fish out of water

In early February, I somehow found myself on top of a mountain in France.  Which is interesting, considering that I can't really ski, don't have any particular interest in skiing, and in fact find skiing kind of terrifying.  And yet there I was.  A member of my cohort, an avid skier, had organized a week-long trip to Avoriaz, a resort high in the French Alps.  I signed up, thinking, sure, why not?  Who turns down an opportunity in the Alps? I learned two important facts from this trip.  One: The Alps are stunning.  Everyone needs to see them at least once in their life.  Two:  I still don't like skiing.

I would love to go back, just maybe during the summer.   

jet-setting

Even the most seasoned traveler isn't immune to the unexpected hiatus.  Both persistent illness and family duties kept me away, but now I am back and happy to be on the road again, or, at least to be writing about being on the road.  Unexpected ventures remind me of the time I ended up in London on just three days notice.  It was January 2001 and I had just returned to Leuven after the holiday break.  The London excursion centered around my cousin, one my all-time favorite people and his interest in an English girl he had met only two weeks prior at a wedding in Texas.  I went along to serve as his moral support (in case he should decide to chicken out), so you can already tell how this story will end.  A scheme was hatched on a Wednesday, arrangements were made to rendezvous with the object of his affections, and we were both in London by Friday.  One ill-advised meeting at a club in Wimbledon and a lost wallet later, and the romance was over before it began.  We did, however, manage to see some pretty decent sights.

Westminster Abbey:

Piccadilly Circus:

We even took in show:

84 Charing Cross Road.  Just a cafe now, but as immortalized in a great book, it used to be a lovely bookshop:

Buckingham Palace:

Portobello Road in Notting Hill:

Parliament and Big Ben:

švestky na silnici

Have you ever had one of those moments when you find yourself in an extraordinary situation and all you can think to yourself is, how on earth did I get here??  Such was the feeling I had when, in early December, I found myself at the Prague's Smetana Opera House seeing a production of Verdi's Nabucco.  I can't tell you a thing about Nabucco, as it was sung in Italian and translated into Czech. I can recall instead the stirring music, the warmth of the hall compared to dreary cold of that day, the plush velvet seats, and the overwhelming sense that this was a once-in-a-lifetime experience. 

Prague was never on my must-see list of places to visit.  Unlike France, Ireland, and Italy (stay tuned), Prague was an unexpected destination, a place I ended up in only because a couple of friends suggested we go for a long weekend.  But what a discovery it was.  It's an exquisite city.  The Old Town especially, where all of these pictures were taken, has the grandeur of a cultural capital and the misty, cobble-stoned road eerieness of a small village.  Prague was the first and only eastern European city that I visited during my year abroad.  It was both a reminder of how much I had seen and how much I still had left to see. 

Prague:

The Charles Bridge:

I need to go back just to take better pictures.

Steelers Nation, Steelers World

It's hard being a world traveler and an avid sports fan.  How can I balance the desire to be on the road with the need to watch all the important games?  How can I explore the world while remaining loyal to one particular place?   Fortunately for me, as a lifelong Steelers fan, I don't have to make these impossible choices.

Steelers Nation can make any place feel like home!
(International locations are listed on the bottom of the page)

Let's Go Steelers!!

how not to travel across Ireland and Scotland, Pt.2

St. George's Square in Glasgow:

 Stirling Castle:

William Wallace Monument in the distance:

Edinburgh:

The Old Course at St. Andrews:

St. Andrews' seacoast:

how not to travel across Ireland and Scotland, Pt.1

In late October, four friends and I left on our first big solo adventure.  Our plans involved spending 10 days traveling across Ireland and Scotland, where we visited Galway, Dublin, Glasgow, Stirling, Edinburgh, and St. Andrews.  Somewhere in the planning process we developed romantic notions of what backpacking across a foreign country was supposed to be like: hopping trains daily to new and exciting destinations, crashing at bohemian hostels, swapping adventure stories with fellow travels, seeing the sights of the world.  Only one of those came true (unless you count the Willy Wallace Youth Hostel and its tartan bedsheets as bohemian).  When I recall that trip now, I think of desperately seeking accommodations in Galway and Edinburgh, running through airports, a too-heavy backpack, and U2's Beautiful Day, which had just been released and seemed to be in perpetual rotation on the radio.

It wasn't all bad; it was just a learning experience: something good to try once, but that I hope to never repeat.  When I think about the good parts, I think of: beautiful scenery, eating $2000 Russian caviar in a Dublin bar, deep-fried Mars bars, and everything in Scotland.

For now, let's start at the beginning.  The Irish countryside outside of Galway:

The Cliffs of Moher:

Trinity College Dublin:

St. James' Gate at the Guinness Factory:

Dublin Writers' Museum:

that quiet place

You're probably thinking to yourself, "Why Belgium?"  I get asked that question a lot, and before I moved there, my reasoning managed to be both cosmopolitan and narrow-minded.  I went to Belgium, I thought, because of it's proximity to other places.  Hop a train and ninety minutes later, I could be in Paris, Amsterdam, or Cologne!  Thanks to the Eurostar, London was only three hours away!  The best thing Belgium had going for it was the ease of going elsewhere.

Or so I thought.   A warm, sunny September day in Brugge promptly shattered all of my entrenched beliefs.

Belgium is flat land and gothic architecture, rowdy Saturdays and quiety Sundays, bicycles and beer.  It's as reserved and unassuming as Paris is in-your-face.  It could easily be mistaken for just another blurry landscape that the trains zips by.  But Belgium has so much more to share, once I took the time to stop and listen. 

The Grand Place in Brussels:

A foggy Ghent:

The Cloth Hall at Ieper (it used to look like this):

(the place with the flags has the best fries)

the seacoast at Oostende: