Lorraine, you are my Density....

Finally, several weeks too late, the finale has arrived! This is the conclusion of our epic, Italian, adventure as we make our way from Florence to Venice, and then back to our summer home of Metz, France.

I still hadn’t found my cousin, Mario, but I was keeping my eyes peeled wider than oranges in search of him. I knew he could hop out of a green tube any second. The entire train ride from Florence to Venice I spent looking for him out the window. When I wasn’t looking out the window, I was watching bits and pieces of a new show that wracks me with guilt to say that I *somewhat* enjoy. Let me preface this by saying that Marvel will always be better than D.C. and that Spider-Man is the best of all superheroes. However, in my Netflix-limited state, Green Arrow isn’t the worst show that’s ever existed. In fact, I kinda like it…. (Dad, please don’t disown me).

We knew we were close to Venice when we saw the land slowly give way to more and more blue. Eventually, we were crossing the water on the narrow strait of land that connects Venice to the mainland. As it came into view, we saw ships running back and forth from its many ports, ferries bustling with tourists, and swarms of birds hovering over rooftops. When we walked off our train, we were hit by a strong, salty, breeze that conjured up a feeling of being on the beach. The most amazing part of the picture was where the sidewalk ended: bright, blue waves lapped at the sidewalk’s edge and a canal sat in place of a road. Boats of all colors, shapes, and sizes passed by us as we took it all in. Our first priority was making it to our Airbnb, which was on the North side of Venice in what we later found out was the Jewish ghetto neighborhood. Although only two miles away, getting there was tricky with the maze of streets and alleyways ending abruptly in water. As the guide for the group, I was responsible for getting us from place to place, which certainly took its toll on me at times. However, this trip, I got us there correctly on the first try!

Our Airbnb was nothing special: just a couple rooms in someone’s apartment. I’m a fan of Airbnb’s over hotels, because it lets you meet a local and get a better taste of what it would be like to live somewhere for a long time (it usually means no air-conditioning). We dropped off our bags and set our sights on visiting St. Mark’s Square, one of the most famous places in all of Venice. It was only 4pm by now, so we would try and find dinner places along the way. Heading out, we followed one of Venice’s main thoroughfares. If St. Mark’s Square represents the heart of Venice, there are several veins leading back and many, many, many more capillaries branching off. Along the way, we stopped for free chocolate samples in several stores that were pushy with their giveaways. Every time you popped a piece in your mouth, they would push another tray of morsels to try in front of you (hey, I’m not complaining). We could have easily eaten our entire dinner going back and forth between the stores with free samples! Rosalind pulled us into a bath and body works store called “Lush”, which had some pretty interesting products for those that want to kick their normal baths up a notch. Signs helped guide us towards St. Mark’s, which features several famous sites of Venice. There is the Doge’s Palace, the church, the Tower of Venice, and several statues showcasing the might and power that used to make Venice one of the most important cities in the world. Of all the areas, this is usually the first to flood, because it is the lowest point in the city. Luckily for us, that only happens once in a while during the winter months. When it does flood, you have to wear galoshes to go out into the square.

Now that we were at the Southern edge of the island, we decided to spend some time getting lost among the jungle of streets that lay scattered before us. With no aim in mind, we went wherever the wind took us. After an hour of this aimless wandering, we set our sights on a store that Lorenzo had heard about from his friends: a famous bookstore in the center of the island. There, they keep all of their books in bathtubs and gondolas in the event of a flood. They have so many old books that they even have a book-staircase that you can climb up in the back! Many of the tomes they had sitting on their shelves were from all periods of history and in a variety of languages. This place made even Barnes and Noble look pathetic.

Once we were done venturing through the stacks of books, we were all starting to feel pretty hungry. By now it was almost 7pm. We had just gotten word from Maggie and Glenn that their train was delayed, which meant that they wouldn’t be getting into Venice until much later. We decided to go get dinner and meet them tomorrow instead. Heading back towards our ghetto neighborhood, we found a bar that had piqued our interest earlier in the day. The food was all in our price range, they had lots of brews on tap, and most importantly, they had the World Cup playing on tv. The place was relatively empty when we arrived, and it maintained its half-vacancy the two hours that we stayed. The carbonara was something new for me, but I can’t say I was a huge fan of it. I guess I just don’t appreciate bacon like I used to after working in a meat-packing plant. Just as I started to nod off around 10pm, the soccer game finished and we headed back to our room. The dark streets would have been impossible to navigate had it not been for Google Maps. The streets of Venice are just one giant maze of similar-looking back alleys and narrow corridors: I can’t imagine how anyone could find their way to places before Maps was around. On several of the bridges, the full moon cast a pale reflection on the still water, which gave an eerie feel. Although Venice seems like a city of young people, the streets were almost completely deserted by 10:30pm. Upon arrival at the apartment, we fumbled around with the door for a solid 15 minutes (we were having issues fitting the key in the lock, ala King Louis XVI) and then went straight to bed after our exhausting day.

The next day, I woke up early enough to go out walking around the city for an hour or so with Rosalind. Leaving around 7:30am, we got lost in the streets and saw the city come to life in the same way that Florence did. The water in the canals was glassy and there was an energizing chill in the air that was a relief from the humidity of the past couple days. We stopped at one of my favorite places for breakfast: a grocery store! After picking up some snacks for the day, we began to make our way back to the apartment.

By the time we got back, the others were just beginning to get up and get ready for our walking tour, which started promptly at 10am. Similar to the one I went to in Munich, tour guides were university students working for tips. Our meeting point was on the Southern edge of the island, down in the quarter where the gondola-maintainers lived. When our tour guide gave her introduction to us, she said the fatal words that had me running up to her after: she knew Russian! We talked for a bit in my second favorite language and she turned out to be very nice. Although my friends make fun of me every time I do it, I always love speaking Russian any chance I can get. Just like riding a bike, I need to keep up with my speaking or I’ll lose it altogether. Around two and half hours long, our guide showed us the inside of a beautiful church, brought us to the tip of the Grand Canal, showed us a haunted house purchased by Johnny Depp for a short while (he sold it when he heard it was haunted), and showed us the yards where they worked on the gondolas. Some fun facts: there can only be ~400 licensed gondoliers in Venice at any one time and each gondola costs around $40,000 USD to build. Additionally, you can only become a gondolier if someone in your family was one, and the training takes several years to complete. On the tour, I happened to meet another interesting person to add to my collection. An older gentleman who just went into retirement, Frank was an American Airlines pilot for 34 years! Once we got to talking about planes, we couldn’t be separated for the rest of the tour.

After our tour was over, we broke up into small groups and went to different places for lunch. Taking the advice given by the tour guide, my group made our way to the main shopping center of Venice: a large four-story mall. She recommended going there because the views from the top were some of the best in Venice (and free!). After some difficulty getting to the top, we came out onto the hot roof and saw the Grand Canal stretch out in front of us. On all sides, red-tiled roofs went on for miles in the classic Venetian style. It was an incredible view, which gave us a chance for a quick photo-op. We spent some time up there taking it all in, before we went down to meet up with the other groups. From here, we all went back to St. Mark’s Square to see the inside of the giant church that takes up one entire side of the square. Gold covered every square inch of the building on the inside. There was a magnificent altar that stole the spotlight. Unfortunately, like many of the more famous churches, I was not able to take pictures in here (I understand their reason for it, too). After thirty minutes of ogling at more gold than any of us have seen in our lives, we regrouped outside and began to look for a special gondola service called a Traghetto. The next stop was thanks to another tip by our tour guide: gondola rides can be very expensive, but taking a special type of gondola (called a traghetto), will take you from one side of the Grand Canal to the other for only 2 euros. That way you can brag about riding on the Grand Canal in a gondola without anyone knowing that it wasn’t a true gondola! Shoot, well I guess I gave away my secret… However, take a moment to check out these sweet pictures of the Grand Canal from the water.

