Europe recap, Day 10: Jungfrau

Tuesday, November 3, 2009. No driving involved this day, as all my day was spent hiking up in the Alps. As Rick Steves likes to say, any day in Switzerland that is not spent hiking in the Alps is outright criminal.

The day started with the first Jungfraubahn train leaving Interlaken Ost Station at 6:35. I was glad to see that at every row on the train, I could see the map of the area, showing major points of interest (transfer points, villages, etc.) and their altitude in meters. I was starting at Interlaken, which was at under 600 meters altitude (around 1,800 feet), and ending up two hours later at Jungfraujoch, at 3,500 meters altitude (close to 12,000 feet!). A fairly conventional train took me as far as Lauterbrunnen, from where I had to transfer to a narrow-gauge cogwheel train, full of aged Alpine flair, for the second leg up to Kleine Scheidegg.

Now, I am on another cogwheel train, having just pulled out of snow-covered Kleine Scheidegg Station, for the final push up to Jungfrau. It's quite chilly outside already, and altitude at this point is already over 2,000 meters.

The train, intended for tourist use, is quite posh, and the cabin has video screens playing introductory video to the region and the railway. Narrations are in eight languages: German, English, French, Italian, Spanish, Japanese, Mandarin Chinese, then Korean. The crowd this day was very Asian indeed.

The wall on the left is part of Eiger (Ogre), while the peak on the right is Mönch (Monk). In the legends, Mönch protects Jungfrau (Maiden), further to the right, from Eiger.

Another look at Eiger, and its infamous North Face, before entering the tunnel portion.

The tunnel starts at Eiger's anus (ewww!) and works up his intestines, before transferring to Mönch and going under his robe, to finish at Jungfraujoch, the mountain pass between Mönch and Jungfrau.

Inside the tunnel, the train makes a couple of intermediate stops, to allow passengers to disembark and take a look outside.

The outside views are okay, but not spectacular, as the Plexiglass windows are all fogged up. It's quite chilly in the tunnel, but still balmy (at least above freezing) compared to the harsh conditions outside.

The first stop, well inside Eiger's guts, is already at 2,700 meters above sea level. From this point on, hypoxia becomes a real issue; staying fully alert becomes a bit of a challenge, and nausea is common for weaker travelers.

I am now at the Sphinx, the observatory located on top of Jungfraujoch. It is a lengthy elevator ride (about 100 meters up) from Jungfraujoch's train station.

My elevation is now at 3,571 meters, or 11,782 feet, above sea level; Jungfraujoch is, indeed, called the "Top of Europe," and its railway station is the highest in Europe. And those temperature readings (barely above zero, if converted to Fahrenheit) and wind gusts are certainly NOT conducive for a hike outside. Between the hypoxia, the cold, and the wind chills, I'd pass out within minutes and freeze to death, if I ever dared to go all the way to Jungfrau's summit.

At least I am able to move about. My mother is completely clobbered, and she is forced to lie down on a bench near the train platforms and rest.

I am looking north in the direction of Interlaken, which would be hidden in the east-west valley in the distance. Gotta love these glacier-carved mountain cliffs and valleys, something I don't see on a daily basis.

Looking west at Jungfrau herself.

Before I came on this trip, I was having some mountain-related discussions with two Facebook friends - Morwen Madrigal of New Orleans, who used to work for the US Geological Survey back in the day and brags about "having licked all the Grand Tetons," and Angela LaChic of Calgary, who loves to climb the Canadian Rockies close to her home. As all three of us are lesbians, we joked about selectively climbing, and licking, the summits of mountains with female names, and of course, I had to mention my planned visit to Jungfrau.

Unfortunately, again, due to the bitter conditions outside, this is as close as I'll ever get to licking the summit of that maiden, clad in a beautiful white dress.

That Swiss flag marks an observation point, and the start of the trail to the Jungfrau summit. But then, again, due to the brisk conditions, it'll be a challenge for me to get even that far, and walk on the glacier, much less attempt the summit of Jungfrau, which is at 4,100 meters above sea level, and will definitely clobber me.

Granted, I've been at high altitudes like this before - just four months prior, I had been at Rocky Mountain National Park, where I actually drove to 12,000 feet in a car - but it is harder now, due to a much faster ascent this time. At Rocky Mountain, I had spent the previous day or two at altitudes around 5,000 feet and a bit higher, so I had some chance to get used to the thinner air, but I don't have that benefit here at Jungfraujoch.

This is a lovely view to the south, showing a glacier stretching in the direction of Italy.

It won't be Italy right away where the glacier disappears into the clouds, but over there, I do have to speak Italian. Over here at the Top of Europe, the language spoken is German, though I can easily get by in English and Asian languages due to the tourist traffic.

To the east lies Mönch. Nice view of snow blowing off the summit.

To my mountaineering friends and others, I jokingly refer to Mönch as "your stereotypical Catholic pedophile priest" - one who has gone commando under his robe, and whose pee-pee I had to endure watching as I had ridden up the tunnel. According to tradition, Mönch protects Jungfrau from Eiger behind him, but right now, it's me protecting Jungfrau from that pervert monk.

I took this particular photo outside the sheltered dome of the Sphinx. I found it impossible to stand outside for more than 30 seconds at a time.

I am back into the visitor services area. One of its features is the Ice Palace, a tunnel dug into the glacier.

It is surely cold in here, and hypoxia is still trying to clobber me. But I am finding that moving around is the best defense against hypoxia.

The Ice Palace is lined with many ice sculptures, like these polar bears.

Early visitors to Jungfraujoch would have come dressed in outfits similar to this.

Practicality and warmth, while still showing off style and femininity, that's really my thing.

A number of snack items are available, but everything is grossly overpriced, because of the added complexity of hauling everything up from Interlaken.

Here is an interesting choice. I can buy a small cup of "Jungfraujoch Bowl Noodle" - which is just standard bowl of instant ramen from South Korea's Nongshim Foods. The price is an obscene 7.50 Swiss francs, and if I need extra hot water or chopsticks on top of what the attendant provides, that will cost me a small fortune as well. For comparison, buying the same bowl at a grocery store in Seoul or Los Angeles will cost under a franc - and not much more at one of the Asian grocery stores back in Interlaken.

