More of Europe to Come…
Coming in September
If you’re curious about what the Video Blog from Europe will look like, have a look at this preview video… Enjoy! -Kev
Tribute to Norway
After filming in Norway for the past couple weeks it’s been hard to say goodbye. I put this tribute together of some of the truly amazing things I got a chance to see while I was over there. Stay Strong Norway! -Kev
What Every Traveler Fears…
Even if you’re like me, and you never give it any thought because it would simply ruin your enjoyment… there is still that little part of your mind that wonders, What If? I will honestly tell you that I never thought I’d be writing something like this ever in my life, the odds are just too against it (and they still are, even though it just happened).
Today I traveled by train from Kongsberg to Oslo Norway. Because the entire Oslo train network is under construction for the summer a bus had to take me from a nearby station which was the new terminus of the Oslo line to the central station in downtown. This added an extra 15 minutes to a journey that was only about and hour and a half long. After exiting the station I choose to take the Metro to save time (even though it’s a credit to my laziness given it was only one stop and it had stopped raining). As I exited the Metro stop I was told by a police officer that I could not go up to the street “Grensen” where my hotel (P-Hotel) was located because there had been an explosion about 20 minutes before.
Normally you’d think someone would be shocked by this, but I was rather unphased at first. Terrorism?!? Where I’m traveling? At this exact moment in time? My schedule is so hectic and crazy. In fact if I hadn’t taken the extra time to go to the museum in Kongsberg I would have been 1 hour earlier to my hotel. If the train network weren’t under construction I would have been 15 min earlier. Between 15 min and 1 hour is when the bomb went off, just a few blocks from where I’m sitting right now to write you this.
It’s been confirmed by the Norwegian Government that it was in fact a bomb that went off in the government offices of the Norwegian Prime Minister. Undoubtedly this is a terrorist attack and it’s what every traveler does secretly dread (and sometimes not so secretly, it’s kept some travelers I know home instead of on the road). And now I think this event might change my outlook on it as well. Ask me in a few days and I’ll let you know.
Here’s the image down Grensen from my 5th story hotel window into the emptiness that
is the blocked off, “bomb-zone”.
Happy Independence Day
Many people don’t like the stress of traveling with a complex and carefully detailed plan. I crave it! There’s a sense of accomplishment from understanding a nation’s transport system, working out exactly what you want to see and do, and executing your preferred day-plan to perfection. Things are not always perfect (they’re rarely even fair). So, one may ask, “why bother making a strict plan at all? Don’t you believe in Murphy’s Law?”
THE PLAN: July 4th, American Independence Day 2011. Wake up at exactly 6:00am, shower, shave, and pack, out the door by 6:45am. Metro to the Madrid Train station, exactly 15 minutes. Madrid – Tarragona (7:30-10:09). See Tarragona and meet with Marc, the postcard author (10:09-2:10 – 4 hours of filming time). Train from Tarragona to Barcelona (2:10-2:46). Have lunch at my favorite restaurant in all of the world: Can Cargol (two hours lunch time). Train from Barcelona to Montpellier, France (4:43-9:08). Train from Montpellier to Nimes (9:30 – 10:00). Go to hotel directly next to Gare de Nîmes Gare (Cesar Hotel), Sleep.
If that was an ideal plan with some small room for error (+/- 30 min on all things not train), there’s the oppositie, where nothing goes right and the day is consecrated on the alter of laughing evil spirits. Here’s what actually happened on July 4th to give you an idea of how travel really turns out:
6:00am – Alarm goes off, hop out of bed refreshed and renewed.
6:45am – Leave hotel and hop on the Metro for the Atocha Train station in Madrid
6:52am – Metro train stops functioning 4 stations short of Alchoa
7:09am – New Metro train arrives to pick up all the very late and very angry morning commuters
7:13am – I run like there’s no tomorrow with 70lbs of luggage strapped to my body down the escalator, falling into the ticket office (remember, I need a seat reservation – those little annoying things they’ve instituted to yank more money out of the Train Pass holders)
7:14am – I take my service number to enter the que (B516) – they are currently serving B501.
7:25am – I rush to the counter when my number is called sweating like an elephant in heat (musth). She informs me there are no more tourist seats on the 7:30 train.
7:26am – I purchase a seat reservation for 40 Euro in the 1st class compartment. Why does it cost 4x more to get a seat if you’re supposedly paying for a reservation process and not an additional fare? I don’t know the answer to this question, perhaps you should contact Renfe to ask them (I would love to know the answer if you can get a response out of them).
7:28am – I push an elderly couple out of the way to toss my luggage on the screening belt. Of course if the bomb I was carrying were on my person and not in my luggage they would never know, but that’s another post for another time.
7:31am – I toss my luggage into First Class, disturbing all the businessmen heading for Barcelona. The one seated next to me leans over and says, “Tourists are in another section.” I give this man a lesson in social manners using no more than 4 profane English words. He decides not to be my friend for the remainder of the journey.
7:35am – Marc (the postcard author) in Tarragona texts me to say he is in Paris on business and cannot meet with me today.
8:01am – The lovely 1st Class train stewardess serves a piece of lemon cheesecake, a
croissant, and one tiny little prune for breakfast.
