I walked to the train station in Venice well before sunrise, and I was on a train pretty much all day since then, minus a one-hour break at Zürich. At Zürich I paid $15 for Burger King because I didn’t know the Swiss Franc was basically the equivalent of the US Dollar. Oops. Fatty fail. I also worked my way onto the train I wanted. The man at the window said, “The 2:36 train is fully booked…you would be standing.” I said, “That’s fine. I don’t care.” He said, “It’s an 8-hour train ride…” “Good.” He looked at me like I was insane. No standing occurred, for I am crafty. Passed some poor stupid fools sitting in the hall next to the bathrooms. The only time I feared losing my seat was when a large, loud, angry group of Germans boarded the train somewhere in France and promptly demanded everyone around me leave so they could take their seats. Everyone left. I pretended to be sleeping and angelic, and eventually they gave up trying to figure out who should demand “zwölf” (12, my seat). I just happened to wake up right as they all sat down. What a coincidence!

The good thing about these train rides is that I accomplished two of my travel goals effortlessly. I had wanted to see the French countryside and I had wanted to see the Alps, but never found the time. This morning, my train swerved through the Swiss Alps past little lakeside villages and mountains that lost themselves in the clouds, and this afternoon I coasted along through the relatively flat French countryside past places that reminded me a lot of French Kiss. My phone kept texting me “Welcome to GREECE!” which just wasn’t true. Stupid phone with its lies and false enthusiasm. I liked Switzerland and its Alps so much that I bought a weird t-shirt commemorating my time in Switzerland. It has a cow pulling a skier up a mountain and says something about Swiss innovation.

The Germans did not shut up for one second in their three hours on the train, but they were not as bad as the Italians on my morning train to Milan. The Italians had mini kegs with them on a 6:20am train and were drinking and yelling for three hours. I slipped in and out of sleeping in the most awkward positions, with my suitcase under my legs and my backpack basically on my face. No way anyone could steal anything. I read a story about a girl who fell asleep on a train in Italy and woke up without her money or passport, so I’m a bit paranoid.

While I was cruising through France (or as my phone believed, Greece), Dehui successfully got me room 106 in River, which is a glorious 126 sq. ft, making it the largest room I’ve ever had at Columbia. And if anyone needs me next year, they can just knock on my window! Hey-oh! Yeah, it’s on the first floor by the entrance to River, but at least it’s not unbearably small. I’m content. Well done, Dehui!

I’ve actually remained in a really good mood all day, though now that I’m at my hostel I definitely feel the cranky sleepiness setting in. I’m in a room full of stranded people. I’ll consider exploring Brussels tomorrow, but honestly I just want to get back to London. I’m going to try and cry my way onto an earlier train. I’ve found that London is only appealing when it’s unreasonably difficult to get there and I have no more clean clothing. I’m tired of living out of a suitcase and sleeping in weird-smelling rooms full of strangers.

— Lauren