My favorite part of living in London, aside from the pubs, was the availability of low-cost Europe flights. For less than $100 we flew London to Rome, Rome to Venice, and Venice to London. Of course, you have to contend with RyanAir, which is quite lacking in service, but I think the trade-off is worth it.

Of all the places I visited while living in Europe, Venice was definitely one of my favorites. It is, of course, an incredibly beautiful city, and I loved the quirkiness of the place (no cars, just boats. They even have police, ambulance, and UPS boats). The food was amazing, especially when sitting canal-side, and we couldn’t get enough of the gelato so often had it 2-3 times per day. While we went in the summer, when Venice is crowded with tourists, I did not find it to be completely overwhelming. All we had to do was just turn down a few side streets and we would soon find ourselves in a quiet courtyard away from the mass of tourists. The nights were incredibly peaceful as well. When we arrived in Venice late one evening, the entire city seemed to be deserted, and we had to walk for quite awhile to find something for dinner (thankfully we stumbled upon a pizzeria that was closing and sold us their last two slices and a gyro).

One thing we didn’t do, however, was hire a gondola (the boat in the above photo). They were running over 60 euros for less than an hour (and from what I was told that was one of the cheaper rides). Since that was way over our budget, we stick to riding around the canals on the cheaper, but less charming vaporetti (water buses).

I’ve never been a huge fan of poetry. In middle school and high school, poetry writing assignments were the bane of my existence, and I usually ended up turning in something that was slightly “smartass-ish”. But, I came across the below poem by Elizabeth Bishop and loved it. Since it is related to travel, I thought I’d share.

Questions of Travel
Elizabeth Bishop

There are too many waterfalls here; the crowded streams
hurry too rapidly down to the sea,
and the pressure of so many clouds on the mountaintops
makes them spill over the sides in soft slow-motion,
turning to waterfalls under our very eyes.
–For if those streaks, those mile-long, shiny, tearstains,
aren’t waterfalls yet,
in a quick age or so, as ages go here,
they probably will be.
But if the streams and clouds keep travelling, travelling,
the mountains look like the hulls of capsized ships,
slime-hung and barnacled.

Think of the long trip home.
Should we have stayed at home and thought of here?
Where should we be today?
Is it right to be watching strangers in a play
in this strangest of theatres?
What childishness is it that while there’s a breath of life
in our bodies, we are determined to rush
to see the sun the other way around?
The tiniest green hummingbird in the world?
To stare at some inexplicable old stonework,
inexplicable and impenetrable,
at any view,
instantly seen and always, always delightful?
Oh, must we dream our dreams
and have them, too?
And have we room
for one more folded sunset, still quite warm?

But surely it would have been a pity
not to have seen the trees along this road,
really exaggerated in their beauty,
not to have seen them gesturing
like noble pantomimists, robed in pink.
–Not to have had to stop for gas and heard
the sad, two-noted, wooden tune
of disparate wooden clogs
carelessly clacking over
a grease-stained filling-station floor.
(In another country the clogs would all be tested.
Each pair there would have identical pitch.)
–A pity not to have heard
the other, less primitive music of the fat brown bird
who sings above the broken gasoline pump
in a bamboo church of Jesuit baroque:
three towers, five silver crosses.
–Yes, a pity not to have pondered,
blurr’dly and inconclusively,
on what connection can exist for centuries
between the crudest wooden footwear
and, careful and finicky,
the whittled fantasies of wooden footwear
and, careful and finicky,
the whittled fantasies of wooden cages.
–Never to have studied history in
the weak calligraphy of songbirds’ cages.
–And never to have had to listen to rain
so much like politicians’ speeches:
two hours of unrelenting oratory
and then a sudden golden silence
in which the traveller takes a notebook, writes:

“Is it lack of imagination that makes us come
to imagined places, not just stay at home?
Or could Pascal have been not entirely right
about just sitting quietly in one’s room?

Continent, city, country, society:
the choice is never wide and never free.
And here, or there . . . No. Should we have stayed at home,
wherever that may be?”

If I had to name one thing that I missed the most about Europe, it would have to be the rail network. Yes, we have passenger rail service in the United States, but Amtrak can’t even compare to Germany’s Deutsche Bahn or the United Kingdom’s National Rail. For instance, the top speed on Amtrak’s “high-speed” Acela train on the Washington, DC to New York City route is 135mph, compared to the Eurostar which races along at 186mph.

The Eurostar was my preferred method of travel when visiting Paris or Brussels due to the speed (less than two hours to either city), location (no schlepping out to the airport) and price (£59 roundtrip). Within the UK, I’ve used National Rail to visit cities such as Cambridge and Gloucester, both quick, comfortable journeys. (For those who are looking for a more relaxing, scenic journey, steam rail tours are available in northern England, Wales, Scotland, and northern Germany).