8:02am – I spill the tomato paste for the croissant in my lap. My friend sitting next to me chuckles.
10:09am – The train arrives at Camp de Tarragona station perfectly on schedule.
10:14am – An inquiry into where the “Left Luggage” area is at Renfe Customer Service reveals that there is NO “Left Luggage”
ASIDE: The Camp de Tarragona Station is a brand new, state of the art, all frills train
station serving the Tarragona area of eastern Spain. It has everything you would think a modern train station would have: Rental Car facilities, Food Court, Executive Lounge, Information Kiosk, Taxi Stand, Bus Station, but NO “Left Luggage.” The woman at ticketing said to me, “We get asked about luggage all the time; I don’t know what to tell.” The station is also nowhere near the actual city of Tarragona. It could easily be named “Camp Nowhere” and serve the same general area.
Between 7:30am and 10:25am – Capital One Bank shuts off my credit card (for reasons
unknown).
10:20am – I admit defeat and resign myself to the reality that visiting the actual city of Tarragona to tell the story of the Postcard I received from there is not going to happen.
10:25am – The ticketing agent at Camp de Tarragona informs me my credit card has been deactivated.
10:26am – I use my last remaining cash to purchase a NEW seat reservation for MORE money to get from Camp de Nowhere to Barcelona’s Sants Station where the ticketing agent assures me there are indeed left luggage lockers.
11:12am – The 10:43am train to Barcelona arrives to wisk me away to Barcelona
11:30am – I decide to make the best of my “new” day by visiting the Barcelonan sights by
the master Guadi (his architecture is as strange as my day has been so far). This will be my new filming project for the day, to present Gaudi to the 30 Postcards audience.
11:49am – I leave my luggage in the left luggage locker and free myself of my traveling burdens (5 Euro).
ASIDE: The left luggage system at Barcelona Sants is very tricky, and without a very carefully scrutiny of the rules (by observation of course, not by actually reading them on a reasonably posted sign) you’ll be monetarily SCREWED! A very large sign outside the enormous room housing the lockers reads this: “3 EURO
small locker, 5 EURO large locker.” It all seems very straightforward. Choose your locker size, place your contents inside, pay the stated amount, and take the locker’s special key. What could be simpler? Well, it may have dawned on some of you to think, well how long do I get to use the locker for? I can’t be indefinitely! And you would be very smart, and very correct in your assumption. Each locker had what appeared to by a “count-up” clock which seemed to start after one full day of use (again, I’m just guessing since this isn’t posted in any reasonable location, and the attendant only grunts at you to load your bags onto the X-Ray scanner and then stares directly at your face as your bags pass through the scanner – too bad he’s not actually looking at the monitoring screen). The count-up clocks on some of these lockers read gastly totals (75.00 Euro, 85 Euro, 90 Euro). You were essentially paying $100s to have a little hotel room for your luggage (undoubtedly without the knowledge of the poor travelers who thought their luggage was safe and sound for 5 Euro). I hope they bring some change with them when they return.
11:52am – I rejected the map at the tourist information office and told the representative that if the city of Barcelona wanted to be serious about tourists visiting the city it might want to invest in free maps to provide travelers that don’t simply list all the locations around the city where you can find a McDonalds.
11:55am – Board the Barcelona Metro for the Casa Batlló and a wave of nostalgia overcomes me regarding my first trips on this rather unique Metro Network.
ASIDE: The Barcelona Metro System is one of the world’s most unique. Possibly inspired in some way by Gaudi (referring to the strange non-necessary architecture, the never-ending labyrinth corridors, and the apparent lack of functionality), the metro seeks to provide a traveler with a riding experience that always keeps you guessing. A majority of the turn-styles have one of the world’s only left-handed access systems, meaning that if you’re in the 10% of the population who’s left handed you’ll find it very natural to stick you card to the left of your body instead of the right (I messed it up 3 times before becoming used to it). Signs posted in the trains tout the accessibility of the metro to the
handicapped and disabled. I for one wouldn’t let my 85 year old grandmother set foot in the system. She’d be down there for days on end, with nothing but a husk of a desiccated body clutching a large purse to identify her (but in all fairness she probably wouldn’t starve to death considering the one of the things that IS well signposted down there is where to find the nearest McDonalds).
12:49pm – Enter Casa Batlló after parting with 18 Euro and 30 minutes in line.
1:35pm – Get to the back of the line at the Sagrada Familia que, the most notable landmark in all of Barcelona (the cathedral of course, not the queue, although you might consider the queue a landmark, it does last for an hour and you can see it from far away).
2:25pm – An instantaneous lightning storm and torrential rainfall cause everyone in the que—to scatter like rats in a flood. The panicing, angry, nervous, wet tourists all flee into the metro station for cover. So much for all the time spent in line.
2:35pm – The Sagrada Familia queue reforms all over again. Better luck this time.
2:55pm – The picnic blanket salespeople have all been scared away by the rain making for
10 precious minutes of blissful, unbothered enjoyment of Park Gueil – a highlight of Barcelona.
3:05pm – The salespeople set up shop once again, bliss ended.
