Summer’s here. Since I’ve had a bit of free time on my hands, I’ve caught a few movies. (But no, I haven’t seen Wall-E, yet.)

1. Die Fälscher (The Counterfeiters)

Based on a real WW2 event, The Counterfeiters doesn’t draw the same “fantasyland” criticism that fellow Best Foreign Language Film winner The Lives of Others received. But TC’s presentation of the story seemed less compelling to me. While the film is a decent movie, the framing of the story detracts from the dilemmas the characters faced. As a result, what should have been supremely dramatic comes across as if someone held back on the gravitas. The characters were too straightforward; you knew what to expect from each one. And this combined with the framing, it just didn’t have the kick to make it very compelling for me.

2. Roman de Gare

A very strange French film. Starts as a suspense/thriller, movies into mystery, and ends nearly at romance. Still moderately entertaining, but it’s one of the things you should’t think about too much. However, the false flags are somewhat annoying. Yes it gives the movie suspense, but it just feels like the director/writer is lying to you and then throws a happy ending to make you go, “Awww. That’s cute.”

3. Up the Yangtze

Not what I was expecting from a documentary; I walked in thinking about something more clinical or the natural landscape. But the movie weaves together the a few short stories about people affected by the Three Gorges Dam with one main narrative about a poor family trying struggling to find a new place in the landscape transformed by the dam. At times, it’s somewhat painful to watch; how can anyone stay detached to film such a story. Yet, this is probably a story that numbers in the thousands (if not millions) all through China. Well worth a watch even if the scenary actually detracts a bit from the core events. (Or is just a subtle expression of the power of the state to alter lives?)

New camera, nearly 1k photos taken, but only a few highlights:

No, I didn’t do the race this year. But now I understand what a crazy party it can be.

Somehow, the one year anniversary of this blog passed and I barely realized it. (I did have a feeling that I was neglecting something as partied at Bay to Breakers this year.) That’s probably not any surprise for you’all given the five month silence. Well, there a couple of lessons to be learned from looking backward. But rather then delve into that now, let’s get in a fresh entry…

1. Be Kind, Rewind at the Red Vic

I missed this movie when it was released back in late February. As I’m not that crazy about Jack Black movies, I probably just filtered it out. But I left the theater thinking that this one is quite creative and hilarious. Yes, there is a certain formula to it, and it’s arguable whether or not the movie has the Standard Hollywood Happy Ending ™. (For films, dammit! Not the other happy ending.) Yet, the plot turns out to be a really good excuse to string all the different gags together. And definitely points for the execution; I groaned when I first heard the term “Sweded” thinking it was just going to be totally stupid. But I was wrong; Black and the cast got it right. A great fit for the Red Vic, too.

2. Eiji

Even though this place is technically in the Castro, I’m going to call this the old neighborhood as it so close to Tartine and Bi-Rite. I’m so surprised I never headed to this place before. A solid Japanese dining experience with its some distinctive dishes: house special tofu, eggplant with walnut miso. Sashimi was also well executed. Will have to go back.

3. Union Street Festival

Note to self: never forget that Union Street is between Pac Heights and the Marina. A sizeable chunk of the crowd is the post-college version of frat boys and sorority girls. But credits to them for setting up such a good party that four members of San Francisco’s finest paid very close attention to them:

And, it wouldn’t be a SF event without Frank Chu:

But, most phony of the all was the “green theme.” Most booths had nothing. But some’s best efforts included this wonderful sign:

4. Zitune and Tartini

Yes, these place is very far out of the city. (All the way in Los Altos.) Service was a bit inconsistent, but the dishes were pretty solid Moroccan/Mediterranean fare. Portion a bit on the lighter side. I wonder, are these the parents of the Union Street crowd? Will the Union Street crowd move back to suburbia eventually?

Dessert ended up being frozen yogurt in Cupertino. Our first choice was too crowded (though not the Union Street bunch at all), so we ended up at Tartini. Somewhat scary that there was only staff there when we arrived, but that changed quickly enough. First time I’ve done the help yourself model (and pay be the ounce at the end). Flavors were decent, but I don’t know if I’d call it Pinkberry good. But a better choice if you’re looking for a variety of flavors and control of your own topping destiny.

So that’s the weekend at a glance. Let’s see if I can keep this up.

Somewhere there must have been a muppet money shot (or two) there. Who knew of the power of the Long Island Iced Tea? Maybe the furry community can top this… well, only if they can sing while yiffing. But no, I wouldn’t pay to see that, even with 50% off tickets.

Avenue Q. Good show. Very funny and relevant to so many people (hairy furry or not.) But, the seats in the Golden Theater are smaller than economy seats on most airlines. Even the muppets would find the seats small.

