Prague

I arrived in Prague on Wednesday after bawling my eyes out for four hours while finishing Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close on an otherwise pleasant train ride from Berlin.

Prague has been almost disappointingly normal. I've heard more English in this city than in Amstedam and Berlin combined as the streets are nearly 100% filled with American tourists. I don't feel like I'm in Prague, I feel like I'm at Epcot. I can't imagine living here.

My first night in town, Dan picked me up from the train station and took me out to meet some of his friends. Unlike Ben, all of Dan's friends are Americans so my experience with them was completely different from my experience with Ben's friends in Berlin. The next day, I was out wandering the city (lost, actually) when I heard someone say, "... Laurie?" I looked up and it was Dan's roommate! An hour later, I was sitting in a tea shop when a couple walked in and I looked up and it was Dan's friends Dave and Petra. Seriously bizarre.

Yesterday was cold and drizzly and uncomfortably windy which made for unpleasant getting lost weather. Unfortunately, that's exactly what I did and the whole day ended up being kind of a bust as a result. Today I'm armed with a map and written directions.

Last night, Dan and I went to dinner at a "traditional" Czech restaurant (which was suspiciously frequented by only Americans). We're both vegetarian which kind of limits your options since most of Czech cuisine seems to involve things like "pig knuckles". I ate fried camembert cheese with tartar sauce and fried potatoes. We followed up this healthy treat with Lion bars which are candy bars that are apparently too delicious to be legally sold in the United States. It's basically a Kit Kat bar wrapped in a Snickers bar wrapped in a Crunch bar. I thought I was going to be sick.

At dinner, we decided to sit outside because it was such a beautiful evening but about ten minutes after sitting down, the restaurant was hit by some sort of hurricane. The video below doesn't appropriately depict the EXTREME DRAMA of the situation. The roof almost blew off, I'm not kidding you.



Anyway, ten minutes later it was over and we were treated to a beautiful rainbow over the city as compensation.



Tonight is Dan's goodbye party (he's moving back to the States on Sunday) and then tomorrow I'm off to Krakow.

The Center of the Universe

Ben gave me a copy of Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close in exchange for my copy of Special Topics in Calamity Physics and there couldn't be a book in the world that more perfectly fits my feelings right now. There are certain books and certain songs and certain films that fit against our hearts like puzzle pieces and this book fits almost too perfectly as I've spilled tears on at least one page out of every three. Today I was reading about the Dresden bombings, cheeks salty with tears, when I looked up and realized that we were sitting at the Dresden train station.

There are so many things that I never think about.

Last night, sitting in the darkened kitchen, clock ticking heavily, we were discussing global warming and the end of the world and Ben asked me what consumes my thoughts when I'm alone. I couldn't tell him the truth and I couldn't tell him a lie so I didn't say anything at all. The world is larger than myself and it's taken me twenty-five years to notice.

Adventure in Berlin

A few days ago, in the Van Gogh museum, I was suddenly struck from nowhere with the thought of a swimming pool elevator, shaped like a cylinder. For three solid seconds, I could think of nothing else and was in fact obsessed with seeing this imaginary thing.

Yesterday, Ben mentioned to me off-hand that there is a cylinder-shaped elevator here in Berlin and it is filled with water. I nearly fell over. I've told this story to Ben three times now but he still fails to be impressed by the coincidence.

Ever since I arrived in Berlin, several times a day as we pass a building, I find myself wondering if it's a hospital. This random obsession with hospital locations gave me slight concern. I don't believe in signs really but what if this was some strange cosmic cross-wire that allowed me to foresee an emergency in which I would have to find a hospital here in Berlin.

Today, Ben and I found ourselves rushing to the hospital. The emergency mission was to rescue a potted plant for Ben's roommate's mother. It's probably best if I don't explain.

On the way to the hospital, we were nearly run over by a Turkish wedding and then we were nearly run over again by a runaway parade float. Today has been an adventure.

The problem with not understanding German (although I do understand sometimes and it's extremely exciting although the only things I ever understand are things like "These are nice windows" and "There is cheese in the refrigerator") is that I sometimes laugh at inappropriate times like when the six of us were piled into Markus's tiny little car and we were hurtling through the narrow, rainy streets of Berlin and Markus mentioned that we were driving into oncoming traffic but he said it in a funny voice so I laughed. Sometimes ignorance is bliss.

Speaking of which, I've had a vaguely psychotic-looking smile plastered to my face since I arrived in Berlin and I'm not sure if it's dazed confusion or abject happiness. Maybe it's something in between.

Berlin

You know how when you play a video game and then you stop, you can sometimes see it in your head when you try to go to sleep? That's how I feel except that whenever I'm someplace quiet, I hear French and German voices banging around in my head. Except that I don't think they're actually saying anything because I don't know French or German.

It's humbling, by the way, to be out with a group of people who speak a combined total of probably 87 languages but they're all speaking English, which isn't their first language or probably even their favorite, just so that you can understand what everyone's ordering for dinner. Maybe humbling isn't the right word. Maybe it's embarassing.