3:35pm – I purchase two peaches for dinner (0.15 Euro each), and lament not being able to dine at my favorite restaurant in the world. I vowed to eat at Can Cargol if when next I was in Barcelona. I also vowed never to eat at a sit down restaurant alone, giving me a strong conflict of principles at 3:40pm
3:45pm – To satisfy my craving for drinkable yogurt I go into a grocery store to buy a six-
pack of the largest size they have. This coincidentally is simultaneously the smallest size container of yogurt I’ve ever seen.
3:48pm – I drink all the yogurt and eat a peach.
4:10pm – I attempt to give my second peach to a homeless man selling tissues on the subway for money. He doesn’t want the peach, he wants money.
4:46pm – Board the train for Montpellier, France. This happens to be one of the older models in Renfe’s arsenal of wondertransport (smells like a foot, TVs play only static, and a very loud noise coming from the rear of the vehicle sounds just like the tubolift doors on Star Trek).
4:50pm – A lack of luggage space causes a middle aged Chinese woman to accidentally toss a fellow train patron’s luggage down the staircase and off the train just as it begins to depart the station. I guess some people are having an even worse day than I am.
6:35pm – The Montpellier train breaks down somewhere near the border with France.
6:48pm – While waiting to get underway I invent the new train game: “Is that your real hair?”
9:08pm — The train arrives at Montpellier, and a convenient store worker laughs at me for buying a Kit-Kat.
9:36pm — Train for Nîmes departs and the day winds to a close.
10:10pm — The night watchman of Hotel Cesar doesn’t speak any English, so I mime my way through checkout and collapse on my bed. What a day! -Kev
Dear French Government
It was my hope that my letter to the Portuguese regarding their train policies would be my last “Eurail Pass Problem Letter,” but alas… I write these letters for two reasons, by far the most important one is so that my readers will learn how to better navigate the European train network (as fractured and disparate as it now seems to me to be) by not making any of the mistakes I speak about. The second reason is for the very very very slim chance that someone in the Ministry of Travel (which may or may not be a real organization, or just something I heard in Harry Potter) from one of these nations will take notice and make an effort to improve their policies. In this letter I take on my greatest foe yet: FRANCE!
Dear French Government,
It is highly regrettable that I must write you this letter to chastise you (a fully grown nation should be able to make its own correct decisions) for your train policies directed at your foreign visitors. When attempting to make a seat reservation at Gare de Nîmes today I was informed by the lovely ticketing agent that only 3-4 Rail Pass seats exist on each TGV train, and that rather than letting an empty train seat go to a Rail Pass holder, you force them to go VACANT or else the pass holder must pay the full fare. Forgive my strong language, and I really prefer not to speak in this manner, but your policy is total and utter donkey’s rear end.
The ticketing agent cheated your system on my behalf and gave me a seat reservation to a little known group, which the conductor will almost certainly not know about (there was never a conductor to check the ticket on the train ride — so I could have been using toilet paper as a seat reservation). And if he or she does figure it out that person is more than welcome to kick me off the train at the next stop which happens to be Lyon station (conveniently my destination). The train I currently sit on is FULL of vacant seats. These seats could be used by Rail Pass customers who have already paid very large sums of money for the right to travel on the French Rail Network since this network has chosen to participate in the Rail Pass System.
To let seats go vacant rather than allow pass-holders to use them is like drinking a tall glass of juicy lemonade in front of a person dying of thirst. It’s offensive! If the TGV rail trains do not want to actually participate in the Rail Pass process then simply don’t accept them. Your current policy of instructing foreign travelers on Rail Passes to book months in advance flies in the face of everything the Rail Pass stands for.
In all my years of Rail Pass travel I’ve never before taken a train in France until today (yes, strange, I know), and this sort of situation has never come up in any other country in which I’ve traveled with a Pass. Do you really want to be known as “France, Our Trains are too Good for You!” or possibly “France: You can always leave and go to Spain, Italy, Switzerland, Belgium, Luxembourg, Germany, or the UK!”
If you insist on keeping this policy in effect may I suggest you attempt to appease the thousands of rail pass travelers using your network each day by having a daily “cattle car” train to and from your major cities (it’s not that hard, India does it every day). On this train anyone who buys a ticket or has a pass could use it as long as their body physically fits somewhere inside the train (they can stand, sit, crawl in the luggage rack, hang from the ceiling – as long as they’re technically inside the train – don’t be like India and let people ride on the top of the train, cause it’s just not safe). We could call this new type of train the “Guillotine,” or possibly the “François Mitterrand Special.”
So there you have it, I’ve presented you with three possible changes to your oppressive train policy. You can stop accepting rail passes all together and withdraw France from the European community that uses Eurail (and the other passes) – this is the GO IT ALONE, We’re better than the rest of Europe strategy. You can put in new trains specifically for pass holders and PACK ‘EM FULL OF BODIES! – the let’s do it Indian Style strategy. Or you can allow pass holders to occupy the empty seats on your trains that are going to go empty if not for the pass holders – the sensible, we’re a nice country who would like to have visitors feel welcome strategy. You can still pretend not to know any English when you give out the seat reservations, even though we all know that you know it (it’ll be our little secret). Because remember the last thing you want to hear in a train station are the words that came out of my mouth after hearing this policy today, “Get me out of France in any way possible!”
