I Love The Whole World.

This post is out of sequence. But it doesn’t matter. Because this is one of the most important posts I have or ever will make. Do you know why?

Because I love the whole World. I love the people. The places. The planet. The things that make this big blue ball home. I love the way the sun shines and the way the wind blows and the way the waves roll. I love the people whether big or small, black or white, Japanese or Italian, even Californian. I love the places, the things that happened at those places, and the people who were there. I love Egypt, and the Romans, and the Anglo-Saxons. I love churches and trees and beaches and snow. I love the whole world. I can’t put it plainer.

I love being part of it. It’s such a brilliant place.

Before you watch the video, please know this: I have been planning and working on this video since before the trip ever began. I had plans, and music, and words, and scenes all mapped out before we even hit the ground. This video did not turn out anywhere near as good as I thought it would.

It turned out better. All because of the people who were in it.

You guys made it. You sang about things you loved. You sang when you really meant it. You gave your own voice to this video, and I can’t thank you enough for helping me sing about this big wonderful place we call the world. It may not rhyme or stay on key, but it is much better than any old marketing campaign that Discovery Channel can put on. Because we lived it. Thanks again, guys. Miss you all.

Keep singing!

Wyatt Oden.

Italia, Parte Due.

“E viaggiamo, in sostanza, per diventare di nuovo giovane sciocchi – per rallentare il tempo e ottenere adottate, e si innamorano di nuovo. […] Per questo motivo le migliori escursioni, come il migliore degli affari d’amore, mai veramente fine”

–Pico Iyer, “Why We Travel”

Somewhere along the Italian coast, somewhere between Genova and Pisa, there lies a small string of cities known as Cinque Terre, the Five Lands. Each city along the rocky Mediterranean coastline has a unique flavor and local culture all its own.

The train ride from Como San Giovanni took the majority of the day, but the final train along the Italian coastline was scenic, to say the least. As the train pulled up in Manarola, the fourth town in Cinque Terre, we watched the waves of the bright blue Mediterranean crash into the rocks below. We arrived around 3:30PM, which, if you’ve ever been to Italy, you’d know that nearly everything is shut down. Fortunately we were able to find a small trattoria who was willing to open its kitchen for us, and Bill the owner served us fresh fish and delicious pasta. When our hotel reception opened we were able to get into our small apartment. After settling in and a short nap, we started to roam the narrow streets and seaside pathways watching the sun set over the Mediterranean. Dinner consisted of a delicious pesto pizza from a small pizzeria and milk and cookies from the local grocer, along with a Ballando Con Le Stella (Dancing With The Stars, Italian Style!) and some card games.

The next day began a little later than planned, but we enjoyed breakfast at the hotel and then went to the tourist information center. They gave us train times and tickets for the next journey, then we set off to explore the park. Cinque Terre is actually a national park and protected environment both on shore and off, home to species unique to the area. The five towns are connected by a long set of hiking trail and walking paths. Between Manarola and the next town Riomaggiore there is a short walking path and Via Del Amore, a walk full of graffiti of lovers names and locks hanging from trees and wires representing their eternal bond. It also has several gates and small, dangerous stairways leading hundreds of feet down to slippery rocks constantly bombarded by waves. So of course we went down there! That was the coolest part of the day, laying on the rocks in the harbor with our feet in the sea listening to the waves.

We left late that afternoon and headed for Pisa, it was our intermittant stop between Cinque Terre and our next destination, Firenze (Florence, but I don’t know why we call it that. So I just call it by its real name. Anyways). We ran across town towards the Piazza del Duomo, the location of the Cathedral and the famous leaning Tower. We took the obligatory “hold the tower up with your finger!” picture, then laughed as we realized that nearly everyone in the square is doing the same. Then another run across town back to the train station and a very nice, comfortable ride on a cross-country train to the next destination on our whirlwind tour: Firenze.

Lake Como

Here is the video. Enjoy the beautiful scenery and peaceful ambiance. I know I sure did.

A Letter To My Readers.

Dear Readers,

It is with sincerest regret and humblest apologies that I come before you today. I would like to apologize for my lack of attention to your needs. I know that each and every one of you, good readers, is waiting, nay, hoping to see my next entry into this weblog of my journeys. Never fear, the journeys continue. But alas, dear reader, so do my classes. And with those classes comes responsibilities. And those responsibilities take time. Precious time, dear reader, that is taken away from my total focus on you. So while the world spins on, this blog remains at a stand-still; poised at a single moment in time somewhere in Italy. Believe me, if I could do the same, I would.

