So how does this fairy tale end?

Well, I end up back at the scene of the crime- Frankfrut (MAIN) airport. I arrive with 1.5 hours to get through security. It takes me exactly 1.5 hours to do so. There was about four checkpoints and at EACH one I was the lucky duck chosen to get the thorough search (i.e. molestation), which included taking off my tevas so they could run the metal detector across my foot. Good job boys. They also swabbed my flip flops for freakin’ anthrax and continued to place the samples and my tevas in a scary little oven- which I’m pretty sure could read my DNA.

The final checkpoint was at 9:30- I had forty minutes before my flight took off and I could see the gate ahead of me. I could also see about 200 people ahead of me, in no sort of line, to be searched (again). I don’t know what they thought we might have purchased in the duty-free shoppes. Poisonous chocolate? A killer teddy bear? There certainly wasn’t anything lethal.

I felt like we were concentration camp prisoners. We were all cramped together in this small space and there were four German “guards” shouting at us to “remain behind the yellow line!” Apparently, if you cross over, they have the right to shoot you on the spot. Around 10am, I am no closer to the front and am growing anxious (and quite bitchy) about the whole process. The guard is still yelling at us, “BEHIND THE YELLOW LINE,” and this Spaniard yells out “Are you crazy?!” To which the guard replies, “YES! Stay behind the yellow line!” Ok buddy. I decide, at 10:05, that I will cut to the front and tell them I need to get the helloutathere. I approach the man.

Listen, I have a flight in five minutes. I need to leave. Can I go now??

“MAN TO MAN, WOMAN TO WOMAN. DO I LOOK LIKE A WOMAN TO YOU??

What the hell? I have no idea. Apparently, only the female guards can check the female passengers. She puts my carry-on through and it beeps. Of course. 10:06

“Do you have any scissors?” 10:07

No! I threw them away like an hour ago!

She then makes this weird hand gesture, like she’s drawing tweezers in the air. I had tweezers in my bag, but I was going to be damned before I let them have them.

Tweezers?? No, I don’t have any tweezers. 10:08

She continues the hand gesture…

10:09

Finally, she says, “Eiffel Tower. You have Eiffel Tower keychain?”

You want to see my EIFFEL TOWER KEYCHAIN??!!

“Yes.” 10:10

Ohmygod. Fine.

I show them the alleged “weapon” and they let me through. It turns out that everyone else was stuck in the nazi camp too, so I didn’t miss the flight.

Back in Miami it took me approximately 5 minutes to get through customs. I attribute this to the fact that the officer was Hispanic and thought that I, too, was Hispanic.

I knew that would come in handy one day.

London was very cool. Bonnie and stayed there for five days and barely saw all of the city. This was particularly annoying for me because I am so used to doing a whirlwind tour of a place in one to two days- I was not used to lounging around. As a result, we ended up lounging around WAY too much and Bonnie didn’t even get to see the changing of the guard. Which, by the way, is a huge tourist trap, it was like a freakin’ circus there. All I could hear was Scottish pipes- and I definitely didn’t see the damn guards switch. What they really need is to prop the guards and musicians onto floats, like Disney. Again, me and the Disney references. This has to end.

I saw two plays, one starring Woody Harrelson (ooohh, aaahhh) and Kyle McLaughlin (Charlotte’s ex, Trey, from Sex and the City). It was called “On an Average Day,” and I really liked it. The other was a musical called “Kiss Me Kate,” also good.

