The Baltic - Day 4 - Homeward Bound

5/26/15, “Homeward Bound”

Helsinki Airport, Finland (HEL)

It is a little past 11 PM in New York, most of the people I know and love back on the East Coast are still awake or have just gone to sleep.  Me?  I am homeward bound.  All good things must come to an end, and, here in an airport smoking lounge at Helsinki Airport, my trip draws to its close.  I have been awake for close to two hours now, since past 4 AM local time.  I did not get to sleep until almost 1 AM.  If I did in fact get three full hours of sleep I would consider myself lucky, the 24-hour daylight still messing with my sleep schedule.  It was 9 PM in New York when I woke up, and I do not know when I will get to sleep again.  Perhaps not again until 9 PM New York time.  I wrote previously about how wonderfully simple traveling eastward is start the trip.  Now, it is time to pay the piper, to do the opposite, to deal with the miserable westward return journey.

I have written on my themes of love and beauty ad nauseam, and there is not much left to be said on the matter.  Okay, that’s a lie.  Ignoring the unprovable/incontrovertible metaphysical topics of god, freedom, and immortality, love and beauty are probably the two deepest topics in philosophy.  There is so much to be said about beauty and aesthetics, and even to describe only my own aesthetical tastes would extend far beyond the space I allocate to this Travelogue.  Both last year and this year, I have dedicated a great deal of space to that topic, and I believe my reader is beginning to understand my stance on these issues, but I will recap.

To me, beauty is simplicity.  Beauty is that which does not distract.  That model of beauty from my high school?  She is extremely simple, and I mean that in a good way.  I see her as the ideal and anything that deviates from that ideal as a distraction, as a lesser form of beauty.  That is why I know with absolute certainty that she will always be the most beautiful woman in the world to me, for the rest of my life.  If I think of the people in my life I find most physically attractive (I am recalling two friends in particular), they have that in common, the simplicity.

Beauty, to me, is a deductive process, not an additive one.  Nothing can add to someone’s physical attraction (other than like personality traits or intelligence, which I find a very attractive quality, even manifesting itself in my interpretation of physical beauty).  I don’t understand when people say that someone has an “exotic beauty.”  To me, that exoticism is a distraction.  I will give a specific example from a little over a year ago.  One of my philosophy friends was describing my now-current philosophy professor, saying she didn’t find her attractive, that she was “Too white” or “Too Katy Perry.”  Granted, I don’t find Katy Perry attractive, there is too much there that distracts.  2002-era Avril Lavigne, yes, of course.  There is nothing there that distracts, just pure cuteness.  Likewise, my philosophy professor, the piercings, the tattoos all over her arms, the odd haircut, there is too much that distracts.  That is her style.  That is what she herself finds attractive, and I would never advocate someone changing herself out of what she perceives others want.  Beauty is subservient to self.  You cannot be beautiful if you are pretending to be someone else, and, yes, this is an Avril Lavigne “Complicated” reference.

Again, to me, the most beautiful people are the ones were are simply and plainly beautiful without even trying.  That girl in high school?  I like to think that she woke up that way every morning.  For all the girls I fancied myself in love with in high school, I never once thought that I loved her.  Yes, this my transitioning to my final discourse on beauty.  I have ten minutes.  I just wrote that beauty is subservient to self.  Likewise love is subservient to self.  (Going to plagiarize Ayn Rand here.)  In order to say “I love you,” you must first learn to say “I.”  Love is a value, and, in order to have values, to love anyone or anything, you need to value yourself.

Every single person in the world I love, I love because they make me happy.  They make me happy because of the decades we have shared together, because of all the times we have hung out, because of fond memories, because of the times they have cured me of depression, because they can brighten the darkest of days with a single text, because they make me smile every time I see their name in my Facebook feed.  Different people in my life fall into different ones of those qualities I just mentioned, but, reader do you see where I’m going?

Love is a selfish thing.  I love these people because they make ME happy, not out of some misguided sense of duty or demand.  To love is to value, and I choose whom I love, just as I choose my values.  This is a very simplistic view of love, and it only addresses rational love.  I have mentioned previously how we also feel irrational love and how it would be irrational to dismiss irrational love.  There is so much more to be said on that topic, and I’m not even sure where to go with it, so I will leave it there.

After I closed last night, I packed and went to sleep, having trouble sleeping with daylight still coming into the room.  I woke up at 4 AM from a text and was unable to get back to sleep, I don’t think, my alarm going off at 4:30 AM.  I hurried to get ready and took the taxi to the airport.  The Duty-Free did not have any cigars, but I got a bottle of Finlandia vodka.  I then got some yoghurt, seltzer, and espresso for breakfast.  After breakfast, I went to the smoking lounge, where I lit up a Montecristo and proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close so that I can head to my gate, as my flight to Oslo is about to board.

Oslo Airport, Norway (OSL)

I don’t have much new to report, certainly no more insights into love or beauty.  It is that word above that starts with an N that is the reason for me writing now.  When I set out to see the world, I had already been to 7 countries (USA, Canada, Mexico, Norway, UK, France, and Greece).  My travels would take me back to all of those countries, except one: Norway.  I have detailed my remaining international travel for the next two years.  I visited USA (obviously), Canada, UK, and France in 2014, and I was in Mexico in March and am going back in September and more times, too.  Greece, I mentioned for Athens and Rhodes.

However, Norway?  No need.  I will eventually go to Norway again.  After all it has seven WHS waiting for me to visit, but there is no pressing need.  I did not expect an Official visit to be part of the trip, not until I booked it and the OSL connection turned out to make the most sense.  I actually considered going into Oslo, getting a quick breakfast, having a cigar, taking a picture at Parliament, and buying a flag pin.  I decided against it.  Instead, I got breakfast at the airport and bought more cigars, unable to smoke any of them without leaving the airport.

After I closed at HEL, I went to my gate, where I slept fitfully on the plane, if at all.  After I was done with my business at the aiport, I had to proceed through EU/Schengen exit procedures, since this flight would take me outside the Schengen Area.  It was the first time I had to show my passport since I arrived at ARN.  The gate for the EWR flight was closed off from the rest of the airport, and I sat on the floor between a cute Norwegian girl on the bench to my left and an outlet above me to the right.  It is a good spot.  I there proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close, as boarding is about to begin.  I guess I’ll sleep until like 9-10 AM New York time and then work for the rest of the flight.  That will leave me rested enough for the day and also allow me to get as much work done as my laptop’s battery will allow if there is outlet at my seat.

