Ride along these empty streets/ Wind's blowing, no shoes on my feet

Alright, for the past week and a half or so I've been alluding to a blog post that I've wanted to write forever. It's something I wrote first in my book (diary and journal sound too cliché) on a train to Prague with the purpose of putting it up here. It's about one of the first nights of my trip and for some reason I think that it will give you, my amazing readers, a personal glimpse into this trip, my thoughts and how I feel about it. It's a bit long, but I hope entertaining. Feel free to leave your thoughts (as always). This one is important to me, and rather personal so I hope you enjoy it.


The train is late, but at this point in my travels, punctuality is not to be expected. I alternate between wearily pacing the train platform and ponderously extricating myself from my bags and sitting on top of them.

It's Sunday night-no, Monday morning and I haven't truly slept since 8:30 Saturday morning when I woke up at home, ready to begin my adventures. My flights were cramped and uncomfortable and I dozed no more than three or so hours in catnaps of thirty minutes or less.

Another announcement blares over the loudspeaker and I strain to understand, the echoes bouncing around the glass and steel of this cavernous station make it difficult for me to discern any key words that might yield understanding. I realize it to be a fruitless effort and turn to the two men standing near me. "Entschuldigung, bitte. Mein Deutsch ist nicht so gut. Was hat dass gesagen?" (Excuse me, please. My German is not very good, what did that say?) One of them smiles and replies,

"Die Zug kommt in fünfzehn minuten. (The train comes in fifteen minutes) Fifteen minutes." He clarifies unnecessarily.

"Vielen dank, thank you very much!" I say, smiling at his switch to slightly halting English. We strike up a short conversation about where I'm from and the pitfalls of tardy transportation. I attempt to sustain it mainly in German for the benefit of his friend whom it appears, speaks no English. My German is rusty and I'm nervous so it's difficult. After a few minutes I thank them again and move a little bit away. For the rest of the fifteen minutes the first man will turn towards my direction and repeat the wait time in English.

I'm immersed in my thoughts as I wait, as I have been ever since I left my parents at security in O'hare Airport. My mother was crying and my father's eyes were shining. I know they are more afraid for me on this trip then they ever let on, I just hope along with thinking I am absolutely outside my mind, they are proud of me as well.

I look over at the two men and think about how much these little snippets of conversation with strangers has come to mean to me. I've never been this alone in my life and with all of the travel problems I've had, I'm more aware of it than ever.

There was no one to tell me what I needed to do when I missed my connection in Madrid; no one there to offer advice when I landed in Berlin, having missed my train due to the later flight, with no where to stay and absolutely no one I knew within 1,000 miles. Sitting on the bus from the airport with two months worth of luggage on my back and no idea what to do... I can't remember ever being that uncertain or that off balance in my entire life. Afraid might be a better description, if I were to be completely honest with myself.

I am jolted out of my revere by the announcement of the train's impending arrival. Shifting all of my packs I feel a sense of exhausted relief and anticipation. Somewhere in my mind a voice had been whispering to me that I would never make it to Amsterdam, that something else was bound to go wrong. The man I spoke to earlier turns once again to me and smiles, I smile back and thank him and his companion again before I check for the fifth time that I have everything I need: Eurail Pass, reservations for this train, all my other train reservations, my money belt and passport. Check times four.

The train pulls up smoothly and I scan the digital signs on the doors uncomprehendingly and climb aboard at the nearest entrance. I see a woman scanning her ticket and comparing it to compartment numbers in the hallway to my left. Figuring she looks like she knows what she is doing I approach, "Entschuldigung, kennen Sie wo..." (Excuse me, ma'am, do you know where...) I trail off, giving her a desperate look and holding up my ticket. She looks at it and responds,

"Ach, ja, your car is 25, you must go two or three towards the back." I thank her and push ponderously past, all my packs making movement in the narrow halls difficult. I pass all manner of bedded compartments before finally arriving at my car, which has no beds, just six seated compartments that strongly remind me of Harry Potter. I find my compartment - number 55 and my seat - 5 and I smile. Thousands of miles from home and my family's favorite number reaches out to comfort me. I neatly place my bags on the shelves and stretch, stepping out into the hallway as the train pulls away from the station. I watch the few people left standing on the platform as they way and walk alongside. I have no one to wave to so I instead watch the station slide away. The windows are down and my hair whips back as the train picks up speed. There is, I think, something to be said for these bullet trains. I gaze out at the empty streets, listening to the wind blow.

Someone comes up on my left side, a guy, looking to be only slightly older than me. I say hello, observing that he has come out of the compartment next to mine. He says hi back and my ears prick up at his accent. His brownish skin and black hair have me placing him geographically somewhere south of Mexico in my head. I venture a few English words and his face lights up.

"I am so glad you speak English!" he says effusively, "I don't speak German and the lady in my cabin can't talk to me." I laugh and invite him to sit with me in my cabin for a little bit. I find out that his name is Rodrigo, and that he's from Brazil. He is also going onto Amsterdam and has no alarm clock to wake him up. I make the offer to rouse him in the morning as my mobile has an alarm that I fervently hope will work.

We talk a little longer about our travels until I let on that I am tired and am thinking about sleeping. He says his good nights and sets off in search of the dining car and I close the compartment door behind him. There is not much to do to ready myself for sleep, I'll sleep in the clothes that I have on. I give a passing though to writing in my book for a while but the weight of my eyelids indicates that my body is finally giving out on me.

"Alright," I murmur to myself, "I hear you, you win." I take off my sneakers and place them under the seats. I have kept all of my things meticulously tidy, my mother would approve. It appears that I will have to cabin to myself, so I switch off the light and draw the curtains, then stretch out across all three of the seats on the left side of the cabin. I set my alarm for 7:15, and with a stern look at my mobile I set it next to my head.

The darkened cabin is cold, the wind rattling past the window. I curl into myself tightly attempting to keep warm and let my thoughts drift where they will. I wonder what everyone at home would think if they could see me now, my family, my parents, Nick.

Hurtling through the darkened German countryside on a train that I happened to catch by sheer luck after every other travel arrangement I had made went afoul was not how I envisioned my backpacking adventures commencing. But now, I thought, I know I can do it.

I lay in the dark, embracing the surreal feeling I have about my surroundings. I lay, listening to my playlist form Nick and drift off into a restless sleep. I wonder what everyone at home is doing, I think drowsily, I hope they're proud of me.




Hope you enjoyed that. I wanted to put it up here to give people they chance to experience what I have, or as Cathi and Jenna have put it, live vicariously through me. I don't usually post things that are overly personal on the internet, but for those who have been reading my blog all summer, I'll make an exception.

Crazy life, fueled by crazy dreams,

Love to all at home,
*Miranda