Elvis is Alive (in Branson!)

Branson was a hit. A Michael Jackson hit. A George Strait hit. A Temptations hit. I saw it all. That just proves Branson isn’t the country music show capital. You can seriously find any kind of music show here.

I totally rocked out in Branson.

The first night we had tickets for Clay Cooper’s Country Music Express. His 22-person ensemble was pretty entertaining. They sang a lot of country and mixed in a variety of other acts including the very funny Buckets N Boards – goofball duo Matt Levingston and Gareth Sever – a couple of guys making their livings at banging each other over the head with drumsticks and playing plastic recorders  through their nostrils. It’d be worth checking out their comedy percussion show, also playing at the Clay Cooper Theatre.

Before the show, a guy at the concession stand pointed out I was one of the youngest people in the building and said he thought everyone else was three times my age. That was hardly the case, but I took it as a compliment because that means he thought I was younger than I am.

That left me wondering. Is Branson an old-person’s paradise or fun for the whole family?

But after a cruise down Branson’s main strip I realized there’s a little something for everyone – the quintessential chicken and steak joint for your down-home southern cookin’ fix and the Hollywood Wax Museum for the kids (or to pretend you’re vacationing in California, not Missouri). And speaking of your summer vacation not reaching as far as the ocean, there’s the huge beached Titanic Museum right off Highway 76 to tide you over.

The next day we hit up this little diner – Jackie B. Goode's Uptown Café. You see the yellow cab out front? In the 1950s you could actually order a car like this out of the Sears and Roebuck catalog. Even during lunch we saw a show – albeit a one-man show, there’s nothing like being serenaded over burgers and root-beer floats.

 Then we were off to Legends in Concert at Dick Clark’s American Bandstand Theater for a little Blues Brothers action and appearances by Martina McBride, The Temptations and George Strait. Michael Jackson moonwalked in after the intermission and Elvis crooned his way to the end of the show. If you book tickets for this act, you can start looking forward to his all-leather outfit right now. In true Elvis fashion, he was looking pretty hot (literally, it was around 98 degrees outside!).

Enough about Branson, this afternoon I leave for the Sunshine State!

Hold your horses! We’re going to the Live Music Show Capital of the World.

What, you’ve never heard of the live music show capital of the world? Have you been living under a rock?

It’s Branson, Missouri.

Population: 6,050. Home to Silver Dollar City, The World’s Largest Toy Museum and The Beverly Hillbillies. Yep, the Clampetts visited their Branson home in 1969, or taped a few episodes there at least. Guess their bubblin’ crude, black gold, Texas tea was actually brewin’ in Missouri.

A couple weeks ago my aunt and uncle mentioned they were going to Branson for a few days. Being from New York they didn’t realize how close Branson was to Arkansas. When my mom told them we were only a measly four hours down the road, and since we don’t get to see them very often as they live 1,100 miles away, they promptly invited my mom to meet them in Branson. In turn my mom promptly invited me to join her for a little road trip. She said maybe I could find something fun to do with the old people in Branson. Her words, not mine!

So I said, “Heck yeah, I love old people. This road trip is on!”

I’ve been to Branson once before, but don’t remember much about it. Wait, I vaguely remember owning a Silver Dollar City shirt that a six-year-old might fit into. And the name Shoji Tabuchi (Branson’s #1 violinist of all time) rings a bell. It’s all coming back to me now (the Meat Loaf or Celine version, listener’s choice)!

I’ll try just about anything twice, so Branson here we come.

My aunt emailed us a list of all the shows they plan on seeing – two shows a day. They are getting serious. We said we’d pick one or two shows and join them. My mom did a quick Internet search and narrowed down our list to Yakov Smirnoff, Legends in Concert, Clay Cooper, Jim Stafford, Pierce Arrow and a couple others.

If you haven’t already stopped reading because I offended you by my old-people comments (Hey, my mom was the one who mentioned the old people. She doesn’t realize she just gave me a great gift idea for her 90^th birthday. Do you think Shoji will still be rocking out in Branson?), I’m happy to tell you we decided on hitting up the Clay Cooper show tonight and then Legends in Concert tomorrow.

