Random Funnies

I finally got around to grabbing all of the photos off my camera. Most of them were taken by me (Sarah), though Bridget took many as well. This is a small set of random funny photos I found, out of the nearly 1400 on my camera.

3 generations of Doran men having a beer in Munich. 

Brian and Bridget at the fort in Poland. 

Brian practicing his impersonation of the pregnant woman statue. 

Self explanatory.

Ken told Patte not to help move the bed. She helped anyway. One more use for duct tape!

A tourist bus in Budapest. 

Somewhere in Romania. There's a horse pulling that buggy. 

Group photo at the Polish fort. 

Ken and Patte at the fort. 

Siblings doing what siblings do. 

Matt and the giant snail in Munich. 

Patte on the ferry from Dover to Calais. 

Sierra photobombing Patte!

Matt testing the bed. He choose the sofa instead. 

Watching for the enemy. 

The Stork Has Landed

I had an assortment of blog ideas I was considering writing to commemorate our return to America. Some of these ideas are really good, as well as humorous and heartfelt. 

This post is not one of them.

Unfortunately, the temporal vortex that has caused me to arrive home 2 hours after I left on an 11 hour flight has left me befuddled. So I desperately need to sleep and collect my wits (of which, I have a vast quantity to collect), before I have anything worthwhile to contribute. Potentially, I will write a heartfelt and humorous retrospective on the trip as a whole. I've been peculating some thoughts about it that I would like to write down and share. This, however, will be at a later date if I ever get around to it. The really good stories I would never share on the internet anyway. We'll see.


So in the meantime:

Aw yeah.

The Voyage - Days 11 and 12

Day eleven. Three Countries in One Day Extravaganza.
Yet again, we had an amazingly delicious breakfast made at our bed and breakfast. We all spent the morning showering and putting on our freshest clothes so we could have a slightly more pleasant ten+ hour car ride from Romania through Hungry and just across the Slovakian boarder to Kosice, Slovakia!
As we passed through the Romanian-Hungarian boarder we were stopped by boarder control yet again. Thankfully the story leaving Romania was similar to the story when entering the country, we were kept for a short amount of time then released without having our baggage rooted through.
The drive itself was pretty uneventful except when I drove up some switchbacks with really tight turns, I was going a little fast; I really wanted to get around the slow car in front of me. Plus Brian sang for us, loudly, that was pretty mention-worthy.
When we arrived in Kosice there was minor debacle with parking, as per usual; and a minor debacle with useless power outlets, as per usual. We somehow always find a way to make things work, hopefully that luck doesn't run out.
The apartment we stayed in that night had a laundry washer/dryer combo, the 'dryer' functions didn't work so well. Any clothes that were washed were now dripping wet with no way to dry. By morning the whole apartment was covered in hung up damp clothes. I'll briefly say our night in Kosice involved a tasty 12% beer, a lot of laughter and a lot of water.
Lesson of the day:
1. A 12% beer CAN taste good, deceptively good.
2. Storks live in Hungry, Romania, and Slovakia and my family is still obsessed with them
Day twelve. Katowice, Poland.
Our bestest pal Tilly took us to Poland through a 'back door', aka some chicken farmer road to nowhere. Eventually, she took us to the motorway (freeway) and we realized the motorway was still being built in many spots and that Tilly just wasn't up to date on their construction progress. Damn Tilly and her beloved goat roads.
We dumped our stuff off in our hostel for the day while we went to Auschwitz. I won't say much about Auschwitz because the thought of that place disgusts me. I will say that everyone should visit at least once in their youth, 16-25yrs old, so that everyone understands the consequences of standing by and watching a problem without mobilizing to action for too long. Auschwitz is huge, no book or video clip could ever describe the enormity of this mass murder ground that was capable of killing 1.1 million people in a year and a half; it has to be seen personally.
Clearly after a day at Auschwitz we needed a pick me up!
Dinner was the perfect thing to get our minds off of the horror of the day and our dinner did not disappoint. The dishes were aesthetically pleasing enough that we took pictures. My stew came in a mini camp fire stew pot with a little sterno gel cup burning under the pot. Fantastic. Hungarian stew made in Poland, just fantastic.
Lessons of the day:
1. Auschwitz is huge and people are disgusting.
2. There is not a single stork in Poland - my family is disappointed.

Sarah and Matt Took a Drive

The one thing on Matt's "Must Do" list in Europe was a trip to Nurburgring, the famous race track, also known as "the Green Hell". Frankfurt is less than a 2 hour drive from there and lucky for us, they were set to allow tourist drives on the track Monday evening.

Matt and I set out a little before noon, as Nurburgring also purported to be a tourist trap with plenty to do. It turns out that with only 2 people on-board and all of the suitcases and piles of crap removed from every storage space, our beloved Tilly is actually a fun little car to drive. She was perfectly capable of reaching 170 km/h on the motorway. And yes, we finally found a portion of the Autobahn that was  open and not under construction. 

We passed all manner of automobile on our drive. As we got closer to the track though, the general character of what we pass grew more intriguing. We had just been lamenting the fact that we had not seen a Lamborghini, when one ambled by us going the opposite direction. Giggling like little kids, we continued our drive.

We found the visitors center and they talked us into the "behind the scenes" tour. It was excellent! We got to visit the old paddock, a little museum, the new paddock, the winners platform, the media center, and the viewing platform. The platforms provided an excellent view of the Grand Prix track activities. It was just a track day, but we got to see innumerable expensive cars roar by down the stretch. It was loud and awesome!

After our tour, we conducted the requisite swag shop stop. After all, you can't visit one of the most historic race tracks and have nothing to show for it! Then it was off to the go-kart track for Matt. The photo is self explanatory!

Then it was time for our own drive of the famous road track. We rented a tiny Suzuki Swift rather than subject Tilly to the rigors of the track. The Suzuki was the only car they had that used a regular manual transmission instead of paddle shifters. It was also the smallest car they had, in every sense. Given the reputation of the track, this seemed sensible anyway for a first time track driver. Matt was a tiny bit disappointed, especially when the guy who did our orientation called our car a go-kart. It wasn't an ordinary Swift though either. It was equipped for racing. No back seats, roll cage, Bilstein shocks, racing tires and suspension, upgraded breaks , etc.

We got our orientation, then had to wait until the track opened for tourist drives at 5:15. We were among the first in line. They opened the track, we swiped our pass, the gate swung up, and off we went.

What happened next is more or less a literal and figurative blur. There was lots of shifting, a small amount of swearing, a lot of sweating, a comment from Matt about being glad there was an"oh shit" handle on his side, a near catastrophe when someone illegally passed us on a corner, and lots of tail lights. 20.832 kilometers, 73 turns, and about 17 minutes later, we were done. It was amazing! Matt no longer regretted the small car either, allowing as how "it was pretty great". We both agreed that we probably would have died in a more powerful car. 

If I lived here, I would buy a season pass and go all of the time. Doing this track in a car I was familiar with would have been even more awesome, but alas, I had to "settle" for a rental. 

