European Travel: A Personal Guide

Morning was upon us, and hell was upon me. I woke up with a throat that felt as if it were the size of a pencil, and a mouth that possessed the taste of skunked beer and mothballs-it was quite a horrific combination as you could imagine. Making my way down to the dining area, I realized I was late for breakfast as everyone was finishing up and preparing to board the bus for the trip to Pompeii. I snagged a piece of bread for the ride, and made the mistake of taking a Claritan using orange juice as a means of transportation to my stomach-this kicked off what would be an avalanche of events. Boarding the bus, and nursing my bread I sat quietly with my eyes closed hoping the sick feeling I had would go away. I put on a comforting CD, which happened to be At the Drive-In's Relationship of Command. On a side note if you have not heard this CD, I highly suggest you pick it up for it was my premier choice throughout Europe. As I sat in the oddly decorated seats, conversation was in full effect all around me; however as much as I would have liked to engage in it I had much more important business to take care of.

That business was of course, the prevention of any foul bodily fluids exiting my body before we reached our destination. Taking into account my history of bus sickness I knew I was in for a challenge of epic proportions. Hunkering down in my seat, I thought only happy thoughts, and breathed only deep breaths as to calm my gut, and prevent my mind from causing my stomach to panic in any way, shape or form. Occasionally I would come out of my semi-unconscious state to observe the sights, which provoked various thoughts that will be described soon enough (patience is a virtue my dear friend).

Many people speak of homesickness when they go on trips like the one I was on, but there was something about the way the highway was set up that provided me with a sense of comfort. I did not feel that I was in Italy-even though I knew I was-but I felt I was back home taking a nice drive in the rain. By the way it was a calm rainy day, but this happened to be a good thing since rain is my preferred type of weather, not because I am hermit (even though some may say I am), but because I find rain quite relaxing. The rain was helping me hold off the sick feeling I had, but I was up against a monster that was unrelenting and determined. You could say I was facing a Grendel sized illness, but then again why would you say that unless you were trying to sound intelligent. Frida came over the mic as we were driving through an area that overlooked an emerald blue bay. She explained that the area which we were in was the Pope's choice vacation spot, but I could only handle so much visual stimulation before I had to close my eyes, and focus on defeating the creature that lurked inside me.

Managing to fall asleep for a while I had forced the illness to lie dormant as I did the same. It was a break in the battle, allowing both sides to regain strength in order to be at full force by the next confrontation. I woke up immersed in an ambush organized by the shrewd bastard of a stomach sickness. Saliva was rapidly making it's way up my esophagus, and realizing defeat was inevitable I quickly made my way to the front of the bus to notify Paulo to pull over. This was to prevent any further casualties, and as the bus came to a stop I ran outside, and over to a guardrail. A transparent white vomit shot forth from my mouth, and in that moment I was relieved as the uneasy feeling was gone. It was not a painful evacuation, and it only lasted a few seconds before I felt comfortable with returning to the bus. "Much better" was the next thing that jumped from my mouth as I walked back up the steps into the bus. Sitting down I talked with those around me before I returned my headphones to my ears to prepare for a potential, desperate sneak attack. Staring out the window that was dripping with rain I noticed numerous works of eye-catching graffiti. Being a man who enjoyed that style of art I was upset that I would be unable to snap a few pictures of the talent drenched pieces painted upon concrete canvases. As my eyes and mind were appreciating the guerilla artwork, my stomach was conjuring up something unpleasant.

Realizing that the damned beast was back, I quickly made my way back to the front of the bus to notify Paulo of my unfortunate predicament. He pulled over and I was off the bus, immediately throwing up into a small cavity in the pavement. This time it was orange colored, and I knew it was the bastard orange juice I had used to swallow my Claritan. Citrus never agreed with me early in the morning, and in this instance it was no different. At least it was out my system enabling me to get back on the bus and pursue the venture to Pompeii. Sleep was in my best interest so I put on Circa Survive, and rested my head on my book bag closing my eyes causing me to slip into the pleasant world of sleep. I dreamt that I was in paradise.