I look forward to hearing your response, and the ticketing agent at Gare du Nimes deserves a raise!
Regrettably yours,
-Kevin Richberg
But until France decides to join the rest of the European community in not being “pricks” about their trains – you MUST be mindful of this current policy. The ticketing agent told me today that she was technically not allowed to give me any TGV seat for weeks. I could have been a prisoner of the city of Nimes. Since Spain administered my train into France I was perfectly covered by taking any empty seat into the country. Then once inside I quickly found my rail pass to be as useless as coupons to McDonalds. Bottom line, BE PREPARED! Write e-mails, ask questions, make seat reservations on their website, and ask politely (not like I do, I get aggressive) for help from ticketing agents if you find yourself TRAPPED IN FRANCE!
The extra 4 hours I had to spend in Nîmes were very delightful… I’ll be presenting my slideshow of the experience shortly. -Kev
Dear Portuguese Government
Train travel in Europe is all the rage! It’s fast, somewhat affordable, consistent, and
almost always on time (an on-time rate that makes America’s Amtrak look like an old pony wagon). However there are some pitfalls you can find yourself in if you’re unfamiliar with each country’s system of mostly-unfair policies. Italy, for example, will print you a ticket with a time and date stamp on the ticket itself which can only be valid for one train and one train only. But if you don’t “validate” (as they like to call it) your ticket with a generated stamp from conspicuously unlabeled machines just ahead of the train tracks, you’ll feel the 50 Euro wrath of the train conductor. I once saw a pair of German ladies cry their way out of having to pay, so definitely try that if one day you forget you read this post (or if you can’t find the “validate” machine since sometimes they hide them away in dark corners of the train station).
Other countries like to impose a “seat reservation” motif which is separate from the ticket which allows you access to the train. So the ticket allows you to pass through the invisible barrier of the train doorway, but the seat reservation is required to actually sit your butt down. Putting them together into one train “fare” would make travel too easy for visitors (gotta keep things spicy).
Still other European nations don’t bother with seats at all. If you have a valid ticket and your body can physically cram itself into the train’s interior (say if you’re traveling from London to Cardiff for example), then you’ve won the right to travel on the train. I once rode snuggled into the train’s luggage rack under this policy. It took days for the bar shaped bruises to disappear.
The following is a semi-polite letter I constructed to the Portuguese government to request the return of my 4 Euro in protest of a somewhat troublesome train policy targeting foreigners (This is in addition to the 4 Euro I’ve already requested from the Spanish Government).
Dear Portuguese Government:
I am writing you to request the return of my 4 Euros. When traveling from Porto to Lisbon on the 29th of June I fell victim of an unfortunate “hole” in the Portuguese Train system. This trap may have been purposely designed to capture poor unsuspecting foreign travelers such as myself, so in addition to requesting a refund of my 4 Euro (I’m also due 4 Euro from your neighbor Spain, in case you want to get together with them and save money on postage), I’m also requesting you re-evaluate your train policies to better serve your foreign guests who wish nothing more than to spend their hard earned money in your beautiful country.
A seat reservation for a Eurail Pass is free on the Lisbon bound train from Porto, that is to say it is free if you know in advance to acquire it. But if you don’t know of its existence (possibly because you’re foreign, hence why you qualified for the Eurail Pass in the first place) then a person such as myself will board the train thinking “all is well” (since the Eurail Pass entitles the bearer to free train travel — well mostly free… mostly). Onboard the train an angry, power-hungry conductor might then demand 4 Euro for not having a seat reservation (which is free to do).
I calmly asked, through my lovely translator in the adjacent seat, to be allowed to run out at the next station quickly and get a free seat reservation to satisfy Portuguese requirements. When that plan didn’t go over so well, I thought maybe someone could print one out on land and run it over to the train (since it’s free after all). This plan also was not to the liking of the conductor, who was going to call the Portuguese Police due to my insistence that we resolve this in a manner befitting the “freeness” of the seat reservation. Then I had a “Eureka!” moment. “While you’re calling the police,” I told the conductor, “tell them to pick up a free seat reservation for me and bring it on the train when they come.”
We all know how this turned out since I’m forced to write a strongly worded letter requesting my 4 Euro back (I wanted to eat lunch today). If the seat reservations are free with Eurail, and only foreigners can purchase Eurail, and only foreigners would not know to get the free seat reservation before boarding the train, isn’t the 4 Euro charge just an unfair punishment directed towards foreigners. Your friend Italy (the one shaped like a boot) pulls the same anti-visitor stunt, except they do it with stamps instead of reservations. I don’t mean to be rude, I know that economic crisis plagues Portugal at the moment, but do you really think my 4 Euro will make a difference in the scheme of your vast accounting problems? Couldn’t the money best be used by me to purchase a ham and cheese sandwich, for example?
I am confident that once you review my letter you will see the fairness in what I’m proposing. Neither one of us wants to see Portugal become like Spain (“Portugal Mal!”), you’re better than that.
