Before coming to Paris i was subjected to a flurry of comments, stories, and theories on what we should expect from those who resided in the city of lights. We arrived on the train at 9:30 in the morning (30 minutes late from the original ETA) and hit the ground running. Everything is different in paris and over the last few days i have come up with some observations and opinions about being in the city as a whole.

1. Observation #1:Parisians aren't rude. If there is any one thing that i have heard way too much of in the preparation for this trip, it has been that parisians are the rudest people on the face of the earth. THEY ARE NOT. Saying that parisians are rude to only americans has about as much validity as saying New Yorkers, Bostonians, and Los Angelites are rude to only foreigners... No.No.No. Parisians are rude towards everybody. Why? because Paris is an enormous city where there are jillions of people. To be honest, if parisians were nice whilst at the same time dealing with filthy streets, crazed drivers, and overpriced cost of living, we would all be saying that there was something in the water. But if you go to any of the american cities mentioned above, the same thing applies. People get pissy because they are being paid above average wages, to only live a below average lifestyle. City life sucks to be frank, so parisians arent rude, they are just city goers that speak another language.
2. Observation #2:Paris is dirty. Well no shit its dirty. Similar to the first observation, when you are trying to service one of the largest cosmopolitan populations on the face of the planet, stuff is gonna get dirty and unfortunately there is no way to effectively clean one pile of garbage without another pile of paper, cans, bottles, apple cores and feces magically reappearing a place that was cleaned 20 minutes before hand. its just how it is... If you cannot handle the trash, you might as well rule out every large city that you have ever wanted to go to on the face of the earth.
3. Observation #3:Parisian shopping is the best in the world. Let me clear things up: PARISIAN SHOPPING IS THE BEST IN THE WORLD*.
4. Observation #3.5: Note the asterisk... It is expensive.
5. Observation #3.75: By expensive, i mean, there are no price tags on half of the things you find, and on the other half the price tag is hidden, which means that most likely you can't afford it... or will be eating spam for the rest of the month. This also leads me into my next point. Things are over priced. DO NOT BUY ANYTHING IN PARIS THAT YOU CAN BUY IN THE STATES!! I looked at a pair of 7 Jeans at a department store, and they were going for 250 Euros... but in the states i could pay 115 DOLLARS. If you decide to embark on some small indulgences... which i DO suggest, make sure you purchase something you will not find in the states, its makes you hate yourself less that you spent way to much on the product in the first place.
6. Observation #4: Parisians dont speak english... Bring a friend... hell, bring 3 friends. So that you have other people to talk to. Also it helps for when you get to the club so that you dont look like the sketchy guy in the corner drinking the mojitos and bobbing severely off beat to the rhythm of songs and periodically screaming "Yeaaahhh!"... but parisians will not speak english to you... they will not TRY to speak english to you... and do you blame them? no! why? because when you are nice and comfortable at home, and a foreigner tries to speak to you in their language, you dont understand them! and why should you? you're at home right? the same principle applies.
7. Observation #5: If you decide to go to the club... be prepared to pay a low cover charge... but lose your left arm on the drinks.
8. Observation #6: If you are going to paris for the girls, save your money... or go to barcelona. The girls ain't all that... If you're going for the guys... i'm not gay but, they all for the most part, smell like my armpit. Go to barcelona.
9. Observation #7: If you are going to paris for the nightlife... save your money. As i said in my 5th observation, the cover is cheap which is the draw... but the drinks will have you carried out in a body bag.
10. Observation #7.5: Also, if you do choose to pay for drinks... dont try to order a Long island iced tea or any martini that isnt white or red because you will get stared at as if you came from mars...
11. Observation #8: If you are going to the louvre (possibly one of the best things that has happened to me in a while) go on a weekday... That is, if you dont like long lines. Everybody that i have come across has said that they have waited hours trying to get in. Well... OF COURSE you're going to wait for hours trying to get into the louvre. Its possibly the single greatest museum on the face of the earth... seriously. So why would you go on a Friday, saturday, or sunday. go on a Tuesday, Wednesday, or Thursday... and go anywhere from 9:30 (opening time) to 11:00... Dont bring bags because the line for the bags is what takes forever in some cases.
12. Observation #8.5:When you get in... whether you come on a thursday, or 12:00 on a saturday... You wont be able to see everything. Its just too damn big. So when you go into some of the halls and corridors, make sure your head is on a swivel. Take it ALL in. You'll be glad you did... and be sure to see the mona lisa. No matter the wait. For some, its not that big of a deal, but if you really enjoy art it will give you chills.
13. Observation #9: You will see Parisians rolling their own cigarettes... yes, they like smoking THAT MUCH. No matter where you are, whether you're on the train, or at a cafe... ITS NOT POT. no matter what you think....
14. Observation #9.5:But in the occasion that it is pot... there really is not suitable response for if it is pot because there are so many things you can do... So use your own discretion.
15. Observation #10: If you dont take pictures... you're an idiot. So yeah, alright, Paris has its flaws and its benefits... I have spent some time revealing and debunking a lot of truisms in this post, however, it is still going to be one of the greatest places you will ever go to. If you dont take pictures, you arent really doing anybody at home very much justice. Paris is THAT different from everywhere else where you actually want to take pictures. Whether it is the people, the food, or the architecture... there is plenty about the city worth remembering and unfortunately i couldnt see it all. And I can say that i will not completely miss it because I have taken enough photographs of what it is I wanted to remember and what it is I want friends and family to envision.

That's it... tomorrow we head to britain, and then we head home on thursday. I cannot wait to see you guys. It has been fun.

-Cliff

Leaving soothing, aurete hues on Las Ramblas (the barcelona boutique street with lots of bars and stores) the sun calmly set on Barcelona, slowly immersing the city in warm, summer night. It was a saturday and as John and I sat down over a good meal after some good budgeting earlier on in the trip. A batchelorette party was going on behind us, an on my other flank was the bachelor party we soon figured out. The night was young (10:00) and John and myself had time to waste. We sat down, talked, and looked at passing women who all of a sudden looked prettier, and inherited american accents.