Not exactly the most authentic way to go, but I took up on the offer, just for the experience. The chilly environs of Jungfraujoch make the hot noodles a good choice, as well as a memory to savor.

It is notable that the menu is done not in local languages, but in English and Korean, indicating that the noodles are targeted to Asian tour groups. And sure enough, every visitor today is either Japanese or Korean. My mother and I are chatting with the Korean visitors in Korean - though they have no idea (and no need to know) that we are really Americans independently traveling in a European Delivery Mercedes-Benz, rather than fellow group tourists from South Korea.

Now I am back to saner altitudes of Kleine Scheidegg, and my mother has finally come back to full vitality.

I have been previously advised that Jungfraujoch tends to be sunny in the early morning hours, before clouding up very fast for the rest of the day. And I am finding that to be indeed true. Good thing I took the early morning train. This photo shows Mönch on the left, Jungfrau on the right, and the Sphinx observatory in the middle.

Jungfrau would soon hide in the clouds and never show herself to my eyes again. She is indeed one very shy maiden. Glad to have come face to face with her.

We proceeded downhill, to Wengen, just below the snowline. The initial plan was to take a cable car over to Grindelwald, and return to Interlaken there. But as it turns out, the cable cars are all shut down throughout the region; between the summer hiking season and the winter ski season, they were all shut down for routine maintenance, and indeed, that also explained why the Jungfrau Region was overrun primarily by Asian tour groups, rather than independent travelers and locals.

It would be another hour before another train would come to Wengen to allow me to continue downhill to Lauterbrunnen. Since the nearby hiking signs indicated that walking to Lauterbrunnen would take an hour anyway, I decided to walk down instead. This would also be an opportunity for my mother to enjoy the fresh Swiss Alpine air and fully recover from the hypoxia.

Downhill hiking is the best way to really take in the postcard Switzerland - the huts, the cows, the cowbell sounds, and the lush grass, as well as gorgeous views of the glacial valleys that look similar to Yosemite Valley (itself glacial). And excellent signage keep indicating which way to walk toward my destination, as well as estimated walking time.

The Lauterbrunnen walk time of one hour was said to have been timed by local senior citizen volunteers. Even at my more youthful walking pace, the one-hour estimate was right on the mark; these senior citizen volunteers are certainly master hikers.

As I walk further downhill, I can see a waterfall on the other side of the Lauterbrunnen Valley. I am again reminded of Yosemite Valley back in California.

And now I close in on Lauterbrunnen. In the lower left, I can see the cogwheel railroad.

As I walk down, I am sharing with my mother the basics of how the European economy works. I discussed the role of the European Union, even though I also stressed that neutral Switzerland is not an EU member, and also that the UK, despite being a member, tends to not march in lockstep with the Continent. I also discussed the European taxation policies with hefty income and sales taxes but smaller to no property taxes, as well as how the taxation pays for various government services, including universal healthcare and top-notch transportation network. I compared and contrasted the European Union's mechanisms with those of the US federal government, and wrapped up with an observation that while Americans may possess more materially (including the Mercedes-Benz we're driving around in, and sending to America the next day), Europeans have the basics (i.e. healthcare) better covered while consuming only a fraction of the resources.

Now I am back in Lauterbrunnen, with only a few more minutes to go to the train station.

More evidence of heavy Asian tourist traffic. That hostel-style accommodation displays a South Korean flag, and has signs in Korean, though it turns out to actually have a Japanese owner.

For East Asian independent travelers to Europe, places like these can be a very good way to mingle with fellow travelers speaking the same language, eat the home cuisine, and gather travel information. This American with full English and limited French proficiency prefers to hang out with the locals and eat local food, but can certainly appreciate the value of this travel infrastructure for East Asians who want to go beyond the group tours but don't have the advantage of European language proficiency. It's thanks to places like this hostel that South Koreans have learned to travel through Europe on a budget - and also learned that the neoliberalism, Christian conservatism, and homophobia, taught to them by their former military dictatorship and its US Republican masters, are not the prevailing ways of the civilized world (and I am grateful, having seen the mentality improvements back in South Korea first-hand in 2008).

From Lauterbrunnen, twice-hourly commuter trains run back to Interlaken Ost. Now I am back in Interlaken but am not retiring to my hotel just yet.

I am at the expanse of grass where I had seen grazing cows the previous day. Cows are still grazing, but this time I have the photo of these statues instead.

Again, thanks to the rise of the word "Tea Party" and "teabagging" to denote the anti-Obama neoliberal protests in the US, I am referring to all male nudes as "teabaggers," and chuckling at them. In this case, however, the male nude has a female companion, and I have chosen to call the female nudes "carpetmunchers" for a contrast. I was indeed wishing that a sane, progressive countermovement to the teabaggers would start in the US, and that it would indeed call itself the "carpetmunchers"; that would eventually happen in early 2010, though its name would be the Coffee Party USA instead.

And nearby, these elderly men are playing a game of boules - a game where the objective is to roll a large metal ball as close to the smaller target ball as possible without hitting it.

I had seen the game in the Rick Steves videos, and am glad to see it in action.

Now heading back to the train station, then on to the hotel in Goldswil. Here is a better look at the Japanese garden that I had seen the previous day.

As it turns out, this garden was a gift of the Japanese city of Otsu, which had been an Interlaken sister city since 1978, when Japanese tourists started arriving here in droves. The garden was built in 1995, with elements symbolizing the Berner Oberland mountains and lakes.

At this point, my mother and I did some souvenir shopping - though one particular souvenir shop, featuring some bells (not cowbells, but ceramic) that my mother wanted, was not open. In fact, it was the only shop with such bells, and it would not open for the duration of my Interlaken stay. Also, the cold air and hypoxia in the mountains had done their work on my mother, and she wanted to buy some cold medication; a pharmacie (as opposed to a smaller Apotheke which I normally see in German-speaking areas) next to Interlaken Ost helped us. While the English-speaking pharmacist did not recognize the American brand name Tylenol, she did choose a local-brand equivalent, and upon reading the packaging and the instruction sheet, I could indeed discern that it was a cold medicine, and could also figure out the proper doses. This being Switzerland, the instructions were trilingual - and again, when three languages are used, chances are good that I understand at least one (French in my case).

