10/4 - 10/8 A Series of Unfortunate Events

After sleeping in and enjoying my stay at the Sheraton, I embarked on a walk to Red Square. All the sights in Moscow are pretty much within walking distance of each other and now that I could place myself on a map, it was fairly easy to get to monuments. On the way I saw the Foreign Ministry building which is in a hybrid style that is referred to as Stalinist Gothic. It was very imposing and in the middle of a bustling boulevard. I also saw the Cathedral of Christ the Redeemer which was beautiful.

I took a more roundabout way and by the time I got to Red Square it started to rain. I was hoping to see signs for tours or the big red bus but Moscow is not yet prepared for international tourism. I saw very few non-Russians and signs were not in anything but Russian. I got into St. Basil's Cathedral, pictures of which are in the post below. It's so interesting since its design and rich colors are unusual for a cathedral, at least to western eyes. According to the guide book, St. Basil's was commissioned by Ivan the Terrible to celebrate the capture of the Mongol stronghold of Kazan in 1552. It is reputed to have been designed by the architect Postnik Yakovlev (yeah, I don't know who that is either). According to legend, Ivan the Terrible was so amazed at the beauty of St. Basil's that he had Yakovlev blinded lest he design an equal. I also walked past the Lenin Mausoleum and saw parts of the Kremlin that could be viewed from outside the walls.

I got to Marika's apartment that evening after her friend met me back at the Sheraton. Turns out I had been waiting outside the right apartment building but we must have just missed each other. For those of you who know Marika, I'll share that her apartment is quite charming. But she leads the stereotypical life of a banker. What more proof do you need than bottles of Evian, a bottle of bubbly and caviar in the fridge? Girlfriend doesn't even have salt in the house. I spent Friday trying to get on the internet but something was amiss and I had no access. Being in Marika's apartment was like being in Bizarro World. For instance, there's a dvd player but none of her dvds can be played on it because they're from the wrong region. Wireless networks appear available but none of them has a signal. There's a phone but I couldn't make an international call (turns out I just wasn't waiting for the rotary system to clear the code). Since it was pouring, I decided not to go out and figured things would be a lot easier once Marika got back to Moscow. Watching an American television show in Russia is really funny. Like the French, they dub over. But unlike the French, there's a two-second delay so you can still faintly hear the English. So "CSI Miami" sounded like this: "Horatio, I fou..blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah."

Since she didn't get in Saturday morning, I guessed Marika's flight was delayed. I mapped out an itinerary of seeing the Chekhov House Museum, Gorky House Museum and the Arbat area. It was still raining so I didn't take any pictures. Unfortunately, there was nothing for me to take pictures of since I couldn't gain entrance into either of the museums. It looked like the Chekhov House Museum was under renovation. I tried to figure out the information provided at the Gorky House Museum but there was no official entrance. I walked around the house and several security people stepped out but none could understand my questions or hand gestures. "In...I want to get inside. Where you just came from. Inside. Not outside. Inside. Nevermind." The stain glass did look beautiful and had it been a nicer day, I'm sure they would have made nice photographs. Defeated, I went to Old Arbat which used to be the artsy area. Now it's just filled with souvenir shops. It was a tiny but much needed victory to find chotchkis for people back home.

Marika finally arrived around 8pm on Sunday. The poor girl had been stuck in transit since her flight got re-routed. In our short time together, we had dinner at a nice restaurant near her neighborhood and drinks at a posh bar frequented by overworked Morgan Stanley analysts.

I left the next afternoon and my extraordinary experience in Moscow extended to the ride to the airport. Traffic in Moscow is insane. Part of the problem is that it's like the wild, wild west. There may be laws but they serve no purpose. It's everyone for himself. While trying to weave through traffic, my driver got us ring side seats to a violent road rage confrontation. When we drove up, we saw the driver of a sedan ("sedan driver") reaching in and hitting the driver of a delivery truck ("truck driver"). There was a lot of yelling but the sedan driver got back into his car. Unfortunately, the truck driver wasn't done and he kept slamming his door into the car. Of course this pissed off the sedan driver and his friend who was on the receiving end of all that slamming. Both of them dragged the truck driver out and the beating started. At one point, the truck driver was on the ground with the sedan driver kicking him. After they were satisfied, the sedan driver and his friend returned to his car. I thought it would end there but somehow the truck driver got back into his truck and began shooting what looked like a gun at the car. It couldn't have been a real gun since again the sedan driver and his friend got out. This time though, the sedan driver popped his trunk and took out a baton. Not the kind you twirl but the kind that cops use. Thinking I was really going to see someone get beaten to death, all I could do was say, "No, no, no" over and over again. It was pretty much to myself since I wasn't going to roll down my window and try to negotiate a truce. I was just hoping someone would intervene before it got ugly. Luckily, the man to the left of us got out and after a few minutes, he managed to get all parties to disperse. I don't know what was more persuasive, his words or the pistol he wore on his hip for all to see. For good measure, the sedan driver smashed the truck driver's window with the baton before leaving the scene.