Following the water-excursion, it was starting to get near dinner time. Naturally, we went and got gelato at the premiere gelato place in Venice. With our stomachs temporarily satisfied, we spent some time looking around the glass-blowing district and marveled at the amazing creations that came in all shapes and colors. Although I wanted to go see the Eastern portion of the island where the gardens were, we didn’t have enough time to get over there. When we couldn’t ignore our stomachs any more, we camped out in St. Mark’s Square while I scoured the interwebs for nearby places. Using my secret weapon, TripAdvisor, I found a place not far away that matched everyone’s criteria (cheap). Getting there right as it opened, we waited fifteen minutes for the closed sign to flip to open. Unfortunately, the owner of this hole in the wall was nowhere in sight. The longer we waited, the hangrier (hungry and angry) everyone got. Hitting up the interwebs once more, I found another place that looked interesting and still fit the bill. Although it was a twenty-minute walk away, the group was okay with it so long as it was open. For my sake, I prayed that it was too.

The walk seemed to stretch on and on, exaggerated by the hunger we felt. When we did get there, all the tables were taken and the waitress informed me that it would be about a forty-minute wait. Although we were ready to eat now, they eased the wait by letting us sit at some chairs inside the small place and get some drinks. Consisting of nothing more than a kitchen and a couple chairs strewn around, there wasn’t much room to fit us all in. There was a “buffet” at one counter, but that consisted of nothing more than small, crusty, cucumber and tuna sandwiches that are the bane of dinner parties. It seemed to take forever for the people at our designated table to finally leave, and when they did, we even helped clear the table so we could get served faster. The restaurant was more of a tapas place: which meant they served a variety of cheap, small, dishes that gave you a taste of many different things. As the night went on and food came out, people began to unwind and become less irate. Our waitress, who was very sassy and had a good sense of humor, made the night more fun. Comfortable and full in our chairs, we stayed there for over three hours enjoying the break from walking. At the end of it, our waitress sat down with us and brought us a present: seven shot glasses and a bottle of…. Let’s call it grape juice. However, we made her go back inside and grab an eighth shot glass so she could drink some grape juice with us. By 10:15pm, it was starting to get late enough that we were ready to leave. Saying goodbye to our new friend, we began the half hour trek back to our apartment, with me leading the way. Even in my tired state, I only led us down two wrong alleys!

The following day, we had to be out by 7am (which meant getting up at 6am) to begin the long journey back. Long story short, we took a train to get on a bus to get on a plane to get on another bus to get on a train that deposited us at the Metz station at 6pm. Although I could go into details about the traveling back home, it wasn’t much more than watching some Green Arrow and getting some shuteye whenever I could. Twelve hours of traveling took its toll on me, so I collapsed into my bed as soon as I got back and was asleep by 9pm. Luckily for us, we got back early enough that we didn’t have any issues with strikes. Many other groups attempting to get back around 11pm ending up getting stuck in various locations and having to travel the following morning (which was a school day).

Overall, Venice lived up to and exceeded my expectations. Every street brought with it a new adventure. The bridges we crossed over presented picturesque moments that I was able to capture on my phone. Although I didn’t like the cramped feel of Florence, for whatever reason I didn’t get that same sense in Venice. Everything from the architecture to the maze-like nature of the place made for a memorable experience. If you do go to Italy, I highly recommend visiting Venice. It’s a city well-worth seeing and it won’t disappoint. One word of warning, however, be ready to do a lot of walking.

‘Till next time, arrivederci!
(This concludes the epic, 3-part adventure of my time in Italy)

Secret Marvel Ending! - This trip took a lot out of me. Being the one who did the majority of the planning, I always had to be on top of times, locations, and accountability. More than that, it was five days of constant motion, with our only major breaks being the time we spent sleeping overnight. After this, I'm going to take some time off from traveling for a while, because I need time to recuperate from the awesomeness that this was and enjoy the awesomeness that is sitting around with no obligations (as sad as that sounds). As my time in Europe starts to wrap up, I'm certainly grateful for all of the experiences that I've had, but I'm getting ready to come home. In the meanwhile, someone out there, please, please eat some good bbq for me.

Hope you haven’t been waiting on the edge of your seats too much! Here’s the continuation of the thriller in this 3-part adventure…

Getting on the train to Florence was somewhat of a struggle, as there was no room to stand at all! It was just a jumbled mess of bodies packed into the carriage. There was room enough to stand and swivel, but that was it. We stood there like sardines in a can for an hour, before the doors thankfully opened up and we spilled out of them faster than I can rattle off a half a dozen corny jokes. Making our way through the mob, we regrouped in the center of the station and began to set up a plan of action. Rosalind had bought us tickets for the Ufizzi Art Gallery (only the “premiere” Renaissance Art Gallery), so we needed to be there in the next half hour to make our time slot. When we burst out of the station, we were blinded by the brilliance of the sun that shone down on that cloudless day. Making our way through the crowded, narrow, streets, we struggled to make it in time as we beat back the swarms of people that stood in between us and Caravaggio’s masterpieces. When we did get there, the line seemed to stretch down through street after street. It would be at least forty-five minutes before we would even get inside, so several of us split off in search of food. I found a delicious pizza place that served heaven on a breaded triangle slathered in juicy tomato sauce. By the time we were done eating, the line was almost at the entrance. Hopping back into the queue, we began to make our way through the Uffizi.

As I’ve mentioned before, I’m not much of an art aficionado, so I may not have appreciated the frames that hung on those walls as much as I should have. What I found interesting was the history and the backstory behind each painting: what inspired the artist behind their work. Alas, I had no tour guide leading me, so I hopped from group to group and heard a bit about a painting before moving on to find a new group. Bits and pieces of AP Euro from 10th grade would come back to me at times. We spent a good bit of the class learning about art from different periods, so it was fascinating seeing some of the famous pieces in person. The museum itself was massive and every inch of it was decked out with artwork, sculptures, showrooms: you name it. Even the ceiling was a fresco of a glass-covered roof! My favorite exhibit was that on Leonardo da Vinci. It had some of his original pencil sketches on display.

While I zoomed through the entire gallery in an hour and a half (I look at art quickly, what can I say?), the others progressed more slowly and filtered out one by one around the two-hour mark. Lorenzo got so caught up in the artwork that he spent an extra half-hour enjoying it all. Once we were all back together, we made a new plan of action: head back to the hotel, unload our hefty bags, and head back out on the town. We would split up from Maggie and Glen, who were staying close by to us. Before we departed, we grabbed some dessert and I chowed down on a real canoli. Now, I’ve been eating canolis for a long, long, time, and - sad to say - this didn’t live up to my expectations. The crust was a bit too crunchy and the entire thing was short and compressed. The entrance to our hotel took some serious detective work in finding, but once there, it felt incredible to remove the sweat-soaked bags from off of our weary backs. After a half hour in this state of relaxation, we geared up and got ready for the next trek. Getting some advice from the check-in desk, our new mission would have us stopping by several Florentine landmarks on the way to our end goal: the Piazza Michelangelo. From here, he assured us, would be the best view of the city (and he didn’t lie!).