It was definitely the weekend. All of a sudden, the city became easier to navigate after the influx of young vibrant americans with dough to spend, as well as a strong pallette for spirits, wine, beer, and cigarretes. Fully knowing this, John and myself trekked the city earlier in the day to see if we would recieve any flyers as well as scoped out any posters that advertised prospective parties that would be happening in the night. One party dubbed "the biggest outdoor discoteque" advertised 5 dj's, a locale by the beach, a cheap cover charge however after exploring the city, the two of us came to the realization that the party must have been during the day.

After meeting this disappointment head on, we took the train back across the beach over to Las Ramblas where there was a port where a boat party was going on.

"What is it like in there?" I asked to the middle aged clerk sitting at the desk. She gave us a puzzled look.
"Excusa meee???" she responded with overt confusion. I repeated the same question, this time with johns help. unfortunately, the idiocy of being a tourist (Specifically an american one) is that when we arent beign understood, as opposed to talking slower, we talk LOUDER... which doesnt help. I decided to change the question and help her out.
"How many people are in there?" I asked her slowly, trying not to speak loueder than necessary despite the chillaxing R&B on the top deck, and the exotic weed rhythms below.
"Oh, we have R&B and Reggae!?" she obviously didnt understand... and i felt bad. John and I, curious, with nothing to do paid the cover and proceeded to go in. There was a bar on the top deck where youngish/middle aged people hung out and a deck below where the "party" or lack thereof was taking place. We proceeded downstairs, into the belly of the beast. The belly consisted of a dimly lit room which had a stage at one end where two men stood at turntables, and one man with dreads down to his butt swayed and vibed with the beats. On the other end of the room (the end where we entered) stood the bar where a short man from what looked like central america was smoking the last bit of his spliff to where it would almost burn his lips. All over the room, white people with dreads and baggy pants, black men from the caribbean stood and a few americans excluding us were peppered out into the crowd which consisted of AT MOST 45 people. After 45 minutes of talking and hanging out, john and i left.

Walking down the boardwalk towards the restaurants.
"Wow... that really really sucked..." I proclaimed
"Yeah i know" John said... "We sort of burned 10 euros on something that wasnt all that great." I felt bad. I thought the party would actually be somewhat fun as opposed to sitting in a room with a bunch of lifeless 30 to 40 some odd year olds who were getting high and doing nothing. Thus far. The barcelonian club experience has fallen short. However, we were buying our time... walking over to the place where we had dinner, it was now 1:15 in the morning. Our waiter gave us a free pass to get back into the restaurant if we wanted to go to the night club which started at 1:00 in the morning. Heading down to the lower level of the board walk, we wanted to enter through the beach entrance. The guy in black, standing next to the gate, didnt ask us how many people we were taking in, but just told us to come in. The patio was extremely crowded, and from the outside we could hear and see the bouncy, bass abusing rhythms that many were rocking out to. We entered through the lounge entrance. AT the time they hadnt drawn the curtain to join the eating section, and the lounging section together. People were rushing the contemporary bar for mojitos, vodka tonics, gin tonics, and many other sorts of drinks. We walked to the back of the lounge (which took about 5 minutes due to all of the people in there) and took a pathway which lead from the lounge to the club. The room, featuring two bars on either side, a VIP secion thrust up above everybody else and parallel to the dancing stage, and glass on the back wall exposing the beach, was PACKED. Mostly with people who were overtly american (including john and i), people we called high rollers (wealthy stock brokers, artists, lawyers), models, and the such. The average age in the room was about 27 most likely. The men donned black shirts, black pants or jeans that hugged their asses, dark shoes, and partially tinted designer glasses. They drank mojitos, smoked marlboro reds whiche they never ashed down to the butt, and "dropped game" on the women who took amusement in listening to the garbage and sleaze that dribbled from some of their lips. The women wore cocktail dresses, booty pants, open toed spiked stilettoes and all had bags from either prada, gucci, or louis vuitton. After an hour of being in the room, I realized that the only girls being approached were the ones that were cute, really pretty, or highly attractive. However, the ones that were the most attractive danced by themselves and nobody ever talked to them.
"Lets meet people and talk" John said. I scoped out the room to see who we should talk to that was reasonably within our age range. "You ready yet?" He asked me.
"Hold on... i need to look." A gorgeous blonde haired, girl about 5 feet, 3 inches was completely ignored after her friend became approached by a guy like myself; someone obviously american. Her back was facing me, and I placed my hand at the small of her back and pulled her in closely to speak. "Habla ingles?" I said in her ear.
"Si." she responded.
"Thank god."She laughed, and we talked for about 7 minutes about completely random stuff, joking as if we had known each other for a little while. She was swiss, her name was cordi (I know, its a weird name), I closed the conversation while things were still interesing, and talked to more people. Venturing through the room which was filled with clouds of smoke, I donned a loose swagger which all of a sudden came from speaking to who i thought the hottest girl in the room was. All of a sudden things got easy and IJ felt as if i could talk to anybody. The problem i ran into ,however, was the fact that i couldnt tell who was in my age group, and who was old enough to be my mom.
"Hey, lets roll..." I said.
"Why, its awesome in here, and i am having fun" john responded with covert disappointment.
"Yeah, i know its fun in here, but everybody is a lot older than us, and there are some great clubs in the near by area... lets check them out and if they are not that great then we can head back."
"Okay" He responded and we left the area. We went next door to a thai place we went to the first time we came around to barcelona. It consisted of a patio with beds and tables as well as a large open room with a bar in the center, ebony wood floors and beds located around the room. The lighting in the room had a red tint which gave it a sexy vibe, however compared to next door it was nowhere near as fun.

