Our last night day in Europe was spent with Macko. We enjoyed an evening in Bank, had some pints, relished an A+ Italian dinner down by the river and then retired to Macko’s enormous flat to watch Layer Cake. A wonderful day and a lovely way to cap off an epic trip abroad.
So, the cat is out of the bag. It seems that we’re coming back to the States with a special kind of Turkish Delight: Carrie is pregnant!
We found out while in Budapest (after some confusion trying to understand the directions for the home test). Doing some math, we figure that Carrie got pregnant while we were in Istanbul.
We are both incredibly excited. It has been such an amazing trip, and to have this happen in such short order is almost too much to handle. Carrie and I will be landing in Austin on Wednesday and can’t wait to see and talk to everyone.
We took the overnight train from Hamburg, and we now have 3 nights in gay Paris before shuttling through the Chunnel to London. On the agenda:
Wine & sandwich picnic at the Eiffel Tower
Pho in Little Vietnam
Early morning sprint around the Louvre
Views from our room in Prague. We’re staying at the Little Budget Hotel, but there’s nothing budget about our view, our location or our suite. 
I had a strange David Sedaris moment of the train from Zagreb to Budapest. I had gotten restless watching Carrie sleep soundly on across 3 of the seats in our 6-seat compartment. There’s something about a sleeping beauty that keeps even the most hard-up traveler from barging into our quiet little space and disturbing things. I had seen half a dozen people get on the train, walk by, peek in, and continue on their way as I studiously avoided any eye contact.
Anyway, as I was walking around, I noticed the pretty countryside and towns that we were passing. I stuck my head slightly out the window to sink it in. As I craned my neck around, I saw a boy, maybe 8, sitting on a wooden fence waving at the train. His mother and father were behind him and there was a dirt road leading away from the little dead-end that they were standing at. It occurred to me that this boy’s parents had brought him to this spot so that he could wave at the train. Maybe this is a big deal? Maybe he’d never seen a train before?
So I stuck my hand out the window and waved back. The boy didn’t catch this, but his father did. He said something to his son, pointing in my direction as the train raced away and, I swear to god, I think he smiled. As the train receded, I watched the family gather their things and head back down the dirt road.
The Economist publishes a Big Mac index, essentially a compilation of what a Big Mac costs in other countries. If classical economic theory is correct, this should allow people, among other things, to calculate exchange rates. For instance, if a Big Mac costs $3 in the U.S. and 2€ in France, then the exchange rate should be $1.50 to the Euro. This is called Purchase Price Parity.
What the Economist couldn’t have known was that although my cheeseburger meal in Switzerland cost $12, it was the most delicious thing I’ve ever eaten in a McDonald’s. And the Royal with Cheese meal that I just had in Zagreb, while only costing $6, looked and tasted like I had scraped it off the bottom of my foot. So, not all hamburgers are created equal. Something to think about, Economist.
These are kind of inside jokes, so bear with me:
The bus to Dubrovnik runs every hour… except 9am! Figure it out for yourself, back-packa!
Yaaaaaarrrrgggggghhhhhhh
3 kunas to use the WC at a bus stop. If you consider a hole in the ground a WC.
Carrie is getting rained on by the condensation from the AC unit in our bus. She has ceased to be irritated and is slowly going insane. “I need more paper towels!”
A guy tried to buy a water, candy bar and chips with a fistful of weird change. No dice. He takes away the candy. No dice. He takes away the chips. Confusion still reigns. He says angrily, “I no buy nothing now!”
I happily bought two beers for $4. I need some road beers for this ride.
We just rolled through the border to enter Bosnia. Yeah, no shit. Did you know Croatia’s coastline isn’t contiguous down to Dubrovnik? Neither did I! This bus ride is going from weird to surreal.
Catching the night train from Munich to Lake Bled (Slovenia) was a harrowing experience. I’m fairly sure that I sprinted (full out) a cumulative mile as I changed money, located trains, and tracked down information booths. Multiple times we were told contradictory things about which train would get us to Bled, most of the time getting the response “Bled?”
We finally found the right car and secured a sleeping compartment. We were joined by a nice older lady who spoke no English but did help make Carrie’s bed. After paying the 40 euro surcharge I clambered into my top bunk and passed out.
We woke up just a short while before the train would arrive in Bled. Which was great. But the conductor still had our Eurail pass. Which was bad. Those passes are not stored in a database, are not reproducable, and are basically 24 hundred dollar bills with our names scribbled on them. I frantically looked around for him and just as we were about to have to disembark, he emerged from a sleep car rubbing his bed head. And all was right with the world and we had arrived in Slovenia.
First, sorry if these posts aren’t strictly chronological. Offline post composition is both a blessing and a curse if you’re just motivated enough to start a post but too lazy to finish one.
When we were in Interlaken (two countries ago), we took a train over to the Alps and after a cool gondola ascent began a short hike up towards the tallest mountain in Europe (Jungfrau). It was a leisurely hike along a well paved path and after a couple of hours we were 1200 meters from the peak. We inquired about the train that takes people to the observatory on the top of the mountain and found out it was about $80 each.
As we hiked away, I told Carrie how great I thought our view was from down here.
“Make sure your wetsuit is rolled over your water boots… unless you’re from Texas.”
This was a joke repeated in different forms by our canyoning guides as we prepared for our trip. I grew up in Virginia telling West Virgina jokes, so now the shoe is on the other foot.
Our primary guide was a giant named Sebastian. He was about 6’3″ and looked like a young Magnus Ver Magnusson. This guy was a badass. He would leap headfirst off a rock ledge, flip in the air, and land precisely where he needed to in order to avoid being pulverized by rocks under the river. We’re talking 3-point accuracy.
So, as you can gather, Carrie and I went canyoning. It’s sort of like white water rafting, minus the rafts and plus a bunch a hairy jumps and slides down waterfalls. It was… extreme. We spent about 5 hours making our way through this canyon, being told where to jump, where to land, and how to slide.
I would usually jump first, into these deep and cold pools of water, with shockingly strong currents. I’d turn around, treading water or clinging to a wall and wait for Carrie to arrive. She would splash down and then the bouyancy of her life vest would bob her up, where an expression of pure panic would be plastered on her face. Classic!
Anyway, the trip concluded with a hearty meal of sandwiches, chips and beer. The beer was abundant, so I polished off three by the time we got back to the hostel (road beers are ok). I napped like a baby that evening.
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