Aboard SAS 907, En route OSL-EWR

I suppose there is one topic left to discuss before I close out the trip, one more item of Northern culture to explore: food.  While I have recalled almost every meal I have eaten, I have not gone into detail about my interpretation of the cuisine.  Again, why should there be more similarities between Alaskan and Swedish cuisine than Swedish and French cuisine?  That one is simpler to answer.

Different animals and plants live above the 60^th Parallel than below it, and that is often unaffected by longitude.  The vegetables that can be raised at arctic conditions, the animals that can survive there, and the berries that grow, all of them more similar than different around the North.  Something like game meat, root vegetables, and berry sauce would seem the ideal meal to me, with a berry cobbler for dessert.  It just so happens that that is the speciality of Northern cuisine.  Whether it was venison or reindeer, carrots or onions, lingonberries or blueberries, that was mostly what I ate.  Fish, too, also plays a role, and I prefer the fish that is found in the North to that that is found south of the 60^th Parallel.

Oh, and the coffee and desserts, the experience of fika, is absolutely sublime.  Even the bad coffee there was good.  Excluding coffee that came from a dispenser instead of a pot, I did not have a bad cup of coffee.  There is a coffee shop in Manhattan called Fika.  It is terribly overpriced, but it is the best coffee in the city.  Yes, it’s a Swedish or Finnish place.  Reader, every single cup of brewed coffee that I had my entire trip was just as good as, if not better than, the coffee there.  Perhaps it was the fact that coffee was practically coursing through my veins that I had so much trouble sleeping?  I don’t think so.  I was fine sleeping in Sweden, and I drank plenty of coffee my first day.  Maybe it took a few days for the caffeine to become so permeated in my bloodstream?  Whatever it is, the Swedes and the Finns sure knew how to do coffee right.  Alright, that is all I have to say.

After I closed at OSL, I boarded the plane, and I was pleasantly surprised that the seat I had chosen, in an empty row of four, remained an empty row of four.  In other words, I had four pillows and four seats to myself.  I slept better than I did either night in Helsinki.  I got about four and a half hours of sleep before I realized that I needed to wake up, it being around 11 AM in New York.  I then asked to have my meal brought, it being my usual lunchtime in New York and me having slept through what I guess was lunch service.  They just brought a snack, but I have no appetite, so I’ll probably bring it back to the office with me or eat it on the bus.  I will need to work until at least 6:30 PM tonight, maybe later.  After I had my meal and wrote a couple of proposals, I proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close so that I can get back to work.

New York, New York

My watch, which is still on Stockholm/Oslo time, says it’s past 1:30 AM.  Helsinki is even an hour after that.  It was 9 PM New York time when I got the text that woke me up.  I will probably be up for at least another three or four hours, not getting to sleep until past 11 PM New York time.  I have one last idea to share about love.  There are the people we love because of who they are, and there are people we love because of what they have done for us.  I argue that both types of love are equally valid, and there are people in my life in both categories.  The interesting question that becomes what it would take for me to stop loving them.

If I love someone for who they are, what would it take for me to stop loving them?  Three things.  One, I realize I was wrong about who they were.  Two, I change and become someone else.  Three, they change and become someone else.  This is the Objectivist view of love.  Now, the other view?  Someone does something that benefits me so greatly, that makes my life a little bit better, to the point that I might say, “For that, I will always love you,” could I ever unlove them?  Well, it would take them doing something so cruel, so mean, that it negates the good act that caused them to gain my love.

If you examine family ties, and I think my readers know me enough that I will never say I love a member of my family simply because they are my family.  “Tell grandma you love her” is common thing parents tell their children.  I think my parents know better than to try and tell me that.  Did grandma (being generic here) do anything, other than giving birth to my parent, that causes me to love her?  Is there anything about her that makes me love her?  These are rhetorical questions.  I am not answering them.  I just encourage my readers to dig a little deeper, to try to avoid causeless love, to say, “I love her because of everything she has done for me” or “I love her because of who she is” and to never say, “I can’t explain why I love her.”  That is my final word on this topic.

Anyway, after I closed we soon landed, and I breezed through border control with Global Entry, gladly bypassing the long line.  I took the bus back to the city, working en route.  I had a fairly productive afternoon at the office and then went to the cigar shop right before they closed.  I lit up an Hoyo from the box I bought in Oslo and walked home, where I proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close, along with closing out the trip.  Next stop: Taylor Swift concert in Philadelphia, though if I don’t stay overnight it might not count as a trip.  Otherwise, it’s the big summer trip with my mother, Grand Teton, Yellowstone, and Glacier National Parks to say “Mainland US Complete” and Canada to say “Canadian Prairie Complete.”

The Baltic - Day 3 - Helsinki 1952

5/25/15, “Helsinki 1952”

Helsinki, Finland

From the photo here, it is quite obvious that I can declare the trip a success.  Here I am inside the 1952 Olympic Stadium, and I didn’t even have to sneak in (my ass muscle is still hurting from hopping that fence in Stockholm).  What was going on 63 years ago, in 1952, when the Games of the XV Olympiad were held?  My father was still in high school, getting into the same kind of trouble I got into in grade school.  My mother was not even born yet, her parents having just been married, I think.  The Korean War, was underway, I believe, and Dwight Eisenhower was running against Adali Stevenson with the pledge that he would “go to Korea and end the war.”  It is now 63 years later, Eisenhower is long dead, the war is still not over, and our troops are still stationed there.

However, what does any of this have to do with Helsinki?  The Cold War was in full bloom, and Finland had, I believe resisted the sway of the Soviet Empire, instead remaining independent as the Republic of Finland (Sweden, Denmark, and Norway are kingdoms, are they not?).  It was joked that when someone in Leningrad wanted good Russian food they had to go to Helsinki.  Mayhaps I will go to one of those restaurants for dinner tonight.

I said the definition of success of this trip was going inside both Olympic Stadiums.  I have now been inside both Stadiums.  I will not be back in New York for at least 32 hours, though.  Despite my late start (it is now close to 1 PM), I have plenty of time.  I want to see the fort and then go to Senate Square, that’s it.  I can be done with all of that by 6 PM, easily, get a quick bite, be asleep by 9 PM, and wake up early for my flight.  I’m sure my reader knows that there is zero chance I will be asleep before midnight tonight.  I will enjoy every last minute I have in Finland.

