London Calling Part 2

At the end of a long day touring The Tower of London and the rest of the city on a big, red, double-decker bus, I was attempting to make it to the National Museum before closing time.  Luigi was the French/Italian tour guide with a wonderfully dry sense of humor who confirmed that the museum was closed and promptly began flirting with me.  I was the tired American tourist who was more than a little bored with London, but flattered that a handsome European with a fantastic accent was paying attention to me.  And oh yeah, I was also feeling a wee bit lonely after a week spent exploring Slovenia with me, myself and I.  Although the attention was nice it was clearly a recipe for disaster or at least near-disaster!

It started innocently enough.  I asked about the museum, he said he couldn't tell me unless I smiled for him.  So I flashed my pearly whites at which point he told me he would do whatever I wanted if I would just smile at him again.  I rolled my eyes and laughed and started to walk away, he stopped me and offered to walk me back to my hotel, which was convenient since I was a little lost.  Now, as naive as I can be (as you'll soon learn), I am not so stupid as to give a complete stranger the name of my hotel.  Instead I played dumb and pretended that I couldn't remember so he asked me to have a drink with him instead and I spontaneously agreed, oblivious to the fact that I had just been played.  

As we walked toward Hyde Park he grabbed my hand as we crossed the busy street.  Guess he thought I might step in front of one of those big, red buses. ;-)  But I was too busy being flattered to notice his violation of my personal space, something I usually guard rather fiercely.  As we enjoyed the amazing weather, bright blue skies and beautiful flowers we talked about our jobs and families.  He really tried to turn on the charm by exaggerating his accent but I just laughed and asked him he thought that would work.  He winked and said it usually did and then hugged AND kissed me!  Now, perhaps you're thinking that I would finally see the writing on the wall, but you would be wrong. 

You see, after many years I had finally succeeded in becoming an invisible woman in image-conscious America.  I was out of practice; no longer used to the attention of men.  I was so convinced that I was revolting that I honestly thought he was just enjoying a nice walk with a new friend.  I was an easy target, completely blind to his true intentions.  CRINGE. 

By the time we made it out of the park his XOXOs were finally starting to bug me.  I was still willing to meet him for drinks, but then he upped the ante by saying we should both go freshen up at which point he would join me in my hotel room with a bottle of wine.  Saw what?  Did he think I was easy?  WTH?  Finally my eyes were WIDE open and his intentions were crystal clear, but instead of telling him off or at the very least slapping him I was still trying to be nice!  I politely told him that I was not comfortable with that option and he backed off rather quickly, stuttering that it was just a suggestion, blah, blah, blah.  And believe it or not, I felt guilty for leading him on!  American idiot, right here in the flesh (ode to Green Day).   

When we parted at the entrance to the tube I was sufficiently stressed and paranoid.  I very cautiously crept down the street toward my hotel, darting in and out of different stores and crossing the street in a zigzag pattern as I imagined covert CIA operatives did when trying to escape the KGB.  After taking 30 minutes to walk the 2 blocks to my hotel I entered completely befuddled.  Thankfully there were some nice ladies in the common room who talked some sense into me and I decided to stay in for the night.  On a side note it really is a small world.  Even though they were from Oregon we knew people in common and one of them was heading to visit her friends in Kandern, the tiny village where I had left Laurie and her family just a week earlier! 

All in all my encounter with Luigi was not the best way to end my trip.  Although I can laugh about it now, at the time it was really upsetting.  I was angry at my own stupidity and naiveté.  As I settled into my closet  room I cried in frustration as I realized that I had squandered my last opportunity to partake of Indian food in London, one of few things on my must-do list.  If only I had clued in sooner I could have walked away unscathed and filled my grumbling tummy with some yummy Chicken Tika! 

Told you I was naive.  So now you know why I have avoided writing about London for so long.  Aside from my disappointment it's just plain embarrassing to admit how dumb I was!  Here's to hoping I've learned my lesson.  At least I can enjoy good Indian food locally and I'm pretty sure there is no one named Luigi frequenting India Palace!  ;-)

London Calling Part 1

There's a reason it has taken me 16 months to relate my London adventures, you see I really  did not enjoy my stay in the city.  There, I admitted it, although hating London is probably considered a sin by my sister-in-law who has visited on numerous occasions and loves all things British.  She obviously sees something there that I don't.  So I've made a new rule that since we've enjoyed other parts of England together, when or rather IF I return to London, she has to be with me.  :-)

It didn't help that I flew into jolly ole' England after spending a week in the beautiful country of Slovenia.  Ljubljana, the capital city, has an abundance of charm that most cities lack.  Suffice it to say, London was a huge shock after spending 5 days mellowing with the laid back Slovenians.  The flight to England was uneventful, but the bus ride from Stanstead Airport was a full 117 minutes longer than I had anticipated.  That put me into the city well after 8:30 pm, and if you've traveled with me at all you know that I will get lost in an unfamiliar city.  Sigh.