Meeting up with Glen and Maggie outside of a 500-year-old church, the first stop on our list had us walking through an open-air forum. Within fifty feet of it, the smell of leather was so overwhelming that it could almost knock you back. Its vendors sold everything and anything in leather. The most common products were wallets, jackets, purses, belts, and shoes. We perused the shelves, but there wasn’t much you could buy unless you didn’t mind selling a kidney. A five-minute walk from here, our next site was the star attraction of Florence: the Duomo. You could see the Duomo from almost anywhere in the city. It had an intimidating presence the closer you got, as the sheer magnitude of its massive dome seemed to block out the sky. Making our way through the crowds of people milling around its exterior, we stopped for pictures and a chance to take it all in. As one of Florence’s iconic sites, its well worth a visit. After fueling up with gelato, we began to make our way to the next site on our laundry list: the Golden Gate Bridge. Ok, no, that’s a lie. However, the bridge that we went to is still a magnificent feat of engineering. The Ponte Vecchio is a 3-story masterpiece that houses high-end shopkeepers fifty feet above a river. I guess retail space is so precious in Florence that, even on this narrow strip of land, they had to find a way to sell you more things.

On the other side, our adventure continued on. Now, we were within a twenty-minute walk of the Piazza and it was starting to get towards 6pm. We had heard that there would be fireworks at 10pm, so we wanted to be up on the Piazza around 9pm to get a good view. We headed over to the Palazzo Vecchio, a giant castle, and played around on its sloping concrete rampway. There was an adjoining park to it, but they were closing just as we walked up. Even with my smooth moves that I laid on ‘em, they still wouldn’t let me through (Maybe if I’d told them a pun, things would have gone differently…). Despite the setback, we decided that we were hungry enough to find somewhere to eat. Walking towards the Piazza Michelangelo, we found a smattering of restaurants nestled at the base of the hill that the Piazza is perched on top of. I had been looking forward to eating some true Italian pizza (and not just a single piece like earlier), so there was no doubt in our minds as we walked into a cozy place with the word “Pizza” scrawled across its entrance. We each got our own personal pizza and had a great time sharing among the different flavors before us. Our host was warm and funny, offering great suggestions on pizzas. When it came to dessert, I caved and ordered a dessert that was a delicious combination of a chocolate-filled funnel cake. As a struggling choco-holic, I feel an urge to eat chocolate whenever I can.

After this much-needed respite, we were ready to move on once again. Trudging up the hill, we were at the summit in ten minutes. As we made our way over to the Piazza, the crowds of people became thicker and standing room decreased dramatically. Unfortunately for us, the Piazza was closed for the fireworks! Standing at the edges of the police barriers were crowds of people waiting like us: they knew that this would be the best spot to watch from. However, with an hour and a half to go until 10pm, we got antsy and decided to try our luck somewhere away from the crowds. We saw it come into view as we backtracked away from the Piazza: a giant mansion with a clear view of the city, but guarded by thick, wrought-iron gates. We saw people up there, so we knew that there had to be a way to get in. Rosalind, Lorenzo, and I split off and took a circuitous route around the side of the mansion and through some woods. The trail took us past a WWI statue and the sounds of a concert drifted up to us through the trees. Within a couple minutes, we reached winding switchbacks lined with cars that led to the entrance of our mystery mansion. Going through its arched entrance, we found the Florentine skyline open up in front of us. There was a large, sandy square, with steps leading down to a cemetery and the same iron gate from before. The area was relatively uncrowded, so we knew we had a good find. We grabbed some seats on the steps and spent the next half hour watching the sun go down. Tonight, it gave us a brilliant display of orange, violet, and red that was eventually swallowed up by the clouds. I love watching sunsets because it signifies the end of another day of living: another day where anything is possible. Seeing it go down is a reminder of the preciousness of time and how important it is to be thankful for everything you have. It definitely helps keep me grounded.

Shortly after 10pm, the fireworks display began to beat back the darkness and light up the night sky. It was a long show (about 30 minutes) with many cool pyrotechnic tricks. Bright bursts of red, green, and white were intermittent reminders of Italy’s colors. The finale was a slow buildup in intensity and frequency of fireworks, until there were so many that it looked like permanent splotches of color were fixed to the night sky. When the show ended, it took some time for our eyes to adjust back to the darkness after the explosion of light. Following the crowds, we trekked back down the switchbacks and began the tiresome half-hour walk to our hotel. Before we got back, we couldn’t resist getting gelato at least once more for the day. Melon seemed to be the popular flavor among our group, although Jake was trying Tiramisu gelato at every stand to find the best one. By 11:30pm, we were finally back in our room for the night. I was so exhausted that I fell asleep in the middle of the next day’s planning. Apparently, I continued to be part of the conversation and decision-making, but I have no recollection of it.

When I did wake up at 6:30am (see, sleeping in again!), I took a quick jaunt around our neighborhood in search of breakfast and anything that might be of interest. During my walk, I came across a little church tucked away in a square. Its exterior was unassuming, but upon stepping inside, it opened up to beautiful frescoes and intricate architecture. It was the last thing I expected to see. When I entered, several nuns shot me dirty looks for wearing shorts, so I slid into a pew as fast as I could to blend in and remove their wrath from me. Just as I was getting ready to go and leave this holy place, my phone picked the worst time to inform me that I had received a text message. I guess I had forgotten to turn off my ringer (whoops). Now, those wrathful gazes swiveled back onto me like Sauron’s eye and I beat it out of there as fast as I could.

Returning to the hotel, I met up with Lorenzo and Rosalind for a continuation of the morning adventure. We spent an hour and a half walking around the narrow streets of the Northeast corner of Florence and seeing the city slowly come to life. Circling back to the Duomo, we arrived around 9:15am to stand in the line to get inside. Although it didn’t open until 10am, there were already thirty people in front of us. As one of the most famous churches in the world, the line can stretch so far that you might end up spending two hours or more waiting. Not far from us was a large open-air market, so Lorenzo was nice enough to hold our place in line while Rosalind and I went to check it out. Leather vendors were everywhere again, and inside the main building, tiny stalls sold all varieties of fresh produce. There were meats, spices, local vegetables, and our favorite, the dried fruit. Although we couldn’t stay long, we promised that we would return here to show Lorenzo. We arrived back at the Duomo right at 10am and hopped back in line, which began to steadily progress forwards. When we did get inside, I’ll admit that I was a bit underwhelmed. Most of the area was cordoned off and you couldn’t really see the church. The ceilings stretched to the Heavens, but even the cool factor from that wore off after a bit. Downstairs was an exhibit featuring the construction of the Duomo, but it required tickets in advance (of which we did not have). In short, the Duomo is somewhere you can go to say that you’ve been, but for a college student it may not be as spectacular as you think.

Leaving the Duomo, we still had two hours to kill before we needed to make our 1:15pm train. Like we promised Lorenzo, we headed back to the open-air market to check it out again. We spent some time haggling with vendors, tasting free samples, and getting lost in the stalls. He loved the place just as much as us. Then, as if the market wasn’t enough for us, we decided to break our banks at the worst possible place: a 1-euro store. Akin to a dollar general, we picked up lunch and souvenirs at dirt-cheap prices. We found a bench on a small side street and dove into our snacks while mopeds and carts trundled past in front of us. When we finished, we still had an hour to kill, so we made our way North of the station to a small park that was home to a fountain. It blew a refreshing mist onto us that quickly evaporated in the hot sun. This was one of those rare moments that I wished I could hit the fast forward button and skip ahead an hour. Normally, I feel like there aren’t enough hours in a day to get everything done. Now, however, it seemed that there was an abundance of free time, which is something strange and foreign to me after these past 2 years at Georgia Tech. I should appreciate the fact that there were no obligations, deadlines, or places to be for that hour, but mostly I was just bored.