As Jed would say, “Y’all come back now, y’hear?”

Slainte! Cheers to Ireland!

Three words: Love it here.

What's not to love about a country with my name written all over the place?





I love those O'Keeffe solicitors.




And O'Keeffe pharmacists (though we've never met!).





Oh yeah, did I mention we're in Kerry County?

Now I just need to find myself an O'Keeffe's pub so I can have another Irish pint. Because just one won't do, right?



As the Irish say, "Slainte!" Cheers!

Looking for some good craic

Where can I find some good craic?

Murphy's Pub. That's where.

But first, I needed (yes, needed!) some fish and chips.



And an ice-cold pint.




Craic pretty much means a good time and that's what I found at Murphy's Pub with these guys.




They were getting down. They played a mix of traditional music and rock.

Sausage, Eggs and a Heine

Headed to Ireland!

But first ...




Just found this tempting offer at the Amsterdam airport. What more could you ask for at 8 a.m.? Tempting, but think I'll pass.




Time to board. Looking forward to finding the O'Keefes when I land. Just don't know how I'll break it to them that we threw the "O" overboard on our way to America. At least that was my Dad's story.

Operation Amsterdam: Part 3

With Operation Amsterdam coming to a quick close (a flight to Dublin was already booked!), I had only three very important must-dos left on my list.

Cruise, explore and devour the canals, the Anne Frank Huis and the pannenkoeken. In exactly that order.












The first two were easy. We took a beautiful canal cruise right to the Anne Frank House.

Okay, I admit the third was easy, too. For dinner I ate my way through the biggest pancakes you've ever seen. From the list of salty pancakes I chose cheese and pineapple.






From the list of sweet pancakes I chose the biggest, baddest pannenkoeken I could find, topped with cherries, strawberries, pineapple, kiwi, bananas, whipped cream, ice cream and powdered sugar. It was a.maz.ing.







Dank u well, Amsterdam. Thank you, Amsterdam. And tot zeins. Goodbye!

Operation Amsterdam: Find coffee shop. Find pannenkoeken.

I made it to Europe's most 17th-century city, home to around 750,000 progressive Dutch bike-riders, Amsterdam.

Cue Operation Amsterdam.

That means I need to check out, hit up, eat, stroll down, inhale and cruise through the Van Gogh Museum, a wooden clog maker, pannenkoeken (the famous Dutch pancakes), Leidseplein, the sweet aromas of the De Pijp District and a few of the many, many canals. Not necessarily in that order.

First I checked out the Van Gogh Museum. If you like Impressionism, you'll love this place. And if you like someone with a good story, you'll love Van Gogh to death (well, you have to, he killed himself after 37 troubled and artistically brilliant years). Even if you don't know much about Van Gogh, I guarantee you'll recognize a few pieces: Sunflowers, The Bedroom and a self-portrait or two.

Then I hit up the De Pijp District, conveniently located right behind the Heineken brewery, where I had the burden of deciding between all the Indonesian, Irish, Chinese and Dutch cafes (plus countless others), and grabbed a bite to eat and a Dutch beer to wash down that bite to eat.

I also managed to squeeze in the Verzetsmuseum (Dutch Resistance Museum) for an intriguing history lesson on how the Dutch resisted Nazi occupiers during World War II.

Sure I wouldn't need the lesson if I hadn't slept through AP European History my senior year of high school, but walking through the exhibits and reading the heartbreaking stories of people who lived on the very street I was standing on in the middle of Amsterdam ... well, that's just something I never could've grasped from the third row in the windowless-classroom next to the cafeteria in the middle of Arkansas.

Operation Amsterdam continues tomorrow. Those pannenkoeken won't eat themselves!

Not easy being Belgian

Well, the waiter caught me. It's not easy pretending to be Belgian when I can't even read the menu or manage to get off at the right bus stop. So much for that.

I can pass for Dutch though right? Any advice on making that happen?

BTW, I ended up ordering the croquet monsieur met frietjes and a Hoegaarden Blanche.




