Take The A Train

68 years after Duke Ellington and his orchestra first recorded their signature tune, the A train still provides the quickest service to Sugar Hill in Harlem, and expresses south to zip us "home" at almost any time of the day or night. NYC subways are a little gritty but litter-free and hyper-efficient; the lines we ride on look much more like the Bay Area's BART than the dark and dangerous places some screenwriters would have you believe. Our cute little monthly passes allow us to take any NYC transit we want without fumbling around for silly tokens.

The squeaks and rumbles of the trains are as soothing as ear candy from the Duke or the Dave Brubeck Quartet. Incidentally, Dave's jazz quartet of bossa nova fame did an awesome cover of the A train song; visit youtube for their great 60s music video complete with black suits and skinny ties. Trains stopping in our borough take us uptown, downtown, crosstown, and of course they connect with other MTA trains which zip us almost anywhere worth going in between. Hmmm, it didn't take me long to get in the New York frame of mind -- clearly anywhere worth going has a nearby subway stop ;)

Our pad for the next 5 weeks is in Cobble Hill, Brooklyn -- just south of the Brooklyn Bridge, near the East River and the Brooklyn Queens Expressway. Think brownstones, pre-war warehouses converted into swanky townhomes, tired Navy yards, dark corners where Italian hit men dump bodies, walk-ups, one-way streets, young couples walking hand-in-hand, and double-wide strollers that feature all-terrain tires and at least two massive cup holders.

Strollers here are typically driven by power-walking Brooklyn moms pushing sacked-out kids who are clearly bushed from too much stimulation and a general overdose of urban fun.

As expected, 17 seconds after arrival muy macho Andrea organized an "urban stroll" north and west, across the Brooklyn Bridge and through lower Manhattan, up and through Central Park over to the west side greenway continuing north and past Harlem. Clearly the A train is just a little too soft for her. This "stroll" ended up being over 13 miles, finishing at sister Katie's place overlooking the George Washington bridge for a scrumptous dinner. There's nothing like a wonderfully prepared meal in a gorgeous setting to cap off a 6-hour hike -- fortunately, K's boyfriend Duane loaned me a clean shirt, which allowed my fellow diners to enjoy the scent of their vittles instead of my overpowering manly aroma.

Andrea's college roommate and good friend Marg similarly lives in NYC, on the Upper West Side. Of course native friends and family make any town more fun, but they're especially handy in New York, where there is so much to see and do that these folks can help us prioritize. Winning activities are often the ones overlooked by "typical" tourists. For example, consider the Cambpell Apartment at Grand Central Station, which was originally the office of railroad tycoon John W. Campbell. In 1999 it was converted to a public space and bar, conserving most of its high-end vintage vibe without the waistcoat and pocket watch dress code.

The Brooklyn Botanic Garden is another prime example of an overlooked NYC destination. Entrance fees keep crowds to a minimum, and the 52-acre grounds host everything from Japanese cherry trees to local flora, lily pads, giant Koi, Italian "formal" gardens (behave appropriately), and most importantly a Brooklyn heritage walk with a bronze leaf-stone for each one of the gadzillion famous people born in our host borough. We passed Barry Manilow's leaf quite early in the day, affording us the opportunity to break into song thereafter at every opportune moment.

Williamsburg in Brooklyn still hops with creativity and late-night activities. On Wednesday we laughed hard with Jenny Slate, Saturday Night Live's newest cast member. Pictured here with her writing co-captain and "platonic life partner" Gabe Liedman, Jenny was hosting her "old gig" at a small restaurant and had me falling out of my free, front row seat (NYC is so easy to love). These two are "like watching your two favorite Jewish grandparents inhabit the bodies of 20-something New Yorkers rotoscoping their way through the American pop culture maelstrom."

Last night we met Jason (a former HP colleague) at the Park Avenue office of Booz & Co. consulting. Jason was ostensibly in town for a little training with Booz, but since he already knows everything, we expect it was more likely just to press the flesh with his Manhattan consulting brethren (and to grab a meal with us, no doubt). The ever-vigilant doormen at 101 Park Avenue passed a sigh of relief when Andrea and I stopped leaning on the office directory monolith and pestering them with questions and whisked Jason away on the 5 train (or was it the 4?) for yum-yum organic French-Caribbean fare in SoHo and a bottle of California wine, corkage-fee free. Did I mention that there is some good food in this town?

