Posts by Berck

I’m in Termini, perhaps for the last time of my life. This is, of course, doubtful, but nonetheless a definite possibility. I can’t imagine not being back before too long.

I’m tired. It’s 17.34 here, and my train leaves at 21.15. I got tired of moping about the mostly empty campus this afternoon and decided to just head on down here. I’m meeting Anne at the traditional meeting spot in Termini: The McDonald’s that overlooks the tracks from which you can drink a McBeer and watch the board for your train to appear.

I ate at Spizeco, only I doubt its spelled properly. It is the Italian equivalent of McDonald’s. It’s fast food pizza. Not Pizza Rustica, but just.. greasy fast food pizza. It’s difficult to explain. It’s also hot here.

I’m exhausted. I finished my last paper yesterday afternoon, turned it in and slept a bit. I slept through convocation mass, and got up in time for convocation. Our special Rome campus convocation. Girls (and some guys) were quite teary-eyed. We listened to one last lecture from Dr. Crider, he gave us our farewell speech. After all the talking and thanking and present-giving was over, we headed up to the mensa to find–WHOA! Vino! UD bought wine for us one last time, but in the mensa. Every other time they’ve given us wine we’ve been out to eat. Dinner was actually surprisingly good, they even gave us potatoes that weren’t yellow. Tasted… good.

Dr. Crider asked us, rhetorically, what were we going to say when asked, “So, how’d your Rome semester go?” I don’t know how I could possibly answer that question in a meaningful way. This semester has changed me more than I think I’ve realized. I’ve been noticing things about myself lately that I’ve not noticed before. We were warned that everyone back in the states would be expecting the same person that left in January. Yeah, right.

I’ve learned more this semester than any other at UD, and made worse grades than I have in my life. Are the two perhaps related? I think so. I learned, I think, what my school sent me here to learn. Everything we’d been doing for our core classes all somehow comes together in Rome–so much that it’s hard to tell whether we’re in an Art, Philosophy, or Literature class.

In a somehow fitting experience for my last day in Italy, I tried to mail a package to myself in the states. I succeeded, but it took over two hours and $50. And I didn’t sleep last night. My endeavor wasn’t helped when the power went out in the post office while I was signing about 16 different forms and writing the address I was sending it to at least a dozen more times. After I took the package to the Cartoleria where I got it wrapped in brown paper, and taped. She taped the heck out of the thing. So much so that I couldn’t find a spot to write the address on. Apparently it was supposed to be tied in twine as well…

I left a lot of stuff in Rome. And I’ve still got too much stuff on my back. A tent, a sleeping bag, toiletries, a pair of pants on me, a pair in my bag, a shirt on me, three in the bag (one longsleve), and about 5 days worth of socks and underwear. Also a G.K. Chesterton book on Aquinas, and two guidebooks with places I won’t be going to ripped out. Then my waterproof jacket with a lining, my journal and a camera on top. And it’s all still too freaking heavy and huge. I don’t know what else I can comfortably take out. Carying around the tent and sleeping bag is what’s tough.

There was much party and revelry last night, our last night together in Rome. Bird’s bathtub was full of beer and.. ICE (?!? We still don’t know how he got it. Ice doesn’t exist in Italy as far as we knew..), there were bottles of wine, and professors cooking and mingling with us. The night was a blast. The professors smoked Romeo y Julieto cuban cigars, much to our amusement as they are constantly chiding the UD population about their smoking habit. (This is a topic of conversation for a different letter. Something about an intellectual campus induces smoking or vice versa. Over half of UD students smoke. It’s quite disgusting.)

There was also a pig. Italians do weird things with pigs. They cook them whole, then just slice into them and eat them. I find it a bit revolting because I’m just not a big pork fan, which makes one of my actions last night most peculiar.

Justin Chopin was cutting on the pig, and held out a chunk of meat in my direction. “Eat,” he commanded me. So I did. Let me point out that it was dark, and I’d had just enough beer to trust Chopin, always a mistake. As I was chewing I noticed that nothing was happening. It was like… Chewing rubber. Not really tough meat, nor fat. Rubber. It didn’t taste much either. “What am I eating?” I ask, a little confused. “Pig snout,” Chopin reported, simultaneously exploding with laughter. I spit it out rather quickly.

This is a couple days after the prankster herself, Meg Hamlet, was served justice for many a prank she’s pulled this semester. A couple of guys bought a pig’s head and put it in her bed. It gets better. She didn’t discover it for three days, despite the stench, and the fact that she slept with it. She’d left her dirty laundry on her bed, and was sleeping on it because she was too lazy to make her bed, and so just attributed the smell to her dirty laundry.

