Berlitzed Beyond Berlief

Berlin is a living, breathing, history lesson. Great and terrible things have taken place within its bounderies; mostly terrible, but I'm not one to point fingers. A heaping ladle of justice was eventually served and most of the city was leveled during World War II. You can spend hours walking around looking at the bullet holes left by Allied troops as they marched on the capitol. It would make a good drinking game if it weren't for the fact that the sheer number of battle-scarred buildings would leave you in an inebriated coma by the time you were done. I spent my first day exploring the city by bike, which I highly recommend as a means to significantly shorten your life expectancy. Dodging cars, drafting buses, and clipping pedestrians is the best way to explore this sprawling metropolis. Some of the highlights: The Berlin Wall, which presumably fell to make room for the new Sony IMAX megaplex at Postdamer Platz; Checkpoint Charlie, the point where East met West in a titanic staring contest for twenty years (we won); The Reichstag, the German Parliament building with the giant glass popcorn dome on the top; The Holocaust Memorial, a series of massive, stone blocks of alternating size - some twenty feet high - laid out in an enormous undulating grid across an entire city block; Brandenburg Gate, a big...well, gate for the Brandenburgs; and the Victory Column, a 220 foot tall spire positioned by Hitler to point towards France as a challenge to their sovereignty. Back in the forties pointing a statue at another country was grounds for war. That evening I participated in the traditional heavy drinking games of Berlin's nightlife. I don't know much about drinking games but I'm pretty sure I lost. After a slow start the next morning I participated in a facinating Third Reich walking tour. We goose-stepped our way around the city while learning how the Nazi regime came to power and how to Heil a taxi. Most interesting factoid: of the 20,000 animals housed in the Berlin Zoo at the start of the war only 50 survived the bombing. If I had to guess, I'd say cockroaches. The tour ended at the site of Hitler's underground bunker, which is now, fittingly, a parking lot. But of all the disturbing sights and stories I saw and heard in Berlin, perhaps the most perverse was this: a large, organized choral group, sitting on the steps of the awe-inspiring Berliner Dom cathedral, belting out an a capella rendition of Queen's Bohemian Rhapsody. No joke. So, hooray for Democracy, I guess.

Look Both Ways Before Crossing a German

The Germans are a fascinating people. Orderly, precise, and efficient, they are tireless in their persuit of perfection. The trains are arrogantly punctual, clocks are perfectly synchronized, and you can eat a three-course dinner off the toilet seats in the train station. The language itself is long and complicated, with names like Heigerdusselflingerstreudlebahndorf Strausse. And to hear them speak is to know the very depths of hell itself. Every time someone opens their mouth I'm ready to perform the Heimlich maneuver for fear they are choking on their wiener schnitzel. Curiously, stern mannerisms often cloak a genial positivism. But teeming just below the surface of this perfectionist facade are many issues which affect the national psyche. Here you have a people that blindly participated in one of the worst genocidal acts in human history yet won't be caught dead jay walking. I'm serious. There can be no cars visible for a mile in either direction and people are patiently standing at the corner waiting for that cross walk sign to light up. You don't know whether to laugh or cry.


My German adventure started in the small, quiet town of Fussen. This was Bavaria, home of kings, castles, and the delectable cream that fills your donuts and clogs your arteries. The town hostel was completely booked so I landed in a local B&B. Run by a elderly, short, stout, German women it was authentic in every way. Breakfast consisted of bread, jam, and some manner of German mystery meat that I dubiously dubbed worstwurst. I spent a day touring the famous Neuschwanstein Castle. Built by Mad King Ludwig (not angry, but definitely mad) this mass of gleaming white turrets and ramparts was purportedly the inspiration for the castle in Disneyworld. The following day I rented a bike and wandered around the beautiful countryside until I ended up in Reutte, Austria. You ever take a wrong turn and end up in a different country? Didn't think so. In Reutte I visited the Ehrenburg Ruins, a 13th century fortification which is now just a series of cool crumbling rock and stone. With nary a soul in sight I had the whole place to myself. Soon my imagination got the best of me and I ordered an attack on a nearby farming village, but with no troops to obey my orders I had to settle on making obscene gestures at a nearby cow.



