Italia: Passivity Used Aggressively

It was time to go to Italia for real. In fact, it’s been a long time coming. I’ve taken six semesters of Italian, had some Italian friends, made a 30 min movie in Italian, and eaten tons of spaghetti – the recipe for a trip to this wondrous country (not spaghetti, sorry). Now we will take a few steps away from Finland, which of course we’ll come back to in the future, and focus on a country that I would call very very different from Finland if I didn’t know about the East side of this Earth, word up.

So Maija and I decided to head on out from Finland to Italy to try this program called World Wide Opportunities for Orangic Farming, or made into a verb WWOOFing. We decided to go WWOOFing. That is opposed to BARKing…okay horrible joke. Anyways WWOOFing allows you to go to many many different countries, travel and remain in them for incredibly little money(at least compared to a vaction). The program works like Craig’s list (w/out the prostitution), you join the program for a small fee(25e) and some paper work, then you get access to a list of farmers who need help, you choose a farm that can speak a language you speak(sometimes they speak as many as four), then after some emailing with that farm you go there. The cool thing is that in exchange for your work on their farm, they give you a place to stay along and all your meals. This allows you for starters to meet other WWOOFers from many different countries, experience different countries for cheap, and sharpen you language skills – a really cool idea. Many farms also accept couples and children as well. This is not to mention that you get some hair on your chest, it’s free of charge.

Enough exposition, let’s begin a nice impression of Italia. I first experienced Italians while I was still back in Finland at the airport. If I’ve learned anything about Italians, or at least Sicilians, it’s that their manner of speaking is very comparatively intense than ours or any of the countries I’ve visited so far. They seem very much like I imagined Grecians to be, at least my impression of Grecians I got on exchange. Grecians were intense when they spoke but maybe even less intense than these Italians are, we’ll see when I go to Greece.

One of the first ways I could tell I was flying to Italy /Sicily and not somewhere  like for instance Germany or Finland(both of which I’ve ridden with on an air plane) was on the air plane itself. It was the time when we were in the air and the captain turned off the fasten safety belt sign because we were in clear skies. I think most people who have ridden on an airplane know what I’m talking about. Generally they tell you when the captain turns off the fasten safety belt sign that means you can go to the bathroom or get up and go to another part of the plane if that’s necessary, but in the meantime keep your safety belt buckled because turbulence can occur unexpectantly. Apparently those instructions mean different things to people from different cultures. For Finnish people those instructions seem to mean sit down with your safety belt buckled, don’t move or talk, and use the bathroom if it’s an emergency. Now for a plane full of Sicilians that means get up and wonder around the cabin aimlessly, stopping to chat with anyone who will speak to you.

The whole plane is loud and chattery the whole time, when the safety belt sign goes off you can hear a synchronous unclicking of everyone’s seatbelt on the airplane – you can hardly hear announcement over the loud speaker over the chit chat! So then we arrived in Trapani, Sicily, which is the place where our adventures started. Our plan was to take ryan air to Trapani, then traverse the entire island to get to where we’re supposed to be WWOOFing at….haha WWOOFing at, sounds so strange. Anyways, let’s just get one thing straight right now: I don’t know about the rest of Italia but at least in Sicily THEY DO NOT SPEAK A DAMN LICK OF ENGLISH. Now I’ve taken six semester of Italian, or at least that was two years ago…so I figured I would be maybe okay, well I started to realized when I arrived in Sicily that coming here was a dive straight into the lion’s den. We ended up deciding to WWOOF somewhere where there are almost absolutely no international tourists, so people sometimes at least have not the patience for foreigners, nor the ability to at all communicate with them in English.  These people apparently speak in some places (I can’t discern yet where) a hybrid of a Sicilian language and Italian.  Of course everyone here knows standard Italian in some way(I think), but the dialect is actually partly an entirely different language in the countryside. It doesn’t matter to me, they speak so fast I can hardly catch at all what they’re saying anyways. I’m just now really getting actually used to how it sounds and am getting some sort of idea of what conversations are about.