I have five minutes left on here. I think I’ll go read or something.

Anyway, no one really went to bed, and a big group left on a bus at 7:15am to catch their flight back. After they took off, I collapsed in the soccer field for a couple of hours. At 10am, I got up and went to Albano to mail my package and pick up my glasses with new lenses and a pair of sunglasses.

And it’s off to Copenhagen. I shall write more later, I’m sure. (Provided I can handle a Scandinavian keyboard.

Greetings, mine ever-growing list. Not much exciting has happened of late, the semester is winding down and I’m… not at all stressed though I should be. I’m two papers, two days of class, and a set of finals away from being done here. I plan to depart Thursday May 11 (That is a Thursday, right?) from Due Santi. Dad sent me a one month Eurail pass which I received in the mail yesterday, and I hope to activate it and head off to Scandinavia with Anne Johnson. (“Who are these women?” I keep getting asked. I don’t travel with RANDOM women, but almost. I don’t know Anne very well, though we were in a freshman literature class together our first semester. She hung out with Dustin, my roommate freshman year, quite a bit. She’s a good little Catholic girl, maybe even better than average, which probably means we’ll have to find mass on Sundays. I can’t remember where she’s from though I’m sure she’s told me. It so happened that she was staying in Europe this summer, going somewhere I wanted to go, and seems to be the sort of person I can travel with and maybe even the sort of person that is patient enough to deal with me and my whims. She’s also willing to camp, and seems to be interested in the same sort of travel I am. It has come to my attention that I probably should have included a “Who is Robin?” section with my ten-day travels since I’ve gotten so many questions. I didn’t know Robin very well either before I traveled with her, but she too seemed like someone I could travel with. Heck, if she’d agree to go to Tunisia with me… She’s from Indiana, a non-Catholic though Christian of some sort (Non-catholics are rare at this school) and quite intelligent. I probably wouldn’t travel with her again, even though we had a decent trip. She and I have somewhat clashing personalities, and I wouldn’t really want to spend that much time with her again, though I’m sure we’ll remain friends. I was quite impressed that she put up with me as well as she did, though she seemed pretty glad to part my company at the end. Traveling with someone is tough for both parties involved, and I knew it would be from the start. Traveling with Robin was much more enjoyable than traveling by myself would have been, and I don’t regret it at all. Robin was even more sore than I was about not getting to go to Tunisia, and I’m not sure if she regrets sticking with me anyway. Anyway, as a final note, I’m not at all “romantically involved” with either Robin or Anne, for those of you nosy folks.) Anne has a flight to Israel from Roma on the 22nd of May, and so we shall part company sometime before then. I imagine that I will then proceed south through Europe on my own, unless I happen to find someone else I’d like to travel with. Anne will return from Israel before too long, and be plowing about Europe as well. Assuming Scandanavia goes well, I’ll probably meet her in Switzerland where she has friends that have offered us a place to stay for a bit. If I do that, I’ll probably spend a few days there, making day trips and coming back to a free place to sleep. She’s also got friends in other places near Switzerland, and I may stick with her for some time. At some point her mother is coming, and I’ll probably leave her then, if not before. My Eurail pass should expire the 11th of June, at which point I hope to be in England and meet friends of my parents who have offered me a place to stay… Jim Gresser in London, and a friend of Lloyd Parsons’ in Summerset. My return plane ticket should be the 4th of July from London to Atlanta. But the fun doesn’t end there… I hope to drive the Miata to Boston and meet Jon Bird on July 12th or so. Bird’s flying back to the states for a month or so, and wants to go to the Grand Canyon, which sounded swell to me. So I should pick him up in Boston, and head down to New Orleans with him where he grew up and has friends. After a weekend there, we plan to head through southern Texas and then up to the Grand Canyon. Back to Dallas by the 23rd or so. He’ll probably fly back to Boston and I hope to find an apartment. I don’t know if I’ll try to find a place and move in right away though. If I’m not dead from exhaustion, I plan to go to Florida and visit my mother for awhile. I would love to stop and visit those of you on this list in Mobile sometime toward the end of July or beginning of August. I plan to make it to Knoxville at some point this summer as well, probably in conjunction with spending more time with Dad in Atlanta. If I’ve got any time, money or energy left after I find an apartment and move in, I may try to make it to Colorado and visit Neal Brugman, a UD friend that lives there and go camping for a weekend or something. I still haven’t gone to Seattle and I’m just itching to get over there as well… One of these days I really am going to drive down the left coast, at least part of it, but going to LA doesn’t really appeal to me. So, I almost sort of have a plan for this summer. Exciting, eh?