With little time clocked on floating transport during my trip I decided to catch a cruise up the Rhine river. I spent my first night in a castle that had been converted into a hostel. My favorite stop on the Rhine was a small town called St. Goar, where I explored the fantasically cool Rheinfels Castle and once again tried to place myself in mortal peril. The inhabitants of this particular castle built a series of narrow tunnels with thin slate roofs packed with explosives in order to blow up invaders. There are six hundred feet of twisting, turning tunnels; it's pitch black, muddy, slippery, cold, full of dead-ends, and you're in a deep crouch the whole time. Oh yeah, and did I mention the only light I had was a six-inch wax candle and a book of matches? Matches being the obvious choice for tunnels that used to be filled with gunpowder. Germany obviously doesn't have any lawyers. Lucky for me, I had a set of directions in my guidebook. Unfotunately, I went in the wrong entrance to the tunnel and was following the directions backwards. Alone, shivering in the dark, panic started to settle in when I hit my second dead end and a furious swarm of crane flies erupted from the walls around me. The candle was half gone at this point so I slowly backed out till a found a space to turn around, then carefully backtracked to the entrance. After turning my guidebook rightside up I decided to give it another whirl. Fifteen minutes later I made I made it to the other side, cramped, muddy, covered in wax, with quite a large smile on my face.



I spent a quick day in Munich as well. Munich is great city where approximately 50% of the women look like men. I actually expected it to be a higher precentage. But some of those girls....yikes. I took a free city walking tour and you truly do get what you pay for. I listened to the schlock and spiel in front of the Glockenspiel and tried not to fall asleep. The Glockenspiel is basically a giant clock with a series of rudimentary analog figurines that stike poses and dance around for about 15 minutes every hour while a series of bells chime along. The first five minutes were interesting, the second set dulled the senses, and by the third you prayed that you would simultaneously go deaf and blind. The tour mercifully continued. We saw a few churches then stopped in a beer garden for bratwurst and beer, which is what most Germans do after some heavy sermonizing. The beer is served in massive, one liter mugs. I swear I saw some guy carrying his baby around in one of those giant mugs. It must have been Bring Your Daughter to Work day. With 126 kinds of beer and just as much fattening sausage one has to wonder how any Germans live past 40. If ever an earthquake struck Munich it might just be a national coronary.

Salzburg at Sunset

Salzburg surprised me with its quaint atmosphere, quiet streets, and beautiful vistas. To be honest, I hadn't even intended on stopping there. I'm not a big Mozart fan and I may be the only man on earth who still hasn't seen The Sound of Music, though my understanding is that the hills are alive with it. Sounds terrifying. Having missed the last train to Germany, I was lucky enough to catch a beauteous sunset and spend an evening exploring this little burg. Wandering the streets at dusk I felt completely at ease. Salzburg felt very safe, like a motherly embrace, or your finger on the trigger of that snub-nosed .38 in your purse. I strolled through the perfectly manicured Mirabell Gardens with an exquisite view of the Hohensalzburg Fortress, passed by the marvelous Mozart platz, and parked myself in front of the Salzburg Cathedral. And I took tons of pictures, until they caught me and I got kicked out of the women's locker room at the local gym. Gosh, those women are bashful. I was really taken aback by the architecture. At sunset, the skyline was magnificent. As a budding wordsmith you might think I would have the vocabulary to describe this scene. Not so. My knowledge of architectural terms is right up there with my ability to juggle flaming daggers. As such, I will revert to infantile and obscentity laden gutter speak. Let's just say the buildings were fucking awesome. And you know that big, blue, thingamajig at the top of that column? That was one bad-ass mamma-jamma. Though I only got to spend a single evening there it was a glorious one.

