A Traveler's Best Friend

Dear Constant Readers,

The highlight of this past week was a little trot Dylon and I took to Marsaille, France on Friday. We got back yesterday. It all started like this:

Dylon went to England with some of the other exchange students on a trip they put together. I didn't go because I wasn't asked, but it suited me fine. Then, last week, I learned they were planning a trip to Greece, which I would have been interested in. Again I wasn't asked, probably because I've mostly stopped hanging out with them in an attempt to find my own crowd. I was particularly disturbed by this lack of invitation, but it did prompt me to ask Dylon if we should throw a trip together ourselves. I believe this was at 6.00 Wednesday evening. By 8.00 we had decided that a trip to some place on the Mediterranean was in order. It didn't take us long to choose Marsaille, for no good reason other than it simply seemed like a good location. We managed to throw together some travel plans, a hotel reservation, and some ticket reservations on the night train.

To those who recall what I said about how much I love 8-hour long flights, particularly night flights, the same applies here for trainrides of that duration. At least in a plane though, you always know where your seat is, there is the possibility of a movie, and conditions normally keep people from blabbing into their cellphones when you to get something that passes as sleep. Also, there are luggage compartments which keep your backpack from falling down and landing on your head after you moments finally obtain that sleep.

It made for an interesting night, but all said and down, we reached Marsaille relatively in one peace, albeit exhausted. As soon as we got there we decided that buying return tickets would be in order (we didn't, or weren't able to, buy round-trip tickets before we left) and my skills in French were put to the test after about six years of hibernation. The first conversation involved trying to obtain the aforementioned tickets, which was kind of a pain. The attempt was a bit of a bust. She listed off some options for a return route and Dylon said "What'd she say?" "I don't know, something about Brussells and Sunday." Dylon that that was funny as hell, and when I looked a bit perplexed at this, he said, "C'mon man, we gotta laugh at this or we're gonna shoot ourselves in the head later."

Through trying though, I did get some of it back, and we even obtained a ticket back, although it was much more pricey than I had been expecting...in fact the whole trip was a bit more expensive than I had anticipiated, mostly because of that damned ticket. Anyway though, after getting some cheap McDonald's breakfast and finding directions to our hotel in an internet cafe, we made it safely there (this time I was more successful while asking a French pharmacist where the street of the hotel was) and we got a nap before setting out to see the city.

By the time we set out though, it was dark, so we decided to get some dinner, and see the rest of what we could on Saturday. We ended up choosing a restaurant that consisted mostly of seafood. I'd never had clams or mussels, so it was an experience for me. The food was a bit shocking, some of it was I wasn't sure what I was supposed to eat and what I wasn't. If you crack open an raw crab, for example, you find an orangish material that looks exactly like mashed up carrots. I told myself that's exactly what it was when I bit into it. I don't think I got everything hollowed out of its shell, but I didn't feel particularly sorry about that, and there was plenty more to eat anyway.

Another high point for me was the fact that the hotel room had a bathtub. I love baths much more than showers because I can relax better in them and read as well, but since coming to Germany I haven't had that chance, and even our dorm did have a tub, I'd probably not use it.

After watching a German movie dubbed into French, Dylon and I both fell asleep in our beds, still quite exhausted from the travel.

The next day was more of a sight-seeing. We walked along part of the coast line in the city, and took a boat ride out on the water, and also saw the Isle d'If, the prison-island, from "The Count of Monte Cristo." It was mostly a quite day though soon enough we were back in the train station awaiting to go home. I guess I can tell I'm learning German well when I can't wait to get back to the comforts of a language I know.

Since I knew what to expect of a night train, I was prepared for a more restful trip. I knew where my seat was, and I secured my blunt backpack to so it wouldn't victimize my head while I was resting. Luckily, I even had a whole two seats to myself. Pretty decent, huh? What could go wrong?

The flu, that's what! I got ill, ill, ILL. I'll spare you the details, but it made for the trip back to Luxemburg somewhat of a nausating Hell. I couldn't figure out what it was. The train wasn't a very smooth ride, but I've never been prone to motion sickness. I could have been food-poisoning, but most of what I ate Dylon had also ordered one of. In the end it didn't really matter, though. We arrived in Luxemburg and I had to find a restroom quickly. It cost 1.10 Euros to use the public facilities, and I laid a twenty on the man's desk because I knew I didn't have enough time to count change. He kind of looked at it a bit quizzically and asked what I needed. I pointed to a picture of a toilet, and then promptly threw up on this desk, and he understandably freaked out a bit and decided maybe I didn't have to pay right away after all.

I made it back to Germany from Luxemburg, almost without incident. I knew I wouldn't be able to walk home, and Dylon had to go to work right away, so I took a cab and left her a good sized tip because at this point I didn't care so much about getting correct change, I just wanted to find a bathroom and then try to sleep.

The rest of the day was rather feverish and very sleep-deprived. I sent Katrin a text telling her I needed her help, and that evening she came buy and I explained everything as best I could, and then she went to the store and bought me some stuff that I use digest without turning into mush.

But there is one thing that she couldn't find, and that's because it doesn't exist in Germany, at least not in any store she'd seen. And that, my friends, is Pepto Bismol, quite possibly a traveler's best friend. Do NOT leave home without it. I don't know what countries it's sold in and which it isn't, frankly I was as surprised as my feeble energy would allow when she told me she'd never heard of it. I know it's sold in Mexico, and for damn good reason too. The last time I was this ill was when I was living in Mexico fighting off a bout of of Moteczuma's Revenge, or as I prefer to call it, the Aztec Two-Step.

Katrin checked in on me from time to time and spent time asking me how the trip was, since I was completely bedridden for 90% of the day. I wasn't completely feverish, but enough to have confused thoughts such as while looking at my dorm ceiling and recalling the first day I got here, thinking "This is Germany," and then considering my state, "And this is Germany on drugs."

Eventually I did get some rest, and by 8.30 AM today, Tuesday, I was feeling ten times better. Not a hundred percent, and Katrin seemed a little shocked when I suggested I might to classes (she quickly vetoed the idea). Hence I've spent most of the day indoor drinking Sprite and medicinal tea, however I felt good enough to straighten my room up and get my laundry washed. Tomorrow I should be well enough to get to class. However, I'm still going to call it a night early. It's 10.00 now, which is fairly early for me to be going to bed, but I don't want to play games with myself right now when I'm this close to feeling better again.

So anyway, I hope all of you are doing well, and I hope this note finds you well. I'd love to hear back from anyone who wants to respond.

Sincerely,
Tristan