So we’re slumped despondently in the Glasgow Central Station tickets center. Wanna hear the story? Yeah, you better, because it’s the only decent thing we’re getting out of all this.
Alright. So we woke up this morning, checked out of the youth hostel, and hit the road nice and early, almost two hours before our train was leaving. Seeing as we had so much time, we stopped for breakfast at the Willow Tea Rooms on Sauchiehall St. (in case you every need to find it yourself). We had a nice leisurely breakfast, warm scones and all, then decided we should probably head for the station, as our train was leaving in half an hour and we also had to get our luggage out of the lockers.
We arrived at the station, retrieved our luggage, and tried to find our platform. Finally, unable to do so, we decided to ask one of the station staff. She pointed out that the train to Belfast was in fact leaving from Glasgow Central Station, not the Queen St. Station. She pointed us outside to where we could find a bus to the central station. I thanked her and took a moment to glance at my phone as we made our way to the door. 11:39. For an 11:47 train ride. With a ten minute bus in between. Well shit.
As quickly as possible we rushed into a very friendly cab and told him to floor it, but alas to no avail. 11:47 came and went, and our train went with it. At 11:52 we dashed inside to discover that now we wouldn’t be getting into Belfast until 9:30 tonight. We already have tickets to leave again at 7:30 in the morning. Not even 12 hours there. Fantastic, isn’t it?
It would be nice to say that at least we have some extra time in Glasgow, but the truth is that with all our luggage we’re pretty much incapacitated. So we’ve now spent our extra hours in Glasgow at internet cafes and regular cafes. In that time we’ve lost both our Europe guidebook and Sierra’s cell phone. My pen died also, but I bought some more. In short, the adventure continues.
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
Chapter 51: Ach! The feet!
So yeah, we came to Glasgow. I suppose I should start with the morning, though, back when we were in Edinburgh. We got up early enough, all ready to go to the Castle, only to arrive and discover a formidable 11 pound entrance fee between us and the Stone of Destiny (I’m still wondering what that is, but was not willing to pay $22 to find out).
Miffed, we turned away and decided to hunt down breakfast instead. Then we came to Glasgow, despite total uncertainty as to where we would spend the night. We walked around a lot, suffered the terrible bummer of arriving at the cathedral about 14 minutes after closing time, and then eventually stumbled exhaustedly to dinner at an all-vegetarian restaurant, the downside being that we didn’t notice the prices until we were already too far in to back out. Good food anyway.
By that time our bodies were starting to get pretty cranky about the whole thing. We had loaded our backpacks with just the things we really needed, and left the suitcases in overnight storage at the train station, the plus side being that we had no horrible hefty luggage to deal with, the down side being that we were lugging some pretty heavy backpacks all day. Thus our feet were pretty unhappy, especially given how much walking we’d already done in Edinburgh.
After dinner we stumbled around for a while until we FINALLY found the youth hostel which was in about the most confusing location ever, though we were still hoping for a free place to stay with my dentist’s daughter, who we were having a hard time reaching. By that time night had fallen, so we mustered up the courage to go out one more time and try and find somewhere to hang out (live music please!) until we could figure out for sure where we were staying. Alas, we found absolutely nothing interesting and not a single note of a fiddle before our feet gave out entirely, even though this is supposed to be the live music capital of Europe, and we staggered back to the hostel defeated. (If you listen to Beethoven as you read this, the whole thing becomes much more intense).
Luckily, the hostel turned out really nice, even if we had to pay for it, and in general I’m quite satisfied with the day (though I’m still bitter about that lack of live music thing). And so tired its amazing. Tomorrow morning we’re on to Belfast.
Miffed, we turned away and decided to hunt down breakfast instead. Then we came to Glasgow, despite total uncertainty as to where we would spend the night. We walked around a lot, suffered the terrible bummer of arriving at the cathedral about 14 minutes after closing time, and then eventually stumbled exhaustedly to dinner at an all-vegetarian restaurant, the downside being that we didn’t notice the prices until we were already too far in to back out. Good food anyway.