Flags of Meine Väter

We had the immense good fortune to be in one of the largest cities in Germany on the night Germany won the world cup. This would have been a very difficult event to plan and the probability is high that I won't ever experience it again. The enthusiasm generated by the event was comparable to that which was rampant in Seattle when we one the superbowl. In the case of the World Cup, though, it was an entire country.

We were being boring and watching The Game from our hotel room while drinking self-imported Czech beer - as previously blogged. When Germany scored their goal, Frankfurt roared. Seemingly every inhabitant of the city screamed simultaneously. You could literally feel it in the air. As if a million voices suddenly cried out in drunken stupor, and ... actually ... just kept on yelling. Also: honking horns, setting off fireworks, and generally engaging in light hooliganism. This only escalated when the game ended and Germany had won.

Seeing as how I might not get another chance to participate in a country-wide party in a foreign land, myself, meine Frau, and Matthew took to the streets of Frankfurt. We headed towards the sound of dull roaring and explosions; figuring that's where the party would be. We were almost immediately passed by a police car headed post-haste in the same direction. I took this as a good sign. When I noticed that the police officer was leaning out his window waving a German flag, I took it as an even better sign.

I suspected there might be shenanigans afoot throughout Frankfurt. As we were representing our home country, though, we of course conducted ourselves with dignity.

Here's an example:

I believe that I have previously mentioned that I collect flags. The above flag is the German variant flag featuring the stylish eagle coat of arms. It's a very slight modification on the government-only flag. If the emblem was rounded it would be official and illegal to fly for anybody who isn't the German government. Since it has a point at the bottom, you can buy it from a tourist shop in Nuremberg, tie it around your neck like a cape, and book it down the midnight streets of Frankfurt making airplane noises. Flag codes are strange like that.

My flag was very popular. I got many a high-five, cheer, and picture taken. We passed a pub whose streetside patrons fell over themselves (literally) to get a group photo of us holding my flag aloft and chanting. It turns out that you can fit in easily in Germany if you wear a flag and can yell 'Deustchland' repeatedly.
There's enough footage of this happening that l've probably ruined any future presidential aspirations for myself and my immediate family. On the plus side, though, there's no shortage of strikeable poses when one is wearing a flag. The following is one I call The Count:

Other noteable poses include:

The Dramatic Point

The Excessive Flourish

The Patriotic Planker

The Jumping HolyShitThatTrainAlmostHitMe (limited performances)

It was only a matter of time, however, before the excellence of my flag was coveted by the assorted flagless of Frankfurt. I can't blame those who were unfortunately sans-flag on this most flag-worthy night for feeling jealous. If America had won the world cup, but then I noted a man in lederhosen frolicking through Seattle bedecked in the ol' stars and stripes, I too would start feeling a little left out. So it was only natural that one of the woefully bannerless approached me

I turned - after receiving a particularly strong hand to the shoulder - to find a moderately intoxicated man clutching a half-full beer stein and attempting to communicate with me in broken German. I responded in equally broken German to let him know that I didn't really speak German because I wasn't German, but was, in fact, from America. This was met with great amusement, and triggered a response in English from the gentleman stating that he was also not German. He was, in fact, from Russia. Also: he really wanted my flag. Again, I can't blame him. It was, after all, one of the greatest flags in my collection.

When I still had it.

The flag pursuer (whose name sounded like 'Antoni', but it was loud out there) asked if I would be willing to sell my flag to him. I was not initially very keen on this idea and expressed this sentiment to Antoni. After all; my flag and I had already been through so much together. Antoni, however, in a demonstration of his country's ongoing economic progressiveness, and appealed to my sense of capitalism.

My newfound friend pulled from his pocket a crisp 50 euro bill wich he proffered along with the assurance that it was a good deal. Which it really wasn't for him, seeing as how I bought the flag one day previously for 7€.

Regardless, Antoni seemed to have a greater need for the flag than I, so I selflessly accepted his his offer and bedecked him in his new flag-cape. I hope it served him well and continues to through the rest of his travels. I know that there isn't a chance in hell any self-respecting German would have sold Antoni their flag that night, and he was overjoyed to have acquired one. So I think everybody wins.

Below is the final picture taken of myself and my dear flag. After I had passed it on to Antoni, who is also featured. I have no idea where he is or if his name was actually Antoni. We didn't speak each others' languages very well, and I'm pretty sure he was shitfaced. United in our shared bizzare ( and possibly unhealthy ) fascination with flags, however, I feel as though - if only for that one night - we were brothers.

Germany Won the World Cup

These short videos fail to capture the ensuing frenzy. Explosions, singing, sirens, horns, yelling, more sirens, fireworks, general crazed exuberance. And more sirens. The last part of our crew just finally returned, having extricated themselves when it appeared that car tipping was about to commence. 

Once More Into the Breach

The country of Germany being the metaphorical breach. For, once again: Deustchland waxes.

We've returned to the land of the euro. Also the land of a language I can stumble my way through, omnipresent light beer, and outrageous prices. I've somewhat circumvented the latter two by buying Baltic porter from Czech at unbelievably low prices ( equivalent to $1 per half liter ) and exporting it to Germany via Tilly's trunk. Our noble steed is now further laden with 24 bottles of Master Special Dark straight from the source at Plzeňský Prazdroj brewery in Plzeň ( Pilsen ) Czech Republic - the birthplace of the pilsner. Although the brew I elected to mass-purchase is their porter, I obviously didn't miss the opportunity to also drink pilsner while visiting the genesis of pilsners.

I've never really been a fan of pilsners in the States. They're certainly not infused with muskrat anus like an IPA, but I've never found one to which my response was more than 'meh'. Or, as they say in Czech ... 'meh.' However, straight from the source has warranted a much more positive response. Here there's light pilsners, dark pilsners, everywhere a pilsner pilsner. It's all suspiciously smooth and imminently drinkable. This extends beyond just the pilsners to essentially every Czech beer I've sampled. I'll be drinking my porter in Frankfurt while watching Germany play in the World Cup final ( Which should equate to an enjoyable experience ). When I get home, I'll attempt to find some Czech beer that gets imported through non-Tilly means. The Special Dark, though, is only available in the Czech Republic proper and Slovakia, so I will soon part ways with it for the foreseeable future.

Who knows; maybe if I ever had an IPA straight from the muskrat's anus, as it were, I would have a different response as well. But seeing as how the only way to have an authentic IPA would be to go to India and have the beer shipped from London via a 6 week unrefridgerated voyage on a rickety galleon with British troops vomiting all over the barrels, I think I'll pass. In their haste to find a good strong IPA, people forget that it was never meant to be good. It was brewed to be so unpalatable that it could survive the aforementioned voyage with less rot taking place than a regular pale ale. Upon arrival, the drowned and partially dissolved rat remains would be strained out, and the remaining sludge would be hastily downed by dehydration-crazed colonists busily dispensing enlightenment from the barrels of a gatling gun.

None of this has anything to do with the progress of our European adventure. I just enjoy a good rant every now and then.

