The Fam Part II

Well it has been a while since I have updated this thing, so I guess it is about time to shed some new pictures on this wonderful world of the internet. The travels this weekend took me all over the place. I am used to traveling for crying out loud, but gosh my mom’s plans are crazy. I honestly don’t know how my grandparents kept up, but boy did they see a freakin ton!
I met my Mom, Dad, Grandpa, and Grandma on Friday night in Augsburg Germany. Not sure why I met them there, but I did and that is that. So the next day we boarded what would be one of the many trains and headed to Fussen. It was pretty much amazing. The mountains in the distance giving way to a glorious castle which only lives in the world of fairy tales, Disney fairy tales that is. Yet, the Neuschwansteandtielenishdtedksdflkhelkajsdflkajsdgjnlkma//.//// castle was pretty cool. They really could have picked an easier name though because dang that thing is hard to remember much less spell correctly.

That night we spent the evening with a hyperactive host at a bed and breakfast in Rothemburg. The place was amazing, and the lady, despite making me tired hearing her talk, was extremely enjoyable and hospitable. Plus, for 20 bucks a person I am pretty sure it was worth it, check out our freaking breakfast spread!

Plus, this wonderful woman actually made us (I’m really not making this up) go to this night watch tour instead of going out to eat like we were thinking. It was possibly one of the coolest things ever. This guy all dressed up like a traditional night watchman with a wicked awesome weapon which is no longer present in modern times but lives on in one of J-Money’s wicked awesome stories. Anyway, this guy was quiet comical and carried a lantern in the dark telling us stories about this old medieval city. I like lanterns. I like cool old weapons in Jason’s stories. I like walled cities. I pretty much loved the night watchman’s tour.

We eventually made it back to the Netherlands and explored the traditional Dutch tulips at the keukenhoff gardens. The extremely cold weather (the coldest year in the past 100 I have been told) prevented the flowers from being in full bloom, but the ones inside were pretty cool, and I got to watch my mom struggle to attempt to get the perfect shot of these flowers. Judging by her attempts, the flowers grew legs and started to run around, jump, and then start rolling down the hill while a violent snowstorm prevented her from taking the pictures cause sheesh she was struggling to get that perfect picture! I swear I have never seen someone twist, turn, and invert the camera to get such a perfect picture (I use the term perfect quite loosely :-).

Anyway, we had fun, it was a great time to see the parents again and now I do believe it is time for a story. Not just any story though, a story written for a specific person. As we know I have in the past made special attempts to accommodate my audience based on their differing needs and desires. The first attempt at such a feat resulted in the opening of the Q & A section of the blog which I will come back to later in this entry, and now you have the second attempt. This story is told by request from the one and only Lisa Vander Maten, and I therefore defer all attempts at revenge to her. With the formalities now completed, let’s proceed.
So my parents, sister, and grandparents left in haste from Zwolle to make their train to Paris. They were rushed, they took off without allowing me to dispense my extremely valuable advice upon them, and they experienced a heck of a story because of it. If any of you have ever lived in the Midwest your whole life the idea of mass transit is shocking. People getting on and off moving vehicles at different points without driving, owning, or knowing the driver or other passengers?! That is crazy talk I tell ya, and for most other Midwesterners I believe you will agree that public transit just doesn’t really exist in our part of the world. Well it does here, and when you travel Europe you are forced to get acquainted with it quickly, it becomes your friend, but this night it was their most horrible enemy.
You see, the underground in France proves to be an unsolvable maze for many, especially to those who have never before seen such a chaotic pipedream of tunnels. I mean these tunnels go up, down, around, merge with others, and then come out in a totally new place. I am not at all surprised that they got lost, and being that it was late at night I can understand their concern.
You see, they arrived on Sunday evening and needed to buy tickets and find their way to the Eiffel tower and then their hotel. After a little bit of wandering they finally asked a man with a large scar on his head how to get where they were heading. Well I must mention that my dad found him friendly but my mom found the scar rather scary. Placing the scar in a subterranean maze of complex confusion only set the stage, and my mom became more and more nervous as all moms are required to become by law.
Anyway, before long the scar was leading my dad through the underground attempting to find an open ticket counter as all of them closed early for Sunday. Finally after leading up and down stairs, through corridors, and around that one guy sitting in the corning staring at you, the man must have realized the puffing group behind him needed a break. Yet, he was rushed, and therefore told them all to wait while he and my dad proceeded into the depths of the earth to attain this ticket; this ticket of great prize, this ticket sure to lead them from tourist site to tourist site.
My mom was scared again, she sent my grandpa after them. My grandpa, being the man of bravery he is, proceeded to follow them despite the plethora of steps which annoying anyone who has ever experienced the French underground. Finally, just as my grandfather caught up with them they had reached an automatic ticket machine, but to their dismay my Dad’s card would not work (they hate American credit cards, I honestly saw one machine burst into flame in anger of having an American card inserted into it once. No lie, I promise, the French I tell ya have a little of an anger problem, even their machines). So anyway, the man with the scar reaches into his pocket, the tension rises…………


…Pause for dramatic effect…


And he pulled out his own credit card.


…Pause to allow you all to release that breath held in such tension…

and paid for the tickets himself. My dad looked at the screen as the man with the scar was pushing the numbers and my dad read 116.7 euros. Now, let me tell you, that is a lot for 4 metro tickets. I mean I paid 3.50. I was rather confused at this point in the story. But in the depths of the underground with a man with a ginormous scar on his head you are in no position to argue. I mean, have you ever been in such a place. Honestly, I swear it is the place where all people get murdered and then transferred to a drop off point where we find them at the location which the police actually believe is the scene of the crime, but that is a story for a different time.
My dad handed the man the cash, he responded that he paid way too much. My dad explained that the extra was for the man’s trouble, thinking the man was referring to the extra 5 euro he placed in his hands. The man explained how someone had once helped him out in California and therefore he was helping out here. My dad still insisted the man keep the cash and they parted ways. My dad and grandpa emerged from the tunnels unscathed. They proceeded to the Eiffel Tower and then on to find their hotel (Which is another story in itself, ask, I assure you it wont disappoint :-).
This blog is getting long so I will get to the point. The next morning their 120 euro tickets didn’t work. This is mildly perturbing as they at least thought that at such a steep price they would get them through the weekend. Yet, they were forced to buy new ones and the cashier rang up 11.65 euros for the tickets. That is right, when you don’t see the 5 and misplace a decimal point you end up paying an extra 100 euro to a complete stranger helping out another stranger in the depths of an extremely odd place. I guess it is paying it forward at work without even knowing it. Ohhhh good ol’ stories from Europe!