"Blogging isn't journalism, it's graffiti with punctuation."

>velveeta postcards

>the 13 rolls of film i snapped are being developed as we speak. until such time, here are the postcards i amassed in each city:

BUDAPEST (august 4-7)

this is the fishermen’s bastion (halaszbastya) on the pest side of the danube ( that i couldn’t find until the day before i flew to beirut on september 8)

this is the castle palace (budai palota) and the oldest suspension bridge in budapest sitting in front of it that unites the buda and pest sides of the danube. the architect of this bridge proclaimed upon completion of this bridge that he was so confidant it was flawless perfect, that if anyone could find an imperfection, he would throw himself into the danube. one cheeky bugger then pointed to the lion’s that mark the entrances (one of which you see here) and squealed, “the lion’s have no tongues!”

don’t worry, the danube wasn’t too cold for the architect to endure.

VIENNA (august 7-10)

this is franziskanerplatz, which gives you an excellent idea of the kind of sumptuous squares, corners, and cafés that hide all about the city.

this is the hofburg imperial palace which sits in michaelerplatz. this is where i met gizmo, who jumped up on one of the concrete pillars you can see here and kissed my hand in his mozart wig and lederhosen. (i bought this postcard, i suppose, because i just didn’t want to forget . . . )

PARIS (august 11-16)

i couldn’t resist these artsy-fartsy b/w postcards that romanticize paris like barbara cartland romance novel. but when you walk underneath the eiffel tower as i did, you just dont’ give a rat’s ass how mushy you get . . .

i sat along these stones and listened to the notre dame cathedral ring out the feast of the assumption, as la seine quietly slept.

this postcard accurately captures not only the lushness of la seine and notre dame at night, but also the feeling and the beauty of riding the eurail at night when you dream about things you never speak about in the morning.

VENICE (august 16-19)

this is il ponte del sospiri, that our gondolier rowed us under on our way to casanova’s, marco polo’s, and mozart’s italian homes along the grand canal. the water is a glorious green.

this is Teatro la Fenice, or “The Phoenix Theatre,” that, like the phoenix myth, has repeatedly been engulfed by flames only to rise again. i sat on these steps my last day in venice, hoping the doors would open. but they never did. so eavesdropped on an obnoxious spanish family’s conversation that i couldn’t decipher.

NICE (august 20-23)

if you think this postcard has been airbrushed or enhanced via computer, you can wipe your eyes. this is what the french riviera looks like when the sinking sun hits castle hill. i climbed that hill in my flip flops, where i abandoned the touristy-panoramic view of the mediterranean for the jewish and christian cemeteries hidden in the trees.

the water off la bord du mer that you hope saturates your skin.

le cours saleya in vieux nice that awakens your fatigued bones with classic italian architecture, sweet gelato flavours, cheeky french waiters, and rising narrow street mazes.

BARCELONA (august 23-26)

in plaça de sant jaume, the grup de castellers climb upon each other to form record breaking pyramids that topple with the unfortunate shifting of weight, or the slightest breeze from the south.

a typical barcelonian street in the bari gotic (gothic quarter) area. my hostel was located on a street exactly like this.

MADRID (august 26-29)

this is everywhere, and you are dazzled constantly.

i had to get a postcard of the don quixote and sancho panza monument that my “hom” boyfriend johnathon and i climbed in the gauze of night. johnathon put his nose to the tail that quixote sits upon and proclaimed, “ugh, it smells like a horses ass!”

some statues are truer to life than needs be.

VALENCIA (august 29-september 1)

parents used to bring their unwanted children here in front of the mercat central, and tell them to focus their attention on the weather vane that adorns the roof. as the children stared and stared, their parents disappeared into the crowds. inside mercat central, they sell everything from paella to live eels.
yessir, i bought green grapes and that’s it.

this is plaça de la verge, where i sat and laughed at the pigeons that shit all over that recling figure in the fountain. the gothic cathedral inside contains the severed arm of st vincent and the supposed “holy grail.”

LISBON (september 2-5)

the ascensor da bica (or the “bica funicular”) that was located directly across the street from my hostel. trams like this from the 1950s lift you to a higher place physically and otherwise. one night, five drunk women danced in front of the funicular station and sang to a guitar-player’s traditional portuguese songs from his 3rd floor balcony. i sat on my balcony and listened with eyes closed.

portugal is a work of art. the blue and yellow tiles colour almost each building façade.

this is an interior shot of the Mosteiro dos Jeronimos. i didn’t go there, i just liked the postcard.

BEIRUT (september 9-12)

this is why i kept finding my way back to place de l’étoile. see that postcard stand? i bought these postcards and an ornate prayer rug from that shop. it was called, oddly enough, “Baghdadi.”

rue maarad in downtown beirut, that houses more deliciously parisian cafés than a war zone feasibly should.

this caption reads, “les temps changent, les pratiques restent les mêmes,” (times change, practices remain the same).
for some reason, i liked that.

i never made it to the small city of rachaya el wadi in the bekkaa valley where my great grandmother was born, but i see it in my dreams.

that’s all for tonight, my munchkins.


2 responses

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    September 14, 2005 at 3:51 AM

  2. Anonymous

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