I'm sort of working on something new for Journals Abroad. This is the first part of a couple part journal entry from when I was backpacking. This is sort of the rough draft. I kind of translated it from my chicken scratches in my travel journal. Let me know what you think and stuff. You can check out my photos from Munich here. The formatting is all fucked up on here for some reason. Must have been from 750 words.
Surviving Oktoberfest or My Slow Descent Into Alcoholism.
I woke up in last nights clothes. My head is killing me, and the rest of my body feels like it has been hit by a five ton truck. There is a wet spot on my pillow. I quickly scan to see if I puked in my sleep. It's all clear. Thank god! I must have drooled in my sleep, and I probably snored. I'm sure no one will be happy about that unless everyone else got as drunk as I did. They must have. I can't quite remember what happened last night, but I'm sure that will all clear up in a bit with the fog hovering in my brain.
I swing to get out of my bed, and almost collapse. I guess I might still be a little drunk, but mostly hungover. I drag myself to the bathroom bracing myself against the wall. I'm extremely grateful our room in the hostel has it's own bathroom, and shower. I lock the door behind me, and stare at myself in the mirror. I'm sickly white, and look like a bag of shit. Who's idea was it to catch the early train to Prague? I look at the toilet and try to decide whether I need to vomit or take one of those nasty shits that happen after a night of binge drinking. I decide I don't need to do either, brush my teeth, have a cold shower to wake up, and put on the same clothes I've been wearing for three days.
As I slink out of the bathroom trying to not be that guy who was in the bathroom for twenty minutes. Jess runs to the bathroom, and says something like "you better not have stunk up the place." As she slams the door my body shakes from the vibration. I think she might be throwing up, but I'm not sure. I grab my bag out of the locker and throw it on my bed. I do the mental inventory that you do daily. Visa? Check. Passport? Check. Money? Check. Everything else? Check. Rowan looks like he is about ready to head down to the train station, and Nicole walks back into the room. I guess she stayed the night with Ronnie. Poor Rowan. I think his bed was underneath theirs. Our other roommate never made it back to the room last night. That's probably a good sign after the night we had. I take a another check to make sure I'm not forgetting anything. Nothing seems to missing in the room. It's just a room with three Canadians, and two Australians who look like shit, feel like shit, and survived another night at Oktoberfest.
Ronnie swings off the top bunk with his backpack in tow. He seems like a seasoned pro at the game of drink. He mentions that he's thinking of moving on today too. Rowan and I try to convince him to come with us to Prague, but Ronnie is off to somewhere else in Germany. It seems like he is on an ABC tour (Another Bloody Castle). We say our goodbyes promising to meet up again soon. Ronnie in Amsterdam, and Jess in London before she flies back to Australia.
Rowan and I grab some food, water, and Tylenol at the main train station which is ideally located across the street from the hostel. Not much is said between us while we wait for the train. Traveling with someone can be hard sometimes, but that isn't the reason we aren't talking. It's the hangover. I pull out my camera to see what we did last night. I remember it in bits and pieces, but not the whole thing. I remember that I drank five steins of beer in one of the big brewery tents. I also remember that I got caught trying to steal one of those huge beersteins. A burly looking security guard caught me on my way out to piss with a stein or two in my backpack. The thing I'm having trouble remembering is what happened after we left Oktoberfest, and came back to the hostel.
Everything slowly comes back to me as the train starts to leave the station. We came back to the hostel bar, and made quick friends with everyone in the bar. It isn't hard to make single serving friends when you are traveling. Everyone is lonely, and wants to talk about their trip. Soon a group of us are doing Jagerbombs, and then another, and another, and another. This went on for the rest of the night. No doubt the real reason we feel like shit.
Soon trying to remember who these people we took pictures with, and the events of last night aren't a priority. The gentle rocking of the train isn't helping my stomach. I head to the bathroom hoping not to loose my cookies on my way to the next car. I look in the mirror. I'm that certain shade of green that I shouldn't be, but I can't muster it up. I stand there watching the ground fly by through the hole in the bottom of the toilet. I contemplate getting off at the next stop, and just staying where ever I am. It has to be better than another six hours on this train. Eventually I make my way back to my seat, and pass out with my iPod on. Sleeping seems to be the only thing that will make me feel better. By the time I wake up two hours later to transfer to another train I feel revitalized, and ready to take on the world. That or fall back asleep on the next train to the Czech Republic.