At long last, the time arrived and we met up with Smalls and Jake inside the train station. Maggie and Glenn were on a wine tour, so they would be joining us in Venice later that evening. The past few days had felt like a whirlwind of never-ending activity. I was especially excited for Venice: next to Paris, Venice was the city that I’d always dreamt about visiting. I’m not particularly sure why, but I was not a huge fan of Florence. It might have been the incredibly crowded streets that made me nervous about knocking over people (being the giant that I am). Maybe it was the sensory overload of how much history the city has. I could spend a week studying an individual street, but with only a day to fit it all in, it was like getting a single bite of a sampler platter rather than getting the full entrée. Or maybe it was the heavy emphasis on art, which I lack the sophistication to appreciate. Of my “Favorite Cities of Italy” list, Florence comes in 3rd. However, in just a few short hours, I would be in the city of my dreams: Venice.

Well, long time no see! Apologies for posting this so late: this past week we had Monday thru Wednesday off from school, so we decided to take our weekly travel a tad further from base camp. We departed from Metz on Friday afternoon and rolled back into town on Wednesday evening. This time, our curiosity brought us to visit the homeland of my mustachioed, turtle-throwing, plumbing cousin: Mario! Like a pinball in a machine, we bounced around Northern Italy from Cinque Terre, to Florence, and finally to Venice. Our crew of seven made for an interesting cast. There were the von Matterhorn Brothers, Lorenzo and Jake, who were ready to do just about anything if you’d ask them to do it. Then there was Rosalind, who was always on top of things and kept everyone together. Coming up next was Smalls, who was the right-hand man of the von Matterhorns and whom hated hiking. Batting cleanup was the dynamic duo of Glenn and Maggie: you never knew what would happen next with them around. Before I delve in, I should tell you that this will be a 3-parter. With six days of travel to cover, I’d prefer not to write one giant essay. Instead, I’ll release two parts and leave the third as a cliff-hanger to begin again next season (just kidding)! There’s a lot of ground to cover, so let’s get started, shall we?

This blog wouldn’t be complete without a school update, however! In short, everything is still going well. Right before I left, I took a thermo quiz that I felt fairly confident about as I walked out. Thermo quizzes are ones where you end up working the entire fifty minutes given. Even as he called time, my pencil was still streaking across the page trying to double and triple-check my work. I should find out the grade next week, so hopefully it will go well for me.

Everyone left early on Friday afternoon to get into Paris, but I had a late class, so I ended up going alone and meeting them there. After class got out on Friday, I sat around in nervous anticipation for the weekend to come. I had two hours to kill, so I spent the time watching Netflix and cleaning out my fridge. I got so caught up in “How I Met Your Mother” that I almost missed my bus to the train station! I had to run like a madman across campus to make it to the bus stop in time, which got me to the station with ten minutes to spare. The train ride was short and quiet, with no breakdowns or cancellations to speak of. I’m beginning to learn that French trains are notorious for the frequency with which they have delays or are cancelled due to “strikes”. When I got into Paris, different groups were scattered throughout the city, so I decided to join Maggie and Rosalind down at the Eiffel Tower. It was about 8pm when I got into Paris, so I was able to get to the Tower just in time to see the sun’s rays scattering through its patchwork of metal, signifying the end of another day.

Around 9pm, the von Matterhorns, Smalls, and Glenn came rolling up to join us on the packed green pasture that the Tower presides over. Talking and taking it all in, we sat there and enjoyed the tranquility of the warm evening until 11:30pm. This was my first time with this group, so I spent some time getting to know a bit about each of them. Our accommodations for the evening would be in Glenn’s apartment, which was really more of a studio meant for one or two people at a max. Taking the metro to the flat, we rolled up around midnight and had to climb a mountain of stairs that eventually deposited us at our room for the night. If you’ve been reading closely, you’ll notice that there are seven of us in the group. With only one bed, four people had to squeeze onto its tiny frame. Meanwhile, two of us (myself included) slept on the floor and one slept curled up in a ball on the terrace outside. By the time any of us could actually fall asleep, it was almost 1am.

Sleep was intermittent and hard to reach with the cold drafts that kept floating in through the window (not to mention it was a hardwood floor!). However, we had to be up at 4:30am to make it to our airport shuttle, so it’s not like we would get much out of sleeping for three hours anyways. At precisely 4:30, the blaring alarms set by Rosalind and Smalls jolted us out of our stupor and signaled the beginning of the long day of travel we had ahead of us. Begrudgingly, we packed up our belongings and hit the road. Shuffling like a pack of zombies, we trudged the mile to the airport shuttle and got there in time to collapse in a heap at the busses’ entrance. By 5:30, we were seated in semi-comfortable chairs and on our way to Beauvais Airport, a regional airport North of Paris that specializes in budget flights for cheap people like us.

We arrived at Beauvais by 7am, which gave us plenty of time to hang around the airport until our 8:35am flight. There wasn’t a lot to see, however. In its entirety, it wasn’t much more than a security checkpoint, a few shops selling food, and two gates for airplanes. In our sleep-deprived state, none of us did much talking. Instead, we snagged a few empty seats and sat there with glazed-over expressions and arms wrapped around our bags. I was incredibly thankful when the airplane showed up, because it meant one step closer to our destination for the day: Cinque Terre. I gave up on attempting to sleep during the flight, which seemed determined to make you as uncomfortable as possible: My legs were perpetually jammed into the seat in front me of thanks to the non-existent legroom, attendants wouldn’t let you close the shades, and they would come down the aisle constantly trying to sell you useless magazine subscriptions. Despite these drawbacks, I made a new friend on the flight! The girl next to me had NASA stickers on her laptop. Being the ultimate space nerd, I started chatting with her and found out that she was from Colombia and working on her masters in mechanical engineering in France. More so, she had spent some time at JPL and is even interested in being an astronaut herself! She is a certified scuba diver and also intends on getting her pilot’s license. The last half hour of the ride flew by after that (haha, get it?).

After touching down, everyone on board was ecstatic to get out and stretch their legs. I’ve become a master at staying in one position for long periods of time with all this traveling, but even I need a break from it. Our plane deposited us at an airport an hour outside Milan, which required us to take yet another bus to get to the central train station. One more agonizing hour of remaining motionless and we would finally be in Milan! As the bus made its way to the city center, we passed through crowded streets packed with vendors. It made for an eclectic collection of open-air shops that created a maze to navigate. By the time we got off at the train station, we were feeling the pangs of hunger beginning to set in. Most of us hadn’t eaten since yesterday evening.

With only an hour to find a place to eat, we wasted a lot of time standing around in indecision. Finally, as if a sign from the Heavens, the Golden Arches descended down upon us and guided us to our decision. I’ll admit, I’m ashamed to have succumbed to the McDonald’s bug, but it tasted incredible after eating nothing but a croissant in the past 12 hours. After refueling our tanks, we got ready to begin the final part of our journey. The train from Milan would take us to Pisa, where we would hop on another train to get to Monterosso. As we made our way to Pisa, we came very close to missing our connecting train. Although we started out behind schedule, our conductor did a good job of getting us in on time. When we transferred at Pisa, we had a whole five minutes to find our train! Through the hot, sticky, humidity, we stumbled onto our train to Monterosso, which would mark the end of our long travel.