Former Club Med water-ski chief Jay is also in NYC, producing a commercial for Hunt's tomato products. Needless to say we crashed Jay's office in Greenwich Village to stock up on the free ketchup and bottled water that flows so freely in show business. Later we shanghaied Jay for an evening out by the Hudson River and connected for brunch with he and his wife, Danielle, who was in town for the weekend(!). Less than 10 days ago we discovered Jay, Danielle, and then Jason would all be in NYC during our time here. Our pals Jim and Venitha will be here soon, my pal Lara has her office in the Flatiron district...man, the serendipity of a big city that allows us to connect with pals so easily just kicks butt.

I should report on the headliner experiences we've gotten under our belts -- like "grandma style" pizza on Stone Street in the Financial district, the heartbreaking Vietnam Veterans Memorial, the free ferry to Staten Island, the Empire State and Chrysler buildings, admiring progress on the WTC site, our views of the Manhattan skyline at night from across the water in Brooklyn, etc. -- but you care little about these things. What you really want to know is "How far is it to Trader Joe's?" Relax, everything is under control -- TJ's is only a few blocks away, and with bicycles on loan from friends it's an easy pedal on cute little one-way streets. Three years ago NYC comitted to expanding its on-street bicycle network by 200 miles; we're using it -- to Coney Island and back, up Brooklyn's Shore Road park, etc.

Micro roasting of coffee beans in New York has gained a huge following, and peer pressure led us to visit Brooklyn's own Gorilla Coffee. After waiting in the 15-person line (hmmm, maybe there is a good reason the place gets Zagat raves), we speedily purchased a mix of 50:50 decaf and caffeinated freshly roasted Sumatran beans. Some ask if Gorilla coffee uses a similar bean production process to the weasel coffee we had in Vietnam. We're not sure, and since we haven't worked up the nerve to ask a gorilla, we are blissfully unaware.

The bistro chairs in Times Square are a huge hit -- excellent to grab lunch at a takeaway place and take a seat in the middle of the action. The pedestrian areas spill out beyond Times Square into nearby streets. When these areas get "pedestrianized," a lane or two of cars and busses are removed to make way for the bipeds -- the result is a reduction in street noise while maintaining enough activity to keep everything lively; nice. Now, if I could only get them to install electrical outlets in the street so I didn't have to carry around these extra laptop batteries...

Public spaces in NYC are some of what we love best about "living" here for 5 weeks. One of the newest creations in this category is the High Line park; old elevated train tracks and stations converted into garden walkways with native plants, benches, water features, and of course great views out over the city.

Positively balmy when we arrived, and it's now growing colder. Soon we'll be wearing sweaters (gasp!). After 3 years in Singapore, walking downtown in a sweater will likely throw us into a foreign dissonance tailspin; we'll need to quickly find a restaurant that serves large portions of fresh mango and chili crab to regain equilibrium. No problem, I'm sure the A train can take us there.

The French Connection

Our flight from Prague to Paris on Wizzair (must... not... make... wizzjoke... ) set us back $80 for two people - total; that's with a checked-baggage allowance and all taxes and fees thrown in. The flight departed and left on time, in a new plane (love that great new plane smell).

Leather seats, flawless service, and our cabin attendants had cute accents from Vecses, Hungary-- OK, well maybe not, but they that's where their CEO (pictured) sits at HQ. Touching down in a cute airport 80km north of the French capital, I was overwhelmed with cranky thoughts on why these budget airlines didn't get it together long ago, prior to the 2.5 years I lived in France. Oh well, at least I have all those super useful Air France frequent flyer miles as a memento.

We zipped out of Paris as quickly as possible, sidestepping the nomadic bands of killer poodles (NPR reports that J. Chirac was recently attacked by his poodle. The poodle was coincidentally undergoing treatment for clinical depression...) and stopping for the briefest of moments to consider 4-euro kebabs near Gare de Lyon -- making our way via navette, metro, and SCNF rail to...Grenoble(!). Ahhhh, Grenoble -- "capital" of the French Alps, absolutely required as a blast from the past and besides...we're not in Eastern Europe any more; the only way we can afford a week in a high-cost country is by inviting ourselves to the guest room of a friends top-floor apartment. Oh, and of course by visiting the HP office to enjoy the scrumptious subsidized meals so generously provided by local management. Yes, Virginia, there is wine at lunch in HP France.

