Journals

Our included meal in Paris is hysterical for its irony.   First, let me explain.   By included, I mean paid for in the price of the trip, but listed as included in our trip itinerary so as to make us feel we are not spending as much as we really are.   It does not work.   We all feel cheated after this dinner.   Burgers without a bun, blackened on the outside, served of course with fries but without the one thing that could possibly make it edible: ketchup.   Jenny, from South Korea , pours mayo on everything. Despite our disappointment the group manages to find amusement in the French cuisine we have been served.   Some French wine helps as well.   None of us came for the free meals anyway.   We have not yet made it to the fabled Coliseum of Rome, but there is an expression spreading its way through the group.   As we work our way through our European panorama, the chorus is growing louder and louder: When in Rome ! When in Rome !   It is simple and straight to the point.   But it also manages to paint an adequate picture of the consensus attitude on this shared adventure.   It began with two of the more vigorous Aussies, started as a way to celebrate their exploits in each stop along the way, indulging just a bit here and there.   It is a precise description of how nearly half of the young people on this trip view this experience.   Half, by the way, come from a land down under.   Two more are Kiwis, a single girl from Seoul , seven Americans, four Canucks and the same of Brazilians rounds out our international travel group.   As a once in a lifetime rite-of-passage, felt by some more so than others, there is nothing that can be left undone.   A will to say anything goes and nothing’s off limits.   Nothing.   It seems as if this care-free sentiment of throwing caution to the wind is only growing as each new night extends further into the early morning hours.   Of all the countries represented on this tour, Australia certainly contains the most enthusiastic of travelers, and in one aspect of traveling in particular.   Partying.   Shot, beer, wine, it doesn’t matter.   To say they know how to have a good time does them a tremendous disservice.     I’ll say it anyway.   They know how to have a good time, and show many of us more timid folks how to get our feet wet.     One late night early on in our 28-day escapade, Chris, the originator of “When in Rome ,” is compelled to try the drunk spider-man kick on the hotel walls.   The result the next morning for everyone to see: a gaping hole in the cheap drywall, and a ridiculous 300 euro fee to replace it by the hotel manager.   “No big deal,” he says, shrugging it off.   The cost of a couple drinks often leads to something just such as this happening.     A vodka and red bull, by the way, in Barcelona fittingly enough, ran us 11 euro.   A rum and coke 9 euro.   These unheard of deterrents to getting drunk were merely laughed at as the chant of “When in Rome ” morphed into a raucous call and response.   “When in Rome !” Chris yells, and as a good group of partiers we reply, “When in Rome !”   Our tour-guide, Glen, I believe has come under the influence of his fellow, younger Aussies, and by now highlights each tourist destination with an equally “amazing” night on the town.   Amazing are of course his own words.   Judgment is perhaps better suited when it is reserved for the morning after.   A half-full bottle of Excedrin is no match for the hangover many are feeling as we travel through the fabled region of Provence en route to the Mediterranean city of Nice – the jewel of the French Riviera.   Even Glen is not as chipper on this coach ride.                             It is only day 6 and I see no end in sight to the hard-partying ways of this group.