We hit all the major spots and our faves were The Tower of London, where the crown jewels are kept, and Kensington Palace, where Diana’s dresses are on display. We took one day trip, to Oxford and Stratford-upon-Avon. Bonnie and I received our first “moron” lesson when we asked for directions to Oxford University. Are we the only ones who had no idea that it’s actually a dozen colleges that fall under the umbrella of the Oxford University name? So there’s not really a campus that’s just Oxford University, basically there’s tons of different little colleges that I have never heard of. Stratford, where Shakespeare was born, is a hidden jewel in England. Ok, enough about “Shakespeare really didn’t write those plays,” because I could care less. On my very last day in Europe I had stumbled upon my new home. This small town has it all- 24 hour groceries, Mickey D’s AND Burger King, and a downtown shopping area that could certainly compete with Winter Park (if not beat it). Plus, all the houses look like they belong in a storybook or, more likely, Pleasantville (don’t get me started on how this relates to Disney’s Celebration. I am convinced that place is pure evil). It was definitely worth the visit. We ate at our last pub, called The Dirty Duck. Ha, I read about it in “Let’s Go Europe” and I swear that I thought the name was “Dirty Dick.” Bonnie’s like, “freudian slip perhaps?” when we saw the real sign. THEN, when it showed up on my bank statement, it came up as Dirty Dick. I’m not kidding. My mind is not playing tricks on me.

The British Museum was sucky…Bonnie couldn’t handle the immense crowds and I have a thing against Egyptian art. I was telling Kevin the other day, I wish I could borrow my friends’ brains at certain times; such as the museum, when having Kevin’s would have allowed me a new respect and admiration for the art there. I talked with a girl on the way to the airport in Frankfurt, she had spend the summer interning in Bosnia. Again, having Matt’s brain would have provided for some very interesting conversation. As it was, I had to focus on the fact that she was originally from Florida and we have a common friend that attended Stetson. This girl is also going to school in Boston,

Where at?

“Well, actually, it’s not really in Boston, it’s in Cambridge. I go to Harvard?”

She states this in the form of quasi-question, as if it is wrong of her to assume that I have heard of it before. Another strange thing, students at Harvard are very particular when it comes to saying that it’s in Cambridge and not Boston. Ha, I was trying to think of a word to call someone that attends Harvard, like saying that you are a Floridian if you are from Florida. I ask Matt:

What do you call someone that goes to Harvard?

“Smart?”

Exactly.

There are two airports in Frankfurt and they are approx. two hours away from one another. I did not know this until I showed up, at the wrong one, for my flight to London.

The group left Innsbruck at 3am Saturday morning, so we could take a bus to Munich (where the group flight was leaving from). I was then to take a train to Frankfurt, where my flight was leaving at 6pm that evening.

The students decided on the ingenius plan of staying up all night, celebrating, because it would be a waste to sleep for an hour or two. Can you just see the alarms sounding off in my head?? I had horrible visions of them being passed out at the Hoftgarten as I frantically called out roll on the bus. As it turned out, the buddy system worked out pretty well and all the drunken kids made it onboard, led by one sober buddy.

I made it to the Frankfurt (Main) airport around 12:30 on Sat. I was really tired because 1) I had no sleep and 2) I was draggin around 6 weeks worth of luggage by myself. My suitcase was 70lbs, my backpack was at least 40lbs and I had this crappy shopping bag that kept falling apart. All of this was dragged around Germany, up and down stairs (and, when I was lucky, escalators).

I am six hours early for my flight but have decided to be responsible. So I am at the airport and ask the info guy where the Ryanair terminal is-To which he replies, “it is not in this airport.”

WHAT?!?

This deserves a paragraph unto its own. I have never heard the sound of my own voice before, but I swear to you when he told me this, I felt myself say the word, it resonated in my throat.

OH YES IT IS.

“No, no, it is in the Frankfurt (Hahn) airport, there is a bus that takes you there, it is about two hours away.”

Basically, it is the equivalent of saying that the DeLand airport is the Jacksonville (DeLand) airport. That’s how far away this Hahn place is. So technically, there is only ONE airport in Frankfurt, because the other one is freakin’ nowhere near the city. Also, the bus to Hahn left at 12:30 (it was now 12:40) and I would have to wait three hours for the next one.

This truly sucks because my flight back from London is to the stupid Hahn airport- and my flight back to Miami that same morning is from the Main one. There is absolutely no way I will be able to make the Miami flight if I use Ryanair to return. Great, I have to buy another ticket.

I tried using one of those luggage carts to push my stuff around…but decided against it when my luggage almost fell on me as I went up the escalator. This should have been an omen to me. I got rid of the silver cart, was going up another escalator, thinking to myself how much I hated Frankfurt and how idotic I was to think that “Hahn” meant “Main” in German, when I hear this girl behind me shriek.

