London, England 2: This is the End, My Friend

The Eurostar got me into London around 5. I had less than 48 hours to kill in London before my flight back to the states and really only three things on the agenda: (1) visit my old new friend Laura from all the way back in Morocco; (2) see the Churchill War Rooms; and (3) watch the inaugural F1 US Grand Prix. 

I made my way to the hostel- my second time staying in a St. Chris. The set up and vibe was almost identical to the one I stayed at in Paris except that the bar was somehow even more packed. They had me on the top floor or penthouse level as I like to call it. There was a real cool rooftop bar but unfortunately it was closed due to the freezing November-in-London weather, but the hostel was in a good location at the south end of London Bridge and with a great view of the largely unoccupied Shard.

Laura sent me a message and after tracking down my Oyster card I made my way to Brixton to meet her. She led me around to a semi-open air market where fresh meats and vegetables are sold. When we arrived the meats and vegis stands were closing down.

But the really cool thing was that mingled in with the shops are a number of cool restaurants and bars. We were enticed into one place with promises of a "hot gin and ale punch." A what?! Exactly. It was gin and some tea and honey and spices and a hearty ale. Probably the weirdest "cocktail" I've ever had. Not bad but very strong- I suggested they market it as medicinal. It could really clear out a cold.

After opening up our sinuses we changed venues where I switched to Samuel Smith's ale and our table was adorned with this very creepy Tim Burton-esque doll thingy. I was frightened.

Laura was on her way to a party being held in an old house in the Brixton area and invited me to come along. When we arrived, however, they had closed the entry gate and were no longer allowing anyone that night. Always up for finagling my way into places I don't belong, I quickly combed the property line looking for a way in and keeping my eyes and ears tuned into any possibilities.

A few minutes later I overheard a guy on his phone with someone in the party. Apparently he had gone out for a smoke and they wouldn't let him back in. He was told to go around to the side entrance where someone would come out to let him in. I grabbed Laura and told her to follow me. We tailed this guy around to the side where sure enough the door opened and we followed him inside. Just like magic. Inside there was a live band and a really rocking scene.

The only downside was that it was nearly impossible to get a beer with the number of people jammed into the space. I ended up losing track of time and when I finally bothered to check the time it was 11:45 and the last metro trains run at 12. I bid a quick farewell to Laura and sprinted toward the metro to try and catch the train back to the hostel but alas I was 3 minutes too late. I knew it was unlikely to be able to accomplish my sneaking in feat again and so with the tube closed i resigned myself to a long walk back to the hostel in the brisk autumn air.

The next day I had two objectives remaining and 24 hours in which to accomplish them. The first was to make my way to the Churchill War Rooms. Since it was a nice day by London standards (meaning it wasn't raining), I decided to walk there from the hostel. My route took me west until I came upon the Parliament and Big Ben whereby I took the final obligatory photo of yours truly for Stint 2.

That is one battle-hardened traveler if I've ever seen one. Before I went into the War Rooms I swung by Westminster Abbey to get a photograph of the front since I was unable to do so on my prior trip to London and I believe I promised you I would. So... here you go dear reader. Sorry about the wait.

As Mom foretold, I found the Churchill War Rooms fascinating. From these basement rooms Winston Churchill directed the British war effort during WWII. Below is a picture of the cabinet war room where Churchill would be briefed by members of the War Cabinet. Apologies for the blurriness, I was bumped just as I took it.

The area had numerous rooms for meetings, bed chambers, a kitchen, and even a reception hall. But most interesting thing to me about this location was that the war was conducted from here during the German bombardment of London knowing that the facility would likely not survive a direct hit from German bombs.

When you think about the little things that could change the course of human history this one certainly has to come to mind. If a German bomb squarely hits this location, most of the British high military command would have been killed. The Germans would have likely emerged from the air campaign victorious and would have gone forward with the invasion of the UK which was likely to have been successful. Had it succeeded, there would have been no staging point for the US and remaining Allied forces prior to D-day. This would have undoubtedly extended the war effort and could have very well turned the tide of the entire war.