Moscow was interesting, to say the least. I wish I enjoyed myself more but I learned a lot. I think it will take some time before Moscow becomes an international tourist destination. As more business people and wealthy travelers access the city, more services will become available. But as long as a night at a hotel starts at almost $500; information is only available in Russian; hotel concierge desks are the only option for tourists to contact tours that are in turn the only way to gain entrance to points of interest, Moscow will remain impossible for the average tourist to navigate. It's frustrating to try to figure out a city when everything seems counterintuitive. The main take away from this experience was that regardless of whether I have a friend in that country, if I don't speak the language, I need to do a lot more research than I did for Russia. It's too bad that I didn't see the best side of Moscow and because of the difficulties I faced this trip, I'll likely never return to Russia. But it certainly was eventful.

10/3 Where the #@!& am I???

I left Paris early morning of 10/3 for Moscow to visit Marika. Moscow wasn't on my original list of places to visit but since I had a friend who lives in the city, it seemed like a good opportunity. Two days before I left Paris, Marika informed me that she would be in London until early Saturday morning. Though I was disappointed that we would only have the weekend to see each other, realistically with her schedule, I probably wouldn't have seen that much of her during the week anyway. And I figured I could join a tour group in Red Square and see the sights on my own. Marika arranged for a car to pick me up at the airport and a friend to meet me at her apartment so it seemed easy enough. But it wasn't and thus began my adventures in Moscow, or what I call a series of unfortunate events.

After waiting for nearly an hour while dodging aggressive cabbies and being unsuccessful at buying a phone card, I hopped in a taxi and made my way to Marika's. Since Marika lives in an apartment building, I pictured meeting her friend in the main lobby. I suppose it was presumptuous for me to think that Russia operates like the rest of the world. Turns out addresses in Moscow include slashes (i.e. 215/1 Main Street) and since the info I had didn't, the cab driver left me at what he thought was the right building. This was after winding down some side streets. Apartment buildings in Moscow don't have main lobbies. In fact, the front of the building looks like the back. To an outsider, there's nothing indicating an entrance. So I sat outside that building for a while since I had a huge duffel bag and a backpack. When it was clear no one was looking for me, I began my 2.5 hour trek around the neighborhood. I had transcribed Marika's address into Cyrillic and asked a couple of people who told me I was at the right location or pointed back to the building from which I came. I dragged my duffel around and around and back and forth a central area. Most people were indifferent while some looked on with sympathy, or what I like to think was sympathy. When I got tired of playing the reoccurring contestant in the "One of these things is not like the others" game, I gave up and walked onto the main boulevard. A woman stopped me, pointed at my bag and gave me a big explanation in Russian which I took to be, "You're not supposed to be on this street. Clearly you're lost." She pointed to a sign that looked like "Apartments" in Cyrillic and went on her way. Again, no main lobby but I did find a sign that I guessed to be the apartment numbers included in the building. I waited outside the one with Marika's apartment number, hoping that her friend would be on the look out. No such luck. At this point, it was starting to get dark and when it became clear that a rescue party was not going to appear, I had to find a place to spend the night. Since I had no idea where I was, it was a little difficult to orient myself so I could set off in the right direction. Taxis don't really do street pick ups in Moscow but I figured I could find one at a transportation depot. I remembered passing a train station on the way to Marika's so I headed in that direction. As I walked, I found what I thought was an internet cafe but the woman just yelled at me in Russian when I tried to pay. It was then that I wished I never left Paris.

As I dragged my duffel bag through the crowded streets, I was trying to plan what I would do once I got into a cab. How do I find a hotel? Should I go back to the airport where I saw a chain hotel? Where the fuck am I?

Just when I thought I could not take any more of the confusion and frustration, I walked through construction scaffolding and heaven appeared across the street. Hallelujah! I was saved. And my savior's name was the Sheraton Palace Hotel.

Moscow was recently named the most expensive city in the world. Hotel room fees are astronomical but I would have paid an arm and a leg at that point. I got a nice room with a plush king size bed and ordered in dinner. After phoning Marika in London, we arranged for her friend to pick me up the next evening at the hotel. To give you an idea of how things are done in Russia, the cost of the 20 minute call to London was double that of my dinner, which included a bottle of Kressmann Bordeaux. I went to bed hoping that this day was just a fluke.