The entire ordeal was made slightly worse by having to haul my luggage around with me as I wandered in and out of tube stops trying to decipher my map.  It must have been written in Greek because I never could figure out how to read it...  I asked for help repeatedly and was pointed in numerous different directions by people who understood Greek.  Finally, after I had wandered around for almost 2 hours and it was dark and cold outside, I plopped myself in front of a subway worker and promptly burst into tears.  He produced a handy yellow highlighter, explained that my stop had the same name as a different stop (why????) and calmed me down, ever so concerned at the scene I was causing.  I gave him a watery smile, squeaked out my gratitude and proceeded to dry my tears, gather my courage and follow the yellow-brick road to my hotel.

My closet room

You would be more impressed if you could have smelled the noxious odor it emitted.  The shared bathroom down the hall was just slightly better than the gas station bathrooms I usually avoid.  The loo did not like to flush and the shower barely put out any water.  But those were typical of Europe and I knew I could live with that for one day.  At least the room was affordable, the staff friendly and the computer free!  (Read: Pessimist trying to pretend that the glass is half full.)

That's not to say that I didn't enjoy aspects of the city,because I did.  I was especially excited to see the Tower of London, even though trying to gaze at the Crown Jewels while standing on an automatic walkway was beyond annoying.  I had to ride that walkway several times to do justice to all of those rather large, glittering jewels!  But outside the sky was an amazing shade of blue, the flowers were in bloom and the weather was nearly perfect, London definitely smiled on me in that respect.

And then there are the loos.  Oh how I wish you could have seen the sour, unamused look on the bathroom attendant's face as I laughingly snapped this photo:  

With the exception of said bathroom attendant, those British folks have a heck of a sense of humor!  Giggle with me as you picture the annual "Loo Awards" ceremony.  Attendees dressed in their best formal attire, glamorous hair, perfect makeup, dazzling jewels, dapper tuxes, smiling and posing for the paparazzi while trailing little pieces of sandpaper toilet paper along the pillowy soft, white carpet.  Instead of makeup and electronics, their goodie bags would contain Charmin and Quilted Northern.  Can't you just hear Sir Ian McKellan making the grand announcement, "And the Loo of the Year for 2009 goes to..........drum roll.......the fine folks at the Tower of London, congratulations!!!!!" as he hands over a beautiful, golden loo?  Imaging that ceremony kept me entertained for the rest of the day. 

Next:  Proof for my family that I actually purchased and attempted to eat fish and chips: 

This from the girl who has yet to live down the fact that she ordered chicken at the world famous Amstruther's Fish & Chips shop during a family trip to Scotland.  I was determined to at least try it this time.  Verdict?  YUCK.  I hated the fish but ate the chips and then bought another Coca-Cola to wash the fish taste from my mouth.  Fish and I don't get along unless they're swimming in a tank, not battered, fried and sitting on my plate.  

The rest of the time I rode around on the top of a big, red, double-decker bus.  Of course, I nearly froze to death as the open top allowed the wind to give me frostbite and whip my hair into a tangled, frizzy mess.  But even though I had forgotten my jacket, I was too stubborn to move because the top offered the best views and it was my only chance to snap ample photographs of Big Ben, Buckingham Palace, various statues, churches and other buildings.   

All of those things were enjoyable or at the very least memorable.  However, they were the typical tourist stops and make for a boring story.  Here's the real reason why the mention of London shoots a shiver up my spine over a year later: his name was LUIGI and he was a tour guide on that big, red, double-decker bus.

Jet Lag

Lately I have been SO tired that all I can manage is sleep and sometimes a little work.  There are only 2 things that make me this tired: Mononucleosis and jet lag.

Of the two I prefer jet lag.

