I made a decided effort to attend all five of my classes this week. On Monday, I was about four minutes into my twenty-five minute bike ride when it started raining. I contemplated turning back, but I respect my professor and his entertaining lectures, so I decided that it would be worth the miserable cold and rain. It was. We reviewed the life and literary works of Hans Christian Andersen, who was actually quite an oddball. I wish I hadn’t learned so much about him, as his quirks and lack of socialization have negatively altered my idyllic opinion of him.

Andersen stayed as a guest at Charles Dickens’ English home for five weeks, and by the end of his visit, the family claimed they never wanted to see him again. It has been said that he used to take out his false teeth and place them on the table when he wasn’t the focus of the conversation. Our professor, Mogens, said, “He used to write about the strangest things in his diary. He would talk about suffering terribly from the winds.” I thought this was reasonable, though, since the winds in Denmark are relatively dreadful. Then Mogens continued, “He would often write about having to diarrhea in his pants.” There was a collective “Ohhh” when the class realized what kind of winds the professor had been talking about. Needless to say, I can’t bike by his statue anymore without these oddities coming to mind.

Tuesday was the beginning of a new class, Comparative Welfare Studies. It was refreshing to have a young, vibrant professor. His name is Patrick Emmenegger and he hails from Switzerland. The class is very structured and there are required assignments, so I must stay on track and focused. The only downside, however, the class is an eight-week preparation for a thirty-minute oral exam. I think my NSAC presentation skills will come in handy come December 17^th!

It took every ounce of motivation I had to get out of my not-so-cozy bed on Wednesday for my marketing class. But I did it. Then I walked outside and there was a steady rain. Again, it took every ounce of motivation I had to unlock my bike and hit the road. But I did it. I was splashed every few meters or so by passing cars and rain was dripping down my nose and chin, despite having a nice winter hat. Holding a bike steady while you’re shivering/convulsing is a difficult task. When I got to class, the professor announced that she had some sort of illness and didn’t know if she could instruct that day. I never thought that I would pray for a class to continue, but I wanted that treacherous bike ride to count for something. Luckily, she fought through it for three hours. I went outside and to my dismay, it was raining harder. I try to look on the bright side, at least I’ll have strong upper-legs.

Later that night, Krista, Beth, and I went to Arkaden for karaoke night. By the way, I learned that karaoke is Japanese for “empty orchestra”. It was a good night, but I think I’m harder to please these days. For some reason, I just couldn’t be amused by groups of five or six extremely extroverted Europeans singing Britney Spears together. I blame it on the fact that I missed Leah, because that’s the easiest excuse. The highlight of the night was when Beth was forced to stay on stage and sing “opera” for the entire bar. She did very well for such a spontaneous performance, but I guess that’s why she’s in a Danish choir. The whole bar cheered at the end and the MC got down and bowed in front of her. Another highlight was when they poured alcohol on the dance floor and lit the floor on fire. I’ve convinced myself that next week I’m going to sing Bohemian Rhapsody or Hooked on a Feeling.

Friday morning, we had a class field trip to Hans Christian Andersen’s Birthplace and Museum. It was an enjoyable start to the day and a good peak into some of the history of Odense and Denmark. Funny fact, they had passports in the mid-19^th century. It’s something you don’t ever think about. I just assumed you could wander the globe at your leisure. But they had Andersen’s passport on display. It was unreasonably large, about 2 sheets of 8.5x11 paper side by side. The rest of the class continued onto the cathedral, but I had seen enough cathedrals to last a lifetime, so Leah and I went to lunch at our spot. I picked up a package from my mom, which contained a beautiful scarf, some cozy slippers, and three boxes of Crystal Light! It was perfect.

So, most of you should know that Halloween is my favorite holiday. I was particularly disappointed by the lack of enthusiasm Denmark has for this sacred day. They stopped selling pumpkins a week before Halloween and replaced them all with Christmas décor. I thought Saturday was going to be a total bummer, but it ended up being the best Halloween I had ever had. I bought a decorative package that included confetti, paper plates, napkins, cups, straws, and tablecloths. Patrick also sent me pumpkin lights, spider webs, and a scary stories CD.

So, the four of us got together and threw a carving party. Krista and Beth brought the elusive pumpkin. It turns out the Crystal Light my mom had sent me was red in color, so we made some “blood punch”. We also had carrots and Milk Duds as snacks, but renamed them “dead man’s toes” and “ghost droppings”. Then, we had the genius idea to bob for apples. I grabbed a bucket from my kitchen and we all donated some fruit for the occasion. It was, quite possibly, the hardest I have laughed since I’ve been in Denmark. I went first, luckily, because it was only afterward that I realized how unsanitary bobbing for apples is. So after that, we stabbed the knife into the pumpkin and took turns carving. It turned out to be pretty darn cute. We named her Penelope. Ken, our classmate from Taiwan, was having fun with us, since he had never been exposed to these American traditions. We had to give him the honor of lighting the Black Flame Candle, but only after Leah taught him how to use the lighter. We roasted Penelope’s seeds, made Halloween masks we thought we were going to wear to the party, and then gathered around my laptop to watch a classic episode of Are You Afraid of the Dark.