It was not long before the bus came to a stop. At where, you ask? Well, it was certainly not paradise. For the land mass we landed on was indeed the hellish island of Autogrill. It was a place I vowed to never enter again, but my stomach was hurting, so I was forced by illness to enter, and again utilize their bathroom. This time there was no giant staircase to climb nor was there a flooded floor. This Autogrill even lacked toilet seats, which made business quite difficult. Hovering above the convex porcelain hole, I removed the sickness from my body and quickly returned to the bus before Autogrill could suck me into their Walmart-esque world. Decrepit, pale and exhausted from the internal war that I had fought, my eyes closed and black came over the scene. It was silent; tranquility flowed through the bus, and as I was gargling the calm peacefully in my mouth, a light tap came across my shoulder. It was Paulo, the only other person who had hurried back to the bus. I'm sure he despised Autogrill, he was in fact a true Italian and what purebred would enjoy such a mockery, a travesty of a place? "Eh, how are you doing?" he asked. Swallowing a thick glob of saliva I responded, "I should be fine now, but I thought that after the first time."

He appeared focused, but he was merely trying to remember if he had anything that would assist me in this unpleasant predicament. "Ah! I have something that will help," he said in an excited manner as he quickly turned and hurried off the bus. I had no idea what he would bring back, but if it came with the hope of no more brutish bullying from my stomach, I would gladly accept. Returning to my location he had what appeared to be a packet of sugar, similar to the packet of speed the gray haired man back at Villa Maria had supplied me with. These people sure have an array of uses for drugs. He motioned for my water bottle, which I gladly handed to him. Ripping the packet open with his teeth he poured in the small yellow crystals that immediately began to mix things up with the water. "Shake this for a little. Sip slowly. You will feel better, I guarantee." The guarantee acted as that hope, and I thanked him for his assistance as I followed his directions, slowly sipping the concoction while listening to my CD player.

Like a child laid up with a broken leg, I stared despairingly out the window, which was being pounded by rain. One by one the Autogrill supporters returned to their coach carrying various goodies that made me ill just by viewing the Autogrill label on the bags. This was with the exception of one item, which was a 3 disc CD set that Chris scavenged from the wreck. It was a collection of bootlegged songs by Eric Clapton, Jimi Hendrix, and Carlos Santana; each musician had his own cheaply produced CD, which was wrapped in cellophane to garnish the stolen treasures with a hint of professionalism. Tired of listening to the same, quality CDs I offered Chris my CD player to enjoy the always-great virgin listening session one eagerly takes upon buying new music. He denied, using all the proper manners, and in this realization that music would be going unheard I asked if it would be okay to have a listen to the Hendrix CD. This is always an uncomfortable question to ask since the anticipation that comes with tearing the cellophane from the CD case is something no one should be deprived of, but he had two more CDs to tear into, and I selfishly figured one wouldn't hurt.

It is a petty thing to take into consideration, but it is always the small things that really poke and pull at our emotional chords. Plucking with disregard for what would transpire; I ripped the CD from its plastic coating, gently opening the fragile case. The CD was blandly decorated, but this was to be expected, and as I extracted the CD from its black sinkhole home I was overcome with that joy of a fresh experience ready to unfold. Plopping on my headphones in an anti-social swagger I was yet again back in the world of Joe-a sick, disturbed, yet humorous place. It's about time I take an exit off of this typical progression towards a conclusion; technology appears to create anti-social behavior. Text messaging, iPods, pornographic websites and many other things, which allow us to escape into our world-the only place we really want to be. Why bother with other people when you can have it your way all the time? Fuck the rest of 'em, it is individual happiness that matters, right? Well, yes, but goddamnit, we need the company of others to realize how great the company of one's self truly is. I've reached the conclusion that you can only spend so much time in the company of others before your need to isolate yourself in a dark or well-lit room (whatever personal preference you have) as an attempt to reflect on what you have learned. In short, the answer to the question of whether we need others is, yes, it is essential to our survival. Speaking in depth would require more time spent rather than this five-minute onslaught of weed and gin powered blather. Just find the balance between both and you will be fine. Someone, somewhere, once said, "All in Moderation."