At the moment, I’m in my little net cafe with a bottle of water from a Bernini fountain (much better than that sulfurous crap we drink on campus, though I doubt Bernini has much to do with it) because another Walking Tour with Professor Gish dragged me into Rome. Not that I mind being in Rome at all, but it takes an hour to get here, and an hour to get back, and I really should be writing one of those papers…. Er, both of them. The walking tour wasn’t much of a tour, as we hovered about the French (Spanish) Steps and Piazza de Spagna all afternoon. The lecture was good despite its wretched location.

Piazza de Spagna isn’t really wretched, but I try to avoid it. It’s always PACKED with tourists, people trying to sell you things, string guys, and other random gypsies. Amazingly, I actually got through the afternoon without feeling compelled to threaten someone’s life, something that can happen after enough guys with string ask for my finger and other guys try to sell me flowers, often while trying unsuccessfully to pickpocket me.

I doubt I’ll be back to the Spanish…er French Steps any time this trip, but I keep thinking that and I’ve been there many a time since. Nonetheless, I have a better appreciation for their importance after hearing the lecture.

It was really pretty night last night, so I dragged a blanket off my bed along with my pillow and slept in the soccer field. Save the dog barking at 3am, (Well, there were dogs barking all night since all the Italians within miles of us have both a dog and a vineyard…) I enjoyed such a pleasant night I think I’ll sleep out there again tonight. My classmates seemed amused as I dragged myself from the field to class this morning.

There’s a talent show tonight, in Neal and I are supposed to take part in vicious impersonations of our beloved faculty, so I should probably be heading back to campus.

It’s almost summer here in Rome. The women have shed their poofy coats, and the men smell worse than ever. The tourists are here in full force–I avoided Rome during Easter as there were so many people that there were LINES to get on the PLATFORM of the metro at times.

It’s a bit sad to see the semester coming to a close, I’m going to miss this place.

and hopefully this narrative will as well.

the shift key on this keyboard doesn�t work properlz. sorry.

i�m in m�nchen, drinking a beer, and am really glad this is a fast connection. my train leaves in a couple of hours, and with any luck, i shall go to sleep and wake up in roma. heh, yeah right.

i think i left off in paris somewhere. the details are all ready fading, though.

Robin and I did not do much in Paris, we were there mostly just to get to Luxembourg. We stayed in a youth hostel called “Young and Happy”. Despite its terribly corny name, it was a fun place.

We got to Luxembourg without too much trouble. I was very impressed with the place, it was quite modern, yet still very European, a combination I haven�t much experienced since I�ve been here.

We decided to camp as it would be much cheaper, and the hostel was full anyway. After asking about 5 bus drivers, we finallz ascertained both the number and location of the bus we needed to get on, and even managed to find the campground okay. I pitched my tent, and Robin and I opened up our sleeping bags in the tent and left the windows open so that it would air out. Sleeping bags/tents tend to smell funny when left in their stuffed bags for awhile.

It was a beautiful day, and after catching the bus back to the train station, we wandered about the city. It was absolutely beautiful. The city is cut in half or so by this huge ravine with a little stream in it and fairy-tail looking castles on each side. I shot way too many pictures of the bridges, there were so many, and they were all really neat.

We ate Indian food that night, and really enjoyed it, even if it wasn�t nearly as spicy as it should have been. As we started to walk home, I felt a drop of water, but figured it was from the fountain that was trying far too hard yet not hard enough to be art. Then it started to pour, and we were pretty far from the fountain. “uh, i think it might be a wet night,” i told Robin. She just glared at me, then at the sky. We had a good 20 minute walk to the bus stop. The night was dark by this point, and it was getting rather cold. We got the bus stop, and the bank thermometer said 6 degrees celcius. that�s something like 41F. Which isn�t too terribly cold, save we were dressed for Tunisia and it was raining.

We got the bus station and checked the schedule. we�d just missed a bus by 10 minutes, and the next one wasn�t coming until 23h27, over 45 minutes. The bus finally showed up and Robin and I were warm for about 3 minutes. Then the bus stopped, and the bus driver turned around and told us to get off. Which was sort of a problem since we weren�t anywhere near the campground yet. “Camping?” we asked him. He repleid with something to the effect that the last few buses don�t go to the campsite, and that we�d have to walk. 4 kilometers. In the cold rain. On the non-existant shoulder of a fast luxembourgian highway. It was a long night.