Upon retiring to the hotel, I took time to clean out and prepare the Mercedes-Benz for the shipping the next day, while my mother took it easy in the room. I also fired up my laptop and its Microsoft AutoRoute, so that my mother would finally have an idea of the route I had taken her through so far - as well as the route remaining (drive to Stuttgart, then TGV to Paris for a 3-night stay before flying home via Munich). Speaking of the car, its odometer reading was approaching 2,000 kilometers - and just over 1,200 miles when the units were switched to Imperial. I had driven a lot, and there was some more driving to do the next day.

The return to Stuttgart, the shipment of the vehicle, and the continuation to Paris will be the next post.

Europe recap, Day 7: Brenner Pass into Venice

This post recaps my Halloween 2009, which saw me halfway into a two-week tour of Europe. It was my first introduction to Italy, as I entered via Brenner Pass and the Dolomites, and headed for the famed water city of Venice. Italy became the seventh European country I get to check off.

As noted in the Day 6 recap, I ended up not visiting any of the salt mines near Salzburg. I simply took the shortest route out to Autobahn 1, then headed west back into Germany; even though the approach to Brenner Pass is via Innsbruck in western Austria, it is actually faster to dip briefly into Germany, due to lack of Autobahn connections between Salzburg and Innsbruck. After driving on German Autobahn 8 toward Munich for about 30 minutes, I found the Autobahn 93 turn-off, with clearly marked "I" oval, denoting access to Italy.

Autobahn 93 followed up the course of the Inn River, and before long, took me back into Austria, becoming Austrian Autobahn 12. Surrounded by old castles and snow-capped Alpine peaks, I made sure to enjoy the drive to the fullest. The CD player played the soundtrack to The Sound of Music movie from 1965, and I followed up with my modern-day favorite from back in California, Anna Nalick.

I am now taking a brief toilet break in Innsbruck, as Autobahn 13 splits off from the 12 to climb up the Brenner Pass and take me to Italy.

Innsbruck ("Bridge on the Inn River") is a very scenic town, best known as a ski resort, particularly attractive to those who live in countries without steep mountains (think England and the Netherlands). Unfortunately, between my need to continue to Venice and the difficulties I would certainly experience driving into town and parking, this will be all the Innsbruck I end up experiencing. Having to mind my mother's constant concerns regarding possible damage to the car is really piling on my stress level.

And here is an obligatory shot of the car against the Alpine peaks.

Austria has the strictest motorist regulations among the countries I am driving in. In addition to a toll sticker for the Autobahn system, I am also required to carry a safety vest inside the passenger compartment, to be worn in case of a roadside emergency; the vest was provided free of charge by Mercedes-Benz back in Sindelfingen. And more importantly, I am required to use winter tires between November and April, but that is also taken care of, since (1) I am leaving Austria for good on this October 31st, and (2) this car's all-season tires, thanks to their Mud + Snow designation, meet the requirement. Austrian driving in the winter on performance summer tires is not only dangerous, it is outright illegal, with a fine of €5,000.

Brenner Pass is only 30 minutes from Innsbruck, but in order to drive this short distance, I am required to pay a supplemental toll of €8 in cash on top of the toll sticker. Before long, the obligatory border slowdown took place, and in the midst of outlet stores, I could see a sign - European Union flag with the word "ITALIA" in the middle. I entered Italy. Shortly following were the default speed limit sign, showing Italian speed limits at 50 km/h urban, 90 rural, 110 on blue-signed free motorways, and 130 on green-signed toll motorways (Autostrada); the days of German-style unlimited Italian autostrade were long gone.

The initial drive through the rugged terrain was kept at 110 km/h, despite being a green-signed Autostrada. This 110 would persist throughout my drive on Autostrada 22 (the Italian extension of Austrian Autobahn 13). Soon, a toll booth issued me a magnetic toll ticket; Italian autostrade use a thruway-type toll collection system using tickets or transponders.

Autostrada 22 heads south from the Brenner Pass, through the lovely, rugged Dolomite Mountains, known for their stunning marble cliffs like this photo. This photo is just a tiny hint of all the gorgeous cliffs I could spot while driving, but couldn't photograph due to my need to put driving first. This photo is from a rest stop about 30 minutes north of Verona, where I would take the eastbound Autostrada 4 toward Venice (marked as Venezia on signs).

Up to this point, I am in the region known as Alto Adige, and as this region is historically populated by the Germanic people, all placenames have Italian and German versions, and all road signs and messages are in both Italian and German. Indeed, I am reminded that back when Germany's national anthem was sung as "Deutschland über alles," its lyrics included the phrase "From the Meuse to the Memel, From the Adige to the Belt" - a swath of territory that is now lost through losses in two World Wars. The Brenner Pass has historically connected this region to the rest of the Germanic world, and this road is dotted with castles - tollbooths back in the day, complete with accommodations for tolljumpers.

But make no mistakes, this is Italy. I am actually finding the Autostrada system to be better built and maintained than the German Autobahns; thanks to the nicer Italian climate, the road surfaces are in even better shape than the already excellent ones in Germany. Aside from acceleration and deceleration lanes which are mere afterthoughts drawn onto the shoulder, the autostrada is built to higher standards than the autobahn.

But I have to say that the real reminder of Italy comes from the reckless drivers. In Germany, I could count on all drivers obeying the strict regulations, such as no-passing-on-right and adherence to any mandatory speed limits. But here in Italy, I am finding that traffic regulations were meant to be ignored. Speeding and lane changes without signaling were very common, and while passing on the right was nowhere near the epidemic levels I see in California, I could still occasionally see it. I could also count on a mad flash of the high beams from behind if I did not vacate the fast lane in a microsecond, and a frustrated honk if I decided to treat stop signs (i.e. at this rest stop) as a full stop rather than a California stop.

