Torro!

I try, when visiting other countries, to immerse myself in the culture as much as possible. In Ireland, it meant drinking copious amounts of Guinness. In Amsterdam, it meant mocking sex tourists with my friends as we watched them look over their shoulders on the way into brothels. In Istanbul, it meant eating way too much schwarma and in Greece, gyros. In Rome, it was drinking wine on the Spanish steps after a pizza/pasta dinner and watching the assembly of different nationalities basking in the world's most historic city (I guess Roman culture is touristy).

In Madrid, we knew there was one thing we had to do, irrespective of our beliefs on the issue: we had to watch grown men dress up like 19th century flamboyant clowns and then torture innocent bovines with a slow, bloody death. No trip to Spain would be complete without seeing a bullfight (or at least Hemingway always made it seem that way).

Needless to say, we were rooting for the bulls, a couple of which actually put up a good fight. The fact is, though, that the fights are more fixed than Commodus's gladiatorial escapades in Rome. It was sad to watch, but at the same time mesmerizing; as fixed as it is, the bulls still have a chance to gore the matadors. One just barely missed as he threw his torturer high in the air, and the entrance to the stadium contains a memorial for a bullfighter who died there in the 1980s. It was worth seeing, but hearing one bull cry for his life as blood pours out his mouth is probably enough for me in this lifetime.

Other Madrid highlights: the Prado Museum, which we zipped through on the way to the fight; it wasn't quite the Vatican museums, but...wow. Also, a dinner with my friend James's host mom from his time abroad in Madrid. She spoke no English, but invited us in, cooked for us, and talked up a storm. A homecooked meal in a foreign country: what more could I ask for?

My crew departed back for the states and real life the next morning, and I turned my sights on Sicily.

The Packing Dilemma

(A nod to The Yuppie Dilemma for the creative inspiration)

There is one great challenge that every backpacker faces, far exceeding that of pickpockets, missed flights, or language barriers. I'm referring, of course, to the packing dilemma.

If you're a typical leet griller backpacking through Europe immediately after your college graduation, you usually leave your hostels within ten minutes of a far-too early wakeup, either to check out or catch a flight/boat/train, and you are rarely in a fully clearheaded state of mind. There is a natural but tragic consequence to this fact: things get lost.

Since the start of this trip on June 1, I have lost: my adaptor (€26 to replace), one of the two pairs of shorts I brought to Europe with me, my rain jacket, and my favorite sweatshirt. (I have, surprisingly, retained my dignity, even in Amsterdam). All told, the total replacement value is probably around $100. I've learned a lesson from this experience: I could have packed more lightly; I'm doing fine with just one hoodie and one pair of shorts.

Beyond that, though, I'm struck by the realization that, with each passing day, college slips further and further into my past. My hoodie and rain jacket were both BC Bookstore products, purchased way back in 2006 when the bookstore was still independent. They were staples of my wardrobe during my four years at BC (and I dare say I looked stunning in them). I wore them to display my school pride (and to accentuate the color in my eyes) at football games, parties, classes, and long walks through the rain. Now they are gone, and I am fully aware that the day will come when my BC wardrobe will have dwindled down to nothing. Sure, I can always purchase more BC gear, but it will be the wardrobe of an alumnus and not a student.

I can only pray that I look as good and feel as comfortable in alumni clothing as I did in my dear departed sweatshirt.

Ryan Air Part II

Flew Ryan Air for the second time this past Saturday, from Rome to Madrid. Three of us sat in the very back row, myself on the aisle, and I was lucky enough to evesdrop on most of the conversation between the flight attendants. (Actually, evesdrop probably isn't such a great description, since they were yelling across the back aisle to each other to be heard over the sound of the engines). So, if any of you have ever wondered what goes through the head of Ryan Air stewardesses (bearing in mind that the airline prides itself on its efficient professionalism), it's my pleasure to offer you a quick synopsis of the major conversation topics:

1) The woes of English soccer; one described her frustration as such: "Kick the ball in the fucking net if it's wide fucking open. I mean come on!"

2) The high quality of the sex (or, as the British call them, "bedroom") scenes in True Blood. One told the other, "you've got to check it out, it's seriously unbelievable. It's my favorite thing about television these days."

3) The value of having a...(What's the right term for a family-friendly blog like this?)...male friend with physical benefits and no attachments. One snapshot of their dialogue on the matter:

Attendant 1: "I see him every couple of weeks. He was starting to talk serious and I was like, 'Alex, No!'"

Attendant 2: "Good for you. You need that. I'm not too, too loose so it's good to have that option."

Somewhere, I thought, poor Alex was waking up alone, wondering why he couldn't get this girl to like him. 30,000 feet above the Mediterranean, I had the answer in hand.