All of that aside ( but I could go on ), I'll be returning to the Czech Republic someday. Particularly the city of Plzeň. They have a liberation day festival where they have a parade of WW2-era US military vehicles and fly 90-year old American veterans out to party with them for the day. Apparently, the 3rd armored division liberated Plzeň from Nazi occupation in 1945 and the city is still pretty happy about it. I wandered over to see the giant 'thank you America' monument ( that is actually what it is called and also what is inscribed on it ).  Despite what a lot of Americans seem to think, most of the world doesn't really care about us one way or the other. They have lives and jobs and mortgages and better things to think about. Here I saw youth sporting hoodies printed with US army regiment emblems. So it was interesting to find a place where my home country seems to be on the 'positive' end of the spectrum, and somewhat actively at that.

I'll be returning to aforementioned home country very soon. We are spending tonight in Nuremberg in a renovated 16th century castle ( amazing ). And then two nights in Frankfurt. Then the journey home. I knew this would happen eventually, but I think its imminence has cast a slight pall over the day.

The solution to which is, naturally, to go have a beer at a biergarten inside the courtyard of a 16th century castle! I will not be having an IPA, but I will toast to the victims of ageusia everywhere.

The Sights of Prague ... Can't Be Unseen.

Prague has been an enjoyable stay so far. We're sequestered in the 5th floor of a very old and surprisingly spacious apartment. Although there's only one bathroom. We immediately instituted a policy:

Thou shall leave the door open when the bathroom is vacant and nobody will get walked in on.

For once, Matthew was dutiful and followed the policy. He also promptly found the flaw in it.

New policy:
Matthew is under no circumstances allowed to leave the door to a bathroom open after use without an industrial exhaust fan present - or optionally, a flamethrower. 

Regardless, ventilation aside, the apartment is nice. So far I haven't gotten tired of the act of throwing open the balcony doors and strolling out with a sigh. There's a mind-blowing view of the Cityscape. A crazed juxtaposition of orange-tiled roofs and countless spires.

We're staying in an area that I believe is called SťůpidToůrisť ( I'm pretty sure that's the Czech name for it ).  As with staying in a building with approximately 10 kilometers of staircase, being positioned in the heart of SťůpidToůrisť has its ups and downs. Example: Although its on an entirely different spectrum than one of our previous stops, there's another noticeable negative aspect of human nature on display here. It's the nature that has caused a city square where an unarmed population previously stood facing down tanks, to now feature souvenir shops and hawkers in shabby costumes loudly selling tours - segway powered tours. This city seems to be stricken by a plague of segways. They must have snuck in on some shipping containers and started breeding. I will attempt to journey out of the schlockier districts later today and see some of the more authentic locales - like a strip club.

After buying my obligatory flag ( which I collect ), my aversion to the throngs of local fauna zooming by on two wheels caused me to decide to return to the apartment for a respite. I had no key, but we had left Dad behind as he also needed to complete his own obligatory behavior; dithering. Repacking, counting his socks, trimming his eyebrows ( apparently they stick out and catch on his glasses ), and other actions that make sense to him. He's going to the symphony tonight, so obviously can't be caught dead with rampant eyebrows or an incomplete underwear inventory.

I ascended the stairs to the apartment and was reminded I worked in a cubicle and lived a slovenly lifestyle. After reaching what was seemingly our door, I knocked politely. Upon no response, I knocked with slightly more force - no answer. This process continued for several minutes with increasing volume and interspersed text messages. Once my knocking had reached sustained cacophony, I was rewarded with disgruntled grumblings from inside the apartment.

The door swung open, steam billowed out, and I stood - patriotic Czech flag in hand - facing a skinny bearded man. He was dripping wet and, if not for the washcloth-sized wrap attempting to pass itself off as a towel, completely naked.

As I overcame my surprise, the terrible thought that I had picked the wrong door briefly appeared. Unfortunately, this thought gave way to greater horror when I noticed the gentleman's impeccable eyebrows.

It was, in fact, my father.

He left me stunned in the doorway and chatted jovially as he dripped his way back to the shower. I think he said something about missing a sock. I'll content myself with the knowledge that it could have been worse - Prague is called the city of a hundred spires, and if not for a single brave washcloth, I could have been exposed to the trauma of one hundred and one.

The Voyage - Days 9 and 10

Day nine. Bran, Romania.
In Arad, we stopped at a bakery named Gigi's and got breakfast for on the road. The pastries were superb! Then the long trek to a small cluster of bed and breakfasts and farms just outside of Bran, Romania.
The one we stayed in was very clean, comfortable and had a lot of communal space for all seven of us; plus there were three restrooms! The hosts were super friendly too. After settling in we took a walk down the road to a restaurant. I ate cow tongue in a red sauce with mashed potatoes. Everyone's food was delicious. While we waited for dessert to be hand made our waiter brought us all shots of a cherry liqiour, on the house, and hung out with us discussing our trip and his time visiting America. As Brian stated later on our walk back to the hostel, his English was so good that he had even mastered sarcasm.
Lesson of the day:
1. Large pretzel looking pastries in Romania are filled with a variety of fruit jams and they are the most amazing things you could ever eat

Day ten. Bran, Romania.
As per the traditions of a bed and breakfast, we were served breakfast. All of the food was fresh grown straight from the farm and it was very tasty.
After breakfast we went down into Bran and went to the only place I had requested to visit, Dracula's Castle! Four out of seven 'herd' members purchased tickets to see the tourture chamber in addition to Dracula's castle. As we assembled ourselves outside the castle entrance I had the chance to feed another stray Romanian dog, he ate every thing I gave him and wanted more.
The castle itself was nicely remodeled but disappointing, I had expected a stone walled medieval style monstrosity. Instead it had white washed walls, beautiful wooden beams, worn down wooden stairways, and tons of windows. Inside the first foyer there was a plaque relating the history of the castle and it's rulers. It said the whole place had been redone multiple times since Vlad Tepest ruled, thus I assume it now looks nothing like it did during the Impaler's time. As we ventured through the secret stair cases and marveled at the beautiful views from the top floor we eagerly anticipated the torture chamber.
Once we found it, I began snapping pictures of all the tourture devices, drawings of them being used and the written description of their use. Many of the descriptions also included a specific instance of the device's use and for what petty crime the person was tortured for. I'm glad to say my group and I all have a conscience, we found each device more and more disgusting. On a higher note, I did get a smashed lei (penny) with the castle on it!
Just outside the castle's gates tons of little booths were set up, everyone selling the same trinkets for the same price, a stark contrast to the undercutting we normally see at home. We managed to purchase a small amount of touristy things along with my first ever schwarma! It was so good, now I see why Tony Stark wanted some schwarma at the end of Avengers 2, which was also the whole reason we tried it.
Eventually, all of our energy was spent and so we made our way back up the pothole-riddled road to our bed and breakfast. It seemed since we had such a 'hard day' we were all in the mood for a cold beer, we took a short quarter mile walk down the road to the local beer stand, yep, beer stand. Unfortunately for me there were not any wheat or red beers, sad day. Our host came over and shared some famous Romanian plum moonshine, although they don't call it moonshine, as a traditional welcoming gesture. Like I said, they were very nice.
Afterwards we took another walk down the road to a pizza restaurant. Their pizza was odd but still good, their tortellini however was not so hot. The national spice of Romania is paprika, we knew this, but it was still an interesting moment when they brought out pink tortellini. It took us forever to figure out why the sauce was pink but we felt a lot better about it after connecting the dots. The tortellini was still gross to me, but some weirdo didn't mind it.
Lessons of the day:
1. Schwarma is good.
2. Pink tortellini is not.
3. Beer stands are a great idea
4. Matthew is a weirdo.