We dispersed to our rooms before the Halloween party downstairs. I got a message on Skype from Leah and we decided what our costume would be at the last minute… American tourists! I wore my I Love New York t-shirt, a sweatshirt around my waist, a fanny pack filled with maps and brochures, pins from all the different cities I’ve visited, a camera, non-English phrases written on my hand, sunglasses, and tennis shoes. It was a success! We didn’t think anybody would be downstairs, but it turns out everyone was downstairs, and people had really gone to quite an effort to dress up. I was so happy. We danced to Thriller and ate cake and admired all the costumes. The Spanish girls from our class were by far the creepiest. They had incredible makeup on and acted listless and creepy the whole night. We weren’t sure if they were on sedatives or if it was all an act. It was a great night. I prolonged it as much as I could.

After briefly relating some of our independent adventures to one another, we ambled on toward the main entrance of Amsterdam Centraal station. It’s such a shame my shades are so unstylish, as the sun had finally decided to make a guest appearance that day. After my eyes adjusted to this strange phenomenon called sunshine, I took in all the hustle and bustle of tourists clambering onto the cable cars. Since neither of us understood Dutch and there were no ticket dispensers visible, we hopped on a car without a ticket, much to the dismay of my conscience, and headed off to our hostel. Leah forewarned me about the conditions of the place we were going to stay. I entered with low expectations.

It’s definitely in one’s best interest to always have low expectations. If I could describe the hostel in two words, I think I would use the words “shanty” and “drab”. But at least they didn’t pretend to be something they were not. Posters were plastered all over the walls, proclaiming it as the worst hostel ever. The graphics showed a healthy looking guest at check-in and a guest with mouth sores at check-out. As an advertising student, I thought this was an interesting marketing strategy, but as a guest in the hostel, I found it rather unsettling. I didn’t touch many door handles that day.

So we set off for the city, thinking we would have a busy day full of museum tours. We were wrong. Touring Amsterdam on a Saturday is far less than ideal. Our first disappointment was the Rijksmuseum, which houses famous Dutch paintings by the likes of Vermeer and Rembrandt. The line was out the door and around the corner. Pass. So then we went to the Van Gogh museum, which was quite an ugly building for such a fine artist. Again, the line was out the door and down the block. Pass.

The next item on the agenda was the Heineken Brewery. Yes, please. On the way to the brewery, we stopped in a park to take some cheesy pictures. Adjacent to a large pool of water were huge block letters that spelled out IAMSTERDAM. We posed. It was hard to get a solid picture because quite a few people wanted snapshots with every.single.letter. One girl even went so far as to jump up after the letter “M” to make herself look like an exclamation mark. The brewery was more than we wanted to spend to see how beer is made, so we perused the gift shop and then strolled along the canals for a while.

The Anne Frank House was at the top of my to-do list, so when we saw yet another line stretching around the corner, I was very disappointed. We took several pictures next to a rather insignificant plaque on the house. But then Leah convinced me that we should actually go inside. She had already been once before, so I felt guilty for her having to pay for a second visit, but I was excited nonetheless. This ended up being one of the highlights of the entire European trip. I had read Anne’s diary in junior high, and here I was, standing right where she had penned it. Her room still had the movie star pictures she had pasted onto the walls sixty-five years ago. The entire experience was very personal, interactive, and haunting. I stood in the rooms wondering how eight people could be contained in such conditions without going mad. I wanted to buy a copy of her diary in the gift shop, but my budget had already been pushed to its limits. I regret it now.

We decided to check out the infamous Red Light District, because, who were we kidding, that was bound to be amusing. On the way there, however, we saw something fly past the skyline. As we approached, we discovered we had happened upon a true carnival. This carnival was far beyond any I had ever seen in the United States. The rides were extreme. I am a thrillseeker, but even I was slightly terrified at the idea of getting on one of the rides, which spun and inverted riders at 4Gs. The cotton candy concession stand was ridiculous; they served a fluff of cotton candy so large that I was compelled to take out my camera and capture it. I was so happy to be in this momentary escape from adulthood. We stood there for a few minutes literally gaping at all the sights and sounds. Eventually, we snapped to our senses and carried on to the Red Light District.

The Red Light District was everything one could expect, so I’m not going to get into the nitty gritty details. I was less than impressed with the girls in the window displays, not that I was hoping to be impressed by them. I saw some odd things in the windows of the kink shops, but I’m not about to describe them. So after we had walked the streets for a while, we decided to get some much needed dinner. We went to McDonalds, so cultured. I ended up getting an Oreo McFlurry though, and that was a nice little indulgence.

