Viva Las Vegas: What One Week in "Sin City" Has Taught Me

Vegas, Vegas, Vegas.

I've got nothing against the place, except that it's not the most friendly if you're wandering around by yourself, and that most people are drunk. There are drunks every hour of every day, and Lady Luck doesn't like it when I play anything but blackjack.  VIP lists can be a mile long and you get shunted if you're alone.

At the same time... I'm having a blast. I know how to walk around people (thank you New York), I love the fact that I can choose to do what I want (within legal limits), and the sight of open containers with public drinking, while technically not legal, is almost heart-warming (it reminds me of Belgium).

I get to do the Freemont Street Experience (even though I felt my heart stop when I ate the deep-fried Oreo).  At the same time, I decide that I don't really want to go zip lining above people's heads.  I somehow get to go to an Offspring concert.  I even get my mother to call the cops and report me missing (NOTE: the cell phone reception is horrible inside of casinos. You better make sure that you call well outside the walls, otherwise, someone might think you have been kidnapped)!

I walk up and down the Strip. I get shanghai-ed by a sales man, eat at a Rainforest Cafe for the first time ever, and play test audience for a new television show.  I visit a tourist attraction featuring the Mob and play along, even though I have no idea what to expect (ultimately I get made into the family!). I even have an alcoholic popsicle.

My experience did NOT turn into anything remotely from the Hangover franchise.  But... In the end, I would like to leave you with this list of amusing, entertaining and bizarre comments from Las Vegas:

1. "You got that Asian persuasion."
2. "Your hands look like they can win some money." (insert pause) "Want a job?"
3. "Girl, it's hot out here, but you just made it hotter."
4. "Oooohhhh, so that's what single and willing to mingle means."
5. "Just so you know, I got laid on that club crawl, which means it was probably the best 30 bucks I spent last night."
6. "Three-some means: you some, me some, we some."
7. "What happens in Vegas stays on YouTube."

Funny thing: she was wearing five inch heels and I was wearing flats.
We were the same height!

"Ich Bin Ein Berliner": My Trip to Berlin

My friend, who shall be known as Margarita, and I are giggling as we walk through BRU, Brussels National Airport.  We have decided, on a whim, to fly out to Berlin.

As we left the airport, we noticed a little Coke machine.  Images on it include the Atomium, fries, Mannekin Pis and the Belgian flag.

We are quite lucky.  The plane ticket and hostel cost us (at most) around 300 euros, including getting to and from the airports.  The hostel (look up The Circus Hostel) was fantastic and fun: enter the main building by walking through a lion's mouth, and go up an elevator located between the legs of a ringmaster.  The first night, we end up having dinner across the street from our hostel: greasy, cheap "Chinese" food (I use the quotation marks because I've had real Chinese food, and fake Americanized Chinese food).

The fact of the matter was we had been unable to find Chinese food in Brussels under 40 euros, when in Berlin, we found stir-fry noodles for under 3 euros!

That night, we didn't do much.  At first, the front desk recommended we go to a bar, but of course, we didn't find it.  So, in the end, we went to the 24 hour store across the street, tried some drinks, and went to sleep.

I thought it was a light German beer with the label "Scaredy Cat"... Turns out it was wine!

The first day, we decided on walking by ourselves.  At the same time, we found out that our hostel was hosting a visit to the Topography of Terror Museum, so we ended up tagging along.

There's something decidedly depressing about the location.  The museum is located where the former Nazi party police was headquartered.  This includes the SS and Gestapo.

There's a wall, each square with a name and crimes committed.  The few raised squares are those that have had charges brought against them, or have been found guilty of crimes.

Somehow, afterwards, we walked to Checkpoint Charlie and visited quite a few random points.  There's a lot of parts of the old wall, which artists have simply taken over.  I mentioned that I wanted to see the East Side Gallery and Margarita was excited.

There is some much great graffiti and art.  What stands out is this set of "More Walls to Tear Down" which is aimed at dictators and oppressive rulers.

I loved how this wall was right in front of an advertisement that said "You are entering the non-profit sector."

