July 17th-July 28th: Nice, Barcelona, Madrid

My ‘”friend;” Kasey, told me to stop drinking and actually write a post.

Even though it’s Saturday morning in Lisboa, Portugal, I’ll put down the tequila and try to write one out.

I’m depressed.

My list has dwindled:

Dublin

Galway

…

Potomac, Maryland.

There are no pub crawls in Potomac

There are no weird-maybe-this-shouldn’t-be-called-a-museum museums in Potomac

There are no topless beaches in Potomac.

Except when I tan on the front lawn.

So.

I think we left off at Switzerland.

Next I went to Nice and it was Nice.

ROFL!

But for real.

I wasn’t there for long-but I managed to squeeze in a scuba diving session.

? Do you have a scuba license?

No! But you do not need one in Nice.

That’s so cool, Gianmarco! How deep did you go??

Pretty deep.

C’mon, how deep?

…

Gianmarco?

6 Meters.

Oh…

And the guy held onto me the entire time

That’s romantic

Yes.

So that’s pretty much all I did in Nice. I got back and people were watching movies so I vedjed out with Borat, The Rock, and The South Park Movie. I’m so cool.

Next: Barcelona.

Wonderful.

There isn’t much comedic material because it was really nice.

Apparently, Spain has more bars than EVERYWHERE ELSE in EUROPE

Nice.

No! Not Nice! Barcelona!

ROFL!

The first bar I went to was called Wallstreet.

It is a shot bar where you the prices of the shots change depending on how much they are being ordered. Then, every hour, the stock market ‘crashes’ and everything is cheaper (by 10 cents…)!

I have never understood how the stock market works but this place cleared things up for me.

When I woke up at 1PM the next day, I went on a walking tour of Gaudi’s buildings.

Gaudi is a magical, mystical, megalomaniacal (he’s not megalomaniacal, I just like alliteration) architect who designed the most beautiful buildings I’ve ever seen. 

His cathedral, which is still not done (it’s been over 150 years…) is the most beautiful man-made thing I’ve seen in Europe. Please google him now. Okay…I’ll post my first picture: NOT

(Borat.)

(BTW, next post is going to be my top-ten posts.)

The second, and last, Barcelona bar was called (and still is called) Chupitos.

This is where dreams are made. And then you throw them up.

There is a board upon entering that lists 100 different shots.

The memorable ones were:

Boy Scout: The bartender lights the bar on fire, you roast a marshmallow over it, dip it in the shot, eat it, take shot. Just like my days in the boy scouts until they found out I liked musicals and kicked me out.

Harry Potter: The bartender lights a shot on fire…then plays with the fire…then you drink the shot.

I’d go on-but basically every shot involves fire in a stressful way.

You are so stressed that you need a shot, which is convenient as you are in a shot bar.

Genius.

Except for one. The Monica Lewinsky.

This mysterious drink required a 5 euro payment before you got it. 

A stranger told me “Dude. Don’t do it.”

Little did he know that I had recently sky-doven and thus was fearless.

The bartender blindfolded me. Then he placed a helmet on my head.

He shook my hand-told me my name was now Monica and he was Bill.

I was to keep my hand on the bar at all times.

I won’t go into the details of what he proceeded to do with the beer bottle covered by a whip cream laden plastic penis…but there are pictures somewhere.

When I woke up at 3 pm the next day, I went to the beach, drank sangrias, got a massage on the beach. That’s when it hit me: FUCK! I DON’T WANT TO GO BACK!

I found a pull-up station on the beach, did 3 pull-ups, needed to sleep.

Next was Madrid.

This post is rambling so I’ll sum it up fast:

Saw a bullfight.

If I go to hell for any reason-it will be because I watched this. The hottest places in hell…

Basically the bull comes out, a man on a horse stabs him with a spear, more men come out and stab him with hooks that stick into his body, a guy with a red cloth fucks with it a little, the bull falls down, they stab the bull until it dies. Rinse and repeat 6 times.

And people applaud!

(fun fact: Bulls are vegetarians.)

The only + is that the meat is given to homeless people, which in Spain right now is a lot. Unemployment rate under 30? 50%.

Don’t’ quote me on that.