The Absinthe-Minded Confessor

Prague was full of surprises. Despite the fact that literally millions of bodies crowd Europe, I seem to keep running into the same damn ones. I've had approximately eight close-encounters of the weird kind since being out here, but Prague was the most unlikely. First I ran into Natalie, a girl I met on a mountainside for all of about 20 minutes in Switzerland. Next was Amy, the girl with whom I had travelled to Paris and Interlaken. I liked Prague but something about it seemed rather off to me. The original architecture is stunning, one of the only European cities unscathed by the carpet-bombing of WWII. For a city that was under Communist rule for so long I was surprised to find the buildings so...cheerily colorful. Nearly every building was painted in various soft pastels, leading me to conclude that Communism was a lot more cuddly then I had been led to believe. Maybe the top of the Kremlin looking like a series of soft-serve ice cream cones isn't so strange after all. In some warped way the whole place reminded me of Disneyworld, only with more alcohol. Prague had a large Jewish population at one point and for the first time during this trip I was treated to a series of impressive synagogues. Since there are only about five Jews left in Prague, most have been converted into museums...not the remaining Jews, the synagogues - stupid grammar. Regardless, the synagogues here are not nearly as ornate as their cathedral counterparts. In an effort to strengthen stereotypes, I'll suggest that we were too busy investing our money in controlling the media. There were several interesting exhibits, including some old circumcision knives that looked duller than a redneck at a spelling bee. I couldn't think of anything to make circumcision worse then it already was, but there you have it. Leaving religion behind, I turned my sights towards more practical matters. Like getting drunk. Natalie and I cruised around until we found a local pub, where I sampled the local beer. Nope, still don't like it. I needed something stiffer. We closed out the bar (at a surprisingly early 11:30pm) and went hunting for the mythical, mystical, green liquor I knew could place me in the coma I desired...absinthe. We wandered the empty streets. Everything was closed. Finally we saw a flashing neon sign that brazenly proclaimed, "non-stop". A creepy staircase descended into a dimly lit corridor. I hesitated, but Natalie led the charge. It was dark and dreary and we were completely alone, save the bartender. This was DEFINITELY the place. He didn't know more then a few words of English but he knew the word absinthe. Seventy percent strong and illegal in the States, I lifted the shot to my lips and took a sip. There's no point in me describing the sensation when you can so easily replicate it at home. Just light a butane torch and suck on the end like you were drinking milk through a straw. That burning sensation you feel? That's just the lining of your stomach disintegrating as the bile bursts through and starts to liquefy your intestines. Before leaving the Czech Republic I took a day trip to a place called Kutna Hora. This small town is infamous for it's ossuary, called Kostnice - in the common tongue, The Bone Church. Inside dwells the mortal remains of literally thousands of people, all playfully constructed into home furnishings like some ghastly Erector-Set Of The Damned. There are adornments on the wall, a giant coat-of-arms, a chalice, and other such feats of creatively morbid engineering. Outside is a sign which reads, "Please, do not mock the dead". This is quite ironic considering the fact that your great-uncle Jack's pelvis is the centerpiece of a massive bone chandelier. Nevertheless, it was a unique experience and another notch in the cultural belt.

Luke, Ich bin Ihr Vater

The imperial city of Vienna holds the dubious honor of kicking off the first World War. As it turned out, it's a lot more difficult to wage war than to produce a good wiener and the Viennese soon found themselves...well, holding their hot dogs. Like my father's hairline, Vienna quickly receded from the world stage. After a good spell they regrouped and turned towards finer pursuits, like overcharging tourists. To be fair, they also overcharge the locals. Honestly, I wasn't very impressed with Vienna. The most interesting parts of the city are almost entirely contained within a four mile ringed road, a vestigial reminder of the walls that used to surround and protect the city in its heyday. It also makes street maps of the city look like a giant, single-celled amoeba. Probably the most interesting site was the Schloss Sch?nbrunn royal palace. Though I've officially sworn of the interiors of these places, the grounds were most impressive. There was even had an honest-to-God hedge maze. In a vain attempt to act cultured I even went to the Opera. No joke, it was five HOURS long. And they lock the doors once it starts. After the first twenty minutes time seemed to stand still. I grit my teeth and waited patiently for the fat lady to start singing. Unfortunately there were no fat women in this particular Opera and the shrill, womanly voice everyone eventually heard was my own, begging to get out. To be fair, my outlook was partially obscured by clouds. Overcast skies and occasional downpours plagued my entire stay there. The weather did afford me a chance to finally go see the last Star Wars film, may it rest in peace. Funny thing about the theaters in Vienna, all of the seating is assigned and they actually charge more for better seats. Anything to squeeze another dime. To be truthful I didn't really like the movie very much, despite the positive reviews it has garnered. It seemed poorly directed, had horrendous dialogue, and tons of superfluous plot elements; rather like the Kerry campaign. I nearly laughed out loud when Vader rips loose from the operating table like Frankenstein's monster. Well, enough of that. I set my sights on my next stop, Prague.

