The Chronicles

     The last time I wrote with a lengthy update, it wasn't the best of times. Or rather, the best of times was rudely interupted. I'm sure I don't need to get into that without you knowing exactly what I'm referring to. Yet, determined to see all that there is to see, experience as much as I can, and do all that I can do while (to coin a phrase) trying to be all that I can be, I've repeatedly, and greatfully, stumbled upon life's little experiences which I like to think of as "It Doesn't Get Any Better Then This" moments. They can happen as often as you let them. They can happen with whomever you let them. All it takes is a small amount of effort, and a few things to fall into place. What follows, in my typical train of thought manner of writing is a brief chronology of the past few weeks of my trip.
     Gimmelwald, Switzerland. A tiny town of 150 people high in the Swiss Alps recommended to me by someone I'd met in Italy (thanks, J). When one thinks of Switzerland, this is what one undoubtedly imagines. Cows, woll socks, yodeling, fresh cheese and joghurt." Like many others before me, I planned to stay for a day or two, and ended up there for a week.
     One night, I found myself at a campfire with an Englishman, two Americans, and Two Canadians. We had brought sausages, buns, beer, onions to grill, and s'mores along with us on the half hour hike through the cow fields and dirt roads. Think of it. A cookout in the Swiss Alps, great conversation with an international group of friends, and more stars then I've ever seen in my life. It doesn't get any better than this.
     Back at the hostel, we heard a rumor that a bomb had gone off at Oktoberfest. 20 dead, 200 injured. With no TV, we had no way of confirming the information. The next morning brought a relief as it was revealed as misinformation. A report of something that had happened years ago, and the reason for the increased security this year amid global tensions.
     The next night, out came the guitar at the hostel. A spontanious singalong broke out, and suddenly the draw of those cheesy old folk songs became clear. Country Road, American Pie, Imagine, Leavin on a Jet Plane, etc. 15-30 people, from all over the world, singing like they knew the words. Our breath foggy in the moonlight as we sang, wrapped in blankets and beanies, socks and 'jammies. It doesn't get any better than this.
     Throughout the day, military jets can be heard screaming overhead in this neutral country of cheese and chocolate. Not very often, but enough to remind us that our little haven here in the Alps, may not be quite as detached from the world as we like to think it is.
     Next stop, Prague. The Czech Republic. A place I (admittidly) probably couldn't have found on a map without some searching before coming to Europe. I stayed for six nights. Another place I was only planning to stay for a few days. Believe it or not, Prague has a huge Jazz scene. It was quite an interesting find for me to come across five white guys with soul...in the Czech Republic! But there they were. In a basement jazz club. Quality blues. Cheap beer. Beautiful women. Czech me out, I'm in Prague!! It doesn't get any better than this.
     Part of Prague's reason for backpacker interest (besides the 60 cent beer) is it's claim that it is the only capitol city in Europe virtually undamaged by natural disaster or war. That's it's claim, anyway. Plenty of revolutions and occupations, but not much structural damage. From war...
     The day before, an Austrailian and I were tired of walking around the city, so we headed to Charles Bridge. There we sat across from an outdoor jazz band and watched as the "drummer" kept the beat on a washboard he played with thimbles on his fingertips. And when he needed a different sound, out came the wire wisks. And unless you heard it yourself, you would not believe the music that he created. There we sat, listening to free jazz and watching the women walk by. Our shoes off, pants rolled up, and my hat out in front of us just in case anyone appreciated our zest for life, or the content smiles on our faces. And yes, after about an hour of hard chillin', two ladies passed by, stopped, turned around, and dropped a few crowns into my hat. Then they smiled the most beautiful smiles and walked away as the Aussie and I smiled back and thanked them profusely. It doesn't get any better than this.
     On the train from Prague to Munich, Germany, the passport checks were thorough. First by the Czech Polizei, then by the train conductors, then by the Czech Polizei again, and finally by the German Passport Officials. I passed through them all with no trouble. Yet it is a little unnerving, nontheless.
     In Munich, I met up with a friend I'd met earlier in my travels, and together we met her friends. The four of us headed to the festival grounds to partake in the debauchery that is Oktoberfest. Beer is served in Liter mugs, and somehow stays cold down to the end. I've heard that the record is nine liters in a 9 hour period. With absolutely no desire to break said record, the four of us each took our time putting away 3 and a half liters of Germany's finest Pilsners while singing songs, hugging complete strangers, and eating soft pretzels bigger then my head...when I had hair. Three and a half liters. And that was plenty. No Bombs went off. No fights broke out. No threats were issued. But I don't like the fact that I have to mention that. It doesn't get any better than this.
     Today, I opened a paper. A small sub-snippit read "Terrorism Fear Chills Oktoberfest." 7 percent less people drank 20 percent less beer this year than last year. I did my part.
     Lately, at train stations, I've seen men dressed in military fatigues. They carry rucksacks, and sport the flag of Germany, Italy, or Luxembourg on their sleeve. I have no doubt that they are mobilizing for the support of the US retaliation against...whoever it is we've decided we're retaliating against. The Taliban? bin Laden? Afghanistan? In the end, it will become all of the above, and then some.
     In any city with a police force, there are sirens to be heard. And everytime they wail their shrill cry, I wonder what scale of threat they're responding to, and if it should concern me. Still I press on, now deliberatley avoiding big cities for the most part, but still determined to...finish? continue? just go.
Strollin' on,
Chris the Stray Dwanimal