The Voyage - Days 7 and 8

Day seven. Budapest to Arad, Romania.
Bath houses are everywhere in Budapest and we went to one! Bathing suits are required these days. The pools were nice, but gave me a slight headache from their sulfur content. Some of the pools were inside old cool buildings, some were new construction and outside in the courtyard. The coolest thing about the bath house, in my book, were the wristbands they gave us to use. The wristbands were proof of payment, security pass, and the keys to the lockers. The locker door shut and locked with a little pressure from the wristbands and unlocked by the same movement. Super easy and better than a lock that someone might have the same key for. After the bathes, we took the old Soviet boxcar subway back to our sweet sweet Tilly and jumped back on the road to Arad, Romania!
The drive was completely uneventful until we tried crossing the Romainian boarder. We were stopped for our suspicious luggage. The process wasn't long and we got our second passport stamps of the trip! Darn you open European Union boarders, they could at least offer a memoir passport stamp even if they don't have to search the car, sheesh.
Once we arrived in Arad we took a trip to the local grocery store for some potluck style quick dinner. Brian and I looked up the Romanian word for 'thank you' and while at the store I said 'moolt-zoo-mesk', phonetically spelt, to everyone and in turn got surprised giggles. It was fun, for the rest of our time in Romania I said thank you in Romanian as much as possible. Grocery store potluck dinner was okay, there are picture of it floating around somewhere.
Lesson of the day:
1. Romania has really cheap everything. Cheap monetary wise, not quality wise

Day eight. Arad, Romania.
We headed to a cemetery a short drive away from Arad in the tiny town of Pancota, Romania. This was Sarah's part of the trip and the destination that sparked the whole adventure. I had the pleasure of feeding a stray dog my granola bar while walking through the town looking for the cemetery. We ended up asking a local how to get to the cemetery because we couldn't find it in their teeny tiny town.
Once there we searched around for the greater part of the day for past family members' grave markers, I'm pretty sure we founds some too. Along with graves we saw a strange type of deer, which we all took tons of pictures of.
After we left Pancota we went back to a pretty snazzy place in Arad for dinner with great food, beer and deserts. One last night in Arad.
Lesson of the day:
1. My family is obsessed with storks and they are every where in Romania

The Voyage - Days 5 and 6

Day five. Vienna, Austria.
The trip to Vienna was fairly short and uneventful. Our hotel, thankfully, had one of our rooms prepared for us when we arrived so we dumped everyone's luggage in the room and set out to explore the city of Vienna. Initially we set out as a 'herd' and explored Saint Stephen's Basilica along with a few smaller palaces.
About midday, the herd split; Matt, Sierra, Patty, Ken and Sarah took the tram-bus to an, apparently, disappointing castle while Brian and I set out on foot to explore the city more.
On our trip we saw Roman ruins, beautiful statues, huge gardens bigger than football fields, Parliament, the 2014 film festival and tons of gorgeous buildings of unknown use. The two of us rounded off our night walk with a food stand brautwurst.
Back at the hotel Brian and I talked about everything we saw on our solo adventure and rest of the herd decided to take some time in the morning to go see everything for themselves with Brian as tour guide.
Lesson of the day:
1. When asking for a hotdog, specify that a bun is desired or else you'll get just the dog.

Day six. Budapest, Hungry.
The majority of the herd set back out into the city while Sierra and I went on a hunt - a hunt for an omelette.
We failed.
After about an hour of walking the streets and subways, we settled on a pastry shop. After breakfast, we hung out in the hotel lounge until the others returned; it was relaxing.
We left Vienna behind and arrived in Budapest, Hungary during the later half of the day. The later half of the day meaning after the majority of the banks closed, which meant we couldn't pay for parking at our hostel since Hungry uses the Forint and we had Euros. We ended up in a mall three stories tall, hungry, impatient, and frustrated with pockets full of useless cash, searching for a currency exchange booth. After a minor meltdown, we found an exchange booth and got the coins needed to pay for parking.
With usable cash in hand, we were finally able to relax and eat an amazing dinner on our boat hostel. Yes, the hostel was a boat, on the Danube river. The boat had classic tiny cabins with cement firm beds.
After dinner we figured out the subway system, with it's old Soviet boxcars, and we rode into downtown to meet Brian and Anne, Sarah's friends. They were great. We discussed tons of things and they gave us some great pointers about Budapest. After wine and good company we rode the subway back to the boat for an unrestful night of sleep and frustration with old junky door locks.
Lessons of the day:
1. Always exchange a little bit of cash, even at horrible exchange rates, before going into a new country, most places require coins for parking.
2. Always test out how the door locks feel before going to bed, if you don't, the universe mandates that you shall need to pee very badly and you won't be able to get the f*ing door open

The Voyage - Days 3 and 4

Day three. Clervoux, Luxembourg.
We left Luxembourg early in the morning for Munich which was supposed to be a three to four hour drive ...
It took twelve hours.
Thank you Germany for unannounced road closures with the 'find your own f*ing way' detour signs. Twelve hours. There were some amazing burgers eaten during those twelve hours, or so I'm told, I did not bother eating since I was not yet anticipating the journey ahead. It's a good thing it was Saturday night when we finally rolled into our hostel in Munich, everything was still open and beer was available for our road-weary souls.
Upon arrival, we were greeted at our car door by a friendly young man whom we dubbed 'green shirt'. He scared the bajesus out of Sierra and I when he opened her car door in a drunken attempt at politeness. Next up was 'white shirt', whom I shared a brief dance with later that evening, he attempted polite conversation while using his outside voice in many languages until he came across alcohol infused English, but by that point we were already in the door of the hostel and he moved on to attempt to talk with the next group.
For this hostel, we had an eight person dorm-like room, since there were only seven of us, one unlucky soul was subjected to two days of our 'quirks.' He comes into the story in the morning, poor Diego. As I stated earlier, beer was available and we took advantage. Matt's first beer earned a look of acceptance but not appreciation; appreciation would come later with the discovery of what is also my personal favorite: wheat beer.
Lesson of the day:
1. Take advantage of any and all potty breaks, even if it's not immediately needed
Day four. Munich, Germany.
At various points in the wee hours of the morning, we each became acquainted with our roommate Diego. A mid-late thirty's hairy Caucasian male in his boxer-briefs. He was not under his blanket, at all. Most interestingly, he was a Spaniard who spoke English with an Irish accent. His hairy addition to the room was slightly awkward, to say the least, but he held his own against seven of us with only one water closet, aka bathroom.
We toured around Munich by foot and subway, which we figured out fairly quickly, and managed to see the Oktoberfest grounds, the Hall of Fame statues, the Transportation History Museum, a cathedral, and a very cool German restaurant. At the restaurant I discovered a great brewery named Augustiner. Good dark and light wheat beer. Mmmm. We entertained our waiter for the evening, most notably when Sierra was impersonating how an impolite American abroad behaves in restaurants and shouted 'check!' which happened to coincide with a sudden inexplicable lull in restaurant noise. So our waiter heard and busted out laughing with us.
After dinner we headed back to the hostel where we had some cheap, horrible liqueur shots that burned my throat for days to follow. Then one last night with poor Diego at the party hostel.
Lessons of the day:
1. Don't take cheap vodka shots, take cheap tequila shots instead
2. Don't shout 'check' when the waiter speaks perfectly good English, unless he understands American humor, then it's hilarious

The Voyage - Days 13 and 14

Day thirteen. Srebrna Gora, Poland.