Rome

Of all the cities I ever wanted to visit, Rome was the top choice. I love history, I love Italian food, I loved the TV show and I have an Italian last name. It just seemed logical.

Just like Ios, Rome met and exceeded my expectations. Some quick highlights of the trip:

-The food, from the first dinner of Spaghetti al Pesto to the last slice of pizza

-The Spanish Steps, where we joined an international ensemble of people on our first night to drink wine and soak in the summer air

-The Roman Colosseum, the place I most wanted to see before I died. Simply mindblowing to walk around, and full of interesting facts. Like this one: Emperor Commodus, the basis of Joaquin Phoenix´s character in Gladiator, killed more than 12,000 men in the colosseum, plus hundreds of bears and lions, to earn himself the title of greatest gladiator in history. Of course, the animals were drugged and both arms of every man were broken, but it's still pretty impressive. No mention on the tour of whether or not he was really in love with his sister.

-Palatine Hill, the ancient seat of power in Rome, which we walked around for literally 30 minutes while looking for an entrance before realizing we had seen the entire things already from the road that overlooked it.

-Museum of the Reunification, where I was struck by two things. One, there is a semi-decent possibility that a great-great-(great?) grandpa of mine fought in the wars to reunify the country. And two, that most of the heroic paintings of Italian soldiers in WWI, being dated from the 1920s and 1930s, were probably commissioned by the fascists. Apparently they have a longer staying power than I thought.

-The Vatican Museum, best museum I've ever seen. It's not just the size or the skill of the artwork, but the diversity of it (greek sculpture to modern art and entire wings of everything in between) that makes it so incredible.

-The Sistine Chapel, where I finally appreciated Good Will Hunting to its fullest extent but was disappointed (though not surprised) to find myself unable to move due to crowds. I imagine that if I go to heaven upon my death, I'll be greeted in a recreation of the chapel with a private picnic.

-St. Peter´s Basilica, which took 120 years to build and is the very heart of the Roman Catholic world. One of the most beautiful buildings I have ever seen, its combination of size and splendor blows away both the Hagia Sophia and the Blue Mosque (indeed, it was so expensive to build that it was financed in part through a surge in the sale of indulgences, helping to spark the Reformation). Besides the church itself, one can descend into the crypts below where St. Peter and dozens of popes and saints are interred (as well as members of the exiled Stuart dynasty from England, who were referred to as kings by the Vatican). We also made the decision to ascend to the cupola, which offers views of all of Rome. It didn't seem so high up at first, and for some reason the roughly 550 steps didn't deter us. Only later did we find out that we climbed almost half the height of the Empire State Building. Most of the steps were in circular staircases, which meant that as we climbed for what must have been 15 minutes or more we were simultaneously walking in tight circles with little room to breathe. Needless to say, I probably won't ever go up there again (though that being said, it was well worth it).

-The Pantheon, which is in very good condition due to its medieval conversion into a Catholic Church. There were many signs asking for silence and respect, but most of the hundreds of tourists didn't seem too worried. Rafael is buried there, though I didn't see Michelangelo, Leonardo or Donatello.

-Sant'Ignazio Church: I admit I'm a little biased; I love the Jesuits, was educated by Jesuits, and am Catholic today because of the Jesuits. Moreover, I hate being in a crowd when visiting something extraordinary. In any case, I found this church, dedicated to St. Ignatius and the central church of the Jesuit order, to be every bit as impressive as the Sistine Chapel and St. Peter´s. The frescoes are mindblowing in their grandiosity and beauty, the walls are lined with chapels dedicated to Jesuit saints interred under the altars, and the crowds are almost non-existent. So far on my trip, this church is THE HIDDEN GEM of all of Europe.

I wish I could have had more time in Rome, but I'm confident I'll return one day. As of now, it's quite possible my favorite place in Europe (minus Ios, which is barely real life).

Turkey Followup

Tom Friedman wrote a couple of reflections this week on the cultural and political situation in Turkey that are worth checking out in light of my earlier post. They basically contain a lot of substantial information that (unfortunately) seem to be in line with the observations I made on the street ten days ago.

Paradise Found

When I was four, I went to sleep on Christmas Eve anxious for what the morning would bring. I fully expected a treasure of presents that would bring unbounded joy.

To this day, walking down the stairs the next day to see a train chugging along a circular track around the tree is one of the best memories of my life. The feeling you get when you have way too high expectations and then get them exceeded by the actual thing is quite possibly the rarest known to man.

Since December 25, 1992, I have not known that feeling. I've had many joys in life, but that one? It was fleeting.

Until this week. Ios, in the Greek Islands, was alternatively described to me as a cross between Cancun, college, Hawaii, and Greece. I was told there would be an abundance of beautiful women, beaches, water, buildings, mountains, and footpaths, not to mention wild bars and clubs.