I wish you a good day. And I loved the wine!
-Kevin Richberg
The 30 Postcard Project (and lover of Portugal)
So remember to keep on your toes when traveling by train in Europe. It often looks fresh,
simple, and too good to be true, but to be safe it’s best to ask the information desk of any special requirements trusting they won’t lie to you about the rules (that is, if they speak a language you’re familiar with… if not, I recommend you take a lesson from the German girls on the Italian train and cry your way out of it). -Kev
Eat Your Polvo
No matter if it’s “pulpo,” “polpo,” “polvo,” “tako,” “章鱼,” or just plain “octopus,” it’s time to get rid of the stigma attached to eating something with hundreds of tiny suckers and a bulbous fat head. I was like you once, happy to try all manner of new meat as long as it wasn’t associated with “tentacles.” There’s just something about the word “tentacle” that conjures visions of alien abductions in sci-fi horror that’s not fit for the dinner table. I used to think “who wants to eat something’s arm?”
But now I’ve been culinarily reformed, and I’m prepared to evangelize my love for fleshy “arms.” It all began with raw octopus (tako), but even the sushi-o-philes will admit that octopus is not the best for newbies (it’s tough and sometimes crunchy). But put a bed of sushi rice under anything and I’m sold (but that’s just me).
Then I tried having it fried. Little tiny octopuslings deep friend in a swanky New York restaurant. It’s like calamari, but again, crunchier. It wasn’t my favorite thing in the world, but I was pleased enough with it.
Fast forward to this last week in Portugal, where I think I’ve probably consumed several octopi at least. The Portuguese know how to cook tentacles, there’s no two ways about it. First it was octopus cakes (like crab cakes but with octopus and a Portuguese twist): delicious! Totally recommend them. If you fancy crab cakes, and most travelers do, you’ll be on the octopus cake bandwagon in no time.
Second there was softened octopus. Now I’m not totally familiar with the ways in which chefs soften meats. I know there are sometimes enzymes involved but that’s just a throw-back to my molecular biology days. I’ve never had a piece of octopus flesh melt in my mouth the way these “softened” tentacles did. Somehow a mixture of acids, oils, butter, and wine turned these meat into something you could cut with a dull spoon and the suckers just disintegrated away. Yum!
But the final act was the pinnacle of my mollusk madness, Stoved Octopus! “She puts it in
the stove, and really I’m not sure how, but when it comes out, it’s magic!” was the recommendation I was given before trying it. Magic indeed, it was the best octopus dish I’d had in my life, and will ever have! I was floored by the flavors, colors, and textures. If you hated octopus, and I had 5 minutes to make it look like something different, you’d never be able to tell, and you’d swear it was the best crab preparation you’d ever had (that’s of course because I’d tell you it was crab to get your mind off of thinking about tentacles).
So if you’re ever in Porto, Portugal what you’re going to do is head for dinner at “A Grade” Restaurant in the Ribera district by the river. You’re going to say hi to everyone in the family, and you’re going to order octopus (Polvo, if you want to be Portuguese proper). Then you’re going to write me and say, “Kevin, octopus changed my life!” –Kev
Dear Spanish Government
I try to do my homework before setting out for a day of adventuring. This includes checking train schedules online, and planning alternative routes to my destinations should something go awry. If traveling on a “pass” I look to see if there are any extra charges I’m responsible for (this never used to be the case, but in the new world of “FEES” it’s become the reality).
In particular, train stations can be stressful places to navigate with unfamiliar layouts and strange languages requiring travelers to be extra knowledgeable to avoid delays. Checking things online can make you feel more confident while negotiating the hustle and bustle. By and large, Europe is making a good faith effort to place multi-lingual information staff in all of their major train stations, but occasionally you’ll run into the staff member who didn’t attend their government sponsored language course (because it interfered with their book club or something of that nature).
This is a copy of the letter I’m mailing to the Spanish Government to resolve a situation I experienced in Santander, Spain.
Dear Spanish Government:
I recognize that these are unfortunate economic times for the nation of Spain. Poor economic policies of the past, an unhealthy level of government graft, and an unfavorable negotiating position in the European Union has led to what I like to call, “a slow period.” But although I sympathize with your plight, I am writing this letter to formally request the return of my 4 Euro from your beligured economy.
When traveling from Santander to Valladolid by train on June 26th I was told, in error, to pay a train employee 4 Euro for a seat reservation on a regional train in addition to the presentation of my rail pass. I knew this was a mistake and tried my best to explain this to the ticketing agent in English. She brought in her supervisor to back-up her erroneous claims, but what they were both unaware of at the time is that I also understand Spanish (a trick I learned in 5 years of American public school education). This meant that I understood they were both telling “tall-tales,” as we like to say in America, with regards to the seat reservation. She even went so far as to point to a random number on the ticket and tell me “that is your seat.” Her question to me of “cash or credit” was almost certainly intended to help her decide if she could pocket my money outright or simply rob the till later on. I used credit as to ensure I would have a paper trail to accompany this letter.