Getting back on track, we were closing in on Pompeii. The yellow, chalky concoction that Paulo supplied me with had done the trick as I was peacefully enjoying the magnificent guitar work of Jimi Hendrix all the while staring into the poverty stricken region, which bordered the four lane Italian highway. As I made sense of what I was seeing, I had this rubber ball move slowly up my throat. It was painful, but observing a mother and daughter gathering water from a rusted pipe in cold rain is something that no person should have to do in order to survive. So much money in the world, so many resources yet people suffer day to day just to live. And as this thought was registering in my mind, I made a pact with myself that if I ever become wealthy I would do my best to help those who have fallen into the dry well of poverty. It is easier said than done, but the feeling that forced a rubber ball up my throat was something that I could not ignore.

The bus rumbled on passing ghetto after ghetto, trash heap after trash heap, shantytown after shantytown, and before the rubber ball could pop out of my mouth we entered Pompeii causing the ball to disappear as I was jerked out of the dark reality of that world and placed back into the reality inside the bus. That reality was more upbeat as people were excited to be one step closer to the remains of an entire civilization. Many years back people choked and suffocated on volcanic ash that turned them into gray statues, which have now been reduced to a tourist attraction. But it would be hypocritical to paint the rest of the group as a bunch of blood sucking leeches for I was, in fact, looking forward to seeing the mummified corpses. They would make a pretty neat picture to bring back home, and who really cares if a bunch of Pagans died as the result of a volcanic eruption?

The first piece of business was another prepaid meal, but with my expectations set at the lowest possible setting-Autogrill-I was ready for whatever Frida would toss my way. Fortunately for my stomach the place we arrived at was a family owned and operated pizzeria. It was my kind of place, babies rolling around the kitchen and all the relatives cooking up pizza as well as squeezing fresh lemons from the lemon tree out back. The pizza was fantastic, the wine was fine, and all-in-all it was the laid back atmosphere that was needed in order to supply my stomach with more ammunition that could potentially be used against me. Luckily for me my stomach and I had agreed upon a cease-fire for the moment, and all was well.

When we finished filling ourselves with various slices of delicious pizza, another EF group was rolling in. They all were toting the bright orange and blue EF complimentary backpacks, which painted the target for any pickpocket, scam artist or street hustler who was in view of the unsuspecting tourists. As we walked out I could only imagine that one of those poor, EF supporting fools might have their nice trip ruined upon the realization that their money along with their passport had been sneakily snatched from the target on their back. But, I wiped the thought from my mind as I wouldn't wish such a fate on anyone. Unless of course they were the kind of person who would be low enough to take advantage of an ignorant visitor from another land.

The bus rolled out of the tiny parking lot towards the ruins of ancient Pompeii. I was quietly staring out the window that ran with rain, and in my observation of the outside world I noticed a young couple smooching under an overhang. They also were aware of me and the other onlookers as they offered up a quick wave, which I returned with a congratulatory thumbs up. As soon as my support for love making in the rain was shown I went back to looking at lemon trees and foreign advertising. My stomach and I had become friends again as the long-time, bi-polar pal of mind sat peacefully as the water droplets danced off the streets of Pompeii.

Finally we stumbled upon our next tour, the once great city of ancient Pompeii, and unlike Pompeii's rediscovery this was no accident. I was amazed to find out that the pre-Christian civilization was actually quite forward thinking. With the first signs of advertising, a drainage system and even a way to avoid getting your feet wet, the Pompeii citizens were progressing relatively fast towards what is now called modern civilization…and then an earthquake and a volcanic eruption wiped them off the face of the Earth only to be rediscovered sixthteen-hundred years later. The lucky ones were hidden somewhere that allowed them to decompose properly. Those who were unfortunate enough to have been caught in a mad dash for salvation and fresh air suffered a fossilized fate leaving them to serve as just another tourist's snapshot to bring back home. This was the sad thing about Pompeii, so much potential, but due to the wrath of a menstruating volcano, mankind was forced to adhere to Rome's standards of civilized life, which were impressive up until their fall to the savage Barbarians and the whole bestiality thing.

