I was able to leave the country for the first time. It was a very long trip and definitely one of the best I’ve ever been on. A short retelling of my adventures.

I arrived at the airport with my friend Jarrett. We sat and had lunch and I bought a book. Our first flight was eight hours from Orlando to Manchester. I heard a toddler speak with a British accent and it was pretty hilarious. Some strange dance competition must have been happening in Orlando as there were many children adorned with metals boarding alongside us. Maybe they received the metals from a competition of “whose parents looked the most British.” I could tell most of them said “fink” instead of “think” just by the shape of their fleshy jowls. The flight was mostly empty and so it was very nice. I paid Jarrett a visit and we played airplane trivia for a few hours as well as an airplane game that claimed to increase your IQ with each successive play. Jarrett reached an incredible IQ of 260, he has since taken over as the “idea guy” for a cheese company.

Upon arriving in Manchester we were greeted with quite literally the worst airport imaginable. The architecture is brutal yet inconsistent. The layout is haphazard and terrifying. We walked around through seemingly endless maintenance hallways that stretched into a hellish sub basement wasteland you would likely never return from. (If you weren’t as experienced as I.)

This maze finally led us to our terminal. In which our plane would not be assigned a gate until it had arrived at any gate. I had been awake for approximately 20 hours at this point. I marveled at the novel experience of a British convenience store with labels such as; black current soda as well as a nutrition label listing saturated fat as; “fat (of which saturates.)” That was the most entertainingly and bureaucratically British thing I had ever seen.

Our next flight (to Dublin) was on a propeller plane preheated to the temperature you can prepare a small personal pizza at. Admittedly I paid for a window seat as I am a motion sick person, but someone asked that I sit in the aisle so they could be next someone they know and I caved. I suffered nauseously in polite silence, a reflection of what I had learned about the British culture from my time in Manchester. (You’ll start to notice, I’m a bit of a worldly person.)

I am a person with red hair and in Ireland I admittedly felt like I belonged. Not a drop of melanin in sight. Genetic mutations as far as the eye can see. Certainly everyone in this airport knew that they could not trust their friends to apply the appropriate amount of sunscreen to their backs. We knew what it was like to get burned. I drank a Guinness (it was 8:30am) I had been awake for approximately 24 hours at this point. It was the best Guinness I’d ever had. Over here I didn’t really get it. Over there I see why they like it. It’s sweeter, creamier; like Malibu but for gingers. We sat for awhile, then boarded our final flight to Amsterdam.

Amsterdam is one of the most beautiful places I have ever seen. It is a very very old place that has coincidentally forced city planners to put people first within its infrastructure. The homes are densely and tightly packed, the canals are murky yet beautiful. Tourists scurry through Amsterdam Central’s head shops and knick knack markets. The character of the city feels earned. To celebrate our arrival, (after dropping off our bags) Jarrett and I settled on the most characteristic cuisine Amsterdam has to offer, McDonalds. I’m kidding that would be a gross waste of our time and money. Do you really think we flew across the Atlantic only to not enjoy the local cuisine? We had Burger King.

Everett arrived and we continued exploring. It’s an easy place to get lost especially when you do little to no research. I had been awake for approximately 32 hours at this point. However the excitement in the city and it’s crisp cool air carried me from site to site. Everett and Jarrett made sure to take pleasure in one of Amsterdam’s finest exports; Sinning. They played poker at the casino while I watched Manchester v Milan at a pub across the street.

The air was lively and a Dutch couple next to me taught me some words and wished me well. Manchester lost. We all took shots. I could feel the cocktail of alcohol and sleep deprivation churning inside my body. I left. I stumbled to a train car and realized my vision was tunneling. Fortunately a short ride and a short walk led me to the hostel in which I slept a brief 6-7 hour slumber to recover form 36 hours of travel. This is because my body hates me and I am not deserving of rest for that reason.

Malik arrived in the morning. He was probably very tired. But that was his problem. This blog is about me. We stopped off at a lovely cafe called Yusu and met the most attractive man in The Netherlands. His recommendations were great and our time together was special. I’m sure he thinks of me as often as I think of him (nightly.)