Now, a quick side note about Cinque Terre. Cinque Terre, which is Italian for “Five Villages”, is a UNESCO world heritage site that is comprised of five unique towns perched on cliffs overlooking the Ligurian Sea. The northernmost village is Monterosso, where we would be coming into. In between each village are narrow trails cut through the rock. In the late 1800’s, through a marvelous feat of engineering, they were able to connect the five villages by train. This region is known for its white wine, fishing, lemons, rugged beaches, and breathtaking views. As I mentioned, each village has a unique personality that appeals to different people. The villages, as colorful as a box of crayons, are so small that you can walk through their entirety in half an hour. However, the amazing part is how the houses cling to the cliffside on ledges that are mind-bogglingly small. This region is best for more able travelers, ones who don’t mind getting a good hike in. The majority of your day will be spent getting a calf workout as you work your way up hill after hill. However, what some might deem “drawbacks”, were the exact reasons why we would be going to Cinque Terre.

On the way to Monterosso, we caught glimpses of the sea and the beaches that lay in wait. The last half hour before we arrived was spent in excited anticipation to finally get out of our sedentary positions. When the doors clanged open, we burst through the train station and down onto the beaches below. What greeted us was something straight out of a movie. A picturesque walkway formed a protective semi-circle around shimmering blue-green water. The beaches, filled to the brim with people, contained pure, white sand. Moving along the walkway, we made our way over to get our reward from the day’s long adventure: a hefty scoop of gelato. As we scarfed the cool treat down, we spent some time walking through Monterosso and over to a quieter beach. Within twenty minutes, we had stripped down to our bathing suits and were wading into the refreshing water. There were a series of rocks perched on a sandbar not far from shore, so Jake, Lorenzo, Maggie, and Glenn went to check them out and go cliff diving. Meanwhile, Smalls stayed behind to watch our stuff. After forty-five minutes, we met back up and walked through the miniature town. There were as many tourist shops as there were restaurants (and I even found one named after me!). We had some time to look around before we began the hike to Vernazza, which we expected to take us an hour and a half. Although only three kilometers long, the path wound its way up and down the steep cliffside. It got so tough that Maggie and Glenn almost turned back. However, we convinced them to keep going and were able to stick together. Every ten feet we would have to stop and take pictures, because the view was out of this world. The narrow ledge we followed plunged down to meet up with the sea, which crashed against the rocks below like thunderclaps. If there was one thing we were certainly wary of, it was making sure our footing was solid. Along the way, we passed by various groups of travelers and swapped stories with them. We met exchange students from China, couples from Australia, and even other GT students!

When Vernazza came into view, it did so dramatically. Walking around the edge of the cliff, it began to appear below us as if it were rising up out of the sea. With it in sight, we picked up our pace: our footsteps a bit quicker. We were ready to get some real dinner, and we were eager to try the fresh seafood. Making our way down the steep staircase, we emerged onto the main street of Vernazza and regrouped before a water fountain. At this point, our criteria for restaurants was if the “Open” sign was still hanging in the window. The restaurant adjacent to the water fountain ended up being our pick for the night. Serving traditional food that highlighted the region, it was exactly what we wanted. We chowed down on seafood platters mixed in with bowls of spaghetti and washed it all down with glass after glass of cold water. With full stomachs and the evening setting in, we made our way down to the crescent-shaped harbor that defines Vernazza. Boats of people came and went as we watched the sun go down behind the cliffs that loomed over us. We spent a half hour exploring the streets and hidden coves of the town before making our way back to the train stop that is nestled in the center. Although I said that we were done with travelling, I actually lied. We would have a short, twenty-minute ride over to our Airbnb for the evening, which was located in a town called La Spezia.

Getting in at 9:45pm, we split off from Maggie and Glenn, who had their own place for the night. Lucky for us, our hosts were nice enough to meet us at the train station. They gave us a ride from the station to their apartment, which normally would have been a forty-minute walk. As if that wasn’t enough, when we walked into the place that would be ours for the night, our draws dropped: it was a spacious apartment with three bedrooms complete with air conditioning, a fully-stocked kitchen, and even a terrace! It felt like a palace compared to the hardwood floor and cramped quarters from the night before. After some difficulty getting the hot water working, we spent the rest of the evening showering off the layer of grime and relaxing. Within minutes of laying down, I was fast asleep. Getting this at the end of the day was an amazing surprise after nearly sixteen hours of travel. It also made us sad that we would only get the chance to spend one night here in this mini-oasis.

The next morning, I helped myself to the croissants our host had got for us. Slathering the baked bun in Nutella, it was a delicious combination of chocolate and bread that made for a great start. While the others slept in, Rosalind and I went out for a walk through La Spezia to see what we could find. We went down along the waterfront and then through the old town, completing a two-mile loop that got our legs warmed up for the day. They were still pretty sore from the steep inclines that we made our way up yesterday. Around us, shops began to open their curtains and begin their day as well. We found a tasty, little, bakery with apple desserts that we munched on as we headed back to the apartment. At 10:00am, we rolled up to the train station and met up with Glenn and Maggie, whose host had given them a ride there. They had an equally awesome experience with their stay: their host keeping them up late with stories of fishing expeditions.

We were sad to leave Cinque Terre so soon, but Florence was next on the agenda. The beauty of the land around us and the friendliness of the locals made a great first impression. If I could go back and do it all again, I would stay in Cinque Terre longer. However, we were moving on to a new city and a new day! Who knew what would wait in store for us at the next stop? I guess you’ll have to wait and see what went on in Florence……

On paper, everything seems easier than it actually is. When you see that expected travel time should be about eight hours, you take for granted just how much of an eternity eight long, excruciating, mind-numbing hours can seem. This past weekend was a lesson, a cruel lesson from the Universe in Murphy’s Law: “Anything that can go wrong will go wrong.” I’m sure you must be confused, so let me explain….

First, though, the weekly report card! I’m still getting smiley faces in all my classes and have even gotten an A++ in the “tells awesome jokes” category. It’s the usual grind of homework and studying till I fall asleep, so as to leave my weekends work-free. I’ve been running in the mornings in preparation for the Hell that will be Field Training, which continues to loom over my head. There’s a great park not far from my dorm, comprised of a kilometer loop with workout stations set up along its path. One day, running down by the city, I saw several soccer fields filled with kids in bright, solid-colored uniforms. They must have been a youth soccer league, because they couldn’t have been much older than 14. It reminded me of my days when I used to rule the ol’ football pitch: I was the best defense in the U-6 American Youth Soccer Organization of New Hartford. I was good, so good that they even gave me a trophy at the end of the season! Although, for some reason, they gave my trophy to everyone else as well. Anyways, I did some reminiscing as I passed by the fields and finished up my run before the sky cracked open and buckets of rain began to drench anything not covered. Overall, I believe that school is continuing to go well and, thus far, none of the balls of my juggling act have been dropped. Hopefully, I can keep it going like this.

