Sam #5: May 28

This morning started with my horrendously obnoxious code-red sci-fi phone alarm going off at 6:30am after a late night at the club. It can wake me from the deepest of snoozes, and this morning was no exception. I snapped up and leapt across the bed, through the sheets, past the bridge, over the rainbow, down the yellow brick road, above the rim, and under the sea to reach my phone and turn off the alarm. I was quite alert at this point, but I could feel that I was going to be in that strange state of mind all day where you're tired but a squinty-eyed Clint Eastwood sense of badass keeps you awake. I woke my equally-weary roommate Parker and we got ready for a 7:15 departure to the train station. Parker was quite organized, but my things were spread all over the room as if Jackson Pollock himself had splatter-painted the room with my dirty clothes, my chapstick, and my krona coins. Finally zipping my bag shut was quite the pleasant surprise for the morning.

We metro-surfed our way to the train station, and since we were at least an hour early, we headed first for the bakery/Burger King combo shop and waited in line for croissants. While in line for this traveler's mecca, we spotted the departures board. At the time of manna purchase, our train had not yet been assigned a platform, and thus some of us waited in purgatory, some of us went to find cheap water and snack food, and some went to rid their souls of the ever-scarring Czech krona in exchange for the mighty euro, which breathed a fresh breath of Herman Van Rompuy into our wallets. By the time we had all reunited, the 8:39 to Wien had been assigned to platform 9 3/4, and there we marched with haste.

We found a lovely block of unreserved seats on the train, and we quickly claimed them. The seats were comfortable and elegant, and of course the seatmates were world-class. Once the train was in motion, we knew that we had to write some blogs, and Christian was first in line to write. I knew that he was not super stoked to blog when he went and found a new seat on the other side of the train, but I chased him down and gave him the encouragement that only the blogger-in-chief could give, and in the end he wrote a beautiful blog (as you all have already read). While he was diligently performing the duties of daily scribe, the other 4 of us discussed geography, history, and politics to everyone's delight. However, one of the highlights of the morning was when Bohemian drank lady rolled her snack-filled crunk cart through the aisle with the hippest selection of tea, coffee, and other groovy fare. Shawty copped me an earl grey and a hella dank chocolate croissant for a Flo-Rida low price of 2 euros. The four lazy bum non-scribes continued our small talk of rivers and trains for awhile, and we napped a little bit too. Later in the train ride, we continued historical discussion (largely grounded in Cedric's AP Euro textbook from 10th grade) when to my most delightful surprise, Snack Cart Sister returned for an encore performance, and out of appreciation, loyalty, and sheer awe, I paid up again for another hot tea. It was even more refreshing and pee-inducing than the one before it. Shortly after snacks round 2, the train made a stop at an intermediate station, and a 4-seat table opened up. My eyes like softballs, I levitated across the cabin and put down my jacket, my ipod, my headphones, and my backpack in the 4 different seats in order to ensure our claim over this newfound district. As it is, a table seat is hard to come by, so having all 4 people in the same gang claim all four seats is rarer than hen's teeth.

The rest of our train ride was fantastic, and we arrived in Wien around 1:15, which was about 20 minutes earlier than schedule. I like that. We arrived in a station called Meidling, which isn't that close to our hostel. Truth be told, there is a different station called Westbahnhof (West Train Station in English) that is two blocks from our hostel, but the Prague trains on our pass don't run there. Alas, we were forced to navigate another metro system in order to get to our hostel. I must say that each new one gets easier as we learn the different elements of European light rail. We arrived at the Westbahnhof station, and from there Henry had been given directions to the hostel. All we had to do was walk out of the train station, turn left, and walk two blocks. We walked three blocks, still didn't see the hostel, and decided to consult Sir Charles, my beloved CrackBerry, for wisdom, counsel, and geographic orientation. As it turned out, we had gone out the wrong side of the train station, and we needed to walk back up the hill to the train station, turn left, and then walk two blocks perpendicular to our route. With large suitcases. The prospect of walking uphill for nearly a kilometer vanished all traces of patience, and incidentally we hoofed it up that hill. I swear I was angry enough (not at Henry - we were all frustrated with the whole situation) to bite someone's ear off à la Mike Tyson and Evander Holyfield.