Since we did not have any concrete plans for the day, I requested that we sleep in late.

I was awake by 6am.

I was not amused.

I decided that if I was going to be up that early I may as well take a shower, get my stuff packed up and write some more of my blog. At least it was a productive morning.

We set out for Srebrna Gora, Poland fairly late in the morning and ended up having a gas station breakfast because we couldn't find any pastry shops in Katowice! We were a bit shocked to say the least. At the end of a bumpy goat road we found our hotel for the evening and it was the most sophisticated place we have stayed at to date. The rooms were clean, comfy and spacious and they were all connected by our ginormo balcony that had a hot tub and a view for miles around.

Since the day was still young, we headed out for another cemetery tromping session. This time however, was a failure; we never found the correct cemetery. There was a pretty cool little visitor's info stand that told us we were in the right spot though, it said the old town name was Weigelsdorf, home of the original Weigels (Doran family lineage). After a little history digging we figured the old gravemarkers must have been destroyed during WWII when Poland's borders kept moving around with each invasion.

Our short day of unsuccessful tromping made all of us hungry, so off we went to the hotel restaurant! I had amazing buckwheat and mushroom perogi with caramelized onions on top, I practically licked the plate clean. I also had a beer I've already had on this trip because it was that good, Paulaner Weisbier.

Lessons of the day:
1. As soon as I accept a new lifestyle (pastry breakfast) the world goes and yanks it out from under my feet.
2. The storks have yet to make an appearance in Poland.

Day fourteen. Prague, Czech Republic.

Our hotel gave us a great breakfast with a decent selection of "Bridget friendly" foods. After breakfast, we drove a short distance to an old military barrack called DonJon, it was pretty cool. The size of the walls was the most impressive part of the fortress. We goofed off with some "obscene gesture" pictures and some silly pictures on artillery. Down in the tunnels we found a water well, about fifteen feet from the well there was a shadowy area that I illuminated with my phone flashlight and to my horror I found a doll... staring at me. To quote Ben Folds:
Creepy motherf***er in the dark.

Once we were done goofing off we rolled down to Prague, Czech Republic. Tilly tried to kill us. She kept telling us to turn across three lanes of traffic into a one way road going the wrong way. Once we got to our destination we realized it was a pedestrian walking zone. Thank you Tilly. Sarah and I dumped everyone off at the hotel door and drove around the corner to the parking garage. We finally took a look around inside poor Tilly and realized she had garbage all over, it took half of a garbage bag to empty her out. Sorry Tilly.

While checking into the hotel, a group of nine hotties checked into the room across from ours. Sierra and I appreciated that although they didn't make much of an appearance for the remainder of our stay. The hotel was apartment style on the fourth floor with a jaw-dropping view. The first bedroom is where the death trap cot was discovered, it tried to swallow Sierra whole. The whole cot sagged down until the middle touched the floor. There are pictures somewhere. Amusing pictures.

For dinner, we took a walk down to a place called The Prague Beer Museum, its Prague's version of World of Beer. There were 31 beers on tap. Everyone except Ken ordered a taster of five beers (30 total), and no, we did not coordinate well enough to taste almost the whole menu. We overlapped in our beer selections quite a bit, but only one beer was left on the table so I think we did pretty good. Embarrassing note: our waitress spoke English very well, which I was unaware of, and the only burger on the menu was a cheeseburger, so I pointed at the cheeseburger on the menu and said, "with no cheese or pickles" to which the waitress responded, "So, you want a hamburger with no pickles?",
*face-palm*.

To cap off the night Brian and I took a stroll to the river and had very yummy gelato.

Lessons of the day:
1. Tilly might be sentient with a motive to kill us.
2. We should coordinate when ordering beer.
3. Never ASSume, you know what it makes you and I.

Reminder: Multiple Authors

Just a reminder that there are multiple authors on this blog. There is a notation on each blog entry that says who wrote it. 

The Unfunny Blog

The astute reader might have noticed that I occasionally attempt to interject humor into things I write. This includes not only blogs, but also technical documentation and business correspondence. The last two will inevitably get me into a lot of trouble some day. The first one is the reason I am very grateful that Sarah took it upon herself to write an initial post about Auschwitz, as we couldn't skip over our stop there in the chronicle of our travel, but I was at a loss as to how to even begin to approach the subject.

There is no humor in that place.

That alone is a gross understatement. I've read about Auschwitz before. I'v seen pictures of Auschwitz before; trudging down the old train tracks that lead into it was eerie, as it was so plain but familiar looking. The terrifying enormity of it, though, can't be comprehended until you walk through the gates in person. We went to two sites, and both were an effort in emotional fortitude. I would suggest two things initially: visit it if you have a chance, and give yourself several days to do so. Your millage may vary, but I feel that if you have even a modicum of empathy, you'll need time to better process what you are exposed to. There's an aspect of humanity preserved there that is acutely sorrowful and often rage-inducing and I don't intend to try and document it here.

I had intended this post to go on to describe more lighthearted tales about our ongoing stay in Poland, but the few paragraphs already written have offered a chance for unpleasant retrospective. As such, my motivation for anecdote had waned, so I'll call it a night and try again tomorrow

And I had also intended to actually publish this last night, but apparently I didn't push the button. So now the chronology will be all screwed up. Meh.

Romania in Review

Just some photos of Romania, now that there is a little free time and wifi in the same place.

This is us at Bran Castle, with a random dude on the left side of the stairs.

This is us at Cabana Bradul, which was a fantastic Bed and Breakfast near Bran.

The third is a sheep. A really cute sheep!

If you ever find yourself anywhere near Bran, go stay at Cabana Bradul, enjoy the fantastic hospitality of the hosts (which includes homemade plum brandy), and visit the sheep. Skip the tortellini at the local pizza place though. It was pink and strange and currently stands as the only food everyone agreed was gross!

The Voyage - Days 1 and 2

Well it's almost two weeks into the voyage and I've decided to make my first blog post(s). I will break my daily entries up in sets of two-three days per post for ease of reading. At this point anyone reading my entries should be fairly up to date in regards to the "adventures" of our expedition; this is my rendition of our saga thus far.

Day One - London, UK.
I'll paint a quick picture of the crew's emotional, physical, and cognitive well-being post-14 odd hours of flying: grumpy, jet lagged, and impatient as all get-out, not a pretty picture. First order of business: finding the restroom; which will become a daily concern as the adventure progresses. A water closet is a restroom, just FYI. Second order of business: get monies. When attempting to convert some US cash into Pounds we had our first, of many, family disputes. This bout of consternation had a direct correlation between how tired we all were and our aversion to a pop-quiz (money conversion rates) immediately upon landing. There was discussion about how much money would be sensible to exchange since we were only in London for one night. For those who do not know, the UK uses the "Pound" as their currency and the next few countries on our itinerary use the Euro. Pounds in hand, we put our "grumpy pants" away and moved on to the next order of business: procuring our car.

