TR: My time in Europe (Darn long)

[Chaostracize]

This TR is in the form of 6 mass e-mails I sent out while in Europe. I left sometime in August of last year and came back in December. I was just reading through them and thought I'd throw them on here, if anyone is interested.
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Hey guys-

As most of you know, I left the comfort of my home that is the US for the treacherous and desolate plains that is Europe. I got into New York the day before I left on the 18th and was still in the process of taking meds for the case of mono Phil so willingly imparted on me as a farewell present. I ended up having to wake up at 4:30 the next morning for my 7:30 flight. Fortunately the hotel had numerous amenities such as inactive internet service and $15 dollar movies. Word to the wise: Don't pay 15 dollars to watch the movie "Click". It will leave you feeling empty and used.

I ended up taking Virgin Airlines. Such a nice airline. They basically keep feeding you every half hour so by the end you are lying in your seat feeling like a lump of mashed potatoes. And of course I couldn't turn down anything they offered me, so I just felt sick by the end. I loved every second of it. As a side note, I was amazed that they had gotten literally every gay person in England to be a steward on that plane. (You should check it out, Hunter).

I arrived in Heathrow around 7:30ish and I knew Harriet was picking me up. What I didn't know was A. Harriet's telephone number and B. Harriet's address. I go up to customs like a student who had studied the wrong chapter for a test and answered every question as wrong as possible.

"How long are you here for?"

"I don't really know. A while. Indefinitely."

"Ok. Where are you staying."

"I'm not really sure. A friend is picking me up."

"Do you know your friend's telephone number?"

"No."

"What are your plans in England?"

"I'm just going to be here for a little over a week, then I'm going to Germany, then Prague."

"What are you doing there?"

"I'm enrolled in a school in Prague."

"Do you have any papers proving that?"

"No."

"How much money do you have on you?"

"$2,000"

"Could you have a seat over there, please?"

...ARGH.

The guy ends up calling on the loudspeaker for the people waiting for Josh Elliott to go to one of the airport phones to see if my story matched. I may be dumb, but I don't lie, so I eventually got through...

"Your friend and her boyfriend have confirmed what you told me. But if you were in America, you would not have been let in."

Yeah, yeah, I'm a dumb American and America sucks. I was surprised to hear that Harriet and Rory were dating, though. I inquired when I saw them, but they both said it wasn't true. I guess it's a matter of who you believe... an ENGLISH CUSTOMS AGENT or two students from uni. Exactly.

Hayley had made the trip as well, so for the next few nights I stayed with her in Huntingdon. I finally got to meet her boyfriend, Devon (really great guy...basically someone you'd imagine Hayley would be with) and watched my first game of Rugby. It was so exciting. The fact that I could buy beer at the field. The actual rugby game was kind of slow.

As it turned out there was also a European Poker Tour event in London within 2 days of arriving, so I thought I'd gamble a little and try to win myself a seat. I played one satellite (a tournament, where, if you win, you don't get a cash prize, you win a seat to a bigger tournament) and absolutely cleaned up. A nice 3500 pound win right off the bat. I could get used to this.

The tournament had 400 people in it, a number too large for the casino to host, so they split up Day 1 into two days. I was supposed to be there on the first Day 1 at 3 o'clock.

Now, Huntingdon is an hour long train ride and 5 minute underground ride to the casino, so I left at 12:30 thinking 2 and a half hours would be plenty of time. So, I arrive at King's Cross in London at 1:30 and everything's well. I have an hour and a half and I'm just about there.

I go to the wrong platform and almost get on the wrong train, but I realize this and ask someone where to go to get to Edgeware. I'm told the Northern Line, so that's where I go.

The Northern Line is set up like this: -----------
>-------X
Edgeware ---> -----------

Where X is King's cross and Edgeware is at the end of the bottom line. This didn't look at all familiar to how I got to Edgeware the day before, but I assumed there were multiple ways to get there. I soon realize that the train has taken the upward route, though. So, I figure that's fine. I'll go to the end of the route, get off and just hump it to Edgeware Rd and everything will be fine.

...45 minutes later and we're still on the train.

You'd think at some point it would dawn on me that this can't possibly be right. But I'd only made the trip once and I was thinking about other things.

Eventually the train stops and I get off and get a bus to Edgeware. Which is apparently still a half hour away. It's 2:30 at this point. If I'm lucky I should be able to get there right in time.

England has this law concerning poker tournaments, where if you're not there as soon as the tournament is starting then you don't get to play and you'll have your money refunded. The problem is, that since I didn't actually pay to get into the tournament, my seat was no refundable. I didn't know that.

We eventually get to Edgware at exactly 2:58. I book it off the bus and ask one of the guys in those pupil-contracting, neon-orange vests where the Old Victoria Casino is.

He looks at me like I'm a Dumb American.

I say, "On Edgeware. The casino."

He looks at me and slowly says, "This is Edgeware Station. Edgeware Road is 12 miles that way back in London."

Yes. That's right. I got lost going from London... to London.

I find myself a taxi and end up paying 25 pounds to get back to where I was about 2 hours ago.

In the taxi the driver says "Did they tell you how much this was going to be?"

"No."

How many more mistakes can I make in a day?

I arrive at the casino at 4, the tournament well on it's way.

I talk to the floor manager and he tells me he'll try to get me in the next day (but if I wasn't able to then I would be out 3500 pounds).

That was a stressful night, but everything ended up being ok as someone didn't show up so I was able to play.