I want to say that at no point during this experience did I think I was in danger. I didn't fear that someone would try to rob or attack me. And as I was walking around and around, I thought back to when I went to Seoul for the first time on my own for my junior year abroad. Poor planning had me landing at night and while I took Korean language lessons, I was a true beginner. The taxi driver couldn't find his way to the international dormitory and out of frustration, he dropped me off on the main street. The only store I could see was a bakery that had just closed. I had no idea where I was or in which direction I should set off. Fortunately, the first person I stopped spoke English. Not only did this man help me drag my bag up the hill to the dorm, he explained who I was to the security guards who didn't speak English and made sure I was safely in my room before leaving. To a lesser degree but like this kind man, the woman in Moscow who stopped me and pointed out the sign for the apartment building proved my belief that when they can, people want to be of help. When they can't, like the taxi driver in Seoul and the crazy internet lady in Moscow, reactions are universal. First, they yell in their language even though you clearly can't understand. Then they ask themselves why you're so stupid and how they got themselves into this mess. And, finally, they throw their hands up and leave. Or ignore you until you leave, in the internet lady's case.

9/24 - 10/3 Paris With Anthony

I returned to Paris for the last week of September and was really looking forward to my friend Anthony joining me. I met Anthony on my first new years in California and while we've been friends since, we'd never gotten a chance to spend one-on-one time. This was his first time in Paris and I was sure he'd love it as much as I do.

The end of September brought rain and I was afraid the whole week would be overcast. I had saved visiting the Louvre and the Picasso Museum for after Anthony arrived. I found the Louvre completely overwhelming. The line to see the Mona Lisa wasn't as bad as I had been warned and the experience was better than I thought it would be. I suppose I had lowered my expectation after being told over and over again how disappointing the display is. The Picasso Museum was perfect. The size of the space, an old school, and the flow of the exhibitions made it a very enjoyable experience.

I don't know how the French aren't fat. There are an endless number of great restaurants and a typical French meal ends with cheese and dessert. Anthony and I ate our way through the city, enjoying amazing wine and going back to our favorite mussels joint. For Saturday night, we went to Alcazar, a trendy restaurant in Saint Germaine des Pres. The guidebook said a good night club was next door so we thought it would be a fun night out. Alcazar could be in San Francisco or New York. The interior was designed by Terence Conran and the food reminded me of New American cuisine that San Francisco does so well. As we exited the restaurant to go to the club, we noticed that the line to get into Alcazar's upstairs bar was a lot longer (or, existed) than the line for the club. Uh oh. But we forged ahead. DK Eyewitness Travel is my preferred travel guide series. As their slogan goes, they show you what others only tell you. Apparently, everyone likes their Paris guidebook because the club was packed with international folks and no French people could be found. Bad music and bad dancing led us back to Alcazar and Anthony and I danced the night away there.

Not everyone would choose to spend his birthday away from home but Anthony is special. He hopped on a plane and said what the hell, why not join Jackie in Paris. On his birthday, we took a bus and boat tour that ended with a lunch at Altitude 95 in the Eiffel Tower. It was another rainy day and they closed access to the top but it was still a lot of fun to see the details of the iron work. France hosted the Rugby World Cup and they had a clever display at the tower. When we stopped for a snack near the Tuileries, Anthony got a close up of one of his favorite things about Paris: Parisian men in pin striped suits. Parisians definitely know how to dress.

Anthony left the next day so I spent my last day trying one more time to visit the Opera House. Marc Chagall was commissioned to paint the ceiling of the auditorium in 1964. The Opera House is itself a magnificent building and the interior is gorgeous. But the ceiling of the auditorium is a special treat for anyone who likes Chagall.

New York will always be home, San Francisco will always have a special place in my heart and Seoul will always be my playground but there is something truly magical about Paris. The entire city is so aesthetically pleasing and charming. It's accessible and the Metro system is a tourist's best friend. Even though I spent so much time here, I know there's more to find out about this city. And I look forward to visiting again.

Anthony's and my photos can be found here.

9/15 - 9/24 The Loire Valley

On Saturday, 9/15, I took the train to Orleans to meet my parents for our walking tour. All around France, there are walking trails, Grande Randonnees or "GRs", maintained by the Federation Francaise de la Randonnee Pedestre. We followed a section of the GR3 which covers the Loire Valley. My dad loves France and my parents have enjoyed village-to-village walking tours around Provence. It's one of their favorite activities so for my dad's birthday, I suggested we do a walking tour together. It was an opportunity to spend time with my parents and see a completely different part of France.

Instead of getting off at Orleans, I panicked and got off at Les Aubres Orleans. I heard "Orleans" and saw a lot of people getting off so I didn't want to miss my stop. The funny thing is that when I got to the lobby of the station, I saw my parents. I thought, "How nice that they came to pick me up," but in reality, they had done exactly what I had. It was a lucky coincidence.