We FINALLY arrived at the hostel and checked in with little hiccup. In fact they were quite nice, offering us free drinks and free wifi. I was in no mood to communicate with the outside world, and we took our bags and headed to the room, which turned out to be down the street another block. The hostel is in a separate building from the hotel, which made for a cozier setting for our room, but to use the internet or talk to the front desk, we had to walk back the block. We got into the room (which is phenomenal) and set up camp there. The sheets they provided were unbelievably comfortable, and by the time we were ready to head out for lunch, it was almost 4:00. We headed over to a hip little spot called Galaxie, which was just down the street with a variety of fare. The fact that they were serving food at 4pm is not common, and we pounced on the opportunity to eat something; anything. Other than a misinterpretation of "rice" and "fries" (they sound very similar), our meal was good. Recharged and reloaded, we headed into the heart of the city (via metro) and elected to wander through a section chock full of interesting-looking buildings.

Our adventures led us to three churches, only one of which was actually a church. We saw Parliament, the Volkspark, the Volksopera, City Hall, and other interesting things. Unfortunately, when I say we "saw" them, I literally mean that we only saw them. Nothing was really open. Evidently, things in Vienna do not stay open as late as things do in Atlanta. At the train station, some lady recommended that we try to take a bus tour of the city to see everything. Well as it turned out, the bus tours were also closed for the evening, so by that point (7:00ish), we elected to scrap all other plans of touring places, and instead our focus turned to dinner. We wandered around Stephensplatz (the city center and giant shopping/dining/clubbing destination) until settling on a Turkish restaurant that was the Turkish equivalent of Houston's. Our service was good and our food was better, so after a long afternoon of frustrating misses, the five of us were all greatly satisfied and relieved at having finally done something right in this new city of Wien.

Upon arrival at the hostel, our next priority was laundry. The clean side of my duffel bag was going the way of the Greek economy (a hot topic in over yonder), while the dirty clothes were growing like Maury Ballstein's prostate gland. Sir Charles helped me find a laundromat nearby, and so we gathered up all of our dirties and set out on the metro once again in search of cars, money, and Tide Color-Safe Bleach. Having been led true once more by Sir Charles, we happened upon a beautiful laundromat, only to find it closed for the weekend. The concept of the late-night laundromat party with the iPod speakers is obviously unheard of in this city. Dejected and odorous like no other, we wandered into a convenience store and bought The Notebook in Turkish and 5 quarts of Ben & Jerry's to nurse our battle scars with. We retreated to the basement lair and struggled to find another dimension in which to flip our underwear and socks, because inside out and inside in had already been used up.

We finished up the day with some blog-writing in the kitchen/lounge outside our room and Cuarenta lessons. For the uninitiated and un-Ecuafied, Cuarenta is a traditional Ecuadorian card game with 40 cards that scores points for various victories until one squad reaches the vaunted cuarenta mark. Christian and I were in the international brotherhood, and tonight we introduced Henry and Parker to the smash hit phenomenon that is single-handedly responsible for every one of Simon Bolivar's conquests of liberation in the 1820's. Most history books write that Bolivar used an army to conquer Spanish forces stationed in Gran Colombia. Not so. In truth, Bolivar and his lifelong Cuarenta partner Karl-os Malone challenged each general (and the partner of his choosing) to a Cuarenta showdown. Between Bolivar's uncanny ability to get rondas and Malone's fierce intimidation skills (later adapted by 21st century professor and expert Nelson Ruiz), they were simply unstoppable. The Spanish, embarrassed by their losses, claimed military losses to the court, and it was never questioned.

History lessons aside, we played a sleepy teaching round, and then Christian and Parker prevailed over me and Henry in a 40-12 blowout. Exhausted, we headed quickly to bed, ready for another day of surprises from the great city of Wien.

Yours Truly,
John Not-ckton