I did 2 tapas tours.

I could not find horse anywhere. That’s why I came to Europe in the firt place! To consume a horse. Fail.

I settled on pigs’ ears, a lamb’s stomach, and razor back clams. And Sangria.

Notice that I capitalize Sangria.

I saw a flamenco show.

If I could go back and start over-I would want to be a dancer.

The show, as someone I knew once said about Ryan Gosling, “Dripped Sex”

They were sweating like crazy so dripped it is very apropos. Vocab word.

Last night in Madrid. I had an early flight to Lisboa the next morning. I was going to be in bed by 10. I brushed my teeth, read 3 pages of Anna Karinininina, went back to my room.

In my 14 bed room was a group of 13 just-moved-in, drunk-off-their-asses 20-something-ers from England going to a week-long-techno-concert the next morning.

Dam. It.

I tried to ignore it. This is why I practice meditation right?

That’s when one of them threw a shampoo bottle at my head.

I slept in the lobby. A solid 30 minutes.

I went back to the room to get my things. They were all asleep, undoubtedly hungover.

I had a brilliant revenge plan.

One of them left their phone on the floor. I would set an alarm on their phone, full volume, for five minutes after I left the room. I would then put the phone into my locker (in the room), lock the locker, return that key to the front desk…and just wait.

Then, one of them woke up and wished me a safe flight.

DAMN CONSCIENCE.

Now I’m in Lisbon, which I will write about next time.

Send me love. I’ll be in NYC soon. To celebrate my 2^nd 23^rd Birthday.

Thank you for reading.

:*

GM

 Gaudi (I did it!)

July 12th-July 17th: Interlaken, Nice

Sweet, sweet Interlaken

I have never spent so much in four days but it was worth every penny…I mean Euro. Wait…I mean Swiss Francs.

So here’s the deal with Interlaken.

It’s not really a place.

It’s a beautiful area where very few people actually live.

It generally consists of upscale fast food restaurants, hotels, cowshit, and EXCURSIONS!

I don’t know if excursions is the right word but it sounds sexy and exotic so go with me.

The second I got there I was overwhelmed with all the things you could sign up for:

White Water Rafting

Canyoning

Ropes Course

Bungee Jumping

Paragliding

Skydiving

Walking on Hot Coals While Holding Weights While People Throw Rocks At Your Crotch

All excursions were generally crazy, terrifying, and not what were evolved to do in any way, shape or form. (just accept my last point, I know it makes no sense)

Now if you ask anyone from my lower/middle school (NORWOOD!) who did overnight field trips with me, I was pretty badass. Back then, when my peers referred to “Extreme Sports”, they would call them “Gianmarco’s Typical Recess Activities”

LOL!

…

…

For real though. I’ve always been generally cowardly when it has come to anything involving my body, which is another way of saying everything.

But I look back fondly on those Middle School trips where I went into a cave (and cried because I felt claustrophobic), went white water rafting (and cried because the instructor called me “incredibly lazy”), and zip lined (where I cried…you get the idea)

Despite the tears, they were all incredible experiences and created for a special, desperate bonding with my otherwise hostile classmates.

(For some reason, as people get older, gradually loathing each other more and more, these intense group activities are abandoned…)

So I wanted to push myself. I’m nearing the end of my trip and if I’m not going to get cast in Downton Abbey, I would like to have a nice little cap to my travels.

So I pushed myself.

I signed up for Paragliding and Intermediate Canyoning.

Paragliding was glorious.

It was the least frightening and thus a good way to start.

Basically, the parachute picks you up before you leap off the cliff.

You are sitting very comfortably and it eventually feels like sitting in an airplane without the whole airplane part. Aside from the dread you feel before departure, it is a peaceful experience.

Canyoning-not so peaceful.

First, I repelled 50 Meters (I think…it might be km, cm, or liters)…

That’s basically strapping yourself to a rope, standing on the edge of a cliff…and then leaning backward.

Overall, including my last excursion, this was one of the scariest things I did.

After that there were a series of leaping into freezing water that left you speechless.

An improvised zipline where you had to let go at the right time…or you would fall into a pit of rocks.

And finally a series of oddly perfect slides made of rock.