Since internet was only available after 10pm in our hostel, we rushed at the chance to get back and connect to the real world. We spent an hour or so in the downstairs bar of the hostel and then retired to our room, where our American roommates had left drug paraphernalia scattered around here and there. At least it was legal.

We got on a train to go back home at 10:15am. The first two hours were pleasant, but then we spent seven hours sitting on the steps of the train door, next to the water closet, because we had changed our travel times and didn’t have reservations. We didn’t think the German trains would be that crowded. It was miserable. But we rolled into Odense at 10:30pm and it was quite a relief. My pseudo-home never felt so good.

I was lucky enough to run into a girl headed to the same hostel as myself, so we walked together and talked about where we had traveled thus far. I hadn’t read into St. Christopher’s Inns too much, so I was pleasantly surprised to see a newly-constructed, contemporary building lit up by red and green lights. I had lucked out. It was voted the best hostel in France in 2008. The award was well-deserved. It had every amenity you could imagine, from curtains for each bed to a full-service bar and restaurant. I grabbed a free map, free internet card, and sprawled out on a leather sofa to plan the next day’s activities.

I woke up well rested and dressed in the most French-chic outfit I could conjure from my luggage. Breakfast was free, so I enjoyed some baguettes, cereal, and orange juice. Then I was on my way. I navigated the subway system like I had lived in Paris my entire life. My first stop was the Arc d’Triomphe. I emerged onto a large strip of pavement across from the Arc. I snapped a few pictures, then went underground to cross the roundabout. I thought that you could at least get to the other side of the roundabout for free, but such was not the case. Bummed out, I decided to walk down Champs-Elysees instead. It is an avenue famous for it’s shopping, cafés, and parades. I window shopped for a minute or two before that became a little depressing and then I went to exchange some money for Euros. I can almost guarantee that they thought they could scam me with the exchange rate, and to their credit rather than my own, they did. The currency I traded in was Francs, something I’m not too familiar with, and they gave me 37 euros. It was only later in the afternoon that I checked my currency converter and realized that I was shorted the equivalent of twenty American dollars. There was no way they make that much commission off such a small exchange. Lesson learned!

Despite what many may think, it is not possible to see the Eiffel Tower from any point in the city. At this point, I had not even had the slightest glimpse of it. I walked in the direction I believed it to be (I’m not too attached to the idea of maps) and enjoyed some classic French architecture along the way. At one point, I rounded a corner and there it was, the upper-half emerging from behind a building. Perhaps this is a bit cheesy, but I stopped dead in my tracks and my breath was taken away. This was what I had wanted to see for so long, a dream I’ve always had. I lamented being alone in the most romantic city in the world, but maybe it was better this way, as I could stop and get lost in the moment. It was beautiful, even against a grey sky. I bet its grandeur is multiplied ten times on a sunny day. Needless to say, I picked up my pace a bit.

When you’re within 100 yards of the tower, you are bombarded by a swarm of men trying to sell you Eiffel Tower statues for a single Euro. It detracts from the initial appeal of the structure, but is slightly amusing nonetheless. I was warned that there would be long lines, and there was. Since I only had a single day in Paris, I had resigned to not going to the top. But then, as I was leaving, I spotted a line on the South Pillar that only had a couple of people in it. The sign above it said “visiteurs sans billets,” which I understood as visitors without tickets. Well, that was me. Apparently the majority of the population is not so inclined to take the stairs and they’d all rather ride the elevator. I’m cheap and pressed for time, so I climbed 710 steps to the second platform of the Eiffel Tower. To my surprise, you could take an elevator to the top platform from there, again with no line. There was good visibility and the view was spectacular. It was nice to see a city unobstructed by skyscrapers. Eventually, I descended and made my way to Napoleon’s Tomb, but not without passing a gang of flirty French army men outside the École Militaire (Military School).

Napoleon’s Tomb is housed in the Hotel National des Invalides, a residence constructed by the Sun King, Louis XIV, for disabled war veterans. It is now the Army Museum and is most recognizable by it’s large golden dome. This was my most expensive excursion, surprisingly, but well worth it since I am a French history buff. His sarcophagus rests on green granite and is at least 10 feet tall, quite unnecessary for a man of such small proportions. He is surrounded by figures depicting his greatest military triumphs. It’s difficult to begin to conceptualize the impact this one man has made upon the French Republic, yet the ornate tomb is enough to stimulate the imagination of such. Unfortunately, my camera died midway through the museum. Go figure.

When I had checked the forecast the day before, there was zero percent chance of rain. I am a slight pessimist, however, and I took my umbrella. Unsurprisingly, it rained. I crossed the Seine and took in views of the Grand and Petit Palais. I walked along Champs-Elysees again, then made my way to the Tuileries Garden.