But it’s a great feeling to have reached some clarity on racism, closeted homosexuality, the real use of the internet, and… the purpose of life.

This might be a bit out of the theme, but it would be cool if the ended the show with an encore to the tune of “Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger.” I’ll leave it to your imagination as to what the action should be. Ah, so much potential with these little furries.

Though I’ve never lived in this town, it feels good to be back home. Somehow the tourists blocking the sidewalk on Broadway don’t seem that bothersome. Well, maybe not… but it’s still good to be here.

Saw Charlie Wilson’s War last night. Decent film, but it didn’t really get a hold of  me. It’s always tough watching a movie “based on a true story.” When does the story match reality? And when has it been changed to make the story work better?

(Feels wierd to have been in a movie theater for three nights in a row. Saw I am Legend and Enchanted in NL before leaving town. Not my type of movies, but it’s a last chance to hang out with friends.)

Manhattan calls.

With any luck, I will be on a plane to the USA on Monday morning. This will end my extended stay in Europe.

I learned a few things here, but a lot of things still puzzle me.

Little lesson learned #1: Rotterdam is pretty nice with a light dusting of snow. Even with the extremely slippery sidewalks.

Little mystery #1: Why does the church near where I live always starts ringing its bells 45 minutes after the hour? Seems like on the hour or the half hour would be a bit more useful.

Little lesson learned #2: Waiting 30 minutes for a tram in near freezing weather is never fun.

Little mystery #2: Why did all those funny looking birds approach my in the Museum Park?

Little lesson learned #3: The Dyson Airblade hand dryer is the best hand dryer I’ve ever used (thanks to Hotel New York).

Little mystery #3: Why does Melly Shum hate her job?

More to come…

No, this entry isn’t about a trip to the United States. Rather this is about my visit to the land of the $10 beers and $40 for a “standard” meal.

(But before I start explaining myself: sorry for not posting for so long. I’ve been traveling every weekend, for the past six weekends. I do have a ton of material, but almost no time to edit and post my entries. But most of the stuff is written down, so they’ll eventually make their way here.)

So where on Earth does wining and dining cost so much money? Given the pathetic fall of the dollar, it seems it could be anywhere. But we’re talking about Louisiana now… the one in Humlebæk, Denmark, of course.

Getting to Louisiana is a bit of a trek. The train ride out of Copenhagen takes about 40 minutes. Once in the small town of Humelbæk, it’s another 20 minute walk from the train station. Some guides may tell you to take the bus. I wouldn’t recommend it. I didn’t see a single bus walking there or back. Perhaps the bus stops are part of the museum’s outdoor art.

Don’t be confused by the sign right outside the train station. It is true that either way will get you there. (Old school Macintosh owners, now you know were your command key symbol comes from.)

But once you get to Louisiana, it is a bit hard to tell that you’ve arrived. Instead of an imposing structure (like SF MOMA or other museums), the entrance looks it could be any of the neighboring houses.

Even past the ticket booth, the space manages to remain low key. The window hints at immense grounds but the hall way off to the side leaves the incredible artwork contained within all to the imagination.

Nearly all of the exhibits at Louisiana were exciting. But the star of the trip is the Richard Avedon exhibit. Now, I have seen a couple of Avedon photos before. Certainly, they’re excellent. But something about seeing the entire collection at this point really struck me.

Not only was Avedon a incredible photographer, but his subject matter is undoubtedly American. And between the quality of his work and seeing all the familiar faces (and imagery), I was energized. It was reminiscent of my trip to Chicago about three weeks ago. Though I had never been there before, after living in Europe for two plus months, it felt like home. And I felt incredibly good to be home. My simile for this feeling is like saying tadaima (ただいま) when returning to a welcoming home in Japan. (Ironic, I know.)

Back to the exhibit… the most evocative portrait would be the famous Marilyn Monroe photo. No, not the glamorous and flirty ones. This is the one taken after the shoot is done and she’s a bit tired. Some would say she’s just tired, but felt that I saw the real person behind the image. Her (public) life, like her movies, was an act. And seeing the real, momentarily vulnerable person made me believe (for a moment) that I knew her personally – she was a close friend revealing her true feelings and need of support. Immensely beautiful. To paraphrase Lester Bangs: it’s the only true currency we have left in this bankrupt world.

More on Copenhagen (and getting there) later… Photos available to those in the know at the usual site.

So what happens when you’ve seen all there’s to see in Dubrovnik? Well, there’s Split to the North, but just that’s a bigger city version of Dubrovnik. There’s Montenegro to the South. But along the coast, (and also the most accessible part from Dubrovnik) the weather would still be the same. So that only leaves heading over the hills into Bosnia and Herzegovina. Car rental time!

