My Brother

The whole inspiration for this blog was my brother. He started up a blog months ago, when he began travels in Peru. So check his blog out: bigwaternate.blogspot.com. You'll find reflective stories of living and studying in Cusco, as well as plenty of tales of hairy kayaking adventures. Currently, my bro is roaming Peru crushing the steep creeks and notching up first descents.

Here's Nate, bringing the service and goodwill. What a great brother!

More Italian Fun

The photo below is from Finale (the pics of which were in the last entry). I just thought it was interesting climbing culture. I didn't know this, but in Italy, and I think other European climbing spots, it's the norm to paint or somehow label a route at its base with the route's name. At this particular crag, they got pretty crafty. What do y'all American climbers think of this practice, eh?Ahhhhh, some mellow bouldering in Val di Mello, in the Italian Alps, 1 km from the quaint little villiage of San Martino. I camped out here, under a boulder. I enjoyed rain and one sunny day on which a few good boulders dried off. I also made a wonderful Italian climber-friend who invited me to his house, fixed me gnocchi, and played me some banging techno. What a guy!A view of some of the higher peaks around Val di Mello.Andrea singing up some Italian hospitality on a rainy in day in San Martino/Val di Mello.Below is a friendly party at Giudetta's very modern flat in downtown Genova. Giudetta was an incredibly hospitable professor working for the Clemson program Maggie was a part of. More climbing? Yes please! Andrea invited me to go with him and some friends on a weekend climbing trip to areas around Albenga. Albenga is another giant limestone area, down the road from Finale. Here, Andrea is negotiating the first route of the day (notice the rock to the left of the orange features; unfortunately, this entire wall of top-to-bottom collonettes was wet). Chiocco (pronounced Kee-Ko), a friend of Andrea's, climbing an excellent route.Dinner party after climbing. There was lots of fun, loud talking with big hand gestures and great local food.The (inadequate) Italian breakfast.
The next day we went to a beautiful orange crag with multi-pitch routes. We only went two pitches up, and then climbed other single pitch stuff. This is me on a climb called Alien--que bella!

Italian Travels

I leave in a few days, but the past two weeks have included spending time with new friends in Genova and taking short climbing trips around Northern Italy. Here's some assorted photos from all over:

Me climbing up a very pockety wall at Finale(Finale) My Italian friend Fabio climbing the same route (you must turn your head sideways)

(Finale) Climbers of all ages were at the cliff climing 5.10 with ease. This guy could have been my Dad. He and his wife were out for a little weekend climbing.

More Photos

Here are more images from the trip. The first is from Ireland, the rest are from Fontainebleau.

Climbing a nice pillar-like boulder east of Galway, Ireland. This was just off the road and also had a nice slab problem on the back.

It's the morning, and it's raining. I'm standing under a historic problem in Font., Le Toit du Cul de chien (the roof of Cul de chien). Later, after the rain stopped, Cul de chien dried off enough to climb.

Maggie on a wonderful little boulder at Cul de Chien.

Doing a great problem on the red circuit while David, an excellent and friendly guide, gives an exemplery French spot. I did this one only after David showed me the correct "phooot" placement.

Another red circuit problem.

Maggie on a blue circuit boulder. You can see other boulders and climbers in the rocks behind.

A perfect boulder, this one offered five or six classic problems. I am doing a red circuit problem here.

I'll post some more soon...

Travel Photos: Ireland

Howdy. These are just a few of the photos from our recent crump ova Europe trip. Sorry for the size, but I'd be here all night waiting for the larger ones to load.

A view of Dublin and the Liffey River

Check it! Maggie riding shotgun in our rental, the efficient Toyata Yaris

Maggie with some of her distant cousins. They're sitting in the families original farm house, which still has a thatch roof. This is the kitchen. There are two more rooms, both smaller. This farm house held Mom and Dad, plus eleven children

Hopping out of the tractor is Paddy, the only son of those eleven children. He runs his small cattle and sheep farm single-handedly, excepting the help of two incredible dogs. When Maggie asked him what breed of dog they were, Paddy paused for moment and then said, "Oh, they're just Irish Sheep Dogs."

The Cliffs of Moher

There wasn't a bull for miles, only another view of the Cliffs of Moher

That's all for now. Photos of France and Prague to follow. Tomorrow I'm off by myself on a trip to the mountains of Northern Italy and Southern Switzerland.

crump ova Italy VI: Back in Genova

Okay, I'm back in Genova with Maggie, who is beginning the end of her semester here. Today I went climbing at a huge and sprawling limestone sport-climbing area just west of Genova. The area is called Finale. I went with nice Italian fellow named Fabio. I met him through Maggie's friends. The climbing was quite good, quite technical, very pockety, and overall of a different quality than anything I've climbed on (I've never climbed on limestone--we ain't got that shit where I'm from). All the Italian climbers I met were exceedingly nice and helpful.