I found that the worst a-holes on Italian autostrade were Audi drivers, filling in the niche occupied by BMW drivers in California. The worst slowpokes, just like in California, were Toyota drivers. Van drivers, be it the Central American theocrats in California driving a Chevrolet Astro, or brutes in South Korea driving a Hyundai Starex, used to push my buttons a lot, but they are less of a factor in Europe; the Astro is nonexistent, and drivers of the Starex and similar vans are well-behaved in Europe (aside from an occasional tendency to speed). Another demographic that used to push my buttons in South Korea - drivers of Ssangyong SUVs - also drove pretty well in Europe.

I refueled at this rest stop before continuing my way. Italian gas prices are similar to Austrian levels and much cheaper than German levels; I could expect to pay €1.00 per liter, and I only needed to pay for regular unleaded, which was already 95 octane (91 US octane), making premium at 98 octane a useless splurge. While Autostrada 22 continues south to Modena, home of Ferrari, I was more than happy to transfer to eastbound Autostrada 4 once in Verona, enjoying its 3 lanes all the way to Venice as well as consistent 130 km/h speed limit. It went through a flatter landscape surrounded by rolling hills, farms, and even an American military base. As I approached Venice, I stumbled into a "KARTE" lane at the toll booth, and paid with a debit card; the toll came out to be €21, definitely not cheap, and I had intended to pay at a cash lane, whose money icon I couldn't recognize right away. (Good thing I didn't use the TELEPASS lane for transponders.) Thanks to European distances being delightfully short and motorway speeds being fast, I arrived in Venice ahead of schedule - something that happened on every major driving day for me.

Once in Venice, I proceeded through Mestre before getting on the 2.5-mile Liberty Causeway to the water city itself. I parked at the enormous Tronchetto Garage, which I appreciated for its American-scale ramps and parking spaces, and fumbled my way to the vaporetto (water bus) stop, for a ride on the No. 2 water bus to Rialto Bridge. My mother was thinking "Harlem slum style decay" rather than "a former powerhouse" as the water bus made its way into the Grand Canal, and upon reaching Pensione Guerrato (Rick Steves' favorite hotel) and finding that the €130/night room I had booked was an attic room above fourth floor (sixth floor if counted American style) with no television, she was fuming. I fumed right back too, telling her to shove it with her Asian-American model minority materialism and excess. This trip was at its breaking point.

Cooler heads eventually prevailed, as I gladly let my mother know that I've myself been let down by another European city that other visitors rave about - namely, Amsterdam and its Surinamese thugs. Now the goal has become salvaging the Venice experience somehow, even if Venice falls way short of the sanitized/romanticized depictions in the movies and as seen at the Venetian Hotel and Casino in Las Vegas.

From the hotel near the Rialto Bridge, we are walking in the general direction of "Piazza San Marco" (St. Mark's Square). And every time a pedestrian path goes over a water canal, I am treated to views like this, an alleyway accessible only by water, served by a gondola. The path crosses the canal in the form of an elevated bridge, with a few steps up and down on either side, and that gets tiring after a while walking around Venice.

The primary method of getting around Venice is by walking through very narrow pathways, as this is a water city without any land vehicles, and land area is at a huge premium. In particular, the pathways between the Rialto Bridge and the St. Mark's Square, the two tourist magnets of Venice, can be extremely crowded.

And with all the tourist traffic passing by, the stores often sell very catchy items, like this chess set made up of cats and dogs. I almost wanted to buy one.

Now this is a bit more like it - an open expanse. This is St. Mark's Square, with the Campanile and St. Mark's Basilica standing proudly as ever.

I would quickly learn that open spaces like this are at a very huge premium in Venice, and that I would need to enjoy every moment I spend in one.

As it's sunset already, I am not planning on doing any sightseeing this day. I am supposed to stay in Venice for two nights, and that gives me all of All Saints' Day as a full day to explore the city. I will now walk back toward the Rialto Bridge.

Another store, selling masks that are a good reminder of Venice's past decadence in the form of masquerade parties. I am loving the fact that many of the masks are cat-shaped.

It's dinnertime. As Venice is now a place where tourists outnumber residents, getting into a non-touristy restaurant is wishful thinking in many parts of town. And since I am still on the main paths between St. Mark's and Rialto, I need to duck into a touristy eatery - and entered a spaghetti joint run by an East Asian immigrant.

This joint's walls are covered with photos of international movie actors who have attended the annual Venice Film Festival. And I am lucky to be eating under the photo of my favorite - Calista Flockhart and Harrison Ford. I'm always fond of Calista Flockhart for her portrayal of that neurotic skinny miniskirt-suited lesbian lawyer Ally McBeal; glad to be reminded of her here in faraway Italy. I am also realizing that in just eleven days, Calista would turn 45; when Ally had first aired, Calista was only 33, and Ally was supposed to be merely 28. Certainly, a key part of looking young is having a geriatric boyfriend, in the form of Harrison Ford.

Continuing past Rialto toward the northeastern portions of Venice, the one part of the city that actually still has residents.

I don't know what the significance of this community theater is, nor who the namesake, Carlo Goldoni, is, but I had to take this photo for the lovely lighting on the sign.

In Venice's labyrinthine path pattern, navigating by street names is impossible. One's sense of directions completely melts away after a few minutes of walking. The only way to keep going is to refer to yellow signs pointing to the direction of a major landmark (S. MARCO for St. Mark's Square, P. RIALTO for Rialto Bridge, FERROVIA for train station, etc.), and use that landmark as a reference point to get to the final destination from. I'm actually walking toward the train station at the north end of the water city.

I am looking at some lanterns lit to mark All Saints' Day the next day.

I am walking on a rather wide pathway - wide enough to handle two trucks easily, if trucks had a way of getting there. This is the residential part of Venice, complete with a grocery market and other services catering to residents rather than tourists. And this being Halloween, I am seeing costumed children out trick-or-treating. While Americans tend to treat Halloween as a commercialized holiday, Europeans give it the same treatment AND celebrate the very reason for Halloween's existence - All Saints' Day the next day.

I'm actually liking the fact that I am spending Halloween in Venice, a city known for masquerades and other disguises.

I am now next to the train station. I am inside the Church of St. Mary of Nazareth, which I am not visiting for any particular reason, but because I needed a place to take a quick breath - and to photograph some lovely interior elements.