After I closed last night, I managed to upload my entry and photos just before the power went out.  It was still light.  I tried falling asleep, but no dice.  At some point, it must have been half an hour later, I realized that I was not going to fall asleep at all.  There was still too much light coming into the room, and I didn’t want to use the blackout shades, without the electricity I couldn’t use my sleep machines.  However, I slept fine in the plane with light and no sleep machine, why then did I lay in bed for three hours?  Finally, I realized that I needed to get out of bed.  It was 4 AM.  Had I seriously being lying awake for three hours?  It didn’t feel that way.  The electricity soon came back on, and I used the blackout shades, falling asleep quickly, waking up all too soon for breakfast.

I rushed down, had a nice meal but not much of an appetite, and came back upstairs to nap for another hour or so.  I’m still a little groggy.  In all, the Stadium (and everything else) opened at 10 AM, and I will be done here around 1 PM, so I really only lost a couple of hours, but leaving my hotel room past noon just felt wrong on so many levels.  I can now triumphantly walk back to the harbor, getting my souvenirs on the way, and head to the fort.

Right, so I left my hotel, the Tower clearly visible from the sidewalk, and I found the entrance to the Tower.  I asked if I could go inside the Stadium?  He said that I could sit in the stands but not run on the tracks.  Perfect.  “The middle door is open.”  No admission fee?  Apparently, the admission fee was just for the tower.  Maybe I’ll come back later to visit the tower, since they’re open until 8 PM.  I went inside and found a nice place to sit on the wooden benches, probably original from 1952, where I proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close so that I can explore the rest of Helsinki.

Suomenlinna, Finland

In its prime, Suomenlinna, originally known as Sveaborg, was the premiere fortress in the Baltic.  I am sitting on 250 years of history.  Today, it is one of Finland’s most popular summer tourist destinations.  I do not want to write about 250 years of history.  I want to write about a very simple moment that happened on the boat to the island.  “Where are you from?”  It’s such a simple question, one I have been asked dozens, maybe half a hundred times in my travels.  Why then have I never been the one to initiate that question, that simple conversation starter?

I guess my extreme introversion would be the root cause of it, the reason why, it took me a solid ten minutes of constantly reminding myself that I would never see her again and thinking what the worse that could happen was.  It was the same feeling I had at the Tony’s three years ago and in philosophy class three weeks ago.  I am quite pleased that I found the courage those two times in New York, just as I am pleased that I found the courage.  Nothing came out of this, no new best friend from the Tony’s, no potential new girlfriend from philosophy class, nothing other than a tiny little bit of self-improvement, and maybe that’s more important than anything else this trip, except the Olympic Stadiums of course.

I have a theory, and it might be one of my most important theories.  It goes like this: “The more I do things that are hard for me when the results don’t matter, the easier it will be to do them when the results do matter.”  It is such a simple bit of philosophy, and it was a life-changing revelation when I first realized it.  It was what gave me the courage to talk to the cute girl on the boat.  Okay, I suppose my reader would like more details.  “I left the stadium, got on a boat to the island, talked to a cute girl on the boat, and walked to the top of the fortress, where I proceeded to write this entry” makes for a boring entry, but I will need to pause to light up a pipe before I continue.

After I closed, I headed towards the ferry, stopping for ice cream and souvenirs (just a pin and t-shirt) along the way.  The ferry was at a placed called “Market Square,” an apt name with all the food and souvenir vendors there.  I also stopped at the theatre along the way, since Mamma Mia! Is playing tonight, and I am considering seeing it.  The show is in Swedish, but I know the plot well enough that I have no doubt I will be able to follow along.  It’s a little pricey, but it might be worthwhile.  Not for the first time, someone has just taken a picture of me writing my entry, smoking a cigar or a pipe, and I am always happy to oblige.  The Travelling Philosopher needs his image spread across the globe.

Alright, the ferry boat to Suomenlinna.  I sat down, and there a group of three very good looking girls.  They had the Northern look, but they were speaking English with an accent.  The girl on the far right was gorgeous, absolutely stunning.  I did not catch a glimpse of the girl in the middle.  The girl on the far left was, quite simply, adorable, the way she conducted herself more than anything else.  She kept smiling at me.  It took me a solid five minutes to work up the courage to meekly say “Hey,” a greeting she cheerfully returned.  All I had to do was ask her that simple question, the one I have always been asked but never ask.  It took me another five minutes to work up the courage to ask her that.

Reader, the boat ride was only fifteen minutes, and I spent ten of them overcoming my introversion.  “Scotland,” she gladly offered.  Ah, that explained it, the Northern look, the accent, the English-speaking.  I should have guessed.  We chatted until the boat pulled in, and I got off feeling quite triumphant.  When I was in Scotland, the opposite happened.  I could not find my courage to talk to a gorgeous girl at the hotel, one of the most gorgeous (top ten, for sure) girls I had ever seen.  Now, a year later, I have managed to do so.  It could be said that my travels have given me the opportunity to overcome my introversion, knowing that these people I meet are strangers and that I have nothing to lose and everything to gain.

Suomenlinna was not exactly what I expected, but it was not disappointing either.  I got my first fika in Finland, and then I lit up a Partagas for a walk through the fortified city.  The gift shop was disappointing.  I made my way up the hill and took a seat in front of a cannon, where I proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close so that I can finish my Ardor and make my way to the end of the island, where I will catch the boat back to Helsinki.  I can see the Cathedral, the most famous landmark in Helsinki, from where I sit, and that will be my next destination.  After I take my pictures there and buy my souvenirs, I will head back to the hotel, where I will decide how I want to spend my final evening in Helsinki.  On that note, I close.

Helsinki, Finland

The sun is setting over Helsinki, and that means that my time here is coming to an end.  “A moment like this.”  Sometimes one special moment, one unforgettable experience is the difference between a good trip, and a great trip.  I just came back from seeing Mamma Mia! in Swedish.  It was truly a magical experience.  I have been on many great trips and however I choose to rank them, it rarely these magic moments that bring something into the top ten.  It’s trips like my Eurotrip with a 100 little magic moments.  It’s so often the aggregate that matters rather than individual.  To say that I loved every minute of this trip would be a lie, but I have certainly not done anything that I didn’t enjoy.