My suitcase was falling towards her.

Her boyfriend, next to her, sees this and says, as if in slow motion:

“Nnnnoooooooo.”

As he says this, he reaches out his hand to stop the bag. However, at this point, I have already grabbed the suitcase (and said a few obsenities), and am apologizing profusely. They don’t even hear me and the boyfriend consoles the girl who seems to be whimpering. Mind you, the stupid thing came nowhere close to hitting her.

I make it to Hahn, in the middle of nowhere, circa 5:15; I have exactly an hour ’til my flight. At the check-in, the lady tells me my suitcase weighs too much.

You’re tellin’ me.

She then lets me know that there is a fee for this: $90. To put this in perspective for you…I paid $45 for my ticket. What would these people do if I weighed 100 more pounds (no, this is not Southwest)? So, yes, I paid the stupid amount because I didn’t want to be stuck in BFE Hahn.

I made it to London– they have FOUR airports and the one I flew into was like 45 minutes from the city. I am never booking another flight without looking at the exact location of the airport.

Oh, at this airport, I have another falling incident. I am stepping onto the down escalator, I am on the level part (not even to the down angle yet), and I completely fall backwards along with all my luggage. There is this English guy behind me and he does not even flinch- doesn’t laugh, doesn’t move, doesn’t try to help me. I think I am more surprised by this than the fall. Meanwhile, I have launched myself right up and am laughing hysterically. Don’t these English have a sense of humor?

I find my way to Paddington station, and find a lovely Italian teacher to help me lug my stuff up MULTIPLE suitcases. Multiple. I am now three hours late to meet Bonnie at the hotel- she assumes that I have died somewhere in Germany. I tried to get a taxi cab, because I was so so lost, but the cabbie denied me, saying that the hotel was “right up the street.” What kind of cab driver doesn’t want a paying customer? And one that is so close by? I feel defeated. My arms are strained, I look and feel like hell, and it’s 11pm at night. Someone could have robbed me, especially since I was oblivious to the ghetto-ness around me, and I would have been happy to get rid of some of the weight.

I make it the hotel, and what do you know, they have no elevator. The nice hotel man carries my bags upstairs after I tell him, “I CANNOT carry these upstairs.”

I open the door to our room and find Bonnie, with her leg propped up. She has sprained her ankle. Oh dear lord.

When Caleb reccomended the hotel to us, he mentioned that the hallway “looks like the one from The Shining. Have you seen that movie?”

No, but I’ve seen clips from it.

He certainly didn’t mention the fact that it is the scariest place EVER to stay. It was a mix of:

The Shining - the scary hallway had only one light at the very end, plus the elevator had a padded wall and reinforced the psychward theme.

Tower of Terror ride at Disney - the decor was the original furniture from the 1890s, it looks so old. There was never anyone in the lounge area, always creepy and deserted.

Are You Afraid of the Dark - the hall bathroom had a big tub, with a zero water pressure hose, no shower curtain, and a window that leads to nowhere. Seriously, it opens up into a dark shaft with electric wires in the wall. Tell me that doesn’t scream “pyscho-murderer hiding space?!”

Clue - Again, the furniture was nice looking but very old. It reminded me of the Library from the boardgame.

Us three girls stayed in this haunted house for two nights. It had double doors, but only one set locked, and a set a stairs that lead straight into a wall. Very bizzare.

Thursday night we had dinner at a Greek place, another first. Friday and Saturday were chock full of shopping at the cool markets and checking out the sites. I bought some awesome (and cheap) artwork and a bunch of wooden tulip plants…don’t ask.

We ate SO MUCH there. It was so so good and yet very bad at the same time. On Friday and Saturday, we only had one meal, around 2pm, and after that we were stuffed for the rest of the day. We tried to eat dinner, but could only fit in a little dessert (always room for dessert). We were super excited about the TGI Friday’s that was there- it had a full English menu! The strawberry margaritas were fabulous and we were all happy to see the waiter wearing his 26+ pieces of flare.

