I was reading through some of my older entries, namely the Toulouse ones I wrote way back in June, and was rather struck by how much more detailed they were. I had planned to do something like that for each and every one of my entries, but somewhere along the way I forgot, and then it kind of faded into oblivion. What's more important than landmarks and remembering their names, I think, are the emotions and thoughts they inspired in you. That's why time is of the essence, and the reason I wanted to get it out on paper (so to speak, ha) as soon as possible; to remember the thoughts. Loads has happened since September, and in all honesty I really can't remember half the thoughts that should be put down, but instead have been consigned to oblivion. Instead I feel compelled to write about the LotR Appendices I was reading yesterday. Cirion and Eorl, and Eldacar, and then the 243-minutes long extended bluray version I watched last night with the family.
But wrapup.
First of all, this trip had always been in the cards, but the weeks leading up to it had been complete and utter chaos. I remember sitting in the graduate study room in New Hunt House library and booking my tickets about a month and a half beforehand: more as an incentive to actually get this trip off the ground than anything else, since I was being eaten alive by research and couldn't make myself do anything else, and I knew I'd hate myself forever if I didn't go. So I booked my tickets, and then went on with my dissertation, and didn't go anywhere near it again for the next five weeks or so. Started out planning after I'd finished my dissertation, then all plans were put on hold again because of things, and then between job-hunting, house-hunting, moving, planning where to leave my luggage and seeing people, I managed to shake out my travel itinerary. Was a bit upset because, as always, not enough time to see all the places I wanted - but it was certainly adequate, as I was pretty whipped by the time I reached Frankfurt, and quite glad to go back to London. I feel it's important to establish the process of preparation, since that was just as important, if not more, than the actual trip itself, for me at any rate.
After moving out from the student halls, I went to stay with Rene for a few days before catching that ridiculously early flight to Budapest. I still vividly remember us talking till 12, then me catching three hours sleep before waking up rather painfully again. I tiptoed out of her bedroom with my clothes and makeup bag, and showered and returned to her room. Whilst I went through my backpack, trying to be as quiet as I could, she woke up with a bit of a groan, and asked me how I was. - Yeah, I'm good, just need to finish this, go to the kitchen and have a cup of coffee in peace, then off I go. Sorry for waking you up. - No problem, I'll join you then. - No, you sleep, I said. She sighed - you sure? - Yes, I said. - Sorry about that; well, when you leave, tell me, she said.
Making coffee in her kitchen, using her square turquoise IKEA mug. Sitting at the small circular blue wooden table in the rather cramped kitchen - students in London, after all - and feeling that strange sense of serenity you feel before taking the plunge. Surprisingly enough I wasn't so nervous about the trip as I was about walking from her place to Hammersmith station for the bus. Although it was only a 10 minute walk, I still don't feel comfortable walking around alone in Europe after dark, especially not at 4 in the morning. No matter.
I finished my solitary coffee - I relish these alone moments before the storm, they're what I live for - told Rene I was leaving, and went to Hammersmith station. The bus was a bit late, but it didn't really matter since the streets were empty, and the nightbus swooped through the West End before stopping at Baker Street. I asked the driver diffidently if he knew where Gloucester Place was. - You're going to Stansted eh, he said. - Yes. - Walk down and turn right.
The shuttle I'd booked was an easybus, but apparently National Express takes easybus too. There was the huge welcoming white silhouette of a NE at the bus stop, and a driver smoking. I went up to him - Stansted Airport? - Yes. I showed him my ticket and went aboard, and sailed off to Stansted with a busful of other equally groggy passengers who had gotten cheap early flights like I had.
My favourite cities were magic Prague, Budapest and Salzburg. I liked Hallstatt a lot but it barely counts as a town, and I didn't spend enough time there, plus all the rushing (entirely my fault) was a bit annoying. I felt most at home in Vienna, though that was of course because Petra's house was so wonderful. Staying at home and watching Edge of Tomorrow with the boys whilst it poured outside was one of my fondest memories from this trip. I was really quite sorry to leave Vienna on Friday morning.
Germany was really not up my street, but I enjoyed Nuremberg a lot. Again the rain and the cold, the feeling of coming back to the hostel soaked to the skin and freezing, and then taking a piping hot bath, sitting down in my nice proper hotel bed with my tablet whilst it raged outside, was bliss.
Mild annoyances were when my flipflops kept breaking and I had to mend them, when I cut my toe in Wroclaw and worried about gangrene, when I tore my tights in Katowice and had to buy a new pair, and then when the Katowice hostel gave me the wrong directions for Auschwitz and I wasted almost an entire morning dashing to and fro from the Dworzec to the Glowny.
I'm also vaguely proud of myself of having covered more than sixteen cities and six countries within four weeks. And of the extremely complex itinerary I planned out - certainly much more loaded than any of the previous ones. Continental #1 is a contender, but I spent the first week in a hotel in Toulouse, and then another ten days at my friend's place in Maastricht, so I really only had to plan for a week that time. You wind down whenever you stay at other people's places - for me, the only time I got to relax was when I was at Petra's for three days. The rest was relentlessly, frenetically on the move.
As with all other trips, I either met people I loved, or didn't meet anyone at all. Sometimes I wonder about the footnotes - the people whose contact information I didn't get - and feel a passing tinge of regret. How are they doing now, and do they still remember who I am? Of course, the worst thing is having them on facebook and then basically never talking again, or the next worst thing - liking each other's drunk Friday night posts. What ifs are infinitely better than has beens.
Melancholy but clear conscienced. I think that concludes
continental #4; now for
continental #1. Back to the beginning, as they say.