Honestly, if I have to be this tired, it should be for a good reason!It's not that I love jet lag in and of itself. No, I don't like having my internal clock turned topsy-turvy.  It's what jet lag represents to me that I love.  I'm fortunate because when I travel it's for pleasure.  For a few weeks, excitement and adventure replace my mundane, daily life.

• I experience exotic adventures
• Listen to a symphony of foreign languages
• Taste a variety of new foods - some good, some bad but all memorable!
• Eat my weight in pistachio GELATO - if I'm anywhere in the vicinity of Italy that is
• Try to figure out how to flush the toilets, even those award winning loos in England.......
• Suspiciously enter a futuristic, self-cleaning WC in Paris before exiting in awe
• Curse as I attempt to use a squatty potty without needing to take a shower after...ugh
• Ride miles and miles on planes, trains and automobiles (and metros, tubes, subways and boats!) on my way to new destinations
• Walk in the footsteps of HISTORY
• Gaze upon priceless works of art: Mona Lisa, Statue of David, Van Goghs, Monets, Picassos, Whistlers, etc...
• Gape at fascinating architecture - from the ancient Acropolis to the modern Eye of London

Those are just a few of the things afforded to me by jet lag.  At this juncture in my life I'm thrilled that I have indulged my adventurous side and traveled the world, even if I'm often alone, with little money and exhausted from working an extra job to pay for the privilege! I leave with a broader knowledge of other cultures and the history that shaped them, a deeper understanding of the people who live in those cultures and a lifetime of memories that make me smile and sigh contentedly.   Traveling has become a passion for me and every last minute has been worth the adventure.  Here's to hoping for many more adventures in the years to come!

Ljubljana, Slovenia

Finally I am getting around to posting about my experiences in Slovenia (I'll post about London next time.) Has it already been over 6 months??? My how time flies...

Germany was beautiful, especially after the 36 grueling hours it took to get there! 6 days of rest with a friend who knows me well and still manages to act like she enjoys my company after 17 years. We slept late, talked, celebrated my birthday with really bad Chinese food, talked some more, sang American Idol karaoke with the kids, had tea with her German friend, talked, watched movies, hiked and enjoyed a few outings to Stauffen, Germany and Lucerne, Switzerland before I headed off on my own to explore Slovenia.

When it came time to leave Germany I was a mess of tears and anxiety. Even though I've traveled alone on numerous occasions I was genuinely surprised to experience a rush of fear as Laurie walked away and I faced a long train ride to an unfamiliar country. Anyone who has traveled by train in Europe knows the challenges of navigating the transportation system while speaking a foreign language, but doing it alone at night was daunting and took every ounce of courage I could muster. As I arrived at the main train station I realized that the tourist information office was closed, which was fitting since I could not locate my train and could have really used their help! The station was dark, cold and extremely crowded so I found a track that looked promising and waited. It was an educated guess because the departure time was close to what was reflected on my ticket AND the destination cities seemed suspiciously Slavic; however, Ljubljana was not listed and I was worried. I DID NOT want to end up in Zagreb on that particular trip! Panic was beginning to seize my heart as I listened to the unfamiliar languages and contemplated calling Laurie and just scrapping Slovenia all together. But just as I was about to lose heart the train arrived and I found a sympathetic conductor who confirmed that I was boarding the correct train and that he would awaken me when we arrived in my chosen city.

I hopped on the train with a smile of relief while fun memories of past overnight train rides filled my mind, train rides when I was in my 20s and thought that kind of thing was fun and cool. Train rides shared with others of like mind, not middle-aged Croatians and Germans who were angry that I could not speak any of their languages. Ah yes, my smile froze when I saw my compartment. I knew that this train ride would be COMPLETELY different from the adventurous rides of my youth. My "room" (it was actually smaller than most closets) had 6 bunk beds, 3 on each side and mine was on the top, right next to the ceiling. I could not even sit up and my fellow passengers had so much luggage that I was forced to sleep with my backpack on my tiny bed. And I use the word sleep lightly, because I barely did any of that. Instead I listened to a mix of Slavic and German until at least 2:00 am, apparently these strangers had become fast friends and were too wired to sleep. Finally the symphony of snoring began and I was thrilled to be the quietest of the group! All in all it was a miserable night with little sleep, cramped quarters, no privacy and possible bed bugs. Not an experience I am likely to repeat. Yep, I think my extreme budget travel days are over. I much prefer a little luxury at this stage in my life, and by luxury I mean private room and bathroom in a semi-decent hotel, not a train.

