Where in the World is Markmen Radtkiego?

Rome was excellent. The hostel was the most social I’ve stayed in. The city had more to see than you could do in a month. St. Peter’s is unimaginably massive. My only problem with the city is the Coliseum; if I were Caesar, I would restore it to its original splendor and use it for football matches or public executions (or the public executions of footballers). Walked up to the Gianicolo, which overlooks the city. Nice view, but not as good as some other overlooks I’ve seen (the Piazza Michelangelo in Florence comes to mind).

It’s good to be back in an English-speaking country, even if they do call fries “chips” and chips “crisps.” My hostel is right around the block from one of the Tube stations that were damaged in the attacks. The people of London seem to be handling terrorism exactly the way the US didn’t. The people are on the lookout for threatening packages and suspicious people; I even saw several people studying the faces of some “people of interest” — I would bet most Americans couldn’t pick Mohammad Atta out of a lineup. So, despite the recent failed attacks and the gunning-down of a guy unconnected with terrorists, I don’t feel in danger. Instead of the “the police will take care of us” attitude we have in the US, Londoners feel like they can take an active role in preventing future attacks. (Mind you, I don’t blame the American people for our attitude, it is entirely due to a lack of real leadership from our elected officials in all parts of the government.)

Today I visited the Tate Modern, Britain’s latest and greatest modern art museum built in what used to be a power plant along the Thames. It’s connected by the Millennium Bridge (the foot bridge that wasn’t complete until after the new millennium) to the area around St. Paul’s. The wings are organized by themes such as Still Life instead of the period they were painted. The unusual organization works perfectly for a modern art museum, and paintings by Dali are in the same room as Jackson Pollocks. I can’t remember ever having such a good time in an art museum; several of the pieces actually made me laugh out loud. I think some people found this surprising, as if the Surrealists wanted everyone to frown at the art and nod thoughtfully. Case in point: Dali’s Lobster Telephone. I think it’s a very thoughtful piece, but anyone who looks at that without laughing is taking the world of art too seriously. Another one of my favorites was An Oak Tree by Michael Craig-Martin. The object has the form of a glass half full (or is it empty? — a question for another time) of water sitting high on a shelf. At eye level is a Q & A with the artist where he explains how he turned the glass of water into an oak tree, and many other FAQs. Very clever stuff, from both well-known artists and more contemporary ones.

Now I’m off to Brixton to down a few pints with Lindsay and company. I hope it stops raining.

Fellow countrymen, lend me your eyes.

When I came to Europe, I was prepared for a lot of anti-American sentiment. I wasn’t expecting to have rocks thrown at me or to be hog-tied, but I was prepared to defend our country’s recent foreign policy decisions. (“I voted for Kerry,” I planned to say. Foreigners are even less informed about Kerry’s platform than the American electorate.) I have been pleasantly surprised to find that I haven’t had to get on the defensive, and I’ve had some very constructive conversations about politics (although most people, myself included, avoid talking about that kind of stuff with other travellers). However, I have found that there is a dislike for Americans that isn’t rooted in our politics but our culture. We are the obnoxious people who yell out stupid things in public places, and are generally disrespectful of the cultures which we are visiting. (“But not you,” the other travellers insist, when I give them a hurt look.)

Case in point: yesterday I grabbed dinner in a bar near the Trevi Fountain. I was eating my pasta and drinking my wine (both of which were unfortunately sub-par), when a group of 4 or 5 14- or 15-year-old American girls entered the cafe. Their first mistake was an honest one: they ordered cappuccinos, not realizing that Italians only drink them for breakfast. No big deal. Then they changed their order to iced cappuccinos; the old man working behind the bar gave them a slightly confused look and asked, “Iced cappuccino?” Clearly, he had never heard of such a thing, but, for these stupid Americans, he would make something up. While he was re-inventing the iced cappuccino (he ended up pouring a hot one into a martini shaker and making something like a cocktail), the girls poked around at the other items on sale in his store, loudly commenting on things that were “crazy” because they don’t sell them at Wal-mart. I gave the guy behind the bar a look that said, “I’m sorry we let these people out of the country with their parents credit cards.” He silently replied, “I’m sorry that you have to live in a country full of these people.”

And that is the essence of the American Dream.

On my last day in Florence, I saw Michelangelo's David. I don't think I've ever been more awed by a work of art. Pictures and replicas don't do it justice. In an attempt to bring about renewed critical study of ... [Continue reading this entry]