Lasted about 7 and a half hours. Was chip leader by dinner time and within a half hour after dinner I was back to where I started (after some new guy decides to make a move on me with 64s, re-raising me preflop and betting slightly over 10,000, putting himself all in, into a pot of 4400...the flop was 9s7c3s and I instantly call with my JJ... he turns his flush and I can't river my higher one... gah). I go card dead for 3 hours, playing maybe 4 hands. I eventually make a stand when I know I've got the best hand in a small blind vs big blind battle with my monster K3 vs QJ. He flops his Q and I'm done.

Some big names in the tournament, if any of you out there watch it on television... Gus Hansen, Barry Greenstein, Phil Ivey. Apparently Phil Ivey was able to survive Day 1 by getting it all in with 44 vs QQ, KK, and AA preflop and spiking his 4 on the flop, and hitting quads on the river (Quads = 4 of a kind). Then making a monster overbet all in preflop with 99 against someone's KK and spiking his 9 on the river.

Phil Ivey does well because he can win multiple times when absolutely dominated. I don't do well because donkeys put moves on me with cards below 7 high.

And my poker talk is over.

After chilling at Hayley's (who has become an absolute housewife... everyone needs to e-mail and tell her to get a damn job) I headed to Oxford to stay at Harriet's for a few days. Oxford is a great town. I've got a bunch of pictures, but Yahoo Photos is telling me it will be 54 hours to load up 80 pictures... so I won't be sending the link to my photos in this e-mail, but when the pictures are up I'll let you all know.

The only story I have while at Harriet's was when I was walking around Oxford with two of her flatmates. I see this 40ish, grungy guy walking toward me, very briskly. He's wearing ratty clothes and his shoulder length hair looks like it was dipped in cooking grease. As soon as he gets up besides me he puts out his elbow and just about full-on body tackles me and keep walking. I'm thinking he was trying to pick pocket me or something, but nope. Just wanted to body tackle me because I probably looked like a Dumb American.

Now I'm at Rory's. I just got in yesterday, late afternoon. This is his "Freshes" week where all the Freshman go out to the clubs before classes start and and everyone else tries to take advantage of them.

We went to Honey Club which Rory assures me is the 14th best club... in the world. Before we go we have a few drinks at a bar about a 2 minute walk away. Caroline meets up with us as well and we drink a lot. There were 5 of us (myself, Rory, and his 3 flatmates) and we all bought a round. There was a drink list for those that you could get for a measly pound twenty five. Of course, that's not good enough for me.

I decide to show these Brits what the Americans drink and ordered 5 Mind Erasers (Kahlua, Vodka, and tonic water... in a glass with a straw and you just suck it right up. Delicious.) I end up paying 21 pounds for that one round... basically, 40 bucks. Totally worth it to see the Brits gag and stick out their tongues.

The club was definitely a good time. My ears are still ringing.

Around 1 AM Rory goes missing. Myself and the flatmates assume he left with a girl, but to be honest, we don't really know. We end up leaving the club at 3 and getting back to the flat at a quarter after. I pass on in Rory's bed.

At 6 AM the light comes on and I hear a quiet "[censored]".

Rory is standing over me looking like he just died and resurrected himself. He has hospital wristbands on both wrists and little metallic clips on his bare chest. He looks like he got punched in the left eye. And he looks absolutely miserable.

I just pass back out.

Apparently Rory was looking for this girl he had talked to for about 45 seconds in the club. In all his drunken wisdom he leaves the club to wait for her to leave to try to meet up with her again. He gets bored with this and ends up at a bar. He doesn't remember much after that.

He woke up in a hospital with wires attached to him, monitoring him. He then proceeds to argue with one of the nurses for an unknown period of time, convincing her it's not worth their time to have a doctor see him. Eventually he persuades them to let him go and leaving the hospital he is tearing of all the cords that had been attached to him like a scene in some movie where the hero tears off his leaden chains. I can picture it so clearly and it makes me laugh so heartily.

He then walks an hour and a half back to the house.

That's about all that's happened so far. Like I said, when I get the pictures up I'll let you all know.

I didn't really spend a lot of time thinking about who I was going to send this e-mail to, so you are all more than welcome to forward it and let others know about my adventures. And for those people who get the forwarded e-mail... e-mail me back so I can send it straight out to you next time.

That's it for now. Hope everything's going well for everyone.

-Josh
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Hey everyone-

Last I left I had just started crashing at Rory's and a lot has happened since then. As I type this I'm sitting in the Koeln-Bonn station in Germany using T-Mobile's Hotspot spending 8 Euros for an hour. My shift key just got a hell of a workout.

Since I'm lazy I don't remember if I told everyone that Rory and I met up with English Caroline in Brighton (I need to remember that this e-mail isn't going out to just Hidden Valley Counselors...so... Rory and Caroline = ...well, obviously...). She goes to the same University as Rory so it was nice that we got to spend time with her. The first night out she came with us, but didn't end up coming inside. We decided to meet up on Friday with her roommate for what ended up being a really nice dinner at a pub slightly removed from the main city.

We got back earlier than the other night, maybe 2ish, and once again Rory is nowhere to be found. At 3:30 am my phone starts to vibrate. My hand shoots out and automatically silences it like it had so many times when my alarm would go off at college. 5:30 am my phones starts to vibrate. Rinse, repeat. 6:30 am? Yup. 8:00 am? Yeah, then too.

Granted, we had plans to go to Chelsea on Saturday morning, but apparently Rory wanted a cranky bitch on his hands. Anyway, I call him back and let him know I'm up and ready to go when he gets back.

In Rory style, he's of course had a hectic night. I don't want to write anything graphic but he apparently came within inches of having what the French call a "threesome". Then the girls ended up falling asleep or something? It was the build-up that mattered, since there was no climax.

We left for Chelsea at whatever godawful time we had to, because Rory had a soccer/football game to play in. Those pictures should be up on the site. They're not very good. I forgot to mention my camera incident. Let me give a short backstory.