You know I used to kind of lump Europe into kind of one big entity, kind of in the same way I’ve heard a lot of Europeans talk about how they lump the US into one entity, regardless of state or region. Now that I’ve been around even a little bit, I can go ahead and say that I was pretty much just incorrect about my lumping. At least when you go from one of the most northern points in Europe, aka Finland, to one of the most southern points in Europe, aka Sicily Italy, it feels like an entire different world. Now I know from what I’ve been told and taught that the eastern countries are quite different from west, but as of now having not been to the east at all, this difference was like night and day. Now I went about a month ago to Berlin, and I didn’t really feel such a difference…the same with Cambridge. Berlin, Cambridge, and cities I’ve been to in Finland all seemed well not so much the same….but not so different. Coming to Sicily was a completely different story.

The traffic in Sicily is a NIGHTMARE. To rent a car here is through the roof because it’s bound to get hit at one point. People very very often just use the oncoming traffic lane to drive in if the other one is too full, then scramble to barely fit back into that full lane when they see someone coming from the other direction. If you remember the first pirates of the carribean movie when they say the pirate codes are more like “guidelines,” then that is the exact meaning of the lines drawn on the road here. People squeal around curves, and use the whole road if no one is around or they don’t think anyone is around. I’ve seen many go across the line on a blind curve, just gambling as to whether someone would be coming the other way. Horns are a standard here in the same way they are in New York City, except it’s like this across the entire Island. A lot of the public buses literally have clown horns instead of normal horns on their buses(?) for no other reason I can think of other than the bus drivers probably used them so much that public/city planners wanted the them to feel embarrassed to use it all the time.

There is trash everywhere, at least in the small city I’m close to and the big city it’s close to as well. As you walk the streets you see everything you might think of from broken glass to used condoms, even near the city center! We’ve come across some of the nicest people ever to some of the most dickish people ever just on the streets, public transport, and around as we’re trying to find our way. I would always go around trying to use my broken Italian, and well, maybe my Italian isn’t –so- broken as much as my ability to listen and understand having never been to Italy before. Usually I ask a question about where to go and they reply some garble of something that I have no ability of understanding. Short conversations I can totally understand, but any explanations or directions are completely up in the air unless the person speaks sloooowwwwwly.

If there’s anything that is for sure, Italians or at least Sicilians have straight up, personalities. A lot of the older folk just love love love to see that foreigners have come to visit their little city and will talk to you with a smiling loving face, and have an hour long conversation with you even if there is only about 15min of understanding in total. I’ve had some Italians speak, and very effectively might I add, with their hands and words to tell me the answer to what I ask and seem to absolutely enjoy every minute of it. On the other hand some that we’ve come across have had little to no patience with us. If we can’t quite understand something, or there is some sort of mix up because we’re idiots who can’t communicate, we’ve gotten really mean or sarcastic faces travelling around here. I tried to go up and talk to one girl about my age to see if she could help us. I spoke to her in Italian and asked if she spoke English. She said no she doesn’t and I said okay that’s fine in Italian and started to ask her in Italian. She literally just says “I don’t speak English” to everything I try to say(in spite of speaking in Italian). I said I’m trying to speak in Italian and she just says in Italian back “I don’t speak English, fair?” I was like uhh okayyy then I’ll just go and try to figure it out then. Luckily a few minutes later we met one of the older folk types that just loves us and he was totally able to help us out.

There was another typical and almost loony toons like moment when I walked into a Bar to buy a bus ticket…wait, let me explain something else….you don’t buy the bus tickets on the bus here, there are these random stores called tabbachi you can buy them from, then you get on the bus. Weird thing is that there’s not always one of those places around when you wanna get on the bus. There is an odd solution to this though, just walk into the nearest bar or café. Chances are that they sell bus tickets too. Not all places have them but I guess if you happen to be a business, there is some way that you can obtain and start selling public bus tickets. Actually I don’t think they’re public now that I think of it, there’s all kinds of difference buses with different names……anyways back to the story……So I walk into the bar to buy a bus ticket, it’s fine and everything goes well. My mistake was asking where the nearest bus stop was. At that time like 5 other Italians walk in the bar then plus the 2 people at the counter are there, and they all know where the bus stop is and want deeply to explain it to me. I ask and the whole room erupts with voices –“Hey I’ll explain it to him. No let me explain it to him! No I’ll explain it to him! Hey, they don’t know what they’re talking about, I’ll explain. No, he’s dumb, you go out this door and to the left…etc etc.” Soon some girl just grabs my arm and takes me outside to point and explain slowly.

Sicilians(which I right now use interchangeably with Italians because I don’t know any different yet) to me seem like very clever people, always making quick jokes and smart comments. Some of the names of the places I saw were clever. For instance a bar with a sign that said “beer in progress” or another place with a sign that said pizzeria and under it also said “birraria.” Haha. Beer = birra in Italian. There was another really funny one in English but I don’t remember, it was the best one.

