You know that train phase little boys go through? Those boys know what's up. Trains rock. By that, I mean on the very first day of my trip, I am on a train to the airport. It's the first Saturday of my super belated gift to myself for my birthday. I was on a train.
Oh man, that is totally one thing off my bucket list. I want to ride every form of transport open to the public, and have dreamed of the day I got to ride a train since I was little.
On Wednesday, there should have been a poorly written note for you on my blog. It told you exactly where I was, and, as I wrote yesterday, I spent the past (very hectic) week in Rome. I chose between Rome, with all its sights and sounds, and Mallorca. Next time, I'm going with the first instinct of Mallorca. It may have been too cold for a swim, but there were violin concerts in caves and a submarine.
It was just me, only me. I was nervous, but confident I had planned well. (Cue laughter.) I am an intrepid traveler after all.
Oh hey! On the way up, I so saw Thomas. Bright blue old fashioned steam engine, right? And hey! There went by a keep too! Oh wow. The train ride rocked.
The seats were comfortable, there was a hook for my coat, and a luggage rack above my head. For the life of me, I couldn't get my luggage up that high however.
Train tunnels aren't lit, and it was so amazing. It was the time of my life.
I did have a minor incident. I had thought my ticket covered both trains...not so much. The ticket taker waved it off. It was okay this once, just don't do it again. I hung out in the airport for a boring few hours.
Oh by they way: German Airport Security. American High Schools can have the same level of security, and some even have higher! Metal detector + ID check = entrance.
My shoes even stayed on the entire time. Took all of five minutes.
There was a minor worry at the airport. The plane never received an official gate, you see, and they never actually announced it. Que sera sera though.
Is anyone else seeing the warning signs yet? I think the final clue ought to have been the gates of the hotel, marked on either side with the symbol for anarchy.
Turn back! Turn back!!
I was unnerved, but the price was excellent, so on I went.
I check in, and I'm shown to my room. I should have turned back. My cover on the bed has a hole in it, the blind on the window doesn't close, the dim light lacks a cover. The window doesn't open, only one half of each of two outlets works, the floor has a mysterious dried spill on it, the mirror and window are both filthy, the remote didn't work. The pillow was more liked a folded towel than anything remotely resembling a pillow.
Good price, I reminded myself, when I hit my head on the slopping ceiling that evening. You already made reservations, I told myself as the shower head sent water all of the place. It's Easter week, everywhere else is booked, I informed myself as I attempted to sleep on the bad mattress.
Goodness. I could list so much more. It was rated three stars, but the last three star hotel I stayed at I felt like a queen. This one not so much.
Still, it was a roof over my head. There is that.
One Final Byte: Thou shalt listen to omens most very numerous.