On second thouht, I'll skip over the debacle of getting our car; London was full speed ahead...on the wrong side of the road. Going left on a roundabout sparked the backseat driver in all of us. Our first hour in the big city and this gaggle of Americans already smacked the low clearance sign in the parking garage and put a nice Doran style rip in the car top luggage carrier...

Skipping ahead of family dispute number two; London was kind of plain to me, I know any city needs more than a few hours of traipsing around in order to get a good "feel" for it, but currently my view of London is kind of 'meh'. We saw Big Ben, Parliament, Westminster Abby, Buckingham Palace, the palace gardens and some generic streets of London. We drove outside of London to our hotel, the roach motel. Realistically it wasn't the worst place I've ever been but it was pretty gross. On the up side, our Cod fish and french fries were AMAZING.

Lessons of the Day:

1. In Europe, chips are french fries and crisps are chips as we know them; 
2. A water closet is a bathroom.
3. Math conversion is important, especially when it's the height of the car in meters

Day Two - Ferry Ride to France.
We arrived at the White Cliffs of Dover and were mistaken for French natives until we spoke, thank you Tilly and your French plates. Onboard was a beautiful "English Breakfast" that instilled my first doubts about my compatibility with European foods. Toast was not meant to be deep fried, just saying. The cliffs of Dover are beautiful, very worth seeing. The ferry itself was huge and inside the gift shop were free sample shots of whisky! We drove through France and Belgium, not much to say. The next country we crossed into was Luxembourg. Literally as we crossed the country boarder the streets immediately became smooth and gorgeous. Clearly they use tax dollars efficiently. We stopped in at the small town of Clervoux which boasts a small castle, a US army tank with an 'underdog' history, and a Catholic cathedral, complete with an all girl's school choir singing 'Say Something' acapella. During the angelic rendition of the modern pop hit, I made friends with a cat in an alley. He was a bit of an indiscriminate whore. Vigorous kitty butt scratches aside, the day was pretty mellow and relaxing. Later in the evening, we arrived at Luxembourg's Hostel International. This hostel was off the beaten tourist path and it was very nice. Unfortunately we arrived 30 minutes after dinner was over but they, very nicely, reopened the kitchen for us and served a tasty three course meal. The rooms were nice, facilities were clean and modern, the whole experience was a breath of fresh air. I did not want to leave and would not have if I had known the next day would be a German road construction failure.

Lessons of the day:

1. If your hostel has a large window without curtains, take a look around for a sliding barn door window-cover instead of giving up and changing in the bathroom.

Back toward the West

Tilly is now pointed in a generally westward  direction, signifying the half way point in our expedition. We're moving from Katowice to Srebrna Gora (both in Poland) today, which is near the ancestral stomping grounds
of the Weigel side off the family.

We visited Auschwitz yesterday. It was somber and words really can't describe it. It was huge and dreary and hot. There was a lot of information about the horrible things that happened there, but there was also a lot of information about the resistance and the people who found ways to do good in the midst of horrific evil. We were all very glad our families had moved from here prior to World War 2. Had they not, some of our families would likely have been killed in that very place, simply because of their last name. Some could have been conscripted to fight for the Axis powers. Any that survived would have been dramatically changed forever.

It was all a powerful reminder that we can never let ourselves fall into the trap of judging people based on race, religion, occupation, or anything else. Each of us sees it everyday, and yet we often just let it pass. We should not. Every person deserves to be treated as a human being and judged based on their own actions, not based on our assumptions of who and what they are. The world should never again create scenes where slightly freigtened looking children are holding hands while being walked to their slaughter. Never. Ever.

And with that, we continue our trek west, grateful for the men and women who gave their lives to rid the world of such evil 70 years ago, and thankful for the ones who fought and lived.

The Long Migration

I was initially a little disappointed in Romania. Potentially this is because all my expectations of its culture and people were based on repeated viewings of Young Frankenstein and Rocky Horror Picture Show. The reality turned out to be less humorous and seemingly devoid of singing transvestites in tight leather. Bit of a letdown, really, but maybe I just didn't go to the right places.

However, my overall enjoyment and impression of Romania skyrocketed once we got to the mountains. Urban Romania (at least Arad, where we previously stayed) had a sort of Renton vibe to it. Or, to my Oregonian friends, a Woodburn vibe. Neither of the aforementioned cities in the States, though, have close to the justification for their vibe that Arad does.

Arad has been repeatedly conquered and reconquered for the past five hundred years (Mongols, Ottomans, Nazis, Soviets), and recently experienced a violent revolution. So one can't really fault it just because its streets are a little grubby ( Renton on the other hand, seriously needs to get its shit together ), but I digress.

Dem mountains ...

We've been staying at a bed and breakfast in a village built into the foothills of the Carpathian mountains. Our host gave us a bottle of homemade plum brandy. It is what, in the States, we would refer to as 'hooch', although that doesn't quite do it justice. Regardless, it never occurred to me at any point in my life that I would someday find myself in the mountains of Transylvania sipping on Romanian moonshine. Henceforth, however, I think I will endeavour to do it more.

I get the impression that while lower Rumania was busy getting pillaged for a few centuries, people in the mountains just kept on keepin' on. When Axis-allied Hungary was occupying Arad, this village was cutting hay by hand and raising sheep. When the Soviets rolled in with tanks and let everybody know they were communists now, this village was still just cutting hay by hand and raising sheep. I looked out the window yesterday while eating breakfast and noticed that there were people outside ... cutting hay by hand and raising sheep. It's a refreshing change of pace from the general hubbub present at many of our stops.

We did, however, take a brief sojourn down the mountain yesterday back into tourist country to see Dracula's castle (yes that Dracula). Other than the whole 'impaling people on sticks' thing he wasn't really all that bad of a guy. Turns out he's actually a folk hero in this neck of the woods for apparently doing an exemplary job defending Transylvania and sticking it (literally) to the Turks when they invaded.

On the subject of Invasions: the herd will be invading Slovakia this evening, pending a very long road trip. Today is our one long day of driving. At least, our one 'planned' long day of driving. Munich showed that these things do not always planned. Even assuming we don't get held up by many sheep herds in the road, it's already shaping up to be a very long drive indeed. I think I will do my part to make the 9 hour drive more enjoyable for my herdmates by singing.

I'll start by melodiously inquiringly if any of them know what a fox says ...

This road trip brought to you by Kürtőskalács

Kürtőskalács is chimney cake. It is awesome. Cooked over coals, coated in yummy things. We got five of them to sustain ourselves on this 8-10 hour trip from Bran to Kosice.

Farewell to Romania

In the morning we will be packing up and heading to Slovakia. I will be sad to leave the village we have been staying in. Moieciu de Sus has been like taking a step back in time. It is nestled at the base of the mountains, with lush green trees and steep hills, where the land is farmed by horse and hand.  It is very different from Pancota, which was flatter country, filled with wheat and sunflower fields.