When we finally got back to our tent, we were quite cold. Luckily, our sleeping bags weren�t too wet, just the ends that were near the windows.

What�s worse, is as I was climbing in the tent, my bag caught the top of the tent, which aparently put enough stress on the well-staked rain fly, that it ripped. which really bites. Luckily, it ripped near the bottom of the tent, and so I might be able to sew it.

It got colder that night. _I_ woke up and was cold, which rarely happens unless the tent is covered in snow, which it wasn�t. Everyone else at the campsite was in an RV.

As we were sitting in our train headed for Brusells that morning, it started snowing. I just laughed. Robin wasn�t so amused.

Brusells was enjoyable as well, despite the fact that it never quite raining. It didn�t snow there, which is good I suppose.

Brusells had some pretty cool museums, including a contemporary Art museum I rather enjoyed while Robin groaned. I probably groaned just as much at all the paintings I call “Madonna col Bambino�s”, even though they�re only called that in Italy. In addition to those and the endless depictions of Christ on the cross, there is a plethera of St. Sebastian paintings, all of which somehow intrigue me. I�m not sure why he�s such a popular subject, but the depictions vary wildly–in some he looks about like one would think he�d look with a bunch of arrows in him, and in others, he looks downright happy about it.

All of the hostels in Brussells were booked, so we were forced to stay in a cheap hotel, the properieter of which was an absolute nutcase. The place was falling apart, and I really don�t think I�m anywhere near talented enough to portray him so that you might understand. He�s a bit shorter than I am, I think, though he always walks, er waddles, hunched over. He�s mostly bald, but has too much hair to ignore, most of which is blond. He speaks very slowly, spewing his really bad breath across the room. He refused to let us walk up the stairs, I�m not sure why. Whenever he caught us, he made us use the elevator. I would try to describe him more thoroughly, but I jsut don�t know that I can. The entire hotel, including our room, was covered in splatter painting that sort of looked like Jackson Pollock, only not so aesthetically pleasing. None of them were signed, and Robin hypothosized that he painted them all himself. I�d think it quite possible.

I also discovered belgium waffles are sweet. Somehow everyone but me seems to know thus. They�re really good, I think i�ll have to figure out how to make them. The batter they make it with is really thick compared to the waffle batter I typically make.

Getting to Amsterdam wasn�t much problem even though we got there rather late at night. This wasn�t that big a deal becuase we�d reserved beds at “The Flying Pig” hostel already. Darned good thing too, there wasn�t much place to stay by the time we got in the city.

The hostel is apparently the place to stay in Amsterdam, and it�s one funny hostel. For two nights, I felt like I belonged in the sixties. On the bottom floor of the hostel is a bar, half of which looks like most hostel bars only with a little more zest. The far end of the bar is covered in blankets and pillows and seems to be referred to as the commune, the village, etc. At any given time of the day, it contained from a few to many people lounging about passing around marijuana in various forms. The bar area is constantly filled with enjoyable American music, much of it out of the sixties.

I walked into the room I�d been assigned to, and it was full of many girls. This wasnt too much of a problem except that there were 8beds, and there were more people in the room than that. “Don�t worry, we�re not all sleeping in here,” one girl assured me as I walked in. “Ahh… I�m not picky, but I paid for bed number eight and I�m not sharing.” There were sheets on it, but it seemed that no one tossed the sheets in the laundry as most courteus hostel-stayers do when they leave. I was too lazy to pull them off, and just put mine on over them. “So, where are you from?” she asked. “Well, I go to school in Texas.” “Where?” “Dallas.” “Where, UD?” Now THIS was weird. No one in Europe except at places UDers frequent know of the school. “uh, yeah,” I said rather confusedly. “what? really? no you don�t!” So I showed her my ID card. “That�s nuts, do you know Jon Bird?” “Yeah, he�s our RA in Rome.” “I went to junior prom with Jon Bird!” she tells us. turns out she!
�s from Boston, and her best friend is Bird�s sister who attends UD. I never ceased to be amazed at such seemingly random connections.

Amsterdam has the largest collection of Van Gogh there is. I�m not a huge Van Gogh fan, but the museum was really cool. In addition to the Van Gogh museum, there�s a national museum with a lot of Rembrandt, which, unfortunately, we tried to see on the wrong day. We got there at 2pm, were informed that they�d let us see the museum for free but that it was closing at 3pm. Turns out they were putting the final touches on a brand new exhibit which the queen was about to preview in a few hours, and apparently the queen gets the whole museum to herself when she wants it. They were rolling out the red carpet, literarly, as we left.