In Valladolid I went promptly to client services in order to claim “fraud” and ask politely for a refund (I needed to eat some dinner and I thought the 4 Euro might come in handy with that). A very polite representative of the Spanish Rail Network told me I would need to remain in Spain for one more day if I wished to receive a 20% return of my 4 Euro (0.80 Euro). I was headed for Portugal that night, so I told him that I would write the government a letter. His response made me laugh: “Santander Mal!”
You might be tempted to think, “It is only 4 Euro, and we are in economic crisis, why must we waste our time,” (although it would probably occur to you more like this: “Es sólo 4 euros, y estamos en crisis económica, ¿por qué debemos perder el tiempo?”). Let’s be honest, unfair economic policy and lots of corruption is what got Spain into this problem in the first place. So what better way to illustrate good faith in eliminating bad actors on the Spanish stage (metaphorically, not you actual performers in theaters, I’m sure they’re quite good) by returning my 4 Euro to me. Show the world you have turned over a new leaf, and that you cannot fix the economic crisis with more graft and ill-gotten gains.
If you had just asked nicely for my 4 Euro I’m sure I would have provided it to your economy freely of my own choosing on a future travel through Spain. I’m destined to be in Madrid in less than a week. But now, once you return my 4 Euro, I’ll most likely provide it to the economies of Germany or France (which in a weird twist of fate will probably come back to you in the form of bailouts).
In conclusion I would like to say good luck with your economic woes, and keep your chin up. You survived Franco, and you’ll undoubtedly survive this as well. I look forward to your response, and a prompt return of my 4 Euro. I also think you should have a small chat with the individuals who work at the Santander Train Station (the renfe station, not that other one). Ask them nicely to attend their government sponsored English classes, and not to assume Americans don’t speak Spanish (we do have several Spanish speaking neighbors after all).
All the Best, Loved the food!
-Kevin Richberg
So Many Keys!
Hotel customer service experiences can range from utter perfection on one side of the
spectrum to staff actively trying to steal your belongings on the other. It’s not always true that poorly kept hotels become blacklisted to tourists by the “word of mouth” system (although this is becoming increasingly the case with greater hotel exposure on the internet). I’m sharing this story with you not to defile the name of Hotel Bragança in Coimbra, Portugal, but rather to give you some tips on how to assert yourself when you find you’re staying in the hotel that “simply doesn’t care.”
I had written to Hotel Bragança weeks in advance of my trip and told them about The 30 Postcards Project which I’d be working on in Coimbra. With no response I wasn’t certain how I’d be received when arriving, but I always try to assume that establishments catering to tourists wish to provide the best service their facility will allow. Be an optimist!
Almost every traveler has had the experience of trying to check into a hotel prior to the official (2, 3, 4 pm) check-in time. Trains, planes, and tour schedules don’t operate on only afternoon time-tables and therefore you can inevitably find yourself at your hotel earlier than they would prefer. In my experience if a hotel can accommodate you (i.e. they have clean rooms sitting vacant when you arrive) then 9 times out of 10 they’ll go ahead and check you in, often reminding you that they’re doing you a favor. If their hotel was almost (or at full) capacity the night before, you have no choice but to wait, but a quality hotel will always offer to hold your bags for you in a secure (or semi-secure) location to let you go exploring the town without dragging your things all around.
When a hotel has vacant rooms it could offer you, and also refuses to hold your baggage for you until their ‘official’ check-in you know you’ve chosen accommodation of a poor quality (amongst other adjectives I could use). When your hotel lies to you about being full in order to get you to leave them alone; this is when I recommend you take action against your ‘poor quality’ hotel. But how can you tell if the hotel staff is lying? It’s easier than you might think.
First indicator is their parking lot (if one exists). Is it full, or is it barren. Examine their lobby, is it a bustle of activity, or as empty as the set of a horror movie before an unsuspecting tourist is murdered. I always check online booking sites for the hotel I plan to stay at the night before. If they’re still selling rooms less than 24 hours before you’re arrival, they’re not full. Sometimes, and this is a rare treat, you get to expose a lying staff 
member simply by the layout of the check-in desk. Calmly and politely inform the desk manager that you believe you’re being treated poorly, and point behind to the large rack of unused hotel keys hanging from hooks behind him or her (this trick was what lead to my early check-in at Hotel Bragança).
Technically you’re not entitled to anything at a hotel! I know this may shock some of you, but if you willingly hand over your money to a travel business and they don’t deliver – they are aware that 9 times out of 10 you’re just going to leave angry, they’ll still have your money, and in a few days you’ll chalk it up to the “travel gods.” This mentality is what allows these poor travel businesses to flourish, and I would like all of my readers to be that 1 in 10 traveler who refuses to back down.
When I checked out of Hotel Bragança the desk clerk (a different one this time) attempted to double-charge me for the room. An online booking engine had already taken my payment days in advance, but he was either hoping to score a second billing or ignorant of how the hotel’s system worked (both are equally offensive in my book). If you suspect (or are downright positive) that you are being charged twice, do not stand for it! Explain your situation calmly, and if you run into an impasse in communication (if you and your front desk clerk don’t speak a common language, or worse, if he pretends not to) simply walk away with your money/credit card in hand. “The customer is always right!” Never pay twice or even give them the chance to charge you twice. Don’t rely on your credit card to protect you from situations such as this. Banks are making their resolution processes increasingly more difficult and stressful for the customer, because it increases their profits when you throw your hands up in despair and simply eat it.