On my way to Berlin, I spent the first two hours thinking that I was on the wrong train or that I had the wrong ticket and I started imagining how, when they threw me off the train, I might have to live out the rest of my days in the Dutch countryside, foraging for food and sleeping in windmills. When the man finally came and checked my ticket, he just smiled and handed it back to me and moved on. I was almost disappointed.

Here are a few things that I can tell you about Berlin:

First, it is nothing like Amsterdam. Amsterdam is cozy and sweet and Berlin is neither of those things, although not necessarily in a bad way.

Secondly, it is nothing like New York. Berlin has almost no car traffic at all and seems to be almost entirely made of grass. New York is neither of those things, although not necessarily in a bad way.

Thirdly, anything and everything in Berlin can be and is a discotheque. This includes drugstores, power plants, and a fast food restaurant called The Flying Sausage. I told Ben that this would be my angle for this blog post but that's actually all I have to say about it.

Today we bought vegetarian chicken cordon blue from a farmer's market.

Ben's roommate and friends are all alarmingly nice and funny and smart and I've spent a lot of time feeling dumb and self-conscious. I'm hoping this trip will be a Defining Experience that makes me finally, after twenty-five years of abject laziness (note that I've managed to use the word 'abject' in two blog posts in a row and this time I'm using it incorrectly), to finally learn a language besides English. French seems like a good place to start since a lot of people speak it and it's kind of like English and then maybe next time a cute French guy asks me 'Parlez-vous francais?', I can say 'Oui'.

Last Day in Amsterdam

I'd like to live here someday. This city feels like something you want to be part of instead of something you just peer at through the thick, smudgy glass of tourism.

I had an hour to kill today at Amsterdam Centraal so I ordered a smoothie of indeterminate contents at Shakie's. I somehow managed to entirely avoid bringing a change purse to Europe so all of my Euro coins are jangling freely in my purse, begging to be liberated (and I'm sure a few of them have been). As I dumped my change on the counter, one of the coins (to my abject horror) rolled off the counter and into a pitcher of fresh juice.

The woman next to me gasped, then laughed. I was mortified. I instantly launched into a loud American whine rendition of the familiar classic "Oh my gooooosh! I'm sooooooooo soooorry!" The cashier, to her credit, simply offered a classy smile and a "no worries" and then dumped out the juice and handed me back my Euro, now coated in a delightful combination of fresh organic orange and apple juice.

Five minutes later, making my way through the train station and still recovering from my extreme mortification, an attractive guy in his late twenties stopped me, presumably to ask for directions.

"Excuse me, do you speak French?"

I smiled apologetically and and shook my head. "I'm sorry, only English."

"Oh," he said with a smile, "Well, you are very beautiful."

My jaw dropped and I stood there for probably a full second before stammering an insightful, "Oh."

AND THEN HE WALKED AWAY.

My jaw remained in the fully dropped position for at least thirty seconds before I recovered. As a member of the fairer sex, I'm no stranger to the "Heyyyyyy, gorgeous" (usually drawled from a car window), the "Got a boyfriend?" (usually inquired by a fellow passenger on public transportation), and even the rarer awkward-wall-lean-with-stammer at a party. But this may have been my first acquaintance with the hot-French-guy-just-wants-me-to-know-I'm-beautiful-and-then-walks-away.

Ten minutes later, it occurred to me that I'd probably been pickpocketed.

I checked.

Everything's there.

Have I mentioned that I love the French?

In Which I Fall in Love with Amsterdam

Last night, I ended up getting very lost. Not cute, adventurous lost but in-a-torrential-downpour-and-it's-getting-dark lost. I was finally aided by a shopkeeper named Ricardo who pulled out actual maps and phonebooks to help me, all the while asking many a question about my "boyfriend in America".

Today, the weather is beautiful and I had whole wheat toast with Dutch nutella and a hardboiled egg for breakfast. On my way to the Anne Frank house (which I almost found by myself), I got a bit turned around and had stopped in the middle of the sidewalk with my nose in a map like a dolt. A woman walked up to me and asked if I needed any help. What I think she actually said was "Something?" accompanied by a helpful facial expression.

I told her that I was trying to find the Anne Frank house (which I pronounce "Ay-n Fray-nk" in my nasal American accent) and she said, "Oh, yes, the Anne Frank house," except she said it in Dutch and then she said (also in Dutch) that she didn't speak much English. She then proceeded to give me directions IN DUTCH which was amazing. The reason it was amazing is that I felt like I was having an actual conversation with someone instead of just being a jerk who makes people talk in English to her. The best part is that I totally understood what she was saying and then I said 'Thank you' and she said 'You're welcome' (I think) and then I said 'Have a nice day' and she said something friendly in Dutch and we went our separate ways.

HOW AWESOME IS THAT?

So anyway, at 8,50 Euro, I thought the Anne Frank house was a little disappointing. There was a line outside and the inside felt surprisingly sterile and commercial. It was a lot of video installations but they don't have any of the original furniture so maybe they've done the best they can.