Ham sandwich with fries and a Belgian beer? That translates just fine in my mouth!




Delish!

Quick! Somebody tell me what vleesbereidingen is!

Sitting at a sidewalk cafe, De Gulden Valk, in Gent pretending to be Belgian and trying to dissect the menu with Google Translate. Too bad Google doesn't know Flemish!

Help! Somebody tell me what vleesbereidingen means. And should I get it with kroketten or gemalen kaas?

Tea & Crumpets

We're having an amazing time in England. Tea today and crumpets tomorrow! Love it!

This morning we took a bus to the train station in Bath, hopped a train to Paddington (Bear) station in London and then caught the tube (always minding the gap of course) to Victoria Station where we walked to our hotel.

But that was just before noon!

In the afternoon I made it over to Parliament Square to spend more time with my friend Big Ben.




I've hit all these spots so far, minus St. Thomas'. But that's only because I'm not driving on the other side of the road, yet! We all know how risky that is for me.




Chaucer, Dickens and Hardy are buried here. William the Conqueror was crowned here. And, oh yeah, some people named William and Kate just got hitched here. Can I just say Westminster Abbey is awesome?




After the Westminster Walk, we took a ferry to the Tower of London where a jolly Beefeater (or Yeomen Warder) gave us a tour inside the castle walls. And then I saw them. Yes, them. Let me give you a hint. The line to see these things put the lines at Disney World to shame. The crown jewels! I saw bejeweled tiara after bejeweled tiara. And to top it off I saw a gigantic golden punch bowl. I think it said something about holding over 100 gallons. It is exactly what every queen and castle needs (ahem!).

Cheers!

Tiniest country I've ever seen

Two words: Vatican City. Two more words: Holy Moley!

Do I need to repent for just saying that? Oh well, around here there's plenty of holy water to go around.

All joking aside, this itty-bitty (around just 100 acres) country was awesome. There's just no other word for it. No, I didn't see the Pope, but I joined 1.1 billion Roman Catholics in St. Peter's Square to stand in line for the Vatican. Okay, I'm kidding. Only one billion were there.

We were hit up by a couple sketchy "tour guides" offering to sell us tickets, but we said "No grazie" and kept walking. After seeing the line wrapped all the way around St. Peters though, we were quickly tempted by a ripe deal to shell out some extra cash for a guide and to skip the lines.

That's when another woman approached us, asking if we wanted to join a tour. She pointed us in the direction of about a dozen people standing around listening to a guide do a pre-tour. We joined them.

But then the guide walked us out of Vatican City and all the way down the street to a little cafe to collect her money from the group. We weren't having it.

We wanted our museum tickets in hand before handing over our sweet poorly-converted euros. We told the tour guide we follow a strict not-getting-swindled policy and asked if we could pay inside at the main desk. We did, and we were back to smooth Vatican sailing.

You really have to visit the Vatican to understand it.
But when you do, make sure you cover those shoulders and leave your short shorts and mini skirts at home. Or else you'll be sweating more than a ...

I'm sure you've heard the expression about sweating more than certain people in church.

The St. Peter's guards are here to throw the dress-code book at you and you'll be wearing your socks taped to your shoulders before they'll let you through.

I have to confess: going to the Pope's personal chapel was a little intimidating. The Sistine Chapel blew me away. It was incredible to imagine Michelangelo painting the story of creation on these walls all while up on his scaffolding where he slept, ate and painted for four years. Now that's what I call dedication.

Well, that and my newfound dedication to gelato. I've fallen madly in love. What am I going to do? And where can I buy bigger pants?

When in Rome...

The Colosseum has always been the first image to pop into my head when I hear "Rome" and finally I was going to see it. Not via Wikipedia. Not via Google images. But via my own eyeballs!

I never could have imagined the feeling I'd get when approaching it though. It gave me goosebumps at first sight. I envisioned first the Romans chiseling the concrete in 80 A.D. and later it holding 50,000 rowdy fans cheering as wild animals popped out from behind blinds, surprising and attacking gladiators, who then fought to their deaths in this 2,000-year-old roaring death chamber.