I am still trying to process all the sights and sounds and history. It may take me awhile to sort it all out.  It was exciting to recognize names in the cemetery and visit the church my grandparents attended in Pancota.  It's all a bit overwhelming. 

And I never expected to find a place as beautiful as Moirciu de Sus in Romania!  I love surprises!

Storks and Sheep and Everything Neat

As our journey progresses, we're getting closer to the parts of the map that state 'here there be dragons.' At least, in the metaphorical sense that we've long since left tourist country.

We spent the day in the boonies of Romania. Sheep outnumber mankind by an order of magnitude and there are storks aplenty. I had never seen a stork previous to Romania. They mostly sit in monolithic nests and glare at tourists. I'm hoping they've forgotten the instincts of their therapod ancestors, as they ( like the sheep) seem to have us outnumbered.

There's an unmistakable downward economic trend the further southeast the adventure progresses. It became more apparent when we hit former eastern block countries. Romania was still a communist state until 1989 and generally feels further from home than I've been before. I actually took a moment to look at a map today and I see that it's less distance to the Middle East than it is to back where this road-trip started from.

The shift in atmosphere, coupled the the visit today to my ancestors' graveyard, have given Romania a more somber tone than any of our previous locations ( with the exception of that one rest-stop bathroom in Hungary). At least from my perspective.

It certainly isn't any less interesting. Case-in-point: Tilly achieved escape velocity on a particularly large and unexpected bump on the Transylvanian back roads today. For a brief moment, all 7 passengers embraced their inner stork and took to the sky. We lack a certain level of aerodynamic potential, though, and the maiden flight was short-lived; abruptly terminating with only a slightly crumpled tailpipe to show for it.

The Romanian portion of the expedition continues for the next several days, being the original reason we're on this trek in the first place. If the roads stay about the same, we should be able to beat our original air-time at some point. Especially since every bump we go over causes the car-top carrier to imprint a little further into the roof, thus reducing our overall drag.

Soon we should be soaring gracefully through the Romanian countryside. Off to parts unknown.

Hello Romania!

We have finally arrived at the focal point of our trip: Romania. Our greeting at the border was to get pulled aside and have our passports and vehicle papers checked. Apparently 7 Americans in a tiny French plated clown car cause some alarm. On the plus side,  the border agent took our passports and vehicle papers and bid us farewell, prompting a collective "uhhhh.  . ." from the car. He realized his mistake and started laughing. Always a good sign!

It was a short drive from the border to Arad,  where we checked into the lovely Villa Cristian. We haven't paid yet, as the old man at the desk conveyed that he didn't speak English and that we could talk to the boss tomorrow who does. There was something about Michigan in there too, but I have no idea what!

We met a fellow traveler in the parking lot who initially greeted us in German. We at least understood that ancud answered in the negative (in German no less). He looked with puzzlement at our French plated car and we volunteered that we were American, where he promptly switched to English and politely asked what in the world we were doing here?!

We had a chat about family roots and he proclaimed that we were probably all cousins of some sort, as he too has Donauschwaben ancestors. We talked about family history, he gave us a map of the area, we got directions to the grocery store (right, left, right, left, right, left), and we went on our way. Amazingly,  we found the grocery store! 

After loading up on grocery store dinner items (bread, cheese, salami, wine [an excellent local merlot that was a whopping. $3], beer, salad, chicken), we  had a nice meal outside the hotel on the patio. And though it occurred to us to buy a knife, a corkscrew, and a bottle opener, only one person thought to grab a fork, which had to be shared. Luckily, most of what we got was finger food!

Having lost another hour to a time zone change, we're now 10 hours ahead of home. Now it's off to bed in preparation for a day of wandering around old graveyards and churches, in search of people with names similar to ours.

(Sorry there's no photo of Matt. Those are good hands cutting dinner though.)

Goodbye Budapest

Just a brief update for those following along. We made Budapest safely yesterday, had good food, visited with Sarah's friends Anne and Brian (who live there), slept on a boat on the Danube, soaked in Hungarian baths this morning, patched the wretched cargo carrier,  and now we're headed for Romania for 5 days. The next hotel comes with the promise of free WiFi for all, so expect at least one detailed update.

Ich hiesse Tilly

My name is Tilly. I was born in France, but speak perfect English with a British accent, although I can't remember where I learned. I love nothing more than taking long drives through the European countryside. In fact, I'm currently on a 5000 kilometer roadtrip through all of Western Europe with an American family. I get the feeling they have absolutely no idea what they're doing.

I have an innate sense of direction and unparalleled knowledge of European roadways. I'm excellent at giving directions, especially if the directions are to 'go straight on'. You could almost say it is what I was built for. Despite my many talents, though, my adopted family has a tendency to disregard my polite instructions in order to forge their own path. It might be an American thing, but they also keep referring to doing everything the Doran Way; whatever that means. I recognize Doran as an Irish name, but my new family seems to think they're from Hungary. Perhaps they have poor breeding. Or, perhaps, as previously considered, they truly have absolutely no clue what they're doing here. I'm beginning to fear I may not return from the trip alive. The Doran Way has already added 8 hours to a simple drive to München and caused several incredibly awkward and irresponsible situations all across the streets of London despite my cacophonous proximity alarms.

I am buckled under the weight of their luggage. It's piled unceremoniously inside a canvas sack on my roof like some bulbous underwear-filled beret. Cruelly hooked through my doors with straps that are hewing my paint and rending my upholstery. The straps wick water during the rain and flood my interior. An interior now bloated by the boisterous presence of my American captors. I have 7 seats, but they were not designed for so many singing tourists. Profanity rings from my windows. They are sapping my power from every port and have no regard for my seats.

I am a lease, not a rental. That means this herd of Dorans truly and legally own me. They draw straws for my driver's seat and bemoan my leg-room. Today they are taking me to Budapest. I once dreamed of going there, but that dream has turned to waking nightmare.

Ich hiesse Tilly. My name is Tilly. I am a 2014 Renault Grand Scenic and I will never see my home again.

When it rains

The car provides loads of entertainment when it's raining.

Deustchland Waning

Having now experienced Munich, I would dare say it was worth the drive. I'm still wrapping my head around a city that doesn't have a founding date; just an earliest documented mention... the year 1158. Which still makes it a MILLENIUM younger than Vienna, which we'll roll out to tomorrow, but still a lot older than I'm used to associating with human habitation. Despite the age, though, it still manages to have the best public transportation I've ever experienced.

Our hostel was a drastic change of pace from the one in Luxembourg. The previous one was more akin to a resort: serene, lakefront, nestled in a tiny village, and a skilled chef on staff who presented a four course meal. The Munich hostel is five floors of youthful German intoxication.

On first arrival, I was loudly greeted from an open window on the fourth floor by an amiable young man who rotated through 3 languages before he found one I understood enough to answer his trilingual query of where I was from. America seemed to he an exciting answer, judging from his exuberant welcome to Germany and insistence that I join him in the hostel.