But there is hope. On Monday, an enourmous assignment is due. In fact, it has taken all my will power to ignore it and write you, my most esteemed reader, instead. After that day, there is a sort of light; not the light you see at the end of a tunnel. No, this light is like the light of a morning of a night that has been foggy and moonless, and the sun rises on the world in misty shroud, so that you can just make out the shapes of things in the distance. This Monday is such a day. The sun shall not burst forth in full and glorious light until after finals, which is unfortunately the day before we leave this magical place. However, I am resolved no longer to linger, charmed away from you, dearest reader, by the wise beguiles of homework. Therefore it is my pledge to bring you not one, not two, but several blog posts by the end of next week. Heck, I may even get adventurous and post a few pictures.

Dear reader, I would like you to know that I have not been completely oblivious to you, but it seems the Universe has other plans. I have two completed videos to upload, but the Internet won’t have it. So keep an eye out for those. And until we meet again, dear reader, I ask you to forgive me and my failings.

Farewell dear reader,

Wyatt.

Italia! Part One.

I hardly know where to begin. So much has gone on in the past two weeks that I have a hard time keeping it all straight in my head. I was planning on doing a play-by-play of every moment in Italy, but as you can see, the whirlwind of events this month has left my head spinning and my blog-keeping on the back burner. But, dear readers, I have returned, so get ready for a flood of updates about my whirlwind trip around the world.

How do I start? Do I talk about how Allison, Brittany and I, as usual, loaded up at 1:00AM to leave for Stansted Airport? Do I talk about the sleeping in the airport or the mad dash to the gate? Or should I just start when we landed in Bergamo? Bergamo is a city about an hour northwest of Milan. We were planning to spend some time there, but as soon as we landed we were able to catch a bus to our first destination: Lake Como. Have you heard of Lake Como? Ok, remember Ocean’s 12, James Bond, and Star Wars? All of those were filmed on the shores and in the villas of Lake Como. George Clooney has a home there. And we got to go and spend three days there. Lake Como is a long, narrow lake that lies nestled in the Alps near Switzerland. It has been home to people for over 2000 years, and in the modern era the fabulously wealthy have taken to building villas and mansions along its shore. The town of Como lies at one end. We spent most of the first day here, taking in the cathedral, the shopping, the lake, and plenty of gelato. Then we hopped on a bus and rode about an hour along the lake (the prettiest drive I have ever been on) to the small town of Bellagio, that lies on a peninsula where the lake splits into two channels. We had an apartment there for 3 nights complete with kitchen, balcony, and great views.

The next day, we explored our small host town. The square had a small church that was one of the most beautiful I have ever seen. There were plenty of shops and lake-side cafes, walks along the lake and tiny cobblestone streets. The weather was sunny and cool, and the lake was crystal clear and deep blue. (I’ll let you in on a little secret: As inviting as it looks, because of its age, its many years of use and other factors, in 2006 Lake Como was discovered to have 60x the amount of bacteria considered safe for swimming. No one swims in that lake. But there are plenty of boating enthusiasts, and sailing is popular in summer. Just don’t swim.) The locals were all friendly and helpful, and I mumbled a little Italian while they spoke a little broken English and we got by. For dinner, we found a local supermarket and grabbed the ingredients for a traditional Italian dinner: spaghetti and tortellini. Ok, so it wasn’t exactly gourmet, but we were able to enjoy the use of our kitchen. Our first meal out was in a small cafe not long after we arrived in Como. The menu was in Italian, we weren’t used to how Italian trattori (cafe-ish places) worked, and the waiter didn’t speak a word of English. We all just guessed and pointed, and ended up enjoying some pretty tasty pasta. Another thing you’ll learn about Italians. They love their food. Here’s a typical Italian dinner: At about 6PM you start with before-dinner drinks (wine or coffee, usually). Around 8 or so dinner starts with bread and “antipasti” (literally, “before the pasta”!). Then pasta (which was always delicious and usually more than enough food). Then the waiter would bring out a meat dish. Fish is popular nearly everywhere, or beef and potatoes. Then dessert would come. I had some of the best tiramisu I have ever eaten in my entire life in Bellagio. Then coffee. Not together, mind you. The waiter looked at us funny when we wanted expresso with our dessert. Needless to say, most of the time, we were stuffed. Most of our evenings were spent enjoying the sunset behind the mountains, sitting on the terrace and reading, or trying to interpret a Britany Spears movie that had been dubbed in Italian.