I break electronics. That's the backstory. I remember very clearly during my sophomore year dropping my camera down a flight of concrete stairs. The camera was left completely intact. I've never been that lucky again. I broke my phone twice this summer. I broke my camera before I left for the summer. And of course I broke my camera in England. Once again it's the build-up that counts because all that happened was during the act of my taking a picture the camera just fell out of my hands. Nothing as exciting as having my phone in my pocket while cliff diving or stupid as my camera just breaking of it's own accord after a night at Dino's. No, this one is just lame. And here I am with a camera that has only a screen and no mini-window. Fortunately the bottom right hand corner of the screen works just fine so you have to use some finely tuned guesstimation to get any kind of shot centered.

Saturday in Chelsea was relaxed, though. Rory wanted to drown his sorrows after his team went on to win 8-5, and even though he was one of 2 strikers, he scored naught a goal. We met up with one of his teammates at a local pub and had a pint while I ate dinner (A common theme in my trip to Europe is that I'm always hungry when no one else is).

The next morning I leave for the airport about 3 hours early. I know as soon as I type the phrase "3 hours early" some of you are going to assume that I was strapped for time and that I didn't make my flight. Well, you'd be wrong. The flight came in a half hour late so you could say I got there just in time.

Basically Rory had no idea how I should get to the airpot and gave me some bonus directions. Fortunately I started talking to an older gentleman on the bus who knew which way I should go and his bus stop was the same as mine so he helped me a lot to get to the station. The train ride was much longer than I'd expected and of course by the time I have to check-in I have about 30 minutes to get to the gate. And then I see the massive crowd inching toward the pearly gates of check-indom. Imagine a scene from Lord of the Rings. Preferably one where there are hordes of mutant orc-fiends. It was a good movie, that's why I'm having you imagine that.

Anyway, of course I don't get through baggage check-in until the time my flight leaves so I'm BOOKING it through the airport. I get to the gate after a 10 minute sprint and the plane just arrvied. Ho-lee CRAP. Very, very lucky.

The trip from London to Germany was supposed to take 2 hours. During the ride I was reading my book and the captain announced that the plane was touching down in about 10 minutes. Uhhh... I'd read about 20 pages. Granted, I didn't start reading until we were well in the airwiththesafetybeltsafelybuckledandthetrayinanupr ightposition, but I didn't think I read that slow! We landed and went through customs.

This time I was ready.

I had Fabian's phone number. I had his address. And while a confident look on my face may not have a made a difference, you can be damn sure I had that as well.

None of it made a difference.

The woman didn't even say hello.

She took my passport, stamped it, and looked at me impatiently as I stood there agape holding up the line behind me.

Germany welcomes terrorists. That would never fly in America.

So I go and pick up my baggage and check to see how much time I have. I have about 2 hours it seems, before the bus that will take me to Koblenz arrives. I find that I'm a bit hungry so I head to a little restaurant and have a nice little meal and relax.

I leave about a half hour before the bus is supposed to arrive but I'm not sure where to go. I head to information and they tell me that I need to head 200 meters down the road. They may as well have told me that I needed to go just a Quazark down the Blitztarb, because I had no idea how far a meter was. I called up Rory to ask, but he didn't pick up. So I used my navigational genius and followed the only road for an unspecified amount of time. I ended up finding the place ok, but it was the lack of people that I found alarming. Literally no one was there. About 5 minutes before the bus was supposed to arrive some woman enters the vicinity from one side and some man enters from the other side. They have an exchange and the woman proclaims loudly, "Scheize!" (Not sure if that's how you spell it). She starts running up the road.

"Oh no!" I think. I assume that the bus is arriving someplace else and start sprinting after her. After running for about 3 minutes and realizing that there's no bus at the airport I turn around to see a bus arriving where I'd just been. GAH.

I sprint back (keep in mind I have a large backpack and a laptop with me) just in time. 2 people get off the bus and no one gets on. Except me!

I walk in the front door and demand in my overtly American domineering tone of voice, "How much?"

The driver shakes his head.

I pull out my wallet and use everything I learned about the art of acting to portray the most exquisitely inquisitive face I could muster.

The driver says, "No."

I say, "Is there another bus?"

He says, "Anudder boos."

I leave absolutely boggled. The time is exactly when the people at information and the little kiosk at my present location both state. But the bus drives off and I'm stranded.

I call up Fabian and explain that I think I missed the bus, but I have no idea why. Frankly, I'm quite angry with all Germans at this point, but I contain my rage when talking to Fabian. He tell me he's been waiting for about 15 minutes at the station, which is bizarre since I wasn't supposed to arrive for another hour. He goes home and tells me the next bus isn't supposed to come for another 4 hours. I state loudly, directing all my hostility towards the airport, "Screw THAT."

I end up taking a taxi to the station and pay a whopping 90 Euros when the bus would have cost 12. I still have no idea why that man didn't let me on the bus.

Fabian piced me up from the station and was driving me home when I took out my phone. As I checked the time, I noticed a disparity between what was displayed on my phone's interface with what the clock in the car stated. I inquired about it.

And then realized that I am now German's Dumbest American.

Yes. There is a 1-hour time difference between London, England, and Frankfurt, Germany.

I'm going to stop there. It's about 10:30 now and my flight leaves at 11:10.

If I can write a little more before I head out, I will... but there is a good chance I won't be able to.

I'm also not sure when I'm going to have the internet again but I will see what I can do.

Prague it is.

Here's the link to some pictures of Koblenz: http://new.photos.yahoo.com/chaostra...60762319546107

You can also check out some more random Europe pictures by clicking on, *gasp*, the Europe folder.

