So far, I would consider Rome to be the worst city of the trip. It is probably in my top 5 least favorite cities ever. The streets are filled with tourists. It is nearly impossible to run into an actual Roman. Everyone is wearing a backpack, and looking at buildings that they do not have a clue of the significance other than the fact that they saw them in a postcard or a movie. The city milks this out like crazy too. The people are completely unwelcoming, and are only after the tourist money. There is a lack of community and culture.

We arrived with no place to stay, but figured it would be worth giving it a shot. We got nothing. But we did find an awesome bridge that was directly under the walkway to the Raddison Hotel. We just made it "our RADdison hotel" for the evening. The street was a bit scary considering it was highly patrolled by cops in the evening. not to mention the fact that me and Charlie are both carrying radical material from the CIRA archive in Switzerland. Not the best things to have in hand when caught by Italian gustapo police. After a night there, we woke up to sneak to the top of the hotel where they had a hot tub, sauna, and shower. It was like living large. Nino even snuck into the breakfast.

We decided that one night in Rome was enough, and headed straight for Tuscany. We stayed in a smalle town called Arezzo. It is the town where they filmed the movie Life is Beautiful. We did not know that until after. But, it truly was a beuatiful place. The town was so much more engaging than the bland streets of Rome. The culture is still vibrant and alive. We had a few authentic Tuscan meals that were beyond belief.

While there, we stayed with an awesome couchsurfer named Giovanni. I think he saved the reputation of the entire Italian population as he was a great host, and went out of his way to show us a good time. He has some amazing life experiences as he has even traveled to Iran and Afghanistan. He is a vegan in Italy. It is quite the interesting situation. While staying with him, we ventured to see numerous villages in the area. They are all beautiful, and remind me slightly of the island here in Greece. We even stayed a night on a field in a small town called Giovvi. We woke up to the bell of a goat as it glared at us behind a fence.

Both Charlie and Nino are gone now. I am doing the final two months of this trip alone. It should be quite the adventure. I am going to make some ammendments, but I am still going to suck it up and leg it out. I was a bit discouraged, but now I am optimistic. Help us. Save us from ourselves.

Vision on Fire

We left from Rennes planning to head directly down to Laussanne, Switzerland. It was meant to be a rather long journey, but we had no idea what we had in store for us instead. The train station ended up selling out the seats in all trains down to Switzerland for the day. That is at least what they told us, but I have a hard time believing that. We had no other choice but to stop off in Paris for the night and wait until the next afternoon to make it south.

We basically had no other choice. So that had to be fine. And it was! We arrived at around 8 in the evening without a place to stay. It was less than no time that we were able to find someone to take in a pair of vagrants. By 11pm, we were looking to spend some time checking out the famous city. That entailed us seeking to see Paris in 8 hours. And we did! We saw nearly everything: Eifel Tower, Moulin Rouge, Notre Dame. It was speedy, but efficient.

By the time we got to Switzerland the next day we were very spent. We had a total of about 26 hours of traveling before reaching the destination. After arriving in the station, we were looking on the brightside of things in knowing that we would have a cozy couch and some food ahead. However, I did a horrible job of writing down directions. We ended up getting to the street we needed to be, but I had no clue what the house number was. I simply wrote that it was a house covered in trees. Nino was pretty fed up with me and my whimsical antics.

I walked the neighborhood numerous times searching for the tree-house. No luck. I eventually entered into the nearby hospital to try to search for internet. All the nurses were rather bothered with me being there, but they were of some help. No internet though. On my way out, I somehow got locked in a hallway that required a keycard to exit. So harsh. The whole time I was thinking to myself how horrible of an idea it was to wizz in the fountain of youth. That was for sure going to be bad luck.

However, upon leaving the hospital, I got some crazy instinct to walk a bit south on the street. I found a house with some trees, and decided to go right in. To my surprise, I was right. Inside, I found my good friend and comrade from back home: Charlie. We met up at a place called CIRA to do some work for the Anarchy Archives that are based at Pitzer. The archive here is incredible. It is huge, and has everything imaginable. I am neck deep in pamphlets straight from Bakunin Press, CNT/FAI posters from the Spanish Civil War, and flags flown in numerous revolutions throughout the world.