Overall my impressions of Slovenia were very favorable. Ljubljana was a gem tucked into a valley in the shadow of the Julian Alps. The people were friendlier than in most of the former Eastern Block countries I've visited. They seemed more like Austrians or Italians, maybe because they share a border! Either way they were charming, helpful and open. They were eager to share about their history and culture and even about their lives under Tito's rule of thumb. It was fascinating to learn more about the Balkans and their conflicted past.

I loved watching the locals prepare for Easter with hand-carved wooden flowers, beautifully painted eggs and palm fronds. Sitting in the stillness of the large Catholic church on Palm Sunday filled me with peace. The sound of the large pipe organ was stunning and the newly restored frescoes breathtaking.

I made my way to the castle, enjoyed the many bridges, ate lots of gelato in the crowded main square, went shopping at a large department store, ate SOME of the local food, enjoyed the Bosnian Food Festival and dancers at the street fair and spent time reading in the park. The city's charm and relaxed pace were refreshing and in many ways I was reminded of Prague.

If you get the chance to go, TAKE IT. Just take note of the following:

1. DO NOT walk in the bike lane - EVER. They WILL yell at you. If you've never been yelled at in Slovenian I can promise you it's an experience you want to avoid. In fact, I would encourage you to avoid being yelled at in ANY Slavic language. Well, being yelled at in Greek, Italian or German is also unpleasant, heck even being yelled at in English is awful, but it's worse when a large man on a fast bike is screaming before he almost runs over you! :-)
2. They eat horse meat. Really. And no, I DID NOT eat any. Been there, done that - ON ACCIDENT in Belgium. I wish I didn't know that horse meat is red, but I do. Ugh. Perhaps on a trip to Slovenia one should stick to a purely vegetarian diet. I'm just sayin'....




3. Their national soda, Cockta, was um, "hard to swallow"..... Just be warned that it's a mix of cola and lemon-lime. Neither the name nor the flavor were appetizing!



4. They serve their hot panini sandwiches with pickles and hard boiled eggs in the middle - ew! I was quite surprised when I bit into mine.
5. If you see a gelato stand - BUY yourself a scoop, it's just as good as what you find in Italy.
6. DO NOT under any circumstances stay at the hip youth hostel that was once a prison. Trust me on this one. (Yes Lane, you were RIGHT. I admit it for all the world to see, or at least the 3 people who read this blog!)

It was a lovely experience and I'm glad I braved the overnight train ride with a compartment full of strangers. Beautiful country. Fascinating history. Friendly people. Go see it for yourself sometime!

In Transit - The First 36 Hours

Finally, the big day had arrived, after a 3-year hiatus, long years spent wishing, hoping and waiting for the chance to return, I was once again leaving on a big jet plane headed for a holiday across the pond. Hours of packing, hours of planning, hours of obsessing, hours of........waiting in airports. Ugh.

High on adrenaline despite being hormonal and sleep deprived, I checked in and grabbed a few breakfast tacos before heading to gate 33. I was eager to get to Dallas and spend the day with my friend Cindi before heading to London later that night. After a 20-minute delay everyone boarded the plane and buckled up ready for the short hop to DFW. But then the captain made a fateful announcement, there was an electrical problem on the plane, severe enough that we could not fly until it was fixed. Ah but he had hopeful news, it should only take a few minutes to repair, I'm such a sucker that I believed him. Silly me.

Sure enough, after those "few" minutes were memories the passengers were asked to leave the plane and continue waiting in the terminal. I texted Cindi to warn her of the impending doom and settled in with my book, making fast friends with the other disgruntled passengers. Our updates were frequent but progress was agonizingly slow.

Excuse #1: The mechanic could not reach the defective switch because his hands were too big.
Excuse #2: Due to the mechanic's oversized hands he had to disassemble the jump seat.
Excuse #3: When he finally wrapped his GINORMOUS hands around the relay switch he discovered that he needed 2 switches instead of only 1.
Excuse #4: There were no additional relay switches in San Antonio, AA would have to fly one in on another plane.
Excuse #5: The second relay switch did not fix the problem.

