all the doors open in the wrong directions. I always find myself pulling when I should be pushing. I can never get it right.

the way Italian women behave in public bathrooms speaks loudly of the country’s cleanliness and more than anything, of their consideration of other beings. I believe italians are incredibly selfish and I have always placed them in the same class with the french. Italian women, much like the french, are simply filthy. you can never expect to go to the bathroom without there being piss on the seat, walls and everywhere around. and be utterly disgusted the whole time while mopping up someone else’s pee.

in similar context of selfishness, the Italians really frown upon the idea of sharing a chair lift with a stranger. and should just a thing occur they will not smile back, reply to your hello and/or will act like you are not there. in fact, some even get angry and a verbal commotion ensues, that, of course, you seated in the chair do not understand. but you understand enough to know that they are talking about you and they are not pleased. all the same they get upset if you pass them on the lift line and might take their anger out on your skis, poles or just elbow you. while majority of the chairs go up with plenty of room on them. such a strange habit.

dude. moon boots. they’re like made for me.

the italian skiing culture is strange as well. for me at least. a country that developed scarps, asolo and many, many other products I now rely on has a touring culture that I realize I could probably not relate to. first of all there’s the spandex, it’s the uniform of choice. kinda like those road bikers you see in montana, they are a breed of their own.  too much spandex, too much clear headed direction, a bit too athletic for my taste, like maybe too serious in a way. and then the insanely teeny skinny skis. I see how going up in those is awesome, but what about the ski down? surely the toothpicks manage in choppy conditions, but I must admit, I love my phatties. and by american standards, my skis are not big at all. in italia there are teeny boots, no support, missing are the baggy clothes, the pot smoking and the beer in hand. I like the culture I live in. I look like every skier in montana, but in Italy, I look different. I am the only one with these big, wide skis of mine. standing next to carving culture.

also, when they stand in line for something, they seem to feel the need to be right up close to you, so that there’s not an inch of room and you have someone breathing down your neck. thought I must say, in similar fashion, americans are so polite that in denver airport, a whole crowd decided not to enter the train as it seemed ‘full’. full my ass, everyone move to the back of the bus! I was in a hurry so I swept in and pushed about 3 people in as I went. everyone seemed startled by it. I don’t blame them, but come on, just get in. you really were gonna stand there and wait for the next train cause you could’t ask people to make room. don’t be shy. stand up stella!

nothing in germany comes out of a tap except beer. If you order water, it is always delivered luke warm in a glass bottle that contains only a small portion of water. a glass full. if you order a coke in a restaurant, it comes in a can, luke warm, with a glass, without ice. germans don’t really do ice. nor does italy. or most of europe for that matter.

I love germany’s idea of fast food. for $3.50 you can get a grilled panini goodness at the train station and chase it with a beer. no matter what time of day. and you can drink beer where ever you want. just a leery concept to someone who has never lived under such freedom to choose.

I think the general mass is dumb. I get incredibly annoyed at the general stupidity of the gapers and their inability to move, make choice or get out of your way while they figure it out. why is it that I don’t feel like I have such a hard time with it? or am I really just as bad as they are? I know one german lady got annoyed with me as a I took a second to decide between chicken or pork, but really. I read the signs, ask for directions and enter only when I know where I am going. If you are instructed to exit the building through a stair case, with arrows directing you the whole way, why then stop suddenly in a moment of doubt? and while doing so, hold back a herd of tourists so that someone needs to yell ‘keep moving’? or that when you keep shoving the ticket into the machine, it keeps telling you no enter, and even gives you a time WHEN you may enter, why then stand there and stare at the machine, again holding back a mountain of people? what about the sign right next to the machine that explains the process in 4 languages?

why does the wait staff in europe hold out on giving you your bill until your glass is empty and table is cleared? maybe a german would be offended if they felt rushed. america seems to be the other way around. however, I must admit, having the waitress bring your bill when you just got your meal feels a bit pushy, don’t you think? but I like the american attitude that you ask if they would like another BEFORE the last one is done. first of all, business make more money and the waitress tips, people drink more and you leave drunker than you may have intended. everybody wins? also, in europe, if you pay with a credit card, the wait staff will stand there and wait until you sign it. which leaves you with an awkward moment to decide if you will tip them or not, or how much while they watch. \

when I finally said good byes to my family I went back to the hotel room to ignore what had happened and enjoyed a long shower again with the dual shower heads. I packed my things a few hours later and when I emerged at the terminal ready to board the train for the remaining portion of my trip, I was taken by a senseless emptiness. I stood in the big court yard where I had hugged my family hellos just a week ago and couldn’t help the streaming tears and sorrow that poured. I didn’t care if I was stared at. I just wanted to let it out. I couldn’t stop it. I sat down and cried. I was going to wallow and it was okay. in fact, it almost made me feel better. this senseless void of leaving your family behind always tears my heart out. I could not stop crying for the remainder of the day. with intermittent moments of clarity, I dragged my bags into a downtown hostel, checked in and went to meander through the beautiful cobble stone streets of old town, stared at statues, palaces and ended up in a large park in the heart of munich. stopped to read bits of history, sat down to drink gluhwein, read my latest finnish book and listened to a german folk orchestra play from the top of the chinese tower. there was the sense of comfort I needed, something with a little warmth to comfort my sadness and emptiness. and I cried for comfort. it’s hard not to feel empty. after spending another week in their light, it’s hard not to want to be part of the family where I belong. too sad the continent is not the one where I belong. senseless void. senseless sadness that could fill mountains.

In the fear of having too much time to think, on my last day I opted to take the 2 hour train ride to see the Neuschwanstein. I could not spend another day meandering meaninglessly through the city that made me miss my family even more. I had a fantastic and a very busy day exploring two castles, eating and tasting for James’ birthday in the small bavarian village. Weissebeer und Wiener Schnitzel. Bitte.

Set in base of the Austrian Alps, where the border meets and the land begins to rise, the contrast of the flat is stunning to the majestic mountains. set in the heart of these, a gateway of sorts, are two castles that are lavish and rich with romantic ideals of past kings. fairy tales and fantasies. Ludwig II. Danke schön.