The town is okay, but we have mainly been taking the time to sit around here and dive deep into some books as well as take a dip in the huge lake. We will leave tomorrow to go down to Italy. All three of us are going to make the journey. We have yet to find a place to stay, but we want to get to Rome to check out the action at the G8, as well as wander the city. We have even sent some messages out to priest residences asking them to take us in stating that "we ran away from our oppressive Jewish parents and we are seeking enlightenment in the good, honest Catholic faith". Hopefully this one reaches the Pope.

Summerholidays vs. Punkroutine

After my emotional leave from Spain, we headed north through France to visit my friend Ben. He is living in a town called Rennes for the next few weeks to work on his masters. It is a nice sized town that definitely has an authentic French atmosphere. The only thing that kind of took its toll on us was the weather. It is completely schizophrenic. The first full day we had there, we decided to take a stroll through the streets. It was scorching hot. Then, it began to trickle a bit. We saw everyone running frantically as though a Condor Legion was passing by overhead. We felt it to be extremely strange that such a big comotion would be made over some drops of rain. However, about 10 minutes later it began to deluge. Apparently, it rained over a meter in an hour. During this time, it even started to hail. After being trapped in the metro station for about 2 hours as we waited for it to pass, we went back out when it was done. It then went back up to about 31 degrees celcius. Bad luck in that department.

This same evening, we went out on the town with Ben to explore the nightlife. We witnessed a rather bizarre series of events. We went to a bar to catch a poetry reading that was taking place in the basement. As we entered back upstairs, we heard some yelling and screaming. As we surfaced, we noticed that the short, bald bartender was holding a (approximately) 65 year old man in the air in a full nelson. He was removing him from the bar. There was yelling back and forth, and apparently the customer would not pay his tab. He came back into the door way and began to yell FASCIST FASCIST FASCIST repeatedly towards the bartender. The bartender then responded by slapping the man straight across the face. Clean! (video to be coming later).

The next day, we took off on a wild trip outside the city. We were looking through a brouchure, and we found that the Fountain of Youth and Tomb of Merlin were both located in a forest outside of the city. We decided that it would be pretty comical to lead ourselves on a hitchhiking adventure to try to find both of these. Sadly, I was not aware of the fact that neither of them truly exist, and that they are just myths. I have always wanted to be a wizard though.

Anyways, we set a goal for ourselves to reach these obscure places. The effor to get there took about 4 different car swaps. The total time was nearly 3 hours to travel 50 kilometers. That is pretty impressive considering we were asking to go to such remote places. I found it to be pretty hilarious to find myself on the side of the road with a sign stating VALLEY OF NO RETURN or TOMB OF MERLIN (both in French of course). It was even more strange that people picked us up, and were headed in that direction. Jean Luis was one of the characters who was nice enough to give us a lift.

We successfully made it there. So our goal was met. However, it was not too great of a thrill. But the ethic behind the trip and reaching the goal is all that really matters. We even found ourselves walking along an endless road for nearly 12 kilometers in the middle of a thunder storm. All was well with our return, and it now goes as a great tale.

Standing on the Edge of Summer

It would have been a shame to go through Basque Country without stopping by to visit everyone I know there. It's not like it is a quick train ride away. Garbiñe lives in a small town outside of Pamplona that is called Olazti. She is (what we would call in America) a country-girl. She has horses, dogs, chickens, and even a little plot of farm that her family uses to grow fruits and vegetables. For any lover of cultural appropriation and organic farming like myself, this place is a dream come true. Did I mention that she also speaks 7 languages?

She took us on an awesome hike through the mountains near her house. The views were beautiful. We also got to see many animals roaming freely in the hills. It was quite inspiring. It was also fun to go up there at night. We went to an isolated place in the middle of the mountain that was pitch black. We could see nothing. But we could hear all of the bells on the animals as they walked around us in the surrounding. Nino played some guitar. It was rather hopeless romantic, and right down my alley.

We also went around to many small villages to examine all of the culture. The entire week was host to many parties in the region. They are more like street festivals that go really late into the morning. In fact, we went to one in a village near Olazti. We didn't leave the house until 3 in the morning. Apparently that is rather typical here. We stayed out all night, and even caught the sunrise. We didn't return until 9 am. The bus ride home was rather hilarious. We were with about 30 other drunken kids our age as we were crammed into the bus. They got a kick out of us because we were Americans, and they especially loved my txapela. Garbiñe had to deal with me ranting on about alcohol as a social lubricant when we returned that morning. It lasted about an hour. She is a saint for her patience.