The next day, we left our apartment (I left my sunglasses there, all that means is I’m coming back someday to get them) and took a bus back to Como. From Como we took a funiculare (cable car) up the mountain to Brunate, overlooking the lake. This town was high up in the mountains and definitely had more Swiss influence than the lake towns. We followed a hiking trail even further up the mountain to Faro Voltaino, a lighthouse high above the lake built in honor of the guy who gave his name to the volt. We ate a packed lunch up there and came back down to Brunate to catch the funiculare to Como, to catch a train to our next destination: Manarola, Cinque Terre.

P.S. I would like to apologize for the lack of pictures in this post. Credit for taking all pictures goes entirely to Allison, my sister, as my camera disappeared somewhere between Rome and Naples. Sadly, the pictures were lost forever. Expect a video later, though, and plenty of pictures from my photographer sister.

Per l’Italia!

Well, friends. I’m headed to Italy. Unfortunately, I believe that internet access points, let alone blog posts, will be few and far between. I apologize for being way behind in my blogging schedule, but finally the full force of homework has descended upon us. Please be aware that, when I do get back, you will be flooded, nay, overwhelmed with blog posts concerning life in Oxford and life in Italy. I won’t tell you about our plans for Italy, I’ll save those until I get back as well. But I expect to return on the 20th day in March, and fill your computer screens and email inboxes with stories of our adventures.

But until then,

Viva Italia!

Arrivederci, miei amici! Mi ritorna!

Ireland, again.

‘Tis there’s the stone that whoever kisses

He never misses to grow eloquent;

‘Tis he may clamber to a lady’s chamber,

Or become a member of Parliament.

“A noble spouter he’ll sure turn out, or

An out and outer to be let alone;

Don’t try to hinder him, or to bewilder him,

For he is a pilgrim from the Blarney stone.”

—Francis Sylvester Mahony

The morning began a little later than planned. When it finally did, we fell out of bed and stumbled into the kitchen for some toast and coffee. After a little research, we found a bike shop at which we could rent bikes and set out. The guy at the bike shop told us he only rented out bikes in the summer, but as soon as we asked where another shop might be, he was more than willing to “see what he had.” We ended up paying about 15 Euros for the day. A good deal actually. He pointed us in the right direction, and we set off on our newly-acquired bikes. Straight uphill. We kept thinking we had reached the top, but it was another false summit. We finally did reach the top, and the view of the city of Cork below was impressive. But we also found the meaning of that old proverb: What goes up… well, you know. The hill below us looked to have about a 70 degree decline. The village of Blarney looked like one of those model train villages below. We flew down the hill, thinking all too often of the return journey. But we survived, and pulled into the parking lot of Ireland’s #1 tourist attraction, Blarney Castle.

Blarney Castle was built by Cormac MacCarthy in 1446. Standing on a rock rising 20ft out of the river valley, the 7-storey castle is an opposing sight as you walk up to it. Walking in the front door, one can look up to find the Murder Hole, where castle guards used to pour boiling oil on unwelcome guests. The room opens up to the arched ceiling 20ft above, but the floating fireplace in one wall reveals that this was actually two rooms, the floor of the one above now disappeared. The staircases and rooms are tight, as this was by no standard a palace, but rather a fortress that withstood a siege during the Irish Confederate Wars in the 1600s. The remains of a small chapel, bedrooms, a kitchen, and a dining hall can be seen. But the main attraction of Blarney Castle is the famous Blarney Stone. Set into the castle battlements high above the landscape, the stone is said to have been part of the Stone of Scone (or Stone of Destiny), on which every British monarch since William the Conqueror has been crowned. Its real attraction is its alleged possession of magical powers, given to the person who braves the fall and leans over the battlements to kiss the stone. The kisser is said to be given the gift of eloquence, and the word blarney has come to mean flattery or empty praise. One famous kisser was Winston Churchill, and it seemed to work out pretty well for him. We figured we’d give it a shot. To kiss the stone, one must lie on his back, and scoot back until he is hanging out over the battlement floor, then lean his or her back to a 90 degree angle and kiss the stone before being pulled up by the attendant, who obviously was in some big hurry. But we kissed it, and waited for the results. Its been about 2 weeks, and still no change, but we remain hopeful.