We tangled with our own swindling, plastic-sword-touting gladiator just outside the Colosseum. When we stopped to take a few photos he approached us, putting his little plastic sword to Kristal's neck and his hat on Jamie's head. We snapped a few pictures and then he demanded five euros. I pulled out some loose change to offer him but he demanded five euros again, showing us the thick wad of cash in his wallet from all his other swindled tourists.

He refused my small change and we walked away with him following us, still demanding money, but finally he gave up and we escaped with some cute photos and a good lesson on avoiding a quick hustle thanks to our modern-day gladiator.

Our tour of ancient Rome didn't stop there. We headed to (possibly) the most important dirt in Western civilization -- the Roman Forum. We oohed and awed over crumbled pieces of columns and walls as we walked around Rome's birthplace and once thriving civic center. Rubble has never been this awesome.

We strolled through more rubble -- the remains of ancient palaces on Palatine Hill (this is where we get the word palace!), before dragging our aching feet to the supermarket to pick up Italian groceries for dinner. We had (you already guessed, right?) pasta and wine, because what else are you supposed to do when in Rome ...

Cobblestones & Carabinieri

Soaking-up-Italy time

When we landed in Italia we opted for the hour-long, eight-euro bus ride into the city over the 14-euro train and 40-euro taxi. Although it was our most time-consuming option from the airport, we were offically on soaking-up-Italy time so it was the best (so scenic!) route for us.

If anyone's ever told you to sit back and enjoy the ride, I'm pretty sure this is what they had in mind.

We were giddy as we stepped off the bus and onto our first real European cobblestones. About a mile down the road, we met our Italian landlady who lead us to our amazing apartment through a 20-foot-tall, green, double door, past the Fontana Romano and up a teeny-tiny lift. She handed over the keys and we were on our own.

We decided to start the night off with a walk down to Campo di Fiori for dinner and then the plan was to head to the Trevi Fountain and up the Spanish Steps.

No problem, right?

About a quarter mile down the road we got lost and were wandering around the streets of Rome. I approached a car with carabinieri (Italian military police?) written on the side to ask for directions.

"Parla inglese?" I asked.

"A little," they said. They all ended up getting out of the car for a better look (at our map). "A little" English turned out to be "less than a little" because we ended up having most of the conversation via Google translate. Asking for directions lead to them asking us to meet them for drinks when they got off work. At one point they told us they wanted to meet us "half past a field of flowers." I think that meant "1:30 a.m." But meeting for drinks quickly turned into "where is your hotel?" I'm pretty sure one of them wanted to be Jamie's new Italian boyfriend. It was unanimous, we didn't want to meet these Italian carabinieri for anything, anywhere.

We said "ciao" and headed on our way.

We found Campo di Fiori and a few seats at an outside cafe overlooking the square and the human river of young Italians drinking beer and eating gelato.

When in Rome...

I ordered the rossa della casa (house red) wine and we sampled our first Italian gelato on the way back to our apartment. I'd read these are the flavors of Rome best tasted after dark and I couldn't agree more.

Strolling the Champs Élysées

Bonjour!

The top ten things I learned in Paris:

#10 The metro system is incredibly awesome. It's so easy to figure out, I already consider myself a pro.
But (yes, there'a but!) the metro stops running at 1 a.m. That's something that would've been good to know before midnight, two metro stations and 21 stops from our hostel. However, we actually could've skipped our quick jog the station because we made it with seven whole minutes to spare. Just 420 seconds later and we would have been about $60 poorer and a taxi driver would have been $60 richer.

#9 When you ask someone "Parlez-vous anglais?" nine times out of ten they'll shake their heads "no" and the other time they'll say "a little" but in reality they know a lot more than they let on, because somehow I've managed to have entire conversations with people who claim they don't know any English. When I say I don't know French at least I mean it!

#8 The Eiffel Tower is best seen at night when this 1,000-foot-tall ornament lights up like a Christmas tree.