As for the crump ova Europe trip Maggie and I recently returned from, it went well. The only hindrances were standard travel problems (botched itineraries, no hotels, drunk people, etc.) and bad weather. We visited central Ireland, coast to coast; in France we visited Paris, and then Fontainebleau for bouldering; and finally, we rushed Prague for two days. How about doing each country in five sentences or less? Okay!

Ireland: After landing in Dublin and crashing in the lobby of the (fully booked) Handel Hotel, we drove out the next day--on the wrong side of the road--to visit some of Maggie's extended family on a farm in central Ireland. The visit was warm and charming and by the next morning we were armed with enough travel recommendations and traditional Irish soda bread to explore the Burren Peninsula and the drasitic and dramatic Cliffs of Moher. We crashed in Galway, whose sites we enjoyed the next day, and after briefly exploring some bouldering west of Galway, we rocketed back east across Ireland (stopping for a Guinness) to make our flight the next day. We crashed in a Church parking lot. In the morning, on our way to our flight out of Dublin, we drove through the beautiful but windy-rainy area of Glendalough (home of Ireland's best bouldering area).

France: Late in the evening, we flew into Paris, which we explored for most of the following day. In the afternoon rush hour, we Fiat-crawled out of the heart of Paris for the forest of Fontainebleau, navigating evil gauntlets of baguette beatings, Parisian traffic circle insanities (where car horns are a legitimate percussive instrument), and fine, moldy cheeses everywhere. After a two-day rain cleared--along with a two day psychological depression--we enjoyed the bouldering of Fontainebleau (which is pretty good) for three days. At the end of the third day, we flew to Prague.

Prague was a blip in the trip, but an interesting one. There were the buildings of the old town, with their interesting and varied influences; there was the hill-top castle, with its beautiful cathedral, among other things; and there was our hostel, a combination three-star crack house and affordable travel hostel. Nice! Prague would be nice to return to to sample some of its current cultural offerings, which we unfortunately could not squeeze in.

crump ova Fontainebleau

The day following the previous post, in which I was dejected and defeated by rainy weather, the skies cleared a bit, and the wind picked up. By the afternoon, a couple sectors of Font were dry, including the one we found ourselves in, the famous (at least to French boulderers--and a few American climbers of, shall we say, a more continental mind:)) Cul de Chien. This is the area where Fontainebleau's first boulder problem rated 7a was climbed, the problem called Toit du Cul de Chien.

After being guided around the area on the red circuit (small red numbers are actually painted on the boulders to designate where the problem starts--there's childrens circuits, orange, blue, red, white, and black circuits) by a very friendly Parisian named David, I managed to do Toit. This had been a goal before the trip, so I was quite happy to dispatch with it so quickly. Interestingly, it's ridiculously similar to Roof of Death at Blowing Rock boulders which makes for perfect training.

Today we went to another area, somewhat poorly named 95.2. The climbing however was perfect.

Tomorrow is our last day here. Fontainebleau is truly a paradise for the boulderer!

crump ova Europe

This post is short because I refuse to war it out with my confused French computer keyboard. Okay, I admit I am the one actually confused. But damn it, this key board is whack! Among other differences, the letter 'a' is not where it should be. Instead there is the letter 'q'. Other differences include hqving to press shift and another button just to end a sentence with a period. Ha ha ha ha! This is fun! Where's my Freedom Keyboard!?

As you may have gathered, we're in France, Fontainebleau, France, to be exact, home of the world's best bouldering area(s). We came from Ireland, which was really awesome and gre-ATE (Dublin, The Burren, Galway, Glendalough, some famous butler named Yeats), though it did rain the whole time. Unsurprisingly, the rain was also in France. In general this part of Europe seems to be socked in with a major, extended rain storm which is forcasted to last into next week. That forcast is massively depressing, as we planned about as much time here as the rain seems to have planned. As a partial pleasure (or pain) I walked around the Font. area Apremont today.

We'll try other plans...

crump ova Italy V

11/17/06 More of Genova

For some reason the jet-lag CRUSHED! me today. A nap got the K.O. on me and I didn't get up until noon. Maggie shook me awake and we headed out for a more extended tour of Genova, as well as a tour of the various sites Maggie is using for her urban planning project.

The view from the villa. You can barely see Genova's famous port in the distance.

