Riding in Trains with Sad People
I suppose my idea of trains in Europe was a little romanticized, but even with that in mind the train ride to Linas' village was underwhelming.
We avoided our earlier travel mistakes and got to the station with plenty of time. We ate some soup, boarded the train, and were on our way. The car we were in was not crowded, and contained no bicyclists (they were confined to the back of the train with their futuristic cyclopedes) most of the occupants were either very young or very old, and they all smelled vaguely of failure.
...that being said, it was a very pleasant trip. The scenery flew by, the air was fresh, and even without any cooling or heating system inside the train the temperature was perfect. The best part was the sticker on the window asking us not to throw either bottles or people out of the windows, i guess it could have meant we shouldn't throw them IN the window since the perspective of the illustration was not terribly informative, but that seems unlikely. Linas explained to me that there were in fact ninja clubs that jumped out of these very-narrow train windows while moving. Some people's kids.
Generations
The village itself was everything i hoped it would be. the houses were grouped together, with amazing farm machinery arranged over well manicured and truly bucolic lawns. There were kids swimming in a centrally-located pond, and a cow on a string grazing next to them. The dog was friendly and excited to see us and Linas' parents also seemed happy to meet me and see their son, although they didn't hop around quite as much as the dog did.
We went on a mission to the general store (one of two in the village) to buy some snacks and for me to get a bottle of wine for Linas' parents. When we got there, however, the store was closed and we would be forced to wait for the clerk to get back from a lunch/break before we could shop. Fortunately the store is simply half of a duplex house and the other half belongs to Linas' grandparents. We dropped in for a visit.
Grandparents are the same everywhere. Their house was big and beautiful, every detail obviously crafted over many generations. They were, however, sitting on folding chairs in the kitchen watching a small tv that was perched on a counter, surrounded by various herbs drying. Grandparents, what are you gonna do?
There were exactly as excited as Linas' dog to have company, even though they have very dutiful grandchildren and their kids live a few houses over. They took us into the nice living room, pulled out some very string smelling "millers" liqueur. And proceeded to guilt us into taking several shots in a row and eating some very rich and delicious cakes. Linas' heroically extracted us from this very pleasant social trap, and we went out the front door to discover that the shop was open again. Victory! We bought wine, white for his parents, and red to mix with sprite...delicious.
The food. Was. Amazing!
You know how people say "there's no cooking like country cooking" or "you haven't eaten (blank) until you've eaten my mother's (blank)"? Or if they don't say that the voices in my head do. Well those people (and my voices) are right. Linas' mother's food was spectacular. Everything I ate was the best thing i had ever eaten. I have since tried to re-create here breakfast crepes and have come nowhere close to the magnificence that was here cooking.
Biker Parents
Durring the evening Linas' parents suited up in full leathers and rode off together on his father's chopper. An honest-to-god chopper. This meant that we were left to our own devices for the evening and after we had exhausted the fun to be had from badmitten, we hauled out his mother's guitar, and sat around in the back yard, drinking, playing, and generally causing a ruckus. We tried writing songs about what was around us for a while*, but that eventually degenerated into me playing every bad cover song I knew...it had been a while since I had held a guitar and I apologize to Linas' village, and the universe in general.
Bonfire of the Backyard
When it is dark and there is nothing around, and you have a lot of wood at your disposal you can build a really large fire. Linas's dag got back after we had some meat cooking and took charge of our meager bonfire. In his hands it grew into a beast and the beer started to flow freely.
Dinner was awesome, and the night got even more awesome when Linas' uncle and his wife showed up. His uncle had brought a personal breathalyzer, the kind that looks like one of the old Nokia cell phones, and immediately started testing everyone. When you have a numerical value assigned to your drunkenness it seems to make things a little competitive
We had been drinking red wine and sprite all day, and now were drinking some very good local beers...things were getting loose. The weird thing was, it wasn't me and Linas. We were pretty much exhausted from all the drinking and doing nothing all day, and around 2 am we turned in and passed out.
And Then...
In the morning we discovered that the old folk had kept the party going well past dawn and were, in fact, still drunk. We ate breakfast, and waited for his uncle to sober up enough to drive us back into the city (because the train was sad, that's why).
We carried water from the pond for the flower and vegetable garden, and i felt very rustic and like i had accomplished a great deal of physical labor...I wasn't and i had not.
Eventually Linas' uncle sobered up and we said our goodbyes for now, I even got to take his mothers guitar home with me for a while since it was obvious that i was jonesin' for a sting fix.