Margarita decided that the bear needed a high-five. 

Unfortunately, we had to take a train and unfortunately, there were clouds.  We end up in the rain, and decide to find shelter.  We ducked into an artist's workshop, which had three installations, and quite a few busy artists.  There was even a working bar!

Outside was intense.  A metal sculpture was in front of the building.  The whole area was covered in graffiti, and we even saw someone in the process of tagging.

I decided that Instagram was the perfect forum for a few pictures I took.

"Pourquoi Pas?"

Further down the street, the rain started up again.  This time, we found shelter in a little coffee shop (unlike the ones in Amsterdam, this one sold only coffee and food).  Margarita opted for a coffee and I chose to try the "Berliner."  To be honest, I wasn't even sure what a jelly doughnut was.

The "Berliner" (jelly doughnut") was a little disappointing: not enough jelly, and too much powdered sugar.  Oh well.

Once the rain paused, there was another mad dash, this time going back towards the bridges that we'd left earlier.  We were trying to find the East Side Gallery.  Eventually, we found it.  Over a mile of the old wall, covered in different artists and art works.

I thought this highly appropriate, especially at the start of the gallery.

I think he needed a ride.

I tried currywurst... Not bad, but it's not my favorite.

That night, we hear about this place called Cookie Club.  Granted, it's supposedly the "best" (and only) club open on a Tuesday. While a few of us decide to go to Cookie Club, Margarita and I make plans to also have brunch with two lovely gals.

Cookie Club is surprisingly silent on a Tuesday.  I say surprising because everyone had been talking it up.  Instead, there is a two story empty space, with less than 70 people.  There is also a bed on the lower floor.  Eventually, we make it back to the hostel, despite trying (and unsuccessfully at that) to find food.

The next day, Margarita lay in bed while I went off to the aforementioned brunch/breakfast.  To be fair, I was operating on less than four hours of sleep, so I was not at my best.  Breakfast was a very fun affair with Kat and Lauren, talking about our lives and how we got to Berlin.  There was also coffee.

Absolutely divine, no? There were currants, so many types of cheese, museli, and lots of meat!

Our food takes forever to arrive (nearly an hour), but we still make it back in time for the afternoon walking tour. We visit Museum Island, the square where they burned books, the hotel where Michael Jackson dangled his baby out the window.  We go back to Checkpoint Charlie and the Topography of Terrors.  We sit, stand, squat over the remains of Adolf Hitler's underground bunker.

The memorial of a mother weeping over a soldier.  The light always falls to illuminate their faces just so...

This was on the steps of the main building at Museum Island, also the building where Hitler would give his speeches.

That night, it's decided that we'll go out with a bang.  After all, it's our last night in Berlin, and the next day is a holiday, which means that public transportation will be slower, so we have to leave nearly an hour earlier, just to make out flight.

Margarita and I, along with a group of five other hostel friends, head towards Tresor. Our hostel happily gave us half-off entry tickets.  Tresor is a factory club, a warehouse club.  The outside is shiny steel and mirrored lights.  They ask for ID and I smack myself mentally.  Of course I forget it.  But they wave me in anyways.  

Inside, it's smoke, beer bottle caps  on the ground, bricks and music.  There are little booths where people can hide and there are slats inside those booths, that support the body weight of three or four people (we tested this out).  There are red lights, cute guys, a long hallway that seems to go on endlessly.

It's a little before five in the morning when we finally stumble into the hostel.  We grab our bags, hungrily munch on Chinese food.  We take the underground metro line, hop onto the bus and wearily wait in the airport.  Margarita dozed off now and again, while I stayed up to make sure that we didn't miss the bus or the flight.

Part of me is as sad as this man. The other half looks forward to returning to Brussels.

The trip from Brussels Airport back to the city... is another exhausting saga on its own (turns out, we forgot that it was a national holiday in Brussels too)...

In the end, I learned:

- Margarita and I did not look like tourists (we were approached to donate blood or something, because we looked local).

- You can't buy a lot of things in a pharmacy without a prescription (including antiseptic things like Neosporin).