Probably the most interesting room is the map room which was sealed up shortly after the end of the war and remained untouched for a number of years. It has been preserved in more or less its exact state at the end of the war, obviously with the exception of the wax figures.

My favorite room was perhaps the room dedicated to Churchill. It contained his office with an up-to-date map of the Allied positions as well as a bed where he could nap or sleep in the event of a bombardment.

In addition to the war rooms, the site also now has a Churchill museum which contains a number of artifacts, photos, film reels, clippings, and other items from his life as well as an incredible interactive timeline of his most significant life events. Frankly I'm a bit ashamed to admit I had no idea of the many great things Churchill accomplished in his life aside from his political career. Early in life he was a war hero. He also authored a number of books including a five volume anthology on World War II. Additionally he was an avid and fairly talented painter- a truly modern Renaissance man.

The tour is on the high end at 16 pounds for entry but it was also one of the more interesting things I saw during my Wanderlust stints. I suppose I'm just a sucker for history. At the end of the tour they have a gift shop with a bunch of odds and ends. My favorite were the reproductions of some old war-time propaganda. If I was a very rich man I think I would invest a considerable some rounding up old war propaganda films, posters, flyers, and leaflets. I find that stuff fascinating on the same level with vintage movie posters. I loved this one.

After I left the War Rooms, I decided to continue my stroll back to the hostel, this time along the northern side of the Thames river. It was a glorious afternoon for a stroll. Along the way I passed by London Bridge. "How can that be? London Bridge clearly fell down pursuant to my nursery rhyme training." True enough. London Bridge has actually gone through numerous forms over the years.

First there was a Roman bridge followed by a number of medieval bridges until finally the "Old" London Bridge was completed in 1209. The bridge itself was cluttered with a number of houses, shops, and buildings, similar to what you might find on the Ponte Vecchio in Florence only probably ten times larger in scale. This bridge burned a number of times and it was likely this version of the bridge that inspired the nursery rhyme.

This bridge was eventually replaced by the "New" London Bridge completed in 1831 and lasted until 1968 when, oddly enough, it was sold to an American named Robert McCulloch of McCulloch Oil (I had no idea about this part either until I looked it up). The bridge was deconstructed and then rebuilt in Lake Havasu, Arizona where it still stands today. The most recent incarnation was constructed in 1973 and looks like this:

To the left you can see a nice shot of the Shard, the tallest building in the EU. Contiuing my walk I came to the Tower of London which, it so happens, had just been adorned with its temporary winter-season ice skating rink. Yay!

I crossed over the Tower Bridge and took a nice shot of the ever-bustling Thames as the sun was beginning to set over London at the advanced hour of 4pm.

And finally, because I appreciate you so much my dearest reader, a picture of the Tower Bridge in scintillating dusk light.

As I wound my way through the neighborhoods south of the Tower Bridge I saw something rather curious. Or at least I thought I did. A fox. Surely I must have been mistaken though, there can be no foxes running around in central London these days, right? So I crept around the side of the building where I saw it disappear and what did my eyes behold but a fox!

I must have spent the better part of half an hour stealthily chasing that thing through and around the streets near the hostel. Even at the very end of my long and weary journey I still find something which sparks amazement.

After returning briefly to the hostel I set out for the Sports Cafe where I had last been with good friend James from NY back during the Olympics. I was there to complete the last item on my list and the last activity of Wanderlust Stint 2: watch the inaugural F1 US Grand Prix in Austin, Texas with a bunch of British racing fans. The race was won by Lewis Hamilton for McLaren to the great revelry of the locals.

After the race I caught the tube back to the hostel and decided to retire early in anticipation of my early flight home. I was due out of Heathrow at 10am bound for Chicago so I would need to be up and out of the hostel by 7am given it would take me an hour to reach the airport via the tube. Everything went smoothly at the airport and a very tired me slumped in my seat awaiting departure.

