We’ve been in Europe for exactly one week and we can’t wait to get back home. We just can’t take it any longer.
Everything is so different from what we’re used to. The television channels are all in some strange language and it’s impossible to get something to eat at a proper dinner hour. Of course when we finally do get served, sometime around 10:00 p.m. (or should I say 22:00 – which is metric, I think) the portions are so small that we have to order three plates each. And don’t get me started on the thimble-like coffee cups. What’s with these tiny little servings? Haven’t they heard of Super Size here?
And why can’t we get a waiter to bring us our check? It’s like they expect us to stay all night. Hello, we have to get out of here so we can attempt to find our speck of a hotel room, which is a whole other ordeal.
We never know where we are anymore. We’re starting to think all these crazy, corkscrew streets were designed by Pedro the Cruel specifically to torment the citizenry and befuddle tourists. Well, you can tell him that it is completely working. The roads are so confusing that maps are useless. The poor GPS lady, always so confident in the States, just cries now.
Even if we could find our location on a map, it wouldn’t do us any good anyway. We can’t risk a glance at it. Everywhere we step there are cobblestones. We thought we’d like them. They always look so nice in pictures. But in truth, they’re dastardly little things that are always conspiring to turn our ankles. I hate them and want to see every last one paved over with good old fashioned asphalt. Nice smooth pavement, just like back home.
We can’t take it anymore. We’re so ready to leave. And we will, just as soon as someone brings us our check.