Finally, we went to a place called Zuggarramurdi. It is one of the last places in Europe to hold on to its pagan beliefs; only to fall at the hands of the Inquisition witch hunts in 1667. I am really into this place so it was an awesome adventure. If only the history held the beauty of the caves.

The final night, we stopped by to visit my friend Maialen in a village near by. She had just returned from Birmingham, where I had met both her and Garbiñe. She came dressed in a ceremonial dress that is only used for festivals. It was a trip! It was awesome to reunite with both of them in their home towns. It was nearly surreal. I tried explaning the feeling in the car on the way back, but it was nearly impossible. We ended our time there with both of them doing a traditional dance to music that was lighting up the streets in the village of Araia.

The experience there was awesome. Garbiñe and her family were great to us. I thank them dearly, and hope to stop by again someday. Her hospitality reminded me of the reason I have become so deeply infatuated with Basque history and culture in the first place.

Leaving Spain was a rather emotional thing. So much was left behind. It is such a special place, and it will always hold a safe spot in my heart for so many great reasons.

The Leaving Song

After a few days in the hustle-bustle of Bilbó, we ventured north to the coast to spend some time in a small seaside village called Mundaka. It is my version of paradise. It is sandwhiched between massive hillsides and deep forests. There are antique buildings and homes scattered throughout its salt draped streets. The harbor is filled with old fishing boats and men of the sea. It also has a world famous wave for surfing as it is home to the Billabong Pro Mundaka. Perfection.

We ventured inland a bit to visit a town called Gernika. This town was magical to me because of its role in Basque history as well as its place in the Spanish Civil War. We went on a very significant day because they were holding the local market. The region is known for its pimientos. The market was a key role in the war because Franco strategically chose to bomb the city on this day due to is popularity in all of the region of Vizcaya. We got bundles of food that we later shipped home for the family. The shipping rate left a massive hole in our pockets.

Our final evening in Mundaka was host to an annual fetival to celebrate the longest day of the year. It is called the Day of San Juan. It is celebrated in all of the Basque Country with a huge festival and a burning of a witch to represent the pagan roots that are embedded in the culture. There was a massive fire at midnight that lit up the city. There was plenty of txapela, and plenty of txisto.

Earlier in the evening, we made a homemade paella. Well, the work was mainly done by Cristina. She is an incredible chef. She knows her way around the traditional cookbook like nobody´s business. We were spoiled rotten with all of the finest meats and cheeses of the land.

The final day was one of heightened emotions for the both of us. We started off the day going to the subcultured area of Bilbó. She took me by the anarchist bookstore, and to the print center of the CNT. We also stopped by the home of the famous Basque philosopher named Unamuno. Finally, she took us to the bus station and saw us off to Pamplona. I could not stomach to look out the window without a bit of drizzle falling from my eye. I just watched her stand there. She was strong and helpless. I felt so close, but so far. A song she showed me soared through my head. She did more than enough for us both while we were there, and I can´t praise her enough as a friend and as a person.

The Center of the Ocean Where All Hope Sinks

When anticipation has been building for so long, it is nearly impossible to control emotions and feelings. The train ride here was similar to a kid in a candy store; only it was difficult for me to be confined to my seat without jumping out the window. Euzkadi is beautiful. the mountains are magical, and the houses tell stories of centuries past.

Euzkadi is not Spain. Euzkadi is Euzkadi. The feeling is totally different than that of Spain. It is understandable how people feel so strong about creating there own state to identify their nation. Today, Basque Country is still just a nation; not a country. Their is a feeling of displacement while traveling here. It is like a whole new culture shock. It is so difficult to get here from proper Spain. Nearly unwelcoming to those in the south. The mountains enclose the whole region as a natural barrier and defense against the cultural genocide that is known as foreign invasion. No wonder why the land has never been conquered. The weather is dark and depressing. And, the language is tongue-twistingly difficult. The antiquity of Euskera gives one a feeling of confusion and timidness. It seems so much more superior in thinking of how far language imperialism has gone to destroy such languages, yet this one has still be preserved through all of the strife under Romans, Moors, and Fascists.

We are currently with Cristina at her house in Bilbó. It is the largest city in the Basque Country, and the fifth largest in all of Spain. It became highly industrialized in the beginning of Spain´s Industrial Revolution. In fact, the Basque Country and Catalonia were the first regions in Spain to go the industrial route, and thus have become the most wealthy regions in the country. However, they also have a very strong working class population which gives explanation for the strong Anarcho-Syndicalist (CNT) presence as well as the infamous punk scenes. Euzkadi is known for its punk music. Much because of the insistance to sing in Euskera, as well as the fact that many of the bands favor Basque autonomy.