2:30 am. We tried getting back in the previous club but it didnt work. The bouncer who even said that we could come back all of a sudden said that we had to be 21 to enter.
"Shit cliff, we missed our cance Jon said.
"I´m sorry dude, lets try the upstairs entrance... they probably wont card us" We went upstairs and the woman didnt card... me. But told john that he had to be over 21 to enter. IT was after that when i noticed a large neon blue sign and two lines of people. We approched the entrance... I asked the bouncer "Whats the cover to get in?"
He said "18 Euros" I told him i would be back in 20 minutes. John and I walked over to the ATM and got money... getting ready to come back.
"This better work cliff" Jroge said.
"Dont worry, it will work..." I said... and i knew it would work because the guy didnt say anything about age, and also the crowd for this venue was obviously a younger, more vibrant crowd. The bouncer unclipped the velvet rope and let us in. I walked over to a counter and paid the cover. Simple. John did the same... and we were in again. Upstairs the party resumed with greater measure, deftly making me forget all about beatiful little cordi and what now seemed like generic bass busting "techno music". This place seemed that much better. We walked in on the middle of a chemical brothers song and after that they played basement jaxx. The room was Large about the size of half a ballroom. It was filled with a comfortable haze which consisted of artificial smoke created by smoke machines as well as cigarettes smoked down to the filter by suave and sophisticated spaniards and exotic, skantily clad women with smooth dark skin, dark hair, dark eyes, long legs, and soft lips. The room had a VIP section consisted of velvet couches which swung from the right side of the club to the back. Transsluscent burgundy drapes, red candles, and small tables accomodated clusters of young americans in designer jeans, ralph lauren polo shirts, and prada glasses who drank Johnny and jack. They held bottles of belvedere by the neck which they sloppily poured in glasses and dribbling gobs of it on the table and on themselves by accident while smoking camel filters which hang out of the corners of their mouthes.

I saw a staircase which lead upstairs and told John that we shuld see what was on the second floor. Going upstairs i could still hear the pulsating rythms from below but after walking by a thick barrier of glass these beats all of a sudden seemed to cease existing... Upstairs now we found ourselves in a slightly smaller room with glass walls suspended over the first room where we could look down on the 1st floor´s VIP section and bars. in the back of the room was an exit. On the right side were smaller velvet couches, but no VIP rope, in the front of the room was one of the 3 bars in the room and behind it were more velvet couches. On the left hand side of the room was a DJ playing only HIP HOP and R&B music which they call in europe "black music". Beautiful women covered almost every square foot of the room. Many of the women in the room were from other countries such as germany, the united states, or england and dressed as such. The american women wore cocktail dresses, while the british women wore pepe jeans and the german women wore message tees that i couldnt read. I advanced to the bar. "John... you want a brewski?" I said... He donned a look of surprise, and I had a feeling similar to a child at an amusement park-sheer excitement.
"Yeah, lemme get a heineken" He said over the earth shattering base which comfortably rocked every square inch of the room. I leaned in to the bartender who was a beautiful, tall, woman with brown and black hair.
"Hey, let me get a heineken..." I looked over her shoulder as i spoke in her ear and noticed a woman which was truly divine. She looked at me, looking in my eyes. I looked in hers until she broke contact."and... a georgia lime."
"Georgia lime?" She asked...
"Lime juice, coke, and a shot of vodka." I said... "it tastes great." She chuckled and made the drinks. I gave john his heineken and we walked around the room. The place was PACKED to the brim taking us about 10 minutes to make a tour around the room. Guys and girls were jamming out by themselves, people were up on the stage inebriated some of which were leaning and rocking while others were trying to joc, and some girls were booty dancing with guys(The first i have seen since arriving in europe.). I danced two songs with a glass of coke in one hand, and a my georgia lime in the other... John was at my side vibing with the music. I went back to the bar, the girl was still there and a man dressed in black which i noticed the first time (that i had hoped to leave the first time) was still standing nearby. I walked up to the side of the bar that she was standing on with her friends, i walked past her, on a route where she didnt notice me, and i walked up to the guy who I thought was with them. I leaned up against the bar and tapped the guy on the chest as if he was an old bud...
"Hey man... you with any of these girls?" I said. John stood on my flank. He turned his attention to me.
"Ah man... I wish... i went club hopping with all of them the previous night and the one that is closest to me (the one that i made eye contact with earlier in the night, he pointed to her) seemed kind of pissed at me because i think she thought i would get with her, but i liked her friend better..." he was a black british man with a bald head and dressed in dapper attire. Why he wouldn´t go for the girl closest to him, i dont know... but that wasnt my problem. as far as he said, i could talk to her. We talked for about five minutes, i told him that i wanted to talk to her. I didnt want to talk to her to get with her... but rather to just get experience talking to extremely intimidating girls I dont know, who cannot speak my language as well so that I could have a leg up when I get to college and have to meet new people.
"Hey man... you should talk to her" He said, which i thought was a major surprise as i figured a man like him would have thought a younger, taller guy would probably be considered competition... But whatever. I didnt care.
"I´ll talk to her in a moment" I felt my bladder start to tighten... "but first... nature calls!" I smiled, and he laughed and gave me a pat on the back... I left, peed, came back to find john and him both gone. It was perfect. I approached the woman... she had curly hair similar to beyonce´s in goldmember, chocolate milk skin, hazel eyes which were natural, freshly manicured fingers, small hands, small feet (about size 6), a nose which wasnt a ski slope nose, but one that was small, and sharp without hooking. Her mouth was small, with slightly swollen that were glossed pale which matched her complexion. She was about 5feet 5 inches, she had heels that made her about 5feet 8 inches, Her arms were soft and well lotioned, her legs were long for her height, perfectly toned, and her feet were also freshly pedicured. She.Was.A.Dime...
"Hey, have you seen my friend?" I asked her.
"What are you talking about?" She responded...
"You know... the white guy in the black shirt that was with me?" I said as if she was supposed to know... "Hm... you arent very observant are you"
"Haha... i guess not."
"You have an interesting accent... where are you from?"
"Oh, i´m from morocco" Damn... She´s from morocco, thats exotic"Where are you from??"
"Ah, i´m from the states... by the way, my name is Cliff..." I offered my hand in a halfway relaxed and apathetic manner and set it out in front of her... she took it and gave me a firm handhsake which took me by surprise.
"I´m..." I dont remember her name. Which makes me sad... and the fact that i didnt take a picture with her makes me even sadder... Oh well, i suppose i´ll just have to find another pretty girl in paris ;-) . We talked for about 10 minutes, her surprisingly enough holding the conversation, but i decided to leave before i started to fall into the same category as the the previous guy which is CLINGY... I told her it was a pleasure, and before she could say much more i made my leave.