We picked our way down the hill, descending steep stairs and narrow alleys. It was early afternoon, so we passed lots of kids heading home from school for their two hour lunch break. We reached the port in no more than 15 minutes and walked across a large plaza adjacent to another of Genova's claims to fame, the aquarium, which happens to be the second largest in the world. A group of little kids on a field trip sat in a long line on the curb outside. They ate lunch and were marauded by pigeons.

Further along the harbor, we climbed up onto a public platform for one of the best views of Genova. Or at least the central to northern part. The light was so crappy, I wanted to wait to take the ultimate panorama. But below is a pildered photo of the harbor, which gives a much better overall view than I could attain anyway. We were hanging out right near that big, splaying white thing. It's a sculpture actually. The "platform" I described above is actually that long cargo boat left of the splaying white thing. It's permanently docked there apparently. The buildings on the hillsides constitute northern Genova; to the right of the cargo boat, but barely out of the picture is central Genova; the southern parts are out of the photo. The city basically extends a very long way along the coast, making a thin line of development bounded by the Mediterranean on one side and steep hills on the other.

A view of Genova's port

From the port, we walked back into central Genova and Maggie showed me the (real) site of her (simulated) architectural/planning project. The site is shared by her class, but each student has different problems to solve. The project is a sort of food-culture museum. Maggie's self-appointed task, if I have this right, is to design an interconnecting set of smaller, outdoor sites which make a sort of walking loop from the museum. The cool thing is that she gets to pick these sites herself. We proceeded to explore these sites, and she explained what each would feature. I thought it was a pretty neat project, but Maggie, after a whole semester on it, seemed a little burned out on it. One of these sites is in the photo below. It's a set of large grass terraces under a very, very old bridge. This bridge is part of the original city wall, most of which is now torn down.

One of Maggie's project sites under a very, very old bridge

On the walk back, I ran into a lone boot on top of a trash can. Some say Italy looks like a boot, but I don't want to be pushy. Here at this blog we report, you decide.

Some say Italy is shaped like a boot

Later in the evening, Maggie and I went to a dance-acrobat-illusionist performance called No Gravity. Their stuff was very similar to Momix's stuff (Boone-heads will know this dance company). In fact, the choreographer used to work with them. The whole show consisted of many, many short pieces with dancers attached to multiple cables which were impossible to see from the audience. With their apparatus', the dancers could essentially fly, or depending on the style of movement, swim, flap, run, bound, or, literally, rocket like Superman. There were a lot of pieces with a man and a woman literally flying in and out of each others embrace, and, ultimately, love. Snore. The best pieces were the ones that didn't try to hold much of a narrative or standard theme. The best ones focused simply on movement, and, illusion. One piece, for example, consisted of all six dancers floating in a circle from right side up to upside down; they moved in perfect symmetrical coordination, like some sort of floating kaleidoscopic organism. Through some wonderful lighting, another piece consisted only of the dancer's arms, all of which moved in the fashion of a distant flying bird (as in the bird shape one might have drawn in kindergarten). This piece consisted only in performing certain "flapping" formations, but it was way more interesting--just visually--than watching a flying man and woman make out or fall in love on a flying park bench.

A stock photo of No Gravity's human kaleidoscope

Tomorrow Maggie and I head out on the "crump ova Europe" portion of the trip: Ireland, France and Czeclesovakia (Prague). I probably won't be able to post any updates on the trip, but I will check email very occasionally. We return to Genova around the end of November.

(Oh, and I don't know why the upper paragraphs are single spaced and the lower are double. I can't seem to control that. I certainly have been wondering.)

crump ova Italy IV

11/16 Rainy Day

We woke up to some heavy rain today. Maggie left early for class. I slept a little longer, then had some breakfast arranged by our invisible host. When I left for the villa a little later, it was still raining. It continued to rain all day, only stopping by the evening.

On my way back up to the villa, I picked up an umbrella, then stopped by the leather shop to see if my belt was ready. It lacked only a buckle, and he attached that in a matter of minutes. After a quick size check, he hammered in the belt holes and I was good to go. I put it on and thanked him. We (sort of) chatted a little longer, then I continued on to the villa.

Because it was raining, I stayed in most of the day. It was a good excuse to stay off my ankle. I did some blogging (that sounds pretty funny), iced the ankle, then got ready for dinner in town with Maggie's Mom and Aunt. As it happens, they were also in Italy to visit Maggie and do some traveling. Having just been down south of Genova for a couple days, they were now back in Genova to see Maggie before flying home. Maggie's mom treated us to a wonderful dinner at a tiny restaurant off of Genova's most famous street, Via Garibaldi, famous for being the home of Genova's most well-heeled in the 17th century. It's quite a pretty little street.