The seven of us are sharing an 8-bed dorm with a very unfortunate man named Diego, who probably didn't realize what he was getting into by bunking with 7 Dorans. He's an Italian who speaks English with an Irish accent, as he currently lives in Dublin. His interests include growing body hair and wandering around in boxer-briefs. Don't know why he's in Munich, but he seems to be enjoying himself, judging by his apparent state of mind during his 6am return to the dorm in the mornings. Nice guy; asked if we were Canadian. This marks the first time anybody has talked to us and not immediately assumed we were American (of the USA variety). Undoubtedly this was due to the melodeous overtures of the Canadian national anthem emenating from the bathroom, where dad was inexplicably singing it while introductions with Diego were taking place.

Introductions also took place between myself and German beer. I'm thoroughly impressed. I drank beer from a brewery that's been brewing beer since 1328. (Augustiner Braü). Beer is a big deal here. Its outside the scope of a blog post, but all interested parties should look up German beer history. There's beer purity laws in Bavaria from the 14th century that brewers still follow. Three generations of Dorans sampled the fruits of said brewers today and deemed them laudable.

I've also been sampling the food. As I previously experienced with Fish and chips in the UK, it turns out that i've also never had saurkraut before. To clarify, I have always really liked saurkraut. However, seeing as how the randomly selected biergarten in Munich has saurkraut of the caliber I experienced, then I have ... again ... been missing out for very long time. I've preemptively come to the conclusion that this will be an ongoing revelation for the remainder of the adventure.

Palace visit

A nice woman volunteered her husband to take our picture. I think maybe he did this for a living. He did a sneak attack and got a great photo.

Munich the wet

Munich was memorable. It started when we rolled up in front of the neon pink sign at the hostel. Matt declared it to be the best place he had ever been in his life and we weren't even out of the car yet! Sierra had her car door opened by a dude we dubbed "green shirt", and at some point, Brian looked down from our room at the street below and noted that his wife was dancing with some random guy on the street (who we dubbed white shirt).

The first notable thing we accomplished in Munich was to catch up on sleep. Though sleep for some was interrupted by our poor roommate who returned at 0600. I was personally a bit surprised to wake up to a strange man standing nearby in his tighty underpants. The catch up on sleep caused us to miss breakfast, but nobody cared all that much.

We were treated to a fantastic lightening storm Saturday night, which heralded the onset of great rain. So much rain the locals kept apologizing for it. Off tromped in it though. We walked across the Oktoberfest grounds and visited the Bavaria hall of fame. Then walked over to the museum of transportation, took some photos of a giant snail, and headed for a church we had seen nearby. It turned out to be St. Paul's cathedral, one of the most amusing features of which were giant lifelike photos of what we assumed We're the priests, on video loop so their eyes moved. The floor was painted with big letters that appeared to say "we're watching".

Next we headed for the subway and tram for a trip to the palace. Not entirely sure who's palace it was, but it was really huge. Once we tired of that, we set off for a food quest. It was much harder to find bratwurst than we expected, but we finally prevailed.

Once fed, the under 30 crowd went drinking (yes, all of them). A good time was had by all!

Photos coming soon!

Not o' bahn

Deustchland Waxing

Since I was derogatory about the roads in the UK yesterday, and don't want to sound like a broken phonograph, I'll avoid dedicating to much of this post to traffic updates. Having said that, I'm not impressed with the general roadtrip experience in Germany so far. Our merry meandering towards Munich has found itself beset by road closures on all sides. I believe we are now on a road. However, the universal lack of forward momentum, coupled with the abundance of Germans who have exited their cars for a smoke break, leaves an impression more akin to a parking lot rather than motorway. I'm considering wandering over to the adjacent tour bus to ask if i can make use of the toilet they are proudly advertising as a feature.

Traffic aside, there's been several interesting developments:

• The tribulations of our much-maligned cartop carrier continue. It has developed a horrific buzzing noise at speed. Seemingly this is emenating from the straps vibrating, but no amount of creative tying or excessive tape has resolved the issue. The other possibility is that we're being pursued through Deustchland by an 800 pound bumblebee.
• Additionally, there's some debate going on as to whether the increasingly large dent in the roof (caused by aforementioned cartop carrier) will start collecting water now that it's raining and we've stopped.
• I had my first beer since I arrived. It was a hefferwiezen. I ordered it in German and was, thus, very proud of myself. It was also delicious. 
• Patte has, apparently, taken her pants off. I'm not sure why and I don't plan on turning around to find out, but there's something going on in the back of this van that has warranted a pants removal.

There's a certain level of indescribable chaos going on in this van. Punctuated by wild cheering every time there's forward progress. Or sometimes screams of terror depending on how aggressive Bridget (the current driver) is at carving out forward progress.

... and Dad has left the vehicle. Hopefully he decides to come back before the next frantic bout of crazed Bridget-driving happens.

Setting the bar

This is our first night in a hostel and the bar has been set very high.  We are at the Youth Hostel Lultzhausen. We were a little confused finding it because the street name is the same as the city name. It turns out that's because there's just one street here!

They have an actual chef here who served us an excellent 4 course meal. We have two large rooms with extra bunks and the showers are plentiful!

This place is definitely worth a stop if you find yourself needing a place to sleep in the boonies of Luxembourg.

Hark, yon castle

A Doran ancestor was born here.

Of Fish and Chips and London Mishaps

I'll go back to London at some point. My brief stay there on the first day of this dubious adventure was moderately dampered by a 30 hour sleep deficit, and further befuddled by not experiencing a lack of daylight for the duration of said insomnia marathon.

In addition to a reasonable amount of sleep, my future London endeavours will benefit from my newfound London lore, which includes (but is certainly not limited to):

1. Don't drive in London. The city of London, beautiful though it may be, seems to have collected a variety of goat-trails over the centuries. Innovating minds apparently decided they should add cobblestone and call them roads, thus saving on civic engineering costs.
2. If you do drive in London (fool) don't schlep around a car-top carrier without being mindful of parking garage clearance. A 'miscommunication' between our driver and the rest of the van shouting, led to an unfortunate collision.
3. If for some reason you are forced into notes 1 and 2, bring copious ducttape. Our canvas carrier suffered severe abrasions by my hand as i frantically drug it down a street to safety. The abrasions eventually developed into lacerations, but seems to have stabalized through liberal application of duct tape

The collection of experiences that brought me these helpful hints is what Dorans refer to as an Adventure. Since this all happened within the first few hours, of this shindig, I think it bodes very well for the potential for Adventure during the remainder of the expedition.

I've also learned that I've never had fish and chips before. I thought I had. I was wrong. I had fish and chips on the shore of the English channel last night, and it was nearly a religious experience. I don't think I can ever have a dish called fish and chips in the States again. Maybe legitimate ones exist. Regardless, i've been missing out for a very long time.

Breakfast on the ferry

Across the channel

So long Great Britain! We are on a ferry, crossing the English Channel to Calais. We saw the sights of London, did serious damage to the car carrier (note: remember to check overhead clearences), procured duct tape, and found our way to Folkstone for the night. We even managed to eat really good fish and chips before we crashed for the night.

We briefly befuddled the French border agent at the ferry terminal when we rolled up in our French plated minivan. First by not being French, then by the number of passports that came out the window at him. He had a bemused smirk on his face as we drove away. We caused similar amusement to the ferry agent after he asked "are there seven of you in there?!"

Next stop, France!