(Yes there is bus service to Mostar. But I haven’t been having too much luck with buses and mountain roads lately. I’d like to keep much lunch and nausea away.)

Now I haven’t driven a car since I’ve been to Europe. As much as I am pro-public transportation, I’ll freely admit that I like have a car still. I miss my car. So the opportunity to rent a vehicle, was almost more exciting than going up to Mostar.

The trusty steed would be a Peugeot something or other. I really have no idea what it is. It’s a smallish 3-door hatchback and the two side doors slide back like they do on a minivan. I don’t know how anyone would sit in the back seat… except for toddlers. Oh, but somehow the it has paddle shifters on the steering console. As my travelling companion described it, “a POS with accessories.”

Renting the car was a fun experience. While the service was excellent, the local car rental company was very curious as to my intended destination. When I mentioned Bosnia, I could see a visible expression of dissatisfaction from the agent. When I told him exactly, which city, the same express reappeared. The person said something to the effect, “Well make sure to park your car where it’s safe. One the right side of the town.” When I inquired which “side” was the “right side”, he said, “the Christian side” in a way as if I had just asked the dumbest question in the world.

(Yes, I was one of those lazy Americans who was too sick of Kosovo conflict to figure it out in detail back in the early 90s. However, this trip gave me the opportunity to read Richard Holbrooke’s To End a War. I can’t say I’m an expert now, but I sort of understand the players right now.)

With these formalities and pleasantries complete off I drove up the highway. To start the California comparison (again), it was a lot like driving Highway 1, through the central coast.  Except, the quality of the road wasn’t as good and the drivers in Croatia are insanely aggressive. I lost count as to how many times the car behind me was within a car length even though I was around or a tad above the speed limit. Yes, a gentle reintroduction to the driving world.

Fortunately, the view along the coast was splendid and even as we turned inland, the highway stayed pretty close to a river. Though the gray skies did give the whole day a depressing feel, the natural beauty of the landscape was still there.

But on to the border crossing. This would be the second time I cross a land border. And entering Bosnia isn’t exactly like entering Canada (from the U.S.). The border agent spent quite a bit of time asking me my intentions in Bosnia. Fortunately, he believe the truth that I was a tourist on my way to Mostar.

Once in Bosnia, thing just felt… well… different. I can’t really put my finger on it, but somehow I just got totally different vibe from the place. Though I did find it strange that many of the billboards still had some picture of an old white guy with a Croatian flag next to him. Oh, I for a long time in the country, I would see Croatian flag hanging over the roadway. Needless to say I was quite confused. (After reading Holbrooke’s book the flags made more sense.)

Now the really different vibe came once I entered Mostar’s city limits. There were all these new warehouses along the road; many of the buildings appeared to be new car dealerships. However, the parking lots were totally empty and nobody was around. Getting into town itself, there was almost nobody walking around and relatively few cars. Now, I know some European towns are pretty quiet on a Sunday, but this was eerily quiet.

Yet excitement was around the corner. As soon as I make a left turn I saw a police officer down the street ordering me to stop. Did I violate some traffic rule? Handing him my insurance card and passport, I had no idea what to expect.

But five minutes later, the man comes back with my papers and waves me off. I try to ask for directions, but he just eagerly continues to motion me away so off I go. (If you’re wondering there are no detailed GPS maps of Bosnia. And I did know where to get a paper map either.)

Eventually, I find a parking lot with a tour bus parked in it. Figuring the main attraction would be nearby I parked. After a bit of wandering around, we finally made it the Stari Most area. The bridge, restored to its glory (after the original 450 year old one was destroyed during the war) lay ahead. A quick tour of the area (and a trip to the top of a minaret), showed me pretty much most of the city. Though there was a lot of new construction going on, there were still a few ruined buildings in town.

Yes, it was a short trip. But it was a decent day trip away from the tourist haven of Dubrovnik.

(Though heading out to Mostar wasn’t exactly wandering off the beaten path either. While at the bridge, a group of older Japanese tourist arrived as part of an organized tour.)

Even during stopover at Kravica Waterfalls on the return trip (which is really in the middle of nowhere), an Italian tour group was there to greet us.  So maybe going to Bosnia isn’t so unusual after all. Nonetheless, I enjoyed the car rental getaway. Photos available at the usual website.

Just a few months ago, when a former coworker suggested visiting the Dalmatian coast, my response was WTF? Though nearly ten years have passed since the peace process started for former Yugoslavia, my mind still had all the negative associations of a war torn region (along with the horrors of ethnic cleansing.)

But little did I know how the locals have quickly recovered from the shells that landed in this ancient town. (No its not that old, but from an American perspective, it certainly is rather long lived.) Rival to Venice in past times, the city has a charming old, walled town where every building (and road) is made of stone and topped with a particular reddish tile. The place brought back memories of Old Jerusalem, albeit much smaller and placed on the coast; maybe even the Central Coast of California. Imagine a Hearst Castle built along the sea with a working port and town that needed defense (from elements other than questionable journalism ethics or the unwashed masses).

