The Swiss. What a jolly folk. The jolliest folk I ever did meet. I suppose I would be happy all the time too if I never had to worry about war. Or is it because the lucky turds get to live amidst majestic alpine peaks, glacier-blue rivers, and geranium boxes gracing the windowsills of every thatch-roofed cottage? I suppose you have to be happy if you live in a postcard. Take this view of our walk through the Lauderbrunnen Valley, for example, and tell me if I'm wrong.
My brother and I finally made it to our lakeside hostel in the village of Iseltwald after sleepless hours on a plane, multiple train rides (one of which we had to jump off because of our invalid tickets...brings back memories of Romania), an impossible bus ride (I'm telling you this bus was NOT made for making the hairpin turns that it made), and an umbrella-less walk in the rain. Here we are in all our jet-lagged glory:
The minute we entered our cramped, humid hostel room, I knew this was the kind of experience I was hoping to give Matt for his first European backpacking trip. It was perfect. Seven beds piled on top of each other in the space the size of a bread box, questionably stained linen, fogged up windows, and the putrid smell of something I've yet to identify. Even better, I was the only girl, squished among a hoard of Korean boys who let their bodily functions run wild each of the four nights we stayed there. Due to the aforementioned jet lag, I was barely functioning on only a few hours of sleep. I do my best to avoid pill popping, but drastic times call for drastic measures. Exedrin PM, baby. On night two, I loaded up on my happy pill (come to think of it, maybe this is what's working for the Swiss) and prepped for a soundless slumber.
Well, of course that wouldn't happen because I'm in Europe...on drugs...so something is bound to go awry. I woke up in the middle of the night, one pill for the worse, and saw who I thought to be my brother sleeping in a different bed. "MATT!" I shouted, "that's not your bed! Get out of there!" The confused figure shot up to a sitting position and hesitantly said, "Oh, I thought this was my bed." I rubbed my bleary eyes and stared at his outline for several seconds until I realized that he was in fact not my brother. Didn't look a thing like him. I didn't even say anything and just crashed back onto my pillow and fell back to sleep in about half a second. The next morning I recalled the previous night's mishap and apologized to the poor guy for yelling at him. Turns out his name is Matt, adding to the fun and confusion of it all. Cheers, Exedrin PM!