And now I am outside, crossing the Grand Canal via one of only four pedestrian bridges spanning it.

To the right is the Church of St. Mary of Nazareth. Toward the back is what is referred to on the signs as "Ferrovia" - Santa Lucia train station, where trains terminate after coming in from the mainland over the Liberty Causeway. Needless to say, the presence of the train station makes this place a transportation hub. In front of the train station are docks that serve as water bus stops, and indeed a couple of water buses are operating. In front of the church, smaller docks serve water taxis. Even a water bus ride in Venice is expensive - €6.50 for a ticket good for an hour - and a taxi ride is prohibitively expensive. (However, passes can bring the cost of water bus rides down significantly.)

Within walking distance, behind the train station, is Piazzale Roma, where Venice residents have a parking garage to keep their cars in. Piazzale Roma is the only part of Venice accessible to land vehicles, and is served by land buses from the mainland.

While my hotel is on the west side of the Grand Canal, most of the sights covered above are on the east side. Now that I crossed back west at the train station, now I am wondering again through a new set of labyrinthine paths to attempt to get to Rialto Bridge (and the hotel).

This open square is an example of Venice's traditional water collection systems. As Venice sits 2.5 miles off the coast and has no source of fresh water, residents used squares like this as water collection systems. Rainwater would pool toward the center of the square and lower into a well below, collected there for the residents' use. This system remained in use until the 19th Century, when an aqueduct was built to the mainland, bringing water from the Italian Alps.

Toward the back is a typical bridge going over a narrow side canal. After dozens of those in an hour or two, walking around in Venice can get very tiresome, fast.

Eventually we stumbled back to the hotel and retired to the attic room. The windows remained open for ventilation - but my mother continued to complain, primarily thanks to the Halloween revelers' noise outside. She simply was NOT liking Venice, period, and a decision was made to leave the next morning - a day early. I'd have to cancel the second night's reservation, and would have to try to find a place to sleep on the way to Switzerland. Driving hotshot through Europe without a confirmed hotel room - that in itself could be exciting!

Europe recap: Day 1, Munich, Part 1

At last I am starting to write my European travelogue, almost 3 months after the fact.

I loved this trip - it finally allowed me to become intimate with Europe, something that had never happened since the disaster that was my 1999 Amsterdam trip. The first day was spent trying to adjust to the time difference, as I toured Munich, the crown jewel of Bavaria, and a place I had wanted to visit for years.

It's the evening of Friday, October 23rd.

This is my ride to Europe - an Airbus A340-600 flying for Lufthansa. Flight 453 will take me straight into Munich using a great circle route, once it climbs over the Disneyland fireworks and the lights of Las Vegas. This was my first-ever flight on Lufthansa, and I was very pleased with the professionalism. Lufthansa's corporate slogan is "There is no better way to fly" - and I can attest to its veracity. And with all the frequent flier miles racked up, I qualify as a United elite customer again into 2010 - and my 2009 elite status also allowed me to get a 25% mileage bonus on this flight too.

By the time I landed in Munich and got into town, it was early evening of Saturday the 24th. I was jetlagged but didn't want to hit the sack right away - so I had to do some night sightseeing. And what better place to do it than the Hofbräuhaus, Munich's famous brewery and greatest tourist trap?

This place was packed with foreign tourists - so much so that I didn't bother buying any beer or sausage. But it was great to see lederhosen-clad men walking around, and get my first taste of the blue-and-white Bavarian color scheme that would become so familiar over the next several days. As for the Bavarian beer (brewed under the German Purity Law), I would have to wait until hitting the US branch of Hofbräuhaus in Las Vegas two months later.

No luck adjusting to the new time zone, especially since Daylight Saving Time ended overnight. On a sleepless morning I checked my iPhone to see if it would work - and sure enough, it does. I had had no luck getting my original tri-band iPhone to work in Asia, as both South Korea and Hong Kong turned out to be quad-band, but tri-band is adequate in Europe, so I'm roaming with ease.

An iPhone in its home country is locked to a single carrier - that means AT&T for this phone. But since I am overseas, the iPhone becomes unlocked, and can choose a carrier automatically, or I can manually choose a carrier from whatever's available. In Munich, I am picking up signals from four providers: E-Plus, O2 Germany, Vodafone Germany, and T-Mobile. As it would turn out, some carriers had better coverage than others - a few days later, I found myself under Mad King Ludwig's fantasy castles, and O2 was the only carrier with any signal there.

Whenever I entered a new country, or changed providers, I got a free text message from AT&T alerting me to roaming rates applicable to my account and location. Since I didn't purchase any roaming plans, my rate was the default one at $1.29/minute for voice, and $19.97/megabyte for data (ouch!). I ended up using only five minutes of voice airtime in Europe. And rental phones would not have saved me much either, since their best rates are usually only in one country (usually the UK) and the rental itself costs money.

Now I am sightseeing. It's Sunday the 25th - and since Sundays are Quiet Days in Germany, I can forget about shopping. Even if it means shopping for a bottle of water - UGH! (Yes, even convenience stores must close on Sundays, unless they're near enough the main train station to "cater to travelers" rather than locals.)

Since this trip is about picking up a Mercedes-Benz, I'm making many automotive observations. Here is the first of many - a Citroën whose model series I cannot readily identify. The canvas sunroof definitely heralds back to the venerable 2CV, however. I love French cars' sleek designs - and especially when it comes to Citroën, I have a weak heart, given that a Citroën (though it was a Xantia designed in Italy) was the first car I ever drove outside North America. I'm not too keen on the 2CV or this modern reincarnation, but would love to have a DS if I can ever start my own antique car collection.

I am back at Marienplatz, looking at some Munich landmarks. I had been planning a Munich trip for years (the original intention was to pick up a BMW via European Delivery, it's ironic that I am finding myself in Munich now as an intermediate stop on my way to Stuttgart for a Mercedes-Benz), so I'm finally glad to see those landmarks.

The front is Neue Rathaus (New Town Hall) - built by Mad King Ludwig in the 19th Century in Dutch architecture, clashing with the more Bavarian architecture of the surrounding buildings. Though despite all the traditional architecture of the buildings, they were most likely rebuilt after World War II, since the Allies had heavily bombed this Nazi stronghold. The Neue Rathaus is home to the Glockenspiel, the famous mechanical clock/figurines set that comes into action a few times a day.