Naturally we are hanging in the home of a former HP SPaMster (SPaM = Strategic Planning and Modeling, Slackerboy's job during the off-blog season). Our hosts are Marc Feyhl, his wife Cinzia plus their daughter Ciara. Ciara entertains us speaking 4 languages (German w/Dad, Italian w/Mom, French with peers, English w/us) as well as communicating in the lingua franca of tickle-induced squeals. Those interested in more info on what Brian actually does at HP should visit http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/HP_SPaM

Top Grenoble sights include the fountains of Place Victor Hugo, Prefecture, Place Notre Dame, Batman Kebab, and every pain au chocolate dealer within a 5-mile radius. Notice how in front of the Prefecture (capitalized because it is important) that all five flagpoles sport handsome flags of France. Clearly our French allies have learned much from the Americans about demonstrating their love of freedom, although they should consider adding one more flag immediately. Probably best if it covers the whole of the facade -- otherwise many citizens will no doubt begin questioning the *true* patriotism of Prefecture employees.

As is required of all visitors, Andrea enjoyed a high-speed hiking tour to the top of the Grenoble Bastille (not to be confused with the "real" one in the Marais district in Paris), passing historic fortifications and ancient landmarks, ending with admiration of the views of the town below. Note the cute little boules of the telepherique zooming up to the restaurant of the Bastille, where you can enjoy a delicious lunch in the fresh mountain air, followed by Gauloises and your 17th espresso of the day before you zip back down to your stylish office au centre ville.

From the top of the Bastille we could make out Mont Blanc in the distance; the highest mountain in western Europe at 4,180m. Andrea was tempted to climb the beast, but I warned her croissant might be in short supply at the summit and suggested cannonballs in the city pool as a good alternative.

After the pool we grabbed steak and freedom frites with Greg Delamarre -- an old Club Med pal of mine. Greg and I were stationed at Club Med villages in the Bahamas and Turks and Caicos islands during '87-'88. Greg was born in Chamonix, so of course he has summited Mont Blanc several times... that's him in the Rossignol backpack, and again on the left in the summit photo. Listening to the sport achievements of a good friend over a pastis is way better than climbing some nasty mountain yourself -- you might get a blister.

Our hosts make espresso the vintage Italian way using a stove-top pot. I requested a lesson. Key points:

1. Water level filled only to a level below the safety-valve.

2. Don't pack down the coffee when you fill the filter.

3. Be sure the handle of the pot is not over the burner (it will melt).

4. NEVER use soap to clean the coffee maker. It ruins the taste of the next cup and may give Italians in the room a mild heart attack; just rinse with water.

5. Avoid storing your coffee maker next to a younger, slimmer model - can be detrimental to the pot's self esteem.

Running in the Vercors (think fire trails in a French Alps style) with beautiful views of Grenoble was fun for the whole family - but the pièce de résistance was a trip to the 2nd home/mountain chalet of Claude Laval (another former SPaMster) on Saturday for apertif, dinner, conversation, etc. Note the tennis court just barely visible on the left hand side of the group photo -- suffice to say that it was pretty tough for Claude and his wife to get us to leave, I was ready to move right in.

Other highlights include hanging with even more SPaM homies (Frederic Marie, Danny Berry), watching DVDs on one of our hosts' many viewing stations (two home-theater systems plus one in the kitchen for entertainment while cooking), an overnight trip to Lyon for public art admiration (that's not a mural on the side of that building in the photo) followed by cheese-and-potato gorging, discussing the merits of universal health care with the natives (health care so much better in France and way cheaper than in the US - ask anyone who's lived in both places) and visiting Espace Viking next to the apartment for fitness with the locals.

When heavily muscled French bodybuilders enter a gym they first walk around to shake hands with everyone present, bestowing obligatory kisses on both cheeks of their favorite power-lifting partners. Now that's civilized.

Vive la France!