When we got to Amsterdam, I bought a ticket to Munich for Saturday morning, because the Friday night train was booked solid. Our train was supposed to leave at 750am, but it never showed up at the tracks. At 800, we went to talk to someone about it and were informed that they�d closed the tracks to germany and were working on them. This was quite disturbing, especially since that�s a very Italian thing to do, and I�d thought I was free of the Italians for a few days. She printed out a little schedule for us with about 5 connections to make between amsterdam and munich, as opposed to the 1 switch we were supposed to have to make. We hopped on a train to nijmegn or some such nowhere place where we were supposed to change trains. Only, our train didn�t go there, it stopped in some other nowhere town before that. We took another train to nijmign and of course by that time, missed the connection on our schedule. This game lasted all day, and instead of getting to munich at 4pm, we got there at 8pm. This wasn�t that bad, other than the fact that we were supposed to meet our fellow UDers at the Haufbrau Haus for a night of beer and ten day stories, as is UD tradition. We got there eventually, and I was less than thrilled with the whole game. It was really loud, the waiters were jerks, you had to sit down to have a beer (???) and it was really expensive.

On my way out, I realized with dismay that I was the only sober person who was staying in the same hostel as I was, and I didn�t know the way back. Outside the haufbrau haus, we were slammed with a crowd of several hundred people, who, i finally gathered, were there to see Bruce Willis. Yeah. I caught a glance at him on my way out, he was bald. The drunk UDers headed to an Irish pub to get drunker, so I gave up, found a map, and found my way back. I really, really hate not having a sense of direction. For some reason I just can�t find my way around, and I don�t know why. If there were some way to cultivate a sense of direction, I�d be willing to work at it…

I spent most all of today at a science museum. it is by far the most awesome science museum I�ve ever been in. I was there all day, and there are tons of stuff I never got to see.

The first room I walked in had a real, full sized german fishing boat built in the 1800s. It was fully rigged and beautiful, at least 60 feet long. There were lots of boats there, actually. INSIDE the museum. Next was the engine collection. There had to be a couple hundred engines, from sterling engines, to steam engines, to deisel engines, to porsche engines. most of them were cut apart so you could look at them. There were also all sorts of jet engines pulled apart as well. I�ve seen engines before, but never THIS many. There were some really neat, really big steam engines, ship-sized.

It just got crazy from there. i walked through what was obviously a fully operational machine show with locks on all the switches of the machines. Boring machines, lathes, planers, etc, etc. Apparently they give demonstrations at set times, the only problem for me being that they do so in German. There was a sign of a full sized mine underneat the museum which one could tour with guides. I spent hours and hours and hours at this museum.

The computer section was just awesome. They had a fully functional electric relay computing device from the 40�s. It was huge, and read film. The exhibit started wtih ancient adding machines, planemeters, gear-driven integraters, and so on. They had a Cray1, it didn�t look functional though. There was an early ibm machine that stored data in mercury delay strands? There was very poor english translations of most things, I figured a lot out though. The number of FUNCTIONING ancient computer stuff was amazing. I got to see them operate a few of them. The exhibit was huge, it had to be with all of the ancient and huge equipment they had in there. The telecomunications exhibit had everything from an early rotary phone switching sytem behind glass that was connected to about 20 phones so you could watch it work, to several banks of isdn stuff and computers with video phone stuff set up. There was floor after floor after floor. I didn�t get to stuff like the musical ins!
trument section, or even the planeterium or the chemistry section. I think I was there for 6 hours until it closed. I�d talk forever about everything that was there, but it was so huge, it�d take me forever.

After that, I saw the glockenspeil, and that was just silly.

Anyway, that was ten-day, and now I�m going to go find dinner and hop on a train.

I’m sitting at an “Internet Koffeeshop” in Amsterdam drinking at Amstel Gold. I don’t think they serve coffee here, the term seems a be a euphemism for a place to buy weed. Which is cool, I suppose. So I far I haven’t actually smoked any, despite it being legal. I refuse to see why I should have to try it just because it’s legal here.

Amsterdam. Wow. I haven’t seen anything of it yet, but it’s clearly quite a city. At least the keyboards are proper… Standard US 101key. So nice.

Anyway, if I remember right, I left off somewhere near Marseilles.