The debris that came from the evil bitch Vesuvius was far worse than anything that had found its way into an extra-absorbent tampon. If only Pompeii had stayed in tact might we be driving flying cars and receiving packages minutes after an online purchase?

Probably not, but the tour that took place in the bitter tempered rain ended relatively fast and after a quick stop for cappuccino we were back aboard the bus destined for our last night at Villa Maria. The mood was fantastic; it might have been the fact that the tour of ancient Pompeii was quite the harrowing experience that had managed to exhaust everybody to some degree, but the feeling on the bus was similar to the feeling people have after a long day of work when they can finally sit down on the couch and sip on their favorite beverage. We were back on the highway after a side excursion to drop off our tour guide as well as an attempt to take a picture in gall force winds that only captured about 5 members of the group silly enough to get off the bus.

That joyous relaxed manner of the group had managed to lead to a karaoke session via the tour director's microphone. It was led by a chubby high school girl from one of the other groups and like most young girls she was entirely too energetic. And after half a song I put my headphones back on figuring the singing would be over soon, but for fifth-teen minutes I would hear it as the songs on my CD player changed. After 3 song changes the singing had not stopped and this caused me to look around the bus where I witnessed Chris among many others holding their ears and rocking back and forth in agony. Something had to be done, and since I was being a selfish, anti-social son of a bitch who was fortunate enough to not suffer the same ear bleeding pain I figured it was my duty to rescue the group.

I casually removed my headphones and pressed pause on my CD player. Standing up I blurted out, "I'll do standup comedy," before she could begin another song that would surely lead to some of the victims trying to cut off their oxygen long enough to pass out. Walking up to the nose of the bus with not the slightest clue to what I would say I knew that I was doomed, but for a good portion of my life embarrassment was a good pal of mine so I did not fear the outcome. Grabbing the mic I reacted instinctively, "Well we now know why the drinking age in the states is 21." It provoked a slight chuckle from the group, but their support would be short-lived. Confident in what came to mind I cracked a joke relating to the Vatican, "So who enjoyed being herded through the Vatican like cattle?" And before I could move onto my next line I knew my run was over. A husky lady sitting directly behind me let out a overly disgusted, "Ugh" that had managed to cause my brain to seize up for a moment; a moment that led to the realization that I was about to degrade the Pope and the Vatican all in one shot, aboard a bus headed into Rome.

From that point on I babbled along with some filler lines that trailed off as my thumb slid the mic power switch off. This was, of course an attempt to finish the mission that I had embarked on at the time I muttered the martyred phrase, "I'll do standup comedy." While I failed miserably in trying to keep my ulterior motives hidden, I still managed on some level or another to succeed in what I had gone up there to do-put a halt to the spectacle that was preventing others from catching a well deserved nap. But, alas, Frida appeared to be wise to my scheme and decided to drive the blade of embarrassment further into my chest plate. She grabbed the mic and without hesitation restored it's power as if she had witnessed my subtle move of defiance. And without notice she belted out what appeared to serve as my punishment for even thinking to degrade the Vatican aboard that bus. "Who wants to hear Joe sing?" she proclaimed. But with my cards already flopped on the table I figured it would simply be best to turn the mic off yet again and head back to my respective seat on the bus. A seat next to those who I knew would understand why I made a gigantic fool of myself.

True. And my career as a stand-up comic had come and gone faster than the volcanic ash that had smothered Pompeii oh so long ago. But fortunately for me I had my world to escape back into as my CD player remained paused upon my return, and I was more than anxious to jump back into it-to slide back to my two seated paradise next to the dark rain tainted window. It wasn't long until my stunt of blind, idiotic courage sparked others to take the nose as well as that god forsaken mic. Marshall, my roommate, who seemed to find everything I said a laugh riot went up and did some singing as what I took as a little-too-late attempt to save me some face. And I appreciated his effort as it definitely removed the sour taste that I had left in many of the traveler's food chutes, but the taste was still lingering in mine. Even the twins grabbed the mic to tell one-liners and bust playfully on my failed attempt, but I only heard of their performance later as I went back to my CD player a minute into Marshall's vocal session.