I loved Prague. A lot. Food is super cheap…actually everything is super cheap. We took the “night train from hell” on Saturday night. We were bunking with four little Japanese girls (there was a huge group of them on the train). The Conductor comes to get our tickets and points to Julie’s wallet, which is hanging about a foot above her in the bunk. He tells her that she needs to keep it on her because there is a big threat from pickpocketers on the train. We thought it was a little strange, usually it’s your bunkmates that steal from you and we highly doubted that the Japanese girls were criminals. However, he then shows us this massive chain and padlock, which we are to use to lock the door after he leaves. The poor Asian girls were like “oh no! This is not good!”

Where are we exactly? Why won’t a simple doorlock suffice? We hear horror stories of how burglars funnel gas underneath your door, to knock you out, and then proceed to break-in and steal all your stuff. Julie and I get approximately zero sleep that night- due to extreme fear of being mugged, the fact that the train kept squeaking as if it might derail at any moment, and because the train police checked our tickets/passports about five different times.

No more night trains.

Ok, here’s the deal. I’m gonna talk to you about Vienna first, then Prague.

We left last Wednesday and I guess I remember the train ride going by a lot quicker; I certainly didn’t think it took 6 hours to get there. After this summer, I will never complain about the mediocre drive to Dothan, AL. We arrive that evening and find our hotel.

The good news: we have a nice English woman for a bunk mate.

The bad news: she is very disturbed because she has just witnessed a man shooting up his girlfriend with drugs, right down the street from our hostel.

Lovely. We ate dinner at an Indian restaurant, my first. Your taste buds change every seven years, I am a testiment to that. Until last year, I only ate american food and I was super-picky. My father would complain on family trips because my “only ketchup” hamburger from McDonald’s was “holding up the whole order!” Ha, looking back, I guess that was slightly annoying. At any rate, I have moved beyond chicken fingers and fries.

After dinner we went to the Vienna Fair, which features the World’s Oldest Ferris Wheel. The place was 10x cooler than St. Peter’s Carnival but it was also 10x freakier. We went into a Fun House that was a huge clown face; it was straight out of Nickelodeon’s “Are You Afriad of the Dark?” Plus, there were these weird carnie-people statues that were quite scary. The best thing was the Yellow Jump. You have individual trampoline rectangles, next to each other, but it’s made out of super trampoline material. It was the most fun I’ve had in years. You bounced up about 15 feet in the air, no problem. I was doing russians, like 12 in a row, it was exhilarating. Almost makes up for the sketchy subways on the way home..

Everyone stares at us here. I don’t get it. Is it my Adidas shorts? Julie’s sparkly sandles? Amanda’s blue eyes? No matter where we went in Vienna, especially the subway, people old and young, men and women, blatantly stared at us. It’s not like we were the only tourists or anything. It was a phenomenon the likes of which I have not encountered before or after that city. The best part of the subway was that they had tv screens in the cars- it was in German of course, but still, goodtimes. The news was called “What’s Up?” I don’t know why they have an English name and then proceed to show everything else in German.

On Thursday morning we went to some royal palaces. The best thing happened at the gift shop! I didn’t mention this before but I lost my Teddy Bear snowglobe this past semester- it was from Zurich, Switzerland and it was about as tall as a quarter. It was so tiny. I loved it. Anyhoo, when I went to Zurich, the first weekend here, I found the store they sell them at. But it was closed. These stupid people and their need to have Sundays off, Day of Rest, whatever. So yeah, no teddy snowglobe. A few other people were supposed to go to Zurich, but they failed. I was beginning to think I would never get the damn thing when there it was - is some small souvenir shop in the palace. I almost started jumping for joy. It’s the little things (literally) that make me happy.

Ha. The palace was alright, pretty boring, the “silver tour” was exceptionally blah. We left that afternoon for Prague, a four hour ride, in this musky, built in the 70s, no air and it’s raining outside, train. Bright red seats. Sweat stains on the headrest. Am I killing it for you? Yes, I think so.