Hotels with consistently poor customer service should be punished with the denial of patronage, and conversely those with exceptional service should be rewarded. Write reviews with booking engines about your stay with a wonderful, or a ditch-poor hotel. It only takes a few minutes, and the travel kharma will come back to you someday.
No hotel with a deceptive front desk staff, broken shower doors, non-operational
television, and THIS as the view out the room window should receive anymore tourist dollars (let the locals stay there)!
What are the Secrets of The Blarney Stone?
Does the Blarney Stone have Secrets? Is that secret Herpes?
Celtic Seaweed Bath Teaser
While I edit together the full piece, here’s a clip from the Video on the Celtic Seaweed Baths in Standhill, Ireland…
Interview before Starting 30 Postcards
Have a laugh with this first video-blog on the eve of traveling to Europe to see the first 5 of 30 Postcards…
Greetings from Bulgaria!
In her letter, Nadeshda talks about the country she loves and hopes to improve:
“Greetings from Bulgaria! I have promised you to send you a postcard telling something more about Bulgaria. Well, it’s a letter! Bulgaria is a country located in Southeastern Europe, our neighbor countries are Greece, Turkey, Romania, Serbia, and Macedonia. The Black Sea is our neighbour in the east. We have mountains (the Balkan, the Rodopi, etc.) and very beautiful nature. In comparison to other countries, we have also four seasons. I think this is enough basic knowledge about Bulgaria and because of this, I am going on with history.
Bulgaria is the oldest country in Europe. Our first head of state was Khan Asparuh. He founded Bulgaria in 681. It is interesting to know that there were another 13 countries named ‘Bulgaria.’ They were located in Asia and Europe. This is so because our ancestors, the Proto-Bulgarians, came from Asia. In 7th century the Proto-Bulgarians spread in Asia and Europe. In the postcard you can see our most famous historical sights.
Unfortunately, all these facts sound well, but the life in Bulgaria is not so easy. Our economy is in very poor condition. This is so because most of our politic[ians] have stolen a lot from the state. In addition to this the communism has stopped the hard process of capitalism. Today many Bulgarians want a social state and to earn a lot of money. Actually, this is impossible in the era of capitalism!
Many Bulgarians live in poverty, but a great number of them simply don’t want to work hard. For this reason, I think we are a very controversory nation. On one hand, we want to live better, on the other hand we do not give our best to do that. Not all, but most of the young people are not ambitious to learn and develop themselves in certain areas.
I hope all these statements change in the future. However the process will be long-lasting and complicated.” -Kev
Letter from Avenches
Courtesy of a letter and Postcard I received from Antoine we learn a little more about the Swiss city of Avenches. -Kev
“Avenches is the city in which I live since I did start to work at famous National Stud (in Avenches — 6 years or so). It’s curiously a famous and confidential city in Switzerland. Lot of people who live in Switzerland don’t even know it exists while other immediately react when you talk about [it].
Avenches is known abroad for ‘Rock Oz’Arenes’ in Summer which is a big series of concerts which take place end of July to being[ing] of August. Very famous singers come here to sing. Avenches is also known for the Roman Ruins and the Coliseum and the Museum. There is also an opera [which] takes place in July in the Coliseum [pictured in the postcard].
To live [in Avenches] is very comfortable, peaceful, and you can always go for a walk in the Roman Ruins nearby in the fields. Fribourg is very close too so it’s great. Berne is 25 km away too, so [that's] good too (two cities in which i also lived). Avenches is quiet, small town and mostly everybody know each other but for my case, even though i live there for six years, i know very few people.
It’s not easy to find a flat there, that’s hy most of my work colleagues live in the same block in which I live (immigrants: mostly Portuguese/Albanian/Kosovo). Portuguese are certainly around 40% of the population of Avenches. [There are] very few Arabics and Blacks, but it’s because it’s not a big city. The mentality is quiet, not very developed, very farmer mentality.
There are some close small cities [that] are called Domdidier, Dompierre, Salavauz, and Murten, who are mostly farmers who live there. The population speaks French mostly, but in Murten which is about 10 minutes by train, people [speak] Swiss German mostly. Avenches is in [the same county] as Lausanne.
So hope you will be happy with that. See ya!” -Antoine from Avenches
The Cathedral of Christ the Savior Then and Now
This postcard of Moscow at night features the Cathedral of Christ the Savior, a few blocks west of the Kremlin sitting on the banks of the Moscow River. It stands at a height of 344 feet which makes it the tallest Orthodox Christian Church in the world.
On Christmas Day in 1812 Emperor Alexander I signed a declaration of his intention to build a Cathedral in honor of Christ the Savior “to signify [Russian] gratitude to Divine Providence for saving Russia from the doom that overshadowed Her” and as a memorial to the sacrifices of the Russian people. The doom he was referring to was the French army of Napolean Bonaparte which had just retreated from Moscow. Unfortunately for Alexander, the process of designing a magnificent cathedral and picking a site for construction was slow going, and he passed away before it could get off the ground. His brother-successor Tsar Nicholas I was staunchly Orthodox and wanted to continue the quest of his brother, so he commissioned a new architect and picked a new location. The cathedral’s first stone was put into place in 1839, 27 years after the original declaration.