The above photo is of Praha hlavní nádraží (Prague main railway station). As part of our December 2009 Central Europe trip we took the train from Berlin to Prague (and after spending a few days there attempting to find the best Czech beer, onward to Vienna). Although the Art Nouveau inspired exterior and interior of the train station could use a bit of renovation, I loved the traditional steel and glass canopy that stretched over the tracks.

An interesting aside – from 1918 – 1938 and 1945 – 1953, the station was named after US President Woodrow Wilson (Wilsonovo nádraží) in honor of his contribution to the creation of an independent Czechoslovakia after the collapse of the Austro-Hungarian empire following World War I.

Last weekend we made an impromptu trip to the San Juan Islands, an archipelago located between Washington state and Vancouver Island, Canada. There aren’t any bridges connecting the mainland to the San Juan Islands, so the only way you can get there is via ferry or airplane.

We opted for the ferry, and when we arrived at the loading terminal were met with this considerably long line:

Thankfully the ships are enormous and can hold a very large amount of cars, so we got on the earlier ferry and didn’t have to wait an additional two hours. Pricewise, the ferry is a pretty good deal. It was under $80 for roundtrip transportation of the car and an additional passenger.

The ferry ride itself is the worth the trip to the San Juans. Leave your car while the ferry is underway and head to the topside for some amazing views.

Mt. Baker

Approaching Friday Harbor

We chose to stay on San Juan Island. No particular reason why, it was just the first one that came to mind. After an approximately hour long ferry ride, we arrived in Friday Harbor. Friday Harbor is the largest city in the San Juan Islands, and the commercial hub of the archipelago, yet it still remains a quaint island town with a little over 2000 residents.

All of the hotels in Friday Harbor were booked solid (and those that weren’t were going for $250 per night) so we opted to camp instead. A quick Google search directed us to Lakedale Resort, which had available campsites for $45 per night. Quite extortionate for a campsite when compared to state and national campgrounds, but there aren’t many options on San Juan Island.

On Saturday morning were up early to start a full day exploration of the island (after a camp breakfast of bacon and eggs, of course). Our first stop was the English camp, which was built by the British in 1859 after the killing of a pig. Yes, a pig. The “Pig War” was an interesting piece of history that I had been completely unaware of until this visit. For more on the Pig War and subsequent showdown between British and American forces, check out this Wikipedia article.

Garden at the British camp

Driving south of the British camp…

Olympic mountain range off in the distance

And further south to the American camp. This is Cattle Point:

Cattle Point Lighthouse

Out here in the Pacific Northwest we don’t have very sandy beaches, so you have to entertain yourself by building stuff with driftwood, which we have plenty of.

We also went on a whale watching cruise, but we didn’t actually see any whales, which kinda sucked. Thankfully we can go back in the future and take the cruise again for free. But we did see some more of the islands:

And this random Chinese junk boat:

And Mount Baker:

After the unsuccessful whale watching cruise we drove back to camp and sat around the fire drinking beer and eating hot dogs and smores.

The next morning we got up early and headed back to the mainland via ferry.

This was a nice, relaxing weekend and great escape from the city. We definitely plan on returning to the San Juans.

The rest of the photos are here.

Friday Harbor on Dwellable

If you ever find yourself with a free afternoon in London, be sure to visit Old Spitalfields Market. Located in London’s East End, Spitalfields is a covered market that features stalls selling everything from fudge (pictured above) to antiques to arts and crafts. If you love perusing antiques stores like I do, definitely plan to visit on a Thursdays when the antiques vendors are there. My favorite stalls were those selling 1800s era photos of London, old magazine advertisements, and World War II militaria. The “antique” offerings at other stalls are a bit more suspect, however; one vendor was selling an oak wardrobe for an astronomical price, claiming that it was from the Victorian era, yet it looked just like one I saw at the Furniture Market recently. Others were selling toys from my childhood, which I guess could be considered antiques depending on your definition of “old”.

My first visit to Spitalfields was in January 2010 on a visit to London. Oddly, I never made it to this market when I actually lived in London a few years prior. Back then I lived near Borough Market, so typically spent every Saturday morning there buying fresh fruit and enjoying some freshly made falafel and hummus. Whereas Borough Market focuses exclusively on food, at Spitalfields you can find a wide variety of products for sale. My friend was in a shopping mood and purchased an alpaca sweater that was handmade in Peru. My purchases were smaller, but delicious; I bought some of the above fudge and a “world’s best brownie” (if you couldn’t tell already, I have quite a sweet tooth). Much easier to take on the plane than an antique piece of furniture!

On the morning of our fifth day in Pyongyang, we were back on the bus headed to the Pyongyang Airport to catch our return flight to Beijing. Of course, we were running late. The majority of our group was typically on time but there were always a few laggards, so we arrived at Sunan International Airport shortly before 8:30am for a 9:00am flight.

Despite the fact that there were only three flights that day, check-in was a bit chaotic; we hurriedly filled out the customs forms and waited for the guards to return our cell phones, which had been kept under lock and key at the airport since we had arrived in Pyongyang. We also waited for our guides to return our passports, which we were required to surrender to them when we arrived in North Korea.