While technology may tend to allow us to create our own world it isn't necessarily a bad thing as it was the only thing that kept me from brooding over my poorly planned debut onto the comedy circuit. Then again that is the price one should pay for a swollen ego. To think I could improv the entire thing was surely a move of arrogance on my part, and that disgusted silence which came soon after I mentioned measly cattle and the mighty Vatican together in one breath was a humbling blow to the gut. Before I could finish the thought of how I was grateful to be able to tune out the rest of the bus I was fast asleep against the cold glass window. I didn't realize this grim predicament until I woke up at our one and only stop before Villa Maria-some fancy gift shop somewhere in the region between Pompeii and Rome. My jaw was aching as it was pressed against solid glass for a good while, and my leg was still snoozing on. Shaking the bastard up I exited the bus and entered the shop in order to gather gifts for the folks back home. The need for a bathroom break came to my attention as soon as I stepped out into the chilly air outside of the bus, and I negotiated the wide, steep staircase towards the bathroom with a drunken swagger. Unfortunately for myself that drunken swagger was the result of the extreme exhaustion that I was in the grips of, and the idea that I would have to see the faces of those who I most definitely offended in a well lit environment didn't make it any easier.

I took my time in the restroom as there was no rush to return to the store, but you can only drag out a piss for so long and I was upstairs sooner than I had wanted to be. However it appeared that my performance had been forgotten as I stood near a cast iron heat post, which a few of the younger group members were huddled around in order to keep warm as the inside of the shop was uncomfortably cold. There was casual conversation here and there, but it was apparent that everyone had only one thing on their mind-warmth. After I got my fix I wandered about the store keeping an eye out for something I could bring home to my family, and after 10 minutes or so I grabbed a bottle of olive oil that had garlic cloves in the bottom. It wasn't much, but then again my trip was far from over and I didn't want to end up broke by Paris, forced to look forward to free preplanned meals as my only means of nourishment. The hell with that and on that notion I returned to my cozy spot inside the bus.

Before the bus could begin round 2 of the open mic sessions we were back at Villa Maria, and dinner was in the preparation stages. I hurried upstairs to take a shower and then head down to the dining area. But my case of exhaustion had led to an unplanned nap, and a strange set of dreams that ended with a police officer knocking on my hotel room door. Shooting up from my pillow I was welcomed back to reality with an empty room that had an eerie silence if not for the knocking across my hotel room door. "Could it be the cops? Have they finally come to get me? The jig is up, this is the end….Wait I didn't do anything wrong." Curious to see who was banging their knuckles, I hurried to the door and opened it prepared to respond to whomever and whatever would be coming my way. And as the door butted up against the wall, my state of readiness had vanished like the crust that I rubbed from my eyes, and luckily for me it was Chris checking to see why I didn't come down for dinner. Apparently the vibe downstairs was that I had sunken into a deep depression due to my piss poor comedic performance and would be avoiding the group for the remainder of the trip.

While I did brood over the shabbiness of my routine it never got to me on the level that many had assumed it did-I was simply tired. After letting Chris in on my condition he seemed relieved and went back to the dining area. I soon followed and was greeted by the pity parade as well as a not so vast selection of food. The food was gone as my appetite was just arriving so I munched on bread and inquired as to whether anybody had plans for leaving the Villa Maria compound in search of a night life. The unfortunate part of our situation was that we were located in the Italian countryside outside of Rome, which meant we were in SmallTown, Italia. Unbeknownst to me the girls had planned on going into town, which was a short walk from Villa Maria. They were tipped off by Frida that there was a local bar/eatery right on the border of town so in continuum with the pity parade I was given guest honors and we set out by foot as soon as everyone was content with their dinner.