- The Ritter Sport store's wholesale prices equal 1USD. While Ritter Sport in the States is priced at nearly double that amount.

Oh, and it turns out that JFK was actually grammatically correct by saying "Ich Bin Ein Berliner".

Bruxelles, Easter Break: Part 2

"Poland is not a very large country, but it's not a very small country."

- Donald Trusk, Prime Minister of Poland

My fingers shiver a little, as I munch on a chocolate chip energy bar, and my boots squish just a bit.  It's early in the morning in Krakow, Poland.

I stumbled out of the train, still half-asleep, and walked through the station.  Not yet 8 in the morning, but I've already made a silly mistake: I stood in front of the "Transportation" window for fifteen minutes, hoping that they can explain to me how to buy a transport ticket in the city, only to be told by a kindly old man that the window is meant for people with issues buying a train ticket LEAVING Poland.  As if that wasn't enough, the visitor's office that he sends me to is closed, until 9 AM.

There is little else to do, but walk around the old town.

It's silent.  Not entirely silent, but just enough that the sound of my camera shutter CLICK-ing travels through alleyways, that I hear a car drive over cobblestones two streets away, that the sound of a metal tent being set up in the square rings clear through.  As if my sleep deprivation wasn't enough, there's a thick oppressive layer of fog and the sky, despite being grey, is still bright.

The square in the middle of Old Town Krakow is nearly deserted...

...except for flower vendors...

...old women selling baked goods for 1 zloty, 1 zloty 50...

...and vendors setting up a toy stand.

I wander around, my backpack heavy, my stomach rumbling, and an insistent need for coffee.  I somehow find my way into the Wawel Royal Castle.  I pay a ridiculously cheap entrance fee to look at Leonardo da Vinci's painting titled Lady with an Ermine.

The castle's green dome and red brick stand out against a grey sky and lonely trees.

Along the back of the castle, the river runs, almost silently.

Finally, once the tourist office opens, I get directions for a divine restaurant in the Jewish quarter.  I have coffee, with cinnamon and sweetened with honey.  There are little breakfast pierogis (Polish dumplings), things that look like pigs-in-a-blanket, a buckwheat porridge with cream and fruit (I don't even know what buckwheat is).

Afterwards, I continue to walk.  I go to Oskar Schindler's ceramics factory (the same Schindler from the movie Schindler's List, directed by Steven Speilberg).  Next door is a modern art museum which I happily visit.  I walk into a showing of the Bodies exhibition. There's an outdoor market with fourteen different tents, selling everything from cuckoo clocks to secondhand cookbooks.

I even walk across a bridge covered in padlocks and undying declarations of love.

 Finally, I head towards the hostel I have booked.  But disaster strikes.  When I arrive, the house looks empty, no one answers the doorbell and the phone number is out of service.  Then it starts to rain.  A neighbor comes by and tells me that the hostel has been closed for nearly a month.

I almost cry, since I have no map (I didn't think to pick one up from the tourist office), and my cell phone has run out of credits.

Then, a knight in shining armor arrives.  Well, more like a businessman in a BMW.  His name is Stefan, he is born and raised Cracovian, and he asks if I need help.  Once I explain the situation, he calls his office and asks one of the ladies working to give him a list of hostels.

He then proceeds to drive me to one of the hostels and pay for my first night, simply because he feels very bad for me.  That was my first experience with Polish generosity, but by no means my last.

After that experience, I am exhausted.  However, I hear two magical words "PUB CRAWL" and, after taking a shower, am suddenly rejuvenated.

The rest of the night is a blur of silliness and laughter:

I meet a group of guys from the UK, a street magician amazes and dazes me with several tricks, there's dancing on top of a bar, several people get lost, I am introduced to a shot affectionately called "Mad Dog" (vodka, fruit syrup and Tabasco sauce).

I am even introduced to the game of "flip cup" and my team wins!

I don't get back to my hostel until 5 in the morning, the next day.