Receiving the gift of eloquence made us hungry, so we walked down and spread out our jackets on the grass in the sun next to the castle and ate the picnic lunch we packed that morning. That was the best idea we had the whole trip. The rest of the early afternoon was spent exploring ancient druidic ruins (they are not elves, Justin!) next to the castle. Creepy legends of witches and everlasting fires gave the place an eerie air. Even at high noon, the place was dark and dank. The Wishing Steps are said to grant the visitor whatever he desires, if he walks down and back up the steps with his eyes closed and thought of nothing but his wish. Still waiting on my million dollars. But they put a 1-year rate of return on that, so I’m hopeful.

We had to get the bikes back by 5PM, so we started the long trek back up the hill. It took some walking, I am ashamed to admit. But we made it with about an hour to spare. We decided to take advantage of that hour and ride our bikes through city traffic along the River Lee running through Cork. It was nice watching the sun set while trying to dodge cars and pedestrians. But we finally returned the bikes, walked back to the hostel, and I collapsed in bed. We ate in the hostel, stuff we had picked up from the local grocer, and it gave us a chance to meet Fernando. A Spaniard by birth, Fernando had lived just about everywhere you could imagine. He told us about the article he was translating from Spanish to English about his good friend, the world-record breaking hang-glider. We talked to him for about an hour, then decided we’d like to hear some real Irish music. We found a local place that played Irish music every night. We had to wait for the rugby game to finish (we felt pretty Irish right about then.) While we were waiting for the music to start, who should walk in but Fernando, our friend from the hostel. We enjoyed an evening out with our new friend and traditional Irish music, but as were pretty worn out from the day’s exercise and I, at least, fell right asleep.

Let me sum up our last day in Ireland in as few words as possible: late start, check-out, FREE BREAKFAST (radio station give-aways!) tourist shops, sleeping on park benches, pub food for lunch, 6 NATIONS RUGBY (Ireland beat England 16-20!), bus ride to airport (man I’m glad we didn’t walk). Waiting, delayed flight, thought we might miss the bus to Oxford. But we didn’t. We made it back, safe and sound at about 3:30 AM. We were walking home when Allison realized she had left her phone on the bus, and so we ran back to the bus station, waited 1/2 hour for it to show, only to find out it had gone straight to the depot on the other side of town. Long story short, she got her phone back the next day. But I slept pretty much all the next day.

The trip was a great one. We couldn’t have asked for better weather, a better schedule, or a better group of people to go with. I came back with no regrets. I also came back with a 3ft x 5ft flag of my mother country, now proudly adorning the wall in my room.

*pictures to follow shortly. Sorry for the length of this post. Oi.*

The Cliffs of Moher

The train ride to Cork was about 3 hours long. It seemed a lot longer though, for two reasons. First, it is very hard to sleep in a train, without leaning on the table and cramping your legs, or sleeping on the shoulder of the person next to you. Second, its hard to sleep when, just before pulling out of the station, 20 very loud school-kids and their equally loud parents pile on to the same car. For some reason they liked roaming from one end of the car to the other, bumping into my head or legs every time they walked by. But I won’t complain. We pulled into Cork about 10 PM and, after a little trouble finding the hostel and a 10-minute walk through the rain, we collapsed in our warm beds.

We would have loved to sleep in that morning, but the Universe had other plans. We received a free day-tour to the west coast of Ireland, which unfortunately left at 8AM that morning. But we piled on the bus and headed out anyway. Our first stop was Limerick, Ireland. The third biggest city in Ireland, it was fairly beautiful during the day, but I hear at night the crime rate is so high it has earned the name “Stab City” and extra armed officers have been called in to help deal with the problem. Nice enough in the morning, though. We took a couple of pictures of St. John’s Castle on the river and bought a cup of coffee then headed off.

