Well, I haven't had any luck yet understanding why there are so many X-es around. Other than that, this place is shopping heaven! Clothes are a fraction of the price of Paris - though I still don't regret my swedish undies. Speaking of which, I couldn't help myself. On my second trip to Stockholm (last week), I bought another pair. This time, they're not only Bjorn Borgs. They're (get this) Lucky Underwear. According to the package, Bjorn Borg guarantees that if I slip them on, somebody else will take them off. Which sounded great, until a friend mentioned it might be a nurse. Ah well.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Basque-ing in the sunny weather
Well folks, I'm in Bilbao, for what looks like my last scheduled mission. It's been a zany few weeks! I shuttled between Paris, Stockholm, Brussels, and now here, in Spain. And it's pretty grand!
I wonder what Bilbao has in store for me. I'm not really sure what to expect, but the Basques certainly like their X-es. The language is chock full of 'em. I will strive to discover why!
Meanwhile, work has me staying in a 5-star hotel in the very heart of the city. We passed the Guggenheim on the bus into town. It looks like a shiny, silvery snail. Pretty though. From tomorrow I'll be staying at a slightly less fancy, mere 4-star hotel. I don't know how I'll manage. I love traveling outside of high season, the prices are just so much better!
Now then, off to luch! Let's see what this place has to offer!
I wonder what Bilbao has in store for me. I'm not really sure what to expect, but the Basques certainly like their X-es. The language is chock full of 'em. I will strive to discover why!
Meanwhile, work has me staying in a 5-star hotel in the very heart of the city. We passed the Guggenheim on the bus into town. It looks like a shiny, silvery snail. Pretty though. From tomorrow I'll be staying at a slightly less fancy, mere 4-star hotel. I don't know how I'll manage. I love traveling outside of high season, the prices are just so much better!
Now then, off to luch! Let's see what this place has to offer!
Thursday, October 22, 2009
A good sim with text!
Huzzah! And on with the conference!
... and thank goodness for internet access during breaks :)
... and thank goodness for internet access during breaks :)
Friday, October 16, 2009
As seen in Stockholm (in my new underwear!)
Become a swedish export
Swedish Exports are ordinary people, transformed by the power of underwear. They roam the globe, wearing nothing else but their shining underwear and sparkling personalities. Are you a Swedish Export? Send us a picture of you being you, in a pair of Bjorn Borg's. Every month, the most outrageous picture is awarded with an underwear collection.
And on the other side...
Have you discovered the internet?
Yes, unknown to most of us is this parallel world, filled with extraordinary experiences. It's called the World Weird Web. Now, Bjorn Borg is ready to take you to this amazing new place. To get there you need to power up your computer, start this program called web browser and write BJORNBORG.COM into the text field. To not completely blow you away, here is a sneak preview of what's to come.
So... yeah. All I can say is, Stockholm is fantastic, but it's a bit of another world... and they worship Bjorn Borg and Abba.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Misadventures in Rome - pt 3
FINALLY, IN THE PLANE ON ROUTE TO PARIS! (BUT BACK TO THE EVENTS AS THEY UNFOLDED)
Finally, the exhausted-looking manager, frazzled and seemingly at wit’s end tells us that as we’re the last, and they haven’t managed to find any other hotels to accommodate us, we’ll be staying at the most luxurious one of the lot, and that the bus will be here “shortly”. He looks like he’s about to cry, and in his over-sized suit he looks like he’s literally been shrinking under the stress. The man probably lost a few pounds that evening. Before, however, the bus shows up, a couple of Italian carabinieri mosey on over. It seems they’re unhappy. One of the poor wretched forgotten souls decided he refused to sit on the floor (nor on the hard metal bars of the carry-on measuring stand) and grabbed a chair from behind a check-in desk. By this point, everyone was ready to lynch the carabinieri. Which I dare say they suddenly understood, when they tried to growl at us and were met by a wall of steely, sullen stares. At this point we were nearly ready to piss them off further, just to find a place to sleep for the night.
Finally, the exhausted-looking manager, frazzled and seemingly at wit’s end tells us that as we’re the last, and they haven’t managed to find any other hotels to accommodate us, we’ll be staying at the most luxurious one of the lot, and that the bus will be here “shortly”. He looks like he’s about to cry, and in his over-sized suit he looks like he’s literally been shrinking under the stress. The man probably lost a few pounds that evening. Before, however, the bus shows up, a couple of Italian carabinieri mosey on over. It seems they’re unhappy. One of the poor wretched forgotten souls decided he refused to sit on the floor (nor on the hard metal bars of the carry-on measuring stand) and grabbed a chair from behind a check-in desk. By this point, everyone was ready to lynch the carabinieri. Which I dare say they suddenly understood, when they tried to growl at us and were met by a wall of steely, sullen stares. At this point we were nearly ready to piss them off further, just to find a place to sleep for the night.