Also, in spite of their crazy crazy traffic, they seem to have come up with a really clever way to travel around this near desert of an Island. The public transit way to go is bus, because trains are out of date and always late(date late haha). The guy who owns the farm here says that every train is two hours late, so if you want to catch the train at 11am, you always go to the station at 11am to wait for and get on the 9am train. And it seems right that the buses are the way to go, because the highway is very interesting. The highway we took on the 5 hour ride it took to get across the Island was almost entirely a bridge. That’s right, a bridge. This seems, although who knows maybe there is some other reason, like it’s to save energy. You see, Sicily is a bunch of almost dessert, some vegetation, and big hills. If you go straight in a car instead of changing your vertical position, and I won’t go into a lengthy explanation why, you save gas. If you make a bridge over and around a hilly landscape instead of putting the road on that landscape, the cars that drive on it will save gas and not change their vertical position as much. This is a really interesting way to rethink a “bridge.” A bridge put in place because it’s more efficient for the cars that drive on it, rather than just to get the cars over something they couldn’t drive on anyways like water. That’s pretty freaking clever. Or maybe they did that for another reason, I coined that idea, and I should go cash in on it.

Italians when they speak to each other can seem really angry, which is a shame because such a beautiful language doesn’t seem meant to be spoken in a harsh way. In the end it doesn’t matter, the language is still music to just about anyone’s ears it would seem. This place is also super super hot by the way, if you look on the map Sicily is really really close to North Africa.

Okay this blog begins to grow lengthy, so I will end with a note from the back of my mind and I hope you can keep it in the back of yours after you’ve read this: This is just my impression of Sicily near a small town called Paterno and a big city called Catania. Haha maybe some of the things I wrote up there sound bad to some extent, but don’t be phased by them or let them shape your opinion of Italy. This culture is quite different from others I have experienced, and it’s also my impression that Sicily kind of has a culture all of its own. Even if this were the culture of all Italia, it’s just something I’m not, or maybe we’re not depending who’s reading this, used to. This is on top of the fact that I don’t speak the only language they know very well and they don’t speak a bit of the only language I know well. That puts me in a position to get some frustrated vibes from some people in the first place, because situations where you can’t communicate are just plain frustrating. Either way, anything negative I said is through my cultural lens which has never seen a culture quite like this one. It could be completely different in other places in Italy as well. Either way, these are my perceptions of such a place. PEACE YO!

I went the next day to Joensuu.

You may have noticed the title of the last blog, then its complete irrelevance considering what the story turned out to be. Well here's what shoulda coulda woulda been in the last blog post story:

Now Joensuu isn’t the most eventful place on Earth, you can ask any Finn….NOT. Come on people, when are you going to learn that Joensuu is actually an awesome city? That’s right, most Finns think Joensuu is a joke…haha I learned this near the end of my time there. If you say you’re going to Joensuu, people react in the same way you would react if someone told you that they were going to Detroit, actually even worse – imagine that! Joensuu got its reputation back in the nineties, which back then was well deserved, because of a bad uhh…ehem…uh well a bad skinhead problem. It’s not like that anymore I swear!!!! I didn’t even know there were skinheads in Finland much less Joensuu before someone told me about this old problem. Weird thing is now that I’ve heard that, a few people told me that these days Finland is some sort of safe haven for those types of people. Of course I didn’t see, notice, or come in contact with any of them so it’s not a bad problem whatever it is. Anyways that’s a complete and total side note, my point is that when I went to Joensuu is was absolutely beautiful and bright with colors even more than when I left. Finns tend to complain about it because it’s away from everything, which I would say if you don’t like the place you live so much that it’s inconvenient that you can’t go somewhere else easily because you wanna leave where you live so bad….well, maybe you shouldn’t live there in the first place.

Anyhow, I know I love Joensuu so there’s no need to justify my undying love(or something). When I went there everything was in bloom, and oh how was I was sad that I missed the white nights there. By gosh Joensuu, I’ll see you one of my coming summers…I just know it. I wish I had taken pictures, but for a bit I had this been there done that mentality. NOPE. By gosh what was I thinking, my re experience of Finland at least in these days were just as blogworthy as other days back in exchange.