#7 We didn't cruise the Champs-Élysées in our carriage as the Parisians once did when Louis XIV opened the street in 1667, but we sure enjoyed our two-legged cruise on Paris' famous boulevard.

#6 It's worth boning up on the history of the Catacombs. In 1786, the city emptied its cemeteries into miles of underground tunnels. We checked our nightmares at the door (a sign warned that this "ride" may not be suitable for children) and entered the graveyard of six million Parisians. I was surprised no one checked our bags for "souvenirs" at the end. This one is a must-see!

#5 Two words: Musee D'Orsay
If you ever make it to Paris just go.

#4 For a comfortable, enlightening stay in Paris, I recommend St. Christopher's Hostel. Where else can you sleep with drunk Canadians (we have a busy 8-bed dorm room), see someone in the Internet cafe drop a lit cigarette into the trash and have it catch on fire, take a communal shower and eat a French continental breakfast (all the baguettes you could possibly handle) all for around 30 euro a night?

#3 Eat the croissants.

#2 Eat the crepes.

#1 Drink the Champagne.

Au revoir!

Living in a postcard

No words needed, right?

Italian shower photos

You wanted to see it, right??


I guess the loofah was included in the price for the night.


Warning: don't stay here. Even the shower couldn't wash away the smell of the ferret. You'll just have to ask, won't you?

The Italian one-handed shower

Do you know the word for one-handed shower in Italian? I don't. But if I had to guess, I'd say "ridiculousioso."

Up until recently I never considered myself an obnoxious, spoiled American, but when it comes to showering in a hostel I guess I'm a brat.

Do Italians take a lot of baths? Because there was a shower head but it wasn't attached to the wall overhead. Who would take a bath in a hostel? I don't want to know. So I attempted the Italian shower. I had to turn the water on and off 400 million times (this is the sneaky way to make us conserve water, right?) and try a tricky one-handed maneuver in order to rinse my out shampoo.

It wasn't fun, but it was pretty entertaining.

I found a hot-pink loofah in the shower, too. Are the hostelers sharing? Gross.

It was worth the experience though. I can't really complain, because it makes me thankful for all the other normal showers in my travels, like the one where all the other people in the hostel like to walk in
and out of the bathroom 100 times while I'm in the shower.

So the one-handed shower I can handle but sleeping with the hostel's pet ferret, that's another story.

Vorrei

I just ordered aqua del rubinetto. This is what I got. Perfecto. Delicizioso!!

Adios Espana!

Before we could say adios to Spain we wanted to make a little jaunt over to Gaudi's Parc Guell. We got detailed directions from our wonderful Spanish hosts the night before but once off the metro and into the street the park was nowhere in sight.

We asked a woman on the street for help, but no habla Ingles. She understood where we wanted to go though and was talking up a Spanish storm of directions. She had to say it three times but I finally understood "escalatora" and "a la derecha" and I knew if we walked back down the street we'd find an escalator on the right. Impresionate! Awesome! 

We made it up the hill to Parc Guell for some amazing views of the city and copped a squat on the world's longest park bench, before booking it back to hostel where we'd left our bags for two euro and heading to the aeropuerto.

We checked in with plenty of time before the flight, but after 20 minutes of sitting at a mostly empty gate we were getting a little worried. That's because there was a gate change (I definitely don't know the words for gate change in Spanish).

And the plane was already boarding. Help! Ayudame!

We booked it across the airport, running down halls and flying over mechanical walkways to land at our gate just as the sign at the gate desk read "Boarding. Last call."

It was a smooth trip on Vueling Airlines for around 30 euro and when we landed we were in Roma!

Tapas and topless with the Spaniards

I promised you more juicy details about Spain. No problema!
To fuel up for the day we walked down to La Boqueria, just as Spanish architect Antoni Gaudi used to, and meandered through huge carcasses hanging from the ceiling and fresh sparkling fruit lined up for what seemed like miles. I avoided the huevos del toro (bull testicles) and cows' heads with eyeballs still intact.

