cesar ritz

Milan: Part 1

“Move a little bit to the left.” click, click “Stand closer together infront of the building.” click, click “One more.” click, click. After taking two hundred pictures while I was traveling through Milan with my friends I started thinking “Hey, I know what Johnny Depp or Brad Pitt feels like or better yet, I know what an Asian tourist feels like!”

I hate fucking pictures.

But for now, that is what will dominate this next two blog posts. First I will talk about the inner guts and beauty of Milan then who knows! I haven’t reached that point yet, maybe after I take more shots of “Ron Abuelo” I will know the answer of that question, but now to the topic in hand…

Milan.

A city so rich with history that it would take books hell even encyclopedia’s to fully document the entire cities lifetime. Being founded in 396 B.C. by the Celts one can see that the city has lived through its share of wars, renaissances, and Italian drunken debauchery that would make any world leader proud. I for one have always loved this Italy and to go visit this masterful place has always been a dream of mine. Interesting enough the population it is not that much. Only boasting around 1,303,000 people, for me this was a surprising statistic to know, I expected at least  three million people. Anyways who gives a fuck about numbers and shit! Show me the wine, beer and the fine Italian women, since we know that this is their only current currency since they are so bankrupt they make Ireland look wealthy.

Getting to Milan was a long experience, but once we got there the group of seven that went there ranging from more nationalities than the U.N. has to offer got off the train and was ready to hit the streets get into a strip club, start doing lines of a strippers ass, and get into a fight with a bouncer because he called you a sand nigger. When we got there we spent around an hour or so walking around the streets of Milan lost and scared of what was going on like a bunch of passengers in the Costa Concordia. However after our Indian friend asked a few of his countrymen on where the fuck the go we finally arrived at our first monument (by luck).

(Ladies don’t stare at the handsome men in the picture focus on the building in the background.)

Stazione Central de Milano. Once you see it from afar you think “Eh whatever” start getting close you start to think “Is that a ten foot tall in the roof of the train station?” yeah apparently the Italians in 1906 said: “We have a monetary budget on this train station? Well Vaffanculo! I want horses so realistic you can see their balls dangling off the roof!” So they did. However what still astonishes me it’s the sheer size of this monstrosity. You see some cute little train stations in Geneva that are like “Aww that’s nice!”

“Jajaja fuck off! We will make the roof three hundred feet high, five hundred feet in length and some other dimensions that I could make up as well!” Not only that the astonishing detail that you can see in this place is amazing. I mean look they have statues! Some people might not appreciate that now and days but think about it. How many buildings do you see with architectural detail as much as this? Oh wait I know of another one.

(Look I included real life Italians in my picture and they aren’t shitfaced either!)

This is the Duomo di Milano. Construction started 1386 and guess when they finally finished constructing it, in 1965. That is right it took six centuries to finish this beast of a detailed building. Can you imagine the architect and the workers thinking “Oh by next month we should be done, easy.” Six centuries and generations upon generations of waiting this illustrious cathedral to be built waited for it to be fully functional, you know equipped with their own revolutionary “Child Confessional: Where the priest takes good care of the children’s orifice while you are away.” After paying six Euros to have the absolute privilege to climb two hundred and ninety–three steps to get to the top we finally got to see up close and personal the cathedral, and boy was it worth it.

See that shit? You see the ridiculous detail in this building? I bet you anybody reading this has never done anything in their entire life with this much detail and dedication….but they also took six centuries to put this much damn detail into it. Can you imagine the poor Italian that had to chip and mold those statues in there? What about the poor fucker that dropped a statue, because he drank too much communal wine during service and forgot to hold onto the rope while they were placing the statue on top of the column? I am sure he got a flogging and a good old fashioned ass raping by the artist.

(Look ma my patron Saint is staring at me while I shower!)

Again as you might know by now, I love history and architecture masterpieces like this. I am a sucker for detailed projects like this and for good reason, urban works of art should be cherished and respected for the value that they not only add to the people but society in general. People from around the world will come and travel here to see this cathedral and spend money around the place which in turn brings revenue (and we all know that Italy desperately needs the money). For me, I would gladly go see a building like this any day of the week instead of going to go see the latest stripper with the new boob job at the local watering hole. However there is something that aggravated me that the Italian’s allowed to be made in such a historical district as this one…

No not the old building, but that new out of place white add-on that they made on-top of a historical building. I am all for renovation and pushing forward for the future, but why the fuck would you damage an image like this? Wouldn’t this picture be ten times be better without that fancy restaurant or jerk off bar? It is like having a blister on your lip, you just don’t want to see it and you don’t want anybody else to see it, so fucking remove it. But still this is one of my favorite pictures that I took while in Milano. But the beautiful part is the inside of Galleria Vittorio Emanuele II.

Come inside to the most famous open mall of Milano. Here you will find any kind of shop from Louis Vuitton, Prada to…what the fuck are the people doing there?!

(Yes stomp on my balls! My biggest turn on and my lifelong wish! To have thousands of people stomp and spin on my balls for good luck!)

I saw a group huddled around this mosaic and was blown away by this little tradition. People (great majority women) would come place their right heel and spin three times on the bulls balls for good luck. Yes this makes sense, but again does majority of traditions make sense? I mean look at the Easter Bunny. But after having the two girls from our group destroy this poor bulls balls, they asked us to do it, and like any normal men we refused to. Sorry I wouldn’t want anybody pulling off a Michael Jackson on my nuts so I won’t do it to this poor bull.

After walking through here and taking even more pictures we ventured off into the square and saw this asshole.

(I have an amazing skill! I put on make-up and stand still like a douchebag while you give me money!)