It was merely 60 hours ago when I got on the boat to Birka, and I have now seen everything I want to see in both Stockholm.  I will do the Fenno-Scandia Complete trip and, when I do, I will not need to set foot within the city limits of Stockholm or Helsinki.  I will do a proper Baltic trip, three nights, Tallinn, Riga, and Vilnius.  Those are future trips, and I am sure I will love each of those trips.  I think the most significant part is that I can effortless rattle off the Olympic Stadiums that are remaining to me: Beijing 2008, Athens 2004, Sydney 2000, Seoul 1988, Rome 1960, Melbourne 1956, plus possibly revisit London 2012 and Antwerp 1920 to set foot inside.  That’s it.

What else do I have left on my agenda outside North America?  Machu Picchu (Peru), Christ the Redeemer and the Harbour of Rio (will have to visit for the 2016 Games anyway), the Great Barrier Reef (same country as Sydney and Melbourne), the Great Wall of China (near Beijing), the Coliseum (in Rome), Rhodes (same country as Athens), Victoria Falls (going for my birthday this year), the Pyramids and Alexandria in Egypt (might go for Thanksgiving this year), and the ruins of Babylon.  It is that last one that will be most difficult due to the current geopolitical situation, but a lot can change in two years.  When I was at Grantley Adams, I outlined what remained to me in North America.  There is slightly more than two years left in my mission, and I am well on track to complete all 17 of my goals.  Enough about this.

After I closed at the Stadium, I headed down to the harbor, picking up just a t-shirt and flag pin along the way.  All the other souvenirs featured the Helsinki Cathedral, and I refused to buy anything with an image of the Cathedral until I had taken a picture of it.  I walked through Market Square right next to the harbor, which had all the food and souvenir vendors.  Again, I hadn’t seen the Cathedral yet, so no point.  Wait, hold on, didn’t I write an entry at Suomenlinna?  Oh right, I spent that entry talking about the cute stranger I chatted up, something that took me 27 years and 52 countries to figure out how to do.

Alright, after I closed at Suomenlinna, I walked to the ferry terminal at the other end of the island from where we had first landed.  I was running low on water and battery in my phone, so I had to limit the number of photos I’d take.  I got off the boat at Market Square, seeing the food and souvenir vendors starting to pack up.  It was not yet 5 PM, but I guess people had boarded the cruise ship, so there was no point for them sticking around.  I walked up to a food vendor that had interesting choices, but I had no appetite.  I had a meager enough breakfast, and all I had had since then was a fika at Suomenlinna.  Where was my appetite?  I then walked towards the cathedral, finally getting my souvenirs, including a replica of the Cathedral.  I took my pictures, and I started to have a bit of an appetite, but the vendors were all packed up.

Then I saw it, a big grill with lots of meat.  I was about to ask for a sampler plate or something, but she seemed to have read my thoughts.  She put a paper plate down and offered, alright, I avoid using specific monetary amounts for a few reasons.  First, I don’t want people to know exactly how much I spend on these trips.  Second, I want these entries to be timeless, and including dollar amounts or other currencies, which fluctuate based on exchange rates and inflation, makes it specific to a certain time.  I hate when I read books and find myself having to constantly convert to modern dollar amounts, so I avoid my future readers having that issue.  However, I will include the quote, and a reference.  She announced, “Big plate of food, five euros.”  That was outrageously cheap, less than half of what I would have expected to play for a much smaller plate, but she just wanted to get rid of the food, so she didn’t have to throw it out.  It was reindeer, venison, and fish, crisped up in various forms.  It was so good, but I couldn’t finish it, not having a full appetite yet.

I headed back to the hotel, needing to charge my phone, lighting up a Heisenberg for the walk.  When I got upstairs, I had a very limited amount of time (only thirty minutes, tops), so I couldn’t get a full charge on my phone.  I lit up an Undercrown, not finishing it and having to let it go out so that I could bring the rest of it with me on the walk to the theatre.  The tickets were actually kind of pricy, especially for the seats, about twice what I might pay for student tickets on Broadway.  I got a piece of cheesecake (either raspberry or lingonberry) before the show.  I knew the show would be in Swedish, but I guess I had expected the songs to be in English.  I was wrong.  I didn’t have much trouble following along, and it was truly a magical experience.

I had my last fika (blueberry cake and coffee) of the trip during the intermission, and the second half was even more magical.  After the show, I walked back to my hotel, arranged everything for the morning, went up to my room, put on the Mamma Mia! movie soundtrack, lit up my Ser Jacopo, and proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close.

The Baltic - Day 2 - Across the Sea

5/24/15, “Across the Sea”

Stockholm Arlanda Airport, Sweden (ARN)

Enjoying a Montecristo in an airport smoking lounge with two gorgeous Swedish girls is definitely the perfect way to end my time in Sweden.  After I finish this entry, I will fly across the Baltic Sea to Helsinki, where I will spend the next day and a half.  Today is a travel day, and travel days are often wasted time.  My flight is not until 3 PM, and yet, I only had enough time for one site, a site that was thirty minutes from my hotel by metro.  I won’t have much time for activities tonight, though my flight lands at 5 PM, five hours before sunset.  The Olympic Stadium closes at 6 PM, but I should be able to visit Parliament and have a night out on the town.

Tomorrow will be a full day in Helsinki, and I can do whatever I want.  My time in Sweden has been rushed, while my time in Finland will be at a more relaxed pace.  I might even have time to take another jaunt across the sea to Estonia if I want, but I don’t think I’ll do that, instead preferring to enjoy Finland.  Fika, saunas, vodka, and, of course, the 1952 Stadium, that’s what Finland means to me.  I will make sure to find time to enjoy all of that, along with visiting the usual sites and getting the usual souvenirs.

I am almost out of Kroner, though I have one banknote that I might spend on a newspaper, saving the coins for souvenirs.  Finland uses the Euro, and the exchange rate right now is amazing, so good in fact that I am considering taking out an extra sum of Euros just to have for when the exchange rate goes up, though I will not be back in the Eurozone until 2016 I do not think (trips to Rome and Athens).  Alright, enough about my economic theories.

I slept in today, and I headed to the sauna.  Fuck, I just realized that I forgot to shower.  Oops.  The sauna has a shower, so I was planning on taking the shower there, but when I went into the sauna, it did not feel hot enough.  Sure enough, the coals were cool to the touch, and the heat source was turned off.  I went up to the room, the shower forgotten, changed back into my pajamas, and headed down for breakfast.  I love the Nordic-style breakfast, the sliced meats and cheeses and, of course, coffee, it’s all so good, they just need to learn how to properly cook bacon.  However, I had no appetite, but I forced myself to eat, knowing I would not have another chance for an Official meal until Helsinki, having decided not to try to get Swedish meatballs for lunch, something I’m sure I’ll eventually regret.