Nobody else in the room looked as good as her. And while i spent time talking to her friends (which should have done first now that i look back on it) it still wasnt the same, and didnt give me the same type of high that spoking to her did. John and i partied until 4:00 that morning and headed to the train station where tons of other young, sweaty disscheveled americans waited for the train... It was a good night.

Patiently sitting in a large room with benches, chairs and screaming children running around making blowing up souds, boinks, zoinks, slams, bams, and other noises found in what I would soon call Hell´s Waitingroom. And It was. Amid the overabundance of gameboys, girls sitting patiently, boys playfighting and screaming, an older woman and an older man who I soon realized were the unfortunate souls coordinating this trip full of 3rd and 4th grade brats held their head in their hands and I only a mere passer by could feel their onus. The room was soon quiet as the group of about 20 or so people left and waited out by their trainsto, leaving john and myself alone in the glory of peace and quiet. It was only soon after that we were summoned to our train platform. John, leading the way, walked straight onto the train without paying too much attention to the cars, except to make sure that we were on the right train because the two of us knew that the trains would be splitting up later on in the evening. We ventured through too much of the train, with myself periodically stopping to rest my arm which was carrying my pack in a duffel bag.

After stopping by the quaint, small room with six neatly arranged bunks, two men made their way into our room past the mexican couple which was also staying with us in the sleeper car.

¨Ahhh Shit...¨the two words sounded almost like heaven as John and myself would have a chance to speak english to people other than ourselves. We never caught his name unfortunately. Although we knew that he was a recent graduate from san diego state university with a major in finance and was preparing to become an insurance broker. His friend, also a major in finance (we presume the two met at san diego state) was preparing to become a bonds trader. The four of us sat outside in the train car with other young travellers such as ourselves (with john and i being the youngest ofcourse) and shared in discourse with one another. For this moement, each travellers story crossed paths with one another. I suppose we didnt really need to find out names and phone numbers and the such... we just wanted to know a little bit of what it was like to be each other, and where we would all be after our parting in Barcelona. Thus far, My life and John´s life have intersected with the lives of many young travellers. Between the british guys we met on our way to barcelona from madrid, the girls from phoenix, guys we have met on the train from madrid, and girls we have met over by the ATM machine who were taking a day trip to Port Bou (which isnt all that great by the way), we have met great people who we will know for a second, and then vanish into thin air.

The two finance majors hung on our every word. From the winding streets, exotic firedancers, and fabulous bars and clubs, to the stunning landscape which may remind some of a 1st world paradise, both men ate it up and were ready to jump off of the train and spend some of their time in one of the greatest cities we have visited thus far on our trip. After talking about previous travels, talk about school, politics, sports, and future travels arose as if the four of us knew each other a long time and were going to know each other tomorrow and the day after. Slowly but surely, the train started to fall asleep at around 10:45, and soon both men suggested that the four of us go to sleep now.

We climbed into our bunks, deftly engaging in slumber amid the sempeternal night which would later be torn apart by a young child´s outcry for his papa.

Plans went wrong as we couldnt work out the six or so days between Melanie's house (we stopped there after judy's) and dusseldorf. At the last minute (Specifically, 4:00 yesterday morning) we decided to turn our travels towards nice, france, and buy our time out there. Things were moving at a fairly smothe rate until we realized that after hitting lyon, we were moving at 184km/h in the OPPOSITE DIRECTION... instead of moving towards Marseille (in the south of france) we were moving towards PARIS... yes, I said Paris. Unfortunately, John and I have not had much luck in this area (being all of france)... but hopefully our luck is about to change. Tomorrow, we head back to barcelona, and take in some more of the culture. Surprisingly, the french have been extremely helpful and polite (unlike common misconceptions back in the states) and know that we are overtly american. To some, they think its cute. We have been staying in a small 2 star hotel in the city center which we thought was a sketchy part of town, but its actually pretty nice out here... Although unfortunately there is not much to say about the area. John and I both feel that Nice is a place to go once you have an established job, but until then... its not exactly somewhere two hostellers should try and stay at as it is very expensive... Anyway. Thats all for now. We leave for barcelona at around 8:30 if we cannot find a place to hold us over for friday to saturday night...

Cliff

The previous day we went to europa park (a european busch gardens pretty much) and the next day in comparison was rather boring... John and I worked on our itinerary for the next few days as we began to prepare to leave Judy's house, in two nights. We sat on the couch in the afternoon and worked out our plans for Paris, Baden-Bade, Heidelberg, Amsterdam, and Dusseldorf.

Yelling... Lots of yelling. It passed through the house however, none of it was understood. Within 10 minutes, the house was silent. We could hear the sound of soft soled shoes moving around the house... Judy's father, a tall, reserved, 6 foot, 4 inch man stood in the doorway.

"Since everybody seems to want you guys to go out sightseeing... we will go out sightseeing, even though it is a little bit late." His tone was overtly irate... and I dont blame him as these decisions were made at the last minute. But in a somewhat nervous fashion, we dropped our books, picked up our cameras and shoes, and hurried out of the door where w were introduced to germany's more cultural and historical side... Where we saw castles, churches, old towns, and even hitler's old bunker where he tried to create atomic weaponry.