Cheers,

Josh
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Hey guys-

Alright, so last I left I had just gotten into Germany. At this point I've forgotten a lot of what happened. I'll do my best to recreate.

When Fabian and I got back to his house I met his father who turned out to be the best host I could have imagined. He took us out to a proper German dinner which is, primarily, Italian food. Basically during the week I had more pizza and other various Italian food then I had in the past decade. Germany knows its Italian.

When we got back to the house and I fully inspected Fabian's room I discovered two things I never knew about him.

A. He's a World Class badminton player.

B. He's a World Class interior designer.

He later tells me that his girlfriend, along with his other close friends, redid his room while he was gone. His girlfriend really likes posters of lesbians. The badminton bit is completely true, however, and I got the honor of going with Fabian to one of his practices and later in the week one of his tournaments. Fabian's father was pressuring me to play a little badminton and when I expressed that I had never played before you could see that I had thrown down the gauntlet and his father was not pleased. This was the Bildhauer house. Anyone entering this house must play badminton. The have a plaque right next to the front down that stats proudly, "Badminton Bildhauer". They have shuttlecocks hanging from the rearview mirror in botht their cars. They have a badmintor-wear workshop in their basement. They have each have their own bag from the company "Victor" (Official badminton-wear). Not to play badminton in this family is to become a crack-addict offspring of Mother Teresa.

So I give in.

I'm not as bad as I thought I'd be, having world-reknowned hand and eye co-ordination fit for a blind monkey. One of the other German players stated that I had some "natural ability". I'm pretty sure he was being nice after I whiffed the shuttlecock for the 5th time as I literally floated like a bubble 3 feet in front of me. He had me cracking up for a while when he told me that anything Americans know about Germany is Mercedes-Benz, sauerkraut, and Rammstein (Whose lyrics apparently translate into "You hate. You hate me." Deep.).

The second night in Germany I accompanied Fabian and his friends to a bar where everything was dirt cheap. You could get 20 mini beers for 10 bucks. That sentence is really vague because my memory on the night is vague. Fabian's friend, Phillip, bought 20 shots of "Korn", a German specialty shot. Don't assume that when I say "specialty" it connotes anything good. Rather, imagine the worst vodka you've ever tasted and halve the quality then have someone punch you in the face while you drink it. That's Korn.

I did the first 3 shots with relative ease. Around the time we were ready to leave there were 3 shots left and Phillip decides those 3 shots were meant for me, Fabian, and himself. This 4th shot didn't go down well. Rory describes the following experience as the "waterfall", where you let your lower jaw go slack and let saliva drip out your mouth in an attempt to not let the last drink you took ruin it for the last 20.

All in vain. I organized a meeting between the contents of my stomach and the sticky, black floor of the bar and they hit it off just swell. So swell, in fact that they became good acquaintences and had 2 more bouts of conversation before I swung open the bar door to the relief of the chill air.

There's really not much more of that night that I remember, a fact that I'm sure my mother will enjoy reading.

Over the next couple of days Fabian, in an example of the apple not falling far from the tree, was an excellent host and showed me around his hometown of Koblenz, Cologne, and Bonn.

An interesting sidenote.

We decide, when in Koblenz, to stop by this little authentic German pub. We are ordering our food and talking about going to a brewery when this 20-something guy behind us asks where we're from. We get to talking and we end up telling him we met at camp in the US. He asks us what camp and when we tell him Hidden Valley he doesn't miss a beat and tells us he met someone who was a counselor there just a few months ago. Chris Bernstein or something. Chris B for sure. Australian? So strange. Anyway, this guy was a pretty pleasant fellow who just didn't follow social cues very well. Our food came and I said in a tone of utter finality, "Well, our food is here, we're going to eat now." He continued to talk to us in intermittent spurts while I unpleasantly turned around and acknowledged what he said.

He left before we finished eating which Fabian and I were both grateful for. After the meal Fabian was impressed at the quality of the food. The German food. The German food which he never eats. It's so good Fabian tells me that maybe he'll eat German food more often. Wow.

Most of the pictures of Koblenz are up, and I'm about to put up some more of the tail end of the trip and then some new pictures of Prague.

I don't think anything much else happened in Germany. Fabian lost his match in the tournament... they play best of three, his first match was tied 21-21 until his opponent made the last 2 points. Fabian won the second game, commandingly, 21-13... but he couldn't pull out the second win. This was the day before I left so the family was in a bit of a dour mood.

So... Prague. I have a few stories. I just started uploaded a whole bunch of pictures (110 to be exact) so hopefully the finish of the uploading will intersect with my finishing of this what looks to be a lengthy e-mail.

When I arrive in Prague I get picked up by a slightly overweight Czech man named Karel. We get to the school and wait around for about 6 hours before I leave. The reason for this is that there is a cleaning lady still at the apartment and she's still working. Even when we get there she was still attempting to clean up. The former residents had taken full advantage of the KFC right next door yet somehow neglected to throw away any of the trash that accrued over the monthlong period. There were about 7 bags full of KFC boxes lining the wall in the entrance to the 2 bedroom flat.

I was informed at this point that Martin will be coming around on Wednesday to have me fill some papers and let me know what's what in Prague. Again, somewhat vague because I wasn't sure what this Martin character would be informing me, but I knew that he would be coming on Wednesday. It was Tuesday night and I had no Czech cash on me, so I went to bed hungry.

The next day (Tuesday) was truly an exciting one. I got some Czech Crowns and I ate at this little restaurant employing, what I've begun to lovingly call my "point 'n pray" method. Where you look at a menu that is completely in Czech, point at something, and pray that it's edible. It's worked thus far so it's a term I think I'm going to patent. Although the last couple of times I've been getting heavier and heavier pasta dishes that make me feel like a block of cheese is residing in my stomach and it's trying to escape through my lower back.