But I marveled at the pounds of chocolate, nuts and spices. One of the fruit drinks was calling my name. "Hola, Kerri! Yo la bebida perfecto en al del mundo." I chose pitahaya, because it was the one name I didn't recognize. There's no vacation like one where you eat and drink things before you know what they are, right? It was amazing -- fresh, sweet and juicy!

A vendor called us over to demonstrate his fancy kitchen utensil. He was rapidly explaining, in Spanish, of course, how to slice and dice potatoes, carrots and cucumbers with a quick flick of the wrist. He was a smooth salesman until his accidental finale when he cut (or completely chopped off!) the tip of his finger. He started bleeding all over his vegetables. Needless to say he lost the sale and he ran away to get a Bandaid.

Next stop: Port Vell.

We headed down to Barcelona's waterfront harbour and then straight to the beach to dip our toes in the Mediterranean Sea for the first time ever. It was cold!

It was in the 70's though so we hung out to soak up some sun. A quick look around told me Spaniards don't appreciate tan lines.

 

A woman approached me and asked, "Massage? Five euro." I said, "Heck yeah!" Actually, it was more like "Si! Si!" She threw down her massage blanket, gestured for me to hop on, and without warning she untied my bikini.

 

She hadn't even bought me dinner yet!

 

With three days and 30 miles of walking behind me, it was exactly what my neck, back and shoulders needed. It was honestly the best five euro I've spent so far. There's nothing like a rubdown on the beach overlooking the Mediterranean.

 

Next: When in Rome...

Living the hostel life

I just wanted to share a couple photos from our first night at the hostel.

Here´s the room we checked into, out of and back into.




Yes, those buckets are holding pee-colored water.



This is what they did with our mattresses for the day. They are sunbathing on the terrace. Lucky us!

The first night, after the flood, they let us sleep in a different room, but last night the hostel was completely booked, so they made promises to fix the roof and give us new beds.

Last time I checked there is a difference between a mattress drying on the terrace for a few hours and brand new beds, but we kind of needed a place to sleep. So last night we slept on the maybe-wet, maybe-moldy beds.

Oh well, it´s called a hostel for a reason.

We´re off to the beach!

Lost in translation

I´m sure everyone figured it out already. I made it to España!

In the first 12 hours alone I strolled Las Ramblas, devoured tapas and gelato, discovered several centries-old churches, stopped for an acrobatic hustler show, soaked in the works of Picasso, avoided the mysteriously-colored water on the floor of my hostel, watched a man run down the street with a mattress on his head and enjoyed a flamenco opera.

As soon as we landed we caught the aerobus into Plaza de Catalunya and then strolled through Las Ramblas on the way to our hostel. After a stop to grab some euros, we headed to Jules Verde for tapas before making our way over to the Cathedral.

Our real mission was to find the Musee de Picasso for free-entrance Sunday, where we enjoyed one of the world´s most extensive collections by Spanish artist Pablo Picasso.

Next on the eventhough-we're-dead-tired-we're-in-Spain-we-can't-go-to-sleep-yet agenda was an opera and flamenco show.

We headed back to our room for a minute before the show to find our room in an inch of (excuse me) pee-colored water.

My bed was soaked!

Reception moved us to an empty(!) room, minus the gallons of pee-water and five other hostelers.

Then it was flamenco time.

Let me give you some words of advice: don't go to a Spanish opera on an hour and a half of sleep.

We were thrilled to catch the 9:15 p.m. Opera y Flamenco show. From what I gathered, it was a lot like a telenovela, all serious and dramatic, plus some awesome tapdancing.

Around ten minutes into the show I jerked awake. I'd just fallen asleep during the first act! Isn´t that awful? It had nothing to do with how talented and amazing the ensemble was, but only stainless steel toothpicks could have kept my eyes open. A few English subtitles would have helped, too. I guess they don´t have those in the world of Spanish opera. Maybe we should do something about that.

Fortunately, I woke up in time for the man with the magic feet. When he flamencoed from stage right his feet were pounding the floor like a bionic woodpecker. It was truly an incredible sound.

Then we groggily stumbled back to the hostel for a few sweet hours of sleep.