There were two things I liked about the Anne Frank house. The first is that the staircases were so steep you had to climb them like ladders and the second is that they had her actual diary in a case. It was bright pink plaid and I wondered if someone had given it to her as a gift or if she picked it out herself.

I got lost again today but this time it wasn't drowned rat lost, it was delicious, wondrous lost. If you took the feeling of being curled up on a couch by the window with a cup of tea and you turned that feeling into a whole city, that would be Amsterdam. It's cozy and charming and today I wandered aimlessly through narrow cobblestone streets and the whole world was quiet as a church except for the occasional snatch of conversation or peal of laughter that drifted through an open doorway like a windchime.

Day 3 of 60

Saturday was my first international flight so I'm not sure if this is typical but my six hour Air India flight included two full meals, about 73 Bollywood movies, and an actual staircase. I don't mean that there were steps, I mean there was an actual upstairs. My aislemate, who is a pilot in India so I guess he would know, told me that our plane could seat over 400 people. Amazing.

On the downside, my flight was three hours late and I didn't sleep a wink. On the bright side, my amazing friend Anna braved the A train to hang out with me at JFK during my endless layover.

I expected London to be New York with a British accent but it actually didn't remind me of New York at all. It might be the prettiest city I've ever seen and the people, besides abiding by some county ordinance that requires everyone to be supermodel gorgeous and exquisitely dressed, seemed extraordinarily kind and laidback. There was some weird issue on the tube that required us all to change trains four times before we finally left the station and no one fumed, no one threatened to sue. Everyone just laughed about it.

I took a ferry from London to Amsterdam and it was lovely. I had my own cabin and it was tiny but it was my first chance in two days to sleep and shower and I've never slept better. In the morning, I ate scrambled eggs, morning sun blinding my left eye as my right eye watched Holland approach through the starboard window.

Amsterdam is charming and I don't think there's a better word for it. Although I have to say that despite everyone's assurance that "everyone in Amsterdam speaks English" I have not found that to be the case at all. I've barely heard a word of English since I arrived here and actually that's alright with me. I'd much rather perform some elaborate pantomime to order my lunch than have someone pander to my ignorance and speak English to me.

Within about an hour of arriving in London, I made the first in what is sure to be a long line of embarassing missteps. This particular error involved me giving a barista a $6 tip on a $4 cup of coffee. Note to self: make sure you understand local currency before spending it.

My second error was actually made back in the States when I thought it would be a good idea to put my train tickets in my journal and then take my journal out of my backpack. This is actually perfect because if there's one thing I love, it's spending the same $150 twice. Oh wait, I don't love that at all.

Actually, I've been taking this all in stride so far. I laughed when I realized I'd spent $10 on a cup of coffee, I took a deep breath and exhaled when I realized I'd left my train tickets at home, and when the zipper on my backpack broke, I just gritted my teeth for ten minutes until I fixed it.

That's not to say that everything's peachy. In normal life, most of your day is spent doing things that are easy, so easy you barely even think about them. Alone in an unfamiliar country, it's just the opposite-- everything you do is hard. Grocery shopping is hard. Ordering a coffee is hard. Riding the bus is hard. Using an ATM is hard. Even just walking down the street seems harder than it should be. Nearly every moment since I touched down in London, I've been lost, confused, or in someone's way and usually all three at once.

That said, I don't imagine I'll feel this way every day for the next two months. I believe things will even out and I'll find a rhythm here.

Until next time.

Cross-Country Drive

I arrived in Florida on Friday, in one piece and enormously impressed with myself. I sunburned within approximately 30 seconds of crossing the Florida border, please forgive me if I ever complained about the heat in Madison. Or the traffic. Humidity and traffic jams aside, it feels good to be back here. There's something to be said for the place that raised you.

The drive was long and mostly uneventful. On Thursday, I drove through Illinois (in which I spent approximately three hours trying to find my friend Malka's apartment), Indiana (in which you can turn your head to the left and see clear across the state), Kentucky (in which I fell in love with Louisville from the interstate), and finally Tennessee.

I stayed the night at a motel of questionable repute in Murfreesboro. A motel which the night clerk informed me offered such surprising amenities as a swimming pool and free breakfast. The pool turned out to consist of about 3 inches of slime and broken concrete and the breakfast was all the watery coffee and stale mini donuts I could eat. I was hungry so I ate two.

The breakfast room was divided down the middle-- one side was linoleum and folding tables and the aforementioned stale donuts. The design scheme of the other side could best be described as 'Demented English Tea Parlour'. It featured a dizzying floral carpet in a shade of fuschia that cannot and should not be found in nature along with several wingback chairs with a similar pattern and color scheme. It was kind of amazing.

I arrived at my parents' house on Friday night. It's funny because flying here is a bit like teleporting and seems perfectly normal but driving here feels awfully strange. I guess I never realized before that these two places are connected and that roads run between them.

It's a good thing to realize.

Cross-Country Drive

p.s. Did I mention that I'm leaving the country in five days?