Now, what you’re really here for: my travels! Last weekend, Triberg gave me a great taste for nature and had me longing to go spend more time outside of the city. Although cities are a great way to experience a culture, one can only stand so much concrete, overpriced food, and funky smells coming from grates that disappear into blackness. Atlanta will forever be my numero uno city in my heart (and not just because it has Krispy Kreme and Green Manor, although mostly). The place I set my sights on this time was in the French Alps: a well-known ski-destination by the name of Chamonix. This is home to the massive, snow-capped, four-thousand meter tall mountain known as Mount Blanc. The city sits in the cradle of two expansive mountain ranges, which gives the impression that one is in a giant crater. However, I’m getting ahead of myself. Before I can even begin to talk about Chamonix, I need to explain how I got there first.

As I mentioned earlier, the anticipated travel time was eight hours from Metz to Chamonix. I would have to get up at the exhausting hour of four in the morning to make it to the station on time, with the expectation that I would roll into Chamonix around two in the afternoon. Painfully, I clambered out of bed at four-thirty and made my train at six. Everything was going just smoothly until Lausanne, Switzerland (stupid Lausanne…). The plan originally had a twelve minute layover at one stop, which certainly isn’t the closest I’ve cut it before. However, as is the custom here, my train ran behind schedule and pulled up to the station just as the train I was supposed to be on was departing. You can imagine my frustration as I ran up to the platform and painfully watched my train fade away down the tracks. This setback delayed me three hours and meant I wouldn’t get in until five in the afternoon. Just like that, my eight hours of travel had now turned into eleven.

Being naive and carefree, however, I brushed it off as the setback that is always destined to arise in any trip and figured that I would be okay. With an extra hour to kill in Martigne, Switzerland, I was able to climb the parapet of an old tower and take in the beauty of the Alp’s sweeping valleys. Leaving Martigne, I hopped on board the Mount Blanc Express, which is a special train that winds its way through the mountains of the Alps. If you’ve ever been on the Expedition Everest ride at Disney World (or any roller coaster will suffice really), that’s what this train felt like. With a jolt, it pulled away from Martigne and started off the journey at an alarming thirty-degree incline up the side of a mountain. Near the apex of our climb, we plunged into the darkness of a tunnel that cut through the mountainside. When we emerged, we were traversing the side of a mountain on a path barely wide enough for the train. Looking through the large viewing windows that stretched across the entire cabin, there was only a heart-stopping plunge downwards next to the rail tracks. Unlike a Disney ride with fake backdrops, this was the real deal. As the train clattered along the precarious tracks, it offered some amazing views of the Alps. It was so amazing that I forgot how upset I was about getting in three hours behind schedule!

The adventure ended at a station in Vallorcine, France, where I had a one-hour layover. It was the kind of place that only had a main street, with a smattering of houses here and there. I met some interesting people who were waiting for the same train I was: there was an older French couple who extended an invitation for me to join them by saying: “Hey kid, we’re going to go get a beer. Want to come with?” Although we didn’t find an open bar, we did end up finding a 700 year-old church that had survived an avalanche thanks to its surrounding stone wall, so I guess that was cool. Then, I met an English family that loathed European football and were instead massive fans of the Green Bay Packers! Talk about finding a needle in a haystack.

Finally, one hour and twenty-eight minutes later, the long journey came to close. As we passed into the shadow of Mount Blanc, the train pulled up to the station and delivered its cargo of weary travelers. I was feeling it at this point, so I made a beeline for my Airbnb (funny side note, its listing was “cozy couch”). It was situated in an apartment suite adjacent to the train station, which I was thankful for. Unfortunately, none of the doors had numbers or names on them, so I had no clue which couch was mine. My host had neglected to send me the details on said information. I ended up becoming a door-to-door salesman, in search of someone who might have a clue. Every room I stopped at was out-of-towners, which got me no further than where I started. I tried calling my host numerous times, but no one picked up. After a half hour of searching, I gave up in frustration and left a message saying that I would come back later. The shower that I had been desperately looking forward to would have to wait a couple more hours. Instead, I went out in search of something to fill my stomach.

Being a ski-resort town, Chamonix is essentially the Parks City of France. It has a rugged, outdoorsy feel to it, with enough basic amenities included that it doesn’t scare away the city dwellers. The bars were filled with sweat-soaked hikers and backpackers like myself, and impromptu concerts were set up by musicians hanging outside restaurants. The town was a perfect blend of nature and civilization that made it fun to walk through (although some parts were certainly touristy). I satisfied the ever-hungry pit that is my stomach at a hot dog shop, where I feasted on perhaps the most delicious hot dog a person could find after going the last twelve hours without food.

When I returned to the apartment complex, I was nervous that I would have to cancel the Airbnb and end up booking at a place that was exponentially more expensive. My host had still not sent me a response, so my worry-meter was right up at the top. I gave it a half hour more before I would try and find an alternative place. As my luck would have it, she messaged me just as the half hour passed. Sending me detailed instructions, I eventually made my way to one of the doors that no one had answered earlier. She was out of town, so she had left the keys in her mailbox and some sheets for me on the couch. At this point, I was so tired that I collapsed on the couch without taking a shower. Although it was only 9:30pm, I knew that I would need a lot of sleep for the hiking I intended to do. That night, I slept more soundly than I had in weeks.

I ended up sleeping in to 7am (for those that know me, that’s really, really, late)! I rolled out of bed in a tumble of sheets and crawled to the heavenly spout of hot water, where I camped out for at least ten minutes. After that, I fixed myself a hearty breakfast of an orange and an assortment of crackers, washed down by gulps of fresh mountain water. Leaving behind my couch, I set my sights on a new challenge, this one a little more fun than the previous I had encountered. I found a trailhead that led up to a cable car station called “Aguille du Midi”. That was the halfway point up Mount Blanc, and also where I would make my way to. The beginning of the trail was a series of steep switchbacks that were barely two feet wide. However, as the day was still young, I had the advantage of fresh muscles and the benefit of being in the shade. Even then, by the end of the first hour, I was beginning to feel the effects of the constant uphill climb in my calf muscles. It got worse when I passed by someone hiking down, who told me that I was only about halfway up at this point.

Continuing upwards, I crossed over a river and noticed that the flora and fauna were subtly changing around me the higher I got. It reminded me of pictures we had seen in environmental science, where a mountainside can be broken up into several distinct regions: there are large trees down at the bottom in the subalpine region. In the alpine region, trees become more stunted and have to withstand blasts of colder temperatures. Then, above the tree line, the vegetation gives way to tufts of grass and shrubs and a much starker environment. As I progressed along the trail, I noticed all this changing around me and remarked at how much it was like the pictures in the books. Once I got above the tree line, the landscape gave way to rocks the size of houses and patches of snow that lay frozen on the ground. In several spots, the trail became so hard to follow that I had to backtrack to make sure I was staying on it. For anyone with little kids, this is not a hike I would recommend: I had to scale several large boulders and shimmy my way across ledges of snow that covered up the path. Up here, there was little shade to speak of, and there was not another soul in sight at this early in the morning. Two hours into it, my body was covered in sweat and every footstep became a battle of lifting my lead-like leg upwards and fighting Earth’s gravity. I wanted to give up, but I knew that this far in, there was nowhere to go but up. The only way I could maintain my resolve was to continually count to one-hundred in my head in Russian. It took my mind off of the exhaustion and helped pass the lonesome time.

Salvation came at two and half hours into this grueling trek. After seeing nothing but nature for some time, I finally saw my first small sign of civilization: literally, it was a sign! It pointed to an even larger sign of civilization, a warming house (called a refuge) for weary hikers like myself. Even more exciting, the cable car station, Aguille du Midi, finally came into view! One by one, things slowly began to get better. At the warming hut, there was a trough with frigid, flowing, water that I took in in large gulps. However, my final stop wasn’t the refuge. No, I needed to go continue upwards for ten more minutes to get to my real destination: the cable car station. Only then could I say that I had accomplished my mission. I came across two hikers carrying skis that were planning to ski down Mount Blanc and completed this last leg with them.

