My First Trip To Europe

I still can’t believe that I’m lucky enough to have made it to Europe twice in my life.  Twice.  How is this even possible?  I was a girl who was so poor she didn’t own a bike until she was 18, a girl who had to use bed sheets as curtains because of her peeping Tom, a girl who ate welfare cheese and wonder bread religiously, and a girl who didn’t go on her first vacation (minus a weekend at Midland Valley Plaza in Flint and the two “up north” vacations with my crazy family that included no working television, drunk arguments, many macaroni and cheese dinners and me sitting on the side of the lake with a life jacket on, but not allowed to go into the water) until the age of 20.

I’ll tell you how this is possible – I had a dream, and I made it come true.  Simple as that.  I knew the life I had wasn’t the life I was supposed to live.  I had dreams, I wanted to see the world.  Judy Blume told me the secret to life (Life is an adventure, as told in Spanish in Tiger Eyes) and I believed her.  By the time I was nine I was dreaming of going to prep schools and colleges on the east coast, and one day traveling to Europe.  When I got a little older, I knew seeing how the rest of the world lived was going to be one of the most important lessons I’d ever learn.  I had to get there, not only to see the countries my relatives came from, to see different forms of culture, traditions, art, architecture, history, etc., but mainly to see how different people view life.  I was different, and I needed to see other people different from me, probably because I knew by Kindergarten I wasn’t your average poor white trash kid.  I wore skirts until second grade, read books daily, watched adult television and movies, did caligraphy, went to the art museum, made sure my crazy mother paid her bills, and did my homework every day despite no one ever telling me to.  I liked learning new things, and nothing teaches you faster than when you go on vacation to a foreign land.  You have to learn how to speak, eat, pay, socialize, commute, and hell, even go to the bathroom differently when you travel.

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By the time 2005 rolled around, I knew this was the year I was going to go to Europe.  I was working two jobs and barely able to afford to groceries since my student loans were massive and my civil servant pay was slim.  I didn’t want to charge my trip and get into a huge financial mess, as I try to live debt free (minus my enormous student loans that will haunt me even in my grave) so I did research for several months to find a way to afford to pay for Europe.  Contiki is cheap as heck, fun, and when you are young, so worth it.  I took a loan out from my 401K at 2.8% interest, and it paid for my 15 day, 14 city, 8 countries vacation to Europe … and all it cost me was $38 a paycheck for the next 2 1/2 years.  Most of the meals were included, so all I had to pay for were some dinners and extra excursions.  I bought myself a few t-shirts and some jewelry as well, nothing much.  And thankfully, I was barely drinking then since I had Fibromyalgia and was exhausted all the time, so this cut my spending way down.  My boyfriend then (husband now) wasn’t sure he could afford to go with me, but, I said, too bad, I’m booking, and offered him the option of coming along.  I knew he was going to come, and sure enough, a month later he had his trip booked, as it was his dream to travel, too.

I’ve written before about those first moments I had in London, jaw dropped, utterly exhausted after nearly 23 hours of travel do to an airline strike, and nearly getting hit by cars and losing a shoe in the center of traffic because it was all so overwhelming.  And during most of the trip in Europe I felt the same way, overwhelmed, yet in awe of my surroundings.  We had our first day in London, arriving much later than expected, and laughed when we saw two tiny single beds in our room.  Little did we know that in most of Europe, when you request a double bed, you usually get two little beds pushed next to one another.  I still laugh at the thought of seeing us try to sleep in one of those beds together, with our wide shoulders.  Taking a train in London was the most difficult thing ever, until we got to Amsterdam, when none of the cities sounded remotely familiar.  It took me 30 minutes until I found someone who spoke english.  And my god, Germany.  I can’t tell you how much time we spent trying to get on the right train, let alone the time we spent riding on the wrong ones.  Pick pockets and shady folks were everywhere looking to rob my tour mates.  I remember how we instinctively knew how to carry the cameras in our bags rather than around out necks, and how our money belts were safe under our waistbands as well as our front-loading backpacks.  We even held hands in the center and used our clasped hand like a weapon when walking through thick Italian crowds.