By that time our bodies were starting to get pretty cranky about the whole thing. We had loaded our backpacks with just the things we really needed, and left the suitcases in overnight storage at the train station, the plus side being that we had no horrible hefty luggage to deal with, the down side being that we were lugging some pretty heavy backpacks all day. Thus our feet were pretty unhappy, especially given how much walking we’d already done in Edinburgh.
After dinner we stumbled around for a while until we FINALLY found the youth hostel which was in about the most confusing location ever, though we were still hoping for a free place to stay with my dentist’s daughter, who we were having a hard time reaching. By that time night had fallen, so we mustered up the courage to go out one more time and try and find somewhere to hang out (live music please!) until we could figure out for sure where we were staying. Alas, we found absolutely nothing interesting and not a single note of a fiddle before our feet gave out entirely, even though this is supposed to be the live music capital of Europe, and we staggered back to the hostel defeated. (If you listen to Beethoven as you read this, the whole thing becomes much more intense).
Luckily, the hostel turned out really nice, even if we had to pay for it, and in general I’m quite satisfied with the day (though I’m still bitter about that lack of live music thing). And so tired its amazing. Tomorrow morning we’re on to Belfast.
Chapter 50: Scotland
Today, as promised, we came to Edinburgh. We got a very early start. Precisely one hour and a half after I went to sleep, in fact, as a result of me needing to finish the book I had borrowed whether I was even enjoying it that much or not. I couldn’t just take it with me, because we were not to pass this way again (read that in an epic movie voice-over prologue voice).
We finally made it here to Edinburgh, marveled at the absolute awesomeness of this city, found our hostel, which is uncannily like being at college except with twenty people to a room instead of two, and spent the rest of the day wandering the streets and becoming increasingly tired. For some inexplicable reason we ended up at this totally bizarre slightly creepy Italian place for lunch. We were the only ones in there, but the place was entirely mirrors, so it was kind of like eating in a very large, mostly empty restaurant with copies of yourself having lunch in every corner. Copies of yourself that were always looking at you. Weird sensation, I say. Anyhow, we made up for it by getting fudge afterwards. Mmm, Scottish fudge.
Basically Edinburgh is probably the most beautiful city I’ve seen yet, though we kind of get the feeling that by not being drunkards we are probably missing out on a large part of it. There’s something about going into a pub and ordering water that just doesn’t quite work. Trust me, I’ve tried it. Oh well. We have a very short stay anyway. Tomorrow morning we intend to visit the castle (THE Castle) which is literally right outside our door, and then we’ll catch the train to Glasgow. One night there, then we hope to make it on to Belfast. But we’ll jump off that bridge when we come to it, right?
Anyway, it’s way past my bedtime considering last night’s slumber total, so I bid thee all a fond goodnight.
We finally made it here to Edinburgh, marveled at the absolute awesomeness of this city, found our hostel, which is uncannily like being at college except with twenty people to a room instead of two, and spent the rest of the day wandering the streets and becoming increasingly tired. For some inexplicable reason we ended up at this totally bizarre slightly creepy Italian place for lunch. We were the only ones in there, but the place was entirely mirrors, so it was kind of like eating in a very large, mostly empty restaurant with copies of yourself having lunch in every corner. Copies of yourself that were always looking at you. Weird sensation, I say. Anyhow, we made up for it by getting fudge afterwards. Mmm, Scottish fudge.
Basically Edinburgh is probably the most beautiful city I’ve seen yet, though we kind of get the feeling that by not being drunkards we are probably missing out on a large part of it. There’s something about going into a pub and ordering water that just doesn’t quite work. Trust me, I’ve tried it. Oh well. We have a very short stay anyway. Tomorrow morning we intend to visit the castle (THE Castle) which is literally right outside our door, and then we’ll catch the train to Glasgow. One night there, then we hope to make it on to Belfast. But we’ll jump off that bridge when we come to it, right?
