James' Euro Trip 2010 - Part 5

The People That I Met Each Day

I made this trip alone, which is fine by me. I'm pretty good at meting people and striking up a conversation. I don't have any pictures of the following folks. It would have been weird to just meet them, take a picture and leave.

Patrick - I met this guy in Milan. I was in town to watch a Wednesday night champions league match, but I also wanted to watch some matches on TV on Tuesday night. Inter Milan was playing away in Germany so every bar had the match on. I strolled into a bar that looked warm, and it was empty. Patrick from Cameroon was working the bar, and he's a huge Inter fan. He claims to have loved them before Samuel Eto'o (the amazing Cameroonian striker) joined the team, and he said he'll support them forever. He was surprised an American would be so interested in soccer (a common surprise to people who met me) but he enjoyed talking with me. He really, really, really, enjoyed speaking English.

I asked him how he knew English and he told me a tale of moving to Leeds when he was 17 to play soccer. To me,  he looked about 40 now, so his move was many years ago. Patrick explained how he moved around England trying to make it as a professional for about 10 years, before giving up and moving to Italy because he liked pizza. He never wants to go back to Cameroon, and has convinced his two sisters to move to Italy.

Inter Milan eventually lost the meaningless match, and Patrick only charged me for the rum in my rum & coke.

Fritz - In Germany, they have Friday Night Football, which is the equivalent to the NFL's Monday Night Football. On my Friday night in Munich, I went down to my hotel's very nice bar area to watch Hannover take on Stuttgart. About 5 minutes into the match, an elderly man accompanied by his daughter joined me. Fritz was walking slowly with the use of a cane, but he looked sharp and promptly ordered a brandy to be chased by a big glass of Paulaner Bier. His daughter made sure he was comfy, then took off. He was in the leather lounge chair next to mine, and after a near goal by Hannover, he turned to me and said something in German. I slowly told him I spoke English and was from Los Angeles. His eyes lit up.

We immediately bonded over our leg injuries. He had just torn his ACL and Meniscus, an injury I'm very familiar with. His English was good enough that through a combination of basic words and hand gestures, we had a good chat. It turns out he's a 73 year old handball coach for women.  Frtiz was in town to see a concert (probably David Hasselhoff) with his family. We talked soccer and I told him my team is the LA Galaxy. Somehow he understood that as me being a player on the LA Galaxy. I tried to clear that up, but I couldn't get that fact across. Eventually I just let it go.

With about 5 minutes left in the match, his daughter came back down with her husband and son who spoke perfect English. Fritz excitedly told them something in German. I could tell he was talking about me because all of their heads turned to me. The husband said, "oh you play with David Beckham in Los Angeles. How exciting, is he a nice guy?" I looked at Fritz's excited eyes, then back to the husband, and replied, "yes, he's a great teammate."

Mauricio, Fabrizio, and later Marco - My train ride from Milan to Munich, as I've already documented, started off cold and miserable, and ended warm and joyous. Part of the change was the amazing Alpen scenery. Part was the fact that I eventually warmed up from sub-zero temperatures I endured on the Milan train station platform. Part was from my new friends from Milan.

I was stuck in the same cramped cabin on TrenItalia with Mauricio and Fabrizio all the way from Milan to Munich. For the first two hours of the seven hour trip, they spoke to each other, while I tried to get warm. TrenItalia cars have heaters, but crummy ones.  Eventually I did heat up, and slowly I learned that my cabin mates spoke a little English. At first they told me they were two buddies who have worked as fashion designers in Milan for a many years. Later when I revealed that I was from California, they revealed they were gay partners. I suppose if they thought I was from Texas, they would have kept that secret.

They were both in their 50's and took every chance they got to take long weekend trips all around Europe. Suggesting where I should eat and drink in Munich became a serious conversation for them. They bickered back and forth in Italian, asked me questions in English about what I'd like, then they bickered some more. This combined with their Italian hand gesturing amused me greatly.

Half-way into our trip, an Italian man living in Munich named Marco entered our cabin. He looked like Rudi Voeller so I immediately thought he was cool. He was a beer salesman for Franziskaner which made him even cooler. It's actually an easy beer to find in the USA, as any BevMo will have it. I've enjoyed its wheaty taste many times. Marco jumped right into the conversation, increasing the volume of bickering and hand gesturing. Eventually I was given a handwritten list of the best Bavarian establishments to visit.  I promptly lost it in the Munich train station, probably while fumbling my gloves out of my hoodie's pockets. I did remember a few places (Augustiner Haus) and enjoyed them.

This train ride was made most enjoyable thanks to those three gents.

Ernesto - Ernesto cut my hair in Lausanne, and he was very excited that I spoke English and a little Spanish. When I explained to him I was watching soccer games all around Europe, he stopped the haircut to show me pictures on the wall of himself with Bam Bam Zamorano, Didi, and Raul. He cut all their hair when they vacationed in Lausanne.That made me feel good about getting my hair cut there.

He continued cutting my hair some more, and then he stopped so we could have a coffee break. His blonde assistant had the espresso in my hands before I could refuse it. Remember folks, I don't enjoy coffee or any of it's cousins. I held it in my hands for a moment, then swallowed it straight down my throat before it could infect any of my taste buds.