After 4 hours I was thinking that if it took that long to TRY to fix the airplane I had affectionately nicknamed Humpty Dumpty, then I would not be flying on it. And finally the geniuses at AA (they're the cream of the crop I tell you, the best of the best) decided that PERHAPS they could fly us out on the plane that had been sitting empty at the next gate for 2 1/2 hours! Of course, they didn't make that decision until a severe thunder and lightning storm had rolled in and caused a power outage in the airport. I'm sure you can imagine that I was a WEE bit grumpy by this point, and hormonal, did I mention hormonal?

So finally, after almost every passenger had missed connections, and I had missed my chance to see Cindi, we boarded the plane and took off before the weather worsened. The trip was so bumpy that the flight attendants were required to stay seated, no peanuts or drinks for us. Unbelievably, when we finally landed in Dallas we circled the runway until a gate could be located for us, I guess they were fresh out. Then the pilot attempted to park, and I write that with a straight face because the parking system failed, so we had to wait to be towed the last 12 feet to the gate. Hey, at least the brakes worked and we didn't crash through the terminal.....

I settled in for a 5-hour layover and read magazines in between switching gates 3 times before the airline finally decided where we would board. I was nearly involved in a hit and run accident with a man (not a teen) who thought skateboarding in a busy airport was a good idea. Those of us who narrowly avoided a visit to the E.R. strongly disagreed. Oh, and I found a Proactiv vending machine. That's right, we have stooped so low as to sell acne medication in vending machines at airports. Vanity of vanities, all is vanity...

And then, I'm sure you'll never believe this, wait for it.......my flight to London was delayed. Huge shock I know. I almost fell over dead when they made the announcement. What? Delayed? You have GOT to be kidding me? That NEVER happens... What were the excuses? Well, the plane was late being towed from the hangar, I guess the scheduled time fell during the union break. Then we needed catering, bad airplane food must be on board before the unsuspecting passengers. And of course, we had "mechanical problems". Did they REALLY need to tell me that BEFORE I left on a 9-hour flight OVER THE OCEAN? But alas, the flight was uneventful. I watched a bad movie with one earphone, ate terrible lasagna and shifted uncomfortably in my seat all while trying to keep the lady in front of me from sleeping with her head in my lap. Gotta love flying coach!

As I awoke from my miserable slumber my eyes feasted on the greenery of Ireland below me before Scotland and England came into view. Upon landing I made my way through customs and walked what felt like miles of hallways before emerging into the largest airport I've ever seen. Heathrow was like a city and I was completely overwhelmed, thankfully the signs were clear and I easily found the shuttle to Gatwick Airport. Once there I watched the Scottish men parading around in kilts, perhaps there was some kind of convention? At least they were not trying to run me over with their skateboards, because skateboarding Scotsmen in kilts may have sent me over the edge! I did rather enjoy their lovely accents, and I have to admit that each time one of them took the escalator upstairs I tried to sneak a peak to discover if he was wearing his kilt properly....I never did figure that one out. ;-)

Finally, after 5 long hours of waiting I boarded the Easyjet plane bound for Basel and settled in for the short flight. Upon arrival I collected my luggage and tried to remember if I was supposed to exit through the Swiss or French sector of the airport. I chose door number 2 leading to France and was rewarded with Laurie and Emmalee's smiling faces, and in that instant all of my stress melted away and I knew that the past 36 hours had been worth all of the hassle.

Inmate #107

So here's the deal. Apparently I'm off my rocker. And no one bothered to tell me until Saturday. You see, after a 3-year hiatus I will soon be strapping on my backpack and leaving on a jet plane for another European adventure. That sounds pleasant enough, right? Counting a few sheep in a sleeping berth while being rocketed to a former Eastern block country. Exploring the caves of the Karst Region of Slovenia despite claustrophobia. Taking in the studs ;-) at the Lipizzaner farm. Getting lost a million times in a foreign city. No news there, been there and done that and I've lived to tell about it each time.

But this time I was contemplating something totally different. And I have no idea why except that I've been a little bored of late. You know how it is, the same routine, the same city, the same ole' life without any excitement or adventure. So I've been reading my guidebook and looking up websites and generally trying to stick to a tight budget while paying for hotel, transportation, food, etc., with a devalued dollar.

And then I found out about Hostel Celica. It's a restored "detention" facility, a.k.a. former prison, which is apparently THE place to stay for backpackers trekking through former Eastern block countries. And we all know that I like to be different so my curiosity was piqued. How unique to stay in a "cell" that has been decorated by a cool, hip designer. The place has an art gallery. Laundry facilities. Cafe. Internet. TV room. AND, it's cheap - really cheap.