The evening began slowing down but fate lead us to tubingen. At this point, judy's father is in a much better mood, he is more talkative, and even jokes with us by speaking in german and knowing we cannot understand. We walk around the small, but colorful, college town which reminded me of charlottesville, va. A small place off the side of an alleyway "Tubingen Wine" seemed inviting, however, deathly hot and cramped.

Judy's father kept handing me glasses of wine at dinner, and i couldnt say no. By this point, Six glasses of wine has turned my world upside down. Judy's father is on the same page as me, as judy's mother, brother, and john are all very sober. The five of us laughed loudly, and it felt good to wander through the streets and see the culture at night. Young couples necked on the side walk, men drank tall glasses of beer and women ate ice cream. The streets were illuminated with lighters and smelled of cigarettes. Storefronts were open and people sat outside in the thick of the night eating food. I cut a weaving track through glorious and colorful mess of it all, onwards into the sempeternal night.

to sleep in the morning after... The first time since we were back in the states. Life, which all of a sudden turned into a rush at the start of June began slowing down. As it became more manageable, finally John and I could regain our bearings and replan our trip which went spiralling out of control in the days past. It was 3:00 in the evening. I hopped in the shower after john and after getting dressed the two of us went down the stairs towards the living room together. Mrs. Lamerz, greeted us and asked us how we were doing and if we slept well. Perhaps it was some of the best sleep i have had in ages... who knows?

"Are you hungry?" She asked john and I in her shy, but fluent english. Surprisingly since this trip has started, I have been eating the most i have ever eaten in my entire life. Perhaps the food doesnt seem as filling overseas as it does in the united states, or perhaps because of all of our movement we have been hungry. Regardless of reason, I was still famished so we set out on the porch and ate steaks. The family spoke german most of the time, however after having been in barcelona and madrid, and losing our minds to being "out of the loop" as john and i put it... At this point, we were somewhat unscathed by being surrounded by German.

In the afternoon we headed over to Tubingen. We set out for the small town at around 5:00 in the afternoon but first picked up Judy's boyfriend, Julian. She stopped at his house and walked up to the door and rang the bell. The door opened... I looked down to move some bags and other miscelaneous items john and i failed to remove from judy's car after dinner the previous night. The door popped open and then closed with a robust clap. Julian was now sitting in the front seat, and I behind him. "Julian, this is my friend Cliff" Judy said as a young man with welcoming bright blue eyes, a thick beard, curly blond hair, and hairy knuckles and forearms reached out to shake my hand. I realized after arriving in tubingen, that he was shorter than I by about 3 inches. He was heavy set... by heavy set I mean thick, Not fat. If he were at VES, he would have been one of the football players and I would have presumed that he played some sort of contact sport if I didnt know that he was a chain smoker.

John, Julian, Judy, and I headed down to the river where there were drunk frat guys jumping 10 feet into the water from the beer garden across the way. We waited, Judy, more anxiously than myself as I quickly realized that she wanted to impress John and I. finally we got on the river.

Nacht... The house was sleeping now, and John was sitting indoors talking to people on the computer. Judy and I sat on the patio outdoors and talked. The night was nice and bright with stars, however, the moon seemed to be a forgotten entity in the sky. She asked me "Cliff, what do you think of julian?" in the midst of our conversation. Even after leaving VES, people still ask for my opinion on things... Alex, asks for my opinion on girls, Melissa still asks for my opinion on life, and Judy asks for my opinion on Julian. For many reasons, did this question vex me. Obviously, its difficult to say "oh yeah, hes wonderful" but its also hard not to say "i'm better." Deep down inside, i know that i am not better than he is... and that if he spoke better english, this fact of life would be further accentuated. Deep down inside, I knew before ever meeting him that he was better than I for the fact that based on what she would tell me in emails, he seemed like a good man. Perhaps prior to my coming over, i felt the need to make myself excited for everything that I did not want to see, but would have to subject myself to a little bit further down the road. I knew this day was coming, and as much as I tried to feel happy about everything before meeting him, I was not... this disappointed me. Once again, everything that one could not touch, obtained flesh, bones, and breath... and while most of it was good... other aspects were difficult. NowI met the next man she would fall madly in love with, and I would finally now, become a very very distant memory.

We arrived in horb at aroud 9:00 at night where a young woman with tan skin, wavy, dark hair and long legs waited there on the park bench. I looked at the face, and nothing registered immediately as I watched her sullen expression light up and immediately turn to greet me. It was judy. She looked so different but at the same time very much the same as we made our first embrace in almost a year or so.

"How are you?" she asked John and I with the same excited, energetic eyes as a child at christmas time. I began to realize how much our arrival had meant to her... and I only hoped that it would live up to her expectations.

"Tired." I said with a yawn as I hoisted my bag up onto my shoulder. She guided us down towards the exit of the trainstation which came in the form of stairs leading downwards to a tunnel that took us under the tracks and to the ticketting station/waiting room. In the midst of conversation, we ventured out of the door. Judy told John and I about Horb's thug issue and that there was a small nazi youth located in horb. She Descreetly pointed to the cluster of black pants, leather jackets, pink, green and purple mohawks, and shaved heads to help further prove this point to me.

She borrowed her father's car; a silver, shiny Mercedes-Benz M-Class which we tossed our bags in. "Are those the only bags you brought??" She seemed amazed. At first, when i listened to the question, it sounded quite asinine... Still, even after having left there, the question still strikes me as asinine. What is the point of backpacking in europe? Having a BACKPACK... most girls i would later realize, are going to ask me this question and no matter how many times i answer it, ALL would remain amazed.
"Well yeah, that is why I told you over email that we would be be backpacking in europe."