Walking to the Clemson villa on Via Piaggio (mostly obscured by trees, the villa is visible in the middle of this poor photo, above center, under a stone house partly capped by a square, flat, dark roof)

crump ova Italy III

11/15/06 Intima Roberts

I totaled the time spent traveling, from when I arrived in Charlotte to when I arrived at Maggie's villa. The total time traveled was a little more than 36 hours! Jesus Christ!

Maggie at the b&b

Maggie and I spent last night in a wonderful bed and breakfast down the hill from the Clemson villa. It had a clean, modern interior and our room, through a small window, overlooked a small, covered stone street with little shops. Our host was largely invisible—he appeared only once—but we woke to a nice spread of breakfast, evidence of someone working away behind closed doors.

(And before I leave the subject of the b&b, let me introduce you to Intima Roberts, one of the funniest features of the bed & breakfast. Ms. Roberts (or Mr. if you prefer) is a gentle soap, meant to complement the use of the bidet. Feeling a little saddle sore from thirty six hours, I was quite enthusiastic for Intima Robert's soft touch. As for the photos, does a product with so brilliant a name not deserve a few complimentary photos? Work with me here people.)

Maggie walking back up the steep rampo from downtown

After breakfast, Maggie and I walked through Genova's narrow streets, and climbed the long and steep brick rampo (essentially an old wide walkway) back to her villa. Her villa had a Thanksgiving dinner planned for the evening and many of Maggies best villa mates were in the kitchen working on various dishes. I iced my ankle for a while, and spent some time getting to know her group of girl friends, happy and jaded all. They had a great sense of humor. We all hit it off quite well. Soon some of the other students returned from a field trip and I got to meet them as well. I also met two Italian ladies, one the villa chef, the other the villa boss. Both were cheerful and welcoming.

The villa kitchen scene before Thanksgiving dinner

My ankle wasn't feeling totally optimal, but I went out in the late afternoon to walk around the city. I left the villa with two of Maggie's friends—one was determined to get her nose pierced—but I got side-tracked by a leather artisan's shop and they went on. This shop sat along the narrow brick rampo (I had seen it earlier). I hadn't brought a belt to Italy, plus I needed a black one, so I figured I'd look and see what he and his wife had. This turned out to be pretty fun, as there was definitely some creative communication going on. I'd try my Spanish, which offers some real overlap, he would offer a little English, and, with each question, we'd eventually understand each other. Sort of. Once, to point out what kind of leather a belt was made of, he oinked like a pig. Perfect. Then I asked what material another swath of leather was by pantomiming milking a cow. In a flash, he understood. After the dust had cleared, I had apparently ordered a black belt from cow leather with a silver buckle for pick-up tomorrow. This cost 20 Euro, which I thought was quite reasonable.

Later, after walking further down into the city center, I stopped by a department store to get a shirt for the Thanksgiving formal at the villa. I picked a shirt out, but the store clerks, apparently noting my meat-and-potatoes sized American football neck, had to measure for my collar first. Actually, I just didn't know my neck size. It turns out my neck size is rather un-American.

I walked back to the villa at dusk. Soon it was dark, and the more people I asked for directions, the more I realized I was lost. As it turns out, I had walked up the wrong hillside. This is fairly easy to do, as the city center is immediately surrounded by hills, all incredibly densely overlaid with multi-floored buildings and houses (there is nothing resembling a lawn anywhere—there just really isn't space for that). Once I traversed a maze of streets one neighborhood north, I got back on track.

The Thanksgiving dinner did justice to any notion of American prosperity. There were two giant turkeys, more than five pies, probably 100 deviled eggs, potatoes with marshmallows (this freaked to Italians out), green beans, artichoke hearts, tofurkey, gravy and so on and so forth. With a closet full of Italian wine, the giving of thanks got rollin' and then rolled right along 'til close to midnight. At certain points, it actually got quite raucous. The highlight for me was a certain dinner guest named Fabio. To destroy the image that may have popped into your mind, this particular Fabio had greasy black hair and a single, giant, long dreadlock running down his back (fortunately, I wasn't the first person to tell him that we call that a rat tail, and in this case, a big fucking rat tail). Save for that, he was handsome. No wonder he was the date of one of Maggie's discerning Clemson friends.