It was glorious.

Fortunately and Unfortunately, I went with a group of 13-year-old boyscouts so I had to man-up (or woman-up or ze-up, whatever)

I finished tear free.

So I got back to the Hostel and I said

Fuck it, I’m such a badass, I’m going to sign up for sky diving tomorrow.

If I wimp out-too fucking bad, Gianmarco, you already signed up.

So I did.

About an hour later I was a mess. A disastrous, disgusting, dreary mess.

(Uh-Lit-Er-A-Shun!)

What the fuck was I thinking? I watched videos online and it looked crazy.

I looked up the death rate for skydiving in general and in Switzerland (There was 1 in 2011)

I googled “Is it safe to skydive” on several occasions generally getting the same reply

“Uh…no. You are jumping out of a plane dumbass. But it’s no more dangerous than driving!”

I KNOW! THAT’S WHY I DON’T DRIVE!

I decided to put on my FCBK status that I was going to go skydiving. Nothing motivates me more than extremely general peer pressure. I asked all the people in the hostel, “Should I go?? Did you like it?!”

I didn’t tell them I had already paid for it.

Everyone said yes, of course.

Good. On one hand I had my life and the other approval from strangers. I would have to go.

Then I watched another skydiving video.

Nope. I can’t do this.

It didn’t matter that I went canyoning and paragliding. There is no ‘building up’ to sky diving.

YOU ARE JUMPING OUT OF A PLANE.

But I have to go! To be a better Actor!

Yeah, and if you die how are you going to be on Downton Abbey? Or season 6 of the Wire? Hm?

Poor Leah got the brunt of this indecisive nightmare.

In our two-hour Skype session we went through this general cycle:

Leah: You don’t have to go.

Gianmarco: What! How can you say that-I have to go.

Leah: Okay. You’re right. Go. You’re going to love it.

Gianmarco: HOW DARE YOU PUT THAT PRESSURE ON ME! THIS IS MY LIFE WE’RE TALKING ABOUT!

Leah: It’s really okay if you don’t go, Gianmarco.

Gianmarco: You are really something. I want to do this. I need encouragement not this absurd babying…

Leah: I don’t know what to say.

Gianmarco: Fine, just don’t care. Whatever.

Leah: Just do it!

Gianmarco: DO YOU EVEN CARE IF I DIE!?!

(reapeat ad infinitum)

I ultimately decided I wasn’t going to go.

I called my Dad and apologized (he was footing the bill…for this whole trip <3) for wasting his money. He was very kind and forgiving.

I was going to try to get someone to take my place.

I even found an American girl who said she would use my ticket the next day. She would see what she could afford and give me some of the money back, I’d replace my name with hers on the ticket (that’s allowed somehow) and it wouldn’t be a complete bust.

That night I couldn’t sleep.

I had somehow transferred all the ‘pressure to make the most of this trip’ and ‘every existential crisis I have had since watching Final Destination in the 7^th grade’ onto this one event.

I woke up at 7 the next morning. I had til 1150 to decide.

Another Skype session with Leah

(seriously, if you’re in the LA area, take her out to dinner or something)

Basically the exact same thing.

I wasn’t going to go and that didn’t make me any less of a man.

And then they came.

And I was like, gross, clean that mess up!

LOL!

But really. The bus came for the skydiving.

I went.

Oh My God.

I tried to force my mind into some kind of careless, semi-suicidal place. I didn’t see any other way I was going to get through this. I listened to Coldplay’s “Death and All His Friends” Full Volume 3 times in a row.

I knew once I got on that bus that I would have to do this thing. 

Fortunately, the skydiving people weren’t having any of my bullshit.

On the contrary, they made a series of ‘you’re going to die very shortly’ jokes, which have never been my cup of tea.

The guy who I was tandem jumping with, Dave, had been on about 7,500 jumps in his lifetime and looked and acted exactly like the lead from “The Transporter”.

We boarded the plane. This was truly the most frightening 10-minutes of my life. This plane was tiny, crammed with about 9 people and a good chunk of it was a plastic sheet that could be raised once we were in the sky.

We got up to a nauseating height. Dave told me we were 1,000 Meters high.