She took us the long way through town and gave us an abbreviated tour of Horb. We arrived at her house approximately 20 minutes after our arrival in the train station and upon stepping foot on the premises, John and I were greeted instantaneously. Her mother gave me a surprisingly warm hug considering we hadn't met before. Her brothers, both in excess of 6 feet, 2 inches, gave john and I firm handshakes and smiled at us... asking us all sorts of questions about what our travels were like, what it was like living in the united states, was it our first time overseas and other questions of the sort. After putting our bags down in the guest room, judy's mother and father insisted on taking us out to a big dinner.

Being in germany was good. The arrival was smooth... however, the country still had quite a bit to prove. What was the culture like? what were the people like? Would someone like myself (a black male) be welcome in germany? or would I be an outcast?

There were personal questions I needed to answer on my own... What was her family like? What was her boyfrtiend like? The two worlds that she and i existed within began to collide and make contact. Everything that was once intangible became palpable. All of the stories which she told me, came to life. Now i could see the what the german horizon looked like with my own two eyes, I could feel the soothing cool nocturnal summer air with my own flesh, and i could smell the scent of the trees and forest which immersed us. It would be nice if after this pleasant stay at the lamerz residence, that I could find a firmer sense of closure to my former relationship with her. Things were over for the both of us... but still after her and i split up, there was a small piece of me that felt uncomfortable around her at a slight level... that i still needed to rove something to her... however, everything that I have become has wanted this piece of me to cease existence within my being.

where 3 other weary travelers slept.

“What?” I responded

“Its light outside.” I recognized Johns voice after 30 seconds. I came to.

“What time is it!?” I said while frantically putting on my clothes. An arm reached down and grabbed the alarm clock.

“7:20… wait a minute. SHIT!”

“Shit.”

I opened the locker and frantically emptied it, putting random bits and pieces of electronics and clutter into my north face backpack… the smaller pack of the two, which I carried on my front end. Still wearing the jeans from the night prior which was disappointingly calm, I put on a shirt I was wearing from yesterday morning, put on a fresh pair of socks, and set out to a day of fresh new hell. We skipped down the stairway to heaven which had handrails still covered in dew and scurried through the backstreets and alleyways of the residential district we were in.

“Today will be an easy day… this is only the hard part john. What time is it?”

It was 8:00. I always asked him what time it was. He estimated that we would arrive at the station at 8:12… We arrived at 8:10 which was even better. Our luck had just turned around, and we would not miss our train… and in a few hours, we would be in Nice relaxing and talking over maybe some brews or a glass of wine. I looked up at the time on the departures board and the time posted which was similar to ours, did not have the same town name that we were looking for. We headed over to track 13, the one listed for our departure but ran into a series of turnstiles.

“Wait here” John said as he ran off to go pick up some tickets to get by the turnstiles. 8:15… we only had 10 minutes to make it to our evening in paradise… 8:18… what could be taking him so long? I looked frantically as the clock calmly ticked away. 8:22… Hope was still in our grasp. I saw john… he gestured for me to come to him. Things weren’t looking too good…

“What is going on!?” I exclaimed.

“The train workers are on strike… the French train workers are on strike.”

“So what does that mean for us? Can we still manage a way to get to nice?” I quickly responded.

“No… there is no way to get to nice.” He said.

“El Autobus!” the woman tried to tell us… We left her in mid sentence and walked over to the bus station across the street.

“Sorry, no Autobus going to nice… the farthest we can take you is the border.”

“Well we aren’t going to the border… we are going to nice… we are going to the Riviera” John responded to the clerk at the bus station. Quickly an itinerary which was planned out down to the key fell apart before my eyes. Visions of walking in the Mediterranean dissolved as I looked at the trashy streets of Barcelona, and the frustrated, worn clerks of the train station. Everything began to look gray and bland as the onus of helplessness once again became eminent. I flailed my arms up in the air and thought about how much the Spaniards have screwed me over in the last few days. Our jet tickets turned into useless expenses… but wait a minute. It all came together again… THE JET TICKETS! We could trade in a flight from Nice to Geneva for a flight from Barcelona to Nice… it would be perfect.

“John… come on. We’re changing tickets… let’s go to the airport. I’ve got the cab.” We crossed the street and john flagged down a cab.

“Take us to the airport, I said as I pulled out my wallet.” Our salvation became clear again. Except now, our fates changed as we telescoped our destination for the middle of the week.

The cab stopped and we quickly got our bags, paid the driver who was grateful for the tips and quickly moved into the hell of an airport. The easy jet kiosk was right by the door and John ran his orders of business with the Clerk behind the one and one half inch thick glass.

“We don’t have flights to nice” I heard the British-sounding Spanish woman say to John… Things looked hard once more as we scanned the available kiosks to check out what was going on as far as flights to nice… Things didn’t look good. The Swiss international airlines attendant said there was no direct flight to nice… but one from Barcelona to Zurich, and from Zurich to Nice. A buzzer went off in my head as I was reminded of the previous night’s predicament with trying to meet Judy in Zurich on Thursday. The gates to heaven opened up and John came to the same realization at the same time. Everything somehow just worked out… it was a godsend I suppose you could say.

We purchased international phone cards and I bubbled over the news and the crisp, new, plane tickets that lead straight to warm meals, safe shelter, fun, and reminiscing memories with someone dear to me. I called Judy…

“Hallo?” a voice weakly said over the phone.

“Is this judy?”

“Hey Cliff! How is everything?” She said once she recognized my voice.

“Oh… well we cannot make it to nice because of the airplane strike… so we have come up with an alternative.”

“That sucks… I was hoping you could make it this time… I hope everything works out.” She weakly responded with an overt sense of disappointment carried in her voice.

“Well it seems as if we are flying to Zurich.” The air was sucked out of the room on her end… she stopped talking. “Are you there?”

“YES!” She breathed… excited, completely unbelieving of the idea that finally I would see, smell, feel, and hear everything we once spoke about during long nights on the phone when we both still went to boarding school. “I am telling my mom as soon as you go! We have preparations to make!!”

“So you’re happy I take it!” I said with a hearty chuckle.

“You don’t even know right now!” She said quickly after.