Anyway, it’s way past my bedtime considering last night’s slumber total, so I bid thee all a fond goodnight.
Chapter 49: Yesterday
Yesterday. Yesterday we… uh… what did we do yesterday… ah! Went to spend the afternoon at Inger’s where we had lunch and jumped about on the trampoline with Alexander and his friend Daniel. Good times. We then walked about Norwich a bit, perused a book shop or two where we chuckled at travel books for Santa Fe, had dinner at a Thai restaurant (F for vegetarians, A for carnivores), and then went to a late night show of 300 which was oh my god it was such a dumb stupid incredibly hilarious super male movie. Terrible film, but everything is fun in the Norwich theater I tell you. Oh, somewhere during all that we also managed to figure out our youth Rail Discount cards which are truly amazing at the discounting I tell you.
Today we exploited our beautifully reduced prices and went to Cambridge. Absolutely fantastic town, beautiful architecture, and oh man you should see the university campus (I smell a semester abroad…). We had lunch at a little tea shop with scones and cream and good tea and all that sort of thing.
In other news, tomorrow we go to Edinburgh. Haha, Scotland, here we come.
Today we exploited our beautifully reduced prices and went to Cambridge. Absolutely fantastic town, beautiful architecture, and oh man you should see the university campus (I smell a semester abroad…). We had lunch at a little tea shop with scones and cream and good tea and all that sort of thing.
In other news, tomorrow we go to Edinburgh. Haha, Scotland, here we come.
Chapter 48: Viking Poetry
Today we got lost, got no help from public transportation representatives, and eventually went to the castle. That’s right THE Castle. The Norwich Castle. It was quite cool, and naturally I forgot my camera. There was a section on the Vikings in England. Sierra created the following poem out of Viking themed magnetic poetry:
the blunder of your queasy sheep glitter pretty fierce
I think that puts up a good fight against any other poem that has come out of either Vikings or England. Now that it comes to it I actually have no idea what the Viking magnetic poetry was all about, but whatever. It’s still an excellent poem.
At the castle we took a tour of the battlements, which was fine and nice and pretty cool to see Norwich from above, though the actual tour itself was pretty middle of the road as far as tours go, what can I say. He did not tell us anything about the British washing their togas in urine, I am disappointed. We actually tried to get a tour of the dungeons, which would totally have been cool, but alas it was sold out. I guess other people were also of the same mind. “Hmm… birds eye views of all of Norwich, beautiful sunsets, and rolling English country side or creepy dungeons full of torture devices and mold?” As I said, too bad the dungeons were sold out.
We then went out for a fabulously mediocre Chinese dinner at a place that honestly had the nastiest floor I have ever seen in my life, and yes I’ve been to India if you recall. The carpet at the back had such a thick layer of black grime on it that I honestly thought I was walking on a wooden floor before I looked down to see why it felt sort of sticky. I left footprints in the bathroom. Not dirty footprints on a clean floor. Indented footprints pressed into the dirt.
Well enough of that. I’m back in a nice clean bed with a little flowery comforter and lace curtains, and verily and forsooth it is time to sleep.
the blunder of your queasy sheep glitter pretty fierce
I think that puts up a good fight against any other poem that has come out of either Vikings or England. Now that it comes to it I actually have no idea what the Viking magnetic poetry was all about, but whatever. It’s still an excellent poem.
At the castle we took a tour of the battlements, which was fine and nice and pretty cool to see Norwich from above, though the actual tour itself was pretty middle of the road as far as tours go, what can I say. He did not tell us anything about the British washing their togas in urine, I am disappointed. We actually tried to get a tour of the dungeons, which would totally have been cool, but alas it was sold out. I guess other people were also of the same mind. “Hmm… birds eye views of all of Norwich, beautiful sunsets, and rolling English country side or creepy dungeons full of torture devices and mold?” As I said, too bad the dungeons were sold out.
