Part Three: Yes, you have to start the France thing, sometime . . .

And then I took the train back to Munich, via Budapest and Vienna, spent the night, and took the 7am plane to Paris. I'm pretty sure that fate wanted me to stay in Ukraine, because this trip to Western Europe was as annoying as the trip away from there was refreshing.

Except for one thing, which was pretty awesome. On my way to Hungary, I shared a two bunk cabin with an airplane pilot. And he was learning English from a phrase book, and asking me all these questions. He was pretty good, actually. And then, at dinner time, he bought us tea, and shared his food with me. He had rye bread (of course), tomatoes and cucumbers, buckwheat with pork out of a tin, cheese and sausage, and sala (pig fat). Which is pretty much what Russians eat when they go hiking, so that was cool. And he told me stories about being a pilot. And then he had a flask of cognac from his home region of Ukraine, and we drank three times, because it's traditional. We drank to meeting, to health and to love, I think, and I'm pretty sure that these are traditional, as well. It was pretty good cognac, too.

But then the trouble started. On the train to Budapest, you cross the Ukraine- Hungary border, where you spend two hours getting you passport examined and the train wheels changed. Before this, if you are smart, you will have slept for maybe 4 or 5 hours. So it's around 4am, and that stuff is all over, when the conductor knocks on the door:

“Miss, weren't you going to Zahony?” (Zahony is the border town)
“No, I'm going to Budapest”
“Well, I'm sorry of course, but you only have a spot to Zahony. The Hungarian ticket control men are coming, and they're very strict.”
“Oh, well, what do I do?”
So I swing down from my top bunk, grab my stuff, and stumble into the seating compartments. These are very well lit, and soon filled with people, so I knitted rather than slept.

This was all caused by the fact that people in Ukraine didn't understand the limitations of my Euro Rail pass, and that I wasn't careful enough. At any rate, by the time I had my connection in Vienna, I was feeling awful. I'd had two hours there, but I just couldn't get myself to leave the station. I was gross and my clothes were gross, and my camera bag was falling apart, and a button on my coat had come off, and my shoes were looking the worse for wear . . .

So I figured I should eat, at least, and I found this place called Lee's, or something. And then . . . they had sushi! It was fairly cheap sushi, and it wasn't very good, but wow. It seriously made me feel like a person again. Which is probably kinda odd, but it worked, so . . .

At any rate, I get to bed in Munich after dark. And it was the most wonderful bed, and at a hostel, too! A big fluffy down comforter, and clean sheets. I had accidentally shown up during Octoberfest, so everyone was all dressed up in traditional German outfits, which was cool, too. The only thing was that I had to get up and leave at 4am to catch my plane.

And then the commuter rail conductors in Paris were on strike. It wasn't such a big deal- I took a bus, instead, but still. Kinda unlucky.

I finally get to my hotel, though, and my roommate's already there, and she's cool, and I crash for two hours, until it turns out that we have to sprint to the events my program had for us that day. Whew.