I had quite the interesting encounter on my way there. I was stopped at a crosswalk when a teenager bent down and picked up a gold ring in front of me. He asked me if it was my ring and I told him it was not. He shrugged, said something about a lucky day, and then walked on. A few seconds later, I hear someone calling “Miss?” I turn around and he is coming back to me with the ring held out. He said, “Look, it’s gold. But it doesn’t fit on any of my fingers.” He preceded to demonstrate. Then he took my hand and placed the ring in it and said, “It’s your lucky day now.” What does one do in that situation? I told him to keep it and he refused. The light turned green, so I thanked him and started to walk across the street, thinking about whether or not I should turn the ring in. I wouldn’t want a lost ring to ruin someone’s vacation. Then I hear someone shouting “Miss?” again. For a brief second, I rolled my eyes and shook my head. He comes up to me, puts his hands to his lips, and says, “Money for a sandwich.” It all makes sense now, doesn’t it? I told him no and directed him to keep the ring for himself, but he shoved it back at me and kept repeating “Money for a sandwich?” like he was a broken record. I told him I had no cash and he said, “That’s okay. We go to bank. Let’s go. Come on.” I laughed at that idea and held the ring out to him again. He snatched it out of my hands, called me a bitch, and then walked away. I watched him for a few minutes and saw him roll the ring on the ground in front of another Asian tourist. I couldn’t help but be amused by her similar reaction. If he hadn't tried to trick me, I might have been more willing to accommodate him. I am not an ungenerous person.

I walked through the gardens, which eventually brought me to The Louvre, a beautiful edifice overshadowed by the infamous glass pyramid. I stood outside the pyramid and read the ticket fares. At this time, a creepy man of about 35, with olive skin, weird teeth, and a tan jacket approached me. He asked me how I was doing and I told him I was fine, trying my best to seem put off and annoyed, but he didn’t take the hint. He asked me a series of questions, like where I was from and when I was leaving town, and I continued with my one-word responses (some of which were lies), even more perturbed because I was trying to read the information and I don’t trust sketchy-looking people. He told me was born and raised in the South and then moved to Paris a few years ago. This was bullshit, to put it delicately. His accent was distinctly Eastern European or some such variance. At that point, I said, “I’m going into the museum now.” and walked into the queue without so much as a goodbye. He put his hands up and said “Come on. That’s unfair.” That angered me, but I continued on and ignored him. What kind of person thinks that I owe him something because he approached me at random? I hate being rude, but I felt it was necessary.

I brushed the situation off and went into the Louvre. I was surprised as the escalator descended underground. There had been a shopping mall and bustle of activity under my feet and I didn’t even know it. I bought some batteries at a Virgin store, then went into the Sully wing, where I saw the infamous Venus de Milo statue. The museum was overwhelmed with Asian tourist groups. They would cluster in groups of thirty, all of them wearing masks, and would follow a tour guide who held an oriental fan above his head. At one point in my life, I dreamt of being a museum curator and expert on art history. I was looking to reflect and appreciate these priceless pieces, but it was difficult to do with hundreds of people elbowing their way into getting a good picture with their point and shoot cameras. I finally found some solitude in the Denon wing and sat on the benches admiring works from Titian, Caravaggio, and Michelangelo. The Denon wing is also home to the Mona Lisa. She is enclosed in a glass case and there is a ten-foot radius of space between her and the hordes of people trying to catch a glimpse. I managed to get a good view, then I walked away. I came back a few minutes later because I realized that I hadn’t truly appreciated that moment for what it was. I had gotten too caught up in the tourism of it all.

After navigating my way out of the labyrinth that is the Louvre, I headed off to see Notre Dame, which was a pleasant walk along the river and across pedestrian bridges. I knew I was getting close when I saw a café called “Le Quasimodo.” Notre Dame is another magnificent structure, similar in beauty to that of Westminster Abbey. Admission was free. There was a blind man standing outside the doors of the cathedral and I saw a man put some change in his hand and say “Bon soir.” I was inspired and did the same. I couldn’t ignore him when I was about to enter a building created to glorify God. I took my hat off, sat on one of the pews, and said a prayer. Then I just sat there for a while, content with life, yet somewhat lonely.

The sun was beginning to wane, so I perused some shops and then met up with the guy from the train and a few of his friends at a restaurant across from Hotel Deville. I ordered the most delicious crepes, which were so authentically French, and then I took the subway so that I would get home before dark. My feet were in terrible condition, I even had blood in my shoes. I was happy with my decision to relax the rest of the night and meandered down to the bar to watch karaoke with Chelsea, a girl I met from Brisbane, Australia. I spent the remainder of my evening in a frantic attempt to make reservations for my train from Paris to Amsterdam. I had tried to do so earlier in the week in Berlin, but the language barrier was too large and I had resigned to trying to make them online. I received an e-mail saying that due to a technical error, my reservations could only be made at the station. I panicked a bit, hoping that I’d be able to get on the train.