We were fortunate enough to catch a punk show here in a squat called Izar Beltz. The first band was from Grenoble, France. It consisted of all girl members who had this strange artsy mask-punk feel alongside riot girl. Their set consisted of usage of drums, bass, sax, cielo, sitar, and violin. They are called Ze Revengers. You can download their tracks! Next played a band from Guipuzkoa. They were some typical Basque D-beat called Karkaba. That is probably the most typical form of punk played here. The final band was called Asfixia. They are another local band, but they are pretty big in the neocurst thing. It´s a vegan band similar to Ekkai, but with femal vocals. Way gnarly.

Last night, we went out with Cristina to eat pintxos. They are the Basque version of tapas. In my opinion, they are way better because they have more of a complex recipe and take far longer to make. They are also bigger. We went to an area that is typical for students to hang out. All of the bars and restaurants play punk music and there is graffiti and stickers everywhere. Imagine eating a wonderful dinner in the Gilman project. It is perfect. We also went to a traditional meal the other day out on the countryside. It was an all you can eat lunch that consisted of 7 different courses including all drinks too. They had homemade wines and beers that are all from their own crops on the countryside. the place was called Fika.

Yesterday, we stopped by a wedding in Cristina´s neighborhood. She told us that it is very typical for old women to stop by the wedding in order to gossip about the parties getting married. Everyone wants to know whats going on in the neighborhood love-life. We fit right in with all the viejitas because we weren´t really supposed to be there either. However, they are a bit too old to be wedding crashing compared to us. We went because the wedding had a traditional dance after. Cristina used to do this dance when she was younger at the community festivals and events.

Today, we travel further north to the coast.

The Devil Found Work for Idle Hands

After an overnight train in the most uncomfortabl sleeping positions humanly possible, we arrived in Lisboa at 730am on June 11. We were cursed with sleeping in a car full of sorority girls from Oklahoma who wouldn shut up about their useless superficial jargon and full-fledged popularity contests. We had a kick out of making fun of them with the pretty Spanish girls sitting to our right. What a difference!

We showed up to Lisboa with the knowledge that we would be sleeping in a tent in a dude's backyard. We found so much more! Joao is a Portuguese Anarchist who uses his house to host people from all over the world as they travel through Portugal. It is similar to a tent city. He also even has people stay in his room as well. The most he has ever had stay at the place at one single time is 17. Now, he has about 7. The place is tentatively called Hatch8. It is an awesome vibe around here. We have been doing work all day in the backyard to clear it out in order to set up room for a movie projector against the huge wall.

While being here, we have met some awesome people from all over the world who we have gone out with. The first day. We took a trip out to a place called Sintra with a dude named Gerald. He is from Austria. In Sintra, we hiked about 4km up a hill to see this gigantic castle. For those outside the realm of th metric system, that is about 2.3 miles. It was straight up though! Anywyas, the castle resembles something made of Lego. It is huge, and completely unreal. It overlooks what seems to be all of Portugal. You can even see the ocean from the top. We came to the conclusion that is one of the coolest places that any of us have ever been in life.

The next morning we headed of to a place called Evora. I started off the day with cooking breakfast for evryone. A gigantic egg scramble with bell pepper, potatoes, and onions. In Evora, we went to a place for lunch that was recommended to me by one of my favorite high school teachers: Eric Fleming. The place is a small tavern called Taberna Tipica Quarta Feira. It is simply a door off to the side of a small street that one would never even guess to look into. Th meal costs 20£, but you get quite a serving. They only serve one meal a day, so you just eat whatever the give you. They also serve you a full bottle of wine. They started us off with some jamon serrano, bread, and cheese fondu-type thing. Then came some stuffed mushrooms with garlic and herbs. Soon after, we were given four huge slices of broiled pork, some olive oil fried potatoes, wild rice, and spinach. We were full so soon because we are not used to eating so much anymore. Then, the funny little man brought out a bowl full of cherries and this peach pastry type thing. It was similar to a cold french toast (for lack of better terms). To finish it off, he allowed unlimited shots of a traditional hard alcohol. That was a bit harsh at 50% alcohol. No wonder Mr. Fleming is such a fan!