We stumbled into an on-site farm to table chefs coursing menu called De Kas. It is usually fully booked but we got lucky. The food was excellent but my friends don’t like vegetables so they struggled through the five course vegetarian menu. I blinded a glass of wine correctly with just my nose and that was pretty cool.

The rest of the day was really just spent walking around. At night the lights of all the compact but functional Dutch homes paint the canal with a mosaic of shimmering orange tiles. The houseboats line the canal walls, ornate with round windows and home gardens. The city is clean. We rode bikes, we ate some of the freshest sushi I’ve ever had. I managed to get my friends to try Salmiak, an acridly salty licorice that I have developed a strange love for. Everyone hated it. I used to bring it to school to hand out to my friends. In order to prove them how delicious it was I would eat one. So I now have a taste for it.

We arrived at the airport to board for Zürich the next morning. I told Everett that when I travel alone, I will typically just board with group 1 or 2 no matter my boarding group. I always sit in the window and nobody ever checks. I figure this is harmless as boarding by groups is a waste of time. Something clicked inside Everett and a fire of hatred began to burn deep within the 7th circle of his gut. Demons and imps spilled forth from the recesses of the Hades localized in his body. As this was a line I SHOULD NOT have crossed. Everett’s passion for waiting in long and arduous airport boarding lines sung from his lips. Everett loves monotony, boredom and wasting time. Inconsiderate, selfish, self serving. This is all that I became to him in that moment. His aim was to preserve the beauty of waiting in line and I was just another casualty along the way.

I boarded group one. I had paid for a carry on but the flight crew insisted they gate check the bag, I figured it was fine. I tagged it and placed it where they instructed. I double checked with them that the placement would be perfect. They ignored me. I triple checked and they said, “Do not worry. We will load your bag.” (They did not load my bag.)

The flight was smooth and the plane was a testament of beautiful Swiss engineering. We met David at baggage claim and waited for our bags to arrive from our flight. I stared helplessly at the carousel. “No, not that one. This one? No. Maybe it’s on the next one.” My bag did not arrive. I spoke with a Swiss representative and filled out the missing luggage claim. His features were German and so was his appearance. The way he looked was German and so was he. The German looking man was of no help. Hopefully my bag would arrive soon.

Swiss trains are some of the best. They are incredibly clean, quiet and comfortable. The ride to Zürich was smooth and pleasant. We enjoyed Swiss-German food in an armory older than the idea of Gravity. Shoutout to that Isaac Newton guy for inventing that, otherwise food wouldn’t have stayed on my plate (maybe my bag would have flown itself.)

Switzerland is incredibly beautiful. There’s a strange Disneyland feeling to all of its natural beauty though. It does not feel wild. We took a train ride to the “largest waterfall in Europe.” Clearly by technicality. The water was beautiful and the water was also $7. We ate at a Biergarten. I got a flannel from Salvation Army because I had no clothes still. The food was expensive. I was able to find a train route to the top of a mountain that overlooked the city. The first of two times I tricked my friends into hiking. We watched the sunset from a tower on the top of Zürich. It was peaceful. I couldn’t help but think about how I was half a world away from home. Before this, I almost did not believe Europe actually existed. A man paraglided while dressed in a polyester sarcophagus at eye level with us.

The next day Ilsa arrived! Malik is time blind so we missed a few trains but it’s okay because my bag arrived. After fetching my bag we rode a long train to Interlochen. We visited an actual waterfall, ate dandelions and fondu (only I ate the dandelions, they were everywhere and free.) Fondu is not as exciting as saying the word fondu is, it is mostly cheese. I put my feet in the cold ass Swiss water. The water is clear and blue and beautiful. Something about how blue it is filled me with a strange paranoia that I would be hoisted down to the Swiss-Lovecraftian (like regular Lovecraft but less racist and more politically neutral) depths by a writhing tentacle. But I was fine. I narrowly escaped with my life.