So, besides taking out money and eating, I did nothing else on Tuesday. I read a little bit and I played the same 3 levels of a trial game that came with my computer about 8 times, but that was the extent of it. Since I'm not downtown I didn't feel comfortable leaving and exploring yet.

Wednesday arrives and I am ready for Martin! I wake up at 9 in anticipation of his arrival. I don't shower for fear that I might miss the knock on the door. Rather than explain to you in lengthy prose about my arduous wait I'll just tell you that I waited in my room all day until 9 at night.

So Martin finally knocks and I'm sitting in bed falling asleep. He comes in with my new roommate, Tom. English. 24. Seems like a good guy. Anyway, there are no papers to be signed and Martin leaves telling us to be at the school around noon the next day.

Tom is in the mood to go out and explore the city and I arouse myself out of the 2 slump and agree to accompany him. It's a pretty relaxed night. We got dinner downtown and walk around the city for a few hours. Not much to say about the night, but the city of Prague truly is gorgeous.

We start heading back around 1 and fin dthat the subway has closed. We pretty much have no idea how to get back. We flag down a taxi and try to tell him we're on "Evropska next to the KFC". We literally must have said this about 8 times. Evropska is a toughie.

We get to our stop and here's where things get dodgy. We ask how much it is and the taxi driver pauses, then says "400". Now, the conversion rate is 22-1 which means that our 5 minute taxi ride was about to be just under 20 dollars. And you know what we do in all of our tourist glory? Yeah. We paid.

We didn't do it happily. And I've been bitching about it since. But we paid that damn taxi driver and relinquished our hold on 400 of these precious Czech crowns and we've had to live with the pain of the experience ever since. Once again I get ripped off by a man driving a car.

The next couple of days we jsut get acquainted with our surroundings. We have a nice 2nd story supermarket just a 5 minute walk down the road along with a cheap restaurant and a dingy bar. Oh, can't forget the strip club. Oh wait, it's closed. Yeah, we figured that out when we were attracted to the flashing neon signs. Can someone explain why a night club that is clearly out of business still touts it's enormous banner and "Disco Club" sign? I don't mind admitting I was interested in seeing what the nightclub had to offer after admitting that I played the same 3 levels of that game 15 times by this point. Boredome is the key word here.

Last night was when the real party started and we realized that Prague truly is the place for a Dumb Yank and a Dumb Brit like ourselves. We make the executive decision early in the day to check out the nightlife in downtown Prague.

On our way back from the city during midafternoon we pick up a bottle of "Nordic Ice" and some juice and plan on taking a short nap then prepare ourselves for some real carnage. Little did we know that there would be carnage. And it would be done in resolute singularity to our wallets and nothing else.

We end up getting the night started at 10 when Tom surprises himself by having a 2 hour snoozefest and I cautiously crack in the 4 dolllar bottle of vodka. 4 dollar Grey Goose, no joke. The stuff is liquid gold. I don't recoil from the smell and actually enjoy the 50/50 mixture we make.

We listen to music and polish off the bottle of liquor over an hour and a half and we begin to head out. We get to the tram at about midnight wondering where our night has gone. When we realize the tram has ceased to make its stops we begin to question whether this night will continue. We decided to just walk to the subway like we did the first day. Mistake #1. As we get halfway between tram stops, a tram halts at the kiosk we were just at. People get on, people get off. Uh...

We start BOOKING it to the next kiosk and in slow-motion the tram passes us, stops, and continues on as we arrive seconds too late wheezing like chainsmokers. Eventually we come to the conclusion that we will take a taxi but will refuse to get ripped off. We flag one down and we whittle the price down to 250 crowns and we're on our way.

The first club we see looks like a winner. There's a line of about 10 out front and it's called "Duplex". We pay the exorbitant 300 crowns and enter on in. An elevator takes us to the top floor of the building and upon entering we see what is obviously a beautiful club with about 3 people there. I'm exaggerting, obviously. There were 4 people, I was counting the mime.

Yeah. There was a mime. Facepaint, balloon, everything. The whole get up down to the bow tie.

We get our drinks, which apparently is going to be shots of vodka. Tom ordered them, not me. I did one shot and had a vivid mental recreation of that night in Germany and politely give my other shot to Tom. We finish our drinks and upon our miserable realization that at no point in time will this party pick up we decide to leave and just go home.

Once again it's too late to take the subway so we start looking for a taxi. In our travels, a hunched, young, blond snaggle-tooth mutters under his breath "marijuana" and Tom is simply overjoyed. I understand I'm sending the e-mail out to a diverse crowd, but this story is meant to highlight the utter waste that was this night.

Tom follows the guy to a remote section of the town and I follow behind him. They sit down at a statue and Tom demands on smelling the product. The man begrudgingly takes out the smallest nug of weed and lets Tom smell it then tells him it'll be 500 crowns. Tom pays and gets a baggy the size of my fist. We leave and after 5 minutes Tom realizes he got a bag of very low quality oregano and throws the stuff off. Mere minutes following this mini-debacle a 5-foot, blonde girl approaches us and lets loose the clearest, most well-enunciated english I'd heard since I'd gotten to this country:

"[censored], [censored]. [censored], [censored]."

She walks straight up to Tom and begins to pat his genitalia. Neither of us are in the mood for that as we've been ripped off plenty tonight. The correct phrase for her to use at this point would have been:

"[censored], [censored]. [censored], [censored]. Now, I realize that you've spent a lot of money without a lot of results, but let me tell you this will cost no more than 300 crowns and I personally guarantee your satisfaction."

Anything less and we weren't buying.

Today, we're just having a chill drink at a downtown cafe and Tom is getting visibly irriated at the length of this email and it seems that all of my pictures have finished uploading...