The onion twin domes to the rear belong to Frauenkirche (Church of Our Lady), the seat of the strong Catholic power in Bavaria. No buildings in Munich may be taller than the twin domes.

The foreground has newer additions - subway entrances built for the 1972 Summer Olympics. The green S refers to the S-Bahn, a suburban commuter rail system run by Deutsche Bahn (national rail) using conventional rail tracks. The blue U refers to the U-Bahn, the city-run subway system that uses dedicated tracks. Major German cities use a mix of S-Bahn and U-Bahn to get their commuters around. The two systems have integrated zone-based ticketing, and works on the honor system with no turnstiles and only occasional ticket checks by the transit police. A foreigner using a rail pass that covers Germany can ride the S-Bahn for free, since it is part of the national rail, but must still pay for the U-Bahn.

The Englischer Garten (English Garden) stretches from the old city core almost all the way out to the airport, along the Isar River. It was the creation of an American gardener, who had been loyal to the British cause during the Revolutionary War. Upon the American independence, he fled to Britain, before coming to Germany to work on this urban park in English style.

From this vantage point (atop a mound at a mausoleum) I can make out the old city core's spires quite well. Below the mound, a father and his son fly a remote-controlled airplane. There also are joggers and walkers out and about. Munich is considered the most livable city in Germany, and I think the English Garden plays a large part in that reputation.

But as this is a cool autumn day, rather than a hot summer one, I am spared from the sight of nude sunbathers that also make the English Garden famous.

 

Here is a Biergarten (beer garden), one of many that dot English Garden. In Bavaria, on a warm sunny day, a standard routine is to buy some food (pretzels or sausage) at a traditional market before coming here, add beer here, and picnic. The HB logo indicates that this beer garden is run by the very brewery that runs Hofbräuhaus.

Here is a look at that blue-white Bavarian color scheme, of course.

I am already noting that the Free State of Bavaria really takes its identity seriously. There are sixteen states in Germany, and in addition to Bavaria, two other states are Free States. However, normally, a Free State is little more than a nomenclature quirk, just like the Commonwealths of Massachusetts and Virginia or the California Republic in the US. But when it comes to Bavaria, the Free State identity is taken seriously. Bavaria was one of the last regions to join Germany, and many Bavarians still speak of their state as if it were a sovereign country. Bavarians are Bavarian first, and German only as an afterthought.

Some people refer to Bavaria as the "Texas of Germany" - and that's an apt comparison, since Texas is also a whole other country. The religious conservatism is another parallel between Bavaria and Texas; Bavaria is the Catholic outpost of northern Europe, so much so that Pope Benedict XVI hails from Bavaria. The religious influence is so strong that Bavarians often use the greeting "Grüß Gott" (God's Greetings) rather than "Guten Tag" standard elsewhere in Germany. I stuck to the informal "Hallo" instead.

I am going through Hofgarten, the royal garden that borders English Garden and the Residenz. I had to take this photo for the unusual fence post design - resembling the treble clef on music notation.

It's 11 in the morning. I have returned to Marienplatz to take a look at the Glockenspiel in action. The Glockenspiel has two levels of mechanical movements - a joust match on top, a celebratory dance on bottom. The blue Bavarian knight has just knocked over the red opponent on top. A giant music box plays a melody as the movement continues its routine.

Compared to modern-day electronic displays, this is primitive. But given that this is all old-fashioned mechanical clock movement, it's amazing.

Now it's time to move on. I am now visiting the Residenz, the palace of the Wittelsbach family, the last rulers of independent Bavaria. The Wittelsbachs included King Ludwig II, better known as Mad King Ludwig, whose world-famous fantasy castles I am seeing later in the trip.

The Wittelsbachs, like other European royals, tried to legitimize themselves by claiming to be descendants of the Roman caesars and other great rulers of the past. This nude Roman emperor statue is here for that purpose.

2009 in the US was marked by the word "teabagging," which referred to the far-right protests against Obama's supposed increased taxation. The word came from the protesters claiming inspiration from the Boston Tea Party of 1775 that led to the American Revolution. But teabagging, originally, refers to certain activities done using a man's scrotum (could be sexual, could be hazing). Given that, I referred to every male nude I came across in Europe as a "teabagger," and chuckled.

This hardcore lesbian never had so much fun looking at male genitals. And Europe is so full of exposed male genitals. I would rather be carpet munching any day, however. Teabagging is evil.

And this is the Antiquarium, the room full of the Roman teabaggers. With an imposing room like this, the Wittelsbach family could inspire awe from visitors, and draw at least grudging respect.

There are other propaganda rooms throughout the Residenz, including one that has all the Catholic relics, and one full of portraits (including that of Charlemagne, another supposed ancestor of the Wittelsbachs). But honestly I didn't like the Residenz - it did not have that "aged, authentic" flair, since most of it had been destroyed by Allied bombings, and rebuilt after the war using Nazi archive photographs.

This sight is far more comforting than those teabaggers, for sure. Here are two examples of Kwan Yin, my transgender matron saint.

European aristocracy and royals had a penchant for Asian ceramic luxury goods, and the Dutch traders were very eager to cater to their needs. These Kwan Yins came from China by way of those Dutch traders.

Both Kwan Yin statues are seen holding a baby; Kwan Yin is a fertility symbol in China (too bad she never gives birth herself, as she is transgender). However, it is easy to note the strong parallels to a more familiar imagery here in Europe: Virgin Mary with Child. Given Bavaria's strong Catholic traditions, I am noting that even more.

Part 2 will be uploaded in a few days (I hope), with stuff from the rest of my Munich day, including the Deutsche Museum.

Life moves along

I am glad to say that I am now an official member of Neighborhood Unitarian Universalist Church of Pasadena. Tomorrow will be my first attendance as a member rather than a perpetual guest. Being a member means I have a greater say in the church's affairs - and I must also take responsibility for financially sustaining the church. I am pledging a modest amount for now, but will start stepping up soon, as I know how important the church is for me in terms of meeting like-minded people.