Oh Boy, I'm Seeing Green [Or, Saint Patrick's Day in Ireland]

Saint Patrick's Day was originally going to be a very chill, calm, quiet --

Oh, who am I trying to kid?  Saint Patrick's Day was going to be a party.  I just happened to be in Dublin, Ireland.

That's right!  I checked off a big one: spending Saint Patrick's Day in Dublin, Ireland.  And several things were made abundantly clear to me: I will NEVER be able to binge drink like some people I met, multiple pub crawls with Americans and Brazilians are an experience, I should not subside on candies and chips, and I definitely love staying in hostels.

Let's recap.  It starts with my body, still aching from Amsterdam, suddenly saying "Well, crap."  It continues like this: I speak with my professor, stating that I have a plane to catch and could I leave 30 minutes before the end of class.  He then proceeds to say, five minutes before I'm supposed to leave, " Since we have some students who are leaving at four, we'll take a moment of pause, so they can gather their things."

It goes like this: my friend and I leave our class, giddy at the prospect of going to Ireland. We rush to the metro, where we're supposed to meet with another friend.  Amanda, the first friend, starts circling the station, worried that we'll be late, that we'll miss Gabby, that we'll not make it to Ireland.

Gabby, it turns out, is on the other side of the barrier, slowly laughing at us.

We get to the South station, when Amanda spies Sbarro. Nothing can deter her, so we get pizza and head towards the bus.  Instead, we are waylaid by taxi drivers who call out "Habiba" and tell us 13 euros, 30 minutes, much better than the bus.  We take the taxi.

We get there two hours early, our gate not even open.  We end up having a beer as we wait for RyanAir.  Amanda blows off steam once we make it past the security check (something was wrong with her visa, apparently).

This is where I make an explicit statement: RyanAir, as an airline, terrifies me with bright yellow seats, cramped rows, and never-ending advertisements.  It's freezing cold, people don't stop talking (ever) and the lights are always on.  The landing is bumpy and terrifying long, but when people survive unscathed, the flight attendants play trumpet music.

We land on shaky legs. Amanda and Gabby stumble towards a friend's apartment. I stumble towards Isaac's Hostel.  It turns out to be on the North Side.  The bus driver gives me directions, then tells me to be careful.  I make it without incident, and then proceed to pass out.

The next day, I go to join my friends on a free tour of Dublin.  Of course, I forget about the time change coming over, meaning I'm a full hour early.  I indulge in breakfast at Queen of Tarts, a pastry cafe shop that's fairly well known.

The tour is phenomenal.  We laugh at our tour guide's jokes, I learn some dirty Gaelic, and we get a pretty good idea of the town.  Of course, this is in between rain and sunshine, jokes about Irish accents, and a desire to get somewhere warm.  The rest of the afternoon is spent calming down and having some coffee.

Colorful and fantastic!

Oscar Wilde was only one famous person I "saw": there was Mary Malone and Bram Stoker too!

Starbucks in Ireland: Earl Grey tea, marshmallow swizzle, chocolate chili and dark forest cakes.

I meet up with Re (you'll remember her from my last post about Amsterdam).  We end up going to Leo Burdock's: I get fish and chips, she gets chicken tenders and chips.  We sit on the street, drinking cider and getting strange looks from locals.  After that "last supper", I ended up subsisting mostly on crisps (potato chips) and candies in the hostel...

That night, we go on a pub crawl.  When I say "pub crawl", I mean a crawl.  It involves Germans, Australians (who call me "American"), Irish guys and Spanish girls.  It involves drinks at different bars, dancing through streets, and laughing hysterically at the cold air.

I met a few great guys on the pub crawl and kept stealing Sven's hat. 

The next day, Re's left back to the States, her Euo-trip over.  I go to the Guinness Storehouse, walking through run-down streets, watching markets where people sell odds and ends, even groceries.  When the economic crisis in 2008 hit Ireland, it hit HARD.  Banks went under and people are only now starting to see some minor changes in the economy.  The area around the Guinness Storehouse is way outside of the center of town, and really shows the economic difficulties.  Even though it's on the South side, which is supposed to be more affluent, a lot of people were definitely struggling.