Czech it out

Prague was one of our most anticipated destinations from the first inkling of this trip, and throughout our Central/Eastern Europe travels it was a standard question among fellow travelers: "Have you been to Prague yet? We loved Prague!" Our guidebook also sprinkles references to Prague throughout, and in fact does so in relation to some of our favorite spots from this trip: "If Krakow is the 'next Prague,' then Ljubljana is the next 'next Prague.'"

Our anticipation was only heightened by the fact that it was deemed our last Eastern Europe destination well in advance (Brian intelligently got tickets from Prague to France wayyyy ahead of time, since August is ultra-peak season for Europe), and because our good friend Len was meeting us there for a whirlwind jaunt.

We had time for one other Czech destination, and Brno was on our list, but we only vaguely knew why -- someone some time back had recommended it, someone we trusted, someone I'm sure we love -- but darned if we could remember who it was or what had been said about Brno. So, after soliciting suggestions from fellow travelers, some web-sleuthing, and some analysis of train schedules, we crossed Brno off the list and made our way to Olomouc (pronounced Olomootz) in Moravia, southeast of Prague. Olomouc has been called "the antidote to trendy, crowded Prague" and the country's (if not Central Europe's) most underrated city.


Like some of the other smallish towns we'd visited, such as Eger, Hungary, Olomouc had a local feel rather than a touristy atmosphere, but it also had sights which were well out of proportion to the town's size, such as the Czech Republic's other astronomical clock (after the one in Prague). The clock originally dates from the 15th century, but was reconstructed basically every century since then, and entirely so after WWII -- and therefore under the Communist regime, so it now features Social Realist-style figures (blacksmiths, peasants, clerks) parading around in circles for 5 minutes, and a golden rooster crowing at the end. OK, I'll admit the look of the clock is actually far grander than its show.



The town hall, which holds the clock, was gorgeous at dusk (first Olomouc pic above), there are several beautiful town squares, a wonderful Plague column (aka Holy Trinity column), said to be the largest anywhere, and lots of fountains.

You can walk from one side of town to the other in about 15 minutes, but to get to and from the train station, there is a super-easy, cheap tram.

The highlight of the town for Brian was a gorgeous, modern fitness center (quelle surprise! suppos). I really wanted my highlight to be the famous Olomouc stinky cheese, which supposedly gets its stink from being aged under hunks of rotting meat -- the Czech Republic even had get special permission from the European Union to be allowed to continue this less-than-hygenic-sounding way of production. Alas, as much as a cheese-lover that I am, I couldn't quite bring myself to like it.





On our way to Prague, we made a slight detour to the Sedlec Ossuary, a chapel with approximately 50,000 human skeletons artistically arranged to form decorations and furnishings, most notably the chandelier, which supposedly has at least one of each human bone. It's not as creepy as it sounds...but that might not be saying much.























And so, on to Prague, where we met up with our friend Len and enjoyed 2 days of fab sightseeing, a rather tepid "Mozart's finest arias" concert (I didn't think you could do opera without stringed instruments, but I guess I was wrong...), lots of good food (and beer and coffee), and lots of laughter.




Prague's sights do justify its reputation as a fabulous European destination, and we craned our necks at the superb architecture as we wandered the streets around the Charles Bridge, Old Town Square, Prague Castle, St. Vitus Cathedral, and Wenceslas Square. The Jewish quarter of Prague is truly evocative, even after Budapest, Krakow and Warsaw. The astronomical clock was gorgeous, and entertaining with a skeleton (Death) ringing the bell, the apostles parading, and figures representing vanity, greed, and hedonism observing.











The crazy building on the right is "Dancing House," designed by Frank Gehry, also known as "Fred & Ginger" (that's Fred on the right with tousled hair, and Ginger's wispy dress on the left).













We tried absinthe, the old-fashioned ritualistic way: small glass of bright-green absinthe under the spout of a table-top fountain, with silver absinthe spoons holding sugar cubes perched on top of the glass. The ice water droplets dissolve the sugar cube as it drips into the absinthe, which then turns cloudy the way ouzo or Pernod does. Hallucinations start about eight minutes later...just kidding!...it's now believed that absinthe is no more psychoactive than other alcohol and ill behavior associated with it was only alcoholism in disguise.





For my final Central/Eastern European image, I liked this mural of bulldozers forever chasing soviet tanks around a mobius strip. It's probably too much to hope that a region with such a fractured history will see permanent peace...but let's share that hope anyway.