I am also stepping up my leisure activities and socializing. To make up for years of being forced away from the trans community in Los Angeles, I attended a memorial service this afternoon for Christine Daniels, who had written for the Los Angeles Times as a sports columnist named Mike Penner for a long time. Penner had come out in 2007 and started writing under Daniels' name, and the Times was very supportive of her, but the obnoxious transphobia of the sports world forced her to resume using a male identity against her will, and it proved to be too much, leading to her suicide over Thanksgiving weekend in 2009. I never got to know Christine - but I am grateful to now be able to connect with her valuable friends who continue to carry on her spirit. This also means my novel can finally start seeing some inspirations again - and resume its progress.

I'm also enjoying other activities - like exercise and shopping. It's also nice that some of my favorite looks during my teenage years are coming back one by one. In a way, I'm becoming a teeny bopper that I had never been - to a point where I still get carded if I try to buy a drink or gamble. To add to this teeny bopper theme, this past Tuesday I was at a fundraiser for the Matthew Shepard Foundation, which was done in the format of a drag pageant (my friend Calpernia Addams being one of the judges) - and the surprise guest was Tiffany! Yes, the late 1980s teeny bopper idol best known for "I Think We're Alone Now" (which she indeed sang that night). She was also auctioning off her signed shoes for the foundation - and while her archrival Debbie Gibson wasn't there in person, her shoes were being auctioned off too.

I've been waiting for this chance to rebloom, ever since my identity and life were taken away against my will by the Arizona theocrats in 2001. Finally glad to get my life and identity back. My next steps will be to start building a real support network. I will need to start attending some group meetings regularly, and also to start working with a shrink (I'm in touch with Lisa Maurel in Orange County). A social network is what I've been missing out sorely on, and it's time to build it at last.

When I have time, I'll have to start with some Europe travelogues (way overdue, and mostly done at Facebook), then move on to more recent photos.

San Francisco and beyond

San Francisco ended up really draining me physically, but rejuvenating me mentally. I came back from the gayest weekend of my life, having gained a girlfriend, several strengthened friendships, and many new memories.

And even after my return to Southern California, it's hard for me to slow down, and I just spent time in Hollywood attending a charity fashion show, hosted by none other than the transgender icon, Calpernia Addams. We had spotted each other just two days before back in San Francisco, but it is so much nicer to actually exchange some thoughts. I promised to share with her my transgender themed photos from Seoul and Hong Kong, and just did so via Facebook.

Now, Denver awaits this weekend. Also, I need to figure out how to develop my new San Francisco friendships, and how to steer the direction of my new romantic relationship. For now, I must say it's developing way too fast - and I am making that clearly known to my girlfriend.

San Francisco Pride

I am in San Francisco right now, participating in the Pride activities and about to meet some people too. As this is my first-ever big city Pride event, I am going to really savor the experience.

Lots of weird things around the Civic Center Plaza today - though the juicy stuff, including a show by BoA of South Korea, won't happen until tomorrow. I also expect to have some time with a number of activists in the trans and lesbian communities - including Calpernia Addams, the lovely redheaded transwoman actress.

For now, I expect to get together with local trans activists to spend the evening and see how things turn out. I hope to leave some words of wisdom (whatever shallow wisdom I can dig up anyway, primarily from being able to watch the Prop 8 fight last year from a foreign vantage point) with the trans activists, as well as some of the Equality California (the No on 8 group) staffers.

Due to a nasty foot blister, and due to my disagreements with some of the political agenda, I decided not to be part of the Dyke March, about to happen in 45 minutes in Dolores Park. But I hope to enjoy everything else to the fullest. Even if it comes down to having to endure some really ugly-looking penises of a few exhibitionists at Civic Center! (Seriously, this hardcore lesbian would rather look at a clit and some expanses of carpet.)

Automotive Statements

Some automotive statements seen today at Neighborhood Unitarian Universalist Church, one of two large-scale Unitarian congregations in Pasadena (Throop is the other), my home church, and a rare island of sanity in the Southern California theocracy.

My car on the left, complete with vanity plate and Korean domestic market style re-badging. I never thought I'd go all the way with the re-badging, but after doing the wheel caps, I had to also add the front emblem, and before long, re-doing the rear became a requirement.

To the right is a Toyota RAV4 belonging to a church member. It's got lots of pro-Obama bumper stickers, and the owner proudly proclaims his/her membership in the Religious Left. In a region where the Religious Right owns the political discourse, a sight like this is always a gem to behold.

This hardcore lesbian loves this vanity plate, seen at the church as well on a Chrysler minivan. It also happens to be the pricier Yosemite vanity plate that funds various conservation projects at Yosemite National Park. By contrast, my plain vanity plate is designated as an "environmental" plate, and California DMV funds various environmental programs of its choosing using the vanity plate surcharge.

Neighborhood Church was a major force in leading to California's gay marriage legalization on May 15, 2008, and one of the major mobilizers against Proposition 8, which overturned the legalization when passed by the voters on November 4, 2008. The church's straight members are even more committed to gay marriage rights than most gays themselves, and this commitment to social justice is truly inspiring.

Today's church service was done in the form of a review of the past fiscal year, and after the service, the members held an election to decide on the church policy for the following fiscal year. There was major emphasis on the fate of California's gay marriage, both in its legalization and in its re-ban, as the church had been so involved.

It's nice to be back in touch with friendlier people again. Hoping to carry this good spirit forward!

Toronto: Wrapping Up

A bit overdue - photos from my final Toronto day. I will certainly miss Canada's largest city - though if I were to move to Canada, I'd still pick Vancouver as my hometown.

Starting out at Eaton Centre again. I took another photo of the billboards, this time concentrating on Sarah McLachlan. That is the best photo of her I've seen in a long time, if ever. Thanks to the likes of McLachlan, Canadian musicians - and women rockers around the world - have a level ground to compete on.

There is a somewhat pricey diner below this sign - selling eggs-oriented breakfast, lunch, and dinner. It appeared to be part of a national chain as well. I ended up having a late breakfast there.