I went back up, got dressed for the day, and went to check out, still groggy.  I headed to the metro, where I saw that the train to Morby Centrum was coming in 2 minutes.  I raced to get the ticket, and head down the stairs, but it was pulling away just as I got to the platform.  Time was a little tight, and the next train was not for ten minutes.  Reader, recall that I was still groggy at this point.  About five minutes later, I heard a train coming in the opposite direction.  I then remembered with a start that I wasn’t taking the Morby Centrum heading, that I was going the opposite direction, back toward Central Station (I can heard my dad recalling his famous Austria story, “Where are you going?”  “Vienna”  “Not on this train, you’re not.”), so I raced across the station, getting to the train just in time.  I then had to transfer to another line.  It took a while to get to the station, but it was worth not having to get fleeced on a taxi ride.

I walked to the WHS, Woodland Garden cemetery, which is noteworthy for its pleasing and novel architectural style.  I took my pictures at the plaques, lit up a Partagas, and made my way to the VC.  I’m not sure about the merits of smoking in a cemetery, but I was really just walking (with my suitcase, forgot to mention I had my suitcase with me) along a road through the cemetery, and I wasn’t exactly ashing on anyone’s grave.  I got to the VC, bought a sparkling water, and made my way back to Central Station, where I caught the express train to the airport.

After I checked in and went through security, I headed to Duty-Free.  Since this is considered a domestic flight (Sweden and Finland both being in the EU), I could not by any of Sweden’s famous vodka, but I did get two 5-packs of cigars.   I asked where the smoking lounge was.  They do not have smoking lounges here, instead having what they had in Vienna, these crammed little smoking cabins, about the size of, how would I describe it, the size of a handicapped restroom stall.  Up to six of us have been in here at one point.  I am the only one smoking a cigar.

Scandinavia is a land of smokers.  They like to drink coffee, and they love to smoke.  Finland is technically not Scandinavia, but I expect the same is true there, too.  There is also one seat here.  I have the one seat.  I am quite happy about that.  Once I was situated, I lit up a Montecristo and proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close so that I can finish my cigar.  Boarding begins in 30 minutes.

Helsinki, Finland

It is lunchtime in New York.  Actually, if I was in New York, I’d be done with my lunch break by now.  My friends and family back home are at the beach or pool or getting ready for barbeques.  They have gone to visit family or else are relaxing with their friends.  What am I doing?  I am smoking a cigar in Helsinki, getting ready to go out to dinner at one of Finland’s premiere restaurants.  Not much has happened today, and this dinner should definitely be the highlight of the day (they have reindeer steak).  I will pass by Parliament along the way, but that’ll just be a photo op.

I have a pocketful of Euros, and I expect my bank account to be almost drained by the time I get back to New York, literally just enough dollars to last me until my next pay check.  It’ll be, I think, yes, three months, before I embark on another trip that will cost me more than meals, cigars, and souvenirs.  I can afford to make a small investment in the weak Euro recovering.  After I closed at Arlanda, I picked up my last fika and a newspaper.  I finished the fika before I got on the airplane, but I haven’t looked at the newspaper yet (it’s in Swedish).  It was a very short flight, only 40 minutes in the air, and I’m not sure if I fell asleep, but I rested my eyes the whole flight.  I realized that, other than at the check-in counter, I did not have to show my passport the entire time in the airport.  I only showed my passport to look up the reservation, and I could have done that at the machine by code.

When we landed in Finland, there were no immigration or customs checks.  In other words, you can fly from Sweden to Finland with no form of ID.  You can’t even fly from New York to Chicago without ID.  I went straight to the ATM, where I retrieved my Euros, got a taxi into town, and that was I finally understood why Finland is more continental Europe than Scandinavia.  It’s hard to explain, maybe it was the road signs, but it felt more like I was in Germany than I was in Sweden.  Granted, the love of coffee, vodka, and saunas is shared between Sweden, Finland, and Russia, but Finland owes more cultural influences to Russia than it does to Sweden, I think.  I don’t think the Vikings were ever in Finland, were they?  Norway, well that’s something else entirely.  My best friend had talked about doing this trip as a 24-7 week-long road trip, literally only stopping to eat, U, and take pictures, hitting every single WHS in Norway, Sweden, and Finland.  In the end, neither of us were able to do the trip that way, and here I am, getting ready for a relaxing stay in Finland.

I got to the hotel, perfectly situated halfway between the Olympic Stadium and Parliament, an easy walk to each.  As soon as I got settled in, I went straight to the sauna, my muscles store sore from climbing the fence at the Stockholm Stadium.  That done, I picked out a restaurant, and headed down to the smoking area outside, where I proceeded to write this entry.  Even though I have a smoking room, this seems a more relaxing place to write my entry.  I am just freaking freezing.  Usually, I’m fighting against time and battery when writing these entries, but I have enough charge to last me over an hour, it is still relatively early, and I have about an hour of cigar left.  The restaurant is about 20-30 minutes away.  I have simply run out of things to say, so I shall close and just write some proposals instead.

It is close to midnight, and the sun has set almost two hours ago, but it is still light outside.  Because we are so far north, the twilight will last for quite some time.  Sunrise is in four hours, so solar midnight is just one hour away.  This is another reason why I so love The North.  Other than Antarctica, nowhere on land in the southern hemisphere has that effect.  Obviously, it was more magical when I was on the ship playing charades at 2 AM when it was as bright as day, but the magic here is not lost, especially with ABBA playing from my phone in the background.  After I closed, I wound up reading Quora instead of working.  I left my cigar outside and went up to put on a little bit extra in terms of layers (socks and shoes, my maroon shirt as a jacket), retrieved the cigar, and started walking towards the restaurant.

I had trouble finding Parliament, which I knew to be under renovation.  It turned out that the whole building was blocked off, but I was able to get a somewhat decent photo before ditching the cigar (Winston Churchill, didn’t mention that earlier) and continuing to the restaurant.  The walk took me through downtown Helsinki and gave me some clarity into what I want to do tomorrow.  I got to the restaurant, and I realized once again there was more in common with Germany than with Sweden.