Of course, I overlooked the fact that it is state run. Anything state run in a former Eastern block country should invite suspicion. And I wasn't thrilled that I would have to share a bathroom, but I figured I could survive that for 3 nights. And being required to leave my cell open for the daily tours was disconcerting to say the least.... But the kicker was discovering that it was next to the city's hippest teen club frequented by those looking for drugs, sex and rock-n-roll - and um, well I'm NOT. Then there is the lack of sleep from the ongoing party next door, and nothing I could do about it except get grumpy and sick from sleep deprivation. Uh-oh.

Thankfully someone whose initials are LA ;-) pointed out my obviously flawed thinking by asking a few questions such as:

1. Do they allow cell phones? (please tell me you get the pun because that is funny!)
2. If so, are you allowed only one call?
3. If valuables are required to be kept in the safe deposit box does that mean it's only a minimum security prison?

Great, now I'm questioning my sanity. Can you say PROZAC? Ultimately I reconsidered and booked a nice B&B. MOSTLY out of concern for my safety but also because I'D NEVER live it down if I actually stayed in a former Eastern block prison! So now, instead of being Inmate #107, I will be plain, ole' boring Robin from Texas. I'll try to enjoy the real bed, breakfast, tea, Internet, telephone, room service, en suite toilet and shower..... Prison? Yeah, WHAT was I thinking?

Flying High Finale - Night Trains, Gypsies & Little Green Men

After recovering from the shock of Prague's Subway KGB the time came for me to move on to my next destination, Salzburg, Austria. I booked a night train, which allowed me to kill two birds with one stone by sleeping and traveling at the same time. I had lucked out with my last reservation and ended up traveling to Prague with 2 American women...that would NOT be the case on my return trip.

While inquiring about the status of my reservation I was utterly dismayed to learn that I would be sharing my compartment with a man. Apparently the other sleeping compartments were full and mine was the only one with any remaining beds. Now, I could lie and pretend that I didn't almost pee in my pants at that bit of news, but the reality is that I was TERRIFIED at the thought of being locked in a small compartment containing beds and a strange, foreign man.

Thankfully I possess what is known to friends and family as "the look" so by glaring at him with my evil eye I terrified him almost as much as he terrified me and thus ensured that he stayed in the hall smoking and drinking for most of the night. Late in the evening, after casting many nervous glances at me he finally found the courage to cautiously enter our shared compartment, lie down and sleep. While I felt some relief at the rhythmic sounds of his snoring, I soon faced a new dilemma, should I lock myself in with this drunk, snoring man or should I leave the door unlocked thus risking a robbery from infamous gypsy gangs known to board at various stops and steal from sleeping tourists? I waited until we were pulling up to the next stop and my fellow traveler was most definitely sleeping before I reached up and locked the door. I'm glad I did because the 2 times that door was rattled from the outside were unnerving, and whether or not the gypsy gangs were an urban legend or the source of those mysterious rattles, I felt safer with the door locked.

Bright and early the next morning, after sleeping for a scant 4 hours I got up to find that my passport and tickets were missing. PANIC! Did the strange foreign man take them during one of my brief naps in the middle of the night? I hastily unpacked and repacked my bags at least 3 times before locating the missing documents in my backpack. Poor foreign man, it wasn't his fault after all, apparently after one of those late night ticket checks I had tucked them into the wrong spot. Upon finding them I desperately clutched them to my chest as a few tears escaped my very tired eyes and then secured them in my "secret money belt" before heading off to find the train that would take me to my next destination.

Austria. A little jewel tucked into stunning mountains - it was gorgeous, and the people were so friendly and laid-back. Salzburg was my first stop and it was well worth the time and money. The birthplace of Mozart, the setting for "The Sound of Music", breathtaking flower-strewn meadows and hills that really did seem like they were alive....with the sound of music. I hummed the entire musical as I wandered all over and saw Mozart's home, the castle, the square, giant chess games, marionettes, youth choirs, gardens and outdoor classical music concerts. I even observed a wedding at the church made famous in the movie!