This man would not normally aggravate me but what did the trick to me it is hearing somebody say: “This person is very skillful.” This is when my ears started bleeding uncontrollably, and I wanted to kick the stool underneath this white asshole’s feet, to see him break a leg and make me happy again. How is standing like an idiot a skill? Does that mean taking a shit for longer than an hour a skill as well? I mean we are both being patient while we achieve our benefit. Except for this guy people give him money, what even aggravated me even more is down a block or two ahead  we heard a man playing the saxophone and that’s when I said: “This is a skill, not that white freak over there.” Shortly after we took a right and got to heaven.

(This is what the Italian’s call their dicks “Panini’s”)

We got to this little shop that is called “I Panini della Befi”. This was the best food decision we have done in our entire trip. For people who don’t know what a Panini is, it’s a regular sandwich that is made with ingredients twice as better than Subway and taste ten times better than that shit place. We got three different kind of Panini’s between five of us to split which came up to be around sixteen Euro’s. I won’t go in detail of the ingredients that each Panini had in them, but just take me for my word that I flashed back to the past and saw Dante writing “The Divine Comedy” and witnessed Leonardo making another masterpiece. The flavors complimented each other beautifully, the ingredients were fresh and the company to share this meal with was outstanding. Could have not been any happier if I tried.

After stuffing ourselves we then walked around some more and found one of the most gangster statues of a legendary man that you will ever see.

(“All my bitches love me, you aint fucking with my Dougie” –Leonardo Da Vinci)

This man the symbol of what Italy was and could possibly be again got erected (Pun intended) one of the most gangster statues I have ever seen. If just by this statue I would judge Leonard Da Vinci I would think that this bad ass was the King of Italy at one point or a fearless general that saved the entire Italian peninsula. However as we know it is otherwise. After taking some pictures with what even Dr. Dre would say “The Godfather of Gangsters” we went off to go eat with the rest of our clan at an authentic Italian restaurant.

(Ristorante Nabucco! We know how to fuck up our national food so badly that it will make you want to run to the nearest “Macaroni Grill”!)

We went into this little shinning beacon of hope. It was decently filled up, and had more seating space than San Siro. So we were all optimistic about the place. So we all sat down and went on with another fucking photo shoot (now I know why celebrities wear sunglasses). We each ordered our food and enjoyed a nice bottle of red wine (we are in Italy). Then our food comes, everybody is ready to get to Nirvana and reach a higher plane of life….little did we know we would be grossly disappointed. Overpriced, no flavor, and the quantity was poor. I wanted to flip the table and stab the waiter with the corkscrew right in the jugular, how do these fuckers pride themselves on calling themselves an Italian restaurant and serve this as food? There was only one plate that was decent and that was the pasta a la carbonara which takes a five year old to make! Fuck it we left paid and went to go hurry up to our next destination San Siro….

But that is another story that will be talked about in the near future, I think you have had enough of my anger for one post today (and read enough as well).

Switzerland: Airport

Six thirty in the morning. I haven’t slept a wink in the past day. How could I when I was too busy packing and saying my farewell to friends that hopefully I will see again. However from my previous experiences the chances of that too happening are an optimistically low. But for some reason I have a greater feeling that this time around things will be different and that majority of these people not only will I see again but hopefully travel through Europe with as a big family. Our first planned destination was Amsterdam, and if you have read my previous blogs you will imagine what kind of moral debauchery one might see with this group of malakas and retards banded together. I will not say much since that blog post is a few months away, and why ruin that now. (Maybe sooner rather than later, since there might be some laws Holland in place to prevent us from fully enjoying and experiencing Amsterdam to the fullest.)

After partying with my friends till around one in the morning majority of them were too tired from the night before and the ridiculous champagne showers that we exploded at the Student Bar the previous night that I think they earned a good night’s rest. After staying up (because I knew if I fell asleep I would not wake up the next day) we came downstairs (me and my best friend) to catch our bus that will take us to Aigle, so we can take our train that will leave us in Geneva.

We had a fight with sleep at the train, but we came out victorious even though we took a Manny Pacquiao sized beating against our old enemy “Sleep”  the entire way there.  I like to think we shut it up, but at the end we all do a ten count to sleep. It’s not a matter of where and with what but of when you are going to lose to the heavyweight champion fighter “Sleep.”

(Yes. This is the Airport)

We finally got to Geneva airport around eight in the morning. We were happy and pumped to get this day started and go back home so we can spend time with family, eat delicious food, but most of all we make it just on time to go out and party our gigantic Puerto Rican asses off. So we went to the first line for our Spanish airline, no biggie it was closed it was not time to check in for the next trip at least that is what somebody told us. So me and my best buddy relied on sight-seeing and checking out the local talent. There was some great local talent that really brought out gasps and “what the fuck” moments for us both. But then it finally came and we did another line for our airline because they finally opened up and this fat lady who looked like she hated her job more than she hated hearing “Do you want a salad with your deep fried pork?” handled our tickets. So after waiting for around thirty minutes we hear some news. Fucking horrible news.

Our flight was moved up apparently to eight thirty in the morning and we missed it. We got enraged since we our receipt for our fucking flight clearly fucking said eleven fifty-five in the morning not eight fucking thirty in the morning! So she told us to go to the airline company information desk while eating her fried butter balls. So we did. Little did we know this line would be longer than getting on “Space Mountain” in Disney World. We waited two fucking hours in this line. TWO! I was cursing every God and apparition of anything holy that ever existed. At one point my buddy went to the front desk to ask if our flight was really canceled. But who greeted him? Well international superstar sensation herself! Cunt Cuntsley and The Vagisol Band with their top charting Screamo smash hit: “FUCK OFF!” SO he came back more aggravated then before and we waited in line.