Ernesto started finishing my haircut when he asked which soccer team I like. I told him "my team is the LA Galaxy." Just like Fritz in Munich, he immediately thought I played on the team and asked me if David Beckham was a nice guy. I could have re-explained that I'm not a player, but instead I just told him, "yes." I'm just glad he didn't ask to take my picture for his wall.

P.S, My haircut, head massage, and shave, was 30 Swiss Francs, but I only had 20CHF in my wallet. When I learned Ernesto didn't accept credit cards (which is crazy because a woman's cut started at 100 CHF) I offered to leave my camera to go grab some more cash at the ATM. He said no, and told me 20 CHF was good enough. Nevertheless, I went to an ATM, grabbed some cash and went back to his salon. He absolutely refused to take my money. If you need a haircut in Lausanne, please go to Ernesto.

Seba - This guy was responsible for an uncomfortable series of events in my first night in Lausanne.

As mentioned in my post about food, I found an amazing authentic Swiss place called  Le Raccard. When I walked in at 6:30, they weren't ready for customers, and this man explained in English to come back at 7:30. I came back at 7:45, and this man who was a patron at the bar, turned around and yelled, "you're back." I told him I needed a table for one, which he translated into French for the hostess. He told me I could sit anywhere in the sparsely populated restaurant.

This man had a thick French accent, a ponytail down to his ass, a greasey thin French mustache, and an eyeball that was completely cloudy. His huge pot belly was just about to burst out of his bright red dress shirt. This man was Seba.

He seemed a little too excited to be speaking English and translating for me. As my hostess gave me the menu, he immediately jumped off his barstool to come translate. His funk trespassed into my nose, but he was being nice. Through his help, he told the hostess I wanted the most traditonal Swiss meal on the menu. Fondue was the answer.

Usually if I was alone in a restaurant like that, I'd be on my phone messing around on the internet. Since I didn't have phone service in Europe, I was left to stare around the room and occasionally glance at the TV which was showing the draw for the French League Cup. I noticed that in between sips of wine, and conversation with someone at the bar, Seba kept looking over his shoulder at me. The frequency of this was a little too high for my comfort.

My fondue eventually arrived. It looked and smelled delicious, but I was hesitant on how to start eating it.  Before I could make a fondue faux-paux, Seba was on the scene. With his bare hands, he pulled some bread out of the basket, and tore it into four pieces. He grabbed the fondue fork, stabbed the bread, and twirled it in the delicious melted cheese. Then he awkwardly gave me the "airplane" as he fed it right into my mouth. I stopped thinking about where his hands might have been, and glanced up to see two guys at the bar watching Seba feed me.

I told him I understood fondue, and I could do the rest on my own. Seba watched me do it once by myself, then went back to the bar. I chowed down, and Seba asked me a couple of times if I liked it. When I was finished, Seba came over and asked, "Do you like women or men?" That's quite a question, but in the spirit of politeness I answered, "women." He twitched a little and went back to the bar.

I waited around for a while before the hostess came and cleared my table. Seba came back over and told me he could get me a Thai woman for the night, from a nearby place called Club Number 1. I told him what I really wanted was to watch the Manchester United x Arsenal match on TV. I asked if he could tell me where I could catch that game, and he said he'd take me to a British Pub. He did.

I really didn't want to be around this guy, but he had been so helpful, I couldn't tell him to get lost. We got to the bar, and I started watching the game. I ordered a beer, and didn't say much. Seba disappeared close to half-time, and came back about 15 minutes later with a Thai girl. I immediately started feeling around for my passport, wallet, camera, and phone so I could make a quick exit. They sat down next to me, and Seba tried to earn his commission. I started ignoring what he was telling me, and tried to pay for my beer. European service, even in an empty bar, is very slow. It took an agonizing ten minutes to pay for my crappy Kronenberg.

Seba got that hint that I wasn't interested in him or the woman (who in fact was pretty) and quickly started scribbling on a messy piece of paper he pulled out of his pocket.

If anyone needs an escort in Lausanne, this is the phone number and address.

Generalizations about people in cities I visited

First, I have to say I was treated great on my trip. I can only think of one time I might have encountered rudeness. It was from a Frenchman who was frusterated with my lack of French skills at a cafe where I was merely trying to order some hot chocolate. Maybe Jaque-Pierre was just having a bad day.

Milan - I had never seen a more fashion savvy bunch. Everyone was dressed to kill, even the lowly delivery boys and newstand merchants. This place really is a fashion paradise. The Milanese try very hard to understand your English and usually keep a smile when chatting with you.

Munich - The Average Munchen looks like the average American, but much more slender. They all love to tell you they are sorry for speaking such poor English, when in fact they're very good.

Lausanne - If Milanese are dressed to kill, Lausanners are dressed to impress. It's a wealthy city, and judging by the number of  fur coats, they like to flaunt it. Also, I saw more French poodles in 3 days than I had ever seen in my entire life. There are also a lot of young people here, as Lausanne is a college town.

Genoa - An overly friendly place, dressed down to Earth, but still fashionable. The Genoans seemed very relaxed going about their daily business, whereas the other three towns always seemed to be rushing around. There's also a little bit of grittiness to the city, since it's a port town. In most places I went, everyone was clean shaven. Genoa had more facial hair than the other places I visited.