I forget to talk about the tour we took yesterday, too... damn.

I'll tell you about it in the next e-mail (which shouldn't end up being nearly as long as this one...)

Here is the link to some pictures of Prague... http://new.photos.yahoo.com/chaostra...60762323612470

Hope everything's going well for everyone!

Till next time...

-Josh
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Hey everyone-

I'm not sure exactly what I'm going to write. While I feel like I've been doing a lot, nothing has actually happened. As most of you know I'm attending a school in Prague to become a certified TEFL teacher (Teaching English as a Foreign Language). The class is great and I'm learning a lot. It's about a 50-50 split between Americans and non-Americans, and it's uncanny how much I dislike the Americans.

This e-mail is going to be a hodgepodge of random thoughts and facts, I can tell already. Like, did you know that Prague is 59% Atheist? Or that it's last election was an even 50-50 split so they have two prime ministers?

I've already taught 4 lessons to Czechs and I've gone from being horrible to decent. It's amazing the people who chose to take this course, people who have such a thin grasp of their own language. Group work is barely manageable because half the time people are trying to understand what they're trying to teach. So when I hear the phrase, "want to work together", I instinctively reach out and slap that person in the face. What they are actually asking is, "do you want to spend 2 hours explaining the same grammar point to me and then let me copy your lesson plan when you're finished with it?" I'm being cynical, it's not that bad, but it's close.

I'm having a great time with my roommate, too. Basically, being cooped up for hours on end with people you dislike can tend to create bottled emotions. God, do we bitch. And it's amazing.

First you have Mike. American. Dyed blond 'fro. Hideous face. Think of a frog. Condescending. Overbearing. Constantly refers to his being overweight in an attempt to allay his insecurities which creates innumerable situations where you find yourself with absolutely nothing to say. Squeezes out jokes constantly in his diligence to bring attention back to him. I suppose this goes without saying.... but his jokes are bad. Like the smell in our apartment due to the dishes that have been sitting in the sink for two weeks, bad. (Not even going to mention the molding bread in the cupboards and the little bugs that have begun a mini-society with, might I add, a booming economy). Listen, I don't have a problem with a person who has insecurities. But don't be an [censored], too. And I have no problems with [censored]. But don't be insecure while you're doing it. I was waiting for the tram by myself after class one day and I see Mike across the street. He saunters over and even though I'm the only person waiting, I'm legitimately thinking to myself "maybe he won't see me".

Next is Levi. He makes voices when he tells jokes, which, might I add... horrible. He makes faces constantly. It's hard to describe without actually doing it. Take for example one time when someone asked him how his night was. He tenses his neck muscles which creates a grimace and looks sideways and says, "IIIIIII don't driiiiink". You just want to grab his cheeks and yell at him "BE NORMAL, YOU ARE IMPRESSING NO ONE." It sucks to bitch about him because he's a generally nice guy whose social skills are just severely stunted.

Speaking of stunted social skills, there's Rebecca. Once again, sucks to bitch about her because she's a genuinely nice girl. But if you know me at all, you know I'll bitch anyway. She has this hideously nasal voice with a slight lisp that escapes through burbling saliva. When she teaches it's like watching a robot from a bad '80s movie. Monotone voice, stiff movements. "What is the answer to 8. Goooood. What is the answer to 9. Gooooood." I'll be sitting in class, and if I'm utterly unfortunate and sitting next to her, at random intervals she will burst into wispy laughter that consists of her putting her tongue between her teeth and breathing hard. Then she'll turn to me and stare at the side of my face to see if I thought whatever struck her was just as funny. Not only that, but she encourages Mike because she laughs at everything he says. It's a downward spiral. He even told us that he cracks her up everytime because he has a "few running jokes". GAG. BARF.

There are a few others that I just generally don't like, but if I wrote about them I'm pretty sure it would just turn mean. Soooo, bitching over.

There haven't been a lot of partying nights. However...

The first night we all went out as a group, we went to this bar that ended up having a dance club upstairs. So we have a few drinks at the bar area and then check out the club. We are surprised to find that no one's dancing. Everyone is sitting on the floor or standing at the second floor balcony and watching what looks like a snowboarding movie on a projection screen 20 feets above the front stage. Upon further inspection, it wasn't so much a movie as little clips. It was bizarre.

Tom gets it into his head that we should start up the party and that it makes no sense for us to be in a dance club and not be dancing. I agree heartily and we decide to go on the stage and dance, with getting kicked out a sub-aim. When we are about to get onstage we notice that there are approximately 500 people in theh audience and we're not really drunk enough for the yet. We head back down to the bar area and hammer back a few shots of Sambucca (the shot of the evening for some reason). When we get back upstairs we are trying to recruit people from our group to come onstage with us because for some reason we believed that 3 would be the magic number. No one was feeling it so we said screw it and ran onstage and started dancing.

For some reason I started to do the Macarena. While I'm gyrating with my hands on my hips I notice that not a single person in the audience seems to have noticed us. While Tom and I pass each other on the stage (whilst he busts out some SICK disco moves) we mention this to each other and are both equally incredulous. When the song finished we get off stage, completely defeated.

We decide that we are going to MAKE people notice us, so we get back on again. We are just going nuts, pulling out moves we never knew we had. The movie ends and people start clapping, and while neither of us really think the clapping was for us, a man can dream.

As it turns out, the movie clips were from home videos that the people in the audience had made. We were being completely obnoxious and ruining their night. However, I'm sure that the fun I had almost wholly makes up for that. It's important that I stress that I didn't do the Macarena the entire time. It was just my opener. And it was because someone had mentioned it earlier in the day so it was in my head.