Miami

Six minutes 'til takeoff part three. We're all here, minus one driver's license, but we're all here!

Barcelona here we come.

Chicago

Made it to Chicago! I'm sitting at the gate for the flight to Miami.

I just found this in the seat next to me.



It's no Grover Cleveland, but a $1 Ulysses S. Grant coin will have to do.



Pretty random, right? There's nothing like a shiny $1 in my pocket to start the trip off right.


Heads, I make it to Miami. Tails, I don't.

Takeoff Take Two

Just kidding about takeoff. Looks like we're not taxing out for another 20 minutes...only the second delay of the day so far.

Our first delay had something to do with the plane's weight restrictions. I wish I could point to myself and say "not it" but that would be a lie.

My bag just weighed in at a whopping 34 pounds. I'm ashamed to say it weighs more than a four year old.

Let's try this takeoff thing one more time.

Takeoff!

Look what I found. Money for waffles and beer!

Tomorrow’s the big day – takeoff time.

If you hadn’t guessed it already, my wallet’s still searching for that special someone or someones – Washingtons, Hamiltons and especially Franklins. Having dinner with paid for by Grover Cleveland would be nice. Yes, I’m talking about a crisp $1,000 bill.

I’ve been lying awake at night wondering how I can make $$$ appear out of thin air. Sell some goods? Sell some services?

Ding. Ding. Ding.
 

What do I have that I could easily live without and would help make me a quick buck?

Yes, I have an extra kidney, but isn't that illegal?

I was talking about ...

Clothes!

Why didn't I think of this sooner? I threw open my closet and started throwing tee shirts, sweaters and jeans into a pile in the middle of the room. Next came shoes! Brown sandals. Black sandals. Heels with bows. Flats with bows. (When's the last time I even wore a pair of shoes with bows?!) Tennis shoes. Flip-flops. I'd struck shoe gold!

This must convert to a couple of Belgian waffles, right?

I got a hold of myself, because the thought of turning clothes into money put me into quite a frenzy, and neatly folded everything into a big box.

Then I took it to, where else, Plato's Closet! Whoever this Plato guy was, I'd heard he was willing to fork over a few bucks for some old clothes.

Boy was he ever! Plato paid me $16.70. 

Sure, 11 euros isn’t going to buy me a bed to sleep in at even the worst hostel ever, but maybe it will buy me a couple of those waffles.

I’ll let you guys know when I make it to Belgium.

Do I go with teeny-tiny or the duct-taped monster?

Only four days out from full-body security scans and customs, and I have a big question to answer.

Do you know carry-on baggage on most of those sweet little "cheap" intra-European airlines cannot weigh more than 10 kilograms? All I have to say is Pssht!

If I have to limit myself to a 22-pound bag, that's like asking, "Why don't you just bring one pair of shoes?" or "Go ahead, leave the guidebooks at home. What do you need those things for anyway?"

I'm already getting one free checked bag on the international flights to and from Europe, so taking a carry-on wouldn't save me money there, either.

What do I do? 

I have one teeny-tiny carry-on suitcase and one monster check-in suitcase with a big hole in the bottom of it. I have to pick one.

We've already established there's no cost advantage to taking the carry-on because it's going to cost me money to check it when it goes over 10 kilograms. Plus, that bag would limit my souvenir purchases to precious little Eiffel Towers and two-ounce Jameson shot glasses. I need more room than that!

That leaves me with the duct-tape option (though I may be cursing my decision as I drag the monster suitcase up flight after flight of stairs) or the new-purchase option.

So I went shopping. 

Will any of these do?

Mr. They-don't-pay-me-enough-to-wear-this-spiffy-red-vest found me in the aisle and looked at me like I was a kid in a candy store who'd just stuck my grubby hand in the licorice bin, took a lick and tossed it back.

He asked, "Are you buying all of these?"

I quickly said, "No, I promise to put them all back!" And I did because I just couldn't bring myself to swipe the plastic for a new bag. (BTW, Mr. MasterCard arrived. We're getting along perfectly, though I'm trying to use him sparingly.)