Careful, Those Venetians Aren't Blind

Ahhhh, Venice....a colorful maze of carefully constructed canals, narrow streets, and more bridgework than a Florida Bingo parlor. Loaded with tourists - despite the very real possibility that it might sink - Venice was nevertheless a worthwhile stop. Though from the train you might as well be cruising the Robert Moses causeway of Long Island, Venice quickly becomes unique in almost every way. Consider this: the "bus" system is an armada of roving boats; St. Mark's square might be the only place on earth you could lay on your back, swing your arms and legs, and artfully create a pigeon angel; and if your taxi springs a leak you may drown. How cool is that??? Truth be told there wasn't really much to "see" in Venice. It was enjoyable to just wander around, taking in the people, the buildings, the canals, and the architecture. And no, I didn't ride on a Gondola. In addition to the unreasonable cost, to be frank, it's kind of pathetic to take a romantic Gondola ride by yourself. The oarsman were cute but not THAT cute. Still, I enjoyed the breeze in my face while riding the public transport, the smell of the sea air, and the taste of my final Italian gelato (sniff!) and I chugged away from Italy to my next desination: Vienna.

It Wasn't Built In a Day

Rome may not have been built in a day but you can sure see it in one. The grandeur of Rome spread out before me like a virulent flu. It was hot and muggy, wet and ruddy, and you just sort of wanted to be done with it already. I know, I know, many of you are probably thinking but I love Rome. Well, some people love rectal thermometers too but that doesn't mean we all do. I started in Vatican City and was lucky enough to catch a Wednesday mass in the square of St. Paul's Cathedral. I saw the Pope, waved in earnest, but not even a nod in return. What an asshole. Whoa, just kidding!!! I didn't wave. Actually it was really cool being there with the square full of people; a pulsing mass of cheering, praying humanity. Next, the Vatican Musuem, home of the Sistine Chapel. Definitely smells like church, lots of paintings on the ceiling. From there I headed over to the Colosseum, which was my favorite part of the day. Standing outside the arena I tried to imagine what the place looked like when it was first completed, but it was tough ignoring the modern-day "gladiators" in their cheesy costumes hustling pictures for money and the guy peddling the "Glad He Ate Her" porno films on the sidewalk. Once inside, the scene changed. Big as a football stadium, its impressive to think that all of this was built before unions and teamsters. I spent quite a bit of time there before moving on. I walked through the Roman Forum (full of ancient ruins), up to Capitol Hill (home to modern political ruination), over to the Pantheon (an old dome with a big hole in the ceiling), across to the Trevia Fountain (predicatably full of water), and finally collapsed on the Spanish Steps (nary a Spaniard to be found) ready for death. Before leaving the following day for Venice I went and checked out the Bourghese Museum, home to a fantastical series of sculptures. Unfortunately I didn't have a reservation (required) and they wouldn't let me in, which I suppose was kizmit considering my earlier promise to never lay eyes on another sculpture that didn't have a giant penis. Not to be deterred, I explored the surrounding gardens and the lovely park before bording a train for my next destination. Venice.

