Yo-
So this has been neglected lately. I would apologize, but I'm not going to.
Slovenia is gorgeous. Really really gorgeous. Also, my uncle rocks. He basically drove me all over the country, gave me food, and then, the day I was about to leave, decided I needed clothes. So he drives me to the Italian border, and buys me a coat, and shoes, and jeans, and a shirt. I think he spent more'n $500 on me.
Also, my uncle's brother Marian was with us for some part of this. Marian does not speak much English, but he speaks some (note, some, not alot) Spanish. So most of the time, he'd be sitting in the back of the car, mumbling to himself in Slovenian, and then all of a sudden he'd break into narration in Spanish: "En el ano mil ochociento ochenta y tres, este edificio fue..." What was even better was when he tried to tell jokes. Most of these had apparently been learned in Serbia, and were now being told by a Slovenian in broken Spanish to an American. Needless to say, the punchlines didn't necessarily translate so well.
People on trains are awesome. On the way there, I sat in a compartment with this Hungarian lady on her way to Zagreb, who offered me candy and a sandwich. Remembering what my mother taught me about candy from strangers (always say "thank you"), I thus was fed on my trip there. On the way back, I rode half the trip with this Slovenian who spoke English, and with whom I discussed music, and concerts he'd been to back in the seventies, and the lack of trust granted with him by his third wife, and other fun stuff.
Paris was cool, but the trip was kind of a nightmare. It's partly my fault: I was *cough* led astray in the airport before leaving, and ended up drinking more tequila than was good. I don't remember any of the flight until about twenty minutes before landing, but apparently I was "very nervous and afraid of flying." The next day, I was nice and hungover all the way through the Eiffel Tower (still cool) and Notre Dame. We had to leave early morning November 1st: Flight left at 9:45, so we planned to leave the hostel at 6:00. I get up at 5:00 to finish packing and shower--oops, we've lost someone. Come 6:15, he's not there. We leave his stuff at the front desk, wish him luck, and take off. As we're standing in line to board the plane, there's a pounding on the window to the security line: Hey look, it's Mike. I'm actually really impressed that he managed to get the airport on time, and find the terminal, and get his boarding pass.
So I'm in Houston now, and get to talk to some folks tomorrow about the rest of my life, and how they should give me money. Just a little bit nervous.