So now I’ll get really actually going to my Joensuu story and stop rambling. I got to Joensuu the day before a festival – the festival of the arts. If there’s one thing you have to know about Finns in the summer…okay two things……one is that they are damn happy as can be that it’s not cold anymore, and two is that they will be damned if they won’t take advantage of it. Taking advantage of anything in Finland usually means drinking in public. Now there is a no drinking in public law…..but there is one exception….you can drink if you are having a “picnic.” Hah, yeah that’s right, a picnic. So on beautiful festival days the Finns young and old, bookworm and skinhead, emo and jock all set out on the fields to have just a good ole fashion innocent picnic. Usually in the US you think hmm picnic….cookie cutter family, or hippies maybe….or…well okay maybe I’ll stop generalizing but anyways the point is that it’s very interesting the kinds of people you’ll see having a nice picnic on the grass sitting on a blanket because everyone loves picnics….cough…alcohol. It’s just part of the culture, period.

Luckily they’re a little more creative than that. If there’s something else Finns like, it’s very often rock and metal music. This particular festival had bands(about 4 stages strewn throughout the city), art exhibits in the museums(duh), and another thing I’m forgetting. The atmosphere is really cool, many thousand people in the city center, people having picnics, moving from place to place….it’s weird, everytime there’s a festival it’s like there’s a weird fog everywhere….maybe it’s just me…

So I arrived in Joensuu, immediately eating lunch with and meeting people. In the night me and two friends went to the sauna in the biology building(don’t ask). Then it was quite late and it was bed time alreadys. The next day is the real piece of odd, for real. The next day was festival time, after some floating around doing the thing, I met up with two of my choir buddies at 4PM(so good to see them! And well everyone too!) and we were off to the festival.

Okay this next part is gonna take a couple tangents, but what’s a roller coaster without a few twists, turns, and curves between the loops…right?

First we went to grab some alcohol (culture people! Cultural experience!), I got this ridiculous ridiculous wine called Valdemar. Come on I wasn’t trying to spend a lot of money, and how can you say no to this face on the front of the bottle?

So the people I was with immediately start making fun of me haha it was 5e and 15%(SUPER CHEAP IN FINLAND, WHERE THE ALCOHOL FLOWS LIKE WATERFALLS IN THE SAME WAY EUROS DO OUT  OF YOUR POCKET). It’s so sweet it doesn’t even taste like wine, people are like “are you really going to drink…all of that??” Thing is that I have nothing to carry my legendary wine in, aside from some plastic bag. Oh well. Then we go to grab some food, cause we realize we have drinking plans yet no eating plans. Again we go for the student option…well not that there was a student option, but by gosh we made one. My friend told me there were these little 1e refrigerated pizzas in the market, and we were off. Two of the three of us ended up getting a pizza and a package of turkeydogs for dinner. That’s right, unheated pizza and turkeydogs, which I rightfully dubbed “weeners” at the time, for dinner.  Wait, I don’t have anything again to carry this stuff in….you can’t move fluidly from picnic to picnic during a festival without something to carry your cheap wine 1e pizza and weeners in. There was only one solution to this situation: Manbag . It’s been a long time in the making, I need a manbag. I’d been seeing them around, my friends back in the states had bought them, they’re everywhere in Europe – it was time for me to conform. Luckily here’s another cool thing about Finland – they have super badass second hand stores. Usually in the US you have some random second hand stores here and there which you go to if you really can’t find a costume for an 80’s party. In Finland it’s completely different, you find for real stuff there. In fact, a have a couple of my favorite shirts from second hand stores in Finland. That’s not all, some of the damn things make a huge profit!! Some of them you can go there and sell your clothes to them, others you can go an buy a space for a table in the store with your clothes on it and you get all the profit after that. Maija makes something like between 150e and 200e every time she goes there to sell her clothes. It’s –cheap- too, I bought a full suit from a second hand store in Joensuu for 15e! The thing didn’t look bad at all either!

I think this is just because people in Finland actually give away stuff that looks good but they don’t wear anymore. I feel like in America we just hold on to their clothes even if we never ever wear them, even if they look good enough to sell again. If I got a suit for 15e, and shirts for 1e each…think about how much money, earth, and man power (or child power depending on where you buy from) you would save while still looking good if you shopped at these places all the time. Maybe we shouldn’t be tearing the skinhead pages out of Finland’s book, but by gosh we could definitely use an entire chapter on second hand stores.