We then went out for a fabulously mediocre Chinese dinner at a place that honestly had the nastiest floor I have ever seen in my life, and yes I’ve been to India if you recall. The carpet at the back had such a thick layer of black grime on it that I honestly thought I was walking on a wooden floor before I looked down to see why it felt sort of sticky. I left footprints in the bathroom. Not dirty footprints on a clean floor. Indented footprints pressed into the dirt.
Well enough of that. I’m back in a nice clean bed with a little flowery comforter and lace curtains, and verily and forsooth it is time to sleep.
Chapter 47: The Land of Tea and Cakes and Monty Python
Ah, Norwich. My adventures. So.
My first “official” day in England consisted of my accompanying George (my first cousin once removed in law), Inger (my first cousin once removed), Eva (my great aunt), Saskia (my second cousin), Alexander (also my second cousin), and Felix (my brand new two-week-old second cousin) out to a farm house in the country to celebrate a triple birthday with all of George’s parents, sisters, nieces, nephews, and in-laws. Despite the absolutely horrific tangle of familial terms, it was great fun and probably the most British that anything can ever possibly be. I have to admit that I felt a little silly with my sad American accent. Why is it that everything sounds just slightly less intelligent when you’re American? I mean I could be explaining the science of quantum physics for forty five minutes, then some English bloke could wander in and mention that he’s put the kettle on, and that guy would sound smarter. Unfair, I tell you. In one small attempt at self defense I will point out that no one on the planet can pull off the word “dude” except for America. Justice is served. Anyway, moving on.
From there we came back to Norwich and I picked Sierra up from the bus station. The next day was Easter Sunday which we treated as Do Nothing But Recover From Jetlag Day. At least Sierra recovered from jetlag. I watched her recover and painted little pictures.
Today we ventured outside and for the first time saw the floods of people that apparently have been hiding away in their attics for the past four days. Every single person we saw was wearing green and yellow for some Norwich team spirit thing for some game or something that was happening somewhere sometime (we are obviously well informed, eh?). No but seriously, it was almost eerie how many people in the town were wearing the exact same shirt. We found an internet café (connection with the outside world!), a really fantastic cathedral (remember, this is truly something coming from cathedraled out me), saw a bunch of the cutest streets ever, and finally came home and made ourselves… QUESADILLAS! Then we went out to see Blades of Glory which was oh my god it was funny. For all you people shaking your heads sadly and pointing out that it was rather on the dumb side, I maintain that you did not see it in the Norwich movie theater surrounded by British people, and if you had, you would understand me completely, so why don’t you just run along and stay out of this, alright?
My first “official” day in England consisted of my accompanying George (my first cousin once removed in law), Inger (my first cousin once removed), Eva (my great aunt), Saskia (my second cousin), Alexander (also my second cousin), and Felix (my brand new two-week-old second cousin) out to a farm house in the country to celebrate a triple birthday with all of George’s parents, sisters, nieces, nephews, and in-laws. Despite the absolutely horrific tangle of familial terms, it was great fun and probably the most British that anything can ever possibly be. I have to admit that I felt a little silly with my sad American accent. Why is it that everything sounds just slightly less intelligent when you’re American? I mean I could be explaining the science of quantum physics for forty five minutes, then some English bloke could wander in and mention that he’s put the kettle on, and that guy would sound smarter. Unfair, I tell you. In one small attempt at self defense I will point out that no one on the planet can pull off the word “dude” except for America. Justice is served. Anyway, moving on.
From there we came back to Norwich and I picked Sierra up from the bus station. The next day was Easter Sunday which we treated as Do Nothing But Recover From Jetlag Day. At least Sierra recovered from jetlag. I watched her recover and painted little pictures.
