I'd just like to take a moment and relay my bittersweet feelings concerning this post. Sure it is the last of a very long project I have been working on since returning from my trip. There were times when I would go weeks without posting anything, and you must be wondering why. Well, writing a blog everyday isn't as easy as it sounds. When I was in Europe with my sister, I tried to write a journal entry everyday, this strained my attempted style of the journal as I was trying to maintain the integrity of each post but was finding it hard not to resort to cliches. The result was a hurried and oftentimes bland recount of the events I have recounted here. I chock it up to being young and without a unified vision behind the writing, which I responded to by rewriting some of the things in my journal before posting as I am a perfectionist and the drivel I had written was only the mere mentions of much more fantastic and magnificent memories I still hold. I would also like to mention a new project that will make an appearance here on Notes of a Dirty Young Traveler in the coming weeks and months. Since I am now living in Lyon, France I would love to share with you all a piece of my experiences here as well as my trips abroad. I arrived in France at the end of August 2011, and plan on living here until June 2012, during which I will be studying business, philosophy, history and the French language. I will periodically write posts updating you about my current situation as well as delving into the mindset of a American student abroad. So for now enjoy the final post of the Eurotrip 2009, and expect new posts from France soon.
Bittersweet feelings on this July day. My heart hangs in the balance between wanting to stay here in Europe, where things are beautiful and strange, and returning home, where I will once again be surrounded by my familiar culture. Leaving will put to rest the sense of anxiety one experiences when abroad in new and foreign lands, but I can't help but think how much this trip has changed me, not in the desperate cliched way of an innocent abroad, but in the way a ceramic bowl becomes hardened and solid in the crucible of an oven. That's how Europe has been for me, a series of tests and the resulting moments of bliss when the hard work has paid off and I was allowed to indulge in the secret pleasures allotted to me.
Today was spent seeing the things we had missed the previous days, but mostly we sat in reflection of our time abroad so far. We pondered the minute and immense things that make Europe so enchanting to Americans and we hit upon a single strain that seems to pervade and inspire this feeling, and that is the sense of nostalgia. Many people come to Europe, and they (hopefully) know that it is certainly older than the United States. However, even knowing of the general history surrounding this continent won't prepare you for the reaffirmation of the human existence. Seeing the massive churches and experience the culture of centuries past remind us of our persistent link to history. It is both inspiring and reminiscent of those fleeting days of self-discovery when we become aware of the surroundings in which we inhabit. It is quiet the experience, one I would recommend to anyone.
After a few drinks at Murphy's Pub, (where a group of well-wishers met and talked with us about Amsterdam life, and we in turn divulged secrets about the very different and sometimes disgusting American life), we went to another Italian restaurant where we ate pizza and pasta. We decided to walk a bit further after dinner and came to the place we had eaten the other night. We decided to sit and have a drink. We had almost finished a bottle of Rose when one of the patrons recognized us from the night before. He came over and we talked for a bit. When he left I smiled to myself, my sister and I had become bar-rats in Amsterdam. By this time it was late, so we went looking for a club. Finding one, we pushed our way inside and ordered two beers at the packed bar. We passed the time soaking up the atmosphere and drinking our beer. I danced with a few girls to music that was would have found home on the Billboard 100 from 2003. We were about to leave, so my sister went to the bathroom. She had hardly unbuttoned her pants when a massive barbarian woman kicked in the door yelling, "you can't pee here, this is the men's room, you pay 50 cents and wait your turn!" She grabbed my sisters arm and started dragging her out of the stall. My sister quickly broke her hold and after flipping her off tossed the contents of her beer at her feet. She then tapped my should saying, "Bryan, we've got to go," as she bolted for the door. I finished my beer and ran after her. I got as far as the first step when three bulbous bouncers caught hold of my arms and lifted me in the air saying, "you pay for toilet now!" As my feet kicked helplessly as air I responded, "I didn't use your fucking toilet! Let me go!" Thankfully the barbarian women showed up and said, "it wasn't him, it was her!" She pointed to my sister who had already ran several blocks and was by this time a fading shadow among the neon signs.
They let me go, and I met up with my sister at another Irish pub, where we laughed about the whole thing. Soon though she retired to bed, and I was obliged to go with her. She went to sleep but I stayed up and went out onto the balcony to talk with David and Adrienne who were finishing the last of their weed. I told about the night's events in detail, and they seemed to understand. I was putting off the inevitable by talking to Adrienne after David went to sleep. I was prolonging my stay here in Europe as long as I could as I knew our flight tomorrow would come early and with a vengeance. But when I finally said goodnight I rested on my pillow and sighed a contented sigh that summed up my three week journey in Europe.
Our early morning flight left at 10 am. I say early because I didn't want to get up for it. I felt woozy again as I had so many other days throughout the trip. Fearing I would again throw up I grabbed the extra plastic garbage bag from our room and we went to check out. We took a train to the airport and I was successful in suppressing my urge to puke. Once we arrived at the airport we took an escalader to the second floor and that's when I lost it. I hurled into the plastic garbage bag everything I had eaten since Tuesday. I found my sister looking at the flight schedule, she sneered and asked if I felt better, and I have to say I did. We got to the check-in line which was a quarter of a mile long. It was easily the longest airport line I've ever seen and one that almost made us miss our flight. When we finally made it to the front the attendant told us we actually didn't have seats. She said to take our receipt and go to the gate anyways and see if they had anything available. We did, but were stopped en route by a tall, gangly man who asked us if we were carrying anything illegal in our bags. We said no, but he persisted in asking us specific questions ultimately trying to get us to slip up and admit we were drug traffickers for Tony Ramone. We got past him and approached the United desk. The attendant typed furiously for five minutes and told us cheerfully she had found us two seats on the next plane. My sister and I breathed a collective sigh and soon we were on our way to Portland.
We touched down at 12:30 pm, our dad picked us up and asked hundreds of questions. When we arrived at home our mom asked us hundreds of questions. I went downstairs to my room, which was strange because I realized I was home in Oregon with nothing to show of my endeavor but a bag full of stinky clothes and a handful of souvenirs. "And thus," I thought, "ends my three week escapade in Europe," as I went upstairs and outside to play basketball.