Oh, that’s nice. How high are we going?

10,000 meters.

…

Dave began to strap me in. I was going first. The crew started calling me “The Crash-Test Dummy”. I could no longer think. 

I asked Dave if he had any children. A girlfriend, perhaps?

He responded, “No…no one really. I have nothing to live for…and I’ve been feeling a little bit depressed recently. Thinking of ending it all”

At this point, this high in the sky, with no turning back (you can’t change your mind once in the plane. There is not enough space for others to maneuver around you), I began to go crazy in a wonderful way. I took Kierkeggard’s “Somersault of Faith”, at least for this moment. I was certain I would be fine.

They opened the door. The cold air rushed in.

“Shit, it’s starting to rain,” someone said.

“Is that bad?” I replied.

“Yup,” someone said.

“Wooo!” I exclaimed. I was no longer I.

I scooted to the edge. My legs hanging over the edge, my body tightly strapped to Dave’s, and with my head arched backwards as much as possible.

I was very lucky because the plane, upon my departure, was inside of a giant cloud.

Looking out, I could see nothing but white, voluminous cloud. A beautiful, billowing sea of pure white fluff.

If modern science hadn’t violently extricated the traditional view of heaven out of my poor little heart, this was what I would have thought heaven looked like.

It was heaven.

It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.

We rocked forward, rocked back, and went out.

I free-fell for 50 seconds. About 2,000 Meters.

People say that Interlaken is the number one place to skydive because the Alps are so gorgeous.

I don’t remember seeing anything.

Just:

WOOOO! HOLY SHIT! AHAHHHH! WHAT THE FUCK AM I DOING! WWWOOOO!

While at the same time trying to breathe, which was exceedingly difficult.

Because it was raining I got the rare opportunity of doing the opposite of “Raindrops Are Falling On My Head”.

(I was falling on the raindrops.

(in case you couldn’t figure that one out))

After that, Dave pulled the parachute and slowly glided down the remaining 8,000 Meters. I couldn’t have been happier.

If there were any tears this time, they were tears of joy. Or raindrops.

So yeah.

I fucking did it.

Thinking about it, I’m just as frightened as I was before.

I don’t know if those fears will ever go away (maybe they shouldn’t) but by occasionally conquering them I will build a body of evidence against them so they are slightly in my control.

I would totally go sky diving again.

So yeah^2.

Anything else that happened in Interlaken pales in comparison so I’ll close on that.

Except…

Later that day I went to the train station to book my ticket to Nice, France.

I was told it was high season and there was nothing available. Nothing. Like. At all.

Well, there was but it was a 10-hour multi-switching route that I had to book immediately. No choice.

I better book my other tickets now!

I tried to book my ticket to Barcelona, Madrid, Granada, and Lisbon.

Nuh. Thing. Nothing. Nothing. Not a single thing. No night trains, no 6AM trains. Nothing.

So I’m probably gonna skip Granada. I bought some plane tickets. Life’s a bitch.

BUT I WENT SKYDIVING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!      

Now I’m in Nice.

Just watched Vicki Christina Barcelona.

I have some ridiculous expectations for Barcelona now.

Wish me luck,

Thank you for reading,

I don’t even care if you care because for one of the few times in my life, I’m proud of myself!

Love,

Gianmarco 

(I'm going scuba diving in Nice today)

(I finally got a new bag. The old one was making me look like Richard III)

(LOL!)

(Anna Karinininina is wonderful)

July 4th-July 12th: Paris, Zurich, Interlakken/Interlaken

WANTED: APPROXIMATELY 11 SOCKS

SUSPECTS ARE WHITE…SORT OF AND HAVE HOLES WHERE THE BIG TOE WOULD GO

AWARD: MY TEMPORARY GRATITUDE

Seriously…where did my socks go?

Okay. It’s been a while once again.

This time I have a good reason.

I was EXTREMELY sick.

It had to happen at some point-like throwing up in public-it is a milestone.

Sickness usually gets a bad name but it has a nice way of simplifying things.

While traveling my mind is frequently racing:

Where the hell am I? Am I going out enough? Am I seeing enough sites? Is there a God? Should I really be traveling at all? I’m about to be 24! One foot in the grave! Am I gaining weight? Why did I major in Musical Theater? Is it spelled Theater or Theatre? Etc. etc.