Today we ventured outside and for the first time saw the floods of people that apparently have been hiding away in their attics for the past four days. Every single person we saw was wearing green and yellow for some Norwich team spirit thing for some game or something that was happening somewhere sometime (we are obviously well informed, eh?). No but seriously, it was almost eerie how many people in the town were wearing the exact same shirt. We found an internet café (connection with the outside world!), a really fantastic cathedral (remember, this is truly something coming from cathedraled out me), saw a bunch of the cutest streets ever, and finally came home and made ourselves… QUESADILLAS! Then we went out to see Blades of Glory which was oh my god it was funny. For all you people shaking your heads sadly and pointing out that it was rather on the dumb side, I maintain that you did not see it in the Norwich movie theater surrounded by British people, and if you had, you would understand me completely, so why don’t you just run along and stay out of this, alright?
Chapter 46: Vienna
Vienna—Well last I wrote I was in Jaipur. Quite a while ago. Got a lot of ground to cover (both literally and figuratively speaking). Phew.
So I left India and got back to Vienna, la dee da. Food is great. Clean sheets (and streets for that matter) are great. I’ll just hit the highlights.
The first interesting thing I felt I actually wanted to write about was the Nausch Markt, which, when it comes down to it, I must admit I have no idea how to spell, or even what it actually sounds like in spoken German for that matter. Well hey, I just googled it and apparently it’s Naschmarkt. Not too bad for a wild guess, if I may say so myself. Anyway, it was quite fun and actually reminded me a lot of Pike Place market in Seattle. Stands everywhere selling fruit, cheese, olives, chocolates, kebabs, meat, juices, pizza, vegetables, snacks, clothing, flowers, honey, vinegar. Yes, there was an entire vinegar stand which sold vinegar out of these large bulbous bottles that looked like they had been transported out of a medieval alchemist’s workshop. There was another shop that sold sauerkraut and pickles out of barrels. Ok, let me repeat that in case you missed it. Sauerkraut. Out of barrels. Honestly this was the point at which I realized I needed to start writing some of this down. I mean seriously. A heaping barrel of sauerkraut?
There were many fruit stands which basically all sold the same things at similar prices, but among these same things at similar prices was the largest selection of completely bizarre and unidentifiable fruit I have ever found in one place at one time. Naturally, being the sort of person that I am, I had to buy one of each and every fruit whose name and/or appearance I did not recognize. This resulted in a rather heavy bag of mostly purply fruits that tended to have all sort of odd appendages hanging off of them. Once I took them home and tried them all I found that they tended to be whitish inside and to resemble eyeballs, but of course I’m generalizing severely here. They also tended to be on the more-bland-than-one-would-hope-for side. The combined eyeball consistency and plain water flavor I think might account for the fact that one rarely finds these fruits in normal places of fruit purchase.
Later that same night I went solo to the Volksoper to see the premiere of two short operas—a Ravel and an Orff, though it was of course the Orff that lured me there in the first place. It was absolutely fantastic. One of the more enjoyable shows I’ve ever been to in my life, enough so that I went to see it again two nights later. Orff is just genius. I mean, he can make a melody that literally has only three notes in the entire thing and still make it so epic that you’re gripping the edge of your seat. I have no idea how he does it. The seating arrangements were the really incredible part though. Would you like to hear the tale? Yeah, I bet you would.
So anyway. Not having an advance ticket, I showed up at about 6:15 to try and see if any of the cheapest seats were still available (Swan Lake was going to be my one expensive night out, and my wallet didn’t really feel up to another one). The woman at the counter told me to wait ten minutes. Ok fine. So as I’m waiting ten minutes I was approached by a man who had an extra ticket he was trying to sell. Unfortunately at 56 euros, it was the most expensive seat in the house. I explained to him that sadly I was not in that sort of financial league for tonight, but thank you anyway. Then we were both just sort of standing there, me waiting for ten minutes to pass, him waiting for a potential sale to walk by. He asked me where I was from. Shockingly, I answered New Mexico. He was absolutely delighted to hear that because his son had studied at the United World College in Las Vegas. I mentioned that I had played in the symphony with some kids from the United World College. At this point he decided the coincidence was just so fantastic that he was suddenly inspired to sponsor my night at the opera. He handed over a front row seat free of charge and absolutely would not hear of taking any payment for it. Well I couldn’t complain. What can I say, it pays to be from Santa Fe sometimes.