After walking all over I was soon thirsty so I stopped to buy a coke in a cute little store. An added bonus was that the coke was COLD - woohoo! The cashier put it in a small paper bag and I walked out to find the catacombs and cemetery just a few blocks away. I reverently strolled around the beautifully maintained tombs before finding an inviting bench to sit and enjoy my nice, cold coke. With the can still in the bag I popped the top and took a huge swig of what I thought was going to be sugary liquid. Instead my eyes teared and widened in shock at the taste of bitter, stout Austrian beer pricking my taste buds. I hastily pulled the can out of the bag and discovered that I had inadvertently grabbed beer, which I would have realized had I paid attention to the little green men dancing on the can. Coke does not have little green men! To top it off I didn't (and still don't) like beer. (Offer me wine or a mixed drink and I'll partake but beer? Not so much.) And remember, I was still in my BSF phase so beer was a big no-no. There I was in a cemetery, trying to remain solemn with a mouth full of beer I didn't like and wanted desperately to spit out without causing a scene. I DID NOT want to be a rude American so I casually walked to a trash can and emptied the contents of my mouth into it before angrily tossing the cold beer in as well. I did receive a few curious stares, probably because I threw away perfectly good beer, which is probably a sin in Europe, but I quickly slinked away to find water, because by then I was really thirsty and I wanted the beer taste out of my mouth ASAP. Of course the shop I purchased the beer from was closed because it was lunch time and as I realized too late there was nothing that would keep a European from closing for a 3-hour lunch! My best option was the Casino's outdoor, rooftop restaurant so I hiked to the top and replaced the beer's aftertaste with coke, lasagna and the most magnificent view of Salzburg.

The remainder of the my first European adventure was spent in Innsbruck, where I learned of the O.J. Simpson drama from Time Magazine and visited the Olympic Village. I moved on to Garmisch, Germany, which is a wonderful little resort town high in the mountains and stayed in a quaint home with a private bathroom and balcony overlooking the Zugspitze. While there I enjoyed the local Pizza Hut (I was missing American food at that point) and an American cinema where I watched City Slickers 2. I took the cable car to the top of the mountain where I was rewarded with fresh snow and amazing views of Austria and Switzerland and thoroughly enjoyed relaxing in such a stunning place. Upon returning to Munich for my last day in Europe I wandered the city, poked in and out of churches and museums and made sure to eat lots of bratwurst, schnitzel and fresh fruit - especially the sweet, ripe cherries.

What an adventure! Despite a few "Chevy Chase" moments and embarrassing, silly mistakes I wouldn't trade those experiences for anything. They helped shape me into the woman I am today and I am better because of them. I grew up a lot on that trip and discovered more about myself and my faith than I thought possible. Now I'm off to plan my next adventure, which will hopefully include Slovenia and perhaps Croatia in February 2009!

Flying High

I haven't had a real vacation for 2 years now and the wear and tear is starting to show. I'm much grouchier and moodier than normal and so exhausted that sometimes I worry I have some terrible, undiagnosed disease. But - my blood work came back normal - so I decided to diagnose myself, I do work in the medical field so I'm qualified, right? While I'm fairly certain you will not find this diagnosis in the "official" ICD-9 book, I do exhibit every symptom, so I'm pretty sure it exists in more than just my rapidly deteriorating mind. DX: 999.00, NAE D/O NOS (i.e. No Adventure or Excitement Disorder, no other symptoms). The only cure appears to be an extended vacation in Prague or Italy or Krakow or......

In an effort to maintain my fragile sanity, I have begun reminiscing and reliving some of my favorite experiences from past adventures. This is where a travel journal pays off (thanks Becky for giving me my first one ever!) And I'm thankful for my slightly annoying and obsessive habit of journaling every detail - it's making my memories much sharper after so many years.

So, here's the first retelling of a very long line of funny memories. I hope you enjoy reading about them as much as I enjoyed creating them.

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It all began with one very long Lufthansa flight from Newark to Munich, a connection I almost missed due to my inexperience and a fumble with my passport. The connecting flight was late (aren't they always?) so the airline had a buggy waiting to pick me up and rush me to a different terminal where an entire airplane full of restless passengers was waiting to depart.....waiting just for me. It was mortifying to be rushed through the airport on what amounts to a golf cart as the driver honked his horn and yelled in a harsh Jersey accent for people to "get out of the way!"

Upon arriving at the gate I was greeted by an impatient ground crew entirely lacking in southern hospitality. I was bewildered, terrified and on the verge of tears at the thought of flying over the ocean to a different country, completely and utterly alone. Next I boldly boarded the plane and let's just say that the welcome I received was a little "hostile". People were angry to be kept waiting and glared at me while simultaneously ducking as my backpack and I made our way to the very last row because, of course, my desired window seat had been reassigned.