(An Airplane! Yay!)

After five minutes I said fuck this, I am going to go get something to eat. So I went to Burger King. I ordered two Whooper combos regular and the bill rang up….jejeje jajajaj! Thirty Francs! Did I land in some layer of hell that I do not know? Are the burgers here in Switzerland made out of some other meat that I don’t know? It’s it Kobe beef? Was this the last cow in all of Switzerland? Since when does Burger King round up to thirty francs?! So fuck it at this point I don’t care I paid and went downstairs to eat with my buddy. After coming downstairs my buddy only moved up a few steps, that’s it. It took me fifteen minutes to get food, and that’s all he moved? Did the entire staff just decide to collapse and die just to avoid dealing with enraged customers? Whatever I said in my head, let’s just eat. So you could say we ate, let me use a better verb….we inhaled it. I don’t think we even took the food of the wrapper. We finished and we were still hungry and still had to finish this long road to Lucifer’s asshole.


Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. After another hour I started having hallucinations of Unicorns being hunted by blood thirsty Vikings all over Geneva Airport. I shook my head and saw it was all fake. Then out of the corner of my eye I saw Hunter S. Thompson walking towards me smoking what it obviously was a humongous joint and he came and punched me the face. Then I came back into consciousness. We had reached to the end of the line and saw that we were next. To the left of the counter we saw the star herself Cuntzilla spilling her PMS blood all over her victims and the counter, so we avoided her luckily and found the complete opposite of her…we found the only man that we can consider the Zeus of the day.

We told him our problem and he said give me a few minutes while I see what we can do. Nice bald man, wearing a pin striped suit, glasses, and married judging by the ring in his finger. So while we waited around we kept scouting the local talent, and there was plenty. Just in this airport alone its more than what we have some in the past six months combined. Then after five minutes he came back and figured it out for us. He told us “Take this flight (from a different airline) it leaves in about an hour and a half to Newark, then catch a connecting flight back to San Juan, also take this voucher each for thirty francs to go eat.” If I only I could have bought this man an escort for the evening to thank him for everything, sucks that he is married.

We rushed upstairs to meet up with our friends who still remained and we ate lunch number two with them. We started ordering the food and the cashier was urging us to fully spend the entire thirty Francs so we did to the best of our capabilities and she was very friendly and nice about the entire thing, I even offered to buy her something with some of the left over money but she had to decline. So we sat down and started bullshitting with them laughing. Everything could not have gone any better than it was going. We said our goodbye to one of our friend who was staying back to hang out with another batch of our friends that was coming later that day, and we went through security. Standard security thing. Take off everything, a grope here and there by some greatly talented woman at the security line then we were off.

We said our goodbye to our Egyptian, Indian, and Lebanese friends as they were going in a different direction than us and we split away. We made it to the Gate Keepers and showed us our credentials they evaluated our photographs and deemed us worthy to go through the highway to hell to get to our stairway to heaven to get on the airplane. All throughout this we had an empire state of mind, but in my head I thought: “This is going to well…God’s gonna cut us down.” Shortly I heard over the speaker system our flight has been canceled. When somebody asked “Why is it canceled?” The representative for the company said: “If I tell you’re going to cry, cry, cry.” The reason was because of technical difficulty. The plane cannot get fucking fixed. This same flight was canceled the day before because of the same reason. All I am thinking is not only do these mechanics suck, the people getting on the plane must be scared shitless because if they say they fixed and mid-air an engine catches on fire there is going to be a good amount of people arriving to Paradise City quicker than anticipated.

Us being enraged what can we do now? Get rhythm, when you get the blues. That’s the only viable option. We thought the worst scare is done. We believed we managed a Tebow. We acquired a win right out of the jaws of defeat. But nope, the other worldly odds just took over and scored the go ahead touchdown. So we had to go back and get our luggage at the baggage claim, to go back upstairs to talk to the representative of our company again.

As we were being helped again at the desk our friends showed up laughing their asses off at the incredible misfortune we have had today, and to be honest I would have as well. We talked they saw how enraged we were and they just hung out with us trying to make us feel better. In which they did. But as we started talking to our Zeus of the day all I said: “Take me out of Switzerland, I don’t care where we land.” Again he did not fail us. He set us up with a flight to Madrid, hotel, and another voucher for food as well. After saying what was hopefully our final fucking goodbye to this bald man we departed all to break on through to the other side of security again, for one last final time. We went through with flying colors, thank God they didn’t give me a cavity search or else they would have found ten kilos of white and milk chocolate that I was exporting illegally.

(In some countries this is more valuable than gold)

We used our food voucher again at a different sandwich shop and they were doing the same thing as the other place, it was amazing they really wanted us to spend the money. I mean they came as close as of offering a blow job in order to spend the entire money. So we got again an unnecessary amount of food, and naturally ate majority of it (we don’t like to leave food behind). So our flight is up and we said goodbye to our friends and we went in line, so we can again start on the….

Waiting, waiting, WAITING! We have spent around eight fucking hours of our day waiting in line. EIGHT! Count them! I know you won’t! But now we thought this is our last line for the day. Please let it be. So we got on the plane that was expertly designed for midgets since my knees were caving my sternum into my heart because of how close the seats where. At least I got a window seat, and I am getting out of this hell of an airport. As I look out I see that all along the watchtower I see this purple haze in front of it. It was a pretty sight to see. I still am a pessimist about the entire situation and think a wing might fall off, or that the captain and the co-pilot have an argument and start fighting because the co-pilot banged the captain’s wife over the companies Christmas dinner. I don’t care if there is only one alive. If he can just manage to take the wheel in the sky and take us to Madrid I will be happy.

