Note to self: read the signs near the train station

To this point in the trip, we'd been calling ahead to make reservations at hostels and pensions based on the guidebook's recommendations. After twice finding ourselves with reservations at less than desireable places, we decided the thing to do was arrive early, look at several places, then stay at the best one. This plan works great, unless you find yourself in the Cinque Terre on the Italian Rivera at 5:30 on a Saturday night...

After searching two of the five towns in the dwindling twilight without success, we arrived on the train platform in Riomaggiore, deciding we would try one last town before moving on to unromantic, but booming, La Spezia, the city up the road. It was now 8:30 or so, and nearly dark. Actual homelessness was fast becoming a reality when out of the darkness stepped an oddly dressed, shrunken Italian woman bearing a piece of paper reading "15€," certainly a bargain for a room in the Cinque Terra.

The price caught our eye, and we followed her up the street to her hostel. What we didn't notice was the large sign on the wall suggesting it was unwise to trust anyone who may approach you with accommodations at the train station, "...as they are almost absolutely inadequate." This proved to be the case. However, we had few options at this point.

The woman, a well-known local figure named Mamma Rosa, led us to a room that hadn't been cleaned since fascism was overthrown and a shower down the hall that was actually basically outside. The beds had more in common with hammocks than anything we'd seen thus far. We took one look at the situation and determined a large quantity of wine was in order. Turns out, wine can be had for pretty cheap, and a liter and a half will help you overlook a few health code violations.

The album cover

At the Nachmarket in Vienna...

A Viennese Conversation

Standing in front of one of many wurst stands in Vienna, the four of us are discussing the genius of the Viennese "hot dog," which consists of a baguette from which a core sample is removed lengthwise from the center and a sausage inserted along with mustard and ketchup. Matt, currently stationed in Texas, makes the following observation:

Matt: Dude, in Texas you can wrap anything in a tortilla and people will eat it. Anything, it doesn't matter what it is. (Looks around, says in a very PC voice) ...well, at least the non-whites would eat it.

Jeff: Hey, you can say racists things, we're in Germany.

Megan: Dude, we're in Austria.

Jeff: Whatever.

Path of travel

Hello, all! Just a quick update on our whereabouts, more hilarity to follow. After Budapest, we moved on to three short days in Vienna, Austria, which turns out to be the European launchpad for Starbucks. Very surreal. We took the brief train trip from Vienna to Bratislava, Slovak Republic, which felt a world apart. A quick plane flight brought us to Italy, where we've been enjoying the Lakes District and the Cinque Terre. Tomorrow morning we're on another flight, this one to Seville, Spain, where we'll put down some relative roots for a month or so. When we get settled, we'll fill you in on the missing bits with pics and stories.

Who can say no to a meatcream sandwich?

Sometimes the menu descriptions leave a little to be desired...

Keeping up foreign relations

Prior to arriving in Budapest, we arranged an apartment with a well-recommended guesthouse for ourselves and our friends Matt and Jeff, who were meeting us there the next day. The agreed price was 20 Euro/person. After arriving at the "apartment," it became clear the reviews were, ah, generous. It is sufficient to say the Hungarian definition of "clean" proved inadequate. We decided not to stay another night and went upstairs to cancel the remainder of our reservation. The rest went something like this:

Brandon: I am very sorry, but we have decided not to stay. Can we please pay you for the room last night and collect our passport from you?

Crazy Hungarian Lady: You not stay!? You pay 50 Euro!

B: But we agreed that the price was to be 20 Euro per person. I will gladly give you 40 Euro.

CHL: You promise to stay three night. Now you go - you pay extra!

B: But you did not ask for a deposit - there was no reservation!

CHL: This is because I have confidence in guest. Now my confidence go POOF! (Makes corresponding "poof" gesticulation)

B: You are holding our passport for ransom. This is very unfair. I will give you 45 Euro.

CHL: This is not Turkish bazaar! You pay 50 Euro!

B: (After much deliberation) Fine, but I am writing Lonely Planet a letter.

So after some discussion, we decided it was worth 10 Euro not to spend the afternoon in the US Embassy explaining the situation. The second apartment was much nicer.

Southwest Airlines, German Style

It's long been our observation that no one likes lining up like Americans like lining up. Neat, orderly and sensible, the line clearly establishes one's place in the world at that moment. Who gets fries next, who gets to pay for milk next, who gets to sit in the front row are all dictated by a first-come-first-served policy that gives appropriate preference to those who had the good sense to plan ahead and arrive in a punctual manner, or to those who chose the right line, also known as "line karma." Great disfavor falls upon anyone who seeks to thwart the natural order of the line, who seeks to better his position in the world to the disadvantage of others in the line. Indeed, Walt Disney felt disregarding the inviolability of the line was an offense punishable by removal from the line, and for egregious cases, from the park.