After eating, we went to visit a place called Capela Dos Ossos. That directly translates into Bone Chapel. For those curious, it was a church made of human bones! We went out there with Gerald and another dude staying at Hatch8 named Rafael. He is from France. He left France with only the clothes on his back, and a jacket. He has been here in Portugal for a few weeks now. He has been wanting to move out to California just to play music. He was speaking with us a lot about it yesterday in the car. This morning, we woke up to find that he bought a one way ticket to San Francisco. He took our advice on th bay, and wants to live in Santa Cruz. Cheers to Rafa.

Last night was quite the evning. It was the festival of the patron Saint of Lisboa. The evening is called Festa Santo Antonio. It happens once a year. It is an all night event in which people come out to the streets to party until about 7am. I crashed around 3, but Nino went th distance. We started the night off with some homemade sardines. It is the traditional dish of Lisboa. We ate the fish with about 20 people right outside the main area for the party. We enjoyed a deep conversation about philosophy for about 2 hours. Three of us are philosophy majors. Joao is an electrical engineer that is a genius in metaphysics. The conversation got really heavy, and we nerded out far too beyond the line of normalcy. Later, we all went out and roamed the streets. It was nothing like I have ever seen.

The next day, all of Joáo's family came over to celebrate the festa as well. People here in Europe don't just spend one good night out. Instead, it is usually a week long occurrence. It was very interesting to see his entire family over to celebrate in his backyard tent city. No one was even phased. Everyone just seemed to embrace the atmosphere, and helped with cleaning it up and making due with what was there. It was quite different compared to the family outings I am used to where everything is expected to be perfect. People seemed to enjoy the spirit of the event more than the presentation. We cooked sardinhas on the homemade barbeque. In fact, we have cooked many things over the bonfire. The other night we even cooked a pizza. Homeland and Freedom.

Spanish Bombs in Andalucia

After Sevilla we headed around more of the region of Andalucia. We went to two beautiful cities called Cordoba and Granada. They were both old towns that were some of the orginal settlements of the Moors. In Cordoba, there is a building called La Mezquita. It is a fusion of Roman temple, Moorish Mosque, and Catholic Cathedral. Quite the spectacle. In Grandada, there is a famous building called La Alhambra. It remains the third most important pilgrimage in Islam today.

In Cordoba, we stayed with a gal named Britanny. She has been teaching English there for the past two years. Her house is right in the middle of the city. It is extremely old and has some beautiful views. She introduced us to a group of kids from Italy when we first arrived. We coincidentally ran into them later in the evening so they invited us out to a bar. Quite the time! One of them happens to play in a post punk band out of Italy called Sunward. His name is Miguel, and his second favorite band of all time is Refused. Sounds like a winner to me! We ended up meeting with them the next night again. They were super awesome and sang happy birthday to me in Spanish once the clock struck midnight.

While in Cordoba, we met a dude named Kevin. He is from Chicago. He is couch surfing for a few weeks around Spain and England. We played some music on a bridge with him the first night he arrived, and made enough money to treat the entire apartment of 7 to a dinner than evening. Homemade of course. We found out from him that he was planning to go to Granada the next day. So, we decided to just head off to Granada with him as well.

In Granada, we had no idea where to stay. We were assuming we could just smooth talk some silly euros into giving us a place for the night. They weren´t havin´it! After playing some music in the street a bit more in an effort to receive enough money to pay for a hostel, we decided the pinkins´were slim. It was street, or train station. What a great way to spend a birthday right? Fitting for a proper crustee, but not for me. I decided to use some of my Thomas Kokkinis coercive talent in a desperate effort to find a closet or family room to lay out and sleep that night before our train back to Madrid in the morning. Strangely, it worked! I got us two free beds in the hostel where we made full service of the showers, breakfast, and free tea!

We had a great night there in an area called Sacromonte. It is a gypsy neighborhood that consists of a lot of local restaurants, bars and flamenco rooms. You know I love the gypsies! We sat on the side of a hill overlooking La Alhambra for a few hours while getting 4 tapas, 4 drinks, and half a bocadillo for 10 euros a person. Can´t beat that gypsie economy.

Tomorrow, we will arrive in Lisboa.

Blacken the Skies

It has been nearly four days here. Things have gone extremely well. The only thing that has been pretty difficult, however, is technological communication. You know, like phones, computers, telegraphs, etc. We have had plenty of face-to-face glee. In fact, there has yet to be a night that we are in earlier than 2am.