Duomo Erigato, Mr. Gelato

From Cinque Terra, it was off to Fierenze. Florence is a bit like a girl I used to date; classicly beautiful, well-built, but absolutely fucking filthy. Not the type of city you would want to take home to Mom. Dominated by a massive duomo in the center of town, Florence houses an impressive array of museums, sculptures, and cathedrals, most of which I skipped in lieu of the multitude of gelaterias which line every street corner. I'm not exactly sure how many gelatos a day it takes to kill a man but I think I might find out, as my blood is slowly being replaced by a thick, creamy, delicious, pistacio cream. I managed to take in a few sights between cups and cones. Florence is the home of Michelangelo's David, which was definitely worth the price of admission. At 17 feet tall, with a giant stone penis, David makes even the most well-endowed of men feel woefully inadequate. The skill of the carving is evident even to a layman such as myself. A plaque at the base, which I will paraphrase, reads: "once you have seen the statue of David, the absolute mastery involved in its creation, all other sculpture immediately become irrelevant". I have decided to take this literally, henceforth I will ignore all sculptures which cross my path. This shouldn't be much of a problem since the vast majority of sculptures tend to be helplessly immobile stone. I made Florence my home base for a few days while I explored the surround regions of Tuscany and Umbria. I visited the small hill towns of Cortona, Orvieto, Bagnoregio, and Civita. This was the real Italy; lonely cobblestone streets, amazing views of the countryside, blissful silence save the wind in the trees, and, without fail, gelato.

Civita was the highlight. Perched alone on a small spire of rock, much of the village has fallen into the deep canyon which completely surrounds it. Apparently the village architect and the village idiot were one and the same. Essentially an island in the sky, Civita is literally tethered to the mainland by a long, steep bridge. This umbilical cord sustains the dying town with a steady (but small) diet of tourists. Though the town can be thoroughly explored in about an hour, its Etruscan structures are mostly intact. A true gem of a city. Cortona was also a highlight. I had lunch with this real cool cat that I met there. I mean that literally, I had lunch with a cat. Alone, eating at a small outdoor restuarant that overlooked the town square, this stray comes ambling out of an alleyway. He spends most of my meal tempting fate by putting his paws up on the tablecloth looking for a bite to eat. I swat him away time and again but he remains at my side. Other patrons start to notice, some take pictures and laugh. My meal is finished and the table is cleared. I'm writing in my journal when he finally gains the tabletop. To the victor goes the spoils, so I gently pet him as he settles in. We sat there for another two hours or so, me writing in my journal, the cat possibly dreaming about candied mice or world domination. Maybe he just needed some company. Maybe I needed some too. Two lost souls were we.

I'm An American!