I was herded to the middle of a row of 8 seats in between huge German men in need of a shower.... Men who spoke no English and kept touching me and smiling at me and saying apparently hilarious things to each other in German. I'm pretty sure they were flirting but it's always possible that I had spinach in my teeth or toilet paper on my shoe.... But wait, it gets better. This was a long time ago, years before the smoking ban went into effect, so guess what? I was lucky enough to spend 8 hours sitting in a cloud of unfiltered, German nicotine, a few smelly feet away from the bathrooms. Between the nicotine, body odor and bathrooms is it any wonder I couldn't see the more "charming" qualities of my seatmates?

After a sleepless night sitting in a seat that did not recline, I guess you could say that my big adventure was off to a bumpy start. And although I didn't know it there would be more turbulence on the ground than there was in the air. I would go on to spend a few hours sleeping off my jetlag on a subway bench; blow $22 on subway tickets because I was hopelessly confused and desperately lost; walk several hours from hostel to hostel trying in vain to find a place to lay my weary head; and finally book the last hotel room available and promptly fall fast asleep until 8:45 am the next morning.

When I emerged from that flight I was a terrified, exhausted girl with bloodshot eyes, flat hair and no makeup, but over the next few weeks I would grow into a woman bursting with excitement, joy and a deepened faith in God and her own abilities. I returned home with an awakened spirit and I'm determined not to let it fall asleep again.

Showerhead Trauma

I am having a problem with my showerhead. I should just call my landlord, but it creeps me out to have the maintenance man in my house when I'm gone. Come to think of it, it creeps me out to have him in my house when I am here too! I don't like people I don't know in my private space, especially my shower.

Unfortunately I seem to be incapable of fixing the problem. When I turn on the shower I only get about 3 seconds of spray from the nozzle and then just a trickle. Weirder still, I get MORE of a trickle if I turn the shower on 1/2 way, which means that a lot of water pours into the bathtub. Next thing I know I'm practically swimming while trying to rinse the shampoo from my hair under the trickling showerhead, which alternates between freezing and scalding. Eventually I end up on my knees in the tub with my head stuck under the faucet, uttering words that I should not even know, let alone verbalize.

Showering this way stirs many memories of "bathing" adventures in Europe. I keenly remember my first time. The shower was in a little closet down the hall from my hotel room. I'm pretty sure there was no lock on the door; there was also no shower curtain and the showerhead was not attached to the wall, which made it difficult to soap up and rinse. How are you supposed to scrub when you're trying to control an errant nozzle? My least favorite experience was the youth hostel in Prague. It was like my junior high gym, which was traumatic enough when I was a kid, except this time it was co-ed, and I was not only worried that someone would see me naked, but that someone would steal my backpack, which obviously could not be in the shower with me. Steph and I both hated the shower on the ferry from Athens to Crete. And I was NOT thrilled with the bathroom sharing experience on the island of Patmos. Just as I was opening the unlocked bathroom door, a man walked out completely NAKED. If I remember right he was uncircumcised and very proud of himself!

Lyndel and I also endured bad showers in Prague and I had to take a photo of her the first time she saw a European shower in Vienna. The look on her face was priceless! In Paris, Rhonda and I scored a room with a shower at the "Peace & Love Youth Hostel", (we also scored second hand marijuana smoke and a roommate, but I digress.) We could not even turn around in the shower, it was THAT small, but at least we didn't have to walk down the hall! It only got worse from there and ended at the underground hotel beneath Charles de Gaulle Airport. Aside from the fact that we had to share a "French double bed", (we're not THAT close) we had to deal with the shower. It was actually in the same room as the toilet and sink, but there was no tub and nothing to separate it from the rest of the room. Once again there was no curtain (can someone please explain this weird tradition to me?) and the drain was in the middle of the floor. By the end of the shower the entire room was wet. Who had this brilliant design idea??? Is this how Europeans clean their bathrooms? Or are showers just not that important to them since they don't use them very often? ;)

Oh the memories. Funny as they are I am American through and through and I like, no LOVE American showers. That's why I will end up calling the landlord and suffering through the creepiness of having someone I don't know in my personal space. I need full spray from a showerhead that is attached to the wall. I'm boycotting European showers in the US of A. Vive la American showers!!