I arrived in Chicago tired and worn and immediately leery of these people surrounding me, these Americans. It had been many months since I'd seen a large number of Americans in such a setting and I had forgotten what it felt like to be home. As I walked through O'Hare to my connecting gate I felt very much the foreigner. I no longer felt like I belonged there, I no longer felt American.

A wave of panic rushed over me and I tried not to think about being home. I tried to focus solely on things I was looking forward to: Mexican food, the Holidays, seeing my family and young nephew. I made my way to the gate and noticed that there was an adjacent sports bar. With 3.5 hours to kill I made my way over to have a couple beers. I ordered a Bud Light and was immediately stricken with how watery and sweet it tasted compared to the beers I had been drinking. I next realized why our beer is like that as I finished it much faster than I would have for any of the beers I had in Europe: our corporate-brewed beer is designed to be consumed faster so they can sell more. A brilliant, albeit socially irresponsible, business strategy and also one that doesn't make for tasty beer.

As I sat drinking my sugary watery beer a guy and girl entered the bar and sat at the table next to me, clad in the official outfit of business travelers. Their conversation quickly turned to job-related matters and I couldn't resist thinking how boring, trite, and meaningless their conversation was. A few minutes later I overheard someone yell "here come the shots!" and I jolted around in my seat expecting to see a waitress delivering a round of whisky to a table of patrons, only to discover a woman displaying a series of photographs of presumably her children to a group of onlooking men.

It was at this exact moment, with the business people on my left, photo-grazing parents on my right, and a watery American beer in front of me, when I realized my European tour had come to an abrupt and decisive end.

I eventually boarded my flight home. I was looking forward to seeing my family but was still struggling with my experience back at the bar. The flight attendant must have noticed my overwhelming look of despair as she immediately offered me two mini-bottles of bourbon completely unsolicited. That's only the second act of kindness I've ever received from a United employee (the first being the woman who held the boarding door for me in my mad sprint that snowy day in Denver). The touch of compassion was comforting. I met Mom and Dad at the airport and a contested dinner at Bill's Pizza followed.

The next morning I awoke and began the process of unpacking my things, doing laundry, and beginning to sort out my civilian life for the ensuing 2.5 month break from the road. The last thing I did that night before going to bed was to complete the map of my travels I had been working on for several months.

Through all I've learned and done and experienced, through 28 countries and 17 languages, through buses, trains, planes, boats, cars, and feet, through dozens of new friends around the globe, and through more delicacies and beers than I could ever count, I can say one thing unequivocally and without hesitation: it was one hell of a ride. Thank you so much for sharing it with me.

Paris, France 2: Once More With Feeling

My return to Paris was predicated on three things: (1) most importantly, as cliche as it sounds, I wanted to spend a few days in Montmartre at a cafe just writing as I was inexcusably behind on both Wanderlust and my notes; (2) perhaps even more cliche I wanted to see the Eiffel Tower at night as my last opportunity was cancelled due to inclement weather; and (3) I needed to ultimately get to London and Mom had been pestering me to take the Eurostar.

This time in Paris I stayed in the cheekily named "Plug Inn Hostel" in Montmartre. It was fairly cheap, clean, cozy, right in the center of Montmartre, and aptly had an abundance of plugs. I wasted little time in the hostel my first day as I made my way immediately out in search of a cafe in from which to write. I should note that in Luxembourg I took advantage of the prices at the Alima and bought myself a liter of Bailey's. Pro tip: since each coffee is going to run you about 3-4 euro in Paris, order it black, sneak in some Bailey's, and top it up for a makeshift Irish coffee. Just don't let them see you do it. This was how I spent my first afternoon back in Paris.

If you've got good eyes you might notice I was working on the Amsterdam entry when I took this. I was almost three weeks behind at this point. Anyway, that afternoon I got a message from Mella (from Brussels) who was back in Paris and desirous of a drink. Who am I, especially after a couple jackleg Irish coffees, to deny a friend a libation? 