The air was cool yet refreshing and my black woolen jacket was keeping me at just the right temperature. Cars and semis were whizzing by us at speeds of no less than 60-70 mph. If only there was sidewalk to walk on then maybe the high speed autos might not have seen so damn detrimental to our safety, but there was none of that and the shoulder was also non-existent. Whenever we felt a car getting near we would push like frightened livestock into the bushes that lined the country road and pray to god that there wasn't some raving, drug-crazed lunatic behind the wheel. It didn't help that many of the cars which flew by decided to honk their horns at the slew of young ladies walking along the road, and I am sure I was mistaken for a female on occasion as it was dark and my hair was just above my shoulder. On that note I must say getting hit on via high-speed honking is far from flattering as each time it caused me to prepare for impact; a moment of absolute hopelessness that drove me further into the firm roadside bushes.

It wasn't long on this back road of certain ill fate until we reached a small local bar and eatery. Being that I had missed dinner I had one thing on my mind, well two things, but the first was the most important. Walking up to the bartender I realized that throwing English at him would not be the best approach and luckily for me I saw a glass display of sandwiches. I pointed towards the shrimp salad sandwich, and was promptly handed it. Stepping aside and towards a table, it was now the girls turn to try their luck at completing a seemingly simple task in a setting that proved to make simple things quite difficult due to the language barrier. As they yelled out their orders like a pack of crazed loons I noticed all the locals in the bar laughing and staring at them. To prevent being pegged as a silly American I joined in on the laughter and with luck on their side a young Italian girl came to their aid. She spoke enough English and somehow I ended up being the ambassador as I relayed the orders to her and she followed by relaying them to the bartender.

With the girls settled in, drinks in hand, I decided it was time to get something that would help wash down the delicious shrimp salad sandwich. Wanting to be low-key unlike the girl's spectacle I grabbed a Red Bull and drew a picture of my order, which was a vodka, Red Bull combo. The subtle approach worked and the bartender handed me my drink with a smile. I knew my younger days of playing Pictionary would come in handy, and as I avoided the stigma of wacky American I sat down and enjoyed my sandwich as well as my energy drunk producing beverage.

The girls were giggling as they were immersed in conversation, and occasionally I would drop a line in between bites and sips, but I was busy trying to remain low key in a bar of locals, where only one person spoke just enough English. I noticed two menacing characters two tables away to our left, and their stares, which were fixed on our group is what made them seem like a potential threat. After we finished our brief bar going experience we settled up and headed back to Villa Maria. I kept a peripheral on the two, black leather jacket clad Italians as we left the bar, which was in the process of closing. This meant those two angry staring bastards would soon be left with a gut of booze and no place to go. My paranoia caused met to occasionally glance back as we made our way back along the road side bushes, this time going against the speedy traffic.

Being far from drunk I took swigs out of a bottle of lemon cello that I bought during our time in Pompeii. It was an after dinner liqueur and since that shrimp salad sandwich was technically my dinner I was using the drink to its exact purpose-to aid in the digestive process. At least that is what I told myself as I knew deep down inside that my goal was to get as wasted as possible on the last night in Rome.

Upon our return to the hotel we ran into Chris and Laura who were enjoying a drink in the lobby. Some of the girls went up to their bedrooms to get some sleep, but Angeline, Tina and Francesca along with Chris and Laura joined me in one of the sitting rooms where we engaged in drink and conversation. The girls were mixing it up with rum and cokes as Chris, Laura and I kept to the traditional casual beverages-beer and wine. For a few hours we discussed how the trip was going, but for most of that time, soon after the alcohol was flowing strong in our bloodstreams we laughed in a seemingly sleep depraved, booze inflicted fashion. Many of the laughs came as the result of my own unique craziness that I tend to bring into any social setting that I am thrown into.

Usually I am the butt of my own jokes, but hey it is all in good fun and our time in that sitting room was joyous to say the least. Which brings me to the conclusion of the second part of this three part saga; no matter what hell hole you are thrown into there are two things that can extract a good deal of fun. Those being good company and good mind-altering chemicals, and in this journey I was certainly in good company and the alcohol was much stronger than back home so to say my time in Rome was hellishly bitter would be a lie. I had a great time, and as much as certain aspects rubbed me the wrong way I would go back because like I said earlier, as much as I am, indeed a cynical pessimist I have this tendency to make the best of my situation because goddamn, life is too short to be brooding over the bad.