I woke up at 5:30am the next day and sluggishly got ready to leave. I made my way to the subway station only to find that the line I needed to take to the train station had been closed for an emergency. I needed to find another subway line, so I ran with my luggage. I had no time for these shenanigans. When I finally got to the train station, an hour later, I asked a transit worker where I could reserve a seat for the train and he pointed me upstairs. At this time, a black man approached me and started talking to me in French. I told him I did not speak French and moved quickly, as I was running behind. A few seconds later, I hear him shouting “Excuse me, miss?!” I rolled my eyes again. What is with people in Paris? I ignored him and kept walking briskly, which was hard to do with everything I was carrying. The more I ignored him, the more he kept shouting “Excuse me, miss?!” At this point, he was running parallel to me, yet he was about 50 feet away. I had about 20 minutes until my train was scheduled to depart, so I was ready to let loose on him if he bothered me anymore. I got to the escalator, but that was a disadvantage because he was able to catch up to me, since I couldn’t make it go faster. He ran up the escalator steps shouting, almost inches from my face, “Excuse me, miss!!!” I threw some obscenities his way and said, “Leave me alone. I will yell, scream, set the police on you like a dog if you don’t back off.” He looked a little terrified at first and then started laughing menacingly. This was about 6:30am, so the train station was relatively desolate. I spotted a security guard, so I made my way over to him and the guy scurried off like a scolded pet.

Everyone I asked for directions directed me to the wrong place, so I stood in two wrong lines before finally getting to the right one. The lady at the desk told me that it would be impossible to get on the 7:25am train to Amsterdam and impossible to get to Amsterdam from Paris anytime this week, since the French train workers were due to go on strike in a matter of hours. Everyone was trying to get out of Paris. I asked to pay for a first-class upgrade, a tip I had learned online. She said she couldn’t do that either. At this point, I let the desperation seep through in my voice. The train was leaving in six minutes. Then, finally, she said, “ You can pay for a full price ticket in second class.” Uhhhhhhh, why didn’t she say that before? It was 110 Euros, which was steep, but I had to meet Leah at 11:36am and I didn’t want her to worry since we had no means of communication. I paid the price and sat down in my seat, just as the train started moving from the platform. I had never felt such relief in my life.

I saw Leah looking frantically for me at the Amsterdam station and I had to laugh. I tapped her on the shoulder and we hugged, so happy to finally be reunited. We are now inseperable.

Zurich, Switzerland is a healthy, wealthy, thriving city. You could feel the sophistication in the air just a few steps from the platform. They were celebrating Oktoberfest when we arrived, which was a jovial introduction to the city. I was sad that we had missed the original Oktoberfest in Munich, but it wasn’t as though we partook in the festivities in Zurich anyway. Luckily this hostel, City Backpacker, wasn’t too far along the cobblestone streets and we were checked into our room before the 10pm deadline.

We grabbed a quick dinner down the street and then settled into the lobby to mingle and take advantage of the free internet. Some more Australians introduced themselves and I entertained them while Leah talked to her mom on video chat.

The next morning, we set out to explore the city and its surroundings. We passed the “Market of Curious Things,” which wasn’t anything too curious at all. Then we went to a souvenir shop along the river. Zurich is actually quite expensive, even the smallest snow globes cost around $14. It is quite a shame because Leah collects them and we were already over our budgets. We took in some of the sights around the river’s edge, which was hugged by stately slopes. Thanks to our beloved Eurail pass, many of Zurich’s attractions were free to us. A river tour was offered, so we jumped at the chance and headed on over to secure our spots. However, when we asked about the River Tour, the lady misunderstood and gave us free admission to a museum instead. We are not ones to turn down something free, so we explored the museum center. And then we gave the cruise a second attempt, but it did not ever show up at the dock. Out of ideas, we walked to lunch and then went back to the hostel to gather my things. It was soon time to head off to Paris. I teared up a little bit at having to leave Leah behind. We hugged and gave each other words of advice. I was terrified of being lonely, but I did surprisingly well as soon as I lost sight of her.

The train pulled into the station a few minutes before midnight, just a little under thirty minutes late. It had been a long day and we were hopeful that we could find the hostel easily this time around. Easier said than done. We walked past the “quiet side street” before realizing

it fifteen minutes later. It was only a slight detour and once we arrived, we were amazed by the facilities. It was very clean, spacious, and contemporary. The faucets on the sink even shined… a true first. The guy at the reception desk was young and flirtatious, which slightly made up for our sour moods. We were only going to be there for ten hours anyway.