Ok, moving on. Actually I forgot what I was talking about, or rather what I was going to talk about. Ok think. I suppose I should mention how we went to see Swan Lake another night. Ah yes, I should mention how we went to Schönbrunn, a palace built in the style of Versailles though not nearly as large and pretty irritating to sketch if you dislike windows the way I do. How it had lovely views and made me want to wear a dress and waltz in the garden. How I think it’s the place where I lost 13 euros worth of stamps. Grrrr, still bitter about that.
On my last day in Vienna we were all the way downtown before I realized that I had forgotten my camera yet again. I had already been there fourteen days, so…. Zero out of fourteen? That’s kinda grim. Considering it was my last day and I did not have a single picture of Vienna, I decided it would be worth it to take the extra hour to go back for it. I didn’t want Lisi to poison me in my sleep when I went to put my pictures on the internet and there was not a single bit of evidence that I was ever in Austria. As you can see, I am still living, so it was obviously a worthy venture.
So then I came to England. Flying Ryanair involved taking a 6:00 am train to Bratislava, a space-age looking sort of thing with windows that were astonishingly large and almost unsettlingly clean. The fields were greener than any combination of yellow #5 and blue #10 could possibly conjure. I also passed a field filled with enormous rabbits. Maybe those are hares, I don’t know. But they looked like rabbits and they were about the size of dogs. And no I don’t mean dogs that are the size of rabbits, I mean large, normal dogs. Which means they were very large rabbits. Everywhere. Except they blended in like prairie dogs, which was weird. With prairie dogs you’re looking at what you think is an empty field and then suddenly some of the dirt moves and you say, “Hey, a prairie dog!” With giant rabbits you’re looking at an empty field and suddenly an entire hill ups and hops away and you say, “Hey, a giant rabbit!”
Then I got to Bratislava, which was intriguing. Right at about airport security, Bratislava ceased to be intriguing and started to be just plain unpleasant. I enjoyed it not. I did, however, enjoy the British security announcement they gave us on the plane: “Luminous floorpath lighting will guide your way to the nearest exit in the case of darkness.”
Awesome.
So I left India and got back to Vienna, la dee da. Food is great. Clean sheets (and streets for that matter) are great. I’ll just hit the highlights.
The first interesting thing I felt I actually wanted to write about was the Nausch Markt, which, when it comes down to it, I must admit I have no idea how to spell, or even what it actually sounds like in spoken German for that matter. Well hey, I just googled it and apparently it’s Naschmarkt. Not too bad for a wild guess, if I may say so myself. Anyway, it was quite fun and actually reminded me a lot of Pike Place market in Seattle. Stands everywhere selling fruit, cheese, olives, chocolates, kebabs, meat, juices, pizza, vegetables, snacks, clothing, flowers, honey, vinegar. Yes, there was an entire vinegar stand which sold vinegar out of these large bulbous bottles that looked like they had been transported out of a medieval alchemist’s workshop. There was another shop that sold sauerkraut and pickles out of barrels. Ok, let me repeat that in case you missed it. Sauerkraut. Out of barrels. Honestly this was the point at which I realized I needed to start writing some of this down. I mean seriously. A heaping barrel of sauerkraut?
There were many fruit stands which basically all sold the same things at similar prices, but among these same things at similar prices was the largest selection of completely bizarre and unidentifiable fruit I have ever found in one place at one time. Naturally, being the sort of person that I am, I had to buy one of each and every fruit whose name and/or appearance I did not recognize. This resulted in a rather heavy bag of mostly purply fruits that tended to have all sort of odd appendages hanging off of them. Once I took them home and tried them all I found that they tended to be whitish inside and to resemble eyeballs, but of course I’m generalizing severely here. They also tended to be on the more-bland-than-one-would-hope-for side. The combined eyeball consistency and plain water flavor I think might account for the fact that one rarely finds these fruits in normal places of fruit purchase.