Robin and I arrived in Marseilles rather late at night with intentions of camping. It was dreary, raining, and night. Marseilles was big and ugly. We started walking where we thought we might get to the place to catch a bus, but without any luck. We were in a really bad spot in town. Robin slipped on the wet pavement at one point which seemed to solicit much laughter from those standing around watching. We felt really uncomfortable and walked into “Hotel D’Athens”. It looked really cheap. It was.

Robin and I have a knack for being on the 4th floor. I should also point out that for those of you that don’t know, the ground floor in Europe is the 0th floor. So the 4th floor is really the 5th. Which is a long walk with a big backpack. We did get lucky in Nice, we were in room 42. I felt a strange connection to Mulder as the hotel made erie sounds during the night…

It was room 48 in Marseilles. There is some really annoying music playing in here. The sole lyrics are “My house is your house and your house is mine.”

We really weren’t having a pleasant experience in Marseilles and really wanted to head north anyway. We were thinking Geneva at first, but then got this wacky idea to do Luxembourg, Brussels and Amsterdam. So we went to Paris.

To get to Paris (in order to get to Luxembourg), we had to go to Lyon first. I used one of the nifty little ticket machines in the train station that spoke flawless English and even gave me a reservation. Robin, however, had to go stand in line for her reservation, which is compulsory on all TGV trains. Her Eurail pass was good on the TGV trains, but she had to pay a supplement/reservation fee. Unfortunately, the nifty machines won’t do it. She got her reservation, and we boarded the train. I was in voiture (car) 2, and she was in 14 which, much to her dismay, was a smoking car. So, I told her I’d just meet her at the front of the train in Paris if nothing else. We both were booked through to Paris, with a short connection in Lyon.

The TGV to Lyon was fast, but stopped frequently. I found Robin in Lyon no problem, and we waited for our train to Paris. In Italy the trains are usually waiting at the station for hours on end and big stations, you board a half hour in advance, and take off. In France, the trains, especially the TGV trains, show up 4 minutes before the departure time, everyone files on, and then as the last person is squeezing on, the doors close and the train takes off.

Our tickets were one car apart, and so we figured finding each other in Paris would be easy. The train was a duplex, or double-decker. There was no room for lougage, and it was absolutely packed. I sat in my seat, crammed between a smelly frenchman and the wall, and wondered what would happen if I couldn’t find Robin.

About then, she came walking through the car with her bag. “Robin!” I said, trying to get her attention. She looked at me, and said through gritted teeth, “They screwed up my resercvations, they’re for the 22 of April, and I don’t have a seat, and the train started moving before I could get off, and so they’re probably going to kick me off.” She didn’t give me much of a chance to respond.

I got out my guide book, and told her to copy down the name of the place we were staying and direction and to meet me there since I didn’t know when she would get to Paris if they kicked her off.

I checked a copy of the timetable which I found in Nice, at the Thomas Cook place I wasn’t looking for, and discovered the TGV from Lyon to Paris doesn’t stop. So they couldn’t kick her off. I looked back to where she was standing in the gangway talking to the conductor. Eventually the conductor made his way into the car and continued checking tickets. Robin came by in a few minutes and said that he was just going to let her sit in the hallway. Which was good.

I looked out the window at the sheep flying by and decided we were going fast. How fast? I tried to figure it out. I got out Cassiopeia, and found out Paris was 244 miles from Lyon. And I checked the timetable and found out the train was 2 hours and 4 minutes. That would be 120 miles an hour. Only it had to be fast, because that would be 120 mph in a straight line, and an average speed. The train track on the map wasn’t direct, but pretty close to it. In any case we were going darned fast.

Once in Paris, we checked into the Hostel we had reservations for. “Young and Happy.” It was so corny sounding I couldn’t resist. They were all out of dorm beds, so we had to settle for the more expensive double. It was a good little hostel, and not far from food.

Robin and I went wandering and looking for food. We’d stop every few feet and get an egg roll or a Gyro, or something odd. At one point we turned a corner and this HUGE church was in front of us. “Wow,” I said. “We should take a picture of it and tell people its Notre Dame,” Robin said. “It could be Notre Dame for all I know,” I said. We walked toward it and it seemed to get bigger. We then noticed that the street we turned on was Notre Dame. And everything was called Notre Dame. Including the Cathedral.

This shop is closing, so I’m signing off for now. More to come.

Well, the z and y of Luxembourgian kezboards is swaped. Other than that, I seem to be able to tzpe okaz. And zou’ll just have to deal with it.

I am, as zou might have guessed, in Luxemburg, the proper spelling of which seems to vary with the language.