Neither of us could have predicted that the first thing we would see when we stepped outside would be snow. In early October. I whipped out my gloves in a flash, as I am not the kind of person who thinks that snow is “pretty.” Since our stay in Munich was so short, we didn’t choose to do any specific tours or museums. I would have liked to have done the Munich Beer Challenge or the Concentration Camp/Third Reich tour. We just went around to the various plazas throughout the city, which happened to be quite boring compared to those we had just seen in Prague.

Prolonged exposure to the cold was putting a dent in our spirits and for the first time we became agitated with each other. It was inevitable. At 11:00am, we were fortunate enough to catch one of the great attractions of the city, a large clock on a state building in which figurines danced around a circle. About thirty minutes later, Leah and I stopped in the middle of a city square and spontaneously hugged each other, laughing at how ridiculous this situation had become. We couldn’t be annoyed with each other any longer, and decided to go into a Starbucks to get some sandwiches and hot chocolate.

Afterward, we went shopping at the Viktualienmarkt, an authentic German market with craft and sausage vendors. I somehow lucked into snagging a white and gold Oktoberfest 2009 sweatshirt for about $10. It even has rhinestones! Then we browsed a few German antique shops, looking for something Patrick would enjoy, but most of them were closed for a lunch break, unfortunately. There were quite a few World War II medals and knick-knacks. Shopping in antique stores is one of my favorite things to do in Europe, you never know what kind of historic treasure you will find.

There wasn’t much left to do at this point, so we took the subway to Koningsplatz, a plaza surrounded by Greco-Roman architecture. That entertained us for about five minutes before we decided to head back to the train station to look for a post office, grab some souvenirs, and get a drink. The train left on time and as I’m writing this, I’m watching the Swiss Alps pass through my window at sunset. My eyes have never seen anything more beautiful.

We were blessed with reserved seats on the way to Prague and enjoyed comfortable compartment seats for the five-hour train ride. Our moods were through the roof, and I even danced in the cabin when the other passengers debarked. We had had Dunkin’ Donuts for breakfast and it was a craving that was finally fulfilled after a month-long wait. The view along the way was quite picturesque. We journeyed through forests, mountains, and old Germanic villages.

We got off the train and looked around. My first utterance was a simple, “Hmm.” Leah then said, “Well, that’s one word to describe it.” Having been exposed to immaculate and bustling stations, this was definitely a change of pace. Praha-Holsovice was a desolate and run-down station to those seen in the movie Hostel. After exchanging our money, we ventured out to find our hostel, which was supposed to be only minutes away. It took us three hours to get there. The directions and address they provided were vague, misleading, and ultimately wrong. We walked in the decrepit streets of Prague, burdened with luggage, for so long that we eventually found solace in maniacal laughter. At first I was afraid of being robbed of all my belongings, but the farther we walked, the more concerned I was about being abducted. Sheer frustration led us to a friendly-looking sports bar and restaurant. We ordered drinks, food, and tried our best to compose ourselves. Then we resolved to walk all the way back and start over. I picked up a loose rock off the street, just to feel safe.

Alas, we passed underneath a bridge suitable for the homeless and saw a dark building labeled “Hostel.” The funny thing is that Leah said, “There’s no possible way that can be it. That building is abandoned.”

We turned to walk away, but then saw a billboard advertising that it was, indeed, the correct address. My first instinct was to turn the other way and fall back on my credit cards. We pressed on and walked quickly through the barbed-wire enclosure. Smoky, dingy, and sketchy are just a few of the adjectives to describe this place. There were fake bugs on the blinds in the reception room/closet, a telltale sign of good things to come. Our saving grace was the fact that there was free wireless internet. Neither of us left the room without the other for any reason and we religiously locked our door. Luckily, it was just the two of us. We pushed our twin beds together and watched a comedy skit to lighten the mood. The next morning we slept without an alarm and then walked a few miles to the city center. It was cold, almost freezing, and sunshine was intermittent.

To say the very least, Prague is an enchanting city. It is the former capital of the Holy Roman Empire and its grandeur has not faded through the centuries. The buildings are well-preserved and it is difficult not to block the sidewalk whilst gawking . The Centrum is sprinkled with many synagogues and cathedrals. We happened across the market in the town square and bought some lunch from vending stands, then continued to explore. At one point, Leah was trying to navigate and tripped with full force. I was walking parallel to her on the other side of the street and only saw a flash of her hair go down behind a car. I walked over and saw her sprawling on the sidewalk. I couldn’t help but laugh once I saw she wasn’t hurt and preceded to whip out my video camera. We both laughed at her misfortune and carried on. I bought some gloves at a small shop and then we crossed a bridge that was built in 1357.