After finally checking-in and receiving our boarding passes, we headed straight to the security check, which meant we had zero time to enjoy the airport’s only restaurant or make last minute purchases of books by the Dear Leader and Great Leader (basically the only souvenirs for sale) at the small gift shop. As to be expected, there was a long line at security and 9am was quickly approaching. Surely our plane wouldn’t leave without our group and leave us stranded in Pyongyang for a few more days?

The Kims are, of course, inescapable.

The security check actually went by rather quickly, as the North Koreans don’t make you take your shoes off or put all of your liquids in a little baggie like the TSA does. I guess if you are a member of the “Axis of Evil” you don’t really have to worry about all that stuff.

After the security check came passport control. Typically, if you enter a country on a visa, this is when you would receive an exit stamp, but we were on a group visa that was in the possession of our tour leader, so there was no visa in our passport to stamp, and thus no coveted DPRK passport stamp. Some of our group members politely asked, or begged the officers to stamp their passport, but their pleas were met by a head shake. So, I exited North Korea with absolutely no official record of having visited the country, just 1,500 photos and a copy of “The Eternal Sun of Mankind”.

Our ride back to Beijing

Air Koryo fleet

Heading to the runway

The in-flight meal – the infamous Air Koryo burger. Yes, it tastes as awful as it looks.

The flight back was uneventful, although quite uncomfortable. The seating was incredibly cramped and the cabin temperature seemed to be 90 degrees Fahrenheit. I dozed off intermittently, glad to be back in possession of my iPhone so that I could listen to music that had nothing to do with the Great Leader.

Goodbye, North Korea!

The rest of the photos are here.

(courtesy Lonely Planet)

I’m actually pretty embarrassed to admit this, but despite living in London for a year, I never managed to make it to Scotland. I didn’t actually travel much around the United Kingdom that year, instead opting to explore the European continent (France, Italy, Czech Republic, the Balkans, etc). I did visit Cambridge and Cardiff on daytrips, and the usual tourist spots of Stonehenge, Windsor, and Bath, but that was about the extent of my UK travel. When I spent a week in London in January 2010, I seriously contemplated making a quick trip up to Edinburgh and spent a few hours researching railway timetables (it is about a 4.5 hour journey from London) and finding Edinburgh hotels. Ultimately, though, laziness prevailed and I opted to instead spend my time wandering around London with friends.

Someday, though, I will visit Scotland. I figure I would need about two weeks to see everything on my “to-do” list, including Edinburgh, Skye, and the Highlands. BBC Travel recently published an excellent article detailing a two-week road trip itinerary that takes you from Edinburgh to the Orkney Islands. I’m especially intrigued by the Scottish Highlands, often considered the most beautiful part of Scotland due to its multitude of lochs, castles, mountains, and coastal scenery. I’ve heard Inverness is a fun city to visit as well, especially if you are visiting during the Highland Games. The BBC itinerary is packed with a lot of different activities, including hiking, sea kayaking, castle visits, ferry rides, wildlife cruises, and whiskey tastings. Admittedly, I’m not a huge whiskey fan, but maybe a trip to Scotland could convince me otherwise.

Taken September 2009 while driving through Pyongyang in a bus (hence the poor photo quality)

I believe this is the entrance to a factory

I thought the style of these trams looked very familiar. They are Czech made, and likely the same style as the ones I rode in Prague several years ago.

Koryo Hotel on the left

Propaganda vehicle (notice the speakers on the top)

Student group

Top of the Ryugyong Hotel

The only gas station I saw in North Korea

A Nissan Paladin aka Nissan Xterra. The only reason I really took this photo was because I own an Xterra.

Another Xterra

A very crowded tram

The Mansudae Grand Monument to Kim Il-Sung. After Kim Jong-il’s death they added a statue of him as well.

And that is the end of the Pyongyang street photos. All of them can be found here.

More photos from Pyongyang in September 2009.

Traffic Girl (because who needs stoplights?)

City beautification project

City park with playground

Metro station

More propaganda

Apartment buildings and propaganda

Taedongmun (Taedong Gate). This is the eastern gate of the inner castle of the walled city of Pyongyang and one of the National Treasures of North Korea. The gate was originally built in the sixth century however the present construction dates from 1635 (the original was burnt to the ground during in the late 16th century).

Surprise, more propaganda

The elusive male traffic control officer

Pyongyang high rises

More random photos taken while driving through Pyongyang, North Korea in September 2009.

More propaganda. It is literally everywhere.

Mangyongdae Children’s Palace

Ryugyong Hotel under construction.

Decorations for the September 9th “Independence Day” holiday

Tram

Portrait of Kim Il-Sung on a building

Approaching Kim Il-Sung’s Mausoleum (Kumsusan Memorial Palace)

Another view of Kumsusan Memorial Palace