I've hit the halfway mark for the course and I'm trying to decide what I'm going to do next. A couple of us are talking about Amsterdam for a week and I think that I'm almost definitely going to do that.

I wish I had more to say, but I don't.

Hope everyone is doing well.

Write back if you haven't already and let me know what's new with you.

-Josh
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Ok-

The course just finished up on Friday and I passed with the outstanding grade of "C". (Although, to be fair, 10 out of 14 got a C). I'm also pretty sure I'll never end up teaching English, but at least the option is there.

I felt like I should give a little update since it's been a couple weeks since my last e-mail, but due to my limited drinking I have very few stories to share. My days over the past month have consisted of me going to bed by 10 and waking up at 7 or earlier (even on weekends). Strange to have the sleep schedule of a normal human being, but I also find that during the day I'm much better rested and it's also a lot easier to wake up in the morning. That's all the wisdom I'll be imparting in this e-mail, though, I've learned nothing else.

I suppose if pressed for an anecdotal story about my last few days here in Prague it would have to be based on the events of Friday night (the third night I've drank all month here in Prague). It all started with our pre-outing ritual of drinking half a bottle of vodka before heading to the closing banquet. Of course, that many drinks in combination with a few intense games of chess we head out a bit later than we should. We arrive about 15 minutes late and get a welcoming reception composed mainly of "where the [censored] were you?" Apparently we were supposed to let two classmates into our apartment an hour earlier. My grasp on the situation had been that I would get a text to let them in. Oh well.

Ohh, sidenote time. Our apartment. Rememember when I wrote about how our kitchen was developing into its own microcosm of odious bacterial growths? Yesterday we had a hazmat team come and quarantine what was once known as a place of oral satisfaction. Our singular pot is still sitting in the sink with an inch layer layer of rotten-egg sediment sitting peacefully in the bottom of it. I made the devastating mistake of trying to run some water and caused an eruption of olefactory pain that made Krakatoa seem like the St. Paddy's Day Parade. (That analogy makes no sense, but it took me about 3 minutes to come up with it, so you can't say I didn't try). (Looking back on it, it's just a horrible sentence, but I'm also listening to music and 50 Cent isn't conducive to intelligent speech). We've decided that we are going to let the suffering rest upon the shoulders of whoever is unfortunate enough to have to clean the apartment. Honestly, just entering the apartment feels like you are getting knocked back 5 feet by a wall of malicious stench. Let me get back to the events of Friday night before any of you become more nauseated.

Right, so we're sitting down and having drinks. One of our tutors arrives a bit later than us and grabs a seat at the opposite end of the table. Ok. There are two free seats down by us and there were no seats down at the others end. Laura (the tutor) grabs a chair from outside of the room to sit at the opposite end of the table. So I yell out (obnoxiously, obviously... obtrusive alliteration?) "HEY, LAURA, DON'T BOTHER SITTING DOWN HERE. WE DON'T HAVE TWO FREE SEATS. I MEAN, IT WOULD HAVE BEEN COOL TO TALK TO YOU, BUT DON'T WORRY ABOUT IT! NOT INSULTED AT ALL!" To which another tutor, Gareth, shouts down to our end "She doesn't have to sit down there, she can hear you from here." ... SIDE NOTE TIME!

Right, so, Gareth. Wow. Mildly charismatic. During the the month his true colors shone bright and by the end of the course I had absolutely no respect for him. Two specific instances in particular had me feeling partially hateful.

Incident 1 - Second day of class. Tom and I just miss the tram and arrive at school 2 minutes late. Literally 2 minutes. Tom thinks we still have about 5 minutes so he stays outside for a smoke and I go into the classroom (quietly, as I see that the class has started). I'm not sure how much information someone can rattle off in the 2 minutes, but Gareth made it clear that I was satan's whorebag for arriving late. In front of the entire class Gareth goes off on a 5 minute diatribe about how actions such as this were not to be tolerated and just personally attacked me until he felt I was at the perfect level of emasculated (Level = Eunuch). I have no problem with a teacher getting angry at a student for being late, but to launch into a mini lecture using that person as an example of impropriety is just childish. And, honestly, I think it's just cruel and it creates a severe level of hostility (especially from someone like me). WOW, YOU ARE TEACHING US HOW TO TEACH OTHER PEOPLE? SO THIS IS HOW WE SHOULD TREAT OUR STUDENTS?

Incident 2 - Another student is having issues with the copy machine and I know what the problem is. The class hasn't started yet, we're running 1 minute late, and he's freaking out. Gareth says "Sit down, Eamon, do it later." I say, "I know what the problem is, I can fix it for him really quick." Gareth doesn't respond. I get up to help Eamon and as I'm passing by Gareth he yells in my ear "JOSH, SIT DOWN RIGHT NOW".

In neither of this instances was some kind of "disciplinary" tool unneeded, I understand I wasn't acting optimally as a student, but the way he handled both situations made me just despise him.

Back to the dinner. After his comment, my level of drunkenness was at the level where I had no issue loudly proclaiming my true feelings for Gareth as a human being. My first response is to announce to my side of the table, "Hey guys! You know what's really cool! Here's what's cool. Being 40 and making fun of a 21 year old for no reason! Wow, here comes to cool-train! All aboard!" (I didn't make the train comment, though in retrospect I'm sure it would have killed). Of course, Tom doesn't want to be left out of making fun of someone, and he's just as drunk as I am so he adds: "That's a pretty tight shirt he has on. He looks like a living caricature of a sloth." I'm not sure what else we said, but once we start we don't stop, and we spent a good ten minutes ripping on Gareth while our half of the table laughed (albeit increidbly uncomfortably).