We went to a bar near Montmartre and ordered what must have been two of the worst glasses of wine I've ever had. Especially since they were 6 euro a pop. Thankfully I came equipped for just such a situation, and brandishing my cheapo wine bottle opener I bought way back in Scotland I proffered that we acquire bottles from the nearest bodega and proceed to the Sacre Coeur high atop Montmarte and drink with Paris at our feet.

It was a brilliant move and with the light fog that had settled in, Paris gave off a steady luminous glow like swarm of fireflies emerging from fading dusk light. Unfortunately for you dear reader I didn't take any pictures of the view of the city that night. I kept that one for myself. Plus, I need to give you some reason to actually visit these places and see for yourself right? Mella and I found an unoccupied (or temporarily unoccupied which we then claimed) bench and settled in to down our wine.

The conversation was light and the mood jovial. It wasn't long before we were nearly finished with our wine; the cool misty evening was beginning to penetrate to the marrow and it was high time to find some facilities or an unoccupied corner for relief. We made our way back down the hill, taking turns as lookouts, until finally we arrived at a seven-way intersection. I'd never seen a seven way intersection before but that wasn't even the most remarkable part.

Someone was urban camping! But THAT wasn't even the most remarkable part. As we stood on the median finishing our wine and contemplating our next move, three Parisian youths came barreling down the hill in various states of attachment to an out of control office chair. After the inevitable crash, they collected the chair, trudged a ways back up the hill and repeated the process. It was incredible. It went on for 15 minutes or so until I suppose someone called the gendarme and the boys beat a hasty retreat. 

I couldn't believe it- the same thing we once did in high school with desk chairs, wheel chair, shopping carts, anything with a surface and wheels we used to race around in at breakneck speeds. Here I was at a random intersection halfway around the world and the same thing was happening right before my very eyes. I would be a liar if I said I wasn't tempted to join in. 

With the show over and in need of wine, we ducked into the nearest shop for a refill and I began marching us in the direction of what I believe to be the cemetery. Generally I have a pretty keen sense of direction, however, as another pro tip for all fellow wandering enthusiasts, the outer arrondissements of Paris are not the place to be parading around late at night drinking wine from plastic bathroom cups on a hunch. Well, certainly not if you're trying to get anywhere. If you were like us and you're content to just go, then it's a hell of a gas.

The remainder of the night was spent roaming the street in a state of jubilant confusion until we finally hailed a cab and met up with one of Mella's friends who was so kind as to offer to buy me a Guiness. In Paris, I know right? With a long day of writing on the horizon I bid my adieu and made my way back to the hostel. I was a bit disoriented from all the adventure but the lights of the red windmill were, as always, my guide.

The next day was more or less the same except that I brought my baguette, wine and cheese program back into full force. Apparently it's a crime to sell a baguette for more than one euro and a nice round of cheese will cost you about 3. Add in a bottle of Bordeaux for another 3 and you're looking at a full day's sustenance and enjoyment for around 7 euros. I ate half of my baguette and cheese for lunch during my writing and saved the remainder for my mission that night: taking the Eiffel Tower by storm.

I decided to walk from Montmartre to the tower to get my day's exercise. It proved exhilarating weaving my way through the streets of Paris at night. It took me about an hour and 20 minutes to make it all the way there. Along the way I crossed over the Champs Élysées where I took that picture of the ferris wheel and the stolen obelisk in the middle of the gigantor-roundabout.

I had heard tale of the Eiffel Tower at night, illuminating the Parisian skyline like a beacon, but I must admit I wasn't quite ready for it when I actually saw it. It is vastly superior lit up than in it's daytime form- even if you happen to be as lucky as me and scale it looking every bit the part of a vagrant. And I chose my words purposefully here as it's also quite literally a beacon in the night sky.

I sat on a bench looking out at the tower all lit up and I ate my baguette and cheese and drank my bottle of Bordeaux as I waited. What was I waiting for? The truly best thing about seeing the tower at night is not it's luminous form. The good folks in Paris decided to do you one better: every hour on the hour and lasting for five minutes there is a seizure-inducing light spectacular.