The next stop, and the original destination of the tour, was the world-famous Cliffs of Moher. If you’ve seen pictures of Ireland, you’ve seen these. Rising 700 ft. out of the Atlantic, the cliffs form about an 8km stretch of the Irish coastline. At several high points along the cliffs, watchtowers were built by landowner Cornelius O’Brien, who later donated the land to the people of Ireland. The weather was clear, allowing us to see miles out to sea, across Galway Bay to the town of Galway, and the rocky Aran Islands. Tourists used to be able to walk the full 8km (about 5 miles) of the cliffs, but that had to be stopped, as several mixed up people had thrown themselves off. Several spots featured advertisements for depression hotlines. We all came to the conclusion that if we decided to end our own life, we would come here too. What a way to go. Some of us did tempt death a little bit, by climbing over the barrier walls and walking out to the edge, with the sea crashing into the rocks about 600ft. below us.

We were sad to leave this majestic sight, but hunger soon got the better of us, and we got back on the bus and rode down into a small town to stop at a little pub and enjoy some delicious seafood chowder and cheesecake. After lunch, we kept driving to another section of coastline, where we stopped to enjoy climbing over the rocks. The sea was not so very far away this time, with only about 20ft. of vertical space between the cold Atlantic and us this time. Still, this video shows the danger to which we were subjected.

That concluded the day tour, and we drove the 2.5 hours back to Cork. A short nap re-energized us, and we headed out to find dinner. After eating at a fairly nice establishment, we found a small local pub with some live blues music and enjoyed a night of conversation and music. We turned in a little early, because we wanted to get an early start the next day.

Dublin

It’s a beautiful day…

Don’t let it get away.

– U2, Dublin, Ireland.

The trip began promptly at 12:30. Becca, Allison, Justin, Grant, Sydney, and I set out from Canterbury Road. After a quick stop at Ali’s Kebabs we walked down to the High Street bus stop to catch the 1:04 to London Stansted Airport. After attempting to doze off on the bus as it sped around corners and baked us alive, we finally pulled up to the airport at 4 AM. Stumbling into the airport, we wandered around until the check-in desk opened, ran into the group headed to Germany, and staggered through security, so we could sleep on the benches in the terminal until our flight left for Dublin around 7.

Dublin

Let me tell you a little bit about RyanAir. Cheap flights they have, convenient flights they don’t. The best way I heard it described is “a flying infomercial.” They advertise over the PA system virtually non-stop, trying to get you to buy their ridiculously overpriced drinks and snacks. They don’t turn the lights off, that way you can stay awake and buy more. They walk down the aisles carrying carts and menus and catalogs, so you have plenty of opportunities to make your purchases. Some fares are as little as £5 (though taxes and fees are usually round about £25). They make their money charging you £30 for bags, £4 for a drink, and £17 for oxygen. I think the life jacket under your seat has a coin slot. The best way we found to cope with the bombardment is to shove headphones in our ears, turn the volume way up, and cover our heads with our jackets. It seemed to deter them.

Landing in Dublin, we hopped on a bus to City Centre, where we had booked tickets for a hop-on hop-off tour to the various points of interest around the city. We stopped at Trinity College first. Not very exciting, but obligatory I suppose. Next was the National Archeology Museum of Ireland, complete with mummified remains of pre-Norman bog-dwellers, hair, fingernails and all. Gross. Dublin Castle was next. Originally built during Norman times, only one of four original towers remains. Through the years it was changed and added onto, until a fire in 1673 destroyed most of it. In its place, the English built what could be likened more to a palace than a castle, with the King’s Bedroom, Ladies Drawing Room, and Queen Victoria’s Throne Room.

St. Patrick's Hall, Dublin Castle

It remained the English seat of power until 1922 when Ireland gained its independence, and the monarchy hasn’t been back since. The last person to spend the night in the castle was Margaret Thatcher in 1992. It is still in use today, however, for functions of State.

A trip to Dublin wouldn’t be complete with an obligatory tour of the Guinness Storehouse. In 1759 Arthur Guinness signed a 9,000-year lease for St. James’ Gate Brewery, and Guinness stout was born. The exhibit part is a 7-story building, telling the story of Guinness from raw ingredients to pint. It concludes on the top floor at the Gravity Bar, where visitors can enjoy 360-degree views of the city. That concluded our day in Dublin, as we had to catch a train to Cork at 7 o’clock. I enjoyed Dublin for the time we stayed there, but there really wasn’t much more to do. I was glad we left when we did. The best part of the trip was still to come.