I re-evaluated the monster suitcase with a hole in it.

That can't be good.

Okay, I might come home minus a sweater or two.

So...

Ta-Da!

Do you think my cousins will be embarrassed to be seen with me? I know there's a redneck joke here somewhere, right?

See you at baggage claim!

You call this desperate?

I leave in 9 days. What does this mean for you? It means it's time to put in your souvenir requests!

I'm getting a strange feeling that souvenir-fulfillment will be limited on this trip. Why do I feel this way? It could have a little something to do with the $601 train tickets I still need to buy.

To put it simply: Tell me what you want before I go broke!

Smashing open my piggy banks!

The last thing I want to do is come back empty handed. So yesterday I decided it was time for The Great Coin Search of 2011.

I have a box of nickels and pennies that I've been saving since I was, oh, about 13. Unfortunately, the quarters and dimes all went to the bank a long time ago. This was a good starting point. I had a massive haul. $14.34.

Like I said, this was just the beginning.

I scoured the bottom of every purse I own (Yes, this took awhile). Cha-ching! $2.85.

Of course, I checked my best hope of all ... the couch cushions. Alas, not a single dime.

Then I moved on to my car. I got down on my hands and knees and pried out sticky nickels from under the seats. Score. $0.26.

Then I decided to get serious.

It was time for Chuck E. Cheese. It was time to bust open my oldest piggy bank of all. He's been with me since I was 5 years old. He didn't know he had it coming. I'm kidding! He's plastic! I flipped him over, popped out his trap door and emptied his guts onto the table. A glorious $18.09.

All together, I found a whopping $35.54.

This converts to €23.93, or a bus ticket and a ham sandwich.

 

Am I desperate? Nah. Funding a month-long vacation to Europe is serious business. I'd hardly call this desperate.

Now I’m headed to the bank to hand over all my pretty little pennies, and this girl's vacation fund will be back in the black.

What's the craziest thing you've done for a few extra bucks?

Oh, $#*!

In exactly 12 days, I’ll be flying over the Atlantic on my way to España.

¡Olé! I can’t help myself. Just thinking about it makes me want to dance the Flamenco while waving a little red muleta in front of a bull with one hand and eating tapas with the other. Oh, Spain. I can’t wait to meet you.

The thing is, Spain is planned. The flight’s booked. The hostel’s booked. It’s all of the details and countries that come after that are up in the air (like me in just 12 days). Help!

Oh, did I forget to mention, I’m going to Europe for a month?

Just a handful of places.

Barcelona, Rome, Tuscany, Florence, Venice (Maybe. We haven’t even decided yet!), Paris (Depends on if we go to Venice.), London, Bath, Caen (Or back to Paris for Round 2.), Bruges, Amsterdam, Rotterdam, Cork, Shannon and Dublin.

That’s the plan, plus or minus a few cities, because what’s the fun of traveling if you actually know where you’re going?

Did I mention, I’m unemployed and on a snug budget? Unemployed, as in technically, I could qualify for government cheese. And snug, as in Lady Gaga’s hotpants snug.

So, you might be asking yourself, “What the heck was she thinking when she booked that ticket?”

Last summer, my cousins said, “Let’s go to Europe.” I said, “Heck yeah!” It was a pretty obvious response. I had a job. I was making money. Spain and Italy are on the top of my 30 Before 30 list.

A few months later and here I am, less than 2 weeks away from a tour of Europe.

Enter, Mr. MasterCard.

Did you know it’s pretty easy to go online, type in “credit card” and find a dozen credit card companies, all willing to throw huge credit limits at you? I didn’t have many requirements. No foreign fees. No annual fee. Cash back. I was approved in 3.5 seconds.

Now, I’m just patiently pacing the mailbox waiting for Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome, err, scratch that, Mr. Moneybags to arrive. Soon, we’ll be strolling hand in hand card in hand across Las Ramblas, meandering down the Champ Élysées and zipping through the Chunnel on our way to Westminster Abbey. It is going to be Fab-u-lous!

Who’s with me?!