If you happened to have the sound on when you watched that clip you might have noticed me getting off a stifled laugh midway through. Truthfully I was a bit overwhelmed in the moment. Seeing the tower like that at night in Paris, it was something I had always wanted to do and here I was actually doing it. But it wasn't just that moment, the entire gravity of the past 7+ months on the road and all that I had set out to do and had actually accomplished- it all kind of hit me at once. It was the first time I took a breath and thought, "wow, I actually did it."

After the light show ended I was left standing there staring up at the tower and a new feeling struck me. I realized I was alone. I looked around and there was no one nearby. I was physically, mentally, and emotionally alone. It occurred to me that there was absolutely no one with whom to share my feelings of elation at the spectacle I had just beheld, or at my feeling of great accomplishment. And I realized Paris is a great city, a truly great city; it's full of marvels and wonders both obvious and subtle. But if there is no one there to share those perfect moments with you... all of the city's charm and magic dissipates and drifts away as though it were dandelion fluff caught in an unexpected breeze.

I made my way somewhat somberly back to the hostel on foot, contemplating my new-found realizations and beginning the slow mental processing of everything that's happened in my months on the road. I was so preoccupied in my thoughts that it took a sudden shock to jolt me back to my senses. What was that shock? Out of the corner of my eye I spotted this:

A Chipotle. In Paris. With all the other ruminations swirling around in my head, this was almost too much to bear. First I couldn't believe what I was actually seeing. I walked past it four times. I even went in, looked at the menu, and watched people eating their food (much to their anxiety and consternation I'm sure). I couldn't decide whether to embrace that feeling of comfort when something you love close to home manifests itself in a foreign place, or whether to feel appalled that such a place would defile my beloved idea of Paris. I didn't sleep much that night.

The next, and final, day of my return to Paris I decided to get up to speed on my notes in a very familiar place which I had never visited, namely the Café des 2 Moulins, or 2 Windmills Cafe. If you've seen the movie Amélie, which I have about 10 times, you'll no doubt recognize it as the cafe in which the young protagonist works. It's a real cafe and as it turns out was only a few hundred feet from my hostel. I would have loved to get more pictures but after I spent several hours writing there I felt a bit odd snapping more than just this one.

The main differences from its appearance in the movie are that: (1) there is no tobacco shop; (2) the glass partition behind a booth in the middle of the restaurant that she writes the menu on does not exist; and (3) the door leading to the bathroom in the film actually leads to the kitchen. I'm sure there are more but those are the ones that jumped out at me.

The next day it was time to take the big Eurostar trip up to London. Since my train wasn't until around 3, I had time to indulge in a last baguette and knock presumably the final remaining item off my Paris to-do list: eat a freakin eclair. Let me just note that I don't even like eclairs but for you dear readers, down to the boulangerie I went. How was it? Well... eclair-y?

After that I made my way up to the Gare du Nord to catch the infamous Eurostar. Interestingly enough, and no one had told me this (or I had forgotten), to board the Eurostar you have to go through a customs process the same as if you were landing in an international airport- complete with passport stamps and security and declarations and all the other bells and whistles.

I suppose because I had been traveling with ease on my rail pass for so long it didn't even occur to me that the rules would be different when going out of the EU and into the UK. Luckily I was bored at the hostel and left plenty early so I had no time getting through the check-in process. I found it quite humorous that unlike the last time I entered the UK and proclaimed that I would be staying "around a month" and was subsequently interrogated, this time when I replied that my stay duration was 2 days I was met with a curt "thank you, have a nice trip."

So that's about all for my return to Paris. Short and sweet. Or bittersweet at least. Not too much to write about when you spend your whole time writing. Anyway, umm... here's a photo of the Eurostar train (which was probably one of the least comfortable trains I rode on in western Europe) at the Gare du Nord. In case you're interested.