When sick, at least the kind of sick I was, all these woeful musings become one simple objective:

Don’t. Shit. Your. Pants.

For two days I could barely move.

I wasn’t even able to do my day trip to Luxembourg. WHICH WAS WHY I CAME TO EUROPE IN THE FIRST PLACE!

Why did I get sick?

Well, to point to one cause would be oversimplifying it.

The top 2 are:

1. I ate French fries three times in one day in Belgium

2. I went to a pubcrawl Friday night in Paris…and then Saturday night…and then stood in the rain for an hour trying to hail a cab (because the subways close)

I was fortunate, however, that my illness started in the most convenient place possible.

ON THE TOP FLOOR OF THE FUCKING EIFFEL TOWER.

Enough of that.

Paris was, initially, lovely.

The best experience truly was the croissants. People exaggerate a lot of things (like the Leaning Tower of Piza. It should be the Slightly Slanted Tower of Piza) but French croissants are out of this world.

I went to Versailles, which was absurdly gorgeous and equally absurd in general.

Went to Café Deux Maggots (that’s the name…) where my grandparents used to have coffee when they visited Paris. I ordered what I thought was a cup of hot chocolate…but I think I just got a giant cup of melted chocolate.

Didn’t do Moulin Rouge because the signs said you had to be dressed up and I am not going through that again (see Milan)

Lots of stuff…and then sickness struck and I remained in a reclining or sitting position for 48 hours.

THEN. I decided to I would have to take a day off Zurich. There was no way I could travel with my nearly imploded bag but the hostel was booked.

I went Super Saiyan.

Didn’t eat for 6 hours.

Went for it.

Made it!

Hostel Room was on the 5^th floor.

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.

15 minutes later.

Alternated between reclining and sitting for 24 hours.

Only yesterday was I able to move enough to check out one museum in Zurich.

(And it was good! There is one exhibit where a tongue pops of the wall when you walk by)

I went to one restaurant and I had this exchange towards the end of the meal.

Me: Oh, could I just have a glass of water before I go?

Attractive Waitress: Bottled or tap?

Me: Oh, just tap.

AW: Large or small?

Me: Oh, whatever. Wait. Why?

AW: They’re different prices.

Me: Oh, no. Just the tap water please.

AW: Yes. What size?

Me: The tap water…costs money?

AW: Yes. Sorry.

Me: …small then.

AW: Okay it’s just like a 1/8 liter glass.

Me: …FFFFUUUUU-

And then I blacked out.

I woke up to the most expensive, smallest, iceless glass of water I’ve ever drunk/drank/bibo/bibare/bibavi            (LATIN!)

Apparently Zurich is home of THE MOST EXPENSIVE STREET IN THE WORLD. And I was on it.

Now I’m in Interlakken. I’d say I’m one day away from full recovery. I’ve signed up for paragliding tomorrow and canyoning the day after.

I added a day here and took a day off Toulous because this place seems like the bombdotcomslashawesome.

I’m not going to do sky diving because…I’m a loser.

So then Toulous for two nights

Barcelona

Madrid

Granada

Lisbon

Dublin

Galway.

That list is a lot shorter than it used to be.

I’m okay though. I can’t wait to get back to work.

Grace and I are going to publish a book. Robb and I are going to take over New York…and I’m gonna be in a buddy cop comedy/drama with Daniel Day Lewis.

:(@)-,

I don’t know what that face means,

Gianmarco

June 28th-July 4th: Brueges, Caen, Paris Pt.1

This post is incredibly late.

 

 I’ve decided to write a small book of stories on my travels called “Sex, Drugs and Anxiety.” I might use a pseudonym, however, as they are all wildly embarrassing.

Only you, loyal readers, will know that it’s me!

Fun Fact: I have several pseudonyms and nothing technically published persay-

Unless you count an alarmingly large amount of FedEx-Kinkos print outs.

So I don’t remember much after Amsterdam…

I went to Rotterdam for two days (with a one day visit to the Hague)

I met these very charming Canadian Philosophers and envied that they got to introduce themselves as, “Oh, I’m a Philosopher”. That technically translates to “I’m a lover of wisdom”.