*My dog is very hungry and those chickens look delicious is the name of the #1 hit song Linas and I wrote while at his parents house. Apparently his dog is notorious in the village for ruthlessly slaughtering anything that squawks.
I suppose my idea of trains in Europe was a little romanticized, but even with that in mind the train ride to Linas' village was underwhelming.
We avoided our earlier travel mistakes and got to the station with plenty of time. We ate some soup, boarded the train, and were on our way. The car we were in was not crowded, and contained no bicyclists (they were confined to the back of the train with their futuristic cyclopedes) most of the occupants were either very young or very old, and they all smelled vaguely of failure.
Generations
The village itself was everything i hoped it would be. the houses were grouped together, with amazing farm machinery arranged over well manicured and truly bucolic lawns. There were kids swimming in a centrally-located pond, and a cow on a string grazing next to them. The dog was friendly and excited to see us and Linas' parents also seemed happy to meet me and see their son, although they didn't hop around quite as much as the dog did.
We went on a mission to the general store (one of two in the village) to buy some snacks and for me to get a bottle of wine for Linas' parents. When we got there, however, the store was closed and we would be forced to wait for the clerk to get back from a lunch/break before we could shop. Fortunately the store is simply half of a duplex house and the other half belongs to Linas' grandparents. We dropped in for a visit.
Grandparents are the same everywhere. Their house was big and beautiful, every detail obviously crafted over many generations. They were, however, sitting on folding chairs in the kitchen watching a small tv that was perched on a counter, surrounded by various herbs drying. Grandparents, what are you gonna do?
There were exactly as excited as Linas' dog to have company, even though they have very dutiful grandchildren and their kids live a few houses over. They took us into the nice living room, pulled out some very string smelling "millers" liqueur. And proceeded to guilt us into taking several shots in a row and eating some very rich and delicious cakes. Linas' heroically extracted us from this very pleasant social trap, and we went out the front door to discover that the shop was open again. Victory! We bought wine, white for his parents, and red to mix with sprite...delicious.
The food. Was. Amazing!
You know how people say "there's no cooking like country cooking" or "you haven't eaten (blank) until you've eaten my mother's (blank)"? Or if they don't say that the voices in my head do. Well those people (and my voices) are right. Linas' mother's food was spectacular. Everything I ate was the best thing i had ever eaten. I have since tried to re-create here breakfast crepes and have come nowhere close to the magnificence that was here cooking.
Biker Parents
Durring the evening Linas' parents suited up in full leathers and rode off together on his father's chopper. An honest-to-god chopper. This meant that we were left to our own devices for the evening and after we had exhausted the fun to be had from badmitten, we hauled out his mother's guitar, and sat around in the back yard, drinking, playing, and generally causing a ruckus. We tried writing songs about what was around us for a while*, but that eventually degenerated into me playing every bad cover song I knew...it had been a while since I had held a guitar and I apologize to Linas' village, and the universe in general.
Bonfire of the Backyard
When it is dark and there is nothing around, and you have a lot of wood at your disposal you can build a really large fire. Linas's dag got back after we had some meat cooking and took charge of our meager bonfire. In his hands it grew into a beast and the beer started to flow freely.
Dinner was awesome, and the night got even more awesome when Linas' uncle and his wife showed up. His uncle had brought a personal breathalyzer, the kind that looks like one of the old Nokia cell phones, and immediately started testing everyone. When you have a numerical value assigned to your drunkenness it seems to make things a little competitive
We had been drinking red wine and sprite all day, and now were drinking some very good local beers...things were getting loose. The weird thing was, it wasn't me and Linas. We were pretty much exhausted from all the drinking and doing nothing all day, and around 2 am we turned in and passed out.
And Then...
In the morning we discovered that the old folk had kept the party going well past dawn and were, in fact, still drunk. We ate breakfast, and waited for his uncle to sober up enough to drive us back into the city (because the train was sad, that's why).
We carried water from the pond for the flower and vegetable garden, and i felt very rustic and like i had accomplished a great deal of physical labor...I wasn't and i had not.
Eventually Linas' uncle sobered up and we said our goodbyes for now, I even got to take his mothers guitar home with me for a while since it was obvious that i was jonesin' for a sting fix.
*My dog is very hungry and those chickens look delicious is the name of the #1 hit song Linas and I wrote while at his parents house. Apparently his dog is notorious in the village for ruthlessly slaughtering anything that squawks.