I am in the subway, in order to reach Casa Loma. And I see that on June 2nd, I will be able to buy a DVD of He's Just Not That Into You, with an all-star cast including my favorite Greek Goddess, Jennifer Aniston.

I have reached Casa Loma, the largest residence in Canada. It was the residence of Sir Henry Pallatt, who made a fortune developing hydroelectric power on the Niagara River, and was influential in the economic development of the Toronto area and early Canada as a whole. While such mansions are common in the US, where showing off one's wealth is considered the reward of one's hard work, Casa Loma is one of a kind in Canada. Casa Loma feels a lot like California's Hearst Castle in many ways.

Pallatt lived here until 1924, when business overexpansion drove him into debt, and the loss of his hydroelectric power monopoly forced him to liquidate everything he owned. The Kiwanis Club has maintained the mansion as a tourist attraction since 1937, slowly but steadily restoring many of the sections.

This photo shows the indoor conservatory. Pallatt and his wife were renowned horticulturists, I was told.

Climbing up the narrow spiral staircase, I have reached the highest level in the mansion tower, with this great look at the city skyline. A lot of bricks were covered with tourist graffiti - some in Asian scripts!

Those row houses in front, which I had passed to get here, felt very British in character. One of these days, I need to get back to England, and really expand my reach well beyond London. Maybe beyond England and into other parts of the UK.

The outdoors garden, open from May to October, is also a gem.

It's starting to get a bit warm again, even though forecasts called for the day's high temperature to be just 19 degrees Celsius. I am again wearing my trusty tights and boots, topping them off with a dress-shaped floral tunic featuring poet's 3/4 sleeves (a very popular look during my teeny bopper years) and a black trench coat. My makeup is also a bit heavier than usual, especially with the eye pencil, and I am feeling a teeny bopper spirit inside my 33-year-old body.

I proceeded to the harbour, where my real age started to catch up with me. My left foot was starting to hurt, as if I had fractured a bone! Walking became very challenging.

I decided to do a touristy harbour boat tour, shellling out $27. That got me an hour in a boat with a guide to explain the various sights, with an option to get off at Toronto Islands and explore.

Here is an interesting sight. This bridge came from an Amsterdam canal, as a gift of the Dutch Royal Family who had been based in Toronto during World War II. The last thing I need right now is a reminder of my past travel hellhole with way too many parallels to the California ethnic theocracy.

Other waterfront sights include former industrial warehouses turned into art galleries, as well as Rogers Centre, the home of Toronto Blue Jays and formerly known as the Skydome. Rogers is one of the three major players of Canada's cell phone industry (Bell Canada and Telus are the other two), and all AT&T phones - including my iPhone - use Rogers when roaming in Canada.

I landed at Centre Island, one of over a dozen islands that make up the Toronto Islands, separating the harbour from Lake Ontario.

The Islands have many features. Some natural sections doubled as the Florida Everglades in a movie - in fact, the CN Tower made a 3-second appearance in Florida in that movie, I was told. There are recreational facilities, including a small amusement park seen above, open daily June-August and weekends May and September. There is even a clothing optional beach on the west side - one of two in Canada - but due to jurisdictional differences, it's legal to be naked on land but illegal to be naked in the water (fine is $65). As the Islands are quite chilly compared to inland, I wouldn't dare get naked here...

The Islands even host an airport, Toronto Island Airport, which hosts Porter Airlines, offering frequent propeller aircraft service to Chicago, New York, and other major cities.

Due to the foot pain, I decided to return to my hotel for a quick break. Then I added even more eyeliner, changed into that white Aritzia long shirt, topped off with a long suit jacket, and headed back out. Aside from my lack of pants, I could've passed for a Toronto commuter. (Though I was really feeling even more like a teeny bopper this day.)

My first destination: the Distillery, a gentrification of a distillery and several other industrial buildings just east of downtown on the waterfront. The gentrification is still ongoing, so not many things to see/do right now. Love the "abandoned factory" ambience, however.

I then headed west on King West, taking a northbound bus (#63) on Shaw so that I could head back east on Queen West. West of Bathurst, Queen West maintains its original rough-and-tumble independent funky vibe, while between Bathurst and Yonge, it feels more corporate and trendy. Again, due to my foot pain, I didn't do much walking. I finished off with a Thai fast food dinner at Eaton Centre, as well as shopping; while I wanted to buy dressy boots as an alternative to my flat suede casual boots (that'd give my "pantsless suit" ensemble a bit more polish), I had no luck, and instead ended up with a Gap black mini, which I kind of needed to replace my worn-out black microminis. Due to Gap's generous sizing, I found that a Size 6 was a good fit.

My journey back to California started after only an hour or two of sleep. I declared only USD $120 worth of purchases to the US customs, who have presence at all major Canadian airports (including Toronto Pearson). The US immigration officer grilled me with a dozen detailed questions, but the questioning was smooth and I cleared US entry formalities without fuss.

It's now about 7 in the morning. I am on a very old United plane as it leaves Toronto. The left of the shoreline shows the Toronto Harbour as well as faint outlines of the CN Tower and a few other skyscrapers.

This was a very miserable flight due to a very cut-rate purser who had a knack for insulting the passengers' intelligence. If this were my first flight on United Airlines, it would've certainly been my last as well. I usually have far better luck with United's flight crew, both pilots and flight attendants, however.

As I had cleared US immigration and customs in Toronto, I was a domestic passenger upon landing at O'Hare Airport in Chicago. This is the underground corridor that links the two main United terminals at O'Hare. Of course, O'Hare is United's home airport, and American also maintains a large presence.

Continuation to Los Angeles was on a newly renovated Boeing 767 aircraft, featuring United's new flat-bed business class and revamped first class. The economy section had seen next to no improvements, however, and I was very unhappy about that. While flying on an airplane in general, and on a United flight in particular, is normally a joyous occasion for me, and usually ends up taking me to a better place than where I leave from, today was certainly NOT one of those days, especially considering that California was reaffirming the ethnic theocrats' greatest contribution to the state politics, the constitutional ban on gay marriage (Proposition 8), as my half-renovated 767 was descending over San Bernardino.

I already miss Canada - especially its constructive approach to immigration (rather that the destructive US approach). I will make sure to visit more often.