One day…

I listened intently to them after learning that “I don’t like Daniel Dennett” doesn’t suffice as a logical argument.

Though! Socrates said (paraphrase) that he was wise because he knew that he didn’t know.

So…I’m pretty much as smart as Socrates.

I went to the International court something or other of Peace in The Hague, which, despite my inability to remember the exact name, was inspiring.

I saw satisfactory modern art museum in Rotterdam (I think I’ve fallen for Modern Art a little bit…), which made me miss the days that I practiced drawing.

If I had stuck to it, by now I would be a Master at drawing cartoon dogs and Dragon Ball Z characters.

After Rotterdam came Bruges, Belgium.

For those of you who have seen “In Bruges”, you may remember that Collin Ferrel’s character describes Bruges as such:

 “If I grew up on a farm and was retarded, Bruges would impress me.

                                         But I didn’t so it doesn’t”

I went to the Chocolate Museum (where the Chocolate Obama had melted L)

The French Fry Museum

The Blood of Christ Church

The In Bruges Walking Tour

The Brauhaus Pub Crawl…which ended horrifically. See upcoming novel.

Drank lots of very strong beer (10-11%!)

After Bruges I went to Caen, France.

Caen is a true traveling stop.

It took about 7 trains to get here and the hostel is a hostel-hostel (a smelly sheetless bed in the middle of nowhere).

Despite the fact the only words I can say in French are “Cheese, fish, candy,” and, “I’m sleepy” I made it to the World War II Museum/Memorial, which is the biggest IN ALL OF EUROPE!

And I think it’s truly the largest museum I’ve visited thus far. I kept meaning to leave, getting lost and wind up in another two-hour exhibit.

Total time there? 6 HOURS

(Europe has forced me to become a lover of beer, football and history.

Oh…Italy got crushed in the Eurocup. (0-4))

The next day I went on a bus tour of the Normandy beaches (where America and Co. landed for DDay (Opening Scene of “Saving Private Ryan”)

I met this wonderful family who were going to Paris after the tour. We took the same train and then

THEY TOOK ME OUT TO DINNER

Escargot, Duck cooked like Bacon, Fish, Baked Alaska, Ice Cream, French Onion Soup (or as they say We Onion Soup)

(I realize that I capitalized the food)

It was incredible.

I even got to read my children’s book “Sisyphus and Sam” to an Awesome member of this Awesome family. Awesome.

So Yeah, I’M IN PARIS!

On Tuesday I’m off to Switzerland.

Oh…I cancelled Bordeaux…sorry.

When I learned that Sangria originated in Spain…I decided I had to spend more time there so I added Granada.

I LOVE SANGRIA

…and I got tickets to a bullfight in Madrid.

Shame on me.

So the order is now:

Zurich

Interlakken

Toulous

Barcelona

Madrid

Granada

Lisbon

Dublin

Galway

Now the part you’ve been waiting for

Drumroll.

It’s time for:

WHAT RANDOM INFORMATION IS GIANMARCO DESPERATELY TRYING TO ABSORB TO IMPRESS PEOPLE ON PUBCRAWLS!

Well, I was going to read The Year of the King in tandem with Richard III…

But I finished The Year of the King (an actor’s journal as he prepared to play RIII at the RSC in the UK) and didn’t get through the first act of Richard III…

That Shakespeare be using too many fancy werds. I have to use dictionary.com just to get through the sparknotes.

After Richard III, I will probably begin Anna Karininininina. Pray for me.

Audio books: I’m alternating between Bertrand Russell’s “History of Western Philosophy” and a lecture series called “Great Ideas of Philosophy”. I figure if I listen to the same subject twice, I’m bound to understand at least 5% of it.

Oh, by the way, don’t listen to philosophy while traveling alone.

That shit’ll fuck you up.

I also watched Kubrick’s “Lolita”.

Maybe I should I start talking to people.

Joke Break:

Why did Stevie Wonder get fat?

He couldn’t watch his weight.

The End.

Love/Like/Loathe, (you know who you are)

Gianmarco

Oh, Happy 4th!