Cinque Terra, roughly translated, must mean the Five Terrors. Despite having an incredibly good time it seemed that I was dodging death at every corner. Cliff diving, sunburn, dehydration, Italian men, and finally......sea kayaking. The morning after I was the "cock in the poultry", two of the ladies (the Aussie Nicole and Coloradan Jesse) decided to do join me for some sea kayaking. We paddled along the shore away from the towns. Filthy with the detritus of countless motor boats the water cleared as we got farther from the port. Though I had heard there were beaches in the direction we were heading none were to be seen. The shore was a jumble of sharp, jutting rock and towering stone walls that rose straight up from the sea. It was quite beautiful. About twenty minutes out Nicole spotted what appeared to be a large cave, so we both paddled over for a closer look. Jesse kept her distance. It wasn't a cave at all, but merely a concave recession in the rock that had fallen into shadow, a small grotto. I paddled closer still. That was when I noticed a cut in the rock, a narrow passageway that at first looked like a dead-end. As I angled closer I caught a glimmer of light on the far side and got excited. I had spied a tunnel, approximately forty feet long and ten feet wide, that slowly narrowed to about three feet across before expanding back out to its full width and the sea beyond. Exuberant about my discovery I encouraged Nicole to follow me through. I paddled in as the rock walls narrowed around me. When I got to the choke point I could no longer use my paddle, needing to turn it parallel to the boat so I could squeeze through. The boat barely fit, so I was using my hands to work myself through the tightest spot, careful not to cut myself on the sharp rocks or barnacles. Dead-center of the choke, I paused, a big smile on my face, to turn back and see how Nicole was doing. She was close behind me... That was when the wave came rolling in. A large boat must have passed by outside, its wake pulsing silently across the surface towards us. Water, when forced through a narrow gap, generates a large amount of force. I braced myself against the wall, trying to keep my balance as the churning water rose furiously around us. Nicole, unable to hold on, dumped out of her boat into the swirling sea. I immediately realized the danger we were in. Though I can't remember my exact words, things being as they were, a chivalric grace apparently took hold, and, in my "strong U.S. accent" proclaimed: "Are you okay?!? Don't worry, I'm an AMERICAN, I'll get you out of here!!!!" God apparently appreciates poetic justice, for that was when the second wave hit. Much bigger than the first, the wall of water rushed into the passageway, a bubbling cauldron of froth and foam. My fear rose in tandem with the water level. I thought for certain I would either be dashed against the rocks or drowned as the water reached towards the ceiling. Losing my balance, I too fell from my boat. I could feel the raw power around me as I was bent to the water's will. As the wave receded I knew we needed to get out as quick as we could. I instructed Nicole to head out the way we came in and I continued through the passageway to the far side so we wouldn't get tangled up. Both the boats were swamped and dragging them was like trying to pull an elephant through a tar pit. Shaken, but not stirred, we both escaped rather unharmed. After an extremely tiring paddle to a pile of large rocks near the shore we slowly dumped the water out of the boats and managed to get back in. In adventure was over.

Four Guys, Five Towns

The five towns of the Cinque Terra sit in the northwest corner of Italy just along the coast. The colorful fishing villages built into the cliffs seem to tumble down the mountainside right to the water's edge, a procession of dominoes waiting to fall. The sea is a stunning, clear, aquamarine and you can clearly see schools of fish swim by from high above. I convinced a cadre of guys from Switzerland to join me in this endeavor and boy was it a blast. Sorry to disappoint you again Mom, but I can now definitively say that if all of my friends jumped off of a cliff I would to; from about forty feet up to be precise. The jump was in plain view of the train station and the first of us to go (Brooks) got a hearty round of applause from the curious onlookers. Me? I assumed the Jesus-on-the-cross-manuever as I fatefully plummeted to a hearty jellyfish sting. The four of us found a great place to stay after some Australian girls directed us to the apartment of an entertaining older gent named Antonio. The guy was a trip. On my last night there it was just me and five girls. When Antonio saw me in the morning he asked me how my night had gone with a sly smile on his face. With a thick Italian accent he laughed and remarked: "YOU were the cock in the poultry!!!" And I'll leave you with that! More Cinque Terra stories to come!


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Travel Tips For Jew - Train Travel
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Use the bathroom early on long-distance trains; at the start of the ride the bathrooms are relatively clean but by the end they look like they have been visited by a procession of terminally ill monkeys with explosive diarrhea. They would need to develop an entirely new language for me to accurately describe it.