Later that same night I went solo to the Volksoper to see the premiere of two short operas—a Ravel and an Orff, though it was of course the Orff that lured me there in the first place. It was absolutely fantastic. One of the more enjoyable shows I’ve ever been to in my life, enough so that I went to see it again two nights later. Orff is just genius. I mean, he can make a melody that literally has only three notes in the entire thing and still make it so epic that you’re gripping the edge of your seat. I have no idea how he does it. The seating arrangements were the really incredible part though. Would you like to hear the tale? Yeah, I bet you would.
So anyway. Not having an advance ticket, I showed up at about 6:15 to try and see if any of the cheapest seats were still available (Swan Lake was going to be my one expensive night out, and my wallet didn’t really feel up to another one). The woman at the counter told me to wait ten minutes. Ok fine. So as I’m waiting ten minutes I was approached by a man who had an extra ticket he was trying to sell. Unfortunately at 56 euros, it was the most expensive seat in the house. I explained to him that sadly I was not in that sort of financial league for tonight, but thank you anyway. Then we were both just sort of standing there, me waiting for ten minutes to pass, him waiting for a potential sale to walk by. He asked me where I was from. Shockingly, I answered New Mexico. He was absolutely delighted to hear that because his son had studied at the United World College in Las Vegas. I mentioned that I had played in the symphony with some kids from the United World College. At this point he decided the coincidence was just so fantastic that he was suddenly inspired to sponsor my night at the opera. He handed over a front row seat free of charge and absolutely would not hear of taking any payment for it. Well I couldn’t complain. What can I say, it pays to be from Santa Fe sometimes.
Ok, moving on. Actually I forgot what I was talking about, or rather what I was going to talk about. Ok think. I suppose I should mention how we went to see Swan Lake another night. Ah yes, I should mention how we went to Schönbrunn, a palace built in the style of Versailles though not nearly as large and pretty irritating to sketch if you dislike windows the way I do. How it had lovely views and made me want to wear a dress and waltz in the garden. How I think it’s the place where I lost 13 euros worth of stamps. Grrrr, still bitter about that.
On my last day in Vienna we were all the way downtown before I realized that I had forgotten my camera yet again. I had already been there fourteen days, so…. Zero out of fourteen? That’s kinda grim. Considering it was my last day and I did not have a single picture of Vienna, I decided it would be worth it to take the extra hour to go back for it. I didn’t want Lisi to poison me in my sleep when I went to put my pictures on the internet and there was not a single bit of evidence that I was ever in Austria. As you can see, I am still living, so it was obviously a worthy venture.
So then I came to England. Flying Ryanair involved taking a 6:00 am train to Bratislava, a space-age looking sort of thing with windows that were astonishingly large and almost unsettlingly clean. The fields were greener than any combination of yellow #5 and blue #10 could possibly conjure. I also passed a field filled with enormous rabbits. Maybe those are hares, I don’t know. But they looked like rabbits and they were about the size of dogs. And no I don’t mean dogs that are the size of rabbits, I mean large, normal dogs. Which means they were very large rabbits. Everywhere. Except they blended in like prairie dogs, which was weird. With prairie dogs you’re looking at what you think is an empty field and then suddenly some of the dirt moves and you say, “Hey, a prairie dog!” With giant rabbits you’re looking at an empty field and suddenly an entire hill ups and hops away and you say, “Hey, a giant rabbit!”
Then I got to Bratislava, which was intriguing. Right at about airport security, Bratislava ceased to be intriguing and started to be just plain unpleasant. I enjoyed it not. I did, however, enjoy the British security announcement they gave us on the plane: “Luminous floorpath lighting will guide your way to the nearest exit in the case of darkness.”
Awesome.
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