Our goal was to leave Salzburg on a Monday morning and head for Barcelona. It would take 3 trains and one 9 hour layover in Geneva. The layover was a nice long afternoon, something like 2 - 11pm. We thought we'd take in the sights and maybe have a little dinner, all before boarding our night train to Barca. We'd stay till Friday, then head to Nice and spend the weekend in the French Riviera. What a life! Our only weak link in this plan was the night train from Geneva to Barcelona. There was a slight chance the train would be full and we couldn't book it except from the departing station, which was Geneva. So we had to cross our fingers and hope that there would be room for us on that train. Unfortunetly there wasn't, the train was full. No biggie, we would just reserve the next one and enjoy ourselves in Geneva. Problem was the next train out wasn't for three days (Whoops! We didn't count on that one) and we didn't feel like spending 3 nights in Geneva waiting for a train when we could be lying on a beach in Spain. So we made the quick decision to switch the rotation and go to Nice first. There was a train the following afternoon that would get us there by Tuesday night. Perfect, France here we come...
We had been up since 4am for 12 hours already, 8 of which were spent on a train so we were a little tired by this poit, and needless to say ready to throw our stuff down anywhere, head to a cheap bar and call it home for the night. So we set out to look for the neerest hostel. After a good 45min of searching, true hunger settled itself into the pits of our stomach (we had managed to skip lunch somehow and it was neering 5pm), and heavy raindrops began to fall from the sky. Finally, we saw it; our overly-fluorescent beacon of hope, also known as the International Youth Hostel. After paying the lady at the counter and being assigned a clean bundle of bed sheets, we quickly discovered that this youth hostel had a major emphasis on the word YOUTH.
Concrete floors (slightly angled to a drain) and white tile walls alongside huge cement pillars made us feel a little like we were in a butchers shop or had just entered into a horror film. Either way, it was far from pleasant, and the fluorescent lighting really didn't help the situation, nor did the loud screams coming from behind our hostel room door. At this point, we mustered up any ounce of positivity left, purely based on the knowledge that this place had a working elevator. Walking closer to room #28, our 6 bed all-girl dorm-style suite, we hesitantly listened in on the commotion from behind the door to try and prepare ourselves for what we were about to walk into. Yo
ung children at play? Screaming babies? Someone killing a small animal? After several deep breaths in front of the door and thorough mental preparation, we opened the door on 4 young teenage girls mid-pillowfight/wrestle fest. They were sweet girls and it was much better than finding a creepy old lady killing a cat or something. It had thus far been a trying day, but the promise of a cold beer and plate of hot food seemed to be the perfect cure.
It was just starting to get dark outside, the heavy rain had dissipated to a light mist, and we were starving. Earlier that day on the long journey to the hostel, we spotted a couple local bars and restaurants that looked appealing. Those few minutes, upon exiting the cold rainy streets of Geneva and entering into the warmth of a dimly lit, taverness dive bar that just so happened to serve burgers and beer, were second to the happiest minutes I've spent in Switzerland. Of course this warm happy feeling was soon to be squashed; all it took was a second glance at the prices on the menue. Now, I have heard that Switzerland is an expensive place, but oh boy is it expensive. At first I thought that I was doing my math wrong because their currency is not the Euro, it's the Swiss Frank, so there was a slight conversion process, but after double checking with Caehle, we had to push our menus aside and venture back into the cold to find a different place to eat. Menu after menu, restaurant after restaurant, we discovered that there was no such meal in Geneva under 20 U.S. dollars per person. Finally, I said, "Fuck it, I'm eating off the dollar menu at McDonalds." Of course there is no dollar menu in Geneva, so I ordered a #3, Caehle ordered a small salad, and our grand total was a disgusting 22 Franks. I forget the conversion, but 22 of anything may it be Dollar, Euro, or Frank, is outrageous. To make matters worse, we were still hungry and still sober.
One can only take uncomfortable circumstances for so long before cracking, and then to throw bad greasy food that you can get at home (better in quality and 50% cheaper) on top of your already uncomfort
able conditions, you get an abundance of raw negative emotion. Our natural instinct was to turn to vodka for some heavy sedation, then pass out in our dry room. Since everything in a bar was much too expensive, we went to the only liquor store we could find - aptly named Monsoon - bought ourselves a big bottle of vodka and headed to party central (communal showers, bunk beds, and giggly minors, YAY). Fortunately, smooth maneuvers allowed us to sneak the bundle of joy past security and into the "Drug Free" zone. It was about 10pm by now, so naturally, the girls were getting ready to go out (yeah, European youth isn't exactly like American youth in that way, they party pretty young here. But on the plus side, they are over it by the time they're 20). We made friendly conversation, and one of the girls was even kind enough to give us two glasses to mix our drinks in. After the girls left to go clubbing, we began to unwind and let the alcohol take its effect.
Several times before and during this trip, we've been warned about bed bugs. It sounds like a joke ("Nighty-night, don't let the bed bugs bite"), but it turns out that bed bugs are actually a big problem in the European hostelling community. Our hostel in Prague had to turn people away because they so clearly had bed bugs and the hostel didn't want to pay to have the entire place fumigated. Caehle, being the adorable freak that she is, already always thinks that bugs are crawling on her or flying into her eye. Since Prague, she has been on heightened alert toward any sign of dirty sheets or wall space infected with tiny black bugs. Well, we both have.