The crew starts doing the final preparations to get out of this cheese country and….we actually start leaving! Fourth quarter… Tebow just tied the game! Here we go into Overtime!

After a horrible flight (only fitting for such a shitty day right?) we make it to Madrid. Everything went fine and we got to our shady hotel that is not graded by stars it’s graded by asterisks. So this is basically the Barry Bonds of the Hotel industry. Fuck it as long as I get a bed and I can go into a coma, for eight hours or so I don’t care if I sleep at John Wayne Gayce’s basement.

Next day everything went smoothly. I mean I am writing this right now in First Class in a seat that can go completely horizontal by the simple touch of a button. If only there was a Japanese masseuse here to get that unnecessary extra stress off my body.

This will be my last blog post for Switzerland for the next three weeks. What will I be doing the next three weeks in Puerto Rico? Well going to enjoy everything there and the people. Don’t worry I will write once a week detailing everything I ate and how many murders I have witnessed. For now I wish for all of you this break to…

Get Drunk, Eat ridiculously delicious meals, Party your asses off, and get Laid. Please people do at least three of these things and you will be happy for any day of your life. You wouldn’t want to be like Cunt Cuntsley now would you?

Arrival at Switzerland

After spending 10 hours flying on planes, eating shitty airline food and watching the first 4 episodes of “Game of Thrones” I finally landed in Geneva, Switzerland.

My God what an extreme difference it is from the United States off the bat already. After getting my luggage almost instantaneously and walking through the arrivals sections and seeing my first member of the “Hells Angels of Switzerland” I get to my train where four other people. Two Russian’s and two Chinese. My first actual time having interactions with people of these two different countries and backgrounds to say the least I was thrilled. But like anybody who knows anything about traveling with friends. You usually rely on your other partner to interact instead of interacting with the foreigners.

So for an hour and a half me and my best buddy Hugo took a train through Switzerland talking only in Spanish and judging like any good person the people that were with us. We of course like any good horny 22 year old men arriving into a country fuck a continent that is known for their….carnal beauty we paid little attention to the natural lush fields of greenery and paid more attention to the nicely composed blonde with some great DSL lips walking around like she was the hottest thing to hit this side of Geneva (Easy to say she was). However instead of doing the normal 22 year old hormonal male thing, I tried to stop drooling at the next goddess that walked onto the train sitting with her swagger at full blast and decided to ignore them since my shyness would not let me do anything anyways but just imagine them when I am in the toilet crying myself as I work through a release of pressure.


So when I ignored them I saw some true natural beauty. The extensive natural beauty Switzerland withholds its outstanding. As I was in the train zooming by all this you really feel how small you are and how big the world can be, the Swiss Alps were incredibly beautiful and filled with greenery almost all the way to the very top of the mountain which makes you feel diminutive. Then as we zip along we finally start getting to where I will be staying at which is around Lake Geneva and all the buildings around it are incredible. You know you see every once in a while in movies or on the television how those little houses look so rustic and cute? Yeah its like that in real life.

As we get on campus and go inside, check in, blah blah difuck blah. Then BOOM once we get to our room I noticed….I have a fucking balcony facing the Lake Geneva. I am sorry guys if you have never heard of a panty dropper, then this is it. My college is on top of a small mountain that is infront of the Lake and my room overlooks vast majority of Switzerland. So as we set in and unload our bags, I just stand there by the balcony leaning on a 3 foot rail made for a fucking circus midget and it finally starts to hit me….

Im in Switzerland.

Switzerland: Brig

Fuck this is cold.

This is my first time experiencing cold weather and so far my dick has become a vagina because of the freezing temperatures and I am almost a 95% sure that my ears have fallen off after that last trip to my university. Do they seriously think that a tall Puerto Rican like myself can survive this cold weather of -10 Celsius? Do they think that “Hey after they play with the snow they will have fun and build their own snowman and forget this ridiculous cold!” You know what I say to that? Fuck you and your weather.

There is something that Hollywood and other people from other cold temperatures forgot to tell you about this white powder that falls from the sky. They forgot to tell you that after a few days of just sitting there it turns into ice and you cannot grab it and form a cute little snowball to throw at your Lebanese friend in the head while he screams “Yella Habibi”. They also forgot to tell you that when snow falls into the ground and melts then freezes over it makes for an urban skating rink for you to freely skate whenever you please across the sidewalk into oncoming traffic to become either somebodies trophy or roadkill.

Don’t get me wrong this town is freezing but it still has its characteristics to make it into its own. Particularly what makes it its own it’s the people. Now that I am in Brig, I am experiencing German speaking people and they are generally friendly. However for some reason I cannot become too attached to these people. It’s it because I cannot whatsoever understand whatever the fuck angry language they are speaking? Maybe. But in all honesty please, you have to agree with me when I say that German is one of the most unsexy languages to ever be created. Seriously just picture a girl saying the word “No” in English in a very sexy way….done masturbating? Now picture a girl saying “Nicht” in a sexy manner (by the way for you special people Nicht=No). When you are done hiding in your corner out of fear that the girl might come with a scalpel to cut your dick off, you are more than welcome to sit with me and have a beer trying to find a way to talk to the girls here.

(That is snow not cocaine, dont get excited Colombians, I didnt reach your heaven)

Brig has a population of roughly 12,000 people. They all live in different apartment complexes but the plus side is that you will not see a building bigger than nine stories high. I very much like this because it preserves the small town feel that it is known for. The city’s main revenue by the looks of it its tourism. Brig is known for being in the “Foothold of the Matterhorn” which is a famous place to go skiing/snowboarding, so people from all over Europe and maybe the world come do their snow activities at. A train takes you to your destination, and I would love to tell you that I went and visited but I am too busy huddled up with the sheets over my head shoving a hot charcoal up my ass to keep me warm to even give two fucks to see thirteen year olds do fail at doing backflips and land on their necks to end up like Stephen Hawking for the rest of their lives.