But going back to the Guinness Storehouse... It's massive. Huge. Five stories filled with boozy history, beer sampling and experiences, like learning how to pour the perfect pint of Guinness.

I got a perfect pint of Guinness.  In case you didn't know, Guinness has a two-step pour.

The wall of history: also known as every Guinness bottle ever.

That night, I go on another pub crawl.  Funny thing about Americans on pub crawls: they're always the loudest. And the ones playing beer pong.  The guides say a few things that are definitely hysterical and true: "When you're upright, you're our problem.  When you're at 45 [degrees], you're sort of our problem. When you're flat, you're NOT our problem."

The next day is Saint Patrick's Day.  Rows of people, one after another, in green and green and more green. Apparently, I don't look like a tourist (even though I was wearing green tights and somebody's green hat): a police officer thinks I'm late for work and ushers me through a gap in the parade! 

Everywhere, people piled onto monuments, on top of electrical boxes, and on balconies.

I laughed at the random Disney characters mixed in with Saint Patrick's Day balloons.

The parade was a tad disappointing because I expected it to be like Macy's Thanksgiving... Not even close. But it was fun and a great time, even though I saw four fights and people get arrested.  

My trip ended like this: stumbling into a taxi at 3:30 am, getting to the airport and having a full Irish breakfast, with three cups of coffee, before I wait at the gate.  I watch four guys stretch out, asleep in sleeping bags, before I close my eyes.  

I end up in Brussels, torn between being awake and annoyed, while I go to class.

À Bientôt Bruxelles [My Weekend in Amsterdam]

“Some tourists think Amsterdam is a city of sin, but in truth it is a city of freedom.  And in freedom, most people find sin.” 

-- John Green

This blog post is from two weeks ago, but it's taken me awhile to upload.  Mostly because of one word. Midterms. A term that inspires fear, shock and horror.  But also much relief once it is over.  For me, it also meant that I got to go to Amsterdam!

I was going to Amsterdam for two reasons: one, I really wanted to see it; and two, my friend was visiting.  The lovely Re and I became friends last semester while we were in Morocco together.  Since it was her spring break, she decided to do a Euro-trip by herself.  Pretty amazing, considering that she'd never left the country (except for Mexico) until she went to Morocco!

Anyways, Amsterdam.  The bus ride there was a bit horrible, but funny: I was quite exhausted and nauseous from the night before.  However, I got to sit next to a few women from Morocco, and practice derija!  Once I arrived, I walked over to the hostel.  The place is called Heart of Amsterdam and is based on a box office/movie theater.  The reception desk is called the box office, and each room is designed after a film.  The room that I stayed in is called "The Wall."

What happened was I waited two hours for Re, getting anxious to the point that I thought "I need to call the police and ask if they've found an American girl with amnesia!"

Of course, guess who chose to walk up at that moment in time... Re.

She had to buy gloves because she forgot hers.  At least they were cute souvenirs!

Anyways, our nights and days were filled with a serious of strange events:

We met a group of girls and guys who proceeded to show us around the Red Light District in Amsterdam.  Speaking of the Red Light District, I would never be able to stay in Amsterdam, just because I feel like I would get desensitized to sex... If it's so in your face, all the time, wouldn't you get used to it?

Later, we went to a club, and several other places.  Re and I, while freezing to death since it JUST HAD to start snowing while we were in the club, decided that Dutch people are super friendly, very bizarre, and just a bundle of fun all around.  This was in between getting phone numbers from Italian guys, getting grabbed and kissed on our cheeks by some random guy, and getting photo-bombed by some guys from Amsterdam.

Two of the friendly Dutch men we met!

The next day, we also went to the Van Gogh experience, as well as the House of Bols.  The Van Gogh experience was fantastic, since they also used 3D technology to recreate some of the paintings, so it felt as if you saw the painting step by step, and even felt as if you were part of the painting.

In front of the My Dream exhibition sign, I couldn't stop grinning.