But in the same way, like Central California, this is a town you visit with your life partner. Though they have for the most part repelled the onslaught of mega-resorts, the old town is dominated by tourists, especially the cruise ship variety. I should have taken a hint of what was coming when I felt like the youngest person on the flight in.

But its October, and the peak season has come to an end. Most of the tourists came months two to three month ago, when the town was truly overrun. I can only imagine that its an adult Disneyland of sorts. Now, while the sun still shines and the water is an absolutely beautiful green and blue hue, the nights are a bit nippy, especially when the wind rolls in. (Did I mention this was a good place with a life partner?)

Perhaps, I’m overstating the situation. There is a young party crowd during the summer that keeps the one club and a couple of bars alive. Even during this trip, I ran into a charming teenage (but adult) British couple taking their camper-van through Europe. So it’s not just for old couples.

Okay, okay. I’ll stop. Because I really did enjoy my solo walk along the town walls. There is something very striking (yet calming) about blue skies, the seas in front of you, and the mountains behind.

(For all the tourism down the main drag, after you turn the corner you see the real residents and their homes. Though most people do live outside now, a decent number of pepole call this place home. In my short time here, I saw a wedding procession march through the narrow streets (with accordion in play) and children practice football with makeshift goals in a small plaza along the ancient walls.)

Also the Fabrege exhibit running right now was a real treat. With over a dozen pieces, the artistry and amazing craftsmanship is clear and consistent. While the eggs are the required fare, I felt some of the other pieces to be even more expressive.

One other powerful place to visit is the War Photo Museum. Run by an retired photojournalist, their current exhibit about the recent Israeli/Lebanon conflict has some very powerful images. Though pictures (fortunately) spare us from most of the gore, viewers cannot miss the intense human impact and emotion. A compelling reminder of the ugly side of politics, but also a heartfelt call for everyone strive for peaceful solutions to the problem.

And here in lies a bit of irony in the town. Though peace has reigned through the town for some time and most things are rebuilt, its clear the wounds have not healed. Our fine hosts cannot let go of the attack on Dubrovnik. Reminders are scattered all around: the memorial hall, a map indicating the damage from the shelling, and some remaining building damage deliberately left unfixed.

Nonetheless a wonderful place to visit especially if you are beach and nature oriented and love the small town feel. For me, I’m ready to go forth and see what else is in the region tomorrow.

(Oh and if you’re looking for my usual food and drink message, well I have yet to encounter food or wine that really strikes me. Though the seafood here is fresh, much of the cuisine has an Italian influence: pasta, pizza, and smoked ham abounds. I can’t sample much wine as most stuff here is serve in the full bottle. Their fruit (cherry) distillation is quite flavorful, but a bit too sweet for me to sip regularly.)

Haircuts. For the most part, guys don’t really think much about this matter. For years, I lived off the $10 haircut from the “local minority owned business” or when to the local Supercuts. (Yeah, their call in service is actually valuable to me.) Just a part of the monthly routine like paying the bills.

But when you’re in a foreign country, it takes a couple more brain cells to consider the matter. Not only do you have find the businesses, do some comparison shopping, but explaining how you like your hair cut isn’t that easy when you don’t speak the local language. Yes, it’s true that most Dutch speak excellent English, but that doesn’t mean there still isn’t the occasional confusion. An the cost of confusion in haircut direction is a bit high. One can end up with a very unflattering appearance for quite some time.

For all this anxiety though, I forgot one of the most basic questions when it comes to patronizing a Dutch business: opening hours. I left my apartment at 4:15pm thinking that I could get a haircut easily. Wow, was I so wrong.

The first place I went to was closed already. Nevermind that I arrived at 4:35pm and sign indicated that they close at 5pm. The second place I went to listed a closing time of 7pm. (A miracle by local standards.) But my 4:45pm arrival didn’t change the fact that the store was also closed already. The last place I tried, was open! But they closed at 5pm and I arrived at 4:55pm. I knew better than to even try at that point.

So I had to wait an extra day for my haircut. And I made sure to leave early for it (noon), to ensure that the business would actually be, well, open for business.

Thankfully, I was much more successful this time. Not only was the barber around, there was no wait, and he immediately used English when speaking with me. (I’m never going to progress beyond “Spreekt u Engels?” at this rate.) The haircut went okay, I delibrately went for something simple. Though nothing stylish, my new haircut isn’t going to be a source of embarrassment either. And how can you argue with a student discount rate?

Now, I need to find the local dry cleaners…