But the city has its astonishing views. I am still a nature lover and still have mental masturbation sections while I stare up at the Swiss Alps and see the never ending beauty of mountain tops covered in this powdered snow that makes it look outstanding, from sunrise to sundown….talking about the sun. Yeah there is a lack of sun warmth. The fucking mountains hypnotize you with their beauty while the freezing cold devours your body, because the mountains block almost all sunlight from reaching to your body as you are going into a state of shock and start break dance session while seizing on the sidewalk. Ahhh thank God I wanted to see snow…how much I hate myself right now…

Apart from the cold, there are many local shops to go visit. Unlike the former midget town I stayed at called Le Bouveret which only had basically one bar running all night till *gasp* 2 AM! However that place is for a different day. Brig has all the major supermarket companies one can imagine, and it also has train station. However the lack of diverse restaurants really limits you into what you can decide to eat for the day. Normally everything closes around 6 PM. That’s fine if you are an old man, and your balls have been dragging through the sidewalk for the past three hours and you are tired of getting frost bite in your balls. But for majority of us who still are functioning at 3 AM either drunk, high, or horny well than there is not too many options. No place is open (again this is Switzerland) later than 8 PM (businesses) however some restaurants might be open till the amazingly late time of 10 PM. If you have the munchies because you have been ripping bong hits non-stop for the past hour or if you found this cute German girl that is ready for you to take her to have a religious experience by screaming “Oh God” in your bedroom but you don’t have condoms, well then there are conveniently placed vending machines through some parts of town where stoners and horny people can conglomerate and get their needs.

However I have to stop with the whole “In America” mind set because frankly I am not in  America and for some reason this country is doing things correctly. So what if there is not a supermarket open 24 hours a day ready for me to go into a corner and devour the food? I should just get food earlier for the night. Talking about that Brig has all three major Swiss supermarkets (Migros, Denner’s, and Coop) and they are all different and unique in their own way. So whatever needs you have they can mostly be fulfilled there,  just don’t go there at 9 PM expecting to get in because they will just speak to you in German till you feel retarded or think you are going to end up in a concentration camp and then you walk away in defeat and starving.

Now you may ask: “What is a good restaurant to go eat?” this is still a general tough question for me to ask since I have not ventured into every single restaurant it has to offer (which there are not many). But that doesn’t mean I haven’t tried any. My personal favorite at the moment is “Conti” which is an Italian restaurant. The food there is good, prices are moderate for Switzerland and the environment is good. There are two layers to the restaurant. First one (depending where you enter) it looks like a small boutique restaurant with red color some traditional furniture, hearts, and feels very cozy. Infact this is almost an ideal place to take your loved one for Valentine’s Day, yep that fucking corny looking. But if you keep walking through the white hallway you go downstairs for what used to be the entrance of a cinema, however now it is converted into the second part of the restaurant. As you walk you can still see the movie stickers for “Armageddon” and around you some remnants of a cinema. Then it becomes a normal looking restaurant, where from my experience you can have a great time between friends and talk about the fascinations that people have with dildos and they won’t bother you whatsoever…that or they just can’t fucking understand you whatsoever. The favorite food items there where the light meal of “Pasta with Salmon”, the Italian staple “Lasagna” and the most famous dish in the world “Pizza” go in give this place a shot because for me it is the best restaurant in Brig.

(The things I would do to this filthy whore of a Pizza named Margharita)

Now if you are going out to drink, then you have varieties. You have different places with different types of people. You have “Johnny’s Bar” which looks like an American hole in the wall bar even with the asshole patrons and shady customers. If you are looking for a place to break a beer bottle and go stab happy with somebody this looks like the place to be at, but funny enough  not even three meters to its left there is a bar called “Skola” which is the complete opposite. You can see old business men talk bullshit, and trying their best at avoiding going home to their cunt wives, or you can witness as a man drinks himself into a coma in a bar and passes out freely there. When we went there I had a Guinness that was expertly poured and I still have wet dreams over it, I commend the bartender for that deliciousness. Anyhow we have still yet to make it to my/our bar here in Brig! That distinct honor is saved for a place called “Riverbar” this place is located inside a hotel where the predominant market is people who go to ski/snowboard at the Matterhorn and it is a cozy place that is well equipped for a long drinking night with billiards, darts, and a foosball table. Just go there with a couple of buddies like I did recently buy five or six 3 L beer towers and get ready to bullshit break glasses and have a good time while the locals stare at you with their weird haircuts.

(Can you tell if I was drunk when I took this?)

After a good night of drinking again, I always enjoy taking a walk around town and just enjoying the scenery. Again it is beautiful. I love Europe for the fact that they have old buildings right next to modern buildings. This for me gives a sense of the past and future, and how much not only has architecture changed but also people. People change with the times as much as the buildings and it is interesting to just try and picture how people lived back one hundred hell maybe three hundred years ago, for me these buildings can let my mind wander and get a glimpse into the past. Which important people walked through these same streets that I did in the past, or who was sitting in that corner over there having a beer two hundred years ago…

(This is the Catholic School of Higher Learning of Molestation)

(This is the High School of Higher Molestation)

As you walk and see an old castle with some very interesting architecture that has some hints of Muslim architecture you can see parents bringing their children to play in this frozen castle and experience some history. One can also walk over some bridges and you see the cold water rush down the canal and make its way down to an unknown destination (for me) and see how pure and clean it looks that it makes you want to take off your clothes off and jump in, but then you remember, “Yeah it is so cold my nipples are so hard they can cut through diamonds” and you say “Well fuck that.”