Luxembourg, Luxembourg: You Saucy Old Minx

After nearly 8 months on the road I had long begun to feel like I had seen it all. I've been to more churches, castles, parks, and monuments than I can appreciate in a lifetime. I recall all the way back to my third night in Madrid. I asked Andrea what she planned to do the following day and she said something along the lines of "just hang out in the park. I'm tired of all the culture and shit."

Culture and shit. At the time I wondered if I would ever get to the point where I would regard the meat of the world's stew as "culture and shit." To be fair she was just joking around but the feeling of being becoming numb or nonchalant about sightseeing is a very real occurrence after an extended travel period. Andrea had been on the road 10 months. It was less than 6 months before that feeling began to set in with me. Thankfully I was able to largely mitigate it with those two trips stateside for weddings and by mandating down days where I would do as little as possible in an effort to restore my traveler's gusto.

That said, by the time I stepped aboard the train to Luxembourg, with less than a week until my flight home, it was all I could do to keep any amount of focus on the trip. It didn't help that I hadn't expected to find much of note in Luxembourg- I was heading there more or less to check it off the list since it was located between me and Paris. But upon boarding the bus from the station it became evident to me immediately that Luxembourg was a city worth the full consideration of even my most anticipated destinations.

I haven't written much about it but the last 7 or so weeks of my European Wanderlust adventure were accomplished with the aid of a EuRail pass. It cost about $600 and provided 8 rides within three months anywhere within Germany, Austria, Czech Republic, and Benelux (Belgium, Netherlands, & Luxembourg). So with the exception of some cheap intra-country trains I had been traveling almost exclusively on my rail pass. 

To use the rail pass you have to write in the date of travel and then fill in the lower section with your date, departure and arrival cities, time of departure, and train number. Pro tip: certain countries (in my experience Czech Republic and the Netherlands) don't bother to stamp your rail pass after inspecting it. Thus, if you happen to have an erasable pen handy, you can erase a ride after completion and afford yourself a complimentary journey as a reward for your ingenuity. Sadly my train trip to Luxembourg would be the final chance to use my rail pass, but I will note said pass was perfectly allocated to run its course on that very day.

For a reason unbeknownst to me I love that picture. I want to photoshop it into advertisements as an endorsement of quality or safety or... whatever. Anyway, as I mentioned, merely the bus ride from the train station to my hostel was enough to pique my interest in the city as it wound its way from the newer portion of town across a bridge over a valley and into the old town and then across an even older bridge over a deeper valley toward the Clausen portion of town. I hadn't realized this but Luxembourg is built on a series of steep hills cut by valleys carved by the Alzette river. The other thing I hadn't realized was that Luxembourg is very old and very well fortified as you can see from the bridge.

Luxembourg first dates back to Roman times when a fortification was built here to protect the confluence of Roman trading roads. The rights to the land was eventually purchased by Sigfried I in 963 and the fortification of the city and its importance as a strategic military stronghold began. As you'll see from the forthcoming pictures, the topography of the area makes it naturally suited to defense and by the 12th century there was a wall surrounding the old town as well as numerous fortifications on the adjacent hillsides. 

Over the ensuing centuries Luxembourg was conquered and continuously refortified by nearly every Western European power: Burgundians, Spanish, French, Austrians, Prusians, etc. The Spanish built the first tunnels (casemates) in 17th century and apparently the city was at one time so well fortified that under a long siege by the French it was referred to as the "Gibraltar of the North." 

Control of Luxembourg eventually passed to the United Kingdom of the Netherlands but it's dominion was a source of conflict between the Prussian Empire and France. Napoleon III and Otto von Bismarck butted heads over control of it, the result of which was the dismantling of Prussian arms and fortifications in the city and its assigned status as "independent" although still under the control of the Netherlands. In 1890 Grand Duke William III died with no male heirs and thus the Duchy passed out of Dutch hands and into the control of an independent family thus officially making Luxembourg itself independent. Sorry, the history of Luxembourg has a lot of duchy to sort through. Ha! Poop joke. Low brow folks, you're welcome.