So this means I knew exactly where I was getting my manbag, and you know what, I got one from my favorite second hand store for just 2e. Suuure this particular manbag wasn’t the most stylish one on the block, but it had personality and cost less money than taking the bus from town to where I used to live in Joensuu. So booooom, now I was in business. I started to carry this fashionable piece of equipment from picnic to picnic, getting why are you drinking that and what the hell are you eating reactions from everyone along the way…it was a blast! Then I went bowling with some friends, well they bowled I drank. My friend is a tutor and was helping the new exchange students get acclimated….whoa boy was it weird to hang out with them. Made me remember those days, it was just amazing. I’ve only been away from 3 months and I’m already having nostalgia. Whew!

So then by and by it was time to go to the club, which is where a lot of party and festival nights end up in Finland along with the rest of the world. There comes the krux of the night. At every club there’s an entrance fee, and a coat/bag check fee. The bag check is usually 2 or 3 euros, and back when I was a bit green I paid every time…then I got to know Finland. In Finland, no one really steals anything.. okay except bikes. But my bag, full at this time with an empty bottle and half a small bottle of wine, empty pack of weeners, and frozen pizza trash, was not a bike. There’s actually a saying in Finland I’ve heard from a few people that if your wallet gets lost, you find it with more money in it. Finns are just generally civilized people (at least in this respect).

I can already feel the reader thinking…wait, no, he’s not going to leave his bag somewhere like…outside or something is he? Nooooooo of course not. Well your senses serve you well, unfortunately. If you didn’t sense that then go practice watching predictable movies or reading predictable books or something. So yeah whatever, basically what ended up happening is my friend had my bag in his bag and then checked his bag…..but then wanted to leave before me. I told him to do with my bag what had done many times before and have probably over the life of the habit saved at least….10 or 15e come on so worth it! So I told him to leave my bag outside beside a tree which was right in front of the club sticking out of the sidewalk.

My friend felt a little funny about doing this, but I assured him I had done it a million times and it would be fine. He was like….well, okay….here goes nothing.  Really he was gonna see me the next day so he would know then what happened to the bag. I went outside after clubbing….hm, no bag. This is strange. Surely no one stole it…come on it was a 2e bag and no one steals in Finland! My friend must have felt just funny about leaving the bag and figured he would see me the next day so he just took the bag with him. I was sure that’s exactly what happened.

So the next day I went to meet my friend and others. Everything is in disrepair with trash everywhere and a faint but ambient smell of vomit everywhere. I walked with my old flatmate to town from my old flatmate’s new place. It’s about a 30 minute walk so we were just walking and talking doing the thing. We’re about 3 minutes from the center and about to cross the bridge into Joensuu when I notice something on the ground……hmm…..odd…..there’s an empty frozen pizza package…..hm, wow those things must be pretty popular during festivals…..yeah hmm….well……wait….that….hm…hm, that….that looks suspiciously like uh….yeah uh like an empty weener package on the ground…..wow what a coinciden…….WHAT THE F***!...that was MY weener trash from MY manbag! I knew in that moment that my friend DID leave the bag like I told him to….and someone stole it…IN FINLAND!!  Not only that, the Finn thief wasn’t just a thief, he was a litterbug! That’s insult to injury, at least the person who stole it could be environmentally friendly but no! How the hell did I run into MY trash from MY manbag the next day? What are the odds? Even though he is the jerk who littered I still felt some responsibility to clean up my stolen trash, so I threw it away. There is hardly anything more humbling than cleaning up after someone who stole your stuff haha.

Here’s the funny thing and the amoral of the story: if I would have been safe and checked the manbag at the door, I would have paid more than the manbag was worth itself – 2.5e was the coat/bag check cost. By having my manbag stolen instead of giving my bag to bagcheck I saved money! I saved money by having my stuff stolen!! Now that, my friends, is the beauty of good second hand stores. Case and point, even though I miss my poor manbag!!! PEACE

Joensuu – reunited and it feels so good

It seems that my recent lack of internet has lead to a bit of something I would like to at this moment call a blog clog. A blog clog is where I've been writing some blog posts, but they've failed to get posted due to my lack of internet. This causes the blogs to add up and be unposted, causing the clog. Well this clog will now be cleared by some blog drano. Here ya go:

Alright people, so I know it’s been forever since I’ve updated my blog. There have been stories upon stories to tell, yet I have left you deprived and unspoiled with these adventurous gems. Well, I’m not making promises for starting this thing back up per se, but by gosh I made a trip back to my town away from town. Revisited the city of my life away from life. I once again traversed my heart and found the place where I was not so long ago. I took a trip to Joensuu.