(This is where the King, Lord or whatever the fuck he was got drunk and lived)

(Can you see the water on the side that is pouring out that just froze mid-fall? Yeah it is that cold)

Brig is a wonderful city to come by and visit for the day to see it, I would not make it a personal destination to come here, however if you are coming to ski/snowboard at the Matterhorn give it a shot, the town is quiet, safe, and comfortable in its own way.

But fuck it’s cold.

A much more fun three part on Puerto Rico is what I am writing next and that should be a little bit more interesting than this blog post.

(The cute frozen water canal. YAY!)

Switzerland: Snow

I want to touch on a previous experience that happened that really did touch my heart in a way because of how special the moment it was and how it was to share it with other people at the same time.

Snow.

OK, OK for some it’s not a big deal. It’s only frozen water. But you know what? Fuck you. I come from a goddamn tropical island where the constant weather is…fucking humidity, heat and rain. So seeing snow is a big deal for me OK asshole? If you have seen snow before or live in a cold climate you probably hate it by now, and to be honest I probably will after I live with that constant weather for a few months.

But for me that initial moment, was truly priceless. First we saw two gentlemen walk in covered in snowflakes, and we thought: “Maybe some snow fell of an awning or something, no biggie” nope. As my Indian friend said: “Is snowing!” quickly we all ran out. I stayed by the door mesmerized by this event. The sidewalks were covered in white. So much white that you saw Colombians trying to scoop it up from the ground thinking that God was giving them cocaine. I know it’s nothing special, but I am twenty-two years old for me this is a very special event. As I was holding the door my best friend threw my hand away from holding the door to run out and see the snow. We all laughed and where cheering to what the Kazakhs and Russians must be thinking these guys are lunatics. But fuck it! Who cares! Me and my Indian friend made a commitment to go out to a black car that was parked across the street to feel the snowflakes land on our shirts and seep through to our warm bodies to cool us.

(You see that white stuff? That is snow…See my blogs are also educational)

 As we were doing this walk a full-fledged snow ball fight erupted, courtesy of the Kazakhs, and as they launched two snowballs at us and luckily hit the ground in front of our feet. As we made our way back laughing and cracking jokes another one of our Indian friends was full out throwing snowballs like if it was cricket and as he was wildly throwing he managed to hit two Kazakh girls, both were roommates, and the last one that got hit screamed so loud me and my best buddy could not stop laughing our asses off in front of her. After he hit the last Kazakh girl and he said: “Oh Shit.” In a great Indian accent, the Kazakh’s ran him off half a block down the street in the freezing cold.

During this time we all agreed to grab a snowball and wait till he comes back and gets close enough to so we can hit him with an orgy of snowballs. As we drew him in, closer, and closer I started the onslaught, by throwing a perfectly placed shot, directly to his Indian Rubies. Around five to seven balls hit him and taught him a lesson. Do not throw snowballs like a retarded cricket player and hit women. Very simple. Just like in any war don’t hit the women and children, no matter how hilarious their screams might be.

We kept playing for a while and you could see who has the experience of playing in the snow. Kazakhs where hiding behind obstacles and launching snowballs pretty accurately in every direction, while me and the Indians were just happy to be making a snowball like decrepit five year old child. However I later found out that for some of my Indian friends that not only is the first time they saw snow fall it’s also the first time they saw snow. This for me was touching as well, because we managed to share a first moment together. Both our countries are hot and humid countries. So we rarely and I mean rarely get a chance for snow.

This was a small post to just show how happy some of the inadequate things for some in life can cause absolute happiness to some. This was the perfect example for some. Then I start to reflect the same way. For the Russians, Kazakhs and anybody from a cold country, well they hate the snow. That is understandable. For me. I personally hate sand. It is annoying it gets all over you, can’t take it off, and it seems that it follows you all over no matter how hard you try to get away from it. But for these cold weathered people it must be something absolutely amazing to experience it. Instead of building a snowman they can build a sand castle. Now I have the good fortune to be able to make my own snowman or like I said previously have my first snowball fight.

(Sand. Figure it out.)

But just like cold weathered people will learn after playing with sand for a longer than expected time and just like I will learn with snow.


They fucking suck.

Switzerland: A Day in the Life of a Waiter

“A merchant who approaches business with the idea of serving the public well has nothing to fear from the competition.” –James Cash Penney



10 Seconds!

My “shift” is about to start and the customers are about to pour into the this make shift restaurant. The woman screaming the commands it’s a small French woman that has some serious anger issues and some serious sexual frustrations. She is oozing with a physical need of somebody to grab her and taking her out back to bend her over ontop of the “Ben and Jerry’s” ice cream machine in order to deliver her (and specially us) from her evil. But till then she opens up the door with a mischievous grin and the customers start flowing in.

As we are all assigned a group of four people each, you can actually see fear in some of the waiters and waitresses eyes. Like if they have been assigned with a ticking time bomb and they are the only people who can defuse it. I mean its really not that hard to be a waiter. But there is a big problem. When you have an angry French woman grading your every waking second of your living moment while you are there. Then you start freaking out. I have seen poor Asian women navigating the border of going hysterical and flinging a knife at the customer or just going into a corner and crying like her parents have just been murdered infront of them.