After dinner Laura redeems herself and comes down to our side of the table which quickly becomes party central. As people are walking by me I grab them, sit them on my lap, and force them to make conversation with me, even if for 15 seconds. I actually just got to see some pictures from last night and in every one I am making a face like I am trying to win "World's Largest Facial Crevasse" competition. There's also one little movie with me making that face, flashing the double barreled-peace symbols, then walking away with the most satisifed expression on my face that I couldn't even think of making when sober, as though I'd just done something momentously cool, and it's apparent to everyone around me.

I honestly can't write anymore, there's nothing else to say.

I leave here on Monday for Wales. I'm there for about two weeks staying with two friends from the course, and then I head home on the 24th, so it looks like there will be one more Europe Update in the future.

Hope life is going well for everyone else.

Like usual, write back if you haven't already. Just let me know what's new.

-Josh
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Hey Everyone-

So right now I'm sitting in Heathrow airport in London. I just finished eating my sesame seed bagel. Sesame seed. The worst of all the seeds.

I was standing in line deciding what I wanted to eat. I knew what I wanted by the time I got to the counter, but it was also at that time that the word for "poppyseed" had left my personal lexicon. I just stood there, staring at all the bagels 3 feet in front of me, willing the name to appear in my head. In a truly horrible act of impulsivity I blurted out the only seed I could think of. Sesame. I didn't want to stand there and start explaining what I wanted ("You know, those tiny, little, black seeds. Those. Those are the seeds I want."). I'm the newest addition to the Alzheimer's club. What a horrible feeling. I was half-expecting some nurse to appear out of nowhere and usher me to the nearest bed.

Anyway, this last week was spent in Wales. I'm convinced that if the polar ice caps melting isn't responsible for water levels rising in the future, then the daily average rainfall in Wales will be. Suffice it to say, I spent a lot of time inside.

When I first got into the airport in Wales I was again sequestered by customs. At this point, I was ready to just book another ticket to America. This is getting ridiculous. This trip to Wales was a very spur-of-the-moment type deal, having booked my ticket only two days prior to leaving. There wasn't a lot of forethought, and in my case that is probably better read as there was a lot of thought. Period. Yes, ok, you'd think I'd have learned my lesson. But once again I was standing there without an address. Oh, yeah, and last name. Oh, yeah, I didn't have her telephone number, too. I have a lot of faith in people.

I go up to the kiosk and filled out the form, and when the lady saw that there was no address began the barrage of questions.

"Where do you plan on staying?"

"Here. In Wales. I'm not really sure where. But I know it's in Wales." (Good job, Josh. Definitely getting Brownie Points for knowing you're in WALES. Moron.)

"Mm-hmm. Ok. What's your friend name?"

"Fran. Or Frances. She goes by Fran. ... Fran."

"Do you know her surname?"

(Oh God.)

"Healer? Healy? Heal...something. I'm pretty sure it's Healer, but I'm not positive."

"And you've known this girl for how long?"

"One month. I only know her last name from an e-mail."

"So you don't really know her then, do you?"

"What? No. I mean, no wait. I've known her for a month. We were exchanging e-mail addresses and I that's how I know her last name. I've known her for a month." (Kill me.)

"Ok. Do you have a way of getting in touch with her? There's no one waiting for you." (...what.)

"Uhhh. Ok. No."

"You don't have her telephone number?"

"No. I have her e-mail address." (Ok, good job. This solidifies that you are, in fact, a tit.)

"You didn't really plan this out very well, did you?"

That's the gist of the conversation, leaving me a whimpering mess by the time we were finished. They took my bags and took out all the contents while I watched with a guilty look on my face. I'm pretty sure I wouldn't have felt as guilty if I actually had something to hide, but there's something about being innocent of a crime that makes me feel like I've done something wrong.

As it turns out, Fran had been waiting outside for me, and eventually decided that she should check out where I was. Good thinking!

When she came in and started talking to the woman on the phone Fran was also hit by a barrage of questions. Namely: Does you father know this boy is staying with you? Is he 'safe'? Do you know why he's bringing all those cigarettes in the country (although the word she used was "[censored]", but I figured that may confuse some readers)?

That's pretty tricky, Customs Lady. I bet you read Encyclopedia Brown when you grew up.

Fortunately Fran did not fall for the '[censored]' question and answered that yes, her father knew I would be staying at her house, and yes... I was... 'safe'.

Safe?! What the hell does THAT mean?! Screw you Customs Lady!

Fortunately they let me through so I could begin my week of lounging around the house. Although, to be fair, we did do a few things.

Take for instance the night I hung out with Fran's friends. We all sat around and talked. That was pretty sweet. I never realized that you get really boring when you're 30. (Although, to be fair, all of Fran's friends all extremely nice, and extremely welcoming).

Yeah, that's it. That's all I did in Wales. No wait, we saw a couple of movies.


And, uh...


One of Fran's friends stopped by the other day while she was at work, and took me out for an afternoon of creeping around a school. Old ruins had been renovated years ago and had since been turned into a school. Think Harry Potter. Watching Fran's friend Martha creep around the school, think Nancy Drew. Except Welsh. And not solving a crime. Ok, maybe I shouldn't have had you think about Nancy Drew.

It was nice to actually get out of the house and see something in Wales, though.


Oh wait, Fran did take me out one day. My second day there Fran decided we should go for a walk. Sure, it was raining. Sure, it didn't look like it was stopping anytime soon. But garshdarnit, we were gonna go take a walk!

So we took a goddamn walk in the rain. For 2 hours.

I'm ready to be home.

This is the last Europe Update unless I can't remember where I live in the US and they deport me back to the UK.

Hope life is going well for everyone.

-Josh

[TheWorstPlayer]

Was hard enough to read the first time, Josh. [img]/images/graemlins/heart.gif[/img]