That was exactly what it ended up being. It was paradise on Earth, no doubt about it, and I was sorry to leave it behind; I actually wanted to change my plane ticket and just work there for the rest of the summer. There isn't much else to say about the island. What can you say about heaven to someone who's never seen it? Those who have don't need words to describe what it's like.

We were only in Athens for a few hours; on the way to and from Ios, we got into town very late and then had to leave in the morning. If you've heard about the unrest there, I have only this to say: it's very real. We left our hostel with little time to spare on the way to the airport and found the subway locked shut; the workers were on strike. We had to rush into taxis, and our drivers were freaking out because a massive march was about to shut down all the major roads in the city center. Things are not good there.

But at least things are cheap and the people are beautiful. And because of the unrest, we had the island largely to ourselves.

A Word on Turkish Islam

Most of my posts on this blog tend to be light-hearted; this one is not. I was extremely disappointed in the supposedly progressive Turkish culture that stands apart from much of the Islamic world.

I volunteered in (Muslim parts of) Bosnia three years ago and experienced a strain of Islamic culture that was very much married to modernity and the West; people wore American-style (if a bit ragged), watched American and British TV, listened avidly to musicians from across North America and Europe, devoured the internet, and saw no contradiction between their identity as Muslims and their place in the modern world.

For many Turks, especially (and most notably) those of my own generation, this did not seem to be the case. To highlight just a handful of examples from my brief time in Istanbul:

-The midday call to prayer sounded while we were in the Grand Bazaar: Having spent time in Bosnia, it was not unusual for me to see dozens of people rushing about to be at a mosque in time. When we were initially fenced into a corner of the bazaar by faithful who converted the alleyways into prayer spots, I was not particularly taken aback and was actually quite impressed to hear the hustle and bustle of the bazaar shut down almost instantly. But after a handful of minutes I noticed a few things: 1) it was all men praying, and 2) most of the older people in the bazaar were still minding their shops and ignoring the whole process; it was the younger ones, people my age, who made up the bulk those facing toward Mecca. After I finally found a way around them, I noticed one woman shopping for candy with her children while wearing a full burqa, with all of her daughters in hijabs. I wondered if she was required to leave her home by her husband with one on, but away from his glare was not so faithful as many of the men were.

-Walking along the Bosporus later that day, we stumbled upon what we lightheartedly labeled "Istanbul Beach": on the large boulders that made up the shore all the way around the Old City, people were sunbathing, fishing, and jumping into the water. It was not unlike what one might find in any city on a hot day. Except that as we continued walking, we noticed that of the literally hundreds of people sunbathing, not a single one was a woman. It was clear that it was not yet socially acceptable for women to shed their clothes by the water on a hot day.

-Indeed, of the many, many people who sought our business, in front of restaurants, shops, and stands, not a single one was a woman. Not one woman was inviting customers in, waiting tables, involved in the transaction of money, or anything else you might expect in a modern cosmopolitan city like Istanbul.

-Perhaps most shocking of all, though: when I tried to link to Youtube in one of the posts I wrote while in Istanbul, I was shocked to discover that the website is blocked by the Turkish government.

None of this meshes with the brand of Islam I saw in Bosnia and that I was led to believe predominates in Turkey. I found there a culture where women are not just second-class citizens but are often an entirely separate underclass. I found a place where religious extremism seems to be stronger among the younger generation instead of weaker. I found a place where the government controls what information their people read, and where propaganda reigns supreme (I didn't need to know Turkish to know, looking at signs or observing TV, that the reaction against Israel's recent raid on the aid armada is fierce and furious and that the Israeli side of the story wasn't often being presented).

It's worth pointing out that many Turks would fit right into Sarajevo culture, and New York for that matter (and many do upon their emigration); most of them enjoy nightlife, drinking, and conversation. Most women do not wear burqas, and many do not wear hijabs. Some are bikini models, and many are flirtateous. (Moreover, many women choose to wear burqas or hijabs on their own; it is their faith and it is important to respect that).

But the Istanbul I was led to expect was progressive, a shining star in the Islamic world. It is hard to know for certain after just 48 hours, but if such an Istanbul ever did exist it does not now. The city I visited seemed to be in constant clash between secular modernity, religious fundamentalism, and a middle ground that seems to be increasingly silenced. I can only imagine what rural Turkey is like.

In any case, the European Union's continued denial of Turkish applications for membership is not just based on discrimination; there is a very real and (I now know) wellfounded concern over human rights. Turkey has the potential to lead the Islamic world into the modern age, especially as prosperity in the country increases over the coming century. But it also has the potential to slip backwards (and perhaps pull the rest of the Islamic world back with it), and that fact is well worth the attention of power brokers in the international community. Something is stirring there, and it is not necessarily good.u