My turn is up. I am one of the last tables. I am about to represent a proud heritage of maybe centuries old, of Waiters. Yes some of you might laugh at how ridiculous this might sound and yes some think this is beyond easy (yes casual dining is), however in this French style of service there is a certain protocol and rules you have to follow and there are people who become professional waiters for a living. However the trick is just to remember everything and to do it efficiently. At the end of the day a waiter is nothing less than a sales person. You are selling some product to a customer and your boss tells you to push a particular product harder than the rest, to sell more alcohol or to sell more coke I don’t know whatever your General Manager asks you to sell it doesn’t matter. All this if you do an efficient service is to get a good tip at the end of the meal with the check. At the end what we all want for working miserably in a job like this is money, and that’s what majority of people are looking for.

My table is filled with two Russian women, one Chinese guy, and one Guatemalan woman. Ahh diversity, my favorite. This will be fun. I always have a blast explaining the Asians what the fuck is a damn soufflé. The Russians? Well they usually are trying to finish their dinner because they are dying for another cigarette. The Guatemalan? I don’t know and don’t give two flying fucks what they want. Only positive thing about them is that they speak Spanish and I can have somebody to interact with.

After I take their order (which is not hard since is Table d’hote) then I go to get their bread and water that’s when the fun and mayhem begin.

Go to the back and all the other waiters are being hectic in the background complaining about their customers or the French lady lurking around their table nit picking at every little detail they forget. I grab my bread do a usual scream, punch a midget into the ground and walk out gracefully to my table to give them their delicious bread and butter. As I walk around pouring them each their water in their glasses I see the appetizers going out. So after setting my water jug down, I go out back with my swagger at full blast and walk to the back to the kitchen to go get the appetizers for the table.

Ahh my favorite part. Going to the back of the kitchen. I love the kitchen. If I had any shred of indecency, loved working long hours, and controlled my sweat and constant fucking like a Mexican hooker during rush hour in Mexico City then maybe I would study to be a chef. But for now I will dandle my way in the kitchen and have a blast with my chef’s to be friends. I walk in there and immediately recognize one of my buddies a tall British kid who we act like we are mad at each other just to raise the tension in the room, so we just give each other our douchebag stare that we always give each other and he starts handing me some of my appetizer’s. Close by there is another one of my dear friends who is from New Zealand and I always say hi to her in a great New Zealand fashion by screaming at her “Wanker” and she gives me her appetizers. The head chef gives us an astonished face and looks at me with eyes saying “Why the fuck aren’t you back here with us?” I politely say “Thank you chef” and head out with my order. By now I should tell you, I am carrying four plates with food on them. You might think is retardedly easy. Hah you fucking ignorant shit. No its not, especially when you have to put them in a specific order and follow this French woman’s fucking protocol. So after setting my plates down and telling my guests “Bon Appetite” which in my head roughly translates  to “Go fuck yourself and eat that piece of cabbage you ignorant assholes while I am starving munching on crappy bread” I smile and walk away for my guests to devour their food.

I come back the Russians stare at me with wild eyes, just needing to get out of there for their cigarette, the Chinese doesn’t even know what’s going on and the Guatemalan chick cannot stop hitting on me and I could not be more uninterested if I tried. I clear their plates, right before a Russian stabs me with the dinner fork and I make my way to the back to get the appetizer. The still room (where all the other waiters are at) is where I am heading I see my best buddy there and it’s time to vent and make fun of the people we are waiting. After hearing about how my buddy has a problem talking to his customers because they all don’t speak a word of English, I see the first few waiters taking their main course out to their tables. So naturally me and my buddy follow along like good servant slaves to serve our masters.

We arrive to the kitchen see the Chef barking out order to his in-subordinates and I see a few of my friends in the back hacking and slashing away preparing to finish the main course plates for us to pick up and take to the feeding frenzy. I give a few unapologetic stares to my colleagues grab, coordinate with my partner in how to deliver the plates which are hot,

“Seat 3 has the chicken and 4 has the veal”  I say.

“So which one should I hold first?” he says.

“Look you waste of sperm pay attention before I beat you senseless with the plate and force feed you this shit they call chicken!”

After coordinating like true well educated gentlemen, we venture off into the French Lady’s kingdom of hell. After arriving to our table her beady eyes coming glare at us as we are preparing to put our plates and take the domes out. We set the plates down beautifully, a Picasso paint couldn’t be executed any better in fact I think I heard Beethoven’s 9th Symphony play in the background during the entire process, but when it came to taking the domes off the plate simultaneously well that’s a different story. After taking them off beautifully in sync, I fucked up in which hand should go up with the domes. I went up with my right hand first then followed by my left hand…3…2…1. RAAAAAAGE! What is that shit storm you hear? Is it Sarah Palin? Is it Hurricane Katrina? No its super French bitch! Here she comes in her usual rage and saying in every which way possible in an allowable set of words, if I am retarded. I know I fucked up but why all the rage? Why do you have to batter me and make me feel so horrible like the last time I gave that girl crabs. It’s a mistake it happens. Next time just pull me aside after I mess up and tell me what I did wrong like a normal human being.

But fuck it after that bludgeoning and I went back to find that midget again to beat to death with a loaf of bread, I gather my composure return to my table and clean the plates. By now the students sitting there know how horrible of a human being can this woman be. They are sympathetic with me after watching that little display by our teacher. I thanked them and brought them their dessert, then I left them to yet again inhale the food in their plates. I went out back to the kitchen to converse with my mates. I can always fuck around with them since they are always stressing out because that is just life in the kitchen, they are trying to find ways to release that stress. Either by playing pranks on each other or by cracking jokes. I crack a few and I tell the little Panamanian girl to save me a dessert for later, and she does one of her usual crazy little faces and goes away.