While many nationalities are known for their inability to grasp and employ the line concept, Germans seem to like order and logic far more than the next guy. An early morning stroll through the streets of Bacharach, one stop on our route, revealed an ancient German woman stooped with whisk broom in hand, mercilessly removing invisible dirt from the innumerable cobblestones in front of her impeccably maintained home. Such order and logic was our expectation upon arriving at the Frankfurt-Hahn airport Sunday morning to catch a flight on Wizz Air, one of Europe's many low-cost airlines.

One-way fare from Frankfurt to Budapest for two of aprx. $60 doesn't buy you much in the way of amenities. One noticeably lacking was assigned seating. Now, anyone who has taken a Southwest Airline flight knows that unassigned seats bring out the most aggressive form of American line etiquette, with those desperate for good seats lining up at the designated place an hour in advance of the flight or more. Unsure what to expect, we arrived in plenty of time to ensure a good seat.

Upon arriving at the gate, a half dozen passengers waited in the chairs for the flight to board. It seemed classic German politeness and order reigned. Unsuspecting, we took a seat and read the last precious English-language magazine left from our stop at Ramstein. Others arrived and took a seat as well, chatting amongst themselves. Shortly, an employee appeared and walked to the gate, reaching for the intercom phone. The elderly woman relaxing to my left sprung into action. Astonished, we sat and watched as the entire population of the room surged forward, pressing against the unopened gate like teenagers at a Metallica concert. It seemed any form of abuse was fair game, as young and old alike could barely refrain from biting and gouging each other in their panic to best their fellow travelers. Personal space be damned, the crowd pressed chest to back. A cardigan-clad middle aged woman, head down in a determined manner, drove her elbow under our ribs and battered her way to the front. No lines were in sight, only a surging semi-circle of passengers stumbling, shoving, using baggage as battering rams. Madness ensued. When the gate opened, the mass surged forward, multiple people trying to enter at once.

Unprepared and unwilling to batter the elderly (notably, the worst offenders,) we ended up near the rear of the mass as it spilled onto the tarmac and rushed toward the plane. Once outside, bony elbows soon proved no match for youth and comparatively long legs, and we shortly found ourselves enjoying a window seat in row 2, flabbergasted but victorious. It seemed our line karma was with us that day.

Baden-Baden

Our last few days in Germany took us to Baden-Baden, http://www.baden-baden.de/, a spa town brimming with Gucci, rat terriers, and French women in various stages of surgically-induced preservation. All the guide books say that if you're in Baden-Baden, you must try the baden. "Bad" is the German word for bath. If you're in southern Germany, it also refers to the thermal baths where Germans and curious tourists can congregate to "take the cure" in the mineral-rich waters the locals have been enjoying since Roman times. Of the two baths in Baden-Baden, we chose the Roman-Irish bath, an elaborate two-hour spa you can read about here: http://friedrichsbad.tripod.com/.

Sooo... let's just say that perhaps we should have taken the "Roman" in Roman-Irish a bit more seriously. But traveling is all about being open to new things, right? It should suffice to say that there are those among us whose, ah, entirety is best left to the imagination. It was a quiet evening back at the hotel, where we agreed never to speak of it again. Somethings are best left unsaid.

castles, castles everywhere!

After three whole days of jet lag, back on our feet.

Unfortunately, didn´t get a photo of the 14-wein tasting we enjoyed in Bacharach, our overnight stop in the Rhein/Mosel Valley region. The 800-yr old Burg Eltz castle is a history-buff´s delight and €14 well spent.

The upgrade from the Ford Fiesta to the next car would also have been €€ well spent... 130km/hr on the Autobahn is not looked upon kindly by German motorists. I fear the hamster that powers it may be on his last legs.

Currently enjoying Rothenburg on our way to Baden-Baden in the Schwarzwald, more pics to follow.

Germany! Only a little worse for wear

Soooo... our love affair with AMC flights has paled a bit. After 11+ hours in the Charleston passenger terminal, got on a C-17 to Ramstein. The upside? We're here! Total travel expenditure to date: $14.20. The downside? Spent 8 hours in the belly of a cargo plane on those little seats that fold out of the bulkhead. Total time without sleep: 31 hours. Food consumed by each travel team member while awaiting or during transit: one bowling alley hotdog; 1/2 order bowling alley onion rings; one bag Doritos or similar; one soda; one bottle South Carolina water with slight dirt taste.