Friends, Romans, people of Joensuu: kiitos.

Alright so I won’t exactly restrict this blog post to Joensuu per se, although I will talk mostly about my good good Joensuu friends. The story starts back in a place called Tampere, Finland. Tampere apparently means City of the Gods. Psht f**king lame, I like riversmouth, which is how Joensuu translates into English.  Yeah riversmouth, how badass is that….yeah right anyways so I was in Tampere visiting my lovely girlfriend Maija Koljonen. That’s right I have a Finnish girlfriend now, to all of you who don’t have facebook and can muster up the enthusiasm to care haha. Maybe that sentence was for an audience of 1 person.  People are always like dude who the hell are you dating and why the f**k does she have so many j’s in her name?? Haha just place j’s in funny places and the world suddenly flips upside down.

So I was visiting her and my good friend Ilkka from the finnish choir I was in during my time in Joensuu contacted me saying he was from the City of the Gods and we should chill before we go to riversmouth. I said sure thang and we went for dinner at a place his friend owns called jack the rooster(Finns are so unoriginal that they can’t come up with names in their own language, the damn thing is that jack the rooster is a more original name than I could come up with in English…..bastards!).  This place was pretty sweet, having bands from time to time etc….but the real gem of this place was the fateful Death Burger. That’s a spicy burger, if I were to make an understatement. Me and my friend were not that brazy(brave and crazy) so we had normal burgers. Thing was that the owner my friend knew was just so nice and generous that he brought out a little cup of the stuff they put in the death burger so we could try. We’re both curious so we’re like awesome and just take a finger tip worth each of this stuff.  Now I’ve tried hot stuff before, that’s for dang sure…but this was a horse of a different color. Within seconds I couldn’t take it  or keep myself quiet in the restaurant. I put it in my mouth and started shouting thing that went  something like this:……Moaather F**KER! !  Wooo! WOooo!! DAMN that’s hot!

So people started kinda looking at us and Ilkka’s friend immediately brings us some milk with this look on his face as if he was kicking himself for the situation he just caused.….hmm Ilkka was actually a bit quiet although the look on his face spoke perhaps louder than my shouts.... the point is I was the only one yelling like a jackass but my social barriers had been put at the mercy of this relentless fire in my mouth.  I mean this stuff was RIDICULOUS. It was at least the second hottest stuff I’ve ever tried, both sweating with noses running. After the initial burn I calmed down(kinda) before there were complaints or police calling(sometimes a finnish solution to such social situations)….but we did spark the curiosity of this random girl that was sitting behind us haha uh oh next victim. You know sometimes it doesn’t take peer pressure to get people to do stuff, they completely screw themselves out of pure curiosity. We didn’t even have to try to get her to have some, we’d given up on the idea since we had made such a public display of discontent. So she of course talks and beats around the bush a bit before continuing to steal a fry, dip it in the stuff, and try it. Hah, wow she had put a lot on that fry too. She then takes a couple steps back and goes into a half fetal position still standing with legs straightened and upper body curled into a ball. After about a minute we’re like uhh…...are you alright? She quickly replies with “-I’M GOING TO F***ING DIE!-“

The damn hotness lasts about 20minutes before you feel okay again, so me and Ilkka had only drank about a third of our milks at this point but before we knew it the girl we didn’t even know had downed both of them hahaha just wow.

So now I’m gonna make a longer part of this story short. We left there, split up, and Ilkka took some of it to his friends. He felt like being a bad ass while he was with them and took even more of the stuff, like two spoonfuls! So then we met back up later and he was just suffering so much. Then we went out and I left early, but Ilkka was complaining before a little about his stomach, the milk, the hot stuff, and the alcohol not mixing so well. Well Ilkka drank quite a lot at the club after I left and then had a wonderful next day hahaha omg. Now think of this, a finger tip of the stuff made me crazy. They put 30g of the stuff in the Death Burger. They also have this other one called the Ultra Death Burger, where they put -90- grams of the stuff! They have some rules though, you can’t have the Ultra Death Burger without first eating the original at one point…..haha and after that you also have to sign a waiver!!! Dude how awesome is that. WTF. Alright that’s it for now, till next time people.