It started to rain at this point. Hundreds of stone steps did their best to intimidate us, but somehow we managed to find ourselves at the climax of a mountain and the best view of the entire city. We stood in awe for several minutes. The Prague Castle was a few meters to the left, so we did a circle around it and ducked inside a souvenir and toy shop. I purchased a Prague pin, a new tradition I’ve started at each

Not soon enough, we found ourselves in our cozy hostel bed. We dried off and decided to watch Hostel just for kicks. I got up and double-checked the lock on the door about halfway through the movie, since it was all too similar and foreboding to our own situation. We got dinner then headed back to watch Hostel II, which happened to be even more similar since it directly referenced Prague.

The next morning, we checked out and explored a little more of the city before our train’s departure at 5pm. I bought a new cabbie hat and a temporary camera. I also ended up buying a hardback journal, something I was inspired to do by Leah. So here I am now, on the train to Munich and drinking a Cherry Coke. Life is good.

Upon arrival in Berlin, we realized we had no clue where to go from the train station. But that’s what makes it an adventure, there is no itinerary, there are no plans. We may be the most flexible people to ever travel to Europe. We dipped into a souvenir shop to take a peek at a travel guidebook. Leah penned the directions on her hand while I tried my best to look nonchalantly at the coffee mugs and postcards. Leah was a tad unsettled by the presence of the German police just outside the shop, armed with assault rifles in hand. Oddly enough, I hadn’t noticed.

The sun had just set upon the city, but we decided to walk instead of scrounging up money for a subway ticket. It was a pleasant walk nonetheless and after passing countless luxury hotels, we happened upon our hostel in about fifteen minutes. We stood outside the gates in awe and there was only one word that came to both our minds: funky. The place was loaded with character. The walls were a creamy orange color, the décor was retro, and the staff was friendly. Each room had a theme and ours happened to be “A Sailor’s Tale.” There was a mural of a sailor’s adventure on the wall, complete with dragons, pirates, and a passage from Tennyson.

Hunger got the best of us and we slipped out to a “bistro” down the street. I would hardly consider it a bistro, as the menu was comprised of pictures of fried, yet delicious, food. We ordered and stood at the counter waiting. The worker, whom we later befriended, seemed perplexed as to why we weren’t sitting down at one of the tables. He motioned to us to sit down and told us he would bring us our food and silverware. It had been entirely too long since we had sat down at a restaurant that the concept had gone over our heads. It was a pleasant change of pace.

We went back to the hostel to get our bearings straight, relax, and plan the next day’s activities. We plopped down onto one of the many plush sofas and charged up our electronics. A few minutes into this process, a guy walked up to us and introduced himself as Jake. He wore skinny jeans and flip-flops. This scraggly-haired guy was from Melbourne, Australia, of course. We compared the prescribed lifestyle of American youth and the carefree lifestyle of the Australians. He had gone to college for a while, worked for a while, and decided to come to Europe until he was too broke to go any further. We enjoyed his company very much, especially since he spoke English natively. Jake and I played a few rounds of pool (he was surprised by my skill) and then Leah and I retired to our bunk beds.

There was a free tour offered at 10:15am, but we are relatively autonomous and prefer to pave our own way through the cities, so we slept in a bit, since the mattresses were nothing short of heavenly. You could put a wine glass at the end, jump on the opposite end and not spill a single drop of the wine. Anyway, we headed out to the subway station, bought a day ticket and headed to the Jewish Museum. Unfortunately, it was just about noon when we arrived and there were huge groups of middle-aged people waiting in line outside. We decided to forgo the Jewish Museum in favor of saving some time. We walked a few hundred meters to Checkpoint Charlie, the dividing point between East and West Berlin and the tourist spot for the Berlin Wall.

The spot was overwhelmed with tourists, beggars, and souvenir stands, but it didn’t compromise the authenticity and authority of the location. Leah charitably donated a Euro or two to a Bosnian woman, then we snapped a few photos next to the preserved section of the wall and bought lunch at Subway. I wasn’t necessarily satiated, so we also ordered some spaghetti and fleischsauce from a local spot.

We browsed the city center a bit, spotted a bicycle that could be ridden by four people sitting in a square (I ran after it to catch a picture). We then explored the Holocaust Memorial, which is a maze of large stone blocks. Germany doesn’t seem to think it’s necessary to explain the significance of any of their attractions, so we remained ignorant for the majority of the day and promised to Wiki it all later. A few minutes later, the great Brandenburg Gate came into view. This was the spot where Hitler made some of his most famous speeches for his propaganda videos. Napoleon also made a few grand entrances under this arch. Walking under the same archway was loaded and eerie. The square was filled with breakdancers, living statues, and horse-drawn carriages. A few steps across the street led us to the Statehouse and eventually to Tiergarten, the Central Park of Berlin. We walked a few kilometers down the stretch, which was golden and tree-lined, a perfect Autumn day.