These days many of the old tunnels and fortifications can still be seen including the rebuilt Fort Thungen which sits atop the hill adjacent to the Museum of Modern Art and at the frontier of the new European Quarter.

But we'll get more into the fort shortly. My hostel was in the valley near the old settlement of Pfaffenthal and across from the city's hospice center. This provided a great view up to the old town and the resulting handsome hike.

These days the necessity of modern transportation has altered the landscape of the city markedly as there are rail and road bridges towering over the valleys like ancient Roman aqueducts. One of the more impressive examples is the rail bridge over Altmunster which just happened to be adjacent to my hostel.

As autumn had settled on Northern Europe, I was running short of daylight and had to defer my exploring until the subsequent day. I struck out the following morning early, eager to explore this curious city I had only seen glimpses of. My first stop was to wander the banks of the old settlement of Pfaffenthal which lies at the foot of the hill just to the east of the old town fortifications. As you follow the river you'll no doubt see the gigantic bridge that eventually becomes the J.F.K. Avenue. I particularly like this shot of the town with the old bridge and the new bridge towering overhead.

As you may have noticed, the old bridge connects to a tower which forms the beginnings of the fortifications that lead up the hill to Fort Thungen. Full of power I decided to scale the stairs to the top of the hill. It was a considerable hike for that hour of the morning but the view was well worth it.

From there I proceeded on foot through the woods with a vague idea of where I needed to go. Eventually I wound my way to the fort but not before stumbling on something I found fascinating- the exit to an old casemate leading into the fortifications. This particular tunnel exit was in the middle of the woods- probably at least half a mile from the fort. How cool?

I wandered around the fort for a while (sadly the museum was closed) until I finally emerged from the front entrance of the fort to another view of the old town. As you'll come to see, good views come cheap in Luxembourg.

The only downside of being up at the fort is that to get anywhere else you have to walk downhill (and inevitably up another hill). On the way down there is a nice view toward Clausen which would be my next destination. Did I mention it was autumn?

As you follow the river around toward Grund, you'll come across a number of new buildings packed with bars and restaurants along the Mousel street. Only everything was deserted. I thought I had stumbled into a recreation of the town from Yojimbo. It was exceptionally eerie but I decided to make a return visit later in the day to see if the scene would liven up. My next stop was the villa complex marked on my map as Rumm, but when I arrived I discovered the entire area was under construction. I walked around for a bit unable to see much until I finally came upon a clearing which provided the best yet view of the old city proper. Really, this one is good.

From there you can wind your way down into another old area called Grund where you will encounter a small old bridge that provides the best way for you to storm the city- the same way conquering armies have for centuries. Along the way there are walls and fortifications and more walls and even more fortifications. And don't forget the casemates.

You'll notice that because of the rocky terrain there are buildings in the rocks...

And rocks in the buildings.

But don't let those pesky rocks mesmerize you- the Grund offers some of the most picturesque elements in all of Luxembourg. I was even prompted to stop in the middle of the crowded bridge and go full-tourist to snap a photo of the buildings nestled alongside the winding river.

By this point it was approaching 2pm and I had been at it since the wee hours. I spotted a cafe boasting an 8 euro lunch and I stopped to inquire of its contents. The friendly and extremely attractive Luxembourgette on call at the cafe informed me the lunch came with bread, salad, and a choice of vegi pasta, eggplant, or what sounded like a pizza sandwich. Surely I must have misheard that last part. I decided to give the pasta a go and was generously rewarded with one of the tastiest meals of my entire trip. I'm sure it didn't hurt that I was hungry. As Cervantes puts it, "hunger is the best sauce in the world."

Replenished it was time to finally tackle the old town that I had been spying from a distance for the better part of 24 hours. On the way up the hill can you guess what I saw? More fortifications!!