Orleans is a cute town with a charming downtown square. Cafes, restaurants and a carousel attract young people and families alike. Since it's not far from Paris, it's a nice weekend destination. The next day we started our walk in Meung sur Loire and followed the river to Beaugency. I took a nap while my parents explored the town. Somehow, the day we were there was the only day that certain buildings were open to the public. So I missed my one chance to see Caesar's Tower, the Abbey Church of Notre-Dame and other historical attractions. My timing was impeccable.

Following the blazes, we walked onto Lestoire planning to have lunch. Turns out there is literally nothing in Lestoire. The woman at the town hall (maybe the mayor?) offered to drive us to Avary but we chose to walk. When people talk about the French, there's often this misconception that they're snobby and look down at Americans. I've never found this to be true and, in fact, more often than not, people were very helpful and curious about our adventure.

Our plans took us to Chambord which is known for being home to the largest estate in Europe and its Chateau. King Francis I had the chateau built as a hunting lodge and Henry II and Louis XIV often visited until Versailles was erected. Chambord is 156m long and 56m tall with 77 staircases, 282 fireplaces (the mouths of which were all taller than I) and 426 rooms. It's quite a hunting lodge. The estate itself is the size of Inner Paris. While blueprints no longer exist, it is thought that Leonardo da Vinci is the architect.

The next few towns were quite residential. Everyday the scenery changed, from forest land to open farm fields. We walked past many grapevines and every night we tried a different local wine.

Aside from a couple of days of rain, the weather was perfect. It drizzled for our walk from Cellettes to Chauds sur Loire. As we passed a private estate, the owner stopped us so he could inform us of the significance of the road we were taking. It turns out the pathway was used by Charlemagne. The estate owner also told us that he was a son of the American Revolution, as his family had helped fight the British.

My part of the trip ended at Amboise. My parents had another week of walking and went on to Tours. Our last day together was a little hectic since it poured and we ended up walking a lot more than we planned. Two things I learned that day: 1) my high school lacrosse windbreaker is not waterproof and 2) a 17-year old guide book can miss updates to the GR.

This part of my two-month trip was one of the most important to me. You probably couldn't guess from the photo but my dad just turned 80 years old. Parts of the walk were difficult and I thought it would be stressful for him. My dad reassured me that he was really enjoying himself and the fact that this may be their last trip to France (my parents travel quite a lot and have many destinations on their list) made it especially dear to him. Our parents do so much for us and I've often found it difficult to find a way to show mine how grateful I am for our relationship. My parents recently told me that they both felt this was their best trip to France. Mission accomplished.

My photos are here. My dad is a much better photographer than I am and his photos are here.

9/10 - 9/15 City of Lights

After a long flight from UB, I arrived in Paris in the late afternoon on 9/10. The bustling streets could not have been a greater contrast to the humble Mongolian countryside.

My hotel was in Montparnasse, best known for having hosted expat American writers such as Hemingway. Its bars, restaurants and metro access made it a great neighborhood to stay in for the week. I'd been to Paris once before but for a very short stay. My friend Amy and I visited one of her friends who had returned to France after living in Boston. Laurent was a fantastic host and during our three days there, I fell in love with Paris. This week was a chance to find out more about this incredibly beautiful and lively place.

I spent most of my time walking in neighborhoods and visiting museums. Almost everyone suggested I visit the Musee d'Orsay since I missed it on my first trip. Their collection is indeed very impressive but I was annoyed by the layout of the space. For those unfamiliar, the d'Orsay is in a converted railroad station. The central space is dedicated to sculpture while small rooms to the side house paintings and drawings. It was a treat to see so many works by French masters in one space though. Of all the museums I visited, I was pleasantly surprised that my favorite turned out to be Musee de l'Orangerie. The building itself is so plain, it's easy to overlook it walking through the Jardin des Tuileries on your way to the Place de la Concorde. Its main attraction is Monet's water lily series. Two large oval-shaped rooms each feature enormous paintings on three walls. The genius is in the presentation since the l'Orangerie is flooded with natural light provided by wide skylight windows. It was a fantastic way to look at the seminal works. The basement is home to Walter Guillaume's collection of paintings by artists of the Ecole de Paris, from the late Impressionist period to the interwar period. It was incredible to see choice pieces by Cezanne, Modigliani, Picasso, Matisse and others.

As easy as it is to explore Paris, it can get lonely going it alone. To give myself a chance to say more than "bon jour" and "merci" for a few hours, I joined a free walking tour. In approximately four hours, the tour highlights the major points of interest. Our tour guide Sara, a British expat studying French lit, was hilarious and had an impressive knowledge of the history of the city. I highly recommend New Paris Tours as a way to quickly familiarize yourself with central Paris.

Knowing I had an additional week in Paris at the end of the month let me take it easy the first week. I was looking forward to meeting my parents on Saturday for our walking tour of the Loire Valley.