The process of building the cathedral was a painstaking one, and it did not emerge from the scaffolding until 1860 (the interior paintings took another 20 years after that to finish). This meant that Nicholas I didn’t live to see the completed cathedral either (he passed on in 1855 leaving control to Alexander II). It was Alexander III who presided over the consecration ceremony on May 26th, 1883 (also the day he was crowned).
Like most grand christian churches of the 19th century the construction materials used gave off the essence of power and opulence. The inner sanctum of the church was ringed by a two floor gallery having walls inlaid with rare types of marble, granite, and various precious stones. The ground floor of the gallery was a memorial dedicated to the Russian victory over Napoleon and the walls displayed more than 1,000 square meters of Carrara bianca marble plaques listing major commanders, regiments, and battles of the Patriotic War of 1812 (not to be confused with the War of 1812 which was an American conflict with Britain). The giant dome of the cathedral for the first time in history was gilded using the technique of gold electroplating, replacing the older and insecure (also health hazardous) technique of mercury gilding.
The next chapter in the history of the cathedral is a sad one. Following Lenin’s death the Soviets wanted to make a grand monument to his accomplishments. Unfortunately they chose the site of the Cathedral (the Soviets were not terribly excited about religion at that time in history) to build a gigantic statue of Lenin perched on top of a dome with his arm raised in the air. In December 5th 1931 Stalin ordered the cathedral reduced to rubble by the use of dynamite. The original marble reliefs were preserved and put on display at the Donskoy Monastery as the only reminders of the largest Orthodox Cathedral every constructed.
As sort of a cosmic joke on Orthodox Christianity, what happened next was even more unfortunate. The construction of the Palace of Soviets (the replacement monument) was interrupted due to a lack of funds, problems with flooding from the nearby Moscow River, and the outbreak of WWII. The flooded foundation hole remained on the site of the demolished cathedral until, under Nikita Khrushchev, it was transformed into the world’s largest open air swimming pool, creatively named Moscow Pool.
This story has a happy ending… In February 1990, the Russian Orthodox Church received permission from the Soviet Government to rebuild the Cathedral of Christ the Savior, and a year later the cornerstone was laid. Ordinary citizens contributed enormous sums of money (collectively) in order to have the cathedral rebuilt, exactly as it was (except for some architectural swaps which were made due to functionality and cost). The completed cathedral opened in 2000, and in 2007 I attempted to take photographs inside the structure during mass, which got me dirty looks from the quiet worshipers inside. -Kev
Barkerville Gold
Beth has mailed two homemade postcards of her favorite place in British Columbia, Canada: The Gold Rush village of Barkerville.
A fascinating statistic is that Barkerville was at one time the most populated city in North America north of San Francisco and west of Chicago. Today it is nothing more than a carefully preserved historic town. Barkerville was the major town of the Cariboo Gold Rush in British Columbia, a rush which began in 1861 after strikes at Keithley Creek and Antler Horns Lake were widely publicized across North America. The town is the namesake of Billy Barker from Cambridgeshire, England, who was one of the prospectors who first struck gold at the town’s location in 1861, and whose claim was 
the richest and most famous (his claim led to 2,350 lb of gold). Before a major road could be constructed into the area (Cariboo Wagon Road) the prices of basic everyday items were insanely high. The “haves” sold their goods to the “have-nots” for the highest prices they could fetch. Following the construction of the road, freight wagon operators boasted that they could pack and carry a set of champagne glasses without any breakage (for a price, of course). Nothing could not make it’s way to the new boom-town.
At first the town consisted of only makeshift cabins and a tent city, but by the mid-1860s Barkerville had a population of ~5,000. Even though its population was transient and largely dependent on mining, Barkerville found itself becoming a real community. It had several general stores and boarding houses, a drugstore that sold newspapers, cigars, and drugs, a barbershop doubling as a salon that cut women’s hair, the “Wake-Up Jake Restaurant and Coffee Saloon”, the Theatre Royal, and even a literary society (the Cariboo Literary Society). Horse racing and prize fighting were common entertainments when miners weren’t up to their arms in panning sands. Among the so called “sober set,” church services were well attended on Sundays. Of the businesses that setup shop the general stores were by far the most profitable, providing for all the needs of the towns citizens, and a repository for the spending of newly wealthy miners.
Sadly though the gold rush ended, and so did the town (and the profitability of the general stores which culminated in bankruptcy). It shrank as fast as it grew, and today is preserved as a Heritage Site. Barkerville appears as it did in its heyday, and visitors can step back in time and marvel at its past. Barkerville Historic Town greets visitors from all over Canada and many students who take field trips as part of their history classes. The history of each building has been meticulously researched and presented as a part of the recreation. No actual residents remain, however there is the adjacent town of New Barkerville, British Columbia, where displaced residents relocated. -Kev