Almost just as you enter the old town from the eastern gate you will bump into the Cathedral of Notre Dame. It's free to go inside and I did for one simple reason. Dear reader, I bring you... the last church of Wanderlust Stints 1 & 2!!! Praise be!

Interestingly, the majority of old town doesn't look very old these days. In fact, it's mostly filled with high end stores spotted with the occasional tourist trap. This is an example of an old town street (and in point of fact there are only around 12-15 of them making up the "grid" that is old town so it won't take you more than an hour to canvas the entire thing).

But there are a few things of note in old town besides shopping. One is that the palace still resides within the old town walls. And it's located down a very nondescript street at the intersection of another nondescript street.

Also located (and seemingly very out of place) in the old town is the Alima supermarket. You walk down an alley and then all of a sudden it's right there as if it had plummeted from the sky and crash-landed amongst the historic buildings. I used the opportunity to jump start my baguette, wine and cheese program that I planned to put back into heavy effect when I arrived in Paris the following day.

Luxembourg these days is a commercial center for banking, insurance, and a host of other trades. A bartender I met at the ghost town which I'll get to later said to me that Luxembourgers "love to work- all they care about is money." Sounds like New York. As such, the price of goods is a bit inflated in Luxembourg so the Alima was a much welcomed respite. L-berg certainly isn't more expensive than Paris but it's probably higher than most everywhere else in France (not coincidentally it ranks second in highest in the world in income per capita at around $80,000 USD). Also they speak French and it's more or less like France. How's that for a primer?

What was I talking about again? Oh yea, soccer. Football. Foosball. Apparently the following day Luxembourg was due to play Scotland in a World Cup qualifier match. Uncovering this fact eased the apprehension that had been building throughout the day as I spotted an increasing amount of men wandering the city in kilts. As I was preparing to bring my one-man unguided walking tour of Luxembourg to a close I noticed the Luxembourg fans had seemingly gathered in front of the Palace to support their team... or protest it. Honestly I couldn't tell.

I walked past a cafe on my way out of town and witnessed something I've never seen live: a person being fired in a public setting. Forests, tunnels, kilts, and terminations... an odd day. As I retreated back toward the hostel after a long Luxembourg expedition, I finally got to traverse the bridge I had been looking up at ever since arriving. From here there is a clean eye line toward the European Quarter in the distance and the hostel in the valley below...

and... more fortifications!!

Which of course you forget about once you've walked down from the bridge because you are immediately met with... the bridge's own fortifications!

So... Luxembourg was well fortified? After a brief respite at the hostel I made my way back to the bar/restaurant district to see if I could stir up some nightlife. I could not.

I was literally the only person on the street. I made my way inside the brewhouse for a beer and to inquire as to whether I was merely uninformed of some sort of gas or gamma scare. According to my bartender from Greece, Luxembourgers are too busy with work to have any fun during the week. Most of the bars and restaurants on this drag are closed or completely dead Sunday-Thursday. While his explanation seemed reasonable, after I tried the brewery's Luxembourg beer I had reason to believe the quality of the fermented libations may be an equal culprit. After one beer I left and still, even then, no one...

Forget Gibraltar of the North, I'm calling it Morocco of the North! This city is drier than an Amish wedding. But despite the apparent severe lack of night life, I still loved Luxembourg. It's clean, safe, friendly, beautiful, and a bit expensive but not gougingly so. Oddly enough, and despite my undeserved preemptive write-off, I could really see myself shacking up there.

It's the kind of city where you could focus- less distractions and the like. At the same time it's close to major hubs like Paris, Brussels, Dusseldorf, Frankfurt, Zurich, and even Amsterdam so you could reconnect with civilization or debauchery at your leisure. As I walked around that day I couldn't stop thinking about that billboard from Bret Easton Ellis' Less Than Zero, "Disappear Here." Maybe, just maybe, one day I will.

Bonus Photo: On my way out of town the next day I got a very real reminder of the impending holidays and my return home. The city was setting up its Christmas tree outside the train station.