So, I left you as were heading toward Milan. I’m still not really sure just why I decided to go to Milan, something to do with the mountains I’m sure. The train from Rome was long. It left at least a half hour late, and then stopped in some place called Orte at about midnight for a good 45 minutes, during which time they split and rearranged the train. While sitting in the dark because the train cars don’t get electricity when the engine isn’t attached, I had this instant realization that I had not validated my ticket. This is the, count it, third time I’ve had this problem. In Italy, and France too it seems, one purchases a train ticket, then sticks it in this stamping machine to validate it. This game is a game for which I don’t fully understand the necessity. I understand the necessity well enough to realize that I really didn’t want to get thrown off the train at 3am for not having stamped my ticket. So, in Orte, I ran off the train with my ticket, leaving both Robin and my stuff in the compartment. As I was stamping it and re-boarding the train, I realized that I was REALLY lucky they didn’t take off without me, because that would have left Robin with both of our bags heading to Milan, and me in Orte, (No, I hadn’t heard of it either) and not another train to Milan until the morning. Let’s just say I’m quite glad this did not happen. What made this adventure even more exciting is that a few minutes earlier, Robin said something to me about taking our bags if we ever get off the train for some reason. I responded with something like “Of course we would.” However, this problem could have been further complicated by the fact that had I taken my bag, I may have missed the train as I cannot run with a good 35 pounds strapped to my back. Well, I can’t run WITHOUT 35 pounds strapped to my back, but the weight certainly would have slowed me down. Moral of this story? When in Italy (or France), stamp the damn ticket BEFORE you board the train.

Robin and I were lucky on that train for other reasons as well. We had a six person compartment to our selves, which meant we could sleep lengthwise across the seats. With three people, you can pull the seats out and sleep crosswise, but its much shorter, and I don’t fit very well that way. However, at about 530am, I woke up to three loud obnoxious italian girls plowing into our sleepy little compartment. They stretched out, and robin and I sat up. Such is life. We got to Milan at something like seven in the morning. It was cold and rainy, and Robin and I still hadn’t a clue where we were going for ten-day. We decided to look for a Thomas Cook time table because it lists ferries in Europe as well, and we decided there might be ferries from Genoa or Le Spezia to Tunis. A Thomas Cook money change place that sells the time tables is on every street corner, it seems. Except in Milan. Or any place else when you might happen to be LOOKING for one.

Milan was cold and rainy. We talked about heading to Norway, which started sounding like a really good idea, despite the fact that Robin was packed for Tunisia. I was too, but being a guy who brought almost nothing to Europe with me that I don’t have with me right now, I was packed the same for Tunisia as I would be for the Amazon or Alaska. I probably would have brought my sweater if I were heading to Norway though. My jacket doubles as my raincoat, so I had it with me. (This arrangement is fine except when its not hot enough to get wet, but too hot to wear my jacket…)

The first thing we tried to do, was, once again rent a car because I had this urge to drive the Alps, and Robin liked the idea. We talked about it a good bit, sort of thought about where we’d go and so forth. All the cars in Europe are standard transmission (the Europeans are so cool that way), but Robin doesn’t know how to drive a real car. I agreed to teach her if we could find an empty place. Maybe it was a good thing no one will rent a car (or motorcycle) to anyone under 21. At least not in Rome or Milan. They will, however, rent mopeds. I guess they want us young people to die from being run over rather than running over something.

With no plan but a guide book, Robin and I plowed into the drizzling rain to see Milan. We stopped by the duomo, expecting to see a fairly boring Gothic church. We climbed out of the metro tunnel, turned around and dropped our jaws. The duomo of Milan is this HUGE, very Gothic cathedral. Turns out it’s the third largest in Europe, after St. Peter’s in the Vatican and something else. We spent a good half hour in the church, watched people file in for daily mass, and we took off.

We also stopped by this really big and cool looking castle, and discovered a large collection of museums inside. We couldn’t find anyone to pay admission to, though the sign said there was some. So we toured it for free. It was rather neat, but nothing terribly exciting. The castle was the neatest part. I suppose I should be excited that it contained Michelangelo’s last work, one of his Pietas, but it was unfinished and very boring looking.

We headed back to the train station and decided to go to Norway, and decided we needed to get to Hamburg to do so. I was all ready to do it until I discovered that the ticket to hamburg was roughly two hundred dollars. Yikes. I couldn’t spend that just getting to HAMBURG then have to get to Norway, then BACK. This depressed me, and Robin and I weren’t at all sure what to do. I felt really bad because Robin had a Eurail pass and so transportation was free for her, and long trains were even merrier for her because she doesn’t have to pay for a place to stay when we sleep on a train. I told her she was free to take off and not to let me stop her, but she didn’t seem too keen on Norway by herself. We talked about heading back south to Palermo (Sicily), but it seemed so stupid to waste the night getting to Milan, turn around and go back south past Rome. Frustrated, depressed, annoyed, and still without a clue we decided to go to Nice. I bought a ticket, and the board in the station said the train left 710am.