Giving up on any hope to venture back out into the cold, we surrendered ourselves to our pajamas and poured ourselves another drink. At some point during this task, Caehle discovered a rather large group of little black bugs hovering in one particular square foot of wall/ceiling above her pillow. To Caehle, this was a catastrophe, and she insisted we share the bottom bunk because the top was so clearly infested that it was a health hazard for either of us to sleep up there. Let me stop you right there - I know what you're thinking - alcohol, small twin bed, intense situations... I'm just going to burst this bubble before it gets any bigger. NO LESBIAN ACTIVITY HAS GONE ON BETWEEN CAEHLE AND I. Sorry to disappoint. Nearing the end of our bottle of vodka, I attempted to cover every inch of skin with clothing and venture to the top bunk. Caehle truly objected to this notion, but I wasn't about to share the smallest twin bed I have ever seen after a day like the one we had just had. I put a scarf over the pillow so my face wouldn't touch any infected bedding, and then tried to sleep. I would've too, if it hadn't been for my incessant coughing.
The next morning I woke up feeling so sick that I actually found myself wishing it had just been a hangover. Caehle, slightly hung over herself, softly woke me so we could head downstairs for some free breakfast. Upon arriving at the eatery, we found the equivalent to an elementary school cafeteria. Long lines, intense noise levels, brighter lighting than I had hoped for (especially after a bottle of vodka), lots of energetic young ones, and mustard-yellow schoolyard style lunch tables. Also, it turns out that when we booked our room we received a "breakfast coupon." I was confused as to what the lunch-lady man was referring to when he asked to see ours because most people refer to them as receipts. I had thrown mine away but Caehle's was upstairs so she ran up there to find it while me and my headache watched over her food tray. Truth be told the thought of food greatly affected my upchuck reflex, and all I yearned for was some hot tea to sooth my throat, chest, and lungs which all seemed to hate me that morning. Every once in a while my throat decided to get exceptionally dry, forcing me to cough uncontrollably, which ultimately led to the oh-so-wonderful gagging sessions that could only be waited out and never resolved. This scratchy throat thing, with a hangover, surrounded by people eating was not such a good mixture. I was sure I was going to vomit into one of the trash bins in front of everyone. Instead I managed to hold it back and sneak some hot water to sip on. Caehle returned recite in hand and came over to eat her yogurt and banana while i sipped on my hot water, too tired to explain the coughing fit I had just experienced. Before I knew it the bitchy lunch-lady man started yelling at me in Swiss about not having a ticket. Because ignoring him wasn’t working and I felt like death on a stick, I pretty much told him to fuck off and finished my small cup of hot water. I really wanted a second cup but decided not to purposefully stir up commotion so I went to take a hot shower instead. Leaving Caehle in the cafeteria to fend for herself, I ventured to the communal showers praying there would be hot water. Of course that was too much to ask for but lukewarm water did the trick and brushing my teeth twice certainly helped impersonate cleanliness. Still craving a hot cup of tea to help break up the deeply-seeded rattle in my chest, we packed up and left in search of a dream (a Starbucks with free WiFi). Miraculously, like the light at the end of a very very very dark tunnel we saw that beautiful green and white siren from about a mile away. Internet, all the hot tea I could possibly desire, and best of all only 3 hours till our train to Nice. HEAVEN!
t, who is studying abroad in Barcelona for two months. She had plans to spend the weekend in Paris, so the following day we hopped on a train to Barcelona and finally got to take in some sights.
t, who is studying abroad in Barcelona for two months. She had plans to spend the weekend in Paris, so the following day we hopped on a train to Barcelona and finally got to take in some sights.
and Sangaria you could ever want. We were in heaven. Barcelona was also the birhplace of our funky new found look, overslized black framed glasses. Put those babys on when you feel like shit and your day gets 
instantly better. 
and Sangaria you could ever want. We were in heaven. Barcelona was also the birhplace of our funky new found look, overslized black framed glasses. Put those babys on when you feel like shit and your day gets 
instantly better. 
ches are much different from beaches back home, they are filled with murchants that sell everything from coconuts and empinadas to sunglases and srongs. After a strenuious 5 weeks of vacation we felt like we really deserved an ice cold mojito and a stong mass
age on the beach for all of our hard work. We kicked back and indulged in the toppless sun bathing and swam in the beautiful crystal blue Mediteranianm which felt like silk on my warm skin. Long naps on the beach and late night in the streets, thats the life. 
ches are much different from beaches back home, they are filled with murchants that sell everything from coconuts and empinadas to sunglases and srongs. After a strenuious 5 weeks of vacation we felt like we really deserved an ice cold mojito and a stong mass
age on the beach for all of our hard work. We kicked back and indulged in the toppless sun bathing and swam in the beautiful crystal blue Mediteranianm which felt like silk on my warm skin. Long naps on the beach and late night in the streets, thats the life. 
Catacombs