Coming up to the crest of the cable car station, the view was indescribable. That’s why I’ll take a moment and let the pictures speak for themselves.

My reward was a much-needed break and some food to eat. I claimed a metal bench as mine and gobbled down cheap crackers while taking in the picturesque view. Talking with some English folks, I set my sights on a new destination: I would traverse the side of the mountain and head over to Mer de Glac, the largest glacier in all of France. This time, I wouldn’t have to worry about climbing up and could enjoy a relatively flat hike. Compared to my morning trek, this was a piece of cake. It took me just under two hours to make it the four and a half miles to my next stop. The only bad part of it were the snow drifts that lay across the trail. They could be as large as fifty feet across and made it so that you could only walk in a narrow trail of footprints made by earlier travelers. Stepping out of these would have you taking a very long and dangerous slip n’ slide down the side of the mountain. As I approached Mer de Glac, the number of tourists began to rise dramatically. The reason behind this was one of laziness: there’s a train which runs from Chamonix up to Mer de Glac, so any Joe Schmoe can pay an outrageous thirty-eight euros to plop themselves down and have an internal combustion do the work for them in getting up the mountainside. I’m not made of money, so I took the cheap option and went with the two hour hike to get down. Every time the train went by, I could hear its shrill whistle mocking me in my weary state.

Now, I should elaborate a bit more on the whole “getting back” situation. There was a train leaving Chamonix, which, if everything else went accordingly, would get me back into Metz at 10pm Saturday night. Unfortunately for me, its departure time was 3pm. I had just begun my two-hour hike downwards at 2pm, so I was faced with three options: miss the 3pm train, run like a madman down the mountain and condense two hours into one, or give up every essence of manhood and shell out thirty-eight euros for an overpriced train ride down. Option three was off the table, and I was nervous that I might trip and fall, so I decided to enjoy the hike down and ended up taking my time with it (I would later realize that I had chosen wrong). When I got into Chamonix, it was 3:15pm and my legs had been magically transformed into jelly. My new plan had me travelling for twelve hours, with an overnight delay at a station in Basel, Germany. Although the prospect of it was not very exciting, I was still in that foolish mindset where I figured it couldn’t be that bad. Let me cut through that crap right now: it was bad, very bad.

I left from Chamonix around 5pm and, as the Mount Blanc Express began to trundle back through the steep mountain passages, I looked out the windows in sadness. For once, I was sad to have to leave and go back to school. I wished that I’d had more time to go hiking and see some of the hidden gems of the area. Alas, it was my time to go. The ride back to Lausanne, Switzerland, passed in a few short hours. I’m supremely glad I had the foresight to bring a thick book with me, as I ripped through its pages on these tedious rides. A lakefront town, we pulled into Lausanne just as the sun was setting. With white, wispy, clouds creating a haze on the horizon, it made for a stunning array of colors as the sun slipped into the watery depths and the darkness of the night came on. I had an hour to walk around Lausanne, so I spent it stretching my legs and getting in some extra steps (That day, I ended up doing 38,000 steps!). Then, an hour later I boarded several series of trains that eventually dropped me off at a station in Basel, Germany right after midnight. Now, the worst part was upon me: my next train wouldn’t leave Basel until 5:25am. Here I was, stuck at the station with nowhere to go and nothing to do for five freaking hours. I found a bench in a well-lit area of the station, wrapped my backpack straps through my legs, and began the long, painful wait. As the night wore on, the temperature began to drop into the high forties and bugs started assaulting my skin that made me twitch like a horse. Around 2:30am, several guys came through the station and started clapping loudly and making a lot of noise so as to wake up those of us that were sleeping (for I wasn’t the only traveler caught in this overnight nightmare).

When 5am eventually rolled around, I was starving, exhausted, and desperately in need of a shower. After all, I’d spent six and half hours the day before hiking. I got into Strasbourg at 7am and thought that the worst was finally over. However, there was one more “surprise” lying in wait for me. My train from Strasbourg to Metz, which would have gotten me in at 11, was cancelled due to strikes! Talking with the information desk, I would have to take a train from Strasbourg to Paris and then from Paris to Metz. It would end up adding an hour onto my overall travel time. Here I was, only a forty-five minute car ride from Metz, and now I would have to keep traveling. As fed up as I was, I did the only thing I could do: I got on the train and tried my hardest to keep from passing out. At 1pm on Sunday, I finally crossed the threshold of my apartment and collapsed in a heap of sweat-stained clothes on my soft, clean, bed.

There is a lesson to be learned from all this: don’t overextend your travels or yourself. It’s one thing to say that you can do something, but another thing entirely to actually carry it out. I thought that I could make a twelve-hour trip back manageable, and I was dead wrong. I spent more time traveling than I spent in Chamonix, which kind of made this trip a drag. I loved every second in Chamonix, but I would not recommend taking the trains to get there (unless you’re only taking the Mount Blanc Express). From here on, I plan to stay more local and enjoy the things that are near me, instead of trying to make a massive trip happen. Anyways, I learned a lot about myself and about traveling this week. Although a lot of it sucked, it’s important to remember the words of T.S Eliot – “The journey, not the arrival, matters.”

This past weekend brought me to the land of the lederhosen wearing, beer-drinking, schnitzel eating country that is home to eighty-two million people. Yes, that’s right, I put on some festive flannel and headed out through Germany’s Black Forest to visit Munich and Triberg. The only experience I’ve had with Germany is its large airport hub in Hamburg, so I was pretty excited to get some more time to experience its culture and, if we’re being real here, its food. In addition, my family has a lot of German and Polish roots. Although this trip wasn’t my favorite thus far, I had a fun time with what we ended up doing.

A quick interjection, however: school continues to go well! After getting whacked by three back-to-back tests in three days, I somehow managed to keep from going completely insane and crawling into my room with the intention of never coming out once it was all over. This week, I got my scores back and was pleasantly surprised! Although I made some stupid mistakes that I’m still kicking myself over (I should just hire someone to keep kicking me so I don’t forget it), I came out better than I had thought going in. Even more, the first big hump has been overcome! Now, the only thing left to worry about is a test every week until finals week (psh, no biggie, right?). I’m a fan of having class every day, because I feel like I actually have to dedicate time every night to getting work done, as opposed to leaving it for the night before (or, y’know, the hour before). One strange thing did happen, however. Let me preface it by making sure you’ve read The Half-Blood Prince. If you haven’t, take a quick second, go read it, and come back here when you’re done. Okay, here goes: I had been sitting outside the student lounge, chilling like a villain and munching on some bread, when my MSE professor happened to walk by and told me to come with him to his office. He gave me my test back and congratulated me on my grade, after which we connected over Pittsburgh. He had worked there for five years as a researcher at Alcoa, the company responsible for aluminum foil and many other household wonders, and I had been to the city many times to see Pirates games. He then told me to come back and visit him later after we had our afternoon class. When I did come back, he ended up showing me different pictures of Pittsburgh’s buildings and reminiscing about his favorite places there. I felt a lot like Harry getting invited to Professor Slughorn’s party and making it into his good graces. I’d say it was a little odd, but I’m just happy to be on his good side for when the red grading pen comes out. Long story short, my classes are going well and I’ve gotten better at this clown-like juggling act of travel and study.