As I go back to clear the table and start bringing out their coffees, I hear a small crash of a glass cup hitting the floor and all I can think “Who is that poor person that is going to get humiliated and treated like one of Michael Vicks dogs?”. As I look back I see it’s this poor Chinese girl that I am always joking around with, so I start feeling even worst for her. I see the French woman creeping in ready to go for the jugular to strike her wounded victim. What a horrifying sight nature can be sometimes. Even when you are at your worst somehow, something comes and makes it even worst.

I bring my coffee cups to my table so they can chug it down, I go out back steal my dessert then come back to escort my “customers” out then the luxurious part begins. It truly is an awesome feeling that the worst part of grading is done (Yes I said worst because you still get grading even while clearing your damn table). So after doing all the cleaning in beautiful execution, it’s time to clean up the “restaurant”. Until the last customer has left we can’t clean the god damn dining hall, remember its fucking fine dining. It’s not like those assholes are paying anyways so can you just shove a roman candle up their ass and make them get the fuck out already?

Well after we polish, put all the plates where they should go, clean the still room, clean the dining hall, take the dirty laundry downstairs, put the leftover food in the bin for the pigs, vacuum and some other assortment of small stuff we all line up just like in an execution squad ready to be shot by the M60 that is our French instructor.

And it begins. Here comes the massacre. She starts telling us that we didn’t do a bad job except a few mistakes here and there and he obvious crashing of the glass cup. However we all feel good but then she starts naming off things that we forgot like taking the salt and pepper away or leaving the menus and she starts shooting glances at specific people here and there. Which for them must feel like the size of a broadswords tearing through them. After a while she starts getting redundant and keeps explaining the same thing over and over and different example saying “If it were me I would never come to the restaurant again, Ah” that is word for word what she said. Bad English and all. Also what is up with finishing with “Ah” every fucking sentence? Is that the French equivalent of the Canadians “Eh”? Because if it is, it’s highly annoying and makes me want to throw the left over boiling soup on her so she can shut her mouth.

After we got graded and spent what was a good 40 minutes receiving criticism and hearing whatever belligerent story about her and her good days when she was an assistant GM she finally tells us we can go, and thank God my feet are killing me.

After I arrive upstairs say by to everybody I take of my shoes and by now they smell like Lord Poseidon’s assholes fury. At least the day is over, eight hours nonstop without a break, and it’s not hard it’s just long periods of nothingness of hearing an angry woman talk. I mean I know she means well and she is trying to teach us but does she have to be a total cunt about it?

Ah fuck it at least I am happy we are close to the weekend so I can go visit the city of Geneva…hopefully they have cheap alcohol there! Oh who am I kidding its Switzerland even a bottle of Coke will cost you at least one testicle.

I hope there is something delicious to eat at Geneva….

Switzerland Week: 1

As I stare off into the landscape and see the gorgeous country of Switzerland, I come to ponder…Am I really here? Is this all a Dream? Am I still on Peyote? And why is Danny De Vito standing at the foot of my bed with blood shot eyes ready to strike with a serrated knife? Wait what?

Wake up gasping for air. Wow so that is what exhaustion does to the mind. Danny Fucking De Vito. Well I guess my day is off to a start to say the least. As I go down and meet my new colleagues with my best buddy Hugo, I cant fail to notice that all I see its a sea of yellow, and by that I mean all I fucking see is Asian people. Left to right. Short haired, long haired, glasses, with out glasses, short, and shorter and it just carries on. Ever so often I see one or two Russian or somebody from Kazakhstan. I was impressed I met one person from Kazakhstan, but now? I see them all the time.

Dont get me wrong they are some of the nicest people I have met here including the Chinese kids also. But damn is there many of them. I walk around seeing the foreign women (and yes its true guys vast majority of them are hot) and think…how the fuck am I going to talk to these people? Sure they know English but majority speak either like Jean Claude Van Damme or Jackie Chan.

Anyways after an “Ice Breaker” which in a hidden language means “Get drunk and mingle with the foreign kids and go on a fucking spree” I met some interesting people from all over the world. I met a Canadian, a Bulgarian, Italian, Kenyan, Egyptian, Bahamian, Romanian, Russian, Korean, Panamanian, infact you know what this is easier to explain. You know in “Epcot” in Disneyworld? Where you get a tour of the countries? This is what it basically is. Just a blood orgy of cultures and different personalities fussed into one building ready for a war to emerge.

Or will it? In reality so far everybody has been getting along well. People here are uncannily nice. Its kinda aggravating, how is it that everybody can get along so well. Are all the things that “CNN” and “FOX News” have shown and told us can possibly be not true? My God man! What is all this blasphemy I am experiencing! Why arent the Russians drinking vodka heavily and wrestling each other? Or why arent the Chinese making toxic toothpaste and Nike’s? Oh because its all not true. Sure there are obviously people who do these things in their respected countries, but the everyday normal person? Nope. The Egyptian’s are not screaming revolution and shooting AK-47’s up in the air, and I bet the people here were blown away to see two tall Puertoricans and not with spears or with canoes ready to go hunting for quail or for whatever the fuck my ancestors hunted before the Spanish came and face fucked the natives to extinction. But that is what the first experience is here. Knowing the true realities of people and that what the television shows us is not true is a refreshing and humbling fact to us all.

Well after my third Swiss crappy beer and lively conversations, I head to my room to settle down and hopefully not see Danny De Vito or Joan Rivers in another sexscapade (another story from another dream just dont miss alcohol and…some recreational ahem drugs). Its 3 AM. The bed is foreign. I look to my schedule and see I have my  first activity at…….8 AM!? What the fuck?! They expect me to be up and in a suit around that time?!

Fuck this is going to be a long year….