So this Polish guy walks into a bar...

Glorious views of the Tatras mountains graced the windows of our speedy coach on the smooth rail ride heading through eastern Slovakia -- out of the mountain wilderness then north and eventually east again to Krakow on the other side of the Tatras. If you look carefully in the reflection on the mountain photo taken from the train you can see Andrea and I snacking while we snap pictures during the trip. Quite odd that "less developed" countries like Slovakia and Poland have faster and more pleasant rail transit than mighty America - but there are fewer SUVs on the road and hardly any McDonalds so the overall quality of life is not *really* up to our high standards...

Krakow is gorgeous in a "rebuilt after the devastation of WWII" kind of way. After being occupied and eventually smashed and burned by the Nazis, then "liberated" by the Russian military, Krakow natives used photos to recreate an ambiance in the old town that would remind them of their history; cute little ancient streets and charming buildings with wonderful small restaurants and cafes around every corner. Even our apartment has a vintage faux-17th century doorway. Sure, cafes are nice, but every town in Europe has cafes -- what Poland has that the rest of Europe lacks are their fabulously wonderful bar mleczny; translation: "milk bars."

Milk bars are subsidized restaurants dishing out heaps of authentic local cuisine, with lots of locals dining next to you, all at wonderfully low prices accompanied by smiling "You're an American, aren't you? Welcome to Poland!" service. Cheap, delicious grub in a country where people seem to genuinely like you just because of your accent; what's not to like? Cabbage, potatoes, soups, sausage, more cabbage, and yes, even milk. Menus are extensive and rarely provided in English, so we prepare with our guidebook to memorize what numbered items we want to oink out on well before we approach and order using the numbered list and a lot of pointing.

Occasionally we venture outside of milk bars for meals (only when we can't find any of them open, of course) and are rewarded with the best cabbage soup in the universe. As a "downside" each and every waiter we meet in this fine country pressures us to quaff massive quantities of Polish "bison" vodka mixed with apple juice- dangerously tasty and therefore having enormous potential to negatively impact one's workplace productivity. Fortunately milk bars don't serve alcohol, we can repel the peer pressure from waiters by ordering small amounts, and anyway we don't have to worry about pesky things like "work" so everything is staying well within our rigorous vacation control limits...

When not gorging ourselves on tasty Polish cuisine, we stroll historic streets admiring monuments to the uprising of Poles against their former oppressors and gazing at statues of Polish luminaries like Copernicus. See the big C pictured on the far left with a hep model of the solar system he probably put together with pop sickle sticks and some glue. Just imagine what the guy could've done if he had a nice HP laptop.

The Poles don´t encourage intellectual pursuits to the detriment of sport and physical conditioning. There are many cheap fitness center choices, and quite a bit of community messaging on the importance of eating right and exercise. For example, note the over-developed abdominals on these gents holding up the balcony of a downtown office building.

Since it is now so modern and beautiful, it is easy to forget that Warsaw was completely wiped out by the end of WWII, but locals make sure you remember with very well executed museums that convey the extent of the devastation (see photo to the left taken at the end of the war). Poles generally think of the US as their big ally to the west, and easily forgive that the NY Times originally referred to the Jewish ghetto uprisings against the Nazis an "over-reaction".

The Soviet years were hard on Poland -- but the pride of the Polish people in the Solidarity movement that started in Gdansk and eventually led to the fall of their communist masters is what came through loud and clear at most of the museums we visited.

Like most of Eastern and Central Europe, Socialist realism artwork is in large supply - yep, I am referring to those well-muscled emotionless blocky statues of workers and soldiers bravely going about their communist duties for the good of the neighborhood.

The Palace of Culture and Science was in this style and especially impressive; 3.3 hectares with 3300 rooms. Meeting hall for 3K people, theaters, swimming pool, etc. It is still the tallest building in Warsaw -- wow. It may have been good to be at the top of the communist Poland food-chain, but I expect that actually it was just downright scary most of the time. Visiting the communist museums in these former Soviet countries send chills down our spines.

I´ve been a bit out of touch with developments in the US. Is it true that Social Realism art forms are gaining more fans and that new installations are popping up all over? Let me know, please.. and keep an eye out for an exhibition near you.