We arrived in Zermatt late, hiking what felt like the entirety of half dome to reach our hostel. We realized it was too late to check in and so we prepared to sleep in the lobby. However, someone noticed our room keys taped to the front door at the last second. So we slept in actual beds.

Zermatt was very Swiss and surrounded by the beautiful alps. I ran with David and the route we planned for felt very formidable. The elevation change and the hills were killing me. I began to think, “I cannot do this.” When we arrived on flat ground the run was much more bearable and enjoyable. We chatted and grooved, the weather was cold and perfect for running.

For breakfast I had Swiss McDonald’s (because everything else was very expensive) and ordered 5 shrimp (yes pentuple shrimp) from a McDonalds in a land locked country. It was impressive and I did not get sick.

We got ski lift passes and rode the lift up to a brief hike. The walk to the suspension bridge I planned for was iced over and so we played in the snow and turned around. I was able to deceive everyone into hiking the long way back into town instead of taking the lift. There were sections of trail that passed through small farms of sheep and goats. Everyone was bleeting back at the sheep and for some reason I found it really annoying. We passed a man who walked patiently and slowly toward Ilsa from a distance, and at the last moment turned to reveal he was brandishing a freshly polished axe. But Ilsa survived and so did we.

I decided to partake in the delicacies of Swiss German culture for dinner: Jaeger. We walked to the top of a hill and talked about our lives while overlooking the town. The things I worry about feel so insurmountable when I’m at home and alone. But grated against the sandpaper of my friends. My anxiety become so much more palatable. I can chew the sinew and work through it knowing that at the very least I am not alone.

The next day we rode a train to Italy. As soon as we crossed the border even the weather was Italian. The architecture became immediately Italian, the signs, the children began to talk with their hands. Pasta leaked from the overhead luggage racks. An Italian man charged us $90 in euros for buying the incorrect ticket on a train to Milan. But he was nice about it.

Our first meal in Milan was the best pizza I have ever had. I had always heard that Italy saves the best for themselves and imports the lower quality goods. It is the truth. The food there is a reflection of the country; simple, but of the best quality. The only caveat is that it may try to mug you.

Milan was a gorgeous and modern metropolis littered with glimmers of old world Italy. Incredible food lined it’s alleyways packed with graffiti and pedestrians. Each meal was accented by a great but cheap bottle from nearby Piemonte. However, we stopped for Gelato late at night. While walking to the nearest train station, two eight-foot children gripped at our things and tried to accost us. In a swift moment of heroism, Everett killed both of them. I didn’t even drop my gelato.

I had managed to arrange us to meet a man off of Italian Craigslist two hours away from the city. He crammed us into a small van and told us to hide from police as he drove us remotely into the wilderness. Certainly nothing would go wrong. His English was not perfect but he was a gentle and kind man. He was outfit in mountaineering gear. Creases of adventure and wisdom etched themselves into the canyons of his face. A single silver earring dangled from one of his ears and reflected off his polished head. He was like an Italian Mr. Clean but much hornier. He led us up a mountain and then alongside the chains that arched like velvet ropes off the limestone. The climbing was easy but I was just happy to share it with my friends. The summit offered a beautiful view of lake como and for a moment I marveled at it and though to myself, “Wow, I don’t have any cash to pay this guy.” So we pushed him and ran.

Dinner that evening was certainly the best we had. I had a delicious fiochhi stuffed with goat cheese and something else. The bread was hand made, the wine was a lovely barolo and the service staff was composed of two of the most beautiful people on the planet. (I am a Manchester 11/10 but an Italian 6/10.)

The next day we took a long train to Florence and I wrote most of the way. After dropping our bags I was able to walk with my friend Connor for a bit (he conveniently was in Florence but on a separate vacation.) I didn’t have much time as we had lunch reservations at a place I really wanted to try and I really didn’t want to miss that.

The server was incredibly rude and I still think about that, but my wine selection was spot on because I’m the best and he is not. The food was excellent. We visited a church and museum and then I got a cappuccino because I was very tired. Coffee usually gives me a pretty intense wave of panic, but this did not happen. Maybe European coffee is fake so they can drink it 24/7. I saw a mirror wall and took a picture of it because I sort of want one. I swear nobody in Europe actually has a job.