We found a hostel for 13 bucks a night per person, breakfast included. Only, breakfast didn’t start until 8am. Oh well. I was assigned bed and locker number 86. Or was it 68? I couldn’t tell because the number was on a key chain. Worse, the key opened both locker 86 and 68. However, 86 had stuff in it and 68 did not. Robin and I agreed to meet outside at 6am to head back to the station. I set my alarm for 515am so I could take a shower and have plenty of time.

I woke up Saturday morning at 615 to Robin shaking me saying “Berck! Wake up! It’s six fifteen!” I’m sure the other three people in the room much appreciated being woken up. I threw my pack on my back, dropped my sheets at the counter and we set off briskly toward the metro. The train took forever to show up. We got to the station at 703am. We boarded the train as the doors were about to close. It wouldn’t have been too big a deal if we missed the train as the next one was in a few hours, but we wanted to sped the day in Nice.

We arrived in Nice and decided to look for a place to spend the night and ditch our bags. Strangely enough, we had a heck of a time finding an ATM in Nice. Both of us needed one as Nice is in France, and the French aren’t too happy about lire. We could have bought francs with it, but you lose a fair amount of money buying and selling it like that, where as you don’t pay a commission on ATM withdrawals.

HOLY FREAKING CRAP. Robin just came over and told me that, guess what, Dr. Pepper is sold here. This just made my week. Oh man. I haven’t had one since I left for Europe. I think it tastes a little different here, but I’ve not had one in so long, I could be wrong. Oh man. This is so good. Wow. I wonder what I payed for it. They gave me a glass with ice too. Geeze. I LIKE luxembourg.

Anyway, as we exited the train station, the first thing we saw was a Thomas Cook exchange place. The trick is the same as that for a locating Pizza Rustica– don’t look for one.

Man, I’m sitting at a keyboard sipping Dr. Pepper. Life is good.

We found an ATM eventually, and started looking for hostels. Every hotel that had dorm beds was booked. We finally found a double with two beds and no bathroom for roughly 28 dollars a night. Not bad split two ways. They didn’t even charge for use of the hall shower like some places do.

After ditching our bags in the hotel room, we set out for the Musea de Beux Arte. Turns out it was quite a collection, lots of important French pieces there. Most notably was Rodin’s “Kiss”. This work didn’t excite me much until I found out it was originally titled “Francesca de Rimini”. For those of you that don’t know, she’s a historical figure that was supposed to marry this guy Paolo’s brother whose name I really should know. The problem was, she really wanted Paolo, but the families had her marrying his brother for political reasons. (why else would you get married?) One day, while reading the story of Lancelot aloud to Francesca, Paolo dropped the book and began passionately kissing Francesca, whereupon the guy she was married to walked in and killed them both. This story, true or not, was immortalized by Dante who places them in the fifth (?) circle of hell where sins of the flesh are punished. Anyway, there was something really neat about having my UD education let me understand a chunk of stone in Nice that otherwise seemed merely to portray a random kiss.

Dr. Pepper is such good stuff.

Robin and I decided to head to Monaco in the morning, then back to Nice in the afternoon to catch a train for Geneva. We did in fact go to Monaco which is worth seeing just because it drips of wealth. I really wanted to see the Prince of Monaco’s collection of “110 of the sexiest classic cars” (according to my guide book), but Robin wasn’t too interested and I’m nice enough not to drag her. In addition, we couldn’t find it and admission was supposedly pricey, like everything else. Most things in Monaco were closed on Sunday, and there weren’t as many cool cars on the street as I’d been lead to believe there were. There was, however, the coolest square rigged sail boat sitting in the harbor that I’ve ever seen. The weather was quite windy, and the spray that leaped over the boats was impressive.

We ate pizza for lunch, and headed back to Nice, but Geneva wasn’t easy to get to. Instead, we decided to go to Luxemburg. In order to do so, we decided to send the night in Marsaille and then the night in Paris. This we did, and will be featured in the next chapter of Berck’s Ten Day which sees Berck wandering the streets with a three foot baguette trying both not roll around on the ground laughing at himself or kill anybody with it.

Au revoir.