I got the “Taste of Finland” appetizer, a sampling of four different local specialties, and the reindeer steak, along with a local beer.  The appetizer sampler was delicious, the reindeer even better.  Meanwhile, I was scrolling through Tinder (more on that later) and Facebook.  Of all the people from the Antarctica trip, there is only one whom I absolutely certain I still love.  While we were on the ship, she was like a big sister to me, and she is the one person whose posts make me smile more than anyone else.  She is Moscow right now, and she posted a picture of herself in a killer dress (not revealing, just killer, as in an amazing dress).  I Commented on it, “I think my heart just skipped a few beats [heart eyes emoji],” not exactly the kind of the thing a brother would say to his sister, but not the kind of thing that I would say to someone I had romantic interest in, either.  Alright, more on that later, too.

The waitress then asked if I wanted dessert.  I got some bilberry (not blueberry) concoction, which somehow took half an hour to bring out.  Did they have to go pick the bilberries?  It was Germany all over again, and I’m sure it was intentional, but I just don’t understand why they think I wanted to sit there, scrolling through my phone for half an hour waiting for dessert.  If I was with a date, that would make sense, yes, but to wait half an hour to bring the dessert out for someone sitting alone makes no sense.  Maybe they just don’t have separate policies.  Should I just learn to start asking for my desserts to be brought out right away?  Is that even appropriate?  The dessert was delicious and worth the wait.

I lit up a Cohiba for the walk home, and I saw the evening star.  What did I wish for?  The same thing I have been wishing for since the Clinton administration.  I then sang the first few bars of “When You Wish upon a Star.”  As I was walking back, I found a spot with a better view of Parliament.  I guess I can take my picture there tomorrow.  I also found my souvenir shops, and I saw the Olympic Tower.  I’m going to punt on Estonia, preferring to save it for when I can do a proper Baltic trip (Tallinn, Riga, Vilnius), and I have even more clarity on how I’ll spend tomorrow.

I then started to become concerned that my best friend hadn’t texted me all day.  Did I do something to piss him off?  Maybe there was a Jewish holiday?  Yep, that was the case.  He would be off the grid for three full days, which meant that I need to make sure he had an epic Snapchat reel when the holiday was over.  I put on ABBA and started singing along to "Dancing Queen."  After I sent my Snaps, I wondered with whom I could share this magical experience.  There were plenty of people in my contact list who would have appreciated, but I knew who would appreciate it most.  My former co-worker, the one I’ve come to love like a sister.  I was right, and we texted back and forth quite a bit.  The electricity in the hotel is going out at 1 AM, and I’m not sure if the Wi-Fi will stay on, so this cut into the time significantly, but I didn’t regret the decision, not at all.  We finished texting, and I lit up my Ardor and proceeded to write this entry.

Alright, the love and beauty sections.  I’ll start with beauty, using the Tinder example for a specific reference.  To my readers over 30, Tinder is a dating app that is based on the shallowest of premises.  You see a picture of the girl and swipe left if you’re not attracted, right if you are attracted.  If you both swipe right, it gives you the option to message her.  Returning to my statement that Sweden has the most beautiful women in the world.  Perhaps the metric would be the percentage of women I’d swipe right using Tinder in that country?  I was not surprised that I swiped right far more frequently than I did in New York.  However, here in Helsinki, the percentage was similar to New York.  Granted, this a very shallow and subjective method for testing the theory, but it seemed to hold.  For my further ideas on beauty, I refer my reader to last year’s entries from this time.

Okay, love.  That is so much more complicated.  These girls I have mentioned that I love like sisters, why?  Why do I love them?  I can point to no rational reason.  I love them like sisters, and they make me happy whenever I get a text from them or see their posts on my social media, but that is for irrational reasons.  Two of them I now have rational reasons for loving, the text exchanges we have bringing me great value, but I loved them both long before we had these daily text exchanges.  I am hereby forced to conclude that love can be irrational, despite what Rand might argue, and it would irrational to dismiss to irrational love for one simple reason: we are irrational creatures.  There is no such thing as a purely rational man.  John Galt does not exist.  On that note, I close.

The Baltic - Day 1 - Stockholm 1912

Stockholm 1912 (Or: How I Pulled an Ass Muscle Sneaking into the Olympic Stadium)

5/23/15, “Stockholm 1912”

At sea, MS Victoria, Lake Mälaren, En route Stockholm to Birka

Love and beauty, that was the theme of my 2014 Memorial Day trip, and it seems that it is fast becoming the theme of my 2015 Memorial Day trip.  I am not in love with anyone romantically, and the only people I love in my life are my family and friends, the people who have been there for me decades and the people who can brighten my day with a single text message.  There are some other people of whom I am very fond, people whom I might even say that I love out of that fondness, but the ones I truly and deeply love, it’s the same nine or ten people it was three months ago (five family members, four or five friends).  I don’t need to justify or defend my love for them.  Now, beauty, that’s a more interesting topic.  I have been told that Swedish women are the most beautiful in the world.  That is not an absolute.  It’s more of a percentages thing, but I do not doubt it.  In the three hours since I arrived at the airport, I have seen more more beautiful women than I might see in a week in New York.  I will pause while we dock.

The most beautiful woman I have ever met was in my high school.  I can say with absolute certainty that I could go door to door in every home in Stockholm, and I would not find a more beautiful woman.  Why?  How am I so certain that that girl from my high school is the most beautiful woman in the world?  Let’s look at the numbers of it.  There were about 600 girls in my high school.  There are about 3 billion girls in the world.  The odds of the most beautiful girl in the world being in my high school was literally one in a million.  Alright, beauty is not an absolute.  Narrowing down the age range, we can reduce that 3 billion to about 100 million.  Allowing for theories of Genetic Sexual Attraction, we could even go down to 100 thousand, but it reduces the number at my high school to about 300.  Applying these filters brings the odds to one in three thousand, practically negligible.

What’s the answer to this apparent contradiction?  It presupposes that, at 16 years old, I had an absolute definition of beauty, that somehow she measured up to an absolute standard in a way no one else did.  That is wrong.  It is the other way around.  She informed my very definitions of beauty.  My impressionable 16-year-old self formed a definition of beauty based on her.  That is why I can say, a decade later, with absolute certainty, that I will not find a more beautiful woman in the world.  Granted, there have been other influences, and most of the beautiful women here look nothing like her, but they all have the “northern look” that I mentioned when I traveled to Alaska last summer.  Alright, enough about this for now.