Miss Swiss Loves Swiss Miss

Switzerland is ungodly amazing. I thought that Colorado was beautiful but Interlaken was like Colorado on steroids. The rugged mountains erupt straight out of the ground and tower overhead, rustic Swiss chalets sit comfortably in the unnaturally flat valleys between the peaks, and the cool mountain air breezes down the slopes and across the twin lakes between which the town is nestled. I nearly didn't leave. The weather was a little mixed over the course of my stay but when the sun came out the mountains were spectacular and I got my first good chance to work on a tan. After six years of cubicle work my skin had taken on the same white, pale glow as the fluorescent lighting under which I sat. The second day there it poured, so it seemed perfect for white water rafting. The heavy rain had swelled the river and the water was running fast, which was excellent in my opinion, though probably not my mother's. Fun was had by all. Only one boat flipped; the one carrying the four Korean girls who didn't know how to swim. One of the girls silently, and with nary an attempted dog paddle, swept down the river and out of sight around a bend (causing much panic amongst the guides) but they all managed to get out safety. On a calmer part of the river, our guide tried to get everyone to grab the underside of a bridge we were sliding under. The intent was really just to knock you out of the boat but I got a firm grip on one of the girders and swung a leg up to steady myself. As I dangled upside down and watched the boat rapidly recede into the distance, a yell from the guide prompted me to let loose into the icy blackness below. Immediately, my body painfully reminded me that six years of sitting on my ass in front of a computer screen was not going to go unpunished. I'm still not sure if it was the coldness of the water or just the strain of the swim but BOTH of my calf muscles seized in a gripping charley horse. As I waited for the paralyzing pain to subside a memory of an old home movie went through my head: "Steven, you're a lifeguard, save yourself!!!" (thanks Jordan). All I can say is thank God for life preservers, cause I was useless. After a few seconds my muscles were once again under my control and I swam for the boat without incident. Now if you've ever in Interlaken be sure to stay in the Backpacks Villa hostel, which is possibly the best hostel on earth. Comfy beds, hot showers, free breakfast, and a free pass to a local spa. After a long, cold day of rafting that spa was sounding pretty good. Amy and I decided to go, expecting a hot tub and maybe a nice pool. We were ill prepared for the unearthly Eden-like wonder of heavenly delights that tantalized the skin and salved the soul. Instead of opening the door to a mortal "spa" we instead swung open the gates to a parallel universe, where taming of the weary flesh is a way of life and every forbidden sin was availed before us. What I mean to say is, everyone was nude. But the nudeness was nothing when held up against the thirteen step progression of furious relaxation that awaited the accepting spirit who followed its path. A sign directed us and we meekly obeyed: begin with a cool shower; next enter the Biosauna, a cooler sauna with dim point lighting in the ceiling which subtly changed colors while a mesmerizing melody of chirping birds and crickets played in the background; enter the "special shower", so named for the four mysterious buttons, that, when pushed, either doused you from overhead with cool water, sent a painful jet stream of water right at your crotch from several angles, doused you with warm water, or surrounded you with an aromatic mist that smelled of baby powder; then go outside for a breath of chill mountain air; take a rest in one of the reclining chairs with a view of the rugged, snow capped peaks; now sweat in the traditional sauna, with its sweltering pile of hot rocks; humbly take an icy-cold, shriveling shower; rest again; enjoy a soothing footbath; enter the steam room, stiflingly hot and filled with a vaporized inhalant that smelled a bit like Vick's VapoRub; take another icy shower; rest for one last time; finally, relax in the luke warm whirlpool and dip you body under the massaging waterfall in the center while arching your back like a supermodel. Wow. Life is good. I did some other things in Switzerland, like actually hiking through the Alps, eating chocolate, and meeting some of the most amazing people I have ever met (whom I will write more about in the future), but the SPA. That's all I have to say.

Paris, Part Deux

Tis true, I headed back to Paris. Why, you ask? Three reasons, actually. The first was to rendezvous with a girl I had met in Bath at the beginning of my trip. Go ahead and pull your minds right out of the gutter because I have fillings that are older then this girl. She was just another solo traveler like myself and I thought it would be fun to speak English for a change. Second: I missed a few things the first time around, notably a close up look of the Eiffel Tower and the Palace of Versailles and I really wanted to see both. Thirdly, I wanted to shake the trip up a little bit. Part of the fun of the Eurail pass is getting to go where you want, when you want, and I wanted to take advantage of that by not following a set path. Mission accomplished. Paris was fun the second time around as well. I got to see the Eiffel Tower and Versailles as prescribed, as well as the Bastille and the Pantheon (not to be confused with the Parthenon or the Pentagon). The Eiffel tower wasn't really quite as tall as I expected so I dropped in a comment card suggesting they add another deck. Versailles, on the other hand, was bigger then I thought it would be and decorated with an opulance normally reserved for dead Pharoahs. There are so many rooms in that place that you can spend a night in a different room for an entire YEAR and still not sleep in them all. Honestly, we just kind of breezed through Paris on the way to Switzerland.