Now, disclaimer, it did take us awhile to walk to the House of Bols.  In fact, it took us about 30 plus minutes, since we got lost!  But it was worth it: the place was fun, colorful and awesome.  I even semi-flirted with the bartender!  The place was more than worth the 12 euro ticket: we tried three drinks, got to learn about the history and even got our own drink recipes!

The House of Bols is the house of the oldest alcoholic drink: genever.

Even if I didn't go on the Heineken Experience, I saw the boat!

In the end, there were no space cakes for me, no baby bump shrooms, and no making out with Dutch guys.  What I did end up loving was the people that I met, and the fact that Re came with me to experience Brussels!  But that's a whole other blog post...

This is also the most stereotypical photo of Amsterdam I took, minus the cannabis!

Bruxelles [Clubbing and Bar Hopping, Oh Boy...]

I'm completely in love with Belgium right now. Brussels, Europe, it's basically a massive playground. And I want to stay here for a really long time. That's kind of why I'm looking for a job here.

Apart from that, my days have been filled with homework and classes, the usual ho-hum doldrums of any uni student.  Papers, a few presentations and group projects make me feel like I'm back in freshman year all over again, like I haven't done anything with my life.

My weekends though...

Let's just say that I've been having a blast.

I've been to quite a few clubs, done my fair share of traveling, and have managed to let myself... relax.

To be honest, I miss Morocco.  I miss the constant call to prayer, the reminder throughout the day.  I miss being able to walk by the ocean and on the beach.  I miss the chaos of the medina and the taste of too-sweet mint tea.

But I love the...freedom that I have here in Europe.

I love going to crazy clubs and just talking to people.  I love the student body government parties, where our UNIVERSITY DEAN basically provides a crap-ton of money for parties, and lets a few designated students basically buy tons of booze for people to enjoy.  I love trying the new beers here and even trying things that sound like a bad idea (absinthe that comes in a "bong" or a drink called Pink Elephant, with seven kinds of alcohol).

One of the clubs is gorgeous.  Spirito.  It's inside an old church, which they basically just remodeled into a massive, beautiful (and freaking expensive) club.  I got in because I knew someone who was joining a group of people who were going to celebrate a birthday party.  They bought bottles. And booked tables.  Oh boy.

I think my  favorite bar right now is one called Delirium.  Yes, it's a huge tourist attraction.  And yes, it's a bit pricey for beer.  But honestly, where else would you get to try passion fruit beer, cactus beer and a beer called Pink Killer?

I've gone out a couple times to a tiny club called avenue.  And yes, it's avenue.  I'm so official, I even have a member's card!  But anyways, ladies' nights are 10 euro entrance and free drinks all night long.  The guys have to pay 50 euros (sorry guys)!

I went to a very awesome party with my flatmate.  We were invited by these two guys that we met awhile back, for a birthday party.  Basically, there was a masquerade in a gallery, in a monument, in a gorgeous park.  Apparently, the guy just throws parties there when he feels like it.

There's also a great club called Gotha, which is similar to Spirito.  We went a little too early (12:30 or 1 in the morning), but we still had a good time.  The DJ's choice was... interesting.  Side note: my flatmate and I were the ONLY girls wearing tights. And no heels.  We were still taller than most girls.

We're also on the facebook page now? Mkay, cool.

In short, with all of this going out experience, I've learned a few things:

1. Beer pong and drinking games happen all the time, no matter what people think about Europeans being classy with their booze.  I've played more drinking games than I should or have ever.  King's Cup also seems to be a popular choice.
2. The bars around here are great. Really great.  Fantastic even.  You don't have to go to a club or anything like that when you could be perfectly content drinking a beer in a bar that has great music.
3. Most people don't really go out until late.  Two in the morning is a great starting time.  Pre-gaming is advised, especially since drinks in clubs can get pricey.
4. Going out is expensive (see 3).  But if you go out, you GO OUT.  I've seen more girls navigating the cobblestone roads in heels than I have seen in flats.  It's crazy.
5. My tolerance is basically gone (two Belgian beers and I'm out of it), my wallet pretty much despises me, and I didn't bring the right clothes to party hard.  Oops?