My adventures.  Technically, I haven’t really done anything yet this trip, but I have had quite a series of adventures on my way to my first stop.  It started when I went to board.  There was an error message that said “already boarded.”  Without going into too many details, long story short, they upgraded another passenger to the Plus section (basically the equivalent of domestic Business Class), but they clicked on my name.  They were not able to give me my original seat back.  I was afraid I would be denied boarding.  Well, what happened?  They told the other guy, the guy they originally upgraded he had to take my old seat, and I got the Plus seat.  It was a major boon, and it allowed me to sleep effortlessly en route.  That said, SAS is the worst intercontinental airline I have ever flown.  If you are not in Plus or Business, they charge for a second soft drink.  As it was, I got unlimited free beer and soda (I had one of each).  There were issues with the Wi-Fi, but I just wanted to sleep.  Well, to do that, I needed to get my tray cleared away, but I fell asleep while they were clearing the trays, and I woke up with my tray still there.  Eventually, they came back around.

When we landed, border control was a breeze, just like it always is in the EU.  No forms, barely a line, just a few questions.  Now, what to do?  The Olympic Stadium closes at 8 PM, and it won’t get dark until 10 PM, so I had plenty of time.  The variable was the Viking archaeological site of Birka.  I went to the information desk, and they told me that there was one boat back and forth to Birka.  It left at 9:30 AM and got back at 3 PM.  It was literally perfect timing.  I could then go to Drottningholm, the cemetery, the Stadium, the Royal Palace, and Parliament.  Just like I did a year ago in Tokyo, I took the high speed train to Central Station.  Why doesn’t New York have this?!?  It was the easiest and fastest way to get into town, and it is half the price of a taxi.  I then took a subway to my hotel, and they were able to check me in.

I made my way back to the station and walked to the boat terminal from there.  We were underway before long, and I went down to get my first fika (a coffee and pastry).  After I was done with the pastry, I went up to the deck and asked where I could smoke.  It is chilly and windy, but the smoking chair happens to the one spot that is in the sun and sheltered for the wind, so I can endure.  I lit up my Davidoff Nic Diadema (the Toro having been sold out) and proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close.  We should be at Birka in half an hour, so I will continue from there.

Birka, Sweden

It is abundantly clear where I am right now.  I am in The North.  Despite the 900-year-old churches, the Old Gods still rule here.  It has been clear to me ever since we landed that we are in The North.  The trees at the airport left no doubt of that.  If it were not for the stamp on my passport, I might have thought I was in Scotland, but the Viking ruins here at Birka make it clear that I am in Sweden.  What is it about The North?  What’s the allure?  Why do I constantly travel here?  I wrote about it during the Alaska trip, but the serenity of The North is unmatched.  The trees, the mountains, the long summer days, there is nothing like it in the world.

Now, here at these Viking ruins, it is even more magical.  I can practically hear the theme from Game of Thrones playing, though that might just be me humming it.  There is so much that can be said about The North.  It is not just a geographical location.  It is a way of living.  Why, reader, should Yellowknife, Canada have more in common with Birka, Sweden than it does with Toronto?  Why should Maine be more like Stockholm than it is like Boston?  It is because it is The North.  What is so common across the longitudes that is not found with drops in latitude?  Mayhaps it can be said that culture changes across the longitudes while climate changes across the latitudes.  However, is not most culture based on climate?  On that theory, it should be no surprise to find similar cultures around the world at this latitude, just like the North American tropics have a common culture, whether they are British-, French-, or Spanish-speaking.  I have much and more to say on this topic, but my battery is running low, and I want to save enough power to write at the Stadium.

After I got off the ship, I went straight to the gift shop, finding the Plaque along the way.  I couldn’t decide what to get at the gift shop, knowing I would make a better decision once I had seen the site.  It has been raining on and off, but I am now actually quite warm in the sun.  There was a guided tour of which I wanted no part, so I waited it out.  I lit up a Churchill and went to see the reconstructed houses.  That was when it hit me, the magic of where I was.  Wait, holy fuck, I’m in Sweden.  With all of my travel, sometimes I forget that just 24 hours ago I was asleep in my bed in New York.  Now, I am at an ancient Viking archaeological site half a world away.

I took my pictures at the reconstructed village and then wondered around a bit, hardly seeing another person.  I made my way back to where I saw the tour group, but I wasn’t sure what was there.  Where these burial mounds?  If so, I didn’t really care who was buried there, just the fact that they were Viking burial mounds.  This adventure will consume half of my day and give me a tight schedule for the rest of the day, but it has been well worth it, and it is the perfect way to start off the trip.  I headed backed down the hill and found a nice bench, where I proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close so that I can head back to the VC and get some food before we make our way back to Stockholm.  I will then go to Drottningholm, where I hope to find my replica, the first WHS replica of the year that I will be able to put on my desk.  On that note, I’ll close.

Stockholm, Sweden

This is it, the big moment.  103 years ago, perhaps in this very spot, after Jim Thorpe won the Decathlon at the Games of the V Olympiad, King Gustav said to him, “You, sir, are the greatest athlete in the world.”  Thorpe’s response?  “Thanks, King.”  I am literally sitting where history was made.  This not just my 17^th Olympic Stadium.  This one is special, but it almost didn’t happen.  It was not the first Olympic Stadium I’ve snuck into, and it might not be the last, either (Melbourne, Athens, I’m talking about you).  More on that later.

After I closed, I went back to the VC, where I got my lunch.  “What did the Vikings eat?”  Pulled pork and beer, apparently.  That’s what I had.  I then lit up my Radice and got on the boat when I was done.  I fell asleep before we left port, waking up as we pulled into Stockholm.  From there, I took an overpriced taxi ride to Drottningholm Palace.  Everything there was overpriced, admission, souvenirs, everything.  In fact, pretty much everything is double or triple in Stockholm what it is in New York, except lodging.

Drottningholm was quite magnificent, and I had a Punch as I walked around the grounds.  I then took the boat back to Stockholm, less than half the price, though the ride was longer.  I went to Central Station (again, why is there not a direct high-speed train from GCT to JFK?) and transferred to the metro, getting off by the stadium.  I noticed three things.  First, there were people inside, a good sign.  Second, it looked abandoned, a bad sign.  Third, it would be relatively easy to hop the fence and sneak in if need be, a good sign.  I did not say easy.  I said relatively easy.  I walked around and saw no way to get in.  The ticket office was closed.  Then I saw some fans from the soccer match.  They said the stadium was closed, but he offered to help me hop the fence.