“Im going to call you when we land in Switzerland okay? We have some other calls we need to make, and we have to check in soon.”

“You better call me when you land. I’ll be waiting for it.”

“Well we would never want that… now would we?” She laughed, and I hung up the phone… everything seemed perfect once more and the trip can finally realign itself, and both john and I could finally clear our heads of the different stressors that perturbed us. I ran over to John to tell him the news that we had a place to rest our heads, and forget the plights associated with our travels for a little...

most of its inhabitants clung to their last bits of sleep. The sun steadily rose, and as the temperature increased along with the elapsing time, the stench of body odor was eminent. It was time to go, however we could not leave. People got up and began to yawn as the sky turned from the beautiful shades of orange to washed out, gray of an overcast day. Unfortunately, it wasnt a good day for the beach. The train was late, partially due to the fact that it stopped for about 30 minutes in a random station outside of town that was very close to the beach. we arrived at 7:30 instead of 7:00. I asked Daniel, and Julian if they have found a place to stay and they said that they were going to go and follow some other americans to see if there were any open bookings. I hope all turned out well for them. Jroge and I were back on our own to fend for ourselves in this warm, mountainous, and exotic country where we both agreed to spend only one more day in... mostly because we couldnt take it anymore and just wanted to get to germany to make sure everything was back in order. Once again, our nails were dirty, our shoes muddy, and our hair itchy, and we just wanted to get ourselves to a hot shower, and a place to put down roughly 50 pounds of equipment.

The man at the ticket office said that the farthest he could take us from barcelona was Lyon after making several attempts to get us to the german border. We were desperate and as much as i longed to see 3 warm meals and a free place to see, i also yearned to see judy once more... We asked about nice, a small province in france which overlooks the mediterranean. At 8:25 in the morning he could take us out there... and we nabbed it as soon as possible. We turned our energy to the metro system and looked for the stop we would have to get off at in order to make it to our hostel which i had some serious reservations about. The train was crowded, but by the time our stop came about we were almost the only people left, and got off in the westernmost part of the city.

I sure know how to pick them because this hostel seemed to be at one of the topmost points in the neighborhood which seemed to overlook a series of condos that in some ways slightly resemble nicer ghettos. However, the view while seemingly empovrished, posesses an exotic, and adventurous appeal to it that i would never trade for the world. We approached a set of stairs dubbed by other visitors as the stairway to heaven. Standing at the bottom of the set, we looked uphill at approximately 300 or so steps which would lead us to our ultimate destination. Ofcourse, with 50lbs of equipment strapped to my chest, the glamour of climbing the stair was almost all gone by the time I stood at the top a sweaty heap of cotton, nylon, flesh, and blood.
The stair was also anything but grandiose; decorated by the ghettochilds of the neighborhood with artwork and graffiti. Some of it said "Stairway to heaven" other stuff was spanish I couldnt pronounce, or gang tags which i didnt really care about. My question was, when night fell, was it lit??? there were old and outdated looking lampposts but still the thought of their actual use still lingers in my mind... and the possibility of ascending the stair in complete darkness has been a reality i am now prepared to accept. Heading up to the edelweiss hostel is an adventure in itself as one has to navigate lots of back streets and roads... however, doing such things at nightfall is a completely different story, and a completely different adventure. We will see what happens.

We started off our day poorly by answering the wake up call and then choosing to sleep through it once more. Luckily, i woke up at 11:40... 20 minutes before checkout time, and after having dealt loosely with those who worked at the hotel, i am confident they wanted to turn out their pair of unwelcome backpackers who trudged through their automatic glass doors only the day before.
During midday we travelled across town to the train station and arrived at approximately 12:20... and it was all downhill from there. It started with the number on a ticket. B650... John and I wanted to make our attempt at barcelona for the 1:00 train, which we apparrently missed by a longshot. While there was no checkin for the train, we needed to get our eurail passes stamped which (believe it or or not) took us about 40 minutes of waiting as well as venturing out to look for stuff. The woman knew we were going to miss our train and checked us into the 10:02 train... we would arrive by 7:00 in the morning. Which means that i burnt out about 38 Euros on a day in a hostel which we never will get to use. John and i were 8 hours late to our arrival. We were supposed to have been there at 11:00 the evening prior.

From 1:00 till 10:00 was entirely reserved for free time... We went to a small cafe in the station where we got sandwiches and sat down... and after we finished eating our sandwiches, we sat some more... and then talked... and then talked some more... and we watched people go by... and we got more sodas and waters... and we talked some more... and some more... and some more... (3 hours later) and some more... and some more... and some more... (4 hours later) and we got more drinks... and we talked, and watched people go by... (5 hours later) and we talked some more... we sat there for 5 hours... in the same place... we even saw some people twice, even three times in one sitting.

no. seriously...

John and i looked out into the sea of madridites, and let out sighs of frustration. The cafe became our island where we were stranded... except on our island were ipods, televisions, sandwiches, lots of fanta, and lots of pretty girls (That we couldnt talk to, mind you)... and it all meant NOTHING. Deftly we came to the realization that we wanted to either go home, or go to a place where we could be understood... because madrid, unfortunately, was not that place. From here on out, we calculated our steps moreso, and came to the realization that we needed to get to germany. fast.

