So I’m back...
What can I say?
Six weeks ago today I flew to Beijing, China where I caught a train to Ulsanbaatar. While in Mongolia, I slept in a yurt, hiked over verdant hills, and consumed mountains of red meat. Then I rode another train to Moscow. This one took five days. During that time I could be found either a) drinking beer, b) drinking vodka, or c) reading the Brother’s Karamazov while drinking beer/vodka. When I arrived in the capital city, I witnessed a troupe of inebriated soldiers marching through red square and I ate
incredible Georgian food. Next, an overnight train to St. Petersburg where I visited the Hermitage museum, ate blini for breakfast and enjoyed the white nights festival. From St. Petersburg I flew to Warsaw, Poland. Here I bought bandages for my battered feet and ogled all of the
Very! Fetching! Polish! Men! Then I took a train to Krakow, Poland where I spent nine hours at the Auschwitz-Birkenau Museum. Then I shared a sleeping berth with two Aussies, an English boy, and an Argentinean named Santiago. Our cabin reeked of unwashed feet; destination Budapest. There I visited the National Museum, ate a bowl of goulash, and saw a live Hungarian punk rock band. I stayed up until 4 am. In Vienna I watched the World Cup finals, drank a lot of coffee and visited Mozart’s grave. In Prague I toured castles, toured castles, and toured castles. Oh, and I drank really good, really cheap Czech beer. Finally, I flew to Amsterdam where I visited the Van Gough Museum, the Ann Frank House, and spent a night in the oldest hippie commune in Holland. More on that one later. I was also gently scolded by a prostitute. But that's okay. It was 9 on a Sunday morning. She was probably tired from staying up all night. Sucking cock. What a job.
Shite.
…
Oh! And I missed my flight home.
I also did some other things. I mean, a lot of other things. But my head is spinning like a gyroscope right now, so I better log off before I puke.