Fabio and I talked about a lot of things—the Sopranos, Godfather, leather shops, Bob Marley, Thanksgiving, the cruelty of aquariums and zoos, the meaning of corny humor, the tale of the boy who cried wolf, Dolce and Gabbana, Italian style, chest hair and many, many other things. Maggie was worried I was overwhelming the poor fellow, but when he shot back and asked me with some disgust why I wore an undershirt under my dress shirt while he went sans undershirt and three buttons undone, well I knew this guy was hanging on by more than a thread. Looking down for a moment, Fabio admired his dark chest hair billowing admirably from his undone shirt. Then, with a mischievous grin, he looked at me, gesturing forcefully, and said, "You MUST wear like this to show your Italian POWER!" I was convinced.

It turns out Fabio is also a climber. I put on my best game-face and told him I would love to climb with him, but that I climb at an 8b+, or 5.14a\n, level, on par with the world's best. He looked at me wide-eyed and genuinely afraid, said, "No, really!?" I confessed I was joking and he threw his napkin in my face. Poor Italian egos: all chest hair and no substance. Anyway, I'm happy to have met a climber who knows the local areas. When my ankle is better, we'll go climbing.

crump ova Italy II

11/14/06 Trains, Planes and Automobiles (and Buses) or Reunited at Long Last!

I arrived in Frankfurt at around 10 in the morning. I limped (I managed to sprain my ankle bouldering—a first—on the Friday before leaving) my way over to the next gate, but no one was there. A crisp looking German woman eventually arrived to coordinate the check-in. She turned the computer, and up on the board popped my flight info. The plane to Milan was running about 3 hours behind. What happened to German precision? Thwarted again.

Unlike Germany, Italy is not known for its culture of precision and punctuality. No problem: I expected as much and I harbor no desire to make everyone be on time. I will get to my destination, to Genova, to Maggie—at some point in time--I am certain it is possible--I will get there. But first I must arrange for the bus to the Milan train terminal, then for a train to Genova. These are small pleasures.

Milan's central train station

The bus from the airport did actually exist and it did actually get me to the train station. With the airport being in the same town as the train station, I’d say it performed this necessary service in a good hour and a half. Respectable, but perhaps they might do better? Let fate decide. The process of attaining a train ticket and riding to Genova bore a similar pattern, similarly fated I’m sure. It was only through perhaps the one thing you can truly rely on while traveling--the random kindness of strangers--that I arrived in Genova’s principle train station. These wonderful strangers were as follows: a friendly agricultural products salesman from Finland, a congenial Italian mother-daughter pair, a young and quite dapper Italian gentleman, and a random old-dude I sat next to on the train. I sincerely thank these people: Grazie!

Maggie was going to meet me at the Genova station. To her great credit, she did wait for me for three hours (she mentioned to me later that at in that span of time at the station a crazy person was captured, two women got in a fight and were arrested by the police, and someone got mugged). Her day had not gone well already, and she said she wandered home in despair. Turns out I arrived just after she left. That was when I started wandering around the train station in despair. Finally I gave in and haggled with the cabbies, one of whom undersold his stubborn buddies and went for my 10 Euro offer (I was later informed that 10 Euro was the fair price). With daring speed and a keen knowledge of the precise width of Genova’s narrow streets, my cabbie navigated blind switchbacks up a steep hill, halting in front of an immense villa, 14 Via Piaggio, owned by Clemson University. Together we cried, “Perfecto!” (really!) and away he sped. With my bags beside me, I reached and pressed the buzzer by the very large door. In a moment, Maggie opened the door. Disbelieving, she closed it in my face. Just kidding. We bowed, shook hands, and I entered. Just kidding. Let’s do the ultimate happy ending: she said, “Oh my God!”, and we flew into a 10 minute embrace. That’s what really happened. Finally, we were reunited. And it felt so good.

crump ova Italy I

11/13/06 Auspicious Beginnings

Today began with a call to Jim Toman, a member of what some call Morganton’s “core.” He’s a rough dude, but kindly enough, and without having seen him in months, Jim agreed to take me to the Charlotte Airport. We had a nice drive, and talked about chilling out and other Western North Carolina outdoor activities. After stopping at a store to buy myself a digital camera, Jim dropped me off at the airport around noon.

I arrived very early. There was plenty of time to spare. I checked in and was immediately informed that my flight to Philadelphia (from which I was to fly to Milan, Italy) ain’t gonna make it in time to catch the Milan flight. Feeling creative, my US Airways representative booked me on a new route through Frankfurt, Germany. The good thing was that this flight was direct from Charlotte, avoiding all the pitfalls of Philadelphia. Even better was the fact that the flight was leaving 5 hours later than the one I originally scheduled. This gave me plenty of time to just hang out in the Charlotte airport—and I love airports. The architecture is so refreshing, so humane. Only slightly less invigorating was the plane ride to Frankfurt. But that felt really good too.