at around 9:00 at night while it was still light. This probably explains why the spaniards start everything really late. Jroge and made our ascension from the train steps and looked around the Mysterious, seductive city in the dead of night. The streets were narrow and paved with cobblestones like in the travel pictures. The Buildings, tall, rustic, and looming with their gargantuan arches and concrete faces.
Our ventures took us down a side street, where we walked down a slight incline towards what history teachers would call "high bougeoise culture" but what we called, cafes. Old men in dapper gray suits, and fresh shirts smoked their pipes, Young men drank pints of beer and laughed. In the distance i could hear three british men exchanging tales of debauchery around cool beers and tapas. I could hear the quick, steady, and rhythmic jabber of natives leaning up against the bar counter slowly eating their tapas in between quick spats of discourse. Sleek, small, and stylish cars sped through the back streets and alleyways where most of the conversation and congregation spilled out onto. Lights hanging from doorways illuminated small sections of street where groups of people walked along the razor thin sidewalks and gradually entered the various bars.
Sietske was the name of our waittress at the irish pub John and I spent a little bit of time at. She was about 5,5... with black hair, blue eyes which were accentuated by her mascara , and a body which was in shape to say the least. Her haircut complemented her face which was angular and pointed. She brought us our beers, Johns Cheeseburger, and my Chicken tenders which tasted divine i might add. At around 10:00 the bar was still relatively empty for its size. It was a a dark, wood paneled room with two floors and fully stocked bars. I kept it simple and drank a heineken... so did john. The place gradually filled, however, by the time 10:45 rolled around, john paid for the services and left.
In the clearing just up the street were tapas bars with tables entirely filled with patrons who were simply enjoying the cool of night in the summertime. A man dressed in black danced with fire and everybody watched the free entertainment, drinking, eating and discoursing.
We took some more side streets, and after passing some more bars, we stubled across this little hole in the wall that was blaring american music such as beyonce, jay-z, madonna, and many others. A tan girl was behind us and asked us if we were in line... an english speaker. Thank god.
All i remember was that her smile was perfect as if she was a toothpaste model or something, and she had really pretty skin. She ordered a long island iced tea for her mother, and a mojito for herself. The deal was 2 mixed drinks for 8 EUROS. She went to school in louisiana, however didnt sound southern. If i were one to guess, i would have said she was from upstate new york, or long island. Shows how much i know.
We stuck around for a bit, and left at around 12:00... John and I didnt want to risk anything by having the trains shut down on us while we were in the dead center of the city. We'll take our chances some other day with late night indulgence... but for now, when we get back, it will be time to sleep. Again.

The sun shone through the left side of the airplane cabin at approximately 12:00 EST. Sitting 37,000 feet and dropping, the jet remained calmly nestled above the clouds as it prepared for its descent. One by one, each person arose from their slumber to be greeted by coffee and what they called a buttermilk bar (a bar which tastes like coffee cake, but without the crumbs). Pushing myself out of the seat, I got my backpack, pulled out the summer reading, and plugged in my ipod in an attempt to get some work done. I got through the preface of Death of Innocents before I was forced to put my seat in the upright position and prepared for landing.
John was stirring in his sleep as he tried to hold on to whatever hours he could whilst the entire back cabin of the plane began to wake up one by one. He and I were located in the back third of the airplane, pretty close to "the suck" as we liked to call it. The suck is a term we use for every type of crappy seating arrangement in mass transit. In context to an airplane, usually the suck is located by the bathrooms in the back of the plane. However, on our plane, it was located near 4 bathrooms as opposed to two bathrooms and was on the unfortunate row of 36... john and i were on row 31.
The plane shifted and angled itself for the precise landing into the city of madrid. For a second, the city was transformed into an Aurete paradise in the bright light of the sun, and the silhouettes of the mountains which encapsulate the city were visible.

Bounce... Bounce... Skid...Roar... We have landed.

Loud Rings from the phone woke us up the first two times in our attempt to slumber for our upcoming days journey. John and I were two of the three "Madrid Flights" looking for refuge-three hots and a cot-in the lonely city.

"Here are your newly issued plane tickets, your hotel voucher, and meal vouchers redeemable anywhere except for fridays" the dark, bearded, heavily obese clerk said behind his two cell phones, and one desk phone with a slight lisp.
Two fingers lightly touched my shoulder. "I hope we meet one more time before we leave... we probably will" an elderly woman with gray hair, innocent eyes, and rose colored skin said. I spent my time talking to her on the plane, and perhaps if it weren't for Jroge, or her, I would have not known what to do.

The rooms were run down. The lobby was shit, but oh well... it was a place to stay. I suppose one could consider it training for the real thing. However, next time, the beds wont be as comfortable... the rooms wont be as well carpeted, and despite the basic conditions, it would be unjust to say that the rooms were spartan.

Two clicks from the door and a feminine voice announces housekeeping... the rustling sound from john combing his hair... the hum from the air conditioner... and the click from the light... i still had a shirt to put on, John recently slid his jeans on. "We're not ready yet ma'am" he told the housekeeping woman. Now we can hear the vacuum in the next room. Our flight leaves at 6:00. We'll be in the airport at 4. But until the meantime... we're gonna head back into the lonely city.

We waited on our plane for what seemed like an infinite span of time. Excess seconds turned into minutes, excess minutes turning into hours, and so on and so on... By now, Jroge and i should be somewhere soaring over the Atlantic into a new day, however we find ourselves here. Somewhere in between now and then, we make loose discourse with the dredges of society who try to make their way home after a long days work.



I have been to Philadelphia before, mostly on educational trips, and while my intentions for the stint which we have spent here were grandiose, for the most part, they all have fallen apart under the onus of mediocrity. I like to think that philadelphia was an exciting city, however, from what me and john have experienced, for the most part it has left a rotten imprint in our memories, something like when a child runs over a white carpet in his muddy shoes.

Philly is dirty, and for the most part, everybody we met has come off to be extremely sketchy. The up side to all of this, however, is the fact that we have in many ways shed our shells that have been timid and shy, and pretend to be people we may not necessarily be. Y'know who i am talking about. Those guys who you meet on everytrip that talk to everybody... yeah, we're those guys. I have also realized that talking to strangers can be quite fun. Especially in time of need.

1:26 A.M. Philly time. I am still wearing the same clothes i was wearing before, and i know tomorrow my breath will smell like hot garbage... but oh well, nothing is perfect. And I guess if it's that bad, I can just put a stick of gum in my mouth.

I hope the weather is good tomorrow...

By the way: never ride Septa, it sucks.
-Cliff