All of the sudden, we heard a high-pitched squeal. Leah said, “I think I just heard a bird.” I told her it had been a child in the woods, not a bird. Then a couple of meters later, we came across a clearing and to our surprise, it was a man riding a zipline through a park. You better believe we jumped all over that opportunity. It was the most light-hearted fun we’d had the entire trip. Such a novel idea!

We saw a few other sites, such as monuments and churches, but to keep from boring everyone, I’ll skip over them. You can see the pictures and I’m sure that will suffice. It started to rain and we got back to the hostel just in time. We went to dinner at the bistro again because the rain was heavy, then came back and had another easy night. The Australians tried to convince us to go on a pub crawl, but we declined despite being called “lame” several times. We talked to a Colombian neuroscience Ph.D candidate for an hour or so while enjoying some hot chocolate then went to bed, but not for long because one of the guests in our room had a snoring problem. I cannot even begin to describe the agony I was in the entire night. His snoring had to be at least 70 decibels. If I had had something to propel at him, or a water gun, I would have taken full advantage. I know many of the other guests in the room felt the same. This guy could not possibly have a girlfriend. Nine o’clock came around eventually and we went merrily on our way to the train station for our next destination…. Prague!

As per usual, Leah and I made the twenty-minute walk through downtown Odense with our bulky baggage. After validating our EuRail passes, we headed down to the tracks and our great journey began without any difficulties. We transferred trains once and to our surprise, an announcement came on and directed us to get off the train and take the ferry into Germany. I groaned ever so slightly, as I had just gotten comfortable and wasn’t necessarily looking forward to carting my belongings around in the rain. We were shocked when the train actually pulled onto the ferry. What a novel concept! Though we did have to debark the train, we left our luggage onboard and made our way to the upper decks. This certainly wasn’t any ferry of my imagination; it was much like a cruise ship with restaurants, shops, lounges, and an arcade. I was quite giddy, as I haven’t been on a cruise in almost three years and I was feeling overwhelmed by nostalgia, even if it was only for forty-five minutes.

Once across the German border, we settled back onto the train and were welcomed by a friendly ticket taker who smiled and said, “Guten tag.” We played a rousing game of Yatzy (the Danish equivalent of Yahtzee) and soon found ourselves in Hamburg’s Central Station. Luckily, it wasn’t too cold or wet because our hostel was relatively far. It’s a quaint little place with lots of character, thoughtful amenities such as bedside lights, and hot showers. We happened upon a group of guys from Dayton, Ohio. What are the chances?

I rejoiced at the thought of sharing the room with a bunch of guys, since they aren’t nearly as chatty and don’t take hours to get ready in the morning. I validated this thought when they stumbled quietly into the room at 2am and fell right to sleep. I spoke too soon. At one point during the night, all four guys were snoring and each was very distinctive. One sounded like a door creaking open, one sounded like an asthma attack, the other sounded like a strange animal, and the other one was only slightly obnoxious. It was a symphony of snores and I ended up taking three Tylenol PM just as the sun was about to come up.

We slept in later than we had initially planned, made our way to the train station to make good use of the lockers, and then headed off to see the city center, which was surprisingly very delightful. Hamburg is a beautiful city with swans swimming along the river’s edge, men strolling around with accordions, living statues, cider stands, and chalk artists. There aren’t many “can’t-miss” attractions in Hamburg, so we leisurely shopped and took countless pictures of countless cathedrals.

One particular cathedral stands out among the rest, St. Nikolai’s Memorial. It was built in the 19^th century and destroyed during World War II with Operation Gomorrha. Only the tower and a few walls remain today. Inside, there are memorial statues constructed from the barracks of concentration camps. One of the most memorable statues was that of an angel with many hands reaching up to her. Underneath there was an inscription that said, “Take my hand and let me guide you back to yourself.” Needless to say, I was very moved.

Afterward, we made our way to numerous parks and monuments, most of which were desecrated by graffiti, and not the artistic kind you think of when you think of Germany. Since there was no one around, Leah shoved me about six feet up a cement wall so that I could pose with a statue of Otto von Bismarck. Then we headed to the overlook of the Elbe River, which was alive and well with hundreds of boats and ships. At this point, we had seen most of the city, so we began a roundabout path back toward the train station, taking many peeks into the little German shop windows.

We decided to catch an earlier train to Berlin, as we were already exhausted. Unfortunately, half of Hamburg seemed to have a weekend trip to Berlin planned as well, so the train seemed to be at double capacity. We crammed ourselves inside a tiny passageway and stood shoulder-to-shoulder with strangers for most of the journey. Eventually the crowd thinned out and we were lucky enough to grab some floor space. I was listening to MIA’s song, “Paper Planes” and it made me think of that scene in Slumdog Millionaire where they were hopping on and off the trains. How fitting.

Pics to come later, but in the meantime, here's Leah chilling on the floor.