Misadventures in Rome - pt 2
BANG – SMASH – CRASH – INTERLUDE – 12 hours pass…
And here I am, once again, at Rome’s Ciampino airport. Slightly wearier, more frumpy, with a mere 5 hours of sleep and a full day ahead of me. No grappa to power me through this time! Then again, it’s not even noon… on the other hand, this type of spirit is really more of a medicine, ask the locals!
No, no grappa. And as I sit on the floor of the line-up for Easyjet’s make-up flight to Paris, my mind wanders bemusedly once more over the last few days. Sunday – two days ago now – I thoroughly enjoyed taking in Rome, but at an Italian expresso pace, not that of a tourist’s ladle. Starting to learn about la dolce vita, or so I thought. Taking it easy, buying good raw ham from the supermarket like the locals, local cheese, Italian tomatoes, a panino bun. Sitting in a park eating and resting. Not rushing around town trying to fit in as many monuments as possible. Meeting my friend at a leisurely, utterly civilized hour – 5 pm – and going shopping on the Italian fashion high-streets. And, amazingly, finding the right pair of black leather shoes on the first try! Incredible! It didn’t even take an hour! Then a little leisurely sight-seeing. The Spanish steps are over-rated and crowded. You can hardly see them for the tourists. The Traian column, the Pantheon and especially the Trevi fountain on the other hand are lovely, despite the waves of tourists milling around, their ebb and flow almost a force of nature. Finally, after a minor bus issue – the bus won’t start, another leaves without us, finally we have to get off and switch as the power goes out on it entirely. But then, a lovely dinner with friends, old and new, a nice mojito at a cute little bar in Trastevere. And back to the hotel – the Elysee hotel, no less! How perfect for a Parisian!
And here I am, once again, at Rome’s Ciampino airport. Slightly wearier, more frumpy, with a mere 5 hours of sleep and a full day ahead of me. No grappa to power me through this time! Then again, it’s not even noon… on the other hand, this type of spirit is really more of a medicine, ask the locals!
No, no grappa. And as I sit on the floor of the line-up for Easyjet’s make-up flight to Paris, my mind wanders bemusedly once more over the last few days. Sunday – two days ago now – I thoroughly enjoyed taking in Rome, but at an Italian expresso pace, not that of a tourist’s ladle. Starting to learn about la dolce vita, or so I thought. Taking it easy, buying good raw ham from the supermarket like the locals, local cheese, Italian tomatoes, a panino bun. Sitting in a park eating and resting. Not rushing around town trying to fit in as many monuments as possible. Meeting my friend at a leisurely, utterly civilized hour – 5 pm – and going shopping on the Italian fashion high-streets. And, amazingly, finding the right pair of black leather shoes on the first try! Incredible! It didn’t even take an hour! Then a little leisurely sight-seeing. The Spanish steps are over-rated and crowded. You can hardly see them for the tourists. The Traian column, the Pantheon and especially the Trevi fountain on the other hand are lovely, despite the waves of tourists milling around, their ebb and flow almost a force of nature. Finally, after a minor bus issue – the bus won’t start, another leaves without us, finally we have to get off and switch as the power goes out on it entirely. But then, a lovely dinner with friends, old and new, a nice mojito at a cute little bar in Trastevere. And back to the hotel – the Elysee hotel, no less! How perfect for a Parisian!
Misadventures in Rome - pt 1
I sit in Ciampino airport, with all the time I need to wallow and wail at my own ineptitude. The flies stare at me, crawl over me, taunt me as I try to frighten them away. But flies are stalwart, daring, enterprising. Ciampino airport is an awful place. There are flies everywhere. This must be close to hell – or a garbage heap. On the bright side – there is always a bright side, even in the bright orange glow of hellfire – I am pleasantly drunk off an extremely inexpensive but mostly generous portion of grappa. B less Italians for inventing grappa. And bless the serving girl who so kindly kept on pouring when common sense and fiscal responsibility were screaming for her to stop. And curse my utter idiocy and uselessness. The blond Italian mother beside me is feeding her children sandwiches. Prosciutto Cotto. Grandissimo. Meanwhile, I have the minor consolation that I packed enough food to feed a family of four. And provolone is excellent with grappa. And dry Italian buns are better with good – I guess, the grappa may be in … and now the blond Italian sandwich-eating child beside me is speaking to me. In Italian. And now so is his grandmother. How lovely! So, food. Italian tomatoes – which are juicy and taste like tomato juice in an environmentally friendly, biodegradable container. Here the boy goes again, asking “why do you speak English?” in Italian, of course. Such existential questions from a 6 year-old. Tomatoes and provolone, Italian bread and grappa. So many diversions from dwelling on my complete and total stupidity. And now the p.a. is announcing something incromprehensible that might be for me. .. nope, Berlin. And I’m heading to Paris. Fully 3 hours too late, and from the wrong airport. I will soon find out whether my fate is to remain in Rome. Only 20 minutes til the Easyjet plane is scheduled to take off. And still no sign of a call to board. The previous flight, leaving from FUCK OFF YOU FLY! SHOO! GET THE HELL OFF OF ME! the same queue has yet to board. Hope is a fragile thing on such a day as this.
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