We walked more. The city is also very pretty, for being Italian. I saw David’s (statue’s) tight ass and thought to myself, “I will make my ass look like that.” We stopped in the hostel for a brief rest before going OUT that night. Our hostel shared a wall with a recital hall and we heard a very pitchy dress rehearsal ensue before a very pitchy performance. So I did not sleep as I was to busy looking up how much it would cost to drone strike the recital hall.

At dinner I had an incredible blackberry pie in a historic Italian plaza under the Italian stars, in an Italian chair on my (soon to be) Italian ass. David (person) lit a cigarette casually like Johnny Cash and blew a cloud off to toward the street, it was really cool.

We moved on and listened to bad jazz at a jazz club titled “jazz club” and this is where I began to notice Florence is clearly a facade that Italy has put up to corall their American exchange students. Everyone was American. We went to Club Space and the music was American. There was quite literally a geriatric man in a MAGA hat dancing next to us. It felt like home. I leaned against a wall taking brief respite from the dizzying maneuvers of the geriatric conservative man, only to realize the wall was a door and set off the emergency exit. The bouncer pushed me out.

I stood outside and waited as the set was ending soon anyway. I befriended a man who kept trying to sell me drugs. He may deny our friendship as I did not buy any drugs but I believe we are friends to this day.

In the morning I hurriedly ordered pizza with Everett and walked to the train station; a common Italian pastime called ‘Pizza Walk.’ Due to landslides and not having much of a work week, many trains were delayed. We waited at the train station for a few hours. Ilsa did surgery on a grape (my ingrown hair on my arm) it was a success.

Venice was kind of shitty. The food was not as impressive. The canals are beautiful and blue and the architecture is unique. But being a small island it has been blighted with a teeming westernization that engulfs each corner and leaves little character in its wake. Jarrett dropped his gelato and we watched a Catalinian man demand to see our feet in the lobby of our hostel. The occasional quiet alleyway was lovely in isolation, but every shop and corner really just looked the same. Every restaurant was the same. Everything was plainclothes and cargo shorts. It was clear to me that nobody really lived here.

Istanbul was certainly the most foreign place I’ve ever been. The signs were predominantly in Arabic and Turkish and the people were less friendly. We checked into a very nice hotel and took a large cab to the Hagia Sophia. This is a place that truly blew my mind. It’s a place where European history can really be understood from.

Built shortly (500 years) after the death of Christ and predating the invention of gravity that made its construction possible. The Church has withstood the great schism of the Catholic Church, the conquest of Constantinople even the time the Eagles won the superbowl. It is truly a historic marvel. We went inside a similar and adjacent mosque constructed by Suleiman the Magnificent, the guy with the coolest name in history. Islam prohibits iconography. The inside of the churches is pasted with ancient Arabic, incredible geometry. This was a contrast to the picturebook-like interiors of European Churches. Illiteracy was high during the time of their construction so the information had to be digestible. I had no idea what’s going on though because in Turkey, I am illiterate.

We moved on to a drink at a boujee rooftop bar overlooking the city. This place truly felt so foreign and beautiful. But we were tired and had a long day of travel the next day so we returned home and began our rest by going to the gym. I got a nice Turkish chest day in and enjoyed the sauna with my friends.

In the morning I removed honey directly from the honey comb to spread on my bagels. A small Turkish woman sat on the floor of the dining room making bread for us. It was the height of luxury; slavery.

My final thoughts on Europe are that it is definitely a continent. Despite what others may say you can navigate it by train, plane and even car. It is located just north of Africa, and very far away from the US. It differs from the US in its geography, and it’s racism. It is a place where prostitutes can stand in red lit doorways and I, am too afraid to talk to them. It is a place where the people work less than us, and have more time for leisure. It is a place where the infrastructure is built to a human scale and the cities feel like they have contained countless human lives over many centuries. It is a place where the families are old and people pretend to care. It’s a place where I went with my friends and spent many nights starry eyed and doing the realest thing I know; trying to make each other giggle over wine and food.