Now, onto Munchen (as it’s known in German). Our train was an early, 6:30am train. In most normal circumstances, this wouldn’t have been an issue. However, me, with all my hubris about “not needing” an alarm clock, woke up at 5:32am. This left ten minutes for me to douse myself in soap and water, throw my clothes and wallet into my backpack, and book it for the bus stop to catch the 5:45am bus. Luckily enough for me, I was able to make it in time and only ended up forgetting one thing! When we did get to the train station, I ran into another slight complication: I was unable to get a reservation in time for the 6:30am train, so…. certain events transpired that I’m not particularly proud to talk about. I promised last post that I had learned my lesson when it came to reservations, but this time I really mean it. As I write this, I’m on my way to book my reservation (ahead of time!) for next weekend. Our train to Munich had six stops and it was a long, grueling, six-hour ride to get there. I suppose the universe found a way to get back at me, because the one thing I forgot to pack were headphones. The hours of history podcasts I had just downloaded the night before would sit disappointingly unplayed on my phone for this trip. The train had delays throughout its journey, which led to several frantic dashes in some of our change-overs. One delay gave us only two minutes of transfer time at one station. As soon as we stepped off our arriving train, we dashed like madmen through the station to our departure platform and got there just as the train was about to pull out. Although we received several strange looks, we were just happy to make it to the final leg of our tiresome journey.

When we did get into Munich, it was past 1pm and we were overjoyed to finally be out of a train cabin. We had signed up for a free tour starting at 2pm, which I was really excited to go on. It would be a history walking tour of Munich and, here’s the best part, it would be given in English! When you spend enough time in a different country, you realize how much you take for granted the ability to communicate basic things with fellow humans, such as, “Yes, I would like fries with that.” By the time we left the train station, we had to move at a brisk pace to make it to the meeting point in time. On our trek there, we were stopped by the heavenly gates of the golden arches that called out to our empty stomachs. Giving in to the growling pits that controlled us, we made a quick pit stop at McDonalds and rolled up to our meeting point precisely at 2:00pm. Our tour guide was a college-aged kid named Brett, who was from the lonely state of Nebraska. He had a great sense of humor and kept the tour engaging and informative. Personally, I liked him because he wasn’t afraid to go to the highest form of humor: puns. On the tour, we were able to see a church with a cannonball glued in its side through some redneck engineering, learn about stealing a town’s Maypole, grab some beers at the hall where Hitler tried his “Beer Hall Putsch”, and see the Devil’s actual footprint. Suffice to say, it was a great tour that helped us see the old town and actually learn about the buildings around us. Within our tour group, there were several Atlantans and even an Emory graduate! We got to talking and bonded over a city we all shared in common.

When our tour was over, it was only beginning to dip into the middle of the afternoon. We decided to hop on the metro and took it up to the Olympic Park. Munich hosted the Summer Olympics in 1972 and the park that remains is still gorgeous. The Olympic buildings are protected by sweeping glass awnings that look like waves flowing through the air. We ventured over to the Track and Field, but couldn’t find a way to get down onto it. Then, we ended up scaling a massive hill that gave us a stunning view of the city and the Olympic Park. It was quite a sight to see the sun reflect from the glass buildings down onto the glistening lake. Heading down, we made a stop in the BMW Museum and ogled over the cars of the future. I hopped on a motorcycle and tried to drive it out of there, but I guess someone forgot to fill up the tank.

Tired and ready to get some dinner, we began to make our way to our hotel. Unfortunately for us, our hotel was in no-man’s land when it came to public transportation. Imagine a circle with points all along it representing rail stops. We were at the center of that circle. Getting off from our stop, we booted up google maps and had to triple check to make sure its estimated travel time wasn’t set to snail speed. It said that we had almost five kilometers and forty minutes of fun walking ahead of us. With no other choice, we set out and began to trudge, step by step, to our far-away sanctuary. My friend ended up running ahead because we had to check in by 8pm and our estimated time of arrival was 8:15pm. Walking alone, I made my way past the Nymphenburg Palace and through an expansive park. At this point, the only thing I had eaten all day was a greasy chicken wrap and some fries, so my fuel tank was running in the critically low region. I happened to come across two grocery stores on my hike, but they closed at 8:00pm. Guess when I walked up to them: 8:02pm… When I finally got there, we spent some time recuperating in the room before heading out once more to find some dinner. Our trip back to the city center yielded us some delicious full-plate pizzas that could have beat Frodo’s Elvish bread any day. As we were preparing to make our way out of the city center, we bumped into some more Atlantans: this time they were Tech graduates! They were a funny bunch, and in the words of one half-drunk dude, “The girls here are way better to dance with than the ones at Tech!” We trusted his advice and did what any young person in a large foreign city would do: beat the drunk crowd onto the metro before they filled it up and headed back to the hotel at a reasonable hour where, within seconds of our heads hitting our pillows, we went into a deep sleep.

I was woken up by a blaring alarm at 5am the next morning. Our train left at 6am, so we had another early day of travel ahead of us. The ride to the station was uneventful, but we were certainly feeling the exhaustion of it all as we plodded along. When we got onto our train, we went right back to sleep within minutes of the train leaving the station. Today, on our trip back to home (aka Metz), we would be making a short stop in Triberg: a town in the heart of Germany’s Black Forest that is famous for its waterfalls. The Black Forest has long been seen as a vacation spot for Germans. In the old days, whenever you were sick, the doctor would tell you, “Take some time in the Black Forest. You will get better.” It’s also where Grimm’s Fairy Tales were written, like Hansel and Gretel. To no avail, I spent the entire train ride with my head out the window looking for a giant candy cottage.

Several hours later we pulled up to a station in the middle-of-nowhere Germany, otherwise known as Triberg. It was a half a mile walk from the station to the town, which gave us a much-needed chance to stretch out our legs. As we strolled through the town, vendors lined every inch of sidewalk space and people enjoyed lunch in the fresh air outside bars and restaurants. It had a very festive atmosphere, with gangs of bikers driving through every thirty seconds (the Black Forest is home to many biker gangs). We followed the river upstream, which eventually brought us to our destination: the waterfalls. As one of the highest waterfalls in Germany, it was a sight to see. Standing below it all, we felt a cool mist blow into us. There were trails up the sides that led to several bridges from which you could stand over the waterfall. It provided for some very scenic views of the town and the mountains. When we came back down, we found a place that served some traditional German food for a reasonable price. Our waitress was a practical jokester who fooled me: she brought out ketchup and mustard packets and told us that it was the first course. I shot her a look of confusion, but began to reach for a packet when she said, “No, no, I was joking.” Henceforth, I have now been made fun of at least a dozen times for that. The schnitzel we ate tasted like an amazing version of chicken tenders and was our first bite to eat that day. After lunch, we grabbed some traditional Black Forest Cake, which is a rum and cherry cake that is very heavy on the rum. It was a bit too much for both of us. Our ride back to Metz was (thankfully) uneventful and short. We got in around 5pm, so we had the afternoon to relax and put off work until Sunday. Overall, Triberg felt very much like a German version of Old Forge: it’s stuck in the 1970’s and everything was cash only. It is known for its nature and the people are incredibly friendly. I’m glad we were able to make a side trip and visit the Black Forest, even if I didn’t figure out where the Candy Cottage was. Like I said, this trip may not have been the most exciting, but it was great to experience Germany outside of its airport. Till next time, auf wiedersehen!