My least favorite experience but most memorial experience was the toilets.  Most of Europe didn’t have toilet seats, you had to hover or stand over the bowl.  Thank god I had years of bar nights under my belt so I knew how to pee accordingly.  What I couldn’t take was having to pay to go to “the loo.”  But, what pissed me off the most was the lack of order and lines in the “water closets.”  Image a bus filled with 50 people, and the on board toilets not being able to be used.  30 of us were women, so when we would stop for lunch during travel days, I’d spend a good 40 minutes in line just to pee.  My man would get my food and I’d have ten or twenty minutes to eat.  There would be huge lines to the bathrooms, and in certain countries, especially Italy, these Italian bitches (Don’t forget I’m an Italian bitch, too) would come from nowhere and line jump you after you’ve been waiting in line to pee for 40 minutes.  It was killing me.  By the time I got to Rome, my third Italian city, I had had enough.  So, of course, I go all ghetto at a woman, at The Vatican, when she cuts in front of me and runs into my stall.  I’m yelling “get out” and motioning to her like a crazy person, making my evil crazy face.  She ignores me.  Pissed, I even follow her into the stall and yell “get out get out GET OUT!” at the top of my arms like a crazy woman while motioning my arms so hard they almost broke off, and she ran outta that stall more frightened than I’ve ever seen any person in all my life.  I laughed and laughed in that bathroom stall once I heard the unexpected applause from all 30 of my tour group ladies as well as the other 20 or so various women from around the world who witness my pee-pee breakdown.

I learned that at times you keep your mouth shut, and it’s not always safe to do the right thing.  A couple of girls were from the US and were nurses, and witnessed a beating in a street in St. Goar, Germany.  They hadn’t really seen the assailants, yet the German police yanked them off the bus and took them to parts unknown.  They went with them like lambs rather than call their consolate or refuse.  My tour guide and most of the bus was freaking out, but thankfully very late that evening Contiki (or whoever) managed to get them out of police custody in Germany, and on a train, and they met up with us in Austria by bedtime.  They were borderline hysterical, having being scared out of their minds and upset by missing an entire day and probably the most beautiful part of our trip.  Half our hotel had heard this guys screams, but theses nurses were the only ones who called the police and went out into the scene to save him.  I’m not saying you shouldn’t help someone in trouble, I’m saying you need to be wary when you don’t know the procedures of the country you are in, especially while in Germany.

Italy was the best country for eating, which is why I included a picture of the night I ate the best meal of my life.  I can still remember what I ate, how it tasted.  We ate at this monastery in the hills, had a gigantic meal, listened to opera singers.  I even drank the coffee, and I hate coffee.  I dream about food the way most men dream about sex, I think.  I just had the best time eating on that trip, and made the most of my meals.  In Rome I came out of the bathroom to see that my man had ordered us each our own pizza and our own bowl of pasta.  And, we ate it all.  I even managed to eat my way through my gigantic pack of 80% dark chocolate bars that I had bought in Belgium and Switzerland.  Every morning, 6 am, you’d hear me going to town on one, moaning a bit from the joy of them.  If anything, traveling to eat yummy foods is all the reason you need to go to Europe, because, dear lord, did that food over there taste so good.  Except for London.  My goodness, imagine my horror on the boat to France.  For breakfast my choices included a boiled tomato, baked beans, weird toast, and bangers.  I went with the weird toast and a banger (sausage) and was glad once I found those magic chocolate bars so I’d never have a crappy breakfast again.

That trip kicked my ass, as I was going every minute from 5 or 5:30 am until 1 am.  Throw in my Fibromyalgia, my Arthritis, my bone spurs in both feet, and my plantar facsiitis and you can get an idea where I was coming from.  I thought I was going to die by the end of that trip.  The last two nights in Paris I’d look over and see more than one girl crying from exhaustion, which was funny as hell to me, as I was crying like that, too.  You couldn’t help it, there were too many museums, art, eating, traveling, sightseeing, and hell, even some drinking and naughty shows at the Moulin Rouge in Paris and at The Pink Pony in Amsterdam.  After that booze cruise I learned being hung over like that only gets you into more trouble.

I saw where Anne Frank hid, where real gladiators fought, were popes rule, where ancient cities still existed, where olympics were held, where ancient traditions still took place, were priceless artwork was hung, and I managed to experience every sort of emotion a person can have on a trip like that.  It was fun, it was hard, it was scary, it was exhausting, it was exciting, it was stimulating beyond belief, it was beautiful, it was educational, it was tasty, and it was real.  I’d never be able to keep up that pace today, but I’d do it in a heartbeat, because you can’t ever forget a memory that strong.  Which is why I hope those of you who want to will be able to go yourselves someday.