Well, hi.
This is one of those times when so much has happened since the last time I sat down to do this column thing that I am completely flummoxed about where to start, what to say and exactly how many details of my recent life might interest you. So now I'm just biting my nails.
The Police and I survived Europe and made it home safely about a week ago. And then I immediately went to bed for three days with a nasty cough and a fever of 102. And jet lag of the most wicked kind. Honestly, we had been home for about four days before I woke up and realized that I was back in Kansas, Dorothy. Also that I hadn't showered in a really long time. But I had, apparently, roused myself enough at one point to dig through my bags and put on some of the fancy French perfume that I bought in Paris. Because every girl wants to smell like a combination of three-day-old fever sweat and Chanel No. 5. My husband, he's a lucky man.
So, Europe. It was amazing, just like I remembered it -- well in theory, since I had never actually been to the cities we visited. But we had a gorgeous time, one of those vacations that leaves you mentally quite happy, refreshed and inspired, and physically leaves you sore, exhausted and begging sistermercyplease for about a week-long bubble bath. We calculated at one point, and figured we were clocking in about 10 miles a day on foot, and when you're doing that on cobblestones in the snow, it's not exactly the same as doing it on a treadmill in your sneakers.
We started out with a simple mission: to broaden our horizons, fall in love all over again and eat all the cheese in France. OK, maybe that last part was just my mission. The Police's involved wearing his Garth Brooks T-shirt in front of the Eiffel Tower. Hey, it's not my place to judge, man.
I may have to share this total experience with you over a number of weeks, since I'm not organized enough to condense it into one column -- and also since I'm not good at doing things chronologically, it's going to be a series of scattered observations. Welcome back into my world.
Observation No. 1: Bathroom attendants. They are everywhere. I had forgotten about this one. But leave it to the Europeans to find a way to make money off of tourists, even when they go to the bathroom. You can't just pop into a facility somewhere, oh no -- you have to pay. And for your coin you get a smile (sometimes) and a clean paper towel handed to you by an attendant who will under no circumstances speak English. They will keep the bathroom clean, but they will not help you if you get stuck in the stall because it is so stinking TINY and you went in there with your full backpacking gear on and now you can't get your clothes back on right or even turn around, for pete's sake. If that happens, you're on your own. Another thing they will do, sometimes, is sing. Which is encouraging.
Observation No. 2: Learning to navigate the metro system in a gigantic strange city where you do not speak the language will test the strength of your marriage. It may be that one of you has more experience with train systems than the other, while one of you has a better track record with not getting lost in general, and sometimes opinions differ about which way you should go and whether or not you might spend your whole visit to Paris underground wandering through endless tunnels that for some reason always smell like cabbage. And feet. Cabbage and feet. But then eventually, you might get the hang of it, then spend the rest of the week giving each other high fives and feeling like masters of the universe.
Observation No. 3: We stood in the ancient Agora where guys like Socrates and Plato hung out, and we walked around the top of the Eiffel tower, and stared with our mouths open at the Mona Lisa and the Venus de Milo. Those are experiences that remind you of your place on this earth. And I'm very grateful for them.
Observation No. 4: We saw Munich, Germany, for one day, which I realize is not enough to make any kind of real judgment call about a whole country as tourist destination. But I will say this: it was the coldest and most scrupulously clean place I have ever been in my life. I mean not even one piece of stray garbage on the street. Anywhere. It was a lovely city and the people that we encountered were very nice and went out of their way to be helpful. We saw some beautiful architecture -- old churches and the like, and basically hauled our packs around for 12 hours and froze our buns off in the blowing snow. Hauling luggage around in the blowing snow was kind of a theme for the trip, which didn't reduce my enjoyment at all but might account for the 102 fever upon my arrival back home.
Observation No. 5: When you cross time zones six time in seven days -- strange things happen to your biorhythms, man. Jet lag, it is not to be messed around with. Even after multiple days back in good old Central Standard, I still have to prop my eyelids open starting at around 1 p.m., and then wake up raring to go (and hungry) at about 3 p.m. Not that the hungry part is really different.
Next week, I'll try to give a more coherent recap of our experiences, since they really were worth sharing. Or maybe it will just be more of this. I really can't make any promises. Also, if thousands of travel photos interest you, feel free to hit me up on Facebook. I'm not cool enough to be Twitter proficient just yet.
Thanks, as always, for coming along.
sharris@blythevillecourier.com