Let's try to start this off in some sort of order since I have been so neglectful lately. I arrived in Madrid. I had to wait about 7 hours in the airport for Nino to arrive later in the evening. I was laying in a corner with my backpack fighting sleep. At this time, I hadn't slept for about 24 hours. Eventually, he came in at 10pm. We took a bus out to Alcala where we were to be staying with a rad dude named Mikel. He happens to be Basque. This virgin journey was not one that came without hardship. We ended up lost a bit and were lucky enough to stumble upon a woman from England. She leant us a cell phone to call Mikel. We later found out that she has been living here for 10 years to study the Franco lists of exile. Crazy cool.

Anyways, before I continue Spanish Civil War nerding-out, let's get back to the trip. We slept only two hours that night, and woke up the next morning to go see the painting of Guernica by Pablo Picasso. Then, we headed over to Segovia to see some sights from the book For Whom the Bell Tolls. It was an awesome of history. Finally, we ended up at a club with Mikel's roomate. He was encouraging us to practice our lady skills. I went for it for shits and giggles. I made quite the spectacle of myself after my solid pronunciation proved as quite an evasion. After the initial "como te llamas?", I am usually toast. It was a good time though and a funny thing to attempt. Can't get anymore superficial than not even being able to speak the same language.

The next day, we tripped down to Sevilla. We had to wait about 6 hours between the time we got to the station and the time we left because the trains were full. In the meantime, I painted a bit in front of the famous art gallery, Prado. Nino serenaded the streets with the ukulele. When we were at the train station, we were approached by a girl who invited us to her beach house in Valencia. Se gave us her phone number in email. We contacted her about going down to see the city, and she responded that she could not have us over because she would be back in Madrid. We have now come to find that she is an actress, Iris Lezcano. In what twisted universe do beautiful actresses approach smelly dudes with backpacks in a train station?

I finally figured out what I love so much about the city of Sevilla. To me, it is the perfect combination of urban culture and historical tradition. Throw some ancient buildings on top of some crustees, skate parks, and antifa grafitti; I am in heaven.

In Madrid, we stayed with two gals named Clara and Daniela. They are friends of a dude I met when I was down here last time named Pedro. He plays in a doom band called Monkeypriest. Last time I was here, I was searching for a place called La Carboneria. They offer free flamenco there. After searching for 2 hours, I came accross a show with a Canadian sludge band called Nadja. Pedro happened to be playing there as well. The funny thing is that this time, they took us to La Carboneria on an evening out. We were able to watch a great show of flamenco with toms of good friends. Later, we ventured to the place where I originally saw Pedro's band: Utopia. It was quite the case of Deja Vu.

We had a very typical Spanish night out. We set our time for 10pm, but we didn't make it out until about 1230am. We meandered around the streets and corridors picking up different friends along the way. Finally, we ended the night at a black metal bar (which name I cannot pronounce). We drank some drink called a "Hate Legion" while it was set ablaze by the bartender. Terrorizer was playing in the background. It was so metal.

The kids there are really cool. They love their music too. We ate dinner together while listening to In the Aeroplane Over the Sea. I made a dish which can now be officially branded as "Punk Paella". It is very simple. Just throw whatever you have in the fridge over some tomato sauce, and serve it over rice. It was a huge hit. A lot of sauce and garlic of course! We hope to keep in close contact with all of the Sevilla kids. They are a great group and showed us a very fun time.

Currently, there is a very interesting situation happening in Sevilla with the squat, Fabrica De Sombreros. On the tuesday before we came, the police came to evict the kids from the house. There was a huge manifestation in the streets. The house was used as what we would consider in America as a "free school". Now, it just sits as nothing. The government was supposed to grant it to the public as a public building, but now they are taking an offer from a private buyer. I tried t get more information from the Anarchist book shop near by, but it was closed for Sunday. But hopefully the internet resources suffice.

Finally, we left Sevilla, and today arrived in Cordoba. The trip over was a proof of how small of a world we live in. We met a lady on the train who is from Spain, but used to live in Chino Hills. She later introduced us to her 7 friends when the train arrived at the station (keep in mind that is 16 kisses from Spanish women in total right there). Anyways, they were greeted by a gal who is from america named Kira. She happens to be teaching here, and knows Brittany (the girl we are with now). Brittany is from LA, and she is here in Cordoba to teach English. The world is just too small.