The first long train...

I wrote the following on the 13 hour train journey from Paris to Vienna. Its quite terrible, but its something for now.

The 13 hour train journey from Paris to Vienna is perhaps a little less comofortable than I'd anticipated. There are 6 of us crammed into 6 foot beds, maybe less, with very little space for luggage, a window barely worth opening and a heat that is entirely deceptive of the weather outside. Im lying in my thermal underwear (for fear of unintentionally flashing my **** and ****** to an unsuspecting French woman who took the fifth bed an hour or so ago) curled up next to my fanny pack and novel, still laughing at the fact that Mark farter, completely unbeknowst to the French below. Furthermore, Alexander is contemplating the possibility of an organ in the mouth that would not only substitute the teeth and tongue, but would aquire both their functions; to taste and to chew.

Although its uncomfortable, it's amusing, and certainlz remarkably different to anything Ive ever experience. So remarkable it would seem that I'm indulging myself by writing about it.

I met, this morning, two Argentinian boys, whom I instantly hated. They were exactly the kind of travellers I have been dreading to meet. it seems that the purpose of their travels (besides one that will inevitably lead to some revolting course of self discovery) is merely to have sex with other travellers, tell each other how long it took to "score", and then to make some shallow assessment of their character, only to do it again the following night. And the subsequent night after that. And so on and so forth, until they finally return home to a horde of useless friends and missed loved ones, maybe with a freshly grown beard and certainly with a new distorted outlook on life.

One of them had such disgusting ignorance, that he asked me whether people in Germany still liked Hitler. This didn't by any means insult me. What did however was his nodding approval when I said that he was still loved by many and actually was thought of as a pretty decent guy.

I took my leave of them and later took precautions to ensure that such an encounter should not happen again.

We later made our way to Jim Morrisons grave, via those of Chopin, Oscar Wilde and Moliere. All of their graves were littered with either flowers, grafitti or messages of love and adoration. They were brashly distracting our visit, and indeed ultimatelz the purpose of a cemetry is to let these poor (though great) men rest in peace.

So Paris was ultimately a great experience. The tourist destinations lived up to their reputations, the views from the Eiffel Tower were exceptional, and a lot of the art in the Louvre impressive. Unfortunately we didnt have much time to stray from the top tourist destinations, and Ive left Paris wondering where its heart (city of love and all that) truly lies. Its a great city, and I had an excellent time, but it just lacked a certain....je ne sais quoi. On that truly horrendous note, I will write again after our trip to Vienna