Jackpot!  That is how I got in here, and he treated me like a minor celebrity, coming all the way from New York to see the Stadium, introducing me to all of his friends.  He showed me the VIP box, where King Gustav sat, and that is where I went and where I proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close so that I can enjoy a few more minutes in the stadium.  Besides, my battery is almost dead (what else is new?).

Actually, I have a few more minutes.  This trip is about two things.  The 1912 Stadium (here now) and the 1952 Stadium (Monday).  Nothing else matters, nothing else is important.  Every other WHS, every other site is a bonus.  The two stadiums are the purpose of this trip, and I have now gotten half way there.  Holy fuck, I just realized something.  Let me just think, if I give myself credit for Antwerp without setting foot inside, I can say that I have been to every Olympic Stadium prior to WW2.  Let me just double check the other (Melbourne 1956, Sydney 2000, Seoul 1988, Beijing 2008, Rome 1960, Athens 2004).  Yeah, and then there is Antwerp 1928(?) and London 2012 that I have seen from the outside.  That’s it.  Each one has its story, each visit special in its own way.  Okay, on that note, I’ll close.

I suppose there is not much left to write about this entry, though I suspect I will need to heavily edit it before I publish it.  When I tell the adventures of today, it will lead with, “I tore an ass muscle sneaking into the Olympic Stadium.”  What did I do to help with that pain, which made walking no easy task?  I went to the sauna, of course.  After that, I took the metro to Old Town.  The receptionist at the hotel thought the shops would be closed.  She was wrong.  I found the main shopping street, and there were still a few shops opened.  I got everything I needed at the first shop, including, of course, the flag pin.  I still can’t fucking believe I forgot the Germany flag pin in 2013

Anyway, it was a short work from there to Parliament, to the Royal Palace, to the Viking restaurant, where I went for dinner.  If I thought that that day couldn’t get any more magical, as I was waiting for my table, a group of people started singing “Dancing Queen.”  I was soon seated, and they announced me like they might announce a guest at a royal ball.  I walked to my table with the dignity that was to be expected of the occasion.  Everything looked completely authentic, the tables, the settings, the glasses.  I ordered a mead and some venison, both delicious.

Afterwards, I took the metro back to my hotel, where I took a quick nap before I lit up a KFC and uploaded my photos.  That done, I proceeded to write to this entry, which I will now close so that I can edit and publish.  It’s just past 7 PM in New York, so it should be before 8 PM when my East Coast readers see it.

The Baltic - Day 0 - Eastbound

5/22/15, “Eastbound”

Newark Liberty International Airport, New Jersey

For the first time in six months, I am heading east.  There is so much to be said about heading east, the logistics of the trip, being six hours ahead of the people I know and love back on the East Coast make it for a much better trip.  However, I will not be writing about that, not yet at least.  Almost nothing has changed in my life in the five days since I’ve closed, so maybe it would be better to explore how my life has changed in the past year, since my last Memorial Day trip, the one that took me to the 1964 Stadium in Tokyo.  This trip will take me to the 1912 Stadium in Stockholm and the 1952 Stadium in Helsinki.

Not much has changed in the past year, actually.  Sure, a lot has happened, and my readers have been along with me every step of the way, but has anything changed?  Some shuffling of friends, to be sure, which I have mentioned enough times.  Rekindling old friendships or allowing them to fade, forging new ones, it doesn’t matter.  I have roughly the same number of friends in my life now as I did a year ago.

The main theme of my entry last year was love and beauty and happiness, even exploring the idea of irrational happiness.  If I trust to empirical evidence, I can only conclude that it makes sense to embrace irrational happiness.  What I referred to as my one source of irrational happiness has been the main source of happiness for me over the past five months.  To dismiss the happiness because it was irrational would be, well, quite irrational.  I have come to realize that I need to enjoy my happiness in a way that is purely rational because irrational happiness can very quickly become irrational unhappiness.  With rational happiness, it is much harder for it to become unhappiness.

As for my ideas on love and beauty, nothing has changed, at least not much.  My ideas on beauty are the same as they were.  Is it any wonder that, outside my family, the most beautiful person in my life is also the one whom I love most?  No, reader, there should be doubt about that, even if it is irrational.  However, it is rational to love her now for one simple reason: because I fell in love with her then, at I time when I thought I was incapable of falling in love again.  Even if I fell in love with her for irrational reasons, I fell in love with her, nonetheless, in so small part because she was beautiful.  All of the rational reasons why I value her friendship now, I knew none of those at the moment when we first met.

As for my ideas of love, has anything changed since a year ago?  I would say that I have gone full circle and pretty much come back to where I was then.  Actually, no, that’s not true.  I’d have to say that my sister got it right when she said that I owed it to myself to find someone with whom I have great chemistry and with whom I have physical, emotional, and intellectual attraction.  A year ago, I was just trying to find my Dagny, the one with whom I have the emotional and intellectual attraction.  Atlas Shrugged makes no mention of Dagny’s beauty, I don’t think, nor does it mention if John and Dagny have the same tastes in pop culture.  My entries from that trip were some of the best entries I’ve written, I think, and I hope to match the quality in this trip.  Like that trip, only one thing matters on this trip: visiting the Stadiums.

It has been a very boring Day 0, woke up early, did an inspection, worked until it was time for my traditional pre-departure lunch at Hop Won, lit up a Cohiba, headed the cigar shop, said my goodbyes, got in the car, got stuck in traffic, worried and panicked, made it to the airport an hour and a half before the flight, went through security, and got to the gate where I proceeded to write this entry, which I will close after I describe what I mean by “Eastbound.”

The last time I have gone to this approximate time zone was my last birthday, eight months ago, after a very special lunch with someone whom I had no idea would soon become one of my best friends.  When I am travel east, I am six hours ahead, which means that, by the time I finish uploading my photos and writing my entry, it’s around 6 or 7 PM on the East Coast, which is the perfect time to maximize the visibility of my posts.  When I stay in the west, I need to either post in the middle of the night New York time or wait until the morning, which often means neglecting the photos.  Also, flying east is great because I sleep on the flight and arrive in Europe early in the morning, ready for a full day.  Coming back is not so pleasant, though.

Also, it means that for the first part of my day, until at least noon, everyone back home is asleep.  It basically means half a day with no status updates, no social media, just radio silence.  Sure, I post stuff, and then, the notifications and messages start trickling in in the afternoon as people wake up, start seeing my posts.  I like it much better that way than being on the same or earlier time zone.  With the weak euro, it’ll be great to go back to Europe, and I will now close so that I can board.